Chapter One

Two weeks after Mammon had tried to take over earth, her hiding of the Spear of Destiny in a secret location, and after both Chas' and Isabel's funeral, John had turned up at her door with a variety of tools, bottles and utensils that she recognised from his own apartment. Though luckily he had managed to catch her on a rare day off, unfortunately he hadn't timed his visit well enough that she hadn't even gotten properly dressed, and her shorts and crop top pyjamas left uncomfortably little to the imagination. He smirked and continued to hold her gaze as she felt her skin blush, inadvertently crossing her arms and trying to shield her bare skin.

'Some warning wouldn't have gone amiss, John.' She said, but with amusement in her voice.

'You need to be prepared.' He stated simply.

She looked at him quizzically, but of course she could imagine what he meant. She looked down at the tools he carried. 'Prepared for holy war?'

'Hopefully not.' He replied sarcastically.

She sighed, and opened her door wider, inviting him in. He set the tools down with a bang. Duck glared from his comfy spot on the couch and meowed in annoyance; all kinds of loud noises had been disturbing his usual slumber lately. Angela cleared her throat and felt all too aware of her distinct lack of clothing; she closed her arms over her chest again. 'Make yourself at home; I'll be back in a second.'

Hurriedly she turned and strode into her bedroom, silently thankful she had at least showered and washed her hair. Quickly she threw on the nearest set of clothes – a pair of skinny black jeans and a slightly oversized faded grey t-shirt – and brushed the slight tousling out of her hair, still mildly damp from earlier this morning. When she returned, somehow his belongings were already strewn over the place – a coat tossed over her couch, tools lying all over the table, the bottles of holy water scattered across her floor, as if he'd been bowling with them.

Without further ado he had begun to carve the complex symbols into her door, splaying chipped wood around him. His back turned to her, she took a moment to watch him and think back to the last time she saw him – upon that rooftop, his signature white shirt and trench coat still rumpled, though his skin and overall appearance looked much healthier than he had done since they'd first met. While she suspected he had problems with excess (the drinking and the smoking was understandable, but not at all missed), he seemed to have kicked them. He was still lean but she knew he was strong; she wondered if he still had the scars from their ordeal, whether they had begun to heal. She thought about her own physicality – for days afterwards she had a constant migraine and her joints ached; her stomach felt like it had been punched repeatedly with no recourse, and of course, the nightmares, the lack of sleep, the voices… She felt goosebumps form on her skin at the thought, but she instantly repressed it.

A few months ago, she would have stubbornly resisted the help of such a rude, egotistical man who could not even be bothered to have given her any notice of his intention to visit. She cringed inwardly as she looked back at her brashness over the last few weeks; her pulling a gun on a group of winged demons and the half breed Balthazar, her misplacing the amulet he had given her, ignoring his instructions. Ordinarily, she would have protested such an act; she could do things for herself, she was an intelligent, capable, strong woman who didn't need help. But she knew this was no ordinary situation, and it paid to be mindful of Constantine's expertise; despite his lack of charm. Rather than start a pithy argument, she accepted his help without a complaint.

'Thank you, John.' She said quietly, smiling a little. He looked over his shoulder at her, his dark eyes betraying no sign of anything other than concentration on the task at hand. He smirked back a little. 'No problem.' He replied, and turned back to his work.

Her smile widened a little as his response immediately brought back the memory of her lying soaked against the cool tile floor, her heart racing after the ordeal of Mammon attempting to escape from her body, and John Constantine's calm and tranquil stare that bore into her and somehow, despite the trauma and the danger of her situation mere moments beforehand, managed to coax a smile from her lips. With a slight leap in her stomach, she also remembered him moving towards her, their faces almost touching, as she gently leaned in at the exact moment his gaze shifted and he picked up the discarded Spear of Destiny. She chuckled quietly to herself. If it hadn't been for the terror she'd just endured, she might have had the energy to be embarrassed.

She busied herself making coffee, while the scraping, cutting, and chiselling of her front door continued. Duck jumped onto the kitchen counter and purred, his gaze shifting now and again between Angela and John. Angela chuckled.

'Duck doesn't seem to mind you being here.' She said loudly over the noise. John didn't pause.

'He might if he thought I'd be using him as a gateway to Hell again.' He replied.

Angela guessed that was a fair observation. She rubbed behind Duck's ears and then carried the two mugs of coffee over to her dining table, setting them down and taking a seat, watching Constantine at work. A few moments passed and she struggled to think what to say, or do. Should she interrupt him? What would she even say? She thought about trying to get him to open up about everything that had happened, and her mind swirled at how to even begin to attempt that conversation.

A small elderly woman suddenly appeared at her door, glaring at this tall unfriendly stranger. 'Who are you?' she barked.

Constantine simply stared at her then turned to Angela. 'Hello Mrs Hertz, how are you?' she answered politely, trying to keep the amused expression from her face. 'This is John.'

The old woman simply continued to glare at him. 'You're making an awful lot of noise, you know.' She narrowed her eyes and realised what he was doing. These strange symbols being carved into the door looked bizarre and unwelcoming. 'What are you doing? That's deliberate damage to property! I could report you to the neighbourhood's alliance for that!'

'Or you could go find some new neighbours.' John scoffed and continued on his work, ignoring her. She turned back to meet Angela's gaze with an incredulous look.

'Thank god I got dressed before she showed up.' Angela thought to herself. 'Sorry Mrs Hertz, we'll try to keep the noise down.'

The old lady muttered under her breath and began to scurry away, clearly disgruntled. Angela smirked. 'I see you still haven't learned any manners.' John met her gaze and smiled very slightly. She grinned back, and motioned to the coffee she'd made for him. He nodded and set his tools down, striding over and taking his mug. Duck, not one to miss the opportunity for attention, jumped across to the dining table and gazed up at this familiar man. Angela chuckled.

'He must really like you, despite what you did.' She remarked.

Constantine reached out to pet Duck, receiving a muffled purr in return.

'John?' Angela queried, all of a sudden forgetting the niceties and struck by this unexpected scenario. 'Do you think something is coming for me?' she asked, half-jokingly but her eyes betrayed her anxiousness.

He looked at her. 'I think the demon community now knows where to find a powerful psychic, and you should be careful.' He stated, a little bluntly. 'Demons always find new ways of affecting the balance; they might not try the same tactics as before, but they are still trying to cross over and you'd be a fool to think that they're done with you.'

She took a quiet yet sharp breath, feeling her lungs expand and quickly collapse. Of course this thought had occurred to her, and she was grateful for John's honesty; she was touched by his thoughtfulness in safeguarding her apartment. He might never tell her exactly how he felt, but he clearly cared enough to worry about her safety.

She nodded. 'So what should I do?'

Ordinarily, this would have been John's moment to hit out with a sarcastic, throwaway comment. 'What does it matter? It's nothing to do with me.' But like the chain smoking, the heavy drinking and the self-loathing, those days were behind him.

'Do whatever you want.' He started instinctively.

Maybe those days weren't so far behind him. He sighed. 'Like I said before, when you see them – they see you. You won't be able to avoid that, no matter what you do.'

Angela turned her gaze towards the table, her heart willing her to ask the question she most desired to, her head telling her not to go there. 'I don't want to pretend, go back to…normal. I want to use these powers for good, help people, protect them – if I can.' She sighed. 'C-Can you show me how?'

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded. 'If you're sure.'

She smiled slightly. 'So, we can help each other? I mean, if I can help…' her voice trailed off.

He stared at her, almost through her. She met his gaze but subconsciously felt herself biting her lip, unfamiliar with these silences and yet all too familiar of her feeling uneasy, awaiting his answer. He took a step closer towards her seat. He looked away for a split second, then met her gaze again. 'If you stick with me, you'll be even more of a target.' He stated simply. He neglected to add, as he had done before, that the people who were close to him tended to end up dead. She already knew this, and it didn't seem to stop her.

Angela thought about this for a second. She understood his concern; she understood that all throughout his life anyone he had become close to were now gone. She understood his loneliness, the necessity of it. She understood his reluctance to get close to anyone again. She could also understand his bitterness; she imagined that even the most kind and good-natured disposition would have turned to cold, distant and cruel if they had endured his same circumstances. But the last few weeks had changed both of their lives; they had both lost people, they had both come close to death, they had both come out the other side, together and yet separate. Though not an ordinary way to meet someone by any stretch of the imagination, they were now forever connected by those events and the defeat of Mammon. It would be pointless to deny this bond, though both still hadn't faced up to their underlying emotions.

'…I could say the same to you. Aren't you even more of a target than I am?'

John's face remained blank. 'I can deal with it.' He retorted, perhaps more forcefully than he had intended. She felt her frustration rise, yet she decided to try and quell it.

'I know you can.' She replied calmly. 'I guess what I'm asking is…can two targets work together?'

He paused. She smiled sweetly. 'Didn't you once say that there was no turning back?' she queried.

John held her gaze. 'True. But… this isn't like catching criminals. These half-breeds will hunt you down, intimidate you, even…' he paused again. 'I can show you how to harness your abilities, but you need to understand exactly what you're getting into. You can't avoid detection, but there are ways to stay safe.' He glanced back over at his equipment. 'And helping send their asses back to Hell isn't exactly going to keep you out of danger.'

She glanced back over at the tools, the bottles of holy water, the carvings. It was too late to go back to being a cop, to ignoring her psychic powers and pretending they hadn't helped her in every disturbance, in every shootout, in every investigation. To pretend that she didn't have the powers to help make a difference on earth was not in her nature. John already knew that.

She nodded. 'I understand. I want to do this.'

'Suit yourself, Angela.' He muttered, and gulped the rest of his coffee then unceremoniously brought the empty mug down onto the table with a loud clatter. 'We can start tomorrow.'

It was the first time he'd said her name since she had last seen him, and she was embarrassed to feel the tingle that went down her spine. She subconsciously crossed her arms around her again.

She smiled. 'I'd like that.'