"So close no matter how far
Couldn't be much more from the heart
Forever trusting who we are
No nothing else matters"
Sam could be a pain in the butt. He had no shame in annoying Dean because he would be so concerned about being on time for school that he constantly reminded him when they have to be there. 'We should at least try to get there early', 'you know they don't keep the doors open forever', 'well some of us actually care'. These measly efforts at motivating his brother typically started with yanking hard on his ankle to get him out of bed when they still obviously had time left, though it proved difficult since he was considerably smaller than the other. In the end he would sit on the floor and pout, partly joking and partly not, until Dean sighed dramatically and swung his legs over to stand up, trying to hide a smile beneath his tired features.
By this point their Dad was either working a nearby case, or passed out in the adjacent room with half a bottle of beer resting on the tips of his fingers to further aid his degenerating liver. This sight was neither common nor rare; usually occurring after a strenuous hunt that left the father in a state of mental and physical disarray. They might not see him for a while, but as soon as they did it was right back to hitting the bricks, acting like it didn't happen, only for the cycle to start back again the following week. If the two of them were lucky, their Dad would attempt to be vertical when they were leaving and depending on how bad his hangover was would even offer to drive them.
It wasn't that surprising to find out they were on their own for the morning, and honestly if Sam had to choose between some of them or all of them, he'd choose some in a heartbeat. In fact, he'd bet any amount of money that that's what it would always be, and the day it wasn't would be the day he dies. Okay, he was a bit of a sap, so what?
With a tinge more of excitement blooming in their guts, the boys who would eventually save the world headed to the impala. The impala. Probably the most beautiful car to bless 1967. To pass her by on the street didn't give nearly enough of a chance to appreciate her and to realize that having four wheels didn't mean she wasn't a part of a family. As people acquired scars and blemishes, so did she. Each chip of paint amplified beneath the suns intense gaze was a story she had been around to witness, her engine rumbling along a single lane of asphalt was her speaking and reassuring them that she would keep them safe. It didn't matter what troubles they endured if she could protect those three living souls nestled in her seats.
There's a brief period when quiet overtakes them. Rather, their talking is replaced by the door hinges squeaking in protest as they're opened and giving the fresh air leeway to attack the interior with a gush of wind. Instead of banter that comes second nature to them, the familiar guitar riffs from a Metallica cassette tape that refuses to be thrown out slithers its way into both of their ears. Dean's hands drum a repetitive rhythm against the material of the steering wheel, not quite matching the beat of the song but occupying him enough that he doesn't seem to notice. The entire ride passes by like this, and it isn't until they catch sight of the envisioned building do they manage to snap out of their fantasy world.
Exhaling sharply, Sam gripped tight to the strap of his backpack loaded with supplies, determined to make his short stay here relatively normal. Of course it didn't help his cause to be reminded that there was a bag of salt beside his pencil case. All he had to do was make it inside, he repeated, and then he could start afresh. They were already late when they escaped the schedule administering claws of a secretary whose chipper greeting was as fake as her wig, so while his brother spent wasted minutes on the prowl for another girl to be won over by his charm, he'd go to math.
It shouldn't have come as a shock to anybody that Sam was already diligently working before the rest had even gotten out a piece of paper, just about burrowing himself in a textbook that was worn along the edges from years of being handled. Suddenly however, with a quick glance out into the hall he'd see Dean standing there. The older Winchester in response would make some face that had originally been used to coax an innocent giggle out of a toddler Sam, though now only received a roll of his eyes. As he attempted to show his annoyance, secretly he'd be smiling. Between all of the moments filled with continual worry about whether they would last another 24 hours, somehow watching that ridiculous expression focus on him brought out hope he once thought was gone.
Throughout the entire rest of the day, he'd be waiting anxiously for when school would be over, and they could both sit in the motel together in comfortable silence. They might share a look or two, though in the end Dean would flash his usual smirk, pull him into a tight hug against his already developed chest and kiss the top of his head. He'd whisper how it was all going to okay, Sammy. And it would, Sam thought, as long as he had his brother nothing else matters.