Forgetting But Not Yet Forgotten(Supernatural)

It's okay baby bro

Sam's mind was going a mile a minute. School was easy, but he can't help getting annoyed when people like Roy and Kurt antagonize him 24/7. He's been held at this school for just over a month. Apparently dad was having trouble catching the monster that ran these streets, and it doesn't look like he'll find the thing anytime soon. He usually likes to stay at schools for as long as he can, but this time was different. There's two guys, Roy and Kurt. They always find ways to get under his skin, or make him mad. They recently started to get physical, and Dean noticed. That part didn't last long, but they just went back to words. Whoever said "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me" is a load of crap. Just because it rhymes doesn't mean it's true.
It's close to the end of the day, so he can get out of this hell soon. But instead of being able to walk home and clear his overly clustered mind, Dean has to pick him up.
He's fourteen years old, yet his father didn't trust him to walk home along. But John would never admit that. He'd always pull the,'I trust you, just not other people' card. It's really just one more dumb excuse his father used, and one more way to tell him not so suddedly that he didn't trust his son.
So when he walked outside of the building that reminded him of a prison, he could see the Impala sitting in the first row of cars. Dean had stepped out of the car to smoke. His father would kill Dean if he found out, and Dean would kill Sam is he squabbled. It was a perfect triangle if rules the other doesn't know about.
He stepped up to the car and opened the door. He stepped inside while throwing his bag in the back. Not caring that there is a folder full of homework he won't be able to get done because he'll be training instead of living his life. He usually found himself in a fight about that stuff with his father, but the already pounding sensation in his head told him it wasn't worth it. Not today anyway. He'd be the soldier his father wanted, and not the son any other man would want. But only for today.
The smell of Dean's leather jacket mixed with gun powder filled his nose with a sensation of home. Although the strong smell didn't help his headache, it felt nice to be so close to his brother.
    They didn't really speak on the way home, or in other words to the crappy motel they were taking residents in. It wasn't really 'homey', but it'd do.

The second they stepped into the room, their father was barking orders to get to the field and out of site to train. Even though he wanted to sleep and ease his mind from all the things that was tumbling in his head, he just nodded and said "Yes sir",just to not start anything. He really couldn't handle another screaming fit, and anyway, he was afraid they'd get kicked out if they disturbed the neighbors one more time.
His father decided to drive while Sam and Dean enjoyed the ride. The field they normally trained at was only ten minutes away. It was out of sight from anyone who wondered the streets or old dirt roads. Trees rimmed the whole place. It was perfect. The minute they stopped, their father got out to grab things from the trunk while the two other boys got out to find their traditional spot to train. They started off with shooting. Their father would set up his glass beer bottles on a log, then they'd have to aim and shoot. It wasn't the worst thing to do, although it would eventually get painful to hear. Even with the little rubber earplugs in, the sound was still excruciating. It made the headache worse. By the time he was to his 11th bottle, sweat beaded his face.
" Sam! You need to aim higher. You're too low, now you're just wasting my bullets," his father belted. In fact Sam has only gotten six out of the eleven he had aimed for. Dean could get at least nine.

" Yes sir, sorry sir," Sam said, keeping the agitation out of his voice. John was kinda surprised to not hear a snide comment come out of his son. He expected something like,"I'm trying or Id like to see you try when you're this short"

And anyway, he was pretty good for his age. Better than any kid his age should be. But then thoughts of demons and vampires creep in and tell him it's better for them to be prepared, then be monster chow. He looked back at his son. Same blinked at the bottles. Little did he know, Sam was trying to get the sudden blurriness to leave.
" Shoot the damn thing already!" John yelled, probably still a little drunk. He always was.
Sam shot the gun again, but he missed. He tried again, and missed again. The third time he hit a bottle, the blurriness and vertigo having subsided. He hit the next two, then gave the gun to Dean. He hit all but one. His father smiled at Dean, his obviously favorite son.
Well I'm sorry Sam though, Dean has had almost six years extra of practice.
They didn't start training Sam until a he was like nine. Dean started at about four. He can't be as good as Dean, it was just simply not possible.