golden | dean winchester

|CHAPTER FIVE|

Remi sits in her front yard hunched over a canvas, a pallet of paints beside her and a wine drunk smile gracing her lips. The sun beats down on her but a cool breeze soothes the heat of it, her pale sundress hanging off of her loose form.

"What a sight," Dean's familiar drawl rings out.

The Williams girl looks up, squinting against the sunlight as Dean stands in front of her. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"You look..." his voice dies out as his eyes trail over her figure. "For the first time since I've met you, you look relaxed."

"Mhm," the blonde clumsily motions to the bottle of wine at her side. "You can thank the booze."

Dean barks out a laugh, heaving a sigh as he lowers himself down to the ground beside Remi. "I didn't know you were an artist," he taps the canvas with his finger. "I thought you were just an introverted bookworm."

Remi smiles cheekily, "it's hard not to be introverted when you're all alone, Dean."

The Winchester grabs the bottle of wine and reads the label, rolling his eyes with an amused smile as he places it back by her side. "What are we celebrating?"

Remi's face darkens. "Not celebrating anything," she grumbles. "Drowning my sorrows, more like."

"What sorrows?" Dean raises his eyebrows. "You get to spend the rest of your undead life in heaven."

Remi looks up shyly, her cheeks flushing under the Winchester's gaze. "We're not gonna see each other for a while after this."

Dean's lips part in surprise, their gazes intense as they meet.

"Way to make it sounds like you're gonna miss me," he smirks.

Remi gives him a look, swiping her paint brush across his face in one swift motion. A giggle escapes her lips as he gapes, blinking furiously against the red streak across his features. His lip curls and he lunges toward her, the girl shrieking when she narrowly misses the way his hands grab for her.

"No, no, no, no!" She begs through her laughter, her eyes crinkling at the sides as she waits for his next move.

He slumps back, his eyes assessing her smile. "You look nice when you laugh,"

Remi collapses onto her back, spreading her arms as she stares up at the sky. Her head lolls toward Dean when he copies her actions, the duo lying in silence.

"When's the next time we'll see each other?" Dean asks her.

The Williams blinks back the pressure in her eyes. "When you go to hell," she replies tightly.

A look of confusion crosses Dean's face, his eyebrows furrowing.

"Oh, Dean," she breathes, her voice thick. "There are infinite deaths in hell. As long as you die, you'll keep coming back here until your soul returns."

"Infinite deaths," he croaks. "Can you—how much do you know about hell?"

"Enough," she tells him. "I know enough."

"Can you tell me about it?"

Remi gives him a cautious look, biting the inside of her cheek.

"It's not like I'll remember it anyway," he urges.

The blonde flips over onto her belly, resting on her elbows as she looks at the Winchester. "It's torture, literally. They'll torture you over and over again until you die."

"So I guess that's it then," Dean's face grows solemn. "I thought I was doing the right thing— saving Sam. I'm positive I did the right thing."

"You did," Remi reassures him. "You were selfless and you saved your brother, like anybody else would've done."

"But the difference is, I'm being punished for it."

"When you tempt death—"

Dean huffs, "why do you keep agreeing that hell is a suitable punishment?"

"I'm not," she argues firmly. "Do you think I want to see you in pain for all eternity?"

Dean stills, "see me?"

Remi sits up on her knees, resting her hands on her thighs. "I told you, Dean. I dream of you too."

He sits up, bracing himself with his palms. "Those don't sound like dreams, they—it sounds like—"

"Is it really that surprising?" The blonde wonders. "We share a heaven, Dean. We dream about each other. I don't think seeing your time in hell is that much of a shock."

Dean side eyes her, a strange look gracing his face as he stares at her. "All of this is weird," he grunts. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were a witch."

Remi wrinkles her nose, "not even close, Winchester."

"How old were you when you died?" He blurts out, his eyes searching her face.

The Williams raises her eyebrows, "um, I died when I was twenty-one. I still count my birthdays up here though because it makes me feel better."

Dean chuckles, "sounds like you."

"You don't even know me," she reminds him.

"But I—" he pauses for a long second. "I want to, Remi."

The air shifts and Remi's face contorts into panic. "No," she breathes. "It hasn't even been that long, we haven't had time—"

"You'll be okay," he tells her sternly. "You've gotten this far without me, you can—"

"That was before I—" she cuts herself off.

"Before you what?" He urges, his face anxious for her reply.

Instead of answer, Remi pulls him in for a tight hug. Her eyes well with tears as he returns the gesture, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tightens her grip. "You'll be okay too," she says. "I know you will be. You're strong, and I believe in you."

"Thank you," he whispers agains the side of her head.

Remi attempts to press herself closer against him, but he's already gone.