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Dean was a simple guy, honestly. He didn't expect much—he didn't need much. After a long day of hunting down whatever monster of the week was currently on the menu, in the midst of dealing with the crap the Jerry Springer rejects that called themselves The Heavenly Host was putting him through, all Dean really needed was a bottle a beer, a slice of pie, and some goddamn quiet. What he didn't need was God sneaking up on him as he pulled a beer out of the fridge.
"Dammit Chuck! You just can't sneak up on a guy like that!"
"I didn't mean to scare you, Dean."
"You didn't scare me." There were only two things that scared Dean. Airplanes and freaky little blue eyed angels that couldn't take off their trench coats for more than five freaking minutes. But not God.
"Really Dean? The almighty power of a God doesn't even freak you out just a little?"
"Nope." He popped the top off his beer and took a long swig. "Only thing that freaks me out is the fact that Chuck's standing here in my kitchen, except you're not the squirrely dude who can't write worth shit! You're actually God."
"Why can't I be both?" Chuck pauses for a second. "And Supernatural was a best seller!"
"Yeah, in like one book store in Nowhere, Indiana for like a week."
Chuck shrugged. "The problem with this generation is that everyone's a critic."
"You know, I think I'd like you better if you had longer hair and a slammin' pair of tits. Or better yet, you were gone." He took another long swig from the bottle, then tossed it on the table. He'd put it in the trash before he and Sammy checked out the room...maybe.
"So you'd like me better like this?" And suddenly Chuck was no more, and in his place, was a stunningly curvy girl with soft brown skin and curly hair.
Chuck, or maybe s/he was Chick now, smiled. "Or would you prefer this one better."
Then he was looking at Cas, at his striking blue eyes and mussed hair.
"Hello Dean." His mind suddenly and inexplicably went blank.
And with a laugh Chuck was back in his true form, or as true of a form God masquerading as a struggling artist on earth can have.
"It's a rental, actually." Chuck said suddenly.
"What?"
"My body. It belongs to someone already. I'm just...borrowing it."
"How did you even-"
"God, remember? Omniscient, omnipotent, omni-everything actually." Chuck gave a small shrug. "Gift and a curse."
"Wait, so you're telling me that you know everything? Even when I..." Dean made a crude gesture of his hand back and forth in front of his crotch. Chuck rolled his eyes.
"I'm God, Dean. I have bigger things to worry about than the finer workings of how you jack off." There was a pause. "But you really do need to work on your technique."
Dean made a noise that was a combination of disgust, embarrassment, and shame as his ears tinted pink and he spun around to be looking anywhere else than at Chuck, no, at God himself. God, who knew all the sordid details of his lonely nights. GOD, who also knew only God knows what else. "Of course God would be a friggin' perve. Just my damn luck."
"Don't be embarrassed, Dean. I'm not here to talk about how much you masturbate."
"I don't get embarrassed. I'm Dean Winchester." And Winchester's didn't get embarrassed. Angry? Hell yeah. Moody? Maybe. Brooding? Sure, why the hell not? Especially Sammy. But embarrassed? Nah.
"You can lie to yourself, but you can't lie to God."
"Why are you even here?"
"I'm here to talk about my son." Dean was confused. Which one? He had so many of them it was hard to keep track anymore.
"You know which one."
"What's Cas got to do with anything?"
"I'm not actually here to talk about him...well I guess I kind of am indirectly, but mostly your feelings for him."
Dean looked at him as if he'd just sprouted a second head, which wouldn't technically be impossible since he's freaking God. But whatever. "Dude, what the hell-"
"You're in love with him."
They stared at each other in silence. And in the moments that their eyes met, when Dean saw the anger and the pain, but more present, the sheer exhaust, Dean had no trouble believing that he was looking at the face of God.
"So what if I am? That some kind of crime now? You gonna stone me?"
A small, sad smile appeared on Chuck's face. "You know Castiel's in love with you, right?"
Dean shuffled awkwardly and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his worn leather jacket. "Yeah."
"So what are you waiting for? Even you don't have forever, Dean Winchester." And then he was alone.
"Yeah." Dean said to no one. "What am I waiting for?"