Chuck grimaced as he read the script for yet another Supernatural fan play. He was a terrible writer himself, so he didn't like to call others' writing bad, and the play really wasn't that bad...except that is really was.

He'd much preferred that Mary girl's play. Now that had been funny. Especially Sam and Dean's reaction to it. Mostly Dean, since Sam seemed to be immune at this point (Chuck suspected that had something to do with the fact that Sam secretly admired some of the things they came up with).

In any case, what they wrote was much better than what was actually going on. After he'd vanished off the map, Becky had decided to publicize his unpublished works, which had done wonders for some people. Except after he'd disappeared, it seemed like everything had gone to shit.

Cas had gone off to make a deal with Crowley, Sam had ended up first stuck with Lucifer, then soulless, Adam was still in the Cage, poor kid, Dean had ended up in Purgatory, and he'd brought back Cas again ahem, Cas had gotten killed releasing the Leviathan and God had brought him back again.

Then there had been Metatron (Chuck often wished he'd God had chosen a different angel to be his Scribe, that one was just so pompous), Cain and his thrice-be-damned Mark, which was by far the stupidest thing he'd ever thought of, that was for sure, Gadreel getting the short end of the stick yet again, and Dean the demon.

All of this culminating in the death of Death and the Darkness's release. And he thought the Apocalypse had been bad.

His sister was the one being that he couldn't deus ex machina. He'd tried, and the best he could do had been kick her out of the dimension so he could create. Sure, she was pissed as all Hell, but she had been the one who kept getting rid of his previous creations.

The Timelords had been the best thing he'd ever made, and then she'd come in and destroyed all reality, and then he'd had to start all over, again.

He was so not the only one at fault here. Destructive little she-demon. Worst little sister ever, hands down.

"I can hear you, you know, brother," a girl's voice said behind him. Chuck turned around, meeting the eyes of a young girl in a burgundy sleeveless knee-length dress. The Mark of Cain was peeked out from under the dress's V-neck, a little under her right collarbone. Her red hair was done up in curls, reaching to her shoulders.

"I know," Chuck said. "I meant for you to."

She pouted slightly. "Aren't you glad to see me again?" A smirk curled her lips. "Dear brother, God. Or is it Chuck now?"

"No," Chuck deadpanned. "And yes, it's Chuck, Amara. Are you going to destroy this world too?"

She actually looked contemplative for once. "Dean Winchester," she said, thoughtfully. "He's interesting. Maybe not immediately."

Chuck actually gaped at her. "Seriously? I make freaking Timelords and you think a human guy is cute? Was that seriously all I needed to do?"

Her face goes flat. "The Timelords were boring, stagnant, and overpowered. Even the Leviathan were better than them."

Chuck has to admit, she has a point there. At least the Leviathan knew how to adapt, evolve with the times, even if they were man-hungry monsters.

"So you're not doing the void thing yet?" He asks hopefully.

"I didn't say I wasn't going to do it later!" She snaps. "Don't think I'm getting soft for one of your...toys." She sneers the last word.

"I said nothing," Chuck says, raising his arms. "And they're not toys," he protests. She laughs.

He sighs. The Winchesters keep fucking things over, but they do always clean up their messes. And maybe it was time that he gave Sam, who had surprisingly fallen back on prayer, a little divine intervention.

There's always hope, after all.