There is surely a reason that, during his stint in Heaven when he and Dean had been running from Zachariah, one of his happiest memories from his younger years had been someone else's Thanksgiving dinner with their family. It had been his first time among the normal, functional family that could have very well been in a commercial, the perfect sort of setting, complete with teenage nerves encompassing every awkward silence in an attempt to make a good impression and leave it when he'd excused himself for the evening.

It's one of the only things he's ever really wanted. To just have them both in one place, to have memories of them both, and this is the rationalization of a desperate mind so desperately clinging to something that he can never have. Never in a million years.

He doesn't take notice of Adam until he speaks up, and he meets his gaze for a brief moment with a small, apologetic smile before he reaches for the butter container, passes it over. "Sorry," he says with a small laugh, casting a sidelong glance in Dean's direction, who had been closer to the butter initially. "Mom tried to teach him manners, but they didn't stick."

Dean's head snaps up, and around a mouthful of potatoes: "Hey!"