Author's Note: Okay, so this story is kind of a sequel to my previous story Chuck vs. The Sweet Science. I say kind of a sequel, because it's only a sequel in the loosest interpretation of the term. This story doesn't necessarily take place in the same "universe" as Chuck vs. TSS, although there's nothing really in this story that precludes it from doing so. And I guess you could also say that this doesn't necessarily follow canon either, but to be on the safe side, consider everything up to Lethal Weapon to be fair game. What Chuck vs. Two Smoking Barrels does have in common with its predecessor is a shared common theme, that of male bonding and Casey imparting some kind of life lesson onto Chuck.

I have been thinking of starting a sort of series of loosely connected one-shots that deal with Casey trying to teach Chuck some activity (or vice versa if you really want to get crazy). If this interests you, let me know! I may even take requests on what to write about if enough people express interest.

And yes, if any of you are wondering, I am still working on Chuck vs. Project Omaha and hope to update it soon. Although it's been so long since I updated that I doubt anybody even remembers it. Please be gentle with me, it's been a year since I dusted off my fanfiction skills. Hopefully y'all like!

Chuck shut his locker in the employee break room with a loud clang. He adjusted his bag over his shoulder and let out an overly long, overly loud sigh. It had been a very long day. He was looking forward to first stopping by the Orange Orange to visit with Sarah and then heading home where he hoped to collapse on the couch and not move for two or ten hours.

Of course, these days, things rarely ever went how Chuck wanted them to. So when John Casey suddenly appeared in the doorway of the break room, arms crossed across his chest, and his permanent scowl firmly on display, Chuck sighed. Again.

"Whatever it is, Casey, no." Chuck held up his hands and shook his head. "I've had a long day and I want to go home."

Casey grunted and if possible, deepened his scowl. But he didn't move from blocking Chuck's exit and he didn't elaborate on why he was there. Chuck was starting to get impatient. He was tired and hungry and he hadn't seen Sarah all day and he just wanted to go home. "Come on, Casey, what's going on? Do we have a mission?" They hadn't had a mission in over a week and Chuck had been desperately hoping that their dry spell would last just one more night. Apparently no such luck.

"Yes, we have a mission."

Chuck knew his disappointment at having his potentially relaxing night stolen away from him was clearly showing, but he didn't care. He didn't care if Casey needled him or gave him a hard time. He had been so close. He closed his eyes and imagined himself lying on the couch in front of the TV, completely relaxed. He could actually feel the comforting give of the couch cushions as he sunk his body onto them in his head. The thought made him sleepy and he yawned. Then he sighed when he shook those thoughts away. He was doing a lot of sighing today.

"What kind of mission? Where's Sarah?"

"At Castle."

"Is this gonna take long? I was kinda hoping I'd be able to do my best impression of the Blob tonight."

To Chuck's total surprise, Casey seemed to actually relax before his very eyes. His arms uncrossed, tension left his shoulders and his posture became just a little less rigid, and he smiled. It was a real smile, one that Chuck rarely ever saw the man express.

Chuck immediately felt a sinking sensation in his stomach and his palms started to sweat. It was never a good thing when John Casey found something worth smiling over. It usually meant that people were about to die, stuff was going to explode, and his life was going to end up inevitably in danger.

"You and I are going to a shooting range."

Chuck's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. That had been the absolutely last thing he had ever expected. "We're going where?"

Casey's smile turned into an evil grin and he cracked his knuckles. "I said that I'm taking you shooting; as in, I'm going to show you how to properly handle a firearm."

"You can't be serious."

"Don't be an idiot, Bartowski, I never joke about gunplay."

"But Casey, I mean, come on, it's me."

Casey rolled his eyes and finally moved into the break room. Chuck mournfully stared at the now open doorway and briefly contemplated making a run for it, but he knew he'd only be delaying the inevitable. Casey was likely to tackle him in the aisles of the Buy More if he tried to escape.

"Thanks for the heads-up, Bartowski. Did you flash or were you able to come up with the blatantly obvious all on your own?"

Chuck blinked and watched Casey grab a small bag from his locker. None of this made sense. "Casey, I don't understand. Didn't you once say that the worst nightmare you ever had was of me running toward you with a loaded gun?"

Casey's face darkened and he slammed the door to his locker extremely hard. "Don't remind me. I had trouble sleeping for a week afterward."

Chuck made a face at Casey and briefly contemplated sticking out his tongue or flipping him the bird, but realized that would probably only earn him a punch to the arm or something equally painful. This was crazy, absolutely crazy. Maybe this was the mission. That had to be it. Some terrorist had created some kind of drug or chemical weapon that made normally sane people do crazy things and Casey had somehow gotten exposed. Next thing he knew, Sarah was going to come traipsing into the Buy More, tear off all her clothes, and beg him to take her atop one of the break room tables. Okay, he actually wouldn't mind that one. That thought put a smile on his face. But he quickly sobered when he realized that this potential outbreak could be catastrophic.

"Casey, are you – are you sick? Do you have a fever? Have you drunk any mysterious liquids today? Have you recently been exposed to red kryptonite?"

"What the hell are you talking about, Bartowski?"

Chuck flushed in embarrassment at his rambling. "Uh – nothing. I mean, you actually want to give me a gun?"

Casey just snorted and shook his head. He walked up to Chuck and pushed Chuck forward toward the break room exit. "Come on, Chuck, time to go exercise our 2nd Amendment rights."

"You cried when Charlton Heston died, didn't you?"

Casey growled and pushed Chuck extra hard, causing him to stumble. Chuck winced and brought a hand up to rub his shoulder. He should have known better; sometimes he wished he knew how to keep his mouth shut. To his surprise, Casey actually responded, "I had to open a bottle of my best scotch; 12-year-old single malt." He shook his head in sadness. "He was a damn fine American." Chuck fought back a grin. He always loved when Casey let a little of his human side out.

It only took them a few seconds to walk outside the Buy More and head toward Casey's car. Chuck craned his neck to stare at the Orange Orange wistfully. He wished so badly that he was with Sarah right now and not about to get in a car with Bizarro Casey so he could go learn how to shoot people the "right way".

It was time for one more attempt at escape. "Can't I go see Sarah? I haven't seen her all day and I told her I would stop by after my shift. She's gonna wonder where I am."

"Relax, Bartowski, I think you can manage to go a whole day without acting like a lovesick puppy, however amusingly pathetic it might be. Besides, I already took care of Walker."

"What does that mean?"

Casey didn't answer and Chuck wasn't sure he liked the man's silence. Despite the somewhat ominous tone to Casey's words, he knew that the man hadn't actually done anything harmful to his partner. Still, that did little to assuage the worry he felt over what he had said and what excuse he might have given for why he'd miss their "date". Knowing Casey, it had probably been something that would horribly embarrass him.

Casey climbed into the driver's seat and Chuck wearily opened the passenger door. Maybe it would be a long drive, wherever they were going, and he could get a quick nap in. It's not like Casey would try to keep him awake with small talk. "You're really going to make me do this, aren't you?"

"It's for your own good."

Chuck grumbled under his breath, "That's what Ellie said about eating my vegetables and look where that got me," and turned away from Casey, staring out the car window. He placed his elbow on the armrest of the door and rested his head in his palm. He closed his eyes and tried not to let the apprehension and nervousness over what he was about to do bother him.

This was a disaster waiting to happen. He didn't like guns. They were loud and complicated and completely freaked him out. Of course there was also the pesky potential bodily harm whenever a gun was brought into play, especially when it was him either handling the weapon or having one pointed at him. A part of him thought that he should be used to guns at this point. Sadly, they were as much a part of his life now as motherboards and RAM were a part of his life pre-Intersect. Still, they made him extremely uncomfortable.

His eyes closed and made his body relaxed. Soon he was asleep.

#####

When Chuck stepped into the shooting range, an ominous foreboding slammed into him like a train. The range was dark, abandoned, and seemingly rundown. He didn't know what shooting ranges normally looked like, but this one had probably seen better days. A small seed of doubt began to grow in the back of Chuck's mind that maybe Casey had brought him here to this old, decrepit shooting range to make him disappear. He took a deep breath and forced himself not to think such negative thoughts. Casey was here to teach him how to shoot a gun, nothing more.

He heard Casey step into the room behind him and soon the range was flooded with fluorescent light. Chuck shuffled his feet, unsure about what he was supposed to do or what he was supposed to say. He was still completely confused about why he was here. Maybe Casey was finally starting to see him as more than just a bumbling idiot? Did Casey think he actually had the potential and the ability to be a spy? The thought surprised him. He knew that Casey liked him, in his own gruff way, but he had always thought that the NSA agent viewed him as rather useless when it came to the spy world. Maybe Chuck had finally proven to Casey that he could contribute more to the team than just the knowledge in his head.

Casey walked up to a table alongside a wall and set down the cases he was carrying. He had, at some point, changed into a simple t-shirt with the words "Guns don't kill people, I kill people" stenciled across his chest.

Chuck snorted in amusement and couldn't help but tease the man. "You know, despite being a spy, subtlety has never really been your strong suit, has it?"

Casey popped open one of the sturdy cases and pulled out one of the largest handguns Chuck had ever seen. Casey glared at Chuck and did nothing to hide the fact that the pistol was obviously pointing in his direction. "Is this subtle enough for you, Bartowski?"

Chuck rolled his eyes and walked up to Casey. Casey had opened up more of the cases and there were now several different handguns of various sizes and makes in front of him. "So, which one is mine?"

Casey slapped Chuck's outreached hand hard. Chuck withdrew his hand quickly and shook it vigorously in pain. "None of them are yours." Casey grabbed a sleek, matte black pistol from its case and lifted it into the air. "This, however, is what you will train with. Hold out your hand."

Chuck held out his right hand like he was told. Casey put the pistol on his palm; it was cool to the touch and there was a distinct metallic scent that hit him instantly. "This is a Glock. It fires a 9mm cartridge with a 19 round magazine. It has lower recoil than a pistol with a larger caliber cartridge, so it is a good weapon for somebody with your level of incompetence and inexperience. You will treat it with respect and you will take care of it like it was your firstborn."

"Gee thanks, Casey, you really know how to inspire a guy."

Casey removed the Glock from Chuck's hand and placed it back into its case. He turned to Chuck and grabbed Chuck's upper arms with a bruising grip. He looked directly into Chuck's eyes and spoke quietly, "Let me make something absolutely clear, Bartowski, I am not doing this to get a laugh at your expense or to humiliate you, however much that's bound to happen, but because I – we – need to do this. Right now you are not only a danger to everyone around you when you have a gun, but most importantly, you are a danger to yourself." His grip on Chuck's arms tightened and Chuck gritted his teeth in pain. "If you can't take this seriously and stop joking, then we will stop right now and you can go back to your bumbling idiot routine. This is dangerous, Chuck, and you must show this," he released Chuck's right arm to pick up a pistol and wave it in front of Chuck's face, "the respect it deserves or you're going to get hurt. Do you understand?"

Chuck swallowed, his throat completely parched. No sounds came out of his mouth so he simply nodded. "Good, because if you damage one of my guns, Bartowski, not even Walker will be able to protect you from me, got it?"

Casey released Chuck's other arm and turned back to his weapons. He had a very small smile on his face as he ran a practiced eye over each pistol.

Chuck rubbed his aching arms and watched Casey lovingly prepare his collection to be used. The man really was in his element and this was clearly something he loved. It was because of the obvious contentment on Casey's face that Chuck couldn't stop himself from getting one last snarky comment in. "You name your guns, don't you?"

Casey snorted in amusement, which surprised Chuck, and grinned. "My father used to tell me that the fastest way to learn to value something was to give it a name." Casey turned away from Chuck, the smile vanishing from his face. Chuck stared at Casey in shock. Had Casey just told him something real? Something about his past life? Chuck almost blurted out how awesome it was that Casey had just opened up to him, but bit down on his lower lip harshly. Talking about what had just happened would have been the worst thing he could have done. So instead, he stayed quiet and thought about Casey's little speech.

Casey's words had merely driven home that he was out of place here, that he didn't want to be here, and how wrong he was for this kind of world. Yet no matter how hard he tried to distance himself from the spy world and its trappings, he always got dragged back in.

At the same time, he was tired of being seen as a liability. He wanted the Intersect gone, he wanted his old life back, a life where he didn't have to wonder if every person who walked into the Buy More was a potential Fulcrum agent or terrorist plotting world domination. That didn't mean that he couldn't make the best out of the situation, however, and he liked being helpful to the team. He liked it when Sarah told him he'd done a good job, and he liked feeling proud that his work had saved lives. Maybe as long as he was forced to have the Intersect, he could step outside his box and try something different.

"Now I am going to give you this pistol. If you can prove to me that you can hold it in your hand for more than 30 seconds without screwing up somehow, I might actually load it for you with real ammunition."

Chuck held out his hand without being told and Casey gave him the Glock wordlessly. Chuck wrapped his fingers around it and did his best to make it seem like holding a gun was the most natural thing in the world.

#####

They'd been at this now for over an hour and Chuck thought he might finally be getting the hang of things. Casey had been an uncompromising if not thorough teacher. They had gone over what Casey called the Bartowski Rules: he is to never leave any gun loaded when he is finished with it, he is to always use two hands while aiming and firing, he is to never point a gun at anybody unless he intends to use it, he is to never even touch a gun unless both Sarah and Casey are incapacitated or otherwise unavailable, and most importantly, he is to never, under any circumstance, think that just because he now no longer freaks out at the very thought of holding a gun, that that somehow allows him to leave the car.

They argued over that point for minutes. Casey, eventually, growled menacingly at Chuck and Chuck quickly saw the wisdom in acceding to his NSA protector's demand. It's not like he ever listened to them when they told him to stay in the car anyway.

Despite his earlier misgivings, Chuck was finding himself becoming excited at the prospect of actually shooting a gun. He had spent countless hours of his life shooting digital weapons at digital bad guys; it would be interesting to at least see what the real thing was like. So when Casey announced that it was time for him to finally fire off a few rounds, he was antsy with anticipation.

Chuck watched with rapt attention as Casey slowly and methodically instructed him in the proper way of loading a magazine and chambering a round. He placed a pair of special noise cancelling ear guards on Chuck's head and carefully placed the Glock in Chuck's unsteady hands. Chuck forced himself to remember what Casey had said about slow, steady breaths, and his hands soon stilled. Casey was standing behind him and to his right, his own pair of ear guards on.

Casey began talking, "Okay, I want you to fire off a few rounds. Don't worry about aiming or trying to hit anything, that's not important right now. I just want you to get used to what happens when you actually pull the trigger."

Chuck silently counted to three in his head. When he reached three, he very hesitantly squeezed the trigger. The Glock leaped upward in his hand, and despite how much he thought he had prepared himself for the recoil, the movement surprised him. He let out a sigh of frustration and psyched himself up to keep his arms more steady next time.

Casey chuckled and placed a hand on Chuck's shoulder. "Not bad. First time's always a bit disappointing but at least you actually managed to not only not kill me but yourself either."

"Ha ha ha, Casey."

"Try again. This time, tense up your arms a little more and make sure to balance out your stance some.

Chuck did as Casey advised and this time, when the Glock fired, he was not so surprised. He looked over his shoulder and grinned. He was pleased and the encouraging look in Casey's eyes only made him happier.

"Good, Bartowski, that was good. Go ahead and fire off a few more while I set up next to you."

Chuck did. After he fired off the last round, he unconsciously released the empty magazine from the Glock and placed it on the counter in front of him. He blinked in surprise at the action; he hadn't even realized he'd done it until it was done.

He carefully placed the Glock onto the counter as well and looked downrange. He had felt a little ridiculous just firing into the dark, aiming at nothing but the plain wall partially hidden in the dim light. Shouldn't he be aiming at a target? Wasn't the whole point of this thing to learn not just how to shoot a gun but how to shoot it at something too?

He looked for Casey. The big guy had taken up residence in the stall next to him. Casey was inserting a magazine into the big pistol that he had threatened Chuck with earlier. Casey must have felt his eyes on him because he turned to face Chuck and he grinned. "Maybe someday, many, many months from now, if you've managed not to blow your own head off, I'll actually let you use this beauty."

As if to prove just how much farther Chuck still had to go, Casey began firing downrange. Chuck was amazed at how much kick there was; even Casey seemed to be having trouble keeping the gun level and on target. Chuck paled at the thought of handling that gun. He didn't think he'd ever be at that skill level. Casey fired until he was empty and then placed the gun down, a gleam in his eye.

Casey pulled his ear guards off and Chuck hurriedly did the same. Casey pressed a button and there was a whirring sound in the cavernous room. Slowly a paper picture target came to rest just in front of them, the tracks along the ceiling no longer moving. Casey smiled smugly at the very tight groupings of shots on the target's face. When Chuck saw what the target was a picture of he broke out laughing because it was just so Casey.

Casey grunted in amusement as he fingered the paper cutout. It was a picture of Saddam Hussein, and there were different groupings at different parts of the former Iraqi leader's face. "I like to have a reminder about why I do this job so every time I come here I pick out a different bad guy. Usually I stick with the classics but every once in a while you just want to try something new, you know? This week Saddam was just calling to me."

"I'm not sure what terrifies me more, Casey, the fact that you actually fantasize about shooting historical figures in the head or that I'm actually starting to understand how you think."

Casey grunted and turned around to walk over to the table where all his stuff was. "It's time for you to practice shooting at an actual target now." Casey pulled what looked like another paper target out of a bag on the table. Chuck could only imagine what dictator Casey's going to present him with. Casey held the paper target in his hands but he hadn't turned it around yet and there was a slightly pleased look on his face. "I'm gonna be honest with you, Bartowski. I didn't think you'd take to this as quickly as you have. I figured there'd be more screaming and whining and fumbling. You've surprised me."

Chuck wanted to grin but he's not sure it's appropriate at this point. He's not sure if Casey will keep up the faint praise or smack him for getting overconfident. "Uh, thanks, big guy."

"I thought it'd take a lot of threatening to get you to actually shoot at a target, any kind of target, but you don't seem to need it. Still, having the proper motivation to do well can only help." Casey grinned as he turned the paper target around. "Don't say I never got you anything, Chuck."

Chuck's eyes widened in surprise and then he grinned. He knew that if he were looking at a mirror right now he'd probably be looking a lot like Casey when his omnipresent sadistic side was on display, but he didn't care. Held in front of him was an uncanny lifelike picture of a smirking Bryce Larkin. Chuck looked from the target to Casey's face. This was quite possibly the nicest, friendliest, thing John Casey had ever done for him. Which was disturbing enough, considering where they were and what they were doing, but Chuck was honestly touched. And excited.

While he had no true desire to shoot the real Bryce Larkin in the face, he couldn't deny the anticipation he felt at finally having a chance to take out all his frustrations on the person who turned his world upside down. He didn't think he'd ever find a cheaper form of therapy. "Wow, Casey, I don't really know what to say. Thanks, I think."

Casey nodded his head and scowled, his actions back to business. "Okay, Bartowski, this is what I want you to do…"

Casey's voice continued on, giving him instructions and pointers. It was comforting having Casey nearby, helping him, it made the whole process of learning how to shoot less intimidating.

Chuck aimed carefully at Bryce's smug face and fired.