A/N

deancas. set sometime during the apocalypse, season five-ish.

Dean Winchester had never been particularly good with feelings. At all.

He never saw himself as being capable of achieving that white picket fence suburban heaven, and upon further speculation, he realized that he didn't particularly want it.

Sometimes he lay in bed, listening to the penetrating silence, and, although he never felt safe, he felt at home.

How freaking insane was that?

How freaking insane was he?

After his internal monologue got a little too loud and questioning for his taste, after he started catching glimpses of blue eyes- that's when he told himself to stop.

Because Dean Winchester wasn't good with feelings, so it was impossible for him to have them, right?

Right.

There was no way in hell or heaven (he snorted) that Dean Winchester could fall in love. Especially not with a self-righteous prick of an angel, who seemed to be causing more damage than good.

(Okay, so maybe that last part wasn't true, but he never said his internal monologue was accurate.)

Thus, he did as a Winchester did, and ignored it. He evaded the incorrigible thoughts, he jumped over the odd desire, and he ducked behind his pride, often avoiding his nonexistent affections, by yelling at Castiel to get off his ass, and do something.

Which, frankly, was a little damn rude, considering that the angel was their only saving grace, at the moment.

Cas didn't seem to mind his outbursts, merely fixing a perplexing gaze on Dean, before rolling his eyes (such an utterly human act, that it freaked Dean out, just the tiniest bit) and turning back to the book.

Which was good, because at least he wasn't hurting Castiel.

Not that he cared.

He didn't.

Sometimes, Dean's intrusive thoughts turned to other means of reaffirmation; dude, you're just seriously confused, or lonely, because you're straight remember?

But even he couldn't battle against his own mind, especially when said mind kept pulling up images of Dean doing very naughty things with very un-women people.

Thus, he resorted to telling himself that Cas was a dork, who was very capable of being an asshat, and he couldn't possibly have feelings for. Sure, he cared. Sure, they were friends.

Sure, Dean often wondered if Cas would return to heaven after the apocalypse was all tied up (if the apocalypse was all tied up, his, rather annoying, brain reminded him). And, yeah, he had to admit that Cas was pretty friggin hot, even if the angel himself wasn't aware of it. And thinking someone was hot, didn't equate to feelings, because one night stands didn't mean love.

Not that he wanted to have sex with Cas, it was just an example. A really bad one.

"Screw this." Dean muttered, catching the attention of Sam, who frowned at him.

"You good?" He asked.

Dean tilted his head. "Yeah, I guess. As good as you can be, when the world's ending."

Not technically a lie, but not technically the whole truth.

He should be concerned with the goddamn apocalypse; not be thinking about Cas 24/7.

He shouldn't be pondering his stance on all of this.

He shouldn't be worried that the angel would leave, or scared that they might lose him in a fight.

There were so many rules he was breaking, and all for somebody he was desperately trying not to fall for.

(Not that he'd ever admit to that, either.)

Bleeding sucked.

So did losing consciousness, and almost becoming prey to a run-of-the-mill vampire.

But, no, what sucked worst of all was Castiel, glaring at him like he was the most moronic man alive.

Which, in hindsight, he probably was.

"Remember what I told you about that look?" Dean quipped, weakly. "Can't buy the still a virgin act with that one, can I?"

Cas's gaze darkened, and Dean mentally chided himself.

"Do you usually make witty comments to compensate for uncomfortable situations?"

Dean bit his lip. "Pretty much, yeah."

"Dean, you almost died." Cas growled, and beneath the rage, Dean could have sworn he heard a touch of concern, a sliver of worry mixed with fear.

Either that, or he was seriously reaching.

"Well, yeah, but I almost die every single day. It's kind of in the job description, babe."

Babe? What the creeping hell was wrong with him?

Cas didn't seem to notice anything wrong with the statement. "I am well aware. I just wish you would stop putting yourself in danger. It's very troubling."

Dean quirked his eyebrow. "Were you worried about me?"

Castiel shot him a withering look. "Don't be stupid; of course I was." He said, grumpily. "I find that I care for you, no matter how crippling of a discovery it originally made."

Pointedly ignoring the snark in the last bit (but mentally cheering, because Cas was pretty hot when he told him off, like that), Dean blinked. "You care about me?"

Castiel sighed, dramatically. "I rebelled against the whole of heaven for you, Dean. I made it clear it was for you, Dean. I am fighting against my family's wishes in the apocalypse for you, Dean. Did it never occur to you, Dean, that I maybe somewhat compromised?" He stated, slowly, as though Dean were a child of five.

"C-Compromised?"

Letting the air out through his nose, heavily, Cas shook his head. "Yes."

"Oh."

"Oh?" Cas swallowed. "Oh, what?"

Dean blinked. "Nothing. Just… oh."

Cas pursed his lips. "I don't expect my affections to be requited." He mumbled, and Dean's head snapped up- because it may have taken him a minute to process, but he finally got what Cas was trying to tell him.

"Oh."

"How about something other than a monosyllable?" Cas offered, standing up from his chair and turning his back to Dean.

"It's not everyday you find out a soldier of heaven has crush on you." Dean pointed out.

"If it's any consolation, I am no longer a soldier of heaven. And, it's not a crush." Cas added, handing Dean a glass of water. "I am not a human's conception of a teenager, I wouldn't give up everything for a crush."

Dean stiffened, paling considerably, because the implications of that sentence were everything he had ever wanted to avoid, everything he had convinced himself he couldn't feel, he couldn't want- and, here was Cas, who had apparently been doing the same thing.

He stood up, shakily.

"Dean, please sit," Cas moaned, as the other man approached him. "You've lost a lot of blood, and you're looking rather pale."

Dean held up his index finger. "You talk too much. You glare too much, and you perpetually frown." He said. "You confuse the hell out of me. Some days, you seem like you want to throw me back in hell. Others, you're like this kitten. You have consequently flipped everything I have ever known about myself on its axis."

Cas seemed severely puzzled by his rant. "You're saying I befuddle and annoy you?"

"You challenge me." Dean corrected, before sizing himself up, and leaning in, pressing his lips clumsily against Cas's. The latter seemed inherently surprised, but Dean captured his choked noise and silenced it. It was hungry, but still considerably chaste, and Dean felt like a weight had flown of his shoulders. He smirked, before pulling back. Cas, hair disheveled, trenchcoat precariously falling of his right shoulder, seemed downright gleeful. "You challenge me," Dean repeated.

"And I fucking love you for it."

A/N:

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