Cheer Up ✔️

"Congratulations," Chuck-God smiles. "You've made it here, after all these years. Oh, if only I could go back, and tell you it finally happens, if not a millennia late." His eyes widen, and he adds quickly, "I could, you know."

You look around. It seems you're in a kind of office, like a writing room. It's made of mostly bookshelves, and you're seating in a chair, facing the desk at which Chuck sits. A typewriter sits dusty to the side of the mounds of paper, and a little bobble-head toy whose head sways from the last time it had been touched.  

"Am I dead?" you whisper.

Chuck takes a breath. "I wasn't expecting that from you, ________. Maybe a thank you? You've done what I needed to have done all those years ago but failed. You've restored balance to the world of the supernatural, and with that, comes sacrifice. It's a heavy price, let me tell you. People blaspheme my name all the time - oh my god this, and holy Jesus that, it's not like I go around cussing with their names. There's no respect for the sacrifices you do."

Your head feels heavy all of a sudden. "So I am dead."

Chuck nods. "Almost maybe dead."

You glance up. "What?" you whisper. "I thought there was alive, and dead, and on the off-chance, miracles. Not 'almost maybe dead'."

Chuck takes a hand, and ruffles his beard through it. "I know. I'm a terrible God. I just like it when people are more than plot devices! I've screwed you around since day one, kiddo. And not even from this life, all of them. You were meant to be a faceless person I destine for pain and suffering, yet...yet you manage to make something else of yourself. Each time, you deviate from your path, to seek something more than you've known." he takes a breath, and adds, "I want to apologise for it."

Slowly, you fingers make themselves into fists. But just as you are about to raise them, you feel something wash over you. Something that feels so holy, so pure that the rage that had built from the pit of your stomach to poison your emotions dissipates. "In your own words, Chuck," you grit out. "You're forgiven." Your gaze wanders, somehow back to the typewriter. "What's that there for?"

Chuck shrugs. "Did the Winchesters ever tell you they're a part of a book series?"

"Oh my gosh..." your eyes widen, and at this, you gasp. "You've been writing about us all! That's - that's why whatever I do, it leads to the same path. That's how you intervened with Dean and I before we retired, how you found us when we were laying low - you've written our destinies for us! It's all a lie!" you all but scream. "Am I just a plot device, God? Or am I being with free will and hopes and dreams and is dead because of your plan?" 

A tear falls.

"Almost maybe dead," he reminds you. "And I'll have you know, I gave up that old thing when you found out you were The Vinculum. That's been all on you."

You blink. "R-really?" you look to your hands, and gasp. For the first time in what seems like ages, they have no luminescence to them. For once, your skin looks like skin. "I made all that happen?"

Chuck chuckles. "Yeah you did, heroine. But before you go all mushy and emotional on me, remember you're still the badass ________ you grew up to be." Chuck reminds you. "So, now's the part where you decide to go completely dead or very much completely alive. Your call, kiddo."

Your mouth opens and closes, and then, "Will this mean I'm free to live as whoever I please?" you implore. 

Chuck nods. "Hunter, civilian, hairdresser, whatever. It's your call."

"And Dean? He's free to - free to live with me? No more 'holy plot twists' to keep us apart?" you add cautiously. 

God takes a deep breath. "Of course. You've done what's needed to be done. All is well."

You place a hand on your midsection. "And you know that child you took away from Dean and I? I'd like them back. And for Sam to live happily." you request. "I know I can't truly trust you. You've ruined my lives more times than I can count." 

Chuck scrunches his nose. "Got to have a little faith, _______. But, my word is law. Cheer up, ________, no need to have that apocryphal stare; what you ask will be done." Chuck stands, and crosses to your side of the desk. He's wearing a small poncho, decorated with hand-woven llamas and chilli clusters, is barefoot and in cotton pants. In this room, he appears to be simply one degree off from homeless, but to the trained eye, and the hunter who has seen enough of God in her lifetime, you know that this is simply the most powerful being in the world who acts for the good of all. "Now, I never heard what your choice was."

Slowly, you stand. "I want to live. Like I've always wanted to live."

He smiles. "And, so it shall be."

Your eyes open, and coming into focus, is the first face you should ever wish to see, and the last. Dean's green eyes are wide, and full of tears, and before you know it, yours are too. Despite the fact that you had negotiated your way around death with God, and won your life back. 

"I thought you were dead," his tears splash on your cheeks. You swipe them away. 

"You've died plenty of times, Dean," you reach up, and caress his cheek. "I couldn't let you have all the fun."

He chuckles.

"And I bargained with God." you add. Dean's eyes widen. "I got us our lives back. No interference. Free to live as hunters or as civilians. Free to do whatever we please, whenever we please, with no chance of being in the next room or no with God's children and Sammy nearby."

Dean chuckles. "I'll always choose you, with what freedom I have. I'll always love you, with all that I have. And," he continues, laying his head low, beside yours, "I'll always be with you, no matter what."