Disclaimer: The story is mine but Dean, Sam, and anything else you're familiar with cannot be credited to me.
The Young Man's Heart
Dean has only ever truly loved two females.
One used to sing him to sleep each night, a soft hand stroking the soft hair at his temple until his eyes finally drifted closed. She made him breakfast each morning and slipped him cookies between meals. He always knew she loved him—it was written in her smile and it glowed in her eyes—and his father had loved her first.
She was stolen from all three of them in the middle of the night; taking every piece of the home he had with her.
The second had been given to him. His father had loved her first too, but when he handed her over, she was his. She became a physical symbol of his personality, another line in the definition of 'Dean Winchester.' She had never failed him, and in return he gave her his devotion.
She'd almost been taken away by the same thing that had stolen his mother. Seeing her body twisted, turning the once beautiful symmetry concave. He'd slaved to return her to her former glory, even when Bobby shook his head and his eyes screamed that it was a waste of time.
Dean has only ever loved two females, but he's pretty sure that he's well on the way to his third. The heavy feeling in his chest and the lightness in his head aren't the sensations he'd use to describe love because he's never felt them before.
With his mother, love had felt like the brightest sunshine—warm against his skin and making the world glow. And his love for the Impala was the smell of home—not the clichéd scent of fresh-baked cookies—the smell of something familiar, a combination of leather and small cardboard air-fresheners.
Dean had learned the difference between the types of love.
He hadn't loved Cassie, he'd loved the idea of her. She'd been his dream girl, his misguided attempt at being normal; he'd thought that maybe they could have a future. He'd been wrong and he'd been hurt. Turned out she hadn't been in love with him, he'd been her bad boy—her James Dean—but he hadn't been her forever. The truth had been too much for both of them.
His heart doesn't feel heavy, really. He's just more aware of it's presence because the ache that had been a part of him for so long is absent. It pulses steadily beneath his ribs and Dean wonders how many scars it bears, and how much longer he could have survived with the pain before he slowly fell apart. He truly hopes that he never has to find out.
Inspired by "45" by Shinedown, if you haven't listened to it, do so immediately.
A/N: Love to my Beta (you're right, I sent it on purpose XD). Just a drabble, not much else. Oh, the third person can be anyone, but it would make sense to assume that it's Angie. Make of it what you will.