AN: Well, this is it! I hope you enjoyed my rewrite of 'The Waiting Game' by Jayne Ann Krentz. A wonderful Harlequin Intrigue Romance from 1985. A very good book that I had fun slashing and bringing into modern times. Enjoy and thank you for reading!

Dean's version of a courtship, Sam decided a month later, was going to drive him slowly insane.

Over and over again he told himself that Dean was the one who needed the time. Time to be sure of him. Sam would give him that. After all, he loved him; he would give Dean anything he asked. But how long would the farce continue, he wondered dismally.

'Farce' was hardly the most respectful term for Dean's courtship, but it was the one that came to Sam's mind most often during the torturous, contrived, carefully choreographed weekends. True to his word Dean flew down to San Diego every Friday evening. He spent Saturday and Sunday with Sam and then flew home to his island.

Sam's hopes for the first weekend were dashed when Dean checked into a motel near his apartment and continued to retreat to it every evening of his stay. The other weekends were no different. Dean took him to dinner, shows, the zoo and the beach. But he never took him to bed.

In fact, Dean rarely touched him with any intimacy at all. That was the part that was beginning to drive Sam out of his mind, he realized. He was left with a feeling of genuine panic every Sunday evening when he saw Dean off at the airport. Perhaps Dean wasn't capable of making the final step of total commitment. He knew Dean wanted him, knew Dean took pleasure in his company but Dean had convinced himself that Sam didn't understand his own feelings.

What he really feared, Sam decided, was that Dean didn't understand the depths of his own feelings for Sam. Dean was afraid to surrender completely to the force of his own emotions.

They would be fierce and intense, the emotions of a strong man who had much to give once he had accepted the power of his own nature. But Dean had learned the hard way that there was a risk in losing some of his self control. Sam wanted to set Dean completely free, to urge him to take a risk both on Sam and on himself but there was no way to break through the controlled façade. On Monday morning after the fourth weekend Sam acknowledged that Dean had established the rules and he was going to force him to play by them.

Bad analogy, Sam told himself wryly as he fixed coffee with his Italian espresso machine. Dean didn't like anything that smacked of game playing. Sam stared morosely out at the palm tree in front of his kitchen window and thought of the carefully restrained kiss he had received at the airport the previous evening.

Uneasily he tried to brush aside the worry that perhaps Dean would never be able to relax and let himself trust both of them completely.

Dean did love him, Sam told himself with some violence. He hadn't said the words but that was all right. Sam knew him, understood him. Sam had complete confidence in his love. His only fear was that Dean would never have the same confidence.

Somehow Dean had to learn that the iron control he held over himself wasn't necessary any longer. He was a whole human being now. He'd healed himself. Dean must learn to have faith in the health of his emotions and in those of the man who love him. Dean could live safely now without a perfect cover.

And Sam did love him, completely. With every fibre of his being. One month of the stilted courtship hadn't changed that. Nothing on earth could change it. Sam had never been so certain of anything in his life.

He was at home that evening when Dean called. Sam was always at home these days. Not because he didn't have friends or invitations but because he was worried that Dean might phone and find him out. Sam wanted nothing to upset Dean or alarm him. He wanted Dean to know that he was simply waiting for him.

The conversation followed its by now predictable path.

'How was the flight back to Seattle?' Sam asked politely.

'Find.' Dean hesitated. 'Have you eaten?'

'Oh, yes. I fixed myself a salad.' Sam searched mentally for something to add to the careful conversation. 'And I had a glass of wine.'

'I went down to the tavern and had a beer.'

At least you got to get out of the house, Sam thought irritably. I'm forced to sit here from five o'clock on because I can't be sure when you'll call. And I'm worried you'd use the evidence of my not being at home as an indication that you were right not to trust me. 'Sounds good,' he said brightly. 'How's the plotting going on the new book?'

'Okay. I'm trying to figure out how to untwist some things in chapter four without giving away too much information. This book is going to be a lot easier to write, though, than Phantom was.'

Not surprising, Sam thought. This second book wouldn't be nearly so autobiographical. Phantom had been a form of catharsis. The next book would truly be fiction. Sam didn't have any doubt that it would be as good in its own way as its predecessor, however. The bottom line was that Dean really could write. 'Speaking of giving away information, Dean,' Sam heard himself begin quite firmly.

Dean paused before inquiring cautiously, 'Yes?'

Sam hesitated. 'Well, I was wondering. I mean, it's been a month now and I was just thinking that you might have come to some, er, decision.'

'About what?'

Sam very nearly lost his temper. 'About us!'

'Oh. You still want a date when everything's going to be settled, don't you?'

'Dean,' he tried reasonably, 'this is getting us nowhere. I've tried to be patient-'

'You don't know much about patience, Babe.'

'Don't be condescending. Just because people like you know all about patience, doesn't mean the rest of us-'

'What do you mean, people like me?'

Sam wanted to snarl at having used all the wrong words. The forbidding cold was back in Dean's voice. 'I just meant that you seem to have developed a great deal of patience during your life. I, uh, I haven't been quite that fortunate. Dean, I'm trying to give you the time you need, but-'

'I'm not the one who needs the time,' Dean interrupted quietly.

'Well, I sure as hell don't need it! I know what I want. I'm in love with you, and this past month has been Hell. I feel like I've been in exile. You don't touch me, you're so polite I could spit, and you won't tell me how long it's going to go on. There are times when I really begin to wonder if you-' Sam halted the flow of words abruptly.

True to form, Dean refused to be left hanging. 'You wonder if I what?'

'Nothing,' he mumbled.

'Sam, tell me what you were about to say.'

Sam sighed. 'I wonder if you will ever really trust yourself or me enough to love me.' There. It was said. Sam hadn't dared anything that intimate before and he wasn't at all certain how Dean would react. Sam had been assuming a great deal, he thought rather bleakly.

Silence on the other end of the line greeted his statement. Then Dean's voice came with rock-hard certainty.

'I love you, Sam.'

Sam caught his breath, his fingers gripping the phone. 'You do?'

'You've been a part of me for months. I can't imagine life without you.'

The simple words were overwhelming to Sam. 'You never said anything quite that explicit before,' he finally got out rather weakly.

'I don't think I've thought it out quite that explicitly until now,' Dean admitted slowly. 'You've just been there, a part of me.'

Sam closed his eyes in relief. It was finally over. It must be over. 'God, Dean. I love you so much and I've been going crazy down here waiting for you to be sure.'

'I've been sure all along.' Dean sounded vaguely surprised. 'It's you who needed the time.'

Sam's eyes narrowed as he picked up the first inkling that his waiting might not be ended after all. 'I don't need any more time, Dean. Please. I've been very patient. I could wait forever if there was a real need, but there isn't. There's no need for us to be apart.'

Dean's voice hardened. 'I want you to have more time.'

Sam heard the finality in his words and fury mingled with despair. 'You think I'm playing a game with you.'

'No, Sam, it's not that. I just-'

Sam didn't let him finish. 'Dean Winchester, you don't know what real game playing is!' Quite precisely and quite definitely, Sam hung up the phone. Then he walked to the hall table and found his wallet. There was a warm, inviting little tavern down the street and around the corner. If Dean could have a beer in the evenings, so could he. Come to think of it, he needed it a lot more than Dean did tonight.

The phone rang insistently behind him but Sam ignored it. He walked to the door, opened it as the phone continued to ring, and then he stepped outside. It was a wonderful, balmy Southern California evening. The scent of the sea hovered in the air and the row of palm trees lining his street rustled lazily in the evening breeze. Sam strode quickly down the sidewalk, wondering what the trees looked like in the middle east.

The tavern was only half full, with a crowd of people in their twenties and early thirties. The women, with their cleverly casual hairstyles, their silk shirts and jeans, chatted vivaciously with men in equally expensive hairstyles and designer jeans. Several heads nodded familiarly as Sam took a lone seat in the shadows at the back of the room. He ordered an imported beer and sipped it thoughtfully when it arrived.

The trees in the middle east. Images of menacing jungles and scorching deserts came to mind. Not really his kind of place. Dean had learned caution the hard way in such places around the world. Caution and patience.

But there was a time and place for caution and patience. Surely they shouldn't be allowed to stand in the way of a loving commitment. Love was so rare and so valuable it was a shame to make it wait on caution and patience. Sam took another taste of the expensive import and thought about Dean's reluctance to release himself completely from the reins of his self-control.

Dean had let those reins slip on a couple of occasions, Sam reminded himself. The first time Dean had made love to him, for example. The second time as well. Of course, on those occasions Dean had been assuming that he could keep his past hidden from Sam. Dean had had no need to fear Sam's reactions to learning his full identity because he'd assumed Sam never would know of it.

But even that last night at his home Dean had been unable to send Sam away although he had already made up his mind to give the younger man time. Dean had needed Sam that night, not in a sexual way, but in the way a man sometimes needs comfort from someone they love. He'd let Sam comfort him to some extent, Sam reminded himself on a note of hope. Dean had held him very tightly that night, even in his sleep. Sam had been aware of the tension gradually leaving the other man. He seriously doubted that Dean had ever risked taking much comfort from others.

He turned the matter over in his mind. Dean loved him and he loved Dean. And as he had told Dean, life could be short and precarious. Love was too important to risk losing because of too much caution and patience. He needed to find a way to make the older man understand that. He needed to yank Dean out of his cautious, patient, controlled world.

An hour later Sam walked home alone, opened the door and saw the gleam of the crystal apple as it sat reflecting the light of his desk lamp. He stared at it for a long moment, thinking of Sa'mael's plans to retrieve the gold. Then, very slowly and very thoughtfully, he closed the door.

The phone rang just as he was about to get into bed an hour later.

'Hello, Dean.'

'Have you calmed down?'

'I've calmed down.'

'I love you,' Dean said quietly.

'I know. I love you.'

'Just give it a little more time, Sammy,' he urged. 'The waiting isn't easy for me, either.'

'I think it's easier for you than it is for me,' Sam told him.

'No,' Dean said in a raw tone. 'It isn't. Goodnight, Sam. Sleep well.'

'Good night, Dean.'

Sam hung up the phone and wandered slowly out into the living room. Once more his eyes fell on the crystal apple. There must be a way to break the impasse. The apple held the key to the gold. Perhaps it held the key to unlocking Dean's emotions.

Again he wondered what the trees looked like in the middle east.

-o0O0o-

Dean answered his phone on Friday morning with a sense of anticipation that he couldn't deny. Very few people in the world had his unlisted number. Sam was one of those people.

'Hello?'

'He's gone crazy, you idgit. I warned you this would happen. Don't say I didn't warn you!' Bobby Singer was one of the few other people who had the number.

'You didn't warn me,' Dean said patiently. Determinedly he squelched his disappointment that the caller wasn't Sam. After all, he would be seeing him this evening. He could wait. 'Calm down and tell me what you're talking about, Bobby.'

'You think it's a joke, but I can tell you from past experience, it isn't.'

'Okay, it's not a joke. Now tell me what it is that isn't a joke.'

Singer spoke grimly. 'He's applied for a passport.'

Dean paused, absorbing that. 'A passport?'

'And he called me up to see what I knew about getting in and out of Saudi Arabia.'

'This is a joke, right? You and Sam both have a very strange sense of humour, Singer. I've told you that on previous occasions.' But Dean's hand was like a vice on the telephone receiver.

'Believe me, I'm not finding this funny. Applying for a passport isn't the end of it, either.'

Dean sucked in his breath. 'All right. Let me have it.'

'He asked me for a second copy of your half of the map and he's put an ad in the L.A. Times. Want to hear it?'

'No. But I think I'd better.'

'Listen to this.' There was a rustle of newspaper on the other end of the line and then Bobby began to read: '"Danger, adventure, financial reward for the right person. Applicant must be willing to travel out of the country, able to take care of themself and willing to follow employer's orders. Personal interviews only, no phone. Three o'clock on Friday." That's today, Dean.'

'I know it's today.'

'He goes on to name the hotel down in San Diego where he'll be interviewing applicants. You know as well as I do that every California bozo who's into fantasy violence is likely to show up. Dean, this is all your fault. I'm holding you personally responsible.'

'My fault? You're the one who gave him half a map and a legend, for pete's sake!'

'And then I gave him and the map to you, damn it! I thought you would know how to take care of both!' Bobby hung up the phone with a crashing noise that made his listener's ear hurt.

Dean stood silently staring at the receiver for a very long moment. Sam was playing games again. In his usual impulsive, off-the-wall style he was issuing a full-blown challenge.

Sam appeared to have absolutely no fear of him. He must know that Dean would be furious when he found out what the younger man had planned. Everything Sam had done was quite deliberate, of course. He'd notified his uncle just to make certain Dean would find out immediately what was happening.

A challenge, Dean thought as he yanked his canvas duffel bag down from the closet shelf. Sam had one hell of a nerve. Dean recalled the way he had walked into his home that first night and found Sam casually searching his study. Sam had had no fear of him then, not after he'd found the apple. And he obviously had no fear of him now.

But Sam had shuddered and gone cold whenever he had mentioned the man called Wolf. And Sam knew Dean had been Wolf.

Dean had wanted to give Sam plenty of time to accept him completely once he'd learned the whole truth. He'd wanted to be certain Sam could handle the idea of what he had once been. He loved Sam. It would tear him apart if deep down Sam was unable to accept him and his past. A few more weeks or months and he would have been more certain Sam knew what he was doing.

But Sam had no patience for strategy. He had applied for a passport and put an ad in the papers. He was going to force Dean's hand.

Dean zipped the bag closed, checked for his keys and set the house alarms. It would take him several hours to get to San Diego and he didn't want to waste any time. There was a midmorning flight that he just might make if he moved quickly.

He was astonished to find himself suddenly very impatient.

-o0O0o-

The line began forming outside the hotel room at two o'clock. Sam watched in growing trepidation from the lobby, trying not to be obvious. If any of the wildly varied assortment of men in the line realized that the potential employer was the young man who was hanging around the front desk, he would be mobbed.

He had never dreamed so many people would show up in response to that ad. What really alarmed him was that Dean was not among the thirty-plus males lounging in line. Nervously Sam wiped his hands on his jeans. In a few minutes he was going to have to start dealing with that motley crew. Several of them looked rather rough. One or two appeared to be ex-bikers. A few were probably ex-military and some appeared merely curious. None of them was an ex-wolf.

Reaching for a pad of hotel paper and a pen Sam tried to jot down a few interview-type questions. What did one ask a mercenary? Especially when one had absolutely no intention of hiring him? He needed a question or two that would definitely exclude everyone in that line. Desperately he searched his brain for something that would make each of the waiting men ineligible.

At five minutes to three Sam steeled himself for the task ahead. Dean was nowhere in sight. He was going to have to start the interviews or risk a very discontented line of applicants. The hotel management would not thank him for starting a riot.

Head high, back straight, he took hold of his jangled nerves and strode down the line of rather scrungy-looking males. Without glancing at any of them he opened the hotel room door and said over his shoulder, 'I'll see the first person in line now.'

Five seconds later he found himself alone in the room with a swaggering young man who was wearing a much abused military fatigue shirt. He took one look at Sam and grinned arrogantly.

'You the guy who wants to hire me?'

'I'm the guy who is looking for the right candidate,' Sam said coolly. 'Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to ask you a few pertinent questions.'

'Go right ahead, sir,' he retorted with mock courtesy. 'I'm at your service.'

The swaggering young man's grin was gone when he stomped out of the room five minutes later. He was grumbling fiercely under his breath. Sam beckoned for the next applicant.

Sam had sent fifteen of the men packing when there was a loud commotion in the hallway outside the room. Angry voices rose in protest and a second later the door was shoved violently open. Sam looked up from interviewing candidate number sixteen and saw Dean filling the doorway. Anger, a seething impatience and a vast masculine annoyance burned in Dean's eyes when he looked at Sam.

But the room didn't go cold.

Dean pinned him for an instant, then his gaze flicked to candidate number sixteen, a middle-aged ex-military type running to fat.

'Out.'

The ex-military type examined the newcomer for a few taut seconds, then shrugged and got to his feet. 'I was just leaving. Seems I don't fit the profile of the successful applicant,' he drawled. He used the words Sam had just spoken a second before the door had been flung open. He sauntered past Dean, a flicker of amusement in his expression. 'A very interesting young man. Good luck, buddy. I think you're going to have your hands full.'

Dean ignored him and turned to confront the remaining candidates. 'Everyone can go home. Interview time is over. The man has already hired someone. Me.'

'Now wait just a damn minute, pal…'

Dean glance over his shoulder at Sam. 'Tell them, Sam.'

Sam got to his feet and realized his knees were slightly shaky. He had seen Dean in a lot of different moods, including the one that could chill a room. He had never seen him thoroughly annoyed. Sam summoned a polite smile as he nodded at the men in the hall.

'I'm afraid he's right. Mr. Winchester is the perfect candidate. Thank you all for showing up today.'

There were a few growls of protest but the cluster of men dissolved. A moment later the hall was empty and Sam was left to face Dean alone.

Dean leaned back against the doorjamb, his arms folded across his chest. 'What the hell kind of game do you think you're playing, Sam Campbell?'

Sam sighed and sat down again. It was easier than standing. 'I didn't know so many people would actually answer an ad like that.'

'This is California, remember? Put an ad like that in the paper and you're bound to lure a lot of nuts out into the open.' He came away from the wall and stalked over to the desk, flattening his palms on its surface as he leaned down to glare at him. 'Did you think I'd let you get away with a stunt like this?'

Sam smiled tremulously. 'No.'

Dean narrowed his eyes. 'I'd have been here earlier but the flight was delayed. I've been amusing myself for the past several hours thinking of what I was going to do to you when I finally did get to San Diego.'

'I can imagine.'

'I ought to take a belt to your sweet backside.'

'Sounds kinky.'

'Damn it, Sam, what the devil do you think you're doing?' He straightened away from the desk and paced to the window. 'I'm furious with you.'

'Yeah. I'm sorry about that part, but I-'

'Sorry about it!' Dean whipped around to stare at him. 'Sorry about it!'

'I couldn't think of any other way to force you into realizing that this stupid courtship has to end. It's driving me crazy, Dean.' Sam rose to his feet to confront him. 'We're wasting time and love, and everyone knows those are commodities that are too valuable to waste.'

'What makes you think you've achieved anything other than annoying the hell out of me?'

Sam faced him determinedly. 'There's only one way you can keep me from going to the middle east.'

'Really?' Dean asked with soft menace. 'And what's that?'

'You're going to have to marry me. If you don't, I'll be on my way as soon as my passport arrives.'

He looked dumbfounded. 'Marry you!'

'This is blackmail, Dean. Pure and simple. I'm giving you an ultimatum. Marry me or I'll go off on my own in search of that gold.'

Dean continued to stare at him as if Sam had taken leave of his senses. 'You're serious, aren't you?'

'I'm serious. This isn't a game, Dean. I don't play games with the really important things in life.'

'And I'm one of those things?'

'Dean, you are the most important thing in my life,' Sam said with simple honesty.

There was a moment of profound tension as Dean regarded him with an unwavering gaze. Sam had the impression he was seeking the proper words to express his feelings. He waited in an agony of suspense.

'Sam,' Dean finally said carefully, 'I'm very angry. I can't ever remember being quite this angry.'

'I know,' Sam whispered. 'And I regret that, but-'

'But you're not afraid of me, are you?' Dean finished.

'Are you kidding? I've crossed all my fingers and toes.' his mouth curved in wry humour.

'But you're not frightened, are you?' Dean pressed.

'Not the way you mean, Dean. The room hasn't gone cold. The only time it ever did was the time you rescued me from Sa'mael. And I knew at the time that the chill was my protection, not something I had to fear. I love you and you love me. How could I be truly frightened of you?'

Dean ran a hand through his hair and turned back to the window. 'I've been scared to death,' he admitted starkly.

'Of loving me?'

He shook his head. 'Of worrying that you couldn't really love me knowing who I am.'

Sam stepped around the desk and walked slowly toward him. 'I love you, Dean. I love you so much that I'll do whatever I have to do to stay with you. I know all the important things about you. I read Phantom, remember? I told you after I read it that I'd fallen in love with the hero.'

'And I told you that I'd rather you fell in love with me.'

'You thought it would be pleasant.' Sam nodded.

'I think,' Dean said huskily as he turned toward Sam, 'that it would be more than pleasant. I think it's absolutely essential.'

'Dean,' Sam breathed, pressing closely into Dean. 'I love you so much. Don't send me away again. I couldn't bear it.' He buried his face against Dean's neck, arms wrapped around him in a tight embrace.

'You do tend to dramatize, don't you? I never sent you away. This past month was supposed to be a courtship.'

'It was a test and I hate tests. I trust you, Dean. All I want is for you to trust me.'

'Or else you'll blackmail me into marriage?'

Sam's fingers bit into the muscled back beneath Dean's shirt. 'I've told you, I'll do what ever I have to do in order to keep you.'

Dean stroked Sam's hair, tangling his fingers possessively in the chestnut-brown strands. 'I believe you, Sammy. After this fiasco today, how could I not believe you? I have to admit you're not exactly looking for a way out of our relationship. But I thought I had to offer you that escape if you wanted it.'

'So that you could be sure of me. Well, I'm not looking for an escape, Dean Winchester.'

'I love you, Sam.'

Sam lifted his head, eyes flickering with emotion. 'I love you.'

Dean smiled and wrapped him close. 'Can we go home now?' he asked.

'Yes.'

'We can stop in Vegas on the way back to Washington,' he went on thoughtfully.

'You really are going to marry me?'

'I thought I didn't have a choice.'

'You don't,' Sam assured him.

Dean thought about being wanted so badly by Sam that he'd do anything to keep him. It was a novel idea. He discovered he liked it. He was suddenly very sure Sam wasn't playing games.

-o0O0o-

The phone was ringing in Sam's apartment when they walked in the door a few minutes later. Dean reached for it.

'It'll be your uncle,' he explained as Sam glanced at him in surprise. Then he spoke into the receiver. 'Hello, Bobby. You can stop panicking.'

'Why the Hell weren't you answering your cell?' The gruff question was blurted out almost before Dean finished his sentence.

'I kind of left it in Seattle.' Sam stifled a little laugh and moved away from Dean, further into the room.

'Well, I knew you'd handle things once you got there,' Bobby said in tones of great satisfaction. 'What happens now?'

'We're going to get married in Vegas on the way up to Washington.'

'The hell you are! Whose idea was that?'

'Sam is blackmailing me into it,' Dean explained, watching him as he talked.

'Blackmail, hmm? I always knew the two of you had a lot in common. You both know what's important in life and you'll both do whatever it takes to get the job done. You just approach things in a slightly different style, that's all.'

'Umm.'

'But that doesn't mean I'm going to let you two get away with a Las Vegas wedding. I've been waiting for years for Sam to find the right man. I demand a real wedding. With me there.' Bobby paused and then said in tones of satisfaction, 'I won't have to worry about shopping, will I? I've already given you your gift. That reminds me, I'll be expecting a thank you note.' Bobby Singer hung up the phone.

Dean stood looking at Sam. 'Your uncle wants a thank you note.'

'Don't worry, I'll write one.'

'He's also demanding what he calls a real wedding. He doesn't approve of the Vegas idea.'

Sam grinned. 'He just wants an excuse to wear one of those damn aloha shirts.'

'Bobby always did like parties.'

Sam smiled. 'Well, much as I hate to admit it, we may have to accommodate him. I'm extremely grateful to him. But not for the map.'

'I know what you man. I feel the same way.' Dean moved, pulling Sam firmly into his arms. 'You're the real treasure. I will take very good care of you, my Sammy.'

Sam nuzzled his nose into the side of Dean's neck, lips brushing over the soft skin under his ear. 'I know. And I will take very, very good care of you.'

It was a long time later that Dean stirred in the depths of the tangled sheets of Sam's bed and remembered the question he had wanted to ask earlier. He drew a hand playfully down Sam's spine until he arrived at his muscled backside.

'Sam?'

'Umm?' he was rapidly adopting Dean's characteristic response.

'What did you tell all those candidates before I arrived at the hotel? How did you get rid of them?'

'I told them that there was one important requirement the successful candidate had to meet.'

'What requirement?'

'The successful applicant had to be a vegetarian.'

There were a few seconds of startled silence. Sam turned over onto his back in time to see the laughter dawn in Dean's eyes. A moment later it consumed him completely and Sam was left to marvel at the first full throated laugh he had ever heard from Dean.

He decided that a laughing wolf was a very enthralling sight. He would make certain Dean laughed a lot more in the years ahead.

-o0O0o-

The wedding reception, held on the ocean-front terrace of the home of Sam's parents, was a loud and exuberant success. Mr. and Mrs. Campbell were pleased with their new son-in-law. For them, Dean's cover was still nicely intact. They thought he would have a steadying influence on their beloved but often unpredictable son. They had several qualms about allowing Bobby Singer to act as best man, however.

'I knew he'd wear something ridiculous,' Ellen Campbell said with a resigned groan as she stood with her son near the punch bowl. 'Just look at him in that silly shirt. Everyone else is in formal wear! I should have put my foot down right at the beginning and made it clear he would not be allowed to participate in this wedding unless he was willing to conform!'

'You wouldn't have had much to say about it, Mom.' Sam laughed at his highly agitated mother. 'The best man was the groom's choice, not yours.'

'It's not that I don't love my brother dearly, it's just that he's so… so…' she waved her hand helplessly.

'Have some more punch, Mother.' Sam leaned over to pick up a fresh glass of the frothy red concoction.

'And that's another thing,' his mother went on a little grimly. 'Does this punch taste funny to you?'

'Spiked to the hilt, I'm afraid,' Sam admitted cheerfully. He was watching his new husband as Dean stood talking to his father. The two men appeared to be involved in a very serious discussion.

'I knew it,' Ellen exclaimed. 'I thought I saw Bobby fooling around near the punch bowl an hour ago! The champagne wasn't enough for him, I suppose!'

'Excuse me, Mom, I think I'd better go rescue Dean before Dad sells him on the idea of investing all his royalties in long-term certificates of deposit.'

'Dean is a very stable, very intelligent man, dear. I'm sure he'll want to hear your father's advice. He's a man who will want to plan for the future.'

'Dean has me to help him plan his future.' Sam swept up another glass of punch for himself and went off to join his husband.

The look in Dean's eyes as he went to stand beside him warmed him from the head to toe. Dean loved him. Above all else, Dean loved him. His was a total commitment. Just as Sam's was to him.

'Your father's been telling me about the advantages of long-term investments,' Dean said, putting his arm around his new husband's waist.

'I'll just bet he has.' Sam smiled at his father.

'I'll go over some more details with you later, Dean. So glad Sam found himself a man who has his feet on the ground,' Campbell said easily. He nodded in a friendly fashion, leaned over to slap his son on the back and went off to have some more of the heavily spiked punch.

'Feet on the ground, hmm?' Sam tipped his head to the side so that Dean could brush his mouth against his.

'That's not where they're going to be in a couple of hours,' Dean warned.

'No?'

'Nope. Unless we decide to try something really unusual in the way of wedding nights, I plan to spend the evening horizontally.'

'Dean, I must tell you that lately you've begun to develop an odd sense of humour.'

'Any sense of humour is better than none,' Bobby Singer declared jovially as he sauntered up to join them. He was holding a glass of champagne in one hand and a glass of punch in the other. 'Nice party, Sam. Your mother can throw a decent bash when she sets her mind to it.' He took a sip out of each glass.

'Glad you're enjoying yourself, Uncle Bobby.'

'I always enjoy parties. Say, I'm glad I finally caught the two of you alone. I've been wanting to talk to you all day.'

Dean looked at him warily. 'Is that right?'

'Yeah, you know, I've been thinking.'

'I'm getting nervous already.'

Bobby shook his head. 'No, no, this is serious. I've been giving some thought to Sa'mael's little plan for getting the gold out through Saudia Arabia. After Sam put that ad in the paper-'

'Don't remind me of that ad,' Dean warned.

'I'm telling you, Dean, it's given me pause. There just might be a way to do it.' Bobby leaned forward conspiratorially. 'If we put together the right team- and you know we've got some good contacts - we could slip in and out of the country without anyone even knowing we were there.'

'Uncle Bobby!' Sam's eyes widened excitedly. 'Do you really think so?'

'Well, it would be risky, of course. But it just might be feasible.'

Dean's gaze narrowed. 'The only reason it sounds feasible to you, Singer, is because you've been drinking too much of that damn punch. Forget it.'

Sam turned to him eagerly. 'But, Dean, just think. What an adventure it would be!'

'I said forget it and I meant it.' Dean lifted his champagne glass and swallowed deeply.

'But, Dean, babe…'

'Don't 'Dean, babe' me. I said no. That's the end of it.'

Bobby chuckled. 'How about this. Your first martial quarrel.'

'And you started it,' Dean shot back.

'You know what I think?' Sam demanded, glaring at his husband. 'I think Dean is taking his new sense of husbandly duties a little too seriously. He's starting to lay down the law and we haven't even left the reception.'

'Start as you mean to go on,' Dean quoted blandly. 'And speaking of going on, I think it's time we said good-bye to all these nice folks. We've got a wedding night waiting for us. Are you ready to leave, Mr. Winchester?'

'Yes, I am, Mr. Winchester.' Heat flaring through Sam at the thought of the upcoming wedding night activities.

'I've never seen him quite so amenable,' Bobby marvelled.

Dean grinned suddenly. 'It won't last. I intend to take advantage of it while I can. Let's go, Sammy.'

Sam caught his uncle's eye as he obediently turned to leave with his new husband. Singer winked. Sam laughed silently back at him. The gold could wait for a while. After all, legends lasted a long time.

Bobby Singer's sister drifted up to stand beside him. She smiled maternally after her son. 'Well, Bobby, in spite of that idiotic shirt you're wearing, I have to admit that this time you really came through. I was beginning to wonder if my son was ever going to fall in love. But you seem to have found just the right man for him.'

Singer raised one of the glasses he was holding and grinned. 'The best. A legend in his own time.'

… The End …..