Historical Figures and Ancient Heads
Chapter Five

Rating: PG
Category: AU
Pairing(s): Nathan/Charles, Toki/Skwisgaar, Murderface/Knubbler, Pickles/OC.
Warnings: Minor family strife.
Summary:“Sitting in the stands of the sports arena, waiting for the show to begin…”
Notes: For Nathan/Charles month at brutalbusiness. I’m trying to win a sketch book. Why? Because I’m silly.

Erick Fisher and Birget belong to Rei.

This chapter was written with Rei.

“GIT THAT AWAY FROM ME! I told you I don’t want my picture taken in this condition!”

Pickles was not a happy bunny. He was bent over like an old man, shakily holding onto a walker, and wearing hospital jammies. It was not one of his most metal moments, and the last thing he wanted was for Nathan and Toki to come at him with a camera when he had only had back surgery the day before.

“Come on, Pickles, be a sport.”

“NO!”

“Aw come on, Pickle!” said Toki. “Is for the newspapers.”

“WHY IS THAT A GOOD THING?!”

“Because Extinction are publicly laughing at us calling us old and washed up,” said Nathan.

Pickles glowered at Nathan, shakily leaning over his walker as Erick hovered nervously close by.

“And me looking crippled and ninety will really put them in their place,” said Pickles.

“We leak pictures of us looking like hell,” said Nathan. “That way when we go on tour, Extinction will never know what hit them.”

“So we lure them into thinking we’re at death’s door and too used up to do anything,” said Pickles.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah what the hell. Did you get any pictures of Skwisgaar looking blind and confused?”

“Yeah he was easy, he couldn’t figure out where the flash was coming from. Oh and I got a great one of Murderface wearing his gardening gloves and playing with his orchids. Nice and unmetal.”

“Okay well hurry up, I can’t do this for much longer.”

Nathan got the pictures he wanted; Pickles leaning on the walker, being helped back into his bed, and lying there looking like he was waiting for death. When the pictures were “leaked” later, fan hysteria over Pickles’ health was rampant. Rumours of cancer and other dire ailments filled the fan sites, and Extinction became smug in their confidence that Dethklok were done.

***---***

Recovery was slow and painful, and there were times Pickles simply did not want to co-operate. He was tired, stressed, and in pain, and he did not trust the fused bone to hold. Physical therapy and his back brace helped, but by five months after the surgery he was still balking at doing things he thought might suddenly result in a catastrophic failure of his back bone.

“You’re a pussy,” said Erick affectionately as they cuddled in bed.

Pickles snuggled closer. “Naht.”

“Are. Totally are.” Erick ran his hand over Pickles dreads. “How do you feel?”

“Still sorta hurts,” said Pickles. “Nothing like what it was, though. Nothing at all like that. It aches a bit from time to time but nothing like the hell I was in.”

“You know the doctor said you are safe to have sex.”

“I know, I’m just… scared. Really really scared about my back breaking. I mean I’m almost fucking phobic about it…”

“I know. It’s okay. We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”

Erick ran his hand over the dreads once more. He couldn’t make Pickles believe that he would be okay, all he could do was love and support him, although Erick was getting a little tired himself. He just wanted Pickles to have faith in his own body, and to stop being afraid. Along with the pain pills, Pickles had started taking a plethora of vitamins designed to build bone and help his immune system. Erick had talked him into fish oil for his heart, since he was already taking so many vitamins and nutrients anyway. He just wanted Pickles well, and strong, and…

A frown of puzzlement crossed Erick’s handsome features as he toyed with something on top of Pickles’ head. What the hell was he feeling, was that…?

“Pickles is your hair growing back?”

Pickles head shot up. “What?”

“I asked if you were growing hair.”

Pickles sat up, moving more quickly than he had in a long time but still carefully, and walked over to the mirror above his dresser, switching on the lamp that sat there. He carefully inspected the top of his head, blinking at what he saw there.

“I have hair! My hair is growing back! Why the fuck is my hair growing back?! I’m not complaining but… MY FUCKING HAIR IS GROWING BACK!!”

“Must be all the vitamin supplements,” said Erick. “Maybe your hair fell out because of a nutritional deficiency.”

Yeah well that was a distinct possibility. He lived on crap and alcohol, hardly ever saw the sun, and hadn’t really looked into any ways of restoring it. Certainly it had never occurred to Pickles it could be something as mind-bogglingly simple as nutrition.

“So what are you going to do with the dreads?” asked Erick.

“Well I can’t comb them out, that’s fer sure. And I’m naht cutting them off. I think I’ll just let them grow along with the hair and go fer some sorta wild thing look.” Pickles made some sort of little noise of glee. “I have hair!”

Erick leaned back against the headboard and grinned. “Hey, wild thing, come back to bed. Let’s see if anything else grew back.”

Pickles thought about that, then looked over at Erick. He then glanced back at himself in the mirror, and the strands of red fuzz starting to show through. Then he looked back at Erick.

Oh fuck yeah.

“Okay, but first… I gotta show the guys.”

***---***

“You see dis in paper?” said Toki to Charles.

Charles was sitting up in bed, reading. Toki as usual was seated at the foot of the bed. Dozing under the covers was Nathan, and scattered all about were furry balls of varying sizes – everything from tiny orphaned kittens to a black tom so huge that most people were convinced he could not possibly be a common house cat. Stuck in the middle was one lone puppy – Nathan’s compromise when Charles had complained against the growing horde of kitties. Rommel the dachshund was flat on his back, eyes closed in bliss as a very furry kitty washed his ears.

“The story about Pickles having pancreatic cancer? Yes. Honestly you boys are going to have people believing you’re at death’s door.”

“That’s the idea,” Nathan mumbled sleepily.

“You don’t think it’s going to cut into ticket sales?”

“Maybe a little at first,” said Nathan.

“You don’t think you’re going just a little out of your way to show up a group of brats who don’t have even a third of your talent?”

“It’s not about that,” said Nathan. “It’s about doing an encore. It’s about going out leaving them wanting more instead of throwing dirt on us. It’s about leaving a stage with a show that will be talked about for ages, like Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon, or Alice Cooper’s Welcome to my Nightmare…”

“Or Lou Reed’s Metal Machine Music,” said Toki.

“Yeah I’m not sure that’s the kind of ‘memorable’ we’re going for here, Toki,” said Nathan.

“You nevers forgettings it,” said Toki.

“The point is…”

“The point is,” said Charles, “You want to put on a final show that will rival the likes of some of the greatest concerts ever. I get it. First we have to turn Pickles back into a drummer. According to the doctor there is no reason at this point he can’t play the drums, he’s just afraid to.”

“And there’s the whole Lizard thing,” said Nathan. He sighed loudly. “Fuck it. Now I’m awake and all pissed off and buried under kitties. MOVE, kitties!”

The kitties failed to move. They were, after all, kitties, and clearly everything Nathan had done in his life was to ensure they had a place to be warm and comfy.

“Brutal,” he grumbled. He squeezed his eyes shut as the kitten crept onto his head so she could smack at his nose with her tiny paw.

“That’s what you get for being a cat-fancier,” said Charles. He set aside his book and carefully picked up his sleeping puppy. “They’re not at all as cute as little doggies, are they? No they’re not! No they’re not!”

Toki and Nathan exchanged glances as Charles baby-talked his puppy.

“Hey Charlie,” said Nathan. “Would you like a new bag for those marbles you’re losing?”

“Pay no attention to them,” Charles said to the puppy. “How about we give you a nice snack before…?”

Charles had set the puppy down on the covers and was getting out of bed when he fell. His leg simply refused to hold him, and the limb buckled, sending him sprawling onto his face. Moments later Nathan was by his side, gently picking him up and pulling him onto his lap.

“Charlie. Charlie are you okay? Toki go find the doctor.”

Toki darted off to find the doctor. Charles blinked, clearly a little dazed.

"I'm okay..." Charles' voice was soft and his face white. "I'm all right, Nathan..."

"You're not all right, you hit like a sack of wet sand." Nathan held him close, trying to comfort him. "Look you split your lip. What happened, did it just give out like the other times?"

Charles nodded slowly. "Yeah... It just... wouldn't work."

Toki arrived just then with the doctor in tow, who looked like he had just been dragged out of bed. He knelt beside Charles, checking first the split lip, then the leg.

"Mr. Offdensen I'm afraid it's time we discussed wearing a leg brace."

Charles barely allowed him to finish. "No."

The doctor stared at him sourly. "So you like randomly falling on your face?"

"Yes. Yes, I do."

Nathan, despite the seriousness of the situation, couldn't suppress a chuckle. "Still a little hard-ass, aren't you? Charlie... I know I'm really not one to talk when it comes to listening to doctors but... maybe this time..?"

"No! I can't..." Charles shook his head. "Not tonight. I can't talk about this now. Please."

Nathan squeezed him, pressing his face against Charles' neck. "Okay. We'll talk about it tomorrow. But we gotta talk about it, Charlie. I'm starting to get scared for you."

"Tomorrow," Charles agreed quietly, resting his cheek against Nathan's head. "I just can't deal with this right now."

"Okay. C'mon, I'll help you back into the bed. What were you going to get the puppy?"

Charles looked at him sheepishly, arms around his neck. "...Filet mignon."

Nathan rolled his eyes. "Fine. Filet mignon for the fuzzy sausage."

Nathan gently picked Charles up and placed him on the bed, then left to get the dog a shockingly expensive snack. Charles took the puppy back into his lap, playing with its ears. Nathan had no room to talk; Charles had seen him sneaking caviar and sashimi to the cats. Toki in the meantime quietly left, not liking the tension in the air, leaving Charles alone with the doctor.

"Charlie I don't see why you're delaying this. If it was one of the boys you would be pushing for it before he had a serious fall. And you are heading for one."

"I think after all these years of dealing with the boys' selfish and immature denial of medical advice, I've earned one for myself."

"Charlie," the doctor said quietly, "you might be able to fool the boys, but you can't fool me. I saw the medical records. I know what that bastard in the metal mask did to you. You're lucky you're not in an institution rediscovering your toes every five minutes. Now what exactly bothers you about getting a leg brace?"

Charles looked down at his puppy, gently poking at its cold little nose. "I'm just not ready to face it yet," he said softly.

The doctor seated himself on the bed. "Charlie would it help if I told you this has nothing at all to do with your age? You could be in your teens and need a brace. This is not about getting older. This is about the fact that your body was traumatized in a horrible manner."

"It's not just getting older," Charles clarified. "It's... It's becoming useless."

"Charles you're hardly useless. You have a faulty connection between your brain and your leg. Did you know there is a male ballet dancer who has only one leg? That there is an Olympic sprinter with both legs amputated? All this brace is going to do is stop you from face-planting every time that nerve shorts out."

Charles just shook his head. He didn't want to get into how much it frightened him, the idea of becoming faulty, of breaking down. With his job he could never afford any kind of physical or mental hindrance, any kind of... flaw. His boys' financial well-being and personal safety had always relied on him being immaculate, infallible. But lately he had been repeatedly made to face the fact that he wasn't any of those things. He was getting old. Winding down. Wearing out. And he couldn't stand to think what might happen when the boys realized it as well. He just wasn't ready.

"Please. Let's talk about it tomorrow."

The doctor sighed. "Okay. Just... think about it." He left Charles on the bed to cuddle his puppy. After about forty minutes, Nathan returned with snacks for everyone, including Charles.

"So what did the doctor say, babe?"

"He gave me the night to think about it," Charles said, resting the puppy against his shoulder and letting it chew on his hair.

Nathan sighed quietly, serving treats to his kitties, then finally giving the puppy a saucer full of meticulously cubed meat. "Charlie I wish you would please just get it. I'm a little sick and tired of.... nothing. Never mind. It's your leg."

Charles bristled, setting the puppy before the saucer. "You know I'm getting the damned thing."

"Yeah I know. Fine. You're getting it. And I can stop throwing up when I can't find you for five minutes because I'm sure you’re lying in a smashed heap at the bottom of the stairs. I'm getting a beer."

Charles sighed. "Nathan, I don't want to fight."

"I don't either. And I don't wanna argue about how it's okay for you to have a fucking concrete skull but when I do it I get spoken to like a slow-witted five-year-old."

"Neither is okay."

Nathan turned to look at him. "Then why is this so hard for you? Do you think I'm not gonna love you?"

"No," Charles shook his head. He didn't think Nathan would stop loving him. He did wonder whether he wouldn't start thinking less of him.

"Then what? What is it? I loved you when I was young and too stupid to know what I felt for you WAS love. I loved you when you tried to comfort me after Rebecca’s accident. I even loved you after you smashed my heart into pus and maggots by making me think you were dead. Charles there isn't a damned thing you can do to make me not love you or look at you any differently. I love YOU. Okay so maybe you're not as tough as you were, who here is? We got a semi-blind guitar player, a drummer who needs a walker, and me, I'm gonna start dying my hair. We're a real metal batch, Charlie."

"It's... It's not the same, Nathan. I'm not supposed to have anything wrong with me. Not like this. I can't afford to have weaknesses, for your sake, for the boys'..." He lowered his eyes, voice growing softer. "I'm becoming less... useful. In general and... to you."

Nathan crossed the floor in two strides and suddenly grabbed Charles by the scruff of the neck and forced him to look into his eyes. In all the years they had been together, this was the very first time Nathan had been even the smallest bit rough with him.

"That's not true," he growled. "That's not true and I don't EVER wanna hear you say that again!"

Charles stared wide-eyed at Nathan, surprised and... not quite frightened, but as close as he had ever come before with the frontman. "Nathan...?"

"You never, ever, ever think you are useless ever again. I love you. We ALL love you. A fucking leg brace isn't gonna change that. Being a fucking head in a jar like in Futurama wouldn't change that. I love you. You're everything to me, and to this band. There isn't anybody who could replace you."

Charles felt, among many things, deeply embarrassed. His face burned and he tried to avoid Nathan's gaze. "I'm sorry," he choked, feeling close to tears and not entirely certain why. "I... should know that."

"Yeah. You should," said Nathan softly. He pulled Charles close and held him. "I love you. We all love you. Nothing on this planet is gonna change that."

Charles pressed as close as he possibly could to his husband, rubbing his face against his chest. "I know... I just hate this feeling."

Nathan cuddled him tightly. "Don't be scared, Charlie. Please You're the most metal guy I ever met. You don't even have to put up a front. You're just this quiet little guy in a grey suit and... gawd I love you. I love you so much."

"I love you, too, Nate. I'm sorry I worried you so much."

"I worry as much about you as you do about me. Besides, you'd be so fucking hot with a brace and a cane I probably couldn't keep my hands off you."

Charles made a face. A cane was fine, but he didn't see anything attractive about a leg brace in any sense. "Please... I know it's childish, but I don't want to talk about it anymore."

"You're just mad because your wiener dog wee'd on your pillow."

"No, I..." Charles blinked and looked over at his pillow. Rommel wagged his tail enthusiastically, as if to say; "Look what *I* did, mommy!" Charles sighed.

"Bad Rommel. Well... at least there are other pillows."

"I'll get you one." Nathan kissed him softly, then touched Charles' face. "Really metal split lip there, Charles. The label execs are gonna love that when you meet them tomorrow."

"I'll tell them it was ninjas again."

"Those ninjas are getting to be quite pesky. You think they're gonna like the idea of a Dethklok double album?"

"Do I think they're going to like piles of money big enough to swim in? Yes, they just might."

"Yeah well make sure you mention that three of the songs will be covers. Dethklok's never done covers before."

"I know, Nate. Leave it to me. This is something I can still do well, at least."

"You do everything well. I'm just worried. It's been so long since we've done anything. Now we're announcing a double album and a... farewell tour." He picked up his kitten and held the tiny animal close. "Gonna be sad saying goodbye."

"I can't quite believe it." Charles likewise scooped up his puppy, cradling it like an infant. "What are we going to do... when it's over?"

"Whaddya mean? I thought we were gonna adopt some kid and do the parenting thing."

"Well, I meant... all of us." He shifted his weight nervously. "And... we don't have to do anything you aren't certain of. Is there anything you have been wanting to do when you... retire?"

"I thought I'd get fat and lazy and drink too much."

Charles lifted an eyebrow in interest. "So... the belly's coming back?"

"Yeah. I kinda miss it." Nathan grinned. "And you seem to have some sort of attachment to it."

"It's a very good friend, yes." Charles cuddled up to his side. "Maybe... we could travel? I know we've been nearly everywhere on the globe touring, but... we don't really get to enjoy it."

"Yeah. Yeah we can travel. Anywhere you wanna go." Nathan kissed him. "We can even go someplace not metal. We can..."

Suddenly the door to the bedroom flew open, and in ran a small form dressed in an ancient AC/DC t-shirt, shorts, and socks. Before Nathan even had the time to register that Pickles was on his feet and not moving like a 90-year-old osteoporosis patient, the little red-head screamed at him; "MY HAIR IS GROWING BACK!"

Rommel the puppy squealed in fright and clawed his way inside his mommy's shirt to hide. Charles winced and glowered at the drummer.

"Pickles, for fuck's sake. We're trying have a moment here. You..." He blinked. "Oh my God, your hair is growing back."

Pickles was acting like a six-year-old who is going to Disneyland. He was positively giggling. "It was all the fish oil and nutritional crap Erick was making me eat! I got hair!! I can't fucking believe it! I'm gonna leave in the dreads and let it grow out like this really crazy mane. Don't tell anybody! I wanna save it for the tour."

"Pickles...?"

"Yeah Charlie?"

"I'm very happy for you. But you're dancing in puppy urine."

"DOOD! SICK! Hey check it out! Look! My back works too!"

"Pickles, that's..." Charles smiled warmly. "It's wonderful."

"And I got this really awesome scar. An' now I'm gonna go fuck my boyfriend. I just had to show you my hair first."

"That's... great, Pickles. Thank you for sharing with us."

Pickles grinned at Charles wickedly, then took off down the hall. There came the sound of a door being flung open.

"Toki check it out! I got.... hey I always thought Skwisgaar would be the one on the bottom."

"Pickle, gets de fucks outs of heres!!"

"No but it doesn't make sense with you on top because dood you're like... such a lady."

"If I wasn't fucksing Tokis I would kills you."

Charles pinched the bridge of his nose quite hard. "I'm starting to reconsider the whole parenting thing."

Nathan drew him close and kissed him. "How about tonight we just work on getting you pregnant?"

"Let me birth this one first." Charles fished around inside his shirt, drawing out a shivering pup. Nathan pet the little puppy.

"Aw... he looks just like you..."

"The scary thing is he does..."

Nathan kissed Charles, gently pushing him down to the bed. "That's because you're such a hot little bitch."

"I could kill you in this position," Charles purred.

Nathan kissed him softly. "What a way to die..."

***---***

"It's nothing personal, Charles," said Damien Cornickleson blithely, clearly enjoying being in charge of the situation. "It's just that we're not sure people want to hear old tunes covered by a has-been band with a crippled drummer, an obese lead vocalist, and a mentally damaged and blind guitar player."

Charles did not point out how incredibly personal that actually was. "I see," he said evenly without any trace of the murderous rage he felt. "Now we are talking about the 'has-been' band that is still outselling all other bands and solo artists on the market, yes?"

The man lit a cigar. "That was the old Dethklok. When they were young, and virile, and wild. When they were the embodiment of what they stood for. Charles I've seen the photos of Pickles and his walker. It's very heart-rending but it hardly compels me to give him a recording contract at this point in the game. Besides, given a couple more years, Extinction will have wiped them off the musical map.”

Charles wondered exactly what was unclear about "still." He saw the numbers. Dethklok's hold on the public hadn't released, not yet.

"Pickles is making great strides in his recovery. And Skwisgaar's vision hasn't impeded his playing in any manner. He once performed an entire tour blindfolded."

Damien chuckled, waving Charles off. "Sorry Charles, no dice. Dethklok are done, and they're not going to lay their rotten egg on MY label. Why don't you call that new label, what are they called... Hazard Records. They're run by some... girl. Thinks she knows music. I'm sure she would love a chance to handle what's left of Dethklok."

Charles wasn't going to beg. In truth he was almost relieved he wouldn't have to be working with Cornickelson the Lesser. All Dethklok needed was a label that would give them a chance.

"Very well. Thank you for your time. ...And Damien, I was sorry to hear about your father's passing."

"Oh. Yes, well... we all have to go sometime, Charles. You just have to look at your band to know that."

"Mm. Clever." Charles stood and for the briefest of moments, he gave Damien a smile - a smile that told the man that Charles knew that in the deepest, darkest, coldest parts of the night, his jaw still stung.

"Good day, gentlemen."

Damian waved him off, turning his back to him, confident in the wisdom of his decision, or at least smug in having gotten the best of Dethklok. Let Davida Mundy have them. The bitch was just stupid enough to think they were worth her while. Charles meanwhile was already on the phone and making an appointment as he walked briskly down the halls of Crystal Mountain, flanked by a pair of hooded guards.

"No dice, Boss?" one ventured.

Charles shook his head. "But no matter. I'm quite happy not to have to rely on Damien in any manner."

"So where to?" asked Badger.

Charles waited a moment, listening to the phone. He smiled, hanging up. "Hazard Records. Get me there in thirty."

Birget glanced over at Badger. "He's got that look again."

"I love that look," said Badger.

***---***

Davida Mundy was having a stoopid day. Not good, not bad, just stoopid. Anything that could go wrong WAS going wrong, and in a spectacular manner. To make matters worse, Joey Sands, the seventeen-year-old guitar player of her most recently acquired band, had contracted something botanical while camping with his girlfriend, and most of her morning so far had consisted of scratching his back. She was doing just this when her secretary ran in and began leaping around as if insane, prompting the bass player to go hide. Great. They were gonna have to dig Rob out of the crawl space again, and the sprinkler system had just malfunctioned in studio three.

"What is it, Ginny?" Davida asked, scratching Joey and resigning herself to the fact that nothing productive was going to happen today.

“YOU ARE NEVER GONNA GUESS OMG CHARLES OFDENSEN IS COMING HERE!!!!"

Davida sighed. "Of course he is, just what I need, the man who manages Dethklok watching me haul a neurotic metalhead out of a wall while another one scratches his skin off. Why is he coming HERE?”

“I don’t know but wouldn’t it be awesome if he wants us to sign on Dethklok?”

“He’s not going to ask us to sign on Dethklok, don’t be dense. We’re a new label with all the clout of a wiffle bat. Besides, don’t they always sign with Crystal Mountain?”

“Maybe Crystal Mountain didn’t want them anymore. They are a little wrecked…”

“That’s stupid,” said Joey. “Dethklok wrecked are worth more than any other band on the planet at their peak.”

“Yeah but Damien Cornickelson is a smug self-satisfied moron who won’t look at anything past the amount of time since their last album and their current physical health. It might not occur to him to even bother finding out if they still have their chops.” She sighed and pulled out her wallet. “Joey here’s twenty bucks, go to the drugstore and get some calamine lotion. I’ll get Rob out of the wall. Let’s pretend we’re a recording studio instead of a cross between WKRP and the Muppet Show.”