Spoilers: I guess officially the anti-possession tattoo isn't mentioned until 3x12, but the setting is after 2x14 "Born Under a Bad Sign"/before 2x21. (I'm saying the guys got their tats not long after the Meg incident—as opposed to during season 3—instead of relying upon the amulets.)

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. Written for fun, not profit.


"I'll Show You Mine"


Dean would have been lying if he said he didn't smile a little wider when he heard that familiar ringtone vibrating against the tabletop—there was only one damn reason for a looping tune by REO Speedwagon to be on his phone and that reason's last name was Harvelle.

Before he answered, he gave the room a once over, as if to remind himself that, yes, his brother was still at the drug store, not the hotel, and, no, he wouldn't have to see the guilt flash across Sam's eyes at the muffled sound of the young woman's voice on the other end of the line. The past was the past, but what Sam—no, what his suit in Meg's hands—had done was something the youngest Winchester wasn't putting to bed any time soon. No matter how many awkward conversations were initiated concerning the possession.

Dean sighed but didn't let the thought destroy his good mood. Jo didn't call. Not him, and not often. But, he had talked to her the day before. Which was why he'd blown off a "prospect" at the local bar tonight, in hopes she would call him back with an update.

"You going to send that fifty my way, or will I have to swing by and pick it up?"

Jo's huff of amusement was a warm welcome. "I don't owe you jack. How's your shoulder doing these days?"

"No shit." Dean stood a little straighter, false awe in his voice as he blatantly ignored her question. "You actually did it?"

"Yup."

Like she was proud. Her momma was going to kill him. Possibly. A worry for another time.

Dean paused to take a swallow of beer. "Bull," he countered, a teasing twitch at the corner of his lips. "Come on, Jo. We all know you chickened out. Just make sure you keep up with that amulet, and you should be fine."

"Oh, I went through with it," she assured. "And you owe me fifty bucks, asshole."

"Yeah, well, seeing is believing, sister. You'll get you cash when I get proof."

Jo was silent a moment, but there was a sing-song quality to her tone when she replied. "I figured you'd say that. Go check your email."

Dean hesitated, letting the words sink in, then dropped down into the seat across from Sam's laptop. He was already typing in his account info. "Why? So I can see how skilled you are with a Sharpie?"

"It's real."

"You just wanting to show off your new web cam? You can charge for that, you know."

"It's real."

"Sure it is. Ash put Photoshop on your computer so you could sucker guys out of money?"

"Ash doesn't know I have this computer, and that's my money now. 'Cause, it's real."

"Yeah. Uh-huh." He snorted for effect, but tried to reign in his humor. He'd admit it; getting Jo worked up was turning into a favorite pastime. "Why didn't you just send the picture on your phone?"

He clicked open the new message in his inbox. If she answered his question, he didn't hear it. Instead, he was leaning forward, inspecting the j-peg attachment. He enlarged it, realized she'd sent it through email so he could do just that, and squinted at the screen.

It hadn't been a surprise that she'd wanted the best protection from demons she could get, after what Meg put her through. When Sam and Dean had contacted her to let her know that they were going to make sure they weren't compromised again, she'd found out about the tattoos. As rebellious as the hunter-to-be was, Jo had been hesitant to mark herself permanently in the "hope" that it would keep a demon from ever taking her skin for a ride.

When she'd called yesterday, announcing she was going through with the ritual and the inking, Dean had called bullshit. Dean had also kissed fifty bucks goodbye. He hadn't known her long, but he knew her attitude well enough: getting her to do what he wanted was an easy hustle.

The picture on the computer screen was tightly cropped around the pentagram tattoo, nearly identical to the matching ink he and Sam had put over their chests. A circle of script, Latin, had been added around the outer reach of the flames, something she probably picked up at the Roadhouse or by the occultist/artist she'd had needle the mark into her skin. The flesh around the black ink was pink, raised, and slick with a thin layer of lotion. Definitely fresh.

"See it?" she asked.

"All this proves is that someone got a tattoo. How do I know it's you?" Dean bit his lip to keep from ruining the accusation with a chuckle.

"Oh, sure, I paid someone to get an anti-possession tattoo just so I could get one over on you." Jo laughed. "You got me, Dean. My evil scheme is foiled."

Then something occurred to him. His eyes swam over the edges of the picture, noticing the curve of the flesh, the softness. Too soft to be her upper chest, too absent of that tempting swell to be her lower chest. "Hey, Jo. Where'd you get this tattoo put?"

"So now you do believe it's me?"

"Seriously, where'd you get it put?"

Jo made a low, humming sound, as if she were considering the answer. "As you know, the location doesn't really matter, so long as it's not somewhere prone to injury. Don't worry, Dean. It's in a safe spot."

It was Dean's turn to huff. He ran a finger over his chin, studying the pale skin, the tiny mole in the right hand corner of the picture. "Jeeze, you didn't get it somewhere lame, like you calve, did you?" But, he already knew that wasn't quite right.

Jo sighed. "I like my shorts, thank you."

"Shoulder?"

"Too easily injured—as you should know."

"Back?"

"I didn't put it where it could be easily spotted."

"Even by a demon?"

"Definitely not by a demon."

And, the way she said that—Dean lifted the phone away from his hear, giving it a surprised look, as if he could see the woman through it. Was she teasing him? Nah. He was the one doing the teasing here. Right?

"Stomach?"

"Too ticklish," Jo admitted. Then she gave a long, breathy chuckle. "I'm not telling you where it is, Dean."

Dean shifted against his seat, a damn-that's-too-interesting heat sinking down his body. His teeth tugged at his bottom lip. Christ, Ellen was going to kill him. But, he couldn't stop himself.

"Will I ever get to see it?" he asked.

Jo hesitated, and that moment of silence left his pants feeling a bit tighter.

"In your dreams," she finally answered, a smile in her voice.

Dean rolled his eyes. He could hear the rumble of his baby outside—Sam was back, and the game was over. He quickly closed the computer window.

He returned the grin he knew she was wearing with a doggish one of his own. "My dreams are going to take that as permission."

"Goodnight, Dean."

"Goodnight, Jo."