Fiction: Hell and Fury - Part 1 - NC-17
Title: Hell and Fury
Author(s): goth_clark aka GothGirl
Crossover: Supernatural/Hellblazer comics
Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to Eric Kripke and John Constantine belongs to DC Comics. No infringement is intended and no profit is made.
Type: first time, angst
Word Count: 16,800
Characters/Pairings: Sam Winchester, John Constantine, John Winchester, John Constantine/John Winchester
Warnings: Rated NC-17 for sex and some violence.
Spoilers: Supernatural up to end of season three and hints of season four. Hellblazer all issues.
Artist: angstpuppy
Link to Art: Hell and Fury art
Summary: Sam tried everything to get his brother back from Hell. Including a Brit his father labeled dangerous and Bobby warned him about.
Author’s Notes: I'd like to thank my wonderful beta readers off_that_bridge, danceswithgary and alee who all helped make this story much better than it could have been without them.
The engine ticked. Sam Winchester sat slumped in the driver's seat of the Impala. He'd always thought of the car as Dean's and even now, weeks after burying his brother, Sam couldn't imagine anyone else driving the thing. He slept in it most nights and whispered good night to a man who was no longer there.
Sam unscrewed the cap of the flask and placed the mouth to his lips. There was barely a drop of JD left, but he hunkered down and upended the flask and placed that drop on his tongue. He would have to break down and buy more tomorrow, which meant human contact. That was something he avoided at all costs these days. Bobby had called him more than a dozen times to check on him. At first Sam had answered the calls with snide replies to his questions about how he was doing ranging from, 'like shit' to 'fuck off.' That last one Sam had regretted from the moment the words had left his mouth. Luckily, Bobby understood. Bobby knew better than anyone what Sam was going through.
Tonight it would have to be a bar. Sam needed to get shit-faced right this second, but before that particular mission he needed to get something out of their father's shed. Sam stepped out of the car and rubbed his hands together. It was chilly tonight. Sam closed the door and walked around the car. The storage shed was just around the corner. He stopped just short. The door was ajar. Sam yanked the gun from his belt and thumbed the safety, glancing around the area. There was no movement in sight and the eerie silent was broken by a sudden crash and a voice from inside. Sam moved forward without a sound, nudged the doorway open with his free hand, and aimed the gun at a shadow.
"Do not fucking move," Sam said, barely containing his anger at the intrusion. Whoever had broken into their father's secret stash was about to have their brains splattered all over the concrete. Sam was in no mood for discussion. His trigger finger itched to blow something away.
A dim light went on, revealing the shape as a man. Sam could just make out a blond head of hair and the smoke of a lit cigarette.
"Put that thing away, mate," said a voice with a distinct British accent.
Sam moved forward smoothly and placed the gun on the man's forehead, anger blazing in his chest.
"You better have a good explanation for why you're here, or I'm going to have a serious mess to clean up," Sam growled.
The man smirked. He actually smirked though his eyes were wide and trained upward on the gun at his head. He placed the cigarette to his mouth and took a long drag.
"At least let me finish my fag before you have a look at my brains," he said.
Sam thumbed the hammer and pressed the barrel harder against the man's forehead, asking once again, "Why are you here?" His finger twitched and the anger bubbling up inside grew stronger. The cocky son of a bitch was going to get his head blown off and he was making jokes? "Who the fuck are you, 'mate'?" Sam moved in closer, towering over the guy, who was still puffing away on his cigarette. He reached out and snatched it from the man's fingers and threw it to the ground, mashing it beneath his boot heel.
"You must be Dean," the man said, looking up at Sam. Sam could just make out in the dim light that he had blue eyes that held too much amusement, considering the situation.
Without hesitation, Sam punched the man in the jaw, knocking him sideways and to the floor. Sam reached behind him and snapped the light on. The room flooded with light, and shadows danced in the far corners. Blinking in the sudden glare, Sam could make out that the man looked to be in his forties. His blond hair was short and spiky on top. He wore a suit with a tie and a beige trench coat. He looked more like some Wall Street jerk than an intruder.
"I guess that means you're Sam then," the man said as he wiped blood from the corner of his mouth. "That was uncalled for." He pushed himself off the concrete and stood, brushing at his coat. Sam knew he couldn't be demon-possessed or he wouldn't have gotten into the room, and he'd noticed that the lock hadn't been broken. The stranger leaned forward and held out his hand. "John Constantine," he said as an introduction. When Sam refused to shake, Constantine glanced around the room and turned his back on Sam.
"What the Hell are you doing in here and how did you get in?" Sam asked. He still had the gun trained on the man, though Constantine didn't seem the least bit concerned. He did, however, turn and raise his eyebrows.
"Put that away, would you?" he suggested. "You're either going to shoot me or not and I'm guessing not." Constantine bent at the waist and snatched something up from the floor. It was a flashlight and he smacked it against his hand in an attempt to get the thing to work. The light didn't go on. "Bugger. It's bloody well gone for." He slipped it into his coat pocket and turned back to Sam, who was still holding the gun on him.
"Answer my question," Sam said.
Constantine eyed the gun, and Sam thumbed the hammer and lowered the weapon. It was obvious that whoever this guy was, he knew something about the Winchesters. He knew his name and Dean's and he knew about the locker.
"Jesus wept," Constantine muttered under his breath. "I'm a friend, that's who." He walked over to the shelf that contained elaborate boxes. Sam glanced at them, looking around the room for the first time since his solitary visit there with Dean following Bella's foray into theft. Constantine reached into his jacket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.
"Mind if I smoke?" he asked and lit the cigarette before Sam could reply.
"Why are you here?"
"I was adding to the trinkets," Constantine said, motioning to his left. Sam looked in that direction, but couldn't be sure if this guy was telling the truth. After all, it wasn't as though Sam had memorized the contents of the room. He'd thought about doing an inventory, but then things had gotten busy.
Constantine leaned against a table and puffed on his cigarette. He stared up at Sam until Sam looked away. Constantine walked over to a shelf and tapped a middle finger on a box. It was black and about the size of a jack-in-the-box.
"You were breaking in to put something here?" Sam asked. They eyed each other for a long moment. "Was it something you originally stole?"
"Nope," Constantine said, walking towards the door. He glanced over his shoulder at Sam and smiled. "John, the other John, your old man, gave me these," Constantine said holding up a set of keys. Constantine winked and tucked the keys back in his pocket. "I was in a hurry and needed a place to store that."
"What is it?" Sam said, walking over to the box. He reached for it. How was he supposed to know if Constantine was telling the truth? Sam couldn't recall his father, or anyone he knew for that matter, ever mentioning this man. He would have to check Dad's journal the next chance he got to see if he'd talked at all about John Constantine. If Constantine had managed to secure some dangerous unknown object inside that box, he was a player.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Constantine called out. "It's best to leave now. Could you give a bloke a lift?"
Sam glared at the man and stepped away from the shelf to walk past Constantine. There was no time now to look for the pages Bobby had said were here. He'd have to come back for them another day when he wasn't so distracted.
Sam stopped in the doorway and motioned for Constantine to follow. There was no way he was letting the guy out of his sight. The moment Sam got back to his motel room, he was doing some research. He'd even call Bobby if needed.
Sam followed Constantine outside and snapped the lock back into place. He tugged on it a few times to be sure it was secured properly and, when he turned around, he found Constantine leaning against Dean's car.
Sam stalked over to the car and glared at the man. Constantine smirked and stepped away from the driver's side door. A loud crash echoed in the distance. Constantine tossed his cigarette to the ground and suddenly rushed to the other side of the car.
"Get in," he ordered Sam.
Sam turned in the direction of the sound and saw light flare in the darkness down the alleyway.
"Open the bloody door now," Constantine urged, yanking on the handle.
"What is it?" Sam asked as he pulled the keys from his pants pocket. He fumbled them and they fell out of his hand, landing in a muddy puddle at his feet.
"Oh, bloody hell!" Constantine groaned with obvious frustration. "Get this door open or you'll find out first hand what that is."
When Sam stood up straight from picking up the keys, the sound had moved closer. He could see a large dark shape moving toward them. Sam rushed to get the right key in the lock and almost dropped them again. When he finally unlocked the car, he slid in and reached across to unlock the door for Constantine. Constantine jumped in as Sam started the engine.
"Go, go now," Constantine urged as he buckled up. Sam put the car in gear. Something grazed the rear end as Sam put his foot on the gas and floored it. The car lurched for a second and Sam's heart hammered in his chest when they broke free from whatever had gotten hold of them. They tore down the alleyway, hitting sixty before they'd even reached the end of the street. Sam spun the wheel and steered them left in the opposite direction of his motel. If the thing that was on their tail followed them and somehow managed to catch up, there was no way Sam was going to lead it to where he was staying.
Sam drove, weaving his way through the dark streets. Constantine sat quietly beside him, one arm slung across the headrest, and the other pressed against the door.
"Explain to me what that thing was back there," Sam finally said after they had put some distance between them and whatever had been on the bumper.
"A demon," Constantine said much too casually. "What, you've never seen one before?"
Sam slowed down. If that had been a demon, there was no way a human, even one possessed by a demon, could have followed the car. He'd floored it all the way and, since Constantine didn't seem concerned, there was no reason to put any more stress on the car than was necessary.
"She won't have followed," Constantine said, as if he knew what Sam had been thinking.
"Why not?" Sam asked as he stopped at an intersection and turned right. He needed to get back to the motel as soon as possible. Hopefully, Bobby could shed some light on all that had happened.
"Because she's probably trying at this moment to get inside that lockup," Constantine said.
Sam stopped the car and stared at the man. Something told him that he wasn't going to like the answer to his next question.
"What did you put in that box?"
"Her unborn offspring," Constantine said.
"Isn't that going to make her angry?" Sam asked. What he'd thought was going to be an easy night, had turned into a nightmare. Who the fuck was this guy and why was he here in Sam's car? He should have left him back at the storage locker.
"Maybe, but she'll never get to it. I've seen to that," Constantine said. Somehow that sentence did not inspire confidence. Sam felt the urge to pull over and toss Constantine out the door, leaving the man to find his own way, but he held back. It was obvious Constantine knew something about demons. Maybe he knew something that could help Sam.
*
Everything was where Sam had left it before he'd gone out. The motel room was dark and quiet. Sam flicked the light switch and dropped his jacket on the bed. Constantine stood at the open door and stared at the non-smoking sign. Sam slotted his dead cell phone in the charger and sat at the small table and opened the lid of his laptop. As soon as the wireless connected, he opened up a browser. He'd call Bobby later. Right now, he wasn't in the mood to talk to the man. He'd only have to endure a lecture or Bobby's concern.
"Right then," Constantine said still standing by the doorway. Sam barely noticed as the man closed the door and walked up to the table. Sam could see his beige trench coat in his peripheral vision, but chose to ignore him. It wasn't until Constantine reached for his father's journal that Sam leapt up from his seat and pushed the man back. Constantine managed to stay on his feet.
"Don't touch my stuff," Sam said, snatching the journal from the table. He let it fall open in his hand and thumbed through the pages.
"I'm probably in there somewhere," Constantine said as he pulled a cigarette pack from his coat pocket. Sam gave him a warning look and pointed at the door.
"You can step outside for that," Sam said. This wasn't worth the hassle. Even if this man had known his father, Sam was starting to lose interest in who he was and what he knew.
After a long silence, Constantine left the room and closed the door behind him. Sam sighed with relief. He wouldn't have to deal with another person. He looked down at the journal and walked backwards to sit down on the soft mattress. After flipping through a few pages, Sam rolled his neck until it popped softly. He was tense all over. Sam reached up and rubbed his shoulder. That was when he spotted the name written in his father's journal.
Constantine: helped with hex to rid boy of demon. Magus who knows more about demons than any man I've ever met. Has been to Hell and back.
Sam sat up straight. A sudden knock at the door startled him. He jumped up and rushed forward to yank the door wide open. He knew he should have been more cautious, but his head was swimming with what he'd just read. John Constantine stood in the doorway, staring up at Sam with wide blue eyes.
"Give a bloke a break, would you?" he said.
Sam reached out and grabbed hold of the collar of Constantine's trench coat and yanked him inside, shutting the door behind him. He turned to face Constantine, towering over the man. Constantine stood his ground, and tilted his head up to stare at Sam. There was no way Sam was backing down or would be the first to avert his eyes.
"You've been to Hell," Sam finally said.
"Several times," Constantine said. "Where's your old man?"
"Dead," Sam said, gritting his teeth. If this man knew the way to Hell, he could help get Dean back. Sam felt a sudden wave of hope where none had been. There was no way Sam was going to let Constantine out of his sight now.
Constantine looked away, and Sam relaxed, his shoulders sagging.
"I'm sorry to hear that, kid," Constantine finally said, swiping a hand across his face. He scratched at the stubble on his chin. "Look, I've got no place to sleep and since you've already got this..."
"You can stay here with me," Sam said, holding his hand up to stop Constantine in mid-sentence.
"You're a good kid," Constantine said. He sat down on the bed and fell back with a deep sigh. Sam moved forward once again, towering over the sprawled man.
"You can stay here as long as you stop calling me kid," Sam said, nudging Constantine's knee with his leg.
Constantine closed his eyes and nodded.
"Sorry 'bout that." Constantine replied, sitting up. Sam stepped back to give him some room.
"Have we met before?" Sam asked. Maybe having a companion wasn't such a bad idea after all.
"Never," Constantine said, standing. He removed his trench coat and set it down on the bed, yanking at the knot in his tie until it was loose. "John was rather protective of you and your brother." Constantine stopped. "Where is Dean?"
"In Hell," Sam said. He cleared his throat and glanced away from Constantine's intense blue stare. Hearing his brother's name spoken aloud by the stranger reopened the wound and Sam didn't want to have to explain the last year of his life. Just the thought, made him want to scream. He could feel the anger and frustration of the last few months building in his chest.
Constantine's shoulders slumped, and he suddenly looking as tired as Sam felt. He reached up and placed a hand on Sam's shoulder, and urged him to sit down on the bed before sitting down beside him.
"Tell me everything, and we'll sort it all out," Constantine said. At first they sat in silence, Sam unsure where to begin. His throat felt raw and his chest hurt at the thought of talking about that day when the Hellhound had come for Dean. The image of his brother's shredded body was imprinted in Sam's head permanently. He hadn't gone a single night since without having nightmares about Dean screaming in Hell, begging Sam to get him out. Every moment that went by, every tick of the clock, Sam knew that Dean was in Hell suffering whatever torment demons could dream of, and Sam had imagined what those could be.
Constantine rubbed Sam's shoulder, pulling him from his tormenting thoughts. Sam glanced sideways at the man and cleared his throat.
"Dean sold his soul to save me and went to Hell," Sam started to say.
"I know how that goes, mate," Constantine said.
There was another long pause and Sam could hear the sound of a car alarm go off in the distance.
"There's no need to say more," Constantine said. He lowered his hand and glanced up when another car alarm, this one closer, went off outside. "Bloody hell," he muttered under his breath. He stood and walked to the window, pushing the curtain aside. Sam joined him, and they both looked outside. It was dark and nothing was moving, even in the distance.
"What is it?" Sam said, suddenly on edge. It seemed that Constantine was just as paranoid as him. Constantine shook his head and leaned against the wall. Sam was suddenly aware of how close together they stood. He'd been so used to always stepping inside Dean's personal space that sometimes he had a hard time breaking himself of that habit. To make matters worse, Constantine kind of smelled like he hadn't showered in a few days, not to mention the strong, bitter tang of cigarette smoke. He took a step back, and tucked his hands in his back pockets.
"Nothing," Constantine finally said. "Mind if I use the bath?" he asked, pointing a thumb at the bathroom door.
"What about what we were talking about?" Sam asked as Constantine walked over to the bathroom. Constantine turned and looked over his shoulder at Sam.
"I can help, Samuel," Constantine said. "We should both get some rest first. I'm knackered, and in dire need of a thorough cleaning. We'll talk in the morning."
Relieved that Constantine had given him an out, Sam didn't argue. Instead, he sat down on the bed while Constantine disappeared in the bathroom. Sam lay down, resting his head on the pillow. He heard the shower start and closed his eyes just to rest for a second while he waited for his turn.
Sam startled awake. The room was quiet and dark. He must have fallen asleep while waiting for Constantine to finish cleaning up. He rolled over and stopped when he felt the warmth of a body next to him. Constantine was asleep on the bed beside him, his back to Sam. When Constantine rolled onto his back, Sam shifted away to give him space. The bed was more than large enough for the two of them, but Sam still felt a small twinge of resentment that he'd just presumed to sleep beside Sam.
Not that there was any place else for Constantine to sleep. It was just annoying. Sam yawned and stretched his legs, and his feet dangled off the end of the bed. He shifted to lie on his side and settled in to get some more sleep. The soft breathing of the man beside him was distracting at first. Sam opened his eyes and, by the dim light, he could see soft pale lashes against Constantine's cheeks. Up close, Sam could smell the slight scent of shaving cream. The bastard must have used Sam's stuff. He really was presumptuous. Sam took a deep breath. There wasn't anything he could do about it now. In the morning, they would have to get Constantine his own supplies.
Sam closed his eyes again and dreamed the breathing beside him was someone else.
PART 2
Author(s): goth_clark aka GothGirl
Crossover: Supernatural/Hellblazer comics
Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to Eric Kripke and John Constantine belongs to DC Comics. No infringement is intended and no profit is made.
Type: first time, angst
Word Count: 16,800
Characters/Pairings: Sam Winchester, John Constantine, John Winchester, John Constantine/John Winchester
Warnings: Rated NC-17 for sex and some violence.
Spoilers: Supernatural up to end of season three and hints of season four. Hellblazer all issues.
Artist: angstpuppy
Link to Art: Hell and Fury art
Summary: Sam tried everything to get his brother back from Hell. Including a Brit his father labeled dangerous and Bobby warned him about.
Author’s Notes: I'd like to thank my wonderful beta readers off_that_bridge, danceswithgary and alee who all helped make this story much better than it could have been without them.
The engine ticked. Sam Winchester sat slumped in the driver's seat of the Impala. He'd always thought of the car as Dean's and even now, weeks after burying his brother, Sam couldn't imagine anyone else driving the thing. He slept in it most nights and whispered good night to a man who was no longer there.
Sam unscrewed the cap of the flask and placed the mouth to his lips. There was barely a drop of JD left, but he hunkered down and upended the flask and placed that drop on his tongue. He would have to break down and buy more tomorrow, which meant human contact. That was something he avoided at all costs these days. Bobby had called him more than a dozen times to check on him. At first Sam had answered the calls with snide replies to his questions about how he was doing ranging from, 'like shit' to 'fuck off.' That last one Sam had regretted from the moment the words had left his mouth. Luckily, Bobby understood. Bobby knew better than anyone what Sam was going through.
Tonight it would have to be a bar. Sam needed to get shit-faced right this second, but before that particular mission he needed to get something out of their father's shed. Sam stepped out of the car and rubbed his hands together. It was chilly tonight. Sam closed the door and walked around the car. The storage shed was just around the corner. He stopped just short. The door was ajar. Sam yanked the gun from his belt and thumbed the safety, glancing around the area. There was no movement in sight and the eerie silent was broken by a sudden crash and a voice from inside. Sam moved forward without a sound, nudged the doorway open with his free hand, and aimed the gun at a shadow.
"Do not fucking move," Sam said, barely containing his anger at the intrusion. Whoever had broken into their father's secret stash was about to have their brains splattered all over the concrete. Sam was in no mood for discussion. His trigger finger itched to blow something away.
A dim light went on, revealing the shape as a man. Sam could just make out a blond head of hair and the smoke of a lit cigarette.
"Put that thing away, mate," said a voice with a distinct British accent.
Sam moved forward smoothly and placed the gun on the man's forehead, anger blazing in his chest.
"You better have a good explanation for why you're here, or I'm going to have a serious mess to clean up," Sam growled.
The man smirked. He actually smirked though his eyes were wide and trained upward on the gun at his head. He placed the cigarette to his mouth and took a long drag.
"At least let me finish my fag before you have a look at my brains," he said.
Sam thumbed the hammer and pressed the barrel harder against the man's forehead, asking once again, "Why are you here?" His finger twitched and the anger bubbling up inside grew stronger. The cocky son of a bitch was going to get his head blown off and he was making jokes? "Who the fuck are you, 'mate'?" Sam moved in closer, towering over the guy, who was still puffing away on his cigarette. He reached out and snatched it from the man's fingers and threw it to the ground, mashing it beneath his boot heel.
"You must be Dean," the man said, looking up at Sam. Sam could just make out in the dim light that he had blue eyes that held too much amusement, considering the situation.
Without hesitation, Sam punched the man in the jaw, knocking him sideways and to the floor. Sam reached behind him and snapped the light on. The room flooded with light, and shadows danced in the far corners. Blinking in the sudden glare, Sam could make out that the man looked to be in his forties. His blond hair was short and spiky on top. He wore a suit with a tie and a beige trench coat. He looked more like some Wall Street jerk than an intruder.
"I guess that means you're Sam then," the man said as he wiped blood from the corner of his mouth. "That was uncalled for." He pushed himself off the concrete and stood, brushing at his coat. Sam knew he couldn't be demon-possessed or he wouldn't have gotten into the room, and he'd noticed that the lock hadn't been broken. The stranger leaned forward and held out his hand. "John Constantine," he said as an introduction. When Sam refused to shake, Constantine glanced around the room and turned his back on Sam.
"What the Hell are you doing in here and how did you get in?" Sam asked. He still had the gun trained on the man, though Constantine didn't seem the least bit concerned. He did, however, turn and raise his eyebrows.
"Put that away, would you?" he suggested. "You're either going to shoot me or not and I'm guessing not." Constantine bent at the waist and snatched something up from the floor. It was a flashlight and he smacked it against his hand in an attempt to get the thing to work. The light didn't go on. "Bugger. It's bloody well gone for." He slipped it into his coat pocket and turned back to Sam, who was still holding the gun on him.
"Answer my question," Sam said.
Constantine eyed the gun, and Sam thumbed the hammer and lowered the weapon. It was obvious that whoever this guy was, he knew something about the Winchesters. He knew his name and Dean's and he knew about the locker.
"Jesus wept," Constantine muttered under his breath. "I'm a friend, that's who." He walked over to the shelf that contained elaborate boxes. Sam glanced at them, looking around the room for the first time since his solitary visit there with Dean following Bella's foray into theft. Constantine reached into his jacket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.
"Mind if I smoke?" he asked and lit the cigarette before Sam could reply.
"Why are you here?"
"I was adding to the trinkets," Constantine said, motioning to his left. Sam looked in that direction, but couldn't be sure if this guy was telling the truth. After all, it wasn't as though Sam had memorized the contents of the room. He'd thought about doing an inventory, but then things had gotten busy.
Constantine leaned against a table and puffed on his cigarette. He stared up at Sam until Sam looked away. Constantine walked over to a shelf and tapped a middle finger on a box. It was black and about the size of a jack-in-the-box.
"You were breaking in to put something here?" Sam asked. They eyed each other for a long moment. "Was it something you originally stole?"
"Nope," Constantine said, walking towards the door. He glanced over his shoulder at Sam and smiled. "John, the other John, your old man, gave me these," Constantine said holding up a set of keys. Constantine winked and tucked the keys back in his pocket. "I was in a hurry and needed a place to store that."
"What is it?" Sam said, walking over to the box. He reached for it. How was he supposed to know if Constantine was telling the truth? Sam couldn't recall his father, or anyone he knew for that matter, ever mentioning this man. He would have to check Dad's journal the next chance he got to see if he'd talked at all about John Constantine. If Constantine had managed to secure some dangerous unknown object inside that box, he was a player.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Constantine called out. "It's best to leave now. Could you give a bloke a lift?"
Sam glared at the man and stepped away from the shelf to walk past Constantine. There was no time now to look for the pages Bobby had said were here. He'd have to come back for them another day when he wasn't so distracted.
Sam stopped in the doorway and motioned for Constantine to follow. There was no way he was letting the guy out of his sight. The moment Sam got back to his motel room, he was doing some research. He'd even call Bobby if needed.
Sam followed Constantine outside and snapped the lock back into place. He tugged on it a few times to be sure it was secured properly and, when he turned around, he found Constantine leaning against Dean's car.
Sam stalked over to the car and glared at the man. Constantine smirked and stepped away from the driver's side door. A loud crash echoed in the distance. Constantine tossed his cigarette to the ground and suddenly rushed to the other side of the car.
"Get in," he ordered Sam.
Sam turned in the direction of the sound and saw light flare in the darkness down the alleyway.
"Open the bloody door now," Constantine urged, yanking on the handle.
"What is it?" Sam asked as he pulled the keys from his pants pocket. He fumbled them and they fell out of his hand, landing in a muddy puddle at his feet.
"Oh, bloody hell!" Constantine groaned with obvious frustration. "Get this door open or you'll find out first hand what that is."
When Sam stood up straight from picking up the keys, the sound had moved closer. He could see a large dark shape moving toward them. Sam rushed to get the right key in the lock and almost dropped them again. When he finally unlocked the car, he slid in and reached across to unlock the door for Constantine. Constantine jumped in as Sam started the engine.
"Go, go now," Constantine urged as he buckled up. Sam put the car in gear. Something grazed the rear end as Sam put his foot on the gas and floored it. The car lurched for a second and Sam's heart hammered in his chest when they broke free from whatever had gotten hold of them. They tore down the alleyway, hitting sixty before they'd even reached the end of the street. Sam spun the wheel and steered them left in the opposite direction of his motel. If the thing that was on their tail followed them and somehow managed to catch up, there was no way Sam was going to lead it to where he was staying.
Sam drove, weaving his way through the dark streets. Constantine sat quietly beside him, one arm slung across the headrest, and the other pressed against the door.
"Explain to me what that thing was back there," Sam finally said after they had put some distance between them and whatever had been on the bumper.
"A demon," Constantine said much too casually. "What, you've never seen one before?"
Sam slowed down. If that had been a demon, there was no way a human, even one possessed by a demon, could have followed the car. He'd floored it all the way and, since Constantine didn't seem concerned, there was no reason to put any more stress on the car than was necessary.
"She won't have followed," Constantine said, as if he knew what Sam had been thinking.
"Why not?" Sam asked as he stopped at an intersection and turned right. He needed to get back to the motel as soon as possible. Hopefully, Bobby could shed some light on all that had happened.
"Because she's probably trying at this moment to get inside that lockup," Constantine said.
Sam stopped the car and stared at the man. Something told him that he wasn't going to like the answer to his next question.
"What did you put in that box?"
"Her unborn offspring," Constantine said.
"Isn't that going to make her angry?" Sam asked. What he'd thought was going to be an easy night, had turned into a nightmare. Who the fuck was this guy and why was he here in Sam's car? He should have left him back at the storage locker.
"Maybe, but she'll never get to it. I've seen to that," Constantine said. Somehow that sentence did not inspire confidence. Sam felt the urge to pull over and toss Constantine out the door, leaving the man to find his own way, but he held back. It was obvious Constantine knew something about demons. Maybe he knew something that could help Sam.
*
Everything was where Sam had left it before he'd gone out. The motel room was dark and quiet. Sam flicked the light switch and dropped his jacket on the bed. Constantine stood at the open door and stared at the non-smoking sign. Sam slotted his dead cell phone in the charger and sat at the small table and opened the lid of his laptop. As soon as the wireless connected, he opened up a browser. He'd call Bobby later. Right now, he wasn't in the mood to talk to the man. He'd only have to endure a lecture or Bobby's concern.
"Right then," Constantine said still standing by the doorway. Sam barely noticed as the man closed the door and walked up to the table. Sam could see his beige trench coat in his peripheral vision, but chose to ignore him. It wasn't until Constantine reached for his father's journal that Sam leapt up from his seat and pushed the man back. Constantine managed to stay on his feet.
"Don't touch my stuff," Sam said, snatching the journal from the table. He let it fall open in his hand and thumbed through the pages.
"I'm probably in there somewhere," Constantine said as he pulled a cigarette pack from his coat pocket. Sam gave him a warning look and pointed at the door.
"You can step outside for that," Sam said. This wasn't worth the hassle. Even if this man had known his father, Sam was starting to lose interest in who he was and what he knew.
After a long silence, Constantine left the room and closed the door behind him. Sam sighed with relief. He wouldn't have to deal with another person. He looked down at the journal and walked backwards to sit down on the soft mattress. After flipping through a few pages, Sam rolled his neck until it popped softly. He was tense all over. Sam reached up and rubbed his shoulder. That was when he spotted the name written in his father's journal.
Constantine: helped with hex to rid boy of demon. Magus who knows more about demons than any man I've ever met. Has been to Hell and back.
Sam sat up straight. A sudden knock at the door startled him. He jumped up and rushed forward to yank the door wide open. He knew he should have been more cautious, but his head was swimming with what he'd just read. John Constantine stood in the doorway, staring up at Sam with wide blue eyes.
"Give a bloke a break, would you?" he said.
Sam reached out and grabbed hold of the collar of Constantine's trench coat and yanked him inside, shutting the door behind him. He turned to face Constantine, towering over the man. Constantine stood his ground, and tilted his head up to stare at Sam. There was no way Sam was backing down or would be the first to avert his eyes.
"You've been to Hell," Sam finally said.
"Several times," Constantine said. "Where's your old man?"
"Dead," Sam said, gritting his teeth. If this man knew the way to Hell, he could help get Dean back. Sam felt a sudden wave of hope where none had been. There was no way Sam was going to let Constantine out of his sight now.
Constantine looked away, and Sam relaxed, his shoulders sagging.
"I'm sorry to hear that, kid," Constantine finally said, swiping a hand across his face. He scratched at the stubble on his chin. "Look, I've got no place to sleep and since you've already got this..."
"You can stay here with me," Sam said, holding his hand up to stop Constantine in mid-sentence.
"You're a good kid," Constantine said. He sat down on the bed and fell back with a deep sigh. Sam moved forward once again, towering over the sprawled man.
"You can stay here as long as you stop calling me kid," Sam said, nudging Constantine's knee with his leg.
Constantine closed his eyes and nodded.
"Sorry 'bout that." Constantine replied, sitting up. Sam stepped back to give him some room.
"Have we met before?" Sam asked. Maybe having a companion wasn't such a bad idea after all.
"Never," Constantine said, standing. He removed his trench coat and set it down on the bed, yanking at the knot in his tie until it was loose. "John was rather protective of you and your brother." Constantine stopped. "Where is Dean?"
"In Hell," Sam said. He cleared his throat and glanced away from Constantine's intense blue stare. Hearing his brother's name spoken aloud by the stranger reopened the wound and Sam didn't want to have to explain the last year of his life. Just the thought, made him want to scream. He could feel the anger and frustration of the last few months building in his chest.
Constantine's shoulders slumped, and he suddenly looking as tired as Sam felt. He reached up and placed a hand on Sam's shoulder, and urged him to sit down on the bed before sitting down beside him.
"Tell me everything, and we'll sort it all out," Constantine said. At first they sat in silence, Sam unsure where to begin. His throat felt raw and his chest hurt at the thought of talking about that day when the Hellhound had come for Dean. The image of his brother's shredded body was imprinted in Sam's head permanently. He hadn't gone a single night since without having nightmares about Dean screaming in Hell, begging Sam to get him out. Every moment that went by, every tick of the clock, Sam knew that Dean was in Hell suffering whatever torment demons could dream of, and Sam had imagined what those could be.
Constantine rubbed Sam's shoulder, pulling him from his tormenting thoughts. Sam glanced sideways at the man and cleared his throat.
"Dean sold his soul to save me and went to Hell," Sam started to say.
"I know how that goes, mate," Constantine said.
There was another long pause and Sam could hear the sound of a car alarm go off in the distance.
"There's no need to say more," Constantine said. He lowered his hand and glanced up when another car alarm, this one closer, went off outside. "Bloody hell," he muttered under his breath. He stood and walked to the window, pushing the curtain aside. Sam joined him, and they both looked outside. It was dark and nothing was moving, even in the distance.
"What is it?" Sam said, suddenly on edge. It seemed that Constantine was just as paranoid as him. Constantine shook his head and leaned against the wall. Sam was suddenly aware of how close together they stood. He'd been so used to always stepping inside Dean's personal space that sometimes he had a hard time breaking himself of that habit. To make matters worse, Constantine kind of smelled like he hadn't showered in a few days, not to mention the strong, bitter tang of cigarette smoke. He took a step back, and tucked his hands in his back pockets.
"Nothing," Constantine finally said. "Mind if I use the bath?" he asked, pointing a thumb at the bathroom door.
"What about what we were talking about?" Sam asked as Constantine walked over to the bathroom. Constantine turned and looked over his shoulder at Sam.
"I can help, Samuel," Constantine said. "We should both get some rest first. I'm knackered, and in dire need of a thorough cleaning. We'll talk in the morning."
Relieved that Constantine had given him an out, Sam didn't argue. Instead, he sat down on the bed while Constantine disappeared in the bathroom. Sam lay down, resting his head on the pillow. He heard the shower start and closed his eyes just to rest for a second while he waited for his turn.
Sam startled awake. The room was quiet and dark. He must have fallen asleep while waiting for Constantine to finish cleaning up. He rolled over and stopped when he felt the warmth of a body next to him. Constantine was asleep on the bed beside him, his back to Sam. When Constantine rolled onto his back, Sam shifted away to give him space. The bed was more than large enough for the two of them, but Sam still felt a small twinge of resentment that he'd just presumed to sleep beside Sam.
Not that there was any place else for Constantine to sleep. It was just annoying. Sam yawned and stretched his legs, and his feet dangled off the end of the bed. He shifted to lie on his side and settled in to get some more sleep. The soft breathing of the man beside him was distracting at first. Sam opened his eyes and, by the dim light, he could see soft pale lashes against Constantine's cheeks. Up close, Sam could smell the slight scent of shaving cream. The bastard must have used Sam's stuff. He really was presumptuous. Sam took a deep breath. There wasn't anything he could do about it now. In the morning, they would have to get Constantine his own supplies.
Sam closed his eyes again and dreamed the breathing beside him was someone else.
PART 2