A Hellblazer/ Buffy Crossover, from John Constantine's POV.

Disclaimer: Constantine belongs mostly to Vertigo. Buffy etc belong to Joss and other people. But really of course they belong to themselves. I'm not going to make them do anything they don't have a tendency to do anyway...

Author's notes: I thought I'd better point out when in the time-frame of Buffy and Hellblazer this story is set. In the Buffy timeline, this is set mid season four, when Spike was pretty newly chipped, and obviously before Ethan was put in prison... in fact, almost immediately before the episode where Ethan turns Giles into a demon. In the Hellblazer timeline, this takes place after the graphic novel Damnation's Flame and before Hard Times and Good Intentions.

Thanks to AngelHair and Beloved for filling in random plot holes and for random bits of almost-beta-ing.


In Over My Head


I don't know what I'm doing. I'm way over my head this time. I've said that before, haven't I? You probably don't believe me.

But it's true...

I'm dead.

I've pissed off one bastard to many... again, and I've called in every favour anyone's ever owed me. Christ. I even owe Chaz one. Let's re-phrase that.IoweChazone. It's not evenfunny. They're after me, and I don't know what I'm going to do...

I don't even know what theyare. I've got a pretty good idea who sent them, though... I don't know what loophole it is they've found, but I've got a bad feeling about this. Christ, I sound like something out of a low budget horror movie. I feel like something out of a low budget horror movie. They're after me, they're coming to get me, and I don't have any options left.

I'm dead...

Christ, I don't want to die. Hell's waiting for me. With baited breath. I can almost see them, sitting there and drooling.

And of course, the ghosts will be waiting too...

I was trying to work out what to do, trying to work out who I could go to for help. I mean, Christ, that's a bloody joke, ennit?Me, asking for help. But like I said, I'm in over my head this time, and I was getting desperate.

So I went through the list in my head. People who I can... people who might... oh fuck it, the word I'm looking for is friends. And... it wasn't a pretty thought.

Brendan Finn. Irishman. Drunkard. And also dead.

Gary Leicester. Heroin addict. Occult dabbler. And also dead. Dead... because of me.

Ray Mond. Gay bookshop owner. Camp as Christmas. And also dead, because of me.

Davie.Rough sleeper. Tottenham Court Road bumboy. And also dead because of me.

Emma Artist. Ex-lover. And also... no wait, you've guessed it... dead. Because of yours truly

And it's after that that you get to the really sordid bit...

Kit. I don't even know where to find her. And I couldn't... just couldn't drag her into this.

It wouldn't be fair. Christ, that's beside the point. I don't want her to die. And that's all that finding her would achieve. Leave the girl out of it.

Oh Christ, Kit. Kit... miss you. Wouldn't want to... to go to hell... without saying goodbye...

Stop it you sad old bastard. That's not going to help anyone.

So anyway, you see why the ghosts have come out to play...

It was the early hours of the morning, and I was seriously beginning to consider asking Chaz if he fancied helping me with some death defying demon exorcism, (a cosy night in with Chaz, fun... not), when I remembered... there wassomeone else. For a moment I almost danced around the room... therewashope. Not a light at the end of the tunnel as such, but a bloke with a cigarette lighter half way along it, who's willing spark you up and point out the right general direction.

And thenI started to worry. Does he even remember me? Fuck that, that's not a problem, I can always remind him. No, the actual question that's bugging me (ignoring the practicalities about plane fares) is has he forgiven me yet?

I get the air fare of Chaz, of course. How else? He taxis me across London to Heathrow airport, and I don't say a word all the way. When he drops me off, I think about telling him that this is it, that I've pissed off one bastard too many and... but he's heard the entire spiel too many times before. He wouldn't believe me.

So. This is goodbye. No soppy note left in the back of your cab, mate. No final confessions or gifts of obscure occult stuff that's going to make your fortune for you. Just another trip through the commuter traffic around Heathrow airport on a grey Tuesday evening. Typical Constantine style. I'd laugh if it wasn't so tragic. I'd cry if I did that sort of thing. As it is, I turn up the collar of my trench coat, light a cigarette, and don't look back...

...because I honestly think that someone... or, or something is following me. I hope against all hopes that it's just me being paranoid, but ... there are things in the shadows. Christ, I hope Ripper knows what he's doing. I stare at the passengers on the aeroplane until they're all afraid to meet my eyes. It doesn't help. Any of them or all of them could be...

Could be what? Could be demons? Could be people with grudges against John Constantine? Could be out to get me?

Yes. It's true. Any of them could be. Probably none of them are.

On the other hand, this isme we're talking about. And I... And they... And they're coming togetme.

I hate aeroplanes.

The flight is to Los Angeles. City of Angels. Ha ha bloody ha. I think... I bloody hope... that Ripper lives in the suburbs here somewhere. I haven't got a clue how I'm going to find him. Fuck it, I don't even remember his real name...

Only thing I've got to go on is that I think I remember someone mentioning once that there's a hellmouth around here somewhere. And if there isone, then that's where Ripper'll be. Drawn in. Just like the demons.

And me too. I should be drawn to the hellmouth. I mean, hell, demon blood aside I'm just the sort of stupid, fucked up, demon summoning, heaven hating bastard who can't resist the pull of a good hellmouth and just one more opportunity to be fucked over. Ripper too, although I bet he doesn't see it like that.

I wonder if he's grown up at all. That's a mean little thought, but... my god, he hasn't been at college for over two decades. He'll have changed some...

Christ, what if he's given up black magic?

No. He hasn't. You know that. No one ever does. Of course, he could always be dead, but whilst he still has breath in his body, he'll be a hellblazer. And so will I.


Oh bloody hell, it's called Sunnydale. How sick-makingly American can you get.

Trust Americans. I mean, not only do they build a fucking town on the site of the biggest hellmouth in the Western hemisphere, they then go ahead and call it Sunnydale! I mean, that's just asking for trouble.

There really is something following me.

I walk a little faster, because now I can hear footsteps. The worst thing is that every time I glance back over my shoulder, there's nothing there. But I can hear breathing...

Fuck...

Something's wrong. Something's very wrong. Fear is rising in me, not the rational, calm panic of the past few hours, but an animal, instinctive terror. My skin's crawling, and the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. I can smell magic in the air. I fold my arms across my chest and try to keep walking, but it's getting harder to move, getting harder to breathe, as if the air is suddenly fighting against me. My vision's going dim too. I gasp for breath, as if I've been running.

Fuck... Jesus Christ... oh fuck...

Suddenly, without warning, my legs give way and I'm cowering on the floor. I throw my hands up to protect my face. Something's... something's wrong... with the air. It's crackling with electricity. My skin's burning. Can't breath... I force myself to look up and there's nothing there. This can'tjust be my mind playing tricks with me... can it? Maybe I'm going mad. Wouldn't be the first time...

And then I catch sight of something out of the corner of my eye. With some effort, I turn my head, but it's already gone... I try to pull myself to my feet, but it feels like something's holding me down. I make it to my knees, but now there's something moving behind me... Almost involuntarily, my head jerks round... but there's nothing there. I force myself up. There's no point in trying to run away, I can barely put one foot in front of the other. I'm shaking uncontrollably, and it's so hard to breath that my lungs are starting to burn...

It's behind me. I spin round, and almost overbalance, but it's gone... No it hasn't! It's there, just outside my vision. I turn again and again, but it's always just out of sight.

'Come on, you bastard! Stop playing games!' I hear myself shout, my voice sounding slightly hysterical. I don't expect any acknowledgement... but something hits me hard in the stomach, and I go sprawling to the floor.

All right then... no more games...

I hear the words although no one has said them. And then the blows begin to rain down on me. I curl up, trying to make myself as small a target as possible, but invisible hands grip my collar, and I am dragged to my feet. Instinctively, I fling up my arms to protect my face... something slams into my chest, and I'm sent flying through the air. I manage a strangled cry of mingled pain, fear and disbelief, and then the world goes dark around the edges as I come crashing through a window, sending glass flying, and hit my head hard. There is a stunned silence, and then people begin to scream. I cling to consciousness by the fingernails...

Suddenly someone shouts out across the crowded room: 'Everybody STOP PANICKING!' Silence falls again.

Someone is bending over me. I open my eyes. It's a girl. Pretty and blond. Strong too. And there's something about her... I can feel occult powers which I don't quite recognise running through her blood.

And then I realise who she must be. Pretty, strong girl with occult power in her blood, this close to the hellmouth. I manage a smile of relief; with any luck, she'll be able to help me.

'Slayer...' I whisper. And then I black out.