Authors Note: So this is kind of a late night writing so if it doesn't make any sense I apologize now.
Breathing suffocates him. The fog feels heavy, like a wet blanket on his already stooped shoulders. He can't see past his nose and he finds that comforting and terrifying at the same time. He reaches out for a hand to hold but the hand that once had been there is gone. He cries out but the fog is inside his throat now suffocating him til his screams are nothing but a strangled whimper. Each breath catches in his throat and he takes a hesitant step, he does his best to break through the fog but it doesn't end. He keeps walking, the clouds press in closer. They reach out to him as if to smother him, to kill him with their soft, wet, fluffiness. He stumbles over some sort of rock and nobody catches him as he falls to the ground. He can't stand up. The clouds sit on him, holding him down, pressing his face toward the ground. He tries one more time to call out the name; the name that hasn't made it past his closed lips for three long months, the name that sits on his tongue waiting to be used again. He chokes it out.
"Dean."
Sam wakes up. He feels cold droplets of sweat on his forehead like lingering fingerprints of the dream fog he's just come out of. He turns to the bed beside him. But there is no bed. The room is empty.