Author's Note: I'll be honest. Season 9 is not favorite season. I'm tired of the boys fighting, especially with everything they went through last season. Anyways, this is just my way of fixing things, hopefully with an interesting premise. Season 9 spoilers. Please enjoy!

"We can not solve our problems with the same level of thinking that created them"

—Albert Einstein

"Cas, you're kidding me."

The former angel, turned human, turned angel met his gaze. Hard cerulean eyes locked onto his, quickly informing the hunter that this was anything but a joke.

"I assure you, Dean," Castiel began, voice low and unyielding. "That this is anything but a joke."

Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair and tried to wrap his head around what was going on. One minute, he was just doing some research on the First Blade and then the next, he was standing in the lobby of some medical building. People hurried past him, all seemingly oblivious to his dilemma.

"I don't have time for this."

"For this?" Castiel challenged. "Or for your relationship with Sam?"

Et tu, Cas? Talk about a dagger to the side. Sure, he and Sam hadn't exactly had the best relationship recently—okay, fine, they were barely speaking—but he had bigger problems to deal with. Finding the First Blade and using it to kill that bitch Abaddon—that was his main priority and if Sam wanted to bitch and moan about that, then too bad. That was the problem with his little brother, after all, he never truly got his head in the game. Hunting was all that mattered. Not normalcy, not a house with a white picket fence—none of that mattered.

The high that came when run a creature through; when you saw the light go out of its eyes, now that was important.

Sam had never understood that and the only thing that changed was that Dean wasn't going to waste energy trying anymore.

Simple as that.

"Look, Cas, in case you haven't noticed," He pulled his friend towards the glass doors. "There's a war going on. We are so close to taking down Metatron and—,"

"You think I don't know that?" Castiel snapped, breaking out of the eldest Winchester's grasp. He grimaced and shook his head, gaze locked on the floor. "It's just . . . Dean, you're not acting like yourself."

"What the hell are you going on about?" The defensiveness was always easier. Better to deflect than to answer—that was a Winchester family trait. Never show your weaknesses; never let your walls fall. Drown everything in alcohol until you blacked out and then find someway to keep moving forward the next day. This was the way he had lived his life. Nothing had changed.

Well, sure, maybe he had gotten a little gruffer. He had certainly lost a lot of his humor as the body count of their friends went up. But, hey, at the end of the day, he was here and he had to continue the fight. If Cas had a problem, then he could take a hike and go whine about it with Sam.

"Dean, please," Castiel's expression was pleading; his voice softer than any of his usual tones. "I can't stand to see you and Sam go on like this."

"Like what?" Dean growled.

"Like you two have broken inside!" At his raised voice, a few of the passersby's eyes shifted to them. He swore he could have seen one of them mouth "lover's spat" to her companion.

"Cas," He was done with all of this pointless shit. He wasn't going to stay here; he had angels to take down and a First Blade to find. Screw Castiel if this offended the angel. Dean had priorities! He had a job to do! "Take me back to the bunker."

"No." Despite his most withering glare, the angel held his gaze.

"Now, Castiel."

"No, Dean." His eyes rippled dangerously and for a second, the thought of punching the angel entered his mind. Fuck him for not understanding! No one seemed to care about how important finding the First Blade was; how it would give Dean the power—sweet, wonderful power—that he needed to kill Abaddon.

That was all that mattered.

It was the only thing that mattered.

"Dean Winchester?" A young woman, about 30 stepped off the elevator. Her blonde hair was curled in ringlets that swayed as her black heels clicked on the marble floor. She offered a hand and Castiel quickly shook it. "I'm Linda."

"You're a shrink?" He remarked, stunned. He had been picturing a woman in her 60's, certainly not a blond bombshell with curves all in the right places.

"I prefer the term psychologist." She replied calmly, her sea-green eyes coming to rest on Castiel. "It's good to see you again, Castiel. How have you been?"

"Fine, thank you."

She grinned; Dean's eyes widened.

"You two know each other—?"

"So," She quickly cut off the older hunter. "Shall we step into my office?" Dean shook his head and Linda nodded her head. "This wasn't your idea, then."

"No." Dean spat vehemently.

"He needs to talk to you—" Castiel told her.

"I don't need to talk to anyone! Who the hell do you think I am—?"

"I understand," She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Well, maybe you'd like to hear about my qualifications?" She motioned for them to sit in an empty corner of the lobby. "Of course, I have my Doctorate in Psychology, but I think you and I will be a good match because of my family history." She reached in her blue bag and pulled out an old journal. Handing it to Dean, he flipped through a few pages, eyes widening. Detailed notes on werewolves, spirits and even a few on obscure creatures greeted him.

"You're the kid of a hunter?" He asked, astonished. Funny, he would've never pegged her as one. She was too bubbly and way too upbeat. Is that why Cas had been so insistent on dragging him out here to see her?

"That I am." She responded with a quick grin. "So, you can tell me anything without the fear that I will send you to an insane asylum."

"Who says I want to tell you anything?" He challenged. See a psychologist, it was unheard of in the hunting world. You dealt with your problems yourself and you coped with them on your own. You didn't go spill your guts to someone else. It just wasn't done.

"Dean—" Castiel interjected.

"You're right," Linda rose from her seat. "At the end of the day, only you can make the decision to see me." She smiled softly. "But, Dean, with everything you seem to be carrying on your shoulders, I hope you will consider it."

"You don't know anything about me!" He snapped.

"I don't." She conceded. "But if there's anyway I can help, I'd like to."

"You're a shrink."

"I'm a psychologist who helps people going through shitty situations." A flare of sass came out in her tone. "And true, Dean, your situation is probably one I could never hope to understand, but I'd like to help." She picked up her bag and the journal. "Just think about it, okay?" With a small wave, she headed back to the elevator. Once she vanished from sight, the eldest Winchester let out a shaky breath. Linda hadn't been what he expected.

"Well?" Castiel prodded.

"Take me home."

The angel's expression fell.

"But, Dean—"

"Now, Cas."

With a sigh, the angel placed a hand on the hunter's shoulder. In a few seconds, they were back in the bunker. Castiel was gone immediately after that, but Sam walked in, a bag of groceries in his arms.

"Hey." His little brother greeted; Dean said nothing. Placing the bag on the counter, Sam let out a mournful sigh. "Listen, Dean, about everything that's going on—"

"You're my partner, Sam," His tone was icy and full of bite. "You don't owe me any explanation."

"Dean, I didn't mean—" Typical Sam wanting to backtrack on things he had spoken. Too bad, Dean wasn't in a forgiving mood. He was sick of this same routine he and Sam always got into.

"Just . . ." He didn't have the energy to spend on this pointless conversation. "Don't, okay?"

Sam walked out without a word.

A flash of guilt flared up, but Dean quickly quelled it.

Nothing else mattered but getting the First Blade.

Nothing else at all.

Author's Note: Yes, I know, Dean seems like a total jerk right now, but it will get better, I promise. Next chapter, Castiel's determination gets the better of both the brothers. Please review if you have a moment. Thanks!