I knew I'd never have his trust.
I'd known this ever since what I'd done, but watching him as we worked made me feel as though he was carrying all the burden, all the pain; always watching his back, always watching me.
If I couldn't have his trust, maybe I could lighten the load.
I knew he was a better shot then me, so I practiced to be better – to be a threat. But after I'd shot a dozen ghosts as well as he could, he still didn't trust me to hit the mark.
I tried to get him to sleep when I drove so that he could rest a little, but I should have known that he wouldn't close an eye with me at the wheel.
I strained my mind in an attempt to be the best observer and see everything on the scene the he'd missed so we could get the job done right, but he still didn't take my word for it and he'd look again.
I did research, but he had to check my sources and practically do it again.
I really tried everything.
But I realized that he was not just distrustful of my morality and sanity, he was distrustful of everything I did, everything I'd done, and everything I possibly could do.
He looks over at me now with a forced grin. "What's eatin' ya, Sammy?"
I shake my head. What do I even tell him?
"Nothing."
He raises an eyebrow before looking back at the road in front of him.
I know he wouldn't pry for fear of actually finding out what he already knew.
I look out the window at the passing trees and fields.
I know he won't trust me; when Dean Winchester distrusts someone, his suspicion goes to every aspect of that person; I was no exception.