Chapter Text
“You have to!” Your mother insisted.
“No. I really don’t.” You shot back, turning away from her.
“You do.” She repeats, grabbing your shoulder and forcing you to look back at her.
You stare at her in defiance, eyes blazing with anger. She stares right back at you, but with eyes more tired than angry.
“Please.” She pleads, speaking more softly now. “At least look at the ring.” She indicates the small pale blue box she was holding.
You glance at it briefly. “No. I don’t care to see a ring I’m not accepting.”
“It’s not up to you.” Your dad says in a low voice, speaking for the first time since the argument began. He had been sitting in the corner of the room on an armchair, body folded into himself, in quiet contemplation.
“Of course it is.” You told him.
“They said it wasn’t.” he reminds you.
“They can go to hell.” You’re surprised by the venom in your voice.
“Watch your mouth, young lady!” You mom interjects.
“Why? Because you really believe they were angels?” you ask her.
“They were. You saw the miracles they performed.”
You knew she was talking about the way they cured your father of his cancer. It was stage four and he had exhausted all treatment options. At the time you had felt grateful and found yourself willing to believe for the first time that there was some divine goodness, some higher power, looking out for people. Then the other shoe dropped. The people, identifying themselves as angels, had told you they had needed you. Your heart sank at the knowledge that even angels had conditions to their help.
Life had made you a cynic and untrusting of people, and partly it was the example of your parents who were trusting to the point of naivety. You knew they were taken advantage of and used by people all the time, but you wouldn’t be. You kept your circle small and had no problem saying no or getting your way. Normally your parents would never be so stubborn about a decision you had made. It surprised you to see them have such strong convictions for something.
Perhaps it was your dad’s cancer that had changed them. You knew your mom would was scared the supposed angels would take away the miracle they had performed and the cancer would return. You knew your dad felt he owed them for what they did. Either way, it didn’t mean they could offer your life up as a reward.
After curing your dad, the angels had explained they were really here for you. They needed you to follow heaven’s plans and marry a particular man. You had laughed out loud when they said this. Not that you believed they were joking – they had no sense of humour – but to let them know how ridiculous you found their request. The angels had stared at you with hardened, unreadable expressions, unfazed by your reaction.
“His name is Dean Winchester.” The angel in a trench coat had told you. “This is from him.” He had held out the pale blue box containing the ring. You had refused to take it. After watching you nervously, your mother had reached out and thanked the angel.
“Tell this Winchester I’m not some whore he can buy with a ring.” You had told them in a flash of anger. “Find someone else.”
“No. You will marry him. We are not asking.” The other angel had stepped forward. His word sounded menacing, a barely veiled threat. Something about him had made you nervous and you had stepped back, not saying anything back.
“The wedding is in five days. We will come get you.” The first angel had said, more gently. Without another word, both of them had vanished in front of your eyes.
This happened three days ago. It was almost the day before your supposed wedding and you had been pretending nothing was going to happen. You wouldn’t let it. But tonight your mom had tried working on you again, worried you would create a scene the day of. She was right to be worried. You were definitely planning on violent resistance if it came to it.
“Please, darling.” Your mom’s voice is barely a whisper. “I can’t lose him.” She speaks quietly so your father can’t hear. You glance at him, cured but still weakened mentally from the pain he had known the past year. Your heart aches for him and for your mom. You were stubborn, but your parents were your one weakness. Your heart sinks as you feel your resolve weaken and fade away.
“Ok.” You say, deadpan. You take the box with the ring and walk up to your room.
You lay in the dark, on your old double bed, staring at the walls, still painted a bright blue. You had moved back in to help your mother a year ago. But something about being back in here made you feel so infantilized, especially after the current argument where you had felt like a child trying to fight for your basic rights. You’re still holding the box. You don’t open it. You don’t want to see the stupid ring.
You wondered instead about Dean Winchester. What kind of man would agree to marry some random woman. If he believed in angels, he must be some virgin church nerd. You had known plenty of them growing up and irrationally despised them. They were weirdly conservative perverts and usually misogynists in your experience. Now you would be stuck with one for life. You doubted the angels would take kindly to divorce. You close your eyes and let your mind go blank. You would be fine. You could handle him, whoever it was, and you’d find a way to get out of this relationship too.
The next day you don’t get out of bed until noon. You had been awake much longer but wanted to avoid the world for a bit, avoid the reality you would be facing. It was the day before the wedding. You weren’t sure where it would take place or even when. You weren’t about to go buy a dress for something you so wholeheartedly believed was stupid and you wouldn’t give any thought to preparations.
But when you go downstairs, there’s a dress on the couch. Your mom comes out of the kitchen as she hears you come down. “They left that for you.” She says, indicating the dress.
“Lucky me.” You say rolling your eyes. So they were serious about this after all. After five days you were starting to hope maybe they might have been some kind of shared hallucination. But that dress was real and solid. You begin to wonder how they knew your size but then remembered they had cured cancer with a touch.
After breakfast, you mom is hovering around you as you sit next to the dress, watching TV. “Don’t you want to see it?’ she asks anxiously.
“Nope. I couldn’t care less.” You tell her, not looking away from the screen. “You can help yourself if you’re curious, though.” You tell her when she continues to look your way anxiously.
She immediately unzips the bag and pulls out a long white dress. Despite yourself, you can’t help but glance at it from the corner of your eye. It was kind of nice. Simple and strapless but elegant. You might even have liked it in normal circumstances. You stifled a laugh at the thought of angels designing dresses, or even buying them. You wonder who had said yes to your dress.
“It’s lovely, isn’t it?” Your mom asks in excitement. “Oh honey, won’t you even look it at it?” She asks in despair.
“No. I don’t care.”
“But it’s your wedding! I’ve dreamt of this moment for ages.”
“You dreamt of my being forced to marry some stranger?” You ask, incredulously.
“Don’t see it like that!”
“But that’s what it is. I’m going along with it for you and dad. But I will not pretend I am enjoying it.” You switch off the TV and throw down the remote. Standing up, you leave the room without a second glance.
You spend the rest of the day back in your room, ignoring all calls and attempts at conversation, your only haven from the rest of the world. As you enjoy your solitude, your heart sinks that this might be the last time you are totally and completely alone and free. You think again of Dean Winchester who starting from tomorrow would be next to you daily. You feel anger and resentment towards him build up in you all night.
By that morning you hated him. But in a few hours you would also marry him. The absurdity of this was almost too much to bear. You had finally looked seriously at the dress you were given, having had to put it on. It was early afternoon and sunlight had lit up your room like a floodlight. It made the dress look like it was glowing white, as you observed yourself in the mirror. You had left your hair down and only allowed your mom to apply the barest of make up. If you had your way you’d show up in sweats. You mom pins a long veil to your hair and steps back to admire the effect.
“You look beautiful darling.” She says tearing up.
“Thanks mom.” You say softly. You knew this wasn’t really her fault and you knew how much excitement she had had about weddings, especially yours. You decided to stow away your anger and be nice to your parents. Who knows when you would see them again once you left with your new husband.