A/N: Set mostly in season 7 after episode 8 "Season Seven, Time for a Wedding" with the final scene set at the end of season 11. There are spoilers through season 11. Inspired by a prompt in the AO3 Chocolate Box challenge requesting Sam/Chuck. This is my first slash, so consider yourself warned if you're accustomed to my milder works.

Warnings for groan-worthy innuendos and wordplay.

Black Hawk, Colorado

Sam Winchester stepped out of the diner and shielded his eyes from the piercing sunlight as he looked down the main street of Black Hawk. Historic buildings of the gold rush era lined the street in their restored glory, and now the small town catered to tourists. Some visited for the beauty of the Rocky Mountains, while others were drawn to the casinos. Reports of gamblers with an unprecedented streak of luck had brought the Winchester brothers first to Central City, and now here.

He planned to spend the afternoon doing research, but he hadn't decided if he'd do that from his laptop in their hotel room or if he'd seek out the locals to answer his questions. Anything to keep busy, to stop thinking about –

A familiar voice interrupted his thoughts. "Sam."

He turned around. "Chuck!" The thoughts he'd intended to avoid by diving into research came flooding back. "You, umm… You know about the wedding?" He shook his head. "Of course you do."

"I'm still a prophet," Chuck confirmed. "Still writing the Supernatural series. I can't stop. When the visions arrive, I have to write them down." He paused. "I know it wasn't your fault. She used magic on you."

Sam nodded. Becky had resorted to magic to trick him into thinking he was in love with her. When the fog of that spell lifted, he'd been happy to escape the marriage and determined to put any thoughts of it behind him. That had worked for a few days, but recently he'd started fixating on what it all meant. And now to run into Chuck, who'd had some sort of relationship with Becky even after it became clear she was obsessed with Sam… At the very least, it was awkward. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to talk to you, and I was pretty sure you'd ignore me if I just called or emailed." Chuck gave him a self-deprecating smile. "The best approach seemed to be thrusting myself into your path."

"Yeah," Sam admitted. He would have avoided Chuck if he could. In fact, he'd already been trying to think of a way to send the prophet in Dean's direction.

"I decided to rent a cabin for a couple of weeks. Quiet spot, majestic views. It's supposed to be great for artists or writers who want to get away and focus on their work. Two miles from here by road, about half of that if you're up to hiking the trail. I think you'd like the exercise, and I'd rather not go solo. I need to put these away," he said, gesturing toward the bag of groceries he held in his left hand. "Just stay with me until we reach the cabin. Then you can turn around and leave, if that's what you want." He grabbed Sam by the arm and started walking. "This way."

"I feel like I'm being shepherded."

"Sometimes that's what you need." He glanced up at Sam. "But not necessarily what you want. You didn't want my opinion about the demon's blood, and I'm not under any delusion that you'll want to hear what I have to say now. Still, I think it will do us both some good to get everything out in the open."

Ignoring the awkwardness, Sam decided to go along with what Chuck had in mind. It might be good to talk with someone. He knew Dean would be willing to listen, but wasn't convinced he'd understand. Anyway, his brother had enough worries.

They'd walked a block, leaving the main street behind them. Chuck paused in front of a store. "Greene's Bedding," the prophet said. "They're known for environmentally-friendly products. See the sheets with sheep and clouds printed on them? Those are the 'Pasture' design."

Sam looked from the sheets to Chuck in surprise. "I recognize them."

"I thought you might. After I had the vision of the wedding, I ordered them for Becky as a gift. I wrote 'No hard feelings' on the card I sent with the package."

"And you knew…"

"That the potion and everything she else she was doing prevented you from getting hard? Yeah, I knew. What can I say? Writers love to play with words." Another block took them to a park. They walked by a pool of water where ducks were swimming. "In the summer it's a fountain," Chuck said. "They turn it off when the weather starts getting cold. I'd liked to have seen it, but still it's tough to beat autumn in the Rockies when the aspens are turning."

The mountains were covered with a profusion of aspens whose golden leaves were proclaiming the season. There was a nip in the air, but the bright sun felt warm and comforting on Sam's jacket. In combination with Chuck's prosaic remarks, the warmth seemed to melt away some of the awkwardness, and he said, "I don't think you're here to talk about the weather."

"True. I apologize for being a little stiff as I'm coming to my point. What I have to say is… well, it's personal and I want to get it right. Just be patient with me." Chuck guided Sam to a signpost which pointed the way to various destinations.

Two arrows pointed up a steep incline, but one pointed down. "Mors Valley cabins. I assumed you'd be up in the mountains."

"Depends on your perspective. If you go all the way down the valley, my cabin is up in the mountains."

"You think I need to change my perspective?" Sam asked, but by now he expected that Chuck would change the subject rather than answer. Why travel here, rent a cabin and initiate this hike if he wasn't going to discuss whatever was on his mind?

"You didn't have a bachelor party," Chuck said as they followed a path that wound around the valley on a gentle slope. "I kept coming back to that as I wrote the scenes of you and Becky getting married."

Sam scoffed. "Can you imagine what a bachelor party planned by Dean would be like? Booze and strippers and porn. Not really my thing."

"I get it. That's one of the things I wanted to cover while you're with me."

"What's the point? It's irrelevant." Sam shivered as they walked under a stand of aspens, the golden leaves blocking the sun and casting the two hikers in shadows. "I'm never getting married. Never settling into what most people think of as a normal life."

"It sucks, but I thought you'd already accepted that."

"I thought I had, too, but having an actual wedding and marriage… Knowing I could only get that as part of a ridiculous farce, it really hammered the truth home. I've been trying not to dwell on it, but I can't seem to get it out of my head. And you know what happened today?" Sam took a deep breath. "Today when we pulled into town and stopped for lunch, Dean parked next to a classic Mustang. Same year as the Impala. The driver was sitting at the counter next to us, this adorable, funny brunette, and Dean's probably still bonding with her over a love of muscle cars."

"Sounds like Dean's dream woman."

"Exactly! And because of our life, because we're hunters, Dean will probably never see her again. And Dean… he's so used to it by now he doesn't even realize what he's losing out on."

They left the shade of the trees and stepped back into the sunlight. "You had a glimpse of it," Chuck said. "The wedding reminded you what you're missing out on. We're getting closer to the point now. Go deeper. Tell me how it feels."

"Somehow, having almost reached that old goal of settling down made it worse. And with Becky, of all people. If I could be married for even a few days, why couldn't it have been to someone I loved? I… Sorry. I know you and Becky were, well…"

"Yeah, we were something. Perhaps best not to try naming it. Have you – Whoa!" As they passed under another sheltered area, Chuck slid on a small patch of wet leaves. He clutched Sam's arm as he got his balance back. "Should have invested in hiking boots or a walking stick, I guess." He glanced around and then handed Sam the groceries. "Take these for a moment." Chuck crouched down and picked up a weathered branch nearly as tall as he was. It was thick enough that his hand barely reached around it. "This will do." He stood up. "Now I won't be grabbing you the whole way down. You can take comfort in that, at least."

"You even look the part of a shepherd, carrying a staff. Nah, I got it," Sam said as Chuck reached for the groceries. "Just lead the way."

Chuck walked a minute in silence before saying, "I have to admit, when I first met you, I liked Dean better. He was so straightforward, so focused on his mission to save the world from monsters. He was a man of action. That appealed to me. I liked a character who knew what he was doing, and there was a… for lack of a better word, I'll say an Old Testament vibe about him."

"Interesting choice for a prophet."

"Well, the best-known prophets were featured in the Old Testament. Their angsts and their glories were immortalized for the ages. I wanted to measure up. And you of course… You were a mess."

"Drinking demon's blood," Sam agreed. "You tried to get me to realize how badly that would go, but I wasn't ready to listen."

Chuck stopped and pointed. "That's the cabin, down there. See it?"

"Looks like we're about halfway there."

"We've set a good pace, but I need a break. Would you hand me one of the granola bars?"

Sam reached into the bag. Instead of food, he pulled out a box of condoms. "So I guess you're over Becky?"

Chuck smirked. "You could say that."

Finding the granola bars, Sam handed one to Chuck. "I don't recognize the brand."

"It's something new. They're pretty good. Feel free to try one."

Sam read the label on one of the bars and decided it was worth a taste. Something healthy would be a welcome change of pace after all the fast food places and diners he stopped at with Dean. While he was chewing, he looked around the valley. A flickering light caught his eye and he swallowed. "What's that?"

"Hmm?" Chuck looked in the direction Sam was indicating. "Oh, that's the entrance to one of the mines."

"I thought the mines in this area were abandoned decades ago."

"So they say. But there are rumors about this one. They call it the Enemy Mine."

"Sounds ominous."

"According to the story the locals tell, two men owned the mine as partners. They started out as friends, but soon after staking their claim they became bitter enemies. One had a streak of luck at poker, then the other one seemed to have all the luck, winning his partner's share of the mine. They both believed their good fortune was tied to the mine. Eventually one of them killed the other and then disappeared into the mine, never to be seen again. People say that to this day sometimes you can see a fire there, lit by the remaining miner as he seeks to regain his fortune."

"Fortunes and luck and gambling. I wonder if it's related to what we came here to investigate," Sam said. Then he realized who he was talking to. "Have you seen it in your visions? Is there something in that mine causing the gamblers we heard about to have this crazy streak of luck? It started out as two guys working together, and now they're supposedly acting like enemies, playing against each other rather than against the casinos."

"I've already told you all I can," Chuck said.

"You mean all you're willing to tell me."

"That's one of the rules of being a prophet. No spoilers."

"Isn't the whole point of being a prophet to warn people of what's coming?"

"Repent now and change your ways?" Chuck smiled. "You've already changed your ways, Sam. No more demon blood. Do you think you still need to make a change?"

Sam wanted to make a change, but didn't think he had the choice. He was committed to life as a hunter and all that entailed. "The mine's not far out of our way, and I told Dean I was doing research this afternoon. Let's take a look."

"Are you sure it's a good idea to go down there?" Chuck asked, but Sam was already on his way. He set a rapid pace, working out his frustration through physical exertion. When Sam reached the mine's entrance, Chuck was panting but put a restraining hand on his shoulder. "Before you enter the shaft, you need to know that this place messes with your emotions. If you enter with a friend, you'll leave as enemies."

"No offense, but we aren't exactly friends," Sam said. "You've been a pain in the ass whenever we run into you, and publishing detailed stories about our lives... That's not something a friend does."

"And then there's Becky," Chuck said. "We're almost like romantic rivals."

"Right," Sam said, not really paying attention. He could see the embers of a fire. Walking closer, he noticed the fire had been doused recently. Someone had poured water over it, but the hottest coals still glowed. "Hand me your staff," he said, and when Chuck approached Sam took it to stir the embers.

Chuck collected twigs from nearby, adding them to stoke the flames, and soon they had a strong fire burning.

By the light from the fire, Sam could get a good look at the space. "Look, there's a torch." It was held in a bracket attached to a post. It looked old, far older than a mere Wild West relic, and even though a voice in the back of his head said it was dangerous, Sam couldn't resist the compulsion to lift the ancient torch and light it in the fire. Suddenly he felt burning hot, physically feverish and consumed with the emotions one associated with fire: anger and lust.

"Sam," said Chuck in a placating tone. "You probably shouldn't be carrying that torch. How about you let me have it?"

"It's not fair!" Sam raged. "I deserve love. I need it as much as the next person. I didn't even want this life, but I'm stuck with it now, doomed to be alone."

"Dean and Bobby love you."

"That isn't what I mean. You know that. It's not the same."

"I know," Chuck said sadly. "And I'm sorry, but this is for your own good." He pulled a bottle out of the grocery bag, opened it, and then poured water over the torch and Sam.

As Sam wiped his face on his sleeve, Chuck returned the extinguished torch to its bracket. "What was that?" Sam asked.

"The torch was created by a Norse demi-god who used it to stir up chaos when he was bored. When lit, it gets the blood raging and it bestows luck on the bearer when he goes into battle. Even if the battlefield is just a poker table, you can blow away your rivals."

"We should get it out of here," Sam said.

"Wherever it goes, it beckons to people. The answer is destroying its power, not hiding it."

"I don't suppose you know how to destroy it?"

"Norse curses aren't my area. I'm sure Bobby can find out, and then you and Dean can return to take care of it." Chuck picked up his staff. "You up for finishing our hike?"

Sam followed him outside, squinting into the afternoon sun. "Will Dean and I become enemies if I bring him here?"

"No," Chuck said. "From what I've seen, everyone who touched the torch will be freed from its influence when you destroy it. Dean could be affected by it at first, but now that you've experienced it, you're… Umm, you're…"

"Immune?" Sam suggested.

"Not immune, but its power over you has channeled your fire in another direction. A more welcome direction."

"Wait," said Sam. "I thought you weren't going to tell me the future. What gives?"

"You're full of penetrating insights today, aren't you? I guess you could say I had an ulterior motive." Chuck paused as they returned to the path leading to the cabin. "Dean's going to call you soon. Tell him you're following a promising line of research, and you'll catch up with him tomorrow. Then call Bobby about the torch and ask him to find out how to destroy it."

"And what happens when we get to your cabin?"

"If you go all the way there with me, we'll just hang out."

Before Sam could complain about Chuck's tendency toward cryptic and suggestive comments, his cell phone rang. Dean was at the casino. He hadn't found the gamblers they were investigating, but said, "I'm feeling lucky. Thought I'd join a game and start raking in some cash. We're a little low on resources. Could take a while, though. I didn't want you to worry if I don't get back to the hotel tonight."

Sam wished him luck, saying he was busy with his research and might be out all night himself.

"Just once I'd like to believe 'doing research' was your way of saying 'getting lucky,'" Dean complained.

Sam surprised himself by laughing. Maybe this hike was doing some good, because he was sure a few hours ago he wouldn't have found Dean's remark funny. "Enjoy the poker game and try not to be jealous of all the fun I'm having."

"Right. Not going to be a problem."

When Dean hung up, Sam took advantage of the strong cell signal and called Bobby with a description of the torch and the rumor that it was Norse in origin. He also forwarded a photo he'd taken with his phone.

"I've heard of something like that before," Bobby said. "I'll look into it. Should have some answers for you in the morning. Just don't be an idjit. It's likely to have some kind of compulsion over it. If you learn where it is, stay away from it. Last thing we need is for one of you boys to touch the damned thing until we know what we're dealing with."

"I promise," agreed Sam. He ended the call and looked at Chuck. "You know, I'm surprised the calls were so clear. There aren't many cell towers around here."

"Just lucky, I guess," Chuck said.

Sam glanced at his phone again. One bar of coverage, and it was winking in and out. "The torch confers luck?"

"For a few hours. That's why at least one of the gamblers has been returning to the mine. He's trying to replenish his supply."

"Why not take the torch with him?"

"It takes two people to remove the torch, and they have to be in agreement about it. His friend-turned-enemy won't help him steal it, so it has to remain where it is." Chuck shrugged. "I may have eavesdropped on them after I had my initial visions about your visit here. Sometimes I can tune my prophetic ability slightly to watch things relevant to your work even when you and Dean aren't present."

"Sounds like you've got more control over your abilities than when we first met."

Chuck started walking down the path again. "Yes, and I have to credit Becky for some of that. She helped me find other avenues for my talent. My writing talent, that is. When I started writing original fiction, I gained a measure of control and I learned to apply that to my visions. They still overwhelm me, but they feel more like lucid dreams now, like I'm doing the driving."

"Becky seemed so preoccupied with your Supernatural series and with me, I'm surprised to hear she encouraged you to write original fiction."

"You'll understand when you read it." Chuck glanced back at Sam. "That's part of the ulterior motive I mentioned. I want you to experience my original work. I think you'll find it pulls you in, if you give it a chance."

They turned a corner and Sam could see the cabin. They'd reach it in a few minutes. Chuck's writing in the Supernatural series left a lot to be desired, but how much of that was a lack of skill versus being the result of disturbing, prophetic visions? Would anyone want to linger over those terrors to edit the drafts? And now he couldn't help wondering what else Chuck would write about.

"Another thing Becky deserves credit for is changing my mind about you. She helped me see we have a lot in common. For instance, you were headed to law school, and I also had an interest in the law. You know, I pictured myself as a judge."

"That's quite an aspiration," Sam said.

"Well, it fit my image of myself at that time. Anyway, Becky pointed out that you'd turned yourself around, and how admirable that was. There are times when Dean goes overboard, and you're the moral center."

"Becky said that?"

"My words, but her prompting. Seeing you through her eyes was a revelation. It aroused my curiosity about you."

"I thought you'd be jealous."

"I went through a jealous phase, but then I moved beyond that. The more I understood you, the more I understood her crush." He stopped walking. "And the more I shared it."

Sam looked up and saw they were only a couple of yards from the porch of a rustic log cabin. Then Chuck's words registered. "Wait. You're saying you had a crush on me?"

"I promised you'd be free to go when we reached the cabin. I hope you'll stay to get the answers to your probing questions."

Sam smiled. "Why all the innuendos? At first I thought it was just me, hearing a bunch of euphemisms in a casual conversation, but there's no way that's all it is. You're a writer, and you use words with purpose."

Chuck smiled back. "Yes, you've caught me. Before going all the way here –"

"Please," Sam interrupted. "You're still doing it."

"That is, I wanted to prepare you for what's to come."

"Do you even hear yourself?"

"Once you get started it's hard… I mean… Let me start over." He took a deep breath. "Sam, after everything that happened, you deserve a bachelor party. I know it's unusual to hold it after the wedding, but you could use a break, a time to celebrate you. I've got a good idea of what would be an ideal evening for you, and it's the same kind of evening I'd enjoy. A relaxed setting, a good meal, mental stimulation."

"Thus the word play?"

"It's harmless fun, and you seemed to enjoy it. All those references to my staff, don't tell me those were innocent. You knew what you were saying. Now it's decision time. Are you in?"

Sam rolled his eyes, but said, "Okay," and followed Chuck inside. The cabin was clean and tidy and smelled like a mix of vanilla and cinnamon. "This is… This is nice. Nicer than I expected."

"You mean compared to my house? Another result of being in a relationship and gaining a measure of control over my talent. I no longer live in squalor. Love can cause astounding changes."

"Yeah." Sam didn't feel jealous for once when he heard someone talking about being in love. "Listen, I'm sorry things didn't work out with you and Becky."

"Don't worry about that. It was good while it lasted. I'm grateful for what I learned from her, and accept that it wasn't meant to be forever."

"That's astoundingly mature. Most guys wouldn't be able to say that and actually mean it."

"I'm one-of-a-kind," Chuck said. "Here. Let me take your jacket. If you'll get a fire started, I'm going to put together a stew."

An hour later, with a crackling fire, the sound of jazz, the taste of a fine wine and the aroma of the stew, Sam felt more relaxed than he had been in a long time. He wanted to return the kindness and said, "You had something you wanted me to read?"

Chuck cleared his throat. "Yeah. It's a legal thriller, about a brilliant lawyer named Stan Winston. He's based on you."

"Really? I'm flattered."

"Do you seriously want to read it?"

"Yeah. I'd love to."

Chuck blushed and then strode over to a desk, returning with a binder filled with pages. "Here. I'm going to check on the stew."

Sam read the first chapter, and found it easy to picture himself as the earnest Stan who specialized in prosecuting human monsters like serial killers. At the start of the second chapter he grinned and looked up. "Is the character of Charles the writer based on you?"

"Yes," Chuck said, meeting Sam's eyes. "Looks like we're ready. The stew, I mean. It's ready."

Reluctantly putting the manuscript aside, Sam joined Chuck at the dining table. They talked about favorite books and authors. They admitted to their guilty pleasures in music. Sam laughed at Chuck's description of how much he loved torch songs and then said, "You know, you're right. If I were to have a bachelor party, something like this would be perfect. What could be better than being this peaceful and happy?"

"A chocolate torte?" Chuck suggested.

Sam nodded his appreciation at the play of words on the legal term tort. "Sounds like something Stan Winston would appreciate. And honestly, you have no idea what a relief it is to have a dessert that isn't pie. Please, bring it on."

After dessert they returned to the sofa and Sam picked up the manuscript again. "I have to say, I'm impressed by your writing. It draws me in and makes me feel like I'm there."

"It's inspiring to have free rein on my creativity, rather than being constrained to my visions," Chuck explained. "It's been a work of pure pleasure."

Another chapter in, Sam raised a brow but kept reading. In middle of the following chapter he looked up. "Stan and Charles are more than friends, aren't they?"

"Yeah. I guess I should warn you, it gets explicit. Becky's influence again. She introduced me to slash, and you could say I embraced it."

"You said you had a crush on me." Sam felt drawn to the manuscript. He supposed he should feel embarrassed knowing that if he turned the page he'd be reading a love scene between himself and the man sitting beside him, but he was overcome with desire to keep going. "I'm not normally into this," he said.

"Remember the torch? It turns friends into enemies. It also turns enemies into friends."

"And romantic rivals into romantic partners?"

"Something like that. It isn't permanent. But it gives you that immunity you wanted so you won't hate Dean, and it gives me something I wanted, too."

Sam's heart pounded and his palms were sweating from a mixture of fear and desire. "Will we…?" He left the question unsaid, looking to Chuck for an answer.

"Nothing will happen that you don't want. You can close the manuscript whenever you want to stop."

"Umm, yeah. You uh… you remember what you said to Becky about no hard feelings?"

Chuck nodded.

"Not a problem right now. I never got this excited the whole time we were married."

Chuck smiled. "Keep reading."

The writing was intense, drawing Sam in until he felt he was Stan Winston. The story morphed from a thriller into a romance, and it swept him away.

When he woke in the morning, he was lying on the sofa, alone. The manuscript was closed on the coffee table. He had memories of hot and sweaty and exhilarating experiences. There had been raging desire, but also tenderness. Stan and Charles had truly been in love. But was he remembering reading about Stan, or actually being him?

He reached for the manuscript and fumbled through it, encountering scenes that were familiar. Chuck had called it original fiction, but had the love scenes been another of his visions of the future, where he'd simply changed the names?

Did it matter?

The manuscript ended in the middle of a scene. Charles thanked Stan for his love and support, but said they weren't meant to be together forever. They each had a destiny pulling them in opposite directions, and should be grateful for their time together. After listening to Charles, Stan walked outside to clear his head and then turned around to say something.

Sam blinked. He was standing outside the cabin now. He didn't remember leaving. He considered returning to look at that manuscript again, but a beep told him he had a voicemail message. It was Bobby with instructions for destroying the torch.

Sam pushed aside his beer. "And then by the time I returned to our hotel I forgot most of what had happened. It didn't come back to me until we ran into Chuck again while we were dealing with Amara."

"Let me get this straight," Dean said. "Chuck, the person we now know as God, had a thing for you, and he wrote about it, and you… You what, exactly?"

"Hard to say."

"Please, don't say hard. I've had enough of those stupid word games."

Sam chuckled. "Fine. Think of it this way. His words are a powerful, creative force. The things he says – or writes – can become reality. For that night, I read his words and got sucked into…" He grinned at Dean's flinch. "I became part of the story. It's like the story was so powerful that it knocked me out and yet I still kept reading it even when I was unconscious. For that one night I was Stan, and I was in love with Charles."

"So the gamblers lit the torch and got lucky at poker. You lit the torch and got lucky with Chuck?"

"He let me think it was the torch affecting me, but now I believe it was mostly his words. Not only what he wrote, but what he was saying to me on the hike. Although…" Sam paused as he recalled everything that had happened in the mine. "Now that you mention it, I could make a case for the torch functioning as a phallic symbol."

"And why do you think I'd want to know about this?"

"Because if you brag one more time about how God's sister was attracted to you, I'm going to lose it. Just remember you weren't the only one getting a little divine attention."

"Whatever you say, Hot Stuff."

"He was into you first."

"No." Dean stood up. "No, that isn't what he meant. Do not go there."

"I won't, if you stop talking about Amara. I mean, given time she probably would have preferred me, too."

"That's it. Discussion over." Dean walked away.

Another memory flitted through Sam's mind, one of Chuck talking about having a sense of perspective. Sam had been in danger of spiraling down into despair after Becky tricked him into marrying her, and stepping into Stan's shoes for a night had given him a new outlook. Maybe he wasn't high on the mountaintops afterward, but he'd been able to settle comfortably somewhere in the middle.

Sam picked up his beer and raised it in a toast to Stan and Charles. Thanks to Chuck's vivid story about them, he'd had a chance to experience a romance that didn't end in death and disaster. "Here's looking at you, Chuck. I don't know if it was really love, or just an act of mercy, but whatever it was I needed it."

A/N: Black Hawk is a real town with casinos. However, I've never been there and I made up all of the locations mentioned in and around the town to suit this story.

Before seeing this prompt, I'd never considered Sam and Chuck as a couple, but it was a fascinating idea once I started thinking about it.

Thanks to Silbrith for offering editorial services at the last minute. And thanks to everyone who took the time to read this story. I hope you enjoyed it.