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Safe House
Do you guys have any idea how long ago I started this? Ugh. Also, me trying to write like Chuck, DOES NOT WORK.
Safe House
PG | Chuck, Missouri, The Novaks | ~1900 words
At some point in recent history, Chuck's house had become a haven for one time characters
At some point in recent history, Chuck's house had become a haven for one time characters. Or, now that he knew he wasn't actually writing about products of alcoholism and insomnia, people the Winchester brothers had only encountered once.
It had been a peaceful morning, birds were chirping, children were playing outside and Chuck was in his living room with the shutters drawn nursing a beer. Life was good. Until, rapping on his door with a fierce determination, to quote himself, a very angry woman demanded to be let in.
Chuck scratched his beard and stared through the peephole out at the woman having a fit against his front door.
"Chuck you let me in this second!" she yelled, like they had already met. "Now, boy!"
She was terrifying in her own unique way. Chuck briefly considered hiding upstairs, but then remembered the archangel that was supposedly watching over him, and opened his door before the woman had the opportunity to knock it down.
"Yes?" he said, trying to sound condescending, or at the very least pissed off, but coming off as sheepish.
"What took you so long?" she said, hands on her hips. Chuck gulped.
"Do I know you?"
"You should." Chuck opened his mouth to tell her that no, he shouldn't, and she should get away from his porch before holy wrath came raining down on her head, when he noticed two things.
One, he did know who she was. She had been one of his favorite characters to write during Supernatural's first printing, and one of the many he wished would show up again some time.
Two, there was another woman standing behind her, with her arms wrapped around a young blonde who had to be her daughter or a very sophisticated clone, because they looked almost exactly alike.
"Oh no," he said, hand going loose enough to almost drop his beer.
"Oh yes," Missouri Mosley replied. From behind her Claire and Amelia, Castiel's vessel's wife and daughter, looked pale and scared. Chuck was in so much trouble.
Missouri pushed her way past him-- not that he tried to stop her, he knew enough not to do that-- and into his house.
"You two should come in," Chuck said wearily. Of course his psychic mojo didn't work when it came to his actual life, just lives of two people he was very likely to never meet again.
Amelia and Claire came in after him, not as huddled together as they were before, but holding hands.
"Do you ever clean?" Missouri asked, looking dejectedly around at his living room. Okay, it may have been covered in old pizza boxes and empty beer cans, but it was his house, dammit!
"Why are you here?" Missouri whipped around to glare at him, and Chuck had never noticed before, since she was in his head at the time, but she resembled a very small localized tornado.
Maybe he should stay out of her way.
"Well, excuse me, Mr. Prophet of the Lord, but these two girls don't have anywhere to go, and you have a spacious home that's protected by an archangel, so forgive me for coming to the logical conclusion." Chuck gulped, again.
"So you're," he cleared his throat to lower his voice, which had shot up about half an octave without his permission, "so you're just moving in?"
"Are you going to stop me?"
No. No he was not.
___
After two days Chuck's house no longer resembled Chuck's house. The rooms were almost completely spotless, due to Missouri's almost religious zeal for cleaning, especially if Claire was to spend any time inside without getting salmonella from breathing in the air.
Missouri's words. With slight aurthorly revision.
Halfway through the cleaning, while Chuck was scrubbing at the kitchen floors with a mop that he was eighty percent sure Missouri magicked into existence, because he'd never seen it before in his life, when a vision headache hit him between the eyes.
Chuck fell forward, catching himself on his hands just in time to stop from hitting the floor, eyes squeezed shut.
"Fuck!" he yelled, forgetting about his houseguests. Chuck heard two people come into the room, one running one walking, and a hand touched his shoulder.
"Are you alright?" Amelia asked shakily.
"I'm fine," Chuck grunted. "Headache." He pushed Amelia's hand away and stood, opening his eyes the barest amount and scowling when the light made the inside of his head grow spikes. "Going to bed," he said, heading for the stairs. He must've really looked shitty, because not even Missouri protested, and the pinched worried look never left Amelia's face.
___
Chuck huddled under his covers, curled so all his limbs were protecting his fragile skull. He'd flopped down without removing anything but his shoes, and his clothes were sweaty and smelled like Lysol. Slowly he rubbed the top of his thumbs on his temples with all the precision and hesitation of a man with a bomb between his eyes. The vision hadn't come yet, but the headache would stay until it did.
"... chuck?" asked a small voice from outside. Claire. Chuck nearly growled for her to go away, but decided to feign sleep instead. "Mom says you're sick, but Missouri says you're talking to the angels."
There was a long pause.
"There was an angel in my head for a while. He was... weird. It hurt, and then I don't remember much else but the hurt. So, if you really are talking to the angels, it doesn't sound like it's a good thing." Chuck almost laughed, but the thought of moving his head made him want to puke, so he decided against it. "Whenever I have a headache, Mom gives me aspirin. I brought you some." He heard the slight rattle of a medicine jar, and Claire's footsteps as she walked back down the hallway.
___
The next morning, when Chuck sat down in front of his computer to write out 'The Winchester Gospel', there was a cup of fresh coffee sitting next to his keyboard.
___
Missouri still ordered Chuck around like he was an ungrateful butler in his own home, but she had agreed not to bother him while he was writing, for the sake of the angels, future generations, and Chuck's sanity as he tried to transpose the bright images from Sam and Dean's future onto the computer screen.
He started to think of them more and more of his characters as things went steadily south, finding it easier to sleep as an innocent author than an apocalypse news reporter.
___
With the help of zealous Missouri and an eager-to-help Amelia, Chuck's house was slowly becoming clean. The first day they had gone to work on the guest room, or, what Chuck had previously called the junk-room and was now calling the girl's room.
Then they moved on to the living room, scrubbing years of unnoticed grime from the walls and floors, leaving a fresh pine scent in their wake.
Claire had tackled the kitchen herself, going to work on several cupboards full of inadequately washed dishes and a fridge that smelled vaguely like the inside of a boozy shoe, while Chuck, Missouri and Amelia started on the upper floor, going through old rooms like hurricanes in reverse, whirling through the mess and leaving a neat and tidy space behind them.
Surprisingly, the manual labor cleared Chuck's head and made it easier to write when he had the chance.
___
Chuck settled down at his computer to write with a cup of steaming coffee, and Claire settled down in her armchair with a cup of hot chocolate and Scarecrow.
The armchair had become hers a few days after she declared that she was going to read all the published books of Supernatural. Chuck had the feeling that she wanted to work up to Lazarus Rising at her own pace, read about her dad when she was ready. Chuck had no qualms about this.
Occasionally, Claire would ask across the room for the meaning of a word, and Chuck would give it to her.
Occasionally Chuck would read a difficult line aloud, and she would give her opinion on it.
___
Amelia was quickly established the best cook in the house, much to Missouri's amusement, and set dinner on the table every night at around six thirty. Then the girls would join hands and say grace, with Chuck politely abstaining and Missouri giving him the evil eye.
___
Chuck, after finally finishing his book, was enjoying the few vision free days he had. Amelia busied herself in the kitchen, humming something under her breath. Claire lounged in her armchair, immersed in "Jus in Bello," man she was fast. Missouri was upstairs in one of the guest rooms, making phone calls and trying to build her client list back up. All was good in the world.
Chuck glanced out the window and nearly fell out of his chair when he spotted Castiel standing in the next yard over, staring at him. He cast a panicked look around his house, but the girls didn't seem to notice him. He looked back to Castiel and jerked his head towards the ceiling, hoping the angel would get it.
"You okay, Chuck?" Claire asked.
"Fine!" he said, maybe too loud. "Uh. Bathroom." He got up and ran up the stairs, ignoring her incredulous look. He scrambled to his room and slammed the door, turning around and walking straight into Castiel, who had somehow transported himself directly into Chuck's path. It was like walking into a brick wall.
"Ow," Chuck said, lifting himself off the floor. Castiel said nothing. "What are you doing here?" Chuck hissed.
"Jimmy Novak wanted to see his family."
"His family's fine, but they'll go nuts if they see you." He gestured towards the window, like he expected Castiel to fly out of it. He didn't. "Look," Chuck said, sighing. "They're used to Jimmy being gone, so if they see him..." he trailed off, hoping Castiel would draw his own conclusion.
Castiel closed his eyes and breathed out evenly.
"Are they okay?" he asked, panicked. Oh shit, that was Jimmy.
"Yeah," Chuck said softly. He felt for the guy, really. He knew what it was like to have your mind jacked by a higher power. "But we can't let them see you."
"You're sure?" Jimmy asked insistent. "How's Claire?"
"I'm sure. Claire and Amelia are both fine." Jimmy heaved a sigh of relief.
"You're sure I can't see them?"
"Yeah. I'm sorry," Chuck said. Jimmy nodded once, face pale and sad.
"Take care of them for me?" he asked, sounding like a corny movie.
"Of course, man," Chuck said with barely a moments hesitation. Apparently, he was also in a corny movie. Jimmy broke out in a pained grin, and held his hand out. Chuck shook it.
___
"Hey, Chuck!" Claire called as he walked down the stairs.
"What?" Please don't let her ask what I was just doing, please don't let her ask what I was just doing...
"What's 'kin' mean?"
Chuck told her.
~fin
Safe House
PG | Chuck, Missouri, The Novaks | ~1900 words
At some point in recent history, Chuck's house had become a haven for one time characters
At some point in recent history, Chuck's house had become a haven for one time characters. Or, now that he knew he wasn't actually writing about products of alcoholism and insomnia, people the Winchester brothers had only encountered once.
It had been a peaceful morning, birds were chirping, children were playing outside and Chuck was in his living room with the shutters drawn nursing a beer. Life was good. Until, rapping on his door with a fierce determination, to quote himself, a very angry woman demanded to be let in.
Chuck scratched his beard and stared through the peephole out at the woman having a fit against his front door.
"Chuck you let me in this second!" she yelled, like they had already met. "Now, boy!"
She was terrifying in her own unique way. Chuck briefly considered hiding upstairs, but then remembered the archangel that was supposedly watching over him, and opened his door before the woman had the opportunity to knock it down.
"Yes?" he said, trying to sound condescending, or at the very least pissed off, but coming off as sheepish.
"What took you so long?" she said, hands on her hips. Chuck gulped.
"Do I know you?"
"You should." Chuck opened his mouth to tell her that no, he shouldn't, and she should get away from his porch before holy wrath came raining down on her head, when he noticed two things.
One, he did know who she was. She had been one of his favorite characters to write during Supernatural's first printing, and one of the many he wished would show up again some time.
Two, there was another woman standing behind her, with her arms wrapped around a young blonde who had to be her daughter or a very sophisticated clone, because they looked almost exactly alike.
"Oh no," he said, hand going loose enough to almost drop his beer.
"Oh yes," Missouri Mosley replied. From behind her Claire and Amelia, Castiel's vessel's wife and daughter, looked pale and scared. Chuck was in so much trouble.
Missouri pushed her way past him-- not that he tried to stop her, he knew enough not to do that-- and into his house.
"You two should come in," Chuck said wearily. Of course his psychic mojo didn't work when it came to his actual life, just lives of two people he was very likely to never meet again.
Amelia and Claire came in after him, not as huddled together as they were before, but holding hands.
"Do you ever clean?" Missouri asked, looking dejectedly around at his living room. Okay, it may have been covered in old pizza boxes and empty beer cans, but it was his house, dammit!
"Why are you here?" Missouri whipped around to glare at him, and Chuck had never noticed before, since she was in his head at the time, but she resembled a very small localized tornado.
Maybe he should stay out of her way.
"Well, excuse me, Mr. Prophet of the Lord, but these two girls don't have anywhere to go, and you have a spacious home that's protected by an archangel, so forgive me for coming to the logical conclusion." Chuck gulped, again.
"So you're," he cleared his throat to lower his voice, which had shot up about half an octave without his permission, "so you're just moving in?"
"Are you going to stop me?"
No. No he was not.
___
After two days Chuck's house no longer resembled Chuck's house. The rooms were almost completely spotless, due to Missouri's almost religious zeal for cleaning, especially if Claire was to spend any time inside without getting salmonella from breathing in the air.
Missouri's words. With slight aurthorly revision.
Halfway through the cleaning, while Chuck was scrubbing at the kitchen floors with a mop that he was eighty percent sure Missouri magicked into existence, because he'd never seen it before in his life, when a vision headache hit him between the eyes.
Chuck fell forward, catching himself on his hands just in time to stop from hitting the floor, eyes squeezed shut.
"Fuck!" he yelled, forgetting about his houseguests. Chuck heard two people come into the room, one running one walking, and a hand touched his shoulder.
"Are you alright?" Amelia asked shakily.
"I'm fine," Chuck grunted. "Headache." He pushed Amelia's hand away and stood, opening his eyes the barest amount and scowling when the light made the inside of his head grow spikes. "Going to bed," he said, heading for the stairs. He must've really looked shitty, because not even Missouri protested, and the pinched worried look never left Amelia's face.
___
Chuck huddled under his covers, curled so all his limbs were protecting his fragile skull. He'd flopped down without removing anything but his shoes, and his clothes were sweaty and smelled like Lysol. Slowly he rubbed the top of his thumbs on his temples with all the precision and hesitation of a man with a bomb between his eyes. The vision hadn't come yet, but the headache would stay until it did.
"... chuck?" asked a small voice from outside. Claire. Chuck nearly growled for her to go away, but decided to feign sleep instead. "Mom says you're sick, but Missouri says you're talking to the angels."
There was a long pause.
"There was an angel in my head for a while. He was... weird. It hurt, and then I don't remember much else but the hurt. So, if you really are talking to the angels, it doesn't sound like it's a good thing." Chuck almost laughed, but the thought of moving his head made him want to puke, so he decided against it. "Whenever I have a headache, Mom gives me aspirin. I brought you some." He heard the slight rattle of a medicine jar, and Claire's footsteps as she walked back down the hallway.
___
The next morning, when Chuck sat down in front of his computer to write out 'The Winchester Gospel', there was a cup of fresh coffee sitting next to his keyboard.
___
Missouri still ordered Chuck around like he was an ungrateful butler in his own home, but she had agreed not to bother him while he was writing, for the sake of the angels, future generations, and Chuck's sanity as he tried to transpose the bright images from Sam and Dean's future onto the computer screen.
He started to think of them more and more of his characters as things went steadily south, finding it easier to sleep as an innocent author than an apocalypse news reporter.
___
With the help of zealous Missouri and an eager-to-help Amelia, Chuck's house was slowly becoming clean. The first day they had gone to work on the guest room, or, what Chuck had previously called the junk-room and was now calling the girl's room.
Then they moved on to the living room, scrubbing years of unnoticed grime from the walls and floors, leaving a fresh pine scent in their wake.
Claire had tackled the kitchen herself, going to work on several cupboards full of inadequately washed dishes and a fridge that smelled vaguely like the inside of a boozy shoe, while Chuck, Missouri and Amelia started on the upper floor, going through old rooms like hurricanes in reverse, whirling through the mess and leaving a neat and tidy space behind them.
Surprisingly, the manual labor cleared Chuck's head and made it easier to write when he had the chance.
___
Chuck settled down at his computer to write with a cup of steaming coffee, and Claire settled down in her armchair with a cup of hot chocolate and Scarecrow.
The armchair had become hers a few days after she declared that she was going to read all the published books of Supernatural. Chuck had the feeling that she wanted to work up to Lazarus Rising at her own pace, read about her dad when she was ready. Chuck had no qualms about this.
Occasionally, Claire would ask across the room for the meaning of a word, and Chuck would give it to her.
Occasionally Chuck would read a difficult line aloud, and she would give her opinion on it.
___
Amelia was quickly established the best cook in the house, much to Missouri's amusement, and set dinner on the table every night at around six thirty. Then the girls would join hands and say grace, with Chuck politely abstaining and Missouri giving him the evil eye.
___
Chuck, after finally finishing his book, was enjoying the few vision free days he had. Amelia busied herself in the kitchen, humming something under her breath. Claire lounged in her armchair, immersed in "Jus in Bello," man she was fast. Missouri was upstairs in one of the guest rooms, making phone calls and trying to build her client list back up. All was good in the world.
Chuck glanced out the window and nearly fell out of his chair when he spotted Castiel standing in the next yard over, staring at him. He cast a panicked look around his house, but the girls didn't seem to notice him. He looked back to Castiel and jerked his head towards the ceiling, hoping the angel would get it.
"You okay, Chuck?" Claire asked.
"Fine!" he said, maybe too loud. "Uh. Bathroom." He got up and ran up the stairs, ignoring her incredulous look. He scrambled to his room and slammed the door, turning around and walking straight into Castiel, who had somehow transported himself directly into Chuck's path. It was like walking into a brick wall.
"Ow," Chuck said, lifting himself off the floor. Castiel said nothing. "What are you doing here?" Chuck hissed.
"Jimmy Novak wanted to see his family."
"His family's fine, but they'll go nuts if they see you." He gestured towards the window, like he expected Castiel to fly out of it. He didn't. "Look," Chuck said, sighing. "They're used to Jimmy being gone, so if they see him..." he trailed off, hoping Castiel would draw his own conclusion.
Castiel closed his eyes and breathed out evenly.
"Are they okay?" he asked, panicked. Oh shit, that was Jimmy.
"Yeah," Chuck said softly. He felt for the guy, really. He knew what it was like to have your mind jacked by a higher power. "But we can't let them see you."
"You're sure?" Jimmy asked insistent. "How's Claire?"
"I'm sure. Claire and Amelia are both fine." Jimmy heaved a sigh of relief.
"You're sure I can't see them?"
"Yeah. I'm sorry," Chuck said. Jimmy nodded once, face pale and sad.
"Take care of them for me?" he asked, sounding like a corny movie.
"Of course, man," Chuck said with barely a moments hesitation. Apparently, he was also in a corny movie. Jimmy broke out in a pained grin, and held his hand out. Chuck shook it.
___
"Hey, Chuck!" Claire called as he walked down the stairs.
"What?" Please don't let her ask what I was just doing, please don't let her ask what I was just doing...
"What's 'kin' mean?"
Chuck told her.
~fin