Supernatural Fan Fiction ❯ Forever May You Run ❯ Prologue: Everyday Possession ( Prologue )

Disclaimer: There are things that I own and things that I don't. Hopefully you can all figure out which is which, but just to make everything nice and legal, here is what I don't own: the Supernatural characters and story, and the Donald Strachey characters and story.

 

Characters: Sam, Dean, and John Winchester, Donald Strachey, Timmy Callahan, and some demon whose name I never caught.

 

Setting: Yeah, interesting thing, that. See, I have no idea when the Strachey movies are set, so I'm adapting everything to the Supernatural timeline. So, it takes place during Devil's Trap.

 

Warnings: Crossover with a series you've probably never heard of, and also AU for Devil's Trap.

 

Author's Note: I feel a need to explain this story. It's not normally something I would write, especially since my crossovers (except the Leandros ones) aren't exactly popular, but…well, here's how it went down:

 

I saw the Donald Strachey movie Third Man Out, and thought the co-star looked familiar. So I stared at him for a while, and then stared at him some more, and then realized that the actor, Sebastian Spence, played the Yellow Eyed Demon's son in the season finale of Supernatural. Now, in Third Man Out, Spence played a man as gay as the day was long, so this was wildly entertaining information for me. So I mentioned it to one of my two favorite people in the world, and she immediately yelled, “CROSSOVER! POSSESSED TIMMY!” So this is mostly for her, but also partly for me, because it seemed like a fun idea.

 

So, if after reading this very long note, if you don't feel like reading another random and senseless crossover, no pressure. Especially as I'm in no way guaranteeing that it will be any good at all.

 

…There is added Sam-whumping, though.

 

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Prologue

 

Tim Callahan liked martinis the way he liked breathing—with the absolute reassurance that there was no replacement for them.

 

This may seem like a strange statement to describe a man who rose at seven o'clock every morning and put on a suit to go work for a state senator, a man who had a gargantuan vocabulary and wore glasses and seemed likely to switch to a British accent at odd moments—but it's also true. Tim Callahan simply loved martinis.

 

It wasn't even the fact that they were alcoholic. That had been what drew him in the first place, years back when he'd been looking to drown his sorrows and still look fairly distinguished, but nowadays, when he didn't need to be drunk to be happy, it was all in the making—the mixing and shaking and rhythm that could usually comfort him like only they or Donald could.

 

Which actually sounded even stranger, but Timothy J. Callahan had given up trying to explain himself to anyone—including himself—long ago.

 

The point was, Timmy made martinis whenever he wanted to think, to occupy himself, or even just to immerse himself in the safety of routine. Right now he needed all three.

 

Donald's latest case was another doozy, one of those seriously disturbing murders involving mutilation of the corpses that hardly ever fell into his lap but were all the more frightening for their rarity—especially for a boyfriend who tended to worry for the both of them. But Donald would never stop, so here Timmy stood, at his counter, making martinis and checking the clock every five minutes.

 

He probably should've been expecting something to happen. Things usually did whenever he was about to achieve just the smallest measure of relaxation. Why, last time he'd been attacked and left for dead on the floor—he really should have been more alert by now.

 

But then, on the other hand, who would truly expect black smoke to pour out of their own vents when nothing was on the stove? Who would have expected smoke to be alive, to surround him and sink into him and push his memories, his feelings, himself, off into the corner and take over?

 

That was a little weird even for Timmy—and he'd seen some pretty weird things.