DJ had no idea how long he'd been running, or in which direction, but as long as it was away from those horrifying black metamorphs that had come hurtling in like meteors as soon as his feet hit the ground on the other side of the rift, he didn't particularly care. Neither silver-plated nor iron-core rounds seemed to phase them, but they did bleed black goo, and he was hanging on to that knowledge for dear life. He'd ripped his jeans tumbling ass over teakettle into Purgatory, and he was pretty sure that the blood dripping down his leg wasn't helping him to shake off his pursuers; the cloying, coppery smell of it was almost overwhelming.

That was another thing—he wasn't flying high anymore, but it felt like all of his senses had been dialed up to a hundred. Even though Rowena's ointment had been applied to his skin, DJ could taste the bittersweet nightshade berries under his tongue. He could hear every snap, crackle, hiss, and snarl of the monsters behind him. The only reason he had even the slightest lead on them was because of his brand new Spidey-senses; he'd lopped off the head of the first one to attack him, and the others had wasted precious seconds unhinging their jaws and chowing down on the corpse.

Unfortunately, whatever mojo the demon had worked hadn't made him any faster or increased his endurance; he urgently needed a place to hunker down and catch his breath. DJ leapt over a fallen log and skidded down an embankment, boots slipping in the leaf litter as he hurried to get his back up against the gnarled bark of an ancient redwood.

"If it bleeds, you can kill it," he panted desperately, repeating dad's advice like a mantra. "If it bleeds, you can kill it."

While gulping down great lungfuls of air, DJ patted down his pockets for the hex bags and hunted through dad's satchel in search of salt and holy water; anything he hadn't already tried was fair game at this point.

"Holy shit!" he shouted as the forest floor exploded in front of him, a shower of loamy earth giving way to a pair of glistening globs of protean ooze that rapidly reformed themselves into humanoid shapes.

Despite knowing that it was a waste of ammunition, DJ couldn't help the knee-jerk reaction to fire his gun again; he hit the nearest monster center mass, forming a neat little grouping that he would've been proud of any other time; right now, he was too busy trying to stay alive.

"Die, goddamnit!" he swore, flinging a messy handful of salt in an attempt to keep both creatures at bay.

When they just licked their chops and kept advancing, circling to come at him from both sides, DJ shoved the Colt into his belt and flipped his machete grip back up into his hands; he'd always had a natural swing, and decapitation had saved him once already. He dove sideways, hacking and slashing, as the one he'd just blown a bunch of holes in made a grab for him. He discovered, much to his dismay, that the loss of a limb didn't seem to slow the sucker down either; it simply picked its arm up off the ground and reattached it with a nauseating squelch.

"That was really gross," DJ muttered under his breath, morbidly curious about whether they could also do that with their heads, provided that their buddies didn't devour them first.

In his disgust, he fumbled his footwork and tripped over a tree root; the monsters took advantage of the opening and launched themselves at him, snapping and spitting and freakishly strong. DJ had been knocked around by ghosts and spirits before—that fucking poltergeist had bruised a couple of his ribs tossing him down a flight of stairs back in September—and he'd sparred with Cass and Sam, but no supernatural being he'd encountered thus far could even hold a candle to whatever the fuck these things were.

He was no match for them at close range; one of them seized his machete and yanked, seeming neither to notice nor care that it had flayed its hands to the bone in the process. If he hadn't been wearing the wrist strap, he would have lost the weapon entirely; as it was, the movement dragged him forward and sent him crashing to the ground. DJ only just managed to avoid gutting himself, twisting to land on his back at the last second and raising his blade to fend off further attack. Because of that stroke of luck, the creature that went down on top of him snapped its maw shut around the length of sharp steel instead of his face, partially beheading itself and saving DJ the trouble. Viscous black ichor spewed from the awful wound, splattering him with gore and rendering him temporarily blind. He scrambled to his feet, swiping frantically at his eyes; he'd lost track of the other monster.

"Dean! Drop!"

DJ was deeply conditioned to respond to gruffly barked commands, and this one was no exception; he promptly hit the dirt. Above his head, he could hear the distinctive swish of a weapon being swung at high velocity, followed by the sickening thwack that told him it had found its mark. He peered up out of his protective huddle just in time to see the creature's body topple harmlessly into a bed of pine needles.

"Jesus Christ!" DJ burst out, kicking at the head as it rolled in his direction. "Jesus fucking Christ!"

"You ain't Dean."

It wasn't a question; he turned to find his rescuer regarding him warily, bushy eyebrows knit together in confusion beneath the brim of a ratty fisherman's cap.

"Uh," DJ grunted intelligently, stumbling back a few steps to put some distance between himself and the newcomer. "Thanks for the assist, but… who the hell are you?"

"I could ask you the same question, son," the other man drawled, subtly scenting the air. "You ain't who I was expecting when this place started pitching and yawing again; you are human, though."

That wasn't a question either.

"And you're not ," DJ tried a statement of his own, looking the other up and down in hopes of finding a clue as to what species he was up against now.

The stranger laughed a little at that, oh-so-helpfully curling his lips back to display a row of retractable fangs; vampire, then. DJ adjusted his grip on the machete.

"Easy friend," the vampire said placatingly, resting his own weapon against his shoulder. "I just saved your hide; I ain't gonna hurt you."

DJ huffed dubiously and shifted his stance, guarded. His legs were shaking; any attempt to run now would likely prove fatal.

"What brings you to the monster afterlife, boy?" the bloodsucker inquired, circling slowly but coming no closer.

"That's none of your business," DJ hissed, pivoting to keep the blade between them.

"Only humans I know that are stupid enough to come down here are the Winchesters," the vampire continued conversationally, bending to pick up the severed head and chuck it farther into the underbrush. "That name ring a bell?"

DJ schooled his features to inscrutability, but his breath and heart rate both ticked up; the vamp's blue eyes sparkled as his face broke into a wide, toothy grin.

"I knew I recognized that scent," he said, mostly to himself, burying the crude axehead in the dirt at his feet so that he could extend a friendly hand for DJ to shake. "Name's Benny Lafitte; reckon you might've heard of me."

DJ felt like his brain was buffering, lacking the bandwidth for social niceties while he was still in flight or fight mode. The vampire waited patiently for long, awkward moments before clearing his throat, raising one eyebrow, and pointedly flexing the proffered hand.

"DJ," he introduced himself haltingly, transferring his machete to his left hand so that he could shake hands with his right. "Uh… Dean Winchester, Junior. And I have , but I thought—"

"Ti-Dean!" Benny crowed delightedly, clapping him on the shoulder. "And how is your old man?"

Something must have shown in his face, because the vampire's expression sobered immediately, and he snatched the cap right off his head.

"How'd he go?" he asked roughly, twisting it between his hands.

"Ah…" DJ hesitated, deeply uncomfortable. "Vampires."

"Sounds about right," Benny snorted, apparently unperturbed by that information. "He never did know when to quit. Looks like he raised you up good, though."

The other man gave him an appraising once-over and an encouraging little smile; for some reason, Benny's approval made the amulet around DJ's neck feel as though it weighed a thousand pounds.

"Actually, um…" he faltered, swallowing hard. "He died before I was born."

Benny winced at that, gaze softening with pity.

"Well, now," he said slowly, "I'm mighty sorry to hear that, son; he was a good man."

"That's what they tell me," DJ acknowledged, anxiously rubbing the back of his neck.

"Your mom an' 'em?" the other man prompted, inquisitive.

"Mom didn't really know him all that well," DJ shrugged sheepishly. "But dad's told me some; Sam, I mean," he clarified, in response to the vampire's puzzled frown. "And I've heard stories from Aunt Jody, Uncle Garth, Donna and… well, everybody."

Benny's frown didn't dissipate; if anything, it deepened.

"You call Sam—your uncle Sam, Dean's brother—your daddy?" he asked carefully, as though he wasn't sure he was understanding correctly.

"Yes," DJ said shortly, grimacing. "It's complicated."

"You don't say," Benny remarked sardonically, lightly punching into the crown of his hat to reshape it before settling it back onto his head.

Behind him, the carcass that was missing half its skull gave an alarming lurch. DJ swore violently and jumped back, but Benny just rolled his eyes, hefted his axe, and whipped around to finish the job with a single, well-placed chop.

"I hate those slimy sons of bitches," the vampire informed him, scowling. "We'd better make tracks before they manage to pull themselves together again."

"That's a thing they can do?" DJ wanted to know, limping after the other man as he led the way up and out of the gully.

"Yep," Benny confirmed, catching hold of DJ's arm to haul him the rest of the way up the steep slope. "Leviathan are nigh ungankable, son. You got mighty lucky."

DJ was aware; in fact, he was pretty sure the spiraling triskelion scrawled across his abdomen had something to do with that.

"You might want to tie that up," the vampire said, indicating DJ's injured leg with a jerk of his chin. "Your humanity's siren song enough without real blood in the water."

He nervously followed the other man's gaze down to the ragged hole in his pant leg; it was good advice, but the vamp was watching him with an unsettling level of interest.

"Is this gonna be a problem?" DJ asked, pleased that his voice remained steady as he knelt down to take a look.

"Not for me," Benny reassured him, averting his eyes. "Hunger is just an illusion 'round these parts, anyhow."

"What do you mean?" DJ inquired, making a face as he swabbed at the deep abrasion with an antiseptic wipe.

"Only living things need to eat and drink and sleep," the vampire said bluntly, keeping an eye on their surroundings while DJ applied a pressure dressing. "The souls in here could gorge themselves night and day and never feel satisfied; I learned that the hard way, but I'm wise to it now. You ain't gotta worry about me."

As disconcerting as that was, it was also strangely comforting. DJ checked to ensure that the gauze wouldn't chafe or slip, uncuffed his jeans, and straightened up. Benny tilted his head and sniffed experimentally.

"That's better," he said, giving an affirming nod. "Now maybe I can get you across to that portal in one piece."

"You're going to help me?" DJ blurted, dumbfounded. "Just like that?"

"Well, I see the stupid didn't skip a generation," Benny commented wryly, shaking his head. "Boy, I don't think you understand what your father was to me," he went on, fixing DJ with an earnest look. "He was my brother ; so yeah, 'just like that.'"

DJ looked down, unable to meet the other man's eyes, humbled by the intensity of his loyalty.

"Okay," he agreed quietly, biting his lip. "Okay, but we've got to find Cass first."

"Really!?" Benny shouted incredulously, startling him. "What is the matter with that couyon!? I'm sorry, Ti-Dean, but I done chased his feathery ass all over Purgatory once before; I ain't doing it again!"

"Feathers? What?" DJ echoed faintly, utterly bewildered; then, louder, once he'd figured out what was happening, "Oh! You think I mean—no, not the angel; not Castiel. I came down here for Cass; my Cass. He's a werewolf."

"Come again?" the vampire queried, cocking a questioning eyebrow.

"Cass is a werewolf," DJ reiterated. "I don't know why he's named after the angel; I never asked. But he's my best friend, and I'm not leaving without him."

Benny looked him over, taking in his crossed arms and clenched jaw, and gave a resigned sigh.

"Stupid and stubborn," he grumbled under his breath. "You are a Winchester."

Warmth bloomed in DJ's chest at the surly, backhanded compliment, and he smirked a little in spite of himself.

"Don't get cocky, now," the vampire admonished, gesturing sternly with his weapon. "This ain't gonna be no walk in the park."

Right on cue, a twig snapped outside the clearing, followed by the sound of skittering, furtive footsteps just beyond the treeline. Benny's reaction time was faster than his; DJ made a startled noise as the other man grabbed him by the collar and swung him around, manhandling him into position until they were standing back to back, tense with anticipation.

"What are they?" DJ asked lowly, prickling with unease.

"Some of my kin, most likely," the vampire answered, shifting his weight and extending his fangs. "Other vamps are a pain in my ass on a good day—seeing as how I'm a turncoat and all—but once they get a whiff of you, we're in it."

"Awesome," DJ muttered sarcastically, scrubbing sweaty hands against his jeans as their unseen foes worked their way around the clearing to hem them in.

"Better keep that blade handy," Benny advised, chuckling grimly, "or some of them gris-gris, if you've got anything useful."

"Some of my what?" DJ asked distractedly, straining to make out more than just shadowy shapes in the distance.

"The hoodoo mojo you've got in your pockets," the other man huffed, impatient. "You a witch or something?"

"No!" DJ said defensively, voice cracking on the denial. "These aren't even mine; they belong to a… to a friend."

Benny's disbelieving snort was entirely unsurprising; for all that DJ was telling the truth—less the damning details of the hex bags' demonic origin—it wasn't lost on him that he sounded less convincing than he had at fifteen, stammering out flimsy excuses for the weed dad had found in his backpack.

"I'm not a fucking witch," DJ insisted, steadier this time. "I don't even know what half of them do."

He slipped one hand into his hip pocket, fumbling out a handful of the sturdy calico, soft flannel, and smooth velvet sachets Rowena had tucked inside. Most of the little bundles were inscribed or embroidered with runes of protection; he recognized ihwaz and perthro, algiz and uruz. Some of them, though… kenaz, nauthiz, and sowilo were open to interpretation, but thurisaz and tiwaz were primarily battle runes.

"If you say so," Benny conceded skeptically, glancing back at him. "Could always just throw one at 'em and see."

The first of the vampire's hostile brethren were starting to break cover and, well, DJ had heard worse ideas. He put away the protective charms, letting out a plosive breath as he weighed the other spells in his palm and prayed that they were idiot-proof.

"All right; fire in the hole," he warned his companion, cocking his arm back and letting one fly.

The hex bag sailed through the air, landing neatly at the feet of an encroaching enemy, and that was the last he saw of it. The damn thing went off like a flashbang, louder than a thunderclap and dazzlingly bright, forcing DJ to look away or else be blinded again. As several of their attackers shrieked in pain and surprise, Benny let out an exuberant whoop.

"That's what I'm talking about, son! Go on, do it again!"

It was on, now. The vampires that had been outside the impact zone of the first combat hex rushed out all at once, and Benny charged forward to meet them with a ululating cry that set DJ's teeth on edge. The second spell he threw fucking exploded, flames billowing up and out like a pillar of fire in the wilderness, engulfing everything in the immediate vicinity; he'd apparently chosen the magical equivalent of a molotov cocktail.

"Jesus Christ!" DJ exclaimed, throwing up an arm to shield his face from the resultant heat wave.

When he was nearly bowled over by a sizzling, screeching vamp with its head and shoulders wreathed in flame, DJ realized that they were out of time for ranged attacks. He took a two-handed grip on his machete and started carving a path towards Benny; they were still outnumbered, but if his new friend's provocative taunts and maniacal laughter were any indication, the other man didn't mind one bit.

"Come on, Ti-Dean!" he hollered enthusiastically from the midst of the melee. "Let's get this boucherie started!"

"This what!?" DJ yelled back questioningly, flinching away from the arterial spray as he sliced cleanly across the nearest vampire's throat.

Benny flashed him a bloody, carefree grin as he whirled to bash his opponent's head in. Then he curled his tongue behind his teeth, pursed his lips, and trilled out the opening bars of an eerily familiar musical number.

"Are you fucking whistling !?" DJ demanded furiously, ducking under the other man's arm to take a swing at the vamp coming at him from behind.

"Laissez les bons temps rouler!" Benny declared cheerfully.

DJ jerked his blade free of the incapacitated vampire's clavicle and heaved an exasperated sigh.

"I don't know what that means!"


Let the good times roll
Let them knock you around
Let the good times roll
Let them make you a clown

Let them leave you up in the air
Let them brush your rock n' roll hair
Let the good times roll
Let the good times roll
Won't you let the good times roll?

Let the stories be told
Let them say what they want
Let the photos be old
Let them show what they want

Let them leave you up in the air
Let them brush your rock n' roll hair
Let the good times roll
Let the good times roll
Won't you let the good times roll?

"Good Times Roll," by The Cars, 1978.

For those who don't know, "Laissez les bons temps rouler," is Cajun Creole for "Let the good times roll," a "boucherie" is a community hog slaughter, "couyon," is another word for "idjit," and the prefix "Ti," is roughly equivalent to the English suffix, "Jr."

The triskelion has been around since the Stone Age, and is commonly associated with protection and good luck; the molecular structure of boric acid also happens to be shaped like this symbol, so it seemed appropriate for a trip to Purgatory!

I started writing dialogue for this chapter in November 2021, so it was really gratifying to hear Ackles mention at SPNDallas2022 that the Purgatory storyline was a favorite of his. Even though several pieces of Supernatural canon are anchored in this dimension, there are a number of questions that were never really answered by the show, so here's hoping that you guys enjoy my retcon!