Chapter 28: Who or the What

John watched as Sam paced around the kitchen. Coffee pot laid, cold and forgotten on the counter. Five steps to the left, sharp turn, five steps to the right. Always in danger of bumping into the table, or the sharp edge of the counter. He watched as his son would periodically run his hands through his hair. Giving him an agitated look. Every so often he would shake his head, walk out of the room, and return with a couple of books before slamming them closed and throwing them across the table.

John himself felt just as useless. He had entertained the idea, briefly, that he could walk into town and steal a car. But by the time he got there, and found one to fit his needs, Dean would have been long gone and his trail would have run cold. They would never get to Dean in time to stop him doing whatever it is that he's got planned.

He sighed, rubbing his hands over his face, absently noting that he could use a shave. He looked over to his youngest, who's phone was tucked to his ear as he groaned in aggravation. He turned his phone off with an annoyed look, and dropped it on the table as he sat down.

"He's still not answering." Sam sighed, supporting his head in his hands.

"What do you think he's doing?" John asked, wanting to have something to do. Something to talk out and wrap his hand around it.

"Honestly, where his heads at right now, I have no idea." Sam answered, rubbing a hand over his face. Lowering his head down to the table and resting it there for a moment.

John did not like that answer. Of all the people in the world, Sam was the one that was supposed to know his brother the best. Not the one who didn't know what Dean's next move was.

He watched as his son raised his head, as if thinking of something before there was a knock at the door. Both of them looked at the door with surprise. In all the months John has been here, there has never been a guest. It seemed no one knew where they where. Who ever it was, shouldn't know about this place. Or so he thought.

Sam seemed to be mirroring his thoughts as he reached into a cabinet and pulled out a gun. He held it close, behind his back. The safety on, but his finger on the trigger as he walked up the steps to the door. He looked back to his father, who nodded at him to let him know he was ready. His own gun held at his side.

He watched, anticipation building up in his chest, as Sam opened the lock, started to pull the bar to open the door. Swinging it open swiftly, and aiming his gun in one fluid movement. Staring at the intruder for a moment before exclaiming in surprise.

"CHUCK!" He stated, standing back from the door. Making room for the much smaller man to step inside. His hands twitching as he held them together.

"Hi Sam." Chuck greeted, flinching at the look Sam was giving him. "Please don't hit me?" He pleaded, throwing his hands up to cover his face.

"What the Hell, Chuck? We thought you where dead." Sam admonished, advancing on the smaller man.

"I know." Chuck admitted, lowering his head in a show of shame. "And in interest of self preservation, I let you continue to believe it. But then I saw your father rising out of the grave. By the way, hey John." He waved, looking over at John for the first time, instead of down at the floor or up at his son.

"In interest of self preservation." Sam argued, turning Chuck's attention back to him. "Chuck do you have any idea what's been happening since we last saw you. Between Crowley taking over Hell, me not having a soul, Castiel going insane, the Leviathans, and Becky putting me under a love potion because you dumped her. Through all that, you couldn't have thought to pick up the phone once and say 'Hey I'm alive'?" He listed, his voice getting louder as he listed everything. "Not to mention Kevin, the poor kid, and Dean getting cursed by the Mark of Cain."

"Yeah, and I feel sorry about that." Chuck hedged, looking anywhere but at Sam. "But hello, I'm a coward. We've already established this information." He said, sinking down onto on of the steps as Sam yelled at him.

"Then why would you decide to get involved now?" John asked, watching the panicky man as he held his head in his shaking hands.

Chuck looked up at him like a deer caught in the headlights, then looked back down. Hiding his face in his hands, groaning. Sam seemingly having no sympathy for the writer as he stood over him, expectant glare on his face.

"Oh, alright." Chuck sighed standing up and looking between John and Sam. His voice suddenly more confident, and not quite his own. "I knew that Dean was going through a hard time. Was going to go through even more of one soon. Nobody likes to see the hero become the very thing he kills. Then when you and Castiel set up this idea to put Dean in this little rehab." He said, his voice no longer stuttering, but confident and not quite the man John had met when he crawled out of the ground. "I got inspired. So I brought John back, because in times like that, one of the things people really need is a good support system..."

"You." Sam interrupted, face suspicious as he pulled out his gun again.

"Sam relax." Chuck cautioned, holding up his hands in a show of peace. "If I where a demon, I wouldn't have been able to knock on your door." He reminded. Sam however, kept his gun trained on Chuck, unwavering. "What?"

"There is only two things that can bring people back at will." Sam started to explain. "If your not one, your the other, and I don't trust either."

"I'm neither." Chuck explained, standing up and walking closer to Sam. "And that's not going to work on me." He stated pointing at the gun.

"Well, if your not a Demon, and your not an Angel. Then what are you?" Sam asked, keeping his gun aimed at the things head. "And what have you done to Chuck?"

"Chuck's here, he's fine." The thing that would be Chuck stated, tapping his head. John's head moving back and forth between the two like he was watching a ping-pong match. Having completely lost the his understanding the conversation. "I just kind of hang out in there, give information and plot when it's needed. But I tell you, it's a great hiding space when you guys where looking for me during the whole Apocalypse thing. Right in front of your face, which is usually the best place to hide."

"Please don't say what I think your about to say." Sam said, pinching his nose between his fingers. Sucking in a breath as if trying to control his temper.

"Fine, I won't say it. Honestly it goes without saying." Chuck shrugged.

"Your telling me you brought me back?" John clarified, watching his son and whoever the hell was in Chuck's body as they argued.

"Yeah. Like I said, good support system and all." Chuck answered off handily, before turning back to Sam, who's fist connected with his face. "OW!" He said holding his nose, and grimacing in pain. "Now what was that for?" He complained, using his shirt to stem the flow of blood.

"You could have stopped everything." Sam admonished, his voice becoming dangerously low. "Everything that happen. The Apocalypse, the Angel's, everything. But instead, you choose to sit in a prophet, and just watch it. And do nothing." Chuck at least had the decency to look slightly guilty about that.

"I'm sorry about that, but the thing about setting everything up is eventually you have to let them work themselves out. I can't control everything." Chuck wined. "It's like when parents leave their children alone to screw themselves over so that they learn from their mistakes. Eventually things have to work themselves out. Which they do in the end?" He stated, noting the disbelieving look on Sam's face. John torn between amusement at Sam, he never really got to see that face on him, and wanting himself to punch the guy in the face. "Well, they do." Chuck defended his statement. "The world's still standing isn't it. There are people still walking around out there with no clue the monsters you hunt even exist. Which I might add, you haven't had many hunts to take care of lately while you guys work on getting Dean better. Your welcome."

"Where is Dean, by the way? If your so all seeing." John asked, watching the exchange, not really understanding everything but getting the idea this guy was definitely not liked.

"Oh, he's fine. He's talking with Crowley right now." He answered, no worry in his voice.

"WHAT!"


Dean watched as Crowley stared at him. Hanging in the odd expression between surprise and disbelief. Dean waited impatiently while he let Crowley process.

"Well, I have to agree with you there. However I'm not a licensed therapist. I mean, I could give it a go. I just need a couch, comfortable chair, and a notepad. But even then, it would still take years for anything to actually start helping you."

"Cas is in trouble." Dean blurted out, having enough of Crowley's joke. "He needs more Grace or he'll die." He pleaded, receiving an intrigued look from his companion.

"As much as I like being the supplier to you two junkies." Crowley sighed, taking a few steps towards Dean. "You guys know I don't do anything without asking one simple question. What's in it for me?" He asked, making Dean sigh in frustration. At a loss of what to do. Thinking of what would make the snarky son of a bitch help.

"What do you want?" He asked, knowing as he said it that it was a bad move with any Demon, but the King of the Cross Roads. That was signing your own death warrant. "My soul, take it. It's not like I'm using it."

"Oh, Hell no. I don't want that fragmented, chipped, broken, sad, black sludge of a thing you call a soul. I wouldn't be getting my money's worth." Crowley shot back, face twisted in disgust. "Besides, you'll find your way back down in the end. I'm sure of it. It's a wasted effort."

"I don't exactly have anything else to bargain." Dean admitted, losing hope by the minute. Crowley pacing in front of him, twirling the blade between his fingers. Studying his face with a curl of his lips. A smile that Dean knew didn't bode well for him.

"For the time being." Crowley said, pausing the blade in his hands and looking at it closely. "I'll settle for how you managed to loose this in the middle of the Atlantic ocean, and how you no longer seem to need it anymore."

"Why? So you can reverse it?" Dean asked, thinking that maybe, if it meant Castiel getting healthy again, he could take the blade up again. He'd just have to be very careful with himself. But before he could say anything on the subject, Crowley shook his head.

"Oh, God no. That's a disaster waiting to happen. You where a terrible Demon. Especially with making Deals. All it was, was kill, kill, kill. Horrible really. This." Crowley said, gesturing to the First Blade in his hand. "Is the absolute last thing I want you to have. Nothing would ever get done, and I'd have another loose canon on my hands. So I have to ask, how did you get out of it? Because I prefer this version better, and I need to thank who ever did it."

"Then you can thank him when you fix him." Dean answered quickly, growing angry with how long they have been there. Castiel is alone and vulnerable right now. Anything could happen to him while he's wasting time here arguing with Crowley.

"So this was Castiel's doing?" Crowley asked, looking Dean up and down with an air of suspicion, face calculating. "Interesting."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. He's sick and dying, and needs to be fixed. Can you do it?" Dean stated, getting impatient. Crowley was taking his sweet time, slowly walking around Dean, watching him closely enough, Dean could feel his skin crawl.

"I would need to see the patient first." Crowley admitted, gesturing for Dean to lead the way.

"Oh, hell no. The last thing I want around Cas right now is you." Dean spit. "If you could just give me a bottle of grace so I can fix him."

"I'm afraid I can't do that." Crowley said, shrugging his shoulders uncaring. "I have a theory, and I don't think it's Grace your Angel, or rather, ex-Angel needs. But I need to see him, face to face." Crowley said, making a motion with his hands. "In order to be certain. Only then can I do anything."

"Alright." Dean relented, hating himself for this. "But no funny business." He threatened.

"Please, I'm a consummate professional." Crowley said with a smile.


John doesn't understand entirely what's going on, or who this Crowley character is. But he's apparently bad enough that Sam freaked out and demanded that they leave "Now!" Chuck forced by Sam's hand to follow as they walked into town. Sam so focused on getting a car that he hasn't spoken a word since they left the bunker. Choosing instead to growl at Chuck when ever he seemed to think he could make a bid for freedom.

"Why am I even here?" Chuck argued the seventeenth time this happened.

"Instead of complaining, why don't you help me find a car. Cause the sooner we get to Dean, the quicker I'll let you go." Sam snapped at him.

"Help? Help how? I don't know how I could help you again." Chuck pleaded. "I'm just a writer, not a hunter. I wouldn't know the first thing with stealing a car."

"Then just zap us there. It's not like you can't." Sam yelled.

"What are you talking about?" Chuck demanded, taking a few steps back from Sam. John watching this exchange with a small amount of sympathy for the weird little man that helped him out of his grave. He'd been on Sam's bad side enough to understand what it feels like. Taking a small amount of pity on the guy, he waved his hand in Sam's face to get his attention.

"Sam, I think the connections broken with whatever was in him before." John tried to reason, Chuck shaking his head enthusiastically in agreement. Sam huffing in annoyance.

"It's not broke, it's still there. The bastards just hiding again." Sam stated, crossing his arms over his chest, sending a disapproving look in Chuck's direction. An expression, John remembered, Dean had lovingly dubbed his 'bitch face' when they where younger.

"It's not like I can control this. If it really wanted to talk to you, it would. Since it's not, I would suggest letting me go..." Chuck shot back, before shrinking in on himself and uttering a terrified "Please." at the end as Sam barred down on him.

"No." Sam answered simply, turning his back to continue his search for a car. "Even if you weren't possessed by God anymore. I still wouldn't let you leave." He started, turning on Chuck with an accusing finger. "The last prophet we knew, died. And he was just a kid. I'm not going to be responsible for another prophet death, Chuck. It just won't happen."

"Okaaay." Chuck said slowly, as if approaching a time bomb. "But if I didn't die before, there's a good chance it won't happen again."

"And how can you be so sure of that?" Sam scoffed, nodding to himself and heading in the direction of a small, tan Ford Taurus.

"Hello, coward." Chuck stated, pointing to himself. "If things get hot, I just run away, remember."

"Yeah, don't trust you on that." Sam said, opening the door to the car and glaring at the both of them. "Get in the car."

John shrugged his shoulders and loaded himself into the front seat while Sam watched Chuck climbed in.


Soooooo soorrrry for taking so long. But this new job is sooooooooo tiring and I'm exhausted. All the time. the only thing i want to do when I get home is plop down on my bed and rest. maybe a bit of reading. That and I've been having trouble figuring out each chapter. I know the ending, which is soon. But I'm stuck on the filler.

Oh well. Hope you all had a happy new year.