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You touch these tired eyes of mine
Map my face I’ve learned by line
And somehow growing old feels fine
Your eyes fluttered open as buttery daylight streamed through the uncurtained windows. Rolling onto your back, you turned your head to look at the man sleeping peacefully beside you. In slumber his features had relaxed, the worry lines and early wrinkles around his eyes smoothing out under the weight of sleep. An urge to touch him rose through you until your fingertips tingled, and you untucked your hand from the warmth of the blanket to trace over his temple, the shell of his ear, the angle of his jaw, over the curve of his chin and neck, pause on his pulse point…Ducking down, you pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose and drew back to find startlingly green eyes gazing at you blearily.
I listen close for I’m not smart
You wrap your thoughts in works of art
And they’re hanging on the walls of my heart
“Whatcha thinkin’?” He sounded groggy, his voice thick with sleep.
“You look so relaxed when you sleep. It’s peaceful.” You smiled gently down at him. “I love watching you like that.”
“Perv.” His grunt emerged with a soft laugh and you smirked as you leaned closer.
“Only for you, babe.” One of his hands rose up, sliding along your arm and cupping the back of your head, pulling you down so his sleep-rough lips could meet yours for a gentle kiss.
“Mornin’ sweetheart.” You rested your forehead against his and shared a breath with him, eyes locked.
“Good morning, Dean.” You leaned down again until your lips met his.
I may not have the softest touch
I may not say the words as such
And though I may not look like much
I’m yours
His calloused hands slipped over your waist, pulling you towards him, the rough skin gliding sinfully over yours, shudders running through you as he encouraged you to lie on his chest, safe in the cradle of his arms. You lay together in silence, your legs tangled and bodies and hands pressed tight together, heads resting against each other. Nothing more needed to be said. Love hung heavy in the air as you rested together in the early morning light, veil-thin mist outside your window creating shadows and patterns on the floor. His touch said everything he wanted to say and more, even if he found the words hard to say.
And though my edges may be rough
I never feel I’m quite enough
It may not seem like very much
But I’m yours
The morning wore on and eventually you slipped out of bed, the warmth of the blankets replaced by the heat of the shower. As you washed, you listened as Dean moved around outside the open bathroom door. He moved with grace even when you weren’t hunting, his lithe limbs moving with perfect synchronicity, so rarely clumsy or awkward, even though you knew he felt a failure. The thought nearly drove you crazy. Such a perfect man, so haunted by failures he couldn’t escape and an upbringing which taught him he should.
You’ve healed these scars over time
Embraced my soul, you love my mind
You’re the only angel in my life
You hoped you’d made a difference to Dean in the time you’d known him and been with him. Things weren’t always simple or even happy, but life was more bearable by his side, and you sensed he felt the same way. Everything about him made you feel complete: his intelligence, his beauty, his physical presence…there would be nothing you wouldn’t miss if he should ever leave. You were done for, thoroughly lost to the world because you had found him.
Stepping from the shower and wrapping yourself in a towel, you stepped back into your bedroom and found him in slacks and a Henley, perched on the end of the bed.
“Wanna head out in a bit? Could have a picnic or something?” he looked up at you and smiled. “Sammy says it feels like summer out there.”
“Sounds good, just let me get dressed.” You dripped over to him and dropped a kiss to his lips.
The day news came my best friend died
My knees went weak and you saw me cry
Say I’m still the soldier in your eyes
Everything you’d seen Dean go through, all the pain, heartbreak, loss and triumph had only cemented your faith in him. He was the ultimate soldier to go through all that and come out the other end fighting. His spirit was practically unbreakable, and although it concerned you that he rarely talked about it, you knew he’d always come out ok. And he’d always come back to you.
These thoughts were your constant companion as you worked beside him in the kitchen, pulling together a quick picnic lunch in a basket and scooping up a plaid blanket as something to sit on. You worked in tandem, not talking much, but communicating through touches and looks. There was something special between you, and you hoped it would last forever.
I may not have the softest touch
I may not say the words as such
And though I may not look like much
I’m yours
Slipping into the car beside him, you slid up the bench seat until you could feel him in a line from shoulder to knee. He wrapped his arm around you and drove one handed, his favourite songs blasting from the radio as warm spring air swirled through the open window.
Eventually he pulled off the road and along a narrow lane, until he finally stopped at the entrance to a field, seemingly abandoned and full of wildflowers. Giving you a sideways glance, he slid from the car and pulled a battered acoustic guitar from the trunk. He leaned on the gatepost as you gathered the picnic basket and blanket, and headed after him. He lead you to the centre of the field, the view unobscured by any manmade thing, the air clear and clean, the smell of imminent summer hanging on the breeze. Before you could do much more than spread out the blanket and set yourself down, he was plucking at the strings and crooning quietly as he tuned the instrument. You lay back on your elbows and cross your ankles, the sunshine warming you as you watched him.
When he turned to you and began to sing, your heart swelled as you realised what he was doing. Throughout the song you couldn’t tear your eyes away from his, from the emotions swirling in the depths of them, the love and devotion being poured out in front of you. In song, he had found his words, and he was giving them to you unflinchingly.
As the final chord faded away, Dean slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a small black bag. He cleared his throat nervously as he fiddled with the strings and tipped out whatever was inside into his palm.
“Y/N…” he began, before stopping and looking at you intently. “I know I find it hard to say, but I love you. I’m yours. Forever, if you’ll have me.” He held out his hand, fingers loosely furled. You sat up and took his hand in yours, the ring concealed in his palm sliding out. Your eyes flicked from the ring to his face.
“Well no one will believe me unless they see the ring.” You said lightly, a smile on your lips.
“I’m putting it nowhere until you give me an answer,” he retorted, just as gently.
“Yes, of course,” it was barely whispered, but it was enough for him to take the ring from your hand and slide it onto your finger. “I’m yours.”