Author's Note: A gift for my fellow brown-coats I do not own Chuck or Firefly.
"I can't believe I have to keep working here to watch you, Bartowski," John Casey cringed as he walked through the doors of the Buy More with Chuck Bartowski at his side.
"It's not so bad, Casey. Cheer up. Oh look, there's Morgan. He had to get here early to help clean up because apparently he, and some of the guys, decided to have a movie night and made a mess over in isle two – there's popcorn everywhere. Hey, Morgan!"
"Chuck! I've been here since six cleaning and Big Mike is still mad at me. You'd think he'd know better than to give me closing duty, but oh well…what are you two up to?"
"Casey's mad at having to work here."
"Oh," Morgan patted him on the shoulder, "Come on big guy, at least you get to see us every day."
"No," Chuck insisted, "What did you just say?"
"Nothing," Casey's eyes began to shift, "I didn't say anything."
"You said 'gorramit,'" Morgan squinted his eyes, "What does that mean?"
Out of nowhere, Jeff strolled up to the gang, a hand raised in preparation for a high-five, "Alright, Casey! We got another brown-coat in this hizz-ouse!"
"The hell?" Casey recoiled, "Touch me and die."
"See? He sounded just like him!"
Casey let out his token growl.
"This guy is amazing!" Jeff shook his head, "Us brown-coats have to stick together, right?"
"Want to go, little man?" Casey sneered.
"Only if it's somewhere with candlelight," Jeff put a hand to his heart and sighed. Casey let out another growl, and pushed himself past Jeff, Chuck and Morgan quickly following behind.
"Hey! What was that all about?" Chuck asked.
"Dude, he thinks you're some kind of hero," Morgan added.
"We got to go to the crappy store where I am a hero," Chuck mused.
"Shut up," Casey glared at the duo, "Both of you!"
"What's a brown-coat?"
"Maybe he's like a spy or something," Morgan guessed.
"Freak's insane, you know that," Casey shrugged, "Who knows what he was babbling about."
Morgan decided not to press the matter, and excused himself to go find Big Mike and let him know the isle was all clean, leaving Chuck and Casey alone.
"So…what IS a brown-coat?"
"Do you want me to go get Vera?"
"No," Chuck held up his hands in surrender, "Okay, okay, I'm shutting up now. Though, I still can't believe you name your guns…"
"I haven't used Vera in over five years, she's too special to use on just any ol' day. You can bet your pocket-protector, fruit-loop, that she's itchin' for a shoot."
"Fine, I'm not saying anything."
"Good. Still can't believe I'm having to work in this hell-hole with you. I'd rather have my face eaten off by re…"
"But you said…"
"Don't make me get Vera."
"Fine," Chuck held up his hands again, "Shutting up."
Casey pushed past Chuck and over towards the locker rooms. Those days were in his past. He didn't want to revisit them. Besides, space cowboys? John Casey was no backwoods, hillbilly space cowboy, gorramit!