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“Bobby, Dean’s marshmallow is on fire!” Seven-year-old Sam sounded panicky.

“I like ’em extra-crispy,” Dean said.

“No accounting for taste,” Bobby put in, chuckling. Frowning, Sam pulled his own marshmallow further back from the campfire.

Dean drew his flaming marshmallow closer and blew it out. “See, Sammy? Nothing to worry about.”

Bobby noted Dean’s concerned expression. A kid shouldn’t be that anxious about his brother’s fear. That boy was father and mother to Sam.

He sighed. Wasn’t much he could do, but he could give them this, tonight.

“Hold yours closer, Sam,” he advised. “It’ll never cook from far away.”