“Be my valentine?”
Castiel doesn’t need to open the ruby red heart-shaped box to know it isn’t chocolate. He can smell the tangy iron of human blood, taste the raw flesh on the tip of his tongue.
But he takes it, of course he takes it, because he looks so achingly hopeful and Castiel can’t dare crush that look on his face.
Because it looks like Dean. Because it is Dean, somewhere deep inside him. And maybe, just maybe, if he plays this game long enough, he’ll see him again.
“Of course, Tom.”
Sam’s heart is lying in the box.
It’s the most precious gift he has to give.