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: We've only just beguuuuuuuuuuuuuuun...
...white lace and proooomiseeeees...
Enjoy this chapter!
A kiss for luck and w—
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.
It didn't matter how loud she made the music, those same cynical thoughts invaded anyway, crowded out the hope, the faith, the optimism… And there was precedent; when the thoughts got bad enough, pervading enough, it took her drive and determination out at the knees.
She couldn't afford another slump.
The idea of going back to retail when the generous gift in Grandma Walker's will ran out because in spite of all of the years that money bought her, she still hadn't figured out how to make a living being a musician and singer made her feel so deeply depressed.
And God damn it, she knew she had the privilege of looks on her side, too. Dylan had dropped a truth bomb on both her and Zondra one night after a gig, and he'd been absolutely right. They were both hot enough to get even the misogynist gatekeepers of rock music to sit up and watch, even if they didn't seem to want to listen.
She'd been kind of pissed at the time, as if her body and her face were the only things getting her gigs, the two supermodel-looking women in the band the only reason why Critical Hellfire got invited to play places. When she knew beyond all doubt that they were good at this. Their sound was good. No, it was fucking great.
She couldn't do retail again. She'd done it from the time she was sixteen, hopping around the different corporations—Nordstrom, Ross, Target, Urban Outfitters, H&M, Hot Topic, Vans, West Elm, Victoria's Secret once the braces got taken off her teeth and she filled into her height with actual breasts. David's Bridal had really destroyed her rainbow colored glasses about romance after so many dudes buying suits for their own weddings tried to hit on her while she was just trying to do her damn job.
She'd been pretty bad at customer service and couldn't stay in one place for long, quitting, getting another job, quitting, getting another job—a vicious cycle she'd been unable to grow out of.
This was the only thing she stuck with. Even school had felt like a futile experiment. Teachers didn't understand the way she learned. She loved books, loved reading, and then was terrible at reading tests. She understood the math lessons and science lessons, and then they stuck a test in front of her and all bets were off. She loved writing, loved poetry, and hated assigned essays.
The only place in the world where she felt like she belonged was in a rock band. Playing music. Singing.
Not in retail stores.
Her esteem for humankind plummeted when she worked retail.
And when she stood up on a stage with her band, belting into a microphone, plucking at her bass guitar, Riz, Dyl, and Mac rocking out beside her, the faces of absolute enjoyment on the people down below set her on fire. The way they danced, the headbangers, the surprise at first, and then the hollers and clapping that followed once they realized how good the band was gave her faith in people again.
She'd just had to use her own money to fix Critical Hellfire's equipment that was fraying, broken, covered in dents and holes, to try to dress them up and make them look professional. And she'd used her own money because the gigs they got didn't pay enough for it to cover those upgrades.
This wasn't going to be able to last, it wouldn't be viable longterm. They needed their big break. They needed to cut a whole album, not just a few songs they could stick onto a demo. They needed a producer to believe in them and bring them into an actual studio, where they'd get advertising, promotional tours, music videos, and press attention. They needed someone from Pitchfork to write an article praising their stuff.
Bob advised they work more pop into their sound. He said that would sell them to a wider audience.
But that wasn't who they were. Critical Hellfire wasn't pop. They weren't going to compromise their bread and butter for dough, as Mac said, rather poetically. He said he'd quit before they went all "Aerosmith" and transformed from rock legends to pop sellouts. Bob had gotten offended by that, as he was apparently a big Aerosmith fan.
She wasn't sure why they still had Bob, but he had gotten them a Mosh Mansion gig. A few days later, she wondered if anything at all might come from that.
No producers, even small time ones, had approached her or her bandmates. No recording artists. No one who knew people. They hadn't made any connections.
Sarah huffed, finishing up hanging the string lights around the stage of the warehouse, the finishing touch for tonight. She didn't expect a crowd here, but then she was also currently in one of her deeply cynical moods.
She clicked off the music, pocketing her phone, and she left the warehouse behind, stepping outside, shutting and locking the sliding door, and taking the metal staircase up the back of the building to her loft's door.
Unlocking it, she pushed in, crooning, "Honey I'm home" to an empty loft, smirking at herself and rolling her eyes.
She shut and locked the door again, slumping against it, eyeing the late morning sunlight that streamed in from the giant warehouse-style windows. This place had too much natural light for her to be able to properly wallow in self-hatred, disgust at the world, pessimism about her future, like a proper rockstar.
She'd need to find a curtain guy to hang something over those. She'd like to be able to pick and choose whether that light streamed in or not.
There was one major selling point for this being the place she chose to live in once she inherited the money she'd need to live on her own finally instead of with a slew of roommates—or boyfriends with bad habits that included being terrible boyfriends. That was the fact that the bedroom had walls that split it off from the rest of the loft. And because of how high the ceiling was in this place, there was even a walkable nook over the bedroom with a ladder that climbed up to it where she could stick an extra mattress for guests. Her own little lofted guest bedroom…minus the privacy, of course.
It also boasted two bathrooms, a kitchen, laundry facilities in the back corner by her bedroom, a living area, and there was room for a large table where she could entertain. If she did that sort of thing. Nobody came up to her loft but her bandmates—and even then, the boys tended to stay down in the warehouse.
The one man she'd brought here since buying it had shattered her heart and single-handedly pulled a handful of songs out of her—both the revenge kind and the heartbroken kind. Critical Hellfire only played the revenge ones. She played the heartbroken ones alone, sitting over a keyboard, crying. Like a trope out of the beginning of a poorly written romcom.
She was being more selective next time. Probably.
Sarah scoffed at herself as she went to the kitchen, poured herself some ice water, and continued her hydration routine she always did when a gig was coming up.
She was kicking her ass, kicking her band's ass, to try to get their name out there, make Critical Hellfire the band on everyone's lips.
But this melancholy wasn't abating. She had doubts.
What if this was all for nothing?
Friday night at Mosh Mansion hadn't afforded her band anything even close to a break. No connections came from it. Not one.
And she supposed that wasn't exactly true or fair. Didn't the guy from that Twitch channel the boys loved so much gush about her band when she accidentally bumped into him that night? She'd invited him to come tonight. Would he?
Did that channel even have any real pull? Or did people just watch it to laugh and feel good in their souls? That was worth it alone, because they were really funny, and adorable. But that wouldn't help her band get to where they wanted to be.
She trudged through her loft, shouldered the door of her bedroom open wider and snagged her laptop, crawling onto her bed, leaning back against the headboard, and propping it on her thighs.
Maybe there were emails from people about opportunities.
Maybe the problem was that she hadn't checked her email in two days.
And the first email right at the top, glistening and unopened, was an email from Dylan.
She snorted at the "No subject" next to his name. He hated using a freaking subject and it drove Zondra nuts, but it was just one of his quirks. He argued they'd open it anyway so why waste his time?
As she opened it, she saw he'd written, "THEY LOVE US! THEY REALLY LOVE US!" at the top of the email. And he'd included a link to Twitch.
She clicked it and found herself redirected to a Twitch channel called Games N Rock Sessions. A-ha. These guys again.
Had they talked about Critical Hellfire again? It was from last night. They'd watched the performances at Mosh Mansion and maybe they felt compelled to follow up. That was actually pretty sweet.
She hit play.
This time when the stream started, the one named Morgan was there alone, taking up the whole screen as he hunched in front of the webcam. "We're back! Heeey!" he chanted. "I said we're back! Heeeeey!" Then he put his finger to his lips. "Okay, we had to start the stream on time but Chuck is on the phone with someone veeeeeeewyyy impohhh-tint," he finished in what she took to be an Elmer Fudd impersonation. "We can't say who. Not yet. But you'll find out." He wrinkled up his nose.
"Morgan?" she heard from off-camera. "Bro, what're you telling them? Why are you up in their faces like that?"
A hand slapped down on Morgan's shoulder and pulled him back, both of the men taking their places on the couch. She found herself smiling and giggling to herself at the way Chuck, the one she'd met Friday night, leapt into the air and landed with a bounce on the cushions, making a silly face.
They had to be in their twenties, at least twenty-one to get into Mosh Mansion, but they had such a boyish way about them. Not immature per se, just…full of life and wonder, not afraid to be silly, a couple of bozos. Not putting on airs, not trying to seem cool. It was refreshing.
"Get too close to that thing, you might show our viewers all your boogers, buddy," Chuck said then. "Remember, we did upgrade the webcam. That 4D shit will show the little villagers that live on each singular booger that exists in that schnozzola. Eeeeeeeeeeeewwww!" He giggled boyishly.
"Wow, Chuck. Grow up."
They snorted and nudged each other, and then the video game screen showed up at the bottom of the screen.
"Anyway, I was telling them about the super important phone call you were on with a super important person they can't know about yet."
"Yes!" There was a perfect beat there, and then: "My car mechanic Fred said I can pick up the wee Nerd Herder tomorrow morning and it's fresh and working great and has new tires. Super stoked."
Morgan gave him a flat look. "What? That was Fred?"
"Yeah. I love 'im. Great mechanic."
The bearded one stuck the hand not holding the controller out to the side in a violent shrug. "What?! You said when your phone rang, 'Oooo! Hold on! This is super important!' and you had this sparkle in your eye like it was gonna be Halle Berry calling us to be a guest but only if she could show up in her Catwoman costume."
Sarah laughed as the taller of the two cast his friend a blank look, blinking once. "That's quite a leap there, bud. A very detailed leap. How would Halle Barry get my cell phone number? That's my first question."
They started playing a racing game, picking their cars, customizing them.
"She's Halle Barry. You think she can't get your number if she wants it? She can get anyone's number if she wants it."
The guy with the curly hair chuckled. "Okay, you got me with that. But here's the bigger question. Why the fuck would Halle Barry wanna sit on this couch between two massive nerds who play video games and talk about heavy metal?"
"Who wouldn't wanna do this? Pfffft."
Sarah found herself beaming at them as they bantered, hearing little titters of laughter coming from her chest, squeaking out through her nose.
It wasn't until about eight minutes into the stream that Morgan beat Chuck to first place in the race, the shit talking getting intense as the finish line neared, and when he did, he lifted up his arms with a "WOOOOOOOOO!" and got to his feet so that he could lean down in Chuck's face and belt, "Still the Need for Speed champ, boooiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!"
"Sit down, tiny," Chuck drawled, rolling his eyes. "Best out of three. I'm cleaning your clock, ya bastard."
"Okay, fine. Let's rock, stringbean."
Something overcame Chuck's features then as they picked a new map, and he reached over to nudge his friend's shoulder. "Hey, speaking of rock…"
"Ooohhh, yep. Here we go, I know what you're gonna bring up." There was an actual sparkle in Morgan's eyes as he peered at his friend.
"I know we've got viewers from all over, but the vast majority of y'all are Angelenos. So you probably know the place I'm referring to when I say Morgs and I went to Mosh Mansion last night?"
Morgan leaned forward to look. "Lotsa 'Fuck yeah!' responses showing up. JBigsPoppa8 says Mosh Mansion is the shit. Yes, JBigs—Can I call you that? Or would you prefer Poppa8?—We agree. Mosh Mansion is, in fact, the shit."
"It is the shit, which is why we went. And there was a whole battle of the bands thing going on—"
"Battle of the band. Singular," Morgan drawled.
"Bipbipbip!" Chuck held up a chastising finger. "We don't slander rock bands. No rock slander on Games N Rock Sessions. The other two bands…" He paused. "Um, they existed." Sarah cracked up. There was no doubt he was talking about The Pillheads and The…what were they called? Something Blood? She didn't remember.
"They sure did exist. My ears were ringing and not in a good way."
Sarah laughed again.
"That's not important. The important thing is that there was a third band. Oh, they wailed."
"They. WAILED," Morgan parroted.
"I think I've seen the light."
"The light, my brother!"
Both men set down their controllers and raised their hands up by their shoulders, palms facing the camera. "Let us pray, Morgs."
"We are praaaaaying."
"Lord of Rock, hear our prayers."
"Yes-SUH! Lord of rock!"
"Shower Critical Hellfire with all the good rock things, Lord of Rock."
Sarah was giggling maniacally now, cupping her face in her hands, charmed out of her mind.
"Albums, big releases, press, full spreads in rock magazines, Loooorddddd!" Morgan added.
Both of their eyes were shut as they hummed together. It was so weird, so silly, and she felt her chest flooding with warmth.
"And Lord of Rock, please help my buddy Chuck find peace in the huge massive crush he has on Critical Hellfire's lead singer, Looordd—Ah! Ow! Why'd you hit me so hard? You interrupted my prayer!"
Said lead singer of Critical Hellfire's blue eyes widened.
Chuck spun to look at the webcam, folding his hands together and propping his chin on his threaded fingers. "Sorry to say, folks, that this is the last Games N Rock Sessions session because…" He paused dramatically, then blurted, "I'm going to be arrested for murdering my best friend on camera!" He lunged for Morgan, his arms jokingly going around the smaller man's neck as he pretended to choke him out.
The blush on Sarah's cheeks remained as Morgan simulated choking to death, pretending to claw at Chuck's large hands around his skinny throat. And then he dramatically fell back against the couch, his head lolling to the side, eyes shut, tongue hanging out.
Chuck comically brushed off his hands as if to say job well done, then turned to the webcam, leaning in, probably to read the comments. "Yes, to answer your questions, I do think he had it coming. He was always stealing my thunder. Beating me at Need for Speed. Camping with sniper rifles in Call of Duty like a li'l bitch."
Suddenly, without opening his eyes, Morgan slapped his hand onto Chuck's wrist, making the taller man jump with a screech, spinning to look down. "He's aliiiiive!"
Sarah cracked up so hard she rocked forward.
Morgan chuckled and sat up. "Chuck's little crush aside, this band is the real deal, though."
His friend sent him a warning look that almost looked less like teasing and more genuine. And Sarah's blush felt almost blistering.
"The talent there is astronomical," the curly-haired one said.
"Yes… talent for sure. But not to be lost in the discussion: two mega-hot babes are in this band. I wasn't ready for it. I mean, I heard the Critical Hellfire demos too and I could tell at least one woman was singing on most of the songs, but I didn't know what any of them looked like and pheewwwwww, my friends. They are…" He leaned in to read the comments. "Someone's asking for a visual reference? Hm."
Chuck squirmed, seeming like he was almost a little uncomfortable.
"Oh!" Morgan clapped. "I got it. Vicki Vale. Kim Basinger in the utter classic that is Burton's Batman from 'eighty-nine. All she needs is that ponytail with the big dark-rimmed glasses." He whistled. "And the guitarist looks like, hrrrmmmm…she'd make an excellent Batwoman. Can you imagine her with the hair flowing out of the bat cowl?"
Chuck buried his face in his hands and groaned.
Sarah winced. Hopefully this wasn't one of the livestreams Zondra watched. The fellow with the beard would be in trouble. She imagined Batwoman was from a comic book. Zondra would lose her shit about being compared to someone in a comic book.
"But truly…? Like, guys?" Morgan spread his hand on his chest, a diplomatic look on his face. "I'm very secure in my sexuality."
"Where is this going?" Chuck muttered in a sincerely scared tone.
Sarah snorted at that.
"I've been focusing my energy on the two women in Critical Hellfire, but boy-o, is that a four-piece babe-fest or what?!"
This time she fully cracked up again, pulling her knee up and propping her arm on it, too invested to quit now.
Chuck made his mouth into a thin line and widened his eyes, looking right at the camera. "You guys know I'm just going to let the train wreck happen, right? Just gonna sit here and watch. Please keep going, Morgan."
"Oh, I am!" He even cleared his throat. "Besides the obvious vocal and instrumental skill, every single member of Critical Hellfire, even the two dudes aka the drummer and the other guitarist, are firmly in the BABE CATEGORY."
"The whatnow?" Chuck asked with a laugh, shaking his head.
"They're all in the babe category."
"Firmly."
"Yes, firmly."
Sarah grabbed her phone immediately, texting Dylan: "You are FIRMLY in the BABE CATEGORY." She hit send.
She turned back to watch as Chuck focused the conversation back onto the music. "They did this cover of Judas Priest's 'Living After Midnight', and it was literally right after midnight when they did it. Which is just…" He did a chef's kiss motion with his hand. "Pristine showmanship."
"That was really good timing," Morgan agreed.
"Okay, but the thing is, this band…" Chuck shook his head reverently. "They take a fun song like that and somehow make it more fun?! Such a crowd-pleaser already, but to hear a woman taking that Rob Halford growling croon and making it her own?" He tilted back and melted against the couch. "She hit the high notes, got those crucial growls in where they needed to be. And then the way the rest of the band drops in with background vocals, and they're all so harmonized. Clearly they're all just loving what they're doing."
"Yes! That's it! Right there! They love it. It was written all over them. I'm starting this race, so you'd better sit up or I'll beat ya again…"
Chuck grabbed his controller. "Fine, fine…"
"And you're right; she made it her own."
"Right?"
The race started at the bottom of the screen. And even as he seemed to concentrate on the race, tilting his body a little as he turned corners, tilting the controller in his hands to the side as well, then swaying back to the other side…Chuck continued. "When we first walked in there, I heard the music, ya know? Like it was there in my ears. And, like, whatever…but then they really kicked it up a notch. The dance floor filled with people, like none of us could help it. I don't even like dancing…"
"True. You have a lot of self-esteem issues about your dancing abilities. Unfair, I say."
"That's not…what it is. Shut up." He squirmed cutely. "But I danced. It was like…I dunno. Magic. But then she started singing, and the chorus dropped in. The way she looks into the crowd, like she's…" He drifted off a little, his jaw going slack… And Morgan was definitely going to win two out of the three, but she didn't really care as she stayed watching him, riveted. "It's like she's inviting you in to hear a secret. And the way she whips her hair while she slaps her bass. Then she growls something with a grin on her face… I dunno, she gets it. She gets that the music, the actual instrumental part, the way it sounds is important. But damn, she puts on a show too. The live product is… She's enigmatic and wild and instead of wanting to capture her and stick her and her energy in a bottle to make it last, you just wanna stand there and watch. Be in the moment. You wanna dance and scream and howl, and you wanna just…watch the explosion happen. You wanna be a part of it, the Critical Hellfire party. And it's like their singer is the bouncer, ya know? Taking your ticket, winking as you walk in."
There was a long pause, Morgan having already won. But Morgan seemed not to care as he gaped at his friend, his jaw slack.
"Whoooooaaaa… bro. Bruh. The poetry!" Morgan slapped his hand onto Chuck's shoulder. "Duuuude! Hit the nail on the head!"
Sarah swallowed hard, keeping her gaze on the curly-haired video game and heavy metal aficionado, sucking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly.
Nobody had ever talked about Critical Hellfire like that before.
But the most startling thing was how unabashed he was when he talked about her, the power she had over the crowd. Like she was some kind of sorceress, casting a spell over the room. The way he seemed to observe how deeply she loved being on stage, her lips pressed against a microphone, her beloved bass cradled in her hands, its strings so yielding under her touch. He saw it; he seemed to even feel it.
Raising an eyebrow, she pulled her other knee up and wrapped her arms around her legs, hugging herself, leaning her chin on her knees and taking another deep breath. She felt strangely vulnerable, and she also felt a weird power in her chest.
Her phone buzzed and she glanced down.
Dyl finally responded with a bunch of laughing emojis. "Oh ok. But I'm not the one this dude Chuck is crushing onnnnn!"
Sarah felt heat rise from the collar of her shirt and she glared at her phone. "Oh shut up. He isn't."
"Cmon Walker. You hear him wax poetic about how yr basically magic lady and entranced him. MIND BODY N SOUL."
She curled her lip, rolling her eyes. "Fuck OFF. Mind body n soul omg. I do appreciate he sees we're having fun and love what we do up there."
"He appreciates those baby blues of yourrrssss. N the way you GROWL. Grrrrrrrrr!"
Sarah typed furiously, a little annoyed. "Yr bein dumb. They're obvi just teasing each other for the show."
"Pls. These guys are terrible at acting, swhy theyre so fun to watch. Unscripted and raw. Man had a REAL BLUSH on his cute lil cheeks. All 4 yoooou."
She knew she couldn't just ignore his text as much as she wanted to because he'd read into it. He had a stupidly annoying gut for this sort of thing, the jerk. "Ha haaaaa. Whatever. Maybe Critical Hellfire's just that good."
"WHY NOT BOTH? We're that good, and he fell under your spell, witchy woman."
"Are you ready for 2nite?" Maybe changing the subject to their gig in the warehouse downstairs tonight would work.
"Fuck ya. Let's GO. CU later!"
"Later!"
Sarah tossed her phone onto the bed and looked at the rows and rows of archived livestreams on the Games N Rock Sessions channel. Not paying much attention to the titles of the videos, she clicked another one, watching it.
And without realizing it, she went down one hell of a rabbit hole, clicking to the next video, and the next, and the next, beaming, shaking her head, laughing, snorting, enraptured by the strange but ultimately very sweet young men playing video games and discussing—sometimes arguing over—all sorts of metal genres and songs.
She didn't think much of the fact that these guys who knew so much about her medium might potentially come to tonight's gig before. But she was starting to. She hoped they'd come. She'd be able to thank them in person. She'd be able to thank him in person.
If these guys who seemed to know their shit appreciated Critical Hellfire, maybe others would follow, since they had insane viewership for what their show was. If they liked her band this much, maybe there was some hope in all of this.
A/N: It's haaaaappeniiiiiiiiiiiiiing...
Please leave a review if you're able to. Thanks for reading either way though, folks. It's appreciated.
-SC