Writer: Definition 2: A person who creates with words vast worlds.
Watching things go to hell from earth provided Him with a different perspective than He had had previously. Too many years spent observing from heaven had given Him His equivalent to Altitude sickness and the time on earth reveling in the sins of man, drinking, sexing up, and living only for His desires - with the exception of chronicling the lives of His two favourite human children – had done Him a world of good, but now was not the time for Him to return. He had brought back to life the angel so favoured by Dean Winchester, Satan was in his cage, and so was Sam Winchester.
Their parts had been played, but His masquerade as Chuck Shurley was hardly over. He had created an imperfect world – He was cruel and capricious, but then, so were humans and they had been made in His image – and sometimes He regretted it. Many times, He remembered that the choice had been made to save his human children from the fate of his beloved Angels. Their flaws made them beautiful. Just like Dean's treasured Impala.
Free will was something that made humanity what it was. The Angels were forced to live without it. He watched, omnipotently, a mere shade of being, as Castiel made choices.
Something Angels were never intended to do at all.
Things fell apart around the Winchester's and their loved ones once again, and Castiel was overcome by Leviathan, killed his brothers and sisters and finally, sacrificed himself for the world; He had never ignored the Angel's prayers. Free will was free will. Castiel was still so much of a child in that manner. He still faltered without guidance, orders, and that was the point of free will, something that Castiel had seemingly taken to it without question, unlike his brothers and sisters.
So once again, Chuck – as God had come to think of himself – resurrected the Angel.
This time, however, He refrained from returning his memory. He chuckled to Himself – His human time had made Him partial to jokes – as He thought of the Angel's resurfacing. Irony and embarrassment in one, the unknown Angel rose up, naked and new from the water of his father's earth, baptized in His grace, set on the course to righting the wrongs he had wrought.
Still, Chuck watched on, choosing not to intervene.
Dean and Sam had grown so much. They had endured much as well, and sometimes He cursed his inhumanity. To have let their family be destroyed for His plans. Many times had He had done this. Many times He had callously called one of his children and without regard for their little and obsolete lives, He had plucked them from their homes and set them on His chosen paths.
To Kevin Tran, he had shown mercy. The old ways were outdated.
Times changed. So did He.
Humans had theories on how He worked. One was the clockmaker theory. That He simply made the earth, started it ticking, so to speak, then sat back and watched on. They weren't so wrong. Perhaps it was a mix of both. He had for many, many years now, simply sat watching, but every once in a while, the clock needed to be reset, the ticking would slow off the mark, and He would intervene.
The Time of the Winchesters had been one such occasion.
Chuck manifested to His human form, still wearing His white button up and jeans. Perhaps it was time to return His messenger to existence. If any of his angels were going to cooperate with him on such a plan of deceit as He had in mind, Gabriel was the one.
Scratch that. Chuck was a writer. He didn't plan, He plotted. He smiled genially and as He strolled aimlessly down the road of His creation, somewhere in the universe, Gabriel popped back to life.