all my queer lil heart wants is for dean to pat cas’ hand like, “good job buddy.” and then leave his hand there, fingers lingering on the rough curve of cas’ knuckles. for him to turn cas’ hand over slowly, trace his fingers over the callouses that cas has developed, the callouses that dean has put there because he’s the reason cas fell, he’s the reason why cas is no longer the pristine creature of light and fury he was when he pulled dean from hell. for dean to cradle cas’ hand in both of his, staring down at those callouses, feeling like the world has dropped out from beneath him. for cas to watch him, steady and quiet, undemanding, heartbeat quickening because cradled in dean’s hands is the safest and yet the most vulnerable he’s ever felt. for dean to slowly slide his fingers between cas’, marveling at the way their hands fit together so perfectly - both rough with callouses, cas’ fingers longer and more slender, dean’s knuckles broader and more scarred. for cas’ steady breathing to catch on an inhale, and that’s what makes dean look up, catch cas’ eyes with his own. for cas to take the leap and move closer, tilt his face up to dean’s, eyes shutting as the tip of his nose ghosts past dean’s. for dean to reach up with his free hand, cup the sharp curve of cas’ jaw. for dean to lean in so that they’re sharing the same space, breathing the same air. for their lips to touch, tentatively, once and then again, the room so quiet they can hear the way their lips touch and then separate. for cas to reach up and cling to dean’s shoulder, hand settling on the same place where, so long ago, he held dean to him as they escaped the furnaces of hell. for cas and dean to just hold on to each other and breathe and be at peace knowing they’ve found each other.