Title: A Lifetime Full of Colours

Author: SupernaturallyAttracted

Summary: It is very interesting, actually, how Dean Winchester can describe his whole life with the help of a few colours – featuring white, red, hazel, black, yellow and, most importantly, blue. Precious, precious blue. Destiel

A/N:

I thought, colours. Wow, they are strong, are they not? I tend to forget so easily, how they are quite a big part of everyone's lives.

Thank you, Lilli, for making me type this out.

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural; the show belongs to CW.

White is the colour the human eye sees when it looks at light containing every wavelength of the visible spectrum, without absorption.

That is what science told anyone who asked. If one were to ask Dean Winchester, then he would eventually reply that white is the colour he associated most with his childhood, or rather the very early part of it.

A colour that reflects innocence, perfection, goodness – it just is about good enough to describe what young Dean had always thought about his beautiful, caring mother. The boy adored her as much as his father used to; and his life was perfect, his family whole.

Had Dean known what kind of bad luck he was for others; he might have attempted to protect his family.

Albeit, he did not know – could not know – and thus, he could not predict that a completely new colour would take over his life.

Fire.

Dean could never quite forget these flames, the way they would just burn everything that ever felt perfect in his entire life.

The Winchesters lost their everything because of the colour red. Red, with just a sprinkle of orange and the last trace of white.

That vivid red – accompanied by some images he would prefer to forget – occupied his mind for a long, long time. Then, just when he thought that he might go crazy despite his young age, he had to babysit for the first time Sam.

His life was nothing but hazel; Sammy's eyes were the one thing that kept Dean sane, that made him want to go on.

Because someone had to watch out for the little moose, that much was obvious. John sure was not going to – not because he did not want to, but because he just could not.

So there was that hazel-coloured anchor and Dean just knew that he would never ever leave his brother by himself. He would go through Hell and back, if it would in any way help his baby brother.

Not that he ever said these things aloud. However, he probably should have, that much he knew in retrospective.

You know, when Sam decided to leave John and Dean to attend college, he was left with nothing; because John was just as broken as his son was, which made them unsuitable anchors.

In other words, it was practically a good thing that John found Azazel; it enabled the next colour to enter the picture.

Yellow.

Oh, how he hated the colour; hated the way Azazel would look at him, how the eyes of the demon would hunt him, follow him just like red used to.

Afterwards there was black. A simple colour, some would say.

However, it can be overbearingly full of nothing, if one were to ask Dean.

For a whole year, Dean had not been able to feel anything as real as he had before. He just felt unconscious inside, long before he actually had to go to Hell.

Let me tell you, Hell was everything but what black had been.

Hell was vermilion, the worst red he had yet to endure

When he remembered afterwards, it was not so much the colour of his own blood that made his stay so very horrible. Much more was it the blood of another that he forced himself to spill.

Dean just let himself drown in self-hatred and self-deprecation and whatever else he could muster.

He had given up.

Then, in his hour of utter darkness and depravation, he finally finds something else to drown in.

Cas.

Dean was positively sure that he had never seen anything so purely and piercingly blue in his entire life; at first, he did not look at these enticing eyes more than he had to – but he soon found that he loved them with every fibre of his being.

It took some getting used to, but in all honesty, he did not have it in him to care about how strange it was, because it felt so good to have a calming, albeit sometimes storming, blue. He preferred it over stinging red any day.

In their own way, these eyes were salvation, Dean knew that much.

Might never want to actually give up on this colour, Dean thinks with a small smile; one of these rare ones that he barely has a reason to show these days.

He's feeling ridiculously conscious when Cas stares at him like he does right now. Thinks that maybe, he should have gone for another colour this morning, and not the green button down that went oh-so well with the earthy-coloured tee. He thinks that perhaps he should not have chosen his trademark brown leather jacket, or that his blue jeans may not go as well with the muddy colouring of the boots as he initially thought. Dean decides that, if he thinks about it, colours probably create their very own atmosphere and he should be more careful when picking out what to wear, so he won't feel as exposed even though he's wearing his beloved clothing, even though he actually just looks like he usually does.

Bu then he thinks that this is Cas, and Cas doesn't mind what Dean wears, because Cas always wears the same too; the tan trench coat, the tax-accountant suit and his crooked tie.

Dean actually likes the tie a lot, likes the way he gets to fix it for Cas whenever they go out to fetch a drink. 'As friends,' Dean would insist, even though he was lost in Cas' eyes a second later, and Sam would roll his eyes because no. They have always been more than that.

They are lost in each other's eyes for a long time, tension building, until Dean just grins, and Cas has to smile, kinda, and their eyes meet once again, this time without tension; fully at peace for that moment.

Green means endurance and freedom.

Blue means healing and understanding.

And what these colours mean to them has yet to be seen.