Title: REST (Thicker, chapter 11)
Author: Janet F. Caires-Lesgold
Feedback to: jfc@freeshell.org
Archive: by author permission only
Category: Vignette, Wincest, Sam POV
Spoilers: Missing scene from "Dead Man's Blood"
Rating: T for teens and up due to language and references to sexual behavior
Pairing: Sam/Dean (reference to Sam/Sarah)
Summary: Respite

DISCLAIMER: These characters do not belong to me. Supernatural was created by Eric Kripke, and is the property of Kripke Enterprises Scrap Metal and Entertainment (Eric Kripke and Robert Singer, executive producers), Wonderland Sound and Vision, Warner Brothers, and the CW Network. This story is just for the entertainment of my online friends and myself, not for any profit.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The rest of my Supernatural stories, also known as the "Thicker" series, appear elsewhere in this archive.

AUTHOR'S NOTE THE SECOND: So I got the quote from a "Mutts" comic strip. So I'm a sap. This is new how?

DEDICATION: For Tiff, who is still there for me.

COPYRIGHT: (C) Janet F. Caires-Lesgold, March 30, 2007, jfc@freeshell.org Please don't redistribute or alter this story in any way without the express permission of the author. Thank you very much.



"We find rest in those we love, and we provide a resting place for those who love us."
-- St. Bernard of Clairvaux


Dad's out of the room for a minute. I think he thinks we're asleep, but I'm not, not quite. We're supposed to be gathering strength for our attack on the vampires, which is as good an excuse as any to grab forty winks. At least I don't sense a vision-based migraine brewing behind my eyes.

Working with Dad always sets my teeth on edge, which isn't really fair, but it's true. Dean says that Dad and I are too much alike to get along all the time, and he may be right.

At least Dean is here, refereeing and providing a good buffer between Dad and me. He understands us both, so is well-suited to his job.

Dean also understood how I felt about Sarah, maybe before I did. She was pretty and funny and smart, and she wasn't afraid of me or my work. If we could have stayed in New York for awhile, I might have liked to spend more time with her. Ah, who am I kidding? She was the first girl I'd gotten hard for since Jess died.

But did that bother Dean? Not a bit. Maybe I expected him to be jealous of this outsider. Maybe I thought he would want to sabotage my chances with her if there was the possibility that she'd take me away from him. After all, for about a month or two now, all of my sexual expression and experience has been with him.

Much to my surprise, though, my brother was supportive and upbeat about Sarah, even encouraging me to pursue her, which helped make me brave. It was nice to share a small part of myself with somebody else for a little while, and having Dean's blessing added to the sweetness. No, I wasn't going to cajole her right into bed only having known her a few days (though my pep squad of one might have suggested that), so I can't let myself have any regrets about that. Maybe someday, though, with her or somebody else like her...

And now we're far away, and preparing for a scary battle. With the crazy life I lead, would I want to leave a girl behind to worry about me? That probably wouldn't be the wisest arrangement, so it's better for everyone that I didn't do more than kiss Sarah.

As always, it comes down to Dean and me. We've always been there for one another, and our newfound intimacy is just an outgrowth of that. We fight better knowing that the other is right there to do his part, that the other's life depends on doing the job well. We fuck better knowing that any moment of peace together may be our last, wanting to give everything to the person who means more to us than anyone else.

But Dad is here, so we don't dare kiss or touch or do more than stare at each other. I am so grateful to Dean for everything that he is to me, for everything that he does for me, and I can't do anything to show him that here tonight.

The lights are on full, so I watch Dean's face through lowered lashes, still maintaining the illusion that I'm asleep in case Dad comes crashing back in here. In repose, Dean is beautiful, with curves like polished stone and edges like fine silk. I want to reach out to him--to hold him or reassure him, or borrow a little of his strength and skill--but I can't. For now, we have to hide and act like everything is normal. Dad can never know what there is between us.

Dean's eyes open slightly, and I realize that he's not sleeping, either. The moment is right: I have to say something to express how I feel--my gratitude for his devotion and my appreciation of his affection. "Dean," I whisper roughly into the stillness.

His eyes slide over to me and he nearly growls back, his voice a warning against drawing Dad's attention. "What?"

"I--I love you."

As soon as the words have left my mouth, the self-doubts and recriminations begin in my head. Why did I say that? We don't say shit like that. He's going to kill me.

Sure enough, he frowns directly at me. "Shut up," he whispers quickly, throwing a glance at the door to the outside.

That's it. I've said too much, destroying the fragile little bond we have by shining a floodlight on it instead of pretending it isn't there.

I'm about ready to roll over and try to bury myself in the mattress where he might not notice me when I sense something strange yet familiar. Dean's foot, still boot-clad, stretches between our skinny twin beds and connects, hard, with my kneecap as it rests on the bedspread.

Startling up, I prop myself on an elbow and regard him incredulously. "Dean!" I whine in protest.

His smile is warm and playful, constant and mine. Once he is sure I'm watching him, he carefully and silently mouths two simple words: "I know."

Suddenly, I understand what he means, and my brief anger is washed away by his loyalty and fondness for me. He nods subtly, then nuzzles drowsily into his pillow and is soon snoring quietly.

Here, far away from anyone but the partner who takes care of me and who depends upon me to do the same for him, I grin to myself and let myself drift off for as long as I can.



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