Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.

"Dean."

Dean swung around and almost fell to his knees in relief. Chuck was there. He could fix this mess. He could bring back Mom and Cas and, hell, why not Crowley, too? Then, He could help them figure out what to do with Jack. Finally—finally—his prayer was answered.

"You heard me," Dean said.

"I always hear when someone prays to me," He said. "But, Dean, I can't say 'yes' to everyone's prayer. I can't give everyone what they want."

"Yeah, no, I know that, but—"

"I'm not bringing anyone back, Dean," He said, slowly and enunciating each syllable with care. He used the soft voice of a doctor giving a grieving family his condolences after being unable to save their loved one.

"You owe us this," Dean said. The relief he felt for a moment at Chuck's appearance faded to anger. Frustration.

"I owe you nothing, Dean."

"We've spent our lives cleaning up Your messes."

Chuck shook His head. "I imprisoned Lucifer, but I didn't send Azazel to kill your mother or drip his blood into Sam's mouth with plans to create a perfect vessel so he could return. He was contained, and I had no part in breaking the seals on his cage. That was the doing of you, your brother, demons, and angels. After he was caged again, I returned Castiel to life, and he brought Bobby back. I didn't have to resurrect him, but I did it anyway."

"That's not the same."

"It's not the same, because you don't like the outcome this time. I have stood by and let you and Sam, and even Castiel, receive second chance after second chance. Time and again, I let you three defy the laws of nature. It was through the combined choices of angels, demons, and humans that Lucifer was released the first time. It was Castiel's choice to let Lucifer use him as a vessel and escape The Cage the second time. It was Mary's choice to enter through the tear with Lucifer. This isn't about fairness. It's about choice."

Dean didn't have anything to say. He wanted his family back. Years ago, Sam and the Impala were all he knew (and Bobby, who went from family friend to father in all but blood). Then, he had a true friend and second brother in Cas (he never knew his half-brother, Adam, and he'd never get the chance to think of him as more than an unfortunate stranger). Then, he had a mother (his mother) for the first time in over three decades, even if she hadn't wanted him at first. Even if she wanted to be anywhere that they weren't.

"You got Your family back. Your sister," Dean said. It sounded pathetic, but it was the only excuse he could form. Chuck got His family, why couldn't Dean have his, too?

"I know," He said. "If it helps, Mary is not dead. Her soul isn't in Heaven."

"Yet. It isn't in Heaven yet. She's trapped with Lucifer in a wasteland."

"She has a lot of fight in her," Chuck said.

"But she isn't an archangel."

"No, she's not."

"So, it's just a matter of time," Dean said.

"I don't know," Chuck said. "Not even I can see the entirety of the future. It can always be changed."

Chuck's optimism felt out of place. There wasn't hope for Mary, being trapped with Lucifer was a death sentence.

He remembered Sam after the wall in his head broke and let his memories of Hell spill out. He remembered the sleepless nights and the constant glances at things that weren't there. The memories alone were enough to almost kill him, so how much worse was the real deal when it happened?

No, he wasn't going to get his hopes up that Mary would make it out alive this time.

"I really hate You," Dean said, feeling like a four-year-old left with his life in ashes and unable to figure out how so much could change in one night.

Chuck almost smiled, the corners of his mouth lifting ever so slightly. "That's that beauty of free will, Dean. You're free to hate me. Still, it changes nothing. Appreciate the family you have left while you have the time."

Then, He was gone, and Dean was left alone at the back of a shitty fast food restaurant with a pirate theme. He was left alone, surrounded by trash because some shitheads were too lazy to toss their garbage into the dumpster that was right there. He smelled grease and fried foods, and instead of making him hungry, it left him nauseated.

He was left alone to stand among wrappers, empty paper cups, shards of glass, and what looked to be a needle or two, not properly disposed of by the druggies who most likely used them. Honestly, that was where he belonged. The area mirrored the shattered state of his life.

And Chuck couldn't be bothered to help him piece it back together.

He turned and drove his fist against the wall. It burned, and he felt hot blood bubbling up through his broken skin, but he couldn't stop himself. He punched the wall again and again, picturing Chuck's face. Lucifer's face. The faces of the damned British Men of Letters. Kelly's, even, as irrational as that was. She hadn't wanted the fate she received. She'd been used and fooled by The Devil.

He stopped and leaned his forehead against the wall for a minute. He hadn't broken any bones in his hand, which was good, but he didn't feel better. His rage dulled, but there was only emptiness left in its place. Hitting a wall didn't solve anything, it never had.

He took a few deep breaths before walking back to the Impala. Chuck could say anything He wanted, but this wasn't all down to choice. What other choices could they have made? Let Lucifer run free and do whatever he wanted?

They always did what they thought was right, and they always got screwed over for it. How was that choice, and not a matter of fairness?

No, they had to take matters into their own hands. They'd find Jack and kill him. Then, Dean planned on finding Lucifer, and killing him, too.

No more mercy.

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