"Stop being such a baby Sammy." Dean crowed, watching his brother squirming in the chair opposite him. Sam looked up, fixing Dean with the full force of his tried and tested bitchface.
------
Dean drove away from Ohio deep in thought, the demoness, Casey, had said some stuff, and no matter what Bobby had told him, Dean knew he was in deep shit, and that the only light at the end of the tunnel was hot and red.
------
"Listen Sam, I've been thinking,"
Sam sniggered and Dean shot him a glare, "I'm serious dude. Casey told me some things."
"She was a demon Dean, they lie, they can't be trusted." Sam cut in.
"And yet that blonde bitch of yours is still breathing. But that's another matter. As I was saying, Casey told me that things are gonna get pretty bad between now and when I..." Dean's voice tailed off for a second. He cleared his throat of the lump that had formed there are the thought of his impending fate and continued.
"Yeah, so far, those amulets Bobby gave us seem to have worked, but I was considering something more powerful, and more permanent."
Sam looked sidelong at his brother "Permanent in what way Dean?"
------
"Y'know, this wasn't entirely what I had in mind," Dean replied, looking suspiciously at Bobby.
"Well, if you want protection, this is the best thing I know of," The gruff man replied, tapping the book that lay open on the study table between them.
Dean lifted and eyebrow quizzically and then thought better of the smartass comment that was on this tip of his tongue.
"If you think it'll work?"
Bobby nodded and Dean took his leave, time to convince Sam of the plan.
------
"Sam, it's from the Key of Solomon, we've been using similar stuff for years. It's legit, I checked it out." Dean felt like he was almost pleading with his brother for something that should have been a total no-brainer. Why Sam was being so resistant to the idea of magical protection Dean couldn't figure. After a week long possession during which he had killed a fellow hunter, surely Sam would be all in for this.
Sam sighed deeply, "Fine, if you've checked it out then I guess it's okay by me."
"Don't do me any favours Sam." Dean muttered, he was pissed off at the events of the previous week, and Bela's conniving schemes. First screwing them over for the Hand of Glory, and then selling them out to Gordon, not to mention getting the Impala towed, that had pretty much taken the cake. At least Gordon's attack seemed to have helped Sam agree to the protection idea.
------
Dean hung up the payphone handset, closed the yellow pages and put it back on the shelf. He slid back the door of the booth and stepped out to where Sam waited.
"I found someone who is able to do the work for us, there's a cost, but it's minimal. He's some way off but we can be there in a week."
"And he's willing to see us, and do this over the Holidays?"
"He's pagan, his holidays are over already."
Sam nodded, "Okay, then let's get going."
------
Dean glanced around at his surroundings and noted with distaste some pagan looking artifacts in the room, his suspicions were confirmed when Sam tapped him on the shoulder and pointed at the altar on the far wall.
"I'm not that kind of witch," their host said, not even looking in their direction.
"You're the witch?" Dean squawked, "Dude, I was expecting you to say it was your wife or something."
"I'm doing the work you need, so obviously I'm the magic user around here," their host turned to face the. He didn't look at all like Dean's mental picture of a witch, ZZ Top beard, faded jeans, a Van Halen t-shirt and a plaid shirt, finished off with a pair of heavy biker boots, he would look more at home at a rock concert than in this tidy suburban home.
He sat down and gestured for Sam and Dean to sit opposite him. As they did so he rolled up his sleeve to show them a tattoo on his inner forearm, a goats head. Dean was already reaching for the holy water flask in his back pocket when the guy rolled up the other sleeve. The tattoo there was a Devil's Trap and a passage of text from the Key of Solomon.
"You might say I'm reformed. So now, show me what you were thinking."
------
"Stop being such a baby Sammy," Dean crowed as he finished unbuttoning his shirt and took it off, draping it over the arm of the chair where it was joined by his t-shirt.
Shivering slightly in the cool air, Dean settled back into his chair to await the needle. Sam waited until their host's back was turned and leant forwards, hissing, "Seriously Dean, tattoos in the back room of some guys house? We could get hepatitis."
"So what, you'd rather we take the guy to a normal tattoo parlour and have him chant over us in public?" Dean's face was stern and his resolve set. They were getting this done, right here and now, and no amount of Sam bitching was going to change that.
The tattooist turned back towards Sam and Dean, his rocker look was gone, the t-shirt surmounted by a purple and gold embroidered tunic. In his hands lay The Key of Solomon, open to the page that they had selected. Slowly he set about tracing the design onto Dean's chest, merely sketching in the outline, but taking care to draw it in the prescribed order. As he drew, he began to speak the words of the incantation that would imbue the tattoos with their protective qualities.
Sam sat and watched as the image took shape on Dean's chest, above his heart, grumbling as he did so, "Fine with the spellwork, don't know why we need the rest."
Dean tried to put his brother's voice out of his mind, tuning it out until the muttering was replaced by the low buzz of the tattoo needle.