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: I've never had this much fun writing Chuck and Morgan in the 11 plus years I've been writing about these two dodo birds. The way they build off each other, it was like I was writing and they were sitting right in front of me being typical twenty-six year old straight guys with big hearts and who've watched way too much TV and too many movies. Like, I adore them both. Sometimes writing is just fun and nothing else matters in the moment, and this fic has been that for me. Hope you folks get as much out of reading it as I got out of writing it. Enjoy!

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.

"We're clear!"

"Good," Chuck said. "I have had to pee for, like, twenty-three minutes. I dunno why you didn't buy the same beer we usually get, dude, but this one is going straight to my bladder."

"Oh, wait. Oops." Chuck turned to look at his best friend. "Um, okay. Now we're clear. I clicked the button to stop streaming but it…didn't work the first time." Morgan slowly turned a wince on him. "…Sorry," he whispered.

"So what you're telling me is that the one-thousand-two-hundred-and-thirty-three people who were watching us stream live just heard me talk about how bad I hafta pee…?"

"Maybe."

He sighed patiently. "Well, I guess it could'a been worse. I'm gonna whizz."

"Enjoy!"

Chuck leapt up from his couch, ran up the stairs to the bathroom that was right next to the basement entrance, did his business, and left to go back down…but he was stalled by what sounded like a knock on the door.

…What?

Ellie and Awesome had both already left for their overnight shifts and the house was empty, which meant it was up to him to answer the door…

The only thing was that it was after ten at night. And who knocked on doors after ten at night?

Burglars? Did burglars do that?

No.

No, that was ridiculous.

Maybe one of those dancing telegram people?

No, that only happened in weird old movies. Nobody did that shit anymore.

Maybe it was—

"Dude, did you hear that?"

"AH!" He jumped out of his skin, slamming into the opposite wall, spinning to see that Morgan had crept up the basement stairs noiselessly. Like a damn cat.

"Sorry, bud."

Chuck glared. "Yes, I heard it," he hissed.

"Who's knocking at this hour?"

"I don't know."

"What if it's the Swamp Thing?"

Chuck gave him his best what the fuck look. "The Swamp Thing doesn't knock when he shows up to terrorize. He'd bust in a window and climb in to terrorize. Or come out through the house's pipes or something."

"Shit, good point."

"Also, we're in a Los Angeles suburb, bro. There's no Swamp Thing here."

"Not yet. But climate change."

Rolling his eyes, Chuck stilled at the sound of another knock. "This guy's persistent."

"I hate answering the door," Morgan whimpered. "And my phone. I just…don't like how sudden it all is. I'm not ready to talk to a person. It's like: why are you putting me on the spot like this? I have no control over this situation. Do you not understand that? Calling my phone? Not texting? I have to use my mouth in that moment, no thinking about what I want to say. Shit."

Chuck ignored him, creeping up to the door.

He looked through the peephole and saw a man who looked like he'd waltzed right out of a GQ magazine, including the fact that he was wearing sunglasses after ten at night. Who even did that unless they were some kind of psychopath?

Chuck pulled back.

"Who is it? Is it pizza?"

"No, man. I didn't order pizza. Unless you ordered pizza. But this dude doesn't look like he's delivering pizza. He looks like he's delivering a court summons, only…if the court was for super spies."

"Huh?"

"Look."

Morgan looked. "Why's he wearing sunglasses at night?"

"I dunno, but I have a feeling it doesn't have to do with keeping tabs on his girlfriend and her midnight masquerades."

Morgan snorted. "Good one."

"What if…hear me out…we open the door and see?"

"Okay. There are two of us, right? We can take him if he's some kind of hitman."

"For sure. Yeah." Chuck looked around the entryway for anything he could use as a weapon, just in case. He clocked a few blunt objects. Okay. Cool. "We've watched a lot of movies in which that works…"

"Home Alone…"

"Exactly…"

Then he unlocked the door and cracked it open, peeking out at the man who sent him a dazzling pure white smile. "We didn't order any pizza. You have the wrong house," Chuck said through the crack in the door.

"Pizza?" the man asked in a deep, British lilt. "I'm not…delivering pizza."

"You delivering a hit?" Morgan asked from behind Chuck's shoulder.

"A what? No, no." He chuckled, taking his sunglasses off. It made Chuck feel a lot more comfortable about opening the door wider. "My God, it really is you. Chuck and Morgan. Wow. I'm a big fan of the show."

Okay, now he felt way, way better about this situation.

"Oh yeah?"

"I come bearing gifts," he said, stretching his hands out to either side. "My name is Cole Barker. You could say I'm a producer of sorts, always on the lookout for talent. And I love, love, love your little Twitch channel. I think it's superb." He grinned charmingly. "I was hoping you two'd let me take you out for a drink to a favorite cantina of mine and discuss a potential opportunity…?"

He gestured over his shoulder at the sleek black limousine parked in front of the Bartowski family home, the engine still running.

Chuck and Morgan both gaped.

"I'm driving…"

How could they say no to that?

}o{

Chuck Bartowski had never heard anything crazier in his life. He couldn't even wrap his head around it.

"Okay, you've just said a lot of words…" he tried.

Mr. Barker smiled and shrugged. "I do that sometimes. Do you need me to explain again, or…?"

"No, no. It just…" Chuck cleared his throat, glancing at Morgan. Morgan looked shocked as well. "It sounds like you're offering to pay us a lot of money…to put our Twitch channel, our show, on a bigger platform…"

"So you're telling us we can keep doing what we're doing, what we love doing," Morgan said slowly, "only you'll pay us a shit ton of money to do it…"

"Essentially, that is what I'm saying. Yes."

"Mr. Barker, I feel like I have to ask this and I hope you aren't offended but… Are you okay? I mean, you didn't bump your head or something?" Chuck asked. Maybe he snorted cocaine. He seemed like the type who might do that. He looked for white residue on the shoulders of Barker's dark suit jacket.

The waitress came and set their drinks down. Morgan's neon blue martini was about as big as the table and had slices of fruit and what looked like half a coconut sticking out of it. "Oh," the bearded man breathed. "I guess it's bigger than I…anticipated…"

Chuck gaped at the drink, brought back to earth by Mr. Barker speaking again. He whipped around to look at him.

"I didn't bump my head. And please, both of you can call me Cole. None of this Mr. Barker nonsense. Like I said, I'm a big fan. I've downloaded all of your episodes." He held up his hands in surrender. "Big big fan. I rewatch 'em constantly. You guys are stars." He pointed between them. "You get at the soul of the people. Games, rock 'n' roll, the charm. You exude charm."

This guy was exuding charm of his own. And Chuck felt himself being almost a little…taken by it. Admittedly.

Even so, he wanted this. The idea of making real money doing something he loved to do, and with his best friend, his right hand man and partner-in-crime, the Batman to his Superman… it made him drunk with want.

"In fact, I was so sure about this, about betting on you two—Chuck and Morgan—I perhaps took a few liberties…" The producer gave an arresting sort of self-deprecating crooked smirk. "You see, I want what I want, and I'm…rather used to getting what I want. I want to make Games N Rock big. Massive. So I drew up a contract… and a couple of checks."

"Checks?"

Cole fished one of those extra long adult-type leather wallets out of the inner coat pocket of his suit jacket, opening it and producing two checks, as well as a tri-folded stack of papers. "Contract. Two checks."

"Is this like a…starters fee or something?" Morgan asked, his voice sounding weak.

"Just to let you know I'm on the level and mean business. Two checks for two-hundred-thousand each. Think of it as an advance." He fanned them out in his fingers. "All you have to do is sign on the dotted line and it's yours, as well as an opportunity to expand GnR to markets you've never dreamed of before."

"Two…hah-what?" Chuck felt the breath completely leave his body. "Did you…?"

He saw Morgan spin to look at him in his peripheral and he looked back, eyes wide. Then they both whipped their heads back to look at Cole Barker. "That's not—That's two-hundy…each. Like, not I get one and he gets one, and that adds up to two?" Morgan asked.

"Two hundred thou…each," Cole emphasized.

"H'oooohhhhhh mama," Morgan drawled in a tight voice. Chuck felt his buddy grab his bicep and he grabbed back, his heart racing.

"But listen, gentlemen. Don't think I wasn't listening when we were talking during the limousine ride over. The money isn't important to either of you. That isn't why you do the show. I heard you loud and clear. So I just want to emphasize…" He held up the checks higher and Chuck thought maybe his mouth was watering a little. "This is your decision. I'm not here to pressure you, threaten you, or anything else like that." He chuckled good-naturedly. "Just think of me as your little helper. A guardian angel. But if this isn't what you're about, if you want to keep GnR small, I can rip these checks up right now—" He grabbed the checks in both hands as if to rip them in half.

The breadstick Morgan was munching got lodged in his throat as he sucked in a sudden gasp. He choked a bit and Chuck unconsciously reached out to thump him hard on the back, making the breadstick pop back out of his friend's lips and splash into the neon liquid of his martini. "He shoots, he scores!" Chuck muttered.

Cole gave them both an expectant look. "Do you think you'd like to speak to your lawyers first?"

Chuck cleared his throat, glancing at Morgan nervously. "Well, it just so happens we're, um…between lawyers at the moment." He tried to say it with as much adulting authority as he could muster.

"Oh?"

"Yeeeeah," he drawled, shrugging with faux modesty. "Our last lawyer really…didn't see, um, eye to eye with our…business acumen. Almost screwed up our…assets. The balance sheet… wasn't…where we needed it to be. Yeah."

Cole pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows.

Morgan cut in. "Yeah. Ya know, I had to go in there. To his office. I marched right up to him and I grabbed him like this," he reached forward to twist his fist in an imaginary man's shirt, "and I lifts him up like this 'n I says, 'Look, bust-eh…' That's what I calls 'im, I calls 'im bust-eh. I says, 'You screwed up. You screwed the pooch, see? I ain't takin' the bag on this, see? I ain't goin' to jail, not for you, not for nobody.'"

He was breathing hard, his jaw clenched.

Chuck calmly put his hand on Morgan's shoulder. "It's okay, Morgan. Come back…theeere we are. You're back. We're good. He's gone now. We fired him, remember?"

"Right." Morgan breathed out and nodded. "You're right. Sorry. He just burns me up. The balance sheet thing."

"I know, buddy."

Cole merely watched them, amusement in his face. And then he wiggled the contract and the checks a little.

"You know what?" Chuck reached over to take the contract. "I'm sure you're all right with us giving this contract a little peruse—a little perus-ee-oh…"

"Of course. Please. Take your time. I've got to use the little boy's room." Cole winked and jumped up from the table, hastening away.

Chuck made an effort to pretend he was reading the contract while Cole was still in earshot, with little "Hms" and "Hums" and "I see's". And when Cole was out of earshot, he turned to Morgan. "Cute, the way he says that with the little accent. The li-ohl boy-eee's rum!" Chuck mimicked. "So we're signing this, right?"

"Two-hundred thousand," Morgan hissed. "But I dunno, I'm a little worried. Like where'd this guy come from?"

Chuck narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "He said he's a fan."

"So this producer's been a fan of our channel all this time, recording our livestreams so that he can rewatch them and show 'em to his posh friends…" Morgan narrowed his eyes. "And he only just now wants to shove this contract at us? Where's he been? Why now?"

Chuck blinked. "I dunno. Maybe it takes time to figure all this out."

"And he didn't talk to us about it 'til now? Shoving the contract, pushing us to sign it immediately."

Morgan was making good points, but Chuck shook his head. "Morgan, we've been waiting for an opportunity like this." He shook the contract. "Or, well… No, I guess we sort of haven't been because this is beyond the pale. I couldn't o' made this up even."

"Yeah, I never imagined a random producer would show up waving two-hundy-thou in our faces so they can make our show big and rake in the millions. Not something I ever had on my radar, buddy." He shook himself vehemently.

"We can't let this pass us by. Imagine how a bigger platform will open doors for us to do shit we couldn't do before?"

"He's coming back," Morgan whispered, thumping him on the shoulder rapidly with his closed fist.

"Bands like Critical Hellfire get a promo from us, it could catapult them to the stars, Morgs," he rushed out. "On this bigger platform? I mean…we could really help bands, help indie game creators."

"We could bring metal back from the brink," Morgan said in wonder.

"So? What do you think about the contract?" Cole asked, walking around the table and plopping down again. He even did the unbuttoning his suit jacket before sitting thing. God, this guy was somethin'…

"There's no…catch or anything, is there?" Morgan asked, turning the contract around and looking at different pages.

"A catch?"

"Something we gotta do for you. You scratch our back, we scratch yours," Chuck clarified.

"Oh. Yes, yes. Right. Well…we might ask you to feature a few sponsors here and there. Maybe some advertisements. But nothing too extreme. We might even try some behind the scenes segments to supplement your streams. In fact, I might try to go to one of these, uh…band places where you find these bands."

"Rock clubs?" Morgan droned.

"Those, yeah. That'd be fun. Show the viewers how you find the talent you promote. But we're very intent on keeping your show exactly the way it is. The people love it that way. As do I."

Chuck and Morgan exchanged a look.

They both nodded. And then Chuck stuck his hand out. "A pen, good sir."

"Oh, good." Cole handed over one of those expensive two-hundred buck pens. "You won't regret it, gentlemen."

It really didn't feel like they would, either, not with their two-hundred-thousand dollar checks clutched in their sweaty palms.

This was a new day.

}o{

SPLAT!

They both looked down to see the egg splattered all over the kitchen tile floor, a bit on Ellie Bartowsk's slipper as well.

She whipped her head up to look at him. "You show me that when I've got an egg in my hand?!" she exclaimed. And she snatched the check out of his fingers where he'd held it up. "Is this from the super suave British guy you texted me about last night while I was on my shift?!"

"Yes! El, you'd fall over yourself if you saw this guy. You should see him get out of a limousine. He looks like he could both cook you a perfect frittata and beat the shit outta you at the same time."

"And he gave you two-hundred-thousand dollars up front… Before you've even done anything… Chuck…"

"Yeah?"

"Chuck…"

"Yes, El?"

"Could this actually be it? All of this time, wondering if I would ever see my little brother with a real job…"

He furrowed his job. "Wait, what? This is a real j—"

"And it comes to this. Oh my God, this is amazing. This is so much money all at once." She nearly stepped forward, but he remembered the egg before she did and he grabbed her by her arms.

"Ah!Ah! Egg! Don't!"

She looked down. "Shit, right. That. I'll clean it. Here, take the check so I don't get egg on it." And she moved to start cleaning up the egg from the floor. "You have to be smart with that, okay? Invest part of it, yeah? And then you can maybe pack it away in a savings account. Maybe keep some out for a vacation. You should take a vacation, Chuck."

"I don't have time to vacation. It's going to take them a couple of weeks to prep everything, and in the meantime, Morgan and I will keep doing the show in the basement here and then we'll move it to the actual filming set. They've got a studio and everything." He let out a rough breath. "I'm doin' it, sis. I think everything's falling into place."

She washed her hands, dried them, and hastened over to him, cupping his face as the morning light spilled in through the window. She looked so tired from her overnight shift, and then she looked so proud too. She mostly looked proud.

"Listen, I'm trying to hold it together because I'm a fucking surgeon and I've never seen that many zeroes on a check before. That's a lot of money." She giggled a bit manically. "And I don't pretend to get all of this video game stuff. I never have. But it doesn't matter, because you, my good man…" She plucked the check from him again and held it up, wiggling it. "You are taking this nerdy passion of yours and you are making it. I'm very proud of you."

She paused dramatically.

"And this is two-hundred-thousand dollaaaaars!" she yelled, doing an incredible impression of Jennifer Beals dancing in Flashdance. She topped it off with a squeal.

Chuck cracked up and did the same thing.

The front door of their house opened then and just like that, Captain Awesome had hurried into the kitchen with them, doing the same thing even though he had no idea why it was happening.

"What's all this?" he asked when they all stopped, grinning one of his usual big grins. "Besides the best way to come home from a long shift," he chuckled. He snapped his fingers. "Wait, don't tell me. Chuck finally replaced the water filter in the fri—Oh. No, he did not. The red light is still lit up," he corrected himself, turning to look at it and seeing the light.

Chuck winced when his sister glared at him a little. "I'll do it now. Before I eat. Literally right now."

"Well, if it isn't that, what is—HOLY SHIT!" Ellie had pushed the check in front of her boyfriend's face and he looked at it, his blue eyes going big the moment they fastened on the zeroes. "Is this some kind of lottery thing?!"

"Chuck? Would you like to do the honors?" his sister said proudly, beaming at him.

He chuckled and nodded, then turned to face Captain Awesome. "Captain Awesome…" Ellie sighed tiredly. "A producer approached me and Morgan and is signing us to a contract to do our show in an actual studio and get paid to be on a bigger platform. That's just the up front advance thingy so we knew he was on the level."

"What?!" The heart surgeon let out a whooping laugh, shock in his face. "I knew it! I knew you'd do it!" He dove at Chuck, wrapping him up in a bear hug. "Oh my God! Oh my God, you're doing it!"

He put his hand on Awesome's head and ruffled his blond hair, grunting when the slightly taller man put him back on his feet again. "Thanks, man. I appreciate it."

"This is awesome!" He pumped his fists over his head and swayed. "We're having a celebratory breakfast. Right now. Bartowskis? You sit. Take a load off. Let the Woodcomb work. This also calls for mimosas."

The adorable man rushed to the fridge and opened it even as Ellie drawled, "Uhhh, honey? We don't have any champagne."

"We don't?" He straightened up and blinked at her.

"Nope."

"Oh. Shit. Well…" He reached in and grabbed the container of orange juice. "Mimosas without the champagne."

"So orange juice?" Chuck said flatly, raising his eyebrows.

Awesome pointed at him, giving him a chastising look. "Mimosas. But without champagne."

"Okay, okay. Fine."

And as the three of them perched in their kitchen, the ideas began to fly about what Chuck might do with his newfound fortune. Chuck Bartowski wasn't sure he'd ever felt this happy, this accomplished, like things were finally starting to look up instead of constantly being the same. Changes were coming.

And he was ready.

A/N: Who hasn't had the whole thought-you-logged-off-but-actually-didn't-and-everyone-heard-you-say-something-embarrassing thing happen to them? Especially in the age of the Zoom meeting? I promise, more Sarah and Critical Hellfire in the next chapter. Things are going to start taking off now!

-SC