A/N: Have you ever been looking for a new fic to read and seen some wacky crossover where the boys of Supernatural are dropped into a movie with no connection to the show? I have. More times than I care to admit. And that's when I came up with this:

40 Movies. 60 Chapters. Dean/Jo. Sam/Mystery Girls. Bobby/Ellen.

Are you ready for a wild ride? If so, you're in the right place! I only ask that you please bear with me while I try to come up with a schedule for regular updates. I'm working multiple big projects right now thanks to an overactive muse...and the story that seems the most popular with my readers will wind up getting most of my attention. Like what you see? Want more? Be sure to let me know!

Many, many thanks to stephaniew for her help outlining this idea and working through all of the movies on my list with me...and to celeste301 for unknowingly inspiring me to take on a crazy adventure of my own. Check these ladies out and show them your love and support!

Spoilers: Changing Channels

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.

Chapter One: Opening Credits

The sun climbs into the sky, embracing the day with the glow of her pink and orange arms as she stretches out across the horizon. The town is quaint and quiet. Any more quiet and there'd be roosters crowing, but this isn't that kind of place. It's more urban that that, even if there are only seven traffic lights in the town and a single motel for 75 miles.

But it's the kind of place the Winchesters don't necessarily mind being stuck in. It's the kind of place they might've called home if they knew what home meant. Dean could just as easily been changing oil in Duke's garage across the street, wearing the cornflower coveralls with the big, red crown logo. Yeah, somebody needed to tell ol' Duke that crowns were for a different kind of royalty, but it wouldn't be Dean.

Nor would it be his brother Sam, who could've been a professor at the local community college. Well, that's of course if the whole lawyer thing hadn't worked out. Who wants to be an attorney anyway? Mountains of debt for a piece of paper to hang on the wall and a a couple of extra letters behind your name. Bleh. Unnecessary. Waste of talent.

Dean isn't a mechanic and Sam isn't a teacher. They're hunters. Elite killing machines staring into the face of the Apocalypse (which, let's face it, they started) and hoping for a better tomorrow today. Ah. Be still my feathered, beating heart.

Yeah. Yeah. I know, alright? This isn't about me. It's about them. Sort of.

Hey, anybody got a candy bar?

What are you waiting for?

Roll 'em!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Supernatural ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

In a little diner in a nothing town, the Winchester brothers settle into a booth. The place is nearly empty, probably because it's hardly sunrise, with only a few other customers scattered around the room. Dean, unamused at having been dragged from his warm bed at such an indecent hour, glares at his brother over the fading plastic covered menu. Sam, eager to placate him, decides to keep the real reason for their early start under wraps until the food arrives.

The waitress isn't young, but she's not old either. She's around the age their mother would've been if she were still alive. She has a name - one that's easy enough it'd roll right off the tongue - but that doesn't stop Dean from winking at her and calling her sweetheart when he asks for a cup of coffee and the breakfast platter.

"Dude, seriously?" Sam snickers as he folds his menu. "You keep eating like that you're gonna have a heart attack."

"Shut your pie hole and order, wouldya?" Dean replies as he closes his menu and hands it to the waitress.

Shaking his head, Sam shifts his gaze to the end of the table. "The fruit plate and a side of toast, thanks. And coffee. I'll take a cup of coffee."

Waiting until the she leaves, Sam pulls his laptop from his backpack and rests it on the table. As Dean stares out the window, watching the snow swirling on the pavement, he searches for supernatural activity. He finds a few new things, but his focus keeps skipping back to the case he found the night before. The one he woke up thinking about.

It happened about four towns and 300 miles away. In a high-rise office building. The CEO committed suicide, jumping off of the roof two months earlier, and there had been seven other incidents or deaths since involving office equipment - everything from the feeder on a copy machine catching an executive's tie and choking him to death to the secretary's computer shorting out, the sparks burning her hands as the machine burst into flames.

He nods briefly in acknowledgment as the waitress comes back with their coffee and turns back to the laptop. There's something about whatever's going on at that office - something that pulls him in - and he begins to look for information on the victims. If he's going to convince Dean to look into it, he's got to have the facts down...and Dean's got to have his breakfast.

Sam's brow furrows as he watches the waitress slide Dean's breakfast sampler and side of pancakes onto the table in front of him. He offers her a tight smile and accepts his fruit and toast, waiting until she's out of earshot before he says anything.

"Uh, Dean?" he begins cautiously, stabbing at a piece of fruit on his plate.

"Yeah, Sam?" Dean answers cramming a forkful of fluffy, syrup coated goodness into his mouth and practically moaning as it dissolves over his taste buds only have it turn to ash at his brother's next words.

"How would you feel about a little detour?" he says, trying to sound casual as he picks up his toast and takes a bite.

"I shoulda known there'd be a freakin' catch. You wouldn't get me up and take me for a huge breakfast otherwise," Dean says, leaning back against the worn blue pleather of the seat. He toys with the edge of a napkin, his lips curling in disgust as his brother shifts uncomfortably under his stare. "So," he says bitterly, "tell me about this detour, Sam."

"It's a couple hours from here. An office building," he begins, nursing his coffee and turning the computer so that Dean can take a look. He's carefully left the secretary's picture up. A cute redhead, she's right up Dean's alley. She should at least snare his attention initially, even if she didn't keep it.

Dean flips through Sam's notes as he picks at the bacon on the edge of his plate. He looks at the pictures and the articles. "You've got be kidding me. When office equipment attacks? Why us, Sam? Why can't we just call Bobby and get him to pass this one off to another hunter?"

Sam's mouth twists in a sad smile, his brow raising as he works the same puppyish look he's been using on his brother for more than two decades. "Oh, come on, Dean," he pleads, "If this was any other time, we'd be all over this and you know it."

Leaning forward, Dean scrubs his palm along his stubbly shadowed jaw. "Sure, Sam," he growls in answer. "We've got black-eyed sons of bitches and feathered dicks ridin' our asses, we're staring at the Apocalypse, but what the hell? Why not jump all over some stupid haunted building any hunter worth his salt could take care of in an afternoon?"

"I just have a feeling about this one, okay? It's not like it's that far out of the way. We're already heading in the general direction. By the time Bobby could get someone else on it more people might get hurt."

Dean rolls his eyes and shoves another forkful of eggs in his mouth. "How is that my problem?"

Slumping back against the seat, Sam dangles the carrot he knows his brother won't be able to resist. "And hey, someone's gonna have to interview this secretary. Find out what she knows..."

Dean sighs heavily, his appetite suddenly leaving him. He never could resist Sam's requests - especially when he did the puppy face - and the girl was pretty cute.

He pulls a few bills from his wallet and drops them onto the table before slipping into his leather jacket and flipping the collar up as he prepares to step out into the chill of the winter air. "Get a move on, Sammy," he directs with a grin, "Let's go check out your gremlins.