A/N:

Welcome to the sequel of 'Guardian Trickster'! If you haven't read 'Guardian Trickster', it doesn't matter too much because this fic should still mostly make sense – it would probably help if you read at least the final chapter of GT, since this one starts straight after those events. The other thing you'd need to know is that both fics are an AU where Gabriel is Chuck's archangelic guardian rather than Raphael. Okay, if that all makes sense (or if you read the first fic anyway), then keep reading! If you enjoy, please follow/favourite/review. Thank you :)

"Gabriel, I-" Before Chuck could complete his sentence, he began to physically fade away, his unspoken words frozen along with his expression. Although he knew his conversation with Gabriel was unfinished, he felt himself simply letting it go, drifting gently away, as if he were finally at peace. Perhaps his conversation was finished, after all. Something intangible, incorporeal certainly thought so.

The prophet found himself floating in a bubble of pure white, now utterly ethereal and no longer in physical form. He had no idea what had happened, whether he was having an out-of-body experience or had simply fainted – but then again, he hadn't felt the sensation of falling and wasn't in a state critical enough for a near-death kind of thing. Or was he? No… Chuck was pretty sure he'd be panicking if he knew he was dying; this current experience just felt calm, pure. Accepting of the unknown. It couldn't be anything negative, surely…

The next thing he knew, the whiteness had dissipated to reveal an oddly out of place scene. The prophet was enveloped in a memory, probably his earliest happy memory. Chuck's childhood was nothing to brag about – he had been a socially inept kid (hence his equally socially inept adulthood) who achieved average grades at best and had few friends, if any. His home life also hadn't amounted to much; since he was an only child, he'd had no siblings to chat or play with, plus he was brought up by a single mother due to his father having left him when he was only young. Because of his low status in his classes in middle school, Chuck was a natural target for bullies, and they were relentless in their constant teasing and general annoyingness. The poor kid had no one to turn to, since his so-called friends also turned against him and his family was barely functional. However, there was one day when something inside Chuck snapped. The memory in which he was currently trapped was of this day.

The pre-prophet was shuffling awkwardly into the courtyard after he'd eaten lunch when he was approached by the main entourage of bullies, all following their ringleader, a tall, greasy-haired douchy-looking kid called Warren.

"Hey kid! What did you eat for lunch? Worms, I'm guessing." Warren spoke obnoxiously loud, lapping up the snickering from the rest of his group despite the ultimate lameness of his joke, if it could even be called that. Chuck merely remained silent and attempted to walk past them, though Warren moved to stand in front of him, wherever he went.

"What's up? Are you crying over a bit of banter? Cry baby, cry baby, cry baby…" As Warren began to chant, the rest of his mindless cronies joined in to create a chorus of intimidation. At this point, Chuck had had enough.

"You know what? Go screw yourself." He spat his words out in Warren's face, like poison.

"What did you just say to me?" The ringleader replied, acting as if he should be treated with respect.

"You heard me. Go. Screw. Yourself." Chuck spoke more slowly that time, partly to emphasise his insult and partly to make Warren sound stupid, like he was too dumb to comprehend Chuck's words. Since the bully wasn't used to his victims talking back, the idiot simply stood there looking stupid, unable to think up a witty comeback while Chuck casually strolled away, refusing to look back. Because of Warren's humiliation, all of his group turned on him, cheering Chuck on as they jeered at the bully. Hanging his head in shame, Warren turned away and jogged off, unable to handle becoming the victim himself. Chuck had gone home that night high on pride and victory. Ever since that day, no one had ever bullied or bothered him in school again – instead he had earned their utmost respect.

The prophet was still smirking vaguely from this memory when it faded away and another one replaced it. This time, Chuck was a little older, around sixteen, though it was still in school, just high school instead of middle school. Teenage Chuck was lurking in a corridor next to a row of lockers, slicking back tufts of hair as he admired how he looked in a window in one of the classroom doors. He was awaiting the arrival of Lizzie Maclay, a girl in some of his classes who he'd had a massive crush on for at least two months. Chuck knew she'd be stopping off at her locker to collect her History books at this time of day, and he wished to ask her out on a date. Previously in Chuck's life, every girl he'd ever asked out had either rejected him, or said yes as a dare from her friends so they could laugh behind his back (or sometimes right in front of his face), so Lizzie was kind of a big deal for him. Before the teenager could work himself up any more or gain yet more stomach butterflies, the girl herself appeared in the corridor. She was very pretty, with medium-length blonde hair and deep hazel eyes, and he really fancied her. Without further ado, Chuck leapt in front of her, casually leaning on the lockers and shifting the position of his hands every two seconds.

"Hey, er, Lizzie! What a coincidence running into you here, it's almost like we go to the same school ahaha…" The boy internally winced at how cringy he was acting and made a mental note never to attempt sarcasm ever again.

"Oh! Hi, Chuck!" She remembered my name, Chuck thought to himself excitedly. That was something, at least. "What are you doing here?" Lizzie questioned, staring right into his eyes, causing him to squirm slightly as he attempted to get to the point.

"Oh, er, well I was just wondering… If you're not doing anything this weekend, which I am also not, then maybe we could, you know…" When Lizzie still looked puzzled, he frantically scrambled to elaborate like a normal person. "Well, we could, I dunno, go somewhere? Like for a coffee, or the cinema, or the park, just wherever you want, really…"

"Are you asking me on a date?"

Lizzie's directness startled Chuck speechless for a moment. "Er… I suppose so, yeah… But it doesn't have to be, if you don't want it to, of course!"

"Oh no! I mean, yes, that sounds great! I don't really like coffee that much, but a movie sounds good?" Chuck was so taken aback by her non-rejection that it took him another few seconds to prepare an answer.

"A movie, yeah! Great! Er, so how about 6pm on Saturday night? I'll meet you outside the cinema, is that okay?"

"Sure! I'm looking forward to it."

"Great, thanks!"

"No problem!"

The two awkward teenagers beamed at each other before walking their separate ways. Their date had gone brilliantly; so brilliantly, in fact, that they went on many more and Lizzie had successfully become Chuck's first girlfriend. He was utterly smitten with her, as they dated for two whole years (two years! Most high school relationships last a year at the very most), the only reason for splitting up being that they went to different colleges.

The prophet remained content long after that memory departed, though the next one was just as amazing. Chuck found himself situated in the office of a publisher; in his hands he held the chunky manuscript of his first ever 'Supernatural' novel, rather predictably entitled 'Supernatural' by Carver Edlund, as was Chuck's pen name. As he glanced up, he realised he was directly in front of the publisher's desk, which she currently sat behind.

"So," She began, looking rather sincere. "You want to get your first science fiction novel published, is that correct?"

"Um, yes, ma'am." Chuck fumbled.

"Alright, pass it over here, I'll have a skim-read." The prophet did as she asked. Around five minutes later, the woman appeared to be utterly engrossed in the manuscript, much to Chuck's surprise. Ten minutes later, she was still reading. Another five minutes later and she realised she was being rather rude, making the budding author stand there while she read through his work.

"Oh my gosh, this is brilliant!" She abruptly exclaimed, clasping her hands together with joy.

"I-Is it?"

"Yeah?! This is… My, this is honestly the best sci-fi writing I have read in a long while, let me tell you."

"Seriously?" Chuck was completely astonished – he had been rejected by countless other publishers, and the only reason he'd persisted in trying to get what he thought of as terrible writing published was because he was in desperate need of money.

"Just give me your details, Mr Edlund and after a few forms have been filled out, we're good to go!" As had begun Chuck's doomed career in writing and, although he hadn't yet known it, being a prophet. Despite the bankruptcy of his publisher and his poor lifestyle that had followed, the prophet couldn't help himself grinning at the memory.

The next memory Chuck experienced was also the last. It was set in a place that, until quite recently, had been unfamiliar, with its blaring lights and oppressive babbling of the intoxicated. That's right, it was Vegas.

The prophet strolled into a rowdy yet somehow welcoming casino with a certain archangel's arm around his shoulders in a protective and encouraging manner. Gabriel led him fully into the building as his feet were swallowed up by the plush red carpet and his mind engaged in the exciting activities taking place around him.

"Come on, buddy, let's have ourselves some well-deserved fun." Grinning wholly at his friend, Gabriel headed over to the loudest ergo most interesting poker game, gesturing at Chuck to follow him. And follow him he did. They had immense amounts of fun socialising with other gamblers and playing hilarious drinking games. For the first time in his life, Chuck felt as if he actually fit in somewhere, as if he had a best friend that truly cared about him and who wouldn't turn on him if other douchebags did. He felt complete.

As the final ecstatic memory faded into nothing, the prophet's happiness refused to shift. However, Chuck rapidly sobered up from being drunk on elation when he visually took in his surroundings, the silly smile sliding off his face. Trees stripped of their vibrant green leaves stood sentinel, entirely encompassing him in a vaguely intimidating manner. The withered grass on which he stood was also dried up and dead, injecting the atmosphere with a generally pessimistic feel. How on earth had the prophet ended up in such a forest? Or was he even on Earth?

A/N:

Sorry, just to say, the things about Chuck's childhood in this chapter are all my personal headcanons gathered from his character's personality – none of them are actually canon since we don't know anything about Chuck's life pre-prophet from the show. Thank you!