A/N: This takes place over the course of the four-day period that SDCC (or CCI) typically runs. Also, consider it a couple years into the future.

Chapter 1: Hellblazing

With Comic Con around the corner, Christmas came twice a year for Castiel Novak. The loud costumes, the lack of personal space, merchandise and celebrities alike that cost more than his college tuition for an annual appearance—those were just a few of a million things the sixteen-year-old found miraculous about the whole event. One would assume after spending a quarter of his existence bathing in the noxious fumes of San Diego that he would ultimately tire from the big scene, but no matter rain or shine, Cas was always loyal to the establishment that built him. He always brought with him a smile bright enough to outshine a thousand lighthouses, and that's more than anyone could say about a semester at Harvard or Yale.

Gabe was just an outsider looking in. Everything he saw around him was his brother's fantasy (save for the Xena Warrior Princesses, Princess Leias, and just about every other type of Princess there was). Cas usually brought an escort to his prom—although she would be resolute on the term "date" when Harley Quinn and Joker roleplaying was involved—but this year Charlie had a girlfriend to explore with, leaving him under Gabriel's supervision. (And yes, the kid needed an extra set of eyes when he was within a hundred feet of a comic book stand or an obviously well-toned costumer wearing his tighty whiteys inside out—the real challenge was both.)

Being a convention veteran, his baby brother went all-out to devise the perfect get-up. Since it was his first year flying solo, he construed an idea of a hero from one of his favorite comics. Decked in a beige trenchcoat and a three-piece suit, Cas was probably the most normal (which was actually considered strange for the time and place) looking person at the convention for once. He even dyed his hair soulless to match Carrot Top (fortunately minus the mid-length curls) and had saved big bucks from his part-time job at the Gas n' Sip for a Holy Shotgun prototype and brass knuckles complete with black Latin crosses on each band that even Gabe had to admit was pretty cool.

When he pulled out a cigarette (for the sake of the character, of course; if Gabe ever caught his kid brother with a real cigarette…) was when he received the most recognition. The little dude managed to get a dozen hastily scribbled phone numbers tucked into his king-size fleece. Unfortunately for him all of the girls were well into their twenty-somethings, and where Gabe was the proud older brother in the equation, he was also the responsible adult. Really, he didn't want these girls taking advantage of Cas. He would have to systematically eliminate each one not well-intentioned (especially those not well-intentioned) through a commendable dinner date. After all, Gabe was only doing him a favor. Precautions, precaut—

And now he was challenging a girl in a Madame Xanadu cosplay to an open cockfight. Yeah, Gabe was definitely going to have to teach the kid a thing or two about how to talk to women—

And she was talking to him, like full-on hands all over talking to him.

On second thought, this whole Comic Con scene wasn't so bad.

~O~

"You're shitting me."

Meg Masters—better known by her alias Madame Xanadu—shook her head, careful not to drop the cigarette lent by a one arch nemesis that she cautiously cradled between her lips. She was a few years Constantine's senior and very pretty, if he had a say. She had a primitive face that needed only the red pendent she wore has a diadem around her forehead, long black hair parted charitably over her shoulders, and a purple keyhole dress that gave nice distinction to her fair skin.

It wasn't long before she was speaking again, "I swear, Clarence. Eclipso is around here somewhere. I say we team up, exorcise that bitch once and for all…"

"Tempting offer, but I'll have to pass. I don't work with me enemies." Cas tossed her a wink.

Madame Xanadu lifted a single tarot card from her collection. "Ay, you'll live to regret that, John. The Devil's on your trail, and he's coming to collect his prize."

"Tell the old bloke he's gonna have to wait in line," Constantine countered, gravel thick in his tone.

The two teens broke into full-bodied laughter, gripping each other's costumes for support. Just as Cas was about to ask if his Majesty would like to accompany him to his basecamp at Hall H, he was struck hard in the shoulder. For his pint-sized body mass, Cas went tumbling into other roleplayers. He quickly mumbled his apologies before turning to the person liable for the half-assed "accident". The nerve—the guy kept walking and talking to someone next to him like nothing happened.

"What the fuck?" Cas spat, loud enough for everyone around him to marvel and grow quiet.

This diverted the figure's warped attention. The guy craned his head, turned around, and moseyed over to Cas. He got close enough that not even a ray of sunlight from the outside world could crash between their skeletons. Emerald eyes met sapphire and for a long while that was the heart of their communication. Green Eyes was ballsy, but he wasn't wired on twenty-four hours' worth of sleep deprivation from caffeine shots.

"Do you know who I am, kid?" His voice sounded like puberty giving him the bird. He wasn't even wearing a costume, just a tacky indigo flannel with jeans and combats.

Oh, this was going to be so much fun. "Hmm, the smarmy asshole that bumped into me."

Green Eyes wasn't amused. He snapped his head to the same guy he was talking to moments earlier. There was no stark contrast between the two other than hazel eyes, longer hair, and he was stifling a puny laugh for his lofty height. Green Eyes turned back, narrowing his subject with piqued interest. "And who are you supposed to be, a hobo with big cajones?"

"John Constantine," he said without a heartbeat's hesitation. "And at least mine are big." Before Green Eyes could retaliate, a familiar voice chimed into the conversation, asking if there was a problem. Cas watched his brother's keen eye on the flannel-fetished freaks of nature. "No, Gabe, everything's—what the hell are you wearing?"

Green Eyes and his entourage had disappeared into the thick of the crowd by the time he came around to an answer ("Loki's helmet, baby bro," he said, knocking the paper mache headdress. "You won't believe the chick magnet on this thing."). There was idle chitchat amongst the multitude, but most of it was subdued. They were motionless, spellbound; apparently never seen a size fight between two guys.

"Clarence, that was so cool," Meg uttered, pushing him affectionately.

Cas snorted, saying, "I only did what anyone would do."

"But he's not just anybody," she said, pivoting him in the direction of the stage. Sure enough, Green Eyes was floodlit by the jumbo screen and surrounded by a separate entourage of screaming girls and flashing photographers. He wore a charismatic smile—the kind that got recycled and reused more than the local landfill. "That's Dean Winchester, the Dean Winchester."

Gabe shrugged next to them. "Okay, so he gets a prefix before his name. So does Dwayne Johnson; doesn't make him a great wrestler."

"Dean is the youngest guy to land a contract with the CW," she continued like Gabe was nothing more than an annoying poltergeist, "next to his brother, Sam. They're the hottest brothers on cable television since The Vampire Diaries finale."

Cas studied the actor's face on the screen. He showed more hesitation than his off-screen brother during the Q&A. He couldn't be certain from his vantage point, but he looked wretched behind his hard, handsome guise. "He looks sad," he pondered aloud.

"Is that a hint of forgiveness I detect?" Meg said, nudging her newfangled friend beguilingly. Gabe had even crossed his arms and faced his brother, intrigued by the same question.

Cas schooled his face into a hard glower. "What? No, no way. Gabe, what time is it? I don't see Matt Ryan escorting us to Hall H anytime soon."

"You make it sound like he knows you personally," the eldest scoffed. "That'd be ridiculous."

The boy cast one last glance at the monitor. Yeah, totally ridiculous…