Time doesn't exist in Purgatory. Cas had told him that but Dean hadn't really thought about it. It's not until he's waiting on something, on someone, that this catches up to him. He has tried to walk on a straight line in some attempt to not get too lost, so maybe this way Cas can find him faster. But is useless, because the forest turns into a river that turns into mountains that end in a great expand of land. Dean had decided to go that way thinking the fact that there won't be a place where the creatures can hide or set traps would give him and advantage. What he doesn't think about, and how could he not, how did you not realize this Dean, what are you thinking? Focus. Is that there is no place to hide himself either.
He walks what probably is less than days, but feels like it, with nothing jumping on him, he hears distant cries and growls, sometimes a little too close for comfort, but never near. Is not until he's resting for the tenth time that he wonders if this is a good thing, because whatever is keeping purgatory creatures away from this place can't be good. Right? Once he realizes nothing's coming for him, he tries to stay in the same place for longer periods of time, thinking maybe this too could help the angel to track him down faster. But he discovers that staying still messes up his mind, drains him, one day he wakes up -and when had he fell asleep- and the fire he had built when there was brighter light is gone. There's no ash, no scattered pieces of wood remain, only dry grass all around him; And so is gone the light that came from the cloudy horizon.
Dean realizes he doesn't know where he's going either, is he walking through where he came? Left or right? Has he passed through here? He starts to leave a trail, creatures be damned, what good is it going to do to if he can't even tell which way to run away from? He starts ripping his shirt, and leaving pieces below rocks, and scratching the rocks with the spine so the knife doesn't go to blunt, it's hard to distinguish but the other thing he has is his own blood and he's not that crazy yet.
He also notices he doesn't get hungry, or tired, unless he stands still. Or at least not too tired, because there's an ache and weariness that had settled on him the moment they arrived to this place.
They.
Of course, he thinks of Cas, who is catching up to him, he would be able to see the pieces of shirt, the scratched rocks or fires Dean had left in his wake. He will catch up to him soon, very soon, Dean is constantly turning around, because maybe next time he looks Castiel would be there, or next time. You can never be sure in this place.
He knows there is something wrong the minute he can't see his extended hand in front of him anymore, he had been thinking of cries in the distance and the sound of rustling feathers, not really paying attention to where he was going; he still holds the knife in his right hand because you never know. They get to you when you least expect them Winchester, you always need to be prepared. Never let your guard down you hear me Dean?, John is telling him as he inhales the fog, but Dean realizes this isn't fog, but smoke, and its getting strong enough to water his eyes and make his nose and throat to burn. He makes a stop and tries to even out his breathing, trying to rule over a wave of panic that begins to swallow him. Dean looks back, this time looking for an exit. Where did he come from? Which direction was he taking? Was it north? He was supposed to be following a straight line, how could he have forgotten. He takes his lighter and makes a flame lifting it as far as he can see, trying to figure out if there's wind moving the smoke but the flame doesn't flicker except for the way Dean hand is shaking.
"Cas you sonofabitch, you get your ass down here right now." he says and coughs, his voice rough from lack of use. How long has it been since Dean had spoken?
"No. Stay focus, damnit." Dean tries to steady his breathing again. He puts the lighter on his pocket again and reaches to the inside pocket of his jacket for what he keeps there. The moment his hand closes around one of the feathers is like someone had thrown him a bucket of cold water to the face. His senses sharpen, and some of the heaviness he was feeling is gone. He starts walking again, faster this time, looking for something that will help him orient himself. He'll either reach whatever it is making all this smoke, or gets out of its cloud. Whatever happens he must keep going, keep walking, keep walking.
Eventually the fog gets thicker, and there are things that attack him, they don't seem to have a body because the knife doesn't do them squat, but they seem to be slow enough that Dean can out run them.
When Dean finally starts seeing trees he has to stop once again, because he feels like crying. But when he lets out a long held breath what comes out of him is a burst of laughter; so he just sits in front of one of them, still too small to provide any shelter, and starts laughing, letting some of his weariness out; he laughs and laughs until he remembers that the sound might attract something and he wipes the tears from his eyes, "Cas, if you're hearing this, I'm out of the fog, and actually welcoming some action over here" he hears a gurgle coming from somewhere over his left, "You hear that bastards? Come and get me! I'm ready." Dean knows he's not gonna appreciate this forever, but it's a relief to finally see something else than dead grass and fog.
He keeps moving through the forest, finding each time more and more creatures. Now with the forest surrounding him is easier to lose them; if anything it keeps him busy from his own thoughts. Fighting is something he can do, instead of waiting and waiting. The battles with these monsters keep him sharp; keep him from remembering that it doesn't matter where he goes because he's not going anywhere. Sometimes he gets confused and yells for Sam to back him up, he hears footsteps when there are only his own on the bed of dead leaves and hears the echo of a too human scream.
He then starts yelling for them, taunting them to come and get a piece of Winchester ass, he yells until something jumps him from the darkness and tackles him to the ground; and then he's fighting back one, two, up to five. And even though it helps him to fight, he's not suicidal so he goes for cover the moment the creatures out number him too much.
He tries to climb the trees to see something, but even up on the tallest pine he could climb, there's a thick fog that stops him from seeing anything farther away than a mile, and what he sees it's just trees and trees ahead of him, more trees behind.
When he sleeps he discovers that purgatory has moved while he was out. One time he had awaken on a plain that looked awfully familiar. He had closed his eyes willing it to change; he could have sworn he felt the earth beneath him grumbling as it moved.
He also keeps talking to Cas, telling him where he is, about the Jefferson starship he found as he moved towards the mountain; of that river that he swore was whispering to him, or how he learned that he could switch locations if he concentrated hard enough. Not that it mattered where he went, but it was a nice trick to pull if things got a little heavy with the monsters that attacked him.
He walked with a feather on his front pocket, the hand that wasn't clutching the demon knife inside of it stroking the soft barbs over and over, he doesn't know if it's got some of Cas mojo in it or is just his mind playing tricks but it calms him, it makes him feel a little more rested, less weary.
He meets a siren, or something that says it is one. It whispers to him and Dean doesn't want to think too much in how relieving it is to hear someone else's voice after all this time, even if it is in hisses and echoes and makes the hair from the back of his neck stand when he hears it. Dean is about to dispatch her, fight long enough and chop enough limbs and the fuckers don't get up again, circling around her when she speaks again,
"You smell like him, hunter."
"Yeah, I bet I smell even better." Dean doesn't have to ask what 'him' she's referring to.
"Maybe you even taste better." She says as she tries to claw Dean on his calves, unable to get up after the number Dean did on her legs.
This time the shiver Dean feels is not just from how preternaturally ugly her voice sounds. "Yeah? I bet you could barely scratch the sole of his feet, bitch." he slashes at her but she ducks in time, there is howling getting closer from behind Dean.
She laughs, "Oh I did more than scratch. His grace," she pauses and closes her eyes, enjoying taunting him; "His grace is the most delicious thing I have ever tasted, hunter. Maybe your soul could have a similar flavor."
Dean manages to pin her hand with the knife to the ground, she catches her head by her hair and pulls back, she screeches as she registers the pain from her impaled hand.
"You're a lying bitch."
"Am I?" she snaps, "tell me something hunter, what do you think is keeping him so long from reaching you?"
The look she's giving him startles Dean.
"You know hunter and you are the one that is lying to yourself!" she lunges forward with her free hand reaching for his neck, she does scratch him but Dean manages to grab the knife and stab her in the neck before she can do any more damage. He gets up and applies pressure to the wound, he knows he won't die from it but it is no good to go around stinking of freaking human blood when you're in the middle of monster land. He has to find water now, because safe or not, he thinks is a lot safer than the poison that is entering through the wound in his neck.
That night he lies on the forest floor, partially covered by leaves as the poison starts working on him, and prays to Castiel with all that's left of his wits, clutching both feathers in one hand and the knife in the other. As he drifts off he keeps hearing the rustling of feathers, far above him.
