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: Look at Chuck with his I'M NOT GONNA MISS MY SHOT vibes. Appreciate those of you leaving reviews. It means a lot to hear your thoughts on this fic. When I was writing it, I was like "I'm probably the only person who will be getting joy from this" and it's nice to see that I was wrong. There are a couple of you out there. So thanks!
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.
There was no dramatic pause, no long silence in which he had time to agonize over whether he'd made the wrong choice, whether he'd asked too soon, whether he should've felt things out here a little longer first before essentially asking her out.
Because she immediately smiled, a bright smile that felt like it lit up the entire night sky. And she chirped, "Yeah! Anytime!"
It wasn't even relief he was feeling. It was just a deep, good sort of feeling in his chest. He'd taken his shot and he'd scored a three-pointer. Or a goal. Or an ace. A touchdown? Whatever sport analogy you wanted to use, he'd scored.
"Okay. Cool. Good. Okay, yeah." He let out an adrenalized chuckle and nodded, trying to play it cool in spite of the fact that he was a little lightheaded. He'd taken a shot, and it had worked out. This was an overwhelming sensation. He wasn't quite sure what to do here.
She pulled her hands out from where they were entwined with his. Then she thrusted one of them towards him in the space between where they each sat, palm up. He glanced up at her, wondering what she wanted, seeing the expectant look on her face. Then he looked back down at her hand and then up at her again.
"Your phone," she said lightly, her voice dripping with amusement, her blue eyes sparkling. "I'm giving you my number. …So you can call me?"
"Oh. HAH! Of course. Because…you can't…I mean, I can't call you without…that. Here. Here ya go." He unlocked it and slapped it into her palm. "Whapow, there it is. My, uh, my phone. You can do ze typy-type," he finished in a German accent.
Why?
Why was he like this?
She giggled and sent him another sparkling look, inputing her number into his phone. She handed it back. "There. I hope you don't have any other Sarah Walkers in there. You'll be confused."
"I, uh, I don't have any. Nope." He sent her a quick text, then. "There. Now you have me, too."
She fished her phone out of her back pocket and looked at it, laughing at the rocker chick emoji he texted, no context or words or anything…just the emoji. "Cute," she drawled, genuinely seeming tickled by it.
Score.
She turned her phone around for him to see and he beamed. She'd spelled it right, too. "Just Bartowski, huh?"
"Unfortunately, I have a Chuck in here. He's my plumber. So just Bartowski makes it easier."
"I'm good with you calling me Bartowski. Chuck really is a plumber sort of name, though, isn't it?"
"I think it's cute."
He snorted. "Oh, thanks."
"It fits you, too."
"Is that a hint for me to go into plumbing? Not a bad idea; I'd make lots of money."
Sarah cracked up, the sound cascading over the rooftop, filling him up with light. Her sense of humor was striking him right in the sweet spot. And it wasn't that she laughed at his ridiculous antics, or that she thought he and Morgan were funny on their Twitch channel's streams. Sure, that was a bonus. It made him feel good to be the person who was making her laugh. But really, it was her sparkling wit, her quick one-liners, the teasing. It landed so solidly, and she doled it out sparingly, picking the perfect time to slide something in, accompanying it with an innocent look when the situation called for it. Smart and silky smooth.
"You're hilarious. It's almost annoying how good you are at being funny," she said, shaking her head. "I am not funny."
Was she serious?
"Oh? Is that your big secret? That you're not funny?" He scoffed. "Because I have news for you, you're totally wrong. You're what Morgan and I have taken to calling 'smart funny'. You pick and choose the perfect time to throw your funny out there and it hooks in perfectly every fuckin' time and it's smooth and hilarious, both. It's actually impressive. I'm impressed. And I'm a jester, so I know a good funny when I hear a good funny."
She gave him a dubious look even as she laughed. "Okay, well…I guess I'll take that win."
"So we both got wins tonight. I'd call that a good night."
Sarah got this funny little look on her face, pursing her lips as if shy almost, twisting them to the side, her gaze leaving his momentarily before swinging back again. It was all too cute for words. "This has been a pretty good night."
"Yeah," he said, bracing his elbows on his knees and leaning in closer to her. "It really has."
She seemed to almost subtly peek down at her phone then, the screen lighting up. Checking the time, maybe? Ugh, no. Don't check the time. Please.
He didn't want this to end, even if he had scored her phone number.
But in spite of her sneaky time peeking, neither of them brought up the time.
An hour passed, and still they sat there on the roof, talking, engrossed, and he knew he was keeping a host from the rest of her guests, but he selfishly didn't bring that up either. She didn't seem to mind it any.
Exchanging retail horror stories, cracking up over bizarre customers… They'd even gotten into a friendly disagreement about metal singers and which ones had a better handle on their vocals versus others. He'd eventually had to give her the point when he stepped back and realized he was arguing with an actually trained rock singer. Probably. She sounded trained at least.
Then he'd also extolled to her the virtues of having all of the gaming consoles he could get his hands on to keep up with the new release games, and the fact that their "demo guy" showed up with all sorts of games for all sorts of consoles, and they wanted to be able to play it no matter what it was. Otherwise it'd be a dust-gatherer. And she was sweet, her chin in her palm as she smiled at him, genuinely listening even though he was absolutely positive she didn't care a lick about video games. He already had her number though so ha. No take-backs.
When he was least expecting it, she glanced over his shoulder and winced. "Um, the, uh…self-esteem leecher is back."
Chuck groaned, refusing to look. "God damn it. She was probably down there looking for me and realized I was still up here with you, so she came back." He hated this. It was humiliating, for both Jill and for him. He hated that Sarah was witnessing it too. Because in spite of what she said, he did feel guilty about sometimes being a little mean. He really needed her to move the fuck on, though. And no matter what he did, she kept her claws lashing towards him, trying to hook them in again.
He refused to let her fuck him up for a second time. His therapist had graduated him because he'd pulled himself out of the bad self-esteem mire, had gained confidence enough to quit the Buy More and pursue Games N Rock Sessions as a full-time job, chasing his dreams. She'd seemed so proud of him, moving away from the things that were holding him back—his dead-end job, his dead-end and toxic relationship. He cared enough about himself to want to search for his happiness, find it, keep it.
Jill needed to leave him alone. She was never going to be a part of his life again. And that was that.
"Want me to get rid of her?" Sarah half-growled, leaning in close, lowering her voice, her eyes shining mischievously.
Chuck gawked at her. She was just teasing him, right?
But then she surged to her feet, and as she walked around him, she slipped her fingers into his curls, creating rows in his hair as she did. He shivered deliciously at the sensation, loving that she felt confident enough to do that.
And he shifted where he still sat on the air vent, his tailbone a little numb if he was honest with himself, and followed Sarah's movement with his eyes. God damn, she moved like a cat, didn't she?
He had her number. It was in his phone.
What in the fuck was his life?
And then he realized she was walking straight towards his ex-girlfriend.
Holy shit. Wait. No. No!
"S-Sarah," he hissed as she slithered around his air vent. "What're you—?"
Oh shit.
He didn't know her well enough to know what she was doing.
"Meet me down in the warehouse in a few minutes," she said quietly over her shoulder. "Trust me."
Trust her?
This girl he had every intention of going out on a date with was headed straight for Jill Roberts, the ex-girlfriend who'd torn him to bits and pieces with criticisms and advice for improvement and flirting with other guys to make him jealous while also freaking the fuck out if he ever talked to other girls, including his therapist who was in her fifties for fuck's sake.
What was Sarah going to do?
He'd told her… Shit, he'd told her everything. All of his miseries, the torture. Well, not all of the details. He'd skipped the most miserable, mortifying stuff. Some of it, nobody would ever know. But he'd told her enough and now she was going to… He didn't know what Sarah would do. He didn't know what Jill would do. For as "holy" as her family was, there was a deep farce in it. It was an act. And he didn't put it past Jill to toss the act to the side to try to confront the woman Chuck had spent almost two hours in deep conversation with.
What if she said something to Sarah that scared the Critical Hellfire singer off? Something about him? Jill had put him in humiliating situations. If she told the other woman any of that, he wouldn't blame her for deciding to renege on the number-giving thing. Actually, you're kind of depressing so I think I'll pass. Will you delete that number off your phone please? Have a good night.
He'd worked himself into a fucking frenzy—the usual bullshit that went along with this God damn succubus—by the time Sarah reached Jill's side. The latter was half-glaring, suspicious of the other woman's approach, and Chuck thought for a horrifying moment that Sarah might beat the shit out of the brunette. Her hand had curled into a fist at her side. Oh God…
But she didn't. Instead, she was talking to the other woman with a friendly bounce of her shoulders. And then she gestured to the elevator, smiling wide. Chuck couldn't exactly read Sarah's smile, her profile to him. Was it predatory? Why was that hot? Maybe his therapist shouldn't have graduated him just yet.
Still seeming suspicious, Jill glanced in Chuck's direction for a moment, then tugged on her dress distractedly and finally turned away to follow Sarah.
He gaped at the elevator as it went down, Sarah standing right up next to Jill, talking to her with a hand on her hip. And then they disappeared.
He let out a rough breath. More than anything he'd ever wanted in his life, he wanted to know just what the lead singer and bassist of Critical Hellfire was saying to Jill Roberts, professional toxic human being.
Chuck decided he wouldn't know if he stayed sitting here like a damn idiot.
So he shot up to his feet, his legs a little rubbery from sitting on such a low artifice for so long, his knees bent funny the whole time.
And he hurried to the staircase, clambering down the stairs, past the door he knew now led to Sarah's private residence, and not stopping until he reached the ground floor of the warehouse where her band had performed.
The crowd had thinned now that it was nearing two in the morning, people finishing up their partying, ready to move out and call it a night. Or move onto somewhere else if they were that type of partier.
Where was Morgan, he wondered? He felt a little bad, essentially abandoning the guy. But Morgan was resourceful. He could make friends, mingle. He was great at that.
He was fine, he was sure.
And if The Beard had seen his friend heading upstairs with the lead singer he kept teasing him about (at annoying levels, on and off camera) earlier, he'd probably been fist pumping all night like the exceptional wing-man he was capable of being.
Chuck wandered through the warehouse, smiling at someone as he was recognized as one of the Games N Rock Sessions guys. He waved, got pulled in for a selfie, got thumped on the back a few times, and was relinquished again as the group made to leave the venue for the night.
Before Chuck could get much further than the stage, he felt two hands close around his right fist and tug him backwards. He turned, surprised, only to find Sarah looking up into his face with a quiet smile.
"Hi." She gave him that cute one shoulder shrug.
"Well, hello," he drawled, unable to keep the dreamy look from his face. "Hope you don't mind me asking, but uh…" He glanced to and fro around the place, not spotting Jill anywhere. "What did you just do?"
"A magician never reveals her tricks," she said with a bit of a mischievous look. She let go of his hand and mimicked swishing a magic wand through the air, squinting with a cute little "swoosh swoosh" sound coming out of her mouth.
He giggled, enamored. "C'monnnnnn. Tell me." He nudged her hip with their hands still clasped together.
She pulled her lips between her teeth and shook her head, eyes still sparkling.
So mean. So hot.
"Okay, fine. Don't tell me. Only I thought I could use it in the future when she pops back up like a zombie in a Romero film. Bwaahhhhhhhrrrggghhh." He pretending to punch a gnarled hand up through the soil. "Crawling out from a crypt. Alive again. Or…undead again? I dunno. Zombie semantics."
She snorted. "Uh, I wouldn't know. Zombies aren't my thing really." She wrinkled her nose in disgust and shivered.
"What?!" He groaned. "You're a heavy metal rockstar and you don't like zombies?"
"I don't see the correlation, first of all. Secondly, I think they're actually really freaky and actively gross. That shit gives me nightmares. It's too easy to finagle scientific realities in a way that can explain how a zombie apocalypse could actually happen. I hate thinking about it. So I'll pass on the zombie crap."
Chuck tilted his head, thinking about what she said. "Okay, that's a pretty good point. You can have it. And I'll keep that in mind for the future." He poked his forehead. "No zombie stuff around Sarah. See? Done. Now you won't have to worry about it."
She gave him a wide glowing smile. "That's sweet of you. I appreciate it."
And he hated that they were both gravitating towards the main doors of the warehouse. The exit. Shit. No. Please not yet. Sure, the sunrise wasn't too far off at this point with how long they'd been sitting up there talking and everyone else was leaving, but…
She pulled him to the side then, away from the steady stream of guests heading out.
"Night, Sar! Great show!" one of the people whom she'd been with when he first approached her earlier, waving as they went through the door.
"Night! Thanks, guys! Talk to ya soon!"
And she turned back to him, all business. "So that phone number I gave you, you're gonna use it, right?"
She was giving him a searching look, as if trying to gauge his answer, the sincerity of his answer even, by looking at his face.
After all that courage he had to drum up to ask for it in the first place?
He smiled, answering immediately. "Definitely. You kiddin' me?"
That made Sarah beam at him, seeming almost a little breathless. Something somersaulted in his chest. Oof, he was in some trouble here. Really big trouble.
"Good. But you should know I don't like waiting."
Ooooh ho ho ho ho ho holy shit.
"Night, Sarah!" another guest said as he walked past them. He did the devil's horn gesture and stuck his tongue out with an, "Ahhhhh! Bitchin' show tonight!"
"Thanks!" she said, waving. It probably didn't seem dismissive to the guy who was leaving, but it felt like it to Chuck. She was frustrated by the interruptions.
She grabbed the front of his suit jacket and tugged him even further away from the door, to the side where fewer people might spot her to interrupt again, and she leaned in closer. "In fact, what are you doing tomorrow?"
His eyebrows practically shot into his hairline, he was sure. "Tomorrow night?"
"Just tomorrow in general. Any time tomorrow."
"Nothin'," he breathed, shaking his head.
"So what's the plan then?" She was pushing, pursuing…and he was eating it up like he was starving.
He felt confidence mounting. In himself. In a lot of things.
"I…have a few ideas maybe," he said with a smolder. At this point, that was a lie. He had no ideas. But he was thinking rapidly, wondering what sorts of things a woman like Sarah Walker would enjoy doing. A woman who was this cool, who apparently didn't want anything to do with zombies, who'd worked in just about every retail store he could think of apparently… And that was really all he knew about her. Oh, and she wailed. She absolutely fuckin' wailed.
"What ideas?" she prompted, shrugging one shoulder cutely again. He really liked it a lot when she did that.
He pursed his lips innocently. "You don't want me to just pick you up and surprise you?"
Sarah shook her head vehemently. "I don't like surprises."
Well, there was another thing he knew about her now. No zombies, no surprises.
That amused him, but he kept it to himself, instead nodding diplomatically. "Noted. How about lunch? Maybe we can get outta the city a bit, too. I can show you some of my favorite spots."
She gave him a dubious look, turning her head to narrow her eyes a bit sideways at him. "Mmmmhmmm. I see what you're doing, still leaving room for surprises."
Chuck laughed, bending his knees and rocking forward. He loved the pleased look on her face, the way she put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. He was totally captured by this woman and he didn't think there was any going back at this point. Even if he'd wanted to.
Which he so didn't.
"Fine," she giggled then. "Pick me up here tomorrow. What time? Eleven? Twelve?"
He winced. "After tonight, noon might be the best bet."
"Fair," she said with a snort.
Before either of them could say anything else, Chuck felt the hard weight of another body crashing hard into his back, arms going around his shoulders, legs around his waist.
He knew inherently what the weight of his best buddy felt like, like a koala but heavier, and he sent Sarah a secret look as she cracked up.
"Hiiiiiiiiii!" he heard in his ear.
Annnnnd Morgan was wasted.
He knew he'd left him alone for too long.
"Hey, buddy." He lovingly pat Morgan's arm that was slung around his neck. "Ready to go home?"
"Suuuuure iiiiiiis." Morgan must've noticed Sarah then because he gasped. "You! You are—O'm'god, you are so bodacious. That show! D'you know you give Ann Wil-zin a run fer 'er money?"
Sarah grinned. "Wow. Ann Wilson? Quite a compliment. Thanks, Morgan."
"Where di' you two run ovv toooo anywaaaaaaaay—?"
"Okay, well, that's our cue. Off, Morgs. C'mon. I'm not carrying you to the car. You have to walk," he said with a sort of parental authority to his tone.
Morgan hopped off but swayed. "Y'know what, I love yrr, um…thoz guyz Mac 'n Dylan. Good ol' MacDylan. Tha'z wha'm callin'm now. They said I could go wif'm t'morrow af'er'nun on a, um, gear hunt."
Sarah whistled. "Wow. You must've made an impression, Morgan. Mac and Dyl invite you on one of their gear hunts, that's a big deal. They're very serious about their gear hunts."
He gasped, slapping his hand onto his chest, swaying a little again. "M'so honored. They're great. I thi'k I'm in love wi' 'em."
"They'll be happy to hear that. They're big fans of your channel."
"Nooooo! Thiz th'best night of m'liiiiife!" Morgan clasped onto Chuck and swung in close, smelling strong like whiskey. "Oh. Dude. Pal. Buddy. I bet 'f we aggzed, they'd let you tag 'long too."
Chuck swallowed a snort, patting Morgan's cheek. "That's really nice. Thanks for thinking of me, buddy, but, uh…" He swung his gaze over to Sarah and smiled. "I've got plans tomorrow, too."
"Oh! Okay we—Oh. Ooooohhhhhhh! You two are…? Oooohhhh ho ho hooooo—"
"Well, we're outta here," Chuck cut him off, guiding him towards the doors. "I'll see you at noon?"
"Noon, huh? What're y'doin' at noooooooon. Y—Mffff." Chuck literally put his hand over Morgan's mouth.
Sarah smiled hard, nodding, biting her bottom lip between her teeth. "Yeah. See you at noon."
The last thing he saw before he walked out of the sliding door was a delicious wink, and he practically sailed across the street to where he'd parked the Herder.
"Morgan, dude, sorry I kinda ditched you tonight. I didn't mean to leave you alone, man. It's just…I got the confidence to ask her if she wanted to talk and I took advantage of the boost in confidence and took my shot, ya know?"
He helped Morgan into the passenger seat, then hurried around to get in behind the wheel.
"Dude, stop. Yer goin' on a date wiv hottest wom'n either of us haz ever seen. An' she's fuckin' cool, too. Like… Look. M'not…a kid, ya know? We can go plazes together'n do thigz separately. Or…I dunno. Y'get what I mean. I'm drunk 'czzz we were playin' beer pong. I won 'n tha'z why MacDylan 'vited me. Bro, I can handle myzelf. You go get that hardrock lady. You get 'er good."
"I'm trying," he said, grinning, thumping his best friend on the shoulder. "I'm really trying."
}o{
"What time is it?"
She glanced over her shoulder as she finally slid the doors shut, having transferred her bouncers their paychecks for the night, seeing the last of their guests off. "Probably close to three, I'm guessing," she told Mac.
"Three-thirty," Zondra answered, stretching her arms up over her head and yawning. "We're not cleaning this shit up tonight, right?"
"Oh, hell no," Sarah scoffed. "You kiddin' me? Absolutely not. I'm hopping in the shower and knocking out."
"Because she has a daaaaaaaaate tomorroooooow," Mac sang, doing a ridiculous little teasing dance and pointing with both fingers.
"Shut up," she huffed, sending him an annoyed look.
"Not the guy with the shades that was slinking around in here…?" Dylan asked, sitting up from where he'd splayed himself out over a couch. How long ago had he kicked his feet up while the rest of them were clearing this place out, the lazy ass?
"Ugh, no," Sarah groused.
"Good. He looked like a fed. I don't fuck with feds. My people have a baaaad, bad history with those mother fuckers."
Yeah, like genocide. Centuries of it.
She didn't blame Dylan, or "his people".
"No, he was a producer," she said, trying to latch onto this potential subject change, away from her date with Chuck in…shit, like, eight hours. She needed sleep or she'd be the worst date ever.
"A producer? The fuck?!" Zondra took a few steps closer. "There was a producer here and you're just now telling us?"
Oops.
Sarah shrugged. "I didn't know if he was legit so I didn't say anything. But the Games N Rock Sessions guys say he is, so I feel like we can at least trust them. Anyway, it's better none of us knew about the shades dude until after we performed because Mac would've choked and dropped his sticks or something."
"Oh fuck ooooff," he laughed. "I wouldn't have."
Dylan winced. "She ain't wrong, friend."
"You can fuck off too."
"Gladly." Dyl plopped onto his back again with a comical fwoof of the cushion under him.
"What's he want with us? He gonna sign us to a label or something?" Zondra asked, always with the one-track mind. It's why they were best friends. They got a lot of shit done together.
"He said he's got some big product that needs a music video to promote it or something like that. They might want to use Critical Hellfire." She shrugged. "It sounded like a come on, but like I said, GnR guys seem to be getting a legit look from the same guy. They vouch for him. He has Bob's contact info."
"You did a lot of talking to the GnR guys," Mac teased again. "One in particular." He made his eyebrows dance towards the other two.
"Oh holy shit, you're going out with the one who's all crushed on you! Oh my God!" Zondra burst into laughter. Sarah merely frowned at her. "Sorry," the other woman said through her laughter. "I'm sorry. Sorry. I'm not—It's just funny. You are powerful, Blondie. Go out there and get all the boys. All genres." She crossed her arms and gave her an impressed look.
Sarah ignored that last part. "I'm not powerful. He likes our music and he's nice. And he's funny." She shrugged. "I've gone on dates with guys for less. Anyway, none of your business."
"It kind of is," Dylan said from the couch.
"Kind of," Mac repeated.
The guitarist sat up again, swinging his legs around and standing to his full height, stretching his back with a grunt. "Games N Rock Sessions is our prime promo outlet at this point. You go out with Chuck, co-host of GnR, you'll be mixing business with pleasure. Not that I'm against it. I love doing that." He grinned cockily.
"Horndog," Rizzo muttered, rolling her eyes at him. "I was just saying it's funny because you always go for muscles, tattoos. Guys with motorbikes and cars that sound like a horde of angry wasps. Chuck is funny and seems sweet 'n all, but he is also a dopey goofball and kind of gangly which is…not your usual."
"I don't have a usual." She looked at the guys, stretching one arm out in a shrug, and they both made doubtful faces. She dropped her arm and glared at them. "Wow, thanks for the back-up."
"I'm proud of you. Nice guys don't always have to finish last." Her drummer crossed his arms and flashed a shimmering toothy smile.
"Okay, now you can all leave," she said, laughing and shaking her head at them. "C'mon. Out. Away with you. I need my beauty rest."
"You gonna unleash it all on our curly-haired Twitch man?" Dylan asked. "Ooooooooo—" SWAT! "Ow! That's it. HR!"
"We don't have HR," Sarah said, giggling.
"That's the first thing we're doing when that producer gives us our big break. Getting HR. I don't have to deal with this abuse." He rubbed his arm in spite of her not even smacking him that hard.
Still, they were all filing towards the door.
"You guys can lock it on your way out, yeah? I'm going up the back way." She moved in the direction of the back staircase where there was a door that unlocked and went right into her loft.
"We got it."
"Have fun tomorrowwwwww. And tell Chuck no hanky-panky unless he sings our praises again on the next epis—"
Zondra slid the door shut, cutting off the rest of what Mac was saying. Thank God. So she at least sort of had her fellow woman's back. Or maybe she was just dead-on-her-feet tired the way Sarah was and was tired of the time-wasting.
Nevertheless, Sarah took the stairs up, unlocked her door, shut it and locked it behind her as she stepped into her loft, and she made a beeline for her shower. She just knew she'd sleep like a rock after tonight.
But the time she spent under the spray of her shower was filled with thoughts of him, and as she dried her hair, she continued to think about him. Getting dressed meant basking in the warmth she felt in her core when he looked at her, the pleasure that shot through her whole body at the sound of his laugh, and she could still feel his thumbs stroking the sensitive skin of her hands as he held onto them.
As she fell into bed, she realized she hadn't kissed him even though she'd wanted to. She hadn't even hugged him. She'd just let him go.
Sleep didn't come as easy as she thought it would, and when she finally fell asleep, the sun was well on its way up, the sky slowly lightening.
A/N: Safe to say Sarah is an eager beaver. GO GET YOUR NERD, GIRL. GET IM.
Please review if you're able to. Thanks for reading!
-SC