Then came a man donned in a deep red flannel shirt the colour of dried blood. Not a foreign concept to a person like him. The numerous creases and rips in the once unblemished material showed off just how rough daily life was for the elder Winchester. His hair; once neatly combed, was messed up by the days previous activities... Whatever they were. Each strand erect in opposing angels, making him look almost devilish.
His head hung low to prevent attention from being drawn towards him which, in turn, cast a long shadow of sins over the immaculate features of the hunter, yet people still move out of the way, they knew better than to get in his way. Only the vibe of darkness he gave off was enough to stop a heart. No one would dare to challenge him.
He walked with purpose, a meaningful stride, like he knew where he wanted to be, even though at the same time he was lost... In his mind and in reality.
As he looked up slowly you could see the most distinguishing feature of the living devil. Not the mark of Cain which slowly sapped at his hope.
His eyes.
A rich candy apple green; almost too perfect for a being so corrupt.
When the light hit them they shone in a beautiful fanfiction green. A spectrum of colours that spilled forth was the only light in his life that was physically visible.
He held a lush meadow in his eyes.
But... The years of his job had worn down on him.
His eyes have faded, mixing into an old whiskey type shade, matured in a oak barrel.
Painfully beautiful.
But still green...
