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The first time Dean did it, he didn’t think.
Running from a hunt chasing them through an old, creaky house, his mind was fogged up with adrenaline. The floorboards loose, cracked, rusty nails sticking out-- it’d be so easy to snag a foot or trip on a chasm in the wood, fall down. And Cas, being newly human, well, he wasn’t so used to those things. A knee scrape was still a new experience, the small burning pain sharp and confusing.
So he’d done the logical thing--well, as logical as you could be when running for your life in a dark house. He’d grabbed Cas’ hand, gripping his palm tightly, and yanked him a little closer.
“Stay with me,” he yelled, chancing a glance at the shifter chasing them.
Cas nodded, and his hand curled around the back of Dean’s palm. His fingers were warm, dry. It was a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.
Dean squeezed Cas’ hand before sprinting out the front door.
The next time, it was an accident.
Sam was reading some old Men of Letters book--which Dean had no interest in-- and Cas was staring at a length of yarn tangled in his hands, Jack sitting next to him.
“It says, ‘Catch the inner strand of the string with your middle fingers. Reach across and slide the middle finger of one hand under the strand looped in front of your palm.’” Jack looked up from the laptop and saw Dean’s confused expression. “Hello, Dean! We’re trying to play Cat’s Cradle!”
“Trying,” Cas emphasized, holding up the limp yarn.
“It’s a little complicated,” Jack said earnestly.
Dean sighed. “C’mere. I know how to do it.”
Sam glanced up from his book at that. “You do?”
“Yeah, don’t you remember, before you were into magic? String’s free, man.”
Sam shrugged, but Cas gave him another one of those deep looks, like he could still see Dean's soul.
“What?” he said defensively.
“Nothing.” Cas held out his hands. “Show me, please.”
It took Dean a few minutes to get the yarn unlooped from Cas’s hands. He tried to do it as gently as possible, not touch Cas’ fingers as he did it--not that there was anything wrong with them, it just felt weird. To, you know, touch Cas’ hand like that. And it was very warm. But still dry, just like the last time. Actually, it was rather nice--
“Dean?” Cas’ eye squint was focused on him.
“What?” Dean said quickly. “Nothing!”
Cas tilted his head now, too.
“Let’s… just… loop it around your hand, Cas,” Dean sputtered.
It took a few tries, and by that time, Sam had abandoned his book and he and Jack had pulled up a movie on the laptop.
Cas’ fingers were still very present to Dean; he tried to steer clear of them, but when Cas messed up and tried to take yarn from Dean’s side and Dean moved to give him the yarn from the right side, Cas’ fingers just seemed to fall into Dean’s. And, maybe, maybe Dean could have pulled away quickly, or maybe he could have told Cas to move his hand, or maybe Dean could have stopped himself from tightening his hold, and hugging Cas’ hand with his own.
But if he had, then he wouldn’t have glanced up at Cas, and seen the soft wonder in his eyes, his slightly parted lips, as he returned the hug with those warm fingers of his. Dean turned his attention, officially, to the movie, leaving their yarn-and-finger intertwined mess on the table. But, really, if you were to ask Dean what they were watching, he couldn’t tell you. He hadn’t been focused on that.
Dean just… he didn’t think, okay?
And Cas was so damn easy to be close to. Especially when they were the ones sent to pick up food and last minute groceries, and the line for the salad bar was long--because of fucking course Sammy needed a salad for dinner-- and Cas’ hand was just there in front of Dean. It would’ve been simple to just stretch out a little, just a small little stretch, and grasp it, pretending nothing happened.
And if Dean did that, well.
At least Cas smiled, even though they were waiting for rabbit food, and rubbed a thumb across the back of Dean’s hand. If Dean thought he wasn’t thinking before then this was a whole ‘nother level of thoughtlessness because that gentle sweep was causing… revolutions in him.
Dean loved holding Cas’ hand.
Walking through a small town, palms clasped together and swinging slightly. Sittin’ in Baby, soft music playing, fingers intertwined on the bench. Standing tall and proud, presenting their FBI badges for the last time. The soft clutch, finally relaxed and at ease, while staring at a shimmering lake. Hands clasping for each other in the night, the tips cold but still welcome. The last kiss, a sweet blessing on the back of his hand, before Dean drifted off to Heaven. The warm grasp, their embracing fingers, the little squeeze to say “it’s me” when Cas joined him.
He loved it.