A Little Visit Backstage

[madimpossibledreamer]

Main Points:
Constantine Genderbend/Supernatural
Summary: Dean and Sam go to talk to Constantine after the show.  Dean and Constantine continue to flirt.
Word Count: 930
Rating: Gen

         Sam tries to get Dean to stay outside, but he just barges into the changing rooms.  That wouldn’t be as big a problem if it wasn’t clear that he wasn’t thinking with his brain.
         “You really weren’t kidding about buying me a drink or two, were you?”
         “I like to mix my business and pleasure, what can I say?” Dean shrugs as the woman straightens.  She’s placing a dagger with intricate designs into a sheath strapped around the tights. 
         “Bugger.”  She looks at them closer.  “Knew you were too good to be true.  ‘unters, eh?  You planning on tryin’ ta kill me, ‘cos I’d like ta warn you, that won’t work out too well for you.”
         “Actually, we were looking for help.  We were told that we’d be looking for a ‘John Constantine’, though.” Sam is a little more cautious, of course, especially when it seems like this potential witch has bewitched his brother.  “That was real magic, wasn’t it?”
         “And here it comes.  ‘She’s a witch, burn her’ is a little old, innit?  But then, you ‘unters don’t want ta ever learn from your mistakes.”  She’s still got her back to them as she pulls a pair of slacks from the locker over the tights, zipping them up, but her every sense is ready.  “Yes, it was real magic.  No, I didn’t call on ‘ell for any of it.  There’s a bit of a problem, see.  It’s called the Rising Darkness.  Everything’s getting a little darker, and for those who aren’t warned about it, well…it can overwhelm ‘em.  And some aren’t as good about noticin’ it, or ignorin’ temptation.”
         She pulls off the top, and Sam sees Dean watch avidly.  And make a noise of protest as she pulls on a white button-up shirt that’s loose and unflattering.
         “It’s part of what you might call me uniform, luv.”  She shrugs, utterly unconcerned.
         “You don’t seem the type of person good at ignoring temptation, as you put it,” Sam accuses outright, ignoring Dean hitting him in the side.
         She pauses in buttoning the shirt, throwing her head back to laugh.  “Let’s just say I know what to indulge and what to ignore.  You two’re more interesting than your average idiot with a gun, that’s for sure.”
         Dean steps forward and helps button the shirt.  She gives him a knowing smile, but doesn’t seem too put off.  “What’s up with the ‘John’ name, though?”
         She shrugs as best she can.  “Even magic is a bit of a field dominated by bastards.  Figured if they’d be more likely to listen to a warnin’, then the method doesn’t matter.”
         Sam nods.  “Jess had been thinking about that, too.”  And then he belatedly realizes that he’s not meant to be sympathizing.
         She grins, impish.  She reaches over Dean’s shoulder to take the tie off the hook and sloppily drape it around her neck.  “I cast no spells on you lot, mind you.  My natural charisma at work, I’m thinkin’.”  She shrugs.  “That was a bit of an experiment, seein’ ‘ow far the basic elements extend.  I tend to try out new spells ta see if they work, up there on the stage.  It’s one of my indulgences.  Speakin’ a which.”  She gestures, and Dean’s beer appears.  She plucks it from the air and takes a long sip.  “Make up your minds.  Ya here for ‘elp or a ‘unt?”
         “Help,” Dean states firmly, as she steps away, but she doesn’t respond, looking at Sam as she pulls out a pair of ratty old shoes.
         “Help,” he agrees reluctantly.  “Assuming you don’t get me and my brother killed,” he adds.
         She smirks as she pulls the shoes on.  “Well, I’d be interested ta see how you’d plan ta get revenge if you’re dead, but it’s hardly like I plan anythin’.  I’d warn you that everyone around me dies, but that’s hardly new ta you boys, yeah?”  The last part of her ‘business uniform’ is apparently a tan trenchcoat.  She cracks her head as she pulls it on.  “So, what’s so urgent ‘unters would look for th’ services of Jane Constantine?”
         “Forty-eight dead, a couple possessed guys looking for this book, and our usual researcher on a Hunt of his own,” Dean answers bluntly, which is a bit of a surprise.  Sam had been unsure whether he’d even be able to be serious, given his current distraction.
         “That sounds serious,” she nods.  “’m guessing you lads can’t read it, and the contents might give some clues as to what’s goin’ on.”
         “It’s not in Ancient Latin, or Greek, or Sumerian…” Sam starts, professional pride hurt, and she pulls out a packet of cigarettes from the pocket of her trenchcoat, tapping one out.
         “All right, all right.  I’ll have a look-see.  I’d guess there are languages you don’t know, though, or you wouldn’t have an outside researcher ‘elpin’ you along.”
         Reluctantly, Sam pulls it out from his bag, and she shakes her head.  “I’ll take a look, but I’d rather work in, say, a pub.”  She glances at it and then rolls her eyes.  “It’s a copy.”
         “You mean it’s a fake?  How do you know?”  Sam almost sounds personally affronted.
         She gestures for them to go ahead.  “Didn’t say a fake, did I?  I said a ‘copy’.  It’s Mayan. They didn’t make books.  From what I can tell, the info’s accurate, which means it’s real.  It’s just not original.”
         Dean leads her out to the car, at which she whistles appreciatively and Dean preens in pride.  Sam is really, really starting not to like what’s going on.