Disclaimer: I do not and shall never own Chuck.

Author's Note: So I was really bored at work so I decided to do a little fanfic writing. So I made up my own little challange. I took a piece of paper a little smalled that 8x10 and folded it into fourths and I wrote a small fanfic in each square/cube and only in that space. So here are the ones I wrote. They're nice a small. I hope you enjoy the rewards of my boring night at work. ENJOY!

Little Cubes


"I had a dog named Skittles when I was a kid," Casey said out of the blue one morning, as they lay in bed.

"Huh?" Chuck replied intelligently.

"You can't be that slow first thing in the morning," Casey teased.

"I'm not slow! I just don't understand the point in telling me that you had a dog named Skittles when you were a kid."

"It was you who got on my case the other day because you don't know anything about me besides the stuff you've learned from the Intersect," Casey pointed out gruffly.

Chuck felt like a prick. Casey was willingly opening up to him and he questioned him about it. Snuggling closer, Chuck asked, "Skittles, huh? Like the candy?"


The gun clattered from his hands but he paid it no mind as he raced towards the fallen man. "Chuck," he called as he knelt by the fallen nerd herder. "God, I'm sorry!"


The NSA agent stiffened at the choked, wet sound of his name. "I'm... I'm right here, Chuck," Casey assured the wounded man.

Carefully he gathered Chuck into his arms. The young nerd's head nestled against his shoulder. Hitched breaths ghosted across Casey's neck.


"Shhh... Just... Don't," Casey pleaded.

"Ca... sey..."

The hitched breaths stopped as Chuck died in his arms. Casey stayed with the fallen man until his skin grew cold. After all, he was under orders to make sure that the Intersect was dead.


Chuck walked nervously down the runway. This was not how he'd pictured this mission going. Sure, the Fulcrum agent was posing as a super model but why did he have to too? Sarah would have been perfect for this but no, one of the male models just had to get sick.

So now Chuck was stuck walking down a catwalk, barely breathing because the designer's clothes were so tight – NOTHING was left to the imagination – and he had to remember to pose.

A loud wolf whistle caught Chuck's attention and he searched for the whistler. Chuck's eyes locked on lust blown blue eyes that could only belong to one person. Maybe being a model wasn't so bad if it made Casey look at him like that.


Silence. It used to be something that Casey had to be alert for because when a crowded room, market place, or even a jungle fell silent... it meant that death was upon him. He had also been taught to use silence to his advantage so that he could take down those that opposed him or to steal something that the NSA/U.S. government wanted.

Kill or be killed – that's what silence had meant.

But now, silence was something he cherished when he was able to. Silence meant not being uncomfortable when it fell around them, that they had survived once more and was a blissful reprieve from the fighting and missions.

Silence still meant kill or be killed but now it also meant lazy Sunday mornings curled around Chuck.