The first time they hold hands, it’s an accident.
The initial action, at least, is intentional. Dean tugs at the crook of Cas’s elbow to usher him out of the morgue after a tactless question about whether the victim’s guts were liquefied prompts a look of horrified suspicion from the coroner. But Cas doesn’t budge, so Dean’s hand slides down the angel’s arm as he makes a move for the door, their fingers ultimately catching. Dean’s momentum pulls Cas along behind him as he thanks the coroner for her time and makes their excuses.
And then, once they’re outside, rather than letting go of Cas’s hand, Dean just… doesn’t.
Perhaps it’s unintentional. Or perhaps it’s just too convenient, too good an opportunity for him to pass on, that they can walk side-by-side, that he can revel in the sensation of Cas’s fingers intertwined with his, without needing to cross the Rubicon entirely of his own volition.
Either way, Cas doesn’t mention it, and Dean doesn’t let go, so they walk the 10 blocks to the restaurant where they’re meant to meet up with Sam and Jack hand-in-hand. Sam raises an eyebrow when they reach their table, but says nothing, and Jack doesn’t even bat an eye. They finally let go to slide into the available seats on opposite sides of the booth, and Dean instantly misses the pressure of Cas’s hand in his. He has heard of phantom limbs, of the sensation of a lost appendage being where it no longer is, but never once has he heard of phantom fingers. Yet all through lunch, he feels Cas’s warm, calloused fingers woven in the unoccupied spaces between his own, and it’s a loss he feels acutely.
The second time they hold hands, it’s out of necessity.
The vamp nest Cas has been tracking leads them to a barn out in Missouri, where they make quick work of the suckers. They climb up to the hayloft to glean for any straggles or turned victims, and just as soon as Dean deems the coast clear, they’re embroiled in a fight with a sneaky teen vamp who is way stronger than she looks. Right as Dean’s blade passes through her neck, she yanks at his jacket and leans backwards, causing him to tumble off the loft with her.
Two loud thuds echo through the barn, one from the vamp’s body, the other from her head. Dean hasn’t made touchdown. Yet.
He’s dangling from the loft, twenty feet from certain injury and possible death, and the only reason he’s not there yet is because Cas’s hand is clasped tightly around his. It speaks volumes, Dean supposes, of how much he trusts Cas, that even in a situation as precarious as this one, he’s confident he’ll be fine. Cas won’t let him fall, no matter what. Indeed, Cas promptly pulls Dean back up onto the loft, though with considerable effort, and they collapse together, exhausted, as soon as Dean is hoisted to safety. Though his grip loosens, Cas’s hand does not fully withdraw from Dean’s. As they lie on their backs catching their breaths, taking in the sight of stars through the sliver of sky visible through the barn’s skylight, their hands are clasped together loosely.
