A/N:

Hi again! So this is the fic I was talking about at the end of my last Supernatural one – sorry, I got kind of side-tracked when I got the idea for my Dark Knight fic but aaaaanyway. I've been wanting to write this for a couple of weeks, but after the surprise appearance of Chuck in 10x05 Fanfiction (asdfghjkl I was literally overjoyed), I just had to start writing it. I always go on for too long in the author's note, so I'll shut up now. Hope you guys enjoy this – reviews/favourites/follows are much appreciated :) Thank you!

Chuck Shurley was just about waking up one morning. It was an ordinary morning, and Chuck knew it was also the start of an ordinary day in his tedious life. After all, his daily routine, however irritatingly boring and aimless it seemed, was all he knew to do in life. Speaking of which, a normal day in the life of a writer of a mostly unsuccessful book series generally goes as follows: Chuck woke up in the late morning (usually around half eleven), clad in an alcohol-stained vest, boxers and a scruffy dressing gown after an alcohol-induced loss of consciousness on his tattered sofa late the previous night; he then proceeded to peel himself off his temporary bed, stumbled to the kitchen and poured out more left over whiskey before making his way across the living room to crash out at his desk, which is home to his computer. He was still haunted by the visions that were sure to have plagued him in his unconscious state during the night, therefore did the only thing he is capable of doing – writing them down. He fired up the only piece of technology he has (other than a terrible quality, ancient mobile phone) and began to type.

Of course, at that point in his life, Chuck wasn't aware of the fact that he was a prophet of the Lord; he supposed his visions were simply bad dreams that tended to 'flow', so just decided to jot down his ideas. After all, he had nothing better to do other than drink himself to death in his state of extreme boredom, although he practically was drinking himself to death anyway due to his insufferable headaches, for which aspirin would do no good. His life was pretty much entirely miserable.

However, that day was to be no ordinary day. Chuck would meet people that he never knew existed in real life; he would discover something fundamental about himself that, to be completely honest, wouldn't really affect the way in which he lived his life; but most terrifying and literally life-threatening of all, he would be forced to socialise with people instead of remaining in the comfort of his own ramshackle home.

In actuality, Chuck did have a different idea for what he was about to write that morning. He was going to take the inevitable risk of inserting himself, as the author, into his own story. Since he would soon find out that his visions came true anyway, the events that were to occur that day would have happened even if he didn't make the possibly terrible mistake of writing them down. Even so, Chuck was naturally majorly freaked out when two guys claiming to be Sam and Dean – the characters at the epicentre of his book series – arrived on his doorstep a split second after Chuck had written them to do so. Though maybe not quite as freaked out as the boys themselves had been.

The writer and his characters had a few run-ins that day before Castiel, the seraph, had appeared and brought to him and Dean the news that he was a prophet of the Lord, which just caused the lonely, alcoholic writer to freak out all the more. Not to mention the Winchesters.

After more angst-y arguments involving Sam and Dean, regarding an extremely significant event that Chuck had wrote about (the arrival of Lilith and her predicted and apparently unavoidable fiery demonic… whatever with Sam), Dean was getting desperate and, thanks to his good 'friend' Cas, found a way of potentially preventing the demon from killing his brother. Following the older Winchester's conversation with said angel, Dean raced over to Chuck's house as quickly as possible, burst through the door and demanded the prophet go with him to face their petrifying enemy. After a little motivational speaking and some forceful persuasion on Dean's behalf, Chuck was eventually coaxed into obeying him.

The information from Castiel that both men were utterly reliant on was that the prophet had an archangel to protect him that would (or rather, should) intervene if Chuck was placed in danger or threatened in any way. From that, Castiel and Dean had together drawn the conclusion that if Chuck was to be located in the same room as a demon (namely Lilith), said archangel would appear and destroy the threat – Lilith. And since they knew that the female demon would be paying Sammy a visit, they headed straight to the brothers' motel room.

On arriving, Chuck felt the need to declare who he was; he figured that otherwise, Lilith would only ignore him and continue her attempt to kill Sam, and likely Dean as well.

"I am the prophet… Chuck!" He yelled, a definite sense of tentativeness apparent in his tone. Although Lilith clearly wished to scoff at his remark and carry on as normal, she evidently didn't disbelieve him enough to do so.

"You've got to be joking." The demon spat, her eyes staring Chuck up and down, as if evaluating his power.

"Oh, this is no joke." Dean interrupted before anyone could make further comment. He knew that any hesitation could cost them their lives, and he also knew that Lilith had to be a hundred per cent sure that her life was in danger before she would leave. There was an extremely awkward pause of around half a minute in which nobody moved or made a sound. Eventually, Lilith appeared to be about to make her move.

"Oh please. It sure looks like a joke to me." At that, she stepped towards Chuck, still brandishing the demon knife, clearly figuring it was better to kill the so-called 'prophet' first, just in case he did pose a threat to her mission of breaking the seals. However, Dean's previous remark was supported by a piercing white light appearing outside the motel room and encompassing the building, causing the room to shake violently. Dean wished to make the situation clear nonetheless, therefore stated what was about to happen. "You see, Chuck here's got an archangel on his shoulder. You've got about ten seconds before this room is full of wrath and you're a piece of charcoal. You sure you want to tangle with that?"

A sense of finality filled the atmosphere as Lilith made the decision to abort her plan. A plume of black smoke erupted from her vessel's mouth as she escaped, leaving the young blonde girl to drop to the floor, unconscious. The rumbling and bright light immediately receded, and the group all remained where they were for a few moments, breathing deeply as the events of the past few minutes sunk in.

"Well, I'm glad your, er, plan worked anyway." Chuck stammered nervously to Dean as the small group congregated rather uncomfortably outside the prophet's house. The brothers had kindly driven Chuck back to his home after packing their bags in the motel room straight after their encounter with Lilith and the unknown archangel. And thus, there they all stood, Chuck shivering slightly; whether it was due to the slight chill in the night air, or purely nerves from their hectic day, none of them knew.

"So am I, buddy. So am I." Dean replied, flashing a quick half-smile at the prophet in order to make him feel at least slightly more comfortable in their presence. It helped a little.

"Hey, uh, I gotta ask" – Sam addressed both his brother and Chuck – "if your archangel is supposed to protect you, why did he take so long before appearing? I mean, Lilith could have easily hurt you in the time he took to finally threaten her."

"He sure did take his sweet time. But angels are generally douchebags anyway, so I guess he was probably too high-and-mighty to protect you before you were in immediate danger." Dean theorised, adding to his brother's comment. "Well he got there in the end, so I suppose you have no need to worry. We might see you around."

"Yeah, take care, Chuck." Sam and Dean said their final goodbyes, smiling warmly at the poor prophet.

"Uh, thanks, I guess." Chuck replied, shifting his weight from foot to foot as the men slipped into a gauche silence for a moment, before the prophet made his move and hopped up the steps and back into his house, not looking back. He still expected to wake up in the morning and discover that it was all a strange and terribly perturbing dream, but that, unfortunately for him, was not the case. His life returned to normal, he still had visions, and an angel, Zachariah, even appeared to him later that night, telling him that his way of life was unavoidable, and that he basically had no choice other than to simply continue writing.

Outside the prophet's house that night, after Zachariah had departed, a certain man stood watching over Chuck as he sprawled over the sofa in a troubled slumber. The man was wearing a brown jacket, not dissimilar to that which belonged to the prophet himself, a checked shirt and some casual blue-ish jeans. His hair was fairly long, light brown and brushed back. Munching on an already half-eaten bar of chocolate, he smirked in a lopsided fashion.

"So that's my guy…" He muttered rather ominously yet good-humouredly under his breath. Stealing one last glance at the prophet he was destined to protect, he vanished into the night.