Disclaimer: I obviously don't own Supernatural or Destiel would have been canon season 4 episode 2.

Timeline: Not 100% sure when this story takes place. I'm thinking around mid-lateish season 8? Obviously after As Time Goes By. I'm not a good planner as you can tell from my unfinished stories.

What's in a Word?

There were plenty of words to use for it. Hell, that's the reason Dean is using the computer in the first place. Most of the time, the Bunker was like Batman's utility belt; revealing the crap they need just when they need it. But of all the conveniently accessible shark-repellenty objects in the place it didn't have one thing: A fucking thesaurus. An entire book on the mating habits of werewolves – yes, it was the first book that Dean read in the Bunker -, but not a single book to show another word for 'priorities' because seriously? How can the Men of LETTERS find when werewolves are horny more important than another, less obvious-that-I-got-my-GED word for "horny"!? But, whatever. That's why he needed Sam's laptop.

At this point in the game, Dean was more so looking up the definitions of the synonyms for the word because let's be honest; words shouldn't be, like, 10 syllables long and what the actual fuck does 'monoclinous' mean?! Isn't that the kissing disease? He absently scratched at the back of his head, teasing the dry follicles before glancing at the research tab that Sam still had open in the browser. He and Sam had been on this hunt for about 4 days now. Not long, but long enough. It hadn't started off great. Sam got bitchy because Dean delayed them an extra hour looking for a fucking thesaurus, which wouldn't have annoyed his kid brother if Dean would have been willing to tell him what he was tearing the place up for. But telling Sam what he was looking for would mean he'd have to tell Sam why he was looking for it. Or worse. Dean would tell Sam and Sam wouldn't ask which, knowing his brother, meant that Sam already knew why he was looking for it. Which pissed Dean off because he wasn't even 100% sure why he was looking for it. Okay. He knew why in broad terms, but not the deep-down-below-the-surface-what's-in-your-heart-of-hearts-Nicholas-Sparks-level-of-goopeyness why. And that frustrated Dean. Which in turn frustrated Sam. Which in turn made them bicker and end with Sam storming off, basically vaulting towards the door, rant about buying some Tampax, and leaving Dean to fume. So yeah, not long, but long enough.

After about 2 hours of half-hearted research and a good amount of time spent Googling different words, Dean decided to throw in the towel. He - what's another word for it - Conceded, capitulated, yielded. He gave up. He leaned back into the chair, ignoring its whining protest as he cracked his back over the top only to let out a surprised yelp at the very object of his trouble. Well… sort of. Castiel stood, assessing Dean with a cocked head, covered in a ridiculous – nonsensical – amount of dirt, mud, grass, and what smelled like human shit.

"Dear GOD!" Dean propelled to the side to avoid the table and get as far away from Castiel as possible. "What the hell happened to you, man? You're walkin' around like the Creature from the Black Lagoon just popping up! Why the hell are you so gross?" Dean's face scrunched at the stench wafting from Castiel's clothes. As Castiel took a step forward, opening his mouth as if to reply, Dean moved back a step. Castiel soundlessly closed his mouth and continued the game of negative and negative magnets before standing completely still and straightening his back, an action that Dean unintentionally mimicked.

"I appear to have sullied my vessel." Was Castiel's deciding opener.

"Yeah, no shit," Dean immediately replied, pinching his nostrils to protect them from the assault.

"No, I do believe that I may have fallen into excrement," Castiel replied, lifting his arms and looking at his sleeves and front as if providing evidence.

"I can smell that. Jesus Christ, man, why do you smell like you just broke out of Shawshank?" Dean wanted to step closer to see whether or not the pseudo-Angel had any actual injuries, but he might as well give that up because each step closer made his eyes water all the more. Castiel huffed and let his arms drop to his sides, allowing his trench coat to spew some of the gunk – sediment – into the air to pollute Dean's breathing space.

"I assume you're referring to my disagreeable scent," Castiel started, coking his head slightly in more irritation than confusion. "I had taken flight to find one of my brothers, only to falter and fall into a… what I can assume is some sort of outdoor toilet." Castiel shifted his gaze to the floor.

"You fell in a port-a-potty? How the hell'd ya manage that, Cas?" Dean was more interested and confused - perplexed - than grossed out.

"It was not an outhouse of that sort. I managed to make it to India before I felt my wings give out. I believe I was in an area lacking indoor plumbing and conventional alternatives." Castiel nodded at his short – succinct – summary of his story.

"You… you fell into a make-shift outdoor latrine in INDIA? How the hell are you here then? You didn't have to wait for you mojo to come back or someth- did you let that shit ferment before coming here, Slumdog Millionaire?!" Dean leaned back slightly, almost imagining mushrooms popping out of Cas's clothes. Castiel was silent for a moment. Dean wasn't sure if he was debating questioning the reference or thinking up what to say next.

"…. I… my power is dwindling. I had to wait a day to gather the strength to…" Castiel faltered helplessly, pulling for words and drawing back empty hands. He looked down slightly, not meeting Dean's eyes. The room stood silent for a moment, offering the pair a moment before Dean spoke again.

"Dude. You can use our shower. There's some shampoo and soap already in there. Put your clothes uhh," Dean looked around and found a bag the hotel uses when offering dry cleaning services, "Just put your clothes in here and I'll get 'em… burned" Dean added the last part after Castiel had removed his tie and reached for the bag. He gave Dean a pained look as he stopped halfway from removing his soiled trench coat before Dean amended. "Ok. We'll hose them off and run them through the washed a few dozen times." Castiel, pleased with this plan – proposal -, shrugged off the his coat, unbuttoned and removed his shirt and began undoing his pants before Dean caught him.

"Uhh. You can finish in the bathroom. I'm gonna go grab a couple of towels from the front desk and you just leave the bag on the floor and go… cleanse yourself or whatever." Castiel nodded in understanding.

"Thank you, Dean." He offered Dean a rare smile that made Dean remember the damn thesaurus problem – DILEMA – all too clearly and suddenly. He returned Castiel's smile and all but dashed for the door. They had probably 4 towels in the bathroom right now, but judging from Castiel's state, those things were gonna have to be incinerated, so it wasn't a total lie when Dean has said it. Walking there and back took a grand total of 6 minutes. He opened the door slowly on the off chance Castiel was still scraping his clothes off, but walked in less hesitantly when he heard the shower running.

"Thank God," he whispered under his breath. He didn't get it. It was just so hard breathing with Cas in the room. And it wasn't even scent related. Every time Castiel would look at him with that confused expression when he spoke about anything pop-culture related, anytime he smiled and his eyes crinkled around the outside, the way he said Dean's name, the way Cas could be really funny both intentionally and unintentionally, the way he sometimes liked to play with his fingers. It was a long ass list of things that impaired Dean's breathing. Like each of these little things were just sitting on his chest all of the time. If felt like downright assault when Castiel would be in the same room as him, puncturing his lungs with each long stare, each reassuring touch, and each understanding look. It was getting ridiculous. There were many words to describe Dean: Hunter, brother, ladies man, dense, strong-willed, stubborn, caring, blah blah blah. Hell, there were many words to say what Cas did for Dean, but not a single word for what the trench coat wearing, socially inept angel did to him. And apparently Googling the symptoms brought him endlessly to one word to describe Dean's dilemma: Bisexual.

Basically all the world's information stored into one search engine, and that's the only conclusion that he keeps finding. So hell no and screw Google. Dean Winchester was not bisexual. He likes women. He likes breasts and thighs, and long hair, and cute giggles. He knows this, but there's a part of him that finds himself thinking and looking at a man with two-day-old five o'clock shadow and immediately wondering what Cas is doing. There's a part of him that walks down a street and sees two blue shirts in a window and doesn't differentiate the shades with words like "light" and "dark" but rather "blue" and "Cas blue." There's a part of him that knows it's a slight attraction to the angel. But he's not bi. He's only slightly sort of kinda attracted to the one guy. But apparently dictionaries, Google, and online thesauruses don't have a word for it that isn't bi. Dean looks up the synonyms again. He's so caught up – engrossed – that he doesn't even hear the shower shut off or the bathroom door open.

"Gynandrous?" his face twists like the words had a bad taste coming out. "What the hell is that? Isn't that a Pokémon or something?"

"Gynandrous is of Greek origin. Stemming from gynēmeaning 'woman' and andr- or anēr meaning 'man'. It refers to a flower having both stamens and pistils united in a single column." Castiel was suddenly behind Dean much similar to when he first arrived and Dean's reaction this time around wasn't much different. He flailed to the side before stumbling further upon realizing that Castiel was in nothing but a towel.

"I… wh-… how the hell do you even know that? They offer Botany 101 in Heaven?" Dean decided on a single question.

"Dean." Cas's voice immediately sounding admonishing. "I have been around for quite some time. I speak every language known to man. Knowing a miniscule amount of information should not be a surprise to you considering how long we have been together." Castiel's eyes shown with what Dean could only define as amusement. "I know many things, Dean Winchester," Castiel continued, "I do not, however, know why you are researching synonyms for 'bisexual'." Castiel shifted his eyes away from Dean and towards the computer screen. Dean immediately turned a deep shade of red – scarlet – and floundered helplessly before vaulting towards the laptop and slamming it with a force that would put a crack in a less abused machine.

"I wasn't- there was- I was – uhhh" Dean began three unsuccessful sentences before flat lining completely. Years of professionally lying and he couldn't come up with a single, plausible thing. Screw it. "It's for the case we're on?" His voice elevated at the end, making his statement into a question and making him want to punch a hole through the wall as an escape route. Castiel stepped closer, still wet and fresh, tilting his head as his eyes wandered from Dean's eyes to his chest. He slowly raised his right hand – incidentally the one that was holding his towel up – and brought it closer to Dean's chest. Dean had never felt the gripping fear like he had at that moment. Like his blood was made of needles. It was not the kind of adrenaline-fueled fear from a hunt, but the fear he got when he'd screw up in school and have to sit in class the rest of the day thinking about how much trouble he would be in once he got home. As Castiel's hand gently rested above Dean's heart, Cas's eyes shifted back towards Dean's. Dean looked from Cas's hand and to his lips twice before settling on looking Castiel in his eyes.

"Your heart. The rhythm is off. It's beating quite irregularly, but you are not unwell." Castiel stepped closer, eyes as scrutinizing as an appraiser assessing a diamond. Dean's breath stuttered as he felt the water from Castiel's hand slightly soak through his shirt.

"It's nothing. Uhhh. You just startled me when I was-" Dean was cut off as Castiel took another step closer.

"There it is again. The rhythm. Why is it doing that?" Castiel gave Dean a look that he couldn't place. It was searching and felt borderline assaulting like he was looking into the depths of Dean's subconscious. But the way he phrased the question bothered him even more. His question had a similar inflection that his father would use when he knew an answer, but was asking to make sure Dean knew.

"Dean, what's a way to kill a shapshifter?" Dean could hear his father's voice in the back of his head. He knew this. Silver through the heart. That he's sure of. Why his heart doing this weird beating - palpitation – thing, though? That he wasn't so sure of. Hell, he was even looking it up. But just like usual, Cas has an insight into something Dean doesn't. Which is what more than likely prompted his stupid response.

"I dunno, Cas. Why don't you tell me?" Dean looked at Castiel's lips and unconsciously licked his own before his eyes trailed down to the towel that had slightly slipped down Castiel's narrow hips.

Dean expected many things. He expected Castiel to surprise him when he entered. He expected Sam to give shocked looks whenever he said something intelligent. In regards to this, though, he expected Castiel to give him some Dr. Sexy M.D. clinical diagnosis for why his heart was beating this way. He would have even expected Castiel to bring diagrams before the events that actually enfolded. Like he said. He expected many things. He did not, however, expect Castiel to kiss him. He did not expect Castiel to pull his waist towards him. He did not expect himself to almost immediately return the kiss either. Surprised, aroused, confused, wound-up, excited. There were plenty of words for what Dean was feeling right now. But now, apparently as per the course of his life, there were no words for why he was feeling like this.

It was the ocean-scented body wash. It was an oddly stunning strawberry flavored candy. It was the physical transcendence of everything life had to offer and Dean couldn't put what he felt into any other words. It was this annoying lack of… what's the word… articulation that frustrates Dean endlessly. Like the fact that he knows what snow smells like, but can't describe its taste for some reason. It's like how he knows exactly where to shoot a beer can so that the impact of the bullet causes the can to knock over the others, but couldn't walk Sam through how to do it without his father's help. It's something he knows but can't say. And this Castiel kissing him, breathing LIFE into him, kind of scared Dean. It almost amazed – confounded – Dean; it's like it wasn't real. Because ocean-scented body wash was standard in nearly every hotel. Strawberry flavored candy was in the dish at the front desk. But the culmination of these real things into this one wing-less angel provoked a side of Dean that he wasn't sure he was ready to face or name. This raven-haired man with the defining blue eyes and trench coat who kept repeatedly bringing their lips together, matching Dean's noises was not something Dean was sure was real let alone something he felt he could deal with. The pleased hums beings manhandled by the slight acoustics in the room were not supposed to warm Dean's heart and excite him the way they did when he was with a woman. They were not supposed to sound so natural and commonplace and right. When Castiel pulled away, Dean felt a rumble of a whine pour out of his throat. His whines were not supposed to sound so normal and wanting; like every day requests. Like:

"Sam, make sure you grab me some pie."

"Can you hand me that?"

"Cas, will you please love me?"

His reactions weren't supposed to be like this. His heart wasn't supposed to do this. Cas wasn't supposed to do this to him, but here it was. Happening. And apparently he'd said that last question out loud because Castiel looked him dead in the eyes and gripped the hand that had somehow found its way to Dean's shoulder tightly.

"Dean. I have been around for quite some time," Castiel echoed his words from earlier, "and I have never felt the bond with anyone else the way that I feel it with you. I believe that I have, for some time, fulfilled that request." Castiel's eyes gave off a warmth that makes Dean's heart pump so hard he can feel it in his temples which is definitely the reason Castiel smiles at him. Which is the reason Dean thoughtlessly kisses him again. And again. And again. Because yeah. He's not a man of many words. He spent hours Googling what the hell this thing he was feeling was. He's still not satisfied with the results of that, but he's kinda found his own answer. It's pretty easy when he thinks about it now. It's just… LOVE. No big labels or words with seven syllables. Not so hard. So, yeah. Who the hell needs a Thesaurus anyway?

END

Author's Note:

So that was fun. Wow I haven't written anything in a long while. All three of my fans are probably like "she's still alive?" Yeah. Since Sherlock lives I figured, why not bring my writing back to life. But I'm so flaky with this. One-shots are more my speed. More power to those who can write full stories. But yeah. This is just a small little Destiel that I decided to write a few hours ago and thought "why not?" It was fun. Hope you enjoyed! Here comes the shameless plug! Feel free to follow me on Tumblr at Sopresa. Tumblr. com if ya wanna see a bunch of Supernatural crap or show me your own Destiel FFN because I do enjoy reading! Criticisms welcome!