Nebraska, 1988



The gravel crunched beneath Constantine’s feet as he walked across the parking lot to the roadhouse. The air was filled with the muffled sound of the honky-tonk music being played inside.



When he reached the front door, he was met with the full blast of the music as well as the smell of smoke and spilled beer. Rough and tumble types sat at the tables, at the bar, and surrounded the pool tables.



There were cop bars. There were jock bars. There were cowboy bars and biker bars. Every walk of life had a place where its people liked to kick back and put the day’s toils behind them. Harvelle’s Roadhouse was a Hunter bar. And not the type of hunter who went after bears or deer. These were the hunters who went after the things that went bump in the night. If a town was plagued by a coven of vampires, a pack of werewolves, ghosts, or ghouls, the hunters would eventually be along to deal with it. It was a proud tradition dating back centuries. Long before the first super hero put on his cape, there were hunters.



As Constantine moved through the crowd, those who met his gaze gave him a respectful nod. Apparently, he had the look that told them he was one of them… that he was someone who had seen unspeakable things.



He spotted the man he was looking for sitting by himself at a table towards the center of the room. He had black hair, 5 O’clock shadow, and wore a red checked flannel shirt with a hunting jacket. On the table in front of him was a bottle of jack Daniels and a single glass.



He walked up to the table and the man smiled in recognition. “John Constantine, you fancy limey bastard! Pull up a chair!” As Constantine sat down, the man called out over his shoulder, “Ellen! My friend needs a drink! He’s a long way from home!”



A pretty brunette waitress walked up and said, “You want your own drink or should I just bring you a glass so this idjit doesn’t drink this whole bottle by himself?”



“A glass will be fine, luv,” Constantine said.



Ellen raised her eyebrow at his accent. “My, you are a long way from home. Love your accent.” She sat down the glass she had already taken the liberty of bringing.



“Ellen’s always looking after me,” the man smiled.



“Well, somebody’s got to, John Winchester! You do enough to try and get yourself killed as it is!” With that, she turned and walked off to check on other customers.



“She’s pretty easy on the eyes,” Constantine said, admiring her.



“Don’t get any ideas,” Winchester said. “She’s married to my pal, Bill. He’s the owner/bartender over there.” He gestured to a large man behind the bar.



“Point taken,” Constantine said, pouring himself a glass. “So are you celebrating something?”



“My friend Bobby and I took out a family of ghouls in Wood Creek. About two towns over.”



“Why?” Constantine asked. “Ghouls just eat the dead.”



“These particular ghouls liked their meat fresh,” Winchester said.



“Blimey,” Constantine said, tossing back a shot.



“Unfortunately, Bobby gets antsy if he’s away from his salvage business for too long, so he cut out on me when it came time to drink to our success. Good thing you showed up,” Winchester said.



“Yeah, good thing,” Constantine said.



“Somehow I don’t think you came all the way from foggy old London-town to help me drink my whiskey, though,” Winchester said. “So what brings you here, John?”



“I need your help,” Constantine said.



“I thought you might say that,” Winchester sighed. “I just got off a case. I’m kind of burnt.”



“I wouldn’t ask, mate, but this one’s kind of personal to me,” Constantine said.



“Do tell,” Winchester said, leaning back in his chair.



“Have I ever told you the story about my first case in Newcastle?” Constantine said, tossing back a shot and wincing.



“Only that it was, as you called it, ‘a major cock-up’,”



“That’s putting it mildly,” Constantine said with a grimace as he poured himself another shot. “This was back in 1978, when I was just a lad. Me mates and I used to be in a punk band called Mucous Membrane.”



“You? Mr. Suit-and-tie?” Winchester laughed.



“Anyway, we had played a gig at this place called the Casanova Club,” Constantine continued. “The owner had stiffed us, so me mates and I went back to collect. We were nervous about it because the owner, Alex Logue, was supposed to be into all sorts of black magic. There were stories about the goings-on in the basement beneath the club.



“Me mates and I considered ourselves experts on the occult, so we were just arrogant enough to feel up to facing whatever we found. There was me, my bandmate Gary Lester, Ritchie Simpson… a computer expert and quantum magician, Judith… a tantric magician, Ann Marie…the eldest of our group and a psychic (turned out she was kind of sweet on me), and the youngest of our lot, Benny Cox. Only 12 and already as knowledgeable as any of us. Then, for sheer muscle, we’d brought along Frank North, a biker from California.”



“I’ve heard of North,” Winchester said. “He hunts now. Some say he took out five wendigo in one night.”



“Yeah, that nutter was the dog’s bollocks, alright,” Constantine laughed. “He didn’t know spell one back then, but we felt safer with him just the same.



“When we entered the club, it was eerily quiet. Normally, there’d be at least a bartender, waitress, and maybe one or two day drinkers. There was nothing. Nothing but a waft of sulfur in the air.



“As we walked further into the club, we discovered a young lass…. Maybe six years old… having a full blown fit. She was screaming hysterically. She barely seemed to know we were there.



“Ann Marie and Judith managed to get her calmed down… or at least calmer than what she was. Enough for her to give us some idea of what had happened.”



“So what did happen?”



“It was all true,” Constantine said, throwing back another shot. “All the depraved stories. The blood sacrifice… dark rituals. And that poor lass had been made to take part in it. Her name was Astrid Logue and she was Alex Logue’s own daughter.”



“You’re kidding,” Winchester said, sounding outraged.



“I wish I was, mate,” Constantine said. “What kind of father puts his own child through that? I thought my own father was a right old bastard, but he made him seem like Father Christmas.



“They had been in the middle of a ceremony to summon an entity. They made one crucial mistake…. Using a child they had repeatedly traumatized as the medium to bring him into our world.



“Just as the ceremony reached its peak, she wished for them all to go away…. To be removed from the world so they could never hurt her again.. So the entity recognized her as the summoner , not them, and it sprung forth to do as she asked.



“When we got down to the basement, we were horrified by what we saw. Everywhere we looked, it was a bloody slaughterhouse. Whatever she had called forth had chased them down one by one and ripped them to shreds.”



“So what did you do with the girl?” Winchester asked. “Exorcism?”



“It wasn’t in her,” Constantine said. “It had been brought forward in its whole form.”



“That’s impossible,” Winchester said.



“Not quite,” Constantine said. “What she conjured wasn’t a demon. It was the terror elemental, Northfulung. Think if a demon and a hell hound had a baby.”



“Now there’s a pretty picture,” Winchester said.



“We were pretty gob-smacked by it, too. By this point, the fact that we weren’t getting paid was obvious but pretty much forgotten,” Constantine said. “We started to have a row about what we should do next. Judith and I thought we needed to banish the thing before it could hurt anyone else. Frank just wanted to blow the place up and Ritchie agreed with him. Ann Marie and Gary held back, waiting to see what everyone else decided to do. In all our squabbling, we didn’t see that Benny had wondered off.



“Suddenly, we heard a scream of anguish coming from the next room. We rushed in and were horrified by what we saw. Benny had wondered off looking for the terror elemental and he had found it. And now it was on him…. Trying to do the worst thing that could happen to a boy that age…. Or to any man for that matter. Frank pointed the shotgun he had brought and unloaded a round of rock salt into Northfulung’s face, driving him off. Ann Marie and Judith helped the boy up. He looked even smaller than his years at that moment…. The seat of his pants had been ripped away. If we had been just one second later….” Constantine poured himself another shot and downed it quickly.



“Damn,” Winchester said, sympathetically.



“Judith and I decided this was too big for just us to deal with,” Constantine said. “We needed someone… something… stronger to deal with it. Frank and Ritchie thought the idea was insane. Frank still wanted to blow the place up. We finally got him to agree to give us an hour.



“Judith and I had Ann Marie sit upstairs with Astrid and Benny. Poor Benny was pretty much catatonic at this point. We drew a protective circle of salt around them before going back downstairs.



“We were able to find everything necessary to perform the ceremony among the occult relics in Alex Logue’s collection, including ceremonial robes,” Constantine continued. “Gary, bless his daft heart, wanted to help, so we sent him out to hunt for a stray cat to get him out of the way.” The last part made Winchester chuckle.



“Judith and I performed the ceremony. There was a flicker of candles and then nothing. We thought, then, that it might not have worked.



“Upstairs, Ann Marie waited uneasily with Benny and Astra. There was a flash of light and then an image appeared to her. It was me. Or at least it looked like me. It said all the things to her she had ever wanted to hear. It managed to woo Ann Marie out, breaking the circle. As it leaned in, as if to give her the kiss she had been longing for, it laughed mockingly, ‘Get thee to a nunnery,’ and sprayed her with acidic spit, sending her screaming from the room.



“Downstairs, Judith and I continued to search the basement to see if anything had come from our efforts. Unfortunately, we came across the terror elemental.



“As it cornered us, growling, a small figure entered the doorway. We gasped to see Astra standing three. As she moved closer, we saw the red eyes of a demon. The thing that had been Astra walked casually up to Northfulung, grasped his wolf-like head, and ripped it from his shoulders.



“The possessed Astra turned to me then and said, ‘My part of the bargain is done. I shall take this one as payment.’”



“’You bloody well will not!’ I said. ‘You’ll get your arse back to hell where you belong!’



“The possessed girl started to laugh. The laugh turned into a meaty choking sound as she doubled over and bloody flesh issued from her mouth and fell to the floor with a wet slap. The mass began to rapidly twist and grow until it became a twisted mass of various body parts from assorted creatures. Nothing about the forming mass made sense. One of the many hideous faces rose to the top and formed into a head.



“’Silly little magician. You should have had a little more experience under your belt. You failed to name or bind me. You have no control over me. I simply did as you requested out of courtesy … and because it amused me.’”



“I stared in horror. It continued, ‘I am not completely unreasonable. Yes, I will be taking this child to hell with me. You are, however, welcome to follow. If you are able to lead her out without going mad, then you may take her back..’”



“So you followed her to hell?” Winchester asked.



“I did. The demon opened a portal and tossed her through. I ran in after her. I found her standing by herself, rigid with fear. ‘Close your eyes, Astra!’ I yelled, running to her.



“We were surrounded by the torments of the damned. We had to wade through fields of writhing monstrosities and unspeakable evils, most of which are still blotted from my mind. In the distance, we could see the portal leading back to Earth.



“My heart began to race the closer I got to it. Was there actually a chance we were going to make it?



“What I didn’t realize was that the one hour Frank and Ritchie had given me was now up. They had poured gasoline everywhere and waited staring at their watches. When I didn’t show up at the hour mark a panicked Judith spurred them to action and they set the place ablaze.



“Just as the place started to turn into a full-on inferno the end of the portal appeared at the doorway. Frank and Ritchie ran up and grabbed me and jerked me away just as it closed behind me.



“’ ‘We did it, Astra me girl!’ I cried jubilantly. We made it back!’



“The rest of the crew stared at me their mouths hanging open in horror. Gary doubled over and lost his lunch.



“’The arm… the arm…,’ Judith gasped weakly.



“’What about her arm?’ I asked.



“My gaze drifted down as she said ‘… there’s just… her arm…’



“I pulled on the arm and I was suddenly struck by the lack of weight and resistance. That’s when I looked down to see where the arm was severed mid-bicep. I dropped to the ground as a scream escaped from me and I fell to my knees as the last shreds of my sanity were torn away. The next time I would even be aware of my surroundings I would find myself in Ravensclaw Sanitorium. I would spend the next three years there.



The rest of the crew didn’t fare much better. Marie did indeed enter a nunnery trying to absolve her sins. She still bears the scars from the demon’s acidic spit. Bennie still has the chronic stutter from his trauma. Gary Lester fell into drugs and is a full-on junkie now. Judith dealt with her guilt more positively and works with abused kids. Only Frank and Ritchie got out unscathed



“It sounds awful,” Winchester said. “But guys like us deal in awful. You must have developed a tougher skin once you got out.”



“That I did,” Constantine said, tossing back another shot. “Not that you ever get completely numb to it. Not if you stay human. I thought I had put it behind me, though But something has changed that”



“What?” Winchester asked.



“It turns out not all of Logue’s followers were there that night. Some of them survived. They recovered the arm.”



“What do they plan to do with it?” Winchester asked.



“It’s been exactly ten years since the slaughter at the Casanova Club,” Constantine said. “Since then, they’ve acquired the arm and plan to use it to raise Logue from the dead.”



“But it’s his daughter’s arm. Not his,” Winchester said.



“Same blood,” Constantine said. “Basically, it’s the same spell for summoning an ancestor.”



“Yeah, I’ve run into that sort of thing before,” Winchester said.



“I can’t let this happen,” Constantine said. “Not after all that bastard has done… especially to her. This would just be the final exploitation.”



“We’ll stop him,” Winchester said, holding up his glass. “Together.”



“Thanks, mate,” Constantine said, holding up his own glass. “You have no idea how much I appreciate this.”



They tossed back their drinks and then rose from the table. After settling their tab, they walked to the parking lot.



“I see you’ve still got that Impala,” Constantine said.



“You don’t replace a classic,” Winchester said. “Plus, it’s got plenty of trunk space for supplies.



“Or bodies,” Constantine added.



“Or bodies,” Winchester agreed.





The first stop they made was at a low budget motel. Winchester knocked a series of rhythmic knocks on the door and it opened with the chain still in place. A gun barrel appeared, door knob level.



“What’s the password?” a boy’s voice said from the other side.



“Steely Dane,” Winchester said. “At ease, son. It’s your dad and a friend.”



The chain unlatched and a young boy stood in the doorway holding a pistol. He looked far too serious for a boy his age. “Hey, dad.”



“Hey, Dean,” Winchester said, mussing his hair. “You look after Sam like you’re supposed to? Everything alright?”



“Yeah, … the cleaning lady wanted to come in, but I got her to go away.”



“Good boy,” Winchester said.



“Daddy!” a smaller, dark haired boy said, rushing into the room from the bathroom. He looked to be somewhere between four and five years old. He grabbed Winchester around the legs, hugging him. “I thought you were never coming back.”



“I always come back, Sammy,” Winchester said, stroking his hair.



“That’s what I told him,” Dean, the older boy, said. “But he always worries.”



Winchester knelt down and put his hands on his younger son’s shoulders. “I’ve told you, Sam. Your daddy’s work takes him away to lots of different places, but he’ll always be back for you. I’ll never leave you behind.”



“You promise?” Sam sniffed.



“I promise,” Winchester said.



He turned to his older son and said, “Dean, another case has come up. So I have to go away for a couple more days.”



“No! Not already!” Sam whined.



“Yes, I’m sorry, son. There’s something I have to take care of…”



“Can’t someone else do it?” Sam said. “You just got back!”



“What dad does is important, Sammy,” Dean said.



“Do you still have plenty of food?” Winchester asked.



“Yes, sir,” Dean said.



“Good,” Winchester said. He pulled out his wallet and handed Dean a wad of cash. “Here’s some extra money in case anything comes up.”



“Yes, sir,” Dean said dutifully.



“You’ve got Bobby’s number in case of emergency. If I’m not back in three days, call him.”





The two men rode in silence before Constantine finally said, “The lad’s a bit young to be left alone and in charge like that, isn’t he?”



“Dean’s a good soldier,” Winchester said gruffly as he stared ahead at the road.



“That’s just it, innit? He’s not a soldier. He’s just a wee boy,” Constantine said.



“You’re going to sit there and criticize me after everything you’ve told me about your family?” Winchester said.



“I’m just saying…..”



“You think this is the life I wanted for my boys?” Winchester snapped.



“I don’t…”



“Thanks to that yellow eyed demon bastard that killed their mother, we know what’s out there now,” Winchester said, gripping the steering wheel tightly. “We can’t just stick our heads back in the sand. I’ve got to make sure they’re ready…. That they can fight back.”



They rode in strained silence after that. Eventually, they passed the sign letting them know they were entering the Chicago city limits.



The tension eased once they appeared to be nearing their destination. “So there’s a Casanova Club in Chicago?” Winchester asked.



“Logue was a pretty rich guy,” Constantine said. “He had clubs all over. Money like that allows a guy like that to really indulge himself. He could go anywhere in the world and have people there to cater to every dark whim.”



“I’m not sure whether to be disgusted or jealous,” Winchester said.



“Believe me. With Logue’s tastes, you should be disgusted,” Constantine said.



Eventually, the Impala pulled into a parking lot across the street from the American Casanova Club. “Not much to look at,” Winchester said.



“Neither was the original,” Constantine replied. “The type of club he liked to hang out in was the sort of dive that booked punk garage bands. All the real money went into the underground area where he and his friends hung out for arcane orgies.”



The two of them stepped out of the Impala and walked around to the trunk. When Winchester opened it, Constantine gave an impressed whistle. “That’s what I love about you, John. You always come prepared.”



“I have to be,” Winchester said. “I don’t have as much of that hoodoo mumbo jumbo memorized as you do.”



Winchester put on a large hunting jacket big enough to hide a sawed-off shotgun. He slipped a pistol into the waist band of his jeans behind his back. He tossed Constantine a hex bag to ward off possession and then put one in his own pocket. He continued to fill his pockets and encouraged Constantine to do the same.



I brought something for you, too, mate,” Constantine said, reaching into his trench coat. He brought out an object wrapped in a white cloth. When he unwrapped it, he revealed a shiny ornately carved blade that looked somewhere between a short sword and a long knife. “It’s an angel blade,” he said.



“I’ve heard of these,” Winchester said. “I thought they were just a fairy tale. I never expected to see one in real life.”



“They’re real, alright, mate. This is the same blade that was used by Heaven’s legions during Lucifer’s fall. It can kill anything. After we’re done here, it’s yours to keep. It can take care of that problem for you.”



“I… I can’t tell you how much that means to me,” Winchester said in a voice husky with emotion.



“Think nothing of it, mate,” Constantine said, clapping him on the shoulder.



A large, rough looking man in a black leather motorcycle jacket guarded the back door. “What the hell do you two jokers want?” he growled as he saw Constantine approach.



Constantine held up his flat palm and blew into it. “Yoshinda.” The man slumped to the ground as a glittery dust hit him in the face.



“What was that?” Winchester asked.



“An old Aramaic sleeping spell,” Constantine said.



They leaned the man in a sleeping position against the wall. When they opened the door, they were hit with the goth rock sounds of Bauhaus’ “Stigmata”.



Once inside, they were surprised to find that there weren’t guards waiting to face them. In fact, the only fighting they had to do was to fight off unwanted advances from the highly intoxicated partiers backstage at the Casanova Club.



“Excuse me, luv,” Constantine said to a girl with wildly spiked hair and heavy black eye make-up who looked to be doing her best Souxsie Sioux impression. “Which way to the basement?”



“Love your accent,” she said, bringing her hand up to his face flirtatiously.



“The basement, darling,” he said, placing a kiss in her palm.



“You make a left and then the door is down at the end of the hall,” the stoned girl said, smiling lasciviously. “I don’t think they want anyone down there, though. They’re having some sort of private ceremony.”



“It’s okay, luv. I’m an old friend of the owner,” he said over his shoulder as he and Winchester headed in that direction.



When they arrived at the doorway, there were two large men wearing ceremonial robes guarding it. “Sorry. Private party,” one of them said, holding up his hand.



“We’re going down there, one way or another,” Winchester said. “Whether we have to step over you to get there is up to you.”



“Funny guy,” one of the guards said, advancing on them.



Five minutes later, Constantine and Winchester walked down the stairs to the basement wearing the guards’ ceremonial robes. “These remind me of boxer robes,” Winchester said. “I feel like Clubber Lang.”



“Yeah, after this, I think I’m keeping the robe,” Constantine said.



They descended the stairs and turned towards a large group of similarly robed figures. The robed men and women stood in a semi-circle chanting Before them was an outline of a child’s form surrounded by many arcane symbols. Astra’s arm rested in the left arm of the outline.



As the robed figures chanted, the air was filled with a scratching, scraping noise as the bones of the arm began to grow outward from the area where the arm was severed. The bones continued to knit until a full skeleton was quickly formed. Muscular tissue began to weave outward, covering the skeleton, as well as networks of nerves, veins, and arteries. The skin then grew out to cover it all. Hair sprouted out from the areas of the eyelashes and eyebrows and the scalp which grew to full length, reaching the shoulders of the newly formed child. As the girl rose to her feet, two acolytes moved in to cover her with a robe.



“Blimey,” Constantine said. “We’re too late.”



“We can still send him back,” Winchester said.



“Is this any way to treat an old friend,” the child laughed with Logue’s voice. The robed figures turned in their direction.



“Old friend?” scoffed Constantine. “You wrecked my life, you sod! You destroyed all my friends!”



“Not my fault,” Logue said. “Becoming your friend is just asking to be destroyed. I guess not everyone knew it in those days, though.”



“You sodding bastard!” Constantine shouted, making Logue laugh.



His laughter was cut short as Constantine began to chant in Aramaic. An occult expert himself, Logue recognized it for what it was: an exorcism.



“Get him!” Logue cried. “Make him stop!”



Winchester put himself between the robed figures, now brandishing knives, and Constantine. One charged forward and Winchester stabbed him in the gut with the angel blade Constantine had given him. He threw the mortally wounded man towards the second man rushing him then slashed out at the third.



Logue began to scream as the incantation took ahold of him. Several pained wails escaped from him as if he were in agony. The robed men stopped what they were doing as their diminutive master’s head turned upward and a cloud of black smoke escaped from his mouth and the child slumped to the ground.



Everyone stood deathly still, staring at the slumped form. Suddenly, a deep booming laughter issued from her as she rose to her feet.



“Thank you for saving me the trouble of forcing that fool out,” the childish figure said, peering at them with glowing red eyes.



Constantine felt a sick, choking feeling at the back of his throat. It was happening again. How could it be happening again? “Nergal,” he croaked.



“I see you finally discovered my name,” the arch demon said. “Far too late, I’m afraid. You were not my summoner. These fools were …. If by accident. Of course, thanks to you, they now have that knowledge, which will not do…”



“With a wave of a childish hand, the heads of all the acolytes jerked to an unnatural angle with a sickening snap. All of them then slumped to the floor lifelessly.



“And as for you,” Nergal said, gesturing towards them. His eyes widened when nothing happened.



Constantine produced the blade hidden within his robe. Winchester held his own up, as well.



“Angel blades, you sod. Protects us from your magics.”



The form of Astra suddenly hunched over and blood began to pour from her mouth as if from a fountain. In quick time, there was an enormous pool of blood before her.



A lean, muscular form began to rise from the center of the pool. When it reached its full height, it stood 6’5. Blood ran down from its bald head across its crimson skin in rivulets to drip back into the puddle. He peered at them through yellow, serpent like eyes set above an almost non-existent nose that was merely two slits. His thin lips pulled back in a sneer to reveal sharply pointed teeth. “That form was really too confining for my full power.”



“I’ve played enough poker in my time to know a good bluff when I see one,” Winchester said. “These blades will cut through any spell you throw at us. They can finish you off.”



“Be that as it may,” Nergal said. “I can still affect everything around you.”



A violent wind suddenly coursed through the room. At the same time, a light began to appear behind them as a rift began to appear, opening a portal to Hell. The bodies of the fallen acolytes began to slide across the floor as the winds picked up in strength.



The winds began to lift the bodies and they flew towards the widening rift and then through it as it continued to grow. On the other side appeared a tormented landscape made up of the writhing bodies of the damned.



Winchester managed to throw up his blade in time. The winds parted around him as if sliced.



Constantine wasn’t so fortunate. One of the bodies collided with him, knocking him off his feet. The angel blade fell from his hands and bounced across the floor and through the portal. He barely managed to grab onto one of the support pillars in time to hang on for dear life. His heart sank. It was up to Winchester now.

Nergal raised an eyebrow in alarm as Winchester continued to trudge forward. “Your persistence is a futile effort, mortal.”



“I don’t think so,” Winchester said, moving forward against the winds. “You can turn the special effects off. You’re not impressing me.”



The winds suddenly came to a halt as the large portal closed. Constantine fell to the floor, letting out an ‘oof’ as the wind was knocked from his lungs.



“Stay where you are, mortal!” Nergal exclaimed, real fear in his eyes. Winchester continued towards him.



“Your wife!” Nergal exclaimed. The blonde image of Mary Winchester appeared. She was wearing the same nightgown she had been wearing the night she was murdered by the yellow eyed demon. “Here she is, released from Hell!”



“I can see through her,” Winchester said. “She’s still dead. If you’re going to bring her back, then bring her back all the way.”



“It… is not within my power to resurrect the dead,” Nergal said miserably.”



“Too bad for you, then,” Winchester said, crossing the distance between them.



“Wait!” Nergal exclaimed. “The yellow eyed demon, Azazel, who slew your woman and ruined your life! .. I can give him to you!”



“You know what they say about a bird in the hand,” Winchester said. With that, he plunged the angel blade into Nergal’s midsection.



As Nergal coughed up blood and spittle, he laughed, “You should have taken my offer, mortal. Azazel has such plans for your son, Sam. Such….”



His head turned upwards and light poured from his mouth, eyes, and nostrils. Flames flickered across his skin. A portal suddenly opened behind him and he fell through.



“The blade!” Winchester exclaimed as the small portal closed.



“I’m sorry,” Constantine said, rising to his feet.



“I… I still have leads on another weapon for the yellowed eyed… for Azazel,” Winchester sighed. “An enchanted colt whose bullets can kill anything.”



He turned to the apparition of his wife who was still there. “Mary, is it really you?”



“Yes, John. It’s me,” she smiled sadly. “But I can’t stay.”



“But I just got you back,” Winchester said softly.



“Promise me… promise me you will protect Sam from him,” Mary said desperately as she began to glow brightly. “Promise me you won’t let Azazel have him.”



“What does he want with him?” Winchester asked.



Before she could answer, Mary’s glow consumed her and the light shot upward and she was gone. She had ascended to Heaven where she belonged.



“I promise I’ll protect him,” John Winchester said. “I’ll protect both our boys.”



There was a sudden rustle of movement and both Constantine and Winchester turned in shock. Astra raised up, leaning on her arms and blinking rapidly as if she had just woken up. “J-Johnny?” she said, looking at him in confusion. “Where are we? Why do you look so much older?”



“Because I am, luv!” he said, grabbing her up in his arms and swinging her around jubilantly. “But you’re still young and you’ve never looked so beautiful!”





The Impala pulled up to the front of the airport and parked. Constantine stepped out of the passenger seat and then offered his hand to the girl still inside the car.



Astra took his hand and stepped out of the car. She wore a pink floral sundress that the two men had let her pick out at Sears. It was prettier and brighter than anything her own father had ever let her wear. A bright pink ribbon in her hair topped off the look.



Winchester stepped out of the driver’s seat and walked around to where they were. “Will she be alright?” He asked Constantine.



“Much better than her first go ‘round,” Constantine said. “Unlike her father who was a complete rotter, her aunt is actually a pretty decent lass. She’ll give her a good home and raise her right.”



Constantine gave his friend a concerned look. “Will you be alright, mate?”



“Yeah… yeah. The boys and I will carry on like we always have. At least now we will know their mother is in a better place.”



“You take care of yourself, John,” Constantine said.



“I always do,” Winchester said with a nod as he turned towards his Impala. Constantine watched as the large black car started up and then drove off into the distance.



He looked down at Astra and took her hand. “Ready to go on an adventure, luv?”



“I’ve never been on an airplane before,” the small girl said. “Is it scary?”



“Compared to all we’ve been through, it’s a cakewalk,” Constantine laughed.



As they stepped into the airport, he mused that the last time he had held her hand like this, it had ended in horror. This time, he would finally get her to where she needed to be. They would both get to where they needed to be.