Dean took the flashlight, switching his grip on it so it pointed at his chest, over his heart.
Ready? Didn't matter if he was ready or not. Dean forced himself to relax, knowing the worst thing he could do was instinctively tense up and screw up his brother's work. The first prick was about as much fun as getting a big old shot, the ink-tipped needle sinking into his skin. Glancing down, he could see some blood welling up around the metal. Dean forced himself to look at it, remind himself that this was not even touching the tip of the iceberg on worst injuries he'd wracked up - accidental or on purpose - and kept an eye on Sam's hand, holding the flashlight pointed at himself as steadily as he could. Dean didn't think Sam was Van Gogh or anything but drawing a devil's trap didn't require you to be an art student or nothing.
Considering the family business, it surprised him they hadn't thought to do this sooner. What with Dad - well, Dad was Dad and paranoid? Didn't even cover it. He'd taught them everything possible to make sure they survived out there with all the monsters, all that evil...but it looked like he couldn't predict everything. Demons hadn't been as big a problem then as they were now - hell, they'd only had the Demon, with a capital D, and they hadn't even known what it was exactly only a few years ago. Dad, before then, had been the boss, the guy he looked up to and wished all the time Sammy would do the same. Now he had all these doubts, now he kept finding out every day, it seemed, just how much of a man Dad really had been, who could make mistakes and couldn't always roll with the punches. Dad hadn't ever had all the answers, despite what he wanted to believe.
It was just Sammy and him now. Probably too late to say he wasn't gonna go like Dad though. Dean was unusually quiet as he sat there, though part of it was he didn't want to talk and jostle Sam's hand.
Dean hated keeping secrets from Sam - he'd done it all his life, right from the start with hedging around the "where's Mom"s, up to Cold Oak, all to protect Sam. It was a load of crap. Dean knew it now. Sam was a big boy, and Dean wasn't gonna be there forever to keep all the ugly stuff as far from him as he could, so why was he trying to even bother? He couldn't just pull a Dad, up and roll over dead on his kid brother outta the blue like Dad had. Dean still loved the man, but that right there? A dick move. "Asshole" didn't even begin to cover it. Dean chewed his bottom lip as he glanced down at the slow, steady progress Sam was making with the ink and the needle. There was now a line of puncture wounds over his heart.
First thing's first. Make sure he couldn't pose a threat again and couldn't be possessed. Then maybe he'd be able to figure out how he was gonna tell the truth to his brother.
no subject
Ready? Didn't matter if he was ready or not. Dean forced himself to relax, knowing the worst thing he could do was instinctively tense up and screw up his brother's work. The first prick was about as much fun as getting a big old shot, the ink-tipped needle sinking into his skin. Glancing down, he could see some blood welling up around the metal. Dean forced himself to look at it, remind himself that this was not even touching the tip of the iceberg on worst injuries he'd wracked up - accidental or on purpose - and kept an eye on Sam's hand, holding the flashlight pointed at himself as steadily as he could. Dean didn't think Sam was Van Gogh or anything but drawing a devil's trap didn't require you to be an art student or nothing.
Considering the family business, it surprised him they hadn't thought to do this sooner. What with Dad - well, Dad was Dad and paranoid? Didn't even cover it. He'd taught them everything possible to make sure they survived out there with all the monsters, all that evil...but it looked like he couldn't predict everything. Demons hadn't been as big a problem then as they were now - hell, they'd only had the Demon, with a capital D, and they hadn't even known what it was exactly only a few years ago. Dad, before then, had been the boss, the guy he looked up to and wished all the time Sammy would do the same. Now he had all these doubts, now he kept finding out every day, it seemed, just how much of a man Dad really had been, who could make mistakes and couldn't always roll with the punches. Dad hadn't ever had all the answers, despite what he wanted to believe.
It was just Sammy and him now. Probably too late to say he wasn't gonna go like Dad though. Dean was unusually quiet as he sat there, though part of it was he didn't want to talk and jostle Sam's hand.
Dean hated keeping secrets from Sam - he'd done it all his life, right from the start with hedging around the "where's Mom"s, up to Cold Oak, all to protect Sam. It was a load of crap. Dean knew it now. Sam was a big boy, and Dean wasn't gonna be there forever to keep all the ugly stuff as far from him as he could, so why was he trying to even bother? He couldn't just pull a Dad, up and roll over dead on his kid brother outta the blue like Dad had. Dean still loved the man, but that right there? A dick move. "Asshole" didn't even begin to cover it. Dean chewed his bottom lip as he glanced down at the slow, steady progress Sam was making with the ink and the needle. There was now a line of puncture wounds over his heart.
First thing's first. Make sure he couldn't pose a threat again and couldn't be possessed. Then maybe he'd be able to figure out how he was gonna tell the truth to his brother.