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It’s a beginning, a tentative brushing of hands that turns into a comfortable resting.
Dean is reading from his old copy of Slaughterhouse out loud in the main room of the bunker, where Cas and Dean sit side by side in front of the fireplace.
It relaxes Cas, a white noise that drowns out the silence in his head that he’s still not quite used to. And it’s something more, he finds comfort in Dean’s voice, listens with eyes closed to the steady croon of it as he flips the pages.
It’s a sudden need to feel as well as hear the closeness of Dean’s presence so he brushes his hand against Dean’s, where it lies next to him. Dean startles, looks up at him mid-word and for a second he thinks he has overstepped whatever it is they have here. But Dean only gives him a gentle smile and grips his hand tighter, his thumb brushing soothingly against Cas’s palm.
And Dean’s hand stays there as Dean reads to him, disappearing every so often so he can flip the pages but it returns again. Cas closes his eyes, feeling only warmth and softness. He's home.