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Chapter Text

Little Poor Me by Layto

It was a normal day in the Mordhaus, or at least normal to the band Dethklok; as normal as it could ever be. In the heat of a mid-summer's day, it stood proudly and near silently, both in and out. Only nearly, because deep within the belly of the citadel, where no one else could currently hear, someone was having a literal tantrum.

"Feck! Where da Hell could it be?!" In one of the many rooms of the Mordhaus, someone was tossing liquor bottles into one big pile in the corner and digging through loads of clothes, both dirty and clean. Pickles, a red-headed and dreaded man, but more importantly known as the most famous drummer in the world, was in the middle of tossing everything from one side of his dirty room to the other.

"No, please Satan no," he whispered as he pulled his mattress up for the tenth time to look under it before flipping it over in a fit of rage and watching it flop harmlessly against the wall before sliding to the floor. He scratched at his pale freckled skin in somewhat of a panic, his breathing erratic as his green eyes darted back and forth. Where were his pills?!

It wasn't so much that he needed to absolutely take them right then and there; no, what he was worried about was that if his pills weren't in his room, then it would mean they were somewhere in the other 7,491 rooms of his shared home.

Pickles quickly tried to remember where he had been when he had last taken them. It was on his bed of course, (forcing them down with a shot of vodka like he preferred), because if it were anywhere else, he might be spotted and questioned and that just wasn't any good. Not that they ever liked to show very much affection or concern, they were just really nosy.

Forcing himself to take a deep breath and steady himself, Pickles closed his eyes to remember what happened after the fact. He remembered downing the pill and then grabbing another bottle of booze on his way to his dresser to stash the rest of his prescription, when... Murderface had showed up. He remembered hastily placing them in his pocket as he talked to the dog-faced bassist who had asked for a backrub as he usually did, and then...

Fuck, he remembered walking into the kitchen afterward for a snack and he didn't remember putting the pills back up beforehand. His stomach twisted in fear and without even thinking about it, he found himself almost ripping his door off its hinges with the force of swinging the door open, before speeding down the hall. Shit, shit, shit... No one knew his secret except for his manager, Charles Offdensen, and the doctor he forced to swear into secrecy, and that was only to further keep his prescription. If they found his pills... Though his band members were usually horrible at reading (and most other things that required basic brain power), questions would still be asked and he wasn't sure how to answer them.

Even worse, that had happened early in the morning and he was sure at least with Toki Wartooth's insatiable appetite, he would've been in and out of the kitchen plenty of times today to see it there. He had to find it and fast, before his panic flew out of his control.

Pickles sighed in deep relief, exasperation, and puzzlement all at once to see that his bottle of pills were on the floor of the kitchen, the bright orange making it stand out. How did NOBODY see it? Pickles wondered as he slowed to a leisurely walk.

It seemed like the Gods wanted to fuck with Pickles today, because in a second Nathan and Toki sprinted into the room, cackling about one thing or another. Nathan's foot ended up kicking the pills underneath one of the chairs nearby, as they sped to the other side of the room.

"Quick, quick, throw it to me!" Nathan demanded in his deep, rough voice, laced with subtle humor and enjoyment as he held his hands up to Toki, who was surprisingly slightly slower than the band's singer.

With a sharp giggle, Toki paused to toss something to Nathan, who placed it on one of the highest shelves that only he and Skwisgaar could really reach. He then turned to see the shortest band member, Pickles, and blinked. "Oh, hey. What's, uh. What's up?"

"Whut's... goin' on?" Pickles questioned, momentarily forgetting why he was there to begin with. Nathan was the only one who really was willing to join Toki's childish shenanigans in overeating, coming up with harmless (or 'harmless') pranks on the other guys, or playing kid games with him. Meanwhile, Pickles was usually the voice of reason who helped him with advice, Skwisgaar would lightly bully him or they would silently hang out, with Toki watching the other practice his guitar, and whatever Murderface plotted that involved the youngest band member was usually not good NOR harmless.

Speaking of William Murderface, his nasal, raspy voice rang out as a pair of much heavier footsteps resonated through the walls. "You guysh schuck!" Murderface rounded the corner, almost hitting the side of the entrance as he stumbled into the kitchen. "Give it backh!"

Toki giggled again, his hands behind his back as he rocked his body side to side innocently. "We's don'ts know what yous ams talkinks about, Moidaface."

"Shchut the fuckh up!" Murderface snapped, his face beat-red in anger. "Jusht give me my new knife backh!"

Toki turned out his pockets and showed his hands, with Nathan doing the same when the primitive looking man turned his rage onto the other. "Are you sure it wasn't like uh, a ghost or somethin'?" Nathan mused.

"I fuckhing shaw you guysh take it!" Murderface exclaimed; he was dumb, but not that dumb, they supposed.

"We'ves beens here dis whole times," Toki insisted, a smile still plastered on his face, probably permanently with how wide his mouth stretched in happiness. "Tells him, Pickle!"

"Whut, no-" Pickles tried to say, finally remembering why he had come here when spotting a flash of orange in his peripherals and inching toward the chair that had the pills underneath.

"Yeah Pickhlesh, tell me, tell me where theshe little schitsh put my knife!" Murderface turned on the other member, sniffling a little in feign sadness. "I jusht bought that one!"

"Hey guys, whats ams you-" Skwisgaar began as he, too, walked into the room, much to Pickles's growing irritation. He just wanted one thing without a fucking audience-

"Oh good, Shkwishgaar, help a brotha' out and help me find my knife!" Murderface pleaded before pointing at Nathan and Toki in accusation. "They tookh it, and I'm pretty shure Picklesh ish an acckhompliche too!"

"I have NO part in dis-"

"Ugh, I amenst no brothers to such a dildoes." Despite saying that, Skwisgaar pushed past everyone and began looking and feeling the hard to reach areas that he knew Murderface would have no way of getting to, while Toki whined and grabbed a hold of the taller man's arm to prevent him from getting to the knife.

"Noooos Skwisgaar, please don'ts!" Toki begged.

"Fucks offs, yous all dildoes. I can'ts believes I left my rooms to socialimze with-"

"C'mon, this isn't cool," Nathan complained.

"Ja, so nots metal!" Toki crowed with a pout.

"-such babies childrens." Skwisgaar finished after everyone else had finished interrupting him, fishing the knife from the shelf and tossing it to a gleeful Murderface.

"Ha, fuckh you guysh!" He proudly placed his knife into his pocket. "Hey, whatsh that under that chair?"

Damnit! Pickles was so close to it. He made a dive for his pills but before he could get two steps in, Toki had picked it up.

"Deys be pill!" Toki exclaimed in wonder, eyeing them carefully and rattling them gently in their container.

"Oh fuck yeah, let'sh mix them in shome whishkey!" Murderface said as he walked close enough to snatch them up from Toki's hands. "What ish it, ecshtashy, or-"

"Dat's not-" Pickles tried but couldn't finish his own sentence.

Skwisgaar grabbed the pills this time. "Nos you fuckinks idiot, its uh... uhm..." He studied it carefully. "What's is these?"

"It looks like a purscrition... prucuption... prespection... hm." Nathan grunted, the last one to grab it and inspect it carefully. "Like from a doctor. Or. Whatever."

It was like watching cavemen learn the English language for the first time. Though at least Skwisgaar and Toki had a better excuse for this for being foreign. He tried to make a grab for it but Nathan held it up above his own head to keep everyone but possibly Skwisgaar out of his reach.

"Hey! Hey. Wait your turn." Nathan scolded his best friend of the group like he was a child, before walking away from everyone else to study the bottle of pills. "It's a pusciption for... ha, Pickles!"

This surely was not happening. It had to have been a bad dream. Rather than try to grab the bottle, Pickles decided that running for it was a better option. As he began to speed out of the kitchen, Nathan roared in his deep voice, "Don't let him escape!"

Hands grabbed him as both Murderface and Skwisgaar pinned him to the wall, cackling to themselves at what kind of 'girly medicine' he must be on. Toki was the only one who was hesitant to find anything funny, his gentle blue eyes clouded with worry as he saw the look of pure panic and fear in Pickles's own emerald ones.

"Heys, maybes-"

"Shut up Toki, I'm trying to figure out what this word is," Nathan grumbled, and just like that Toki no longer cared about the morals plaguing his mind.

"Ooh maybes I helps?"

"Wait your turn!" Nathan growled once more before looking back at the bottle. "Let's see... Ta... Teteron..est...toas."

"Shoundsh like that video game, uhh... Teshterishk," Murderface commented.

"I thoughts that was Tetanuses..." Skwisgaar wondered.

"Dat's not it. Dat's uhh... illness..." Pickles tried again, his face smooshed to a wall, but no one was paying him any mind.

"Yeah, that am the games thats has blocks and yous moves them!" Toki tried.

"Dat's tetris..."

"Yeah but you're obvioushly reading it wrong," Murderface insisted, letting go of Pickles to walk over and read the bottle too, grabbing Nathan's forearm to drag it down slightly. "It looks like... Teshtaclesh?" Oh how close yet so far away Murderface was.

"It's nots Testacle you stupids!" Toki laughed as he also crowded around the pills. "It's... Testincle... estone..."

"Tentisterose?" Skwisgaar offered without even looking as he was still holding Pickles down.

"Tosterinone..." Nathan mumbled.

Oh for the love of everything that was evil, someone save Pickles from this never-ending torment.

"Tashtymoshone..."

"Toastmalones..."

"Isn't thats a singers, Toki?"

"Nos, that's Totemaroons..."

"Shoundsh like candy."

"Candy, pills, same difference," Nathan growled as he popped the pill bottle open and prepared to take a few.

"It's none of your concern, boys," a much more calm voice said, startling them all out of their bickering.

"Oh, hey," Nathan said, looking up from the pills, only slightly surprised to see the new face accompanying them. They all really should expect him to pop up out of nowhere sometimes. "What's tesostin..erone..er?"

Charles, their manager, stepped into the room fully and sighed. He should've known that it was too big of a word for them... Except for Pickles, of course. Not that Pickles was that much better than them (because with all of them together it was like one person sharing five brain cells), he had just had a lot more practice with that word.

There was a painful split of silence for Pickles where even he had to hold his breath, wondering if Charles really would explain it to them. He had been specifically warned beforehand that if the other band members asked him questions, he wouldn't feel safe lying to them because, well, Charles was a bad liar when it came to the 'difficult' questions like this. Probably why he had no kids, Pickles could only imagine that train wreck when it came to puberty or the birds and the bees...

"It's just a hormone in your body that you produce. Mostly produced in the testicles of a man." The words made Pickles's thoughts freeze in their spot.

Everyone was in quiet confusion.

"...It's the thing that makes you guys have big muscles and want a lot of sex."

"Ohh, why didn't you say so," Nathan said as he lowered the pills. "You don't have to use big words to like. Confuse. Confuse us."

Within thirty seconds of a conversation with his band, Charles already wanted to facepalm and walk away. Instead, he calmly and fluidly walked past everyone else and gently pried the bigger man's hands open to take the pills from him. "These don't belong to any of you, except for Pickles. Now I suggest you all walk away and leave it be, forget about it."

Pickles silently flinched. He didn't know what was worse; the never-ending bickering between the rest on what they were supposed to be called, or the fact that Charles just darkened the mood with one sentence, which would eventually cause a lot of questions. Charles really wasn't the kind of person to be trusted with secrets like this.

The questions certainly did come, too.

"Why can't we just have a little fun?" Nathan groaned at his manager.

"Ja, and what's so bads thats wes has to pretunds it not happens?" Skwisgaar demanded.

"What's wrongs with Pickle?" Toki asked worriedly.

"Why doesh he need more man juiche? Ish he too gay?" Murderface's snide question was possibly the worst, and caused the others to go quiet again as they realized and then wondered the same thing.

Charles sighed again deeply, realizing his own mistake with just how much he had involved himself in this now. "Skwisgaar, let go of him."

Skwisgaar obeyed, and all of them stared expectantly between Pickles and Charles, waiting for an answer. Pickles was staring at the ground though, unable to look anyone in the eyes, his throat tightening as all the walls he had built up for years, for his safety, began to crumble before him. Living in lies and secrets as a foundation was like making a house out of cards instead of bricks, which he should've known.

Silence fell over all of them for a long time, the only sound being their own pounding pulses drumming against their ears, each waiting for something to be said.

It was unsure of whether Charles was trying to actually be helpful, or if this was his way of starting the conversation to get the questions out of the way, but he finally said, "Pickles just doesn't produce... A ton. And that's okay."

"What ish he, a girl?" Murderface's nasty tone rang through the air and pierced Pickles's heart, with a sense of familiarity and nostalgia to that pain- heavy as it was before. He flinched noticeably this time, causing everyone to turn to him. "Well, are ya? Shpit it out!" Murderface seemed somewhat bewildered at the reaction, causing his last sentence to come out a little harsher than before.

The atmosphere was thick with a sobering feeling, all traces of humor lost. They were genuinely curious and Pickles had never prepared himself with this situation, because he thought he would be safe from this predicament forever if he had just kept those pills hidden.

"...Pickles? Do you, ah, wanna tell them, or?" Charles pressed gently, unsure of how to approach this issue himself. He personally had no problems with Pickles or his personal choices, but because of the band's general internalized (and sometimes externalized) homophobia and sexism and... other issues, he wasn't sure how they would take it, or if they even would understand.

Pickles's face began to heat up as his emotions began to boil over from the pressure, and he ended up blurting out, "I'm fuckin' trans."

Again, silence, as everyone looked at each other in confusion.

"You guys ah, don't know what that is, do you?" Charles questioned, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes.

"...Nah."

"Uh uh."

"Nos."

"Nopes!"

Of course not. Charles looked over at Pickles, seeing his face contort with humiliation, shame, anger, fear, and overwhelming sadness. This made the manager purse his lips with concern, but they were all too deep into this conversation to stop now.

"It means, guys, that Pickles used to identify as a woman. And now he's a man."

"What?!"

"Uh... That's... Weird."

"Wh- reallys?"

"Dats sound... gays."

"Guys, please." Charles held his hand up, causing them to stop mumbling to themselves again. "Pickles is a man, that's all there is to it. Please don't bother him with this new information, it's, ah, a really tough subject for him."

"Why, becaushe he'sh a girl?"

A few other snickered, more out of nervous confusion than anything, but that was the final straw for him. Pickles pushed past everyone, ignoring their calls and shouts as he ran all the way back to his room with his eyes stinging in annoyance, frustration, and most of all, anger. He hated this, and he knew it was all his fault. He should've known they were too stupid to figure it out, or maybe they were just assholes. If he hadn't left his room then maybe Charles would've handled it by himself and much more smoothly when the pills were inevitably found on their own. Hell, maybe if he wasn't so dumb and dropped them to begin with, then they'd still be safely tucked in his dresser, as well as his secret.

He ruined everything he had been perfecting for the past couple or so years with one simple mistake.

A Few-Something Years Prior...

"Pickles, I can't make anything up on the spot if they find out," A very slightly younger Charles warned, his hands folded in front of him as he peered seriously through his frames at the small, nervous red-head. "I'm a businessman and a manager, that requires me to, ah, learn how to exaggerate the truth when you guys go on your alcoholic binges and burn down small-town bars, after learning how to make homemade molotov cocktails. Not lie about what testosterone means or why someone would need them."

"Yew can tell dem to mind deir business?" Pickles suggested, nervously tapping at the desk that sat in front of him.

"They're learning about the internet more and more every day, eventually one day Nathan is going to ACTUALLY click on the search button after typing something in Google." Charles's lips twitched slightly though he remained one-hundred percent serious, and the fact that he was, as well as completely truthful, made Pickles fall into a fit of nervous chuckles, even though he himself was also very NOT tech-savvy. "You guys also already stress me out enough with, well, everything else, and this isn't really my responsibility."

Pickles, a lot more of a wannabe 'hard-ass' back then than in current years, remained unflinching outwardly, but inside he felt a little guilty at those words. He knew his drinking and drug habit was definitely an issue that Charles had to regularly clear up if it caused some type of chaos, let alone what the others did on a daily basis (especially Murderface).

The drug habit was actually what got Pickles in this mess; as punishment for a particularly destructive concert at the result of his new drug concoction, all of his drugs were apprehended for 'a week'. That was the worst week of his life, but what made it even worse was when that bottle of hormones was picked up by searching Klokateers and he had to beg Charles for it back- going so far as to actually explain what it was for.

Charles was surprised but not negatively affected by it in any way, so he complied and agreed to keep it secret; as long as nobody asked him about it. However, now that one other person other than Pickles knew, he was especially insistent about making sure that if he ever slipped up with the other boys, that Charles would help him out, which he was less accepting about. Like Charles said, he was a businessman, and in more 'childish' terms, he acted like a robot a lot of the time. By-the-book, played by the rules unless they could be bent for reasons already discussed, because it would involve saving or gaining money. Personal topics were not his forte.

"Well, anyway... I'm not sure how helpful I can be to you in a situation like this, and I don't particularly want to ah, try anyway, in case I make it worse." He paused before adding, "How does your family feel about it? Do you think they could help you?"

His family...

It was honestly a miracle that Pickles could get his family to keep the secret without spoiling it to his band. Just by paying them a few grand a month to keep their mouths shut from calling him by his dead name in front of them was worth it if it meant his bandmates were ignorant about the issue.

Now, that didn't matter. None of it did. His secret was out and it would probably be like living with his family all over again; the transphobia, the slurs, the general disrespect to his very existence. Nothing he did would ever be good enough, he might even get kicked out just because of their plain disgust toward him...

Pickles didn't realize he was crying a little until a small gasp escaped his throat and he began to choke on his own air. He wiped his face aggressively, because crying wasn't brutal, it was gay. Then a laugh burst through his chest at the irony. He didn't even understand who he was sometimes, let alone his sexuality. On top of that, he was probably going to be called gay regularly by his bandmates now. He might as well cry like a giant baby and become fully 'gay'... And so he did, falling to his vomit and booze covered floor with his face in his hands, his whimpers and moans muffled by his palms.

Back in the kitchen, everyone stared awkwardly, looking at everything but each other as they attempted to process what had just happened, and the information given to them. Charles gave a disappointed frown at Murderface, who seemed to of course be the least affected of them- or at least acted that way. Realistically, Murderface's biggest issue was being over-sensitive to everything around him which is what made him so hostile usually, so Charles wondered what his issue was this time, to need to make such a response like that.

Surprisingly, it wasn't Charles who began to scold the bandmates, but Toki, despite having been a part of it in the beginning.

"You guys ams meanie!" Toki exclaimed, the vision of Pickles' distraught face haunting his vision. "Pickle is nicest man heres, whys you gots to be means to him?"

Charles wasn't too shocked that the sweetest bandmember would also be the one to disapprove of the other's for their actions, but it was still heart-warming to see it, considering that Toki probably also didn't understand the idea of Pickles being trans like the rest, yet chose to still be supportive. "Thank you, Toki," Charles spoke sincerely as he nodded to the pouty younger man, before turning to the rest of them.

"I expect better judgment out of you guys. If you could look at Pickles all these years as a man, then finding out that he hasn't always identified as a man doesn't make him any less of one now." Charles raised an eyebrow as the others struggled to disagree, or even make sense of it in the first place. Except for one person.

"Doesh he have a penisch?"

Charles turned slowly to Murderface, his eyes full of annoyance but his face otherwise remaining calm. "That's enough, William. His parts are no concern of yours." He then turned back to refer to the rest of them, ignoring the dumbfounded look on the other man. "You guys really hurt Pickles's feelings. I know it's not, ah, 'metal', to care about each other or be considerate of other people, but this is one of the worst things you could make fun of him for. Like Nathan's sensitivity to being called stupid-"

"Hey! Watch it."

"-or pointing out William's weight-"

"Fuckh off!"

"-Skwisgaar's many-"

"Don'ts. Yous. Dares. Talks abouts dats."

"Ah, many... many issues. What I'm trying to say, is every single one of you has something that you don't want others to talk about, especially negatively. Though of course, you guys, ah, do talk about it, because you think it's funny, and you guys generally recover from it fast." He wasn't very good at explaining things to these types of people, so he tried his best to choose his words carefully; if anything, so as not to have any fights that would cause the band to break up.

"This isn't something Pickles can 'recover' from, because it shouldn't be a problem to begin with, but many people in his life made it a problem. Not only that but you all can get smarter, get healthier, make better choices. You guys have choices. Pickles doesn't have a choice." His eyes narrowed, emphasizing his final point.

"Becoming the people who disrespects him, destroys his safe-space here at Mordhaus, the space that is supposed to protect him. You either educate yourself, or you don't say anything about it at all." He was staring fully at Murderface now, eyes piercing right through him in intimidation. Murderface, and the rest of them for that matter, seemed to get the general message because they gulped and nodded heavily at their manager.

He wasn't completely satisfied with their responses, but he felt it was as good as it was going to get, for now. His hand grasped the pills for Pickles and turned around, walking toward Pickles's room without another word. He claimed he couldn't lie for Pickles, he said nothing about not being able to defend the man, after all (to the best of his ability anyway, which also wasn't very good). As he got closer to the room, he could hear the sobbing from the other man, and his eyes narrowed.

Generally, no one in the band cried except for the occasional whimpering of Toki or whenever Skwisgaar was in over his head with a giant project. Either way, even with the other two having publicly shed a few tears before, and maybe the others as well behind doors, (though never would admit to it), he knew for a fact that they had never outright sobbed or wailed like a broken-hearted child. Not in this way. After a gentle knock from Charles and a few seconds of shuffling in the room, Pickles opened the door to stare with swollen red eyes at his manager. Veins popped against his pale neck as he strained to keep his emotions in check while staring at Charles, who silently offered the pills to him.

Pickles took them, stared at them a moment, then flung them at a wall in a fit of anger and pain, with a growl of anguish. None of this was supposed to happen, it wasn't fair. He went to close the door on Charles but with him in the way on purpose, his frustration ended up making him fall to his knees once more, groans ripping through his throat over and over. Charles was never good with affection or giving physical comfort, but he lowered himself to Pickles's level and placed a hand on his shoulder to pat it gently until the drummer finally calmed down enough to wipe his face free of tears and stand again slowly, with Charles following after.

"Danks," Pickles mumbled, wiping his nose on his arm.

"Do you need anything?" Charles studied Pickles's features carefully. His expression had relaxed, but only slightly.

"Nah... jus' wanna be alone." Charles nodded, this time stepping out of the entrance so that the door could be closed. Instead of closing it right away though, Pickles paused to stare at the older man. "It... means a lot ta me. Jus' so ye know."

Pickles didn't clarify what he was talking about; he didn't have to. Charles nodded and gave one of his rare, soft smiles, watching Pickles close the door before starting to head back to his own office.

After walking silently for a few minutes and turning a corner, he found himself face to face with Murderface. The man was certainly always hard to read, because his more vulnerable feelings were usually almost always hidden behind anger, and his actual anger hidden behind fake sick cheer right before exacting his revenge.

This time though, all Charles could read on his face was confusion, and something else buried deep but not too deep that it couldn't be noticed. It was just hard for Charles to put his finger on what it was. Charles cleared his throat and stepped to the side to let Murderface pass, suspicious that maybe he was going to go bother Pickles but not wanting to start a fight in case he was just wandering.

Murderface didn't move, and instead stared at Charles, almost like he was expecting something. Maybe more harsh words, maybe a personal scolding. Charles was too emotionally exhausted to tear him a new one though, and instead just began to walk past the bandmember to keep heading to his office.

"Hey, sho..."

Charles paused, dread spreading through his body at the sound of the man's lispy voice. He really didn't want to get into it, but of course Murderface would try to start something.

"Doesh... Doesh Picklesh achktually have a dick, or?"

Charles blinked. There was no malice in his voice, just actual interest, and again something else that Charles couldn't figure out. "I don't know, William."

"Well I mean, he'sh gotta have one, right? For him to be a dude?"

"That's... not how it works, I'm afraid."

Murderface stamped his foot, but it wasn't really aggressive or held any sort of threat. It was more like that of an impatient child or toddler. "Then how doesh it work? You want ush to learn but you don't want to exchplain!"

"I don't know the ins and outs of all of it, and it's different for everyone." Charles peered at the other above his glasses. "Please, Murderface, don't start anything with Pickles right now, okay?"

"I'm not!" Murderface huffed, before he simmered back down, his face contorted as he thought. "Do... you think he'd exchplain it to me?"

"I don't know, but I wouldn't bother him about it right now. Maybe another time, when he's more relaxed about the situation."

"But whyyyy?" It really was like talking to a child.

Charles's patience was running thin again, but he kept his composure as he explained calmly. "Well for one thing, he didn't want you guys to know to begin with. And the second you found out, you made fun of him. I don't think he's emotionally ready to have that conversation with any of you, yet. If at all."

Murderface frowned slightly, his eyebrows pinched together. "I mean, ckan you blame ush though? I've never even heard of 'transch' before."

"It's not any excuse to be mean," Charles pointed out gently, seeing and hearing the genuinity of Murderface's puzzlement. "So please, ah. Don't do that. Be mean, I mean."

Murderface sighed heavily, almost dramatically. "It'sh gonna be hard but... I think I can handle it." It was hard to tell if he was exaggerating or really meant it like that.

Charles nodded. "Good. If I hear that you've upset Pickles again, I'm not afraid to take drastic measures." Truthfully, he didn't know what he could possibly do to punish Murderface and keep him from repeating his offenses, except maybe continuing to make threats to keep the bassist on edge.

Murderface pinched his lips together and made a simple grunt of acknowledgement before continuing to walk down the hall, hands in his pockets. Charles didn't much feel like following to see what he would do, he just hoped that for once, Murderface would make the morally correct choice.

Pickles had gingerly picked up his bottle of pills from the floor, before cradling it to his chest like it was a baby, or maybe a lifeline. His brain was torn between flushing them (not a good comparison to call it a baby, then), or continuing his prescription. Like nothing had happened. Like he didn't just admit to his only true family that he had lied to them for years.

But had he, really? They had never asked about this sort of thing before... Pickles took a shaky breath, looking down at his pills. But what good were they anymore, really?

Just before he began to walk toward the bathroom to toss them in the toilet, Pickles heard another knock on the door. This was much quieter and more hesitant, so he raised an eyebrow. Perhaps it was Toki checking on him? He was the only one kind enough to knock before entering, despite many complaints from the others about Pickles running around in his underwear and how gay it was (despite it being their own fault).

Unless dey really see me as a chick now 'n' don't wanna walk in on me... Dunno what's worse, Pickles thought bitterly as he made his way back to the door and opened it slowly. He was surprised to see that the gentle rapping on the door was from Murderface, who was known to be the most disrespectful out of the bunch, having walked in on his bandmates many times doing very private-time things.

Pickles couldn't help it, his lip trembled at the sight of Murderface as memories of earlier flooded his mind. He wasn't sure what to say, if he should yell at him or ask him to leave, so he just stood there dumbly in the entrance, staring up at the other man.

Murderface always looked like a bulldog to him. Mixed with possible poodle from the frizzy mop on his head. He wasn't what anybody would necessarily call 'hot', or probably even remotely attractive... Yet, the lime green eyes that stared deeply into his own had Pickles drawn to him. They were full of uncertainty, fear almost, maybe... 

"Whattya want?" Pickles asked tiredly, his face sore from rubbing it raw, and his eyes blinking against the sharp bright lights hanging from the ceiling behind Murderface. He realized now just how tired he was, on top of having a migraine, and he just wanted to go to bed.

Murderface seemed so meek and passive, so different from the usual brave front he put up to seem like an 'alpha male', whatever that meant. He avoided Pickles's eyes suddenly, deciding instead to look at the floor. Which was just fine for the drummer anyway; the intensity of the other's stare was very off-putting.

There was a heavy silence in the air but just as Pickles was about to shut the door on Murderface, he looked up again with his eyes huge and stuttered out, "I'm s-shorry, okay?!"

Pickles blinked before lowering the hand that had been reaching for the doorknob. "Pardun?"

Murderface sighed as he crossed his arms over his chest, his usual demeanor coming out now. "You heard me!"

Pickles eyed him carefully. "Sorry for what?"

Murderface groaned, knowing that Pickles was trying to milk this. "Shorry for calling ya a girl or whatever. I guessh you're not."

Pickles rolled his eyes. It was as good of an apology as he could get. "Danks, I guess." He watched as the bassist suddenly became shy once more, looking down at the floorboards and kicking at it like a small child. "Well, uh..." Pickles didn't really know what to say. "Goodnight, den."

Murderface jerked his head back up. "Wait!"

Pickles paused once more. "What?"

"Uh... Wanna shmoke a joint together?"

Pickles normally didn't like smoking with Murderface because he was a mess, and especially didn't want to share a joint right now, but for some reason he couldn't say no to the sad bulldog face in front of him.

"Sure, man."

...

Just like that, everything was back to normal a month later... for the most part. While the tiptoeing around Pickles turned into questions, which turned into eventual general acceptance and the entire situation quieted down, the bonding between Pickles and Murderface over smoking became a continuous routine, even excluding the other bandmembers from it. Not only that, but the higher he became, the more Murderface felt brave enough to ask the more personal questions, and for whatever reason, Pickles felt compelled to answer each one honestly.

"Scho, what were you ushed to be called before, ya know..."

"Becoming trans?"

"Uh, yeah."

Murderface, like the other members, still didn't really seem to grasp the concept well enough, but the fact that they were willing to try, even William fucking Murderface, made him so happy.

"Well, my moder named me Penelope," Pickles admitted, the name leaving a bad taste in his mouth.

"And what, did you name yourshelf Picklesh?"

"Actually... dat was my moder again." He paused to take a hit from the joint they were passing back and forth, his eyes fluttering. "I originally wanted ta be called somethin' else, but she didn't like it, so she went wit' Pickles."

"Why didn't shche like it?" Murderface accepted the joint being offered back to him, his eyes searching Pickles's. It was sometime late into the night, where everyone else had surely gone to bed by now, but they were chilling on the drummer's bed, talking as they usually did. It was a strange type of bond, one that neither seemed to expect but there they were, talking about their life and sharing a doobie even though Murderface had previously called it gay, before giving out the suggestion himself.

"She didn't want me ta be trans. Wanted me 'normal' like my brother. She's generally disappointed in me for dis, so of course she wouldn't like any names I picked out." He frowned as he took a really long hit. "I'm just lucky dat Pickles stuck okie enough, she coulda given me something a lot worse. But..."

"But?"

For once, Pickles lowered his joint and stared at the floor, concentrating on it so as not to have a mental breakdown in front of Murderface. "Eventually, she stopped usin' dat and just kept calling me Penelope again. She wanted my feelings hurt, and ta show me dat she didn't give a damn aboot me. Especially after we got famous. I had to pay her to call me Pickles in front of yew guys." His eyes glazed over with pain. "Because yew guys know now, I have ta more or less pay dem to keep dem from sharing it to de media."

"Why the fuchk would you do schomething like that?" Murderface demanded, turning suddenly to fully face Pickles.

Pickles looked at him oddly. "Whattya mean?"

"I mean fuckh what people shay or thinkh!" Murderface exclaimed. "Being transch isch like, totally different from being gay, you don't have a choiche!"

The stupidity of the other man was astounding, but Pickles was still touched that he was defending the other's honor. "Ye, but dere'd be a lotta backlash and we don' need dat."

"I guessch, but shtill." Murderface's hand grazed against Pickles's as he reached for the joint, causing Pickles to jolt for some unknown reason.

"Murderface, yew don't understand what it's like." Pickles gave the other a serious look. "Hatin' yerself, 'cause oder people hate yew."

"I beg to differ."

An oddly 'intellectual' sounding sentence coming from the other, but nevertheless. Pickles's heart thrummed against his chest as he realized that they did have something in common; knowing how much the bassist struggled with getting anybody to like him, much less himself. He gave Murderface a sympathetic look, causing the man to groan.

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"That damned puppy facshe, all schad and schit. I'm fat and ugly, and everyone elshe thinksh I'm fat and ugly." Murderface shrugged carelessly with a smirk, and Pickles bit his lower lip. Sure, Murderface wasn't particularly attractive. But the way they had been bonding together for almost a month straight, he had come to find some endearing qualities of Murderface, like his general childlike curiosity, and his prideful moments when he actually got something right for once. That was close enough to being attractive, right? Personality was important and all that?

"Yer... not that fat," Pickles tried to be helpful, but earned only a snort in reply. "Or ugly." Maybe if he actually conditioned his hair once in his life and ripped off that god awful mustache he had grown, he wouldn't look that bad.

Murderface actually laughed. "Yeah yeah, whatever."

Pickles looked down at the floor, the joint having burnt out a while ago and sat in the ashtray all alone. Normally Murderface would stay a little after smoking to continue talking, but this time he seemed generally annoyed enough to walk out right then and there, and for what reason, Pickles couldn't figure that out. The dude was a mystery.

So, Pickles blurted out the first thing that came to mind to keep him rooted in place. "At some point I was tryin' to buy deir love."

Silence, then: "What?"

"I dought dat maybe, if I paid dem enough, dey would see desperation, and feel enough sympathy for me ta help me out on deir own free will. Dat dey would realize dey love me, 'n', I dunno... start respectin' me. All dey did was take da money and laugh at me. Make fun of me. Call me Penelope to my face, since dat's all dey could do at dis point. Not tell anyone else, but remind me dat dey'd never accept me when we're alone in a room togeder." Pickles took a shuddering breath.

"Dey taught me to hate myself. Dat I was useless, and no good. Dey constantly reminded me I was ugly as a girl 'n' ugly as a boy, dat I'd never be a real man, dat I was a mistake. Dey began to chill out more recently, but de spite is still there... De hate is still dere. How can I love myself if my own family can't love me." He curled into a ball on his bed, wrapping the blanket around himself to hopefully hide his shaking or at least pretend that the shaking was from being cold.

"...Dude, schut the fuck up."

Pickles blinked in shock at the response.

"Fuchk your family and fuchk their opinionsh, they don't underschtand anything." Pickles and Murderface locked eyes, something they often avoided generally from general awkwardness. "They're juscht a buncha dicksh who wanna make you feel bad, and you're letting them. That'sch not metal at all."

"I- it's not dat simple."

Pickles's shoulders were grabbed suddenly. "Yesch the fuchk it is! Family don't mean schit except for the Dethkhlokh family." The grip tightened. "And if we can accept this schit, then maybe the problem isch them."

Pickles swallowed heavily, eyes stinging with emotion. "D- danks, Murderface..."

Suddenly they both realized how close they had gotten to each other, and both froze, unsure of what to do. Pickles studied the dog-face in front of him; there was a certain charm to him that the drummer couldn't shake, and he was sure it was because of the comfort and validation the man was giving him that made him swoon. Pickles was always a sucker for compliments.

Very rarely did any of the bandmates ever actually give out comfort to each other, and with an already huge lack of approval from 90% of people in his personal life, it made him crave more kind words from the band's most cruelest member. He felt himself inching closer to Murderface, feeling a meaty hand tense before relaxing against his shoulder. "So... yew accept me?"

Murderface stared at him like he was stupid. "You're an idiot." Pickle's lips twitched into a slight smile, and he was surprised to feel a finger against his cheek, wiping a tear away. "What'sch your problem, now?"

"I- I..." A strangled sob broke through Pickle's throat and he pulled away to bury his face in his hands, feeling the beginnings of hyperventilation. This didn't really happen often, mostly because he would usually be a lot higher than this to be able to think, let alone cry.

"Hey, h- hey!" Murderface gripped the other's wrists, trying to pry them away from his face. "Whatsch wrong now?! Picklesh?!"

Pickles tried to gasp for air, he felt like he couldn't breathe. He attempted to yank away again, but Murderface's grip was like steel. "Schtop and tell me what happened! I don't underschtand- well I don't get a lot of thingsch, but schtill...?"

"Wh- why?" Pickles managed to choke out. "Wh- why're yew nice ta me? I don' deserve it..."

"Dude, you're being like, really gay right now." Murderface deadpanned, causing a light snort from the drummer. "Look at me."

Pickles refused until Murderface used his strength to pull the hands away, and their faces were so close that they were basically breathing the same air, eyes locked onto each other. The sad, lonely emerald eyes of a neglected man, staring into the lime green eyes of someone who was lost, confused, and...

Before Pickles could fully comprehend it, a pair of lips were against his own and Gods he should've moved away right then and there but instead his stomach fluttered, his heart pounded and soared, and it felt like he was weightless. The attention and affection he always had a craving for was being given to him, and he was not going to ignore it.

Their kisses were clumsy and all over the place; Murderface didn't seem to know what he was doing, unsurprisingly, so Pickles pulled away for a short moment, just panting against his lips, before pulling the other man into another kiss, this time taking the lead.

Murderface's hands gripped wherever they could, while Pickle's arms ended up loosely around the bassist's neck, holding him there drunkenly. Murderface pulled away for a moment, and Pickles saw a flash of fear in those green eyes before lips came crashing down on him again. It was no secret that he had issues with being homophobic and almost had like a paranoia of being gay himself. Pickles wondered what was going through that mind of his... Because he couldn't bear to concentrate on his own at the moment.

William Murderface of all people... The most cunning, plotting of them all, the one who would be most likely to go out of his way to torture the red-head... Was kissing him, giving him affection, and feeding him with validation, and Pickles didn't care, except for the fact that he wanted more... he wanted that validation to fill and glue years of broken pieces back together after they remained damaged and untouched for so long.

But he should've cared a bit more.

---

The next morning was pure chaos. Pickles awoke with a heavy migraine to the sounds of Klokateers, most of them running to and fro, yelling at each other different orders. Not realizing that it was actually a knock from a Klokateer that woke him up, he rolled over with a grumble in the empty bed.

After a moment of brooding to himself, last night suddenly surged through his brain, and he flinched outwardly, but still didn't have time to fully process really anything before he found himself looking out the window near the bed and seeing a countless number of people- fans- yelling at Mordhaus. A bunch of angry fans.

Then there were the Klokateers again. "Sir, please come out now!" One of them called out, and finally it motivated Pickles enough to roll out of bed and head to the hallway in a disoriented state.

As if the noise from them weren't bad enough, he could hear screams of fans as they crazedly threw themselves at the locked up home, shouting plenty of slurs that he couldn't dare repeat. And somehow, just somehow, he knew the perpetrator of it all.

Pickles ended up dissociating; he was no longer there mentally and emotionally, no longer aware of what was going on, and he ended up being led by the guards to one of the safe spaces on the off chance they were able to get in (doubtful, but weirder things have happened before). Aside from the fact that it was in general really troublesome to witness.

And yet still, Pickles truly didn't come back to the real world until it was Charles in front of his face, patting his face gently to get his attention, and he broke.

Their first mistake was allowing Pickles and Murderface in the same room just because the drummer had been in a catatonic state. With an enraged cry, he jumped up, all of his senses turning back on and he reached to grab Murderface by the throat.

"What the feck did yew doo?!" Pickles's voice cracked too much to be as loud as he wanted, but it was still filled with enough emotion for them all to know he wasn't fucking around. Murderface's eyes widened into the size of plates at the accusation.

"Pickles, calm down, it's been handled-"

"I didn't fuckin' ask yew!" He snapped at Charles, rage filling his eyes, and turned back to the other man. "How de feck could yew do dis to me?! I trusted yew!"

Murderface choked for a moment from the grip, before he managed to pull away. "I- I didn't do anything!"

Pickles pulled away, eerily calm as a numb state washed over his body and brain. "Charles...?"

"Pickles?"

"Don' play dumb! He did it, didn' he?!"

Charles sighed heavily, looking around the room and seeing that all eyes were on him. Pickles hadn't really noticed that the rest of the band was there as well, but they all looked equally puzzled and disgruntled by what was going on.

"All we know," Charles spoke carefully, "is that someone spread a rumor about a possibility. An unknown forum on the internet questioning... a potential situation. Which supposedly your, ah, brother- presumably the rest of your family with him- joined in on."

Pickles shook his head to silence the other, he had already heard enough. A rumor... that's all it was. Just a rumor, an implication of one, and everyone just went and started a rampage... Because of the rumor. And of course, his parents, the worst people in the world to him right in that moment besides Murderface, would throw their two cents in to make it even worse.

Murderface shifted nervously behind him, and that was enough for the tiny red-head to whirl around and smash his fist into Murderface's jaw, causing the other to fall heavily to the floor. He laid there in stunned silence, letting the blood from his lip drip down his face.

"Damns," Skwisgaar muttered. "He am more likelys to breaks the house befores them angrys mob." Whether that was a jab at Pickles' rage or Murderface's weight, none of them knew, but Charles did shush the tall blond for the comment.

"Feck yew," Pickles whispered as he hovered over the other, venom in his eyes. "An' yew wonder why nobody loves yew. Yew hurt everyone who even dinks aboot caring f'r yew."

They both locked eyes a moment, before Pickles looked away. He couldn't stand to look into those green irises anymore, they made him sick. They were full of lies and deceit.

"I- I," was all Murderface could stutter out, and at first Pickles wondered if maybe he really had gotten it wrong- maybe it was Skwisgaar, who had a fascination with calling everyone gay- maybe he upgraded to this level of pettiness. Or Nathan, because he was a dick in general... No, it couldn't have been him, he was the least tech savvy of everyone except Pickles himself, plus Nathan didn't seem to have any indication of being that level of maliciousness.

"Look me in da eyes," Pickles whispered as he turned back to the other with the flame in his chest rising, "Look at me 'n' tell me it wasn' yew, den."

Murderface held his head down, not looking at anybody but rather staring at the floor underneath him. "I juscht don't underschtand," Murderface whispered more to himself than to Pickles, but it was enough for the red-head.

"Yew don' have ta understand, I just wanted yew ta fuckin' be nice," Pickles growled. "Well, did ya get yer answers, hmmm? Did yew find out what I am? Did da world's knowledge fall in yer lap from Google?" The more he asked questions, the more the words flew from his lips and the louder he got, until he was shouting, "Figure out why I got a vagina but call meself a boy? I mean yew coulda asked last night since yew were so close ta it! F'r an hour'r two 'cause yer dick wouldn't wor-"

"ENOUGH!" Charles boomed immediately to cut Pickles off, and it caught everyone's attention with surprise. The silence was deafening, and Murderface's cheeks turned bright red. Charles was frightening when loud. "Look, if anything this is bad for publicity, so if any of you can't learn to be kind for once out of compassion, do it so that you don't become homeless and on the street." Charles looked at Pickles's defeated expression, unsure of how to help him at this point. It wasn't something he knew how to fix, but Pickles's hotheadedness needed at the very least to be stopped before he went too far and caused another string of issues- though Charles was afraid maybe it was already too late. "The rumors have been dealt with though, everyone should calm down soon enough."

"Whatever." Pickles muttered, not even caring how they were 'dealt with', and stormed out of the room against the pleads of Klokateers and Charles behind him.

The first thing he did when entering his room was toss his pills into the toilet, grab a bottle of whiskey, and scowl silently into it for the next several hours while he simmered in his rage. Of all things Murderface could've done, and he still chose to move in secrecy, deliberately, with cunning intentions. If he was really that confused, he could've asked. Or maybe he was trying to prove a point. Maybe he wanted to teach Pickles a lesson. The drummer didn't know. He remembered eventually what he had blurted out in order to offend Murderface and gave a wail of embarrassment with a wave of tears spilling over. Now everyone would know...

He was humiliated by one that he called a friend, one that he slept with, and probably just made known that they had slept together...

He really didn't feel like he belonged anywhere at that moment, that his physical body was just a broken vessel for a soul that needed to be anywhere else but Earth. He didn't know who to trust, if anyone at all. Charles had probably been pulling his leg the whole time, too. Trust nobody, he thought bitterly as he downed more of his alcohol.

Pickles was better off being alone and never confiding in another human being for as long as he should live. All he did was burden them with things that obviously didn't matter to them, like his existence. Pickles snorted, then stared at his drawer that he knew was full of drugs and alcohol with such a deep and desperate longing that it scared a part of him; a very small, sober, rational part of his brain.

There was a rather abrupt knock on the door, but rather than open it, he flung a bottle in the general direction, smashing it into little pieces and allowing the glass shards to go everywhere all over the floor. His door opened anyway, and he hoped that whoever it was stepped on the glass and died from "tetanuses". He snorted to himself, remembering how simple, even primitive, things were just a month ago when everyone was none-the-wiser.

"Pickles?" Came a deep rumble that made Pickles freeze in his tracks. Nathan. The one he was supposed to consider his best friend. Did he even have a friendship with the man at all, or had he just been messing with him the whole time too-

Suddenly, arms wrapped around his body, and he froze in place. They were not big, buff arms though, which wasn't very surprising since Nathan wasn't a hugger, so it made him relax a little.

"Pickklllleeeee," Toki cried loudly as he began to wet the man's shirt with his big bubbly tears. "I'- I's so sorries for yous!"

"Yeah, uh... I didn't invite Toki, he just. Kinda came."

Toki sobbed uncontrollably as he held onto the other man, his snot dripping down his face almost comically. "M- Moidaface s- so means to youuus!"

"Toki..." Pickles wasn't sure what to do with a sobbing man-child clinging to him after he had just gone through his own man-baby breakdown. But he knew he felt a pang of guilt, looking down at his friend, the one who accepted him and continued to accept him out of pure love and admiration for the other. His hand went from awkward pats to wrapping his arms around the other and burying his face in Toki's hair.

"It ams okays," Toki whispered in Pickles's ear as he clutched the red-head tightly, "You's ams safes."

"No I'm not, Toki," Pickles mumbled into his head. "M' parents 're gonna tell everyone if nobody else does." He wasn't for sure on that, but if they felt confident enough, they wouldn't stop just because the rumors and forum were 'dealt with'.

"No, nos they nots because I pays mans to take cares of its!" Toki declared, and Pickles raised his eyebrow. Oh no, that sounded... oddly terrifying. But Pickles was more worried about Toki talking to strangers, since he was very easily taken advantage of.

Nathan was leaning against the wall easily, watching the two embrace. "We're totally gonna pay this like, nerd to photoshop your family into some made up scenarios and make the shit go viral, so now they're gonna like. Not be listened to. As much. Because, ya know, uh, now they'll think your dad fucked a chicken." Nathan shrugged, then added, "Besides, the uh 'thread' was closed. Whatever that means... (dunno how you close a thread, especially uhhh, on a computer, but...) But this is just in case."

Pickles looked at the both of them in bewilderment before bursting into laughter, everything hard to process and yet still finding it hilarious. "Won't ya get in trouble?"

"What's your mom gonna do, sue Dethklok?" Nathan snorted. "Our only other option was to uh, throw them in a dungeon, which Charles was happy to do. But I thought this was funny. Er. Funnier."

"Hey, ams heards laughinks," Skwisgaar walked in, ignoring the glass on the ground to stand next to Nathan. "Sos, yous feels betters now? Nots like crys baby dildoes?"

"Skwisgaars, yous be nice!" Toki wailed as he clutched Pickles even tighter in an almost protective but also childlike manner. It was a very confusing situation for Pickles, if he should be the one holding Toki or not.

"Okey, fine, fucks," Skwisgaar rolled his eyes. "Forgets I saids anythinks about cry baby dildoes beings Pickle, Toki takes de cake."

"Toki no take cakes!" Toki snapped, looking offended. "I am has the diabeticals!"

"It is a fegure of speechs," Skwisgaar huffed like he was talking to a ten year old.

Pickles was actually astounded to see Skwisgaar there with the rest of them. Actually... approving of his company. Not that he and Skwisgaar were mortal enemies or anything, but they certainly weren't the closest.

Toki, he could definitely understand. With such naive innocence, Pickles could probably reveal himself to be an octopus and Toki would just go with the flow, probably ask about the extra tentacles- maybe come up with a scenario about how his dreads were the tentacles. Nathan, well... they were pretty close, although Nathan refused to admit to it, like he did with most 'gay' feelings. He probably just assumed whatever Pickles's choices were, they must be okay enough to accept. Skwisgaar though? They were, on some level, friends and by no means rivals, but he didn't think Skwisgaar cared enough about much of anything to participate in... whatever the Hell they were trying to do. Trying to comfort him?

As Pickles watched his Dethklok family argue about trivial things while Toki did his weird snuggling thing, he found his lips turn up into a hesitant smile. Well if that's what they were trying to do, they succeeded.

Although it was short-lived when two more walked in, and Pickles's eyes met the pair that he hated the most. The only satisfying part of this was seeing Murderface's puffed and bleeding lip all bandaged up. He quickly looked away, and the room grew somber as Charles and Murderface stepped in carefully, kicking the glass away from the entrance.

"Ah, you're all here already, good," Charles stated as he practically dragged Murderface along. They both decided to hover by the door with Murderface behind the older man and avoiding all eyes, like they were afraid he was going to be tackled. "I just need to speak with you all on, ah, this matter."

"Don'ts yells at Pickle, it nots his faults!" Toki cried, his grip tightening on the drummer.

"I'm not," Charles said with a patient smile to the youngest member, before addressing everyone as a whole in a calm but stern manner. "It's good to see that, ah, most of you are very accepting of Pickles, however." He paused to make sure he had all of their attention. "I'd much prefer if we never, ever speak of any of this again." He stopped again to let the words sink in before continuing.

"Nothing about Pickles's, ah, condition, the fans, and definitely the... the rumors. You will treat him normally, you will call him a male, you will not talk about anything other than that, with any band member and especially outside of it." He looked at Pickles and then emphasized, "Even you, Pickles. You can't talk to anyone about this."

"Yew mean like, ever?"

"Yes, exactly. It's for your protection."

"But, what if..." He began to think. What if he wanted to finally settle with someone one day? He couldn't just lie to them for the rest of their life on the fact that he was trans. Then again he was already pretty old (30 almost 31 and easily the oldest band member) so there probably wasn't much of a chance for him to actually find love at this point. Besides he had never really thought that part through when he was willingly keeping it a secret.

"Pickles." Pickles looked into his manager's eyes. "If in any way you reveal this to anyone, we could have an even bigger problem on our hands than what happened today. The world is too intolerant, especially the fanbase. Maybe one day, if that changes, but otherwise, I can't allow you to. I hope you understand."

Pickles thought deeply about it, for some reason finding it more depressing than when no one had known and he simply lived with his secret. Because now that people knew, now that his Dethklok family knew, he had to revert back to pretending that he was normal, for their sake.

"Your doctor has also been put under careful watch, only you can talk to her about any of this. As for the rest of you, you know I love this band. And everyone else does, too. But any fights will not be tolerated, and I really don't want to have it disbanded anyway. Choose your options carefully; they're extremely limited."

With that, he turned, Murderface having scampered off the second Charles had finished speaking. The rest of the band stood quietly and awkwardly.

Finally, Toki was the first to speak. "I don'ts sees the issues."

"De regular jack-offs ams dildoes, Tokis," Skwisgaar replied, arms crossed over his chest.

"Moidaface, toos," Toki commented, "Buts I don'ts means thems. I means why we can'ts talks to Pickle about dis. We's not Moidaface." He looked directly and intensely into Pickles's eyes. "You's ams brother, you's alway bes our brothers. You talks to us about anyt'inks."

Pickles's lips were pulled into a slight smile again as he hugged Toki tighter, but his heart felt a sharp pain in it as he thought. No, he couldn't do that to them. Charles was very insistent. If they were to speak of it at the wrong time, in the wrong place, it could mean the fall of Dethklok and their 'brotherhood'. He couldn't put them through that, even if it meant bottling himself up once more.

Rather than express this and upset his friend though, Pickles simply said, "Dank you, Toki."

"Yous ams welcomes!" Toki beamed up at him like a small child. It felt more like being a dad to him than a brother most days, but either way he was fine with the bond.

"Ja, just no more cryingks, I cant's stands it," Skwisgaar muttered but not venomously, in fact there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Anyways, ams goings to gos pracktice since ams only ones who do here insteads of cries."

"Heys!" Toki shot him a glare. "I pracktyses too!" He finally let go of Pickles and instead grasped Nathan's arms like a baby. "Comes on, Nat'ens, we's show Skwisgaar who ams boss, which amenst him!"

Nathan grunted and shrugged the other off, much to Toki's annoyance. "Yeah, in a sec. You guys go on, I wanna talk to Pickles. Alone. Like I was uh, was trying to do."

"Buts, buts," Toki pouted but Skwisgaar took the other's arm and began pulling him out.

"Come ons, they wants alone times, prolably tos haves girly conversatinals," Skwisgaar snickered as he led the younger one out of the room and shut the door behind them.

Pickles hadn't really expected to have a one-on-one conversation, then again he hadn't really expected to talk to any of them at all after what went down. He found that he couldn't look Nathan in the eye, and resorted to instead stare past the bigger man, at the wall beside him. Out of his peripherals, he could still see his unreadable expression as his eyes bore into Pickles's head.

"So, uh... Murderface, huh."

Pickles wasn't sure what he meant by that. "Heh?"

"Like the whole, like. Thing. And you kinda, it kinda sounded like you guys, uh. Did stuff."

Pickles flinched though he wasn't surprised this topic had been brought up. "What aboot it?"

"Why would you fuck that?"

Pickles blinked. "Uh... I dunno. I don' remember what I was thinkin'." Honestly he barely remembered the night itself but what he did remember was a vague mess that ultimately led into an even bigger mess.

"Dude, that's just so..."

"Gay?"

"No, just straight up gross." Pickles couldn't help but wince at the harsh words and Nathan ended up smacking his forehead with a grunt. "No, not like that, because of, like, uh, that. Like, gay stuff- shut the fuck up, me." Pickles snorted. "I meant, uh, because you fucked Murderface." Oh, that's what this was about. "Why the fuck would you do that? You've seen him, right, or are you blind now, too?" Nathan paused and panicked again. "Not like that's not not brutal- like that's uh, super brutal- but... It's just. It's Murderface." When Nathan tried too hard, it was painful to watch.

"I know, I know!" Pickles ended up snapping, wrapping arms around himself. He felt so dirty and disgusting, mostly because he wasn't the least bit disgusted by Murderface when he could imagine he probably should be. He wasn't the cleanest looking after all. "He was just..."

"Just what?"

"He was givin' me all de attention I've ever wanted."

"Is my attention not good enough?"

Pickles raised his eyebrow. This was an odd thing for him to say. Perhaps if he had said 'the band' and not his, it wouldn't have sounded so suspicious. Either way, he chose not to mention the word choice, after all Nathan could be really... self-oriented, in general.

"It was more of an intimate ding." He gritted his teeth together as a month's worth of bonding flashed through his mind. Murderface seemed so genuinely interested in Pickles, in what he had to say...

"Uhh. Getting high and talking is intimate? Or were you guys, like. Doing more? Before that one time."

Pickles sighed. "It was jest de context. He was- seemed- so interested in me. My personal life. He got under my skin. He praised 'n' complimented me 'n' he made me feel... wanted."

"But you are. Just because we don't like, tell you, all the time and say gay things to you, doesn't mean you go fucking garbage cans." Nathan shook his head, his face looked so puzzled.

"Well, it's done 'n' over wit'. I don't dink I'll ever be able ta look him in de eye anymore, let alone touch him."

"Good." Nathan didn't seem happy still, though. Pickles was about to ask the reason for his mood when Nathan turned suddenly, wrenching the door open. "I gotta go. Don't be a stupid douchebag again. I'll see ya tomorrow." Then shut the door behind him, leaving Pickles to brood over his thoughts.

Pickles wasn't sure why Nathan had been acting that way, but he did know one thing. If it meant keeping his band safe and active, he'd have to keep quiet, and tolerate looking at, and dealing with Murderface for the rest of his life. Even if the man wasn't directly malicious, he was still not to be trusted.

...

Meanwhile, Nathan walked down the hall quickly and silently, hoping that he wouldn't run into the others. He had business to attend to, before he could join his friends with band practice. He reached Charles's office and gave a sharp, quick knock before barging in as he usually did.

Charles was behind stacks of papers from his desk as per usual, but placed his pen down and pushed some of them to the side when realizing that it was Nathan. "What can I do you for, Nathan?"

Nathan closed the door behind him and slowly walked up to his manager, eyes cast down. "I just wanna, uh, talk."

"Sit down then, and let's talk." Nathan obeyed, taking the seat across from Charles. 

"... What you looking at?"

"Business, something you probably have no need to be interested in," Charles smiled lightly. Many words and charts and graphs were spread across his desk, most of them having a black line moving steadily upward and continuing to climb, while a gray line curved upward more ferociously, almost becoming a straight line toward the end. Nathan didn't understand what any of this meant and stared at it all blankly.

"I'll probably eventually tell you," Charles offered. "But other than that, what's on your mind?"

"Huh? Oh." Nathan seemed shaken out of his hypnosis from the scary numbers and lines. "Pickles and Murderface fucked."

"Yes, I am aware of that now."

Nathan struggled to figure out what he was trying to say. "It's stupid. And weird. I don't like it. But I uh, don't really know why. I don't."

"Can you clarify?"

"I mean, it's weird. Isn't it? They're my bandmates. But I don't think that's why I don't like it." Nathan chewed on his bottom lip aggressively.

"Stop that." When Nathan didn't and instead gave the other a puzzled look, Charles suddenly reached over his desk to pluck the swollen lip from his teeth. "That. You'll make it bleed again." Nathan grabbed Charles's hand before he had pulled away fully, and the older man didn't object. "Maybe you feel betrayed that they hid it from you?"

"Maybe... I guess... No, that's not it, either." Nathan looked frustrated.

"Jealousy issues?" When Nathan gave him a quizzical look, Charles gave a tight-lipped smile. "I know Pickles is your best friend, so-"

"Yes. Friend. That's like, the best... out of all the other dicks I know in the band." Nathan glowered at him.

"I more or less meant that you like his attention; and that maybe he'd confide in you about his feelings, enough to tell you what was going on, before you found out so abruptly."

Nathan pursed his lips. It sounded plausible, and yet... it still didn't feel right. Rather than pursue the many ideas and theories though, he simply pulled Charles right over the desk.

Truthfully, Charles was strong enough to resist the attempt so he could leave his office intact, but he never made the smartest choices when in the same room with Nathan. He allowed himself to be pulled, the papers he was looking over scattering everywhere as he ended up on the other side, in Nathan's lap, holding onto the larger man. His fingers trailed through raven colored hair before cupping Nathan's face in his hands. "Don't worry about it, Nathan."

Nathan grunted, his own hands on Charles's back. "I should kill Murderface."

"No, you shouldn't."

"He doesn't do anything, we re-record a lot of his shit anyway."

"Yes, but didn't you say he made good sandwiches?"

"You make good sandwiches."

Charles chuckled as he planted a kiss on Nathan's lips. "I'm trying to keep the band together, not destroy it."

"Yeah but like..." Nathan remembered the view he had seen when walking into Pickles's room. It was trashier than usual, booze and glass all over, and Pickles looked awful, his combover undone and dark circles under his drunk, haunted gaze. He had never seen his friend look this way. Then Murderface himself had shown up, only driving Nathan to further plot his death when Pickles had looked away, his face squeezed with emotional distress.

"I know it's rough," Charles said sympathetically. "Seeing your friend hurting. I assure you though, one day William will get what's coming to him."

"What about Pickles?"

"What about him?"

"Will he ever, like, emot, emotion..ally, whatever, heal?"

Charles bit the inside of his cheek, not wanting to give Nathan his honest opinion. "With enough time... we can at least see."

Nathan didn't like the sound of that, but as he placed his lips on the other's once more, his worries began to melt away until it was just him and Charles, the person he'd been seeing for at least a year.

Neither noticed the door open then quietly close again. Toki had turned from the sight, lips trembling, and began to run blindly into the opposite direction. He had seen Nathan go inside and was much too impatient to wait for him, so he planned to go in there and drag him out; aside from a few times, he usually got his way as long as he pouted enough. He certainly didn't expect to see his manager and Nathan kissing and holding each other.

Toki knew of his own little crush on Nathan, drinking in every little bit of approval and attention he got from the singer. He was to Toki as Murderface had been to Pickles, except he had no reason for the attraction other than Nathan being the only one who tolerated his childish antics, and it was definitely not mutual by any means.

Toki ended up bumping into Skwisgaar, who had been searching for him. "There yous are, fuckinks dildoes! Has you founds- uh... ams you... okays?" Toki didn't realize tears were in his eyes as he stared blankly up at the tall blond. He hastily wiped his tears away and gave a bright, fake smile.

"Ja, ja! I didn'ts, finds them, sos we plays t- toget'er..." Toki tried to hide one of his sniffles.

Skwisgaar sighed loudly. "Whys so manys cry babys today?" Before Toki could respond or turn away in shame, he felt a long arm around his shoulder. "What's happeneds, Toki?"

"Nothing!" Toki hiccuped, eyes still watering. "I's... I's... I's worried for Pickle!" He wondered if it was a valid enough excuse, and apparently it was because the shoulder grip turned into a full hug, which shocked the precious bean of a human. Skwisgaar wasn't a touchy, feely person normally for any reason, but nobody else was in the hallway with them and Toki did look pretty pitiful with big, red, watery eyes.

"Hes be fines," Skwisgaar stated, patting his friend on the back. "Pickle ams strongs."

Toki buried his face in Skwisgaar's shirt, allowing the other man to comfort him until it was time to go back and continue practicing, but this time with Toki clinging to Skwisgaar's arm for support as they walked. Nathan and Charles sat through most of the night in the office, although Nathan couldn't keep nagging thoughts from entering his mind. Pickles was on his bed, clutching his pillow and a bottle of booze, drugs he had grabbed now in a bag underneath his bed for the time being, and he fell asleep to the sound of his own quiet whimpers and pounding heartbeat. And Murderface, sat all alone on the edge of his world from Mordhaus' roof, staring at an unsmoked joint in his hands as his eyes glistened in the darkness.

Chapter Text

Nobody expected Dethklok to make a collaboration with another band. They were already the most popular, and thought they were above everyone else; they were even the twelfth largest economy, they really didn't need to do any stunts for more publicity. They also really didn't need to, or probably want to, stroke the egos of 'lesser-known' bands.

So when they, or rather Charles, announced that they would do a new album with the second most popular band as part of it, everyone was shocked but also hyped. But no one was more excited than the band that got to collab with Dethklok- The Excommunicated (a name created by the leader of the band)- and among the band members, Salem was the most pumped.

"Salem," Nathalia, the leader and singer of the band tried to reason with her close friend, though she couldn't help but to be amused as the shorter person practically bounced off of the walls, grabbing everything they could think of to pack, even debating on sticking a few LIVE plants in their already too-full bag. "They're probably gonna kick us out within like, the first two fucking seconds."

"Shut up!" Salem laughed as they gleefully tossed the rest of their clothes in their bag and zipped it shut. "Why aren't you more excited? We get to meet Dethklok! Sleep at the Mordhaus! Sing with them!"

"I am, you crackhead," Nathalia said as she rolled her eyes, "but we also have a job to do, and you can't be acting like this the whole time."

"Bite me." Salem pouted as they began to yank their bags toward the door. Nathalia was definitely more of the type of person to only stop her excitement long enough to chastise others for feeling the same way, but Salem knew better. They could tell she was using all her willpower to keep herself contained, so she could look cool and aloof about the whole thing. Well, whatever made her feel better, but if she contained too much of this energy for too long something was going to eventually give, probably at the wrong time.

They stopped once to check their reflection to see how they looked. They wore a buttoned plaid shirt with half of the buttons undone to show off part of their pale chest and partially their stomach (because they just liked being an oddball but also because they usually got hot in the shirt), and had on a pair of ripped jeans with black leggings underneath them. Their hair was short and spiky, dark makeup around their eyes, and piercings going down their nose. They also had a medusa and labret piercing, and various other piercings on their ears, eyebrows, and cheek.

Tattoos also lined their neck, chest, arms, and any other body part they could find. Tattoos of skulls, zombie wolves, their zodiac sign (Libra), a rose, and even one of their own band logo on the back of their hand. The only one that seemed to stand out a lot was a colorful, scribbled signature that no one could really make out, across the left side of their chest, which they were very protective over and refused explaining the meaning of to anybody.

As Salem studied themselves in the mirror, Nathalia smirked. "Don't worry, you look hot enough for them."

Salem scoffed and turned around to face Nathalia. "What're you talking about?"

"Oh c'mon, I know you're trying to impress them," Nathalia shrugged as she walked up to put an arm around her friend in a patronizing manner. Nathalia was a bit taller (though everyone was taller than Salem), with long, black hair and light brown roots poking through, and dark brown eyes. She wore a crop top and short shorts, both black, despite the hot weather. She absolutely refused to wear a bra at all times purely for the pleasure of seeing her own nipple piercings, which she 'did herself' (though one had to be redone professionally after the original closed and healed, because she somehow managed to put it in vertically whereas the other was horizontal, and it just "looked weird" to her). There were a few tattoos on her as well, including a few satanic symbols, some thorns, a dragon on her shoulder, and the word 'Bitch' across her arm- and also had some other piercings aside from the nipples, but the most noticeable feature to everyone else was the large scar-type discoloration on her back. Her sharp, black nails tapped Salem's shoulder in thought. "Hmm..."

"What?" Salem's blue eyes looked up at the singer in suspicion, but had an inkling of what she was going to say.

"Nothin' just wondering if maybe you're not doing this for all of the band, but for Pi-"

"Don't you fuckin' dare!" Salem's face flushed heavily and they turned around to glare at her, but not actually angrily. "Don't mention him."

"Who, Pickles?" Salem groaned as another band member and their other close friend, Tobias, walked up to them with his own bag slung over his shoulder, with his face forever in a sleepy or sad-looking droop. Tobias had short-medium brown hair falling over his face, and sideburns to match in color. His long double labret piercings had gotten caught in his pointed beard so he proceeded to walk to the mirror to fix them, otherwise not worrying too much about his complexion. Not that he didn't care about looking presentable. It was just, unlike the others but especially unlike Salem, he preferred casual wear, sporting a normal t-shirt and black shorts. It was beginning to seem like Salem had gotten ready much too soon and was quite dramatic about their appearance, which did not look good for their case.

Salem huffed and chose to ignore the other two (though Tobias meant no ill will and had probably just mentioned it to be helpful since he was generally out of the loop with the actual context), teasing their hair instead. Nathalia continued anyway, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Wait until he finds out you have a tattoo of his face."

This time she received a scowl from her friend. "Fuck off and die, I was drunk," Salem spat, which was only half-true.

"Especially on your-"

Salem tossed a random object her way but they weren't good with aiming and it smacked harmlessly into the wall near her instead. Nathalia merely chuckled. Tobias checked the time while they bickered and announced, "Uhh, we gotta go, in like, five minutes."

"I thought we had an hour?!" Salem practically shouted as panic once again began to set in. They could NOT be late for this!

"Yeah, I read the thing wrong. Five minutes if we wanna make it," Nathalia admitted as she also checked the time in wonder, realizing quickly that she had royally screwed up. 

So the three friends quickly got ready, Nathalia changing her shorts into ripped jeans and Tobias putting on his own pants because their manager wanted them to look 'decent', before shrugging on his jacket, then made their way to their private jet where they would meet up with their other two bandmates. That was their friendship in a nutshell- Nathalia was all talk or action and no think, Tobias was the brains who actually preferred to contemplate or figure things out before doing things, and Salem was stuck somewhere in the middle. Technically the kind of person who thought really hard about things, and then somehow chose the most brainless decision anyway, as Nathalia would put it.

Nathalia and Tobias had known each other since mid teens; from what Salem knew it was because of a potential fostering situation which led to them being neighbors, and had met Salem in their late teens to early adulthood after the fact. Then had met their other two bandmembers, Ivy and Raven, separately, sometime in their early twenties. Salem, being the oldest one, was now 27, Tobias 26, Nathalia and Ivy 25 and Raven being 21 almost 22.

The original three had lived together for years, and Tobias would always make jokes about creating a band until one day Salem had come home, having spent all their hard-earned money from working two shitty factory jobs on some used instruments in a wild attempt at becoming famous (with really no expectation to actually succeed), and after some lessons and a lot of studying other bands, including Dethklok, the rest was history.

At first it was just them, Tobias on guitar and Salem on drums because despite them being able to sing, Nathalia's voice had the widest range between sharp and deep, (despite being a woman, because fuck gender stereotypes according to her), which worked for what they were trying to do. Eventually, after gaining some traction during their band practice in random people's garages, Raven had come up to them, eager to join as the bassist. Despite being young, she was very experienced and even more, always willing to learn and get better. Then a year or two later, Ivy had joined them as a rhythm guitarist, having dropped out of a previous band that couldn't seem to get their shit together long enough to actually properly take off... and supposedly, she really respected the direction their band had taken and how fast they were building a following.

None of them were expecting to become so famous and so quickly after the band had been completed, much less ending up as the second best band in the world, ironically in the same genre as the best band of all time when it was never their intention to even compete with them, and they definitely never went into this expecting to just ride the genre in the hopes they would be even a quarter as good as Dethklok; they just really liked the genre themselves.

They had their own manager named Abigail, their own bodyguards, giant mansions, or really towers, (two to be exact, because the first three still lived together while Ivy and Raven had their own place), their own economy, pretty much everything Dethklok had but they were always a few steps behind. Not that that was a problem for them, but still, they were regularly compared to Dethklok as always trailing behind their shadow and it got tiring after a while to hear.

Of course it also wasn't without a ton of controversy either, since the main singer was a woman and people were still convinced that women weren't metal; though their minds seemed to change after one concert. On top of that, Ivy was black and definitely a lesbian, and no one really knew what Salem was but a lot didn't like their 'gay' aesthetic (they couldn't help that they liked being fashionable).

Still, ever since they had begun to rise in the ranks, the amount of bigotry toward minorities had dropped quite a bit. There was a small anti group that seemed Hell bent on trying to gather as many morons to go against this 'terrifying' wave of sudden tolerance, but the band paid them no mind. They had a collaboration to start.

They all climbed into their private jet, greeting their other two friends before finding their seats and watching the ground underneath them slowly fade away.

"I wonder what it'll be like," Raven commented as she stared out the window with wonder in her hazel eyes. "Meeting them, I mean."

"Five men who don't smile because it's 'gay', yeah I wonder," Ivy replied with a slight eye-roll. She was the least excited out of all of them, but still pretty excited because no matter how hard she tried to hide it, it was pretty cool to meet with the biggest band in the entire world. She just wasn't fond of a lot of the traits she'd seen from them on T.V.

Salem couldn't stop themselves from bouncing their leg up and down anxiously, heart pounding, but couldn't stop grinning as well. A part of them was slightly afraid of how their favorite band would react to seeing any of them; they knew Dethklok had previously had issues with certain things like sexism or other topics like that (though truth be told they just seemed more stupid than being that way out of maliciousness). And Salem felt that if they were really that type of cruel, their manager wouldn't have sent out a paper inviting them to make a collaboration album. Right?

As Ivy and Raven talked quietly amongst themselves a few seats away, Salem, Tobias, and Nathalia all chose to sit further in the back together to joke and drink. Salem was already quite tipsy, which probably wasn't a good idea because now their anxiety was acting up even worse than before. After downing another shot of whiskey and following it with some gay fruity cocktail, Salem stood up abruptly and decided to start pacing up and down the hall.

"Getting nervous?" Tobias guessed, having chosen to take a sip of peach schnapps before settling on a regular can of coke since he wasn't much of a drinker, at least not around his very unhinged friends when somebody needed to be the voice of reason.

Salem said nothing, the hand gripping another shot as their heart raced in their chest. What if Dethklok didn't like their sound enough to continue the collab? What if they felt too threatened? The Excommunicated never considered throwing Dethklok off of their throne; shit, Dethklok was most of their inspiration (Salem was very suspicious of the fact that Nathalia had named herself out of inspiration to Nathan, her idol, since she had admitted to not being attached to her childhood name once, but it wasn't as if Salem didn't do odd, out of place things for their idol either so it didn't bother them). What if that didn't matter to Dethklok, though?

Salem squeezed the thin glass so hard it broke in their hand, causing them to jerk out of their thoughts when they felt the warm gush of blood between their fingers. Tobias sighed, having expected this at some point, and got up to ask one of their bodyguards for a wet washcloth. Meanwhile, Salem was panicking.

"Fuck!"

"Dude, chill out," Nathalia slurred, still slightly concerned but lacking a little in processing the situation. At least she was only tipsy and nowhere near as drunk as Salem, because that would be an even worse mess.

"What if I can't play the drums now for a few days?!" Salem all but shouted, bile rising in their throat, though that wasn't actually what their brain was hyper-focused on at the moment.

"You and I both know you've done way worse to your hands and still played," Tobias commented as he wrapped the towel around Salem's hand and led them to the medic's quarters in the large jet to get the glass out.

Salem was still antsy but stayed still as the medic patiently pulled out the shards, having dealt with this before and especially with Salem. The hand was then bandaged up and they were sent back to their seat, but not before Tobias quietly whispered to the workers to not give Salem anymore booze, hoping that they would sober up by the time they arrived.

Unfortunately that wasn't how it worked, considering Salem had their ways around any situation with a no-alcohol zone, and eventually when they landed, Nathalia had to drag the limp body of Salem out of the jet.

"C'm- c'mon, you goddamn noodle," Nathalia grunted as she pulled her friend along, trying to get them to stand on their own two feet. "How'd you even find that bottle of vodka? Never mind, I don't wanna know." Salem giggled in response and tried dragging Nathalia on top of them for a hug. They stumbled and both fell down the stairs of the jet, landing in a heap with a groan, the ground scraping their skin. Ivy and Raven jumped over their bodies without breaking their ongoing conversation, having been used to this previously many many times before a big concert, and Tobias stood on the second to last step, looking around anxiously to see if anyone else had seen.

Eventually the two managed to untangle their bodies from each other, and finally with Tobias' help, they got Salem on their feet. Still, it was very noticeable that Salem was drunk as they stumbled past the two, mindlessly wandering until they were directed to the Klokateer that was supposed to be picking them up from where the jet was to land, recognizing them by their popular attire.

They followed the Klokateer into a fancy limousine for all five to be crammed into, a few bouncing with anticipation, Nathalia's steely gaze looking out the window, and Salem trying to regulate their breathing.

It was no secret that Salem had a bit of a fascination with Pickles; as much as Nathalia was fascinated by Nathan. He was the motivation that led them to play the drums so well, wanting to be as good as their idol. In general though, they loved the band, and they wanted to make a good first impression. Now they were drunk and their right hand was a bit fucked, so it definitely didn't help settle their nerves. They secretly pulled another shot out of their shirt pocket and downed it quickly.

Eventually they could see the Mordhaus looming in the distance, growing bigger and bigger until they were directly in front of it. Their eyes were wide with shock at just how beautifully aesthetic the fortress was. As the doors on both sides of the vehicle were opened to allow them out, Salem's drunken stare fell on seven people that were standing awkwardly at the entrance of Mordhaus, one of them being their own manager who had left much earlier than the band had, on her own jet. They had fleetingly wondered where she was before this but now had no reason to be concerned. Of course she would get there first, probably to help with the preparations of welcoming a trainwreck of a band.

Salem took a deep breath. This was it. They stepped out and immediately, their face met the dirt as they fell over, their legs completely useless like jelly at this point. They groaned in pain while their bandmates groaned in embarrassment. Tobias helped his drunk mate back upright and they all took cautious, unsure steps toward the other band, Dethklok.

Nathan Explosion stood in his normal gray shirt and blue jeans in the center of them all, black hair whipping around his face. Toki Wartooth was on his left with his hands in his pockets and as calm of an expression as he could pull, Murderface on the left of Toki with his arms crossed over his thick chest and his face with a permanently settled scowl. On the right of Nathan was Skwisgaar, chin out as he had his head lifted in a proud stance, and finally on the right of Skwisgaar was Pickles, who... looked as equally drunk as Salem was, his body rocking back and forth with one eye drooped down and his mouth hung open slightly, some drool dripping from his chin.

Nathalia led her friends to the other group, also standing in the middle of them all, Ivy and Raven on the left and Tobias and Salem on the right. They kept coming forward until they were just a foot or two away from Dethklok, then they just stopped, Nathalia faltering in her steps. Their manager, Abigail, gave them a small, encouraging smile, before walking toward them and then turning around to direct her words to the other band.

"So, this is The Excommunicated," Abigail introduced them with a wave of her hand. Nathalia knew it was her time to then step forward and shake Nathan's hand, but she seemed rooted to the ground. A sharp jab from Abigail made her walk forward, at the same time Charles had lightly pushed Nathan. The two met in the middle, staring at each other with unreadable expressions.

Eventually Nathan stiffly lifted his hand to shake her's. She looked down at it, back up at him, her eyes growing big; time seemed to freeze for a moment until she leapt forward and tackled him to the ground; though it was the surprise that knocked him down more than the force. Before anyone had time to even react to it, she had grabbed his knees which were bent, leaned over, and screamed, "I FUCKING LOVE YOUR MUSIC!"

Salem hadn't even noticed what happened, their eyes preoccupied with something else the entire time.

---

Eventually, after being led into the living room of Mordhaus (with the other band oohing and ahhing over the decor) and waiting for Nathan to dab away the dirt from his 'favorite shirt', they all ended up introducing themselves to each other.

"So, you've already met Nathalia," Abigail spoke once seeing the disgruntled man emerge from the hallway, presumably leaving a bathroom.

"Hey! Hey. Lemme do it." Nathalia pushed past her manager, finally composing herself enough to stick out her hand. "I'm Nathalia. Sorry for... freaking out."

Nathan grunted in response, taking the hand for half a second, probably purely out of courtesy, because he otherwise looked very disgruntled with the introduction. It was to be expected almost, he didn't seem to like physical contact from strangers (especially when it involved getting tackled) and he acted like a grumpy man to begin with.

However it wasn't something Nathalia really noticed, and she practically beamed. She ended up shaking the hands of everyone else including Charles's rather quickly and briefly. Raven was next, bouncing with excitement as she stuck her hand out, cute little buns wobbling in her hair. "I'm Raven!"

"Who the fuchk namesh their kid Raven?" Murderface said snarkily as he took her hand eventually to shake it.

"Who the fuck names their kid William?" Raven challenged as she gripped it painfully tight and stared him in the eye.

"Ooh I like the schassh," Murderface commented with a grin.

"Ivy," the rhythm guitarist introduced herself next as she also shook their hands.

"Oh come ons, whys you am names all so extra odds?" Skwisgaar complained lightly as he was next to shake her hand. "Withs yours plants name, toos."

"Heh, it's actually a nickname, Skwisgaar," Ivy explained as she continued down the line before lastly taking Charles's hand.

"Oh ja? What's you's real names dens?"

"Pointsettia." She paused, realizing that didn't help her case. "My parents were hippies... If any one of you thinks about using it, I'll rip your guts out through your mouth."

Skwisgaar snickered.

"I'm Tobias, pleasure to meet you." Tobias spoke as he went down the line.

"Hellos!" Toki said cheerfully in response, all traces of 'serious mode' gone, causing Tobias to smile a little. Toki was his favorite in the Dethklok band, because of how upbeat he was.

Now it was Salem's turn, and it was taking all of their strength just to keep standing. After a moment of awkward silence, Salem felt a nudge from Nathalia and they stumbled forward, sloppily grabbing each one's hands. "'M name's... Tobias," Salem slurred. "Wait, no." They looked back at Nathalia. "Who'm I again?"

"Salem," Nathalia told them.

"Salem. Are you sure?" Salem nearly paused in panic when it was time to shake Pickles's hand, but the alcohol pushed all thoughts away after realizing they also got to touch Pickles as long as they didn't fuck this up.

Meanwhile, Pickles was having a hard time shaking everyone's hands too and mumbling his name, but now it was two drunks battling to control themselves. Salem stuck their hand too low while Pickles went too high.

"Oh, wait-"

"Shit, uh-"

"H- hold on, dere-"

"If you just-"

"Could yew-"

"Damnit-"

"How do I-"

"It's like watching a car crash, ya can't look away," Nathalia commented with a raised eyebrow, earning a few chuckles and a scolding look from both Tobias and Abigail.

Somehow, Salem and Pickles managed to interlock their arms around each other's, and they couldn't figure out how to get unstuck, even though it required only one not-so-difficult step to unravel which would be to stop flexing their arms. They grunted and struggled back and forth, even resorting to violence and shoving each other with light hostility before Nathalia walked up to them and grasped both of their arms, pulling them apart and forcing their hands together.

"There ya go, good job. Now shake hands." They obeyed, both of their faces bright red as they panted softly from the struggle.

"Yay! Proud of you." Nathalia smirked, like she hadn't just tackled the lead singer of Dethklok, and stepped back as the two finally let go, both blushing softly but grinning a little.

"Nice ta meet ya. 'M Pickles," Pickles said slowly as he swayed on the spot. "Yer... Yer drunk."

"Nuh uh, you're drukn," Salem accused before burping loudly. It tasted like cinnamon, mixed with a bit of everything else.

"Ladies, ladies, you're both drunk," Ivy said with an eye-roll.

"Eat shit 'n' die bitch," Salem replied a little aggressively, but all it did was make Ivy laugh, knowing Salem wasn't really that hostile.

"Wha' happened ta yer... yer hand?" Pickles questioned as he noticed the bandages around Salem's hand that he had just shook.

"I... I dunno," Salem admitted as they stared in bewilderment at the gauze. "Maybe your... grip be too strong."

Salem had one hundred percent said that with all seriousness, but it made Pickles give out a sharp, high-pitched laugh, and they felt proud of themselves for causing such a reaction.

"Well, now that, ah, we've all been introduced, let me explain a few things and then the guests can be shown to their bedrooms," Charles said with a clear of his throat, as he walked into the middle of his audience and looked around at all of them. 

"I'll keep this simple, because some may have short attention spans," he paused to look at Nathan, Ivy, and Raven, the last two whispering to each other flirtatiously, and Nathan already interested in swatting at a speck of dust instead of paying attention. "Or are bored in general," again stopping to look around at Murderface who had taken the liberty of stabbing 'Planet Piss' into the wall, Toki who was rubbing his chin and staring at Tobias's beard thoughtfully, and Nathalia who was staring at Nathan's attempts with attacking the literal air. "And I'm sure some of you are tired, too." He looked at the rest of the group, Tobias' eyes drooping after having to babysit Salem, Salem and Pickles hardly able to keep themselves standing up, and Skwisgaar was already about to take a nap against the wall.

"We have a contract that you all have taken the liberty of signing, which means you guys have to produce this album and it has to come out at least by the end of the year." A light eyebrow was raised from a couple bandmembers since that was a very huge project to deal with and finish in just a year. He looked over at Abigail and nodded to her. "While you are here, this home will be your home. Decorate your rooms however you please, help yourself to any of the entertainment centers, talk to whomever you want, just make sure you actually get work done. Right, Nathan?"

"Uuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," Nathan said slowly as he paused in his air swatting to stare blankly at Charles.

"Make sure you get... get the work done. Okay?"

"Sure, whatever."

"Good." Charles turned to the rest. "In order for this to work, the writers on both sides will have to come together and share ideas with each other. Make sure everything is in order. Since there's two sets of every instrument, you can decide how to execute a plan that gives everyone a chance to be heard without muddling the songs with too much instrumental background. Dethklok's producer, Dick Knubbler, will be there to help you as much as he can." A few people from both bands nodded quietly, encouraging him to continue.

"I'd also like everyone to be on their best behaviors. If someone has a problem with someone else, no matter the context, you will not let it affect your work, or we might have to resort to cutting someone out of the final project, or cancelling it altogether which would... would not be good." Some nodded, others raised their eyebrows like they were taking it as a challenge (Murderface amongst them), and Charles generally took it as a sign to stop talking about the album before people began dropping like flies in boredom. If there was anything else needed to be said, it would have to wait another day.

"Klokateers will show you all to your rooms. If you don't like where we've placed you, feel free to ask for a change. Don't worry about getting lost, Klokateers will be wandering more often while you're here and will help you get to where you need." With that, he dismissed them, watching as a Klokateer assigned themselves to one person each. Salem was the only one giving theirs a really hard time, mostly because they didn't really feel like walking anymore, and decided to flop their butt on the floor with a yawn.

The Klokateer attempted to pick Salem up and carry them, as they'd been conditioned to do the same with a drunk Pickles, but Salem wasn't used to the physical contact.

"Hey hey hey what- no, go away," Salem shooed them away and fully laid down on the ground, rolling over so their ass was in the air, as if that made the situation any better for either side. The Klokateer was obviously unsure of what to do, until Nathalia, who had been following her own Klokateer, paused to yell back at the other.

"Just drag them by the legs. But do not touch the face, they bite!"

"Does not," Salem mumbled into the floor. They didn't notice Pickles's eyebrow raise, though he didn't comment on why.

"With all due respect, Salem's room is fairly far away-"

"Hold en, I got dis," Pickles said suddenly with a grin, his accent slurring horribly from the alcohol. "I speak durnk." He pulled a bottle of vodka from under one of the couch cushions and cracked it open, causing Salem to snap their head up in sudden interest. "C'men, follow me 'n' you cen have dis," Pickles said, shaking the bottle in their face.

"'Re youuu bribin' me? Fuck yous, I have standerds!" Salem paused to think for a second. "Help me urp."

Pickles bent down to take Salem's hands, struggling to pull them up and also stay on his own two feet. They flinched slightly at the pull on their bad hand but otherwise didn't notice much of the pain because everything seemed so far away. Then he carried the bottle in front of Salem's face as he followed the Klokateer, with Salem following the bottle, hands outstretched in want.

"Gimme," Salem whined, waddling down the hallway like a toddler.

"Not yet," Pickles laughed as he walked backwards to keep teasing the other drunk, only tripping a few times.

After a few minutes went by, the Klokateer paused and motioned to the door in front of them. "There you go."

"Dank yew," Pickles slurred, opening the door for Salem and walking inside himself afterwards. Salem was momentarily caught off guard by the room. It was painted a bright green with black edges, a personal favorite aesthetic that Salem didn't realize anybody would have noticed, let alone from whoever had painted the room. Plants surrounded the place as well, fresh, bright, lush.

Pickles was surprised as well by the oddly specific decorations, then caught Salem's twinkling eyes as they began to wander the room, touching every plant and leaf that they could immediately reach. It was almost like they were no longer drunk, eyes wide and footsteps precise and exact as they gently stroked the leaves and petals of the greenery surrounding them.

Salem felt entranced by the room, staring up and down at the vines that climbed the walls. They were most definitely a plant lover, or more precisely a nature lover. Was it actually noticeable to everyone outside of the band though, or had Abigail given them suggestions? Also, why did they care so much to make the room feel so... homey?

As Salem stroked a philodendron in the corner, Pickles cleared his throat awkwardly, gathering the other's attention again. "Sooo, uh... ye want dat bottle o'vodka?"

Salem blinked and turned to Pickles, furrowed eyebrows relaxing when they remembered their little deal. Without a word they made grabby hands again, causing the drummer of Dethklok to laugh and hand it over. "Good ta know I wesn't de only one who came drunk."

"Yeaaaah, well." Salem didn't finish their sentence, they weren't even sure where they were going with it. They knew they had a bit of a drinking problem sometimes, but that wasn't something to confide in another alcoholic after just meeting them.

Everyone knew of Pickles's addiction to drugs and alcohol, but Salem's drinking habits were more or less hidden from the world. Except for of course their friends, who would on multiple occasions find them on the floor surrounded by liquor bottles.

It was surprising to Nathalia and Tobias that Salem could keep all of their plants happy and healthy when they couldn't even take care of themselves, but as Salem had mentioned plenty of times, they didn't fuck around with the lives of their plants. They had always been drawn to them, and viewed them as having their own souls that needed to be respected. Nathalia personally didn't really get it, but she let Salem do what they wanted, not questioning or judging Salem's ideals aside from the usual, "Ha, gay!" remark.

Salem popped off the lid and started chugging straight from the bottle, only pausing after a few seconds to think. "Shit, did you wa- wan' some, too?"

Pickles didn't answer, he looked amazed.

"What?"

"I've never seen... anyerne finish half a bottle almost's fast as me."

Salem snorted. "What ya mean 'almost'?"

Pickles smirked. "Well oooobveously no one can beat me. But yer pretty close compared ta most others, I'll give ye dat."

Salem narrowed their eyes. "Is that a chall'nge?"

Pickles folded his arms across his chest. "Maybe. Whut ya gonna doo aboot it?"

This time it was Salem's turn to look smug, which made Pickles's ego waver a moment. "What else but accept it? Let's have a drinkin' contest."

Pickles grinned. "Maybe one o'dese days, but right now yew should probably settle in." He motioned to the bags that had been carried in while they were all having the conversation in the living room. "Unpack 'n' settle down fer a bit, bef're I totally destroy yew in drinkin' 'n' make yew wanna repack!"

Salem huffed as they handed back the half-empty bottle of vodka and flopped onto the giant bed that had black and green plaid sheets. "My version of settlin' down is to sleep and not deal with my shit."

"Fair," Pickles said, scratching his chin. "I guess I'll see ya later den. Maybe when we're recordin' 'r when we dew dat drinkin' contest." He looked up and was surprised to see that Salem was already pretty much knocked out, face buried in the black pillow with their arms around themselves, curled into a ball. Thinking perhaps they were just cold, Pickles hesitantly walked closer and grabbed one of the spare blankets underneath the bed, tossing it haphazardly on their body, before stumbling out of the room and closing the door behind him softly, Pickles didn't realize that Salem was still halfway conscious and had felt the kind gesture.

Salem smiled and reminded themselves to squeal about it later, when they were awake and sober, then they drifted off to sleep peacefully, knowing their hangover was going to hurt like a bitch later.

What Salem didn't know, was that just before walking into the room, the Klokateers had been rushing around to figure out how to revive dead plants; they had been in there for two weeks since Abigail mentioned to Charles what her band members liked that would make them feel more at home, and unfortunately the Klokateer that was supposed to be taking care of said plants had forgotten to (causing him to be fired... from a cannon, because Charles was merciless with any Klokateer who dared not to do their job properly).

This was also a shock to the Klokateers who had been bringing in replacements and yet when they opened the door, careful to not wake Salem, they saw that the plants were thriving. Figuring that perhaps someone else had come in and replaced them, the Klokateers shrugged and closed the door, leaving the plants to sway to an invisible breeze and lean toward the direction of Salem's body.

Chapter Text

Everybody Gets High by MISSIO

Pickles was most definitely not looking forward to meeting the new band. He wasn't even sure why they were doing this in the first place, and Charles was really vague when he came up with the proposal and offered them the contracts to sign for this new deal that none of them had even heard about until that point. They really had no need for it, but then again there was always a certain madness to Charles's ideas that more often than not would end up making sense later.

He would be lying if he said he was interested enough to actually look them all up or check out their music before actually getting to meet them. But he really didn't care, and neither did the rest of the band (or at least they cared in a negative way), though they all had their own personal reasons. For example, he was pretty sure Nathan wasn't excited because they all knew the band had gotten really popular and fast, and he was probably afraid of losing fans and income to them.

Whereas Skwisgaar, felt threatened by... who was it, Tobias? For his seemingly perfect guitar skills that 'almost' matched with Skwisgaar's- and Pickles himself just didn't care much about anything anymore, let alone people from another band.

Then there was Murderface who, of course, was very upset at the idea that the singer happened to be a woman. "We all know women ckan't be metal," he had commented loudly, which caused Pickles to turn away. They had never spoken of that 'issue' since a year ago, when it had happened, but Murderface was even more relentless than usual with his sexist comments and Pickles wasn't sure if it was an intentional jab at the red-head, or if he was just trying to majorly flex in front of the others. Maybe both.

Despite flushing his meds and skipping about three or four of his doctor appointments, Charles had forced him to go back and to keep taking his prescription, pointing out that giving up wasn't the answer.

So Pickles had no real choice in the matter, and it was beginning to feel like the more he was forced into this, the more uncomfortable he was about the situation. He wasn't being treated for his transition because he wanted to now, it was just that he was pretty much told to keep up a 'charade' of pretending to be cis, which involved getting treatment as a trans person.

It was a complex situation because of course Pickles wanted treatment but not this way. He also never really pretended to be cis up until that point, he just called himself a man and that was that, so it put extra weight on his shoulders. Pickles wished he could find some way out of it. What could he do, though?

It wasn't like there was really a good option, since the world's eyes were on him now, Charles included. It was just that the fear of being found out as trans, of the pressure to being a man, the fact that one of his band members most likely looked at him as a woman, it was all just too much.

Pickles pursed his lips as he laid in his bed with the blanket tangled around his torso. Now was not the time to feel sorry for himself, he had people to meet and tolerate. He groaned inwardly. They better not be a bunch'a douchebags, he thought to himself.

He pulled the sheets off and slipped to the floor with a huff. He'd been drinking an excessive amount late into the night lately (worse than normal) and was now beginning to wake up with hangovers, for once. Oh how he didn't miss that part of the alcoholism before his tolerance had gotten impossibly higher. Pickles struggled to get up to head into his personal bathroom, grabbing his normal set of clothes on the way there.

Stepping into the bathroom without turning on the light, he calmly placed his clothes and towel on the counter, his eyes avoiding the mirror even though it had long ago been painted over in black and could no longer be seen through. He turned on the shower and brushed his teeth in pure darkness until he could feel the steam coming through the curtains.

Pickles climbed into scalding hot water and just stood there, letting the burning liquid run down his reddening back for as long as he could tolerate it. Then he scrubbed his body down with soap and gave a quick rinse before jumping back out. He didn't even use his towel this time, pulling his clothes on and causing them to get soaked before stumbling out of the bathroom, grumbling about his growing headache. He really needed a drink.

The door opened about an hour later, as Nathan popped his head into the room and looked around to find his best friend on the floor, face down, hand clutching three bottles of half-empty vodka and drool pooling around him.

"Uuuuuuuhhhhh, Pickles?"

Pickles gave a small mumble in response and he could practically hear the sigh of relief from the other man, causing him to look up with blurry vision. He couldn't really see much of anything, but he could tell that Nathan was painfully stiff, staring down at the drummer with his eyes furrowed together.

Deep in Pickles's drunk mind, he felt a little guilty about this. He was slowly walking down a path of self-destruction, and Nathan was probably the one to most notice this, yet they couldn't talk about it. At least not the reason why Pickles was falling apart right in front of the band. Then again, even if they could, Pickles wasn't sure if Nathan would.

Because of course, Nathan was absolutely terrible with showing emotion which didn't help, especially with something like concern; it would usually result in showing anger and frustration without any explanation that that anger was popping up due to lowkey fear and worry. However, that didn't mean he felt them any less or in a selfish way. In fact, him repressing his emotions only made things worse in terms of vulnerability when they DID come to the surface.

Either way, the sight of his friend on the floor like that was probably a frightening thing to see, Pickles imagined. No one talked about it, but everyone in the band seemed to think the same thing; that one day, they would walk in on Pickles's unconscious body laying in a heap next to his own puke, and find that he'd never wake up again. He had the highest tolerance of them all but proved to be pushing himself too much when he was trying to drown his sorrow and thoughts.

Toki as usual was the most vocal about the entire issue, insisting to PIckles that the drummer could talk to him about anything and he wouldn't tell a soul. Yet, despite how sincere Toki seemed, Pickles just couldn't do that.

Not only was the fear of getting caught hanging over his head all the time, especially with Charles straight up stalking him at some points, he also couldn't shake a lingering fear of possible betrayal. Which he knew was unreasonable, because it was Toki fucking Wartooth, the biggest sweetheart and pretty much child of the band. He had his mean-streak moments, but it was never to emotionally torment someone and traumatize them. If anything, it was Toki who was relentlessly bullied by his other bandmates, and he loved everyone else so much that he had long-ago accepted that role, still continuing to whole-heartedly support the ones who bullied him.

Therefore, Toki would be the one to most likely understand (or at least sympathize with) Pickles's predicament and offer some kinda (usually worthless but well-meaning) advice that would probably cheer Pickles up, at least in amusement. Yet, the memories of Murderface's seemingly genuine look of interest and care was a never-ending nightmare for him. It haunted not only his dreams, but when he was awake as well; always hidden behind his drunken eyelids every time he closed them.

Murderface was cruel and inhumane, but he never thought the bassist would turn on the other like a rabid wolf. Other people thought of Pickles as dramatic, he could see it on their face whenever he would stop anything to look at the other with loathing or actively avoided the man, but even if it had been nothing more than a 'rumor', the problem was that it had happened to begin with, after Pickles explicitly explained that the fans didn't need to know, and Murderface was just so insistent on letting it out in the open and telling them anyway. Just what was the bulldog's endgame? He didn't know; he didn't care.

So Pickles would remain quiet and reserved, assuring everyone in a slurred voice that he was fine and would be fine- and of course no one would believe him and only grew more concerned, and especially more frustrated, at the fact that not only could they not be allowed to speak on it, but that Pickles didn't seem to want to acknowledge the problem, anyway. Thus causing Pickles to feel even more guilty and drown his sorrows in a bit of whiskey mixed with sleeping pills, and the destructive cycle would repeat.

Pickles managed to scramble onto his feet, giving his friend a lazy smile as he leaned his body against the nearest wall. His clothes stuck to him and he wasn't sure if it was because they were still wet from the shower, if he was sweating profusely, or if he had puked on himself.

Realizing that neither person had said anything to each other in probably a good two or three minutes, Pickles cleared his throat and waved his hand dismissively at Nathan. "Heyyy, dood. 'M fineee."

Nathan crossed his arms in front of his chest as he looked his friend up and down. "Hm. Charles said, uh. That Ex- Excommuninit... The band. They'll be here soon. They were just picked up at the uh, airport."

"Oh, alright. Kewl."

Nathan pressed his lips together, and a pinch of anger flashed through his eyes. "You really couldn't hold it together until after the meeting?"

Pickles flinched. He hadn't really expected that, though in all honesty he probably should've. "C'mon, 'm fine. It's meee we're talkin' aboot."

"No, you're not fine, and yeah, uh, I know we're talking about. About you. Duh." Through Pickles's hazy vision, he watched as Nathan took a step forward and Pickles leaned further against the wall in response, like he was afraid of a fight starting. Instead, Nathan continued speaking.

"Look, I'm not good at this whole, like, talking. Thing. We're not even supposed to be talking about like, why you're acting like such a dick. But uhh..." It was like Nathan forgot where he was going to take the conversation. "Dude, just get help, or somethin'. I don't fucking know. You were already barely funt-ctioning, before all this shit."

"I can't get help, don't yew get it?" Pickles spat, not meaning to sound so harsh but was too drunk to care about apologizing right away. "I can't talk ta anyorne, aboot anyt'ing. If I do, we might get 'n trouble."

"Well if you don't talk to someone, you're just gonna get worse!"

"Fuckin' cry me a river, okie, because I don' know what de fuck to do!" Pickles's face was red with growing hostility, and he ended up swiping his arm to the side, smashing the glass bottles on his nightstand against the ground or the wall. "I'm et the crossroads o' holdin' it all inside 'til I explode, or tellin' someone even a snippet 'n' causin' Dethklok's fall! Net really greaaat choices here!"

"Pickle? Ams you okays?" Pickles groaned inwardly, just what he needed. Toki poked his head inside, eyes wide from the loud crash and studying the drummer's flushed, drunk face with worry. "Oh, Pickle..."

Pickles was beginning to feel tired of all this concern over him. Forcing himself to swallow the bile rising in his throat, he turned his back to them and waved them away with a false cheery voice. "I'll be fine, jus' leave me alone right now."

He heard footsteps coming toward him and he tensed, until Nathan's voice, surprisingly gentle, said, "No, c'mon Toki. You can talk to him later." As he led the younger man away, Nathan called back to Pickles, "Come to the living-room. When you're ready."

Pickles grunted his response and concentrated at the floor until he heard the door close behind him. He was just about to sigh with relief when he heard whispering on the other side of the door. Curious and slightly suspicious, he stumbled as quietly as he could toward his door and pressed his head against it to listen.

"I- I sorries, Nat'ens."

A sigh from the bigger man. "It's fine. Just... you gotta remember not to push him. Especially if there's, like, already another person talking to him. I'm already pushing his buttons enough. 'Cuz he's a dildo."

There was a pause. "Does you thinks he woulds hurt mes?"

"No. Well... I don't know," Nathan admitted, and Pickles's heart felt like it had been squeezed with guilt. He didn't act that bad, did he? Most of the time when he felt cornered and pressured, he'd just yell or break things. That didn't mean he was violent against anyone... at least not more than usual. And definitely not towards Toki.

"I ams just tryinks to helps."

"I know, but you can't. He has to figure it out himself." Oh the irony of Nathan chastising the younger bandmate for something that he was trying to do himself just a few moments ago.

"But hows when Charles won'ts lets hims?"

"I'll talk to him."

"Wowee, reallys?" Toki squealed, for some reason excited about this. Nathan grunted in affirmation and there was another small bit of silence before Toki added softly, "Hey, Nat'ens..."

"Yeah?"

"Ifs I can'ts pushes him, why ams you push hims?"

"Because, not that I think, like, you're too weak to handle it. But if it gets bad enough, I'll take a fuckin' beating from him for, forever if it makes him realize I'm not there to actually start a fight." Nathan muttered. Nathan wasn't one to say no to punching people once or twice, so he must have figured that the best way to show his undying friendship would be to get his ass kicked if it made Pickles feel better, and to show that the singer wasn't there to harm Pickles. He just wanted the red-head to listen, even if it was uncomfortable to hear. Not really the best of ways to communicate support, but it was touching nonetheless, in its own little way.

It also weirdly made sense, because he would definitely be more likely to try and kick Nathan's ass than Toki's and it WOULD mean a lot more to Pickles if the bigger man chose not to strike back when he had every reason and availability to. Their friendship was strange, for sure.

"Ohs, speaks of Charles," Toki said in almost a squealing manner, and Pickles could suddenly hear a pair of light footsteps fading in.

"Hm? Were you two discussing me or something?" Charles questioned once he got close enough to make conversation without shouting down the hall.

"Sorta. I'll tell you later," Nathan grunted.

"Ah, alright... Well the other band is nearly here, so if you guys could head outside with the others."

"Yeah, we were just 'bout to, but..." Nathan's voice trailed off.

"Is ah, Pickles being difficult?"

"Not, not really. He's just kinda... drunk off his ass."

"Wasted likes a sluts on summer breaks!" Toki chimed in.

"Language," Charles chided Toki gently, now was not the time for those kinds of comments. "I'll check on him and bring him down. In the meantime, you two can go meet up with the others now."

"Okays," Toki said softly while Nathan grunted in acknowledgment, and two pairs of footsteps, one much heavier than the other, began walking away from the door. Once a loud knock rang in his ears, Pickles suddenly realized he'd been leaning on the door way too much for support and when he stepped back to not seem so suspicious about spying on them, he ended up falling all the way over and onto his ass.

Charles must have heard the loud flop because he cautiously opened the door, saying, "Pickles?" He looked down at the drummer who attempted to scramble onto his feet and only managed to fall back over in a different position.

"Are you, ah, alright, there?"

"'M fine, 'm fine. Why's everyone gotta be so nosey," Pickles grumbled as he crawled across his floor to grasp the mattress in front of him and pull himself upwards.

"Well, it's just ah... you. You were on the floor. From most likely falling down."

Pickles shook his head before realizing that sharp head movements were making him feel nauseous. "I jus' felt like bein' down dere."

"So, you fell down on purpose?"

"I was jus' givin' de floor a hug." Pickles rolled his eyes as he managed to stand on his own two feet. The second he was able to keep himself balanced, he felt a splash of ice cold water on his face, causing him to gasp loudly.

Pickles used his damp shirt to wipe most of it off, then looked up and glared at the culprit, who was not amused in the slightest. "Something to help sober you up," Charles spoke as he handed another shirt to the other to change into. "Hurry up and get to the entrance. I mean it." Then Pickles watched as his manager turned and left quickly without a word, with a raised eyebrow.

After changing his shirt and trying to slap himself to stay conscious enough, Pickles headed down the hallway with a soft grumble about how everyone was a bunch of douchebags. Deep inside though, he felt a little guilty for being such a mess of a person. It was obviously affecting everyone else very badly.

Pickles didn't realize that another one of his bandmates was heading out at the same time he was, and ended up knocking into the other as they both met at the corner. "Hey, wathch it-" The voice started, then paused. Pickles didn't have to look up from where his eyes were cast down, to know who it was. Before anything could be said further, Pickles turned and practically ran down the hallway as fast as his wobbly feet could go.

Ever since that incident, the two hadn't really talked to each other face to face, and Pickles preferred it that way so as not to be tempted into killing Murderface. The only thing he had to tolerate regularly was Murderface's snide comments about random unimportant things, and some side-eyed staring when he thought Pickles wasn't looking. There were also a few previous attempts at real small talk from Murderface that Pickles pointedly ignored and walked away from.

The fact that this time he had accidentally touched Murderface, grossed Pickles out. Why he had decided to do so much more with that man about a year ago, when he couldn't even stand to shoulder bump him now, was beyond him.

Pickles paused in his running, suddenly feeling nauseous and hunched over, holding back his vomit with his hand planted against the wall nearest to him. He gasped and swallowed at the air like a fish out of water, the world around him spinning much too fast for him to keep up. He ended up falling onto his ass again, feeling his eyes burn with tears as well. He knew exactly why he did what he did that day. Being disgusted at the idea now didn't change his need for it back then.

He clenched his jaw to keep from throwing up and his hand subconsciously gripped at his stomach from the pain, before Murderface's face flashed through his vision and he cringed. After all these months, and Pickles still couldn't function properly after one little run-in with the person he hated the most. His mind was being driven back to those dark times, pulling him in...

"Sir, do you need help?" A Klokateer who had been walking by offered, and without a word, Pickles lifted his limp hand, allowing himself to be pulled back onto his feet. He refused to say anything as he continued walking down the hall until he was out the door, but the Klokateer didn't mind this. He had been used to helping pick up most of the band off of the floor for years. What he was more concerned with, was the pained look on Pickles's face.

He turned to go back to his normal duties, when Murderface rounded the corner, face unreadable. Ah, that's why, the Klokateer thought to himself as he nodded respectfully to his other master.

Once Murderface had passed him, he began to walk to his destination again before freezing in his tracks like last time. "Shit, the plants!" He exclaimed out loud, turning and running down a different hall.

Pickles had managed to stumble into bright sunlight and take his position on the far right- or left, Pickles couldn't remember which direction was which anymore- of Nathan, beside Skwisgaar. Murderface came out just a moment later, taking it upon himself to stand next to Toki on the other side. Charles was discussing something with Abigail, the other band's manager, when they saw a limousine pulling up slowly until it was directly in front of them. Pickles swayed in his spot, trying to blink the light out of his face, and chose to stare off into the distance.

Everyone began to climb out of the car; the obvious leader, her name escaping Pickles's drunk mind, and she was a lot tinier than he had expected. She was covered in many tattoos, but otherwise she looked like a basic carbon-copy of Nathan, other than the fact that her scowl was much too try-hard and based on trying to look aloof and disinterested, whereas Nathan was actually very obviously disinterested.

Next from the other side, a short haired, bearded man stepped out, chin held high and green piercing eyes looking determined. Soft-faced version of Charles was an understatement. He didn't particularly have an aura of brutality, nor did he need it to catch the other's attention, but he did have an interesting vibe with him for sure. His face seemed slightly guarded, analytical, scrutinizing. 

Then at the same time two more came out; this time a black woman with long purple dreads and wearing a loose fitted see-through fishnet shirt with a tank-top underneath, dark brown eyes shining brilliantly in the light; as well as a slightly shorter woman with her hair in two separate buns, and wearing a crop-top similar to the leader's. The two immediately went around the limo to meet up with each other.

Of course Pickles barely registered any of this in his mind, glancing over them once or twice before continuing to stare at nothingness.

That's when the final person fell out, literally on their face, and he blinked, choosing to finally focus his eyesight on the last person. The bearded man had helped them up onto their feet and was looking them over for any signs of damage, giving Pickles the opportunity to also study them.

Pickles wasn't actually sure what they were, but originally figured them to be male, since their untucked plaid shirt was unbuttoned almost all the way down to the navel, showing off their smooth, hard chest. However, there were obvious scars underneath their pecs, making it difficult for Pickles to come to a conclusion. Those scars looked so oddly familiar... Pickles swallowed heavily.

The tattoos though... The more he looked, the more he could find; all black and white. Except one. They were all too far away for him to see well, but it looked like a kid's handwriting on their chest, and he wondered why that would be there since it looked so out of place.

Pickles decided to study their face itself, watching as they pushed their short, spiky hair away from their face and grinned up at their friend. They began to stumble with their friends as they all started walking over, the leader obviously in the lead. Pickles couldn't stop studying the last one in fascination, realizing a bit too slowly that the other person was just as drunk as he was.

There was a long, disturbing silence once the two had met up, until the leader literally jumped on Nathan, forcing him to fall onto his back and screamed something at him in a fangirl manner, to which Nathan's reply was silence, but very obvious displeasure. Pickles had lost interest in everyone again, just concentrating on keeping himself up and walking properly once they all headed inside, into the living-room.

Pickles's eyes did rest on Toki at some point, who looked a little pissed off most likely because of the exchange that caused Nathan to be knocked down (the boy was very protective), then at Charles, who just looked somewhat amused, which was very unlike him since he was usually much too serious of a person to appreciate any comedy unfolding in front of him.

Once Nathan had come back from the bathroom and they all introduced themselves to each other, Pickles tried to keep note of everyone's names.

Nathalia, the band's singer and the one who fangirled on Nathan... She's a bit of a mess but I suppose she's cool, Pickles thought to himself as he barely managed to shake her hand. Let's see... Raven... Caw caw, heh... I don't think she'd be amused by that... Ivy... Threatening Skwisgaar... Well, he deserves it... Tobias... very polite... looks kinda like Toki if they were both turned around and had their hair up. Salem...

Pickles blinked as suddenly it was his turn to shake the other drunk's hand and he found that it was not going so well. After tangling himself in their arm and deciding that gnawing off his own appendage or fighting to the death were his only options, Nathalia had come up to them and easily unraveled their arms, her eyes glinting with amusement as she mocked them.

As they finally managed to shake hands, Pickles also decided to speak more than a single word, (that being his name). "Nice ta meet ya. 'M Pickles. Yer... Yer drunk."

"Nuh uh, you're drukn," Salem slurred with a grin before burping loudly, causing him to lightly snicker.

"Ladies, ladies, you're both drunk," Someone, Pickles figured Ivy, stated, causing Salem to retaliate, though their eyes never strayed from each other's.

Eventually Charles had a lot of boring shit to say that Pickles and Salem both didn't care to pay attention to, their knees weak and barely able to hold themselves up. They would keep looking at one another or sneaking glances, not even realizing it and even if they did, believing that no one would catch them.

Nathalia most assuredly did though at some point, after looking away from whatever the Hell Nathan was doing, because she smirked to herself, knowing she would make fun of Salem later. Meanwhile, Murderface had looked up from his wood stabbing to eye them both, jaw clenched as he seemed to be thinking really hard.

It was almost strange, this immediate magnetic pull that kept both Pickles and Salem preoccupied by the other's existence. Maybe it would make sense for Salem to be that way, since Pickles WAS arguably the best drummer in the world. But for Pickles to be like this? It threw him off a little, but then again he was too drunk to fully comprehend it at the moment.

Eventually the guests were all allowed to go find their rooms, but Salem would have none of that. Deciding that they were tired, they ended up falling to the ground, in a much more comedic way than the pathetic flopping of Pickles earlier, and sat there with a certain determined pout, chin jutted out. There was something oddly familiar about this. Perhaps Pickles used to act this way too, when he was an alcoholic to have fun and not to drown his sorrows. In fact, he was sure of it.

One poor Klokateer decided to handle it much like they usually handled Pickles, which caused a mini tantrum from the other who had not been expecting to be touched. They rolled over, ass in the air, and scooted along the ground like a caterpillar trying to avoid the Klokateer.

"Just grab them by the legs. But do NOT touch the face, they bite!" Nathalia yelled out to try and help. Pickles's ears perked up at the use of the 'they' pronouns and blinked in confusion at this, but chose rather to push it to the side until he was sober enough to make sense of the situation.

"Hold en, I got dis," Pickles interrupted whoever had been talking, choosing to dig through one of the couch cushions to pull out a bottle of vodka that he kept stashed around for easy grabbing if he was too lazy to go back to his room for more. Immediately, as soon as he broke the seal, Salem perked up at the noise, eyes wide. "C'mon, follow me 'n' you cen have dis," Pickles taunted the other, shaking the bottle in front of them.

"'Re youuu bribin' me? Fuck youuuu, I have standerds!" After a pause, they added meekly, "Help me up."

Pickles chuckled softly as he gripped the other's palms, pulling them onto their feet with great difficulty. His eyes scanned some of the scars on their chest and the colorful tattoo, but looked away once Salem opened their hands for the bottle. Thus began the long trek down the hallway, catching Murderface's grim face once before turning the corner backwards and nearly tripping over his feet, several times.

"Watch it, sir," the Klokateer leading them warned, but as usual was ignored.

Salem looked like an overgrown toddler, waddling down the hallway with their arms outstretched, practically drooling at the sight of the booze, which amused Pickles greatly. "Gimme," Salem begged as they reached further for it.

"Not yet," Pickles said with a smirk as he lightly shook the bottle, hoping he didn't fall and break it right in front of the other. Finally, they reached the door and after the Klokateer made his departure, he opened the door for Salem like the gentleman he was, and then followed them inside.

Pickles was astounded by how well they had decorated the room, knowing that Charles had put all this effort in to make the guests feel more comfortable. It seemed like Salem was a plant lover. He confirmed this by looking down at them (realizing also for the first time how short Salem was, even shorter than him), and seeing the dazed, far off look in their eyes as they went around the room, touching each plant they could reach.

Salem must not have realized this, but they found themselves whispering, and it didn't seem like English; Pickles could swear it sounded something ancient, even. Pickles was too drunk to listen to some magic sounding voodoo bullshit (then again, he was drunk and probably was too impaired to understand anything even in English), so he cleared his throat and waited for the attention to be turned on him before he held up the vodka bottle and offered it to them.

Their hands made grabby motions as they excitedly took it from the drummer, causing him to laugh quietly, and commented on the fact that he was happy to not be the only drunk there. Which was true; it made him feel calmer, knowing that the focus wasn't on just him having an alcoholic addiction.

Salem's eyes cast down as they mumbled something, temporarily worrying Pickles that maybe he had made the other uncomfortable. But then they looked back up with a shy grin before throwing their head back to guzzle down half of the bottle before stopping. "Shit, did you want some too?"

Pickles's mouth was agape.

"What?"

"I never seen... anyerne finish half a bottle almost as fast as me."

Salem looked bothered. "What ya mean, 'almost'?"

Pickles smirked. "Well obveooooously no one can beat me. But yer pretty close compared ta most others, I'll give ye dat." Truthfully, it was the closest anyone had ever gotten to finishing a bottle as fast as him, and he wasn't sure if he was afraid or impressed.

"Is that a chall'nge?"

"Maybe, what ya gonna doo aboot it?"

"What else but accept it?" The smug look on Salem's face unnerved him. "Let's have a drinkin' contest."

"Maybe one of dese days, but right now yew should probably settle in. Unpack 'n' settle fer a bit, bef're I totally destroy yew in drinkin'."

Salem gave a huff as they handed back the bottle and proceeded to lay on their bed, arms and legs stretched out comfortably. "My version of settlin' down is to sleep and not deal with my shit."

Pickles chuckled, knowing exactly how they felt. "Fair enough. I guess I'll see ya later den. Maybe when we start recordin' or when we do dat drinkin' contest." His eyes had been on the bags in the corner but when he looked back at Salem, he was surprised to see that their position had changed into a little ball and already seemed sound asleep. His vision trailed down to see a blanket under the bed, and used it to cover up the other one, but not before noticing more white scars on the back and sides of their neck. He wondered what had caused it, but was too drunk to focus on his thoughts, and instead simply left the room so they could sleep.

As he wandered the hallways, not really wanting to sleep too since it was still somewhat early, he spotted the rest of his band walking his way, laughing, and decided to join them.

"Heyy, guys," Pickles said slowly as he trotted up to them. Nathan looked mildly irritated as Toki clung to him as he usually did, talking his ear off about one thing or another, and Skwisgaar watched with a grimace. Once the drummer joined them, Toki was even more excited, much to Nathan's dismay.

"Pickleeeee!" Toki all but shouted, and Pickles found himself catching the younger man mid-air as he leaped for a hug. Unfortunately, because of Pickles's drunkenness, they both ended up falling to the floor.

"Ugh... Hey Toki."

"HI PICKLE!" Toki practically screeched.

"God, Toki, do you have to be so loud?" Nathan grumbled, rubbing his temples.

"Sorries Nat'ens," Toki said sincerely, jumping off of the red-head so he could go back to the bigger man's side.

As Pickles pulled himself off of the floor and brushed the dirt away from his shirt, he realized everyone around him was oddly quiet (except for Toki). As if they weren't sure on how to communicate with Pickles.

Pickles couldn't help but notice that it was definitely getting harder and harder for them to talk to him, when they knew Pickles was slowly falling apart and the one thing they needed to talk about, they couldn't. Either because of Charles's rules or because Pickles was too afraid to break those rules for one second.

Pickles chewed on the inside of his cheek, unsure on how to even start a conversation with them anymore. When was the last time they all just talked about literally bullshit nothingness? The last time they all had laughed together without keeping an eye on Pickles to see if one little word would trigger him into a fit of trauma? The last time that any socialization wasn't about Pickles's drinking habits or general depression? He suddenly felt very awful and selfish and self-centered.

"What, uh what ya guys talkin' aboot?"

"Just Nat'ans getting his ass kickeds by a gorls," Skwisgaar snorted as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"She caught me off guard!" Nathan practically roared, which only caused the band to laugh at him. Pickles smiled and managed a genuine chuckle, but the good feeling in his chest that had been there while around Salem was fading and he was beginning to fall into that hole of self-pity.

He swallowed thickly, hoping no one would notice his downward spiral. "Heh, sure, Nate."

"Don't start with me!" He pointed an accusatory finger at Pickles.

"Why not? Don't wanna fight?" Pickles taunted with a light grin.

"I don't fight g-" Nathan started then paused, staring at the person he was talking to. "Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..."

Pickles raised an eyebrow as the twist in his gut squeezed more painfully and red-hot shame washed over him like he was drowning in lava. "No, go on. What don't yew fight?" Nathan grunted and rather than reply at all, he turned to face away from Pickles to instead stare at the wall beside them, so Pickles pressed on. "Don' fight gay people? Or, or, better yet, girls? Ha, funny, Nate." They were jabs the man would normally say, but... "I'mma go now."

"But Pickle..." Toki looked really upset.

But Pickles had already rounded the corner, coincidentally walking away just as Murderface had shown up, leaving a really heavy and awkward silence between them all and Murderface having no clue what had just happened, staring nervously between a red-faced Nathan and a whining Toki.

Chapter Text

Nathalia's room was dark, dark and cold. Just the way she liked it.

As she stood around the room, pleased at the black decor and overall goth aesthetic, she could hear footsteps walking past her door and a familiar voice begging for alcohol, and she grinned. That conversation would have to wait though, when Salem sobered up; plus, she wanted to have a look around the room first.

First, she noticed a collection of medieval swords above her bed and along the walls. What if that falls down and cuts off my head? That'd be so fucking brutal, she thought with a grin. Next, she noticed a lot of bloody, gory paintings, including that of mythological creatures. She saw a Siren holding the head of an unfortunate soul who had obviously wandered too close to her domain. Underneath the painting, engraved into the golden frame, it said: "Nothing escapes the song of a man-eater."

"Damn right," Nathalia said out loud, before turning her attention to a table further in the corner, which had a placement to set her tobacco and weed products down on, causing her to smirk. On another wall, a giant flat-screen was built into it and a bunch of game systems sat neatly in a row.

Whoever had decorated in here, certainly did their homework. They probably could've found some better looking swords though... and she would prefer having her own drawings and paintings all over her wall. She wasn't that big on Sirens either, and if they wanted her to actually get any singing done, they shouldn't have given her any video games, so she didn't know what Abigail was thinking to possibly suggest such a thing.

Something was also missing from her black bed, too. Rummaging through some of her bags that she realized had been brought there earlier, she ended up pulling out some paints and a small knife out of one of the pockets. She was sure they wouldn't mind, since after all it was her room, as she dug the knife into the fresh blankets, creating a few rips and tears, then used her red paint to cover her hand and plant it all over the blanket.

"Edgy," Nathalia said approvingly to herself, lowkey wondering, if Nathan saw it, how cool he'd think of her, then she scoffed to herself. She didn't need his approval or anything weird like that. With time he would be impressed by what she did best- singing.

As for her room, Nathalia would have to make plans to fix the rest later.

As she stepped back to admire the bed some more, Nathalia's lips pursed at the thought of the earlier incident with Nathan. She was pretty sure she had social anxiety, which was ironic considering how popular she and her voice was. In a crowd, she could just ignore everyone and focus on herself and what she needed to do. Up close and personal was a different story. She was well-known for avoiding her fans or resorting to attacking, yelling, or generally freaking out, mostly accidentally, if she felt too anxious.

The fact that she had been trying to suppress her excitement the entire time, up until meeting Nathan himself, ended up making her anxiety come out a lot worse than normal. It all seemingly worked out in the end though because she wasn't asked to leave, and that's all that mattered to her.

Nathalia almost didn't expect to actually see Nathan, either. She kept telling herself that it was just a dream and that she would wake soon, since nothing this amazing would surely ever happen to her. Then again, that's what she thought about being in a famous band, and that 'dream' was still going strong for over a year.

She ran her fingers through her long, silky hair and couldn't help but smile. She was definitely proud of herself for supposedly making a decent impression, even if it was originally based on an accidental fuck-up.

There was a body sized, ancient looking mirror hung up on the outside of the bathroom door. As Nathalia looked into it to study herself, she tried to push back feelings of possible self-doubt and humility. Instead, she squinted to make out the engraving along the bronze plated frame, but realized it was in a different language.

"Cool, but I have no fucking clue what it means," Nathalia muttered with an eye-roll.

"What does what mean?"

Nathalia jumped at the voice and turned to see Charles standing there, having stepped in silently.

"The fuckin' writing," Nathalia explained as she pointed to the mirror, not at all caring that the man had popped in so suddenly and without warning. Truth be told, she was used to it because of Abigail anyway.

"Writing? I see no writing."

Nathalia turned her head in frustration, prepared to stick her finger directly on the inscripture, but realized there really wasn't any. Must've been a trick of the lights, or she drank too much on the plane as well (even though it wasn't nearly as much as Salem). "Huh," was all Nathalia could manage.

"I see you've taken the liberty of, ah... re-decorating a few things," Charles said as he motioned to the bed, and Nathalia couldn't help but grin.

"Yeah, it's just a little bit more brutal now."

"Hmm." Charles didn't look amused.

"I know what I'm doing." That was hardly the truth and she knew it.

"I'm sure."

Nathalia was beginning to feel irritated with the other man just showing up in her room, and unannounced as well (retracting her earlier disinterest about it). What if she had been getting dressed? Weirdo. "Is there something you want from me?" She was quiet, because of her anxiety, making it more difficult to establish the fact that she was not happy with his presence and trying to look tough. He seemed to get the picture, though.

"Apologies, you left your door open." Had she? She didn't remember. Seeing her look of disbelief, he smiled. "You can, ah, always see the clip back at my office. I have cameras all over the place, except in the actual rooms."

The cameras made sense, it was the exact same way back at home. And the fact that he had simply even offered to show her the clips, made him seem trustworthy enough. She really wanted to call his bluff at the same time, but she also wanted to go through her room and put up a few more things, and maybe wander through Mordhaus for a bit, so she decided to drop it. "Nah, we're cool."

"Good." Nathalia looked expectantly up at Charles and he cleared his throat. "Ah, yes, the reason I'm here is because I've forgotten to give you all your own keys to your rooms before you all left." He lifted his hand, a skull-looking key dangling from his finger, and she took it carefully. "I also forgot for the Klokateers to hand over the ones they used, so that was my fault."

Nathalia raised an eyebrow as she placed it in her pocket for the time being. "I thought you were supposed to be the responsible one?"

"It's difficult to concentrate when there's about ten people who won't listen to you," Charles commented.

"I guess."

Nathalia shifted uncomfortably on her feet before she realized Charles was walking away, and she blurted out, "Wait!"

Charles paused. "Yes?"

"Uh, uh, thanks, for, uh... Letting us do this shit. The collab shit or whatever." She shrugged, trying to act cool about it.

"My pleasure."

"And, uh, sorry for tackling ya boy."

Charles gave a light chuckle. "He was more shocked than anything, but I think if he was truly mad, you would've known." At least the manager didn't hate her guts for what she had done. "Anyway, I need to hand out the rest of these keys to your friends. For the next several months, this home is your home. Do what you will with and in it, because frankly I doubt you could do much worse than what my band has already done to their own home."

"Challenge accepted."

"Oh, no that wasn't a-" Charles sighed in defeat and Nathalia laughed. She originally stated it as a joke, but she had planned to do whatever she wanted to begin with (as long as Dethklok didn't catch her, because she was much too awkward around them to explain her behavior, and she didn't really want to regardless).

They said their goodbyes and as Charles left the room and turned the corner, Nathalia suddenly felt very overwhelmed. Not only was she literally in fucking Mordhaus itself, about to sing with the world's own Dethklok and create an album, but she also might have a chance at becoming friends with them if all went well.

On top of that, the idea of there being about 7,000 rooms in this place (she had googled it) overwhelmed her. She was sure that a lot of them were untouchable, but there was still enough to see, almost too much to see, which was why she was feeling overstimulated.

Nathalia finally decided that wandering was much more interesting than anything else, and decided to leave her room temporarily, after locking the door shut and placing the key in her pants. As she walked down the halls, she gave short, curt nods to the Klokateers that walked by her.

She eventually stopped when she heard voices. It sounded like... Nathan. Forget butterflies, she could feel a punch straight to her ovaries that made her lightheaded. While Salem gushed over Pickles, Nathalia was obsessed with the literal male version of herself, she just chose not to show it often.

Other footsteps and whispers told her that there were more people around than just Nathan, and she was almost disappointed until she heard them all speaking in urgently hushed voices, which of course made her very curious.

"Scho, like, Schalem, huh?"

Nathan grunted, he seemed to be distracted by something.

"What's abouts hers?"

"Hers? I t'ink dat's a man, Toki," Skwisgaar's voice scoffed lightly. "He's gots no tits!"

"There ams scars undineath, maybes she chops it offs?" Toki suggested.

"Well, d'ya think maybe, they're... transch?"

There was a silence that fell over them all, and Nathalia bit her lip. Salem's identity wasn't a secret per-say, but no one would ask about it to them themselves, choosing merely to speculate. Everyone was always on the internet, fighting on what Salem could be. It annoyed the singer, because for one she didn't think it should be such an issue, and for two, she didn't want her band to be known just for 'humoring a trans person', as people would say.

"Who cares? They're not like, from our band," Nathan said in a strangely tight, cold tone. Nathalia, unaware of what had just happened a few minutes ago with Pickles, raised her eyebrow at his strange behavior.

"No, I know, it'sch juscht..."

"You're not gonna go fuck them."

"No, I mean, come on what kcinda man do you think I am?"

"A man who uhh. Fucks trans people. And then ruins their life."

"Aww c'mon, I don't thinkh Picklesch isch transch, I mean we did fuchk, but I'm not gay, and-"

"Waits, Pickle amenst trans?"

"Pickle ams trans, Toki," Skwisgaar assured the other one in a tight voice. "Dumb fuck dildoes over heres don'ts knows what he ams talkinks abouts. Makinks hims feel betters for fuckings a guy probablicals."

"H-hey-"

"No!" Nathan all but yelled, causing everyone to jump back in fright, including Nathalia. Luckily they still hadn't noticed her presence as her backing up actually put them in her line of sight, and her in their sight if they just turned their attention an inch to the right.

Nathan's face was beat red, Toki looked frightened, Skwisgaar had an unreadable expression, and Murderface gave the bigger one a meek look.

Nathan took a deep breath to steady himself. "Just stop. Alright? I don't... don't care anymore. I don't care if Pickles is uh, a man or not. Or how he's a man. He's our friend and you're like, a fucking brutal ass vampire that's just sucking all the energy out- out of him. And us. You're a goddamn mosquito." He glared down at the bassist. "I don't even know how to joke, with him anymore. Because if you didn't do what you done, maybe he could like, actually TAKE a joke or two. I- God I just-" Suddenly, he swung his fist at the wall, the very solid, rock wall, actually creating a crack that went all the way to the ceiling and causing Nathalia's eyes to go wide.

"N- Nat'ens," Toki whimpered. He had been clinging to the singer, but now stepped back, nearly falling into Skwisgaar's arms who had grabbed him and pulled him further away from the brute man.

"Fuchk dude, I didn't realische you were in love with-" Murderface stopped, realizing just how deadly serious Nathan was, and he backed away slightly. "Schorry, I'll schtop, okay?"

"No more with your shit-talking and confusing 'I don't knows' and 'Are we sures', and if you touch Salem I'll personally cata- catastrite you."

Nathalia was pretty sure the man meant castrate.

"B- but Nat'ens, you makes hims feel like shits earliers..."

"I KNOW!" Nathan practically roared, causing them all to flinch instinctively. "I fuckin' know, because I don't know how, how to fuckin' talk to him anymore! Everything's confusing and Quasimodo over here doesn't fucking help shit!"

How the fuck could Nathan know 'Quasimodo' but not half of the normal English language? It would've been funny if not for the anger building up on Nathan's face.

Ah fuck, it was funny either way, and Nathalia had to stifle a snort, covering her mouth with her hand so as to not be heard and therefore spotted.

"Well that'sch a little harsch," Murderface said, sounding offended but Nathalia couldn't properly see his face from this angle to be able to tell. "I'm juscht asch ckonfusched-"

Nathan was about to say something else when another pair of footsteps walked their way quickly, and Nathalia ducked behind the wall again just in time to hear Charles ask, "What's going on here?"

Everyone began talking at once; Murderface sounding like he was fake crying, Nathan shouting that he was done with everyone's shit, Toki wailing about how his family was falling apart, and Skwisgaar actually trying to explain the situation but in very broken English, worse than usual, due to the anxiety he was probably dealing with.

"Stop." Charles raised his hand, causing them all to quiet down, and he looked at each of them individually before settling his eyes on Nathan. "Please explain the situation to me, calmly."

"It's just, I just... FUCK!" Nathan slammed his fist into the wall again, causing the crack to get even bigger. "I want everything to be normal again. I want the real Pickles back, the dude is just fuckin' wasting away in his, his room! Worse than normal! I want Murderface to stop going between being a little bitch to whining about how Pickles doesn't like him, I want the image of them fucking, out of my head!" Nathan grabbed at his face in irritation and Charles grabbed his arm, starting to pull him away from the rest of them.

"C'mon, my office." Charles's voice was oddly gentle, and at first Nathalia compared it to talking to a child or toddler, but when she peeked her head around the corner and saw the look of genuine worry in Charles's eyes as they made their way back to where the manager had come from, she frowned. It was more soft and intimate, and it made her slightly uncomfortable.

Nathalia didn't stick around to wait for what the others had to say, though she vaguely noticed Toki dropping to his knees and sobbing while Skwisgaar patted his back, as she turned the opposite way and began to jog toward Salem's room. This was something she probably shouldn't have overheard, and this could not wait for another time to tell someone else.

She quickly asked the nearest Klokateer where Salem's room was, redirected herself the right way, and found herself at her friend's door, knocking on it sharply. There was no noise and she groaned, remembering that Salem liked to pass out after drinking a lot.

After a few more harsh pounds on the door, she decided to try the knob and found that it was unlocked. Nathalia gently opened it, seeing that the room was much brighter than hers, and much more lively with plants everywhere. It almost looked just like Salem's own room back home. There were some untouched handheld game systems on their end table, probably something Abigail suggested to Charles even though she was sure that Salem brought their own.

Nathalia gently knocked the leaves away as she walked in, seeing the little bundle that was Salem wrapped underneath a giant, fuzzy blanket. She sat on the edge of the bed and started shaking the other awake.

"Mmmm..."

"Wake up."

"Ughhhmmm..."

Nathalia rolled her eyes. "Stop fucking Pickles in your dream, damnit!"

When she didn't get a response from that, she knew that Salem was really knocked out. So she proceeded to yank the blanket off of them and pushed them roughly, accidentally causing them to fall on the floor.

"...Oops."

Salem groaned, blinking their eyes open like a precious baby lamb, completely unaware of the act of violence against their resting body. As they lifted their body and stretched their limbs without a care in the world, Nathalia was tapping her foot impatiently, waiting to be noticed so she could spill the gossip.

Finally, the shorter person's eyes fell on Nathalia. "Oh, hey."

"Hey. Pickles is trans."

Salem blinked one eye at a time as they tried to remember how to exist in this shitty mortal realm once more. "Uhhh what's that? Who?"

Nathalia stared blankly at the other. "Trans. What you are. Pickles is trans."

"Hmm? Good for her I guess." Salem rolled back into a ball on the floor to resume their sleep.

"No no no-no-no, bitch, no." She grabbed Salem's shoulder to keep them conscious. "He's not trans female, he's a trans male. I think. Fuck, I shoulda paid more attention to that conversation."

"Oh... Okay."

"And Murderface fucked him."

"Wait, what?!" This time, she had Salem's attention.

"Oh, now you care?"

"Dude, Murderface is... Murderface. Why would..?"

"I know!" Nathalia grimaced. "Anyway, the reason I was telling you, was because I thought it was cool that you're not the only trans person here."

"You thought?"

"Yeah but like... They're weird about it. And apparently Nathan had a fight with Pickles over it, and now he's mad at Murderface, and like they're all falling apart over it and shit." Nathalia finally paused to take a breath.

Salem sucked on their lower lip. "That's not good."

"I'm pretty sure Murderface is like, really transphobic, but in the dumbass "I fucked a guy but I'm not gay, so are they really a guy?" way. Which is confusing everyone else in the band, and Nathan's getting sick of it because he doesn't understand shit."

Salem sighed and pulled themselves onto their bed, just sober enough to understand the seriousness of the situation. "Well, shit."

"Also, Nathan's worried that Murderface is gonna try and fuck you because you're trans or something."

Salem blinked. "Men and their 'flawless' logic."

Nathalia nodded as she exhaled slowly.

"So basically I can't tell these guys I'm not cis... Well, it's not the first time I've had to keep it a secret." Salem shrugged nonchalantly.

"At least until we figure out more of the situation, but I don't think I was supposed to hear about any of it, so it might be hard to gather info."

"You don't think spying on a conversation was meant for your ears, huh? Listen, let's just not worry about this, alright?" Salem's eyes suddenly narrowed as they gripped their friend's shoulder just tight enough for Nathalia to know that they were not fucking around. "We can't meddle in everyone else's affairs, yeah? Especially since it's the very first day of being here. We start sticking our nose in business where it shouldn't be, and we could get kicked out. Plus, what if Pickles wants this to be really private? Us getting more involved, even if it's to be helpful, just isn't the way, fam."

Nathalia sighed, deep down she knew that Salem was right. Nathalia was more of a 'do shit first, ask questions later' person who would later have to tough out the consequences, whereas Salem specialized in tiptoeing around delicate situations such as other people's secrets and lives (even though they were a mess with decision-making over just about anything else), because they were used to living their life that way; at least until they became famous, and even then, most of their personal life went unspoken and they never delved into another's unless they came to the drummer first.

So if they said this wasn't a 'go forth with weapons drawn' kinda issue, then of course Nathalia understood and would try to refrain from doing anything rash. She wouldn't say no to any info that came her way by accident, though.

Salem scratched the back of their head thoughtfully. "It sounds like this has happened recently, and Pickles has looked the way he has for... a while now, so I'm more curious how he managed to hide it for so long, from both them and the public. He's probably got doctors right? And people in general who would prolly sell him out for a decent paycheck. I know there was a controversy about him last year or so, but they seemed to quickly cover it up and nobody even knows what it was about anymore when I tried to google, so maybe..." Nathalia almost tuned out Salem's rambling until they questioned, "We get enough hate on our own, but do you think Pickles would get it worse since he looks so 'normal' and never said anything otherwise?"

"I guess." Nathalia placed a hand on her hip as she stood up. "Maybe you can like, get Pickles to open up to you."

"I doubt it's that easy."

"Probably not, but maybe if you mention that you're trans first." She waved her hand impatiently when Salem gave her a quizzical look. "Well even though I do agree that we shouldn't butt our noses too deep into it, I don't think it would hurt to discuss that kinda shit with Pickles, if he's trans, too. Maybe it would give him a boost of confidence, ya feel?"

"I'll think about it, I don't really wanna be in someone's personal life like that, but..." Salem said honestly as they turned away, biting their lip. Nathalia knew it was a difficult situation to be put in, so she didn't push it. Ultimately, Salem knew what they were placing on the scales a lot better than Nathalia.

Salem saw the troubled look on Nathalia's face and they smiled, nudging her with their foot. "Heyyyyy."

Nathalia gave them a suspicious look. "What?"

"Pickles tucked me in."

"Shut up."

"I'm for serious."

Nathalia couldn't help but laugh. "Why, though? Did you make him feel sorry for your drunk noodle ass?"

"Eat shit and die. No, I basically passed out on him, and he tucked me in like a lovely gentleman."

"Pfft, why, does he think you can't do it yourself while you're all fucked up?" Nathalia asked jokingly.

"Hey, I don't mind being babied once in a while so I'm not gonna complain."

"That's because you are a baby. You're small like one." She smiled at Salem's playful glare. "Little tiny baby." She patted the drummer's head, causing them to swat at her. "With little baby hands."

"I'm gonna fuckin' stab you."

"No fucking balls."

Salem tousled with their friend for a bit before flopping onto the bed with a sigh. "I'm still so tired."

"At least you're sober, though."

"Don't fucking remind me." Salem looked over at her friend, checked the time on the antique looking clock on the table beside their bed, and raised an eyebrow. "I was asleep for just a little under an hour. Why would you wake me up?"

"Why the fuck would you be sleeping when you can explore the literal Mord-fucking-haus with me?" Nathalia challenged, pulling Salem off of the bed. "C'mernnn, let's go find something cool."

The two friends walked out of the room, but not before Salem noticed a key beside the stand next to the door, and grabbed it, then closed and locked the door behind them.

Nathalia and Salem walked side by side, the latter struggling to keep up using their shorter legs, and managed to find the kitchen, dining room, living-room again, Toki's room which had been left open and deserted, and finally took a break when they realized they were getting close to Murderface's room (they could tell by the knife marks on the door that said 'stay the fuck out') and decided to head back into the living-room.

Salem leaned up against the wall, their muscles aching from the activity but eyes always looking around happily and excitedly. The two had tried to find Tobias' room to see if he would join them, but it was most likely back the way they had tried going, and neither were brave enough to venture into that area in case the gargoyle-man was lurking.

Eventually after the enthusiasm had ebbed a little bit, Nathalia's mind was back on the situation from earlier. Not just about Pickles being trans (because that in of itself was mind boggling to her) but of Nathan and how he had reacted to everything.

He seemed to have been really frustrated back there, but Nathalia figured if Murderface was consistently being a confusing asshole about everything, it did sort of make sense. It also sounded like Nathan was really concerned for Pickles, because he had mentioned that the red-head was "wasting away" in his room.

It seemed like a lot more than just the two fucking and then having a falling out, it seemed like there was a lot of pent up rage between everyone, while not knowing their own stance, let alone their friend's. Nathalia bit her lip. She also had never seen someone get that angry before. It was quite a turn-on.

Bad vagina, we're not supposed to be thinking about that right now, she scolded in her mind.

Salem had begun thinking too; Nathalia could tell, because they were staring in space with their eyebrows furrowed together and their lips puckered. While they sat alone with their own separate thoughts, she heard a pair of footsteps in the living-room and she looked up.

"Ah, Nathalia, could I talk to you for a moment?" Came Charles's voice, and at that exact moment, Nathalia remembered that cameras were a thing, and that she had most definitely been caught spying on Dethklok fighting amongst themselves.

"S- sure," she ended up muttering as she followed the man down a completely different hall, leaving Salem there with a raised brow.

As they walked, Charles looked back behind him to acknowledge her. "Don't worry, you're not in trouble. I just wanted to have a chat." Unsurprisingly, this did not make Nathalia feel any better.

Just before they reached his actual office, when no one else was around, Charles turned to fully face her. "Nathan wants to know if you'd like to meet with him tonight in the recording studio and discuss lyrics. He's actually been messing with some for, ah, a while now, but since it's a collab he would like your opinion."

Nathalia blinked; this isn't what she'd been expecting. "Yeah sure, that's fine. Why drag me all the way out here to tell me that, though?"

"Well that was only partially it." He turned to rummage some papers around on a desk that was directly beside his office door, finally pulling some mail out and handing it to her. "I forgot to grab these while I was looking for you."

"You've been forgetting a lotta shit today."

"It's been a long, long day," Charles sighed.

"Indeed," she said as she looked down at the mail. It was both hers and Tobias', having taken over on the mail for him if it involved a certain someone (Abigail had probably told Charles in advance about it). After checking for the name on the envelope she confirmed that it was a suspicious looking letter, and stuffed it carelessly under her arm. "Thanks. So, what time do I meet with Nathan?"

"About nine o'clock, which gives you about three or four hours," Charles replied.

"Alright." She was about to walk away, thinking she actually got away with her eavesdropping earlier, when he called back for her.

"Nathalia?"

"Hmm?"

"Everything you heard today from Nathan," he said slowly, eyes narrowed but not menacingly, "needs to stay between you, and I'm assuming Salem."

"O- okay."

"You're not in trouble, like I said. Nathan and I are ah, just discussing the issue right now. I assure you though, I will clear the air as soon as possible. Until then, try to refrain from ah, spying, if you can help it. Or telling anyone else."

Nathalia nodded, swallowing heavily, and Charles gave a nod back. "Good. Nathan will see you soon." With that, he dismissed her, watching her scamper away with her heart in her chest. No, she didn't get in trouble, but now she had to wait anxiously for hours before having a meeting with Nathan fucking Explosion, and she really hoped that he didn't know about her spying at least.

Chapter Text

A Secret Calling by I Exist

Today was not a good day for the singer of Dethklok. It had gone from shitty, to slightly better, to shittier, and then transformed into a pile of maggot infested shit.

Waking up with a migraine and a sense of impending doom had become the norm for Nathan, but it didn't make it any less annoying to deal with, especially when he didn't know what the reason for it was. So of course walking up to, and talking to Pickles that early in the afternoon with just barely a cup of the blackest and most brutal coffee down his throat, made him very much over the day already.

Ever since the issue of last year, it was becoming more and more difficult for Nathan to actually talk to the drummer. He honestly felt guilty for it, though his pride would never let him admit that part out loud. After all, they had been close for many years (something he also refused to admit aloud), and Pickles was going through a difficult time, so Nathan slowly turning his back on the other was just adding insult to injury.

Yet, Nathan couldn't help himself, and he wasn't sure why. Did he feel uncomfortable with Pickles being trans? Was he still shocked or possibly grossed out at the idea of his bandmate fucking William Murderface? Was Murderface's blatant disregard for Pickles's feelings just because he was a confused dildo, beginning to get on his nerves? Perhaps all three? Either way, when Nathan had stepped into the alcoholic's room and saw Pickles face down on his floor, he could feel a mix of frustration and something he had barely felt before the red-head's slow descent into madness- genuine concern.

"Uuuuuuuhhhhh, Pickles?" Nathan had found himself saying to get the drummer's attention, hoping the other man would actually stir awake, then watching with pity deep in his chest as Pickles had attempted to stand up on his own.

"Heyyy, dood. 'M fineee."

Pickles was not fine. They both knew this. Everyone knew this. Even some fans had started commenting about his strange, reclusive behavior and lack of enthusiasm whenever they did a concert within the last year. How long was this behavior going to last? Forever? Better question still, how long before someone snapped and said something that they would regret?

Not long at all, apparently.

"You really couldn't hold it together until after the meeting?"

"Dude, just get help, or somethin'."

"You were already barely funt-ctioning, before all this shit."

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Nathan was just trying to help. It was killing him to see the broken look in Pickles's eyes as he drank himself to death. It was so much worse than the normal version of the band drinking themselves into a stupor, because they weren't actively trying to kill themselves (usually). Now it seemed like Pickles was purposely playing a game of Russian Roulette, seeing how far he could take his body before it finally gave out on him.

Nathan was never good at helping, though, everyone knew that. He had a shitty way with words, an even shittier way of expressing feelings, and a shittily thin level of patience as the shit cherry on top of the shit cake. Shitty, shitty, shitty, that was his favorite word for the day. Everything was just fucking shit.

Of course the horror didn't end there. No, even after getting dropped to the ground which lowkey pissed him off even more, he had to ruin it further when Pickles tried to join the fun and Nathan used a poor choice in words. Nathan's hand bled now from punching the wall multiple times on the way to Charles's office.

He never claimed to be a connoisseur of the English language (in fact, he probably wouldn't even know how to spell or say that word). But damnit, he should've had at least some decency to mind what he said. Right? Nathan swallowed heavily. It wasn't up to Pickles to choose whether or not he got offended, because feelings couldn't be controlled like that. He would know, because he'd been trying to control his own for almost a year, and it unraveled quickly due to his own mistake.

Fuck. He had punched another wall without realizing it. Charles was getting irritated at the man's violence and was beginning to drag him away with a steel grip on his arm.

"No, I don't fight g-"

Nathan had almost literally said that. Allowed that out of his mouth. There were so many better words he could've used for that situation. Dildo, douchebag, even pussy was probably not as bad. It wasn't like either of those other options were his only used insult, in fact, he'd been using them less often as the years went by, and even less when Pickles came out.

Maybe he was uncomfortable with it and didn't realize. He'd be able to tell, if they could actually fucking talk about it.

The door to Charles's office opened and Nathan was pulled inside, before it was closed again and re-locked from the inside. Nathan had his arms across his chest, jaw clenched and gritting his teeth as he tried to keep his anger under control. Charles had pretty much "Nathan-proofed" the whole room anyway, so he was no longer able to have tantrums inside of it and yeet desks out of the windows.

Charles's arms wrapped around Nathan's torso, and Nathan grunted in response. Normally he would relax into them, but he was far too pissed at himself, and at Charles, too.

"Stop. We need to, uh, talk. About this."

"You're right." Charles let go and took a step back, knowing that the brute needed space right now. "What happened?"

"Pickles needs someone to talk to. I need someone. To talk to."

"You have me though," Charles said quietly, "and Pickles-"

"Pickles is fucking dying!" Nathan's shout rang through the air, silencing the other man. "He can't just talk to his fuckin' doctor about this for the rest of his life! It's like, killing him. All he does is drink and you know he's just waiting to see if it kills him or not!" His glare punctured right through Charles's expressionless face. "None of us, can be normal around him, and I hate... hate it. I want shit back to normal!"

"Nathan-"

"NO! Listen to me!" Nathan grabbed Charles's shoulders tightly. "We're not fuckin' robots, okay? I know none of us are good with feelings or talking but Pickles obviously doesn't wanna go back to things being a secret again. It's like he feels emburrassed or something."

"Nathan, please let go."

"We've all been repessed by others and that's why we're uh, here. Doing this shit. Band shit." Nathan let go with only one hand to sweep it around the room dramatically. "Don't you always say this is a safe space for us? It isn't for Pickles!"

"Nathan, if I could just... just have a word-"

"No, wait your fucking turn!" Nathan stamped his foot like a child. As much as Nathan personally didn't want to open up or talk about gay feelings, he knew it was a necessity at this point if he wanted to save his friend, plus he was best at expressing them when he was angry and got to yell at others. "I know you're trying to help, but, you're making it an even bigger, uh, problem than it is! All you had to do was exi- claude Murderface from anything to do with Pickles, not the other way around! You don't even, even talk to him about the shitty things he says! You don't care!"

"NATHAN!" Charles spoke loud enough for the singer to calm down and shut up, before he spoke gently.

"You're right." He held up a hand before Nathan could reply. "Yes, as much as it pains me to say this, you are. I've actually been trying to figure out how to fix this, as of late." As Charles spoke he began pacing, obviously deep in thought.

"In fact, I knew from the second I said those words last year that I would regret it. Because you're right, this IS a safe place for you all. And although Murderface, ah, temporarily ruined it, he's seemed to learn to not make direct comments to Pickles himself or in public, since I've explained the consequences to him." Charles's face grew dark for a second. "So punishing you all as a whole and treating you guys like potential... 'Murderfaces', was wrong of me to do. Even worse, making it seem like Pickles was a problem. I was just worried for everyone's safety, because never before had such an attack from fans happened directly to Mordhaus, and I didn't want it to happen again. And despite there being a push for more tolerance, people don't like being 'lied to' for years, since they expected him to ah, be 'normal'. This also causes a rift of confusion for those who are on the fence with their sexuality."

Charles paused to stand next to one of his windows that looked outside, and he placed his hand on the glass as he thought. "This was a wrong alternative, but I've been thinking about how to fix it, discreetly. I know, ah, you're stressed out, and so is everyone else, but I promise I've been trying. I just don't really know how to solve the matter in question that I've caused. William is so used to the silence or the whispers (yes, I know you still sometimes talk amongst yourselves about it), he might lash out again irrationally if I allow you all to discuss it openly and with acceptance. He definitely has something else entirely wrong with him to be causing such internal problems, but it's not like he'd admit to needing help with coming to terms about things that he doesn't understand." He paused to look over at his lover, who was staring at him.

"God, you're hot when you say like, smart stuff."

Charles raised his eyebrow. "Have you actually listened to anything I've said, or?"

"Yeah, totally. You fucked up." Nathan grinned a little at Charles's annoyed expression. "But you say it so coolly."

"Hm. Is that so?"

Nathan's arms curled around Charles and hugged him tightly to his chest, surprising the manager. "Fuck yeah." Charles embraced the man back, stroking the singer's back lightly.

"Just know, I'm trying to do everything I can for you guys," Charles said softly.

An abrupt knock made them jump, and Charles was about to ignore it until they heard Toki's voice through the door.

"N- Nat'ens?" The soft whimper came out, causing Nathan to quietly groan. Toki had been so clingy lately, and it seemed like he was especially needy around the time Nathan would go to visit Charles. He couldn't blame the kid for this time though, considering he had screamed and punched the walls which obviously scared the shit out of the younger bandmate.

Nathan looked sadly over at Charles and he managed a smile, though he looked genuinely peeved, which surprised the bigger man since he rarely showed deep emotion. "Go, talk to him, maybe head into the living-room. I need to discuss something with Nathalia, anyway." Nathan sighed and unlocked the door before opening it, immediately being bombarded with hugs from Toki.

"Nat'ens, ams you okays?" He asked worriedly, big blue eyes looking up at the other from where he was clutching Nathan's torso.

"Yeah, I'm uh, okay. Let's go. Go do shit." He grabbed Toki's arm and pulled him down the hall, also slightly irked that he couldn't have just a few intimate moments alone with Charles. He was sure he could've just kept the door closed and locked and it would've been fine, but then he'd feel guilty for ignoring Toki. But this was a regular occurrence lately, which prevented them from being close like they used to, and it was driving him insane.

They headed into the living-room while Charles had left down the hall where Nathalia's room was located, but eventually Toki was tugging at the other's arm again.

"Nat'ens, are yous mad at Pickle?"

Nathan sighed quietly. "No, Toki."

Toki frowned. "Then why yous yell ats him? At everyones?"

"I'm just fustritated," Nathan assured him, patting Toki on the shoulder. "I feel shitty for yelling."

"You goes apologizes to Pickle thens, ja?" Toki insisted, pulling Nathan's arm even harder. Nathan wasn't sure why Toki was being so stubborn, until Toki looked down, cheeks flushing. "Please? I don'ts want fights anymores."

Nathan's annoyed glare softened. "I don't do apologies." He paused for a second. "But we can see how he is, I guess."

Toki immediately lit up like a firecracker and began pulling again, so Nathan allowed himself to be led by the happy man, missing Nathalia and Salem by a few minutes, who had also missed Charles a while ago, and by the time Charles reached the living-room again, they were down another area of the house.

Guess I'll just watch the cameras and see if I can find her, he thought to himself, hoping she wasn't already back in her room while he was in other places, and headed toward his office.

Meanwhile, Nathan and Toki had reached the drummer's room and knocked on it lightly, but there was no reply, not even a shuffle. Nathan attempted to open the door, but it was locked, which sent him into a fit of panic since Pickles never locked his door for the most part.

He began to pound on the door even louder, his nerves peaking. Toki looked up at the bigger man with a frightened look. "Nat'ens-"

"Shut up. Pickles!" Nathan grasped the doorknob and twisted it so hard that it snapped, allowing him to shove the door open, practically flinging it off of its hinges.

Pickles jerked upright in bed, looking dazed, then his eyes widened once he saw the mess that was once his door. "Dude, what da feck!"

"Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," was all Nathan could say.

"Why de feck would ye break my door down?" Pickles looked more astonished than angry, but the frustration was still there. "Is dat yer way of greetin' me now?"

"Uhhhhhhh, no? I just..." Nathan's embarrassment quickly turned into annoyance. "Why didn't you answer when I knocked?"

Pickles blinked. "I was tryna fuckin' sleep!"

"Oh."

Pickles sighed and laid back down on the bed, and guilt closed up Nathan's vocal chords from complaining anymore when he saw the look on the red-head's face. It was weary and old, stress wrinkles engraved into his sunken face as he stared up at the ceiling above him. "Okie, well, what'd yew want?"

Nathan opened his mouth, couldn't speak, cleared his throat, and tried again. "I just... wanted to see how you were uhh. Doing. So."

"I'm fine." Pickles didn't sound convincing, and he seemed to be avoiding Nathan's eyes when the singer got closer.

"No you're not."

"What exactly do ya want from me, dood?"

"I dunno." Not for the first time, Nathan was at a loss for words. Should he really apologize? Probably. Was he going to? He'd most likely just throw up a lot of blood then pass out. Was it worth trying? Nathan rubbed the back of his neck nervously. He didn't want to lose his friendship, so it was his best bet.

Before he could open his mouth though, Pickles had looked over at him, sat up and wrapped his arms around Nathan's waist in a sudden and awkward hug.

The brute froze, mind blank, while he stood there and allowed himself to be held. He couldn't even pull away, even though he felt very uncomfortable with the interaction. Eventually, Pickles let go and leaned back on his bed. "Don't worry aboot it. Earlier, I mean." He gave a genuine smile that actually unnerved Nathan and he wasn't sure why.

"I- I didn't even-"

"Yer face was lookin' green," Pickles said with a light chuckle.

"Oh, yeah, must've been the blood I was about to uh, vomit."

Pickles nodded quietly. "Seriously, it's okie though."

"I almost called you a girl."

"I know." Not even phased.

"You're not a girl."

Pickles didn't reply and Nathan raised an eyebrow. "Right?"

"Sure." Pickles laid back down fully on the bed, his eyes glazed over as he fell into his own little world inside his head.

"Pickles." Nathan was irritated again, and he grabbed his friend by the shoulder. "Don't shut me out. Or yourself. From... yourself."

Pickles patted Nathan's hand on his shoulder. "It's fine. I'm okie. I'm just a lil tired."

Toki was watching the two converse for a bit in the background, but finally stepped in fully to make his presence known. "Pickle?"

"Hey Toki."

"What ams wrongs?"

"Nothin' Toki, like I said. I'm tired."

Toki gave a small squeak or whimper in his throat, compelling Nathan to look over at him. It must've been a trick of the lights but he still froze in shock to see Toki's eyes flash for a second to completely white, almost glowing. The rhythm guitarist held his hands close to his chest, which Nathan realized were covered in blood, as Toki trembled. "Somet'ing... the matters..." Toki whispered, looking dazed. "I smells it on yous. Smells likes..."

"Dat's probably da booze," Pickles commented, not really noticing Toki's frightened reaction fully, or the way Nathan stared baffled at the younger one.

Nathan ended up blinking, confused mostly on what was going on, and found that although Toki was still visibly shaken by something, he didn't look all fucked up like he had originally thought, which indeed made it seem like it was just a trick of the light.

"My fathers..." Toki murmured so low that Pickles didn't hear, but Nathan sure did. "The kittys..."

"Toki, do you uh, need to go lay down?" Nathan said slowly. "You don't look, uh, good." Not as bad as the weird ass vision that the singer just had of Toki looking like a gruesome, sad zombie, but he noticed that Toki was pale and shivering and generally looked unwell.

"I- I- I..." Toki looked helplessly lost. "P- Pickle, cans I sleeps next to yous fors a bits?"

Pickles looked surprised by the request, but it wasn't an abnormal one. It just hadn't been a thing since... "Yeah, sure Toki. Are you okie?"

"I- Is fines..." Toki murmured as he climbed onto the huge bed with Pickles. "I justs needs rest, and Is don'ts want tos go backs to mys rooms right nows."

Pickles probably just assumed that Toki was still worried about him, which to be fair was true; it just held a lot more depth than just being a little concerned over his feelings.

Toki curled into a ball on the bed, his eyes looking haunted from whatever he himself had seen- or smelled, for that matter. Nathan frowned as Toki's words replayed in his head. What smell? He didn't smell anything other than the faint scent of puke and the strong scent of alcohol. And though he had only been near Toki's father less than a handful of times before his death, the dude had a musty, old person smell, not like that of an alcoholic's.

Also, what fucking cat was Toki talking about? Was it that one that Toki had ended up switching pee samples with, that ended up dying literally right after they had figured it out?

Nathan hadn't realized he'd been standing there in silence for a good two minutes before he caught Pickles's eye, who was staring at him with a raised eyebrow while Toki found his way into the other's side to nuzzle into him.

"Uh, guess I'll just leave you guys. Alone. For a while."

"Sure yew don' wanna join?" Pickles rolled his eyes. "I have a big enough bed, unfortunately." He patted Toki's head gently to show that he was just kidding around, still staring up at the raven haired man, who for some reason began to blush very, very lightly.

"No, I'm uhhh, good." Nathan shook his head, earning a chuckle from the drummer. "And about your door-"

"I forgive yew on dat, too. No worries." That smile was there again, and it made the other so unbelievably nervous for whatever reason.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, dood."

Nathan dug his nails into his own palms so hard that they began to bleed. "I talked to uh, Charles by the way."

"Aboot what?" Pickles's voice was hesitant.

"About like, you. Talking. All that gay shit." He suddenly looked away from Pickles's face. "Told him that it wasn't fair to you, uhh, having to lock up your feelings, or whatever. He said he's been trying to figure out how to help. Help fix what he did."

"...Really?"

"Yeah, like. This shit is just stressing us out. If you could talk about it with us again... or like we didn't have to pretend that last year never, never happened. Maybe you'd be happier again. Like you were that first month you... came out?"

"...How'd yew know I was so happy because of dat?"

Nathan shrugged, face flushed. "Because uhhh, even when Murderface wasn't around. Every time we'd ask questions, you'd just be happy that we were. Were invist- invested in your life. Because of shit like that."

When Pickles hadn't responded right away, Nathan turned back to his friend, to see an unreadable expression on his face. "Yew really noticed dat?"

"Well, yeah. You're my... friend. Shit you do is kinda notable. Notiacble... Easy to spot."

Pickles chuckled, but he looked oddly surprised by the statement. "Huh."

"What?"

"Nothin'." Pickles hummed and petted Toki's hair absentmindedly when the younger band member began to snore. "Well anyway, danks fer caring, 'n' shit. And fer talkin' to Charles."

"If he says it's okay, are you gonna actually talk to us about shit?"

"I dunno," Pickles admitted honestly. "I don't want... ta be de center of attention. I jest wanna be treated normally. Like dat one month. Sure ye guys asked questions, but it didn't change how yew guys acted toward me. I dunno, I guess I'm just scared dat me openin' up again isn't genna be the same... and den dere's Murderface to worry aboot."

"Fuck no," Nathan said automatically with his eyes narrowed. "Don't worry about Murderface at all. The dude says anything, I'll punch him in his fucking face. He's not allowed to be a part of this anyway. You'll get to talk to your real friends." After a pause, he added, "I don't wanna treat you differently. If you got help, I wouldn't feel the need, to. Because you'd be acting normal again."

Pickles eyed Nathan. "I don't act normal now?"

"Uhhhhhhhh, no. Even your smile upsets me because it feels so..." Nathan struggled. "Fake, but not. It's real, but I don't think it's there for the reason you're pretending it's there... For."

Pickles was surprised once more, this time by Nathan's actual intellectual observation. It shocked Nathan himself, too.

"Dood, it's jest a smile, don't look too deep into it."

"I can't help it!" Nathan groaned. "I'm like, constantly fucking thinking about you and worrying about you! There, I said it!" Nathan pouted like a small child, while Pickles looked touched.

"Nate..."

"Don't get all gay on me. I hate talking about shit."

"Den why do yew want me ta open up??"

"So you can talk, dumbass. And I can go back to listening, kinda."

Pickles rolled his eyes. "Look, I'm gonna... It's gonna be fine. I promise. Stop worryin', okie?"

Nathan huffed, but didn't say any more on the subject, not catching the redirection of Pickles's statement. "I should really get going. Uhh... I'll talk to you later, if Charles doesn't about the whole. Talking thing."

"Alright."

"Uhhh... see ya."

"Later."

With an awkward wave, Nathan left the room and closed the door as best and as quietly as he could before walking away, and was almost immediately ambushed by a phone call. Could he not catch a break today with socialization? Talking was the worst part of his day.

He wanted to be by himself for two seconds so he could freak out over the idea that he had literally admitted to being borderline obsessed with Pickles and his feelings, but no. Nathan angrily pulled his phone out of his pocket and answered it without checking who it was. "Yeah?"

It was Charles. "Someone doesn't seem happy."

Nathan gave out a long, long sigh. "Long day. What's up?"

"I know that all too well," Charles commented. "Well, anyway, I ended up telling Nathalia about the lyrics to a song you've been working on, and I told her you wanted her to look at them for her opinion."

"...Why the fuck would you do that?"

"Because I figured this would be the best way to get you two in a room together and actually discuss the album."

Nathan had a feeling that wasn't the entire reason. It was literally the first day after all, Charles normally wouldn't put the pressure on him so fast. He decided to let it go though, for the time being.

"I don't want to."

"I'm sure she didn't mean to knock you down."

"She caught me off guard!" Nathan ended up yelling, but only caused Charles to laugh on the other end. It was genuinely a calming sound. "Dick. So when do I make her look at them?"

"About nine tonight." There was still a hint of a smile in his voice.

"Fuck dude, I can't even catch a break today."

"Sorry, Nathan. Maybe you can stop by my office after and we can chat too?"

Nathan grinned, he liked the sound of that. "Fine, fine. I have a few hours to myself then. So I'm gonna use it to take a nap, since everyone else is."

"I'll be calling you to make sure you're awake by nine."

"Ugh, of course."

Charles chuckled so Nathan hung up on him and stuck his tongue out like a toddler, even though his manager couldn't see it. He was probably gonna get an earful for that later, but it was worth it.

Nathan wasn't sure when he found out he was gay, or at least interested in men. He'd probably still be in denial of liking dudes if asked, in fact, and he tried his damndest to not even have people question his sexuality. He also didn't remember when his infatuation with Charles started, but it was probably around the time after Charles had 'died' because of that weird masked dude. Realizing that the guy had survived such a brutal attack was... so hot, to him.

But Nathan hadn't acted on that slight infatuation until getting drunk and flirting with Charles, and... the rest was history. It wasn't a completely interesting story, it was just a spur-of-the-moment, happened by chance thing. Nathan didn't regret it though, because the affection was... nice.

About two years now, they had been together in secret. It was the longest relationship Nathan had ever been a part of, and the only relationship Charles ever had in his adulthood (not surprisingly). It was also the only relationship that Nathan had ever wanted to show off and be proud of, but maybe it was because he couldn't, that he wanted to so badly.

The relationship was not perfect by any means, and they constantly argued or got mad at each other, but Nathan was still extremely happy... As happy as he'd allow himself to be while still being 'brutal'.

Nathan shrugged away his thoughts like usual, choosing to walk to his room and shut the door. He looked over at his giant aquarium in his room and suddenly felt even more tired, realizing he'd been up all day talking to people and punching walls and dealing with gay feelings.

As soon as his head hit the pillow, he fell into a deep sleep.

---

Nathan was lounging around deep underwater. He couldn't breathe, but he didn't panic. He couldn't see in the darkness, but he chose not to be afraid. Instead, he closed his eyes and felt the water surrounding him, swirling through his hair.

His heart jumped in his chest and his skin practically vibrated with a sudden enormous, obvious energy that he could not ignore, and one that he didn't want to ignore, anyway. He opened his eyes, seeing that there was a light reflecting off of the water, but it didn't help him to see much better. All he could make out was a large, looming shadow, far enough away that he couldn't see the details.

Nathan knew who it was, he had seen Her before; he had talked with Her before, although he wouldn't remember outside of his 'dream state'. For now, he reveled under her attention, feeling a deep, penetrative gaze that he couldn't actually see, digging into his very soul.

For some reason, it didn't feel as warm or as comforting as it usually did, and Nathan frowned at this. He was met soon with an answer, when a rush of water pushed him back a few feet, and he felt that same sense of impending doom that he kept feeling every time he would wake up from a normally soothing dream (not that he would remember his dream and how good it was either way).

"Heed my words," a deep, alluring voice spoke. "Only expel them to one other when the time has come."

Nathan was going to ask what other She was talking about, but he couldn't speak under the water; his mouth wouldn't cooperate.

"Go forth and seek the one that ensnares all who hear their calling, the one with the voice of a thousand Siren ancestors. Tell them to be ready to face their destiny.

"Tell them to find the one who sees before it begins, who knows before they are told, to tell them that danger approaches and they cannot look away. They then must convince Death themself to steady their hand, and move forward with the message once they have bowed to something more destructive than them; who then must tell the one with lightning in their hands and flowers in their lungs to breathe life, not withhold it, and have them also pass it on to the self-sacrificial healer in preparation for something that even they cannot save with just their chaotic good but rather with their second half; who then must convince the one who has seen this path before and knows how it ends, to take it again; and finally, they must send the message to the drain of existence wielding ugliness and disorder, and convince them to believe in something bigger than themself. They must know that you are all about to face a deadly, but valuable situation, however they can only be told within this realm or similar."

Well fuck, I can't remember all that, Nathan thought to himself. Shit lady, couldn't you just like, tell them yourself? Give me some names? Explain exactly what we need to be ready for? I don't do vague prophetic shit.

She let out a quiet laugh which startled Nathan, who hadn't realized She could read his mind. "You are a whisperer of souls, but you are not ready yet to tell all, my dear. I must aid you along and point you in the right direction, for I cannot do this with everyone else since only you can speak to me, and I you. I also cannot do everything for you. Sometimes it is best to figure it out on your own, start with one, and hope that the ones you trust will help your path."

Shitty way of saying good luck, but thanks, he grumbled in his mind.

"I will be your guide until you have done your deed. I will remind you of what needs to be said to the voice of mimicry. Then it is up to the rest, to keep hold of that message."

So, do I go find the Siren lady now? How do I do that? Tell me what I need to say again?

"All in due time; the fog lifts." Nathan realized that She meant the dream was almost over. "You will not remember in your awakened state, but you will remember once you sleep again. And by the next time you lay your head down, you will know who to speak to, and how to do it."

I'm fucking crazy. Or you're fucking crazy. I can't tell anymore... but it sounds metal as fuck.

"Indeed." There was a pause. "Soon, everything will be unveiled, and your strength released. The storm is coming, the eclipse unfolds... the moon will fall, and He will stand before you in darkness's breath."

Who??

"A Destroyer of Worlds. The one you must stop, before everything dies."

Suddenly, the current swirled faster and Nathan was lost in the black.

---

As per usual, Nathan woke up with a pounding headache and feeling like the world could end at any moment. Yet at the same time, he'd found a new, foreign feeling to accompany him. Determination? Like he was on some mission he didn't know he was even on?

This confused him more than just waking up with only a sense of looming doom and this also made him become more annoyed than anything else as time went on. He tossed the sheets off of his bed with a grumble, wondering what the Hell had woken him up, when he heard his phone ringing beside his bed.

Grabbing it and pressing it to his ear after answering, Nathan grunted, "What?!"

Charles's chuckle was on the other end, which actually helped soothe some of Nathan's nerves. "It's eight-thirty, I figured you wouldn't be up yet."

"Fucking shit," Nathan grumbled as he pulled himself out of his bed and smoothed the wrinkles out of his shirt while doing so. "Just let me go back to sleep." Despite saying that, he didn't really feel tired. He just didn't want to do this meeting that he had been forced to accept in the first place.

"Later, you can take a nap," Charles assured him. "Do you have your lyrics ready?"

Nathan rubbed his eyes in irritation as he tried to remember. "...Why don't me and her just come up with new lyrics?"

"That's fine too, it was just an option. Just make sure to meet her at the recording studio."

Nathan grunted in reply and hung up as he had before, taking his time to rinse off his face then to gather his papers and recording device he used for random, brutal ideas. He finally left his room and began walking toward the studio slowly, looking down at his papers. He wasn't one to share often with other people until the final project, unless it was Pickles or sometimes Skwisgaar. A brand new person that he just met, though? That was a different story.

He heard some scuffling and looked up to see Toki fucking Wartooth on his way to meet up with him, and Nathan was quite irritated by this actually. He had nothing against the young bandmate, he was actually quite fond of him and his shenanigans. But between Charles trying desperately to meet with Nathan since they never had time to themselves, Toki almost always seemingly being in the way of that, and his own suffocating thoughts on Pickles, he barely had alone time anymore to just be with ideas that weren't about worrying over people.

Before Nathan could object to Toki coming closer, he saw Pickles coming around the corner as well, looking a bit pale but otherwise fine, and this made Nathan visibly relax. He wasn't sure what he was expecting. Maybe it was the fact that Pickles seemed to have sobered up enough to walk in a straight line, that made Nathan smile a little. Maybe it was because Toki no longer looked and acted like he had just seen a ghost that made him feel a bit better.

"Hey," Nathan greeted as they both reached the singer. "What's up?"

"We's both just wokes up and heards your loud feetstep," Toki replied, and Nathan noticed that Toki wasn't hanging off of his arm like he usually did. He still looked generally happy though, so Nathan didn't question it, it wasn't any of his business anyway. Plus he was slightly relieved to not be grabbed at right now.

"I'm not that loud," Nathan instead protested, a disgruntled look on his face.

"People cen hear ya all da way from China," Pickles commented with his lips slightly upturned.

"Hey."

"What?"

Nathan didn't really have a good comeback. "Fuck off."

Pickles scoffed, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Yew fuck off."

"I gotta anyway, gonna meet up with Nathalia. The, uh, other singer."

"I remember her," Pickles rolled his eyes. "Sorta."

Nathan snorted. "Yeah, well, we gotta share uh, lyrics and shit, so."

"So soon? We have like, eight months."

"Yeah, Charles's decision." Nathan saw the pout forming on Toki, but he made no move to grab the bigger man like he usually did when he was sulking. "What's your problem, Toki?" Nathan grunted without thinking. So much for minding his own business.

A light flush spread across Toki's cheeks and he looked away. "Nothinks. Has fun, Nat'ens!" He gave a small wave before heading quickly down the hall that led to his room, leaving Nathan flabbergasted.

"Is it just me or is the kid acting a little weird?"

Pickles looked at him oddly. "Yew really don't notice it, do ya?"

"Notice what?" Nathan demanded.

"Nothin'. I'm gettin' a snack den goin' back ta sleep, I'll talk to ya tomorrow." Then he too, left abruptly, making Nathan even more irritated.

He started heading to the studio again, pausing at the door for just a second to take a deep breath, before opening it quietly.

Nathalia was already there as Nathan had feared, and she was sitting on one of the couches with her feet tucked under her as she leaned back lazily. He stepped in, realizing just now that his feet were indeed very loud. Surprisingly, he received no reaction from her.

Once he got closer to her, he noticed that her eyes were closed and there were a pair of earphones in her ears. Nathalia's phone sat on her leg, completely open, so he took the liberty of seeing what was on it, realizing she was listening to an old song of Dethklok's. "HEY!"

Nathan obviously startled her because her first reaction was to open her eyes and swing her fist in the direction of the loud, intruding noise. Her fist caught him in the chest and Nathan had to hold back the amusement of it not hurting at all.

Nathalia ripped her earbuds out and snapped her head around to see the culprit, eyes wide when she realized it was Nathan. "The fuck, dude?"

"Hey. Uhhhh, you're listening to. One of our songs."

Nathalia looked astonished. "Fuck yeah I am, is that any reason to scream at a bitch? Damn!" She squinted suspiciously at him as he tried hard not to crack a smile at the situation.

"Did you really have to punch me, though?"

"Hey, it was your fault. I don't even feel bad." Nathalia shrugged, her cheeks slightly reddened as she settled back in her previous position. Nathan decided that arguing was probably not a good idea or to mock her for the weak punch, since it really was his fault and he didn't want to die on the hill that made him look even more like a dick than usual, so he sat next to her with his papers and recording device held tightly in his grip. She eyed the stuff in his hands, muttering something under her breath.

"What?"

"Hm? Nothing."

"Just tell me, or I'll have to scream again."

Nathalia rolled her eyes at the petty threat. "I'll just punch again. But honestly... I thought Charles was bullshitting me when he said you wanted to show me some material."

Nathan blinked. "Well he kinda did, actually."

Nathalia raised her eyebrow. "He did? Good to know. Why are you here with papers, then?"

"He told me to share."

Nathalia couldn't help but laugh a little. "He told me you wanted to share."

Nathan rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, he's a weirdo. But since he basically minpulated us to, uh, share, I guess we can. Or we can like, start new lyrics. Doesn't matter."

Nathalia hummed softly in response. "I mean, it's your lyrics so it's up to you, I guess."

"Okay."

An awkward silence fell over the two, Nathan unsure of what to do and Nathalia unsure on if she should encourage him or leave him alone and wait.

Eventually, Nathalia said, "What, uh... what kinda theme do you have going on?"

"Uhhhhhhhhhhh. Brutal. And, uhhhhhhh. Metal."

"Besides that. What kinda songs are you trying to write?"

Nathan shrugged. "I just... write whatever feels right. Sometimes I have a plan, sometimes it just feels, uh, like the ideas just come to me randomly, from what happens around me."

"Hmm."

"Hm?"

Nathalia shrugged as well. "Pretty much same, I guess. When I'm not writing about blood and guts, Tobias also helps me write songs that kinda sound like they're from a fantasy novel. They're always wild as shit and like, mystical or whatever. And of course still filled with blood and guts."

"Brutal."

"Mhm."

"Sometimes I do the same, but they usually still hold some like, truth to them. Because uh, shit happens to us on a daily basis. I couldn't make up weirder shit if I wanted to."

Nathalia smiled. "Funny thing is, kinda also same. But the shit we come up with tends to happen after we sing about it. People call us psychics for that, but I think it's just the fans reenacting shit because they're inspired by us."

"Fans will do that," Nathan agreed.

Eventually they began to discuss what type of lyrics they were going to go for, for this album, and Nathalia suggested a 'really metal way to talk about the two biggest bands coming together', which Nathan admitted sounded pretty decent enough.

"So like there's gotta be blood involved," Nathan said as he put on his glasses so he could read what he wrote down.

"Of course. I specialize in that." She pointed to the scars on her arms to prove her point, and he grunted in response. They looked like self-inflicted scars, and he could tell because he'd seen them before on other people.

"Maybe something to do with like a cool apotlypse now that we're uh, collabing."

"The start of a new era."

"Ooh, I like that. An era of blood and death. Metal."

Nathalia smiled, liking that he was genuinely listening to what she had to say. She ended up hovering over his shoulder as he wrote down a few possible lyrics or ideas.

"Eventually, uh, we're gonna put it all together but right now I want to figure out where it's leading," Nathan explained.

"Of course."

"So, blood... apoclypse... hmm."

"We could totally like, make something about the next blood moon eclipse and how our powers of metal and brutality causes the apocalypse."

"You had me at blood moon," Nathan growled. "Let's do this shit."

After an hour of swapping ideas and writing all over the papers he brought (aside the one he had already been working on), and swapping between lines, they checked their work. They had half of a verse done, which was actually quite a bit of progress. Nathalia insisted going first, then Nathan:

The bloody sky casts a shadow on your crime,

The prediction that we can't outrun this time.

A thousand years of shame while lurking in wait,

Our eyes cast down to listen to their fate.

"Pretty good," Nathalia commented, looking proud of herself that she managed to come up with an idea that Nathan liked, however after he had started getting into it, he felt that there was something off about the lyrics. It didn't particularly flow with one thing or another like they had been discussing, and it even seemed like Nathalia was pulling to one side while Nathan to another, but perhaps that would be fixed or make sense in time.

Both nearly jumped out of their skin when someone shoved the door open and they turned to see Salem's red face, panting heavily from obviously running. Their shirt was twisted awkwardly around their stomach and sweat shined on their face.

"Sorry to... hah... interrupt," Salem wheezed, "but Tobias is having another seizure."

Nathalia gasped and stood quickly, following Salem out of the door and leaving Nathan confused. Could today get any more hectic?

He followed her down the hall after some hesitation, hearing a few shouts or exchanges of words from Klokateers nearby but not fully concentrating on them. Salem led them into the living-room, where Tobias laid on the ground, staring up at the ceiling into an unseeable abyss.

"I didn't know what to do," Salem admitted as they paused beside Tobias's body and looked back at Nathalia. "The Klokateers had already gone to get Charles and a medic but it was getting so bad..." Upon further investigation, the two singers noticed that a table had been kicked over or something along those lines, the couch had been shoved out of place, junk and the stands that held them were on the ground, and there was a light film of drool along the side of Tobias's mouth.

"Is everything alright?" Charles asked as he entered the room and noticed that Nathalia and Nathan were also there. "Someone mentioned to me a possible seizure?" He looked down at Tobias and then around at the surroundings with a raised eyebrow. "Are you ah, sure that's what it was and not something else? It looks like a tornado came through here."

"Yeah dude I watched him start his tremors and shit," Salem said as they crossed their arms, looking offended at the idea of Charles doubting them. "He gets pretty violent during them and the doctors say he has the most severe kind but they're not sure what causes his."

"I see, I was not aware of this."

Salem shrugged, distracted by more footsteps coming in and lifting their head to spot Toki, Skwisgaar, Murderface, and Pickles, followed shortly by the two lesbians of The Excommunicated. They raised an eyebrow to this, their eyes meeting with Pickles's almost immediately, unbeknownst to the rest of them.

"Why uh, are you all here?" Nathan grunted.

"We heards some crashes and comes runnings," Skwisgaar explained. "Mordhaus ams too bigs to get heres fast enoughs sometime."

"I heard them too and then thesche two aschked me if I made the noische," Murderface scoffed, as if he had never pulled a prank before in his life to cause a disaster as loud as this.

Pickles didn't respond to the question, but everyone assumed he had been asked as well and then followed the rest out here.

"We had headphones on so we didn't hear anything, but we did happen to see everyone running," Ivy chimed in.

"Great so in conclusion, you really didn't need to come get me," Nathalia complained, and Nathan looked at her oddly since she seemed so peeved. "Everyone and their mothers were already planning on fucking coming."

Salem gave her a look of irritation. "My bad for warning you that our friend and band member was flopping on the floor like a fish. Figured you'd like to know about his health."

Nathalia scoffed, looking away from the situation. This irked Nathan, extremely. Was that how he acted whenever his friends were hurting or in trouble while he was busy? He didn't think so, but... Before it got any more awkward, Charles cleared his throat, nodding to the floor and everyone looked down to see Tobias stirring out of his daze. He slowly sat up, eyes having a slightly milky look to them, and looked stiffly around the room. "What... what happened?" He managed to groan as he came back to the realm of the living.

"Another seizure," Salem said quietly.

"Oh, figures." Tobias seemed to compose himself at first, but then became a little nervous when he saw that everyone was in the room, eyeing him. "I'm, I'm good guys."

"Well then why the fuchk are we all here?" Murderface complained, folding his arms over his chest. Pickles rolled his eyes slightly, which the bassist happened to see, and he glared at him. "Ghot a problem?!"

"Nope, yer definitely not my problem anymore," Pickles muttered so low that only a select few could hear, and being the first to leave, heading back to his room or at least Nathan assumed as much. Ivy and Raven knelt down to their friend's level.

"You good?" Ivy asked, causing Tobias's eyes to clear up a little bit more at the sight of his good friends. "Need anything?"

"Nah, thanks," Tobias replied calmly with a light smile. His face had a bit of a permanent droop to it like a sad puppy, so Nathan couldn't tell how honest the guy was being, but it had to have been normal enough for the people who knew him well because they both nodded and stood, resorting to hanging around the background until they felt it was safe to leave.

Before Toki left as well, he asked Tobias, "Ams you sure yous okays?" Earning a nod and gentle smile from Tobias, Toki seemed satisfied enough and began to walk back to his room, grabbing Skwisgaar as he did so and pulling him along. Nathan frowned a little at this, always having been the one Toki physically grabbed all the time because nobody else tolerated it as much and Skwisgaar especially hated the contact from Toki. Yet this time Skwisgaar allowed it, even looked happy about it, and it made Nathan feel...

"Scho, isch thisch like a regular acckuranche?" Murderface questioned as he watched Tobias shakily stand up and brush his hair back behind his shoulder.

"Nah, just once in a while." Tobias shook his head as he talked and then winced. "Should probably go lay down."

Nathalia sighed like she had been forced to accept this role, but she didn't look angry, only slightly disgruntled as she was about to force his arm around her shoulders and help walk him to his room, but he took a shy step back. "I'm okay, really. You can keep doing what you were doing, since-" he paused to dart his eyes between her and Nathan, "...I apparently interrupted something."

"How'd you know?" Nathan grunted before Nathalia had a chance to speak.

Tobias tilted his head, smiling a little as he saw the look on Nathalia's face. "I speak angy Nat."

Nathalia whacked at him with her hand but not enough to do any damage, though it looked like she was actually trying to. "Don't call me that!" Her face was flushed a deep red.

Tobias chuckled in a somewhat soft voice as he headed slowly toward his room with Ivy and Raven following behind 'just in case'. Those two were not very outspoken as they originally seemed, acting like they kept to themselves mostly, but were very obviously concerned for their friend and bandmate.

Nathalia looked a little peeved now that Tobias had rejected her offer and stamped her foot before calling out, "Hold on!" She turned to Nathan and said, "uhh, I guess we can worry about the lyrics another time. See ya."

Nathan nodded, watching her disappear down the hall, then realizing awkwardly that there were only a few people left, that being Murderface, Salem, and Charles, aside from himself. Murderface was staring hard at Salem very noticeably, but the other either pretended not to notice or really was that oblivious because either way they looked pretty disturbed about something. "I'm going to bed," Salem announced, walking quite hurriedly down their own path to their room.

"Me too," Murderface said and began walking the same way Salem did.

"William."

"Hmm?"

"Your room is that way."

"Oh right right, my bad." Murderface reluctantly scurried toward his own room, and the only two left, besides the Klokateers attempting to clean everything up, were Charles and Nathan.

Without a word, Charles motioned Nathan to follow, and they began to head in the direction of Charles's office.

About thirty minutes later, Nathan found himself laying on his back on the couch that Charles kept in his office, his fingers scratching the top of Charles's scalp lightly as the older man leaned against the singer's chest. Nathan's eyes drooped, suddenly feeling very tired again, when Charles opened his own and looked up at the bigger man.

"How did it go with Nathalia?" Charles asked quietly. The two hadn't really spoken once they reached the office, simply resorting to a much-needed cuddle session.

Nathan shrugged a little in response. "Wrote some stuff down. She has a different... style than mine."

Charles smiled and lazily pulled Nathan in for a kiss, who happily accepted. When they parted, Nathan admitted, "I think she was a little annoyed that our uh, session was cut off so fast."

"Hmm, yes, but I imagine she would've been just as annoyed if it was a more serious situation with Tobias and hadn't been told," Charles stated, and Nathan nodded quietly.

"I've never even known someone to have that uh, see, si... that. That thing."

"Seizure? It can be a very scary thing to witness. Luckily it seemed to have finished by the time we all got there. I think one of the medics ended up following Nathalia, Ivy, Raven, and Tobias to his room, which is a good idea in case it happens again."

Nathan hummed quietly in response and squeezed Charles to his chest. "Door's locked?"

"Nobody will bother us."

"Good, I'm probably gonna pass out and I don't wanna move."

"I don't want you to move either."

Nathan leaned his head back on the plush couch and closed his eyes. Charles wasn't emotionally repressed through force like Nathan was, he just didn't feel much emotion at all. To hear the man admit it himself had been a shock to the singer, but he went along with it expecting it to be an exaggeration. It wasn't. Not that Charles was a legitimate robot with zero feeling like the band always made fun of him for, he just was slow with the more appropriate reactions.

He sympathized with Pickles's predicament at first but he began to be more annoyed with the situation than anything else, especially as of late, and Nathan wasn't sure why. He definitely did not handle Toki's whining and general childlike behavior. Though he would very often still soften up for the boy. And the band's general problems were not met with a lot of immediate concern unless it was related to business affairs.

Nathan was the only person he relaxed around. The one he expressed the most to, and the one who brought Nathan's emotions out more too. They were both emotionally stunted in different ways, but together they seemed generally like... normal jack-offs. And it felt so nice, because he didn't have to strain himself to pretend to have no emotional capabilities.

Maybe this was why Nathan felt so... happy. Not that he would ever admit to gay feelings, not even to Charles, but still.

Nathan's body slowly relaxed with his arms cradling Charles, as he began to drift off into sleep.

Once his consciousness had slipped into the dream-world, all Nathan could think of was the rest of his band members, aside from Ivy and Raven. Their faces flooded his mind as he heard the water beast's voice whisper in his ear.

"Do you know? Do you know the one that ensnares all who hear the calling?"

I do.

"How?"

Their faces swirled around in a circle while Nathan went through each of them. Skwisgaar could barely speak well and usually was more convincing with his looks or actions than his voice. Nobody ever really paid much attention to Toki. Pickles was having a lot of difficulty in the 'communication' department specifically right now. Murderface was usually censored in the media for a reason, and it wasn't because everyone loved him and what he had to say. Nathan didn't know Salem well but they just didn't seem to have a level of confidence in speaking. Ivy and Raven had a lack of just appearing in general, and didn't seem to want to be a part of much of anything so long as they were together, which was endearing but didn't help Nathan. He just really didn't feel their energy at all with this. And Tobias was definitely intriguing in his own way and seemed a bit on the intellectual side, but he too was quiet about it and a bit skittish.

Then, Nathalia.

"...The shit we come up with tends to happen after we sing about it. People call us psychics for that, but I think it's just the fans reenacting shit because they're inspired by us."

What if it wasn't just the fans being crazy dildoes, though?

A bright orange light flashed before the moon came into his view; huge and mysterious as it loomed over him as well as the silhouettes of his friends that had appeared beside him at some point. The moon seemed to grow redder and redder, while the ground surrounding him trembled slightly. He noticed pyramids in the background as the ground turned to sand which seemed to stretch on forever in front of him. Then it all began to shake again when a flash of lightning struck the pyramids. Skeletal remains began rising up from the ground, though it didn't really startle him as much as it should have. He heard Her speaking again.

"Your song will start the beginning of a new life for you and everyone else. However, it will come at a price. The death of a love, and the betrayal of a friend. As well as the rise of a demon who has been watching you for quite some time, a demon that collects souls and crushes them." As She spoke, one of the shadows flickered like a broken hologram before it solidified in color, showing Nathalia's body.

Her steely gaze looked off into the distance to look at something that Nathan couldn't see, eyes smeared in black makeup and wearing a ripped cape the color of a stormy sea with a crown of rat skulls placed on her head.

"Go to her, find her. Help set her on the path to saving the world, and your lives."

Chapter Text

A month earlier...

Charles sat beside his window with a glass of red wine in his palm, swirling it around and pondering the situation. There were so many issues coming up and he'd be lying if he said that most of them were actually important to him and his business affairs.

He just didn't have the capacity to directly feel as much as others did. He'd cried before, he laughed, he could be generally happy or annoyed and maybe a little sad. But the depth of his emotions stopped where he no longer became actively aware of them. They sat in the back of his mind, because intelligence, logic, and most importantly work, took the front seat most of the time; putting him on autopilot, preventing the emotions from running through his body properly. He accidentally forgot about them by pushing them away from prioritizing his work over his heart. Perhaps he really was a robot.

This also made it hard for him to sometimes feel empathy for a situation he felt was logically proven to be a lost cause or to have an easy solution to, which was partially why everything had gotten messier to begin with, because logically, he should realize that not everyone was like him and thought the same way; some people prioritized their feelings and ego, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing, it just wasn't how he worked. Charles sighed as he placed his wine down and pressed his hands to his face.

The door made no sound as it swung open, but Charles could still feel the presence of another person walking in. "Hello, Abigail."

"Charles." Sharp, precise footsteps clicked against the floor. "Everything alright?"

"No." Charles sighed as he lifted his head from his hands, looking up at the pretty manager for the band The Excommunicated. "What do you have for me?"

"It's not looking good." Her cool blue eyes stared through Charles's face, arms crossed over her suit shirt and soft curls against her face. "I'm sure you'd expect that, though."

Charles exhaled deeply once more, picking up and draining his wine in one go before heading to the side of his desk to pull out a bottle of whiskey. He needed something stronger. "So there's no way around it. The prophecy's set in stone."

Abigail looked away, lips pressed into a thin line as she thought. "Every step we take just propels us closer. If we chose to do nothing, it would still be the answer. It's inevitable, the only thing that has a possibility for change is the ending, based on what they choose to do ."

Charles pressed his hand against his chest, feeling the cold emptiness inside of him that had been there since being raised from the dead. "I don't understand. Ishnifus called me the Dead Man. He said I was important. He wanted me to be his successor."

Abigail gave him a quick look of sympathy, before stepping around the desk as well and taking the booze from him after he had poured himself a drink, choosing to gulp from the bottle itself. "It wasn't confirmed that it was about you. It wouldn't make sense for you to die when, like you said, you already have a quest to fulfill."

"Yes, but in all fairness, being his successor was never part of the prophecy." Charles turned back to his window to look out of it. "And it never said my part would continue on permanently."

"You talk so calmly about your potential death, but your face doesn't agree with your tone."

"At this point, I'm ready for death," Charles stated, taking a swig of his drink, "but my boys aren't." Abigail raised an eyebrow and though he wasn't looking at her, he knew she was waiting for him to continue. "They don't know how to take care of themselves. Hell, they're falling apart at the seams with me here, I can't ah, imagine if I were gone."

"They'll figure it out. And my band will be there, too. They're not the smartest sometimes, but..." Abigail hesitated. "Besides Tobias, he's pretty level-headed. They all mean well, and they know at least how to survive. Plus once they're together is when the prophecy really begins, which is really out of all our hands at that point, including their own for a little while. But only a little."

"I know." Charles frowned lightly as he looked down at his drink, his head pounding but not from the alcohol. "I just..."

"You care about them." It was a statement, a fact, not a question, and Charles nodded his head quietly, knowing he couldn't deny it. "Granted you're not the most lovable person to be around, you've said so yourself, but you still have feelings. You're still human." She patted his shoulder gently, and he hummed softly in response. "Then there's Nathan..."

Charles winced and if he still had a beating heart, it probably would've skipped into his throat. "I told you that in confidence, that doesn't mean you have the right to speak on it every chance you get."

"Sorry, personally I'm just kinda psyched about it." Charles raised an eyebrow and she smiled. "You two look really good together." Then her face turned serious again. "I know you're scared for him."

Charles stood abruptly, the booze sloshing everywhere as he walked to the opposite end of the room, placing his forehead against the wall. The room was silent as he struggled to figure out how he was going to word this. "I... I'm being selfish about this. I'm not just worried about leaving him behind, I'm worried about him moving on. I'm worried about being just a memory to him. A temporary, secret lust between two men. A 'what if' scenario that I've been a part of for too long because I haven't taken this seriously. I want him to admit his total, unrequited love for me even beyond death when I can't even hardly express myself to him currently and seriously."

Looking back at Abigail, Charles studied her stunned expression. "He's only told me he loves me a handful of times, maybe not even, and I've answered back even fewer times. And yet, I expect him to be more open about his feelings and be devoted to my soul when I'm no longer here?" Charles laughed in sudden coldness.

"I feel as though I'm only further constipating both of our feelings in the long-run because my brain doesn't work normally. I can feel emotions, they're just too far away for me to grasp sometimes, then they hit me all at once..." He gripped at his suit around the chest area and shuddered. "I've seen the way Toki looks at him. And I think sometimes Toki feels too much and is too naive for his own good, but I also think that sometimes, that's what Nathan needs. Nathan is at his best, his most vulnerable, his most kindest, when he's with Toki. He allows himself to feel even more than he does with me, and enjoys things. I mean, he seems happy with me too, but there will always be a barrier because I can't encourage those feelings to the best of my ability, I just help him bottle it all up a lot of the time by leading by example."

Charles took a deep breath to steady himself. "This makes me even more selfish, because I want Nathan all to myself, I want things the way they are now even though it's confusing how to express emotions, and I can't stand Toki's clinginess even if it actually helps Nathan realize that expressing emotion is okay. Sometimes Toki encourages Nathan and Nathan even gives me credit for it just because we're dating, and I feel both bad but proud..." He gritted his teeth as he remembered looking back at some of his cameras about a year ago and seeing Toki enter his office before running away from the sight that fell over his eyes.

It didn't even bother him that Toki found out, because he knew the young band member would never mention it (at least not with ill intent), what bothered him was the idea that Toki proceeded to become even more unbearably close to Nathan after seeing the brute and the manager together.

Abigail leaned against the wall, still by Charles's window, as she watched him carefully. "I can see your mind is preoccupied with other worries than just the end of the world."

"Hm." Charles managed to compose himself, those bubbling emotions simmer as they faded to the background once more, and instead gave her a blank gaze, though he wasn't about to deny what she said. "There's so much going on. A lot that I need to fix before I go. That I need to fix with Nathan, with Toki, with Murderface, with Pickles..." He twitched at this. "I'm afraid I ah, won't have time for everything." He needed to at the very least allow Nathan to feel, even if he personally had to fake it to teach him that it was okay. He needed to fix the issue with forcing Pickles to repress his emotions. He really just needed to stop teaching his boys that bottling up his feelings, like he did, was a good thing. He needed to try and prepare them all for his inevitable departure; even if it wasn't him in the prophecy, he couldn't be around forever. He needed to stop being so selfish for once.

"Hey, who knows. It doesn't specifically state that the Dead Man you know... dies again." Abigail shrugged. "It says that the one that blesses the eight will be the one to start the process, with their death. You already technically died, and it seems a bit egotistical for you to think that automatically means yourself. You haven't even met my band, to bless them." She grinned to show that she was just joking, but her thoughts were valid nonetheless.

"Very true, though one could argue that allowing your band to meet mine is a blessing itself, since you've told me they're big fans." His eyes lit up with mild amusement, though his face remained stony, grave, old. "In the end, we'll find out." He closed his eyes and sighed quietly. "And there's nothing we can do to stop it. So I might as well be prepared." Abigail went to stand beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder as they both looked up at the ceiling, sending a silent prayer to the Gods to watch over their beloved bands.

Currently...

Charles listened to the soft, steady breaths of his lover, feeling relaxed after a very long, stressful day that was no doubt stressful to Nathan as well. Strong arms wrapped around his torso as the singer held him close, the only sound being a gentle snore once in a while. It would've been a peaceful time to also get to sleep, yet he couldn't close his eyes.

Ever since Charles had begun to 'express' himself more (usually with exaggerated responses to various situations), Nathan had been opening up more, too. Charles originally thought it to be a good idea, but now he was worried about Nathan being too emotionally vulnerable, especially if, or rather when, Charles passed... if he even could. No one was particularly sure if he could die again, or what kind of powers might bestow upon the enemy that would make his mortality or immortality irrelevant anyway.

But Nathan seemed even more happy than before, and Charles couldn't take that away from him. He also knew it wouldn't be a good idea to become a more closed off person than he'd been acting and confuse Nathan again. Everyone could see that Nathan was becoming even more open and honest with his feelings than ever before (even if it was mostly in the form of rage as he learned to deal with painful emotions), and if he screwed that up, he would never forgive himself. Charles may not be in touch with most of his emotions on a deep level, but regret was one he knew all-too-well.

Charles sighed and pried himself gently out of Nathan's grip, choosing rather to stand and pace in his office for a while, head swarming. So much to do, so little time...

After about three or four hours of pondering, with Charles not even realizing how much time had passed, he felt his resilient legs finally weaken from the strain of continuously walking, and he buckled underneath his own weight. He grabbed at his desk as he tumbled to the ground, causing one of his good lamps to fall and break as well as papers to scatter everywhere.

There was a sharp snort from the bigger man and then Nathan's head lifted up slowly and with confusion, eyes falling on the older man as he struggled to stand. Charles was fit and strong, but the stress and lack of sleep, plus circling the smallish spaced office, for about four hours was enough to cripple him at least for a moment.

"Charles?" Nathan grunted before hoisting himself onto his feet and stumbling over to where the other man was. Charles had already gotten himself most of the way up, but Nathan placed a hand against the small of his back in support anyway. "What happened?"

Charles shook his head, leaning against Nathan to feel the body heat radiate off of him in waves. "I just... slipped."

"Why are you even, uh, up?" Nathan grumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He then gripped Charles's waist and pulled him close, letting their chests rub together. Charles sighed and rested his head against the singer's neck.

"Couldn't sleep."

"You'd think you'd be able to, after all that shit from earlier," Nathan commented as he stroked Charles's back lightly. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I was just thinking." Charles couldn't explain it to him, not yet. Maybe not ever.

"You're thinking at uh, like-" Nathan paused to look at the imaginary watch on his arm, "-six in the morning or something."

"It's not that late-"

"You look like you haven't even tried... tried sleeping." Nathan pulled Charles away enough to be able to look him in the eye. "Something's up."

Charles patted Nathan's cheek gently. "It's nothing to be concerned over."

"Well too fucking bad, I'm concerned." Nathan's eyes narrowed, scowling slightly at the older man. "Talk to me before I put you through the wall."

"Ah yes, because violence solves everything for you," Charles said dryly. He didn't mean it to sound so harsh, but he was always irritated when being begged for an answer he didn't want to give.

"Uh yeah, because uh, not talking about shit solves. Shit. For you," Nathan mocked, finally letting go of Charles to take a step back. Charles missed the warmth but he was actually getting fairly annoyed now to bother getting upset about that.

"It actually does, thank you very much." Charles's face fell into its natural cold, rigid state as he stared into Nathan's eyes. "It's none of your business, nothing you could help me with either. There's no point in talking about it."

Nathan actually looked hurt for a moment before he stared back with an equally cold stare. "Fine, you can sleep by yourself for tonight!"

"Good, you're annoying to sleep with anyway!" Charles scoffed.

"Whatever." Nathan turned away, avoiding looking at Charles at all costs. "Fuck off."

"Nathan... I'm sorry," Charles said genuinely as he grabbed Nathan's shoulder to stop him from leaving. He could have said a lot worse but he was glad he didn't now, with how strange Nathan reacted to just that. "That was a rude thing for me to say, please don't walk away." He pulled on Nathan's arm and when he was met with a forceful shrug, he chose instead to stand in front of the man, realizing with dismay that his eyes were watering as he glared down at the businessman. "Oh..."

"Fuck off," Nathan repeated in a growl, refusing to acknowledge that he was crying as he blinked furiously.

Charles ignored his request, choosing rather to grasp Nathan by the shoulders and pull him closer. "I'm sorry," Charles whispered, rubbing circles against Nathan's skin and watching the raven-haired man twitch as his face seemed torn between being pissed off and being sad. Nathan tried to pull away again, his head turned so he didn't have to look at Charles. "I didn't realize..."

"I just wanted to know what was wrong," Nathan muttered back. He didn't sound as angry or upset, he just sounded tired.

Charles looked at him with sympathy. "I just don't want to talk about it Nathan- can't you respect that?"

"I'm tired of everyone shutting everyone out," Nathan mumbled. "I'm not good at this, uh, gay feeling shit, but..." He sighed and rubbed his temples lightly. "I don't want to go back to closing it all off. Emotion is so fucking brutal."

Charles moved his arms so that they were around Nathan's waist, chin on the other's shoulder until Nathan was relaxed enough. "I was worried about what would happen with you and the rest of the band when I'm gone." He wasn't sure why he decided to blurt that out, but he felt like he owed Nathan that much.

"Gone? Where ya going?" Nathan looked genuinely confused. Oh sweet summer child, Charles thought with an inward sigh.

"I mean when I eventually die."

"You're dying?!"

"No, not right now-"

"Quick, let's go get a medic-"

"Nathan!" Charles grasped at the brute's face to keep him rooted in place. "I'm not dying, yet. But we all die eventually, and I'm not immune to that." At least, he didn't think so. "I'll probably end up passing on you, and I'm just worried about making sure you guys can ah, survive without me."

Nathan chewed on his lip carefully, not sure what to say. Charles plucked the lip from his teeth and whispered softly, "I told you to stop doing that," before leaning in to give Nathan a kiss. Nathan wrapped his arms around the other almost immediately in a tight grip, practically choking all air out of Charles as he kissed back, lips trembling against the other's.

When finally they pulled away, Nathan murmured, "You can't leave me. Ever. I'll bring you back every time." When Charles looked up at Nathan again, the tears were free-falling this time and Nathan seemed not to be ashamed of them. Charles gently wiped them away, until Nathan grasped his hands with his own and growled forcefully, "Do you hear what I'm saying?! You're not ever leaving, not until I say you do!"

"Yes Nathan," Charles said quietly as he squeezed Nathan's hands and then cradled them to his chest. "I hear you."

Nathan took a deep breath, the tears disappearing as quickly as they started, resorting to pulling Charles closer to him and cradling him sweetly. It made Charles's dead heart ache almost.

"I'm sorry I upset you earlier," Charles spoke as he nestled his face in the crook of Nathan's neck.

"Hm? About the annoying thing? That wasn't really what set me off." Charles raised an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation, so Nathan sighed. "I mean yeah it pissed me off because fuck you and your lame insults." Charles smiled a little at that. "I just... when you insult in general, I mean, uh, fuck..." Nathan groaned as he tried to explain himself. "Fuckin' feelings and shit. This is gay." Charles waited patiently for him to continue. "...You'd rather insult me, which you. You don't normally do, than just tell me what was wrong. That's what upset me."

"Ah, I see. You thought I'd prefer resorting to insults than explaining anything to you because perhaps it looked like I didn't trust you, and it offended you. I'm still sorry about that." Charles pressed a kiss to Nathan's jawline. Another thing to add to his pile of lifelong regrets. "You're a very cute-"

"Nngh."

"-sorry, you're a very handsome ball of annoyance." Charles smiled lightly while Nathan rolled his eyes. "Do you forgive me?"

"I guess," Nathan grunted, but there was a light twinkle in his eye. "If you come back to bed with me?"

"I thought you wanted me to sleep by myself?" Charles rolled his eyes, but allowed himself to be dragged over to the couch again.

"Fuck off," Nathan stated, settling himself on the bed before pulling Charles on top of him. "Just don't call me annoying again. Or I'll be even worse next time."

Charles gave a soft laugh, a very small and quiet one but an actual genuine one nonetheless. He buried his face into Nathan's tough yet soft-to-the-touch chest and pretty soon, sleep had taken over the both of them.

There was a whole prophecy to deal with, but Charles figured it could wait another day.

Chapter Text

Sunlight burned so harshly that it seemed to char Tobias's very bones. Yet he was cold, as wave after wave of nausea filled his throat, the screams of the damned and the undead swarming through his ears. He felt a chill down his spine before a skeletal hand with flesh falling off of it scraped against his bare feet. He took a step away to try and avoid it, but it hurt his body to move.

The only thing he could properly use was his hands, which were on his guitar. He was playing riffs he never remembered in any of the songs he'd ever played before, and in the distance, he could hear other instruments joining him.

Tobias squinted up into the sun, watching it flare brilliantly, as he played. It looked like it was getting closer, or maybe it was just swelling up and getting bigger, or even maybe it was a trick of the light. He didn't have time to think about it before the world fell into sudden black. He could no longer hear the undead's cries or see their twisted features, but he could still feel them, trying to climb up his body. Aside from touch, it felt like all of his senses had dulled or were being suppressed, or like he was being submerged in water.

Then there was light again... but a different kind of light. The moon stared at Tobias, bright and blood-red. He could see seven shadows looming far in the distance, and the sounds of a song so painfully out of tune, a song he had never heard of before that made Tobias drop to his knees with anguish, even though he was part of the cause for the song, since he never stopped playing. It just sounded so haunting and evil by nature.

The moon seemed to drop lower and lower to the Earth below until it felt like Tobias was so close to touching it, then seemed to dissolve into black matter; reappearing as a brand new silhouette in front of a growing light, that raised goosebumps for him. The last thing he remembered was hearing a man's laugh echo in his ears while the undead began to swarm once more...

Tobias's eyes slowly focused on the world around him, his 'dream' already long forgotten though it had happened merely seconds ago.

Everyone was talking and being loud. It made Tobias's budding migraine worse as he sat up slowly, trying to focus on his surroundings. He heard himself ask what had happened, his mind coming up blank. He couldn't even remember what he was doing before he had passed out, or why he was outside of his room, since he wasn't that much of a social person. The sunlight coming from the window in front of him caught his eye while blinding him temporarily, but his mind became distracted again when everyone began to bombard him with questions or complained about one thing or another.

He found himself shuffling back to his room, trying hard to insist to the others that he was fine and that there was no need to follow him or worry about him. He wasn't very comfortable with people fretting over him, because frankly he was pretty good at taking care of himself and in fact was so responsible, Abigail usually had him in charge despite Nathalia being the leader, because he had such an instinct of making sure everyone else was good, too. To be fretted over made him somewhat feel small, though he did in general appreciate the thought.

Eventually Tobias found himself on his bed and after a moment of staring into nothingness, his eyes finally focused and the fog in his head lifted. He looked up to see Nathalia, Ivy, and Raven staring back at him with a raised eyebrow; the medic and Klokateer must have left.

"You good?" Ivy asked again.

Tobias thought for a moment, feeling his headache disappear. "Yeah," he said. "I'm good."

Nathalia nodded. "Good." Of course, it was like her to take over on a conversation that she hadn't even started. "Ivy, Raven, can I talk to him privately for a sec?"

The two looked at each other, and Tobias noticed Ivy roll her eyes. They weren't often considered in group meetings by Nathalia, because Tobias knew that Nathalia had a thing for being attached and clingy to very few people and everyone else would always be at arm's length, never any closer. Though Tobias tried his best to include them himself, or Salem would try as well, however it seemed Ivy and Raven were usually past the point of caring and would normally decline these days. The two friends watched Ivy and Raven walk out quietly before Nathalia turned to Tobias with wild excitement in her eyes.

"I gotta tell you something."

"Oka-"

"Pickles is trans."

Tobias blinked, unsure on how to deal with this new information. "Good for her?"

"No, not- jesus fucking christ." Nathalia facepalmed. "No no, he's a trans male, or whatever the fuck. At least I think. Fuck."

"Oh, wow. Uh, how do you know?" Tobias questioned as he stood up from his bed to stretch his limbs, still eyeing Nathalia. He had a feeling...

Nathalia grinned. "I kinda overheard some shit." Yep, there it was. "Anyway I already told Salem, and I wanted to tell you too so you could help me."

"Help you with?"

"You gotta convince Salem and Pickles to date so they can talk more about their trans shit, and then I can get more info that way."

"Jesus Christ, why not just ask him?" Tobias spoke as he shook his head.

"Uhhh, because I just fucking said I overheard it, meaning that I'm not supposed to even know. It sounds pretty hush-hush, and seems like it has to do with Murderface or some shit- oh and by the way Pickles and him fucked- and I wanna find out all the details, which might only happen if Pickles and Salem get close enough to talk about being trans. Like, close close. Like, 'I'll suck your cock' close." Nathalia finally stopped talking long enough to actually take a deep breath while grinning at Tobias.

Tobias gave her one of his signature unamused blinks, his face blank as he tried to process all that was said. He could go on and on to her about how selfish it was to force two people to date just for some juicy gossip, but he'd rather not waste his breath on things when he'd never actually be listened to. So instead, he said, "Okay, so... I get, sort of, trying to convince Pickles to date Salem, but why do I need to convince Salem? They're so obsessed with Pickles that if the dude asked them, they'd probably marry him right now."

Nathalia gave a small pout. "Yeah I thought so too but they're kinda hesitant on talking to Pickles about it. And they also don't wanna 'intrude' or whatever on Pickles's personal life. Like uhh, Pickles literally fucked Murderface. He can handle a little talky talk with the midget."

It wasn't a secret that their band was not a fan of Murderface. They loved the rest of Dethklok for the most part, but Murderface was just an outright asshole that said a lot of stupid shit that their band did not stand for. Sure the rest of Dethklok had been known to say dumb things too, but they weren't as severe and they definitely learned to control their mouths finally. At least a little.

Tobias sighed lightly. "I might have to side with Salem on this one." Nathalia gave a dramatic gasp, looking offended that Tobias hadn't picked her side. "Look, it's probably a secret for a reason, and I don't want Pickles to be uncomfortable around us."

Nathalia groaned. "I know I know, Salem already lectured me on that. I'm not like, planning them to spill out everything at once to each other. I just want them close enough to trust each other. I want to know NOW but if I have to wait a month or two, I guess I will. Just help me!"

"I'm not sure how I could, even if I wanted to," Tobias shrugged. He usually had no time or patience for drama, or meddling in other people's affairs, unless it involved offering advice that was specifically asked from him, which happened in his friend group often.

"I dunno, like, talk to one of them and I talk to the other. Maybe convince them to fuck or, I guess, go on a date. Whichever comes first." Nathalia's eyes gleamed with mischief. "Pickles already seems a little interested. Salem told me he tucked them in when they were crashing from the alcohol, and it'd only been like an hour or some shit. We just need to be the little devils on their shoulders whispering 'fuck each other, fuck each other!'"

"You'd be the devil on the shoulder, I'm the guy in the corner literally trying to avoid the situation to begin with."

"Come onnnnnnn, Tobias!"

Tobias rolled his eyes at the other. "Who do I even talk to and what do I say?"

"Whichever one you wanna talk to, and maybe just ask them about the other. Like go up to Pickles like, 'hey bro so that Salem bitch, huh?'"

"Sounds like you already know what to say to Pickles, so if I have to I'll just talk to Salem." Tobias had a much higher level of anxiety with his idols anyway, especially after having an episode in front of probably all of them.

"Fine," Nathalia scoffed but since she also had anxiety, her confidence had wavered slightly.

"Hey, you're the one who wants to be nosy. I get to choose the easier path of this." Tobias commented. That was one of Nathalia's biggest... qualities. And not a particularly good one, at least not with the way she used it. Always wanting to be nosy, always wanting to spy, to just know everything about everything and everyone. She called it wanting to be knowledgeable. Tobias called it wanting to start drama, because that was what it all boiled down to. She had a way with getting dirt on various people that she would later spew out in a fit of rage if she didn't get her way or she was embarrassed.

Honestly, Tobias was in no way eager to humor her or enable her, because as old of a friend she was, he knew she would also throw him under the bus for instigating her behavior, if she could in that time. She lived on autopilot; survival mode. Even after all these years she still didn't know how to trust people enough to not try to damage the friendships she did have when she felt her only option was based on a fight or flight response. 

Salem acted like they worshiped her sometimes with how attached at the hip they were to her, since she was the one who saved them from themself when they needed it the most. He supposed he felt the same too, at some point. After all, she seemed very strong, independent, with seemingly good intentions and just had a bad habit to be a little too blunt about them. Now... maybe he supposed that it was because he had been around her longer that he could see how much bullshit all of that was, because inside she still seemed to be like a child trapped in the cage that her childhood and adolescence had created for her long ago. He could even swear that she had the option to walk through the open door at many points to escape her own mindset and would rather just re-shut it and meld the iron bars together, now it seemed impossible to sway her on really anything unless threats were to be made, and even then, she would find a way around it.

Tobias winced to himself. He had a problem with letting his mind wander too much on the details of their friendship. But he would be lying if he said that he was there purely out of love and adoration for the singer. He used to have a reoccurring problem of looking down on others for their lack of knowledge, of acting like fools, or of seeming 'unintelligent', and she was the first person he came to respect despite being the opposite of everything he taught himself to value (not that she was stupid, just that she liked to play stupid and would rather have fun than worry about how she presented herself until it was time to undermine other people's level of maturity). He at one point saw a different type of value in her, something he didn't have himself, which was a strong will, since he had no backbone for a lot of things or a lot of follow-through. However, sometimes foolishness really needed to be a make or break situation in terms of friendship, though Tobias was in much too deep with this situation to back out of it now.

He just knew he'd seen too much, been a part of too much, then watched as Nathalia seemed to discard him over shiny new toys and people, just because he was the oldest friend, the calmest one, the boring one, the one she regarded as average, with no actual personality traits except "smart and quiet and behavior like a dog". So he was less than enthused about her bugging him with anything, especially to further her investigation so she could probably use it for her own interests.

Did anybody know how Tobias felt about this? About her? No; nobody particularly asked his opinion except for their own benefit. Except for Salem, and recently Toki who had taken a major liking to him as well as Nathalia, but they never asked about his friendship with her, of all things. Then again, he never showed it on his face, much less said anything suspicious, so he figured they probably never would ask, and he didn't expect them to.

None of this meant though that Tobias hated her, and didn't want to try and make things work so it would be more bearable. She was just very hard to get along with when she felt like spiraling out of control (which was almost all of the time), had a major habit of taking advantage of situations, and was really, really irritating in general. And he would prefer for her to leave him alone on really ridiculous things and let her get tangled up in her own mess.

"That's dumb, I asked you so you could help me, that means you should be making my life easier!" Nathalia complained. Tobias knew she wasn't joking, even though anybody else would see it as slight crude humor with the way she said it.

Tobias rolled his eyes and turned his head away from her to look out one of his windows, for some reason, while he tried to figure out what to say to her. Immediately his attention was switched over to what was happening outside.

Clouds were rolling in at a rapid pace, dark gray with an odd purple tint to them. There was an obvious harsh wind that was actually bending the trees nearby and causing various Klokateers outside to go flying off somewhere like kites at the beach. The sun was a bright orange, poking through the cracks of the darkening sky, catching Tobias in the eyes and causing him to flinch, for some reason reminding him of something that he couldn't put his finger on.

"Uhh, were we supposed to get a storm tonight?" Tobias asked, feeling nervous for some reason.

"Hmm?" Nathalia tilted her head toward Tobias but didn't look very interested, as per usual whenever he said something that she didn't initiate first. "A storm?"

"Yeah, like- oh Jesus fuck," he hissed as a sharp crack of lightning struck right in front of the side of Mordhaus, causing a fire to erupt.

At the same time, he heard hysterical sobbing coming from someone that was running through the halls, which actually caught Nathalia's short attention span. "What the fuck?" She walked over to the doorway and peered out, then shouted, "Toki, what's wrong? Oh fuck you're bleeding!"

"Wait, come look at this shit!" Tobias called after her, but she was already gone, following Toki he assumed. He did hope that Toki was okay, but he was more concerned with the strange weather pattern right now. He sighed and resorted to staring out the window, watching as Klokateers attempted to put out the fire before getting swept away by such harsh winds. He figured at least one person should be keeping an eye on whatever the fuck was happening outside.

The fire was spreading fast much to his shock, and even worse it was actually traveling up Mordhaus in a fiery path, burning through everything it touched. This was one of the most fast-paced and dangerous fires Tobias had ever laid his eyes on, and he'd seen plenty of fires to last a lifetime. He began to back away from the window, smelling the burnt rubble already from outside, before the window cracked and then smashed into bits within a split moment. 

Tobias quickly covered his face with his arm, inhaling smoke that began to creep into his room, and feeling the sting of sharp glass splattering across his skin. Of course Nathalia had run off to do who-knows-what, so he would just have to save himself, as he usually did. 

Tobias grabbed his unpacked things by the doorway that he had left there purely out of laziness (thank goodness he was lazy sometimes), and fled the room with the fire high on his tail. Some Klokateers made their way past whatever Nathalia's dramatic self was doing with Toki and Skwisgaar, so they could help stop the fire, but it was already... receding? By the time Tobias had managed to escape the room. He found this odd behavior, in fact it not even being possible from what he could see right before he had left, yet it was true. It began to grow smaller and smaller, and eventually it died out as quickly as it came with the help of the Klokateers that had brought several fire extinguishers. 

Breathing a sigh of relief before letting out a couple of coughs from the smoke that burnt his lungs, Tobias led himself away from the damage, away from Nathalia's hysteria, away from all the people and Klokateers surrounding him. He was tired and just wanted to rest, but at the same time he needed to find another window to look out.

Tobias peered out the nearest one that he could find at the end of the long hallway and toward the same direction as Tobias's window once faced, and he stared with bewilderment at the fading storm, not even a raindrop on the windowsill, and the wind as still as his breath. He thought for a second that maybe he had imagined things, not even convinced that he had seen Klokateers putting out the fire themselves. 

Then his eyes landed on the ground, rather than the darkening yet calm sky, and noticed the blackened grass that stretched as far as Tobias could see; not even burnt. Everything just looked... dead.

Chapter Text

Stupids Nat'ens... Stupids Charles... Stupids Pickle and Moidaface ands, ands... Toki sighed quietly. It was a long day for everyone and of course Toki's was no exception. It didn't help though that the rhythm guitarist hadn't been able to relax for about at least a year.

Nobody else really knew it, but Toki had been trying his best to keep everything together, at least in his own little way. When Pickles had come out, he would regularly encourage him to open up and talk about things, make little pieces of art for all of his band, and try to be the peacemaker of the situation with shenanigans.

Of course everything eventually began to wear him down and Toki stopped being as cheerful as he used to be. Pickles's slow decline into madness and addiction, Murderface's disregard for any basic level of compassion toward really anything, including other bandmates and even himself, Nathan's obvious stress toward the band falling apart. It was too much for Toki to fix, but he still tried, or at the very least tried to make everyone's moods slightly better day by day. Except for Charles.

Ever since he had seen Nathan and Charles together, something inside of Toki had been off. As much as he wanted to be happy for them, and had forced himself to silently support the two, he just couldn't, at least not genuinely.

Toki had been infatuated with Nathan for a while now. Maybe it was from the way the man took care of him and actually... seemed concerned for him, in his own aggressive way. Maybe it was the way Nathan actually paid attention to Toki with the least amount of snarkiness (technically it was Skwisgaar that gave him the most attention, but it was usually filled with biting remarks or snide comments). Or maybe he was just a messed up weirdo for liking such a big, protective man. Maybe Toki was just really, really gay but also somehow not gay because he'd definitely slept with women before.

Regardless of the reason, it stung to see Nathan with their literal manager. Toki wasn't sure if they were together-together or just messing around, but every time he saw Nathan choosing to stand next to Charles rather than anyone else, or they shared a secret, intimate glance that no one else seemed to notice or understand, it hurt him to his very core.

Which Toki knew was stupid and selfish and made absolutely no sense, because he wasn't actually with Nathan and they had never even established any type of romantic interest. The most that Toki did was cling to his arm like a little puppy, acting like an embarrassment which he knew upset the other man sometimes but he couldn't help himself. He didn't have a lot of self-control.

Apparently, though Nathan and Charles's interest in each other wasn't noticeable to anyone else, Toki's obsession with Nathan was very obvious to everyone, except for Nathan himself. Toki knew they knew, he could see it all on their faces; Pickles looked disturbed, Charles looked annoyed, Murderface looked... like he normally did, and Skwisgaar, looked oddly disappointed. None of them treated him any differently, and this was what compelled Toki to push his luck and keep going.

Until Pickles had actually called him out.

Earlier that day, when Toki and Nathan had gone to check on the drummer and he ended up staying to take a short nap, the red-head actually ended up mentioning Toki's little crush situation with him.

Toki really didn't sleep that long and found himself curled against Pickles's side with an arm draped over him sweetly. He blinked awake and looked up at the other man who was staring up at the ceiling. The only smells filling his nose being alcohol and vomit, but not that bitter, horrid scent he had breathed in earlier... He flinched. He didn't want to think about that.

Toki must have shifted a little too much and alerted Pickles, because he looked down at the young bandmate in slight surprise. "Hey dood. T'ought yew wanted ta sleep?"

"I dids, I ams awakes now," Toki informed his friend, not moving from his position and Pickles not seeming to mind this.

"It's been like, five minutes. Or tweenty. I dunno." Pickles patted the top of the other's head. "Go back ta sleep."

"Nos, it ams okays. I can leaves if I'm in ways," Toki said, suddenly feeling shy. He didn't want to be a burden, he'd really only let himself be a burden to Nathan, and even then he would just end up feeling bad about that, too.

"Nah, yer good." Pickles smiled gently before leaning his head back against the pillows. A layer of sweat coated his shirt, and Toki became concerned.

"Is you okays? You sweats a lot. Is it mes?" Toki questioned. He didn't feel uncomfortable but he wasn't sure if he was causing Pickles to sweat. Toki personally never got too warm and he regularly forgot that it wasn't the same for everyone.

"It's fine, my body jest ain't used to contact in a while," Pickles admitted. "Plus'm drunk and I get warmer when'm drunk."

"Takes off yous shirts," Toki suggested, apparently not seeing anything wrong with a half-naked man in bed with him as he stared up innocently at Pickles's bemused face.

"Uhh... dat's pretty gay," Pickles mumbled.

"So, yous gays anyway rights?" After a pause, he added quickly, "I means yous like the dicks, because of..." Toki was just digging himself a deeper hole.

Pickles shushed him gently with a pat to his head. "Ye, okie, calm down." He actually smiled though and then gave a soft laugh. "I dunno if I'm gay dough. I kinda like girls tew."

Toki nodded. "I thinks that ams means bicycle."

"Bisexual," Pickles corrected.

"Ja, thats." Toki blinked, realizing the conversation had gotten off track. "Anyways, if I stays here yous shoulds take offs yous shirt so you amenst heats-over."

Pickles sighed, knowing the other was right. He peeled off the sticky shirt, revealing his pale, freckled chest. Pickles was hardly ever shirtless and if he was, it was usually at a certain distance away from everyone. But now Toki was close enough, so he had the ability to look over the man's chest.

Two small, pale identical scars were on each side of Pickles's chest, and in curiosity Toki poked at them, seeing Pickles flinch lightly at the touch. "Sorries, does they hurts?"

Pickles exhaled and muttered almost inaudibly, "Only in my mind." When he saw the look of confusion on Toki's face, he squeezed Toki's shoulder softly. "No, Toki. Dey don' hurt."

"Okays... can I asks why they ams theres?"

"Technically yew could, dat don't mean I'll answer," Pickles snickered. "Well, uh... I used to have tits, 'n' I got dem chopped off."

"Ews," Toki stated, wrinkling his nose. "Why you ams does thats?"

"Well... I'm a man, now."

"Mens cants haves boob? That ams sillys," Toki scoffed, then added, "Moidaface ands Nat'ens has boobs."

Pickles looked surprised before he burst into a fit of laughter, holding onto his side with his free hand as he shook the bed. "Ye, yer right, I jus' didn't wanna keep mine I guess. Also never tell dem dat dey have bewbs."

"Awws okays," Toki said as he pressed his head against Pickles's chest. "You looks good either ways as a brothers."

Pickles chuckled wholesomely though he looked slightly embarrassed, and overall his face was overshadowed by something else. "Danks, I guess. Could we change de subject real quick, t'ough?"

"Okays, whats we talks about thens?"

"Well..." Pickles bit his lip. "Can we talk aboot Nate f'r a bit?"

"What abouts Nat'ens?"

Pickles lifted his upper body slightly, leaning against his elbow as he looked down at Toki on his chest. "I kinda wanna talk aboot yer... clinginess wit' him."

"Ohs..." Toki flinched. He should've expected that eventually someone would mention it to him, but he still wasn't any more prepared.

Pickles gave him a sympathetic look. "'M not gonna make fun o' yew'r anyt'ing. I just want ya to talk ta me honestly."

Toki pursed his lips. "I cans trys..."

"Have yew always liked Nate?"

Toki sat up from the comfort of Pickles's soft body and curled into a ball, suddenly feeling very vulnerable and nervous, not expecting such a blunt question right away. "I... Is loves hims. I thinks? I feels very strongs about hims." There, he said it. No use in hiding it or denying it.

Pickles seemed a little surprised by the answer as he too sat up and placed a hand on Toki's shoulder. "Well, Toki, do yew plan on tellin' him, or?"

Toki shook his head vigorously. "I- I can'ts..."

"Why not?"

Toki couldn't possibly tell Pickles the entire reason, including the fact that Nathan was very much taken and Toki didn't want to directly ruin that by professing his love, despite his jealousy issues. Instead, he shrugged and settled for most of the truth. "I don'ts wants to ruins everyt'inks... don'ts wants to make hims uncunfer-tables."

"Well, Toki, yer kinda makin' him uncomfertable anyway," Pickles said softly, earning a wide-eyed look as a response from the younger man. "I mean he tolerates it most of de time 'cause he cares aboot yew, but sometimes... Yer just grabbing at him 'n' in his personal bubble 'n' he might not want ya to be. People got boundaries. I also don' know how he don't notice shit, but it's very obvious. One day even he might catch on, 'n' it'll be worse to explain den."

"Sos... I no touches him anymores?" Disappointed was an understatement, and also an emotion he knew he didn't deserve to actually feel.

"Maybe just cool it f'r a while. Stop doin' it so much. But not just 'cause of all dat." Toki gave him a puzzled look. "Toki, if he don't like yew back, it's gonna... hurt." Pickles smiled sadly at him. "It's best to hold back until yew know his own feelings... if yew keep clinging to him, it might trick yer brain into t'inkin' yew might have a chance. So if he rejects yew... it'll hurt more. Grow a lil bit of distance until yew know. F'r yer own sake."

Toki winced, hugging his knees to his chest as he stared down at the bed, fighting the urge to cry. He knew Pickles was right, but he was angry about it, and he wanted to yell and deny everything that the drummer had just said.

"C'mere." When Toki didn't budge, Pickles took the liberty of wrapping his arms around the other, causing him to break down as he buried his face in the crook of Pickles's neck and let out a quiet sob.

"I- Is just wants to be loveds..." Toki whispered. "But I... I wants... I wants Nat'ens to holds me and loves me..."

"Hush," Pickles began humming in Toki's ear as he rocked their bodies softly. Toki felt so safe and warm in those arms, but they weren't the arms he wanted, and it made him feel all the more worse about it as he began to choke on his own air. "Lovin' people can be da worst. Especially if dey don't love yew back."

Toki sniffled quietly, wiping his tears on the back of his hand, before he thought quietly. "Does... does you loves someones?" After a moment of silence, he added, "Does you loves Moidaface...?" It wasn't an appropriate question but Toki was genuinely curious, especially if he actually got an answer. When he received no reply, Toki pulled his head away from Pickles to look up at him, seeing the pinched expression on the other's, and Toki bit his lip. "Moidaface ams means to yous... but you loves who you loves."

"I- I don't know," Pickles admitted. "I t'ink... I liked da fake version of him. De fake compassion..." Pickles's lips pursed as his eyes suddenly hardened. "He's sneaky but I never t'ought he was good at pretendin' to have feelin's. He's... stupidly blunt 'bout his emotions but..." Pickles sighed deeply.

"It's okays, I peeds in his lemonades fors a wholes months after what hes did," Toki said cheerily, remembering with fondness how Murderface had specifically complimented that fresh batch of homemade lemonade that Toki had 'helped make'.

Pickles looked shocked. "Dank feck I don't drink lemonade!"

The two ended up laughing together, and for once Toki didn't feel the weight of the world on his shoulders while he talked and joked with Pickles like they used to, Pickles even teasing him much like he had long before. And Toki accepted it with grace because maybe he finally would be able to get his band, his family, back on track.

They both eventually had calmed down enough to just be laying side by side, Toki's head pressed against Pickles's arm and looking up at the ceiling. Pickles was still a little sticky but nowhere near as hot and sweaty as he was.

Toki gave a small yawn but rather than go back to sleep, he sat up and cracked his back as he stretched, before looking back down at Pickles. "Is probalys goings backs to my own rooms. Thanks you for lettings me sleeps here fors a bit."

"Well..." Pickles murmured, his eyes half-closed as he looked up at Toki. "T'ank yew."

Toki felt odd by those words, but he gave a small smile nonetheless. His brain recalled the sickly sour smell he had inhaled earlier, and the smile turned into a soft pout. He couldn't explain it to anyone else, but that scent always haunted him. It was a smell he would regularly find in everyone he loved that would... die on him.

Pickles noticed the change in behavior and frowned lightly, pulling Toki's arm gently. "What's wrong buddy?"

Toki wrapped his arms around himself, his body feeling chilled. "Yous... yous ams goingsta be okays, ja?" He gave the other an intense stare, seeing curiosity, worry, and sadness all flicker over that pale face.

"O'course, why wouldn't I be?"

Toki grasped at Pickles's shoulders as he leaned over the drummer, their eyes locking. "I knows you ams hurtings. But yous can'ts leaves me. Nots likes the others."

Pickles wrapped his arms around the other in a hug. "'M not goin' anywhere, I promise." Those words sounded so... empty, yet full of hidden emotion.

Toki sighed, pressing his forehead against Pickles's chest. He didn't know what to say to make the situation better, so he would just keep being himself and hope that he was enough. "I loves yous Pickle. Yous my brothers. My brother." Pickles seemed slightly surprised.

Pickles squeezed Toki tighter to him, saying sweetly in the younger man's ear, "I love you too, buddy. I always will."

Toki's lips twitched into a depressing smile, he wished he could cuddle with all of his dethklok family without thinking it was gay or sexual. Then he sat up to feign cheeriness. "I gos to mys rooms now, hits me ups laters, ja?"

"F'r sure," Pickles said with a soft smile. "G'night, Toki."

"Nights." Toki hesitated though, not wanting to leave. He kept staring at Pickles, hand on the edge of the doorway. Was the scent back or was his mind playing tricks on him? He had already announced his departure, but would it be okay for him to climb back into bed with the other and just smother himself in the warmth?

Pickles noticed the hesitation. "Dood, if yew wanna sleep here jus' say so."

"I don'ts knows what I wants," Toki murmured.

Pickles got up slowly, Toki noticing the slow and difficult movements, as he walked over to the rhythm guitarist, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Den I'll jest make up my mind f'r yew." He led Toki back to the bed and the two ended up laying in it again, with Toki's face buried into Pickles's chest and Pickles's arms wrapped loosely around the other. It was a platonic, brotherly embrace that made Toki feel secure and loved, but he wished it was rather a romantic hug from the brute man he was infatuated with. The two ended up falling into a peaceful slumber.

Toki blinked his eyes awake about an hour or two later, noticing that he was still cuddled up to Pickles and smiled when he heard the heavy rhythm of the drummer's heart. Pickles was a loud snorer, but it let Toki know that he was alive, so he would happily deal with it.

After probably another thirty minutes of just Toki listening to Pickles breathing while his mind floated between reality and daydreams, he carefully climbed out of his grip and walked to the personal bathroom to pee, hoping that the red-head wouldn't mind.

While peeing, Toki found himself looking over at the counter covered in bottles of pills and he bit his lip softly. He didn't get to say much on the subject because he'd always known and accepted Pickles's addictions, but it just seemed a little... excessive now.

Toki flushed and washed his hands, studying the bottles that littered the counter. Sleeping pills? Toki wasn't all that surprised, but it was still concerning.

There were bags of molly and other unknown pills too, but the prescriptions were what Toki focused on. He noticed the testosterone pills he remembered seeing a year ago, migraine medication, antidepressants... Most of these were definitely not good to take with alcohol or other drugs.

As Toki walked out of the bathroom, he saw that Pickles was also just waking up, his eyes crossed a little when he blinked over at Toki. "Wh- what time is it?" Pickles groaned, dropping his head to the pillow and covering his face with it. "Feck, I have such a headache."

Toki remembered the medicine on Pickles's counter, but chose not to speak on it. He glanced at one of the clocks nearby. "Eights... somethings."

Pickles let out another grumble of disdain. "'M goin' back ta bed."

"I's gonnas go-" Toki started when he heard the familiar heavy footsteps of the man that sent his heart soaring. "Ohs, Nat'ens!"

Toki scurried out of the room to go meet up with the brute, and it seemed Pickles felt obligated to follow to make sure Toki didn't embarrass himself, because he got up with a few slurred swears and stumbled out of the room to follow Toki, but not before pulling his shirt back on.

They met up with Nathan, who at first seemed a little disgruntled to see Toki, until he spotted Pickles behind the other and visibly relaxed. This struck a nerve in Toki, who winced but hid it behind a smile. Perhaps Nathan really didn't like him all that much... or maybe Toki really was that obnoxious.

"Hey," Nathan spoke. "What's up?"

"We's both just wokes up and heards your loud feetstep," Toki replied.

"I'm not that loud!"

As Pickles and Nathan bantered with each other just like they used to, Toki zoned out, just staring at the beautiful man's face in front of him. Strong, handsome, brutal, but his eyes held a certain something else that Toki couldn't explain. The kinda look that said 'Fuck you, but I'd also kill for you'. Both metal and caring. Something that the man himself both denied and tried to hide, but it was still there, and coming out more with each passing day.

While Toki swooned over him, he heard the name 'Charles' coming out of the other's mouth, immediately souring his mood. Nathan must've noticed this because Nathan grunted, "What's your problem, Toki?"

Not wanting to be a party pooper or negatively affect his friends in any way, he simply swallowed hard and turned his head, blushing slightly. "Nothinks. Has fun, Nat'ens!" His departure couldn't have been more fast as he high-tailed out of there, feeling stupid.

Toki found himself wandering, not really sure on where to go. He didn't want to go back to his room now, but he didn't want to be anywhere that involved a large mass of people; nor did he want to be alone.

He didn't realize Skwisgaar was also wandering the halls until the two had nearly bumped into each other, and the Swede caught Toki before he fell too far back. "Damns clutz," Skwisgaar said in exasperation. "There you ams!"

Toki steadied himself then looked up at Skwisgaar in puzzlement. "What yous means?"

"We was suppose to gos practiskes earlier," the tall blond reminded the other, looking offended that Toki even had the audacity to forget their session.

"Ohs, damns!" Toki looked down in shame. "I's sorries Skwisgaars, I didn't means to forgets." Toki had been so flaky as of late, and it didn't help that he had gotten preoccupied with other things.

"Hmph, well we can go in mys room and plays in there a bits if you wants," Skwisgaar huffed, still slightly insulted but not as much when he saw the guilt on Toki's face. "Gets your guitars and meets me in five minutes, or I locks yous out."

So Toki quickly ran to his room to get his guitar and sped back to the other man, choosing for the next hour to dick off, minus the few times they paused to actually pluck at some of their strings.

It was very obvious to Skwisgaar that Toki's mind was somewhere completely different so rather than complain about Toki not paying attention to their 'session', he rather chose to tinker with his own guitar and ramble about unimportant things.

"Sos, the new bands, eh?" Skwisgaar finally commented, lowering his guitar but still playing it lightly. Toki's head was leaned forward to stare down at the floor, but lifted it when Skwisgaar started talking again.

"Ja, theys ams pretty cools," Toki commented, fingers tapping at his guitar. "T'at ones... Tobia? His beards is cooooools."

Skwisgaar chuckled lightly. "Seems a bit preterentiouses to me. All formals and shits."

"Yous ams pratentios too, Skwisgaars," Toki reminded him, earning a dirty look.

"That because I'ms a Gods," Skwisgaar huffed. "A guitar Gods."

"Yes, you ams," Toki agreed without thinking as he turned back to the floor, earning a shocked look from the other that he didn't see.

"Yous actuallys agree this times? What ams wrong with yous?"

Toki pouted. "I is fines! I can'ts complimenteds my friends?"

Skwisgaar snorted. "Yous aments my friends."

Toki flinched visibly before he could stop himself, so he chose to concentrate on his guitar and pluck some more to distract his sight from the confused and irritated look he was being given.

"Serious?"

"...Whats?" Toki's lips puckered into a pout as he struck a chord more powerful than he meant to, causing him to jump. Skwisgaar snatched the guitar from his lap to Toki's disdain. "Heys!"

"You compliments me, you upsets at stuffs I says to you all the times, somethinks ams wrongs," Skwisgaar insisted, his icy blue eyes trying to search Toki's. "What's the deals?"

"No deals has been mades," Toki defended himself, causing Skwisgaar to groan.

"Yous impossible."

This only made Toki pout harder and look away, but was surprised to feel a long, thin finger touch his cheek softly. "Toki. Look at mes."

Toki whined softly until the hand cupped his face and pulled it so that they were eye to eye. Skwisgaar opened his mouth to speak, when they heard a faint crashing sound from very far away.

Toki snapped his head around, his mind immediately falling to Pickles and the scent of death. Was he hurt? Without a word, the young bandmate flew onto his feet and wrenched the door open, hearing Skwisgaar's feet follow after him while the Swede protested.

Klokateers were also rushing through the halls with their hands on their weapons, unsure of what was going on themselves. Toki waited for most of them to go by before he too, began running down the hall after them, eyes wide when the sound of breaking glass filled his ears. Normally he would just chalk it up to Nathan having a tantrum, but it didn't sound right. It sounded frenzied, like there was a struggle happening.

Murderface was also in the hallway after the rest of the Klokateers had disappeared further down, and though Toki knew it wasn't logical to blame him, he grasped the front of the pig-face's shirt anyway, his breathing erratic.

"Dids you does thats?"

"What? No-"

"What's yous dones to Pickle?" Toki blurted out in a scream before he could stop himself and felt arms grasp at him, pulling him away from Murderface.

"Toki, calms downs," Skwisgaar advised. "He obvouslys just heards its too."

"Where's Pickle? Pickle!" Toki began to shout, hoping that the red-head could hear him.

"Toki-"

Toki took off running down one of the halls, running into a body and falling on top of them. He lifted his head to see Pickles, dazed and confused. "De feck?!"

"Pickle! That ams nots yous?" Toki demanded, grabbing at Pickles's face. "Answer mes!"

"Toki, the noises cames from the livinks space!" Skwisgaar snapped, obviously irritated with the situation. Toki jumped onto his feet and began running again, causing the rest of them to chase after him.

Once Toki reached the living-room he noticed all the destruction, as well as Tobias laying very still on the ground, which concerned him. "What are you all doing here?" He heard Nathan say, but his eyes couldn't stay off of the blank face of the man on the ground. Was he dead? No... he didn't smell any sour bitterness.

"We heards some crashes and comes runnings," Skwisgaar explained. "Mordhaus ams too bigs to get heres fast enoughs sometime."

As everyone else began to discuss the problem, Tobias finally shifted and then sat up slowly. This seemed to help relax most of the band members, aside from Murderface and Pickles, because they were obviously in their own little bubble.

"Ghot a problem?" Murderface sneered to Pickles, who mumbled something that Toki didn't care to catch, before the red-head had departed into a separate room.

Tobias's face was covered in his own drool and he was still very obviously out of it, despite looking a little nervous for being surrounded as well. It made Toki uncomfortable, though he hadn't actually seen... what was it called again, a seizure? He hadn't actually seen it take place, but it sounded scary.

"Ams you okays?" He asked the other, and received confirmation. Toki turned back around, grabbing Skwisgaar and pulling him along as he made his way back to the other's room.

However, not even halfway there, he took a shortcut into a dead-end hall where he dropped to his knees and took a shaky breath. His heartbeat was too fast for him and his head was spinning with emotions and the events that kept happening one after another.

Confused, Skwisgaar dropped to his own knees and held Toki steady in his hands. "Toki?"

"I's..." Toki whispered, feeling so drained and frightened and confused, and he wasn't even sure why. He let out a sniffle and rubbed at his eyes like a small child. Skwisgaar sighed and sat down on the floor with him, stroking the other's back while waiting for him to calm down.

Finally, Toki took a deep breath and looked up at Skwisgaar with big, wet eyes. "I sorries I freakeds outs."

"You mean when yous attackeds Pickle, or nows for cryinks?"

"Both. I..." Toki bit his tongue. "I's scareds for Pickle. I's tryings real hards to make everyones happys but he amenst happys and I don'ts knows what to does..." He blinked the rest of his tears away and sighed. "I t'oughts he hurts himselfs..."

"Well he ams fines, and he'll stay fines," Skwisgaar assured Toki. "Anyt'inks else?"

"I's never heards or seens a sizure," Toki admitted. "It seem... scarys."

"Ja," Skwisgaar agreed, "but I's heres. Everythinks okays nows."

Toki was surprised to feel his head being tilted and a pair of lips pressed to his.

Toki gasped at this, causing Skwisgaar to pull away almost immediately with concern in his eyes. "Fucks, I-"

Before anything else could be said, Toki crashed his lips against Skwisgaar's, feeling their teeth click painfully. His hands grasped at the other's shirt, practically pulling the blond on top of him.

Skwisgaar was definitely an expert with kissing. His lips moved passionately against Toki's, tongue trailing along them and nibbling gently with his teeth. Toki's breathing sped up and so did his heartbeat. What was he doing, kissing his friend like this? What was wrong with him? He wasn't even that attracted to the Swede. It wasn't what he wanted... Skwisgaar wasn't his dream guy.

But maybe if he closed his eyes hard enough, Toki could pretend that it was. Fingers tangled in long hair, and Toki imagined the locks to be pitch black. Tongue inside of his mouth and he pictured it to be from the best singer in the world, not from the guy who always made biting, hurtful remarks.

Hands holding his sides, and he wished them to be thicker and stronger, and he convinced himself that the chest pressed against his was broader than it actually was.

Toki tensed when he felt the hand travelling downward, but made no move to stop it. He wasn't sure if he wanted it or not. Nath- Skwisgaar smiled against Toki's lips as he slid his hand up and down Toki's hips almost sweetly, pulling away from his face only to kiss and suckle at the young man's neck.

Toki immediately grasped Skwisgaar more tightly, encouraging him to continue. His lips were on the other's again as the blond squeezed his sides.

"Nat'ans..." Toki whispered accidentally into Skwisgaar's lips, then screamed as the other man bit down, hard, in surprise. Toki's eyes flew open and he ripped his hands away from the man's hair to actually push him away, staring at him with wide eyes.

Skwisgaar looked shocked, furious, and sad, but before he could say anything, Toki scrambled to his feet. So, so stupid.

He took off in a random direction, whining softly as pain and blood filled his mouth. He could taste the saltiness and feel it running down his mouth, splattering his neck and shirt.

Footsteps followed and a hand grasped at Toki as he heard his name being called, and the roughness of the contact actually made him go limp in submissiveness, which was not something that the other person had been expecting. The hand yanked him, having prepared for resistance, and instead Toki was practically thrown into a wall, head smacking into it the most.

Toki's ears rang and his sight was blurry. He immediately brought his arms up over his face and closed his eyes as he began to hyperventilate, visions momentarily flashing through his mind. "N- nos, don'ts hurt mes father!" Toki cried.

Though his eyes weren't open, his vision showed him a playback of standing in the cold in front of his mother and father, shirtless, bleeding profusely from various wounds, and being slammed into the nearest solid object.

"Toki," A voice that wasn't his parents said in thick worry, and that was enough to break the temporary spell his memories had on him. He shoved away from the culprit and took off again, this time not hearing footsteps go after him.

Toki couldn't hear himself crying hysterically as he bounced between sides of the hallway, unable to go in a straight line. He didn't realize the blood trail he had left behind, or how many tears were falling down his face.

"What the fuck?"

It was a voice that Toki had heard before but not enough times, because he couldn't place who it was right now.

"Toki, what's wrong? Oh fuck, you're bleeding!"

He was?

Toki was attempting to run from the source of the voice, but a pair of hands grabbed his arm and he once again went limp, giving out soft whimpers. This time though, he was reeled in carefully and then an arm was around his shoulders. "Fuck dude... who did this to you?!"

Toki kept his head down and eyes shut, trembling against the person who had grabbed him. He squeaked when the arms pulled him down to the ground.

"Hold still, your head is...Fuck."

Toki finally blinked his eyes open and looked up, only to have a curtain of black hair fall over his face. It wasn't from the person he had been expecting- or rather hoping. He weakly pushed the locks out of his eyes. Nathalia stared back at him with fury on her face.

"What the fuck happened?" She demanded, eyes searching his.

Toki didn't know what to say; he didn't want to get Skwisgaar in trouble, especially since it had been his fault the whole time. With a sniffle, he looked down at his fingers, twiddling his thumbs. "M- my faults..."

"Bullshit." A piece of cloth was pressed against his head, causing him to wince a little. "Just tell me who did it so I can beat their ass."

Footsteps echoed nearby, causing Toki to snap his head up, despite the pain. When he saw Skwisgaar turning the corner and his eyes grew wide with fear, Nathalia managed to connect the dots there. She gently took Toki's hand and had him hold the cloth for her, then turned her attention to the other.

Standing up, she cracked her knuckles while Skwisgaar paused with wariness in his eyes. "Alright so I gotta kill pretty boy? So be it."

Skwisgaar began to back up with his hands held up in defense. "Hey, hey, I's-"

"Shut the fuck up," Nathalia growled. "I'll give you three seconds to either explain or run, and you're already down to one."

"N- nos!" Toki cried, reaching to grab at Nathalia and managing to squeeze himself to her leg. She might've been on the thinner side, but there was a possibility of her actually doing damage which Toki didn't want. "P- please, he dones nothings... its was mes!"

"Doubt it," Nathalia grumbled, but paused her advance toward the Swede to pry Toki from her leg. "Tell me what happened, then. Why does your head have a literal fucking crack in it?"

Toki prodded his skull gently, wincing at the pain and dizziness that came with it. "I... I rans into a walls."

"Liar."

Toki pouted lightly. "At least halfs truths."

"Then what's the full truth?"

"S- Skwisgaars and I's had fights, and he grabbeds me, and I's flungs myselves to a walls," Toki explained meekly, seeing the flames in Nathalia's eyes.

"You 'flungs' yourself into a wall," Nathalia repeated, looking frustrated, almost at Toki for the way he explained himself. "Fuck it, I'll kill him anyway."

Skwisgaar yelped as she started toward him and fled the scene, Nathalia chasing him down the hall with her fist raised. When it seemed like he was going too fast for her, she did what she was apparently good at and leapt at him, tackling him to the ground and actually making him slam his own head into the wall. "Have you learned your fucking lesson about keeping your hands to yourself? You're gonna catch these hands too!" Nathalia snarled, and Skwisgaar, half covering his face just in case in protection, nodded quickly, and pushed himself away from her to stand and take off again.

Nathalia snorted as she slowly walked back to Toki who had been watching with horror. "Little bitch couldn't even hit back, he probably doesn't even know how to fucking fight." She hadn't even actually laid a punch on him herself, though she did use her body-weight to slam him to the ground and that was apparently enough.

Toki tried to curl in on himself to make him appear smaller. It was all his fault, for running like that and alerting people, for even trying to explain the situation, for literally saying Nathan's name while kissing Skwisgaar; for allowing Skwisgaar to touch him in the first place. He began to rock himself in his spot, small shallow whimpers escaping his throat.

Nathalia's face forcefully softened once she got close enough to see Toki in distress. She bent down and pulled him to his feet. "C'mon, let's go see a medic or something."

Toki followed Nathalia with his arm around her shoulders, tripping over his own feet every so often and his head hurting too much to concentrate. He looked with blurry vision down one of the hallways that would inevitably lead him to his room, and he tugged on the singer's shoulder softly. "J- jus' wants to gos... sleeps..."

"Not yet," Nathalia said, but her voice suddenly sounded very far away. He stumbled once, twice, then his vision faded into blackness as he dropped to the ground, feeling arms wrap around his torso to catch him.

Chapter Text

Skwisgaar kept himself locked in his room for the entirety of the next day, choosing to sleep off the swelling of his head; luckily it wasn't as bad as Toki's. Aside from the mild concussion though, he was also embarrassed and ashamed, and most of all, pissed off.

Not angry enough to justify to himself the way he had reacted, but just enough to be offended at the audacity of Toki's words. He had been moaning for Nathan. Not Skwisgaar, but that damn singer. It hurt his dignity in more ways than one.

Skwisgaar was the 'whore' of the group and he prided himself in that, even reverting to men to push his limits and gain more numbers (though the rest hadn't known that, or if they had figured it out, no one said anything). To be outdone by Nathan was infuriating. Who would even think about fucking that man when they were being touched by a GOD?

It didn't help that Skwisgaar had actually made it a mission to get Toki infatuated with him, (and was hopelessly failing). It again being a pride thing, because he felt jealous that despite the fact that he and Toki hung around possibly the most, the younger man was attached to Nathan at the hip. He had been so close- he could still taste Toki's sweet lips on his tongue even a day later- and still, Toki's attention was only on Nathan's mere existence.

Skwisgaar knew that Toki liked Nathan, and he knew that Nathan didn't feel the same way. It was obvious that he only saw Toki as a cute yet annoying little kid or something similar to that. The fact that Toki continued to cling and touch him though, like he wasn't aware of the obvious disinterest, when Skwisgaar was available in all his beautiful glory, was frustrating.

The worst part was that now that Skwisgaar had gotten a taste of Toki, had seen the look of lust and pleasure on his face with his mouth hung open and his eyebrows pinched together, he wanted more. He wanted Toki underneath him, on top of him, Hell he would happily switch places multiple times just to have all of Toki.

It was obviously just a lust thing, and Skwisgaar was far too comfortable with casual sex to really understand the 'pain' of what a one-night-stand could cause between two band members as friends. He just knew that Toki was a beautiful specimen and he wanted to take pleasure in 'experimenting' with him.

Just the thought of it took his breath away. Skwisgaar was very egotistical and thought himself to be one of the most attractive things in existence, but if it were a competition Toki would be a close second to him. One might even say that sometimes, SOMETIMES, Toki looked even better than him, not that the blond could ever admit that.

Skwisgaar rubbed his cheek softly as he thought, feeling a mild bruise on it that had formed from slamming his face into the floor. He really hadn't meant to hurt Toki, he had just been caught off guard, both times. It seemed like Toki wasn't all there when he had been running or hiding himself from Skwisgaar, so he worried that maybe he had pushed too far. The fact that he had cried out Nathan's name just made it all the more confusing, though.

Skwisgaar wasn't going to give up that easily, but if Toki proved to be disinterested to the point of fear, he wasn't going to force it. Skwisgaar was many things, an... abuser was not one he wanted to be.

That didn't stop him from thinking sexual thoughts about Toki.

"Fucks," Skwisgaar muttered as he stood to peel off his dirty clothes and toss them into the hamper. He figured he would shower, then maybe, MAYBE, go get something from the kitchen. It was now six a.m and he hadn't left his room since the other night. No one had really knocked or bothered him, possibly because they already knew what had gone down, or possibly because they just assumed that Skwisgaar was stressing over his guitar playing, as he usually did.

He cleaned himself up, using most of his time on his hair to keep it shiny and silky smooth, then proceeded to get dressed and cautiously opened the door to his bedroom. He walked quickly and precisely down the hallway, heading toward the kitchen.

Skwisgaar nearly panicked when he realized that someone was already there, hidden in the shadows of the dark room, but immediately relaxed when seeing that it wasn't Nathalia, Toki, or Nathan. He didn't want to be around any of them right now.

Instead, Salem poked their head up from the fridge with a mouth full of something, eyes wide to see that they'd been caught. For whatever reason, they thought their best bet was to duck their head back in the fridge, causing Skwisgaar to snort in amusement.

"Gettinks a little snacks, eh?"

There was a long pause as Salem seemed to struggle with either swallowing whatever was in their mouth, or pushing it to the side. "Nuuuuuuuuuuh," they finally ended up mumbling.

Skwisgaar rolled his eyes. "Wells, hurry ups, I ams hungries too yous know."

Salem finally managed to ingest the food, smacking their lips for a few seconds before saying, "Now you can wait even longer." Then, they proceeded to dive back in.

Skwisgaar scoffed. "Get the fucks out of the ways before I cabinalize yous."

"Cannibalize." Salem paused to pull something out, sniff at it, then decided to place it back in and pat it timidly like it was an angry dog. "That's someone else's issue... Oh, and eat my ass."

"I could, if you wants me tos," Skwisgaar smirked, a twinkle in his eye. He wasn't a fan of the younger ones (by younger he meant people his exact age group), but Salem was okay looking enough, plus he would never say no to sex in general. Not that he expected the offer to be genuine, or that they would even take him seriously enough. However, despite all this, there was something off about Salem that made him a little less than attracted to them, but he couldn't put his finger on it. The gender wasn't an issue for him, and neither were their looks, but there was something strange about the icy sparkling eyes having a sense of familiarity that made him feel weird.

"I'm good, I don't know where you've been." Salem eyed him playfully, earning a small gasp from the Swede, even though he wasn't actually insulted, oddly enough, since he was usually offended by everything. Then their eyebrow raised as they eyed the side of Skwisgaar's face. "Wow, Nathalia really did bodyslam you too."

Skwisgaar flinched, attempting to hide the blotches with his hair. "Wh- what she has tolds you?!"

Salem shrugged. "That she got mad at you for picking a fight with Toki."

"Wells... we didn'ts really fights."

"Yeah, Toki explained a little more." When Skwisgaar gave the other a cautious look, Salem explained, "You guys had an argument and you were trying to stop him from walking away but apparently you tugged him too hard. He smacked his head and then bit through his lip. At least that's what he claims. Nathalia calls bullshit."

Skwisgaar flinched, automatically feeling guilty, and also surprised that Toki would lie for him, since technically that lip wound wasn't from smacking his head. "What does you calls?"

Salem puckered their lips a little. "I don't know, I don't really care at the moment, as long as Toki's alright." It was at that point that Skwisgaar noticed the deep bags under Salem's eyes, the paleness (more-so than usual) of their skin, and their hair was an unwashed mess. They were in a pair of black pajamas much too big for their body, and hung loosely over their shoulders and hips.

"You looks like shits," Skwisgaar commented without even really thinking, earning a weary smile from the drummer.

"Thanks, I know."

"Has you even slepts yet?"

"Nope."

Skwisgaar shook his head, though it wasn't that surprising. All Dethklok members had at some point pulled an all-nighter. "You shoulds probaly goes sleeps thens. And get the fucks out of my ways."

Salem stepped backward from where they were blocking the fridge, allowing Skwisgaar to snoop through. He spotted the mystery container that Salem had sniffed, and chose to leave it alone for now. "By the ways... How's is Toki?"

"A lot better. He's been all over Nathalia, who's been watching over him and babying the fuck out of him. It's kinda cute but unnerving since I know how Nathalia is."

"And hows is she exactlys?" Skwisgaar questioned dryly with a sudden lurch in his chest, and Salem's face flushed a little. 

"Nothing bad, I guess, she just has a hard time genuinely connecting with people. If she's already that clingy then I'm more afraid of her viewing Toki as a pet than a person." They smiled jokingly, and Skwisgaar sniffed in disdain as a reply. 

Salem let out a sudden yawn then blinked. "I'm gonna try and pass out." Salem stole an apple that Skwisgaar had pulled out much to his dismay, and smiled as they took a bite out before handing it back. "By the way, Nathalia wants to see you when you feel like not hiding anymore. She might be heading this way soon, too."

Just then, someone flicked on the light and Skwisgaar nearly jumped out of his skin. He wasn't prepared to fight Nathalia, even if she wasn't that strong (not because she was a woman... or maybe, who knew, not Skwisgaar). She was just crazy enough to WWE his shit.

Surprisingly it was not her, but Murderface, who looked dazed and confused to see that people were already standing in the kitchen. His eyes locked onto Salem though and it made him grin automatically, while Salem looked mildly uncomfortable but smiled back pleasantly nonetheless.

Oh dear Gods, Murderface was... Skwisgaar forced himself to hold back a snort. He'd seen those goo-goo eyes before from the man. Skwisgaar wasn't even sure what Salem was, but whatever they were, they were most obviously not a straight cis, which meant either Murderface was out of luck with getting a shot, or might become really, really gay after one night with the midget.

To be fair though, it made sense for Murderface to already be a little gay given his initial interest in Pickles, and his liking for Salem to begin with when nobody, especially Murderface, knew what they were.

"What are all you gay fucks doing in here?" A voice Skwisgaar had been dreading to hear, spoke up from directly behind Murderface. The bassist jumped, Salem was completely unaffected even though Nathalia could not be seen from wherever she was lurking, and Skwisgaar flung some pasta thing at her general direction out of surprise.

"Shits!"

"Dude, relaxsch," Murderface said with an eyeroll, though he still seemed a little nervous because of the original scare. "She'sch juscht a girl... right?" He then yelped as Nathalia came leaping from the shadows in an attempt to startle him.

She looked annoyed as she stepped into the light, shooting Murderface a glare of pure venom before she turned her attention to Skwisgaar.

"Aaaand on that note." Salem slid past Skwisgaar to head to their room, but not before Nathalia pointed a finger toward them.

"We still need to talk later," Nathalia insisted to the small one, but Salem only waved their hand behind them as they rushed out of the kitchen. Skwisgaar wondered what that whole thing was about, but chose not to dwell on it when he saw her taking a step toward him.

Skwisgaar grabbed the nearest object which happened to be a bar-stool sitting innocently by the counter, and he held it up in defense with the legs pointed 'threateningly' at Nathalia. "I am dones nothinks wrongs!"

"Bruh." Nathalia had stopped to stare at the blond in bewilderment. She was obviously very tired; there were dark shadows under her eyes, and the black makeup around them didn't help her case. She grabbed one of the legs and yanked the weapon out of his hands. "Look, I just came to uh... fuck. Apologize or whatever."

She was almost as bad as Nathan when she flinched at her own words. "Uhh... alrights. Apologize acceptsed." Then he quickly added, "How's is Toki?" He had already previously asked Salem, but figured it'd be good to hear from the one who had been supposedly taking care of Toki.

"He's alright, he got a concussion but I've been looking out for him, fed him, sang him to sleep, all that gay shit. He's feeling a lot better now, if you wanna go talk to him later." She looked pointedly at Skwisgaar and he realized it wasn't really an option- she was telling him to go see him. Possibly to apologize.

Skwisgaar swallowed heavily and nodded. "I, I goes to sees him now, ja?"

Nathalia shook her head. "He's sleeping right now, go do whatever the fuck until I tell you you can talk to him." She smiled as she nudged his arm almost in a friendly manner, but pointedly pushing him in the direction of his own room at the same time.

"Okays, okays, I bes in my room if yous needs me," Skwisgaar mumbled as he turned to walk away.

He caught Murderface staring hard at Nathalia, who received a nasty growl from the singer. "The fuck you looking at?!"

"Nothing!" Murderface protested, and that was the last Skwisgaar heard from the two before he started walking back to his room.

On the way back though, he was surprised to see that Salem had not made it back to their room yet and was rather hunched over in the middle of the hall, looking like they were about to hurl or have an exorcism. Sweat dotted every piece of skin that was showing, and their clothes were damp too.

As Skwisgaar got closer, they looked up quickly with wide eyes, relaxing slightly to see that it was just the guitarist. They forced themselves to stand upright and nodded quietly to the other, possibly expecting Skwisgaar to just walk past, but he was genuinely curious with what was going on. He could sense that this wasn't normal behavior, and he wasn't sure why he felt that way; considering that Salem only just looked a little ill. But there was something about their eyes that were so hollow and drained.

"Needs help?" Skwisgaar asked softly, and Salem looked surprised to see the haughty man offer, but accepted it nonetheless with a nod. He placed a hand on their back and led them carefully down the hall, having to ask for directions a few times before being able to drop them off to their room. It was almost instinctual, despite Skwisgaar usually having nothing to do with anybody else except Toki, much less near-strangers.

"Thanks," Salem sighed as they pulled the door open. "See ya."

"Waits," Skwisgaar said quickly. "Uhh... ams you alrights?"

Salem smiled wearily and nodded. "Yeah, just... tired, and maybe a little sick I guess."

"It ams the summers cold, ja? They bes the worst," Skwisgaar commented, shuddering as he remembered his own issue with that.

"It's not summer," Salem laughed quietly. "No, I'll be fine. Thanks again." With that, Salem quietly closed the door, leaving Skwisgaar to his own thoughts.

As soon as Skwisgaar began to walk toward his room again, he saw both Charles and Murderface heading his way, Charles obviously in distress to what was coming out of Murderface's mouth.

"I- I juscht, ya know, think I descherve to know, schince I'm working with he- hi- them... I'm honeschtly juscht curiousch."

Skwisgaar had a slight inkling to what he was talking about, and flashbacks from last year made him feel sick to his stomach. The thought of Murderface doing the same exact thing... Skwisgaar pursed his lips. But they weren't supposed to even care about each other's affairs, much less from someone else that wasn't even in their band.

"Oh Skwisgaar," Charles said, looking relieved to have found an excuse to cut off the bassist. "Ah, excuse me William." Charles then quickly sped away from the other man, who looked disgruntled.

"Good to have caught you." Charles was good at sniffing out his band members. "I just wanted to let you know, since I ah, didn't see you yesterday... The walkway closest to Tobias's room is off-limits while we make repairs to Mordhaus. There was a really bad storm the night before, and it caused a fire. Everybody's rooms are available using the other passage, except for Tobias's."

"Where ams Tobias sleeps then?" Skwisgaar questioned.

"He'll be ah, bunking with Toki apparently, who already has Nathalia in his room for the time being." His eyebrow raised as he spoke, causing Skwisgaar to swallow heavily. No doubt the cameras had caught their little mishap, but rather than discuss it, Charles moved to continue walking. "Well anyway, that's all I needed to say. William, you shouldn't be dawdling in the middle of the hall."

Murderface had been drawing nearer and nearer to Salem's room, but snapped his attention to the manager, then proceeded to chase him down like a lost puppy to blather about whatever. Sighing, the Swede AGAIN began walking.

Skwisgaar finally reached his room without any other stops, and he gratefully dropped to his bed with a sigh. He was so, so tired, though it wasn't like he hadn't gotten enough sleep the day before. He found his eyes closing momentarily, dozing in and out of consciousness before something whacked him directly across the back, jerking him back into the real world. He didn't even really react to it at first, choosing rather to give a soft grunt and tilt his head to the side.

Another sharp smack made him jerk up fully, moaning in pain as his skin stung from the assault. Skwisgaar blinked the sleep from his eyes and turned to glare at the culprit, only to shrink back when he saw Nathalia's icy stare dig right through his face.

"Toki's awake, and now you are too," Nathalia said simply, turning to stalk out of the room quickly and quietly while dropping the newspaper she had used onto the floor Why did she suddenly seem so nervous? Must've been anxiety, he witnessed several of his band members go through it, though it was mostly because of stage fright, which he assumed could be a bit different from her... issues.

Skwisgaar sat up slowly, giving his back a soft rub to try and soothe the flesh. He peered over at the clock, realizing it was nearly noon, and stood with a groan. He made sure that he didn't smell like sweat before leaving, assuming that Toki was in his own room.

After a quiet knock and a muffled, "Comes ins," Skwisgaar opened the door to see Toki sitting up on his bed with a large bandage wrapped around his head. His lip, however, wasn't wrapped up, so it just stuck out sorely with a stitch or two. Skwisgaar flinched, immediately feeling guilty for what he had done, and he stepped in quietly. Nathalia was there as well, having had a head-start to reach the room before Skwisgaar, and was eyeing them both the entire time.

Skwisgaar cleared his throat a few times, studying Toki nervously, unsure of the younger man's reaction to seeing him there. To his surprise, Toki gave him a soft, lazy smile. "Oh, hellos, Skwisgaars..."

"Hi Toki," Skwisgaar spoke quietly. "How... How ams yous?"

"I ams fines."

Skwisgaar nodded. "Goods... I just cames to apolgetics to yous."

"No, I apolgicaks," Toki replied honestly. Nathalia's eye twitched, possibly from Toki's very broken english, because surely it wasn't Skwisgaar or his english who was the problem.

"For whats?"

"For sayi-" He paused, remembering that Nathalia was in the same room and he had technically lied about part of the confrontation. "...For walkings away. It rudes of me to does that. You forgives me, ja?"

Skwisgaar pretended to think real hard about it, seeing the panic flicker across Toki's face when he hadn't gotten an immediate answer. "Yes you fuckinkgs dildoes." He rolled his eyes softly as he came over to sit on the other's bed, careful not to actually touch the other. "As long as yous answer mes somethinks."

"Anyt'ings!"

"Why dids you go limps like that?" Blue eyes stared into blue eyes as they stared at each other for a while. Skwisgaar had an inkling, especially with what Toki said during that time, but he had to know for sure. Toki sighed and looked away first, twiddling his thumbs almost nervously.

"I... I don'ts gets grabbeds like that oftens. My brains got scareds." His eyes flickered over to the picture of his father that he had hovering over his bed. Skwisgaar didn't understand Toki's attachment to his now deceased father or why he kept that picture, but he could understand why Toki had gone ragdoll mode on the blond once being grabbed at. He felt even worse about the situation. Granted he was still offended that Toki hadn't moaned his name, but most of the events after the fact were unnecessary and painful for the man, and he had never wanted to hurt his friend, especially not like that.

"I ams sorries Toki," Skwisgaar whispered as he gently patted the top of his head, away from the bandaged area. "I promises to never do that agains."

Toki smiled and grasped at the hand, choosing rather to hold it to his chest. "You ams forgivens." He then let go and turned to Nathalia, and smiled wider as he batted his eyes at her cutely. "Naaaaaaat?"

Nathalia groaned. "What's up?"

"Can I has more chicken noodles soups?" Toki maintained his cute demeanor until she huffed and stood up.

"Fine. Skwisgaar, could you watch him? I'd ask Tobias but he's passed the fuck out and he gets grumpy." It was at that moment that Skwisgaar noticed the lump on the floor at the end of the bed, and he raised his eyebrow but didn't question it. He remembered that Tobias's room was currently unavailable. Poor guy, he had just moved into it.

"Ja, sures. I cans watch little babys Toki," Skwisgaar said with a smirk, earning a punch from the rhythm guitarist.

"Fucks yous!"

"Fucks yous!"

"Fucks yous!"

"Fucks yous!"

"Jesus Christ," Nathalia sighed as she managed to slip through the door and escape while the two heavily accented men began to shout at each other. Tobias gave a soft snore and rolled over, having been used to shouting. As long as nobody poked him obnoxiously, he wouldn't have to kill anyone. Not that Skwisgaar would know that, but he wasn't crazy enough to go slapping others awake regardless; unlike some people.

The two eventually calmed down and Toki had scooted over so that he could sit on the edge of his bed with Skwisgaar, kicking his feet like a small child as he gave soft hums. He looked up at the tall Swede and nudged him with his shoulder. "...Skwisgaars?"

"Ja?"

"...I sorries for the other things, too."

"What others things?" He knew what other things; he wanted Toki to actually say it.

"The, the things... the sayings not yours names but another names." Toki looked miserable.

Skwisgaar turned his head away, the pain in his chest back again. Surely it was just his wounded pride that was hurting? Not some sort of weird jealousy thing that he had absolutely no need or reason to feel? "It ams fines, Toki."

"No... I know it ams nots," Toki said sadly. "You can'ts even looks at mes."

"Dat's because if I looks at yous, I will probalys kisses you agains," Skwisgaar said bluntly, feeling Toki stiffen up next to him. "And I can'ts do thats."

Toki shifted uncomfortably next to the blond. "... Whos says?"

Skwisgaar blinked. As flattered as he was... "Because your lip ams not healeds you fuckinks dildoes."

"Ohs, ja." Toki smiled even though Skwisgaar couldn't see because he was still avoiding the other's eyes, and his uncomfortable movements turned into happy wiggles. Of course there was another reason for not wanting to kiss Toki- he didn't want a repeat of last time, though without the physical harm. But Skwisgaar felt that a sudden kiss would probably lead to nearly the same result of Toki moaning for someone that wasn't him. Maybe if he romanced Toki enough and gave him time to mentally prepare...

Skwisgaar's thoughts were interrupted when the door creaked open again and Nathalia walked in with a steaming bowl of soup. Her face was unreadable, and he took it as a bad sign.

She said nothing though as she gently placed the bowl in Toki's hands and then sat next to him, looking absolutely exhausted. "Haves you even slepts?" Skwisgaar ended up asking, and he received a head shake as a response. "Yous and Salem ams bads at goings to beds."

Toki snorted. "Says you, mister kings of nots sleepings because you practices too hards."

Nathalia gave a light chuckle, but her eyes darkened at the mention of her friend. "I have insomnia, I already suck at sleeping. Then I wanted to help Toki out, too."

"Does Salems haves the ammonias too?" Toki questioned.

"It's insomnia. And yeah but probably not as severe as mine." She shrugged, almost giving off a smirk to that.

"Then why ams they so pales and tireds lookings?" Skwisgaar raised a brow as he butted in.

Nathalia shrugged again, face flashed in irritation; was- was she trying to make it a competition? Then Skwisgaar's question was shaken from his mind by what she said. "They won't tell me." Her eyes flickered into mild annoyance, then a little bit of sadness. "They won't tell me a lot of shit. Though I..."

"Ohs?" Skwisgaar tried to press, but Nathalia seemed to quickly recover and she grinned over at him.

"Don't worry about it, they'll be fine. I'll beat the fucking words out of them if I have to."

"You haves a thing withs the beatings on others peoples," Skwisgaar rolled his eyes with a snort, remembering her smacking him awake earlier.

Nathalia cackled at those words, which made the Swede both slightly annoyed and also amused.

They continued on their nonsensical conversation for a little while, before Skwisgaar felt the familiar ache in his belly and decided that eating before some guitar practice would be an ideal plan for the rest of the day, now that the drama had been dealt with.

The Swede stood up from where he had been sitting on the bed and waved somewhat awkwardly at them. "I'll see yous laters, ja? Gonna works on my guitar playings, unlike some peoples." He shot Toki a look, who pouted.

Nathalia ended up smirking at Skwisgaar, which unnerved him. "I'm sure Toki will see you soon enough, that's for sure."

Skwisgaar didn't like that it sounded as though she were implying something, but he shook it off, trying to play it cool. "Well, yous can't gets rids of him when hes want to follows. I'ves trieds."

"I'm sure." Nathalia scoffed, then snickered as Skwisgaar left the room with his eye suspiciously on her. There was no way she knew...

~~~

Murderface dug his knife into the wall, listening to the beautiful sounds of destruction as he frowned to himself, thinking.

Charles and everyone from the band were gone to do their own thing which left him alone, and William being alone was never a good thing, not for anyone. Not even for himself.

Murderface's mind was preoccupied with many things, things he'd been thinking about for a very long time. Like Pickles, for example. Why couldn't he just forgive the bassist? Surely he didn't need to apologize for what he said a year ago, did he?

All Murderface wanted was to feel Pickles again, to touch him, to see the trust and affection in the other's eyes. It filled Murderface's cold, broken heart with a warmth he couldn't replicate through self-mutilation (and Satan knows he tried). Or even by attempting to re-ruin things again, to maybe getting something out of it... receiving nothing, no satisfaction, just guilt or offense at the lack of response, then redirecting his feelings back to that need for Pickles to just... love him.

Salem though... It was a whole new experience for him. He immediately felt drawn to... Him? Her? 'Them'? He didn't know what they were, but he knew it was magnetic and powerful.

Did Salem feel the same way though? Should he ask? Did he want the same from them as he had gotten from Pickles, or was this different? It seemed different. Murderface could practically feel the horrid kindness and compassion oozing out of their body, which obviously counteracted his dead, nihilistic nature.

Could Salem feel the disgusting-ness that was Murderface's aura? Did they drink it in like Murderface did their sweet, sugary feelings, revel in it, feel more energized because of it? Probably not. It was like trading apple juice for swamp water, and no doubt Salem would have the worst end of the bargain.

This thought made Murderface smile a little through the pain of realization. He was drowning in a sea of sand that was his self-loathing, and taking other people's happiness, sweetness, kindness, gave him his own temporary pleasure, no matter how temporary it was or how much worse he felt after. It was a vicious cycle.

How much more could Murderface project his pain onto others before it no longer felt satisfactory in any way? Before it blew up in his face? Before he was permanently suffocating and had no way of getting help? He was sick, he knew he was sick. He just didn't care for 'medium' feelings, he needed to be hated passionately or one hundred percent loved, and nothing in between. He wanted to be noticed and remembered forever, and he'd do anything for that.

Perhaps that was partly why Murderface would soon be a victim of manipulation, a pawn in his own traitorous game.

Chapter Text

The day after temporarily moving into Mordhaus proved to be a bit underwhelming, not that Salem was complaining about the small break.

Sure, Tobias was going on about some sort of storm that caught the citadel on fire, and sure, Nathalia was obsessively watching Toki's every move after he had supposedly passed out. And yes, Salem didn't feel all that well after waking up to a new day, and it stayed consistent throughout.

But it was a much better alternative than getting drunk and making a fool of oneself, or watching a friend suffer with seizures, or being bombarded with life-altering information from someone with a crackhead personality.

Salem sighed. They cared a lot about Nathalia, but her obsession for getting dick (it was obvious she was excited about this little meeting with Nathan, her idol) was a bit much when she became irritated for being interrupted. But what was Salem to do?

They were terrified of watching the seizures and being helpless. At the very least, Nathalia was able to prepare better in that kind of situation. All Salem could do was cry and have a panic attack, which would cause people to worry about them and they didn't want to be looked after.

Then Salem smiled sadly. If they had been interrupted during a meeting with Pickles, they'd probably be upset too. Just... not as much.

Salem was also not dumb and knew that Nathalia was plotting, possibly that very second, to get Salem and Pickles together so that she could get info about the other drummer's... situation. The only reason they were not particularly upset about this was because they really really liked him. But they did find it somewhat offensive that someone could so blatantly disrespect the concept of someone's privacy to their own identity. But as someone who liked to stay quiet a lot about a lot of problematic things, Salem kept their mouth shut.

Unfortunately, Salem hadn't seen much of him yesterday because he was apparently working on something for the album. In fact, Salem hadn't seen much of anybody yesterday because they had fallen so ill. But today was a new day, day three of staying at Mordhaus.

Salem bit their lip as they thought back on yesterday. It was about 5 or 6 am and they hadn't been able to sleep the entire night, so they had nothing else to do with their time.

They hadn't gotten into a fight with Nathalia, but they knew that they had made her worried when they had suddenly gone pale and passed out onto the floor while discussing Toki's injuries.

Waking up to a concerned Nathalia was not something Salem ever wanted to encounter, because it was lowkey embarrassing.

"Bruh, bruuhhhhhhhhh, are you okay!?" Nathalia had practically shouted into the other's ear, causing Salem to groan in pain. "Answer me you lifeless fucking zombie!" Nathalia shook them by the collar desperately until Tobias had to grab her and remind her that Toki was sleeping just a few feet away and not to wake him. It worked.

Salem had reached up with weak hands and pried her hands off of their neck, scooching back on their butt to prevent more manhandling. "Fucking Christ, you're gonna kill me."

"Well maybe I should, as payback for you fucking falling!" Nathalia had scoffed at the shorter one. "What happened?"

"I don't know," Salem had spoken, standing up on weak legs and stretching their limbs out. They've fainted like that before many times, and usually all for the same reason.

"Well, go sit somewhere so I can take a look at you," Nathalia ordered, and Salem pursed their lips.

"I'm fine."

"Like fuck you are."

Salem had smiled a little. "I just need to rest, in MY room. Okay?"

"Does this have anything to do with your alcohol intake? Or drug intake?" Salem shot Tobias a dirty look for butting in, but only because of the second part. He stared blankly back until realizing that he had actually said that out loud, and grimaced.

Nathalia raised an eyebrow. "Drug intake? You're still fucking- how does Tobias know and I don't?"

Salem sighed deeply. "I'm not doing drugs again, Tobias caught me one time a week ago CONSIDERING it." Definitely not a conclusion Salem had been expecting; they were hoping that the two would just chalk it up to sleep deprivation, which the drummer would've also normally assumed. However, Salem wasn't being fully truthful and now that was something else to consider.

Nathalia could smell the bullshit in the air, but her eyes softened, which was unlike the normal fiery spark in her eyes. It was her puppy dog face that Salem knew was there to make them feel bad. "Don't fucking lie to me."

The atmosphere was heavy with something unspoken as Salem looked down at their feet and Nathalia just stared hard at them, Tobias looking between the two nervously.

Nathalia spoke again, quieter. "Don't hide these things from me. You know I can't stand that."

Salem gave a small nod like a child, guilt eating at their heart. They weren't good at talking about what they did in their personal life that was potentially unhealthy for them. They also weren't good at explaining themselves in general or explaining their behavior. They especially weren't good at talking about their drug choices, after...

"It was once. I was bored earlier," Salem told Nathalia.

Nathalia huffed, her old demeanor coming back. "I get bored too, you don't see me blowing homeless people for their dentures or some shit."

"Doesn't sound nearly as fun," Salem rolled their eyes.

"Depends. What'd you use?"

"Oh ya know, just... something small."

"If it's not weed-"

"Oh would you look at the time," Salem said, and began to walk out, sensing that the fog had been lifted for a moment.

"Saaaaleeeeeem-"

"We can talk later, yeah?"

Well, later had turned into the next day and Salem still hadn't talked to Nathalia yet and finished their conversation.

Salem felt bad, but the drugs were honestly a one-time thing. They sighed as they tossed and turned on their bed. There was a time that they joked about being drug addicts, hell they had even tried a few things together just because they were famous. It all changed within a second when things spiraled out of Salem's control and they...

Salem pushed themselves out of their bed. They needed some food in their system.

While rummaging through the fridge to find sustenance, Salem found a mouthful of cheesecake to devour, and continued looking with their cheeks stuffed to the brim. Here's hoping I don't puke it back up later, Salem thought.

Footsteps caught their attention and they snapped their head up to see Skwisgaar pausing with wide eyes. He then relaxed slightly, as if he had been expecting Godzilla to come rampaging through the room and discovered a bunny instead.

Salem, embarrassed to have been caught in such an unflattering manner, hid their face behind the fridge door as they struggled to swallow what was in their mouth.

"Gettinks a little snacks, eh?"

"Nuuuuuuuuuuh," Salem managed, trying not to choke.

"Wells, hurry ups, I ams hungries too yous know."

"Well now you can wait even longer," Salem replied as they finally swallowed and licked their lips. After pushing away the more questionable contents and a few seconds of bantering, Salem lifted their head again to study Skwisgaar's face.

"Wells... we didn'ts really fights."

Salem nodded. "Yeah, Toki explained a little more." Receiving an odd look, Salem explained, "You guys had an argument and you were trying to stop him from walking away but apparently you tugged him too hard. He smacked his head and then bit through his lip. At least that's what he claims. Nathalia calls bullshit."

Truth be told, Nathalia wasn't as skeptical as Salem made it seem, they were just a bit of an instigator and liked to see the tall man squirm nervously.

"What does you calls?"

"I don't know, I don't really care at the moment, as long as Toki's alright." And it was true, Salem was just happy to see that Toki was fine and that he seemed generally okay with Skwisgaar, as in no sore feelings or grudges.

Skwisgaar seemed satisfied enough, and they changed topics, unfortunately that topic being just how awful Salem looked. They knew they looked terrible, since they hadn't slept all night and especially after having some 'fun' the morning before with no way to rest and rejuvenate. Quickly though, the conversation was switched back to Toki when Skwisgaar asked how he was, not that Salem minded.

As Salem explained, they let out a huge yawn. Fuck, they couldn't keep their eyes open for much longer. "I'm gonna try and pass out." Skwisgaar had pulled out an apple from the fridge that Salem ended up stealing and taking a bite out of before handing it back. "By the way, Nathalia wants to see you when you feel like not hiding anymore. She might be heading this way soon, too."

The light flickered on, but Salem's senses were much too slow for them to react properly, instead blinking in slight confusion to see Murderface standing there, also puzzled by the two standing in the kitchen. He then locked eyes with Salem and grinned, which made them flinch inwardly, but smiled back politely. They were not a fan of Murderface and his grotesque thought process (at least from what had been seen on t.v), but they didn't want to be rude.

Murderface looked like he wanted to say something, but before he could, Salem could see a slight movement from the very back and could recognize the very white, pale skin popping from the darkness as Nathalia, who slunk back into the shadows.

When she got close enough, Nathalia spoke. "What are all you gay fucks doing in here?"

Salem could only smile as they saw Skwisgaar fling some pasta from fear and Murderface himself was a bit spooked.

"Shits!"

"Dude, relaxsch. She'sch juscht a girl... right?" Big mistake in saying that, when Nathalia came flying out of the darkness like a ninja to further spook the man-baby. 

Salem's stomach suddenly clenched tightly in pain and there was a ringing in their ears that made them feel a little dizzy. The fact that they were around Nathalia and knew that they would eventually have to talk to her, made them feel uneasy as well, so they decided to excuse themselves.

"We still have to talk later," Nathalia warned just before Salem made their getaway, quickly speeding down the hall. They just wanted to get to their room and curl in front of the fan as sweat began to bead down their face.

A sharp pain in their chest caused them to gasp and hunch over, their vision growing hazy and blood pounding against their eardrums. Salem wasn't sure if they were going to throw up or die right there. Salem stumbled a step or two forward in the hopes they could find a wall to balance against, but no such luck.

They took several deep breaths, the dizzy spell ebbing away slowly, but their eyes still couldn't properly focus. Salem sensed that someone was coming and eventually saw Skwisgaar rounding the corner, who paused unsurely when spotting the other. Salem was sure it wasn't a pretty sight; they could feel their sweat drenching their body.

Salem forced their body to stand upright and step to the side to allow Skwisgaar more room before proceeding to die on the floor again. Instead, the blond nervously asked, "Needs help?" Salem was surprised by the generous offer; after all, Skwisgaar wasn't shy about his lack of compassion for others. Maybe, just maybe, there's a little more substance to all these guys than what can just be seen on t.v, Salem thought sarcastically with an inward eyeroll toward themselves.

Skwisgaar's hand on Salem's back was gentle as he led them down the hall, pausing a few times to ask where their room was before they finally reached their door.

"Thanks. See ya."

"Waits! Uhh... ams you alrights?"

Salem gave a tired smile and nod. "Yeah, just... tired, and maybe a little sick I guess."

"It ams the summers cold, ja? They bes the worst."

"It's not summer," Salem fought the urge to facepalm and instead resorted to a chuckle. "No, I'll be fine. Thanks again." They opened the door and then quietly shut it, stumbling their way to their bed with a groan. Their head and stomach had begun hurting again while walking, but as they dropped to their bed, their body seemed to relax, finally allowing them to drift into an uneasy sleep.

Salem woke up later into the day with a light headache, and they turned their head groggily after opening their eyes to fresh sunlight from their window, to look at the clock on the wall. It was almost three in the afternoon. They sat up slowly, shaking the sleep out of their head. Normally they would remember their dreams at least a little, but only when concentrating hard enough did Salem only recall small snippets.

Visions of blood and burning wood filled the inside of their eyelids when closing them, but Salem just assumed it was another apocalypse dream that they tended to get once in a while. It was only mildly concerning to them that they couldn't remember most of it.

Salem staggered out of their room after peeing and taking a quick shower, dressed in their plaid with a pair of leggings underneath, the shirt long enough to go nearly to their knees. Salem purposely kept it untucked this time, since they would probably be surrounded by people they didn't know.

Salem wasn't really sure where to go, though. Should they bother Tobias? No, Tobias liked hiding in his room and currently he was bunking with Toki for the time being, and where there was Toki there was Nathalia... and they were still not ready to have that discussion with her. What about Ivy and Raven? Well, maybe, if they were outside of their room anywhere. If not, then it would be in Salem's best interest to just... not.

Of course Salem was far too uncomfortable with the idea of just walking up to any band member of Dethklok, considering they looked up to the band like they were Gods. Perhaps if they floated aimlessly around Mordhaus, someone might strike up a conversation with them or they would find something interesting. Otherwise, they might just grab a snack and go ducking back into their own room.

So that's what Salem did. They wandered the halls aimlessly, nodding to every Klokateer that walked by and peering into any open and available rooms, but nothing peaked their interest. To the kitchen I go, Salem sighed to themselves.

On the way there, they paused to think. Perhaps they could grab a snack and then chill in the living-room? Surely someone would pass by and speak to them... maybe.

Salem frowned to themselves. They didn't just want anybody, and deep inside, they knew that. After all, Salem was not one to actively seek out attention from strangers, much less conversation. No, what they were looking for was...

"Oh, heyyy." A voice of midwestern silk floated through Salem's eardrums once they stepped into the living-room, and Salem couldn't help but grin. They were a sucker for such an odd accent.

"HeYy," Salem greeted in a high-pitched, shy tone before they cleared their throat and tried again. "H- hey."

Pickles laughed at the odd tone. He was seated in one of the many couches, watching the t.v as it rambled about something or other, a bottle of alcohol in his hand. Salem wasn't sure what drew them to the man, before even meeting him; they weren't a fan of dreads, or dread comb-overs for that matter. There wasn't really anything remarkable about his features other than his signature hair. Maybe Salem just liked to fawn over the less-appreciated ones, besides, he definitely wasn't ugly.

Everyone was always obsessed over Nathan because he was not only a very handsome singer, but was considered 'the most brutal'. But from day one, Salem couldn't keep their eyes off of the drummer's movement in every video or live performance ever.

It was so fluid and they could see such passion in his face every time he played. Maybe it was that, combined with his quirks and alcoholism (which Salem could relate to), and that gosh darn cute smile of his, that made Salem so interested. Plus, he WAS cute, and generally pulled off his hair well enough despite it being an odd choice in style.

"Ye've been sleepin' all day?" Pickles questioned, to which Salem nodded to. "T'ought so. I was chattin' wit' Nathalia earlier, she said she wanted ta talk to yew aboot somethin'."

Salem let out a loud groan as they leaned against the nearest wall, arms crossed over their chest. "Fuck. Oh, and what did you guys talk about?"

Pickles chuckled at the reaction, until Salem's last words left their mouth and suddenly he looked away, his pale face reddening slightly. "OH, nothin'." The other drummer attempted to clear his throat when his voice raised just a little too high. "Random shit, but den she wanted ta know where yew were 'n' I told her I'd let yew know she was lookin' f'r yew."

Salem gave a small exhale as they looked down at their feet. "I know she is. I'm avoiding her."

"Oh? Are yew two fightin', or...?" Pickles questioned.

"No. I don't think so." Were they? At first they weren't, but would it escalate into one the more Salem avoided her? They didn't want that, but they also didn't want this dreaded conversation. It was the same old, same old, that would usually break Salem down into tears behind closed doors.

Pickles paused whatever that was on the t.v and rolled his head to the side to study Salem's features, noticing the paler tone and dark shadows under their eyes. "I also heard yew was sick. Yew good?"

Salem forced a smile on their face. "Yeah, just been feeling off."

"Dat damn summer cold, eh? Dey're da worst."

"It's not- ugh. Sure. Or well, I don't know." Salem rubbed their temples. "Anyway, I better go see her, before she freaks out on me."

"Oh, okie." Pickles had an odd look on his face as he shifted in his seat, and Salem raised their brow at him.

"What?"

"Nothin', nothin'," Pickles said meekly. "Jus' uh... wanted ta... yew know, when yer available, if..."

"I'll probably be done within an hour," Salem said, hoping that would be helpful to Pickles's obvious struggle to get to the point.

Pickles nodded a little. "Okie, wanna come back here den 'n' watch somethin' wit' me? Maybe start de drinkin' contest?"

Salem couldn't help but grin at the idea. "Sure thing, but I get to choose the show."

Pickles tapped his chin with his finger. "I think I can accept dose terms 'n' conditions."

"Good." Salem pushed themselves off the wall and began heading for Toki's room, figuring Nathalia would be there.

Salem was right. Upon knocking quietly and opening the door, they saw Tobias on the floor (his favorite spot in the world sometimes) in his nest of blankets with one over his head, Toki sitting and attempting to work on a model airplane from his bed, and Nathalia watching from her corner.

Nathalia immediately stood upon seeing that it was Salem. "Oh good, you stopped hiding from me like a little bitch."

Salem nodded, feeling that familiar fiery feeling in their stomach whenever someone "joked" to be insulting. "Yeah... I'm ready to talk. I guess."

Nathalia scoffed, placing her hands on her hips. "Damn right we're gonna talk. Tobias, keep an eye on Toki. I'll be back."

"I don't think that's necessary, Toki seems-"

"I fucking said. Keep an eye on him, motherfucker." Nathalia ordered, before ushering Salem out the door and closing it behind them both. Salem thought they could hear the quiet guitarist bitterly mock her under his breath.

Salem stared down at the floor, not able to look up at their friend, until 

Nathalia tilted her head and bent all the way over for their eyes to meet, albeit in an awkward position.

"Uhh," Salem started, but didn't really know where to go with it.

Luckily, Nathalia interrupted them. "What was it?"

Salem didn't know what to say, and could feel their throat closing up.

Ever since Salem was young, they were taught to never speak on their feelings or emotions or their wrongdoings, and it eventually dragged into their adulthood by habit. Most of the time because Salem was scared to share and the repercussions for having talked at all, but even when it wasn't because of a lack of trust, it was still hard for them in general.

Due to the fact that they didn't even understand themselves most days, and their thought process was too complicated for them to put into words without making the situation worse, or at least so they thought.

Then again, Salem knew that by not saying anything at all, they were still complicating the problem. But what were they to do? They couldn't face themselves and what they had to say some days, but if they didn't even try, they would still ruin things that way.

There was also the issue of physically being unable to speak when emotion had a hold of them (and once those feelings passed, Salem was too embarrassed to explain themselves, but that was a whole different issue).

At the moment of feeling sad or hurt or guilt, every past moment of ever explaining themselves and it backfiring or of them saying the wrong thing, would fly through their brain and render them speechless. It wasn't something they could control; their mouth and brain simply shut down and prevented them from communicating.

That was most likely why, as soon as Salem had to be forced into a position to talk about something and to deal with confrontation, it would make them begin to break down, because their mind simply couldn't handle it.

Nathalia was the only person who forced Salem to speak anymore, the only one who insisted that Salem explain themselves, because she knew she could get away with it. Perhaps a little manipulative with her choice of demands, especially considering that she was as equally awful with her lack of communication skills, thus being a bit hypocritical. At least if Salem did fall apart and became comatose, they would just try again for another day, but Nathalia never left it alone, and she would keep trying until she got the answer she wanted.

Even more hypocritical that Nathalia also didn't like to share in general, no matter what it was, but Salem never commented on it because THEY weren't hypocritical and therefore actually didn't get upset if they didn't know something right away.

Besides, Nathalia's reasons to simmer in brooding were more on the petty side, whereas Salem just thought if they buried themselves well enough, their failures and mistakes and feelings would go away. Call it harmless deflection.

Unfortunately, aside from having to admit what Salem had done in general which was hard enough on its own, this all applied to Salem's drug use since they used drugs BECAUSE of their unstable emotional problems, and Nathalia knew this.

Salem kept their head down, so Nathalia resorted to guesses. Her first one was right on the dot. Salem could only squirm uncomfortably.

"Why?" It was a simple question, but an agonizing pain ripped through Salem's throat, preventing them from opening their mouth and speaking. Nathalia had stood back up normally and placed her hands on Salem's shoulders. "Look at me."

Salem forced themselves to look up at her, her green eyes piercing right through their skull. "Do you fucking remember what happened last time? Hmmmmm?"

Salem flinched again. They could remember all too well, for someone who's brain was probably severely damaged. When they nodded, Nathalia loosened her grip slightly, but kept her hands on their arms. "Then what compelled you to try again? Boredom?" Salem shrugged, but Nathalia would have none of that. She continued to stare intensely at the other until they sighed, gently prying her hands off of them.

"I just... It was a bad time to come here."

"How so?" Nathalia frowned. "Is it because of your crush on...?"

"No, no it has nothing to do with Dethklok." Salem folded their arms across their chest to keep from feeling so vulnerable. "I uh... talked to Abigail. We're not allowed to leave Mordhaus or the country itself for long periods of time until the album's done, except for live shows."

"Yeah, and? Why would you wanna be anywhere else?" Nathalia found it oddly baffling to her that Salem was even considering being somewhere else than where they were at right then and there.

"Check the date."

Nathalia blinked, not liking the vague answers but finding it better than Salem turning into a stone statue. She pulled out her phone and checked to see what the date was. "It's close to my birthday. Is that what you mean?"

Salem sighed. "No, Nathalia."

Nathalia stared for a few seconds longer before something finally clicked. "OH! Oh... oh fuck." She looked back up at Salem, biting her lip. "Well... that explains a little."

Salem kicked their foot along the ground, chewing on the inside of their cheek. "I just wanted some peace of mind after... realizing."

Nathalia smacked the side of Salem's head gently with her phone. "Well instead of devolving like this, entertain yourself in some other way. Like maybe Pickles's ballsack." She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, causing Salem to groan in embarrassment and turn away. "Well, if he has balls. If not, go for the-!"

"Nat, please." Salem whined, but couldn't help but  smile a little when she huffed at the nickname that only her closest friends (and now Toki) could use on her without getting bitched at. "Fucking pervert."

"Says you," Nathalia accused Salem, pointing a finger at her friend. "Seriously though, you don't need to get back on that shit. There'll be no repeat of last time, or rehab you will go. Got it?"

"Yes mother," Salem rolled their eyes.

"That's Daddy to you!" Nathalia bellowed just as the door opened and Tobias had popped his head out of the room. They all stared at each other for a moment before Tobias slowly ducked his head back in the room and shut the door.

Salem chuckled as they pulled the door back open to see Toki staring at them with wide eyes and Tobias with his face in its natural state of dissociation as he sat back on the floor. "Who ams daddys? You has kids?" Toki squeaked, and the two standing friends laughed at the poor, lost man.

"No one Toki and no, it's just an inside joke," Nathalia assured the rhythm guitarist with a smile. "Anyway, something you wanted, Tobias?"

Tobias, who had a knack for walking in on conversations at the 'wrong' moment, paused to think to himself as he struggled to remember. "Mm... I just felt really compelled to say something, but I forget. I'll let you know later if I remember?" Tobias would most likely not remember, but Nathalia nodded anyway.

"Well, we're done talking. Off you go to be gay." Nathalia made shooing motions with her hands toward Salem. "Go on, get that ass, honey."

"My fucking Gods," Salem muttered as they began to walk out of the room. "I'll be in the living-room if you weirdos need me."

"Ooooooooh wait, before you goooo," Nathalia drawled out, causing Salem to pause and eye her suspiciously. "I think Tobe needs to talk to you, one-on-one."

"No, Tobe does not!" Tobias insisted, cheeks flushed slightly once he was put on the spot.

Nathalia gave him the stink-eye. "Yes the fuck he does, or I'll rip off his nuts right in front of Toki as punishment."

Toki's eyes grew wide and looked between the two almost in fear. "It's okay Toki, she won't," Salem assured him.

"The fuck I won't!"

Tobias sighed as he led Salem out the door. "Hurry, before she assaults me."

Salem snickered softly as the two walked out of the room and they were once again, stuck in the hallway to have a chat. This time though, Salem had no clue as to what this discussion was supposed to be about.

"So, I was supposed to talk to you yesterday, before you collapsed and all that," Tobias explained, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. "About Pickles."

Salem growled in light frustration. "Nat put you up to this? Never mind, don't answer that."

Tobias couldn't help but smile, ignoring the last part. "Yes, yes she did."

"Of course she did, and I'm assuming therefore that you know everything we know?"

"If by that you mean what he now has in common with you, then yes." Tobias was attempting to be discreet, considering that they didn't know who might be listening in, and he was much more cautious about those things than Nathalia was.

"Yeah, that... I think. Well either way, you don't have to encourage me to do anything. If shit happens, it happens." Salem shrugged. "I know you won't go around talking about it willy nilly, so try and convince Nathalia to not do that either."

"You know I've already attempted to, she doesn't listen," Tobias commented, his face going a little sour. Tobias liked to think he was hard to read and that his disdain for Nathalia most days was very low under the radar, but truth be told, only Nathalia seemed completely clueless on it. 

Salem didn't think Nathalia was that bad, at least not in comparison to the rest of them, but with Tobias being a more laid back, responsible man, the careless antics of his oldest friend did seem to weigh on him more heavily, especially considering he liked to try and take responsibility for the group sometimes and Nathalia was probably equal to three normal idiots. 

Salem mostly just found it funny that because Nathalia couldn't read him for shit, that that meant to him as being very subtle and robotic but the reality was that he wore every emotion on his face like it was a new budding personality. The issue was that not a lot of people had the gift for looking at the details, and expected someone to be openly sobbing or fuming to consider it an emotional state. Salem knew better, but said nothing.

"Yeah, yeah." Salem paused, suddenly coming to a realization. "Do you know what she and Pickles were talking about?"

Tobias could only give them a sheepish smile. "I'm sure you already can figure that out on your own."

Salem swore under their breath. "Motherfucker. I kinda wanted him to come up to me on his own. Now this is gonna feel forced and I'm gonna be awkward as shit." They pouted slightly to this.

Tobias shook his head. "You don't seem to understand. All Nathalia did, I'm assuming, was encourage him to act on his feelings. The feelings he already had BEFORE she said anything. Under the assumption that she didn't threaten bodily harm to him if he didn't agree to a date."

"Who knows with Nathalia," Salem snorted. "I guess it makes sense, but I'm still nervous as Hell now."

"Imagine how Pickles feels, knowing he just got set up with a person by their very angry and aggressive friend," Tobias pointed out in an attempt to help. It worked, slightly.

Salem's lips twitched into a half-smile before they tugged on their shirt nervously. "Well, I better go hang out with him, I guess. See you."

"Yep. Oh and, Salem." Salem had turned to walk away, but looked back at their friend. He gave them a sympathetic look. "If you want to talk about anything with me, feel free to." His eyes softened and made them almost flush red with how concerned he seemed to be.

"Sure." Salem nodded quietly before departing, heading back to the living-room with their stomach churning. They really didn't want to remember the conversation they had just had with Nathalia, or the reason for having to have it to begin with. In just a week, shit even less than that now... That date would be coming up soon. That day, 10 years ago, where Salem forever lost part of their heart.

As soon as they saw Pickles still lounging on the couch, Salem's shoulders loosened and they approached with a shy smile when Pickles lifted his head to greet them. He was already two vodkas deep into his drunk state, the bottles by his feet. More bottles that he had found were lined up against the coffee table neatly. They consisted of vodka, whiskey, rum, even some brandy and wine.

"Such a wonderful display for me," Salem teased as they timidly sat down beside the other drummer, afraid to touch him for some reason. "What will you be drinking?"

"Feck off," Pickles shoved Salem lightly with his shoulder. "I take my drinkin' contests very seriously, as yew can see."

"Coulda fooled me, seems more like an amateur collection," Salem smirked over at the other, their body tingling from the innocent touch.

"Oh don't worry, I have more in my room as a bonus round, if yew can make it dat far," Pickles winked playfully as he grabbed two vodka bottles and handed one to Salem, who's heart had nearly jumped out of their chest at the idea of going back to the red-head's room. Was that really a good idea? Salem got pretty flirty while drunk, and they didn't want to fuck this up in any way.

Still, Salem took the bottle and popped the lid off almost immediately, before they clinked their bottles together. "Cheers, I guess." Salem wanted some time to mentally prepare for the bitter taste, but saw that Pickles was already placing his to his lips. Not wanting to be bested, Salem copied and began to chug as fast as their throat would allow.

Pickles placed his empty bottle down just a second before Salem, causing him to grin smugly. "Not bad, but'm still better!"

Salem scoffed, the liquid burning their insides as it went down. "We're only just starting. What're we watching while we do this?" Pickles was already reaching for another bottle so Salem did the same as they spoke.

Pickles chuckled. "Yew were sapposed to pick, remember?"

"Right, right... do you like anime?" Salem quickly downed a fifth of fireball, wincing only slightly at the pain. Pickles did the same without flinching.

"Dooooood. I'm like, t'e only one who watches it here, besides maybe Toki," Pickles complained as the both of them reached for another bottle. "Dey say it's not brooootal enough but what do dey know? T'ere's always blood 'n' guts in de ones I watch!"

"Riiiiight? Buncha pussies," Salem scoffed. "Let's find one to watch."

And so they sat together, downing bottle after bottle as blood spatters filled the screens and their vision. Salem wasn't even sure what they were watching, but it was beginning to piss them off.

"Bruh. Bruh! That's some bullshit!" Salem shouted at the t.v, throwing an empty bottle in that general area before grabbing a full one. "You saw his knife, why didn't you fucking yeet him or some shit!"

Pickles began to laugh quietly at Salem's outrage. "I mean, maybe dey were too supprised-"

"No! No. Fuck that. This guy has like, superpowers, mmkay? You listening to me?! He's practically a God!" Salem threw their hands up in the air, sloshing some of the alcohol on top of their head. "They're KNOWN for fast reflexes! How the fuck can he just stare at some bum and be like 'o shit damn, I just got stabbed', fucking stup- oh great, see, he's dead now!"

"No no he's fine, look!" Pickles pointed to the screen as the character on the screen began to regenerate. "Feck man, I wish I was dat cool."

"I don't," Salem commented, earning a bewildered look from the other. Pickles had even stopped his bottle halfway and set it down gently.

"Why da fuck would yew even say dat?!"

Salem pursed their lips together as their depressing thoughts began to float to the surface. "I mean, what if I wanted to die one day? I couldn't. My body would just say 'fuck you, I'll heal you anyway'. Maybe if there turns out to be some kinda weak point, it won't be so bad, but." Salem shrugged.

Luckily, Pickles didn't really notice a change in mood and didn't take their words as anything other than a hypothetical theory. Pickles chugged another thing of vodka before rolling their head over lazily to look at the other. "Wellllll, yew'll have an eternity ta figure it out den, won't ya?"

Salem rolled their eyes and elbowed him in the side slightly, causing him to snicker as he grabbed a drink again.

"B'the wayyyy, yer lagging behind. 'M one ahead o'ya."

"Oh fuck!"

Eventually all the alcohol was gone, but Salem, as they internally expected, was not ready to call it quits since they were consistently behind by just one. If they could just down two quickly enough, or Hell maybe drink both at the same time, they could at least be tied with the other.

Pickles got up and paused the show, rocking back and forth on his feet as he blinked and stared drunkenly at the other. "Read-" he interrupted himself with a burp, "-y ta call't quitssss?"

"Noooope!" Salem stood up and immediately almost fell over, only being saved from hugging the floor with their face by Pickles's arms. "Gimme more!"

Pickles laughed. "'Re yew sure aboot dat? Yew can't even staaand!"

Salem gave a weak punch to his stomach. "Fuck youuuus, gimme!"

"If yew can make it ta my room by yourself, I'll agree to de bonus round," Pickles grinned mischievously.

"You're on," Salem hissed, stumbling back as they pushed off of Pickles's arms. "Does... crawling count?"

"I guess... as long as yew don't pass out, it counts," Pickles assured them.

"Fuck. Yeah." Salem fell to the floor on their ass and began to scootch along the ground like a dog, causing Pickles to almost throw up from laughing so hard.

Salem stood in triumph only when they reached the door (which looked pretty brand new compared to the rest of the house) to Pickles's room, only to fall into the wall nearest to them.

"Yew okieee dere?" Pickles chuckled as he came up from behind them, prying them gently off of the wall. Salem groaned in reply, watching with blurry vision as Pickles opened the door and then suddenly felt very sick. But it was a different sickness than earlier. It was a nervous sickness that made it so they couldn't move forward.

Pickles noticed the hesitation and his eyes grew soft as Salem stared unsurely into the room. "'T's okie. We jus' drinkin', okie?" His voice was so soft and hesitant.

Salem nodded and allowed themselves to be led inside, the door closing behind and causing them to jump. Pickles breathed out softly in amusement as he walked past Salem, pulling more bottles out from under his bed and his dresser to place them on his mattress. "We c'n do t'is on t'e floor 'r bed, but 'f we stand yer genna fall."

Salem blushed and carefully sat down on the bed, noticing old puke stains in the carpet and embedded into the floor. Surprisingly though, it smelled fairly nice in the room. They were given a bottle and after a quick countdown, They both began to chug again.

The only sounds were of their throats swallowing and the bottles clinking, followed by gasps of air. Not the most attractive of noises, but both of them were having fun and that's all that mattered.

Eventually Salem had caught up with Pickles but at the same time couldn't continue, so they tapped out with a sigh. "I fuckin' can't, shit dude."

Pickles grinned and made sure to drink up the last two bottles before he spoke. "Ha! I win!" He gave the other drummer a smug look. "Still, pretty good keepin' up wit' me f'r the most part."

"Fuck offfff," Salem grunted, pushing him again lightly, or at least tried to. They missed and ended up falling into their lap with a little "ope".

Pickles snorted softly, hand resting on Salem's head. "Yew seemed so nervous 'n' now yer on top'a me. Progress!"

Salem blushed heavily and tried to get up, but only managed to fall back down. "S- sorry!"

"'T's fine," Pickles murmured. Salem was hyper-aware of where their hand was so they moved it to his stomach, which didn't seem much better when it seemed to jump at their touch. Salem balled his shirt into their fist as they propped themselves onto their elbows and looked up at him, realizing his face had an indescribable look to it. It seemed almost frightened, yet lustful.

Maybe it was the alcohol reaching Salem's brain but they reached up to nuzzle their face into his neck, mumbling against the sweaty skin, "I really reallyyyyy like youuu."

Pickles's chuckle was like music to their ears. "I can see dat." His hands, which sat unsurely by his sides, moved so that they could be placed on their hips. Without warning, he swiftly moved Salem off of his lap and against his pillow and blankets on his bed, before sitting back to study them. "Yer friend asked me if I liked yew, actually."

"Oh?" Salem raised an eyebrow, looking expectantly at him.

Pickles nodded. "Ye, she said if I did I should ask yew out. But I'm... no good at dat kinda t'ing. I don't date often."

"I mean, you are a pretty big deal, I'm sure you could... could get whoever you want, no strings attached," Salem hiccuped as they leaned into the softness that was the bed.

"Ye, but I've been craving somethin' real." Pickles smiled. "Yew good? Yew look ready to pass out."

"Nooooo," Salem groaned, yet rolling over to bury themselves deeper into the blankets.

Pickles patted Salem's hip gently. "C'mon, I'll take yew back ta yer room."

Salem felt slightly disappointed that they couldn't just lay here, but figured it would be best, in case they blacked out and didn't remember anything. The last thing they wanted was to worry if they had done anything. Salem was prepared to stand up when arms wrapped around their body, and they were surprised to be picked up by someone who should've been as equally drunk as them.

They fell limp into those strong, soft arms though as they were carried back to their room. Salem's door was left unlocked so Pickles was able to pop it open and carry them to their bed.

Just before being placed down on it, Salem abruptly wrapped their arms around Pickles's neck, planting a sloppy kiss onto the other's lips and accidentally dragging him down on top of them. They both landed awkwardly, considering Salem hadn't been put down fully yet, with Pickles's hands trapped under Salem's body.

Salem pulled away, pressing their sweaty forehead against Pickles's shoulder. "'M sorry, that was probs awfullll," Salem muttered, too drunk to actually feel any regret yet.

Pickles pulled a hand out from underneath the other, gently cupping their face and pulled their chin upward so that their lips could lock together again gently and sweetly. Then Pickles pulled away to whisper softly, "'T's okie, but I kinda want ta take t'ings slow f'r once... if anyt'ing comes outta dis."

Salem hummed in response, still clinging to Pickles as they buried their face into his chest.

After some hesitation, Pickles decided not to pull away and rather scooted so that he was beside the other on the bed, one of his arms wrapped around their stomach because it was still trapped. Salem happily leaned into the other's body, sleepiness fogging their mind.

Salem didn't even consciously realize they were falling asleep, and once again they had no dreams. The next thing they remembered though, was lurching out of bed, still half-drunk, with their stomach clenched again in pain.

Without warning, Salem flung themselves to the toilet and threw up all the contents they had ingested just an hour prior, head fuzzy and eyes watering with pain. They struggled to breathe as it got caught into their lungs and nose, clogging their systems.

They heard a movement out into their actual room. Because they hadn't had time to close the bathroom door, footsteps stumbled toward them. "Heyyy, yew okie in dere?!" Pickles entered and saw the horrible state Salem was in. Not that they could see themselves, but their face and stomach looked bloated from the amount of alcohol poisoning in their system, their skin was as white as the tiles on the floor but with a deep green and blue tint to it.

Even their eyes had a different coloring to them, and their body shook fiercely as they gasped for air. Each breath made their stomach squeeze tighter, and specks of blood began to appear in their vomit.

"Oh fuck, yer- hol' on." Pickles dug into the cabinet nearby to pull out some towels, seeing that Salem could no longer hit their target, that being the toilet. Salem's tears flooded their face as the pain was so overwhelming. "Shhh, yer gonna be okie," Pickles whispered, "jus' a lil alcohol poisoning." Salem was placed carefully on their side once they had stopped throwing up every two seconds, but their skin was cold and clammy and their breathing had slowed tremendously. "Feck!"

Salem's eyes closed, they didn't want to listen. Their head was pounding and all they could taste was blood and bile. Footsteps faded in and out of their hearing as they switched between consciousness and unconsciousness.

Eventually hands were around them again, but not the ones they wanted. They could barely move to struggle though as they were placed into what felt like their bed again.

"Blow into this, honey," an unfamiliar voice spoke softly as something was placed against their lips. Salem attempted to do as they were told, while listening to a more familiar person's voice in the background.

"I swear I don't understand, I drank MORE than them!" Pickles exclaimed, obviously panicking.

"It's... It must be broken..." they were stammering but their voices kept fading in and out. "Normally it can't... but with you, and you've... Let's try again."

But Salem was too exhausted to blow anymore, and ended up puking again, nearly choking until those familiar, soft hands were placed under their head to help them from doing so.

"Try me, see if it's broken wit' me," Pickles insisted.

A few moments of silence made Salem nearly fall back into unconsciousness when they heard a nervous giggle. "This is definitely broken."

"Fucking Hell," Pickles muttered. "I mean I do feel pretty good, but... Go get a new one or somethin'!"

"Keep an eye on them," the voice instructed as more footsteps walked away. Salem's eyes were closed the whole time so they didn't know who had been there, but all that mattered was that the other person was still there, holding them carefully.

"Yer gonna be fine," were the last words Salem had heard before falling back into unconsciousness.

Chapter Text

72 hours left...

"What the FUCK happened?! I swear to God I'll stab every one of you mother fuckers!" Nathalia was screaming at the majority of the Dethklok band and some of her own. They were all standing in the living-room, their faces either surprised or scared of the enraged singer.

Charles was the only one who kept himself composed as he held his hand up toward Nathalia. "Listen, Salem is fine. They're recovering in their bed right now, but they won't be able to work on anything for a while."

"I don't fucking understand, how they could fucking DRINK THAT MUCH?!" Nathalia threw one of the small stands, watching it clunk harmlessly against the wall with dissatisfaction. "Fuck!" She turned to eye Pickles angrily, who looked guilty, his head low and his hands shoved in his pocket. "You better have an answer for me, motherfucker!"

"I- I don't know," Pickles stuttered honestly, looking sheepish. "I really don't... I'm sorry."

"Damn right you are, you fuck! You crippled my drummer! What about the album?!"

"Nathalia." The fuming singer snapped her head around to glare daggers into Abigail's head, who wasn't phased in any way, as usual. "We checked the security cameras, Pickles drank about half of the pile from the living-room, and they were all unopened. Yet his B.A.C was proven to be almost zero, several times. We really don't understand how it happened or even what happened, but whatever it was, it wasn't Pickles's fault."

Nathalia growled; she hated being told to not be mad at the person she wanted to blame. But she had no argument against it, so she threw a vase this time, watching as it smashed into small pieces. "Whatever. I wanna go see them."

"Nath-"

"I want to see my midget!" She shouted, and the small group of people that had surrounded them slowly stepped back and created a clearing for her to walk through. Both Charles and Abigail led Nathalia briskly away from everyone and down the hall where Salem's room was.

Nathalia's head was reeling with questions as she followed them. She didn't understand how Salem's alcohol levels could get that bad, but she knew one thing. After having had the conversation with them about their drug use, and then them almost dying by alcohol, something had to be done before Salem killed themselves accidentally... or 'accidentally'. Nathalia scoffed in her head. Only I'm allowed to be suicidal, she thought sarcastically to herself.

Nathalia still remembered the first time her eyes fell on the small, dirty human and assumed them to be a small child lost on the streets. After asking them if they were lost and if they needed an adult, they laughed and said they were... what age had they been, eighteen? Nineteen? Either way, an embarrassing moment for both which eventually turned into a huge inside joke to them since Salem was still the same tiny person as before.

They'd been friends for almost nine years now. Tobias, who had already been friends with Nathalia for a few years beforehand, warmed up to Salem as well and eventually all three were able to get their own place when Salem landed a job and became good friends with their boss, who had a small shack of a house to rent out.

Their nights were filled with late night talks, dirty humor, and their dreams. Oh, and of course booze. Salem had always found a way to get some and Nathalia suspected that they stole it from someone or a place because surely they couldn't get it from their boss, but when Tobias asked, Salem would just smile and put their lips to a bottle. Eventually, he stopped asking.

Salem and Nathalia opened up to each other quickly, though mostly through Nathalia's prodding and Nathalia's also willingness to air out her dirty laundry in an eager attempt at validation. Still, there were a few things Salem never opened up about in great detail. That didn't mean she didn't know about those certain things, just that she didn't know the full story. She wondered how anybody could exist and just not explain things that would be eating people alive, but she didn't pester... too much.

The door to Salem's room popped open softly and they motioned for Nathalia to step in quietly. She did so, feeling a shiver run across her back when she realized how cold the room was; it felt even colder than her own room. Most of the plants were still alive and green, but a few had started wilting, causing her to frown. Salem's plants were always fresh and in best condition, even when they were passed out for a good few days.

Salem was nestled into a bed of blankets, their pale face poking through as they snored quietly, mouth hung open. It made Nathalia smile slightly. She pulled a spare chair up to the side of the bed and placed a hand on the bed, hesitating before stroking their cold, clammy cheek.

This was not her Salem, she was the dark and depressing one and Salem was the little glowing ball of light that annoyed her with their brightness. The circles under their eyes were even worse than Nathalia's and she hadn't even slept yet- it was now midnight of day three, so technically going into day four of being at Mordhaus and she was starting to mentally lose it, but she'd stayed up before for longer periods of time. She'd continue to stay up if need be.

As Nathalia stroked their oily, sweaty hair back out of their face, eyes blinked open slowly and looked up at her. Salem gave a small smile once they seemed to finally register that it was their best friend, but Nathalia couldn't manage a smile back. Her eyes narrowed sternly, like she was about to scold the other.

Before Salem could say anything, Nathalia was already talking. "Good, you're awake. I want you to go to rehab."

~~~

Pickles knew it wasn't his fault and yet, he felt absolutely awful for what happened.

According to all of Salem's friends, they drank way more in previous times, than what they drank with Pickles. Not to mention, the alcohol levels were way too high compared to what was actually ingested.

It was a puzzling situation that was neither of their faults, but Pickles felt the need to immediately confess the situation to Charles as soon as possible, once he was sure that Salem was sleeping peacefully and being watched over properly by the medics.

This of course, was what led to the meeting in the living-room. Though originally it was supposed to just be Nathalia's band and Pickles, it quickly developed into a little show for Nathan, Toki, and several Klokateers who had paused to listen.

Pickles leaned against the wall with his head down as he was screamed at by Nathalia. He deserved it; he should've kept a better eye on Salem since he didn't know how well they even held their booze. He shouldn't have encouraged someone else to partake in the activity like he did. He shouldn't have dragged Salem down into the pit he had long ago dug for himself.

Even if Salem was as much of an alcoholic as he was, it still wasn't right.

Eventually, Nathalia departed from the group to go visit her friend, leaving Pickles there to brood over his thoughts. The room was deathly silent, which made him uncomfortable. He looked up, hoping at least that it was empty of people, and his eyes immediately caught everyone else's at once.

Toki looked genuinely frightened, Tobias was studying Pickles carefully, Ivy and Raven both wore matching faces of disapproval, and Nathan was expressionless. They were all looking at him, like they were waiting for something.

Pickles turned his head away from everyone and pushed himself off the wall to go head into his room. He was nearly out of the living-room when the last person he wanted to see on this fucking Earth walked into him, as loud and boisterous as per usual.

"What'sch up guysch? ... What, you all had a meeting without me?!" Murderface looked offended as his mind probably came up with a bunch of wild scenarios. Pickles suppressed a sigh and tried to go around when a hand shot out and grasped at his wrist.

The world seemed to freeze for a moment for Pickles, who stared dumbly down at the beefy hand and then looked back up into those lime-green eyes that filled him with so many emotions, each worse than the last. His breath hitched and he gritted his teeth as he tried to keep himself under control.

Memories of just a few hours earlier abruptly plagued his mind, of a soft yet strong body against him, sweet snores filling his ears... the soft hair that he ran his fingers through, the sweet blue eyes that stared at him with adoration before they fluttered closed...

Pickles visibly relaxed and gave Murderface a blank stare, who was not expecting such a response. They both stared at each other, Pickles not flinching away this time like he had so many times before. Eventually the bassist began to look uncomfortable, until he finally let go of the drummer, allowing him to straighten himself out and walk away without a single word.

Pickles may have fucked up this time, but he wouldn't again. Once Salem was awake fully and able to leave their bed, he was going to ask them out on a real date, like Nathalia had suggested. He could prove that he wasn't such a fuck-up, and that Murderface couldn't phase him anymore. He wanted to move on.

~~~

70 hours left...

"Guys, I ah, figured this would be an appropriate time to talk about a few things," Charles told them. It was around two in the morning, and he didn't usually hold meetings this late since at least he went to bed at a normal time, but he felt something in the pit of his stomach, that this needed to be pushed out of the way, right away.

Both The Excommunicated and Dethklok, minus Salem, were surrounding the table, Abigail included. He made sure they were at least somewhat paying attention before he cleared his throat.

"Due to some concerning issues that have been brought to my attention, I'd like to mention it with you all so there's no later rumors or mix-ups. Earlier, Salem consumed an ungodly amount of alcohol somehow, and is currently sleeping off some very severe alcohol poisoning. They won't be able to record anything for a while, but you'll all be notified once they can."

Murderface gave a soft snort, but they all chose to ignore him except for Nathalia, who gave him a nasty look before turning back to Charles. It was obvious she didn't want to be there, but she was trying to be as patient as she could possibly be.

Charles continued after a moment. "We're unsure of where the extra alcohol content came from that Salem apparently consumed, so as it stands, none of you are to drink anymore until we figured that out." Groans spread across the table like wildfire.

Pickles was surprisingly the least affected one, but Charles figured it was because the drummer was feeling guilt for what had happened. The manager wanted to explain to them all the real reason why Salem had gotten so sick, and that it had nothing to do with the actual alcohol itself; Hell, he wanted to explain everything he knew to them. Instead, he gave them all encouraging nods, knowing that he couldn't actually say anything.

"I know, I know, it's gonna be tough for a while. Also, I wanted to let you guys know that Dethklok is going to be doing a show in a little less than three days. It was sudden planning, but it could do us some real good right now, since I know some of you are stressed and you need to relieve that stress. Sorry to The Excommunicated for not being able to ah, join, but you guys can let out some steam here at Mordhaus, or come join and watch from backstage."

There were a few nods across the table, a snore from Skwisgaar, some clipping sounds from Murderface's toenails hitting the floor, and impatient tapping from Nathalia. Charles sighed and waved his hand in dismissal, watching as everyone almost immediately got up, Skwisgaar lagging behind a few seconds as he blinked awake in confusion.

The only person who stayed behind was Nathan, who was watching as Charles took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose stressfully. When the manager lifted his head to look back at his lover, Nathan's face was unreadable.

"You okay?" Nathan grunted, and Charles nodded quietly. No, no I'm not, he thought to himself though. Soon... everything will change for all of us.

"I just... need to sleep. It's late." However, Charles turned to walk back to his office for preparations. He still had paperwork to fill out. He didn't object when Nathan decided to follow him, the brute's hand hovering close to the small of the other's back without actually touching him as some form of comfort, which Charles appreciated.

Let's hope I'm wrong about most things...

~~~

67 hours left...

"You seriously haven't slept yet? In like, three days or whatever?" Nathan questioned Nathalia as they sat side by side in the recording room. There was some convincing from the other's singer for the two to write some more.

With Charles having passed out midway through a stack of papers, Nathan really had nothing to do except to wander or go back to his own room, after placing his lover on the couch and leaving quietly. As much as he wanted to sleep with Charles in his arms, it would be too much jostling around and he wanted the manager to actually get as much sleep as possible.

Despite it being five in the morning, Nathan couldn't really think about sleep anyway and apparently Nathalia was in the same boat. So when Nathalia found him heading back to his room and proposed the idea, he agreed to it after a moment's debate.

Unfortunately, neither of them were in the right mindset to actually focus on the writing. Even though they were there to clear their heads to begin with and de-stress, they couldn't actually concentrate and kept falling into their own thoughts, until the subject of sleep (or apparently lack-of) came up.

"Nope. Crazy, I know." Nathalia smirked like she was proud of how she managed to stay awake for so long. Nathan just shook his head, looking less than impressed as he pulled his glasses off his face.

"Yeah. Uh, can I ask you somethin'?"

"Sure?"

"Why are you here?"

Nathalia blinked. "What do you mean?"

"I mean like, you've been babysitting Toki, or whatever. And you have your friend, uh, Salem, to like. Stare at and shit. Is there a reason you're here instead?" Nathan knew she was trying to distract herself (he had seen the same behaviors from both Charles and Pickles before), but from what, he didn't know.

She shrugged, and Nathan swore he could see a light flush spread across her cheeks. "I can't crowd Salem too much apparently. And Toki's well enough that he doesn't need me anymore, so I was just bored. That a fuckin' problem?" She stared challengingly at him like maybe if she glared hard enough, he wouldn't see the blushing.

Nathan raised an eyebrow, unamused and a little grouchy from the attitude, causing her to shrink back and lower her 'alpha dog' attitude. After all, and unbeknownst to Nathan, her general aggressive attitude was because of her admiration for Nathan and to try and challenge him of all people just made her feel more insecure than anything. "Nope, don't care all that much. Just curious."

"Good." But her voice seemed to waver.

Nathan placed his pad of paper and pen down and then folded his arms. "Most regular jack-offs go to bed around this time if they're too 'bored' to uh, exist. Right now."

Nathalia scoffed. "Well maybe I don't wanna!"

Nathan nodded like he was confirming something. "So that's what it is. You're using me so you don't fall asleep."

Nathalia opened her mouth, closed it, then pouted slightly. Not that it was some major secret that had just been let out, but she also hated easily being found out, since she hadn't explicitly stated that she was only there to force herself to stay awake.

"Why don't you just, you know. Sleep?"

"I don't know, I just don't feel like it." When Nathan stared blankly at her, she rolled her eyes at him. "I mean yeah I'm fucking tired, but I don't want to sleep in case Salem needs me, or Toki."

"You literally just said-"

"I know what I said!" Nathalia snapped, then flinched at her own voice and dropped it back down to normal. "I just want to be helpful and able in case I need to be."

"Can't be helpful if you drop dead," Nathan said simply. Nathalia snorted but didn't really have much to say to that. Nathan really felt it had to do with something else. She really seemed proud of her insomnia, which Nathan found weird. Maybe she was trying to flex or look 'brutal'? In all of his years existing with the public, he found he had a knack for smelling out those who were desperate to prove something to him. She resumed her own writing on her notepad, so Nathan picked up his own again and replaced his glasses back onto his face.

Nathalia paused again not even five seconds later and looked over at Nathan. "I almost never sleep."

Nathan shot her a look through his peripherals. "Uhh, good for you, I guess." Yes, it was definitely meant to brag. It wasn't the worst thing, on the surface it did seem pretty metal to go for so long without sleep. But lately Nathan craved sleep so he couldn't really relate to this hellish need to stay awake just to end up bored, and if he couldn't relate, it wasn't brutal enough for him. Call it shallow because that's pretty much what he was in a lot of cases.

Nathalia shrugged nonchalantly. "Sometimes I can only sleep by singing to myself. But it has to be a specific lullaby thing."

Now Nathan was interested. "You sing yourself to sleep? How?"

"No idea. But it drops me any time, anywhere. During an adrenaline rush, while I'm standing, it's crazy. Wanna see?"

Nathan turned fully to face her after putting his stuff down once more. "I wanna bet on it because that sounds like bullshit."

"One thousand dollars." That was play-money for both of them, but it still made Nathan raise an eyebrow. She meant business with this.

"Deal."

"Cool. Also, you might fall asleep too." She smirked before clearing her throat, and began to sing. Her voice wasn't as growly as it normally was, but it was still deep and low.

Sleep little one,

Your life has just begun.

No need to go far,

Looking for the stars.

Or choosing to run,

Chasing the sun...

When you can dance on it tonight.

Just close your eyes,

Dream of the skies.

And you can go wherever,

Anything you choose to endeavor...

Nathalia was already sleeping before she could finish the last word, and so was Nathan.

Nathan's subconscious felt like it was going through some type of vortex or wormhole or anything else otherworldly and off-putting. His ears were ringing and his head was filled with fog. He couldn't see anything; only blackness surrounded his vision, consuming him, restricting him.

As the ringing slowly ebbed away, Nathan could hear something else in the far distance. At first he wasn't sure what the noise was, but as he began to place one unsteady foot in front of the other to get closer to the source and maybe to find some semblance of reality, it clicked deep inside his brain that it was a voice. Someone was singing.

The more Nathan stumbled forward, the louder it became, it didn't matter the direction. The scenery around him also began to fade in slowly. Though still dark, there was finally depth to the darkness when Nathan began to make out the rigid lines along the ground that represented the silhouette of sharp, jagged rocks.

There was a curved, flat path that Nathan walked along, spotting splats of what looked like blood against the dirt. A bone or two was spotted in the dry, dead brush that poked between the rocks. The path led downward before melting into soft, dark sand. Without hesitation, Nathan stepped onto the sand despite being barefoot, surprised to find it really hot even though the sun wasn't out to warm it up. In fact, the sky was a dark gray with rolling black clouds to cover the moon, signifying that it was nighttime, and the smell and feel of sharp, salty wind blew in gusts against his face. Lightning flashed far in the distance followed by a low rumble of thunder.

The ocean was to the right of him and close enough that Nathan could see that it was rolling into the sand in waves, but it was far enough away that it wouldn't touch him. His body longed to go toward it, but the singing was to the left of him, and he felt that's where he needed to go.

Nathan turned and waded through the sand, feeling his feet sinking deeper and deeper until it was up to his ankles. Whole dead bodies were scattered along the beachside and hanging from the trees nearby. Faceless heads on sticks stuck also in the sand and since it was already difficult to walk, let alone to walk around something, Nathan resorted to bulldozing it over with his body and stepping over it.

The path grew in the distance, poking from the sand as it elevated back to the same level that Nathan started on. As Nathan continued to follow it, he saw many traps that were laid down in front of him, and realized this was what was killing everyone. Rope and bear traps and glass scattered all over the place that Nathan simply kicked away without a flinch. "Stupid jack-offs," Nathan grumbled as he shoved away someone's dead body hanging from one of the trees.

There was a looming cave in the distance that Nathan began to head toward. The song was echoing and bouncing off the walls of it, amplifying the voice. He realized, much too late, that it was a female's voice despite the deepness, yet Nathan wasn't actually surprised by this when it registered in his head.

Stepping up some stone steps, his eyes met hundreds of candles that lined the walls of the cave, illuminating a slim body sitting on top of a throne of skulls and black velvet.

Nathan recognized the bony rodent crown threaded with vines, the torn and somewhat dirty cape, and the gowns that were shorter on one side to reveal one pale leg and part of a stomach, even though he had only seen it all once before, in a dream three days ago that he couldn't remember until he was back asleep.

Nathalia's eyes were a steel gray as she stared far away into nothingness, her lips parted to sing. Her piercings were the same, as well as her black eyeshadow, but that was all that was the same. Her hair was twice as long and very tangled, frizzy, and wrapped up in seaweed. Tattoos lined almost every inch of her paper-white skin, both recent looking and very very old looking ones, like they'd been a part of her skin for hundreds of years.

Once Nathan had fully stepped inside of the cave, some of her hair had got caught in her throat and she abruptly stopped singing to cough and hack.

"Damnit," she muttered, her voice resonating through the room as she angrily brushed her hair back with long, sharp, black nails. She then peered down to look at Nathan, who had stopped just at the foot of her throne. "Oh good, you got here safe."

Nathan raised a brow. "You were expecting me, I see. And why the Hell did you try to trap me?"

"Hm? I don't put those traps there. I'm just here for anybody who gets past."

"Care to uh, explain. This. Dream thing?" Nathan knew it wasn't just a dream, but he chose to wait before he said what he was supposed to say.

"Basically it's just my domain of torture!" Nathalia looked happy to be saying it, and something in Nathan's gut said that he shouldn't be here, or around her. There was something about the wicked look in her eye that unnerved him. It didn't even have to do with physical power, she was as small as in real life, maybe an inch taller, but rather the intent and thirst behind her eyes.

The place itself felt like almost an abandoned home that at some point probably gave off a homey vibe in its once prime of strength and power, that it no longer had. The candles behind her seemed to flicker with the age of grace and godliness that the rest of the cave seemed to have lost through time, with the ugly tangles of decor that Nathalia seemed to have placed somewhat choking out what was left of that. And with the pile of bones specifically in the middle of the room where Nathan could almost swear he saw ancient scriptures being buried.  The cave was wet and smelled of seaweed and ocean, but the bones gave off a foreign, rank scent like that of a deep, underground cave, in a hole dug for scavengers to pick off of, which was why Nathan came to the conclusion that Nathalia and her decorations were very out of place- almost invasive.

Nathan mentally shook his head. Even if all that were the case, it could've very well meant that she was there as a replacement for someone else who had once resided there, and she needed to learn to make it her home.

"I'm here to kill people I deem are worthy of being killed. Basically like some God of Judgment," she bragged with a flick of her wrist. "I'm not sure where these souls come from, but I know why. I can sense their intentions. Their impure feelings. Their need to spill blood or tears. They become enraptured by my voice, they come clambering toward me like animals, if the traps don't get them then I will." The lights behind her seemed to flicker almost angrily, but Nathan chose to ignore them. 

"You talk about this as if you believe this is all real," Nathan pointed out.

"Yeah, well, it's a dream and a dream I'm good at controlling so I can come up with how shit works."

Nathan smiled a little. "Right. So, if you have this judge-like paradise, why don't you like going to bed in the real world?"

Nathalia bit her lip as she turned away, her eyes graying once more as she looked out into the world beyond. "This place used to be someone else's before I took over. Bad memories."  Sometimes Nathan's intuition was so strong it actually scared him. Considering he understood just how generally clueless he could be.

"A real person's?"

"I... I dunno. I guess she used to be."

"Well... maybe this might help you decide that better?" In Nathan's mind, if this prophecy thing was real, then the person would have to be too, right?

"Do tell?"

"Okay, so, this shit may or may not actually be happening. I think. I guess? And like. I was told by some whale that we have to be prepared."

"Prepared for...?"

"No clue. Some destiny shit that you gotta be prepared for. There's a prophecy. It's kinda cool."

Nathalia shook her head. "This is the weirdest dream I've had yet."

"Look you gotta tell somebody, who tells somebody, who tells somebody... you get the picture. They're all in our two bands, except Ivy and Raven. We gotta find a way to pass the message to each other, to prepare each other."

"Wait, why aren't they part of this?" Nathalia questioned.

"I don't know, I didn't feel anything out of them. Everyone else has some kinda pent up energy shit, I always feel it. I just don't realize I feel it until I'm sleeping, and then it clicks."

"Alright, okay, so you can feel vibes like some fucking witch.. . And who the fuck do I tell?"

"Someone... I don't know. 'The person who sees before it begins, who knows before he's told'. Don't ask me how I remember that." Nathan was surprised he actually was able to recite it well. He was supposed to tell her three days ago, but she hadn't gone to sleep while he was waiting for her in his abyss of a dream. He for sure figured he would just forget when they were able to actually meet up. Then nearby, he thought he could feel some sort of presence deep within the ocean close to the cave, and he gave off a small sigh.

"Would've been cool if there was a name involved."

"Right?! That's what I said!"

"The person who sees before it begins..." Nathalia stood from her chair suddenly, dropping to the ground lightly. Now that she was at a different angle, Nathan could see two large, black horns sticking from her head, broken and battered and practically useless now after how worn down it was.

"So like an actual prophetic person. A psychic?"

Nathan nodded. "I guess. None of the ones in my band seem to fit that description, so-"

"Tobias."

"Who?"

"Tobias!"

"What's that?"

"My guitarist."

"Oh! Oh, right."

Nathalia rolled her eyes. "He's always been highly intellectual and intuitive. He knows when something's wrong before it even happens and he claims to have deja-vu a lot. That and he gets those spacey looks a lot. It makes perfect sense."

"Well, good, so you gotta tell him to tell someone, who tells someone else, who-"

"Yeah yeah, I got that. What the fuck do I tell him, and who does he tell and blah blah blah?"

Nathan paused to think. "Just tell him he can't look away. From, uh... this. And then he has to tell Death to uhhhhhhhh, steady his hand and like, bow to something stronger than him."

Nathalia frowned lightly. "I have no idea who that is, or what that means."

"Same. Then 'Death' has to tell whoever shoots lightning to like... breathe life, and then tell some self sacrificing hero they can't do this on their own, or whatever. Then apparently there's some other psychic douchebag who's seen this before, and has to be convinced to accept it or some uh, some shit. Then they have to pass it on to the 'drain of existence', which honestly sounds pretty fucking metal, that. That he's gotta believe in something. They all need to know to be prepared for some kinda destructive event that's gonna destroy the world. And probably like tap into their powers and stop being a little bitch about their internal problems."

Nathalia shook her head. "I don't think I can remember all that, shit."

"I thought I couldn't either, doesn't help that I can't remember once I wake up and write it down. Maybe find a way to remind yourself?" He paused. "Also, do you actually, believe me, or?"

Nathalia grinned. "Why not? This is either a really bad ass dream, or I'm about to have a bad ass adventure. Either way, win-win. Plus, you look like a fuckin' God so I can't really take you as a joke as I would with anybody else."

Nathan raised an eyebrow and looked down at a puddle conveniently by his feet, seeing with surprise how muscular he was, one eye a deep green and the other a dark blue, both like the ocean. He was very underdressed, wearing a pair of black, scaled pants that felt tough and hard to the touch, like armor, and his own black cape attached to his neck and shoulders, flapping gracefully in the wind. His nails were almost as long as Necro's, and his normally black hair was even longer, and iridescent under certain light (though still black otherwise). He'd never seen himself before in his dream state, at least not like this. He looked metal, but maybe also a little gay, and he was annoyed that his hair was the color of an oil slick. 

Nathalia was pondering while he stared at himself in the reflection. "My singing is what affected us and put us into this state. Maybe..."

And with that, she began to sing something that Nathan had no time to hear because he suddenly felt a pull on his body as he was being lifted away from her. He'd done his deed, now it was up to her.

~~~

At the same time...

Murderface was pacing uncontrollably up and down the halls, bumping into the walls from time to time from not being able to walk in a straight line with how fast he was going. His breathing was erratic and his knife glided along the enclosure as he stumbled, his mind reeling with thoughts.

"Juscht do it, ckome on," Murderface muttered to himself, jabbing at the wall gruffly. "Fuchk, I don't know..."

The sound of a door creaking open caught his attention, and he nearly dropped his knife when he realized who it was that had walked out. Salem stood on wobbly knees, clutching one of the smaller plaid pillows to their chest. They were bent over slightly like they had to puke.

Murderface stood up straight after placing his knife into his back pocket, and cleared his throat lightly. Salem, who was turned away from him, jumped and jerked to look at him. He frowned a little. Their eyes were so bright and cheery the first day they were there, like two glowing stars. Now they were so tired and hollow.

"Uhh, hello Schalem," Murderface greeted somewhat awkwardly, before he mentally shook his head and squared his shoulders. He had to be tough and cool. Unless Salem liked men who were more relaxed? They seemed a bit fond of Pickles, who was pretty chill... The thought irked the bassist. He could be even chiller!

Salem blinked and studied Murderface for a second before nodding once in greeting. "Hi."

Murderface shifted his weight from one leg to another, trying to figure out how to go about this. He wasn't nearly prepared enough for this, considering he was expecting Salem to be staying in their room when he walked in to talk.

"What- what're you doing?" Murderface managed to stammer out.

Salem gave him a questioning look. "Uh... was gonna go for a little walk to exercise my legs-"

"Let me walk with you!"

"...Okay?"

Murderface attempted to compose himself. "Er, ya know... in casche you need any help bachk to your room?"

"Sure."

The two walked in painful silence, Salem still slumped over and hobbling slightly. At some point, they tripped over their own foot and stumbled forward, and Murderface's arm shot out to catch them, his arm curled around their waist.

This caused Salem to wince, their fingers digging into his thick arm while they tried to re-balance themselves. They patted his arm softly when they managed to stand straight again. "Thanks."

"No problem." Murderface felt proud of himself for having caught them. How's that for looking cool? He thought to himself.

Salem paused to take a breather, leaning against the wall with their pillow cradled in their arms. Their skin was still pale but this time had a slight blue undertone to it. Murderface raked his eyes along their body until he spotted their shirt unbuttoned slightly and saw something colorful pop brightly out from underneath.

Murderface leaned in closer, squinting at it. It almost looked like some of the crayon writings that Toki would regularly make for the rest of the band members, but it was not his handwriting, though he didn't really expect it to be. Before he could ask about it, Salem pulled the pillow closer to them and sighed deeply. "I think I'm gonna head back to my room."

So they walked back to where they had come from, Salem going much slower than before. Once they reached the door, Murderface suddenly remembered what he was there for. "W- wait!"

Salem paused, hand on the doorknob. They looked weary. "Yeah?"

"You uh... wanna go out with me schometime?" So much for sounding smooth; his voice was quiet and meek as he stared back into Salem's scrutinizing eyes.

The drummer looked surprised. "Oh, uh... really?"

"Yeah! I mean... You're pretty ckool," Murderface shrugged 'coolly'. "But if you're not intereschted that'sch fine, I'm usched to it, I'll juscht kill my-"

"Sure."

"Schelf- wait, what?"

"I said sure. We can go on a date, I guess." Salem had an odd look on their face as they studied the other man carefully.

Murderface couldn't help but grin. "Fuck, yesch. Schoo, maybe tomorrow? Or well, techknichally later tonight, but..."

"Yeah, sounds cool. See ya." Salem pulled the door open and nodded to Murderface before stepping into their room and shutting it behind them.

Murderface could dance, he was so happy. Yes! All went according to plan! He was going to find out what Salem was tonight, no matter what it took.

~~~

54 hours left...

When Nathalia had barged into Charles's office later that day to ask about something, she certainly hadn't expected to see the manager and the singer for Dethklok locked together by their lips, hands running over their body. Nathan was shirtless and gripping Charles by the hips, holding him down on his lap.

She also didn't expect to be caught as she slowly closed the door, and not by Nathan. Charles's eyes popped open and he stared daggers into her very soul until the door was clicked shut, and she practically ran off toward her room.

Those two were fucking?! The idea was wild to her, because Nathan was Nathan and... Charles was Charles. The two mixed like hot sauce and frosting, but like if the frosting was actually glue for a boring science project. She glared down at her feet as she slowed to a mild walk. She was going to kill Charles, or ruin his life. Something that would get him away from Nathan. He was her celebrity crush and she'd be damned if she couldn't at least try.

Nathalia stopped once in the living-room and let out a deep breath. There wasn't anything she could do, and she knew it. Unless she resorted to spreading the news to other people, but then it might backfire on her badly if nobody took her seriously, or Hell forbid someone told Charles on her.

Plus... She realized that she didn't feel as strongly about the situation as she thought she would. Was her crush going away on its own, and if so, why? When the two hung out, it was pretty fun for her, so she'd figure it would be even stronger. Plus she now was a thousand dollars heavier after the two had woken up side by side and Nathan admitted that it was pretty cool that she could knock them out just by singing. The praise had made her feel really warm inside.

Toki's face flashed in her mind and she frowned softly. Why was she thinking about Toki at a time like this? Well, she HAD gone to Charles on his behalf to ask for some of those cute little vitamin gummies that Toki liked so much (and that Charles for some reason held onto for him, because Toki was convinced he could OD on them), and that's why she was in the slight predicament she was in now.

She shook her head, puzzled as she went to tell Toki the bad news that she was empty-handed.

...

Charles was frustrated with Nathan for forgetting to lock the door once coming in, but he couldn't point it out without calling attention to his anxiety, which might be a tell-tale sign for Nathan that something else was wrong. Instead, he gripped Nathan tighter, gritting his teeth as he felt Nathan bucking against him.

Nathan must have felt the sudden tension in Charles anyway because he moved back an inch and studied the other's expression. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," Charles muttered as he rubbed his thumbs into the brute's soft back. Nathan was not convinced, and propped Charles upright to keep him from leaning against the singer.

"Did I uh, do something wrong?"

Damnit, tonight wasn't supposed to go this way. It couldn't be helped though; Charles's stomach was clenched painfully tight and he could no longer concentrate on what they were doing. He stood fairly quickly from Nathan's lap, leaving the man sitting there in confusion.

Charles walked over to the other side of the desk where they had been sitting and chose rather to start sorting through papers. This caused Nathan to groan loudly. "Is that really what you're worried about? You said you'd stop obsessing when I was around!"

Charles could've easily just admitted that they'd been caught and that he was only concerned with that. But then Nathan would freak out and probably demand an assassination on that person and Charles didn't want to explain for an hour or two that he legally could not possibly do that without serious repercussions later on since it was the leader of the band they were supposed to collaborate with.

Plus, he wasn't thinking clearly enough and so he chose instead to defend himself. "This needs to get done, Nathan. It's important for both of our sakes."

Nathan stamped his foot down like a little child. "I haven't been able to touch you like that in a while! It's not fair!" Charles began to roll his eyes when he saw Nathan become mild once more as he asked quietly, "Do you even fuckin' like me anymore?"

Charles was surprised by this outburst. "Of course I do, Nathan. Don't be ridiculous."

"OH so I'm ridiculous," Nathan scoffed, and Charles pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance.

"Right now, yes. Stop this."

"No."

"Nathan!"

"'Charles!' When's the last time you even told me you loved me?" Nathan began to pout.

Charles groaned, though felt guilty by those words. "You don't say it much either, you know."

"Yeah, but like, I still say it more than you!" Nathan was legitimately getting angry now and Charles realized much too late that lying about the situation to avoid an awkward conversation was probably not the best route to take, because now they were full-out arguing.

"I'm sorry," Charles apologized immediately, standing from his seat to walk back over to Nathan, but Nathan wouldn't have it. He swirled the chair around to have his back to Charles, which irritated the manager. "Nathan, don't start."

"You started it," Nathan grumbled. Charles sighed deeply, knowing he would have to bite his tongue and suck in his pride to de-escalate the situation.

"I know, and I said I was sorry. Turn back around."

"I'm going to bed," Nathan grunted as he stood from the chair, grabbing his shirt nearby and throwing it over his shoulder. As he walked toward the door, he noticed then that it was unlocked, and Nathan snorted. "Too bad no one walked in, then you wouldn't be able to hide me like a, like a dirty little secret."

Then Nathan left the room, leaving his lover to stand there helplessly but also very angrily. "Oh you have no idea," Charles muttered under his breath, watching the door close which left him alone in the office.

~~~

51 hours left...

At nine pm, Salem heard a knock on their door and their heart leaped into their throat. Why had they agreed to this date? Perhaps they wanted to do it out of sympathy, considering Murderface had been all sweaty and nervous and Salem just didn't have the balls to say no to such a pitiful display?

Salem sighed. Having chosen to wear one of their nicer plaid shirts all the way buttoned up, and a pair of stiff black pants, they were both aesthetically pleasing, and physically very uncomfortable. They walked to the door, taking a deep breath, before pulling it open.

They were very surprised to see Pickles there, smiling sheepishly down at them. He blinked and also seemed just as shocked to see Salem dressed so clean and professional. "What, yew off to get some kinda regular jack-off job wit' dat get-up?"

Salem smiled slightly, but on the inside they were panicking. They had hoped that Pickles wouldn't find out about this, because Salem knew that him and Murderface had been a thing, thanks to a blabbermouth. Also, aside from the fact that Salem was going to go out with their crush's past lover (not that they were supposed to know that anyway), but going out with another person while talking to Pickles just felt... wrong. But they weren't dating, so it wasn't that bad... right?

Salem didn't have the heart to lie, though. "Yeah, er, no, I uh... Have a date with someone. But it's kinda just a pity date," Salem added quickly. "I felt bad for him..."

"Oh, okie." Pickles looked somewhat disappointed, though he tried to hide it with a smile. "Have fun den, I guess."

"I won't, because it won't be with you," Salem teased. Oooh, that was as smooth as butter, or so they thought. They hoped it would bring the mood up at the very least.

To their relief, it did. "Oh really? Den how aboot yew call it off 'n' we can hang out?"

"I would if I wasn't such a nice bastard," Salem admitted with a small smile. "Is that why you're here, to hang out?"

"Kinda, I also jus' wanted ta see if yew were okie," Pickles said shyly, face flushing red a little. "'N' apoloogize f'r what happened wit' da alcohol."

Salem shook their head. "Don't be, it's not your fault. Not sure what happened though." After a pause, they added, "I'm also feeling quite a bit better, thanks. I no longer feel like I'm at Death's door."

Pickles smiled a little. "Good'm glad. Oh, uh, this might be weird but can I use yer bathroom? I forgot ta pee on da way down here." He laughed a little awkwardly, and Salem giggled.

"Sure, go for it."

Pickles shuffled into the room with a light hand touch to their shoulder as he walked by, giving Salem butterflies. Once he disappeared into the personal bathroom, Salem sighed in relief, until they spotted Murderface walking down the hall and once again began to panic.

Before they could close their door and pretend that they hadn't seen him yet (not that that would've helped the situation), Salem accidentally locked eyes with the man and internally punched themselves in their imagination.

"Hey Schalem, ready to go on the date? I schee you've been waiting for me," Murderface joked, loud enough that it made Salem visibly flinch.

"Uh yeah, gimme a second. And I didn't know when you were coming," Salem said weakly as they began to back into their room to retreat.

"Yeah, I kinda forgot to mentchion a time," Murderface laughed a little. "My bad. I can wait right here for you."

Of course you would, Salem thought, but forced themselves to nod and smile kindly. "That's fine. I'll be back." Salem shut the door and turned around, hoping Pickles hadn't heard all that.

Unfortunately he had, because as soon as the midget had closed the door, Pickles opened the bathroom door and peeked out to look at Salem with mild disapproval. Salem looked down at the floor and walked slowly over to the other drummer.

"Soooo it was a pity date for Murderface?" Pickles spoke dryly, and Salem nodded. "Not surprised, dat's da only way he gets dem." Salem looked up in time just to see that the man had flinched at his own words.

"Sorry," Salem ended up blurting for no apparent reason and Pickles gave them an odd look.

"Why yew apoloogizing? Yer the one stuck wit' him, yew should apoloogize ta yerself," He chuckled, then his face grew suddenly serious. "I don't t'ink it's a good idea though."

"Why?" Salem asked nervously, tugging at their shirt in nervousness.

"Look, jus'... I'm gonna be real, I dunno know what gender yew are, nobody here does, but don't talk aboot dat shit wit' Murderface. It's jus'a a bad idea all 'round. I'd say call off da date, but..."

So it wasn't really a big secret that Salem's gender was a mystery to these people; Salem had figured that for a while. But the fact that it was verbally out in the open now made them uncomfortable in a way.

Salem shifted nervously on their feet. "Why?" They figured that it had something to do with Pickles's own situation.

Pickles shook his head. "Don't worry aboot it, jus' be careful. Now go. I'll leave once yew guys do so he doesn't see me." Salem sighed, knowing they were pressed for time and couldn't really argue.

Once the door to Salem's room had opened, Murderface, who was standing on the opposite end of the hall, snapped his head up excitedly. "R- ready?"

"Sure." Salem's voice came out dry and unenthusiastic but the bassist didn't seem to notice. As the two began to walk down the hall, Salem asked, "What're we doing anyway?" They didn't feel terrible, but they really didn't want to be near large groups of people, or to go somewhere further out, just in case they felt worse later on.

Murderface shrugged. "No idea."

"...What the fuck do you mean no idea?"

"Didn't thinkh I'd make it thisch far," Murderface admitted, and Salem swore they could see a light blush dust his cheeks from embarrassment. "Where do you wanna go?"

Salem debated internally. Something quick so they could get this over with? Their stomach gave a sudden grumble, making them realize that they hadn't eaten much since they had gotten sick.

Murderface heard their stomach and turned to eye them. "Food?"

"Food," Salem agreed reluctantly, hoping it wasn't some kind of fancy restaurant, or some disgusting shack. Murderface wasn't really dressed for either, he was actually wearing a pair of fresh jeans for once but still wore his traditional shirt and vest, just cleaned and smoothed out now. His frizzy hair had actually been attempted to be tamed, though it didn't seem to have worked very well.

"I mean, we do have food here, maybe I ckan make you schomething," Murderface offered. What could possibly be worse than a date with Murderface, Salem wondered? A date with him, possibly right in front of both Dethklok and their own band, specifically in front of Nathalia.

"Nah, we can go out somewhere," Salem said quickly, making sure to look around to see if anybody was listening before saying anything. "I'm craving... chicken nuggets." Truth be told, those did sound pretty good to the drummer.

"Cthicken nuggetsch?" Murderface repeated, looking amused. "What about... McDonald's cthicken nuggetsch?"

"Perfect, my favorite," Salem commented. They were, too.

Salem wasn't sure if Murderface had a driver's license or not, but it didn't matter, apparently. Both stepped out into the chilly evening and the short one was immediately led to a limo parked right outside of the entrance. Salem felt it to be a bit much just for McDonald's, but then again, Murderface probably hadn't ridden in some 'regular, jack-off' car in a long time and found it to be normal.

The ride was deafeningly silent. The only sounds Salem could hear was their own, pounding heartbeat and the rush of blood going past their ears as they stared nervously out the window. They could feel Murderface's eyes digging into them, watching their every move, so they tried not to squirm as much and tried to keep a blank expression. It was such a strange feeling and sensation to be in the same room as Murderface. Like electricity was in the air- maybe it was coming from the man's frizzy mop. No, this was a metaphorical feeling. A deep, intuitive sensation. A feeling like... they had done something like this before, which was absurd. 

Once they had reached the nearest McDonald's, Salem realized with growing anxiety that they weren't going inside to eat, as the limo pulled into the drive-through, its rear-end scraping against the side of the poles. Sure, Salem didn't want to be around many people, especially with him, but they also didn't want to go wherever else Murderface had planned to go, unless it was directly back to Mordhaus.

"I'll have a, ahhh...." Murderface thought for a moment as he told his order to the Klokateer "Two quarter poundersch, a large fry, and-" he paused again to look over at Salem like he just remembered of their existence again. "-perhapsch twenty nuggetsch for the... lady?"

Salem pursed their lips. So Murderface thought they were a woman. They figured it wasn't much of a surprise, but it definitely stung them a little. Only they, Nathalia, and Tobias were allowed to call them whatever they pleased. So hearing it from someone else, who seemed to have no idea that Salem was NOT cis, irritated them. However, they did as Pickles mentioned and bit their tongue, watching with disdain as Murderface seemed proud to be 'correct', since Salem hadn't objected.

"Yeah, twenty nuggetsch, large friesch, and, uh, what do you want to drink?"

"Just some lemonade," Salem mumbled. They probably wouldn't be able to eat all those nuggets but at least they might have some left over?

"And schome lemonade, you got that?" Murderface turned to the Klokateer who had been driving them around, who nodded before looking toward the machine beside the car to repeat Murderface's words.

Salem stared down at the floor until a bag was suddenly handed to them, and they held onto it for dear life while they were being driven to another location. Salem frowned, realizing that they weren't going back to Mordhaus, and suddenly remembering that when they had gotten in the vehicle, Murderface had given zero directions to the Klokateer. "You had no idea where to go, huh?"

Murderface hummed to himself, not bothering to answer. Salem sank back in their seat, clutching the bag tightly to their chest as they watched the various places go by. There were a few shouts from people walking, who seemed to have noticed Murderface in the car and wanted his attention, but he didn't notice them or didn't care. Or maybe even had a hint of shyness about it because he lowered himself a little, unless he just really really didn't like people, which was a lot more plausible. It reminded Salem of Nathalia a bit. Two people screamed Salem's name as well, and they waved automatically out of habit.

Eventually they parked directly on some random stretch of field beside the river, allowing the two to step out. The cool air had brushed over Salem's hot, reddened face. Murderface handed the rest of the food to the Klokateer before pulling out a black and gray checkered blanket from the trunk, and another paper bag, which made Salem narrow their eyes in suspicion.

Once the blanket and food was down, Murderface flopped down on his side of the blanket, patting beside himself for Salem. Seeing as there wasn't really any place to sit other than there unless they wanted their butt grassy and wet, they reluctantly sat down on the blanket next to him.

Murderface smelled quite sweet, much to the other's shock. Like some kind of tangy cologne. They wondered why he would choose something so... pleasant, instead of the musty, earthly scents that many "biological" penis wielders like him used to seem 'strong' and 'manly'.

They ate for the most part in silence, Salem concentrating on devouring their nuggets so they didn't have to meet Murderface's stare. He was actually trying really hard not to make a mess, which had Salem suspicious. Murderface was actually putting in effort to not scare Salem away, and this made them more frightened than anything else Murderface could do. They could tell he obviously liked them, but why did he like them? They really didn't interact all that much, if at all.

Eventually, Salem began to feel ill from eating too much, so decided to just sip on their lemonade as they stared out at the dark river in front of them. It glittered prettily under the soft moonlight. Murderface paused his eating too, watching the river slosh gently with Salem.

"I usched to come here a lot," Murderface commented almost shyly, his eyes concentrating hard at something that Salem couldn't see. "It'sch relaxching."

"It is," Salem agreed quietly, chewing on the straw of their cup because of their anxiety. It wasn't so bad, but this was Murderface, the band's most hated member in basically any context. And he was actually being chill.

Murderface peeked over at Salem out of the corner of his eye, something that Salem did not miss but chose to not comment on. "Why did you schay yesch?"

"To what?" Salem knew to what.

"The date."

"I dunno. Why not?" Salem wasn't going to tell him it was a pity date; they could fight pretty well but it seemed like too much of a secluded spot for them to feel safe trying to fight Murderface off if he got mad enough. And if Murderface didn't have some ultimate, secret weapon hidden inside his pants (Get your mind out of the gutter, they silently scolded themselves) to murder Salem with, then harming the bassist in general might mean a bullet between the eyes from the Klokateer, anyway.

"Becausche I'm fat and ugly," Murderface scoffed, like it was the dumbest question in the world.

Salem shrugged. "Looks don't matter to me. It's what's on the inside that counts." It's also what's on the inside that makes you a problem, dude, Salem thought, but of course kept that to themself.

Murderface seemed to have read their mind because he rolled his eyes. "Well if that were true, I'd be even more fuchked." Salem fought the urge to smile and simply kept staring at the scenery in front of them, lips barely twitching. This compelled Murderface to quickly change the subject apparently, because he pulled the paper bag from earlier close to him, pulling out two glasses and a bottle of red wine.

"Oh, uh... I'm not allowed to drink anymore, supposedly," Salem said softly, watching as Murderface uncorked the bottle anyway and began pouring.

"What they don't know won't hurt them," Murderface replied factually, then added quickly, "you don't have to though."

Part of- or more like all of- Salem's brain was screaming at them to firmly say no, but they were never good with confrontation, especially with those that were known to have anger issues.

Salem cupped the glass in their palm carefully, clinking their glass with his before taking a sip while Murderface downed his quickly. The alcohol made Salem's stomach squeeze while their throat jumped at the bitter taste. It was much too soon for more alcohol, after what happened the other day.

Salem was always known to drink the most and also get the most wasted the fastest, while everyone else seemed to sober up quickly. This is why they purposely tried to drink a lot less than they could actually tolerate, just in case their body decided to amplify what had already been consumed.

They didn't think much of it when having that contest with Pickles, which is what made them go overboard.

Salem figured mixing some of their lemonade with the wine would make the taste more tolerable, so they poured some into the glass, shaking it gently until it was mixed decently enough, and took another small taste.

Oh it was much, much better. Murderface seemed satisfied enough himself and poured himself another glass, while Salem drained theirs quickly as well; they were also known to have very little self-control once actually being offered alcohol.

After four or five glasses within five minutes, Salem realized that it was probably not a good idea to keep going. After three more glasses, they finally stopped caring.

Both of them were laughing- what were they even laughing about? Still, it was astonishing at all that they were sharing a mutual funny moment, even if Salem couldn't remember it. And was Salem leaning against Murderface's shoulder? It couldn't possibly be. Maybe Murderface was leaning against THEM.

The alcohol began to affect Salem, the queasiness in their stomach causing them to slow down. What did Murderface just say? Something about taking them home? They couldn't tell, which would normally make them spiral into panic since usually Salem could at least focus on their surroundings, but this time they just clung limply to the other's thick arm as they were led back to the limo.

On the ride home, Salem began to feel lightheaded and gripped the edge of their seat tightly to try and stay grounded to reality, while they grit their teeth. They always got weird drunk with wine, but this didn't feel right. Colors swirled in front of their vision, and everyone's voices were far away. Murderface was saying something, lightly shaking Salem's arm, but they were too far gone.

Salem found themselves actually being carried into Mordhaus, their head rolling around as if they no longer had control over their body. Murderface's stomach and arms were so impossibly soft. Touching everything felt weird.

More voices, so, so far away. Salem was abruptly placed down and they stumbled forward, landing into the arms of someone else. Someone less hairy and thick, but just as warm and soft. Whoever it was smelled sweaty and not at all like the sweetness of cologne, but the change in scent made Salem's stomach stop turning.

Salem said something, but what they didn't know. The arms embraced Salem even tighter, as more voices entered the room. They caught a few sentences from the conversation, but that was it.

"...Dink he drugged 'em," someone said in an accusatory tone.

Another voice had grunted, "Wow... looks so uh, fucked up... it's bad. Where's Nathalia..?" Again, Salem only being able to catch a few words.

"I cans looks..." A very soft, sweet voice spoke up, sounding scared.

"Guysch, guysch. They're fine, I juscht gave them..."

"Yew KNOW yew weren't supposed ta even give 'em any alcohol!"

Salem whimpered softly at the loudness of the person holding them's voice, causing them to be held tighter and receiving a soft shush in their ear.

"Awe ck'mon, don't be like that!"

"What ams...?"

"Nothing Schkwischgaar, I'll juscht be takhing Schalem now to their room..."

Another person's hands were on them and a growl resonated from deep within the other person's chest. "Don't ya fuckin' touch 'em."

"Ck'mon Schalem." They were tugged out of the other person's grip and then swept off their feet to be carried again. There was some more shouting, before the person yelled back, "You wouldn't puncsh me with them in my armsch, would you?!"

Salem dug their nails into flesh as they were carried down one of the halls, the lights passing their eyes and burning them. They could hear voices behind them, either yelling or generally sounding panicked and confused. They were eventually placed on their bed where they clung to the sheets, their body trembling and their head swimming.

The bed creaked as another body sat next to them and the person started rubbing Salem's shoulder softly.

"You okhay?"

Salem shuddered and gave no reply, not even sure if they could move their mouth right now. They also couldn't tell if their eyes were open or closed at this point, everything was dark and far away. Murderface sighed a little and mumbled something else that Salem didn't catch. They jumped to the feeling of a light lip press on their forehead, followed by a small, "Schorry," in their ear.

It was unclear why Murderface was so insistent with just taking Salem to their room without actually doing anything suspicious. Maybe he just didn't want to get caught with giving Salem too much to drink, maybe he hoped that by the time Salem died from poisoning he would be able to escape as far away as possible.

Murderface didn't run though, he simply sat on the floor beside the door, staring intensely at Salem some more though the midget didn't notice this. They swam in and out of consciousness, stuck between a dream state and then crashing back to reality for a fleeting moment. Eventually, they had to pee.

Salem pulled themselves up weakly, almost dropping to the ground but managing to stay on their two feet. This really did not feel like this was just a wine drunk, but they were sure if they had been drugged then they would've been fully knocked out, right? Unless their tolerance for drugs was too high somehow, or maybe it was only a matter of time. Either way they really needed to find the toilet.

They didn't understand how they found themselves on the floor army-crawling toward the bathroom, or how they figured out how to close their bathroom door. They puked only once in the spot beside the toilet, then felt well enough to stand up on shaky legs to relieve themselves; and that's when Murderface, who had fallen asleep and woken up to the sound of puking, knocked on the door lightly, scaring Salem out of their zombie-state. They slipped and fell, hard, somehow knocking their head into something though not knowing what. Murderface wrenched the door open as Salem struggled pulling their pants up.

Murderface stared down at the other for an ungodly long amount of time. Finally, a flash of confusion, fear, and anger crossed his face as he glared down at Salem. "What the fuchk are you?!" Salem tried to speak or even concentrate on what was going on when a hand was around their neck almost menacingly. "I thought you were juscht like Picklesch... You're a fuchking guy?"

"N- no..." Salem managed out, despite feeling dizzy. "I'm not... but Pickles... is."

Murderface let go to slam his fist against the tiles of the bathroom floor, allowing it to crack. "I don't fuckhing get it!" He screamed, tears forming in his eyes from the frustration. "Thisch makesch no schenche!" With an enraged growl, Murderface pulled the knife out of his pocket, eyes glinting dangerously, wickedly.

~~~

48 hours left...

Screams echoed all throughout Mordhaus, snapping Nathalia's attention to it. She'd been in her own room, sulking about the situation with Nathan and Charles, not really because of jealousy but rather because she just felt like it, since she figured she NEEDED to, considering that Nathan was her supposed crush. Someone had come knocking at her door and she even ignored them, choosing to put headphones in instead.

Nathalia forgot all about her woes once she heard the high-pitched wailing even through her headphones. She realized with horror that it sounded like Salem, causing her to jump up from her bed. She'd only heard Salem scream this badly a few times, usually due to a bad dream or some flashback to their past that they never wanted to talk about.

Once she jerked the door open, she saw Klokateers running down the hall, a few muttering about how they hadn't been able to catch a break since her band temporarily moved in. No time to feel guilty- or offended- about that now, though. She followed them down the hall, and seeing that they were heading directly for Salem's room, picked up her pace and forced her way to the front, outrunning all of them as her blood pumped heavily.

The screams had stopped by the time Nathalia had reached the room, which was already open and crowded with people. She began to blindly push past them, shrugging Tobias off as he attempted to stop her, and then Toki who tried to do the same. "Nos, waits!"

"Get off!" Nathalia snarled, knocking everyone out of the way until powerful muscles grabbed her around the waist and Nathan grunted as he held on tight. "Damnit, I said get off!" She tried kicking but he pinned her to the wall, which she would've found sexy had she not been freaking out. "Where's Salem?!"

Pickles was more toward the middle of the chaos, maybe even part of the chaos because he was shouting swear words at someone and also being held back by a somber Skwisgaar. Nathalia strained her neck to peer around the corner, catching Murderface's blood stained face, looking confused and angry and generally very upset. The fact that he was in there at all pissed her off enough to start fighting against Nathan again.

"Yer a feckin' idiot!" Pickles was shouting as he attempted to kick away from Skwisgaar. He managed to free himself a little, and Nathan dumbly reached over to stop him, allowing Nathalia to duck under his arm and escape, pushing her way to the middle.

Apparently, she had caught Murderface in a rant. "-Schick and fuchking tired of thisch, not underschtaning, of being tricked! I didn't do schit though!" He turned to Nathalia and immediately flinched.

Nathalia shoved him out of the way, knocking the weak baby over and vaguely realizing a lot of the blood on him was his own, but she didn't care about all of that except that he had obviously gotten what he deserved.

Nathalia looked around the room slowly, seeing droplets or splatters of blood everywhere, even a line of it going from the bathroom to the middle of the bedroom. With a heavy swallow, she slowly followed the trail against the advice of the ones behind her, and felt her world sway a little when seeing a drugged-looking, bloody Salem with their pants and boxers partially down and puke sitting nearby.

Her breath hitched in her throat as she stared, getting tunnel vision as her friend's body was the only thing she could focus on. Nathalia's fists were clenched so tightly that her nails drew blood, and she slowly turned to see Murderface who was struggling to get up.

Before anybody could stop her, Nathalia was already on top of the pug-faced monster, punching and slapping and even pulling at his hair or jabbing him in the eyes with her fingers and scratching his face. She didn't realize angry tears were mixing with the blood until it was running down her face in streaks, making her look absolutely crazy.

You! FUCKING! Bastard!" She ground out the words with every violent attack to his already squashed face. She began to dig her knee into his groin, feeling him squirm and cry underneath her.

Hands grasped at Nathalia to try and stop her but she couldn't stop, she was in such a frenzy that they couldn't get a good grasp on her. Apparently Pickles was hollering and rooting for her, considering some of the disapproving tones toward the red-head, but Nathalia couldn't actually concentrate on the words.

Suddenly, strong arms clothed in a stiff suit wrapped around Nathalia's waist, easily pulling her off, much to her annoyance. She kicked and growled, her vision hazy and only seeing red as she glared down at the body she had been beating.

"That's enough, Nathalia."

The oddly calm voice pissed her off almost as much as Murderface's entire existence, and she turned her head to try and bite the person who had a hold of her. Klokateers swarmed her and grasped at her wrists while she was set down gently, and ankle cuffs were placed on her to keep her from kicking and running, though it wasn't without some difficulty.

Charles came into focus as he moved to stand in front of her, grasping her shoulders. "Calm yourself! This doesn't help anybody!"

"It was making me feel a lot fucking better," Nathalia snarled in Charles's face, before whipping her head around to look over at Salem from the bathroom. Pickles had brought them out of the bathroom and was kneeled over them, gently placing a blanket over their shivering body. Nathalia blinked heavily as she tried to take a deep breath. "A- are they...?"

"Dey're breathing," Pickles muttered as he carefully rolled Salem over. Their face was slightly bruised much like Murderface's was, just not as severely, and there were a few shallow and weak attempts at a cut on their arms and cheek, but most of the blood was coming from their head.

Nathalia let out a huge sigh of relief, feeling her anxiety shrinking a little. "Fuck... Fucking asshole!" She snapped her head around Charles's shoulder to glare at the near unconscious man on the ground, who was sobbing a little. "Yeah, cry like the little bitch you are!"

"Nathalia, that's enough!"

The fact she had been stopped by such a small and old man, and now was being yelled at by him, just infuriated her even more. "Yeah I'm sure you're enjoying yourself!"

"Why would I be-"

"You're just mad that I caught you fucking Nathan!" A very stupid and unneccesary thing on Nathalia's part, but she stuck to it anyway, jutting her chin out stubbornly. This silenced Charles immediately, while everyone in Dethklok spoke up besides Murderface.

"Wait... heh?"

"Excuses me?"

"Oh, Nathalias knows toos...?"

"WHAT?!" Nathan practically boomed.

Charles sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Everyone, just... stop talking."

"But, ams it trues?" Skwisgaar demanded. "Tokis just saids 'Nathalias knows toos', so he ams knews toos?!"

Several eyes were staring at Nathan while the rest were staring at Charles, even Murderface who's eyes were almost swollen shut. The only one who wasn't staring was Pickles, who was gingerly stroking Salem's hair out of their eyes, unbothered by this bit of drama except for the original "heh?"

"Guys, eh, dat's all crazy 'n' whatever but I t'ink Salem needs a doctor," Pickles said quietly. "I t'ink Murderface drugged 'em or somet'in'. Deir head is lookin' bad tew."

Charles nodded. "Yes, I need Salem and Murderface both carried to see a medic, while I stay and talk with everyone else."

"Fuck you, I'm carrying Salem, not a fucking Klokateer," Nathalia growled, trying to tug out of the Klokateer's grips.

"You have to stay here and listen to what I have to say," Charles said in a cold tone. "Pickles, you don't have to stay and listen, so you take them there. All I have to say to you is next time, don't try to start a fight."

"HE started da fight," Pickles mumbled but he gently scooped Salem up, cradling them to his chest. They looked so small and vulnerable.

As Pickles walked by Nathalia, she managed to free one arm by moving quickly, and gripped the man by his shirt, which scared the poor man shitless. They made eye contact as Nathalia growled, "Keep them safe. I'm trusting you." As much as Nathalia did not want a near stranger to be carrying around HER friend, she didn't have much choice in the matter because of Mister Stuck-up Fuck. Pickles nodded in understanding before walking out of the room with Salem's unconscious body.

The fact that Nathalia was still being restrained pissed her off all over again, so now that one of her hands was free, she twisted to punch Charles square in the jaw. He didn't even flinch, instead choosing to grab her wrist again in order to handcuff both together so that she'd stop punching.

Murderface was being set up, and Nathalia turned to give him a venomous look. However, as he was being pulled to his feet and his pants fell down slightly, Nathalia's attention switched as she could see a bit of blood soaking his nether region; it was very light and a small puddle, but noticeable compared to the dark splats. Had she done that when kneeing him, or...? Nathalia tried really hard to concentrate as her heart began to speed up again. It better have been because of that.

"What happened to your dick, chop it off like the idiot you are?" Nathalia chose to snarl, glaring at the man who suddenly looked even more scared, though she wasn't really sure why. She managed to stand back on her feet without the use of her arms, with Charles also standing right behind her. She squinted her eyes at the man who looked away in panic. "What the fuck did you do?"

"Nuffin'," Murderface managed to mumble through a swollen mouth, wrapping his arms around both Klokateers beside him so he could be helped out of the room. Nathalia's blood was boiling as she glared at him, suspicions running wild through her mind.

"Boy, if you don't fuckin' tell me WHY your pants are fucking bloody like that-"

"He was stabbing himself when Pickles came running," Charles said dryly. "Leave him alone, Nathalia."

Nathalia blinked, then began to laugh, hysterically. Harder and harder until she was gasping for air, in fact. "Well he needs to aim better next time. Perhaps the artery?" She chuckled maniacally to herself, then added, "You just mad you had a hard-on for someone with a dick, right? Why were you creepin' on them anyway?? Why are their pants down?" She started getting mad all over again but couldn't do anything, even as Murderface was dragged away to the medic.

Once he was gone, Nathalia looked around wildly, unsure of the situation or why he was even in Salem's room.

"You guys literally let a fucking douchebag like him just walk around here?" Nathalia hissed in anger, turning to glare daggers at everyone. "Salem looks drugged, what if he was going to-"

Charles held up a hand to interrupt her." We don't know for sure of what happened, and most of Salem's wounds are shallow, except for a head wound that looked to be due to a fall," Charles insisted, and surprisingly the one to scoff at his words was Nathan. The manager turned to the brute man with a raised eyebrow. "Nathan, you want to say something?"

"This is just like with that Pickles shit all over again," Nathan growled, ignoring all warning looks from his band members or looks of confusion from Ivy and Raven, who had been in the background observing the whole time. "You're just gonna sweep it under the rug and, uh, pretend that. That everything's fucking fine when it's not."

"Need I remind you that you guys wanted to be in charge of who gets fired," Charles said coolly. "And you guys decided to keep him, over and over."

"So what, you can't still fuckin' punish him while he stays here? Maybe, I dunno, explain shit to him?"

"Explaining isn't gonna fucking help him, Nathan, he's an idiot," Nathalia growled, and Nathan turned his glare on her.

"He IS an idiot; too stupid to pull that shit you were gonna accuse him of, so fuck off! And... and..." Nathan struggled to talk. "Look, the fuckin' dildo has been my f- frie- bandmate- for years! He's never been this bad... and like, never attacked anyone like that! So like, huh, it's almost like surpressing people makes them act out worser because they're mad!"

"I agree, Nathan, but-" Charles started, and that's when Nathan turned back to him with his teeth bared.

"You don't get to agree with me! You're a fucking robot with no feelings!"

"You know I hate being called that."

"Well it's true! With Pickles, you ignored his issues and wanted it hidden, and now Murderface thinks he can do whatever the fuck to try and figure out what he doesn't know for answers! Because of you!"

"Damns, whens ya boyfriends tells you you ams a robots, you knows it ams seriouses," Skwisgaar commented as he leaned against the wall, pulling his guitar forward so he could start tinkering with it as per usual in a tense situation such as this.

Charles looked very tired. "Alright, just listen to what I have to say. Salem and Murderface are not to be around each other by themselves anymore, no ifs, ands, or buts."

Nathalia snorted. "Don't worry, wasn't planning on letting them near that creature again." At the same time, Nathan said:

"Of course, let's just pretend to be a big happy fucking family like gaywads."

Charles sighed heavily but chose to ignore the comments. "No more alcohol, for anyone. Your rooms are going to be searched thoroughly. No more drugs of any kind. No more of this drama."

Nathalia snorted. "I don't see how that's going to fix someone like Murderface, but go off."

Charles pursed his lips. "And NO more violence of any kind."

"You're just mad because I outted you," Nathalia muttered, turning away with a huff.

"Ams that reallys it? That ams alls yous goings ta dos?" Toki demanded, and Nathalia was surprised to see him look so angry. "Moidaface ams hurts alls of us but most of all Pickle, ands yous tell Pickle tos deals with it quiets. Nows he does it withs someones else. Ams Moidaface actuals gettings in troubles or nots? Ands ams you ever goings to lets us talks about stuffs with Pickle?!"

Charles rubbed his face in irritation. "Fine. Anyone can talk about anything, I don't care. I'll talk to Murderface about this, as well. I also think most of you should go to rehab to fix your drinking problems. That's all, now go."

Nathalia still wasn't satisfied, and there was a lot of pent-up conflict that just made everything all the more difficult to process but she didn't have much choice when the Klokateers began rounding everyone up and forcing them to leave the room, except for Charles and Nathan.

~~~

36 hours left...

"Eyyy, finally awake." A soothing voice murmured in Salem's ear as they blinked their eyes open slowly. Everything was a blur and their head hurt. They turned slowly to meet a pair of soft, green eyes.

Pickles was seated on one of the chairs, turned around so he could straddle the back of it as he watched Salem with his chin on his arms. Pickles smiled softly when Salem's huge eyes met his. "How ye feelin'?"

"Hurty," Salem mumbled, their tongue feeling slightly swollen. Perhaps they had accidentally bit down. Pickles gave them a sympathetic look, before lifting his head to peer at someone on the other side.

"Might wanna go tell Nathalia. She's gonna be pissed dat dey woke up t'e second she walked out." He grinned slightly.

A giggle sounded to the right of Salem, but they were too tired to look. It sounded like Toki. Feet scraped against the ground before leaving the room, the click of the door being closed resonating off the walls. Salem noticed that Pickles was studying them hard, which made them nervous enough to turn their head away, instead staring at the ceiling.

"Sorry," Pickles apologized, seeing Salem in discomfort. "Jus'... worried."

"About what?" Salem asked dryly. A few memories of their last time being conscious flooded their brain, making them wince, though there were deep holes in a lot of places.

Pickles gave a small sigh as he leaned back to stretch out his back. "Aboot if yer mad at me..."

Salem blinked. "Why would I be mad?"

"I told yew not ta tell Murderface yer... whatever. Gender, shit." Pickles rubbed his face in irritation. "I t'ought yew'd be safe... I didn't dink, he'd..."

"What even happened?" Salem mumbled, trying to reach up to rub their head and realizing that they had IVs in their arm. "Fuck..."

"I- it's my fault, I shouldn'ta let yew go..."

"Pickles, what happened?"

"Well-" Pickles started, before he was abruptly interrupted by the swinging of the door.

"My midgeeeeeet!" Nathalia all but screamed as she sped into the room as fast as she could. "For fuck's sake, I have the worst timing in the history of everything!"

Salem couldn't help but smile as they looked up at Nathalia exasperated face. "As usual."

Nathalia groaned as she sat down on the bed next to Salem's feet. "Am I ever gonna catch a break and actually be here on time?"

"We'll see, won't we?" Salem teased lightly, poking her butt with their toe. "How long have I been out?"

"Aboot twelve hours," Pickles replied. "Yew weren't in critical condition, but yew needed ta sleep off... whatever Murderface gave ya."

Salem flinched, remembering vaguely the bottles of wine, being dragged inside, falling into Pickles's arms... "You were waiting for me to come back, weren't you?"

Pickles looked surprised, but gave a shy smile. "Ye... I- I know we don't know each ot'er very well, but I was worried, 'cause... It was Murderface. Ya know?"

"Yeah," Salem mumbled, shifting uncomfortably when receiving a look of sympathy from him. "I don't really remember what happened in the living-room or what I might've said..."

"Yew weren't really saying anyt'ing I could understand," Pickles admitted. "Nate said it sounded like a different language." That was odd, considering Salem didn't know any other language, fluently anyway. "After dat, yew were cryin' a lil 'n' I got scared... I tried ta keep yew by my side but he picked ya up 'n' took yew away..."

"And apparently Toki went to my room and knocked for like, thirty minutes but I ignored him," Nathalia added with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. If I had known Murderface... I'd have come running."

"Ye, 'n' I was gonna follow Murderface to yer room, but Charles stopped ta talk ta us..." Pickles sighed. "It was jus' a big mess."

"Well, I'm okay now," Salem muttered, but visions and flashes of memory made their head hurt and they winced a little. Nathalia placed a concerned hand against Salem's chest.

"Salem? You good?" When Salem didn't reply right away, Nathalia narrowed her eyes. Toki came into Salem's vision from behind her, peeking past her shoulder to look at Salem with worry. "What happened? What did he do to you?"

Salem tried to take a deep breath but it was instead shallow and shaky. "He just... started freaking out and yelling, was throwing things, then was crying, then grabbed his knife... I think that's when I screamed but he was attacking and stabbing himself..."

Nathalia frowned softly. "Really? You'd think it had been you, given you were screaming bloody murder."

Salem smiled sheepishly. "He did say he was gonna kill me, but..." Memories flashed through Salem's eyes, of Murderface hovering over them with his knife raised. His eyes... They were black. No, white. No... Black sclera (or what should've been the white of the eye) with white irises, and tear drops falling down his face. It could've been the alcohol or drugs but in that moment, Murderface looked more like himself than he ever had before. As odd as that sounded.  Salem had spoken something, but what they couldn't remember... and the green returned, after a moment's hesitation, which resulted in him plunging the knife into himself over and over with a hiss.

"I think I was mostly just scared, I mean... he was acting psycho even if he wasn't attacking me directly right away, ya know? Gave me intimidation vibes, even though I also don't think that's what he was trying to do... maybe."

Both Pickles and Nathalia were surprised by this information. "Yew sure? Yew were also covered in marks..."

"Yeah... I had attempted to stop him and I guess got in the way, and yeah. He looked really sad," Salem recalled quietly, imagining his face contorted into horror and realization, then anger again when people started piling in the room. That was when Salem had passed out.

"Well he fucking should be, he's a sad pathetic excuse of a man!" Nathalia snarled. Salem turned to study her features, noticing some blood stains on her shirt and face.

"What'd you do?"

Nathalia grinned proudly. "You noticed, eh? I beat his fucking ass, what'd you think I did?" This was somewhat news to Salem. Nathalia strived very hard to be just like Nathan but she just couldn't gain the muscle, so instead of brute strength, she resorted to all the dirty ways a person could fight. Biting, scratching, leaping on them to knock them over, she even peed on someone before to distract them. Still, she didn't like to get in as many fights as she bragged she did, because she never wanted to make it seem obvious that she could only pick a fight with someone who was caught off-guard, had a weakness,  or was even physically weaker than she was.

"It was so fucking brutal," Pickles said dreamily with his hand pressed to his chest, causing a pout from Salem.

"I'm brutal tooooo!"

"I don't doubt that," Pickles said sincerely, patting Salem's head like they were a puppy and making them blush a little.

Salem figured it would be in their best interest to change the subject, before Pickles said something else that would make their red cheeks more noticeable. "What've you guys been doing while I was out?"

Nathalia shrugged a little carelessly. "Well, cat's outta the bag with everyone else, so I'll tell you. Nathan and Charles are fucking."

"Were," Pickles added. "I dink. Eit'er dat or dey're fightin' pretty hard. Won't even look at each ot'er."

Salem's eyes grew big. "Wow, okay, new info. Golden. What else?"

This time Toki had piped up, walking closer so Salem didn't have to strain too hard to look. "Moidaface ams in troubles for hurtings yous, he gots throwns in the dungeons for a whiles and he ams parts of clean-up crews for a more whiles." Toki suddenly beamed. "I saids he shoulds write yous a apolgicets letters, and Charle ams agrees."

Salem nodded with a small smile at Toki's lovely excitement.  "Alright. Anything else?"

Nathalia gave the other a sly smile. "Pickles and I have just been getting to know each other, that's all. Maybe teaching him to know you better."

Salem's face flushed red again as they looked away. Damn her and her teasing! They shot Pickles the side-eye, noticing that he was blushing too, but smiling cutely at the same time.

"If it wasn't me here to keep an eye on you, it was him," Nathalia added, standing from the bed to walk over to the other drummer and give him a smack on his back. "He's got the official Nathalia-approval stamp. Complete with cigarette burn." Pickles flinched and Salem groaned. She had a weird habit of doing that to people to 'initiate them'.

"Glad to be a part of dis," Pickles muttered as he rubbed himself sorely, but he looked amused rather than irritated.

Salem rolled their eyes and lifted their arm up slowly, motioning with their fingers for him to show. He pulled down his shirt a little, letting them see a little burn mark on his chest, and they snorted. "You're such a crackhead, Nat."

"For you." Nathalia looked proud. "He took it like a champ! I didn't even force him, I told him about my initiation tactics and he went with it."

Salem would've facepalmed if they could. Truth be told though, Pickles was the first to earn his so quickly, so that was impressive.

Of course, it could've been because it had taken years for Tobias to even agree to it, otherwise he might've gotten his within the first day, considering at that age, Nathalia was supposedly really into the idea of fire. Salem got theirs a year after meeting, mostly because they were having their own issues that didn't need to involve physical pain.

"Welcome to the club, I guess," Salem chuckled. "Oh, speaking of our little fucked up circle, where's Tobias?"

Nathalia shrugged. "He hasn't been feeling well, so he's chilling in his room. Which he has access to again, apparently."

"Oh, okay." Nathalia had a way with being very dismissive to Tobias and what he was doing, but they assumed usually it was because she decided what he was doing was boring, since he didn't have a lot of hyperactivity which Nathalia loved. Salem winced when their head began to throb, realizing they had forced their body upright and now it was getting sore. Pickles placed a hand on Salem's chest and forced them to lay back down.

"Jus' relax, maybe get some more sleep. Yew've had a rough few days bein' here at Mordhaus," Pickles grinned sheepishly, causing Salem to smile back.

They didn't need to be told twice, as their eyes began to droop once more, feeling very exhausted from just having a conversation. Eventually they fell back into a dreamless sleep with Necro, Pickles, and Toki watching over them.

~~~

32 hours left...

"Nathan."

No response from the brute as he wrote in his notebook in silence from the recording room. He didn't even look up when Charles had walked in and tried several attempts to start a conversation.

It pissed off Charles to say the least, because he couldn't fathom what he'd done wrong this time. He was trying so hard to appease everyone; hell, he'd been trying to do that from the beginning but also preferred keeping the band's private lives a secret, so as not to have a repeat of last year. Now, he knew and understood that the secrecy had cost one of the band member's sanity (or rather two of them), which caused the other three to lose sleep over it, trying to glue the pieces back together.

Finally, Charles begrudgingly accepted the idea that not everyone was like him- not everyone could just hold their tongue and be okay after. They were allowed to talk about everything now, he made that clear. All of their issues with each other or within themselves. He'd probably even recommend such a thing for everyone he'd plan on sending to rehab, to get to the bottom of their unhealthy habits.

So the fact that Nathan was still obviously angry at him not only irritated the older man, it also confused him. And for once, he actually wanted to discuss it.

Charles did something he'd never done before to catch Nathan's attention. He snatched the notebook right out of the other's hand and held it behind his back when Nathan jumped to his feet menacingly with a glare. The manager felt like a little kid doing this, but he wanted to be heard.

"Give it back."

"Only if you talk to me."

Nathan gripped his pen so hard that it snapped in half, ink splattering against his fist. "What's there to talk about?"

"I don't understand why you're mad at me," Charles insisted with narrowed eyes. "I just wanted you to explain yourself."

"No," Nathan growled.

"Why not?"

"I'll hurt your feelings. Or I would, if you had any." Charles held back a flinch and instead stared blankly up at the man.

"I don't understand what makes me so unfeeling." Had he not faked his emotions enough for Nathan? Obviously not everything was a facade, but he definitely exaggerated his responses to things, or at least he thought he did. Maybe Nathan had always seen right through that?

"Dude." Nathan shook his head and turned away from his lover with his arms crossed. "Fucking christ..."

"What?!"

"Salem looked fucked up!" Nathan whirled back around, looking pissed off. "I don't know them- I barely fucking talked to them- but they were fucked! Murderface is fucked and has been for a super fucking long time! Pickles is fucked! I just-" Nathan threw his hands up in the air dramatically. "I know I started this whole, unfeeling shit. The fucking 'don't care about what the other guys do' shit. Because I thought it wasn't brutal. But after fucking Toki became a, uh, alcoholic and you. You died, and just- Pickles came out and looked so happy- I wanted it to stay that way!"

Nathan relaxed his shoulders like he was calming down, but his voice was still just as loud and frustrated. "When we got together I was- I was happy? I guess? You made me feel shit. I normally, uh. Don't. But you were all clammed up. Like a conpis- constiptated oyster. So I did the same. Then you acted like, like you actually had feelings, and it made me. Again. To feel. And allow it to uh, be a thing." Nathan shook his head. "But you never fuckin' cared. Not about anything. It's obvious from the way you know-know-ledged the situation."

"Acknowledged. And that's not true." Why was Charles's voice trembling?

"Oh it is. I should've seen it." Nathan looked bitter and... sad. "Do you fucking know how many times I sat with Pickles as he cried on my shoulder? The dildo probably doesn't even remember from all the shit he took." Charles raised an eyebrow to this. "Almost every day for a month, but otherwise he was a constipatsed clam, too. I watched you walk into a room with him in it and you never so much as looked at him. Like you were avoiding it, because you knew it was your fault."

"I did nothing!" Charles hissed.

"Exactly, you didn't!" Nathan let out a sharp grunt of a laugh. "You never gave him permission to let him talk to anyone, you didn't really do shit with, with Murderface. Pickles even mentioned-" He paused to think, deciding not to finish that sentence, but they were in it too deep now, for Charles to let him stop.

"No, do tell. What did Pickles say?" Charles's voice was eerily calm.

Nathan leveled his gaze with him. "He said something about you making him lose the best thing he had since Murderface, uh, did that shit. But he was super drunk and wouldn't tell me everything. He was scared you'd overhear and yell at him."

Charles felt a cold wave rush over him as those specific memories flashed through his mind, and he suddenly couldn't look Nathan in the eye anymore. He knew what he did, and he felt guilty for it. But he had no choice... right?

"You care more about spitting on the broken pieces and trying to fit them back together. Than you, you actually care about why they're broken in the first place so it doesn't keep, uh, happening." Nathan scowled. "I don't know WHY Pickles needs to talk about, his shit. Or what it is. But I think I'd have an idea by now if he was allowed to!"

"Well, now he is. In fact, we've discussed before that he's allowed to now. So drop it." Charles's voice was quiet.

"Yeah, because there's more people involved. And you know you can't stop them from talking. Maybe you're expecting them to get it all out, out of their system, before uh, they leave and might tell someone else."

Charles rubbed his face in irritation. "I don't... I don't know what you want me to do or how to fix this, Nathan. I know I did bad, but I couldn't just back down from my statement at the time."

"Yes, yes you coulda."

"It was a delicate situation with Murderface-"

"Yeah, and as you can see, you made the situation worse."

Charles's shoulders sagged as he silently handed back the notepad. Nathan eyed him suspiciously, taking it out of the other's grip. "What?"

Charles turned away, a harsh feeling in the pit of his stomach but his voice level once more. "Just get your work done." Then he stalked off without another word. Perhaps his boys would just be better off without him, after all.

~~~

28 hours left...

"Has anyone seen Charles?" Nathalia demanded as she walked into the living-room, noticing that almost everyone was in there aside from Pickles and Salem. Nathalia would normally not leave the midget's side either, but Toki wanted his little gummies again.

Unfortunately Charles's office was shut and locked, and nobody came to the door to answer when she knocked for ten minutes straight, until a Klokateer had come up to her to explain he wasn't there.

"I thoughts he am ins the office?" Skwisgaar drawled out as he plucked at the strings on his guitar as per usual.

"He's not in there, I checked."

Tobias shrugged, having been caught by Toki while getting a snack from the kitchen, and was now on the floor watching the other draw in crayon so they could hang out. "Haven't seen him."

Murderface was still apparently on cleaning duty, and didn't look up or reply as he swept around the room. His face was still badly damaged and he moved with winces, which pleased Nathalia.

Nathan grunted a little as he lounged on the couch in a disgruntled manner. "Don't know. Don't care."

Ivy and Raven were hanging by the window, and the former turned to look at Nathalia when she spoke. "I saw him leave the building earlier. Like, five hours ago. Haven't seen him come back."

Toki pouted a little. "This ams means no gummies for mes?!"

Nathalia sighed a little. "Yep, no gummies, Toki. I'm sorry." She was so, so exhausted.

~~~

24 hours left...

It wasn't fair... None of it. Murderface angrily stabbed at the side of the wall as he slowly walked back to his room, dripping in sweat and his body sore after having to climb all the way up to the ceiling to wash some blood off that had made its way there for whatever reason, as well as other things.

He paused to stare angrily at one of the mirrors in the hallway, studying his grotesque looks and his bruised features. He didn't even remember much of what happened that day of the date, that caused this whole mess. Once he started drinking that wine, the wine he had supposedly drugged to seduce Salem, things had started getting blurry.

Not exactly like Salem, who was obviously not in control of their body at all, but it was like a whole new person had entered him and led him to do what he did. To encourage him. To open up something that had been buried deep and were awakened in that moment of anger and fear.

That's all it was, was fear. Murderface was afraid of Pickles, and afraid of Salem. Afraid of what he could not understand. Afraid of what it meant for him if he LIKED what he couldn't fathom. He knew this. And he knew what he'd done was awful. He knew that he had lost control over himself; it definitely wasn't premeditated.

Murderface remembered vaguely, the fear in Salem's eyes, and the words that spewed out of their mouth that immediately calmed him, even just a little. It wasn't something he'd ever heard before, and had no idea what language it was, and yet it felt like he knew exactly what they had said.

"You know this isn't you."

The second he'd heard those words, his body relaxed and his vision cleared, seeing them cower with equally cloudy eyes. In a fit of his own confusion and rage, because he didn't know how he'd gotten to that point, he looked down at himself and began to stab deeply with a growl.

Murderface's dick and well, the rest of him, still hurt from that, in fact. His hands ran through the frizzy mess that was his hair with a sigh. Despite all of this, he still felt drawn to Salem. He craved to see their smile, their laugh, their positive energy.

"Do you always want to feel that positive energy?"

Murderface was surprised by the voice that echoed in his head, and snapped his head in all directions to try and find the source. He looked back at the mirror, and saw a dark face shadowing in front of his own, though he couldn't see any actual noticeable features.

"I can give you that power."

"How?" Murderface whispered.

A light cackle bounced through his skull as Murderface's eyes darkened to a coal black.

~~~

12 hours left...

"Why is this show even at midnight?" Nathan complained as he watched the Klokateers drag their important equipment into a dramatic position for when they and their platform was dropped out of the sky. "I mean, not the weirdest time we've done a show. Never right at midnight."

Nathalia was leaning against the wall, watching everyone go back and forth to get things set up. "Dunno, but falling out of a dethkopter onto a giant floating stage, just to watch you guys play is gonna be so bomb."

Nathan grinned a little. He did like his dramatic appearances. His smile quickly grew sour when he saw Charles enter the room, but he didn't meet anyone's gaze except for the Klokateers, as he discussed with them where exactly to put everything. This made the brute man salty, since he was supposed to be the one pouting and ignoring Charles. And yet, the manager's silent treatment only made Nathan want to beg for the man's attention again.

Nathalia noticed Nathan's change in attitude, but figured she'd been nosy enough in their affairs, and chose to stay out of it. Or maybe the drama just bored her. 

Charles himself didn't seem to be doing so well. His hair wasn't as neat and proper as usual, and his suit was wrinkled, the buttons connected lopsidedly. He said something else quietly before he turned to both bands, Abigail too, who had decided to join.

"Alright guys. Time to head to the point. Let's make this performance a good one." He waved his hand in dismissal, watching as they all walked away, obviously seeing Charles's distress and not wanting to be around it. Nathan wanted to stay behind though, and stood there, awkwardly waiting for everyone else to file out. He noticed Salem limping away with their arm around Pickles's shoulder, and Nathan raised an eyebrow to it. Good for them, he supposed.

Charles didn't even turn to look at Nathan as he walked up to Abigail in greeting. "What did you want, Nathan?"

"I wanna break up," Nathan grunted, folding his arms across his chest. He had to be dominant, in case Charles thought he could fake cry his way back into Nathan's heart-

"That's fine."

Nathan was taken aback. "Huh?"

Charles turned his head slightly to the left, toward Nathan. "Please leave, Nathan. I have something to discuss with Abigail."

"You can talk in front of me!"

"Fine." Charles resumed looking at Abigail. "I've found the possible perpetrator in our midst. I ordered the others to deal with him, but it looks like he escaped."

"Wait, who?" Nathan was confused. Charles was apparently out of fucks to give.

"One of the Klokateers was a traitor. A spy. He might've been the one drugging the alcohol. More specifically, the ones that both Murderface and Salem partook in. Some make the alcohol here after all, and are the ones to seal the bottles themselves."

"Charles..." Abigail spoke with uncertainty. "Should you really be-"

"I'm just here to pass along the information. Do what you will with it, which is probably nothing." Charles turned on his heel and stalked off, leaving the both of them stunned. Nathan wanted to grab his arm and demand an answer, but he stayed rooted in place, watching the person he loved turn his back on him.

Everything seemed to be falling into pieces.

~~~

One hour left...

The wind was harsh and smelled of faint ash, much like Tobias had previously dealt with not so long ago. Why it smelled that way, he didn't know, but he was the only one staring up at the sky as the clouds rolled over the black sky in large waves. Like an angry sea frothing, waiting to consume everything in its path.

Everyone was getting into their positions as they prepared for their 'epic' and 'brutal' concert; with Nathalia's band preparing themselves for the ultimate close-up within the sidelines. Yet all Tobias could see was the slight rain drops falling every so often from above. A warning sign, he believed.

Salem nudged Tobias from the sign and gave him a slight smile, tilting their head to the side. "You okay?" Salem asked softly. Tobias should have been asking his friend that, because they still didn't look very well from what they had been going through lately. He stared for a second at them before he shook himself out of it and gave as big of a smile as he could muster.

"Yeah, just interested and excited for this," Tobias told them. They didn't believe it, he could see it in their eyes. Tobias wasn't the best liar but then again, nobody really paid attention most of the time if the words he spoke were truthful or not.

The two friends turned to the sky to stare silently. Salem was very obviously deep in thought about something, but neither had time to say what was truly on their mind when Nathalia came skipping right between them with her arms around their neck in practically a chokehold.

"While you guys are looking at sissy clouds and having a mid-life crisis, the best band in the world is getting ready to play directly in front of us! Are you excited??" She practically screeched, causing the both of them, and both Ivy and Raven too since they were close by, to flinch at her loud voice.

"Yeah," Tobias muttered, shrugging off her arm while staring intensely at the lightning that brightened up the dark world from far away for a second. "Ecstatic..."

~~~

It's time...

The triangular Dethklok platform dropped from the Kopter that had been carrying it (though stayed floating from whatever technology Dethklok had a hold of), opening up into a flat stage to reveal a flurry of strobe lights. Then, the actual band members were dropped into it from the second Kopter. The platform floors themselves, as well as the bottom of their shoes, were made of a newer material that the shock of landing on them from that height (not super far away, but enough that it would normally cause a broken bone) wouldn't actually affect their body, making it a badass entrance that they liked.

The second their feet hit the ground and picked up their instruments, they started playing, hearing the roaring of millions of fans in the distance. The Excommunicated had been shoved forcefully in the back of the stage before it was closed and dropped, so they were already watching from the sidelines, happily out of sight from Dethklok's ravenous paparazzi.

Outside, the storm raged on, but nobody noticed it between the music that overpowered the sound of thunder, and the bright lights that blinded everyone from focusing on the rain droplets right in front of their face. Except Tobias, who remained unblinking as he focused on the angry clouds. It was to be expected since he was a lover of weather patterns, and the sky in general.

Not even after the first verse was done, things started going down.

Salem was well enough to be there and had just been vibing to the music, watching from the background as Pickles's powerful muscles beat against his drum like his life depended on it. Then they began to tense, feeling some type of electricity in the air. Their palms began to sweat and the hair on the back of their neck stood up.

That's when Tobias hunched over with a groan, looking like he was about to puke. His band knew he had stomach issues, but Nathalia gave him a dirty look anyway. "Dude, please don't. Not now."

Oh yes, yes now. Apparently now was the perfect time for everything to happen at once. The sound of a nearby explosion startled all of them, except for Dethklok who were certainly surprised but definitely not phased. They probably assumed it was some kind of effect that had been added without their knowing.

Tobias dropped to the ground, his breathing erratic as foam began to appear on his lips. Nathalia was very obviously frustrated as she tried to help him back on his feet. "No you fucker, you're not doing this!"

...

It was starting. Charles watched from his monitors on the Dethkopter, and he warned the Klokateers to be ready to fire at will on his mark. He had an 'escape' button pressed against his finger tip, waiting to push it once things got too hectic out there. He just needed confirmation about something...

"Sir!" A Klokateer shouted before the squelching sound of a knife stabbing through organs rang in the air. Charles snapped his head up, surprised that they were already there, and were taking over the Kopter.

Fuck... He thought as he crouched into battle stance, using a chair to jump over the first person that had charged toward him, and then as he was coming back down, smashed his fist into the next. He blocked a jab from a knife with his arm, allowing it to slice his wrist a little, before aiming a punch directly to the head that dropped that person as well.

Charles was grabbed from behind, a knife held to his throat, so he reached behind himself to grab that person's face, bashing it into the back of his own skull and then shoving them both backward into the wall nearest to them, letting the person drop to the floor. He cracked his neck with a small huff, watching the few others that had managed to get there, cower in the corner. Was this all that the Revengencers had?

Better question, why is the Half-man using THESE guys as his puppets? They have to be connected, Charles thought to himself as he pulled a dagger off of one of the unconscious bodies, preparing to fight off more as a few advanced on him again. Until a large, beefy man pushed everyone to the side, the side of his face covered in a steel mask.

"Hello again," The Metal Masked Assassin growled, cracking his knuckles menacingly.

"Ah yes, here to kill me again are you? Let's see if you can."

...

Pickles could hear various explosions around him but he couldn't concentrate on that. His eyes were focused on his drums, though he could smell the gunpowder in the air and the various screams from below. He badly wanted to pause to look out, but Nathan hadn't quit singing, and he didn't want to fuck up the pace in case it was nothing.

Still, the tingling on his spine that made his arm hairs raise wouldn't go away. Pickles heard urgent shouts from the very back, where the other band was located, but he couldn't... The strobe lights made a crackling sound, and something went buzzing by his ears, causing him to snap out of his trance, jerking his head up in surprise.

The others were also equally puzzled. Pickles turned his head to see a flaming arrow stuck to the back of the stage, and he blinked at it. Were the fans going insane?!

"Pickles! PICKLES!" Someone was shouting, but he didn't register the voice until he felt something heavy knock into him.

...

Toki was probably the first to stop playing. He received an angry side-eye from Skwisgaar for doing so, though no one else seemed to notice. He felt sick to his stomach, breathing in the scent of fire and blood. He placed his guitar down, leaning against the siding to try and stay on his feet as his head swirled dramatically.

Something was going very wrong. The bitter saltiness of death filled his lungs to the brim, so biting, so powerful. Skwisgaar paused his playing too, something he never did, his unsure blue eyes searching Toki's, when he saw the fear in the younger bandmate's. Both heard someone shouting Pickles's name, the buzzing of something whizzing past everyone's face, then another of the same thing hitting Skwisgaar directly in the chest.

The strap snapped in two and for the first time, the instrument dropped from the Guitar God's hands, it clattering to the ground at his feet as he fell backward with a moan of pain. Toki froze, smelling the burned flesh coming from Skwisgaar's body, and seeing smoke rising from his clothing.

"AAAAAAAHS!" Toki screamed, snatching his guitar up again and slamming it against Skwisgaar's chest to try and stop the fire. Everyone had stopped playing by now, either staring in confusion or stepping back in surprise.

Skwisgaar coughed heavily as he held his hand up, gripping the side of the guitar and speaking in rushed Swedish, then Norwegian. "Stop you fucking idiot! I said STOP!"

Toki flushed slightly, dropping his guitar to the ground and crawling toward Skwisgaar. "A- ams you okays?"

"Ja, it onlys hit a littles," Skwisgaar coughed, rubbing the stab wound on his chest and noticing that an arrow was stuck deep into the guitar strap. "Gets down you fuckinks dildo!" He grabbed Toki's arm and pulled him to the ground with him as both bullets and arrows went flying at their heads. Toki began to cry, so Skwisgaar gripped the side of the boy's face and held his head to his chest so he wouldn't have to see any of the commotion, to hear the screams as well, or to smell the fire as much. Where were the Klokateers? Where was Charles?! He would've saved them by now!

...

Salem had screamed Pickles's name several times, once realizing there was an attack from the sounds of gunfire or seeing the flames from the ground rise, but he didn't seem to hear the other. It was like they were watching what was happening in slow motion, and felt their body move on their own to rush toward the drummer, crashing their body into his.

The arrow that had been aiming for his head instead scraped against both of their necks, but nothing deep or major supposedly. They both crashed into the wall with powerful force, knocking Pickles breathless for a moment.

Salem hovered awkwardly over the other, blushing slightly because of their position, until they remembered they were in a life or death situation. More arrows passed their head, followed by bullets, like whoever it was, was getting tired of the other weapons not working as well.

"What de feck is goin' on out dere?!" Pickles hissed, though hadn't moved from his spot underneath the smaller one.

"I don't know," Salem whispered back, and they knew that they looked like a scared little rabbit right now but they didn't know what else to do except hover over Pickles's body to prevent him from getting hurt.

Unfortunately, the wound on his neck was deeper than they had originally figured as the blood began to drip heavily down his throat. Salem pressed their shirt sleeve against it to stop the flow, wincing as more shots were fired in their general area.

Salem saw Skwisgaar hit the ground first and Toki proceed to panic, then Murderface dropped to his knees, gripping his shoulder with his teeth gritted when a bullet grazed him. Nathan continued to stand with the microphone limp in his hand, staring out into the world in front of him as fires blazed and smoke began to fill the lit-up and raining sky.

"Nathan, get the fuck down!" Nathalia had shouted to the other singer, but if he had heard, he chose not to listen.

A whimper rang through the air as a burning pain exploded in Salem's leg, distracting them from what else was going on. People they had never seen before jumped onto the stage, wielding many different weapons, causing them to tense up.

They walked directly up to Nathan, trying to look intimidating compared to the Dethklok singer. Without a word but definitely with his traditional scowl, he gripped the heads of two of them, and knocked his own into both of them at the same time, dropping them to the ground.

"Fuck yeah, fuck 'em up! Bring it on you fucks!" Nathalia screamed in the distance.

More began to pile into the stage and quickly spread out, about eight of them heading straight for Nathalia. "Fuck, I take it back!"

...

Tobias had begun to convulse, his eyes rolled into the back of his head. Nathalia couldn't reach to stop Salem when they ran to save Pickles, and she was too far away to force Nathan down onto the ground. She could only hold her other friend down and wait for his fit to pass.

Once everyone began to advance toward Nathalia, her anxiety began to peak.

"Yeah come closer you fucks! Fuck with me!" She snarled at them, motioning for Ivy or Raven to help out Tobias while she stood up with the intention to fight to the death.

Fires were shot toward her but they were apparently really lousy shots because they whizzed a few inches past her face when she was basically a stand-still target. She advanced on them with a pocket knife, slashing at any limb that would come close enough to her, trying to back them up and keep them at bay.

More just kept coming though and eventually there was a gunshot that caught Nathalia right in the stomach, forcing her to drop the knife with a gasp. She staggered back, clutching her abdomen and accidentally tripped over Tobias's body, causing her to fall back on her ass.

Her eyes squeezed shut as another shot pierced through her ears, followed by a horrid scream. "Ivy! No!" Then another, and then silence, except for Tobias's ragged breathing.

"Shh," Nathalia whispered to him, and she began to sing to him as she started to lose consciousness, the last thing she saw through blurry vision being a hail of bullets that would be going straight for Nathan's face.

...

Nathan remained unflinching even as people began to overpower him, or when there was a flurry of destruction heading toward them all. He remained with his chest out and his head held high. This was the most brutal thing he'd ever gotten to witness, yet all it did was disturb him. The smell of blood and smoke, the screams of horror, the concern he felt for the others.

Just before the bullets hit Nathan's face, an invisible wall came crashing down right in front of him, blocking them from hitting him. Then it dissipated almost immediately after, followed by Klokateers jumping from various Dethkopters to fight back. Nathan almost felt relieved, but was too stunned to react right away.

Then the walls of the platform began to fold around them and push them to the middle of the platform, darkness swallowing them up as they were enclosed and the main lights shut off, leaving only a few dim ones on the sides. They could feel the whole stage moving upward, knocking a few people off balance except for the Klokateers who seemed ready and trained for this.

A few quickly checked Nathan for any wounds, then moved on to the rest who were actually badly damaged. Nathan stared with mild shock to see everyone in bad shape. Toki was crying in the corner and holding his own leg as he tried to shake an unresponsive and profusely bleeding Skwisgaar. Salem was still on top of Pickles, bleeding as well but focused on soothing the man underneath them by stroking his head softly.

In the further corners, Raven's bloody body was wrapped around Ivy's, both of their eyes in a blank, milky stare that made Nathan's blood turn ice cold. Nathalia also looked passed out, sitting in a slumped, awkward position as her bloody hand held Tobias's, who was staring into the void apparently. Murderface was the only one by himself, sitting in the farthest corner away from everyone else as he treated his mild bullet wound on his own, but kept nervously looking this way and that.

Dead bodies littered the place of everyone who had attacked them, so at least there was that, Nathan supposed?

The walls opened up again slowly and Nathan blinked to see that they were back in their main Dethkopter. More Klokateers were waiting to lead them away from the mess, all either needing assistance or to be carried other than Nathan and Murderface, both who had somehow scraped by without too much of an issue.

Nathan followed them down a corridor, looking around nervously. Not that he CARED or anything, but where was...?

As if he had sensed he was being thought about, Charles popped up only a few seconds later, and it was one of the few times Nathan felt truly horrified when the man's bloody, swollen face popped into his vision. His shirt was shredded, his glasses long forgotten, and there was blood soaking into his normally crisp and clean clothes. Of course, Nathan didn't allow his emotions to stray onto his face.

"Good, you're here," Charles let out a sigh. "I didn't mean to take so long." He cleared his throat and attempted to fix his battered tie, as if that did anything for his complexion right now. "We don't have much time, we have a safe space for you all until we get back to Mordhaus."

Charles turned to lead them this time, but it was obvious he was struggling. Nathan noticed that a lot of skin had literally been torn off of his leg, showing his muscle flex and tense every time he took a step with it and letting blood drip from the wound messily. The back of his head had a large knot in it, and there were several deep marks in his neck. Charles practically stumbled forward, gripping the sides of the wall as he forced himself to move.

Nathan wanted to scoop him up and carry him to safety, to hold him and tell him it was going to be alright, but he couldn't. All he did was stare at the man he was supposed to be angry with, the man he wasn't supposed to touch anymore, the man he loved so much, and feel his heart leap into his throat every time the other flinched or huffed in pain.

They had almost reached a bunker of a room, with a powerful steel door to keep them locked in, when something came crashing through the wall, knocking Charles off balance when the debris caught him in the face. The man tumbled to the left and then fell hard, making him wince in pain. The Metal Masked Man, the man who had been fucking with Charles before a couple of years ago, stood there menacingly with blood dripping down his face and chin, but not as severely.

"You've pissed me off for the last time," he growled, before turning to stare at everyone else. "Good, it's time to end this." He balled his hands into fists, and Nathan tensed, preparing for a fight.

"No!" Charles gasped, slamming his hand against the wall as he shakily tried to stand. "Don't... touch them!"

The Metal Masked Man turned to sneer at him. "I'll deal with you first, then."

Charles was lifted off his feet, the other's grip around the manager's throat. Charles kicked and thrashed weakly and Nathan had never seen him look so pitiful like a mouse caught in a trap, before he smirked as dozens of more Klokateers flanked in from all sides, pointing their guns at the both of them.

The assassin snarled angrily, noticing that the wall had a mild indent in it now. "A secret emergency button again, for one as pathetic as yourself that you can't fight back on your own."

He turned to look out the window, before punching it open with his free hand. "My ride's here anyway." He eyed Charles again with a nasty scowl. "Guess you're coming with me."

Charles gasped and Nathan finally found his voice, shouting, "NOOOO!" As the man tucked his ex-lover under his armpit and leaped out of the window, catching a ladder in the wind that led to an obviously hijacked Dethkopter.

Wind rushed into the Kopter from the hole in the Kopter but nobody could do anything except be forced into the security room. Nathan however was not ready and kept pushing past everyone and punching them as he shouted Charles's name, up until the Klokateers had had enough of it and knocked the man out cold with a tranquilizer.

Chapter Text

Nathalia in all her dark glory walked down a path of glowing stars, completely barefoot and yet not feeling any type of burn. It was surprising she could even walk across them at all without phasing through. She was pretty much floating through space, watching planets in the distance roll by, and asteroids speed through the cosmos. At the end of the long, starry path, she saw a familiar silhouette 'sitting', if one could call it that, in the middle of dark emptiness.

Were they dead? No, there was something familiar about this dream-like state. She was unconscious at the very least, and there was a lowkey feeling of warmth and security to the idea of her own mortality that prevented her from freaking out and assuming she was dying or dead. She couldn't explain it, but she at least knew that she would awaken eventually.

Nathalia thought her foot would fall through the path once there were no stars left to stand on, but found herself continuing as if there were something underneath her to keep herself upright. She reached the shape in front of her, staring down at the man with the slightly longer, surprisingly red and braided hair, with a white strip coming down from the side.

Tobias's eyes were glowing an ominous milky white as he seemed to stare right through her, but his smile was still as friendly with familiarity as ever. "Nat."

Nathalia shifted nervously; it was like standing in front of some wise wizard, but that wizard was like, only supposed to be 25 years old. His long blue tunic's sleeves billowed as if there was somehow a wind in the middle of this vacuum to show off his pale skin and a strange, jagged mark on his forearm. A fur shawl was wrapped around his shoulders, buttoned together by an ancient looking amulet.

"You look like a viking, kinda," Nathalia pointed out bluntly, raising an eyebrow at him. "Fucking bad ass."

Tobias chuckled slightly. "Thanks." He raised an eyebrow at her. "I know why you're here."

"You do? Good, because I don't." She paused to think, suddenly her 'dream' with Nathan from before coming to mind. "Wait, never mind. The-"

"Prophecy," Tobias finished for her with a slight smile. "I know."

"You do?" Nathan's words echoed in her head. '...Who sees before it begins'. "So you're definitely some like, psychic fuck. Ha, gay."

Tobias let out a breath of amusement. "Very gay." He looked around them a little before saying, "Normally, during my 'seizures', I see visions. And this is my place for when I dream. Therefore, normally during my seizures, I don't end up here but I suppose it was time for us to meet."

Nathalia shook her head. "Yeah for no reason! You already know about it."

Tobias smiled. "Partially true. I both technically know more than you, and yet require the information I do not have from you."

"What info? What do you know?" Nathalia squinted her eyes at him.

"I don't remember," Tobias admitted honestly with a sheepish smile, causing her to roll her eyes. "I know that I know more from what the visions tell me, my problem is that I can't remember them after they've finished. I do know of a prophecy though, and the feeling of impending doom on our shoulders. Almost like it's common sense, or second nature; like breathing. I also know that this would be happening today, and I know that this meeting is crucial for the sake of this fucked up world." Tobias's face fell a little and he looked even more old and grave than before. "I know you're supposed to be here to tell me to not look away from this. As you can see though, I can't look at all." Tobias gestured to his blank stare.

"Hm? Oh. OH." Nathalia laughed a little when she finally realized the joke, but then eventually calmed down. "Poor blind dude. Uh... so like why do you wanna 'look away from this' anyway?"

"Hmm." Tobias 'looked' off into the distance with his clouded stare. "I'm not sure the original reason, if any. I do know I hold a lot of contempt for the world, though. I mean, have you seen it?" Tobias waved his arm in a general direction. "That and the fact that I always feel like the world is ending any given second, it's very difficult for me to have an optimistic outlook. After all, even if it's something that we can actually stop, morons will inevitably destroy it anyway."

"So then let them destroy it," Nathalia said simply, causing Tobias to raise a bushy eyebrow. "I mean it. Let them catch it on fire. Let them pollute the world. Let them kill themselves. That doesn't mean you stoop down to their fuckin' level and be part of their destruction. You don't want that guilt to eat ya alive, you'd feel a lot better if they just did it to themselves on their own time. Do you really wanna be the one that pulls the trigger on their miserable lives? Jeez, I thought you were smart." She tapped the side of her head, then felt slightly embarrassed when she once again remembered that Tobias seemed blind in this place.

Tobias was quiet for a moment, then smiled a little, which turned into a larger grin, then began to cackle, until he was full-blown laughing.

"What's so funny?!"

"The world's biggest nihilist wants to fix the world, that MUST mean I'm in the wrong," Tobias chuckled warmly. "Well, aside from that, I need more information. I need to know who to speak to, because unfortunately that knowledge was not gifted to me; I didn't even know it was you specifically that I was supposed to be speaking to today."

"Well Death himself is next apparently," Nathalia bluntly stated with a shrug, remembering that part of the equation. "Tell him to steady his hand and bow or whatever, and then pass it along."

Tobias nodded thoughtfully. "To whom?"

"Whoever can apparently shoot lightning out of his hands, who's gotta do some breathing exercises." Nathalia grinned when Tobias stared blankly at her. It was very obvious she was winging ninety-nine percent of this. "Who then has to tell some dumb self-proclaimed, sacrificial hero that they can't win this on their own, who has to tell some other psychic bitch who's already supposedly seen what's happened to basically not be a baby like you and stop giving up, and uh... some dumb ass who sucks the life out of people, has to believe in himself." Nathalia grinned. "I can suck the life outta you too, if you know what I mean."

Nathalia couldn't tell, but she swore Tobias had rolled his eyes. "I'm good, thanks perv. Other psychic bitch?"

"Apparently he- or they, I don't really remember- has 'seen this before' or some dumb shit. I don't know if they're also psychic, like you, or what, but sounds like it."

"Perhaps, I don't see how there could be two psychics but I suppose two self-aware people are better than one," Tobias mused. "But back to Death."

"Yeah, do you have any idea who it could be? I have no clue. It's a miracle I was smart enough to figure you out and it's literally because you're the smartest person I know, besides myself of course."

Tobias snorted. "Hm... I believe it might be Toki."

"Fucking Toki? Precious bean Toki?" Nathalia laughed like it was the funniest thing she'd ever heard. "He wouldn't hurt a soul..." She suddenly seemed to recall him beating Skwisgaar with his guitar in a frenzy just a few moments prior. "...on purpose."

Tobias smiled lightly. "But what if it isn't something he can control right now? Think about it." Nathalia tilted her head to the side, encouraging him to continue. "I've heard a few stories, alright? He had a guitar teacher that died, his father died in front of him, they had a cat that died- he's surrounded by death. Do you remember his little fit with Skwisgaar? The flowers were literally wilting outside after the fire erupted. Everything was... not that you knew, because you were preoccupied with Toki himself. And it wasn't just because of the fire or the storm, which I assumed was by Skwisgaar. "

Nathalia decided to ignore the minor jab in the middle of Tobias's blathering. "Skwisgaar?"

"He has lightning fast reflexes with his hands, plus the storm was happening the second there was a conflict between him and Toki. You couldn't put that together? Never mind."

Nathalia sighed. "Of course you'd crack the code the fastest. Mister observant 'I stare at clouds' having ass. So, back to Toki. He's basically killing everything by accident, and you have to make sure to tell him to like, chill I guess. Maybe in this realm he's a little bit more aware and has a big head which is why you gotta tell him to bow or whatever?"

Tobias nodded. "That, or perhaps he's SO unaware of what's going on around him, that he'll lose even more control in his attempt to resist the truth. Perhaps what he needs to bow to is his own powers and destiny."

"Welp. That's all on you, fam." Nathalia slapped him on the back, causing a wince out of him.

"I'm young but I feel eighty in this realm," Tobias scolded her, earning a laugh from the singer. "But it seems so. Luckily I'm good at being a peacemaker."

"Yeah yeah," Nathalia rolled her eyes. "Pussy." Tobias pinched the bridge of his nose, and momentary silence gave her a moment to think to herself. "Do you know who the rest are?"

Tobias considered. "I have an inkling for the last one at least. But let's not spoil that, shall we? I can feel myself coming to, and you as well." Nathalia opened her mouth to argue, because she still felt pretty rooted to this world, when the space around them began to grow brighter, nearly blinding her. Tobias smiled and gave a small wave before the light fully engulfed the both of them. "See you in the other world."

~~~

Nathalia felt very refreshed when she woke up. Apparently any sleep felt good to her after being deprived for so long, no matter the circumstances. The only downside was a dull ache in her abdomen but she ignored it easily.

However it was short-lived, once she quickly recognized that she was back in Mordhaus, in one of those private hospital rooms. She forced herself to sit up, her breaths coming out rapidly with her eyes darting back and forth. Why was she here? Where was everyone else? Where was Salem?!

As if they had read her mind, a movement caught Nathalia's eye and she turned to see the little midget sitting up from the couch nearby with bleary eyes. Salem was clutching a blanket close to their chest while they stared almost in confusion at Nathalia, like they had no idea who they were looking at. Eventually, they grinned sleepily and rubbed their face.

"What's up?" Salem mumbled, standing up with the blanket still clutched to their chest as they walked over to the bed.

Nathalia still had anxiety from being in the bright room, but somewhat relaxed to see Salem there, acting calmly and even teasing her a little as they nudged her shoulder lightly before clicking one of the buttons near her head. She eyed them uncomfortably with her lower lip between her teeth. "How long have I been asleep?"

"A few days-"

"What happened? Where is everyone else? Let me out of this damn thing!" She tried to stand from the bed but Salem had forced her back down firmly, and Nathalia felt too weak to fight back.

"Shut the fuck up and chill." Salem's tight voice made her pause, looking at the other with mild curiosity and a little concern. Salem sighed and sat on the bed, hands still planted on her shoulders. She finally noticed how red and puffy Salem's eyes were. "Everyone's generally okay, I guess, except..."

"Except?!"

"Ivy and Raven are dead."

Nathalia remembered hearing the gunshots by her head, followed by the bodies falling to the ground, causing her to flinch, yet for some reason the pain of it seemed too far away for her to truly grasp. "I was there... I should've helped..."

Salem didn't reply, instead continuing with where they left off. "Tobias is in a catatonic state and won't respond to anything at all, but he's alive. And Charles... he's been kidnapped."

"Kidnapped?!"

"By this metal looking bastard. Nathan, Abigail, and the Klokateers are trying to find any leads on where he could be. They're all a wreck..."

One of the medics entered the room but Nathalia hadn't even noticed, too preoccupied with her own thoughts. She hissed and tried wiggling away when the nurse tried checking on her abdomen wound.

"So, what do we do now?" Nathalia asked, leaning back miserably with a glance over at her friend.

"Abigail just said to sit and wait until they have some kinda info on Charles's whereabouts," Salem replied, picking at the sheets underneath them.

"What about the album? Our band in general?" Nathalia's anxiety was almost depleted now that she was making conversation with the midget and listening to their soft, calmer tone, but she personally knew her nerves were still on edge, ready to flare again with panic at anything possibly upsetting.

"I don't know." Salem's face fell blank as they looked back at the singer, which made Nathalia worry a little, but she couldn't comment on it before they added, "Apparently Dethklok has, uh... reanimated a few people before. But..."

Nathalia had seen their misshapen and shittily-stitched-together chef at least once or twice, and she shuddered. "It wouldn't be the same."

"Yeah."

Nathalia's eyes scanned the other's face, just now noticing the paleness, the fading scratches on their neck and face, and the dark circles underneath their puffy eyes. They also happened to be wearing their pajamas, which were getting bigger and bigger on them and she could see their collar bone protruding from underneath the skin.

The door to the room opened again and Nathalia looked to see Pickles poking his head in, looking about as tired as Salem was, but still healthier. He had a mid-sized bandage on the side of his neck and some gauze around one of his arms. He looked relieved to see Nathalia awake, which made her feel just a little odd since really the only time they talked was when Nathalia was to convince him to date Salem, or when Salem got ill... Which really mostly consisted of awkward laughter rather than anything truly eventful that was worth remembering (aside from getting to burn Pickles).

Salem also turned to spot Pickles and gave him a small smile, but the genuinity was missing from their eyes. He didn't seem to notice this though as he stepped inside, nodding to the medic before handing a banana to Salem. "Dank feck yer awake, maybe now Toki can calm da feck down!" He commented to Nathalia, earning an eyebrow raise from her.

"Toki? Where is he?"

"At Skwisgaar's private room, he's pretty bad but he's still kickin'." Pickles took a seat next to Salem, who was swinging the banana around like a lightsaber. "Stop playin' wit' yer food."

"Make me," Salem muttered, choosing instead to slap him in the mouth with it, which caused Pickles to smile a little.

"Okay, now smack him with your other banana," Nathalia scoffed with a grin when Salem's face grew bright red to those words. Whenever she was feeling the beginning stages of anxiety again, she'd usually resort to inappropriate jokes to cope. Luckily, Pickles took it in stride with a surprised but genuine laugh.

They watched with amusement the way Salem lowered themselves to the floor in a fetal position, to moan and whine in embarrassment from their friend's jokes. Nathalia wondered if anything had happened yet between them and if she missed her opportunity to spy and witness some gay ass sex, but she would ask later.

"Anyway," Pickles continued as he lifted his head back up to look at Nathalia, "Toki's been jumping between yer room, Skwisgaar's room, Tobias's, 'n', well, basically da rest o' ours while we were out, 'pparently. He hasn't rested 'n' he won't 'til everyone else is awake."

"Precious dorky bean," Nathalia sighed quietly, though she couldn't judge a lot since she did the same to Salem when they were out. "He's really worried, huh?"

"Ye, but now dat yer okie, he should calm a little. He was mostly worried aboot yew 'n' Skwisgaar."

"What happened with Skwisgaar? I only saw him getting his ass kicked by Toki's guitar," Nathalia recalled with a light snort at the fuzzy memory.

"At first he was fine, I guess, den him 'n' Toki got swarmed, 'n' after Toki got shot, Skwis tried ta shield him from gettin' beat too so he got fuckin' stabbed a couple times."

Nathalia winced. Poor baby Toki... Poor Skwisgaar, shit. She wasn't a fan of him, but he did selflessly protect the precious bean. It also angered her in a way, since she hadn't really been able to protect anyone. Not Nathan, not Salem, not really Tobias, definitely not Ivy or Raven. She grit her teeth slightly.

"Is he gonna...?"

"He'll be fine, 'n' technically he already woke up bef're yew, he jus' can't retain consciousness. But progress?" Pickles shrugged, then gave Salem a dirty look for choosing to lay on the floor still, instead of eat. "I'll fuckin' shove it down yer throat if yew don't eat dat."

"Hmmmmm, that's what he said," Nathalia smirked, and suddenly a banana went flying at her face from floor level, smacking her chin a little. "Fuck yeah, hit me again baby!"

The medic, who was still there to look over paperwork, turned her head and coughed to hide a snort.

"Yer both feckin' crazy."

Salem grumbled something, rolling away from them both and toward the door in an attempt to escape. Pickles stood up and followed, pulling them up by their armpits and forcing them to stand. "I should go ta tell Toki yer fine, 'n' maybe he'll come visit ya later. I'll tell Nate 'n' Abigail too."

Nathalia nodded, not really wanting to see anyone, not even wanting to be in the stupid room at all, and began to feel anxious again, scratching at the bandages around her stomach in discomfort.

Pickles's arms wrapped around Salem's waist and he held them for a few moments while they pressed their head against his good arm, before he pulled away and waved at the both of them while leaving the room.

Salem turned back around to eye their best friend, noticing the squirming and restlessness from her, enough to pull on the IV until the medic had to take them out to prevent a mess; she didn't seem to need it anyway. "Wanna try walking around?" The medic looked like she was going to protest, but the two obviously dismissed her thoughts before she could even say a word, when Salem pulled her friend onto shaky legs and hurriedly walked out.

Nathalia's abdomen hurt a little from moving but she felt much better being out of that room.

"Sooooooo," Nathalia said slowly, not really sure what to say. Her head, as well as her feelings, were spiraling from too many problems at once, but she didn't want to sit in silence and brood over it either, in front of her drummer at least. So she asked slyly, "You and Pickles are, uh, getting pretty close, huh?"

Salem's ears turned red, a for sure sign that Nathalia had verbally poked a vulnerable area, causing her to smirk a little.

"I guess so," was Salem's response, their hands shoved in their pockets as they both scuffled down the hall.

"You guess? Woooooooooooooow, kinda dismissive. What would Pickles think of you only 'guessing' about your feelings for him?" Nathalia teased, enjoying the way the other turned redder and redder.

"I will leave you in this hall by yourself."

Nathalia snorted, wanting to make some kind of sassy pose but not wanting to damage anything, for now at least. "Seriously, he was all touchy huggy with you. Surely you know enough to be able to explain that?"

Salem shrugged, pulling out their hands to tap them against each other nervously. "It's probably a protection thing."

"'Protection thing'?" Nathalia echoed, recalling, before she passed out, Salem hovering over Pickles's body to shield him from the attack. "As in...?"

"I dunno. Ever since I woke up, he's been concerned with me and my health. Maybe he wants to feel like a protector or some shit since I protected him, I dunno."

"Or, or, he wants to fuck you." Nathalia grinned and Salem groaned. "Or he wants you to fuck him, who knows."

"He already mentioned, a super long time ago, that he wants to take things slow."

"Sooo, he might still wanna fuck you either way! No feelings attached."

"...Fair enough."

Nathalia tapped her chin. "Also, what is this 'long time ago' thing you speak of?"

"During our drinking contest," Salem explained wearily, and Nathalia noticed with concern that Salem wasn't taking the jesting as well as they usually did, which probably had to do with the stress of everything.

"How's everyone dealing with, like, everything? Including you?"

"Nathan's a mess, Abigail's a mess, Toki's a mess as you've already heard. Skwisgaar and Tobias are unconscious messes. Pickles is struggling but not as much as the rest. I'm..." Salem shrugged. "I'm as good as I can be. Better to see you're awake."

"Ha, gay," Nathalia commented.

"Murderface-"

"Oh I don't give a fuck about him."

Salem shrugged. "People have been saying some shit about him. So he's been isolating himself in his room."

"Good, fuck him. Let the rumors fly."

"Shit like he was a part of the attack."

Now Nathalia was listening. "Yeah? Of course that fucker- I'm gonna punch him again."

"Don't punch him again."

"I'mma punch him again."

"Fucking Christ," Salem sighed, smiling slightly though. "Anyway, he was apparently found hanging around the original Klokateer guy who, I guess, partially orchestrated that attack plan to begin with. A lot. But there's otherwise no proof of it I guess?"

"What about the proof of him being a piece of shit?"

"Well let's think about it logically," Salem tried, earning a groan in response.

"No, no logical thinks. Only conclusion jumpies, and then punching!"

Salem rolled their eyes. "Realistically, if Murderface knowingly helped in any way, he probably wouldn't have allowed himself to get caught up in the fight. He'd probably have gone hiding or would've jumped to their side the second we were attacked. In fact, he seemed pretty dumbfounded to begin with. You don't make plans to kill Dethklok and then become surprised when it happens."

"Well I mean, he is pretty dumb."

Salem shrugged. "I just don't see it, and for the record, Pickles doesn't either. If two actual victims of his... weird, lowkey sociopathic behavior can believe he's innocent then-"

"Then it probably means you two have severe Stockholm syndrome," Nathalia said with a roll of her eyes. Salem pouted but didn't say anything.

Since Nathalia had just awoken and there was too much information at once to just focus on anything and therefore correctly process emotions from those things, Nathalia figured knowing everyone else's emotional state was more interesting, and probably better than forcing herself to feel anything (not that she wasn't sad about her dead bandmates, but it really had not settled in fully yet, along with everything else.) "How's Nathan feel about Charles?"

"He's a fucking wreck, dude." Salem bit their lip, their eyes clouded with worry. "I swear I saw him crying a few times, but he's a fucking man, and a 'brutal' one at that so he swore he just got stung in the eyes by a bee and then hauled ass away. I didn't even ask him anything, I just accidentally walked into him around the corner."

Nathalia chewed her inner cheek to the point of it bleeding lightly, something swelling in her chest. Of course it wasn't her fault that Charles had gotten kidnapped, but she still felt... a little bad about it.

Perhaps guilty, probably because she was partially the reason for the two parting, and now Nathan most likely had his own regrets because of the messy breakup, with the possibility of being unable to fix it if they couldn't find Charles. Not to mention, the general idea of someone he loved being taken away from him, it probably hurt even worse.

"Poor guy, fuck... Do you know how it even happened?"

"He was... trying to protect us," Salem spoke softly. "It looked like the guy who kidnapped him pre planned the whole ordeal, actually. And Nathan had to be subdued because he was acting erratic."

Nathalia shook her head in disbelief. "Fuck. Who kidnapped him..?"

"Random guy in a mask who's a part of some kinda organization, but that's all Abigail revealed to me. She might be waiting for everyone to wake before she explains more, but she seemed pretty secretive." Salem shrugged a little.

As they walked, they came across Pickles again who seemed to be walking back to Nathalia's room, and stopped in surprise to see them wandering. "Oh, good. Abigail called f'r a meetin' I guess."

"Did they find Charles?!" Salem asked eagerly.

Pickles reached out to squeeze their arm gently. "'M not sure, but whatever it is, it ain't good... She's pretty upset."

Salem's face dropped and everyone's stomach in that hall clenched tightly with sudden anxiety. What was wrong now? Or were they going to get some answers now that both leaders of the bands were awake and functioning?

They all walked down the hall, Salem's hands cupped together in front of themself almost innocently, while Pickles walked beside them. Nathalia hobbled along behind the both of them, eyeing the way Salem nervously looked over at the other drummer once in a while.

Just before they reached the meeting room, someone else had turned the corner and bumped right into Pickles, who stumbled backward into Salem. Murderface flinched as he also took a step back, and Nathalia was both surprised and repulsed to see the creature without a shirt on, rather sporting a large, sloppily wrapped bandage around his shoulder and part of his chest. There were large blood spots that made her raise her eyebrow at this.

Pickles didn't seem as bothered as Nathalia would think, which actually somewhat pissed her off. Murderface deserved no kindness after what he'd done to both Pickles and ESPECIALLY to her little midget. Pickles, however, did take a noticeably large step back and brushed his shirt a little where he'd been touched, though otherwise kept his composure.

The red-head was obviously not in the mood for any awkward silences, so he pointed to the wound and asked, "Dat's STILL bleedin'?"

"Heh? Oh, y- yeah," Murderface stammered, reaching to touch his shoulder gently. "What of it?"

Pickles shrugged. "Yew should let da doct'r look at it. Yer stitchin' is messy."

Murderface scoffed as if that was the most absurd thing to ever hear. "It'sch fine, god!"

Nathalia wanted to shake her head in puzzlement but didn't want to make herself known just yet by making any sudden movements. She also noticed that Salem looked just as bewildered by the almost humane exchange.

"Whatever, bleed out I guess if ya want, I don' care." Pickles shrugged nonchalantly, which caused Murderface to look down at himself for a moment, before he turned from the meeting room to speed toward the doctor quarters, not noticing Nathalia who had shifted to the other side, further away. As much as she wanted to beat his ass, she was more curious with what Abigail had to say.

"Tell 'em I'll be there in a schec!" Had... had Pickles purposely used reverse psychology on the guy? Or was he just avoiding confrontation and thought kindness was the best option.

Salem placed a hand on their hips and gave Pickles a look that he couldn't help but catch from his peripherals. He turned to them almost sheepishly. "What?"

"Don't 'what' me. What was that?" Salem looked confused and slightly amused, all wrapped in a little jealousy bow; at least to Nathalia's view. Pickles didn't seem to catch on to their face language, or if he did, he didn't want to acknowledge it.

"'M sorry, but da guy's been bleedin' since we got back home."

"Good, maybe he can fucking die," Nathalia spoke up finally in a growl, as she began pushing her friends toward the room. "Let's get this shit over with."

Upon opening the doors, they could see Toki in his usual seat tapping on the table uncomfortably, looking as bad, if not worse than Salem. His shirt was on backwards, and covered in dirt stains. Nathan, rather than sitting in his own seat, was now sitting at the very front, right next to Abigail who had taken over on Charles's spot.

Pickles did not seem too happy about this but he sat down without a word, taking Salem's hand so that they would sit next to him. Nathalia chose to sit next to Toki since it was across from Salem and further away from where Murderface would have to be, eyeing the man's depressed looks, though he did give the singer a small smile when seeing her. Skwisgaar's, Tobias's, and of course Murderface's seats were empty.

Nathan's face was expressionless with even his normal frown a thin, neutral line, and yet Nathalia and everyone else could tell that this just meant he was even more stressed and angry than usual. Abigail had her fingers crossed together in front of her on the table, looking worn out and also displeased.

Pickles cleared his throat and spoke up. "Uh, Murderface'll be here soon. He had ta go do somethin'."

Abigail sighed softly and nodded. "That's okay, we can start without him. I just needed the majority here, especially my singer." She nodded toward Nathalia, making her chest swell with pride while at the same time it fluttered with anxiety.

"I suppose I can explain to you what happened, Nathalia, unless you've already been told?"

Nathalia shrugged. "I was told about... Ivy and Raven. And Tobias, and... Charles." She gave a quick glance over to Nathan, noticing that he looked very somber at the mention of his ex-lover, staring hard at the table in front of him.

Abigail nodded sympathetically. "Well, I'll be giving you the full truth from what I personally know. Nathan's already been told, and you all deserve to know, too. The rest will just have to catch up later." Nathalia nodded and the rest were eyeing her, waiting for her to continue.

"As you all could've guessed, Dethklok was attacked during their performance. We've determined several known facts from this: the people who did it are from an organization called the Revengencers, led by a Masked man who wants revenge on Dethklok for the supposed death of his brother who worked here as a spy, but not much else is known about that right now."

Pickles raised his eyebrow to this and Nathalia scoffed. "Seems pretty dumb. I don't think these guys have the capability of purposely killing some lame-o."

"Correct," Abigail agreed, smiling a little at the offended look on Pickles's face. "They didn't do anything. From what Charles had told me previously and in his notes, the man was a spy for someone we haven't identified yet and pretended to be a Klokateer. His death was totally accidental, and yet his brother swears vengeance on us all. That's as far as my knowledge goes."

Salem leaned against the table with their chin on their fist. "I'm assuming we're now a target for our 'close connections' with Dethklok. Perhaps because he sees us as an accomplice, or maybe he thinks he can get to them through us."

"You most likely assume correctly." Abigail, as usual, looked proud of her band's general intelligence, whereas both Toki and Pickles looked to be drooling with confusion and even Nathan was more blank-faced. "He seems to be the kind of guy to be opportunistic, so you guys need to be as protected as Dethklok."

"Gay, so why did he kidnap Charles or whatever?" Nathalia questioned, and Abigail's light smile faltered.

"Ah, that... He and the man apparently have fought before, and that's according to Nathan," Abigail explained softly. "He might see Charles as his nemesis for foiling his plans previously."

"He's attacked bef're?" Pickles looked surprised, and Abigail nodded.

"Correct. So this might be his way of exacting revenge, in multiple ways. Getting a hold of the man who challenged him and got away with it, and the loss of someone close to Dethklok." Nathan visibly tensed at those words but said nothing.

"So, as you already know, Charles was indeed kidnapped. We're doing everything we can to find out information of where he could be at. He's most likely very well alive; the Masked Man seems to be the type to rub his accomplishment in our faces, so we would hear from him should anything... have already happened. That's why it's dire for us to find them on our own before then."

Abigail then cleared her throat and leaned forward, which made the rest also move in closer. "There's been a lot of traitors in our midst. A lot of Klokateers who have ended up betraying us. I ask all of you to not confide in any of them about anything right now, until more thorough background checks are made. Make sure none are spying if you choose to talk amongst yourselves. Be safe and report anything suspicious."

There were a few nods of acknowledgement from the two bands, and Abigail added, "As for some rumors being spread around Mordhaus, pay no mind to them."

"Like the rumors about some little dog running around here?" Nathalia muttered, earning a stern look from Abigail while the rest gave her a look of puzzlement, except for Salem, who sank lower in their seat while hiding a grin.

"I assure you anything that's been said, that hasn't been said by me, is most likely false and will cause future issues by dwelling too long on drama like that." She eyed Nathalia as she spoke, causing her to pout a little. She didn't trust Murderface, no matter what anybody said. She wouldn't even trust his dead body to stay dead because it would give her too much peace of mind and that man seemed to live to torment women like her. (Though he surprisingly hadn't made a move on her yet... but that was beside the point. She was probably just too intimidating).

Abigail gave an encouraging smile after a moment of deep silence. "Everything will be fine, guys, I promise. I'll do my best to keep you guys safe, and get Charles back with us."

"He doesn't need your fucking help," Nathan suddenly growled in dangerously low tone. "He doesn't need anybody's help. 'Specially a woman."

Abigail didn't seem all that surprised by the sudden outburst. She began to stand and pushed her chair in calmly while stating, "Well sorry, but this woman disagrees. Now come on, you have to help me keep looking for clues." She looked up at the others with an apologetic smile. "I'll be borrowing your co-worker for a while, guys, until we can figure this all out."

Nathalia was irritated with Nathan's sexist remark so she waved a dismissive hand in their direction as she also stood. "You can keep him, free of charge."

Nathan either didn't notice the remark or didn't care as he got up, practically flinging his chair into the table with general grumpiness, and stalked out of the room. Abigail let out a low breath of air, mumbling under her breath while making eye contact with Nathalia, "Can I put him up for adoption, too?" She then followed the man out of the room without waiting for an answer.

Pickles, Salem, and Toki stood as well, surprised by the fairly short meeting. Nathalia supposed that the most important pieces were covered at least, before Nathan had his little tantrum. She knew he was probably stressed and afraid but he needed to chill out, and stop saying stupid things.

"Sos," Toki finally spoke up to the singer, rubbing his arm almost awkwardly. "You really ams awakes. That ams goods!" He gave a brighter smile than he had previously, blue eyes gleaming as he stared up at Nathalia, who's face flushed slightly.

"Fuck yeah, no bullet wound was gonna keep me down!" Nathalia boasted, earning an eye-roll from Salem and a giggle from Toki, though his face fell slightly like he was abruptly sad about something, and it made her curious. 

During the last several days or so (that she had been conscious anyway,) she'd gotten fairly close to the man, doing errands for him only because she insisted upon it after finding him practically dying in the hallway, and of course getting his little gummies that he for some reason thought would make him overdose if he took too many. So of course any look of displeasure on his face was a red flag to her.

Pickles walked up to the other two with Salem in tow because their hands were clasped together still, though Salem looked very uncomfortable or unsure of the physical touch. They were never a really touchy person to begin with, let alone after what had happened with Murderface and the attack at the concert probably, but they didn't comment or reject the contact.

Oddly enough, while at the same time looking constipated about the touch, Salem also stuck close to the man's side, their shoulders brushing constantly against each other's while walking. There was a thick ass line between wanting affection and being disgusted by it, but by the gods if Salem didn't skip over that line like it was a jump rope all the time.

"Hey, yew doin' any better?" Pickles asked Toki softly, giving the taller man a sympathetic look to see such a wounded look on the man's face. Pickles was an oddly quiet man toward most of his own bandmates, Nathalia had come to realize, aside from possible drunken outbursts or fits of rage. However, he had a noticeable soft spot for Toki like everyone else did, which was prominent enough to seem obviously motherly or fatherly. It was kind of endearing, but it still made Nathalia slightly and unreasonably jealous.

"Nos," Toki admitted, staring down at his feet. "I ams goinks to go backs to see Skwisgaars now, I bes arounds laters." He gave a small wave as he turned and left the room too quickly for Nathalia to think of something to say that would make him stay just a few seconds longer.

"Poor guy," Salem muttered, leaning slightly against Pickles's shoulder.

Just as Toki left, another shape crept in, before pausing in surprise at the lack of Abigail and Nathan for the meeting. "Isch it already over?!"

Of course this guy had to walk in and immediately piss off Nathalia, who scowled at him. She was dissatisfied to see that the bruises she had given him were nearly all faded, leaving only various colors of yellow splotches. She hadn't really seen much of him to admire her work on his ugly face; she had been so busy between watching over Salem and hanging out with Toki or Tobias, and of course the concert that knocked her out for a while. 

Murderface needed to be worse; Nathalia needed to see those swampy green eyes filled with terror and pain as she leaned over him, laughing into his bloody, pulpy face. She needed to see him wrapped up in his own sadness, remorse, drowning in it just like he'd be drowning in his blood. Who cares how submissive he seemed now, the fake little fuck. He was merely a tick on the back of everyone's asscheek, draining them constantly, and so she needed to drain him of his life as well.

Nathalia hadn't realized she had almost a comically large and insane grin on her face until Salem shot a look of puzzlement her way, before turning back to Pickles and almost tucking themselves behind his arm and shoulder, which Nathalia noticed,  and a pang of something squeezed her chest a little. 

"Yeh, dey're basically still lookin' fer Charles, 'n' also dere's some crazy organization fuckin' wit' us," Pickles explained, his hand still tightly holding Salem's but now having his arm in an awkward position since they were technically behind him. Murderface noticed this obvious contact and his usual aloof demeanor seemed to break as his face blanked then fell slightly, which further pissed off Nathalia.

However, the information seemed to go through Murderface's thick skull to distract him from his own privileged pouting. He blinked toward Pickle as he processed what he'd just heard. "A- an organi...zatchion?"

"Yeah, why? You scared that we mighta found out something about ya?" Nathalia couldn't help but blurt and taunt, her eyebrows raised and watching with slight glee to see Murderface jump at the sound of her voice.

"...No," Murderface spoke in a shockingly soft tone that irritated Nathalia, because she wanted him to push just one of her buttons. To say something in even a slightly condescending tone, or to say anything messed up at all with or without an attitude. Literally anything that would give her a reason to smash her fist into his face one more time in a satisfactory manner.

"Well, whatev'r. We can't talk ta any Klokateers or speak of any secrets 'less we talk to ourselves." Pickles's tone dropped.

Murderface nodded quietly, not seeming to pay attention.  Nathalia twitched, waiting for any wrong move, but he just gave a small wave as he turned, heading back out of the room fairly quickly.

Salem gave a small sigh, pressing their forehead against the light muscles of Pickles's upper arm, and he looked behind himself to give them a sympathetic look, then turned to Nathalia. "I saw murder on yer face." He laughed at the slightly ironic statement since she'd just been about to beat someone who's face literally looked like murder.

Nathalia rolled her eyes, almost immediately calming down once Murderface was out of the room. The relaxation was replaced by adrenaline when seeing the contorted look of mixed emotions on Salem's face. "You good fam? Want me to go beat his ass?"

"No, I don't," Salem let out a sudden retort that surprised both Nathalia and Pickles. The smaller one looked stressed out, having let go of Pickles finally and was picking at the skin by their nails (that the singer knew was a sign of high anxiety), with their head down. Murderface was gone though, why would they be even more anxious now?

"Yew good?" Pickles asked softly, somehow knowing better than to try and touch Salem again, in comfort. Normally it was the opposite for others; they had a tendency to place their hands all over them in an attempt to calm them down, which would only make them spiral into panic. Either Pickles had already done it once and found it to be a bad idea, or he simply had somewhat of a better inkling to give other people space.

"Yeah, just..." Salem sighed heavily, another sign that their frustration was unnecessarily high.

"What?" Nathalia was confused and everyone knew that if she was confused, she would eventually become hostile with exasperation. 

 "Just don't want people to try challenging him anymore." Nathalia knew that comment was meant for her. "I don't want to deal with the... repercussions."

Some of Nathalia's irritation had already begun to leak out as she sneered without thinking, "Sorry, I'll be nicer to your boyfriend."

Salem lifted their head fully, and Nathalia spotted a hint of equal hostility on their face, something rarely seen from the shorter person. "Your actions have consequences, and I won't be pulled into it."

"Okie okie, let's all calm down," Pickles said nervously as his eyes darted between Salem's aggravated features and Nathalia's stunned face. She was too surprised to react the way she normally would. Salem had sassed her before, but never so seriously.

"Yeah?" Nathalia stuttered out, feeling the similar cold emptiness inside of her as she glared at her friend, blurting whatever she could think of. "Maybe if you were actually confrontational and learned how to stick up for yourself! Say no to a fucker once in a while?! Maybe stopped feeling sorry for the fucking dog-faced bitch?!"

Salem's lips curled but their eyes had drooped in sudden tiredness, lowering their head back to where it had previously been. "If he actually is a traitor, you don't want to give him any reason to cause more issues, idiot. But... you're not the one he'd take it out on, so I guess it doesn't matter." They turned, pushing Pickles lightly to the side with their hand, beginning to walk away.

"Don't fucking walk away from me you little turd!" Nathalia pouted, though Salem was already gone. The air felt thicker and so much heavier, making it difficult to breathe. The guilt gripped at her coldly, like kelp wrapped around her limbs while swimming in a bottomless ocean. "Damn shit stain." She wasn't sure what had caused the outburst, but it angered her, because Salem seemed to imply that she didn't care about anybody but herself. Which simply wasn't true. Was Salem just being a little bitch and trying to avoid confrontation because they were actually scared of Murderface?

~~~

Nathalia didn't want to think of the fight between her and Salem, but it kept replaying over and over in her head. She knew Salem was probably just nervous and anxious being around someone like Murderface, and simply didn't want Nathalia to egg on the issue. But what was he really gonna do? He would most likely be monitored, even if Abigail truly didn't believe he was a traitor, because of his past issues alone.

Nathalia definitely did not like being told not to act on their instincts, but Salem had their reasons for the anxious plea, she supposed. However, their attitude further prevented her from wanting to apologize or make amends, since she felt what they had said was out of line as well. After all, they knew how she was, and it was rude to push expectations onto her like that, she felt. Though that boyfriend remark was maybe a little messed up too so it kept her immobile and confused, unsure of what to do.

Salem was obviously intimidated in some way now. They weren't worried about Nathalia offending and hurting his feelings, at least not so much as the fear of possibly being brought into the middle of drama once Nathalia and Pickles weren't around to help them out. It was stupid to be so anxious around someone that stupid and useless though, so Nathalia quietly scoffed. She'd definitely gone through worse and never acted like that over a mere joke/suggestion.

Well, whatever. Had Salem caught her in a better mood, she would've pointed out her hard-headed nature, perhaps made a joke or two, or given some really good points about Murderface 'not being able to do shit'. She normally would've done or said literally anything other than what actually came out of her mouth. 

At the same time, the look and attitude Salem had given her, perplexed her and also offended her. Nathalia had started it, but the one time Salem chose to stand up for themselves and they chose to do it against their friend whom they should've known meant well? Not to mention pointing out one of Nathalia's more fatal flaws and acting like they'd been a victim to her rash behavior before, right in front of someone else. All she'd ever done in her manic moments was help fix that little shit's life.

Nathalia was too salty to properly concentrate as she paced the empty halls. Salty at both herself and Salem. While also feeling depressed and sick to her stomach. Especially with what had been last said... She knew why Salem was rarely confrontational and afraid to speak against others.

She also wasn't so sure about whether or not Salem felt bad for Murderface, or why, but if so then that probably had more to do with them being caring to the point of trying to heal really, really stupid people with their affection.

Nathalia sighed. How long had she been pacing? When should she go find Salem and apologize, or was she supposed to do that hours ago as soon as they left? Pickles had gone to do whatever, claiming to not want any part in the drama. Asshole coulda helped me track them down, Nathalia thought, though she herself had been rooted to the same spot for a long time even after his departure, ever silent and dying on the inside.

Realistically, Salem was probably just in their room sulking, and all Nathalia had to do was go up to the door, knock, and say sorry whether or not they wanted to hear it. Still, she remained pacing the hall, her anxiety flaring. She was stubborn sometimes and naturally hated apologizing when she was feeling annoyed or hostile or anything negative.

I'm not a fucking pussy, I can do this, Nathalia assured herself with a light scoff as she whipped around on her heels to march toward her friend's room, only wincing slightly from the wound on her stomach as she stretched her muscles.

The sounds of footsteps running around nearby as she turned one of the corners, set Nathalia into unease again. Two silhouettes were ahead of her, dancing around each other almost playfully. She froze in her footsteps, retreating into the nearest shadow behind one of the larger statues to watch without being seen.

Eventually they stepped closer to the middle of the hall, and she first saw bright blue eyes which startled her. She almost called Tobias's name before the full face came into view, showing off Toki's happy, childlike features, and her shoulders dropped a little. Right... He was...

Nathalia forced herself to focus back on the sight before her, before reality came crashing down on her hard. She was also surprised to see that the other shadow was Pickles, hands on his hips as he playfully glowered at the younger man. "Give it back b'fere I kick yer ass!"

"Brings it ons!" Toki taunted as he lifted something that Pickles made a wild grab for. They tussled for a few moments and Nathalia just watched the brotherly love with a sour feeling in her stomach, before Pickles finally pulled himself out of the scrap, looking triumphant. "Damnits!" Toki's whiny tone echoed down the hall, followed by Pickles's soft laughter.

Nathalia definitely did not hear any of them laugh all that much, so it was almost refreshing, if not for the unspoken worries hidden behind their manic behavior, which were the obvious cause of this.

She was debating on whether or not to backtrack and find a way around so she could get her plan out of the way, when Toki's smile died off, and she stopped to study him.

"Whet's wrong, Toki?" So it wasn't just Nathalia; Pickles had noticed the sudden change, too. "Hey..."

Toki fidgeted slightly, staring down at his feet. He suddenly looked so... old and tired, like he wasn't just acting like a cute little toddler a few seconds ago. In fact, Nathalia had never seen him look so much like his age and even beyond that, as he kept his head down with his hair in his face.

"Toki, talk ta me."

The rhythm guitarist finally looked up, such sorrow in his eyes. "Skwisgaars ams gonnas be okays, ja?"

"Ye, dey said he was wakin' up more," Pickles promised.

"Ands... ands we finds Charles?" Toki spoke in barely a whisper, making it more difficult for Nathalia to catch. She strained her ears and leaned forward instinctively.

"Of course," Pickles murmured, placing a hand on Toki's shoulder. "Seriously, yew okie?"

Toki ignored the last part, his eyes glazed over slightly. "Then why does I smells death lingers?"

Pickles blinked as he tried to comprehend not only the broken english, but the awkward sentence itself. "Not... sure I follow." Toki shook his head and dropped it onto Pickles's shoulder, who patted him softly. "H- hey..."

"I ams scareds," Toki admitted quietly. "Fors Charles ands Skwisgaars ands Nat'ans ands Tobias and yous... ands Nathalias." Nathalia ears perked up even more at the sound of her own name.

"I know, but yew can't keep mopin'," Pickles sighed, pulling Toki away by his shoulders, only to straighten him back out and force the man to look at him. "Easier said den done. 'N' I'm a bit o'a hypocrite tew. But we need yer positivity right now. Ya gotta keep our lights fr'm dimming wit' dat smile." He pinched Toki's cheek affectionately, who gave a soft whine.

"But... who amds keeps my lights not dims?" Toki asked softly.

"The rest o' us." Pickles smiled. "Er we'll try our best, anyway. Yer our gay little beacon of hope."

"Ams not gays," Toki pouted, but he looked unsure of himself on that. "I ams likes the ladies too..."

"Tew?" Pickles teased, and Toki flushed, turning his head away from the other. "I kid, I kid."

But Toki seemed to want to defend himself. "I ams probalys bisect, like you!"

"Bisexual, Toki."

"Ja, potahto, tamotatos," Toki waved his hand dismissively with a serious expression.

Pickles rolled his eyes with a light chuckle. "Like yew said bef're, Ya love who ya love." His eyes darkened for a split second but it was long enough for Nathalia to notice. "Anyway..."

"Ja, I needs to visits Skwisgaars like I promiseds..." Toki's voice trailed off, tapping his fingers together lightly.

"How aboot I come wit'? Keep yew company," Pickles offered, and Toki practically beamed at the drummer, before giving a hesitant look.

"Ams you goings to checks on Salems first? You saids they was sads earlier?"

Pickles shook his head slightly, a faraway look on his face. "Dey like deir space, I'll just talk ta dem later, or text 'em... if I ever understand dis stoopid technology shit."

Toki poked Pickles on the nose with a sudden mischievous smile. "You ams likes the Salems, ja?"

A light blush crossed Pickles's face as he batted the hand away instinctively but playfully so as not to offend Toki. "So what if I dooooo?"

"You ams never bothers learnings the ways of the technogicals untils now," Toki pointed out almost like he was proud of his accurate analysis of the situation. "You LIKES likes them!"

Pickles pushed the man away jokingly. "I... I just see myself in dem a lot." Nathalia wondered what he had meant by that, while Pickles started ushering Toki toward where she assumed Skwisgaar was located.

"That ams okays. I likes someone else toos... Beside Nat'ans," Toki commented as they turned the corner.

The last thing Nathalia had heard from either of them was a questioning, "Oh?" from the drummer, then the two were too far away to make out the rest of anything else. She was tempted to follow because what the FUCK, Toki liked Nathan? And who else did he like now? But she didn't want to get caught when she still had to go talk to Salem.

Nathalia leaned against the wall with a soft sigh. So much to process, such little patience to do so. And now her mind was on Tobias as well as her other two band members who she refused to think about because she really didn't need to get hit with reality and break down in the middle of the hallway...

Perhaps checking on Tobias was a better option for now. The fact that he was okay but unresponsive didn't sit well with her, almost like she'd been expecting him to wake up at the same time she did.

A nearby Klokateer led her to the room Tobias was located in after Nathalia managed to stutter a near-scream for his location. Anxiety made her barely functional, and on top of that it was rising to higher levels than normal. The door was already wide open so she popped her head in slowly, like she was half-expecting to see something she wasn't 'supposed to'.

Tobias laid peacefully in his hospital bed, chest rising and falling ever so slightly. Nathalia realized she hadn't been told, nor really asked why he hadn't woken yet. Was it because of his seizure? Some kinda coma? The guilt of having not really been concerned until now, ate away at her while she stared down at him. He was her oldest and dearest friend. Maybe Salem was right, maybe Nathalia was very full of herself sometimes.

From an angle it looked as though Tobias's eyes were only half shut and he was looking at Nathalia through heavy lids, yet was unfazed by the prodding and tapping of her sharp nails.

"If you don't wake up in five seconds, I'm giving you a titty twister," Nathalia whispered to the unresponsive man. She swore she saw Tobias's chest fall ever so slightly deeper, like he was sighing at her even in his unconscious state. Or perhaps he was actually conscious and just couldn't move for some reason. Nathalia figured though that the medics would have realized that by now, what with sciencey technology or whatever. Then again, she really didn't have much info on anything about him.

"I'm sorry," Nathalia murmured to her friend even though she didn't really know why, let alone know if he could hear her.

Nathalia didn't know why she started throwing things in the room. Perhaps it was to make her not feel so weak and powerless, or to keep her mind preoccupied to stop it from processing things, or maybe because she was secretly hoping it would startle Tobias awake.

Whatever the case, glass went flying as well as vases, medical equipment that wasn't directly attached to Tobias, and a mix of everything else. Nathalia could only make small grunts of rage while she tore the room to pieces, teeth gritting with anger. Why was she angry? She didn't even remember anymore.

A few minutes later, the only noticeable thing about Nathalia was the heat blazing in her eyes once she walked out of the room, hands in her pockets as she slumped down the hall. For once, she told herself she didn't want to be questioned about any blood on her, but didn't make her appearance any smaller as she took up the whole hall with her shuffling. 

Nathalia slunked into her room and shut the door before flopping belly-first on her bed. She felt like she was forgetting to do something, but at that point, she didn't really give much of a fuck.

~~~

Heavy eyelids blinked open and Nathalia clouded mind was forced into consciousness from a loud knocking on her door. She didn't know when she had fallen asleep or what time it was now that she was awake, but she knew she wasn't ready to wake up fully. She rolled over onto her other side with a grumble, ready to go back to sleep.

The sounds of wood snapping caused her to jump into a sitting position, seeing Nathan's thick arms gripping her door halves with an unreadable expression on his face, Toki standing next to him with his eyes gleaming brightly.

"Happy days of birth, Nathalias!" Toki chirped as he skipped into the room, holding a package sloppily wrapped in white paper that had been colored on with crayon. He thrust it in front of himself and toward Nathalia's stunned, frozen body.

"Uhh... thanks," Nathalia spoke unsurely as her hands numbly gripped at the present. "You guys didn't have to destroy my fucking door, though." She would've been angrier about it, but seeing Toki's beaming face staring at her almost like an innocent child would, was catching her off guard, and the warmness of being acknowledged on her birthday was making her giddy.

"It'll be fixed later," Nathan grunted as he tossed the pieces onto the ground. "Not by me, but uh, whoever fixes them." He stayed by the entrance while Skwisgaar slid past the brute man with a disgruntled look on his face, covered in bandages and holding a pair of crutches that he was only half-assed using to walk with.

"Oh look, pretty boy's awake," Nathalia's commented, rubbing her eyes a little to wipe away the sleep before standing, placing the present gently on the stand by her bed.

"Ja," Skwisgaar replied, his eyes seeming to cross every so often and not really processing Nathalia's nickname for him. "Happy uh... ums... births..."

"Skwis ams a littles hopped ups on the pains pill," Toki spoke in his cheerful tone, "but I gots hims to come outs anysway!"

"Good to see he's not dead, I guess." Nathalia saw Pickles come in next, the brightness of his eyes almost seeming to outshine the permanent looking dark circles etched under them; almost.

"Happy birt'day, dude!" Pickles crowed as he tossed a smaller sized present toward Nathalia, who caught it before it landed on the floor. He was clutching another soft looking gift, one with Skwisgaar's name on it in bold lettering. "Or dudette... whatever."

"Gross, just call me dude. Or anything that isn't girly." Nathalia shrugged as she placed the much neater red parcel on top of Toki's. "Thanks, though."

Skwisgaar snapped out of it for a split second to hand over his gift he'd taken from Pickles's hands, looking mighty proud of himself. She took that one as well, suppressing the urge to roll her eyes. "Thanks but how'd you guys know it was my birthday?" Had they spoken about it before? She hadn't even remembered it herself, let alone if they ever discussed anything on that subject.

"Me." Another present came flying into the room from behind Pickles, and Nathalia snatched it out of the air. The short-statured drummer pushed their way into the room, hands on their hips. "Happy birthday, bitch."

"Fuck you!" Came Nathalia automatic response. The two stared at each other for a while which seemed to unnerve poor Pickles and Toki (with Nathan and Skwisgaar not even really all there to notice the exchange), before they both snorted playfully at each other at the same time.

"Open your shit then come get the rest of your fucking presents," Salem ordered the singer, who scoffed and rolled her eyes.

"Don't tell me what to fucking do!" She retorted, though she began ripping into the present that had sailed into the room last, like a rabid animal.

It was a cute zombie dog with one of its eyes blacked out and 'blood' staining its snout. It complimented her gory, edgy aesthetic. "Looks gay," Nathalia commented, placing the stuffed animal on the stand next to the presents. "Fuck yeah."

"Opens mines next!" Skwisgaar whined, so Nathalia purposely grabbed another gift from the pile that was not from him.

"What, this one?"

"Nos, it-"

"Too late." Nathalia peeled off the red wrapper from Pickles's gift, revealing two bottles of some good ol' whiskey. Luckily she hadn't let it just drop to the ground, and she'd been suspicious of its size and heaviness. "Well fuck yeah! Where'd you get this, though?"

Pickles shrugged with a smirk. "Nobody questioned me goin' out to da store f'r a present."

"Fuck yesssss." She placed them down and grabbed Toki's gift before Skwisgaar could beg again, much to his disappointment.

It was literal drawing paper that had been taped onto the box, which she gingerly peeled so as not to damage the pretty coloring. Inside was a stuffed, white bunny rabbit with fluffy ears and blue eyes.

"Does you ams likes it?" Toki squeaked, catching Nathalia's attention and causing her to look up. Toki was practically jumping up and down in excitement, grinning widely. His smile must have been contagious because the corner of her lips pulled up as well.

"I love it, thank you Toki," Nathalia spoke sincerely as she placed it gently next to the zombie dog.

"Woooooooooooow," Salem complained. "Not even a thank you for me or Pickles?"

Nathalia walked over to the two drummers and punched Pickles lightly on the arm. "Thanks, you fucks."

Salem patted Nathalia lightly on her shoulder. "Don't worry, I have better presents for you in the living room, once your ass hurries the fuck up." 

Toki practically jumped in front of Nathalia to get her attention once more. "Waits! Ams you gonna names the bunnys?"

Nathalia blinked. "Uhh, sure..." She looked back at the stuffed animal. "Uhhh... I'll name it... Toki."

"Really?" Toki gasped. "That ams my names!"

"Whooaaaa, no way." Nathalia placed her hand on her chest. "That's crazy."

Skwisgaar had finally had enough of Nathalia's stalling (whether or not he actually realized she was stalling was up for debate) and had snatched at his present to shove it into the brute singer's hands. "If you ams dones here, I would likes yous to see what you ams gots from me!"

"Alright, alright, shit." Nathalia rolled her eyes at him. She began to peel the wrapper and immediately through thin colorful paper that wrapped around the object, she could already see half of Skwisgaar's face on the present. Everyone, aside from Toki and Skwisgaar himself, groaned. Pickles facepalmed, Salem pretended to gag, Toki was admiring the present, and Nathan wrinkled his nose slightly.

Nathalia reluctantly finished unwrapping it, holding a large head pillow with Skwisgaar's winking expression covering the top of it- the back of his head was located on the other side. Skwisgaar gasped, and she gave him a suspicious glance.

"Fucks, I forgots to signs it!"

"Really dood? Yew gave her one tew?!" Pickles scoffed at the idiotic narcissism of his friend.

"He's given you a pillow of his face too?" Nathalia couldn't decide if this was funny or pathetic; maybe it was both.

"Well not exclusively a pillow," Nathan grunted, leaning against the doorway with his thick arms crossed over his chest. "I once got a rug of his entire nude uh. Body."

"It ams calleds arts!" Skwisgaar sniffed, looking offended at everyone's reactions to his gifts. "Toki likeds his!"

"Toki's gay," Nathan grumbled, not noticing Toki's cheeks growing bright red to this.

"Nos, he just has goods tastes!" Skwisgaar protested, placing his hands on his hips.

"Hey, ya wanna go burn dat?" Pickles asked, pointing to the pillow. "He gave me his calendar 'n' burnin' it was da most fun I ever had on a birt'day!"

"Duuuuuuude," Nathalia hissed. "Fuck. YEAH!"

And so the group walked out into the yard to start a bonfire, with Skwisgaar trailing behind in a wailing mess and Toki trying to comfort him with a shoulder pat here and there. Skwisgaar was mostly bitching in Swedish but she caught a few words like "Dildoes" and "Gays".

Nathalia had an extreme obsession with fire and 'used' to be a pyromaniac; and any contact usually pulled her back into the mania of those crazed, unhinged days like she was a rabid wolf. She could hardly contain herself over the idea of getting to toss something into a burning pit.

Nathan was quiet and brooding as he hoisted large chunks of tree and branches into the gigantic pit that was supposedly used for their burn piles. Nathalia imagined it was due to the general stress of trying to find Charles, who also happened to be his ex and whom Nathan was probably still upset with in general. She could picture them finally seeing each other again and Nathan simply deciding to just yeet the poor man because of their previous fighting. Salem and Pickles were sitting side by side on one of the benches, talking quietly amongst themselves. Nathan poured almost an entire gallon of gasoline over the wood before he tossed the container to the side.

"Gonna need someone to light this," Nathan growled.

"Let da birt'day bitch do it," Pickles slurred a little, like he'd already gotten into the alcohol (and knowing him, he probably did).

Nathan took a step back and offered her a match, which she lit with the matchbox after a few measly attempts; she was a bit rusty, she supposed. She tossed it in without a warning and the entire thing blew up in flames, nearly burning her and Nathan's face off. Nathalia flinched slightly and took a step back, whereas Nathan calmly patted some of the flames out of his shirt with his hand.

Skwisgaar remained pouting even as Pickles tossed the pillow to Nathalia and she lifted it over her head in a defiant move, before throwing it into the pit and watching Skwisgaar's face burn to a crisp.

Salem clapped their hands in amusement with Pickles leaning into their shoulder, his chipper laughter ringing through the air. Nathalia caught Toki's eyes which were darting between her and Nathan. He quickly turned his head, instead staring into the deep flame, looking troubled about something.

Nathalia ended up sitting next to Pickles and Salem, with Nathan to the left of her, Skwisgaar actually sitting on the ground despite initial complaints about getting dirty, and Toki sitting on the far right of Salem.

They passed more gifts to her that they had brought out with them, Salem getting her a new black crop top and knee high studded boots since her others had ripped a while ago, Pickles getting her (not surprisingly) more booze and some free beer tickets he had snagged from someone, Skwisgaar handing over her very own Dethklok styled Nathalia coffee mug (of course with his small signature in the corner), and Toki giving her a cute homemade card with a drawn bunny on the front.

Nathan was the only one who hadn't given her a present yet, which made her slightly salty but she wasn't gonna say anything... well, except maybe a passive aggressive comment here and there, later. While everyone began to break into bottles of whiskey and vodka, she admired the cute and sloppy handwriting that was Toki's:

Happy birthdays Nathalias! I hope it ams goods ones, you deserves it!

-Loves, Toki

Bitter fluid filled her throat eventually and she began to unwind, leaning against the bench on her hands while admiring the fire in front of her. Salem and Pickles were getting a bit too comfortable with each other, to everyone except Nathalia's discomfort. Salem's hand had trailed over Pickle's pale neck and then held him there with a tight grip while their tongue lined his jaw sensually. Pickles's eyes were closed with his mouth hung slightly open, hands squeezing the midget's sides to hold them tightly to him.

"Wowie!" Toki exclaimed in astonishment.

"Wow, you guys ams worse than mes," Skwisgaar snorted after downing another shot.

"Uhhhh," was all Nathan could say.

"Now FUCK!" Nathalia all but shouted.

hThey all began to chat and joke about regular and normal things, and even Skwisgaar's egotistical tendencies couldn't put a damper on her mood, in fact they didn't actually seem so annoying. Rather, it just gave her fuel to make fun of him, which he didn't seem to mind, at least not a lot.

Pickles found his head in Salem's lap while they played with his dreads, and Toki was 'wrestling' with Skwisgaar on the ground (gently, and more or less consisted of Toki batting at his hair or face almost like a literal kitten while the Swede knocked him over dismissively). Bottle after bottle was emptied, and Nathalia could barely concentrate enough to wonder exactly how Pickles managed to sneak this much alcohol into Mordhaus when they weren't supposed to be consuming any. Then again, did Abigail really care about those kinds of rules right now when she was hunting for Charles?

Too many depressing thoughts. Nathalia downed another bottle to forget about them.

Nathalia didn't know how much time passed before everyone was face-first in the dirt with a bottle clutched tightly in their hand so they could hold onto dear life. Nathalia was draped over the back of the bench, draining the last of her alcohol. Nathan was the only one physically standing, leaning against the nearest tree with a bottle hung loosely in his grip. His face was difficult to read.

Their eyes met and suddenly Nathan lifted a finger to motion her over. Nathalia felt a lump in her throat; it still felt weird being able to socialize normally with someone she practically used to pretend to be, because she'd become so obsessed with him and Dethklok as a whole.

Nathalia decided that the best and obvious way to get over there would be to fall off of the bench's backing and hit the ground hard with her head. She gave a small cackle before she scrambled onto her feet to join Nathan.

Nathan raised an eyebrow at her poor decision making but didn't comment on it, rather grunting, "Here," while handing her a package that he had pulled out from behind his back. Where had he been hiding this? Where had he been hiding it just now?! Either way this surprised Nathalia, since she hadn't really expected anything, mostly because he hadn't made it known he had actually gotten anything for her.

Of course since she was also drunk, this just made her feel compelled to sass him. "Woooooow, you waited this long to gimme anything?" She scooped the gift up and peeled off the paper, while Nathan crossed his arms over his chest as he usually did in awkward social interactions.

"Yeah, well. Happy uhh, birthday." His voice was an oddly quiet growl. He watched carefully while she opened the box and saw several items inside. She drunkenly dropped to the ground with the box in her lap so she could dig her hands through the stuff.

She pulled out a Dethklok shirt with the band itself pictured underneath the logo, which she figured was a typical thing until she saw herself toward the front with Nathan, the both of them singing at the same time. It was an obviously photoshopped thing since they never sang together in front of a live audience, but Nathalia held it to her chest and gave a scream of joy, which startled the others awake momentarily.

"Fucks, don'ts do thats," Skwisgaar complained from the pile of body parts nearby; Pickles was draped over the Swede's legs and completely knocked out with Skwisgaar's hand on the red-head's back like he'd been trying to comfort him half-assedly, and Toki had somehow managed to land knees and elbows on both of their bodies, face green. Salem was a bit further away, face down and ass up as they usually liked to be (Nathalia smirked at this). They looked like... A giant, messed up family.

"Sorry!" Nathalia called to them, then added shyly, "I likes it." Damnit, she was starting to speak like Toki and Skwisgaar. She placed the shirt down gently on her lap and dug deeper to find a limited edition poster within the box too, and a CD of a Dethklok album that had apparently not been released yet to the public. "Lots of Dethklok stuff in here," Nathalia teased him.

"Well if you don't like them, I can take them-"

"NO!" Nathalia's shout made everyone else grumble again.

"Excuse me, Nathalia?" The singer lifted her head to see one of the Klokateers standing there awkwardly and stiffly.

Uh oh, busted, Nathalia thought vaguely but externally grinned drunkenly up at them. "Yeeeeeeee?"

"Somebody's calling you on one of the monitors, they won't say who they are," the Klokateer explained.

"Rude. Alright, I goes talk to them." Not even remembering how weird it would be to get a call since she hadn't told anybody else the Dethklok number in specific, because she didn't even talk to anybody else, Nathalia wobbled as she stood up, making sure to place her new belongings back in the box. She tucked the package under her arm and began to stumble toward Mordhaus, with the rest of them following behind like groaning, moaning zombies, the fire forgotten and left for someone else to clean up.

Even though Nathalia knew someone was waiting for her, she stopped to wait for Salem, who was dragging a half-conscious Pickles with them. She foggily remembered their fight and how she basically neglected to apologize to Salem for being rude, but at this point in time, she figured it was much too late to say sorry.

So once the midget had finally caught up with Nathalia, she punched them lightly in the arm. "Hey, we good, right?" Smooth, so smooth.

Salem shrugged the punch away, looking physically exhausted but not angry or upset. "Yeah. Can you help?" They motioned with their head toward Pickles, who was slumped over and not in the direction that would probably help Salem drag him. Nathalia wobbled to the red-head's other side and grabbed a hold of his arm, helping him walk to their destination even though she was also basically crippled.

Once in the living-room, they proceeded to crash in there. Salem fell onto the couch with Pickles following suit, Skwisgaar and Toki were laying on the ground whispering in foreign and giggling to themselves, and Nathan decided to lean on one of the nearest tables, accidentally knocking a statue over and watching it smash into pieces with a disgruntled look.

The Klokateer motioned to the T.V that would supposedly play the call; a video call, great. If Nathalia wasn't so wasted, she'd have felt anxious about that.

However, it didn't matter, because she immediately sobered up when the call was finally answered and two faces she didn't think she'd ever see again, sat smugly right in front of her face. Visions and memories of long ago buzzed through her brain painfully and she cringed to see her siblings Hannah and Trevor standing in front of her through the monitor.

"Turn it off." Nathalia's voice didn't even sound like her own. It felt hollow and void of emotion, as well as her face. The fog in her head became even cloudier, and it wasn't just the alcohol that kept a barrier up to keep her from processing the situation and any questions she should've been thinking of, like why they would call or how they knew where to call.

The Klokateer must have been a slow one because they just stood there in slight confusion as they gawked at Nathalia, almost like they didn't understand her very simple request. She was about to repeat herself when that obnoxious baby voice she hadn't heard in years interrupted her, making her stomach drop to the floor.

"Why, sis? Don't you want your siblings to say happy birthday to you?" Hannah's big brown eyes stared at Nathalia in fake sweetness but there was very obvious distaste in them, which began to irritate the singer. The numbness that spread through her chest started getting washed away, with frustration and hatred taking its place. How dare they contact her? How dare they try and play her as a fool?

"Fuck off and die," Nathalia snarled. A shift on the couch behind her made her hyper-aware of the possible audience in the room, and it made her all the more angry. She was supposed to be having fun and hanging out with her friends. People who actually enjoyed her presence.

Hannah tsked at Nathalia with a sad shake of her head, giving a look of defeat and betrayal to the other. Nathalia knew it to be a lie; she'd grown up with the monster, she knew every exaggerated move she made. Nothing about her seemed naturally real, even after all these years.

It was a disgustingly dramatic facade that somehow managed to trick everyone else, though. She was as fake as a barbie doll. Even her hair was probably sprayed to death to look straight and 'perfect', and her clothes ironed to hell to keep it from wrinkling. It just made her look even more plastic.

Another voice spoke this time, causing Nathalia's harsh eyes to snap toward her brother, Trevor. No, not her brother. They weren't family, just little crotch spawns that had the audacity to torture her in her early life, that was all. She didn't claim them.

Nathalia hadn't actually heard what Trevor said to her, which very obviously irritated him. He'd always been a rash and angry person. He wrapped his arms around his chest, and Nathalia could hear his foot tapping lightly against the floor from where he was. Their background was difficult to see with no lights on, but it looked like a very clean, pristine room with white walls. It probably had some doilies, crosses, or generic 'Live Laugh Love' signs as decoration somewhere, whatever would make Nathalia cringe the most.

Neither of them had really changed all that much from when she had seen them last; even though it had been literal years. Aside from maturing physically, like thicker muscles and more defined features, they kept the same grossly 'precious' aesthetic. Hannah was wearing some type of pink turtleneck sweater, Trevor had on an ugly blue polo shirt, and both of them looked like the kinda people she'd love to smash with a brick.

Apparently Trevor had had enough with being stared at without a response, so he glared heavily at Nathalia, deciding that playing nice just wasn't going to cut it. "I can't stand you even after all these years; you just stare at everyone with that stupid face because you don't understand shit." Hannah slapped Trevor on the arm, which looked genuine enough- but the intentions behind it most likely had more to do with him ruining whatever fake sweetness they had planned for Nathalia.

It seemed like Salem had finally gotten up from the couch and realized what was going on, because Nathalia heard a faint, "Ah, shit." She couldn't focus on that though, instead processing the words being thrown at her face. After a moment of silence while she fell into her thoughts, she abruptly tilted her head back and gave a barking laugh.

"I literally give no fucks what you pathetic fucks think of me," Nathalia said snarkily with an eye-roll as she walked toward the T.V in preparation to turn it off herself. "And I give even less of a fuck about two fucking cunts trying to ruin my birthday because they probably still don't have a life after all these years!"

Hannah gave one of her oh-so-fake looks of surprise and hurt. "Of course not! We just wanted to say happy birthday, and remind you of your karma, dear sis."

"What-"

"After all, it's been years since you killed Father and you still haven't gotten punished yet, it seems."

The silence was deafening, as Nathalia's brain seemed to short-circuit. "Me, kill my father? ME? Not your stupid cracked out mother?! ME?" Nathalia's barking laugh echoed throughout the silent room, much to her 'sibling's' displeasure.

Dethklok was beginning to see the change in attitude with Nathalia. She went from numb and careless, to angry and frustrated, to nearly a hysterical madness as she grinned up at Trevor's growing red face. Of course being drunk didn't help her case, and neither did years of pent up loathing.

"You're crazy," Trevor accused Nathalia. "You always fuckin' were. You're the reason you made our mother actually go insane, I hope you know."

"She's been crazy since she was a sperm swimming in some nuts," Nathalia sneered in response. "And nothing you say hurts my feelings or will ever hurt my feelings. I'm fuckin' perfect and you guys are bottom of the barrel scum. Say, are you two living together? Alabama, am I right?" She gave out a high pitched giggle. "Fuckin' disgusting, all of you."

Nathalia could feel a presence near her body, much too close for her comfort. When a light hand touched her shoulder, she whirled around and slapped whoever had made contact with her, sending them into the floor then turned back around, nostrils flaring and eyes wild. Her brain was foggy again, but this time with mixed emotions. Memories she'd prefer not to remember flooded her entire existence, pushing her head under in an attempt to drown her. Sweet laughter of a past so distant made her wince and she clenched her hands into fists.

"Actually we are living together; we're doing something really top secret that involves a lot of us." Trevor sneered. "This is our payback for the death of our father, and abandoning your family. By the way, I'll tell Charles you said hi. "

Whatever Nathalia ended up throwing, went right through the T.V, the last thing Nathalia saw being Trevor's triumphant smirk and Hannah's flinch and nervous glances. "If I ever fucking see either of you, you're dead," Nathalia whispered just before the call cut out completely.

The room filled with a heavy, dark silence, before Nathan growled in a deadly voice, "They said Charles. Why would they know about Charles?!"

Nathalia wasn't about to comment on that situation, because frankly she didn't care too much about it, when Nathan slammed his fist into the nearest wall. "Why would they attack him as part of their vin- vengeantse toward you?! Why'd you break the T.V?!" Nathan's voice was getting louder, until Salem finally stepped in with their hands up toward the brute.

"Listen, just ask the Klokateers about tracing the call," Salem spoke softly. "They obviously did this irrationally to gloat, and whoever was in charge of this whole thing probably wasn't supposed to know from the way the girl acted and how dark the room was. That means they probably in general slipped up with covering their tracks, because they don't seem very smart to begin with by doing this. Even if there's no way to track it, we can try picking apart the room, okay? This is actually helpful for us. And they didn't kidnap Charles themselves, so blaming them or Nathalia is useless."

Nathan seemed to grow calmer with every word until his shoulders were sagging from the release, sighing deeply. Without saying a word, he nodded toward the Klokateers so they could go report this to Abigail.

However, Nathalia didn't seem to care about any of this. She felt the walls were closing in on her and so she ended up stumbling toward the exit, past Toki who was on the floor with his hand on his face in surprise and fear.

She could hear the voices of her past talking to her while she wobbled out into the hallway, leaning her hand against the wall while she gasped for air. Every 'I love you' from a man's voice she hadn't heard in even longer than the rest of her 'family's' felt so bitter- not bittersweet but just horribly rotten now. She didn't know how to feel about what Hannah had said, the audacity of pinning the murder on her...

Nathalia could only let out a few tears by herself before she heard movement in the living-room and straightened up, allowing the earlier booze to cloud her head until she could no longer notice her own emotions that were just begging to surface.

A minute or two passed before Nathalia saw Salem walking down the hall with their hands in their pockets. Their laidback expression almost irritated her, but the tiny logical side of her pointed out that it would be worse if Salem tried to act any other way out of helpfulness. They would discuss it when Nathalia was ready to discuss it, and that helped ease her mind a little.

The problem was Nathalia's obsession with unhealthily bottling everything up and keeping herself from talking about anything... And Salem would never see the unheard cries and begs of needing to be forced into the conversation, nor would they be brave enough to try even if they did, since Nathalia would try to only fight back with even more resistance.

And so the two friends ended up standing side by side, Salem looking off into the distance and Nathalia staring at what couldn't be seen by anybody else.

Salem cleared their throat gently and then said, "We plan to go back outside and burn more of Skwisgaar's shit. You can join, if you'd like."

Nathalia blinked back all the tears, the frustration, the pain, the anger, the irritation, and everything else for a good long moment. Then finally she gave a small sigh and replied, "Sure, as long as Pickles gets more booze."

Nathalia didn't remember much after that point. The alcohol made her practically black-out as she tossed old presents of Skwisgaar's into the fire, watched everyone laugh and talk and drink, and felt concerned pats on her shoulder that made her jerk every time.

At some point she noticed Toki's swollen cheek and loudly demanded for whoever hit him to speak up so she could beat their ass. When Nathan pointed out that she did it, she ended up rolling on the ground to punch and bite herself, and everyone laughed and cheered her on (or booed her, depending on if they were on Nathalia 1's side, or Nathalia 2's side as explained by Pickles matter-of-factly). Everything seemed back to normal.

Until the night dragged on and everyone had either stumbled to bed or fell into the dirt to sleep, and Nathalia was alone with fuzzy thoughts that she couldn't comprehend at the moment. It royally pissed her off, and she found herself trailing through the halls of Mordhaus, tears once more threatening to fall while she bit her lower lip so hard that she bled just to keep herself under control. She wasn't a sad drunk, she was a happy drunk; and it was her birthday. She wasn't going to let it get ruined...

A familiar pig-faced man entered her blurry vision. Nathalia had to squint to figure out if someone had actually let a pig run free in Mordhaus or if it was just one of the most loathed persons she knew.

When Murderface's face came closer and became clearer, Nathalia ended up balling her bloody fist while she pointed at him with her other hand, a crazed look in her eyes as she bellowed to the man, "YOU! GET THE FUCK OVER HERE!"

Chapter Text

Something didn't feel right with Tobias. Even as he departed from his secluded realm along with Nathalia, he still felt some type of grasp on his soul that prevented him from fully joining the rest of his friends. It was like being stuck in the middle of both worlds; the closest to ever having them overlap. To have himself be so aware of everything, and so damn close to being able to explain to his friends that were right beside him, and yet so impossibly far away. If only they knew morse code; if only he could control his finger long enough to tell them everything. Though deep down, he felt that it wasn't time for them to know anyway.

If Tobias had any way to contact the outside world from beyond his heavy eyelids, while still being able to muse over the wisdoms of his universe, he would honestly be quite content in staying like that forever. Of course, he did enjoy his video games but he'd been too anxious of a person to concentrate on them as of late. Plus, when the weight of the world was falling on someone's shoulders, thinking seemed like a more 'productive' time-waster.

He couldn't forget about his friends though. No matter how hard-headed and rash, and just plain 'crackheady' (as they called it) they could be, he still cared for them deeply and wouldn't want to abandon them, not for all the insight in the world. Though if he could just have the best of both worlds...

A dull voice echoed in Tobias's eardrums and before he could even focus on the tone and accent, something in his head already told him; it was Pickles. Tobias frowned (inwardly, he couldn't really do much with his body except breathe). From the moment he had arrived at Mordhaus, he felt a slight tug like a magnet toward the red-head that he only remembered in his sleep. Nothing sexual, just a really strong sense that he couldn't put his finger on... until now, in his hyperaware state. It was almost like he'd known Pickles forever, which was the oddest thing to think since he had barely talked to the man.

It would have made more sense to get a sense of familiarity with someone like Toki, because at least they looked more alike. He could be mistaken for a reflection if Tobias was tired and delusional enough. With Pickles, though... Well, Tobias did have natural red hair, and his eyes were green like Pickles. But he didn't notice any other obvious comparisons to make so it's not like Tobias saw himself in Pickles to get that sense of familiarity. The two simply existed in their own separate worlds and yet were tied together by an invisible thread.

Tobias wondered if Pickles felt that same pull.

"Someone who's seen this before..."

If what Nathalia said was true during their weird 'connection', someone else in Mordhaus was a psychic. He wondered if maybe Pickles was that psychic. Toki and Skwisgaar could be ruled out at the very least, since he'd basically theorized their positions in this prophecy already, and he really couldn't see either of them having some kind of mind powers. He had an inkling on Murderface's position but preferred not to think about that horrid man and so he just tossed him into the miscellaneous pile. That just left Salem and Pickles.

One would think that with Pickles's rash decision-making, it would make him a poor candidate for literally anything that involved... brain power. Even Salem seemed to have more hesitation and consideration than Pickles. Then again, it was not the type of hesitation one would need, to balance out the odds against them; it was out of paranoia and fear of rejection.

Though, the powers were more likely to differ between Tobias and the other psychic. Perhaps they didn't need a steady head to evaluate anything. Perhaps what the other could see is what would cause more rash decision making. Just because they were both 'psychics' didn't mean they both saw or dealt with the same thing. Who knew, not Tobias.

Plus, Tobias had never recalled 'seeing this before' in the context Nathalia gave him. Most of Tobias's dejavu moments were not based on something that he had recognized from a future event itself, but rather what he recognized in the real world after seeing the future event; even though he wouldn't remember, thus the reason for chalking it up to dejavu.

He felt this was different, that perhaps the other person simply had already seen what was going to happen within their own realm. Not having seen it once and then vaguely recalling it in the real world like Tobias... if that made sense to anybody else but Tobias. Perhaps it had something to do with parallel worlds, or going back in time to redo something. Though the idea of failing over and over didn't make Tobias feel any better, about anything but especially about trying to succeed.

Now if only Tobias could ever remember the damn future so that he could make a better compare and contrast evaluation. His powers must not have been ready to awaken yet, but then it was just an obnoxious inconvenience to have a violent seizure, create an entire theory in his head, and then lose it as soon as waking. Not even in his realm could he remember his past visions, only that he had had them. A complete nerf on his powers, rendering him useless, and actually making him feel quite small compared to someone who could apparently see where they were heading for.

It also didn't make much sense in general why Tobias was even here, alive, if someone could overpower him with this supposed 'all-knowing' power to see entire timelines being repeated. Perhaps, like Tobias, they could only see certain pieces, like Tobias could only see certain pieces, and together they could form the whole picture... Which would be great if Tobias knew who the other psychic bastard was, and if he could get a grip on his powers and see WHY what he was seeing would be so important.

More voices popped up near Tobias's ear, bringing his attention back to reality. Toki seemed to be having a conversation with Pickles.

"I knows, I ams just scareds... what ifs he nos actuality wakes ups?" Toki was practically whispering and Tobias felt a movement on the bed as Toki pressed his hand against it, his other hand against Tobias's forehead lightly, like he was checking for a fever.

"He's gonna be okie, jus' like I'm okie and Salem, tew," Pickles assured the other man, and Toki removed himself from Tobias's bed.

"Okays... I ams gonnas checks on Skwisgaars again," Toki stated in his quiet voice. "Ams you comings with?"

"Nah... I'mma stay here for a bit, den go check on Salem 'n' Nat," Pickles replied. Tobias couldn't really see them, as he could only budge his eyes open very slightly, but Toki sounded so sad and Pickles didn't seem much better. He did find it slightly endearing though that Pickles had adopted the nickname for Nathalia, though it was usually only there to annoy her. "I'll come get ya if any of dem wake up."

"Pleases," Toki murmured and suddenly Pickles gave a sharp grunt from losing all the air in his lungs. "Thank yous, Pickle."

"No problem, but stahp tryna choke me," Pickles grunted with a mild chuckle. Toki was probably just squeezing the other in a tight hug. 

Toki departed from the room, leaving just Tobias and Pickles. The two really hadn't talked, at least not by themselves; normally their only mutual connection was Nathalia or maybe Toki, and they mostly greeted each other awkwardly with a head nod or wave; once in a while making a comment to the other. The situation didn't feel all that uncomfortable though, or really at all. Though Tobias did wonder why Pickles wanted to stay behind.

The silence was deafening as Pickles took a careful seat beside Tobias's head in the chair nearby. Tobias could practically feel the emotions running off the drummer in waves, and wondered what could be on his mind. Toki mentioned something about visiting Skwisgaar- was something wrong with him? Salem and Nathalia, too? Tobias couldn't seem to recall anything before his 'seizure', though he felt he knew a bit more than he did before this, which was infuriating. Dethklok had just been going to do a show, right?

Tobias now more than ever wanted to escape from his own head, if anything just to check on his friends; Ivy and Raven too, though Pickles hadn't mentioned them. The entire situation concerned him. It also irritated him that the only thing he could remember right now, was the fact that he had powers. And talking to Nathalia about a prophecy, obviously. Both which would disappear from his mind once he was able to gain control of his body again, surely. Perhaps if he could remember something useful though for once...

Everything was just so complicated and useless.

Pickles shifted in his seat and then finally stood up, and Tobias felt his warm, sweaty hand on the top of his hair. "Hey," Pickles muttered. "If yer in dere, wake da fuck up... please. F'r Toki, 'n' Salem. Dey not doin' tew good wit'out ya."

Oh, if only it were that easy, Tobias thought to himself as he listened to Pickles's footsteps slowly fade away, being swallowed by silence once more.

How long Tobias laid there by himself, he didn't know. Eventually time ran together into what felt like one really long hour of nothingness. And unfortunately, his mind was too preoccupied with thoughts to fully enjoy his isolation and 'quiet time'.

Tobias would periodically hear people come and go; Klokateers, medics, and a few members of Dethklok (though it was mostly Pickles and Toki, Nathan did come around two or three times- Tobias could tell by his grunts of distress and mumbling, though he wasn't sure why he was here). Salem didn't visit except once, but the one time they did, they sat beside them for so long and so silently that he almost forgot they were even there until they moved to leave.

Before fully departing, Salem made sure to place a gentle hand on his forehead, almost surprising him. Tobias struggled to peek through his eyelids up at them, noticing how unwell and sad they looked. It made his anxiety peak, especially since he could do nothing about whatever was upsetting them, not even to question what the problem was.

Salem could have just been upset that Tobias hadn't woken yet, but his intuition told him it was something bigger than that.

Unlike his slight contempt for Nathalia, he was actually very close to Salem, because none of their self-destructive tendencies ever really did much harm to anybody else unless someone's foolishness got caught in the crossfire or they had been directly backed into a wall. This made it easier for Tobias to sympathize with them and tolerate their shenanigans, and trust them when they treated the friendship with validity and love, though their lack of intellect when sacrificing their well-being and comfort for the sake of not creating boundaries for themself, still annoyed him, but he supposed he couldn't say anything negatively. He just preferred peace over unnecessary drama.

There was a long stretch of period where only the medics would come in every so often to check what he assumed to be his vitals or any signs of life. Nobody else came to visit and for a horrid moment, in the back of his mind, Tobias worried that perhaps he'd finally been forgotten and tossed to the side.

When eventually Nathalia showed up, Tobias couldn't help but feel relieved. He could tell it was her by her signature smoker's cough, and a few mumbled swears as she maneuvered through the room. He would smile if he had any sort of control in his face muscles.

After a moment's silence, Tobias heard her mumble, "If you don't wake up in five seconds, I'm giving you a titty twister." He let out just a slightly deeper breath of exasperation, though not surprised by her empty threat. Tobias could just barely see a curtain of hair over his face as she seemed to watch him with intensity. Where had she even been? Why did she look so horrible? What happened while he'd been fully unconscious?

The only thing Tobias could make of the situation was that maybe a fight had taken place, but that was the extent of his brain power.

While Tobias wondered, he suddenly heard Nathalia whisper in a strange voice that sounded almost nothing like her and yet more like her than she had in all the years they've known each other: "I'm sorry."

Sorry, for what? Most likely nothing, Tobias assumed. Nathalia had a bad reputation for apologizing over things out of her control (and ironically being too stubborn to apologize about things she purposely did). Though the unnecessary apologizing was a normal and common thing between the three friends.

None of their childhoods or home lives were that great (though Tobias's was probably amazing in comparison to the other two, however he didn't like to compare and compete), which manifested itself into insecurities, anxiety, depression, and, well, just about everything else. Luckily, Tobias's life had the most stable of the three, so he was able to become the voice of reason from just the way he was nurtured and raised.

But Tobias too had days of loneliness or 'irrational fears' or insecurities. Basically he was human, trying to keep himself and two other damaged humans afloat with somewhat positivity, words of wisdom, and an ear to listen whenever bullshit came out of their mouths. Not that they had ever explicitly asked for his help, just that they were comfortable enough around him to spew whatever was on their mind, and he was happy to oblige.

Back to Nathalia, though. A moment's silence flew by before Tobias's heart leaped into his throat when the sound of smashing glass broke it. Nathalia began to throw things- it was evident by the noises being made. As much of an asshole Nathalia could be, he still felt bad for her and wanted to comfort her in her time of need.

Tobias also felt it had to do with more than just him laying in bed, immobile. She wasn't completely heartless but she just kept those feelings of attachment further at bay. There had to be another factor to involve this fit, like perhaps just feeling sorry for herself for having a hurt friend. Or maybe something to do with how powerless she was to actually wake him up. Hell, maybe some more drama happened while he was sleeping, Tobias wouldn't be surprised. Her actions screamed frustration and if she was frustrated it was probably because she couldn't do anything about anything like she wanted.

Eventually she, too, left, leaving Tobias alone in a room of broken furniture for the next person to discover. Which happened to be a medic, who was shouting something in annoyance about whether Nathan had walked through here or not (not that anybody could answer her). Tobias almost smiled, though his heart still felt heavy in his chest. Sorry lady, he thought. Nathan's not the only psycho in this place, anymore.

More visitors came and went, most without saying anything. Even Skwisgaar finally made an appearance with Toki in tow, who had finally decided to break the silence of that lonely room.

"He ams the only ones who sleeps, nows," Toki was explaining in a gentle tone as he sat down beside Tobias. "He need tos wakes the ups. Sos he cans watch me draws again." Tobias could practically hear his pouting, though he couldn't actually really see anything. His stomach lurched because he knew how much Nathalia adored Toki's childlike antics, but to him it just wasn't normal behavior from someone with a normal childhood. Especially during the switch... When Toki would go from acting like a toddler to acting years ahead of his age, depending on the context. It was a giant red flag that Nathalia seemed to ignore because it was 'cute'. The others didn't seem to ignore it, so much as they just accepted it, and accepted him for who he was.

Skwisgaar scoffed. "I ams sures he am fakings its sos he does amenst haves to looks at yous drawings."

"You ams just jells-oust because I ams draws betters thans yous!" Toki giggled in response.

"Ja, ja, whatevers." Despite the jabs, Skwisgaar took a seat next to Toki, and Tobias could hear the light rhythms of his fingers hitting the strings of his guitar. "Hmms. He do looks kinds of likes yous."

"I knows! That's whats Nathalias said."

"I wonder if he am singles."

"Skwisgaars!"

"Sorries, sorries, I can'ts helps its. I am not just a ladies mans though, as you knows."

"You ams binohculars?"

"What's dat?"

"You ams likes both the girls and the boys!"

"Ja, probably."

Tobias wanted to facepalm, but alas he could not move his body to relieve his frustration.

"Well anyways, Nathalias saids somethinks abouts Tobias being eye-sentual."

"Eye.... sensual?"

"Eye, er, aye-"

"Aye..."

"Ass... Ashe... sentstimals-"

"Ehh-sementals...'

"Ayse..."

"Oshe..."

"Ehms... You gets its. He ams no likes the sexes," Toki explained brightly, ending the torture harassing Tobias's eardrums for the day. Tobias would raise his eyebrow if he could. Asexual? He was far from asexual, and he felt slightly insulted to be generalized as that label and tossed to the side like that. He found it more difficult to be flirtatious and sexual, yes, but he in no way identified as asexual (though there was nothing wrong with identifying as such; it just wasn't him).

Of course, Nathalia would label anything as asexual if they rejected her advantages and acted 'prudish' enough, which he had done many many times because she wasn't his type and generally he was an awkward person who didn't like to act on his feelings.. He wanted to roll his eyes at the idea of Nathalia just getting to determine who was what based on if they wanted to sleep with her or not. The only reason she didn't do the same with Salem was because they were obviously very sexual, and the two made very strange jokes to each other about that.

"No likes the sexes? What ams wrongs with him?" Skwisgaar

 sounded truly horrified, not that that surprised Tobias any. "He ams musts not bes very goods at its." Well that was rude. "Or he am date people who am bads at its. I can shows him the rights way!" He better not.

"Maybe he amenst likes yous either!" Toki wondered, more to himself than anything else, but Skwisgaar of course heard and was therefore insulted by even the thought.

"Of course he woulds! How dares you thinks otherswises!"

Toki huffed. "Not everyones wants yous, Skwisgaars."

"Yous takes thats backs!" Skwisgaar demanded almost angrily.

"Nos!"

"Why yew guys fightin'?" Pickles's voice was in the distance, getting closer with every word.

"Toki saids not everyones wants mes!" Skwisgaar was beginning to sound like a grown toddler more than Toki.

"I mean, did yew think- never mind, I know da answer." Toki was cackling and Tobias could only imagine Skwisgaar's look of pure saltiness. "Listen, it's Nat's birt'day 'pparently, so me 'n' Salem were gonna go shoppin' if yew wanted ta join. Den we're gonna surprise her."

"Ohs, Nathalia's birthdays?! I ams gonnas makes her a cards!" Toki practically squealed.

"Yew do dat buddy," Pickles chuckled. "Yew can still come 'n' buy somet'in' though, tew."

"Okays!"

"Skwis?"

"I ams alreadys has a plans for a presents fors hers," Skwisgaar claimed boldly.

Pickles groaned loudly. "Please don't pull out da Skwisgaar brand shit."

"Hey, I ams sures she would loves to sees my beautifuls face!"

"Sure, dood, sure."

Before they left the room, Tobias felt Pickles's hand on his shoulder again. "Hey if yew wanna give yer friend a present, wakin' up would be a good idea right now." Then the three friends disappeared, chatting away about Skwisgaar's egotistical tendencies while he complained behind them.

Tobias wished he could get up so he could join the rest in celebrating Nathalia's birthday. He wished he could do literally anything other than lay there uselessly. His breath came out shaky and uneven. He had to remain calm and think... he was there to wait for something to happen. The only hints he had to this was what Nathalia had said during their dream-state...

Toki. This had to involve him, surely. Tobias had to speak to him to pass along the message; how he could do that while being unable to move or talk was beyond him, though. He supposed all he could do was wait, but he didn't want to continue waiting.

A sharp, physical pain in Tobias's chest made him wince inwardly, but he didn't think too much about it.

Since Tobias could apparently never sleep in this state, it felt like it was taking forever for something worthwhile to happen. And finally when it did, Tobias was no more prepared for what was to come.

Tobias was so consumed with his thoughts at some point that he hadn't noticed Toki walking into the room, until the seat near him moved and the rhythm guitarist's voice went off in his ear.

"Hello Tobias," Toki whispered as he wiggled in his chair uncomfortably. "I... I am has the confessials, and I knows nos who to am talks to rights now."

Well, it was not too surprising since Tobias was normally sought out for advice, just a little more odd since Tobias couldn't actually talk back at this point. He waited patiently (since that was all he could do) for Toki to start explaining what was going through his mind.

Toki cleared his throat nervously. "I's... I ams likes your friends, Nathalias."

Oh you sweet summer child, Tobias thought to himself.

"She ams kinds ands pretties ands cares abouts me..."

Well of course, she likes to feel strong and protective.

"She ams gots greats tits toos! ... Not thats that whys Is onlys likes hers!"

Oh, of course.

"... The problems is thats I likes someones else, toos... Buts he won'ts ever likes me backs and it hurt."

Wait, who?

"Even Pickle says... ands thens someonse elses likes mes but I don'ts really knows if I likes him thats way. He ams justs my friends. Ands a sluts."

I'm sure that friend is Skwisgaar. He likes everyone my friend, don't tear yourself up over it.

"Thens I realizes I ams just a friends to Nathalias ands Na- um..."

Nathan? Oh sweet precious baby.

"... The others ones, ands I feels bads for thinkings the ways I does since I ams supposeds to bes just a friends."

Trust me, I'm sure Nathalia would fuck you right now if she could. And she would; he recalled a more recent memory with her when he had been roomed with Toki and Nathalia while the hall and his room were being repaired.

Toki was sleeping like a baby on his bed, swollen head laid carefully on the pillow surrounded by cool cloths and ice. Nathalia was practically hovering over him in the dark, her eyes glinting as she watched the man struggle to sleep. If Tobias didn't know her well, he would think she was being creepy for the sake of being creepy, and not because she was concerned for his well-being... well, maybe he could see her just doing it to be creepy, too.

"So... What about you and Nathan?" Tobias had asked, barely receiving a response to her, physically and verbally.

Without moving her body or even looking over at Tobias, Nathalia only parted her lips to mutter, "What about him?" while still staring at Toki's sleeping features.

Since that day, Tobias knew, probably even before Nathalia herself knew, that her little crush with Nathan was dwindling as something else much more dangerous blossomed in its place.

"Alsos... Pickle says I mights only likes Nathalias, since she re-the-minds mes ofs Nathans... Sos I feels even mores bads." Toki's voice was beginning to tremble, now. "I don'ts knows whats to dos..."

Tobias could kind of see where Pickles was coming from, since the two singers were eerily similar in many ways, mostly because Nathalia loved her idol so much that she wanted to copy him. However, there were also distinct differences between them.

If Tobias could tell Toki his input, he would probably say Nathalia was a much more stable choice for Toki which said a lot; she amplified his childish behaviors without turning him into a complete baby like Nathan somehow managed to, and she would be more willing to help him when he struggled with his feelings. Because even though Toki was babied more by Nathalia, he didn't become a pouty, whiny spoiled child like he did sometimes with Nathan.

Perhaps what Toki truly craved was just verbal validation, something that was very hard to pull out of Nathan since the man didn't allow even himself to be validated; but since he had probably been the closest out of everyone in Dethklok (besides Pickles, but it was very obvious there were no sexual feelings involved with the two and it seemed like Toki was searching for emotional validation from a potential lover) to give Toki that satisfaction, he clung to the man like a life-jacket.

"I wish I wasn't too scareds to talks to them," Toki spoke in barely a whisper. "Please... someones, help me."

Tobias could feel his heart breaking for this poor, lost boy.

After a moment, Toki gave a small sigh. "Thanks you for listenings... if you ares." He leaned over suddenly and planted a soft kiss on Tobias's head. If he could smile, he would. "I loves you my friends."

The pain in Tobias's chest abruptly reappeared, and he could vaguely hear his heart monitor near his head beeping faster. Toki shifted and then said nervously, "H-hms?"

Tobias was finally able to open his mouth, and the first thing that came out of his throat was a low gurgle, followed by a deep wail as pain seemed to explode in his chest, and with bright spots appearing in his vision. Then a certain numbness took over, holding him down and constricting him. His eyes closed and his breathing began to slow, barely hearing Toki's frantic, panicked shouts near his head. His heart struggled to pump and beat once, twice, three times more before stopping.

~~~

Yet Tobias didn't feel panicked when it felt like his soul was leaving his body, or when he could feel himself flying through space once more. He knew where he was headed, and he welcomed it; it was finally time.

He could see nothing for the longest time, just feeling wind that wasn't there blowing gently against his hair and listening for anything out of the ordinary. The darkness around him lightened slightly as stars seemed to fall all around him. Eventually, he could hear a slight sobbing sound in the distance. Tobias, for the first time in a long while, unravelled his legs and stood from the position he had found himself in, taking sure, decisive steps in the direction of the sound.

His feet were bare and yet he could feel nothing as he walked. A bright white outline of someone he knew so well yet not at all, grew in the distance, so he began to walk faster. The outline was that of a masculine body, kneeling on their hands and knees with a curtain of hair surrounding their face presumably, though Tobias as usual could see no details; he was mostly blind while in this state, after all.

"Toki." Tobias's voice was gentle, and yet still seemingly shocked the other because they snapped their head upward.

"T- Tobias," Toki whimpered in a foreign language that Tobias could surprisingly still understand. "Wh- where am I?"

"It's okay Toki, you're safe," Tobias soothed. "I usually come here to think, I suppose." He wasn't sure how to go about speaking of such delicate issues with someone so sweet and also unstable.

I- I killed you," Toki murmured, as his outline slowly sat up to lean on just his knees, wrapping his arms around his torso. "I know I did. I kill everyone... but... why am I here?"

"Because I have to talk to you," Tobias started, then hesitated. Did Toki really already know he was Death, or did he just know that he was a wave of destruction just waiting to be unleashed? "How much do you know?"

"Know about what?" Toki asked wryly.

"Hmmm... never mind. Well, actually... How much do you know about yourself?"

"I kill everything I love." Toki's tone was as dry as paper. "I - I don't mean to... I'm sorry!" Toki suddenly shouted into the abyss around them, tears in his voice again. "Everything I touch dies!"

"Toki." Tobias laid a careful hand on what he assumed to be his shoulder. "It's not your fault, but there's something bigger than the both of us that's happening. And I'm going to need you to calm down, and control yourself."

"Control?" Toki snorted wetly, before wiping his nose on his sleeve. "I've tried and I can't. I don't know how, and sometimes I'm so angry that I don't even really care."

"Of course you care, you're just scared." Tobias gripped him tighter without meaning to. "Toki... I think you might be Death himself."

"D- Death?"

"Like the Grim Reaper. You know who that is, right?"

"... No," Toki whispered. "So they're not... dreams?"

"Dreams?" Tobias pried gently, but Toki had jerked from the other man quickly and took a few steps back. Tobias could practically sense Toki's stability depleting quickly. "Toki, you need to remain calm-"

"That's why I kill everyone?" Toki whimpered. "Why I see so many dead people? Dying people? It's just... my fault..."

Tobias pursed his lips. "Not... always your fault. Your powers are out of your control right now, just like everyone else's powers. So sometimes... it accidentally lashes out to others. But then there are some that are just dying that we can't help. You shouldn't blame yourself on everyone's death. Or really anyone's."

"Wait... like everyone else's. Who else...?"

"Supposedly the entire Dethklok band, Nathalia, Salem, and myself. We're all struggling with you, Toki."

Toki let out a harsh, barking laugh that surprised Tobias. "What powers do you guys have? I accidentally kill people I love... You guys will never understand."

"Toki..."

"Never!"

Suddenly a steel grip on Tobias's wrist made his head jerk back and a bright light flashed through his eyes. He found himself in another dark space, though it was different from his. There was no wind, no lights in the distance, no mystical ambience. It smelled and felt damp, there was a continuous dripping sound, and everything felt ominous and almost depressing.

Tobias didn't realize until much later that he finally received his vision once more and noticed he was in a large cave, watching both fresh and shrunken bodies shuffling back and forth, some moaning softly like they were still in pain. Tobias glanced down at his own wrinkled, pruned hands and shuddered, then looked back up. There was a flash of lightning that blinded him for a minute, then his eyes met other glossy blue-white orbs which were surrounded by pale, almost gray skin.

Toki was wickedly, and also tragically gorgeous. His eyes were filled with such sadness like he'd seen the deaths of trillions; truthfully, he probably had. A black robe billowed around him, large hood covering the top of his head though his long hair still stuck out and hung over his chest. His mustache was longer than normal, too.

A skull belt was wrapped loosely on his waist, with some type of glowing jar tucked into it that Tobias was curious about, but figured it was rude to ask. Black-like veins traveled down his neck and across his arms. He was tall, possibly as tall or maybe even taller than even Skwisgaar and seemed to tower over Tobias menacingly, but his eyes held the same amount of sweetness as usual. It was just that they held a lot of pain and torment, too.

All around them were the faces of people who met their tragic ends, the sounds of their screeching or moaning, the overwhelming scent of death.

Another flash and Tobias found himself back in his own realm, with Toki still hugging himself in front of him. "... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be angry, I just..."

Tobias sighed. "No, I'm sorry. I know I can't understand your pain, so I shouldn't have tried to pretend otherwise." Toki gave a small sniffle, so Tobias reached out and squeezed the man's forearm gently. "I know it's hard, maybe even impossible, but... I need you to steady yourself, to accept the gifts you were given. And get ready for something big to happen soon. I don't know what it is, but it would be good for you to be prepared, even if you won't necessarily remember right away, once you wake."

"But what good can come from this," Toki mumbled, the outline of his head tilting sadly. "Of me..?"

"This is something that none of us can understand right now," Tobias spoke gently. "Our powers are either badly nerfed and unable to be opened up, or we can't control them at all. And you know what... That's okay. Because this is way bigger than either of us, or any of Dethklok. This is about what's best for the world itself. I firmly believe this happened for a reason, maybe to teach us a life lesson or help us control ourselves better. So even if you don't get it, you need to come to terms with it. Maybe it'll help you control it better, even subconsciously. Maybe it'll make you stronger; maybe that's what needs to happen if we want to save the world. You just have to accept it, to give in, to bow to your own power, because the more you fight and resist, the more out of control it's going to get, and that's definitely going to end in a bad result. Do you understand?"

Toki gave a small sniffle and nodded, and Tobias nodded back.

"I have complete faith in you. I don't understand the pain of watching loved ones die like you have, but I know it's going to get worse if you don't submit to who you are so you can control them. So do your best, okay?"

"I- I'll try," Toki whispered.

"I know. Also, you're going to need to pass along a message for me, if that's okay."

"Wh- what is it?"

Tobias smiled gently. "Talk to Skwisgaar about this, tell him to be prepared for what's to come, too." He figured since he had already guessed Skwisgaar's role, he wouldn't try to make Toki guess by repeating just the prophecy (which had been watered down by both Nathan and Nathalia anyway, so it was probably more confusing than it would normally be). "Tell him..." Speaking of watered down, damn Nathalia for saying something so ridiculous because she couldn't remember what to say. Tobias began to panic as he wracked his brain for ideas. Breathe, breathing exercises, he needs to breathe a lot, what does breathing do, breathing causes people to keep living, uhhhhhhh what kind of person is Skwisgaar... egotistical, boisterous, loud, very sexual... sex, he's had a lot of kids from having sex even though he would never admit it, procreating that much means fertility, fertility is bringing life into this world, breathing helps people to live, fertile, there's a lot of life inside him...

Tobias wasn't sure if something was helping his thought process along or what, but within a few seconds, he said, "Tell Skwisgaar he needs to help out by breathing life into others." It made sense theoretically, because Skwisgaar was ironically the most nihilistic of the bunch a lot of the time, so he would withhold that power of life if he could, so perhaps what the prophecy was telling them was that he needed to use his powers for good instead of denying them or perhaps disowning them out of distaste for living creatures and life itself.

Toki gave him an odd look for the request but didn't say anything against it. "How do I tell him if I can't remember when I wake?"

"You'll know; you'll feel when it's time," Tobias told him. "You have some other things to tell him, so pay attention, please." Toki gave a nod so Tobias continued. "Tell Skwisgaar that he needs to tell..." Tobias struggled, since Nathalia had really butchered the other parts with her own words, just not as badly as with Skwisgaar. "Someone known as a self-sacrificial person the same thing; that they need to prepare for a journey soon, except Skwisgaar needs to also tell them they can't do this by themselves. Then the self-sacrificial person needs to tell someone who's seen the same thing happen before to not give up, and then they need to tell someone who sucks the life out of everything that they need to believe in themselves."

Toki frowned at this, though Tobias couldn't see it and wasn't aware of it. "Could I have names for those titles?"

Tobias chuckled lightly. "Afraid not, I didn't get any. That means that you and Skwisgaar are going to have to figure it out yourselves."

"Can't you help?"

"I could..." Tobias mentally ran through the list of people left over, waiting to be put in their places. Tobias could faintly recall Nathalia mentioning another 'psychic bitch' and then remembered the strange connection with Pickles. Perhaps...

Then he felt a pull at his soul and he smiled gently. "I'm afraid we're out of time."

"What? But..." Then it seemed like Toki felt the same tug as well. "What's happening?!"

"Just breathe Toki," Tobias spoke while closing his eyes, feeling himself floating away once more. "It's gonna be alright." He meant that in more ways than one.

Chapter Text

Toki awoke on a cold, hard floor, with hands on his shoulders from someone who was trying to shake him awake. He had a headache but otherwise felt fine, and could barely recall any reason for actually being on the ground. He groaned as he sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his head. He then flushed as he realized that almost everyone was surrounding him, worry on their face.

"Oh dank Satan," Pickles murmured; he'd been the one shaking Toki awake. His hands were still holding the other man's shoulders tightly like he was afraid of letting go. His pale, freckled face glowed with sweat, and his normally swollen and hooded eyes were now wide and bloodshot with worry. He pulled Toki into an abrupt hug.

Surprised but not upset, Toki placed his chin on the other's shoulder and loosely wrapped his own arms around the other, eyes wandering to everyone else's expressions. Salem's dark eyes were taut with concern, though they smiled when their eyes met. Nathan stood in the corner, back sturdy and chin jutted out tensely. He gave a curt nod to the rhythm guitarist, relaxing visibly but only slightly. Skwisgaar was nervously drumming his fingers against the strings of his instrument, eyebrows furrowed heavily.

"Wh- what happeneds?" Toki managed, and Pickles finally pulled away to look his friend in the face.

"Tobias 'pparently had a heart attack 'n' I guess yew started screamin', den you passed out," Pickles replied. "Yew've been out f'r a good hour, we were starting ta get worried..."

Nathan scoffed and Skwisgaar turned his head awkwardly, and Salem rolled their eyes toward the two stubborn men.

"Ohs... W- waits, Tobias! Ams he...?"

"I'm fine." Apparently Tobias's voice had shocked the life out of everyone else in that room, even one of the medics that had been walking around the room frantically for things. Tobias sat up calmly in his bed, looking a bit tired and disoriented but okay.

"About fucking time you got up," Salem told their friend with a soft smile once the original shock had disappeared. "How do you feel?"

"Like I need to go back to bed," Tobias replied while rubbing his shoulder nervously, noticing all the people in his room. "Toki already asked what happened but I feel the need to ask also."

"You got a lotta catching up to do. I got you," Salem grinned.

While the two discussed Tobias's seizure that had caused the almost-week-long coma, Toki was still being squeezed to death by Pickles, who looked like an absolute wreck, and not just because of Toki's health. His eyes kept darting to Salem, betraying his true thoughts when his lips quivered every so often toward them. Toki immediately became concerned with the situation, but didn't want to ask in front of everyone else.

Salem at some point had turned after saying something to Tobias, possibly in preparation to go get Nathalia, and the two drummer's eyes locked. Salem's eyes softened for only a second before they guiltily looked away and walked out of the room slowly.

Pickles gave a small, shaky sigh then forced a smile on his face when he saw Toki's brows furrowed at him. "'M glad yer okie, bud."

"M- me toos." Toki looked back at everyone else before giving them all a sweet smile. "You ams heres because you cares for mes?"

Nathan looked away this time, choosing to bite his tongue (physically, not just as an expression) to keep himself from saying something possibly insulting, most likely about Toki only being valuable as a bandmate. Skwisgaar just tinkered with his guitar more aggressively with his face flushed. Pickles on the other hand, seemed to be an absolute mess and had pulled Toki's face back into his chest to hug him to death.

"O' course," Pickles mumbled, allowing only Toki to hear him so that the others wouldn't get defensive or angry. Pickles smelled like sweat and alcohol as per usual, and Toki sighed.

A few seconds later, a loud presence came bursting through the door, startling Toki.

"Tobias!"

Tobias flinched when he heard Nathalia's loud voice, when she came barreling into the room and drunkenly punched the man in the arm before she toppled over onto the bed. "You mother fucker!"

"What?!" Tobias looked genuinely confused and slightly annoyed.

"You just had to wait until the day after my birthday to wake the fuck up!"

Tobias rolled his eyes a bit obviously which seemed to hurt her feelings. He looked down at the pouting Nathalia, who slid off the bed at some point and landed on the floor, and said, "My bad, for being dead a while apparently. I'll make it up to you. "

"Fucking better," Nathalia muttered, crossing her arms over her chest; not seeming to get the sarcasm seeping into his voice that even Toki somewhat picked up on. She was still drunk, having been wasted since her birthday yesterday, no thanks to Pickles and his stash.

Salem decided to sit on the floor next to Toki, and placed a hand on the rhythm guitarist's back. Pickles eyed the other, hands twitching like he wanted to reach out to them, but decided not to. Toki looked up at Salem and smiled cutely at them when he saw that they were still obviously worried about Toki.

"How you feeling?" Salem asked in such a quiet voice that Toki had to strain his ears to hear.

"I ams okays," Toki responded, reaching out with a needy hand behind him to ask for a hug from them, too. They gently wrapped their arms around his torso, head leaned against his back. Apparently and unfortunately, Nathalia noticed this.

"Group hug!" Nathalia shouted and flung herself into the small pile, knocking them all over. "Get the fuck in here!" She ordered the rest.

Tobias was the first to comply. He shrugged and carefully slid down his bed and onto the floor, wrapping arms around Nathalia's back and placing his hands on Toki. Then, Skwisgaar scoffed, as if he had somehow dared himself to join (and he couldn't possibly be bested by himself), deciding to sneak in from the side to crush both Toki and Salem. Nathan at first didn't want to move at all until Nathalia removed herself for only a second to grab his arm and yank him down with the rest (though he was mostly moved out of compliance rather than strength). He stiffly wrapped a single arm around Pickles's back, his hand barely resting on Toki's head, but the affection was still there at least?

Unfortunately, because Nathalia had flung herself out of the weird group hug to grab Nathan, she managed to knock over a few people in the process and had to pull them back into huddle position again, which somehow resulted in everyone tussling with each other, Toki being the center of it all. It was a mess of limbs and shouting and chaos.

Finally, the door opening pulled them out of their own separate little world, and Abigail stood there with arms across her chest, looking slightly amused.

"Oh, hey," Salem wheezed from somewhere under the pile, and Abigail raised an eyebrow, craning her neck to spot them.

"You guys might want to get off them," Abigail spoke up in their defense and everyone reluctantly parted from each other to let them breathe. "Glad to see you're all awake and alright. Tobias, if I could have a word with you?"

"Oooh, just woke up and already in troubleee," Nathalia grinned. Abigail shot the singer an odd look, noticing how drunk she seemed but not commenting on it. Maybe she would later, if she remembered to.

Everyone seemed to have calmed down by the time Tobias left with Abigail to another room. Pickles and Salem were now sitting next to each other and Pickles seemed a bit content with the close near-contact, even though the other still seemed nervous to be around him.

Nathalia leaned against the bed with a lazy drunken smile, and Skwisgaar just laid on the floor with his feet against the wall nearest to him. Nathan had resumed his previous position of arms crossed over his chest by the doorway. Toki looked around at everyone and, even though he loved each and every person in this room, he couldn't help but let his mind wander about a specific person who seemed to be purposely avoiding everyone.

"Where ams Moidaface?" Toki asked timidly, and the room turned more sour. He felt bad but he was genuinely curious, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't upset that the man seemingly hadn't even come to check on him.

Nathalia's expression change was the most noticeable; she seemed salty at the mere mention of him. Pickles looked as guarded and passive as he usually did at the sound of Murderface's name.

"He was actually one o'da first ta get here," Pickles spoke softly. "Heard screaming 'n' came ta check, den went runnin' ta get someone else. He left after."

Nathalia scoffed, but her words came out uneven and almost high-pitched. "Who says the motherfucker didn't try to kill Tobias to begin with?"

"He ams was nots in the rooms when Tobias begans to..." Toki shuddered, faintly remembering the way Tobias's body lurched and the scream that had come out of him. Pickles noticed his discomfort and placed a hand on the man's shoulder tenderly.

Nathalia huffed in response but didn't have an actual answer to those words, so she chose to angrily stare at the bed with her cheeks bright red for some reason. Toki barely remembered last night but he did remember Nathalia disappearing down a hallway that was not toward her room, and wondered if she had run into Murderface and had a fight with him. And so soon after that whole dramatic bit with her family...

Everyone turned when Tobias re-entered the room, looking a bit grief-stricken with swollen eyes but smiled nonetheless when his met Toki's. He then shuffled to his bed and slumped into it quietly, looking anxious again to see that people were staring at him.

"Sooo... what did I miss?" Tobias questioned.

"Just discussing the dog-faced bitch that runs around here sometimes," Nathalia muttered, more to herself. "Someone needs to call animal control, dunno why it's even here."

"Stop." It was the first word that came out of Nathan's mouth, low and in a deep growl. It seemed like Nathalia had been itching for some type of conflict and jumped on the opportunity, teeth bared as she glared at the other singer.

"Why, don't like me making fun of your oh-so-precious rabid dog?" Nathalia sneered harshly, worse than normal. Nathan only glowered down at her, not amused whatsoever by her intensity.

"Why are you obsessed with him?" Nathan grumbled back, and Nathalia blinked almost in confusion, disarming her completely.

"Me? Obsessed? What?!" Nathalia laughed a little too loudly.

"He's here. He exists. You don't have to drag him down every time he's uh, brought up, you don't even have to knowledge him because nobody. Nobody was fucking talking to you," Nathan gruffed. "Let us say what we need to say and have it be the end. Of the, conservation."

Nathalia began to sputter, already flushed face now even redder. "I 'knowledge him' because nobody else seems to see him for what he really is! A piece of shit incel who fucking hurt my best friend, and nobody wants to talk about that!"

Salem put their hands up in defense like they didn't want to be brought into this mess, not that Toki could blame them. Nathalia was a bit too intense with her rage. 

Nathan sighed heavily. "What does insulting him do? We already know he's fucked in the head. We need to talk to him about it. But does anybody really want to do that?"

Nobody said anything, until Toki's hand shot up timidly. "I mights..."

"Then talk to him," Nathan growled, motioning to Toki. "And then everyone else can let go of this shit."

"Talking to that thing isn't going to fix anything, it won't even understand what it did wrong," Nathalia hissed. "And don't force Toki to talk to it! He doesn't deserve that torment!"

"If he wants to talk to him, he can talk to him," Nathan snapped, quickly losing patience. "You're not his mom."

"No I'm a fucking friend, and compared to what he has with you fucks, I might be the only good one," Nathalia huffed, placing a hand over her chest boldly. Toki almost swooned at this, remembering all the times she went to grab his vitamins for him or the way she babied him when he was hurt.

Everyone began shouting words at each other, quickly becoming heated at both Nathan and Nathalia's words. Eventually everything devolved into madness with Nathan and Nathalia circling each other like dogs, Salem and Pickles yelling at each other for some reason, and Skwisgaar was just screaming in general, looking completely stressed out.

Toki slammed his hand down on the floor abruptly and shouted, "ENOUGHS!" Once he had gathered everyone's attention again, his face softened, looking them all individually in the eye. Nathalia was staring almost coldly at him for the interruption and he winced, his eyes darting over to Salem and Pickles instead, who were staring with almost parental softness. There was a strange look on Salem's face when they made eye contact that Toki just now seemed to notice, and very similar to Pickles', but more... familiar. Then that familiarity washed away almost as soon as he made the connection.

Toki cleared his throat almost nervously. "You ams all my friends, ands you ams alls goods to mes. But I ams growns and cans makes my own dicessions. Moidafaces dids wrongs without apomolagizings, Nathalias amenst has to be nices." Seeing her smug look, he added, "But he stills needs to be talks tos. Ifs he shows he ams willings to changes, he ams nots needs to be attackeds so muchs. Especially his uglys face, since he can'ts changes thats." Nathan tilted his head higher like he had won, so Toki narrowed his eyes toward him. "But he probaly amenst listens to mes anysway, so hes need professions helps. He ams nots rights in the heads ands we needs to sees this. Withouts needings to talks about its every times buts whens it ams neclissaries. There ams somethings goings on worses than justs him being dumbs."

Neither of the singers looked very satisfied with such an answer, but Salem seemed impressed by a more grown-up answer from a young man who acted like he barely had a thought process to begin with sometimes. Toki supposed he did like to act a little more on the ignorant side so he could be left to his own devices and have fun without needing to be "smart".

Toki tapped nervously on the floor once his words had died down and silence replaced them. Should he leave now to actually talk to Murderface? Truthfully he didn't really want to, at least not right then. But he couldn't back down or reiterate his statement now, right?

Luckily, in Nathalia's drunk state, it made her more flaky than usual and she quickly burst out, "TOBIAS!" Changing the subject for the time being.

"Uh, yeah?"

"You've been awake this long and you haven't even gotten me a fucking present yet?!"

Tobias slowly blinked a few times toward her while everyone gaped at her audacity (even as a joke, it was as bad as Skwisgaar was), then he stood up carefully, choosing to walk out of the room. Everyone looked at each other questioningly, like maybe out of all the things Nathalia had said today, that actually was the thing that pissed off the generally calm and collected man into leaving.

A few minutes went by where the only sounds were that of Tobias's feet against the floorboards, him getting someone's attention by asking, "Excuse me..." Then nearby, the faint shutting of a door. Everyone was generally quiet with nervousness, except Nathalia, who looked confused but defiant.

Eventually Tobias came back into the room with something in his hand, handing a circular stone to Nathalia's waiting palm and stating, "Here. Pretend this is a crystal for that negative ass energy of yours and keep it to yourself." Everyone else was bewildered or confused but Salem was in a fit of giggles like they had known Tobias's dorky plan to begin with.

"Aww thank you, I love it," Nathalia teased as she hugged the rock to her chest.

"... Well anyway," Pickles spoke awkwardly with a sheepish grin. "Since we're all okie 'n' shit..."

"Ja, ams goings to gos practices more on thes guitar," Skwisgaar told the others, then glanced over at Toki. "Someones ams alloweds to joins if he wants."

Toki pouted, immediately feeling jealousy surge through his body. "Who ams gets to joins?!"

"Yous, you fuckinks dildoes," Skwisgaar explained in exasperation, and Toki visibly relaxed.

"Ohs, okays."

"I need to talk to Abigail about... stuff," Nathan mumbled, quickly pushing off the edge of the wall to head out of the room without another word. Nathalia gave a small 'hmph' sound in response, before turning to Tobias and reaching to grab his wrist.

"C'mon you shit, let's get you back to your actual bed, assuming you're fine and all." She paused to motion for Salem to follow but before they could respond, Pickles weakly reached out to grip Salem's shirt sleeve, head suddenly lowered so he could stare at the floor.

"Actually... Can I talk ta yew f'r a bit, Salem? Please?" Pickles asked pleadingly, and Salem glanced over at him before chewing on their lip.

"Yeah, sure. I'll catch up with you guys later." Salem waved to their friends before taking Pickles's hand gently and leading him to the bed for the two to talk. Toki supposed that was his cue for him to also leave with Skwisgaar.

Without thinking he took Skwisgaar's hand much like Salem had taken Pickles's, and began leading him down the hallway without much of a care in the world until they were alone and the Swede was muttering something under his breath. Toki didn't really respond or notice, only coming back to reality when Skwisgaar had shaken his hand free. Toki blushed and gently folded his hand into his pocket, feeling silly.

Even though from other people's point of views it seemed like all was well and the friendship was still solid, Toki could still feel a strain from Skwisgaar once in a while. He noticed that he himself wasn't his normal self either. He wasn't scared of Skwisgaar hurting him again, accident or otherwise; it seemed like he had learned his lesson with that one.

It just was obvious that Skwisgaar didn't really have a strong hold on his own actions, since he'd already implied and even mentioned wanting to kiss Toki again; and Toki wasn't ready for that type of vulnerability. He knew he was stricken with affection for Nathan and he really didn't want to pull anyone into that mess, not Nathalia, not Skwisgaar- not anybody. So if he had to be the careful one to keep them from getting that close again, so be it.

That probably meant no holding hands though, and this made Toki pout to himself, though he didn't say anything. He'd had to survive without the connection. Plus, he had held it plenty while Skwisgaar struggled in his own hospital room days ago.

Toki shuddered, not wanting to think back on those days. They seemed so far away right now and not even real, since all of his friends were awake and alive. Especially with Tobias moving and acting normally now, it almost felt like nothing had even happened.

Like he hadn't watched Skwisgaar get hurt right in front of him, trying to protect him while shushing the younger bandmates pitiful cries... Or watched Nathalia slump over near two dead bodies that weren't his friends but that he knew and enjoyed the presence of, and Tobias's own comatose body... Or witnessed Pickles slowly bleeding out, or Charles getting kidnapped right in front of everyone. While Nathan went on a short-lived rampage before being knocked out for his own good.

Toki was there and conscious through it all; when finally reinforcements came and pulled everyone out of the shelter. When Ivy and Raven had to be taken into the morgue with their bodies wrapped in cloth out of respect so others wouldn't stare at their glassy eyes and graying faces. When so many had to be placed in the hospital, and Toki had to frantically run to each one to keep an eye on them because he didn't want to be that friend who flaked on any of them.

There were good parts too; each person who woke up was usually met with some type of celebratory sound from Toki- squeals, sobbing, shouting that person's name, just overall giddiness. But the reasonings behind so much blood and pain still lingered in the back of his mind and made him feel sick, even if it was met with a better ending than he figured it could have been.

Back to Skwisgaar, though. The man as usual held his head high and didn't seem phased at all by the fact that he had almost died and couldn't keep conscious for more than a few seconds at a time, for a long while. Toki figured if the blond man was strong enough to pretend everything was fine after all of that, why couldn't he?

Skwisgaar leaned lazily against his soft, luxurious pillows that covered his bed, tinkering with his guitar like normal. Toki was sitting at the edge of the bed, softly plucking his own strings but didn't really feel in the mood to be playing with his instrument. Once again, his mind had wandered too far and now he was saddened by his own thoughts.

Why had he even reverted to thinking about the day of their attack? He gave a small sigh. His head was a mess; Skwisgaar's behavior didn't help, since he seemed so fine about his near-death experience and yet so not fine about just holding Toki's hand. If Skwisgaar could put on a brave face after being nearly bludgeoned to death, he could handle some affection for the sake of a friend... right?

That wasn't fair to Skwisgaar though, and Toki knew that. To try and convince himself otherwise was cruel to both parties. It also wasn't like Toki clung to Skwisgaar like he clung to Nathan, so he should've been used to rejection, anyway.

Skwisgaar must have sensed that the other man was sulking because he sat up slowly and squinted over at Toki suspiciously. "What am yours problems?"

Toki's face flushed and he looked away from the guitarist. "Nothings."

"Hmph. You thinks you would am bes happys since Tobias am now awakes."

"I ams..." It wasn't a lie, either. Toki felt very relieved, especially after Tobias's supposed heart attack that didn't even seem to phase him now and that he could manage to just shake off so well.

"Then why does you ams looks the sads?"

"I ams just tireds," Toki lied.

"Fines, be that ways. Sees if I cares."

"You never does." Toki winced at his own bitterness in his voice and struck a chord against his guitar in response, unflinching to the actual loud sound.

Skwisgaar raised an eyebrow to Toki's sour tone, though the rhythm guitarist's back was turned so he couldn't see that. "Serious?"

"Whats? Ya don'ts. And that ams okays." Toki forced a smile on his face as he turned it slightly to show Skwisgaar that everything was fine, before he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder, pushing him against the wall. Toki gave a high pitched whimper and his body froze; unsure of what to do while flashbacks replayed in his mind.

"Tokis."

Toki flinched and closed his eyes, waiting for a strike or two across his face or maybe the lash of something sharp across his back. It wasn't until the room had been still for almost a minute before he realized that the hand never had any harsh, violent intent, and that another was cupping his cheek gently, rubbing circles in his skin. Still, he felt that those soothing gestures were nothing more than a facade to catch him off guard.

"Tokis... looks at me."

He was too afraid to. "Come backs to mes, come ons."

No, he couldn't, if he did-

The hand on his shoulder moved to his back and Toki felt himself get pulled into a hug. His face felt wet and hot as he buried it into fabric, though he couldn't understand why. Blood?

"Damns it Toki," Skwisgaar sighed heavily near the other's ear. "You ams makes everythinks diffocults."

Toki sniffled, not realizing he had been crying, and roughly wiped his face on his own shirt, pulling away from Skwisgaar's grip. The taller man didn't object, rather moving to sit a few inches away from him, legs crossed.

"Am there bes a reasons you haves been acting differents latelies? Others haves done worses to yous, but yous..." Skwisgaar didn't finish his sentence, only looking at Toki helplessly. Toki shook his head in response.

"I justs... Even thoughs it's beens a whiles since my fathers dieds..." Toki let his voice trail off, picking at the strings of his shirt. "Ands... I guesses I ams beens more stresseds latelys, sos... I ams just weak."

"Stops thats," Skwisgaar ordered. "We ams all struggles, rights now."

Toki didn't respond.

"...Ams you nots goings to talks to me?"

Toki pursed his lips together into a tight line. "I... I wants to thinks it overs. Thinks about things by myselfs, befores I talks to anyones." A half-lie since he had technically already spilled most of his confession to Tobias' unconscious body before, but surely the man hadn't heard him or was aware of any of that, so he still felt safe and secure.

"Fines," Skwisgaar sighed before turning to resume lounging back in the same spot as before. "Buts ones thing."

"Ja?"

"Never says I don'ts cares anysmore. You knows what I am likes when I really don'ts." Toki couldn't argue with that, and nodded quietly with a quick mumbled apology. Skwisgaar didn't acknowledge the apology, but there was a hint of a smile on his face; probably smugness from the idea of getting Toki to do such a thing.

Toki struck a low chord on his guitar and so Skwisgaar plucked a higher note. The two went back and forth lightly at first, the different frequencies simply co-existing. Eventually Skwisgaar began to play an actual tune, faster and faster when Toki did the same, until it was all-out war in the bedroom.

The sounds were loud and probably headache inducing for most people, but they weren't most people.

Toki could swear he could see smoke coming from both of their fingers; he wasn't usually a very perceptive person so he didn't see the strange, almost ethereal sparks from his fingertips, the smoke, or the fact that this was the fastest that they had ever played; their skills amplified by something much bigger and stronger than the both of them, but neither noticed or cared until white and black smoke met in the middle and a loud explosion went off in Skwisgaar's room, making everything go dark.

~~~

Toki opened his eyes to bright, white sunshine and groaned, though he generally felt okay and not at all like he had just been blown apart. His head was even clearer than it had been in a long time, letting him recall the last moments with clarity.

"Really, did I just knock myself out AGAIN within the past hour of the last?" Toki muttered in a strange language he didn't really know nor understood how he knew, but he was okay with it for now. "Can I catch a break at some point? It's like a bad story trying to throw me into something dumb."

With another huff, Toki pulled himself up into a sitting position, recognizing the black cloak that swept around his feet and covered his arms. He felt so awkwardly tall and didn't like it, but nonetheless used his long legs to pull himself up. A gust of sharp wind startled him, knocking his hood down and letting his hair fly out. He sighed, not wanting to stuff the mess back under his clothing, so he ignored it.

Wherever he found himself at, it was much different from his 'special' little place whenever he normally dreamed; he shuddered to think of that dark cave, with all of those people crying for help and him not understanding how to. He just wanted to run from all of them and hide. And with Tobias's home when he had 'visited', it was just as dark, only slightly less depressing, and much more empty.

Here though, Toki basked under bright sunlight, with a cool breeze to keep his face from overheating. He found himself in the middle of a grassy field. There was plenty of foliage, trees, flowers, and animals, which Toki was delighted to see. They all seemed generally well-fed, happy, and friendly toward humans. Several bunnies came hopping toward him and he bent down to pet one, before it reeled back in fright and bounded away once the grass at his feet began to wither under him.

Toki winced and huddled low to the ground, his eyes threatening to well up with tears once he had realized it was because of him. He was broken with broken powers... He blinked in surprise when the grass began to grow back, and then he heard a voice behind him.

"You can't hurt anything in my domain. At least not permanently."

Toki jumped at the sound of the voice and whipped his head around, seeing a man as tall as him stand there with his arms crossed over his chest. It took Toki a minute to realize it was Skwisgaar since he looked vastly different from what he was used to. His blonde hair was practically white now rather than with a yellow-blond color, with icy eyes piercing right through Toki's face. He was more muscular but just as lean. He also wielded some type of plated and jeweled sword by his side. The man wore nothing but a white, asymmetrical gold-lined skirt across his waist, buttoned by little amulets.

"S- Skwisgaar?"

"Naturally," Skwisgaar stated as he knelt down and held out a hand. "Get up, you don't need to be crouching like that."

Toki hesitantly took the man's hand and was pulled upward. Toki felt a bit smug to know he was actually TALLER than Skwisgaar now, though the man was still ungodly tall. Skwisgaar either hadn't noticed or didn't care too much, which was surprising either way. It looked like he had wings folded behind his back, and Toki resisted the urge to roll his eyes at how extra and dramatic Skwisgaar looked even in this world.

"What did you mean, I can't hurt anything?"

"I mean, everything you do here is temporary. Things may wilt, those things will also grow back." Skwisgaar nodded matter-of-factly.

"What about the animals...?"

"I doubt they'll want to get close enough for us to check."

Toki flinched again to those words, guilt gnawing at the pit of his stomach. Skwisgaar shot him a look of sympathy.

"Isn't this such a curse?"

"Wh- what?"

"I'm a nihilistic pig who doesn't care much about life at all, and you care too much. You should've been given this life."

Toki rubbed his arm slowly, frowning softly to himself. "D- do you know what I am? Who I am..?"

"I've worked with you for years in Dethklok, Toki. I've seen the messes you've created just by loving too much." Skwisgaar's tone was more snarky now, but his eyes betrayed thoughtfulness. "Awake me is kinda stupid about it, of course. But here, I know. I guess dreams just give us deeper insights about the fact that death follows you." Skwisgaar shrugged.

Toki tapped his legs nervously while he thought. "Dreams... Yeah." Skwisgaar must have thought this was just a really weird, vivid dream. Much like Toki used to think... but after meeting Tobias and now Skwisgaar, he felt it was no coincidence, no strange recurring dream. "Do you really think it's just a dream? That this isn't real?"

"Aren't dreams just for our spirits to explore life outside of our physical bodies?" Skwisgaar shrugged. "Dreams don't have to mean they aren't real." Toki blinked at the wiseness. Out of everyone, Skwisgaar seemed the most spiritually "attuned" to the idea of a higher power, and it was probably because-

Skwisgaar suddenly placed a bold hand on his chest. "I told you all I was a God!" Ah, there it was, the real Swede. The only God he worshiped and believed in was himself, and Toki supposed that was enough for him to have faith in his own dreams as Astral projections. But Toki was startled when Skwisgaar added in a low voice to himself, "I just didn't expect you to also be..." He fell silent as he continued pondering.

Toki kicked at the grass almost shyly and swallowed hard, not really sure how to answer that, if at all. "I have something to tell you. There's a reason this happened; a reason I'm here."

"Oh?"

"I come with a message. We need to prepare... I guess. For something. We're about to go through some things."

Skwisgaar scratched his chin lightly. "Do you know what?"

"No idea. I think right now we just need to make ourselves more aware, even if we can't be while... awake. Again, no idea," Toki added when Skwisgaar raised an eyebrow. "But also um, I have to say something else..."

"Hm?"

"I- I'm not sure if this'll make sense to you, but... you need to use your lungs, to uh... breathe life." Toki thought it sounded really foolish, until Skwisgaar tilted his head with a slight smile and hesitantly brought his hand up to his face, palm up.

With a soft breath, flowers began to grow on his hand, though having nowhere to root themselves properly, they ended up dropping to the ground pitifully, though still very much alive and thriving with the breath from the 'God' of Life himself. "Like that?"

"Y- yeah... I guess," Toki stammered.

"In all truthfulness, I don't think it meant literally, Toki," Skwisgaar laughed. "Though, I suppose it counts anyway since I literally can do that."

Toki giggled nervously. "Wh- what do you think it meant, then?"

Skwisgaar's smile faded a little. "I don't know if you've noticed Toki, but I'm not much of a... 'living things' kind of man. What that's telling me is I need to focus more on those powers anyway, even though I'm not a fan of them."

"That sounds smart," Toki commented. "But... why aren't you a fan?"

"I don't know Toki," Skwisgaar sighed, though he didn't look irritated as he normally did when being bombarded with questions. "Maybe I'm just an asshole narcissist, maybe I'm too nihilistic to see the beauty in life, maybe... what, why are you shaking your head?"

Toki blushed, though he still kept shaking his head defiantly. "Maybe you see too much beauty in life and that's why you're such a downer. It hurts when that beauty has to leave, I would know."

Skwisgaar was silent for the longest time before he sighed heavily. "You're a little annoying shit." This only made Toki giggle.

"What do you say, want to make some more beauty even though it hurts?" Toki smiled softly. "I'll take care of them forever when it's time." Skwisgaar didn't respond, so Toki added softly, "We need you, Skwisgaar."

The silence stretched on for so long that eventually Toki added, "You also have to tell someone else the same thing, to be ready for... whatever. And be able to use their powers, probably."

"Who?"

"Not sure."

"Helpful."

"Sorry," Toki smiled. "I wasn't given a name, I just have a description. And then they have to pass it down to others who have descriptions."

"Wonderful. Do continue."

"You have to tell someone... who's..." Oh no. He didn't know the word in that language, his mind came to a blank. "Selfs-sacificals," Toki finally said in his broken english. Skwisgaar was so taken aback by the sudden change that he ended up bellowing a laugh, causing Toki to blush and pout.

"Interesting. You'd think that would be me since I give my all to these damn creatures, but." Skwisgaar scoffed rather than finished his sentence.

Toki thought about it. "I wasn't even given a description for you... Tobias just said your name."

"Of course," Skwisgaar muttered. "I knew that bastard was sketchy with his BIG BRAIN, or whatever."

Toki giggled lightly. "Anyway, you gotta tell them they can't do this on their own, and get them to talk to someone who's, I guess, seen something before. Not sure what." He shrugged, his face flushing deeper. He was really bad at this. "And tell them to not give up. Then they have to talk to... someone mean. Who has to believe in themself. Which is kinda really dumb. I'd want the mean person to feel bad about themself."

"Anything else?"

"That's it... you just gotta wait for an opportunity to talk to whoever. Just don't blow yourself up trying to, like I did," Toki grinned. "And they all seem to be from our bands... Not sure who's been done yet, but Tobias, you and I for sure."

Skwisgaar scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Someone who sacrifices themselves for others... I may know who."

"Who?" Toki questioned, mostly because he was just really nosy.

Skwisgaar reached to pat the top of his head. "All in due time, little Toki."

"Little? I'm taller!" Toki whined, and Skwisgaar only smiled in reply. "You seem a lot more chill in this world. Why is that?"

Skwisgaar looked around at all the deer sniffing the back of his head, the random cats that darted between his feet, the squirrels jumping on him from time to time, and the birds tweeting at him. "I guess these dildoes make me soft. Plus it's not every day you get to see your literal opposite standing in your realm; kind of have to make a good impression." Skwisgaar held up a hand to gesture to Toki, and Toki felt compelled to do the same, and Toki could envision the white and black smoke billowing around him even though it wasn't actually there. He wondered what logical reasoning there was for that spark to ignite in Skwisgaar's room but didn't feel like worrying about it. Stranger things had happened lately.

"I think I know why we were chosen for our roles," Toki spoke as a thought clicked into his head, and Skwisgaar eyed him. "Y'know, despite being odd for the jobs. You got to have a little darkness in the light-"

"-And a little light in the darkness," Skwisgaar finished for him, then added mockingly, "You're a lot smarter in this world. Why is that?"

Toki playfully pushed his friend away. "Fuck off!"

Dark clouds began to roll in, distracting them both. Skwisgaar squinted up at the sky that was rapidly changing, motioning with a flick of the wrist for the animals to take cover. "Get behind me," Skwisgaar then ordered Toki, who obliged as he watched as lightning began to light up the increasingly darkening sky.

"Skwis..." Toki whimpered. He felt like time was running out, but he still had so much to say, mostly because the awakened him wouldn't remember and also because the blond was so much calmer and reasonable in this realm.

"It's okay, you're safe."

Toki blinked, twisting his head to try and see Skwisgaar's expression. Did he think Toki was scared and wanted to protect him? "You're about to see something magical, Toki," Skwisgaar boasted loudly as he held his hand up to the air, his hair whipping around him wildly. "Something else I can do."

A bolt of lightning came down but instead of it striking the guitarist, it traveled through his fingers, then his body glowed for a moment before he redirected it into the ground with his other hand. A burn mark was left in its place, though the grass grew back almost immediately. A little darkness in the light... He could both bring things to life and also destroy it, if he so wished. Aside from accidentally killing people he loved, what could Toki's powers do? That wasn't really fair, seeing as Skwisgaar's power had nothing to do with making life. 

Without realizing, Toki moved to stand directly next to Skwisgaar as they watched the clouds roll away, and was only brought back to reality when he felt Skwisgaar slip his hand into Toki's. Toki blushed heavily and looked away; this was what he wanted, wasn't it? To be touched... but...

"Don't worry." Toki peered down at him with wide, doe-like eyes. Skwisgaar had a gentle look on his face, despite a small smirk playing on his lips. "Just take advantage of this moment."

And so Toki did, and they stood like that for the longest time until everything began to grow foggy and they both slipped into darkness.

~~~

People were yelling when Toki was finally brought back to consciousness, and his head was pounding even harder than before, preventing him from opening his eyes. He could barely register the fire close to his body, flames licking its way toward his body and burning his feet. Hands were gripping him, pulling him out of soot and broken wood. He winced when a sharp pain coursed through his side. "Fucks..."

"Fuck is right," A voice wheezed near his ear, a voice he didn't recognize right away. "Shit... Skwisgaar still needs help, someone!"

There was a chorus of voices, and Toki forced his burning eyes open finally, noticing faintly the line of Klokateers keeping all the other bandmates back while more came rushing in with hoses and buckets of water. The person carrying him was grunting as they struggled to keep him from dragging along the ground. Someone else tried to slip past the guards but they blocked their way, much to their exasperation.

Toki was finally thrusted into the arms of a nearby Klokateer and a flurry of dark hair and plaid went running back into the smoke before anybody could catch them. "Salem, stahp!" Pickles's voice shouted from somewhere behind Toki but he could barely register it, since the pain was beginning to overwhelm him.

His side felt like something sharp was stabbing him, and there were definitely burns on various body parts because of such painful stinging. He began to writhe and cry out, chewing on his lip so hard that he drew blood. Several pairs of hands attempted to calm him but he found himself drawn to a specific sweaty pair, his brother's, and he practically flung himself into Pickles's arms, wailing into the poor man's ear. Normally when he needed comfort he went to the drummer and he would feel better. Why wasn't he feeling better?

"Toki, shhh," Pickles whispered, lowering Toki to the ground with him in his lap. "C'mon, just breathe man."

Toki tried to, but it burned to take deep breaths and shallow ones weren't cutting it anymore. He gripped at his throat, trying to claw his way into his own lungs so that they would hopefully open up better and stop wilting on him.  A brief idea fleetingly ran through his head, that of wilted grass that sprang back to life. He used that image to will air through his lungs with every choking breath. 

"He needs meducal attention," came Nathan's voice, actually sounding genuinely concerned this time. "AGAIN."

It was like the world was genuinely trying to kill all of them right now.

"I got him!" A slurred voice spoke, just as concerned but a little more out of it as well. "'Ll take him to the medicals area!"

"You're drunk."

"Sooooo?"

"We'll carry him together."

"Fineee."

"Yew both go," Pickles said as he carefully handed over the crying Toki. "I need to wait f'r... SALEM!"

Toki had no time to look behind him to see if Salem and Skwisgaar were okay, as he was rushed off to be treated while he still struggled to breathe through the ash in his lungs. Before he fell unconscious again, he heard Nathalia muttering in his ear, "What am I gonna do with you, little accident-prone baby?"

Chapter Text

Days Ago

Nathan had a moment of weakness, that was all.

Falling in love with his manager, showing his emotions more, advocating for Pickles to talk out his feelings just to have his old buddy back instead of some depressed blob that barely ate- weakness, all weaknesses. Feelings were gay, concern was gay, crying to himself or writing sad songs like some hormonal teenager was gay.

So he slowly began to re-build the walls that Charles had torn down just by existing the way he did, the walls Charles probably never believed had toppled over to begin with.

As far as Nathan was concerned, Charles was gone; a distant memory. Abigail began to notice Nathan's quickly-diminishing disinterest and slight apathy. He went from refusing to let her help because she was a 'woman' (a made-up lie mostly because he just didn't want Abigail to be the one to find him first), to letting her do all the work and pretending not to understand most of her simple requests so he didn't have to do anything.

So Abigail suggested he go start writing his music again, mostly to get him out of the way. He knew that's what it was. He didn't mind. As he was dismissed for the last time from the meeting area, he noticed her giving him a look of sympathy and he made sure to slam the door extra hard. For no reason, of course; it wasn't like he cared much about anything, especially whatever look she gave him.

The audacity of that look, though. There was no reason for it, it wasn't like Nathan was truly WORRIED or anything. It wasn't like he had nightmares of Charles's beaten and bloody body in front of him. It wasn't as if he could be seen wandering the halls with a build-up in his chest that made him cry out as he violently punched walls. Perhaps her worry toward him when there was no obvious need to be concerned, was what pissed him off.

The only thing that concerned him was his peace of mind and a quiet place to brood. Sure, that meant maybe spending time on getting Nathalia a birthday present so that maybe she wouldn't be upset and hunt him down later. Or when checking on Tobias during his supposed heart attack while Toki screamed for help so that people wouldn't ask him where he was later. Or when an entire room blew up and he struggled to run in there to grab his *coworkers* because if he didn't, he'd have looked like a shitty leader.

It definitely wasn't because of any emotions that he wouldn't be able to feel anyway, it was merely out of convenience for him.

So why did Nathan start snooping through everyone's personal lives after everything had calmed down? Well, it wasn't like that, obviously. The information came to him on a silver platter, by people with loud mouths and hard heads.

The first thing Nathan found out about was a conversation between Nathalia and Murderface while the singer was drunkenly trying to wobble back to his room to think about nothing for a few years. He was actually stopped by a loud, demanding, "YOU! GET THE FUCK OVER HERE!"

Nathan automatically assumed he was being talked to and started turning the corner where the voice came from when he noticed Murderface stopping dead in his tracks like a deer caught in headlights, giving Nathalia almost a frightened look. He hadn't been at Nathalia's birthday party, rightfully so. Now she was pointing at him with a shaking, drunk finger, a wild look in her eyes.

Nathan turned on his heel and started walking back, not caring about whatever drama she was about to start, when her next words almost made him topple over in astonishment.

"Fuck me!"

"Wh- what?" Nathan choked on his spit but somehow wasn't heard since at the same time, Murderface had sputtered his own reply (unsurprisingly, the same answer Nathan had given).

"You heard me, dumb-ass. I need dick and I don't see any other dick-slinging fucks around here, right? Get the fuck over here!" Nathan peeked around the corner ever-so-slightly in astonishment, for he couldn't believe his ears.

Murderface had paled and started backing away from the hostile singer. "Th- thisch isch a joke, right? A schet-up-"

Nathan had never seen any human move as fast as Nathalia just did, clamping a large hand around the man's beefy neck and pinning him to the wall. She growled something in his ear and his face remained confused and a little frightened, growing all the more stronger when she began grinding into him. She said something else and then blindly pulled the man away, presumably into a bedroom. Nathan could only stare at the spot they were in for the longest time before turning away and walking in the opposite direction in a daze. Well that was something... he cringed internally, just because that was gross in general, and had nothing to do with the fact that Nathalia supposedly hated him for what he had done to her best friend while also being sleazy behind said friend's back. Because that required more of those gay feelings.

Another thing he had unfortunately been a witness to, was one of Pickles's and Salem's 'minor' discussions. The two had definitely been acting awkwardly around each other and it only became worse after a certain point in time.

Nathan was wandering the hallways like he usually did when he wanted to brood without sitting in one spot. He should have just stayed in his room.

As soon as he turned the corner he could hear soft crying and immediately whirled right back around to walk back, when words stopped him, gaining his curiosity slightly. Only slightly.

"A- am I not good enough...?" Came Pickles's soft, broken voice, and Nathan physically winced at this. He had heard enough of such sad, depressing tones from this man to last him a good millennium. "D- did I not feck good? Am I some... tainted sleb of meat?"

"N- no, Pickles," Salem's voice stammered, and Nathan raised an eyebrow. Interesting... he supposed. Not that their interest in each other was a secret in any way.

"I'm just not what yew expected..."

"That's not it..."

"Den what is it?" Pickles's voice was getting louder and shakier. "'Cause my body's been a problem m'whole life 'n' I jus' wanna know exactly what makes me some t'rowaway toy!"

"Stop, you're not a fucking toy, I just... I got scared, so I-"

"Yew got scared." Pickles laughed bitterly. "I open up tew yew, let yew... 'n' yer da one scared when yew just decide to abandon me."

"It's not like that. I like you Pickles, a lot. I wasn't trying to run, I just wanted space..." The voice turned pleading as footsteps began to walk away. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm just fucked up and I got scared of getting close and hurting you-"

"Tew late for dat," Pickles interrupted bitterly.

"-Or you hurting... I know... I'm sorry." This time it was Salem's turn to start walking away, Nathan could see from the shadow moving slowly backward.

"No, finish yer sentence. Yew t'ought I was gonna hert yew? What part o'me screamed I was a danger to ya? Do tell."

Salem sighed deeply. "What part of me screamed that I was stable enough for this shit, hmm? I've been through some shit, so if it's a crime to be scared, move on and forget me, Pickles, because this won't go away. I know, I've fucking tried. Just pretend I never came into your life, it's better that way. It's better than dealing with all my emotional baggage, especially when you have enough to deal with. I'm sorry."

Salem suddenly sped through the halls while covering their face with their arm, which blocked their view of a stunned Nathan who just so happened to hear everything.

A deep sigh came from Pickles. "I jus' want yew ta stop runnin' from me," Pickles muttered to himself, sadness thick in his voice. "Jus' lemme get close... jus' once. Bef're it's tew late."

Then Pickles walked away in the opposite direction, leaving Nathan rooted to the spot.

Nathan then, a couple of days later, just HAD to walk in on Murderface mumbling to himself like a psychopath as well, and Nathan had just had enough of this, preparing to sprint right past the entire hall when as usual, the words stopped him.

"I don't want to do thisch anymore..." Murderface was croaking. Nathan discreetly slid to the corner and poked an eye out, noticing that the bassist had a grip on his hair, his other hand clutching a knife. He held it to his own throat and Nathan's eyes widened. He tensed and prepared to lunge forward, because he couldn't have Dethklok without a bassist of course. Even though Murderface was known for self harm antics and Nathan shouldn't have been so concerned about losing a bandmate.

Nathan could swear he heard eerie whispering in the walls and he felt a shiver run down his back. Murderface squeezed his eyes shut, the tip of the knife sliding into his skin. "N- no... I don't have to..."

More potential whispers, and Murderface's eyes shot open with a deep gasp like he'd been under water. "B- but!"

Nathan felt another shiver and he snapped his head this way and that when a low laugh echoed through the halls. It all had to be some prank, right? Murderface knew the singer was there and was just pulling his leg?

Murderface's head slowly lowered, eyes re-closing, a tear dripping down his face. "...Yesch, I want... No, I ckan't. Pleasche..." Murderface then pulled his head back up, a blank expression falling over his features. "...Fine."

Nathan had had enough of the voodoo looking bullshit laid in front of him, so he once again turned on his heel and disappeared down the corner and toward his room.

Why was he the one to always find out these things? He didn't even care, and wanted no part in the drama of everyone else's lives. Not anymore, at least. Pickles could have his depression, drugs and existential crisis. Salem could have their isolation, commitment issues, 'emotional baggage'. Nathalia could have Murderface's dick and alcohol to deal with her shitty life on top of her shitty attitude. Murderface could have his little ghost friends and suicidal tendencies.

And Nathan could have his complete denial about feeling anything other than numbness.

Chapter Text

Skwisgaar's scalp felt like it was on fire. It probably was, since he had opened his eyes to flames inching dangerously close to his face. He struggled to move but something had him pinned down, preventing him from moving. He watched as his room filled with heavy black smoke, his most prized possessions withering and falling apart right before his eyes, and his shattered guitar becoming consumed by the fire. Yet his thoughts were not consumed with his material possessions in the heat of the moment, but rather...

Toki. Skwisgaar immediately craned his neck to see if he could find the other man, but found that he couldn't without pain shooting down his body and he winced. Still, he forced his hands to scrabble desperately against the wood that was pinning him and shoved against it, burning his hands in the process.

Skwisgaar hissed and dropped the burning wood for a moment so he could regather himself, then attempted to try again, using all his strength to fling it off of him. There was blood on his chest and it just reminded him of the day they had been attacked. Skwisgaar gritted his teeth, holding his stomach as he pulled himself into a sitting position. His head still burned, and his eyes watered as smoke obscured his vision.

The Swede attempted to open his mouth to call for his friend and only managed to choke on floating debris. His lungs burned heavily and it hurt to breathe or even move. After a small coughing fit, he tried scooting toward the door, seeing visible light pouring in that way. His arm had caught fire at some point and he slapped at himself, trying to put himself out. The pain in his head was pure agony, and his lungs screamed for proper air.

Skwisgaar found himself on his hands and knees, slowly crawling across the floor, watching blood and spit drip onto it. He was a mess and probably looked even worse than he felt, if that were even possible.

Suddenly distant footsteps seemed to approach, and Skwisgaar immediately held out a hand for help, before fully collapsing to the ground. Hands grabbed the back of his shirt and began to pull him upward so that they could wrap a more secure arm around his waist, and half-dragged, half-carried the man out of the burning room. His hands gripped the other's shirt, and couldn't help but cough and hack into their chest. They patted his back in response and kept pulling until the light had reached his face, forcing his burnt eyes shut.

Skwisgaar was gently placed on the cool floor and the person that had pulled him out collapsed next to him, panting and coughing. He forced an eye open, peeking to see Salem's ash-stained face looking worn out. A flash of red hair and pale skin flew past his face and then Salem was suddenly smothered by a very obviously worried Pickles.

It felt like the world around Skwisgaar was glitching; everybody moved impossibly slowly, and then they were right there in front of him, asking questions that he didn't hear and probably wouldn't know the answer to anyway. Then they were gone once more but also seemed to be walking in place, until right next to him again, patting his burning skin with something that made him flinch.

"Tok-" Skwisgaar tried but his voice got caught in his throat. All he could taste was blood and ash. His mouth was dry and yet the back of his throat was slick with phlegm. He coughed a few more times and tried again, but this time no sound came out at all.

"Shhh," A voice beside Skwisgaar made him flinch. "He's safe, he's bein' sent to da medical bay. Where yew need ta go, tew."

Skwisgaar couldn't help but sigh in relief, before he collapsed back onto the ground. He immediately lost all energy when he realized he didn't have to fight for consciousness anymore; everyone was seemingly okay. Pickles was clinging to Salem as they were treated for minor burns, Tobias being the one to apply some of these treatments with the help of a mentor, and he could even see Murderface wandering back and forth to talk to various Klokateers, helping them put out the fire- and Salem quickly explained to the guitarist that Nathalia and Nathan were the ones that had taken Toki to the hospital area.

Unfortunately, despite having almost no willpower anymore, Skwisgaar couldn't pass out; the pain was much too great. He was lifted up and carried to be placed on the same bed he had just recently escaped from, and they began treating him while he remained awake. They didn't want to knock him out either, or provide any numbing agents in case it caused him to relax too much; something about his adrenaline.

So he felt them scrape, patch, stitch, remove and replace, and many other things that he couldn't name but he could feel. Eventually one of them came in with a pair of scissors and a razor and Skwisgaar tensed, actually beginning to fight back, shoving everyone away from him weakly. He was more than afraid, he was terrified. He had nobody to soothe him, hold his hand, calm him down; he was simply pinned as he heard scissors snipping away at hair. 

They had to reach the wound properly, plus most of the hair was already falling out from that side. Skwisgaar deep down knew this, but he couldn't help but feel like it was a personal attack. He hadn't cut his hair in years, much less shaved it. He had trimmed it, kept it manageable, and made sure no split ends ruined his complexion, and now he had lost a chunk of it in a matter of minutes. He watched as tufts of singed, damaged hair fell off of his head harmlessly.

Skwisgaar heard them discussing shaving the other side despite there being no major wounds, and he managed to clasp a hand over that side with a cry. "No, p- pleases!" They still had to snip most of it off, all the way up to a little past his shoulders, but at least he still had some of his beautiful hair left over that had managed to stay untouched by both the fire and the medics.

Then Skwisgaar was placed back into the bed while they cleaned his head wound, then they wrapped up a few of them before leaving him in the room for a while by himself. He was just barely conscious, and he stayed that way throughout the whole night, groaning and moaning in pain. Medics made their rounds and kept Skwisgaar somewhat cool without trying to put his body through shock, gave him fluids after a certain period, and eventually gave him an oxygen mask since his breathing had gotten worse.

Sleep was finally beginning to threaten Skwisgaar but his eyes burned too much to close them now. He internally struggled between holding them open and feeling them water that way, or closing them and hoping that he would pass out before the pain became unbearable.

Eventually someone came in, saying something about Skwisgaar finally needing anesthesia because he needed surgery. He was wheeled into a completely new room and this made him panic again, all the way until he was knocked out so that they would work on him in peace.

When next Skwisgaar woke up, he felt a lot better, though still sore and achy. He didn't recall any dreams, or really what had happened before he found himself in that damned hospital room. He blinked with bleary eyes toward the ceiling. The light was much too bright for him.

"Skwis?"

The Swede's eyes darted to the side, letting his vision slowly come into focus. Gods, he hated the smell of sterile equipment and... He raised an eyebrow when he finally managed to focus on Salem's face. Why were their roots blond? He hoped he wouldn't have to eat hospital food again... Gods, that sterile smell was awful. Skwisgaar would shake his head if he could. His mind couldn't concentrate on just one singular thing and it wore him out more than anything else. His body was too stiff for him to move it well yet, however.

Salem gave a gentle smile when they saw Skwisgaar shifting stiffly, trying to get comfortable. "I'll tell the others you're awake."

"W- wait," Skwisgaar managed. His voice was much rougher than it was supposed to be, and it made him grit his teeth. It was like nails on a chalkboard to him. "Wh- what... happens?"

"What happened? Faulty wiring, supposedly. Something in your room caught fire I guess," Salem explained, and their eyes softened. "Most of your things were destroyed, I'm sorry."

"To... ki." Skwisgaar managed as he shut his eyes, his brain slowly remembering the smouldering smoke and the burning flames.

"He's fine, but you both still need to rest and heal," Salem warned the blond, like they were expecting him to jump out of bed to go run to his friend's side. Skwisgaar could only whine at the developing throb from his burns. Salem smiled slightly and got up, disappearing out of the room for a while.

Skwisgaar's eyelids were threatening to fall again when the door popped back open and he was suddenly crowded by band and friends.

"Dooooood," Pickles was the first to say anything, hobbling on drunk legs over and slapping the wall near Skwisgaar's head. "We were told ya had ta stay awake f'r the whooole ding! Dat's so feckin' metal!"

"Ja, w- wells," Skwisgaar muttered, though he didn't really know how to finish that sentence.

Nathan was standing in the corner like he usually did, giving a simple nod toward Skwisgaar's way when their eyes met. Salem resumed their position on the chair, Tobias standing almost behind them and more or less was consumed with whatever was on his phone, probably more out of anxiety. He did look up once to smile at Skwisgaar before he went back to texting.

Toki was of course not there, and unsurprisingly neither was Murderface. Nathalia was oddly missing but then again she seemed to have an attachment toward Toki, so she was probably with him, or just drunk somewhere. Just the thought of that made Skwisgaar feel a little salty, but he really had no reason to feel like that.

Pickles somehow managed to trip over nothing by just standing and ended up falling to the floor. He placed a hand on Skwisgaar's shoulder and spoke with a slur, "Glad yer okie, dough. Yer whole head was on feckin' fire!"

Head... his head. Skwisgaar suddenly bolted upright, ignoring the pull of needles in his arms. "I needs a-" he paused to cough, "-mirrors."

The room went silent and everyone looked a bit cautious and hesitant. There was a smallish hand mirror on one of the counters and Skwisgaar pointed to it, feeling blood dribble down his arm as the needles jerked in his arm. "Gives it, please."

Pickles looked guilty for bringing anything up and tried to diffuse the situation. "Look, it's prebebly not a good idea..."

"Give it!" Skwisgaar demanded in a slightly shaky tone. The fact that he couldn't feel his glorious hair brushing against his exposed back (he was wearing one of those disgusting hospital gowns) had already confirmed his fears, but he had to check for himself.

Nathan was the one to grab it, walking past everyone and picking it up before carefully placing it into Skwisgaar's shaking hand. He took a deep breath and slowly flipped it over, immediately seeing a large bandage around his head that obscured his vision from the spot he really wanted to see. But the fact that there was no flowing mane poking underneath the bandage still told him what he already knew. His hair was gone on one side. He tilted his head, seeing what hair he did have- toward the back and on his other side- was obnoxiously short, and quite dry looking, like hay.

"Holy shits," Skwisgaar mumbled, sadness gnawing at his chest. He knew he was egotistical, but aside from his guitar skills, he mostly took pride in his hair, and now it was practically all gone. It might not even be able to grow back on that one side if a big enough scar was left behind. Another thing he noticed was that the bandage also covered part of his forehead, and another was between his ear and cheek. He would have burn scars on his face, too.

Skwisgaar could only sigh as he dropped the mirror. This just wasn't fair. He had always prided in having perfect, porcelain skin. Sure, some people liked scars and could find him even more attractive, but to him they would be an ugly reminder about a mistake that really shouldn't have happened to begin with.

Nathan, being Nathan, decided to try to cheer the man up in his own way. "It's not as bad as uh, Toki. He has a big burn across his chest, and his ribs are broken."

Skwisgaar pressed his lips into a thin line. This did not make him feel better, at all.

"Can... cans I just be alones for a whiles?" Skwisgaar asked softly. They all prepared to file out of the room when Salem's wrapped arm reminded Skwisgaar of the moment after being pulled out of the fire. It had been Salem who saved him, wasn't it?

"Waits," Skwisgaar spoke as he made a grab for Salem's hand. "I want to talks to yous."

Salem hesitantly sat back down while everyone else left without a complaint, Pickles shutting the door behind him since he was the last one out. Once the two were alone, Salem gave him a questioning look. "What's up?"

"Why did you saves me?" Skwisgaar asked softly. He was genuinely curious, since they weren't particularly close; they were barely co-workers.

Salem shrugged a little in response. "I just felt the need to. I already ran in for Toki, I wasn't going to leave you in there, too."

Skwisgaar blinked and raised an eyebrow. They had saved not just him, but Toki as well? He would be honest in saying that he least expected it out of the smallest one of the group, the one who always looked sickly and somewhat isolated, in their own little bubble. For some reason, he imagined perhaps Pickles or Nathalia or even Nathan to be more of the 'heroic' type- or maybe literally anybody else (except Murderface) but them. Their kindness truly knew no boundaries though, apparently.

"Thank you," Skwisgaar spoke hoarsely. "Nots just for mes."

Salem gave a small nod with a kind smile to go with it. "Was that all you needed?"

"How comes nobody else cames in? No Klokateers?" Skwisgaar wondered, since they were more prepared for the job than either band.

"I kinda got there before them and just ran inside. They were there when I got back out, but I still went back for you before they could stop me." Salem shrugged, a light blush dusting their cheeks. "I wasn't thinking, like a dumb ass."

"A dumb asses who saveds my life," Skwisgaar pointed out. "Even thoughs my hair is alls gones because of its anysway! Maybe I'd rathers die!"

"I'm sorry," Salem apologized despite it not being their fault. "I think you'd look cool if you grew out your one side again and just kept the other shaved. Or you can like, push your hair over there to hide the scar." They shrugged.

Skwisgaar thought to himself. It sounded odd but it might work? If anything, he could just wear a wig or try to figure out a hair transplant thing. His body finally relaxed since seeing his damaged locks. It shouldn't be the end of the world, he had options; after all, he was rich. He nodded to Salem while he thought to himself.

"Well, glad to see you're okay," Salem stated, then noticed the blood that was still dripping down Skwisgaar's arm. They reached to press a button beside the Swede's head, then walked over to the other side, grabbing some tissue from the counter and dabbing the blood away. "They're probably gonna knock you out again after they fix that needle, since you're already stressing your body. Might wanna not do that."

"I does what I wants," Skwisgaar muttered as he watched a medic come in to see what the issue was. He remained silent while Salem explained quickly what happened and like they had predicted, they gave him something to take that was quickly making him drowsy, while they fixed the mess he had made.

Salem gave a small wave before disappearing out of the room, and Skwisgaar shut his eyes with a sigh. Everything was such a mess. It had been since that other band had come to work with Dethklok, but he supposed he couldn't blame them. Truth be told, ever since the year before, nothing was ever really completely 'right'. It was just so much worse now.

Nothing was organized, everything was chaotic. They needed their manager. They probably needed therapy. It was hurting Skwisgaar's head just thinking about it, since he had never thought so hard before.

He wasn't sure when, he just found himself dozing in and out of consciousness, before finally slipping into his dream-state.

~~~

Skwisgaar, being back in his own realm now, felt very calm and collected. His skin was still perfect, there was no burns or pain, and his hair was as long as ever, white and pure. It all felt so dull and boring to him for some reason.

He sat in the middle of his field, drawing circles in the grass with his finger, the occasional bunny bouncing off of his back playfully or something else trying to eat at his hair playfully, which he batted away gently but defensively. Damn these animals, trying to win over his dead heart with cuteness. Skwisgaar saw in the distance the clouds rolling in, and he sighed. Lately there had been more of that, but he didn't care too much this time.

The animals did go into hiding as per usual and Skwisgaar moodily waited for the clouds to pass, but they didn't. After a few strikes of lightning, Skwisgaar became angry and threw the nearest rock at the sky, watching it bounce harmlessly to the ground. Another sharp crack of lightning struck the nearest tree beside Skwisgaar, making him jump back as it caught fire. His eyes widened as flashbacks of just yesterday flooded his mind. He wasn't sure how to fix this; he had never been prepared for this.

A sharp gust thankfully blew against the fire like it was going to put it out, but then something strange happened. The flames simply began to float away, a trail of fire riding on a breeze that seemed to go in a specific direction, weaving through a few trees before dissipating into just a puff of smoke. Skwisgaar raised a brow, feeling a sudden urge to follow where it was headed, though he was sure it would just lead to an endless stream of trees. He had wandered the area plenty of times, and the clearing looked to be the only place with any sort of meaning.

Still, Skwisgaar had nothing else to do since the storm was still happening and all the animals he watched over were hiding (whether they were real animals, ghosts, or figments of his imagination, he didn't know). He stood and walked in the direction where the smoke was still practically floating, suspended in air. It was gone the second he had gotten too close, revealing a small break in the trees that Skwisgaar could perfectly step through.

Skwisgaar gently pulled back a tree branch and stepped into the thick of the forest, weaving between the brush and stumps. The sky was getting increasingly darker, making it difficult for him to maneuver his way through without tripping.

There was a gentle breeze that seemed to tug on Skwisgaar's hair in a certain direction, again making him very defensive. "I'm coming, I'm coming," He muttered, petting his hair softly, protectively.

He was surprised to see a slight glow ahead of him and sped up a little, only to trip and fall into a nearby patch of grass that should've been too tall to even be there. Most of the grass was at a normal, ankle level height, but there were random uneven patches that grew to be half his size.

Skwisgaar stood and wiped the dirt off of him, looking up and nearly jumping out of his skin to see a stranger there, staring at him. He then immediately recognized them as Salem, because and only because they were outrageously tiny, like a little delicate fairy with the attitude of Satan on their face. Skwisgaar gave a nervous laugh to see the ridiculously different sizes between the two. Salem folded their arms across their chest.

"What?" They sulked a little. Their hair, as short as usual, was surprisingly as white as Skwisgaar's and spiked in the front rather than the back this time. An extraordinarily large snapdragon flower was buried in the side of their hair and actually moved like it was alive, snapping its 'jaw' every so often. Its stem wrapped itself around Salem's body and uncurled every so often to flick, like it was a tail.

They wore a silky white dress that barely reached their knees, and it was see-through on the top-half so Skwisgaar could see their muscled chest. Definitely not weak and fragile in this world, though from the surface they looked pretty much the same. Even their eyes were just a normal blue.

"Fashionable," Skwisgaar grinned, and Salem blushed to this.

"You laughed at me." Salem spoke in a different language than what Skwisgaar was using, but he could nonetheless understand them.

"You're just so short. It's adorable." Skwisgaar found himself saying that genuinely, not in a sexual or flirtatious way. Something about seeing them like this made it feel weird to even jokingly flirt.

Salem pouted again, and Skwisgaar grinned in response. The sky was beginning to clear up, so he could study them better. They had just one wing, a soft gray one, and he blinked. "Where's the other wing?"

"Hm? Not sure. I don't remember ever having another one." They then eyed the man. "Why are you in my dream, anyway Skwisgaar?"

"What do you mean? This is my dream-place!"

"What? No!" Salem pointed to where they apparently had come from. "My uh... 'place' is back there. I've never seen you around here."

"Yeah, well mine's back there and I've never seen you here!" Skwisgaar argued, and Salem raised an eyebrow.

"I guess we weren't supposed to meet 'til now."

Skwisgaar remembered Toki's words to him yesterday. "I know why. Toki talked to me after we uh... got blown up." Skwisgaar laughed nervously. "He said he had a message, and now he wants me to send the message to others."

"Is that why you guys blew up in the first place? Why couldn't you just talk to each other normally?" Salem rolled their eyes. "So extra."

"We can't remember once we wake, just like we- or at least I- can't remember these dreams unless we, or I'm asleep."

"Then take a fucking nap instead of kill yourself, shit," Salem shook their head. "Anyway, what do I need to know?"

"Something really dumb. Basically, you have to be prepared. Something's about to happen, which I mean, I could kind of already tell since a lot of things have been happening lately and almost everyone's had a near death experience by now at least. But whatever." Skwisgaar snorted. "And you can't do it by yourself. I guess you have to let other people help, little 'I'll save everyone myself' dildo," Skwisgaar teased, causing Salem to wave at him dismissively. "But otherwise we just need to wait and... prepare."

Salem thought to themselves. "Maybe this is just a way for us all to get closer together, like connected by our souls. Or some gay shit, I dunno." Salem shrugged. "Something needs us to be hyper-aware of our own actions maybe, and watch what happens closely in these passing days. That's all I can think of."

"Maybe," Skwisgaar agreed. "I also don't know, I'm just the messenger boy."

"Aren't we all?" Salem smiled.

"Fair. So now you have to warn someone... who's seen something. Toki didn't really explain too well."

"Ohhh, precious Toki." Salem's face lit up and something warm filled Skwisgaar's heart. It felt odd and he was almost disturbed by such happy emotions, until he saw the grass under their feet growing taller and the trees nearby practically dancing and swaying in the wind. Salem was like a warm little beam of light, giving everything their much needed sun. But they were considered self-sacrificial, weren't they? So... at what cost? Skwisgaar remembered all of those times Salem seemed grumpy for no reason, or emotionally off, or physically sick, while everyone else felt better, happier, healed faster, and even when it was most depressing it wasn't... as depressing as it should have felt. There was always an odd comfort in the air that made people forgive more quickly, such as the situation with Toki and Tobias. Or made people more attuned to their sensitive side, in general. All at the cost of Salem becoming slowly more unhinged because they would just somehow consume that pain, and it had nowhere else to go after that.

Skwisgaar was an idiot, a blind idiot- he hadn't guessed Salem at all while he had been thinking it over in front of Toki. He really didn't have much of an inkling at all but was going to randomly guess, up until realizing Salem had saved him and his brain subconsciously put it together for him when he finally went back to sleep. But still even then, he hadn't seen so many connections until just now.

But what would happen if it overfilled? Would the healing slow down or stop one day? Would they explode a bunch of negative energy they'd been storing up? Skwisgaar eyed the gray wing, still dark against the white, glittery apparel. Was this their villain origin story or something dumb like that? Looking into Salem's eyes, Skwisgaar didn't believe that, but he did for sure believe that if anything it would kill Salem. 

"Listen, you have to tell that person who's seen some things that they can't give up, and they have to talk to, as Toki put it, 'a mean person' about believing in themselves, whatever that means."

Salem thought to themselves silently. "Who's seen some shit? That's almost everyone I know. Maybe Tobias, with his intuition bullshit?"

"He was the one who talked to Toki, I guess."

"Damn." Salem groaned, and Skwisgaar felt a little bad for not prying further information out of Toki so that he could help Salem.

"If it helps, they're all from our bands."

"Umm... I guess... Yeah I dunno, could be Nathan, Nathalia, Murderface..."

Skwisgaar found it odd that Salem had left out a certain someone's name. "Pickles?"

"Him, too."

Skwisgaar crossed his arms over his chest. "Speaking of. Why have you been avoiding him? Did you guys have a fight?"

Salem suddenly found a tree nearby very interesting to look at, as they played with the lower hanging branches. "No..."

"That's what I thought, so why?"

Salem flinched, realizing that they had been cornered and couldn't back out of this now. "I'm just... going through some things."

"So is Pickles," Skwisgaar replied, crossing his arms over his chest. "He's BEEN going through shit for a while."

Salem hung their head guiltily. "Yeah..."

"Just do me a favor." Skwisgaar laid a hand on their shoulder. "Don't hurt him." They lifted their head to stare up at him with wide eyes. "He's been through a lot, he deserves to finally relax and be happy." Skwisgaar pursed his lips. "Even though Dethklok isn't very..."

"Mature?"

"I was thinking, say eh... 'emotionally available', but sure." Skwisgaar rolled his eyes, and Salem gave a small amused smile. "We're not mature about our feelings-"

"Almost at all."

"But- hey, watch it." Skwisgaar shook his head when Salem gave a small giggle. "Your singer's been on a drinking binge since the other night, and you distance yourself way too often, don't start with me. I don't even know about Tobias because he never talks."

"Woooooow, okay, personal attacks," Salem stated, but didn't seem actually upset about it. "Anyway, please continue."

"Hmph. Anyway, we still care about him and we don't want him getting hurt anymore. I know you probably don't mean to, but..."

Salem went back to looking at the ground, twirling a leaf from their snapdragon with their finger, and didn't answer.

"He's been fucked up... for a while. And he was losing interest in connecting with others." Skwisgaar remembered all the times Pickles just kept staying in his room since last year, blowing people off, not really all there since he was too drunk or high to care about anything. "He started getting social again before you guys came, but even more now that you guys... no. since  you've  been here. He really likes you." Skwisgaar sighed. "He even started being clingy and loveable, something he's never done before. Which I can tell has been smothering you- but he's got good intentions."

"I... I'm not worried about him having bad intentions," Salem admitted. "I just... I don't like to get close to people. And I don't want to..."

"To what?"

Salem shook their head. "I'll explain another time. I'm not trying to upset him, I just want my space..."

"Well, it looks like you're just playing with his feelings, so next time maybe explain to him?" Skwisgaar suggested. Salem winced and nodded.

"...I'll try. I'm not good at talking, either."

"Of course not."

"Plus I won't remember this conversation and I am a little slow in the real world."

"That's more reasonable."

Salem scratched the back of their head awkwardly, and Skwisgaar made it a point to acknowledge the hair and attire. "What's with the color difference? You seriously look like a fairy, even though you dress like a gay little emo normally. Also, a dress thing?"

Salem shrugged with an annoyed flush. "I just woke up like this, I guess it's a nice change of pace. WIthout the tattoos and shit, too." They were indeed as bare as a newborn baby. Well, except for...

Skwisgaar pointed to Salem's colorful tattoo still on their chest, that everyone in Dethklok had seen by now but nobody could figure out what it was, and they covered it with their hand protectively. "It seriously looks like a kid's drawing. You're not gonna explain that to me?"

"Maybe one day... but not today," Salem explained softly as they patted their chest, overwhelming sadness falling over their face.

"Fair." Skwisgaar didn't want to pry too hard, but he could almost sit in Salem's shoes and just nearly feel the overwhelming amount of grief and depression radiating off of them. Their looks held a very gentle, protective, and close to parental instinct in their eyes. 

The silence seemed to stretch on forever, until Skwisgaar tilted his head. "Have you figured out who you need to talk to?"

Salem's lips twitched into a half-smile, though it seemed dry and lifeless. "I'm debating it in my head. Only two people left, but four to choose from..." Salem pondered. "It would make sense for me to talk to Nathalia, and she really has seen a lot of shit in her life, but... I dunno, I guess I'll just wait for an opportunity to strike and go from there. There really isn't a lot to go on."

"No, there isn't," Skwisgaar agreed. "I think you'll find a way, since I didn't really expect to be talking to you, and yet here you are. In MY forest."

"E-fucking-xcuse you? MY forest."

"Mine."

"Mine."

"No, mine!"

"Mine, you shit!"

They kept going back and forth until the clouds had fully lifted and a bright light beamed on their face, temporarily blinding them. The last thing Skwisgaar saw while dropping to his knees, was a pair of chains on Salem's legs that seemed to be phasing in and out of their reality (and definitely hadn't been there before), then everything fell back into the darkness that he was growing to know so well.

~~~

If Skwisgaar wasn't being babied by Pickles, Dethklok's own 'parental figure' apparently, he was being watched over by Salem, and very rarely Nathan. They made their rounds regularly, circulating between checking on the Swede or Toki and seeing if either needed anything. Skwisgaar imagined originally that Nathalia was too busy watching over Toki to visit him, which again he took to heart, until he had asked Salem and they admitted that only Pickles had seen her recently, since she almost never came out of her room as of late.

Skwisgaar figured it had to have been due to the obvious embarrassment of her very shitty family members calling her just to try and ruin her birthday; also opening old wounds about her father that nobody really understood except seemingly Tobias and Salem. The latter had made it a point though to not ask for any details and just let Nathalia sort things out herself, since she didn't like help or to talk when she wasn't ready and would most likely lash out, even accidentally. Since Skwisgaar had seen that behavior from her before, he didn't challenge the idea.

After about five days of this, Skwisgaar was well enough to get out of bed and walk around. He had gotten surgery on his chest and waist over some punctured organs, but they were healing generally well. There were mild burns on his feet so he did walk carefully, but most were just slightly red and sore to the touch. He decided that because he could move and Toki couldn't yet, he would go visit the rhythm guitarist this time.

Salem helped Skwisgaar down the halls since most of his body was still sensitive and vulnerable. He asked about any information that Salem had about Dethklok's manager; almost no progress had been made, except for a possible lead to his whereabouts due to the call from Nathalia's siblings. Abigail finally began to encourage some of the members to continue working on their music, so Nathan had gone back to writing in his notes instead of helping Abigail with the search, and supposedly Salem was starting to find a rhythm in their beats that might be good (which Nathan agreed seemed fine for now).

Salem knocked before entering, and faltered in their steps to see Pickles in the room with Toki, causing Skwisgaar to walk into them.

"Shit, sorry," Salem muttered as they re-balanced Skwisgaar and helped him inside, closing the door behind them. Pickles had glanced over once and was now turned back around, staring heavily at Toki's obviously drugged face. Skwisgaar frowned, not liking the tension. He had no idea what had happened between the two but whatever it was, it hung thickly in the air like a fog.

Salem sat down quietly in the chair a bit away from Pickles, who gave them a pained, longing look. Skwisgaar would probably never admit it, not even to himself, but he cared about his friend and he hated seeing him look so wounded. Why couldn't they just make up, whatever was bothering them?

Toki was awake but he was a bit loopy, so he immediately giggled upon seeing a close-up of Skwisgaar's patched head. "You ams the balds!"

Skwisgaar sputtered with shock at his words and ended up glaring down at the man. "Shuts up! We don'ts talks about thats!"

Toki giggled again, further irritating his friend who stood there pouting angrily. Toki's hair was slightly shorter too, but luckily he seemed to have no burn spots on his head that needed medical attention. Skwisgaar did notice that he was shirtless, his entire chest and waist wrapped in gauze. There was also a deep cut on his cheek that had been stitched up, so he wondered if he would have a scar just like Skwisgaar.

There was an obvious wheezing coming from Toki, and he had to stop laughing after a bit. He tried to discreetly hold his side, his shallow breaths loud and shaky. The young man was also still on oxygen and Skwisgaar deep down felt bad. He had been so consumed with his looks, that he honestly didn't realize he got away with a lot less than Toki did.

"Why am you always gettinks hurts?" Skwisgaar finally asked with exasperation as he sat down between Salem and Pickles. Toki rolled his eyes at the Swede and batted at him with a weak hand.

"Yous ones to talks!"

Skwisgaar scoffed. "Stills not as much as yous. It ams likes yous tryings to get youselfs killed!"

"He's just a bit accident prone," Salem smiled as they reached over to pat Toki's foot, who giggled in response. "I gotta go do something real quick but I'll be back to take you to your room, Skwisgaar."

"I'll take him," Pickles ended up mumbling.

"Oh... Okay." Salem seemed a little surprised and unsure. "See ya then, guys."

Skwisgaar gave them a swift nod while Toki waved happily to Salem, before they disappeared back into the hall and closed the door behind them. The room fell silent except for Toki's sharp inhales. Skwisgaar watched Toki reach for his hand, hesitated, then re-directed to Pickles, who was shocked out of his thoughts when he was grabbed at. He complied and allowed Toki to wiggle the drummer's fingers like it was the most interesting thing on the planet. Skwisgaar felt slightly offended that he wasn't chosen, until he remembered just before the accident, when he rejected Toki's hand holding, and felt a little bad.

For someone as sweet as him, he could certainly hold a grudge. Skwisgaar didn't necessarily blame the other though, since he had been acting pretty rude about the contact. He was just still feeling odd about hanging out with Toki after that kiss, even though plenty had happened in between, that it should have been wiped out of both of their minds.

The door opened again quickly, and Skwisgaar saw Salem poke their head in shyly. "Am you already dones with whatevers dildoes things you wents to do?" Skwisgaar questioned.

"Not really... I was stopped by Abigail. We're having a meeting and since Toki can't get out of bed, we're all meeting here."

Wonderful. The room was decent-sized but Skwisgaar knew it would still be much too crowded. Salem also figured this, and he could tell because they decided to stand by the nearest corner to claim it as their own.

Everyone began to file in slowly, Tobias and Nathalia being the first ones there. Nathalia stumbled her way toward Toki and began to coo over him like he was a baby, and he didn't seem to mind at all since he adored any sort of attention. Tobias went to stand near Salem in the back but not right beside them since they seemed very protective of their corner.

Nathan came in next with Abigail, looking slightly disgruntled. It must not have been good news, or at least nothing to do with Charles, which was disappointing but not unsurprising. He once again decided to stand beside the entrance in his usual stance, with his arms folded across his chest.

Finally Murderface came in last, dragging his feet and closing the door slowly behind him. His eyes darted to every face in the room, onto the floor, then back at everyone and back to the floor, realizing that none of the people in this room were a friendly face to him. Even Skwisgaar, surely a background friend to Pickles and barely an acquaintance to Salem, held resentment for the man more than his normal level, and turned his head away from him.

Abigail cleared her throat and walked to the middle of the room to address everyone, keeping her voice calm and smooth to keep from hurting Toki's head but loud enough to be heard. "So I have news, and it's probably not the kind you're going to want to hear."

"Is it aboot...?"

"No, it's not about Charles." Abigail took a deep breath and let it out in one big sigh. "Aside from Nathalia, Tobias, and Salem, your families are all going to be coming as a little get-together." There was a chorus of groans and protests from everyone except Salem and Tobias; even Nathalia randomly started booing. "Trust me, I tried to get them to cancel, but apparently their stubborn streaks are as bad as... never mind."

Toki hadn't physically started shaking over his family since the last time his father was alive and he had to go see him, but nonetheless his face fell into his normal blank stare at the mention of family since he still didn't like his mother. Skwisgaar himself wanted nothing to do with his own mom, who had neglected him since he was young, but he supposed he couldn't complain as much as the rest. Still, he was very embarrassed to be around her and hoped she wouldn't get flirtatious toward anyone's father.

Nathan was about in the same boat of just not wanting to be embarrassed; Skwisgaar could see it in the brute's eyes. His relationship with his mother as far as Skwisgaar knew was a bit strained from some of the outrageous things that would come out of her mouth. He was on better terms with his father; claiming to love his dad,  but Nathan still didn't want to be seen hanging out with him sometimes- depending on what they were doing.

Skwisgaar wasn't all that surprised that Nathalia didn't have any family come to visit. He wasn't sure about Tobias, who seemed content. The man was a mystery by himself, let alone anything personal about him. However, he hadn't reacted negatively, rather he seemed to be thinking to himself, so it must have been a sign that he was okay with not seeing his family, whatever family he did have, if any at all. Murderface was grumbling, but Skwisgaar did reason with himself silently that if a self-loathing gremlin of a human had to deal with two more of himself, it wasn't a shock that they would be pissed off about the situation.

Salem was an odd case, because they didn't look unhappy but didn't look happy either about the news. Skwisgaar wasn't sure if they just had family they didn't talk to anymore, or if all of their family was dead. Either way it was depressing seeing them look kind of down, but also Skwisgaar felt a pit of jealousy since they wouldn't have to deal with any annoying mother trying to show someone her tits in front of her son. That was, until he focused on their face and saw a dark look spreading across their features. Dark and sad and almost haunting, like something was hanging over their head, an axe or guillotine maybe. This unnerved him, so he turned his head to the last person.

Pickles seemed the most affected by it; he suddenly went super pale, paler than normal, and clutched at the sides of his chair. He was slightly lurched forward like he was prepared to throw up. Several noticed this and Abigail pulled a trash bin toward the red-head so he could vomit out all his stomach's contents. He panted after he was finished and asked quietly, "Is it just my parents, 'r...?"

"Your brother said he wanted to join, unfortunately."

Pickles's family wasn't physically abusive like Toki's; they weren't 'whores' and non-existent like Skwisgaar's; they weren't embarrassing or annoying like Nathan's and Murderface's; no, they were their own, separate type of fucked up, to put it lightly. They were emotionally and verbally abusive to their son, the one who did stupid regular jack-off things just to try and make them proud, even though it always backfired on him. While praising and coddling their other son, an ex-con and general scheming dirtbag.

Skwisgaar also vaguely remembered Murderface trying to cause Pickles issues last year. He wasn't sure if they stopped sharing the information because nobody was listening to the family who 'fucked chickens' by internet standards, or if they stopped in the hopes that the pictures would stop circulating if they relented first, but either way nobody had really heard from the drummer's family since then, including Pickles himself.

So Skwisgaar supposed that they were pretty decent sized pieces of shit that Pickles shouldn't have to deal with. But if he had a choice, the Swede figured Pickles would allow for them to still come anyway, because of his never-ending thirst for their approval. Even if the drummer's face said otherwise, currently.

If everyone or at least almost everyone had so many issues with their family, what made them think that having get-togethers (and so often; at least once a year which was too much) was such a good idea? Couldn't they see that they were just being nuisances at this point?

Abigail waited for the complaints to die down. "As it stands, there's nothing I can do about it."

"C- cants you tells thems to fucks off or somethings...?" Toki mumbled through his oxygen mask, his expression changing from blank and apathetic to a little worried. "Tells thems we ams sicks with... the summer colds! It ams awfuls!"

Everyone in Dethklok agreed in unison while Tobias blinked in confusion and Salem facepalmed lightly (Nathalia was apparently not aware of anything to notice the exchange). Skwisgaar huffed at their lack of reaction. The summer cold was the second worst thing he'd ever have to deal with, the first being losing his hair to some damned fire.

Even Abigail looked slightly flabbergasted by such solemn and serious faces over the summer cold, but she didn't comment on it. "I doubt your families would take that seriously, guys. I'm sorry but they're very insistent about it, and I don't have a well enough excuse to sway them that won't give away too much information of the real predicaments going on. Half of them don't take your jobs that seriously so I can't even use the idea of you guys just being busy. So within the next two or three or so days, they'll start coming and then the party will begin the day after they all get here. We're not sure when all of them are going to be here, but-"

"Mayhbe if one of them diesch, the pahrty will never schtart," Murderface said thoughtfully, and Nathan nodded vigorously.

"I cans kills my mothers," Skwisgaar offered, and Abigail just gawked at him.

"Skwisgaar-"

"Nos nos it ams okays, it ams a noble sacrificials that needs to be mades."

"A true hero. I'll get the shovel," Nathan spoke while pushing himself off of the wall so he could head to his room, essentially to actually find his shovel and go help Skwisgaar commit murder.

"Nathan, no, get back here- Skwisgaar, don't you dare follow him!"

Skwisgaar scoffed as he struggled to stand, then winced as he pulled a stitch in his stomach or something, almost dropping to his knees. His skin paled and then greened tremendously. Pickles helpfully offered the questionable trash can to the man rather than help him back up, but luckily Salem swiftly took action and helped Skwisgaar settle down, pressing one of the small hospital pillows to his stomach.

"Take it easy," Salem murmured. "You can commit murder another time."

Skwisgaar gave a small whine in return. "Pickle, takes over fors me. Defends my legacy!"

"Yew got it, dood."

"Bruh, what legacy?" Salem stared.

"The legacies of gettinks to actualitys doings somethings withouts beings monitored like big baby dildoes!"

"Jesus fucking-"

"Let Salem do it, dey 'pperently done it before." The silence was sudden and ominous to follow the startling words that tumbled out of his bitter throat. As soon as those words left him, he immediately looked like he regretted it. He avoided everyone's eyes, most especially Salem's, as they stared at him in horror. Skwisgaar gave a slow blink and looked between Salem and Pickles. What was the red-head talking about?

"What." Nathan grunted, his stony eyes studying between the two drummers and Nathalia who suddenly seemed much too interested in one of the fake plants near Toki's head.

"...Not'in', inside joke," Pickles managed with a weak smile, but Salem was not cooperating with the obvious lie, just falling into the nearest chair and staring at the wall with eyes wide open and that haunting look coming back to overshadow their features.

"Salems?" Skwisgaar questioned quietly. Everyone was staring at them, in worry, in confusion, in sympathy, in slight fear. "Salems, it... it ams okays..." Why was he saying that? Of course it wasn't okay, if Salem had actually killed someone before. But then again, it could have been an accident... or maybe they had deserved it. Dethklok wasn't above accidental or deserving murder. Salem just seemed too sweet and timid to kill, so it came as a shock.

Salem lifted their head slowly. There was a tense caution in the air. Abigail swiftly walked over to them, hands clasped on their shoulders, and seemingly blocking their expression from everyone's sight. This made them go rigid and then limp, resuming their tense staring toward the wall.

"M'lords and ladies," A Klokateer spoke hesitantly as he stepped into the room, though mostly addressing Nathan and Abigail. He was either wary because of the heavy tension in the room, or because of what he had to say, but either way it fit the angsty aesthetic circulating the room. "There's a call that wants to come through on screen."

"Not now."

"It's not from anyone's family." Skwisgaar felt that was more to soothe any fears that maybe Nathalia's siblings were trying to re-contact her.

Abigail sighed. "Let it go through."

They wheeled one of the T.Vs in the room that wasn't already playing some show for Toki, then pressed a button, letting the screen flicker on. After a moment, they all gasped.

Chapter Text

The Night of The Birthday Party...

Salem was worried about their friend, but there was very little they could do. Nathalia had always been hard-headed, and always refused to accept help for her problems. She preferred to drown them out with someone else's problems, or with booze and drugs, and Salem couldn't really disagree with their choices since Salem had gotten addicted to their own poison of choice.

On top of that, Salem was still feeling the hurt from her attacks toward them, so they would be lying if they said they weren't feeling some stubbornness, too. Not enough to ignore her, especially on her birthday, but enough for them to be able to justify to themselves about not getting involved, even if they were worried about the situation.

Her siblings were disgusting and petty, and so many times Salem wanted to chime in. Maybe if they had been overstimulated, overwhelmed with such a harsh reality, they wouldn't have had any brain power left to gaslight her. They knew it was her mom that had killed her dad, from the stories Nathalia described to them in detail.

Now they were drunk and outside as per usual, watching Nathalia fighting herself because she always resorted to ridiculous methods of humor, whatever it took to block the thoughts seeping into her head. Salem couldn't say they blamed her, since they were the same exact way.

This time though, a different feeling was washing over Salem. They gripped Pickles's side, his hot breath on their cheek and neck as he drunkenly dropped his forehead against them. Pickles had very much enjoyed their interaction from earlier and seemed to be silently begging for more, but too shy to initiate anything.

Salem did find this slightly odd, since they had never seen Pickles as any type of shy, but they supposed that when one really liked someone, things had a tendency to change.

Salem was never a clingy person, and despite being sexual by nature, they never had many partners and the ones they did have always seemed to be the same type of fuckboy that they thought could be fixed with enough love. So the second they had all woken up from that attack on Dethklok during the concert, and Pickles did nothing but monitor them and baby them, they felt skittish, weird. Unsafe.

Getting too attached was the last thing Salem really wanted to do. They had never gotten too close to anybody except Nathalia and Tobias, and a relationship with their idol was a big step from teenage friends. The idea frightened them, so they did what they were used to and tried to emotionally distance themselves, even going as far as to try and avoid Pickles, just politely. Pickles didn't mention it, but he would give Salem unsure glances every time they shied away from his affection and protective stances.

Except for the few times that Murderface came on-scene and Salem automatically hid behind Pickles, who was more than happy to keep them 'safe' by deflecting the situation or treating everything normally so that the fireplace would stay unlit for another day.

Now though; Salem was drunk, allowing themselves to feel the emotions they had been bottling up. Pickles obviously liked them, wanted to be near them, touched them, while allowing themself to be touched... They were flattered by it, and in their drunk state, ignored any anxiety and fear of abandonment they would have normally felt.

Salem and Pickles ended up stumbling through the halls to get back to their designated rooms, the others long forgotten since most had fallen asleep outside and Nathalia herself decided to disappear somewhere. Their hands gripped together like they were both afraid of the other letting go. The jokes and laughter slowly ebbed away, replaced by a tense silence once they had reached Salem's room.

"I guess, goodnight," Pickles spoke softly, reaching down to peck Salem on the cheek, who blushed in their already-flushed state. Why weren't they stopping him from walking away? Shouldn't they be taking direct action? Inviting Pickles inside? Did they just not want to be alone now, in their vulnerable state where affection was actually wanted by them for once?

"Unless," Pickles had added with a twinkle in his eye, though Salem was too consumed by their thoughts to notice really. Pickles showed obvious disappointment as he began to walk away, until Salem came to. Oh? Oh.

"Wait! Sorry, I was... I be drunk," Salem slurred as they reached needily for his hand. "I got lost... in my head."

Pickles couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculous statement. "'T's okie, but I mean I don't GOTTA come in..."

"I want you to," Salem insisted as they gripped the man's hand tightly and dragged him inside, shoving the door open a bit forcefully. "Let's hang out for a bit."

"Aggressive," Pickles teased, the twinkle back due to amusement, or maybe he was turned on, Salem couldn't tell. They couldn't imagine they were actually attractive to the drummer, who had probably seen a million bodies, especially in his bed... Salem flinched lightly to this but didn't allow Pickles to see.

The plants were back to normal in their room, since they had been previously wilting for whatever reason. The room was clean, much cleaner than Pickles's even though he had made it a point to clean it vigorously and try to pull the stains out whenever Salem entered that room.

Salem really wasn't sure on what to do so they just kind of sat down and immediately pulled Pickles toward them, which he took as a sign to sit on their lap. So he did, and Salem found themselves not minding when they looked up into Pickles's gentle eyes. 

Salem found themselves pressing their lips against his quivering, heated neck, and smiled, nibbling on his skin lightly. Pickles could only wrap his arms around Salem's back, clinging to them while they explored his neck and chest with their lips.

After a few minutes, Salem decided to grip Pickles's hips and flipped the both of them over so that they were on top. Pickles pulled at Salem's shirt, shakily unbuttoning the front and then pulling it open, exposing their chest. Usually they would feel self-conscious, but a shy smile played on their lips when Pickles's jaw hung loosely as his eyes raked over their lean body. Fingers dragged across their chest, then stopped hesitantly at Salem's small scars just under their pecs, feeling the rough skin gently.

This time, Salem began to feel unsure and shied away from the touch, causing Pickles to look up at them and into their eyes. "Sorry," Pickles whispered, "I jus'..." He abruptly reached to pull his own shirt off, revealing his softer torso. He placed his own hands near his chest where Salem could see two identical scars on either side, much like Salem.

"...I'm trans," Pickles whispered. "But... I... my body isn't..." Pickles waa stammering an explanation. "It's not... like yers."

"That's okay, Pickles," Salem murmured as they began to stroke Pickles's cheek softly. "It's fine just the way it is." Pickles blushed deeply and leaned forward to hide in Salem's neck, who resorted to playing with his hair. There was no actual spoken reply to them, so they asked softly, "Are you alright?"

Pickles didn't answer, but did grip their shoulders and pulled them down on top of him, their bare chests now pressed together. Pickles was physically trembling, concerning Salem but didn't want to pressure him, so they held him until he had finally stilled with a trembling inhale.

"'M sorry, I'm not good at dis," Pickles admitted, arms around Salem and stroking their bare back. "Stupid gay feelings."

"Same, you're fine," Salem laughed and said softly, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Let's just... go with the flow."

Pickles pulled back a little so he could give a cautious kiss to Salem's lips again. Salem cupped his cheek in their hand, holding him there while they slid their tongue across his bottom lip and nibbled lightly at it.

Pickles was a mess of contradictions; passionate yet awkward, clingy yet skittish, shy yet loud. Salem found him to be the most intricately beautiful thing they'd ever had the privilege to be with, and this is what terrified them the most.

The Day After...

When next Salem woke, they found themself completely naked still, body draped over an equally nude Pickles who was snoring softly.

Salem wasn't sure why they freaked out; or what part of this scenario meant that they had somehow fucked up. Maybe it was because they had been too drunk. Maybe Salem just felt like they had taken advantage of Pickles during a vulnerable moment. Maybe even, they were just scared that this meant that this was real now- their feelings were real. And everyone knew how much Salem hated that type of reality to crash through the ceiling and land on the top of them.

Salem pulled themself off of Pickles gently, but couldn't just walk out of the room and leave him there, in their bed. So they gathered all of their shower products and snuck to the bathroom to shower, washing away the night's 'sins'.

Ugh, they hated that word. Because of the way it was tainted, by the same people who had tainted Salem's emotional stability and prevented them from properly committing sometimes. They were a mess, because of two people who had decided to forever ruin them...

Salem didn't realize they had been shaking until their knees nearly buckled from weakness. Why did they have to be like this? Everything should have been fine. They got what they wanted; Pickles sprawled out on their bed; his affection and attention. And yet...

A small, almost timid knock startled them out of their thoughts. With a clear of their throat, Salem called out,"Y- yeah?"

The door popped open and Salem poked their head out from behind the shower curtain to see Pickles shyly stepping into the room, wearing just his underwear. "C'n I go pee?"

"Sure. I mean you're already in here," Salem gave a high-pitched, nervous laugh. They weren't sure if they were having a panic attack or not, but it felt like they were going to from the way their chest hurt and heart pounded.

Pickles had given a half-smile but also shot them an odd look when he took a seat on the toilet. "Yew good...?"

"Yeah, still a lil tired and fucked up," Salem said half-truthfully as they ducked their head back into the shower to wash out the conditioner they had used. Their roots were coming in, showing off a small white line down the middle of their head, making them look skunky. They didn't feel much up for re-coloring it any time soon.

PIckles fell silent for a bit before he spoke honestly, "Yew weren't dere when I woke up, so I got a little scared, heh..."

Oh, Pickles was one of those people. What kind, Salem, the normal kind? You literally abandoned him in your bed, they argued with themselves silently, making them feel guilty.

"Sorry, I just needed a shower to clear my head. Hangover." Not particularly a lie.

"Yew, a hangover? Yew didn' even drink dat much," Pickles teased. His voice was closer, spiking Salem's anxiety. They poked their head out to study him, who had been inching forward, possibly in preparation to pull back the curtain. Pickles blinked sweetly toward them, a small smile playing on his lips.

Before Salem could say anything, Pickles reached over to plant his lips against Salem's. Salem froze for a moment, before closing their eyes and allowing Pickles to kiss them- all the while listening to their brain sound off warning signals over something so innocent.

Pickles finally pulled away to press his forehead to theirs. Salem could feel themselves shaking again, something that Pickles noticed as well. "Yew sure yew okie?"

"I don't feel well," Salem mumbled, keeping their eyes on the floor. "Just gimme a minute."

"Oh, okie." Pickles looked unsure of what to do with himself. "Should I leave...?"

Salem didn't want Pickles to think he had to fully leave Salem's room, even if they low-key wished he would, so they forced a smile on their face. "You can just chill on my bed and wait for me if you want."

Pickles seemed to relax slightly since he hadn't been completely dismissed. He gave a small nod and stepped out of the bathroom, shutting the door quietly behind him. Salem practically dropped to the tub floor, accidentally inhaling water from how heavy they began to breathe.

After a small coughing fit, Salem stood back up on trembling legs, finishing their shower as slowly as they possibly could, to prolong any future conversations with Pickles. It wasn't as if they regretted sleeping with him for who he was; they were normally like this with anyone they had sex with. It was just now twice as bad, because it was their idol that they had slept with...

Okay, so maybe in a way it WAS because of who he was... But he hadn't done anything wrong. It was all Salem, who was overthinking and afraid for probably no reason.

They felt like an extreme fuckboy right now.

They dried off as quickly as they could and threw on a pair of shorts for once with a plaid tank top. As much as they wanted to hide in the safety of thick, warm clothes, they were all dirty and needed to be washed.

Reluctantly, Salem left the bathroom, seeing Pickles fully clothed from the outfit he had worn the night before. He was staring at the floor, drumming his fingers on his thighs as he thought.

Salem stood there awkwardly until they were noticed when Pickles tilted his head and caught their eye. He gave a sweet smile that practically melted their heart, but when he lifted his arms shyly, Salem felt rooted to the ground, panic welling up in their chest. They subconsciously took a step back, not unseen by Pickles, who flashed them a confused, hurt look.

"Salem...?"

Noises outside disrupted the moment, thankfully. Feet were scrabbling against the floor and people were shouting, mostly in anger and annoyance from what Salem could tell. They honestly didn't mean to leave Pickles there without warning, but their curiosity got the better of them as they yanked the door open and stepped out, watching Klokateers shouting orders to medics or vice versa, they couldn't really tell; there was just a lot of yelling.

They eventually found out about Tobias's heart attack and Toki passing out, so they anxiously waited for them both to wake, somewhat obviously avoiding Pickles's eyes and refusing to get close enough for him to touch them.

It did not go unnoticed by anyone except maybe Nathalia, who was too drunk to really process anything, and also seemed to be busy herself, acting very disdainful over Murderface's mere existence. Which wasn't that surprising, except for the way she acted. Salem noticed such small details like her uncomfortable eye shifting, or general twitching, or the forced laughter as some sort of cover-up. Salem was a bit too preoccupied with their own personally-made drama to focus on her, though.

Then the two finally woke and Salem figured hopefully by then that everything would go back to normal- that Salem would by then figure out how to look Pickles in the eye again, or make conversation with him, and maybe their friends would stop trying to die every two seconds. That was, until just an hour later.

Salem once again heard a few strange noises as they wandered the hallways aimlessly, not really sure of what to do with themselves anymore. They rolled their eyes and debated on ignoring whatever was happening, until a popping sound made them raise their eyebrow. It sounded like some sort of firework going off.

Well it turned out that that firework was Skwisgaar's entire room going up in flames. Salem had wandered slowly toward the hallway in slight curiosity, becoming horrified when smoke began to rush out of the room and cloud the entire section. Images passed fleetingly in their head, almost making them go numb and stiff, until a small voice in their head reminded them that their friends might be in there, not...

"Fuck!" Salem could hear people running toward the disaster from a distance, but their nerves went into hypermode and they ran into the burning, ashy room by themselves. If anybody was in there, they probably didn't have much time.

With their hands shielding their face from the smoke, they blindly stumbled into the room, immediately seeing Toki's limp body covered in fire. They crouched over his body and beat at the flames to get them to die out, when a chunk of wood came falling on top of the both of them, though only scraping Salem a little, while Toki was once again consumed by fire, ash, and wood.

"Fucking Christ," Salem hissed in panic, using all their strength to flip the wood onto its side and then grabbing Toki by the arms. They could vaguely hear people outside of the room and they hoped nobody planned to come inside yet, since everything was still falling to pieces and it was dangerous.

Salem then saw Skwisgaar toward the back of the room, the flames eating away at his scalp and face, and began to panic again. Of course he would be in here too; why wouldn't he be? With as much power as they could muster, they managed to pull Toki out of the burning room, who was beginning to awaken unfortunately.

Toki's wails of pain were not going to be something Salem would ever forget, at least not easily. Their lungs burned and their muscles ached as they managed to pass Toki over to the nearest person, who happened to be Pickles. As he set Toki down gently, he reached to grasp at Salem's arm when seeing them turn to go back inside, but they were much too quick.

Back in the room, Salem managed to reach Skwisgaar and saw him weakly reaching for help before falling to the ground from the position he had placed himself in. Salem managed to grab a hold of him and pull him out of the room, letting him collapse to the floor once they were far enough away from the flames.

Salem, too, dropped to the ground in exhaustion, only to be attacked by a worried Pickles, who also seemed to be yelling at them for being so reckless, but they couldn't really concentrate on that right now. They saw Tobias being questioned by an erratic medic, who then dragged the poor guy toward Salem and asked him if he could help apply medicine to some of their minor wounds so that it would get done quicker, and Skwisgaar and Toki could have all of the medic's undivided attention afterward.

Salem flinched to the treatment as well as Pickles's clinginess, but didn't complain. Tobias finished patching up Salem while the medic took off toward the direction Skwisgaar and Toki had been taken. Pickles didn't let go of them until Tobias politely asked him to, so that he could place a patch on a scratch of theirs.

Pickles carefully let go, like he was expecting Salem to run away, and that's when they finally looked into his eyes. They were full of worry, but also pain and deep sadness, and a little bit of fear. Salem looked away, the same emotions on their face.

Life didn't seem real to Salem for the next day and was simply going through the motions. They craved alcohol; no, they craved more than that, but they refused to take part in that mess. Instead they wandered through the halls, refusing most food and only sipping tap water from a glass by their personal sink. They were always like this during withdrawals but it was obviously more than that at this point.

Eventually Salem tried to meditate, which resulted in a strange nap. They swore they had a dream about Skwisgaar but couldn't remember it the second they had woken up. Then they wandered some more, visited Skwisgaar, and did their best to avoid Pickles, until the man had no more patience left to deal with this game of hide-and-seek.

Pickles ended up cornering Salem one of the days that they were heading to Skwisgaar's room. Salem, who hadn't eaten well or slept well, wasn't immediately startled by his appearance, until they noticed the look of pure fury in Pickles's eyes as he waited impatiently at the end of the hall. Salem slowed to an unsure stop, eyeing Pickles with wariness.

"Why da feck have yew been avoidin' me?" Pickles demanded, his eyes burning holes into Salem's head. "What da feck did I do?!"

Salem winced at the loudness of Pickles's voice and the consistent steely gaze. "I- I..."

"Feckin' tell me! Ugly, whoreish, did I smell, is it 'cause I'm baldin', what?!" Pickles practically shouted, and all of his pain seemed to release in that one moment when tears began to stream down his face. He looked so betrayed and hurt, his lips quivering, his eyes red and swollen and bloodshot from both tears and alcohol. Quiet sobs finally broke through and he started sniffling while continuing to glare at Salem, who could do nothing but guiltily, and silently, stare at him.

"A- am I not good enough?" Pickles's voice was soft and broken as he peered at Salem through wet lashes with his head low to the ground. "Am I some... tainted sleb of meat?" He self-consciously wrapped his arms around his own stomach like he was trying to comfort himself. Teardrops fell from his swollen cheeks and onto the floor as he tried to regain control of himself.

"N- no, Pickles..." It really wasn't Pickles that was the problem, and Salem knew this. They were just terrified of getting close to anybody... but they had accidentally hurt Pickles in the process, because they had been stupid enough to believe that the man wasn't that attached to them, and that he would grow out of this 'phase'. As if they couldn't see Pickles's look of adoration every single time their eyes met any other time. Even now, they were filled with so much pain but also longing.

"I'm just not what yew expected..."

"That's not it..."

"Den what is it? 'Cause my body's been a problem m'whole life 'n' I jus' wanna know exactly what makes me some throwaway toy!"

Salem bit their lip hard enough to start drawing blood.

"Stop, you're not a fucking toy, I just... I got scared, so I-"

"Yew got scared." Pickles's cold laugh was like an electrical shock to Salem's heart. "I open up tew yew, 'n' yer da one scared when yew just decide to abandon me."

Salem shook their head, even though guilt was gnawing at their insides. They really had attempted to abandon Pickles. The red-head had begun to take several steps back in preparation to possibly leave, and panic rose in their chest. "It's not like that. I like you Pickles, a lot. I'm sorry, okay? I'm just fucked up and I got scared of getting close and hurting you-"

"Tew late for dat-"

"-Or you hurting m- I know... I'm sorry." Salem couldn't run from this or deflect the situation like they normally did; they couldn't pretend like they hadn't royally screwed up. They knew they did, even with it being based on a very skewed idea of protecting themselves as well as Pickles, they knew.

"No, finish yer sentence. Yew t'ought I was gonna hert yew? What part o'me screamed I was a danger to ya? Do tell." Pickles's face grew angry again at the mere thought, and Salem realized they had no answer to this, at all. There was nothing, no evidence, no proof, just Salem's angry thoughts constantly hissing to them that Pickles would either abandon them or that they would end up hurting him, either way leading to a toxic end.

It was Salem's turn for their eyes to start welling up with tears, which they found embarrassing. They tried to cover it with an arm to their face, rubbing it vigorously. Before their voice fully shut down with emotion, they managed to croak out while stepping backwards, "What part of me screamed that I was stable enough for this shit, hmm? I've been through some shit, so if it's a crime to be scared, move on and forget me, Pickles, because this won't go away. I know, I've fucking tried. Just pretend I never came into your life, it's better that way. It's better than dealing with all my emotional baggage, especially when you have enough to deal with. I'm sorry."

Pickles's anger devolved into a soft concern but before anything more could be said, Salem whirled around and ran down the hall toward their room and didn't stop until they were almost there; then they tripped last second and smashed their head into the wall nearby, dropping to the ground with a heavy thump.

How stupid of them to even speak that way. That wasn't how accountability worked, but they didn't know how else to explain it. They were messed up in the head and genuinely wanted Pickles to just forget them so that maybe at least he could heal and be happy in peace.

Salem tried to force their body upward but no longer had any strength, simply leaning into the wall with their sore head, body sprawled out in pain. There were voices that they chose to ignore, until helpful hands touched Salem's back, which then gripped under Salem's pits to pull them up to their feet. They planted their hand against the wall to steady themselves, blood and tears mixing. Their vision shot up to see who it was, noticing Murderface's wide stare with his hands up in the air as soon as they made eye contact. His shocked expression made it obvious that he had seen the fall.

Rather than even try to explain anything to such a crazy man, Salem simply burst into more tears and flew into their room, slamming the door behind them where they collapsed once more unto the floor. The worst part was that they felt like they were beginning to act as bad as Murderface.

Salem's lack of nutrition, mixed with alcohol, pills they had started picking up on, and overall anxiety, set them off very badly and they were very obviously not all there, mentally, after two more days of abuse toward their body. At least nobody seemed to notice, so they wouldn't have to explain it to anyone.

Until, on the way to Skwisgaar's once again, they suddenly felt very sick and collapsed to the ground, becoming unconscious. Their heartbeat was both very rapid and also between really powerful and extremely light. Were they dying? Hopefully.

Salem didn't know how long time passed but was jarred awake abruptly by slightly cold water thrown in their face. They jerked upward, gasping loudly and blinking their eyes open to a dark room. Their head was pounding, their stomach squeezing with pain, and their pulse still transitioning between really aggressive to very weak.

A familiar drunken face appeared blearily in their vision, making them blink in confusion. Pickles placed the bucket that he had used for the water on the ground, then held out something in his other hand.

"Eat."

The idea of food made Salem feel even more sick and they hesitated on grabbing it. Pickles sighed and shoved whatever it was into their hand before sitting on the floor in front of them.

"Jus' eat da damn ding," Pickles grumbled, looking like he wanted to be anywhere but here. Salem winced and shakily used their fingers to peel back the wrapper of what seemed to be a protein bar, if anything to get out of Pickles's hair once they were done.

As they took their first bite, their tongue and taste buds recoiled to such sweetness. They chewed it slowly, feeling its rough edges slide down and stick to the back of their throat. After a few deep swallows, Salem managed to get it down all the way. They actually ended up spending twenty minutes eating the bar without realizing, the only sound being their chewing.

Pickles continued staring at them almost the entire time, until they became so self-conscious that they blurted out, "What?"

Pickles gave a small shrug, finally looking away. He shifted to the other side of the bed and pulled out a baggie while he seemed to debate on what he was going to say to Salem. "I know yew haven' been eatin'... Didn't know it was dis bad."

"I'm fine," Salem mumbled stubbornly, playing with the wrapper in their hand. "I've gone without for longer periods of time." Because there was a time where Salem was not a billionaire but rather a homeless rat living on the streets.

"Dat's still not a good ding," Pickles pointed out with a wry smile. "Trust me, I know malnutrition when I see it." He pulled out a joint from the bag and lit it up before leaning against the bed by Salem's legs, taking a hit.

"Hey I survived, I'll survive again."

"Yew survived, but yer not livin'," Pickles spoke softly, seemingly more to himself than anything. "Yer just existin'."

Salem stared down at the ground, not really sure what to say, and ripping the wrapper into tiny pieces in their hands. "So?"

"'So?' Do yew want it to be dis way forever?" Pickles pinched his eyes closed like he was trying to remain calm and keep from exploding on them. "Not eatin'? Savin' everyone but yerself? Den runnin' from dose people? Is it satisfactory?"

Salem clenched the trash for a harsh moment before letting it all drop to the ground below them. Did Pickles mean himself and if so, saving? Probably a bit of a stretch. "No, it's not," was all Salem could manage.

Pickles took another slow hit off of the joint then abruptly offered it to Salem. "Den do better."

Salem couldn't argue with that, but felt the words were very harsh, so their lower lip quivered a little. They gingerly took the doobie after a moment and took a hit off of it, letting the smoke burn their lungs, before exhaling and passing it back. Salem wished nothing more than to disappear into the floor and never come back up.

Because he didn't get a reply, Pickles seemed to decide changing the subject was the best idea. He lifted the bag he got his weed from, and they noticed some shrooms and acid in there as well. "Wanna get HIGH high?"

Salem wanted to say no and just leave, but felt compelled to stay and didn't want to be the only semi-sober one in the room, so they mumbled, "Sure."

Pickles pulled out two shrooms and handed one to Salem, who popped it in their mouth almost immediately. They hated the taste of any and all mushrooms, and these were no different, so they did their best to ignore the horrid flavor on their tongue.

Apparently having almost a completely empty stomach and then getting high was not very good on Salem's body or brain because after only a moment they were tripping horribly and had the shakes. Pickles, equally fucked up by taking ten times more than what Salem had, lazily climbed up to the bed and wrapped his arms around their torso in a gentle hug.

"Shhh, just relax," Pickles's warm voice melted in Salem's ears like chocolate and all it did was make them start crying hysterically and tug at their own hair. "Hey, stop dat," Pickles muttered as he batted away Salem's fists. "Yer okie, Salem. Yer okie."

Salem's body began to relax as the drugs took over their mind, and Pickles eventually did the same, slumping over Salem with them still in his arms. They weren't sure why they suddenly felt so sleepy, since shrooms never really did this to them before- but they imagined that their body was just tired of fighting after so much neglect within the past several days.

~~~

They weren't sure if they had passed out or if they just ascended to a completely different realm in their mind, but Salem eventually opened their eyes to a really dark forest. Memories of their meeting with Skwisgaar last time passed through their brain, and wondered if they were to meet him again.

However, this forest was not theirs, nor did it seem like it would be Skwisgaar's. It seemed like it was in its own little world, separated from the rest, covered in thick shrubbery and vines, and a lot of fungus.

Salem was wearing something different than normally; their chest was bare, which made them feel insecure, and they wore chained pants that connected their ankles together, as well as their thighs. Salem noticed that they also wore fingerless gloves, chained together in front of them as well. They didn't understand why this sometimes happened during Salem's worst moments, but it was infuriating nonetheless. Their one wing was a dark, murky gray now. They shambled forward for a while, not really sure on where to go and knowing they couldn't do much anyway since they were bound to themselves fairly tightly.

A hooting owl startled Salem out of their thoughts and ended up tripping, then found themselves falling through the air. They couldn't even scream, just stare in horror as the ground came rushing at their face with the wind whipping around them.

Then everything stopped; they were suspended in air as vines wrapped around Salem's body, almost in a hugging manner before gently placing them down to the ground. Everything looked different. Pink grass, swaying mushrooms with eyes, red trees. It was all so... trippy.

"'Eyyy," Pickles's voice was less heavily accented but still held a certain charm to it that Salem could swear only he could capture; or maybe they were so smitten with him that they wouldn't notice it from anybody else. "What ya doin' here, is it time?"

Salem slowly sat up and brushed the yellow dirt off of their chest as best as they could with their chained hands. "What... do you mean?"

"Cool language, what is that?" Pickles asked without regard to Salem's question. His voice seemed to be coming from everywhere and it slightly unnerved them, but for some reason they didn't seem to want to look around for him, choosing instead to stare at the ground.

"No fucking clue."

There was a rustling in the tree near Salem's head and a beautiful blue flower of some kind trickled down, catching Salem on the nose. They plucked it up with their hands then looked up, finally seeing Pickles sitting among the branches.

His green eyes pierced through Salem's, looking slightly amused. He had bushy, fiery hair that looked like it used to, when he was in his other band Snakes 'N' Barrels, though this time with a few braids in his hair. Some of it fell over his face, obscuring Salem's vision from most of his facial features. He had his traditional eyebrow piercings, as well new ones that lined his eyebrows, and gauges in his ears. There seemed to be a gauze bandage wrapped around his forehead.

Pickles was wearing some old-fashioned looking garments, a long sleeved green tunic with matching pants to go with it. He had a belt and a holster on it that seemed to carry a dagger. The man was barefoot, and jumped directly onto solid ground from where he had been lounging in. He gave a small smirk at seeing Salem's face and commented, "You're uh, drooling."

"What? No I'm not." Salem self-consciously wiped their mouth with the back of their hand, and Pickles gave a hearty laugh.

"I'm like the least cool thing in here right now," Pickles teased lightly while motioning to the world around them. "I always come here after gettin' high."

"Interesting..." Salem didn't really know what else to say to that, mostly because they were still staring at Pickles. He seemed so different, not just in physical looks. There was a different walk with him, slow but sturdy and confident; the way he held himself different, back straight and shoulders set. He looked like he had aged a lot but his eyes glowed as soon as he laid them on the midget.

"We're on a completely different level of 'woke'," Salem commented while looking around, rubbing their eyes with the back of their hand to see if the vision before them would disappear. Pickles gave another laugh and nodded.

"For sure."

As silence fell over them, Salem grew slightly uncomfortable, being in a realm with Pickles, alone. They could still clearly remember the mess that they had created in the real world.

Pickles seemed to feel Salem's distress and gave a soft nod like he was agreeing with their thoughts. "Yeah, shit is a little awkward right now."

Salem didn't know how to respond except by looking away. Running and hiding from their emotions was something they were good at.

"... Ya know, you don't give yourself enough credit."

"Hm?"

Pickles gestured to Salem. "At your worst, you always think you're gonna fuck everything up, so ya push everything and everyone away before others can. You always assume the absolute worst in scenarios that don't even be bad. Ya can turn a lotta shit negative that doesn't need to be. All 'cause you either don't believe in yourself, 'r you don't believe in others."

Salem swallowed hard and felt their face flush a bright red. They hated such direct confrontation and could feel their chest swelling to force their throat to close up. Pickles gave a gentle smile that made Salem's heart drop to the pit of their stomach.

"But ya also know how to quench a dry forest. You're really good at making people feel more, understand better, and actually express concern easier. You're good at makin' people relax or feel better, and the only time it doesn't work is if the will of stubbornness is stronger than your ability to balance them."

Salem was stunned.

"You're gonna run away, a lot. You're gonna hide 'n' pretend everythin's okay but you need to know, you don't have to. You have people who care that you can turn to. You don't gotta be the one that always does the savin'. In fact it's gonna kill you if you keep puttin' others before yourself, and then you're gonna have a hard time actually tryin't' take care of others without fuckin' up more than you're savin'. I mean, runnin' away is not really a self care response to trauma, and it's just gonna get worse. You already know people in your life who run away instead of facing their issues, 'n' all it's doin' is causin' everyone pain. Some of them're so obsessed with drinkin' their own poison they either don't know they're poisoning everyone else too, or jus' don't care. But you care 'n" you always will, which is why I know you'll care enough to listen before it's too late."

Salem chewed the inside of their cheek. "Why does it sound like you already know what's gonna happen before it actually does?"

Pickles shrugged lightly with a grin. "Call it a hunch. 'M good with that."

Despite the assuring tone, Salem still dropped their head in shame, lips quivering softly while they tried to stop themselves from crying. "I'm sorry..."

"Salem, you're gonna 'break up' wit' me once we wake," Pickles spoke softly. "Shit's gonna go down. But I'm sure it'll end up turning out well... for you." There was unfathomable pain in Pickles's eyes and suddenly he didn't seem like a bright, confident man. He seemed to have aged quite a bit with just that sentence alone.

"How do you know?" Salem pursed their lips. They definitely weren't thinking about such a thing but then again they hadn't put much thought into the situation itself. "Are you some psychic future seeing fuck?"

Pickles smiled slightly. "I guess partially?"

"Oh really?" Suddenly Skwisgaar's vague explanation about someone who could 'see things' made a little more sense. "What do you mean partially?"

"I don't see random visions of what could be, like a normal fortune teller," Pickles placed a hand on his forehead subconsciously, where most of his hair had fallen over. "Like ya see in movies. I see not only things that can't be seen by the naked eye, I also see... The kinda path that the world is taking me to. I can see the end."

Salem blinked. "The world... So what, you can't even choose your own fate?"

"We all can. What I or others do still affects the outcomes," Pickles smiled sadly. "I see closer to the very end of the road... I see what my destiny is. But it can change on a whim under specific circumstances and I don't know what can happen to change it, and I don't know what to do to make it better. It's like reading one of the endings to a book with multiple, and guessing which paths to take to avoid it... or keep it. That includes the friends I make along the way."

"I'm... sorry." Salem didn't know how to feel about that; knowing where their life would take them and not knowing how to change it for the bette r, or how to keep it from getting worse. "Why are people such an influence on your life? What about other people's lives? Are they heavily influenced by others?"

"O'course, but you already knew that m'dear," Pickles chuckled, though he didn't seem particularly amused. "I can't see your past right now but I can see pieces of your heart that will never heal. I can see the pain, the damage."

Salem winced, visions of their past flooding their mind before they forcefully shoved it all away. They placed a chained hand on their chest. "You can't see my past 'right now'? But could you...?"

"At all? I could," Pickles agreed. "I don't like to, though."

"Why not?"

"There's a lot I don' wanna remember witnessin', that comes with the price of seeing." Pickles again touched his bandaged forehead. "Years of waiting for shit ta change, and it doesn't... I'd rather forget everything."

Salem looked at Pickles suspiciously. "What all do you know?"

"I know my powers. I know random things I've always known without knowing why. I knew I was going to be in a band one day. I knew it would probably be the death of me. I knew about you... I've been waiting for you for so long, Salem," Pickles sighed and suddenly his head was nestled against Salem's bright white hair, making them blush lightly. "You don't know how long... but good things must always come to an end."

Salem's heart began to pound in their chest. "It doesn't have to."

"But it will."

"Like Hell it will." Salem attempted to wrap their arms around Pickles but the rattle of their chains reminded them of their predicament. "Damnit..."

"Ya can't, Salem. You're bound by your own pain." Pickles gave another sad look. "You have ta learn to let go. This-" He paused to grasp the shackles, "-has nothing to do with anybody but yerself. But what you do wit' this issue, how you solve it, is gonna shape everything after from here on out."

Salem stared at the chains in frustration. What was Pickles trying to tell them? How could they fix this, and if they did it wrong, would it only cause everyone more pain and suffering? They weren't used to hurting other people like this. It was so frustrating. "Help me... I don't know what to do."

"I can't," Pickles spoke honestly as he finally took a step back, leaving Salem to shiver and shake by themselves.

Salem took a deep breath and decided to move on; and just pass the information that they were meant to pass along a while ago. "I'm here with a message, but I figured you already know about that?"

"Kinda," Pickles spoke honestly as he leaned against the nearest tree. "Last time I... delved in my powers, I only got half of it bef're I shut it out. You're not the only one who runs away from their problems."

Salem was staring heavily at the ground. "Maybe that's our problem, we just run away too much. Maybe we need to stop running."

"Maybe, but I don't want to take the chance of making my life any worse than it already is," Pickles sighed. "I haven't looked in so long, I don't even remember half of what I grew up 'knowing'."

Salem suddenly seemed to have clicked something in their head, noticing that Pickles kept touching his head subconsciously. They moved their hands to his face, where Pickles shrank back instinctively. "Don't, Salem."

"Please?" Salem didn't wait for a reply and began to push the hair away from his forehead, then slipped the bandage down. Pickles went to grip Salem's wrist but didn't actually stop them, more like bracing themselves for what could possibly come.

"Don't look into it," Pickles whispered shakily. Salem was already looking when he said that.

Salem's own life seemed to flash in front of their vision, with a mixture of a red-headed freckled child thrown in the mix, drinking and crying and being tossed into the wall by a slightly older, brown haired child. With a wince that seemed to cut off the contact, Salem hit the ground on their knees, their face paling.

A third eye on Pickles's forehead blinked, a bright green with a gray, filmy pupil that darted here and there. Pickles looked to be in a daze, a lone tear dripping from his cheek.

"Oh, Salem," Pickles murmured, and Salem just knew that he had seen what Salem had, not just the red headed freckled boy but something else deep within the other's mind. They flinched and stared down at the ground.

"If only I could remember in the real world... I'd be more patient," Pickles sighed, kneeling down on the ground with the other drummer and planting a tender hand on their head. "Feck..." He looked like he wasn't all there as the third eye seemed to go out of control, flicking this way and that. "Heh... It's all comin' back to me and I hate it."

"What is?" Salem questioned, hoping they could distract themselves from the pain in their heart.

Pickles closed his eyes, allowing only the third one to stay open and wide. "It's worse than it used to be... Salem." Suddenly his eyes popped back open and now he was openly crying, looking the most terrified he'd ever been. "I'm scared."

Salem couldn't hug Pickles, which frustrated them, but they did place their head on his shoulder, allowing the man to drop his face onto the top of theirs while he cried it out. "It's useless... I can't fix meself. I can't save myself... I can't save the world."

"What are you talking about?" Salem whispered. "Please... Talk to me."

"It's the same path as the others," Pickles mumbled. "It's useless... Not worth it. Everyt'ing ya've been told, it's all useless. You 'n' the band're better off figuring this shit out without me..."

"Stop, what are you saying?" Salem's voice was high-pitched and squeaky. "You're obviously important to this if you were brought up. You can't give up-"

"It's no use, it's all ending the same." Pickles said almost bitterly. "I'm not strong enough..."

Salem grabbed one of Pickles's shoulders with their hands tightly, not noticing that part of the chains had cracked and left a large jagged mark. They were glaring at him with a sudden furiousness. "Shut the fuck up, I-" Salem paused, surprised by what they were about to say. Should they...?

Too soon, a voice whispered in Salem's ear. Perhaps their conscience?

"....I think you're really strong, and brave," Salem instead spoke, still truthfully. "Please, don't give up before it starts. You'll have a chance to change things up until the end, so... Stay until the end. Help us figure out what needs to be done."

Pickles's eyes were wide as he looked into Salem's pleading expression. The third eye began to calm down and fresh tears spilled over Pickles's beautiful yet bloodshot eyes. "S- Salem..."

"I don't know what you're seeing," Salem spoke gently, rubbing circles in Pickles's shoulder. "I'm sorry if I'm part of the problem. But you have people too, people who also care. Don't give up. We can figure this out together."

Pickles fell silent, though he did push his hair back over his eye after he seemed to have calmed down slightly, still nestled against Salem's side. "...Thank you, Salem. Maybe... maybe there's a chance after all."

Salem pressed their lips to his forehead. "So what all do you know about this message shit?"

Pickles smiled slightly. "Don't worry about it... You already did your 'job' I suppose. I see what I need to do."

"Well... Good."

Pickles lifted his head and captured Salem's lips with his in a soft, sweet kiss. Salem closed their eyes, enjoying the taste of Pickles which wasn't masked by alcohol or drugs for once. They simply held each other, enjoying each other's presence until they felt their high slowly come down, seeing the bright colors fade from the woods and leave just a normal area to surround them. A tug on their souls startled them out of their entranced kiss and they broke away.

"Feck, I forgot, who am I supposed to talk to?!" Pickles called as their minds began to fade from the world.

"You don't know?? I thought you said you saw-"

"I know, I know, but who?!"

"Uh, ahh, ahhhhh, s- someone mean!"

It was the last thing they had said to each other before they woke back up in the real world.

~~~

Salem woke up on Pickles's chest, his arms wrapped around their thin body. The man was drooling heavily from the corner of his lip, which Salem found slightly endearing. As they wiped the spittle away for him, his eyes blinked open groggily, noticing Salem on his chest. His grip automatically tightened, which Salem couldn't blame him for, since all they did was try to escape.

With their earlier memory slowly coming back to mind, their reluctance toward being on top of him grew more and more. They didn't want to pull away and take this away from Pickles, who was obviously in a vulnerable position right now mentally, but they had to. Salem slowly sat up, and Pickles did too, his face falling into disappointment, figuring what was to come; Salem would make an excuse and leave him once more in the dust.

Instead, Salem sighed. They'd had enough of their own pathetic pity party that was only destroying someone they cared for very much. "I need help, Pickles."

Pickles gave them a surprised and questioning look. "Whattya mean?"

"I'm not right... in the head. I'm not right for a relationship," Salem spoke hesitantly, trying to choose their words carefully. "Not right now. I'm just going to keep falling into a pit of self-loathing and doubt that's only gonna hurt you. I need to learn to be better, like you said."

"Dat..." Pickles looked sad but not angry at least. "Dat's the most mature ding I ever heard anybody say, which isn't sayin' much since my friends're all toddlers in grown bodies but... I can't relate either,  heh... I invest m'self into ot'ers tew much sometimes."

Salem gave a small smile. "If I learn to be better... Maybe one day we can work out. If you haven't moved on, yet."

"I don' dink I could."

Salem blushed lightly at those words. "Anyway... I'm gonna go. I'll see ya around."

"Better be to da kitchen. 'N' okie."

As Salem weakly stood up and headed toward the door, they caught Pickles's face contort into deep sadness, leaning against the wall nearest to him and wrapping his arms around himself. Salem pursed their lips, feeling bad. But as hurtful as this decision was, it was probably for the best. Salem was too flawed and toxic, and Pickles, well... he didn't seem very stable himself.

Salem needed a drink, or perhaps something a little stronger. Like some damned therapy.

Chapter Text

Flashes of visions crossed Pickles' mind. A boy that looked like him but wasn't him stared back at him from the mirror, pale and red-headed and eyes aged with time. Next to him another redheaded boy with a faraway glance like he wasn't in the same exact realm as the other. More shadows aligned behind the first two; a meek child with russet brown hair covering most of their features, holding in their arms something small wrapped up in a blanket, two sandy blond children standing identically side by side with faces of self-importance and hidden sorrow in their eyes, a dark brown curly haired child with the hard features of someone who'd seen some shit... and finally, a black haired child with a face of steel and strength and leadership, but also of emotion.

Pickles watched hazily through the eyes of the aged child as he counted each head. There were seven. For some reason, Pickles felt as though one were missing.

As if on cue, a dark, shadowy hand seemed to grip the last child's throat and the skin of their neck seemed to illuminate as the child opened their mouth wide in fear and pain, eyes glazing and then darkening. The hands seemed to absorb the glow from the other's neck before retracting. There was a cackle deep within the darkness, and then a soft, sad sigh from both nowhere and everywhere.

More kids that looked familiar began to line up behind them, until they had blended into the background, too many to count, all with one particular child of each group with hands around their neck, and the same instance happening as before.

The voice spoke with odd softness that Pickles had never heard before. "The prophecy is in danger. Was always in danger. Blood shed... the death of a chosen one long before they were chosen... now it mimics, standing where they stood, destroying what I have tried to create.. Do not trust the one with death seeking eyes, stained hands, and bloody lips, and maybe you will survive... I'm sorry for failing you all..."

As Pickles began to come back to full consciousness, the visions and voice faded, as well as his memory of the encounter.

~~~

It didn't work... Nothing was working. Pickles hunched over with swirling vision, watching as his pink and bloody vomit splashed the toilet. The bag of drugs he had held onto for so long was emptied, his mouth covered in drool, bile, and flecks of unidentified substances.

Pickles purged once or twice more before angrily wiping his mouth and flushing the toilet. He was too weak to stand, so he resorted to sulking in the corner of the bathroom, feeling his pulse throb weakly.

It had only been a day after Salem and Pickles had officially ended... whatever was going on with them. Pickles would be lying if he said he wasn't hurting, angry, bitter, offended, depressed. Pretty much anything negative, Pickles was feeling.

He had originally accepted and agreed to Salem that this was the best thing, so that Salem might get some help. However, Pickles's selfishness had begun to rise the second Salem had walked out, choosing to throw things in his room, get high, cry, and then of course try to kill himself, though not before trying to find Salem again and realizing that they had continued to avoid him as they had always done. It was just their way of running away from him, Pickles was sure of it.

And so he angrily popped drugs into his mouth to see where it would take him; if it killed him, it killed him. Unfortunately, his body was immune to such a method and he could only throw up and hope he would choke on it.

Pickles continued to brood until he heard a knock on the door to his bedroom. He sighed, knowing immediately who it was, and stood up on shaky feet. At least it only looked like Pickles had gotten fucked up to get high, and not for anything else.

He opened the door to see Nathalia with her big begging eyes, giving him such a sickly sweet smile that automatically pissed him off. Without a word, he pulled out a bottle of booze from a stash he kept just for Nathalia, silently handed it over, and closed the door on her before she could say anything. He felt guilt gnaw at him for the rudeness, but he really didn't want to deal with her shenanigans at the moment. She didn't seem to mind, since he could hear her giggle drunkenly and then waddle off.

Ever since her birthday party, Nathalia would keep coming up to Pickles to see if he had smuggled any alcohol into Mordhaus (which of course he had), which resulted in Nathalia becoming an unlikely drinking buddy. Eventually she would come over just to ask for some booze and then leave, which made Pickles feel even more lonely but he was usually happy to oblige regardless. Besides, when she did stay, their conversations usually revolved around...

Pickles sighed. He couldn't escape from his thoughts about Salem, no matter what he did. He vaguely remembered one of his drunk discussions with Nathalia that had actually led to Pickles confronting Salem.

"Soooo, you and Salem still..?" Nathalia slurred as she hung upside down from Pickles's bed, alcohol dripping all over her face as she attempted to drink from her position.

"Ye. Dey're avoidin' me still,'' Pickles mumbled. It was sometime after Skwisgaar and Toki had blown up, and he was preparing to go visit them eventually once Nathalia wandered off to wherever she usually went after their gossip time. He picked at the fuzz on his blanket uncomfortably, remembering the way Salem kept flinching and dodging him. What was wrong with him, to have them act that way?

"Don' take it uhm... words... yeah," Nathalia groaned, finally sitting up to look blearily at Pickles. "Personally? Yeah. They're usually like this with everyone."

"Everyone?" Pickles repeated.

"Everyone. Besides well, me 'n' Tobe. But like all their lovers and shit. They're not even good with guckin' froupies. I mean fuping groukies. Gackin frappies. Shit..."

"Fuckin' groupies?" Pickles helped. Nathalia nodded.

"They got very high anxiety. Sometimes worse'n mine... sometimes."

"Yew lit'rally tackle people," Pickles laughed a little.

"Yeaaaah but I don' abandon people when I realize I like 'em," Nathalia snorted, and Pickles raised an eyebrow to this. "Salem ain't right in the head. But that's okay, they deserve to be a lil fucked up."

"How so?" Pickles never heard much about Salem's past and wondered what they could be possibly hiding that made them seem so damaged.

"They killed a fucker before," Nathalia shrugged then blinked. "Wait, that doesn't explain much, does it?"

Pickles stared at Nathalia in horror. Salem? Kill someone? "How does dat explain deir commitment issues?!"

"Fuck, forget I said anything," Nathalia laughed loudly and hysterically, blushing lightly.

Looking back on it, Pickles didn't really know why that conversation led to the argument he had with Salem. Maybe he was just tired of the beating around the bush and not getting any answers. Maybe he felt like Nathalia didn't have an actual reason for Salem's behavior and it pissed him off. Maybe the idea of Salem being aggressive led to him being suspicious about what else they could possibly be hiding.

All the confrontation led to though was more guilt as Salem ran away with tears in their eyes, obviously embarrassed and ashamed. Pickles could tell they were fighting themselves internally, fighting something that maybe Pickles would never know about or understand. All he could think of though, was the pain that it caused for him, and it festered into a cruel bitterness.

So Pickles found more drugs under his bed, got high, and blindly wandered from his room with his face swollen, body dehydrated, and mind completely gone. He was hungry and needed food. Where was the kitchen again?

Pickles ran into a solid body and his first reaction was to loudly laugh, before puking on himself, blood bubbling from his mouth. Someone said something but he wasn't sure what it was. His hand instead gripped a thick arm to hold himself up, his breaths turning into gasps as more blood seemed to clog his lungs. Was he finally dying?

A hand unsurely pushed Pickles toward his room, and he absolutely refused, trying to keep his feet solid on the ground. He just wanted some food! Until he easily toppled over from the nudge, falling face first and landing in his own vomit. Pickles began to cry without realizing it; very loud, embarrassing sobs that would most likely catch someone's attention if he didn't stop soon.

The person whom he had run into seemed to panic and scooped Pickles up, carrying him the other way and to the nearest room, then placing him down on a bed. His head rolled around on his neck, not able to control his own body and wasn't even aware that he couldn't.

His face, then parts of his exposed chest, were wiped clean while sobs continued to rip through his throat and wrack his body. He wasn't even sure at this point why he was crying and rubbed his eyes like a small child, sniffling and hiccuping.

Once he had calmed down slightly, hands tried to help Pickles up again, possibly to lead him back to his room now that there wasn't a possibility of causing a scene (hopefully). Unfortunately, at this time, Pickles's eyes had registered who it was that had helped him.

"Yew," Pickles whispered.

Words were said, Pickles didn't know what words they were. He could only stare while slightly swaying back and forth, ready to topple over at any second. Another grip kept Pickles from tipping, and Pickles slapped the hand away, only to fall forward and land on the chest of the other person. His fists clenched against their shoulders before he started throwing punches, faster and harder until blood had splashed his face, stunning him momentarily.

Pickles took a step back, falling back onto the bed. His hands were bloodied, his face was wet with tears and more blood, and the other had resorted to leaning against the nearest wall with their hands against their face. The drummer couldn't even register his own thoughts or feelings, so all he could do was glare at them while feeling his own heart pound out of his chest.

Hands were held up in surrender as they walked slowly toward Pickles, who shrank back until his back was against the wall. He tried to kick the other away, but missed (not that the feeble attack would do anything anyway). Pickles squeezed his eyes shut until a gentle head was placed against his arm, forcing them open again in surprise.

The head was bowed with their forehead leaned against him, allowing more blood to spill from their nose and onto Pickles. The red-head froze, not sure how to deal with such a... vulnerable position. A hand was placed on Pickles's stomach and he immediately shoved it away in defense. The other person didn't seem to mind.

"Help," The person whispered, so dead-like. Pickles blinked, staring helplessly down at them. How the fuck was he supposed to help?

Maybe Pickles asked it out loud without realizing, or maybe the other was just prepared for such a question, because they answered either way. "Kill me."

Pickles was taken aback by this. He looked down at soft, troubled eyes that never seemed to sleep, a face haunted by demons. A face that seemed to regress as time went on, a face full of remorse that didn't know how to express such emotions. Pickles shuddered, a chill rippling down his spine.

"Fuck me." Wait, did Pickles really just say that? Apparently so, because the other person looked just as shocked.

"Wh- what..?"

"Fuck me," Pickles repeated, voice raising though the only thing he could truly hear was the pounding in his chest from his frantic heartbeat. "Please, fuck me."

When the other person made no move, Pickles practically attacked them, face smothered against theirs as their lips crashed into one another. How Pickles could go from attacking them to kissing them, he didn't know. He could taste blood and he wasn't sure if it was theirs or his own.

At first the other responded, slowly and unsurely, probably mostly out of surprise. Eventually, they pulled away and grasped Pickles's shoulders to pull him back. "The fuck?"

"Please," Pickles whimpered with his tears falling freely down his cheeks again, small gasps coming from his parted lips. "I need..." What did he need? A distraction, that was it. He was using this person. He flinched to the idea, he didn't want to be so toxic that he treated someone like a fuck-toy, but he had no sense left in his head. He needed to feel good while he was at his peak, or he just might have a full psychotic breakdown... well, worse than it was currently.

The other person shook their head, refusing further advances by grasping Pickles tightly by the arms to prevent him from moving closer. "You're fucked."

Pickles dropped his head, sobbing into their shoulder and feeling his body droop with defeat. They didn't seem to know how to react to this and allowed Pickles to cry it out, allowing himself to be spit on and drooled on and wailed on.

Pickles was pathetic, disgusting, worthless, nothing but a whore that hid his feelings behind sex...

He pulled his head up one last time to press a kiss to their cheek before he dropped into their lap, curling into a ball. He felt his skin practically buzzing and itching from the drugs he had taken earlier. His brain however, was becoming undone and relaxing to what Pickles hoped would be the beginning of his death, so he closed his eyes.

~~~

Then suddenly, his mind became clear again, forcing his eyes open once more. He sat cross-legged in his pretty purple forest, causing him to frown. He really didn't want to be back here.

Pickles tried to remember his moments before he supposedly passed out and ended up here, and found that he could find no trace of any memories. Funny, he hadn't gotten that fucked up in a while. He touched his forehead, knowing that things would come back to him, and so much more, if he just...

He jerked his hand away and folded his arms across his chest. No, he refused. But now he didn't know what to do except wait until his body in the real world stopped shutting down on him.

Pickles recalled the last time he had been back here and flinched, remembering his conversation with Salem. Poor Salem... They were going through a lot. He knew that in this world, but once he woke, he wouldn't remember... he would just blame them for everything going wrong with his life right now. To be honest, he still kind of wanted to, just so he wouldn't have to focus on himself and his problems, even though he knew that was wrong of him. Like Nathalia had said before, Salem 'deserved to be a little fucked up'. Maybe not as much as they seemed to be milking - they should've gotten help way sooner after all- but nonetheless.

For some reason, Pickles giggled to himself which created a full breakdown of hysteria, and then he gasped. "Oh I'm HIGH high." He hadn't felt this fuzzy in this world in a long time. He was sure it was still much clearer than how he would be doing while conscious. Not that he could remember anything from the past hour, though that also sort of just proved his point.

Rubbing his eyes to hopefully clear his head, Pickles tried to think to himself. When Salem and Pickles had talked, Salem had basically convinced him to go pass that prophetic message to the last person of the group. Though he could no longer remember the smaller details of the prophecy, he always knew he had to talk to someone and pass along the information that something big was going to happen, after being 'convinced' to do so.

The prophecy haunted him in his past lives too, from what he could remember. That was until he vowed to never look through his third eye again in the hopes he would forget- which almost worked, though he supposed some things just couldn't be forgotten this way.

He for some reason couldn't remember his past lives even with the third eye, the names he was given during them, or what his mission necessarily was (and still technically was, currently), just that it ended the same way each time, which roughly translated to failure. Pickles used to look into his own future for this life and was sure that it would end the same way, but Salem was determined to get Pickles to keep trying until their last breath, which in a way was inspiring.

Unfortunately, Pickles had forgotten the most important detail. He needed to talk to the last person and tell them that something was about to happen, but he didn't know who. Pickles had a feeling it would be met with a lot of resistance and that he would need to do quite a bit of convincing. He really didn't want to waste his energy trying to think of who he needed to talk to if he had to argue with some asshole after the fact, and he had a feeling if he tried to use his third eye for an answer, he would mostly just remember things he'd rather not.

Not that it mattered, because it seemed the more Pickles got high or delved into his powers, the faster he'd forget once he stopped using it. At some point he felt like he knew who he was supposed to talk to. He felt like he knew most things about his past lives, more than just how they seemed to end. He probably knew what he had to do to make this prophecy work. These were things he couldn't even use his third eye for, to remember now. Maybe instead of refusing to use his powers and hoping to forget that way, he could've at some point just tried to overextend his limitations and get some major amnesia after...

But would Pickles then forget Salem? He was sure that couldn't be possible, just like it seemed impossible to forget the prophecy, but then again he had never tried that method. Maybe he wouldn't remember anything eventually, not even his own powers. Then he could get high in peace. And it wasn't like he would permanently lose Salem, since they were in literal Mordhaus with him.

For as long as Pickles could remember, he had had dreams of a tiny, white, fairy looking person. Once in a while they'd be in chains, black, destructive, and always they would be far away, too far for Pickles to grab or hold. He felt an immediate bond toward them. Not that his awake self would know any of this.

Once his eyes had landed on Salem in the real world, he had realized that they were the person of their dreams, but only remembering such a discovery in those dreams. He couldn't imagine a life where it wouldn't come as knowledge to him that he was probably meant to meet this person since birth, and first became curious, then obsessed when they became more frequent after a certain age. Even if Salem would be there in the real world, there was a special type of connection in this world that he didn't want to lose.

Plus, Pickles supposed that now he owed them a little since he agreed to partake in the prophecy. The issue was, who the FUCK was he supposed to talk to?

Only in the very back of Pickles's mind was he monologuing and allowing his thoughts to circulate through; on the outside, and within maybe the first two layers of his brain, he was completely out of it. He had given up a while ago to actually focus and register his thought process, rather to just needlessly wander and wave at the whispering mushrooms around him. God, was he so trashed.

Hadn't Salem said something about talking to someone mean? That didn't really narrow down his options much. Nathan was a hard-ass on purpose to seem brutal, Skwisgaar was a cocky egomaniac, Nathalia was... basically a second Nathan with slightly more emotional range. He had already talked to Salem, and he didn't even know Tobias well enough to cross him out; for all he knew, the man was hiding some dark secrets like Salem was. The only person he couldn't possibly consider would be Toki. Despite his anger issues, he was still generally sweet, if not a little unstable.

Pickles supposed he could just wander and hope for the best, not that he knew where to go or if he was even really allowed to since he had never tried. His feet began to drag him in a certain direction, hoping he would at least be going the right way.

He tripped over his own feet at some point and landed in a large, grassy area where the brush was almost as tall as him. He lifted his sore head from the ground and spotted a very pretty woman with her back to him, long blonde hair flowing over her shoulders- oh wait, that was Skwisgaar. Pickles didn't seem as disappointed as he himself thought he would be, as the Swede turned around to spot Pickles peeking up from the bushes.

"Oh? Pickles?" Skwisgaar looked a little surprised.

There were a few things Pickles knew about each band member and things he could see or sense, without his third eye. Again, he didn't know if they were things that could eventually be forgotten, but they weren't just things he'd always known, they would just come to him simply by looking at the person.

Skwisgaar was a very egotistical man, but he was also fragile. Years of neglect caused him to become his own cheerleader, so to speak. While at the same time growing contempt for the rest of the world around him, for being disappointed by them over and over. Yet a secret love for the idea of love and seeing the things who invest their love into him, find enjoyment.

Salem had been obviously arguing with the other blond but Pickles still hadn't noticed them until they popped their head around Skwisgaar's side. "Oh?"

"Eyyyyyy," Pickles grinned. "'M lookin' f'r the mean one... You mean?"

Skwisgaar blinked slowly. "No."

"That's a damn lie-"

"You shut it!" Skwisgaar turned to glare at Salem for sassing, though without any actual venom. "Did you not tell him who had already been spoken to?"

"No, I didn't have time. Pickles, listen- hey wait, where you going?!"

Pickles had apparently gotten bored after receiving his no, so he stumbled through the forest area with a wave. "'Ll see ya later, Skwisg'rrr. I'll come see ya like usual on your almost-death bed."

"Yes Mother," Skwisgaar rolled his eyes, while Salem stuttered to try and explain something to Pickles, who had already taken off somewhere.

Pickles shoved through some trees and found his way into a less thick clearing with loads of animals, when he felt hands grip his shoulders and steer him in the opposite direction. "You don't need to be in here," Skwisgaar seemed a bit flustered, and Pickles knew why.

"Youuuuu got a soft spooooot," Pickles teased as he was roughly led to the edge of the forest. "Look at all this! Look at all thoooose!" He gestured wildly to the deer and rabbits that were eyeing the odd newcomer with confusion and interest.

"Gets the fucks out of heres," Skwisgaar wasn't speaking in strange tongues anymore but rather spat angrily in English from embarrassment, shoving Pickles into the nearest direction. "Go find who you need to talk to."

Pickles lifted his hands like he was playing Airplaine and began zooming off into the forest. If he wasn't high before, he certainly was now. It was like the drugs were only getting stronger, rather than fading away after a certain period.

The branches slapped at his face while his hands kept hitting the tree trunks, as he sped through the wooded area. As the trees began to thin out, so did the grass, until his bare feet were hitting hard dirt that eventually turned to sand. He had to drag himself through it, all the while noticing dead bodies surrounding him.

"Brutal," Pickles whispered in awe. He found himself straying too far to the right and ended up stubbing his toe on a wet rock that was halfway buried in the ground. He fell face first into a salty ocean that he hadn't even noticed and began to sink.

While Pickles continued to sink, an irritated voice spoke in his head. "The fuck?"

Pickles tried to speak, but the water surrounding him nullified his voice.

"Just speak with your uh, head."

"Ya mean think?" Pickles wondered to himself.

"Yeah, that. Dumbass."

Pickles wasn't about to point out that Nathan was slightly hypocritical for calling him that, mostly because he was too high to focus right now.

"The fuck are you even doing here in my dream?"

"'M hiiiiigh."

"What, I- you know what, never mind. That explains it."

Pickles grabbed hold of his feet and began floating around in the water, watching all the pretty colors swirl around him. He didn't know where Nathan was, but could sense his overwhelming presence. He could practically smell the depression and heartache dripping off of him, the fear, and most of all, the rage. Just like with other things Pickles simply knew, Pickles knew why; but then again, it didn't take a genius to figure it out.

"We'll find him," Pickles assured his friend in a slur.

"Who?" Nathan knew who, and Pickles knew that Nathan knew. Whether Nathan knew that Pickles knew that Nathan knew was up for debate.

"Ey."

"Uh... what?"

"Are you the mean person I gotta talk to?"

"...What."

"Salem said I gotta talk to a mean person, is it you?"

"Do I fucking look mean?!" Nathan all but snarled and Pickles could see a shadow flicker for a moment as the brute singer darted around Pickles in a quick circle.

"Yes."

Nathan sighed. "Wait, someone mean. Salem. Aw fuck, did you guys fuck up my prophecy or something?!"

"Noooo, I didn't anyway. Salem probably did."

"Maybe if you guys were going to fuck up the words you could've written it down or something, shit. I'm the one who started this in the first place!"

Pickles giggled as he began to float up toward the surface. "Alright, I'm gonna go find the mean person."

"Pickles, wait-"

Pickles practically leaped out of the water and landed on his side like a fish, flapping a little before he managed to get onto his hands and knees to stand. Up ahead, with several heads on a stick beside it, lay a cave entrance. He could vaguely hear singing from within.

Did mean people sing? Apparently, if Nathan was able to be the lead singer of Dethklok. A rock to the back of Pickles's head told him that Nathan could still read his mind, so he began to walk forward with a grumble and see who awaited him there.

Pickles felt compelled to listen to the words being sung to him.

The truth hits you in more ways than one,

A bleeding heart will die for the ones they love.

But why do you run until they're dead and done?

Pickles felt entranced not just by the silky yet deep voice, though it felt like it was compelling him to think about things he didn't want to. All he wanted to do for the past year was hide from people so as not to be a burden on them. He even began to blame and accuse Salem of doing what he'd been also doing all along to everyone he loved. Avoidance and non-confrontation.

Pickles continued moving forward. He wasn't sure if he could get hurt in this realm but he didn't chance it, resorting to avoiding the traps and dead bodies as much as possible because dead bodies just equaled more traps, most likely.

A stake drove itself up from the ground and Pickles dodged to the side with surprising ease, like he knew that would happen, grasping the nearest tree branch and hoisting himself up. The tree, home to a few dead and lynched bodies apparently, groaned under his weight as he clambered to the top, noticing one of the branches that drooped toward the entrance of the cave that he just wanted to get to. Surely an especially mean person would try to kill literally everything that resided in this area?

Pickles felt the branch actually curl around his foot, and his high self fell forward, gripping the next branch in his hand while the tree actually seemed to fall apart. Pickles gritted his teeth as it bucked forward; he wasn't sure if it was coming to life to kill him or it was just withering away, either way though more stakes began to pop up from the ground, so if he fell he would probably not make it.

Then Pickles noticed a gash in the tree due to one of the stakes coming up from underneath it and twisting to jut out. It made the trunk very unstable, to say the least. Pickles gripped the nearest rope, cutting it down with the dagger he always held in his belt and watching the dead person slip out of it before falling and being staked right through the chest.

"Oops, mah bad," Pickles apologized before clambering down to the half-broken branch he had tripped on, wincing as it threatened to drop him in a sea of sharp, dangerous objects. He pulled the rope around both the stake that had gone through the tree as a brace, and the trunk itself, tying it quickly and as securely as possible. It stopped leaning, momentarily, so Pickles once more scrabbled to the top, his fingers now sore and slightly bloody from the amount of crawling up and down the rough bark that he had to do.

Once Pickles had reached that one branch again and started balancing on it to waddle his way toward the cave, which was the only spot now that WASN'T trying to kill him dead, the tree began to lean again and threaten to snap under his weight. However, Pickles had saved himself enough time with the rope, and managed to slide down, landing on his face right by the cave entrance.

Whoever had been singing finally stopped, and Pickles looked up to see who it was. He didn't expect to see a demon looking woman staring down at him with surprise.

"Awh God, don't eat me!"

"What? It's Nathalia, you fucker!"

"What? Oh, heyyy," Pickles grinned as he slowly sat up. "Why'd you try to kill me?"

"I- oh fuck it, not this explanation again." Nathalia sighed deeply. "I didn't put those traps there. And I can imagine you're not here for me to actually kill for making it through."

"Well someone's feeling MEAN today," Pickles commented, earning a venomous look. "'N' no probably not, just wanderin'."

"I'm going through some shit right now Pickles, and I haven't been here in like a week so I have a lot of dumb asses to go through and lure to their deaths. So if you don't need your stupid soul reaped in the name of judgment, get outta here."

"Fine. Oh, by the way," Pickles said as he began to back out of the cave, though hesitating at the very edge. "Are you the asshole I'm supposed to be talking to?"

Nathalia whirled around with a raised fist. "No the fuck I'm not!" She hissed, starting toward him. Pickles yelped and shot out of the cave to escape. Despite her fitting the description well enough, she seemed to not be the one.

. . .

Tobias stared up at the stars (or would, if he could see, but instead could only look up at the light that the stars produced), contemplating to himself. He had been reading the stars and planets for quite some time, despite his obvious disability. Even in the real world, he still gazed up into the sky every so often to see what secrets the stars held, and knew that something was wrong.

The sun, what used to be a faraway yellow speck, was getting closer and redder in light. And the moon was swelling in size and developing its own light orange color as well. What did it mean? Tobias was the only one who watched the weather or really any kind of news that didn't revolve around Dethklok, and there were reports of strange patterns in the oceans, the air, the storms, everything. The world seemed to be cracking and it frustrated Tobias that not only was he the only one who seemed to care, he also probably couldn't do anything about it.

Suddenly, a very humanoid shape began floating past his vision, startling Tobias slightly out of his thoughts. Who was that?

"Wheeeeeeeee," A soft, dazed voice crowed as the body did a side-flip while they seemed to hold onto their feet like a toddler.

Tobias blinked. "Pickles?"

"Hellooooooo," Pickles replied. The man was fucked up in this realm too, apparently.

"Uh... hi. What uh, what ya doing?" Tobias asked unsurely.

"I dunnoooooooo!"

"Alright, well..." Tobias didn't know how to explain to the crackhead that he couldn't possibly read the stars and come up with a theory, with a floating alcoholic swimming in and out of what little vision he had.

"Are you mean?" Pickles questioned. Tobias blinked.

"I don't believe so, no."

"Feck. Who have I missed then?"

Tobias realized that Pickles was probably looking for whoever he was supposed to pass the prophecy to. Which meant that at some point, the prophecy's words had become even more skewed and confusing, or maybe everyone was just hopelessly lost compared to Tobias. "Who are you supposed to talk to, someone who's... mean?"

"Yeeee," Pickles giggled.

Tobias frowned, thinking to himself. He had talked to Nathalia, and then Toki, and Toki had talked to Skwisgaar, if his theories were correct... There were very limited options afterward, and Tobias couldn't exactly remember where he figured Pickles would most likely fit at (especially since right now he didn't seem to fit anywhere) but if he was correct in his assumption that the 'mean' person was the last one of the prophecy, then he would know who Pickles needed to talk to, and it was not a good thing.

As a last resort, Tobias spoke helpfully, "Have you talked to Nathan, or...?" He was sure Nathan most likely started this entire thing since he was a leader of the band, but he still hoped that maybe his theory was wrong and that somehow...

Pickles's head glow moved up and down in a nod. "Ye, I talked to pretty much everyone. I dunno who it could beeeee." Pickles suddenly found himself hanging upside down, still facing Tobias it seemed.

Tobias bit his lip softly. "What about... Murderface?"

It suddenly became so quiet that the only sound Tobias could hear was his own blood pumping through his system. Pickles was frozen in place, not moving or saying anything for the longest time.

"...Fuck," Pickles eventually whispered. "I uh, forgot... him."

Tobias shot Pickles a sympathetic look, before realizing Pickles was already floating away. "Hey, wait-"

But he had already disappeared into the darkness.

. . .

Well, that trip had certainly sobered Pickles up as much as it possibly could. He really didn't want to have to deal with Murderface, even if the bassist had chilled out for the past week or so. He was still very much pissed off at the man for what happened last year, let alone what he tried to do to Salem, of all people. Although he kept it civil in front of others, which was meant to be disarming to keep drama and fighting at bay, inside he wanted to tear the man into little pieces.

Pickles did notice though almost right away that Salem was very skittish and hid behind the other drummer a lot at just the sight of Murderface, so Pickles tried to keep a calm and collected front to also hopefully ease their worries. He had wanted to be protective and strong for them... He still did.

Looking around at his environment, Pickles frowned. He had accidentally started wandering again and now didn't know where he was; nothing was recognizable, just tons of sand in front of him. He turned his head; he couldn't even find where Nathalia's cave was anymore, and the ocean had long disappeared as well. The sand no longer felt like hot, wet, sticky sand during a beach day. It was dry and very dusty, and with every kick Pickles choked on the specks as they flew into his face.

The sand seemed to stretch on forever in front of Pickles, and his body actually felt tired and heavy for once, rather than graceful and energetic as it usually was. He continued to drag his feet through the ground below him, not even sure if he was going the right way or why all of this sand was even here. It felt like a video game almost, with so many different biomes connected fluidly to one another (aside from where Tobias's lair was located; Pickles wasn't even sure how he managed to get up there or how he got back down).

A gust of hot, airy wind blew against his face almost purposefully, pushing his red mane backward and causing his third eye to shoot open almost immediately and expectantly.

It wasn't like looking through a normal eye- rather it was like having a really vivid imagination, while his two original eyes seemed to grow sharper and clearer. It was disorienting sometimes to him, when he hadn't used his sight in a while.

Pickles winced from images he didn't care to see again and brushed the hair back over his eye, feeling it close once more to rest. However, just before his vision completely faded, he noticed a small, scattered trail of something red on the ground, leading in the direction he had been going but then branching off toward a nearby sandy hill.

In curiosity, Pickles bent down to see if he could see it in plain sight, and noticed a tiny scrap of metal, as well as almost completely buried footprints with old splattered blood. Pickles frowned to this and stood up straighter, beginning to follow the trail. Well, hopefully this was a sign... and he could get this over with. The fact that Murderface, a well-known douchebag to the world, was considered the 'mean' one by even the universe, did not make Pickles feel any better.

Once he had sifted through to climb up the sand mound, Pickles noticed that the blood was becoming more and more noticeable. At the same time, Pickles was suddenly more interested in the fact that in the distance, a mountain, or perhaps a volcano, peeked through more sandy and rocky hills.

Pickles stumbled through the terrain, feeling the sand turn into jagged stones that cut into his feet and suddenly he understood why there was so much blood. He winced and hobbled along, not liking the fact that he could still feel pain since he usually never did. That either meant he was coming down from his high slowly, or maybe this place was just meant to be painful. Perhaps both.

Thick, black smoke was coming from the very top of the mountain, but also from the middle, where it seemed a giant crevice had been dug in the side. It looked like there was a fire going somewhere within which would probably explain the smoke.

Pickles was staring so intensely at the mountain that he didn't notice a shard of something poking from the ground, and he jammed his foot directly onto it, yelling out in pain when it seemed to pierce right through. He tried to lift his foot immediately to pull it out, not realizing it hadn't actually stuck in, and lost his balance, about to topple forward with his chest directly above the sharp object.

A rough hand grabbed the back of Pickles's tunic, then aggressively yanked him backward so that he could stumble back on his feet. Despite the pain, Pickles managed to regain footing, if anything out of sudden fear to feel a somewhat familiar hand on his body.

Without thinking, Pickles's eyes darted toward his 'savior' and stared into harsh, lime green eyes that he loved to hate and hated to love. A vaguely familiar face stared stonily back, thick eyebrows furrowed, lips which curled in a grimace. Thick, heavy curls fell over his sweaty forehead, and two goat-like horns poked from the top, though one seemed to have been smashed.

Pickles was at least several miles away from everyone else, and stuck in a somewhat secluded mountain with Murder-fucking-face.

Just as quickly as Murderface had grabbed Pickles, he had let go, and opted for placing his hands on his hips. "Watch where you're going!" As with everyone else, Murderface didn't have his obnoxious accent, but he spoke the same language Salem had, which was odd to hear coming from this man's mouth. If anything, Pickles expected something less graceful and more harsh and rough around the edges.

Pickles would smack himself for thinking this but Murderface definitely didn't look as bad as he did in the real realm- not that he looked attractive or anything, just better- and he didn't actually look mean or permanently angry like usual, either. He instead looked like a very tired and annoyed, mini Bigfoot. The man was also absolutely covered from head to toe in cuts, even on his face. His arms were blackened with soot and there were bright red burns all over his hands. His clothing (a much better aesthetic than in real life, too) consisted of leathery armor with metal cuffs that were also forever scorched by some type of heat.

"Uhh..." Pickles suddenly realized he'd been staring at the other for a good minute while Murderface glared back without any venom. "Thanks."

Murderface harrumphed as he decided to finally side-step past Pickles, hoisting a pickaxe over his shoulder and carrying what looked to be a heavy bag. This of course irritated the drummer, no longer feeling shy while he decided to follow the bassist toward the mountain.

"I saved you. Doesn't mean you get to join me," Murderface said coldly, but Pickles just rolled his eyes as he decided to stroll along beside him.

"I don't think I give a fuck. I gotta talk to ya."

"I also don't give a fuck."

The two stopped to stare harshly at each other, Pickles finally noticing a more aggressive fire burning in his eyes that hadn't been there a minute ago. He was becoming increasingly hostile, apparently. This didn't phase the red-head, who crossed his arms stubbornly.

"You owe me."

"I owe you? I owe YOU?" Murderface spoke angrily. "I- you-"

"For last year." This time it was Pickles's turn to become stone cold as he pursed his lips, feeling built up frustration in the back of his throat. He'd been holding in his anger and hatred for so long that he didn't know if he could keep it at bay now. Pickles was worried about being alone with Murderface, but the truth was that maybe the other should be worried.

To Pickles's utter surprise, Murderface's eyes softened to those words just slightly, despite still scowling. He abruptly turned back around, but muttered an, "Alright," while walking away, so Pickles continued to tag along in a limp.

At the base of the mountain was another human sized crevice for the both of them to slip through, Pickles being careful not to touch Murderface as he followed. There was a short bridge in front of them that hung over a large pool of lava, which Pickles noticed with dismay. He carefully followed the bassist all the way toward the center of the mountain, where a large stone plate sat inside of the floor, attached by pulleys and other contraptions. Once Pickles slid onto the plate, Murderface began pulling the rope next to them, and the drummer jolted when he felt himself being lifted.

Murderface grunted softly, veins in his arms throbbing as he pulled on the rope. Pickles wondered how painful and annoying it would be, having to do this every time. Especially now, with an extra body.

They were dragged into another section of the mountain that looked like it had been picked into a neater complexion, with bridges on either side of them. All the bridges seemed to be made of some kind of strong metal and stone, except for the bottom one that Pickles had stepped over, which felt similar to wood but didn't look to be; he wasn't sure what the material was.

Pickles was sure the material used for the top bridges would burn and be painful, so he mentally braced himself. What he didn't expect was Murderface grabbing Pickles's arm and quickly dragging him across the hot bridge.

Pickles gasped in pain as he felt his skin automatically blistering to the heat. Murderface gritted his teeth without a word, continuing to pull the other along until they were on the other side, where the drummer collapsed with a moan of pain.

"Fuuuuck, why the fuck do you live here?!" Pickles groaned as he rubbed his sore, blistered and bloody feet. "Shit's a death trap."

"I know," Murderface said grimly as he dropped a bucket next to Pickles's feet, startling him. Some water sloshed inside of it, spilling over and splashing his dry, red skin. Pickles gingerly pulled the bucket closer and awkwardly lifted his leg up high so that he could rest it carefully inside to touch the water, wincing at the sharp coolness. "You get used to it."

Pickles looked up to see Murderface with his back to him, dumping his bag of whatever next to what looked to be a furnace. There was a whole smithing table beside it, a hammer and an unfinished project of some sort. Looking around, Pickles noticed that there were about eight seemingly random suits of beautiful polished metal, heavy glass, and other unknown materials, and only one was unfinished. None of them seemed to be able to fit Murderface except the one that wasn't finished.

"What're you workin' on?"

"No idea. None of your business, anyway."

"Okay, harsh," Pickles grumbled as he looked away in annoyance, observing the mountain instead.

Murderface sighed heavily as he placed something in the furnace and watched it roar back to life, flames licking their way toward his face. He barely winced as a flame snagged his cheek, creating a red mark that had almost hit his eye. Pickles noticed this while looking around.

"Dude, you're gonna lose an eye."

Murderface ignored Pickles and watched the flames with such concentration that for a second Pickles wondered if the man had completely lost it in this world. He wouldn't blame him; after all, this place... sucked. It was hot, it was painful, and at least Salem and Skwisgaar seemed to have animals, Pickles had talking mushrooms (and just got to be high in general), Nathalia had dead bodies and at least a calm, cool place to sing, and Nathan could probably talk to the fishes or whatever weird thing he thought about doing in his free time. Even Tobias had a peaceful area to reside in, even if it was about as lonely as Murderface's. This man just had pain and fire waiting for him.

Pickles supposed that making it into an armory of some kind to preoccupy his time was kind of neat, but what was he to do if he ever ran out of resources? Ever ran out of steam or creativity? Nobody would even know how to get to this place on their own, let alone would WANT to come visit Murderface, to even buy his work or something. For the first time in a long while, Pickles felt a little bad for the man.

This entire area was practically a metaphor for Murderface's rough exterior, in both here and the real world. Though Murderface didn't speak on it much (and usually when he did, it was in bragging form), everyone in the band knew he had somewhat of a horrible childhood. From watching his parents die, to being raised by two disgusting and awful grandparents that taught him to be just as gruesome, then yelled at him for doing what he was taught. Learning from a young age to hate his body and also hate everyone else just because it was his only way to have a defense. Becoming a hard shell of what he could've turned out to be, because of the environment he had been placed in so long ago.

None of this necessarily excused Murderface's behavior; he'd had time to grow and develop as a person since leaving his family to pursue his career. But at the very least there was a reason for it, not only that he felt like being awful one day.

Just like the mountain too, and the molten lava rolling around underground, Murderface over the years learned to become a soft gooey mess over certain things.  He was arguably the most sensitive out of everyone, just in different ways. But just like the lava, it would eventually re-harden once forcibly brought to the surface. Maybe if everyone could just acknowledge the soft, sensitive interior without trying to break him open, it wouldn't create more rocky walls to climb over in the long run. That was partially why he was probably even more of an asshole these days.

Okay, Pickles was getting way too poetic and sentimental over such a silly idea. Plus, he was still rightfully angry at Murderface for everything he had done, and no amount of inner squishiness was going to stop him from being mad-

"I'm sorry." Pickles's thoughts froze in their tracks at the bitter sound of Murderface apologizing begrudgingly while he placed melting iron in the furnace.

"...What?"

"You heard me, you fuck!"

"Yeah but I wanna hear it again."

"...I'm sorry." Pickles certainly hadn't expected a first apology, much less a second one. And he was supposed to be the mean one? Nathalia was meaner than this!

"I'm honestly surprised."

"Well I can't tell you when I wake up so might as well tell you in my dream, even if you're not actually real." Murderface shrugged.

"Wait, you think this all is a... dream?"

"What else could it be, dumb shit?!" Ah, there was that meanness.

To be fair, Pickles once thought he only had very vivid dreams while high and that he had a wicked imagination to think the way he did. It never fully solidified even years later when the proof was right in front of him; even when he began to believe more, he was still skeptical every so often. Certain events, including meeting Salem, helped him fully come to terms.

"What if I told ya, all this is real?"

"How the fuck could it be?"

"No idea, but-"

"But nothing. Take my apology and stop haunting me now, weirdo."

Pickles blinked. "Haunting you?"

Murderface sighed heavily. "Every time I ApOlOgIzE to you, you still come back for more. I just didn't expect you to be here, of all places this time."

Pickles raised an eyebrow. "My bad. If it helps, I think that was legitimately your imagination, but I'm real this time."

"Sure."

Pickles crossed his arms and pouted, but then let a sly grin slip out. Murderface noticed this and became distracted for just a split second, causing him to burn his hand on whatever he had been poking the iron with.

"Fuck! WHAT?!" Murderface snarled, but Pickles only grinned wider.

"Youuuuuu apologized a looooot," Pickles teased, ducking as a rock was thrown his way. "That's so sweeeeeet."

Murderface hmphed as he turned back around. "Only to get you off my dick so I can work in peace."

Pickles almost felt disappointed until he realized he hadn't even done anything when Murderface had apologized this time. Also, Murderface's shoulders were ten times more tense than before. That molten lava was spilling out a little, making Pickles smirk. He wanted to push the man's buttons so bad, but it would just reharden faster.

"Sooo... what ya apologizing for?"

"You know what."

"I wanna heaaaar it."

"You get what I give you!" Murderface growled, face slightly red as he began to rotate the steel. Flames licked at his skin but he seemed not to notice this. He turned to give Pickles a glare, who could see the rage and also fear in his eyes. Why did the drummer have to go for the emotionally unavailable ones?

Pickles sighed, feeling heaviness in his heart. "Never mind. I'm only here to bring you a message, anyway."

"Okay?" Murderface slowly turned back to his work, but he seemed to not be able to concentrate all of a sudden.

"There's danger approaching and we all need to be prepared for something," Pickles told him, remembering the prophecy's words that he had grown up rehearsing.
"Yes this means in real life and yes you have to take it seriously. If there's one weak link, everything could fail." Pickles hadn't been explicitly told this, it was just one of those things he simply knew.

Murderface scoffed. "And you automatically assume I'll be the weak link?"

"Murderface, look at me."

Slowly the other man did, staring into Pickles's hard expression. "If you take this as a joke, or don't believe what I'm saying in any way, we could die."

Murderface rolled his eyes. "Sure."

"I'm fucking serious!" Pickles grabbed a hold of the other man's leather shirt while glaring at him. "What have you got to lose, just by listening to me?!"

"My sanity, probably," Murderface shrugged.

Pickles seemed to snap as he bared his teeth. "You never fucking had it, dude. You're a fucking mess of a person. All you do is cry and whine, threaten your own friends, play with their head for fucking months just to use their body to sleep with and- and-" Pickles felt his face burn with frustration and rubbed at his cheeks roughly. No, he was going to let this all out right fucking now, and get it out of the way since he had no other chance to...

Murderface decided to sit down in front of Pickles, expression blank as he studied the red-head. "Yeah, I fucked up. What do you want from me, Pickles?" He looked a bit drained from this argument, though his eyes still burned on with aggressiveness.

"An explanation! An apology! A real one, in real life!" Pickles hissed in irritation.

"Can't give you that." Murderface seemed suddenly very disinterested in the conversation as he turned his back to Pickles, further annoying the other.

"Why the fuck not? Because you're not actually sorry? You don't actually give a fuck what you did to me?! You took advantage of me, and then told everyone, I-" Pickles choked on his words, causing him to fall silent. Murderface didn't answer, continuing his work in silence, leaving Pickles to sob quietly to himself.

As he was wiping his face for the tenth time on his drooly tunic, Murderface tossed a slightly dirty cloth to him, catching him in the face. He pulled it off and looked down at it, before looking back up to see the other glowering with intensity toward his way.

"Stop being a baby, learn to face your problems."

Pickles used the cloth to wipe his face, then stood on sore feet and shoved his way in front of Murderface, accidentally burning the both of them, though neither noticed. "YOU'RE my problem, so what now?"

"That's better," Murderface growled. "You mad?"

"Fuck yeah!"

"Then act mad!" Murderface yelled suddenly. "Get furious! Scream if you have to! Punch me! But never fucking cry like that in front of me again!"

Pickles swung a fist automatically, landing a hit to the jaw that made him stumble back a little, but he was apparently much sturdier in this realm and stood his ground.

"That feel good to do?!"

"YES!"

"GOOD!"

In actuality, Pickles did not feel better; he felt worse. While Murderface's eyes seemed to glint with sudden liveliness. The two stared at each other for the longest time, blood dripping from the taller one's mouth. Finally, Pickles lowered his head, relaxing his tense muscles with a sigh.

"...Sorry."

"Never apologize to the enemy," Murderface spoke coldly as he moved to walk past Pickles, whose hand shot out to catch the man before he had fully passed.

"...You're not an enemy."

"Then what am I?" Murderface challenged. "Because I don't even know what the fuck I am anymore. Why I am the way I am, why I do stupid things, why I hurt people when I don't need to because I'm a baby that doesn't understand stupid shit. Then feels bad for it, wants to fucking die for it, wants to cry about it, but then instead says or does something else dumb to avoid those soft, gay ass feelings, until everyone else is the one in tears and I can feel better about myself when I'm not the only one in pain. So what the fuck am I, Pickles? Please fucking tell me what I need to be so I can be it instead of switching back and forth like a crazy person."

Pickles didn't have a proper answer for that.

"I honestly don't know. Because I can't tell what your intentions are anymore," Pickles muttered. "How much you want one thing'r the other when you're split like this. And I guess I never knew it was this bad. But I hoped..."

Murderface angrily tossed something else in the furnace before yanking out a lump of red-hot steel that he placed on his work bench to roll into proper shape. It looked to be the beginning of a helmet. "Hoped that I wasn't a piece of shit? Too fucking bad."

Pickles's lip quivered again but he chose to keep his tears locked up and instead sneered at the dog-faced man. "You don't have a right to be this pissy with me, I didn't do shit to you."

"I know!" Murderface shouted as he slammed his hammer down extra hard, startling the other. "That's why I'm pissy! Fuck off and leave me to brood, you have better shit to do than bother me about this again and again! I fucking know you didn't do anything, I fucking know because-" Murderface's face set into a more numb scowl. "Get the fuck out, dude. Go bother Salem's dream and you two will be able to talk shit about me."

"Maybe I will!" Pickles scoffed, though he stepped to push Murderface aside, sliding himself in front of the man so he could have his undivided attention. "If you're feeling so fucking guilty, why do you act like I'M the burden?"

"Get out," Murderface hissed, shoving Pickles away harshly then immediately grabbing his arm and pulling him closer as a knee-jerk reaction when he began to fall over. Murderface gave almost a wicked, strangled laugh as he gripped Pickles's elbow tightly. "This shit's never gonna get better, is it?"

Pickles was confused by both what had happened and the question itself. He gently pried himself away from Murderface, watching as he turned his back to resume his work angrily. He wasn't sure what to do or say now, but luckily Murderface had decided to continue talking.

"I don't know how to apologize properly. For the longest time, I felt betrayed."

"By fucking what?!" Pickles demanded, crossing his arms over his chest. But he knew why already.

Murderface glanced only once up at Pickles, before looking back down. "I don't know what to do now with myself. Especially after fucking up twice."

Pickles knew that he meant Salem, too. "I dunno, how about A-P-O-L-O-G-I-Z-E to us?"

Murderface gave a wry smile. "You know I'd rather take the easier route."

Pickles rolled his eyes. "Apparently."

Murderface resorted to placing his hands on his hips after a moment. "Would you believe me if I said I never did those things in the beginning to hurt you?"

Pickles huffed as he looked away. "Don't lie to me."

"I'll believe you about your stupid message if you take a chance to believe me."

Pickles once again dropped his guard in surprise. "That's not how shit works..."

"Why not?"

Pickles turned back to Murderface, who had a mischievous look on his face... but it wasn't with malicious intent. He almost looked like a little kid this way. Just a really bloody, hairy one. Pickles growled in irritation, and Murderface grinned a little, which made Pickles's heart leap into his throat. He hadn't seen such childish joy from this man in a long time.

"Look I know it seems like an overreaction to just rumors and questions but you literally listened to me talk to you about how much I didn't want anybody else to know these things about me, and you turn around and create a fucking FORUM. I'm allowed to be in disbelief that you weren't just digging for dirt on me because you're grossed out by what I am." Pickles muttered.

Murderface blinked, seeming surprised by the grossed out part, but didn't comment on it. His eyes were focused on the flames in his face once more. "... I feel a compulsion to do bad shit. I feel a compulsion to hate what I don't get. I feel a compulsion to just destroy everything around me... Sucking the energy out of others to make them empty and hollow like me, makes me feel good. Like I'm not alone." Murderface spoke almost dreamily, and it made bile rise in the back of Pickles's throat. "But it always goes. I feel guilty, awful, angry at myself. So what do I do? I keep being a piece of shit." Murderface shrugged. "I've gotten better at controlling it because... I no longer have any will to actually change or fix what happened, but also no will to try and fill my void anymore. So in a way, you won. You can just wait for me to die now."

"That'll take too long, you're stubborn," Pickles commented, earning a dirty look from the other man. "Look... I can't do this shit for ya, obviously. Not that you asked," He added quickly when receiving another nasty look. "Nobody can fix you 'xcept yourself. Why wait in pain and self-loathing for death when you can just fucking TRY for two seconds to be a better person? Actually believe you can be a better person? Or use what you can do to be helpful? You're a cunning, plotting, hard-headed, sneaky little dick." Murderface huffed but Pickles continued. "You can use that to help us, not hurt us. You don't gotta feel anything for me. You don't gotta be nice... But you don't gotta give up either."

Murderface shrugged carelessly, so Pickles grabbed his shoulder to get his attention again. "You're not a nice person. I get that. You'll always be a rude, selfish, whiny, stupid dildo who has tantrums and cries a lot to get what you want, but you can have a heart, too. You can be a dick who makes mistakes, owns them, and tries to be better for next time. What makes you impossible to deal with is your lack of will to fuckin' fix shit after others have suffered. Sometimes it just ain't about you, dude. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and just do better."

 Pickles remembered telling Salem to do better before as well and it almost struck a chord in his head of how similar they were. The way they both self pitied, but Salem chose to overexert themself to take care of others and avoid their problems, and then hurt those same people by not taking care of themself, whereas Murderface pushed everyone away and hurt them for self pity, maybe in the hopes someone would pity him too.

Murderface pursed his lips, not having an answer to that and not liking how the conversation had turned out. Time seemed to be up anyway, when suddenly Pickles lost all of his strength  and fell forward on top of Murderface, his consciousness in this world fading.

~~~

Pickles opened his eyes slowly with a moan of pain, staring straight into the clothed and bloody chest of someone else. He was on top of another body, and wasn't sure how he ended up there or where he was. His head was pounding so hard that he couldn't think straight, and ended up laying there for the longest time without moving, until he heard a grunt and slight shifting from the person underneath him.

The deep, gruff voice is what made Pickles shoot his head up, staring down with wide eyes at Murderface's sleeping form, dried blood caked all over his nose and mouth. His mouth dropped open in horror and immediately began screaming so loud that he wasn't surprised people didn't come running.

"Picklesch, we didn't do anything!"

Pickles had thrown himself off of the bed after Murderface jerked awake to the sound of the drummer's howls, and had feebly attempted at grabbing at him to stop him from running out.

"No! NO! Get away from me!" Pickles shouted as he stumbled to the door, slamming his head into the wall on accident and almost knocking himself out.

"Fuchking schtop you idiot!" Murderface yanked him back, before Pickles pulled out of his grip once more, slapping the hand away.

"You stop, Murderface!" Murderface immediately froze in his attempts to re-grab Pickles, whose chest was heaving. Green irises stared into each other with intensity for the first time in a long while. "Please, just stop," Pickles gave a strangled whisper. "I- I don't care what happened, okie? Jus'... Lemme go."

Murderface reluctantly unhanded Pickles, though he still remained close to the other. "I... We-"

"I know." Pickles's voice was getting harder to come through. "I- I know, okie?" 

He remembered. It had registered in his brain once his eyes had made contact with Murderface that he had tried to fuck him last night.

"D- don' follow me," Pickles croaked before he whipped around and flew through the door, leaving the bassist to stand there all alone.

He flew down the hallway, not sure on where he should go; back to his room where he'd end up thinking about committing suicide again, or maybe go into someone else's room to try and focus on another person's problem.

Maybe Toki or something...

Pickles bumped into another person and out of instinct shoved them away harshly, knocking them to the ground while he screamed, "Jus' fuck off, shit!" He froze to see Salem against the floor, both surprised, hurt, and insulted, but didn't stick around to see Pickles reaching for them with an apology on his tongue. They stood up and pushed past him, presumably to go to Skwisgaar's hospital room, leaving Pickles to hang there with guilt and self-hatred running through his chest.

He ended up sitting by Toki for a few hours, watching him sleep most of the time though he finally began to stir once vicious light began to poke into the room. Toki was a mess and couldn't get up to use the bathroom so of course when he woke up in a half-drugged state and had to go, he practically screamed at Pickles to leave so he could use the bowl next to him. A few minutes later a nurse who had also been monitoring Toki, walked out and told Pickles he could go back in.

Toki was practically bright eyed and bushy tailed by the time Pickles came back in, apologizing for his outburst. His oxygen mask looked like it had been clawed at and chewed on for a moment, worrying Pickles. Nobody liked constriction, but Toki had never acted so primitive over it before.

Regardless, Toki decided to start talking Pickles's ear off about random subjects while watching some cartoon show on the T.V, and Pickles was happy to listen so he could distract his brain. Toki for some reason didn't act as childish as he usually did though; he didn't excitedly talk about his show, or discuss his model airplanes, or ask about getting toys for Christmas.

Mostly he talked about being worried about Charles, and how Nathalia seemed to keep disappearing, about Salem looking a little ill, and finally mentioned Pickles himself.

"You looks sads Pickle, ams somethings wrong?" Toki's voice was soft and hesitant, like he was worried about stepping on eggshells around Pickles. To be fair, Pickles was kind of out of it after running into Salem earlier and accidentally pushing them, so he definitely looked like he was on edge.

Pickles gave a soft sigh and gave a small smile, reaching to touch Toki's hand softly. "Ye, I'm okie bud. Jus' worry aboot yerself."

"I won'ts," Toki frowned. "I can'ts feel betters until you all ams feels betters."

"Aww, Toki." Pickles reached over to press a soft kiss to Toki's forehead, if anything so that the rhythm guitarist couldn't see the sadness passing his face fleetingly. "It's gonna be okie."

When Pickles pulled away, Toki looked depressed and unconvinced, but gave a small nod while picking at the sheets draped over his stomach. "I loves you Pickle..."

"I love yew too," Pickles murmured, and Toki suddenly turned his head away from the other man. "Hey, Toki..."

Suddenly the door opened after a quick knock and Toki snapped his attention to it, eyes widening to see Skwisgaar slowly make his way in with a pained grimace. In front of him though was Salem, who stopped short the second they made eye-contact with the red-head. Skwisgaar ran into them a second later and they muttered an apology while trying to get him to balance. In response, Pickles jerked his head back around to look at Toki, who once again looked a lot happier.

Salem pointedly sat as far away from Pickles as they could and even though he had been rude first this time technically, he did give them a pained look, just wanting to learn how to apologize and make it up to them. After all he hadn't meant to do that, even though by this point the push seemed very intentional and Salem had every right to be offended. Everything was such a mess.

Once Skwisgaar had drawn closer, Toki immediately began to giggle like a child; like the old Toki used to. "You ams the balds!"

"Shuts up! We don'ts talks about thats!"

Pickles slowly tuned out their bickering and pouting, wishing nothing more than silence and to be back in his room and sleep the rest of the day away. He was becoming increasingly suicidal with each passing day that more and more shit seemed to pile on top of his shoulders; the fact that Nathan was no longer interested in anything or anyone except brooding, and that Nathalia seemed to not give a shit about Pickles's obvious depression even though she saw him the most, and his entire drama with Salem, who also looked mighty ill and a little hungover from something possibly hardcore. Then there was Murderface... could anything else get worse?

Salem offered to take Skwisgaar back to his room after they went to do something (what that was, Pickles was suspicious but honestly didn't know what it could be except something sketchy), and he offered to do it instead. Salem looked surprised but agreed before hopping out of the room fairly quickly. Pickles wasn't sure what they were getting into, but he figured that maybe it would be best if he gave them an option to just relax in their room instead, and maybe to avoid him longer; since now, HE seemed to be the one causing problems, and he didn't want to.

Then eventually Salem came back to explain that there was a meeting that Pickles honestly didn't give a shit about. Everyone filed in, including a very trashed Nathalia who just waddled to and fro while giggling to herself. Nathan looked a little annoyed but not too much, mostly just seemed his normal grumpy self. Tobias was passive as usual and Murderface was looking everywhere but the faces that glared at him with deep loathing.

Abigail began but Pickles wasn't prepared to listen until she said, "It's probably not the kind you want to hear," in terms of news. Pickles raised an eyebrow in slight interest.

"Is it aboot...?"

"No, it's not about Charles." Abigail sighed heavily. "Aside from Nathalia, Tobias, and Salem, your families are all going to be coming as a little get-together."

At first Pickles was stunned, too stunned to hear what else she said, then he became horrified. He hadn't seen them in so long, and after last year with what Murderface did and they felt the need to butt in... He found himself lurched over, vomiting into a bucket that had been pushed his way. When he had finished, a new thought, a horrible thought, entered his mind. She had said 'families', not just 'parents'. "Is it jus' my parents, 'r...?"

"Your brother said he wanted to join, unfortunately."

Everyone knew that Pickles hated his brother with a passion, and truth be told after Pickles had gained a more 'masculine' figure, he had become aggressive for a while and because he basically paid his brother the same amount he paid his parents, he didn't feel as afraid of the man on top of that since he basically held the ex-con's finances in his hand. Now that that was gone, and Pickles's masculinity was on the verge of constantly feeling threatened, all irritation and hostility was gone, replaced only by a deep fear and repressed memories he tried not to think about...

"As it stands, there's nothing I can do about it."

While Murderface came up with a small elaborate idea to stop the party from happening, and Skwisgaar offered to sacrifice his mom for the cause, Pickles couldn't help but land his eyes directly on Salem, who had moved to soothe skwisgaar back into his seat after pulling something, and became jealous and angry. Why couldn't they just get along for two damn seconds?! Why did Salem have to start it all by running away from him and their feelings?!

"Pickle, takes over fors me. Defends my legacy!"

"Yew got it, dood."

"Bruh, what legacy, I-"

"The legacies of gettinks to actualitys doings something withouts beings monitored like big baby dildoes!"

"Jesus-"

For almost no reason, Pickles's frustration with the world had finally boiled over. It was too loud in this room- he wanted to distract himself from his problems, not be overloaded with so much dumb shit. "Let Salem do it, dey 'pparently done it before."

The room suddenly became too quiet and when Pickles could finally hear his own thoughts again, he realized what he had just said. He dropped his eyes to the ground so as not to meet anyone's gaze as they stared at him with shock, including Salem.

"What." Nathan was the first to break the silence, and almost sounded angry and annoyed. Just more unnecessary drama for the leader of the band to clean up after Pickles opened up his giant, stupid mouth. Pickles fluttered his eyes upward, spotting Nathalia who had gone from a crackhead to being really invested in a fake plant nearby.

"...Not'in', inside joke,'' was all Pickles could manage in a feeble defense, guilt rippling through him. He felt like an asshole for outting Salem like that, though he did honestly feel disturbed; and had been feeling disturbed; since finding out that piece of information.

The sound of Salem dropping their body to the nearest chair made him wince. He wanted to look up and see their reaction, but was afraid of seeing the consequences of his own actions.

"Salems?" Skwisgaar was the next to speak, so gentle and hesitant. Was it out of fear or concern? Pickles couldn't tell and Salem probably couldn't either. "Salems, it... it ams okays..."

Abigail moved fluidly, clasping her hands on their shoulders. Pickles finally looked up to see Salem become limp and stare at a wall in response like a robot that had been powered down. They looked absolutely dead inside.

"M'lords and ladies, there's a call that wants to come through on screen."

"Not now."

"It's not from anyone's families."

A sigh from Abigail. "Let it go through."

A T.V was wheeled in and everyone was once again surprised and filled with horror the second that the T.V had flickered on.

"Charles?!"

Chapter Text

"Charles?!"

Abigail was the first to gasp and speak, her hand to her heart as she saw her fellow friend and somewhat co-worker sitting in a rotting wood chair that had two missing limbs.

Nathan didn't notice the dingy surroundings; the rats crawling around Charles's feet, or the crusty, molded plates almost completely full of expired food; the singular flickering lightbulb above Charles's head that threatened to pop and explode glass all over him; or the many torture devices behind him that were worn down with use and covered in blood.

No, all he could see was Charles, his ex-lover. He stared, dumbfounded, at the man's swollen cheek, a black and blue eye with a burst vessel that caused the white to fill with blood, and long, jagged cuts down his face, neck and arms. His clothing was torn apart, revealing a muscled chest that had been seemingly stabbed over and over, enough to leave marks but shallow enough not to kill him immediately. The man's broken arm was twisted all the way behind him so that a bone protruded out. His ankles were also practically black and swollen, equally broken- possibly to prevent him from running.

Charles's head was lowered to his chest like he was sleeping, though Nathan could tell from the slight tense stance that he was wide awake and aware. He always knew when the man faked sleep to avoid confrontation; he did it whenever he tried to avoid Nathan and his grumpy moods.

An oddly eery and familiar voice came in faintly from the background. "Wake up you shit, it's showtime!"

"Shut up," Charles deadpanned, and Nathan's heart thumped at hearing such a cold, emotionless tone. He knew that tone, it would be whenever he was done with Nathan's melodrama...

Charles finally lifted his head slightly, showing off a busted and swollen lip, a broken nose, and a long slice that went all the way from one end of his neck to the other. How he was alive was a straight up mystery. The man didn't immediately look at Nathan, but rather Abigail, who looked to be in pain to see such a horrid display.

"Say what you need to say and let's get this show on the road!" A cackle came from within the facility that Charles resided in. Abigail quickly motioned her hand in such a subtle way that it was probably unnoticeable, and two Klokateers silently snuck by to leave the room, possibly to go try and see if they could track where the signal was coming from.

Charles took a deep breath and despite his predicament, he gave a pained smile. "Forgive me; I don't normally talk a lot, anymore. I've ah, learned to adapt to being short and to the point. But I feel like... I have a lot to say, and I need to say it quickly, so please pay attention this time, guys. Just one last time." His voice was shaky and off, nothing like the normal composed tone of Charles.

Toki's lip quivered to those words, trying to pull at the cords attached to his body and his oxygen mask with one hand reaching desperately for his manager, which made Nathan's heart clench painfully. Skwisgaar, as quickly as he could, sat up and pulled Toki down back to bed level, keeping him steady while the younger man began to whimper.

Charles sighed, deciding to first start with Abigail. "I suppose I was right all along. In that case, I have a few papers I've already signed in my office; legally, and if you and Dethklok so wish it, you can now be the manager to my boys, I've technically signed all my rights to you. I know they're a rowdy bunch, but they mean well. At the very least, look out for them."

Abigail nodded solemnly, much to the shock of the others, for how unsurprised she seemed, though still sad and somewhat horrified.

Charles then turned next to Salem, Nathalia, and Tobias, who were all staring in stunned silence; Nathalia the least affected in her drunk state, but still paying attention and a little disturbed by what she saw. "I also want you guys to look after my band for me. You're all bright individuals, just a little damaged; and I promise if you stick through it all, you'll come out even better than before."

"Aw shucks," Nathalia commented.

"And please stop drinking so much," Charles managed a soft smile.

"Pssh, I'm not drunk." But that was all that was said between the three, since both Salem and Tobias were too stunned and worried about what was to happen to be concerned about what was actually being said.

Charles chose rather to turn to his actual band finally, starting with Skwisgaar. "Skwisgaar, I know you make yourself proud already so you really don't need me to stroke your ego, but I really am equally proud of you for what you accomplish and I hope you never lose that drive. Watch over Toki for me, and I'm not sure why he's ah, in a hospital bed or about your-" Skwisgaar shot him a warning look so Charles quickly changed the subject, "-but try to be careful. The band needs you both, and that tiny beam of compassion you hold in your heart that you pretend isn't there."

Toki began to give out louder whimpers and Charles's eyes tightened for a moment. "It's going to be okay, Toki. You're strong, and brave. You'll be fine without me, I promise."

"Nooooooooos," the half-drugged Toki whined as he reached for Charles again before being constricted by Skwisgaar once more. "P- please Charle, comes backs... We needs yous!"

"I can't come home Toki," Charles whispered. "I'm sorry. But you'll do fine without me. Just never stop being yourself; you're a bright, beaming light in such a dark world, and they'll need that. Even if it's not brutal." This made Toki smile a little through his tears. Abigail had turned away from the monitor, unable to handle anymore, and was whispering orders to the Klokateers as they came in and out of the room, seemingly attaching something to the monitor.

Murderface rolled his eyes at such a gay remark so it was his turn now for Charles to sink his claws into; politely. "I'm going to admit, I failed you in a lot of ways like you failed a lot of your friends, both last year and this year. I should have protected the others more by taking you seriously enough to explain why, as usual, you're wrong and a little foolish." Murderface looked away, cheeks reddening and actually looking embarrassed for once though it was hidden behind layers and layers of anger.

"However; that doesn't mean I can't apologize for failing you and try to make amends where I can. In my office are books that'll teach you what you need to know, so that maybe when you're greeted with new information next time, you'll be a bit more prepared. And please don't lash out at anybody else for your shortcomings anymore. It helps no one and doesn't teach people that you're actually confused and hurting. Talk to people and explain yourself. Listen to others and give them basic respect. You have no reason not to."

Murderface looked positively annoyed now, so Charles softened his looks. "Learn to love others, and you won't be so hard to love back." To everyone's surprise, Murderface's shoulders sagged lightly to this like that was the jab that struck him the most. Nathalia looked like she was going to argue with this logic, but Charles had already moved on.

"Pickles, there's simply too much to say to you, and it's all apologetic." Pickles's face flushed to those words and waved his hand dismissively, not wanting to hear it but at the same time wanting to, so that way maybe if they all stalled enough, they could... Charles shook his head before wincing, as an audible popping sound in his neck sounded off. "Don't shake it off. I did horrible trying to help you. I made you bottle up your emotions, because that was how I grew up, and how I went through my life existing. You're allowed to have feelings; what you feel is valid. But how you choose to express them is all on you, and you need to learn to be healthy about it." Pickles crossed his arms over his chest self-consciously. 

"I'm sorry I didn't allow you basic rights, to exist in your emotions and let yourself validate them because I was afraid of backlash; and for other things I regret making you lose." Pickles tensed to these words which caused people to look at him oddly, though they didn't want to interrupt Charles and make him lose precious time; since the person behind the camera sounded like they were getting antsy. "I won't say anymore and embarrass you, but your friends are NOT your enemies. Please trust them and one day tell them so you can heal from your problems. Sometimes all we need is a little openness." Pickles lowered his head and didn't answer.

Now it was Nathan's turn, and Nathan, who had been blank-faced and simply processing information the entire time, now had to face his ex-lover once more, eyes staring into each other's. So many unspoken words, so much emotion unsaid and not acknowledged. So, very little time, for the both of them.

They stared at each other for the longest time, silent and almost in a numb state, like they were only daydreaming this moment and that the person on the other end wasn't real.

It shocked everyone when Charles was the first to break, including Nathan. His eyes, those cold, calculated eyes that only showed love for Nathan and even that was just once or twice, began to well up with liquid drops of pain that were seemingly held back for so long. The only, horrid thought that Nathan could think of, was how tragic his ex looked, his large eyes sad and hopeless. Nathan's muscles stiffened when he felt a harsh feeling in the back of his throat, and forced it down with a swallow.

"Don't," Charles whispered, the camera barely able to pick up his words; but while everyone else struggled to hear, Nathan swallowed every detail, every shaky, breathy whisper that had never before come out of the man's mouth. "Don't hide it.."

Nathan closed his eyes slowly but tightly, feeling his stomach lurch with hidden feelings he'd been repressing since Charles's disappearance. They'd been festering for a while and now left a wretched, awful feeling in his gut.

"Look at me, sweetheart." Nathan no longer remembered that there were others around to hear such a horribly gay, cutesy pet-name, or that they weren't even technically dating anymore. No, it was just Nathan and Charles now, not even half-dead Charles, just him in full glory, smiling sweetly up at Nathan and underneath his lover while he gripped the older man tightly, safely, SAFELY, in his arms...

"I love you," Charles croaked. "I really do. I'm sorry I failed you, too."

With that, Charles dropped his head again and a body stepped into frame, further startling everyone except the three remaining friends from The Excommunicated.

"Magnus," Nathan growled. The older man, a former guitarist for the band Dethklok, stood there with a harsh smirk on his face.

"I told ya years ago I'd get revenge. Plus, someone else had a bounty over this one's head too; but he's had his fun and now it's time to end things."

"Why, Magnus? Of alls fuckings people?!" Skwisgaar snarled, still holding Toki down to the best of his ability. "Attacks us, you littles bitch! Charle ams dones nothinks wrongs to you! He luterallys just does the papers!"

"God your accent hasn't gotten any better," Magnus sneered as he pulled a dagger out of his pocket. "And I told you, someone else had a bounty, so I took the opportunity. Now if you're all done with your pitiful, sappy goodbyes..."

"Don't watch," Charles rasped an order, mostly to Toki who still struggled to look, but also flickering his eyes over to Nathan's, who held his gaze evenly. Just staring into those light green irises made Charles seem to relax, so the only indication that he was about to be stabbed was when he began to flinch to every sharp thrust of a knife deep into his gut.

Toki began to wail, even though he had only started seeing the first stab before Skwisgaar had had enough of his resistance and pulled him into his chest, blocking his view by shoving his face against his neck. "Please, Toki," Skwisgaar whispered, haunted by what he was seeing. There was so much blood. Why was there so much blood? "P- please... Stop... fighting..." Toki ended up falling apart on Skwisgaar, and the only sounds coming from the room were his sharp, heavy gasps and sobs and the horrid sounds of a dagger driving deep into Charles's abdomen.

Even after Charles's face had slowly grown blank and could no longer see the eyes that he had been locked onto the entire time, Nathan couldn't look away; he refused to look away until the last plunge, and Magnus pulled back with a look of satisfaction, blood dripping down his face. He looked like an absolute maniac; not that Nathan even noticed, for he still kept staring at the dead body of his lover, an entire piece of his heart. Something inside him finally shattered and in pure rage, he yanked the T.V off of its cord and slammed the electronic down three, six, fifteen, so many times that he had lost count.

Once he had taken his unbridled rage out on the T.V, the only sounds left in the room were Toki's soft sobs, then an eventual ominous, dead silence.

Nathalia was the first to speak, voice shaky and full of denial of what she just saw. "Is he okay...?"

"No, he's fucking not!" Nathan growled. "He's... Did they find the fucking location?"

"Nathan-"

"No, we can still find him! Let's go, they had to have gotten the location by now!"

"Nathan!"

"Where's the fucking Dethkopter? We can still make it-"

"Nathan, stop!" Abigail had finally grabbed him by the shoulders and he whirled around, a flame in his eyes that no one had really seen before.

"HE'S NOT DEAD! He can't be! I can still save him! I..." Abigail's soft, forlorn look silenced him once more into an uncomfortable silence, and he finally took in the environment around him. Toki was still crying, only silently, and hugging Skwisgaar so tightly that it obviously hurt the both of them, yet he refused to let go. Skwisgaar cradled him like a small child, rubbing the man's back gently, his own face contorted in deep sadness, a hint of wetness dripping down his face. Too many tears lately...

Pickles was also crying like a baby, an arm draped around his eyes so the only thing that could be seen was his mouth which he held in a tight grimace, teeth bared while sobs shook his body. Salem had come up to him and placed a gentle hand on his back, looking mostly disturbed and traumatized as he comforted the other drummer.

Murderface had his head turned, eyes shut, looking pale and possibly close to vomiting. He leaned against the nearest wall and placed his head in his hands, refusing to move from that position for the longest time. This was an odd reaction to the others since he and Charles were never that close, but alas, either way it was a really gruesome death he had just witnessed. Tobias was very obviously in shock and also disturbed, and perhaps a little sad at the horrid, needlessly violent death. Nathalia, surprisingly enough, began to tear up too and started to drunkenly cry loudly.

"I- I got drunk when I was't supposed to! He's gonna hate me forever!" Nathalia yowled.

"Nathalia," Abigail sighed. The manager had already wiped her eyes and regained most of her composure, "Enough."

Nathan looked around the room once more to distract his racing thoughts and burning throat. Tobias's head was bowed, eyes closed tightly and face scrunched in slight pain. Salem buried their face on top of Pickles's head, who had dropped to his knees and stared up at the ceiling with big doe-like eyes that swimmed in tears. Murderface had fully faced away from everyone, like he was ashamed to be seen. Nathalia was full-blown 'ugly' drunk crying, red-faced and snot dripping down her nose. Even Skwisgaar was now gritting his teeth as more teardrops fell down his face, trying to force it to stop, to no avail, while Toki continued his hysterical sobbing, now growing loud once more.

And Nathan? Nathan felt his chest closing up, but no tears came out. He stared stonily at the ground, so many thoughts running through his head and he physically began to shake. What had Charles meant by...?

"Damn you!" Nathan shouted, startling everyone a little as he picked up the busted T.V again and threw it into the nearest wall. "Fuck you, you bastard! You weren't going to fucking tell me-" He paused to throw the T.V the other way, "-and you thought-" Crash. "-No, I failed YOU! I FAILED YOU, MOTHERFUCKER! I'm the one- I fucking didn't- I...and NOW YOU'RE FUCKING GONE!" More crashing sounds. "You stupid fucker! STUPID, STUPID!" He punched a wall so hard that he split two of his knuckles. "I should've saved you! I... You were right fucking there! RIGHT THERE!"

Nathan could still practically see Charles physically slipping away from him by that Metal Masked Man, not able to grab him in time and pull him back into his arms... What if he had? Then maybe he would have at least been able to die with Charles close to his heart where he should always be. Where he could have always been, had Nathan not been salty with the man that day. If he had just been a little quicker... A little more loving... Shit, if he had given more of a fuck during the search... If he had been just a little more persistent.

Abigail placed a light hand back on Nathan's shoulder, but he shrugged it away as gently as he could without seeming too rude. He really didn't have the energy or heart to be overly-aggressive to some of the only people he had left, but he also didn't want to be touched right now. He turned his back to the mess he made. Pickles gripped the ground tightly with his hands, trying to control the sobs that tore through his body. Murderface had sat down on the ground, watching Nathan, looking completely horrified by everything.

Nathan looked away from everyone, not able to look his bandmates in the eyes. As selfish as it sounded, he felt like they didn't deserve to cry like they knew him the way Nathan knew him- while his face remained dry. It honestly irritated him that they were able to release their pent up stress from the horror in little drops of liquid, and Nathan could do nothing but scream and punch and destroy; partially why he and Charles struggled to begin with.

The pain was obviously there; Nathan could feel it wrench his heart and his stomach clench like he, too, was going to puke everywhere. He couldn't stop reliving those last moments where Charles, robot Charles, stared at him with teary eyes, loving eyes, soaking in the sight of Nathan before finally fading. Nathan. He wanted the very last thing he looked at to be Nathan of all people. It had relaxed him; made him as happy as he could possibly be in that situation.

Yet, Nathan couldn't make him happy when they were all alive and safe. With Charles in his arms, when he was able to actually make him laugh and kiss him and love him physically, it always ended so short with Nathan just pouting, or becoming offended, or getting defensive, or something else that would ruin the mood. It wasn't Charles's fault that he was an awkward human with little to no grip on how emotions worked; he still felt them, Nathan always knew he felt them. Whereas Nathan purposely buried his feelings to seem tough, and even when he started allowing them to surface, it was always with a sense of ego, because he could feel harder than Charles could, when it literally wasn't the man's fault.

Charles was a 'robot' by genetics, Nathan wanted to be a robot to look cool. He held contempt for the manager then, when he realized feelings weren't as lame as he once thought they were, and Charles still remained... Charles.

Didn't it mean something, though, that despite all of that; despite his lack of usual reactions or emotions, in Charles's darkest moment the only thing he wanted was to stare at Nathan specifically and finally cry in vulnerability...

Also, Nathan hadn't said he loved him, back. Shit.

~~~

Once everyone had finally somewhat calmed down, Abigail cleared her throat. "Obviously... This is going to take a bit to process. It's okay if it takes a while, a long time, a short time. We're all in this together..."

Pickles sniffed and wiped his eyes, still feeling Salem coddle him from behind. He didn't deserve their affection after everything, especially outing them as basically a murderer, which he still felt awful about, on top of witnessing Charles's death.

Both Pickles's and Nathan's eyes met once, and he could see the fury and anguish in those dark green pools. His eyes were the only dry ones, and yet probably held the most pain; maybe because he wouldn't allow himself to express his emotions, locking them so tightly in his chest that the only thing he could do was scream, which would only help so much.

A small shift from behind Pickles startled him out of his thoughts and he turned back to see Salem, who had pulled away so that they could rub their red eyes like everyone else was doing. His heart swelled at seeing the now mostly-blonde Salem (he hadn't realized their natural hair was so white and so darn pretty while it was growing out); he couldn't imagine losing them, especially in such a gruesome and heartbreaking way. And even if most of their... 'relationship', consisted of them running away from him...

Then just like that, those soft squishy feelings of romance disappeared once Toki had spoken up hesitantly. "W- whats did Charle means when h- he tolds P- Pickle to tell us s- s- somethings...?"

"Not'ing!"

"Not right now, Toki."

"Probably that he's trans."

Pickles had shouted first while Abigail tried to immediately diffuse the situation next, but when Nathalia brought up the rear, her voice trailed the farthest, catching everyone's ears and attention.

Everybody's breath hitched in their throat and stared between Nathalia and Pickles. How long had she known, they wondered? Pickles wanted to know the same exact thing.

"Who da fuck told yew?!"

"I- I... Umm..."

Salem stiffened next to Pickles's body so he whirled around, his own flame igniting within his heart. They didn't seem guilty, but they were certainly surprised, and that was enough for Pickles to point the blame.

"Yew fuckin' told her?!"

"N- no!" Pickles scoffed to the reply and turned to stomp out of the room, but Salem had grabbed his hand in an attempt to stop him. He yanked it back, causing them to stumble and fall onto their hands and knees. "Pickles, stop! She told me before you ever even told me!"

"Den how da feck did she find out?!" Pickles practically shouted.

"She was spying, and- and-"

"Saaalem," Nathalia whined, almost like this was all some joke, and Salem snapped their neck around to glower at their friend.

"When will you FUCKING learn that your actions HAVE CONSEQUENCES?!"

"Hey, DON'T yell at me!"

"You deserve it!" Salem yelled. "You fucking told him I killed my parents!"

"Nu uh! I told him you killed a fucker!" Well, that cat was out of the bag, but Salem didn't stop their shouting.

"Stop telling people shit! Stop being nosy! Stop finding ways to fucking hurt me because you can't learn to control yourself!" Salem screamed, fresh tears spilling over their cheeks over something different this time.  "I thought you were my friend!"

"I am!"

"Then ACT LIKE IT!"

"Yer both on my fuckin' shit list!" Pickles snarled, causing Salem to pause for a second, their face growing stone cold before they whipped around and jabbed a finger in his direction.

"Yeah? And who's the fucker that couldn't keep his mouth shut EITHER? Why the fuck am I stuck with nothing but impulsive little assholes that just tell everyone fucking everything about everything?! Learn to keep your fucking mouths shut about other people's shit! You have your own fucking problems to deal with!" They turned back to Nathalia. "ESPECIALLY you!"

Nathalia bared her teeth in Salem's direction. "Says you! I might invest in everybody else's life but at least I don't try to fucking pretend like I don't have shitty coping mechanisms, Mister 'I'm a heroin junkie'!"

"At least I'm just hurting myself!" Salem stomped their foot in exasperation.

"NO, you're hurting ME, too! I almost lost you, fucking dipshit! But you never fucking listen-"

"Ooh so the impulsive fucker who never gives a fuck about other people until it involves their whittle fee-fees-"

"Shut the fuck up!"

"-And gave zero shits about her friends begging her to not do dumb shit herself, is going to tell me to not do drugs in the safety of my own house and accuse me of NoT fUcKiNg LiStEnInG!"

"It was all self-defense!" What the fuck was she even talking about now?

"From what, Nat? From yourself? You thought if you invested your life into dumb shit to avoid your issues, threw everyone else under the bus, and put yourself in danger on purpose, that you'd be able to use that lame-ass excuse every second about how you're just trying to protect yourself, but you and I both know it's shit logic! You wouldn't need to defend yourself if you didn't start the whack shit to begin with!"

"Says you, you literally cause your own problems and then cry about it!"

"So do you, that's where I probably learned it from!" 

"Bullshit! And so what, so I guess I avoid my issues by being a dick and getting involved with everyone else's life, but at least at the end of the day I don't straight up run away from people I fucking care about like a little bitch! I always come back! All I do is defend you and your lack of commitment to this mother fucker who is almost always in fucking tears because you won't give him a fucking chance!"

"Hey, don' drag me into yer fights now!" Pickles protested, not wanting anything to do with this now that it had morphed into some ugly fight that nobody else except maybe Tobias had expected, because his expression was blank and he was obviously disssociating.

"Ohhh look, there she goes again, telling everybody about everything without even explaining why the fuck I am the way I am, oh right, 'cuz I never told you in detail because I can't fucking trust you-"

"At least I don't clam up like a little bitch and cry like a baby-"

"ENOUGH!" 

It was the first time Abigail had yelled that loud in a long time; maybe even ever. It startled all three out of the fight and Pickles ended up looking around and blinking, noticing the stares and gawking. He had never felt more self-conscious.

"You guys am fuckeds ups," Skwisgaar spoke finally. "Likes, bads."

~~~

It was much too soon to start setting up a party after Charles's death, in everyone's opinion. Especially a party that their families were going to attend; and nobody was excited. Least of all Nathan, who could normally at the bare minimum tolerate his family since they weren't terrible, just embarrassing.

Everyone watched as the man bumbled around, violently throwing ugly party streamers around various rooms to make it 'prettier'. He was still very sore about Charles, like everyone else was, so nobody bothered to bug him, about anything.

Normally, nobody in Dethklok would care to put any effort into the house to welcome their family, but they all needed a distraction of some kind and resorted to trying to do something 'nice' which might stop their families from complaining too much about their kid's lack of interest toward them. It might set someone over the edge at this point, and they all had an inkling as to who it would be.

Toki was starting to show signs of infection by the end of the day and had to be looked over for anything suspicious. One of the burns was blistering oddly on his chest and needed to have surgery on it, but otherwise he was very eager (as eager as he could be, given the circumstances) to be able to start sitting up on his own before then, and his oxygen mask was finally taken off. He asked Abigail at some point if he could stay in the hospital during the party, and she shook her head quietly, saying that he was healthy enough. This put a damper on both his mood and his plans.

Skwisgaar looked odd, walking around without his guitar and when he wrapped his arms around his stomach he claimed it to be because he was hurting a little, but everyone knew it was because he felt naked without it. Luckily a new guitar would be coming in soon, but they also knew Skwisgaar would complain about it since it wasn't his traditional guitar. Until he got used to it at least, or maybe smashed the thing.

Salem had gone to their room and hadn't come out since the fight, ignoring Skwisgaar, Tobias, and even Pickles, who all had knocked with worry throughout the day. Nathalia simply snuck into Pickles's room, stole some of his booze, and proceeded to hide in her own room to brood over the fight, making sure to tell each person with her eyes not to bother her.

Pickles himself felt very guilty over the fight and being the cause of it blowing out of proportion. It hadn't been Salem's fault that Nathalia had gone around telling them his business... he couldn't even blame Nathalia at this point, either. What had she said about Salem? They deserved to be a little fucked up? Maybe she did, too. Hell, maybe they all deserved to have their own little screwed up breakdowns. Then again, maybe that was all excuses and they just needed to seek therapy so they'd stop damaging themselves and each other. He needed a drink but he wasn't sure where his alcohol had gone. He supposed he had just drunk it without remembering, and with a sigh, left for the store for more.

Tobias had eventually resorted to going into his own room. His emotions were jumbled together and he needed a clear, calm space to collect his thoughts. On one hand, he was very upset about seeing Charles die; he hadn't talked to the man nearly enough to feel the true depths of loss like everyone in Dethklok, but nobody deserved to go out like that. And then there was the fact that his two friends were fighting... He sighed. It felt like there was a thick, heavy fog surrounding everyone. Maybe it was because of the shock of Dethklok's manager's death. Maybe it was something more.

As for Murderface, he had disappeared almost without a trace once Salem had stormed out of the room, thus ending the meeting. Some wondered if he had followed Salem, others assumed he had went to his own room, and everyone else (that being Nathalia) just didn't give a fuck. The truth was, Murderface had found himself on the roof of Mordhaus, feet hanging over the edge as he wondered to himself; the phantom hand of a demon gripping his throat. 

Abigail sighed as she watched everyone from either her very own eyes, or the cameras within Charles's- or, now her- office. "Oh hon, I know you thought you made things worse by being here, but you left us at the wrong time," Abigail whispered to herself, hugging herself tightly while she watched everyone fall apart. "We need you now more than ever."

 ~~~

"Stupids dildoes," Skwisgaar chided gently as he helped Toki hobble back to his bed, a few hours after his surgery. "You am nots wells enough!"

"I had to pees," Toki mumbled as he took a seat on his bed, wincing. His body ached so badly that once he had finished peeing, he collapsed right there and had to call for help. Luckily Skwisgaar was nearby enough to hear it.

"Then uses the bowls!"

"Bowl is stupids," Toki pouted, then sighed as he slid under the scratchy hospital sheets. "Thank yous, Skwisgaars."

"Hmph. Don't lets me catch yous out of this beds again!"

Toki didn't answer, so Skwisgaar's face softened. "Please? Stupids monkey dildoes."

This caused a faint smile from the rhythm guitarist. "Fines. I will uses the stupid bowls and throws it at your face laters."

"As longs as you don'ts get ups again."

Toki rolled his eyes then slid deeper into his sheets, looking off into the distance. For once, he wanted to just be alone, or at the very least just not talk at all, with or without company. Skwisgaar seemed to sense this because he sat down beside Toki's bed, drumming his fingers on his knees anxiously and didn't say anything else. Toki eyed the man carefully out of his peripherals. His hair was already growing it seemed, except for the bandaged area he assumed. Still, he knew how attached the Swede was to his hair, and he wouldn't rest until it was all back to normal.

The nurse walked in a moment later and after Skwisgaar quietly explained to her about Toki's stubborn antics, she dosed Toki with some medication which unfortunately led to him becoming slightly loopy again, and not even five minutes after, he was talking Skwisgaar's ear off; who looked more relieved than annoyed to see the old Toki again.

Toki couldn't help but cackle at Skwisgaar's hair now, ignoring the guitarist's sputters of anger.

"Shuts up! You haves short hair toos!"

"Buts I amenst baaaaalds," Toki giggled, ignoring the mild slap from Skwisgaar on his arm. "Whats are yous, olds ladies now?"

"Fuckinks dildoes," Skwisgaar muttered. "I ams what I eats as the Americans says though, ja? Shoulds I eats yous so I can bes a handsome mans again?" Skwisgaar winked playfully.

Toki looked positively horrified. "You eats the old ladies?!"

"Toki-"

"That ams cabinilazism, bad Skwisgaars!"

"Toki!"

"Ands if we ams what we eats, I'd bes a pudding right now!" Toki dramatically pointed to the empty plastic container by his bed. "Thats means you ams becomes the puddings if you eats me! Do I looks like puddings?!" He began touching his skin frantically, and Skwisgaar couldn't help but to start laughing at the man's silly antics.

"You definitely look like a snack to meeee," a new voice rang into the room, startling the two men. Toki turned with bleary eyes to see Nathan- no, it was Nathalia standing there, drunk as usual, with a smirk on her face.

"Nathalias!" Toki giggled in response, and she grinned, stumbling into the room and closing the door behind her. Her hands were shoved in her pocket but only Skwisgaar seemed to notice this, choosing though not to comment. Nobody had really seen her or Salem since the fight.

"Hey fuckers," Nathalia commented, almost tripping to the point of body-slamming Toki deeper into his bed, but managed to catch herself in time and hovered over him sloppily, her curtain of black hair hanging in his face. For some reason, Toki began to blush and looked away, but drunk Nathalia didn't seem to notice, choosing to pull herself back up to normal standing position. Skwisgaar could feel a hint of jealousy at watching the exchange.

"What ams you doing heres?" Skwisgaar questioned a little haughtily, not just because of what had just happened but also a little offended that she had been 'too drunk' to visit him, but not drunk enough to visit Toki, after a death AND a fight. Especially since she both looked and acted even more trashed than she normally did. They weren't necessarily friends but surely she would care enough to visit? Maybe that was just Skwisgaar's ego talking.

"Noooooooo idea," Nathalia slurred. "Got bored." She accidentally knocked down Toki's glass that was settled on the table near him so she bent down to pick it up and he gasped, reaching for Nathalia's ass.

Once she had stood back up, she noticed that he was whining and still reaching for her butt, and confused, turned around. "What, what do you want?" She began picking up random things off of the floor and presenting them to Toki, but all he did was make a rejected sound and keep reaching for her. "Bruh I don't know what you want!" She started wandering around the room and walked right by his hand in doing so, making him gasp and reach but couldn't get to it in time.

Nathalia eventually did an entire circle and even picked up the table to see what was under it, just to try and find what Toki wanted, never realizing that he just wanted to touch her butt. Skwisgaar watched the painful exchange with awkwardness and a little bit of jealousy. He had a nice butt too, right? Hers even looked flat compared to his voluptuous cheeks. So why didn't Toki ever act that way toward him, in any kind of mental state?

Finally, Nathalia gave up with a shrug and possibly just assumed that Toki was hallucinating. She instead bent over him and gave him a drooly forehead kiss. "I love you, precious crackhead baby."

Toki's face practically burst into flames as he grasped his pillow in his hands to hide himself in it. Nathalia seemed to have wandered out of the room, leaving the two alone once more. Skwisgaar huffed and settled back in his chair, watching as the rhythm guitarist touched his own forehead and kept giggling quietly.

Sos, you likes Nathalias?" Skwisgaar tried hard (not really) to not sound so irritated, but his voice was thick with salt and borderline disgust. She didn't seem all that great of a person but of course she was babying Toki, which the younger man liked. When Toki turned to look at him, he pointedly looked away, and this caused Toki to frown and his eyes to grow wide.

"Whats you means by thats? Do you nots likes hers?"

Skwisgaar sighed. "Nots what I means, Toki."

"Ohs." The silence became deafening as he stared down at his hands, fiddling with whatever he could to distract himself. Eventually Skwisgaar huffed and turned back to the man in the hopes he could find a way to change the subject, and saw Toki quickly wiping his red-rimmed and swollen eyes.

"Tokis... Why am yous crying?!"

"I amenst," Toki pouted lightly, rubbing his eyes raw to hopefully get rid of any telling marks. Skwisgaar reached to pluck the hand away from his face.

"Stops that before you hurts yourself-"

"Don'ts tell me whats to dos!" Toki suddenly burst out almost angrily, yanking his hand away from the Swede. "I amenst a kids, I cans takes care of myselfs! I cans..." Toki sighed, resorting to wiping his face again. "Sorrys, Skwisgaars..."

Skwisgaar was stunned by the way the man had acted, but wasn't offended, surprisingly enough. He felt a pinch of concern as he watched the other struggle internally with his own thoughts, and debated on contacting the nurse again to see if there were more loopy drugs he could take.

Toki sat up from his bed and curled into a ball, ignoring the sharp pain from his wounds stretching and moving awkwardly because of his position. "S- Skwisgaars, I wants to be alones, okays? I talks to you laters, ja?" Toki turned to give him a pained expression and he found that he couldn't argue with the man, so he stood up carefully, his own stitches stretching almost in relief since he'd been pinching them.

"Okays Toki," Skwisgaar hesitated, remembering Nathalia's kiss on his forehead, and a lot of things clicked at once. She had kissed him... she visited him all the time, took care of him when Skwisgaar had hurt the younger man on accident, and babied him... She liked him, and he liked her back. But did they even know that they liked each other?

Without thinking, Skwisgaar also bent down and pressed a kiss to Toki's surprisingly cool, clammy forehead. This surprised the other, who tilted his head up once Skwisgaar had pulled away slightly. Their eyes met and their faces were suddenly much too close for comfort. Neither moved from their positions for the longest time.

Toki made the first move which shocked Skwisgaar. His hand had reached to touch the blond's bandaged head, causing him to flinch. As Toki cupped the tender area, his other hand reached around to rest at the nape of Skwisgaar's neck.

"You ams butifuls," Toki murmured. "Evens with the balds."

A slight chuckle of disbelief escaped Skwisgaar's throat as he continued to stare down at Toki. He leaned in slowly, finally allowing their lips to touch for just a moment, before he pulled back again. Toki's eyes widened for a moment, watching as Skwisgaar fully stepped back. "Whats... where ams you goings?"

Skwisgaar stared down at the ground, his brain and dick fighting with each other. As egotistical as the Swede was though, there was just too much happening right now, and Toki had his own muddled feelings to sort through that truthfully Skwisgaar didn't want to be involved in. If anything, to avoid another accident like last time.

"You ams needs the rest, Toki," Skwisgaar spoke softly as he picked up the hand pillow he used to hold his stomach and started walking away, but not taking his eyes off of Toki the whole time. "I sees you tomorrows."

Once Skwisgaar had left the room, he leaned against the nearest wall with his face in his hands. This was beginning to feel a lot more than a competition or an interest to just sleep with the hottest person he knew. It was feeling a little too close to...

Truth be told, Skwisgaar had already grown up watching someone he loved choose everyone but him, and he didn't want a repeat of that in his adulthood. He had learned to disconnect from his feelings and choose himself over everyone else. So what was this pain in his gut that had nothing to do with the fire accident?

~~~

Once Pickles had come back from the store with armfuls of booze, he was surprised to find that the first person he had ran into wasn't Nathalia but rather Nathan. The man was stumbling along the hallways, dragging with him some party decorations that he didn't care enough about to keep off of the ground. His face, as usual, was set into a deep scowl.

Pickles side-stepped to allow the man to walk past, but Nathan stopped, his eyes darting over to Pickles's stash, and thrusted his hand out, palm up. Pickles repressed a sigh as he placed a bottle in the man's hand, and then another when he didn't pull away right away, then another, then another. Finally, Nathan seemed satisfied as he clutched them all to his chest and stormed away with a grunt of acknowledgment.

"Yeah, yer welcome," Pickles muttered once Nathan had turned the corner, then headed toward his own room. He dropped what was left of his alcohol on his bed and then sat next to them, staring down at them. He felt vile and disgusting and pathetic. He wondered how Salem was doing right now. He wondered what compelled them to kill their parents; what made them so easily detached and yet so loving at the same time. He wondered about Nathalia and what, in her past, caused her to be the way she was.

He wondered if his problems could even somewhat match up to theirs. If he had a valid reason for his madness or if he was just petty, unstable, or a wreck of emotions and jealousy and bad decisions, that was based on almost nothing.

Pickles also wanted to know what else those two knew. Did they know he was a damn hypocrite? For an entire year he avoided his friends, people who were obviously in distress about his detachment, and just sat in a pit of self-loathing that he wouldn't allow anybody else to get close enough to see. Once Salem had given the same treatment, he realized just how much it stung and offended him, but mostly he was just angry. Angry at someone who struggled the same way Pickles did. Gods, he was a fool.

It seemed there was always a lot of hypocrisy going on in Mordhaus. Pickles pursed his lips as he cracked open a bottle of whiskey. Charles... The man had an odd way of thinking, didn't he? And the fact that he had almost outed Pickles, too, just to seem more human than his default robot stance. It angered the drummer, but it also pained him, because he just didn't know how to feel about any of this, now that the initial shock had disappeared.

Pickles mostly just knew he was pissed. He was pissed that Charles almost seemed to know that this was going to happen, the way he spoke to Abigail. He was pissed that Charles had zero grip on how to feel or deal with emotions until he was seconds from death. He was pissed that the man did nothing but confuse everyone and contradict himself by wanting everyone to have feelings, yet then not wanting them to (even though he did at the last second retract his original statements)? And most of all, he was pissed at the audacity of Charles dying in the first place because damnit, he loved that brilliant but stupid mother fucker.

Pickles had downed the bottle of booze almost immediately without realizing it, and went to go crack open another when he heard a soft knock on the door. With a sigh, he placed it down on the floor and got up to see who it was, not surprised at all to see Nathalia standing there sheepishly.

"Hiii Pickles, can I come in?" She was slurring, but not by a lot. He looked at her suspiciously while he stepped back to let her in, suddenly realizing where his alcohol from earlier had probably gone.

"'M sorry I outed you... kinda," Nathalia explained with a wide, innocent stare. "Kinda as in kinda outed you... not kinda sorry. Yeah." She flopped onto his bed, twiddling her thumbs as she looked up at him sadly. "I didn' mean to start a fight... I wasn't thinking or anything."

Pickles shrugged carelessly, turning his head to avoid her stare. "'Ts okie. Everyone else basic'lly already knew I was trans. It jus' came as a surprise, 'n' I t'ought..."

"You thought Salem told me," Nathalia finished for him, and he nodded. "Nah, I was the one who actually told them, though you already found that out... I think. Yeah? Yeah."

"Ye." Pickles tried to smile but just couldn't. "Have yew talked to Salem or seen dem, since...?"

"No." Nathalia suddenly looked very uncomfortable, and stared down at her hands. "I don't bug them once they go to their room."

"Yew should," Pickles spoke softly, and she looked back up while he finally turned his head to look at her. "'M... worried aboot dem, maybe yew can... ya know. Talk."

"They wouldn't listen to me." Nathalia pursed her lips. "Not sure what I'd say to them, either."

"How aboot, sorry?" Pickles tried to help.

"Bleh." Nathalia's face turned green much like Nathan's did when he had to apologize, and Pickles couldn't help but shake his head. "I mean yeah, I probably should. I dunno. We've never fought this badly before. They're pretty fuckin' pissed off at me."

Pickles nodded quietly but didn't really have anything else to add, and didn't really want to continue this conversation and have Nathalia explode on him too, if he implied anything about her being in the wrong. She seemed to be in a pretty emotional state and willing to attack anyone who challenged her morality... even if it was out of concern. Which just made things all the more ironic.

Pickles instead motioned toward what was left of his alcohol, watching her face abruptly light up. "I know why yer here so jus' take what ye want."

Nathalia delicately picked up a few bottles, tucking them under her arms then got up in preparation to leave, but paused after a few steps. "Hey... I wasn't just here for these, they were just a bonus." She looked over at Pickles and narrowed her eyes. "I really am sorry... ech, there's that feeling again." She made a gagging sound so Pickles shook his head and shooed her away, opening the bedroom door for her so she didn't have to.

Before she fully disappeared down the hall, Pickles commented, "How come yew can 'poloogize to me but not yer best friend?"

Nathalia's eyes tightened and she ended up staring down at the floor. "...I dunno." She left it at that, waving with a hand that held two of the bottles before escaping around the corner.

Pickles only had two extra bottles left but he figured that would be enough for him before he passed out; enough to drown out the pain and replace it with numbness.

Another, much heavier knock shocked Pickles out of his thoughts and he yanked the door open in annoyance to see who it could be now. Nathan stood there drunkenly, a half-empty bottle in his hand. Pickles was tempted to slam the door in his face but he hadn't really had much contact with Nathan in a while and the man had just lost someone he apparently really loved, so he figured he would tolerate him for a bit.

"What's up?" Pickles suppressed the urge to sigh as he stepped back and watched Nathan bumble into the room in an even worse state than Nathalia had been in for the past few days.

"More," Nathan grunted as he lifted up the bottle. Pickles half-assed motioned toward his bed where the last two bottles were and Nathan picked them both up, ready to head out of the room. He paused for a moment to stare at the red-head, something unexplainable in his eyes.

"What?"

Nathan shrugged with a blink. "You fucked Murderface."

Pickles nearly panicked for a moment, thinking that somehow the singer knew about his attempt with Murderface a day or so ago (he hadn't kept track of time in a while), then reasoned with himself that it was most likely a comment to what happened last year, as odd and random as it was. His eyes hardened as he stared back at Nathan evenly.

"So?"

"Why not me?!"

Pickles could only stare. "Purdon?"

"Why not me?!" Nathan repeated. His eyes were bloodshot from both the alcohol and unshed tears as he glared almost hatefully at Pickles. "I'm the one that supported your ass one hundred pucent! I'm also at least one... two times hotter! Why Murderface of all people?!"

Pickles couldn't really register what was happening at that moment. "Uhh... weren't yew dating... at the time?" He didn't think it was a 'happened just this year' thing with Charles.

Nathan actually pouted to those words. "So? You didn't know at the time!"

Pickles shook his head in slight bewilderment and began to gently push Nathan out of the room. The brute was acting very odd and Pickles really didn't have the energy to deal with him. Maybe a good, drunken night and then some sleep would set the singer straight.

Nathan yanked away from Pickles's grip, and the red-head feared for a moment that he pushed the man too far, when he felt a pair of sloppy lips barely catch his own. His eyes grew wide and without thinking twice, shoved the man off of him. Nathan didn't actually budge because of the push, but rather took it as a sign to move, so he did.

They stared at each other for the longest time, with Pickles frozen in place, hands still out so as to potentially block the man from getting any closer. Nathan's face had reset back to its normal, stone-cold state, eyes burrowing into Pickles's.

When neither had moved for a good minute or two, Pickles began to feel irate and finally exclaimed, "Da feck, dood?"

Nathan blinked like he had been broken out of his trance, then turned his back to Pickles immediately. "Nothin'."

"Don' nothin' me, yew feckin' kissed-"

Nathan snapped his head back to Pickles, giving him a warning look. "Drop. It."

Pickles felt his face slip into a depressive state, before he also turned away from the other. "'Kay. Get out, den."

There were no footsteps leaving his room, and this just pissed him off even more. Why couldn't he just be left alone? And why the fuck did... Everything about his interaction with his supposed best friend just now was so royally screwed up that he didn't even know how to feel about it except rage.

"Fuck off!" Pickles ended up shouting as he grabbed the nearest empty bottle and flung it toward Nathan. It whizzed past his head harmlessly but the attempt itself made Nathan narrow his eyes. He clutched the doorknob so tightly that when he slammed it shut and let go, it was permanently disfigured.

Pickles dropped to his bed and grasped his pillow as he screamed into it with frustration. Why did everything have to circle back around to him?

~~~

Nathalia was still pissed off about the argument from earlier. Her irritation shrouded any thoughts of worry and concern about her friend once they had locked themselves in their room. Though after talking to Pickles, those feelings did rise a little closer to the surface and she wondered what they were doing at that moment.

Probably heroin, Nathalia thought with a roll of her eyes, then winced. Damnit, now she really was going to be worried about Salem. She popped open one of the bottles of alcohol and began to take huge swigs of it as she walked down the hall with the intention of going to her room.

At some point, Nathalia took a wrong turn and found herself close to Tobias's room. She debated on knocking, since surely he wouldn't yell at her for anything? Then decided not to, downing the rest of the bottle and cracking open another. She didn't know what she wanted. Part of her craved alone time, another part of her told her not to be alone with just her thoughts to preoccupy her. If she could have company without needing to talk, that would be nice...

Once she turned the corner and her eyes landed on a familiar dog-face, she immediately whipped around and went back the way she came from. She was NOT going to have a repeat of last time... She winced and physically shooed away the memories with her hand, which probably looked odd and borderline insane to anybody else.

Nathalia began to guzzle the alcohol and while she was mid-swallow, she physically ran into someone else, causing her to choke and spit up some of the whiskey. As she stumbled backward, her face drenched in alcohol, a harsh hand grasped her wrist, forcing her to remain still. She quickly wiped her face with her free hand and blinked, seeing Nathan stand there, a normal disgruntled look on his face.

"Watch where you're going," Nathan growled as he quickly let go, preparing to walk away from Nathalia, who flinched slightly. Was everyone mad at her today? Sure she had been the one to out Nathan on fucking Charles, but... that was so long ago. Plus, he had even come to her birthday 'party' thing and given her gifts. So what was his issue?

She didn't know what compelled her to do it, but she reached and grasped Nathan's wrist as he walked by, causing him to pause in his steps. "Hey... listen..."

"Don't give me pity." Nathan's voice was dead. "I don't need it."

"Okaaay...?" Now Nathalia really didn't know what to do or say. She let go of him and pushed back her curtain of black hair, grimacing at the sticky, wet feeling. From the booze, of course. "Fuck..."

Nathan's eyes flickered over to Nathalia, and she motioned to her hair and clothes. "I gotta clean this shit up, it feels disgusting."

Nathan made a grunting sound, turning slightly toward the direction of his room. "...Bathroom's closer than yours. You can use it." Nathalia assumed he meant his bathroom, and she felt her face heating up slightly. Well, now that Charles was out of the way... The thought made her flinch. How selfish of her to think that, but it wasn't the first time that something tragic or concerning had happened and she could only think about how it affected her... Memories of Tobias's seizure in Mordhaus, during her writing session with Nathan, plagued her mind.

She mentally shook the thoughts away and forced a smile on her face. "Fuck yeah, thanks." Nathan gave another grunt in response, beginning to hobble toward his room. Nathalia noticed Pickles's last bottles of alcohol in his hands. Poor guy couldn't even keep his booze from people like them.

Nathan wrenched the door open and stumbled to his bed, flopping onto it and covering his face with an arm. Nathalia's eyes were immediately wandering as she entered, noticing the giant fish tanks. She felt entranced by them for just a moment, before she forced herself to turn away and head toward the private bathroom. She didn't want to actually shower and jump back into her sticky clothes; she didn't really know what to do with her clothes in general.

Nathalia ended up dunking her head in the sink to scrub the alcohol out of her hair, then used the nearest towel to dry it as much as she could. Then she peeled off her shirt, using a washcloth to wipe her breasts of residue, and proceeded to dunk her shirt in the water to try and remove the stickiness from that as well. She realized her mistake a little too late when she pulled it out and realized there wasn't really any way to dry this shirt and she didn't want to put it on while it was soaking wet because it would feel very obnoxious to her.

Figuring that she could just either hide in the bathroom or live in there for the rest of her life to wait for it to dry, Nathalia placed the shirt by one of the vents that blew cold air into the bathroom, and sat on the toilet seat to wait. Between five to ten minutes passed before she started getting bored and tossing random objects into a cup that Nathan left beside the sink. Toothbrush, toothpaste, q-tips, cotton balls, bottle caps. 

Eventually, Nathalia tossed one too many things in the cup and it spilled over, causing things to tip over and clatter into the sink or on the floor. Nathalia jumped up to grab the stuff so Nathan wouldn't be irritated by the mess, and slipped on a wet spot on the floor, falling backwards and slamming her head into the wall.

The noises must have been loud because a moment later, Nathan yanked the door open and blinked in confusion to see a half-naked Nathalia attempting to stand with blood trickling through her wet hair. "The fuck?"

"Sorry 'bout the mess," Nathalia gasped as she tumbled forward, grasping the edge of the bathroom counter and carefully bending down to pick up the mess she had made. "Didn't uh.. Mean to." Her head hurt and she suddenly felt dizzy. Her knees attempted to buckle underneath her. She almost fell all the way over but Nathan grasped her shoulders to steady her, trying to pull her onto her feet.

"Dude, leave it," Nathan ordered as she reached for the toothbrush stuck in the trash can. "You're fucked. Fucked up."

"Noooooo," Nathalia whined, but Nathan ignored her and pulled her to the other room where he forced her to sit and remain still. He had snatched the washcloth she had used earlier and placed it to the back of her head. She was surprised when he pulled it away for a moment and they both saw blood. "Fuuuuuuck, what happened?"

"You fell."

"You sure? I didn't feel shit."

Nathan just shook his head and replaced the cloth to her head. His eyes kept darting down but then moving back to her face, and with a frown she looked down to see what he was looking at. Oh, she was still shirtless, silly her. She smirked and placed her hands on her chest, just above her breasts. "I know they're amazing but my face is up here."

"Sorry," Nathan grunted as he looked back down several times more. "They were poking me."

"My bad, unless you liked it," Nathalia teased. 

"No!" Nathan huffed as he turned his head away, pressing the cloth a little harder to her head. At first she couldn't feel it, but a sharp pain made her gasp and he returned his attention to her, lessening the pressure. 

"Mmm, harder," Nathalia purred, and Nathan's face flushed a deep red, looking away again. She was enjoying his reactions. "What's the matter, can't be rough? Too scaaaaared-'' She cut herself off with a gasp when he practically body-slammed her head down using the washcloth. He then pulled her back upright with his face even more beat-red.

"Oops," was all Nathan mumbled as he continued to hold her head, a lot more gently this time. Nathalia groaned a little in pain.

"You win this round."

Nathan rolled his eyes and she pouted because of his lack of enthusiasm. "What?!" He didn't answer, finally pulling away to toss the washcloth into the dirty hamper nearby. 

"Why are you shirtless anyway?" Nathan grumbled as he laid down on his bed with his arm draped back over his face, in the same position as he had been before. She startled him when she decided to climb onto the bed, her legs tucked underneath her while staring at him with a grin on her face.

"Is it a problem?"

"Uh, yeah. Kinda." Nathan eyed her face when it fell into disappointment and offense, and gave a small snort. "You remind me of Skwisgaar."

"E-fucking-xcuse me?" She was offended.

"You're just extremely show-offy, with everything. Your body. Your attitude. Pretending to be tougher than you are."

Nathalia scoffed. "I could never be someone as dramatic as him!" Also how dare he claim she was pretending to be tough?! "I don't even really like attention that much!"

Nathan raised an eyebrow. "Hm."

She folded her arms across her chest, though made sure her breasts poked out on top so they wouldn't be covered. "You know, I'm gettin' a lot of im- imple- implications... yeah... and not enough fucking!" She froze once the words had slipped out; had she really just said that out loud?

Nathan looked surprised. "Uhhhhhh."

"Fuck, that was supposed to be a thought." Nathalia tried to laugh it off and suddenly felt much too self-conscious for her own good. She tried to stand (on the bed, because she had forgotten that was where she was located), and ended up buckling forward. Nathan grasped her as she toppled forward, her chest awkwardly landing on his face. It felt like some weird anime scene, except rather than Nathan's face being perfectly squeezed between her breasts, one of the pierced nipples had basically stabbed him in the eye while the tit squished his face into the side of the bed.

"Oops," Nathalia mocked Nathan from earlier, who managed to lift her up by the arms and free himself from her chest. He placed her down next to him in a sitting position and also sat up, making sure to let go of Nathalia quickly. He stared at her almost angrily, then there was a flash of deep sadness that Nathalia hadn't missed, before he turned his head to the side.

"Why are you here? Doing this?" Nathan grumbled. "Couldn't wait a full twenty four hours, hm?"

Nathalia flinched but was prepared and willing to argue or maybe accuse him of something so that the focus would be taken off of her for a second, when he snapped his head back around and crashed his lips to her almost painfully. She wasn't expecting it, but she was definitely happy enough to oblige, biting at his lower lip playfully. His hands felt so warm to her as they gripped her sides.

Then he pulled away harshly, making her drop to his knees from how much she was leaning in. She cackled and pulled herself up, but Nathan looked unamused.

"There, you got what you wanted. Now leave me alone."

The words didn't register in Nathalia's head right away until he motioned for her to leave in a dismissive state, then offense and rage exploded, smothering her mind. "Well fuck, if you didn't want to do this then why invite me over?"

"I don't know, to be nice over spilling shit on you, " Nathan deadpanned, "but I reverse- reserve the right to withdraw my kindness so just go. Please."

Nathalia scoffed and stood up in her drunk, deluded state, choosing to storm out of the room and slam his door as she left, leaving him there with wet clothes and a disgruntled face. Nathalia was in too drunk of a state to realize she was still shirtless as she stumbled out of the room and hobbled down the hallway.

She had to grip the wall to hold herself up while she waddled around like a drunk penguin. She wasn't even sure where she was going at this point, what direction she had pointed herself to. All she knew was that she was moving and her boobs were bouncing. "Titties go brrrrrrrr," She mumbled to herself as she patted them gently, before tripping and smashing her head into the wall closest to her.

When she managed to stand upright again, Nathalia's eyes landed on Tobias who looked down, looked back up, raised an eyebrow and said, "Oh?"

Nathalia could only giggle as she leaned into the wall for support, though it looked more like she was trying to seduce him, especially when she said, "Heyyyy good lookin'."

"Why are you bleeding?" Tobias questioned and Nathalia shrugged her shoulders. 

"Why are you so fuckin' hot? It's nature, dude. It's everything... coming together in this existence. It's life," Nathalia whispered the last word as she gripped Tobias's arm with her hand. He winced a little at her contact, choosing to peel her appendage off of him and place it gently by her side before patting it.

"Hmm. Interesting. I'll remember that... in my room." Tobias slowly backed away, kicking the door open and stepping in, never peeling his eyes away from Nathalia's, even while she tried to stand taller and even shoved her breasts up to her chin to distract him. "Please be safe... crackhead." Then he shut the door quietly, causing Nathalia to pout.

Despite being completely plastered, she almost expected to run into someone else, and thus wasn't surprised when she started speeding down the hall and slammed face first into a thicker body.

Nathalia wanted nothing to do with this one and shoved her hands out, knocking Murderface into the nearest wall. She stared at him for a moment with blurry eyesight; she was almost more drunk than that one day... 

Remembering that fateful day itself set her off into a moody state and she harrumphed, turning her head away from him, then snapped it back to see where Murderface was looking. Seeing that he wasn't even remotely interested in her breasts and instead was staring in a completely different direction, offended Nathalia. How dare this incel of a man not look at her wonderful ta-tas?!

Before anything could be said between either of them, Nathalia faintly heard the clicking of precise heels going down the hall. She turned her head to see a flurry of curly hair and sharp eyes shoo Murderface away before turning to the singer. "Really, Nathalia?"

Nathalia couldn't help but grin and held her tits up for Abigail, who did the same as Tobias and remained eye level with her. "You liiiiiike?

"Why are you even- never mind, I don't want to know." Abigail sighed heavily as she placed a hand on Nathalia's shoulder, leading her down the hallway, presumably back to her room. "You guys are going to be the death of me. Mostly you."

"Heeeey, I'm not that bad," Nathalia protested before stumbling and almost slamming her face in the wall, though was thankfully caught by Abigail's steel grip. Abigail mumbled something unintelligible and continued walking Nathalia down the hall.

Abigail then practically pushed Nathalia into the bedroom and shut the door without a word. Nathalia pouted, like she'd gotten grounded (even though she could easily just open the door and leave again) and flopped onto the bed, burying her face in the pillows. As hard as she tried to clear her head tonight, she couldn't help but let her thoughts wander back to Salem, and she sighed.

~~~

Seeing Magnus again had truthfully set everyone off, though more or less within their subconscious since they were otherwise hyper-focused on the party- and Charles's death.

For Murderface though, it was a different story. Though there was a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach from seeing Charles being murdered, the only images haunting his mind was that of the graying guitarist, the wicked smile, and the all-too-familiar cold brown (and gray) eyes. Murderface gripped the knife he carried with him even tighter, like he was prepared for a fight. He gritted his teeth as the wind blew sharply into his face, stinging his cheeks.

Murderface quickly rubbed his arm against his face angrily. He didn't think he'd have to see that man again... Not in a million years. Not after he had tormented the entire band and attempted to abuse them all, then ultimately kill them (mostly Nathan, though), before being kicked out of the band. Those had been dark times.

The worst part was that when Magnus had joined, nobody thought that that was how he would end up. Of course, he had a very obvious controlling problem right from the beginning. But nobody expected him to grow violent, and cruel, and heartless. Nobody, except Murderface...

Murderface was known for sucking the fun out of things, or sucking the good energy out of a room. When they had all lived in a crappy one-room house/apartment together before making it big and moving into Mordhaus, Pickles even made regular jokes about how Murderface could be a vacuum for everything except when it came to cleaning his stupid messes up.

So imagine his surprise, when Murderface saw Magnus walk into the room and felt the room grow colder. There was suddenly nothing to suck out of the room; it was empty, as empty as the blank, emotionless look on Magnus's face. As empty as the constant, hollow feeling Murderface always felt, and it honestly scared him.

From the moment he had laid his eyes on Magnus, he knew that the energy from that man was so wrong. What he did after meeting Murderface only solidified this...

Murderface growled quietly to himself and rubbed his face again. Of course, nobody but him knew about that. Him and Magnus... the thought made him want to throw up. He wondered, once Charles had become their manager, if he noticed anything odd. If he had noticed what nobody in the band had.

He doubted it.

Memories of his past flooded Murderface's mind, which made him recall his date with Salem. He knew everyone blamed him for their sudden and odd drugged state. He himself didn't feel anything during that time. He also knew that Nathalia had assumed he had...

But Murderface wasn't like that. Maybe stupid enough to not ever get the social cues to fuck off, maybe a little perverted, and apparently some kind of internalized homicidal maniac, but never that. He could never be like...

So at least he had that going for him, he supposed.

Murderface almost laughed to himself. Was that supposed to make him feel better; make him proud of himself? He was borderline conspiring against his own friends, with some weird demon freak who talked to him through mirrors. He almost stabbed somebody he thought he liked at some point. And then there was his whole interaction with Nathalia that perturbed him, too.

Speaking of Nathalia, Murderface had wandered from the roof back to the normal floor level with the intention to head to his room, when she had rounded the corner, shirtless and drunk. Luckily Abigail appeared randomly to allow him to escape, causing him to scamper away and reach his room.

Once he had shut the door, he dropped to the bed, but the thoughts didn't go away. Magnus, Salem, Nathalia, Pickles... Murderface winced. What was that drunk, red-headed idiot doing anyway, beating his ass then trying to fuck him? If he and Salem were a thing, he should've gone to bug them instead.

For some reason, that thought made a pit of jealousy grow inside his chest, and he punched his pillow a few times, preparing to go to bed and shut out his thoughts. Then, without even laying down, Murderface flung himself off of the mattress and began to pace, running his fingers through his frizzy hair. He knew he was much too wired to get any sleep, and wasn't going to bother even trying.

Murderface practically yanked the door off of its hinges as he left the room once more, his hands shoved in his pockets as he wandered the hall with a light grimace. Everything was stupid to him. The walls were stupid, the ceiling was stupid, the floor was stupid, he was stupid.

Walking by Salem's room, he vaguely noticed Pickles by the door, knocking on it lightly a few times. It was so stupid. Salem had a big fight with their friend and suddenly everyone wanted to see if they were okay. Pickles came out to everyone and all of their friends were involved and supportive. Nathan's weird, lover guy just died and people were even being extra nice to him, even though everyone knew Nathan's obvious response to any kind of pity was to toss them over a bridge.

But years ago when Murderface was cutting himself, they made jokes. When he starved himself for a week, all they did was point out that he was still fat. When Magnus hovered over him, a literal death grip on his neck at one point, Skwisgaar jokingly encouraged him to squeeze harder; and so he did, causing Murderface to pass out. And all that he woke up to was a cold floor and everyone else's snores.

Never at any time did people worry about the bassist. He was the punchline to every insulting joke, the punching bag to everyone's bad day, his stupidity, anger, pain, and more usually just comedy relief to everyone. Even to himself at some point. And they wondered why he became an empty void that craved the suffering of others, just like him.

Was he really truly that awful of a person, that everyone was justified in ignoring him or treating him awfully? Even as a kid, he would say stupid things, all the time. He made jokes and put himself through embarrassing situations because it gave him attention, and his friends' laughter made him feel good about himself. But he never hurt anybody back then (except maybe threatened the principal once or twice). He never even said anything hurtful to people- they were always aimed at himself and as far as everyone was concerned, he wasn't even a person.

His friends- even before his Dethklok friends but especially with them- encouraged this, endorsed it, grew used to it, and that became part of his schtick. Their routine. After all these years, even when Murderface's issues became more problematic, when his self-esteem grew even worse, when he began to lash out and hate everyone and become some kind of resentful, cruel bastard that not even family could love, nobody figured to stop this self-destructive path. Nobody decided to teach Murderface that he could do better. That he NEEDED to be better. Nobody taught him to take responsibility, to thoroughly think things through, to consider other people's feelings- after all, nobody considered his, and in fact they had all taught him to not even consider his own, so why would he think about others- or to act like a human being.

To be beaten down and treated like a wild animal his whole life, had turned him into a feral beast, incapable of understanding that positive emotions were normal and healthy. And only once he had gone too far- once he had turned someone ELSE into a joke for the day; was suddenly his lack of compassion considered disgusting and unacceptable.

Maybe it was Murderface's fault for going too far. Maybe he was old enough to make proper decision-making and at some point could have figured out his problems on his own. Maybe, maybe, maybe. But even after trying to avoid everyone, to be kinder, to allow himself to maybe feel a little more, once in a while... he still always felt their glares, he felt their hate. He didn't know how to fix that. He never knew how to fix how people looked at him.

Murderface usually just went along with what other people thought of him; ALWAYS going along with it, which is what led him to this bitter, cold attitude in the first place. But now all the jokes were gone, the approving yowls from his friends to do fucked up things were gone. The validation and what little respect he could mine from their hearts were all gone. The river of approval was dry and void of life. It seemed like treating people like shit, and disregarding their feelings, was a really awful thing to do... who'd have thought.

Luckily for everyone else's consciousnesses, Murderface was not viewed as a person, and had never been. Because of his ugliness, because of his sensitivity as a 'man', because of his lisp, because of his horrible, horrible family, because of his stupidity. Lucky them, not feeling guilty for their treatment toward him, unlike what he had to live with.

Not that they would believe Murderface felt guilt for what he personally did to others.

Murderface's lip quivered as he paused to rub his eyes, much more gently this time with shaking fingers. Why would anybody care to look at him as more than a nuisance? He wasn't anybody else's responsibility. It wasn't their fault he personally soaked up the negative attention and allowed it to feed into his personality... He wasn't their child, they didn't have to see his little boy-tears and give him any kind of love or affection. They did what kids do, they poked fun and tore into his sensitive little heart, and instead of getting help or learning to be good, he moulded his life and devoted it to being as loathful as the hate he had received since he was practically a toddler.

He was truly an energy sucker, a filthy cretin with nothing but excuses and regrets and guilt. Self-loathing, regular loathing, emptiness, depression. He was the embodiment of filth, of everything that has ever gone wrong with a person. He was some kind of horrible, failed experiment that was just somehow, for some reason, meant to always devolve into a borderline sociopath. Something that the other kids knew they were supposed to hate, the second he was old enough to speak. 

But hey... at least he wasn't a rapist, right?

Murderface found himself at Charles's door, staring heavily at the knob while chewing on his bottom lip.

"Learn to love others, and you won't be so hard to love back." Charles's words dug into Murderface's chest like a rabid racoon, causing him to wince. How could he explain to a dead man that it was everyone else who had stopped loving him first? If they had ever loved him at all...

Except maybe Pickles, a voice whispered in his ear, making him flinch. The one time that maybe he would get a proper connection with someone that didn't want to just call him fat and ugly ten times a day, and he had to screw it up. For what? His own, broken and long lost pride that he thought would be repaired if he outed the next most emotionally unstable person in line? It wasn't even about 'trans' people or whatever, at this point. He was just a filthy rat that dug his claws into anybody's weakness and tore them apart for satisfaction, only to just feel emptiness and regret later. The only thing he knew how to truly feel.

Murderface would be laughing at himself if the sobs wracking through his body wasn't forcing him to lose his breath. If anybody could hear his thoughts, they would just make fun of him. For being emotional, maybe. Or Skwisgaar would say, "Oh looks, it can actuality thinks for longers than a minutes!" And everyone would laugh and laugh at the implication of Murderface being positively stupid and useless. And he would pout and get angry, but then later re-hash the same joke and tear himself apart over it, while watching his friends howl in response like it was the best thing they'd ever heard.

Well, they would've, if they didn't hate him right now and want nothing to do with him.

Murderface jumped slightly when the door to the office opened and Abigail froze in her steps when she saw the man's sad, devastated face in front of her. "Ehm... William?" Murderface quickly looked away and wiped his ugly, disgusting face, suddenly much too hyperaware of his appearance.

"Hey... Juscht wanted to ckome for thosche booksch that Charlesch mentshioned..?" Murderface barely managed to let out, his voice hoarse and strangled. Abigail hesitated a moment before stepping back into the room, then reappearing at the entrance and gently handing over a stack.

"I think these are what he was talking about. Be careful of them," Abigail warned, and Murderface suppressed a scoff. Yeah yeah, he was a stupid, clumsy buffoon that looked like he would rather eat a book than read it. "He found them in already poor condition so some of the pages already want to fall out. Make sure you don't lose any of them." Oh, that was slightly different than what he had assumed.

"Okay," Murderface mumbled, turning to walk away with the stack before he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Do you need to talk about something? Let anything off your chest?" Abigail asked hesitantly.

Murderface's heart skipped a beat in his chest. Could this really be a good opportunity to open up? To explain things? To offer some kind of an apology to SOMEONE? Even thank her just for offering? He turned to look toward her, seeing her eyes slightly scrunched up and her body somewhat turned so that she was more or less prepared to step inside. To escape from him.

He turned his head so that she wouldn't see his momentary disappointed look, before the coldness hardened over his face and heart and he said almost angrily, "No," as he walked away with the books.

Only when he was back in his room did he feel that gnawing guilt again and he sighed, flopping onto the bed before looking down, surprised to see the very first cover. Homosexuality for Dummies. Murderface moved the book aside and saw another; Genders for Dummies. He pursed his lips and practically shoved it over with the first book. The third one was slightly different but still low-key insulting: When to Seek Therapy. That one he fought hard not to actually throw; but the fourth one was the most bewildering, and made him freeze in his movements.

"Demon Possessions". Charles... knew?

~~~

Toki wasn't sure why he had even gotten up to chase Skwisgaar out of the room, minutes after the man had disappeared. He wasn't sure what he was going to do once he had actually found the Swede, or what to say. 

When finally he did catch up to Skwisgaar, Toki suddenly became very irate and gave a punch to the other man's shoulder.

"Ows!" Skwisgaar glared. "What am thats fors?"

"Why dids you leave mes likes thats?" Toki glared angrily at the blond. "Just, just... kissings me like thats, thens running away likes big baby dildoes!"

Skwisgaar shrugged then looked away, lips pursed. "It amenst matters, Toki. Go backs to your rooms before I drags you."

Toki folded his arms over his chest and pouted. "You ams just playings my heads now!"

Skwisgaar blinked. "Wh- whats?"

"Yous and Nat'ans, you ams the sames!" Toki protested. "Gives me weirds signals, buts then runs away from mes!"

Skwisgaar narrowed his eyes; he obviously didn't like to be compared to Nathan of all people, for fair reasons. Toki still remembered the incident of Skwisgaar biting his lip. "Nathans haves never sends you a signals," Skwisgaar spoke almost coldly. "You just likes him and thinks his toberlance is flirtsing! Ands you ams just anothers bodys to fill my beds; that ams its!"

Toki's eyes grew wide, and his lower lip quivered. Without another word, he whipped around on his heel to walk away, but he had already over-exerted his body and ended up growing dizzy before falling to the ground and growing unconscious.

~~~

Tobias watched the sky with troubled eyes, as it seemed to grow dark with an ominous feeling to it. The sun dipped toward the horizon, giving off a bright red glare before finally fully going below the surface. The moon, huge and glowy and lightly orange, stared back at Tobias almost angrily.

Without thinking for once, Tobias slowly pulled open the window and felt a sharp wind blow in, rustling his hair and some of the things on his desk. He didn't want it open for too long, so he ducked under the glass and took a careful step out, foot planted on the ridge just under the window-sill. He pulled himself out and stood up fully, letting the window close quietly behind him.

His back to the window, Tobias stared up at the sky, seeing thunder rolling in and lightning striking a few areas from far away. The wind whipped harder, and nearby, ear-piercing warning signs began to go off. A fire began to blossom somewhere among the trees.

"What are you trying to tell me?" Tobias blurted out, then blinked to himself. Why would the weather be talking to him at all? This was all just coincidence, right?

Something inside him was telling him no. Warning him that something was wrong.

Tobias ended up turning and pulling the window open again before climbing through and shutting it tightly. Up in the sky, the moon seemed to grow brighter and bigger.

~~~

The Party...

It took a day or two longer to decorate the rest of the house, and during that time-frame, the families began to file in. Nathan's parents came first and, of course unaware of Nathan's sexual relationship with Charles or that Charles was even dead, fawned over their 'little boy' and smothered him with unnecessary affection. Nathan was obviously disgruntled but seemed to be able to tolerate them as his mother lovingly chatted his ear off.

Skwisgaar's mother came next just a few hours later, wearing her traditional skimpy red dress and the attitude to match it. She seemed generally pleased to see her son, but mostly was interested in making vague implications to Nathan's father, who soon after snuck away with his wife to go into their guest bedroom. Skwisgaar couldn't say he blamed them- just watching the exchange was embarrassing to him.

Unfortunately the circus had followed Serveta, that being Murderface's grandparents, who were complaining about something potentially sexist it seemed. Automatically, the bassist was irritated with their presence and to everyone's surprise, began yelling at them to shut the fuck up, which started a whole hour long fight.

The second day is when Toki's mother finally joined, and of course she never spoke so she couldn't announce herself. Instead, she ended up scaring Toki into nearly pissing himself when he had opened the door to the room he had been staying in and saw her standing there with those sharp, judgmental eyes. Apparently, once she had knocked and was let in, she fluidly slithered down the hall like a ghost and ended up right exactly where Toki was located, which was odd and disturbing.

Now they were all just waiting for Pickles's family to show up.

During this time period, almost everyone who was having conflict with someone else simply avoided that person, stayed in their room, or unfortunately stole all of Pickles's booze then did one of the other first two options. Salem had seen and been seen the least amount, having refused to open their door for literally everyone, even Tobias and Abigail.

There had also been a sudden noticeable shift in Pickles's personality. He didn't avoid anyone, but he didn't speak, mostly staring toward Salem's room's direction or staring out the window, barely acknowledging any interaction toward him. At some point Murderface had even sat down beside the red-head without noticing him because he had wrapped himself in a blanket burrito and resorted to sitting like a statue. And all Pickles did was dart his eyes toward the man, then return to staring at the floor in front of him.

But with Charles's death, Nathalia outing him, Salem ignoring everyone, and having to deal with his family all within the span of a few days, the Dethklok band could somewhat understand the way Pickles was shutting down. Still, they didn't know the true extent of his depression, yet.

Then suddenly, there was a knock on the door and the Pickles-blanket cocoon opened slightly for his head to poke out of, eyes droopy and dark circles underneath them.

One of the Klokateers opened the door and his mother appeared first, followed by his father with a usual hand gripping her shoulder almost possessively, and then finally his brother, Seth.

Pickles very obviously hated his parents and for good reason- especially because of their disregard for his gender, but also for their general neglect and horrible personalities. But Pickles always specifically hated his brother. Probably because his parents chose him over the drummer as their starred child. Maybe because he was an ex-con who even tried to scam Pickles himself out of some money. But the way Pickles always stared at him with a face full of loathing, Dethklok always assumed it was something more. After Pickles came out as trans, some of them assumed that that had to be the answer.

But now, this time, there was no anger, nor hostility from Pickles. His eyes widened, his already-pale face grew even whiter, and he shrank further back into his blanket to hide himself from Seth's searching gaze.

The mystery was only beginning to unfold.

. . .

The band used to think that Murderface's family was quite possibly the worst to deal with, because of their loud disgusting habits and rude behavior. But with the knowledge of what happened just a year ago in their mind, nobody was happy to see Pickles's family. Even with Nathan still seemingly salty with the drummer, and Murderface being an indirect past ally with them, nobody greeted them or gave them hardly any attention at all. There was always at least one person beside the sad Pickles burrito, pretending to be doing something else but always with their eyes darting toward the family as they attempted to make contact with the red-head.

Still, the family seemed undisturbed, and not intimidated as they made their usual snarky comments that they used to say during every family get-together. Why didn't Pickles have a real job, why didn't he join his brother in a business, why this and why that. They seemed extra careful with not saying Pickles's name or talking to him in third person to avoid pronouns. Nobody was sure if it was to avoid conflict or just to prevent themselves from 'validating' Pickles by accidentally calling him a 'he'. Pickles, still a sad little bean, didn't seem very affected by any of the interaction but definitely made sure to avoid actual physical contact with them.

It had reached almost 10 pm before Nathan's parents trotted into the room with alcohol in their hands, followed by a grumpy Nathan. "I dunno what everyone's waiting for, let's get this party started!" His mom hiccuped, obviously already having taken a drink or two from one of the bottles. Pickles only barely noticed that the alcohol was from his stash before he went back to tucking himself into his blanket.

His safety blanket came to an abrupt end when somebody grabbed it and yanked it off of Pickles, forcing him to slip onto the ground and bump his head. He groaned and glared upward, noticing Nathan staring back down at him with a scowl.

"If I have to deal with this, so do you," Nathan grumbled, tossing the blanket toward the Klokateer for him to fold and put away. As Pickles pulled himself up slowly, roughly shoving Nathan's offered hand away, he noticed Seth staring at him with darkening eyes and suppressed a shudder. Murderface, who had been 'babysitting' Pickles at the time, noticed this slight reaction from the drummer and gave him a look of curiosity and slight recognition, but didn't say anything.

Eventually, the rest of the band and their families gathered in the living room with the women all gossiping and chatting about makeup and their cute tops or whatever. Serveta Skwigelf was the one mostly complimenting the other ladies. She didn't seem to be the kind of person who took other people's beauty as a competition, unlike her son.

New age pop music filled the room so the parents could dance to it like they were hip, young teenagers again; aside from Murderface's wheelchair-bound grandfather.

. . .

A few of the band members expected that maybe The Excommunicated would join the party, perhaps in support if anything else. That perhaps Tobias would shyly introduce himself and awkwardly laugh at the lame old people jokes, Nathalia would come barreling in with jokes and aggressive affection, or Salem would come hobbling into the room looking like a zombie but prepared to suck Pickles's face off. Oh how Pickles wished Salem would come in and sweep him off of his wobbly legs so he wouldn't have to deal with his parents, and Seth.

Pickles looked around with bleary eyes as he downed another shot, noticing Murderface's disgruntled face in the background, grandparents nowhere to be found. Nathan had his hands placed against his temples as they usually were when dealing with his overbearing parents. Skwisgaar was bitterly watching his mother dancing sensually to the music. Toki was being... Toki, and staring in a comatose state from his spot on the couch, his mother sitting stiffly next to him.

Then there was Pickles, who was glancing between everyone, listening to the dull conversation in his ear about how much of a disappointment Pickles was sometimes, just for existing.

"I swear, you and Seth just need to become invested in your own business, then you can quit this awful band!" His mother was protesting, hands on her hips, and that damned crooked hand of his father lingering over her shoulder as usual.

Pickles downed another shot to drown his silent agony, keeping quiet as his mother continued to nag him. Years of trying to make them proud... Years of trying to make up for being a problem child. Years of begging for their love and attention through money. And now all he could do was bottle up his pain, listen to the abuse, and take another shot.

Once he had ran out of whiskey, Pickles drunkenly wobbled away from his mother, who had stopped her badgering for at least a good five seconds so she could witness Serveta trying to flirt with her husband, and grabbed an entire bottle of vodka from the table that had been placed in the middle of the room. After guzzling about half of the bottle and teetering there for a minute, he noticed a small movement out of the corner of his eye.

Twisting his neck around much too fast for him, he ended up getting dizzy and stumbled to the side, smacking his head into the nearest wall. For a moment all he could see was red, before the pain slowly ebbed away. He looked up, seeing Nathan glaring at him with slight annoyance. Annoyed... Pickles was annoying, a nuisance. He darted his eyes away, only to meet Murderface's, who was watching him carefully. As kind as it was for the man to take part in the band's babysitting act to make sure Pickles wasn't being bullied to death by his family, just looking at him pissed Pickles off for some reason.

He turned his head once more, this time noticing Seth, who had taken it upon himself to check on Pickles. They were only inches apart as his older brother knelt down in front of the red-head, and Pickles gave an audible yelp of surprise. Aside from the music, the noise had quieted down for a moment, and he could feel all eyes on him.

Seth's eyes glinted in the shadows of the room's corner. He turned to the others and gave a dismissive wave, announcing to everyone else, "'T's okey, he just hit his head a bit. I got him."

Pickles was startled by the use of the 'he' pronouns, and gave Seth a suspicious look. Then he began to panic again when he felt that familiar heavy grip on his arm and he felt himself being tugged to his feet. He wobbled there for a moment before being steered away from the group, where a lone chair sat at the very edge of the living room. Pickles's breath sped up without him realizing it. He didn't want any sort of alone time with his brother, even if everyone was a few feet away. He snapped his head around, his fearful eyes meeting Murderface who seemed to have sensed that something was wrong. Murderface gave him a questioning look and Pickles stared back at him, begging internally with all of his might for the other man to do something, anything.

Nobody in either band usually texted that often, since everyone they really talked to was usually within Mordhaus. However, this time Murderface had his phone pulled out and typed something into it really quick. Pickles didn't know what he was doing but he was hoping that it would help him out, as he was finally pushed into the chair.

Seth resumed his previous position, crouching in front of Pickles with an unreadable expression on his face. "You alright?"

"Y- ye," Pickles managed to squeak out, attempting to stand from the chair almost immediately. "'M okie, should prebebly try sleepin' it off..."

Without warning, Seth's hand shot out, shoving Pickles back into the chair none-too-gently. Neither sibling knew that the action had been seen by Nathan, Skwisgaar, and Murderface, who were all now actively paying attention to this exchange. The very last time Pickles had dealt with Seth face to face, he had beaten him up. Every time they hung out, it was always a hostile or violent moment. So why now, did Pickles resort to a submissive, quiet attitude and allow his brother to just do that to him? The only thing different was that he wasn't paying them to keep quiet anymore. He technically lost all power to keep his brother tolerant of his attitude.

"It's alright, 'brother'," Seth almost sneered, so quietly that nobody else could hear. "I'll take care o' ya."

. . .

Nathan was the first to explode, forcing the party to a sharp halt as he angrily tossed one of the speakers nearest to him. Everyone except a select few reacted, all turning toward him in curiosity. And it all started with a single question.

"Where's your manager, hon? Charlie, isn't that his name?"

"His name. Is fucking... Charles!" Nathan snarled, whipping around to glare at his mother. "Stop fucking asking stupid questions!"

Nathan's mom, Rose, looked shocked and a little hurt. Her husband Oscar jumped to her defense, jabbing a finger in his son's direction. "You have no right to be talking like that to your mother!"

"Shut the fuck up!" Nathan shouted so loud that everyone's ears began to ring once his voice had died down. "I've had to deal with her. Her talking and talking and shit for two days. I'm fucking sick of it! Nobody wanted any of you fuckers here! We NEVER want you guys here! We're adults, the most you guys could do for us is send a card once a year then fuck off!"

"Now you listen here," Rose spoke in a shaky tone as she jabbed a finger at the man's chest. "We're a family, you don't just ditch family! You don't ignore your son for the rest of his life once he moves out, even if... even if he's a spoiled brat!" She folded her arms across her chest. "It's called BONDING, Nathan!"

"Well did you ever fucking ask if I wanted to parpicitate in this 'bonding'?!" Nathan growled back. "I don't fucking care. I don't want to be here."

Skwisgaar scoffed loud enough for Nathan to hear, and he snapped his neck around to glare at the blond. "What?"

"You complainings that your mom care abouts yous?" Skwisgaar rolled his eyes, then motioned dramatically to his own mom. "She amenst says two words to me sinces the partys started! Because she ams tryings to fucks everyone's dad!"

Serveta placed a hand to her chest and scowled at her son, speaking in fluent Swedish. "I haven't said 'two words' because I can tell you don't want to talk to me either! Maybe you should try acting a little more kind!"

"I'm nots nice to sluts," Skwisgaar snapped back, and this caused Toki to laugh. Now both Nathan and Skwisgaar were glaring at the rhythm guitarist. "I didn'ts ask for yours opinions!"

Toki's face flushed lightly, then his eyes grew sharp with anger. "You ams a sluts, Skwisgaar! You can'ts be mads at your mothers for being a whores when you followeds her footstep! If you wanteds change in yours familys, you ams shoulds have beens the changes!"

Without warning, Toki's mother Anja's hand came swinging out, slapping Toki across the face enough to knock him right off the couch, and everyone gasped. Toki had never spoken in front of his mother, and it seemed to be the last time, as he remained in fetal position with his face returning to its blank state from earlier.

"You fuhcking bitcsh!" Murderface spoke aloud, so it was his grandmother's turn to join the conversation.

"You don't ckall any lady a bitch, what is WRONG with you?!" Stella snapped, wheeling her scooter toward him so she could slap at him, too. Murderface grasped the hand so tightly that she let out a cry of pain, and all other conflict stopped as they watched this man practically crush his grandmother's fingers.

"Dude. DUDE! Stop!" Nathan ordered as he leaped over the table and tried to restrain Murderface to keep him from breaking her fingers. Murderface struggled for a moment before letting go of Stella so he could shove himself out of Nathan's grip.

"Fuhck off! You don't know how many yearsch I've had to deal with her and her bullschit!" Murderface yelled. "Do you know what my prohblem isch? Do ya? Thisch isch!" He motioned wildly toward Stella, who was gripping her hand tenderly. "Sche's the reaschon I'm like thisch!"

"Do NOT blame us for your bad behavior, you've always been like this!" Stella protested, and Murderface turned back to her, fire in his eyes.

"Yeah, loohk who raisched me!"

"That's enough, no more fighting!" Rose yelled over the noise when everyone began to argue at once. "We're here for a good time, not-" Someone pushed her out of the way and she fell to the ground, so Nathan in return began throwing the larger decorations around in rage and bellowing nonsense. Skwisgaar was checking on a comatose Toki while yelling toward Serveta, and the Murderfaces were locked in a heated screaming match.

"The fuck is going on?!" A new voice called over the noise.

. . .

Salem had managed to come down slightly from a however-long high at the right time to see their phone being blown up. They were laying on their back on the floor, sweat dripping down their forehead and their arm sore and throbbing. They managed to pull themselves up enough to reach for their phone and grasp it tightly. Their fingers were a little bloody and smeared it across their screen as they checked to see who was contacting them.

It was a new number that they had never texted before. Something about Pickles possibly needing help. Salem rubbed their eyes several times to try and focus, when suddenly a gut-wrenching feeling squeezed the pit of their stomach. Something definitely felt wrong, there was a bitter sensation in the air. Maybe it was just their normal anxiety, but they made sure to pull a long, heavy jacket on for comfort before stumbling out of their room.

The hall lights were much too bright. They pulled the hood over their head and wandered down the hall, their bones and muscles aching and their vision still swirling oddly. Salem managed to make it to the living room though, and what they were witnessing royally pissed them off.

"The fuck is going on?!"

Everyone stopped and looked up at the newcomer, Nathan was holding another speaker high in the air, Toki and Skwisgaar were on the floor like a bomb had gone off, and Murderface genuinely looked like he was going to punch his grandma.

Salem probably looked to be a mess but they didn't care as they stumbled fully into the room, blood dripping from holes in their arm and dark circles buried under their eyelids. "Tell me why the fuck I had to walk in on loud as shit noises at fucking midnight- and turn off that fucking music!" The noise; even their own voice; was hurting their head.

Nathan yeeted the last speaker without a word, and the music crackled before going silent. Salem breathed a sigh of relief and rubbed their temples a few times. "Okay. Where's Pickles?"

"Why the fuck do you care NOW of all times-"

"I didn't ask the fucking peanut gallery for added commentary!" Salem snapped toward Nathan. "But if you want attention so badly, what the fuck is your issue, gorilla-man?"

Nathan gave a growl but didn't answer, so Skwisgaar popped up. "He ams mads that his mommys loves him!"

"Shut up!" Nathan hissed toward the Swede. Salem sighed deeply, rubbing their face again to re-gain control of their emotions.

"All I did was ask a simple question!" Nathan's mom whined, and Nathan bared his teeth to say something, but Salem threw their hands up in the air, causing him to look toward the smaller one again.

"For fuck's sake. You're under a lot of fucking pressure right now Nathan, stop taking it out on your parents! Be happy you have family that loves you, because some of these fuckers, me included, have or had a circus of freaks in their fucking bloodline! Be thankful she asks questions and loves you instead of calling you a useless piece of fucking shit bastard or whatever!" Salem didn't realize it, but their pupils were thinning as they spewed out their string of profanity with a sneer on their face. Nathan guiltily looked away with a grumpy huff.

"Now you," Salem turned to glare at Skwisgaar, who shrank back a little. "The fuck is going on with you?"

"Nothings," Skwisgaar squeaked. "Tokis... said its best earliers."

That's when Salem noticed Toki on the ground, and their face softened slightly, to Skwisgaar's relief. "What happened to him?"

"He uh, gets that way around his mom," Nathan explained.

"Why?" Salem was now bent over Toki, studying him without touching him, and noticed a red mark forming on the side of his cheek. Pointing to it, Salem demanded, "Seriously, what the fuck happened?"

"Anja hits him for talkings," Skwisgaar spoke softly, so immediately Salem stood and without warning, swung the back of their hand toward the older woman's face, knocking her to the ground where she laid there in shock. This surprised everyone, who had never seen Salem actually swing at someone so suddenly and angrily.

"Hey!" Several of the women protested, but Salem turned to all of them with venom in their eyes.

"No! You don't get to fucking protest someone hitting an old hag after she beat her own kid! The bitch deserved it, and if you don't agree then maybe I should beat your fucking asses, too! Toki is a sweet, loving man and doesn't deserve to get hit because he TALKED. Ohhhh nooooo, how fucking dare he speak! Go fuck your old ass selves!" Salem took a deep breath to try and calm down- they had never been this aggressive before, at least not in a super long time, and they knew if they progressed with their violent behavior... something would go wrong.

Stella was the next to speak. "Maybe if you got your spoiled ass beat as a kid by your parents more, maybe you'd act better! Spanking and smacking is-"

Salem thrusted their face and body toward this old lady's ugly dog-face, nearly smashing their foreheads together as they gripped her white, curly hair in a tight grip. "Shut. The. Fuck. Up." Salem glared deep into her eyes. "You know nothing of my shitty family. They had beat me more than you could dream of. They're why the way I am!"

Salem's sudden laughs turned into hysterical sobs, though without actual tears, and dropped their hand.

"So you can keep your shitty ideals to yourself. You were supposed to raise William with your shitty views and you obviously fucked up somewhere, so I don't wanna hear SHIT about what 'my parents' should've done! My parents are rightfully DEAD! So aside from you stupid fucks and THAT bitch-" Salem whirled around to point at Anja, who was still on the ground. Toki at least finally sat up, and looked just as shocked as everyone else in that room. "-You fuckers need to be GRATEFUL that your parents are ONLY a little overbearing."

Salem finally lifted their arms up in exasperation. "Now that that's out of the way, you ass fucks, I need to find PICKLES!"

Murderface suddenly pointed toward the area of the living room where Pickles had originally been. The only thing left there was a bloody rag on the back of the chair and a half-empty bottle of alcohol tipped over and spilling on the rug. That horrible, sour feeling of impending doom came back and Salem shook their head clear, stepping back from Stella and heading toward the nearest hallway that branched off of that corner of the room.

Salem knew that a spare bathroom hid in that hall, so they hoped that maybe Pickles was just in there, puking his guts out. However, when they grew closer and saw a trail of blood lead further away from the living room, they became concerned and started jogging, following the scattered trail until turning the corner and gasping at what they were seeing in front of them.

A man Salem had never met but recognized as Pickles's brother, was on top of Pickles, a belt wrapped around the red-head's neck while the drummer's fingers scrabbled helplessly against the other's neck and face. This was enough to set Salem off as past memories rushed through their head, finally snapping the tiny thread that was holding them in place.

Everyone came running when they heard audible struggling, and found Salem attached to the top of Seth's head, blood dripping from their lips while they smashed his head over and over into the wall. They were speaking in a language that nobody had ever heard of before, although Murderface could swear he had heard them speaking like this previously somewhere.

Nathan attempted to pry Salem off but they had a death grip on the now unconscious man's neck and head, trying to scratch, bite, and yank on every body part they could reach until he was a bloody mess. Pickles didn't even seem to be noticing what was happening, he was crying so hard and still trying to breathe properly after the belt had cut off his oxygen for too long.

Toki knelt beside Pickles and pulled the belt off of him all the way, then cradled Pickles's head while the man gasped for air.

Finally with the help of Skwisgaar, they managed to get Salem off of Seth momentarily, seeing the blood flowing from Seth's face. "The fuck happened?" Nathan growled.

"Yes, what happened?" Molly, Pickles's mom, finally spoke up after all this time, looking horrified... for Seth. "What did Penelope do to you?!"

"Hey! Don't use that name!" Nathan snapped to her, then gestured to the sobbing Pickles with his head. "What the fuck makes you think HE did anything wrong!"

"Look at them!" She pointed to them. "He... She..."

Pickles finally had caught his breath. "I didn' do shit!" Pickles managed to burst out in a loud sob, rubbing his bloodshot eyes with his hands. "I didn' do any'tin', I promise!"

"You don't has tos defends yourselfs on anythings," Skwisgaar reassured his friend softly.

"Seriously, what the fuck is going on?" Nathan was getting irritated from not understanding the situation. "I don't fucking understand-"

"This always happens, because YOU confuse him!" Molly spoke dramatically, and Calvert, her husband, came from behind her with an absolutely disgusted look on his face as he stared down at his pitiful trans son.

"What I do?! Tell me den what I did!" Pickles shouted back to his mom as he managed to pull himself up slightly. "I didn' even talk ta him! I don' even look like a girl no more! What do yew want from me?! I can't make myself feckin' disappear so he stops tryin' to kill me! Maybe yew should be tellin' HIM tew feckin' s- stop!" Pickles gave a little hiccup and rubbed his face raw, giving small, pitiful sniffles.

Murderface's eyes grew wide as reality of the situation suddenly hit him. "Wait what-"

Salem gave a small roar and leaped out of Skwisgaar and Nathan's arms, returning to Seth's still bleeding body and continuing to try to bash his skull in.

Footsteps were heading down the hall they were in, followed by someone saying, "Heyyyyyy, whut's goin' on?"

. . .

Nathalia was starting to get bored just being drunk in her room by herself, but she vaguely remembered (somehow) that there was a party that was supposed to be going on, and she didn't want to deal with new people, especially parents. So she stayed there anyway, downing bottle after bottle of booze she had gotten from Pickles's room.

She kept wondering how Salem was doing and why they hadn't come out of their room yet. And she knew they hadn't because surely she would've heard a celebratory howl from Pickles by now, or maybe Toki or Tobias would visit her and let her know.

Then again, maybe everyone just hated her enough that they didn't want to speak to her anymore... That was fair, probably, maybe, even if this hypothetical idea did piss her off a bit.

Eventually, when some weird hip hop garbage sounded off in the living room, Nathalia knew that at least by then the party had officially started, because unless Salem gained control of Nathan's living room speakers for some reason, nobody in Dethklok or The Excommunicated would listen to such garbage. Well, maybe Ivy-

Oh, right. They're still dead. Nathalia blinked; it felt like a truck had just hit her, momentarily stunning her. When was the last time she had even thought of her bandmate, and old friend? Raven, too?

She frowned. She did NOT like this. Normally, alcohol drowned out her past, her problems, and everything she had ever repressed. Yet Ivy's soft, gentle smile filled her brain, and Raven's wide eyes of pure adoration toward any and all of her friends, but most especially toward Ivy, would practically flicker past her vision, like they were still there in front of her. 

They would've probably married one day, and would've adopted a bunch of annoying little shitheads from disturbing and suspicious adoption agencies to save them. Nathalia would've been able to come barreling through the house to live up to the 'drunken, crackhead aunt', while devising plans with the kids to torture the rest of the band. But also would be able to sit them down and talk to them about important stuff, too... probably.

Salem would've practically been the older sibling to those kids because of their size and relatable personality, with the perfect amount of childish antics and also concern and responsibility. And Tobias would've been the wise uncle (and even possibly Godfather) who was just 'too old and mature' to be getting on the floor and pretending to be their pet dog, but eventually would anyway, and he would pretend to be mildly annoyed the entire time but Salem and Nathalia would notice the small smile peeking through that would have them both make fun of him for later.

All the while, Ivy and Raven would be sitting side by side, hand in hand, looking proud of both their little army of babies, and their dorky friends who took it upon themselves to accept three million mini goblins with open arms. Because if Ivy and Raven loved these kids, then they would, too.

Nathalia ended up letting out a soft laugh, then rubbed her face with her hand and sighed. They hadn't necessarily grown apart, at least Nathalia didn't think so, but Ivy and Raven were so obsessed and in love that they did start hanging out more together than with other people (though when they did join the rest of The Excommunicated, it was always full of love and laughter). And this entire move to Mordhaus screwed up everyone's schedules, causing everyone to drift toward the others in Dethklok and further away from each other- except for Ivy and Raven, who always stayed side by side until the very bitter end.

This made Nathalia wish that they hadn't left their home and that she had been hanging out with them more than the measly amount of time she had given them before their...

If they hadn't even come here, Nathalia wouldn't have had to be worried about spending all the time she could on her friends, because they would be alive and safe, and for a long time... right? Then again, she supposed it was a very, very sour lesson in not taking advantage of one's friends and the time spent together. Every moment was precious. Every moment mattered, just in case.

Charles's emotional, teary face entered Nathalia's brain as well. She wondered how many regrets that man had before his death, the biggest probably not being able to actually have decent closure with Nathan. And Nathan, probably feeling the same way. She winced. She couldn't sit and ignore Salem and Tobias forever... Tobias hadn't even done anything wrong, and Salem, well... That was truly the biggest fight they had ever had, but it still wasn't enough to keep Nathalia away for that long! The midget would just have to deal with her presence until one of them was ready to start the dreaded conversation on the path to apologizing.

Nathalia stood as best as she could from the corner of the room that she had decided to lay down in. As she was preparing to hobble out of the room, she noticed a small stack of envelopes on one of the end-tables. Another very faint memory was triggered; it seemed like it was so long ago that Charles had handed her some letters to do with Tobias, and she'd forgotten all about them until now.

This mail arrangement was unbeknownst to Tobias himself, she simply decided one day to take care of his mail for him since most of the time he complained about receiving letters from a certain weirdo who claimed to be his dad and would say a lot of cruel things (though Tobias was in no way affected by it, because as far as he was concerned he had no father), and now any and all suspicious letters were hers.

At first she would peek through the letters to see what kind of bullshit was written in them, but when she found that they were barely legible with mostly swears and slurs in them, it got very old very fast.

Eventually Nathalia had stopped snooping through a lot of the letters; what was the point if she could never understand what was written, except certain slurs that only pissed her off? This time though, she had a sudden, overpowering urge to open the envelope on the very top. It was decorated mildly different from a scribble of an address and name. There was a balloon stamp on the corner of it, when usually it was an american flag stamp.

A surge of curiosity and dread fell over her shoulders, and she begrudgingly started to peel open the letter, and she realized with shock that this looked nothing like the other letters. Rather, it looked like the handwriting was from someone who actually passed fifth grade unlike the other person. In fact, their handwriting was neat and swirly in a dark blue pen.

"Tobias,

I know you probably don't have time to check your mail, since you're a very famous person now and I'm very proud of you for that, though we've never met. If perhaps my other letters didn't get to you and this is your first one, I am your birth mother. I don't want anything from you, no money, no meetups, nothing out of the ordinary. I just felt you needed to know that I'm glad you grew up well despite me not being there, and that I wish things were different, but all that matters is I was able to give you a chance at survival. However, there's something else I feel you need to know. You have three other siblings, and I believe you already know one of them-"

Nathalia didn't read anymore after that. She jumped up with the letter clutched in her hand. Toki! Toki had to be Tobias's long lost sibling, they looked enough alike, plus their names were pretty close together! She was eager to tell all of this to her friend and wrenched the door open, before stopping to debate. She could ask Tobias but he probably wouldn't know anything, however... Toki's mom was at the party, right? Nathalia had heard that she was a witch of a woman and didn't look like the kind of person who would write such pretty handwriting, but she would just have to ask, wouldn't she?

There was some shouting coming from one of the hallways that branched off of the living room when Nathalia reached it. She noticed tossed stereos and broken furniture scattering the area, but she had no time to give a fuck. She leaped over one of the chairs in her way, somewhat failing when her toe caught one of the legs sticking up and she slammed her head into a wall, momentarily paralyzing her.

Nathalia pulled her head out of the fresh hole in the wall, slightly dizzy and feeling something warm drip down her face. Touching her forehead and then removing her hand revealed that there was blood. She looked around and grabbed a dishrag from the floor to place on her forehead. After a moment, Nathalia continued to hear scuffling from the nearby hallway so she began to head that way again.

It seemed that there was going to be or had been some grilling going on, but now there were shattered plates with food splattered along the ground, a bag of tipped charcoal, and one of those long lighters she liked to play with.

To Nathalia, it didn't matter that Pickles was sobbing on the floor with Toki's arms around him, or that Salem was covered in blood and pulverizing some random fucker she didn't care about. She pointed toward Toki's mom, whatever her name was, and shouted, "Hey, bitch! You ditched a kid at an adoption agency, didn't you?"

"The fuck are you talking about now, Nathalia," Nathan sighed in annoyance. "We're a little busy."

"So am I, motherfucker!" Nathalia scowled, accidentally kicking/tripping over Salem a little as she stormed toward Toki's mom, but stopped when she saw Murderface bend down to peel Salem off of the other guy, which royally pissed her off.

"Get yer fuckin' hands offa them!" Nathalia shouted as she stumbled toward them, only to headbutt the wall again. "Heheh, go boom... But hey! Stop that!" Once she had teetered her way to the bloodied Salem, Murderface immediately dropped their arms gently, allowing them to fall forward on all fours like some angry house-cat, hissing and spitting and trying to get back to the fucker they had pulverized.

"I- I wasch juscht trying-" Murderface started, but was interrupted when Nathalia reached to grip him by his fat throat, shoving him into the corner with all of her sharp nails into his soft flesh.

"Don't. Touch. Them," Nathalia whispered dangerously, her eyes narrowing at him.

"Well hate to break it to ya, but he cares more about your psycho friend than you do," Nathan pointed out bluntly, but Nathalia was too fuzzy-headed to really understand the words- or maybe she didn't care, she couldn't tell. It was only when Tobias had appeared in the hallway, possibly from the screaming, that things were processing again.

"Duuuuuude, Tobias, Toki is your sibling!" Nathalia shouted to him, making him freeze in surprise.

"I know he looks like me, Nat, but I'm worried about the yelling-"

"No no nonono, your birth mom wrote to you and said you had siblings!" Nathalia shoved the letter into his hand, hopping eagerly. "It says you may have already met one of them, and like duh, Toki looks just like you, so-"

"Anja can't write in English!" Nathan's mom looked astonished, and the upbeat feeling in Nathalia's chest faltered.

"But..."

Tobias was skimming the letter, but he didn't seem to process the entire thing as his face grew redder and redder, and he paused just before the ending to glower at the other. "How long ago was this letter...?"

"I've had it for a month, so-"

"You've been stealing my mail?!" Tobias looked offended, bewildered, and most of all, angry. Nobody in that room had ever seen him that mad, his jaw clenched as he tried his best to keep himself composed. "This isn't the first letter- Give me my fucking mail!"

"Hey hey I was just trying to be helpful-"

"Give. MAIL. God, can't you ever think about anybody but yourself for once?! You could have literally asked me if that's the type of situation I wanted to have happened, but you didn't even bother! Nathalia knows best though, right?!" He turned, fuming, to see Salem on the ground in fetal position, and immediately fell into a more concerned look. "Are they okay? What's going on?"

Salem had suddenly gone limp, attracting the attention of almost everyone in that room, but nobody really knew what to do about this sudden change in behavior. Tobias was nervously checking for a pulse when they suddenly stood up straight, a strange, empty look on their face. They looked around for a moment, seeing everyone staring at them, and gently nudged Tobias away so they could sit on their own.

They frowned as they thought to themselves, but once their eyes landed on a bloody heap, their eyes darkened once more. "That son of a bitch..."

It was suddenly then that these two old hags- one male and one female- that Nathalia didn't care to know came rushing forward, the woman sobbing hysterically as she gathered the unconscious man in her arms to cradle him. Gross.

Salem looked positively disgusted by this interaction. "How the fuck could you do that for such a piece of shit? Your other son was being abused by him!" They looked positively infuriated as they motioned in the opposite direction. Somehow their words gave Nathalia a moment of clarity when she noticed Pickles with his face to the floor and his body curled into a ball.

"She's not our son!" The mother spat with venom, and Nathalia and Nathan's hands balled into fists in response, while Toki and Tobias resorted to glaring, and Salem bared their teeth, looking agitated again.

"I don't give a fuck about your dumb ass political views. Your CHILD was getting hurt!"

"She's not even our child." It was the first time the man had spoken up, coldly and firmly, with an air of arrogance around him that made Nathalia want to burn him alive as well.

The room fell in stunned silence, obviously not prepared for that kind of answer. Even Nathalia was a little confused and shocked, because then that would mean...

It was Pickles's turn to finally speak. "Wh- what? What do yew..."

"What do you think that means, you pathetic waste of breath?" The man sneered. "Take a good long look at us. Do we look anything like you?"

Everyone looked between Pickles and his supposed family. Nathalia wasn't much for details but even she wasn't an idiot in that regard; they really did look different. Aside from a slightly similar nose shape between his 'brother' and him, he looked nothing like them.

He was a red-headed, freckled boy who was at max 5 feet and 3 inches tall, with bright green eyes. His eyebrows were thicker, bushier, and always narrowed in shape whereas his family's were furrowed most likely from actually having permanent sticks up their ass. His body shape was even different- the entire family was just so stiff and plastic, even the guy on the ground who was bleeding just seemed so tense and egotistical, barely conscious and yet seeming so smug as he looked over at his adopted brother. But Pickles, he was a curvy, floppy, squishy mess of awkward limbs and preferred a permanent lax position.

"Listen guys," Nathalia suddenly decided to pipe up. "Yelling at them is cool and all, but you know what we could do? Kill them."

Salem tilted their head for a moment almost like they were considering it, when a flash of anger flickered across their expression. "Nathalia, just fucking stop."

"What?!"

"This shit is serious!"

"I'm being serious!"

"No you're not! Even when you're being serious, it's still all jokes to you! Funny ha ha!" Salem growled. "Death is funny to you, murder is funny to you- well sometimes we don't need you to kill people or make messes so you can laugh at them later! If I wanna kill them it's because they hurt someone I love deeply, not because it'll make me look cool or intimidating or special or to laugh at later!"

"So what, you want these fuckers to exist or some shit?" Nathalia motioned to the crackheaded family. "We can easily take care of them by getting rid of them!"

Salem crossed their arms across their chest. "You listened to nothing I just said. Tell me though, why do you want to kill them then? Why do they deserve death?"

Nathalia opened her mouth, then realized that she couldn't remember what was going on. What had the argument been about? Adoption? She remembered then that she was still plastered from her alcohol binge, and wasn't able to concentrate on a singular thing much less actually remember what happened five seconds ago. "Because they obviously pissed you off, and I'm trying to be helpful!" Nathalia defended herself, nostrils flaring. "What're you doing about this shit, just gonna yell at them like you always do?! Then gonna go pout and hide in your room to do what, shoot up like the druggie you are?"

Salem's eyes narrowed dangerously as they glared up at their friend. "You created this druggie, just fucking remember that. But keep making fun of me for drug abuse. How's that repression taste as an alcoholic?"

Nathalia lowered her head close enough to Salem's and gave a low whisper, "Sweeter than your poison of choice, and that includes your shitty fucking attitude- you remember THAT."

"Nots to ah, interrupts yous fight," Toki spoke lowly and almost timidly, "buts... Pickle ams gones."

Salem immediately snapped their head away from Nathalia, looking around wildly for the missing red-head. Everyone else also searched the hallway, confused that he would disappear without a trace almost. The only people who seemed uninterested were of course, his shitty family members. Even Nathalia began to worry, and hazily looked under broken pieces of furniture in an attempt to search for him through her clouded mind.

"Where's Murderface, too?" Nathan growled as he motioned to the large, empty space where the dog-faced man would normally be. Nathalia ignored this, picking up one of the broken stereos to look under it, since she was used to someone like Salem, who would squeeze under odd objects to have panic attacks or cry.

Speaking of Salem, they were stumbling around while they looked, seeming slightly disoriented with their eyes somewhat glazed over. Suddenly, Toki, who had looked outside real quick, came back with a terrified look on his face. "He ams outside!" Toki barely managed to squeak out. "på taket!"

"What? I don't uh, speak slang," Nathan eyed the other man, noticing just how shaken up he was.

"på taket means on the roof." It was the first time Skwisgaar managed to speak in a while, still a little mortified but now looking wide-eyed at the rest of the band. Everyone stilled their actions while the news seemed to sink in slowly, but Nathalia, surprisingly enough, was the first to react, as a surge of recognition and understanding reached her clouded brain. Her friend, the friend who had gotten hurt, who had just found out he was adopted... Was on the roof.

"Shit," Nathalia whispered.

. . .

The wind was whipping loudly, scattering raindrops in a frenzy and rustling nearby trees. The droplets of water felt like ice-cold spears as they penetrated skin, but it wasn't that, that made their bodies feel frozen in place. Everyone had filed outside, even the parents who were a little more than traumatized by what had been going down the last hour or so.

The moon seemed so big, and yet the light it gave off was a dull orange-red glow that almost felt ominous. Salem had a sick feeling in the pit of their stomach as they scanned the darkened sky for any signs of the person on the roof. How had he even gotten up there? And the citadel was so huge... Why did it have to seem so large and bulky? They just wanted their eyes to land on a pale dot with fiery hair in the sky. To make sure he was still with them. That he was still safe.

Nathalia moved to stand beside their friend, and in the panic-stricken moment both friends forgot about their quarrel as she slipped her hand in theirs out of comfort. The only sense of warmth as the breeze splattered the mini, wet icicles across their face and left wind lashes on their pinkening cheeks.

Toki was pacing the area, trying to find where he had just seen Pickles at the top, and was wringing his hands together with worry. Skwisgaar, who had been slow to come out, stopped by the door to wait for Toki's pacing to reach him, and tried placing a hand on the other's shoulder, only for him to shrug it off and keep walking quickly, eyes searching. So instead, the blond followed Toki's footsteps and helped him search as much of the area they could reach with their eyes while on the ground.

Nathan stood behind everyone, among a few trees, staring blankly toward the sky. He could try to pretend, but everyone else knew that he was also searching, even if it was discreetly. Tobias was even on edge, though his eyes kept darting between Mordhaus and the moon that seemed to shine even brighter in response. Seeing something that nobody else could at that moment.

Suddenly, Salem began to shout Pickles's name. After a moment of just their voice calling out to him, Nathalia began to join, followed by Toki, and Skwisgaar, Tobias, all of the parents aside from Pickles's, and even Nathan. There was a chorus of pleading, before Pickles slowly came into view.

Nobody thought to go up the emergency exit within the house to meet Pickles on the roof. Except for one person.

Pickles's eyes swam with tears, and his head was hurting so bad- why did it hurt so much? He ran his fingers through his hair, gripping and pulling it, trying to regain some sort of clarity. Thinking that maybe the physical pain would be enough to slap him awake, but it wasn't helping.

There was a lot he'd been through over the years, a lot he managed to repress or simply accept and move on. There was a lot of pain and grudges he held against his friends, who meant well (usually) but proved to continuously hurt him by accident, but at least he could eventually look past those issues. He could even silently forgive his parents and brother for so many things, and continued to love them when that was all he knew how to do.

But this? Was this really the straw that broke the camel's back? Was he standing on the roof of his home with a belly full of whiskey and a broken heart throbbing against his rib-cage until it hurt, because he was adopted? Just that alone made Pickles realize just how pathetic he seemed. Then again, maybe he deserved to choose when to throw in the towel. He'd been fighting for so long... Fighting to survive, fighting to be who he wanted to be, fighting for affection and approval from people who just didn't understand... And it turned out that most of what he'd been fighting for was a lie anyway, a scam.

That his parents truly never could love him, because they weren't actually his parents. He was adopted and he didn't turn out to be the adorable red-headed girl they wanted when they picked him out, that would make them feel like this wonderful, generous family, so if he couldn't be the child they wanted then they would obviously never be the family he needed.

After all... How dare they open up their home to an ungrateful alcoholic child and make them all seem like crackpots- but didn't they know that adopted children were problem children and would make them look bad anyway? Pickles let out a harsh but quiet laugh. Truthfully though, they probably hadn't actually told anyone he was adopted. They assumed, years ago, that Pickles would be the one in a million red-headed-and-green-eyed baby of everyone's dreams, and it unfortunately backfired on them. Maybe if they had told people he was adopted, everyone in the family, including him, would receive more sympathy for the situation when that fake perfection began to crumble. Maybe Pickles would've been the 'sad, delusional, traumatized baby' and his parents wouldn't have so many issues with seeming like this perfect family while their 'child' that wasn't really a blood relative, went out to wreak havoc and abandon all morals.

Perhaps this was their plan all along... Just have a child that wasn't theirs to torture, to make fun of, to beat down, and to make sure when he left the house at 17 it wouldn't be without bringing some major baggage with him. Maybe it gave them sympathy from his mother's book-club sisters, maybe his dad had a few free drinks with fellow co-workers to mourn the loss of a sane child when the reality was, he was never their child. Baby Pickles probably wasn't picked to be a family member. He was picked to be gaslit, groomed, and neglected, so they could gain some sympathy when Pickles lashed out in pain.

Pain, so much pain. It didn't matter anymore, and there was no use trying to logic out the situation. Whatever the case was, he wasn't their child, and probably was never perceived to be theirs for all he knew. Pickles smiled through his tears but even that gesture hurt him, and he placed a hand over his face. He felt those tears leak through the cracks of his fingers, dribbling down his face in waves, as each breath came out as a horrible shudder. The wind blew harder, stinging his wet flesh.

Charles... Pickles had lost the closest thing he could get to a caring father-figure. Nathan... his awkward and grieving best friend. Through thick and thin, they always thought. Pickles felt bad for being one last let-down to the man who had already lost a lot. Toki, who was like a brother to him... he hoped the boy could keep smiling after all this, he was too lovely to be a cold-hearted person. Skwisgaar- the guy would never admit to being a caring person but he was more sensitive than he led on. Tobias... a short connection but one nonetheless. Maybe in another life, they would be closer. Nathalia... Pickles couldn't hold anything against her. She was going through her own thing, and if she didn't cry over him, that would be even better, so he had no guilt to live with. Salem- no, that hurt too much to think about right now. Thinking about them might make them reconsider, and he didn't need cold feet for this. Murderface...

"Schtop!" The voice made Pickles jump slightly and he turned his head, surprised to see Murderface awkwardly clambering up the emergency ladder onto the top of the citadel. Immediately, Pickles took a step back, heart pounding heavily. People at ground level were shouting to each other about needing some sort of trampoline or blanket, whatever they could get to catch him, but he wasn't really listening. He eyed as the bigger man took a few cautious steps forward.

"Go away, Murderface," Pickles whispered in a croak, tears in his voice. "I don't want you here."

"I get it, okhay?" Murderface raised his hands in the air as he took another soft step. His face was unreadable in the darkness, but there was a certain kind of urgency in his voice that made Pickles pause in his own steps. "There'sch a lot goin' on right now... But you need to take a breather for juscht a scheck!"

Pickles shook his head, wrapping his arms around his shivering body. "No, I- I... jus' fuck off dood, I said I don' want yew here!"

"I know, and I'll go," Murderface promised. "Onche you schtep bachk from the ledge."

"No," Pickles whispered. "I can't."

"I wasch like you onche, okay?!" Murderface's voice raised slightly. "I wasch up here too, a lot of timesch, I know what it'sch like! But it alwaysch getsch better, you juscht need to keep ckalm and think it through!"

"I'm tired of thinkin','' Pickles muttered, turning his head to look down at all of his friends on the ground, staring back up at him. He couldn't tell what they were thinking or feeling right now. He didn't even know how he himself felt. He looked away from them.

"I'll never bug you again, if that'sch what you need," Murderface pleaded. "I'll never annoy you and Schalem. I'll never... Jusch' don't do thisch." He had taken another step, and was getting quicker, closing the space between them. "I don't wanna schee schomeone elsche die..." Pickles remembered Murderface's surprisingly emotional reaction to Charles's murder. So the guy did have a heart... In an odd way.

Memories flashing through his head consisted of Murderface comforting a sad Pickles, of him sitting beside the drummer once his family had actually gotten there, of pulling Salem away to check on them just moments before Pickles fled the scene, of helping the Klokateers put out other fires started in Skwisgaar's room... Of when Pickles tried to fuck him and all he did was let the drummer sleep it off... He pursed his lips tightly.

Then he closed his eyes, remembering other things, things that had never really been talked about. Maybe Murderface didn't remember, or maybe he didn't feel like mentioning it, but... "'Member the time yew said yew were ganna jump off the roof to us? Like years ago?"

Murderface's feet paused momentarily, encouraging Pickles to continue.

"We all waited outside in da garden wit' some chairs, 'n' kept telling yew to do a backflip. Yew remember?" When he opened his eyes to give a soft smile, he noticed that the moon cast a faint red glow on the bassist's face, who looked stunned and a little mortified by the memory. "Yea, dought so... I know yew been up here a lot. Many times. We never came up to help yew..." Pickles's eyes scrunched as fresh pain waved over him. "No wonder why yer an asshole... But still, yer here when it counts... tryin' ta help me anyway even after all dat."

Murderface nodded, almost eagerly, and took another few steps. Panic was rising in Pickles's chest, as well as a certain calm at the same time. Pickles had never been concerned about Murderface's health, or really even if he was alive or not. He might not be able to forgive Murderface for pulling certain, shitty stunts... but even Murderface wasn't bad enough of a person to ditch someone during a moment like this. How could Pickles justify something like that to himself? This was a much deserved punishment.

Nathan, Toki, Skwisgaar, Nathalia, Tobias, Salem... even Murderface, they all deserved much better than what Pickles could offer.

"But yew were prabably more worth savin'. I'm... not." He felt his heel hit the edge of the roof so he took a step up and suddenly he felt weightless, for a moment just teetering on the edge of death and yet feeling so, so alive... the most alive he'd ever felt in a long time. The wind brushed against him excitedly.

"I'm sorry," Pickles whispered, hearing the many shouts around him as he felt gravity taking back over, his body plunging through the sky while he stared up at the stars above him; feeling almost forcefully pushed down like even Mother Nature had been waiting for this moment and was just eager for that beautiful sound of-

Crack.

Silence. Peace.

. . .

It felt like everything was happening in slow motion. Salem watched as Pickles, the person they idolized for years, the person they had gotten the chance to hold and love and see the side of that not many were able to, dropped to the ground like he was dead weight. Salem had already removed their hand from Nathalia's grip before he even landed and was running through the crowd even as people shouted to them to not, but couldn't make it in time.

There was a sickening crunch and then blood splattered everywhere. They froze immediately in their tracks, suddenly hyper-aware of the feeling of something dripping down their cheeks and dampening their clothes. All they could do was stare at the dark mass on the ground, seeing a dark red, almost black looking liquid pool around the broken, battered body.

Salem's eyes wandered across the mess before they landed on a facial feature and they gave an audible gasp, unable to handle the panic rising in their chest from seeing the possibility of any human features. Because if they could truly make out what they were seeing, then that would make this real. They didn't want this to be real. They didn't want to join reality and allow their brain to register the fact that their love had just killed himself.

The noises were the worst for Salem. The gurgling as blood gushed from orifices just made them feel so sick to their stomach. It didn't matter that they had tried to rip out someone else's artery with their teeth just a few minutes beforehand. In fact, gore itself wasn't what made Salem squirm. The sounds just grounded them even closer to this plane of existence that they didn't want to be a part of. They sounded so foreign and yet too familiar, and they couldn't handle it.

Everyone else was too stunned to react or even move for a moment. They all stared agape at the body, up until Salem had suddenly collapsed to the ground. Someone was walking toward them but when they touched their shoulder, they shrugged it off. No, being touched would only...

But it was real. Oh God it was real, they had watched that with their very own eyes. They began to tremble with their breath coming out in small, shaking gasps, staring down at the tufts of red dreads over the other's face. They gently reached out and brushed away hair, seeing Pickles's blank face staring back up at them, eyes still swollen with tears that continued to stream down his face slowly. His nose and mouth were covered in blood, and so was the back of his head. Salem didn't care as their hands began to stain red while they frantically placed their hands over his face, still feeling the warmth of a life that was once there, only moments before.

A strangled cry ripped out of Salem's throat, feeling their head swirl with newfound, raw pain. They hadn't felt this type of grief in years, that exploding punch straight to the chest that made them hunch over in pain, with their teeth gritted together so hard that they could break any second. The cries grew louder. It wasn't even a sob, but more of a low scream of anguish. Deeper, lighter, lower, higher, the noises coming out of Salem were barely even human and each one made the others flinch, though they didn't know that because all they could do was stare at the face they loved so much.

"No! No no nonononononono! NO!" Salem kept shouting in a crackly voice, the hurt making their voice hoarse and sore. "No damnit, wake up! Pickles, wake the fuck up!" Their hands gently ran across his face and body to hopefully stir him from his slumber, so other hands were placed on their shoulders again. "Get off me!" Salem screamed without even seeing who it was. They ripped off their soaked jacket, not caring that the merciless wind bit at the new naked skin, and gently placed it under Pickles's head. Why was there so much blood?!

"P- Pick...le..." It was then that Salem barely managed to register the fact that Toki was also crying, his bright blue eyes swimming in tears. He held his hands to his chest, his legs shaking, and couldn't take his eyes off of the sight before him. Skwisgaar, who was next to Toki, had his whole body turned away from the sight with his head held down, shoulders tense, and fists hanging loosely at his side.

Salem's hazy vision scoped out the rest of the area, noticing Nathan's mother hiding her face in his father's chest. Serveta looked positively stunned, hand to her own chest, face pale and slightly green. Murderface's grandparents were also turned away, not able to see the gruesome sight before them. Tobias was in obvious shock, his mouth hung open. Nathan... he stood in the middle of the field, head held high and muscles taut as usual, but his face was not his. His face was that of a man who looked like he had nothing left, eyes squeezed and lips pressed together in a thin line to keep unshed tears from falling. His body was trembling furiously, either from trying so hard to keep it all together or because he was about to actually explode with everything he'd been trying to hold in. Maybe both.

Then their eyes landed on Nathalia, who was behind them. Her hand was placed against her mouth, her face beat red. This was the most sober she'd ever looked in recent weeks, eyes wide with the realization dawning on her. Nothing could be said; there was nothing she could say. It was all so overwhelming for her. For everyone.

In fact, the only people who seemed mostly unphased were...

Salem stood up abruptly, striding over to Pickles's family who had blank faces on, and proceeded to punch Pickles's 'brother' in the face. Seth went sprawling back, fresh blood flowing out and over the dry. The father was about to grab Salem with a harsh grip when they snapped their fist back and also knocked him into the teeth, watching him stagger while holding his mouth. They were about to grab at the mother's neck when they were pulled back harshly, and they knew by who.

"Let go of me!" Salem hissed, jerking themselves away. "Let me kill them!"

"Salem, stop!"

"Why?! Didn't you want to kill them a bit ago?! When did that change, hmmm?!"

The grasp dug into their shoulder. "Because you were right!" Nathalia practically shouted. Salem slowly relaxed, blinking in surprise. "Just... stop." Nathalia's voice cracked, and she immediately let go of Salem. They turned in curiosity, seeing their friend drop to her knees beside Pickles once more, staring mournfully at him. Salem hadn't realized how close Nathalia had gotten to the man. They did hang out quite a bit, talking about Salem once in a while apparently, or just drinking together.

Salem stiffly walked back to the body, then felt a sudden bout of anger. "Move!"

When Nathalia shifted to look up at Salem in puzzlement and slight offense, Salem dropped to their knees and began pressing into Pickles's chest. Nathalia's eyes widened when she realized what the smaller one was doing.

"Oh... baby..." Nathalia whispered, and tried to push Salem's hands away, but they knocked her own back, a wild look in their eyes.

"No! I refuse! I don't fucking accept this!" Salem shouted as they began to pump the lifeless chest in front of them. This only made the blood gush harder from his lips but damnit if they didn't at least try...

Everyone watched in stunned silence as Salem pinched the bridge of Pickles's bloody nose and placed their mouth over his to breathe air back into his lungs. They could taste his blood on their trembling lips. They continued pumping against his heart, trying to bring the man back to life, all the while beginning to hysterically cry and babble to themself.

"Please please, come on I know you still got a little fight left in you... You can't just give up, you can't be dead, I won't let you be dead, I won't let everyone I fucking love leave me like this, not again, never again!" Salem wailed, shaking as they continued their presses.

Toki mumbled something to himself, before running back inside of Mordhaus. Nobody went to stop him, not even his mother, who was missing from the picture anyway. Nathan's eyes had re-hardened but his eyebrow was raised while watching Salem work on the man, and Tobias remained tense, debating on helping them or helping Nathalia in removing them from Pickles.

But it was Skwisgaar that took the first step, and not in a way anybody expected. He dropped next to Salem, pushing them away from Pickles's face before placing his own lips over the drummer's to breathe life into his chest. Salem was too stunned to move for a second, before they resorted back to pumping against Pickles's chest with more determination in their eyes. Nobody had expected Skwisgaar to try and help them with what they all silently figured was a fruitless endeavour.

Nathalia's eyes narrowed momentarily before she placed her hands underneath Pickles's head, trying to stop the blood from continuing to flow. The three worked relentlessly before Salem dropped to Pickles's chest, sobbing freely into it with their eyes shut tightly, no more malice or hostility. Footsteps walked beside Salem, gently pulling them away from his body, only to replace Salem with their own body. They opened their eyes, seeing Tobias doing chest presses in a much more calm and rhythmic manner than Salem had been doing.

Nathan was then beside Nathalia, helping to hold Pickles's head steady so Nathalia didn't push against it too hard with no resistance to keep his head from rolling around. The friends kept doing what they could when finally, some Klokateers had arrived with a few doctors from inside Mordhaus, followed shortly by Abigail. So that's what took them so long to get help? Aside from the fact that none of them had even realized there were witnesses that went to retrieve help in the first place.

Without a word, Pickles was taken from everyone's grip and placed on a gurney so they could inject his chest with something while he was being wheeled back into Mordhaus. Salem tried to get up to follow but they felt so weak that all they could do was fall back onto their knees. Skwisgaar grasped one of their arms from underneath and tugged them upward; Tobias was on the other side, placing their arm on his shoulders to help them into the building. Everyone else followed closely behind, save for Pickles's family, who had had the door shut in their face once they walked up to get back inside.

Abigail's arms were across her chest, looking at everyone with an unreadable expression. "So, what happened?" She asked, and nobody really had an answer for her. She decided to not ask another question, rather heading to the hall that the others must have gone through with Pickles. The only sound was the precise clacking of her heels, and then nothing at all.

The silence was short-lived when another body moved stiffly from the hallway to the living room. Murderface was pale, and obviously shaken up, as he stepped inside. Salem could faintly remember seeing the bassist's head looking down from where Pickles had jumped, before disappearing. Salem had worried for a second almost, that maybe he would jump too.

However, not everyone was relieved to see him. Nathalia's eyes turned to slits as she glared at the man, then in just a few long strides was in Murderface's face.

"The fuck you say to him?!" Nathalia snarled, startling the other man, causing him to take a step back.

"Wh- what? Nothing, I-"

"Lying ass motherfucker!" Nathalia wrapped her fists around Murderface's shirt, shoving him into the nearest wall. "My fucking friend is dead and you were the only fucker up there with him!" So it wasn't just Salem that had noticed. "The fuck you say?! Hell, did you push him or some shit?"

"N- no!" Pain welled up in Murderface's eyes, shocking Salem to the core.

"Dude, leave him alone," Salem mumbled, their voice barely audible to their own ears. Yet somehow it was loud enough for Nathalia to turn and face Salem.

"Stop fucking trying to defend him!"

Salem was taken aback by the aggression. "Stop trying to blame him for everything!"

"Maybe he should fucking be blamed!" Nathalia yelled, and Salem shook their head.

"He wanted to kill himself, Nat! Why do you think he was up there in the first place?!" Fresh tears were in Salem's eyes as they stared pleadingly up at her. "Just leave him alone, I can guarantee you-"

"You can't guarantee shit! We weren't up there, we didn't hear the conversation!" Nathalia exclaimed. "I don't trust the fucker!"

"Why the fuck are you so insistent on being an asshole to him! Look how fucking upset he looks- hey!" Murderface turned red to those words and had turned away, making Nathalia get angry and punch him in the back of the head. "Fucking stop!"

"Why?! Fuck him! Oh I'm sure that's the fucking issue, you wanna ride his gross looking, crooked ass dick with the weird fucking scars and moles!" Nathalia sneered.

"Fuck off-" Salem paused mid-sentence when they saw Nathalia's eyes widen lightly, then the last sentence finally processed. "You- how do you know how his dick looks?"

Nathalia sputtered. "Have you seen him on T.V, using it to play bass?!"

"No," Salem said slowly, "Because you order everyone to turn the channel, the second Murderface pulls that stunt. I don't even know what his dick looks like."

The silence was practically deafening as Salem studied their friend with a mix of horror, disgust, and anger. "You...?"

"No!" Nathalia managed to squeak, then landed a punch to Salem's head. "Stop asking questions!"

Salem went sprawling backwards from how weak they generally already were, but managed to stay on their feet, though they were a bit dizzy from the encounter. Their eyes darted to Murderface, who was still facing away from them and for probably different reasons. "William Murderface. Look at me."

Murderface didn't move.

"Did you guys fuck?!"

"I said stop!" Nathalia shouted, before tackling Salem to the ground. This enraged the drummer in more ways than one and they began to attack back, the both of them blindly swinging their fists to each other's faces. There was one that caught Salem just under the eye, and pain exploded across their cheek. In anger, Salem began to kick at Nathalia's stomach then curled into a ball underneath her so that they could knee her against the chest. This made her shift in pain, so Salem jabbed their fists into her side just under her ribs, her more sensitive areas, to get her to recoil. Once she did so, Salem was able to squirm out from underneath her, only to be grabbed once more and flattened to the ground.

She smacked their head against the floor but now they were too pissed to care. They grabbed the back of Nathalia's head and smashed their skulls together with force, over and over again, jabbed their fingers in her eyes as they gripped her head, ripped handfuls of her hair out, and when she was no longer defending her face properly, just kept beating it over and over with their fist. Nathalia ripped herself out of Salem's grip and started swinging again, blindly.

Salem gritted their teeth, jerking their lower body to scoot backward along the ground and gain enough space in between to push their legs between Nathalia's body and their own.Their feet shot into the air once planted firmly into Nathalia's chest as she clambered back over Salem, and with them so did Nathalia's body. She flailed mid-air, before landing half on Salem and half right next to them, cracking her elbow as it hit the floor. The pain was enough for Salem to roll away but not before having a final jab against her throat, which made her gag a little. However, she still wasn't done as she grasped Salem by the hair and dragged them back to her, proceeding to bite at them. They were a mess of limbs and flailing until Abigail's sharp footsteps entered the background once more.

"Nathalia and Salem, stop!" Abigail shouted, and Nathalia sat up straight abruptly. She dragged a disoriented Salem with her, causing her to rip their clothes. Now their entire arm was exposed to everyone, including Abigail, who narrowed her eyes once she saw the familiar bloody dots along their arm. Even Nathalia was somewhat surprised to see that Salem had... done so much. But this only fueled her at the moment.

"Look at this shit, you need to get yourself under control!" Nathalia yelled, face red, eyes not able to actually focus on Salem since she seemed a bit delirious.

"Says you, fucking being drunk ever since your birthday!" Salem screamed back. "At least I'm not an apathetic asshole under pressure!"

"The fuck you aren't, if you were nicer then maybe Pickles wouldn't have jumped!" Nathalia accused.

"You're blaming me-"

"Enough!" Abigail's voice rang in the air, causing the two friends to fall silent. They looked back to their manager, who looked distraught, tired, and most of all, pissed. "Stop, both of you! I'm tired of you two arguing all the time as of late! Nathalia sure, but Salem, this is outrageously out of character for you! And I'm tired of ALL OF YOU not being sober like Charles and I had asked of you guys!" She pinched the bridge of her nose. "And I still am not sure fully what happened to Pickles or why, so if someone could please explain the situation, that would be fantastic."

"How is Pickles?" Salem asked automatically, turning fully from Nathalia to the slightly older woman. "Is he...?"

"He's in very unstable condition," Abigail said grimly. "But your guys's help outside did give him a fighting chance, somewhat. Not much at all, but maybe enough since Dethklok has top-notch surgeons and doctors."

Salem looked down at the ground, lost in thought. If Pickles had even a one percent chance... They would take it. Their lips quivered at the thought. "C- can I go visit him?"

Abigail gave them a sympathetic look, though she still looked angry deep down inside. "Not yet, he's going through surgery to see what organs have ruptured and to fix his skull." She hesitated for a moment before adding, "You can wait outside of the door, we'll have a chair set up for you."

Salem perked up but only slightly. They nodded and tried to walk but they felt a little dizzy and had to pause, which Abigail noticed.

"First, both of you can go get checked out," Abigail spoke with pursed lips. "Then you can wait for Pickles. And then after that..." She paused to look at every single person in the room.

"You're all going to rehab."

Chapter Text

Abigail sat calmly in the seat that used to be Charles', watching from behind the desk that was once his, as she looked over paperwork which included a letter in question that Tobias had eventually shown her, apparently too upset to care about reading through the whole thing, and didn't even know if it was true or a scam.

She had no clue herself but it wasn't like she didn't have the technology to figure it out. Mordhaus had even more advanced technology than what was possible in almost all other countries and all she needed to do was look into the database for information.

Abigail checked the computer for any records of a Yvonne Briar (the same last name as Tobias, apparently nobody had ever changed that during his time in the adoption agency) because that was the name that was given on the front of the folded letter, rather than the envelope itself, which was just labeled Jane Doe. The woman seemed pretty guarded in her letter, not giving out much personal information about herself and seemingly setting herself up for rejection before even sending out the card. Then again if there were other cards that Nathalia had kept, it would make sense she expected to be ignored, but in the letter it seemed almost like this was her first and only planned letter, so it perplexed the manager.

She herself hadn't read through the whole letter because she had just been focused on who this Yvonne was and if there were any significant news reports about it that might cause her to contact her arguably richest son, out of potentially several other siblings. Now as Abigail skimmed through the paper, her eyes focused on the last piece that made her fall back in shock.

Tobias most definitely had missed right over this piece of information as well, and he needed to know right away.

The envelope fell out of her hands accidentally and inside of it, several small polaroid pictures came fluttering out, scattering across the floor. A set of green eyes stared back up at her.

~~~

Visions swam through Tobias's unconscious mind, his past reeling in the crevices of his memories that could only be remembered in melancholy dreams. Fat, pudgy hands reaching for pretty pictures of bright colored eyes. A scream that shocked him into pausing in his movements. Tears staining his cheek as someone that smelled of strawberry spray rubbed their face against his lovingly, sadly. A basket of clothes to play in, similar to someone else's but much too small to fit her.

And hands to grab and lift him away, away from the familiar soft arms, away from the pretty pictures on the walls, away from the weathered fence and strangely empty tire swing tied to the drooping tree that he had grown to enjoy staring at from his blue curtained window.

It wasn't just those that plagued him but also dreams of soft red hair, and those same shiny eyes on a much more mature face. And Tobias's own reflection, shadowed by possibly a dozen different others, people he didn't recognize, yet seemed eerily familiar.

These images began to get stronger as the days went on until it felt like a nagging pull, like someone was desperate to show his subconscious something, that maybe he would finally wake up and remember the things being shown to him. The confusing dreams of darkness and blood-red moons were being quickly replaced by laughter and distant voices and somber, dreamy expressions. Mixed with the visions during his seizures, which were happening more constantly but in small, short, insistent ways, it felt like something was constantly pulling his brain in opposite directions.

He was ever revolving between his potential past and the nagging future, and not being able to remember either unless he was in the middle of actually witnessing them, and never able to remember them both clearly at the same time. Only when he was in his dream realm among the stars, and witnessing his dreams that way, did he even know that he was having dreams of his past, but still never remembering exactly what they were.

Tobias was always told by Nathalia that he lived with his head in the stars, obsessed with things like astronomy and astrology; but now it seemed like the stars were guiding him to a deeper truth. He just felt so impossibly torn with one foot in each of these worlds, and never having time to worry about the actual present. However, with these desperate visions constantly plaguing his mind, he wondered what would happen if he managed to bring the two together like missing puzzle pieces.

Did that mean the bloody moon dream was no longer important? Tobias didn't think so. In fact, his need to find a way to connect the dots seemed to hang over his head like such a virus, that it convinced him it was a strange link into figuring out what his other dreams meant.

If only he could observe and remember any of this in the real world, as much as he could in his dream realm. However, Tobias felt that would all soon come to a head, that even in his waking state everything would soon become clearer.

~~~

Tobias nervously sat in his room with his feet bouncing against the floor, preoccupying his mind with video games and a bowl of popcorn so he didn't have to think. He didn't have to think about the fact that his best friends were fighting, or that Pickles had tried to kill himself and his health still wasn't any better. He was tired of thinking and seemingly being the only thinker of this place anymore. He had no idea what even Abigail was thinking, to assume a party was such a good idea at a time like this.

The families had no right to just walk in and demand to be entertained. It had been a privilege, allowing them inside, a privilege that should have never been granted, especially not in this time-frame.

No, there had to be a reason for this. There had to be some secret motive for Abigail to allow this stupid party to happen and to also be absent for most of it. Maybe it was meant as a distraction gone wrong? Or did it go perfectly correct for her..?

Tobias mentally shook his head. He should never be suspicious of someone like Abigail. She was a protector to all of them, and she cared deeply for her band. No, even if she set something like that up for a reason, it couldn't have been with any malicious intent. He sighed. He said he wanted to stop thinking and he was going to, damnit.

A knock on his door jerked him out of his thoughts and he managed out a small, "Yeah?" The door opened quietly and surprise surprise, the woman herself walked in with a gentle smile, though it didn't necessarily reach her eyes. In fact, she seemed a bit nervous to be there, which caused Tobias to tense since normally she had a calm, cool exterior. Maybe all the stress was finally getting to her...

"What's up?" Tobias asked, pausing the game and turning to her fully so he could silently study her features. She looked a little tired but not necessarily upset or anything, just... really, really nervous. Tobias raised an eyebrow but didn't comment on his findings.

Abigail cupped her hands in front of her and stared at Tobias, unsure of exactly how to start the conversation, before finally clearing her throat and saying, "In all my years, I've never had to make this kind of announcement... So I apologize if I don't word this right."

Tobias tilted his head in confusion. "Go on?"

Abigail paused to rummage through her brain for a moment longer, then settled on: "Tobias, you believed all your life that you were an only child, correct?"

Tobias's heart leaped into his throat at this and he nodded slowly, eyes wide. Why bring that up, unless..?

Abigail's face softened and she allowed herself to smile more kindly. "Well it would seem that you are not the only child of your birth mother and father. In fact, you have- sorry, had- many siblings at one point, before they were taken away, just like you."

Tobias could only stare. "Wh- what?" He didn't even know anything about his home life or why he was taken away to begin with. Then again, it wasn't completely shocking to him, because Nathalia had technically spoiled that for him with the accusation that he and Toki were siblings, so normal siblings wasn't as much of a punch to the gut as the possibility of being related to Toki himself. Still, it was wild in general to have the existence of relatives he'd never met, actually be confirmed by someone he could trust.

Seeming to read his mind, Abigail walked toward his bed and planted a warm hand on his shoulder. "They were all older than you, so by the time that you were born, they had already gone in and back out of the adoption system. You never had a chance to meet them." So he was the youngest child. How odd.

Tobias bit his lip. He had to admit, it really stung to have not known for years that he had siblings out there, with his blood and similar DNA, who probably also had no idea that he existed. Or if they knew he did, they would be fans of his music, never knowing that there was any blood relation between them. "I'm not like, mad or anything," Tobias assured the woman, "but I'm just..."

"In shock," Abigail finished for him and he nodded with a light, pained smile. "I'm so, so sorry."

Tobias was struggling to keep himself under control, though his voice came out eerily calm. "Where are they? Surely you of all people would know? How many are there?"

Abigail's face softened even more. "You had three other siblings."

"Had?" Tobias echoed, his stomach clenching tightly and his heart pounding heavily. "Why had?"

When her face fell into sadness, Tobias stood on shaky feet and grabbed her by the arms. "Please... Tell me... What happened to them?"

Abigail's face fell into a more stern look once touched, but nonetheless gently pried his fingers off of her shoulders and rather held his hands in comfort instead, which he felt was an even more intimate gesture, and it surprised him, but he squeezed her hands for support as he tried to regulate his breathing. Tobias had forgotten that she wasn't much of a 'being touched' person unless she initiated it, but otherwise was fine with it.

"Your second oldest sibling was killed by a, a family member, to protect the younger one, which is why your other siblings were taken away. Yvonne afterward put you up for adoption when you were born, in case..." She cleared her throat. "Then your other sibling that had been protected..." Abigail closed her eyes. "After they were taken away into foster care, they began to degrade at a young age and started suffering from trauma, began to act out... developed a drug problem in their adolescence, and ended up overdosing just last year."

Tobias's breath caught in his throat. They were alive until just last year... if he had known just a year sooner, maybe he could've found them and...

"What about the other one? The oldest one?" Tobias whispered as a desperate last-attempt at salvaging what was left of his broken family. This made Abigail smile just a little more, yet also look even sadder, if that was in any way possible. This unnerved Tobias.

"The last one is alive." Tobias's heart jumped again. "However..."

Just before she could finish her thought, a Klokateer barged through the door. "Ma'am! Emergency!"

Abigail snapped her head to their attention, and said in her stonily calm voice like she wasn't even surprised by the interruption, "Take me to it."

Then without another word, she briskly walked out of the room, leaving Tobias sitting there, numb, but also with a tiny glint of hope in his chest. And that made him afraid more than anything.

The living-room was in disarray with intensity so thick that it could be cut with a knife, having Nathalia, Tobias, Toki, Skwisgaar, and Nathan all be in the same room.

Tobias himself was in no particular conflict with the rest of the group, however whenever Nathan looked over at the stewing man, he couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. He had never seen the calm and collected man so borderline hostile, even if he was fuming by himself on the couch while texting furiously, bouncing his leg up and down. He just wanted to talk to Abigail but had been ignored for seemingly hours, and he didn't like being left to sit in confusion with unanswered questions.

However, Nathan seemed like he had a bone to pick with someone as well, specifically Toki, who was sitting next to Nathalia while the two talked quietly. He had been coloring, but with an aggressive kick from Nathan, the book had been flung out of his grip.

"Heys!" Toki protested as he looked up angrily at the bigger man. "The fucks?"

Nathalia stood up in protest but Nathan shrugged off her and her attempts at confrontation, glaring down at the younger band mate.

"Why the fuck have you been ignoring me?"

Toki blinked, his face scrunching with confusion for a second. "I... I haves done nothings of the sorts!" Toki answered finally, standing to glare at the brute. "Dids you haves to kicks my books for thats?!"

"Yes," Nathan snapped. "You're always hanging out with Skwisgaar or Nathalia now, what about me? You haven't hung off my arm in like, weeks, like a fuckin' flea."

"Probablics because yous compares him tos a fleas," Skwisgaar drawled without much interest, causing Nathan to turn on him with his teeth bared.

"That's the first time calling him a flea, you fuckin' dipstick." He turned back to Toki. "Well, what the fuck?"

"You am just mads thats Toki amenst crushings on you anymores?" Skwisgaar scoffed. "Even thoughs he ams a nusience?"

"Crush?" Nathan echoed. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Wait, what is Skwisgaar talking about?" Nathalia demanded, who had been merely watching the argument after originally being ignored (she didn't seem much interested anyway to begin with). Tobias found this odd, considering he was pretty sure she had gossiped to him about overhearing this crush thing with Toki and Nathan quite a while ago, but he had no time to ponder any harder without missing the rest of the conversation.

"You am such dildoes," Skwisgaar grumbled, but before he could say anymore, Toki threw one of his pencils at the Swede while shaking his head vigorously.

"Don'ts, Skwisgaars."

"Then you can tell me," Nathan growled, whirling back around to the other man. "Someone has to tell me something or I'm going to get real mad."

Toki's face flushed heavily and he dropped his eyes to the ground, not speaking even as the brute singer towered over him.

"Toki, just tells him," Skwisgaar sighed deeply. "Or I wills."

"You wills nots, you stays out ofs this!" Toki spoke, his voice lightly shaking. "You ams just mads becauses you likes mes and I don'ts likes you backs!"

"Whoaaaaa," Nathalia said, catching the side of the statue near her. "I'm gettin' lost here, guys. It's like being dropped in the middle of a season for a soap opera."

Skwisgaar snorted and rolled his eyes. "I tolds you, you ams just anothers body fors my beds, that ams its."

"Skwisgaar, you're gay?" Nathan asked with surprise. "Toki, too? Fuck."

"Am bisects," Toki informed Nathan, though this meant almost nothing to the singer, who threw his hands up in the air in exasperation.

"Jesus fuck, is everyone gay?! Tobias?!" He turned fully to face the man, who paled a little when being cornered and singled out.

"Uhh... technically, bisexual," Tobias said timidly, and Nathan shook his head.

"I'll take that as a yes. You?!" He turned to glare at the other singer.

"I do like the boobies," Nathalia said dreamly, squeezing her own in the process. Nathan also seemed to take this as a yes, as he groaned, almost roared in annoyance.

"Why the fuck have I been hiding it this whole time?!"

"Talkinks abouts being gays is, well, gays," Skwisgaar pointed out with a shrug. This seemed to make sense to both Toki and Nathan, because Toki nodded vigorously and Nathan grunted in slight acknowledgment.

"Fucking hell. I need a drink, but they literally fucking took everything. This is stupid." Nathan kicked at one of the pencils on the ground, causing Toki to slap at his foot in irritation. "What the fuck about the crush? What crush?" He glared down at Toki, who shrank back a little again, though jutted his chin out in defiance at the same time.

"You am reallys that obvilious?" Skwisgaar scoffed again.

"You know, your fucking comments are getting on my nerves."

"Wells, don'ts bes a fuckinks morons." Skwisgaar had walked over to where the rest were, pointing down at Toki with a long, accusatory finger. "He am beens up your asses fors years. Hes touch yous, wills hangs off yous, laughs ats your dumbs jokes that amenst funnys. Hows can'ts you gets it?"

Nathan raised an eyebrow as things seemed to finally dawn on him. The boy's shyness, clinginess, poutiness to pretty much anything when he didn't get his way, or more specifically, when he didn't get Nathan's attention. Something even Tobias had picked up on when he wasn't in his own head. But he shook his head as if to brush off the realization. "Nah, it can't be that."

"You am an idiots," Skwisgaar hissed, frustration in his eyes. "I kisseds hims and hes moaneds your names! So I bits him ackidentals!"

"You kissed him?!" Nathalia looked appalled.

"Skwis!" Toki was horrified. He bent down to start cleaning up his pencils feverishly, like he was about to dash away with them.

Tobias was starting to realize his drama meant little to nothing compared to whatever catastrophic drama-fest this was.

"He moaned my- what the fuck?" Nathan stared between Skwisgaar and the blushing Toki. "Toki?!"

"Whys you ams thinks he likes Nats? She am looks just likes you with the tits!" Skwisgaar huffed, motioning to the black haired, angry and red-faced Nathalia with the permanent scowl, and a need to protect or play with Toki almost exactly the way Nathan used to before the last year happened to stress him out.

Nathan blinked, Toki's face grew even more hot, and Nathalia... looked pissed.

"Wait, you like me because I'm some sort of fuckin' rebound for this dumb-ass?!" Nathalia yelled, causing Toki to reel back in both shock and fear.

"N- nos, I- I-"

Before he could finish his sentence, Nathalia shot her foot out, much like Nathan had done. Nobody could tell if she was just trying to kick at the pencils he was trying to gather but it suspiciously looked to be aimed too high, and her foot slammed into his jaw, knocking his head back. They could hear the crack of his bones.

Tobias jumped off of the couch. "Nat, what the fuck?!" Tobias shouted, panic rising in his throat when he saw the blood start dribbling from Toki's mouth. The poor kid literally couldn't catch a break without getting hurt.

"It was an accident!" Nathalia screamed back, tears in her eyes starting to form. "I'm sorry Toki, are you o-" She had reached for him but he silenced her by raising a hand toward her.

He stood slowly, holding his mouth with his other hand but the blood was seeping between his fingers and trailing down his chin and neck. Nathan himself was too stunned to do or say anything except watch the blood fall, and Skwisgaar had his own hand to his mouth, eyes wide in shock.

Toki kept his head down as he slipped past everyone, up until Abigail had entered the room and actually bumped into him. "Oh sorry Tok- what happened to you?" She was given no reply as he kept moving past her, until she reached to grab his elbow. "Hold on, I have good news for everyone! Where's Salem?"

"Probably shooting up in their room," Nathalia muttered, and Skwisgaar gave her a nasty look.

"I cans see whys, with a friends like yous."

"Well aren't you full of fucking lip today."

"You goinks tos kicks me in the faces toos for its?"

"Kick..." Abigail seemed to connect the dots between the bleeding Toki and the challenging phrase, and she raised an eyebrow. It wasn't the first time Nathalia resorted to violence, but it was the first time she actually did this level of damage to someone she hadn't been directly trying to square up with. Tobias' head was reeling too fast to really process it, and he didn't particularly know how to feel.

"I'll deal with that later," Abigail continued. "Salem needs to know this, so can somebody grab them?"

"I will," both Nathan and Skwisgaar offered simultaneously, then glared at each other. Tobias could tell they both just wanted any excuse they could find to escape from everyone else.

"Go Skwisgaar, Nathan you can tell me what happened here," Abigail ordered.

"Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," Nathan replied, as Skwisgaar scampered off with a light snicker. "Everyone's gay, and Nathalia's a bitch?"

Abigail sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Nothing, never mind, forget it. We'll talk about it another time. Can you just get a cloth or something for Toki? He's bleeding everywhere."

Nathan grunted, not really feeling like going to get anything so he ripped a piece of his own shirt sleeve, one of his 'lesser' favorite gray shirts, walking toward Toki with it in his hand. He went to pull Toki's hand away but Toki shied away from contact, holding his hand out instead, for the cloth. He silently handed him the cloth and as Toki traded hands for his face, he noticed a chunk of tooth had fallen out of his mouth and onto the floor.

The sight twisted Nathan's stomach and he turned to glare at Nathalia, who was avoiding all eyes that happened to look her way. He knew that she was sobering up slowly from the lack of alcohol in the place, so she had no excuse for this. Protector, his ass.

Abigail seemed highly agitated about something, or possibly nervous, tapping her foot impatiently while she waited for Skwisgaar to come back.

He did, speeding through the halls so loud that they had all turned toward his direction before he had even reached the living-room. His face was beat-red, like he had been running the whole way there.

"Don't tell me," Abigail spoke in an eerily calm tone, suddenly less tense now that she had seen Skwisgaar, despite the condition he was in and the panic in his face.

"T-they.. Amenst breathings," Skwisgaar managed to pant out. "Lots of... pukes."

"Go back and perform CPR, get any Klokateers to join on your way there. I'll be there as soon as possible." Abigail's facial expression didn't change as she barked the orders, staring deeply into Skwisgaar's eyes with hidden meaning that only she knew of. It was almost like she was expecting something, which only pissed Tobias off further than before. Like she knew a lot more than she led on, like she was avoiding answering Tobias' question, and even expected all of her band members to start dropping like flies.

"I already dids with the Klokateers," Skwisgaar mentioned, but he turned right back around to go back the way he came from, Nathan, Toki, and after a moment's hesitation, Nathalia, following close behind. Tobias started to also go after them, but Abigail called for him.

"Actually Tobias, could you-"

"No," Tobias said firmly, surprising Abigail into stopping her words. Their eyes met, with Tobias' burning with a special kind of defiance that she had never seen before from this generally awkward, soft spoken, and malleable person.

"Someone else got hurt earlier too, because it wasn't about Pickles. Or else, they would have clarified. Plus they don't need you in the medical bay specifically." Tobias started stepping forward, not with malicious intent, but definitely with a direct confrontation that made even Abigail take a step back. "You're expecting people to get hurt. I'm assuming some specific people as well. You weren't around for the entirety of Pickle's breakdown, you didn't flinch to Salem not breathing. What game are you pulling? Are you trying to kill them, or are you plotting something else? And don't tell me you don't know what I'm talking about."

They stared at each other for the longest time, before Abigail gave a soft sigh. "One day you'll understand... for now, this is between three specific people who need a quiet place to make amends."

"Ma'am," A klokateer from behind them spoke, spooking the both of them into turning. The nervous worker was holding the lanky body of an unknown person with brown, spiky hair and tanned skin, with strange markings all over their face. They seemed unconscious, thick eyebrows furrowed together and mouth hung open slightly to breathe in small, shallow bursts. Tobias could swear he could see extremely sharp, inhuman canines but couldn't be sure.

"We randomly found this person in one of the... hallways... What do we do?" They asked, and for once, Abigail seemed speechless. She was staring hard with suspicion at the person as though she were trying to recognize them, or maybe was trying to decide if they were trustworthy or not. Tobias was simply baffled that some stranger managed to get in at all, past all the security and guards, just to end up like this. They didn't look like they had a mark on them at all to have a reason to be this unconscious.

Just as Tobias thought that, the stranger's face seemed to flicker strangely, almost like some sort of odd hologram, and then ghostly eyes opened to stare back at all of them.

Chapter Text

The blackness was engulfing them with feelings they had been repressing for far too long. The memories of someone that wasn't them, the memories of their true selves, only a shadow of everyone else, haunted them until all they could see were splashes of red on black canvas, and tunnel vision toward unhealthy obsessions. Like hatred.

They felt entirely justified in their cruelness, their crocodile tears a facade of their true selves. Which was that of an embarrassed, empty hollow shell, tasting the sweet tears of everyone's pain, only recoiling from raised haunches and bared teeth, just to come back in with their own claws when all was safe.

But would this be the time they couldn't bounce back? Had they gotten too brave, too eager, for a taste of the anguish? The wound was deep, deeper than normal.

It wasn't the first time falling into the pit of seductive sadism, with the blood on their hands from another time that they had ventured too far into the territory of another's. Knives glinted strangely in the pitch darkness, and a pale finger dragged itself up and down the tip lazily. Perhaps the only way to survive this was to resort to old measures.

Fuck them all. Fuck them for their validation seeking, broken souls. Fuck them for their lack of reciprocation. Fuck the ones for feeling too much, fuck the ones for not feeling enough. And most of all, fuck the empty shell of another who still felt more than they ever could. How could the powers transfer to each other in this way? Why were they stuck with the empty soul, and the other was left with the guilt like they also had one?

This wasn't the thoughts of just one but multiple. The screams of tortured, black spirits could feel the growing anger in their hearts as the moon slowly moved closer toward the blood eclipse.

They could only consider this a betrayal, and it had to be dealt with.

~~~

"You fool," a smug, delighted voice whispered in Murderface's head, causing him to flinch, though he tried his best to ignore the sound. "How could you let this happen? Your own friend jumped in front of you..."

"Schut up!" Murderface growled as the vision replayed vividly in his head, and he shook it to try and shut the scene out. The voice laughed quietly.

"Don't pretend like you didn't feel a surge of power when you looked down at his lifeless body," The voice cooed sweetly in his ear, which caused the hair on the back of his neck and arms to stand up straight. The demon-thing wasn't wrong, Murderface did feel a certain rush when seeing Pickles fly through the air before landing on his head. But it was gone within a second, replaced only by horror.

He had never wanted this before in his life. He never wanted his friends, coworkers, whatever- to die. How many times had he put his life on the line against strange happenings around them, to help them out? Even doing just the bare minimum of not getting in the way? He wasn't himself anymore. He was cold, hateful, mean, but he wasn't to this level. He was vindictive and cunning and loved to mess with people, he was very high and mighty, and he felt powerful in his abilities to give someone a good shake, but death? The wounded, broken look on Pickles's face haunted him, it was the look of giving up. A look he knew all too well. A look that choked his throat.

Damnit, why couldn't Pickles just fight back? Why couldn't he get pissed off, throw something, scream, punch people into his place? Why did things just have to go so wrong? Why did it take this long for Murderface to feel the full effects of his guilt? Was it even guilt, or just shame? Was the demon inside of him not only making him do these cruel things behind their back, but also making him feel more than he's probably ever felt- not just for himself, but for everyone else too? And then purposely setting him up to take the fall after the fact? Or was he being forced to feel that little bit of satisfaction that was causing bile to rise in his throat?

"You probably made me feel that," Murderface mumbled. The demon most likely made him feel a lot of things he'd rather not.

Where he used to manage to just squash his guilt and regrets down and go back to being the way he was the next day because everyone else was just as forgiving, now this new situation between him and this... freak, just made him feel small and pathetic even with that rush that filled his empty chest, because he knew every step he took was probably something this creature wanted, and he was starting to feel suspicious that maybe it really did have plans to hurt them all. Especially what with Charles's sudden, suspicious murder, Pickles's suicide attempt, Salem's slow but sure mental breakdowns, and everyone else being on edge for some unknown reason.

He was just the useless puppet in this game of the demon's, feeding it information like having the party, or which Klokateers were around for that day. He was still baffled by how the alcohol he had gotten for Salem had been tampered with in any way, but with the idea of a Klokateer spy and with this voice in his head that was beginning to know what was going on inside of Mordhaus even when Murderface didn't (because the demon still paid attention to his surroundings, Murderface just needed to be the vessel that took him to the places with the juiciest gossip, whether or not he was aware didn't matter)... It all seemed a bit much.

After all, it was the voice that pointed him in the directions that would lead him into situations that made him look suspicious. Especially the other day, when Pickles had gone to the roof and he hadn't even known until the demon mentioned something...

The voice laughed in his head. "Stop trying to be smart about this. You're not. You didn't even care about any of this just a few days ago, or even really at all. Why now? I've done nothing to give you this fake concern. I'm here to give you power, and you're the one going soft on me."

Murderface looked down at the book that Charles 'gave' him after his death. The voice knew that it was the reason for his increased clarity. Just the thought made Murderface's head hurt. He could feel the rage building up inside from the monster that he had allowed to go inside him. Just for some fullness. Just for some happiness.

He hated this.

Standing without a word and with only the laughs of the demon in his head to keep him company, Murderface headed to the bathroom and locked the door behind him, staring at the face of a man he had grown to hate for years. These were the days that he craved so badly to just be someone else. Someone that wasn't so disappointing.

The bath squeaked on and began to spill out hot water. Pills of unknown origin fell into his mouth and he chewed them, swallowing the bitter taste. It would help him relax for the time being. His clothes were pulled off, the light was shut off so he didn't have to look at himself, and he settled into steaming hot water. He felt like he was about to be boiled.

The tip of the knife played in teasing twirls and patterns, hard enough for it to make the skin tingle but not enough to even leave a mark. But the craving was there, stronger than it ever had been. It felt like everything around him was whispering encouragement to do something, anything.

"What are you trying to accomplish? If you died, nobody would come looking for you," The voice snarled in his head. It almost sounded worried. No, frantic and panicky, because without Murderface the voice had nothing. No body to inhabit, and it was possible that the demon wasn't strong enough to just take full control of a dead body, if it ever could.

"That'sch the idea," Murderface muttered. He touched his face softly like he couldn't even believe he was there, existing. All the while listening to cruel words from something that wasn't even human. Then again, maybe it was just all in his head... maybe he was just crazy.

It didn't matter to him anymore. He really, really hated this.

---

Darkness floated around Him. He wasn't used to this. He was used to fires blazing, and the heat melting His face, or burning off the flesh from His feet. Instead, He felt like He was floating in a dark space of nothingness. No cold, no warmth. No indication that hot and cold ever even existed to Him. No air flow, no need to breathe. Nothing to see, so for all He knew, He simply had no eyes. Perhaps He was a bodiless speck of dust floating around space. Or, perhaps He was just the dust bunny sucked up by a vacuum. That would better suit someone like Him.

But as He became more aware of His surroundings and the smothering blackness that He seemed to choke on and drown in, the more His senses started coming back to Him, oddly enough. If He concentrated hard enough, He could suddenly swallow again, and His throat felt dry and rough. He could twitch an arm, which stung sorely and throbbed. His neck had the worst pain of all though; it felt like something was licking at Him with poison, and He felt a trickle of something wet run down his chest. For some reason, he could picture the color red- a very dark red.

He struggled to let go of His senses again, pausing His concentration so as to not become any more aware of what was actually going on. He liked the darkness in comparison, He would drown in the emptiness all day. The pain was a different story and not something he wanted to reside in for any longer. If He just remained suspended in this bubble forever with an empty hole in His head and heart, He would be happy for once.

Something hot touched His skin, enveloped around His hand. A strange feeling, yet at the same time, giving off an odd familiarity. This brought fear to Him, who could only think of the phantom grip of that demon who had a hold of His brain and perhaps even His body at this point. He struggled to pull out of the grip.

However, this was not the same type of hold. It was gentle and almost comforting. It squeezed without digging their obviously long nails into flesh, and pulled Him along, leading Him into pain and suffering but not without a comforting hand to support him.

"It's not your time yet," An alluring, yet gravelly voice spoke to Him. "You need to suffer before it gets better."

"You're asking a lot from me," He growled in response, finding his voice again in that single moment but was silenced with a soft laugh, then everything slowly faded from His mind, being replaced by a much more peaceful darkness that didn't make Him feel like He was drowning in death, even when the soreness lingered...

---

Jealousy was an ugly, ugly thing. Consumption was the cure. Taking was the vaccine. They held the power of almost everyone in their hands, and what they couldn't grasp, would just take the life out of the rest. The pain of it gnawed at their chest, pain they once falsely equated to sadness, guilt, or some type of pitiful emotion. This pain was the pain of anger, and audacity, and envy, and discomfort, and self-awareness, and humiliation.

Apparently those were very different things from guilt, but how could they know that? They only learned to copy emotions, not feel them. Going through the motions as a reflex was an attempt to be relatable, to be admired, to have the attention on them.

Everyone grew with these wonderful, wonderful things, with emotions that weren't constantly tearing apart their minds. Why couldn't they have a little taste of the same things? Why couldn't they just take? They had nothing nice or kind, or if they did, it wasn't anything they wanted. They wanted what everyone else enjoyed. Maybe that would make them enjoy it as well.

But it didn't. It made them hate, it made them consume further, it made them embarrassed, it made them murderous.

---

This damned place again. Murderface could feel the sweat rolling down his face as he sat at the base of his stupid volcano, glaring up at it with as much salt as all the oceans in the world combined. How much he hated this place. Why couldn't he just be swimming in darkness like before? Why did he have to be here as he was most likely dying-

"Nice place ya got here."

This brand new voice that he had never heard before (except in his near-dead state, though he couldn't currently remember that), shocked Murderface into such a stupor that all he could do was ogle at the volcano that he was glaring at before. Did... did it talk?

A presence close to his ear made him jerk into the direction of the actual voice, which was a few feet away from him. He wasn't sure what exactly it was, but staring for too long at the perpetrator seemed to make Murderface's brain spiral into a panic and feeling of doom, so he resorted to darting his eyes this way and that. Ah, so this must be hell, because he swore that what was in front of him was a very amused demon, leaning against a rock on his stomach with his face in his hands as he watched the bassist.

"Don't mind me, I'm just here to enjoy the view," The scary demon thing commented with a light purr. His hair was spiked, mostly in the back similar to Salem's but had a few on the top as well. Two sets of horns, four altogether, were sticking out of his head on the side, and another was directly in the middle. One pair curled like a ram's while the other pair stood up straight, short and sharp, like the middle one. Speaking of sharp- there wasn't a single body part of this creature that wasn't covered in spike-like appendages, several even growing out of his back and- oh-gods he was shirtless.

Murderface remembered one of the books that Charles had given him and his face went bright red as he forced himself to look away again. Damn him and his confusing story books, he had no business giving such a dumb thing to Murderface. He was definitely not into that type of thing, let alone with a monster.

The demon thing was very lanky and his arms were longer than a normal person's, and very muscular. Stop lookingggggg fuckface, Murderface scolded himself as he attempted to control his breathing. Why was he starting to act this way? Why was this creature even here? Here to finish the job of murdering him? Or maybe Murderface had really died and was actually in Hell now. Or maybe... was this the demon who had possessed him?!

No... The voice wasn't the same, and the pulsating aura Murderface could feel wasn't as negatively hollow and empty as the demon he had let inside his head. There was definitely an issue with this one though, and it wasn't just because of the almost desperately erratic vibe. Staring into the demon's face for just a second was near-paralyzing and it hurt to breathe. There was something wicked in those amused eyes, the pupils were way too small for such giant eyeballs that seemed to stare with intensity at Murderface. He looked quite possibly the epitome of unhinged, perhaps even chaotic, and that was the exact atmosphere he was giving off.

Murderface realized that the creature was patiently waiting for a reply of some sort, but all the man could do was stutter. "I- um, uh, yeah, I- y- yeah it's... mountain, is nice." Smooth, Murderface. Why couldn't he talk like normal? Oh right, he was terrified, that had to be it.

"Oh I wasn't talking about the place." So fluid and quick to tease, much different from Murderface's painfully slow, rambling stutters.

Murderface blinked as his brain wracked with worry, trying to understand what he was trying to imply, then realized with horror that the demon hadn't looked away from him since he had been spotted. It took him a few seconds longer to get it, then his face felt like it had exploded and began melting. And anybody who knew Murderface knew that if he was embarrassed or showed off any type of vulnerable emotion, anger would be soon to follow.

"Cut the shit, I know I'm ugly," Murderface growled, but his voice was too shaky, causing him to wince. He closed his eyes to try and calm his breathing but when he reopened them, he nearly fainted to see the demon's face only a few inches from his, those wild eyes staring practically through his soul. So fast, so quiet... And he was so tall, so painfully tall that he was bent over so he could be level with the bassist.

Murderface nearly choked on his tongue, feeling himself collapse under the pressure of the creature's stare. Those long arms moved basically with the speed of light, catching Murderface before he fully hit the ground. He instead lowered Murderface gently to the sand, moving backward afterward, humming to himself softly.

"Perhaps a more 'human' form would be less terrifying... here."

Murderface was scared to look, but was compelled to, so after a moment's hesitation he lifted his dizzy head slightly to see what had happened. The creature was still taller but not as tall, more or less the human equivalent of 'tall'. His hair and horns were the same, but his eyes had also gotten smaller in proportion to his face size, and the amount of spikes on his arms, legs, and back had shortened tremendously. His arms were also in proportion to his body now, if anything just a little bit longer but nothing too terrifying and gangly and... abnormal.

Still, it was hard to stare straight at the demon without falling into a fit of panic, so he chose to stare down at the demon's feet, which were vulnerable to the hot ground but he didn't seem to mind.

"This is better, yes?" The demon looked proud of himself.

"Wh- what... are, you?" Murderface asked unsurely, and the creature tapped his chin in thought with a pointed finger.

"Don't humans call them demons? I'm one of those." Murderface hated being right for once.

"Y- what's your name?" Murderface whispered in a meek voice, unsure of what to do in the presence of a demon since the last one had basically used him for sport and to try and destroy him and the life of his friends. Speaking of... where was that demon? Especially since just any stupid demon could just walk in all willy nilly into this world, he was surprised he had never physically met the one who haunted him.

"I don't have one," Demon-thing admitted, kicking at the dirt under his feet. Like he was just a freakishly tall child. "I had one years ago, but that was, what... a thousand or so? So it's escaped my mind." His smile showed off a row of pointed teeth that made Murderface swallow heavily. "Well there is one person who named me more recently, after he dismantled my corpse and took my skull for some weird puppetry, buuuut..." He shrugged.

Murderface blinked, not knowing how much more he could take from this weird conversation. "Corpse? Uhhhh..."

"Yeaaah I used to have a body on Earth, before it was taken apart, but I don't hold grudges, no I don't, good sir." He waved his hand dismissively. "What's your name?"

"I, uh, I- Murderface. William Murderface," Murderface managed to speak.

"That's a bit of a long name, Murderface William Murderface," The demon spoke, and Murderface couldn't tell if he was being serious or not. "Can I call you Murr?"

"M- Murr? I-"

"I shall call you Murr now."

"O- uh... okay."

The creature leapt lightly backwards like he was filled with helium, gracefully landing on the rock he had been laying on earlier so he could sit with his feet kicking up the sand around him. He had both an intimidating and psychotic, yet playful, and childlike aura around him, though Murderface couldn't tell exactly why those attributes seemed to fit him so well. "So, Murr, how's... what's his name, Charles? The mean, grumpy man who took my skull."

Oh...?

"You knew Charles?" 'Murr' narrowed his eyes in suspicion, though the effects of the initial scare was still lingering because he tried not to seem malicious or aggressive. "How?"

"Long story, can't tell ya," the creature said in such a cheerful voice that Murderface was once again taken aback by the strange attitude. "You know him because you're one of his playthings, yes?"

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Murderface demanded, actually offended now, dropping his guard for a moment. The demon didn't seem to mind at all, giving the other a lazy smile as he rolled his head around his neck in boredom.

"I don't know you humans' silly titles. Aren't you some instrument person that he takes care of and feeds like a pet? I don't think I would be allowed here if not."

Murderface shook his head gruffly. "Alright now I'm pissed. You better start talking right now, because you obviously know several things I don't and-" He interrupted himself with a yip as he stopped shaking his head to look at the other and saw the demon close to him again, staring down at him. Dread filled the pit of his stomach and he swallowed heavily. He never felt this panic-stricken with the other demon, not even with the way it spoke such evil things to him. Then again, he never saw a physical manifestation of the demon at it's fullest potential.

The demon tilted his head slightly. "You don't trust me." It was a statement, not a question. "Sweet thing, what have you gone through to have such a hostile reaction to me?"

Murderface wasn't a fan of the pet name, but he couldn't seem to catch his voice properly. "I- I- you- just..." He breathed heavily through his nose to try and calm down. "Just- I'd rather you just call me Murr."

"You got it, Murr." The demon's eyes glinted, and 'Murr' felt faint.

"Uh secondly... you're literally a demon."

"Yep."

"I don't have to go through shit just to react the way I do?"

A long, slightly sharp finger poked Murr's face almost playfully, causing him to jump a little. "You're terrified but you're trying to be brave. There's no one around for you to feel the need to act brave."

"Excuse me if I don't want to shit my pants," Murderface growled, his eyes casting to the ground.

"Anyway," The demon continued like he hadn't heard the shorter man speak. "What I can tell you, is that you've probably seen my skull before, that he used with his voice to make a mockery of me." he sniffed a little like he was wounded. "I think he called it Facebones? So you can call me Bones."

Murderface stared in shock. The placement of the horns had been so eerily familiar and now he knew why. It was the same as their stupid logo skull.

"But... that's just an animation, not real," Murr squeaked in bewilderment to the idea of Charles using some demon's skull for their stupid tutorial things. "He used computer shit for that."

"Where do you think he got the inspiration for it? I don't think any of you know how to draw that great," Bones grinned with a mouth that was still too wide for his face. "And if Charles is the same Charles, he's not got a creative bone in his body that involves cute little animations. Sure someone else could've decided to make him something, but no, he just saw someone's skull and said 'cool'."

Murderface could hardly believe it, but decided not to question it. The topic of Charles was still sore and he felt sick to his stomach. On top of talking to some terrifying demon, and having just tried to end his own life out of raw guilt, plus already being haunted by one demon, the emotions were wearing him down quickly, and that made him more antsy.

"Why are you here?" He asked wearily. "Here for my soul too? Because it's already taken."

This time Bones seemed surprised. "Soul? I don't want to consume your soul. If I did, trust me, your entire body would be digesting right now." This did not make Murderface feel any better. "And what about your soul already being taken?"

"Already have a contract with another stupid demon, so if you're not here for it, what DO you want?" Murr explained as patiently as he could.

Bones started stepping closer and Murderface tensed, pushing his hand out in an attempt to stop the other. "Wait, stay back-"

The other dipped his hand toward Murr's chest and planted it there. The heat from the hand felt so relaxing, and also simultaneously triggered a faint memory. Of darkness and smothering and pain, then-

"It's tainted, but it's there," Bones said in a strangely somber tone, even with the wickedly chaotic look on his face. "And it is yours, flaws and all."

Murderface winced. "Trust me, I know those flaws are mine," he said bitterly, mind still reeling from the darkness of early creeping in from the back of his head.

"Yes, yours." The demon acknowledged firmly with a nod. "That means they're yours to fix if you don't like them."

"You think I don't know that?" Murr blurted. "Hell, I tried to kill myself just to fix it all!"

"That isn't fixing it," Bones spoke matter-of-factly. "That's running away."

Murderface felt rooted to the ground from the shocking call-out, and his face heated up. "How do you know?!"

"Because you're not sitting in the pain, you're not trying to fix the pain, and you're trying to deny the pain of letting it run its course to teach you its lesson and make you stew in the pain until you no longer wish to do the thing that caused the pain," the other stated. "Which, no judgment here. Running away is a lot of what your kind does. I would be tempted to ditch it, myself. But running away doesn't actually do any of the fixing you're talking about. Does it hurt, Murr? Does hurting others hurt, now?"

"What do you mean now?" Murderface was glaring angrily at the ground, and received no reply, so he spat in continuation, "Yeah it fucking does, so what?"

"Then let it hurt. Why does avoiding the pain make you think it fixes anything?" Murr blinked and looked slowly up at the other. Those damn eyes were twinkling in such an odd, mischevious way, even as he spoke in a serious tone. "Some of them think you should feel the pain until it runs its course, some of them think you should learn to cope with it but never let it go as a reminder, to keep you in line. Some of them want you dead anyway, but they aren't looking for a fix for your actions, they're looking for a consequence, which is probably also fair in the world of mortals. And well... some of them want you to learn to just put it down, already, because they think that'll make you learn to fix things faster."

"Put it down? How the fuck do I put down pain?"

"I wouldn't know, I've never felt that bad about being me." Back to the cheerful stance, and Murderface narrowed his eyes.

"Sounds a bit conceited."

"Well, I never said I don't feel bad about anything at all," Bones pointed out. That was fair. "This affects everyone, not just you. It seems like the worse you feel about yourself, the worse you're going to treat others."

"But how can I like myself after hurting them?" Murderface snapped. "Doesn't make sense, does it?"

"Then learn how to separate how you feel about yourself with how you treat others?" Bones offered. "A lot of people learn to love even without love for themselves. And a lot of people can't love others because they hate themselves and that makes them hate others, because they want something else to look far more pitiful than them. You're with the second group right now."

"Okay but why is a fucking demon even giving me advice to be a better person?" Murr groaned. "Have I fallen this far off the deep end that a literal monster has to tell me how to be good because I can't fucking do it on my own?"

"Hurtful," Bones commented, then laughed. It sounded shrill and glasslike, and it made Murderface's skin crawl. "To tell you the truth, I couldn't tell you any of this before I met Charles. He stole my skull, but gave me a heart." He placed his hand dreamily to his chest; Murr had no idea what he meant by that and how literal or figurative it was. "And gave me a bit of a list of things to tell you, should you ever fall this far deep."

"Wait, how'd he..? I'm so confused." Murr rubbed his temples in frustration. "Charles is fucking dead, so did you meet him in the afterlife or something?"

"WHAT?" The booming voice shook Murr to his core and he fell back, scrambling with his feet in pure panic to try and slide away from the suddenly explosive creature in front of him.

Bones looked flabbergasted. "He's not supposed to be dead! It wasn't his time!"

"I'm... sorry?" Murderface managed out.

The demon sighed softly and knelt down to clasp his hand around Murderface's, pulling him up. "Didn't mean to do that, nope. But ahhhhh, mhmm, this complicates things. No wonder why this had to happen the way it did."

"I'm still confused..."

"Oh yes, the meeting. It'll start soon." With that, Bones lifted an arm to gesture to the distance, and surprisingly, Murderface could see a body shuffling closer to him, wrapped in familiar garments. He turned back to Bones but he had disappeared into thin air, further stumping him, which caused him to be slightly irritated.

However, the feeling went away when he turned back and could see the flaming red hair getting closer, and could start seeing the facial features of Pickles, looking completely healthy compared to the last time Murderface had seen him.

His gut was twisting uncomfortably and something in his throat was tightening to the point that he could barely swallow. He stood in complete dread as Pickles stopped just a few feet away, face unreadable as he stared at the bassist in front of him.

Then, Pickles' eyes softened. Murderface noticed that his hair was covering his forehead, but a light breeze kept making it shift, showing a third eye underneath, mostly closed in a sleepy way. Murderface's skin tingled from seeing it.

"Pickles," Murderface managed to croak.

Pickles tilted his head. "Still think this is a dream?"

Murderface didn't know when it happened, he just knew that he found himself on his knees in the dusty sand, eyes watering uncomfortably from the specks that flew into them. And he was shuddering with every blow from the hot wind whipping at his face. He wasn't sure what he was saying, but he faintly saw Pickles kneeling in front of him. 

When finally he could focus again, he saw the other's hand out, palm up. He stared at it dumbly, not really sure what to do.

"Murderface, I can't stand you sometimes," Pickles admitted. "But ya sat with me while my parents patronized me. You tried helping against the fire. You've picked me up when I was drugged and dying and not just from this year. You're not a bad guy, you just do really bad things a little too often, compared to those good things."

Murderface's throat felt slick with saliva and phlegm. From the dust.

"I held a grudge for so long but I couldn't even smell my own shit," Pickles continued gently. "All the times I told ya to just die, or that you were fat and stupid and useless to the band, or how much I made fun of you. You broke a certain, specific part of me that may never heal. But I did the same to you years before. So I'm sorry, friend."

A sob escaped Murderface's throat. Wait, sob? He wasn't crying, was he?

"I also know you didn't drug Salem." The hair shifted again, and the eye opened slightly wider. "I know your malicious intents are a lot lesser than what actually has been happening. But you're still a dick, and I still can't forgive you for a lot of it. Ya gotta prove to me that you're worth forgivin'. And I fully expect to be put at the same standards."

Murderface's voice was carried away by the rushing wind in his ears, but Pickles could hear him perfectly, it seemed.

"I'm glad you do forgive me, but that doesn't mean I can forgive back just as easily," Pickles admitted. "Even if you didn't mean to, you almost ruined my life. We almost fucked up the entire prophecy because of it. I almost died and left you all to perish at the hands of whatever danger we're about to face. And you wanted to double down and just make snarky comments because you were too afraid to just admit to my face that you fucked up because you were having an existential crisis. What's what Salem says all the time? Actions have consequences?"

"I'm glad you're still alive," Murderface could only whisper, and finally the wind had died down. He was breathing heavily, and his face felt wet. "Wait, does that mean... I'm still alive, too?"

Pickles nodded soberly, but didn't comment on it, still resuming what he needed to say. "Worst of all, even though you didn't mean to hurt Salem, you scared them and scarred them internally because you wanted to pull another gender nonconforming person into your confusing sexuality mess."

Murderface shook his head, but didn't disagree out loud. He didn't know how to tell Pickles about the overwhelming magnetic pull toward Salem that he felt when they first met and that it had nothing to do with their gender or what he felt sexually. Well, maybe it played a tiny part. 

Pickles flashed him a look of sympathy. "But most of all, I wanted to say thank you."

Murderface stared blankly back at him, feeling the teardrops fall off his nose.

"You had no reason to, but you came up there to save me. I think your little bit of pushing kinda helped me decide to keep fighting even after I hit the ground. As crazy as it sounds." Pickles' outstretched hand clasped around the other's wrist. "You simultaneously almost ruined the prophecy, and then helped save it. That's how I know you aren't a bad person at heart. You aren't the type to suck the life outta shit and walk away. You suck the life out then spit it right back at us with some kind of angry, violent, aggressive determination."

Murderface shook his head slowly. He was the fucker who walked into a room and drained the life out of everyone. He was the guy who cast a black shadow on everyone the second he existed in someone else's space. "No, I'm... That's my fucking role, that's-"

"Then how can anyone enjoy being around you?" Pickles spoke softly. Murderface could only sigh and remove his wrist to place his head in his hands. His temples were throbbing.

"Those goofy moments together, man. The smoke sessions. The way Toki and Nathan loved to mess with you, dude... If you were a fun sucker, they would avoid you altogether, not try to play games with you, right?" Pickles laughed when Murderface blinked in puzzlement and lifted his head from his hands to stare. "The way Skwis helps you when you're being bullied by their shenanigans, or when you'd come in my room for back rubs for years, or when you'd be eating ice cream and watching scary movies until late in the night and then needed to sleep it off in my bed. And you enjoyed yourself too, it wasn't just at your expense."

"But that's like..." Murderface tried to protest, his throat once again constricting him, and he swallowed heavily. "I... I mean..."

"Well anyway, I learned pretty quickly that an asshole is an asshole even when there's good times, too," PIckles told the other. "An asshole would have an entirely great day, then turn around after and complain that it wasn't good enough. That someone did somethin' wrong, to hurt 'em and bring 'em down even further than before. Sometimes, assholes just pretend like they're good people, so they can use it against someone later. It's supposed ta disarm us. And sometimes they not only can't just enjoy things, but refuse to let other people enjoy things. Are you any of those types? Don't answer that," Pickles interrupted when he saw Murderface open his mouth.

"You're used to being considered the asshole that ruins everythin' because that's what we placed on ya. That was our bad, that wasn't anythin' you really did. We had fun, you had fun, we just had more fun makin' fun of ya after. We were the assholes." Pickles frowned softly as he spoke. "Not really sure about the whole prophecy thing though. With how they officially labeled you... Shoulda asked Nate when I saw him that day."

Murderface was too tired to question for context, and Pickles wanted to keep rambling anyway, more to himself. 

"I don't really get it actually... I mean you do ruin good things sometimes-" Murderface flinched at that, "-and you're pretty mean, but I dunno, man. Maybe we were meant to make you like this, but I think there's still some missing pieces."

"You're not missing as much as I probably am, apparently," Murderface grumbled. "Because I don't have a single flying tomato fuck of an idea on what you're talking about."

Pickles smiled, which faded quickly. He looked troubled. "My eye told me there would be a third joining us, but I felt no presence. I hope... nothin' happened." Murderface cocked his head, not really sure what to say, but luckily  he didn't need to say anything at all. Pickles gave a soft gasp, and pointed toward the direction he was looking, so Murderface's eyes darted toward where he was looking.

In the distance, storm clouds were rushing in, light brightening up the darkness every so often. Murderface hadn't noticed it before, but faintly could hear the rumbling of the angry weather. He hadn't seen that before, or at least not to that severity, and as close as it was.

"There they are!" The voice spooked them, both snapping their necks around to notice Bones sitting on that one rock again, kicking his long legs almost childishly. 

"The fuck is that?!" Pickles gasped, eyes wide like saucepans.

"A... friend?" Murderface offered hesitantly.

"Looks like a feckin' demon!"

"Ah that would be because, good sir, that I am a demon," Bones spoke cheerfully.

"A very gentlemanly demon," Pickles muttered, more to himself. He straightened up and then reached for Murderface's hand, who grabbed it without thinking, pulling up the other to his feet. 

"C'mon, I have a feeling that storm is calling for us," Pickles told him, dragging him along, nervously looking back when he noticed that Bones nonchalantly invited himself along for the jog.

"Funny, most people think storms are warnings to stay away," Murderface rolled his eyes, but didn't refuse Pickles pulling him forward.

"I love storms!" Bones chirped, only having to walk fast to keep up with the other two. "You don't like storms, Murr?"

Pickles halted so fast that Murderface crashed into him with a heavy grunt, and nearly toppled the both of them over. "Fuckin' 'Murr'?" Pickles echoed, looking bewildered and amused at the same time. "That your nickname now, eh? I kinda like it."

Murderface spluttered but mostly just spewed nonsensical words until Pickles laughed and shushed him with his hand over the other's mouth.

"Relax dude, that's just between me 'n' you, and uh... Sir Demon," Pickles chuckled. "Won't remember outside of this realm, anyway."

"Didn't want anyone to know at all either way," Murderface mumbled, feeling his face heat up almost painfully. "You're not allowed to call me it, either."

"Aww, fine, demon-exclusive 'pparently," Pickles sighed, grasping Murderface's shoulder and hurrying them along again, Bones bounding between them like a damned dog, looking pleased with himself for whatever reason. Murderface was annoyed but still intimidated enough not to yell at the stupid thing for embarrassing him, but made sure at least not to touch Bones whenever he seemed to get closer.

The desert sand began to feel more soft and sticky under his feet, something Murderface had never previously felt, and he raised an eyebrow to this. "Where are we?"

"Going through a couple other realms," Pickles said matter-of-factly, like it somehow just made sense to say. Murderface decided not to question it, and kept going, until the sounds of an ocean began to beat against his eardrums.

Bones stopped so abruptly that the other two paused in questioning, and Murderface narrowed his eyes to see Bones looking somewhat uncomfortable and guilty. "What?" He said impatiently.

"Can't go any further, no I can't my friend," Bones said cheerily, though his eyes didn't hold the same look. "You all behave and I'll be here next time!"

Pickles shook his head. "We might not have time for this, so let's just go." The two band members took back off through the wet sand, and when Murderface had looked behind him one last time, Bones was nowhere to be found.

His head was swimming with so much information, that he didn't know how to process, and hardly understood as to why he was even given it in the first place. Through the sandy beach and a little to the right, were some jagged rocks that Pickles nimbly jumped onto and over, and watched carefully as Murderface less than gracefully clambered up the route. Stupid redhead, showing off and taking the weird route.

It did seem to be a decent shortcut into some grassy plains, and Murderface could smell a mix of different flowers and aromas circling him, so much so that it gave him a headache. He tried to understand who could possibly be joining them, and why they needed to meet like this of all ways. Maybe Toki, because he was so impossibly accident-prone, but...

Murderface's breath hitched in his throat, when he felt that sudden magnetic pull he always seemed to feel, like his brain was being tugged to one person and one person only on purpose. His legs began to shake and he slowed slightly, but didn't stop for the simple fact that Pickles was going to potentially abandon him and leave him stranded if he didn't keep up, and he had no idea what could be out here, aside from a brewing storm that was traveling quickly through the skies.

 Up ahead were what looked to be an infinite circle of trees, that eventually they began to squeeze through. Murderface flinched as twigs and roots snagged at him, but he forced his way through, feeling the occasional huge drop of water land on his head, until he tripped into some sort of clearing. 

Pickles kept staring up at the sky as he debated on where to go next, with the trees surrounding them on all sides obvious worry on his face. The rain was beginning to pelt them, trying to seemingly drown them and prevent them from going any further.

"I can't see Skwisgaar," He commented with an eye squint, his voice raising slightly as cold, wet wind began to whip and sting their cheeks. "This is normally his domain, I think?" It felt so similar to the weather when Pickles tried to kill himself. Murderface flinched, but the other didn't notice.

"It's not Skwisgaar," Murderface growled in response, his voice nearly carried away as another gust blew at them.

Pickles didn't say anything, but had to stop for a second to pull an old wrapping out of one of his sleeves, wrapping it around his forehead quickly since the wind seemed to be blowing his hair back too much for his liking. He seemed unphased by the jog/run, but even though Murderface was also much more fit in this world than in the real world, he felt winded and took this time to take a breather. He leaned his hands against his knees and inhaled deeply, the scent of soil and damp foliage filling his nose. 

Murderface snapped his head up when he thought he could hear a soft sob being carried by the wind. Pickles heard this too, and he began to head into the circle of trees opposite of them, with Murderface slowly following after. 

The grass seemed to start wilting the further they went, and this seemed to concern Pickles, who started going slightly faster. Long scraps of dead grass was slumped over, tangling in Murderface's feet and tripping him along the path. A much smaller path seemed to clear out, and with that, the both of them noticed a line of blackened grass and flowers was heading away from them.

"Should we even follow that? Looks like a trap," Murderface spoke nervously, but Pickles shook his head in response, gingerly walking around the crunchy, dead grass but continuing to follow the path. Murderface sighed heavily and copied Pickles, like he would also shrivel and die if he were to touch the grass.

The sobs were louder now when the wind blew in their direction, and the storm was practically over their head now. Murderface glimpsed something white and small ahead, making his heart skip a beat and he stopped in his tracks, suddenly feeling very out of place and unnecessary. Pickles ran to the other's side almost immediately, and dropped to his knees to place his hands on their shoulders.

"Salem?" Pickles spoke softly with concern. Murderface couldn't resist for very long, he timidly stepped forward a little until he could see things more clearly. Salem's face was bright red as they seemed to hold something with tenderness. Upon closer inspection, he saw it was a white flower of some kind, almost the same size as Salem. the edges were slowly shriveling up and one of the petals seemed to peel off and float away in the raging wind.

"What happened?" Pickles asked gently, and Salem shook their head, sniffling.

"I don't kn- know," They managed to gasp out, cradling the dead flower to their chest. "I always wake up with him on my chest, but he was laying here d-dead..."

"You didn't do this?" Pickles pressed as softly as he could, but they still flinched from the accusation.

"I don't know... I don't know what happened to it," Salem murmured miserably. "It looks like Death himself walked through this place." That's when Murderface noticed that the path was continuing onward, and hadn't stopped where Salem was. "I've been growing him since... since..." Salem choked on their own words and tears flooded their eyes again, fingers clutching at what was left of their precious plant.

Pickles pet their sopping wet hair back gently. "It looks like someone took a lighter to some of this," he murmured in observation, and Murderface looked around to confirm that it wasn't just the grass or the plant, but some of the trees looked black as well. He realized with a start that it wasn't all just dead and shriveled; it looked black and burnt.

"I'll kill whoever did this," Salem whispered. "Mark my words, I will look into their eyes as they die."

"I know," Pickles soothed.

Salem sighed and lifted their head, immediately adopting a guarded and wary look on their face to see Murderface there. Their eyes burning holes into the other's brain made his heart beat faster. "What're you two doing here anyway?" 

"Unfinished business, I reckon," Pickles said thoughtfully. "Some good old communication, maybe?"

"Oh of course, my least favorite thing to deal with apparently," Salem said dryly, their voice still filled with deep sadness. "What exactly do we need to talk about to move on from this?"

"Wish we didn't have to do this in the goddamn rain," Murderface grumbled, and Salem shot them a look.

"Should we start with your attitude?"

"I didn't even say anything bad!" Murderface protested in anger and Salem sighed.

"Sorry, yeah. I think Nathalia's getting to me with her attitude."

Murderface flinched to the sound of her name, not unnoticed by the other two.

"Did you guys really fuck?" Salem's voice sounded about as dead as their plant.

"I..." Murderface didn't feel compelled to lie, but didn't really want to explain what officially happened. "She tried," he mumbled, curly hair falling over his face as he lowered his head. "Couldn't... get into it." His face burned with shame and seething rage.

"I feel like I would once be offended for her," Salem deadpanned, "-and say some stupid joking shit about how dare you not manage to perform for my 'amazing friend' and something about her attractiveness or whatever. But right now, I'm just mad she would even try after all her big talk about not liking you and trying to act like she gave a shit about what I went through."

"How do you know I didn't force it on her?" Murderface blurted with curiosity, then his face flushed when he realized how bad that sounded. "Uhh, well... I mean-"

"My dude, you'd have to have a humiliation kink," Salem told him, and Murderface couldn't argue with that. "She would've blasted your ass so bad, everyone would've known the truth the same day it happened." They took a shaky breath. "Plus I can now understand why she was so obsessed with being extra mean to you. Trying to cover her tracks... Being performative."

"She's got some demons to figure out, but this isn't about that, I don't think," Pickles pressed gently.

Salem's nostrils flared slightly, but didn't say anything except, "Then what exactly is this about?"

"I don' know," the drummer admitted in a soft voice. "I wish I did."

"Thought you were the guy who knew everything." Salem still looked heavily peeved but their voice had changed to a more passive, teasing level, albeit a bit wary still.

"'Pparently that's still not enough," Pickles laughed a little.

"What if... it's just this?" Salem suddenly realized, gesturing softly to the little bit of destruction in their sanctuary. "I mean yeah I guess talking is chill too, but maybe we were meant to see this together, too?"

"Think we gotta put our brains together to see who or what did this?" Pickles questioned with a brow raise.

Salem's own eyes narrowed in extreme seriousness. "I think this is a warning from whatever is bringing us together." When the other two looked at them questioningly, they continued in explanation, "I could've been the only one to see this but I wasn't. You guys could've had your lil gay club in wherever the hell you guys came from, but you somehow knew I would be here, too. I didn't get a pull, or a sign to leave and go find anyone, but you guys did. We all ended up here, in this spot. One could call it a coincidence, but one could also call it a message."

"What exactly is this a warning of?" Murderface demanded. "You don't know this but my entire uh, 'realm', is heat and flames. I don't really have to worry about my shit getting burnt down."

Salem stared evenly at him without saying anything for a while, an unreadable expression on their face. Murderface shifted uncomfortable at the silent scrutiny, and was about to ask what their problem was, when they finally spoke. "It's just us here that can roam these areas, yeah? What's left of the band? Don't think any stranger could've come along to do this. I think it's trying to tell us there's a traitor in the midst. Not just a Klokateer, but one of us."

Murderface's mind reeled with several thought processes all at once. Him, what he's been doing, the demon in his head trying to make him go behind everyone else's backs, Bones...

The way Bones seemed very disinterested in joining them suddenly made a lot of suspicious sense. But Murderface didn't know if he should blame the demon yet or not. The fact that he even felt hesitant to just point the finger to a literal demon that he didn't even really know, made him feel a little weird.

"Oh!" Pickles exclaimed like he had just remembered something. "I had a weird dream the other day... Didn't remember til now, but this voice said somethin' about... the 'death of a chosen one' a long time ago, and now somethin' is mimickin' 'em. Maybe..." Pickles' eyes suddenly fell into a deep depressive sadness. "Maybe someone we know, isn't the real them? Maybe it's the traitor..."

Salem's eyes widened for a moment, and Murderface swore he could see a slight quiver in their lips. "Anything else?"

"Somethin'... about not trusting death seeking eyes, stained hands, or bloody lips, and maybe we'll... survive. And then they apologized for failing us."

Salem blinked and tilted their head. "That's not comforting at all, but I guess I didn't really ask for comfort." Then they heaved a sigh, their eyes still betraying a troubled, distrusting look. "Someone is dead, and apparently craves chaos." Again, Bones swam into Murderface's brain and he fought not to flinch outwardly. "They're going to fucking get chaos." Then they eyed Pickles. "Assuming that had nothing to do with the original prophecy?"

"Nope."

"So someone did genuinely fuck up somewhere?"

"Guess so."

"Lovely."

 "Well, if that really is the case, we need to keep an eye out," Pickles said grimly. He didn't betray a glance to Murderface or act like he was suspecting Murderface, unlike Salem, who seemed to be staring at him with a purpose. "At this point, I'm not really sure who it could be."

Salem gently placed their dead flower onto the ground and stepped lightly over it, walking toward Murderface, who tensed at the movement. Salem only stopped when they were right in front of him, staring up at him and letting the rain pelt their face as they did so. The tattoo on their chest seemed to be the only colorful thing on them, and even that seemed dull by the storm and ambiance surrounding them.

"Prove to me it wasn't you," Salem whispered.

Murderface swallowed heavily. How could he? How could he prove that anything he did was well intentioned? How could he prove that it couldn't have possibly been either of the demons plaguing him, which seemed to be a direct correlation to his existence? How could he prove when he metaphorically had stained hands and once sought death? Was that what the prophecy was talking about and if so, was he bound to ruin the prophecy, regardless of what Pickles said or thought of him?

Murderface inhaled deeply. "I can't."

Salem studied him a moment longer, then their features softened, surprisingly. "Then you should understand that I ask you to leave, just in case."

Murderface's first response was to be offended and say something snarky or start yelling, but he bit his tongue and instead dropped his head. Arguing wouldn't help his case, and he felt really faint and tired. He didn't know if the exhaustion of his continuing existence was getting to him finally, or if too much was going on and his brain couldn't handle it.

"Could I stay here for just a bit longer?" Pickles offered, and Salem nodded quietly. So Murderface would have to go back, by himself.

As Murderface turned in disgruntlement, and began stumbling back out of the grassy fields, Salem's voice once again stopped him.

"Just remember, I'll be watching everything. Like I watched you on the roof with Pickles."

This didn't sound like a threat, and when Murderface turned back around, their eyes remained soft, just somewhat guarded. 

Did they mean they wouldn't just be watching out for the bad things he did, but the good things, too? Could Murderface even consider that situation a 'good thing'? His thoughts were filled with bitterness but also hesitant hopefulness. His emotions were shot and he felt numb throughout, the mix of frustration, confusion, fear, embarrassment, shame... guilt, all disappearing under the veil of his weariness.

He could only make it to the rocky edge toward the beach before his mind gave out and he felt himself floating away from the realms. Something dark and familiar shaped seemed to be among the shadows, like they had been watching, and he felt a phantom chill going from his scalp to his throat.

Even if he was the traitor currently, it didn't mean he couldn't change his mind and salvage the situation... right?

~~~

Bitterness... betrayal... why were they becoming so unhinged? They could feel something clutching their cold, dead heart, steering them toward this path of destruction, and oh boy they loved it. Suppressing the urges for this long made them slowly start feeling more and more feral, beastly. They craved the blood on their lips, they craved their hands wrapped around throats. The tears they shed were not all for naught, because soon they would make everyone else start crying, begging for forgiveness...

Putrid. Horrendous. Lips fought to curl into a snarl like a wild animal.

All of these conflicting emotions meant nothing to them anymore. They just had to take heavier measures to make sure all of this fell onto the other's shoulders.

...

As the black creature seemed to melt into the shadows and then disappear altogether, another shadow shifted in the night, and large, golden colored eyes stared with intensity at the spot the other creature just was. Murderface needed to be warned... but that would have to wait .

Salem had already faded from most likely awakening in the real world, so Pickles was all alone, but he knew not for long. He took a soft sigh, looking up at the clearing sky with troubled eyes. He didn't know what he could do to protect his friends, and was worried that one of his friends wasn't even his friend; no, he wasn't worried, he was terrified. Because it had been practically confirmed by some strange ethereal being watching over them all.

 For a horrid moment, he thought back to Salem's raging, manic fits, the blood dripping from their lips as they attacked his brother. Their hands weren't very clean when he thought about it, but Pickles could only sigh a little. None of theirs were, so it wasn't very helpful. And half of them were dead-brained or had dead stares from the lack of hope and happiness. No, it had to be during a time where things were looking up. When the traitor would be the most angry.

One last thing to do before he left. Pickles reached down and scooped up the dead flower gently, feeling some of the leaf peeling and snapping off. Pickles winced as he felt the roughness of the charred body. He carried it through the trees, somehow knowing exactly where he was going; maybe it was just one of those 'he just knew' things.

Standing in a separate clearing, where the bunnies and deer started to creep out quietly with curious looks in their eyes, Pickles called out in hope that maybe Skwisgaar was asleep and dreaming. When he received no answer, he reached into his belt and pulled out a few spare berries he kept with him to snack on from his personal realm.

Squishing them between his fingers, he used the juices to write onto the nearest tree what was hardly legible: H e lP i t. Then placed the flower under the tree, hoping that maybe Skwisgaar could save this somehow. He wasn't sure what it meant to be able to kill things with actual maliciousness in this realm, but he had to do something.

"Don' lick the juice," Pickles ordered the animals. They seemed equally interested in the fruit, and also terrified of the burnt flower in front of him. Hopefully its 'dead body' would be enough to keep them at bay.

With that, seemingly on cue, Pickles could feel himself slowly being pulled upward, away from the realm, and closed his eyes as blackness washed over him for only a moment.

~~~

Consciousness flooded Pickles' being, and he felt himself laying sorely on a scratchy bed that was not his. His body felt stiff and he was in pain, yet he also felt invigorated. He opened his eyes slowly, blinking at the bright, hospital lights above him, and stiffly moved his head back and forth to look around.

"Pickles?" 

Pickles was surprised that the first voice he heard wasn't Abigail, Nathan, Toki, or even Salem, but rather Tobias, the one he had probably the least amount of contact with. He turned slowly so he could look at the other, seeing Tobias sitting there with fidgety nervousness, his fingers folded together and his hands resting on his lap while his foot tapped.

"You're awake!" He looked relieved, but still anxious looking. "I'm glad."

"Erh, ye," Pickles mumbled, his throat parched like the desert. "Don'... really remember." His mind was blank on what had happened and why he was here.

"We'll explain later," Tobias assured him. Pickles could practically feel the neuroticism radiating off of the other. "There's something I have to tell you..."

Chapter Text

Toki didn't feel safe enough to go in Salem's room. A putrid stench was wafting from the doorway, though the others seemed unbothered by it as they filed in to try and help Salem. Not just that, but it was obviously going to be too crowded with him in there, he felt he wasn't nearly close enough to Salem to be in their personal space, and in general, something in his head seemed to be warning him against going in.

That also meant he had to deal with Nathalia, who was standing right next to him. Her face was blank and expressionless, eyes staring through the doorway while the others were trying to do what they could. No, she actually didn't seem that numb to her emotions at all. She looked almost bored, or in a haze. Like she didn't really understand what was happening, or maybe she was currently blocking it from her mind. Maybe she was too preoccupied with other thoughts.

Toki didn't particularly care. His face still hurt from the kick and he was more than just a little salty about it, but he didn't know how to manage these emotions. He'd been angry before, but he also felt a mix of betrayal and offense that seemed to be fueling the fire, and it felt more than he could handle.

He felt and saw out of the corner of his eye, Nathalia's own eyes drift a little toward him and so he moved off more to the side and craned his neck to see if he could watch whatever was going on in Salem's bedroom, mostly as a distraction. He hoped that Tobias and Abigail would show up soon behind them to break the tension somewhat, but they didn't. Luckily, Nathalia didn't look angry anymore, and wasn't looking at him with any malicious glaring. That didn't mean Toki wasn't still angry.

Nathan and Skwisgaar left the room finally, with the Klokateers steering Salem's unconscious body to presumably the medical ward where Pickles was currently located. Nathan leaned against the wall nearest to him, looking disgruntled, and Skwisgaar was smoothly avoiding direct eye contact with everyone.

"They said they're gonna be fine," Nathan growled, and Toki swallowed heavily when nobody else spoke up for at least thirty seconds.

So he went ahead and said, "Yat... ams goo's." His jaw and tooth still hurt so he couldn't move his mouth as well as he'd like to, and his even more broken English bounced through the mostly empty hallway. Nathan quickly glanced at Toki, then looked away again, and Toki couldn't really understand his expression or what he could've been feeling in that moment. He just knew he felt embarrassed at the fact that Nathan now knew of the stupid crush that he'd been trying to suppress ever since he had that talk with Pickles.

And was the fact that Nathalia took on a lot of Nathan's attributes, really the only reason he might actually like her? He wasn't so sure, but a wave of guilt and confusion and frustration washed over him, making his stomach feel queasy. She wasn't so much like him anymore, anyway.

Skwisgaar was standing next to Toki and refused to glance over at the other, but muttered quietly, "How's ams your face?"

Toki just shrugged, not really wanting to talk about it right now. He didn't really want to talk at all, considering he was still in a bit of pain when he tried to.

"Where the fuck is Murderface?" Nathan demanded suddenly as he looked over what was left of everyone in both bands, minus Tobias because they at least sort of knew where he was and that he was currently okay.  Toki saw Nathalia tense next to him, but didn't have time to butt in as Nathan kept musing. "Two- three, people dead, Pickles half dead, and Salem half dead, Murderface nowhere to be found. Something tells me uh, something doesn't want us to make this. This collab a thing."

"Oh did you come to that conclusion on your own?" Nathalia said with snarkiness in your voice, and Toki bit his cheek with anxiety. "Did you finally figure it out after half of my band's been destroyed because now it's affecting you, too?"

"Murderface is currently in the medical ward, too." Tobias's voice made Toki practically jump out of his skin, and he turned to see the guitarist slowly heading down the hallway with his hands shoved in his pockets. "Along with a... visitor."

"'Visitor'?" Nathan echoed. "What?"

Tobias shrugged a little. His mind seemed preoccupied with other things at the moment, but did end up replying after a few seconds. "We don't know who he is. He woke up for a moment but then passed out again. He doesn't seem hurt, just extremely malnourished and weak."

"Where the fuck did he come from?" Nathalia demanded. "For all we know he could be some murderer!"

"Which is why Abigail isolated him into a locked room for now until he's strong enough to tell us how he got here," Tobias explained as patiently as he could, though not meeting her eyes as he spoke, rather focusing them on Nathan. "And several Klokateers are monitoring him while he sleeps. I think she was also planning to take his fingerprints for some scanning."

Nathan grunted in acknowledgement. "How'd you know Murderface is there? What happened?"

"Abigail told me," Tobias explained, his voice dropping to an even lower tone. "She said the wounds look to be self inflicted, but it also looked like there was a struggle. She doesn't know what to think."

Nathan threw up his hands in exasperation. "Is everybody just a bunch of gay, emotional emos around here or what?"

Tobias hummed thoughtfully. "Well to be fair, you're more likely to surround yourself with people who resonate with you than not so I guess it would make sense; and with the way everyone represses their emotions around here, it's generally a major symptom of depression or can even cause the suicidal ideation on its own-"

"Tobias."

"Hmm?"

"Shut up."

Tobias sighed softly and nodded to Nathan. "Sure."

"Is that what I need to do to get people to care about me?" Nathalia's voice was soured and passive aggressive, causing the others to turn to her, except Toki, who was staring past Tobias sort of in her direction without actually turning. "To actually give me some attention, to give a damn about what I'm going through?"

"What-" Tobias started, but was interrupted by a loud sigh from Nathalia.

"Nobody's checked on me since that call, nobody really comforted me when Charles died, nobody did a big intervention thing to stop me from drinking my liver away while you guys are always up Pickles' ass about it, but I guess shit's fine, because you can only give a fuck about talking to me when I do something wrong. I took care of you, I took care of Toki, I bitched out Salem as long as I could to keep them in line, but that's cool."

Guilt gnawed through Toki for taking up space without asking, but Tobias just blinked at her slowly, unaffected.

"Nat, first of all those are Pickles' friends and they do what they do; Salem, or at least I, did nothing to getting him to slow his shit on the drugs and booze, so don't compare our situation to their situation like WE had anything to do with it; as for Dethklok themselves, they barely know you and already have more than enough baggage. And have you seen how much they drink, too?"

Nathalia began to protest, but stopped as Tobias pressed on. "Second, you did those things because we accepted it. We don't do those things for you because you think being babied means you're weak," he told her slowly. "We don't do it because you established you would never accept help in any kinda way. We ask if you're good, we leave you alone when you snap or brush it off. Is it healthy? No. But if anything, you have a record of getting or feeling even worse when we press an issue. And as for Salem, I find it difficult to believe your bitching to them actually has helped them in any way-"

"You don't know that!"

"- either proving that nagging someone about self harm will just help build the foundation you're trying to topple, or that maybe bitching at people all day long doesn't help nurture their own empathy." Tobias shrugged. "You've been bagging on them for years for using after their first overdose,"

"Because they're stupid and keep going after they literally almost fucking died!"

"-yelling at them the majority of the time and then resorting to crying and guilt trips; and then you turn around and drink yourself into bad situations and do the same things you preach to them about, and get mad because we aren't yelling at you to stop? Because we've seen how Salem has turned out by getting bitched at? Because you're damn difficult to get to actually listen to anybody except yourself? Because YOU know that yelling doesn't work for you, but can't put two and two together that it's the same with OTHER people because you just feel like you have to get mad?"

Tobias sighed a little. "So maybe you should focus on not being such a hypocrite, and get off your high horse when they fall off the wagon, when you can't even stop alcohol. You literally can't stop somebody by making them feel like they should keep punishing themself."

"But I'm not..." Nathalia mumbled as she dropped her sight to the floor. "I'm just telling them how I feel. Can't they care about how I feel, too?"

"Can't you care about how they feel, first?" Tobias questioned. "Why's their pain gotta be about you?"

Nathalia scowled. "Then why don't you do it to me, hm? Instead of trying to fix my problems and doing the same exact nagging shit, try being fucking nice and just ask if I'm okay? If I need anything? How I fucking feel? Instead of only talking to me when I fuck up? Why do I have to be nagged for fucking up?"

Tobias shook his head. "Salem clams up because they're afraid of expression, but that doesn't mean they don't show it instead of verbalizing it. It also doesn't mean they wholly reject comfort. You clam up because you're stubborn. Which means it's not just the trauma or pain itself you hide from us, it's literally everything, emotions and all. It's getting mad when we even realize you're upset to begin with, it's every time we talk about your issues you make someone else's issues your problem, it's the fact that the only talk we can have that's focused on your feelings, is HAVING to be an argument or else you just won't listen or bring them up in the first place!"

Tobias gestured between the two of them to prove a point. "What is this, Nathalia, hmm? This is an argument, because you can't just be normal with your communication and say 'You haven't checked on me in a while and I'm actually kind of feeling neglected'. Because if you did, and we reacted with affection and worry, you'd be grossed out and feel 'weak', so you have to make it known through hostility so you feel like you're winning something like a battle. If we were actually ALLOWED to know your feelings even 50% of the time we've known you in a normal, nonviolent way, trust me, we'd ask or talk to you about them a little bit more, but you never once wanted us to know ANYTHING without putting up a fight, and nobody here has the energy for that anymore.

"And honestly, if your behavior wasn't so prominently based on hurting other people just to avoid your own feelings, we wouldn't have to bitch you out for it all the time. I wouldn't yell at a suicidal person for feeling suicidal, but I'm going to bitch someone out who continues to keep purposely fucking with someone else's emotions, whether or not it's because they're emotionally screwed up. 

"Notice how I don't yell at you for drinking? The same as I don't yell at Salem for doing drugs? I don't yell at you for having trauma, like I don't yell at Salem? Then notice how I bitch at you for being in other people's business when you use it against them, when you feel like lashing out? Honestly, I don't know how many times I've been nice about this for as long as I've known you before this just slowly became intentionally ignorant to the point of maliciousness and it's starting to reach a breaking point. So yeah, I'm getting mean about it, and quite frankly, if you think Salem deserves to get bitched at for doing drugs but you're upset that anything YOU do is worth being bitched at, when one hurts mostly themselves and the other hurts mostly others, your priorities need to be fixed."

"Well, look at the way they strung Pickles along like a tool! They aren't completely innocent in their actions, and they have a tough time shutting the fuck up themselves when they need to!"

"And that's theirs and Pickles' conversation to have only. But we're talking about the shit YOU say to them, like having a drug problem. Or telling people the other things they've done, with zero context, just to make them seem like a bad person. You're only ever mad at things that happen between them and other people in situations that aren't our business to begin with, or things that you have no business being rude for because you do the same exact thing, or sometimes even worse."

"Well..." Toki could see the frustration in her face. "Don't ya think it's a little fucked up to just constantly be yelling at someone while never checking on them to see if they need to be talked to?? Even when they say they don't want to be talked to? While you go all lovey dovey with the other friend?"

"Nope." Tobias remained unflinching even when Nathalia looked taken aback to this. "You set yourself up to be like this and made it clear you have no intentions of listening to other people,"

"Well I'm stubborn but you know how I be..."

"- so I let that ship sail ever since all this other shit's been happening. It's not my life's mission to teach a grown person how to accept help and be nicer despite getting harassed, lashed out at, and embarrassed for it,"

"I don't try to be like that, it just doesn't help that-"

"- while everything else is falling apart on top of it. At least even when I have to encourage Salem, who is also a grown person, to open up and trust their friends, I'm not getting threatened for it,"

"I just have trust issues..."

"- But I've got my limits on that too, which is why I don't pry, which is why I don't bother them or hold their hand 24/7, I just also don't yell at them, Nat. That's your biggest issue right now. You think by me saying 'don't yell at them', I'm saying to baby them? Coddle them? Treat them like a toddler? Prioritize them over your own problems and needs? They have their own mess to work out, I just literally do not get mean toward them for things that shouldn't be bitched about. My main advice is literally 'do not pry'. That means them, that means you. The only time I get involved to this extent is when you're trashing on them unnecessarily, or you ask me to ask them what's wrong when I've already asked."

"Well maybe-"

"- And now I'm starting to think I won't be involved in this drama at all and let you destroy your own friendship with them if it means I get some peace; so you can have your little attitude problem and I won't bother you anymore on your destructive behavior. And we can talk in a year or so about this when you ultimately blame me because I didn't hold your hand and save you from being an asshole, just like you're blaming me for not continuing to beg for you to open up after years of hurtful rejection and hostility."

"I just want you to fucking show you care about me!" Nathalia began to scream, clenching her fists tightly.

"Then don't be so unreachable!"

Toki could sense it before even Tobias probably knew, himself. The gleam in her eye that he saw earlier, the snarl on her lips, the way she flexed her muscles, and mostly her hesitation to do or say anything.

As she raised her fist, Toki was already there with his hand out to catch it. All his pent up anger from earlier, and his frustration with what had been going on, made him toss her hand to the side a little roughly, causing her to stumble from the force as her body went with it.

Nathalia's face looked stunned, and she straightened up to look Toki dead in the eyes. There was an indescribable pain mixed with rage deep in her eyes, and Toki flinched, flickering to look right next to her head instead. Nathalia sneered at him a little with quivering lips.

"And you've never stood up to Nathan when he's being a dick but you'll stand up to me? Oh because I'm the rebound, right?"

Toki blinked in slight surprise. "Nat'ens haven'ts ever hits us to hurts us on purposefuls," he said quietly and slowly so as not to hurt his mouth, then glanced over at the singer, who was standing there with his face in its seemingly permanently disgruntled expression, only proven to be a little surprised by the arch of his eyebrow. Their eyes met, and Toki looked away to see Nathalia still looking annoyed and hostile, especially after that miniature exchange. 

"Even ifs you ams was a 'reobund' for Nat'ens, yous dont has to worry about thats anymore."

"The fuck does that mean?" Nathalia demanded, but Toki just walked around her and began heading toward his room almost limply. It was over for his emotions, and his ego felt quite crushed after all this.

 The way Nathan reacted to being told about the crush, and the way Skwisgaar kept reminding him he was only useful for 'bed things', and even though he still liked Nathalia he knew that was most likely a lost cause as well- he just felt romantic love just wasn't for him. He was filled with childish hope and fear, and dead things and music, and friends who hurt themselves or hurt others or sometimes both. He was pieces of trauma here, and pieces of trauma there, and impatient people waiting for him to let go and grow up already. 

And everyone saw him differently than how he wanted to be seen, or maybe he just saw everyone else differently than how he should see them.

Toki slumped into his bed tiredly, his head reeling with the argument between the two friends. He didn't even know how to feel about it, other than the fact that there was quite a bit of missing context, probably due to years of history.

A few minutes went by where he just tossed and turned uncomfortably, not sure if he was tired or just depressed, but not able to rest either way. His lungs rattled in his chest somewhat painfully, making him wince. His lungs were mostly healed due to Mordhaus healthcare, but they still ached every so often, reminding him of the immeasurable pain he and Skwisgaar went through.

It seemed like everyone was falling apart in their own way, and he was starting to wonder what could actually be causing these things, because it couldn't be a coincidence? Dethklok went through a lot of crazy incidents, but they usually had a few weeks' break between them at least. 

And it felt like everyone was turning on each other... Nathan against Pickles, Pickles against Salem, Toki against Skwisgaar (and vice versa), Skwisgaar against anyone who cared enough to listen, Salem against Nathalia, Nathalia against everyone, everyone against Murderface, and Murderface against the whole world. 

Was this the end for both bands?

The door knocked lightly. Toki didn't open it or even acknowledge someone was there.

An hour or so went by, and another gruff knock. Toki ignored this one, too.

Then as the second hour was just about to hit on the clock that Toki had been watching numbly, the door burst open with a flurry of blond hair and audacity that was Skwisgaar. 

"So it ams your turns to be poutinks like little babys?" Skwisgaar scoffed as he sauntered in as he normally did. "Fats chance."

Toki frowned. "Not fats. or Chances."

Skwisgaar sighed heavily as he settled onto the bed next to Toki's head. "Gets ups, Toki."

"Nos."

"Fines." Skwisgaar dropped his guitar to the ground and scooted against Toki's hip and settled next to him, resting his hands together on his stomach as they both stared up at the ceiling together for a while longer. Toki's chest was filled with anxiety for being this close to the other, but didn't say anything or object to it, because he was quite frankly really dead tired of the drama and conflict.

Skwisgaar finally craned his neck to look over at Toki, who didn't flinch or glance back at him as he normally would. "I know you ams mads," Skwisgaar said quiety. "But we cants all turn on each others."

"You turneds on me first," Toki mumbled, turning his head to glare at the wall next to him. "Makes me looks a fool. I dids nothings to you."

"I knows." Skwisgaar put a hand on Toki's shoulder, who shrugged it off heavily. "Looks, ams tryinks to-"

"I don'ts want apologeticals," Toki said forlornly as he sat up, if anything to get away from Skwisgaar's overwhelming presence near him. "I wants you to be nices to me the firsts time. Or wanteds. Now I just wants to be alones."

Skwisgaar also sat up, and seemed to hesitate for a second. His voice came out a little sharp, signifying that he was a little wounded by the rejection, but otherwise held a calm, guarded approach. "Fines. You knows where I ams when you wants to talks." With that he stood up slowly, grasping the guitar string and pulling it around his chest again before leaving a lot more quietly than he came in. Maybe his ego was finally deflating after realizing he couldn't just say and do whatever he wanted and come crawling back when Toki became angry.

Toki's tears stained his pillow the second he laid back down, panting like a dog from the way the sadness squeezed his chest and lungs.

His eyes rested just for a moment until before he knew it, they blinked back open painfully through the crust of his dryness, and noticed that about three hours had passed. His room was cast in the darkness of the night, only light yellow moonlight poking through a small sliver in the curtains.

Toki realized then that there was a reason he had woken up; someone was again at the door. He stood up with an ache in his head and a pain in his side, and slowly scuffled over to the entrance before he could even personally decide if he actually wanted to talk to whoever was behind the door. It could've been anyone at this point, well, except for the three in the hospital. 

The door popped open and there stood Abigail, eyes gleaming a lot clearer and sharper than they had been for a long time. 

"Good news Toki, Pickles is awake!" She said cheerfully, and Toki's eyes widened. It was as though all previous worries had melted and he grasped the door handle to steady himself.

"M- may I sees him?" Toki asked softly.

Abigail nodded. "He and Tobias are currently talking but he wanted to see you first afterward."

Toki's heart lurched to hear that. Him first? Why? Was it something bad, or just a pity thing?

Either way, it didn't stop the bubbling hopefulness inside of him, and that terrified him just from that alone.

Abigail briskly walked with Toki to the medical ward, when Toki heard a muffled voice behind them. "M'lady, Salem and Murderface have both woken up as well!"

Abigail's face brightened even more, if it even could, and she ushered Toki toward Pickles' room, advising to knock first. Then she followed the Klokateers down the hall toward Salem's room. Toki wasn't sure where Murderface was in this place.

Toki gave a tentative knock and he heard a quiet, "Come in," so he popped the door open slowly, poking his head in.

It looked like the two had been crying, both of their eyes bloodshot as the two turned to look at the newcomer. Toki's eyes fell to Pickles' face, seeing his head severely bandaged and all the tubes down his nose and in his arm. Pickles gave a weak smile at seeing Toki standing there, looking wide-eyed. "Hey Toki." His voice sounded a bit stronger than Toki had expected, but still quite weak and shaky.

"I'll leave you guys in peace," Tobias spoke softly as he stood from his chair, giving one last shoulder squeeze to the redhead before shuffling past Toki with a soft nod. 

Toki felt zombified. He felt his feet shuffling forward unsurely, and would not stop staring at Pickles, like he was expecting Pickles to drop dead in front of him. His eyes darted to the machine next to him in charge of the vitals, and relaxed a little to see that everything as far as he knew looked to be quite normal.

He sat quietly in the chair, like he was trying not to disturb the silence that was surrounding him. His eyes darted to his hands as he squeezed them together, feeling awkward no matter where he looked. A soft touch on his arm made him look back up.

"How ya doin'?" Pickles' voice croaked gently as he squeezed the other man's arm.

Toki's lip quivered and he brushed Pickles' touch away quickly. "Fines," he mumbled without meeting Pickles' gaze.

"I have a hard time believin' dat," Pickles' voice was still soft. "Tobias tol' me some of t'e stuff dat's been goin' on."

Toki's lips pursed as he struggled to keep his emotions intact. "I am f- fine," Toki spoke as loudly and clearly as he could, while standing up, shrugging off Pickles' touch. To leave maybe, he himself wasn't very sure. "Ams not a childs, you don't haves to checks on me like I ams."

"Toki..." Pickles sounded wounded, and Toki internally winced. He wanted to defend himself, not hurt Pickles' feelings. Apparently the thread was a lot thinner than he expected. And quite frankly, he didn't want to turn into Nathalia, or Nathan, or basically anybody else right now. He just wanted to be himself and not have anybody influence that decision.

"...Sorries, Pickle," Toki murmured as he sat back down quietly. "Ams glad you ams okays." He looked up to see Pickles watching the other, his eyebrows tight-knit together as he seemed to be evaluating the rhythm guitarist. 

"But are yew okie?" Pickles responded in his soothing voice, and some more tears dripped down Toki's face.

He placed his face into his hands to try and keep himself under control. "N- nos," he ended up whimpering miserably. "Everyone ams fightings ands nobody likes mes..."

"Now yew know dat's not true," Pickles stated as he reached once more to touch Toki's arm, who didn't pull away this time. "Skwisgaar's a dildo, Nate's just uh, Nate. He don't like feelin's tew begin wit', let alone romantic. 'N' Nat..."

Toki flinched to the sound of Nathalia's nickname. "I guess I likeds hers because she ams likes Nat'ans," Toki said bitterly.

"Naw, I dink yew just have a type," Pickles said softly. "Nat's not'in' like Nate, dey barely even look alike. It jes' seems like she's exactly like him 'cause yew can tell she idolizes him. 'N' if it is 'cause she acts like Nate, it's 'cause she copies him. Which's not a bad ding, but it does make it confusin' and prebebly makes yer brain dink yew like her when yew still only like Nate. Dat's not yer fault."

Toki rubbed his eyes on the back of his arm a little. "I guesses," he mumbled. "I don'ts really wants to talks about it rights now."

"Dat's fine, Toki. Jus' don' bottle it up f'r tew long."

Toki nodded and scooted the chair closer to his friend until it was right next to his bedside, then propped his chin on the bar on the side of the bed. Pickles scruffed up Toki's hair playfully but softly, and Toki placed his face in the crook of Pickles' arm, sniffling a little. He wanted to crawl into the bed with him but didn't want to hurt Pickles, or look like a stupid baby again.

"Ams glads you're awakes," Toki whispered. "Everyone ams awakes now."

"Ye, I heard aboot Salem 'n' Murderface..." Pickles trailed off slightly and Toki looked up at him, seeing his eyes both guarded and also somewhat sad looking. 

Toki rubbed Pickles' chest comfortingly a little. "Salems didn't gives up on yous," Toki stated matter-of-factly, though he wasn't quite sure why he said it. 

Pickles smiled slightly in response to that. "Ye, heard aboot dat, tew. None of yew did, 'n' I'm grateful tew have all o' yew."

Toki winced, remembering the way he ran inside, and broke down... because he had given up. Because he was a coward. "I..."

Pickles gave him a look of sympathy. "It's okie if yew... t'ought I was dead. I shoulda worded dat better, so I'm sorry."

Toki just nuzzled the crook of Pickles' arm gently before he sat up fully. "It amenst matters anymore," he said quietly. "You ams alives, and we ams happy fors it."

Pickles smiled a little. "Me tew, Toki. Oddly 'nough."

"Goods." Toki stated with a nod, then jumped slightly when he heard a knock on the door.

"Toki," Abigail said as she popped her head in the door. "Nathan wants to talk to Pickles now, if that's alright?"

Toki nodded and wrapped his hand around Pickles', who squeezed it comfortingly. "I sees you soon, ja?"

"I'll be here," Pickles chuckled hoarsely. "See yew later my brot'er."

Toki brightened up to those words and squeezed Pickles' hand back, whispered an 'I love you' to him because he felt weird showing brotherly love in front of other people now that he felt like he looked like an awkward slutty mess toward anybody who showed him affection, regardless of their intention, then he slid out of the room past Abigail. 

For whatever reason, Toki wasn't expecting Nathan to be literally right there as soon as he passed the doorway, but there he was in all of his brute glory, looking just as surprised to see Toki.

Nope. Toki immediately skirted to the side like a crab to avoid running into the singer, and dropped his eyes to the ground so he wouldn't have to look into that beautiful moron's face. 

"Toki-" Nathan's gruff voice started, but once Toki was out of the danger zone with bumping into Nathan, he fast walked his way out of that situation while pretending to not hear his voice being spoken. His heartbeat was fast and pounding through his eardrums, and he had to stop for a breather to calm down the anxiety that was bubbling in his chest. 

As he continued down the hallway to his room again, because he otherwise wasn't sure where to go, Toki could hear loud sniffling nearby. He knew exactly who it was coming from, but his anger had melted away and was replaced with the relief of seeing Pickles okay, so he cautiously turned his head around the corner and saw Nathalia balled up and off to the side, just crying by herself with her hair blanketed over her face. Toki felt pity and guilt choking his throat a little so he slowly stepped into the hall toward her.

Her head snapped up quickly and Toki tensed but didn't back away, just looking down at her red rimmed eyes and face in some twisted ugly snarl. "What do you want?" She snapped. "Here to dig into me, too?"

"Nos," Toki said quietly. "Just wants to sees if you ams... okays."

"Well I'm not, if that makes you fee any better to know," she snarled. "Since apparently I need to be more 'open' to having fucking feelings like every other human."

Toki shuffled back and forth on his feet, not sure if he should get into it with her or not. "It ams hards figuring outs what to dos with someones that do nots talks, about stuffs" Toki finally settled on carefully. "Like N- Pickle."

Either Nathalia didn't catch the fact that Toki almost said Nathan's name before deciding against it, or just didn't care. Toki was inclined to think the first one.

Nathalia rubbed her face almost aggressively and shrugged with misery. "Whatever, yeah, I know I'm fucking hard to talk to. But this isn't the normal type of shit that happens around me so you'd think I'd have a different response to it and check on me."

"They ams strugglings too," Toki said softly. "They probablicals too busy to thinks abouts it right nows."

"Because everyone has more bigger and important issues than me," Nathalia said bitterly. "And I caused some of them. So yeah I fucking get it, I'm last on the list for concern, I just- I don't know what I want anymore."

Toki shuffled again uncomfortably. "Well, I ams heres, checkings on yous."

Nathalia sighed a little. "Yeah, thanks, I guess."

Toki didn't know what to do or say now, or if he should leave or stay, so he stared at his shoes while he debated in a somewhat of a panicked state, until she finally spoke again begrudgingly.

"Sorry for kicking in your teeth," she said dryly. "Didn't mean to."

"It ams okays," Toki muttered, rubbing his jaw that had lessened to a minor sore whenever he opened his mouth too wide. 

"I just wasn't expecting to be kinda a rebound, I guess," she smoothly transitioned to the second half of her sentence as soon as Toki accepted her apology, and he winced slightly. He wanted to tell her what Pickles said, but didn't know if it would make her upset even more, so he kept his mouth shut. "But like, I feel like we bonded anyway over the past few weeks?" She looked at him with hopefulness that Toki could relate to, because he too gave that same look to many people before. Childish hope, Nathan called it once.

"Ja," Toki agreed, because it was true, he had gotten quite close to her in the short time he had known her. She was emotionally screwed up, but wasn't everyone else he knew?

Nathalia smiled and looked to be about to say something, when he heard Abigail's familiar heel clicks on the hallway floors as she seemed to be heading their way. Nathalia's face dropped into a neutral expression and rubbed her eyes dry one last time, and Toki was astonished with how well she could truly mask her feelings. No wonder it confused her friends, it also confused him.

As Abigail turned the corner, she stopped to face the two and said as calmly as she could, "We have a lead on the location where Charles was murdered. I want to drive there on Mordhaus."

Toki was alarmed by this, and Nathalia's eyebrow raised. "This fucking boat-mansion can move? I mean, of course I knew that, but like, it can?"

Abigail sighed a little. "Apparently it can, Nathalia."

"Cool, cool, now for the second part of my reaction. What in the fuck?"

"Ja, amenst that dangerous?" Toki spoke up nervously. "This ams our homes..." He didn't want to picture meeting up with some psycho people and watch the citadel burn up again like it did those years ago when Charles died, or 'died', the first time.

"I promise not to lead you to your death, or your home's," Abigail said gently. "We're going most of the way with Mordhaus, then the rest of the way with something else. You'll see. But it's going to be a while; we have no clear direction, and it's supposedly very far; and they could be gone by now."

"Stupid it took this long just to get a clear signal," Nathalia muttered, and Abigail shot her a dirty look.

"We had a general idea, but there's a lot that goes into finding a signal miles and miles away."

Nathalia just shrugged.

Toki's fists clenched at the thought of meeting Magnus again, and that Metal Masked Assassin. His face must have fell into a determined stare because Abigail gave him a wary look, but didn't comment on it.

Right now, Toki felt like blaming those two for the majority of the issues that piled on after Charles' death. So he would get his vengeance, and this time he would not be a coward and cry his way through whatever happened. He was going to do whatever it took to bring his world back together again.

Chapter Text

The dull but consistently annoying pain in Murderface's neck was the first thing he noticed when his eyes blinked hazily to the bright light shining over his face. He winced and attempted to move his arm to shield his face, but felt the tug of cords stopping him. 

The second thing he noticed was that damn demon's voice laughing in his ear as he was roused from his sleep. He winced at hearing the horrible scratching sound, it felt like nails literally grazing across his brain. "Fuckh," he muttered to himself.

Seems as though your plan didn't go well, did it? The voice sounded cheerful as it mocked him, and it irked him, but he was too tired to fight with it this soon.

Instead, Murderface focused on the fact that the lights ahead had dimmed and then some footsteps began heading in his direction. "M'Lord," one of the Klokateers greeted. "I'm happy to see you awake, I'll go tell Abigail."

"Eh? Oh, uh okhay." Murderface muttered, trying to actually process what they had said. By the time he had figured it out, the Klokateer was already gone.

Murderface winced in pain as he shuffled uncomfortably in his bed. His neck felt like it was burning, and through the dulling memories that began to fill in the pieces, he realized what had happened, and why he was in so much pain.

"Now I juscht lookh likhe a Pickhles Ckhopyckkat," Murderface spat in annoyance with more saliva in his mouth than usual from his throat hurting too much to swallow it right now.

Abigail walked in soon after; Murderface couldn't move but he could hear the crisp click of her heels as she walked in until she actually came into his line of sight to look down at him.

"You're awake," she said in relief, and though he didn't meet her eyes, he definitely felt weird about hearing her sound so pleased about it. He was the band's fuck up, the piece of shit, the-

"You've been out since we found you earlier, so not a full day yet," she explained when she saw how blank his face looked, probably assuming that he was just confused. "Now that everyone's awake, I can breathe a little," she sighed, and Murderface frowned a little at that.

"Everyone? Scho Pickhles..." Murderface said slowly, and Abigail nodded.

"Salem, too."

"Schalem?" Murderface's pulse quickened at just hearing that name, but no emotions actually came to mind as he stared blankly at her, other than just confusion. "What happened with them?"

"They overdosed, so they're currently recovering. Probably the fastest out of you and Pickles," she stated. 

"Oh." Murderface blinked. They were all a disaster apparently, but he found himself feeling relief that no more people had pulled a dumb ass and tried harming themselves, which was weird, uncomfortable, and abnormal of Murderface's normal emotional pattern; which was usually just embarrassment, anger, and regret, much to Murderface's obnoxious self-awareness.

"Well anyway, how are you feeling? Do you need anything before I go check on something else?"

Murderface tried shaking his head but winced to the pain in his neck. "Ack... No, 'm good."

"Alright, the buzzer is there for a Klokateer, and there's another buzzer if you need me specifically," Abigail explained as she pointed out the buttons to him. "Rest up and the medicine should allow you to leave the room by tomorrow."

He definitely didn't feel like he was ready to leave the room by tomorrow, but he also knew how advanced Mordhaus was. It was just that he was in too much pain to remember that for the time being.

Murderface dozed in and out of consciousness for a while, dimly aware of the voice in his head mocking him, and the various Klokateers coming in to make sure his stupid ass was actually breathing.

But the voice started getting louder, and the feet going back and forth were starting to bother him, and the growing darkness in the room was making him feel choked up as he remembered the dark bathroom in which he tried to-

He sat up, ignoring the pull of the cords around him and the pain on the side of his neck. How pathetic was he anyway to heal this fast when it took Toki a lot longer before he could leave the hospital when he got hurt by fire- and Murderface had actually TRIED dying?

He knew why. Murderface scowled when he could practically feel the demon in his head gloating.

He pulled the cords off of him that would come off and stood up on shaky legs, feeling the blood rushing to his head and his chest hurting with his heart pounding heavily from the sudden movement. He pulled on one of the things he was still attached to in order to drag it along and shuffled toward the door, wincing as his bare feet slapped against the cold floor. 

The hallways were lit up in their normal dull lighting as Murderface stepped out into the hallways in front of him, and he shivered from the cold, wearing nothing but one of those thin hospital gowns. He didn't really know what he was doing or where he was going but just sitting alone in the dark was pure torture.

As he shuffled down the hall with only his thoughts and the demon to accompany him, Murderface tried to find maybe something to distract himself, so he decided to just head into the living room so he could just watch some T.V. He doubted people would notice he was missing, and honestly, what would they do if they did? Ground him?

Well, maybe Abigail would. She reminded him of Charles in a lot of ways because of that.

Murderface wasn't paying attention when he turned and smacked directly into a brand new chest that he hadn't expected, causing him to momentarily lose the air in his lungs and his neck to sting a bit from the impact.

As he stumbled back, his eyes met a stranger's gold ones and he felt almost rooted to the ground with a strange feeling of panic and odd familiarity in his chest, though he was pretty sure he'd never met this person.

A tall, lanky man was standing there, practically TOWERING over Murderface, who shrank back instinctively. In shock, not in fear, of course. Murderface wasn't afraid, of course not.

The man had spiky brown hair and he was quite lean but muscular, with soft tan skin. He was looking down at Murderface, and didn't seem all that surprised to see him there. There was something almost like recognition in the man's eyes that made Murderface even more uncomfortable.

"Who are you?" Murderface demanded as he took a step back. "How'd you ghet in here?"

"Maybe I should ask you the same thing." Murderface was about to protest or become defensive to the words, then realized with a start that it didn't seem to be malicious sounding or accusatory. It sounded sort of teasing and that made Murderface feel even weirder. Not to mention how raspy and deep the man's voice was; it sent shivers down his spine.

"I live here," Murderface growled. "You don't."

"Well, what can I do to move right in?" The man stepped forward and leaned against the wall nearest to them on his shoulder as he grinned, and Murderface could swear that his teeth were all sharp.

"Put in an applickhation to be a Khlokateer and if I don't burn it, maybe," Murderface snapped.

"Aww, that's no fun." The man straightened up again and held out his hand in greeting. "I'm Bones! What's your name?"

"The fuchk khinda name is that?" Murderface muttered, and glowered at the hand for a moment before he crossed his arms over his chest and stated, "Juscht ckall me Murderface."

"A name you might get to hear a lot of now," The weirdo named Bones said cheerfully. "That's an interesting name, can I call you Murr?"

Something strange tickled in the back of Murderface's mind but he couldn't figure out what it was. The strange nickname made his palms sweat and his heart start palpitating faster. "M- Murr?"

"Yeah! It's cute; works far better for you."

"I don't do cute," Murderface attempted to growl but came out as more of a breathless whisper. What was wrong with him?

"Could've fooled me with that face of yours, good sir." Smooth, smooth like butter. Murderface began to feel queasy and he felt something stirring inside of him uncomfortably, making him a little lightheaded. 

"Hey, are you-" Before Bones could finish his sentence, Murderface could feel his legs buckling underneath him and he dropped to the ground in front of this strange person, blacking out.

He didn't even notice how mysteriously quiet the demon in his head was about this interaction or rather the lack of his presence at all. 

When next Murderface had woken up from the swirling darkness and empty dreams in his head, he was back in the hospital room, reattached to everything again. He would've figured it to just be a weird dream, had it not been for the strange man standing next to his bed, seemingly chatting with someone else. He lifted his head to try and see who was there and winced at the soreness of his wound. 

The stranger turned almost immediately, eyes glinting with a strangeness that Murderface couldn't figure out or understand. The queasiness was back.

"There he is!" 'Bones' said cheerfully. "Murr, could you tell these friendly people that I did not attack you?"

A voice seemed to choke, and Murderface realized with embarrassment that everyone was in his room and it looked quite chaotic. He wondered if maybe they'd been arguing and that's what woke him up but didn't have time to wonder about anything like that.

"'Murr'? Fuckin' Murr?" Nathalia's dreadfully snarky, venomous voice filled Murderface's ears and he winced instinctively. 

"Yes, Murr," Bones said matter-of-factly.

"Is that a stupid fucking gross pet name? I know it looks like a gross pet but you shouldn't name it."

Salem's soft sigh could be heard even by Murderface, and Nathalia shot them a nasty look before turning back to glower at the bassist.

"Ah, I see, you're the annoying one," Bones said in his ever-continuous cheerful tone, which seemed to take Nathalia and basically everyone else aback. "Let Murr answer first, ma'am?"

"Don't call me ma'am, fuckhead."

"Apologies, sir."

"Lookh," Murderface said nervously before a fight broke out in the room, now was not the time for... that. He couldn't tell if Bones was sincere or sarcastic. "I juscht... wokhe up, did schome wandering, and found thisch guy wandering, too. Then I guessch I khinda passched out."

"Typical," Nathalia muttered.

Abigail brushed past the others to stand in front of Murderface's bed and put her hands on her hips. "And what made you think you could go wandering in the first place, William?"

"Ghad you schound like my grandma." Murderface sighed when she just narrowed her eyes down at him. "Lookh I juscht needed to walkh. to thinkh."

"You can't think while laying in your bed like you're supposed to be?"

"...Guessch not."

"See?" Bones grinned toothily at the rest, and he noticed that Pickles shuffled backward instinctively because of it. Wait...

"Picklesch?!" Murderface nearly shot out of bed, then winced when he felt that familiar tug on his neck.

Pickles gave an awkward smile. "Yep, it's me." Sort of behind him, Murderface saw Salem too, looking pale and ill but present. Pickles himself didn't look great either, his head was still heavily bandaged and he was attached to his own medical equipment.

But everyone was here, and everyone was together. Alive. The strange feeling of relief filled him again, yet he noticed something else bubbling up inside him. No, it wasn't from himself- he could feel the pure hostile rage coming from the demon inside of him. The anger was ignited in his head, like a flame he didn't know how to put out.

That damned monkey lives, the demon growled in his head, at the same time someone said, "So what's the deal with this weirdo, then?" Murderface was pretty sure it was Nathan who said it, but he couldn't concentrate because of the nasty voice in his head. 

"We found him in Mordhaus, and seems to pose no threat for now," Abigail explained calmly. "He doesn't seem to have any memories, and no records of his existence, so I want to keep him here to try and figure it out."

"Fine, but I'm breaking him the second he steps out of line," Nathalia growled. "Which already started off by calling me annoying."

Bones just waved her away dismissively and strode over to the side of Murderface's bed, who was sitting up fully and shifting to be as comfortable as he could possibly be with nine other people in one room, one wanting to kill him all the time and the other a complete stranger.

"You gave me quite a scare, I wasn't expecting you to fall for me so fast and so literally." Was this... was this teasing? Or-

Murderface's face burned a painfully bright red and he snapped his head a little too fast away from the other, yanking on some stitches, but he didn't care. "Eeeexchusche the gahdamn fuckh out of you?"

"Wha-" Pickles' eyes went wide from such boldness of this newcomer, and Salem looked between equally embarrassed for Murderface, and also amused. 

"Huh? I don' get it," Nathan muttered.

"'Course yew don' ya lunkhead," Pickles replied, still looking quite shocked.

"Sameses," Toki spoke up from the very back, peeking over Tobias' head, who just coughed in his fist awkwardly and turned his head.

"Fucking gross," Nathalia muttered, and all Skwisgaar did was smirk a little toward Murderface as he strummed his fingers along his guitar.

"Who are you to be talkhing likhe that to me?" Murderface stammered, trying to sound dismissive or perhaps intimidating, but his voice just came out in shaky nervousness.

"I thought it was pretty clear," came Bones' reply.

"Whoo, ya sure did," Pickles whistled and Murderface groaned, wanting to hide his face in his hand but also not wanting to because he didn't want to prove he was as flustered as he actually was. 

"If you thinkh it'sch funny to teasche schomebody, I'll have the Khlokhateersch throw you in the dungeon," Murderface warned in an embarrassing squeak, which made him loath himself extremely, more than normal.

"Trust me, you don't know what teasing is, yet." That smirk said it all, and Murderface attempted to stand again in an effort to leave. The room was spinning and his face was burning with a growing shame and anger.

"No no no, you sit," Abigail warned and Nathan shuffled forward, as he was the closest aside from Bones, to shove Murderface by the arm back onto the bed. Murderface winced slightly but didn't object, just glared silently at the floor in stubbornness.

"Abigail, can I ask you something?" Nathan asked suddenly as he turned toward her.

"Sure, Nathan."

"Are you fuckin' gay, too?"

Abigail blinked. "Uh, my sexuality is none of your business."

Nathan just muttered to himself grumpily as he scuffled back to where he was, brooding a little. Murderface couldn't imagine why, of all things, he would ask that.

"Fuck, someone flirting with Murderface willingly, I'm going to barf," Nathalia hissed.

Bones' eyes seemed to flash as he snapped his head in her direction. "Do you just do that? Walk around with that personality willingly?" He questioned. Nathalia turned to him, smoke practically coming out of her ears with how pissed she was.

"I didn't fucking ask someone who has such low standards they'd go after Murder-fucking-face!"

"Honey you must have mistaken me for someone who would flirt with you," Bones said dryly. 

"Don't call me honey you fucking ugly, brainless, piece of shit!"

"Sorry bee vomit, but if you don't want an opinion, you shouldn't say such idiotic things where others can hear."

"Low standards, huh? Someone's projecting," Salem's voice interrupted from the background, and Nathalia turned to seemingly yell at them, but Murderface didn't care.

"Why the fuckh are you even here?" Murderface demanded over her voice, stopping Nathalia and making her whirl on him.

"I fucking had to because Abigail wanted a meeting," she hissed through gritted teeth, "even though I literally already know."

"You're listening to it again," Abigail replied, sort of relieved that somehow a fight hadn't broken out yet. 

"We're sailing out on Mordhaus to find Magnus and anyone else behind the attack on Charles."

"Wait, we can drive Mordhaus?" Nathan asked.

"That's what I asked!" Nathalia exclaimed.

Abigail sighed a little. "Yes, you can steer Mordhaus, we just need a way to move her into actual water and off of the land."

"Whoa," was Nathan's reply.

"Anyway, as we set sail as soon as possible, which is probably sometime today, guess what else is starting?" She looked over at Nathalia. "This is why you had to be here."

"What?" Nathalia looked blankly at her like she couldn't follow along with what was happening. Most likely because she chose not to.

"That rehab thing I mentioned? Yeah, it's happening."

There was collective groaning from the audience.

"We haven't even fucking drank since that party!" Nathan roared as he attempted to pick up a couch and realized it was bolted into the floor, probably exactly for this reason, so he stubbornly took the cushions off and flung them at the opposite wall in a rage. One hit a glass jar and it smashed onto the floor. They bounced harmlessly off of the wall, otherwise.

"Yes but this is more of a therapy AND rehab type of session. There's a lot of inner fighting I want to fix between you guys. I want to dig deep into your guys' cores and see if we can't figure out how to heal the parts of you that use drugs and alcohol as an escape." She looked at each one's face, resting on Pickles' the longest. "Even if you don't necessarily use alcohol as an escape, it'll be good for you to learn to open up and not drink so heavily. You'll be in completely different rooms while we sail, but will come together for group therapy."

"You understand real Rehab has never worked for me, right?" Nathalia rolled her eyes.

"Well, this isn't normal Rehab, Nathalia." Abigail's eyes were a lot colder than normal.

"What about our plan once we get uh, to wherever the fuck we're going?" Nathan demanded.

"I'll tell you when the time comes because there's still the issue of the traitor Klokateer running around, and I don't want to reveal too much. The only people that know about anything definitively are you guys and me, and I expect it'll stay that way."

There was an ominous cackling in Murderface's head that made him visibly wince, and Nathalia wasted no time in jumping at the opportunity.

"What's the face for, pug face?" Nathalia demanded. "Upset because of some traitorous plan over there?"

"Fuckh off," Murderface muttered without any real malice, just feeling weary from everything happening.

Tobias sort of raised his hand awkwardly until Abigail nodded toward him. "Do I have to be a part of this rehab since I don't really drink or do anything that excessively?" He asked quietly.

"You don't have to participate but if you want to be there as emotional support, I'll let you go in and out as you please."

Tobias nodded in response, looking slightly relieved.

"Shouldn't it just be uh, Pickles, Nathalia, and Salem, really?" Nathan pointed out. "The rest of us can handle our shit."

Abigail shook her head. "The only one who doesn't have an insistent craving for it is Tobias. The rest of you get drunk or high all the time and it's mostly because you guys have a lot of bottled-up problems you don't talk about, because everything topples over into an emotional mess with too much or not enough of it. This is more to make you talk, while also cutting you off of the crap, so you have to actually come to terms with the real problem instead of hiding and deflecting and hurting each other as a result. You can talk to me when you can be both drunk and cooperative."

"Yeah that sounds great and all, but I think I'm good on therapy," Salem muttered. Nathalia seemed to glance over at the shorter one before turning back to Abigail.

"Fine, whatever, I'll do it, can I just leave this stupid room now?"

Abigail nodded and Nathalia immediately brushed past everyone to slam the door behind her with hostility.

"She seems to be a fantastic person," Bones stated. "If being terrible was an admirable goal."

"Nots the only douchebags in this groups," Skwisgaar muttered, and unfortunately nobody could argue with that, not even the new guy or Abigail. Murderface scowled and looked at the floor with the shame squeezing his throat; he knew that was toward him.

Abigail closed her eyes for a moment and inhaled deeply through her nose, before letting it out slowly. Then she said to Bones, "That's Nathalia. There have been some... problems between her and Murr-Murderface."

"What she's mad at Murderface for, doesn't even fucking matter anymore," Salem's voice muttered. "Because she turned around and tried to fuck him afterward, anyway."

Murderface held back a flinch and just stared at the window beside his bed, looking out of Mordhaus. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Pickles putting a hand on their shoulder, and he wondered if they had made up and were 'back together' again, or if they were even previously considered dating, to begin with.

"Hmm?" Bones didn't seem all that surprised about this information, even with his questioning hum. "I would say I don't understand why she'd fuck someone she hates," he spoke thoughtfully, "but that'd be a lie. Hate-fucking is a rush sometimes."

"Okay change of subject," Abigail said quickly, "You'll have til the end of the day to gather things from your room and as long as they're approved, you can take them with you."

"This feels more like a mental hospital visit," Salem said. "It's all in the same fucking house/boat thing. Are we allowed to have pens or are you worried we'll gauge out our eyes?"

"Yes but this way I know you're not sneaking out anywhere. And I would hope I can trust you all with pens. I don't expect any of you to start acting maniacal and dangerous to yourself and others, but I can put you on suicide watch if you think it'll happen," Abigail shrugged.

"Ckome on, isch it even your buschinessch what our problemsch are or why we drinkh?" Murderface demanded.

"Yes, because I'm getting quite tired of the drama every time someone has a trigger and doesn't know how to properly manage it because they can't even figure out what their triggers are," Abigail replied. "And because Charles also wanted this for you guys, and I have to respect his wishes. And because we need to start normalizing open communication around here so you all don't keep clamming up."

Murderface could only grunt in response.

"Am I allowed to watch alongside that bearded person?" Bones questioned as he gestured to Tobias.

"Ehm..." Abigail looked a little troubled for some reason. "Probably not since we don't really know anything about you unless they agree that you can. And I doubt Nathalia would, since she doesn't seem to like you. But we'll see."

As the rest of the group continued to talk, Murderface's eyes rested on Pickles again, who was looking quite tired, but more socially aware than he'd been probably for a long time. His eyes darted over and caught Murderface's, making the latter wince. Images of him falling directly in front of the other made his stomach squeeze uncomfortably, and he looked away. He noticed that Bones was still staring at him with an odd level of interest that also made him uncomfortable.

It was weird because the way this guy spoke to him, almost made it seem like they had talked before, or even that he knew Murderface. Because nobody else knew how to get under his skin like that. Maybe he was just that good with flirting; but why flirt with Murderface of all people? And despite being embarrassed and a little angry as a byproduct of that, he didn't feel angry... toward this person? Just angry in general, maybe just from frustration or embarrassment, but not because Bones seemed disingenuous. He definitely acted like the blunt type. 

More than that, however, it just felt normal, in a weird way, for Bones to be like this. Almost like he was already used to it. When staring at him though, nothing came to mind about who this person could be.

The demon in his head hissed. Pathetic, he snarled, but Murderface couldn't understand exactly why he said it, or who he was saying it to. The rage from the demon felt almost consuming though, and he began shutting his eyes and rubbing his head sorely to try and minimize this weird achy feeling. It was like being severely overstimulated.

Something shifted next to him and he opened his eyes slowly and unwillingly, seeing that Bones was now directly next to him, leaning back on the bed with his palms. "You alright, my friend?" Bones asked with a grin, and Murderface's mind seemed to break for a moment. What with the demon exploding into an aggressive fit, and the way Murderface's stomach fluttered when being near this, this weirdo, and with the sounds of two children playing in the back of his mind as fragmented memories that he didn't even recognize, the bassist had had enough.

Gripping his hair in tight fists, he buckled forward with his knees to his chest and shouted, "No, I'm not alright!" 

At the same time that he had shouted this, the sink that was on the other side of his room began to creak loudly, and the faucet seemed to pop off like a toothpaste cap, and water began to rush out, spurting all over the place. The multicolored poster on the wall behind it reflected off of the water and made it look red like blood almost.

The sounds died down, and everyone was staring between Murderface and the faucet. The demon had grown silent, except for the buildup of slow pride that began to roll off of the evil creature in waves, and Murderface felt horrified. Did he cause that, or did the demon? Either way, what did it mean for him?

Had he finally lost this fight?

"Let's give Murderface some more rest for a while," Abigail said quietly, beginning to usher out the rest of the group, who all looked back at least once or twice to look at the pitiful creature that was Murderface in shock, or maybe a rare concern. But he didn't want their pity, and he didn't want to be stared at like he was a freak... even if he was.

Bones was the only one who didn't leave. In fact, he leaned forward with his elbows resting on his knees so he could somewhat match Murderface's stance. This irritated him, and he looked up to yell at him to leave too, but those eyes were so smothering, like they were engulfing him, and something anxiety-inducing stirred within him, causing him to dart his eyes away.

"Who are you," Murderface mumbled, "really?"

"I told you, I'm Bones."

Murderface's palms felt sweaty, and he wiped them on his gown roughly. "Why are you here?"

"Why not?"

Murderface pursed his lips, it was obvious that nothing was coming out of this conversation. As he straightened up, ready to ask Abigail to take Bones out of the room, his arm brushed against the other's and he felt something red hot burning inside of him again, forcing him to lurch forward once more from the pain in his head and chest.

Bones' grip on his shoulder to keep him steady just felt like it was enhancing the burning feeling, and he felt like his stomach was doing flips like he was ready to throw up all over the floor. He made a half-gagging, half-choking sound in the back of his throat, trying to keep himself together so he didn't puke all over the place. The pain was similar to a fire growing larger and stronger before the presence of the demon seemed to disappear altogether, and so went the burning sensation slowly but surely.

Murderface relaxed slightly once the pain had gone, and noticed just how warm the other's hand was on his shoulder. Bones' tight grip had lessened the second Murderface's muscles had loosened up but was still holding it in place there, and Murderface didn't like that.

"Ghet off," he hissed as he shrugged off the touch, and Bones didn't object to it, just dropping his hand to the bed once more.

"Are you alright?" Bones asked, and Murderface shrugged a little.

"Yeah, great, whatever. Ckan you juscht... leave, too?"

"Will do, good sir," Bones said as he stood up from the bed almost immediately. "Though I have no idea where I'm supposed to go!" His laugh was scratchy, and Murderface flinched at the sharpness.

"I can find room for you if you'll follow me," Abigail stated. "And any time you leave the room, you'll be accompanied by Klokateers until we can figure out where you came from and why you're here."

"Fine by me," Bones said cheerfully as he stretched out his arms to the sky, his golden-colored eyes blazing with a certain liveliness that Murr just couldn't understand at the moment. "Perhaps I'll see you later, Murr!"

"Yeah, uh huh," Murderface mumbled as he watched the last two people file out. 

And then he was alone again, with a broken faucet and a sinking feeling in his chest. 

~~~

The second the Klokateers released him from the stupid medical room, Murderface was speeding off toward his room with absolutely zero intentions to talk to anybody, especially that Bones person. The halls were as silent as his head because the demon hadn't come back since initially leaving. Where could he go, anyway? Why did he even choose to live in Murderface's head for such long amounts of time, if he could just go whenever he wanted to?

As per usual, luck was not on Murderface's side as he neared his room, as he saw several shadows in the dim light right next to his room. He slowed his steps until he realized it was just more Klokateers, then quickened his pace again.

"What?" He asked grumpily as he reached them.

"M'Lord, we're here to help pack whatever you want before you move into the other room," one of the Klokateers spoke as he stepped aside to let Murderface into his room. 

"Ckan I bring my knife?"

"No, afraid not."

"Schtupid," Murderface muttered as he stepped into his room. There was nothing of real interest he wanted to bring with him that he knew would actually be allowed, so he just threw some books and extra clothes at them to stuff into a bag; not that it mattered, if need be all he'd have to do is just ask them to buy more while actually doing the stupid rehab thing. But he supposed this was easier.

"Would you like to see your new room and maybe settle into it?"

"Schoundsch a lot like 'you're moving in right now' to me."

The Klokateers just shuffled nervously on their feet and led the way to the room without responding. Murderface just sighed and followed them begrudgingly. As he walked deeper into the citadel with only the flickering lights, soft footsteps, and permanently scowling statue gargoyles keeping him company for the most part, he could feel a stirring inside of him that he knew all too well, and he groaned internally.

After turning a corner, Murderface noticed the giant metal double doors in front of them with a keycard slot to open them set on the right side of the doors. The Klokateer in front pulled out a dull green card and swiped it before a loud beep sounded off and the doors slowly opened on their own. After some more long hallways, these brightened up by fluorescent lights overhead, Murderface came across several sets of doors, five on each side and facing each other.

Nathan was already there with black paint on his hands as he dove into a bucket and pulled out globs of it, smacking it onto his door. Apparently, this man had never heard of a paintbrush in his life. The paint splattered and large droplets splashed toward Murderface, who jumped back in time to avoid the mess on his clothes. His shoulder smacked into something and he turned his head, seeing Pickles with his hands raised almost in defense.

"Heyy careful," Pickles warned as he scooted past the bassist, with his own Klokateers following after him. 

"Short stack coming through," Salem announced behind the Klokateers, and Murderface faintly noticed the blond hair bobbing through. He was surprised to see that Salem had cut all of their black ends off, leaving just spiky blond hair. He didn't even realize that was their natural hair color until the roots had started growing in. Murderface was also surprised by how fast the hair seemed to be growing.

As Salem shuffled past Murderface's little group, their eyes passed over each other. Salem just gave a short nod and turned their head again to watch where they were going.

Pickles chose the room at the farthest end on the right, next to two more double doors that probably led into their gay little meeting place, presumably by the official-looking papers on the front and the fact that it said "MEETING" in big bold letters at the top. Group therapy, how fun. This was the stupidest idea ever, but at least it wasn't like other alcohol groups that resorted to Christianity.

Salem chose the room next to Pickles' of course. As they were talking to the Klokateers, Pickles' hand brushed against Salem's skin and though Salem flinched, they didn't reject the contact. This seemed to appease the redhead enough before they both went into their own rooms.

The door to Nathan's room was painted actually pretty well for such... primitive methods, and eventually, he stumbled off to the door that was on the left closest to the exit. Murderface could see that it was a bathroom, where Nathan proceeded to blacken the entire sink as he washed his hands off as best as he could.

As Nathan was coming out of the bathroom, Nathalia was just coming in from the entrance. Nathan only grunted in perhaps an acknowledging or maybe apologetic response to her ramming her face into his arm, heading back toward his new room.

Nathalia walked past Murderface and didn't even spare him a glance, which he found quite relieving in comparison to the constant harassment she dished out. It was a surprise when she didn't choose to set up her room next to Nathan's but rather at the end, on the opposite side of Pickles'.

"Sir, should we find you a room before the good ones are taken?" The Klokateer asked. What good ones? He would be surrounded by people who hated him on all sides.

"I'll juscht wait," Murderface muttered as he shuffled to the side so he wouldn't be as in the way of the others.

After a few, long painful minutes, and Murderface was about to give up and agree to a random room, the doors opened again and in filed Toki, who seemed surprised to see Murderface just standing there, waiting.

"What's you ams waitings for?" Toki questioned, but before Murderface could answer, the door to Nathalia's room popped open and she called out to him.

"Toki, come get the room next to mine!" It was the one nestled between hers and Nathan's at the end.

"Oh, okays!" He looked slightly surprised, then waved goodbye to Murderface before heading that way.

Then Skwisgaar came in, noticing the bathroom and scoffing, saying something about only dildos would take the rooms next to the bathroom, and chose the room on the right, next to Salem's room.

And Murderface chose the room right across the bathroom, at least one room between him and everyone else. Where he felt he belonged. The Klokateers then left him to his own devices.

The room had almost nothing except a bed with fleece blankets, a small desk, and a drawer for clothes. He had his own personal bathroom with a sink that had very little pressure, a shower stall in the corner with a fixed showerhead and some 'edible shampoo and conditioner', whatever the fuck that meant, and of course a toilet. Apparently, there was a blow dryer instead of a towel.

"Damn, they really don't truscht usch," Murderface mumbled as he started heading out of the bathroom. "At leascht we fuckhing get blanketsch."

"This is actually a place for Klokateers." The voice made him jump, and he glanced up to see Abigail standing there, watching him. She was practically a carbon copy of Charles, sometimes. "Some of them get quite... stressed out," she continued to explain. "Charles eventually figured instead of letting them go crazy and having to hire new Klokateers, he would try helping them through therapy... or rehab. The way the rooms are set up is because of that, nothing to do with not trusting you guys. I did order you guys some of those blankets and that blow dryer at least. Blow dryers are actually better than towels anyway- these ones self-sanitize." Ah yes, the power of Dethklok technology.

Murderface folded his arms across his chest. "I doubt you schtill truscht me, though."

Abigail smiled a little and didn't agree with, or deny the accusation. Instead, she said, "The meeting room is where you get food or if you want to do an activity, other than the therapy sessions."

"Do you honeschtly think thisch isch gonna work?" Murderface asked, partially out of curiosity.

Abigail's smile faltered. "I'm not sure," she admitted, "especially knowing my band. But for everyone's sake, I hope so."

Murderface grunted his response, and Abigail turned to leave. Just as she reached the door and placed her hand on the knob though, she turned back and asked, "Do you know Bones, personally?"

Murderface winced at the sound of that name. "No," he responded. "The weirdo juscht schowed up and ckhalled me Murr."

"Hmm, well, he seems to, hm, have taken a 'liking' to you, I guess I could describe it?" She turned for a moment to look at him with something in her eyes that Murderface couldn't fathom; he just knew there was something more than what she was leading on. "So if I allow him to be a part of these meetings, or at least sleep in one of the extra rooms at the very least, could you watch him for me? He likes to disappear a lot, I'm finding. And I have too much on my plate and not enough time, or Klokateers, to go searching for the guy."

"Lockh him up in the dungeonsch?" Murderface offered. When Abigail shook her head, he sighed a little. He knew this was less of a question and more of a 'this is your problem now, whether you like it or not'. He wasn't sure if she was planning anything but it sounded like she was if he had anything to say about it.

"Why do I have to, why ckan't the othersch?" Murderface demanded.

Abigail pursed her lips. "Because if he does like you, and he's hiding anything, you'd probably be the first one he tells," she said softly. "If he's not hiding anything, he'll at least hopefully stay somewhat in line with you around. He's quite... eccentric."

"Scho I've noticed. Fine, whatever." Murderface didn't really like this, and felt like Abigail was really pressuring him specifically for an entirely different reason; after all, her job was to 'protect them', and it wasn't very 'protect-y' of her to make him in charge of someone who could very well be obsessed with him because he wanted to murder the bassist. After all, he generally wasn't very... liked.

But wasn't death what he wanted, anyway? What did it matter if this weirdo was the one who did the job right?

The Demon seemed to sense his thoughts as he seemed to appear inside Murderface's head and curled around him with the anger and hatred that he felt earlier when thinking of, or just being near, Bones. What specifically about this guy was setting off the creature in his head?

Once Abigail had bid him farewell and left his room silently with a small click behind her as the door shut, Murderface settled on his bed with two books in his shaking fists, feeling the normal queasiness he felt when the demon in his head became enraged. But what else was there to do in this damning place?

~~~

Murderface flipped through the pages again in frustration for about the third time. What was Charles trying to tell him, that he knew that Murderface practically made a deal with the devil? Well great, dead guy, but how does it get fixed? Murderface thought with a sigh. Most of the book was just talking about the different types of possessions and he didn't even know which one this technically was, just that it was tearing him apart, and maybe consuming him at the same time. How would he be able to figure it out at this rate?

He grunted, setting down the book and heading toward the door, tentatively pushing on the door. Surprisingly it popped open; the clicking noise must have just been the sheer size of the door and the way it closed. This annoyed him. All this time reading when he could have been wandering or eating something?

Popping his head out first to make sure nobody was around, Murderface slowly shuffled out of the room awkwardly, wincing as his movements still pulled on the stitches of his wounds every so often. They no longer needed to be bandaged 24/7 to allow them to air out for a while, so the cold and stagnant air seemed to sting the more tender pieces of flesh. And the wound looked so big and so ugly. Like him.

Murderface walked into the partial meeting room, part kitchen, part whatever-the-hell else, and almost immediately turned on his heels to walk back out when he saw Pickles and Salem talking quietly to each other at one of the tables on the right side of the room. Almost. He instead twisted sideways to turn and then paused his motions.

He didn't really want to deal with that situation right now, and it wasn't even his situation to deal with, but he hesitated nonetheless in the doorway. He couldn't really hear them though and they hadn't noticed him yet either, so after almost a minute of debate, he turned all the way around to leave the room.

Then his face smacked into the arm and shoulder of someone else and he already knew who it was before even looking up at the face. But Murderface looked up at him nonetheless- which felt weird, since he wasn't short but felt short around this person- and the smoldering golden embers felt so suffocating that he actually made a bit of a choking sound. Those big, round eyes were staring back at him with a such impossible intensity that it felt like being burned into ash from the inside out.

Murderface half-stepped back, half-stumbled in surprise, which caught the attention of the other two.

"Murderface?" Pickles questioned, and Murderface winced. He wanted to lash out, yell at him to fuck off, and tell Bones off for surprising him- but all that came out was a squeak.

"So sorry there for scaring you," Bones said in his ever-irritating cheerful tone. He was wearing a loose black shirt and a pair of gray jeans with holes in them. The Klokateers, or Abigail, probably found him some new clothes to have.

Murderface wanted to argue that he hadn't gotten scared, but the searing pain in his head was making it difficult to concentrate on basically anything. He teetered on his feet for a bit and Bones hovered his hand under Murderface's elbow to presumably catch him if he fell over. The demon in his head hissed.

We must get rid of it, the voice snarled in a tone so full of venom and hatred that it made Murderface outwardly flinch.

Bones seemed to take this as a different kind of signal and dropped his hand away from the bassist. "You have a habit of stumbling into me," Bones mused instead, with a twinkle in those wild eyes that made him look always unhinged in some way, "and then becoming tongue-tied."

"I'm not really usched to running into giantsch I don't know wherever I gho," Murderface spoke with a mix of dryness and soft wariness that didn't seem to go unnoticed by the stranger.

"Your tone is so strange," Bones commented as he pressed a finger lightly on Murderface's forehead. He would've winced anyway from being touched, but the burning sensation from the demon made him recoil like he was being slapped and ended up bumping into Pickles, who had apparently been creeping up behind in cautious curiosity.

So Murderface jerked back from the redhead as well, and he felt his throat closing, choking him some more as he backed away from the both of them. He felt almost like they had been trapping him, but once he had stepped out from between them, he saw that they weren't following him and the anxious feeling was beginning to lower in his stomach.

They were following him with their eyes though, the both of them watching as Murderface tripped over one of those stupid metal chairs behind him. He felt himself falling hard on the floor, scattering some of them with a noisy screech and he swore a little, wincing as the stitches were pulled again.

"Uh, yew good?" Pickles asked as he looked at the other pensively. Murderface just jerked his head away and mumbled to himself without saying anything that actually made sense, his face burning a bright red. Bones stepped forward and offered his hand to Murderface, forcing the other to look back at them; all he wanted to do was bat it away and scream at them to leave him alone. So why did he automatically reach for the other's grasp and allow himself to be pulled up with such surprising strength, bumping into his chest lightly with his own.

"We really have to stop greeting like this so constantly," Bones teased lightly as he released his grip on the other. "Just bumping into each other."

I'll make it my life's work to make sure this isn't a habit, Murderface thought to himself, and then realized that the demon was gone again when his thoughts hadn't been mocked by it. Something about Bones just really seemed to piss off the demon; and he was starting to wonder with surprising clarity- now that he could think to himself for five seconds- that maybe the pain he was feeling wasn't just the rage from the creature but the pain that it was also feeling.

Hell, maybe he would turn this into a habit just for peace of mind's sake. Since apparently, Bones was a natural demon repeller.

The obnoxiously warm touch was pricking Murderface's skin, and only then did he realize he still hadn't let go of Bones yet, so he jerked his hand back instinctively like he'd gotten burned. "Gotta go," was all he could manage before he shuffled out of the room.

"I'll see you later, Murr!" Bones called back, making Murderface flinch before the door shut behind him, separating him from that strange... thing.

As he wandered back into his room sullenly, he saw the book was opened and he frowned a little. He was quite sure that he had closed the book, but everything made it so difficult to remember things like that anymore. It was like mindlessly living in a shell of his former self, not quite there to actually process his own movements, which were equal to that of a robot just going through the motions.

Murderface sat on the bed and went to close the book when he noticed the specific page and caught himself reading it.

The Half-Man.

. . .

A few hours earlier...

"So you can't tell me anything but expect me to trust that you only have good intentions, here?" Abigail asked with her eyebrows furrowed.

"Yes." Bones watched from the darkness of her office, those golden eyes smoldering and brooding, the aura of darkness surrounding him. Nothing like the cheerful, childlike attitude from earlier. "Because I know everything, and I'm the only one who can keep it together, for now."

Abigail seemed momentarily taken aback, squinting at him slightly. "Explain what you know."

"I know Charles. He and I actually go way back. I also know what he is. I know the prophecy. I know what's happening with William. And I'm the only one who can keep him safe."

"But you can't tell me anything else? We can't know anything?"

"No, nobody can, not even them. Not from me." Bones' eyes darted toward the window nearby, looking out at the sky with his head full of things Abigail would not be able to comprehend at this point. "All I can do is repel the outside forces that are trying to break them, but I can't stop them from breaking themselves. That's your job to fix, right? But if you become one of those outside forces, you won't like me." Bones looked back at her evenly, and Abigail shivered, knowing how much of a threat he could actually pose if she rejected him right here and now. Perhaps not kill her, but something that she would rather not deal with.

"I'm keeping an eye on you, but for now... do what you must. If it looks like you're sabotaging, I-"

"Please love, you couldn't kill me," Bones spoke smoothly, but smiled while saying so. "Luckily, I cannot kill you either, and I don't want to. But feel free to watch, for I have nothing to hide."

The mannerism between the Bones previously and this Bones was quite jarring, but even if it was only a display of character, Abigail did not feel threatened by this switch. He seemed genuine enough and she hoped her gut was right.

"Very well."

Chapter Text

"How has your first night been for you all?" Abigail sat with her leg crossed over the other as she studied everyone who sat in front of her in their respective seats around a circular table.

"Please don't tell me that you'll be our therapist," Salem said dryly as they leaned back in their seat. They were at the edge of the table, seated a little further away than the rest. Pickles was the closest to them, obscuring Nathan's eyes so he couldn't see what Salem's face looked like. They were the least excited to be here, surprisingly enough. Despite Salem previously seeming a lot more mature to handle this (generally speaking), now they just had their arms across their chest like a stubborn toddler (at least that's what it looked like). Nathalia even looked like she was embracing it a lot easier, but Nathan wouldn't trust her to handle it with genuine maturity. Those dark eyes were gleaming like she was plotting. She sat next to Toki, who was between her and Pickles.

"Is it a problem if I am?" Abigail raised her eyebrow. 

"Aren't you supposed to be steering this fucking boat?" This was true because Abigail was one of the only ones technically allowed to steer Mordhaus. None of the Klokateers were given permission. Nathan was the other one allowed to drive Mordhaus as long as he followed the path set, but he couldn't because he was in 'rehab'.

Earlier, when they had officially set sail before the meeting started, just the jostle of putting Mordhaus into gear sent nearly everyone off their feet (except Bones). The fact that the citadel was supposedly driving at a quicker-than-average pace consistently was a terrifying concept. Let alone that the captain wasn't even watching where they were going.

Abigail pulled up from her lap, a screen panel with a bunch of dials and buttons on the front. Nathan supposed it had something to do with seeing where they were going and controlling it to a certain extent. "Solved. Any other issue?"

"You also already know too much, and I don't feel like letting my brain get picked at," Salem replied, "when it's irrelevant."

"Is it irrelevant, Salem?"

"Yep."

"I guess we'll see about that. Perhaps we should start with you, then?"

Salem seemed taken aback, snapping their head back slightly. "I'm good."

Nathalia snorted but otherwise didn't say anything. Everyone could tell that the friendship was falling apart, but Nathan couldn't judge that. Despite the amount of big talk from Nathalia, she couldn't hold a flame to her words at all - but chose to have a lot of empty words to say. Whereas Salem's stubbornness was both killing them and getting on multiple nerves. All they seemed to do was highlight the worst parts of each other. How did they last this long as friends?

Better yet, why did everything seem so fine for the two until... Murderface fell into the picture?

Even worse, Nathan couldn't judge because he was equally stubborn as Salem and as empty as Nathalia's words. He nearly ruined his friendship with Pickles for petty reasons and generally being uncommunicative. And also ruined his relationship with Charles through, well... multiple ways. Mostly stubbornness.

Nathan had tuned out of the conversation until he heard his name being called. He jerked to attention with surprise, noticing a few people had started staring at him. Pickles' head was craned to look at his best friend; he smiled awkwardly at the other when their eyes met. Skwisgaar, sitting next to him on the other side, was also turned to look at him.

Murderface, who was pretty much by himself on the far end opposite of Salem, was watching from the side of his eye though it was still noticeable to the brute singer. He noticed Nathalia purposely avoiding his stare, and Toki decided to drop his head and let his hair fall over his face. Like he was trying to hide from Nathan's searching gaze.

Abigail's sharp eyes were piercing through Nathan's head, and he couldn't help but straighten up, though he met her gaze unflinchingly.

"Huh?" He grunted, slightly annoyed that he was being stared at.

"You weren't listening to what we were saying, were you, Nathan?" Abigail sighed.

"Uhhhhhhhhh," was all Nathan could say.

"I said I want everyone to cooperate because I believe we can all agree that we're all sick of the drama. But especially when we all need to join forces to stop those trying to hurt you all and those who killed Charles."

Nathan's lips pursed as the nightmare of Charles' broken body filled his mind once more, and all he could muster was a grunt of acknowledgment. However, Abigail didn't seem willing to let up on him as she had with Salem, apparently (noted by the fact that they looked relieved to be left alone, their face now slightly in view).

"Maybe as the leader of Dethklok, you can go first?" Abigail questioned.

The pit inside of Nathan seemed to roar like a lion before it was quieted by the numbing sensation that crept through him. He hated this. At least when he repressed his emotions before, it was a choice. Was this how Charles felt? Was he also equally unable to control this desensitized coldness that seized his limbs like hypothermia? Did he also once feel as though he were at peace when drowning in all that was supposed to be painful toward him?

"What's there to say?" Nathan's voice sounded dull to his ears despite the gruffness. "Nothing."

"C'mon Nathan, what did I just say-"

"I heard you." Nathan stared into her eyes, eerily calm with the deadened sensation continuing to circulate through him. "Go bother someone else first, and then we'll talk."

"Why can't we talk now?" Abigail's searching gaze felt like she was pushing him under the water. "If there's not much to say, get it out now."

"You already know." Nathan's bitter tone reverberated through the room, making him feel self-conscious. "Don't have a bad past. Don't have a traumatic backstory. This is just the way I am. I don't, uh, drink to ignore shit."

"Hmm. Why don't we talk about one thing I know that does bug you, then?"

Here we go, she wants to talk about Charles, Nathan thought with a cold lump in his chest.

However, before Nathan could even say anything, Abigail said, "what about your emotions?"

Nathan choked a little on his saliva in surprise. "Uhh- huh?"

"You've always been pretty reserved, right? How about as a kid?"

"I mean, yeah, I guess, whatever," Nathan mumbled, staring hard at the woman in front of him. "What's your point?"

"What about your anger issues?"

"I don't have anger issues!"

"You tried throwing a ckouch yeschterday," Murderface spoke dryly.

"And it was bolted tew da floor because yew t'row shit a lot," Pickles pointed out.

"Whatever, shut up, both of you," Nathan growled. "So maybe I do have anger issues. Maybe as a kid, too. So what?"

"Have you ever thought that maybe you use alcohol to relax for once or that you use it to keep your anger under control?" Abigail pressed, and Nathan stiffened.

"Shouldn't you be the one that knows that?"

"Not if you don't talk to me. What do you expect when you drink?"

"To, uh, get drunk?"

"And?"

"That's it, get drunk and party. Have fun, I guess." Nathan shrugged; he was getting annoyed.

"But do you genuinely have fun when you drink?"

"More fun than this bullshit."

"What about as a kid? Did you drink when you were younger?"

"Probably?"

"Can you tell me why you felt the need to-"

"Oh my Gods, I don't know!" Nathan closed his eyes as his breathing became erratic from the irritation of these constant questions. "I was a goddamn kid who probably just wanted some fun, so why the fuck do I care what I thought back then?"

"Maybes she ams sayinks that you wasn'ts funs without the drinks," Skwisgaar drawled as he strummed his fingers along his guitar, and Nathan stared daggers at the blond. "To be fairs, you amenst very funs anymore. Stupids big baby dildoes."

"Skwisgaar, stop. We only support each other here," Abigail chastised.

"I ams," Skwisgaar argued. "I calls him big baby dildoes, he stops beings big baby dildoes."

Abigail sighed and decided to ignore the guitarist. "Were you always struggling with expressing yourself, Nathan?"

"Huh?"

"Your emotions. Did you always repress them, even as a kid?"

"I mean, it's pretty gay to show feelings." Nathan's eyes were trained on the floor, his face burning a little from the attention he was getting.

"So you've been training to repress yourself since you were a kid?"

"This is stupid. I hate this." Nathan stood up in preparation to leave, ignoring that everyone was staring at him now. "Nothing I did as a kid made me who I am today."

"That's a blatant lie, Nathan, for everyone," Abigail argued. Nathan just stalked off to the corner of the room to sit in one of the other unused chairs near the back. He refused to look at the others, opting instead to stare down at his tapping foot. "If you've always had a problem struggling with emotions-"

"Maybe I have, maybe not, it's none of your business."

"That would honestly be the lamest way to be repressed and emotionally stunted. Because you just 'grew up like that' because you thought it was gay." Nathalia spoke with such dismissive snarkiness that Nathan came rushing back in primitive, stumbling glory two seconds later with his nostrils flaring at her.

"I didn't ask for your bitch ass opinion."

Nathalia shrugged. "Everyone here pretty much has trauma except you. Even pig nose and pretty boy, but you're asking for sympathy from your story."

Murderface winced automatically at the sound of Nathalia's voice, not unnoticed by Nathan who could see from the corner of his eye. Skwisgaar looked proud. "Pretty boys?"

"Not a compliment from Nat," Salem muttered in a low whisper. 

Nathan, meanwhile, was amazed by the audacity. "You're a fucking id, idiot. You're mad because I didn't say something edgy and traumatic enough?"

"I'm not a fucking idiot; I just happen to know pain better than you ever would," Nathalia sneered. "I know more pain than any of you." Her finger jabbed in everyone's direction with her hair whipping around in a maniacal fashion.

Salem snorted with laughter.

"Shut the fuck up, junkie," Nathalia spat.

"That's the most privileged shit I've ever fucking heard come from your mouth," Salem replied. "Your struggles don't invalidate other people's struggles. If you think it does, it's because you don't know enough about trauma to understand how little comparing it matters."

"I wasn't saying that! I was only saying it probably doesn't have a place here. Isn't that being competitive?"

"Yeah, what you said is invalidating his struggles and telling him they're not important enough to bring up." Salem rolled their eyes. "And you're always doing that shit. Being competitive then calling everyone else competitive."

"Whatever." Nathalia dropped back in her chair in annoyance. However, a fire had started under Nathan as he loomed over her. He didn't give a shit about her and Salem's beef right now. He had his own itch that needed scratching the second the two stopped whining.

"What made you think I even wanted symphony?" Nathan growled. Nathalia smirked. "Sym- symph- pathy. I'm not a goddamn bitchy emo like you. You call yourself metal and brutal but all you do is fucking whine and ask everyone why they haven't noticed you being pat- pathetic yet."

"Alright, that's enough," Abigail spoke up, finally. She moved around the table quickly to stand between the two once Nathalia had clambered onto her feet, blocking them from getting closer to each other. That was fine with Nathan. He didn't want her anywhere near him.

"A fucking emo huh, but your friend almost killed himself, and he's not?" Nathalia screeched, her voice high-pitched with venom and anger, her eyes wild with something wicked and unexplainable that almost seemed to make Nathan feel sick. This didn't feel like the Nathalia that he had first met. She had gone from excitedly bragging and trying to act cool to now making an ass of herself in front of everyone, only to cry and play the victim about it. Yet, this version of Nathalia seemed the most... 'real' version of her. No playing up on her actions to sound cool or badass. There was no trying to be subtle in the most obvious ways possible. Here, Nathan could actually see a person who had as many self-loathing, crybaby, victimizing tendencies as Murderface had. Someone who started shit but couldn't finish it. Someone who never knew when to stop when they were already running the opposite way on a racetrack.

"All you've done lately is fucking complain," Nathan snarled. "You fucking complain about Murderface always being annoying and causing problems, but you don't do anything 'xcept start shit ever since he and Salem did whatever-the-fuck. Or you've gotten pissed at every single one of us for just tolater- tolet- dealing with his stupid shit, but you can't even follow your own, uh, advice, and leave him alone. You straight up fucked him, or whatever; tried to. At this point, I think you're just jealous he liked Salem before you."

"Fucking gross. I've always hated that ugly pig-nosed piece of shit, even when I watched you guys play on T.V. before we became a band ourselves," Nathalia hissed.

"Then what's your reason for fucking someone you find disgusting?" Nathan spat. 

"It's none of your fucking business."

"No, no," Salem spoke up as they leaned back in their chair with one thin leg folded over the other, staring at Nathalia even as she whipped around to glare at the other. "Tell us your super-duper superior, dark backstory that causes you to be a two-faced bitch. I'd love to know. Since apparently, it's all a competition anyway."

"Fuck off; I wasn't talking to you."

"Nobody hardly talks to you anymore. But you can't help but interject your opinion when it matters the least in every fucking situation, like telling Nathan his shit doesn't matter," Salem pointed out with pure disgust and contempt on their face. "So shut the fuck up or give us an actual reason. Genuinely talk about your shit for once."

"Oh, you soooo badly want to know my shit, guys? How about you ask Salem about them being a murderer? Specifically a murderer to their family?"

"Talk about your own fucked up family," Salem snorted. "At this point, you're embarrassing yourself with all talk and no show. And continuing to use my family's shit against me to make me look bad when you know enough of the reason why is fucking gross. That'd be like if I laughed and said 'haha guys look, Nat's mom killed her dad!' That's stupid."

"You know what, I feel a lot better about my problems now," Nathan stated with a grunt, sitting back in the chair at the table with his arms crossed over his chest. Not that he had many problems, to begin with. It was just that listening to these two talk about their pasts even vaguely for two seconds gave him whiplash. 

"Like the one about your dead boyfriend?" Nathalia spat, and Nathan's blood ran cold for a single second; then was replaced with hot fury as his eyesight went red from rage.

Abigail didn't give a warning or even wait for Nathan to react. She grasped Nathalia around the shoulder in a steely grip, dragging her out of the room without another word. As the loud doors clicked behind the two, someone else slipped in immediately after. It was that weird guy, Bones. Had he been listening in, waiting for a chance to walk in at any point?

Nathan didn't want to sit around, waiting to see what this guy had to say, so Nathan got back up from his chair a little aggressively. He didn't want to be around anybody, in fact. There was a  certain pain slowly creeping through him and seizing his chest that he couldn't bear, and if he didn't leave right this second he was sure he would start throwing someone at someone else to relieve that hurt. The chair toppled over, causing a loud, screeching metallic crash that made everyone turn to look at him. He stalked to the door, ignoring the stare of the man's golden eyes, and slammed his hand into them to shove them open, his arm brushing against Bones as he did so.

His head shot with a white-hot pain that temporarily blinded him. Nathan felt momentarily suspended in nothingness, not even having any air to breathe as he gasped through the pain; it hurt almost worse than the pain in his chest of losing Charles. He felt both like he was falling and floating at the same time.

A familiar voice whispered in his ear with a chilled tone, "It mimics a friend who died long ago, traitorous envy as it feeds on your love... It drains the life out of all of you. Do not fall for Its curse. To win this war, you must join arms even as It tries to tear you all apart..."

How? If it 'eats' our love, how can we ever find even ground without hating each other? Nathan thought, even as he was desperately gasping for the oxygen that wasn't there. Tell me how to get rid of a traitor!

"You cannot be rid of It right now. You can only weaken It. Banishing It will fuel it. Prevailing will destroy It."

Damnit, tell me the things I need to know directly!

"When you need to know of The Mimic, follow the sun and moon's directions. And look to meet death-seeking eyes."

Fuck. Nathan balled his hands into fists- or at least attempted to, even though his sensations were so dulled that he couldn't feel himself do it. He was self-aware enough to know the last thing he did was accidentally touch Bones and the way he seemed to look at Nathan with a certain mysterious ambience right before... whatever this was, happened.

  What's up with that fucking weirdo? What exactly is he?

"Your ally," the voice stated matter-of-factly. "However, if he does not play his cards right, he could jeopardize the prophecy further by mistake."

What the hell do you mean by that?

"It is my fault, I am sorry."

Before Nathan could further this conversation, he could feel himself falling back into the consciousness of the real world. The last thing he heard was, "These are your last chances to fight in this war... make it count."

Fuck!

Nathan found himself on the ground, head sore and throbbing. Faces loomed above him with worry plastered all over their features.

"Dank feck," Pickles sighed when he saw Nathan's eyes flutter open.

 The two stared at each other for a moment. Nathan recalled when he had gone into Pickles' hospital room the other day. No words hardly said, just Nathan gruffly reaching to place a heavy hand on Pickles' shoulder, saying, 'Glad you're okay'. Now he just felt physically ill when staring at Pickles- or any of them- but he wasn't sure why. He just felt like something terrible was going to happen to them all at any moment.

"Shit." Nathan slowly sat up with the help of Pickles' hands on one of his shoulders. Salem was watching beside Pickles with tenseness in their shoulders, even when seeing that Nathan was fine. Skwisgaar helped Nathan from the other side, then whacked him on the back of the head when he managed to sit up properly.

"Ow! What was that for?!" Nathan glared with no malice at the guitarist.

Skwisgaar shrugged. "You ams dildoes for fallinks like thats. Makings me thinks you dieds."

Nathan grunted a little, pulling himself to his feet. His eyes caught Murderface's, who was watching cautiously from his seat. He looked neither happy nor upset to be looking at Nathan. He only turned his head back to the table to stare at his fingers drumming nervously. Toki's hair was still blanketed over his face, presumably in his own world as far as Nathan knew.

Without saying anything, Nathan turned back around and pushed open the door once again but paused momentarily. "Where's the freak? Bones?"

"I told him ta go get Abigail. Yew were only out f'r a second," Pickles explained, "but didn' know if..."

Speaking of, as Pickles was talking, footsteps were clicking through the halls to interrupt the conversation. Nathan swiveled his head around to see Abigail, Bones, and Nathalia all returning, Abigail in the lead.

"Nathan, are you alright?"

"Er, yeah," Nathan said, realizing he wasn't even sure why he had collapsed in the first place. All he remembered was opening the door, seeing Bones enter, and then blacking out.

Abigail looked slightly relieved to see him doing fine. "Good. Bones told me you fainted."

"Yeah, I guess." Nathan nodded curtly to Bones in thanks for getting help. Bones' eyes flashed in acknowledgment with a grim smile on his lips. Something about his expression didn't seem right to Nathan, but he wasn't sure why.

"You might want to sit down in case another fainting spell happens," Abigail advised, to which Nathan nodded. He sat in the chair nearest to him by the door, watching as the three filed through the room again. Nathalia brought up the rear with red-rimmed eyes and a sore-looking nose.

Just looking at Nathalia pissed Nathan off now. The fact she even felt she had a right to speak about Charles dying to mock him made him want to punch her lights out. And as far as he was concerned, his fists were rated E for Everyone.

How could someone go from so bubbly and excitable to such a raging bitch so fast? Nathan could muse all day about it being Murderface with Salem or the call from her siblings on her birthday, but realistically Nathan realized with a start that she always had an apathetic streak.

 Such as being annoyed by Tobias having a seizure while she was busy. Or how she decided to spill out everyone's secrets to each other and then got pissed that everyone else got pissed. The way she bawled about Charles' death, it didn't even sound like she was sad he was killed, just upset that she left a poor impression. Hell, keeping Tobias' mail from him was pretty shitty, too. Maybe all that baby talk or humorous jabs toward everyone was just her enjoying the sound of her own voice.

Nathan didn't know any of The Excommunicated band members in-depth, but it felt like it had always been about Nathalia from the start. He knew he wasn't the smartest, but he was aware from his own experience that this wasn't her first time saying something weird, and he saw from a couple of instances how many times it was shrugged off before people realized she was doing a little too much. But it might have been the first time she was consistently in trouble for it.

It was like she thought she was the main character, and she was doing everything she could to have the spotlight. 

It wasn't too far from how Skwisgaar viewed life as his spotlight, except Skwisgaar didn't go around having sex with people he found repulsive (while making fun of anyone who even breathed near those people) and hardly ever tried to make himself the victim whenever he went too far. He was a dick to people while knowing he was a dick, but at least he was realistic about it. Maybe he would defend himself every so often, but not as to pretend he was a pathetic worm who couldn't control himself or to accuse people of ganging up on him for no reason.

Honestly, how pathetic could one be for constantly doing this shit on purpose, then resorting to crying and acting like it was everyone else? And why did everyone, including himself, continue to feed it? Nathan's partner actually died, and everyone was more worried about whatever stupid shit Nathalia was saying to piss off everyone else. Nathan was shoved to the back burner (which was fine, he could manage, but still). Nathalia brought up her family's issues to gain sympathy after trying to drown them, but where was that energy when she had the chance to shine? With every opportunity, she blew it by resorting to talking about everyone else's problems. If it wasn't other people's problems, it was a different kind of drama that she had an issue with. For a while, it even felt like Pickles nearly dying was overshadowed by the fact that she was harassing Murderface so vehemently, or causing fights left and right.

As Abigail sat back in her chair and Nathalia in hers, Bones found it appropriate to pull a chair up to the table and sit with them, conveniently next to Murderface. Murderface merely turned his head away and pursed his lips like he was trying to avoid saying anything. It was weird that Bones had a strange, flirtatious connection with the guy, but it wasn't the weirdest thing to happen around Murderface.

"If I'm doing this, I don't want that fucker in here with us," Nathalia snarled stubbornly as she nodded her head toward Bones. "I don't know him."

"Unfortunately, I need him here for unspoken reasons," Abigail said sharply. Nathan raised an eyebrow as he darted his eyes between the manager and Bones, who looked calm when he was mentioned. There was definitely something she wasn't telling them, but he knew she'd never explain it to them. At least not at the moment. Or maybe he didn't care right now.

"Whatever, probably to make the dog over there happy," Nathalia mumbled low enough that only Nathan and Toki seemed to hear. For the first time in a while, Toki lifted his head slightly to peer over at her with troubled eyes. This caused his and Nathan's eyes to meet for just a second. Toki snapped his head back down in response, and Nathan frowned. Okay, so the kid had a crush on him. Nathan wasn't beating his ass for it, right? So why did he act like such a wounded puppy?

Speaking of crush, now that it was explained to him it made a bit more sense as to how Toki acted around him, but all Nathan felt was numbness traveling like a snake down his spine to coil around his heart.

Abigail sighed. "I'm not doing this to force you to dump your past out to others for sympathy," she explained carefully. "I'm doing this because there's a reason there's an overconsumption of alcohol between several of you. And if perhaps you take this time to actually share the reasons why then it might help everyone understand each other better, and then there won't be as much fighting. Maybe not everyone needs to discuss why they drink or how they started, so that's on me. But every person in this room has some baggage that does need to be discussed. On top of the discussion, everyone here does intake alcohol and drugs excessively; aside from myself and possibly Bones. If we can discuss this baggage, and the excessiveness, maybe there will be a connection; maybe there won't be. It's my fault for trying to press too hard in one direction. From now on, let's try to keep the flow the way you guys know how to. Okay? Therapy first, work on the coping skills later."

"I can work wit' dat," Pickles agreed.

Skwisgaar and Toki both said "Ja," in unison.

Nathan grunted an affirmative.

Salem shrugged.

Nathalia only scowled.

Murderface didn't react at all.

"And you somehow come to this conclusion after a conversation with that one?" Bones mused with a nod toward Nathalia. She gave him a disgusted look in response.

"No, actually," Abigail spoke, her sharp eyes piercing into Bones' face. "It was someone else."

Nathan was confused for a second until the door slowly popped open. Tobias' head came peeking around the corner, looking slightly nervous. Oh of course, it was that know-it-all bastard. Still, Nathan didn't have much of a problem with the guy.

"Ah, the bearded guy wasn't around when I showed up," Bones commented after he turned to see Tobias slowly walk in.

Tobias blinked over at the stranger, saying, "I went to do something real quick. However, Abigail asked me to help with the situation, so here I am."

"Thank you." Abigail looked slightly relieved.

"First of all," Tobias started, as he took a seat between Toki and Pickles, "Nobody interrupts when someone's talking anymore. That includes all of you."

"Hmph," Nathalia sniffed.

"No competition. No, 'that's stupid.' If we're here to be better people, or to do better for ourselves, why would any of you waste this opportunity unless you want to be this miserable for the rest of your lives?"

Skwisgaar scoffed. "Ams not miserable."

"You're egotistical which is still a big problem," Tobias shrugged. "And not the first time someone has overcompensated due to their pain by inflating their ego."

Skwisgaar scowled and Nathan had an inkling that it was because he didn't understand because he also didn't understand what the Hell Tobias was saying. Even Nathalia's face went blank momentarily while she tried to process the words.

Nathan drowned out some more of the conversation for a while. He wasn't particularly consumed by his thoughts or anything, he only more or less didn't want to listen anymore. Instead, he was stopping to tap his fingers together or stare moodily at the wall behind Abigail, the nothingness in his head swallowing him whole. He only tuned back in when Abigail sighed and said finally, "Alright, we can come back tomorrow and try again, then. You guys can't keep hiding your problems though. These are things you guys have to work through sooner or later. Does anybody want to actually try going first, tomorrow?"

Nathan raised a brow in surprise when Toki's hand came up slowly, almost unsurely. Abigail nodded to him in acknowledgment. "Alright then, thank you."

With that, Abigail dismissed them to do whatever they want. Nathan stood up immediately in preparation to leave before Pickles called him over.

"Hey," Pickles greeted when Nathan hesitantly stalked over. The brute singer didn't really want to talk right now, but seeing Pickles awake, alive, and healing; stirred something inside Nathan that he could only guess was relief. Or protectiveness? Either way, he didn't feel right to ignore his best friend.

Nathan grunted once close enough to Pickles for him to hear the throaty growl. Pickle's eyes, once burdened by permanent-looking dark shadows, looked brighter than they had been in a long time. 

"Yew doin' okie?" Pickles asked softly, and Nathan nodded curtly. His head was still spinning a little from the fall, but he felt fine otherwise.

Salem was still in their chair, typing something almost aggressively on their phone. When Nathan looked over questioningly, Pickles followed his eyes and then pursed his lips in a tight smile. "Dey've been rantin' to demself on 'n' off for aboot an hour."

"Nathalia..?"

"Not sure." Pickles shrugged but gave Nathan a knowing look. Most likely, yes. 

Nathan just sighed and turned to leave after the pleasantries were out of the way when Pickles stopped him with a soft hand on his shoulder. When he turned back, there was an indescribable look on his face.

"Yew sure yer okie?"

"Yeah, don't worry about me." Why did it sound like his voice cracked under his deep, guttural rumble?

"I know yew been t'rough a lot, 'n' I know I've been deep in my shit... but 'm here for ya, okie?"

"You don't have to act any different toward me just because of this," was Nathan's reply.

"I know."

Salem finally looked up from their phone and seemed to zone into reality after a few seconds of blank staring. Their eyes darted between Pickles and Nathan awkwardly, so Nathan just nodded goodbye to the both of them and started heading toward the door.

Almost everyone was gone except for the three of them, Skwisgaar, and Abigail. He ignored her attempts at flagging him down.

Skwisgaar was at the doors with his hand just barely pressed against it to crack it open, obviously peeking out to spy on someone. Nathan carelessly brushed past him and popped the doors open the rest of the way. He just barely caught Nathalia and Toki kissing before they practically jumped apart like school kids, faces flushed and breathless. Nathan ignored them and walked past. He didn't care the way Toki's eyes cast down almost shamefully; he had no intentions of giving a shit what the rhythm guitarist did with whoever. And he especially didn't care about the smug look Nathalia was giving him- like she had won a fight for Toki's affection. He didn't want it. He didn't want anybody.

The only person Nathan wanted, ever truly wanted, was dead. And Nathalia, supposed queen of understanding trauma and anguish, was rubbing it in his fucking face. 

As Nathan dropped onto his bed, teeth grinding with hidden anguish deep inside of his core, he came to the conclusion: if he had a choice to sacrifice every single person inside Mordhaus, for a chance to see Charles again, he just might. 

...

Lights danced in front of Nathan's eyes. Skeletal figures swarmed him, faceless corpses grinding bones as they stumbled past him in droves. The sun was much too hot, but the relief of gentle, lapping waves behind him kept him from completely succumbing to the pain. His eyes strained as images flashed across his vision, and he became momentarily blind.

In his head, memories that were not his consumed him. A redhead standing in front of a mirror of a million other children. A curly-haired man crouched to the ground, with an abnormally tall creature gently reaching for his hand. The dead, moaning somewhere within the darkness. What looked to be a dead, overgrown flower, held in the hands of a person. Lightning, traveling through the arms of a blond while the animals cowered behind him like it was nothing; he could almost feel the tingling sensation himself. The scene of a cavern overlooking the sea in front of it, a tall woman watching the waves from the entrance. A man looking up to the stars, and the moon, in patterns that only he could probably understand.

"It is almost time. But do you think they are ready?"

Pickles was the first to turn to Nathan, and Nathan realized that these were not just memories, but almost like separate realities connecting together in hazy fragments. Pickles slipped next to his best friend, and reached to take the other's hand. Nathan, for once, found this comforting.

"Do you know who's speaking to us?" Pickles asked quietly.

"...A guide."

Salem slipped from the memory into his reality through the flickering transition, flower perched brand new around their shoulders as it seemed to snap its head back and forth. Right behind them, Skwisgaar. They went to stand beside Pickles on the other side but both nodded to Nathan. 

Toki slipped from the darkness of the cavern for the dead, and surprisingly enough placed himself on Nathan's other side. There was an odd look on Skwisgaar's face but he kept looking straight ahead, jaw set almost stubbornly. Nathan wished he could sigh without breaking the unity.

Tobias was much slower than the others, his sightless eyes staring blankly ahead of him as he went to stand next to Toki. 

Murderface was being led by what Nathan could only presume was some distorted, demonic version of Bones. Nathan couldn't hold his gaze, so he just nodded curtly and averted his eyes. Murderface was hesitant like he wasn't sure where to go, so Nathan nodded toward an empty spot next to Tobias. The two settled next to him.

And finally, Nathalia came in with her head raised high, standing between Nathan and Toki much to Toki's subtle discomfort. At first, Nathan refused to even acknowledge her, but her soft voice broke through his concentration.

"I'm sorry."

Nathan grunted a response; she wasn't forgiven so easily. But maybe if she started cooperating better; with time.

Nathan felt something chill his bones, and the voice seemed to be speaking from inside of him. What the hell was this?

"Forgive me," the Water Beast's voice spoke clearly as though She were in front of them all, though seemed to have directed Her first words at Nathan. "But there's not much time left, and I am able to directly speak to the others through you, now."

"I remember your voice," Pickles spoke quietly. His hand tightened around Nathan's.

"Yes, you and Nathan have a certain intertwined bond,"

"Gross, that's gay," Nathan growled with no real malice.

"-I went to communicate with him, and somehow reached you. I chose the imagery I thought would suit you best, One with the Third Eye."

"Ye can just call me Pickles." Pickles smiled, but his eyes seemed a little tight. Trying to force the genuineness, even though his palms started sweating and he was obviously not happy with the imagery she was speaking of. 

"Do you think they are ready?" She repeated to Nathan.

"Ask them yourself, since you can," Nathan grunted.

"I would like to know how well you know your team."

'Team'? That was an odd choice of words.

Nathan blinked as he looked between them all. Salem's eyes betrayed bitterness; Pickles and Toki- sadness. Skwisgaar, Nathalia, and even Tobias- contempt. Murderface- fear.

"I think we need just a little more time," Nathan stated.

"You're running out of time," She warned.

"Yeah, so you've mentioned."

 "You approach the place where it all began... and begins again." As she spoke, Nathan vaguely noticed through dust and sand a silhouette of something huge, what it was he couldn't tell.

"Well, is there any way you can buy us more time?" Nathan said dryly. "I'm only one guy, I can't really do much."

She seemed to sigh in a throaty hum. "There is only one thing I can do."

With those words, their reality seemed to shatter, and it felt like the ground was caving in under their feet. His vision snapped like glass and shards went flying in all directions. The only thing he could feel was the hand of Pickles squeezing him in a death grip, but he could hear everyone screaming or shouting with surprise.

"Something is breaking the connection," Her voice seemed to fade along with Nathan's sight. Nathan recalled the traitor issue of earlier while fading from this world, and vaguely wondered why She hadn't brought it up again. But of course, if Nathan had an enemy, he wouldn't want them to know he was onto them, either.

"Nate." Pickles' voice sounded frightened, and far away. Nathan swallowed heavily.

"Yeah. I know. Don't worry."

Nathan recalled what he thought earlier before falling asleep. The daydreams of sacrificing whatever it took to bring back the one he loved the most. He could practically taste the lips of Charles once more if he thought hard enough about him, about what he was willing to throw away for one more touch. And he chose to push him to the back of his mind.

Charles was gone, and yes, it did hurt. However, he would do everything he could to protect the rest of them. The only ultimatum was to survive this Hell they had fallen into.

...

Nathan felt himself become jarred awake as he was thrown off of his bed by the violent jerking of Mordhaus. He knocked into the wall nearest to him, grunting in annoyance. The mattress had even slid about a foot across the floor. 

Unintelligible shouting could be heard through the walls, signifying that practically everyone else had been thrown as well. Once the citadel seemed to have stopped moving, Nathan pulled himself up slowly, his head throbbing a little from the impact of the wall. 

As he opened the door, he noticed several others walking out with dazed expressions. Even Bones looked a little shaken up by the jerk, but his eyes continued to gleam with that weird mischievous look. When Pickles' red hair could be seen through the bodies that started filling the hall, Nathan pushed through the others to check on him.

He was definitely in pain, but otherwise seemed fine- there was no blood from what Nathan could see. Pickles could see Nathan visibly relax at seeing the drummer okay and gave him a crooked smile.

"'M good, Nate."

"I'm glad."

Pickles seemed surprised by Nathan's open relief, but Nathan had no time to acknowledge the shock. 

Abigail came bursting through the doors, seeing everyone gathering in the hall in disorientation. 

"Everyone okay?!" She demanded as her heels clicked through the hall.

"What the fuck happened?" Nathalia groaned, a spot of blood on the side of her head. Abigail examined her wound carefully, then nodded and continued to check on the others. Nathan just shook her head and waved her away to check someone else when she drew closer to him.

"There's, well... Just come with me to see."

Once she had confirmed with everyone that they were okay, she led the way into the meeting room. In the back was a shatterproof window that they all had to crowd around just to see what was going on outside.

Nathan's eyes grew wide with bafflement as he saw what they had to stop for. There were dozens- no, a hundred at least- of gigantic whales splashing as they surrounded Mordhaus to pass by.

Chapter Text

**********Tw: mentions of abuse, torture, death of innocent child. Look for a really long line ( -------------) That comes before and after it.**********

Why should Skwisgaar care who Toki kissed? Why should he care who Toki had a crush on, how much Toki seemed to be pulling away from him, or the fact that Nathalia of all people was chosen before him? She wasn't bad looking, but he was better-looking, right?

So why was he laying in Salem's lap with frustrated tears running down his face, a few hours earlier?

Of course, it had to be Salem's fault for catching him in the hallway already having a mild breakdown, and just their concern was enough to snap the thin thread that was keeping him in place. Now he was curled up on this small person's lap, feeling their fingers scratching the back of his head so gently that it was helping him slip into unconsciousness. Pickles was also in the room, watching with drooping eyes as he leaned his head on Salem's shoulder.

Good for them, or whatever. But seeing them together made the bitter taste of whatever was plaguing Skwisgaar taste even sourer. It wasn't Pickles because he knew he felt nothing sexual toward him. The same thing with Salem. He knew it couldn't be Nathalia because she was... Nathalia. And it definitely wasn't Toki. What could possibly be making him drown in his tears like a pathetic child in the lap of someone he barely knew?

He must have fallen asleep, and he swore he had a dream at some point that he couldn't remember. Maybe something to do with a flower, but that was weird and very un-Skwisgaar of him to dream. Then the next thing he knew, he was on the floor with something jabbing into his back.

With a groan, the guitarist pulled himself up slowly, realizing it was his guitar that had stabbed him in the back, from becoming twisted behind him. Skwisgaar scrambled onto his feet, seeing Pickles and Salem doing the same, also having been tossed onto the floor like ragdolls.

Leaving the room seemed to only disorient them all further when everyone else began crowding the halls (with a few Klokateers on standby) until Abigail's signature heel clicks seemed to ground everyone. Leading them into the stupid little meeting room, Skwisgaar practically choked on his saliva to notice how many damn whales there were, bumping up against the side of Mordhaus or crossing in front of it. He'd never seen this many before and wasn't even sure if this was normal behavior. He certainly was no whale biologist to say.

"As it stands, there's nothing we can do until they get out of our way," Abigail explained to them. 

"Run them over?" Nathalia suggested. 

"No, afraid we can't do that," Abigail sighed. "Luckily it shouldn't take too long... hopefully. They've surrounded us on all sides but we'll be turning Mordhaus the second that there's a definitive opening."

As she spoke, one of the whales must have bumped Mordhaus again, because the place began to jerk violently. None of them had gained their footing fully after the first tumble, so they almost all went scattering again across the floor. Pickles' legs did the split while Salem stumbled forward and hit their knees, and Abigail gritted her teeth and leaned against the wall nearest to her to keep herself up. Even Bones had to catch himself before tripping over someone else but all he did in response to this was cackle maniacally.

"Glad someone's having fun," Nathalia muttered, having been knocked onto her ass.

Meanwhile, Skwisgaar dropped to his hands and knees, his head spinning as his skull smacked into something equally hard.  Blinking the dizziness out of his eyes, he saw Toki also on the ground and realized their heads had bonked together. Skwisgaar involuntarily stiffened up before straightening himself and standing on shaking legs. Nathalia pulled Toki up by his arm and seemed to shoot the swede a dirty look, but he had already turned his head to ignore them by that point. His throat felt so swollen and dry.

"Well," Abigail sighed once everyone had re-stabilized themselves again. "That's going to be annoying to tolerate until they leave."

"Ja," Skwisgaar agreed as he brushed the dust off himself. His head was still sometimes sensitive to harsher physical contact, so it was still throbbing from banging against Toki's. He rubbed his fingers along his scalp, feeling the fuzziness of his hair slowly growing back in a few spots, but just barely, and sighed at some of the wrinkly, hairless, scarred skin on the side. Looking sourly over at Nathalia once her back had turned, he couldn't help but feel a pang of what he presumed to be jealousy for her stupid long hair. 

Before he could spiral further down the path of vanity, Abigail spoke again to them.

"You guys can keep doing what you want to do, but be careful. I'm not sure how long this will last and I'm sure that's not the only one that will hit Mordhaus."

"I'm feelin' tew old for dis shit," Pickles groaned as he was helped up by Salem. Their arms linked together so smoothly, and bitterness rose in Skwisgaar's throat again. He turned his head and saw Bones staring at the other two with such a level of intensity that Skwisgaar was almost convinced he was going to jump them both and devour them like a predator. His arm seemed to be twitching unsurely while he stared.

Skwisgaar snapped his head back to Abigail but she was already bidding them farewell so she could go back to whatever-the-fuck. He didn't really want to be looking at - or talking to - anybody else right now if he didn't have to, so he stalked back to his room without a word and shut the door, then slid down to the floor to lean against it. That unfortunately didn't mean he could block out everyone else's voices, though.

"What's Pretty Boy's problem?" Nathalia inquired, surprisingly with no malice in her voice as far as Skwisgaar could tell; despite the muffled sound.

Salem was obviously not going to speak to Nathalia any time soon, so Pickles offered a vague explanation in a soft tone that the guitarist almost missed. "He's not havin'a good time right now."

"I doubt any of us are," Nathalia snorted. There was the snark.

"I dink he was havin' a breakdown earlier."

The smugness in Nathalia's voice made Skwisgaar want to puke. "I couldn't imagine why."

Skwisgaar gave a frustrated growl as he stood up, but he wasn't sure where to go or what to do. He couldn't do much, anyway. He didn't really bring much of anything except his guitar to play.

So he ended up plucking at his strings half-heartedly for a while as he stared at the wall until he could no longer see through the tears filling his eyes. Why was he being so damn emotional and what was even causing it?

His mind naturally drew back to Toki and he sighed. Maybe it was the fact that his peace offering had been rejected. Maybe he just felt lonely without the little brat clinging to him and begging for his attention. Maybe he...

Skwisgaar stiffened again as memories of their kiss sprang up; then Toki's and Nathalia's kiss. No, no no no. None of this had meant anything and continued to mean nothing to him. He just wasn't used to Toki's complete disinterest in even being his friend. He wasn't used to any sort of rejection. That was all.

There was a light knock on the door to his room and he sucked in a breath, half hoping and half dreading for one person. "Ja?"

The door opened and he felt both relieved and disappointed to see Salem poking their head in awkwardly. "Hey..."

"Heys," Skwisgaar greeted dully as he slouched back on his bed. "What you ams wants?"

"Just wanted to see if you were okay," Salem explained quietly as they slipped inside fully and shut the door behind them. "You didn't seem to be doing well earlier."

"What ams gaves you that imperssions?" Skwisgaar muttered bitterly as he plucked his guitar strings with mild anxiousness.

Salem shrugged, still standing in front of the door and making no move to wander any further into Skwisgaar's space. "Not gonna pry, but you should find someone to talk to about it. It just gets worse holding it inside."

"Do yous plans to talk about your familys?" As Skwisgaar spoke, their icy blue eyes met each other, and Salem's lids drooped halfway as though they had fallen into a trance, or maybe they were recalling something in their head. "Or ams you goinks to holds it all ins?"

"Dunno," Salem spoke dryly. "But just because I can't take my own advice doesn't mean it's not good advice. And I'm not judging either way. Just relaying the message."

"Whys?" Skwisgaar was a little exasperated by Salem's need to help him. "Whys you ams cares?"

Salem shook their head just slightly, their eyes clearing up a little even as they still seemed distant, far away in their own world. "Dunno. I..." They turned abruptly and opened the door, slipping back out of the room.

Skwisgaar was going to open his mouth in protest because it wasn't like he was trying to challenge the drummer or make them feel weird, but they spoke first.

"You just... remind me of someone a lot."

Their face had gone back to their dissociative, faraway stance, so Skwisgaar sat up straighter and called after them, "Ifs you decides to talks first... I wills talks toos."

Salem hesitated for a moment before the door shut quietly behind them, and Skwisgaar sat there numbly as the conversation replayed in his head.

It wasn't like he wanted to become a broody, uncommunicative dildo like Nathan or Nathalia, but really the only person he wanted to talk things through was equally the hardest person to talk to. Worse was the fact that he seemed to want nothing to do with the blond anymore.

~~~

"Ams changed minds, sorries," Toki mumbled to Abigail. They were back in the meeting room, this time Bones and Tobias had joined automatically. Nathan sat in the middle as he normally would, with Pickles on his right and Salem next to Pickles. Skwisgaar had chosen to sit next to Salem at the end because on Nathan's left was Toki, Nathalia, and oddly enough Bones and Murderface without Nathalia having a hissy fit about it. Tobias was seated next to Abigail like the goody two shoes he was.

"Oh my Gods, guys," Abigail sighed as she rubbed her face in frustration. "I don't want to have to force it, but the bands are as good as done for if we can't cooperate, and I don't want to have failed Charles like this. I don't think any of us do."

"Charles is dead," Nathan spoke in a gruff yet dull tone. 

Abigail blinked as she looked up from her hands. "Yes, we know-"

"He's dead," Nathan repeated. "I'm not putting a dead guy's wishes over my head like that for some stupid standard that we probably can't reach."

"Nathan..." Abigail's eyes were clouded with a mix of shock and concern.

"I'm doing this for everyone. Everyone else," Nathan continued with a growl, silencing her immediately. "I'm doing it so I don't have to lose anybody else. So we can survive and not end up like him. Especially if uhh, we're going to the place he died. We can't do shit for a dead guy right now so don't bring him up like he has a say."

Everyone in the room seemed surprised by Nathan's seemingly overnight revelation, although Skwisgaar's emotions were dulled by his own plagued worries.

"Awe Nate, yew do care," Pickles teased lightly as he shoved his friend with his arm.

"Fuck off."

Pickles pinched his cheek and Nathan grunted as he shook the redhead off.

"Just let the fucking man rest already."

Abigail nodded sympathetically. "I understand. I had no intention of using him to manipulate but I apologize if I came off that way. I just... I'm struggling with it, too."

Nathan grunted a response. "Maybe get your own therapy?"

Abigail smiled a little. "Perhaps I should after all of this. But right now, I need to be here for you guys."

Tobias was looking over at Abigail with what looked to be some level of mild admiration or adoration, and Skwisgaar just gritted his teeth and snapped his head away from them to the left. He caught Salem's eyes almost immediately upon looking over, who had been watching him. Skwisgaar flinched but couldn't look away from their stare. Salem nodded a little bit toward Abigail like they were encouraging him to speak. Skwisgaar felt his throat close from the anxiety and all he could do was shake his head aggressively and do the same gesture back to them. Salem had no reason to be encouraging him like this, they needed to mind their own business and stay in their own lane.

Salem sighed quietly, which irked Skwisgaar but he didn't dare make a scene. He wasn't going to be 'that guy' like Nathan was. He simply wouldn't participate until it was time to leave. Luckily, Abigail and Nathan had started into some type of dialogue about Charles, though he didn't catch the first part.

"You sure you're not just repressing him from your mind so it doesn't hurt as bad?" Abigail pressed.

Nathan grunted again. Ah yes, a man with very few words. "No, still hurts. A lot. But I don't want to be burdened with things he wanted from me. He was a pufectionest-"

"Perfectionist-"

"-Whatever, if I went by what he wanted or constantly worried what he would want I don't think I'd ever be satisfied. I'd be constantly worried I'm not doing it right or good enough or the best way."

"You think you would probably end up feeling resentful because you would be obsessed with if he would approve or not and of course wouldn't be able to ask him yourself?"

"Probably? Yeah? Yeah."

"So you'd rather just do it your way and look for results yourself," Abigail clarified.

"Pretty much."

"I could understand that," Abigail agreed. "But I also don't think you should put so much emphasis on completely disregarding what Charles would think."

"Huh?"

"Because I think he would be proud of you no matter what," Abigail spoke softly. "So you don't have to dismiss him as just some dead guy who would be disappointed in your choices if he were here. You know?"

Nathan choked for a second before he dropped his head, letting his hair fall over his face in a thick, black curtain. "...Hm."

"Don't constantly worry about trying to be as perfect as possible to appease him, be confident that no matter how imperfect, he would be happy as long as you put all your effort into it. He was not a vain man who thought who you were had to be exactly the way he was. He only cared about you actually trying."

Nathan slowly bumped his head into the table as he laid it there with a rumbling sigh. "I've had enough gay therapy for the day."

"That's fine, thank you, Nathan," Abigail said kindly, earning a half-hearted grunt in response. While Nathan was having his mini existential crisis, she looked to the rest, waiting to see if anybody else would speak up. Skwisgaar huffed a little. He simply couldn't believe that he needed to be there for any reason other than a guy caught in the crossfire of everyone else's issues.

Abigail's eyes trained on him, causing his face to catch fire. "Anything to say, Skwisgaar?"

"No," Skwisgaar practically spat in a panic, face flushed. "Ams not needs therepetics as muchs as others."

"So?" Abigail asked softly, and Skwisgaar honestly had no way to respond to that. What did she mean by so? Because... he wasn't as important, right?

Skwisgaar winced at his own thoughts, and Abigail raised a brow. In response, the blond just ground his teeth together in defiance and stared straight past her with his head held high, though he didn't feel his normally confident self.

"So you don't want to talk about anything?"

"Nos," Skwisgaar muttered. "Onlys if someone elses goes first."

"Oh? Well, Nathan already went."

"Someones specifics."

"Who?" Abigail raised a brow.

Salem sighed. "Me."

Everyone seemed to look at them expectantly so they shrugged a little, cheeks reddening. "I know people want me to get my stupid shit out of the way. I just..."

"I swear you're just hyping your own story up by not telling anybody until the very end, and it's probably the lamest thing ever," Nathalia mocked, and Skwisgaar closed his eyes and breathed deeply to mentally prepare for the argument to ensue.

"And you're not?" Salem's voice sounded tired and drained. When Skwisgaar opened his eyes, he saw that they looked just as they sounded. "Precious Nathalia, doing the same shit everyone else does, but always within reason."

"Prove me wrong," Nathalia challenged.

Salem's piercing gaze stared unflinchingly back at her and said nothing. She stared back, trying to mean mug them, but when they continued staring she rolled her eyes and looked away, shaking her head.

"Nat, if you're going to be condescending, just go." Tobias' weary voice rang through the room, and she looked toward him with sharp eyes. 

"Tobias," Abigail tried speaking, but Tobias shook his head.

"If Nat refuses to cooperate, that's on her. I'm tired of her believing we just need to find a really specific, nuanced way to make her realize she's being difficult and dumping all of her emotional unavailability on everyone else. If she can't shut up and stop making everything a fight, she can go somewhere else. I refuse to hold the hand of someone who continues to chew each finger off and then cry about how nobody is there for her. It's not only her either. You can't force change on people who refuse to change especially because they refuse to acknowledge their problems; they'll simply drag down everyone else who's trying to better themselves."

When Tobias' eyes darted to Salem, then Pickles, Salem pursed their lips and said nothing. Nathalia's own lips quivered and she sank back in her chair, presumably trying to hide her face behind her hair like Nathan had done.

Pickles seemed to notice this exchanged look and pursed his lips. "Dat's not really fair... some of us're tryin'."

Tobias' eyes softened when meeting Pickles', and Skwisgaar raised a brow to this. "Sometimes people aren't trying hard enough as they should," he told the drummer. "I've heard 'I'm trying,' so many times from people who haven't made but one percent of progress the entire time and haven't even explained yet why they're like this. And other times, people trying doesn't wash away all the hurt they've caused previously."

"Don't talk shit about me like I'm that bad," Salem muttered. "At least I know my shortcomings at the end of the day."

"I wasn't. However, self-awareness also doesn't fix absolutely everything," Tobias reminded them, so they glared over at him.

"Alright, so I'm trying, and I'm learning, because I'm self-aware, but it wouldn't be good enough because I shut people out of my personal life, so fuck me. Tell me how to be perfect like you, oh Wise One?"

The man sighed. Tobias hadn't spoken a lot while here at Mordhaus, but Skwisgaar was starting to realize maybe that was because he couldn't tolerate anybody here. Skwisgaar couldn't say he blamed him, because he used to feel the same way toward, well, basically everyone.

"Once the majority think I'm a dangerous threat or I'm actually making them feel worse, then-."

"Well, how do we know you aren't a threat? You've never told us about the murder." 

Salem flinched back from Tobias' questioning gaze, looking equally offended and astounded. "Seriously?"

"Yes." Tobias' eyes flickered back to Pickles, who pursed his lips. Skwisgaar found it odd that even though he was the one to state he didn't want to dig deeper into people's lives if they didn't want to share, he was doing so now. Skwisgaar had a feeling there was a personal reason he was doing so, and that Pickles seemed to know the reason. 

"I know yer probably worried, but dis isn't t'e way ta do it..."

A few within the group were glancing between the two of them, confused about the hidden meaning between them. Salem either already knew or didn't care.

"Fine, I'll tell you, then you can fuck off and never talk to me anymore." Salem shrugged. "I wouldn't give a shit if none of you ever talked to me again."

Pickles shot them a mildly hurt look, but Skwisgaar could share a little of Salem's perspective. He couldn't tell if Tobias had pulled some sort of manipulative trick to wear them down, or if he was that distrustful of Salem, but it seemed a little cruel to imply Salem was dangerous in order to get them to actually share their story and become vulnerable. At the same time, he could also understand everyone's cautiousness toward Salem, because it kind of felt like a big deal to know someone who killed their own parents. And would it only be a matter of time before they snapped again?

Salem's eyes settled on Pickles' expression. "Sorry. I hope this doesn't influence how you think of me."

Pickles could only smile gently, but Skwisgaar could tell he was still worried. Salem sighed and leaned back in their chair.

"Fine, I'll air out my dirty laundry then."

Everyone was staring at Salem. Even Murderface had focused in on the conversation the second Salem began speaking. His odd obsession with Salem was a bit unnerving (but wasn't commented on anymore by this point, thankfully). Bones looked bored, but still had his eyes trained on Salem. The only one who wasn't directly looking at them was Nathalia, who chose to stare down at the table.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Salem began slowly while focusing on their twitching fingers so as not to look in the eyes of anybody else around them. The room was dead silent, letting their quiet voice ring out for everyone to hear. "I was born into a pretty religious family. A pretty delusional, religious family. 

"my first core memory was probably getting grabbed by the back of the head and being dunked underwater by my dad. See, my parents were so religious that they were convinced I was a spawn of Satan. I was a little blond-haired, blue-eyed baby that their white supremacist asses should've adored, but I guess I was just 'off' to them. They hopped between baptizing me and beating the 'evil' out of me. They didn't want to kill me, they said. Because it would 'release' something blah blah blah... they figured beating it out of me was better. They wanted to purge me of the evil and make me a 'good kid' so I would finally be deserving of love."

"Well, the only reason they ever actually stopped was..." Salem stopped speaking for a second to compose themself, then continued. "When my little brother was born."

"They resorted to neglecting me in favor of beating him because apparently, HE was the spawn of Satan this time. I dunno, they had a lot of fucked up shit wrong with them. Everything was evil or whatever... I think, and I say think because I don't have confirmation, that they were just really fucked in the head and thought that having these impure, abusive thoughts toward us was our fault and therefore a result of being evil. When it really was them most likely having absolutely no patience with taking care of a baby, let alone two. At the end of the day I don't really care about the reason for their delusions."

 Salem sighed softly. "I loved that kid. But he was quiet and never liked to cause trouble no matter how many times I asked him if he needed anything; because I was willing to do anything for him. I had to be the one to take care of him because they literally refused- and I was fine with that. I even started doing bad shit on purpose just to distract my parents from him, so I could start taking physical abuse again while they neglected him. I took a thousand more beatings just to protect him and I'd do it all over again if I could. I learned to steal food for him, I learned how to cook for him. I learned how to take care of a baby as a baby myself."

"They knew they had me whipped from fear of backlash, or of being evil like they claimed I was, so they were never worried I would get violent back or run away... to tell you the truth, even though I planned over and over to knock them out and run, and trained to become stronger to protect myself, I never did because I truly did believe I needed to be punished. After all, they never harmed anybody outside of the family." Salem winced.

So, Salem had been abused severely by their family? It would explain having to kill as a way to defend themself, even if it was crazy to hear. Skwisgaar could still understand. So why did it feel like it was deeper than that?

"Seeing as the small-town community was based on a lot of their friends, because I guess they were very popular, 'wholesome' Christian members, a lot noticed my bruises but didn't give a shit. They never reported anything, and my parents were the only people who could take me to get medical attention which they stopped as I got older..."

 Salem took another breath, looking miserable the whole time they spoke. And the more they talked, the more Skwisgaar's heart clenched from the sickness. It wasn't unheard of that entire towns would protect really important figures in their community, but to actually meet someone who was a victim to this was crazy.

From the look on Toki's face, it was obvious how much the rhythm guitarist related on a personal level, and it made Skwisgaar remember the way Toki cowered in fear before due to the PTSD, or the way he went blank and practically played dead from his mother slapping him for speaking. Skwisgaar was neglected as a child, sure, but he couldn't imagine being afraid of his own mother. Or being a frightened child who couldn't do anything about the situation they were in because they had been manipulated and groomed to believe they were the problem. Growing up thinking they were an evil child.

"Anyway, I came back home from groceries one day and..." Salem shuddered and their eyes abruptly darkened with a crazed bloodlust that Skwisgaar had hardly ever seen from Salem before. "I refuse to state what they had done. But Alex- my brother- was dead. And I got my fucking revenge."

Pickles' eyes were wide the entire way through the story. "What'd yew do?"

Nathalia looked like she was brooding, or plotting, as she finally turned her head to focus on Salem.

"I remember it clearly. There's a porch that wraps around the house and there's a window with busted blinds peeking in as you start heading toward one of the backdoors as long as you follow that porch. I liked going through that door to avoid neighbors from staring at me because of the huge tree there with the limp branches blocking their view. It's one of my clearest memories during that time..."

 Salem's eyes glazed over with wetness, but they were already rambling and couldn't seem to stop, even as Pickles placed a hand on their shoulder and whispered something in their ear along the lines of "Yew don't gotta actually answer dat." There was something not quite feral yet, but close to it, within Salem's eyes; even as they shrank back in their chair to look like the small, broken child they were speaking of. They gave off the impression of a stray cat who had been kicked down far too many times as a kitten.

"As I was passing that window that looks into the dining room, I saw his- his body. And I lost it. It's a bit hazy after but I know we hav- had- a metallic baseball bat beside the door I go through. You can guess what I did with it."

"So ya beat them to death?" Nathan growled. His eyes were trained on them but unreadable, and Skwisgaar couldn't really tell what he was thinking, but he seemed angry by the sound of his voice. Skwisgaar himself didn't really know what he was feeling. He thought he felt what was probably sympathy- what he considered to be a rare emotion inside of him. As well as a mix of discomfort at seeing how dark and wild Salem's eyes seemed to look in contrast to the normal blue hue of them.

"Oh no, they wished." A small smirk played on Salem's lips, even though the tears had finally dripped down their cheeks. "They were in hysterics, I guess they just didn't mean to kill him and 'release the evil'. They didn't see me come in with the bat. They let down their guard. So I knocked them both out at the same time, then tied them up, and I... well, I tortured them to death." Salem spoke with such a dead, careless tone, despite the smile mixing with the tears. Skwisgaar choked on his saliva. 

 "I was always scared I was actually some evil monster child and they were right for beating me, which I was fine with as long as they didn't touch him. My lil angel. But by that point, I figured if I was going to hell, I might as well take them with me. There was no way they could be good people after they did what they did. I never stopped to question that I was also in the same boat as another innocent child they hurt, and that they were bad for harming me. All I could see was him. The only person that had ever given me a hug since I started having memories, up to that point. The only one who loved me unconditionally, because I was his big sibling. His protector. But I," Salem paused to swallow heavily, "-I didn't protect him enough. In the end, I failed him."

Salem went on to ramble, their eyes huge and still heavy with that terrifying bloodlust that made Skwisgaar queasy. "They shouldn't have given me so many ideas to play with. I cut off body parts. I choked them. I burnt them, stabbed them, starved them, and mostly I beat them with the bat. Tried drowning them. Poured bleach in their eyes. I did everything they did to me or Alex over the years. Whenever they screamed too loud for help, I knocked them out again, but it didn't matter anyway. The neighbors never cared about the screaming going on in the house when it was us, they would never know and care that it was them.

"I already had insomnia at the time; you kinda develop it when you're afraid to wake up dying or dead as a child. So I was fine staying awake to make sure they wouldn't escape. But eventually, they couldn't even struggle. And I don't know if it was the dehydration, the pain itself, the poison, or the blood loss that made them succumb, but they finally died and I eventually had nothing, but the pain was still there. I was still pissed, and angry, that they weren't still suffering because they had taken the one thing I loved and that loved me, from me. And I was angry and hurt that maybe they were right because I just maliciously tortured them like a, well, bad kid. Like they had done, and obviously, they were bad people, so was I just like them?" Salem bit their lip slightly. "I still wonder that."

"And I was mostly just in pain over the fact that I was too late to grow balls until after Alex died.

 "Well... I took whatever of my brother's that I wanted to remember him by, and I burnt down the house. With him in it, because I... I was scared of getting caught with a dead body, even though I wanted to bury him properly." Salem winced at their own words, still staring at the table as tears dripped down their nose. Still looking crazed. Skwisgaar was... horrified. This wasn't just a victim to abuse. This was a victim who learned how to become the same monster as the monsters that had broken them, and at some point had nothing left to lose. So it now begged the question: would Salem ever resort to this behavior again, if they felt like they had nothing once more?

Salem's eyes cleared up slightly as they continued. "After that, I chose to travel out of that town. I'm not sure if they just didn't care to figure out what happened or maybe they were afraid that there would be proof they were abusive and just kinda paint them all in a bad light since my parents were 'respectable people' to the town, and at the same time half of them basically knew the whole time that they were abusive or at the very least pretty neglectful, and didn't bother trying to help. I just know nobody ever tried to catch me for it and the only thing I've seen from looking it up is about a house fire killing an entire family. Otherwise, it looked like they were wiped off of the planet like a sick stain.

"I became homeless after that. Did what I had to do to survive in my early to late teen years. After that, I met," Salem nodded to Nathalia and then Tobias, "- and we all managed to find a way to live together. But I eventually buried all of my brother's stuff in a specific area and I would visit it every year to talk to him. Got the last drawing he ever made me on my chest." Salem pointed to the colorful tattoo and it finally made sense why it looked so different from the rest of them. So colorful and childish. "I'm pretty sure the red squiggle is me and the yellow is him, and there's a pink... heart thing. He couldn't really see after they blinded him." Salem sighed quietly as they rubbed their tattoo softly. "Now can everyone leave me the fuck alone about my past?"

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Nobody dared to speak as they processed all of this with horror or disturbed looks on their face. Pickles had stopped the rubbing motion on Salem's back, but he didn't look horrified in a way that implied he was scared of Salem. He just seemed to be in shock.

Skwisgaar could honestly say he felt the same way. Although originally bemused, and aware of the chaotic way they had reacted to Pickles being attacked by his brother, Skwisgaar could more easily envision a small, frightened child screaming and crying as they beat the big, scary monsters as hard as they could with a bat, than some demonic, crazed entity with a wicked taste for blood. Even as the current Salem looked quite the opposite right now, Skwisgaar couldn't shake off those forlorn, haunted eyes and quivering lips, and dismiss them as that of a monster who would attack them if they felt challenged. They were as dangerous as a stray cat was when cornered by predators.

"And for the record," Salem said quietly, "I know that's why I have certain issues. A lot of issues. If you were beaten down for the first 13 or 14, I don't know, years of your life, and then dealt with betrayal after betrayal from drug addicts, homeless people, and other people who said they would help you survive but only wanted something from you- you would, too. But they aren't the reason I do drugs or drink, and they aren't the sole reason I butt heads with certain people or struggle with trust and commitment, which is why I called this irrelevant."

"How- erm, how do you know?" Abigail spoke, trying to sound soft even though she was stammering from the surprise. "It sounds like-"

"I butt heads with people because ever since that fateful fucking day, everyone always asks me what my story is to see if I'm valid enough to have a problem, to begin with. But yeah, I struggle to talk to people because they want to know my baggage so they can tell if I'm cute crazy, or crazy, crazy. I feel very guarded and protective over my story because it's the one thing everyone always asks for when they notice I'm fucked up. To see if I have enough of a valid excuse to have flaws. To see if I'm like the rest of the mental health community, and excuse my behaviors behind some whiny bullshit." Salem's eyes just barely managed to flicker toward Nathalia's direction, and Skwisgaaar knew it was toward Nathalia, because her body also seemed to twitch in response to these words.

"What do you mean by that?" Abigail inquired.

 Salem gritted their teeth together audibly. "The only time I've ever seen anybody care about mental health and trauma is when someone does something bad, and they want to validate it because they'd do the same shit, or when someone reacts to something bad being done and the others want to invalidate that response by making up this idea that it's based on the privilege of not knowing how mental health works. As if doing bad things is only tied to mental health. I never see someone care until it involves using excuses.

"I don't really give a shit. I feel guilt every day for what fucking happened, for different reasons. Should've done it sooner, shouldn't have done it at all. Telling myself I had no reason to play God because I make mistakes. Having to remind myself that they aren't just mistakes, and my brain never listening. When I put trauma into the mix, it makes everything more confusing for me, so I don't throw it in people's face. I can't 'commit' or 'trust' because I can't trust that they won't base my whole personality on some traumatized baby. And I can't trust myself not to hurt someone on accident and spill some whiny bullshit when they ask why." Something flashed through their eyes, something like rememberance or recognition.

"Trust me, if I wanted sympathy, or if I knew I could always make people feel bad and stick with me despite shit, I'd milk my story or at the very least not run the fuck away when they confront me to demand an answer. They don't need an answer because they just need to know if they think I'm a piece of shit or not based on what I've done. If Tobias thought I was dangerous for killing, that's his prerogative because he knows the main issue- I'm capable of killing. It doesn't matter why."

As the silence filled the air, and Skwisgaar tried to wrap his head around all of this word vomit, Abigail seemed to be typing something into her phone momentarily before looking up with a stern expression."I actually think maybe your main issue with explaining your baggage is your need to people please and be 'good' exactly like you were trained from birth, by making yourself appear smaller and more insignificant," Abigail spoke gently, different from her facial expression. "Or to make yourself seem worse than what you are." Salem just stared hard at her. 

"I think that you're afraid it is not pleasurable for people to hear that you have problems, or afraid that you will be rejected either way, or even that you feel you deserve scorn and don't want any validation for your self-defense because you think you're doing what these other people do and excusing unforgivable actions when what you did is a very trauma-related, commonly reactive response to abuse.

"But the reason I mostly believe you're just finding ways to validate squashing yourself down, instead of thinking you simply hate excuses for behavior to influence people, is how openly forgiving you've always been to a significant majority.

 "You worry for them regardless of their actions or you believe there must be a cause for their behavior. You wear yourself thin making sure everyone else is okay, first. Even those you seem to not forgive, eventually, fall back to your good side when you feel they're guilty enough. The very rare moments you have decided not to forgive ever, are the times that they have proven to be maliciously terrible people to others, not just you. Just like your parents to your brother. Like what happened to Pickles and Seth." Salem winced and Pickles cringed slightly.

"You want to be dismissed as a person who has no need for reasons to be saved by others, nor to get a support system because you think everything you do is disconnected from your pain in a way that it isn't justified, ever. Which fuels your inability to commit to others emotionally because it takes commitment to reveal parts of you that you think are inherently evil, and trust them with that forever without the rejection you expect.

"It's true that it's generally not justified to hurt others for no reason. But you don't give yourself enough credit. This wasn't you harming someone out of an ego problem. This was the pain, fear, and real, unforgivable trauma lashing out. This was survival. The real issues are lacking commitment years later and hurting people by running from them, and then beating them to the punch by expressing how screwed up and unlovable you believe you are. Which is something you think you can defeat on your own by denying that it's caused by your trauma and working through it as a wild flaw you need to reign in and control, but you can't control it if you don't know what it's triggered by, because you bury everything down as 'not important enough' to be a reason. 

"It might not excuse your behavior, but it needs to be acknowledged so you can fix the behavior, not so you can simply know that you are triggered and only warning people so they can leave if they want. If you aren't telling people that that's just who you are, you have no reason to feel it is manipulative. It's only a way to stop you from receiving the grace you deserve, which is also stunting your growth in the process, and that is what's keeping you in place. Not excusing it."

"Lastly, and correct me if I'm wrong Tobias, but I don't believe he was trying to make you seem like you were a bad person for not telling people your story. I think it's just concerning to not know the context of something big like that. Even with a lot of trust, it can still be worrisome. That is also why communication is important. I know there's a difference between not communicating because you believe it isn't important, and not communicating on purpose to cause harm- but regardless, communicating is necessary, sometimes."

Tobias bowed his head when eyes darted toward him but said nothing.

"So in conclusion, I think it has everything to do with the way you are now with trust and commitment. You weren't allowed to have a reason to do 'bad' things, so you still believe that to this day, even if your action is a completely valid response, or an active trigger directly correlated to that pain. You see bad things from people who hurt others for no reason and you see them excusing it with things they don't understand, and while yes that's bad for them to stigmatize mental health like that, you put yourself on par with them because your parents beat it into your head that you were, and that's why you think it will have the same manipulative effect. It isn't. This is an actual trauma response, not the work of someone who can't commit because they don't care about other people's feelings and just want to use people for their bodies."

Salem was audibly gritting their teeth, their eyes glazed over with an expression that Skwisgaar couldn't place. Instead of responding to her, they instead looked over at Tobias. "I'd like to know why you started caring all of a sudden about my past when you hate prying into people's personal lives," Salem spoke dully with a guarded expression on their face. A valid question as far as the others were concerned.

Tobias hesitated. "Can it wait 'til tomorrow? I need to talk to Pickles about something first."

PIckles' face reddened, and Salem raised a brow but didn't look disturbed by this. "Okay."

Abigail sighed in somewhat relief that things had blown over a little more smoothly than they had started out. "I think that's all for today. Unless you have something to say now, Skwisgaar?"

Skwisgaar shook his head, much to hers and Salem's dismay.

"Alright, then you guys are free for the rest of the day."

Salem had practically dashed out of the room in a flurry, leaving the rest in the room before they could even get up. Murderface's eyes followed them like a hawk, and Bones was staring at Murderface, a light frown pulling down the corners of his lips very slightly. Pickles stood up and stretched slowly, with a perturbed look on his face. He looked down at Skwisgaar, who was still sitting, and spoke quietly.

"Prebably should've at least tried ta say somet'in'."

Skwisgaar pursed his lips, his eyes darting away to avoid looking at Pickles' scrutinizing gaze. He hadn't really pressured Salem to speak, just stated honestly that he wouldn't talk unless Salem did first. Yet a queasy, disturbing feeling seemed to chew through his stomach still.

Tobias had slowly stood and was walking around the table to whisper something in Pickles' ear, to which he nodded to. Pickles placed a momentary hand on Skwisgaar's shoulder, then stepped away to follow behind Tobias. Those two couldn't have been fucking, right? So what was the deal with them?

When Skwisgaar finally decided to stand, he spotted Nathalia whispering quietly to Toki right beside the door. An odd placement to be whispering like she was trying to hide something while everyone was filing through. 

Nathan was still sitting there, disgruntled, tapping his fingers on the table in a pattern. When Skwisgaar caught his eye, he nodded gruffly to the Swede, who only kind of looked back awkwardly. He didn't want to have to pass by those two again, but he knew nobody left in the room wanted to talk right now. He didn't even know what type of conversation he could hold with anybody at this point.

So Skwisgaar skirted along the table and headed toward the door farthest from them so he could leave- when he heard Nathalia whisper something in not-so-quiet of a voice.

"I swear, like, I don't know how they could've known but for real. Two people born into religious families that think they're the devil's spawn? It's like a carbon copy of my backstory." Well, how disrespectful. Skwisgaar could tell through Salem's tone and the way they had cried, how honest they had been. And what else would explain that tattoo? Still, Skwisgaar couldn't help but let the seeds of doubt plant inside his brain. Nathalia's reasoning didn't make sense, though. Was she that unaware of how much Toki related to Salem about the religious abuse?

"Eh, ja, I don'ts knows..." Toki's eyes flickered up to Skwisgaar's, and he looked momentarily relieved. Maybe he expected Skwisgaar to save him by offering to hang out with him, so he could stop this tone-deaf conversation.

Skwisgaar remained a straight face and walked by without acknowledging him. Not out of pettiness (maybe a little) but because he had a feeling Nathalia would chew him out for butting in. Plus, Toki did choose this. He had chosen Nathalia over him...

Stop thinking like that, Skwisgaar thought to himself. Stop acting like there was anything between us, stop...

Unfortunately for the guitarist, Nathalia had apparently stopped talking to Toki to discuss something with either Nathan or Abigail. He could hear the footfalls of Toki following him before he even heard the other's voice.

"Skwis?"

Skwisgaar paused but didn't turn around. "Ja?"

"Ams... ams sorries for pushing yous away," Toki spoke softly.

"It ams fines."

Toki began to creep closer until his arm was brushed against Skwisgaar's, and the blond's brain short-circuited as he jerked away a little more aggressively than he meant. When he caught the other's eyes, they were filled with hurt.

"If it ams fines, whys-" Toki started, but Skwisgaar interrupted him before he could finish.

"I justs... I amenst wants to talks right nows," Skwisgaar said in a deadened tone, rubbing his arm a little.

"Buts... shouldn'ts we? It ams importants, ja?" Toki looked worried and sad.

"There ams nothinks to talks about," Skwisgaar muttered as he turned his head to avoid looking at Toki. "Ams glad you ams with Nats. Maybe goes talks with hers."

"It ams about us thoughs," Toki said quietly. "I don'ts want to lose yous as friends."

"You won'ts." The bitterness in Skwisgaar's shaky voice was audible as he began to walk away again. Trust me, Skwisgaar thought with a sick feeling in his stomach. You couldn't lose me even if you wanted. Then he snapped his head back visibly because of that thought. Stop, what are you doing, stop stop stop-

"Okays..." Toki whispered behind Skwisgaar, who didn't look back behind him, though he could still picture those big blue eyes welling up with tears and the way his face would feel against the other's chest from embracing him to stop him from crying and-

No stop stop stop stop-

Nathalia's smug face flickered past his mind, as well as the way Toki looked so miserably worried all the time, and he gritted his teeth. He didn't care, he just wanted to touch Toki. All he wanted was sex, that's all he ever wanted. He didn't want to feel Toki's head against him as he hid from the world because he saw Skwisgaar as a safe place, or see the look of adoration as he confided in the Swede, and he especially didn't want to feel Toki wrap around his body in that sweet, puppy dog way-

Stop, fucking stop, there's no way-

The bitterness of Nathalia and Toki kissing squeezed at Skwisgaar's heart. The previous tears in Toki's eyes and knowing it was because Nathan wasn't interested in him felt like a punch to his gut. Toki moaning Nathan's name, Toki only coming to Skwisgaar when he broke his own heart and then leaving when he was fine again, Toki-

 He headed toward Salem's room and knocked on it sharply, his heart pounding in his chest from the gross, icky feeling circulating through his body.

Salem opened the door after thirty seconds, and their eyes immediately hardened upon seeing Skwisgaar. "What do you want?"

"Can I comes in?" Skwisgaar asked, wincing as his stomach was doing flips.

"You threw me under the bus and then didn't even follow through," Salem snapped. Their eyes were red and puffy. 

"Ams knows," Skwisgaar panted, feeling waves between hot and cold rolling through him. "Ams said would talks, amenst say in fronts of everyone. Pleases."

Salem stared hard for a second, before begrudgingly stepping to the side and letting Skwisgaar through. The second the tall man stepped through and the door had closed, he dropped to his knees, gasping for air with the hot wetness of tears stinging his face. Salem took a step back momentarily in surprise, then kneeled to the floor with their hand on his back.

"The hell is going on with you?" Salem asked quietly. A silent sob shook through Skwisgaar's body that stole all the air from his lungs, and he had to gasp before he could actually say anything.

"Ams... in loves with Toki."

. . .

After an hour of Salem attempting to calm down the hysterical Swede, Skwisgaar finally managed to catch his breath for longer than a few seconds. 

"I don't understand," Salem said. Their eyes were searching his, trying to process the situation. "I mean, you act as though you hate him half of the time. And no offense but I didn't think you were capable of romantic love."

Skwisgaar winced at this, rubbing his sore eyes for what felt like the hundredth time. "Ja, sames," Skwisgaar could only murmur, staring miserably down at the floorboards. "Ams not a romantics."

Salem sat down next to Skwisgaar with their arm around his shoulders comfortingly. "And let me guess, you don't want to tell him?"

"Nos. He ams with... You knows." Skwisgaar didn't really want to say her name because of the bitter taste in his mouth afterward. "Ams screwed up chances with hims anyways."

"So that's your main issue lately? Just lovesick?" When Skwisgaar nodded at Salem's question, the drummer sighed softly. "Can't say I know how to help. But maybe talk to him?"

"Whys?"

"Closure? So it's not eating you from the inside out? And so you don't feel the need to lash out at him or other people."

Skwisgaar could only sigh as he rubbed his face in his hands. "...Thanks you."

Do you feel a little bit better at least?"

"I guesses so." It did feel good to let it off his chest and simultaneously admit out loud his feelings, but it still hurt. Badly. "Ams goinks to bedrooms."

Salem nodded and watched from the floor as Skwisgaar stood up, tapping on his guitar in slight nervousness. He just wasn't sure why he was feeling so skittish right now.

"Ams sorries abouts your familys," Skwisgaar spoke. "Abouts Alex."

Salem smiled slightly, though their eyes dropped when he said that. "It's okay. Funny, you remind me of him a little."

"I dos?"

"Mhm. You look like what I always pictured him to grow up looking like." Salem pursed their lips a little. "Is it weird I thought of him more as my own child than my brother?"

Skwisgaar shrugged. "Don'ts knows. You tooks care of hims likes a parent."

"Yeah..."

"Does people makes you feel weirds about thats?"

"No... I don't know. People get weird about sibling love. Like it's inherently sexual or something."

"In many others country, familys kiss ons the lips," Skwisgaar told them. "You were borns in Americas, ja?"

"Yeah."

"That ams whys. They sexualizes everythings there. Haves fetishizes there abouts it." Skwisgaar rolled his eyes. "That ams their problems, not yours. I wishes I had a familys member who loveds me like you." Once he said that, his eyes widened to realize he had spoken that out loud and snapped his head away, embarrassed. 

"Skwis-"

"Gots to goes," Skwisgaar said quickly. "You won'ts tell anyones ams in loves with Toki?"

"Of course not."

Skwisgaar simply nodded then sped out of the room, shutting the door behind him. He was immediately shoved against the wall next to it, his head smacking into it roughly. His ears rang and his eyes rolled with pain, groaning out from the impact.

Nathalia's bloodthirsty eyes were digging deep into Skwisgaar's face. "You love him, huh?" Nathalia sneered. "Do you wanna die?"

Skwisgaar blinked away the red flashing lights in his eyes as the pain slowly subsided, and he swallowed heavily. He was far too pretty to know how to fight! "Ams... nots tryinks to take him away from yous," Skwisgaar stammered as he struggled against her grip. "Gets off!" If his only way to survive was to scream for help, he would do that. At least one Klokateer would hear, right?

"Good, because he's mine," Nathalia snarled, tears welling up in her eyes. "I can't let people keep taking everything I love."

Skwisgaar continued to try squirming away from her, and she squeezed his neck threateningly for a moment longer, cutting off his air supply and letting him flail against her grip. It was a second too long, because Toki had appeared through the doors of the meeting room, and stood frozen in spot to witness what was happening.

"Nats?!"

Nathalia let go as soon as she heard Toki's shocked voice. She took a step back with a deep breath, then slowly relaxed her shoulders. "Sorry," she muttered to Skwisgaar, stalking toward her room without another word and shutting the door behind her.

Skwisgaar had dropped to his knees as he gasped for air once she had let go. Saliva dripped out of his mouth and onto the floor because it hurt to swallow. Toki shakily walked toward Skwisgaar, kneeling down to pat Skwisgaar on the back.

"What happeneds?" Toki asked worriedly, but Skwisgaar shook his head and shrugged Toki off much more gently than he had done earlier. There was no way he could talk right now to Toki when that psycho was still too close for comfort, not about what just happened, not about what he was feeling, nothing.

Toki was determined to not be pushed away this time, though. He stood up straight and grasped Skwisgaar's arm, pulling him up with surprising strength. Skwisgaar reluctantly got up, still taking deep, ragged breaths through his sore windpipe. Toki reached to wipe away Skwisgaar's saliva from his lips; only hesitating for a second when Skwisgaar flinched at this movement. "Ams you okays?" Toki asked. Skwisgaar just kept his eyes staring past the other and at the wall on the opposite side, saying nothing. Toki looked up at him with a wounded expression on his face. "You ams goings to keep mes shutteds out?"

"Toki, stops making this more difficults," Skwisgaar spoke hoarsely, still not meeting his eye. "You ands I both knows this... this friendships ams over."

Toki's breathing even stopped as he stood rooted in place. "You ams lyings," he whispered. "I amenst even dones nothings."

Skwisgaar's cold, detached composure had come back just enough for him to snap his head away from the other, hissing, "Stupids dildoes. Stays away from mes." He ignored the screams within his head telling him to not do this, to not push Toki away with such a cruel demeanor. He knew he didn't deserve it. But he didn't want to deal with Nathalia any more than he had to, even if she had apologized. She gave off the impression that she was more than willing to go lower than low purely out of spite, even if it was out of fear.

Toki would have none of this, though. He leaned in to whisper in Skwisgaar's ear in slightly broken Swedish, which roughly translated to: "Is it because of her? What did she say?"

This surprised Skwisgaar a little, but he just turned away and said nothing for fear of her popping her head out and accusing them of plotting against her. Toki's arms wrapped around Skwisgaar's soft middle and pulled him into an embrace, causing the taller man to tense up. Just as he was about to pull away, Toki let go with a sympathetic look on his face that made Skwisgaar want to puke.

Skwisgaar could do or say nothing except turn from the other and walk numbly toward his room without even saying goodbye. There was nothing he could really do to patch up the friendship, repress his emotions, and keep Nathalia away from him, without in some way either hurting himself or Toki. And in a way, he was bitter and full of resentment. Because maybe if something had gone even sort of right during his kiss with Toki, maybe he'd have had a chance by now. Maybe he would have come to the conclusion that his feelings weren't exclusively sexual a lot sooner. Maybe if Salem hadn't pressured him, he wouldn't have had to even make any realization about his feelings for Toki. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe it didn't even matter anymore. 

Skwisgaar watched the way Toki only ever confided in Nathalia, now. He watched the way he kept his head down every time he sat next to someone else. The way he was so determined to speak up one day, then go quiet the next. He didn't have evidence that it was Nathalia, and even if it was, it could've just been her fear of losing another person since she seemingly already lost a decade-old friendship. But that didn't make it okay; not after the way she kicked him in the jaw and yelled at him for his feelings (which he sorely admitted was his fault that it happened), then suddenly decided to attach herself to him again. It didn't feel right. At the same time, he had no right to say anything. Only chasing Toki when he wanted to for a while, and saying he only wanted his body to hurt him, was shitty, too.

Skwisgaar buried his face in his hands. Maybe instead of focusing on himself, he needed to focus on what he needed to do to keep Toki from becoming isolated and hurt again. He just wished he knew how to do that without making things worse. He wasn't self-sacrificial like Salem or sickly, sweetly obsessive and protective like Pickles. He wasn't painfully, consumingly loyal like Nathan to Charles. He was not bravely stuck to anybody's side even in death, like Raven and Ivy. He didn't have a lovable amount of adoration. He wasn't just a confused, victimized ball of self-loathing and hatred and ugliness like Murderface or maybe even Nathalia.

At the end of the day, he was too selfish and self-absorbed to be loved, and to love.

Chapter Text

A few days ago...

 "There's something I have to tell you..."

"Okie?" Pickles watched Tobias cautiously from his position on the bed, his sore and drugged-up head making it difficult to concentrate on the other. At the same time, his body felt tingly with a need to move. To let out a random burst of energy now that it was awake. Which he found odd, considering he wouldn't feel like this after waking up in the hospital, usually. In fact, he didn't think most people would.

Tobias took a deep, shaky breath. He looked so nervous that Pickles started to reach to pat the man on the knee in comfort. However, the rhythm guitarist's words made him freeze in his movement.

"Pickles, we're brothers."

"E- eh?!"

Tobias' leg started bouncing so hard that Pickles thought he would start flying to the moon at this rate. "I talked to Abigail. About a letter that I got from my mum. And... she supposedly heard about the upcoming collab (which doesn't seem to be happening anymore anyway). She saw you, did some searching, and found out you were her child that she gave up for adoption a few years before I was born."

Pickles was stunned, his head reeling as he stared at the other. The sluggish memories of his parents- no, the people who adopted him- and said that he wasn't theirs, poked the drummer from the back of his mind and he winced. But more than that, it was bewildering to think that this information would be so close together and back-to-back. Almost like the universe had lined this up perfectly; like it had been planning for this. No... like someone else had been. "I..."

"The birth record seemed to confirm it, but we can always take a DNA test if you don't believe it..." Tobias shrugged a little. Pickles swallowed as he slowly looked at this person he barely knew, up and down.  This person he had just barely met. In his 30 years of life and he didn't even know the guy for 6 months but had grown more closely with him than most of the family he had grown up with. Pickles studied him. Thicker, heavier-set eyebrows; large nose; shorter; awkward-limbed; pale; a sort of square-looking jaw; thick facial hair. Sure, he hit a lot of points, but...

This also reminded Pickles a little more of what had happened before he ended up in the hospital bed. He remembered going up to the roof. He remembered wanting to kill himself. He remembered Murderface following him up there, and he remembered falling.

Now after trying to die because he felt he had no family, he was finding out that he did have a brother, and it was conveniently this random guy he had just met, what, a few weeks ago? A month now? Maybe two? He couldn't remember. His head hurt from this info, and if he wasn't so tired, he might even feel a little suspicious about it. He also felt a little overwhelmed and slowly moved one of his arms to rub at his face in exasperation. Brother... the word terrified him. Hurt him.

Tobias looked anxious. "Sorry if I mentioned it at the wrong time. I just felt like I couldn't wait... but I understand if it's too much to process right now-"

"Shh," Pickles whispered as he moved his hand to bump Tobias' face gently to get him to stop talking, and closed his own eyes as he processed. Tobias' face seemed genuine, but he wasn't so sure Abigail's would be. At this point though, why bother starting a fight? He could fake it, just like he had been. It couldn't break him any further to find out if Abigail was just spouting a lie to make him feel better. Now the real puzzlement would come to be if this turned out to be true...

Once silence had filled the room for a good minute or two, and he managed to focus on what was happening, Pickles opened his eyes and grinned weakly. "Is dis how it feels ta be de older brot'er? I'm ganna have ta listen ta yew yapping anxiously?"

Tobias blinked with a slightly confused expression on his face at first, then it relaxed when he seemed to finally understand that Pickles was teasing. "I- I suppose so," Tobias agreed awkwardly with a small smile.

Current Day...

Pickles and Tobias were in the latter's room, with Pickles leaning against the wall and Tobias sitting awkwardly on his bed, tapping his fingers on his knee.

"Ya know, yew didn't haveta t'row Salem under de bus," Pickles told the other quietly."Yew don't gotta try ta protect me or anyt'in' jest because we're brothers. I would trust 'em wit' my life."

Tobias nodded and sighed quietly. "I'm sorry," Tobias murmured. "I've just- I've always wanted a real family member, and now that I have one, it feels so surreal. I'm afraid of something, anything, coming in to destroy it."

"Now do yew see Salem as destroyin' somet'in' like dat?" Pickles raised a brow as he looked over at the younger man. "I mean, don' get me wrong. I was curious about dat shit tew, but..."

"But Pickles, didn't you bring it up at some point because you didn't trust them? Because of Nat?"

Pickles winced. He couldn't deny that. "Ye... guess yer right. I, I dunno. But man... deir story was crazy. It hurt tew hear."

Tobias nodded solemnly. "We- Nathalia and I- didn't know much about their story other than when their brother died, they also killed their parents in self-defense. I mean, it's pretty horrific all on its own, but the added layers of torture and abuse that they went through, and the religious torment... And all the pain that must be following them for not saving Alex in time because they were too afraid. For resorting to torture and 'evil' behavior. And how conflicting that must be. I couldn't begin to imagine. The only one who might come close is Toki."

"Ye," Pickles agreed quietly. "I t'ought my family was bad."

Tobias looked over at him sympathetically. "They are bad. Just because Salem's parents were physically abusive to them, doesn't somehow make the emotional and verbal abuse you went through invalid. Or maybe even physical, considering your brother, erm, Seth. You know."

Pickles shrugged, pursing his lips. God, he hated even thinking about that guy at this point. He shoved thoughts of his fake family away, opting to instead worry about the way Salem dashed out of the room after the meeting. "Man, I hope dey're okie..."

"They will be." Tobias shifted to sit cross-legged and face Pickles fully. "I admit it wasn't like me to throw them under the bus like that, but knowing you're one of the closest people to them now... I was overwhelmed with paranoia about what could have possibly triggered their need to kill. I spoke on behalf of an emotional response instead of being level-headed like I normally am and keeping to myself... and I really think I hurt their feelings by doing so. I was just worried..." Tobias looked upset.

Pickles chuckled lightly. "Yew act like emotions are below yew. Everyone's got a emotional ding. Everyone gets paranoid..." Pickles eyed the other, seeing that he didn't look entirely convinced. "I fucked up tew wit' dem. Dey've fucked up wit' me. Sometimes dings cause hurt dat we don' mean ta. We gatta apologize 'n' do better. Plus, murder is kinda important ta know aboot."

Tobias nodded and sighed. "Mostly I wanted to ask you if it would be okay to tell the others we're related. Abigail already knows, but nobody else."

Pickles shrugged and laughed. "I don' really care, dood. Not afraid ta have people knowin' but I get it if yew don' wanna tell 'em." Pickles, still numb to the idea of Tobias being his brother, really didn't mind telling others. In fact, he was curious how Abigail would react in specific. The suspicion quietly bubbled in his chest, low enough to be hidden. He hoped.

Tobias shook his head. "Well, I have no problem telling them. Plus, they need an answer as to why I broke the one and only rule I normally stick by. So I guess we can talk about that tomorrow."

Pickles nodded in agreement. They chatted a while longer before Pickles stood up and awkwardly fist-bumped Tobias, bidding him goodnight. Tobias seemed to have developed a very quick connection to Pickles upon finding out, which didn't bother the drummer. Out of anybody who would be plotting behind Pickles' back, he didn't think Tobias aka the nervous wreck would be one of them. And he genuinely did seem to grow a super big attachment the second he told PIckles.

When Pickles left Tobias' spare room (it was in another corridor within the same general area, so he could visit the others when he wanted), the Klokateers led him back to the original hallway to drop him off at his room. However, instead of actually stopping at his room, he gently knocked on Salem's door first.

There was a muffled ruffling of sheets and then the smaller drummer opened the door, looking up at Pickles with a drained expression. They brightened a little upon seeing Pickles standing there, which warmed Pickles from his head to his toes, and he couldn't help but grin gently down at them. "Can I come in?"

Salem nodded and stepped to the side to let Pickles through. Pickles shut the door behind him, then scooped Salem into his arms to embrace them. They tensed for only a second, then placed gentle arms around the other's back. 

"'M so sorry," Pickles mumbled, his face buried in their soft, blond hair. "Shouldn't've asked f'r detail... I wasn't dinking, I'm sure it was horrible ta relive it like dat."

"It's fine." Salem pulled away from the hug, so Pickles reluctantly let go, because he didn't want to push his luck and walk all over their boundaries, even though he missed touching them. To his surprise though, they left their hand lingering gently on his side. However, at the same time, they were refusing to meet Pickles' eyes. The mixed signals were certainly confusing the redhead. "Didn't really wanna talk about it at all, never mind the details."

"I understand," Pickles murmured. "I... I wish I could take back makin' a jab at ya b'fore aboot all dat." He swallowed heavily. "Aboot yew've killin' before..."

"I know. It's okay." Salem smiled but it didn't reach their eyes. They looked exhausted. Pickles took their hand gently, and after they hadn't pulled away for a few, slowly led them to their bed. They seemed too tired to even protest. Pickles felt vague deja vu as he tenderly tucked them under the sheets.

"Yew need sleep," Pickles whispered when Salem struggled to keep their eyes open. They just made a small sound in their throat and slid an arm out to tug on Pickles' sleeve, refusing to let go when he tried to dislodge the hand in confusion. Pickles' eyes grew a bit wider at the odd clinginess. "What do yew want..?" He asked hesitantly, unsure if he wanted to actually try sleeping next to Salem. So far, they hadn't tried emotionally detaching from him again, and they were fine with him lounging around on their bed before, but still. How long before the fact that Pickles tried killing himself fades away and they disconnect from him again?

Salem just continued to sleepily pull on him until he caved in, because they just looked too irresistible and cute to reject, and finally slipped under the covers with them. They curled around him immediately with their head nestled in the crook of his armpit, staring forlornly at nothing; inside their own little world, it seemed.

Pickles began cautiously stroking their hair, tentatively enjoying the connection for the time being but expecting it to be taken from him any moment when Salem snapped out of it. Just like any other time with them. Just like any time he tried to connect with anybody. He was so consumed by these worrying thoughts in fact, that he actually didn't notice them gripping him around his middle harder and harder, until a light sob escaped their throat, snapping him out of his own thoughts. He craned his neck down to look at them, seeing Salem's face covered in tears and snot and saliva as they ugly cried into the sheets just under Pickles' arm.

Both his heart and stomach churned, and he lifted their chin so he could settle their face into his chest while he pulled them closer, wrapping both arms around them. They gripped the other tightly by the shirt, their cries getting progressively louder and more desperate as time went on.

"I got ya," Pickles whispered in Salem's ear, though felt helpless even as he said that. There wasn't much he could do except be here for them physically and emotionally, and he wasn't sure whether or not, in the aftermath, they would shut down on him as they had done before. "'M here."

Salem squeezed tighter in response, letting their tears drip all over Pickles' shirt. "I want 'im back," they whimpered.

Pickles chewed on his lip. "I wish yew could," he spoke softly. Guilt flooded his core at knowing he was even a little bit responsible for reopening such an ugly wound. Knowing he had twisted that knife even before knowing the truth because some asshole took it upon herself to spill out an out-of-context trauma story, and he hadn't even bothered to question them before using it against them. Because he was hurting. Hurt people, hurt people, he thought to himself with a wince as he thought of all of his friends. They all hurt each other so much. 

Pickles remembered what Salem had once said to him. 

"What part of me screamed that I was stable enough for this shit, hmm?"

At the time, Pickles felt like they were just deflecting. Maybe they were. Now, he could understand partially as to why they were so vague. They already pre-determined that they were no good, and didn't want to justify their behavior to prepare for the hatred for what they did.

And yes, to be fair, trying to justify it would have made them seem worse. But at the very least, they could have opened up about it and explained something... anything. They might not have excused it, but they still ran away instead of trying to fix it. So while Pickles still felt pity for them, they couldn't waste time sitting around and feeling sorry for themself while denying others the right to feel sorry for them. They really did need to try and find a way to fix this problem, this self-fulfilling martyrdom of trying to be perfect and good, and self-sabotaging, and accidentally hurting others in the process the second it no longer worked because of the triggers, as Abigail said.

"Couldn't save him... couldn't save you." Salem's voice was so small and sad, breaking Pickles' concentration.

Pickles blinked, looking down at them. "What yew mean?"

"When you... jumped. I- I tried bringing you back. But in the end, it was everyone else. I couldn't do anything. I can't ever do anything." Salem's tears had dried up momentarily, but they started falling again even faster once they finished their sentence. "Stuck wanting and trying to save people that I can't save."

Pickles buried his face in their hair. "It wasn' yer responsibility ta save me, or save anybody," Pickles murmured, but this didn't seem to make them feel any better. 

"I don't want to be close to anybody anymore," Salem whispered. "I just lose them in the end."

Pickles winced. "But yew didn't lose me." When Salem said nothing, Pickles lifted their chin and cupped it with a gentle hand, to try to get them to look at him. "Hey, 'm right here. Yew haven' lost me."

Salem didn't say anything else, just dropped their head back onto his chest, exhausted after their small emotional breakdown. Once their eyes closed and their breathing evened out, they rolled over on their own to curl into a ball, snoring softly. Pickles wrapped himself around them, an arm laying gently on their side and wrapping the blanket around the both of them. He pressed his face against their neck with a soft sigh. Pickles could understand a lot about Salem now, at least. But he was simultaneously plagued with a mix of guilt and uncertainty.

He was still here that was true, but he didn't fully feel like he wanted to be here, still. He had no intentions of doing it again any time soon, but that didn't mean he wanted to be alive. And he felt guilty for thinking that, even as things had begun to smooth over in his life once more; he had his best friend Nathan back on friendly terms with him, he had a real brother who was concerned for him and practically an adopted brother to watch over (Toki), and he felt he had someone to hold at night, again. He had no idea what else he should do to fix the brokenness in his chest to make him stay willing to fight for his life, and it felt like the equivalent of telling Salem that he was still here, but only for a short while longer. That he was alive, just enough for now. Whether or not that was actually true, he didn't know. He squeezed Salem tighter to him for the rest of the night.

~~~

Everyone was in shock the second Tobias revealed that he and Pickles were brothers (aside from Abigail whose face didn't change at all, and Bones who exclaimed, "I don't know what's happening but congrats, or I'm sorry to hear that!").

Salem looked between the two in shock, so Tobias explained that it was his paranoia that made him dig for an answer since Pickles was close to them. They still seemed hurt by the fact that he had put their dirty laundry out on the line for someone that he just discovered was his relative (at least, that was the assumption Pickles had, which he thought was fair), but simply nodded and looked down at the table to avoid eye contact.

Pickles could still hear the broken, anguished cries from last night bouncing through his head every so often, and he couldn't help but regularly look over at Salem anxiously. They hadn't made an effort to reject him or avoid him, but they still looked depressed and somewhat disinterested in what was happening around them. It wasn't just them shutting down on him, they were shutting down on everything. That was the deadened look Pickles had, as his body sat comatose during the party. That lack of reaction and response was how he'd been feeling for about a year now, give or take a few moments. Pickles couldn't blame them, but, was simultaneously desperate to do anything to fix their situation.

"I'm sure that was a huge realization for you, Pickles," Abigail spoke to him. "How does it make you feel?"

Pickles swallowed heavily, feeling most of the eyes trained on him. "I don' know," he admitted quietly. "It's weird. Like it isn' real."

"Does it make you feel better or worse, knowing this information?" She asked.

Pickles shrugged. "I guess bot'? I mean cool, but it took so long and dere's so much ta catch up on."

Abigail nodded. "Do you think having him will help you with your struggles in due time?"

"Prebebly." But Pickles wasn't being honest, and it hurt him to know that, but he didn't know how to express what he was really feeling deep down. He only said what he thought she wanted to hear.

Pickles began to tune out of the conversation as it shifted back over to Nathan, then to Salem, to see how they seemed to be doing after they had their silly little vulnerable moment. Salem was more passive and quietly said they were doing fine, but Nathan still seemed disgruntled and didn't really say anything.

It wasn't that Pickles didn't care. It was just that it was hard to concentrate with so much on his plate.

When Abigail eventually dismissed them after not much progress had been made, Pickles stretched out his limbs and stood up with a sigh. He felt a small, soft body against his and he looked down at Salem, seeing their eyes droop as they glanced back. "Gonna go take a nap if you need me," they murmured to Pickles, and Pickles nodded in response with a small smile. He watched longingly as they dragged themself to the door, obviously still tired or depressed about last night. He wanted nothing more than to keep holding them, but they needed sleep, and he didn't want to take it from them by accidentally keeping them awake.

Skwisgaar looked sullen while walking silently out of the room. Nathalia and Toki left a few seconds later, brooding side by side. Nathan was still seated, his head against the table, and Pickles figured he probably didn't need to be bothered right now. As Pickles watched everyone slowly scatter, all looking tired or defeated (except maybe Bones, who was chatting with Abigail), an odd thought struck the drummer about the situation. Something that made this seem less like therapy and more like-

Before Pickles could formulate his thoughts properly, he was struck with surprise when he realized someone was approaching him cautiously. Someone he hadn't talked to since...

"Hey," Pickles greeted, unable to hide the puzzlement in his tone. 

"Hey," Murderface muttered, so low that Pickles strained his ears to hear. "Ckan we talkh?"

"Sure," Pickles replied. He saw the bassist look around the room, seeing there were still a few people left inside. The other's eyes paused at Bones' figure and his eyes hardened for a moment, then turned and nodded toward the doors. To probably signal that he wanted to talk out there.

He followed a hesitant Murderface out of the doors, though the taller man froze in his steps abruptly the second he propped the door open and realized Nathalia and Toki were still standing in the hallway.

Nathalia refused to look at either of them, which hurt Pickles just a little bit; he didn't think their 'bonding' moments while she mooched alcohol off of him were that insignificant, but she certainly wasn't intent on showing she still gave a shit about him. Then again, she was pretty much doing this to everyone, so he supposed he couldn't take it too personally. He just didn't understand what he technically did wrong to deserve the attitude.

Murderface seemed frozen in his steps, so Pickles whispered in his ear, "We c'n talk in my room." He seemed irritated by Pickles being near his ear because he twitched and rubbed at it roughly, but he nodded in response.

Pickles walked around Murderface and then headed to his room, but now he felt almost nervous about this. He already didn't know what the guy wanted. Now they were going to be isolated in his room, and the wounds of last year and some of this year still felt quite fresh in his mind. Not to mention finding himself in Murderface's bed before his first suicide attempt, after getting way too fucked up. He didn't know how he felt about even looking him in the eye, let alone talking to him in an enclosed space.

Pickles leaned against the door, trying to seem nonchalant even as he was mentally preparing to rip open the door and race out the second Murderface did or said anything stupid.

Murderface tapped his feet anxiously on the floor as he looked everywhere but at Pickles. The redhead vaguely noticed just how gaunt his face had gotten since the year started, especially as of late. He was still quite chunky, but had definitely lost weight; he almost looked sickly and diseased. Pickles realized with a start that he had been looking like this even before Nathalia had attacked him during his thing with Salem; he originally thought his paleness was from the torment, but really it was happening right under Pickles' nose and he just now noticed because, well, he finally got to have his emotional breakdown and then was able to somewhat go back to disconnecting from himself and pay attention to everyone else.

What came out of Murderface's mouth actually short-circuited Pickles' brain momentarily from observing anything else. "Do you believe in demonsch?" His voice was still so faint and ghostly that Pickles had a hard time understanding him before it hit him.

"Uhh... I dunno, prebebly?" Pickles spoke hesitantly, watching the way Murderface's fingers danced nervously at his side and the way his eyes darted around the room. Had Murderface finally gone fully insane? "Yew... yew good, dood?"

Murderface didn't seem to register what he had said at first, then blinked and finally focused on Pickles' face. So many emotions crossed his eyes at once that Pickles couldn't particularly pinpoint a single, specific one. "Yeah... there'sch a bookh on demonsch, did you know there'sch a demon that takesch over human bodiesch by leecshing off of them until their schoul isch ckonschumed?"

Pickles blinked. "Can't say I did, no. Why?"

"I don't know." Murderface was bouncing from one foot to the other. "I- would you believe it if schomeone told you that?"

Pickles pursed his lips. "I don' really know, man. Why yew askin' me dis?"

"I don't know," the other repeated, looking even more drained all of a sudden. Pickles motioned to the bed out of politeness before the guy passed out on the floor, but Murderface stayed rooted to the floor like something was keeping him there. "I- I don't know. I don't know... I don't know."

Murderface kept repeating like a broken record until Pickles couldn't help but place his hand on Murderface's shoulder to try and shake him out of it. Murderface winced and shook him off quickly but not unkindly, more or less in panic, but it didn't stop Pickles from trying to give him some advice.

"I dink yew need some sleep 'r somet'in'," Pickles spoke softly. "Yew seem like yew ain't doin' tew good."

Murderface rubbed his face in one of his scarred hands and took a deep inhale through his mouth. "Maybe..."

Then he looked over at the drummer and said quietly, "Schorry."

Pickles shrugged. "It's fine dood, 'm jest kinda confused."

Murderface looked like he was going to say more, but he turned his head instead and started passing Pickles to leave the room. Something deep inside him told him to stop the guy from walking out, so he put his hand out in front to stop the other in his footsteps. Murderface did stop, but he wouldn't look over at Pickles.

"Are yew sure yer good?" Pickles asked. When he didn't receive an answer right away, he pressed the issue as gently as he could. "Do yew believe in demons?"

Murderface pressed his lips into a thin line. "I thinkh... I'm going ckhrazy," Murderface finally admitted, still refusing to look over at Pickles. His eyes looked haunted, and Pickles swallowed heavily, unsure of how to comfort this guy. He wasn't sure if he even wanted to.

"Well, I hope shit gets better. Whatever's got yew dinkin' aboot dem."

Murderface shrugged and Pickles pursed his lips. There was something bitter buried deep within the redhead, something that began to sour the more he thought, that made him blurt out, "Dunno why yew care aboot my perspective, anyway."

Murderface looked simultaneously surprised by this passive-aggressive comment, and also maybe a little offended, which irritated Pickles even more.

"Schorry," was Murderface's response, fully turning his head to look away from Pickles. "I... schorry." Then he sped out of the room and practically slammed the door behind him in a rush, which shocked Pickles to his core. He half expected him to become snarky or say something backhanded, or start an argument. For some reason, this pissed Pickles off even more and he followed him out like an angry, short gremlin.

Nobody else was in the hallway when Pickles caught up to Murderface, and he shouldered the man into the door right before he could open it less-than-kindly. Murderface glanced back with wide eyes at realizing he'd been chased down by a red-faced Pickles. "Wh- what?"

"Yer so damn infuriatin'," Pickles grumbled. "Why da hell'd yew ask me dat question? In fact, all da shit I t'ought we would talk aboot, 'n' yew choose dat? What de feck?"

"I- I, what?" Murderface stammered, face reddening from being challenged, although he looked more terrified, confused, and in pain for some reason, than pissed off. The anger boiling in Pickles' chest wouldn't let him feel sympathy for the guy, though.

"We've got no closure for anyt'in'; 'n' yew jest pile dat on me," Pickles snapped, feeling irritated. "De one time we talk 'n' it's some spiritual bullshit? 'N' yew dink yew can even ask me dat nonchalantly after everyt'in'?!"

Murderface shrank back with each biting word until Pickles stopped to pant, but his eyes carried that firey defiance that made Pickles so damn irate all the time. It was almost relieving to see the normal Murderface's light blazing within his obnoxious green pools. "Schoundsch like you wanted to talk firscht for 'ckloschure' and didn't," Murderface spoke in a surprising monotonous tone that didn't match the blaze. "If you have a problem, you schay it. Don't exchpeckt me to read your mind for you."