#recouperation

The state does not grant you anything. They don’t give you anything. They take things away from you. And then they give them back and call themselves heroes, and providers. Often they return to you something not so like what you had, but in your begging to return to the standards of before you accept their pittance. The state will take away that which you loved, that which connected you, that which taught you, that which you helped to build, and it will return it to you as a husk. All the living parts of it removed. Now, bent only to serve the interests of domination.

This is what we call recuperation, when it happens to a leftist movement. This is what we call enclosure, when it happens to land. This is what we call capture, when it happens to people.

Sam hadn't slept as long and as hard as he had this night any other night of his life. He wasn't sure on the specifics, but every time his brain tried to wake him up he would groan and turn over on his back, determined to ignore the call of the sun and go back into blissful unconsciousness.

Rest and relaxation. It was what the doctor ordered. Not literally, of course, but Sam figured he knew himself and his body well enough to know that was what he needed.

Eventually, though, his stomach growled in protest and he knew he had to eat. He threw himself to his feet, Dean unconscious on the rooms other bed, and stumbled to the fridge. He opened the door and frowned.

Pie.

All they had was pie.

He sighed heavily and, for once, decided to put aside his self-imposed dietary restrictions. He pulled out a tin and grabbed a paper plate.