I would like to say that I am a horrible person, because Chuck is such a great person yet here I am torturing him. But I love torturing the fictional people I love. No fictitious character is safe from my sadistic tendency! Yet such great things come from it, so I think that my fans forgive me.

Hope you enjoy.

The hustle of students rushing along the walkways, lounging on the grass and the low buzz of the Stanford lecture halls filled the autumn air. Classes had resumed after what felt now to be a rather short summer break. The students were settling into their new routines, as if the summer had never occurred. Most of the youths were still aggravated that their fun had to stop, but there was one that was quite content with life at that moment.

Bryce Larkin, college student and CIA agent in training, was lounging on his bed in the frat room he shared with Chuck Bartowski. The dark haired man stared lazily out the window with a pair of headphones firmly planted on his ears, allowing the music to flow into his head without hindrance. It was one of the rare days that he had no classes, training or some mission to work on. Just some time to relax, listening to a few tapes as the soft warmth of the sun crept though the window.

The only thing that would make the day better was if his best friend was there as well. It was always a great time when the two could talk or play some games between homework. No matter how stressed he was about his work, a smile and a few excited words from Chuck could lighten the day. It was a natural talent that the taller boy did not know he possessed, one that was not missed by those around him. Chuck Bartowski was the sweetest person that Bryce had ever met, the only decent human being that he had found. And probably would ever find in this corrupt world.

The agent was so lost in his thoughts that he nearly jumped when the door swung open violently. A hand slipped under his pillow toward the pistol that he had hidden. His hand wrapped around the gun's grip as his muscles coiled, ready for whatever threat came through. Instead of an assassin, there was only a rather disheveled Chuck who stomped though the abused doorway.

Bryce released his grip on the gun as he turned his full attention to his friend, "Chuck?"

Chuck did not look at Bryce as he stormed through their room. Reaching his side of the room, Chuck threw himself into his bed face first. When he made no move to change his position, Bryce pulled off his headset.

"Was it that bad a day in Ethics?" throwing his legs off of his comforter, Bryce leaned toward the other bed. From his new angle, Bryce noticed a crumpled letter laying next to Chuck's hand. The paper showed signs of being mangled and then smoothed out a number of times. Chuck was not the messy type for all of his disorganized tendencies, this break in the civil treatment of the paper kind drew the agent's interest.

Not waiting to ask permission, Bryce lifted the letter from the bed without drawing the attention of the prone figure. The envelope was dingy with a disheveled print of Chuck's address and the return address. He pulled out the note inside, noting that it was as dirty looking as the envelope. Straitening out the worst of the creases, Bryce saw the same uneven hand writing scrawled across the page.

Hello Chucky,

It has been so long since I have taken talked to you babby. I hope youre good, you being in college is a big thing. No one in my family ever went. I know my little man is gonna be a big person one day.

Things are not too good on my end. I got an apartment, but my boyfriend desided that he would take the rent money. He said that he needed the money to pay off a loan, that it would meen his life. God, I was scared to say no. What if the person getting that money came after me?

I wouldn't ask unless this was important, but mamma needs help here buddy. If I could borrow a few bills, enough to pay for rent. If I dont get the money Ill be on the street as quick as you can blink. Come on babby, I know you can spare some of that scolorship money to keep your momy off the streets. You dont want to see me on the news do you? Send it quick, I got the adress on the envalope.

There was not a signature at the end of the note or a farewell, just a smudge of ash. From the handwriting and the horrible spelling mistakes, Bryce figured that it was not from cigarettes.

Bryce shook the note lightly, just enough to draw Chuck's attention. Chuck looked up long enough to notice the letter was no longer with him. The young man glared as he tried to snatch the article out of his friend's hand.

When Chuck had missed the letter after two attempts, Bryce allowed the boy to grab it, "You don't talk about her much . . . I see why."

Chuck laid his head down again, but this time he was not attempting to smother himself with his covers. His face was turned toward the headboard, his eyes unfocused. The two sat in an uncomfortable silence. Bryce was not sure what he should say in this situation, he had known that Chuck was not part of the traditional nuclear family, but he did not know much about anyone in his family except Ellie.

"She left when I was six," Chuck muttered, closing his hand on the letter, causing more creases while not crushing it completely. "I don't know what she was on then, but she was a drug addict even then."

Bryce propped his elbows on his knees. What were you supposed to say to someone about being abandoned by a drug addict mother?

A soft sigh foretold the next soft words, "One day she would be great, she would act like the best mom in the world. Then she would change. She would disappear for days at a time; stuff around the house would disappear until our dad started locking things up." His friend looked over for a moment before returning to his visual of the head board. Chuck must have seen something in Bryce's face to cause him to add, "She never hit us or anything. From what I remember, she always got spacey.

"One day, Ellie and I came home and she was gone. I thought it was like the other times, ya know? That she would show up again and be in the happy mood she always was in when she came back. We didn't hear from her for years." Chuck shrugged helplessly, his eyes lost, "She needed money then too."

"Are you gonna send the money?" Bryce asked, hoping that his friend would be selfish for the first time since Bryce had known him. Chuck was not stupid; he had to know the cash would never see an apartment super. Some guy on the corner would get a few more bills in his pocket to replace whatever drug the woman bought.

Exhaling from his nose, Chuck tucked his chin against his chest. He answered in with a weary sigh, "I already sent it."

For the first time since their talk had started, Chuck glanced at the other man. "I had to, if I didn't she would have to do something drastic. Better she doesn't loose her place for the drugs."

He looked down again, whispering, "They matter more then me."

"Hey," Bryce's voice was sharp, drawing his friend's attention back to him. He was not going to let this go on, "It's not your fault Chuck."

"I know," Chuck did not look Bryce in the eye as he said this. When Chuck pulled himself from the bed, Bryce knew that he was running. "I gotta grab a book."

Bryce was up and standing against the closed door before Chuck could reach it. Shocked brown eyes looked into Bryce's hard gaze. The look of a deer in the headlights was pasted on his face, not liking the harsh look.

"Chuck, it was her, not you," the look said that Chuck did not believe him. "She's the one that left; she chose that shit because she was too weak to see what a great thing she would be missing."

He was not going to listen though, Bryce saw it. His CIA training contained reading body language. He could see what his friend was thinking. It broke his heart that this great guy was treating himself like trash, as if he was the one who drove his mother to drugs. Bryce did something that he would never have guessed he would.

Reaching out, Bryce enveloped Chuck in a close embrace. It was a bit uncomfortable, Bryce had never had to console a grown man before. A tremor ran through his tall friend before it all poured out. Chuck grabbed onto Bryce, leaning forward to bury his face in the ruffled shirt that covered Bryce's shoulder.

There was no way of knowing how long the two stood there, but Bryce took every damp mark on his shirt without complaint. He stood there, trying to silently sooth his friend as years of pain and self doubt was poured out in a rush of emotions. He did not move until Chuck had emptied every ounce of pain onto Bryce. Once he had finished, Chuck had to cling to Bryce so that he would not fall in the exhausted stupor which followed the emotional roller-coaster.

He helped move his curly headed friend to his bed. Once he met the sheets, Chuck curled into a tight ball. Bryce waited until the uneven hiccups evened off into the steady sound of sleep. Bryce grabbed his jacket and slipped silently out of the room with a final look at his friend. He had things to do.

The room was covered in trash; food rappers, torn newspaper, and rotting pieces of food was thrown into every corner of the already dingy apartment. Bryce moved skillfully around the garbage. The flaking plaster walls and damaged tables showed no signs of who lived in this place. No pictures were visible, just more trash.

Bryce stopped at a low coffee table which showed serious damage on it. One corner was completely broken off. A blackened spoon was discarded on the gouged wood. If he cared to touch the articles on the table, Bryce imagined that there would be a few needles as well.

Moving out of view, Bryce waited for the sound of the opening door. It was important for this encounter to go according to plan if he wanted this to work. Allowing enough time for the person in the living room to draw away from the door, Bryce slipped around the corner. Slipping across the room soundlessly, the young man closed the door. The sound of the latch clicking shut drew the woman's attention to the young man.

Bryce could see that once upon a time, this woman had looked like Chuck. Her stringy hair had the same curl, and the two shared a similar nose. But the brown hair was thin, almost white. Her face looked as if she had to be twice the age she was and her skin sunk into the grooves of her face. The drugs had hit her appearance hard.

"Ge-get away from me," the woman's brown eyes were a held a crazed glaze.

There may have been a time when Bryce would have taken pity on this pathetic creature. She was obviously half dead from her dependence from the drugs. But when he looked at the curly hair, that face, all he could see was Chuck's tortured face. This woman had caused pain that no amount of time will ever wash away from that brilliant soul. And if she was allowed to keep going in and out of his life, pain that may eventually destroy his friend.

"I don't think so," Bryce glared at her, his eyes shards of ice. He would become as hard as he needed, with a heart of stone when he needed to protect his only true friend in his world.

"We have issues to discuss."

Ah, Chuck bashing. As I said, I am horrible but hopefully an awesome way. Really don't know if I will make more chapters but I might. There is a whole world of Chuck torture out there for me to feed on . . . Cue the creepy music.