sooo rewatching chuck, got to that scene in chuck vs. the first date where Casey is about to kill Chuck. In the episode, Sarah shows up to tell them that the Intersect was destroyed, and Chuck's still the only Intersect. But... what if she was a few minutes late?

I was really curious about that idea, would Casey actually go through with it? He was pretty much going through a mental breakdown that whole episode about it, so I felt like exploring that. I've never written Casey in such a vulnerable situation, so I am *hoping* I kept him in character. Did my best haha xD

~cosette141

"He has served his country with honor; now he will die with honor to protect it."

Casey stared at the gun in his hand.

"I used to like the sound of that."

The echo of the click of the chamber ran through his mind, as empty and cold as he felt.

How he always used to feel.

Before this damn assignment.

"So… when Bryce said, 'Casey, care to try again?', it gave me the weirdest idea that maybe it was… you… who killed him."

"Good guess."

"Why would you do that?"

"Orders."

It had seemed so simple with Larkin. As simple as any other order. Bryce Larkin was just another notch on Casey's gun - a practically faceless agent to him, just like any other lowlife he'd had to kill, whether they'd been on the wrong side of this war or they betrayed it.

Casey liked orders. It made things easy.

He understood orders.

He'd never, ever, questioned them before.

He felt a hollow breath escape him, almost like a sigh, feeling the smallest tremble in the fingers of his right hand against the cold metal of the gun.

"Eliminate Chuck Bartowski."

Casey shut his eyes.

Orders.

Orders.

He'd tried, right?

Twice, now.

He'd tried twice, challenged the General's orders twice.

Something he had never, ever done.

Trying… was enough, right?

If it wasn't him, they would send someone else to kill Bartowski.

In fact, if it wasn't him, they might even send someone to kill both of them.

He has no choice.

That's, at least, what he told himself.

It's what twisted the silencer onto the gun.

It's what laced his boots.

It's what brought him to Chuck's window—the Morgan door—he chided himself for thinking of it as, and what eased him silently inside.

"He's served his country with honor, and now he'll die with honor to protect it."

Is it honor if it was never his choice?

Casey took a breath that almost shuddered, trying to shake himself free of the thoughts that only seemed to squeeze around his chest with each silent step.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

It felt so wrong.

Passing through Chuck's room, knowing that Chuck will never set foot in it again.

Past the guitar in the corner that Casey has overheard Chuck tell people was only for decoration. Though, through the bugs planted in the room, Casey has heard him strum it sometimes, humming a melody to himself late at night.

Past the Tron poster on the wall that, for whatever reason, Chuck stares at from time to time, some lost look on his face, something that makes him look young.

Past the photo of him and Sarah on the nightstand, at that stupid Halloween party Casey had to double up earplugs and earmuffs to drown out the noise of. Because maybe, just maybe, the absurdity and pointlessness of Chuck's life often reminded him of what life used to be before he became the agent—the killer—he was today.

And why, oh why, does this damn assignment wander his mind to the roads not taken like no other assignment ever has?

The photograph made him hesitate a moment, eyes landing on Sarah.

She barely handled Larkin, when she thought he was gone.

Casey knew her, now. He knew she had cracks that she tried to fill, and they were so far less protected now, now that Bartowski had worn down the armor around them.

She would not be able to handle this.

And if she found out it was him?

She'd hunt him down within the week, do her worst and he wouldn't even blame her.

Casey swallowed, hard, past the choke in his throat.

His eyes landed on Chuck, in the photo.

Smiling.

Happy.

Alive.

"I wanted to… thank you."

"I'm leaving."

"Thank you… for always being there to catch me when I fell."

Casey paused at the echo of Chuck's words from this morning.

It had only been last night that Casey had been nearly poisoned to death when the Cipher was taken from him, and yet the echo of Chuck's gratitude? Chuck's trust in him?

It felt worse.

He shoved it away, like he'd been trying to do all day.

He couldn't think about it.

He just needed to do it- they were orders.

He was a patriot.

He was protecting the entire country by ensuring that the Intersect in Bartowski's head didn't fall into the wrong hands. And… and protecting Chuck. Graham was right—they couldn't protect Chuck from kidnapping or torture.

And… wasn't a bullet Chuck would never see coming, never feel kill him, better than the chance of being taken and tortured?

Wasn't it?

Casey took a shuddered breath, pressing on, easing himself into the hallway.

Gun at the ready.

He suddenly heard the clink of dishes on the table, like someone was setting it.

Casey pressed forward, trying to ignore the rapid beat of his heart, as if screaming wrong, wrong, wrong.

He had to do this.

He had to do this.

"So…"

Casey froze at Chuck's voice, but Chuck was only talking to himself.

Peering around the corner, Casey watched Chuck nervously pace.

"So… Sarah…" he went on, "what do you think… you? Me? A couple of Euro-Rail passes…" He rubbed his face, cheeks gaining some pink. "Euro-Rail? Really? Agh," he sighed.

Chuck was fantasizing, planning a future.

For the first time in years, Casey knew, Chuck finally felt he had a future.

A future Casey was going to destroy with the click of one finger.

Casey shut his eyes, feeling agony in his chest.

He had to do it.

Now.

The longer he waited, the more agonizing it was.

But standing here, watching Chuck pace, wondering how much longer to allow his heart to beat, his lungs to breathe…

Was shooting him in the back as terrible as the metaphor was?

"Thank you… for always catching me when I fell."

He saved Chuck's life not six hours ago, just to take it away from him?

Graham suggested Chuck would die with honor, and Casey learned to do everything with honor.

But… how do you kill a man with honor?

No last words?

No final sentiment?

Now.

He had to do it now.

And find a way to accept whatever agony it caused him to kill whom he could only honestly call a friend.

He stepped forward.

He lined up the shot.

And he fired.

Glass shattered so loudly in the silence, Casey jerked, as if startled from a daze.

He stared, in shock, at the broken light bulb hanging over the dining table.

Chuck, however, let out a yelp as the bulb exploded inches from his head. He instinctively jerked away, losing his balance and falling to the ground.

Casey, however, was frozen.

He'd lined up the shot perfectly.

He'd tried to do it.

And he missed.

Before he could think to do anything, Chuck was scrambling off the ground, muttering hysterical, "wh–how–"' as he stared at the destroyed light, eyes darting around for the cause when—

The urge to run hit Casey too late, when Chuck saw him.

"Casey?!" began Chuck, in confused shock.

But then, his eyes found the gun.

Still aimed at his head.

"Wh–what—?" began Chuck, looking from the gun, to the light, and back to Casey, making a conclusion that almost made Casey wince. "Did… did you just…?" said Chuck in a voice that was suddenly small, and Casey felt agony rip across his chest.

"Don't move," managed Casey through his paralyzed jaw.

Those words only confirmed Chuck's conclusion, shifting the younger man's puzzlement to shock.

And then, to fear.

His hands came up, fingers shaking. "C-Casey, what are you doing?"

Casey didn't say anything.

He didn't know what to say.

He just missed.

Just like he had last night when he'd practiced on the photos.

He missed.

"You're… you're freaking me out," stammered Chuck. With a little fearful heat, he demanded, "What the hell are you doing?"

Casey felt decades worth of suffocated emotion trying to break through.

His hand shook.

"I'm sorry," was all he managed to breathe.

Chuck's eyes widened. "Wh—what are you—are you trying to…?" He looked at the light, and then back to Casey. "Were you shooting at me?"

When Casey's silence was answer enough, Chuck's eyes only grew wider. He started to run, but Casey cocked the gun, growling, "Don't. Move."

Chuck froze, staring at Casey with apprehension and horror and—

God.

Casey's chest tightened so much he could hardly breathe through it.

Betrayal.

"You're—you're my handler!" spluttered Chuck. "D-Doesn't that make you the one who stops other people from doing this?" said Chuck desperately. "Casey—John," he stressed, making Casey wince. "What the—are you…" He swallowed hard. "Are you Fulcrum or something?"

The amount of agony that sped through him at the notion made a growl escape him. "No, I am not Fulcrum, I would never—"

"—go rogue?" finished Chuck for him, this time shedding the fear for anger. "What the hell do you call what you're doing right now?" demanded Chuck, voice cracking. "Casey, it's me!"

Every word like poison, Casey grated out, "With the new Intersect… we can't have another Intersect running free."

Chuck gaped.

"Your mission is to…" he trailed off, eyes finding the gun. The broken light. Then slowly, reluctantly, back to Casey. "You just tried to kill me?" he whispered emptily.

Looking at the shattered light, Casey looked back at Chuck.

His asset.

His friend.

"I couldn't."

The admission fell heavy, torn from Casey's chest.

His gun lowered.

"I can't."

Casey held the gun limply at his side.

A coward.

Both of them stood in the silence for a long moment, as if both weren't sure whether or not to trust the words.

But Casey made his decision.

He made an oath to protect Chuck when this started.

He was keeping that promise until the bitter end.

"Let's go."

Chuck's head snapped up from the gun. "What?"

"Let's go," repeated Casey. "We need to get out of here."

"What?" repeated Chuck in shock.

Casey slipped the gun into his waistband, walking toward Chuck, trying to ignore how Chuck flinched. "I'm not the only guy who can get the job done, Chuck. If you want to live, we need to get you out of here and somewhere saf—"

They were both interrupted by the sound of the doorbell.

Chuck and Casey looked at each other.

But Casey nodded, hiding around the corner, grabbing his gun again as Chuck went to answer it.

"Chuck," came a familiar voice, as Sarah walked into the doorway.

Walker.

Casey lowered his gun a little.

"We have to call off the date," said Sarah. "The Intersect was destroyed."

Casey's heart skipped.

What?

"But the Cipher…" began Chuck.

"It was a Trojan Horse," said Sarah. "The moment it came online, it exploded."

Casey felt himself breathe out with relief that nearly knocked him unconscious.

He leaned against the wall, feeling it flood him, nearly laughing with the weight lifted off his chest.

Casey waited until Sarah left, and the door clicked shut before walking cautiously back into the kitchen, gun back in his waistband.

Chuck was waiting for him.

They both stood in silence that was awkward as damn hell.

Chuck let out a breath, breaking the silence. "Let me get this straight," he said. "Beckman ordered you to kill me before they even checked to make sure the damn thing worked?"

Truthfully, Casey assumed they already had done that.

A slight, even more awkward silence passed.

Then… he felt the urge to say it, the need to say it again.

Almost inaudibly, Casey said, "I'm sorry."

Chuck looked at him, and Casey couldn't help seeing the ghost of that fear, that betrayal, in his eyes. Another silence wavered, as if Chuck was trying to decide what to say, how to feel.

And damn it, Casey was his handler.

His protector, who just nearly killed him.

On purpose.

Casey cleared his throat, about to say that he'll be asking for a reassignment, that Chuck will never have to see him again.

But then—

"Sorry for what?" asked Chuck finally. "Saving me twice in one day?"

Casey's mouth froze in the middle of forming the words, only managing, "What?"

"You just offered to commit treason for me," said Chuck, with almost a shrug. "And… you couldn't kill me even when you tried." A hint of a grin. "I think that's the best test of friendship I've ever seen."

Casey was too stunned to breathe.

He could see it—Chuck was still shaken, reeling.

But he's forgiven him.

Somehow, in light of him trying to kill Chuck, Chuck somehow managed to find a way to think of it as solidifying his trust in Casey.

In no context, in no way, is there any kind of honor in killing Chuck Bartowski.

To think, if he hadn't missed…

The United States would be in disarray without the Intersect, falling over themselves in wake of a stupid mistake, of a premature order that should never have been given.

Yet if he hadn't missed, Casey was realizing for the first time that there was something more important than orders.

He's never been more grateful to have missed a shot.

And that night he promised himself: if he is ever to get the order to kill Chuck Bartowski again…

He won't miss his shot on the person who ordered it.