Author: Jedi Buttercup
Category: A:tS, Constantine
Summary: 400 words. Angel has a perplexing encounter with another infamous resident of L.A.
Disclaimer: The words are mine; the worlds are not. I claim nothing but the plot.
Spoilers: A:tS post-"Not Fade Away" (5.22); Constantine (2004)
Feedback: It's the coin of the realm.
Notes: Sixteenth entry for the August Fic-A-Day challenge. I know nothing about the Hellblazer comic, but the Constantine movie captured my imagination.
The stranger in the white dress shirt and flowing black coat shook his head at the carnage around him, then knelt to give Angel a hand up.
"You know this is all just a sideshow," he said, in a low, gravelly voice.
"Sideshow?" Angel staggered to his feet, shaking off the blood and grime that caked his arms to the elbow. He'd lost his sword to the dragon and never managed to get his hands on another weapon; thanks to Hamilton's blood, however, he'd done just fine with fists and fangs.
"Yeah." The man stared at him for a moment, dark eyes intense in a pale, narrow face, then looked away again, studying the slain horde. "I've heard the rumors; you spent an entire summer in Hell. You know what's really at stake here. Whatever Wolfram & Hart are cooking up, they're deluding themselves-- and you-- that any of it will matter in the end."
Angel frowned. 'Hell' was only one dimension out of many, wasn't it? One worthy of the name, perhaps-- the five-hundred-year equivalent he'd spent there had been enough to drive him to madness-- but still, not overly important in the scale of things. "There are prophecies," he objected. "I don't know what you think you know about Hell..."
"Just because a prophecy is true doesn't mean that it means what you think it should." The man reached into his pocket for a pack of gum and shook a piece out onto his palm. He chuckled then, a grim, disappointed sound, and popped the gum into his mouth. "I guess you still don't remember, then. I'd been hoping..." He shook his head
"Remember what?" Angel asked, irritably. None of this was making any sense to him.
"About the balance." The stranger sighed, cursing under his breath. "Damned half-breeds-- bad enough when they know what they are and what they're doing; letting you and your opposite numbers loose without any kind of preparation makes no sense at all. What, do they think that because you don't know you're not supposed to interfere, the things you do don't count?"
He glanced over at Angel again. "My name is Constantine, John Constantine. If you ever figure things out, look me up; I'm easy enough to find if you know what you're looking for." With that, he turned and left.
Angel stared after him, a thousand questions burning in his mind.