golden | dean winchester

|CHAPTER ONE|

Remi sits curled up outside, her legs thrown over the side of her chair as she rests her book on her lower abdomen. A slight breeze washes over her as she bathes in the sun, a small grin pulling at her lips.

The peaceful afternoon comes to a stop rather quickly when someone— a much awaited someone— clears their throat, causing the girl jolt in fright and let an embarrassing yelp escape her lips.

"Sorry," the man says sheepishly.

Remi scrambles to sit up, turning to face the man and losing her breath at the sight of him. It's too soon, she thinks desperately. I'm not ready to talk about it yet, I'm not ready for him yet.

A flash of recognition crosses Dean's face and he smiles widely, his eyes flickering across Remi's figure. "My dreams have never felt this real,"

Realization dawns on the blonde and she smiles softly, relaxing back in her chair. A dream, she thinks in relief. He thinks it's a dream.

"Although," Dean pauses and his eyebrows furrow. "I can't really remember ever falling asleep."

"You must've been tired," Remi says.

Dean's eyes brighten at the sound of her voice and he sits next to her, letting his body slump into the chair. "I'm always tired,"

The blonde turns her body toward him, pulling her legs underneath her. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Dean snorts, looking away from the girl.

"It's a dream," she reminds him gently. "It's not like I have anyone else to tell."

His eyes study her intensely, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he contemplates. "In a few months," he swallows dryly. "In a few months, I'll be going to hell."

Remi feels as if her feet are swept from underneath her, her chest tightening as all the air escapes her lungs. "Hell?" She rasps.

"Yeah," he chuckles dryly. "Yeah, hell."

"Did you make a demon deal?" She wonders.

Dean's eyes cut into her, his lips pursed. "How do you know about demon deals?"

Remi smiles weakly, "it's your subconscious, Dean."

"Right," he mumbles. "This is the one place I feel at peace, you know?"

"Your dreams?"

"No," he heaves a sigh. "Here, with you—whoever the hell you are. I dream about you and this place sometimes, and it's the best damn sleep I've ever had."

Remi hums in agreement, "your brain tries to create a place of comfort in times of unbalance or tragedy. It's only normal that your dreams would be an escape."

"I'm not unbalanced," Dean argues.

The Williams raises her eyebrows, shrugging her shoulders. "I never said you were. Who am I to say that, anyway? We don't know each other, Dean."

"Yeah," he cocks his head. "Who are you?"

Remi smiles, and it's bittersweet. "You wouldn't remember even if I told you."

Dean sits up straighter, "what makes you think that?"

A sympathetic look washes over Remi's face. "You never really remember this place when you wake up, do you?"

Dean falls silent.

"You remember flashes and snippets of the time you spend here," she continues.

"How do you know that?" The Winchester finally snaps. "Something's off about you."

Remi's eyes fall, her shoulders slumping in defeat.

"There has to be—" he begins helplessly. "There has to be a reason why you're the only good thing I dream about."

The Williams girl lets the cool breeze wash over her, her eyes trailing over to the setting sun. "I dream about you too," she confesses. The pressure on her chest lightens, her lungs fill with air. "Every night, every time I close my eyes. I don't have the pleasure of forgetting."

"Who are you?" Dean questions.

"My name is Remi," she tells him.

"Who are you to me?" He specifies.

Remi swallows the selfish part of her that screams, everything. I'm supposed to be everything to you.

"A friend," she whispers.

"Am I dreaming, Remi?"

The girl looks at him, her lips pulled into a sad smile. "No, Dean." She clears her throat, "you're not dreaming."

His eyes search her face, "but I'm not awake either, am I?"

Remi's heartbeat quickens, her fingers beginning to drum across her thigh. "No,"

"Where am I?" He asks, "what's going on?"

The air shifts and Remi shakes her head, her eyes stinging. "I'm not sure you're ready yet."

"Ready for what?" His voice is hollow.

"The truth,"