Dean frowned when he saw a guy in a trench coat leaning against his Impala. It wasn't Cas. Cas was walking next to him. When they got close enough he stopped and sighed.

"Constantine," Dean said, keeping his tone sheet metal flat.

The scruffy blond was smoking. Of course he was. And he was going to ask for a ride. Never mind the fact that they were outside an abandoned mill in the middle of fucking nowhere. So he must have got there somehow to be available to lounge around and leer at Dean. But that wouldn't matter he'd still ask for a lift. And Dean would say yes or maybe even offer first to avoid having to capitulate. And then his poor baby would smell like those god-awful clove laced cigarettes Constantine smokes. It would smell like him for days. Maybe weeks. Gah!

"Winchester," John mimicked. "Dressing your boy toys up like me now? I'm flattered." He nodded towards Castiel with a smug smirk.

"Nah, he just came that way," Dean said and winked. Letting the double entendre slide between them like silk. Normally he would bristle at the implication. But there wasn't much point with bravado when you're talking to a guy who's fucked you so hard that you came untouched and screaming for more. It went right over Cas's head anyway.

"Cas that's Constantine, he's a selfish bastard but probably one of the best goddam exorcists on the planet," Dean said grudgingly. "This is Cas. He's about the most unselfish bastard I've ever met." He said it pointedly. Shit, so pointedly that it sounded petty. And now Cas was blinking at him in some sort of happy confusion. All 'oh my god Dean said nice things about me the world is a better place' bullshit. Great.

"Nice." Constantine laughed, rich and dark like chocolate and whisky. Dean locked his jaw and kept himself firmly planted at least 4 feet away from the other man. He was not some impressionable 20 year old. He had been to Hell and back himself - no way was he going to let the stupid 'Hellblazer' get under his skin again. Not that thinking that had helped last time or the time before that either. Damn it.

"I know who John Constantine is," Cas said surprising both humans. Constantine finally looked at Cas. Really looked, narrowing his eyes. "Mannael speaks highly of you," Castiel said with a slight nod.

The exorcist licked his lips slowly. For a moment Dean thought he was flirting with Cas already. Yeah, good luck with that, douchebag, the angel would be completely oblivious. But no he was doing that creepy air tasting thing. Testing the magic in the air. He shot Dean a slightly confused look immediately after but then turned back to Cas.

"Cas?" Constantine asked.

"Castiel," Cas said understanding and answering the implicit question.

That made John laugh again. "The angel of Thursdays and temperance? Well it's Monday night so I don't know what that means… and you're hanging out with Winchesters? Temperance and Dean bloody Winchester? That's bloody brilliant that is."

Cas looked confused. And, Dean thought, a little upset. It was the tiny backwards tilt of his head that gave it away. Dean was just taking a slightly aggressive step forward when he heard Sam's voice behind him.

"John? John Constantine?" Sam jogged up to them closing the distance and hugging the older man. "Good to see you, man."

"You too, Sam," Constantine said. He didn't let up the superior smirking but he had genuine affection in his voice as well "you too." They broke the hug but Constantine reached up to place both hands on Sam's shoulders and look him in the eyes. "Got your soul back I see? Well done!" He finally fully released Sam with a firm pat on the back.

Sam laughed nervously. "Yeah, that's a long story."

"Can't say there isn't part of me that's a bit disappointed," John said with a leer. "But probably for the best all round, yeah."

"Oh god," Sam said and winced. "I am so sorry about that."

At first Dean was confused by the exchange but then realisation hit. "You didn't?" he demanded. And he wasn't sure which man he was more annoyed at. Flirting with his angel was one thing but fucking his soulless little brother, no friggin' way. "Jeez Sam, is there anyone that you didn't…"

"No! No, no, no!" Sam interrupted him. "No, we didn't… not really."

Constantine was just laughing so hard he shook, again. And was that another cigarette? God that man was irritating. With his stupid trench coat and his stupid accent. And god damn it, Dean still had it bad. Fuck.

"And ah, thanks for that by the way," Sam said to John.

"What can I say," Constantine said and shrugged, "I'm amoral not immoral." And the bastard winked at Dean on the last word. Dean did manage to stop himself from saying it didn't even make sense. But it was a near thing.

"Why are you even here," Dean demanded instead. He wanted to get the whole thing over and done with as soon as possible. "We don't turn up in England being all…" He gestured vaguely at the other man in a way he hoped said 'irritating, in the way, and generally unhelpful.' But considering the smirk that it earned him that wasn't all it said.

"You did once," Constantine pointed out. And yeah they had, but getting Crowley's bones had been worth the god awful plane trip and dealing with Constantine in London. And the inevitable sex had been pretty good too. But damn it, this was at least the third, maybe fourth, time that the exorcist had turned up on their turf unannounced.

The distinction was unspoken but one that they all generally stuck to. You ask any hunter in the US who the best was and they would tell you it was the Winchesters, hands down. They might quibble about Sam or Dean being better but it was always one of them or both of them. Simple. In the UK it was a different story. British hunters would say it was probably John Constantine even if those Yankee boys did stop the apocalypse that one time. It was stupid but it still rubbed him the wrong way. And he suspected it didn't do much for Constantine's ego either. Neither of them really wanted to know who was better because they both suspected that it might not be them. Or worse that it might be and what did that say about the state of your soul.

"Why are you here, Constantine?" Dean repeated his question more harshly than he intended. Sam looked surprised by his hostility and Cas looked curious. John just looked amused. Of course.

"The usual," Constantine said. "Running away from me mistakes, running after evil blighters. Rising darkness, apocalyptic nonsense. Nothin' new."

"And what does that have to do with us?" Dean asked. He was going to help. Even if Dean wasn't putty in the Englishman's deft hands Sam would make puppy eyes and insist they help after hearing the word apocalyptic.

"Well," Constantine shrugged, "Seems Hell hath no fury like an archangel scorned." He actually looked uncomfortable for a moment. "Thought I might need some help."

"Archangel?" Sam said. Frowning as he checked the math, there weren't any archangels left for Constantine to have pissed off. Were there? Though if anyone was going to be able to piss off an archangel from beyond the grave it was John fucking Constantine.

"Gabriel," Cas said softly. "It is Gabriel isn't it?"

"But, he's dead?" Sam said, confused.

John laughed, but this time it was hollow and humourless. It didn't shake his body but it made Dean want to push him up against a wall and kiss him senseless for a whole different range of reasons. Reasons he was even less willing to inspect than the first.

"My life would be a whole lot simpler right now if that were true," Constantine said.

Dean made the mistake of glancing at Cas. The angel looked desperately hopeful. Between Castiel being pathetic and Constantine being… Constantine… Dean knew he was totally screwed. He was absolutely stuck going along with whatever fucked up plan he was being lead into. Damn it.

"What do you want us to do?" Dean asked, giving up all pretense of resistance now. The quicker they got to the point the quicker this would all be over.

"Well," Constantine said with renewed cocky confidence, "I was rather hoping that you boys would help me trap an archangel in a ring of fire and nag 'em 'til he cries uncle. What do you think?"

Then the exorcist took a long step forward right into Dean's personal space. So close and sudden that it obviously shocked both Cas and Sam. But Dean was still familiar with this move. Even years later it still showed up in the occasional dream or shower time fantasy. Dean glared at him, holding eye contact but letting him lean in even closer to whisper hot and smoky against his ear.

"And after that," Constantine said, for Dean's ears only but letting his eyes slide to Castiel, "Maybe me 'n Thursday can spend a few hours finding out which one of us can make you beg for it once the trench coats hit the floor."

Dean didn't whimper. He didn't. But he knew he was totally screwed. Hell, he'd known it the moment he recognised the guy. God damn John Constantine.