Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Supernatural. I'm just having a little fun with the Winchester brothers.

PLEASE, SIR, CAN I HAVE S'MORE?

By: Vanessa Sgroi

"Deanie?" Six-year-old Sam Winchester tugged on the hand of his older brother held firmly in his little hand. It was a Friday and the Winchester brothers were hurrying amongst the dissipating crowd of other students eager to get home and start the weekend.

"Yeah, squirt?"

"What's a some more?"

"A s'more? It's…it's like a cookie. With chocolate and marshmallows and stuff. But you melt the marshmallow over a fire."

"Oh." Sammy sounded somewhat disappointed with Dean's description.

"Why?"

"Marty and Billy were talkin' about 'em. They're goin' camping this weekend and they kept saying they couldn't wait to make some mores. Have you ever had any?"

"I only had 'em once but they were good."

Sammy sighed and hitched his backpack up higher on his shoulders. "I wish I could have one. But we're not goin' camping."

The rest of their walk to the ramshackle rental they were currently occupying was done in silence. But once there, Dean dropped his own backpack on the couch and turned to his little brother. "Hey, Sammy, I've got an idea."

"What?"

"Hang on." Dean went to their shared bedroom and grabbed the little lockbox out from under the bed. He quickly counted the grocery money Dad had left before nodding to himself and pocketing a five dollar bill. He returned to the living room with a smile on his face. "C'mon, squirt. We're goin' to the store."

"Why?"

"'Cause we're gonna get the stuff to make s'mores."

Sammy's eyes widened in surprise and delight. "Really?" he breathed.

"Yep. Dad left us a little extra." That was a lie but Dean figured Sammy didn't need to know that. He'd already decided he'd mow a lawn or something to make up the cost if he had to. "And not only that but we're gonna camp out tonight too!"

The younger Winchester's face lit up with excitement. "We are?"

"Yep. Just like Marty and Billy."

(SPN) ** (SPN) ** (SPN)

Later that evening, after a dinner of boxed macaroni and cheese, while Sammy was engrossed in an episode of Thundercats, Dean headed to the tiny backyard. Armed with some supplies he'd scrounged from the basement and the sheets he's pulled off his own bed, Dean soon had a simple A-shaped tent erected. To him it was a fairly reasonable facsimile of a Civil War tent he seen in one of his textbooks and Dean nodded in satisfaction. He quickly stowed their sleeping bags and flashlights inside.

Returning to the house, he gathered the box of graham crackers, the bag of marshmallows, and two chocolate bars they'd purchased earlier from the convenience store around the corner. He also grabbed a Sterno can from their father's boxes of emergency supplies in one of the cupboards. He figured that would suffice for a campfire over which to roast their marshmallows.

"Sammy, you ready?" he called.

Sam didn't have to be asked twice. The TV went off and the little boy flew into the kitchen. He was practically bouncing with joy. He pushed his overlong bangs out of his eyes. "I'm ready!"

Once again in the backyard, Dean rested the Sterno can on top of an old, crumbling brick barbeque long ago built, and eventually abandoned, in one corner. He carefully lighted the canned fuel while cautioning Sam not to get too close. That done Dean speared a number of marshmallows on a carefully cleaned stick and set about browning them over the flame. He instructed Sam to open the crackers and chocolate.

When the marshmallows were golden brown, Dean quickly assembled the s'mores, hissing when the hot, melted marshmallow burned the tips of his fingers. He triumphantly handed one of the treats to Sammy and watched with a smile as sheer delight washed across the kid's face upon his first bite.

When the first two were gone, Dean said, "You want some more?"

Sam nodded enthusiastically and licked his fingers. "More!"

Dean laughed. "See—that's why they're called s'mores, Sammy!"

Not long after the brothers were finished wolfing down their treats, Dean eyed Sammy's face. It was covered almost ear-to-ear with chocolate and gooey marshmallow. In several places, Sam's chestnut hair was stuck in the goo on his cheeks. He remarked, "Dude, you're a mess!"

Sammy giggled. "So are you."

Knowing Sam was probably right, the ten-year-old extinguished the canned fuel flame and lead the way into the house so they could both get cleaned up. By the time they were done it was dark and they headed back outside and into the tent. There they snuggled down into their sleeping bags and Dean picked up a flashlight and a comic book and began to read to Sam.

After making the way through two issues, Dean noticed that Sam's eyelids were drooping and he was yawning. "You ready to go to sleep, squirt?"

Sam yawned again. "Yeah, I guess so."

Dean turned off the flashlight and settled down, quickly closing his eyes. After several long minutes, eerie night sounds began to creep into the tent. It wasn't long before Dean felt Sammy squirm into his sleeping bag.

"Scared?"

"Yeah."

More rustling, scritching, and scratching sounded outside the "walls" of the tent. An angry yowl sounded somewhere down the street. The wind picked up and sent the tent a-wobble.

"Deanie?" Sam whispered.

"Yeah, squirt?"

"I don't like it out here. Can we go back inside?"

Truth be told, Dean wasn't all that thrilled himself. "Sure, Sammy. Grab your flashlight."

On the way back into the house, Sam spoke once more. "Deanie?"

"What?"

"I don't think I like campin' but I love some mores!"

(SPN) ** (SPN) ** (SPN)

Present Day

The fire crackled and popped as Dean finished assembling the surprise he'd packed in his rucksack just for his brother. When the s'mores were finished, he rested them on a rumpled paper towel and approached Sam who was sleeping a few yards away. He gently shook Sam awake.

"Hey, Sammy, wake up."

Sam groaned and opened his eyes. "Huh?"

"Just checkin' on you, bro? How you doin'?"

Sam shifted and squirmed into a semi-seated position, grimacing as his heavily bandaged leg protested the movement. "I'm fine."

"How's the leg?"

"Sore as shit but okay. Your stitches are holding."

"Of course they are," Dean snarked. "And the head?"

Sam's hand flew up and he fingered the square bandage on his forehead. "It's okay too. Nothing more than a headache. My turn—how's your head?"

Dean shrugged. "About the same as yours."

"And your ankle?"

"Swollen. We'll both be hobblin' outta here in the morning. I have a surprise for you." Dean held out the paper towel.

Sam's eyes lit up. "S'mores?!"

"Yep. Our reward for taking out that crazy friggin' dropbear."

"Hard to believe those things are real, huh?" Sam marveled before taking a big bite of his s'more.

"No kidding. And what the hell was it doing here!" Dean ate his own campfire confection while watching Sam devour his. When he was done, Dean offered Sam some water and a painkiller.

Sam nodded his thanks. After downing both, he laid back and settled into a more comfortable position, ignoring the throbbing of his thigh. He scrubbed a hand over his eyes. "You know what, Dean?"

"What?"

"Still don't like camping much but I do still love some mores."

FIN