Mac spent the day on his tablet and leafing through the newspapers he brought back. Sam and Dean were in and out, running around to get things they needed for the … whatever the hell it was they wanted to do later … okay, fine … for the summoning. They wanted to summon a demon.
Mac had eaten what felt like half a bottle of Advil when the other guys weren't looking and was resting his head against his hand rereading a paragraph for about the fifth time because the headache he'd gotten from staring at this stuff all day and thinking about things like 'summoning' and 'demon' as real was epic.
The second one also made him feel like he'd swallowed a block of frozen soda full of Poprocks.
Jack was doing his level best to help out Sam and Dean, but he didn't leave with them. Instead he cleaned the Winchesters' messy hotel room, organized Mac's papers, called the office to check in, and then stretched out on the bed pretending to sleep. Finally, Mac had enough.
"You can stop pretending to nap, Jack," he said without looking up from what he was doing.
He heard Jack sigh.
"Maybe I was napping and you just woke me up to snatch my head off."
Mac shook his head with a sigh of his own. "You haven't dozed off even once. I know this because for one, when you're really asleep, you snore, and for another you keep looking at me. I see you out of the corner of my eye every time you do it … which is a lot … and seems kind of obsessive … and it's creeping me out."
Jack sat up. "You sure it's not that you're just creeped out about … You know …"
Mac put down the paper he was looking at and turned in his seat to face Jack. "Of course I'm creeped out by all this. It's … a lot. Too much. But it exists so … There's no point in dwelling on it," he said with his characteristic assurance.
Jack could picture yet another box in Mac's mind, wrapped up in duct tape, being tossed into a deep well. Thing was, and he'd tried to tell Mac before, the problem with just dumping things you didn't want to deal with was that eventually the box decayed and … Sarah had once made some metaphor about Pandora to get Jack to talk to a real therapist, but he couldn't remember it now, so it was no good to him.
Instead of trying to get Mac to deal with what he must be feeling Jack just said, "You're probably right, bud." Mac cocked and eyebrow at him, but didn't say anything. Jack took that as a cue that Mac was okay to keep talking. "You find anything?"
Mac nodded vaguely, glancing at the computer for a moment and shuffling the papers around again. "There's any number of things in mythology that behave the way … whatever that thing was … did. So, it's not like I've narrowed the field yet."
Jack got up and joined Mac at the table. Mac shifted in his seat almost like he was uncomfortable with the proximity. Jack frowned. "You doin' okay, bud?"
Mac rubbed his forehead and then ran the hand through his hair, unaware that it made him look like he just woke up, or not caring if he did know it. "I … I've been researching demons, demonology, exorcism, all that sort of thing, more than anything," he said, almost like he was admitting to a crime.
"Okay," Jack said, nodding perfectly agreeably. "But that doesn't answer my question."
"I'm fine. I already told you."
"Really?" Jack raised an eyebrow.
Mac got up, almost angrily and started pacing the small motel room.
Jack didn't move, but his eyes tracked Mac's every move. He shouldn't have pushed, but he knew all too well that emotionally unbalanced was a good way to invite possession and if they were really going to go summon a demon, he didn't care what kind of precautions his cousins thought they were taking, he wasn't about to see Mac vulnerable to that sort of experience if he could help it.
His partner was still having some pretty terrible nightmares from the Murdoc incident and possession went well beyond the violation of kidnapping and even torture. He couldn't even contemplate what that would do to Mac.
Finally, Mac threw his hands up in the air in total frustration. "What do you want to hear, Jack? That I'm not okay? Not even a little? That I've felt like my brain is caught in a blender since we walked into that filthy dive bar? That I've got the worst headache of my life and it's nothing I can do anything about, because I know it isn't even physical? Fine! You got it! I'm so far from okay, I don't even know what zip code I'm in!"
Suddenly Mac sunk down onto the foot of the bed, rested his elbows on his knees, and put his head in his hands.
"How do you even live with knowing all this is real? How do you even …" he trailed off, shaking his head, but not lifting it.
Jack got up and went over to his partner. He nudged Mac, who scooted over to make room, but still didn't change his position much. Carefully, allowing him plenty of time to shrug him off or tell him not to, Jack put an arm around Mac's shoulders.
"Kid, you've seen how I deal with it. Badly. I'm scared shitless half the time. I think once of the reasons I went Delta, said yes to CIA, and then to DXS was … Well, if I'd done anything different, I might have a lot of time on my hands. Time to think. And man, oh man, thinking has been about my least favorite thing to do since I found all this stuff out. Moving, doing, those are okay. But knowing all this … Heaven … Hell … It's … It's hard. I don't know how Sam and Dean do it and still function like they do, because for them, it's their whole lives."
Mac nodded, now rubbing his temples.
"And if you want to get out of here, that's okay, man. I'll drive you back to Brownsville and put you on a plane home. I've got to help them out, because I promised if they ever needed me, I would. But you didn't, and they shouldn't have involved you. I so pissed off that they did, I want to relieve those guys of a few of their teeth. Well, Dean anyway. After that thing got ahold of you last night, I wanted to take you to the airport then, but I also know how you are and if I just bossed you around you'd get all stubborn and refuse to leave. So, I'm askin' instead. You wanna go home, kid?"
Mac took his hands away from his face and sat of straight, turning to look at Jack. "No. No, I'll stay."
"You don't have to, bud … This is dangerous and …"
"Wookie life debt, Jack," Mac said, his lips curving into a real, fond smile.
"Just because I swore one to you … You've saved my life more damned times than I can …"
"So've you. Two-way street, Big Guy. I'm not leaving you here." He sighed. "I'll be okay. I've got to learn to live with it one way or the other anyway."
Jack was going to say something else, when the door just banged open. Both he and Mac jumped. Neither one of them had heard the key hit the lock.
"Alright, ladies. Time to get the show on the road!" Dean said, in what Mac thought was entirely too loud a voice.
Sam's expression said he agreed with Mac, when the youngest member of the group said, "Do you have to yell?"
"I'm not yellin'!" Dean said defensively, and not much more quietly. "But we need to get a move on."
Jack frowned. "I thought we weren't heading out to the crossroad spot you guys picked until after dark."
"We're not," Sam supplied, throwing Dean a look. "But we have some things we need to do before we go."
He looked almost reluctant to explain himself further.
"I thought you guys didn't want us along until you had everything you need," Mac said, raising an eyebrow with an expression that was almost a challenge.
"We didn't. We have everything we need. But, you guys don't."
"Spit it out Dean," Jack snapped, starting to lose patience with his cousin.
"We scoped out a good clean place to take you guys." Dean undid one of his shirt buttons and pulled his collar open. "You need a little preventative body modification before we go out there."
"Huh?" Jack and Mac said at the same time, squinting at the symbol Dean had revealed high on the left side of his chest.
"Anti-possession tattoo," Sam answered. "It's the only foolproof protection against demons that we've found."
Mac snorted derisively. "I am not getting a tattoo."
"You sure as hell are," Dean said with a little heat. He knew how pissed Jack was about him involving his younger partner and he wasn't going to be responsible for some asshole demon wearing the kid like a sock puppet. And he didn't trust anything they could get by summoning, especially based on their plan. Besides, if the thing that had set its sights on the kid last night really was a demon, they needed assurance that it couldn't get hold of him again. "It's the safest thing …"
Mac shook his head. "I'm not doing something permanent to my body for this. That's crazy."
Jack laughed. "Mac feels pretty strongly about ink. Our whole squad tried to convince him to get matching ones with us back in the day and he was havin' none of it."
Mac laughed a little too at the memory. Even way too much booze into a night on leave it had still seemed like a terrible idea. "I'm still having none of it," he said definitively.
Dean stood in front of him then, face contorted into an expression that said he was both irritated but also worried. Sam had to cover up a smile. That face was way too familiar. "Listen, Mac, I appreciate this whole Boy Scout look you've got goin' I do. And I can even appreciate not wanting to get inked because, well, it hurts, and I thought it was kinda nasty."
Sam interrupted. "It's doesn't really hurt that much."
"But it is nasty," Dean said, throwing his brother a glare. "It's just, it's really the only reliable way to stay safe dealing with demons."
"Safe?" Mac asked, his expression starting to be more contemplative and less stubborn.
"From possession, like we said," Dean answered, but he managed to not sound quite as irritated or pushy, reminding himself that this was all very new to Mac, and his brain was filled with practical science, not philosophy or religion. Even Jack, who'd been raised to believe in the next life had struggled and Mac, well, Mac seemed like he believed in things like math. Which didn't actually require belief.
Mac frowned, thinking. "Is it the symbol itself, or is there something about it being embedded in your skin?"
Sam answered, sitting down on the corner of the other bed. "It's the symbol, but … the tattoo means it can't be broken, or snatched away, or lost, or …"
"A tattoo could be burned off, scarred into broken lines, the ink could bleed … It's not foolproof," Mac pointed out. Both the Winchesters looked uncomfortable. They hadn't necessarily looked at it like that.
Jack spoke again, a hand on Mac's shoulder. "Seems like it might be a good idea though, if you're really going to stay here, bud. Besides, chicks love tattoos."
Mac shook his head. "I don't like the idea of doing anything I can't get rid of, especially since we don't necessarily have any evidence that it's foolproof."
Sam was the one to speak again. "It's like a vaccine. Sure, it might not be a hundred percent effective for everyone all the time, but the best evidence we have says they work, right?"
"Yeah?" Mac said, both agreeing and questioning the metaphor all at the same time.
"So just because you might be the tiny part of the population a particular vaccine might not work on, you gonna skip one?"
Mac smiled and shook his head. "Obviously not, but … this isn't even remotely scientific." Sam looked prepared to take up the effort to convince him, but Mac's expression brightened. "For now, how about just a real heavy-duty skin staining permanent ink, while I think it over?" He was looking around the room. "I could burn some paper to make lampblack … The gas station has eggs and honey … I bet that arts and crafts store up the street has gum Arabic; I saw calligraphy supplies in the window when we walked by …"
"Or we could just use this Sharpie," Dean said with a little shake of his head, tossing the pen to Mac from inside his jacket pocket.
"Perfect!" Mac said with a grin.
"You knew off the top of your head how to make homemade permanent ink?" Sam asked with a little disbelief in his voice.
"This guy could DIY his way to Mars," Jack replied with no small measure of pride.
"Does it matter where we draw it?" Jack asked.
"Over your heart is supposed to be the best place," Dean answered. He took the marker back from Mac and handed it to Sam. "You're the artist in the family, kid."
Sam shrugged. "Who wants to go first?"
Mac saw the look Jack was giving him. His partner wouldn't be comfortable until there was at least temporary insurance against some demon … Ugh. He couldn't even finish the thought. He sighed and pulled his t-shirt off over his head. Jack got up and moved over to the other bed to sit and Sam sat down next to Mac, uncapping the marker.
"What the hell happened to you, man?" he asked, indicating the scar on Mac's chest.
Mac gave a little shake of his head. "I got shot."
"Yeah, I can see that," Sam replied, "Missed your heart by …"
"Not by much," Mac finished for him. "If this little art project works maybe I will think about a tattoo. Over that."
"I can imagine you wouldn't want a reminder of almost getting taken out every time you take a shower, Mac," Sam said with some sympathy as he started to draw the image of the protection symbol over the scar.
"Especially since his ex is responsible," Jack said, frowning again at the reminder of Lake Como, and even more at the reminder of how easily Mac had almost let Nikki back into his life during the Chrysalis crisis. Fortunately, nothing ever seemed to happen after that. Which Jack was grateful for. He didn't trust Nikki, and if he was honest, he never really had.
Dean smirked and sat down next to Jack. "You almost got ganked by an ex? And you lived to tell the tale. That's kinda badass, kid."
Mac wanted to laugh, but stepped on the urge. He didn't want to screw up Sam's work. "Ganked?"
"Yeah. What?" Dean asked.
"That's not even a word."
"Sure it is, Mac. Jack used your name as a verb like three times last night while you were out cold, so I figure you're open minded about the English language."
"Damn it, Jack, what have I said about that?" Mac said with a suppressed sigh.