Dean's fingers are twitching madly. There is a lot of smoke in the air and it is hazy as fuck. "How the hell did this fire start?" Dean questions himself out loud but it just sounds like he's speaking inside his own mind. Everything is blurry around the edges and it is almost impossible to see anything in front of him. But he makes out a little pony neighing about five feet ahead.

"What in the world is a Shetland pony doing here," Dean manages to wheeze out because the haze is becoming worse and the fire smells like it is closer than ever before.

Suddenly, BA-ROOOM, a loud noise startles the man into a fighting stance. The pony, equally shocked, sprouts wings and bolts for the next mountain over in the distance, leaving the Winchester alone and extremely confused.

There is a fluttering of noise and suddenly, Castiel is there, looking fuzzy in Dean's distorted vision. The angel is donning large sunglasses and gripping a long, wicked-looking scythe in his hands.

"DEAN," Castiel says gravely, "You must get out of here."

"What in the flipping shithole is going on here? Did you start the fire?" Dean demands immediately, voice unwavering despite the odd sight in front of him. "What the hell is with the shades?"

"DEAN," Castiel booms again in his gruff voice, unruffled in the slightest. "You are not supposed to be here. These glasses help me to see through the Devil Fog. The Devil Fog has you in its unforgiving clutches and you are not seeing things as you should. Are you familiar with Silent Hill?"

"What?" Dean is thoroughly confused. And then, "Where the hell did you go? I can't see you anymore!" Dean shouts as the gloom engulfs the image of his friend and Castiel all but disappears into nothingness. "FUCKING SHIT."

Dean starts walking. He walks and he walks and sometimes it feels like he's going uphill, but he feels like he's just getting nowhere. Then he starts to smell something else.

"Demons," he declares to the fog around him and the scent of sulphur assaults his sensitive nose. "Could do with that damn scythe," he grumbles to the air, hoping Castiel would hear him. No such luck.

The scent of sulphur gets stronger as the haze around him starts to get even thicker. He can barely see his arms stretched out in front of him. "Well this is no good," he muses to himself cheerfully.

Dean rummages through his pockets, hoping to find something in one of them. Bingo. He pulls out a flashlight and turns it on, shines it through the acrid mist.

He sees nothing but more mist. It is silent as the grave all around him. He continues his journey towards... well, onwards at any rate.

A grating squeak emits loudly from his left. He yelps and relinquishes his hold on the flashlight. It clatters off into the unknown with an ominous echo that is all but swallowed up by the shrouding fog.

"H-hello?" Dean tries in what he deems is a manly voice. "Is somebody out there?" He is aware that he sounds just a little bit afraid.

Something rolls along the asphalt and towards his feet. A small item by the looks of it. Dean bends down to examine it just as WOOOSH, a huge poleaxe comes hurtling through the air, slicing where Dean's head has just been moments ago.

Dean is vaguely aware that he is under attack and while his mind screams at him to RUN THE FUCK IN THE OPPOSITE DIRECTION, he takes a split second to register that the thing on the ground is actually an unlit candle. He scoops it up and makes a run for it.

There is something chasing him. He can feel it. He can feel the rumble of giant feet pounding on the ground, he can hear the fog around him being disturbed. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," Dean says to no one in particular and chucks the unlit candle behind him.

He hears an explosion just feet away and wonders if his candle was actually a grenade. That would be ridiculous, he tells himself, and continues to run.

It doesn't sound as if the thing is chasing him anymore and Dean slows to a trot.

A flutter of wings again and suddenly Castiel is all up in his personal space, grabbing him by his collar and yelling into his stunned face. His scythe is no longer with him.

"DEAN," Castiel snarls like a drugged hound, looking immensely terrifying with those dark sunglasses on. "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?"

Dean is completely dazed and bewildered. "What the fuck is going ON, Cas?" he spits out viciously and struggles in Castiel's grasp, which is ridiculously strong. "Where the hell am I and why can't you just get us OUT?"

"You don't UNDERSTAND," Castiel is looking stern but a little worried at the same time under those jarring sunglasses. "There are things YOU DON'T FULLY COMPREHEND HERE. SO LISTEN TO ME. You can't-"

The ground shifts violently and they both go careening sideways. As soon as Dean hit the ground, Castiel is gone again.

Dean swears dramatically. "Seriously, what is happening here?" he growls out to the fog. "Am I in Stephen King's fucking brain?" The man kicks out in front of him, sending some of the mist swirling about his legs.

Dean hears a steady trickling of water nearby so he takes a cautious step toward the sound. Water, he thinks, suddenly thirsty. Need water.

He comes to a small stream in the middle of an intersection. He notes that there are stoplights that aren't working just overhead. The asphalt stops where the stream begins. There are reeds and lily pads in the flowing water. It is a strange sight.

He all but throws himself into the stream, taking deep gulps as his lips touch the water. He is so, so thirsty.

A frog swims past his head as he's dunking it in. He spots it and picks it up gingerly, looks at it suspiciously. "Where did you come from?" he asks in wonder. "Where did any of this come from?"

The frog's webbed feet make shlucking noises against his wet palm and it hops off his hand quickly, back into the stream. It disappears from Dean's sight, washed away by the fast-moving current.

"Dumb frog," Dean says, then plunges a hand into the water. His fingers curl around something large, soft and fuzzy. He pulls it up and out of the stream.

It is a disembodied limb. The disembodied limb of a Shetland pony.

Dean immediately drops it back into the water and clambers out of the stream in horror.

"DEAN." It is Castiel again, and Dean turns around swiftly and clamps his fingers around the angel's wrist and punches the angel square across the face.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?" Dean demands, gesturing frantically at the stream, at everything in general.

Castiel looks vaguely unimpressed and says, "You are drinking out of the Well of Sorrows. This is the source of all of your tears."

Dean stares at Castiel's scowling face for a moment, as though convinced the angel is completely insane. Then he realises something.

"Your glasses. They didn't..." And Dean yanks Castiel's sunglasses off of his face and shoves them in front of his own eyes. Suddenly, he can see.

He can see. Everything.

"Oh my God."