I feel someone shaking me awake, and I open my eyes to see Dean. "Hey, wake up, Skylar," he says. I see Sam fast asleep in the passenger seat. It's funny, he snores like a moose, too.
"Where are we?" I ask him, rubbing my eyes. I look around, and I can see it's still in the middle of the night.
"Tattoo parlor somewhere in Kansas," he says. I'm confused. "Yeah, we forgot to mention something kind of important. Demons possess humans, and the only way to keep them from doing so is by having an anti possession symbol permanently etched into your skin. Some people use branding, but tattoos work just as good," he says.
It takes me a while to realize why he just told me that. "So I have to get a tattoo," I realize. Dean nods. I get out of the car and we walk to a really shady looking shack in the middle of downtown somewhere-in-Kansas. "Don't tattoos really hurt?" I ask him.
Dean chuckles. "You just went through getting a knife slowly driven into your heart, and you're worried about a little tattoo." I feel embarrassed for saying what I said, but at the same time, I'm angry at him for making a joke out of that. I stop walking. "Hey, calm down. I'm just trying to lighten the mood a little. I'm sorry," he says. I forgive him instantly, considering he did save my life.
We walk into the shack, where a beefy, motorcycle dude is giving a lady a tattoo in what looks like a very uncomfortable spot. "All done, Shirley," the man says when we walk in, slapping that particular area on the lady. "What can I do for you?" he asks us.
"My daughter would like a tattoo. It's her birthday, you see," Dean starts rambling on, but the tattoo guy cuts him off.
"Don't need to hear any stories. Give me money, and I'll give you a tattoo. Simple as that," he says. Dean and I are kind of stunned, but impressed at the same time. "Got a design you want?" he asks me. I gesture towards Dean, who hands the man a piece of paper with a weird symbol.
"Okay. Come sit over here, sweetheart," the man says, going towards a chair. I look at Dean with a terrified expression.
"Is it alright if I stay next to her? First tattoo, and she's a little antsy," Dean explains. The tattoo artist shrugs, and says that Dean'll have to sit on the floor. I sit on the wooden chair that reminds me an awful lot of the blood soaked chair from earlier. Dean's on the ground and he's almost as tall as I am.
The tattoo artist asks where I want the tattoo, and I say on my shoulder. I take off my leather jacket and roll up my left sleeve. "If it hurts, you can squeeze my hand. Just try not to break it, okay?" Dean asks, giving me a smile. I nod and take the hand he held out for me.
The thing I hated most about getting that tattoo was the noise. The pain wasn't even that bad. The noise could have driven me into insanity. The only reason why I squeezed Dean's hand so hard was because of the goddamned noise. "It doesn't hurt, Dean. The noise," I say to him over and over again. It takes me ten times to get him to believe me.
I feel strange for not crying. Not because of the pain in my arm, but for what just happened a couple hours ago. I saw my parents murdered right in front of my eyes. According to all the movies and TV I've ever seen, I should be bawling my eyes out right now. But for some reason, all I can think about is that noise of the tattoo machine. I love my whole family, well, I suppose it's loved now. So why am I not crying?
I don't bring it up to Dean, mostly because I barely know him. I don't know why I trust this man so much-he could be a serial killer and I wouldn't know. I mean, he saved my life and all, but he killed the things that were trying to kill me. Wouldn't that make him a murderer?
Then I remember that those things weren't people. Demons. Who even believed in demons? The closest thing anyone believed in were ghosts. Demons? How is it possible that my family was slaughtered by things that only exist in horror stories? I decide to push the whole demon thing into the back of my mind, because too much is going on right now.
I look at the finished product on my arm. It hurts a little, but it feels like a pin prick in comparison to my earlier experience with things going into my flesh. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" Dean says when we walk back to his car-a really awesome '67 chevy impala. The only reason why I know what it's called is because Dean won't shut up about his precious car. When we're walking, I'm pretty sure I hear him call it baby several times.
"I think I understand why you don't have a girlfriend," I say just before I get in the car. Dean looks at me, intrigued that I've got it all figured out. "You're too much in love with your car to have a real relationship," I say.
Dean laughs. "You know, Skylar, you're a pretty cool kid," he says. It feels nice to hear something like that. I'm happy because I know that this man, the man who's going to take care of me and quite possibly become my new family, is a really awesome person.
Sam is awake when I come in the car. "Why are we here? Shouldn't we be moving?" he asks Dean.
"She needed an anti possession symbol," Dean says, shrugging.
Sam's eyes widen. "You can't give an eleven year old a tattoo!" he exclaims.
"Sure you can. Show him your tattoo, sweetie," Dean says to me. I show Sam my shoulder, and he groans. "Sam, she needs to be protected against demons. Would you like it if Crowley possessed her?" Dean asks.
"Okay, I see your point. Still, she's eleven. It just seems wrong," Sam says. Dean shrugs. "Skylar, why don't you get some sleep? It's been a long day. Dean, you really should sleep, too. I can drive," Sam says. Dean doesn't argue and switches seats with the moose.
I put my head down on my brother's old soccer bag and try to sleep. I'm exhausted, but I can't stop thinking about where my life is heading. Will I even continue school? I'm in sixth grade at the moment, and I'd really begun to love Pre Algebra, which is strange, but true. I love finding the value of x-it makes so much sense.
About half an hour after I try to go to sleep, I'm still awake. Sam starts talking to Dean "How is she not falling apart? Most kids would be bawling their eyes out right now," he says.
"Maybe we shouldn't talk about that until we're sure she's asleep," Dean objects.
Sam looks over his shoulder at me quickly. "Nah, she's fast asleep," he says. Idjits…
"Skylar's a tough kid. I don't know how she's keeping it all in, though. If I saw my whole family slaughtered, I would lose it. She lost her brother, man," Dean says. You can tell that Dean really sympathizes.
"You sold your soul to bring me back, remember? Do you ever think it would be better if you just let me die? You wouldn't have had to be in hell for four months," Sam says.
"You're my brother, Sammy. I don't regret anything. Besides, you were in Lucifer's cage for over a year to save the world." I don't understand what that means, but I keep listening anyway.
"Dean, I was the reason the apocalypse started. If I hadn't killed Lilith, you wouldn't have had soulless Sam and you wouldn't have had to get me out of Hell. You wouldn't have had to make a deal with Death, and none of that crap would have happened. I wouldn't have been in the psychiatric ward of a hospital if Lucifer wasn't in my head. It was all my fault," Sam says.
"I'm not going to argue with you, because it's pointless, so let's bring the conversation back to Skylar. What do you think's gonna happen with her?" Dean asks.
"I think that she'll eventually break down. She can't hold it in forever, Dean," Sam says, which I reason is most likely true.
"I'll be there for her when the wall does come down. She needs someone, especially now," Dean says. I feel really touched by this. But I keep asking myself why this man is being so kind to me.
Sam apparently thinks the same thing I do. "Why are you being so kind to her, Dean? She's a complete stranger," he says.
"We didn't get there fast enough to save her family. If we had got there, just half an hour earlier, she might still have her parents. It's our fault that she has nothing," Dean says.
"You can't blame yourself," I say. They turn around really quickly. "It's not your fault," I say.
"Good job making sure she's asleep, Sammy," Dean says angrily. "Go back to sleep, Skylar," he tells me.
I sit up. "No, Dean. It's not your fault that my parents are dead. If you hadn't come, I would be dead. You can't blame yourself for not saving enough people. Be happy that you saved at least one person," I say. I wasn't angry at Dean at all. I didn't blame him one bit, because it truly wasn't his fault. Most people would just leave situations alone and let everyone die before risking their own lives. He saved my life, and so what he couldn't save my family's life? It's not like it's his fault. Besides, he's making up with it by taking care of me.
"Skylar, your parents could still be alive if we arrived just half an hour earlier. Doesn't that mean anything?" Dean asks me.
I hate thinking about that, but I do, and I know there's nothing that can be done about it now. "You can't change the past, so don't dwell on it. The only thing you can do anything about is my future, so don't leave me on the corner of the street or anything."
"Are you sure you're eleven? You seem so much older than that," Dean says.
I shrug, "I've read a lot of books, and the last couple hours have changed me quite a lot. I don't feel eleven, though. That's for sure," I say.
Dean is silent for a long time. When he finally speaks, he says, "Skylar, you should really sleep." I know he's not going to say anymore, so I lay my head down on the duffle bag and try to sleep. After about fifteen minutes, I am asleep.