WAVES [ dean x cas ]

I Wanna Hold Your Hand

They're on a hunt when it happens.

Well, not a hunt, per se. But they're definitely not just lounging around at home. They're out in a fucking store, buying rosemary or some shit for a spell, Cas in Dean's jeans and Sam's old Stanford hoodie, and when Cas grabs his hand while looking at spices in the isle, he does it so fucking casually that Dean's immediate reaction is to pull his hand away, and he hits a stack of oregano, small bottles falling to the floor.

A few people turn their heads and Dean stares at Cas, disgusted, but when he sees the face on the former angel, (the poor guy looks like he was just told he has a week to live) he feels less creeped out. He must just be thinking that's what normal people do.

"What the hell?" Dean whispers, trying not to draw attention. Cas merely gapes at Dean's sudden anger, yanks a jar of rosemary off the shelf, and walks to the registers. Dean stares at the oregano on the floor, and then feels like a dick. Jesus Christ, he thinks, it's just holding hands. You didn't have to flip out on the guy.

•••

Cas is sitting shotgun with the windows rolled down in the parking lot when Dean finds him, plastic grocery bag in his hand, Aerosmith playing through the speakers, angry expression. Dean looks down at the bag of M&M's in his hand and suddenly wants to take it back to the store, to not apologize to Cas. But the angel — ex-angel — just looks so damn hurt that Dean decides not to.

"Here," Dean says, tossing the bag onto Castiel's lap as he gets into the car. "Candy. You eat it."

"I know what to do with candy, Dean," Cas gruffly says. "Please, let's just get back to the bunker. Sam and I have work to do."

Dean rolls his eyes and turns off the car, stopping the music. Cas looks directly at him, and Dean is almost scared by the expression on his face.

"I was listening to that," Cas mumbles.

"I don't want you listening to that right now," Dean says. "I want you to listen to me." Cas sighs but shifts himself in the seat, completely facing Dean. He raises his eyebrows as a way to say, 'Go on.' "Cas..." Dean begins, "I know that you're new to this human stuff. The whole feelings thing. And, uh, what happened back there in the store... I'm sorry for flipping out, okay? Holding hands, it's like, a romantic thing. You hold hands with people you care about. You just, you don't hold hands with one of your friends, alright? Especially a dude."

Cas' eyebrows knit together. "I didn't realize that holding hands was something so serious," he quietly says. "I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable."

"Cas, it wasn't making me that uncomfortable... I just—" Dean stops. He doesn't have any truthful reason to say why he did what he did. "I don't swing that way," he blurts out, which is a total lie.

"Oh," Cas replies. "You mean — you don't like men?" Dean nods. "Sexually or romantically?" Dean chuckles at Cas' innocence and raises an eyebrow.

"Neither," he lies.

"I don't see why it's a problem, though, Dean. I'm utterly indifferent to sexual orientation. I care about you," Cas pauses. "You care about me, too, right? Are you trying to say that you don't care —"

"No!" Dean interrupts him. "God, no, Cas. I care about you. A lot. You know that. I'd die for you in a minute." Cas' expression softens.

"I just... I didn't know if you'd still like me after the angels falling and, to be fair, you have every right to dislike me. I betrayed both you and your brother," Cas explains. "But, I care about you, too, Dean. So why can't we hold hands?" Dean sighs and drops his head onto the steering wheel.

"'Cause I said so," he replies. "Don't whine  about it, either. You know who whines, Cas? Babies." Cas humphs — friggin' humphs — and turns in his seat, and Dean turns the car back on, pulling out of the parking lot.

"I like this one," Cas says about Billy Joel's "Uptown Girl." Dean smirks.

"Of course you would, you dork."

He ignores how his heart flutters in his chest when his fingers brush against Cas' when they both go to turn up the music.

•••

"So," Sam says the next morning over coffee, "Last night when you were asleep, not helping us with research, Cas told me about what happened at the store." Dean groans and drops his head into his hands.

"Jesus fuck," he whispers. "Dude can't keep anything a secret."

"Dean," Sam snaps. "You've gotta understand that Castiel is new to this whole thing, and he thinks holding your hand would make him happy. Would you like to make him happy?"

"Obviously," Dean says without thinking about it. He looks up and rubs his eyes, reviewing his answer. "Well, I mean, not if I have to hold his ha—"

"Dean," Sam sternly says. "Castiel went to fucking Hell for you, killed literally half of his siblings, betrayed God for you, let the Leviathan into himself for you, died for you, and let himself potentially rot in Purgatory for you. You can hold his fucking hand." Dean blinks and looks down at his coffee.

"Pansy," he says after a beat, but doesn't disagree. He sees Sam smile and get up from the table.

•••

"Behave," Sam tells the pair as he stands outside the mall doors. "I'll be back in four hours, use your cards, and Dean, you help him with clothes. The poor kid has nothing."

"Sam," Cas retorts, cocking his head. "That sentence is false in many ways. I have the clothes on my body to wear, I'm also several millennial older than you, not to mention—"  

"Alright," Dean pipes in. "Let's go, Cas." Dean sets a hand on Cas' back and moves it down to Cas' elbow, and they turn away, begin walking slowly. Dean takes a deep breath and grabs Cas' hand. The latter gasps slightly and attempts to pull his hand away, thinking it was an accident, but Dean holds on tight. "Not this time, buck. I care about you, you care about me, we're holding fucking hands." Cas turns his head and gives Dean the brightest smile he's ever seen on the guy.  Dean smiles back and they continue walking.

As he turns his head around, he barely misses Sam's proud smirk.

Barely.