They just killed a nest of vampires, they are dirty and tired. She's pulled back her hair and is ready to fall asleep against the window, using his leather jacket as a pillow. Dean looks at her out of the corner of his eyes while trying to drive. It's still the afternoon, but the highway is empty. She's curled on her side, a cut under eye, she's beautiful and fires a gun just as good as he does.
"Hey," he says, reaching over to poke her in the thigh. He turns down the music.
"What?" she doesn't face him. She presses her fingers against the cool glass.
He licks his lips glances at her, then back at the road again. "You wanna get married?"
They're in Alabama and stop off in the first major city they find. She goes to a dollar store and gets a plastic tiara with a white veil, pinning it to her hair. She wears it down. He washes the blood from his face and changes shirts.
For once they use their real names, so in the end they'll have something real for themselves. The ceremony lasts ten minutes, they kiss and smile and he gives her his silver ring that just fits on her thumb.
The wedding license is put in a metal lock box that he keeps in the trunk of the car. They go to Denny's and get cheeseburgers and pie; they don't agree one what kind to split. He gets apple while she gets something gooey and filed with chocolate. She keeps the veil on the whole time. Some people stare, but who cares? She kisses him with whip cream on her lips.
Instead of driving to the next town, they get a motel room for the night. He pays in cash while she waits in the car, chewing on a pen, looking down at her hand with the silver ring. He comes to the door of the car, opens it and offers his hand. He helps her out of the car, then picks her up, to carry her over the threshold of the room.
She giggles and kicks her legs, kissing him as soon as they are in the room; he kicks shut the door and drops her on the bed. She toes off her shoes, and moves up so her head is on the pillows. He locks the door, turns off the lights. He looks down at her, dressed in dirty clothes, a silly child's tiara on her head; green eyes and a million dollar smile and he is so insanely in love that it hurts a little.
"What are you looking at?" she asks, all ready unbuttoning her jeans for him.
He shakes his head. "Nothin'." And goes to yank her jeans off the rest of the way by the feet and crawls over her. He wants to say things to her, express every thought, but all he can do is move strands of hair from her face, lightly tracing down her jawline. In that motion, the tenderness of his fingers on her face, she knows, she feels. She devours him with kisses. Off with his shirt, his pants. He tells her she's beautiful as he kisses down her neck and she runs her hands over his biceps, between the burned finger prints in his shoulder; she's never once asked about them, even after all this time.
They've had sex before, on several occasions and for different reasons; anger, pain, comfort, just plain horniness, but tonight is different. He calls it love, but is too afraid to ask her.
They sleep in their underwear, curled together as one person under the thin sheets. They leave when the sun rises, back into the car and on the road, off to kill something else, save some other person. She still wears the veil and they hold hands on the drive.