Honestly, this wasn't anywhere near as bad as stitching up a wound, but Sam had done that far too many times which somehow made it easier than tracing in a tattoo. But at least he did know how to keep his hands steady.
He managed to settle into it after a minute, though, dotting over the outline and wiping away the ink and few specks of blood as he went along, doing his best to avoid letting his fingers touch anything. He took his eyes off his work to glance up at Dean every so often, but he didn't say anything. Dean didn't seem to be in a chatty mood tonight and Sam opted not to bother him when there was no need to. It wasn't like he was feeling particularly talkative himself, afraid he'd just come off sounding forced. Or say the wrong thing and tip Dean off.
Still, he kind of wished Dean would say something, make it seem more...normal. He had to admit, their brief trip upstairs had felt a little like the way it had been before. Everything. But now he was here, scratching ink into Dean's chest because Dean thought he'd been possessed and Sam didn't know how to tell him otherwise.
And he knew he told himself that it didn't matter, Dean would need the protection regardless, but a part of him knew, too, that it shouldn't have come about this way and he had a feeling that their immediate problem might not be demons anymore. Maybe they were still the core of their problems, but the psychics here...Then again, telling Dean about them wouldn't do any good unless he got Dean to avoid making contact with anyone at all, period. There was no defense against that, not unless you were given a dose of demon blood from the start. Which Dean was still in the dark about.
Though he was probably the only one who was, Sam realized now. Because their dad had known enough, that much was obvious, and Sam couldn't imagine that after twenty years of obsessively tracking the yellow-eyed demon, Dad wouldn't have picked up on what Azazel had been doing to all those children. No, he'd known. And as much as Sam didn't want any of this getting to Dean, he couldn't deny that he kind of hated his dad for having made a policy of telling his sons absolutely nothing for another reason other than how much he'd always hated being kept in the dark like they were useless. Because if Dad had only said something, if he'd come out with the truth to the both of them from the start, then maybe Sam wouldn't have been shafted with the job of trying to figure out how to let Dean know he was a certified freak, complete with demon blood, without Dean looking at him like he—
Sam pulled his attention back to what he was doing and tried to keep his focus there. He decided that for once he probably wouldn't have minded if Dean had wanted to blast his damn Metallica tapes, might've welcomed it, even. Intolerable noises always made for a good distraction.
He didn't pause, but he did ask an almost offhand, "You good?" as he kept on going, just starting to move onto the pentacle of the design.
no subject
He managed to settle into it after a minute, though, dotting over the outline and wiping away the ink and few specks of blood as he went along, doing his best to avoid letting his fingers touch anything. He took his eyes off his work to glance up at Dean every so often, but he didn't say anything. Dean didn't seem to be in a chatty mood tonight and Sam opted not to bother him when there was no need to. It wasn't like he was feeling particularly talkative himself, afraid he'd just come off sounding forced. Or say the wrong thing and tip Dean off.
Still, he kind of wished Dean would say something, make it seem more...normal. He had to admit, their brief trip upstairs had felt a little like the way it had been before. Everything. But now he was here, scratching ink into Dean's chest because Dean thought he'd been possessed and Sam didn't know how to tell him otherwise.
And he knew he told himself that it didn't matter, Dean would need the protection regardless, but a part of him knew, too, that it shouldn't have come about this way and he had a feeling that their immediate problem might not be demons anymore. Maybe they were still the core of their problems, but the psychics here...Then again, telling Dean about them wouldn't do any good unless he got Dean to avoid making contact with anyone at all, period. There was no defense against that, not unless you were given a dose of demon blood from the start. Which Dean was still in the dark about.
Though he was probably the only one who was, Sam realized now. Because their dad had known enough, that much was obvious, and Sam couldn't imagine that after twenty years of obsessively tracking the yellow-eyed demon, Dad wouldn't have picked up on what Azazel had been doing to all those children. No, he'd known. And as much as Sam didn't want any of this getting to Dean, he couldn't deny that he kind of hated his dad for having made a policy of telling his sons absolutely nothing for another reason other than how much he'd always hated being kept in the dark like they were useless. Because if Dad had only said something, if he'd come out with the truth to the both of them from the start, then maybe Sam wouldn't have been shafted with the job of trying to figure out how to let Dean know he was a certified freak, complete with demon blood, without Dean looking at him like he—
Sam pulled his attention back to what he was doing and tried to keep his focus there. He decided that for once he probably wouldn't have minded if Dean had wanted to blast his damn Metallica tapes, might've welcomed it, even. Intolerable noises always made for a good distraction.
He didn't pause, but he did ask an almost offhand, "You good?" as he kept on going, just starting to move onto the pentacle of the design.