"We should just eat out tonight. I figure we've got enough for breakfast and lunch if we do, then there's no rush to get out." Dean knew he hated shopping, he could only imagine what Sam would feel like afterwards. But, if they went then, dude could take a nap after and it'd be okay. Less pushing through after a day already and crashing harder.
"I bet we could order a pizza. We haven't had pizza. They probably deliver here." He gave a little hum, taking a large mouthful from the bottle. "Or any takeout. Been a while since we've had something good." He looked over, offering Sam a small grin. "We can get you a salad. You...rabbit." Dean tried to swallow his laugh and took another drink.
As light as the food talk had been, Dean really wasn't expecting that. Yet, it wasn't even entirely unexpected. Ever since it got established that they were all different in that way, however the hell that worked, Dean knew it'd be inevitable. He'd get to be the one with all the stories and all the crap tucked inside. Which was nice, in a really bad sort of way. At least, Sam didn't have to deal with the Gadreel crap, and Dean had no intention of adding in that part.
"Hey. Look. You do. You got this." His voice took a turn for stern as he sat up a little, just to push the seriousness a little further. "I didn't come here because you died, Sam, and I couldn't drag your ass back." He took a deep breath, smiling a little. "You were still kicking ass and taking names when I left. Way more than I was."