#mute!dean

"Although, I suppose you might have maintained the ability to speak without the ability to form coherent or meaningful phrases. Something doesn't add up though."

Dean clears his throat, "Cas? 've I ever told you about what it was like for me just after mom died?"

Cas leans back in his seat a little, as if to give Dean room to talk, but he responds by shaking his head. 

"Well, uh, I- ... I was traumatized," he laughs falsely, "There ain't really another word for it. There was obviously a lot going on - we didn't exactly have a place to live, and Dad was freaking out while still having to try and take care of a four year old and a six month old. So, what ended up happening was, because of all that I just ... stopped talking." He rolls his shoulders twice in an uncomfortable semblance of a shrug. "That was how I reacted. And it's how I keep reacting to really stressful events. I mean, not always, but ... yeah." He runs a hand through his hair. "Sometimes ... there's not a reason. I just can't talk. Because of the situation or whatever. Selective mutism, they call it." Cas's face isn't impassive, but it hasn't changed since Dean started talking. Babbling. Dean stifles a sigh, "'S why, sometimes, after nightmares or really bad hunts, it's hard for me to find my voice." That's how Bobby had always put it - not that there was something wrong with him, or that he'd gone dumb in the biblical sense of the word - but that 'he was having trouble finding his voice.' He thinks about how patient Bobby had been with him whenever he'd go quiet. He'd definitely found parenting books on the subject more than once when he'd gone snooping around the library. It takes a minute for him to be able to swallow. 

Then he shrugs, "It's something I've been meaning to get around to telling you, for a while now. But ..." Dean drifts off, suddenly embarrassed about his lack of words for excusing his lack of words. He doesn't bite his lip - doesn't want to keep the words in right now - so he wets them instead. The words still don't come. 

Cas reaches out and puts his hand over Dean's and nods, shrugging as he says, "Sometimes, it's hard to talk." Like he's not just completing Dean's sentence, but that he's agreeing with the sentiment, and he gets it. 

Dean sighs, and shifts his own hand enough to squeeze Cas's briefly. He looks down at the Formica tabletop, then stands and turns to go wash his dish in the sink. 

"'Night, Cas," he says, patting his friend's shoulder on the way out of the room.

"Goodnight, Dean."

  The morning is hard for Dean. He blinks awake and takes a deep breath, then closes his eyes again. These are the days he's afraid of. Where he wakes up and knows he won't be able to speak, and knows it's because he had trouble with his words the day before. Because that's where there's the potential for an infinite cycle to start. He's gone more than a month without talking before, but that was its own thing. He's never had one of these feedback loops last more than a week and a half. 

He lies in bed for a few minutes and enjoys the fact that they'd wrapped up another case yesterday. That maybe they won't have to go anywhere for a while. He tries not to think about the fact that they probably won't be able to do more than salt and burns or nest/pack eradications until he gets his voice back. But he's had a lifetime of practice and that technique has yet to work. 

 Sam's in the kitchen cleaning out his water bottle after his run when Dean wanders out. 

"Mornin'," he calls out.

Dean gives a little salute and goes to get some of that weird organic cereal Sam keeps bringing home. It honestly looks like a pile of forest detrius had a baby with Frosted Flakes, but it tastes like cinnamon and the texture's great and Dean is kind of trying to care about himself a little. 

"You're not cooking today?" Sam asks, over his shoulder. It's become a thing for him to cook breakfast pretty much whenever they aren't on a hunt. He fucking loves their kitchen. But he's not really in the mood this morning. 

Dean stands at the counter to pour his cereal into a bowl, keeping his brother in his periphery. When Sam glances over his shoulder at him, Dean shakes his head and shrugs but doesn't look away from the cascading flakes. (Maybe, sometimes Dean tries to imitate commercials when he's preparing his breakfast). 

He feels Sam's gaze become analytical but he doesn't hunch his shoulders or shift nervously because it's fine. Sam can look and just know. He's gotten good at it over the years and Dean's pretty fond of how good they are at reading one another. This is just part of that. 

"Okay," Sam says like he does (like it's actually okay), and goes back to cleaning his bottle and putting it in the dish rack to dry. Dean gets the milk from the fridge and takes his bowl over to the kitchen table to sit and eat. He's glad about telling Cas last night, and wonders if he should've told Mary; but he doesn't feel worried (won't think about being worried), it'll work out somehow. 

He considers how his day is looking. Maybe he'll get back to organizing the objects in the archives. He slurps up the last of his cereal milk as he stands to rinse his bowl in the sink. 

Writing isn't his favorite option on days like this; if he can communicate non-verbally, he will. But before he leaves the kitchen, he puts a little notepad and a worn down pencil in his pocket. Just in case. 

 Downtime at the Bunker is nice. He likes having such a big library, and the projector room is awesome for Netflix when he craves that big-screen feel. He and Sam are working on organizing and trying to understand the Men of Letters' archives, and on days where he feels restless or useless he goes and works on that to give himself something productive to do. 

But sometimes he has to ask questions, or check himself with Sam to remember where they ended up putting things. And it involves a lot of reading. So, it's not exactly the best option, because when he's not talking, it feels like his dyslexia is harder to deal with, too. Whether it's his awareness of perceived shortcomings, or the fact that he doesn't feel like he can mouth or sound out the difficult words he comes across, reading is always a bigger-than-normal struggle when he needs to be quiet.

Which kind of sucks. Because Dean always feels like his own inclination towards silence would be a great opportunity to catch up on reading. He's always unsure of how to channel that sort of quiet, focused energy. It's times like these that he wishes he'd kept up on his sketching. Maybe he should try getting back into art some time ... 

A few years back, Sam started buying him audio books and they've basically been the best thing ever. Being quiet while wearing headphones feels normal - it's expected that no one would talk to him then. He can put them on and isolate himself in the middle of a room full of people that he loves, or sit by himself with his eyes closed and head tilted back and be completely transported. He's pretty sure it's called 'escapism' and he likes the way the word sounds. 

 Dean knows that when he's quiet, the whole house seems quiet. It isn't something that bothers him, he's just acutely aware of it. Conversation seems to diminish exponentially. There's only the four of them in the whole place, and while no one minds a little peace, it's most common for them to congregate in one of the shared spaces, even if they're tucked into separate corners. 

By the time mid-morning comes around, they've all made their way into the big library. Sam's doing something on his tablet and Cas is ... somewhere. Probably leaving sticky notes in books that have misinformation. Dean glances over at where Mary is fiddling around on someone's laptop. He's glad Sam got to her first and had a chance to explain things - which, it's obvious that he has. She hasn't said anything to him beyond a bright "hey, baby," as she sat down at the big table. Dean had smiled back at her and gone about putting his headphones on, the both of them leaving it at that. Which is unusual for her at least. Mary has no qualms about interrupting Dean even if he looks busy. He thinks maybe it was the vehement, open-ended invitation he kept repeating about letting him know if she needed anything. Dean genuinely doesn't mind. It's just a quirk to add to his schema of what a mom is and should be. 

In any case, she's letting him alone for the time being. He's fine with it, really. But every time there's a lull in his story, he finds himself absently glancing over at her. Because part of him is really freaking out. She's become so quickly, relevantly important to him after being abstractly so for his entire life, and he has no idea how she's going to react to him being this way. Will she say something later today? Is she going to wait until it blows over? Does she want to pretend it isn't even happening? 

"Hey, Dean," Sam says, eyes locked on his tabled screen but wearing a sly smile. He gives a loose wave of his hand to get Dean's attention in case his volume is too loud for him to hear. Dean slides his headphones down around his neck and gets up off the leather chair. He cranes his neck to get a look at the tablet screen as he crosses over to his brother. It's just a stupid video but he watches it and it makes him smile wide - wide enough that he feels the corners of his eyes crinkle. He claps Sam on the shoulder as he stands upright from where he'd been hunching over the screen. 

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Sam says as he leans back in his chair and closes the window, going back to whatever else he'd been doing. 

Before Dean turns around, though, he catches the curve of a smile in the corner of Mary's mouth, and he falters a little at the thought that it's probably his interaction with Sam that caused it. Maybe seeing Sam treat him normally will make it feel normal for her. Just, a new part of their lives that she's being introduced to. 

 On the whole, that first day is pretty uneventful. They all end up grazing throughout the day so that no one's really hungry for a full meal. Dean does end up cooking a casserole and putting away the leftovers for lunch tomorrow. He goes to bed with the thought that despite his concerns, he never actually felt ignored. 

  He's at the kitchen table the next morning when Cas comes and sits down across from him.

"So, Sam told me that you like listening to audiobooks."

Dean appreciates that there isn't a conditional or preposition attached to the statement. He nods. 

"I was wondering if you'd ever tried listening to podcasts."

He's sure that Claire, or Krissy (or maybe both ...) has mentioned them before, and he kind of knows that they're like digitally recorded radio shows that you find online, but he's never sat down and listened to one before. He shakes his head and then shrugs. 

"I can pull up a few for you to try out," he says. The thought of having to sort through a list or links is not appealing. But Cas knows his taste and having him whittle down the world of possibility sounds really nice. Dean nods. 

"Can I see your phone?" Cas holds out both hands across the table, like he's promising to be careful with Dean's property. Dean slides it towards him and puts another bite of casserole into his own mouth. 

"Sam says you keep relistening to the Iliad," Cas says, staring at the screen. Dean staves off a blush - yeah, sure, he's a nerd, and maybe it's boring of him, but it's a good story and he has yet to find a better format for enjoying it. "And I know how much of a buff you've always been about lore. So I think you might like this one called 'Myths and Legends.'" He turns the screen to show Dean a grey logo with the name and the small outline of a castle on it. "You'll probably already know the majority of the stories, and you might even have corrections for some of them, but I know you love mythology, and this covers folklore, too."

Dean nods and puts on an expression that he hopes Cas can understand is meant to be encouragement. Cas makes eye contact with him and he holds it for a few moments, even as his fingers go back to manipulating the screen. When he looks down at it, he smiles and seems to scroll down a long list. 

"This show's good," he says, voice low and full of self-assurance. "Weird, and a little dark, but a fun kind of strange. It's not for everyone, but it gets consistently ranked number one on several download formats. And I wouldn't show it to you if I didn't think you'd like it." He shows Dean the episode list before pulling up the bottom-most one. "I like the happy endings," he says shyly. Dean looks up at him and admires his friend's soft smile. "The music, too. It has a lot of variety."

Dean nods and looks back down at the purple logo off to the side of the screen. He trusts Cas's opinion about what his own opinion will be. And he likes happy endings, too. 

Cas draws the phone back towards himself. "You should start out with this one, though," he says, pulling up another tab. "It's just ten episodes, they're each a half hour long. But it's a complete story ... mostly. I think it'll be easy for you to get into and enjoy." He turns the phone back around and shows Dean a screen similar to the last one, but with a much shorter episode list, and a yellow icon containing a stylized dragonfly. 

"It might be my favorite," Cas adds, quietly. 

Dean looks up to acknowledge that he heard him. 'Thank you,' he signs, touching his chin and moving his hand in an outward arc. He's picked up a few phrases over the years, and Dean feels that this moment is deserving of more than a nod and a smile. 

Cas's lips part as his own smile grows the tiniest bit, 'You're welcome,' he signs back, hand touching his brow then sweeping downward in a curve towards his chin. 

He stands up and plants a kiss on top of Dean's head before he starts making himself tea. Dean taps the screen to keep it awake and pulls his headphones out of his pocket. He plugs them in and presses play before laying his phone aside and batting his headphone cord out of the way. He goes back to eating his leftover casserole as the intro rolls.  From the corner of his eye, Dean notices Cas pick his book up off the counter where he'd left it earlier. He sits down across from Dean, taking a sip from his mug, already absorbed in his story, just as the podcast makes the sound of a cassette tape clicking. Music plays and then a woman's voice comes through; "Welcome to the Relaxation Study ..."

 Much later, when Dean goes to bed, he finds that Cas has elected to join him tonight and is already doing his version of ... sleeping? meditating? ... whatever. Dean changes slowly into his pajamas then turns off the light on Cas's side of the bed before crawling in on his own side and curling up behind his boyfriend. Dean loves this sort of closeness; the two of them being fitted together like two sloppily drawn quotation marks. He wraps his arm snugly over Cas's waist and buries his face at the nape of Cas's neck before falling into dreams of punctuation that morphs into dragonfly wings. 

  Dean likes getting up early. Sometimes he sees Sam off before his morning run. Other times, he drags a lawn chair just outside the front door and watches the sunrise while he drinks his first cup of coffee. Now that Mary's living with them, there's the added incentive of starting his day with her - of starting their days together. She's an early riser, too, and doesn't mind keeping him company on mornings that he cooks. 

 Cooking is normal. Dean likes to cook and it doesn't inherently involve talking. Sometimes it involves singing. But that's not a requirement. So it's a way he feels normal and can do something he likes in silence. Over the years he's that external normality is something that's pretty important to him. 

Today is the third morning he's woken up and known he wouldn't be speaking. Today, Dean is making breakfast muffins. 

In fact, he's considering whether or not monkeybread muffins will be worth the effort when Mary shuffles into the kitchen. Sleepy and beautiful, her face is scrunched up into a yawn, and Dean fails to not be caught off guard by how comforting it is to have her here. How many times he would have killed to see her alive, safe, and cozy like this, with her baby pink, terrycloth robe hanging loose over her rumpled pajamas. 

"Morning, sweetheart," she says quietly, a sigh at the tail end of her yawn. 

Dean smiles at her and wishes that the chocolate chip-banana muffins were done already so that he could offer her one. 

She takes a deep breath and hums. "Smells good," she says, settling into a seat and tucking her robe close around herself. 

Dean gestures at the bananas he hadn't used and the empty bag of chocolate chip morsels. She nods and leans back, settling into her chair. Her eyes drift closed and Dean turns back to the counter. He looks over the materials he has left and decides that monkeybread isn't worth the trouble, and defaults to blueberry, because Cas and Sam pack those away like eating them is a competition. He can feel Mary watching him as he makes up the batter, but it takes some time before she speaks up. 

"I miss talking with you," she says. Dean looks over his shoulder at her. He feels like his throat is full but holds back on the urge to swallow or lower his eyes. Mary looks up from her hands, "Do- Would you mind if I talked to you? I think ... it might be easier for me. About some things." 

Dean slowly goes back to finishing the batter, and he shakes his head 'yes.' 

"So, yes? I can?" 

Dean nods again and turns back to the bowl and the spatula. There's a creak and from the corner of his eye, Dean can see Mary leaning back in her chair like the hard part is already over. 

"I ... I was thinking the other day," she starts, careful but not hesitant, "about being trapped at home. As a teen. Knowing that I wasn't the kind of person to leave my family without a secure next step. That beyond the monsters, the world was unsafe for me because of conventional stuff like being a girl and not having two pennies to rub together." Dean stops stirring the batter and reaches for the muffin tin. "It really got to me - that I didn't have options and it was only because of things beyond my control. I'd sit in my room or the shower just quietly freaking out for hours." 

This is the kind of conversation that has a purpose, Dean thinks to himself, as he puts the paper liners in the metal tray. But his hungry ears keep listening. 

"I didn't know they were called panic attacks until John came back from 'Nam." She seems to drift off for a moment. "I went through a lot of medical books trying to diagnose and treat his PTSD without going to a professional. I don't think any of it helped, but it gave me words for things I'd been experiencing for years." Dean carefully starts spooning the batter into the cups. He spares Mary a glance and catches her halfway through a shrug. "We all freak out in different ways. Every other conversation I have with Cas seems to be best summed up by saying 'humans are weird.'"

There's a long enough pause that Dean can almost feel her thought process shifting. He finishes scooping the batter and puts down his utensils. He doesn't hesitate before wiping his hands off and taking a seat across from her. She lets him settle before speaking. 

"Sometimes ... sometimes I want to ask you, and Sam, if you've ever tried to live as anything other than hunters. You've both hinted at it a little, and obviously it hasn't worked out. And I feel guilty for feeling curious." He might feel helpless and used as a venting tool if her eyes weren't locked on him, watchful and cautious. Like she's not blindly spilling her guts, but looking for reaction and reciprocation from him. Like she wants to know what he's thinking and feeling as she's saying all of this, or hungry for any sort of response at all. 

"But mostly, I feel like it's my fault you can't have the life you want. I know, logically, it's John's fault for raising you the way he did, but there's still an emotional responsibility. And I'm worried ..." she holds her breath and her tongue, but breaks off with a sigh, "I don't know. I don't know what I'm trying to say or what I want from you right now, or for you in general. I just ..." 

Dean digs into his pocket and pulls out his spiral notebook and pencil. "I'm happy," he writes on his little pad, and hands it to her. She reads it and looks up at him, but he takes it back and adds, "Sam's happy too."

The beep of the timer interrupts them. Dean startles, then, with an apologetic look, slowly pushes his chair back and gets up. He stops the beeping and puts on the oven mitts to pull the first batch out. The back of his neck prickles and he knows Mary is staring at him. He turns to look at her as he shucks the oven mitts.

"Can I hug you?" she asks.

Dean's already holding out his arms and rounding the table as he nods his 'yes.' They collide in their rushed efforts to reassure, and Dean doesn't know how, but she manages to bundle him up with only her two arms over his shoulders. He just takes a deep breath and sighs, keeping his eyes closed and holding her tight, glad that she's letting him press his cheek to the top of her head and that she's automatically willing to hold him in a way that makes him feel small and cared for. 

Mary seems to have just as little appreciation for heartfelt conversations as Dean does, and she seems to like trying to solve a lot of problems with hugs. Which is fine. Dean likes hugging her. 

A few still moments, and their contact dissolves hesitantatly, like they both aren't sure if the other is ready to let go. 

Dean steps back and turns around, puts the last batch in the oven before selecting two of the piping hot, chocolate chip banana muffins and bringing them back to the table. Mary, seated again, gladly takes it from him and barely takes time to pull back the wrapper before she digs in. 

 Hesitantly, Dean pulls a notepad from the pocket of his robe. He takes the pencil from the spiral binding. 

Sam's always been good about it, he writes. He was a really understanding kid. Came with the smarts, I think. He probably didn't know why I wasn't talking but he didn't act like something was wrong with me. That was kinda all that mattered. He hands it to Mary. 

She looks it over. Swallows her bite and licks the crumbs from her lips. Inhales.

"You two seem so well adjusted to each other," she looks up to meet his eyes, "It's kind of amazing."

Dean doesn't duck his head, but he reaches back out for the paper. 

Bobby always thought I'd grow out of it. And for the most part, I did.

She reads it over his shoulder and looks up at him when he's done. He shrugs as if to say, 'But here we are'. 

Mary swallows another bite, "Sometimes there's nothing to grow out of. Sometimes parts of you just keep growing like everything else about you does."

Dean's okay with her putting it like that. He folds the cover back over the page and drops it and the pen into his pocket. Mary nudges his muffin towards him. He picks off a piece and pops it into his mouth. 

 And that's how Cas finds them. "Good morning," he says, voice rougher than usual from sleep. Mary and Dean greet him with smiles as he crosses the kitchen, eyes . Dean writes something on his notepad and shows it to his mother. She laughs and he smiles brightly before tucking his notepad away and pushing his chair back to stand up. He moves to the counter and begins to clean up after himself. Arms full of trash, Dean leans in to press a kiss to Cas's cheek as he unwraps a muffin, then plucks the paper from Cas's hands. Cas moves to get a plate from the cabinet, then takes the seat beside Dean's. 

The coffee finishing times perfectly with Sam's arrival into the kitchen. Dean smiles over his shoulder at him as he yawns and stretches in the doorway.