Disclaimer: Don't own Supernatural.
Author's Notes: This is something really, really different from anything I've ever written for Supernatural. It might seem a little weird at first, but you'll get it. :)
Janitor. It wasn't—nor had it ever been—a very respected occupation, socially speaking. Of course, there were different terms for it nowadays, "politically correct" ones, so to speak. Maintenance man, custodial technician, sanitation supervisor—God, there was even "domestic engineer". But honestly, Timothy Flynn couldn't care less. He knew his job was important, and if it brought in enough money to support him and his twelve-year-old daughter, he didn't give a rat's ass what the hell kinda politically correct name you gave it.
Eight years, now, he had been mopping that boiler room floor. Eight years, now, had passed since his wife Roseanne had died. She had been a nurse in that very hospital, and he was a stay-at-home dad to his precious Taylor. True enough, it wasn't the typical American family setup, but it worked. At least, it worked until January 21st, 1998, around 11 PM. Roseanne was on her way home from an exhausting work day. The wind was furious, the road icy and slippery, and the driver in the other car completely intoxicated; needless to say, a few days later Timothy was looking for work.
The hospital Roseanne had worked at offered him a custodial position, and he accepted: partly, he knew, in her memory, but this didn't bother him at all. The life insurance plus his new salary was enough to keep his family going. Taylor was attending a decent public school, she had good clothes, three full meals a day, and a babysitter. All in all, they had recovered well from their tragic loss.
This was all before the three Winchesters arrived at the hospital, however. Timothy had watched the EMTs wheel them in, and something deep in his gut told him that these weren't just three ordinary car crash victims.
Because the day the Winchesters came was the day that it came.
What 'it' was, he wasn't exactly sure. One second he had been sweeping that goddamned boiler room floor, and the next he couldn't breathe. He was inhaling a thick black smoke, but he wasn't hacking or coughing: it wasn't taking over his lungs. It was taking over his entire body.
He doesn't remember anything after that. For some reason there are quick flashes of a cemetery, but even that's gone now. Everything blurs together, everything fades away.
Ever since Roseanne died, he had wondered what it was like to cease to exist.
Somehow, he doubted that it was usually a lot like this.
A/N 2: I took a lot of creative license with it: for example, I'm betting the guy was already dead before he got possessed, but I didn't make it that way in the fic. But I do know that he does fall to the ground dead in the cemetery scene in AHBL part 2, which is why I only mentioned what he can remember as flashes. And yes, he is remembering this all from the 'other side', or wherever the hell he went after he died. Haha. Anyway don't forget to review, please!