Disclaimer: The story is mine but Dean, Sam, and anything else you're familiar with cannot be credited to me.
Pants on Fire
It pisses me off when people call him a liar. Not because it's untrue, they aren't exactly slandering his good name, but it's the way they say it.
He could charm the pants off an Eskimo and they'd be standing there knee deep in snow waving as he walked away and thinking he was the best thing since satellite television.
He's whatever the people want him to be. He's funny, charming, quirky, bold, bad—pieces of himself, never whole.
He has to lie, has to hide what's real, because the truth is too much for them; too much for him. I can see it perched on his shoulders like one of those rainbow parrots in the Captain Morgan commercials; I wonder how he can still breathe, or even move for that matter, beneath the weight.
People like simplicity, black and white, they don't have room in their world for the shades of grey in his eyes. It's those tiny flecks of silver in his irises that worry me the most—they're growing bigger.
If everyone could see the pain, the ache, so clearly mapped on his young face the skies of their perfect imaginary worlds would come crashing down on their heads. It's that intense. It's that dangerous.
Pretending gives him temporary freedom, takes him away from his reality so that he can find the strength to fight another day.
He is a liar.
He can't be anything else.
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Sam POV of Dean, inspired by the episode "Bugs."
As always, massive amounts of love to my beta feralpixc, I owe her many a chocolate covered Jensen with cherries on top; and she'll get them too, once I figure out how to clone a man that hot without falling into a hormone-induced coma.
Reviews are loved almost as much as a topless Dean—they definitely come in a close second.