"If we were married, I could be a Winchester," Cas says. He doesn't look up from the colossal phone book he's been perusing for the past three hours. He doesn't act like that would be a life changing big deal. His index finger glides from Schneller to Schuller.

Dean loses the ability to form words. "Uh... yeah...that's, uh, yeah."

He walks deliberately slowly out of the library, and Cas, thankfully, doesn't try to follow.

He reaches the kitchen and breathes a sigh of relief. He pulls a beer out of the fridge, sips at it slowly, and muses. He's not sure what he should do or even what he wants to do.

This isn't supposed to happen.

Is it?

He doesn't know how he got here. How he got to have someone who wants this. How he got to have someone who wants this knowing the life he leads, knowing who he is because of it.

This is too close to normal. He's not supposed to have normal.

Is he?

He's on his last dreg of beer and no closer to having a clue when Sam comes in the kitchen to make dinner. Oblivious to Dean's existential crisis, he pulls out a skillet and asks, "You guys find Cas a last name yet?"

"Yeah," Dean says deliberately casually. "Winchester."

"Winchester?" Sam repeats slowly. His eyes widen, and he almost loses his grip on a carton of eggs. "Huh."

Dean tilts his beer bottle up, inspects it, hoping there's one more drop. It's really empty.

He isn't ready to talk about this. Hell, he's never going to be ready. "He, uh, he wants to get married."

Sam starts to smile but stops short when he sees the look on Dean's face. "Well, what about you, Dean? Do you want to get married?"

"I, uh," Dean shakes his head. "Never really thought about it, you know? I mean, it's us. Last time we were at a wedding, you were drugged out on Love Potion #9. And Marvin the Martian at a wedding? That's...that's fucking surreal."

"Dean, I didn't ask if you wanted a wedding. I asked if you wanted to get married," Sam says.

"Just get a piece of paper that says we're hitched?" Dean says. And, yeah, that sounds about right. More like them, more like him. He knows it would have to be forged, and, well, he already has a wallet full of exaggerations of the truth. "Huh."

It's not what he wants. He knows that instantly. Loving Cas isn't any kind of lie.

And he thinks that this time around, he really does want to aim for just this side of normal.

Because, well, he's been imagining things.

Cas standing on an altar, fidgeting absently with a tie he and Sam both told him was still crooked even though it wasn't.

Cas not getting why on earth they would smash cake in each other's faces before completely destroying the cake when he ultimately takes 'getting it' too far.

Cas still half-asleep in bed next to him as he tugs him closer thinking yeah, this is the weird, dorky little guy I married.

So he claps a hand over Sam's shoulder. "Wish me luck, Sammy. I got a man to propose to."

XXX

He doesn't have a plan. He doesn't even remotely have a plan. He pretends like he has a great one.

He checks the forecast - it's suppose to be humid, warm, and clear.

So he packs a cooler with beer and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Because he's dating a man that's somewhere between five and a million.

He finds Cas still in the library, still slumped over the phone book, and drags him out to the Impala.

He tells him they have to go somewhere right now, somewhere important, somewhere without Sam.

Cas' eyes trace over him with concern. "Are you alright, Dean?"

"I'm awesome," Dean says. And he is and he isn't. He's high on adrenaline that's only going to wear off when he's done this thing.

Cas squints and frowns and side-eyes him. He climbs in the passenger side anyway and watches wordlessly as Dean cruises down the state route.

Dean drums his fingers on the steering wheel impatiently as he watches telephone lines disappear into the distance, searching for a wide, open clearing far away from the prying eyes of curious farmers.

Finally he finds what he's looking for and pulls over.

"Why are we stopping?" Cas asks as Dean tugs him across the bench and out of the car. "There's nothing here."

"We're here," Dean says as he heads a few yards into the field. Once he decides they're far enough, he sinks to one knee and cups Cas' left hand in both of his. "And, uh, got something I want to ask you."

"Shoot," Cas says triumphantly, a proud grin stretching across his face, and Dean about loses his ability to breathe. Because this is it. This is Cas.

His knee wobbles shakily in the grass and dew seeps through his jeans.

He thinks, maybe, he should have gotten a ring.

"So, uh, you still want to be a Winchester or what?"

"You are asking me to marry you?" Cas says.

"Not what I said, huh?" Dean says as Cas frowns slightly. "Yeah, Cas. I am."

He bobs his head up, then down, as Cas kneels across from him, placing his free hand on his knee, calming it. Calming him. "We will need to get a marriage license."

It's not funny. Not at all. But it's Cas. And he's so keyed up that his faintly hysterical laughing leads to tears welling in his eyes.

Finally, he manages to choke out, "Regular Romeo, aren't you? ...that a yes?"

"Yes," Cas says.

Dean hugs him then kisses him until he can't breathe. Cas pulls him onto his back and lies on his chest as he tells him about watching the constellations form.

Dean remembers there's food and beer in the trunk. So they lay the blanket out alongside the Impala and have a picnic under the stars. Then they tangle themselves around each other until they're too tired to move and fall asleep.

The deep rumbling of a motorcycle engine stirs Dean awake at dawn. He lies still in Cas' arms, watching as Cas mumbles something incoherent and rolls over, and thinks yeah, this is the man I'm going to marry.