He doesn't die. That's the first thing that Bryce thinks after the explosion, the gunshots, passing out and hitting his head on hard concrete, that he isn't dead.
Which means that-- holy shit, Sarah did it. Sarah managed to send Chuck the Intersect.
Sarah's dead instead of him. He sends a quick prayer up to whomever might be listening (God, Zeus, the empty air--) and goes to debrief, and then to Burbank hopefully not get punched in the face by his former college roommate. He wouldn't stop him if he tried.
"Tell me," Ellie says. "One reason why I shouldn't kick you out of my house right now." Her arms are crossed over her chest and her eyes, exactly like Chuck's, are fiery mad. Bryce might be a CIA agent, but right now he'd put his money on Ellie Bartowski.
"You know how you found Chuck passed out on the floor yesterday morning?" Ellie looks suspicious. "Yes. How do you--"
"His, uh, his phone accidentally called me when he fell and I heard someone talking to him, trying to get him up. I was in the area, and you know, I can speak to him. I need to help."
"You're an accountant, Bryce," Ellie says, and sure she's the doctor, but she looks a little less suspicious, like for all the shit he did to her baby brother he's still the guy who complimented her sweet potates three Thanksgivings in a row and maybe that went further than he thought it did at the time. "Look, I'll tell you where he works, but that's it."
"You're a spy? You, Bryce slept-with-my-girlfriend Larkin from Connecticut, you're a spy? I thought you were an accountant." Chuck's face is open and confused above the white collar of his Nerd Herd shirt. "Jesus. You-- people from Connecticut can't be spies, they're all-- they're all doctors and lawyers and hedge fund managers. Oh God. In college, too?"
"We can talk about this later," Bryce says desperately, because they are out in the open, they're in a goddamn parking lot, and he knows someone's been following him for the past hour. It's not Casey. He wishes it were Casey. He could deal with someone who just wants to shoot him a few times and then drink some scotch. But no, the NSA is too smart for that, and they sent goddamn Carina.
Chuck's eyes unfocus and it takes him a second to snap back into it. "He already landed this morning," his once-friend murmurs under his breath, and Bryce grabs him by the shoulders, shakes hard.
"Who? Who landed this morning?"
"The general..." Chuck says vaguely, going cross-eyed. "But how did I-- Bryce, do you know what's going on?"
"I will tell you," Bryce says. "Chuck, I promise, I'll you everything, but look, you gotta not freak out, cause there's a gun pointing at us."
Carina, dressed in black, looks absolutely wicked when she smirks like that.
Chuck... freaks out.
"Holy shit," Chuck says. He's staring at his hands blankly, and it's familiar, hitting Bryce's heart a little too hard. "I can't believe I stopped a bomb with porn."
"A porn site," Carina says, and blows him a kiss. "Good work, Chuckles."
"Yeah," Chuck looks faint. "Oh my god. Bryce. Wow."
"Seriously though, good work, buddy," Bryce says, and gives him a manly slap on the shoulder. This utterly fails to rouse Chuck, and he sighs and pulls him in for a loose-limbed hug, the type they gave each other when they were a little too drunk and hazy, affectionate and sleepy and talking in murmurs across creaky dorm furniture. "Really, I mean it."
"How the fuck is this your life," Chuck says.
Bryce decides to buy him a bottle of Jack Daniels right then and there.
"You can trust me," Bryce says, sitting next to Chuck on the beach. "I mean that."
Chuck shrugs. "You know, I thought that before," he mutters. "So you get why I'm hesitant."
"Yeah, but this time it's different," Bryce responds. "Cause you got this thing in your head and I'm gonna help you, I really am."
"She will too, in her own special way."
"She's terrifying," Chuck says, and Bryce laughs.
"You get used to it."
"I won't," Chuck says firmly.