A/N: After all that World of Warcraft hype, I've decided to do something related to that, but trust me, it's not all about WoW. More of computer games, really. I'd kill to even have an awesome dream like Chuck's. I loved writing this, and I just went where the story took me, so it was pretty much a random decision that created this one.
Disclaimers - I do not own Chuck, World Of Warcraft, Call of Duty 4 and the name, "Chucklebutt" (The name belongs to HATEmach1ne)
theprincess1511 was awesome in beta-ing this for me, she's overseas, and she still managed to help me! Ah, that spells an awesome beta. Thank you!
So without further ado, I present to you: Reality and Illusions!
Opening his eyes, he scanned the room. White curtains, white frames, white door, white walls, it seemed almost like heaven. His tanned skin tone contrasted against the pale surroundings as he moved around the room, brushing a finger across the surface of the wall. In the middle of the room, was a white marble fountain that slowly filled with a dark brown liquid.
It had to be a dream.
Almost in slow-motion, Chuck ran towards the fountain that spewed chocolate syrup, curling into a ball as he catapulted himself into the sweet brown liquid. The rich chocolate splattered across the walls, making stains that faintly resembled blood splatters. As he swam around the fountain, he gulped down enough chocolate to make a diabetic cry. His eyes widened as a laptop suddenly appeared in his lap, the new state-of-the-art notebook that was designed by Orion himself. Opening the computer, the world around him changed rapidly as he stared in wide-eyed wonder.
He was in a forested place now, the breeze hitting his face as he looked down at his attire. Running his fingertips gently across the cool metal that covered his buff chest, he shouldered a long, slender bow made of thick maple. Feathers sprouted from the tips of his bow, and he withdrew an arrow of the finest calibre. Taking aim, he impaled an arrow in one of the trees around him, dead centre. Squirrels and rabbits alike scurried out of their timbered home, fixing glares on the arrow, and on Chuck.
He screamed as his vision turned black, trying to rub his eyes in an effort to see again. However, as he brought his hands towards his eyes, a metallic border prevented him from doing so. Only then did he realize that he was wearing a helmet. Not just any helmet – It was the helmet of Chucklebutt, the level 80 Night Elf Hunter, Chuck's character on World Of Warcraft.
Around him, the tranquillity of the forest was overwhelming. It was the exact definition of nature, in all its wonder. The grassy floor was brimming with greenery and animals roamed the plains like it was a zoo. To Chuck's right, a wolf sat on its hinds, looking at Chuck with high regard – Chuckles, the grey wolf, was Chuck's protector and brother-in-arms.
Somewhere in the middle of Teldrassil – one of the biggest trees in the world, and home of the Night Elves – Chuck realized that he was, in fact, in the fantasy world of one of his many favourite games. He figured that he must have been such a sight in his heavy armour and wielding a weapon like that, not to mention his curly tresses that stuck out of his helm.
"Gah!" Chuck exclaimed as a sudden weight forced him to stagger backwards and fall onto his back. He rolled over, and rested on his hands and knees, brushing away any leaves that had gotten onto him. Reaching behind him, he found himself gripping the smooth handle of a uniquely shaped broadsword.
"What in the –" He paused as he drew the sword from behind him. The blade, made from a material not easily found, glowed a bright icy blue – The Runeblade of Demonstrable Power. Admiring the sword for a while, he re-sheathed it behind his back and began to walk along the path, knowing that it would eventually lead him to a town.
Stopping occasionally to skewer the wildlife of Teldrassil, such as giant green spiders, Nightsabers and owls, he walked until his feet began to ache against the uneven cobblestones that lined the path. His environment was dark, the tall trees blocking out any hints of the sun – if there were even a sun.
Balls of energy that hung from wooden posts illuminated the path, allowing the sleepy forest to remain just that – a sleepy forest. But it wasn't the scary kind of dark. It was a peaceful kind of darkness that could have you sleeping if you laid down under a tree.
And that's just what he did. Eyelids already drooping, taking off his battle-worn armour and placing his weapons to the side for easy access, Chuck Bartowski curled up next to a towering oak and closed his eyes. Chuckles patrolled around the tree, making sure that his master was safe as he slept.
Soon, his surroundings began to change yet again.
No more were the pristine plants that populated the land. No more were the animals roaming free and wild. No more was the ancient armour.
No, Chuck was alone now, surrounded by sand, cacti, and the occasional shrub in the distance. He wore the whole package; the sand coloured t-shirt underneath his green army jacket, bags of ammo and first aid kits, his hard helmet, boots, trousers and most importantly, his rifle that he kept behind him.
His jaw dropped an inch – he recognized the place. He was Sergeant Paul Jackson, part of USMC 1st Force Recon deployed to the Middle East. He was in Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare – the game that he spent many hours mastering and in turn, helping Morgan trash the Large Mart goons. Gunfire echoed around him as his squadron came into view, and soon he was caught in the open, both sides peppering bullets into each other – American bullets penetrating Russian flesh, and vice versa.
One of his squad-mates yanked him down, screaming at him to get his head in the game and be alert. Chuck nodded absentmindedly, still trying to process that he was currently fighting in a war. Raising his gun, he aimed and shot a few rounds, making his mark into several men on the enemy's side. Finally confident enough to handle his gun well, he reloaded and rejoined his squadron in the battle.
"Grenade!" Lieutenant Vasquez, one of Chuck's comrades and higher-up, screamed, alerting the rest of his squad to the little green bomb that tore through the pale sky towards their positions. The explosion caused a temporary ringing in Chuck's ears, but still he fought on, miraculously dodging bullets and firing them.
As the battle went on, Chuck gained more courage, putting more of himself into the crossfire. However, he was getting tired, and amidst the gunfire, he could feel his eyelids drooping. As his eyelids finally clamped themselves shut, a piercing pain shook the very core of his being.
He cried out in pain, opening his eyes to darkness. The gunfire, the sound of explosions and cries from his squad-mates ceased to exist as his screams of agony drowned it all out. The inferno that had erupted in his chest was tearing him limb from limb, and it was all he could do to not plead for death.
"Chuck."
The voice echoed through the creases of his mind, a room of total darkness, where he laid writhing on the ground, blood leaking from the two gunshot wounds in his chest, and nothing to stem the pain.
"Chuck!"
It was clearer now, but it was difficult for him to even breathe, let alone concentrate on the familiar voice that invaded his mind. His eyes, squeezed shut, released a flurry of tears that cascaded down his cheeks. The soft edges of smooth, slender fingertips brushed away each tear; he could feel it. He could feel her brushing them away.
Trying to reach out for something – anything – his hand found hers in a tight grip. As the pain seemed to build up even more, her hand was his comfort in his agony.
"Open your eyes, Chuck," the voice called again, much louder than before. He obliged, still tearing from the resonating ache in his chest.
Her face, beautiful and pale, was framed by her long golden locks that tickled his face as she looked down upon him. The only thing he saw, in a background of white. He winced, the sharp pang of pain coming with every movement that he made. She smiled, and it took him a moment to realize that there were tears in her eyes.
"Hey," she said, placing a hand gently on his bandaged chest. Relief shown clearly on her face, Sarah plopped herself down on the brightly coloured chair, placed next to his hospital bed. She never let go of his hand.
"Hi." He spoke, voice muffled by the oxygen mask placed over his nose and mouth, coarse and cracking from lack of use. Trying to sit up, he grimaced as the pain elevated.
"What… what happened?" He asked pleadingly, looking down at the bloodied bandages that were due for a changing soon.
"You…" She paused, looking down at her wrung hands. "You saved my life."
Almost like having a flash, the memories hit Chuck like a ton of bricks. They had been on a mission to capture a wealthy celebrity who was suspected of funding the enemy agency known as Fulcrum. The celebrity, Joshua Smulders, was a famous actor who was on the brink of billionaire-ship.
He lurched forward, not caring who or what he collided against. All he needed was to get to her – the woman who was unaware of the gun pointing in her direction. The dinner party wasn't a good place to point or fire a gun, but it seemed that the man – whom he guessed as Josh Smulders' hit-man – paid no heed to the setting of his assassinations. That guy must've been paid big bucks to take the fall like that, Chuck thought.
Sarah, who was tasked with the infiltration and inducement of the movie star, was succeeding in her task, getting chatted up by the tall, dark and handsome celebrity who had cornered her as soon as she strutted into the room.
She had scanned the room once before, and her spy senses had deduced that there were no threats in the room. Still, her roving eyes continuously scanned the room, finally spotting the muscular, lean man who withdrew his gun from his side pocket upon her noticing his presence. Her eyes widened as she attempted to overcome her shock, and her body prepared itself to dodge the bullet as it came.
Two gunshots rang in the air, as her eyes involuntarily shut themselves, in preparation of the pain that would burn her skin momentarily. No pain came, surprising her. Guests fled towards the main door, letting out screams and shouts of absolute fear as they flocked away from the scene.
Sarah Walker, however, stayed rooted to the floor, staring in utter horror at the crumpled form of Chuck Bartowski. Blood sprouted from his wounds, staining the classy white dress shirt underneath his tuxedo. She knelt beside him, whispering that everything was going to be alright and that he was going to be fine. Tears already springing to her eyes, she held his hand in a tight grip; as if he would slip away if she didn't hold him tight enough.
"The man, gun," he breathed, wincing as the pain flared, making it hard to talk and breathe. "Was going to shoot you…" He smiled a toothy grin that contrasted with the tears in his eyes, "I sure showed him, huh?"
"Walker, the paramedics will be here any second. Bartowski, what the hell were you thinking?!" Casey spoke, an unusual gentle tone to his normally gruff voice.
Chuck smiled his famous dazzling grin before his world turned black, his hand slipping lifelessly from Sarah's.
"What were you thinking?" Sarah asked with a small smile, caressing his cheek and running a hand through his hair. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.
"I couldn't let him shoot you," he whispered, placing one of his hands on hers.
"Please, Chuck. You can't do that anymore. You're my asset, and your safety's more important than mine, I thought we'd made that clear before," she said. Her scolding tone couldn't have been any gentler, with the guilt that she felt about his injuries.
"You lost so much blood, and I can't stand the thought that we'd almost lost you."
"If you got hit, I would have lost you. He was aiming to kill, Sarah. I couldn't just stand aside and let you die." Chuck spoke softly, raising a shaky hand to brush away a strand of her golden hair.
Sarah felt her chest tighten, just as it always did whenever Chuck did something, even a small act, that truly made her question her constant resistance of Chuck's advances. Chuck's hand moved down her face, tucking her hair behind her ear. Sarah felt her heartbeat quicken as he slowly raised himself off the white hospital bed.
Chuck moved a hand behind him to steady himself as he leaned forward, the other hand cupping Sarah's cheek. He could see the hesitance as she fought to keep her emotions under control but he saw her stillness as a sign of acceptance. Her eyes flickered to his lips as he leaned in closer.
Sarah closed her eyes just as Chuck's nose touched her own. She felt a slight hesitance before his lips touched hers. For a second, they remained still, before Sarah pushed him back, moving to sit on his lap on the hospital bed, injury long forgotten.
Standing outside Chuck's private hospital room, Casey grunted in approval, smirking as the blinds were pulled shut from inside the room. His expression slipped back behind his mask as Ellie rounded the corner.
"Hey John, how is he?" she asked, eyes downcast and weary from lack of sleep and an immense amount of worry for the condition of her darling little brother.
Casey shrugged with a small smile playing on his lips, "He'll live."