John let Crowley have his space and took the opportunity to enjoy a cigarette and take in the bustling city scenery once they were outside the airport. He liked America, and he didn't like it; it was everything popular culture made it out to be, and better (and worse,) but it was too new and too full of itself, missing the depth of an old country, the sense of maturity. Nowhere was that more apparent than in New York City. London had a well-earned dignity about it. New York just had a shitload of chutzpah.

Finally, a few minutes out from Zatanna's apartment building, he said, "Right, so, I hope this goes without saying, but Zee? Is off-limits." He didn't mean it in the sense he usually would when talking to a male friend, though that was sort of included. Crowley was welcome to play with the Americans all he wanted, as far as John was concerned, but Zatanna was...well, she was special, and John's own sensibilities on the subject aside, she had her own ways of dealing with supernatural annoyances. Not that he really thought Crowley was going to pull any stupid shit on purpose, but given how they'd spent the past half a day or so, a small reminder seemed prudent.