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Since Dean and Cas dragged their heads out of their respective asses and took the five seconds needed to completely clear the air between them (“I'm in love with you. I've been in love with you for years.” “Same here, actually.”) it's been good. Great, even, in large measure. Their lives are not 100% blue skies and apple pies, but he'd call it 85%, for sure. That's a B+ Dean never thought he'd receive.
Dean couldn't ever have imagined having anything like this. At his absolute most optimistic, in his craziest, most hallucinatory secret fantasies, he'd hoped against hope that maybe, just maybe, someday he could have a lasting relationship, as long as he spent every single moment of that relationship hiding every single bit of himself. After he'd tried giving Cassie a peek behind the curtain and seen her skedaddle, he'd figured there was no way anyone could ever love Actual Dean Winchester. All those gooey romance novels about “finding that special someone who loves me for me”? Flimsy fiction, less plausible than anything Vonnegut or Kafka ever set down on the page.
And then there was Cas, and Cas saw every bit of Dean's life, every bit of Dean, and called it good. More than good, he called it lovable. He nestled right in, made himself at home. Dean still cannot believe something this wonderful could come his way, but he's not letting it pass him by.
He watches his boyfriend shooting rock-paper-scissors with Sam by the kitchen sink. Their brows furrow in concentration as they avail themselves of the Winchester family's traditional method of high-level negotiation. The knowledge settles in his bones: I'm gonna marry that angel.