Supernatural|Season 8|Episode 1 – Temporary Punishment

Dean blinked and looked around. The ledge was gone, the woods were gone. Most importantly, the monster that had been about to rip out his throat was gone. He was in a small, dark room. The only light came from a barred, greased-over window far above his head. It smelled like shit in the literal sense, the stench rising to punch him in the face.

Stumbling backward, he came up against a dilapidated wooden wall. "What the . . ." Someone moved toward him in the darkness. Dean's first instinct was to reach for the 1911 Colt he usually kept stuffed in the back of his pants, or the knife in his ankle holster, but neither were there. It wasn't necessary, as it turned out. The supposed threat was wearing a beige trench coat.

"Cas? That you?"

"Yes, it's me." The familiar, gravelly voice of his friend drained some of the tension from Dean's shoulders.

"What the hell, Cas?" he demanded. "Where'd you go?"

"I left to seek sanctuary," Castiel came over and stood in front of Dean. "You should be more careful where you run. Had you fallen into that abyss nothing could have saved you."

Dean stared at him. "Thanks. I'll remember that next time I'm being chased by a horde of crazed, ravenous beasts."

"Now you're being sarcastic," sighed Castiel.

"I think I've a right to be," Dean argued. "I'm stuck in fricking Purgatory. You just left. Why didn't you zap me with you?"

"I needed to find a safe place. I couldn't zap you with me because I didn't know where I was going," Castiel said testily.

"Never seemed to bother you back on Earth."

"That is because I know every inch of your pathetically small planet," Castiel snapped. "After staring at something for millennia you tend to become familiar with it. I've never been here before, Dean." There was fear in his voice. Real fear, submerged just below the grit of tested authority.

Dean relented. "Yeah, whatever." He pushed past Castiel and began pacing the tiny room, mindful of where he put his feet. This day did not need to get any shittier. "Let's just . . . get our act together and figure out a way to get back."

"Back," Castiel repeated. "Dean, there is no going back."

"Look," Dean crossed the distance between them in two strides, "so far I've busted out of Hell and out of Heaven. Purgatory's no different. We'll find a way out of here. Trust me."

"I'm afraid that's not possible."

"Well then what do we do?"

"We wait for Sam to open a doorway back to Earth," Castiel intoned as though it were the most logical solution in the world. At Dean's blank look, the angel expounded. "Your brother will figure out what has happened to us. Combined with the gifts of the prophet Kevin, they should be able to divine a way to get us out."

"You're kidding," Dean scoffed. "You're just going to sit back and leave this in their hands? It may have escaped your notice, Cas, but this is about the time he'd be calling for help. But you're down here with me and we torched Bobby's ghost. Sam's got zero assets up there."

Castiel squinted through the darkness at his companion. "Your lack of faith in your brother is astounding. What must Sam do to prove himself to you?"

"What?"

"You doubt he will come."

"I don't think he can. And I'm not about to wait around with my junk in my hands for Mr. Advanced Placement to save my fricking ass." Dean pulled back, only just realizing that he was inches away from Castiel, fists clenched and jaw tight. Lightening his tone, he continued. "We'll figure something else out."

Castiel said nothing, and Dean was grateful for it. In all honesty, he was a little doubtful of Sam. He shouldn't be, he knew that, but trust could only be broken so many times before it shattered. Dean's trust in Sam was a long way from shattering, but the cracks were there, and they were slowly spreading. First with the demon blood, then with Lucifer, and finally with his soullessness after his return from Hell – there were too many letdowns for Dean to feel comfortable placing all his trust in his brother.

He wanted to believe that Sam would stop at nothing to get him and Castiel out, and he knew that Sam would try. The question was whether or not he would give it his best effort, if after a few weeks of searching he would give them up for dead and move on with the solitary and self-sufficient life he was so eager to attain and so capable of living.

The fire did little more than heat up the shit smell and make it even more pungent. Dean slouched in a corner, arms folded, staring moodily into the flames Castiel had conjured from thin air. Castiel sat a little ways away, hands clasped in his lap, looking as though he were praying very hard.

"I thought you stopped expecting God to help out," Dean grunted after several minutes.

Castiel cracked an eye open. Not many people could pull off a withering glare through one slitted eyelid, but Dean found himself averting his eyes from the angel's intense accusing stare. "I never stopped," Castiel said. "But I am not praying. I'm attempting to contact Kevin."

"Is he tuning in? Can you tell?" Dean asked.

"No," Castiel sighed. "If he is receiving my messages, he will not or cannot answer."

"He could be dead," Dean pointed out.

"That would complicate things considerably." After several moments, Castiel sighed. "Why are we even here, Dean?"

Dean blinked. "Because Dick Roman nuked our asses to kingdom come?"

"No," Castiel shifted, his face a rictus of confusion. "I mean, how are we here? Purgatory is only accessible to monsters' souls. As far as I know no human has ever been transported here, much less an angel. We shouldn't be here. It's not supposed to be possible."

Wherever the conversation would have gone, it was lost as Dean suddenly was aware of a drop in temperature, despite the fire. "What's that?" he hissed, and was startled to see his breath exit his mouth in a puff of fog. "Ghosts?" he demanded, but before he could expound, the world turned upside down as he was lifted in the air by what felt like a dozen icy claws, and hurled against the far wall.

Castiel let a cry of surprise escape his lips as he, too, was thrown up, hitting the high ceiling with a grunt before falling back to the ground. Dean rolled over and sat up, just in time to see half a dozen ghosts materialize, jittering and flickering like images on a television with bad reception.

Four men and two women, all of them stark naked. Dean blinked. That was new. Naked ghosts. Do not stare at the naked ghost ladies, Dean told himself even as two of the men advanced on him. And do not think they are hot. Too late.

He staggered to his feet, but there was nothing he could do to hold them off. One of the ghosts reached out, its fingers pressing straight through Dean's chest, burning with cold and threatening to pop his heart. Dean gasped, struggling to grab at his attacker despite knowing it was useless.

His eyes began to roll back as his breath came in shorter and shorter gasps. Like this? What kind of a hunter was he – two hours in Purgatory and already dead, and not even by some horrible otherworldly creature. A ghost. A nude ghost. That was just embarrassing.

A blast of light blinded him, and the grip on his heart vanished. Slumping backwards, he slid down the wall into a sitting position. Castiel, looking only slightly worse for the wear, walked over and offered a hand.

"Once we get back to the US, I think we need to make you a regular member," Dean gasped.

"It is interesting," Castiel noted, looking at his own fingers as though their presence on the ends of his hands was unexpected. "It seems that this atmosphere is conducive to my abilities."

"Well that makes one of us. I need to find me some iron, salt, something. I feel naked."