“Fine,” Dean says, hair still partly sticking up thanks to the lake water. If Sam leaned close, he’d be able to smell the faint residue, like brown and green things that grow. “But we’re not buying any crap at the gift shop. Just because we have the bunker doesn’t mean we should start collecting junk.” Sam doesn’t deign to reply, just lifts an eyebrow. “Don’t give me that look,” Dean warns, pointing at Sam with his fork. “We both know how this always goes.” He smiles at the waitress as she sets down his overflowing pair of plates.
“Yeah, we do,” Sam says, utterly neutral, as he accepts his own meal—he’s been a sucker for fruit-stuffed French toast since ... well, it’s been a long time now. Lots of things have changed since then, but not that.
How it always goes is that Dean drags his feet and pokes at things that probably shouldn’t be poked at, starts talking with the blacksmith and probably would’ve gotten invited around the partition if not for the pile of tourists standing behind him and looking vaguely miffed. “Meet you at the giftshop?” Sam tries a couple of times, but only ever half-heartedly. Dean’s rhythm is completely different from Sam’s, but it’s good to be reminded that there’s more to engaging with a place than just reading the plaques and making polite conversation with the village staff.
“I think it’s half-price if we come back tomorrow,” Sam offers when they finally take a break for lunch. Dean makes a vaguely disgruntled noise around his over-priced sandwich. Sam’s pretty much made his peace with the whole credit card fraud thing, but he’d felt a distinct pang of guilt while handing over the latest fake card—the place *is* a museum, after all. Dean must read the lingering residue of this in Sam’s face, because when he’s done chewing, he kicks Sam in the leg.
“Quit angsting and eat your soup. We can go look at the bookstore when you’re done.”
Which they do—or really, Sam does. Dean disappears further into the giftshop after five minutes, while Sam’s still sorting through books on old herbal remedies and local ghost stories. When he finally tracks Dean down again a half-hour later, Dean’s in the toy section, fiddling with a Jacob’s ladder, a bulging shopping bag hooked over one arm and a slightly green tint to his complexion. It isn’t until they’re halfway back to the lake that Sam discovers that the bag is full of fudge and Dean had sweet-talked the lady at the counter into letting him sample all 40 flavors.