Because God and Amara definitely have billions of years of issues to work out. And Chess and Lucifer are totally going to be best buds.
Therapy With The Devil
(Literally)
It wasn't actually the Winchesters, this time, who dragged him back into things. But Chess still blamed them, because he was about 90% certain that he could trace back all the world's problems to a Winchester. He had decided that it was just easier to blame them for everything. But this was definitely their fault. Because, apparently, Chuck (God, in case you forgot) thought that he was a pretty good shrink (from his one session he had...with Lucifer) and decided that he and his sister (yes, God's literal sister) needed to work through billions of years of issues. And Chess was their guy for the job (and here, you would insert any number of words of your choice, most of them four letters and to be repeated several times for effect).
Chess started his session with a glass of scotch. He swished the drink around miserably, wondering if he would get utterly obliterated if he decided to refuse God and his sister therapy, before heaving a monumental sigh and clicking his pen. Chuck had mentioned that he wanted this to become a regular thing, so he was taking notes. Didn't want to mess up and start the fifth (or was it sixth?) apocalypse.
"I just want you two to understand," Chess started, "that for this to work, you both are going to have to be open and willing to listen." God's sister (the Darkness, also known as Amara) nodded carefully. She looked uncomfortable. She also had a really low neckline. Chess was going to hell.
"I think we should start at the beginning," Chuck said, turning to his sister. "That's where everything fell apart, really."
Amara nodded. "I really want to forgive you, brother, but what you did to me still burns within me. First, it seemed that I was not enough for you. And then you locked me away and…" She was looking less on the angry and vengeful side and more on the hurt and alone side. Considering the fact that she nearly destroyed the sun a few weeks ago, Chess was more than willing to take hurt and alone over angry and vengeful.
"I'm sorry," Chuck answered. "I really am. It's just, you kept destroying everything I created. I know that's no excuse, but-" He gave a helpless shrug.
"You both had your reasons for what you did," Chess spoke up. "Maybe they weren't the best solution, but it's important to keep in mind that neither of you ever did something out of spite or hatred of the other." Chess was a little hesitant to intervene, since he really didn't want to get obliterated today, but he was holding on to the hope that Chuck was a nice-ish guy and wouldn't kill him without reason.
The therapy lasted for two hours before Chess finally cut in and said that they needed to take some time apart to think about what they've learned. Otherwise, they'll get nowhere (and, eventually one of them would get so upset and decide to blow something up). Amara didn't want to come back, but Chuck said it would be a good idea and nudged at Chess to help him. Crap.
"Well, um, continual therapy can really help your relationship and ensure that you don't inadvertently hurt each other again," Chess managed to spill out, all while wondering why he was encouraging the all-powerful beings to come back. Then again, God himself was asking him to do this. This really felt like a lose-lose situation, at least in Chess' case.
"Very well," Amara huffed. "We will return."
"Great!" Chuck sounded a little too forced in his cheer. "Next week, same time?" he asked, and Chess nodded wearily. Looks like his Wednesday's nights were now permanently taken.
"I'll see you two then," he told the pair, getting up to show them to the door when he blinked and suddenly they were gone. Well then…
-0-
Chess was trying to get a job. At the moment, he was something of a freelance therapist, since he had to quit his last job to go take care of an insane angel (he left that place after said angel left). He lost a lot of clients (not that he had that many to begin with) after suddenly taking off for two weeks in order to provide counseling to God and Lucifer (that will always sound crazy). And then Chess actually lost his license when he went in for an evaluation, and he was deemed just a tad too unstable (it wasn't his fault that he was once a teddy bear doctor, nor was it his fault that he couldn't hide the effect the supernatural world had on him very well). But Chess still liked listening to people's problems, so he did the next best thing: became a bartender. As cliche as that sounds. Funny enough, it was bartending that first made him want to be a psychiatrist. Go figure.
So Chess was a bartender now, and he blamed Sam and Dean (as he always does), when he got a very unusual customer. Besides the fact that Chess was pretty sure he was some famous singer or something like that, he also walked right up to him and said, "Monday. Three o'clock. Dad said I had to do this." And then he left. It wasn't until Monday that Chess learned that he was actually Lucifer, and Chuck was basically forcing him to go to therapy. Fun.
So, Chess loses license, Chess suddenly gets big-name clients like God and Lucifer and God's sister. Go figure (again).
Lucifer wasn't very talkative. He sat on Chess' couch and just glared for a good twenty minutes, with Chess pushed as far back as he could in his chair, hoping to remain invisible. Chuck wasn't here to make sure he didn't get obliterated, so he was just a tad nervous.
"So-"
"Let me make one thing clear," Lucifer snarled. "I don't want to be here, I think this is a waste of time, and the only reason why I'm doing this is because Dad threatened to throw me back in the cage if I didn't. So what's gonna happen is that you're going to tell my father that everything went great, and that'll be the end of it."
Chess nodded, except he knew it wasn't (the end of it, that is). He was about 86% certain that Chuck could read minds, and he really didn't want to get on the guy's bad side by not giving the devil therapy. So, taking a deep breath, Chess steeled himself.
"I get it," he answered. "But, it is kinda boring to just sit here for two hours, doing nothing."
"So, what, you wanna talk about my 'feelings?'" Lucifer snarked, using air quotations on the last word.
"I mean, I'd rather not." And that was the honest truth. "We could talk about whatever you want. Or we could play a board game or something." Chess has dealt with tough clients before. Why was Satan any different?
"Well, I guess I wouldn't mind a game." He looked a bit embarrassed when he added, "I am a bit fond of, um...battleship."
"Fine by me," Chess answered, getting up to get the game. Hesitating slightly, he added in an extremely careful tone, "Just, uh, don't use any angel powers to cheat, because, y'know...that'd be boring."
Chess was certain he was going to get smote then and there. But then Lucifer just rolled his eyes and grumbled, "Fine."
Lucifer still won, but that came as something of a relief since Chess really didn't want to see what would happen if he lost. By the second game, Lucifer started talking a bit, not really saying anything of importance, but it was a start.
"See, I don't get why you can't put the ships diagonal," Lucifer complained. "In real life, you can make ships go diagonal!"
"I think it's just because the pegs wouldn't really fit diagonal," Chess answered, because it seemed like the safest reply that was least likely to get him killed.
"It's still a stupid rule," Lucifer grumbled. "Y'know, the Bible has a lot of stupid rules. I mean, have you read Genesis? All those super exact details on how to light candles, and how to build your church, how to jump on one foot and sing the national anthem. Now, I don't know exactly what happened since it was after my time, but I'm pretty sure that Gabriel was just getting a good laugh when he told the guy what to write. I'm also fairly certain that every prophet who's ever lived went through life drunk or higher than a kite. Ridiculous." He shook his head. "And what's with all the 'Thou dost be-eth a prophet-eth?' I can't say the same for all my siblings, but I, at least, have never talked like that."
Chess didn't say much, just nodded along and said what was necessary. All-in-all, not that bad for a therapy session with Lucifer. And whoa did that sound like the title to some angsty, teenage drama.
"So," Lucifer said once their time was up. Chess was packing away the game after losing for the fifth time in a row. "Same time next week, I guess. Don't want Dad getting on my back for not going."
"Yep," Chess squeaked, not even looking up when Lucifer was gone with nothing but a faint whooshing sound. Whoosh!
-0-
"So on Monday's you play board games with Lucifer, and on Wednesdays you counsel God and his sister?" Dammit, Chess knew he shouldn't have gotten drunk.
"Yep," he slurred, staring at his half-empty glass of beer. Jack, his friend, was looking at him with a worried look on his face. "Iss all tha Wi-chessers' fault," he grumbled. "Teddy bear doctor," he snorted. "An' uh insane angel! He liked bees…"
"Chess," Jack said uncertainly. "Is this some kind of nervous breakdown?"
Chess downed the rest of his beer and called over the waitress for another. "Nah. But Dean once hadda one, sorta. Ghost sickness. 'Fraid of his ohn' shadow." He gave a snorted laugh. "Stoopid…"
"Alright buddy, I'm taking you home," Jack said, taking away the fresh glass of beer and helping his friend up. He slapped down a few bills on the table and hurried them out, careful to strap the incoherent Chess into the passenger seat before buckling himself in. Chess kept muttering about the apocalypse and a demon named Meg, and Jack was getting seriously worried. Maybe listening to other people's problems all day had finally broke him.
Chess was wholly uncooperative in getting himself out of the car and into his house. It didn't help that Jack had to fish his keys out of his pocket, made extremely difficult when the guy wouldn't stop swaying. Jack almost just let his friend fall on the floor, but instead sighed and led Chess to the couch, flopping him down and setting his legs up. He grabbed a blanket and threw it over the now very asleep Chess, and set a trashcan next to him just in case. Jack was just about to leave when the phone rang. He supposed he could take down a message for Chess while he was here…
"Hello?"
"Chess? It's me, Sam. I know you wanted us to never contact you again, but this is important."
"Um, actually-"
"Look, Amara -you know, God's sister- raised our mom back to life, and she's having trouble adjusting. Would you mind just seeing her? Dean and I aren't really good at this stuff, and you are, and we'll pay you, I swear-"
"This isn't Chess," Jack cut in, because this call was getting weird. "Uh, I'm his friend, Jack. Chess is-" He glanced down at his sleeping friend. "-indisposed. What were you saying about your mom being raised from the dead by God's sister?"
Silence. And then, "Shit."