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Dean always thought that Valentine’s Day was a money making load of bullshit. WHy have one special day to celebrate your loved one when you could just do that every day?
Dean never really got the point. If you loved someone, you showed it. You didn’t need overpriced chocolates, frilly cards, or some fancy-ass dinner reservation that was impossible to get unless you booked it three months in advance. He’d seen enough of those dumb rom-coms to know how that worked.
But now, sitting across from Cas at the bunker’s kitchen table, watching him carefully unwrap a small, slightly crumpled box of chocolates with that stupidly fond smile on his face… Dean was starting to think maybe Valentine’s Day wasn’t complete bullshit.
Not when Cas looked at him like that.
"You got these for me?" Cas asked, tilting his head like he was still trying to wrap his mind around the fact.
Dean shrugged, suddenly very interested in his coffee. "I mean, yeah. They were at the register. Figured you'd like ‘em."
Cas picked up a piece of chocolate, inspecting it like it held some deep celestial mystery, then popped it into his mouth. His eyes fluttered shut for a second. Dean felt his stomach do something suspiciously close to fond as he watched Cas eat the chocolate slowly, savoring every small morsel in his mouth.
Opening his eyes, he looked at Dean with some sort of reverence on his face. "Thank you, Dean," Cas said softly.
Dean cleared his throat. "Yeah, whatever, man. Just don’t go thinking this means I’m buying into all that hearts-and-flowers crap."
Cas just smiled, reaching across the table to take Dean’s hand. "Of course not." he replied, giving Dean’s hand a little squeeze. “You show me in other ways,”
Dean felt his face heat up, and he glanced away, suddenly way too focused on the steam rising from his coffee. "Damn right I do," he muttered.
Cas just kept smiling, like he knew exactly what Dean meant. He wasn’t great with words. He never had been. Sure, he could throw out a sarcastic quip, sure, and could talk circles around lore and engines, but when it came to feelings ? Yeah, that was a whole different thing.
But Dean didn’t need words. He spoke in actions.
Cas had figured it out early on, long before they’d crossed that invisible line between friendship and something more. It was in the way Dean always handed Cas his coffee first, even if it meant his own went cold. The way he kept a spare trench coat tucked in the back of the Impala, just in case. The way Cas never had to ask for anything, because Dean had already thought of it.
Dean’s love was in the small, unnoticed things. So was Cas’s.
Like how Cas always had a slice of pie waiting for him when he got back from a hunt—because Dean made sure of it. Like how his favorite sweater always ended up freshly washed and folded on his bed, even though Cas never put it in the laundry himself. Like how, even in sleep, Dean’s fingers would find his own, tangled together under the sheets.
It wasn’t just about comfort. It wasn’t even about romance. It was instinct.
And then there were the nights where Dean let himself show it in other ways—slow and reverent, like he was making up for all the times he hadn’t said I love you out loud. Hands mapping out every inch of Cas’ skin, mouth murmuring quiet, breathless prayers against his collarbone. The way he took his time, making sure Cas felt it, understood it, down to his very core.
But even then, it was the little things afterward that meant the most. The way Dean always pulled Cas in close, tucking him against his chest like he was something precious. The way he never let Cas’ feet get cold, even if it meant shoving an extra blanket over them in the middle of the night. The way his hand would drift up, half-asleep, to push Cas’ hair back, like he needed to make sure he was still there.
Dean Winchester didn’t say I love you often. But he didn’t have to.
Because Cas already knew.
Cas stood slowly, the chair scraping lightly against the floor as he rounded the table. Dean watched him, eyes flickering with something unspoken, something expectant , but he didn’t move, didn’t pull away when Cas settled himself between his legs.
Dean’s hands instinctively found purchase on Cas’ hips, thumbs rubbing slow circles against the fabric of his coat. Cas looked down at him, blue eyes searching, serious in that way that always made Dean feel like he was being seen . Not just looked at— seen .
Cas lifted a hand, dragging his fingers through Dean’s hair, thumb brushing against his cheek. It was soft, deliberate. Like Cas had all the time in the world to memorize him.
Dean swallowed hard. “What?” he muttered, voice coming out rougher than he meant.
Cas didn’t answer, just leaned in, tilting his head as his lips met Dean’s in a kiss that was anything but rushed. It wasn’t desperate, wasn’t the kind of thing that burned fast and faded. No, this was something sure , something deep. A quiet promise, like I know. I feel it too.
Dean let himself sink into it, hands tightening their grip as he pulled Cas just that little bit closer. Cas exhaled against his lips, his own fingers curling at the back of Dean’s neck, grounding them both.
When Cas finally pulled back, he didn’t move far. His forehead rested against Dean’s, breath warm between them. “I know you don’t care about today,” he said softly, “but I still wanted to tell you—what you do, how you love… it means everything to me.”
Dean closed his eyes for a second, letting the words settle deep in his chest. He wasn’t sure he deserved them, but Cas had never been wrong about these things before. So instead of deflecting, instead of brushing it off, Dean just squeezed Cas’ waist and whispered back, “Yeah. You too, sweetheart.”
Cas smiled, like that was all he needed. Like he’d understood all the things Dean hadn’t said.
And maybe, just maybe, that was the whole point.