InsaneJournal

Chuck was a worrier by nature. It was something he’d been doing since he could remember, something he was kind of good at, something that just happened if he gave himself so much as ten minutes to sit and think... and around here, there was a lot of that kind of time, right now. He wasn’t really writing - or, no, he was, he just didn’t feel like he had a reason to be, so anything he wrote was quick, short and to the point, it barely even classified as anything beyond note-taking. And that was if he even saw anything - which, these days, he didn’t, not much, so all he had to do was unpack boxes (which he hated doing; he was never completely sure where to put anything, what to do with things, and it was just very stressful, all around), or play Tetris on his computer, but it was kind of hard to get anything like a worthwhile score on a laptop, so that wasn’t even all that interesting, and all in all everything eventually fell to drinking, panicking, or some combination of the two.

Which was why he was bothering Jo so much. Or at least, he was pretty sure that was why. Sure, he enjoyed her company, and yeah, he was definitely worried about her, but usually he was a lot more passive about checking up on people, or social interaction in general. Obviously with an apocalypse hanging over their heads, people changed, but he was still pretty sure he hadn’t actually changed, that nothing weird was going on, and he was just trying to avoid over-thinking - and checking on her at the same time. No big deal.

Not that he didn’t think she could handle herself, or anything. She was Jo Harvelle, after all - he knew she was a strong girl, he’d written her that way. And even though that didn’t actually make sense or matter now that it turned out nothing he’d written was his idea, it still meant that he knew her well enough to know that she wasn’t some fainting damsel in distress or anything. But something like dying, coming back from the dead? He was pretty sure that kind of thing was not something you just bounce back from, kick-ass hunter chick or not. So, yeah, he worried.

...although when worrying about had turned into practically force-feeding was a little beyond him. Whatever, it was really good cake, so he was going to share it. That was all.

Chuck was a firm believer in not trying to text and drive at the same time, even when he didn’t have death-visions telling him there was danger afoot. It just didn’t seem like a good plan. So it took a little long for him to get her last message - which meant it was completely appropriate to send a message back to her while sitting in front of the Roadhouse in his car instead of going in to announce his presence. Message sent (with just a little waving of his phone in the air - he really needed to get a new provider, seriously, bad signal all over), he climbed out of the car, carrying the cake and heading inside.