"Trust me, Dean."

You hate that phrase.

You've learned a lot on your thirty years on this earth, and on your forty years beneath it and a plea for trust is something you can't stand.

You can give and give to the universe and it will just take until you have nothing left to give.

It's taken your brother, your mother and your father.

It's taken your chance at normality, your chance at longevity.

It's stripped you until there's nothing left but the hunter and the soldier.

If it wasn't for Sam you wouldn't know a good thing if it hit Baby.

But you have got Sam and when that good thing finally comes you know the second it crashes in front of you.

Because then an angel swooped in and brought you the one thing you didn't realise you needed.

A woman who went against everything you've ever learned. Against every edict, every rule, every order but damn you love to rebel.

And you can't help but trust her.

That rush you get when you finally take her hand is stronger than your father's teachings, than heaven's rule or hell's warning.

You'd love her, magic or not.

She is sunshine and rainbows and all that sappy crap Sam went on about. She's loyal and loving and caring and above all she is like you. She fights to protect, like you fight for Sammy and for all those people whose lives you've saved.

And that's what gets you.

She fights to keep the darkness from your life.

She is the first person who doesn't want to save the world.

Just you.

She's given you so much and you don't know how to thank her.

The silver ring in your pocket that you saved up to buy, because buying her a ring with stolen money seemed wrong, somehow doesn't seem like enough.

She deserves more than a broken hunter, from a broken home, with a broken life. And yet she doesn't seem to want to leave. She deserves mountains and palaces but you can only give her the only thing the universe has left you with.

Yourself.

She puts up with Sam and Cas.

She's never once complained about the motel rooms or the Impala or the blood.

The woman is more than you, in your cursed existence, could ever deserve.

But you're selfish anyway.

You want to keep her and love her. Have a damned picket fence with her.

She's the shooting star and you want to keep her in your pocket and never let her go.

Meters in front of you, she's got her wand drawn, clenched tightly in her right hand. It's her very bare left hand you focus on. You hadn't realised how desperately you are for her to say yes.

Sam keeps telling you to ask, Castiel just watches you with this look you don't want to decipher.

What do they know?

They've never tried to propose to a witch.

The demons are on your before you even realise and there's no time to think anything more than:

Cut

Stab

Reload

Hermione!

You patch each other up back at the motel.

She magic's away your wounds and Sam's, despite your protests that she has to rest.

Her wounds have to heal the slow way though.

Another thing you hate.

You kiss every white bandage, working your way up her body until you reach her lips. A mouth you know almost as well as your own and a taste that's as addicting to you as demon blood was to Sam.

She knows something is bothering you.

You can see it in the furrow between her eyebrows and the cautious looks she shoots you.

She won't ask, a habit she says she picked up from a childhood friend. She knows you'll tell her when you're ready.

She fits perfectly.

Into your life, your bed...your heart.

It's dark and the motel is silent. Sam's not even snoring tonight and the nightmares are quiet for once.

None of you are strangers to screaming in your sleep.

You sigh and it ruffles the curls spread across your chest. She sniffled slightly in her sleep, tucking herself tighter into your side.

"Will you marry me?" You whisper, just to try out the words.

"Yes." She murmurs into your shirt.

Every muscle in your body locks but somehow you manage to gasp out,

"What?"

She leans up slightly, somehow finding his gaze in the dark room.

"Yes, Dean."

You can't quite remember how you got the ring out of your pocket and onto her finger. The small diamond catches the little light in the room and reminds you of a star.

Well you've got your shooting star.

And you're keeping her.

A/N

This just came to me one night. I know it's short but I like it.
Hope you do too.

Please review, I really want to know what you think of this style.

Once again,

Hood.

P.S Paying it Forward is taking time.

HOSB Chapter 12 is nearly done.

WTWE is a work in progress.