An: So this isn't chapter 5 of "Life Imitating Art," but it is a one-shot Chuck story! Since Last Details left me a sad panda, I wanted to write a conclusion to it. Beware of angst/tragedy/romance and multiple character deaths. Oh, and this is also a slight Supernatural/Chuck crossover.

Enjoy!

R&R!

Crossroad Blues

"I went to the crossroad, fell down on my knees. I went to the crossroad, fell down on my knees. Asked the Lord above, "Have mercy, now save poor Bob, if you please." -Crossroad Blues, Robert Johnson

It was official.

They exchanged vows at the hospital.

He sealed their unity with one final kiss.

And then it was over.

Sarah became abruptly still. Her eyes fell shut, a faint smile remaining on the edge of chapped lips. Chuck was there the instant she passed; his family and friends watching solemnly from outside the ICU. He held her hand in his, rubbing a thumb over her delicate knuckles. She felt weightless, empty. Her body had cooled. The illness supplied by the Norseman no longer ravaged her with its unstoppable fever.

Drugs hadn't worked and neither had the ice bath.

The doctors were at loss for how to save Sarah Bartowski's life, and the best they could do was to make her as comfortable as possible. Her death was quiet and painless. Or for her at least. She appeared to be at peace while Chuck was braving a storm of grief from within. His mind was whirling, trying to rationalize what had happened and how things could have gone so wrong, so fast.

He was composed during the following seconds of her departure. He did it for Sarah. She would have wanted him to stay strong. And so he was, or until he felt the presence of several pairs of eyes were deterred, obliging him with a moment of privacy.

It was then that Chuck succumbed.

He buried his face in the white sheets and wept.

Chuck promised his wife (his goddamned wife) that he would fix this.

Whatever this was, he wasn't sure to be honest.

Would he fix Sarah? Fixing was synonymous with resurrection and if Chuck knew anything, it was that he was no God. He was only a man, and a broken one at that. But a promise was promise nonetheless. He would sacrifice everything, regardless of the impossibilities.

After all, he told Sarah on her deathbed that they would get married.

And they had.

Now their eternal union must last forever. It was his second promise. Till death be dammed. It would happen. He would make it happen.

But this was ludicrous even for a man who had nothing left to lose.

Chuck stood alone at the crossroads of a deserted road. Midnight was near; the air was cold and unforgiving. It had been only a day since Sarah left him a young widow. The pain was fresh like a knife wound to his heart, stabbing him repeatedly and indefinitely. Numbed and exhausted beyond comprehension, he crouched down and began to work.

He did not know when (how, or why) this little notion first popped into his head. I literally came out of nowhere and it was a bit unsettling. That should've scared him right off the bat, but it only propelled him deeper into the madness.

Perhaps he had been touched by an angel. But a demon seemed more likely. It strangely resembled a flash; overwhelming his senses with a burst of light. It blurred the lines between fiction and reality. He figured it would've been a side effect of extreme anguish, because what he saw was dark and foreboding.

Evil. That's all he could see. It would have been wise to let this premonition go without another second glance but Chuck was beyond reason. He needed results. He needed to follow through with his promise to Sarah. He needed to save her like she had countless times. She was owed that much at least.

Chuck dug his hands into the moist earth. Dirt sifted through his fingers as he fashioned himself a hole in the middle of the road. Once it was deep enough, he retrieved a small red box from his back pocket. He held his breath and flipped it open.

It was Sarah's wedding ring. The diamond encrusted around the golden band glistened beneath the pale moonlight, indifferent to him and his suffering. Chuck swallowed. Sadness pooled in his muddy depths. He put the ring in his palm and let it rest there for awhile. With eyes closed tightly, a stray tear slipped down his cheek. He steeled himself and then dropped the ring into the hole; filled it up and then rose to his feet.

"Ok," he whispered softly. "Come and get me." There was a long pregnant silence and all but crickets chirped in the night. The desperation Chuck felt turned to misdirected anger. When nothing happened, he bellowed. "I said I'm ready! I did everything I was supposed to do! Please, can you hear me?" The last came out as a pitiful whine.

Again, there was nothing.

Chuck ran a hand through his hair. Panic was welling inside him like bile up his throat. The urge to vomit was imminent, images of Sarah's lifeless form racing through his memory like the plague.

What am I even doing here? He wondered. Am I going insane? This was never going to work—

A gust of wind blew behind him. Chuck exhaled his breath puffs of frosty smoke. Something happened just then. Whatever it was, it caused him to shiver violently.

"You rang?"

Chuck turned around. There stood a woman not several feet away. She was breathtaking; blonde tendrils falling below her breasts and crystal blue eyes. Her black dress danced in the air. Clasping her hands together, she stared at Chuck with a thin smile.

"Judging by the dumbstruck look on your face, I think you never thought that this hocus pocus stuff was actually real, huh?"

He was speechless. The woman resembled Sarah so closely that it nearly drove him to hysterics. It was her. God, it was his baby. Sarah. His wife. His love. His everything.

When Chuck was able to speak, he asked. "Why her?"

His wife's doppelganger tilted her head. "I wanted to get your attention. It seems as though I accomplished that," her laughter sent chills up his spine.

"I—I summoned you here for a reason than to impersonate my dead wife," Chuck managed to retort with difficulty. She, who wasn't a woman nor was she even human, raised an amused brow. "I came to make an offer."

"An offer I cannot refuse, right?" Not-Sarah smirked. She approached Chuck with the gentle sway of her hips. "Please, I know what you want Charles Irving Bartowski. I can see it in your soul," and she began to circle him, "you aren't very good at controlling your emotions. I'm used to a much more…hardened individual to come to me with a deal."

Chuck watched her cautiously. "I'm stronger than you think."

She replied, "I guess we'll see exactly how strong you are in a minute, won't we?" Her blue eyes shifted into crimson and Chuck set his jaw, refraining to convey any terror to the demonic creature before him. "So, you want Sarah Bartowski, formally known as Sarah Walker, Jenny Burton, and Samantha Weston to be brought back to life?"

He nodded.

"Hasn't your mommy ever told you it's not nice to play with dead things?"

Chuck was unable to think of a response. The demon observed this with a carnivorous grin, red eyes gleaming.

"I'm only teasing you," She giggled. "I can bring back your wife but on one condition."

"What do you want?"

"Aren't you a straight shooter? I like that in a man," the demon winked seductively. "Anyway, what I want is quite simple…it is your soul."

"My soul?" Chuck asked confusedly. "What does that mean?"

"That means that in ten years from now, I will be coming to collect you. Your time will be up, your soul taken to the depths of Hell where it'll be tortured for eternity and so on and so forth. You understand where I'm getting at right?"

Chuck knew exactly what the crossroads demon meant. When Sarah would be alive, his life was cut drastically short in result. They'd be blissfully married with hopefully a white-picket fence future ahead of them, but it'd be temporary. The magnitude of the deal acted like phantom hands wrapping themselves around his throat, choking him to death.

But he could fix this.

He and Sarah would live happily ever after.

That was his promise.

"No," he spoke barely above a murmur. The demon frowned when his voice grew louder. "No, I'm not done negotiating the terms of the deal yet."

"Do you honestly think that you're in charge of this rendezvous?"

"Yes, and I'll tell you why." Chuck had done his research. He knew what the crossroads ritual entailed. The consequences were disastrous if not played to perfection. Luckily, he was smart. He was willful and would win this no matter what. "I don't think you want my soul. I think you much rather have someone else."

The demon snorted. "Oh come on, we just got Bin Laden. Whose soul could you possibly offer?"

He did not miss a beat. "Vivian Volkoff."

"I must say that I'm intrigued," she licked her lips, "and slightly aroused as well. My, my, I did not expect this out of you. Impressive…"

"Is it a deal or not?"

"Oh, it's a deal. I can't pass up a chance like this," She paused then added. "But I can't just simply kill Miss Volkoff. You must do it."

Chuck furrowed his brows, "Why me?"

"Because I know you've never taken a human life before, despite your best efforts."

"That's the only reason you can think of?"

The demon shrugged. "Well that and it would be wicked fun to watch, don't you think?" She flashed her pearly whites, "But there's a time limit. You have exactly seven days to either shoot, stab, choke, hang, electrocute, beat, or maim Vivian Volkoff to death."

"What if I can't do it?"

Chuck heard a snarl followed by a heavy pair of footsteps. He could not see anything but giant paw prints forming on the dirt road. They stopped right beside the demon. Her hand stretched out and began to pet thin air.

"If you cannot honor your end of the deal, my puppy will shred you to pieces and then you'll rot in Hell a decade sooner than expected."

Nostrils flaring, Chuck yelled. "You can't change the details like that. I was supposed to have ten years!"

"You changed the details and so can I. Kill Vivian Volkoff and both you and Sarah stay alive and well. If you don't, well…I will take the liberty of sicking a Hellhound on you and your pretty wife."

"Fine," he conceded when there was no other alternative. "I'll do it."

"Beautiful," said the demon. "Now come here, handsome and let's seal this thing with a kiss."

Chuck did not move. The demon merely rolled her bloody eyes, gliding towards him. He flinched at her hellish touch; stroking his cheeks with the underside of her hand. When she leaned forward to capture her lips with his, he closed his eyes and felt an unbearable fire engulf him whole. He writhed, thinking that he was in Hell already, but then the heat dissipated.

He was reacquainted with the night the same way it had begun: alone.

But somewhere not too far away, Sarah Bartowski had awakened from death's slumber.

She was alive.

Chuck received the call from his sister about twenty minutes after he recovered Sarah's ring and was on his way back to Echo Park. From what he could gather, it appeared as though the doctors had mistakenly pronounced Sarah dead when in reality; she was only in a deep comatose state. She awoke trapped inside the morgue below the hospital. Now, she was resting in the ICU while Ellie kept her company.

It had worked.

His hands gripped the steering wheel when the streetlight flashed green. He slammed onto the gas and the Nerd Herder sped down the empty street with no intention of stopping. Chuck arrived at the hospital not five minutes later; raced to Sarah's room and practically tore the door off its hinges as he made his entrance.

Ellie looked at him, bewildered. "You got here fast. Where were you, Chuck?"

He dodged the question. "Thank you for calling me, El. Can I have a moment with Sarah, please?"

She sighed. Chuck knew she was skeptical, knew that ever since they disclosed each other's secrets that anything else could be game—even cases of the supernatural. But he was tired and did not feel it was imperative to explain the likes of demons, rituals, deals, and the likelihood of receiving a one-way trip to Hell. At least not right then.

When Ellie left the room, Chuck slowly approached her. Sarah was currently wrapped in the blankets, sleeping peacefully. She almost still looked dead to him. His stomach did back flips but it did not stop him from parking a seat at the edge of the bed, watching the steady rise of her chest as she breathed in and out.

He held the wedding ring between his fingers. Sarah smacked her lips, and then yawned. Chuck carefully slipped the ring onto her left hand. He halted when her body stilled, one blue orb meeting both his brown.

"Chuck…"

Oh my god, and it dawned on him. She's really alive.

"Hey, sweetheart," he greeted her softly. "How are you feeling?"

Sarah gave him a lazy smile. "I've had better days, but I'm better now that you're here."

Chuck tucked an errant curl behind her ear. "I feel the same."

"When can we go home?" She asked, yawning again.

"Whenever you want, baby, I promise. We can be out of here faster than you can say Obi-wan Kenobi."

She looked straight into his eyes and Chuck felt like he was going to melt.

"Obi-wan Kenobi, Chuck."

She did not remember anything after the rehearsal dinner.

Chuck decided to keep it that way.

While Sarah recovered from her near "death-experience," he spent most of his time exhausting every avenue that the CIA could offer into locating Vivian Volkoff. The objective was to find and neutralize, specifically kill. He was going to murder someone in cold blood. Jesus. He was really no better than every bad guy Team Bartowski had ever sent behind bars for their misdeeds.

But this is under completely different circumstances, Chuck reminded himself five days since Sarah's miraculous resurrection. He was in Castle, reading various file reports that could help aid his search. There were several promising leads. If they turned out to be conclusive, by the following day, he'd be on a plane to some far off destination.

While he flipped through a manila folder, pausing to flash on some information, the rest of the team was watching him.

"You've been at it for days," Casey grunted. "Go take a break with Walker; she's your wife after all."

Morgan nodded in agreement. "He's right, dude. You look like shit."

"Guys, I appreciate your concern. I really do," Chuck said, not meeting their gazes directly. "But I have to do this…its important."

"Vivian Volkoff can wait," either Casey or Morgan said this but Chuck wasn't paying much attention to either of them. "Sarah wants you back home to choose where you're going for the belated honeymoon, remember?"

Chuck turned his back to the duo. Waving a hand, he said dismissively. "I think my wife can pick our honeymoon out without my help. I have priorities…" He was interrupted mid-sentence when he glanced at a photograph depicting a symbol of a crimson red eye and flashed.

"You flashed again?" It was Casey this time. "Is it anything important or-?"

Chuck snapped his eyes from the paper, smiling widely. "I need to coordinate a conference with Beckman ASAP. I think I found where Vivian is hiding."

It was day seven.

Time was running dangerously thin, with nearly ten minutes to go before a giant bloodthirsty invisible dog was going to tear him and Sarah apart, Cujo style.

Chuck was sitting in the back of an armored vehicle with the recently captured Vivian Volkoff across from him. She was handcuffed and chained; he took every precaution to secure the despicable woman from being unable to escape. It was deathly quiet and neither of them spoke. Casey was driving them to an extraction point to where Vivian would be taken into custody. Would be was the key phrase.

He had no plans for Sarah's killer to live past midnight. The entire point of the sting operation was to place her in an enclosed space to where she and Chuck were alone, probing eyes nonexistent. He could not take her out at the compound because it would have appeared suspicious. Everyone knew that Chuck Bartowski could not kill. He was incapable of it. Casey would have a field day. Sarah would freak out. It would be bad all around.

And so Chuck deliberately had himself guarding the prisoner. She would try to make an attempt to flee, threatening his life so that there was no choice but to gun her down. It would unfold seamlessly. Chuck just had to be mentally prepared to go through with it.

"I heard from some of my people that Sarah managed to survive the Norseman," Vivian's voice broke him from his musings. "That must have been a close call."

"It was, no thanks to you." Chuck spat and wondered where this rage came from. He was supposed to be calm, not a vengeful madman. But he would not apologize. What he was about to do could not be compensated with a simple apology.

Vivian raised a brow. "You're still sore aren't' you? Pity that my father's weapon wasn't as reliable as I originally anticipated. I feel that your downward spiral could have been really something to witness firsthand."

He instinctively clenched the gun that was hidden in his waistband. There was five minutes left. Time was ticking.

Tick, tick tick, Chuck sucked in a mouthful of air. That's the sound of your life running out.

The Hellhound was watching him with pitiless eyes. It was hunched over in the far end of the vehicle; as the seconds passed, Chuck could see the creature for what it really was. The hulking beast was barring its fangs at him, saliva dripping from its gums. It growled menacingly.

Four minutes left and counting.

"Vivian," Chuck began as calmly as possible. "I have done nothing but try and save you since the moment we met…even when we were on opposite ends; you were confused, blaming me for our fathers' mistakes…."

"The sins of your father still runs through your veins," Vivian sneered. "Someone needed to pay for what Steven Bartowski did to my family."

"And it had to be me, right." Chuck nodded sadly. Three minutes, damn. "I wish I could have better understood what you were going through…maybe if I did, we wouldn't be here." He stared at the young heiress, his eyes now smoldering with newfound conviction. "But you made a fatal flaw, Vivian."

"You can stop with the hero's speech," Vivian said with annoyance. "Trust me, I do not need to hear your sob story, nor do I care about how I almost killed your fucking wife—"

The barrel of a gun was aimed at her forehead and Vivian fell silent. Chuck held the weapon level, his face impassive, but it was clear that his anger was now white-hot. He flicked off the safety, his finger curling around the trigger.

"Don't say another word about my wife," He spoke darkly. "I do not want to make this any harder than it already is."

Two minutes.

Vivian found her voice. "Are you going to kill me, Chuck?"

He nodded.

"I did not see you as the vengeful type."

"I'm not, but I have no choice."

"Of course you don't."

One minute.

"You should've never targeted my family…that was crossing the line."

"Tell that to your parents," she snapped back.

Chuck stood up. His heart was beating staccatos into his chest. Blood was drumming in his eardrums. "You did succeed in murdering my wife, Vivian," he admitted coldly. "And for that, I can no longer keep you safe."

Vivian looked at him with an expression of honest confusion. Her spiteful anger had been drained from her face and was replaced by sheer terror. The last thing she was going to see was the vision of a man who would do anything to protect his loved ones. He would even tread into the edges of darkness for them and back.

"I hope this will let you sleep more soundly at night," was her final words.

Chuck shook his head. "No, it won't. Close your eyes."

She did as he ordered.

He had a strict no-harming policy when it came to women for his entire life. Never once did he strike them, not in combat or in life or death situations. It was one thing he'd never compromise. Sadly, with nineteen seconds on the clock, he had to bend the rules.

Just this once.

A single shot was fired.

The smoke cleared and the van halted to a stop.

Chuck collapsed into a seat, dropping the gun. He stared at the floor with a blank expression; fingers subconsciously tugging at his hair. When the backdoors flung open, Casey saw Chuck sobbing quietly while a single body lay slumped over, a red dot marked between both eyes.

He sighed, and then spoke into the walkie-talkie: "Agent Bartowski is safe, the prisoner has been killed."

Casey climbed into the van to where Chuck sat. He placed a hand on the younger man's shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"It's over, Bartowski. Let's get you home to your wife."

Chuck lifted his chin, eyes glassy and bloodshot. He attempted to smile but it came off as forced. Casey returned the gesture and then exited the van. Chuck watched a clean-up crew work on confiscating the body. He noticed with relief that the Hellhound was gone.

Chivalry was dead.

And so was Vivian Volkoff.

An: So there it is! Hoped everyone liked it, or at least pretended too. I guess people just want to see Vivian dead for targetting Sarah.

Some notes:

1. The Crossroads Demon is from Supernatural.

2. The Red Crimson Eye Chuck flashed on is the sigil of the Crimson King from Stephen King's Dark Tower.

3. "Tick Tick Tick, that the sound of your life running out" is a quote from Dexter.