"Why?"

"Dean ?"

The four year old boy looked up as his father softly called his name. John kneeled to be at Dean's eye level. "You ready?" he asked, Dean's schoolbag in his hands. Dean nodded yes and reached for it. John was faster though, and he raised his arm so Dean couldn't take his bag. Dean looked quizzically at his father. "You ready?" John asked again, making his eldest frown. He nodded again and held out his hand, waiting for his dad to give him his backpack. But that wasn't good enough for John. "Come on, dude. One word is all I need." He said, his voice tired and desperate. But Dean stared at him with big, sad hazel eyes without saying a word.

It had been like this for four month now. The morning that followed the fire, Dean had asked his dad where his mom was. "With the angels."John had reluctantly answered. Dean's eyes had immediately filled with tears. "Why?" had he asked before sobbing in his father's arms. He never spoke again. John and Bobby had done all they could, but nothing seemed to work. Dean was still resolutely, desperately silent.

"I know you're sad and scared," John went on, "But you can't keep it all inside you know. It's not healthy." And for a second, John thought he saw a flash of sorrow cross his son's eyes. But Dean's mouth remained shut. He sighed and shook his head sadly. "Aren't you gonna say anything?" Dean's lower lip quivered and a tear escaped his eyes. John quickly wiped it and squeezed his son's shoulder "Okay." He said, handing Dean his backpack. "I won't push it."

Dean nodded and grabbed his schoolbag. He gave his father a large (fake) smile and went out to go to the bus stop. Left to kneel alone in the room, John rubbed at his face. When Mary died, he was afraid that Dean would ask questions he couldn't answer. But now, John would do anything to hear him ask these questions. Sometimes, he'd decided, silence is worse.

He stood up and went to see his youngest. He was toying with Dean's old teddy bear happily, oblivious to the drama the family had been through. When he sensed movement, the toddler looked up to see his father and grinned at him. John smiled back, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. His thoughts were with Dean. He couldn't stand his son's quietness. The boy that used to be so happy and so full of life had just stopped talking one day. Granted John wasn't in a sharing-caring mood himself, but he had a father role to play, and he'd be damned before admitting defeat.

Dean stood in front of the school, his arms wrapped around himself to protect his small body from the wind. Mrs. Butterworth stood next to him, frowning as she glanced at her watch for the umpteenth time. Where was the kid's father? He should have been there half an hour ago. She looked down at Dean, who was looking at his feet. What if his dad had an accident? What if he and his brother became orphans? Sorrow filled her heart as a thousand scenarios ran through her mind. She shook her head, willing the awful pictures away and held out a head to Dean.

"Come on, Hon, let's get inside." She said softly. "No need to catch a cold waiting out here, right?" she added with a smile. She could see the hesitation in the child's eyes. He opened his mouth and for a moment she thought he would finally say something. But then he shrugged and took her hands. She put on the best smile she could manage and started to walk toward the entrance. She had her hand on the door handle when Dean's escaped her grip. She abruptly spun around to see Dean run towards the black Impala that had just parked in front of the school.

"I'm so sorry…" John started as he got out of the car and caught Dean just in time when the boy threw himself at him. Mrs. Butterworth opened her mouth to reprimand the eldest Winchester, but one look at Dean made her reconsider. She just nodded and told him he should watch the time for now on. John nodded and got Dean in the car. He fastened Dean's seatbelt and got behind the wheels. He started the engine, and a Metallica song filled the car.

"I'm sorry champ, Sam wouldn't let me go. I had to get him to bed and make him sleep, he wouldn't stop crying." John said after a while. He glanced at Dean who just shrugged in a "not a big deal" way. John sighed and looked back at the road. He knew his son needed time, but his silence was getting suffocating and he didn't know how much longer he could stand it. "Dean." he tried, "Why don't you talk anymore?" Another shrug.

It wasn't the first time John asked him this question, but it always earned him the same answer. Actually every question got that infuriating answer. "It wouldn't hurt, you know." He said. "It might even do you good." This time Dean looked away. That meant tears were to come. So John swallowed his frustration and turned up the volume of the radio.

John was slowly but surely going crazy. It had been six months since his eldest had said his last word, and two months since his youngest had said his first. John could still remember the look in his eldest eyes when Sam had smiled at him and said "Dean". He knew he should be a little jealous that Sammy hadn't said "Dad", but somehow it felt right that his first word was his brother's name. Dean had had tears of joy in his eyes as Sam had said it, but he still hadn't talked.

Alone with the television, John sat in the couch with a beer in his hand. He rubbed at his tired eyes and was quite surprise to find them wet. Then a tear ran down his cheek, then another and another. It had been six months since some demon had taken his wife from him, leaving him with a broken four year old boy and a motherless toddler. And tonight, with the kids in bed and no one else in sight resembling a friend, he felt so damn alone. He leaned in to put his beer on the coffee table and buried his head in his hands, sobbing quietly and praying for it all to be just a nightmare.

He was startled by a small hand on his shoulder. Surprised, he looked up to meet Dean's big hazel eyes. The little boy gave his father a sad smile and wrapped his arms around him. John hugged him back, trying to get a hold on himself. He cursed himself for letting Dean see him so weak. He was supposed to be strong for his sons, damn it! He was supposed to comfort them, not the other way around.

"It's okay, Dad." Dean said softly. John froze, unsure of what he'd heard. For a second, he thought he'd imagined it, but Dean let go of him and straightened up to look at him in the eyes. "I'll say anything you want, but don't cry anymore Dad." He said, tears filling his eyes.

Tears fell from John's own eyes as he pulled Dean in the biggest hug he ever gave anyone. "I'll try buddy." He said, giving a half-choked laugh, thanking anyone who was listening for giving him back his son.

Another sad fic to add to my collection! I had the song The Sound Of Silence by Simon & Garfunkel stuck in my head for no reason, but now it's found a goal!

It's a three chapters story, and I will post a new chapter per day like I always do.

And for the ones who wonder how I pick the titles, it's the last word Dean says before the silence comes. Just pointing it out because it isn't clear, even for me!

So see you tomorrow for the second chapter, I hope you liked this one and either way, that you'll review!

nerwende