#chuck fluff

｡⋆𖦹.❀ You'd sit together in the war room, feet on the table and passing containers of Chinese food back and forth while watching Netflix on Sam's laptop. You took Dean's first but there were just way too many…. things, on there. You were shocked that he didn't have any viruses at the point really. You'd sit there for hours watching all sorts of crap, occasionally Cas would pop in and you'd watch trashy reality TV with him.

｡⋆𖦹.❀ You've got matching mismatched socks. You were on a bacon, donuts and Chinese food run when you spotted the most hideous fluffy socks by the register. One pair was toxic green with purple and yellow squiggles and the other was red with blue, orange and pink polka dots. You bought them immediately. You wore them all the time, one of each pair for either of you. The second Dean walked through the door and saw the two of you, he stopped himself, reminded himself of who Chuck was and walked away without a single word. You and Chuck cackled.

｡⋆𖦹.❀ Everyone always wanted to know the big "why?"s. Why did he create the universe? Why did he cause disease and famine? Why did he flood everything? But you didn't. Not that much at least. You had a few questions at the beginning of course, but not as many and not nearly as annoying as most people. After you asked a couple of your big ones, you moved onto small ones. Why did he pick "Chuck"? If he could be literally anyone, why Chuck? What did he do as Chuck besides writing the Supernatural books? You asked him about his travels, what it was like exploring the world he created. That's why you were his favourite of his creations, you asked about him, not God.

｡⋆𖦹.❀ He loved talking about his time spent travelling. He told you about his favourite places, little hidden beaches in Monaco, the best bakery in Belgium, the most beautiful museum in France, surprisingly, not the Louvre. You spit out your beer when he talked about his relationships.

"What the CHUCK?! Yes, I am proud of that one. Sorry Chuck but, you, creator of the universe, of everything, God himself is bisexual?!"

"Yep"

"Fuck yeah! Oh, sorry"

"I don't mind"

"If I didn't already love you, I'd love you more now, that's fucking awesome"

"Thank you"

"If only Father O'Malley were here now. Sorry, didn't tell you about him. He was the local priest where I grew up. He was a very classic priest, y'know, "a man should lie with a woman" kinda priest"

"I know"

"Oh right, alknowing, that still kinda weirds me out"

"I know"

"Dude"

"Sorry, sometimes it's fun messing with people, you should've seen Dean's face last week"

"Oh God, what'd- oooh, gotta figure out a new phrase"

"Sam is working on some right now"

"Ah, did you do your "God telepathy" thing?"

"No….? I spoke to him"

"Right, of course, you can do that too"

"See this? That's the kind of messing with people thing I was talking about, I did that with Dean for three hours"

"Wow, you are a rathful God"

"Well that'll teach him for eating the last of my bacon"

"Can't you just… magic up some more?"

"It's the principal"

"Ah, got it"

｡⋆𖦹.❀ You love people watching together.Even though he's all knowing, he blocks out certain people sometimes. Like when you're sitting in the park and you just watch the people going past, you'll make up little stories for what you think they're doing, sometimes you even make up dialogue. There's two people you like to watch in particular, the dog walker and the businessman. They meet up in the park every day at noon. You think they're a part of some underground drug ring and Chuck thinks they're having an affair. His theory is certainly more boring but probably more realistic. But you don't care, this is the new Breaking Bad and you're living for it.

｡⋆𖦹.❀ You both find and come up with new recipes involving bacon all the time. Dean loves it. Sam's scared of how much Dean loves it. Lucifer has a knife again. Cas is over everyone's shit. Life is good.

｡⋆𖦹.❀ You're kind of like the fun aunt/uncle to Lucifer. You listen to him bitch about his dad, you give him advice that he doesn't listen to, you listen to way too loud and angsty music with him, you help him pull pranks, you fear the wrath of God and you repeat.

｡⋆𖦹.❀ You're like Chuck's handler when it comes to family nights. You insisted on having them. You gather Lucifer, Castiel, Gabriel, Balthazar and depending on his ever fluctuating mental state, Michael, all in a room. You tell Sam and Dean to either stay in their rooms or get the hell out of there because it could get dicey. Sam sits in his room and deletes the Real Housewives episodes that you and Cas downloaded. Dean potters around close enough that he can catch the drama but dodge the flying chairs.

Half of the time you give up on being a medeator and just sit in the corner with Michael, listening to him babble nonsense until it shockingly starts to make sense. Either he's getting better or you're getting worse, probably a bit of both. You're quite content there until Cas calls out your name and you come running. Often being met by Balthazar bleeding for some reason, Gabriel attacking Lucifer with some illusion and Lucifer attacking Chuck. You sigh, thank the one responsible angel and lead Chuck out of the room. You don't find out until the next day that good ol' reliable Cas, responsible Cas, the one decent angel Castiel, stabbed Balthazar which started the entire fight. And why? Because he said Dean looked stupid in a cowboy hat and not hot at all. So, Cas was well within reason.

｡⋆𖦹.❀ He changes the weather whenever you feel like it. If you guys are going out and is raining and miserable? Clear skies and LA sun in seconds. You want a cozy day curled up under blankets in the bunker? It's raining and windy. When he wants to bug you, or anyone for that matter, he'll just send down a random bolt of lightning to scare the shit out of you. He once got a little too close to Dean and he screamed like a little girl, apart from the week of death stares from him and Cas, that was a good day. If you're having a bad day he'll make it snow. He knows how much you love watching the snowflakes fall. He'll tell you to close your eyes and he'll put his hands over them anyways. He guides you out the bunker door and pulls his hands away in a dramatic motion.

"Voila!"

You look around slack jawed for a minute before you turn to Chuck. You wrap your arms around him and squeeze him in a tight hug.

"It's beautiful Chuck, thank you. I really needed this today"

"I'm glad you like it. Y'know snow is one of my favourite creations? Next to you of course"

"You're too sweet some days"

"Sweeter than those bacon donuts we made last Thursday?"

"Maaaaaaaybe, although Dean would beg to differ"

You both laughed and walked over to a little picnic table, sitting down and enjoying the snow, sticking your tongue out to catch snowflakes.

｡⋆𖦹.❀ You were his personal editor. He was a little cautious the first time he gave you some of his writing to go over, nervous that you wouldn't like it. But after you locked yourself in your room because he wouldn't stop peaking over your shoulder, you really liked it. A day later, you handed it back to him with a few notes in green pen because you both agreed that red was too judgemental. He took it back with a grin as he read through your feedback, taking it in and appreciating the amount of effort you put in, clearly reading it multiple times. After that, he gave you something every week and always loved receiving your feedback. Sometimes you'd go over it with him, occasionally writing a few paragraphs of your own here and there.

｡⋆𖦹.❀ Sunday services. Or as Dean called them, an excuse for not getting off your ass all day, which to be fair, was true. Every Sunday you and Chuck would claim the couch and someone's laptop, as long as it wasn't Dean's you didn't care who owned it, it was yours for the day. You found something to watch, whether it be cat videos or Jesus Christ Superstar, cause you had many questions. You curled up in your matching mismatched socks with a bag of popcorn and enjoyed the lazy day together.

｡⋆𖦹.❀ Being God's best friend certainly wasn't where you thought your life would end up, but you wouldn't trade it for anything.

Supernatural Tags:

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Submit a GIF and I will write the fluffiest drabble to brighten your Fridays after a long week of work, school and life in general. Here are some guidelines to ensure the purest of fluff from yours truly under the cut.

1.) You don’t have to be following me, but it would be lovely if you did. 2.) GIF submissions can be Supernatural/Chuck/Zachary Levi characters/actors only (this is the only fandoms I write for). 3.) All submissions must be in by Friday, June 28 at 5PM (US Central Standard Time because I live in Missouri). 4.) Submit as many GIFs as you like as long as there in by Friday, June 28 at 5PM 4.) Please indicate if it will be Reader Pairing or No Pairing. 5.) No Wincest, Destiel, Cockles, or any variation of. I don’t read or write any of those.

I will be posting fluffy drabbles every Friday in July. All I need is ALL THE GIFS!!! What are you waiting for?! Signal boost the fluffiness out this! Start sending me some GIFs to fulfill your fluffiest needs and desires!  

If you would like to check out last year’s masterlist here:

Fluffy Fridays In July Masterlist

* * *

“Hey thanks for letting me stay for a bit,” (Y/N) stated as she gave Sam and Dean a hug.

“Hey it's no problem. We've got plenty of room and it's the least we can do after you helped us out with that vamps nest,” Dean replied, showing her to her room to use for the time she spent with them. “Here you go; this one has a bathroom attached to your room, so you don't have to worry about the communal bathroom. My room's just three doors down the hall to the right and Sam's is just two doors past that on the left.”

“Thanks Dean.” He left to go make some lunch while she unpacked. Chuck meanwhile had appeared in the War Room, startling Sam.

“Chuck? What's going on? Is everything alright?” he fired one question after another.

He chuckled a little and replied, “Easy Sam. Everything's fine. I'm sorry, I hadn't meant to startle you. I just wanted to drop by and see how you boys were doing.”

Sam breathed a little easier; at least there was no “end-of-the-world-I-need-your-help” problems. “We're good. Things have been calm lately; cases are kind of spread a little so we finally get a chance to relax.”

“As you should. You two work too hard that I fear you might not even know what “relax” means anymore,” (Y/N) joked as she came walking out into the room, seeing Chuck for the first time, “oh, hi. I-uh, Sorry, my name's (Y/N),” she held her hand out to him.

“Chuck. It's nice to meet you, (Y/N),” he took her hand in his, giving her a warm smile.

“Wait a second, you're Chuck? The writer of 'Supernatural?'” she asked, looking to Sam with an “are-you-kidding-me” look.

“Yeah, that's me,” he replied sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“That's so cool!” she squealed before controlling herself, “Sorry, I-I just never met one of my favorite authors before.”

Sam rolled his eyes; of course she was a fan of that series. He mostly was just wondering why Chuck wasn't telling her the rest of his story.

He gave a small chuckle and replied, “That's quite alright. Compared to most fans, you're reaction is actually more tame than most. Some fans were a little, well, crazy is the best word to describe them.”

Before (Y/N) could reply, Dean called out for her from the kitchen, “Hey (Y/N)! Come to the kitchen! I need your help with lunch!”

She sighed a little before giving Chuck and Sam an apologetic smile, “Sorry. I should probably go see what he needs. It was really nice to meet you, Chuck.”

“It's alright and it was really nice to meet you, too, (Y/N).” She smiled again and turned around to make her way to the kitchen, leaving Chuck to answer Sam's obvious question. “Sam, I didn't tell her who I was because that would only scare her. To her, I'm just a writer of a teen fiction series. If I told her the truth now, it would ruin her sense of faith. When the time is right, I'll tell her. But I can't right now.”

“How do you- nevermind. All-knowing, right. Just, let her ease into the fact that your God. She's seen about as much as we have and when she first met Cas, well, it took her a bit to warm up to the idea that angels are around and that they are completely different than depicted. She all but lost it when Gabriel showed up,” Sam chuckled a little at the memory.

“I can see how that would be an issue,” Chuck huffed a dry laugh, shaking his head at whatever possible antics his son might have caused the young hunter. The two of them continued to talk for a bit before being called into the kitchen for lunch. Castiel and Gabriel joining them, both a little shocked to see their Father there, but he told them via angel-radio not to say a word about him being their Father. He didn't want to upset (Y/N). Cas, well, he was a little uncertain, but nodded his head, stony faced as ever before starting a conversation with Dean. Gabriel just smirked and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, to which Chuck ignored and started his own conversation with (Y/N). Gabriel had a feeling about Chuck's underlying message, but he wouldn't say anything...yet.

* * *

It had been a few months since Chuck first appeared and not once did (Y/N) mention anything about him randomly showing up. She just figured that either he lived close by, in the Bunker, or one of the angels brought him by. She knew he was a prophet (only because she asked how he knew about Sam and Dean's lives, and that didn't disturb her any; she met Kevin before) and that he wasn't writing much anymore, but would publish something from time to time. He was an interesting person to say the least. But there was something off about him that she couldn't quite figure out, but didn't say anything on the matter.

One Sunday, (Y/N) was getting ready to head to church. There hasn't been a case in a while and seeing as there was a small church nearby with an afternoon mass, she figured she'd go. Dressed in a nice blouse and slacks, she left her hair down, put on some nice, yet comfortable shoes, and grabbed her bag before leaving her room.

“Hey, where you headed off to?” Dean asked as she made her way into the War Room.

“Church. There's one just down the road. Nothing much to do today and I haven't gone in a while,” she replied, making sure she had everything before starting up the stairs.

“Mind if I join you?” Chuck asked, walking around the corner. She tilted her head to the side in confusion. When did he get here?

“Sure. I wouldn't mind the company,” she smiled as he gave a grin back and walked up the stairs to her.

“We'll be back later!” she called out, waving to the Winchesters before they shut the door.

Sam and Dean shared a look and shook their heads. That was going to be one interesting mass today that was for certain.

The walk to the church was peaceful. Chuck could easily start conversations and there was a lot of laughter between them. It was nice to have someone to talk to about anything. Sam and Dean understood, but sometimes, having someone else to listen to what you have to say helps. When they got to the church, Chuck looked around in fascination. He was always curious on how humans see Him and the Angels, of Heaven, and he loved seeing how they designed their churches as well. They took a pew in the back of the room and sat in relative silence for the next few hours.

The sermon was nice, the church wasn't too crowded, but there was something off that (Y/N) couldn't put her finger on. She had come to this church before and it never felt like this. It wasn't bad or anything, it was just different. She shook herself out of her musings and listened to the message the preacher was saying.

“God loves us in different ways and we in return show Him that same love. Love of God can mean either love for God or love by God. Love for God is associated with the concepts of worship, and devotions towards God. By showing Him that we love and care for others, we are showing him that our love for Him is as endless as His.”

After mass, people congregated outside the church, talking with friends or the preacher, but (Y/N) and Chuck separated from the others and made their way to a little bench not too far from the church, but far enough away from prying ears.

“That was an interesting sermon,” Chuck commented as they sat down.

“Yeah it was. There was something different about today's sermon that I couldn't quite figure out,” (Y/N) stated, looking at the trees over head.

“What do you mean?” he turned to look at her, confusion clear in his eyes.

She gave a small sigh and looked over at Chuck. “I-I don't know really. I've been to this church before, but this feeling, I never felt it before. It was just...different. Like there was this power, for lack of better words, surrounding the building and everyone inside, but it didn't feel threatening. It felt warm, loving, peaceful. The only other time I felt this was the first time I met you and every time since. Chuck, what are you not telling me?”

To say he was startled was an understatement. How did she figure it out? “I-I...uh, wh-what do you mean?” he stuttered out, a little worried now.

“Chuck, since I first met you, it was like there was something you didn't tell me. Something that you kept secret, and not the whole prophet thing. I mean something bigger than that. I can tell that Sam, Dean, Cas, and Gabe know. What I want to know is why you didn't tell me? What is it you're hiding?” (Y/N) demanded softly, taking his hand in hers.

He just heaved a sigh and ran his free hand over his mouth before running it through his hair. Looking around, he realized that if he told her, and if her reaction wasn't what he was hoping, they were going to catch a lot of attention. “I think we should move this somewhere more privately.”

“Okay.” They got up and started walking away from the others, back towards the Bunker. She didn't even seem to notice that they were still holding hands. About halfway to the Bunker, Chuck stopped, causing (Y/N) to stop and look around.

“What is it?”

“Do you trust me, (Y/N)?” he asked, taking both her hands as he looked her in the eyes.

“Of course I do, Chuck. Why?” she responded, tilting her head in question.

“Just...just hold onto me and don't freak out,” was her only warning as the world around them shifted and when it settled, she found herself standing in an old bar, but no one else was there. She looked around, startled, and tried to comprehend what just happened.

“What...how...this...” she couldn't form a sentence at all. This just doesn't happen!

“(Y/N), darling, calm down. Breathe,” Chuck instructed, trying to hold her steady, but she kept moving away.

“Are-are you an angel? Demon? No that's crazy, he can't be a demon. Oh my God, Chuck, what are you?” she demanded, a little scared at that answer.

“Well, you kind of just answered your question yourself seeing as you said both my names one right after the other,” he answered cryptically.

“Both your...” and then it dawned on her. God. Chuck. Crap.

“Y-you're God?! Okay, this-this is not happening. I'm dreaming. This...I can't believe I fell in love with God. This is crazy...” she kept muttering to herself as she paced the floors.

“I know that this is a lot...wait, you love me?” he asked, startled at her words. That's what got her to pause mid-stride.

“Crap. I said that out loud. Chuck...God...I'm sorry. I didn't mean...” her words fell short when Chuck was suddenly right in front of her, his hands on her shoulders. Looking up into his impossibly blue eyes, she felt herself calm down. That feeling from the church--warmth, love, peace—they all came flooding back as she took a calming breath. His smile was infectious as she found herself smiling right back at him. (Y/N) didn't know what came over her, but she wrapped her arms around Chuck as she laid her head upon his chest. And Chuck, well he just wrapped his arms around her and they stayed like that for a few minutes.

Once everything calmed down, they took a seat as he began to explain things. He told her that he was always God, ever since Sam and Dean first met him. He wanted to see His creations up close and personal and got to involved in their life that he kind of forgot about who he really was for a bit. That when he saw her, he was already in love with her and they hadn't met yet.

“But why me?”

He looked at her a little confused. “What do you mean?”

(Y/N) heaved a sigh and said, “Out of everyone in the world, how could you love me?”

Chuck just gave her a sad smile and replied, “Oh love, you don't get it. I fell in love with you, not because of your devotion to me or your faith, but what you did for others. Like Sam and Dean, you go around helping people out of the goodness of your heart, not because of some blind devotion. Sam and Dean never believed in me until recently, but they were hunting things and saving people for years and they did it because it was the right thing to do. They thought I didn't exist. But they believed in angels go figure,” that got a little chuckle out of her. “But my point is, when you started hunting, yes you still believed in Me, but you weren't doing this to appease Me. No, you were doing it for the same reasons as Sam and Dean; because it was the right thing to do. It's what drew me to you. You're perfect in every way.”

(Y/N) couldn't help but smile. That last part might have just been him gloating on the fact that he made her perfect (which he will later deny), but things started to make sense. The two of them sat there and talked for a little bit longer and deciding to head back. What felt like five hours was really just the two hours that was spent at the church and walk back. The bar was a pocket dimension; time moved differently. They both decided to give it a shot and go on a date later that week; after seeing what everyone else's reactions were. (Y/N) was a little uncertain about Sam and Dean as they were her surrogate brothers, but more so Cas and Gabe, as they were literally Chuck's sons.

Thanks to Chuck, they appeared in the middle of the kitchen holding hands where everyone was at. Before they could say anything, Gabriel blurted out, “Finally! Does this mean she's our new mom now?”

“GABRIEL!” And that sparked some rather interesting words from her brothers and Chuck as she made her way over the fridge to grab some beers. This was going to be a long conversation.

“I don't understand. How can (Y/N) be our new mother? We didn't have a mother to begin with. I thought they were dating? Did He marry her at that church today without us knowing?” Poor Castiel.

The two of you sit across from each other at the table, his computer partially obscuring your view of him, just glaring at each other. He drinks again, grimacing at the burn he probably doesn’t feel. He’s been playing at being human for so long, he sometimes forgets, even when in the middle of an argument about his own divinity.

“You have put those poor boys through Hell, literal Hell—with a capital H—in Dean’s case, and now you’re just going to condemn Sam to more literal Hell, and leave Dean all alone to stew in the hell of his own mind?” You shake your head and huff. “You really are a fucking bastard sometimes, you know that?”

He pulls in a deep breath, telling you without words that you’ve angered him.

Good. That’s your job. He wanted someone who would question him, challenge him, help him fix the little errors along the way so he’d be better. If you didn’t piss him off at least three times a day, you weren’t doing it right.

“You know why I can’t just fly in there and make everything the way you want it. That’s not how it works.” His voice sounds so calm, completely belying the wrath you know is simmering underneath.

“You decide how it works, Chuck! That’s the benefit of being big God on campus! You can do whatever the hell you want!!” Your voice is nowhere near as calm as his.

Chuck’s anger is felt in the air, raising all the little hairs on your body before his words are even spoken. He stands up from his seat, trying to tower over you at least a little bit to enforce his superiority. “Two words,” he says, pointing two fingers into the air. “Free,” he ticks off one finger, “will,” he finishes, ticking off the other finger. He flops back down into his chair, still glaring at you, and empties his glass. You wonder why he insists on drinking when he never gets drunk, but that’s an argument for another day.

“Have you ever played a game against yourself?” he questions, leaning forward in his chair. “You know, set up a chess board and just flipped it around for every move?”

You throw him one of the epic bitch faces you learned from Sam Winchester. “I’ve never had the chance, you know, because I’m always with you!” you reply, pursing your lips to let your irritation really sink in.

He slumps for a second. “Yeah, okay. Fair point.” Waving a hand, he continues, “Just know that it sucks. You already know all the moves the other player is going to make because you are the other player. If I go down there and just poof everything, then I take away everything that makes them who they are. It would just be me, pushing empty pieces around on a chess board.”

Your shoulders slump because you know he’s right. Dammit.

With a sigh, you stand up and move around the kitchen, making yourself a cup of tea while he returns to his typing. Tea will do as much for you as Chuck’s whiskey does for him, but you’d learned that the action of making the tea was as soothing for you as what you imagined the actual tea would be for someone else. Your thoughts swirl, but calm a bit as you sit down and stir, watching the water grow darker.

As you think, you stare into the eddies in your cup while the clacking of his keyboard washes over you like a steady stream. Your mind turns the problem over and over again, looking for the loophole, looking for the chink in the armor. Dean and Sam Winchester charmed you from the first page of The Winchester Gospel and meeting them had only increased your affections. Chuck made you with an extra serving of heart, and you happily gave it to those boys.

“Why can’t you just, I don’t know, nudge some of the pieces every now and then?” You catch yourself actually pouting, and pull your bottom lip back into line. Pouting and whining is beneath you and won’t help you convince him.

The flow of words into the computer stops and Chuck sighs again. “I do. You know I do. I whisper in their ears, I put obstacles in their way, making them turn left instead of right, and I put things they need where they can find them. I nudge all the damn time, but in the end, they do it their way.”

You know he’s right. Lately, he’s done more than just nudge. Cas could have ended up in the middle of a mountain after that stunt he pulled taking out five angels in Van Nuys, but Chuck made sure he landed somewhere relatively safe. Before that, even though Lucifer was freed, Chuck still cleaned up Sam and put both brothers on that plane, far away from the devil. Not to mention bringing Cas back after Raphael smote the crap out of him.

“You know, I used to actually try and talk to people,” Chuck says, staring into his glass. “I talked to Joan of Arc. I told her what would happen if she kept on her path. I told her she didn’t have to. There were other ways. She did it, anyway.”

Chuck’s face is pensive. His stare is completely unfocused in his glass, the swirls seeming to mesmerize him. After a long moment, he glances around the room without really seeing it, gives half a shrug, puts down his glass, and shifts back to look at the computer screen.

“It sounds like you’re saying you couldn’t even talk Lucifer or Michael or the Winchesters out of doing this tomorrow. Do you really think you’re that powerless without using your powers?” Leaning forward, you tap his glass to get him to look back at you. “Do you really think that Michael and Lucifer wouldn’t stop if you told them to?”

For a moment, you see immeasurable sadness in Chuck’s eyes. The force of his despair hits you like a wave in the ocean, the undertow threatening to drag you under with it. Before the feeling of drowning can do more than steal a gasp from you, it’s gone, and you can breathe again.

“I’ve been around the world a few times, now. I’ve watched humans learn and adapt, and the more they think they know, the less open they are to ideas that don’t fit their narrative. Sometimes, they’re like a polar bear who likes one cave more than another one, though the two are exactly the same. You’ll never get him into a cave that’s not his cave. Do you know that you can teach an Eskimo all about building skyscrapers with wood and steel, and they’ll take what you teach them and use snow and ice? Maybe it won’t look like the skyscraper you taught them about, but they’ll think it’s the best building ever built.

“Michael and Lucifer don’t even have half the open mind that that Eskimo and that polar bear have. They wouldn’t listen to anything short of me smiting the crap out of them. They’ll find some way to discredit me or what I’m saying so it fits their narrative, and they’ll end up killing each other, anyway.” He glances down at the pages you’d slammed on the table not so long ago. “I actually owe the Winchesters for finding a way to fix this mess that doesn’t kill absolutely everyone.”

Chuck sighs sadly and returns to his typing.

You, however, are not done.

“You’re right. You do owe them. You owe them big time. So, give them something back. You’ve done it before, you can do it again.”

Chuck raises one eyebrow and purses his lips. “But, it’s the end. Any good writer knows you have to tie everything up at the end.”

You raise your eyebrow to match his. “Is it? Really? Or is it a beginning of something else? This isn’t a book, it’s real life. Humans think death is the end, but it’s not, because there’s Heaven and there’s Hell. So, yeah, maybe this is the end of the Apocalypse, but it’s not the end of everything.” You tilt your head and fold your hands on the table. “Is it?”

Chuck stares at you for a moment, gathering your words together in his mind, then looks down at his notes.

“You did it before, so do it again. Give them something back.”

He glances up at you one more time, mumbles, “I always think I know what you’re going to say, but you constantly surprise me,” then heads back to his typing with the barest hint of a smile on his face.

Endings are hard. Any chapped-ass monkey with a keyboard can poop out a beginning, but endings are impossible. You try to tie up every loose end, but you never can. The fans are always gonna bitch. There’s always gonna be holes. And since it’s the ending, it’s all supposed to add up to something. I’m telling you, they’re a raging pain in the ass.

No doubt – endings are hard. But then again… nothing ever really ends, does it?

Dean kneels on the ground near the Impala, beaten and bloody, all desire to live having jumped into the Cage with his brothers and two asshole archangels. ‘This is the end,’ he thinks, a profound loneliness enveloping him as he considers the nearby remains of his best friend and surrogate father. ‘This is the end, so why am I still here? Why did I get to survive? What am I supposed to do, now, when everyone else is gone?’

No one is more surprised than him when Castiel appears next to him, standing tall with the sun shining behind him like a halo.

“Chapped-ass monkey with a keyboard, huh?” You give Chuck another one of Sam’s better bitch faces while marking up the page with your red pen, but he just shrugs and gives you a smug little smile that lingers long after you’ve left the table to reheat your tea.

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