"What?"
"Dad likes you more than me," ten-year-old Sam repeated matter-of-factly.
Dean's mouth fell open. "Sammy, what – that's not true!"
"It's okay, Dean. I don't mind." Sam spooned up the last of his cereal, tipped the bowl, drained the milk. "Not anymore."
"It's not a competition," Dean said, flabbergasted. "Shit, Sammy – why do you think Dad doesn't love you?"
"I didn't say he doesn't love me," Sam corrected, surprised. "I just said he likes you better." Looking up, he saw the distress on his big brother's face. "It's alright, Dean," he said, offering a smile. "I like you best, too."