"Dean...I'm unsure of this." Castiel mumbled anxiously as he clutched the worn leather of Dean's jacket. "Cas, you're fine. It's a damn feris wheel, it's practically a kiddy ride. You can handle it, tough guy." He dryly reassured him as he pivoted to face the operator and shoved the two tickets into his palm. A spectrum of blurry and mesmerizing shades of neon assualted his viewpoint, much to his amazement and bewildered craning as he stared blankly upward at the massive circular frame. Their ride-car lowered itself to them, and the glossy red paint must've been incredibly vivid and bright back in its day, prior to it's many years wearing away at it. The cart violently rocked to and fro from the strong gust of wind that pressed on his trench coat, and bright neon lights radianting from it and all, it looked awfully precarious and unsafe to Castiel. "Cas, come on." He sighed quietly as his heavy work boots settled in the chipped crimson floor with two heavy metallic thuds. "Dean!" Cas exclaimed as he clumsily hurled himself into the cart with Dean with a clammering of anxious footfalls and violent rocking before he settled his back against the cool metal seat. With a loud, rickety screech, a lever was slammed down and the wheel was set into motion. Castiels body was suddenly wracked with small, clammy trembles and his fingers were latched onto Dean's coat like a vice as the peculiar steel circular creature creeked it's slow pace to the top, his heart climbed in his throat as the cart rose, nerves building up in every crevasse of his being. What is this? He thought. Anxiety, it is known as anxiety. I am a celestial being, I should not be feeling anxiety, this strange contraption meant for pleasure is quite dangerous however.
"Cas? Damn, Cas, you look like you saw a ghost. You okay?" Dean uttered, a twinge of concern penetrating his ever unfeeling and carefully calculated tone. Castiel simply inclined his head and stared over at him with wide, terrified and humorless indigo pearls. "Okay, that probably wasn't the best choice in expressions. You look like you're about to shit your pants, Cas." Dean elaborated. "I'm an angel, Dean, I don't defecate, and- Dean, Dean, we're approximately 43 feet in altitude and climbing, do you know how many of you have died due to faulty mechanisms on rides intended for amusement? This is not safe! You're in danger, Dean!" Cas exclaimed in terror before lunging forward, throwing his arms around Dean much to his startlement and newly found unsolicited rediscovery of the scent of his aftershave. "Dean, you're not safe, I need to get you out of here; right now. Operator! Stop the-" Dean cut him off, "Jesus, Cas, you're okay, you're okay, nothing is gonna happen to either of us. We're okay, damn it, I'm not gonna let a thing happen to either of us." Dean soothingly shushed Cas, uncoiling the nerves that resided in the pit of his stomach with the warm undertones of his voice. "B-but, that isn't possible, Dean. You can't, you can't..." Cas trailed off as his eyes fell heavily on their hands that had some how in the midst of the chaos and panic found themselves in a very strange yet oddly comforting position; their fingers perfectly interlaced, hand in hand. Dean held his gaze, completely failing to disguise the affection and concern his eyes personified when his sight stumbled downwards to Cas' hand within his and promptly tumbled further to his shoes as he quickly and coldly yanked his hand away.
"Dean, was that...A display of affection?" Castiel asked matter-of-factly. "What? Are you serious? Man, you really are out of it. This ain't Touched By An Angel, Cas, you think I'm, what, gay for you?" Dean joked, breathy fits of nervous laughter filling the slightest silences as his cheeks suddenly felt warm and pink. A bitter chill encompassed Cas' hand, no longer enveloped by Dean's and Cas felt the lack like a bucket of ice water dumped over his head. A painfully uncomfortable absence occupied the icy autumn evening air while Castiel begun to desperately attempt to turn the cogs in his head and make sense of this uncharted territory, meanwhile Dean was incessantly busy fidgeting and doing all but facing Cas again, and four more turns on the wheel still pestilently remained. "D-dean?" Castiel stuttered, staring intently. "Yeah, Cas?" Dean responded numbly, idly refusing to look at him. "I did not, uh, dislike your expression of fondness; I found it to be quite enjoyable, I would like it if it were to be a repeated instance." Castiel spoke gingerly, almost pleadingly. A huge part of Dean wished desperately that he could take back the revolutionary gesture, but another part of him was glad it was out there, and both parts couldn't deny it felt right in all the wrong ways. Facing demons, monsters and ghouls of all sorts was one thing; facing the fact that he'd fallen in love with his best friend was a whole other train wreck. However, he couldn't take that back anymore than he could've taken back that one crucial touch that changed everything. Dean's eyes met his briefly before fluttering to the metal floor again and all the shades of confliction and anguish and yet a subtle glimmer of longing swirling around in those emerald irises he'd come to know so well had Cas wondering whether he was lost on him or not, when gentle hesitant fingers weaved themselves between his carefully. "Not a fucking word of this to Sammy." He muttered as sure enough, his guard came toppling down, and his face was taut with uncertainty but he was barely cracking a gruff smile and Castiel for once felt human, and felt damn good too. "That is not a particularly descriptive term, but for whatever it's worth, I think I like it." Cas grinned at him, and he quietly hoped he'd never have to let go of his hand, or even get off this literal god forsaken death trap if Dean was with him. Dean began to ponder what all this meant, and would mean. Castiel, the fallen angel confined to mortal boundaries, the one who could fill a book with reasons to love his smile, the one who rescued him from the agonizing flames of the pit and somehow still saving him from the infernal regions that yesterday today and tomorrow will all inevitably have in store, the hand that encrypted it's eternal mark on the freckled skin of his forearm, the one he'd belonged to all along. Dean could hardly fathom what to think about it, but he did know for certain, they were no-one's but eachothers.