A/N: Shameless fluff. Shameless.

Epilogue

One year passed. Every day, Dean woke up next to Sam and marveled at how lucky he was. Every day, Sam seemed to smile bigger and bigger at his brother, his love. There were still monsters to fight and lives to save, but life was different. It was complete.

The two had just finished off a particularly hairy case involving both a shapeshifter and a Crocotta.

"How'd you know it wasn't me?" Sam asked, bracing himself for Dean to relocate his dislocated shoulder. "Crocottas are supposed to be perfect at mimicking voices."

Dean smiled and quickly snapped Sam's shoulder back into place. Sam grunted and reeled for a bit, and when he calmed, Dean pressed a quick kiss to his lips. "I know your voice, Sammy. And even without your voice, I know you." The older Winchester packed away the first aid kit, counting the leftover ammo.

Warmth spread through Sam's chest. Dean hadn't batted an eye when he found the creature. He even set a trap for it, all by himself, while Sam played prisoner in a sewer. He did all that, just because he could tell that the perfect imitation of Sam's voice wasn't his Sam. He was that in tune to him.

Sam stared at the floor. Maybe this was the right time. Maybe... "Dean?"

"Hm?" Dean hummed, cleaning a silver knife. Suddenly, Sam decided against asking. Dean turned. "What is it, Sammy?"

"Nothing." Sam tried his hardest to sound lighthearted. When Dean's face scrunched up like he knew Sam wasn't telling the truth, Sam cut off whatever he was going to say. "Look, it's not anything that would hurt either one of us. I'm going to... tell you when I'm ready."

Dean gave him a hard look. Sam discovered that with their uncovered love came a surprising sense of trust. "Okay," he conceded. "Just tell me when you're ready." Dean went back to cleaning the knives, and Sam let out a breath, smiling.

Almost a month later, they took a night off and decided to go on a date. A real, honest-to-god date. Dean jokingly suggested a carnival and laughed at Sam's bitchface. They ended up seeing some obnoxious horror movie in a theater, whispering about what idiots the main characters are and coming up with different ways to kill the damn monsters.

After coming out of the theater laughing, which earned them several strange looks, they took a walk around the local park, sprawling out on the field once the sun went down. Sam had a hand behind his head, staring up at the sky. As always, their fingers sat intwined between them.

Sam looked over at his brother, his strong profile outlined in the moonlight. Dean looked so relaxed, staring at the stars. "Dean," Sam murmured, unwilling to disturb the quiet.

Dean looked over, his eyes glinting in the darkness. "Yeah, Sammy?"

No, no. Not the right time, not in this little bubble of normalcy. "You're beautiful," he murmured, saving himself the what-are-you-not-telling-me look from Dean.

Dean smiled, real and genuine. "Stop, I'm blushing," he joked, but it held none of the self-deprecation it used to. Dean used to hate himself, used to be convinced that he could never be saved, but if someone so intelligent and perceptive and caring could love him... If Sam could love him, then maybe he wasn't so bad.

Sam and Dean had a very, very active sexual relationship. It was diverse too; sometimes they fucked each other senseless, and sometimes they made love. This particular evening after yet another month, they had done three rounds: one gentle, one rough, and one gentle again. Dean was propped up against the headboard with Sam's head in his lap, playing with his long hair. It was nearly three in the morning.

"Dean," Sam murmured. His brother looked down at him, and the look of content and satisfaction and love that he had seen so many times still made his breath hitch. Dean brushed his fingers across Sam's cheek and back up into his hair.

"Yeah, Sammy?"

His voice in moments like this make Sam want to cry. It was reserved for him and only him, in their private place. It was soft and smooth with the constant undercurrent of I love you, I love you, I love you. Sam sucked in a breath. This was it. This was the right time.

"Tell me about the dream again?" he asked, sitting up and retrieving something out of the pocket of his jeans that lay discarded on the night stand. Dean didn't notice the movement.

They both knew which dream Sam was referring to. Every so often, Sam would ask to hear the story of Dean's deepest desire that started their relationship. Dean chuckled and pulled the blanket more comfortably around their elevated torsos.

"Our house was beautiful," he began like he always did. "You were a big-shot lawyer and I designed awesome cars for a living. I found that out by looking through the mail and reading about myself in a magazine. It was so strange. You came home and through the haze of the djinn's poison, I still knew you, my Sammy." Sam couldn't help but kiss Dean when he rested his hand on Sam's leg. That took a few moments. "And after I got the gist of what was going on, you freakin' carried me to our bedroom," he continued with a smile.

Sam's heart thumped loudly in his chest. He hoped his nerves didn't show on his face- it was supposed to be a surprise. "Go on," he murmured.

"Well, as I've described in great detail to you, we slept together, and Sam, you were great in bed."

"Were?" Sam gave Dean a teasing look, which Dean reciprocated.

"Are. You're even better out here than you were in there." Dean stroked his thumb on his brother's leg over the blanket. "And afterwards-"

"Afterwards," Sam repeated. "Tell me exactly what happened."

"I asked if we were brothers, because we had the same last name, and you said no. You said we were married, and you showed me..." Dean trailed off, shock spread across his face.

Sam grasped his hand tightly, holding it up to show the glint of the ring he had just slipped on. His thumb ran over Dean's knuckles as his brother's mouth opened in surprise. "I showed you the wedding ring I had on," Sam recited. He held up another ring with his other hand, never letting Dean's hand go. "And the ring you were wearing too. In your dream, we weren't brothers, we were married." Sam swallowed the lump in his throat, taking in the glassy look in Dean's eyes. "Out here, we are brothers, but that doesn't have to be all."

Dean's mouth had closed, and understanding had replaced his shock. A tear slid down his cheek. "Will you marry me, Dean?" Sam asked. There were several moments of silence. Sam knew that Dean had no idea what to say.

Finally, Dean choked out, "Is that even legal?" and because of the emotional tension, both brothers burst out laughing, and then they were kissing, Dean doing his best to wipe up his tears. "That's all I want, Sammy," he whispered. Sam's tears were intermingled with Dean's. "That's what I've been dreaming about."

Sam slipped the ring on Dean's finger. They would get all the legal stuff sorted out eventually. Right then, Sam kissed Dean for all he was worth, all he wanted to be worth, and all he thought the beautiful man in his arms was worth. They had not once doubted the other's love after that first night, but the rings were a sign to everyone, to the world, the universe: Dean was Sam's, and Sam was Dean's, and nothing would ever change that.