~*****~
"Look, all I'm saying is that you don't have to worry about your favorite actors coming to gank you, just-- keep that damn ward on you and some salt around. You'll be fine. You're learning quick." I explain to Zack as he gazes down the journal I'd let him read through.
"You got to be kidding me," Sam says aloud.
"What?" Dean asks as I turn to them. We trail over to him and peer over his shoulder before sighing loudly. "You got to be kidding me." Dean and I echo.
"Be back soon," I say to Zack as I grasp my jacket. "Iron and Salt, you got it, buddy!" I chime out as he stands up quickly, eyes wide.
"You're torturing the poor guy," Sam comments. Dean snorts.
"Good, he needs it." Dean comments.
"I see you're still mad about the Dawson Creek comment."
"It was a guilty pleasure, all right?" Dean retorted in offense.
Sam and I guffaw.
~*****~
I'd always hated wax museums. Damn sculptures looked like they could jump to life at any moment. "Damn, you're short." I hear Dean comment.
"Hey," Sam says in offense. "Ghandi was a great man." He mentions.
"Actually, there's some lore saying he wasn't." I mention as I stride past him. "Apparently Ghandi took very big interest in the caste system in ancient India."
Dean snorts. "Smurf." He comments while gazing at the sculpture of Ghandi.
"Oh, sorry to keep you waiting!" The museum curator chirped as he finally arrived. "This is our busiest time of the year!"
I gaze around skeptically. "This is busy?" I question.
"W-Well, n-not right now. But it's early." The curator stammers.
"It's four-thirty." Dean comments.
The curator swallows thickly. "So, what can I do for you?"
"Uh, well, we are writing a piece for Travel Magazine," Sam explains.
"Yeah, on how totally non-sucky wax museums are." Dean adds.
"That's fantastic!" The curator chirps. "A little press- just what we need!"
"Great! Well, we're interested in a few of your exhibits, specifically Abraham Lincoln and James Dean." I explain.
"Two of our most popular displays," The curator hummed.
"Oh, yeah? They bring in a lot of visitors?" Sam asks.
"Yeah, we have our regulars," The curator nods.
"I don't suppose that William Hill and Cal Hopkins were regulars, were they?" Dean asked.
The curator nods. "As a matter of fact, they were. I heard what happened to them. That's tragic, just tragic," The curator sighs. "Well, that's not gonna be in the article, is it?"
"No, no, of course not," I reassure the curator.
"You know, I got to tell you, that-- that Lincoln is so lifelike." Dean says. "I mean, you know, you can just imagine him moving around. You ever see anything like that?"
"Uh... no." The curator tilts his head.
"Well, is there anything you can think of?" Sam asks. "Something that would make the museum... unusual? You know, for the article."
"Well, I'll say. There isn't another place like us, not anywhere." The curator states.
"How so?" Dean asks.
"Well, for one, that's honest Abe's real hat." The curator states.
"It... It is?" I stammer.
"Almost like his remains." Dean says.
The curator grimaces. "I guess."
"You wouldn't happen to have any of James Dean's personal effects, would you?" I ask.
"Oh, yeah, we got his key chain!" The curator nodded. "We got a bunch of stuff-- uh, Ghandi's bifocals, FDR's Iron Lung, this--" He tugs on his jacket.
"And who did that belong to?" I ask.
"The Fonz. Seasons two through four." The curator beamed.
"Wow--" I stammer.
"Yeah, that's-- that's really cool...ish." Sam murmurs.
"Oh, this? This is nothing." The curator says. "I've been working on a new collection of figures, stuff that'll really wow the kids!"
"The kids?" Dean echoes.
"Yeah, Gen Y. Computer games, cellphones, sexting-- they're just fads." The curator explains. "I'm gonna make wax museums hip again."
"You sure are," I say enthusiastically before grasping onto Sam and Dean's sleeves. "We got a lot to write, but we'll see you again."
The curator waves happily as I tug them out.
~*****~
Sam seems to notice my off mood as we're packing the trunk. "You wanna talk?" Sam asks after I sigh for a third time.
I suck in a tight breath and nod quickly. "Yes. Actually. I do." I wring my hands together. "I haven't been.... honest with you, Sam. I'm still very... very pissed about what happened that night. I get it-- you thought you were doing what's right, and you're sorry now, and you're trying to make up for it. I get it. But I can't-- I can't seem to move past it." I explain. Sam remains silent. "And I think-- I think that we started falling apart that day that we-- well, when we--"
"I get it." Sam says, stopping me. "I know. I uh, I still have a lot to make up for. I shouldn't have jumped at that opportunity. You were hurt. And I took advantage of it. And I'm sorry." Sam explains lightly, his hand reaching for me before it halted and went to tousle his hair. "I love you. You know that. Dean knows it. Hell, anyone breathing knows it. But you're my brother's girl. You guys have a kid. I'm man enough to understand that. And even if it takes you years to trust me again, just know that I've always got your back. I'm always going to be here for you."
I nod after a beat of silence. "I apologize in advance if I seem a bit... tense with you at times. But I am trying, Sam." I explain lightly. "Thank you. You know, for listening and understanding."
Sam gives me a soft smile and nods. "I'll go get Dean, then we can go blow the heads off of some wax statues."
I beam and slap at his arm. "Sounds like a good night to me!" I exclaim. Sam laughs before heading towards the motel. Although, when they come out, Sam's in a bad mood.
The wax museum was silent as we break in and move around to torch the belongings. "Hey, check it out," We hear Dean say. I turn around and groan audibly. "Four Score and seven years ago, I had a funny hat!" Dean recites in a mocking Abraham tone.
"Dean," Sam complains. "Let's just torch the objects, torch the ghosts, and get out of here, okay?"
"I'll go grab East of Eden's key chain," Dean states.
"I got Ghandi." I mention as I travel over to the old man statue and carefully start trying to maneuver the glasses off.
The door slamming behind me has me jumping and whirling around, my shot gun up and ready to fire. "Dean?" Sam and I call out. "Dean!" I call as I approach the door and try to pull it open. "Sammy, it's locked!" I shout back.
"Lottie," Sam says lowly, urging me to move towards him. We move together, back-to-back as we gaze around, when a strange pull slings my shotgun right out of my hands.
"What the--" I stammer before someone jumps onto my back. I slam back into the wall and gaze at the little man crouched on the ground. "Oh, I knew you were a bad guy, Ghandi!" I say excitedly as Sam just stares in horror. He rushes forward after a moment and kicks the legs out from under him, giving him the upper hand.
"Is that Ghandi?!" Dean bellows as he breaks inwards. I have Ghandi in a choke hold. Poor Sam, though, the squirrelly old man has his arms trapped tightly around Sam's neck.
"Yep!" I shout.
"Dude, he's squirrelly." Dean comments.
"Get his glasses, dammit!" I shout at Dean.
Dean immediately grasps them and sets them ablaze, along with Lincolns hat. Ghandi disappears from my hold. "You couldn't have been a fan of someone cool?" Dean questions Sam irritably.
"Harrison Ford ain't dead yet, Dean," I retort angrily. "Sam's got time to fawn over the right guy."
~*****~
"You guys ready to blow this joint, or what?" Dean asks loudly.
"Dean, didn't it strike you as strange, the way Ghandi just vanished?" Sam asked.
"Strange how?" Dean hums.
"No screaming, no big flameout," Sam explains. "I mean, that isn't the way ghosts usually go."
"Still-- I torched, he vanished." Dean stated.
"Yeah, but..." Sam trailed off. "It kinda felt like he was trying to take a bite out of me."
"A bite?"
"Yeah, like he was hungry. I noticed that." I nod. "But the thing is, Ghandi-- or the real Ghandi-- he was a vegetarian--"
"Fruitarian." Sam corrects me.
We stare at Sam for a moment before chuckling "Let me get this straight. Your ultimate hero was not only a short man in diapers, but he was also a Fruitarian?" Dean comments.
"That's not the point--"
"That is good." Dean chuckles. "That is-- even for you, that is good."
"Fruitarian aside," I say with a smile. "I don't think this is over."
"Lottie, it was a ghost!" Dean complains. "It was a weirdly supercharged Fruitarian Ghost. But it was still a ghost. Now let's go."
"You know, Dean, for once, you should really listen to Sam." I comment. "It's always the same when we're all together, you're usually telling us we're wrong about something, only for one of us to be right. I mean, what if it isn't done, Dean, and someone else dies?"
"You guys aren't steering this boat. Chop-Chop." Dean states as he grabs our bag.
"This isn't going to work." Sam says suddenly.
"What isn't?" Dean asks.
"Us. You, me, Lottie-- together." Sam explains. "I thought it could, but it can't."
"You're the one that wanted back in, chief." Dean commented.
"And you're the one who called me back in." Sam retorted.
"I still think we got some trust-building to do." Dean says.
"How long am I gonna be on double-secret probation?" Sam asks.
"Until I say so." Dean shrugs.
"Look," Sam sighs. "I know what I did, what I've done. And I am trying to climb out of that hole. I am. But you're not making it any easier."
"So, what, am I supposed to just let you off the hook?" Dean asks.
"No, you can think whatever you want." Sam says. "I deserve it and worse. Hell, you'll never punish me as much as I'm punishing myself. But the point is, if we're gonna be a team, you, Lottie, and I, it has to be a two-way street-- three-way, whatever--" Sam explains.
"So we just go back to the way we were before?" Dean asks.
"No, because we were never that way before," Sam snapped. "Before didn't work. How do you think we got here?"
"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean asked.
"Dean, one of the reasons I went off with Ruby... was to get away from you." Sam said.
"What?" Dean hums.
"It made me feel strong, like I wasn't your kid brother." Sam explains.
"Are you saying this is my fault?" Dean asks.
"No, it's my fault. All I'm saying is that if we're gonna do this, we have to do it different." Sam states. "We can't just fall into the same rut."
"What do you want me to do?" Dean asks irritably.
"You're gonna have to let me grow up, for starters," Sam retorted.
Dean's cell begins to go off, and he fishes it out to answer. "Yeah?" Dean huffs. He's silent for a moment. "Yeah, yeah-- okay." He ends the call and turns to us. "Guess you were right about this not being over."
I throw my hands up. "Surprise, surprise, he doesn't listen to us--" I huff irritably. "We're going out for burgers after this, Sammy, and Dean isn't getting anything. Remember that."
Sam smiles at me and starts to chuckle.
Bạn đang đọc truyện trên: AzTruyen.Top