Shit. The thing with DeanCas.
Is that it makes you want to explain love a billion different ways.
They make you want to talk about love in the form of simple kisses underneath foliage of trees but also in sprawling metaphors of the universe’s energy and celestial bodies.
They make you want to define love through the the written word, the spoken word, the sung word, the drawn word. And you write a hundred thousand sentences, and you sing their ‘i need you’s, and you immortalize their faces on paper, and you speak in the tongue of the greatest love story that has ever been told.
They make you want to find love in a monstrous world; or in classroom halls, or in warm coffee shops, or in a little house with a garden, or by the ocean or maybe sea.
And the greatest thing, really, is this:
They make you want love to happen. Not even to yourself. But to somebody else.
I don’t know about you.
Dean smells like leaves and mud, like the smears of blood on his hands and arms. His face is curiously clean of splatter from either. The meager light in the room is greedily pulled into his green eyes, his pupils glowing gold at certain angles as a result. Castiel carefully reaches out and cups the wolf’s cheek, who then leans into the touch with fluttering eyelids.
"You know you shouldn’t be here, Dean. If anyone sees you—"
"You see me." His tone is playful, but the sharpness in his eyes tells Castiel that he isn’t really joking at all.
Castiel sighs and slides his hand down to the wolf’s shoulder. “Why must wild wolves always run toward the city?”
Dean takes a small step forward into Castiel’s personal space, the heat of his body infecting Castiel’s skin and diving deeper, to the more primal parts of his mind. Down where instinct tells him to drag Dean deep into his den and ride him until the sun comes up, until neither of them can walk without four legs.
The alpha smiles, teeth still sharp and eyes bright. “Because city wolves smell so sweet.”
imagine a horror movie where you’re trapped in your house with a serial killer but all your lights are clappers
so you’re running for your life from this psychopath while both of you are just aggressively clapping the lights on and off