Author's Note: This fic came about when I was feeling sad and needed some sweet, non-porn D/C to cheer me up and my internet wasn't working so I wrote some :) I decided to challenge myself to use only five words of dialogue, the rest of the fic reserved for thoughts/movements/descriptions.

Also posted on AO3 under the pseud 2spooky4u.

It's a quiet night when it happens. The rain leaks out of the periwinkle sky as the sun slips out of view. They are parked at an overlook, one of those happenstance vistas that is deemed pretty enough to carve out a special exit on a lonely interstate.

They are laughing at something, what it was neither of them can remember anymore, when a comfortable silence spreads through the car. They steal glances at each other when they think the other man isn't looking, as the heat from the still-running engine paints fog across the windows. It combines with the rippling veil of the rain to create a screen that sheaths them from the rest of the world.

Cas sighs, a small noise that would have escaped unnoticed were it not for Dean's careful observations, etching the angel into his peripheral vision. It's as if the contented noise is the needle that bursts the membrane, and Dean is struck by the overwhelming urge to take his angel's hand, and he does. He's still amazed by the way Cas's hands are calloused yet still so soft. It's familiarity, warmth and comfort, wrapped up in one, small gesture. In some unconscious way, it's how Dean ensures that Cas is really still there.

It's home.

Cas startles slightly at the touch, but catches Dean's eye shyly and smiles before developing a spontaneous interest in the way his breath thickens the fog on the glass of the window next to him.

Their fingers entwine, and as Cas runs his thumb sideways across Dean's, and the hunter realizes with a sudden twinge of his heart that finally, finally the moment is right.

Dean gently guides Cas's hand to his knee, and then gives up and pulls it close to his face, regarding with careful interest each finger one by one, grazing his own thumbs across the lines in Cas's palm. He needs courage to do this, and he's not finding it.

"Dean?" Cas eventually breaks the silence, after the scrutiny of his hand has gone on for a very long time.

"Marry me," Dean blurts suddenly, abruptly killing any train of thought that had been leading to a long-winded speech about devotion and affection and whatever.

Cas's head whips around, looking as if he's won the lottery without even purchasing a ticket; surprised and questioning. His blue eyes are wide, searching, and had Dean been fonder of 'big' words, he might have thought affronted.

When he doesn't answer, doesn't breathe, doesn't move anything apart from his eyes, Dean's heart plummets like a scuba diver on steroids.

His left hand, which has somehow parted from Cas's, finds its way into the pocket of his beaten leather jacket, and he runs his thumbs along the edges of the simple, yet elegant, silver wedding band he had bought (new!) on a whim a month or two ago, waiting for the balls to ask Cas this question. His heart thuds uncomfortably as he recalls the weight of it in his pocket all these weeks. Not the physical weight, of course, but the emotional weight. He's used it to steel himself on two separate occasions, a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins so that he can stay alive for Castiel.

Now, though, it feels impossibly heavy, an object to remind him forever of this moment, Cas's reflective blue eyes searching him.

The air around him has taken on a significant amount of viscosity, and it beats down on him. He feels claustrophobic, not that the word passes through his mind, but claustrophobic nonetheless.

He lets his right hand slip from Cas's left, and he grips the tight, worn leather of the steering wheel, the thumb of his other hand slipping into the now-warm ring, over his first knuckle, and then Cas looks away, pulling his hand back to his own lap where he restlessly plays with his other hand.

Dean uses that moment to glance over at the angel's face, but it's facing the window. Before he knows what he is doing, his forefinger is under Cas's chin, guiding his head back towards him.

Dean's heart lurches at the wet brooks down either side of Cas's pretty face. The angel is crying. Dean swallows, and before he can stop himself, both of his thumbs are wiping the tears away. Even if Cas is offended by this, Dean won't ever stop loving him, and he hopes to convey this through his motions because he isn't sure he trusts his voice.

Cas stops dead, and a moment too late Dean realizes his fallacy.

The wedding band is still on his thumb.

"Oh," he breathes, pulling back as if he has been burned.

"Wait," Castiel says softly, catching Dean's hands before they get too far. Without hesitation, he silently slips the ring off of Dean's thumb and places it on his own ring finger.

Dean blinks at him, and the angel gives another shy smile and reaches up to brush away the tears that have gathered in the hunter's green eyes.

They kiss, softly, and Dean knows it's a yes.