Eighteen months earlier…
"Isn't it bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the ceremony?"
"That's an old wives' tale. At least I think it is."
In our former lines of work, one would think that we would be the first people to believe in every old wives' tale to hit the books. But that is part of the old life. The wedding is a symbol of the new one, so I do my best to ignore the lingering tension. I look down at my attire, not amused in the least.
"I can't believe I'm getting married in blue jeans. With no makeup."
I had never pictured it this way – getting married without a long white flowing dress, my hair tied back in a ponytail holder, looking all shiny. I'm in jeans and a black T-shirt, for God's sake. I had no family or friends to speak of to stand for me, but this is part of why things are changing so much.
"You look beautiful. And besides, I have Chap Stick, if that helps. It's sort of like makeup. Besides, we're in the middle of Death Valley, so it will make you feel better."
"We're not in Death Valley. It's just a California desert."
"Whatever. It's abandoned. For miles."
I snicker slightly, loving his sweet ignorance. He pulls the Chap Stick out of his pocket, only to add it to his own lips before handing it to me. Instead of taking it, I kiss him, pulling the majority of the medicated balm to my own mouth.
"Thank you," I say with a smile, "now leave and let me…finish my hair. Or whatever I can do here to feel like I'm actually a bride."
The ceremony is quick. There isn't much to do or say, as neither of us is religious and we have no one to say anything about us. We simply exchange rings and a kiss and that's it. It's funny that when we kiss, there is no difference. It is the same as before we were married and probably the same as it always will be. I assume it is because we were always meant to be together.
We sit in one of the desert chapel pews, alone, as the justice of the peace is cleaning up in the back room.
"You don't look so happy about being the new Mrs. Winchester," he said, grinning at me and nudging me playfully in the shoulder.
"Oh, no," I sigh, "it's not that. I'm just thinking about everyone. Dawn, Willow, everyone. I just wish they were here."
I feel him place his arm around my shoulders and I sink into his side.
"I know how you feel. I don't have anyone anymore either. That's what you're for," he kisses the top of my head.
The massacre of our family members and friends months earlier flashes through my mind and I do the best I can to shove the vicious thoughts aside. It's nothing but darkness on a day that should be happy. All I see is black eyes, blood, and torn flesh. It is why we fled Sunnydale and are not planning on returning. We decided to place our work behind us due to the amount of pain it causes us and start a new life as man and wife. It seems a lot easier than done. My mind is about to relax and slide back to the present moment when I hear a scream from the back room.
"You can't be here," we hear the justice of the peace say, his voice shaking, "this is a house of God."
He is thrown from the back to the alter before we can stand. I turn to see a woman with long blond hair standing in the aisle. She's dressed in tight red leather and skinny blue jeans. How she can walk in the desert in high heeled boots as high as hers is beyond me. Her eyes are black in color.
"Shows what you know," she says, cocking her head and then tilting it in our direction, "hello, Dean."
I step in front of him, instinctively, which is strange because he tries to do the same. He seizes my arm and shoves me behind him, despite how strong he knows I am. I don't budge, more out of respect than anything else. If the time comes, I'll move.
"Who the hell are you?"
"Surprised you don't recognize me, regardless of this fabulous new host."
The demon does a bit of a sashay. When our reactions are blank in nature, she reverts back to her original stance. Her brows are furrowed.
You shoved a knife into my chest. My own knife, mind you."
"Ruby?"
The way he says that signals fear in me.
"Damn straight."
"But, how…?"
"Does it even matter anymore? Christ, how many things have you done in life that people shouldn't be able to do? I mean, shouldn't you be dead? And your tiny little Slayer wife over there?"
He doesn't have anything to say to that and I can't argue it.
"You know you're not getting out of here, right?" he growls, tightening his grip on me.
"That may be true, but I can damn well guarantee you won't."
Her lips turn upwards into a sinister grin and the chapel feels as if it has blown apart. I realize when I finally come to that I am held against the right wall, roughly six feet in the air. The justice of the peace is lying on the floor beneath me, blood spilling out of his skull. There is no way he can still be alive. I do my best to move even my fingers, but find it impossible. Unable to turn my head, I move my eyes as far as possible to find my husband a few feet down the wall. He's still unconscious, but appears to be breathing and there is an army of demons standing beneath us, just past the poor dead man. The pews have been torn from the floor and all the unwelcome visitors are staring at us, their eyes black. The one he called Ruby is within the crowd, not the leader, but none of them seem to be.
"What do you want?" I ask, barely able to speak.
Nearly all the breath is gone from me. It is very difficult to say anything. There is a crushing feeling in my chest that tightens with every passing moment.
They smile, nearly in unison, the white teeth contrasting greatly with the black eyes. It's terrifying.
"You and your husband's heads on a fucking stick. How's that grab you, Goldilocks?"
I'm too lightheaded to even focus on who says that. All I can center on is trying to stay awake. That is when I feel movement to the left of me. My eyes turn back to Dean, who is incredibly weak. I know he doesn't want me to know this, but I can see it. He isn't going to last much longer. He can't say anything and before I am able to tell him it is okay, a scream tears from him, one he is clearly trying to hide. The hideous creatures underneath us laugh.
"Leave him alone, you miserable pieces of shit!"
They don't pay attention to me in the slightest and my eyes involuntarily close when I hear his skin tear from his body. From the feeling of my own insides, they have moved on to me and I lose consciousness again.
I come to on my stomach. My skin is parched from head to toe. When I am able to open my eyes and see clearly, I see that the chapel is in ruins, turned to numerous pieces of stone debris. The sun is high in the summer sky, scorching my skin. The demons have vanished.
It takes a few minutes for me to pull myself to my feet. My lower leg is crushed by some of the rubble, so I find myself limping through it. Every muscle in my body feels torn and the bones bruised, if not cracked.
"Dean?" I call, desperately. "Where are you?"
I limp around, finally out of the remains and find him a few feet away, lying face down in the sand.
"Dean?" I ask, shaking him. It's a ridiculous notion, as I already know he's dead. My mind doesn't want to accept it, however.
"Please, honey, wake up, please," I say, my voice shaking and quieting the more I speak, "please, just wake up…"
It's too late.