golden | dean winchester

|CHAPTER THREE|

A yawn slips through Remi's lips as she pulls her chair closer to the edge of the porch, the sun's rays peeking through the trees as day breaks. Her eyes blur against the morning sky, exhaustion weighing her body down into the cushioned chair.

"Man," Dean's voice slices through the air. A smirk graces his lips when he notices Remi's tense posture at the surprise. "Disappearing in the middle of our conversations is getting really old."

"The soul wants what the soul wants," Remi mutters.

"So..." Dean trails off. "Heaven?"

"Heaven," the blonde nods slowly. She sits in her chair and stretches out, letting her head loll in Dean's direction when he pulls a chair up next to her.

"So where's everyone else?" The Winchester questions.

"Heaven's personalized," Remi's lips tug into a smile at Dean's confused expression. "Everyone's idea of heaven is different. What you want is what you get."

"And this—" Dean's eyes search the exterior of the house, his green apple orbs meeting Remi's in the end. "This is what I want?"

Remi laughs, her gaze flitting down to Dean's mouth as his lips part in awe at the sound. "It'd be very flattering if it was, but I doubt it. This is my idea of heaven."

"So why am I in your heaven?" Dean answers his own questions before Remi can think of a reply. "Friends get to share?"

"Something like that," she side eyes him.

"You're really vague, you know that?"

"I do know that," the Williams girl agrees. "I wasn't— when I was alive, I mean. I was an open book."

"Why does it have to be different now?" Dean wonders.

"There are some things I can't speak about," she looks at him, her eyes searching his expression for something—for anything. "There are things I know—things I can't share yet."

Dean doesn't comment on her cryptic words, choosing to leave the topic alone for now. "How did you die?"

Remi's gaze sharpens, "what?"

"Um," Dean blinks. "I asked how you died. Or— or when you died."

Remi shifts in her chair, resting her head against the side of it as she turns to face Dean completely. "I died two and a half years ago," she informs him. "Car accident. The hospital in my town was over it's capacity so the ambulance had to go to the next town over. By the time they got there, the damage was irreversible and there was just—" she looks conflicted as she speaks. "They couldn't do anything for me."

"Where are we?" He asks softly.

"In heaven, Dea—"

"No," he cuts her off. "Why here? What does this place mean to you?"

"Nothing yet," she flashes him a gentle smile.

"Why do I keep coming here?" He questions, his eyes pleading. "My soul finds this place whether I'm alive or dead and there has to be a reason."

"I told you," she huffs. "We're friends."

"Not where I'm from, we're not," he grumbles. "If we're friends, it's by your memory— not mine."

"You don't think some people are just destined to meet?"

Green apple meets sapphire blue.

"What?" He snorts, "like fate or something?"

Remi shrugs, making a face. "Or something,"

"You're a pest," he accuses. "You're cryptic and vague and you refuse to tell me the things I need to know and—"

"—and yet you still like it, don't you?"

Dean gapes, his eyes widening. "Excuse me?"

The blonde rests her chin on her palm, staring up at him with amused eyes. "You like the challenge— you like the building frustration you feel every time you come here."

"Well," Dean coughs. "Now I just feel violated."

Remi hums, not saying anything.

"Are you ever gonna tell me the truth?" He wonders.

"Stick around long enough and you might just find out, Winchester."

Before Dean's lips can part with a reply, he's gone in an instant— as if he were never there in the first place.