Author's Note: This is a missing scene based with minor spoilers for Arrow Season 4 Episode 5, "Haunted," but set during the pilot episode, just after Oliver returned to Starling City. Rated T mostly for John Constantine's occasionally colorful language.
"So, the prodigal billionaire returns."
Oliver removed the knife he was holding to the intruder's throat a moment later. John Constantine rubbed at his neck, though the skin wasn't even nicked. It'd been a close thing, though.
"You should know better than to sneak up on me, John," Oliver said dryly, annoyance coupling with surprise at seeing the strange British… magician, whatever he was, appear out of seemingly nowhere.
Oliver hated when people sneaked up on him. Though John Constantine had something of an advantage, one that Oliver didn't understand and quite frankly freaked him out more than a little.
"Ah, you know me. Never did look out for my own enlightened self-interest," John replied, smirking in a fashion that belied the fact that Oliver had nearly cut his throat mere seconds earlier.
He looked pretty much the same as he did back on Lian Yu, though his rumpled attire looked far less out of place here. He'd added a trench coat to complete a look that made him seem like some jaded private eye out of an old pulp fiction detective story.
"What're you doing here?" Oliver asked the obvious question.
"It's big news when a missing billionaire heir turns up after five years shipwrecked on a deserted island," the other man said with an ironic jaunt of his head, his smirk growing even more smug. Deserted island, indeed. That place was practically Grand Central Station. "I just decided to stop in, see how you were."
"I see," Oliver remarked flatly, not really believing him. Water dripped eerily as the silence grew between them. In the harsh shadows of his father's old factory, John looked remarkably sinister. Right up until he casually pulled out a cigarette and lit it up.
"You don't mind if I have a smoke, mate? Didn't think so," John said, completely ignoring Oliver's glare. "Look, Oliver, I meant what I said back on the island. I owe you one. That still applies. But I'll give you some free advice, mate: whatever you're doing, don't try to go it alone. It's when people like us think we're right all the time that we really screw things up. And not just for ourselves, but for everyone around us."
"That just sounds like a good reason to do this by myself," he snorted.
John tapped the ash from his cigarette for a long moment.
"I've seen crusades destroy the souls of better men than you, Oliver. Don't think that you have a monopoly on guilt," he said darkly.
"Unlike them, I know what I am. This is all I have left, John," Oliver insisted. "I came back to save this city. Those five years in hell destroyed everything else."
John's jaw twitched angrily, and his dark eyes snapped with unexpected fury.
"You don't know hell until you've damned the immortal soul of an innocent little girl there. That's what I've done. You're in the cradle of bad deeds by comparison. You think you're beyond redemption? Bollocks. You're not broken, you're just damaged. Now get your head out of your arse and stop feeling sorry for yourself. You want to save this city? Fine. But don't be such an arrogant prick that you think you can do it all on your little lonesome."
"You want to help me?" Oliver all but laughed in disbelief.
"I've got other things to save before the devil comes to call on me, Oliver. But I'm sure you know one or two others who could keep you from getting too fat a head. You may have even been toying with bringing them in, but you kept telling yourself that only you can do this. If your little crusade is that important to you, don't let your ego get in the way," John replied, taking a long calming drag on his cigarette.
"Is that all?"
"You think I came all this way just to offer advice you already knew yourself? Don't flatter yourself, mate." Tucking his cigarette between his lips, John reached into his trench coat and pulled out a business card, handing it over to Oliver.
"'John Constantine. Exorcist, Demonologist, and Master of the Dark Arts,'" Oliver read aloud, shooting the other man a disbelieving look.
John winced slightly.
"It really should read 'petty dabbler.' I'm one to talk about ego. Anyway, I didn't know if you'd kept the card your friend Reiter took from me on Lian Yu. In case you need my expertise, such as it is. I think you'll know when, Oliver."
Oliver closed his eyes and heaved a sigh.
"Thank you, John."
"Remember what I said, Oliver," the magician said warningly. He turned to leave, and then hesitated a moment. "You don't need me to punch you in the face again, do you, mate?"