After their run-in at the bar, the two Johns parted ways, Winchester in his black '67 Impala, Constantine in a yellow cab.

They went to hotels on opposite ends of town, with little to no intention of ever seeing each other again.

It was not uncommon to meet other hunters, however, the job rarely called for much partner work, given that the hunters were well-trained.

Winchester settled into his hotel room that reminded him of a cozy cabin setting, and began rifling though newspaper and radio stations to search for any strange activity he may need to tend to, as well as updates on his current case.

Winchester opened his journal, where he recorded any and all new discoveries while hunting, and he dated the upper corner of the page.

4/17
Los Angeles, CA
Traveled all the way from Illinois to get here because of rumored possessions. Since yesterday I received 2 calls. Demon seems to be going for girls in their twenties. I'll be investigating tomorrow. Ran into another hunter at a bar tonight, says he's on a similar hunt. Constantine.
-JW

He scribbled a signature, ripped out the newspaper article about the possessions, and stowed it in his book.

The cover was slowly being torn, and it was full of taped pictures and quick, one handed drawings of beasts and sigils. It was everything he needed and more, save a gun and rock salt. He stashed it under his mattress, stowed a gun under his pillow, and went to sleep.

The next morning, the young man planned to investigate the reason he was there: the possession. It was in a small part of town where anything could happen. He disappeared from the motel early in the morning after a coffee, and he climbed into his Impala and sped down the quiet street.

After a moment of silence in the car, he slipped one of his Led Zeppelin tapes in the stereo of the car and rolled his window down. The wind ran through his hair.

He did not feel nervous or anxious. He had dealt with all sorts of monsters before.

Pulling up to a stoplight, he used that moment to kick his gun back under his seat and look around him.

There was a yellow cab in the lane next to him. Winchester flip his tape while they were still stopped, wanting to listen to the other songs. He drummed idly on the steering wheel.

Then he did a double-take to the yellow cab. Unless his eyes were deceiving him, that was John Constantine sitting next to him.

The other did not notice him, but sure enough, he watched as the older man flicked his cigarette and knocked the ashes to the street below him.

And as soon as he recognized Constantine, the moment was gone as the light turned green and the two cars were no longer side by side.

He thought it was coincidence.

It was.

***

John Winchester drove up to said house, the one with the possessed girl inside. He sat in his Impala for a moment, reviewing all his notes he'd taken on demons and this particular case, when there was a knock on his window.

He looked up just in time to see a man in a suit with a loose-fitting tie around his neck, as well as messy black hair.

"Want a drag?" The man asked.

"Constantine, what are you doing here?"

"Probably the exact thing you're doing. Now, I can handle this on my own, Winchester... You knew I'm a hunter and this is my territory. Why show up?"

Constantine didn't imply it in a rude way, just simply that Winchester could leave if he wanted to, and not feel obliged to stay.

Winchester shrugged with a little smile coming onto his face.

"For the love of the hunt, I guess. There's a girl who needs help, and we can help her,"

At that moment, a tall man with a bushy beard in jeans and a torn shirt came out of the house. He wore a gray jacket with fresh scratch marks all over it.

"Excuse me, are you Mr. Williams?" Winchester called to the shaken man.

He looked around wildly at his name, then, once he saw Constantine and Winchester standing by the Impala, his shoulders relaxed.

"Are either of you the men I called for?"

"John Constantine," replied John easily, "We spoke on the phone. This is John Winchester, my partner here."

"Thank you both," Mr. Williams replied, shaking both of their hands, "My daughter is possessed, I'm sure of it."

"Have you smelled any sulfur, or noticed any cold spots?" Winchester asked, like clockwork.

"Yes. The sulfur. She speaks these languages... oh, God... Her eyes...," he buried his head in his hands in obvious discomfort and fear.

"Show me," Constantine whispered.