Summary: A year after saving Erin, Sam proposes again, will they make it down the aisle or will her nightmares of hell consume her?

Warnings: hurt/comfort,angst, fluff, mentions of hell, mentions of depression, Crowley being awesomely Crowley, Aunt Mimi deserves a warning for how wonderful she is.

W/C: 10k

Notes: Epilogue for The Secrets We Keep Series - don't necessarily need to have read that but I recommend that you do, only because it's a masterpiece (yes I said it) of angst.

Characters: Sam Winchester, OFC (Erin Best), Dean Winchester, Crowley, Aunt Mimi (she deserves a special mention). Small Parts/Mentions: Jody Mills, Donna Hasscum, Charlie Bradbury, Cas, OC's.

Pairing: Sam Winchester x OFC (Erin).

It was early when Erin woke. She knew without looking at the clock, her tired body was enough. It had been a restless night. She'd tossed and turned, watched every red digit tick over as the minutes turned to hours. Whenever she'd tried to sleep, she'd closed her eyes only to wake again ten minutes later. It had resulted in a headache that nagged. Her whole body was sore. She was tense, but she couldn't seem to relax her muscles, as the little sleep she did manage had been littered with nightmares of hell.

It had been a year to the day since Sam and Dean had saved her from her contract with Crowley. Even if she had tried to ignore the date, it seemed her subconscious wouldn't allow her to ever forget.

Sam's heavy arm rested over her hip, and she snuggled her back into his chest. If sleep continued to elude her, at least she could bask in his warmth. Being awake wasn't so bad if she was close to him. Snug and safe in his arms was a place, not so long ago, she ever thought she'd get to be again. Even when she was completely exhausted, she'd never take it for granted. She'd cherish every moment she got to spend wrapped up in him.

The sensation began in the tips of her toes. It tingled. It wasn't quite painful, just odd and uncomfortable. Then it spread. The tingle crawled up her leg, and as it reached her knees, it swelled to a burn.

Crowley was at the side of the bed, a sneer pulling back his lips. "Did you really think it would be that easy, poppet?" he drawled when she met his eyes.

Erin threw the covers off in a frenzy, sitting up to see that flames engulfed the bottom of the bed. They licked her legs, creeping higher.

"Crowley, please," she begged. His sneer grew wider, and it seemed to stoke the flames. She tried to yell for Sam, but the smoke choked her.

"Erin! Erin!"

Sam nudged her shoulder, and she woke with a start, bolting upright. She threw the covers aside to reassure herself there were no flames, though she could still feel the heat.

"Baby, it was a dream," assured Sam, sitting up beside her. He stroked her bare arm, allowing her a minute to get her breathing under control. He waited until she turned her fear-filled eyes to his. "It was just a bad dream." He pushed her sweat-soaked hair from her face and leaned in to place a kiss on her forehead. "You're okay."

Sam didn't need to ask her what the dream had been about or who the main star was. This was the third consecutive morning he'd had to wake her thrashing body from a nightmare. She ran her hands over her face, but the flames danced behind her eyelids. She quickly opened her eyes and gazed around the room to be sure it was only light under the closed door. She shook her head to try to banish the images. "What time is it?"

"Just after four-thirty."

She kissed Sam's lips, offering a tight smile, "Go back to sleep."

Erin didn't want to close her eyes, she knew the flames would reignite and she'd burn again. She pulled herself to the edge of the bed. Her feet being flat on the floor helped to ground her, to assure her she wasn't still in the ember-filled dream.

The bed bounced as Sam pulled himself to sit beside her. A gentle finger under her chin guided her head to look at him. "Let's get out of here," he suggested, smiling tenderly, "just you and me. Let's go somewhere for a couple of days, get your mind off everything."

She smiled happily, how did he always know what she needed? "I'd like that," she grinned, kissing him again.

"Go take a shower, I'll make us some breakfast," he leaned in and kissed her temple, "then we can pack and be out of here by nine."

Sam's hand rested on the handle, but he wasn't sure he was ready to twist the knob and enter the room. Erin was on the other side of the door, he could hear the hairdryer. He could envision her sitting on the end of the bed with her head tipped upside down, taming her curly hair.

He'd made pancakes with sliced banana, drizzled with honey, for her breakfast. It was her favorite. He wanted to put her at ease, do anything he could to help her forget the visions in her head. He had a plan to change the significance of the day's date, but he was nervous. After all, his other well laid plans hadn't worked out so well the first time.

He knew why it hadn't gone the way he had expected, understood it hadn't been a reflection of him or their relationship, but still, he couldn't completely block out the tiny ounce of doubt that seeped into his mind. Was he doing the right thing? Was now the right time? Would this attempt end the way he hoped it would?

His pause lasted too long, and he heard the hairdryer switch off. He couldn't stand there forever, the coffee would grow cold, and she'd open the door in search of him and breakfast soon enough. He sucked in a lungful of air, squared his shoulders, and strode into the room.

Erin was sitting on the end of the bed, lacing up her white sneakers, and she smiled up at him. "I was just coming to find you," she said, watching him place the tray on the table in the corner of the room.

She reeled off her thoughts about where they could go, what they'd need to pack and which snacks she wanted to pick up for the drive to whatever destination they chose. He turned to face her again, nerves dissipating slightly seeing her genuine, happy grin. The shower and the promise of a change of scenery seemed to have improved the somber mood that had been her default of late.

"You okay?" she asked, concern making her squint her eyes at him. He nodded but didn't otherwise speak. "You sure? Cos you're holding your breath."

He expelled the air, and his shoulders sagged. An uneasy laugh passed his lips as he watched her approach him. "Yeah, I'm just..." he started but stopped when she ran her hands up his chest and laced her fingers behind his neck, concern carved in her brow. "Never mind, I'm fine."

"You know I know you lie for a living, right?" she smirked. He nodded, seeming unsure where she was going with the comment, and wrapped her in his arms to pull her close. "So, I can tell when you're hiding something."

"Not hiding anything," promised Sam, kissing her quickly in the hope it would stop her line of questioning. "Eat your breakfast before it gets too cold," he suggested tapping her butt gently before releasing her.

He felt Erin's suspicious gaze follow him as he took a seat on the bed. He laughed at her leering stare, hoping he didn't sound nervous. "I'm not hiding anything," he held his palms up, "I swear. Turn around and you'll see it's not hidden."

She huffed playfully but did as he suggested and turned to seek what he claimed wasn't hidden. Sam had brought her breakfast in bed a few times, only this time he had added something new to the tray holding the pancakes and coffee. Accompanying the meal were two handcrafted wooden scrabble style tile holders, with scrabble tiles spelling out, 'Will You Marry Me'.

She gasped, and he watched her bring a hand to her mouth. Her head swiveled to look at him but it seemed she was unable to hold his eyes. She turned, kept her back to him, staring down at the addition to her breakfast.

He hoped she was just taking a moment to compose herself, that she needed a second to absorb the words, to really believe them. While she focused on the question, he took the small box from his pocket and opened the lid to reveal the ring that he had wanted to give her-and the promises that came with it-over a year ago.

Sam slid to the edge of the bed, intending to get down on one knee for when she eventually turned to face him, but her choked breath stopped him. He watched her wipe away tears with the heel of her hands.

Sam's world froze, and he hung his head, his chin resting on his chest, his gaze drifting to the floor. His heartbeat pounded in his ears and his breath hitched. The first time he had asked the question, she had fled, for reasons he now understood. This time, he wanted to be the one to flee. He wasn't sure he had the strength to weather another rejection. Proposing again, or perhaps the timing of it, had been a mistake. Sam hadn't replaced the bad memories of the day with a good one after all. He should have realized this would serve as a reminder of how they'd met, how they came to be, the lies that led them there. She wasn't ready, or she didn't want it. Maybe she had never wanted it-never wanted him-not in such an absolute way.

Sam felt tears collect in his eyes but he sniffed them away as he closed the hinged lid of the box and placed it on the bed, ready to apologize for his bad timing. Though, not for wanting to marry her, because that apology would have been insincere. She turned to face him, and he raised his eyes sheepishly to hers, "E, I'm-"

Her happy tear-stained face silenced him. Three long strides and she was across the room, hands cupping his jaw to pull his lips to hers as she moved to straddle his lap. Sam's hand automatically wrapped around her waist. Her tongue sought his and he sighed contentedly when they connected.

He savored the moment, etched the details into his mind: the taste of minty toothpaste, the smell of her strawberry and lime shampoo, the shiver that ran through her when his fingers brushed her skin as he slipped his hand up the back of her shirt to rest between her shoulder blades to keep her against him.

Erin was the first to pull away, breathless. She gave a tearful sort of laugh as if unsure which to settle on.

"I think I know the answer," Sam started, his mind a labyrinth of thoughts and emotions. He'd gone from nervous to crushed and heartbroken, then to elated and relieved, in a matter of moments. It was a head rush, "But I'd kind of like to hear the words."

"Yes! A million times, yes! Sam Winchester, I will marry you." Erin claimed his mouth again and leaned into him until his back was flat against the mattress.

Sam was intoxicated. This was how he had envisaged the moment unfolding the first time. Hungry and eager kisses, the taste of Erin's happy tears mixed with contented sighs against each other's lips. Her fingernails raked against the skin of his torso as they crept up under his shirt, and although she had touched every part of him before, somehow the touch felt new. Her promise to give herself to him completely fueled a new yearning within him.

He broke away to catch his breath, but Erin continued to pepper Sam's face, jaw, and neck with excited kisses, and he moaned happily. When he pushed himself up to cage Erin against him so he could flip her over and put her beneath him, she squealed delightedly, and he was basking in the melodic sound when it quickly cut off and turned to a frown. Erin reached under her leg, and the frown melted into a wide grin as she handed Sam the purple velvet box.

"I'm supposed to put that on your finger, right?"

She laughed, her grin jubilant, the biggest Sam had ever seen it. "I think that's how it works."

He wouldn't ever forget the moment, from the second he walked into the room to the whirlwind of emotions he felt or the words they spoke, but he still wanted to do it right. Sam took a steadying breath and shuffled backward off the bed, keeping his eyes locked on Erin as he moved. He knelt on the floor and held his hand out inviting Erin's into it. The gesture triggered new tears to pool in her eyes as she offered her left hand to him, and he delicately slipped the ring onto her finger.

It fit perfectly. He'd been worried that it wouldn't, as she hadn't regained all the weight she had lost the previous year. The contrast of the white gold band and ruby against her fair skin momentarily took his breath before he pulled her hand to his mouth and pressed his lips over the ring.

A few months later

The bunker library echoed with laughter. Erin had had a bachelorette 'party' with her mother, sister, and Aunt Mimi the week before, and Jody, Donna, and Charlie had been in attendance, too. They'd spent a weekend at a spa, where they had been pampered with treatments and relaxed. It'd been great. Erin had loved spending time with the small circle of women she held dear to her heart. Jody and Donna, however, had insisted she needed to let her hair down, have some fun, get blackout drunk, dance, and be foolish. So, two days before the big day, her Hunter family had taken her out for a second, 'proper' bachelorette party.

Three empty bottles of wine were strewn across the table while Jody sought to empty the fourth and final one into Erin's glass. Erin's hand shot forward to stop Jody from refilling it. "I can't drink anymore," she said, "I don't want a three-day hangover."

"I'm not getting married. Pass it here, missy," Donna encouraged, waving Jody over to her glass.

"No hungover bridesmaids, either, please," teased Erin, waving a finger at her.

"Please, I could drink you all under the table and be just super-duper the next day," Donna quipped. Laughter greeted the boys as they entered from the garage.

"Looks like all the fun was here," Dean grumbled, his tone part serious, part whining.

"Ah, what's the matter, Dean-O, no strippers at the bar?" Charlie joked, waggling her brow.

"No," Sam chuckled and sounded thankful of the fact. He walked directly to Erin and leaned down to kiss her tenderly. "You smell like baby oil."

Charlie put her glass to her lips, "Busted."

"Char-" Erin began to scold but was interrupted by Dean's dramatic gasp.

"Oh, my god, you went to a strip club!" he deduced, rushing to the head of the table as if ready to interrogate its occupants, who all then tried to look dutifully serious and tight-lipped and collectively failed.

"Hey," Erin defended, "Sam told you no strippers, he never said any such thing to me."

Dean shook his head. The utter disbelief marring his features deepened as he made deliberate eye contact with each woman in turn to convey his upset, eliciting a chorus of drunken giggles. When he settled on Erin he asked, "Male or female?"

"Female, obviously," Jody scoffed.

"Sam, you suck!" Dean declared, pointing a finger at him. "Your fiancée goes to see strippers, and you play pool and eat wings!" He shook his head, pure disappointment on his face.

Erin grinned teasingly, "Oh, Dean, you'd have loved it."

Charlie nodded enthusiastically, "It was like going to 31 Flavors, something for everyone."

"Blondes, brunettes, redheads," Jody offered.

Donna added, "Big boobs, little boobs, medium boobs, just a whole big ol' bunch of boobies."

Erin couldn't help but snicker, seeing Dean's eyes grow wider with each new option mentioned. "And don't even get me started on the asses. Oh damn, Dean, you'd have been in heaven."

Dean slumped into the chair next to Erin, stole her glass, and mumbled around the lip as he brought it to his mouth to throw back the last of her wine, "I hate you so much right now."

The room collectively erupted into laughter at Dean's childlike pout.

Erin jolted awake on the thin mattress. Exposed, rust-coated springs dug in her back, and cold beads of sweat collected on her forehead, but she made no move to wipe them away. Crowley stood leering at her, a satisfied, smug twist to his lips. It must have been that time again. Although, time had lost its meaning. She believed he visited her weekly.

Crowley sat in the chair beside the bed, and Erin pulled herself up to hug her knees, staring at the dirt on her bare feet.

"Did you enjoy that episode of The Winchester Woes?" he asked, seeming to have enjoyed it enough for the both of them. "Thought I'd give you a glimpse of the life you could have had. I think I rather nailed the characterization if I do say so myself," he said, with a self-satisfied little shrug. "And that plot twist? Eluding the boys for months, using all the little tricks they taught you, only to be brought to heel by a broken tail light, of all things? Bet you didn't see that coming."

Erin offered him nothing. Not that he ever required a response, Crowley was happy to listen to his own voice. Seemed to prefer it.

He leaned back in his chair, legs crossed, and picked at some lint on his knee. "And what about that drama, eh? What with the boys coming along to rescue you, your confession, Sam forgiving you for all your indiscretions... How touching. Capturing me really should have given it away, though," he tsked, whether at her or himself, Erin wasn't sure. "As if I'd allow myself to be trapped so easily, wouldn't have foreseen some sort of plot after you'd been tucked away with the Winchesters for days," he grumbled, shaking his head at his own plothole before continuing, "but I had to wrap it up somehow. Couldn't have our Happily Ever After without that bit of resolution, now could we?" he sighed.

"Good ol' Squirrel, though," he winked at her, "playing big brother and saving you from yourself. I particularly liked that bit. The dreams within a dream? The second proposal? Now that was some of my best work. Did you like the touch with the scrabble tiles?" he grinned, seeming to be asking sincerely, "That thoughtful little callback to the first time he confessed his love to you? Did it make your heart go pitter-pat?" His grin turned cruel at the sight of Erin shrinking in on herself, apparently pleased with the effect. "Okay, so I skipped the actual wedding, but we all know it's the bachelorette party that counts anyway."

She hated giving Crowley the satisfaction of her tears, but she couldn't fight them any longer. She didn't have the strength to hold them in.

None of it had been real. From the moment she fled the bunker, after Sam's first proposal, she'd been there-in an eight by eight cell that was dark brick and metal, windowless, though she was sure if it had a window, she wouldn't have liked what was beyond it. The cold had surprised her. At first, she had been thankful for it, the idea of burning scared her, but now she craved warmth, even if it were painful.

"You've been missing a month," Crowley told her, "though I know it feels like longer down here. Sam's still looking for you, by the way. Slowly losing his mind with worry, wondering why his precious Erin ran out on him, why you fled when he offered himself up so honestly and completely. He doesn't know you left because you love him and that you couldn't lie to him anymore. Surely, you being here and him not knowing what happened to you, why...that must be Hell for him. You could put him out of his misery, though. He doesn't deserve this, after all."

"Go to Hell."

"Too tired for a proper comeback, are we, poppet?" he said with a roll of his eyes. "Wherever do you suppose we are? You do remember who you're talking to, don't you? Remember selling your soul to me to save your darling little sister and then reneging on our deal after I so generously offered it back to you? I didn't put you in this cell, Erin. You did. But, because I'm so magnanimous, I'd let you out again if you promised to be a good girl and follow the rules this time. What say you?" he cajoled when she remained silent. "Last chance to accept before I hit play on the next episode of A Day In The Life Of Sam and Erin. You can go back to him, act as if none of this ever happened. He really would forgive you, you know. He's the forgiving type. As I said, my characterization was on point."

"GO. TO. HELL."

Crowley sighed. "Have it your way." With a snap of his fingers, Erin awoke.

Panic pinched the oxygen from the strange room she found herself in. She sat up, her eyes searching for the answer to where she was. A sliver of light from the ensuite provided enough illumination for her to make out the shape of unfamiliar furniture, but it still took a minute to register where exactly she was. Erin sat up and massaged a fist into her breast bone, trying to dislodge the pocket of fear in her chest to free space for the air her lungs craved so desperately.

The toilet flushed, and the room flooded with light from the bathroom as the door widened before Sam's tall frame blocked it momentarily. He caught a glimpse of Erin's tear-stained face-she could only imagine how pathetic and desperate she looked-and he rushed to her, crawling up the bed to whisper reassurances. His tone was even but spiked with unease.

"It was a dream, it's over," Sam spoke soothingly. He knelt next to her to encase her in his arms. "Breathe, baby, take a breath."

His words and enveloping embrace were the anchor she needed, and she gasped, sucking in a distraught breath. Erin trembled in his arms and took a full minute to compose herself, to give her mind time to register that she was, in fact, okay and remember where she was: a hotel in Sioux Falls the night before she was to marry the man she was clinging to. Sam pulled her with him, straightening out to lie flat on the plush bed.

Erin eagerly tucked herself against his side, and when she ran her hand across his stomach to grip his waist, he turned on his side to look at her.

"You okay?"

She nodded, averting her eyes to watch her own finger swirl patterns on his chest. Sam would know the look she wore was a combination of guilt and humiliation. Guilt that even on the eve of their wedding, of what should be a joyous occasion, she was seeing visions of Hell. She was humiliated that she had no control over them. They always left her panic-stricken, trembling and on edge. Making Sam be the one to coddle her like a frightened pet seeking comfort and assurance from its master.

"What're you doing in here?" asked Erin. "More importantly, how did you get in here?"

She knew the skills he had acquired over his career as a hunter, yet she was questioning how he gained entry to a hotel room with a simple key card system. He could have done it in his sleep, she knew that. But he explained anyway, understanding that she was making conversation to keep herself awake.

"I swiped a spare key from the front desk while Dean was flirting with the receptionist," he chuckled softly. "I figured you'd have a nightmare, didn't want you to wake up alone." He pulled her flush against him to kiss her forehead.

Her guilt was replaced with gratitude that he knew her so well. Sam didn't care that she had been dreaming about Hell, that she had been for months now instead of pleasant fantasies about their life together. He just wanted to be there for her, to ease her suffering when she woke because he couldn't fight the visions in her mind, but he could hold her when she woke and make sure she knew whatever apparitions appeared were just that, apparitions. It wasn't real, he was real. They were real.

"You know it's bad luck, right?" she said, fitting her head in the crook of his neck, "To see the bride before the wedding."

"Want me to go?" he asked, though he squeezed tighter. She answered by throwing her leg over his hip and digging her heel into his butt cheek to lock him in place. She felt his lips curl into a smile against her head. "It's not tomorrow yet," he reasoned, "I promise, in the morning, I'll keep my eyes closed, and you can chuck me out."

Bemused, she laughed faintly, "You mean sneak you out before Jody sees you and kicks both our butts?"

"That, too," he laughed, and the rumble in his chest against hers vibrated the last of the panic from her tense muscles. She could feel him, the warmth he radiated, the scars that made him imperfect. She could smell the vanilla body wash he had used, infused with the aroma that was unmistakably Sam. He was real-this was real-not the cold, dark cell with weekly visits from Crowley.

"You want to get some sleep or stay awake?"

"I should get some beauty sleep," she sighed, somewhat sadly. Being awake and in his arms was so much more appealing than anything she could ever dream about, good or otherwise. "I'm getting married tomorrow."

"Congratulations," Sam said, faking a surprised gasp, "Who's the lucky guy?"

"Oh, I'm the lucky one. But I'm not sure you know him," she played along, a gloating tone to her voice. "He's like six foot, handsome, long, brown hair, eyes that I literally get lost in. He gets dimples in his cheeks when he smiles. And he's intelligent, funny, kind, sweet, and selfless."

"You should definitely marry him. He sounds amazing."

"He is, though he never quite seems to believe it himself," said Erin, kissing his neck, "but I'm going to spend the rest of my life trying to get him to see himself the way I see him."

Crowley popped up behind a moldy shed in the woods surrounding Jody Mills' cabin. He had the decency to arrive relatively on time and not just appear in the middle of the ceremony. The path leading to the cabin had been decorated beautifully with candles, fairy lights, and white and blue flowers entwined around thick trunks. A midnight blue carpet led the way from where he assumed was the designated parking area to the large clearing behind the cabin. It was quaint and a bit rustic but tasteful, and Crowley approved. The nip in the air made the decision to have an outdoor wedding on the cusp of Autumn questionable, but he was at least relieved he wasn't being made to spend the next hour or so sitting in a church pew.

Dean stood at the edge of the seating area, greeting guests and instructing them where to sit. Sam stood beside him, practically vibrating with nerves.

"It's about time," Dean growled as Crowley approached.

He wasn't exactly late, though he seemed to be one of the last arrivals. Most of the seats had been taken. "I see manners have been reserved for the human guests," said Crowley making no effort to lower his voice.

"We weren't sure you'd show," Sam explained, ushering him aside, far enough away that human ears wouldn't overhear.

"Why ever not?" Crowley asked, bordering on offended. "I'd never miss the opportunity to see the final flourishment of the fruits of my labor. After all, I'm the reason this is all happening."

"Oh, you're the one!" a woman exclaimed with a surprised gasp. Crowley turned to the brunette behind him and knew without being told she was Erin's mother. She grinned and leaned in to kiss his cheek, which elicited a delighted smile from the King of Hell. "It's so very lovely to meet you. Erin told us all about you."

"Let us hope not everything," Crowley remarked with a mischievous wink. His new companion batted him playfully on the arm and tittered an, 'oh, you,' but Dean politely cut her off.

"Mrs. Best, you'd better take your seat," he smiled. Dean offered his arm for her to take, "It's almost time."

"Oh, of course," she agreed, linking her arm with his, "Just had to powder my nose."

Dean quickly escorted her back toward the seating area, and Crowley lifted an eyebrow at Sam in inquiry. "We kept it as close to the truth as we could," said Sam. "They think Erin worked for you, at a real estate firm, and that you introduced us. They...think you're our Uncle."

Crowley's eyes grew wide, less in astonishment than in absolute mirth. "I'm touched," Crowley said with insincere solemnity, his hand to his heart. Though, secretly he was. To be an honouree Winchester, if only for the day. He'd have burst into laughter if he hadn't known it would be misunderstood and badly received. "I'd have preferred 'eldest brother', though," he critiqued.

Sam's jaw ticked, his patience running thin. "For the record, I didn't want you here. You're only here because Erin insisted on keeping her end of the deal."

"So, let's set some ground rules," Dean interjected firmly, standing beside his brother once again.

Crowley had no ill intentions. Truth be told, he'd been looking forward to the day for a while. But he'd at least listen to their rules. After all, there were bound to be loopholes. "I wait with bated breath."

Dean scowled but listed his rules, counting them off on his fingers as he spoke. "One, no deal making. Two, no flashing your red eyes. And C, no goading the hunters."

"And the most important," Sam took a step toward him, lowered his head to stare into his eyes, trying to look menacing, but Crowley had seen the look before. It didn't scare him. "Don't do anything or say anything to fuck up her big day. It's bad enough she's been having nightmares about you."

Crowley's brow creased. "Nightmares?"

"Let me guess, you want us to believe you don't have anything to do with that," Dean accused.

Sam looked less certain of the assertion and interrupted before Crowley could declare his innocence, "Just find a seat and behave."

Crowley tsked but scanned the rows of chairs. An elderly woman in a burgundy pantsuit with a matching hair fastener was staring intently at him. Did he know her? She seemed to know him. He estimated her to be in her late seventies, early eighties. It stood to reason he may have crossed paths with her when he was King of the Crossroads.

He decided he'd take up residence in the second to last row on the end, but as he made his way around the Winchesters, he watched the woman rise from her seat and make her way toward him.

"What are you doing back here? My niece tells me you're the boys' Uncle Crowley. Family sits up front, of course." she said, slipping her arm into his and leading him away, "I'm Erin's Great Aunt Mimi, by the way."

"Ah, Mimi," Dean rushed to stand in their path. "I'm sure my Uncle would prefer to sit at the back," he said, giving Crowley a meaningful look.

Every time someone referred to him as 'uncle', the harder it was for Crowley to contain his glee. The boys, however, were far less amused.

"Yes, my dear," he agreed, turning to face Aunt Mimi, "I don't get along with the other guests on the groom's side. Some business deals turned sour, shall we say."

"Then you come and sit with me on the Bride's side," Mimi told him, completely undeterred and shoving Dean aside. "There's an extra chair, and I've decided it's for you. You look much too stylish to be sitting with all those ruffians anyway."

Crowley gave the boys a helpless shrug and subtle smile over his shoulder - if shit-eating grins could be considered subtle - as he was led away. Even Dean looked loath to argue with the elderly lady.

The day had been perfect, filled with family and friends, a good portion of them hunters. Everyone had gathered at Jody's cabin for the ceremony. The weather had cooperated and stayed warm and bright, so the outdoor set up had been perfect. Castiel officiated - it didn't get more official than an Angel of the Lord. Sam looked dashing in his midnight blue three-piece suit. Dean was as dapper as ever in his matching get up, even if he did keep tugging at his collar. The bridesmaids (Jody, Alex, Claire and Donna), and the maid of honour (Erin's sister, Emma) were beautiful in dresses that matched the colour of the boys' suits.

And then there was Erin. She felt beautiful as she walked out in the one-shoulder, black and grey lace dress. She'd applied minimal make-up, and Emma had pinned her hair back. When she'd seen Sam staring back at her from the end of the aisle, she'd felt stunning. Even without a white dress, she felt like a Princess in a Fairytale. Even if their story had begun as a horror, today they had their happily ever after.

The ceremony was everything she had imagined and more. As soon as Sam had taken her hands and gazed lovingly into her eyes, she managed to forget about their least favorite guest, who for some unknown reason was seated next to her Aunt Mimi.

The cabin wasn't big enough for a party, so they took the reception to a bar in town. The owner, Mike, a friend of Jody's, had closed the place down for them. Though, he was making his money worth, as the hunters, just as much as Erin's Aunt Mimi, took any excuse to celebrate and were throwing money at him quicker than he and his staff could pour the drinks.

Erin stood at the end of the bar, surveying the room. How had she gotten everything she wanted? Her sister Emma, in perfect health, sat with Donna, Jody, Alex and Claire, laughing hysterically and sipping wine. Sam, her husband, was at the other end of the bar talking to Garth and his wife. Sam had removed his jacket but still looked delightfully smart and classy in his white shirt and midnight blue tie. Yes, she had gotten every single thing she wanted.

"Taking it all in, sweetheart?" asked Dean, offering her a glass of champagne as he walked up from behind her.

"Just counting my blessings," Erin smiled thankfully, "which includes you. Now you're officially my brother."

Dean smirked, slightly bashful, and tipped his glass toward her in a silent toast. She took an elegant sip of the golden bubbly.

"Damn, that's good."

The five hundred dollar per bottle Krug Brut Vintage 1988 champagne had been a gift from Crowley. As per the stipulation of freeing Erin's soul, he had been invited, albeit reluctantly, and of course he'd shown up. He may have been the King of Hell, but he understood the human etiquette of not arriving empty-handed - though he had argued to her parents that he had already gifted the couple, being as he was the one who had introduced them. Nevertheless, he had arrived in a timely manner, leaving the grand entrance to the bride, and brought along twenty bottles of expensive bubbly.

The champagne went untouched for the first three hours of the party. No one quite trusted the red-eyed demon to not have ulterior motives, so Crowley had drunk two bottles himself before the rest of the party joined in.

"Right?" Dean agreed, wide-eyed, taking another sip. "I stashed a couple bottles to take home. Y'know, for the next big occasion."

Erin laughed at his enthused look, and jested, "You looking to get hitched?"

He shrugged, chortling, "Ah, you know me. I'm a rollin' stone. I was thinking more along the lines of celebrating you and Sam having a rugrat, or one year of you putting up with his dorky ass as Mrs. Winchester."

The sentiment was nice, but the slurred way in which Dean delivered it made Erin laugh whole-heartedly. He had clearly had too much of Crowley's gift. She clinked her glass against his and they simultaneously polished off their drinks.

Erin watched Crowley sway his way toward them over Dean's shoulder. The King of Hell was drunk. She wasn't sure whether to be amused by it or worried. He was hard to handle at the best of times, let alone sloshed on five hundred dollar champagne.

Crowley had been on his best behaviour, at least. Dean had been tasked with ensuring the King Of Hell was a model guest. Ground rules had been set but someone was still required to supervise the demon.

"I've been thinking about that," Crowley drawled, seemingly apropo nothing. His inebriated state seemed to have done nothing to squash his inhuman hearing. "You should hyphenate your name, darling. Then you'd be the Best-Winchester."

Dean scoffed, around a mouthful of beer, "Excuse you. I'm an original, ain't no replacing me. She'd be like top ten. Maybe." Erin scowled and shoved him playfully, and Dean chuckled, "Okay, top five."

"Please," Crowley ridiculed, scowling at Dean before turning his attention back to Erin.

Sam wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder. Though Dean was between her and the demon, she knew Sam disliked that she had to endure his nonsense. He wanted to protect her, even if she didn't necessarily need it right then. She sighed contently and settled her head against his shoulder while she listened to Crowley's reasoning of her Winchester rank.

"Even before Jolly Green proposed, she was the Winchesterest Winchester to ever Winchester. "

Erin couldn't help but snigger at Crowley. Was it more worrisome that what he had said made total sense to her? Was there something in the champagne after all?

"She's got all the essential Winchester qualities. She's stubborn, intelligent, foolhardy, self-sacrificing, sickeningly attractive..."

All three sets of eyebrows raised in question. "How much have you had to drink?" asked Sam.

"I'm a demon, Moose, not a monk. Neither am I blind. Do you really think I'd have put up with the two of you all this time if you weren't so easy on the eyes? Oh, don't worry, poppet," he said to Erin's challenging lift of an eyebrow, "yours is perfectly safe. I prefer this one by miles," he confided, tapping Dean smartly on the backside.

Dean bristled and turned, shifting his bottom out of easy reach. "Listen, man, I don't care how good this bubbly is or how much of it you've had to drink, you touch my ass again and-"

"I know, I know," Crowley muttered, raising his hands in surrender, "we broke up ages ago. Doesn't mean I can't still carry a flame, now does it? Can I help it if I have fond memories of that bare bum peeking from between triplets?"

Sam and Erin shot shocked looks at Dean.

"Bare bum?" asked Erin.

"Triplets?" sneered Sam.

Dean threw Crowley a dirty look, spluttering his indignation.

Crowley was no fool. He knew he was being 'baby sat' and it was proving to be some of the most fun he had had in a long time to have the eldest Winchester be his shadow and rile up the youngest on the same day. Not much else could have made the deal sweeter. Or so he thought, until Dean's blush tinged the tops of his ears and he stuttered around an explanation of not remembering his time as a demon.

"I have video footage," Crowley supplied, reaching into his inside pocket, "if you require a visual reminder."

Dean's mouth fell slack, but before he could attack Crowley, either verbally or physically - he couldn't quite tell which one Dean was leaning toward - Aunt Mimi walked to stand beside him.

"There's my ravishing date," said Crowley. "Why have you not danced with me?"

Mimi's met his eyes, eyes that had been flirting with him from the moment he arrived. Crowley hadn't been the only one to notice. Sam had already warned him off, and Dean had done a particularly good job of keeping the two of them separated.

"Because you've yet to ask, you sly devil you." Her choice of words tickled him, and he saw Sam's throat bob nervously. But Mimi's suggestive brow twitch deepened his intrigue. One dance would surely be acceptable.

"Well, young lady," Crowley offered his arm, "would you care to dance?"

"NO!" chorused Sam, Dean, and Erin.

"Why ever not?" Mimi asked, turning her attention to Erin. "My dear, you may have been born for the storm, but I assure you I know better," Mimi explained. "And now that you've found the eye of the storm," she smiled affectionately at Sam, "I would hope you know better, too." Mimi accepted Crowley's outstretched arm and allowed him to lead her to the dancefloor.

He smirked wickedly over Mimi's shoulder at the three sets of eyes gawking at them. Even if he didn't possess superior hearing and couldn't hear them while he made small talk with Mimi, he could have guessed their conversation from their predictable facial expressions.

Moose looked confused and out of sorts, "Does Mimi know about…?"

Moose's wife - he'd have to think of a more suitable nickname - seemed to be unsure and somewhat bewildered. "No, she doesn't. At least...Dean?"

"I'm on it," Squirrel sighed, swigging the last of his beer then walking away to interrupt the dancing pair.

"You, my dear," Crowley smiled, "are an enigma, and I must know more about you."

"Oh please," Mimi chided, batting his arm affectionately, "of the two of us you are by far the most interesting. If you weren't so inebriated I'd have stolen you away to pick your brains."

"Can you keep a secret?" Crowley smirked and leaned closer to her ear without waiting for a response. "I'm not actually drunk."

"You cheeky little fox," Mimi cooed. "Though I don't blame you one bit. I'd have enjoyed having that chiselled jawed, handsome charmer follow me around all day, too."

"You mean my babysitter."

"Think we can ditch him?"

Crowley observed Dean's bow-legged, half-drunk strut as he approached. When Dean made it within range of being able to put a hand on his shoulder to interrupt, Crowley purposefully and gracefully twirled Mimi so her back was to the drunken hunter. Dean stepped left. Crowley swung Mimi in his path. Dean jumped right. Crowley danced away from him.

"Crowley!" Dean growled, unwilling to play cat and mouse around the dancefloor.

Mimi looked over her shoulder, "Oh, I'm too much woman for you, handsome." She winked and turned her focus back to Crowley.

"Crowley," Dean demanded again as the pair swirled around him, now obviously taunting him, their joined hands caressing his back as they glided past. "We had a deal," he reminded him.

Crowley shook his head, ready to apologise to Mimi for the neanderthal's utter lack of decency, when he caught her intense focus on Dean. Mimi's lips twitched into a mischievous smirk, and Crowley watched as Dean's eyes lost focus. He looked around him as if confused to find himself there, surrounded by dancing couples, and eventually, he turned to wander off, shaking his head as if to clear it of cobwebs. Crowley looked down at his dance partner, demonstratively impressed.

"That ought to buy us a few songs, at least. So, Crowley, that's an interesting name. Why does it sound so familiar?"

"Most people are put in mind of the occultist."

"Oh, heavens no. I knew Aleister. Odd little man," her eyes wandered to a corner of the room while her memory took her somewhere else. Crowley took the moment to study her closely, unsure of what to make of her. "What's your last name, dear?"

"Winchester?"

She scoffed. "Don't lie to an old woman. Don't lie to any woman. We're used to it and likely to see through you. Intuition and all that."

"When you say woman, I can't help but think you mean to say witch."

"What's the difference, really? But you haven't answered my question."

"Once upon a time, I was known by MacLeod, if you must know, but I haven't used that name in literal ages."

"Oh, you're Rowena's boy!" exclaimed Mimi, much to Crowley's dismay. "The tales I've heard about you. Of course. Makes sense now how you've gotten mixed up with a couple of hunters. Wouldn't have expected the relationship to be so cozy, though. Between you and me, when I stepped out of the car and saw all that plaid sitting on the groom's side, I had half a mind to turn myself right around."

"You're friends with my mother?" asked Crowley, disconcerted and suddenly wondering if it were time to draw the encounter to a close. Or if it would be possible to do so gracefully. Mostly, if Mimi would allow it. There wasn't a witch alive that could best him, but the dancefloor at Moose's wedding reception was not the place to test that theory.

Still, Crowley shuddered to think what stories Rowena might have thought it prudent to share, and he was preemptively mortified, though he hid it well enough.

"Friend might be too strong a word," Mimi confided, and Crowley relaxed somewhat. "We run in the same circles, is all. Rowena doesn't have many friends that I can tell. Perhaps the biggest bitch I've ever met. Though I mean that in the warmest way possible, of course. No offence intended."

Crowley twirled Mimi under his arm and pulled her back in, once again delighted by her company. "Trust me, none taken."

"Yes. I can't imagine she was much of a mother. One hell of a witch, though. Speaking of Hell…Rowena's been saying you run the place," said Mimi with a lift of her brow that seems to say she doubted it but not completely. "Been trying to throw her weight around, but there aren't many who believe her. Is it true?" she asked, eyes narrowed.

Crowley took her skepticism in stride, "That depends."

"On what?"

"On whether you'll keep dancing with me if I tell you it is," said Crowley with an impish gleam in his eyes, guiding them into a spin that seemed to leave Mimi light-headed, though she didn't miss a beat.

"Who better to dance with than the devil? Especially such a handsome one," she winked.

Oh, this one was dangerous, all right. Crowley was having a ball. "Not your first time?"

"Likely my last," she sighed. "Family does that to you. Settling down. Deciding to grow old."

"I take it Erin doesn't know about your….proclivities?"

"Well, I haven't exactly been a consistent presence in the poor dear's life. After my husband died, I spent a good deal of time abroad."

Crowley nodded. "Explains why she came to me about her sister."

"She didn't," gasped Mimi. Their dance came to a halt, but she didn't release his hand. Rather, her grip subtly tightened and she leaned closer to whisper, "'Uncle' or not, if you mean my nieces any ill will-"

"Quite the contrary. I have nothing but respect for Erin, I assure you. After all, she bested me at my own game, which is the highest qualification for the Winchester name I can think of. Not that I don't still enjoy playing with them, you understand. The stakes just aren't as high these days. Taking them off the board would eliminate all the fun."

"I was so relieved to hear Emma was on the mend," fretted Mimi, tentatively resuming their dance. "I suppose I have you to thank for that. But Erin...she's not...in your debt, is she? Because I might have something to say about that."

"No worries, my dear," Crowley assured. "Clean slate, she and I."

"Well, that's alright, then. I don't mind you keeping Erin on her toes, but give her a rest, won't you? I'm looking forward to bouncing a couple of little Best-Winchesters on my knee before I die."

"I could not agree with you more on that count. In fact, I've gifted the happy couple a nursery suite. But speaking of Erin's rest, there's something that's come to my attention recently, and I think you may be just the person to help me address it…"

"The nightmares?" asked Mimi, seemingly reading his mind.

"Precisely."

He had a feeling this had been Mimi's plan all along, but he couldn't say he minded the slight deception. Their dance had been enchanting. She was intriguing, and powerful friends - or people who might owe him a favor - were something Crowley was always in the market for.

He dipped her back. Leaning over her, he said, "Lead the way."

Mimi guided him off the dancefloor toward the fire exit, and Crowley heard Dean shudder, "I am not going to break up that," before the door swung shut behind them.

The night eventually drew to a close. Many of the guests had left, retiring to their beds with fuzzy heads full of expensive champagne bubbles. The last remaining bottle of Crowley's present sat in a bucket of ice on the table that Jody, Donna, Erin, Sam and Mimi surrounded. The women shared stories that Sam wasn't really listening to. There had been pointedly no mention of Mimi's brief disappearance or who it was with, and that was just fine by Sam. Erin was in his lap, her head nuzzled into his neck, her fingertips tracing invisible patterns on his arm.

She was his wife. Wife - he didn't know a simple term could have such an effect on him. From the moment he'd kissed her for the first time after Cas gave him permission to do as his bride, the four-letter word had made his heart thud happily, and he felt like he needed to take a deep breath every couple of minutes to stop a giddy laugh bursting up from his chest. He hoped he'd never lose the feeling, he wanted to ride the high as long as he could.

He turned his head into her, used his nose to brush her hair from her neck, his own falling over his face, cocooning them from the world around them. "You okay Mrs. Winchester?" He grinned broadly, "Not falling asleep on me, are you?"

She inhaled sharply and shook her head slightly. Her exhale tickled his neck as she raised her head to place a featherlight kiss under his jawline. But Sam understood her laboured breath was more than excitement at the use of her new name. The lukewarm drop of her tears seeped into the skin of his shoulder, "E, baby, what's wrong?"

Sam waited, it took her more than a minute before she was able to lift her head to look in his eye. She kissed him, a small assurance she was okay. "Nothing, I'm happy. I'm sorry, I just...I'm being ridiculous." Her lips pursed as she released a long breath, "I don't want to go to sleep, not tonight," she admitted, one hand stroking his cheek. "I'm afraid. I'm scared if I go to sleep, I'll wake up and this won't be real."

"Feel that?" asked Sam and squeezed the top of her thigh to emphasise his point. He waited for her to nod. "It's real," he assured her before he loosened his grip. Erin clasped her hand over his and encouraged his fingers to grasp her a little tighter than before. He dug his fingers into her, pushed the heel of his palm as hard as he dared not wanting to bruise her. He knew she needed the pressure to tether her to reality. "We're real," he stole a chaste kiss, "all of it is. We're real Erin, and I'll do whatever you need me to do to show you."

"Oh, I know right now is real," she laughed, "because even my fucked up head couldn't possibly dream up this awful rendition of a classic." She grimaced, offended, as she turned to look toward the karaoke stage.

Dean had sung a few tunes, and with the assistance of Crowley, was wrapping up a very warbled rendition of Bon Jovi's Living On a Prayer. If it hadn't been so ironically hilarious, it may have been unnerving.

The pair, clearly deep in a drunken haze of bromance, stumbled off the stage, Dean's arm slung over Crowley's shoulder as they staggered toward the table. For every two wobbled steps forward they took, they seemed to sway back one before regaining their balance and continuing forward again. Erin and Sam laughed, prompting the other occupants of the table to watch them approach.

"So, I guess time really does heal all wounds," Jody remarked, eyeing Dean's arm around Crowley.

Dean followed her line of sight, as if it wasn't his own arm embracing the King of Hell. When the connection finally made it to his brain, he smiled apologetically at Jody and shoved Crowley aside.

Crowley, caught off guard, stumbled and caught himself on a vacant chair before dropping into it and clasping his hands in earnest entreaty.

"Oh, dear, dear Jody. Can you ever forgive this misguided man for his indiscretions?" He reached out. Maybe it was her shock at his grovelling, but Jody allowed him to take her hand without a fight. "I really did have a wonderful time on our date...before the murder attempt, that is." He shrugged, "And you must know, my dear, that was never anything personal."

"Come on, on your feet," Dean coaxed, trying and failing to lift Crowley from the chair.

"Not until she forgives me," Crowley insisted, struggling just enough to foil the attempt. "Surely if the infamously stubborn Winchesters can do so, you can find it in your beautiful heart to do the same, Dear Jody."

She snatched her arm back before he could decide to do something more persuasive with it than clasping it. "Okay, okay," Jody conceded. "Just get up already."

It wasn't as gracious as Crowley seemed to hope, but he appeared satisfied with her reply nonetheless. Crowley rose to his feet and dusted off his suit. "Well, now that's done, there's only one thing left," he said, reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket. He pulled out a small vial with swirling purple liquid that almost looked alive.

Sam expected him to smash the vial and disappear in a puff of purple smoke. After Crowley's mundane arrival, he expected some flamboyant show for his exit. Instead, Crowley offered the vial to Erin.

Sam felt her entire body tense against him. He whispered reassurances and squeezed her thigh again.

"A parting gift," Crowley explained.

"It's okay," Mimi spoke up, offering a fond smile. "I promise it's nothing to be afraid of. I helped cook it up."

Sam raised an eyebrow at Mimi, unsure what to make of the comment...or the woman herself, if he were honest, but Erin didn't seem bothered by the implications. She sat up straighter as if drawing courage from Mimi's words, but she only stared at her intriguing Aunt. Sam was the one to reach out to take the glass tube from Crowley.

Crowley's grin, though still seemingly devious, held a promise of sincerity. "She only need drink it."

Sam nodded and watched the dancing liquid as he tipped the vial up and down. Mimi's words, though different, seemed to echo Crowley's sentiment, "Sweet dreams, my dear."

When Sam raised his eyes again, Mimi and Crowley were strolling arm in arm toward the exit.

Somewhere between sleep and waking, Erin registered faint voices and that the room was brighter than she expected. The sun was higher than it should be for the early hour she thought it was, casting shadows around the honeymoon suite when her eyes fluttered open. Sam returned from the hallway, pushing a room service cart, all three shelves full of covered dishes.

"Morning dearest wife," Sam's dimpled smile greeted her warmly when she sat up and rubbed at her face.

"Morning dearest husband," she cooed, watching him abandon the cart in the middle of the room to greet her with a tender kiss.

Sam hummed contently against her mouth, taking a seat on the bed and smoothing his hand on her cheek. He pulled away after too little time.

"I was worried for a second you weren't ever going to wake up," he confessed sheepishly. "You haven't slept this late since that time Dean got you drunk on rum." She groaned as if the reminder was enough to give her a hangover. "It's after eleven-thirty."

"Shit, really?" she asked and received a nod of confirmation from Sam when she tried to find a clock in the room. "I'm sorry, baby," she told him, wrapping her arms around his neck to pull him in for another kiss. "I didn't mean to waste half of our first day as man and wife."

"Don't be sorry," he assured her. "Besides, I did keep you up pretty late."

Erin murmured a sound of approval, climbing from under the covers to straddle his lap. She dipped to kiss his neck. Sam groaned when she reached his collar bone and pulled her face up to level with his. "As much as I'd like to continue," his tone became apologetic, "you might need to call Mimi before she does some witchy voodoo thing to Crowley."

Erin laughed loudly. Sam had been so worried but thoughtful. Instead of waking her, he'd called Mimi to ask about the potion.

Sam's eyebrows raised high, and he chuckled along with her, but he sounded partly worried when he told Erin, "I swear she started speaking in tongues."

"I'm sure whatever she does can be undone," she assured him. "We've already wasted the morning." She pushed at his shoulders to make him lie flat.

"It wasn't wasted," said Sam, sincerely smiling up at her, his hands running up her legs to her thighs. "You slept without nightmares for the first time in three months."

"If this is a nightmare, it's a beautiful nightmare," she shrugged, bending down to close the gap between them. "As long as I get to wake up to you," she whispered, her lips ghosting over his.

"Every day, forever," he promised, just as quietly, before capturing her mouth in a searing kiss and wrapping her tightly in his arms.

End