Author's Note: So the following is a bunch of nonsense, but if Fedak and the Chuck writers can just write any old crazy-ass bulls***, then so can I. The last section has a little bit of Supernatural thrown in, but you don't have to know that show.

Warning the Second: If you're a shipper of any kind, this is not for you. If you take Chuck too seriously this is not for you. If Sarah Walker is your favorite character, this is not for you.

Warning the Third: Seriously, you've been warned. Read at your own risk.

-0-

Triple D

There was a knock at the door. Sarah stopped her packing and moved to answer.

"Walker."

"John?" She asked, surprised to see her old partner at her door. "What are y—"

Suddenly and decisively, Sarah Walker burst into flames right before John Casey's eyes. In a matter of seconds, there was nothing left of the former CIA agent except charred bones.

"Ho-ly... crap." Casey stood in place, not moving a muscle, staring at the pile of ash on the carpet of the hotel room. He blinked deliberately twice trying to comprehend what had just happened. "Well... I guess that takes care of that," he shrugged. He had a call to make. Casey took out his phone and began to dial.

-0-

At the exact moment Sarah was bursting into flames, Daniel Shaw was walking across an intersection where a car ran a red light, hitting him, and launching him straight onto the path of an oncoming bus, which swiftly ran him over. A doctor at the scene ran straight for Shaw to see if he could do anything for the man but he tripped just as he was getting to him and spilled his scalding hot coffee all over Shaw's face causing his skin to bubble up all over. Fortunately for Shaw, he was already dead so he didn't feel it.

-0-

"H-hello?" Answered the whimpering voice of one Charles Irving Bartowski.

"Chuck? Are you crying?"

"No..." he protested. "What's going on, C-Casey?"

"Well..." Casey scratched the back of his head with his free hand. "Here's the thing..."

"Yeah?"

"So, I came to see Walker, right..." Casey continued.

"Uh-huh?"

"Okay, so, she answers the door, right..." Casey paused for a beat.

"Yeah..."

"Well, okay, so, then..." Casey took another pause, he wasn't sure how to phrase the next part.

"Then, what, Casey?" Chuck's curiosity was running on all cylinders. Maybe Casey went over to convince her to take him back. Maybe she changed her mind.

"Well, then she just... kinda spontaneously burst into flames?" Casey's inflection went an octave higher at the end of the statement, making it sound like a question.

"Wait, what?" Chuck didn't think he'd heard right.

"Yeah... just kinda whoosh," Casey explained, "and then nuthin' but a pile of ashes."

"So... you're telling me Sarah's dead?"

"Yup, just a big ol' pile of bone and ash."

"Well... that's... huh..." was the response Chuck gave.

"Hey, you're not gonna start cryin' again, are you?" It suddenly occurred to Casey that that is exactly what Chuck might do; he was so whipped by Walker, why should this time be any different?

"Actually, you know what?" Started Chuck, "I think I'm gonna grow a pair, for once."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"What exactly does that mean?"

"It means that Beckman gave me a week off and I still have a few days left so I'll meet you guys in Rome; I'm taking a little detour."

"Sounds good to me," Casey replied. "Hey, Bartowski?"

"Yeah?"

"Sorry about Walker."

"Meh... tell it to Shaw," Chuck replied before he ended the call. He went into his phonebook and dialed a number he'd recently acquired. It was about time he had some fun.

"Hello?" Answered the feminine voice at the other end of the line.

"Carina?"

"Chucky? Is that you?"

"Yep..."

"What's going on?"

"How would you like to go to Rome?"

-0-

Meanwhile, at a cemetery in Connecticut, Sam and Dean Winchester were digging up a grave to burn the bones of a ghost that had been killing off people in town.

Dean shattered the lock with his shovel and opened up the coffin. He poured gasoline all over the remains and lit a match.

Something was bugging Sam though, so he opened up his phone and called up Bobby. "Hey, Bobby?"

"Yeah?"

"What was the name of that ghost again?"

"You mean John Park?"

"Oh, crap. Dean, wait!"

But it was too late, Dean had thrown the match in and Bryce Larkin's bones went up in flames. "What?" Dean looked up with a puzzled look on his face.

"That was the wrong guy!"

"Huh?"

"We're after John Park, not Bryce Larkin!"

"Well... that's not even close," replied Dean.

"This is why I keep telling you to write things down, man."

"Whoops. Sorry, dude. Honest mistake."

From the phone, Bobby could be heard saying, "Idjits..."

Sam sighed in resignation. "Well, come on, we still got a ghost to fry."

-0-

Author's Note: That's how you kill someone off! I just had to get that out there 'cause I've just about had it with the way that show is run. I mean, come on! There is only so much I can take; I don't care if there's only six episodes left of the series.

On another note: I know I haven't posted anything in months. I apologize for that, if you were waiting to read something from me, but certain things happened that made it hard to find the time to write. I have some time now, so we'll see. If anyone's interested, ch 15 of Recalled is now posted. If you actually read this one, I thank you. It's just me venting.