Layered under all those curated details, there's the real easter eggs: perennial Dean favorites that Chuck’s sprinkled in, light-catching little lures for connection whenever Dean inevitably notices them.
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Prompt : Holiday prompt #15 - Your OTP gets snowed in together
Warnings : Reader is Chuck’s assistant. snowed in with Chuck. Wine drinking. fluff.
A/N : As always, a giant thank you to @justballoonfishthings, who helped me figure out the plot for Chuck’s new book.
SPN GENRE BINGO MASTERLIST.
Turning the knob, your shoulders were up to brace against the wind and snow while you pushed the door open with your foot and rushed inside, wincing when the door hit the wall behind it. It took a few tries, but finally you hooked your toes behind it and kicked it shut again. “Fuck, it’s cold.” You shivered. “Chuck?”
“Hm?” The reply was a uninterested hum, as if it hadn’t registered yet that you were even there.
“A hand?” Quiet. “Chuck!”
“What?” you heard his chair move, and quick motions as he hurried to peek out into the hall. “When’d you get here?”
You dead panned him. “Just now. Give me a hand.”
“Right, sorry.” He came fully out of the room and took the bags from you.
“Were you writing?” He hummed his answer as he headed for the kitchen. “At least you were being productive.” You sighed, not wanting to go back out there just yet. “Is there anything else you need?”
He poked his head out of the kitchen, noting that you hadn’t taken off your coat or boots or anything. “You’re leaving? Aren’t you cold?”
“Yeah, Chuck, that’s kind of why I’d like to get home. I’d like to feel my toes and fingers again.”
“Hm.” He gave a small hum, his eyes drifting to the old and run down carpet that lined his hallway. “Stay.”
“What?”
“Stay, have diner, glass of wine and warm up.” You cocked an eyebrow at him. He never invited you to stay, he was usually rushing you out of his way. “I’m no chef, but I can make an alright pasta.” He shrugged. “You’re cold, warm up a bit before you head back out there.” Your eyes narrowed a bit. “You’re not much use as an assistant if your fingers and toes fall off from frostbite.”
“There it is.” You rolled your eyes at him.
“Get all that off, and get in here.” He ducked back out of view, and you started by undoing your jacket and pulling off your scarf. “What do you want?” He called out as you hung them up. “Coffee, tea, hot chocolate, or right to the wine?”
“Do you seriously have wine?” You bent over to undo your boots. “I don’t remember buying any..”
“I’m not completely incompetent. I occasionally buy things for myself.”
“Could have fooled me..” You mumbled quietly, pulling off your boots and placing them aside.
Chuck kept glancing at you while you ate, and to be honest, it made you a little self conscious, so every time he did, you’d down a mouthful of wine. He was looking across the table at you again, so you decided on a little conversation, so there’d at least be a reason for him looking at you. “You lied about your cooking ability.”
“That bad?”
He looked genuinely concerned that you didn’t like his food. It made you smile, and you shook your head as you reached for a piece of garlic bread. “Under sold it, actually.” You took a bite. “It’s very good.”
“You’re surprised I can cook? Who do you think cooks for me?”
“Me, half the time. I do drop off a lot of leftovers so you’ll actually eat. I figured your microwave covers the rest.”
He rolled his eyes and picked up his wine glass. “I only use the microwave for your leftovers.”
“I never see any other leftovers here .. except the occasional take out.”
“I never leave any. Like you said, I’m damn good.” He winked with a smirk before taking a sip of wine.
“Oh god.” You picked up your own wine glass as you sat back in the chair. “There goes his ego, again. Tell a guy he can cook pasta, and suddenly he thinks he’s god's gift to women.”
“I. Am. Your. God.” Each word was emphasized by his arms opening wider and wider out to his sides as he grinned.
You couldn’t help the smile that spread over your face as he did it. “Yeah, you’re something, alright.” You let the last of your wine fill your mouth, and nodded to him when he held up the bottle.
Chuck wouldn’t let you touch the dishes, insisting that you go enjoy your wine while he cleaned up, dishes could be dealt with tomorrow. So you moved through his house, wine glass in hand, and looked out one of his front windows at your car quickly being buried under snow. With a sigh, you turned and looked around the room, eyes settling on his desk. “So, you got over your block?”
“Excuse me?” He called back from the kitchen. You heard him trip over something, and curse. “Shit..”
Licking your lips with a smile, you moved around his desk. “You said you were writing earlier. More Supernatural stories, finally?”
“N- uh- no.. No. I’m still stuck on that one, so I tried something a little different. Probably won’t publish, but… it’s keeping me writing..”
“What is it?” You asked, sipping your wine before placing it down on his desk.
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s never nothing with you.” you mumble to yourself, leaning over his desk, arm resting against it to steady yourself as you skim what he’d been writing. Furrowing your brow, you scrolled up, way up, and read some more. “Chuck?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you writing a romance?”
“What? Hey! Don’t read that!” He came rushing in.
You turned to him with a smile. “I have to say, I never pegged you for a paperback drug store romance novel type.”
“It doesn’t read like that, does it?” He came up beside you, also leaning over his desk to read the screen. You could smell the wine and garlic bread on his breath as he read, mouth moving with the words, but not saying them.
“I don’t know, I didn’t read much of it.” You straightened and turned, sitting on the edge of his desk and letting your nails tap against the wood. “Why don’t you tell me what it’s about?”
“It’s stupid..” You stared at him, and after a moment he looked up at you. “Seriously? It’s just..” He glance at the screen, his confidence from the wine starting to waver a little.
“You wrote it. Must be good.” You nudged him with an elbow.
“Oh you are going to be so disappointed..” he shook his head and stood straighter, still facing his written work as he stood quietly for a moment. Then he sighed. “So, it’s about this writer-”
“You?”
“No, not me.” He snapped a little too quickly and your hands came up in surrender. “It’s about a writer, moving from the big city to some sleepy little town..”
“Why would a writer do that?”
Chuck shrugged. “Inspiration. He had some chart topping work, and then.. Flop. So he moved to try and gain some inspiration.”
“Washed out writers tend to-”
“Not washed out.” he shot you a glare. “Just… writers block.”
“I thought you said it wasn’t about you.” You teased with a smile.
“It’s not, it’s just.. Important to the story.”
“Okay. What happens in this quiet little town? It is a romance, so obviously he meets someone..”
Chuck nodded, looking down at the floor. “Girl next door.” He smiles softly. “While he gets lost in trying to recreate the magic of the various worlds he sees in his head.. She checks in on him, makes sure he eats, or just.. talks to him, so he’s not lonely.” You watched Chuck as he describe their relationship. “He pushes her away, mostly. He doesn’t treat her so great at first, more like an annoyance, like something getting in his way when all he wants to do is write.. But it’s because she’s all he can think about. She’s beautiful, and smart, and he doesn’t understand why she’s there..”
“Does he ever let her in?”
Chuck nods. “Yeah. yeah he does. And he writes the most beautiful stories. He puts her in the worlds, and they seem to just come to him. So different from what he wrote before, but..” Chuck shrugs. “He writes them. They sell. And he’s happy.”
Turning, you scroll back to where you had seen the love interest introduced and read it, then looked at him. “He loves her?”
“It takes him a while to realize it, yeah.”
“Do you realize it?”
“Yeah.” He seemed to mentally shake himself out of whatever thoughts he was in. “Wait, realize what?”
A small smile spreads on your face. “You wrote about us, didn’t you?”
He frowned at you. “I think you need to lay off the wine. You’re drunk.” He grabbed the glass you had left on his desk and started away from you back towards the kitchen.
But he stopped dead in his tracks when you read the description he’d used in his story. “It sounds like me. You didn’t even change her last name, it’s mine. Do I inspire your best work?”
“You tell me.” He mumbled as he lifted the glass to his lips and downed it completely in one go.
“I guess we’ll find out, won’t we. I’m kind of stuck here for the night.” He turned and glanced from you to the window. “My car is snowed in. So sit, write. I’ll be right here, reading.” You moved to sit on the couch and grabbed one of the many books that lay scattered around the room.
Chuck swallowed hard, eyes darting across the floor and he thought about it. “O-okay.” He nodded. “Okay.” He started back towards his desk and sat.
You watched him from over the book, and smile. “Chuck?”
“Hm?” He didn’t even glance up as his fingers started moving across the keyboard
“Thank you for tonight. I had a wonderful time.” He glanced over at you, and you smiled.
“Me too.”
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A/N : Another super old flash fic, Originally posted April 4th 2016.
The last thing you remember was being on the ground, barely breathing, your insides on the outsides. Dean hovered over you crying. Then it all went dark…
You opened your eyes, it was too bright. You put a hand over your eyes to try and block some light out. You turned to the side and saw someone sitting there reading. You sat up slightly, squinting into the light. “.. Chuck.. is that.. you?” He smiled and put the book down. “I thought I was..”
“Dead?” he cut you off. You nodded. “You were.”
“And.. now?”
The bunker was quiet. But your feet brought you to the library. You smiled as you watched them work.
“Y/N!!??” They got up and ran to you.
“But.. you were dead!? We gave you a hunters funeral.. how..?” Sam was confused, Dean didn’t care.
You smiled. And behind you, were beautiful white wings.
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