Sam understood, probably better than anyone else in her life, how much she had been through, at home and here. He'd spent the last twenty months learning the twists and turns, the cracks and voids and, underneath them, the sources of strength. He knew the map of her head, her soul, her heart, for as far as she'd allowed him in, which was a significant distance. He'd let her in as far as he could, too, opening doors and letting air into the darkest, dustiest corners of his emotional vaults. There was still farther to go for both of them, and that was fine. He had learned to be patient, more with himself than with her, but it extended to her as well. If he seemed to underestimate how much she had been damaged, sometimes, it wasn't because he was dismissive of her experiences, but because he stood in awe of how strong and resilient she was underneath it. Her pain seemed smaller by comparison to her ability to handle it, but that didn't mean he forgot that it was there.
But it was easy to momentarily overlook it when, more often than not, she was smiling and laughing when he was around. When their arms went around each other, he felt safer, warmer, sheltered from everything that the world or his own mind could do to harm him. She freed him from his own pain, so it was harder to see how she could possibly be held captive by her own, no matter how real and serious it was.
"I didn't say property," he said, smiling at her. "I said 'territory'. You don't own me, but you have a claim to me, because I let you have it. I want you to have it, I want to belong to you." His voice got quieter, more intent with every word. "Being yours is the best thing that ever happened to me, the thing I'm most proud of, and I know you know that. But part of the point of rings and weddings is to tell everyone else, isn't it?"
He took a deep breath. "And even if this is the right time for us, I don't think it's quite the right time for everyone else." What he meant was, Dean was a demon. Her father wasn't here. Logan wasn't used to the idea of them even being together, yet, much less getting married. The world was possibly about to end. "But I don't want to wait for the time to be right for everyone else. I mean... I do, for the actual wedding part, but... I think we could both use something real to hold onto. And it doesn't seem fair, that you get a ring that means you belong to someone who loves you, and I don't."
A smile had crept back onto his face with the last sentence, and then he attempted to draw the conversation away from thinking about the mess they were in with their family and friends that would make this seem imperfect. With a hint of mischief and a complete lack of seriousness, he added, "If you don't put a ring on my finger, Mars, I'll have to get a tattoo of your name somewhere indecent, and that'll require taking off clothes every time I have to turn someone away. That seems like a bit of a mixed message, doesn't it?"
He laughed, and kissed her again, one hand tangling in her hair. "You should probably look at it, yeah. I spent a long time picking it out, I hope you like it."