AN: Squeak...

Sam adjusted the bandage on his shoulder for the twentieth time, using the bathroom mirror to guide him. It had been exceedingly awkward trying to bandage the wound without help but at last he'd gotten the bleeding stopped. He had been right. It hurt like hell, but the slicing cut wasn't all that deep. His gaze went to the watch on his wrist. It had been over two hours since Dean had left the house in pursuit of Sa'mael.

Too much time. Sam was growing increasingly uneasy as the minutes ticked past. But he felt unusually ineffective. Not because he thought for a moment that Sa'mael would succeed in ambushing Dean, though. His mouth twisted in response to another stab of pain from his shoulder. No, Dean would get his man. The wolf was on the hunt and he always did what had to be done.

Just as Phantom always did what must be done.

What truly frightened him was the thought of Dean being thrown back into the life he had left behind. Sam would have given anything to keep him from having to resurrect the past. Because now he knew just how hard Dean had worked to put it behind him. But there was nothing he could do.

Dean was the man they had once called Wolf, the legend who had been only too real. Sam had been coming slowly to that conclusion all day as bits and pieces of evidence came together in his mind.

When he had realized that his only hope of escaping Sa'mael lay with Dean, Sam had acknowledged the truth. His life had depended on the man code-named Wolf, the man he had once imagined was a renegade killer.

And he had known on some instinctive level that Dean would save him. That was why he had lured Sa'mael back to the island house.

It was his love for Dean that had enabled him to view the evidence of Dean's past with different eyes. That love had begun from almost the first moment he had turned to find Dean watching him going through his study. Sam had known in that first glimpse that this man was different. He was his uncle's friend. The kind of man you could count on when the chips were down.

He had known for certain he was in love last night when he'd lain in Dean's arms and prayed he wouldn't leave in the morning.

It was all so clear now. Crystal-clear, in fact. Sam probably should have been suspicious from the start about his identity. Dean was a man who needed to control his environment, to maintain a cover. It was the way he had built a new life.

Sam took a deep breath and willed away the smothering pressure that gripped his chest as he wondered how Dean had felt when he'd realized his carefully structured world was crumbling around him. Sam ached to be able to reassure him but he was terribly afraid Dean wouldn't want the assurance. The older man had depended on no one but himself for too long.

The knock on the door shocked him into dropping the roll of tape he had been using. Sam frowned into the mirror. Dean wouldn't knock on his own door, surely. Nervously he held a square of gauze to his shoulder and adjusted his shirt as best he could. Then he went cautiously down the hall to the front door and peered through the tiny viewing port.

A man dressed in a wildly patterned aloha shirt and holding a festive striped umbrella stood on the porch.

'Uncle Bobby!' Sam flung open the door and grabbed the older man into his arms. 'My God, Uncle Bobby, are you all right? We've been so worried. Dean's gone after Sa'mael and it's been over two hours! I've been going out of my mind. How did you get here? Where have you been?'

'Easy, Sam,' Singer said, smiling up at him. 'One question at a time. Where did you say Dean was?'

Sam stepped back into the house and held the door. 'He's gone after Sa'mael.' He shook his head, trying to sort it all out for him. 'Sa'mael was holding me hostage. He was going to trade me to you for information about that damned gold. Dean rescued me but in the process Sa'mael got away.'

Singer arched shaggy eyebrows. 'He did?' He followed his nephew through the door, shaking out the umbrella as he did so. 'That doesn't sound like Dean.'

'Well, it was all very chaotic, believe me.' Sam sighed. 'Sa'mael was holding a knife at my throat and he'd made Dean throw down his gun. Oh, it's a long story. But the end result is that Sa'mael got clear and Dean went after him.'

'What's wrong with your shoulder?' Singer leaned forward, thick brows drawing into a solid line.

'Sa'mael scratched it with the knife.' Sam turned his head, trying to look at the gauze-covered wound. 'It's not really that bad but it hurts like Hell.'

'Knife wounds generally feel like fire. Here, let me see if you've got it properly bandaged.'

'The wound is all right, Uncle Bobby. It's Dean I'm getting worried about.' But he stood still while Bobby glanced at the slice in his shoulder and then taped down the gauze.

'Dean can take care of himself.'

'You two keep saying that about each other but, personally, I'm having severe doubts! And I didn't want Dean having to… to go back to his old business!'

Bobby tilted his head to one side, studying him speculatively. 'So you've figured out what the old business was?'

Sam nodded grimly. 'And I mean to have a heart-to-heart chat with you about that. But we can do it later. I've got other things on my mind just now.'

'So have I. Got any coffee? After a few days in sunny Hawaii, it's a bit of a shock to come back to Seattle.' Bobby started in the direction of the kitchen.

'But what about Dean?' Helplessly Sam followed in his uncle's wake.

Bobby Singer was the same as ever, he decided. You'd never know that behind the laughing blue eyes was a brain that could function in the most convoluted patterns. He was nearing sixty five now and had a fringe of well-trimmed gray hair. Singer had never gone to fat; his body was still whipcord lean. In addition to the aloha shirt, he was wearing sandals and a pair of white cotton slacks that were spotted with rain. On his wrist was a gold watch. It went nicely with the thin gold chain around his neck. Sam knew the gold was real. His uncle never wore fake gold.

'Dean will be back when he's taken care of things.' With the familiarity of a man who has frequently been a guest in the house, Bobby began making coffee. 'Damn sorry he had to clean up my mess, though.'

'Uncle Bobby,' Sam said with forced patience. 'Why don't you tell me what the hell has been happening?'

Bobby stretched and lifted a hand to rub the point between his shoulder blades. 'Well, to put it in simple terms, I've just spent the last few days following a false trail in Hawaii. Came back today when I realized it was a dead end. Sa'mael really had me running around the countryside,' he added ruefully. 'I feel like an idiot.'

'Who is Sa'mael, anyway?'

'Old business.'

'Oh, yes.' Sam nodded, remembering the voicemail message. 'You said something about taking care of old business.'

'Look, when Dean gets back, he's going to want some explanations, too. Why don't we wait until we're all sitting cosily around a nice warm fire. And what about dinner?'

'Dinner,' Sam said vengefully, 'is the last thing on my mind at the moment. What are we going to do about Dean?'

'Absolutely nothing. Never was much anyone could do about Dean,' his uncle said reflectively as he poured boiling water over instant coffee. 'Just aim him and pull the trigger.'

Sam felt sick to his stomach.

*o0O0o*

Sam knew who he was. He knew who he was. Dean couldn't forget the memory of Sam's description of the man he knew as Wolf. His words still rang in his head. A renegade killer or something equally picturesque. A man who, when he walked into a room, chilled everything and everyone. He'd seen the expression in Sam's eyes when he'd stood in the hall just outside the study early this evening. Sam had looked up from the manuscript and he had known that for Sam the room had grown very cold.

It was all over.

He drove back to the cabin with a sense of deep foreboding. There was a good chance Sam wouldn't even be there. Then what? When he pulled into the drive and saw the familiar green Toyota, he felt some sense of relief. Bobby was back. And that meant Sam was probably still around. His car was still there but that didn't mean much since Dean had disabled it earlier.

It was nice that Singer was home safe and sound, of course, Dean told himself as he opened the car door. But the real benefit to his return was that it meant Dean wouldn't have to face Sam alone. He still hadn't figured out what to say to the younger man and he was beginning to accept the fact that he might never figure it out. He'd never been very good with words around Sam. In any event, Sam would probably be gone from his life soon, anyway.

Sam wouldn't want to hang around a wolf.

He walked slowly up the porch steps. The wet night had descended completely now and the warm lights of the house beckoned. But Dean wasn't fooled. He knew the warmth was an illusion. Without Sam, there could be no real warmth in his life. He tried to dredge up some polite greetings, the sort of thing a man might say in this situation. He should be a gentleman about it. Give Sam an out. But deep inside he wasn't sure he could do it. He wanted Sam and he'd begun to believe lately that he could have him. The thought of letting the man walk out now filled him with a tight, gnawing tension.

There were a lot of things a man could take in this world but a person's love was not among them. It had to be given willingly and it had to be for real. He had spent the last few days realizing the truth of that. The wonder of having Sam for himself couldn't be pushed back into the corners of his mind where he now kept other things that were better forgotten. He just couldn't give him up.

But Sam hated and feared the man called Wolf.

The mechanical-sounding words Dean had been practicing as he climbed the steps were wiped out of his head as the front door was thrown open.

'It's about time you got back!' Sam exclaimed as he hurried across the porch. 'Dean, it's been hours!'

He felt the hard impact as Sam almost hurled himself against Dean. Automatically Dean's arms went around him. He was dazed by the greeting.

'Sam?'

'You said you'd be back on the five-fifty-five ferry,' Sam whispered into Dean's neck. 'I knew you'd get back on time. I knew all I had to do was have Sa'mael here and you'd take care of everything.'

Dean held Sam fiercely, absorbing the warmth of him. 'Yes.' He stroked Sam's hair wonderingly. 'I got the readout from the house alarm system right after I drove off the ferry.' His fingers tightened abruptly in Sam's hair. 'I've never been so scared in my life, Sam.'

'Hi, Dean, sorry about all this. Everything okay?'

Dean gazed over Sam's shoulder, his eyes meeting those of his friend. 'Everything's taken care of.' He felt Sam shiver in his arms.

Singer nodded. 'Figured it would be.'

'You may have a few questions to answer from your old pals at the agency in the morning, though.'

Singer's eyes gleamed. 'How's that?'

'I left Sa'mael tied up in a neat package a few meters off I-90. Then I called the West Coast agency office and left a message telling them where they could find him. When the guy who took the call demanded to know who was leaving the message-'

'You gave him my name.' Singer grinned ruefully. 'Thanks a lot, pal. Well, I guess I can't complain. I deserved it. Lord knows I owe you for taking care of Sam. Besides, maybe Hendriksen and his boys will be so delighted to have their hands on Sa'mael they won't want to ask too many question.'

Sam lifted his head, his hands moving upward to frame Dean's face. 'You didn't kill him.'

'No.'

Sam smiled. 'Of course not. Supper's almost ready. Go and take a hot shower. I'll pour you a glass of wine.' Sam pulled free and disappeared back into the house.

Dean stared after him, aware of a gnawing uncertainty. The uncertainty was painful but it was better than the cold, dead certainty of loss he'd been feeling earlier. Uncertainty contained hope. He followed Bobby into the house and headed for the bathroom, stripping off the wet Windbreaker as he moved.

Dean had been watching Sam since he'd emerged from the shower, trying to second-guess the young man's thoughts. Sam had chattered about the gold while he'd prepared a hearty rice and vegetable salad, making a joke out of his uncle's idea of a wedding gift. He'd poured Dean and Bobby a glass of wine and put the sourdough rolls in the oven while discussing Bobby's unplanned vacation in Hawaii. Then he'd kept up a running monologue on Singer's new aloha shirt and how typical it was of him to bring something like that back from Hawaii.

Bobby had talked easily, too, leaning against the kitchen counter while responding to the teasing about his new shirt.

'Glad you like it. Got three more in the suitcase. Picked 'em up while I waited for the flight back this morning.' He'd glance down at the front of the splashy shirt with obvious pleasure.

Dean had felt left out of the conversation but he hadn't known how to get into it. Sam and his uncle kept up a bright dialogue that covered everything under the sun except the subject of the man called Wolf. Dean told himself morosely that it was probably because they were both too polite to talk about someone when the object of the conversation was within hearing distance brooding over a glass of wine.

During dinner Sam finally pounced on his uncle, demanding answers. Dean surreptitiously kept an eye on Sam's lively hazel eyes while he quizzed Bobby Singer. Dean searched for signs of disgust or fear or rejection in the young man's expressive features. The strange inner anxiety was eating him alive, demanding assurances and explanations and at the same time preparing him for the worst. Surely, after everything Sam had believed about the man named Wolf, he couldn't possibly be this warm and nonchalant now.

Dean's fingers crumpled the napkin in his lap and he glanced down, vaguely astonished at the outward show of tension.

'All right, Uncle Bobby, let's have it,' Sam demanded as the meal came to a close. He leaned back in his chair, his fingertips steepled beneath his chin as he regarded Singer with a gleaming gaze.

'Well,' Bobby began with an easy grin, 'I had to go to about three shops before I found just the right selection of shirts but when I saw this one with the pineapples on it, I knew-'

'Bobby Singer, I am not talking about the aloha shirts and you know it. I want to know about the gold.'

'Ah, the gold,' he exhaled softly. 'I figure that you may not be able to get at it until sometime around your twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, or you may have to let your children inherit the treasure map, but either way it makes an interesting wedding present, don't you think? Even if you never actually see the gold itself, you'll have it to talk about and laugh about and tell stories about. I can just hear the tales you'll be telling your kids.'

'I think,' Sam interrupted firmly, 'that we're getting a little ahead of ourselves. I'm not interested in what I may be telling my kids, especially since I'm not likely to have any.'

'Yet,' Bobby interjected wisely.

Sam raised his eyebrows but Dean noticed he didn't look at him. Sam kept his attention on Singer. 'I'm more concerned with the past at the moment. Did you or did you not steal CIA gold and stash it near the Saudi Arabian border?'

Singer grinned at Dean. 'He's rather aggressively direct when he wants an answer.'

'Umm.' Dean sipped the last of his wine and wondered why Sam hadn't been aggressively direct in pinning him down about Wolf. Maybe Sam didn't want to know the full truth. He set down the wineglass with grim care.

'Okay, Sam, here's the story,' Singer began. 'For starters, it wasn't CIA gold. It wasn't U.S. gold in any sense of the word, really. It belonged to some very astute gentlemen who were doing an active arms business under the guise of working in a civilian capacity for the U.S. government. I accidentally stumbled across them while working with some friends of mine.'

'Friends?'

Bobby nodded. 'I had spent a lot of time with the people of a particular village. They had been very useful during the war, supplying information and some very brave young men and women. At any rate, I was in the village when rumours came of the two arms dealers being killed. The business career of an arms dealer is precarious, to say the least. I was near the scene of the killing and, through a series of, uh, arranged coincidences, managed to get my hands on the gold.'

'Uh-huh.' Sam sounded distinctly sceptical. ''Arranged' being the operative word, I imagine.'

'I then had myself a problem. I knew things were deteriorating rapidly. Kuwait City was about to go under, and everyone who had any sense was aware of it. I was several miles away and there was no way I could make it back to the embassy with the gold. I would have been lucky to make it back with my life. So I decided on another rout out of the situation.'

'A rout that would allow you to take some of the gold with you?'

Singer chuckled. 'You know me and gold, Sam. I couldn't bring myself to just toss it away.'

'Sa'mael said he uncovered a file that indicated you left some of it behind with your friends in that village.'

Singer's shaggy brows lifted. 'A file, hmm? I wondered how he got curious enough about the gold after all these years to make a try for it. Well, Sam, let me tell you a fact of life. There's nothing quite as useful as gold when you're trying to survive in a country that's recently been overrun by a conquering army. And I owed those villagers. As for myself, I'd been making some friends near the Saudi Arabian border and decided to call in a few favours. I loaded my share of the gold on a jeep and drove to the border. There was no way I could get it out of the country, so I buried it, made a map and then rendezvoused with my contacts. They got me out of the country.'

'Where does Nick Sa'mael fit into all this?' Sam demanded.

'Sa'mael has been a thorn in the agency's side for some time. We all knew he was working both sides of the street.'

'He said something about working two jobs,' Sam said dryly. 'Was that what he meant? He was selling information to the other side?'

'Information we wanted him to sell, although he didn't know it. We used him after we learned he'd been turned.' Bobby smiled. 'but his usefulness was becoming limited from what my former associates have told me. Apparently the other side felt the same. Sa'mael was smart enough to sense that something was going wrong and wisely decided to disappear. Apparently he wanted a little nest egg to cushion his sudden retirement.'

'And he chose your cache of gold.'

'He'd been assigned to Baghdad during that last six months. We'd worked together on a couple of jobs. But I never did fully trust the man. I tried to plant my own rumours about the gold whenever I heard it mentioned after the war. I knew it would be almost impossible to keep the whole thing absolutely secret. There were all those villagers who knew about it, for one thing. And Lord knows who the arms dealers knew. But I made sure most of the gossip about the missing gold implied the stuff was government material kept at the embassy and used for clandestine operations. I sort of left the impression that the two arms dealers were really agents. And of course I kept my own name out of it. You never know. I didn't want to implicate myself. If someone knew the weapons story or got too friendly with the villagers, he might be able to track down more of the tale.'

'Apparently some journalist did get friendly with the villagers,' Sam said. 'And his notes somehow ended up in an old file that Sa'mael came across.'

Bobby sighed. 'I thought after all these years the story of the gold really had become nothing more than a legend.'

'Sa'mael said he deliberately planted a rumour about him being in Hawaii recruiting mercenaries to help him get your treasure,' Sam said.

Singer shook his head. 'I'm embarrassed to admit it worked. I got wind of the plan and did exactly as he anticipated. I took off for Hawaii.' He glanced at Dean. 'I honestly thought I'd have everything taken care of within forty-eight hours or so. Didn't think you'd be bothered with cleaning up the mess.'

Dean couldn't think of anything to say. He just nodded austerely and continued to watch Sam's face through narrowed eyes. Why didn't he say something about what had happened that afternoon. The suspense was going to shred him. A part of him wanted to get the confrontation over and done with. Another part wanted to pretend nothing devastating had occurred. Abruptly he pushed his chair away from the table and went over to where he kept the brandy.

'Can I pour you some, Bobby?' His voice felt thick and scratchy in his throat.

'Sounds great.' The older man beamed.

Sam focused on his uncle again. 'Sa'mael is definitely out of the way? He won't be bothering us again?'

Bobby Singer smiled. 'You don't have to worry about him. I'll talk to Hendriksen in the morning. But from what I hear the agency's tired of using him, anyway. Even if he got turned loose tomorrow, he realizes everyone knows who he is and what he's been doing. He'd disappear in a hurry.'

'He had plans, you know,' Sam mused.

Dean could feel Sam watching him as he poured the brandy. 'What plans?' he managed to ask, although he couldn't have cared less. Sa'mael, as Singer had just said, was no longer an issue. He'd made sure of that when he'd left the sullen man bound and gagged in the rain beside the freeway. Sa'mael was smart enough to know that everything had fallen apart. Sa'mael, too, knew what it meant to have his cover completely blown.

'He thought that, given the map and a few carefully selected mercenaries, he could get into Saudi Arabia and get at the gold. He told me all about his scheme,' Sam finished blithely. 'Aren't you going to pour me some brandy, too?'

Dean turned back to the counter and poured another glass. 'Sorry,' he muttered shortly. When Dean handed it to him, Sam raised it cheerfully.

'Here's to finally getting some answers.' He downed a healthy swallow.

Bobby grinned. 'Haven't I always told you that answers are always crystal-clear once you know where to look?'

With a snap, Sam set down the brandy snifter. 'Speaking of crystal-clear answers,' he began. And then he was on his feet, moving quickly down the hall toward the study.

Singer traded glances with Dean. It was the first time they'd been alone together without Sam in the room. 'Everything's under control?'

Dean nodded. 'Yeah. The agency will handle it. I really did lead them to believe you were the one who'd wrapped Sa'mael up for Christmas. I guess if Sa'mael says too much, though, Hendriksen may figure out I'm still around.'

Singer chuckled. 'Even if he does, you'll be all right. You're old news now, I'm afraid. The last time I talked to Hendriksen I casually brought up your name just to see what he'd say. He wasn't terribly interested, frankly. You'd be a minor curiosity and that's it. Hendriksen won't push it. He owes you and he knows it. He's a good man. Pays his debts.'

'I like being old news.' Dean thought about that. 'But Sam…'

'Don't worry about Sam,' Singer said softly. 'he's my nephew. I know him.'

'He's a young man,' Dean countered. 'And he had a wild image of Wolf built up in his mind. What did you tell him about me, Singer?'

'Only bits and pieces. I was very concerned about you a year ago, my friend. I wasn't sure if the book was going to be the therapy you needed. I guess I had a few drinks with Sam one evening and talked. More than I should have, probably. He took the information and embroidered it a bit with his rather active imagination.'

'Did you really give his some idiotic story about the temperature, uh, dropping in a room when I walked in?' Dean demanded.

Singer blinked. 'I suppose I did. There are times when it's perfectly true.'

Dean winced. 'No wonder I don't get many invitations to cocktail parties.'

Bobby Singer howled with laughter. 'Don't worry. The description only applies when you're working. If you're not getting party invitations, it's because people suspect you're not the party type. Not because they don't need an extra ice bucket.'

'What about telling him I was a… a renegade?'

Singer looked surprised. 'I never said that. I'm afraid he came to that conclusion on his own. I told him that I had trained a man who wound up with the code name of Wolf and that I was now worried about him. I guess he assumed-' He was about to say something else and stopped as Sam trotted back down the hall, tossing the crystal apple in his hands. 'Ah, the apple.'

'Yes, the apple.' Sam pinned him with a mock ferocious glance. 'This is where the answer is, right Uncle Bobby? Clear as crystal?'

He nodded genially. 'It's a microdot masquerading as one of the bubbles captured in the crystal. Pretty little apple, isn't it? I had one made especially for both you and Dean. You each have half of the map. That's the wedding present, you see. Not the gold itself but the adventure of having a treasure map of your very own. And someday, someone in your family will be able to go after the gold. Maybe twenty years from now, when the politics and violence in that part of the world have changed. Maybe the next generation will get it. Who knows? In the meantime you'll have the fantasy.'

'It was a brilliant gift idea,' Sam said with a warm smile.

'I thought so. Just the thing for a man with an overactive imagination. When did you figure out that the apple was the key?''

'While I was talking to Sa'mael. I knew the answer wasn't in the manuscript.' he slid a quick glance at Dean. 'Phantom answers other questions, but it doesn't tell where the gold is hidden. I just used that as an excuse to get Sa'mael back here to the house. I figured out the role of the apple, though, when I put everything I knew together. The gold, you implied, was a wedding gift. Something to be shared. And you had given both Dean and me an apple. It was a link between us. The key. Then there was your penchant for hiding things out in the open, the way you always say answers are crystal-clear. The apple itself has a gold stem and leaf and that was another clue. The gold on the apple was meant to be a connection to the gold in the middle east, right? And you'd given us the basic clue when you told Dean the legend. Last but not least, I knew you always like to cover your bases. You would have wanted the information available to both Dean and me just in case something ever happened to you. It made sense that you had given us the answers. And you would have given them to us jointly. All we had to do was look around.'

'And you realized that the only thing I had given both of you was the apple.' Singer nodded. 'Not bad, Sam. Not bad at all.'

'Games,' Dean heard himself mutter.

'Better get used to them if you're going to marry into the family,' Bobby advised lightly.

'I've played enough for one day. If you both will excuse me, I'm going to go to bed. Bobby, you can have the couch. Your nephew has the spare bedroom.' Dean got to his feet.

Sam's head came up quickly. 'Dean…'

He stood still, looking down at him. 'What is it, Sam?'

'I… I just wondered about your trip this morning.' he chewed on his lower lip, obviously searching for the right words. 'I mean, Sa'mael seemed to think you'd gone to Mexico.'

'That's what I wanted him to think.'

'But…'

'I bought the ticket. But the plane made a few stops between here and Mexico City. I got off in L.A.'

'I see,' Sam said quietly. 'You planned it that way to make Sa'mael think you'd left the country to go after the gold yourself.'

'I thought my leaving would draw him out into the open,' Dean explained very patiently. 'I figured he'd make his try at night, thinking you'd be alone. I'd planned to circle back and be waiting for him. I had it all worked out. But you rewrote the rules.'

'He tricked me,' Sam protested. 'I had a phone call from Uncle Bobby. Or at least I thought it was from him. Sa'mael made a recording from the voice messages on the machine in Bobby's cottage and mixed up the words into whole new sentences.'

'I know,' Dean said. 'Sa'mael told me.'

Sam eyed him curiously. 'Did he?'

'He told me a great many things,' Dean said. 'Good night, Bobby. Sam.' He left the room.

Sam watched him go, the smile fading from his eyes and being replaced by a wistful yearning. Slowly he lowered the apple into his lap as he sat down beside his uncle.

'He has a nerve accusing us of playing games,' Sam muttered. 'What does he think he was doing today when he fed me that song and dance about going off to find a mysterious contact who might know where you were?'

Singer swirled the brandy in his glass. 'He wasn't playing games. Dean never plays games. He simply didn't want you to know the truth.'

'What truth?'

'That he didn't have any magic man to contact. The only one around he could depend on to protect you was himself. He had to make Sa'mael believe he had really left town and the only way to do that was to actually get on the plane. Mexico City was the logical choice because it has a reputation in the industry. Sa'mael made all the assumptions he was supposed to make when he discovered that was Dean's destination.'

''But why didn't Dean tell me?' Sam sighed.

'He wanted to keep you from finding out the truth about him. In the end there was no way he could accomplish that. Not and save your life, too.'

'What did you mean about Dean never playing games?

'Just that.' Bobby took a long swallow of brandy and gazed up at the beamed ceiling for a moment. 'You and I, Sam, we have a capacity for stepping back emotionally from a situation we don't like. You did it all the time in the corporate world. You treated it as a game when it threatened to get too serious or intense. I saw you do it in the academic world and when you played at being an artist. It was a survival mechanism for you. It works very well. I should know. I've used it myself. I could frequently put my work into that kind of perspective when things got too grim. I would detach myself and instinctively try to see all the moves and countermoves as just part of a great big chess game.'

'And Dean couldn't do that?'

'No. For him it was very real. He gave everything he had to his work and it finally took its toll.'

'Phantom.' Sam stared down at the crystal and gold apple. 'The real truth in the manuscript isn't the hint about the gold that you put in, is it? It's the part Dean put into the story. The reality of what he faced.'

'When he finally realized the job would eventually break him, he turned in his resignation. It wasn't accepted. They told him there was one last mission.'

'And he went on it.' Sam shuddered. 'I think he just barely survived, Uncle Bobby.'

'He did what he had to do. Dean always does what has to be done. He was quite lethally serious about his work and that attitude made him the best there was in the industry.'

'Better than you, Uncle Bobby?'

'Better than me. But the violence and the frustration of that last job were the end for him. When it was over he simply disappeared. He showed up on my doorstep three months later, calling himself Dean Winchester.'

'That's not his real name?' Sam asked in astonishment.

Bobby Singer smiled. 'It is now. I told you, Dean doesn't play games. Everything is for real. He took another name and started a new life. He would have done anything to keep it real.'

'Well, it is real,' Sam protested. 'Nothing's changed.'

'Now you know the truth about him,' his uncle pointed out quietly.

'But I don't feel any differently about him,' Sam breathed. 'How could he think-'

'Apparently you gave him quite a horror story about Wolf.'

'That was all your fault. You're the one who told me the tale!'

'I was a little drunk that night as I recall. And I was genuinely worried about Dean. I wasn't certain writing the book was going to work for him.'

'That's no excuse. You told me things-'

'They were all true,' Bobby Singer said, giving him a level glance. 'But I will not assume responsibility for what you did to the facts with your imagination.'

Sam grimaced. 'When I found myself realizing this afternoon that my only chance for surviving lay with Dean, I knew who he was. I also knew that whatever he had been, he was now the person I loved. You were right about him. He's the kind of man you can count on when the chips are down. Why did you sketch that wolf's head on the manuscript?'

'I was just doodling. It was natural that I'd be thinking about Wolf when I read the tale of Phantom.'

'I suppose so. It put me on the wrong track altogether, though. I thought it was Wolf you had gone after.' Sam fell silent for a moment. 'I guess I'll go to bed, too.'

'You do that,' his uncle murmured blandly.

Sam shot him a half-humorous, half-rueful glance. 'Going to throw your favourite nephew to the wolf?'

'Wolves take care of their own.' Bobby got up and headed across the room to the brandy bottle. 'Good night, Sam.'

Sam went over to him and threw an arm around the older man in a brief hug. 'Good night, Uncle Bobby. I'm real glad you're safe.'

'Not half as glad as I am that you're okay. Guess I owe Dean for that.'

Sam said nothing. He merely smiled and walked down the hall toward Dean's bedroom with a deep sense of certainty.

Lying in bed, his arms folded behind his head, Dean stared into the darkness and listened to the sound of Sam's footsteps. He waited for them to stop outside Sam's bedroom door, and when they didn't even pause he tensed.

It would be best if Sam stayed in his own room, he told himself. Quickly, silently, he ran down a list of why the younger man shouldn't open his door tonight. Too much had happened today and Sam was inclined to be emotional. He was also inclined to be impulsive. The younger man needed time to sort out his feelings. Dean didn't want Sam coming to him without having had time to absorb the full implications of what he had learned about Dean today. Sam might be feeling sorry for him. He might have convinced himself that Dean needed him and was too compassionate to deny him comfort. Dean didn't want his pity.

So many reasons, he thought savagely. So many excellent reasons why he should send Sam back to his own room if he dared to open the door.

Sam turned the doorknob and stepped inside. Dean looked at him as he stood silhouetted against the light and knew that he could never find the willpower to send the younger man back. He needed Sam's warmth too badly tonight. It had been so cold today.

'Asleep, Dean?' Sam asked softly, shutting the door and coming forward into the shadowed room.

'No.'

'You must be exhausted.'

'Umm.'

There was a rustle of clothing as Sam undressed. Dean saw the pale gleam of his bare chest and then the lighter area of his hip as he stepped out of the jeans.

'I'm a little tired myself,' Sam admitted quietly as he walked naked to the bed.

'Sam…' Dean tried to say the words that should be said, tried to explain why the younger man shouldn't be there. But Sam was pulling back the comforter and slipping in beside him and the logical phrases disintegrated in his throat. The warmth and strength of Sam as he reached out to hold him were a temptation that was far more difficult to resist than all the gold in the middle east.

'Don't worry,' Sam whispered huskily. 'I won't be making any demands on you tonight. We've both had a hard day.' He stroked his fingers through Dean's hair, soothing the nape of his neck.

'Sam, it's not that, it's just… Oh, Sam, hold me. Put your arms around me and hold me.'

Sam did, cradling him even as Dean pulled him tightly into the curve of his body. Dean inhaled the familiar, enticing scent that was uniquely Sam, knew the incredible comfort of his touch, felt the shape of him locked securely in his arms and relaxed for the first time since the day had dawned. Now he would be able to sleep.

Hours later he awoke to the light of dawn and the knowledge of what he must do. A part of him resisted the knowledge even though another side of him realized it was the only sure way. It was best to do things that sure way, he reminded himself. Careful, cautious, certain. He had spent the past year carefully, cautiously, certainly pulling himself back together. He knew about patience. He knew about being sure.

It would be tricky trying to teach those skills to the warm, frequently impulsive man who lay sprawled so contentedly in his arms. But it was the only way. Above all else he wanted Sam to know exactly how he felt about Dean.

No games. Not even the kind played out of pity or compassion. Especially not those.

Dean didn't move as he lay beside Sam. He was almost afraid of disturbing him because once Sam came awake he would have to explain his decision. He preferred to steal these last few minutes of closeness and warmth, make them last as long as possible. A wolf, he thought wryly, took whatever he could get.

Sam opened his eyes slowly, aware of Dean's arm around him, his hand resting possessively on his chest. Sam lay still for a moment, letting himself realize fully just how good it felt to lie next to Dean. It felt right. A sense of deep certainty settled on him. It was unlike any emotion he had ever known. Sam was in love with Dean Winchester. He had known it since yesterday.

It didn't surprise him that love would arrive like this. Such an emotion, when it finally came into his life, was bound to happen in just this manner. For someone like him there was no other way. Quick, impulsive, but absolutely right. He knew real gold when he found it. Lazily he stretched, a serene, confident expression in his eyes as he turned to meet Dean's steady gaze.

'Good morning,' Sam murmured, touching his mouth lightly to Dean's. 'How did you sleep?'

Dean blinked, his features holding a trace of surprise as he thought about the question. 'Solidly.' His hand moved on Sam, following the length of his thigh. 'Thanks to you.'

'Good.' Feeling vastly pleased with himself, Sam stretched again, this time bringing his body quite deliberately against Dean. 'I'm glad I'm useful for something. I felt like such a fool yesterday when I walked straight into Sa'mael's hands.'

Dean didn't respond to the invitation of Sam's languid stretch. In fact, Sam decided, he seemed almost tense. Not at all like a man who'd had a good nights' sleep.

'It wasn't your fault,' Dean told him. 'Anyone would have been fooled by the recording. I've heard messages scrambled from other recordings. They can sound very real. But you kept your head. You got him back here.'

'I knew you would be coming back and that you could handle everything,' Sam said.

'How long have you known?' He watched Sam with cool green eyes.

Sam knew the coolness was deceptive. He also knew the real question Dean was asking. He knew the older man very well now, Sam decided. Reading Phantom had filled in many of the blanks a person normally encountered when learning about another human being.

'How long have I known that you were the man they used to call Wolf?' There was no point in not being totally honest. 'Since yesterday for certain. When Sa'mael told me that Wolf had been a legend at one time but had not made it back from his last assignment-'

'Because I'd cracked,' Dean put in bluntly.

Sam refused to acknowledge his interruption. 'I began to think about Phantom. About a man who had been to the brink and hung on instead of going completely over the edge. A man who had forced himself to survive when by all logic he should have been crushed. And then I thought about the way I feel safe around you…'

'Safe?'

Sam nodded. 'I realized it that day at the Pike Place Market when you showed up just as Sa'mael was about to coerce me into his car. And yesterday when I found myself trying to think of a way to deal with Sa'mael. Something told me I only had to get him back here. When you arrived I knew I would be safe again. There were lots of other little clues, of course. Your concern with the security of this house. The way you move. That sketch of my uncle's. Even the way you play checkers. So intense and cool. Then there was your recent conversion to vegetarianism. Somehow that seemed symbolic. Something a carnivore might do if he were trying to put aside that aspect of his life. It all fit. Especially once I knew for certain that Sa'mael wasn't Wolf.'

'You had such a terrible image of Wolf,' Dean began heavily.

'By the time I realized you had once been Wolf, I was ready to throw the image out the window. I knew the real you by then.' Sam smiled, dimples out in full force, loving Dean with his eyes.

Dean's face became remote. 'I'm not so sure, Sam.'

'Not so sure of what?'

'That you know the real me.' Dean stilled the protest that rose instantly to Sam's lips by putting his fingers against the young man's mouth. 'Listen to me, Sam. I rushed you into bed that first time. The second time was too intense, too emotional because you knew I was leaving and you weren't sure what was going to happen. We've been living in the eye of a storm ever since I walked into this house and found you in my study. There's been no chance for you to get to know me in a normal fashion.'

Alarm flickered into life. Sam watched him intently. 'Are you trying to tell me you aren't sure how you feel about me, after all?'

Dean shook his head once, a quick, violent negative movement. 'I know how I feel about you. I've been wanting you for months. You've been growing in my mind every day, taking shape, tantalizing me, until I knew I had to have you. But your uncle was right. There was something else I needed to do first.'

'Write Phantom.'

'That book was a final step in freeing myself, Sam.'

'I understand.' And he did. Completely now.

'You were a goal, a treasure waiting for me after I had put the past behind me. I feel as though I've been getting to know you for months. Your uncle saw to that. But it didn't work that way for you. You've only known me a few days and that time has been too intense, too dangerous and too emotional.'

'Falling in love is bound to be emotional!' Sam put in quickly.

'Are you saying you think you're in love with me?' Dean searched Sam's face.

'Yes.' Sam spoke the single word with calm assurance.

'Sam, you can't know that!'

'You told me once that you would like me to love you,' Sam reminded him.

Dean's fingers tightened on him. 'I want that very badly. But you have to be certain. You have to be sure. No games, Sam.'

'I've never played games with you.'

'How about with your own mind? Sammy, it's just too soon. You can't possibly know how you feel. Not yet. Hell, up until yesterday, you've been thinking of Wolf as some kind of psychotic killer. Now you've learned that Wolf and I are one and the same. You can't tell me you've managed to adjust to that kind of news overnight!'

'I get the feeling I can't tell you much of anything,' Sam tossed back. 'You're not ready to listen to me. You've already decided the way things have to be, haven't you?' The alarm was coiling tightly in Sam as he began to see where Dean's words were leading.

'Sam, I want you to have time to get to know me,' Dean told him urgently. 'This time around we'll do it right.'

'I don't understand!' But he did and the realization panicked him.

Dean continued forcefully, his certainty clear in every word. 'Yes, you do, Sammy. We're going to do it right. I want you to have a chance to make absolutely certain of your feelings. The next time you tell me you love me I want you to have had plenty of opportunity to think through just what you're saying.'

Sam pulled free of him, sitting up with the sheet around his hips bunched tightly in his fists. His hair fell in his face in a soft tangle as he stared at Dean. 'Are you sending me away?' his voice sounded odd. He was clinging to more than the sheet. He was hanging on to his control with both hands.

Slowly Dean sat up beside him, his eyes almost colourless. He was committed to finishing what he had started, Sam realized. Sam would not be able to reason with him this morning.

'We're going to start a normal relationship,' Dean said.

'What's normal? Dean, you of all people should know by now that life is short and highly uncertain. We've found something wonderful together. Why should we waste time? Please don't do this.' The plea was all wrong, Sam thought. He was letting his emotions rule his tongue. Dean wouldn't trust him to know his own feelings if he did that. Dean didn't trust emotions.

'I'm not sending you to Outer Mongolia,' he said.

'No? Then where are you sending me?'

'I think it would be best if you went back to San Diego.'

'San Diego! But I don't even have a job there!'

'You've got your apartment, don't you? It's still your home.'

Sam groped for an argument. 'What about you? Are you just going to sit around here until you figure I've had enough time to know my own mind? Dean, that doesn't make any sense. I'm an adult. I already know how I feel.'

'I'm going to come and see you. Call you. Sam, I'm going to court you, don't you understand? I'm going to give you plenty of time-'

'How much?' he challenged.

Dean looked blank. 'How much what?'

'How much time, damn it!'

'I don't know.' He frowned. 'However long it takes, I suppose.'

'That's not fair Dean. If you're going to sentence me to exile, you have to at least put a time limit on it. Give me a date. One week? One year? I want a date.'

'Sam, you're getting hysterical.'

The worst part was that Sam knew he was right. He was losing his self-control. It was the shock, Sam decided. The shock of waking up in love and being told by Dean that he wasn't ready for his love. Sam gulped air, swallowing shouts of anger and panic. The more emotional he became, the less Dean would trust him to know what he really wanted. For the sake of their future, he had to get hold of himself.

'Yes,' Sam murmured, sliding off the edge of the bed. He looked around a little frantically for something to wear and finally saw his shirt on the floor where he had left it last night. 'Yes, you're quite right. I'm getting emotional.' His fingers fumbled with the buttons but he managed to get the shirt on. Then he picked up his jeans with hands that still trembled. Dean never took his eyes off of him.

'Sam. Sammy, listen to me.'

Sam shook his head. 'No, no, I'm all right. I understand. You don't fully trust intense emotions because you learned once that they can take you to the edge of disaster. I should have realized that after reading Phantom. That was the lesson you learned when you went through with that last mission and then disappeared, wasn't it? Your emotional response to your work nearly got you killed. You kept yourself so tightly leashed and under such control for so long that in the end you almost came apart when the explosion occurred. That's why you talk in terms of appreciating life's pleasures. Anything stronger than pleasure might be dangerous.'

Dean got slowly to his feet, completely unconcerned with his nakedness. 'I just want you to be sure of how you feel,' he repeated stubbornly.

Sam got his jeans zipped and lifted his head to meet Dean's eyes. 'You want to be sure of everything. Sure of the security of your house, sure of me, sure of your own self control. Well, go ahead and make sure, Dean. Being absolutely sure of things seems to be one of the few pleasures you get out of life. Who am I to deny you?'

Turning, Sam strode from the room.

tbc