Hi, all! I've had this idea floating in my head for a few years, but it never really fell into place until just now. I know I'm posting it a little late, but I actually finished it on Valentine's Day evening. I love it so much I just had to share. Please let me know what you think.

My Sammy Valentine

Sam Winchester never would've imagined that flowers could be weaponized but here he was, eyes streaming from peony pollen, neck bleeding from thorned roses.

"Any friggin' minute, Dean!" He yelled over the twisting paranormal winds filled with paper hearts, swirls of pink and purple tinsel and enough flowers to make a Dutch tulip farmer jealous.

There was a flare of purified flame and the ghost of the inventor of the coveted Valentine's Day Rose died in a cosmic pop of pink glitter, flower petals and rib-bending force.

Sam sank to his knees, sneezing in wet, rapid succession as Dean cut himself free of the orchid roots that had woven themselves into a organic garrote.

He grimaced at the glitter shellacking his coat and the blossoms covering them both. "There's no way we're douching up my baby with this crap!" He gruffed.

Sam merely snapped a few pictures, zooming in to capture the gerbera that had wedged itself behind Dean's ear and the glitter sparkling in his hair, salivating over the infinite opportunities for teasing and blackmail.

They got tot their feet with a grown, surveying the damage. The vengeful spirit, who'd spent the weeks leading up to Valentine's Day murdering everyone involved in stealing his patent, was immensely powerful, managing to manifest flowers and decorations from supernatural rage alone. The now abandoned greenhouse where he'd killed himself a week after losing his life's work now looked like Aphrodite's birthday party, the dark concrete was littered with dozens of roses and exotic flowers, heart confetti and glitter. Sam saw the seductive petals of a rare black orchid peeking out from behind a blindly white peony.

Sam picked up a pristinely pink rose, admiring its size and distinctive heart shaped bloom. Augustus Brown's magnum opus was definitely a feat to be admired and shared. Fragrant, hearty, lovely. "It's a shame to let these go to waste," Sam admitted.

Glancing up from the glitter-coated flower to his brother now stripped down to his boxers, socks, and boots digging glitter in out of his ear was more horrifying than being beaten with paranormally powered plants.

"What are you babblin' about?"

"The flowers. We can't just leave them here."

"Dude, one of those things just tried to kill me. They can rot for all I care."

"So did the Impala, but I don't see you putting her up for sale," Sam griped.

Dean's entire body flinched, and his sparkly face cartoonishly soured. "How dare you!"

"Oh, shut up. Look, Augustus dedicated his life to creating beautiful, sustainably farmed flowers. To bring people joy. It's Valentine's Day, man. We-we could give them away."

Dean was still incredulous and a little horrified. "So let me get this straight. You want me, a virile hunter, a freakin' warrior to give away heart-shaped roses to women…on Valentin…" Sam saw the moment it clicked. His entire face brightened with lust and Dean punched the air so violently, a trail of glitter sparkled behind him. "Sammy, you are a genius…a genius that will get me laid better and harder than I ever have before. And that's sayin' something."

Clothes abandoned, Dean began scooping up the flowers, heedless of the thorns. Sam did the same, very carefully thinking around that mental image Dean had so vividly painted.

"Score, I found some of those mini water vials too, so they won't wilt! Happy Valentine's Day, Big Dean.."

Instead of packing rock salt shotgun rounds, Sam and Dean gently de-thorned and arranged roses into mini vases, showered, changed and headed to the center of town that was littered with shops, cafes, a movie theatre and a bar running Single Lady Specials. It was awkward at first, walking through the town square with an armful of specially engineered flowers. Sam wasn't sure how to start until he spotted an older woman, flecks of gray in her hair, her head down as she powered through the town square that was festooned in Valentine's Day hearts. Her comely was arranged in a pattern Sam had seen a million times in the mirror, haunted glittering eyes, lips pressed tightly to smother the scream. It was grief or heartbreak or a despairing combination of the two. Sam gathered his nerve and stopped her with a soft hand on her elbow. He picked out a fluffy red rose and extended it towards her. "Happy Valentine's Day, ma'am. I hope you have a lovely day."

The tears were instant. The hug followed a beat later. And that smile, a beaming one that was all teeth and elation, Sam would remember for weeks. It was easier after that and a great deal of fun. Hunting may have saved lives, but this was instant gratification, spreading happiness instead of stopping tragedy.

Sam had never managed to assemble an untainted image of himself, not with demon blood and remnants of Lucifer, Gadreel, Meg and Crowley swimming in his bloodstream, so he was stunned when women wanted to take pictures with him, and he felt a phone numbers being slipped into his pockets. It wasn't the reaction he'd anticipated.

Judging by Dean's lengthy absences, his brother was far more comfortable with the attention.

About an hour later, Sam was down to his last rose. He strolled the town square, searching for anyone he may have left out. In his periphery, he saw a young man, probably college-aged. He'd seen the kid a few times, hovering on the outskirts of the Valentine mayhem, taking photos. Who could forget the shock of purple hair or the eyeliner in a town that was more flannel and denim than Bobby Singer's closet?

The kid bit his lip anxiously and avoided his gaze. Sam kept walking, but when he turned back, the man was eyeing him again, sheepish and unsure. Sam backtracked towards him, and took a chance. "Happy Valentine's Day, man."

And there was another dazzling grin and thousand-watt gratitude, except the hug he got from this nameless kid fifteen years and a few lifetimes younger than him, was far different than the overexcited squeeze, it was giving and warm. He pulled back and regarded Sam with such reverence and wisdom Sam was tempted to splash him with holy oil. "To do something like this…for strangers. You are a…beautiful person. Inside and out." He pressed a hand over his heart. "Thank you, Valentine." The kid darted off, clutching his rose like a priceless bauble, and leaving Sam blushing in the street

It was late by the time he reunited with Dean, whose clothes were rumpled and he smelled vaguely like a perfume counter. Dean's eyes were glazed over and he was grinning.

Sam gagged. "Don't speak and don't touch me."

"I'm sore in places I'd forgotten about." Dean tossed him the keys and slid in the backseat. "I need to replenish my strength. Hey, there's still flowers back here. Are you saving them for someone special?"

Sam nodded and gunned the Impala's engine. "We're making a stop."

-SPN-

Jody Mills, law enforcement and mother to two hunters-in-training, locked up her gun. Between the seven floral deliveries at work and the proposal in the restaurant when she was picking up carry-out for her and the girls, she just didn't trust herself not to shoot things.

As much as she wanted a partner, she had given up on that dream somewhere between Bobby's death and going on a Tinder date with the King of Hell, but sometimes, she just wanted to be seen. As a woman. As a thing to be cherished. As a person who offered her own unique energy to the world.

Today, she just wanted a fucking box of candy hearts on Valentine's Day.

But Jody wasn't a love-starved teenager. She fought monsters for God's sake, and thus she buried her petulant wants beneath a layer of German Chocolate Cake ice cream, a river of vodka, and Idris Elba's abs.

The doorbell rang, and Jody very gracelessly wobbled to the door. With her luck, it was probably Alex's boyfriend, who was hot teenage boys in her day never were.

Except was no one there. Hackles raised, Jody inspected the street like a cop and a hunter, not the bitter drunken spinster she was becoming. There were no threats. As she moved to return to the house and her vodka, she was halted by a swath of powder pink. There on her porch was an exquisite clutch of…heart-shapedroses, white peonies and a vine of stunning black orchids spilling out from the center, their petals sparkling in the porchlight. She carefully stooped to pick them up, shoulders shaking with befuddled laughter.

There was no card, but the beer can vase was the sweetest and sloppiest lead she'd ever seen. "Those boys," she whispered into the blossoms, inhaling their luscious aroma.

She set them on her coffee table, beer can vase and all and fell asleep, feeling stupidly loved.