A/N: This won't be a continuous story, more like short glimpses into various Dean/Castiel interactions, and sometimes other people's views of how they see their interactions. The settings and timeline will jump around. It will have slash overtones, and outright slash much of the time, if that's not your thing, you shouldn't be reading this. This won't ever be complete, as I said, it's not a story. But either way, I hope you enjoy these short snapshots of Dean and Castiel.

Spoilers: Major spoiler from Family Matters! Season six.

Slash: Extremely mild.

Dean sighed, leaning his fevered forehead against the cool mirror in the dingy bathroom of the hotel. Sam had left just a few minutes ago, and Dean couldn't bring himself to object to his leaving, despite his current soulless state and the trouble that might cause for them. They were in California for a time, and it was hot as hell after the cold winter of Wisconsin.

Dean felt like he was burning from the inside out. Hellfire was still in the forefront of his memories, but at the moment those thoughts were distant and it was all he could do not to stick his head in the freezer. The only thing that was stopping him was the fact that it smelled like something had gone and died in there, left to rot in the sweltering heat.

Then he felt it, a crack of electricity racing along his spine before he felt a breeze of air across his neck, cold in the heat of the grim bathroom.

"Do not be weary, Dean."

Dean froze before taking a quick step to the side and evaluating the man standing in front of him. Only he wasn't a man, was he? Medium in stature and small in build, average, one would think, if not for that thousand yard stare, that he was your everyday joe.

Dean had learned early on in his life to never trust appearances.

"So, what is this? You don't have any time for us when we actually need some goddamn help, but I'm a little tired and you pop in for a little touchy feely one on one? Cut the crap, Cas."

Dean saw a flicker in Castiel's eyes and then it was gone and the angel was turning away to stalk into the small bedroom, trench coat flapping in his wake.

"I have come, Dean, because there has been a break in the front and we are in a moment of stalemate. I was . . . drained."

Castiel turned back around and his voice, if possible, became more rough, deep notes dragging over gravel.

"I seek, comfort."

Dean stared before snorting and returning to the sink to splash lukewarm water over his face, taking a handful and patting it over the back of his neck. He stared at his bloodshot face in the mirror.

"Yeah? And how's this shit room a comfort for you? You could go anywhere in the world Cas, go to Hawaii or a strip joint, this place is anything but a vacation."

His eyes avoided the solid stare of his companion, instead dropping back down to the sink as Castiel replied.

"Human habitats bring me no reprieve Dean, I have no love of Earths establishments."

Dean tensed at the implication of why Castiel was in his hotel room, the only reason left. He refused to look up and therefore did not see Castiel moving closer to him, reaching out a hand before letting it drop back to his side in a strict movement.

"I seek companionship. I have been weary as of late. And my remaining brothers are of no comfort to me."

Dean swallowed, and, steeling himself, brought his eyes up to the cloudy mirror, catching the endlessly blue gaze and the stoic face of Castiel, his resident angel.

"What can I do?"