His body still has the scar Sam’s soul bullet gave him from the equalizer.
Chuck realizes it when he starts getting itchy from the sweat that’s bursting like beads under his heavy suit jacket. Nobody ever realized it, because they didn’t know him that well, but he despises suits. He’s always been a sweatpants and t-shirt kinda guy, and this is the reason. The fabric on his skin feels like sandpaper rubbing up against him despite how comfortable the material is supposed to be.
He scratches at the scar, then runs his fingers through his curls to get them out of his face. They’re slick and damp and slimy—he’s been walking now for hours. His feet hurt so much they’re almost numb. Except for the spots on his heels where, he knows without looking, blisters are forming because he hasn’t used them like this in years.
For a fleeting moment he has the egregious idea, supplied from somewhere in his brain, that they won’t be there forever. Then the reality sinks in, heavy on his chest, a boulder being plunged into the lake he can still smell from however many miles back. And then the knowledge sits there, festering into an unwanted, ugly mass—He isn’t coming back.
The thought causes him to stumble, almost falling to his knees once again. What a pathetic sight he must be; dirty, used, discarded.
Chuck looks up, eyes stinging. He wipes them with the back of his hand, realizing just how badly he needs to wash them. He’s close enough to whatever the nearest town is for him to see the city lights, and that’s the only reason he’s able to deal with it all. Beyond that, he still isn’t sure. He’s more of a pantser than a planner, unlike Him.
He notices the stars in the sky look a bit like that scar on his shoulder; the only scar that the being that possessed him couldn’t heal. The imagery makes his fingers itch to write, but he can’t. He has nothing on him, not his pocket notebook, not even his ID.
Besides that, Chuck isn’t even sure he wants to write anymore. The thought makes him feel a bit nauseous.
But he supposes the story has already been written. He’s always loved a good parallel.