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fluentmoviequoter · 5 months ago

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Dead-End Job

Pairing: John Casey x fem!reader

Summary: You're working a dead-end job at the Buy More but can't figure out why John Casey is doing the same. Until a certain customer comes in, at least.

Warnings: angst to fluff, threats, mention of torture, r is held at gunpoint several times

Word Count: 3.3k+ words

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Picture from Pinterest

“Say your prayers, little one. Don’t forget, my son,” James Hetfield sings.

You rub your eyes as you’re once again woken by your neighbor playing Metallica first thing in the morning. The sun is just beginning to stream in your window, and you groan as you toss your arm over your face.

“Another beautiful morning in Burbank,” you mumble before kicking one leg over the side of your bed to get ready for work. “And another day in a dead-end minimum wage job. Thanks for making me get that oh-so-useful college degree, Mom.”

You pull your green uniform shirt and recently ironed pants from your closet, take a deep breath, and encourage yourself to have a good day. That’s where the bar is now, a good day rather than a job you enjoy or a life that makes waking up worth it.

Next door, Enter Sandman changes to Orion, and you bounce your shoulders to the beat as you brush your teeth. You suppose you may as well enjoy the music since you have to hear it.

“And away we go,” you whisper as you pick up your bag and lock your door behind you. Burbank seems less safe than ever, and if you had a bit more time to think about anything other than the lack of direction in your life, you might realize that the longer John Casey is around, the closer the danger seems to get.

“Who is your favorite Star Wars character?” Morgan asks as you enter the Buy More.

“Jabba the Hut,” you answer, accustomed to Morgan’s odd greetings.

“No, seriously,” he presses, walking behind you.

“What makes you think I’m not serious?”

“Because nobody picks Jabba the Hut as their favorite character.”

“Fine, you caught me,” you deadpan as you enter the employee breakroom to place your bag in your locker. “It’s Jar Jar Binks.”

Morgan makes an offended noise and raises both hands before he says, “I can’t even look at you right now.”

“My eight favorite words,” you say with a smile. “What’s up with you today?”

“I have to cover for Chuck coming in late and Big Mike didn’t have his donut so he’s already grumpy,” Morgan explains. “Do you want to tell Big Mike for me?”

“No,” you answer immediately, clicking the lock closed on your locker handle. “Big Mike tolerates me; I don’t want to threaten that.”

“That’s just great!” Morgan exclaims, tossing his arms up.

“Where is Chuck anyway?” you inquire. “I hope it’s a job interview. If he can get out of here, there’s still hope for me.”

“Probably with Sarah,” Morgan laments. “And you can’t both leave me, it’s immoral.”

“Nothing is as immoral as two college graduates working full-time at the Buy More. Steer clear of Big Mike and I’ll let him know that Chuck is running late.”

“You are a saint!” Morgan whispers, holding your arm briefly. “A saint!”

“I hope not too much of one,” Lester adds when you exit the hallway.

“Don’t you have some customer to hit on and make uncomfortable?”

“Not at the moment,” Jeff answers.

“Find one.”

Sitting in Chuck’s seat, you move everything on his desk an inch to the right. If you have to actually cover for him, you’re going to make it as inconvenient for him as possible.

“Any urgent calls?” Big Mike asks.

“No calls at all, sir,” you answer, sitting up straighter. “But I did overhear that the donut shop on Victory has your favorite in stock.”

Big Mike’s eyes widen before he fumbles through an excuse of hearing an unseen customer calling for assistance. He rushes out of the front entrance, and you shake your head as you watch.

“Is Chuck Bartowski here?” a customer with a faint Russian accent inquires from the other side of the Nerd Herd desk.

“No, sir,” you answer kindly. “I can take a message or dispatch another Nerd Herder to assist you.”

“No need. Thank you.”

You smile and watch him leave, unsure why he would ask if he didn’t need immediate assistance. But, then again, working here has exposed you to some of the strangest yet most interesting people you have ever met.

“We’re taking a break,” Lester announces as he and Jeff walk past the desk.

“That implies you did any work before this,” you call after him.

“My feet hurt!” Jeff complains. “It’s a paid break or I sue the company.”

“Yeah, because you’d win that,” you mumble as you take a pen from Disney out of Chuck’s Tron-themed mug.

“Hide me,” Chuck requests as he slides under the desk.

You don’t have time to look down and ask what he’s doing before being distracted by a large man as he knocks over a display of discounted X-Box controllers. He storms up to the desk and looks over your head for something – Chuck, you can only presume.

“Can I help you, sir?” you ask, waving to get his attention.

“Where is Chuck Bartowski?” the man demands.

This again? you think. Though Chuck is directly beside your legs, concealed under the counter, you don’t hesitate to answer, “He’s not here today.”

The man spreads his hand over the counter and grips his fingers against it. “Then where is he?”

You shrug and repeat, “Not here. I don’t know.”

“Who would know where he is?”

“Look, sir, I make minimum wage to sit here and answer stupid questions. So, unless you have a different, Buy More-related stupid question, I’m going to have to ask you to step aside so I can assist other customers.”

The man growls, something you didn’t expect but aren’t entirely surprised by, before he points at you and says, “You see Bartowski, tell him the Duke is looking for him.”

“Sure thing,” you answer sarcastically, spinning the Disney pen between your fingers.

You stare at the man’s back as he leaves. Since you started working here, you’ve known that there was more to Chuck than meets the eye, but two angry Russians looking for him wasn’t exactly what you were thinking.

“He’s gone,” you murmur in a faux Russian accent. “And the Duke is looking for you.”

“Yeah, that’s great,” Chuck says as he climbs from under the desk. “Where’s Casey?”

“Wish I knew. I’ve been covering for both of you.”

“I appreciate it, I do, but-“

“You have to go again. Why don’t you just quit?”

“There’s… it’s complicated.”

“Whatever. If I see Casey, I’ll have him call you.”

Chuck rushes away from the desk, and you call after him, “But I’m keeping this pen!”

“Receipt is in the bag,” you tell a customer who asked no less than 500 questions about the camera she purchased. “Have a nice day.”

“You too.”

As she steps out of your line, carrying her bag, you see one of the Russian men from earlier. The one that you now assume works for someone called The Duke. Presumably dangerous, yet you sigh and ask, “You again?”

He lifts the corner of his jacket, exposing the shiny nickel finish of a gun tucked into his jeans. “What was that?” he challenges.

“Nothing,” you answer easily. “What can I help with?”

“Hands on the counter. One word and your precious Buy More gets a red paint job. Ya?”

You place your hands on the counter and sigh. “It may honestly be what we both need.”

He hesitates for a moment, then climbs over the checkout mat and lowers to the floor before you. “Chuck Bartowski,” he says, pressing the barrel of his gun against your side.

“I really don’t know where he is,” you say, keeping your eyes straight ahead as Casey walks onto the sales floor. “You’re not the only one looking for him. Our boss is ready to fire him for not showing today.”

“You’ll have to find him then,” the man decides. “Ten minutes.”

You nod once as Casey approaches you. The man moves under your register, moving his gun along the front of your shirt.

“Has Sarah been here today?” Casey asks.

His lack of greeting, sudden appearance, and failure to notice the fact that you’re being held at gunpoint makes you tense your jaw before you snap, “No. Do I look like a babysitter, Casey? Is that why people are so eager to ask me questions that I can’t answer?!”

Casey’s brows raise nearly imperceptibly as he looks at you. Before you can think of gesturing to the man below you, his gun digs into your stomach.

“Sorry, Casey,” you add. “It’s been a long day. I haven’t seen Sarah, or her boyfriend, for that matter.”

Casey holds your eyes for a moment, then nods once before he turns and walks away. You continue to measure your breath as you pick up the phone and dial Chuck’s number.

“Morgan,” he answers after three rings of the dial tone.

“Not Morgan,” you interrupt. “Are you coming into work today?”

“Who’s asking?” a third voice asks.

“Casey?” you realize. “What are you-“

“Shut up,” Casey demands. “Play along.”

“So, you’ll be in with Casey after lunch?” you ask.

“Sure,” Chuck agrees before Casey says, “We’ll be in the south lot at 1 p.m.”

The line beeps as the call ends, and you glance down momentarily to say, “He’ll be in after lunch, so 1 p.m. He’s coming in with another employee who always parks in the south lot.”

As the man slides from underneath you, he holsters his gun and stands. He thanks you, jumps over the counter, and disappears out of the store. Dropping your head onto your forearms, you take a few deep breaths as you decide to update your résumé and get a new job. Tonight. This encounter put a whole new meaning to the term dead-end job.

“I see you’re still alive,” you grumble when you see Casey in the locker room the following morning. “Happen to know anyone who’s hiring?”

“Think I’d work here if I did?” Casey counters.

You raise your brows before you slam your locker closed. With résumés submitted and a sleepless night behind you, your life can only look up from here, right?

“What do we do?” Lester whispers harshly. “I never listen at the workplace safety meetings!”

“Shocking!” Morgan replies. “I’d call Casey but unsurprisingly, he isn’t here!”

“We’re going to die, but Chuck gets to live?” Jeff asks. “How is that fair?”

You gesture for them to be quiet as you scroll through your contacts. It takes a moment, but you find Casey’s number, press it, and raise your phone to your ear.

“What?” Casey asks as the line connects.

“Casey, I don’t care to lie and cover for you and Chuck, but there’s a guy here waving around a gun, and someone is actually going to get hurt,” you hiss into your phone.

“Where are you?” His tone is different, almost caring, but you don’t have the time to read anything into right now. Like how he asks where you are and not what’s happening.

“Call the police, get back here, whatever you want to do, just please do something,” you add before you hang up and press your back against the wall.

Your name is yelled in a thick Russian accent, and Morgan, Jeff, and Lester turn to look at you. Shrugging, you try to communicate that you won't do anything.

“Stand up or I’m going to start killing civilians,” he adds, sounding bored and uninterested.

With your lips between your teeth, you rock onto your heels and prepare to stand up. Morgan waves his hands to stop you, but you believe the guy will start shooting, so you stand and raise your hands.

“Walk to me.”

With each step, you try to notice something else about the man. He’s tall – 6’4” or so, taller than Chuck, for sure – and has a scar under his left ear. You stop with several tiles between you, and he smiles as he beckons you closer. With mere inches between you, you try not to show any emotions as he whispers your address and a threat that you won’t like what happens if you tell anyone who he is or what you saw.

You nod, and as sirens grow louder, the man and his accomplice run out of the fire exit. In the mayhem and noise that follows, you keep your mouth shut. You didn’t see a thing, and if the man appears at your home tonight, you hope not to see anything then, either.

The Buy More is dark the following morning as you inhale sharply at the pain in your cheek. Tapping another layer of foundation over your face, you don’t expect anyone to enter the building for at least another hour. So, when a door clicks closed, you turn to watch the door.

“Why are you here so early?” you ask, glancing back at the mirror on the break room table.

Casey doesn’t answer as he walks to your side and gently tilts your chin up. Your first two layers of foundation have done little to hide the bruise covering the left side of your face, and in the direct light Casey has you under, it’s even more apparent.

“I’m okay,” you whisper.

His jaw tightens as he looks at the redness circling your eye and your swollen jaw. “Who?” he asks.

“I don’t know.”

Casey tilts his head toward yours, and you shake your head against his hands.

“I really don’t know,” you promise. “They were looking for Chuck.”

Without a word, Casey removes his hand from your face and pulls a tablet from his locker. After he types a few letters, recovered footage from the Buy More security camera loads on the screen. When it begins playing, you see yourself walking toward the Russian man, and how he leaned in to whisper in your ear.

“You don’t know?” Casey repeats.

“Yeah, I saw him,” you admit. “But that’s it. He looked Russian, sounded Russian, said something about the Duke, and nothing more. Trust me, if I could’ve gotten more than the bruise from him, I would have.”

Casey returns the tablet to its previous place and huffs, “I’m done.”

You stand as he walks out of the room, flinching when your foundation bottle falls to the floor and shatters, sending its contents up your pants and across the room.

“Casey!” you call as you race to catch up to him. It takes until you’re in the parking lot to get close enough to put your hand around his arm. “Casey, please.”

At that, Casey stops and looks at your uninjured eye before his eyes flit to your injuries.

“Done with what?” you ask softly.

“Keeping Chuck safe isn’t worth letting you get hurt,” he admits.

“So, you are keeping Chuck safe?” You smile as you murmur, “I knew you weren’t in the dead-end job for nothing.”

Casey shakes his head and then scans the roofline over your head.

“We need to go,” he urges, pulling you toward his Crown Vic with a gentle but controlling grip around your wrist. “Now.”

You listen to him, sliding into the passenger seat without a word. As he speeds out of the parking lot and follows the signs to get on the interstate, you watch the side mirror for some sign of what made him so eager to get away from the Buy More.

“You got too close,” he explains. “That’s why they’re targeting you, because they think you know something about the Intersect. I’m sorry.”

“Dmitri,” you remember.

Casey tightens his grip on the wheel and moves over a lane before he asks, “Who?”

“One of the guys, uh, the one who pulled the gun on me two days ago-“

“Two days ago?”

“Listen, Casey,” you implore. “He had been in the Buy More before, but the other guy, the bigger guy called him Dmitri.”

“Okay,” Casey grunts.

“And the day you came in asking about Sarah, he was under the register with a gun.”

“I’m going to kill him,” Casey vows.

“Dmitri or Chuck?”

Casey focuses on the road for several miles before he answers, “Maybe both.”

“Oh!” Chuck yells as he enters Castle. “Uh, so, you found the secret locker entrance too. What do you think this place is?”

You click his Disney pen against your palm and shrug. “Probably some NSA/CIA task force to protect an intelligence asset or something.”

“Mmhmm, mmhmm,” Chuck hums nervously. “Then we should probably get out before they send a sniper or something, right?”

“You’re the only one in any danger of being shot, Bartowski,” Casey interrupts as he returns with an ice pack.

You smile at him as his fingers brush over yours to pass you the pack. Holding it against your cheek, you look between Casey and Chuck.

“Dmitri works for the Duke,” Sarah – who you’re still surprised to know is a CIA agent – announces as she descends the stairs.

“We know that part,” Casey grumbles.

“The Duke of Westminster,” she adds.

With your attention on Casey, you don’t notice Chuck’s face change as you comment, “That’s inventive.”

“Duke of Westminster is wanted in at least four countries and was banned from Russia under his birth name Vasya Belov,” Chuck says. “Dmitri Novikov is his brother – metaphorically – and right-hand man. They’re in Burbank to find the Intersect and get a way back into Russia to…”

“Spit it out,” Casey presses.

“To execute the entire Federal State Council and take control of Russia. He wants to rebuild a version of the Soviet Union.”

“Does he know that the Intersect is a person?” Sarah wonders.

Chuck’s eyes widen as he gestures toward you and whispers, “It’s not common knowledge.”

“Yet I was tortured for information,” you interject. “Just wanted to throw that out there.”

“What did you tell them?” Sarah asks.

“Everything that I know, which is nothing.”

“Dmitri has a brother,” Casey announces, bringing attention back to the case. “He rented a room at some motel right off the 5.”

“We can’t storm into a motel room of Russian mercenaries,” Chuck points out.

“I could bring them to you,” you offer.

Casey, Sarah, and Chuck turn to look at you with varying levels of disbelief and questioning.

You shrug and explain, “They called the Nerd Herd so we have a way to contact them. I can call back, turn on Chuck, whatever, and get them down here. Let them storm into your trap rather than the other way around.”

“It’s too dangerous,” Chuck argues.

“One condition,” you add.

“There it is,” he jokes.

“You guys try to get me a position at one of your respective agencies. I’ve got a degree and a lot of skills that are being wasted at the Buy More.”

“Done,” Casey agrees. “I’ll tell General Beckman.”

“You’re comfortable letting a civilian – one that works in the Buy More – do this?” Sarah whispers.

“She’s more than her job, Walker,” Casey guarantees. “You should try it sometime.”

Sarah rolls her eyes but agrees to stay beside you during the call and the raid on the Buy More. When Casey moves the ice pack away from your face and drops his voice to promise everything will be okay, you almost believe him.

Two weeks after laying a trap for Russian mercenaries in the Buy More, you sit at your new job and raise one hand to ask someone to wait after they say your name. A strong but kind hand wraps around yours and pulls you away from your computer. Casey shakes his head as he hands you a file.

“I can’t believe you pulled through,” you muse. “This is the best job I’ve ever had.”

“How’s your face?” he asks.

“Nearly bruise free, thanks to you.”

“You do one thing for national security and you’re free of the Buy More but I still have to deal with Lester every day after laying my life on the line daily.”

“Thank you,” you say, setting the file aside. “Not just for saving my life three weeks ago, but for everything else. You’re not as bad as the guys you work with think.”

Casey grunts, but you know he’s pleased with your words when he leans in and threatens, “Tell someone that and you’ll see who’s right.”

“Yes, sir,” you agree, pretending to be serious before your lips meet his.

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