“I miss the handprint,” Cas blurts out one night. Dean watches as his face falls, like he instantly regrets saying it. Those bright blue eyes dart around nervously, like he wishes he still had the power to poof out of the bunker and just disappear.
“What, the handprint you left on my arm?” Dean asks, confused.
Cas nods, looking once again like he’s going against his better judgment, and Dean’s breath catches in his throat. He clears it and tries not to let his reaction show.
“Why would you miss that?” Dean asks.
Dean knows why he misses it. He misses the comfort it used to give him, the solace of knowing that someone saved him, that there was someone who would always save him, even if it meant literally fighting his way through Hell. And as long as he never discusses it with Cas, he can even pretend that it was a sign that Cas truly cares, and not just because it was his assigned duty once upon a time.
But why would Cas miss it?
“I…” Cas pauses and tilts his head as he considers his words. “It used to make me feel connected to you. Like you were m-” He closes his mouth abruptly. “Never mind. It isn’t important.”
Dean swallows hard, and with a heart pounding so loudly in his ears he can barely hear his own voice, he answers. “Like I was what, Cas? Like I was yours?”
Cas stares with wide eyes as he nods.
Dean steps forward, hands shaking a little, until their noses are almost touching.
“I am, Cas. Handprint or not, I’ve been yours.”
Cas exhales then like he’s been holding it in for a long time, and lets his hand run up Dean’s arm as he leans in, not stopping until his fingers settle in the place they belong.