Day 01: Holding Hands

Title: My Hand Was Cold

Summary: Dean doesn't like pointless physical affection, but he'd do anything to make his angel smile.

Disclaimer: I do not own the popular television show Supernatural nor its badass characters. If I did, I would've made Destiel canon a long time ago.

Notes: This oneshot is ideally set in season five.

It was a well-known fact that Dean Winchester was not one for pointless physical affection. It just wasn't how he was raised—honestly, the only physical touches he received from his father was the occasional pat on the back or the rare squeeze of the shoulder—and despite how much he loved his little brother, he could count on one hand how many times he actually initiated a hug with him. He didn't really see the purpose of it; why would you want to touch another person without any promise of future sex or death? It seemed useless in Dean's mind, so he tried to dodge physical contact at every chance he received (though his success rate wasn't very high since Sam—the personification of Chick Flick Moments—was always around being emo and shit).

But then there was Cas, the angsty fallen angel who had just discovered the comfort that physical affection brought, and Dean didn't really have a chance to deny him much of anything. Though that didn't mean he wouldn't fight tooth and nail against it before gruffly giving in.

If he was perfectly honest with himself, Dean could admit it was his own damn fault. He'd made his fatal mistake right after Castiel—not for the first time—risked his own ass to save Dean's.

"Dammit, Cas," He growled as he crouched down and tried to help the weak, stumbling angel to his feet, masking his concern with anger, "What the hell were you thinking? That werewolf would've ripped you to shreds if Sam hadn't had broken out of his ropes!"

"Better me than you." The angel replied gruffly, his face painted in pain as he spoke, causing Dean to sort of freak the fuck out because hey, he was supposed to be an angel and invincible to that kind of shit.

Dean gave him a dark look at his words but decided against scolding his angel literally five minutes after he threw himself in front of a crazed wolf about to rip his heart out. Instead, he just let Castiel lean on him until he could find the strength to walk on his own. With a worried glance at Cas, Sam announced that he was going outside to burn the body. Dean waved him off in dismissal and said they'd be out in a minute, keeping his gaze locked on the bruised and bloody angel in his hold as he spoke to his brother.

After Sam left, Castiel reached a shaking hand down to his gaping chest wound, looking at his blood-stained finger with puzzlement and sorrow.

Dean cocked an eyebrow at his action, "What, never bled before?"

"Not for this long," He said softly, a gleam in his eye that Dean could only identify as sadness, "My healing powers...they're weakening."

Dean sighed and glanced down at the concrete floor, too ashamed of himself to look the angel in the eye as he said quietly, "Cas, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have dragged you into this screwed up mess—"

"The apocalypse was inevitable, Dean," Castiel told him, and Dean could feel those intense, calculating blue eyes boring into the side of his face, "I'm just happy that I am on the right side."

Dean chewed the inside of his cheek and glanced over at his blood soaked chest, silently relieved that the wound was (gradually) healing itself, "You think you can stand up on your own, or do you need me to keep being Bill Withers?"

Castiel shot him a confused look at the reference before adding, "I believe I am capable of supporting my own weight. Thank you for the assistance."

Dean nodded and stepped away, allowing an acceptable distance to form between them. There were still small traces of pain on his chiseled features, but most of his expression held only despair at the discovery of the negative effects of his fall; a fall Dean and his stupid free will philosophy selfishly caused.

Cas seemed so vulnerable in this state—so delicate and breakable like fine china, despite still being a badass motherfucker that nobody wanted to mess with. So really, at the sight of this, Dean couldn't help but feel obligated to offer the only comfort he could think of. With a labored sigh, Dean decided to just bite the bullet and give him a tight, awkward embrace. He heard Cas draw in a sharp breath at the contact as he immediately went rigid, but he didn't move away. Dean let himself linger only a few seconds—inhaling the tantalizing mixture of soap and ozone that made up the natural scent of Cas—before he leaned away, squeezing Castiel's shoulder as he said softly, "Thanks, Cas. Just don't do it again, okay? You're not Iron Man."

Cas only stared at him, confusion and another unreadable emotion brewing on the surface of his trademarked blank, emotionless face. Dean gave him a crooked smile before pulling away altogether and moving towards the warehouse exit, "C'mon. Sam's probably waitin' for us."

When they meet up with Sam, the first thing his brother noticed was the huge blood stain on Dean's once clean shirt. He arched a questioning eyebrow as his gaze switched between Dean and Cas.

His older brother nonchalantly declared in explanation, "I slipped." At Sam's eye roll, he scowled and muttered on his way to the Impala, "Shut up."

And that was when it began.

Two weeks later, Dean was on the verge of a mental breakdown. It seemed Cas liked the warmth and intimacy that accompanied physical affection a little too much since every goddamn moment he spent around them after that, he would somehow find a way to touch Dean. Sometimes it was as subtle as a hand on the crook of his elbow or their shoulders pressed together. Other times, it was just plain embarrassing. Like right now, when Castiel had discovered another lead on God and was about to leave the Winchester brothers.

"When will you be back?" Dean asked, ignoring Sam's amused glance at him.

"It could be days, it could be weeks." Cas answered with a shrug before his blue eyes locked with Dean's and he added meaningfully with emphasis, "But I will be back."

"Okay," Sam said with an awkward smile, causing Castiel to break his stare to look over at him, "Well, bye Cas."

"Goodbye, Sam." Castiel said with a nod before he looked over to Dean. The eldest Winchester opened his mouth to say his own farewell when Cas suddenly swooped in and wrapped his arms around him. All words died in Dean's throat at the sudden contact, shock and confusion evaporating any thought that had been residing in his brain. The hug was brief but meaningful, ending with a squeeze on Castiel's end before he leaned back and smiled slightly, saying casually, "Call if you need me, Dean." And with a sound of wings, he was gone, leaving Dean flustered and Sam bewildered.

"Did Cas..." Sam cleared his throat, obviously trying to mask his obnoxious (and completely uncalled for, in Dean's opinion) fit of snickers, "Did Cas just hug you?"

Dean could only stare numbly at the spot Cas had once been and stubbornly believe that somehow this was Sam's fault.

It was a week before they saw Cas again and discovered that the lead he was following had dried up quickly. Throughout his visit, Dean pointedly made sure to stay as far away from Cas as possible, much to the obvious confusion and disgruntlement of the angel. Finally, after two days of avoidance, Castiel caught Dean off guard and made them face this embarrassing situation (or at least Dean though it was embarrassing; especially with all the amused glances Sam had been sending him like a complete asshole).

They were sitting on the couch and watching a rerun of Law & Order: SVU. Dean had forgotten his ultimatum to put at least ten feet distance between himself and the angel, and Cas had vindictively took advantage of his rare moment of weakness. As Elliot Stabler slapped some pedophile around like an all around badass, Castiel slid his hand over to rest on Dean's knee. With indignation, the hunter must admit it took him a few minutes to notice the contact, but when he glanced over to spout a lewd comment about Olivia Benson's ass, he discovered his hand and immediately jerked away like he'd been burned.

"What the fuck, Cas?" Dean demanded, "Can you go five seconds without molesting me?"

Castiel gave him a puzzled expression, "What do you mean?"

"You keep touching me." Dean accused with a raised finger.

Cas tilted his head, simply responding, "Yes."

"Well, cut it out." Dean said with annoyance. Utter hurt flooded those ocean irises before it was quickly replaced with faked indifference.

"Very well," Castiel said with pursed lips, his voice strangely cold as he abruptly stood, "I apologize if I have made you uncomfortable." Before Dean could respond, the angel was gone.

Ten minutes later, as Sam and Dean dine on their Chinese takeout food, his brother asked, "Hey, where'd Cas go?"

"No clue." Dean said with a shrug, trying to chase away the guilt that plagued his stomach.

The next day, Castiel was even colder to him than he'd been when he was still Heaven's bitch, and Dean would rather let a witch hex him than receive another icy glance from the angel. He didn't know why Cas was making a big deal out of this; after all, it wasn't like Dean didn't have reasons for his protest. They weren't dating or anything (despite how often Sam joked), and they'd lasted over a year in their close friendship without any sort of contact between them. But for some reason, Dean's reluctance to display affection for someone he wasn't even allowed to sleep with was making Cas pissy, and nothing was more annoying than a bratty angel. He was rude and pretty much a major asshole, and hey, that was Dean's job. He was supposed to be the dark and brooding one of this team.

Dean tried to convince himself that this was why he suddenly decided to end this whole silent war he was unwillingly participating in and allowed himself to be goddamn affectionate for once.

So as they walked back to the Impala after a pretty close encounter with two shapeshifters, Dean nonchalantly threaded his fingers through Castiel's and squeezed his hand, hoping he would get the message because Dean was damn well not saying it aloud.

And when Sam noticed the touch and gave Dean a shit-eating grin, he rolled his eyes and said flatly, "Shut up, Sammy. My hand was cold." Sam threw up his hands in mock surrender and continued walking, laughing quietly to himself. When Sam's attention was off them, Castiel squeezed his hand back in response with a small smile on his face, and Dean could only reluctantly grin back.

Author's Note: This is the first of many to come, and next update will be posted tomorrow. Reviews, follows, and favorites would be beloved and appreciated.