Chapter Text
Sam thinks it’s a little weird the first time he sees Cas wear anything without long sleeves.
At first, it’s just a few shirts from Dean’s wardrobe on random days of the week. Sam tries to keep track in case there’s a pattern to it, but after three weeks he comes up with nothing.
By the start of the next month Cas starts buying shirts of his own so he can wear a new one every day. He spends a lot of time with Dean, usually in his room, but there can be days where they just as easily leave a note and disappear from the bunker entirely for a good three to four hours.
Then, Cas starts asking Sam questions.
“Do you believe it’s possible to not want to talk anymore?”
“Like…forever?”
“More like a few days,” Cas corrects.
Huh. Sam blinks. So that’s new.
“I guess it makes sense yeah, why not?”
“And it’s okay?”
“What?”
“To not want to talk, I mean.”
“Oh,” Sam’s not really sure why this conversation is happening, but he does know, however, that would say anything to get the worried wrinkles off Cas’ face, so of course he says, “Sure, Cas.”
--
He’s in the middle of dinner with Cas and Dean when Cas suddenly gets up and grabs another roll from the kitchen that he quietly puts on Dean’s plate.
“Cas?” Sam waits for him to finish a bite of his own soup before asking, “Did Dean ask for another one?”
“Yes.”
Sam waits for a further explanation, but he’s not surprised when nothing more is said. As far as he knows he could have dazed out completely and missed an entire five minute conversation.
It shouldn’t be a big deal.
It’s not a big deal.
--
Cas giggles a lot during the movie they’re watching together.
Sam wonders if there’s jokes in it he doesn’t get- maybe they’re funnier in Enochian or something. He asks Dean for the third time if it’s an inside joke, but all he gets is more giggles from Cas.
“Sorry,” Cas sucks in a breath. “It tickles.”
“What tickles?”
Dean gets up to leave for bed.
--
It isn’t until Sam drives the impala home from a hunt that he sees it.
Glancing in the rear-view mirror he can see Dean gently running his index finger in calculated little movements along Cas’ forearm.
Cas breathes out slowly when Dean stops, as though if he made any type of sound beforehand Dean wouldn’t have finished. He rubs his thumb over a hole in Dean’s jeans and then quietly kisses his temple the second he feels Dean pull his finger away.
“I love you too, Dean.”
--
Three days later Sam finds an article on how to communicate with people that have selective mutism on a table in their library.
And it’s not a big deal.
And it’s okay.