strange, grey material. Disclaimer: Refer to first chapter.

Canon Compliant but not canon, though that is no surprise.

I'm really sorry this has taken so long, but Chuck and Gally just didn't flow for me.

"You're the Chuckiest Chuck-faced Chuck I've ever met," the dark-haired boy stated simply. This boy looked to be about ten, his black hair styled into a slight Mohawk that made his face appear sharper than it probably was. His eyebrows were an odd feature about him, like upside-down V's with wide edges that did stretch just over the length of each of his eyes. His nose was large and misshapen, the same shape as a malformed potato, though Chuck would never dream of saying that to a boy who looked so cruel. The boy's eyes sat deeply beneath his strange eyebrows, bright brown in colour. He was a boy with a strange, appearance certainly and he seemed to be twice Chuck's age.

Chuck looked up at the much taller boy. " 'Course!" He squeaked brightly. "I am Chuck!"

The boy froze. "What the?..." his voice trailed off. "You're the newbie?!" He then demanded. "The small one everyone's talking 'bout? Your name is Chuck?!"

Looking up at the much taller boy with large, brown eyes, Chuck blinked at him owlishly, nodding his head. "Oh, crap! Now we need to change the slang. Minho! Where's Minho!" He glared around the large cafeteria, seeming to be searching for someone. "Hey you lot! The young one's name is Chuck! We need to change the slang! Minho!" His voice was loud as he shouted across the room. From the nearby tables, people glanced over to look at Chuck curiously, though from farther away nothing happened. "Hey idiots!" The boy roared. "The little dude's name is Chuck! We need Minho to change the slang!"

That time, the cafeteria slowly grew silent and a boy with jet black hair that stood up all over his head rose from his own table. "The slang term 'Chuck' will now be 'Shuck'!" He shouted to which the whole cafeteria let up a roar of agreement. It was as though they had planned what they were doing.

The boy shook Chuck's hand enthusiastically, almost lifting him off the ground in doing so. "Pleased to meet you, Chuck. My name is Gally. Welcome to the WICKED facilities where such 'gifted' youngsters are taught and trained for pretty much shucking everything. Damnit, I don't like Minho's new words as much. Ah, oh well." He, Gally, watched Chuck with a new found interest. "So, what'cha good at, newbie?"

Chuck avoided his gaze nervously. He wasn't good at very many things. He didn't have good grammar, nor could he build much of anything. Chuck couldn't even make friends easily. Chuck had almost no skill in much of anything. When Chuck had been given his father's set of old lego, he had failed terribly, the spaceship becoming something more akin to a glob of mush. When his mother had tried to get Chuck to help her cook pancakes, he had failed pathetically, the pancakes becoming burned and charred. No matter what Chuck did, he never seemed to succeed. His overly competitive parents pushed Chuck to be the best and no matter how hard Chuck tried to please them, please them for his entire life and just as long for theirs, he never succeeded. When his parents had caught the terrible disease known as the Flare, they hadn't gone traditionally made, rather become even more competitive and with it, more violent. A month after Chuck's parents had fallen ill, WICKED had taken him away from his old home to become part of the possible cure. Chuck did care for his parents, certainly, so he went with WICKED and agreed to be the good little subject that they needed, even renaming him Chuck.

"Nothin'," Chuck replied glumly. "I broke Da's legos and burned Ma's pancakes!"

Gally looked at the shorter boy, sympathy shining in his black eyes. "Well that's okay, Chuckie. You can't be good at everything, ya know. There's something out there that's just write for you. It may not be the survival skills that WICKED want you to have, but you're good at something. Just keep yer chin up and you'll find it."

All Chuck could do in response was drop his chin farther to the ground. His warm brown eyes gazed glumly at the cold, plastic ground beneath his feet that shuffled nervously against the strange grey floor. He hated the fakeness of it all, hated the way that he was terrible at everything, hated his lack of friends and hated his age. Chuck was new to the WICKED Headquarters, only five years old, baby fat still clinging to his form and hair sticking up in curly brown locks. There was very little abut himself that Chuck didn't hate- and it only made himself hate himself even more. A hand grasped his chin and Chuck instinctively squirmed, flinching away in confusion, though calming when he saw it was only Gally.

"Listen to me, Chuck. You can't be more than six. You don't have a shucking calling in life yet and you shouldn't yet, either. I don't know who I am. No one here knows who we are deep down. We're all just the same as you, children who know not of our destinies. We were all terrible at everything at some point. I still can't write properly and type with two fingers. For as long as I've been here, those older than I have been helping me through my troubles. If I could learn, then anyone can. All you have to do is believe in yourself, kay Chuck?" He looked Chuck straight in the eyes, the blackness that hung deep within Gally's eyes boring gently into Chuck's soul. "Keep your chin up and some day, you'll know just as we all will. It's Fate."

And Chuck wrapped his stubby arms around Gally's legs. "You're my first friend," he whispered softly. My only friend." Awkwardly, Gally hugged Chuck back.

Seven years later, the two friends met again. Chuck, only knowing his name, stared up into the light, eyes still as chocolate brown as ever and as Gally knelt over him, Chuck felt a whimper escape his throat. He was truly terrified.

I just had to do that ending. Chuck, terrified of his first friend. It makes me so sad.