>“But you are still writing them down? It is important.”
“No, I haven’t been writing it down! Not, not really, anyway. I mean, I jotted some of it down, took notes, but it’s really, really not in any format I can turn into a story.” Everything’s just images and flashes of sound or words or impressions of really bad things are coming, and it’s nothing like the normal dreams, visions, whatever. It’s being blocked, and he really wish he knew how to break that block, so he could know what to do, so he could write, because not being able to write was pretty sucky. He liked writing, it’s why he’d wanted to write in the first place. Also, this meant he had nothing to do in his spare time except drink, really. And try to unpack his boxes, but, well... Chuck was never good at manual labor, so. Yeah, that wasn’t gonna happen, not just because he had nothing better to do.
>“You have been chosen.” - ...that’s never a good thing to hear, Chuck’s pretty sure of that, anyway, and he’s already frowning before the angel continues speaking - “What you have written down will one day be known as the Winchester Gospel. It is, I am told, a great honour which has been accorded you.”
”Wait, so,” he pointed a finger in the angel’s general direction, shook it a little and tried not to laugh, “I’m writing Gospels? Like, Biblical Gospels?” And the laugh broke free, there, surged forward and out like laughing at an Angel of the Lord was a super awesome plan, “Right. Are you friggin’ kidding me, dude?”