Fic: Don't Touch
Author: gestaltrose
Title: Don't Touch 1/5 (complete)
Pairing: Sam/Dean (Supernatural)
Rating: Adult, if you are not old enough don't click
Word count: 2237
Warnings: slash, incest, bad use of norse mythology, if you don't like don't read
Spoilers: some for both seasons as this takes place after season two
Disclaimer: Not mine, just borrowing them for some fun and then I'll return them.
Summary: Sam can't keep his hands in his pockets.
Notes: I wrote this for my Sister-in-law for her birthday. Trust me when I say it will get to NC-17 even if it doesn't start there. Thank you Sunshine for the inspiration and thank you ~biza for the beta.
Part One
“Sam,” Dean said warningly.
“Dean,” Sam replied in the same tone.
“Don’t touch that . . . you don’t know what . . . oh, for Christ’s sake, you idiot.” Dean looked at his brother in exasperation.
Sam stood, transfixed, holding a carving of an otter. His lack of response on the outside was in complete contrast with what was going on inside his head. He was feeling.
Everything, all at once. It was like he had tapped into the emotions of every other person who had ever held this thing. Painful and exhilarating at the same time. Love and hate, happiness and despair, needing and disdain, he was feeling it. Sam could feel his brain shutting down in self-defense. Just before he passed out, he felt Dean. Only, his emotions were much stronger. Feelings of worry, concern and anger followed him into the darkness.
Waking up slowly, Sam lay and evaluated himself. They had been in New England searching down a rumor of a relic that could capture demons. It had been two months since they had left Wyoming and they really hadn’t stopped at all. Stopping would mean having time to think. Thinking was painful. Dad had saved Dean and his soul was at rest, at least that’s what they thought, but now Dean’s soul was the one in danger. All because of him.
He had died and Dean had made a deal with a demon that he would have a year and then his soul was forfeit. Sam liked being alive, but it had been wrong of Dean to do that. Taking a deep breath, he sighed and cracked open his eyes. He was in the Impala, lying across the back seat. Dean was talking to him, and oddly, emotions were rolling off of him. Sam could tell that Dean was worried, sad, angry, and there was some other emotion that he couldn’t classify.
Then it changed, Dean noticed he was awake. Relief overwhelmed all of the other emotions he was getting from Dean. Sam smiled as the feeling rolled over him. Then he frowned. Why was he feeling what Dean was feeling? Maybe he was imagining things. Great, just what he needed. Moving, he tried to sit up.
“Whoa, there Sammy, take it easy. You want to tell me what the hell just happened?” Dean asked.
“I don’t know. I felt. I feel.” Sam didn’t have a clue how to say what was going on. “Maybe I just imagined it.”
“What did you imagine?” Dean asked keeping an eye on the road and glancing at Sam in the rearview mirror.
Sam felt a spike of worry and it again seemed to come from Dean.
“That statue…” Sam started.
“You mean the one I had to pay for because you wouldn’t let it go? That one? The one in your hand?”
Looking down, Sam saw that Dean was telling him the truth. Throwing the statue to the floor of the car he brought his hand up to his head, trying to remember something. He was worried but he could feel Dean’s worry, too. God, he was going crazy. First the visions and now this.
“Sammy?”
Lifting his head, he looked at his brother. “Yeah, Dean?”
Dean seemed to change his mind about something. “Do you need a doctor?”
“No, let’s get back to the motel. I just need to sleep.”
Dean nodded and kept driving.
Sam thought he felt Dean worrying about him again. He shook his head. Telling himself that it wasn’t real didn’t seem to be working. Sighing, he let his forehead fall against the window. Wasn’t this just fucking peachy. Noticing the statue seemed to be looking at him from the floor, he kicked it.
“Tell me why we went into that place again?” Sam tried to keep the anger out of his voice.
“Your idea, hot shot. Remember?” Dean smirked at him.
Sam could feel Dean’s worry and confusion, at least that’s the way it seemed, no matter what was on his face.
“Forget it.”
Seeming a little angry at Sam, Dean turned sharply into the parking lot of their latest motel. Yanking open the back door, he helped Sam out, taking a hold of his coat, his gentleness at odds with his expression. After he got Sam into the motel room and onto the bed he went back out and came back with the damned otter. Making sure that none of his skin touched the statue, he sat it on the table.
“I think it might be possessed,” Sam admitted.
“Why did you touch it?” Dean looked and sounded defeated.
“I don’t know. I guess I was drawn to it.”
“And that didn’t warn you of anything?” Dean asked, shaking his head he sat down on the bed by Sam. “What were you talking about, before, about feeling?”
Sam was feeling concern and something else coming from Dean, that is, if it all wasn’t in his head.
Taking a deep breath, he began to talk. “When I touched it, it was as if every emotion of every person who had touched it surged into me. I felt it all.”
“Ahh,” Dean made a noise so Sam looked at him.
“What? You don’t believe me?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to. Your face gave you away.” Sam looked down, hurt. He knew it was hard to believe but, shit, they dealt with unbelievable crap every day.
“Sammy,” Dean paused, “Sam, you scared me. Tell me what happened and we’ll figure out if we need to do something about it.”
Appreciating the ‘we’, Sam started talking again.
“Hate, love, jealousy, envy, appreciation, abandonment, joy -- damn it, Dean, I felt it all. Everything, if you’ve a name for a feeling, I felt it.”
Dean got up and looked closely at the statue. “It looks old.”
“Trust me, it’s ancient.”
“Maybe there’s something in dad’s book.” Dean seemed to find it easier and easier to speak of John Winchester.
“Could you get me the laptop?” Sam asked.
“Are you sure? You were out of it for quite a while. You could just rest.”
“Stop babying me, Dean, and get me the damn laptop. Fuck it.” He sat up and swung his legs off the edge of the bed. “I’ll get it myself.” He stood and swayed.
Dean, in the meantime, had already retrieved the laptop and the plug in for it.
Spots flickered in front of Sam’s eyes. He shook his head, trying to clear his vision. Wrong thing to do. Dizziness overwhelmed him. Sitting back down on the bed, he was surprised to have his laptop shoved into his hands.
Sam sat, blinking at the machine in his hands. Like he didn’t know what it was, and for a moment, he didn’t. Looking up, he blinked at Dean. Worry rolled over him. From Dean, he thought. His eyes flicked over the man standing in front of him. Hazel eyes sought out green ones.
Concern and that other feeling were rolling over him as he looked into Dean’s green eyes. Starting to get frustrated by not being able to identify the feeling, even though he wasn’t sure it was real, he reached out to touch Dean. Panic. Then Dean was stepping back.
“Are you sure you’re up to it? ‘Cause it don’t look that way to me.” Dean’s voice was calm and Sam was sure that he was imagining things now. Why the fuck would Dean panic just because Sam reached out to him?
“Yeah, I’m sure.” Swinging his legs back on the bed, he propped himself up on the pillows and flipped open his computer.
Meanwhile, Dean had walked over to the table and put Dad’s journal next to the statue.
Sam looked up from the screen in front of him to study the statue. “European Otter, I think.” He looked back down at his computer and typed some more information into the search engine.
“What do you know about Norse mythology, Sam?” Dean suddenly asked him.
“A bit, what I read in college, mostly.”
Dean looked down at his book, his finger working down the page. “Otr, or Ott. Have you heard of it?”
“It? Dean, Ott was a dwarf son of Hreidmar. He was a shape changer, his favorite being an otter.” His voice trailed off. “What does the book say?”
“This part is mostly about a ring, Andvarinaut. It says it’s a cursed artifact. Dad actually saw it.” Dean flipped the book so Sam could see a picture of a tarnished ring with runes running around the outside of it. “One ring to rule them all,” he laughed.
Sam just shook his head at Dean. He was pretty sure that Dean didn’t know that Tolkien got his idea of the one ring from the myth of Andvarinaut. “What about Ott?”
“Dad said that when he talked with the guy who had the ring -- Dad doesn’t say who,” Dean offered for clarity. “That guy said that he had heard of an item of Ott’s that was said to release hidden talents.”
They both looked at the statue.
“Talent, not talents, Dean.”
“What?”
“Hidden talent. That must be it.” Sam started typing. “Aha!”
“What is it?”
“Empathy.”
“Empathy?” Dean snorted. “Your hidden talent is empathy?”
“I’m willing to stake my soul on it.”
“Don’t,” Dean said, suddenly serious, “even joke about that.”
Sam nodded in acknowledgment at Dean. He had no right to even talk about that.
“Talk then; tell me what’s going on.” Dean looked at him.
“When I picked it up. I felt. Well. Everything.”
“Everything?” It was funny how Dean could convey so much disbelief with one word.
“Damn it, Dean. I’m trying to tell you. If you don’t want to listen, just fuck off.” When Dean didn’t comment, Sam continued. “It was as if I was feeling every feeling of every person who had ever held it.”
“So why did you pass out? It was just some feelings. And why do you think it unlocked empathy?” Dean asked.
Sam looked down at his screen. He had been so positive, but maybe he was wrong, maybe everything was just in his head. Like Dean being nervous, Dean didn’t look nervous or sound nervous.
“It says here that otters were equated with empathy in the old world. That thing is,” Sam typed some more and turned his computer around to show Dean, “this.”
Dean got up and went to look at the computer. “This is an illustration for The Ring of the Nibelung.”
Sam nodded and pointed to an otter in the picture. The pose, the details, it was identical. Pointing to a date on the picture, Sam made sure that Dean saw it. 1870. Then Sam began explaining. “There is no Ott or otter in the Ring cycle. Ott is Norse, but Wagner was inspired by the myth of Andvarinaut.”
Sam sighed because he knew what Dean was going to reply to what he said next. “I think that, that thing,” he pointed to the statue, “it unlocked my empathy.”
“What, like you weren’t empathetic before?” Dean asked, surprising Sam, who had been expecting sarcasm or some of Dean’s priceless wit. “You could empathize with a stone before you touched that thing.”
Ahh, there it was. Priceless.
Sam would have snapped at Dean except he was still getting emotions that seemed to be coming from Dean and Dean was scared.
“Fine. It’s just a cursed object that wouldn’t let me let go of it.” Sam said it quietly.
“Now, that’s what I’m talking about. We destroy it, everything goes back.”
“We still need to find the bowl we were looking for. Did you get the name of the place we found that . . . thing . . . at?”
“Don’t you want to destroy this first?”
“It can wait. It wasn’t as if I was possessed or something. It just played tricks with my mind. The name?” he prompted Dean.
Dean dug out the receipt that he had shoved in his coat pocket when he had hurriedly purchased the statue so that he could get Sam out of there. “Gothic Dreams. Remember, you said that the Goth’s had some kind of rune bowl that would stop evil in a doorway. I told you it was probably just some punk place with a lot of black.”
“Rune bowl, right. We should go back and see.”
“No fucking way.” Dean sounded mad but what Sam thought he felt from him was fear.
“Why?”
Dean looked pointedly at the statue of the otter.
“Well, I just won’t touch anything.”
Dean snorted.
“What?”
“You haven’t ever kept your hands in you pockets. I remember one time with dad, he told you to not touch and you ended up with blue hair for a week.” Now Dean was laughing.
Sam couldn’t help but to smile at his brother.
“Dad never did figure out what had happened.” Dean smiled back at Sam and then he stopped.
“I’ll go and check it out.”
“But you don’t even know what a runic bowl looks like.”
“Yeah, well, you can draw me a picture. Besides, I want to have a word with the owner.”
“Dean, let it go.”
“That’s the problem, you couldn’t. Let it go, I mean.”
“Whatever,” Sam said, closing the laptop and setting it beside the bed. “I’m tired.” He lay down and closed his eyes
Part Two
Title: Don't Touch 1/5 (complete)
Pairing: Sam/Dean (Supernatural)
Rating: Adult, if you are not old enough don't click
Word count: 2237
Warnings: slash, incest, bad use of norse mythology, if you don't like don't read
Spoilers: some for both seasons as this takes place after season two
Disclaimer: Not mine, just borrowing them for some fun and then I'll return them.
Summary: Sam can't keep his hands in his pockets.
Notes: I wrote this for my Sister-in-law for her birthday. Trust me when I say it will get to NC-17 even if it doesn't start there. Thank you Sunshine for the inspiration and thank you ~biza for the beta.
Part One
“Sam,” Dean said warningly.
“Dean,” Sam replied in the same tone.
“Don’t touch that . . . you don’t know what . . . oh, for Christ’s sake, you idiot.” Dean looked at his brother in exasperation.
Sam stood, transfixed, holding a carving of an otter. His lack of response on the outside was in complete contrast with what was going on inside his head. He was feeling.
Everything, all at once. It was like he had tapped into the emotions of every other person who had ever held this thing. Painful and exhilarating at the same time. Love and hate, happiness and despair, needing and disdain, he was feeling it. Sam could feel his brain shutting down in self-defense. Just before he passed out, he felt Dean. Only, his emotions were much stronger. Feelings of worry, concern and anger followed him into the darkness.
Waking up slowly, Sam lay and evaluated himself. They had been in New England searching down a rumor of a relic that could capture demons. It had been two months since they had left Wyoming and they really hadn’t stopped at all. Stopping would mean having time to think. Thinking was painful. Dad had saved Dean and his soul was at rest, at least that’s what they thought, but now Dean’s soul was the one in danger. All because of him.
He had died and Dean had made a deal with a demon that he would have a year and then his soul was forfeit. Sam liked being alive, but it had been wrong of Dean to do that. Taking a deep breath, he sighed and cracked open his eyes. He was in the Impala, lying across the back seat. Dean was talking to him, and oddly, emotions were rolling off of him. Sam could tell that Dean was worried, sad, angry, and there was some other emotion that he couldn’t classify.
Then it changed, Dean noticed he was awake. Relief overwhelmed all of the other emotions he was getting from Dean. Sam smiled as the feeling rolled over him. Then he frowned. Why was he feeling what Dean was feeling? Maybe he was imagining things. Great, just what he needed. Moving, he tried to sit up.
“Whoa, there Sammy, take it easy. You want to tell me what the hell just happened?” Dean asked.
“I don’t know. I felt. I feel.” Sam didn’t have a clue how to say what was going on. “Maybe I just imagined it.”
“What did you imagine?” Dean asked keeping an eye on the road and glancing at Sam in the rearview mirror.
Sam felt a spike of worry and it again seemed to come from Dean.
“That statue…” Sam started.
“You mean the one I had to pay for because you wouldn’t let it go? That one? The one in your hand?”
Looking down, Sam saw that Dean was telling him the truth. Throwing the statue to the floor of the car he brought his hand up to his head, trying to remember something. He was worried but he could feel Dean’s worry, too. God, he was going crazy. First the visions and now this.
“Sammy?”
Lifting his head, he looked at his brother. “Yeah, Dean?”
Dean seemed to change his mind about something. “Do you need a doctor?”
“No, let’s get back to the motel. I just need to sleep.”
Dean nodded and kept driving.
Sam thought he felt Dean worrying about him again. He shook his head. Telling himself that it wasn’t real didn’t seem to be working. Sighing, he let his forehead fall against the window. Wasn’t this just fucking peachy. Noticing the statue seemed to be looking at him from the floor, he kicked it.
“Tell me why we went into that place again?” Sam tried to keep the anger out of his voice.
“Your idea, hot shot. Remember?” Dean smirked at him.
Sam could feel Dean’s worry and confusion, at least that’s the way it seemed, no matter what was on his face.
“Forget it.”
Seeming a little angry at Sam, Dean turned sharply into the parking lot of their latest motel. Yanking open the back door, he helped Sam out, taking a hold of his coat, his gentleness at odds with his expression. After he got Sam into the motel room and onto the bed he went back out and came back with the damned otter. Making sure that none of his skin touched the statue, he sat it on the table.
“I think it might be possessed,” Sam admitted.
“Why did you touch it?” Dean looked and sounded defeated.
“I don’t know. I guess I was drawn to it.”
“And that didn’t warn you of anything?” Dean asked, shaking his head he sat down on the bed by Sam. “What were you talking about, before, about feeling?”
Sam was feeling concern and something else coming from Dean, that is, if it all wasn’t in his head.
Taking a deep breath, he began to talk. “When I touched it, it was as if every emotion of every person who had touched it surged into me. I felt it all.”
“Ahh,” Dean made a noise so Sam looked at him.
“What? You don’t believe me?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to. Your face gave you away.” Sam looked down, hurt. He knew it was hard to believe but, shit, they dealt with unbelievable crap every day.
“Sammy,” Dean paused, “Sam, you scared me. Tell me what happened and we’ll figure out if we need to do something about it.”
Appreciating the ‘we’, Sam started talking again.
“Hate, love, jealousy, envy, appreciation, abandonment, joy -- damn it, Dean, I felt it all. Everything, if you’ve a name for a feeling, I felt it.”
Dean got up and looked closely at the statue. “It looks old.”
“Trust me, it’s ancient.”
“Maybe there’s something in dad’s book.” Dean seemed to find it easier and easier to speak of John Winchester.
“Could you get me the laptop?” Sam asked.
“Are you sure? You were out of it for quite a while. You could just rest.”
“Stop babying me, Dean, and get me the damn laptop. Fuck it.” He sat up and swung his legs off the edge of the bed. “I’ll get it myself.” He stood and swayed.
Dean, in the meantime, had already retrieved the laptop and the plug in for it.
Spots flickered in front of Sam’s eyes. He shook his head, trying to clear his vision. Wrong thing to do. Dizziness overwhelmed him. Sitting back down on the bed, he was surprised to have his laptop shoved into his hands.
Sam sat, blinking at the machine in his hands. Like he didn’t know what it was, and for a moment, he didn’t. Looking up, he blinked at Dean. Worry rolled over him. From Dean, he thought. His eyes flicked over the man standing in front of him. Hazel eyes sought out green ones.
Concern and that other feeling were rolling over him as he looked into Dean’s green eyes. Starting to get frustrated by not being able to identify the feeling, even though he wasn’t sure it was real, he reached out to touch Dean. Panic. Then Dean was stepping back.
“Are you sure you’re up to it? ‘Cause it don’t look that way to me.” Dean’s voice was calm and Sam was sure that he was imagining things now. Why the fuck would Dean panic just because Sam reached out to him?
“Yeah, I’m sure.” Swinging his legs back on the bed, he propped himself up on the pillows and flipped open his computer.
Meanwhile, Dean had walked over to the table and put Dad’s journal next to the statue.
Sam looked up from the screen in front of him to study the statue. “European Otter, I think.” He looked back down at his computer and typed some more information into the search engine.
“What do you know about Norse mythology, Sam?” Dean suddenly asked him.
“A bit, what I read in college, mostly.”
Dean looked down at his book, his finger working down the page. “Otr, or Ott. Have you heard of it?”
“It? Dean, Ott was a dwarf son of Hreidmar. He was a shape changer, his favorite being an otter.” His voice trailed off. “What does the book say?”
“This part is mostly about a ring, Andvarinaut. It says it’s a cursed artifact. Dad actually saw it.” Dean flipped the book so Sam could see a picture of a tarnished ring with runes running around the outside of it. “One ring to rule them all,” he laughed.
Sam just shook his head at Dean. He was pretty sure that Dean didn’t know that Tolkien got his idea of the one ring from the myth of Andvarinaut. “What about Ott?”
“Dad said that when he talked with the guy who had the ring -- Dad doesn’t say who,” Dean offered for clarity. “That guy said that he had heard of an item of Ott’s that was said to release hidden talents.”
They both looked at the statue.
“Talent, not talents, Dean.”
“What?”
“Hidden talent. That must be it.” Sam started typing. “Aha!”
“What is it?”
“Empathy.”
“Empathy?” Dean snorted. “Your hidden talent is empathy?”
“I’m willing to stake my soul on it.”
“Don’t,” Dean said, suddenly serious, “even joke about that.”
Sam nodded in acknowledgment at Dean. He had no right to even talk about that.
“Talk then; tell me what’s going on.” Dean looked at him.
“When I picked it up. I felt. Well. Everything.”
“Everything?” It was funny how Dean could convey so much disbelief with one word.
“Damn it, Dean. I’m trying to tell you. If you don’t want to listen, just fuck off.” When Dean didn’t comment, Sam continued. “It was as if I was feeling every feeling of every person who had ever held it.”
“So why did you pass out? It was just some feelings. And why do you think it unlocked empathy?” Dean asked.
Sam looked down at his screen. He had been so positive, but maybe he was wrong, maybe everything was just in his head. Like Dean being nervous, Dean didn’t look nervous or sound nervous.
“It says here that otters were equated with empathy in the old world. That thing is,” Sam typed some more and turned his computer around to show Dean, “this.”
Dean got up and went to look at the computer. “This is an illustration for The Ring of the Nibelung.”
Sam nodded and pointed to an otter in the picture. The pose, the details, it was identical. Pointing to a date on the picture, Sam made sure that Dean saw it. 1870. Then Sam began explaining. “There is no Ott or otter in the Ring cycle. Ott is Norse, but Wagner was inspired by the myth of Andvarinaut.”
Sam sighed because he knew what Dean was going to reply to what he said next. “I think that, that thing,” he pointed to the statue, “it unlocked my empathy.”
“What, like you weren’t empathetic before?” Dean asked, surprising Sam, who had been expecting sarcasm or some of Dean’s priceless wit. “You could empathize with a stone before you touched that thing.”
Ahh, there it was. Priceless.
Sam would have snapped at Dean except he was still getting emotions that seemed to be coming from Dean and Dean was scared.
“Fine. It’s just a cursed object that wouldn’t let me let go of it.” Sam said it quietly.
“Now, that’s what I’m talking about. We destroy it, everything goes back.”
“We still need to find the bowl we were looking for. Did you get the name of the place we found that . . . thing . . . at?”
“Don’t you want to destroy this first?”
“It can wait. It wasn’t as if I was possessed or something. It just played tricks with my mind. The name?” he prompted Dean.
Dean dug out the receipt that he had shoved in his coat pocket when he had hurriedly purchased the statue so that he could get Sam out of there. “Gothic Dreams. Remember, you said that the Goth’s had some kind of rune bowl that would stop evil in a doorway. I told you it was probably just some punk place with a lot of black.”
“Rune bowl, right. We should go back and see.”
“No fucking way.” Dean sounded mad but what Sam thought he felt from him was fear.
“Why?”
Dean looked pointedly at the statue of the otter.
“Well, I just won’t touch anything.”
Dean snorted.
“What?”
“You haven’t ever kept your hands in you pockets. I remember one time with dad, he told you to not touch and you ended up with blue hair for a week.” Now Dean was laughing.
Sam couldn’t help but to smile at his brother.
“Dad never did figure out what had happened.” Dean smiled back at Sam and then he stopped.
“I’ll go and check it out.”
“But you don’t even know what a runic bowl looks like.”
“Yeah, well, you can draw me a picture. Besides, I want to have a word with the owner.”
“Dean, let it go.”
“That’s the problem, you couldn’t. Let it go, I mean.”
“Whatever,” Sam said, closing the laptop and setting it beside the bed. “I’m tired.” He lay down and closed his eyes
Part Two