golden | dean winchester

|CHAPTER SEVEN|

Remi wakes to the echoing screams of her nightmare, her clothes clinging to her sweaty form as she twists in her sheets. She almost face plants the floor in an attempt to rush to the bathroom, her form hunching over the toilet as she pukes.

"Are you okay?"

The blonde groans loudly, collapsing against the wal in anguish. "Of course you'd die at a time like this,"

Dean barks out a laugh, a pinch of a grimace in his face as he does so. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. Can't exactly control that."

"I know," Remi whispers. She pulls her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. "How are you feeling?"

"Tortured," he deadpans. "How are you feeling?"

Remi meets his eyes, "tortured."

He pulls an apologetic face, "how much can you see?"

"I don't really see anything like I expected," she explains. "I hear and I feel."

"You can feel what's happening to me?" Dean asks, an expression of horror gracing his features.

Remi pushes her hair back, cringing at the damp mess of curls at the crown of her head. "Sometimes," she tells him. "Only when it's really intense— only when I really miss you."

Dean inhales sharply, "any minute now."

Remi buries her head into her knees.

"Don't wait up," he tells her.

She doesn't reply, but they both know she will.