Dean swore that he wasn't the falling-in-love type.

After his time with Lisa, he was practically positive of this fact; sure, the two had had ridiculous amounts of sex, overall, but he had a sneaking suspicion that both of them were just attempting to fill a void.

And that, no matter how much Dean tried to convince himself otherwise, was not love.

Granted, he thought it had been. He really had. But, that was the thing: being with Lisa had been eye-opening, in ways he could never have imagined. All the normalcy? Day after day? He'd have done anything to go on a hunt- a Wendigo, or maybe a Tulpa. Hell, an average, run-of-the-mill demon would've restored his sanity.

What he and Lisa had, Dean liked to call an educational experience (which he had only muddled through, because his brother had pleaded him to. It was basically Sam's dying wish; what the hell was Dean supposed to do?)

That relief he had at seeing his brother again, was followed by a nasty little voice in his head, silently assuring him that this was his way out.

Thus, he reasoned, he wasn't in love with Lisa.

He could've been, but he wasn't.

After that crippling analysis, he was forced to examine that fateful year- what the hell had happened?

Lisa and Ben were perfect, and he did care about them, to some extent. With them, that picture perfect life that Sam had always wanted for him, was attainable.

And, instead, he had ran away- given it all up- the first chance he got. He was fucking terrified of staying there any longer. The more he suppressed certain revelations, the more they haunted him.

He didn't want to know why he often looked into Lisa's brown eyes, and wished them to be blue, instead.

He didn't want to wake up from a dream, his mind a whirlwind of tan trenchcoats, and a deep, gravelly voice.

Every single piece of him ached for Castiel, even now, which was just confusing. Definitely something that Dean would never truly acknowledge. He just told himself that these occurrences had nothing to do with the angel- why would they?

It's not like he was in love with Cas.

These were the thoughts running through his mind, years later, as Castiel furiously came up to him. The angel always did have a temper, and they'd been arguing about something or other that Dean couldn't recall right now.

Cas was angry, and oh-so-close, that Dean just couldn't help himself. Grabbing the other man's lapels, he finally, fi-na-lly, pressed his lips firmly on Cas's and-

Oh.

The angel gave a muffled squeak of shock, that quickly morphed into a kind of content sigh. He all but fell into Dean's kiss, his lips moving hungrily against the hunter's- it was almost desperate, like if he didn't hold on, Dean would disappear.

They were electric, like thunder and lightning; always chasing each other, for reasons they hadn't wanted to admit. As though the simplest gust of wind could break them.

It was like an explosion- they'd both be casualties, naturally, but wasn't sacrificing oneself worth it?

They weren't perfect- far from it, actually- but Dean finally knew what it was like want. To desire, and to have. He pulled back, and his heart swelled at the look in those eyes; a gaze reserved for Dean, and Dean alone.

Cas's hair was disheveled, his lips red and swollen. Dean couldn't keep the moronic grin of his face, but he didn't actually give a shit, because Cas was here, and it was just the two of them, and oh, god-

Was this what love felt like?

"What was that for?" Cas inquired, softly, doing his damnedest to not shatter the silence, to not break the spell.

"I had to find someway to shut you up, didn't I?" Dean answered, teasingly. Rolling his eyes (the action so utterly human, that it left Dean in wonder), Cas inched his face closer.

"You," he said, breath hot against Dean's mouth, "are infuriating."

A/N:

let's just ignore canon.

canon? what is canon? I have never heard this term in my life.