Fic: Supernatural; On a Tuesday; PG-13,
May. 16th, 2010 12:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
definewisdomTitle: On a Tuesday
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/Characters: Chuck, God
Word count: 810
Disclaimer: I really don't own Supernatural, at all. Not even a little bit.
Warnings: This fic is never going to get betaed, it's never going to see the light of day anywhere other than here. It is made up of grammatically incorrect, long, rambling sentences and bizarre asides. Oh yeah SPOILERS FOR SUPERNATURAL 5x22
AN: A few things in the S5 finale have raised eyebrows, one of those things being the whole... Chuck thing. This is an attempt to get rid of a few plot holes, maybe. It is self indulgent and weird.
God arrived on Tuesday, which sort of upset Chuck’s mind because in his perfect literary world of symmetry God should have arrived on Thursday, or maybe Sunday if you were going for the really religious aspect. But no, God decided on Tuesday, which really, if you think about it, is a bit of a nothing day, neither here nor there. It didn’t have the horror of Monday, nor the anticipation of Friday, and it was nowhere near as fun as Saturday.
He also knocked on the door, which Chuck found odd because, in his experience, heavenly entities tended just to barge right on in, but God seemed to have a few more manners. Just a pity he hadn’t passed them on to his kids.
But that wasn’t the worst of it. Not by a long shot. God not only turned up on the wrong day and didn’t have the good sense to make a decent entrance, he turned up looking like Chuck. God, Chuck felt, should be imposing, tall, wise, old, young, male, female. God… shouldn’t actually appear corporeally at all. God should be… like a fade to black moment, a figment of your imagination in a dream or something. He definitely shouldn’t wear your face.
Although he did now have an inkling of just how weird it must have been for Dean to see that shape-shifter, which was good. Understanding your characters’ experiences helped you when you were a writer.
“Holy fuck!” Chuck said, which wasn’t the best thing to say when faced with an omnipotent deity, but when he came to think of it afterwards, even if he had only thought if God would still have known. Omniscience is a bitch… really.
“Sorry to drop in like this, but you know how it is when you get to the end,” God said, like he came round every now and then for tea and biscuits. (does God like tea? Would he have created it if He/She/Chuck/It didn’t? What are God’s favourite biscuits? Would he like that packet of half stale Oreos that Becky found at the back of the cupboard when she tried to ‘tidy’ (read poke around and be nosy)?)
“No, thank you,” God said, “although I wouldn’t say no to a glass of something stronger.”
As Chuck poured out a measure of whisky for God and sat down, a little confused and a lot scared, on his sofa – pouring himself out a generous triple – his brain kicked into gear long enough to actually move.
“The end?” he asked, although he had sort of known it was coming, he had maybe, possibly, hoped that it would he another few months away. He kind of wanted to see how Lost finished, he’d been watching it for a while, after all.
“Mmhm. I considered just letting you write it, but I do want it to be exactly right you know, and I’ve always wanted to try writing something myself. No one ever lets me. Isaiah and I had quite the argument about it… and don’t even get me started on John. Revelation was supposed to end with the words ‘to be continued’ you know.”
“Right.” Surreal doesn’t quite cover it, Chuck felt, pouring out another glass.
“So I was thinking maybe you’d let me write this last one.” Chuck didn’t think that ‘let’ was the most appropriate word, but he smiled as vaguely as he could. “Don’t worry, it’ll just be for about a week and then you can have everything back. You can just go on holiday in the mean time. Ever been to Jamaica? Spain?”
Chuck thought that maybe God had offered to be a supply prophet for the next week, but then again he wasn’t entirely sure he was sane so trusting his ears might be a little wrong.
“Barbados?” he suggested, thinking of sunny beaches and hot girls in bikinis.
“Good choice,” God said with approval. “Relax, enjoy yourself. I’ll keep your keyboard warm.”
The next thing Chuck knew, he was sitting on a chair at a bar in Barbados, looking out at a bright blue sea. The whisky in his hand was suddenly a lot larger and brilliant pink. He took a sip – apparently God knew he liked a Seabreeze.
It was almost two hours later when he realised that he was expecting a call from Mistress Magda. The idea of God picking up that phone. It felt a little like his Mom had found his porn stash, though. A few minutes of utter terror later he told himself to grow up: after all, God had invented the birds and bees.
He raised his glass (a Sex on the Beach this time) in a salute of thanks for that and settled back into his chair, just hoping that God didn’t screw up the damn ending – it would be Chuck who had to deal with the mad fangirls, after all.
-
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/Characters: Chuck, God
Word count: 810
Disclaimer: I really don't own Supernatural, at all. Not even a little bit.
Warnings: This fic is never going to get betaed, it's never going to see the light of day anywhere other than here. It is made up of grammatically incorrect, long, rambling sentences and bizarre asides. Oh yeah SPOILERS FOR SUPERNATURAL 5x22
AN: A few things in the S5 finale have raised eyebrows, one of those things being the whole... Chuck thing. This is an attempt to get rid of a few plot holes, maybe. It is self indulgent and weird.
God arrived on Tuesday, which sort of upset Chuck’s mind because in his perfect literary world of symmetry God should have arrived on Thursday, or maybe Sunday if you were going for the really religious aspect. But no, God decided on Tuesday, which really, if you think about it, is a bit of a nothing day, neither here nor there. It didn’t have the horror of Monday, nor the anticipation of Friday, and it was nowhere near as fun as Saturday.
He also knocked on the door, which Chuck found odd because, in his experience, heavenly entities tended just to barge right on in, but God seemed to have a few more manners. Just a pity he hadn’t passed them on to his kids.
But that wasn’t the worst of it. Not by a long shot. God not only turned up on the wrong day and didn’t have the good sense to make a decent entrance, he turned up looking like Chuck. God, Chuck felt, should be imposing, tall, wise, old, young, male, female. God… shouldn’t actually appear corporeally at all. God should be… like a fade to black moment, a figment of your imagination in a dream or something. He definitely shouldn’t wear your face.
Although he did now have an inkling of just how weird it must have been for Dean to see that shape-shifter, which was good. Understanding your characters’ experiences helped you when you were a writer.
“Holy fuck!” Chuck said, which wasn’t the best thing to say when faced with an omnipotent deity, but when he came to think of it afterwards, even if he had only thought if God would still have known. Omniscience is a bitch… really.
“Sorry to drop in like this, but you know how it is when you get to the end,” God said, like he came round every now and then for tea and biscuits. (does God like tea? Would he have created it if He/She/Chuck/It didn’t? What are God’s favourite biscuits? Would he like that packet of half stale Oreos that Becky found at the back of the cupboard when she tried to ‘tidy’ (read poke around and be nosy)?)
“No, thank you,” God said, “although I wouldn’t say no to a glass of something stronger.”
As Chuck poured out a measure of whisky for God and sat down, a little confused and a lot scared, on his sofa – pouring himself out a generous triple – his brain kicked into gear long enough to actually move.
“The end?” he asked, although he had sort of known it was coming, he had maybe, possibly, hoped that it would he another few months away. He kind of wanted to see how Lost finished, he’d been watching it for a while, after all.
“Mmhm. I considered just letting you write it, but I do want it to be exactly right you know, and I’ve always wanted to try writing something myself. No one ever lets me. Isaiah and I had quite the argument about it… and don’t even get me started on John. Revelation was supposed to end with the words ‘to be continued’ you know.”
“Right.” Surreal doesn’t quite cover it, Chuck felt, pouring out another glass.
“So I was thinking maybe you’d let me write this last one.” Chuck didn’t think that ‘let’ was the most appropriate word, but he smiled as vaguely as he could. “Don’t worry, it’ll just be for about a week and then you can have everything back. You can just go on holiday in the mean time. Ever been to Jamaica? Spain?”
Chuck thought that maybe God had offered to be a supply prophet for the next week, but then again he wasn’t entirely sure he was sane so trusting his ears might be a little wrong.
“Barbados?” he suggested, thinking of sunny beaches and hot girls in bikinis.
“Good choice,” God said with approval. “Relax, enjoy yourself. I’ll keep your keyboard warm.”
The next thing Chuck knew, he was sitting on a chair at a bar in Barbados, looking out at a bright blue sea. The whisky in his hand was suddenly a lot larger and brilliant pink. He took a sip – apparently God knew he liked a Seabreeze.
It was almost two hours later when he realised that he was expecting a call from Mistress Magda. The idea of God picking up that phone. It felt a little like his Mom had found his porn stash, though. A few minutes of utter terror later he told himself to grow up: after all, God had invented the birds and bees.
He raised his glass (a Sex on the Beach this time) in a salute of thanks for that and settled back into his chair, just hoping that God didn’t screw up the damn ending – it would be Chuck who had to deal with the mad fangirls, after all.
-
