It’s the first manmade structure they come across, and it looks like it hasn’t been used by man in years. The bridge sways, and the boards creak under Dean’s slow, stumbling gait, used as they were to faster creatures, lighter creatures, things made of dust and mist and greedy appetites. The end’s nowhere in sight, even to Castiel, but wasn’t that precisely the problem with purgatory? That it was all endless, labyrinthine nowhere? For all Dean knew — and he knew some, hell had its levels after all, and one could tell by how cold it got, and how many turns of the knife was needed to get at bone — they were going deeper in. But when Castiel prods him forward, he complies.
Behind them, bodies start rising from the water.