Sometimes Sam wondered whether she really, realistically, wanted a pony. Less often, he had his doubts-- insecurities, really-- about where he stood with her. She was not alone in being amazed that they'd managed this for so long, not just because people around him got hurt and women he loved had a habit of dying, but because he was a lot to handle. The hunting, the demon blood, the undying loyalty to his brother, the way chaos followed him like a shadow. But that was in the scope of things she was able to handle, because he had been honest and faithful and supportive. And her darkest spots were, similarly, well within his ability to deal with, and so very worth the trouble.
He didn't really know what sort of reaction he'd expected-- predictably his mind had imagined everything from the worst to the best-- but when it happened, it seemed exactly as it should be. Well, maybe except for the crying, but it was the good kind of crying. He was pretty certain of that much, at least.
His arms went around her in return, one around her waist and the other around her shoulders, easily holding her off the ground. He had never dated someone so much shorter than him before-- not because of any personal preference on his part, probably more because taller women tended to gravitate towards a man that was actually taller than them-- but in the twenty months (was it really twenty months? Exactly twenty months, and she was twenty. Maybe it was perfect timing, after all) they'd been together, he'd really gotten used to being able to pick her up, to feel like the whole world fit in his arms. It had also, possibly, added a small amount of weight to the belief that maybe, just maybe, he'd actually be able to protect her properly.
"I haven't even finished," he said, and he was laughing, just because the build-up to asking had been so heavy and tense and the relief of having it over with-- and knowing for certain that she'd say yes even when the reality of it was right here, not off in the future-- was immense. His eyes weren't entirely dry, either. "I thought... I know it's not traditional, but I thought you might want me to wear a ring, too. I know you've been biding your time to make me permanently yours, or however it was you put it... but I already am, you know. And if you put a ring on my finger, everyone else would know it, too."
He pulled back a little, lifting one hand to the side of her face, brushing tears off of her cheek with his thumb. "Obviously I'd get one when we get married, but I mean-- before that. It'll tell people that I'm your territory, so that you don't have to."