Dean liked the feeling as the needle etched into his skin. The sharp pain, the burn as the point worked the same, swollen, angry spot over and over. Perfecting the text, letter by letter, the detail, the meaning. He liked the feeling because it reminded him why he was doing this. It reminded him he was alive.
There were times that he forgot that.
This mark was another born of sorrow, of shame, of guilt. But this one… This one was also different, because this one represented something new. Forgiveness.
...
It was Sam's idea. Part of their road to healing their relationship, he said.
They had finally found a place where they could both feel comfortable with each other. They had finally found a place of understanding. Of acceptance.
...
Nothing could ever wipe away the hurts of the past. That was their history and there was nothing they could do about it. But acceptance of that and forgiving each other, they could do something about. That could be theirs.
There was a moment when it'd all seemed lost, where Dean thought Sam would never look at him the same way. Dean shut down. If that was how Sam truly wanted it… He just didn't have the energy to fight it anymore.
Then Sam reached out. No one was more surprised than Dean…other than possibly Sam.
...
They talked all night. Dean's man enough to admit he cried. Sam may have cried too.
They talked about everything. There was no anger between them. They were both too sad to be angry. They opened up to each other like they never had. They laid it all out on the table. How they'd made each other feel over the years. The things they'd done. The bad and the good.
It was hard and it hurt.
But it was the good that kept them going.
In the end they both came to understand two things; they are different men, that's never going to change and they love each other, that's never going to change either.
They may not see the world the same way, they may not see each other the same way, they may not always be on the same page, but they love each other.
They realised, that was more than enough.
...
It was Sam who said there could be no way forward without forgiveness. True forgiveness. Forgiveness for each other and for themselves.
Dean thought that was going to be the hardest part. Not forgiving Sam, but forgiving himself. What if guilt and anger was all he was? What if there was nothing else left inside him? What if he was just the sum of all the bad shit that had happened in his life? All the bad shit he'd done. What if there was nothing left after that? What if when he let all that go, he was simply… empty?
But looking into Sam's eyes and for the first time in a long time really seeing his brother, Dean felt all that fear melt away. And he realised it was easy. And he realised it wasn't scary. And he realised he wasn't empty. He was full to the brim.
He was full to the brim because he had Sam. He had his brother.
When it was all said and done, they didn't hug, they didn't offer each other platitudes, they simply got up from the table where they had been sitting in the Men of Letters kitchen, smiled and nodded at each other and went to their rooms to finally sleep.
Dean hadn't slept so well in years.
...
It was a couple of days later, as they were driving into a new town on a new case that Sam spoke of getting the tattoo.
They were both covered in them. Protection sigils. Dates of loved ones long since passed. Marks to memorialise their lives. They had lost count of how many tattoos they both had. It started with the anti-possession symbol and went from there.
As they drove down the main street, they passed a tattoo parlour.
"You know", Sam started, "We should get a tattoo while we're here".
"Of what?" Dean said, glancing sideways.
"Something to mark the fact that we're moving on, that we're, you know…good."
Dean raised an eyebrow and looked at his brother, a smile playing on his lips.
"What are we going to get, each other's names in little love hearts?" He laughed at his own joke.
Sam watched his brother, the lines around his eyes crinkling as he tossed his head back in a full guffaw. Sam had missed Dean's laugh. Dean's laugh was one of his favourite things.
"No, smart ass, I don't know, just something to remind us where we've been and where, um, we've decided to go… I don't know, it was just a thought…" Sam looked away and stared out the window.
Dean studied his brother out of the corner of his eye, before turning his attention back to the road.
...
The case was done with and they were packing up their motel room when Sam brought up the tattoo again.
"So I checked out that local tattoo shop, it's got a pretty good reputation, some great online reviews."
Dean was shoving clothes into his duffle, sniffing things to decide if they go in the dirty end or clean end.
"Yeah? You still want to get that tattoo huh?" He sat on the end of the bed and looked at Sam.
"Yeah, I mean…yeah, if you do?"
Dean shrugged, "Yeah, I think it's a good idea."
"You do?"
"Yeah… I do. What were you thinking? You got some idea?"
"Um, yeah, a quote actually. I thought it was kind of fitting."
"Lay it on me." Dean said, motioning with his hands.
Sam cleared his throat. "The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong."
Dean stared at his brother for the longest moment. Sam looked back at him with half challenging, half questioning eyes.
"Huh," Dean started, "That's a good quote. Where's that from, a movie or something?"
Sam laughed, "No, it's Ghandi."
"The fruitarian dude?"
"Yeah, the fruitarian dude."
"Wow, you really dig him don't you!" Dean laughed.
"He was a great man, Dean."
"Yeah, I get that." Dean looked down at his body. "I don't know where I'd put it though, it's getting pretty crowded on here." Then he smiled to himself and looked up at Sam, "Do they take walk ins?"
...
The pain was just at that point where it was starting to make him want to flinch. The Ribcage hurts the worst.
"How we doing there, man?" Dean asked, looking down at the angry lettering rising out of his torso.
"Almost done" the artist said, "You should be used to this by the looks of you."
"Yeah, believe me this is nothing, I just get antsy sitting still for too long." Dean lied.
"A-ha" The artist said as he cleaned off the tattoo and gave Dean a look in the mirror.
"Nice work." Dean said.
"Thanks. I'm gonna leave it uncovered, so it can get some air, don't want it to sweat none. Just pat it down if it bleeds, give it a wash in a bit and then put some cream on it. You know the drill."
Dean nodded and slipped the guy a twenty as a tip. "Thanks man, if we pass through here again, we'll drop by."
"How'd it go?" Dean heard Sam say and he turned to see his brother walking out of the shop door.
"Dude had a bit of a heavy hand to be honest, but he did nice work. You?"
"Fine. No problem. Let me see."
Dean looked around the street and quickly pulled up the left side of his t-shirt, showing his brother his new ink.
Sam nodded and did the same.
There was a moment of silence between them.
Dean dropped his t-shirt and started towards the car. "So where to?"
Sam fell in next to him. "There was a report of a couple of unexplained deaths in a town about 200 miles down the road. We should check it out."
"Unexplained deaths." Dean said, "My favourite kind."
...
As they drove away, the sun shone through the car windshield warming Dean's face. He looked over at his brother in the passenger seat beside him. His eyes were closed; he seemed peaceful.
Dean smiled to himself and looked back towards the road. Leaning forward to turn on the radio, he drew in a sharp breath and winced a little. He could feel the tattoo tightening up. He could feel the tattoo starting to throb. Just below his heart.
It felt good.