"Dean, do you think we'll ever get to do that?"

"Do what?"

"That," a six year old Sam says blankly, pointing to the TV screen in front of them. It's another boring day, just sitting around the motel, and they're watching some crappy outdated reruns. The screen shows a small family sitting around a campfire with marshmallows on sticks and laughing in a way that only ever really happens in crappy outdated TV shows, never real life. But Sam's too young to understand that, and he looks up at his older brother with hopeful eyes.

Dean wishes he could deliver better news, but realistically speaking, Hell will freeze over before the Winchester go camping.

"I dunno, Sammy," he tries to lay it on easy, "We're not exactly the Brady's."

"It looks fun, though. We could even make those, um. What're they called? Uh, s-s'mo-?"

"S'mores?" Dean finishes the word for him, brows furrowed, "You want to make s'mores?"

Sam perks up, happy that Dean knows what he's talking about. Of course he does, Dean knows everything, right? He probably even knows how to set up a tent and make a campfire, which in Sam's mind means that this whole scenario is totally plausible. He smiles excitedly, "Yeah, why not? Dad goes camping all the time, right? We could go with him, and-"

"Sam," Dean interrupts, shaking his head with a small frown, "I'm sorry, but I just don't think it's gonna happen. Dad's...busy, with work. You know that."

Dean knows the real reason why they couldn't go camping with John, but he's not about to tell Sam that.

The younger boy sinks back down with disappointment, his eyes dropping to the couch, "Oh. Right. Work." He turns to face the TV again, but his eyes are still aimed down at the floor. Life isn't some crappy outdated TV rerun, of course they can't do anything like that fake family in front of them. Sam is constantly reminded of that fact by things like this, things he wants to do but will never be able to. Already so jaded at the age of six.

Which just about breaks Dean's heart.

So he puts his hand on Sam's shoulder and tries his best to smile, "Look, how about this?" The younger brother turns to look at him, the same dejected expression on his face. Dean perseveres with his sympathetic smile, "We might not be able to go camping, but we can still make s'mores. Does that sound like fun?"

Sam's mood lifts, but only slightly. He's a little skeptical. "How can we make s'm-s'mores, without a campfire?" His struggling with the snack's name makes Dean smile sincerely. His innocent, baby brother is so cute. He'd do anything to protect that innocence, like indulge him in childish illusions of grandeur.

"It won't exactly be the same, but we can use the kitchen stove. It's either that, or nothing at all. It's up to you." Sam shakes his head vigorously and Dean laughs a little before continuing. "Alright. Now, we're gonna have to use some of this week's grocery money to buy the stuff we need, which means eating Skettios for dinner a couple days in a row. No complaining though, or the deal's off. Okay?"

He nods, then asks curiously, "You know how to make s'muh-s'muh," he grumbles a little in frustration, "them?"

Dean takes this as an opportunity to tease him, "I'm sorry, make what now?"

"You know what I mean, jerk!" Sam pouts, punching his brother in the arm.

Dean just laughs and ruffles Sam's hair, "'course I do, munchkin. I know everything." Which is totally not true, but he can at least wing it for Sammy's sake. As long as he keeps smiling, nothing else really mattered.

So what if their lives aren't like some crappy outdated TV show? The melted chocolate and marshmallow drippings all over the oven make for much better memories than anything those fake laughs could ever dream of.