The first thing Dean woke to was darkness. It took him mere seconds to figure out he was in a box, and a few more minutes to realize it was a coffin. He knew only 2 things. One was that if he was buried in the coffin, he had a limited amount of air and he'd have to get himself out if he didn't want to go back to hell. The second thing was his name. Dean. His name was Dean. But as for anything else- it was gone. All he remembered was Hell, as for who he was before- it was all gone. He had no idea who he was. Well, one problem at a time. He brought his fist back as far as he could given his limited range of motion and thrust it forward into the abyss, which was quickly stopped by the thick wood around him. He tried again and again, going on and on until he broke through the coffins front and dirt began to pour in onto his chest. He tore at the wood until more and more dirt began pouring into the space around him. When he was running out of room and the soil was pouring in, he took a deep breath and shoved his top half into the dirt and started swimming through the ground, towards the surface, hoping it was only 6 feet or less. Moving was difficult, the earth was hard around him, and swimming was something best suited for water, not earth. He used his ruined coffin to kick off of and propel himself through the dirt. All around him was the darkness, and it felt like it was trying to suffocate him. Dirt was in his face, his shirt, his nose, and it surrounded him completely. His breath was running out, and he hadn't reached the surface. His lungs were burning, his eyes were closed, and he was tempted to open them, but knew it was no use. He kept digging, and digging, his lungs about to explode, until finally, his hand reached up once more and felt nothing but air. Knowing air was so near, his digging picked up, and his hands broke open to the surface. He spread his arms apart, spreading a wider hole for him to dig through. Finally, his head broke the grounds surface and he took a deep breath, gulping up air, and pushing his body out of the soil.
He pulled his legs free of his grave and turned over so he was facing the sky. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. It was so different from the screams and pleas of tortured souls and the never ending black and red sky. It was peacefully quiet, and he stared at it as he caught his breath, thinking over all he knew. He remembered everything about Hell, but somehow, he was still himself after all the torment. Still sane, still fighting, still Dean. Whoever that was. He was in a predicament, as he had no idea what he'd died from, why he'd gone to hell, nor how he'd escaped, and had no idea what to do now. He knew he was thirsty, and covered with grime. First thing first then. He stood up, looked around him, and froze. He was in a field, surrounded by fallen tree's all faced away from his gravesite. He had a sinking feeling that he'd never seen anything like that back when he was alive, nor when he was in hell. What exactly rose him out of hell? Dean backed away from the fallen trees and into the normal part of the woods. He trekked for about a mile before he found a road. Left or right? He chose right and started walking.