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Castiel sits on the bed by Dean's side, a smile pulling at his lips as he counts his partner's soft breaths, watches the slow rise and fall of his chest. It is rare enough that Dean sleeps so soundly; to witness this stillness while he is awake is nearly impossible, and yet he does not slumber now. Castiel would not be surprised to learn he has been the only one to be graced with this honour, even if it is still baffling that this man, who has been through horrors that would have felled any other human, has chosen to place such trust on him.
Dean's heartbeat remains steady even as his eyes flutter open. He looks up at Castiel, gaze open and trusting, slightly glassy but still present. Castiel feels a pull on his chest that might be his own feelings as much as it might be Dean's very soul calling to him. Nowadays, they tend to be one and the same.
Castiel buries one hand in Dean's short hair, carding his fingers through it gently, relishing in the soft sighs it pulls out of his partner. His other hand trails a path down Dean's body, from the slight creases on his forehead, carved there by time, by pain, down his flushed cheeks and the curve of his neck, before pausing with a light pressure on his chest. Castiel can feel the thrumming of the sigil he carved on Dean's ribs what feels like a lifetime ago. It is a comfort to know that there is a layer of protection as inherent to Dean's being as his bones, as much as it is disconcerting, even after all these years, to not be able to find him just by searching for his soul.
As he caresses the skin over Dean's heart, an idea comes to him, to carve his own sigil into Dean's bones, a brand so deep that Castiel could call upon it as he wished. It is as appealing as it is bold, a bond so profound that it will proclaim Castiel's claim on Dean to any who might gaze upon his soul. It is unthinkable, for an angel to claim a human so, and yet Castiel yearns. After all, what are he and Dean but unthinkable in every way? An angel and a human, Michael's true vessel and the one who was sent merely to save him, a man who has spent his life trying not to feel and a being which was not meant to feel at all. Everything about them, about their love, defies the very nature of their beings, has rewritten history over and over until reality became what they made of it.
Castiel's hand is splayed over Dean's heart as his other moves from his hair down to his chin, tilting it up until their eyes meet.
"Dean," he starts, the words catching in his throat. He had not feared being rejected when he confessed his love to Dean, not when his confession was a way to save him, nor when Dean brought him back by the sheer force of Winchester will and confronted him with his own dying words. He had been content to love Dean from afar if the man so wished. Now, however, he has had him. For six blissful months, he has had Dean Winchester in his arms, has seen him laugh freely and cry without shame, has witnessed the softness he had repressed come out as he lets go of the shadows that have followed him through hunts and disasters and the Apocalypse itself. This loss, Castiel can't help but fear.
Dean blinks up at him, soft and slow. In these moments, Dean is pliant in his arms, brain quiet for once, and Castiel cherishes the stillness of it as much as he is in awe of Dean's usual energy and drive.
"Dean," he tries again, forces the words out, "would you ever be open to considering me placing my brand upon you, so that I may find you should I wish to do so?"
Dean shifts in place until he's facing Castiel, still sheltered within his arms.
"You mean like the one you put on my ribs for protection? To… override that one?"
Castiel nods, breath catching as he awaits Dean's verdict. He is aware of the magnitude of his request, how it is as much, if not more, commitment than a marriage would be. He and Dean have not yet discussed marriage. Castiel wants it, has wanted it for longer than he has been aware of his desire.
"Cas… I don't have to consider it. You can do it now, if you want. I want you to. You gotta know that by now."
Castiel stutters out a breath. This ready acceptance is more than he had dared imagine, more than he had dared hope. That Dean would not only be accepting of this brazen claim, but that he would welcome it, crave it even.
"This would be visible to any who gaze upon your soul," Castiel explains, needs to make sure Dean knows before he makes a decision he will regret. "You would be mine, in the deepest, most sacred definition of the word."
Dean smiles, a soft, secret thing that only comes out in quiet moments like this.
"I already am, Cas. You'd just be making it official."
Castiel nods, words lost to him. His hand still splayed over Dean's chest presses harder, and he searches Dean's face, looking for any sign of uncertainty, any flicker of doubt. He finds none, only open acceptance and love which both softens and emboldens him.
Castiel focuses his grace on the palm of his hand, sending a pulse through Dean's soul into the core of his body. He can feel the sigil forming on Dean's ribs, warmth spreading through their new bond as well as the points where their bodies are connected. Dean gasps, the pain of the first time Castiel had engraved writings upon his bones non-existent, replaced with an all-consuming feeling of unity, of oneness. Dean is his, and Castiel's grace calls to his soul and responds to its plea in equal measures. Dean is his, and Castiel is Dean's, and for as much as they are separate, they are also one.
Castiel lays Dean down on the bed, follows him to curl around his body, pulling Dean's back to his chest. The air around them is quiet, heavy with potential and hope and expectations for the future. A future they will create as they created their past and their present. A future that is theirs, that is for Dean, that is for Castiel, that is for Dean&Castiel, together. As one.