Chapter Text
Callum had just gotten home from work. It was a Thursday night, and it had been an exhausting day. Working as a construction foreman wasn’t the easiest job in the world, but it was made infinitely more difficult when your work crew is made up of a bunch of imbeciles who couldn’t follow directions to save their lives. He was lucky that, at the very least, he made a nice living doing what he did, and where he lived, along the Calcasieu River, gave him a nice, large home that he got to enjoy all to himself.
It was a Thursday night, and he was wiped, and he had no intention of going anywhere, so he stripped down to his underwear, put on a robe, grabbed a beer, sat down on the couch, and turned on the TV to one of his favorite shows, Supernatural. He had watched the entire series probably a dozen times. He had given Kripke more hours of his life than the public education system, except he would do this all over again in a heartbeat. He clicked all the necessary buttons on his remote, concurrent to the gentle wind blowing the trees outside, and the light patter of drizzle falling onto his pitched roof. The sun outside had long-set thanks to the advent of wintertime.
He was already partway through the episode (a rainstorm had knocked power out a couple of days ago while he was watching it, so he had to resume from where he was), and he sat and watched:
Most of the time, I can hide it, but...I am angry. I'm mad at everything. I used to be mad at you and
Dad, then Lilith, now it's Lucifer, and I make excuses. I blame Ruby or the demon blood, but it's not
their fault. It's not them. It's me. It's inside me. I'm mad...all the time...and I don't know why.
Stop. Stop it Sam! So what if you are? What’re you gonna do? You gonna take a leave of absence?
Are you gonna say ye-
The sudden stop in dialogue confused Callum. He had seen this episode many times. He knew exactly what was supposed to come next! Dean was going to say “You’re going to say yes to Lucifer?” and Sam was going to reject such a claim! The scene had almost frozen for a second, and then something truly unsettling happened. Dean’s face turned towards the camera, and it was a look of true fear. Callum had seen videos of hostages begging for their lives, and Dean’s looked exactly like that, except he wasn’t saying anything. At least, at first. His silence turned into almost a whimper, and then a scream, as if he had never been in more pain.
Callum wasn’t quite sure of the series of events that occurred next, because the TV turned almost blindingly white with static. It shouldn’t have, of course, since it was a flatscreen, and he hadn’t used his analog TV in nearly a decade, but he didn’t believe that his eyes would lie to him. Unfortunately for him, the screen got so bright that he closed his eyes, but he felt the unmistakable sound of screaming turning from simple TV speaker noise to loud, bloody-murder, top-of-his-lungs shouting hurtling right at him, which ended with the pain of something smashing into his chest before falling back and hitting the ground.
The overstimulation of his ears, skin, and eyes dazed Callum for a moment, and he had yet to even move from his flinched position, nor open his eyes. He kept them closed for at least 30 seconds, waiting for the ringing in his ears to die down, but when he did, he saw a man laying face-down on the ground, knocked out cold. He was wearing the same hospital gown that Dean had been wearing. Until this point, Callum had been “awake”, but not really processing his surroundings. His jaw dropped the moment he recognized the back of the head on the floor. Could it really be?, he thought. He, very apprehensively, sat up from the couch, and knelt beside the brunette man, seemingly unconscious, on his hard wood floor. He reached out a hand, and very carefully placed it on the nape of the man’s neck, almost as a test to see if it was real.
His hand made contact with the skin, barely even grazing over its soft hairs, and he was knocked to his back immediately by the man, who had apparently woke up, gotten on top of him, and pulled a knife from G-d-knows-where, holding it against his throat. Had Callum not been freaking the hell out, he might’ve appreciated the symmetry to the pilot episode of the show, but he in fact was freaking the hell out, so he was mostly hyperventilating, and looking into the green-tinged eyes of what looked exactly like Dean Winchester. He thought he was dreaming, and he thought to pinch his own arm, but was afraid to move, and instead laid perfectly still, eyes deadlocked on the man on top of him.