Historical Figures and Ancient Heads
Chapter Three

Rating: PG
Category: AU
Pairing(s): Nathan/Charles, Toki/Skwisgaar, Murderface/Knubbler, Pickles/OC.
Warnings: None
Summary:Pickles is scared, and Nathan and Charles have a disagreement.
Notes: For Nathan/Charles month at brutalbusiness. I’m trying to win a sketch book. Why? Because I’m silly.

Erick Fisher belongs to Rei.

Dazed and Confused © Led Zeppelin. Do NAHT fuck with Roy Harper, man.

“Charlie? Need help?”

“No, dammit!”

Nathan just grinned as Charles sat on the floor and sorted himself out. His violent beating at the hands of the Masked Assassin years ago had left him with some minor nerve damage, and every now and then his knees and hips decided that they just were not going to work. This led to some fairly comical situations where Charles would abruptly end up on his butt on the floor, but normally only first thing in the morning, when his muscles were still waking up. It was unusual for it to happen in the evening. Currently Charles was trying to decide the best way to pull himself onto the bed.

“Charlie…” said Nathan.

“I do not need any help, I’m fine.”

“Charlie let me help or we’ll never get to bed.”

“Fine,” said Charles, his voice clipped, tone annoyed.

Nathan walked over to him and carefully picked him up, then drew him close and kissed him.

“Have I ever told you that you’re adorable when you’re grouchy?”

“I am not adorable when I am grouchy.”

“You are painfully adorable when you’re grouchy. Brutally adorable. Have I told you that I fucking love it when you’re grumpy?”

“I am not grumpy,” growled Charles.

“Well which one are ya, then? Sleepy? Dopey?”

“Nathan?”

“Yeah?”

“I can kill you in this position.”

Nathan drew him closer and nuzzled him. “But you wouldn’t because you’re sweet. Who’s a little cutie? Huh? Who’s a little cutie? You are!”

“Nathan please just put me on the bed with what little dignity I have left.”

“Okay. But… you need to get that looked at. Like… seriously.” Nathan carefully placed him on the bed.

“I’m fine,” said Charles quietly.

“Charlie…”

“I’m fine!” Charles snapped.

Nathan raised an eyebrow. “Uh… excuse me, Mr. Offdensen, but if the situation was reversed you would personally drag me to the doctor.”

Charles sighed quietly, defeated. “I’ve already been, Nathan. Twice. It’s not physical, it’s psychological. I get stressed, I get upset, and things start misfiring.”

Nathan blinked, processing this. “Well… what are you upset about?”

“I’m worried about the show,” said Charles, moving himself under the covers.

“The show?” said Nathan. “Charles, we haven’t even started work on the album yet.” He began undressing.

“I know. But I’m worried.”

Nathan pulled his shirt off and tossed it aside. “About what?”

“Well, to be perfectly honest, about you doing the Celebration of the Lizard.”

Nathan gave him a puzzled look. “Why? It’s an awesome song.”

“That’s just it, Nathan, it’s not a song, it’s a performance piece. Have you ever seen the film footage of Morrison on stage? They didn’t call him the electric shaman for nothing. He put an enormous amount of Irish and Native American influence into his shows. He in fact believed he shared his body with the spirit of a deceased Native American man.”

“So what are you saying?” asked Nathan. “Are you saying you don’t think I can do it?”

“I did not say that.”

“Well what are you saying, Charles?”

“I’m saying I’m not sure a death metal band is a good fit for a performance piece.”

Nathan gazed at him, feeling hurt. “So you are saying you don’t think we can do it, you’re just saying it in a way you think won’t upset the big dumb brute’s feelings.”

Charles felt his heart sink. “Nathan I don’t see you as a big dumb brute. I love you.”

“Well how can you sit there and say you don’t think we can do this?”

“Well, Nathan, to be honest, when Jim Morrison went into a trance and danced around like a shaman it was compelling and fascinating. I have a very hard time picturing you doing that.”

“So because I’m not little and cute with an IQ in the genius range and well versed in Greek mythology I’m just naturally gonna make an ass of myself.”

Charles sighed heavily. “Forget I said anything. Forgive me for being concerned for you.”

Nathan snapped up his shirt and yanked it on, then stormed out of the room, slamming the door after himself hard enough to shake a bit of dust loose from the ceiling. Charles sat alone on the bed, looking down at his hands, trying very hard not to burst into tears.

***---***

The room was dark and quiet, save for the sound of a mild summer storm outside. The fire was lit, giving the room a soft glow, flickering lights dancing across the floors and walls. Pickles was in his bed, reading a pamphlet, waiting for the drugs to kick in that would bring peace and sleep.

"The doctor said it might be time to consider lumbar fusion surgery," he said quietly.

Erick lifted his head, staring at Pickles from his seat in the chair beside the bed. "Okay... I understood the word 'surgery'."

Pickles smiled, feeling decidedly.... peaceful. Bless the sandals of whatever little monk discovered the opium poppy. "It would fuse the deteriorating parts of the spine together. In theory it would stop the pain. I... don't think I'm gonna do it."

"Why not?" Erick asked, though he figured Pickles' decision had something to do with the "in theory" part.

"Well... if it works, it will stop the pain. It will also decrease mobility. If that was the only problem I'd say fine. But there's also a very real chance I could lose a large quantity of blood, develop a severe spinal infection, and if the surgeon slips I could be paralyzed from the waist down for life."

"...Yeah. I'm against the crippling of boyfriends. Especially when they're mine."

Pickles tossed the pamphlet aside. "So that's it. I'm never gonna drum again, I'm never gonna have sex again... I'm just gonna lie here and be high for the rest of my life. Or I can take a chance on this operation and maybe end up worse off than I am."

Erick reached across the bed to grip Pickles' hand. "It's really the only way?"

Pickles shook his head. "We've done all the others. We've done the physical therapy and the medications and the pills and the acupuncture and the heating pads and all that crap. I kinda wanna be able to have my life back. Ah I don't know. I don't wanna be nailed to this bed all my life but I think I hate the idea of someone having to wipe my ass for me more."

Erick smiled faintly, squeezing his hand again. "You know whatever you decide... I'm right here."

"I don't know. I'm scared, Erick. I'm really fucking scared. Spinal cords don't grow back, and no amount of money can buy a new one. And why are you gonna want to hang around a useless old man who’s crapping into a bag?"

"Because I love him."

Pickles stared at him for a long moment, blinking shining wet green eyes. Then he looked away. "I'm gonna hold you to that. If they fuck me up and break my back, I'm gonna hold you to that."

"I know you will." Rising from the chair, Erick bent to slide his arms around Pickles, holding him carefully. "Don't you worry, baby. You won't ever get rid of me."

Pickles kissed him softly. "You're just sweet on me because I bought you that stupid fancy horse."

"And don't forget the bitchin' guitar."

"And the new kitchen for your mom after the tree tried to eat her house. Geeze no wonder you love me." Pickles kissed him again, then sighed. "Damn I wish you could just fuck my brains out right now."

Erick returned the kiss, stroking his hair. "How 'bout I lie down with you?"

"Okay. We can have a little heavy hand-holding action while I fall asleep."

"Sounds hot."

Pickles grinned. "Maybe we can get really wild and kiss. Just get up here. I wanna fall asleep with you close for once."

"Oh, you're a mad man." Erick mirrored Pickles' grin, carefully climbing into the bed and settling beside him.

Pickles carefully edged closer so he could lie beside Erick, slipping an arm across his waist, resting his head on his shoulder.

"Erick? What should I do? Should I take a chance with the surgery or not?"

Erick rested his chin in Pickles' head, exhaling. "I don't know, baby. I hate the idea of you being paralyzed. But I know you're unhappy like that."

Pickles shook his head. "I have to think about it. I'm scared. There's so much that can go wrong and if I get something like spinal meningitis as a result of them fucking around back there then I'm not only in pain and paralyzed, I'm insane as well." He buried his face against Erick. "I'm not doing it. No. Fuck it. I am NAHT doing it. No."

"Okay, babe." Erick gently pressed closer protectively. "Okay."

Pickles held onto him tightly, shaking. "No," he whispered. "There has to be another way."

***---***

Nathan couldn’t settle down. He didn’t like fighting with Charles, and the idea that Charles thought there was something he couldn’t do upset him on a level he could not express. Charles had always had faith in him. He had always believed in him. Nathan just could not wrap his mind around the thought that there was anything Charles thought he could not do.

Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe they were setting themselves up for a fall on their collective asses. Hell they were a mess. Skwisgaar was blind, Pickles was pretty much crippled…

What the hell did Murderface want? He had just stepped into the hall and was motioning Nathan into the rehearsal space.

“You gotta shee thish,” he said.

“I’ve seen your warty dick,” said Nathan.

“Juscht get your fat assh in here.”

“My ass is no longer fat.”

“I don’t schpend a lot of time looking at your assh.”

“Why not? It’s a great ass.”

Murderface declined comment. Instead he waited for Nathan to approach, then opened the door to the rehearsal room. Nathan stepped inside, and froze, staring at Skwisgaar. The tall blonde was standing in the middle of the room, holding his electric guitar, but not in the usual way. He was holding it as if it was a violin, and with his long reach it was not particularly difficult. His long silver-white hair was flowing down his back, and he ran a violin bow over the strings, creating the haunting, eerie sound that was synonymous with Jimmy Page.

“Fucking awesome,” said Nathan. He pulled out his cell phone and called a number. “Pickles where are you?”

“I’m out windsurfing, where do you think I am ya douchebag?”

“Get your lame ass down here and check out Skwisgaar.”

Pickles sighed. “Okay give me a minute.”

Pickles arrived roughly twenty minutes later, leaning heavily on Erick and looking pale. Nathan could tell by the glazed look in his eyes that he had probably taken his medication for the evening. Erick helped him over to a chair, and they watched as Skwisgaar played, his long legs braced apart, eyes closed, silver hair blowing softly in the slight breeze from the studio ventilation system. Nathan just grinned like a fool, watching him.

“If I wasn’t with Charles I would so do him right now.”

“Ja an’ if Toki nots kicks you teeth in,” said Toki.

Nathan grinned and put an arm around Toki’s shoulders, and the small group watched as Skwisgaar played the guitar. After a few minutes, Pickles pushed himself carefully out of the chair, moving with obvious pain, and approached Skwisgaar, picking up a mic along the way, and began to sing;

Been dazed and confused for so long it's not true,
Wanted a woman, never bargained for you.
Lots of people talk and few of them know,
Soul of a woman was created below.

You hurt and abused, tellin' all of your lies,
Run around sweet baby, lord how they hypnotize.
Sweet little baby, I don't know where you've been,
Gonna love you baby, here I come again.

Every day I work so hard
Bringin' home my hard earned pay
Try to love you baby, but you push me away.
Don't know where you're goin'
Only know just where you've been,
Sweet little baby, I want you again.

Been dazed and confused for so long, it's not true,
Wanted a woman, never bargained for you.
Take it easy baby, let them say what they will.
Will your tongue wag so much when I send you the bill?

Pickles may have been older, and in a considerable amount of pain, but it was clear that when he wanted to he could still play the sensual metal vixen. He moved like a snake, playing up to Skwisgaar; at one point wrapping himself around one of Skwisgaar’s legs in a manner that had Toki and Erick exchanging glances. The song ended, and Skwisgaar blinked down at Pickles, vaguely able to make his friend out with his limited sight.

“All right,” Erick called. “That’s enough for now, Pickles, don’t over-exert yourself. Let go of Skwisgaar’s leg before Toki eats you.”

Pickles was giggling helplessly, face against Skwisgaar’s jean-covered thigh, holding on with one hand.

“I can’t, if I let go I’m gonna fall over and hurt myself.”

“That’s great Pickles, way to show up the youngsters,” said Nathan. “Don’t do that on stage.”

“Just shut up and help me.”

Erick went over to Pickles, carefully taking hold of him and getting him out of his situation. Skwisgaar just seemed amused.

“Is nots da first time Gear is havings to pulls a slut off my leg.”

Erick scowled at the floor but said nothing. He never liked it when the rest of the band called Pickles a slut, never mind how playfully it was meant. It was especially annoying because Pickles didn't mind, he'd been the band slut long before he met Erick.

"Just lay me on the floor, babe,” said Pickles.

Erick obeyed, gently stretching Pickles out on the floor and sitting beside him, stroking his hair.

"You okay, man?" he asked softly. "You need anything?"

"No, I'm fine." Pickles winced, knowing he damned well wasn't fine, he was in hell. Great. Three minutes of fun was gonna have him laid up for days. "Just help the seven foot blind guitar player standing over me before he steps on the five foot crippled drummer lying on the stage."

Giving Pickles' hand a squeeze, Erick stood and helped the silver-haired Swede off the stage, making sure the heavy boots didn’t land on Pickles. Toki met them at the steps to claim his lover, holding him close.

"You was fantastic," he whispered. "You was amazing. Betters dan ever."

"Pfft." Skwisgaar tossed his hair, the silvery strands inadvertently smacking Toki in the face. "Is not'ings."

Toki laughed, and kissed him, then held him tight. "Is so goods to hear you speak again. You hads me so worried."

"Just... didn'ts has not'ings to say."

"I know. You was mads an' unhappy. Buts we nots worries abouts dat anymore. Is all goings to be okay."

Skwisgaar smiled, unable to tell him any different. "Maybe for once you's right, littles Toki."

Toki just smiled, and kissed him, touching his face. He was about to suggest they head off to bed for a few hours of not sleeping, when Pickles made a strange sound. He had tried to sit up... then paused and sank back to the floor, white as a sheet. Erick was at his side in two strides.

"Pickles?"

Pickles said nothing, but he grabbed Erick's arm hard enough to leave bruises. Erick looked around, but Gears were not allowed in the rehearsal space unless specifically called for. He turned to Nathan.

"We need medics! NOW!"

Nathan would normally point out that he didn't take orders from Gears, but instead he called the Mordland hospital to get help for Pickles up to the rehearsal space. Hesitating for a few minutes, he then called Charles, who answered before the first ring could finish.

"Nate?"

Nathan felt uncomfortable speaking to him so soon after the fight they just had, but he couldn’t avoid him forever. In fact he didn’t want to avoid him, he was just hurt and angry.

"Pickles... did something to his back goofing around with Skwisgaar in the rehearsal space. The medics are on their way up. I thought you would want to know."

The sound of rustling and hurried footsteps could be heard through the phone. "I'm on my way."

Nathan grinned. "Make sure you close your robe before you get here."

There was a brief silence on the other end of the fun, then Charles' sheepish voice.

"Thanks."

Nathan laughed softly, then moved out of the way as the medics showed up and began the delicate dance of trying to get Pickles onto the back board without doing further damage to him. Nathan opened the door, looking down the hall for Charles, as Pickles was carefully moved onto the board. Charles arrived moments later, stopping at the door before Nathan and awkwardly shifting his weight between his feet.

"Um..." He looked beyond him to Pickles. "What happened?"

"Don't know," said Nathan. "I... don't really wanna know. I...." He began to shake.

Charles reached out to grip his arm. "It's okay, Nate. It will be okay."

"It won't. It won't. Nothing will be right anymore." He watched as Pickles was finally settled on the board, then walked over to him, looking down at him. The green eyes were frightened, and his skin was a greyish-white. He looked like a man who was both terrified and in an unspeakable amount of pain.

"You're gonna be okay, Pickles,” Nathan said, and watched helplessly as Pickles was wheeled away. After a few moments, he looked to Charles.

"You're right. We can't do this. We can't do anything anymore."

"Oh, Nate..." Charles slid both of his arms around Nathan, moving in for an embrace. "I'm so sorry, Nathan. I didn't..." He shook his head, looking up to his husband. "Let's just... Let's just see what the doctors say."

Nathan shook his head. "We can't do it. We would just look like morons. I'm not Jim Morrison. I'm nobody. I'm an asshole who got a stupid idea and it crippled Pickles."

"Baby, no..."

Nathan just shook his head. "You were right, Charlie. We can't do this."

"You can do this." Charles' hands fisted in Nathan's black T-shirt. "You're Nathan Fucking Explosion. You're Dethklok. You can do anything." He couldn't let it end like this. He was their manager. This was his failure as much as anyone's, if not more so. He could fix it. He had to.

Nathan gently stroked his hand over Charles' hair, then kissed him "It's over," he said softly. "Let it lie."

Charles stepped closer Nathan, pressing gently against his front and putting his arms around him, stroking his hair and back. "I'm so sorry..."

"It's okay,” said Nathan, his tone soft and defeated. “Let's just go to the hospital and see how Pickles is."