Dean sat in the back seat of their father's 1967 Chevy, silently humming away to the unidentifiable song playing out on the car radio as his baby brother sat next to him, kicking the back of the passenger's seat with the tips of his toes.

"Daddy, can we get a dog?" Sam asked innocently.

In the driver's seat, John chuckled to himself and looked at his youngest son through the rear-view mirror.

"And why would we want one of those?"

"Because," Sam said, matter-of-factly, "research shows that over eighty percent of the American population own dogs, and that, out of that eighty percent, almost seventy five percent of those people are happier than the twenty percent that don't."

Dean looked over at his younger brother in amusement. "And what about that other five percent, Sammy? Why aren't they so happy?" he asked.

Sam looked at his shoes, a little confused. "Well… maybe they aren't so happy because their Mommy and Daddy make them clean up after their dog when it goes to the toilet in the house. But we don't have to worry about that, right Dad? Because we don't have a house." He looked up at his older brother, beaming.

Dean smirked. "At a boy, Sammy. You're such a geek."

"Am not!" Sammy sulked.

"Are too." The elder grinned.

"Am not!"

"Okay, boys," John interrupted. "What were we talking about…?"

"Dogs!" Sam cried cheerfully.

"And why we can't ever own one." Dean added.

Sam looked up at his bigger brother, wide eyes full of tears. "Why?"

"Because, Sammy, dogs need a home. Where would we put him?" Dean asked.

"In the trunk." Sam replied nonchalantly.

"I don't think he'd fit." His brother told him.

"She." Sam corrected.

"What would you feed her?"

"Dog food."

"But what would she drink?"

"Water. And if we couldn't find that, I'm sure she wouldn't mind sharing some of Daddy's beers."

Dean sighed. "Sammy, do you really think a dog would fit in the trunk?"

Sam turned around in his seat and looked at the car's trunk through the back window. He nodded.

"Even with all of Dad's guns?" Dean asked.

"I like Dad's guns. She would too." Sammy told him.

"But what about when Dad went on a hunt?"

"Then I'd take care of her, silly!" Sam laughed.

"Dogs are a lot of work, Sammy. You have to feed them, and walk them, and clean up after them when they… you know, do their business."

"So?"

"I don't think it's a good idea, Sammy…"

Sam looked up at his brother in desperation. "Please Dean?"

Dean shook his head. "Sorry, buddy."

"Daddy," Sam beamed up at his father. "Can I have a puppy?"