It had started as a practical thing, a joke, really, offering to help Sam when he was too sore to scrub his own back. But now, a month later, it’s become something else entirely. Sam stands in front of you, head bowed slightly so you can work the shampoo through his hair. Your fingers massage his scalp in slow, circles, and he exhales, shoulders relaxing under your touch. He always carries so much tension, so much weight, but here in the warm cocoon of the shower, he lets go.

His hands rest lightly on your waist, thumbs tracing absentminded circles against your skin as he watches you through heavy-lidded eyes. There’s something raw in his gaze, something unguarded that makes your chest tighten. “This is nice,” he murmurs, voice rough from the heat and the closeness.

You smile, threading your fingers through the strands of his hair, letting the water rinse away the suds. “Yeah? You like being pampered, a little too much Winchester.”

“And?”

“Nothing, just an observation.”

He huffs a soft laugh, but he doesn’t deny it. Instead, he leans down just enough so that his forehead brushes yours. “I like you,” he corrects, voice barely above a whisper. “Like this. With me. You take care of me.” The way he says it, it’s not just about the shower, and you know it. It’s about every little thing, every touch, every moment you make life just a little easier for him. Acts of service and quiet intimacy, is his love language, and you’ve learned to speak it fluently.

Warmth spreads through you, and for a moment, the world outside the bathroom: hunts, danger, everything just fades away. It’s just the two of you, wrapped in heat and water and something deeper than either of you can put into words. You tilt your chin up, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to his lips. “I always will,” you whisper against his mouth. And as the water keeps falling around you, as Sam holds you just a little tighter, you realize that this intimate ritual, is his safe place. His love language. And you wouldn’t trade it for anything.