Castiel wandered into the nutrition center halfway through breakfast the next morning. He'd woken up late and now the room was bustling with people. He usually got there before anyone else so he could claim a table for himself, but now he'd be forced to share with someone. However, the tables were full. That is, all except one.

"Hey, Cas! Come sit with me and Kim!" Dean called from across the room, waving Castiel over. Castiel figured that sitting with Dean would be more bearable than any alternative, so he made his way over. He took the empty seat across from Dean, setting down his tray.

"So, Cas, is the food any good here?" Dean asked. Castiel shook his head. He pushed his tray towards Dean, offering him to take his pick from the food on it. Castiel rarely ate because of how deeply he despised Blue Grass's "cuisine." Dean shoved the tray back at him. "Nah, man, you gotta eat. At least munch on some toast or something."

Castiel obliged by taking a dry bite of his toast, grimacing as he chewed. He regretted his decision not to butter it earlier.

"There you go! Not so bad, huh? Though I'm not particularly picky. I'll eat anything that doesn't eat me first," Dean said, shoveling oatmeal into his mouth. Castiel stared at Dean, his head cocked to one side. He was confused by Dean's figure of speech.

"What? Do I have something on my face?" Dean asked. Castiel shook his head again. "Dude, where's your pen and paper? How the hell am I supposed to know what you're trying to tell me without it?" Castiel gave his signature shrug.

"Alright, just wait right here. I'll be back in two seconds. Don't go anywhere, okay?" Dean took off from the table, leaving Castiel to sit in awkward silence with Kim. He continued to nibble at his toast, doing his best to avoid eye contact. After what seemed like eternity, Dean returned with a blue journal in hand.

"That nurse Anna got this from the art room for me. She said you can have it so we can, you know, talk to each other I guess. Oh, here's a pen too," Dean offered, handing the journal over to Castiel. Castiel took it with both hands, running his fingers over the glossy cover. He flipped it open to the first page and scribbled something out.

THANK YOU.

He showed it to Dean, who grinned. "You're welcome, Cas. It wouldn't be very entertaining to hang out with a mute guy all day if he didn't have some way to talk to me."

Once they finished off their breakfast, Dean, Castiel, and Kim headed to the rec room for "free time." Kim wandered off to the book shelf to return the book she had finished the day before. Dean and Castiel settled onto the couch, leaving an entire cushion's space between them.

"Cas, don you ever just get sick of listening to other people talk? Don't you ever just want to tell them to shut up?"

SOMETIMES.

"Do you want to tell me to shut up?" Dean asked, looking honestly curious. "I have been bothering you all morning, after all."

NO. YOU SAY INTERESTING, TRUTHFUL THINGS.

"Oh really? I'm interesting? Don't give me a big head now."

YOU DON'T LIE. YOU SAY IT HOW IT IS. I DON'T LIKE LIARS.

Dean's mouth quirked up at that. "Me neither. That's why I tell it like it is."

INDEED.

"So is that why you don't talk? Because you don't want to encourage the liars?" Dean was looking at Castiel rather intently now, but Castiel didn't notice.

THAT'S PART OF IT, I SUPPOSE.

"But not all of it?"

Again, Castiel shrugged. He didn't really know the whole reason why he became mute. He'd been silent for so long, he'd all but forgotten why he'd stopped talking.

"Do you just hate the way your voice sounds? 'Cause my little brother got all sorts of self-conscious about his voice when it dropped," Dean said jokingly. Castiel gave a small smile. "Do you even remember what your voice sounds like?"

NOT REALLY.

Dean shifted back, surprised. He was being sarcastic when he asked, but Castiel looked very serious. "When was the last time you spoke?" Dean inquired softly.

WHEN I WAS SEVENTEEN.

"Seventeen? Jesus, how long have you been in this place?"

I'VE BEEN AT BLUE GRASS FOR SIX YEARS, BUT I'VE BEEN IN HOSPITALS LIKE IT FOR ALMOST 20 YEARS.

"So what, you haven't spoken since you first got admitted?" It surprised Castiel that Dean didn't react to how long he'd be a patient in places like this. He thought Dean would at least make some wise crack about being in a nut house for more than half of his life.

I SUPPOSE NOT.

"That's such a long time to go without saying anything. I'd go insane. Don't you ever get tired of having to write everything down?"

MOST OF THE TIME, I DON'T WRITE. I IGNORE PEOPLE WHEN THEY TRY TO TALK TO ME.

"Then why are you writing now?"

Castiel put down his pen for a moment, unsure of how to answer. Why was he answering Dean's questions?

I HONESTLY DON'T KNOW.

"Well, I'm going to take it as a compliment. I think it means you don't totally hate me."

PERHAPS YOU ARE CORRECT IN THAT ASSUMPTION.

"Well, either way, you're not getting rid of me. The rest of these head cases irritate the piss out of me," Dean stated, looking around the room. "They all like to play head games, and I'm not into that. You may not talk, but at least that means that you can't lie."

PRECISELY.

"So, what do you do for fun around here. They've got ping pong and chess and stuff. Do you like any of that?"

I DON'T KNOW. NEVER PLAYED.

"You mean you've been locked up nearly 20 years and you haven't even taken advantage of the only entertainment?" Castiel shrugged. "Come on, I used to play ping pong all the time at Red Stone. I'll teach you."

Without waiting for Castiel to scrawl out his reply, Dean jumped up from the couch and sprinted over to the ping pong table. He picked up a paddle and motioned for Castiel to join him. Castiel shook his head.

"Come on Cas! A little fun won't kill you!" Dean exclaimed, dribbling the ball with his paddle. He looked like an excited child. Castiel sighed and laboriously heaved himself off of the couch. Leaving his pen and journal behind, he joined Dean at the table. After only an hour of Dean's teachings, Castiel defeated him three times in a row. Though ping pong was not a particularly demanding activity, Dean was still impressed by how quickly Cas caught on. After his fourth loss, Dean decided they should try something else. They moved over to the checkers board and Dean started to explain the rules as he set up.

"So if you get over to the other side, you say 'King me' and then that checker can move where ever you want."

Castiel picked up his journal from the couch and wrote out:

WHY MUST THE CHECKER BE KINGED BEFORE IT IS FREE TO MOVE WHERE IT WISHES?

"Don't get philosophical on me, Cas. It's just part of the game. You can say 'Queen me' for all I care."

Just as he had with ping pong, Castiel caught on to checkers amazingly quickly. After the first game, he was beating Dean within a matter of minutes.

"Damn, dude, is there any game that you don't kick my ass at?" Dean complained after his fifth loss. Castiel snorted.

IF IT COMFORTS YOU, I'M SURE YOUR ATHLETIC ABILITIES FAR SURPASS MY OWN.

"So you weren't the captain of your football team in high school, then?"

NOT EVEN CLOSE.

"What were you then? The nerdy Trekie? The drama boy?" Dean questioned jokingly.

NOT EVEN THAT. I WAS INVISIBLE. EVERYONE IGNORED ME.

Dean's jade green eyes flashed at this and his lips pursed. He wanted to say something, to crack some joke to break the tension, but for once he was at a loss. Castiel's blunt honesty had caught him off guard. Thankfully Kim had come to fill the awkward silence.

"Come on boys! It's time for lunch!" She yelled, heading out the door. Dean smiled kindly at Castiel, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

"Let's go, man. I'm starving."

ALREADY?

Even in writing, the response seemed snarky. Dean chuckled. "Yes, already. After all, we did eat a whole two hours ago."

Dean walked out the door and Castiel followed, a near smile ghosting his lips.