Time doesn't pass in purgatory.

Tress don't grow, bodies don't rot, the sun, if there is one hidden in the foggy gray haze, never sets or rises.

One never grows tired or hungry, and though there is pain, it is of a detached, dull variety. This is the only thing that separates the perpetual gloom of this half-life from being exactly like hell, Bobby thinks, and doesn't know if that's good or not.

The creatures that inhabit this sphere of the afterlife are as dull as the pain they occasionally inflict- unless attacked, they do not attack, nor do they stir unless stirred, nor do they move unless moved. For the most part they do nothing, sitting or standing or wandering aimlessly, void of purpose and lacking any stimulation.

Wherever one looks, there is a deathly still, and to stare into the foreboding calm is like staring into an abyss.

Bobby doesn't know how long he has been there, not just because of the impossible, unchanging uniformity of the landscape, but because the stillness is engrossing.

"Peaceful, isn't it?"

Bobby grunts at Benny.

Bobby doesn't know why he isn't in heaven, like he was supposed to be, according to Sam and Dean, or why it doesn't bother him that he doesn't know.

Trying to think here is like trying to swim through molasses.

Exhausting to try, and pointless when there is nothing to really think about.

"It was more fun with dean. He brought a little life to the place- being that he was, you know- alive."

Bobby doesn't reply, but turns his head to look at the vampire- a Herculean task, or so it felt.

"You could feel it from a mile away, when he and that angel came crashing in. First exciting thing ever happened here. Got everyone's attention real fast."

Bobby can believe it- pictures the vegetable-like creatures swarming, converging upon the first sign of life- of movement- like a school of piraƱa.

He wonders how Dean survived, and then looks at Benny and wonders why he helped.

Benny, meeting his eyes with an almost begrudging smile drawls out slowly-

"Not that we ain't happy to have you, of course."

"Thrilled to be here."

He wishes he had his flask, or a bottle, or anything he could hold on to. He isn't thirsty for their contents, will never be thirsty again, but to indulge in the habit might be comforting.

Benny laughs, low, scratchy, and deep.

"Yeah. I figured you would be."

Then he stands up.

Bobby does, to, despite how badly the crunch of leaves under their feet clashes with the otherwise thick silence.

They wander and Bobby wonders about those leaves. When did they fall? He can't picture them doing so, and thinks that they must always have been there, a pale brown carpet beneath an unmoving layer of fog. He wonders why they aren't dust by now, ground into powder by the millions of others that must have wandered here.

He thinks that someday, they will be.