Tattoos

Summary: Charlie decides to get the anti-possession tattoo. A little family fluff between the Winchester siblings.

Disclaimer: Still don't own Charlie. But I do still own my slight [extreme] obsession with her.

Author's Note: Quick and to the point, I'd say. Happy reading!

"Okay, okay, this kind of hurts!" she exclaimed strongly as the needle was inserted into the flesh of her forearm.

"Charlie, you already have a tattoo. Did you really think it'd be less painful the second time around?" Dean asked, sitting in the chair next to the client chair she was currently seated in. He kicked his feet up on the arm of the chair which Charlie then promptly shoved off.

"Dude, I was drunk!" A sudden thought popped in her head and she turned to the tattoo artist. "Hey, do you happen to have any—?"

"Charlie," said both Sam and Dean in perfect unison.

"What?"

"You can't just ask him for alcohol…," Sam said reasonably. He was leaning against the wall on the other side of her.

"Then go get me some!"

"No alcohol on the premises," the tattoo artist said. "It thins the blood."

"I was fine the last time, I'll be fine again."

"Charlie." Both of them again. It was getting a little freaky and a lot annoying.

"But—"

Dean nudged her with his foot, a smirk playing on his face. "Nut up, Bradbury." Even though he knew her real last name, she assumed he still called her that because that was what he knew her as—Charlie Bradbury.

"Don't even start with me, Winchester," she warned him.

Sam looked a little confused. "'Nut up?' Do I want to know?"

"Nope," Dean answered at the same time Charlie replied, "Probably not."

The tattoo artist stared at Charlie and from the look on his face, his patience was running thin. Like her blood if she had had some damn alcohol, apparently. She really would have liked something strong to drink. "Do you need a break or can we continue? You remember that I told you we can't stop once we've started?"

"No, I know. Sorry, I just—no, go on. I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" the artist asked doubtfully.

She nodded, confident in herself. "Totally good."

"You wanted this," Sam reminded her.

"As a precaution you two brought up," she returned.

Dean indicated the tattoo artist meaningfully, who was busy working on her anti-possession tattoo. Right, she thought. Monsters existing… not a well-known fact for most people. Gotta choose words more carefully. Fortunately, the tattoo artist either wasn't listening to her or didn't care enough to ask what she meant.

All was pretty silent for the next few minutes, aside from Charlie's occasional hiss or groan. Her eyes glassed over with unshed tears but she refused to cry. This wasn't her first tattoo; she shouldn't cry over it. She was a practical veteran in the tattoo department. A sober practical veteran who would rather be wasted, but still practically a veteran.

"Hey," Sam said softly. She looked at him. "You got this, Your Highness."

She grinned and nodded. "I know."

Dean reached over and took her hand, giving it a discreet squeeze. More tears threatened to well up at the sweet gesture. "Game on, kiddo," he said quietly. "Now kick it in the ass."

Her grin broadened and she looked down at her almost finished tattoo a bit sheepishly. "Always." She looked back up, the tears dissolving in her eyes. She was glad to have them by her side and not just for the tattoo. They had her back on everything and she couldn't have asked for a better set of friends.

A better set of protectors, even.

Scratch that. A better set of brothers.