The flash of rage and pain gave way to another emotion even as Dean slipped out the front door. Fear began to claw at his insides, and in that moment he could not have said whether it was fear for Sam's safety or fear that the man was leaving him. The two seemed to combine in the bottom of his stomach, forming a knot of tension that increased as he realized Sam was already out of sight. He was at a loss to explain how he could have been so sound asleep that he hadn't even felt Sam leave the bed. Normally he never slept that deeply. Last night had altered something as fundamental as his sleeping patterns and that was unnerving in some ways.

The truth was he hadn't handled last night all that well. He'd practically pushed Sam into bed, Dean berated himself. He should have waited. He'd known it was much too soon. Sam hadn't spent nearly a year with a fantasy nibbling at the edge of his mind the way he had. The younger man couldn't know what it was like to have a fantasy become reality. As far as Sam was concerned he'd only known him a couple of days. Sam must have awakened this morning with a head full of doubts and anger aimed at him.

So he'd taken off without bothering to say good-bye.

Damn it, Dean thought furiously, where the hell could he have gone? There had been no sound of a car so he must be on foot and that meant he couldn't have gone far.

The car. Sam's was still at the inn and it probably represented escape to him. The road would seem the fastest way into town to him, Dean decided. Without hesitating a second longer, he loped down the steps and started up the drive toward the winding road that led into Winslow.

He saw Sam just as he reached the pavement. Sam was walking briskly along, his mop of brown hair catching a sheen of gold from the dawn light. It complemented the faint glint of gold from the sturdy chain on his wrist. Dean remembered the way the heavy bracelet had glittered last night against his skin. Sam had told him that his uncle had given it to him a long time ago. Sam's tall, strong body moved with an ease that seemed to emphasize the broad shoulders and muscular thighs he recalled so vividly that morning. Dean watched him in silence, remembering the sweet passion he had tapped during the night.

The year's wait had been worth it, he acknowledged to himself as he began to pace silently a few yards behind Sam. He had not set himself up for disappointment by allowing Bobby to build an image in his head. In his wildest imaginings, though, he could not have envisioned that Sam would wrap his arms around him with such abandoned demand. Nor could he have dreamed up the clean, masculine scent of the real Sam Campbell. It was unique to Sam and Dean would never forget it. There was no way his fantasies could have created the exact feel of those strong thighs as Sam opened himself to him and there was nothing in fantasy that approached the real-life sensation of sinking himself deep into his tight, gripping warmth.

But it was the words he remembered with such stark clarity that morning. Sam's quiet words of need and the promises he had coaxed from Sam's lips. He had thought the words would hold the younger man even if the lovemaking could not. Sam had told him he would not play games with him and had said he wanted him.

But this morning Sam was running from him.

It would be easy enough to catch him. Sam wasn't even aware of him prowling along behind him on the empty road. His mind seemed focused on his destination, whatever that was. Was he planning to take the car and head back to San Diego? Or would he go to Singer's house and wait there for his uncle?

Not that it mattered, Dean thought grimly. His hand curled and uncurled briefly in a subtle act of tension. He couldn't let Sam leave.

He ought to just catch up with the younger man and explain very succinctly why he couldn't let him off the island. Perhaps Sam would be rational about the matter. Or Dean could simply overtake him, throw him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry and haul him back to the house. Sam would probably start fighting but Dean knew some tricks the other man didn't. Then again maybe it would be simplest if he caught Sam and swore never to touch him again as long as Sam did as he was told. And just how would Dean manage to keep a promise like that?

None of the alternatives seemed viable. With a savagely stifled oath, Dean continued to trail Sam along the narrow road. It was ridiculous following him like this, unable to make up his mind about how to handle the younger man. Singer would collapse in laughter if he could see him now. The Dean Winchester he knew had never been prone to indecision or uncertainty.

Several yards ahead Sam walked toward town with an energy that was fuelled by a sense of impending fate. He couldn't explain the feeling of being caught in a trap, but the sensation was strong in his mind. A part of him could not regret last night no matter how hard he tried. But another side of him warned that everything had happened much too quickly. It was something completely alien for him to catapult himself into a situation like that. He shook his head morosely, unable to comprehend his own emotions. Throwing himself into bed with a virtual stranger was one game he had never played.

There was no denying that the unfamiliar blend of emotions he had experienced around Dean had taken him by surprise. In a way, it seemed almost logical, almost inevitable that they had culminated in last night's sensual conclusion. That sense of inevitability, however, was new and disturbing. What irony that Dean had been worried about Sam playing games with him! Nothing had ever seemed less like a game than his own fierce response in Dean's arms. Perhaps if it had seemed more like a game, he would be feeling far more comfortable this morning.

Of course, Sam decided caustically, he could always reassure himself that Dean wasn't exactly a stranger. Hadn't Uncle Bobby apparently chosen him for Sam? Dear outrageous, unpredictable and not infrequently brilliant Uncle Bobby. The man should be dangled over hot coals for creating this mess.

Uncle Bobby.

His uncle's name brought a dose of common sense. This whole mess had been precipitated by Bobby Singer. Where was he and when would he return?

Sam's brows slashed a thoughtful line above his hazel eyes when he finally reached the inn on the outskirts of the small town. His car was still waiting patiently for him in the parking lot. He hoped the inn management wasn't upset about his tardiness in picking up the vehicle. Digging into his pockets for the keys, Sam started forward.

He had his hand on the door handle, absently trying to identify the slip of paper he noticed resting on the front seat when the shock of Dean's voice behind him spun him around.

'You can't just disappear into the mists, you know. Only fantasies can evaporate like that and you're not a fantasy any longer.' The remark was made in a cool, conversational tone that completely belied the shimmering intensity of Dean's gaze. He stood a few steps behind Sam, hands thrust into the back pockets of his jeans. The familiar canvas shoes were on his feet and Sam dimly realized that he must have followed him for nearly a mile without making a sound in those shoes.

For an instant the unlikely combination of the easy tone and the fierce demand of the green eyes caused Sam to feel as though he had somehow lost his balance. His hand closed tightly around the door handle behind him as he steadied himself.

'I didn't realize you were behind me,' Sam finally managed, pulling himself together quickly. It was ridiculous to let Dean throw him like this. 'You should have said something.'

'If you'd wanted company, you probably would have mentioned it before you decided to sneak out of the house.'

Sam was taken back by the tightly reined emotion he sensed in Dean's voice. Was it anger or pain? In that moment he couldn't be certain. But he knew he'd prefer that it was anger. Even in his uncertain state of mind this morning he realized that the last thing he wanted to do was hurt Dean Winchester. On the other hand there was such a thing as self-preservation. Sam acknowledged that he felt more than a little on the defensive.

'I didn't sneak out of the house. I simply went for a walk and decided to pick up my car while I was out. You're the one who was sneaking around! You and those sneaky shoes you wear!'

'The last time I let you go off by yourself you nearly disappeared, remember? It's my job to keep you out of trouble until your uncle gets back.'

'Is that what you were doing last night?' Sam challenged, goaded by the accusing tone of his voice. 'Keeping me out of trouble?'

'If we're going to talk about last night, lets do it somewhere else besides this damn parking lot,' Dean growled. He stepped forward and closed his fingers around Sam's upper arm. 'We can get a cup of coffee down at the wharf.'

'Dean,' Sam began firmly, and then decided against an argument. Uneasily he acknowledged that he couldn't tell what Dean was thinking this morning. Nor could he be sure of the state of the other man's emotions. Given the uncertainty in his mood and Sam's own odd feelings, it seemed wisest to avoid an outright confrontation.

Dean led him down the hill from the inn to a pier that thrust out into the beautiful, sheltered cove that was called Eagle Harbor. A marina full of peacefully tethered boats of all shapes and sizes extended out from the pier. On the other side of the cove Sam could see private homes tucked away above the water's edge. Even at this early hour there were several people lounging on the rail, or working on their boats. Fishing rods and tackle were in evidence as folks came and went from the marina to the small wharf buildings. Near the entrance to the short pier a small shop featured coffee and fresh pastries. Dean bought two cups of coffee to go and wordlessly handed one to Sam.

'Thank you,' he murmured with exaggerated politeness.

Dean didn't bother to respond to his comment. Instead he seemed to be deep in thought as though he were struggling to find the right words. The idea that Dean was having trouble made Sam relax a bit. He had the impression that Dean was not accustomed to dealing with this morning's sort of situation. He was glad.

'I wasn't exactly going to disappear into the mists,' he tried tentatively.

'No?' Dean sounded sceptical.

Sam shook his head, sipping at his coffee as they walked out onto the pier. 'No. I only intended to pick up my car and drive it back to the house. If I'd been planning to duck out, I would have taken my duffel bag. Or at the very least, my wallet.'

'Umm.'

Sam slanted Dean a glance. 'What is that supposed to mean?'

'That you've got a point,' he said grudgingly. 'I should have thought of it. I just figured you were so upset about last night that you raced out of the house without bothering to pack or say good-bye.'

Sam focused on the far end of the pier. 'I was upset about last night.' he felt Dean examine his profile but he didn't turn his head to look at him.

'I rushed you into bed,' Dean said finally.

'We rushed into bed,' Sam corrected firmly.

'You're not going to let me take all the blame?'

'Do you want all the blame?'

Dean took another sip of coffee. 'No I'd like to think you had a hand in the final decision. I don't have much interest in playing the role of seducer of unwilling males.'

The response that came to Sam's lips was cut off abruptly as a fisherman who had been unloading his morning's catch walked past with a bucket of water in which two fish swam lethargically. The man turned to wave to a comrade who hailed him from a nearby yacht. Quite suddenly he stumbled over a fishing-tackle box that someone had left on the pier. In the next instant the bucket of fish tilted precariously and one of the silvery, wriggling creatures fell out. It landed right in front of Dean's foot and lay shuddering as it began to die.

'Whoooeee, look at that sucker!' a young boy exclaimed excitedly.

'Must be six pounds if it's an ounce' another man said approvingly. 'Nice catch, Fred.'

The man named Fred grinned proudly as he caught his balance. 'Thanks, Stan. Thought I'd do 'er over a mesquite fire tonight. The wife's having the neighbours in for cards.'

Sam was aware of a familiar pang of regret at the sight of life going out of the fish. He understood about the food chain and that humans were inclined to be carnivores but he preferred his fish neatly filleted and packaged in plastic in a supermarket.

He glanced away from the fish before realizing that Dean had come to a halt and was staring down at the creature that lay dying at his feet. There was no expression on his face. He simply stood silently watching the wriggling, flopping fish. The man who had caught it leaned forward to retrieve it.

Without stopping to think, Sam reached out and grabbed Dean's wrist. Dean glanced up as Sam pulled him firmly around and led him toward the pier entrance. Dean followed his lead, not saying anything as they walked away from the sight of the now-dead fish.

'That sort of thing is hard enough on us supermarket carnivores,' Sam heard himself say casually. 'I imagine it's rather sickening for a vegetarian.'

'Don't worry, I'm not going to be sick out here in public,' he said dryly.

Sam cast him a quick, assessing glance. 'No, you're not, are you?'

'I'm a realist, Sam. I don't eat meat but I understand how the world works,' he said quietly.

'Yes, I suppose you do.' Sam dropped his hand, feeling foolish at having made the vain effort to protect him.

'That doesn't mean I don't appreciate the thought,' Dean told him softly.

'What thought?'

Dean's mouth was edged with quiet amusement and a hint of satisfaction. 'You were trying to shield me from a bit of reality back there. It was very-' he hesitated, hunting for the word '-very compassionate of you.'

'Forget it,' Sam said sturdily. 'Now about our plans for the immediate future…'

'Does this mean we've finished our discussion of the immediate past?' Dean inquired politely.

'There's nothing to talk about. We've both agreed that we were equally to blame for rushing into the situation.' Sam straightened his shoulders. 'We're adults and we should be able to analyze our actions and learn from our mistakes. We are stuck here together until my crazy uncle sees fit to get in touch, so we will have to conduct ourselves in an intelligent manner. Now, I suggest we both put last night behind us instead of trying to rehash it.'

Dean shrugged. 'Suits me.'

'I'm so glad,' Sam muttered with saccharine sweetness.

'You weren't running away this morning?' Dean confirmed quietly.

'No, I was not running away. I just wanted a little time by myself. I felt as if I needed some fresh air.'

Dean nodded and then said calmly. 'I think I can understand that.'

'Kind of you,' Sam drawled.

'Just make damn sure you don't do it again.'

A faint trickle of unease went through him at the cool way Dean spoke. 'I beg your pardon?'

'I said, don't do it again.'

They were back in the inn parking lot, approaching Sam's car. He had the keys in his hand but his mind was on Dean's quiet command. 'Dean, one of the reasons I decided to get out of the corporate world is that I don't take orders well. We'll get along much better if you don't get carried away with your sense of responsibility.'

'I hear you,' Dean said agreeably.

'Good.' Sam reached down to open the car door and slid into the front seat.

'Just don't go running off again without me,' Dean concluded as he gently nudged the younger man over to the passenger seat and settled himself smoothly behind the wheel. Dean held out his hand for the keys.

Sam felt goaded by his words, not noticing or seeming to care about the change in seating. 'The next time I try it I'll be sure to look back over my shoulder to see if I'm being followed.'

Dean lounged into the corner of the seat, never taking his eyes from Sam's stormy gaze. 'I thought we were going to act like adults about this.'

Sam drew a deep breath aware of feeling extremely childish. 'Sorry,' he mumbled. 'You're right, of course. I should never have left the house alone this morning. I wasn't thinking. I was feeling rather, er, emotional. I assume you don't have that problem frequently yourself?'

Dean didn't smile at his sarcasm. 'Wasn't I emotional enough for you last night?'

Sam felt a flush suffuse his face. 'What you appeared to be feeling last night is often referred to by an entirely different name.'

'Passion?'

'Try lust,' he bit out.

'I thought we just got through agreeing that we're adults. If that's the case, then I think it's safe to say both of us know the difference between lust and…' Dean hesitated. 'And other feelings.'

Sam stared at him in silence for a long, troubled moment. He knew the difference, he thought. He just wasn't quite ready to admit that what he had felt last night went by a very dangerous name of its own. It was called love.

Instinctively Sam moved a bit farther over in his seat, seeking to put some distance between himself and Dean. The car seemed filled with the older man, Sam thought. As he slid across the upholstery something crackled beneath his thigh. Belatedly he remembered the slip of paper he had noticed earlier on the car seat. Grateful for the minor distraction, he reached for it.

'You'll give me you word you won't take off alone again?' Dean asked in a neutral tone as he switched on the ignition. He glanced at the paper in Sam's hand as he unfolded it.

'Oh, I'm nothing if not cooperative.'

'I appreciate it. What's that?' He put the car in gear, ignoring Sam's sharp tone.

'I don't know. Just a piece of paper that was lying on the seat. I don't remember…' Sam's voice trailed off in stunned amazement as he read the short message he held.

Dean frowned at him, his foot on the brake. 'I said, what is it, Sam?'

'A problem. A very big problem.' Mutely he held the typed message out to Dean.

Dean stared at Sam's wide eyes for a second longer before switching off the ignition again and reaching out to take the note from his hand.

It wasn't a long note. Sam had it memorized after reading it through twice.

The one-fifteen ferry to Seattle. Come alone. You'll be safe.

'Well, hell,' Dean said thoughtfully.

-o0o-

Two hours later he was still acting and sounding very thoughtful. It infuriated Sam because he had argued himself hoarse in the meantime. Sam no longer felt in the least thoughtful. He felt quite desperate in fact. For the hundredth time he paced to the far end of the living room and whipped around to glare at Dean, who was lounging quietly on the sofa. Dean had one foot on the coffee table in front of him and was flipping through a car magazine with absent attention.

'Listen to me, damn it!' Sam was sure his voice would give out at any moment. It seemed to him he had been yelling at Dean for hours. 'I haven't got any choice! I have to be on board that ferry at one.'

'You don't have to be anywhere at one.' Dean's responses had been quite and reasonable for two solid hours. They were driving Sam up a wall. How could anyone remain quiet and reasonable and totally inflexible for two solid hours?

'How else are we going to discover what this is all about?'

'People who leave notes in cars are no doubt creative enough to think of alternatives when Plan A doesn't work.' Dean turned the page of his magazine. 'Under the circumstances I think it would be better to make them resort to whatever it is they didn't want to do first. No sense letting them have the easiest option. Gives them an advantage.'

'Dean, I don't want to wait around for Plan B!'

'That's what the guy is probably counting on. Be patient, Sam.'

Sam swung away, striding restlessly back to the other end of the room. Anger and nervous dread alternated relentlessly in his head. He was furious at Dean's refusal to even consider letting him go alone on board the one-fifteen ferry. The nervousness was a growing fear that whatever his uncle was involved in was proving to be more than he would be able to handle. He braced a hand against the window frame and stared out at the stand of trees that guarded the drive.

'Uncle Bobby must be in very big trouble,' he forced himself to say carefully.

'Or someone wants you to think his is.'

'Since when are you the expert on how people such as that man Wolf think and operate?' Sam snapped. 'You've only written one thriller, for heaven's sake. That hardly qualifies you as an authority on the real thing.'

Dean put down the magazine. 'Sam, I'm only doing what your uncle asked me to do.'

'I understand,' he said, trying to be patient. 'But you're taking his instructions much too literally. The situation calls for a little improvising. Something's gone wrong, don't you see?'

'No.'

Sam's fingers closed into a futile fist and he leaned his forehead against the window. He was rigid with exasperation. 'Dean, please listen to me.'

Dean came up behind him, moving soundlessly across the floor to rest his hands on Sam's shoulders. 'Sammy, if I let you go on board that ferry by yourself, we wouldn't be exactly improvising. We'd be following someone else's plan. Surely you spent enough time playing corporate manager to know that following the oppositions' game plan is usually not to your advantage.'

'We've got to find out what he wants!'

'What he wants,' Dean said distinctly, 'is to use you.'

'We don't know that. Maybe he has news. Maybe he wants to give us some information. For God's sake, Dean, whoever left that note might not even be what you call the 'opposition.' He might be a friend of my uncle's trying to get a message to me.'

'Sam, your uncle has a strange sense of humour but I don't see him pulling a stunt like this.'

'Whoever is going to be on that ferry is someone who knows something about Uncle Bobby. I'm going to find out who it is and what he knows.' Sam lifted his head away from the window, aware of Dean's fingers sinking heavily into his shoulders.

'Sam…'

Sam shook his head, tired of arguing, his mind made up. 'No, Dean. I'm through discussing the matter. I'm going to be on the ferry. Be reasonable. What can happen to me on the boat? It will be full of people commuting to Seattle. Whoever is going to meet me will be trapped on there, just as I will be until the ferry docks. He can hardly pull a gun and shoot me, can he? After all, he'd be stuck with the body until he gets to Seattle.'

Dean turned Sam around beneath his hands, his face drawn and grim. 'Sam, this isn't a game like corporate management or checkers. You can't handle it with your casual off-the-wall style. You don't know what you're getting into.'

'I'm already into it,' Sam pointed out stiffly. 'And I can't stand the waiting, Dean.'

Dean searched his face. 'I can force you to stay here.'

'Not unless you tie me up and throw me in a closet,' Sam retorted.

'That's a possibility.'

'Don't be ridiculous!'

Dean dropped his hands to his sides and turned to walk back toward the sofa. 'You can't go alone,' he finally said flatly.

Sam frowned, trying to decide if he'd just won part of the battle. 'But the note said-'

'Damn the note!' Dean glanced at him over his shoulder. 'You can't go alone.'

'Are you saying you're going to come with me?'

'If you're refusing to listen to my advice, then I don't have much choice, do I?' he asked, sounding bleakly resigned.

'Not unless you really do tie me up and throw me in a closet.' Sam tried for a tremulous smile, hoping to lighten the mood now that he appeared to have won the confrontation.

Dean just looked at him. 'The temptation is almost overwhelming.'

Sam let the smile fade abruptly. 'You're not a good loser, Dean.'

'No. I never was.'

He'd won half of the concessions he needed, Sam realized. It shouldn't be tough to get Dean to agree to the rest. The note had specified that he be on the ferry alone.

'I'm glad you've decided to be logical about this, Dean,' Sam began cautiously.

'I generally am logical and reasonable.'

'Then you can understand why I have to go alone today.'

'Forget it, Sam. I'm not that logical and reasonable. Try to get out of this house alone and you'll find me standing in the way. Think you can walk over me?'

At ten minutes to one, Sam was sitting beside Dean as the man drove down the ramp onto the ferry. The crowd was a small one for the afternoon crossing and they easily found seats in the main lounge. Scanning every face that went past him, Sam suddenly realized that his palms had grown damp. He wasn't accustomed to this kind of tension, he decided unhappily. His body felt unnaturally alert, poised for the unknown. There had been no sign of the wolf-faced man in the ferry terminal.

'It's very stressful, isn't it?' Sam muttered to Dean, who was sitting across from him in the booth they had chosen by a window.

'Very,' Dean agreed wryly.

'You can jot down your feelings and put them in your next book,' Sam suggested with false lightness. 'It'll add a note of realism.'

'I'll do that.'

Sam twisted his fingers together cracking his knuckles. 'What if he doesn't show because you're with me?'

'Frankly, I'll be relieved.'

Sam glowered at him. 'Are you going to drag this little incident out every time we quarrel in the future? Throw it at me and use it to illustrate how reckless and irrational I am?'

'I doubt I'll need any additional evidence. You seem to provide enough on a day-to-day basis.' Dean paused, thinking, and then asked interestedly, 'Will we be doing it a lot?'

'Doing what?' Sam grumbled, watching people as they filed past to the snack counter.

'Quarrelling.'

'I hope not,' Sam said feelingly. 'It's wearing. I feel as though I've been through the wringer today and the main event hasn't even taken place.'

'Umm.'

The ferry moved out of its slip, beginning its crossing to Seattle. In the distance a giant freighter loaded with containers of cargo headed toward the bustling port of Seattle. Sea gulls hoping for titbits kept pace with the ferry, wheeling and gliding alongside.

'You know, Dean, there's something to be said for living in this area,' Sam remarked wistfully. 'It's beautiful country.'

'Umm.'

Sam was about to demand an explanation of his monosyllabic response when he caught sight of the man who was walking into the lounge from the outside deck. He went very still as he recognized the grimly handsome aquiline features. The man looked at him down the length of the passenger lounge.

'Dean,' Sam whispered tightly, 'it's him. The man who tried to grab me in the market.'

With a casual movement that Sam couldn't help but admire, Dean turned calmly to stare at the hawk-faced man. He examined him in silence for a moment and then swung his gaze back to Sam. 'Looks like he's going to go ahead with Plan A, even though some of the details have been changed.'

'You mean the fact that you're with me?' Sam watched the stranger make his decision and walk firmly down the aisle of window seats. 'If you want to know the truth, Dean, I've changed my mind. I'm glad you're here. Very glad.'

'It's always nice to be appreciated,' Dean muttered just as the other man came to a halt beside Sam.

'Mr. Campbell?' His voice was quiet and unruffled.

Sam swallowed, trying to keep his face unemotional. 'Yes.'

'I'm Nick Sa'mael. I'd like to talk to you.'

'We assumed that from the rather melodramatic note you left in his car,' Dean said before Sam could respond. 'Why don't you sit down and tell us what this is all about.'

Nick Sa'mael coolly examined Dean and then appeared to dismiss him. He returned his attention to Sam. 'This concerns your uncle, Mr. Campbell. It's a very private matter.'

Sam stared up into the darkest eyes he had ever seen. The man was towering over him where he sat, and if Dean hadn't been sitting quietly across from him, he would possibly have felt threatened. As it was he instinctively took his cue from Dean and gestured at the seat beside him. 'Whatever you have to say can be said in front of my friend. He is as concerned about my uncle as I am. Please sit down, Mr. Sa'mael.'

'For your own sake, Mr. Campbell, I think the fewer people involved in this, the better.'

'I'm already involved,' Dean growled softly. 'Sit down, Sa'mael, or leave us alone.'

Sam held his breath as the tall man flicked another assessing glance at Dean, who returned the look expressionlessly. Then the aquiline-faced Sa'mael shrugged and sat down beside Sam. When he spoke he ignored Dean.

''This is rather a long story, Mr. Campbell.'

'Perhaps you could summarize?' Dean suggested easily. 'We've got short attention spans.'

Sam saw the flare of impatience in Sa'mael's eyes. 'Please, Mr. Sa'mael. Tell us what's going on.'

Sa'mael rubbed the side of his jaw with an air of contemplation. Then he nodded slowly. 'To put it simply, Bobby Singer is in trouble.'

Sam caught his breath. 'Do you know where my uncle is at the moment?'

'We think he's in the Middle East.'

'The Middle East!' Sam glanced in astonishment at Dean, who kept his gaze on Nick Sa'mael. 'What on earth would he be doing there?'

Sa'mael sighed. 'I told you this was a long story. The truth is it goes all the way back to the days leading up to the start of the Gulf war.'

Sam went still. 'Go on.'

'You uncle was working for the government in those days, Mr. Campbell. He was assigned to the embassy in Kuwait City but he spent a lot of time in the countryside. He knew his way around the area as very few Americans did. He had friends in the oddest places.' Sa'mael looked a little pained. 'If you remember the news reports, you'll recall that things were getting very chaotic before the invasion. Panicked crowds from the city trying to overrun the embassy walls, others trying to flee the city. Things were in turmoil. A lot of men such as your uncle had to play it by ear when some of the normal chains of command broke down.'

With a disturbing sense of déjà vu, Sam listened to the tale. He never once looked at Dean to see how he was reacting. Something told him he should respond to Nick Sa'mael as though he were hearing the story for the first time. Not as if he had read the nucleus of it in a manuscript called Phantom.

'There was a lot of valuable material that had to be retrieved before the invasion of the country,' Sa'mael was saying quietly. 'Some of it was taken out by helicopter but some of it was sent out through less obvious routes. Your uncle was in charge of handling a particularly valuable shipment. He was to take it across the border. To be blunt, Singer reached his rendezvous point in Saudi Arabia but the shipment he was assigned to safeguard never made it.'

'I see.' Sam's throat felt constricted.

Sa'mael looked at him with a cold, even glance. 'We think he's decided to go back and bring out the shipment he left behind, Mr. Campbell.'

'Who's 'we'?' Dean inquired politely.

Sa'mael frowned. 'The people for whom Singer used to work.'

'The government?' Sam pressed.

Sa'mael inhaled slowly. 'Yes and no.'

'That's a little vague, isn't it?' Sam asked sharply.

Sa'mael's handsome features twisted ruefully. 'I should make it clear, Mr. Campbell, that while I have ties to the same agency for which your uncle worked, this is something of a personal matter for me. I am not representing the government in this.'

'You want that shipment for yourself?' Dean drawled.

Sa'mael shook his head tiredly. 'There's no chance of getting that shipment out of the Middle East. Singer will only get himself killed trying. I'd like to prevent that. Your uncle and I go back a long way together, Mr. Campbell. I owe him. He was my friend.'

'Who would kill him if he went back?' Sam whispered.

'The story of that lost shipment of, uh, material, is not exactly a secret, Mr. Campbell. There have been rumours and speculation for years. A couple of very dangerous people are aware of its existence and of the fact that only your uncle knows where it is. They've dropped out of sight since Bobby Singer did. I have reason to believe they've gone after him. I want to get to Singer before those others do.'

'And just where do I fit into all this?' Sam demanded aggressively.

'Your uncle is a very independent man. Especially now when he no longer has any ties to his former employers. He probably won't listen to me but I think he might listen to you. I want you to come with me, Mr. Campbell.'

'Come with you where?' Sam asked dazedly.

Sa'mael slid a speculative glance at Dean and then refocused intently on Sam. 'I'd rather not say our destination. But it will be in the Middle East. There are ways of getting a message to your uncle once we're in contact with certain local people.'

'I don't have a passport,' Sam heard himself say.

'That detail can be handled. Leave it to me.'

Dean stepped in, his voice remote and restrained. 'He needs time to think it over, Sa'mael.'

'How much time?' Sa'mael kept his gaze on Sam. 'We haven't got a lot to spare.'

'Forty-eight hours,' Dean answered for him.

Sam glanced at Dean and once again instinct made him follow his lead. 'Forty-eight hours, Mr. Sa'mael. Please. I have to think about this.'

Nick Sa'mael got to his feet. The Seattle waterfront was rapidly filling the horizon. He touched Sam lightly on the shoulder. 'Forty-eight hours, Mr. Campbell. For Singer's sake, please don't take any longer.' He turned and walked away.

Sam sat staring at Dean as the ferry bumped gently into the dock. He ran his damp palm over his shoulder where Nick Sa'mael had touched him. 'Does it feel as if it's gotten colder in here?' he asked vaguely.