CATEGORY:† Angst, POV
SEASON/SPOILERS:† Takes place during Season 4, so it contains some minor spoilers for the present season.
WARNINGS:† Adult Language
As she gazed into the eyes of Dean Winchester she saw the hardened warrior there. She saw the intelligence, the calculating mind, the darkness that stalked his soul and the nightmares that clung to his very essence. She also saw knowledge there, acceptance of the horrors prevalent in the world, sadness for those who were lost, hope for those who werenít, fear for his brother, fear for the future, and fear for himself.
His eyes hid behind them a wealth of pain and anguish, suffering so deep she wanted to drown in it, an endless well of sorrow, aching disappointment and intense bitterness, a darkness so thick that it had permanently altered him, changed him, became a part of him, was a part of himÖ And yet where darkness dwelled hope glimmered ever so faintly, just a tiny sliver of trust and of faith, a belief in things otherworldly, of things full of light, goodness and comfort, it seemed to infuse him with an inner peace she had never seen in him before. It was subtle, clinging to the very edges of those sharp eyes yet hidden, simmering just beneath the surface creating an inner turmoil that was now tempered by the slightest spark of true belief.
He seemed more determined now, more focused, sure of himself, sure of his direction, sure of what he must do. He had a purpose, a very important one she gathered but what that purpose was she had not a clue. She had heard rumors, mutterings among hunters and demons alike about his unexpected resurrection. Powerful forces were at work here. They were behind his sudden return to the living, and his release from eternal damnation. What his purpose was scared her, for she didnít know what it was and apparently he wasnít all that certain himself. Whatever it was his new purpose now drove him and pushed him onward, pushed him forward. He might not know exactly what he was supposed to do, but he knew it was important, and that much depended on him.
He was so different yet eerily similar to the way he once was only this time she sensed the changes. There within him was fear, it was palpable and tinged his eyes merging with the unexpected peace that resided within him, but it was different now. The fear he carried having a different source and sparking right along with it was determination, stronger now, also palpable. He was the same person she was certain, yet had changed so very much. He was strangely ethereal but also tainted by evil. In him she sensed conflicting emotions that twisted and swirled as if in a whirlwind sparking so much doubt, so much fear but also triggering hope, igniting a fire within him so bright it could block out all darkness.
He was sadder now, carrying more than his fair share of guilt. It fueled him, a guilt so strong that hadnít been present before. As she gazed into his eyes she found herself wondering, wanting to know, but unable to ask where it had all come from or why it seemed to cling to him now. He had spent his whole life saving people, so what did he have to be guilty for? What had happened to him during those months he was away to create such an intense sense of responsibility? She opened her mouth to ask but bit back the question refusing to give voice to it. He would no doubt flinch from her if she dared to push even a little.
He had an air about him, the air of a seasoned warrior, one who was responsible for quite a vast array of death and destruction. He had seen death, what it looked like, knew what it felt like and he had caused death so he knew what it meant to snatch life away, to steal a dying manís last laborious breath. Perhaps that was the source of his new found guilt, but it didnít make sense to her for he knew with the job came guilt and that no one person could hold themselves responsible for all, yet she was certain he now did.
She knew that within him emotions and feelings were twisting, winding, running amuck, out of control yet some how he was able to move forward, linger on even when his internal war was fully underway. He was a man of action, a warrior, a battle warn soldier. He was a man full of so many emotions, so much anger and rage, hatred so deep burning mainly for himself and some how, in some way he was still able to function. He was still able to help and still was full of compassion. He was an enigma for few people could continue on when such heavy burdens hung about them like festering black clouds stretching and merging into darkness so thick it was overwhelming. It was suffocating, smothering and seemingly never ending.
In Dean Winchesterís eyes she saw his burden, his torment. In Dean Winchesterís eyes she saw his redemption, his forgiveness and she knew that in the end when nothing else mattered, when everything was crumbling down around them, shattering into a thousand tiny pieces it would all come down to him.
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