Work Text:
Chuck cursed the day he created customer service jobs. Or were they invented by humans as a self-inflicted hell? It wasn’t always easy to remember how a certain thing came into existence in any world, even if it was about the world that used to be his favorite. The fact that this was also the universe responsible for his loss of powers and immortality was some cruel irony that would have made his blood boil if he wasn’t too tired to feel much at the moment.
“What’s taking so long?” the woman in front of him asked, more annoyed than she had the right to be.
“There seems to be a problem with your card… ma’am” Chuck replied with a forced smile.
“I don’t have time for this! My appointment is in 10 minutes!”
He barely stopped himself from pointing out that going grocery shopping right before an appointment was her mistake and not his problem. Sadly, unrequited politeness was necessary to keep a pitiful cashier job. It was not what he wanted at all, but he needed it to pay for rent and food and seasonal allergy meds and so on… The choice to give humans all these limitations was biting him in the ass in a way he never expected. He inspired deeply to get his head back into the present.
“I can’t do anything if your card keeps getting declined,” he replied, wondering how the woman had survived for a few decades while lacking basic comprehension skills. “Do you have another method of payment?”
He gave her back the useless credit card and he was rewarded with a murderous look. She stormed out of the convenience shop, leaving all her items on the counter. With a sigh, he placed them in an empty cart next to him and ringed up a colleague to come pick them up.
“Next customer, please!” he announced, hoping to encounter a more reasonable one this time.
Words like “ma’am” and “please” were making him sick even after weeks of living like this. It wasn’t fair that he was suffering such humiliations from humans, which were not even close to his most powerful creations. They were just specks of dust across the near infinite universes. They should have been the ones to grovel and tremble in front of him, which they used to do not too long ago. But nowadays, no one would believe him if he said he was God. He wouldn’t be able to prove it anymore and destroy all the doubters if he wished so. And he owed it all to the Winchesters and the Nephilim boy ruining his existence.
The following customers acted normally, some of them even politely smiling at him, but that was little comfort after 3 hours of work with 5 more to go. His brain was becoming numb while he had to scan items and count money, but that wasn’t helping him forget how much he was hating his life. He had not only become human, which was already bad enough in itself, but he was a person without any formal education, so he couldn’t use a diploma to land a comfortable job. He had always counted on his powers and his writer hobby while living as a human, but no one was taking him seriously anymore, especially since every ounce of inspiration had left him. He regretted not having stacks of gold and diamonds hidden all around the world, but why would he ever have prepared for such a ridiculous scenario?
The next person in line slapped an opened pack of cheese in front of him, snapping him back to the unpleasant reality. “I want to return this” the stupid man said.
Chuck felt lost for a moment, knowing that people like this would often make a scene about their rights as a customer even though they were greatly in the wrong. He wondered how much he really needed that job. Did he really care that much about eating every day? He felt like crying and laughing at the same time. The one who created every universe, someone who could kill anything but his sister with only half of a thought, now was asking himself such ridiculous questions.
He had previously tried to write a book about the struggles of God that he could publish as Carver Edlund. He doubted that common humans would appreciate “Confessions of a God” the way they should. Humans were always either disappointing or infuriating, no matter how much Chuck tried to improve them.
Despite that, he would have still liked to write that book, but thinking back on those days only depressed him further, not to mention how little time for writing he had between work, more work and the need to rest. He now wished he didn’t create mortal beings, especially humans, with a need to waste many hours on something as pointless as sleeping. He remembered doing so with the purpose of hearing less prayers and less activity from all those conscious creatures, then adding it to the rest of them just to have a nice rule in place.
To calm down, he reminded himself that in less than two days the weekend would come and he could finally spend some time away from this store.
“Can I see the receipt?” he asked.
“Why would I keep that?” the customer protested.
Chuck was relieved to have an excuse to deny the return right away, so he did. The man threw some curses at him, which fell on deaf ears, then took back his disgusting cheese and left the store.
The work continued as he scanned and typed in things continuously, with very few things left to stimulate his brain. A student bought a lot of packs of ramen of a certain flavor even though it wasn’t the cheapest option, so Chuck decided to try it as well to save money without eating only bland food. A couple spending over 100 dollars only on luxury snacks made him feel jealous, which was a disgrace in itself. How come simple humans could afford so much more than him? How was this the life of God?
And here he was again, wasting whichever time he had thinking like that, but he couldn’t help it. It was natural that being helpless now didn’t sit right with him. It was impossible for him to believe that there was no way to get his powers back eventually! But he didn’t even have inspiration to write books for an extra buck, nevermind to think of a way to get back what was his from the Nephilim boy. At the very least, it would have been great to have some revenge plans to soothe his pain, but he had no luck there either, which really hurt the little he had left of his pride. He used to be the best at intricate planning, but any current attempt at it felt so pitiful.
But maybe none of that was because of a writer’s block, but because of a lack of motivation. After all, what was the point of thinking about scenarios he couldn’t turn into reality anymore? Just for the fun of humans who would read them? They didn’t appreciate everything he did for them anyway! They owed their existence to him, yet some of them went against him and robbed him of his powers! He gritted his teeth. No, he couldn’t make a scene during his ridiculous shift.
He remembered the times he willingly lived as a human. Back then, he could have turned himself into a famous writer who would live in a mansion with less than the snap of his fingers, but back then something like that wasn’t fun for him. He used to enjoy pretending to be weak and a background character, a position which made it more satisfying when he finally revealed himself to the Winchesters as God. Such a shame that the cost for that ended up being so unbearable…
Chuck didn’t enjoy the cruel irony of those brothers and their allies being the reason he was now working in a convenience store, but also one of the reasons for not ending it all. He still had hope that he would pay them back for everything one day, he had to. Of course, his main motivation to keep going with his miserable human life was the fear that he would just stop existing if he died. Even though human souls went to Heaven or Hell after dying, he had no idea if he had a soul now. Before all this, he had been a being for which souls were just the purest condensation of his powers into walking batteries that sustained the worlds he was creating. He never established a rule for a god who would turn human, so there was no reason for him to suddenly have a soul. It was possible for Jack to have given him one, but he couldn’t easily see souls anymore, so he couldn’t check. His jaw clenched at the remembrance of his not so dear nephew. Because of that half-human he was now worried about survival, about death!
“Hello? Can you scan that already?” the customer in front of him asked.
Chuck realized he had frozen with a pack of sliced bread in his hand. For some reason, he felt angrier than ever before that day. He didn’t have time for all this! How was he supposed to get back his powers before he’d die, at best, of old age if so much of his every day was wasted by catering to the whims of humans? They could scan their own groceries! He opened his mouth to express all those thoughts, but his own stomach growled and cut him off. The annoying reminder that without money his death would come even faster made him remain silent. In the long run, it was better to play along once again.
While he scanned the item, he thought how easy it would have been only a month ago to cut the man in slices just as thin as the bread in his hand. It would take less than a second, with cuts so perfect no piece would even fall until moments later. Of course, the man would die instantly, but that would shut him up so Chuck would have been happy with it.
The next difficult customer made him think of a similar thing. While the woman was blabbering about how her expired coupon should still count for a specific free bottle of soda, Chuck imagined how he would turn her blood into the same black, sugary drink. Dying wouldn’t take a long time for her, but it wouldn’t be instant or painless either, which was fair in his opinion. He realized that such a simple image in his head helped him keep his calm while he was dealing with her.
Once that was done, he found himself not dreading the next customer as much as he expected. Actually, he was kind of curious what methods of dealing with the annoyance they would inspire. It was definitely a shame none of them would come true anytime soon, but they still helped him feel better. He decided to write them down after his shift, though he wasn’t sure what for. He didn’t really have a plot in mind to connect them into a publishable story, but it was a start. Perhaps they could become a therapeutic exercise for him or a diary, or even just something to help him get his groove back. Either way, writing didn’t have to be for the enjoyment of others, especially when those others were ungrateful humans.
While he imagined the customer complaining about their parchment paper prices being slowly rolled from his toes to his head, his non-essential bones and body parts breaking before any of his vital organs, Chuck had one more realization. All these scenarios could also be an interesting blueprint for the tortures he could put the Winchesters through, reviving and killing them all over again, once he’d somehow regain his powers.
The smile he showed to the next person in line was fairly genuine, but not actually directed at them. He was happy to have rediscovered a reason to write and a way to keep his mind alert. He finally had something to do at home instead of just crashing on his ugly sofa and lamenting. Sadly, it still wasn’t something that helped him regain his rightful place, but maybe humans would eventually help him get some ideas for that as well. Time wasted on his job was an issue for a lot of reasons, but at least he was sure that he still had some advantages over Jack. The young Nephilim might need up to hundreds of years to get a full understanding of his powers and enough experience as a god, while Chuck still had his brains and knowledge from countless millennia of existence.
Either way, getting some long awaited inspiration from his shitty job was an unexpected, but pleasant surprise. He was trusting his creative side once again, and that could prove enough for him to close the gap between him and his enemies. Time was ticking, yes, but not just for himself.