Chapter Twenty

Chuck was simple man, he had a simple life, or at least he did until Sam and Dean Winchester came along.

At first it was great, he would have super-intense dreams and then he would write what he saw—an easy writer's gig. He made a bit of money, developed a fan base, published some books. Then one day a knock on the door came and two obviously dangerous men introduced themselves as Sam and Dean Winchester, the real world representations of his characters. He thought he was crazy, but it turned out the crazy was just beginning. An angel appeared and told him he was a Prophet of the Lord. All that sounded cool enough, he had a personal archangel to protect him and all, but that was then. This was now.

The first super-crazy thing to happen was Sam being taken by Lucifer. Chuck had been rousted from his comfortable home and dragged across the country to provide daily accounts of what was happening to Sam. He watched as Sam and Lucifer fell in love. He watched as Sam, trying to save Lucifer, died and was resurrected. He watched Sam and Lucifer's love blossom for a matter of weeks before they were torn apart. He watched as Sam threw himself into the pit to be with his lover forever. Then came the dreams of Dean. They were hard to watch, as Dean seemed hell-bent on destroying himself. He stopped writing, it was just too depressing, and he started drinking more than ever.

Then came another dream, and for the first time in many months he had hope. He saw Gabriel finding Dean and bringing him back to Bobby's. Chuck woke up that morning and started his day with coffee instead of whiskey. He started writing again.

He waited for the moment his path would cross with the brothers' again, and it happened after only a short wait. Sam and Dean were snatched by Raphael, the archangel that had once been Chuck's protector. Castiel had come for him again, and he was dragged back into the firing line of providing information. This time the person doing the demanding was Lucifer. That had been a mind-altering experience. Despite months of watching him interact with Sam and Dean, Sam especially—and weren't those some memories he would have liked to be able to forget—he was suddenly facing a very pissed off archangel.

It had all worked out. Sam and Dean were found, not entirely well but at least alive. Chuck had a stayed a couple of days, merely catching up with friends, as that was what they had become to him, and then Castiel had zapped him back home, safe and sound.

That was then. This is now.

Now he was being held hostage by his mailman with a gun at his head. It was quite a statement to say that this was the worst day in his life.

At first he'd thought it was a twisted joke. Pat, his mailman for as long as he'd lived in Kripke's Hollow, was asking if he could come in and use the bathroom. An odd request, but not unimaginable. It wasn't until Chuck swung open the door and invited him inside that Pat had pulled a gun and knocked him back so he landed heavily on his dilapidated couch.

At first he thought Pat was possessed by a demon, which would at least have given him a chance of escape—he hadn't been watching Sam and Dean all these years without picking up few tips—but Pat had thrown back his head and exposed a row of teeth and a forked tongue that looked ready to take a chunk or two out of Chuck's ass. His old friend Pat was no more, and a leviathan called who-knew-what was parading around looking like him.

Chuck was really having a bad day.

'Pat' strode across the room and pulled back the drapes to check the street. He seemed to be waiting for something or someone. Whatever it was, Chuck didn't think it boded well for him. He eyed the phone on the counter. If he could just get a call out to Sam or Dean they could help him.

"Your friends aren't coming to help," he said conversationally. "Edgar is paying them a visit right now, keeping them nice and distracted."

Chuck cursed the fact he'd stayed up all night writing. The arachne hunt and its fallout had given him a couple of day's worth of material to catch up on. He had no idea what had happened to Sam and Dean or how this Edgar was going to distract them. What he did know was that his back-up was otherwise occupied, probably fighting for their lives, again.

Chuck licked his dry lips. He needed a drink, a real drink. If ever there was a time for whiskey, it was when you were being held hostage by a gun-toting leviathan. The whiskey was on the table. He could just reach out and take it… and maybe lose an arm.

He shook his head. It wasn't worth the risk.

The leviathan tugged back the drapes and sighed with what Chuck suspected was relief. "Finally."

Chuck held back a groan. Being held hostage was bad enough, but he had a feeling what was coming was worse.

He strode across the room and grabbed the front of Chuck's bathrobe. "You're coming with me."

It was not a question, it was a statement, and Chuck had no way of refuting it. He was royally screwed.

There was a knock at the door and 'Pat' swung it open. A man dressed in a smart black suit was waiting on the threshold. "Mr. Roman says he is ready."

The leviathan slung an arm over Chuck's shoulders and led him out of the door. Chuck saw his neighbor climbing into his car as they stepped outside, and though part of him wanted to cry out for help, he knew it would only lead to another's death. He bit his lip and allowed himself to be led to a smart, black sedan. He was unceremoniously shoved into the back seat, and 'Pat' climbed in beside him. The man that had knocked on the door got in behind the wheel and started the engine.

'Pat' held out a small bottle of juice. "Drink this."

"I'm really not thirsty," Chuck said.

The man driving twisted in his seat. "Are we going to have a problem?" He smiled widely, exposing a row of perfect white teeth that Chuck knew could elongate and turn razor sharp at any moment.

He shook his head and took the juice. It was bitter on his tongue and gritty, and Chuck guessed there were some crushled pills inside. He drained the bottle and his captors looked pleased. The last thing Chuck was thinking of was sleep when he was in such imminent danger, but whatever they had given him was powerful, and within minutes he felt his eyes slip closed.


Chuck's eyes opened to half-mast as he was manhandled out of the car and into the bright, hot daylight. He didn't know how long he had slept, but judging by the scorching sun overhead he'd crossed a few state lines and missed a lot of hours.

He was bundled through a slate grey, metal door and into a cool corridor. His feet stumbled as he was hurried along it and through another door. He found himself in a large room with a polished mahogany table surrounded by chairs. He was unceremoniously pushed into one of the chairs and then his captors left him with a muttered, "Don't go anywhere."

Like he had a choice.

On the table in front of him there was a bottle of water and a glass. He thought it could be a trap, the water could be spiked again, but his desiccated mouth made the decision for him. He picked up the water and drained it straight from the bottle. The door opened again, and he dribbled some of the water down his chin as he jumped with shock. Dick Roman was standing opposite him.

"Mr. Shurley." Dick's smile was impossibly wide. "Good to meet you at last. I'm a huge fan of your work." Dick placed a briefcase on the table and pulled out a seat beside Chuck. Sinking down on to it he steepled his hands together. "How are you?"

Chuck merely stared at him, mouth agape.

"I can see you're still recovering from your journey," Dick said. "That's okay. I apologize for the sedative, but I thought it was the most effective way of… easing your passage, shall we say? You had quite the journey to get here, and I thought the less you remembered of it the better."

"Where am I?" Chuck asked.

Dick smiled. "You are in the fine state of Arizona. This here is a place called Fort Huachuca. It was one of your country's military bases until Richard Roman Enterprises made it an offer it couldn't refuse. This is going to be the base of our homeland security operations. Just because we're going to turn your race into cows for the slaughter, it doesn't mean we need to get sloppy about security."

Chuck gaped at him. Dick was hiding nothing, telling him everything, which meant Chuck wasn't getting out of here alive. He was terrified. How did Sam and Dean stand it, constantly running into trouble, risking their lives on a daily basis? All Chuck knew was that they were better men than him, as he was facing death and his mind was working a mile a minute on a plan to get him out of here.

"There's no need to be scared," Dick said, interpreting the look of sheer terror on Chuck's face. "We're not going to hurt you. In fact, I think you will find us very accommodating."

"Why am I here?" Chuck asked, his voice quavering with fear.

"Because we have a problem we think you can help us with." Dick unsnapped the lock on his briefcase and pulled out something wrapped in a tanned cloth. He set it down on the table reverently and unfolded the cloth, revealing what looked like a slab of rock. "This is for you."

Chuck eyed the slab of rock dubiously. "Um… thanks?"

Dick smiled even wider. "I don't think you understand, Chuck. Can I call you Chuck?"

Chuck nodded mutely. As long as he was alive he wasn't going to complain about what he was called.

"That's great. I think a more familiar relationship will benefit us both. You are a key player in what's happening at the moment."

Chuck didn't like the sound of that. He didn't want to be a key anything. He had enough to be going on with being a prophet.

As if he was reading Chuck's mind—and maybe he was, Chuck didn't know—Dick went on. "You are a Prophet. The only Prophet in existence that we know of. You are in a position to be uniquely helpful to me and my people." He patted the slab of rock. "This is the Word of God."

Chuck eyed the rock with reverence. His outlook on life had been changed since he had found out about angels and prophets. He had been an agnostic before, but now that had all changed overnight. Now, he was looking at a physical representation of the divine, and he was in awe.

Dick nodded his approval. "I see you understand the gravity of the moment. This is one of an unknown number of tablets left by our creator. This one in particular deals with leviathans. I need to know what it says. You, Chuck, are the only person in existence that can read it."

With shaking hands Chuck reached across the desk and pulled the slab of rock over to him. The strange carved sigils danced in front of his eyes. It was like trying to read without his glasses. He blinked and focused and the words came began to make sense. He scanned down the tablet and his heart seemed to fail as he understood what he held in his hands. He had to get out of here. Sam and Dean needed to know what this said. To do that he had to buy himself some time.

"Reading anything interesting?" Dick asked in a mild tone that didn't cancel the obvious excitement in his eyes.

Chuck sighed and rubbed at his eyes. "It's difficult to make out. Like reading in code I barely understand."

Dick looked disappointed. "That's a shame but not a disaster. We have time."

Chuck chewed his lip. "I need a pen and paper, and I could really do with a drink."

Dick clapped his hands together. "Of course, anything you need. We have equipped the base with anything you might like, including a case of that rotgut whiskey you seem to enjoy.

Chuck looked at him blankly. He didn't understand how Dick knew enough about him to know his favorite drink. How long had they been watching him?

"I'm sure your friends have filled you in on the story of how we came to be freed from Purgatory. We inhabited your former protector, Raphael, and while we were camped out in the archangel, we were able to read his thoughts. We know everything about you, Chuck."

Chuck swallowed thickly. That didn't sound good.

Dick stood and clapped him on the shoulder. "I have things to do and places to be. I will leave you to work in peace. One of my associates will bring you what you need."

He swept from the room, leaving Chuck alone for the moment. He turned his attention to the tablet and read as fast as he was able. As soon as he was sure he had the pertinent words memorized, he raised his eyes heavenward and spoke.

"Ummm… Castiel, it's Chuck. Dick Roman has taken me. I am in a military base, Fort Huachuca, Arizona. Please help."


So… Things are hotting up now. We're in the final arc of the story, so settle in and enjoy

Until next time…

Clowns or Midgets xxx