R.I.P.
As we gather here for our dearly departed -
Uh, wait, where was I?
Oh yeah, ummm. This is dead mulch for this SPN/Hellblazer (ie John Constantine) crossover I was... poking at. ezgal-inspired, and she also poked at the first part and made it so much better than it was (Which implies... Yeah, I already knew about my lack of m4d wr1ting sk1llz0rz. ;P) before I uh, quite literally lost the plot.
This is actually from back a couple of months (huh, almost exactly), same couple of days as the Ink and werewolf stuff.
The first time Dean met John Constantine, he lost nearly $500 to him over a poker table.
Dean was still fuming when he got back to the apartment. Sam was up late, reading a library book with his feet on the coffeetable, tv turned down low. There was no point asking if he'd done his homework, the kid was fanatical about his schoolwork. He was probably two weeks ahead, if anything.
"Hey squirt," he said, throwing the baseball cap he'd been wearing (a bit of local color - pity the local colors were so damn ugly) onto Sam chest. Sam looked up and rolled his eyes. The squirt thing was becoming a bit
of a joke. He'd shot up in the last year - now he was almost as tall as his older brother, and he didn't show much sign of slowing.
"You're home early. How'd it go?" asked Sam.
"I got scammed," said Dean bluntly, and dumped some books from the car onto the kitchen table, already piled high with notebooks and binders, leather-bound tomes and loose papers covered in barely-legible scribbles and yellow Post-its. "Now get up, I need your help with research."
"What?" said Sam. " Why do you need to do research? And what do you mean you got scammed?"
"The guy was doing some kind of hoodoo, it was magical, I'd swear it.
Now you're gonna help me figure out how, and I'm gonna go get our money back."
"Dean! How much money did you lose?"
“Enough,” Dean snapped, and covered his embarrassment by turning his back and yanking open the fridge. He grabbed a beer from the door, popped the top with a hollow click and said,
"Five hundred," over the rim of the can.
"Shit."
"Yeah."
"That's our rent for the whole month! How could you gamble that? And what do
you mean magic?” Sam’s eyebrows shot up as he opened his eyes wide and asked, “What are you gonna tell Dad?”
Dean waved a hand, irritated. "Look, you know Dad didn't leave more than just a few days
worth. It's a game of skill, ok? And it was too magic. I'd have caught him if he'd been scamming it any other way, but he was just freakishly fuck'n lucky."
Sam raised an eyebrow, probably thinking of the excuse he'd given the
last two poker games Sam'd beaten him at.
"Ok, so maybe when you won that wasn't just luck.", Dean admitted. Little shit.
"How do you know he wasn't just... lucky?"
"Oh. He knew alright. Bastard was cocky about it to. Some English guy,
totally out of place, and it wasn't just me. He walks in, rolled his
sleeves up and sits down with them good 'ol boys. He just got the most
ridiculously lucky hands dealt, and there wasn't jack shit anyone
could do about it."
"So... what're you gonna do about it?"
"We find some general charm and hex breakers, and I go back in and win
our money back."
Sam tilted his head, thinking for a moment. "Ok. But only if I get to come too."
"I dunno Sammy, you look a bit young for a bar...", Sam just glared at
him. Ok, yeah. He was just bullshitting. He'd get him in. They
wouldn't give a fuck while he wasn't drinking, and not much of one if
he was.
***
Sam was willing to go along with it, once they started. They go
over the books, grab several sigils, some packets of dusty herbs
known for their protective properties, and just to be sure, Sam
performs a banishing ritual over Dean, then a mild protective ritual.
(the LBRP - "How do you even know how that's supposed to be pronounced
Sam? It's got no vowels." "It sounds better"). They only take two
hours, because Dean is antsy about still finding the guy.
***
He's moved bars, but asking around, including a couple of working
girls, they track him down at another bar, a few streets over. They
walk into the bar, and Sam's attention is riveted to an older guy,
smoking a cigarette, with scruffy blonde hair and a long, light
coloured trench coat. Dean hasn't told him what he looks like, but he
knows straight off, that's him.
Dean sits Sam down in a corner, and says unnecessarily, "That's him".
"So, you're sure you'll actually be able to beat him? Even if he
doesn't have the charm on, anymore?"
Sam's not questioning whether the guy's using magic. Something's
prickling at the back of his spine when he looks at him.
"Not a problem. He's not even paying attention to his hand, he's just
relying on the right cards coming into his hand."
"So, you think you can actually get him to play you?"
"Oh ye-ah...", and Dean's grinning wide and cocky, effortlessly
confident in a way Sam's feels just a quiver of pride/jealousy, like
he often does around his older brother.
Dean gets up and walks over to the guy's table.
Dean says, before pointing out an older guy, smoking a cigarette,
with scruffy blonde hair and a long, light coloured trench coat.
Sam's already staring at him. Attention riveted since they walked into the bar.
Sam stares curiously. There's... something about him.
***
Sam stepped in between them, and said "Dean. I think it's time for us
to get going.".
*dean's all grumpy* Look - I can take care of myself, ok?
...
John stepped up to Sam, right in his personal space, and some
protective instinct had Dean moving right up against Sam's back before
he could think about it, holding John's gaze over Sam's shoulder.
(awwww, Sam's still just short enough to do that! And, guh. Image. Threesome!)
Dean had been on a roll, picked up nearly $200 bucks scamming people
for poker, and lost
***
John nods at the tarot deck.
"So?
Give us a show then."
"That's just for research", replies Sam with a frown.
John just takes a drag from his smoke and sits back on his chair.
Sam's hand reaches out reluctantly without really thinking about it
and picks up the deck. He stares at it for a moment, then cuts and
shuffles it like he would for a card game.
"What do you want?"
"Three card spread."
Sam shrugs, and deals out three cards on the scratched tabletop, and
flips them over rapidly.
The Fool.
The Devil.
The Hanged Man.
The Fool isn't anything Sam remembers seeing before. It's an older
man, walking over what might be a cliff. He has a feeling it used to
have a dog on there, but he can't see it, and he's not so much
striding, as slouching towards Bethlehem. He kinda looks like he's
smoking. Sam looks up at John suspiciously.
The Devil looks familiar, just an ugly looking demon, above a couple
of humans in chains.
The Hanged Man again, seems to have changed, or maybe he's just
noticing something new. It's a tattooed man, serene above a mystical
pool.
He waits for John to say something.
"Well - what's it mean?", asks Sam.
"You dealt it, you tell me", says John. There's a question in John's
eyes, and for a moment, Sam thinks he's on an edge. About to fall into
something, and he doesn't even understand what he's doing.
Sam looks down with a shiver, and then Dean walks right in the door,
calling out "Are you ready?". Sam picks up the cards, and shoves them
back in the box.
"Yeah. Sure.", Sam replies, standing up.
John grins, and if he's disappointed, Sam can't tell.
***
I want to have both Dean & Sam getting it on with John. For ah, porn
purposes really, but also to show the contrasts between them, like it
being good for one, and dangerous for the other, like two sexual
encounters, and one choosing to be a hunter, one rejecting the whole
magician path.
It's not really working though. I can't seem to fit Dean fucking
Constantine into the gap between meeting him, and having Sam run to
Constantine
Right-o.
Ok. Shite.
Look, we can save your brother, right? Or you can anyway, 'cause
they'd spot my energy signature a mile away. But. You know how this
works, right?
Blood. Sex. Death. Something
Fuck.
Shit. Ok. We'll need something. Blood. Sex. Death. Something strong,
to power it. And you have to do it, not me. I can help, but those
fuckers'll see me a mile away.
***
Constantine passed Dean a scrap of paper. Dean probably figured Sam
hadn't seen that. His brother was such a slut. Sam tried to pretend
that wasn't jealousy he was feeling.
John paused, a worried look on his face. "Uh, how old are you, anyway?"
Sam glared at him. "Shut up, and get on with it."
"He'd freak out, and then he'd kill you."
"I don't think he'd... oh. Yeah. He would definitely kill me."
How'd you learn that?
John showed me some things.
Heh, he showed me some things too...
Like what?
Uh, not the same things...", an inquiring eyebrow from Sam, "well,
y'know. We fucked."
Sam's made a wry face.
"Yeah, well he showed me that too."
Holy fuck 0_o!
John would be all like, ok focus on Dean, while Sam's being fucked. If
that's not horribly fucked up with cesty implications, I don't know
what is.
*****
"You weren't even fucking legal Sammy! That motherfucking perverted
asshole! Shit. I would have cut his balls off if I'd known."
Dean's been ranting along these lines for awhile, so Sam finally
decides to cut in, "Dean. Dean. First, we were in Indiana..."
"How'd you know how to do that?"
"Remember that english magician John Constantine?"
"Yeah... hey, that's going back a bit, Sam"
Sam shrugged. "Well, he showed me some things."
"He showed me some things, too", Dean smirked, and realised a second
later what he'd said, but figured Sam would be a bit too squeamish to
call him on it.
Sam stilled for a moment, "Like what?" or... Sam might surprise him.
"Oh... Stuff." Sam raised an eyebrow. "What? We fucked, ok."
Sam stilled for a moment. "Oh.
***
He tried to ring Dad, but he was two states away and on a hunting
trip, and when the cell went through to Dad's voicemail, he hung up
and tried to figure out what to do next.
Dean would be ok. For now. For at least a day. Out cold, but not
injured. That's why this was supposed to be a rescue mission, why the
kid was probably still alive.
It was all John Constantine's fault. Somehow. And he was probably the
only person who could help him, but he had no idea where the hell he'd
be by now, and no way to find out. Well.
Probably no way.
Out of everything that was weird about his life, Magic didn't really
freak him out much. Not really. It... kinda made sense in a way.
Normal, natural. As easy to understand as chemistry or biology, except
more so. He'd never had an innate knowledge of the symbols in the
periodic table. And ok, that did freak him out a little, that it came
so naturally.
But, he wanted to find John Constantine, when he saw the cigarette
butt he'd left behind, he knew just how to do it.
John had left a cigarette butt behind in the trash, and Sam carefully
picked it up with a piece of silk. A sigil in one of Dad's books for
finding lost objects was easy enough to modify it a little. He rumaged
through the herbs they had on hand, and grabbed a few that should give
it a bit of a kick. He placed the herbs, taglock (cigarette butt), and
sigil in a piece of cloth, and then hesitated.
He was working half on instinct, but knew he needed something more to
empower it. His energy... he grabbed one of his knives, and went to
nick his palm before figuring that might put his grip off, and
carefully cut into his arm until the blood was flowing, spattering
over the cigarette butt and white paper of the sigil, carefully
chanting angelic names to imbue it with power, then wrapped it all
together in a little pouch.
Pouch in one pocket, he grabbed a knife, and hesitating, he shoved a
gun down the back of his jeans before he went... walking. And hoped
it'd work.
He was about 6 blocks away when a cab drew up ahead in the street,
and Constantine got out, waving his ever present ciggie around and
arguing with the cabby, "No, this is not where I fucking wanted to go!
Do you even speak English? Bollocks! I'm not paying you squat!" and
slammed the door, walking off. The Taxi drove alongside, the driver
yelling at him out the window, before giving him the finger and driving
off with a squeel of tires.
***
So, John set Dean up as a magical decoy by fucking him, and then
giving him a copy of his own magical tattoos, but he doesn't think
he's screwing him as much as he is, because when's the next time that
kid's gonna be walking onto some kind of (psychic/demon/whatever
portally type stuff...)
Yeah, I could just never quite wrangle it into place. I wanted both Dean and Sam fucking Constantine... ok, purely for porn purposes, but then it grew into an idea that Sam would come across as slightly OC - Slightly more into hunting, but more especially magic, all the rest of it, with the idea that by the end of the fic he'd have found himself in too deep, and decided fuck this shit, I just wanna be normal, and had a reaction against it, whereas Dean would also, say, fuck Constantine, but he comes away with a more positive view, he had fun, got to be a hero, and it reinforces his idea of hunter. But, I couldn't get any of it straight in my head, or figure out plausibly how stuff would lead on to each other.
Oh, and I vaguely remember this would be a whole recollection kinda set in the future (now), and that this would maybe somehow lead to wincest, and I have completely forgotten how that went, nooo!
Anyway, Rest In Pieces.
Uh, wait, where was I?
Oh yeah, ummm. This is dead mulch for this SPN/Hellblazer (ie John Constantine) crossover I was... poking at. ezgal-inspired, and she also poked at the first part and made it so much better than it was (Which implies... Yeah, I already knew about my lack of m4d wr1ting sk1llz0rz. ;P) before I uh, quite literally lost the plot.
This is actually from back a couple of months (huh, almost exactly), same couple of days as the Ink and werewolf stuff.
The first time Dean met John Constantine, he lost nearly $500 to him over a poker table.
Dean was still fuming when he got back to the apartment. Sam was up late, reading a library book with his feet on the coffeetable, tv turned down low. There was no point asking if he'd done his homework, the kid was fanatical about his schoolwork. He was probably two weeks ahead, if anything.
"Hey squirt," he said, throwing the baseball cap he'd been wearing (a bit of local color - pity the local colors were so damn ugly) onto Sam chest. Sam looked up and rolled his eyes. The squirt thing was becoming a bit
of a joke. He'd shot up in the last year - now he was almost as tall as his older brother, and he didn't show much sign of slowing.
"You're home early. How'd it go?" asked Sam.
"I got scammed," said Dean bluntly, and dumped some books from the car onto the kitchen table, already piled high with notebooks and binders, leather-bound tomes and loose papers covered in barely-legible scribbles and yellow Post-its. "Now get up, I need your help with research."
"What?" said Sam. " Why do you need to do research? And what do you mean you got scammed?"
"The guy was doing some kind of hoodoo, it was magical, I'd swear it.
Now you're gonna help me figure out how, and I'm gonna go get our money back."
"Dean! How much money did you lose?"
“Enough,” Dean snapped, and covered his embarrassment by turning his back and yanking open the fridge. He grabbed a beer from the door, popped the top with a hollow click and said,
"Five hundred," over the rim of the can.
"Shit."
"Yeah."
"That's our rent for the whole month! How could you gamble that? And what do
you mean magic?” Sam’s eyebrows shot up as he opened his eyes wide and asked, “What are you gonna tell Dad?”
Dean waved a hand, irritated. "Look, you know Dad didn't leave more than just a few days
worth. It's a game of skill, ok? And it was too magic. I'd have caught him if he'd been scamming it any other way, but he was just freakishly fuck'n lucky."
Sam raised an eyebrow, probably thinking of the excuse he'd given the
last two poker games Sam'd beaten him at.
"Ok, so maybe when you won that wasn't just luck.", Dean admitted. Little shit.
"How do you know he wasn't just... lucky?"
"Oh. He knew alright. Bastard was cocky about it to. Some English guy,
totally out of place, and it wasn't just me. He walks in, rolled his
sleeves up and sits down with them good 'ol boys. He just got the most
ridiculously lucky hands dealt, and there wasn't jack shit anyone
could do about it."
"So... what're you gonna do about it?"
"We find some general charm and hex breakers, and I go back in and win
our money back."
Sam tilted his head, thinking for a moment. "Ok. But only if I get to come too."
"I dunno Sammy, you look a bit young for a bar...", Sam just glared at
him. Ok, yeah. He was just bullshitting. He'd get him in. They
wouldn't give a fuck while he wasn't drinking, and not much of one if
he was.
***
Sam was willing to go along with it, once they started. They go
over the books, grab several sigils, some packets of dusty herbs
known for their protective properties, and just to be sure, Sam
performs a banishing ritual over Dean, then a mild protective ritual.
(the LBRP - "How do you even know how that's supposed to be pronounced
Sam? It's got no vowels." "It sounds better"). They only take two
hours, because Dean is antsy about still finding the guy.
***
He's moved bars, but asking around, including a couple of working
girls, they track him down at another bar, a few streets over. They
walk into the bar, and Sam's attention is riveted to an older guy,
smoking a cigarette, with scruffy blonde hair and a long, light
coloured trench coat. Dean hasn't told him what he looks like, but he
knows straight off, that's him.
Dean sits Sam down in a corner, and says unnecessarily, "That's him".
"So, you're sure you'll actually be able to beat him? Even if he
doesn't have the charm on, anymore?"
Sam's not questioning whether the guy's using magic. Something's
prickling at the back of his spine when he looks at him.
"Not a problem. He's not even paying attention to his hand, he's just
relying on the right cards coming into his hand."
"So, you think you can actually get him to play you?"
"Oh ye-ah...", and Dean's grinning wide and cocky, effortlessly
confident in a way Sam's feels just a quiver of pride/jealousy, like
he often does around his older brother.
Dean gets up and walks over to the guy's table.
Dean says, before pointing out an older guy, smoking a cigarette,
with scruffy blonde hair and a long, light coloured trench coat.
Sam's already staring at him. Attention riveted since they walked into the bar.
Sam stares curiously. There's... something about him.
***
Sam stepped in between them, and said "Dean. I think it's time for us
to get going.".
*dean's all grumpy* Look - I can take care of myself, ok?
...
John stepped up to Sam, right in his personal space, and some
protective instinct had Dean moving right up against Sam's back before
he could think about it, holding John's gaze over Sam's shoulder.
(awwww, Sam's still just short enough to do that! And, guh. Image. Threesome!)
Dean had been on a roll, picked up nearly $200 bucks scamming people
for poker, and lost
***
John nods at the tarot deck.
"So?
Give us a show then."
"That's just for research", replies Sam with a frown.
John just takes a drag from his smoke and sits back on his chair.
Sam's hand reaches out reluctantly without really thinking about it
and picks up the deck. He stares at it for a moment, then cuts and
shuffles it like he would for a card game.
"What do you want?"
"Three card spread."
Sam shrugs, and deals out three cards on the scratched tabletop, and
flips them over rapidly.
The Fool.
The Devil.
The Hanged Man.
The Fool isn't anything Sam remembers seeing before. It's an older
man, walking over what might be a cliff. He has a feeling it used to
have a dog on there, but he can't see it, and he's not so much
striding, as slouching towards Bethlehem. He kinda looks like he's
smoking. Sam looks up at John suspiciously.
The Devil looks familiar, just an ugly looking demon, above a couple
of humans in chains.
The Hanged Man again, seems to have changed, or maybe he's just
noticing something new. It's a tattooed man, serene above a mystical
pool.
He waits for John to say something.
"Well - what's it mean?", asks Sam.
"You dealt it, you tell me", says John. There's a question in John's
eyes, and for a moment, Sam thinks he's on an edge. About to fall into
something, and he doesn't even understand what he's doing.
Sam looks down with a shiver, and then Dean walks right in the door,
calling out "Are you ready?". Sam picks up the cards, and shoves them
back in the box.
"Yeah. Sure.", Sam replies, standing up.
John grins, and if he's disappointed, Sam can't tell.
***
I want to have both Dean & Sam getting it on with John. For ah, porn
purposes really, but also to show the contrasts between them, like it
being good for one, and dangerous for the other, like two sexual
encounters, and one choosing to be a hunter, one rejecting the whole
magician path.
It's not really working though. I can't seem to fit Dean fucking
Constantine into the gap between meeting him, and having Sam run to
Constantine
Right-o.
Ok. Shite.
Look, we can save your brother, right? Or you can anyway, 'cause
they'd spot my energy signature a mile away. But. You know how this
works, right?
Blood. Sex. Death. Something
Fuck.
Shit. Ok. We'll need something. Blood. Sex. Death. Something strong,
to power it. And you have to do it, not me. I can help, but those
fuckers'll see me a mile away.
***
Constantine passed Dean a scrap of paper. Dean probably figured Sam
hadn't seen that. His brother was such a slut. Sam tried to pretend
that wasn't jealousy he was feeling.
John paused, a worried look on his face. "Uh, how old are you, anyway?"
Sam glared at him. "Shut up, and get on with it."
"He'd freak out, and then he'd kill you."
"I don't think he'd... oh. Yeah. He would definitely kill me."
How'd you learn that?
John showed me some things.
Heh, he showed me some things too...
Like what?
Uh, not the same things...", an inquiring eyebrow from Sam, "well,
y'know. We fucked."
Sam's made a wry face.
"Yeah, well he showed me that too."
Holy fuck 0_o!
John would be all like, ok focus on Dean, while Sam's being fucked. If
that's not horribly fucked up with cesty implications, I don't know
what is.
*****
"You weren't even fucking legal Sammy! That motherfucking perverted
asshole! Shit. I would have cut his balls off if I'd known."
Dean's been ranting along these lines for awhile, so Sam finally
decides to cut in, "Dean. Dean. First, we were in Indiana..."
"How'd you know how to do that?"
"Remember that english magician John Constantine?"
"Yeah... hey, that's going back a bit, Sam"
Sam shrugged. "Well, he showed me some things."
"He showed me some things, too", Dean smirked, and realised a second
later what he'd said, but figured Sam would be a bit too squeamish to
call him on it.
Sam stilled for a moment, "Like what?" or... Sam might surprise him.
"Oh... Stuff." Sam raised an eyebrow. "What? We fucked, ok."
Sam stilled for a moment. "Oh.
***
He tried to ring Dad, but he was two states away and on a hunting
trip, and when the cell went through to Dad's voicemail, he hung up
and tried to figure out what to do next.
Dean would be ok. For now. For at least a day. Out cold, but not
injured. That's why this was supposed to be a rescue mission, why the
kid was probably still alive.
It was all John Constantine's fault. Somehow. And he was probably the
only person who could help him, but he had no idea where the hell he'd
be by now, and no way to find out. Well.
Probably no way.
Out of everything that was weird about his life, Magic didn't really
freak him out much. Not really. It... kinda made sense in a way.
Normal, natural. As easy to understand as chemistry or biology, except
more so. He'd never had an innate knowledge of the symbols in the
periodic table. And ok, that did freak him out a little, that it came
so naturally.
But, he wanted to find John Constantine, when he saw the cigarette
butt he'd left behind, he knew just how to do it.
John had left a cigarette butt behind in the trash, and Sam carefully
picked it up with a piece of silk. A sigil in one of Dad's books for
finding lost objects was easy enough to modify it a little. He rumaged
through the herbs they had on hand, and grabbed a few that should give
it a bit of a kick. He placed the herbs, taglock (cigarette butt), and
sigil in a piece of cloth, and then hesitated.
He was working half on instinct, but knew he needed something more to
empower it. His energy... he grabbed one of his knives, and went to
nick his palm before figuring that might put his grip off, and
carefully cut into his arm until the blood was flowing, spattering
over the cigarette butt and white paper of the sigil, carefully
chanting angelic names to imbue it with power, then wrapped it all
together in a little pouch.
Pouch in one pocket, he grabbed a knife, and hesitating, he shoved a
gun down the back of his jeans before he went... walking. And hoped
it'd work.
He was about 6 blocks away when a cab drew up ahead in the street,
and Constantine got out, waving his ever present ciggie around and
arguing with the cabby, "No, this is not where I fucking wanted to go!
Do you even speak English? Bollocks! I'm not paying you squat!" and
slammed the door, walking off. The Taxi drove alongside, the driver
yelling at him out the window, before giving him the finger and driving
off with a squeel of tires.
***
So, John set Dean up as a magical decoy by fucking him, and then
giving him a copy of his own magical tattoos, but he doesn't think
he's screwing him as much as he is, because when's the next time that
kid's gonna be walking onto some kind of (psychic/demon/whatever
portally type stuff...)
Yeah, I could just never quite wrangle it into place. I wanted both Dean and Sam fucking Constantine... ok, purely for porn purposes, but then it grew into an idea that Sam would come across as slightly OC - Slightly more into hunting, but more especially magic, all the rest of it, with the idea that by the end of the fic he'd have found himself in too deep, and decided fuck this shit, I just wanna be normal, and had a reaction against it, whereas Dean would also, say, fuck Constantine, but he comes away with a more positive view, he had fun, got to be a hero, and it reinforces his idea of hunter. But, I couldn't get any of it straight in my head, or figure out plausibly how stuff would lead on to each other.
Oh, and I vaguely remember this would be a whole recollection kinda set in the future (now), and that this would maybe somehow lead to wincest, and I have completely forgotten how that went, nooo!
Anyway, Rest In Pieces.