January 16th

"All right, here we go."

Dean was at the library table, book in front of him, head in his hand, when Sam set the tray of food next to him.

"What's this?" Dean asked. He didn't lift his head from his hand.

He was exhausted, Sam knew that. Dean was ashamed of what'd happened in Pontiac, 'the massacre' he called it, he was exhausted searching for a way to cure or remove the Mark, he wasn't eating or sleeping or hardly talking anymore.

"I thought you might be hungry," Sam told him. "You have to be hungry; you haven't eaten anything since last night and that was half a slice of pizza."

Dean looked at the food - a bowl of soup, a glass of milk, and three Fig Newtons. "We need to go food shopping," he said, but he didn't make a move to eat any of it. "What kind of soup is that, anyway?"

"'John Winchester's famous cure-all kitchen sink stew. Enough cayenne pepper to burn your lips off.'"

Dean still didn't lift his head but he gave Sam a surprised look and Sam shrugged.

"You made it for me when I was sick with the Trials. It helped."

"It didn't make you feel any better," Dean pointed out.

Sam didn't want to push it, he didn't want to push Dean. He'd thought briefly of trying to get Dean to celebrate one of the many 'National Day Of' that it was today: National Day of Nothing, Religious Freedom, Fetish, Appreciate a Dragon, but quickly gave up that idea. Neither of them were in much mood for celebrating. So he'd chosen a quieter path.

"It still helped."

National Hot & Spicy Day, National Fig Newton Day.

Dean kind of shrugged, like he was conceding grudgingly. "Thanks." He sat up and began to eat the soup.

"You're welcome," Sam took his seat at the table to start more research.

After a minute Dean leaned across the table and set a Fig Newton next to Sam's computer.

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