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Stay with Chuck. That was really the task Sam and Dean had you doing. The world was ending and you were here on babysitting duty.
The man had an archangel bodyguard, and yet… according to Sam and Dean 'They trusted you far more than some overpowered Ninja Turtle'... Which, was fair, but it was still kind of annoying.
Chuck wasn't… bad to hang out with, per say. He was eccentric, sure, but he was nice. He knew far too many details about you, and that was… kind of creepy, but he was nice.
Which is how you ended up here, sitting down on Chuck's filthy couch sharpening a knife. In the background, at his table, he was typing away at the computer quickly and muttering things under his breath as he went.
There was a pause in his typing, and because of how loud the keyboard was- you noticed the stop instantly. You turned around and saw him looking at the computer like it was offending him, one hand scratching at his beard as the other hovered over the keys of the keyboard.
"You, uh, alright?" You asked, setting the knife and the sharpening stone onto one of the stacks of loose pages Chuck had sitting on his coffee table.
He let out a small noise of confirmation that he had heard you and tilted his head towards you. "Do you…" He turned his head to you and gave you an inquisitive look. "...happen to know another word for old? I feel like I've used it about twenty times in the last few minutes when describing the scene." He admitted, a frown coming across his face.
You had expected perhaps an update on the situation, not… writing help.
That caused you to take pause, and instead of getting annoyed or angry that he was still writing at a time like this, you decided you might as well amuse him… and a way, amuse yourself. Distract both of you from the impending doom tonight.
"Ancient?" You offered, your mind running back to AP English you had in high school and all the times you'd chosen to read on long road trips with Sam and Dean. "Aged?" You kept going on. "Decrepit?"
Chuck waved a hand at you in earnest, and his typing continued immediately after that. "I like decrepit." He said, and nodded in your direction. "Thank you."
You gave a small hum and stood up, walking over to the computer where he was happily typing away. "What's, uh, going on?" You asked awkwardly, trying to think of a nice way to word 'So, has the world ended yet? Are my friends dead?'
Chuck seems to understand where you were going with this, and while he doesn’t stop typing he does flicker his eyes to your face for a moment at his side. “Yeah they’re, uh.” He pauses momentarily, and you can feel fear running down your spine at his hesitation. He pulls his fingers back from his keyboard. He turns to you more fully now, and your face. “You wanna read it so far?” He asks, seemingly cringing at his own word choice.
Chuck pushed a few buttons, and the printer beside him roared to life, printing the few pages he had been working on. He was quick to grab them, and offer them shyly to you, as if you would turn them down.
Well, with the lack of confidence in his answer, you just had to read it didn’t you? What type of person would you be not to? If you could tell the future, wouldn’t you?
It wasn’t… the best, if you were being honest, but it wasn’t at all what you had been expecting. Your eyes scanned the first page, seeing something about Sam chugging demon blood -ew- but other than that, there was nothing yet.
You let out a small sigh in relief, but Chuck must’ve taken it as something else. Albeit, it wasn’t the best writing in the world, but that wasn’t for the most part what you had been reacting to. You don’t think you were looking at him oddly, but maybe you weren’t judging that very well.
Chuck looked at you and the way you were seemingly staring at him from above his questionable writing. He let out a deep breath and shrugged, sounding sheepish. "Look, I'll admit- I'm not a good writer."
"...But?" You paused, expecting… something more.
He shook his head and took a drink of the whiskey he had poured for himself. "No, that's it." He said, letting out a defeated sigh and taking the pages back from you when you handed it to him. "I'm just not a good writer."
You couldn't help the laugh, just the ridiculousness of the response caught you off guard. "Chuck, your writing is fine." You assured him more earnestly at seeing him deflate slightly at your laugh.
He was fishing for compliments, and you could see his eyes look at you hesitantly. "...Really?" He asked, sounding unsure of himself.
You wish that the person who was the only person in the entire world who knew what was going to happen next wasn’t so sensitive, because this constant ego stroking was really starting to get to you. Chuck may be nice, but he was needy as all hell.“Yeah.” You said, setting the writing back down on the table. “Uh, is that it so far? Anything else?” You asked, after a second, wondering if there was anything more that he hadn’t yet put to paper.
He shook his head, and his eyes darted to the computer screen before back to you. “Not yet.” He confirmed.
Now the sigh you let out was not one of relief, but this time one of anxiety. Waiting for the end of the world was even worse than the world actually ending, it felt like. If it were ending, at least it would be over. This uncertainty was really killing you.
Chuck didn’t seem to care much, but then again you supposed the man had to deal with writing about Sam and Dean’s constant world ending situations all the time, so this wasn’t really anything new. Chuck was already reaching for the bottle of whiskey once more in order to pour himself another glass. That was one way to deal with it, you supposed.
“Alright. Let me know if it changes.” You said, and made your way to sit back down on the couch.
There was a small hum from around a mouthful of liquor, and you took that to mean that Chuck had heard you and would, indeed, keep you updated.
The knife and sharpening stone you had set down was waiting for you, and quickly you were able to continue sharpening the knife that was already razor sharp. It would be little more than a toothpick if the world didn’t end, soon, you felt.
It was going to be a long night.