Fiction: Hell and Fury - Part 2 - NC-17
INFO Part 1
The next morning, Sam took his time in the shower. He finished shaving and brushed his teeth while Constantine was out having a smoke. Sam had made it clear that smoking in the car would not be tolerated. Constantine would have to indulge his filthy habit outside when they stopped for food or gas. Sam packed his toiletries in his case and then stuffed it in his duffel. Constantine was still out of the room when Sam hoisted the strap over his shoulder. He double-checked that he hadn't forgotten anything, slipping a pack of matches with the motel logo printed on them in his pocket. Those could come in handy.
"We should hit the road," Sam said as he closed the motel door behind him. Constantine stared out at the dim morning, obviously lost in thought. Sam watched him for a moment, noting how he absently puffed the cigarette. In this light, he could see that Constantine was a handsome man despite his age.
Sam snapped out of his own contemplation, and moved to the car to store his duffel in the back seat while Constantine checked them out of the motel. They both got in the car and Sam tore out of the lot, glad to leave that place behind.
Sam hadn't even thought to call Bobby until they stopped at a gas station to fill up. As he filled the tank, he pulled his fully charged phone from his pocket, glanced up to grimace at the "no cell phones near pumps" sign, and then tucked the phone back in his pocket. Constantine had played nice and followed all the rules. He stood now just outside the pump's safe zone, puffing away at a cigarette like he was in love with the thing. Sam shook his head in distaste. He'd never understood the appeal, but watching Constantine blow rings of smoke was almost hypnotic. Sam was amazed when the man blew one after another, the second ring passing through the first. Constantine turned to look at Sam as though he'd sensed Sam watching, and Sam could have sworn the man winked. When Constantine finished his first cigarette, he lit another with the still-smoldering end. Sam shook his head and finished pumping. He screwed the gas cap back on and went inside to pay the attendant.
When Sam came out, Constantine still stood away from the pumps, smoking as he watched the town's traffic. They were in a small town and it looked just like any other small town Sam had passed through. Right across from the gas station was a small diner. Sam could see through the glass windows that the lunch crowd had come and gone, if there was even a lunch crowd in a town this small. There weren't that many people on the streets and the few men that did walk past ignored Sam.
Sam flipped his cell phone open and dialed Bobby's number.
"Boy, you finally found the time to call," Bobby said when he picked up the line.
"Yeah, Bobby, sorry about that. I just need some time to myself," Sam said watching as Constantine flicked his cigarette away.
"I understand, Sammy," Bobby said, using the nickname only Dean had ever used. It would normally bother Sam, but now he didn't mind. Dean wasn't here.
"Listen, have you ever heard of a man named Constantine?" Sam asked.
"You mean, John Constantine?" Bobby said with a surprised tone in his voice.
"Yeah, Dad never talked about him, but there's this entry in his journal...."
"Sam, listen to me. I know what it says, but do not try to contact that man. He is a heavy player and not someone you want to be messin' with. Do you hear me? Don't even think about trying. The only thing he was ever good at was gettin' people killed."
Sam looked over at the man in the beige trench coat. He didn't look dangerous. To Sam, he just looked like a middle aged man with a boring sense of fashion.
"Are you listening to me, Sam?" Bobby said more forcefully. "He's nothing but a con artist."
"Yeah, Bobby, I'm listening," Sam said. "Hey, I gotta go," he said after a long pause.
"I have a lead on Lilith," Bobby blurted before Sam could hang up. "That's what I was trying to contact you about."
Sam took down the information and promised to be careful. When he hung up the phone, he noticed that Constantine was standing by the passenger door of the car, rifling through his coat pockets. Constantine claimed he could help Sam get Dean out of Hell. Despite Bobby's warnings, there was no way Sam was going to give up that chance even if it was a long shot, or a con or something that would get Sam killed.
"Let's get going," Sam said with a smile as he approached the car, and they both got in without a word. Once they were back on the road, Sam swung through the first drive-thru they passed. He was amused by Constantine's linguistic quirks, asking for chips when he meant French fries, and then asking if they could swing a pint of ale. While they ate on the side of the road, Sam contemplated his conversation with Bobby once more. Maybe he should have heeded Bobby's warning and left Constantine back at the gas station, but Sam knew that he couldn't have. He wanted to believe that Constantine could help. He needed to believe. Feeling better that he'd at least called Bobby, Sam settled back in behind the wheel, uncertain where he was headed.
"So, tell me everything," Constantine said, after a few miles of driving in silence.
"Everything?" Sam asked, unsure exactly what Constantine meant by everything. Did he want to hear about how Sam had demon blood dripped into his mouth as a baby? Was Sam ready to tell a virtual stranger the life stories of the Winchester clan? His knee-jerk reaction was to keep a tight lip about as much as possible, while still giving the man enough information so that he could help.
"Well, surely not everything," Constantine disagreed. "I don't need to know how often your mum changed your nappies when you were a wee tot." Constantine smirked at Sam, obviously joking.
"Right," Sam said, turning his concentration to the road. For some reason, he didn't want to look the man in the eyes right now. Beyond the fact that he was driving and needed to watch the road, he found Constantine's gaze too intense and sometimes uncomfortable, though he was not going to admit that to anyone.
"My brother, Dean," Sam started, clearing his throat.
"Maybe you could pull over," Constantine suggested. "I'm in need of a good puff."
Sam nodded, liking the idea. He looked for the first opportunity to park on the side of the road, someplace where they wouldn't be seen by passing traffic. That moment didn't come for a few miles, as Sam drove, Constantine kept his gaze on him, making Sam even more uncomfortable. What did he really know about the guy? Sam suddenly wondered if bringing Constantine with him was the smart thing to do. Would Dean have trusted Constantine? Would Dean have believed him? Constantine had saved Sam from whatever that thing had been, but it might not have even gone after Sam if not for Constantine. Maybe Sam should have listened to Bobby. He must have had a good reason to warn Sam away from Constantine.
At times like this, Sam ached even more for his brother's presence.
They found an old abandoned overgrown road and Sam pulled in, stopping a couple hundred feet from the road, where Sam could no longer see the actual highway, but could still hear traffic as it passed. If anyone spotted them, they would need a heads up. As soon as Constantine was out, he lit a cigarette and blew a few smoke rings with a deep sigh. He walked behind the car and sat against the trunk.
"Those will kill you," Sam said, getting out and walking around the car to join Constantine.
"Probably," Constantine said, staring at the lit cigarette. He took a few more drags before snuffing it out in the muddy tire tracks. Sam looked down and noted that the tracks looked recent. Maybe this road wasn't as abandoned as he thought.
"So you knew our dad," Sam said, kicking at a muddy clump.
Constantine nodded and lit a second cigarette. The heavy acrid smell of smoke filled Sam's lungs and he coughed a few times in his hand when a gust of wind blew some of the tendrils in Sam's direction. Constantine lowered the cigarette and placed his hand on the chrome of the car. He stared down, caressing the car.
"I did," Constantine said. "We met under unusual circumstances." Sam waited, but Constantine didn't seem willing to elaborate. "We hit it off right away," he finally added after a long silence.
"Really," Sam said doubtful. "When was that?"
"Back in '88."
June 1988
The story in the paper mentioned Kelly's as the last known location for the man who had gone missing. John Winchester walked up to the bar, scoping the place out as he leaned against the wood finish. He motioned to the lady behind the bar and held up two fingers. She acknowledged his presence with a nod and slowly made her way over to him.
"I'll have a whiskey," John said over the din of the chatter and the music coming from the speakers. He turned his back to her and glanced quickly around the bar. Almost every table was taken, which was no surprise considering it was a Friday night. John made note of a few odd patrons who struck him as misplaced. The man sitting alone in the far corner seemed to be watching the entrance, and another man in a trench coat and suit kept looking in that man's direction. The man in the trench coat looked all wrong for this crowd. John reached for his drink without looking at the glass, and downed it in one gulp.
"I've never seen you in here," the bartender said, her voice close to his ear. John glanced out of the corner of his eye to note that she had leaned in to be heard. He turned his head slightly toward her, but kept his eye on the man in the trench coat.
"This is my first time," John said as she refilled his glass. She mouthed the words 'on the house' and winked.
"You'll like Kelly's," she said. John stood up straight when the man in the corner watching the door stood and drained the rest of his beer. He shrugged into a leather bomber jacket and moved toward the entrance.
"Is that a fact," John said, his eyes following the man across the bar. John turned to smile his most winning smile at her, the one he always used to get people to do what he wanted. Mary always said that his smile could tempt any woman, living or dead. "Tell me. Were you working the night Bill Casey went missing?" he asked, leaning closer, losing sight of the man. He'd stopped just short of the entrance and stood by the pay phone, seemingly undecided as to what to do next.
"I was," she said.
John stroked the three-day growth on his upper lip and smiled again.
"He say anything to you that struck you as odd or out of place?" John asked. She poured him another shot and leaned in closer to him.
"Nope," she said.
John caught movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to see that the man in the trench coat had also gotten up. The leather jacket man had vanished and trench coat was headed for the door. John pushed off the bar and barely acknowledged the bartender calling out to him.
When he got to the door, he caught a glimpse of beige vanishing around a corner behind the building. John rushed forward, his hand on the gun in his pocket. If this turned out to be something out of the ordinary, he would probably regret the choice of bringing only the regular gun, but right now he had to get to that man before he caught up with his prey. John swung around the corner, gun drawn, and came face to face with his adversary. He'd managed to keep the element of surprise. The man in the trench coat fell back against the wall with his arms in the air.
"You've got me," he said with a distinct British accent. John shoved the barrel of the gun in the man's face and pinned him against the wall.
"You're damn right I got you, you son of a bitch," John said. He should have seen this sooner. Now he realized that this man had been at all the scenes. He remembered this guy watching from the sidelines as the second victim had been taken away in the ambulance.
"You might want to lower that," the man said, eyes going down to the gun. "Those things make me nervous."
"Right, guns make you nervous." John pushed harder, shoving his arm against the man's throat, if he even was a man, and pressing down on his windpipe. The man lifted his chin in an attempt to escape the choke hold. "Tell me what you were doing following that man."
The man grabbed John's arm with one hand and yanked in an attempt to break free, but John was much stronger. He pressed harder and relished the choking sound his efforts produced. They struggled for a moment before John finally relented and eased up on the man's throat to allow enough air in his windpipe for him to answer the question.
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you, squire," the man replied.
"Try me," John said, pulling back more. He was sure if the man tried to run that John could easily catch him again. If not, then there was always the option of shooting him in the back, but first he'd need to be sure. "I can believe a lot of things."
The man straightened his trench coat and quirked his lips.
"That bloke I was following just happens to be a demon," he said. The answer didn't surprise John, but it seemed as though the man was expecting that reaction. He'd have to wait a long time because John had already tangled with a few demon-possessed souls and he knew what that entailed. After a long pause, the man cleared his throat and shrugged his shoulders.
"How do I know you're not the one possessed?" John asked. He pulled out the flask from his inner coat pocket and unscrewed the cap. Before the man could move or say a word, John splashed the holy water in his face. When nothing unusual happened, John stepped back and lowered his weapon.
"I suppose that was holy water," the man said. He swiped at his face to get the water out of his eyes. John put the safety on and tucked the gun away. "I wouldn't put that away just yet," the man said.
A loud scream filled the air and John was pushed forward into the man. They both tumbled to the ground, the flask falling from John's hand. He fumbled for his gun, his fingers suddenly feeling useless, but was yanked from the man and flung across the parking lot before he could get hold of his weapon. John landed on his left leg at an odd angle. Pain shot through his entire body, and for a second, John couldn't breathe as the wind was knocked out of him. He sat up and saw the demon-possessed man turn his attention to the man in the trench coat. He punched the man across the face twice and grabbed him by the throat. The man in the trench coat crumpled beneath him.
John tried to scramble to his feet. He'd made a serious miscalculation. Instead of going after the real killer, he'd gone after an innocent. There was no way of overpowering the demon, but he had to do something.
When John finally managed to stand without falling over, he rushed forward and grabbed the flask as he ran. Most of the water had drained from the flask and John hoped that there was enough left to at least deter the demon. He dived and aimed for the demon's face. Luck and good aim were on his side tonight. Water splashed the demon in his eyes. It screamed its rage and moments later, the possessed man flung his head back and a cloud of black smoke shot up into the sky. The released man fell back, seemingly dead.
John collapsed to the ground, out of breath. When he'd finally caught his wind, he sat up to find the man in the trench coat kneeling to check the other man's pulse. He shook his head and looked over at John, saying.
"The poor bugger was dead long before this."
John looked up at the dark sky, expecting to see the demon cloud hovering overhead, but it was silent and remained clear.
"By the by," the man said, putting a cigarette to his lips and lighting it with a match. "Name's Constantine, John Constantine." He held out his hand.
John stood up, brushing his dirty hands on his pants. "Winchester, John Winchester."
He walked forward, cringing as pain from his left leg shot up his body, but John didn't let the pain stop him. He reached for the hand Constantine offered and helped the man to his feet. Constantine had a cut lip that had already started to swell and there was a trickle of blood on his chin. John watched as a droplet of blood splashed on the collar of the beige trench coat. They stood in silence as Constantine puffed away at his smoke. John nervously scratched at the scruff of his beard as he took in the man before him. This man seemed to know about John's other world. He obviously knew about demons and demon possession and it didn't seem to faze him one bit. This close, John noted that Constantine had intense blue eyes and short spiky white blond hair. He was as tall as John and appeared to be about the same age. Constantine's suit and tie seemed barely rumpled, considering they'd just tangled with a demon. Even as John scrutinized Constantine, he realized that the other man was also sizing John up.
Constantine flicked his cigarette butt to the concrete and mashed it under foot with a slow, precise movement. When he looked up at John, he smiled and tucked his hands in his coat pockets.
"So you're a hunter," John said as more of a statement than a question, tucking his own hands in his coat pockets.
"Oh bloody hell," Constantine said. "Not hardly." When he didn't volunteer more information, John shrugged his shoulders.
"Then what," John said, "Some passerby who just happened to stumble into a bad situation? You're a little far from home, aren't you?"
"Guess again," Constantine said.
John chuckled. "Well then," he turned from the man and started heading for his car. He'd left it parked in the bar parking lot, and since the boys were waiting, he needed to get moving. Though he was curious about this man and where he'd come from, John wasn't in the mood for games.
"I'm sure we'll meet again," Constantine called out as John walked away. John waved at the mystery man without looking back.
PART 3