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Dean is in that liminal space where he's neither awake nor asleep when he hears it. His stomach rumbles and it's followed by a pull, deep from within his gut. He ignores it and closes his eyes again but it's too late. The pull deepens and soon he feels a cramp.
With a frustrated groan, Dean gets up. He presses his thumb on the phone screen. It's barely after midnight. He leaves the phone on the bedside table and puts slippers on his feet. He ignores the deadman's robe. He'll just make a snack and go straight back to bed.
As he flicks on the lights in the kitchen, he's surprised to see Jack sitting at the table. “Jack? Why are you sitting here all alone in the dark?” His eyes flicker to the box of cereals. “Krunch Cookie Crunch, huh? Well, now it makes sense why you're all cooped up in the dark. Sammy would throw a fit if he saw you eat that.” Dean sits down next to Jack.
“He says it's too sugary.”
“Well, Sam also says shit like 'too much bacon is bad for you, Dean'. Don't believe everything he says, kid. You eat all the Cookie Crunch cereals you want.”
“The box was empty, so I'm eating a sandwich instead. I was hungry.”
Dean nods.“Yeah, that I get. I couldn't go to sleep. Fuck, I'm getting old, Jack. I used to go days without food, and now just a slight hunger pang is enough to keep me awake.”
Jack takes another bite of the sandwich. “I can make you one.”
“Sure, thanks. What are you having?”
There's a slight pause, and Jack frowns. “A sandwich?”
“I know but what's the–“ He stops midsentence. “Jack... are you just eating bread? Gimme that.” He grabs Jack's sandwich, peels the two pieces of bread open and tosses it back on the table with a disgusted sound. “Jack. That's not a sandwich, where's the good stuff?”
“The good stuff?”
Dean rubs a hand over his face. It's too early... too late for whatever this is. “Yes, Jack. The condiments, the good stuff that makes a sandwich. Your so-called sandwich is just processed wheat. It doesn't even have butter on it. Even Cas appreciates my–“ Dean slaps Jack's hand away. “Stop that. Sit tight. I'll make you a real sandwich.”
After rummaging through the fridge, Dean places the items on the table. “I didn't make Sam sandwiches for years to sit here and let you call that mockery of a night-snack sandwich, kiddo. Alright, people debate on the whole butter, no butter issue, but we'll go slow so let's skip the butter for now, OK?”
Jack nods. “OK.”
“First you grab the bread and then you spread the peanut butter on one side.”
Jack puts on a sad amount of peanut butter. “Like this?”
“Listen, Jack, you're up in the middle of the night making a sandwich. You need to really feel it, own it. More.”
Jack scoops up some more peanut butter and spreads it on the sandwich. “I think this is good.”
“Yeah, and now you take the other slice and drench it with jelly.”
Jack spreads jelly on the other slice of bread and smiles at Dean. “I know this part.” He slams the pieces together.
Dean grins. “Yeah but one more step before we're done, kiddo.” He grabs the sandwich and takes a knife. “Sammy used to hate the crusts on the sandwiches. I took them off and saved them for later. Made croutons and scrambled eggs. He loved it. Didn't need to know the croutons were hard, dried up bread that I fried” Putting the knife down, he shoves the plate over to Jack. “Now, you're eating a sandwich.”
He takes some bread and starts making his own sandwich.
“This is really good.” Jack smiles and takes another bite.
“Beats just bread, huh.”
“Yes, it does. Thank you, Dean.”
“You're welcome.” Dean points the knife at Jack as he gets up. “Don't let me catch you here eating just bread again, alright?” He takes a bite of his peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
“You won't.”
Dean stops in the doorway. As he looks back at Jack, a wave of affection washes over him. “I'll get you more of those cereals you like tomorrow.”
“Thanks. Good night.”
“Night, Jack.”