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"The eyes, they're the window to the soul." Dean had heard it on some damn TV show one time, and probably countless times before that, and somehow it was one of the few things that stuck with him.
Especially Sam's eyes. Like a house in springtime, the windows to Sam's soul were wide open, bright and airy and light, full of guilt and love and anger and hunger and fright.
But he'd seen them dark too, black as midnight on a moonless night, and that was from a TV show too; when you traveled around like they did, the TV kept you company a lot.
Although Dean really doubted that the answers to their problem lay in the television set, the bottom of a whiskey bottle, or anywhere but in his own heart, which was the one window he was afraid to look into.