Your heart pounds behind your ribs. You think it’s nerves. He stands across from you, dressed perfectly. Smile poised. Steady hands. Not a hair out of place. He’s everything you thought you wanted. The officiant clears his throat. “Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

You hesitate, just a second. Just long enough to feel the weight of every eye in the room. You swallow the scream clawing up your throat. “I do,” you whisper. ‘He’s safe’, you keep telling yourself.

The officiant turns to him. “And do you take her to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

“I do,” he says.

’he’s safe’

The officiant smiles. “Then-” He pauses. “If there is anyone here who knows why these two should not be joined in holy matrimony… speak now, or forever hold your peace.”

The silence stretches.

BOOM

The chapel doors slam open like thunder. Gasps erupt. A woman drops her bouquet. And standing there, framed by sunlight and dust and war, is Dean Winchester. He looks like hell. Blood on his shirt. A torn sleeve. Scratches down one arm. He’s breathing hard like he ran here. Like nothing, not even God Himself, was gonna stop him.

“No,” Dean growls, voice raw and ragged. “This isn’t happening. Not today.” You take a step back without realizing it. Dean stalks forward, ignoring the panicked whispers, the priest trying to protest, the guests frozen in horror. He pulls something from inside his coat. A blade.

“Dean?!” You gasp. “What the hell are you-“

“He’s not human,” Dean says, voice breaking. “I tracked him halfway across the goddamn country. I watched him wear skin like a suit. And I know what he does to the people he marries.”

You’re frozen. Shaken up. Your almost-husband turns to you, still smiling, but his grip on your hand tightens until your bones ache. “You said ‘I do,’” he murmurs, softly, possessively. “You’re mine now.” You look into his eyes. And for the first time, you really see him.

Dean raises the blade. “Let her go.”

“No,” the thing says, head tilting like it’s amused. “She chose me.”