"Up and at 'em, Dean," an apathetic voice said. Dean twisted under the covers and rubbed his eyes, the previous night coming back to him in sluggish waves. Suddenly he sat up and scouted the rest of the bed for Violet, alarmed at Sam possibly seeing them like they were in their stolen moment last night.
Sam regarded him curiously from the poor excuse for a table in a way that bordered concern.
"Did you lose something?" Sam inquired slowly, articulating carefully. The sound of the shower starting up in the bathroom delivered Dean immediate relief along with the lack of a Violet in his bed. The image and feel of her held in his arms hit him full force then and he reveled in it internally.
"No, I just had some crazy dreams, that's all. Just making sure this is the real world," Dean replied unconvincingly.
"Okay then. Anyway, what's the plan for today? More jobs? Back to Bobby's?"
Dean wasn't sure if the shower was just cheap and boisterous or if he was for some reason honing in on it because of the fact that it was Violet. He attempted to shake such foolish thoughts from his mind.
"Uh, Bobby's I think. Since we've got some more valuable information about why the demons are banning together and popping up so often I figure we tell Bobby in person. It's better that way."
"Yeah. Hopefully this will lead us closer to when the devil is going to show up," Sam agreed, tacking out something on his laptop.
"It will be good for a number of reasons," Dean murmured, his gaze locking in on the bathroom door. He wasn't sure if he was imagining it or if he could actually hear Violet singing. He wasn't sure what to think of that. He really wasn't sure what to think of anything anymore. Last night was a monkey wrench in all the thoughts he'd fabricated about him and Violet.
Comrade or love-interest? Damn emotions and confusion. This is the reason why I never got into that love stuff; it takes effort and more thinking than I really want to do. Why can't it just be obvious and without these ridiculous mind games? God, my head hurts. I want a beer.
Dean then proceeded to mosey over to the mini fridge and grope around for the beverage in question. After a couple unsuccessful grabs, he looked inside and found it to be barren. Empty. No beer.
The rest of last night rushed to meet him.
Violet came out of the bathroom and let loose a cloud of humid steam into the room. She still had a towel in her hands and was attempting to dry off her stringy, wet hair. She caught Dean searching the fridge for beer and blushed deeply, although she hoped she could pass it off as being flushed from the hot shower.
I barely remember what happened last night. All I can think is that I drank a little too much and crawled into bed with Dean. I hope to God my inebriated actions didn't screw up our relationship. Please, Dean, please don't be mad at me or weird with me.
Sam looked over at them looking at each other while Dean tried to harvest a beer from the otherwise empty fridge. He turned back to his computer.
"There should still be some in there. We didn't drink all of it last night," Sam commented, scrolling down a webpage.
Dean stared up at Violet who stared back down at him almost pleadingly. He could easily explain why he was having such an unlucky time retrieving a beer and could also just as easily make Violet the one at complete fault, which she was anyway. But she really, really didn't want him to say a word about it, especially because even though it was assuredly innocent, any way you sliced it it sounded bad.
"Ah, I think I'll pass on the beer. We need to hit the road soon anyway," Dean played off simply, shutting the mini fridge and incongruously winking at her. It left her stupefied.
What am I now, a love-sick cow? she scolded herself while remaining reasonably indifferent. She began to pack up her things in silence.
Half an hour later they were piling into the impala, preparing to make the trek back to ground zero - or more commonly known as Bobby's house.
Most of the ride was pleasantly quiet until Violet piped up with a teasing tone.
"So, what's it like to be brought back to life? Sam first, I think. His death was less excruciating."
Dean glanced at Violet in the rear-view mirror with a scowl. He spied the book held protectively in her grasp and motioned for Sam to confiscate it, which he did promptly. Violet pouted and made a dissatisfied noise before crossing her arms.
"Don't tell me you're into throwing tantrums now," Dean remarked dryly. "Where did you get that book anyway? Didn't we tell you not to go doing stupid things like that? I swear we taught you better."
Violet shrugged innocently and leaned forward.
"I woke up early this morning and decided to go out for a coffee. To my joy, there was a bookstore next to the coffee shop and I decided to take a gander. I found that particular book on the discount rack and since I knew more of the story behind them and Mr. Shirley, I gave in to my curiosity and bought it. I don't see how it's that big of a deal. I just wanted to know what you guys were up to before I became a part of the family."
"Yeah, well, it's nothing important," Sam said listlessly. He glanced at Dean before speaking next. "There's a lot of stuff between the covers of those books that we would rather not relive."
His tone was so solemn Violet just had to drop the sassy-pants act.
"I'm sorry," she apologized genuinely. "I really was just curious. I guess reading it from the outside as opposed to actually living it does make a difference, huh?"
"Exactly. Think of it this way; if someone wrote a book on the worst night of your life and then published it for the world to see, how would you feel? To them and everyone else it's just a story, sure, but you know the truth. To see it written down on paper by some stranger is unrealistic and pretty close to impossible but at the same time you are forced to believe it because you know it actually happened. It solidifies things," Dean explained harshly. He regarded her in the rear-view mirror for a few seconds and thought of another thing to scold her for.
"And don't ever go off on your own, no matter how far away something is. I don't care if it's across the street; always take one of us with you or send us to do or get whatever you need. All those demons need is a minute or two and you are gone. Game over. Everything we've done to protect you up until this point would be wasted. Understand?" Dean continued with the gruff tone, but at the same time he was honestly concerned for her safety. For him it was easier to show it in this way, although most times it didn't get the point across all in one piece.
"God, Dean, you don't have to talk to me like I'm some little girl. I get that you feel responsible for whatever happens to me, but I am very capable of taking care of myself now. You know that. I'm not the old Violet anymore."
Violet sat back with a huff, crossing her arms again and staring out the window at all the trees rushing by. Dean felt immediately conflicted, which was a somewhat new feeling for him.
Didn't I virtually explain that I care for her immensely? Perhaps I was too forward and rough, but how else can I tell her how dangerous it is out there for her? God, here come more complications. Lovely.
"Hey, I'm only saying-"
"Dean, please be quiet. I've heard enough. This conversation has already ended," Violet cut in, surprising both brothers with the unusual, un-Violet-like attitude.
Dean's brow furrowed angrily at her complete lack of respect and he went to tell her just what he thought of it, but no sound would come from his throat. His expression quickly turned to one of panic as his mouth hung open, unable to produce more than the whoosh of breath.
Sam glanced over at him expectantly, obviously having waited for his response to Violet. It only took him a second to figure out what had happened. He turned in his seat and stared Violet right in the eyes.
"Violet, let him go. Reverse whatever you just said. Please. I know he's annoying sometimes but this is unnecessary," Sam asked her quietly. Dean gave him a disapproving look.
Her gaze transferred back and forth between the boys, her expression indifferent. She sighed heavily then and rubbed her forehead with the whole of her hand.
"God, this power is getting on my very last nerve. Speak, Dean, if you want," Violet tried, her voice irritated and tired.
"Violet?" Dean tested, thrilled to have his speech ability return. His eyes floated up to the rear-view where he found himself staring at Violet in her brooding ponderousness. "I didn't mean to talk to you like you were a little girl. But you do understand what I'm saying, don't you?"
"Yes," she replied after a time, her eyes still refusing to meet his reflected in the mirror.
"We just don't want anything to happen to you that could be preventable," Dean explained, lightening his tone considerably. He attempted to be softer in his delivery. Apparently it worked because Violet's brown eyes finally flickered up to match his gaze.
"Yeah, I understand. I'm sorry. I'm just high-strung because…" Violet sighed hard and it was more of a frustrated noise directed at herself. "I've just been thinking about my life in the next year. And wondering if I'll even live to see the end of it."
The three of them let this confession sink it thoroughly.
"We'll make sure you survive this next year," Dean put in, beginning to think for himself what the next few months might hold for them.
"Thanks, Dean. I like that thought. But in the end you can't protect me from myself."
No one had a suitable response. Even Dean couldn't come up with a cliché or snarky comeback to combat her comment with. Unfortunately, though, it was more of an observation than a simple comment, and everyone immediately knew it. Conversation ceased then and there.
Eventually Violet managed to fall asleep amongst the all-encompassing silence in the cab of the impala and all the while Dean continued to ponder her words.