Note: Here's the deal, kiddos. My aunt has the most obscenely comfortable chair in the world, and I was babysitting, and bless god and the holy trinity, my cousins have to be in bed by eight. And the chair in all its comfy, wonderful glory inspired me.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, I don't own the guys (and apparently they're off the market anyways), I don't own the following song used, The Truth by Kris Allen but I like it a whole lot, and lord help me, I don't own this chair but I'm going to sleep in it.

Close Your Eyes

Trying to be perfect

Trying not to let you down

Honesty is honestly

hardest thing for me right now

While the floors underneath our feet

Are crumbling, the walls we built together tumbling

I still stand here holding up the roof

Cause it's easier than telling the truth

The Truth; Kris Allen

When Sam used to get scared, Dean would tell him to close his eyes.

It didn't matter what it was.

The monster in the closet in a motel room in Defiance, Ohio that smelled like a wet dog.

The thing under the bed a dilapidated old house in Jasper, Arkansas that always seemed to be talking in the night

The creature under the stairs in Bobby's house.

When dad didn't come home and Sam was crying for daddy.

Sometimes it even worked. Sometimes he looked back at those days and hated his dad for not being there when Sam needed them-for not being there when he needed him.

Mostly though, Dean thought they were just too wounded and damaged to exist in any kind of normal reality. Maybe that was why they got what they got-just because it was the only thing they could take. Maybe hell was just supposed to be a distraction from the mass of crap that was his life, maybe he didn't have the first inkling how to be a human being.

Maybe, just maybe, Dean tries not to think it, that's the question he's hiding behind.

Closing his eyes doesn't work for him, all it does is hound him and remind him of the dark places he wandered to when he wonders just how human Sam is-was-is.

He'd just wanted Sam to be the one thing he did right. Sam could-would-be the one thing that he didn't completely fuck up.

The blood was…it was one thing to face the dreams and the psychic shit head on-that had been combatable. What the hell? Missouri did that thing, and his dad and Bobby worked with their type …it was workable.

But he can't close his eyes and ignore the fact that no matter how much demon blood that Sam had been infected with at one point, there was a hell of a lot more that had taken a ride through his veins since then.

Its not quite closing his eyes, but it's easier-better-to focus on Sam's problems, Sam's dysfunctions, to pinpoint where Sam is fucked up, than it is to focus on him.

He couldn't close his eyes and will it away, but he could do ignorance. God help him, he could do ignorance-if nothing else, he was an ignorant son of a bitch.

It was going to bite him in the ass, he knew that, but for now ignorance worked and he had the formula; if all else failed:

Take care of Sammy, do the job, then floor it.

The rest of it; the hole inside him that was consuming him from the inside out, Michael, Castiel and the search for God, the Apocalypse…it didn't have to exist. Not for him.

He'd hold it together for as long as he could, and the rest, the rest was just nothing.

hope you all enjoyed, & I just have one comment in close. I got a PM from another user about FF dot net ripping all M rated stories and T rated stories from the site and that some have already began to. Has anyone else got messages like that? Thanks for reading, as always,

- Chai