"Sammy, this way."
"I know, Dean. And it's Sam, not Sammy," he mumbled in response.
Sam followed his older brother as they hunted the creature their father had been tracking. Dean insisted on calling him that, and on treating him like some little kid. He was fourteen, and he'd been hunting for years now. He just wanted a little respect for once.
He jumped when Dean stopped him with an arm across the chest. "Watch it, Sammy!"
Sam looked down. He'd nearly stepped in a trap. He sighed. He'd never get it right.
Suddenly, he was on the ground. Something had knocked him over, something that Dean was currently trying to shoot the crap out of.
John appeared through the trees on the opposite side of the thing. Together, he and Dean put that you-know-what down. It was only then that Sam realized he'd simply watched the entire fight, which had lasted only a short moment.
He just wanted to be normal, yet that wasn't an option. And so he tried to be this, but he was always last in line behind his father and brother. They always took over, he was just the boring researcher who made friends with the hunted.