Author's Note: Ta da...Merry Christmas to you guys who actually follow this (since I'm rather bad about updating). In my defense, I did kind of redo the entire story line so now it's much more supernatural-y themed. Also, for those who also read Damnatio and wanted more of an appearance with Constantine, this is for you. As it turns out, Constantine is one of my favorite characters to write.

On that note - Constantine here is a total mish mash of comic and TV show/Matt Ryan version. Sorry for the people that like the movie, but...eh. I like him more sarcastic than sulking. Also, the accent comment is specifically because the written character is from Liverpool, but Matt Ryan is Welsh, and the writers decided no American could understand the Liverpool accent, and just let him use a generic Northern British accent.

Also, apologies for the fact that this is shorter than every other chapter, but I like where it gets left off. It's a good ending point.

Onward! AND MERRY CHRISTMAS!

The rest of the interview was unfortunately unhelpful.

Partly because Lucifer didn't remember anything to be of use. It was dark from what little he remembered. There may or may not have been mountains. Or hills. No water. No other roads. No, he didn't remember how long he walked until he found a road, and no, he didn't know how long he walked on it before the police picked him up. No, he didn't know where he was before that.

After about the third time of Detective Graham asking if he was sure he couldn't remember anything, Dr. Garner called an end to the interview, and sent Olivia out of the room to show the detective to the door.

"If he remembers anything, give me a call," Graham said, smiling toothily as he handed her a card. She could see where he'd scratched out his office number and penned in his cell, but she pretended not to notice.

"I'll call the station," she conceded, smiling through gritted teeth. "If he remembers anything."

"Feel free to call me for any other reason, cutie. I live to serve," Graham said. Apparently he forgot he was wearing a wedding ring.

Olivia made a non-committal noise in the back of her throat before gesturing for one of the orderlies to escort the man out.

"Make sure he leaves," she hissed under her breath. Whatever saving grace she thought Detective Graham had during the interview didn't make up for the fact that he had a smile like oil that made her want to scrub her skin until it started to flay off.

And there was that smell. A bizarre smell – not necessarily bad, but nothing she would expect another human being to smell like. He smelled like soot and ash and smoke, like he'd stood inside of a meat smoker instead of a sauna.

Brian, the orderly, only nodded and 'helped' Graham out the entry doors.

As soon as the doors closed behind them, she dropped into her chair behind her desk, pinching the bridge of her nose as she sighed in relief.

"Rough day, luv?"

She groaned, audibly and animatedly at the sound of the well-known voice.

"I'm not in the mood for you and your antics, John," she grumbled, not opening her eyes or even moving her hand from her face.

There was a mocking gasp of indignation. "Oh, Livvie, luv, that hurts. Right here." She could hear his hand clap against the loose fabric of his t-shirt as he clutched his heart.

She could also hear the faint rustle of paper being shifted around.

"Jane stopped smoking, John. She doesn't have any more cigarettes," she said, finally putting her hands down and opening her eyes, just in time to see John snake his hand back over the counter, pretending like he hadn't just been fishing for the pack usually left there by the night nurse.

"What?" he protested. "How could she do that to me? That's…that's just cruel!"

"You're not supposed to be smoking either," she reminded. "Especially not inside the hospital, and especially not inside your room."

"Well, you won't let me out to smoke, so my room was all I had left," he pointed out.

"Regardless of your geographic location, Mr. Constantine, you're not supposed to be smoking. Period."

The blonde man gave her a wicked smirk. "Oh no. Afraid it'll mix with my meds and make me see monsters? Oh no…" he drawled sarcastically. "Whatever shall I do."

Olivia tried not to smile, because it only encouraged the already incorrigible man, but John tended to have that effect on people. Which was odd, because on a whole, John was a complete and utter ass.

"I hear we have a new inmate," he said conversationally, leaning over the counter, chin propped on one hand. "Someone possibly from my neck of the woods."

"If you could decide on an accent, Mr. Constantine, I might be able to confirm or deny such a rumor," she said, working hard to keep the corners of her mouth in a thin, resolute line.

"First of all, I'm from Liverpool, and you lot damn well know that," John said, giving her a meaningful scowl. "Secondly, if I talk in my own accent, none of you understand me. Thus, the John Constantine Special was created."

The accent he referred to was a mish mash of almost every British accent American's were familiar with – a little bit of Welsh, a tang of the Emerald Isle, and a heaping helping of Manc. His original accent was Liverpool, and he was unfortunately right. When he was on a really strong dosage of his meds, he dropped the mix n' match and sounded like a drunk John Lennon. Angry drunk John Lennon, and no one could understand him.

"You'll meet him when he's done with his introductory interview with Dr. Garner. You can wait to ask him your own questions," Olivia said firmly. "And no trying to purposely set him off."

John looked affronted. "Me? Do something like that? I would never."

Constantine was a world class liar. He'd also been in and out of mental institutions since he was a child, claiming to see monsters and demons and things that went bump in the night. As he aged, the delusions changed – now he even had a business card proclaiming him to be an exorcist, demonologist, and master of the Dark Arts and he went about fighting aforementioned creatures that usually involved a fair bit of arson.

In a way, he reminded her a little of Lucifer – he could be very personable, he liked to talk, and as long as you stayed off subject of his delusions, he sounded fine. And there was that accent – John's was much rougher, much more Northern England pub crawl than London East Side.

But in stark contrast (at least, so far) Constantine had an explosive temper. He was brilliant, and he knew it, but his delusions made people scoff at him, which in turn would make him angrier, and Constantine knew how to fight. When he went down, it took more than a handful of orderlies to do it. He also had the obnoxious past time of trying to piss everyone in the wing off. His tattoos, scarred arms and hands, roughly shaved angular cheeks, haphazard blonde hair and haunted brown eyes were enough to keep most people away when he wanted to. Group therapy was out of the question because he showed no interest in getting better or pursuing treatment, and it was hit or miss whether he would actually take the prescriptions he was given.

The one thing she always had to remind herself of though – John Constantine was very convincing. When he had an episode, when he would start up his role as Master of the Dark Arts, it was hard to remember he wasn't. He knew Latin better than most people knew English. He would scribble complicated occult symbols and patterns across every available surface. The tattoos up and down his arms and across his chest and back – all of them he claimed were warding sigils, or power symbols, or some other thing that helped him in his fight against evil.

"Yes, yes, you would, Mr. Constantine. Don't lie to me," Olivia chided gently. "I've been here just as long as you have. I know you."

"Here I was thinking the ladies loved a bad boy."

"There tends to be a line between 'bad boy' and 'incarcerated serial arsonist'," Olivia deadpanned. "They like fake bad boys. Not guys with rap sheets longer than the LA traffic reports."

"I accidentally burn down one abandoned church, and they never let you forget it," Constantine grumbled. His hand automatically went to his front shirt pocket, searching for a non-existent cigarette.

"You should really consider the nicotine patches Dr. Garner keeps offering," Olivia said.

"If I just wanted the nicotine, that would be fine, but I don't – that's why I smoke."

"Just a suggestion, Mr. Constantine," she said. She made a shooing gesture with her hand, which he totally ignored. "I have files to enter. Privacy rules and all that, so if you don't have any pressing matters I need to call one of the nurses for, I need you to go somewhere else."

"New patients, huh?" John said, ignoring the dismissal. "Anyone interesting? Do I get a new roommate?"

Olivia immediately thought of Lucifer and for a brief moment of her own poor decision making, she considered putting Lucifer and John together.

Talk about an incendiary match…

"You're alone by your own request," Olivia said. "You were very insistent, if you'll recall."

By insistent, she meant he would drive his already questionable roommates into fits just to get them out of the room. If they had a solitary confinement, John would happily stay there.

"They were boring. Or worse, they were insane."

She managed to glare down her nose at him, even though he was above her leaning on the counter.

"I'm not politically correct, luv," he said, smiling. "Not now. And I don't see a time in the future when that'll be changing."

"Mr. Constantine," she sighed, leaning back in her chair to look up at him without him looming. "Can I help you with something?"

"You're neither a licensed psychologist, nor an occult specialist, so I highly doubt it," he said flippantly, and then before she even registered what he was doing, he lunged forwards and grabbed the top file.

Olivia cursed herself for forgetting just how quick he was, not to mention how damned nosy, and made to grab for it, but he pulled it just out of her reach.

"John Doe, huh?" John said, tsking. "That's unfortunate, seeing as –" and he stopped midsentence, staring at the open page.

While he was distracted, Olivia immediately ripped it out of his hands, one step away from calling one of the orderlies to escort John back to his room when she saw the look on his face.

"He looks better now," she explained, looking down at the page John had opened. It was the intake photos of all the injuries Lucifer had when he was picked up by highway patrol. She knew from John's own scars and medical file that he was no stranger to violence, but that didn't mean it made it any easier to see on someone else. "Most of the bruising is gone, and –"

"To hell with the bruising," he interrupted. "I want to know about that brand on his hand."

Olivia's sympathy evaporated when she realized it wasn't empathy that made him pause at the pictures. "None of your business," she snapped. "And if you don't want to spend the rest of the day in your room, you'll walk away, now."

"Livvie," he protested, bordering on whining. "I just need to –"

"No."

"But-"

"I said no, Mr. Constantine."

"But I think I recognize that!" Constantine said, making a grab for the file even as she held it out of his reach.

"Mister Constantine," Olivia growled, her eyes flicking over to Brian as he came back in the entryway, looking to her anxiously. She didn't want to have to have him take back to his room, but she also couldn't have him behaving the way he was and trying to steal patient files.

"Olivia," he snapped in the same tone. "I'm serious, I think I know what that symbol is, just let me get a better look at it!"

"John," she began, but turned at the sound of an opening door.

Dr. Garner's office opened, and Lucifer stepped into the hall, ushered out by the doctor behind him.

Constantine stopped dead in his tracks, mouth dropping open in shock.

Olivia's head whipped back and forth between the two of them like she was watching a ping pong tournament.

"I'll be damned," John breathed. "To hell with the brand, I know him."

"You do?"

"Yeah," he said, slowly nodding. "That's the Devil…what's he doing here?"

Author's Note: Okay, so for those of us not in the know, Constantine is an exorcist from the Hellblazer comics, who spends a lot of time in and out of psych wards for most of his childhood, and at one point, committed suicide and was brought back so he's had a personal taste of Hell. At least, that's the version I'm going with here. I'm sort of combining the TV/comic version of him with a version I would expect in "Lucifer", which is why he isn't self-admitted in this story. If anybody wants to catch up on his story line, CW seed is streaming Constantine. Other than that...was it worth the wait? I kind of like that it's slightly more lighthearted, and now I get to have one person not only BELIEVE Lucifer but know a significant amount about the occult/supernatural since Lucifer himself is in the dark in this story.

And again - sorry for the shortness but yay! It's before Christmas! Wooooo! Drop me a line and let me know what you think! Happy holidays to everyone!