An: I bet y'all are surprised I even updated this, huh? Well, I wasn't going to since this was supposed to be my Halloween entry, and I thought 1. It wasn't getting an enough reviews, and 2. I missed my window of opportunity once October ended. Yet, with enough encouragement (you know who you are!) I decided to continue this because who wouldn't like to see vampire!Chuck?

If you haven't read the first four chapters, I suggest you do. This story was written before season 5 started, so it's AU. I'd like to thank Aerox for helping me as always, mostly reading over this chapter to make sure I didn't go overboard. Because ohmygod if this was rated M.

Please review, this is Chuck's last week after all. Enjoy!

Chapter Five

Someone gives my shoulder a few shakes, and I open my eyes with great reluctance. Apparently I've fallen asleep in Castle. I am slouched over in a straight-back chair, my face resting on the tabletop. I feel groggy and ache all over. Morgan sits on the other side, leaning back in his seat; head angled up in an awkward manner with his mouth parted as he snores nosily. I turn to look at my right and find Casey standing with arms folded across his broad chest. His tired blue eyes fixed upon me. I get the sense he's been awake for quite some time.

"You should go home," he tells me. "I'll stay here with Grimes and we'll look after Chuck while you get some rest."

I quickly sit upright. Unable to anticipate the disorientation that follows, my vision blurs and I feel lightheaded. "I'm fine," I insist. "I won't leave him, Casey. Not in his current condition."

He sighs. "I know, but it was worth a try."

"How long was I out for?"

"For awhile, it's just after noon." Casey replies gruffly. "You didn't miss much. Ellie left as soon as you and the Intersect over here," he indicates an unconscious Morgan, "dozed off. She said she'd be back later this evening to run more tests and figure this whole vampire mess out."

"What about Chuck?" I ask, ignoring the contempt weighing in Casey's countenance. He's obviously not a fan of vampires. "Have you been monitoring him at all?"

He grunts. "Unfortunately."

I frown. "Why unfortunately? What happened? Is he alright?"

"He doesn't sleep." With my confusion evident, he goes on to explain. "He's been the same spot for hours, doesn't move an inch. Sometimes he starts talking to himself, mumbling like a schizoid."

"Could you read his lips and figure out what he was saying?"

"He kept repeating the same phrase."

I narrow my eyes, my patience waning at his vague answers. "Which was?"

"I'm hungry, Sarah," he recites. "Just that sentence, over and over again. He's literally begging for it like some kind of junkie."

My wrist throbs at the thought of him feeding again. Possibly on me this time if he'll allow it. I shiver, but it's not an unpleasant feeling. "We'll need to give him his next blood fix soon or else his health will deteriorate like Ellie said."

"That'd be fine and dandy if we had any blood packs left to spare," remarks Casey. "Unless you can change his mind about letting him drink yours, he'll have to wait for an alternative option."

I nod and rise to my feet. Glancing over my shoulder, I see that the 24 hour surveillance has been initiated. The television monitor displays the isolated feeds from Chuck's cell. He's sitting on the floor with fingers laced around his knees. His head is bowed; chin resting on his chest. Even without a clear look at his face, I can feel his desperation.

"Somehow I doubt that Chuck will be all that opposed to the idea of a donor," I whisper. I give Casey a sidelong glance. He's watching the feed with a blank expression. "Give me five minutes alone with him. If any complications arise, you know what to do."

He knows what I am alluding to. Dead Man's blood isn't just a myth. It's the only way we've found for how to temporarily stop a vampire. Morgan had done the research on the flight home, and I recall Ellie verifying the authenticity before I had passed out. If Chuck becomes too dangerous, Casey will inject him with a syringe filled with the essence of the dead. In theory, it should act as a sedative and paralyze Chuck.

With a final glimpse at the monitor, I stretch out my sore limbs and begin walking towards the corridor that will lead me to Chuck. I can feel Casey's gaze lingering on me as I go.

"Watch yourself, Walker." He warns.

I manage to acknowledge him with a tiny nod. Then I finally cross the threshold and descend further into the depths of the dimly lit hallway.

I eventually arrive at the detaining room. My finger hovers above the keypad, ready to input the password that will unlock the door. I hesitate for a moment or two; staring through the transparent glass, ogling at Chuck like he's some kind of a sideshow freak. A wild animal imprisoned in its cage.

But then I remember that he put himself there. He did this to protect us. I know he had left with the intention to sleep, but apparently vampires have lost that ability. He's wide awake and restless. From where I'm standing, I can see him trembling. Like a nervous, uncontrollable tic.

I blindly enter the correct sequence of numbers. The door clicks, sliding ajar. Chuck perks up at once, lifting his gaze as I approach him with the clicks of my stilettos echoing throughout the chamber.

Chuck and I make eye contact and he's already searching for a means to escape. He scrambles into a corner with a surprising lack of grace considering what he is. He's petrified of me. Or petrified of what he may do if I get too close.

He stammers. "W—what do you want? Why, w—why are you here?"

It saddens me to see him like this. His voice is shaking with fear while his demeanor screams hostility. It's deeply unsettling, which is why I keep my distance. But then I remember that this is Chuck. Chuck Bartowski. My husband for god's sake! And so despite my instincts telling me to run, I remain put.

"I came to see how you're doing," I reply sincerely. "It looked like you could use the company."

"No," he mutters under his breath. "No, I don't need company. I need to be alone."

"Do you want me to leave then?" I ask, hanging by the door. "Because I will, just say the word. I'll go."

Chuck suddenly looks terrified. He leaps off the floor and to his feet, grabbing my hand to pull me inside the cell. The force in which he yanks my arm feels like it popped out of place. I hiss, losing my balance to only fall straight into his awaiting embrace.

He begins petting my hair at once. I don't try to move, afraid that if I struggle, it might provoke his violent streak. "Please don't leave me, Sarah," he mumbles. "Don't leave. I—I was being stupid. Of course I need you. Just stay here. Stay with me."

His mood changes at the drop of a hat. He's manic, depressed or insanely aggressive. Chuck's always been a little bit strange. But this goes far beyond his usual neuroticism. They're all symptoms of his transformation since first being turned. For one, his body is ice cold. He's also much stronger. Evident by how I can hardly breathe with the effort he's put into this hug. I don't think he realizes that I'm practically suffocating.

I gasp. "Chuck…it's alright. I'm here now…so there's no…reason to apologize."

His grip grows lax and he releases me. I collapse onto the bench and pant bated breaths while he watches on, expression indiscernible.

"Did I hurt you?" he asks.

"It's fine," I say. "I'm fine. I just didn't anticipate that at all."

Chuck looks guilty. "I guess I don't know my own strength."

"Again, it's ok," I smile for his benefit. "So other than the obvious, how are you feeling?"

Chuck averts his crimson gaze like he's ashamed of what he's about to tell me. I know that he's hungry, and it must be incredibly difficult to have me so near to him when it's my scent and my blood that drives him to the brink. I wonder how he'd react if I suggest he feeds off me. Last time he was appalled by the idea. Maybe he won't be so resistant this time.

He can't afford to say no. So I won't give him a chance to.

Slowly, I draw the combat knife that I keep hidden in my jean pocket, and unsheathe it. Chuck's highly tuned senses catches the metallic sound, but he's too late to prevent me from taking the sharp edge to my wrist. I draw the tip across the bandages, wincing when fresh blood spills from the reopened wound.

I glance up and find Chuck watching the blood ooze like he's lost in a hypnotic trance. His tongue pokes out of his mouth, licking his lips with need. "Sarah, you're making a big mistake and…." He trails off, a guttural rumbling in his throat taking over.

"I'm trying to keep you alive," I say with my arm stretched out before him. "Now, go ahead. Do it, drink."

"But I can't," he whines. "I'll kill you by accident!"

I practically throw my bleeding wrist at his face. I hold it steady; hovering below his twitching nose and salivating mouth.

"Drink," I say again.

What's left of his self-control is abandoned, and Chuck clamps my wrist to his mouth. His vice-like grip squeezes to encourage the flow of blood. He takes several gulps of it causing me to give little gasps of shock every time his fangs would scrape across my flesh.

Hopefully none of this will alert Casey to break us apart. He's watching this unfold via the surveillance tapes and I can almost picture his look of revulsion, and fear at what he's witnessing. But until Chuck tries tearing off my arm in his frenzy, intervention will not be needed.

I feel myself cringe when Chuck attaches himself to me like a barnacle. He begins sucking harder, groaning as he presses against me. The loss of blood leaves me dizzy and he takes advantage of this by forcing me onto my back to where I lay flat across the bench. He looms over me, never parting ways with my arm which hangs limp in his grasp.

Darkness creeps in the outer edges of my vision and I feel my consciousness start to fade. In a daze, a moan unexpectedly escapes from the back of my throat. I hear Chuck growling, provoked by my delight and I fear that he'll keep drinking until I'm left bloodless. But then incredibly enough, he tears his lips from my gaping wound and stares me down with his lustful gaze.

I lay beneath him breathing heavily, wondering why he stopped. Our current position is peculiar. It's normally one we use when making love and nothing else. The thundering of footsteps causes for the awkwardness to intensify. Chuck turns his attention from me towards the cell's doorway. His expression turns into embarrassment.

I am afraid to look.

"Oh wow…" says the voice of a stunned Morgan. "Casey, man, you woke me up for this?"

Casey grunts then snaps at Chuck and I. "You two, get cleaned up."

I keep my eyes trained on Chuck, whose glaring daggers at Casey and probably Morgan too. He's none too pleased at them barging in on us. His fangs protrude out from the roof of his mouth and he looks decidedly frightening. Which is why I am beyond confused as to how I can find it to be the most erotic thing I've ever seen.

"Chuck could please get off of me? " I ask a bit uneasily.

It's impossible to maneuver around him. Not when he has me pinned down with most of his weight; immobile and too strong for me to move on my own. It's moments like these where I wish I could still flip him over with my spy prowess. It used to be enough. When he was, you know, human.

"Tell them to leave," he growls dangerously. "Or else…"

"You can't be serious, Chuck," I say exasperatedly. "You'd really threaten them? They're your friends!" But he's poised like a guard dog refusing to budge. I sigh, looking towards my left to see my incredulity matched by Morgan and Casey. "Can we have a few moments?"

Casey appears disgusted and mutters, "Be my guest," as he walks off. This leaves Morgan still frozen in place, staring at his best friend with sad eyes.

"Dude," is all he can manage before shaking his head and following after Casey down the hallway.

It's quiet after they leave. Then Chuck exhales rather loudly. He proceeds to crawl off me, drenched in blood both old and new. I finally push myself upright while making sure to be extra careful with my wrist. I use my uninjured arm to place a comforting hand on the nape of his neck.

"Let's get you cleaned up," I say. "You'll feel better after, I promise."

Chuck leans against me and whispers, "I'm scared."

I absently comb my fingers through his hair, and realize its best not to comment. I know why he's afraid. What he's afraid of. He shares the same fears as the rest of us. What will happen if we cannot reverse this?

Chuck takes a shower alone. He made it clear that he didn't want me to join him, and I respect his wishes. While he's busy scrubbing away the blood, grime, and who knows what else, I wait outside of Castle's washroom for him to finish.

He takes awhile.

I glance at my phone. Twenty minutes have come and gone since Chuck left my sight. When I used to be Chuck's handler, I had become familiar with most of his habits. I know for a fact that his showers go for about half the time. Unless he's been distracted, then of course circumstances change.

No, something is definitely wrong.

"Chuck?"

When there's no response other than the constant running of water, I put my foot in the door, nudging it ajar. I poke my head inside and see nothing but steam.

"Honey, are you ok in there?" I holler.

I wait and listen, but Chuck doesn't answer. The silence is complete. The only noise in the bathroom is the sobbing that comes from within. Assuming the worst, I slip inside without the slightest hesitation.

There's blood. Tons of it, dyeing the tiled floors a dark red color and I almost lose my footing because of how slick it is. I try to convince myself that the blood is what Chuck had been washing off. But then I inhale and my nose burns from the smell. I gag, covering my mouth.

I come to an abrupt stop when most of the steam dissipates. The room is clear and I find Chuck standing over by the sink. He's half naked with a towel wrapped around his waist. He stares at the mirror with his face stricken by bloody tears. Cautiously advancing forward, I note that the mirror has a long, spider web crack across its surface.

He broke it.

My foot steps on a shard of glass. It shatters beneath my heels, making a horrible sound. Chuck doesn't turn like I imagined him too. He's too focused by what he sees in the mirror to pay notice. Or so I think.

"Don't come any closer," he whispers voice hoarse from crying. "Please, Sarah. Just turn around and leave."

Not this again, I think. I am getting frustrated by his frequent mood swings. "I'm not going to leave. You're my husband, Chuck. You need help and I'm staying right here to make sure you get exactly that."

"You can't help me. No one can."

"You need to stay calm," I advise. "Stay calm and stop overreacting. We've been in plenty of difficult situations. This isn't any different."

He chuckles bitterly.

I raise a brow. "What? What's so funny?"

Chuck extends a hand out towards me. I regard him, confused. "Come here," he says.

Curious, I take him up on his offer. He gently takes my hand and guides me towards him. I find myself pressed against him, my shirt soaked by his bare chest. He feels like ice even after a hot shower. Yet his heartbeat pounds on and I listen to its steady, vigorous rhythm.

"Now look," he tells me.

I do what he says. I look at the mirror. I expect to find our fogged up reflections staring back at us. Instead I am only half right. While I do see me—and I look terrible—there is no sign of Chuck.

"You have no reflection," I murmur.

He nods. "I have no soul."

I want to slap him for saying that, but I don't have the strength. "Yes you do," I reply. My palm rests on his chest, feeling the beat of his heart. "You're not dead."

"Not yet."

"Why are you acting like this?" I ask angrily.

"Acting like what?"

"Like you're giving up!"

Chuck is quiet. I glare at him before pushing away. He watches as I turn my back to him and leave so that he can wallow alone in his misery.

When I reach the door, he shouts. "It's not fair!"

I whirl around, eyes narrowed. "What's not fair?"

"Why am I always the one being punished?"

"You're not."

"It was a freak accident. Nobody saw it coming. But since I was the one who was attacked, I have to suffer."

I lose my patience and lash out. "We're doing our best, Chuck! All we want is to keep you safe!"

"What if keeping me safe is what gets the rest of you killed?" he asks. "The longer I stay down here, cooped up living off of month-old blood, the more likely it is that I will snap. Do you really want that?"

"So what do you propose we do then?" I yell. "Let you out on the public? You won't be able to control yourself! It's a lose, lose situation no matter how you look at it. All you can do is tough it out. Hope for the best."

"I just want…" he sighs. "I just want to feel normal again. Can't you please, please let me go outside? You'll be there to babysit me the entire time, and I promise I won't be bad. Just for a few hours?"

Chuck stares pleadingly at me. His red gaze seemingly replaced by his lovely brown eyes. He smiles. No fangs. His skin is bronze from his California tan. For that instant, he is human.

But this is a ruse. I know it is. A cruel vampire trick used to manipulate me. It's almost worked twice before, and Chuck must be a firm believer of third time's a charm.

I hate this.

"You can't fool me," I tell him. "So quit it."

He's pissed. "Why are you so stubborn?"

"I can ask you the same question."

"I'm asking you for a favor," says Chuck. He steps towards me as I arbitrarily inch backwards. "I want to go outside. Is that too much to ask of my wife? Or do I have to give you more incentive to see things my way?"

I slam into the door. My eyelids grow heavy the longer I stare at Chuck, falling victim to his hypnotic gaze. Dammit. It's working. I feel strangely giddy, aroused and spiteful all at once.

Chuck smiles once realizing that he's won. I lose all control when he grabs me roughly by the hips, brushing his lips across my ear as he holds me steady. A little ripple of madness goes through me when I suddenly grab his towel and pull down. It unravels and all of him pushes against me.

"I'll get you back for this," I say and giggle like I'm drugged. Essentially I am. "I swear I will kick your undead ass."

"I'm looking forward to it."

I never figure out if Chuck was joking about that. Because before I can ask, his mouth is on mine and the ability to comprehend is lost. I taste my blood on his breath, and a wave of dark delight carries me out to sea.

Whatever happens after that is a mystery.

An: Trust me, it was not a mystery. So, did I go overboard? I know, I know that Chuck was acting like he has a bad case of bipolar disorder. But he sorta does. He's freaking out and his hormones are all over the place trying to adapt and maintain a new homeostasis with this virus ravaging his body. So naturally, he'll be out of whack. That and his primal self will be more inclined to take control.

There's about three chapters left at most. Gotta wrap this up so I can concentrate on There & Back Again and Redeeming Intentions [insert shameless promotion here]. Next update will include: Chuck gets his play date outside. Team Bartowski figures a way to cure Chuck by locating that Vampiress that turned him. The big question is, does Chuck even want to be saved?

Dun, dun dunnnn!