If you were faced with Him in all His glory

What would you ask if you had just one question?


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IC contact: Sirenspull
- your calls are bad news
paterelohim
Uh, hi! This is Ca- I mean Chuck Shurley, just- Chuck, sorry. [Indistinct fumbling noises] Leave a message after the beep and I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks?

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Life is contradictory.

Don't plow through my booze as your pain medication. It's not exactly healthy.

I'm not using it as such.

[The pain's manageable on the medication. He just wants the other effects from the alcohol.]

Mixing substances is really risky.

If you need more pain relief, just up how much you're taking. [Licking the popsicle mildly.]

[He's quiet a moment before actually sharing something.]

The medication is making me nauseous.

[Hence the crackers. And after resting so much the past few days, he can't sleep anymore, so there's another reason, and he really wants the more mind-numbing effects of the alcohol that the pain meds aren't giving him.]

[ 8( Caaaas.]

...Okay.

So.

Cut down your dose by half a pill and next time you take them, you can have a little to drink?

[Well. Guess who's at the end of their dosage and set to take the next in about fifteen minutes anyway? Good timing.]

How much?

[He's drifting back toward the liquor cabinet now.]

[Wheeeeeling up to cut you off there, Barney.]

I'll make it. What do you want?

[And there's a flash of temper at that, before he can suppress it.]

I'm capable of doing it.

[He sighs and pinches his nose.]

Cas. You've helped me in and out of my wheelchair about, what, eighty times now? I just... come on, I know you can, but.

[He almost looks like he's going to be stubborn about it, but the flare or attitude disappears as fast as it came. He backs off and leans against the counter once more, answering the initial question.]

It doesn't matter.

[Chuck presses his lips together and whips up a quick chocolate martini- a very small one, the equivalent of two shots.]

Here. Trust me- it's all you'll need.

[Oh. Chocolate. He's just barely cheered up by that, taking the drink and actually sipping it instead of just downing it as he usually would.]

[Wheeling up to the table, picking up his popsicle again from the wrapper and finishing it off.]

You want some chocolate syrup in that?

This is fine.

[In other words, he likes it and really does appreciate you making it, even if he's not saying it.

Glancing over at the wrapper, eyes caught by the motion, he then realizes Chuck's NV is sitting on the table, open to a message. Curious, oblivious to the rudeness and not really caring anyway, he just picks the device up and begins to read, scrolling quickly in pace with his rapid reading. It takes a fraction of the time it should've for him to take in the half-written message.

And... Well. He hadn't had any idea Chuck was this angry. He'd known he was angry when his voice took on that strange quality back when they'd been treating his injuries, but not like this.]


Are you intending to send this?

[Chuck is a deer in headlights for about two seconds, then reaches out to snatch his NV away.]

No. [When he looks at the message again it's like he's seeing it with new eyes: every jab, every passive-aggressive stab and cutting remark that would have been so devastating for Sam to read. Even in his still-potent anger at the man, it strikes him as twisted that Chuck, with his intimate emotional insight into what moves and drives Sam, into his demons and innermost thoughts, should use that to know how best to hurt him.

He snaps the NV shut, tense and temporarily mollified.]


He would probably deserve it- but no.

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