Chuck had long ago given up on even bothering to struggle against the ropes. As soon as he made any progress, the demon in Jo would just tighten them back up again, and he was pretty much sure he was just going to have to sit this one out. He only ever tried to struggle when she was moving him from place to place, which wasn’t often or anything, and even then it was halfhearted and more out of panic than any coordinated attempt to get away. He was stiff and sore, from being in the same position for ages, tied down, and he just wanted to go home. Home-home, not the apartment, here in Lawrence, but home, where he’d lived before he came here, that was safe and familiar and he’d never been kidnapped by a demon back there and he didn’t really want to leave Lawrence, but he didn’t want to be here, either. He wanted to be somewhere safe. Comfortable.
He wasn’t even sure how he was passing the time - how he wasn’t dying from boredom and panic and lack of sleep and overthinking, because all there was to do was think, but there wasn’t actually anything to think about except how Jo was possessed and he was going to die here and this was a really sucky way to die, not even really exciting, death by boredom or by whatever the demon decided to do next, besides the holy water and the salt and Latin (he didn’t understand how the demon could recite an exorcism designed to remove demons and not leave Jo’s body, but it was kind of terrifying) - and he really, really needed a friggin’ drink right now holy crap.
To put it nicely, he was having a very stressful week.
The only good thing about it was that apparently his archangel buddy was on vacation or something, had not yet shown up to turn Jo or the other demon-hosts into paste yet. Every time they came close, he’d panic, sure this time this time... but no.
So, basically, he’d hoped when one of the Winchesters arrived, it would be to get the demon out of Jo, calm her down, get him out of these ropes and out of this church, away from this madness... but no, Chuck wasn’t that lucky. When was he ever that lucky? Never.
Instead, Sam was in much the same predicament as he was, tied up and gagged and shooting daggers with his eyes in Chuck’s direction, and Chuck sighed, scowling around the cloth in his mouth as best he could, rolling his eyes, unspoken seriously? because really, their lives sucked, but Sam didn’t have to be all pissy about it, that wasn’t helping anything at all.