Dean and Cas meeting in high school, when Dean is shoved hard in a fight and Cas, walking past, grips his arm to steady him. “Urgh, don’t touch him, you’ll catch what he’s got!” yells the guy who doing the pushing. “You’ll start kissing boys too!”
Cas keeping his hold on that arm as he calmly draws back his fist, and punches the guy in the face. Left-handed, the nose doesn’t break, but it bleeds. The guy takes a look at the pair of their murderous faces, and leaves.
Cas keeping his hold on that arm as he pulls Dean into the bathrooms and cleans him up, slopping water messily over his neck and face. Dean, one eye swelling up beautifully, makes faces at Cas in the cracked bathroom mirror.
Cas keeping his hold on that arm as, day after day, month after month, they have each other’s backs. A fight every other week or so, some light shoving in the halls most days. “Shouldn’t have kissed that boy,” Dean says. “It started this mess.” Cas shakes his head. “There’s nothing wrong with kissing boys,” he says.
Cas keeping his hold on that arm as Dean kisses himself another boy. He’s pretty sure he grips tight enough to leave a handprint. Dean doesn’t seem to mind, though. “Is there anything wrong with just kissing one boy?” he says, softly, lips still brushing against Cas’. “Like, forever?”
Cas keeping his hold on that arm as they walk out of school on graduation day, triumphant. When he moves into his room in college, Dean’s there to help him shift his stuff. And at the end of the year, Dean’s there again to move it all back out. “You guys are so cute,” says his roommate. “What’s your secret?”
Dean looks over at Cas and raises his eyebrows.
Cas shrugs. “Hold tight,” he says. “And don’t let go.”