Count the Headlights on the Highway

“Stop,” Dean still had the gun raised. He was aiming for her face. “Why was he after you? How do we know your Vivian?”

“God damn it,” Vivian sighed, putting her hands on her hips. “Wait, we?”

As if on cue, a ridiculously tall figure climbed through the threshold.

“Stay back, Sam,” Dean snarled.

“Viv?” Sam sauntered into the light despite his brother, prominent brow wrinkled above his sincere eyes. “Dean, put the damn gun down.”

“Hey, Sammy,” Vivian smiled, knowing full well Dean wouldn’t shoot until absolutely sure. “You got any holy water I can sip to prove a point here?”

He pulled a huge flask from his jacket and tossed it to her. She winked in thanks and unscrewed the lid. She took a giant swig and groaned in disgust. Her response was followed by dean pulling the hammer back on the gun.

“Slow down, cowboy. I’m just saying it’s pisswarm and stagnant; tastes awful.”

Vivian threw Same the flask back. Dean still wasn’t satisfied. “Sam, go get me the salt and silver knife.”

“Jesus, Dean!”

“Sam! Now!”

As Sam retreated, none too quietly, Viv inspected the clean, straight cut on her arm. She was losing a decent amount of blood; the muscle could be seen in the gash. She winced, shifting her sleeve up higher away from it.

Sam returned with a tub of unopened Morton’s salt and a small, shining dagger. Dean pried the stopper up and began making a wide circle around Vivian. When it was complete, he stepped back and waited for her to move.

Vivian sighed impatiently, stepping out of the trap and stopped right in front of him. She took the dagger from his hand and gently pressed the blade into her original wound. She placed it back in his hands, cocking an eyebrow.

“We good?”

Dean lowered the gun and wrapped her in a crushing hug that lasted forever. It managed to relay ‘hello’, ‘I’m sorry’, and ‘I’m so glad you’re safe’ in one gesture. Vivian could feel both the safe sides of the pistol and the knife pressed into her back. “It’s nice to see you, too,” she laughed.

When they pulled away, she turned to Sam with her arms open. “Hey, kid.”

Sam smiled and obliged. He had to stoop to accommodate the size difference. He was huge and warm and smelled like car freshener. “Is he not letting you out of that Impala,” Vivian inquired, forcing him into a girly to-and-fro rock.

When they were all reacquainted, Vivian rocked back on her heels. “So, I’m thinking I need to do something about this wound.”

Sam gently grabbed her arm, face calm. “Yeah, you definitely need stitches.” Vivian groaned. “I really don’t wanna spend all night in the hospital.”

Dean scoffed. “Hospital. We’re gonna fix you up, alright?”

Walking out into the cold, Vivian’s head began to spin and she realized she couldn’t drive. She felt a pang of uneasiness about leaving her precious, blue Gremlin unattended. “I’m going to need a ride, guys. I’m feeling woozy.” She spotted the Impala, swooning inwardly at its classic beauty.

‘67. Black. Gleaming.

“Shotgun!” She cried.

Sam groaned, “Aw, c’mon!”

She grabbed the handle, giggling. “Hold it!” Dean’s voice echoed, pinched with a worry you’d hear in a stressed mother.
“What now?”

Dean walked over to her, pulling out a blade. “Hold still.”

He cut off a scrap of cloth from the bottom of her shirt. “HEY!”

“Shhh!” He took the material and wiped the blood from her arm before using it to tie the cut up. “I really don’t need you bleeding all over my baby.”

Vivian scoffed. “Now I’ve got to grab my bag for a change of clothes.”

“Hurry up,” Dean snapped, climbing in to start the car. She turned to her beautiful set of wheels, pulling the passenger door open. After the duffel bag’s strap was over her shoulder, she closed the door and opened the trunk. She felt bad enough about leaving her Gremlin behind, she wasn’t about to leave her provisions unmanned. She pulled out her book of details on creatures, traps and verses in Latin and Enochian, her rocksalt shotgun, bowie knife and box of false credentials.

Turning around, she managed to open backdoor of the free seat and piled her things beside Sam, who quirked an eyebrow, amused by her inventory. She spun around to close her trunk. Dean reached over to open her door from the inside: “C’mon, you’re starting to bleed through. You need to sit.”

She climbed in, leaned back and tugged the door closed. They pulled onto the interstate; everything was quiet except for Sam in the backseat, who couldn’t wait to pick up her book and flip through it. Dean broke the silence, “So why’d you take everything out? You plannin’ on movin’ in?”

He turned to grin at her, but Vivian had already fallen asleep.