#hoolihoops

Chapter 1

A blinding flash of intense, pure white light and it was all over.

The portal vanished the second the hunter and the angel stumbled out of the monstrous gateway to Purgatory; finding themselves in a grassy clearing somewhere in the middle of Maine’s hundreds of miles of wilderness. Dense vegetation surrounded the two hunched predators, swallowing them in complete darkness. The small, bright moon overhead did little to help penetrate the shadows, with just slits of dim light slicing through the minute gaps in the towering conifers. The sky was peppered with small, barely visible luminous dots, too small and too far away to be the stars Dean had been praying to during the first few months in Purgatory, praying for Cas’s return, praying to keep going, praying to find Cas alive and well.  The two breathed deeply; Dean dipping down, placing his hands above his knees and arching his back over. With the most recent nightmare put finally behind him, Dean straightened up to full height to scour his immediate surroundings with wide eyes; his face hard and expressionless. Dean’s gaze soon found its way to his companion, who appeared to be as tattered as bloody and as tired as he was.

It was all over. And they knew it.

Castiel’s brilliant blue eyes, which showed to be even more prominent against the dark crusted dirt and blood that swarmed over his face like a disease, stared at Dean in grim conclusiveness.

They had done it.

Castiel nodded slowly and his eyes softened. Dean double-checked the area and turned to face his friend. Throwing his prehistoric-looking weapon to the floor, Dean’s firmly pursed lips cracked into a wide toothy grin as his friend tilted his head to the side and smiled too, the corners of his eyes crinkling with happiness.

“We did it!” Dean sighed happily, throwing his arms out and walking towards Castiel to pull him in for a tight embrace. Though still rigid and stiff from the hells of Purgatory, Castiel closed his eyes and clenched his hands into tight balls by his side as Dean wrapped his arms around him. Dean pulled away, slapped Castiel on the arm playfully and they both smiled warmly at one another. Dean, bringing his fist up to his mouth and clearing his throat, looked the angel up and down. His friend had grown a significant amount of ‘peach fuzz’ during his time in Purgatory and his eyes looked the most tired Dean had even seen them. Misery oozed from every inch of Cas’s appearance; his beloved trench coat was torn, stained and faded. His tightly clenched hands were stained with blood, dirt and God knew what else, much like his face, shirt and shoes. Castiel’s fingernails collected a thick lining of black and the whole of him looked beaten, bruised and bloody. The hem of his pant legs had torn and tears and threads of fabric clung desperately to the edges. Castiel remained quiet and although his appearance made him seem defeated, his aura radiated contentment. He was glad to be back on earth. Alive. With Dean.

As Dean opened his mouth to speak, a sharp, sudden burst of pain surged over his arm. He grimaced, groaned and gripped his wrist tightly. Castiel’s brows narrowed in concern.

“Best go sort this one out.” Dean hissed through his teeth as he massaged a glowing growth under his shirt. Raising his head, Dean squinted in his grimace as he searched the surroundings.

First things first, they needed a way out.

“Any ideas?” Dean asked, turning his head towards Cas.

Castiel moved his head with his gaze as he slowly scanned the surrounding forest for any sign of exit or, at the very least, something which held hope. Less than a split second later, Castiel nodded his head in a direction behind his friend and marched towards the dimly illuminated white tent in the far distance.

“This way.” His rich, gruff voice declared.

Dean turned around, shook his arm and followed obediently, just after remembering to pick up his cherished medal from Purgatory; he wasn’t losing that for the world. The ‘Purgatory blade’ had gotten Dean through countless beheadings and aided the hunter out of numerous occasions where, without it, he would have died, or would have suffered something not nearly as sweet as death. As savage and as primeval as it looked, he wasn’t letting it go. Ever. He had grown attached to it even from the first moment he acquired it from the one of many vampires he slaughtered. It was then, when Dean realized how effective that the weapon could be, that he decided he would keep it. To him, it represented survival, strength and the ultimate triumph of returning from Purgatory.

The two men snaked through the maze of undergrowth and pursued their inanimate prey within minutes, ensuring complete silence when they stalked the edge of the small clearing where the tent was neatly positioned. Rustling through the large bushes surrounding the tent, their eyes scoped the area as Dean tried to conjure a plan. The clearing was relatively small in size, contained a few rocks, a large boulder, one or two shrubs and a thinning amount of grass. A campfire sat close to the tent, in a patch where the grass was almost non-existent, with a beaten looking pot and a stand beside it. Other pieces of camping gear, which were undistinguishable in the poor light, laid around haphazardly, collected together in small bundles by several small blocks of wood or the tent’s entrance. A small pool of moonlight shone down onto the tent and the immediate area; the white light reflecting off the tent and causing the living quarters to seem like a sanctuary.

Suddenly, a young man, no more than 18, appeared from the tent bearing a flashlight. Castiel and Dean squatted close in the neighboring shrubbery. The young male was tall, slim and feeble looking.

“Hello?” The boy called, stepping a few paces outside of the tent, outside of safety. “Hello?”

Dean’s eyes narrowed slightly and his brow crinkled as he eyed up the potential threat. The stranger wasn’t armed, besides the large, heavy flashlight, and he didn’t look as though he could punch a pillow let alone punch a man. The young man’s nervous and frightened expression suddenly became apparent to Dean as he stepped into the moonlight. The guy was harmless.  Dean signaled two fingers in a jerky fashion to his partner, indicating to stalk around the perimeter, to stay hidden but to stay close. Castiel remained concealed in the bushes whilst Dean positioned himself to pounce out at the unsuspecting victim at the given chance.

“Oh, it was a deer.” The boy incorrectly informed the tent. “It was like; it was like I don’t know a deer or something… woah!”

As the man turned back around to confirm his thoughts, he stumbled backwards in shock as, to his surprise; he was met with a large, filthy stranger. The whole of him; his brown leather jacket, his scruffy jeans and his dirt-ridden boots, looked worn, beaten and faded. Dean stood directly in front of him, a couple of paces away out of the moonlight. He was poised with his legs spaced equally apart, one foot in front of the other, with the brutal Purgatory-blade gripped tightly between his fist of his left hand. He retained a stern, fierce expression solid on his blood-stained face. The young man’s eyes widened in terror, the first impression was that he had been attacked by a bear - and won by the looks of it. That, or he had been through hell.

“Where am I?” Dean barked. The male, blinking furiously and backing up clumsily whilst his mouth opened and closed like a goldfish, pointed the flashlight at the threatening figure rooted firmly into the ground. Unexpectedly, a young girl with masses of curly, dark brown hair emerged from the tent, giving out a squeak in fear as she spotted the dangerous stranger. In sudden impulse, Dean retracted his gun from its holster and pointed it bluntly at the girl, then to the couple as she scurried behind the young man, whilst his eyes widened and eyebrows furrowed.

“Hey, hey, hey!” The man gushed, words desperately fumbling over his lips as he threw forward an extended arm, open palm facing the predator. Suddenly, whilst keeping the gun aimed at the couple, Dean violently twitched the Purgatory Blade forward, in a scooping motion, twice. Castiel appeared next to Dean almost instantaneously, running out from the bushes. The young woman screamed at the sight of the other threatening figure and gripped onto the young male’s shoulders in alarm, pulling him backwards and throwing him off balance. Castiel rolled his shoulders back, one after the other, puffed out his chest and glared intensely at the two under his brow, tipping his forehead slightly towards the couple, almost as an animal would when hunting prey.

“Where’s the road?” Dean shouted as he jeered his gun forward towards the couple.

“12 miles, that way!” The young man replied, quickly, pointing a trembling finger and flashing a quick glance into the distance. Dean’s eyes cautiously averted from the couple momentarily to glance at the direction. Dean’s fingers flickered impatiently around the butt of the gun as his eyes wandered quickly down to his right, under his arm then to the floor in front of him. A rucksack. He looked up at the couple who were nervously waiting on his actions.

“Cas.” Dean muttered under his breath, not breaking the eye contact with his victims. Castiel leaned in to Dean’s whisper. “Grab the bag and run. After 3; 1…”

Immediately, Castiel dived for the rucksack, scooped it up and disappeared in one swift movement, sprinting past the couple. In response, the young man flinched and gripped hold of the girl’s hand tightly. Dean stood in front of the stunned pair with his eyes wide and forehead crinkled in shock. It always surprised him how fast Cas could run. The ferocious hunter shifted his weight awkwardly from foot to foot. The trees rustled quietly. His fingers flickered on the butt of the gun again. Eventually, he ducked and ran after Castiel; leaving the startled couple clutching hold of one another in silence.

**

It took 4 days worth of tiresome walking and hitchhiking, with minimal conversation, for the pair to reach their desired destination; Clayton, Louisiana. What was there left to be discussed between two souls that had experienced the same amount of pain and grief in the last year? Reflecting on the past was not something Dean did lightly; the same could be said for Castiel. Cas couldn’t talk about heaven since it just riddled him with guilt. And Dean couldn’t talk about Sam because he didn’t even know if his little brother was still alive. Other than what lay ahead, Purgatory was still fresh in their minds and neither wanted to discuss what they had been through. They had been through enough, Dean said. And Castiel left it at that. They trudged onwards, thinking forward and of nothing else. So the silence was bearable. It was somewhat comforting for the two to just walk together without the threat of constantly being hunted or pursued by something that wanted their skins.

The burnt orange pick-up truck pulled to a stop on a dusty, dry crossroads in Clayton. They were miles away from the closest town and it looked like the area hadn’t seen water in years. The passenger door opened slowly. Dean jumped out, his boots landing hard on the dusty ground, and swung the rucksack over his right shoulder. Leaning in through the open window, he nodded a thanks to the driver and tapped the top of the car door with finality then walked round to the bed of the truck, where Cas swiftly climbed out of. With ease, Cas rose, sat on the edge furthest Dean, swung his legs round and landed gracefully on his feet. Cas walked round the back of the truck and stood in front of Dean, looking at him with amused expectancy. Dean’s eyebrows flashed and a surprised frown played across his face before he firmly grabbed the angel’s shoulder and shook it affectionately.

“Not long left now, buddy.”

The two walked around to the front of the car and set on their way as Dean waved the driver off, with a simple raised hand. A crunching of tires, a billowing of dust and gravel and their ride was gone. It was only by foot from now. The sun beat down on the pair as they started their walk. It took a while before vegetation appeared again. Their dusty, barren drop off was gradually replaced by the odd withering tree, the thin, weak looking bush and a few patches of yellowing grass but soon the area was blooming with great patches of green, with tall and wild oaks; their branches folding over the path of the weary travelers, blanketing them with a cool continuous tunnel of shadows. The further Dean and Castiel walked, the more feral the foliage became. Shrubbery creeped into the road and distorted the edges of the path. Weeds snaked across the uneven terrain and sprung up in arbitrary places. Trees that had fallen balanced precariously on the stable ones, with their arms a wild mesh, clinging on desperately to one another.

As night fell and the moon climbed higher and higher into the sky, Dean’s thick boots felt thin for the first time in as long as he could remember as they continued walking. He noticed how the pain in his arm considerably increased as they came nearer to the end of their journey.

The two ducked their heads to avoid another fallen trunk and turned left at a T-junction of the pathway. Dean checked his watch; their trek had come to almost three hours. Avoiding more untamed shrubbery and fallen trees, the travelers soon reached their finishing line when, to their right, the trees disappeared into a large clearing; a great, old wind mill standing in the middle. The area was fenced off with two stone pillars that stood either side of the entrance to the grassy area. A corroded plaque was placed on the closest of the pillars; the writing barely legible. Dean stopped at the pillar, looked down and, with difficulty, read: “LAFITTE”.

Castiel stood at the entrance, staring up at the giant wooden monument. He turned to face Dean as the hunter strolled past and marched up to the old windmill. As Dean knelt down on the grass and removed a foldable camping shovel from the rucksack, Cas entered the clearing and stood a few paces away, looking around at his surroundings vigilantly. Dean rested the rucksack against one of the legs of the windmill, straightened up and stepped 5 paces forward, thrusting his heel into the soft ground with a frown as he stopped.

“This better be you, you son of a bitch.” He muttered gravely.

With a grunt, Dean thrust the small shovel into the ground and began digging. Castiel watched intently over his shoulder as he moved a few paces closer, all the while remaining fixed on surveying their immediate vicinity; watching and listening for any sudden movements or unexplainable sounds. Neither one of them took any notice of the time, but Dean hazarded a guess at around 3-4 hours before he finally dug enough to completely clear the grave and reveal a skeleton, the bones of which looked as though the body hadn’t been carefully placed on burial.

“All right.” Dean sighed in achievement, hauling himself up to sit on the side of the grave. Cas walked over to observe the bones just as a wave of pain surged over Dean’s arm, more intense now than it ever had been over the past days. Dean grimaced, gripping tight onto his arm, squeezing his eyes shut and gritting his teeth. With concern, Cas helped Dean to his feet, taking him gently under the arm of his good limb and hauling him up. Dean muttered his thanks and took a step forward towards the grave.

“Hold on, you bastard!” Dean shouted as he clawed at the buttons on his sleeve, rolling it up past his elbow to reveal the pulsing, glowing red growth. “Hold on!” The hunter slowly removed a knife from his belt and, shifting his weight uneasily from foot to foot, eyed up the bulge with a frown. With his arm held over the grave and his hand clenched tightly into a fist, he slowly brought the knife down and sliced into his arm.

“Anima corpori…” Dean started with his voice gruff and deep as he watched the red growth start moving frantically, almost bubbling inside of him, twisting and turning as a crimson liquid oozed from the cut and fell onto the bones. “Fuerit corpus... totem resurgent.”

With an extensive groan, Dean’s face contorted into an expression of complete pain, one Cas had only seen a handful of times, as his chin dipped into his chest and he gritted his teeth.

“Dean?” Castiel worried, stepping closer towards him.

“I’m fine. It’s fine, Cas.” Dean barked, removing his grip on his arm to wave away Cas’s concern; as to signify not to come any closer.

The growth started to reduce in size and the brightness faded as the bones started to ignite streaks of light, red and white in color, sending loud crackling sounds through the silence of the wilderness. Dean had little time between clenching his jaw in agony, squeezing his eyes shut and falling to his knees, landing on his side as his body tensed and legs gave out. Castiel was soon by his side, helping him to sit up as the pain faded. Dean sat on the soft mud with his legs splayed out, panting.

“Wow…” he wheezed, using Cas’s shoulder as a support to stand. He breathed in heavily and coughed into his fist as he turned to face Cas, his friend’s eyes wide with distress. But it wasn’t Cas Dean looked at as he stood and Cas saw the expression change instantly from pain to amused surprise.

 “Wow, that was fast.”

Cas turned around to spot a familiar face, though looking a lot cleaner and tidier the last time they met. The blood stains and wounds had disappeared completely from his face and neck, his clothes were spotless and his white shirt was tucked neatly into his trousers. His black coat was no longer ripped or torn or covered in blood and his hands were clean. There wasn’t a single mark of Purgatory left on him.

“No thanks to you.” The man’s voice was rich and deep; a thick Louisianan accent lilting his every word. “The hell took you so long?”

Dean, gripping hold of his left arm, walked in front of Castiel towards the familiar friend.

“You’re welcome.” He retorted, raising his eyebrows and jerking his chin up towards the man, who glanced over at Castiel.

“I see you got your feathery friend outta there too?”

Dean momentarily looked back to Cas, who stood solemnly and still. He nodded.

“Didn’t think it’d work.” Continued the Louisianan man.

“Neither did I really.” Dean replied, ticking his head to the side, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“I am still here.” Castiel interjected, stepping forward a pace to reassert his authority. The man smiled slyly before cracking his neck.

“Everything working?” Dean asked, rubbing the wound on his arm tenderly as he scanned his eyes up and down the man.

“Good enough.” He replied, lifting his chin up slightly and baring his teeth. Suddenly, a set of fangs pierced through his gums and sat upon his teeth. Closing his mouth as he retracted them, he lowered his head and looked back at Dean.

“So…” he sighed, glancing over his shoulder. “What now?”

“Like we talked about, I guess.” Dean replied, shaking his head slightly.

The man nodded slowly, dropping his gaze to the floor.

“Then, this is goodbye.” He stated, gently lifting his head until his eyes found Dean’s again. The two exchanged a meaningful gaze as they reminisced. Dean’s mouth was closed firmly with his brow dipped.

“You keep your nose clean, Benny. You hear me?”

Benny nodded firmly and walked towards Dean with his arm extended. His gait was long and took him no more than two paces to reach his friend. Dean shook it tightly.

“We made it, brother.” Benny said. “I can’t believe it.”

He laughed heartily and pulled Dean, who was smiling broadly, in for a close hug.