06 When They Met

'I need a drink.' John stumbled across the threshold of the bar and tried to take a drag from his cigarette. It was like puffing the end of a wooden log. The wind had put it out. "Damn." He tossed the useless lump of cancer out the door just before it closed behind him.

His boots made ugly squelching noises with every step. The bartender looked up. "Oh, Damn-it John!" He slammed the glass he'd been cleaning down on the counter top.

John seated himself. "Can I get a whisky?"

"What have I told you about coming into my bar drenched in demon slime?!"

"Technically this is demon snot. How about that whisky?"

"How about a bath." The bartender grumbled, but he picked the glass back up and filled it adequately.

"I actually thought the rain would have washed me off by now." The bartender snorted.

"Yeah, the way milk rinses grease off a butter dish." John ignored him and proceeded to chug his whisky. Ah, the taste of fire and brimstone with an edge of alcohol. Yum. "So what was it this time?"

"Do you want to know anymore than you did last time?"

"Not really."

John fished out a dry cigarette and lit it. He took a long, healthy drag and let it slowly seep out his nostrils. Some of the tension eased out of his shoulders, leaving behind a dull ache. Maybe he'd hit that concrete wall a little harder than he'd thought. 'If I've got a busted rib I'm gonna be pissed.'

It took him a number of moments to realize the smoke trailing out of his lungs was winding itself into a snake. A very realistic snake that twisted around and looked at him.

And blinked.

"WHOA!" John flailed his arm, cutting through the serpents midsection. The world titled and he hit the floor with a loud clatter. Above him the snake stuck out it's tongue and evaporated. 'What…the hell.'

A soft chuckling a bit to the left. John's temper flared and stood up before he did. He picked himself up off the floor, slamming his stool back into place. He picked up his cigarette and inhaled ferociously.

He was gonna kick some more demon ass tonight it seemed.

But when he turned he found he wasn't looking at a demon at all. But a slender dark haired man seated a few stools away. His black hair was tied back at his neck and matched his eyes perfectly. The man's dress was equally shadowy, and a long cloak hung closely around his form. High cheekbones framed his face.

And there was something else about him. Almost like a distinct scent that John found catching his attention, drawing him closer.

John took a small whiff of the air and realized what he was smelling.

Power. Lots of it. The man was drenched in the magical equivalent of nuclear energy.

John left his empty glass behind and went to find a new stool beside this stranger. The man stiffened.

"Ello." John offered gruffly. He took a daring puff on his cigarette and blew it out. Then raised his eyebrows in a silent question.

The stranger smirked very slightly, and a small serpent wound itself through the air in front of them.

"So it was you." John grumbled. He would have chuckled, but it was seeming more and more likely that he had busted a rib after all. He slumped against the bar. "I don't suppose you have half a dozen Vicadin on you?"

"No." His voice was a gravely bass.

"Urgnn…didn't think so." John waved his hand to get the barkeeps attention. He pointed at his empty glass, and at the bottle of whisky on the shelf. The man got the idea.

"You look like you've had quite a day."

"Quite a shitty day, yes. Of course in my kind of employment there are really only three ways to end the day. Covered in blood, covered in slime, or dead."

Nuclear Power House Man titled his head. "Maybe you should consider alternate employment."

John snorted. "My resume includes demon smashing and bad monster stomping, with a bit of experience in all of the seven sins. I don't think McDonalds is going to hire me."

His whisky arrived. John picked it up, fully ready to down the entire glass in one go.

The bell tinkled as someone stepped in the door and John's whisky exploded in his hand. "Aw, what the FUCK!" Beside him, the dark haired stranger whipped around. John turned.

More Power. A second stranger had walked in the door. He was the exact opposite of the man next to John. Platinum blonde, dressed in a light gray, and much less sexy. Actually he just looked downright mean.

"Hello Severus." The new man whispered. His smooth voice carried in rhythm with the remaining sounds of panic and shattering glass.

Severus, presumably, was backed against the bar and had his eyes narrowed like a cornered snake. "Lucius." he hissed. Severus had a more eloquent grip on his magic than the blonde man. His power pulsed almost lazily round him and thrummed in his voice.

The Whisky Waster took slow languid steps forward. "The dark lord does not appreciate your continuing obstinacy." John turned in his stool, watching this, and plucked the glass shards out of his hand. He was feeling increasingly frustrated. 'A guy can't even have a drink in a bar anymore without being interrupted by power hungry pricks.'

"Excuse me." he said loudly. Lucius's eyes turned to him. "Piss off." One blonde eyebrow quirked.

Cool gray eyes regarded him. "This is none of your business demon hunter."

"Actually, sir. You came busting into my bar, breaking my glass, interrupting my off time, and pestering my sexy stranger. It is very much my business. And I'd like you to leave." John slid off his stool and took three big strides.

WHAM! Lucius whipped with the force of his punch. John felt the stinging in his knuckles and grinned. 'Haven't bruised an aristocrat in a while. Forgot how good it felt.' Like stepping on bees. John wrapped his hand around the other mans throat and pushed. The combination of his magic and own physical strength put the intruder back outside through a busted door. "And I'm not a "demon hunter" I'm John Constantine, the John Constantine…asshole." he muttered to himself.

He heard a muffled chuckling behind him. Severus was doing his best to hold in bubbles of laughter. "What do you say we replace that whisky of yours demon hunter?"

John grinned. "The name's John Constantine." The bartender was already standing behind him with another drink in is hand. A hopeless look of resignation was locked on his face.

"John." he muttered. "I wish for once you'd go keep someone else's bar out of trouble."

A/N

Keeping this short but sweet. Thank you reviewers. Thank you Sara. Thank you readers.

Thank you functioning internet connection.

FAREWELL!

...and Happy New Year eh?

laughing serpent