The Hunter's Lover
The wind was a howling specter among the hissing trees
The moon was an eyeless witch marveling at what she sees
The Impala was a streak of black lightning over the dusty road
And Dean Winchester came driving, driving, driving -
Dean Winchester came driving up to where the ravens crowed.
He'd a battered leather jacket about his waist, red stubble on his chin
A glistening gun in its holster, and a film of dust o'er his skin
His shirt was in a wretched state, his boots well worn to the quick
And he staggered with a terrible gait
His boots squealed beneath his weight
His path all but straight, into the forest thick.
Over twigs he staggered and crashed in the dark woodland
Until in his drunken state his boots sank heavily into sand
His eyes trailed along the shoreline, and who should be waiting there
But the Good Lord's blue-eyed angel!
Cas, the Good Lord's angel,
Running a rough skinned, tanned hand through his damp black hair
And in the still, stunned silence, not a single word was said
For many a moon had passed in which Cas the angel was dead
His eyes were wise and soulful, his hair black silken hay
But he loved John Winchester's son,
Dean, John Winchester's son,
Stricken with love he gazed on, and he heard the hunter say:
"Am I dreaming, my seraphic lover, that you should be here tonight?
And will you fade away with the whiskey by the morning's light?"
The angel shook his fair head, parted his lips to say:
"No, for I have looked for you by the moonlight,
Watched for you by the moonlight,
I've come to you by the moonlight, though Hell has barred the way."
Dean felt his tears spill over; he scarce could reach for Cas,
But the angel fell into his embrace, and they rolled into the grass
As this miracle dawned upon them, never again would they part,
And he kissed the angel in the moonlight
(Oh, his sweet angel in the moonlight)
Cas moved his hand in the moonlight, and settled it over his heart.
(I hope Alfred Noyes will come to forgive me.)