Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of the characters created for the show. I am just a lowly fan.
Author's Note- I haven't posted a fanfic in about... oh, a decade, so please, please be gentle. I wrote this tiny one-shot and created a new demon in my mind specifically to get back on the horse with this posting thing. It should also be noted that I wrote this in a half hour, so it's mostly just... sh*t.
Summary: Why was Kevin called as a prophet? What happened to Chuck? My thoughts on it.
Chuck Shurley opened his front door and squinted into the light outside. He blinked a few times as a figure appeared in front of him. The person who'd impatiently rung his doorbell repeatedly for 5 minutes while he struggled to get through his whiskey haze and to his front door was a tall blonde woman with a low-cut white blouse.
"Are you Chuck Shurley? AKA Carver Edlund, the author of the amazing 'Supernatural' book series?" The woman asked.
He blinked at her a few more times. This woman was a fan? But none of his fans looked like this. They were all... Beckys. He cleared his throat and stood a little straighter.
"I'm Carver Edlund, yes." He said.
"Oh, my god. I am your biggest fan, Mr. Shurley. My name's Elsbeth. If you wouldn't mind, could I come in and kinda pick your brain on where the series is headed? I run a fansite, it's called Rocksalt and Holy Water, and I have been just dying to get an interview with Sam and Dean's creator." Chuck smoothed his hair back and cleared his throat.
"Uh, of course." He said, opening the door a bit wider and letting her walk past him.
"Sorry about the mess. I don't usually have guests." He mumbled, clearing a few beer cans and a liquor bottle off the couch. The blonde smiled.
"It's fine. I'm sure it helps your creative process. Like Hemingway." She said. She looked around.
"I gotta say, Chuck. Your portrayals of ghosts and shifters, wendigos, they're just perfect. But the way you describe the demons..." Elsbeth sighed deeply.
"All that black smoke? No one else has ever written it that way. No one else has ever gotten that right." She said. Chuck's brow furrowed. He cleared his throat again.
"Gotten it right? Who are you?" He asked, standing from his seat on the couch.
Elsbeth's eyes turned black and she waved her hand, sending Chuck back into the couch on which he spent most of his time passed out.
"Sit down, Chuck." She said.
Elsbeth walked around Chuck's living room, examining everything.
"You know, for a while, we thought you might be a hunter, a really dumb one. Selling hunter secrets for a few bucks and some pseudonym fame. But then, we realized that you were writing about events,(in great detail, mind you), that no one except us and the Winchesters knew about. So, we just settled on you being a psychic. But then, everybody's favorite angel, Castiel, let it slip to my boss that you weren't just some random psychic. You're a damn prophet of the Lord." She scoffed and motioned to the house surrounding them.
"I wonder how they managed to pick your name out of the freak hat. You'd think they'd do a background check before choosing someone to deliver the good word."
"I'm a prophet of the Lord." Chuck squeaked out. "I have an archangel protecting me." The blonde smirked.
"I heard that rumor. But, the Earth's not shaking beneath my feet, Chuck. Lights aren't flickering. I'm not being scared into dropping this meat suit and heading for the hills. You wondering why, Chuck?" She asked, his name being spit out of her mouth like a curse word. Chuck didn't answer, just looked around, hoping to see some sign of his salvation.
"I don't know what channel Heaven had you tuned to, Chuck, but if you have a t.v. I'm sure you saw the rampage everybody's buddy, Castiel, went on a few weeks ago. Didn't peg him as a vengeful God but sometimes a guy surprises you. But you see, the killing spree wasn't limited to Earth. He tore through Heaven like an angry tornado and brought down an angel Holocaust. Hundreds dead. There's only hundreds of them in the first place. So, you see, your guardian angel isn't here, Chuck, because he's dead."
Chuck shook his head. "I... I'm a prophet..." He trailed off.
"Isn't it sad that's why you're gonna die? See, our successes and failures with the Winchesters, they're no one's business but our own. You wrote them down for the world to see and, Chuck, that's not very nice. So... prophet... you wanna hang like Judas, get beheaded like John, or go for the upside down crucifixion like Peter?"
"Please..." Chuck begged, beginning to cry. Elsbeth smirked.
"Oh. Guess we're going for the Chuck. Sniveling and begging for your life. Do me a favor, when you get to Heaven, tell God that Crowley says 'Fuck you'." She whispered in his ear before jamming her hand into his chest. Chuck's eyes widened in shock and pain as Elsbeth gripped his heart and twisted as she pulled it from his chest. "Wonder if Crowley will let me keep this as a souvenir." She said, standing and walking out of the dirty house.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Author's Note- I feel like this should have been longer. Even thought I went into writing it knowing it'd be short... I feel like Chuck deserved a bit more care with his murder. Oh well.