Sooner or Later

An: This is just something I've been writing for the last two weeks. I rewrote it multiple times and I'm finally sort of content with it. This is my version of what I want to happen in Chuck Vs the Final Exam. I doubt this will happen but, I can dream right?

This is based upon the song, Sooner or Later by the always awesome, Breaking Benjamin.

I do not own Chuck, but if I did, this is what would go down.

You know the drill: R&R please.

Update: Since I'm nitpicky when it comes to certain aspects of my writing coinciding with what happens on the show, I took the liberty to change the CIA mole's name from Bradley Masters to Hunter Perry.

"Sooner or later
You're gonna hate it
Go ahead and throw our life away
Driving me under
Leaving me out there
Go ahead and throw our life away
You throw our life away"- Sooner or Later, Breaking Benjamin

~*~*~

Run.

It was no longer a simple order to his brain. The target was running away, and so was the chance at realizing his dream of becoming a real spy. He was close. He was so damn close to passing the final test. All he had to do was get through the last stretch of the race; it was imperative to catch up, retrieve his mark and finish the job.

He couldn't fail tonight. It frankly just wasn't an option anymore. He had sacrificed so much, had come so far—through his own heart of darkness he overcame most (not all) of his demons. He was running up that figurative hill, and he was nearing the top. When it was all said and done he could ponder his actions and motives. But for now, what lay ahead of him was paramount above all else.

Too much was happening too fast.

At the south end of the train yard, the rough outline of a man bailed around a corner, becoming camouflaged amongst the shadows. It was dark enough so that all and any vision was severely impaired.

"Dammit," Chuck muttered, and could hardly see where he was going.

The chase progressed throughout the interwoven storage containers of the abandoned yard. Enemy agents were in hot pursuit; flashlights darted around in every direction and rounds of sporadic gunfire sounded off in the crisp air. Chuck pressed on, sidestepping a large cargo hold when a bullet ricocheted off the surface, almost nicking his flesh as he dodged it just in time.

Chuck cursed under his breath once more. He was quick to scramble for cover; dropping to one knee behind an empty tankard, he drew the .38 caliber revolver that Sarah had given him and inhaled a sharp breath. He gripped it tight with both hands and pressed his back against the tankard. Crouched, he took a peak over the top and saw that he was in the clear. A small relieved smile crept its way to his lips.

He was just about to rise to his feet when something caused him to stall. From the corner of his eye he saw the figure of his mark limping across the length of the yard. His sights were fixed and he prepared to make his ascent.

Once you make it out of the compound and outmaneuver the rest of the Ring, Sarah had told Chuck in her hushed tone, corner Hunter Perry so that he can't get away. Be careful, Chuck. There's no turning back now.

As if she needed to tell him that.

Cock the gun.

He could've taken Perry out right there. There was a perfect shot set-up for him; the moon had broken from the murky sky and its beams filtered below, shining on the Ring operative like a giant spotlight. But Chuck was apprehensive. A foreboding sensation shook his bones and he stood still. A few seconds passed and Chuck was glad he had gotten cold feet. The target in question—the enemy—his first kill. Hunter Perry, a CIA traitor, was approaching the farthest end of the train yard. His back was turned to him. Chuck's breath shortened at the carelessness exhibited by the seasoned spy. He was completely out in the open.

He was so vulnerable.

Once more, the preemptive jitters wrecked his nerves. A mind-numbing flash loomed readily in the depths of his eyes. It was time to strike, to end this. Indecision couldn't become a factor; spies were reliant on the intent to kill when necessary. They could pull the trigger. And as much as he abhorred the thought of death, he knew to get what he wanted—truly wanted, he had to be able to pull the trigger as well.

Because Chuck was conscious of his desire to pass this final exam. He was fully aware of the consequences if he were to fail. What he would lose would be a tragedy. And so most importantly, Chuck was not ignorant of the real reason why was here, why the hell he was even doing this…

Why he decided to voluntarily join the life of espionage, sacrificing all semblance of normality by plunging into the dark ways of terrorism and corruption to make the good rise up from the evil that governed in the unseeing ends of the world.

A nagging thought persisted that he was just a puppet, and nothing else. Just a tool to infiltrate and destroy the Ring, but when his mind drifted to the conviction of protecting his family, his friends, and Sarah, Chuck was quick to brush it off.

He knew that that this was for his own good.

Raise the gun, shoulder level.

Rolling to his feet, Chuck made a quick dash across the distance between cargo holds. He had his gun out gamely, utter determination and focus residing in his features. He was ready.

He could do this.

Catching a glimpse of his target's silhouette hobbling towards the barred exit, Chuck felt a stab of doubt afflict his conscience. This man was at his end, literally. The darkness shrouded him like an ominous force; a black fog that came so abrupt that it was almost blinding. The moon had sought refuge in the inky atmosphere and what came from it's flee was eclipsed by nightfall.

Antipathy succumbed to the obscurity of his burdened mind. The sleek ebony piece recoiled and the muzzle flashed. The shot was wide but had the desired effect. Perry jolted to a screeching halt, tripping over his feet as he tumbled to the ground. Chuck lowered the firearm slightly and stared at the target with cold disregard. The dust settled and he took a step forward.

"Game's over." He announced. His delivery was accompanied by an unusual coldness. The cowering man looked to his capturer in the darkness, his breath hitching. Chuck ordered with unfaltering indifference, "Get onto your knees and put your hands on your head: now."

The Ring agent eyed Chuck but did as he was told. His hands laced behind his head in tandem of raising his body into a kneeling position. Dirt smeared his face and his eyes were brimming with careful discretion. He continued his scrutiny without a single word. The thought of being so closely judged panged in Chuck's chest as both his heart and gun wavered with a growing sense of uncertainty.

He desperately wished for that little blue pill that could whisk all his troublesome emotions away.

Perry implored quietly, "You don't have to do this."

Chuck blinked out of his thoughts and stared at the man. His brows furrowed with incredulity and the subdued spy added in a convinced tone, "I think it is obvious that you do not want to kill me."

His heart thumped like staccatos in his chest. He caught his breath and flicked the fire-control switch from burst to single shot and aimed the barrel at the man's temple. Brown eyes smoldered as he snapped, "Shut your mouth! You have no idea what I want."

Perry shrugged his shoulders. A sort of malicious playfulness glinted in his gaze. He said, "Fine. I may not know your objective, but there is something I do know, Agent." He indicated the gun with the nod of his head, "You have never killed someone before, have you?"

It wasn't a question so much as it was an observation, a staggeringly accurate observation at that. Chuck set his jaw and he looked down and away in aim to keep a cool head. He did not need to be antagonized. He did not need the meaningless mind games either. What he needed was full concentration. So, his composure was restored and he dismissed the comment.

"You're not answering my question," the mole pointed out. He cocked his head to the side and smiled casually. It made Chuck's blood boil. "Am I your first kill? Were you sent to personally take my life in the hopes of becoming a certifiable agent?"

Chuck's eyes shifted back to his hostage. He struggled to keep his impassive façade intact, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to achieve. Perry seemed to have been relishing in Chuck's disenchantment; enjoying the slow burn of a weakening morale. He even was secure enough to remove his hands from the back of his head. He gestured for Chuck to holster his weapon. Chuck did not move an inch. His hostility was still extremely palpable in the air.

"You shouldn't do this," he feigned panic. "Don't you see this is exactly what they want?"

Chuck faltered. "What are you talking about?"

"The CIA, NSA—whomever you work for. They want you to kill me rather than take me back for questioning? Doesn't that seem suspicious to you? Why would you compromise yourself for something that is far above your pay grade?"

Chuck kept his mouth tight-lipped. Secret eyes were all over, he knew it. They were waiting for him to make his move, to kill this man so that Shaw could give him a passing grade.

Pull the trigger.

It should have been simple. A piece of cake: like a game of Duck Hunt. But it wasn't. It was far from it. The unarmed man kneeling before him was not a virtual duck. If anything, he resembled that dog. He was unobtainable to the gamer. He couldn't be harmed. Each attempt would end in humiliation. That dog would just keep on snickering.

God, he had to do this.

Squeeze it.

But there was a great distinction between reality and fantasy. It was enormous actually. All those sessions of Call of Duty with Morgan, all the different shooting simulations he had trained under before this, it did not measure up to the experience of coming face-to-face with the real target (a living, breathing human being no less), about to take his life…

He was about to become a cold-blooded murder, too…no different than him.

Throwing his innocence, his morals, and a future away—all of that depended on whether he could go through with this or not.

So, could he?

Shoot him, now!

Split-second dilemmas ruined everything. Chuck's grip balked, betraying his irresolution. For a fraction of an inch, he lowered his hands, praying that Perry would not notice. In the barren darkness, in the middle of nowhere, with almost no source of light but the stars above, who would?

But Hunter Perry did.

And he chuckled.

His laughter wounded whatever pride Chuck had left; he fumbled with the gun, taking a retreating step backwards as hopelessness surged inside of him.

He couldn't do it.

"You can't do it," the spy declared, echoing Chuck's thoughts. "And here I thought I was to die at the hands of some great spy…." In the dimness, Chuck saw him smirk. "Not be handed back to the CIA dogs by some fraud that thinks he can amount to anything."

Chuck felt his temper flare, but he did not make a move.

"Tell me this, Agent." It slipped from his parted lips in a mocking drawl. "What happens when you can't pull the trigger? Because you should know if I get detained by your "people" it's only a matter of time before I escape. And when I do…" He drifted off, but his eyes remained glued to Chuck. "I'm going to find who you really are, where you live, who is closest to you and then, well, I think you get the gist of it, don't you?"

Chuck tasted blood. He had been unknowingly biting his lip to curb his dwindling self-control. His impulse reaction was to grip the gun harder than before; it trembled and yet Chuck refused to act. The anger took him, enveloped him, cherished him and snuck deep into his pores until he could no longer function. He stood there, helpless to the overwhelming rage that was threatening to take him over.

The Intersect stopped his constant calculations. It froze in the midst of relaying the statistics for the ideal location to shoot a target in the hopes of an optimal threshold of pain. And like that, the brewing flash receded out of existence and Chuck was rooted to the ground. He felt more alone than ever before.

"I don't think it's smart to be threatening the person who is holding a gun," Chuck replied hollowly. The blatant anger was still festering—afflicting his intonation, but he concealed it well with the aching emptiness.

"You are just an empty threat," was the harsh reply. "I know for certain now that you cannot kill me. You're not a murder."

At this, Chuck's eyes gradually began to widen as though he was awakened from a trance. Sensibility resonated in his stance and he wordlessly lowered the gun. In the recesses of his mind, a conversation was pushed front and center as it began to replay seamlessly.

"Please don't lose that guy that I met three years ago."

He stares at her, blue eyes pleading with him.

She continues with a profound softness, "Don't give up on the things that make you great."

Her petite hands present him with a gun. She holds it out, expecting for a decision to be made. It is his choice. It is a test. He does not hesitate, nor does he break contact. Instead, he places a hand on top of hers and gives her his trademark grin.

"I'll always be that guy."

"—I'll always be that guy," Chuck murmured.

The Ring spy shot him a bewildered look. He narrowed his eyes, oblivious to the revelation that manifested itself in Chuck's admittance.

Chuck resumed by speaking aloud, "I'm sorry but I can't do this."

At the mouth of the train yard, a black van was stationed. Inside, Sarah and Daniel Shaw sat next to each other, surveying the entire mission. Eyes focused on the monitors as well as the audio crackling in both spies' earpiece, they watched the unexpected turn of events unfold right before their stupefied eyes.

Shaw's forehead creased in frustrated confusion. He inspected the screen closer almost in some sort of dread that his assignment to train the Intersect into the perfect operative was a failure. Sarah, however, was leaning back in her chair, a pleased look floating to the surface.

She had heard Chuck's confession.

She had seen him refuse to kill in cold-blood.

She had even felt the emotional ties to Chuck crystallize into an unbreakable force.

Seeing enough, she pushed out from her chair and cocked the gun she now possessed. Shaw's ears perked up and he craned his neck around to glance at her. His black eyes pierced hers questioningly.

"What are you doing?"

Her reply was short, "I'm going to go get Chuck."

She turned her back to him and went for the door. A strong hand tugged on her arm, preventing her from moving. Sarah whipped her head around and stared at Shaw. Her tolerance was ebbing away.

"What?" She asked irately.

Chuck's voice was present in the background. Sarah tried to concentrate on Shaw and what he was trying to convey, but it was blocked out by Chuck and she was hanging onto on every single word spoken.

"I guess I'm not a spy," her earpiece relayed. "Because I will not kill someone with the only reason being to end a life—good or bad, it doesn't matter. This," her eyes darted to the monitor and she saw Chuck gesture the gun, the man on the ground, and then himself, "Is not me."

Before breaking contact with the monitor, she caught Chuck sighing and then a sad, but unapologetic smile graced his lips. He finished strongly, "So, I failed. Shaw, this is over. If you want this guy dead, you come out and kill him yourself."

Shaw's voice was thick when he said. "You heard him. It is over. I'll take out Perry myself."

Sarah nodded once and then proceeded to swing the van's double doors wide open. She leapt out and with her gun leveled expertly; she raced down the pathway with Shaw tagging not far behind. Her eyes were shifting back and forth between the GPS system logging in Chuck's current location and what lay ahead of her. But her mind was focused solely on Chuck and the decision he had made. He had refused to kill. He did not compromise his integrity. He was still Chuck Bartowski.

He was still that guy.

A bluster of wind danced across her face, whipping her blonde hair around like a tornado. She turned a corner, never letting up until she finally came to the dead end. Like what the monitor had shown, Chuck was standing upright, his gun hanging limply in his hand as Hunter Perry was kneeling on the ground, a contemptuous sneer set on his face.

Even with his back facing her, Sarah had never been so glad to see Chuck in her entire life. It brought the sensation of tears long withheld to pool in her eyes. It was when Chuck heard the shuffling of footsteps that he turned around and met her blue eyes with his brown.

They were still yards apart, but Sarah could easily make out the lopsided grin Chuck wore to what he mouthed in reverence: Sarah.

Her reply consisted in a brilliant grin of her own. But then she felt the presence of Shaw lingering beside her and it quickly melted away. The two of them began to walk cautiously down the stretch of the alley; beneath the pale moonlight, Sarah saw something glitter from further in the distance. She stalled suddenly. Shaw gave her a look.

"Sarah…?"

He never got to finish.

Sarah broke into a sprint that caught Shaw by surprise. She was running toward Chuck at a desperate pace, his face dropped and everything fell into slow motion. Her mouth parted in an effort to scream. Her eyes grew larger with each step she took and they were filled with unbridled terror.

She cried at the top of her lungs, "Chuck! Look out!"

Chuck looked at her bemusedly. He opened his mouth like he was about to ask something, but the question died on his lips. A hand gripped his shoulder and something terribly sharp was driven into his back. His eyes remained open but they were glazed over with surprised agony. He emitted a suppressed grunt and Sarah came within closing distance.

"No!" She screamed.

She raised her gun and aimed it at the Ring spy. Chuck bestowed a pained look before he turned his back on her. Two gunshots resounded ceaselessly in the open night. And so did the horrifying crack made by two bullets coming in contact with a human skull.

It was over as quickly as it began. Sarah's cry still echoed in the air. The smoke still billowed in the sky like an impenetrable fog.

Bodies fell to the ground. One had a large gaping hole in his head, the other slumped to his knees with the hilt of a blade protruding from between his shoulder blades. Sarah dropped her gun and it clattered on the ground; Shaw raced along with her, his hand already digging in his pocket to make a phone call. Once Sarah came to Chuck, she slid onto her knees and caught him before he could collapse.

Her fingers were tangled in his reddening shirt; she pulled back and forced Chuck to look into her eyes. His were half-lidded in a mix of discomfort and shock attributed to blood loss. He had his mouth hanging open in a grimace. Sarah shook him once.

"No, Chuck." She breathed.

She shook him a second time. He was becoming weaker by the second. Sarah enveloped him into a tight embrace and pleaded between sobs: "Chuck, Chuck, please no…"

Shaw was a foot from the scene. A phone placed to his ear as he looked at Sarah holding Chuck with a saddened expression. Chuck had been still clutching the gun like a lifeline, his finger wrapped around the trigger. The hilt of the stainless steel knife was basking in the moonlight, dyeing his clothes a deep crimson. He looked away to find that Hunter Perry was lying face down in the dirt, the back of his skull blown away to bits by two bulls-eyes. He noted the precision of the shots. Sarah's was to be expected, but Chuck's however. His was not due to the Intersect. It was a human reaction. It was purely self-defense. Nevertheless, it proved how adept the kid could be.

He pursed his lips together to form a thin line. He spoke into the receiver, "Casey. I know you've been dismissed but we really need your help…"

Sarah heard bits and pieces of the conversation. She still was coddling Chuck while telling him anything as long as he would stay with her. Her hand slid down his matted hair and rested on his upper back to where the blade stuck out from his flesh. He groaned as her fingertips skimmed the hilt which caused Sarah's heart to twist in all sorts of agonizing directions.

"Chuck," she whispered in his ear. "Chuck, please stay with me. You can't fall asleep."

He buried his head in the crook of her shoulder. She could feel the wetness from his face press into her skin. His muffled voice replied, "I—won't, promise.

"Good," she attempted to smile but it was futile. She instead wrapped her fingers around the knife and used her free hand to pet Chuck's head soothingly. "Now I'm going to pull the knife out, Chuck. I want you to hold on to me as hard as you can, alright? It's going to hurt."

Sarah heard the sound of a gun clamber to the ground. Arms feebly snaked themselves around her waist for support. Chuck lifted his head up slowly to give Sarah a ready glance.

He chanced a whisper, "Don't freak out."

Sarah nodded and gripped the hilt. She repeated the mantra:"Don't freak out." And then with one firm tug, the blade was retracted from his back. Chuck squeezed Sarah in a bone-crushing hug as he bit back a strangled moan. She then discarded the knife and applied pressure to the wound. Chuck gasped for breath and a few stray tears rolled down his ashen face.

"Oh, wow," he panted. "That—really hurt." He let out a shaky laugh.

Sarah rested her bloody hand on Chuck's stabilized wound. Her bloodshot eyes lifted to meet his tired ones. "It's not that bad." She told him. It was meant to be comforting. Chuck smiled goofily, delusional and ready to pass out. "I think it missed damaging any organs, so it's not fatal. You're going to be ok."

"Well that's a relief," he said. He coughed and added, "Getting stabbed sucks, Sarah."

Her hand felt like it was being used to plug a water leak. It was drenched. It worried her, but Sarah knew that it was going to be ok. The wound was just superficial. It missed his heart. It missed his lungs. It even missed his spine. Chuck was so damn lucky.

She was so damn lucky.

"It's alright," she said and began caressing a pallid cheek. "Everything is going to be alright. Shaw just called Casey," Chuck perked up a bit at that, "and I think he's going to bring Devon to help patch you up."

"Cool, cool." He mumbled, "Awesome is gonna make me awesome again." He yawned and his head lolled back into Sarah's neck.

She nudged him gently, "You can't fall asleep though. Chuck, Devon will give you a sedative and then you can rest."

But Chuck didn't seem to care. He uttered something unintelligible, making Sarah frown. She gave him another prod and he winced. Chuck settled his chin in the crook of her shoulder and spoke in a haunted voice, "I just killed someone. I took a life with my own hands right when I promised I wouldn't do it." He went quiet before he became choked up, "I'm a murder, Sarah—"

"Chuck, it was in self-defense." She tried to explain, but her emotions were exhausting her to a state of frailty. Her voice broke, "I saw it, and you had no choice. Perry attacked you with the intent to kill. You just reacted."

There was a pause. It was not long until he asked:

"Are you going to DC, Sarah?"

Sarah went rigid. Her hand froze from combing through his brown curls and promptly grabbed Chuck by either shoulder and pushed him in front of her. His eyes were drooping shut and his smile had vanished. She took a quick peak over her shoulder and saw that Shaw was now off the phone and inspecting the dead Ring agent. Sarah chewed on her lip and stared back to Chuck.

"Because I passed the test," he continued in the same crushed voice. He sounded close to succumbing to sleep. "That means I'm a real spy and you can leave with Shaw…"

"Chuck," she cut him off.

"Hmm…?"

"—how's Agent Bartowski doing?"

Sarah avoided Chuck's look of growing disappointment to focus on Shaw. There was pride laced in the title given to the youngest man. And it was then that shockwaves were sent to her heart. It had her come to the realization that this is what he wanted all along. Shaw wanted Chuck to become a heartless spy, a killer capable of assassination. But what was the reasoning behind this? What is to become his personal hit man to carry out a vendetta against the Ring for killing his deceased wife? Was everything bent around the motive of taking revenge?

She shot Shaw an icy glare. Chuck looked between them, unable to read beyond what was conveyed in their facial expressions.

"Physically, Chuck will be fine. Devon just needs to stitch him up. But mentally?" Her voice cracked and her lips formed into a loathsome sneer, "Mentally, he just shot someone Shaw. Chuck killed someone when he just forfeited the exam."

Shaw never flinched. His dark eyes fixed themselves on Chuck. The pride had wasted away as her comment had hit him where it hurt. Jealousy betrayed his facade, but it was quick to disappear. He became emotionless once more, making Sarah's insides crawl.

"He will get over it," he stated. The apathy chilled Sarah. "We all do."

Chuck scowled. It came off weak and he slumped back into Sarah's arms. He was too fatigued to be combative. Sarah, though, was ready with a fire burning in her sapphire eyes.

"But he's different," she persisted. "Chuck's not like us, any of us."

"Well now he's just like everyone else, isn't he?"

"I won't let you manipulate him like this," she said between closed teeth, "Never again."

I won't let you manipulate me again.

"He wanted to be a spy. You heard him, Sam."

Her eyes shot up at the mentioning of her name.

"Don't you dare call me that."

"It's your name, isn't it?"

Sarah opened her mouth, but someone else spoke first.

"You two, shut the hell up. We need to get Bartowski medical attention. So pipe down and get the van ready, alright?"

Both pairs of eyes flickered to the side to see Casey approaching them. He was in his normal civilian clothes, an irritating expression of concern flitted on his face. Devon was accompanying him; he held a backpack filled with medical supplies and he was looking more disturbed and less awesome by the moment.

The argument ended with a huff by Sarah and a smug look from Shaw. They parted ways with Shaw heading to the van with Devon while Sarah remained on the ground with Chuck in her lap. Casey stayed beside his two former teammates, a grim look outlining his weathered face.

"He's unconscious," she said, barely audible.

Casey grunted. His arms folded over his chest. He took a quick glance over at the dead body of the Ring spy.

"So Bartowski really did it, huh?"

"It was in self-defense," Sarah reminded him. "I took a shot off as well."

"That's a team effort," he commented with a gruff appreciation. "I wish I could've been there to participate."

Sarah chose not to respond. She just carefully peeled Chuck off her and laid him gently on his side so that the injury wouldn't be irritated. She touched Chuck's face gingerly and smiled.

"John, will you help me take Chuck back to the van, please?"

"As long as he doesn't get blood all over my new shirt," he replied. "Then yeah, I guess so."

"Thank you."

Casey grunted yet again.

But before she allowed anything to persist forward, Sarah leaned close to Chuck and pressed her lips close to his ear.

She whispered, "I will never leave you."

Sarah separated herself from him and then elevated to her feet. Casey carefully slung Chuck over his shoulder and the remains of Team Bartowski trekked down the darkened path together. And Sarah could have sworn she saw Chuck's lips twitch upward in the beginnings of an euphonic smile.

Fin

An: And the verdict is? Loved it? Hated it?

Personally, I don't think Chuck will end up killing to pass the Red Test. I want him too, believe me I do, but only if it's in self-defense, or saving Sarah. That's it. He's not Jack Bauer. Yet.

R&R