Chapter Two: "Torn At the Seams"

Toledo, Ohio

1:04 a.m.

Dean's infamous 1967 Chevy Impala tore down the open highway, the midnight black paint blending in perfectly with the post-midnight surroundings. He sat behind the steering wheel, Constantine his passenger. He looked over at his last true friend who sat there staring blankly out into the dead of night. Dean couldn't help but wonder what was going through the mind of this mortal man.

"What's troubling you, Dean?" he asked.

"What?" Dean returned, snapping his attention back to the road. "Nothing.""Something obviously. You've been staring at me on and off for the last three hours." The man had been counting.

"Seriously, John, it's nothing.""It's Sam, isn't it?" John obviously put some thought into this. "You're still mad at me for not being able to save him."

Dean let out a deep sigh. He wasn't mad anymore, just a tad miffed. Oh, who was he fooling. He was downright pissed. But not at Constantine nor any of the other angels. He was pissed off at himself for not being able to protect his brother. He promised his father that if he couldn't save Sammy, he would kill him. He promised his brother that he wouldn't let anything bad ever happen to him. He'd let both of them down.

"If only I had done something else…" Constantine continued, bringing Dean out of his inner turmoil and back to the conversation.

"No, John, you did everything you could. You gave up everything you've ever known for me and Sammy. If anything, I should be thanking you." Dean looked over at him and gave him a solid nod. "Alright, no more chick flick moments."

Constantine let out a light chuckle. "Definitely," he said.

They pulled into a gas station to fill up. John waited out by the car with the pump. Dean walked inside, pulling out a credit card with the name Lindsey Quinn emblazoned in silver across the center. The cashier took the card and looked at it. "Lindsey?"

"I always hated my dad for that," he said, tongue in cheek.

Keeping his eyes on Dean, she asked, "Can I see some ID please?"

"Sure can," Dean replied. He brought out his fake FBI badge and flipped it open. The girl behind the counter read it: Agent Lindsey Quinn. The face going with the pseudonym was Dean Winchester's.

"Sorry about that, sir. Can't ever be too careful, you know?"

"Absolutely," he replied.

The teenager ran the card and handed it back to him. A man walked out from the back and put his arms around her waist. He started kissing her neck. "Eww, Jerry, you are so gross."

Dean cocked his eyebrows. "Ah, young love." He turned around and began to walk out of the lobby.

"More like young lust," Jerry called after him. "But I'm sure you'd know all about that, right Dean?"

Dean stopped, dead in his tracks. He spun around at the sound of his real name to watch the two's two pairs of eyes turn coal black. And him without a flask of holy water.

"What do you want?" he asked calmly. He didn't want to make any sudden moves. With Lucifer free and demons running amok with more power than ever, there's no telling what these freaks could do.

"Well, earlier a trio of your angelic buddies interrupted Lucifer's quest. He sent out a message to kill you and them. Nothing personal," Jerry continued with a very cocky smile now etched across his face. "We're just following orders."

Constantine was outside looking in. Something was up. The last time Dean had stopped to chat with somebody other than him or another angel was the night Sam's body had been claimed by Lucifer. He flung his arm around, attempting, futilely, to strike the person that had come up silently behind him.

The balding black man caught him at the elbow. "Easy, Tiger," Uriel said as humorless as ever.

"What are you doing here?""There are demons inside."

"Dean's in there."

Uriel looked up, pretending like he was noticing Dean's predicament for the first time. "No kidding…"

"What are we going to do?" Constantine replied. Uriel's sarcasm didn't go unnoticed with the man, but there were more pressing matters to attend to. His friend was trapped with a couple of demons with no form of protection, except for his anti-possession tattoo.

"What's this 'we' stuff? You're going to battle."

"And you're just gonna sit out here on your fat ass?" Constantine moved to the trunk of the Impala. "Doesn't shock me."

"What did you say to me?""You heard me," he yelled, slamming the lid after pulling out a shotgun and some holy water. "All you ever do, even when we were partners Uriel, is sit back and let the mud monkeys handle it. You're the archangel here, not us. And yet, we're more powerful than you'll ever be."

Uriel stood his host's full 6 foot 2. "You insignificant little snot…"

"You don't scare me Uriel. You never did. 'Cause like I said, you're nothing more than a lazy belittler who only lifts a finger to help if it means wiping out a mass populace." Constantine turned to leave Uriel taking in his words and stirring in the angel's own hatred.

John knelt down near the side window of the gas station. So far the demons had done Dean no harm, but there was no way that they were going to let him walk out of this alive. For the first time since his stint in Hell, demons had Dean Winchester right where they wanted him.

He took aim. He had two rock salt rounds. He had to make them both count. One would be needed to smash the barrier between himself and them and the other would be needed to paralyze the demons. He cocked the gun and fired. SMASH! That got their attention.

Constantine fired his other round at the male demon. He looked like he'd be a stronger match. The other one wasn't a real joke though because she knocked him backwards with her telekinesis, right into a shard of broken glass.

Dean could see the blood running from his friend's gut. He ran over to him. "John?!" he inquired frantically. "Buddy?! You okay?!"

"I can't speak for him," the female demon answered. "But you're next." She walked around the counter, holding Dean tight against the window pane. "I want to finish you off slowly though," she continued.

She stood in place momentarily as if resisting something, but slowly advanced. The repulsive force grew as she began to frequently stagger. Her grip on Dean's throat loosened and the remaining windows began to crack. They shattered as a whining screech emitted from no where. Both Dean and the woman covered their ears. She began to shriek.

POP! POP! The rhythmic bursting of the blood vessels in the woman's head, though Dean did not know what it was, drew out. Dean watched the woman drop before him, blood leaking out of her ears and the crack in her eye sockets. With nothing coming from Jerry, he assumed he was dead too, but went to check just to make sure. He was.

Uriel walked in a few moments later, wiping some invisible dust off his blazer with an arrogant expression. No surprise that he'd done the deed and wanted Dean to be eternally grateful to him for saving his ass.

Dean didn't care what Uriel desired. He ran back over to Constantine and checked for a pulse. He didn't get one. John's lifeless eyes looked out onto the blood-soaked street beneath the window sill. Dean's fury only came to a stronger boil. "YOU SON OF A BITCH!" he screamed, charging at and punching Uriel repeatedly. "WHY THE HELL COULDN'T YOU HAVE GOTTEN HERE SOONER?!"

Uriel grabbed Dean by the throat and slammed him into the counter. "How about you wait for it?" he said through gritted teeth. With his free hand, he forced Dean's head to the side that made him stare at John's corpse.

Dean saw a dull white light from behind the black spiked hair. John's hand twitched and was pulled upward, the hole in the palm clearly visible through the blood. Then John pulled his neck off the glass it had been slit on.

The eldest Winchester looked on in shock and awe as his friend returned to life. But there was a new presence about him. Something that was familiar, yet at the same time oddly placed. Dean knew what had happened. John Constantine had returned to being Castiel, the Angel of Thursday. Only one thing could kill an angel, and thankfully, that one thing was not glass.