Facing the Cold

Rating: PG
Category: AU
Pairing(s): Murderface/Knubbler, Nathan/Pickles (implied)
Warnings: Horror.
Summary: The Metalocalypse has come.
Notes: Happy Halloween everybody! This fic is for Sike_Saner because I have been promising her a Murderface/Knubbler fic forever. Sorry it took so long. I also tossed in a little something for Wikdsushi…because she sends me candy. So I thought I’d toss her something sweet in return. ;-)

The Metalocalypse had come.

It was impossible to tell if it was what the Tribunal had expected; none of them were alive to ask. There was little life left at all, in fact, and the great keep with its proud dragonboat figurehead was in near-ruins. The sky above was unnatural shades of glowing red, and the clouds were black, fetid things that listlessly leaked a greasy rain. The earth was little more than dirt and rock, a few thin trickles of lava making an eerie spider web in the dead ground. The days were hot and silent, save for the distant boom of what may have been thunder, or one of the distant volcanoes. The village that had once housed an army of roadies was now a ruined and blackened graveyard of broken houses, and Dethklok were utterly alone.

And yet not…

Murderface stood in the main fire hall, gazing out the back of the room. Where once there had been a wall of speakers and giant screen TVs, there was now an enormous opening broken through, a bastardized picture window to Hell. The blood-red-sun was low in the sky, and Murderface became aware of a thin form beside him.

“Bill I’m cold.”

Murderface glanced at Knubbler. He was always cold these days. He was thin and sickly, and his pale skin was now sallow, almost ivory-coloured. He was riddled with infection from numerous injuries caused when the house began to break apart, and a lack of food was taking its toll on him. Murderface put his arm around Knubbler.

“C’mon, Dick. It’sch time to go upschtairs anyway. Maybe Charles will come home tomorrow.”

Knubbler allowed himself to be led away. He and Murderface went upstairs to Nathan’s room, entering the huge chamber. Nathan did a head count, making sure they were all inside, then barred the door. They would not be leaving the room again until morning. Murderface helped Knubbler over to the bed, easing him down to the soft mattress before covering him over.

“Check out what Pickles did,” said Nathan.

Murderface looked around, noticing there was a hot tub in the far corner of the room; a hot tub that had not been there this morning. Even better – it was full of hot steaming water; an incredibly rare treat these days.

“We figured… it like… takes less water for us to all have a group bath than for six people to each have a bath alone. So… yeah. Tonight we get to have a bath,” said Nathan.

“No suppers though,” said Skwisgaar. He was seated in a chair, his feet up on a table, playing his Gibson. He was so thin it was hard to look at him. They were all thinner than they had been, but Skwisgaar looked like the walking dead.

“Its be okies,” said Toki, seated on the bed. “Charlies be home tomorrow. Den everyt’ings be okay.”

“Yeah,” said Pickles, seated in a once-magnificence mahogany and velvet chair. “Charles will be home tomorrow.”

Charles had left weeks ago, heading into the darkness and death to see if he could find a way to leave their island, and if there was even any point. Dressed in jeans, boots, and a t-shirt borrowed from Toki, armed with a gun, bowie knife, and his own formidable intellect, Charles had sworn to his boys and their producer that he would return. And so Dethklok waited; hungry, cold, dirty, and frightened.

“How did you heat the water?” asked Murderface.

“Toki, Nathan and I went out scrounging for wood,” said Pickles. “Found some in what’s left of the village. So we made a fire in the fireplace and boiled the water.”

“Find any food?”

“Nah. We looked, but… nuthin’.”

“How much waters we is havings left?” asked Skwisgaar.

“Enough for a few months,” said Nathan. He looked over at Skwisgaar. “Hey it’s almost dark, draw the curtains.”

Skwisgaar did, while Toki lowered the wicks on the oil lamps. Murderface undressed and got into the hot tub, too glad to be feeling warm water against his skin again to make any remarks as his band mates joined him. They shared the bar of soap, saying nothing as outside the screaming began; a horrid cacophony like some opera of the damned as the dead rose from their burning graves to rend the life from anything they found.

“Charlies be home tomorrow,” said Toki softly.

“Yeah,” said Pickles. He’ll be home tomorrow.”

***---***

Knubbler had his own bath privately, sitting in the empty tub in the ruins of the bathroom, slowly sponging himself down with hot water from a bucket, washing his hair and his skinny body. He was too feeble to sit in the hot tub; it was just safer to do it this way. He smiled weakly as Murderface washed his back and made certain he was rinsed thoroughly before bundling him up in Nathan’s gigantic black bathrobe and carrying him into bed. It was strange sleeping all six to a bed, but being alone just wasn’t worth the risk.

“How is he?” Nathan asked sleepily, lying on his back as Pickles used him for a pillow.

“He’sh fine,” said Murderface quietly, wondering when lying to themselves had become acceptable. Knubbler would be fine. They would get out of this hell. Charles would be home…

“Tomorrow you and me are gonna see if we can find what’s left of the hospital again,” said Nathan. “Maybe we can find some like… anti…antibi…. Shit to make him better.”

Pickles raised his head sleepily as the screaming outside grew louder. “They’re getting close. We should be quiet.”

Nathan stroked the red dreads, and Pickles lowered his head, closing his eyes. There was some shifting as they got comfortable, then silence, at least for a few moments.

“Bill I’m cold.”

Murderface rolled over and put an arm around Knubbler, spooning him, trying to warm his thin, fevered body. Outside was screaming and wailing and destruction. Within the room was silence, and fear.

***---***

They found the hospital. It had collapsed into a pile of wreckage, but Pickles, with the unerring accuracy of a bloodhound, located a drug storage closet. They filled three bags; one with things they knew they needed, one with things they might need, and one with things to just keep the fear away; sedatives, pain killers, and muscle relaxants, enough to help them sleep the blood-filled nights away, or even kill themselves if the violent, rotting corpses that rose from the blighted earth each night found them. As Nathan, Pickles and Murderface dug for drugs, Toki scrounged through the rubble for anything that might be considered food; dead animals, rotting vegetation, anything. Then as the short day drew near to the end, they scurried like rats back to their hiding place.

“You findings anything?” Skwisgaar asked as the four returned, Nathan locking the door after making sure everyone was inside. The tall Swede was draped in the chair like a dying man, his eyes closed, almost too weak to move.

“We got the drugs,” said Nathan. He grinned. “We put Pickles on a big lead like they do with tracker dogs.”

“Dood! Naht cool, a’right? You ever wanna get laid again?”

Nathan picked him up and snuggled him like a large puppy, then looked to Toki. “What about you?”

Toki upended a large burlap sack, spilling potatoes, apples, turnips, cheese, cans of fruit, brown sugar, some tin foil, and a small bag of cinnamon.

“I finds pantry,” he said, his voice excited. “Is enough for weeks! I takes some for now, den blocks da door back up. We bes okies for a while. Oh, finds one last thing.”

He reached into a smaller bag and pulled out coffee, canned milk, a coffee pot, and can opener. He looked at his band mates brightly, hopeful of their approval.

“I does good?”

“No biscotti?” said Murderface.

Nathan gave Murderface a light smack up the back of his head, then looked to Toki.

“Ya did good, Toki. We’ll have to tell Charles when he comes home tomorrow.”

***---***

The days passed all too quickly, the nights, too slowly. They huddled in Nathan’s room in the darkness, listening to the screaming and wailing, each night growing closer. Some nights it seemed to surround the keep, and more than once they had heard things running in the hallway outside the door. There was some scratching and snuffling, but so far they were undiscovered.

“We should leave,” Pickles whispered, huddling against Nathan’s large body.

“We can’t,” said Nathan. “Charles won’t know where to find us if we do.”

None of them argued the point. None of them dared to think Charles might not be coming. He was their only hope, the only one capable of getting them out of there.

Skwisgaar looked better; a few solid feedings had him up and arrogant again, which meant he was able to help Toki and Nathan haul food up from the pantry. What had been Nathan’s closet was converted into a store room. Bottled water was dragged up from the coolers in the studio, and Dethklok settled in for a prolonged stay, hoping that the less they moved around during the day, the less likely they would be found.

Night fell. The screaming began. Murderface sat beside Knubbler on the bed, stroking the fine blonde hair, hating the feel of his small bones under his heated skin. The antibiotics were not helping.

“We’re going to have to find a way to operate,” said Pickles, seating himself beside Knubbler.

“Aw c’mon, man,” said Murderface, “we don’t know how to do that.”

“Look we’re naht gonna be opening him up and looking for a kidney or something,” said Pickles. “But something is causing the infection and unless we find it he’s gonna die.”

They drugged Knubbler and laid him on a sheet on the floor, slowly stripping off his clothes. Armed with a scalpel and very limited knowledge, Pickles and Murderface carefully cut open the injuries that seemed to be the cause of the problem and began cleaning them out, gagging on the stink as they worked by lamplight. They picked out bits of debris; tiny pieces of dirt, stone, and wood, flushing the wounds with alcohol, and in one case cutting away what looked like dead flesh. Then Skwisgaar carefully stitched the injuries closed, wrapping them in gauze before they put Knubbler back in the bed. They looked at each other with wide eyes, like children who tried to take care of an ailing parent but had no idea if they had just done more harm than good.

“I hope Charlies come home soon,” said Toki.

Nathan looked to the door as something clawed at it, scratching in an almost inquisitive manner, as if uncertain whether anything was beyond the heavy wooden door. They remained stock-still as the thing clawed and scratched and snuffled, then moved on. The five exchanged glances. They could wait for Charles no longer, but there was no place to go that was any safer, at least not one that they knew of. Here they had food, water, stone walls and a strong door. Out there… was uncertainty and nothing more.

“We’ll just have to be more careful,” said Nathan.

***---***

Morning arrived. The bars were removed from the door, and Pickles shot out into the silent halls with the bloody sheet from Knubbler’s amateur operation, looking for a place to hide it far from their sanctuary. They couldn’t risk something smelling the pus and blood. Pickles raced to a heap of debris far from the keep, then paused, seeing something in the red daylight. Something walking…

“Charles?” he whispered.

The something drew neared. Small, stocky, brown hair, glasses….

“Charles!” Pickles dropped the sheet and ran to him, leaping on him without a thought, holding him tightly, scarcely able to believe he was finally home. He felt Charles stroke his hair.

“Hello, Pickles. I missed you too.”

“I’m so glad to see you….”

Charles gently pushed him back, looking into Pickles’ eyes. “Where is everyone?”

“In the keep. We’re all there. We were waiting…”

“Okay. Let’s get inside.”

“Did you find a way out of here? Are we gonna be okay?”

“Everything is going to be just fine Pickles. Don’t worry. Let’s just get going.”

“Yeah. Let’s go. When can we leave this place?”

“Very soon, Pickles. It will all be over soon.”

***---***

Charles followed Pickles into the keep and up to Nathan’s room. There was chaos at his appearance, and Charles could not help but smile and he was hugged and held. Then something big and warm slammed into him, kissing him hard, and Charles felt his hands stray over the lean, powerful body. There had been a time when loving Toki would have reminded Charles too much of child molestation. But he had grown mentally the last few years, especially after the Metalocalypse. Now Charles couldn’t wait to get his hands on the muscled frame.

“Yeah that’s great, Toki, now get off Charles so he can tell us how we’re getting out of this hell hole,” said Nathan as Charles and Toki began to get very involved in each other. Toki briefly broke off the kiss.

“Bites me,” said Toki.

Charles laughed and gently pushed Toki back, then noticed something on the bed, Murderface seated beside it. As he drew near, he realized it was Knubbler.

“How is he?” asked Charles.

“Dandy,” Knubbler mumbled.

“He’sh a little schick,” said Murderface, stroking the soft fine hair. “Are we leaving?”

“Yeah,” said Nathan. “What did you learn?”

Charles felt someone come stand beside him. He looked up at Toki, slipping an arm around him, then looked at his boys. They were mangy, skinny, bruised, dirty, hungry, and frightened. But they trusted him. They loved him. Charles would never hurt them. Charles had always protected them. Charles loved them…

He had spent weeks seeking answers, and weeks more learning them, speaking to the strange horrors that lorded over the mindless undead, creatures neither demon nor angel, whose duties and concerns lay only with maintaining a delicate balance in matters inconceivable to human minds. Balances affected by the supernatural entities that had attached themselves to his boys centuries ago, in another time. They had told Charles what his boys were, and of the plague they spread simply by existing. A plague caused by the monsters using them as hosts. The monsters had survived century after century because their hosts had always managed to dodge sacrifice. And then the strange creatures gave Charles a knife.

“But… my boys…”

“We cannot allow them to leave,” said the demon before him; a bleeding, martyred beast with the head of an antelope.

“But my boys are not causing this! It’s not fair!”

“There is only one answer. The entities they house must be killed.”

“And if I do not?” asked Charles.

“Then you cannot leave either. At least on this island, they are contained.”

Charles took the knife, and returned to the keep, determined to do what must be done, despite how painful it may be. But now, as he looked at them, they way they gazed at him, waiting for him to make it all better…

“We’ll be leaving soon,” he said. “Just one more night. Then we can go.”

They celebrated. They drank. They bathed. They ate. Pickles and Nathan made love in the bathroom while Toki and Charles writhed together on blankets in the enormous walk-in closet.

“We really leavings tomorrow?” asked Toki, breathless, his large body over Charles’.

“I promise,” said Charles. “It will be okay. Everything will be fine, Toki. Everything will be fine…”

“Dat’s good. I miss you…”

“I missed you too.”

They made love, then, spent and exhausted, Toki fell asleep on their makeshift bed in the closet. Charles lay close, holding him, gazing at him as outside the keep the dead wailed and screamed, and within the keep things scratched and dug at the door. Slowly, Charles sat up and reached for the knife, gazing at the delicate workmanship, the ripple blade, the centuries-old engraving on the gold and ivory hilt.

Charles stared at the knife for a very long time before he made up his mind.