Fic: Thanks, Jerry (Sam/Dean, PG)

[smalltrolven]

Title: Thanks, Jerry

Author: smalltrolven

Pairing: Sam/Dean

Rating: PG

Wordcount: 2,170

Warnings: None, except spoilers for season 15.

Author’s Note: Not my characters, only my words. Written for the spn-Be-Mine 2020 comment meme for this great anonymous prompt: Sam or Dean gets a special tattoo, because it's hard to say "I love you" out loud.

Summary: Dean gets a wrist tattoo, and Sam reacts when he figures out what it says.

Read it over on AO3 right here.

~❤️~❤️~❤️~❤️~❤️~❤️~❤️~❤️~❤️~❤️~

It was itchy, so itchy he had to force himself to keep holding his coffee cup with both hands so he wouldn’t scratch and mess it all up. He’d forgotten how much new tattoos itched. It had been a few years (what like fifteen or something right?) since he’d gotten his first and only tattoo done, right over his heart. He still remembered Sam’s face when he’d suggested that particular placement. That look had been a combination of the big brother worship he’d been missing and something new. Something like that four letter word they never said out loud to each other. Just in case the bad guys could use it against them. That was the story he’d always told himself, that was the reason he couldn’t say it, couldn’t risk it, gotta keep Sammy safe.

That was the biggest reason he had gotten this second tattoo, to make it obvious and plain to Sam (and himself), without having to say the actual words out loud. Plus it looked cool too, just like he’d hoped it would. He gently thumbed over his wrist, over the words and shapes that were now there, sunk into his skin permanently. His thumb rested on his pulse point, feeling his own pulse race just at the thought of what Sam would do when he saw the tattoo.

Another reason for the tattoo was as a reminder for himself, so that he could remember when he started going down the self-hating track. He wanted to have the words—Sam’s words would be right there, on Dean’s own skin to read anytime he needed them.

He hadn’t thought too much about what Sam would say or do when he saw the tattoo. Of course he would notice, Sam didn’t miss much, especially when it was anything about Dean. But his brother was pretty wrapped up with getting Eileen settled into being alive again and all. He drained the rest of his coffee and tried not to let his imagination run wild on that subject.

That was the other reason he’d gotten the tattoo, not that he’d ever admit this to Sam, but Dean was jealous. And he knew he didn’t have a right to be, he knew that he and Sam weren’t that to each other, (Were they?) They didn’t have some iron clad agreement to be monogamous or whatever. Even though neither of them had taken advantage of that specific clause in their non-existent relationship contract in quite a while.

He snorted to himself about the idea of trying to write down and codify what he and Sam had agreed on when it came to all the relationship stuff. Like even calling it a relationship in the first place. Even though it totally was. It wasn’t like they’d ever even had a conversation about the rules for them. Dean knew it was silly, wishing there was a way for him to veto Sam having anything at all with Eileen. That’s why he’d tried so hard to make himself push Sam towards her, Sam so rarely took advantage of their open relationship. (If that’s what they had?)

Dean knew he had to stop thinking about nailing down or trying to quantify what they had together. He thumbed over each of the words again—Sam’s words, and thought how wrong it was to even try. Whatever he came up with, it could never be big enough. Sam was the center of everything for him, and what they had meant everything to him. Sometimes it was hard to imagine it was the same for Sam, or to trust him that it was. That was why he’d chosen these words to encircle his wrist for the rest of his life. Hopefully he could remember. He needed to remember.

We’re the guys who break the rules. But I can’t do it without you. I need my brother. ~ S.W.

The S.W. was centered on his pulse point, it was the only part of the words that was clearly visible in the rest of the design of the tattoo bracelet. The scrolling vines and leaves and symbols obscuring the things that his brother had said that had made his heart soar like it hadn’t in years and years. He’d traced the S.W. from the place where Sam had carved it into their library table and given it to the tattoo artist to use.

Sam might not remember even saying those words to him, but Dean would never be able to forget them now.

“Hey, I’m back. What is that?” Sam asked, setting down the canvas shopping bag on the counter. Dean could hear the clinking of beer bottles which instantly got his hopes up. His coffee cup was empty, apparently it was time to switch over to beer.

“Oh, hey, it’s a…just got a tattoo,” Dean said, turning his wrist this way and that so Sam could see the whole thing.

Sam set two beer bottles on the table and grabbed Dean’s arm to stop him, he turned it slowly, his eyes darting back and forth as he teased out the meaning of the words.

“This…I said this,” Sam said. “I said this to you.” He sank down into the chair across from Dean but didn’t let go of his arm, if anything he held on even tighter.

“Don’t worry, I attributed it to you. See—right here?” Dean said, turning his hand over within Sam’s grip and pointing at the S.W. tattooed on the thin skin on the underside of his wrist.

Sam’s thumb rubbed over the S.W., then slowly circled the letters, over and over. Dean’s belly swooped with the feeling of never wanting him to stop.

“Right there, I’m right there on you, forever,” Sam said in this almost whisper that made Dean shiver.

“Yeah, that’s nothing new really, you just can see it now,” Dean said with a shrug, knowing that was way too close to the real truth to have said it out loud like that.

Sam’s eyes flicked up to his in surprise and then narrowed slightly, assessing and examining. Dean looked back at him, trying to have a neutral expression on his face. He couldn’t help waggling his eyebrows to crack Sam out of the moment.

“Dean, you—“ Sam cut himself off, his hand was still holding Dean’s wrist, his grip warm and strong.

“What?” Dean asked, trying to tug his arm away, but not really trying.

“Why?” Sam asked, not letting go, even pulling Dean closer to him across the table.

Dean searched Sam’s face for clues, was he getting mad or was it something else? “Why what? Why’d I get the tattoo?”

Sam nodded but didn’t say anything more.

“I uh…had some spare time while you were gone, had a few at the bar in town the other night, and Jerry mentioned he had a cancellation.”

“You mean Jerry from the gas station, the mechanic?”

“Yeah, and he’s also a tattooist. He’s always been booked up when I’ve tried before, but this time it worked out.”

“You’ve wanted to get this done for a while then?” Sam asked, fingers tapping their way all around Dean’s wrist.

“I had wanted a wrist tattoo for a while, yeah. But then, you said this and I thought—well I thought, I really want to remember that. Seemed like a tattoo right there where I can see it would help.”

“Hard to miss,” Sam said.

“Yeah,” Dean said, wishing he could tell Sam the rest of his reasons.

“What would you say to me getting one of those done too?” Sam asked, looking up at him suddenly, a spark of little-brother challenge in his eyes.

“With the same words?” Dean asked, confused at why Sam would want that on his skin.

Sam finally let go of Dean’s arm and sat back in his chair. He fiddled with the beer bottles and popped the tops. He drank from his own and set it down on the table with a small click. “No, I would use something you said to me not that long ago. I wrote it down in my journal, but I like your idea of having it visible, right there on my wrist.”

Dean ran his hand over the places his brother had just been holding him, skin warm and tingling, already missing his touch. At least it wasn’t itchy any more. “What…what was it that I said?” Dean asked. “I mean, I say lots of shit, but what would be worth having on you like this?” He picked up his beer bottle and drained about half of it, not sure if he wanted to hear what Sam would come up with.

“It was when Dad was here, we were doing the dishes and you said, ’I’m good with who I am. I’m good with who you are. ‘Cause our lives – they’re ours.’ Or maybe I’d go with something like, ‘So you and me versus every soul in Hell? I like those odds’,” Sam said with a nod that turned into a shrug that was trying too hard to seem casual, but he was wearing his serious as a heart-attack face. “Either one of those would work.”

“I really said those things?” Dean asked. “And you remember them?” Dean picked up his beer again and drained the rest of it as he thought about that strange brief time when both of their parents had been here with them.

“Yeah, Dean, you said both things and of course I remember them, you’re the one saying them to me.”

“It’d be okay with me, Sammy, I can set it up with Jerry if you want,” Dean said.

“Did you get my initials off the table or out of the Impala?” Sam asked.

“Traced them off the table, figured I should go with the grown-up version,” Dean said, touching the S.W. again, he wondered if the ink would wear off too quickly from all the touching before it was fully healed.

“It’s hard to explain what it’s doing to me, seeing my own writing on you like this,” Sam said, voice strained. “It looks like I’ve put my claim on you, like it’s saying you’re mine. I like it though, more than I probably should.”

Dean felt himself go hot all over in one of those embarrassing flushes only Sam ever provoked. “I …I uh guess that it does feel like a claim, but in a good way, not like ownership or anything weird like that. (It wouldn’t be much of a lie though) It’d be cool if you used my initials on your tattoo too. But only if you want to.”

“Oh you’d like that, huh? Finally get the chance to mark me as yours, huh?” Sam teased.

Dean looked across the table and smiled at Sam, he looked so young when he teased like this, especially saying something so vulnerable. “Yeah, you are mine, why not make it official?” Dean asked.

“Official? Should I just go ahead and get a heart tattooed around the D.W. then?” Sam asked with a smirk.

“Sure, if that’s what you want,” Dean said. “I bet it’d look real pretty on you right here.” He reached out and turned Sam’s left hand over on the table, slowly tracing a heart over his pulse point with his thumb.

“I asked you,” Sam said, not teasing now.

“Yeah, you should,” Dean said, re-tracing the heart.

“Okay,” Sam said, reaching out for Dean’s tattooed wrist.

“Just like that?” Dean asked.

Sam leaned over the table, came in close and kissed him, hard and intense, claiming even. His thumb still rubbed over the S.W. on Dean’s wrist. He broke away from Dean’s lips and looked at him, eyes delving into what felt like Dean’s soul. “Yeah, just like that.”

“What about, you know…” Dean trailed off, not really wanting to bring her name up at the moment, but it felt like this was something like a last chance for Sam, a decision point.

“Who, Eileen?” Sam asked with a sigh. “I’ve already tried telling you a couple times, it’s not like that for me, not with her. I know you wanted me to try or whatever, but she’s not who I want, Dean.”

“Well, then who is then?” Dean asked, trying not to smile or whoop with joy at Sam’s words.

“I’ve already got him,” Sam said, kissing him again, this time soft and slow, making Dean ache with the wanting that flared up deep inside. “Got my mark on him and everything, so everyone will know he’s taken.”

Sam’s thumb circled around the S.W., right over his pulse point again, and Dean knew he would never ever regret getting this tattoo.

~❤️~❤️~❤️~❤️~❤️~❤️~❤️~❤️~❤️~❤️~