A/N: This is it, guys. Thank you, so very much, for all the wonderful support that got me to the finish line. Giant internet hugs for everybody.

"You know, Cas, that letter you found was just a draft. It wasn't a final version that should be considered legally binding or anything."

The needle continues buzzing behind him, Dean's ass bare and stinging where the tattoo artist is putting the final touches on her work.

"Are you saying you didn't mean what you said?" Cas raises an eyebrow, smirking, knowing he's got Dean trapped.

Dean just sighs; he knows it too.

"Of course I meant it. I just don't know why you had to take me up on this particular idea. I mean, the Pride Parade is next week, couldn't we just go to that instead?"

"Oh, we will," Cas muses, distracted by watching Dean's ass bounce when the artist stops for a moment to swipe at excess ink. "We will be there with our beautiful new tattoos."

Dean just makes some indeterminate noise of complaint.

"Oh, hush. I already got mine and I didn't whine once."

"Yours wasn't on the CHEEK OF YOUR ASS, Cas."

Cas smiles and touches the edge of the gauze on the left side of his chest. It covers a fresh tattoo, a beautifully detailed design of a cowboy on horseback, black and intricate.

When Dean found out that Cas was actually going to take him up on his (until then purely rhetorical) suggestion that he tattoo Cas' name across his butt, he tried to fight back by insisting that Cas get one too, something symbolic of Dean. So when Cas readily agreed to it, Dean told him to get a tattoo of the Winchester Repeating Arms logo, because he's always been pretty proud of how badass his last name is.

Cas was the one who decided to put it over his heart.

"You know, Dean, you're the one that came up with this whole idea in the first place. I'd have been perfectly happy with some less painful and bloody token of our affection."

Dean drops his face into the table beneath him.

"Now you tell me."

The needle stops buzzing, the artist sitting back and snapping her gloves.

"Okay, we're all done here."

She hands Dean a mirror and maneuvers him until he can see the reflection. He has to admit that the design Cas drew for him looks awesome, all these black symbols linking together to form a geometric-like pattern. Dean hadn't been too sure about it when Cas told him his big idea to write his name in the language of angels (since he was named after one and everything), but it turned out to be pretty amazing.

Amazing, but kind of long.

"All this is just your name, Cas?"

"Hm? Oh, um, yes. This section here -" and Cas' finger hovers over the bottom of the design "- that is my name in Enochian."

Cas' eyes are wide and unblinking, his face a terrible approximation of innocence that makes Dean's heart sink.

"That part's your name, okay. What's all the rest of it mean, then?"

Cas looks down at the tattoo, won't meet Dean's gaze.

"Well, it's slightly open to interpretation of course, but, uh, a loose translation would be..." Cas tries biting at his cheek to hold his smile in check and fails miserably. He's beaming as he finishes. "Property of."

Property of Castiel. Permanently branded on Dean's ass.

Dean doesn't move for a solid five seconds, shocked, and the grin slowly slides off of Cas' face, replaced by a look of increasing worry.

And Dean tries to find it within himself to be offended and bitchy, if only to mess with Cas' head, but he can't even fake it. He just starts laughing, loud and genuine and infectious, until Cas and everyone else in the tiny shop are laughing along with him.

And when he finally stops, gasping for breath and wiping at his eyes, he pulls Cas close so he can whisper in his ear.

"Don't think that I won't be punishing you for this one later, and for a long time to come."

Cas pulls back, his eyes flashing and hungry.

"That's exactly what I was hoping you'd say."

"The big moving day is tomorrow, Cas. You sure you want me around all the time?"

Cas shimmies even closer on the bed and chuckles, his face pressing into the warm bend of Dean's neck, his hand sliding along the soft sliver of skin peeking between Dean's t-shirt and boxers.

"You've been living here for two months while we looked for a place. I already have you around all the time... now we'll just be able to be noisier about it."

And it's been perfect, living together. Not literally, of course - they bicker over what temperature to set the thermostat at and which Chinese place has the best take-out - but even the fights are perfect.

Because it's the two of them - it's Dean and Cas - and they can snark at each other with the knowledge that they're still going to be there tomorrow and the day after, cuddling on the couch and yelling at the TV, running out to the grocery store and doing their laundry together until they forget which shirt belongs to who and just get dressed out of one communal closet.

It's the way it should have always been.

So when they found the big house in the suburbs with the yard and wide porch, Dean didn't blink at pooling their money to make the down payment or the half-hour commute into the city. He was too busy imagining Sam and Jess coming over to barbecue and watch Bruins games on the weekends, relaxing on the porch with Cas and a cigarette every night after work.

Especially since it means getting some distance from Lisa and the vague, nagging guilt Dean feels when he pulls into Cas' driveway every day. It's been weird, having sex with Cas with only a wall dividing them from his ex-girlfriend ...not that that's stopped them.

At. Fucking. All.

But still - he'll be glad when they get settled into their new home.

"Well," he says rolling over to brace himself up on his forearms over Cas, sliding his legs between Cas' open ones. "Should we give this place one last go? A fond farewell fuck?"

Cas' lips purse in a small smirk before he hooks his leg over top of Dean's and shoves at his shoulder at the same time, effectively flipping them and pinning Dean to the mattress.

"Only one last go?"

And then he's biting at the shell of Dean's ear, his breath hot and loud that close, and all Dean can do is tilt his head to give him better access and groan because oh, fuck, it's like there's a direct line between that spot and my dick and how can Cas possibly remember that-

And then Dean realizes that Cas seems to remember everything; that he pays attention to the details, and Dean's tired of getting trumped.

It's time to show just how quick of a learner he is.

Dean flips them back over, rougher than Cas, more brawn than skill, but it gets the job done. He smiles, wicked, and then turns his attention to what he knows is the highly sensitive skin over Cas' neck, licking and kissing and sucking until the pulse under his lips has grown frantic, Cas' hands scrabbling in Dean's hair and trying to drag him – either up to Cas' lips or down to his dick, he hasn't quite decided.

But Dean's taking control of this one.

I'm gonna make up for all those nights he spent alone in this house.

His last night here is going to be his absolute fucking best.

So Dean slows down, peels both their clothes off and gets Cas to stretch out face-down on the bed beneath him, Dean straddling the back of his thighs. And then Dean drapes himself over Cas' back, lining their limbs up and tangling their fingers together, leaning down and pressing his chest to Cas' back. Their skin is damp in the late summer air, Dean's mouth hot and wet at the curving juncture of Cas' neck and shoulder.

The room is dark and still, silent except the sound of their breath. And Cas is pressed into the mattress by Dean's weight, feeling him hard and hot above him, but it's not enough. He twists his face to the side, trying to reclaim Dean's mouth with his.

"Nuh uh," Dean murmurs, his lips dancing over the skin behind Cas' ear, his blunt nails running in tiny trails up Cas' arms. "Just lie there and enjoy it."

Cas would tease him, tell Dean that he likes it when he's all butch and in charge, but he's too distracted. Dean's tongue is wet and teasing, licking a long line over the knobs of Cas' spine, and it's making him shiver, turning his skin to gooseflesh.

Dean is moving so slowly, reverently, over every inch of Cas' body - across the back of his strong shoulders, down the flat muscles of his back, over the swell of his ass, down the backs of his thighs, and then pausing over that spot on the back of Cas' knee that Dean has discovered always draws these tiny sighs of pleasure out of him. He massages Cas' calves and scratches his nails over the insides of his thighs; by the time Dean presses his thumbs into the arches of his feet, Cas can't even remember what it feels like to have tension in his body.

He's so relaxed, like warm jello, and he's not sure if he wants to have sex or just sleep for the next twelve hours.

Dean slides his hands under Cas' hips and lifts, pulling him to his knees and forearms. Cas sighs, soft and content, waiting to feel Dean's fingers pressing on his ass, reading him to be filled.

Which makes it even more unexpected when, instead, Dean slides himself face-up beneath Cas, licking a long, slow line from his ass around and up to the tip of his rapidly-hardening cock. And that's when Cas' mind is very definitively made up.

He wants sex. Tons of it, epic amounts of sweaty, desperate, vigorous sex.

...then the sleep.

Dean's mouth is slick, hot and wet around Cas' dick, his arms wrapped under Cas' thighs with his fingers splayed over his ass, controlling Cas' movements until he's slowly fucking Dean's mouth. Cas' shoulders start trembling and he's not sure how much is from the sensation of Dean beneath him and how much with the effort to hold himself in that position.

But it's so deliciously filthy and different from how they usually do this. Cas can't see anything but the pillow in front of him, doesn't hear anything other than his gasping breath and Dean groaning beneath and around him.

His hips pick up speed almost without conscious thought, thrusting harder and faster until he worries about accidentally choking Dean for a moment, but Dean just urges him on, his nails biting into Cas' ass, his lips rolled over his teeth to keep Cas from scraping against them.

It's just heat and friction and Dean, vulnerable and exposed beneath him; completely surrendered to Cas' desire, his only focus on bringing pleasure.

With his last fully conscious thought, Cas wonders how it's possible to find something so hot and so tender at the same time.

And then he's lost all sense of rhythm, his hips frantically pounding as Dean's tongue presses hard and flat along the vein on the underside of Cas' cock. The bed is knocking into the wall and Cas is groaning Dean's name over and over, like it's the only word he can remember, the only thing that exists.

Cas buries his face in the pillow beneath him, his teeth tearing at the fabric as the tension builds impossibly tight and low but Dean doesn't let him stop, pulling Cas down toward him, deep into his impossibly tight mouth. And when Cas finally comes, crying out and shuddering, Dean swallows him down and supports Cas' weight when his muscles turn to liquid. Sparks of light flash behind his eyes and his mind has washed blank, and he's too dizzy and trembling with aftershocks to lift himself up enough to roll off of Dean.

So Dean slides out from beneath him and crawls up the bed, muscle sliding under tanned skin, his cock hard and throbbing when he reaches out to pull Cas into his arms.

Cas puts his head over Dean's heart and lies there for a long moment, letting his heartbeat slow enough to match Dean's, drinking in deep breaths of the familiar smell of Dean's skin.

And when he can, Cas stretches up lazily to kiss him, the salty taste of himself lingering on Dean's tongue.

"I'm sorry, I just...need a moment, I think. I promise I'll do you in a minute."

Dean just pulls Cas tighter into his chest, his hand drifting in lazy circles across Cas' back.

"You can do me whenever you want, Cas. That's kind of the whole point."

Dean tapes up the top of the last box, looking up to wink at Cas when he walks out with the suitcase of essential stuff they'll need the first night in their new house.

Clean clothes, toothpaste, sex toys... the usual.

And then the movers poke their head into the room to tell Dean that they're putting the last bit of furniture on the truck, so he decides that he can't wait any longer.

He crosses the shared porch for the last time and knocks softly on Lisa's door, suspecting (correctly) that she's been watching the activity at Castiel's condo from inside.

She answers almost immediately, smiling because (a) she knows she's been caught and (b) she's happy that she hasn't been forgotten.

"I guess you've come to collect the mattress."

Dean shakes his head, leaning comfortably in the doorway of his old home. "Nah. You keep it. You always liked it better; I never could get used it. Too squishy."

What Dean doesn't tell her is that the king-sized mattress is way too fucking big for Cas, who prefers to sleep pressed against Dean's side, all tangled limbs and bare skin and shared breath.

"I just wanted to say, I don't know, goodbye, I guess? Thank you? I'm really sorry?"

Lisa just shakes her head, reaches out to pull Dean into a hug.

"You don't have to say any of that, Dean. Why don't we just say 'see you later'?" She pulls back from him, looks up into his face. "I'd like to think that we're still friends, after all."

Dean nods, smiling, feeling the final bit of weight lift from his shoulders. He has no idea why the universe chose to bless him with such excessively awesome people in his life, but he's not about to take it for granted.

"Okay, then. I'll see you later, Lisa."

One Year Later

Cas runs his thumb over the the edges of his book, fanning the paper that's already worn from being with him through a week of promotional appearances. He's nervous like he always is in these moments right before he stands at a podium in front of a crowd, readying himself to read his words to strangers, to answer questions that inevitably delve further into his work than even he usually does.

And this one is worse, because it's the first appearance of this book tour that he's had to do without Dean. He had some sort of crisis with one of his customers and had to rush back to work in Boston the day before.

But Cas just takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a moment. He's in that same bookstore in Miami where Dean shoplifted his first book all those years ago. And if he tries hard enough, he can imagine that Dean's there again, hiding just beyond Cas' sight in the back of the room.

With that thought he smiles and steps up to the podium, carefully avoiding looking out at the audience. He never looks before a reading – if the crowd is too large it intimidates him; too small and he's afraid his book is a failure. So he just clears his throat and flips to the neon sticky note that marks the beginning of the chapter he's going to read.

"Hello, I'm Castiel Novak, and I'll be reading to you today from my new novel, Take These Lies and Make Them True."

He runs his hand over the spine, pressing the book flat, and notices that his normally blank sticky note is now covered in Dean's familiar, cramped writing.

You're my whole world, Cas. And you're going to be amazing today.

Cas smiles, clears his throat, begins to read.

It doesn't take long for him to forget the crowd, to forget his fear. He's lost in the words like he always is, in a world of his own making.

And the reading passes quickly, without incident – which is about the best that Cas can hope for when engaging in public speaking - until he reaches the other sticky note, the one that marks the end of the selection. Dean has graffitied this one, too.

Great job. Now look up and ask for questions.

Cas always does, so he's not sure why Dean thought he'd need the reminder. Maybe he just wanted to help as much as he could without actually being there.

Cas closes the book, raises his face to the crowd, waits for the end of the polite applause.

"Thank you. Are there any questions?"

It normally takes a few seconds for people to react, needing time to reflect and formulate what they want to say. But today, Cas barely finishes speaking before a whole section of people have raised their hands, silent and smiling.

And a second later he starts picking the familiar faces out of the rows of chairs. There's Sam and Jess, with little John on her lap and all dressed up in a tiny blue suit. Gabriel is next to them, the stick of a lollipop hanging out of his grinning mouth.

And there, on the other side of the aisle, are faces Cas wasn't sure he'd ever see again. They're older now, with hair a little thinner and a little grayer, but he would know them anywhere. It's Ellen, flanked by Bobby on her right and Jo on her left, with Ash still rocking the mullet in a seat behind them.

They've all got their hands in the air, fresh copies of Cas' book on their laps. And he's not sure if he's going to be able to answer any of their questions because he's having to work too hard to swallow around the lump in his throat, to try to still the tremble in his lower lip.

But he's saved from having to call on anyone at all when a familiar voice calls out from the back of the room.

"I've got a question."

Cas smiles, presses a hand over his mouth to hold back the half-sob that nearly escapes him.

Because it's Dean, stepping out from behind the stacks and starting up the center aisle of the audience. He looks perfect, striding forward in a charcoal suit and crisp white shirt, his shoes shining and eyes sparkling.

"How does the story end?"

And Cas is almost too stunned to hear his question, has no idea how to answer it.

"What?"

Dean shrugs, keeps walking toward Cas.

"I mean, here's these guys who have been through so much and then – somehow – found their way back to each other. But how does it end? Do they stay together?"

Cas smiles. "You'll have to buy the book to find out."

"Oh, I already did." Dean raises a copy in his left hand, a small piece of paper tucked into the top. "Paid for it, got my receipt this time and everything."

He's reached the podium now and sets the book on top of Cas' battered copy before reaching for his shaking hand, stroking his thumb reassuringly across the pale skin.

"But I don't want to wait to read it. I think I'd like to write my own ending."

And all Cas can see are those green eyes, burning and brilliant, locked on his for a long moment before Dean sinks to one knee.

Time stops and there's no air left in the room, the whole crowd silent and on edge. There's a hundred people hanging on every moment, but Cas can't see any of it. He can't see anything but the man kneeling before him, the love on his face, the shining gold band he's pulled from his coat pocket.

Dean's voice is husky but sure, strong.

"So here's my real question, Cas. Will you marry me?"

Cas is crying, so full of joy and love that he doesn't think he can contain it, sure that he's going to shatter and fly apart and never be the same again.

But his answer rings out loud and clear across the crowd.

"Yes."