Warnings for self-harm. It's dark. Dark, I tell you. And angsty.

Disclaimer: I do not own Chuck. I doubt that I will ever have a chance to own Chuck, especially after writing this.

Note: I'm not sure if I had this up before the sweep, so if you read and liked this the first time, it's back up.

The first time Bryce cut himself, he was thirteen. And it was accidental. His teacher didn't like being corrected or argued with. Bryce had done both. He was given detention, in which he had to clean the entire room. There was a rusted part of the desk he was cleaning and his arm swiped across. The teacher worried that he would be suspended without pay for allowing him to get hurt and told him to get lost and not tell anyone. He washed it out in the bathroom and told his mother that he cut himself on a rusted piece of metal on the way home. He felt better that night, even with the Tetanus shot he had to get.

The second time was also accidental. His mother had left the day after his fifteenth birthday; his father drank himself to sleep. Bryce was hungry and he didn't have any money. His idea was to heat some of the ham that was leftover from the last family dinner. He had it out and started searching for a knife to cut into it. The drawer that the cutlery was in messed up and he swiped his fingers over the knife he needed. He withdrew with a pained gasp and saw the cuts on three of his fingers. He washed them quickly and saw they were already closing. He didn't want to go through the drawer again and nabbed a twenty out his father's wallet for pizza. He felt calmer than he had in days.

He never intentionally thought about cutting himself. At all the points between his mother leaving and having to push Chuck away, he was able to calm himself down before things escalated. Then the possibility of recruitment happened, and he was told to destroy his friendship to keep Chuck safe. Bryce had to constantly remind himself that he did it for Chuck's own good. Everything Orion said that the agency would do to him he could easily see, but it never made it easier to accept. He had no one else to talk to about this; anyone within the CIA would tell the higher ups and he would be terminated. Then they would go after Chuck and it would be for nothing. Orion didn't contact him beyond information about the project; he didn't seem to care that the young man he had enlisted to protect his son only had his son to connect with.

Bryce couldn't break down, too many questions. There was no possible way to allow himself to cry since he could be called up for a mission at any point in time. His mind went back to the times that he cut him accidentally. Normally, he wouldn't be thinking about hurting himself deliberately. He got enough of pain while out on missions. His mind brought up how much calmer, focused after receiving pain and he couldn't push the idea any longer.

No one was in the frat house. No one to come in and guilt him, to stop him. He pulled out the throwing knife that was always with him. His first thought was his arm, quick to access since he was wearing a t-shirt. It would have been too noticeable, and the agency would desk him until some psych doc told them it was okay for him to be back out. He pulled off his jeans and settled on the uncovered part of the floor. His thigh was slightly dark due to the impromptu tanning session in Brazil two weeks before. He placed the knife against the skin between his knee and hip, on the inside. He pushed and dragged, feeling the cut and gasping at the shock of pain. He gave himself a minute, feeling it fade. After five minutes, he finally got up to wash it out and dress it. He disinfected with rubbing alcohol and applied ointment before fixing gauze on top of it.

He settled at his desk after replacing his jeans. There were two papers to write and he had to finish and turn in the next day. His mind became calmer with the release of the endorphins. They were both written by midnight as he settled for a sleep that wasn't punctured by haunted looks and false accusations.

-break-

There was never a possibility that Chuck would ever see the scars that Bryce inflicted on himself. In fact, he never thought he would see Chuck again. Then, there was always the bad luck that seemed to happen at particular moments in time. The terrorist that came in earlier than expected. A storm that knocked out power, and therefore the computer system he needed to hack. The general that walked into the conference room that Sarah and he were using for a quickie.

Fulcrum saved him; Chuck and Sarah intercepted the package containing him. He knew Bryce was alive. Bryce found out about what happened after Stanford. After the consulate dinner, he spent the free time adding more marks while berating himself for allowing that to happen. He should have found a better way to keep Chuck away from the CIA. Orion should have been more open to finding a different way than just expelling him. His thoughts ended when he realized that there was too much blood pooling on the floor. He had to clean it up before maid service came in.

The train station caused a small panic attack. Sarah had failed in her duty to protect the Intersect, protect Chuck! He ended up in the bathroom of his small motel room retracing half of the old scars open. He was in the middle of cutting when his cell phone went off. His arm jerked, going deeper and farther than he intended. He let out a strangled yell before grabbing it off the counter. He read the interface while calming down. Encrypted. He answered, "Orion."

"Have you delivered it yet?"

"Within the hour. I'm waiting for him to get back to the apartment so he's not around his handlers." There was a click on the other end. Bryce quickly wiped and patched. He cleaned up and cleaned out all the trash before grabbing his duffel and leaving.

"Chuck."

He watched Chuck spaz as he seemingly came out of nowhere. "What did I say about the entrances?" His eyes flitted over the duffel bag on his shoulder, the dark clothing that blended in with shadows, to the shining, wet patch on his leg. "Bryce." He stared at the area. He follows the eyes down to see the patch and realize that he had cut deeper than he thought. His body had been ignoring the wound, his mind focused on getting Chuck the update and getting out of town.

"It's fine."

"No, it is not fine. When did you get hurt?" He tried pulling Bryce to sit somewhere so he could examine, if he was allowed.

"It's nothing, Chuck," he argued. He pulled out of his grip and twisted the wrong way, opening the wound even more and causing more blood to pour. He fell to his knees with the flare in pain and ragged breathing as Chuck got under one of his arms and pulled him up.

"It is not nothing if that happens," he retorted. He led the way back to the apartment and quietly behind Ellie and Devon, which was not easy since Bryce was starting to lag. He did make it up to his room, which he pushed his old nemesis onto the bed and went to go find the stocked kit. He ended up pulling out a black towel and washcloth set to go with a bowl of warm water. Stacked carefully, he walked back to his room. He was still in the same place, although the bag was now on the floor and he was staring at the picture of the frat brothers from Stanford.

The next fifteen minutes were silent. Chuck cleaned the wounds that Bryce had created. He saw the old scars from times past but didn't bring it up as he used butterfly bandages to hold the deeper wound together and cover it all in ointment and gauze. He took the jeans that he was wearing and placed them near his hamper to sneak into the washer later in the night. There was no way Bryce was leaving, not when they needed to talk.

Chuck set everything out of the way. "So, what happened?" he asked, "I don't remember you getting hurt at the station. Did someone attack you between then and now?"

"No," he muttered, moving to grab his bag. He was pulled back onto the bed. "Chuck," he warned.

"Sorry, but right now, I think you need to talk to someone. So, we're going to play the Doctor Phil Show and I'm Doctor Phil," he testified, "So, what happened, Bryce?"

"Nothing is wrong, Chuck. I'm fine, now I need to leave," he argued, trying to rise. He was pulled back down.

"You're not fine. You cut yourself and you've been doing it for a while," he implored, "What's wrong? Talk."

Bryce stared back at him. Talk, talk about what? How I had to push you out and destroy your life to keep you safe, but I couldn't deal it myself so I hurt myself to not break down. "I can't, Chuck." How everything in my life now seems to revolve around you, keeping you safe while Orion finds a way to take out the Intersect so that you can go and have a normal life. How any little thing that happens now makes me feel guilty that I never did enough to protect you. "There are things I can't tell you."

"Bullshit," he called, "You couldn't tell me about the CIA stuff, and I saw how badly you were shaken up during some of the early times. Yet you were able to make up some nightmare scenario that probably closely resembled what had happened so we could talk. You don't need to do that now."

He dropped his gaze down to his lap. Chuck did know about the CIA part, but this was beyond the CIA. If Beckman found out he was in contact with Orion, she was pull him in. Everything around him would be monitored and he wouldn't be able to get Chuck out of the situation. I won't be able to do anything if I get caught. He shook his head. "I can't." He grabbed his bag and dug for another pair of jeans, seeing where the last ones went to for quick pick up.

"Can't what? Can't talk about some mission that I'll probably just flash on. Can't talk about what's stressing you out so badly that you have to hurt yourself? You never did that, Bryce. Not in Stanford, at least when I was there. What is it?" Bryce kept his back to Chuck. His head was ducked down, but it wasn't to get a closer look through his bag. It was the despair and depressed slump Chuck saw when Bryce's parents died in sophomore year. The best thing then had been to spontaneously hug him at points in the day when he needed a boost. That and marathons of shows and games.

He pulled Bryce toward him in order to have a better grip. He had him face him before hugging him. One arm went under the arm while another went over his shoulders to keep him in place. His head sat on a shoulder. "Chuck," he whispered.

"Nuh uh."

I can't. I can't do this. There's too much at stake. "Chuck." I'm losing control; I can't lose control. Chuck moved his arm so he could rub his back. Fuck. There was a couple of shuddering breaths and tears, but he wasn't crying. His body acted on its own, craving the attention. His arms wrapped around, squeezed and clung to Chuck.

-break-

The phone rang for a full minute before he gave up. Orion leaned back in the chair he was sitting at before looking at the number. Larkin should have answered with the completion of the drop off. He opened up the link to the cameras that Casey had installed months earlier to see if the glasses were there.

Instead of glasses on a table, or on Chuck, he saw his son and Bryce sitting on the bed, controllers in their hands and playing something he can't quite see. He focused on the first aid kit Ellie had put together, the trash now containing ripped papers for gauze and bandages, the missing pants off of the agent sitting next to his son. He spotted the white swaths on his inner thigh and processed it quickly. He sighed as he forgot the update.

I'm not good at ending things, so it's a little ill-conceived.

If you liked this the first time or if you thought I did this wrong, go ahead and tell me. You can also just push the blue button and say yay. Thank you for reading, again possibly.