A/N: This is the last chapter in this little story, and it seems more of an epilogue than anything. Keep in mind that it takes place a few years into the future. I warn you now, it is pure fluff. Shameless really. Figured I owed a little happy after all the angst. Thank you again for all the encouraging reviews, favorites and follows-I sincerely appreciate it. Enjoy.

Castiel had his back to the ground and his eyes to the sky. His fingers tangled in green blades of grass. There was a sickly sweet smell of flowers wafting through the air. His hair wisped against the tombstone in the wind.

His mind was quiet, here at her grave.

Daphne's.

There was no lung-crushing guilt or soul-breaking shame. Just a thick mist of loss and a swift breeze of fond memory.

Something hard kicked at Castiel's leg. He sighed but didn't bring himself to break the silent spell.

A certain obnoxious policemen promised to take care of that himself.

"Cas," Dean drawled, "how'd I know you'd be here."

Perhaps because he'd visited Daphne's grave at least three times a week since being released from the psychiatric hospital. It was a ritual of sorts, and it persisted through the years, even now.

Especially now, maybe.

"Sammy's waiting in the car. Wanted to give us a moment—crazy bastard."

Castiel could believe that. Dean's brother had long since proved his patience in matters of Castiel and Dean. Dean himself was another matter, as Castiel had learned over their visits in the hospital and the following meetings while Castiel settled back into normal life.

Of course, in the years of them living together, Castiel had learned much about Dean Winchester. He learned the amulet Dean wore originated from Sam, as a Christmas present. He leaned Dean was obsessed with one, his '67 Chevy Impala, two, pie and three, Dr. Sexy M.D (though apparently Castiel was expected to keep that last one a secret). He learned Dean could get vicious over a few glasses of whisky, but Castiel refused to be bullied. He learned Dean liked to pull close to him in bed, in the dark, and talk about the sort of senseless nonsense that came to mind in the hours after midnight.

Not everything he'd learned about Dean Winchester had been beautiful. There were dark, dark things hiding beneath that perfect smile. However, Castiel Novak was fully aware of his own deficiencies and as Dean had accepted them, Castiel would do the same.

There was a soft grunt as Dean bent down and sat himself at Castiel's side—as he had done a thousand times before. Occasionally he would talk, blathering on about Captain Singer at the precinct, Sam's fiancée, Jessica or the idiot new recruits that didn't know how to operate the coffee machine.

Or, like today, Dean would sit still, not speaking, humming under his breath some Zeppelin song or maybe Metallica.

Today it was Zeppelin. Out on the Tiles. Fitting.

Dean would sit until Castiel got up, or they started to talk. They'd had some of their best conversations at the foot of Daphne's grave. Just another thing Castiel needed to thank her for.

"Dean," Castiel said—and that was odd because he rarely broke the silence between them. Silence was where Castiel thrived. But today was special.

The humming cut off. "Yeah?"

"Today is the anniversary."

The anniversary of the last time Castiel attempted to take his life. Ever.

Dean fidgeted, twisting the solid silver band on his ring finger (the one that Castiel he given him, and its twin rested comfortably on Castiel's own finger). "I know."

Castiel's hands tensed and he ripped out the grass unlucky enough to be entangled between his fingers. "It's been such a long time."

"Only six years. That's barely anything."

Castiel fixed him with a glare.

Six years was long enough for him to grieve. For him to heal. For him to learn to smile again. For him to find and join a new pseudo family in the Winchesters.

For him to fall in love.

"Okay okay, fine. A lot's happened," Dean conceded. "You got a few more wrinkles on your face, that's for sure."

Castiel threw the uprooted grass in his hands at Dean. "You do too," he muttered petulantly. Of course, Castiel had a fair bit more. However, he'd done a 180 from the shadowed, pale imitation of death he'd been when they first met.

So much had changed since then.

"I don't think about it that much anymore," Castiel murmured. "I never dream about it." He used to. Every night he would see Dean, in his uniform, leaning over that railing for him. Almost falling. For him.

Castiel smiled. "There are more important things now."

Dean laughed. "Like me?" He stretched then got to his feet.

Castiel rolled his eyes. Leave it to Dean to ruin the moment. "Obviously. Of course, you."

There was a time, a few years back, that Dean's face would've jumped in surprise—or fell in disbelief. But days of waking up next to each other, morning after morning, and going to sleep side-by-side night after night, had rectified that.

Dean's eyes softened slowly, and he gave that smile (bright enough to make the sun go dim with envy). The smile that had pulled Castiel off that ledge six years ago.

How much Castiel owed Dean Winchester.

How much he loved him.

How glad he was he hadn't ended his life and eradicated the possibility of this happiness.

"I love you too, Cas," Dean announced.

It had not been the first time.

It would not be the last.

Castiel pulled himself off the ground. "I know."

It was Dean's turn to roll his eyes. "You could sound more excited. Took me long enough to admit it."

Versus Castiel who had known the second their hands touched and Dean pulled him over the railing.

"Don't remind me." Castiel had suffered through Dean's commitment issues stoically, but it was better to focus on the results of that struggle than the trial itself. The ends had come to justify the means after all.

"But it's true, y'know," Dean said, "I'm glad we met."

"On the top of a building I intended to throw myself off of?"

Dean gave him a 'stop being difficult' glare.

Castiel chose to ignore him and stepped forward to lace their fingers together instead. "I want to say something."

"Go ahead." Dean pressed closer so they were standing chest to chest.

Castiel swallowed. "I don't think I've said it before." (He hadn't. Every time he tried the words would expand in his throat until he couldn't possibly push them out.)

"What?" Dean asked softly, lips brushing against Castiel's forehead.

Castiel steeled himself and took a deep breath. This shouldn't be so hard. He wanted to say it. It was the truest thing that would ever come out of his mouth—the purest.

"Cas?" Dean prodded.

It was now or never.

Castiel lifted his head to stare Dean straight in the face, their bodies only centimeters apart. Green eyes to blue eyes. Tanned skin to pale. Soul mate to soul mate.

"Dean Winchester," Castiel proclaimed, "thank you for saving my life."

Dean's eyes widened, and then they crinkled as a smile to shame the rest stretched his mouth wide. "The pleasures all mine," he mumbled, and then he leaned forward to press their lips together.

As they kissed, Castiel decided that perhaps, even with his feet firmly planted on the ground; this was what flying felt like.

-END-