Adopted by The Winchesters

Chapter 21

BLAZE'S POV

Today was the day Sam and Dean were scheduled to get tattoos. Climbing out of the Impala, the three of us glanced quickly at the parlor, a neon sign with "House of Ink" flashing in the window.

I had made sure to research it in advance for quality and price, and House of Ink was the best choice.

"You guys ready?" I asked the Winchester brothers.

"Yeah," Dean replied. "Hey, I wonder how much I could pay the artist to draw a dick on Sam."

"That's not funny, Dean!" the younger Winchester protested, but I could see the slight hints of a smile on his face. That smile was much more apparent on mine.

"You dorks... Let's just get this over with," I suggested with a roll of your eyes. Digging in my pocket, I produced the image of the anti-possession symbol that Sam had drawn up as a guideline, and the three of us went inside.

The parlor smelled faintly of smoke as we walked inside. The bell above the door rang, and 80's rock in a back room could be heard, but was quickly switched off. The artist came to meet them.

"What can I do for you today?" he asked. He was a stocky man in a muscle tank, covered in piercings and tattoos.

"'Girls, Girls, Girls' by Mötley Crüe," Dean said with a grin of approval and a nod toward the back room. "Man, that song never gets old."

"They both want this on their chests," I interjected, cutting Dean's fangirling short.

"Alright," the artist replied, taking the drawing and inspecting it. "Color or black ink?"

"Just black is fine," Sam told him.

Once the artist had gotten his tools set up, he patted a leather chair. "Who's first?"

"You're up, Sammy," Dean encouraged, pushing Sam toward the chair. Sam gave a hesitant look, but settled into the seat, taking off his shirt to reveal his toned chest. The artist turned on the needle and pressed it into Sam's skin.

"Ow!" he exclaimed, forcing himself not to jump. I winced a little bit; I've never liked needles in the first place.

"Oh don't be such a baby about it," Dean said casually, flipping through a Sports Illustrated. "It's just a little pinch."

"Jerk," Sam replied, gritting his teeth.

"Bitch."

Before long, Sam had finished, and it was Dean's turn. He removed his shirt and layed back in the chair. The needle entered his skin.

"Son of a bitch!" he shouted.

"Don't be such a baby about it, Dean," Sam mocked.

"Shut up, I wasn't expecting it," argued Dean.

I laughed.

"Yeah, okay," I retorted sarcastically.

He shot me a look. "I'm gonna come over there and punch you."

The artist finished Dean's tattoo soon afterward, and the reddened areas around both tattoos were cleaned up. Sam paid the artist and they left.

"No more possession for us," Sam said satisfied with the job the artist had done.

"God, I sure hope not," Dean replied. He turned around from the driver's seat of the Impala to look at me. "You're next."

"Dean, I'm 12, almost 13, I can't get a tattoo 'til I'm 18."

"When are you 13, Blaze?" Sam asked.

"March 3rd." I stated.

"Two weeks." Said Dean.

"Well done Genius."

"We're celebrating." Dean exclaimed.

"Nope."

"Aw, come on." Sam protested.

"No, uh-uh, not gonna happen. You don't need to do that."

"It's you're first birthday away from your Dad and friends and 13 is an important one. We're celebrating." Dean argued.

"Fine. Not too much though, okay?"

"Okay, now let's go home and watch a movie." Sam said as we drove off down the long, twisting road.