Sometimes, Purgatory is beautiful. Gorgeous, even. Strikingly, enchantingly lovely. Dean and Castiel happen across a misty forest, filled with tall, wiry trees blooming blood-red flowers. The forest floor is covered in a bed of petals, and Dean feels like he’s stepped into a dream. He hears birds chirping and crickets thrumming and chipmunks chattering.
But suddenly, the stench of blood hits him and it’s overwhelming. He feels bile rise up in his throat. It smells like a slaughterhouse, only hundreds of times worse. His hands clench into tight fists to keep himself from vomiting.
Dean takes a step into the forest, his foot crunching onto the soft petals, and the pleasant noise of the forest stops immediately. A crushing silence overtakes the two. The stench becomes unbearable, and Dean looks down to see blood seeping from the petals underneath his boot.
He swears and jumps back and Castiel looks sharply at him, then at the blood pouring from the crushed petals. “We must leave this place,” Castiel says softly, his hand gripping tightly at Dean’s forearm and pulling him back. “Now.”
Dean nods in agreement and allows himself to be dragged away from the forest. He takes one last look at the terrible forest before turning his back and trekking on.
