"I have to?" Chuck echoes, and this time he does laugh, short and incredulous, though there's a clear thread of real amusement behind it as well. He'd point out that he damn well doesn't have to do anything, but decides quickly that it would be unnecessary. Every once in a while, he might not need to be a total asshole, and he can recognize a plea for help when he sees one. It's just that he hasn't got the first idea how he could give any help at all, and no real idea how to admit as much, though the fact that Newt is clearly clueless himself should make that easier. At least they're in the same boat, in a way.

Besides, though he isn't entirely sure how or why, Newt might just be the closest thing he has to a friend here, and is definitely the only person who gets what it was like before. In a place like this, having lost everything he knew, Chuck thinks that counts for something. Or maybe that's what dying does to a man. "Well, I think I can manage to slap your wrist and tell you no, but that might be about all I'm good for."