“There is no reason to be embarrassed.” He says, calm and low, his hands gentle as he runs a soapy washcloth along your bruised shoulder.

It's been a tough hunt— him coming out mostly unscathed, all injuries having healed already, and you coming out bruised and battered and almost too sore to move. The case itself, all the work you'd had to do, the fight itself— on top of everything else that's been happening with Cas's grace, it's left him depleted enough that you couldn't let him heal you; it's just bruises and scrapes and cuts, and though you're achey and struggling to move, it's nothing that you can't handle, nothing that requires healing.

And, given all of that, Castiel didn't even bat an eye before offering to help you clean yourself up, like it's the most normal thing. Sure, if it was anyone else wanting to step into the shower with you— you'd have raised an eyebrow in suspicion, and probably declined.

But it's Cas, at the end of the day. Despite all his time spent with humans and all of his knowledge, it doesn't change his thought processes — he doesn't see nudity as something inherently sexual, he doesn't find it in any way weird to shower with another man, he's just— helping.

And as weird as it feels for you, to be in the shower, together, being washed by, admittedly, one of your closest friends— there is something very nice about it, about being taken care of like that, about not having to worry whether someone has any other intention that's not purely about help.