Snowflakes filter through the few branches of leafless trees as the wind blows violently against an old and rusty street sign. It's impossible to read it.

The landscape covered in snow is breathtaking; a weak ray of sunshine manages to lacerate the clouds of an immaculate sky, now it warms up the air. My eyes trace a line along the polished hills while I take a deep breath. All of sudden, drops of bright red blood ooze from my burning wound and stain on the snow, drawing my attention away from the view. As soon as the ray of light disappears, desperation takes control again: I'm still lost. I wander alone, stumbling, limping, panting. Letting a tear escape from my eyes, I lift my gaze to look straight ahead and, to my great surprise, I see a small house. As I walk closer, I examine the building: shingles are slowly detaching from the roof, some window glasses are shattered and covered with tape. It looks more like a shack.

Knock knock.

My fist collides with the hard wooden door as I put a hand on my mouth, trying to take the pain. The frozen air traces and scratches my jawline like a sharp blade, the wound keeps bleeding, making me constantly dizzy.

"Come on, come on," I repeat under breath, until the door flies open and reveals a long haired, bearded man; he looks vaguely familiar.

No. It's not a man. I squeeze my eyes and try to focus on his face, but my vision is too blurry.

"Castiel!" I hear him call. That voice is unmistakable.

"A- Avriel," I mutter before collapsing on the ground.

My friend's footsteps are the last thing I hear; then everything goes pitch black.