Thanks everyone for reading our first chapter and reviewing! Just to reiterate, this is going to be a rewrite from the incredibly busy minds of Steampunk . Chuckster and david . carner ... which means some bits will be word for word, and we're changing/adding/manipulating whatever we feel is necessary to tell the story we want to tell. Be patient with us...or don't, that's fine, too. But we appreciate your reviews a whole lot! Enjoy chapter 2!

Disclaimer: We don't own CHUCK, we don't own the CHUCK characters, and we're making no money off of this, but maybe send help because we're having way too much fun and this is dangerous.

Burbank, California

"Bartowski!" Chuck dropped his head and sighed. That was Big Mike's 10:13 Where are my donuts? yell. Chuck looked over at Morgan who shrugged and fled. "Bartowski!" Chuck spun, the fake smile already plastered on his face.

"Big Mike, how are you this morning?"

Big Mike walked up to Chuck and gave him his normal glare. "Bartowski, we have a problem."

"A problem, Sir?" Big Mike always had problems and he usually wanted everyone but him to fix it. "It seems I'm having a little issue in the," Big Mike looked around, leaned in, and made a circling motion at his stomach area. "Apparently I need some more fiber." He was now talking in a very quiet voice, but he might as well been screaming as far as Chuck was concerned. He could never unhear these words. "I have something called in over at the Large Mart, and I'm afraid to go myself in case...well...things…"

"I got it," Chuck cut in quickly before Big Mike decided to explain in detail what might happen. "And you'd like me to go?"

Big Mike handed him some money. "Thank you, Son, you're the only one of these idiots I can trust. I'll never forget this, in fact, how about you take off a half hour early tonight, since it's your birthday."

Chuck smiled. "You remembered."

Big Mike gave him a look that said 'don't be stupid'. "Your sister called and reminded me to make sure you got off on time. I don't want to mess with Ellie."

"That makes two of us," he muttered heading towards the door. He crossed the parking lot. He was twenty-six today and his sister was throwing him a birthday party. Twenty-six. He had no college degree, thank you Bryce Larkin, lived with his sister and her boyfriend, serious thank you, Ellie and Awesome, and he made eleven bucks an hour at the Buy More, where souls went to die. As he entered the Large Mart his cell phone rang. He pulled it out, looked at the screen, and grinned.

"Hello, Ellie."

"Hey, Chuck! Happy birthday! How's your birthday going?"

"Uh, birthdayish?" He felt her frown into the phone. He hurried on. "Big Mike has me getting some medicine for him."

"Oh, does he have a spastic colon?"

"Ellie, one of us has a medical degree, and one of us didn't graduate from college."

"Chuuuck," the voice was low, and ominous...well, as ominous as Ellie could get, but he knew the warning when he heard it.

"Sorry, Ellie."

"Hey, I need you to be in a good mood tonight. Do you have any idea how many of my friends I've invited to this party?"

"Ellie, really?" He found the pharmacist, gave her the piece of paper Big Mike had given him, and waited. "These women aren't going to be interested in me."

"Why wouldn't they?"

"HA! You think I'm falling for that, but I know if I answer this truthfully, you'll just yell."

He heard the sigh. She was trying to do something nice, and he was...he was being difficult. But she didn't understand. She didn't understand what it was like to wonder, did your parents leave because of you? Well...she did understand that, but after that, things got better for her. A medical degree, a superhero for a boyfriend, and honestly a good guy. For him, things started to go well, and then it all burst into flames. Bryce sleeping with his girlfriend and getting him kicked out of college had been the icing on a crap cake. He knew it was on him that he hadn't done anything since, but what was the point? Things would get to a perfect point, and then it would explode, or implode. Life was against him, and he thought he had accepted that, but today, today it was wearing on him. He was in line to get Big Mike medicine for his stomach...life couldn't get worse...and then the pharmacist opened the container of Big Mike's medicine right in front of him and Chuck thought he might pass out from the smell.

"Chuck," Ellie began patiently.

"Ellie, I'm sorry," Chuck said, as apologetic as he could. "You are trying to do a nice thing for me, and I'm bitching about the same old thing again. Thank you for the party, and I'm going to get a smile on my face, and enjoy tonight."

He could feel her smile through the phone. "Chuck, that's so good to hear. Thank you. Now make sure you're not late tonight." And with that she ended the call.

He paid the pharmacist, thanked her, and headed back toward the Buy More, determined to enjoy the day. He entered the store, and heard a scream.

"What's that?" Chuck asked Jeff, who he then realized was spraying cheese into Lester's mouth from a can.

"Oh, that? Morgan's locked in the cage with the old computers."

Chuck took off running. He knew Morgan's fear of old computers. Chuck crashed through the doors and saw Anna standing there twirling the key, tapping her foot, looking like some dastardly villain from a 20s silent movie.

"What is going on?" Chuck looked at Morgan who was nearly white as a sheet and could do nothing but whimper. He turned to Anna. "Why aren't you letting him out?"

Anna smirked. "I locked him in there. He was being nice and asked me how my day was."

Chuck swore she was growling. He pleaded with her. "Please, Anna, let him go, please."

She walked over to him and drew up. Chuck was nearly 6 foot 4, and Anna was in the 5 foot 2 range, but he felt like she towered over him. "Give me one good reason."

"It's my birthday," he pleaded. "I need my best friend for my birthday party tonight. And if you come I promise I'll keep him away from you."

"I'll let him out if I don't have to come to your party."

Chuck stuck his hand out. "Deal." She shook it, and released Morgan. Morgan scampered from the room. He was probably heading for the roof and the fresh air. That meant at some point Chuck would have to go get him off the roof.

Anna shook her head and started toward the door. "Chuck, you're the smartest person here, but you're also the dumbest. Anyone else with your brain would have gotten out of here by now. I'm a slacker, that's why I'm here. You're not, why are you? What are you afraid of?"

Chuck didn't have an answer. She left the room and he followed her. He looked around the Buy More. Why was he here? Why hadn't he moved on? It had been five years. Maybe it was time. But what if something happened out there again? He was safer here. Skip walked up to him.

"Uh, Chuck, Big Mike wants to see you in his office."

Chuck nodded, and patted Skip on the arm. "Thanks, Skip," and headed toward Big Mike's office.

"Uh, Chuck, not that office," Skip said. Chuck grimaced, turned and saw Skip pointing toward the men's room.

"BARTOWSKI!" Big Mike yelled. Maybe it was safer out in the real world than in the Buy More.

}o{

"Psst!"

Chuck looked up from the bottle aka instrument he was blowing into in an attempt at playing "Three Blind Mice" and furrowed his brow, glancing around.

"Psst! Chuck! Dude!"

"Morgan?" he asked at a regular volume of voice.

"Up here! On the double!"

He looked up and noticed his bearded friend looking down into the courtyard from the upstairs window. "What are you doin' up there? At least come down and be bored out here with me. What kind of a friend are you?"

"Shh! Dude, shut up...Whispers! You gotta whisper! Ellie has the hearing of a bat!"

"I'm telling her you said that."

"Please don't. Just-Just come up here. I have an idea."

"Video games?"

"No! Just...come-oh crap!" He pulled back in and the window shut with a click as Chuck wrinkled his face in confusion and turned to see his sister approaching.

"Hey!" she said, a tentative look on her face. "What, uh, what are you doing all the way over here? The party is more in, uh, that area. With all the people."

"Oh! God, yeah. I see that. I must've wandered off."

Ellie gave him a flat look. "What are you even accomplishing standing over here with this bottle of beer, not bothering to even try to converse with these people I brought here for you?"

"I can play 'Three Blind Mice' with my bottle. Watch." He started it and she snatched the beer from him, pointing. "Fiiiiine," he groaned. "I'm a little out of my depth."

"You think you are, but you're not. It's not like everyone here is talking about Plato's whatever essays or something. Tracy just told a story about her dog rolling in another dog's poo at the park."

Chuck laughed. "That's awesome."

"See?"

"Okay, I'll be over in a second. I, um, I got a phone call from someone who might be coming tonight and I'm just gonna call back and see what's up...Go have fun." He took his phone out and wiggled it.

She smiled and handed him his beer again, squeezing his shoulder and walking back towards the party. He followed after her only so far as to get to the door and then he ducked inside and rushed upstairs, leaving his beer on the counter along the way.

As he finally pushed into the room, he found Morgan already pulling gloves on. "Wait, what are you even freaking doing?" he asked.

"Tell me somethin', buddy. And be truthful. Do you want to be here?"

"It's—It's my birthday."

Morgan sighed, his eyes shutting in pity, which Chuck didn't particularly appreciate. Then he came up to him and put his hands on his shoulders. "I told a joke about the Legend of Legaia and I got blank stares. Blank stares, man!"

"I mean, it's not one of the really big ones. I kinda get where—"

"No! Chuck, that's not my point. We don't belong here. With these people."

Morgan's reasoning was silly, he knew. But deep down, Chuck also knew that there was more to what Morgan said, even though his best friend didn't realize it. This wasn't the first party he'd ended up standing off to the side for in the last five years. In fact, that was most parties, even the holiday parties at the Buy More, where people weren't so...medical professional-ish.

It was perhaps the soul-deep fear that he'd have to explain his life choices. So what do you do? He'd say he worked at the Buy More. Then there'd be an awkward pause. Your sister mentioned Stanford…? Yep, and he'd been kicked out before he could finish his degree, he'd tell them. Followed by an inward, Thanks for the reminder, and also while you're at it, give me one of those uncomfortable look-away gestures before excusing yourself. Great.

For all intents and purposes, he could survive what was going on in that courtyard. He could banter with Captain Awesome and his fellow doctor friends. He could talk about dogs and their funny antics. He could smile and engage and put on a show, if only to make Ellie happy. But the fact of the matter was he didn't fit out there. Where did he fit? He didn't know. He'd once thought he had this higher calling, to be the next Bill Gates—not because of the money, that wasn't so important, but the huge strides his work would make in the tech world. He could make people's lives easier, put tech in people's hands who hadn't had it before, level the playing field. And now instead, he sat in a literal cage in the back warehouse of a Buy More in Burbank, California and fixed people's broken computers. He'd missed out on his chance and that was that. Maybe fate just didn't want him to have a calling after all. He was meant for this bullshit. He should accept it and just be happy with what he had, which was a lot more than a lot of people.

Sure, there were pretty women outside. Sure, he could talk to them just fine. He might even be charming. But what did any of that matter, and why should he even try, when he had already found something he'd thought was perfect, only to have it thrown back in his face, his heart decimated, pulverized, and his face rubbed in it over and over…?

Why the hell would he want that again? He didn't care who she was.

He didn't want that. And as grateful as he was to Ellie, he didn't want women shoved in front of him. She meant well, but she didn't get it. And how many times had he thought that about his sister over the last five years? Just today, even?

And so...

"What's the plan?" he asked finally.

"Yes! Yesyes! Okay...here, put your jacket on, 'cause it's a little chilly out there and I've only got my bike, so…" Morgan thrusted his jacket at him and he rolled his eyes and put it on, zipping it up slowly.

"Is that...tape? Did you tape your fingers?"

"Yes. This is serious."

"What's the flashlight for?"

"Hey, you got any AA batteries in here? I forgot to get some batteries." Chuck gave him a flat look. He hadn't forgotten, the guy was just cheap. "Ah! Nevermind. Found them in this drawer…" He slid them inside and screwed the top back on. "Perfect. We're blowin' this joint."

"Are these...bedsheets?" Chuck asked, lifting the material in his hands.

"Yes. Gimme, I got this." He began tying it securely.

"Morgan, this is a bad idea."

"Well, we can't stay here, Chuck!" he whispered.

Within minutes, they were sitting side by side under the window which Morgan had pushed open, the lights off in the room just to be safe, but they could just see each other in the moonlight coming in.

"I'm uncomfortable with the plan," Chuck murmured. Ellie would be so pissed if she couldn't find him anywhere later. He picked up the flashlight and started playing with it, turning it on and off, on and off.

"Plan? What plan?" Morgan whispered. "This is survival!" he growled in his best Batman impersonation. God, this was ridiculous.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. Crap! Crap crap!

"That's her! We've been compromised!" Morgan hissed, climbing up from where he sat. As he leapt up onto the windowsill, he said in full seriousness, "I'm a GHOST!"

"Morgan. Buddy, you can't leave me here like this," he muttered in fear. "You can't do this to me, man—"

The door opened and Ellie turned the lights on, the flattest look he'd ever seen her give anyone plastered on her face. "Chuck...what are you doing?"

There was no point in lying or beating around the bush. "Uhhhh… escaping."

"From your own birthday party…" she droned, hand on her hip. He could only give a half-assed shrug.

"Hey, Ellie!" Morgan rasped, still holding onto the makeshift rope and dangling out of the window. Part of him wondered if he should reach back and help the guy, but then he thought to himself, Naaah.

"You know, sis, the thing is: Morgan and I don't really feel like we're fitting in...at my birthday party…'cause we don't know anybody…'cause they're all your friends…" He winced. "And they all happen to be doctors."

"Doctors who don't really get our jokes," Morgan chimed in.

"Well, your jokes," he corrected over his shoulder, aware he was being kind of a brat. He was just tired. He was tired and he didn't want to be here. Or anywhere. He just wanted to...not be. He wanted a night to escape being.

"Okay," Morgan assented. "My jokes."

"Chuck," Ellie said through her teeth. Oh, he was in trouble. "I have invited real, live women…FOR YOU...So, please! Let's go. Morgan, you stay here," she seemed to add as an afterthought, leaving and shutting the door behind her.

Chuck climbed up and reached out towards Morgan. "Need a hand buddy?"

"No, I'm all right." He climbed back into the room easily, already taking his gloves off, a glum look on his face.

They went down to join the others and Chuck did his best, just as he promised himself he would. And just as he thought would happen, his time at Stanford had come up, his job, since he was still in his Nerd Herd uniform...one woman had even asked if it was a costume. That had felt great.

Then again, it was his own fault, wasn't it? For not changing into normal clothes for his birthday party. He just didn't...feel like it.

Ellie's pep-talk, followed by one from Captain Awesome, had done nothing to make the situation better. And yet, he soldiered on.

"You went to Stanford?" one of Ellie's friends asked in excitement. "What was your major?"

"Engineering."

"Oh my God! I knew this great guy there who was an engineer...I think he ran track and was a gymnast... His name was…" She screwed up her face as she thought.

His stomach churned halfway through her description. "Bryce Larkin," he murmured, feeling the good show he'd been putting on for a few minutes there crashing down around him. "He was my roommate."

Chuck wanted out. He needed to get out. He was crumbling. He could feel it. The wound was five years old, but it still felt so fresh.

"Yes! What is he doing now?" she asked, with the exact amount of interest he'd expect. That was what happened with women around Bryce Larkin. Not that he'd been angling for this woman, or any of these women, in any way, shape, or form, but if he had, Bryce would've just ruined that for him, too.

"I think he's an accountant," he said. Because if he couldn't beat 'em, he'd just have to join 'em.

"So, do you have a girlfriend?" Oh. That was unexpected.

"I did. Uh, a while back." He wasn't even looking at the woman anymore, his mind going back to a time when he felt like things were clicking. His life was on this incredible path to greatness and happiness. He had friends, a girlfriend, some purpose, professors who'd challenged him… but also, a girlfriend who'd been the ideal. "Back at Stanford." She said something about that but he wasn't listening, already halfway in the rabbit hole. "We met freshman year. Her name was Jill. I saw her drop her bag and I kinda ran over there to help her pick it up, and she didn't see me, and we did that whole, uh, cartoon thing where we bumped heads. And it was like this immediate...thing, you know? Like what you see in the movies. Where you look up and it's like, ahhhh, you know? And everything just like, sort of, fell into place for me. Like this gaping hole was filled by this great girl who was smart and, you know, fit in with me and my buddies. We had this whole gang after that, me and Bryce, and Jill. And then, you know, I guess...I dunno," he muttered quietly, "I wasn't enough or somethin'. Probably that. Most likely that. Especially stacked next to Bryce, right? And then the whole thing with the tests happened, and uh, I found out they were a thing. Jill and Bryce, I mean. Which just made sense. And that hole she'd filled, she left it, you know? But it felt, like, worse. Like the hole was even bigger and more gaping like...the Great Pit of Carkoon, when she left it. So anyway, there I was...Jill and Bryce...me on a train home…Guess she thought he was more exciting."

When he looked up, all he saw was the courtyard fountain. The woman he'd been talking to, whatever her name had been (did he even get her name?), was gone. She'd probably run away.

"Checks out," he mumbled to himself. And he went back to his corner for the rest of the party, blowing tunes into his half empty beer bottle. "Smoke on the Water" was a good one. He'd try that one.

By the time the courtyard had cleared out late into the night, Chuck found himself sitting alone on the fountain, still dwelling on everything that could've been but wasn't. Bryce Larkin, his roommate and once best friend, getting him kicked out of Stanford, derailing his entire future because he wanted his girlfriend for himself. It wouldn't even make a good subplot in a crappy dramatic made-for-TV movie. But it had happened.

And now five years later, it was still jammed in his ribcage, making it hard to breathe and spread his wings...or something.

It was hard to forget, hard to heal, because it wasn't just about one woman. It was about the avalanche of utter shit that had torn up his insides when he'd thought maybe he was getting to a place where he was...okay. Like almost getting to the top of a cliff after years of climbing, and when you reach the top, about to pull yourself up and over, your roommate and best friend puts his boot against your forehead and gives a hearty push.

He was at the bottom of the cliff. And frankly, the more years that passed, the more time he spent in an $11 per hour job that was easy enough if you ignored the clinically disturbed people who also worked there, the less he wanted to start that climb again. It had been five years. Maybe it was too late. Maybe he should just...never try. That sounded like an okay solution to all of this. He'd had his legs cut out from under him and he was just going to lie here. And accept it.

Chuck unwrapped his fingers, stretching them out, dropping the tape at his feet and pushing a hand through his hair. Ellie slowly strolled over to stand next to him, offering him a beer. He smiled up at her and took it.

"Hey. Thanks for my party." She smiled back, but he could see a bit of disappointment in her face. And on top of everything else he failed at, he'd just let his sister down on his birthday, too. Great work. "Your seven-layer dip? Tasted like eight." He reached up to clink his bottle against hers, doing his best to assuage her disappointment and maybe make her laugh.

She didn't. Instead she smirked a little and sat next to him on the fountain, scooting close so that their sides were pressed together, providing a bit of emotional warmth like she always did. "Chuck, can I tell you something?"

Ohhh no. Oh boy, that tone. He wished he could say no without making her annoyed with him. He tried to keep up the jokester act. "It really was eight layers," he said, looking at her seriously.

Her face didn't change even a bit as she tilted her head. "Even though a woman may ask about an old girlfriend, we really don't want to hear about it." He shook his head and she rushed on, probably sensing he was shutting her off...because he was. "It's hard to listen to. Depressing. And more than anything, especially if it's someone you've just met, like with Rachel at the party tonight—"

"Was that her name? I didn't get that far."

"Chuck, it's kinda uncomfortable and awkward. What happened to you at Stanford was terrible. To this day, I'd probably kill the both of them, and frankly, set fire to the entire school, for what they did to you. To your life. But...if you're just meeting somebody...It was five years ago, okay?" she asked, tilting her beer back and forth. "At some point, you're going to need to move on from Jill. You know? And—"

"Do we have to do this every time? I mean, do you really have to lecture me after every party when I'm not peppy enough, when I don't come out of it with one of your friend's phone numbers?"

She narrowed her eyes a little, thankfully not seeming hurt. Just frustrated. He couldn't blame her. "I'm trying to help."

"Yes, El. I realize that. And you know I love you and appreciate you, for-for everything. But do we really have to have this conversation again?" He could hear the shortness in his voice, could feel the anger starting to rise, the feeling that this, and everything really, was unfair. He knew self-pity didn't suit him, but he needed a break from always being the better side of himself, if only for just one freaking night.

"We've rehearsed it enough…" she said, bumping his shoulder with hers a little, obviously trying to make him see she wasn't trying to upset him, or make him feel bad about himself. She was speaking the truth and he knew it, but it was so easy to say, so much harder to actually do it. That happiness and contentment, that feeling of being something instead of nothing, going somewhere instead of nowhere, had been right there for him. And then it was gone. It was hard to move on from that.

"Fine, I'll...get over Jill tomorrow," he mumbled sarcastically, climbing to his feet and just walking away. He didn't need another pep-talk. He didn't need to talk about this again. He just wanted to lose himself in picking up these stupid red cups and stuffing them in the stupider white plastic trash bags. He ignored the sight of her still staring after him from her spot on the fountain, and he continued to ignore pretty much everything except for the comforting monotonous job of cleaning up the courtyard.

An hour later, he stared at the TV screen while Morgan played one of his video games. He really didn't know why the bearded one was still here. But sometimes he had a sixth sense of when Chuck needed… Well, just needed. He'd find Morgan there even when he didn't know he needed somebody else to just be around. Since they were kids, Morgan had just always been there.

But right now, he sort of just needed to be alone. Maybe Morgan's sixth sense didn't work when he was focused on video games. "Cheer up, Chuck! You talked to some women. You know? That's a start."

God, he really didn't need this. It wasn't a start. If anything, he'd taken steps backwards. He rubbed his eyes and stared at the screen some more, distantly hearing a quiet beep in the room.

"Wow. Blast from the past…"

Chuck frowned and looked at Morgan. "What?"

"The guy who got you kicked outta Stanford, stole your girl? Same one you didn't stop blabbing about tonight to the girls…?" Thanks so much, buddy… "He just sent you something. Just came up on your desktop."

As Morgan gestured to the computer with a flick of his head, Chuck's eyes widened and he clambered up from the bed. "What?!"

"Remember that guy? 'Cause he remembered your birthday." Chuck ignored Morgan and moved to the computer, already leaning over before he got to it. "All right, well, uh...let's see what we got here," his friend continued, coming to sidle up next to him.

Chuck opened the file and watched as a screen he remembered like it was yesterday popped up. The terrible troll raises his sword

"What is it?" Morgan asked.

"You remember that old text-based video game Zork? Bryce and I programmed our own version of it using an old TRS-80…" he drawled, feeling pretty proud of himself, a little impressed. Those were the days.

"You guys were really cool."

Chuck ignored the bitter sarcasm and focused on the game, feeling that seemingly ancient sensation of anticipation and excitement at seeing his creation again, getting to solve the puzzle again. "If I could only remember what was in my hero's satchel…" He could feel Morgan's question without him even saying anything. "Those are the weapons I'd use to kill the terrible troll."

He saw Morgan giving him an unimpressed look in his peripheral and kept ignoring him. "Riiiiight," the beard drawled. "You know what? You're still really cool."

"And you're goin' home," he said, because Morgan had finally given him the perfect reason to kick him out.

"Is it that time?" he asked, obviously hoping it wasn't that time.

"It's that time."

"Right." He straightened up and walked out of the bedroom.

"Pedal safe!" Chuck called after him, and he turned back to the game as he heard Morgan's "Thank you" carry down the hallway.

He wracked his brain. What had they written for this part? Something about…

He grinned a bit to himself and typed the command. "Attack troll with nasty knife," he said to himself, proud that he'd even remembered that after seven years. He tapped enter with a flourish and stared at the screen.

An image of a pair of binoculars popped up on the screen then, and the images began flashing, so quickly he could only pick out what they were for a millisecond, and then there was a fog settling over him, his awareness drifting away, his feet planted to the floor. And when it ended, he had no idea what had happened except that he was dizzy, his brain overwhelmed, his vision covered in spots, and then there was pain in his head as he fell, and finally...nothing at all.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Please leave us a review! Thanks, all!

-SC and DC