Historical Figures and Ancient Heads
Chapter One

Rating: PG
Category: AU
Pairing(s): Nathan/Charles, Toki/Skwisgaar, Murderface/Knubbler.
Warnings: Man boobs.
Summary: Is it time for Dethklok to throw in the bloodied towel?
Notes: For Nathan/Charles month at brutalbusiness. I’m trying to win a sketch book. Why? Because I’m silly.

No one had said the word “retired”, of course, but Charles was pretty sure they were. Dethklok had officially achieved the Canned Heat status of ‘historical figures and ancient heads’. They were not young, they were tired, and death metal just took more energy than some of them had, and more mobility than one of them could manage.

Pickles was spending his days smoking opium and napping, and Charles saw no real reason to try to talk him out of it. A car accident back in his Snakes ‘n’ Barrels days had turned to arthritis of the spine, and Pickles would be in agony without the drug. They had tried treating him with conventional medicine, and for over a year Pickles’ life consisted of long stays in the hospital, being treated with drugs, therapy, and diet. Hydromorph had the best effect on the pain, but left Pickles nervous, weak, and suffering from nightmares so intense that waking up was not always enough to dispel them. Once he began hallucinating and having difficulty telling reality from nightmares, Charles insisted he be taken off of it. Pickles was bundled up and taken home, and once there he asked Charles to find him some opium. Charles did. In short; Pickles would be stoned 24/7 on painkillers regardless, may as well let him pick the drug.

Murderface was growing orchids and funeral lilies, and still denying he was gay. This despite the fact that Knubbler had moved in five years ago and the two were in the habit of calling each other ‘dear’ and taking long romantic vacations together. Murderface was greyer and grouchier, but hadn’t changed noticeably from his younger days. Knubbler however had gone from thin and fragile-looking to incredibly thin and definitely fragile. He was like badly-stored boned china; he could crumble to dust at a touch, and if he ever fell he would shatter every bone in his body. Murderface wanted him safely ensconced in a wheelchair, but Knubbler was having none of it. He was having far too much fun toddling around on his own two rickety feet and driving Murderface crazy with worry.

Skwisgaar had finally completed his evolution into a house cat. A pyrotechnics accident had left him with very limited vision, and he tended to spend his days dozing on a daybed near a sunny window, or else playing his ever-present guitar. He rarely moved from the spot unless he had someone to follow, usually Toki, trailing after the sound of his voice and his boots. Charles thought Skwisgaar occasionally seemed a little confused, but he was so quiet these days it was hard to tell. Still Charles had on more than one occasion found him standing in the hall, hopelessly lost a mere five feet from his own room, and would have to get him sorted out before letting him amble on his way like an arthritic tom cat that had seen too many fights.

Charles would never admit it but he had become deeply fond of Skwisgaar over the last few years. He kinda liked him quiet and mildly confused over loud and arrogant.

Toki had finally grown up and turned into a functioning adult. As the youngest member of Dethklok he was showing his age the least, and spending his days laying down tracks on friend’s albums and working on some solo stuff. He had moved into Skwisgaar’s room, and the two had settled into a very contented and exclusive pair, so much so that Skwisgaar would become quite worried and agitated if Toki was late coming home from a session and hadn’t called. Then Nathan would have to sit with him until Toki either called or arrived.

Ah, yes, the mighty Mr. Explosion. There was a man who had happily slid into the realm of the unmetal. He’d finally come to grips with his deep affection for cats, and that had manifested into a collection of no less than eighteen Deth Kittehs, all adopted from shelters, and most slated for the needle as being unadoptable. Among the herd of kitties was a gorgeous black and white tom, so feral and mistrustful that, aside from his yearly capture to go visit the vet, he was pretty much left to his own devices. The latest addition to the group was three tiny kittens found in a shoe box in a trash can. Nathan was currently on his stomach on the floor, cold predatory eyes fixed on a kitten not significantly larger than a mouse, its back arched, tiny tail bowed, bouncing on its tippy-toes and ready to do battle with the gigantic monster before it.

Nathan drew breath and intoned in a voice like a funeral dirge; “Kitty kitty kitty….”

The tiny kitten darted forward to bat his nose, then fled.

Oh yeah. Real metal there, Nathan.

“Nathan!” Charles called to the large man as he was packing cases in the bedroom of their personal apartments. “Remember we’re going to see my mother this weekend!”

“What?”

Charles narrowed his eyes, running one hand through his hair. It was still brown, but the sides were liberally streaked with grey.

“Nathan do not play deaf, I hate it when you do that.”

“What?”

“We’re going and that’s final!”

“What?”

“I said I’m fucking Murderface!”

“What?”

Charles sighed and resumed packing.

“Fat bastard can’t hear me yelling from ten feet away but he can hear a Twinkie wrapper crinkle in another country,” he muttered, slamming an armload of clothes into his suitcase and closing the lid. He gasped, startled, as he felt a pair of hands rest on his hips. Charles crossed his arms in annoyance as the hands beginning to wander.

“I am not speaking to you.”

Nathan nuzzled Charles’ neck, his long silver-black hair falling down in tendrils to caress Charles’ shoulders.

“Your mom hates me.”

“She hates everybody, why should you be special?”

Nathan drew Charles close, and the nuzzling turned to nibbling. “You’re cute when you’re in a huff.”

“Oh yeah? Stick around, I’m about to become fucking adorable. NATHAN! DO NOT….! Fine.”

Charles was gently picked up in a powerful embrace and dangled as he was snuggled like an annoyed housecat.

“I love you,” purred Nathan.

“I can castrate you in this position.”

“But you won’t because you know I love you.”

A faint smile crossed Charles’ face. “I love you, too. And I would really like to go see my mother this weekend.”

Nathan sighed and gently set Charles down. “The woman seriously hates me.”

“Nathan, she’s very old, and she doesn’t have much longer, and she feels you took me away from her.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong but you moved away from home at age 21, which was eight years before you even met me, and fourteen years before you started sleeping with me. Not for lack of trying.”

“I have a hard time accepting a come-on from a drunk guy covered in corpse paint with three underdressed groupies behind him.”

“Oh come on, I wasn’t that drunk.” Nathan cuddled Charles again, kissing his ear. “Fine. If you want to see your mom this weekend we’ll go.”

“Thank you.”

“But right now I’m gonna hang out in the hot tub. I promised Pickles I’m make sure he didn’t drown.”

“I’ll join you in a few minutes.”

Nathan kissed him, then wandered off to the main fire hall, while Charles finished packing. He then changed into his swim trunks, not quite comfortable doing what the boys did and just getting naked.

The boys. Funny how they were still ‘the boys’ to him.

Charles gave himself a glance in the mirror. Still trim, still muscled. A little grey, sure, and his butt didn’t sit as high as it used to, but with Nathan pouncing on it twice a night there was bound to be some flattening. Over all Charles was pleased.

“Charles, you’re still a hot piece of man-candy. Which is no small feat considering you were dead certain that by this age you’d be bald and living in an institution from all the shenanigans.”

Charles pulled on a bathrobe, grabbed a towel, and went to the fire hall, where he found everyone present and accounted for but Toki. It was Friday evening, and Toki would be finishing up some tracks for a promising new band called ‘Extinction’. He was thirty minutes late, and Skwisgaar was getting edgy. He looked up hopefully as Charles entered the room, though at that distance he couldn’t tell Charles from Toki from Stella Murderface. Charles walked over to the hot tub and slipped into the deep, hot water.

“Sorry Skwisgaar, it’s just me.”

Skwisgaar didn’t say anything. He craned his neck around, as if trying to make sense of his surroundings. Charles reached out to touch the long hair, turned from gold to purest silver, worried for him. He made up his mind to get the doctor to look at him. He didn’t like Skwisgaar seeming so addled all the time.

Skwisgaar perked up visibly when he heard a familiar voice.

“Sorry I lates.”

Toki walked into the room, looking harried and tired. “Traffic was bullshits an’ no one in band wanted to do da fuckings work. Sometimes I t’ink da guitar player don’ts know his ass from his pick-up. Whats dey askings me to plays for? Dey gets not’ing done!”

“Well it’s not like we never used to screw around,” said Nathan.

Toki glanced at Nathan. “Nots likes dis. Dis nots over-tireds guys who needs a break. Dis two guitar players wantings Toki to do da tracks for dem because dey only knows two cords an’ still nots sure how to tune dere own guitars.”

“They must have some talent,” said Pickles.

Toki nodded. “Drummer good. Bass player good. Lead singer fuckings awesome. Lead guitarist coulds be good wit’ work. Rhythm guitarist useless like tits on Nat’an.”

“You leave my man-tits out of this.”

Toki took off his shirt and tossed it aside, then kicked off his boots and his pants before getting into the hot tub and wading over to Skwisgaar. He gently took his face between his hands and kissed him.

“I home now. Is okies.” Toki looked to Nathan. “Hopes he wasn’t too upset.”

“He was a little nervous but basically okay.”

“Hey guys,” said Pickles. “Check it out, that band Toki has been doing tracks for is on TV.”

“Oh turn it up,” said Nathan.

Pickles turned it up, and together the group watched as the lead vocalist of Extinction chatted it up with the interviewer.

“Oh dat’s Jakob Death,” said Toki. “He goods guy.”

“Looksh more like Jakob Dick,” grumbled Murderface.

“It’s always dicks with you,” said Nathan.

Murderface glared at him, and defended his heterosexuality by tugging his tiny boyfriend closer. Nathan just grinned. On TV the interviewer recited the usual inane questions about new albums, how does it feel to finally be making it, blah blah blah. Then the interviewer brought up the one detail that made Extinction’s new album exciting.

“You have Toki Wartooth doing some tracks.”

“Yeah,” said Jakob. “Our guitarist Lars is a huge Dethklok fan, so we approached Toki and said, y’know, if you’re not doing anything…”

The drummer snorted in amusement. The bass player elbowed him. Toki raised an eyebrow.

“So you think Dethklok are retired,” said the interviewer.

“Well,” said Jakob, “they say they’re not, but they haven’t done shit in ages, and personally I don’t think they have what it takes anymore.”

Toki gasped out loud. “DOUCHEBAGS! You comes to me to ask me to plays tracks an’ you is sayings dis in fronts of my back?!”

Nathan motioned for Toki to remain quiet. They continued to watch.

“What do you mean, don’t have what it takes anymore?” asked the interviewer.

“Well I’m not sure I really meant that the way it sounds,” said Jakob. “I mean Toki still has his chops, sure, he’s still the second fastest guitar player on the planet and it’s an honour to work with him…”

“Dat’s better,” growled Toki.

“But look at Skwisgaar Skwigelf. He’s blind as a fucking bat and completely senile, he can barely function when Toki’s not around…”

“And the phone calls,” muttered the drummer.

Jakob laughed. “Yeah the phone calls.” He mimed holding a cell phone and spoke in a poor impersonation of Toki’s voice. “Ja I loves you too baby, is okies, I be home soon, you just sit wit’ Nathan…”

“So you think that the rumours are true and they have a relationship.”

The five members of Extinction laughed.

“Look I’ve been best friends with Lars over there since elementary school,” said Jakob. “I never called him up and said ‘I love you baby’. And Pickles, fuck, just put the cork back in the bottle on him, he’s done.”

“You do realize that Skwisgaar’s vision loss was as a result of an improperly loaded and improperly placed pyrotechnics device at a concert in New York.”

“Well so they say,” said Jakob.

“It’s a matter of public record. Millions of people saw the accident, both at the concert and on the news.”

Jakob just rolled his eyes. Toki growled, his teeth grinding together. The interviewer tried to change the subject.

“So it must have been exciting working with Toki.”

“Yeah it’s always fun working with a six foot dude who thinks he’s eight. Nah Toki’s okay. I mean he’s a good guitarist and it was fun working with him, but… yeah. Whatever.”

Lars the guitar player put in his two cents. “It was great getting a chance to work with Toki, y’know, really makes me wish I’d gotten a chance to do it when he was at the top of his game.”

“So you think Dethklok are over,” said the interviewer.

“Yeah I think they’re done,” said Jakob airily. “I mean Skwisgaar’s a fucking train wreck, Pickles is so soaked in alcohol and drugs they should call him Pickled…”

“You are aware Pickles is dealing with an extremely painful form of arthritis of the spine.”

Jakob ignored the man. “Murderface… fuck I don’t know what the hell is up with Murderface, and Nathan Explosion is so fucking fat that no stage could hold him. Must make it hard on that paper shuffler he’s banging. Oh excuse me, friends with. They’re friends. Look Dethklok used to be the band to beat but now they’re a bunch of fat booze-soaked queers who ought to just change their name to Dead Cock and be done with it.”

Pickles turned off the TV. For a very long time there was silence.

“I’m gonna pop that zit with my bare hands,” said Nathan. “He’s making me sound like I’m a fucking manatee! He called Pickles a drunk!”

Pickles set aside his bottle of gin sheepishly. There was another long silence.

“You have gotten a bit big,” said Charles softly.

“We gotta kick this guy’s ass,” said Nathan. “We are not gonna lie down and take this.”

“What can we do about it?” said Pickles. “He’s an asshole but he’s right! I am used up. I can barely sit up on my own.”

“And I am kinda fat,” conceded Nathan. He looked down at himself.

Skwisgaar said nothing as Toki gently held him close. “Is bullshit,” said Toki. “We coulds kicks dey ass dead.”

“Well,” said Charles, “if this is really bothering you then what do you plan on doing about it?” He was a little surprised at how easy it was to slip back into his role of manager.

There was the usual long pause as rusty gears fought to turn one click.

“Well,” said Nathan, “I can lose the weight. I kinda always wanted to learn how to box. I could take up boxing.”

“Mm-hm. Boxing would work. You’re healthy so that’s not a problem.”

“And… we can do another album.”

“Uh huh.”

“And we can go on tour AND BLOW THAT SNOT-NOSED LITTLE FUCK OFF THE MAP!”

“Whoa, hold it!” said Pickles. “What about Skwisgaar? Can we take him on tour? He has a hard enough time finding his way around Mordhaus… and he lives here!”

“And whats about Pickle?” said Toki. “Skwisgaar can at least plays blind, I nots so sure Pickle can play in pain. I t’inks we is havings to worry more abouts Pickle dan Skwisgaar.”

All eyes shifted to Pickles, who blinked back.

“What about it, Pickles?” asked Nathan.

Pickles looked scared. Playing his best meant playing in agony, and doing it for about three hours, repeatedly, over a period of months while on tour. Then there was the hours in the studio. It might mean ending up aggravating his condition to the point of being bed-ridden the rest of his life. But finally he nodded.

“Okay. I’ll try. It might be our last show but better to go out in a massacre than a whimper.”