Okay, so once I got over my utter, geeky glee that Bobby watches DS9, I had to write this.

Title: Communication Breakdown

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Minor spoilers for 6x18, pre-slashy Destiel undertones

Word count: 1,602

Summary: Rachel's words to Dean won't seem to leave him alone, and he decides to try and make things right-the Winchester way.

"I think you call him when you need him."

The stupid angel chick's voice kept nagging in the back of Dean's mind like a jilted ex, accusing and affronted. At least Cas had swooped down and put a stop to her boner-killing speech…by sighing and asking, "What do you need now?"

Well, of course we needed something; we're fighting the freakin' Mother of All, Dean thought to himself as he scowled at the jar of phoenix ashes in his hand. The angels might not give a shit what happens on Earth, but we humans sure as hell do. He nodded to himself. Cas understood that, Dean knew. After all, he had been an integral part of thwarting the Apocalypse. In fact, it was the offbeat angel's concern for humanity that won him the seat as the Big Kahuna upstairs. Which totally started a civil war in Heaven. Yeah, well-power and responsibility, blah blah.

But hell, Dean was pumped. He'd just fought a bona fide western duel with a phoenix a few hours ago, after all. Even if the Wild West wasn't nearly as wild as the brochures claimed. In fact, it was kinda…well, kinda like that weekend he'd spent at that sleazy hotel a few years back. The time he'd gotten that rash. And while you were out playing Clint Eastwood, Cas nearly got ganked and Bobby got his soul felt up just to bring you idiots back.

Dean paused, his focus shifting from the ashes to his inner monologue. Usually that voice sounded a lot like Sam, whining about right and wrong and reminding Dean to do things like apologize or stop staring at some possessed chick's rack. He'd grown pretty used to it over the years, which was why he noticed that the voice currently sounded a lot like Balthazar. What the hell?

There was a rustling of papers in Bobby's library and Dean tensed, his eyes alert.

"What do you want?"

Balthazar smirked at him with all the sincerity of a greasy salesman. "I see you have a new toy there. Bravo for you. Shame you were too busy playing cowboys and Indians to bring it back yourself."

"You got a reason for bein' here?" Dean's eyes were fixed on the angel, but he distractedly realized that the sweat from his palm was compromising his grip on the bottle of ashes, and he carefully set it down.

Balthazar sauntered to the chair across from Bobby's desk, sitting with one leg resting atop the other. "Actually, yes. I was looking for Castiel and, let's face it, where else would he be when he's not in Heaven fighting the good fight?"

"Well, with friends like you," Dean said, cocking an eyebrow. "Funny how none of you showed up when he told the angel brigade to shove it, but you're all falling over yourselves to kiss his ass now."

"Oh?" Balthazar tilted his head down, his eyes boring into Dean through his lashes. "Funny how you were his personal cheerleader when he was fighting your battles. Tell me, you two still spend long hours philosophizing into the night? Or do you simply bark and he comes flying to your side when you need your laundry fetched?"

Dean's eyes narrowed, the muscles in his jaw flexing with tension. "What's that supposed to mean? You think I just use Cas?" At Balthazar's silence, Dean felt his cheeks flush in anger. "Cas is my friend, you dick. I was there for him when he nearly lost his mojo for good!"

"And where are you now?" Balthazar's words were quiet, not the usual mocking bait that Dean was accustomed to. The hunter paused and looked away, forehead furrowed with unease. When he glanced back, the other chair was empty.

Dean didn't bother to knock when he entered Bobby's guest room, where Sam was seated on the edge of the bed, reading from Colt's journal.

"Do you think I use Cas?"

Sam looked up, his expression flitting from surprise to suspicious concern. "Do I think you…use Cas?" he repeated slowly. "Like…a tool?"

"Yeah." Dean pushed the door closed behind him with his boot and then leaned against it, arms crossed.

"Um…" Sam thought for a minute, weighing his words. Finally, he looked up at his brother again and said in that same slow tone, "I think maybe you…sometimes take him for granted." Sam held up his hands before Dean could respond. "Not on purpose, of course. It's just…"

Dean narrowed his eyes, looking dangerously close to pissed off. Oh yeah, Sam loved these touchy-feely conversations with his big brother. Unable to think of a way to finish his thought without making the situation worse, Sam closed his mouth and waited for the tirade.

"It's just what, Sam?" Dean hoisted himself away from the wood of the door, spine rigid. "C'mon, tell me what it is, 'cause apparently I'm the only one who doesn't know!"

"Dean, calm down." God, Sam almost missed being soulless sometimes. "I don't mean-it's-" He sighed and ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "Look, you have a tendency to treat the people who care about you like crap." Encouraged by the lack of punching that followed his words, Sam continued quickly. "That's just-you. You've always been like that. I know you have a hard time expressing…" Sam flinched. "…that you care. Hell, you've done it to me my whole life. The thing is, I know you, Dean. You're my brother, and I've had a lifetime of practice." He paused briefly for effect. "But Cas hasn't. Me and Bobby, we know how you operate. And maybe Cas does, too-to an extent. But he's an angel, and for a human, you can be pretty difficult when you're under stress."

Silence followed Sam's explanation as Dean simply stared at his brother, expression unreadable. He was either processing what Sam had just said, or was trying his damndest not to launch himself forward and beat the crap out of the taller man.

"Okay," Dean said into the silence, then turned and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Dean found Castiel sitting on Bobby's front steps, staring up at the sky with that inscrutable expression. He didn't move when Dean came onto the porch, but he did look over at the hunter when he sat down on the step beside the angel.

"So, that soul-groping thing healed you?"

Castiel kept his gaze on Dean. "Yes."

The hunter nodded to himself. "Good." He tried to subtly steal a glance at Cas, but gave up and just looked at him openly when he realized the angel was already staring at him anyway. "Listen, Cas…" Dean's tongue darted out to wet his lips nervously. "You know I'd do anything for Sammy, right? I mean, hell, I've died for him already. But you know that he means more to me than anything else on this planet?"

Confused, Castiel nodded.

Dean took a deep breath, exhaling slowly before continuing. "I know I treat him like crap sometimes, yell at him, make fun of him. But that's 'cause he's my brother." Dean frowned and amended his statement. "That's 'cause he's…he's important to me, blood or not. Just like Bobby is. And even though I give Sam a bunch of crap, it doesn't mean I don't know how much he sacrifices for me, what he's put himself through because he was trying to protect me." He looked at the angel and waited for a response, mentally willing him to get the point so Dean wouldn't have to spell it out like a sappy little girl.

Castiel tilted his head and looked completely lost. Sighing, Dean hung his head and cursed Sam internally. Stupid self-help bullshit. Thanks, Sammy, now I look even more like an idiot.

"Are you trying to say that you treat Sam poorly because you care about him?"

Dean's head snapped up and some of the weight in his chest lifted; Cas had at least gotten part of the message. "Yes." Silence. "And, you know-" Dean waved his hands toward the angel as if using sign language.

The lines in Castiel's forehead deepened as he looked from Dean's spastic hands to the hunter's face. "And you want me to know that you feel the same about me?"

"Yes! God, Cas, thank you." Dean was so relieved that he didn't have to actually say it that he could overlook how the angel probably interpreted it: Dean cared exactly as much about Castiel as he did about Sammy. Because, sure, Cas was his friend-his good friend, damn it-but he wasn't family. Not like Sam and Bobby were. What, and you have chick flick moments with just anyone now? Okay, Dean admitted silently and with a good deal of physical and psychological discomfort, maybe Cas wasn't in a totally different category, exactly. But the day Dean Winchester looked the angel in the eyes and told him that, veiled or not, would be the day hell froze over. Not like that could possibly ever happen, right? Fairies and unicorns and phoenixes exist, God can die, but hell's never going to have ice skating?

And, much to Dean's consternation, his inner voice was back to sounding like Sam's snarky bitching. Awesome. He spared a quick glance at Castiel. The angel was staring at the sky again, but the hard lines around his eyes had softened a bit, the corners of his lips just slightly upturned, and the silence between them felt a lot lighter than it had before.