This idea was really bugging me and then it got slightly out of hand. By the way I've started intense on Criminal Minds and do not intend to stop. Ever.

A supernatural source of evil is not necessary. Men are quite capable of every wickedness."
Writer Joseph Conrad

In the darkness of the cool night air, Sam found a little drop of peace.

High above him hung just a tiny sliver of the once-full moon, low in the sky and casting only the faintest of shadows across the darkened landscape. What made the biggest impact on the shadows were thousands of twinkling stars. And whilst Sam knew that some were just satellites reflecting the sun's glow the same way the moon did, he also knew that most of them were once real stars billions of miles away. Most heartbreaking of all was the knowledge that every star in that beautiful sky was dead. The light that it once cast no longer reaching the planets that may once have orbited it religiously. The forests that spread out before Sam were hauntingly quiet, the only sounds being a soft rustle of branches as wind made it's way through them like a gentle caress.

A long sigh escaped the tall man. Again, Dean was gone from the world.

Again he had fallen into the black abyss of death and this time it was final. This time the Reaper's had taken his soul with them and this time they had thrown his soul into nothingness. There was no way back from that, Sam was sure, and for the first time in his life he was truly alone.

Not for the first time, Sam wished desperately that the supernatural had never interfered with their lives. He wished that they could have grown up as simple kids in Lawrence with an ex-marine father who loved them. A mother who told them stories about the most amazing of creatures. But normalcy wasn't the Winchester way, and even if Mary hadn't made that deal there still would have been Michael and Lucifer to deal with, and the world likely would have come to an end.

Would that have been better? Sam's thoughts frequently turned to the possibility of a world where it was just Lucifer and he walking the world and where it would be quiet. Was that really all that he wanted? A silent place to mourn the loss of his life to something greater? Perhaps. But he would never be sure for he was just a man, and men do not play God.

In the darkness of the night, the silent reined on as Sam leant back against the Impala's windshield.

Dean would kill him for that.

Somehow Sam couldn't bring himself to care about that.

Sleep claimed him, and all that he could think was that he wished it were death.

The first sensation that came upon him was that of some form of peace that lulled him. In it's arms he lay before it pulled at his conscious and urged him back down into the darkness of sleep. Contented with the feeling, Sam allowed himself to relax into it.

A voice was almost seeming to whisper in his ear and, confused, Sam perked up slightly in an attempt to pick up the phrases slipping by. The voice was a lot like the peace washing over Sam, warm and gentle and making him rather tired for no rational reason. Shaking off the paralysis, the Hunter picked himself up, opening warm brown eyes and shaking his head back and forth in a desperate attempt to throw off the sleepiness. Abruptly, the voice became clear and it sure as hell sounded like Chuck Shurley.

"Y'know Sam, I dealt you a pretty crappy card now didn't I. I had your entire family killed off by demons and monsters all just so that you and Dean could be born. They worship me as the only pure force on this planet," Chuck's voice continued on though now Sam wasn't so sure that it was Chuck. "That I'm the one thing that can do know wrong and they're just so off about that. I've done a lot of wrong and I've hurt a lot of people and the atheists are right. I could have stopped stuff like the Holocaust but I didn't. So I guess... I guess I just kind of figured that maybe I could make some of that up to you."

"Chuck?" Sam's voice was blurry with exhaustion and lisped ever so slightly.

"Yeah it's me Sammy."

"But you're dead."

The Prophet chuckled softly, a grin spreading across his face as the man finally came into Sam's view.

"Yeah... About that."

Sam looked at him, subdued eyes boring into the man who wrote out his life. "You're God?"

Chuck just grinned. "How'd y'know Sam?"

"Lucky guess. Anyways, since you claim my hand is so bad and that you're, what, sending me back in time?"

"Something along those lines, yeah."

Now fully sitting up and gazing about in slight confusion, Sam grinned at Chuck. "Can you make me five inches shorter or so?"

A woeful grin crept across the ancient being's face. "Yeah," his voice cracked slightly. "I thought you liked being tall."

The words carried a strange sentiment with them, one that made Sam smile ever so slightly. "Being taller than Dean was great... But it didn't really matter all that much. All that being tall ever did for me was make me noticeable and that's not the thing that I want. I want to be normal."

"That's cool Sammy-boy. But are you really sure you want to be truly normal? I'm not sure I can bring myself to tamper with that wonderful brain of yours." Before Sam, the man huffed out a choked cough. Almost like he was disguising a sob. "Do you want to stay in this universe, or go to that one that doesn't have the supernatural."

The pause stretching between Chuck's words and Sam's answer was lengthy and silent, though not in the slightest awkward. The immortal being before Sam just watched him with gentle eyes and sat there, waiting for his answer. And God was it hard. On the one hand, Sam hated the supernatural and there was no chance of it messing him up in a world without it. On the other hand, the last time Sam had been in a universe that lacked the supernatural he'd almost died multiple times, forced into being a professional actor (and really his career as a theatre kid had not prepared him for cameras and producers and media,) watched an exact copy of his dead-serious angel friend act like a total goof and later get killed by a psycho trying to kill Sam and Dean.

Yeek. That settled one thing.

Chuck smiled, reaching out to tap Sam's forehead with two of his fingers. And as the not-Prophet touched Sam, his eyes rolled back and his head before he fell back, only to be caught by the gentle warmth of another life.