Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Eddie hates him. With every fibre of his body and every wavy hair on his head he hates him. Henry fucking Creel.

Who is currently on stage with his smug little grin, accepting his award. The bright lights of the stage make his blonde hair glow like a halo, almost ethereal, but Eddie knows it’s just a facade. Because for some reason Creel doesn’t let any opportunity slip to jibe at Corroded Coffin, and they shoot back as hard as they get. 

This little spiel has been going on for years, and even their calm center and voice of reason Jeff is at a point where he’s more than pissed off at Creel. They can’t even say that they’re miffed at his band ‘Vecna’, because the rest of the squad keeps changing. One of the things Eddie and his boys don’t ever get tired of is making fun of it. Well, not everyone can be in a successful band with his childhood best friends. Eddie is just that lucky.

The presenter says something about the award, but Eddie doesn’t care to pay attention. Gareth right beside him huffs in annoyance. Out of all people, he might have the most intense beef with Creel, because the Vecna frontman couldn’t help but imply that Gareth’s rhythm was off. It’s been exactly one year since that comment, an offside mention at the same music awards a year prior, and Gareth is still seething. Eddie can’t fault him though. They all pride themselves with their skills, and one of those is a good feel for rhythm and timing. Being on beat is super important and Creel fucking knows it.

It’s like he always knows how to hurt them the most. It’s been innocent playful quips at first. Some offhand comment about not listening to Corroded Coffin because it wasn’t his vibe. Some jokes about selling out the same venue faster than they did. Some plain sarcasm directed at them, some criticism when pushed about it in interviews. But over the last two years it has spiraled a bit out of control. Creel’s statements have more bite to them and they are not as generalised or fun anymore. It’s a full blown beef.

The thing is, Eddie doesn’t understand why. Both bands had gigs at the Glastenbury festival. A whole weekend with nothing but music, fans and fun. Corroded Coffin had the honour of being the closing headliner. It was massive for them. One of the biggest things they’ve played at this point in their career. He remembers that Vecna was playing the same day on one of the two side stages. 

He doesn’t remember much from the afterparty besides the fact they all stuck around for it, but apparently he, or someone from Corroded Coffin, pissed off Creel, because during the next day he dragged them in multiple interviews. 

Despite his best effort, Eddie’s attention snaps back to the stage when Henry steps up to the microphone, award in his hands. His eyes crinkle with the smile on his face and he looks genuinely happy. His deep voice booms in the room over the speakers. 

“I want to thank you all for your support and for rewarding us ‘album of the year’ for the third time in a row. I'm sure some of my colleagues would have been strong contenders for this award, but one has to actually release the album in order to be considered, not just announce it.”

Some people giggle, some laugh, some holler. But Eddie? Eddie’s blood is boiling.

“Asshole,” Jeff mutters under his breath, arms crossed over his chest.

Gareth clutches his hands at the tablecloth in front of him so he doesn’t throw something on stage probably. Doug’s nose twitches in annoyance and Eddie thinks he himself isn’t faring any better. 

From experience he knows the lights are so bright that you can't make out shit in the audience, but it still feels like Creel is looking right at him.

The quip is certainly aimed at them.

Because, for some reason, the fucker knows that they weren’t able to release their album. They dropped some hints online and posted some snippets of the music or lyrics. And it was looking good. But then their stupid stuck up label refused to publish the album or pressured them into dropping one of their driving songs, one that is currently their single that is also nominated and the only reason they are even at this stupid award show. Apparently their old label had some thoughts about it, implying that it was “too glorifying” of homosexuality. Cowards.

Finding a new label has been an absolute nightmare. Hours upon hours of endless discussions and meetings. Negotiations on what they were allowed to publish and what not. Bargains about their pay and royalties. Thousands of pages of different contracts.

They all owe Chrissy a big raise and some very hard earned time off for her commitment and for sticking by their side through the whole process, making sure they got themselves a good deal. They ended up with way more freedom about their albums and music, but they have also lost a lot of time. Precious time they needed to finalize some of the tracks and adjust minor things about the rest. They ended up delaying their release and were forced to give a public statement about how they wanted to bring only the best quality to their fans. It was a very humbling and humiliating year for them.

Luckily the Corroded Coffin fanbase never disappoints. Thousands commented on their socials that they would gladly wait and they were looking forward to the album, no matter what. A lot asked if they would make it available for pre-orders, so they could support them in the meantime. A truly heartwarming gesture with all the shit going on around them.

But of course, of course, Creel made it a fucking punchline. Dismissing their struggles and their loving support, and focusing on the fact that they didn’t release their album. As if it was their fault.

“Fucking bastard,” Eddie huffs, and the rest of his friends nods, sharing his testament. 

The evening drags on, and award after award is handed out. Some speeches take forever, or at least it feels that way. Eddie anxiously shuffles on his chair when they finally make it to the “Best single” section. They might not have managed to put out the full album, but their new label had moved heaven and earth to push the release of their showstopper track. It had been praised by critics, fans and casual listeners alike, sealing their deal with the label and also bringing new people to their music.

In the end, it’s no big surprise that they take home the win for “Proud”. The four friends jump up to celebrate either way, hugging close, grinning wide. They take the stage together, Gareth and Jeff flanking him, with Doug throwing an arm over Jeff’s back so he can grasp Eddie’s shoulder in support. Gareth maneuvers him in front of the microphone, holding up their trophy with a proud grin.

“As you all know, we had some hardship this year, but as always we stuck together and managed to weather the storm. Together.” He looks left and right, fondly smiling at his bandmates and best friends for years. They all mirror his sentiment to various degrees of expressiveness. As always Jeff seems the most put together while Gareth looks like he’s about to cry tears of joy. Eddie slaps his back to broadcast his support.

But of course the nagging voice in his head can’t let go of the earlier dig. He faces into the crowd, posturing up to show off some bravado. His voice is dripping with a challenging undertone, “Sometimes a good song needs more than a recognizable voice. It needs good music and lyrics with a message.” He lays his hand on their award, grazing his finger over the engraved bit that shows the title, his tone softening with his demeanor. “And this message holds such importance to me. Thank you all for listening and understanding. Be loud. Be proud. Thank you!”

His boys cheer and Gareth lifts the trophy over his head like he won an MMA belt, and with a wave, they make their exit.

“Man, you’re one evil bastard,” Doug chuckles goodheartedly, once they’ve been ushered to a quiet corner by an organizer in all black looking stressed out with their headset. 

Jeff just shrugs, then proceeds to throw an arm over Eddie’s shoulders. “Creel should know by now we don’t take his shit without dishing out an answer.”

“Still feels so good to win. I can’t wait to see his stupid face when we take ‘Best Album’ next year.” Gareth hugs the prize close to his chest and faces them all with fire in his eyes. Henry Creel never fails to rile them up.