"Hey! Columbo!"

"Now, personally, I never answer to that if I can help it," he'd tell him later between sips of his bedtime whiskey, gesturing grandly with a half-smoked Silk Cut, "When you do they take it as a signal to make more bloody jokes. I've never even watched the sodding show and they expect me to laugh at 'Just one more thing, sir…'"

Cas did respond to it, however, stopping and turning to look at the man who'd hailed him.

A couple of yards down the sidewalk from him stood a man and a woman. They both looked to be in their thirties or forties but were lean and fit in that gnarled way you got from spending some years in prison. The word "thug" certainly came to mind, if only because they both held suppressor-equipped handguns. Pointed at him. Cas sighed.

He supposed this was one of the risks of taking a shortcut through a secluded section of a bad neighborhood on his way to investigate a matter for the Winchesters. (Back when he had wings he'd never have guessed the worst part of travelling by car was the endless quest for parking spaces within a reasonable walking distance of his destination.)

"You're comin' with us, buddy," said the thug, pointing to a car parked nearby (and illegally, but in such a convenient location, Cas noted with a twinge of jealousy).

"Doubtful," said Cas, "And I am not your 'buddy.'"

"No, you ain't," the lady-thug said, advancing upon him, "But you're Constantine, which makes you our ticket to being buddies with the boss."

"Constantine?" Cas repeated, "I'm afraid you've mistaken me for someone else."

The man-thug came closer as well. Cas didn't feel it'd be right to enter an altercation with these people if he could avoid it. Perhaps he could avoid it, if the whole encounter was just a misunderstanding anyway.

"I'm not Constantine," he repeated, "Apologies."

The woman was unconvinced, but the man showed signs of doubt.

"We sure this is the guy?" he muttered to his partner.

"Come on, an attractive guy that goes around in a trenchcoat and necktie? And he's right where Mister Manor said he'd be. There's no way that ain't him."

"I thought he was supposed to be British. How come he don't got the accent?"

"He has a point," Cas agreed hopefully.

"Oh, come on. 'He has a point,'" she repeated in a mocking gravelly growl, "Nice try, Batman, but there's no way that voice ain't fake. You know, he told us you'd try to con your way out of it, so really the more you pretend you're not you the more you prove you are."

"She's got a point," her cohort corroborated.

"I see…" said Cas, "So if I were to say I was this Constantine…?"

"Don't get cute with me," said the woman flatly, "Just get in the car."

"No," said Cas.

"Excuse me?"

"I said no. I will not say it again. You should leave."

"Look, pal," the flustered lady-thug's buddy spoke up, "Mister Manor's messenger boy said he wanted you alive, but he never said he needed both your kneecaps. Get in the car."

Without a word Cas walked toward the thug, raising his hand.

First the thug made good on the kneecap threat, and when that failed to slow the angel down he emptied his gun into Cas's chest, stepping back from the road for every step Cas took toward him until his back hit a wall. He flinched when Cas touched his forehead, then immediately passed out.

His partner in crime had her gun trained on Cas as he turned to her, but didn't bother pulling the trigger.

"No," she whimpered as he advanced upon her, "Please…"

"Do not be afraid," Cas told her softly as he reached for her forehead. She twitchily squeezed her trigger before going down. Even that bullet, as point blank as point blank got, did no damage.

One might've expected Castiel to leave and go about whatever business he'd been about before at this point, but instead he stood stock-still, head slightly tilted to one side, gazing broodingly into the middle distance.

After several seconds of this, he said, "Hiding won't do you any good."

Several more seconds of silence passed. Cas's eyes narrowed.

"I can hear you breathing," he said, "Are you going to come out, or shall I come find you?"

There was a scuffling from the shadows at the mouth of a close by alleyway, and a figure emerged. He was blond and a bit on the scruffy side, with poor posture and nicotine-stained fingers. He wore a button-down shirt with a thin necktie. And a trenchcoat.

"You must be Constantine."

"Must I?" Constantine replied with a half-grin, "Fair enough, but it wasn't my idea."

Cas frowned.

"Not here for the comedy, eh?" said Constantine, "Fine. Why don't you tell me who you are? What, even?"

"My name is Castiel," he said, "And I'm an angel of the Lord."

Constantine scoffed. Cas would've expected incredulity, but the man seemed merely unimpressed.

"Well, I suppose my kneecaps and I should thank you," he said, "For taking more of an interest than my own 'guardian' angel ever does, even if it was all over this little fashion faux pas."

Cas tilted his head.

"Don't worry, mate," said Constantine, arcing his eyebrows, "You wore it better, no matter what the tabloids say tomorrow."

Ignoring this, Cas asked, "Do you know what this 'Mister Manor' wants with you?"

"Now that," said Constantine, "Is a long story, and not exactly the kind you tell an angel at that. Suffice it to say that if these two—" he gestured at the unconscious bodies on the ground "—were working for him, they probably deserved what they got."

"They're only sleeping," said Cas.

"Oh," said Constantine, "Well. In that case I should probably be making my exit before they come to. Unless you're in the market to play body double a while longer."

Cas frowned.

"No, I get it," said Constantine, winking playfully, "Fair's fair. I can't ask you to play me unless there's some stuffy bit of angel business you don't like coming up where I can play you. Best be on my way, then."

Cas was contemplative as Constantine turned to leave.

"Wait," he said before the man got too far.

Constantine stopped, turned. His forehead creased.

"Now I was joking, mate," he said slowly, "But you're giving me a look like you're seriously about to suggest some kind of… divine Parent Trap scenario to me."

Castiel's gaze fell to the ground. John had to grin at that. It wasn't often you got to see a self-proclaimed "angel of the Lord" look embarrassed.

"Hey," he said, "Don't get me wrong, chief. I'm not saying I'm not interested. On the contrary, whatever you've got in mind sounds bloody well interesting already. So, let's hear it, then."

oOo

"What was that?"

"Text from Cas. Listen to this: 'Unable to follow up Re: zombie recipe. Currently investigating opportunity to avoid misfortune. Will update later. Smiley face.'"

"Wow. And I thought he was ominous in person."