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"Yes, Sam. I understand that it is traditional. I still find giving cut flowers as a gift of affection to be counterintuitive.” Cas shook his head in frustration as he watched yet another grainy commercial for a bouquet delivery salon in the little South Carolina town they were currently stuck in.
Sam laughed, “I’m sure it made sense when it began, but you know how sentimental humans are, Cas. Giving flower bouquets is one of the expectations of Valentine’s Day. It’s how you show someone you love them.”
Dean watched Cas and Sam argue the point, back and forth like a tennis match. Cas sat on the far bed watching the television with rapt attention and Sam laid sprawled across the nearer bed, laptop balanced on his chest while he half-heartedly conducted research. Why this of all topics was the one they latched on to he may never know. He shook his head and did his best to stay out of what was a pointless conversation, returning his attention back to the little table where his gun was disassembled and half oiled. Chuck, give me strength.
“What part of giving flowers do you take objection to, Cas?” Sam was not letting this one go.
“It just seems so bleak,” replied Cas, tilting his head while he considered his answer. “How does one convey affection or love with what are essentially dying flowers.”
“Well, when you put it like that, I guess you have a point,” Sam shrugged. “According to Lord Google, giving flowers began in the middle ages as representative meanings based on flower types, like a secret language. It says here that Rhododendrons imply danger and that tulips are a declaration of love.”
“A rather depressing secret language,” Cas muttered to himself. “From the moment they are cut, they begin to wilt and die. How does that portray feelings of warmth? Here is a gift representative of my love for you… dying…? I just do not understand the appeal.”
“Well we can’t all have Dean’s positivity when it comes to Valentine’s Day,” Sam nodded towards Dean, giving him a grin. “What is it you celebrate? ‘Unattached Drifter’s Christmas?’”
“Damn straight,” Dean replied more to himself than Sam.
--
“I don’t think I will have occasion to receive such a gift, regardless,” Cas voiced to the car. They had just finished up interviews at the County Sheriff’s Office and were heading back to the motel to regroup. Dean sighed audibly. Here we go again.
“I don’t know about that, Cas. You just have to meet someone special.” Trust Sam to come through with the unwanted Hallmark moment from the backseat where he couldn’t be reached to smack quiet.
“Yes, perhaps.” Dean couldn’t be sure but Cas sounded sad.
Once they reached the motel, Dean had volunteered to go for takeout. Sam had agreed immediately, thoughts already on getting his loafers off and jumping in the shower. Cas followed behind him, the flowers since forgotten and his attention turned back to the case. Dean could hear them spitball theories as he drove out of the parking lot.
--
“You should tell him, Cas,” Sam said as soon as the door was closed behind them.
“Tell who what, Sam?” Cas blinked at him in confusion.
“I know I give him a lot of shit for being an emotionally bankrupt horndog, but behind all of that, Dean’s actually a pretty decent guy. And he cares--even if he doesn’t know how to say it.”
“What exactly am I supposed to be saying to him?” Cas eyed Sam with less confusion than his voice implied.
“The truth, Cas,” Sam raised an eyebrow.
“I have been honest with Dean, even if I chose to limit the aggregate that I tell him. I have not lied.”
“Yeah, but you’ve been omitting something pretty big. I get it, man, I really do. I know you don’t want to risk your friendship, but I really think that he would surprise you if you told him. He cares, Cas.”
“It’s far too great a risk, Sam.” Cas looked defeated. “Dean has no preference for bodies like this… male vessel.” He gestured at himself. “And he certainly has made every declaration towards maintaining an autonomous relationship status.”
Sam wasn’t sure how to get his point across. He was the one that had to sit there and watch the two of them dance around this shit. Sooner or later, something had to give. “Cas…”
Cas’ face fell and he slumped into the chair, hanging his head. “He doesn’t think of me that way, Sam.”
“I wouldn’t bet on that,” Sam lingered for a moment, considering Cas before stepping into the bathroom and closing the door behind him.
“I am not a gambling man, Sam…” Cas whispered to himself. “There’s just too much to lose.”
--
On his way back with dinner, Dean dialed up Sam and propped the phone in the crook of his neck. “Hey dude. You wanna run up to that liquor store and buy a handle? I’m about outta cash and this card is barely going to clear the room.”
Sam, on the other end, ruffled his still-damp hair with a towel. “Yeah, I can do that. It’s like a block and a half away. I’ll just walk, don’t worry about picking me up, just get back here with the food while it’s still hot.
“Yeah yeah,” Dean replied as he clicked his phone closed. Dean pulled up in front of the motel and killed the engine. He gathered up his duffel and the takeout that the restaurant had kindly nestled into a big cardboard box. Maybe he over-ordered but better safe than sorry, right?
He managed to wrestle the door open one handed and set the food down on the little tabletop. Dean could hear the shower running, Cas must’ve decided to wash off the desert sun. Dean busied himself with unpacking dinner, fighting with cheap chopsticks, and rooting around in his duffle. When he ran out of things to fuss with, he decided to hell with it and grabbed his container to sit down in front of the television.
As Dean got comfortable, the bathroom door cracked open and Cas poured out trailed by a thick layer of steam. “Did you leave any hot water for me?” Dean quipped.
“Yes of course I did, oh ,” Cas stopped short when he looked at the bedside table. Next to Cas’ duffle sat a tiny gray and gold ceramic pot filled with living, red tulips. “Dean?” Cas turned to him in confusion.
“You can’t be sad about them since they’re alive, but you’ll probably have to take ‘em out of that tiny pot and plant ‘em when we get back home,” Dean explained, eyes flicking up to Cas’.
“But, I… Dean…” Cas looked back and forth between Dean and the flowers. Dean set his untouched food aside and stood, closing the narrow space between them.
“Do you like them?” Dean gave a tiny smile and Cas was instantly reminded of a small child asking if he did good.
Cas looked back at the tulips again and a smile crept across his face. He looked back to Dean unsure how to convey just how much he loved them, only to find Dean pressing close and running his fingers along Cas’ chin. “ Dean…” Cas began.
Dean cut him off with a brush of his lips that began light but intensified as he felt Cas relax into his touch. Cas reached up to wrap an arm around Dean’s neck pulling him closer. Dean countered by sliding an arm around Cas’ waist, holding him steady.
The sound of the door opening startled them and pulled their attention away. Dean reflexively grabbed for his gun with his free hand, but continued to hold Cas close. Dean lowered his gun as Sam pushed the door open with his foot and closed behind him, setting a handle down on the table from one hand, and a case of beer from the other. Sam looked up at them startled, taking in the situation. His eyes caught the red potted bouquet behind the two, and he let out a laugh. He looked at Cas squarely, “About time. Some bets are a sure thing.” Dean, to his credit, ignored the bait and turned his back to Sam to press another soft kiss against Cas’ lips.