A/N: Hey, guys! I just finished Constantine and couldn't help but think about how similar it was to Supernatural, and I was surprised to see how few crossovers there are of the two, especially with the unsatisfactory note that Constantine left off of. This story takes place after season 4, episode 7 of Supernatural and contains spoilers for season 1 of Constantine.

I'm sorry for the shortness of the chapter, but this is my first ever crossover and I'm just trying the concept out. Please leave a review with any comments or criticisms you have, and tell me if you want me to continue writing it. Thank you!

The cold stone of the convent was slick and wet. Zed walked through the abandoned halls. She passed a window, and a beam of silver moonlight illuminated her skin. She looked up at the full moon, bulbous and luminescent. Such a beautiful night.

Suddenly, an unearthly scream shattered the quiet. A deep voice shouted – "SAM!"

Zed stumbled back as the ground began to shake. She looked down the hall just as a ray of harsh, terrifying light erupted from the end of the corridor.

Zed shot up in bed, covered in a cold sweat. She looked out of the window in her room. A thin, wispy cloud drifted in front of the waxing crescent. She drew in a deep breath and released it as a shuddering gasp as the image of the burning light lingered in the corner of her vision.

She glanced at the door to her room, left slightly ajar. There was a light flickering from down the hall, and the smell of burning incense entered her nostrils. Constantine.

She slipped out of her bed, trying to straighten her wrinkled tank top and pajama pants as she walked silently to the edge of the hall. As she suspected, John was on the main floor, candles and incense burning around him. He stood in front of golden mirror placed on an oak desk. A few feet away from the desk, a variation of a pentacle was drawn on the floor in chalk. As Zed neared the detective, her eyes widened.

Runes and symbols had been imbued into the skin on his back, shoulders, and arms. She saw incantations and spells written in Latin, Hebrew, Greek, and a dozen other languages that she didn't recognize. She cleared her throat, and John turned around, revealing a whole slew of mystical lettering and emblems painted across his torso. The Brit held an ancient-looking brush in his hand, and the tips of his fingers were dyed red, blue, and black from ink.

"Zed," he greeted, sounding slightly startled. "What are you doing up?"

The psychic shifted uncomfortably in her place. "I, uh, I couldn't sleep," she stalled. Zed nodded at the brush in John's hand. "What's that for?"

"Oh, this?" Constantine turned to place the brush in a decorated bowl by the mirror as he spoke. "Just a few precautions. Figured I needed to be more prepared for what's coming, especially since I cast off most of my protective enchantments when I invited Pazuzu in."

Zed stepped around Constantine and brushed her hand over some of the items on the desk – the bowl, a few charms, and a large tome with an Egyptian ankh on it. Even without having John explain it, she could feel the power radiating off of the objects. "So you're putting them back? The enchantments?" she inquired.

"And then some," the detective said with a wink. He stepped away from the table and into the chalk pentacle. He rubbed his hands together and then spread out his arms beside him, palms out. Then, he began to chant.

Zed felt a pulse of psychic energy emit from the circle as John's tattoos began to glow bright purple. His voice seemed to distort, the ancient words sounding as if they were spoken by a hundred people. Then, the sigils flashed red, and Constantine let out a cry of pain before collapsing onto the floor.

"John!" The psychic ran into the pentacle and knelt down beside the detective. He was on his knees, his face sweaty and his eyes screwed shut. The symbols on his body were glowing a dark and molten red. "Are you alright?" she asked. Constantine remained silent, but gave the slightest of nods. Zed released a relieved sigh. "What did you do?"

When he spoke, his voice was strained and raspy. "I just channeled the magic of a dozen or so sorcerers and minor deities into a slew of protection spells. Then I seared them into my skin." With that said, Constantine lifted his head and looked at his friend. She noticed that he was shaking. "But don't worry," he continued. "I feel peachy. Excuse me."

Zed got up and stepped back, and John began climbing to his feet, his tattoos still emitting a subtle, yet angry glow. "I am now invisible to most ghosts, demons, and other malevolent spirits of the like," he proclaimed proudly, still wavering slightly on his feet. "As well as invulnerable to possession from most, if not all, demonic entities."

Zed looked at him, confused. "Wait. If you're invisible to spirits, can Manny still see you?" she asked.

At that, the detective chuckled. "Not many things can stay hidden from an angel, luv," he said. "Manny should be able to find me, no problem."

"Huh," Zed remarked. She wandered over to the oak desk and started looking through the book. "So, if you knew all of these enchantments, why didn't you get them earlier?" she asked.

At that point, Constantine had moved over the couch, where he picked up his discarded T-shirt. He threw it on as he answered, "Well, A – because I didn't think it would work, B – because it bloody hurts, and C – I've never really had much need for it." He looked at Zed with an unreadable expression before walking back to the table and standing next to her. The psychic tensed at their closeness as his hand drifted towards hers. Her breath halted.

John gently pushed Zed's hand off of the book and closed it. Then, he moved away and began blowing out the candles. "We all need to be more prepared for what's coming," he said. "We can't be too careful anymore, especially now, with that bounty over my head." The detective grabbed a cloth from one of the tables and started wiping away the pentacle. Zed glanced at him uncertainly. His tattoos had stopped glowing, and were now inky black in color. She noticed equally dark circles under his eyes as he shifted his position slightly to reach across the pentacle. He looked like he hadn't slept for days.

Noticing Zed's stare, he stopped and sighed. "The truth is, Zed," he said sadly, "I've begun to realize that this whole thing might be a lot bigger than I had thought. The invunche, Lamashtu, maybe even the bloody Brujería... They're all just pieces of a much larger puzzle." He turned around to face Zed, his eyes haunted and sad. "I'm beginning to think that maybe I've bit off more than I can chew," he said.

Zed could only stare at Constantine, a bit taken aback. Every time he was out and about, solving a case, he was lively and confident. Seeing him now, dressed down and sleep-deprived, he appeared smaller. Almost vulnerable. It threw her off. She opened her mouth but said nothing, at a loss for words.

After a few moments, John broke eye content and stared at his bare feet. "It's late," he said. "You should get some rest, save your strength. No telling what you might need it for."

The psychic nodded slightly and turned to head back upstairs before pausing. "You might want to take your own advice, John," she remarked. "I'm not exaggerating when I say you look like shit."

The Brit scoffed. "Well, why don't you tell me how you really feel?" he said sardonically.

"I'm being serious, John," she replied. After a second's hesitation, she turned around and knelt next to the detective, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Whatever this 'rising darkness' is, you can't fight it with just a bunch of fancy tattoos. You need sleep. You need your strength," she said.

Constantine returned her gaze and offered her a brief smile. "Oh, don't worry about me, luv," he said. "I can take care of myself."

At that, Zed raised an eyebrow, as if to say, can you? But she remained silent, and only slightly nodded before rising to her feet and walking upstairs. Constantine's gaze lingered after her. Then, he smirked, and continued wiping away the chalk pentacle.

The next morning, Zed walked downstairs to see Constantine in the couch in his usual dress, a white button-up with a tie and trousers. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up halfway to reveal some of the marks on his arms. In his hand, he held a glass of whiskey that he was drinking from pensively while peering at the Mirror of the Past. Zed could only guess at what he saw.

She walked over to the detective, fully dressed in her tank top, jeans, and boots. "A little early for whiskey, don't you think?" she asked.

Constantine tipped his head to acknowledge her arrival, but he said nothing in response to the jab about the whiskey. Zed put her hands on her hips and regarded him carefully. "So I've been thinking," she started.

"Uh oh," he joked.

She ignored him and continued, "I think we should take a case."

John sputtered on his whiskey. "Really? Now, with all of the demons and spirits after my head?" He looked at her pointedly. "You sure that's a good idea?"

"I think it would do us some good," Zed reasoned. "We've been slaving over all the books, all the signs, trying to figure stuff out. I don't think we're going to get anything done being holed up in here. If something new comes up, it'll come up. Until then, we should be out in the field, staying sharp."

John raised his eyebrows. "You have a point there, but there's one little problem, luv. How do you suppose we'll find a case?"

Zed looked at him, confused. "The map, of course."

"Manny burned the map."

"What?"

The detective couldn't help but chuckle at Zed's bewildered expression. "He burned the map. Said it was only a step, said we had to start looking deeper for the signs to combat the darkness." Zed seemed at a loss for words. She hurried over to the table where the map had been and saw the pile of its ashes on the floor. She let out an angry, strangled noise.

He leaned back in the couch, taking another sip of his whiskey. "Somebody upstairs wants us working on finding a solution, without any distractions," he said. At that point, Zed had bent down and started sorting through the ashes, trying to find an unsinged piece. Finally, the psychic rose, clutching a handful of ashes angrily in her fist

"That pompous, self-righteous…" she trailed off in a flurry of furious Spanish. John could only pick up one or two words, but what little he understood wasn't very nice. Zed finished with frustrated grunt, and she threw the pile of ashes onto the floor –

– and watched it hit black asphalt. Zed started and looked around. She was on the side of a long stretch of road. Trees grew all along her, making the road appear closed in, narrow. It was hot and sticky outside, the air carrying the humid heaviness of mid-spring. From behind her, she heard the rumbling roar of an approaching car. Then, a large black car appeared from around the bend and zoomed towards her. It swerved to the side, as if trying to dodge her. Zed was able to glance inside the rolled down window. A man with shaggy brown hair was in the passenger seat, staring at her in confusion. Zed's eyes narrowed. Could he…see her?

The car quickly corrected itself, just barely missing her. It continued down the road, leading her gaze to a green sign stationed just a few yards in front of her – Willington, VA: 10 miles.

She heard a distant echo of a voice. "Zed?" it said. "Zed, what do you see?" Suddenly, her vision snapped back reality. She was back in Jasper's living room, and Constantine was standing a few feet away. His glass of whiskey was sitting on the table by the couch "Zed?" he asked uncertainly. "You alright?"

She nodded. "I was on a road," she said. "In Virginia."

"Virginia?" John echoed.

"Yeah," she said. "There was a big black car driving to a town – Willington."

"Willington, Virginia," the detective mused. He wondered back to the table and lifted his glass to his lips, swallowing down the whiskey in a single gulp. "Well, then," he said. "I guess we just found ourselves a new case."

The Chevrolet Impala zoomed down the narrow road leading to the small Virginia town. As Dean Winchester drove, he continued scanning his surroundings. So far, all he saw were trees, trees, and – hold up, more trees. He sighed. "So remind me again why we're on our way to Nowheresville, Whocaresland?" he asked.

Sam gave his brother a sideways glance. "This town has been a pinnacle of demonic activity for the past two weeks," he explained again. "Residents claim to be having been experiencing vivid hallucinations, seizures, and fits of random rage and violence, resulting in 6 deaths and 10 hospitalizations in just the last few days."

"I'm not surprised," Dean said, peering out the window. "We're in the middle of nowhere. The woods, the seclusion… It looks like a horror movie waiting to happen."

"Huh." Sam looked angrily away from his brother, and Dean noticed.

"Okay, you're being broody and quiet, and it's making me uncomfortable," he said. Sam snorted and turned so that he was facing away from Dean, glaring out the passenger window angrily. "What's wrong?" he tried again.

"Oh, I don't know, Dean," Sam finally answered. "Maybe it's the fact that of the two angels I've met, they both seem to hate my guts. Neither one of them understands what I'm trying to do here. They're making me out to be this – this unholy thing."

Dean's lips tightened into a thin line. "Sam – " he started.

"They're going to kill me, Dean," his brother said.

"Whoa, hey, wait. Nobody said anything about that," he interjected.

"They want to," Sam said. "I'm just some monster to them."

Dean struggled to find the right words. "Okay, look. You know me – I'm possibly the person who's least fond of your thing with Ruby. But if you think that I'm going to let some celestial assholes do anything to you…" he trailed off uncomfortably, not sure how to end the sentence. "Well, it's just not going to happen," he finished awkwardly. Sam rolled his eyes at his brother, and Dean cleared his throat. "Look, we're here for the case," he said. "Let's just focus on the case. We can deal with that other stuff later." Sam didn't respond, and they continued their drive in silence.

Sam looked out the window glumly. Then, he narrowed his eyes. There was someone in the middle of the road. "Dean," he said, nudging his brother.

"What, are you done with the silent treatment?" he asked, a hint of frustration in his voice.

"Dude, look," Sam insisted. He pointed to the person standing in the street. They were getting closer and closer to her.

"What?" Dean asked.

Sam looked at his brother incredulously. "You don't see her?" They neared the person, who Sam could now see was a woman with wild, curly hair.

"See who? Sam, you're kinda freaking me out." Dean remained on his course. They were almost too close to miss her.

"Dean – watch out!" Sam reached over and jerked the steering wheel to the left, trying to dodge the woman.

Dean screamed. "ARE YOU CRAZY?"

As they passed the woman, time seemed to slow down. Sam was looking out the passenger window. She was a Hispanic woman – looked to be in her late twenties, early thirties. She peered at him with black-rimmed eyes, her lips pursed in confusion.

Then, the moment was gone. Dean regained control of the steering wheel and yanked it out of Sam's grip, positioning it on the right side of the road. Sam was still looking out the window at the girl when Dean proceeded to smack him in the back of the head. "What the hell were you thinking?" he yelled.

Sam ducked his head defensively. "We almost hit her!" he objected.

"Hit who?"

Sam turned around and gestured to the back window. "Her," he said before blinking in confusion. The woman was no longer there.

Dean glanced at the rearview mirror. "Sam, there is no one there," he said, his voice rough with anger.

"But…but I saw someone – "

"Stop," Dean snapped. "Do not talk to me."

Sam settled back in his seat, pondering what just happened. He was certain he had seen someone.