Critical Hellfire

By Steampunk . Chuckster

Summary: Chuck and Morgan are co-hosts of a locally popular streaming channel in which they discuss all things metal while playing video games. Their lives are uprooted when their demo guy hands them THE demo of the ages—a band called Critical Hellfire, fronted by singer and bassist Sarah Walker. AU Charah.

A/N: Proceed to witness a meeting for the ages. Thanks for reading and reviewing!

Disclaimer: I don't own CHUCK or any of its characters. I don't own any of the songs mentioned in this chapter, this fic, or anywhere else for that matter. I am making absolutely zero dollars writing and posting this.

She was halfway towards centering her focus on her movements, breathing in and out, her hands and arms swaying through the air, lifting one foot up high, delicately placing it back down again, tilting her body…when she heard the loud knock on her loft's main door.

Concentration broken, she let out a frustrated grumble and grabbed a zip-up sweatshirt, shrugging it on over the sports bra she'd been wearing for her thai chi session.

Sarah Walker popped open her door and peered out, swinging it open wider when she saw who it was. "Ah. Here to make sure I'm not throwing myself out of the window because of stress?"

"Nope. Because I know you're fine," Zondra Rizzo responded, stepping into her loft. "And we're getting ready for this gig together. We're female," she said in a mocking voice. "What we wear, what we look like, matters. The boys can show up in torn jeans and a crop-top and nobody will give a single fuck, so long as they can rock." She rolled her eyes. "And that's what Mac will show up in. You know I'm right."

And he'd probably look hot as always, and bag any non-hetero dude he wanted who walked into the place.

"Yeah, I know. We hafta be able to rock…and look perfect." She locked the door behind her guitarist and waved her to follow as she walked back over to where she'd been when Rizzo knocked. "I was doing some thai chi. Mind if I finish? You can grab a drink or something, help yourself."

"I'll join you if that's okay…"

Sarah smiled at her friend with a nod, shrugging off the zip-up hoodie and tossing it over the nearby chair, before taking her spot on the rug near the window she'd propped open to get some fresh air in her loft.

Zondra took her own place nearby and they continued together.

Minutes passed. First ten, then twenty, until finally they finished, and Sarah felt refreshed, renewed.

Ready.

"Oh, I needed that," Rizzo groaned. "Felt so good."

"Right? And you know what? I'm actually not nervous now that we're mere hours away from this Mosh Mansion gig. This is what we fuckin' do, ya know?" She threw her hand up dismissively. "I dunno why I was so worried."

"See? Exactly. We put on shows that bring rock back to its roots. Deep in the soil. Audiences love us when they're there, in person, watching us play. And this is gonna be a breakthrough."

Sarah nodded, moving out of her living room and through the doorway to her bedroom, waving for Rizzo to follow again. The other young woman swiped her bag from the floor and followed, tossing the bag onto Sarah's bed.

Sarah spent an hour going through her wardrobe, picking skin-tight black leather pants that were high-waisted, black high-heeled leather boots that almost went to her knees, a white baby doll tank top she tucked into the pants with a wide black leather belt and a vibrant red blazer over the top.

Zondra pulled black short shorts on over black fishnets, shrugged on an old Blondie t-shirt one of her exes left behind at her apartment—something she and Sarah had a laugh over—and black leather boots with spikes that jutted out from the sides.

Styling their hair so that it fell down their backs in waves, Zondra puffed up her bangs a little and Sarah swept her long hair to the front on one side. Dramatic makeup that would make their respective eye colors pop was applied and by the time they finished, the boys were already downstairs waiting for them, having packed up the van with all of their gear.

Mac wore exactly what they said he'd wear, and Dylan went for the all black ensemble. Black jeans, black T-shirt, black leather jacket, and dark eyeliner with his hair in two long braids pulled to the front.

"Who needs roadies when you've got these guys in the band, huh?" Sarah teased, letting Zondra get behind the wheel.

They were off, and still, in spite of everything that depended on this performance, Sarah felt a strange lack of butterflies.

She knew her band's worth, and she knew what they could do.

That stage was theirs.

And their future went with it.

}o{

"Morgan, stop doing that."

"Stop doing what?"

Chuck winced as Morgan propped his hands on another post along the sidewalk, leap-frogging over it. Chuck was pretty sure he hit his crotch along the way that time and was trying to pass it off, especially because he stopped afterwards, a wince on his face as he hunched forward a little.

"I know you've seen That Thing You Do, man."

"Like, thirty-two times."

"Then you should know that leap-frogging over shit will ruin your life."

"Technically breaking his arm saved him from a lot of heartache." Morgan lifted his pointer finger in a scholarly way.

"Okay, I'll give you that."

"Thank you."

"Welcome."

The explosion of sound coming from inside Mosh Mansion could be heard even before they turned the corner, which was why it would remain one of the most coveted live spots for rock 'n' roll fans in Los Angeles.

Chuck lifted his hand as he saw Jake, his favorite Mosh Mansion bouncer, manning the entrance. The line to get in stretched around the block and he was checking IDs, managing capacity, and apparently chatting up a young woman who was likely trying to flirt her way in.

Clever girl.

Jake's eyes surged away from her to see Chuck and Morgan approaching and he grinned hard. "Heeeey, my boys!"

Chuck let himself get swept up in a bear hug, and when he was set down, Morgan was next. He high-fived them each as he unhooked the stanchion rope and let them in. "Thanks, Jake. Good to see you, man."

"What's the lineup tonight, dude?" Morgan asked as they paused.

Jake re-hooked the rope in place. "Uh, you've got The Blood Faucets."

"Cool name." Chuck tried.

"Shitty band."

Chuck and Morgan winced.

"Then there are The…Pillboxes? Wait, no. Pillheads. They're called The Pillheads. Total doody."

Chuck and Morgan laughed, the former surmising, "Maybe we came on the wrong night if we're looking to rock?"

"Oh, no. Do not leave. There are three bands battling. I didn't tell ya about the third one. They're the shit. They're called Critical Hellfire. Head in quick, I think they're finishing their first set soon. Totally worth it all by themselves."

"Thanks, Jake," Morgan was saying, but Chuck made a dash for the entrance, hurrying down into the rock nightclub. He'd almost forgotten about the comment that had popped up while they'd done their stream the other night. And now he was filled with adrenaline.

Immediately, he was assailed with a guitar solo, sliding up, over and over.

The other guitarist started their riffs.

And when the drums kicked in behind the riffs, it was like getting a cauldron of liquid hot magma poured over his head.

Something…happened. He could feel the shift in Mosh Mansion. Like everyone was sitting up and paying attention. Like they'd all felt the same electricity he was feeling.

"Yeeeaaaahhh!" Morgan belted, hopping down the last few steps of the stairs onto the main floor where people were dancing like mad, a few metal heads in the corner head-banging wildly.

Morgan threw his hands up over his head and jumped up and down, thrashing.

Fuck it.

Chuck wasn't much of a dancer, but he couldn't stop himself from leaping in and jumping with everyone else, stomping his feet. He'd never heard of a band even attempting to cover "Kickstart My Heart", and yet here was this band putting its own hardcore sexy spin to it, updating it, blasting it out of the entire God damn building. He was filled with so much energy he wondered if he couldn't literally lift a tank over his head as he thrashed his head and arms around, hopping back and forth.

He let out a "WHOOOOOOP!" and finally spun to look up at the stage as the song slowed and the singer took over, the instruments folding to the back, the drummer taking a break for a beat, tapping the snare.

It was like someone had pulled the floor out from under him.

She leaned in close to the microphone, her eyes flashing, hair falling around her face. She grabbed the mic stand in one hand and crooned, "Wooooo hooooooo. Ahhh kickstart my hearrttt." And then she looked out at everyone swaying in the crowd. She growled, slapping a few notes on the bass to set herself up. "When we started this band, all we needed, needed was a laaa-aaugh! Years gone by, I'd say we've kicked some ass." Grabbing her bass, she bumped a few quick, skilled notes that made something vibrate inside of him.

The drummer slammed his sticks as the guitarists riffed with each down beat while she belted the rest. "When I'm enraged or hittin' the stage, adrenaline rushing through my veins, and I'd say! we're! still! kickin' ass!"

When the chorus swung back in, the frenetic pace picking up, the whole room exploded. But Chuck could only stare up at the stage, frozen in place.

Actual fire was coming out of the blond singer's blue eyes. And that half-crooked grin as she screeched into the mic, like she absolutely knew she was handing Mötley Crüe their asses… A shiver crashed through him, even in this overheated room.

She threw her head back, her hair like spun golden silk swishing back in an arc, and she absolutely went to work on that bass guitar, posing in a lunge as she did, and she straightened up, watching as her bandmate with the long braids did his epic guitar solo, sliding his hand up and down the neck and the fingers on his other hand moved so fast they were a blur.

Chuck looked away from the soloist and instead focused on the absolute badass joy on the singer's face as she stomped her foot, throwing her head again, that hair flying.

Someone slammed into his shoulder but he kept his feet, unable to tear his gaze from the sight of his life. The righteous yell she emitted into that microphone, her mouth open wide, eyes shut tight, nose wrinkled. The sound of her voice hitting that ragged note made his heart race like nothing ever had before.

The two guitarists and the singer and bassist jumped and landed on the last explosive note of the song, the drummer slamming his sticks on his snares.

There was a beat of stunned silence for just a nanosecond. And then the place erupted.

"H'ooohhh shit, son!" Morgan was yelling.

Chuck could only slow clap, hollering along with everyone else.

They were close to the bar so Chuck squeezed Morgan's shoulder. "Drink," he yelled numbly near his friend's ear. He still wasn't sure what to do with himself, overwhelmed by the band, the woman, the woman in the band, the sounds she'd made with her vocal chords and with her bass guitar. He might faint if he didn't get a drink in him stat.

Something hard.

He stumbled to the bar, feeling absolutely out of his mind drunk already when he hadn't even touched a drop yet. And he turned when he heard the sound of bone meeting flesh. It was an unmistakable sound. He leaned back against the bar and shook his head in annoyance at the stupidity of the drunken idiots throwing punches, shoving at each other as people cleared back to give them room, not wanting to get involved in their stupid dick measuring contest.

But Critical Hellfire was coming down the steps that led from the stage they'd just used to blow everyone's minds, led by their singer and bassist in front.

She wasn't paying attention to the juvenile fisticuffs as she came down off the last step, talking to the other woman in the band over her shoulder.

Chuck watched in slow motion as the man closest to him gave the other one a hearty shove, sending him scrambling back, his arms flailing. He ran into a round standing table behind him with half-finished drinks littering its surface.

Those drinks went flying.

And the amber liquid splattered all over the face and chest of the unprepared blonde in the band.

She froze for just a moment, her hands up, shock in her face…but then her jaw clenched and she stepped in, grabbing the guy who'd knocked the drinks onto her, spinning him by the back of his shirt to face her. She slammed her other fist into his face, then brought her leg up to roundhouse him in the temple, sending him crashing to the hard ground so hard, he bounced before going limp.

"Oh!" Chuck exclaimed with the rest of the patrons, bringing his hands up to his face.

But she wasn't done. The other participant in the fight couldn't run away fast enough as she closed in on him too, grabbing him by his hair at the back of his head, yanking him down to meet her knee as she slammed it up, probably breaking his nose in the process. And then she brought her elbow down to crack it into his crown and left him in an unconscious heap beside his foe.

She shook out her hands a little and rolled her shoulders as everyone who'd seen what just happened whooped and clapped. Her bandmates just chuckled, shook their heads, and dispersed.

But she was coming right for the bar. Chuck froze again, his hands still clutched over his mouth at what he'd just seen. And thank God the loud thought that erupted in his mind hadn't escaped through his lips.

Saying, "Holy shit, I love you!" out loud probably wasn't the best idea, especially not to someone who'd just beat the shit out of two guys without breaking a lowered his hands, standing ramrod straight, not knowing what to do as she pressed herself to the bar right next to him.

"Ed!" she called over. "Can I get a whiskey, two fingers? Jack, if you've got it. And a towel too, please? Thanks."

The drink was set in front of her immediately, a towel following. She thanked Ed and began to dab her neck and collarbone, as well as the cleavage that he absolutely did not look at for fear of death by her hand.

Instead he stared straight ahead.

But then she jerked her arm to the side to try to dry under her shirt a little, poor woman, and her elbow knocked into him gently.

"Oh. Sorry about that," she said, holding up a hand in apology.

"No, no. I, uh, I got it easy in comparison."

It seemed to take a second for her to get his meaning and she smiled, amused. "Yeah, I guess so."

Something reached down inside of him and tugged the words in his chest up through his esophagus, out of his throat, and past his parted lips.

"Your band. You guys are fire. You really wail."

She turned and smiled at him politely as she dabbed alcohol off of her throat. The smile felt genuine. "Hey, thanks."

She tossed the towel back over to Ed when she got his attention.

Before Chuck could think to say anything else, she sent him one last smile and swept away from the bar again, disappearing into the crowd, leaving him gaping after her.

He didn't need a drink.

He needed an extremely cold shower.

}o{

Sarah let the acoustics of the Mosh Mansion's interior wash over her as they finished their second set, the way the roaring crowd felt, the way it sounded. It was so loud and raucous that she felt it reverberating in her soul, like a violent vibration beneath her bones.

It was intoxicating.

She turned and beamed at Riz, then Dyl, then Mac. They were getting high off of it too, she could see it, feel it. Turning back to the microphone, she belted, "We're Critical Hellfire! Thank you so much!"

The roaring grew louder as they held up their arms and waved. Mac was blowing kisses around his drumsticks.

This time, they packed up their instruments, done for the night, and they filed out of the Mosh Mansion back door behind the stage to pack everything into their van. She smelled the unmistakable scent of someone toking somewhere nearby.

All it made her want was some water. Ice cold water.

"Heyyyy! Critical Hellfire! You guys rock, man!"

She peered over her shoulder as two older metal heads walked past their van, throwing them devil's horns hand signals.

"Thank you," Dylan called back, mimicking their gesture. He turned to the band. "So on a scale of one to ten, how well do we think that went?"

"Ten," Mac said. "Eleven. Twelve."

"It felt incredible," Sarah breathed. "Did you guys feel that? It was like everyone got swept up. The feeling of the room changed."

"I could get used to feeling like that," Zondra admitted. "Sorry about the sticky situation, though, Walker."

Sarah shrugged. "We're in a heavy metal nightclub. Somebody's gonna fight somebody else at some point. Bunch o' testosterone-infused idiots. I just happened to have bad timing."

"They were stupid pieces of shit and they deserved what you gave 'em," Mac said, climbing out from the back of the van where he'd been situating everything. "A trip to the hospital, maybe some stitches." He snorted.

"Hear, hear," Dylan agreed, perching on the back next to Mac. "So you want Mac and I to take this back to the warehouse? You girls can keep having fun."

"No, come on. We'll all have fun. They've got security out here." Sarah gestured to the large and round security guard at the gate at the back of the lot. "Anyway, we probably have to stick around for the end. Bob said they'll give us a prize. Unless you guys wanna bail."

"He said whoever wins gets a pr—No, you're right. We're winning," Mac said with a snicker. He hopped down and they shut up the van, locking it, waving at the security guard who waved back, and going back into the club.

"They've got Twisted Sister on. I've gotta get into the dance pit," Mac said then as they pushed around the stage to get back into the main space of the club. "Anybody coming?"

"I need water," she said as her three bandmates joined in on the dangerous-looking, elbow swinging moshing.

She watched them go, laughing, shaking her head, backing towards the bar again.

But before she could turn and walk the rest of the way facing forward, her back met something hard.

She spun, feeling the something hard leap away. God damn it, she was clumsy.

"Sorry!" he gasped out, holding up his hands, a half-empty beer bottle trapped between two of his fingers in his right hand. It was the guy she'd accidentally knocked with her elbow at the bar a few hours ago. And here she went bumping into him again. Before she could apologize, he rushed, "Please don't kick my ass it was an accident!"

Her jaw fell open for a moment, and then it hit her in the funny bone in just the right way, and she laughed genuinely. "This was my bad. I wasn't looking where I was going. Don't worry, you're safe."

He chuckled, lowering his arms again and smiling in a way that struck her as something…familiar. She'd seen this guy before. Before the bar earlier too.

"Hey, listen. I've had worse things happen, even just tonight, so…please don't worry about it." The sound of his little laugh was especially familiar.

She knew now, and she sent him an appraising look. "Wait a second. You're that guy. The Twitch streaming. With the video games and your friend with the beard." She wracked her brain. "It's Chuck, right?"

He gawked at her for a moment, then beamed, doing a sort of cute bashful thing where he tilted his torso to the side and bent his knees. "Yeah. Yeah, that's me. Wow. You've seen that, huh?"

"I feel like everyone in this metal scene has at this point."

He looked pleased. Then he switched his beer to his other hand and dried the one that had been holding it on the front of his T-shirt, holding it out between them for her to shake. "And you are?"

"Sarah. I play bass for Critical Hellfire."

She took his hand, shaking it momentarily, before letting go and pulling her arms back in, crossing them at her chest.

"No, I know that part. Trust me. I came in at the end of your first set, watched the whole second one. I mean it, you seriously wail. I've been coming to Mosh Mansion since…" He winced and lowered his voice. "…before it was legal. Perks of being tall. Nobody questions the fake ID. Morgan got facial hair really early so that helped him even though he's a shorty."

She cracked up. So these guys had been going to rock clubs since before they were twenty-one then. Interesting. And yet, it made sense.

"What I mean to say is for as long as I've been coming here, I've never felt it light up like that. When you were up there belting. Magical."

He was being completely sincere, she realized, and she smiled at him, shrugging a shoulder. "Thank you. I appreciate that."

"It's the truth."

They gravitated towards the bar and she motioned to Ed for a water. He came and slapped an ice cold bottle down for her. "Thanks," she called after him, cracking the lid, twisting it off, and guzzling half of the bottle with ease, lowering it again.

"So you here to scope out the new bands? That's what you two guys do, right? I heard you plugged Critical Hellfire on there. Thanks for that."

"Oh. Pfft. We got our hands on a demo and it was freakin' great. We had to plug. We were moved to by the higher rock powers."

She giggled, taking another sip of water. And then she felt the buzz of her phone in her back pocket. A text from Bob or something, most likely.

She set down the bottle and fished her phone out. It was a text from Bob.

"Hey, you have any gigs coming up?"

"Uh. Yeah," she said distractedly, pulling up the text.

"Doc secretly charged extra for entry at the door. You might wanna see if that means he is upping CH's take for the win. Bring your mean face."

That piece of shit. Was he trying to stiff them? After they brought in all these people?

"So… Um, I was thinking maybe I could see you again," the Twitch guy was saying.

She turned back with a polite smile.

"The band. See the band…again. Critical Hellfire. Games N Rock Sessions isn't a big promoter or anything, but we'd like to do more for your band."

"That's super nice of you, Chuck." She shoved her phone back in her pants pocket, finishing the water, reaching over the bar to drop it in the recycle container there. She snagged a flyer from behind the bar, flyers she technically wasn't supposed to be giving out according to Doc. But she didn't give a fuck and she handed it to this guy anyway. Wouldn't hurt to have extra promotion. "You got twenty bucks, you can come to this gig I'm having at my warehouse Sunday night. Starts at nine. Address is on there."

He grinned hard at her, glancing down at the flyer. "Okay. Hell yeah. I'll be there. We'll be there. Ahem."

"Cool. Listen, I gotta go," she explained. "This mother fucker charged extra at the door and now he's trying to stiff us our cut. Nice to meet you, yeah?"

"You too. Okay."

He gave her a half wave, the flyer still clutched in his hand, and she hastened away from him, making a beeline for the back table where she knew Doc had been all night, one arm around a much younger woman for most of that time.

Critical Hellfire was getting a proper cut of the money he made tonight and she didn't care if it lost them a Guitar Center gift card.

A/N: Doc thought! He was wrong.

Thanks for reading. Please review if you're able.

-SC