Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Alright babe, almost done.”

Pickles grit his teeth together; he should be used to this pain by now. Yet, every time his cellmate took needle to skin, it was like being flayed alive on whatever rare portion of unmarked flesh he had left to offer.

“You said that twenty minutes ago,” Pickles complained.

“Yeah, well, you know we had to take that break when you know who walked by.” Dick replied, voice flat as he focused on tattooing with a makeshift device, blonde hair tucked behind his ears to keep it out of his face.

“You’d think they would have figured out by now that you have contraband. I’m a walking billboard for that fact.” Pickles huffed, wincing as the needle nearly struck bone, “Careful!”

“Shh, I’ve got to go deep or it’ll just heal all blotchy like that wolf, ok baby?”

Pickles just gripped the edge of his bed harder. His knee had been a spot he’d been purposely avoiding, and by the looks of it no matter how this thing healed, it was going to be a blotch. Maybe a storm cloud hadn’t been the best request, but he was running out of ideas for tattoos. Left to his own devices, Dick would have given him another crappy hippie symbol like a peace sign or joint. And as cool as joints were, he already have seven of them.  

“Whatever, just hurry up, it’s going to be lights out soon.” Not that it mattered, despite the thick glasses he wore Pickles had a suspicion that Dick’s eyesight was failing him. Probably wouldn’t make a difference if he tattooed in the dark.

“You can’t rush art…” Another deep strike. This time, Pickles flinched and felt the needle scrape across his leg as Dick’s hand went flying, “Hold still!”

“Sorry. Wrap it up, alright?”

About a minute later, the torture finally ended as Dick wiped away the excess ink with some toilet paper, “Viola! What do you think?”

Pickles leaned over to study the cloud, the outline was thick with some thinner whorls within. Van Gogh it was not, but it was at least identifiable as something, “Not bad.”

Dick washed off his hands and stashed the tattoo gun away in a cereal box under the bed, “Not bad? I think it’s some of my best work baby!”

“We’ll see about that in a week. Remember this one?” Pickles rolled up his sleeve to reveal a wobbly trio of stars on his shoulder, “Looked straight, woke up the next day, crooked.”

Dick waved him off as he rolled into the bottom bunk, “Whatever, if you want to get it all covered up when you get out of here, be my guest. This is a learning experience.”

Pickles chuckled, “When I get out of here, that’s rich. At this rate I think we’re going to be buried together.”

“Aw, love you too babe.” Dick replied sarcastically. Over the years, they’d developed the rapport of an old married couple despite having less than any interest in each other romantically. Sexually, well, they’d realized quickly that they were just not each other’s’ type.

There were suddenly footsteps outside the cell, both men reacting with a slight stiffening. Pickles casually kicked his foot, letting his pant leg fall down over the fresh tattoo despite the stinging of rough fabric on raw skin.

“Inmates, line up.” The guard ordered plainly, tapping on the bars of the cell.

Dick shuffled to his feet, trying hard not to cast a glance to the cereal box. Pickles pushed himself up with a groan, stepping to stand beside Dick at the edge of the bunks.

The guard looked directly at Pickles, “You’re coming with me.”

That could mean one of two things this late in the evening. Emergency medical intervention for some test result he hadn’t been made aware of, or interrogation.

He knew if he asked he wouldn’t get an answer, so Pickles silently fell in line behind the guard and followed him out into the hall.

They passed the medical wing, so it wasn’t option A.

Yup, it was going to be interrogation. As they passed the solitary hall, Pickles heard the deranged laughter of the clown they kept back there. Compared to that guy, Dick was a walk in the park. Just keep him busy and he won’t follow through on some hairbrained scheme to acquire booze or a hookup. Through, sometimes Pickles had gotten roped in anyways and usually got caught.

Good times.

Pickles was finally deposited into one of the little booths used for visitation, and told to wait.

A man he’d never seen before entered the other side of the booth, picking up the phone to talk to him through the glass. He wasn’t in any kind of uniform, instead in a black button-up shirt and jeans, a shiny gold chain hanging from his neck. Maybe he was a private investigator?

Pickles picked up his end of the line, “What can I do for ya?”

“Oh, many things Pickles. But let me introduce myself first. My name is Magnus Hammersmith, and I am here representing Snakes and Barrels.”

What the hell? “I don’t remember hiring you, pal.”

“That is true, however it only takes a 75% interest to make management decisions, and I was hired by the currently non-incarcerated members of the band. We’re planning something big, and need you to be a part of it.”

Pickles hadn’t thought about his old band in years. After the breakup, he’d spiraled out of control and not long after ended up here on just about every drug charge possible, grouped with a deranged producer with a burgeoning interest in body modification, and figured that was the end of any fame and fortune in his life.

With nothing to lose, Pickles replied, “Sure. What do you need? Don’t get your hopes up though, we all know how prison recording goes. Remember Bad Brains?” He shuddered at the sound quality of that infamous track.

Magnus cracked a slightly crooked smile, “Don’t worry, we’re not planning on recording through this,” He tapped the glass, “It’s going to be a reunion world tour.”

Now it was Pickles turn to grin, “Ah yes, because I can just get up and travel on a whim, around the world no less! Just how do you intend on doing that?”

Behind him, the door opened, and a tray was dropped in front of him. It was his personal belongings, clothes and junk he’d stashed away some fifteen years ago.

“Inmate, you are being released.” A guard said flatly.

Magnus smirked, “Surprise.”

“No fucking way.” Pickles whispered.

“Yes fucking way. Get changed, we’ve got a plane to catch.” Magnus stood up and left the booth. Pickles wasted no time shedding off the orange prison clothes and switching into a crop top and what used to be skintight acid washed jeans, now they were almost baggy from all the weight he’d lost in here. He tied a blue bandana around his forehead, happy to be able to cover his unfortunately receding hairline, and fluffed up his thinning red hair.

The last items in the tray were his wallet, which went right into his pocket, a belt which he desperately needed to use, some red boots, and an opal earring. Pickles tried to put it on, only to find that his piercing had closed up.

He’d endured worse at the hands of Dick, so he shoved the post right through.

His reflection in the glass was something of a shock. He was back, though a little worse for wear and absolutely covered in shitty ink. It looked like a toddler had gone wild with a marker on his arms and abdomen, jagged lines and little shapes crawling up his neck and stopping just at his jaw. The one place he’d never let Dick touch was his face, and he was thankful for that.

Pickles turned to the door and was shocked to find it ajar. The past 15 years the only thing he’d known were locks, yet now he was free.

He stepped out and shouted, “I am back!”

Magnus waved him over, “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

There was no way that Pickles was going to say no to that, “Lead the way.” Part of him was nervous about the reunion with his former bandmates, none of which had bothered to contact him over the years, but he figured that if they cared about this tour enough to figure out a way to get him out of prison, then there probably wouldn’t be too much bad blood between them anymore, right?

Chapter Text

“So, in short, I will be retiring from the NFL as of the conclusion of, uh, the Super Bowl next week. Go Dolphins.”

The flashes from dozens of cameras continued to hurt his eyes, even after decades of dealing with them. Nathan Explosion absolutely hated the press, but it was a requirement of his position to deal with these stupid conferences.

Everyone shouted at once, vying for their star’s attention. It was an absolute cacophony, like his head was stuck in a blender.

But he’d said his piece. Delivered the news he’d decided on the night before. He didn’t have to pay these mutants and clowns any mind. Just sit there, stern faced, for a few seconds so they could get their precious photos, like his manager told him.

He was done with this life. Football truly had consumed his every waking moment. He had no other hobbies, no girlfriend, nothing but a ton of stupid fans and money. Useless.

He was ready for the next thing.

Not that he knew what that was, but it had to be better than this. Or at least less demanding.

He stared at the end of the room where his manager stood, counting the seconds, waiting for the nod from Charles that told him he was free.

His doctors had been begging him to make this choice for several seasons now. Over a dozen concussions apparently wasn’t good for you. Who could have known? Nobody told him that in high school, so he supposed it was just too little too late.

After a pretty stellar run this year, Nathan decided to quit while he was ahead. It had been a pretty great run, and he had one game left that he was certain would end in a final victory. His team had a spotless record this season, what was one final game against some losers who’d lost a few?

Finally, that nod came, and Nathan stood up, hulking form pushing the table out of his way as he rose, silently exiting to the wings.

“I think that went well.” Nathan said, having to shout over the continued drone coming from the press room.

The other man nodded, “Certainly.”

Nathan wrapped his arm around him, pulling the stiff businessman in close as they made their way through the locker room towards the awaiting travel bus, “Oh come on Charles, loosen up. This is your last gig too, no?”

“Well, per our contract I do still manage your finances and publicity, so long as you choose to keep me in your hire.”

Nathan let that news sink in, “Ohhh right. Not sure what publicity you’ll be doing though. I’m quitting the team, didn’t you hear that?”

“You could do a promotional tour, earn some side income through endorsements, there are lots of options Nathan. Would you like me to start looking into that?” Charles asked.

Nathan considered this for a moment, “Yeah. Sure. Extra money never hurt. Just make sure it’s nothing lame, alright. I’m not doing advertisements for like. Uh. Glitter. Or endangered animals, fuck that.”

“No glitter or pandas, understood.” Charles took a note on his phone as they passed by some of Nathan’s teammates, each clapping their star player on the back as he passed.

“This is really it huh? One last game?” The quarterback Rikki asked, arms folded over a muscular tattooed chest.

“Yeah, gotta move on before I shake my brain up too much or something like that, uh, what did the doctors say?” Nathan turned to Charles.

Charles looked up from his phone, “His medical team has advised him to quit while he’s still got the majority of his brain cells in good, working order. So yes, no more cranium shaking.”

Rikki chuckled, “Good call. We’ll miss you out on the field though, going to just keep shaking our for you.”

“Don’t get all weird and emotional on me, man.” Nathan grumbled.

Rikki punched him in the bicep, like a marshmallow hitting a brick wall, “Never. I’ll be extra rough on you at practice tomorrow then.”

Nathan offered half a smile, “Sure,” and continued out the door and across the bit of pavement that would take him to his bus. The security crew gave him a nod as he passed and nothing more.

Then, finally, it was blissful silence.

“Hm.”

Never mind.

Charles continued, “It won’t be until after your game, but I’ve already got a few publicity inquiries for you to review.”

“Anything cool?” Nathan asked as he stretched out in a seat.

Charles scrolled through the immediate influx of emails, “Opening of a new Outback Steakhouse, you’d get a free meal with that one as well as $500,000.”

“Eh, I don’t really feel like a steak right now.”

Charles glanced up at him, “It would be in a month.”

“Maybe I won’t feel like a steak in a month. I don’t right now, you know?” Nathan tried to explain. Sometimes Charles could be hard to talk to, he had to really hold his manager’s hand.

“Ok, pass on the Outback. Next I have, let’s see, would you be interested in making an appearance at a rock concert? Looks like Snakes and Barrels is doing a reunion tour and looking for someone to announce the band on their first stop here in Florida next Saturday. Pay is only $25,000 on this one, but you’d only need to stay for five minutes.”

“Snakes and Barrels… I feel like I’ve heard them before. What songs do they have?”

Charles did a quick search, “Their most popular appears to be ‘Water Horsey Blues’. I’ll play it for you.”

The song came out of the tinny phone speaker a few seconds later, and Nathan found himself humming along, “Yeah, yeah I know these guys. My Dad really likes them. I’ll do it.” Nathan stood back up and made his way to the back of the bus to take a crap.

“So that is a yes on the rock concert, got it. There’s a few more, but it looks like you’re done with this conversation.”

Nathan’s reply was a growl as he shut the bathroom door.

Chapter Text

At 5:30 AM Skwisgaar flicked on the lights of his workshop and was immediately bathed in florescent white light. Rows and rows of fabric and supplies greeted him, bold colors and warm neutrals all organized to perfection, creating a pleasant gradient. Not a single pin was out of place, each bench symmetrically arranged in the former bank turned studio. The white marble pillars always made him happy, but also chilled.

This was not a happy place. This was a place of frantic energy and sleepless weeks. A studio that would come to a hustling buzz in an hour when his staff arrived to begin their next task. A place that would soon become a warzone, just to be reset back to this sterile state to start the cycle over time and time again.

Yesterday, at 2:00 AM, they finally wrapped up the winter collection for New York fashion week.

He should have gotten a day off to celebrate. Been able to safely collapse into 24 hours lost to deep dreamless sleep.

Instead, he got an urgent request from a concert promoter and was now sipping on coffee to fight off his perpetual exhaustion.

Such a request should have been below a designer of such acclaim as the Skwisgaar Skwigelf, but the Skwisgaar Skwigelf was currently millions in debt to his various ex wives and the many children he had with both them and dozens of other women, so he immediately accepted the job as his finances were in the red despite his best efforts.

His staff would complain about their denied vacations. He’d deal with that later. Now, he needed to design a suite of stage costumes for an American glam rock outfit.

The timeline was short, the budget tight.

He’d make it work. He had no choice.

That was the story of his life, from his earlier years supporting his mother’s modeling career by first altering and then designing her dresses from scratch. Then being forced into the profession himself as she aged out of the spotlight and he knew no other skill. Finally, he too had lost his youthful shine for the starved pallor of middle age and fell back on the only other skill he knew once thoroughly chewed up and spat back out just as dear Serveta had been.

He’d been told he was lucky to catch the eye of a couture designer early on, had his career catapulted to the forefront so quickly, but Skwisgaar found that joy was fleeting and luck was a lie. He worked just as hard as anyone else so desperate as he, just had even more expectations thrown onto him, weighing him down to the spot and unable to escape this cage that he’d been born inside.

So, here he was at 5:45 AM, running on a mere two hours of sleep, preparing patterns for the provided measurements of the band members as he abandoned his empty mug on the far side of the table.

“Three fatsos and a twig. This will bes a challenge.” Skwisgaar muttered to himself. He’d have to get creative to make the little one stand out, he was the leader according to his notes.  

Glancing at the provided photos, he cringed. The supposed leader looked like shit, covered in bad tattoos and with horrible hair. Without even looking, he pulled an old pattern for a hooded coat, intending to just drown the man in fabric and leather. Maybe make him look like a real snake, he’d done something similar for Shaggrath and Dimmu Borgir and that had gone over well.

Then he thought about it again and pushed the pattern aside. Maybe he should take the opposite approach, and let that marked skin be the main event, put the singer on stage in his own chosen art and not much else. Everyone loved a sex icon, and from his brief research it seemed that Snakes and Barrels had been known for being fairly showy and scandalous back in their prime, especially the frontman.

It would be cheaper to produce less clothes, too. He went to go get another cup of coffee but was interrupted by the sound of the door opening. Like clockwork, his head seamstress was a half hour early.

“Good morning,” she said, hanging up her jacket on one of many hooks there at the front.

“It is mornings, yes. Not so much goods.” Skwisgaar replied with a frown, “Comes here Abigail, looks at these uglies men we must clothe.”

Abigail walked over and studied the screen he’d pulled the references onto, “I’m sure they look fine, you’re just being mean… Oh, is that Snakes and Barrels? I used to like them when I was a kid. And, uh, yeah they haven’t aged the best… But I’m sure we can make them look presentable.”

“Is some kinds of glam rocks pretty boys, ja?”

“Yeah. They were known for being colorful… Please tell me you were not about to make them winter jackets for a summer tour?” She asked, looking at the pattern he’d pulled.

“I was considerings it. Buts I cames to same conclusions, they should have a hot, vibrants energy. Something funs and excitings for the show.”

“That’s better. I’ll just put this away, then. A lot of their songs are about Cowboy stuff if that helps. We still have a lot of fringe left over from 2018’s resort collection.”

Skwisgaar considered this new information, “Cowboys stuff… I will lets you takes the lead on this project, then. Yous are froms America after all.” He always tried to pawn work off, but everyone knew he’d just undo everything the next day and do it again himself, so it was best to resist his attempts and save everyone’s time and energy.

“Whoa there, it’s not my contract. But you know I’ve got your back. We’ll figure this out together. What’s the timeline?”  Abigal asked as she rolled up the pattern and slid it back into place in the wall of patterns, a wall that looked like a beehive as it was full of little niches stuffed with paper.

“A week. First show is Saturday in… Floridas.”

“Shit. Alright, maybe I’ll take the lead on one of them once we pick the master fabrics… This guy.” She pointed to the bassist, who wore all black.

“You woulds pick the easy one. Leaves me the pink nightmare,” He gestured to the drummer.

“Hey, I love my goths. Besides, you’ve got the frontman to make shine, that should be your focus. Maybe we can pass pinky off to Trindle. I think she’s ready for a challenge.”

Skwisgaar shrugged, “As long as yous supervise, why nots. Let’s go looks at the fabrics.”

About an hour later, the rest of the staff had arrived and had been given their tasks as Skwisgaar and Abigail gathered a mountain of fabric in the middle of the room, hanging swatches up on a corkboard with some simple sketches.

Slowly, the clothes started to take form, low rise bottoms with flowing shirts and vintage belts. The centerpiece of it all would be a hand beaded leather vest with a horse motif, something to catch the spotlight and draw all eyes onto the redhead.

Once he was happy with the board, Skwisgaar let the real work begin, and finally allowed himself that second cup of coffee.

Chapter Text

William Murderface stood at the front of the classroom.

Two dozen young, eager eyes stared ahead, waiting for his next move.

“Behold, students… A civil war shoe.”

William held the ratty, tattered brown fabric that vaguely resembled footwear up for all to see.

There were the expected murmurs, gasps in awe. William expected nothing less, these were his AP students, the top of the crop and the most engaged. Of course, someone’s hand shot straight up, a girl who sat front and center.

“Yes, Veronica?”

“Mr. Murderface, can we touch it?” the student asked.

“Well, if you were anyone else, it would be an absolutely not. But since you all handled last week’s artifact so well… Why not! Pass it around, gently!” he gingerly passed it on to the front row.

As the item went around, he began is lecture, and all too soon the bell rang.

“No homework tonight, just start thinking about the topic you want to research for your term paper, alright guys?” William said and was met with lots of nods and ‘sure’s from the students.

As the students filed out, his ragged shoe landed itself back on his desk, looking unscathed. A few of the students lingered however, ah yes it was Friday. That meant that he was to host the Archaeology Club, which was always a good time. He mostly sat back and let the students run things, presenting the week’s findings to each other and picking a topic for discussion.

As with any student club, it often devolved into shenanigans and pointless debates, but nonetheless it was amusing and the conversation usually could be easily routed back to the topic at hand.

William was far from the most popular teacher at the school, that title was easily held by the football coach, but he tried to not overload the kids with pointless work and useless information, so that earned him respect enough that the kids didn’t go too far out of their way to make his life hell like they did with the math department. 

He knew he’d never be able to get the four years of his own horrible high school experience back, four years of constant torment and eventual threats just to get through, but he liked that he was able to give this generation a better experience. 

Even if this meant having to continue to threaten that same, now ancient, principal to not fire him for getting into fights with some of the rowdier portions of the student body.

A freshman with his arm in a cast gave William a nod as he entered the club meeting a bit late. He’d never joined them before, so William was sure to introduce him to the usuals, “Everyone, this is Fred, he’s going to be joining us today. Fred, why don’t you take a seat, listen in, and if anything comes up that you’re interested in, speak up. And if nothing sparks your interest, well, you get to pick next week’s topic? Deal.”

The boy was shuffling on his feet, nervous, but nodded, “Yea, ok.”

Earlier that week, William was leaving the school only to catch a brawl, some members of the football team circling around this pupil, shouting about how he was a ‘fatty ding dong’ and holding his arm behind his back at an unnatural angle. Stepping in had given William a fair few bruises of his own, but if there was one thing he could not stand, it was bullies.

After having his add handed to him hundreds of times as a young man, William turned to the internet to learn just enough about fighting to be able to break one up, and he wasn't afraid to wield that knowledge against these morons. 

Fred had admitted to having fairly absent parents after the fact when William asked him if he was able to go to the doctor after school. So, William had taken him to the clinic to get his arm fixed up, on the promise that the boy would come to archaeology club. He knew that, unfortunately, Fred's grades were rather poor, and William hoped his star pupils might be a good influence on him.

Alas, all through the meeting Fred was silent as Veronica led a debate about where to determine the origin of humanity as we know it, the ability to walk upright or written communication. It got heated quickly, there were so many ways to categorize the human origin after all, and not all that much material evidence to consider for how wide a topic it was.  

The hour breezed by, and as promised at the end William prompted Fred to offer a topic for next week. The boy took a few moments to consider this, then offered the history of music as his topic of choice. 

William grinned at the pupil, responding warmly, “That’s actually a really good idea. We can look into ancient instruments and their evolution over time, as well as the recording of music. I might have something in my collection to bring in, too.”

Fred cracked a small smile, “Cool.”

Then, the meeting was adjourned and William collected his things. It was always a battle to leave after these meetings, every kid wanted to hear his opinion on the debate. As usual, he played it coy, wanting the teens to come to their own conclusions as there truly was no definitive answer.

Finally in the solitude of his car, he turned the key, letting the engine complain for a few seconds before it finally turned over and let him drive away. 

Home wasn’t glamorous, it was a trailer in a crappy park full of old folks and sunburnt rednecks, but he could afford it. A decent part of the reason this was the best he could do was sitting on the front steps, looking dour. 

William swore under his breath, forcing a smile as he parked and stepped out of his car, “Hey Trinity, aren’t you supposed to be at your mother’s?”

“I was there last weekend.” The teen replied, stripe-dyed bangs covering one of her eyes as she sighed dramatically, “What took you so long?”

“It’s Friday, I have to stay late for archaeology club… Your mother should have known that.” William rubbed the bridge of his nose, what was wrong with that woman? It seemed like every little thing she did was out of spite.

Trinity narrowed her one visible eye, “You should just move into the school at this point.”

“I have half a mind to move you in, last we spoke your grades were not looking good.”

The teen just groaned, “Ugh! You don’t get it!”

William truly did not understand the girl, but who was he to tell her what to do with herself. She had free will, and he considered that at her age, he spent all his time smoking dope and playing bass with some other guys who tolerated him, and more importantly needed a bassist for their band.

“Right. How about you move in with me next year when you're a freshman? I'll take the desk, and you can shove some desks together. Hm? Not so chatty now I see.” He wasn’t ready to have this argument again with her, so he just let it go. One day she’d wake up and realize the importance of some kind of education, just like her old man, and hopefully not quite so late, “Did you leave your keys here or something?”

“Uh, yeah. Why else would I be sitting outside?” She said back harshly. 

“You’ve got to remember those; you know sometimes I have to work late. There’s some weird people here…” William said, stepping around his daughter to open the door to the trailer.

“Whatever, weirdo.” She said, following him in. 

“Says the girl who wearing pink cat ears.” 

“Ugh, you’re so lame! These are cool.” Trinity complained, shoving her hands in her pockets as she made her way to her room in the back of the trailer, slamming the door behind her.

“Good to see you too, kid. What do you want for dinner?” William grumbled as he opened the fridge. It was full of mostly cheap beer and old takeout containers. There was half of a pizza he could heat up, that would have to do. 

He’d never gotten along well with his daughter, or rather the kid who his ex-girlfriend claimed was his. Trinity truly looked nothing like him, all straight hair and sharp angles, but he didn’t have the resources to fight the claims. By the time they were in court, the then-five year old clinging to her mother like a baby baboon bearing teeth, he’d just given in and accepted that this was going to happen. 

Dani had made a convincing enough case that the judge had ordered William to pay child support and have partial custody on alternating weekends, and that was that.

Loud music poured out from under Trinity’s door, some kind of screeching metal crap, and William knocked even louder, “Can’t you use headphones or something?”

“Nope, they broke!” She shouted back. 

“Then turn it down!” 

“It sucks when it’s quiet!” 

“Then listen to something else!” William opened the door and threatened to unplug the stereo, the gift he’d gotten her for her birthday last year without really thinking it through.

“Oh my god you’re so lame!” Trinity complained, not moving to adjust the volume so William did it for her.

“We’re having pizza for dinner, so just come get it when you’re hungry.”

Trinity rolled her eyes, “Oh goodie, old pizza. Just like last time. Is it the same one?”

“No. Uh, maybe. I'll check. Look, help yourself to whatever in the fridge, ok?” He left when she nodded, leaving the door ajar behind him. It took five seconds for it to be kicked shut again by the room’s occupant. 

He then went into his own room, opening the large curio cabinet to replace his prized shoe in its place from his bag. There were about a dozen artifacts, ranging from an ancient medieval spear tip to tattered uniform fragments from World War II. None of it was really of much value, just bits and pieces he’d picked up over the years, but he cherished them nonetheless.

Closing the cabinet’s door, he admired the collection for a few seconds longer, then exited back to the living space, but not before grabbing next week’s item so he would not forget.

Setting it down by the door, he looked at his old bass guitar. He’d gotten it in high school, and didn’t consider himself to be a good player, but he knew the basics just from fiddling around with it pretty much every day for most of his teenage years. He’d have to brush up on his skills if he was going to play for the club, but he figured it might be a fun change in pace to bring in a ‘modern’ artifact, maybe pretend to be future archeologists digging this thing up and analyzing it. There were certainly conversations to be had just from the various band stickers peeling up off the painted wood, from Nirvana to Led Zeppelin. 

He was always trying to find ways to make history more engaging, and this could be a perfect candidate for that role. Maybe he'd work it into one of his main lectures. Maybe. 

Settling down in front of the TV, William turned on the news and let his mind turn to mush as he cracked open a beer. As usual, there was nothing of interest, but one story caught his eye.

Apparently, Snakes and Barrels were kicking off their world tour here in Florida, and the station was running a contest to win VIP tickets. He wasn’t particularly a fan, but William knew how huge that band was, and how valuable those tickets would be. So, he rushed to dial the number on the screen and place his entry, if he won he’d be in for a pretty good payday.

Who knew, maybe he’d be lucky for once in his life.

Chapter Text

His fingers bled out onto the guitar, his arm ached, but he continued to strum as fast as he could, needing to get through this last song. The album was nearly finished recording, his solo would be the final piece of the puzzle. With the guitar sent through so much fuzz, no one would notice the mistakes he made after all.

Well, almost nobody would.

“Stop, stop. Toki, what the hell are you doing? That is not how the solo goes.” Runke said, scowling at him from across the basement as he nursed his own injuries with an ice pack.

“I’m improvising?” Toki offered.

The older man did not buy it, “Start over.” He either did not notice the red fingerprints on the fretboard, or did not care. Most likely, it was the latter.

Runke was not a nice, kind, or pleasant man, but living here at the shop with him was better than staying with his parents, so over a decade ago Toki had moved in and done his best to make this place his home and eventually it worked.

For a while now, he’d been working on music with Runke, and some others who came and went, and helped operate the record store on the floor above them.

Neither was very profitable, but Toki finally saw that they had a chance to make history again. There was not an option for delay, they needed to get this album out while the news of their latest stunt was still hot.

“I’m going to reset the recording, do it correctly this time.”

Toki took a deep breath, stretched his fingers, and then ran them down his face, smearing the black and white paint he wore with red. He channeled that demonic energy through his mind and his limbs, and braced himself to unleash hell onto the ears of the world, “Alright. I’m ready.”

He ran through the song again, using every ounce of focus and skill he’d cultivated to nail ever rapid strum. When he finally finished, he knew that he’d played it right. The track was pure brutality and was sure to let everyone who listened know that Hestkuk still meant business. They’d pioneered this blackened sound, they had a reputation to defend.

Runke may have invented tremolo picking before Toki joined the band, or even knew of a world outside of the cult he’d grown up within, but Toki believed that he had finally perfected this style of playing as he listened back to the recording.

“We will release it tomorrow.” Runke announced, setting up the tape to transfer onto the computer as a mp3. Toki knew how much his bandmate hated this part, if it were up to Runke they’d only sell physical, but if they wanted to be able to afford the rent on the store and equipment, they needed every sale they could get.

This release was critical.

“Sounds like a plan.” Toki replied, pacing around the basement impatiently.

“Sit down Toki, I have something I need to tell you.” Rune announced.

Toki glanced at the practically rotting sofa Runke was perched on, “I’ll stand.”

“Fine. A friend has let me know that the police are looking for you. Want to make you into an example for what we did last week. Make sure this does not become a pattern or something. Scare everyone.”

Toki recalled their previous escapade, setting a church alight as if it were timber. It was a practice the community had not engaged in since Runke was Toki’s age, and they’d hoped the stunt would re-solidify their reputations after falling out of the center of the scene in recent years as higher budget acts took the forefront.

So far, it had been working. There was a real buzz around the album. But this news was a real wrench in their plans.

“So, what are we going to do?” Toki asked, trying to not sound nervous. He hadn’t even considered that there would be consequences, Runke had always gotten off with just a slap on the wrist back in the day.

Runke frowned, “I looked at our online sales and it appears that we have a decent amount of fans in the United States. So, we are going to go on tour to promote the album in a more legal fashion, ugh.”

Toki lost his composure and leapt up into the air, “We’re going to America? Oh wowie!”

“Toki. Please. Do not act like a child. This is serious.”  Runke said, tired of these outbursts. Toki knew the man was just trying to spare his reputation with the constant reprimanding, but that didn’t mean it felt good. With only one original member remaining, Hestkuk needed no more controversies or reasons to not be seen as ‘trve cvlt’.

They were already on very thin ice, the community was hesitant to even accept this new member in the first place, some kid who never could never dull the excited shine in his eyes, always looking just a little too happy to be here. Despite this, Toki’s playing had earned him his place in the subculture, and now he needed to keep up a dark demeanor to keep it.

Toki stopped his bouncing and forced his grin down into a scowl, “Of course. Very serious,” Toki also walked over to where Runke stood and wrapped his arm around his shoulder, “But it is also a vacation! I want to go to the beach, and see the statue of liberty, and the Grand Canyon, and-”

Runke interrupted him, now speaking in strongly accented English, “Stop rambling about things we will not be doing and start practicing your English. You must be fluent for the tour.”

Toki frowned, “Really?”

“What was that? I am stupid American border customs pig who does not speak Norwegian. You’re going to be using a fake passport, so we need to draw as little suspicion as possible.” Runke replied.

Toki huffed, changing to speak the language, “Fines, but I ams not learnings any mores before we leaves. Can gets by wells enoughs.”

“Probably isn’t time to learn any more, the flight is tomorrow. Until then we lay low, release the album, then leave like ghosts in the night.”

“Then whats?”

Runke shrugged, “Am still figuring out the logistics, but we fly into Florida and there is some big glam metal reunion show going on. If we can find a way into that, we can get some more eyes on Hestkuk.”

“Works for me. Ams goings to go gets a snack. Bye-bye.” Toki hung up his guitar and crept upstairs to raid the fridge.

Runke shook his head, reminding Toki to not eat everything as he ascended the stairs.

The warning was not necessary as the fridge was empty, as usual, so Toki went out into the town to try and find something, pulling on his coat as he left if only so that Runke didn’t berate him further when he got back. Toki appreciated that such a lecture was a rare sign that the man did care about him beyond just his guitar playing, and ability to move heavy crates of merchandise, but it was still annoying.

Toki looked across the street at the café, but they usually expected him to pay so that was a bust so he kept walking. Eventually, he found himself in the alley behind the fish monger’s, looking for a specific someone.

“Ah, Toki, back for more scraps?” The owner’s daughter Amalie called out, waving to him as she washed off some equipment in the alley. She was a broad woman, wearing plastic overalls covered in fish blood from the day’s work. Her father was quite old, so she mostly ran the place, and Toki considered her a rare friend. When Hestkuk needed a video recorded, she could be trusted with a steady hand, and steady supply of blood and gore to decorate the set with.  

“I would prefer something cooked, but I’ll take whatever you’ve got. Runke’s been so focused on pushing the album out, he hasn’t bought any groceries.” He shrugged, hands deep in his pockets.

Amalie shook her head, “You’ll have to pay for that, but there’s some halibut fillets that are just going to end up in the trash as they didn’t sell today. If you cook them tonight, they’ll be… well they are safe to eat.”

“I’ll take it.”

“Great, you finish washing this why I go wrap it up.” She shoved the hose towards him.

“Leave it to you to make me work for my meal.” Toki grumbled, but he accepted and started spraying down the metal racks she’d been working on.

“Hey, the faster it’s done, the faster I can go home to Maja.”

Toki stuck out his tongue, “Whatever.”

“If you tried romance, you might just find you like it.” She teased as she stepped into the shop.

“The only appealing thing about romance is the sheer emotion in the breakup.” Toki retorted, voice raised to be heard from a distance.

He heard Amalie’s laughter come through the door.

“Its true! Runke put out an entire album when… Well, you know. It was probably his best work, though he hates the thing. Curses the day he released it, but we’re still getting a few bucks off streams.” Toki had never experienced such loss, so to him it wasn’t anything worth thinking too hard about, all he cared about was how it affected him.

“Yes, yes. Trust me, the whole town knew. Isak was a good kid, probably the only good influence he had, you know? It is a tragedy what happened to him.”

Toki shouted back, recalling how Runke’s loss had impacted his own personal sanity, “A tragedy for me, you mean! He would not stop kicking and screaming for weeks until he finally fucking did something about it. I did not know how much to appreciate his usual sour self until then. Fucking ghoul.”

Amalie returned through the door, “Shh, don’t announce that to the whole town. Would finally give them a reason to get rid of him.”

Toki kicked at the muddy gravel below his boots, remembering that whole fiasco with a frown and deciding to just move on, “Well, funny you say that. I’ve got another secret for you, they will get their wish, at least for a little while. We’re leaving tomorrow.”

“What? Where? Why? I have many questions, Toki.”

“I can’t say too much, but you know that church that burned down the other day?”

Amalie’s eyes went wide, “No. You didn’t.”

“I did.” Toki flashed a sinister grin, or at least he hoped it was. Many people told him he looked like a cat when he smiled, accented by his sharp canines.

“Fuck. You get your ass back home, eat this fish to give you strength, pack your bags, and get the hell out of here.” Amalie gave him the fillets, wrapped in brown paper.

“Like a ghost in the night.” Toki winked, accepting the fish and giving her back the hose.

“Shoo, you ghoul.” Amalie waved him away, “And be safe.”

“Maybe.” Toki turned away, stepping back towards the street and leaving this place behind.

Back at the shop, he found Runke upstairs preparing for the trip, so he had the kitchen all to himself where he did his best to cook the fish with whatever seasonings were laying around. Neither Runke or himself were very good in the kitchen, but it was cheaper to make something than get take out so they’d forced themselves to learn the basics.

Eventually, he had two plates of edible protein and a side of boiled carrots.

Without being called, the smell summoned Runke and they stood at the counter to eat.

“Pack your bags after this, flight is early and we have to take a taxi to the airport before that.” Runke announced, stabbing the pale fish with his fork.

Toki just picked up the fillet with his hand, taking a big bite. He could taste that it was on the cusp of being rotten, but he was too hungry to care. There was a bit of an iron flavor to it as well, and Toki looked down to realize the cuts on his fingers had opened back up, spilling red onto his dinner.

He paid it no mind, it was from inside him after all, he was doing his body a favor putting it back. “Yeah, sure. Are we bringing instruments or just clothes?”

“English Toki. And just one bag is permitted with our ticket, so we’ll steal something once we are there or something.”

Toki shrugged as he chewed, “Whatevers you say. I wants to go to the beach whiles in Florida.”

“This isn’t a vacation.”

“Runkeeeee, it cannots be all works. We needs to do somethings for inspirations. It’ll benefits the music, rights?” Toki whined, trying to appeal to the artist if he could not appeal to the tourist.

Runke finished chewing before replying, “Beach is not dark or evil. Maybe we find a cemetery.”

Toki groaned, “But we haves cemeteries here! Oh, I knows, we can finds a cemetery on the beach!”

“If one exists, then sure we can visits.”

That was good enough for Toki who smiled as he tried one of the carrots.

Runke nudged him in the ribs, and he prepared to force it down.

Instead, he looked over and noticed the ghost of a grin on Runke’s soft features, “Or maybe we just go to the nearest beach. Sand is rather diabolical.”

Toki smiled back, “Extremely evil.”

“As is the ocean, there exists many strange hideous life forms in its depths, all itching to try and kill us and drag us to the floor to be consumed.”

“Toki thinks you ares inspired already!”

“Perhaps, perhaps.” Runke set down his now empty plate and moved to go back to his bedroom, the man was a fast eater.

Toki hummed as he washed up, now even more excited for the trip. His ‘room’ was just a blocked off part of the main area of the apartment that was probably meant to be a dining room, but it was more than he’d ever had with his parents so he never complained. There was a soft bed, some shelves for his things, and every inch of the walls behind the privacy curtain Runke had set up for him was plastered in posters and images he’d cut out of magazines, a mix of metal bands he admired and various historic airplanes.

As a child, he’d been taught that it was not Godly for humans to fly, this was reserved only for angels. However, Toki could never stop himself from admiring this ability. From watching the freedom of a bird in the sky, and wishing to be reborn as one.

When he admitted this to Runke and his friends one drunken night in the basement, the man had laughed at him, but one of their fellow musicians had wrapped a long arm around his shoulders, “Kid, you are in luck!” He’d said, “In Blashyrkh, you can be the mighty ravendark! That’s from my next album. I know you can’t buy it but listen to the promo copy Runke is going to get for the shop.”

Toki smiled at this memory, it was a rare few who considered him an equal in this scene, especially so early on. When he finally did have the money for it, he had bought that tape and played it until it snapped. The plastic case still sat in a place of honor on his shelf.

Not wanting to waste time, he got to work picking out what he would bring in his ratty old backpack. There would not be room for more than the essentials, so he started rolling up socks and underwear. Going through his shirts, he went with his favorite three, and picked the heaviest stuff to wear on the plane to try and save space.

“Here, put these in somewhere safe,” Runke poked his head through the curtain, handing an envelope to Toki.

He opened it to find a passport, and the plane ticket.

Toki was almost as excited for Florida as he was to fly for the first time in his life, like a raven over the snow.

Chapter Text

“Do you remember what you have to say?” Charles asked as they pulled around to the back of the concert hall.

Nathan groaned in reply.

“Nathan, please. I know you’re still sore about losing the game-” Charles was interrupted.

“Don’t.” Nathan growled.

Charles gave him a second to let out another gruff sound before continuing, “You go on stage, you announce Snakes and Barrels, then you walk off stage. But first, you will have to meet the band backstage. Smile for a picture or two. Then we can leave.”

“I don’t want to take any pictures.”

“Too bad, you agreed to it.” The car slowed to a stop, “We’re here.”

Charles stepped out of the car and waited on the curb. Nathan did not follow, sulking in the back seat. Charles had sympathy for the man, he really did. Nathan just ended his career in disgrace, performing so poorly in his final game that just about everyone blamed the team’s loss on him. it was so bad that after half time, he only was on the field for a total of thirty seconds in which he managed to fumble the ball right into a touchdown for their opponent.

He hoped that keeping Nathan busy tonight might keep his mind off that for a little while, maybe improve his mood, “Chop chop. Come on. Time to go. Sooner you’re in, sooner you can get out.”

Finally, Nathan acquiesced and silently exited the car. They were led by a security guard into the backstage green room, which was utter chaos.

Some Scandinavian was running around like a madman, throwing clothes around and shouting in a mixture of languages, while the band was preoccupied by a wide spread of food.

“Oh, chips.” Nathan said, making a b-line for a bowl of his favorite snack.

“Stop eatings! You amen’t goings to fits your costumes!” The Scandinavian who Charles recognized as designer Skwisgaar Skwigelf lamented, but the command fell onto deaf ears, “We needs to changes you into your stage clothes!”  

“You’re all going to have to pose for some photographs as well.” Charles added, trying to help the frazzled man with little success.

The only person there who seemed somewhat with the program was their lead singer and guitarist Pickles. Instead of raiding the rider, he was sitting in the back, already in his stage clothes of white skinny jeans and a beaded vest, hair braided and pulled back with a blue bandana, “You’re not going to get through to them until that table is empty ya know?” He said, kicking his feet up on the table, “Bunch of gluttons.”  

Charles noted that his words were slightly slurred, he was a drinker rather than an eater.

“Well, you go out in an hour, so we’ve got to start getting everyone ready,” A woman complained, emerging out from behind a clothes rack and walking over to Charles, “Hi, I’m Abigail, here with the costuming team. You look like you know how to herd cats,  so let’s start herding.”

Charles did always like a challenge, and he extended his hand to formally introduce himself, “Charles Offdensen, manager to Nathan Explosion. I wrangle a lion for a living, cats will be a piece of cake.”

Not twenty minutes later, everyone was dressed and lined up for the publicity shot with Nathan who looked absolutely miserable as he stared at a caterer refilling the chip bowl. He looked a bit out of place in just a black t-shirt and jeans, but Charles had intercepted when Skwisgaar had tried to offer him a costume change. That would be pushing their luck, Charles was very familiar with Nathan’s tolerances and right now they were at a low.

Once the photos were taken, Charles expected Nathan to spend the rest of his time at the bowl, so he excused himself for a brief respite. Abigail followed him out into the hall, “Thanks for the assist. Skwisgaar and I were about to lose our minds in there.”

“No problem. You must make it clear that participation is not optional in times like these, there is an obligation that must be fulfilled and there are no other choices.”

Abigail shook her head as she pulled a flask out from her grey suit jacket’s pocket, “Easier said than done,” she took a swig, “Want some? It’s a sober environment in there for the band, so we’ve been sneaking it.”

Charles accepted and took a long sip, tasting the scotch and letting it warm his throat, “I see. Are you sure about that? The singer seemed a little tipsy.”

“Well, if he’s drinking, he’s also sneaking it. The other three are fifteen years sober, so they were very insistent about keeping the show clean.”  Abigail explained, “Seems they’ve all picked up other vices, though. Don’t think I’ve ever seen a snack bar go so fast.”

“Understood. Perhaps for the best, given the chance I believe Nathan would drink himself into oblivion right about now. I fear for his bowels, but that’s a problem that is not directly concerning me.” Charles replied.

“Oh right, Dolphins lost that big last game, didn’t they? What a bummer. Hopefully going on stage gives him some confidence back.” 

“That would be ideal, though I fear the crowd may turn on him. The fans have been fickle lately, I believe they blame him for the loss.” Charles realized this was the first time he’d verbally admitted that, and checked over his shoulder to make sure Nathan wasn’t anywhere in earshot. The last thing he needed right now was for Nathan to hear someone he trusted utter those words.

Thankfully, they were in the clear.  

Abigail smiled up at him, “Yeah, maybe. But hopefully they don’t even have the chance to react, he’s just going out to welcome the band on, right? Quick and simple.”

“Hopefully, if he sticks to the script.” Charles sighed, “I’ve worked with him for a long time now, and Nathan can be very unpredictable in high pressure situations like this. I half expect to have to go out there with him.”

“If that’s the case, you can’t go out there looking like a suit.” Abigail rebutted playfully.

Charles raised an eyebrow, “Is that a rule of the show?”

“No, but we have a lot of spare outfits and I’ve got something just begging to be worn that Tony rejected. I made it myself, trust me it’s classy.” Abigail said, already dragging Charles back into the green room.

Charles stumbled over his words as he tried to refuse, but when they entered, he was rendered silent by an entirely new, previously thought to be unachievable, level of chaos waiting for him.

It was like a nightmare come to life. He almost moved to pinch himself. Sure, Charles often planned for the worst, but he never expected to have to face it.

“Oh no.”

Chapter Text

      Earlier that day... 

Runke rubbed the bump forming on the back of his head.

“Damns you policeman!” Toki shouted at the security guard now slamming the door shut behind him after throwing the two out, clutching the backpack full of all his belongings close to his chest. Both of them were tired and miserable, having spent several days camping in various airports as their value airline left them stranded on multiple occasions due to delays and missed flights.

“Did not anticipate the security to be so tight.” Runke mumbled, forcing himself up to a seat, “We will try another way.”

“We are runnings out of time!” Toki howled, frustrated and bruised. He rubbed at his bare arms, the light from the setting sun reflecting off the spikes on his armband and momentarily blinded Runke.

“We are not giving up.” Runke declared, patting the USB drive in his pocket that he’d prepared late at night in Norway, just before they left, “America will know Hestkuk!”

As they walked out into the main plaza of the arena, a man approached, “Hey, you two need tickets? I’ve got VIP passes, the real deal. You’ve missed the meet and greet, but it’ll get you in the pit.” He whispered loudly at them with a heavy lisp.

Runke pushed him away with a palm to the forehead, “Go away.”

“Wait, maybies we get in this way?” Toki said, not following Runke as he strode away and instead lingering near the scalper.

The man smiled, revealing a gap between his front teeth, “Everything else is sold out. It’s this or nothing, gentlemen.”

Runke sighed, he hated to resort to this, but Toki was right, they were running out of time if they were going to pull this off, “Fine, how much?” He asked as he walked back over to the other two, pretending to start digging in his bag.

“How much do you have?” The man asked, brow furrowed.

Runke cocked his head as he replied, “This much,” and punched the man in the face.

He went down with a whimper and Runke found the tickets in his pocket after a quick frisk, “Thanks.”

The man tried to get up, but Toki kicked him in the side, “Takes a naps now, okies? Just stays down.”

The man curled into a ball, and Runke ran off with the tickets, Toki in tow behind him.

Before they reached the gates though, they were stopped by a teenager, “Hey! No one messes with Mr. Murderface on my watch!” the large kid said, face covered in acne and hat on backwards, some kind of wannabe punk. One of his arms was wrapped up in a cast.

“Go away kid, or we’ll uh, unleash Norwegian black magic.” Runke said, hoping to avoid a fight.

“Fred, get out of here!” The man said, getting back up on his feet.

“No way! You saved my ass, now I’m saving yours!”

The next thing he knew, Runke was decked in the jaw.

Toki was on the kid quickly, wrestling him down to the ground.

“Oh fuck.” The man cursed softly, jogging over, “I guess we’re doing this?”

He rushed Runke, and before he had time to react, tackled him to the ground with a grunt.

The scrap was rough and uncoordinated, the men slapping and scratching at each other aimlessly. A small crowd started to form.

“This is not good!” Runke shouted over to Toki.

“I knows! Got this kids down, we needs to run in now!” Toki held the teen in a choke hold, barely out of reach of flailing limbs.

Runke planted a solid kick into the man’s chest, flinging him off, “Let’s go!”

He started to run towards the concert entry, but realized his pocket was empty. The guy had managed to get his tickets back, “Bring him too!” Runke directed, pointing Toki at the guy.

Toki dropped the teen and dragged the man along, “You’re comings with us, fatty.”

“Sure, fine. Whatever. Just don’t hurt anyone else, ok? Fred, stay back, it’s fine! I’ll be fine… Right?”  

“Fines. Stays back everyones!” Toki shouted.

“Nothing to see here, disperse back to your boring lives.” Runke said, directing the crowd away. Somehow, it worked and they were able to make it to the gate and into the venue.

“So, uh, now that we’re inside, can I go now? If I’m not going to make any money, I’d at least like to see the concert.”

Runke shrugged, and Toki let him go. He dusted himself off, wiping blood from his brow with a wince.

“Shoo.” Runke said, waving his hand, “Begone.”

The man took a step back, but stopped short, “Oh wait, can we take a picture together. My daughter is never going to believe this! She loves you guys.”

“I highly doubt that.” Runke responded.

“No, she has your CDs, I’ve seen you on the little poster that came with it. Can’t say I know other bands who look like, well, you. With the spikes and the makeup and all that. I don’t get it, but she’s going to go bananas when I tell her that her dad met, uh. Black Brides I think? Is that what you’re called?”

Runke stopped dead in his tracks, “What the hell is that?”

“Oh, does you means Black Veil Brides? Is like, sad crybabies rock music for teenagers.” Toki explained with a frown.

Runke twisted around and brandished his knife, “How dare you compare us to that crap!”

Toki muttered beside him, “Such music is not trve cvlt.”

“Whoa, whoa! Sorry, sorry! But, uh, we’re still doing that picture right? I’m sure she knows you guys. Look, what are your names then?”

“Ares you police?” Toki said, stepping close and narrowing his eyes.

“No, screw those guys. Look, I’ll start, my name is William Murderface. Now you know who I am, so tell me who you are so I can tell Trinity I met someone interesting. That’s my kid.”

Toki shot a glance at Runke. He shrugged, what the hell, “I am Runke, this is Toki, and we are Hestkuk. Very brutal, true black metal band from Norway. You tell this Trinity to buy all of our demos when you get home, ok?”

“Sure, whatever you say. Was that Heck Cult?”

“Hestkuk.” Toki repeated.

“Hess Cluck?” William’s face twisted as he tried to say the name, failing yet again.

Runke said it one more time, nice and slow, “Hest-kuk. It means a horse’s cock.”

“Oh, um. I’ll try and remember that.” William replied, looking uncomfortable.

“You better Williams, or we’ll finds you and cuts yous throat!” Toki threatened.

Before the man had time to react, a security guard walked over, “Hey! You! I thought I kicked you out! You can’t have knives in here!”

“Time to go.” Runke said, dashing off and intending to find a quick way backstage.

“Heys! Stops follows me!” Toki shouted, and Runke looked back to see this William guy still tagging along. There was no time to argue, so he just kept up his pace and started testing doors, eventually finding one that gave way and throwing himself into a dark hall, the others close behind.

Toki slammed the door shut, “Thinks we losts thems.” He whispered.

Runke looked around and realized they were in some kind of utility corridor. It must connect to the stage somehow, so upon spying a ladder bolted into the wall leading up to a catwalk, he determined their next move, “We’re going up there.”

“Why?” William hissed.

“Because we ams on a mission from Satan. Yous ams either goings to helps us or stays back and holds the door shut.” Toki said in response.

William considered this a moment before replying, “If I help, can I get that picture?”

Runke sighed, “Yes, fine. Just don’t slow us down.” Then he took the first step up the ladder and started up towards the catwalk.

Chapter Text

“Oh mama, you know how to party!” Pickles cheered as Nathan swallowed down the last of the tequila.

“Ugh. Yeah. Had to take it easy all season, so now I can just let it all go, heh.” The now former footballer replied with a smirk, licking a bead of booze off the corner of his mouth.

“Well, if you’re ever looking for a new career, I’m always looking for good groupies, heh. I’ve only been here, like, a week and I’m already bored of these dry losers. I genuinely think tha-hic-that being sober makes them play worse.” Pickles lamented, drunkenly leaning against the pillar of a man crowded into the green room bathroom with him.

Magnus had made it very clear that he wasn’t to drink in front of the other Snakes and Barrels members, so he just figured he’d take his booze to another location. So far it had been working out just fine.

“Huh. Maybe. You’ll have to ask Charles, I don’t come cheap.”

Pickles chuckled, “Who said I was looking for cheap? If I wanted that, I’d just go out into the audience and let the ladies have their way with me.”

Nathan grinned, “That must be nice. Whenever I go out, usually folks just want to pick fights because I crushed their favorite player or whatever.”

“Bullshit. You’ve got to have some lady fans, I mean, look at ya!” Pickles wrapped two hands around Nathan’s bicep, “Built like a god.”

Rolling his eyes, Nathan continued, “Yeah, sometimes, but then the husbands want to fight. It’s just a lot of violence.”

“Whatever, complain all you want, it’s over now.”

There was a knock on the door, and Magnus’ voice came through muffled, “Show’s starting in ten, so wrap up whatever it is you’re doing in there and look alive.”

“Duty calls.” Pickles said, stepping around Nathan to open the door, “We’ll wrap this up after the show, yeah? Little booze cruise, bar crawl, whatever.”

“Um, sure.” Nathan replied, following the smaller man out.

Immediately, the other band members were staring at them.

“Seriously Pickles? You just had to go get drunk?” Tony said, folding his arms.

“Me? Drunk? Never.” Pickles replied, but his voice was rather slurred and his posture wavy like an inflatable tube man.

However, Nathan was still holding the empty bottle of tequila, “Shit. It was, uh, all me. I drank the whole thing.”

“We’re not going out with that.”

“Seriously? I thought we had a deal!” Magnus stepped into Pickles’ personal space, jabbing a finger into his chest.

“Look, I’m fine. I’ve always pregamed before shows, this is no different.”

Tony moved to stand beside Magnus, “This isn’t just any show, and now you’ve made it personal. You know we’re all trying really hard to keep clean, and you’re totally disrespecting our journey.”

“Yeah, I think we need to postpone until he’s clean, or find someone new.”

“No, no. We’ve got to do the show tonight.”

Nathan stepped up, smacking Magnus’ hand away, “He said he’s fine. He’s fine. Just go do your stupid songs and come back.”

“Stupid? Who do you think you are?” Sammy exclaimed, stepping in between the two men.

“He’s Nathan Explosion, idiots. Even I know that.” Pickles replied.

“Oh, so he’s better than us because he’s your drinking buddy?” Sammy asked.

“I’m sorry Magnus but this isn’t going to work.” Tony deadpanned.

“Yeah, we’re leaving.” Sammy announced.

“No, no! You can’t go! You’ve got a show to do!” Magnus shouted, chasing the other three members as they rushed the door.

Before they reached it, it opened to reveal Charles and Abigail standing in the hall.

“This is all your fault!” Magnus screamed at Pickles.

“Hey! Don’t talk like that to Pickles!” Nathan growled in response, then he decked the man, punching Magnus in the eye.

“Oh no.” Charles said under his breath as ¾ of Snakes and Barrels shoved past him, rambling about Pickles being too drunk to play with.

Pickles just watched the carnage and smiled, “Heh, nice one Nathan.”

The larger man let out a roar, the tequila taking effect as he started kicking over chairs and eating fistfuls of chips.

Magnus pushed himself back up to his feet and shouted at Charles, “Get him under control!”

“Um, Nathan, please calm down. We have a job to do here, remember?” Charles said, trying to get closer to Nathan while the man was playing chicken with the other side of the table, dodging in the opposite direction that Charles moved.

“I’M EATING CHIPS!” Nathan bellowed.

Charles then turned back to Magnus, “Is the show still happening? I believe the band just took their leave.”

Maagnus just sputtered obscenities and threats under his breath, shoving a napkin over his eye that soon became soaked with blood.

So, Pickles decided to step in, “I don’t know, maybe. You know how to play the drums?” Pickles asked Charles with a smirk, “And what about you Abigail, you ever touched a bass before?” He then asked Abigail who shook her head, “Hey Skwigelf, you play guitar by any chance?”

Skwisgaar looked up from where he’d been sitting in the corner, half asleep with his sketchbook, “Can I plays guitars? No. Never trieds it.”

“I do not believe any of us here are musically inclined.” Charles replied for the group.

“I don’t know about that, Magnus you used to be in a metal band right? You can do the rhythm guitar.” Pickles pointed out.

Magnus was shaking with anger where he stood, “I… I could play if I had to, maybe if Tonto over there hadn’t just punched me! But that still leaves a lot of vacancies. So someone better learn real quick because this show is happening come hell or high water!”

“I’ve got another one for you if you keep this up.” Nathan grumbled, eyes narrowing at the hateful insult. He’d had to develop a pretty thick skin from his time in the limelight, seemed like everyone had something negative to say to him at some point. But after his final failure, ending his career at a low, it was all getting to be too much and that skin was wearing quite thin.

Pickles could tell that their little respite in the bathroom had been good for the man, but he was still high strung and probably shouldn’t be provoked, lest another eye get punched out.

“We’ll just patch you up, and get on with it. Acoustic special?” Pickles offered Magnus.

Magnus opened his mouth to respond, then, the sky fell. Or rather, the catwalk over the green room snapped out of the cables holding it aloft with a groan, and it landed right on top of Magnus.

“Ooof, there goes that plan.” Pickles said with a wince, standing just inches away from the carnage.

Magnus screamed.

On top of the fallen catwalk sat three men, two in smudged corpse paint and the third looking like their accountant.

“Ah, so this show is in hell.” Abigail mused, eyeing the ghouls.

“My chips!” Nathan shouted, the snack bar now buried in rubble. He grabbed the nearest guy by the collar, some lean punk in dramatic black and white makeup, shouting in his face, “Give them back!”

“I don’ts haves your chips!” The man shouted back in a thick accent, slapping Nathan across the face.

“Toki, don’t start another fight!” The larger painted man tried to insert himself between this so-called Toki and Nathan, voice dull and tired sounding.

The accountant looking fellow just sat there, looking dazed.

“Uh, hi there dude?” Pickled offered, walking over to the most normal seeming of the trio, “Wanna try and tell me what’s going on.”

“I… I don’t think there is a good explanation for this, so I plead the fifth.” He replied, thick with a lisp.

Charles then spoke up, “Well, I’m going to go get security before this gets any worse.”

Pickles waved the man off, getting an idea, “Nah, nah. I want to see where this goes… Hey, zombie boys, you two know how to play any instruments?”

The burgeoning fight with Nathan came to a stand-still, “What?” the smaller one asked.

“Look, my besuited friend over here wants to have you three arrested, but if you can be useful, maybe we can avoid that outcome. You help me out by playing the show and we call it even? I need rhythm guitar, drums, and bass.”

“I plays guitars!” Toki said, cracking a smile at the opportunity for salvation. His cold eyes were ravenous, sending a chill down Pickles’ spine.

Regardless, he was glad the gamble was paying off, “Good, what about you?” He asked the other painted guy.

“Also guitar, or bass. Could do drums, but as last resort I suppose. Much too brutal for your type of music.” The larger one replied.

“Yeah, yous don’t want Runke playings your drums, he’ll just breaks them, hehe.” Toki added with a chuckle. Runke kicked him in the thigh, “Whats? It’s trues, yous calls it brutals but the fact ams you suck!”

Pickles ignored their argument, “Ok, I can work with this, won’t be ideal but I can sing behind the kit if I need to. What about you? Please tell me you play the drums in between filing taxes?” Pickles turned back to the normal looking one.

His eyes blew wide, “Me? Oh, jeez. No drums, but I played bass in high school. That was forever ago, though-”

Pickles cut him off with a crooked smile, “Perfect. We’ve got all the bases covered.”

“You really don’t want me out there.” The guy continued, worrying his fingers into his dense curls, but Pickles paid him no mind.

“Yes, I do. It’s you, or nothing, and if it’s a disaster just unplug from the amp and play random notes. No one will notice.”

“Heh, bases.” Nathan chuckles to himself, piecing the joke together after a moment’s delay.  

“Ohs! You cans play bass Williams? Thoughts you weres borings, maybe less sos now.” Toki said, patting the seated man on the head, “Maybe ones days you can bes brutal, too.”

“I’m guessing none of you know how to play my songs though?” Pickles asked and was answered by several head shakes and ‘nope’s. “Great, we’ll just figure it out as we go. It’s a reunion tour, so nobody is going to expect you to sound good, just follow my rhythm or whatever, I can improvise. Uh, fashion people, can we get these guys ready for the stage? No offense, but this is not going to work.”  He gestured to the rag tag bunch of musicians assembled.

Skwisgaar huffed, already pacing the room, “Will does our best but this is not much to works with. Luckilies we already made clothes for fatties.”

“I am not wearing any of this.” Runke announced, gesturing to the glittery and colorful rack of glam clothes on the side of the room, “You will have to kill me.”

“I… I kind of likes it.” Toki announced, wandering over the Skwisgaar, “Shows it to me!”

Immediately, the two started going through the rack piece by piece, Skwisgaar seeming to feed off the man’s enthusiasm, so Abigail had to step in to get everyone else prepared.

“I take it you’re a lost cause?” She said to Runke.

He frowned back, “Where are the instruments? Need to make sure everything is in tune.”

With a grunt, Magnus finally extracted himself from the rubble, “Yeah, go get everything in tune. The racks are in the wings, I’ll take you,” He stepped up to Pickles, grabbing the man by the front of his shirt, “This better work.”

“Hey!” Nathan shouted, stepping behind Pickles defensively, “He’s got this. Back off.”

Magnus let go, sizing up the pair, “We’ll see,” He shoved past Charles towards the exit, “Come on Roonie, this way.”

“It’s Runke.” The shorter man sighed, following behind Magnus out the door.

Abigal clapped her hands, grabbing everyone’s attention, “So, William was it? Let’s get you into something a little more flashy.”

The man was hesitant but was able to be coaxed into some ripped denim shorts and a leather vest. Pickles pat him on the back once he changed with an idea, “Not bad, and hey what shoe size are you?”

“Um, 12? Why?”

“Oh perfect! These are Tony’s but he’s gone now, and I think they’d fit the whole biker vibe you’re going for.”

William looked away, shy, “Ah jeez do I look like a biker? I didn’t mean to.”

“No, no, it’s good. I like it. Here.” Pickles reached behind the rack of clothes and emerged with knee high strappy boots with an inch of platform, “Try these on.”

William just laughed, “I think my daughter owns those.”

“Well, now you do too. She has taste.” Pickles replied, “She’s going to think you’re a total badass out there, alright?”

This really caught William’s attention, the man staring up at Pickles like a lost puppy, “Seriously? You think so?”

Nathan chimed in, “Kids love this kind of stuff, probably. She’s not a baby is she? A baby might not appreciate it. Kind of loud.”

“No, she’s not a baby. She’s a teenager, which is worse, aha, likes everything a little too loud,” William replied, rubbing the back of his neck, “Most of the time I don’t understand her.”

“Dude, we’re about to put on the most insane rock concert ever. If she can’t appreciate that, I don’t know what she would.” Pickles shoved the boots into the other man’s chest, “I’m sure we’re late, so let’s get finished here and get going.”

“Right. Ok. Yeah, she’s gotta think this is cool…”

Pickles left the man to the final wardrobe change and turned to Toki next. Skwisgaar was using him as a model and delicately covering his face in rhinestones, tracing the pattern of the corpse paint. The man looked like an animated disco ball, a shimmering jacket and silver pants worn over not much else, the pink band of a thong sticking out over the low waistline as his shockingly muscular chest was on display under the open coat.

His chest was also dusted in glitter.

“Whoa, alright, don’t go too crazy Skwigelf I’m the lead singer and the guy everyone paid to see, remember?”

“Ja, sure. Whatever. I ams found a muse…” The Swede muttered, entranced.

Meanwhile, Toki was absolutely giddy, “Ams shiny like coins!”

“Sure kid, look it’s probably time to go?” Pickles glanced over at Abigail who was busy helping William make sense of the boots and their various buckles.

She looked down at her watch, “Yeah, you’re 15 past when you were supposed to go out.”

“Chop chop.” Charles added, “Nathan, why don’t you go out and get the crowd ready?”

Nathan flinched at the suggestion, “Uh, is that really a good idea? Just me? By myself?”

Pickles started pushing the larger man towards the door, “Only one way to find out, let’s go! Let’s do this thing!”

Charles and Abigail stepped in to help, and soon everyone was corralled into the wings.

“You look likes unicorn vomit.” Runke muttered to Toki as he held a black guitar out to him.

“I feels like a star!” Toki responded, refusing the instrument in favor of a pink one from the rack, holding his head high as he adjusted the guitar’s gold strap, throwing it over his shoulder.

“What happened to you?” Runke cringed, opting to just use the black guitar himself, “Bass is over there.” He nodded Willam over to another rack, not breaking eye contact with the glitter abomination that was Toki.

Toki folded his arms, "Ams feels good and handsome, unlikes you, so shoves it!" 

Runke just scowled back at him, walking away muttering in Norwegian under his breath. Pickles let him go, as long as they played well on stage, it didn't matter what kind of mood everyone was in. This thing was already a disaster, might as well let it really burn. 

Magnus was also there, waiting for them. He shoved a mic into Nathan’s hands, “Move it.”

Nathan sighed, “Fine!” and stomped out onto the stage.

Immediately, the crowd started booing.

All Pickles could do was stand on the side and watch in horror.

Chapter Text

As expected, the crowd hated him.

Nathan wished he could jump in the pit and just pile drive every single one of these losers into the ground. See how bold they felt while being thrown across the room.

But he had a job to do, and he knew Charles would kill him if he didn’t complete his end of the deal.

So, he had to get this over with, raising the mic up to his mouth, “Uh, hi everyone.”

The crowd just kept jeering, booing their fallen star. Nothing they could say would hurt more than the disappointment Nathan already felt in himself, but it still wasn’t very nice.

“Are you ready for, uh… Wait, what was I supposed to say.” He looked over towards the wings for help, but the lights were so bright that all he could see was a dark shadow.

“Shit, uh. Well, there’s going to be music. I think. That’ll be pretty good. Better than me being up here talking, right?”

Finally, the audience let up in their relentless attack, now cheering for the anticipated alternative to Nathan’s rambling.

“Right, yeah. You’re here for the band, so yeah. There’s going to be a band. They’ll, um, play some songs. Probably. I don’t fucking know, but you all paid to be here, and not to see me, right?”

There were more shouts and claps, and Nathan fed on that more positive energy.

“Yeah, it’s going to be good stuff. You’ve never seen anything like this! So, let’s all welcome out the band!” He shouted this last line, deep voice reverberating around the room.

Job done, he exited the same way he went onto the stage, nearly running a pacing William over in his haste.

The bassist leapt out of the way at the last second, their shoulders clipping, but Nathan didn’t care about him. He was making a b-line for Charles so they could get out of here.

But, instead, he was intercepted by Pickles, “Nice job turning the crowd around! I’ve been boo’d completely out the building before, aha.  Not you though, you held your ground. I admire that.”

“Oh, thanks. Everyone hates me right now, but I think they really want to see you, so you should go out there.” Nathan replied, commenting on how the audience was now chanting the band name. Right, they were supposed to be snakes and barrels. How could he forget that? Well, the key there was ‘supposed to be’, the bunch taking the stage now were anything but.

“Well. They want to see a band that isn’t entirely here right now, but we’ll make it work.” Pickles smiled up at him, “Why don’t you stick around and watch? I’m going to need some of your ‘f-u’ energy.”

How was he supposed to say no to that? As badly as Nathan just wanted to go home and bury himself in bed, his new friend seemed incredibly sincere about this request, “Alright, sure.” So, instead of continuing his trek to his manager, he stayed put.

“I’d better go now, but you can watch from right there, just out of sight but with a perfect view of the drum kit,” Pickles winked, pointing to the edge of the curtain concealing the wings.

Before Nathan could reply, Pickles was gone, prancing out onto the stage by himself and shouting into the mic waiting for him at the center of the stage, “LET’S GO!”

The audience roared. Pickles was literally glowing, thanks to the stage lights refracting off the beaded vest. Nathan couldn’t peel his eyes off him, that was until he was unceremoniously smacked by the neck of a bass guitar as the others filed out of the wings.

“Sorry!” William whispered before stepping out into the light behind Runke and Toki. Nathan frowned at the shorter man but kept in anything other than a grunt. It was surely an accident.

The crowd was… Confused. But Pickles immediately hopped behind the drum kit and started playing, drowning out any opposition.

Toki chimed in first with a galloping riff as he stood front and center, Runke laying a chunky rhythm beneath it to his left.

William seemed hesitant, only plucking a few open strings for now as he stood off to the right side of the stage, having taken the nearest position to the wing, as if he anticipated having to make a quick escape.

Pickles opened his mouth, and picked up his drumming, going into a sped-up version of one of their songs, or at least that’s what Nathan assumed this was meant to be. It wasn’t a song he was familiar with, remix or otherwise.

The song was chaotic, the beat ever increasing, and eventually Pickles just started screaming into the mic, losing any sense of lyricism in favor of sheer sound and emotion.

When it finished, Pickles left no room for air, immediately launching into another beat.

If the audience thought the first song was just some novelty, they were willing to put up with it, but now that the heavy, brutal tones continued, Nathan peeked out to see that there was a mixed reaction.

Part of the floor had opened up into a pit full of people crashing into each other. Another section was full of dissent, people booing and complaining, some even turning their backs and heading towards the exit.

“This is fucking intense,” Nathan said as Charles came to stand beside him.

“We can go now if you want.” Charles offered.

“Nah, this is interesting.” That was certainly one way to describe the glam-black-sludge metal fusion occurring on stage. Nathan had to admit, he kind of liked it, and he started to tap his foot along to the rhythm.

“Alright, I’m going to go wait in the greenroom with Abigail. Just, uh, enjoy yourself I suppose.”

Nathan nodded, “That’s doable.”

Closest to him, Nathan noticed that William was reaching for the amp cord plugged into his bass, tugging on the wire.

“HEY!” Nathan shouted, hoping the man would hear him, “DON’T PUSSY OUT! PLAY THIS THING TO THE END!”

William turned and stared at him, looking confused as he mouthed ‘what’.

Then Nathan remembered he had a microphone and raised it to his mouth, “KEEP PLAYING THE SONG!”

Now, the whole band was staring at him.

“I SAID, KEEP PLAYING THE MOTHER FUCKING SONG!”

Toki rushed over as Runke and Pickles started back up again, blue eyes wide and wild amid a sea of black glitter, “Comes on Nathans! Come sings with us! Your voice ams totally brutals!” He cheered, grabbing Nathan by the wrist.

Now it was Nathan’s turn to be confused, “What?”

“Looks like we’ve got a special guest vocalist for you folks tonight, one of many surprises, huh?” Pickles announced as he tapped out a rhythm on his cymbal to fill in the air, “What do you want to sing, big guy?”

“I don’t sing.” Nathan replied flatly as he was dragged out by a shockingly strong ball of glitter and stood beside Pickles’ kit.

“And I don’t play glam rock, but here I am, restraining myself.” Runke deadpanned into his own microphone.

Pickles pushed his mic away, speaking just to Nathan as Toki dragged him closer, the man stronger than he looked or maybe Nathan was just confused and going along with it, “Well, whatever you just did sounded insanely good, so do it again, yeah?”  

“Uh, I can try. I was just yelling.” Why was he going along with this? The audience was just going to turn on all of them if he piped up anymore. They probably were already ready to start throwing tomatoes.

Meanwhile, Runke was managing to work the crowd, “What say you? More brutality for the next one? I can do that.”

Toki squeezed Nathan’s bicep, “Come ons! It’ll be epics!”

The parts of the crowd that were here for the mix-up drowned out any dissent. Nathan was shocked, “They, uh, they want this?”

“Oh yeahs!” Toki abandoned Nathan and rushed over next to Runke, shouting out, “Opens the pit! Wider! Wider! Kills each others!” He cackled, bloodthirst in his laugh. The man was on a real hair trigger, huh?

Pickles gave a crooked smile, “Hey Nate, just keep yelling! Do you know Water Horsey Blues?”

Yeah, he did, it was his dad’s favorite, “Sure. Let’s do that one.”

Pickles pulled his mic back into position, shouting “We’re going to do Water Horsey Blues! So, sing along, if you can keep up! This take is going to leave you black and blue!”

A familiar beat filled Nathan’s ears, and he took in a long, deep breath, like he was preparing for the snap.

He could do this.

He wanted to do this.

Toki and Runke let out an ungodly screech with their guitars, not quite the same to the original but close enough. Nathan just focused on the rhythm section, William somehow managing to play the bass part property.

He focused on this, feeling the percussion in the soles of his feet and the bass in his chest. Nathan widened his stance and let out a mighty roar!

Pickles started the lyrics, and Nathan screamed right alongside him, their voices harmonizing together and complimenting each other, high and low, rough and smooth. He let Pickles take the verse, then he belted out the chorus, transported back to the passenger seat of his dad’s truck on a lazy Sunday.

Except, the truck was a stage, it was a Saturday, and instead of mumbling he was shouting at the top of his lungs, and his dad was a balding ginger, two metalheads, and an actual dad but not his.

It was like the rush of a touchdown and the catharsis of a victory all in one breath, and Nathan found himself wanting more even as the song ended.

“How’d you like that!” He shouted to the crowd.

There was a beat of silence.

The web of bodies that had formed before them slowed to a halt, circular motion ceasing.

A stab of fear that he just ruined everything, like he had in the last game. This had been a mistake. He should have left, gone home. He turned to Pickles, horrified.

Then, his ears were filled with the sound of applause and riotous cheering.

Pickles beamed back at him, “Now that’s how we do it in, uh, we’re in Florida right?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Runke replied flatly into his own mic.

“Nots enough blood!” Toki added, “In Norways, we brings knives to concert. But the warmth is nice change of pace. Maybe that’s what makes yous all fats and lazy, ha!”

“Don’t get too comfortable, this is the place folks come to die you know.” William responded.

“Ohhhs… Brutal.” Toki whispered, amplified by the microphone.

“That is probably the first good thing I’ve heard about this place.” Runke replied.

“I don’t know,” Pickles chimed in, “This audience is a pretty good part of Florida, don’t you think?”

Toki gestured out to the crowd, “I don’t knows… Do somethings brutal!” Something was suddenly launched at the stage. Toki leaned down to study it as it bounced off his shoe, then picked it up and held it over his head, “Is a finger!”

“Holy shit.” William muttered, “Let me see that.”

Toki chucked it at the bassist, “Alls yous! I change my minds, yous all alrights!” He said to the crowd with a cat-like grin.

“Thanks for, uh, not hating me anymore, I guess.” Nathan grumbled into the mic.

“Now then, you guys want another song?” Pickles asked, not waiting for an answer before starting up again.

“Wait, I don’t know any other ones!” Nathan said to him.

Pickles was still smiling in that charming way of his, “Just make it up as you go. Sing about something you like, or better yet something you hate.”

“Something I hate…” Nathan pondered, “I can do that.” He lifted the microphone back up to his lips, “I’ve got something I hate right here! You all are something I hate! You useless mutants!”

He wasn’t sure where these words were coming from, but Runke started chanting “Hate, hate, hate.” In a screeching voice as Toki laughed manically and Nathan just ran with it, berating the crowd for every transgression of the past few days Nathan had faced.

Somehow, this only made the audience more amped up. The pit was getting increasingly violent, and that brutality just spurred Nathan on, shouting his way through several more improvised songs.

However, even a professional athlete had his limits and he was starting to lose steam, and his throat felt dry and raw.

Pickles somehow managed to pick up on this and seamlessly picked up the slack, starting to fill in more of the space in the tunes.

Finally, the drummer announced that this next one was going to be the final song.

Nathan contributed a single verse, instead opting to mostly just watch and listen. Listening to Snakes and Barrels with his dad had been one thing, but in his element Pickles really was a force, with a damn good voice to match. The recordings just didn’t capture this. The recordings also didn’t feature this particular line-up of musicians supporting him, so that was something too.

The crowd demanded an encore as the final note rang out, and the band started to file off-stage.

“Should we goes back outs there?” Toki asked once they were back in the wings.

“Nah, fuck ‘em.” Pickles replied, massaging his wrists, “I’m done.”

“Yeah, I think that was enough for me.” William said, looking like he was about to piss himself, face pale and legs shaking.

“Yous are no funs! Come on Runke, now’s our chance!” Toki pouted, nearly jumping on the other guitarist.

For the first time, the other metaler looked excited, “We are going to go and play our own song now.”

“Alright, cool. What’s your band called?” Pickles asked.

“Hestkuk.”

Pickles reached out for Nathan, taking the microphone into his hands, “Alright assholes, now stick around for a bonus performance from Hestkuk, all the way from Norway!”

The two stalked back out, Runke abandoning his guitar in favor of drumsticks.

Nathan watched on as they performed something that could barely qualify as music, the beat faster than his mind could process, the vocals nothing short of demonic, and the guitar so distorted it was monstrous.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from it, and wished he still had his microphone. Despite how his throat ached, he wanted to go back out there and shout over this noise too.

Unable to help himself, he tried to take it from Pickles, but the man kept it away and Charles forced a bottle of water into his hands, “Here, you need this.”

Nathan growled in complaint, but chugged down the water. It did feel good to have a drink.

He peered back out from behind the curtains, and saw that half the crowd had already left during this performance. Their loss, he was loving it. Well, most of it. The beat was starting to lose focus, and he looked over to Runke to see that half of the drum kit had been knocked over from his reckless playing.

“Toki wasn’t kidding, he’s going to break the kit.” Pickles mused.

“All the more reason that you all are going to get this act together and go on tour.”

Nathan whipped around to see Magnus looming beside Charles.

“No way man, this was a fluke.” Pickles replied, “This is a 1-show tour, all done.” He wiped his hands on his pants.

Magnus frowned sharply, worrying at the tape holding gauze over his eye, “You signed a contract for much more than one show, and you’re going to fill your end of the bargain. Either you get Snakes and Barrels back, or we change the headliner to whatever Pickles’ new band is.”

By now, Toki and Runke had finished and returned, crowding the skinny wing with hot bodies.

“New bands? Whats he talkings about?” Toki asked, hyped up and breathless.

“Apparently I still owe this guy some shows. I don’t think I’m getting my guys back, and this was pretty fun. I don’t know.” Pickles shrugged, then made his offer, “There’s a pretty big payday involved if you’ve got some time to kill, go on tour with me.” Pickles offered.

Nahan couldn’t believe his ears, or his luck. He could just run away, do this amazing thing every night, and get away from the negative press of retirement and final game?

The answer to this offer was obvious, “I’m in.”

Pickles’ eyes blew open, “Wait, seriously?”

“I wants to plays with you alls again!” Toki chimed in, “And cans Skwisgaar comes too? And Runke, I guess.”

Runke grumbled, “If I must. But only if Hestkuk opens. And we need merchandise, didn’t bring many tapes.”

Magnus started to deny this request, but Charles stepped in, always an opportunist, “I think we can make that happen.”

Nathan looked over to his manager, glad that he knew to try and make this happen.  

“If you are starting a musical career, I intend to steer this in the right direction as well. The new Pickles band will, of course, take partial commission from the sales for supplying the merchandise for Hestkuk. I will draft a contract for your review.” Charles said.

“Cool, sure. Charles knows what he’s doing, it’ll work out.” Nathan said to Runke.

The shorter man rolled his eyes, “I suppose I will review the contract.”

 Then, all that was left was William.

Everyone turned to the bassist, a deer in the headlights. Nathan had seen this expression many times before, the face of a man about to get tackled and there was nothing he could do about it.

“I’ve got a job, and a kid, who I’ll have to watch next weekend. Plus, I should probably check on Fred, kid’s probably trying to break in here or do something stupid, oh what a mess.” He rambled, head in his hands.

No one accepted his answer.

“Come on man, don’t be like that.” Pickles said, trying to encourage him.

“Be a dude, not a dick.” Nathan said, lightly punching William in the arm.

“Yeahs! We needs you!” Toki added.

William chuckled awkwardly, “I don’t know about that, I think I had the bass turned down the whole time and just played a few basic chords. No one’s going to notice if I’m gone. But the school will absolutely notice if I don’t show up on Monday, can’t have those goofballs unsupervised, haha.”

“Whatever you were doing worked, we sounded great, and I’m not risking this failing on your stupid job.” Nathan said, very invested in the fate of this new band.

“Magnus, how much is each member looking to make on this tour?” Pickles asked, turning to the brooding man.

Magnus considered this for a moment, “Without merchandise sales factored in, it’s a flat payment of $5,000 a show, assuming at least 90% ticket sales.”

William’s face creased, “That’s a lot of cash… Wow… But, its still a no from me. Look, I just can’t.” He unhooked the bass strap and sat the instrument back down on the rack gently, “This was a very strange, stressful evening, and I need to go home now. Thanks.”

He pushed his way through the others, and tried to find his way out, eventually finding a backstage emergency exit and taking it.

Nathan heard the steel door slam, and the man was gone.

“Do you want me to go get him?” Runke offered, already shoving Toki towards the door.

“No, no. Let him walk. Can’t force someone into this life if they don’t want it.” Pickles sighed.

“We can still salvage this, right?” Nathan asked.

Pickles nodded, “Oh yeah, totally. We’ll just hire a studio guy or something, or maybe I can convince Tony to come back. He is, or I guess was, like my best friend back in the day. I’ll give him a call. Going to be pissed that William guy just walked out with his custom boots though, heh. Those things cost more than their weight in gold.”

Chapter Text

Toki was on cloud nine. Not only did he get to perform in front of the largest crowd he’d ever seen in his life, but he got to do it with his brother, and his new best friends!

Was a shame about William, but the guy seemed to not want to be here to begin with, so maybe for the best to let him go. He was sure they’d find someone else.

When everyone filed back into the green room, he found Skwisgaar still in the corner, frantically sketching in his notebook. Toki went over to him and curiously peered down into the book, “Whats yous doings?”

“Workings on your looks. If this is the news bands, and that the news sounds, we must remake the entires wardrobe.” He sounded frazzled, “Less sparkle, mores brutals.”

Toki put his hand on the page, blocking Skwisgaar’s pencil, “Sh, you can works on that laters. Now Pickle says is the afterpartys!”

“Yes, for the bands. Not fors me.” Skwisgaar shoved Toki’s hand away, “Go ons, haves goods times.”

So, Toki took the book with him, sticking it in his jacket pocket, “Nu-uh, is for yous too! Come ons, will be funs.”

“I don’ts likes parties.” Skwisgaar replied bluntly.

Abigail appeared next to them, jacket unbuttoned and a drink in her hand, “Hey, we’ll work on the new wardrobe bright and early in the morning. You probably shouldn’t work on it now anyway, get some rest first.”

Skwisgaar tried to complain, but she kept going, “Toki, why don’t you take Skwisgaar somewhere quieter,” The green room was already getting quite rowdy with the others drinking and chatting, “It is true that he doesn’t like parties, but I think we need to force him to relax.” She smiled and winked at Toki as Nathan called her away, “You two go have fun.”

“You gots it!” Toki gave her a thumbs up, who was he to deny the request of a nice lady like that?

Before Skwisgaar could protest, Toki pulled him out of his seat and took him out of the green room, not before snagging a random bottle from the replaced rider. He took a bunch of turns, and eventually they ended up backstage with all the instruments. Toki pushed over a large crate, making a bench for them.

He twisted the cap off the bottle and took a swig, it was vodka. Really good vodka.

“Oh, you haves to tries this!” He proclaimed.

Skwisgaar reluctantly took a tiny sip and nodded, squeezing his eyes, “That ams straight vodka Toki.”

“I knows! Is the expensives kind!” Toki took the bottle back and drank some more.

“Ams more of a coffees person.”

“Irish coffees?”

“Noes, just coffees.”

Toki pouted, “Yous no funs Skwisgaar.”

“Yous too youngs to understand.”

“Ams nots!”

Skwisgaar laughed dryly, “Tries me. How olds ams you?”

“28!” Toki replied sharply.

“Ohs, sures you ams not babies, but still yous has not experienced the worlds.”

Toki folded his arms, setting the bottle down between them, “You don’t knows anythings about mes and how much worlds ams experinced.”

“I knows enough to sees you are cares free silly goobers who sings about evils shits because you’ve never faced real struggles so you makes up your owns with demons and bullshits.” Skwisgaar replied, too exhausted to hold back, “Ams worked with manies celebrities just likes yous, its ams all a façade, yous ams just happens to be unique to me, it ams fastkinatings.”

This hurt Toki in a personal way, and he was reminded that his new friends really did not know him at all. Maybe it was the fresh buzz from chugging a quarter of a bottle of vodka, but Toki was suddenly feeling really talkative about stuff he usually didn’t share with others.  

“I ams likes this because I cans be, but I haves seens plenty of the worlds to know the darkest, cruelest places. I plays the musics I does to takes controls of my destiny.” Feeling warm, Toki stood up and threw off the sparkly jacket, angling himself to expose his scarred back to Skwisgaar, as he threw the garment to the side, “Ams happies for the first times in my lifes, and I won’t let some dildos shits like you ruins that. Just because you’ve givens up on happiness doesn’t means we all haves to.”

“Toki, I didn’t knows…” Skwisgaar replied softly.

“Yeahs, maybies think twice before making asumpk-tions!” Toki took another shot of vodka.  

He considered just leaving, but he also remembered the nice time he’d had with Skwisgaar previously. He didn’t want to ruin that over a single argument.

“Now that ams shared somethings about Toki, tells me somethings about yous.” He flopped back down on the container beside Skwisgaar.

Skwisgaar groaned, but complied, “Fines. What does you wants to know?”

Toki shrugged, “Somethings darks. Haves you ever seens a murder?” His eyes went wide.

“A murders? Tokis, stops it. No I have not seens a murder.”

“Well you talks so bigs about seeings the world, thought you mights have seens death or somethings brutal like that, is parts of the world toos! Runke has… Ah, neverminds that’s for him to says.” Toki cut himself off, just because he was spilling his own guts didn’t give him the right to spill his brother’s too.

“Looks, I don’t know what you’s looking for, but I’ve justs beens working in fashions and modeling since I knew how to walks in a straight line or holds a needle and threads. First, helped my moms with it, now I does it myself to pay off our debts. I have, ah, many childrens to pay fors. No rests for the wicked, ja.” Skwisgaar responded, hands waiving to accentuate his words.

Toki honed in on this, noticing that even in silence, his fingers were grasping around for something to do, worrying the edge of his suit jacket or tapping on his knees, never still and wanting for the notebook back. His features were severe, but what Toki saw on that pale, nearly grey face was more than just genetics. Skwisgaar’s eyes were sunk deep, his skin almost patchy.

This was a man in a state of constant panic.

Toki recalled a time when he was just as restless, constantly afraid and searching. Runke and his fellow metalers had saved him, given him not just a home, but an outlet for that energy alongside with ways to recharge, and Toki saw an opportunity to repay that favor.

“You says you never plays guitar before?” Toki asked, tone brighter.

Skwisgaar scoffed, “No times for dumb hobbies like thats.”  

“Guitars is not dumbs!” Toki shouted, then pulled himself back in. This wasn’t the basement of Drep du Selv, he had nothing to prove, no need to get so defensive so fast, Skwisgaar wasn’t going to judge him poorly for showing kindness, or at least he hoped as much. “I just means, I think it’s a very enrite… imvrich… Enrichintings activity.”

“Wells, yous are goods at it, so you’d thinks so. Ams founds purpose ins my works for a whiles, is goods feelings. Don’t loose it, Toki.” Skwisgaar looked haunted.

Toki smiled thinly, “Was not always goods at it, everyone has to learns. Here.”

Once again, he got up from the crate and went over to the instrument racks, looking through the dozen guitars and finally settling on one, a Les Paul painted a bright golden hue. Toki picked it up by the neck and carried it back to Skwisgaar, “Stand up.”

“What?”

“Stands up, am goings to teach yous guitars.”

“Rights now?”

“Rights now. Do it or I’ll stands you ups for yous.” Toki threatened, flashing his teeth.

Skwisgaar did as asked, pushing himself up with a grunt. The man really was nothing but skin and bones, and Toki felt a pang of sympathy, even if the torture was self-inflicted in this case.

“Looks, am stangings. Now whats?”

Toki slung the guitar strap over Skwisgaar’s shoulder, letting the instrument settle at his waist, “How does that feels?”

“Heavy and stupids.”

“Goods, because you ams heavy and stupids too, so you and the guitars are the same!” Toki chimed.

Skwisgaar awkwardly wrapped his long fingers around the neck of the guitar, “So lets gets this over withs, what does I dos?”

“Well, you can lets go with lefts hand for now, firsts ams teach you to strums,” Toki went back to the guitar rack and picked up the one he’d used earlier for the show, then returned to stand in front of Skwisgaar while wearing it backwards to help Skwisgaar be able to mirror his movements easier, “So holds your hands like this, and…”

It took a few tries, but eventually Skwisgaar could pluck the strings well enough that Toki felt comfortable moving onto the fret board, “There’s a lots of notes in theres, but for nows am just going to shows you a chord you cans play that sounds pretty.”

Skwisgaars’ first attempt was far from beautiful, “Hm. Ams tries again,” He said, attempting it over and over until the sound was clean enough.

“Not bads! You knows a bit of guitars now, wowie!” Toki beamed, “Is stupids still?”

Skwisgaar played the sequence of notes again, “Yes… Shows me another chord.”

Chapter Text

William got back home way too late and, completely exhausted, fell into bed and passed out. In the morning, he woke up around lunchtime and fell into a groggy routine of making some toast, slathering it with peanut butter, and plopping down in front of the TV.

The first thing he noticed as the toast and some water woke him up was that his feet were absolutely killing him

Looking down, he cringed at the ridiculous footwear he’d slept in, no wonder he was aching.

“How are we doing to do this…” He mused to himself, assessing the various straps, buckles, and laces.

He fiddled with them, unlatching everything and untying knots, but every time he pulled one strap loose, another one tightened. Focus turned to frustration, and eventually he tried to just pull them off, but he was stuck.

Defeated, he slammed his feet down on the ground, causing a stab of pain to travel through his ankles and up his calves.

Angrily he shook his leg, but it was no use. The stupid shoes had claimed him as their own.

With a huff, he returned to the toast, muttering “I’ll deal with that later.”

Maybe he was just too tired and uncoordinated to find whatever needed to be loosened to let himself free. As he chewed, he tried to remember what that nice lady had done to get them on in the first place, but it was all a blur.

What was her name again?

Not that it mattered. William was sure he’d never see her again. And, well, if it came down to it, he could use a knife to break out of these foot prisons. Though he hated the thought of that, the leather felt expensive.

Leaning back onto the couch, he reached for the remote and clicked on the television, wanting a distraction from his predicament. Of course it was advertisements, every damn time he managed to tune in just in time for the same damn shammy infomercial. So, he went for his phone, digging it out of his pocket. Crap, he really was wearing everything from last night. He hoped it wasn’t worth too much, since he’d pretty much stolen everything.

Flipping it open, he found that the battery was almost dead, and he had twenty missed calls, mostly from Trinity and Dani. That was new. They must have really needed something from him.

Upon reading her name, William also realized he hadn’t gotten a single picture the night before. Oh well, it probably wasn’t important, he doubted there was anything he could do to impress the girl.

Then, his phone started to ring. It was Trinity.

Without hesitation, he answered the call, “Hey, is everything ok, I-”

He was immediately cut off by her shouting into the line, “OH MY GOD YOU FINALLY PICKED UP, MOM HE PICKED UP! DAD YOU ARE THE ABSOLUTE COOLEST WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME YOU WERE GOING TO BE PERFORMING WITH SNAKES AND BARRELS!”

Oh.

William chuckled nervously, “Ahaha, news travels fast, huh?”

“ITS ALL OVER THE WEB! Wait I’m not done, mom! Give it back!”

Trinity faded away and Dani’s voice took over, “What the hell is going on William?”

“Hi Dani.” He deadpanned, she was always a ray of sunshine.

“What happened last night?”

“Um. It’s a very long story, but I’ll keep it short. Won tickets to the Snakes and Barrels show, everything went sideways, and the singer asked me if I could fill in for the bassist after I fell backstage.”

Dani waited a beat before replying, “Is that what happened?”

“Yeah, it is. And don’t worry, nothing’s changing. I told them I quit after the show. Everything will be back to normal on Monday.”

“YOU WHAT?” Both women yelled.

“No way, this is like the only interesting think you’ve ever done! I can’t believe I called you cool!” Trinity lamented.

“DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH MONEY YOU JUST THREW AWAY!” Dani screamed.

William blanched, “Look, I’m sorry, all that performance stuff is just not for me. Can we all pretend this didn’t happen?”

“You suck!” Trinity said, and he could hear her stomping away from the phone.

Dani continued, “You’re a real piece of work upsetting my daughter like that.”

“What do you mean? I just did a favor for, uh, important reasons, and it’s over. I don’t see what the problem is?”

“The problem is you always settle, William. You settle on everything in your sad little life, never trying for anything better. You even settled the custody case, you know a part of me was hoping you’d fight it. Maybe it would wake you up and you’d finally do something with your life. But no, you just lay down and take it like a kicked dog.” Dani said, seething.

“Ah. Well then. That was harsh.” William replied, not sure what to say to that.

Dani sighed, “Look. Maybe it was harsh, but you’re throwing your life away. Do something damn it.”

William steeled himself, “I am doing something. I like my job, being able to help those kids out gives me a lot of purpose. I do my best for Trinity, and you, and I feel like I’m making a difference in the world, one person at a time. If you can’t respect that, well, I guess we did break up for a reason. Why do you even care what I do? It’s not like we see each other outside of court mandated custody swaps.”

“William, I do still care about you.” Dani said, tone totally changed. She was always like this, hot and cold, mood shifting at a moment’s notice. That instability had been a large part of why it didn’t work out between them.

“Then let me just go back to my life, and let’s not talk about the concert again.”

“Alright, but you know your students are going to want an explanation, too.”

William groaned, “Ugh, you’re probably right. And, um, by the way, do you have any experience taking off fancy boots?”

“What?”

“Never mind… I’ll see you on Friday when you drop Trinity off. Remember I host a club so I’ll be an hour late.”

“Sure.”

The line clicked, and William closed his eyes, rubbing his temples. He supposed the cat was going to get out of the bag eventually, he just did not expect it to be so soon.

Then, a familiar guitar riff grabbed his attention. The news had started, and the main story was ‘Concert Chaos’.

Great. Fantastic. Just what he wanted to see. More crap about this event he wanted to just walk away from.

He could not help but watch the story, and some guy in a suit who was supposedly an expert on the matter with a ridiculous name started describing each member in detail. Of course, he started with Pickles, but William braced himself for when it would be his turn.

The information provided was less than flattering, the man not pulling any punches. He pointed out that Pickles was playing drunk, and still not sober like the bandmates he was supposed to be playing with. Nathan’s recent failure was a focus, ignoring the otherwise successful career the athlete had.

Toki was pinpointed as a criminal from Norway, and Runke’s short biography was equally unflattering, the man having ties to a murder some years ago of another fringe musician, some guy who called himself Virginzum and looked like a real dick. Not that Runke wasn’t a dick, but the other guy was smug as hell and he could see why the duo would spar.  

At this point, William was just glad that he survived the night if that’s who he was on stage with.  

Then, finally, it was his turn.

“And most interestingly of all, a local history teacher from Pines High School was on bass, one William Murderface. How this no-name got in we can only speculate, but it’s easy to see he had no clue what he was doing. Well, at least he’s got an interesting story to tell. Good luck keeping those kids in line on Monday!”

William groaned as the camera zoomed in on a grainy shot of him on stage, he was pulling quite the unfortunate expression and looked constipated, face scrunched as he stared at the fret board.

He looked like a fish out of water, suffocating on air.

The story ended, but William was left hanging, perplexed.

What the hell was he going to do on Monday?

Well, he did what he always did, showed up a few minutes early to set up the room for the day’s lesson. He plunked down into his desk chair, still trapped in the stupid boots. After looking them up online, he recognized that he could not afford to replace them and would simply wait for enough sweat to build up that they slipped off.

It was a horrible plan, but he didn’t really have any other option.

When the students arrived, they were uncharacteristically silent.

He decided not to beat around the bush, “So, uh, I’m guessing you all saw what happened this weekend?”

Immediately, he was bombarded by a million questions.

William quieted the class with raised palms, “Hey, hey. I’ll tell you all as much as I can, or as much as I think I can, it’s complicated. But, here’s what happened…”

After that ten minute tangent, he pivoted into the lesson, and things were mostly normal. But every now and then a student would raise their hand to ask a question that had much more to do with the present than the past.

“What was Toki like?” The girl asked, not hiding that she was smitten with the man.

“Oh, um, he was nice. Very positive and anxious to play, and he’s a very skilled guitarist. Didn’t really act how he looked, well except for when we got into a fight.” William rubbed his forearm, still not sure exactly how much detail he wanted to get into.

Unfortunately, he just made his life harder as a dozen voices demanded more information on that last detail.

Not a whole lot of history was taught, but William made it through the period and was glad to have a few seconds of silence to himself in between classes. Hopefully, if he appeased the students today, tomorrow could be normal.

The next period went about the same, and the one after that. Finally, it was time for lunch. Unfortunately, he’d not be dining alone.

The principal arrived, not knocking before entering, “We need to talk.”

William gestured to the desks scattered in the room, “Take a seat.”

The other man just stood, looking frail as ever, “Fred’s parents called.”

“Oh, shit, sorry. I completely forgot what happened. Is he alright?”

“He will be, but his family is less than pleased that there’s a video circulating online of him getting into a fight with his history teacher. That kind of behavior is unacceptable for faculty.”

William cringed, “I understand. It’s not going to happen again, believe me.”

“Fred was arrested afterwards for breaking into the show, vandalism, and attacking an officer of the law.” The principal continued.

“God, that’s horrible.” William didn’t know what else to say.

“They are threatening to sue, blaming you for his new criminal record.”

William didn’t care about that, his only concern was Fred, “Is he here today?”

“His family have pulled him out of school and will be enrolling Fred in military school. I think some structure will be good for the boy.”

That was devastating news, but William knew there was no point in throwing a fit, “I see.”

“No threats today, Murderface?” The Principal leered.

William was too upset to care, “Is there anything else you wanted to tell me?”

“Oh yeah, we had to chase several journalists off school property today. Everyone wants the story, but you’re not going to give it to anyone. We’re in deep enough as is.”

“Sure, I wasn’t planning on talking to anyone about all this. So, can it all just go back to normal now?” William sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Not quite, you are no longer authorized to host extracurricular activities until any potential lawsuit passes.”

Now, William was feeling his anger rise, “What?”

“It’s for the best that you’re not with small groups of students unsupervised for now, I’m sure you understand.”

“No, I really don’t. What does any of this have to do with archaeology club?”

The principal was already moving closer to the door, “It’s for your own protection.”

“That club is the only way I break through to some of these kids!” William protested.

“You’ll just have to figure something else out within regular school hours. Breaking this mandate will be grounds for termination.” The man replied coldly, turning the door handle.

William sneered, “Fine.”

Without another word, the older man left, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Not sure if he wanted to laugh or cry, William just sighed. He’d just have to let this storm pass, he supposed. He ate his sandwich quickly and prepared for the next few periods. That was all he could do, the only thing he could control, so he focused on it, just trying to get through the day.

At the end of it, he went home and straight to the bedroom, collapsing face first on the bed and curling into himself.

What was he doing with his life?

What was going to happen to Fred?

What happened next?

Chapter Text

Managing Nathan just got a whole lot harder. At the end of the concert, Magnus had targeted him and pretty much offloaded everything relating to the time between then and the next show onto him, wanting nothing to do with this new crop of musicians.  

Then, everyone crashed at their hotel after nearly drinking the lobby bar dry, and now it was a new day.

There were four days until they’d all need to drive to Atlanta, so Charles knew he would need to start encouraging band to practice playing together immediately if there was any chance of a repeat success. Abigail and Skwisgaar were elsewhere in the hotel, getting some much-needed rest for now. Tomorrow they’d be back to fit the new band into new costumes, altering what they made for other people and making a few new pieces.

“You all got lucky last time, but now folks are going to expect you to know what you’re doing.” He announced the morning after the concert to a group of very hungover musicians in the lobby of the hotel they’d been put up in. Magnus had rented them the ballroom to rehearse in as well. Charles passed out little bags of breakfast in a bid to gain some support from the men.

Nathan accepted heartily, as did Toki and Runke, but Pickles just sipped at a flask, waving Charles off, “Give it to someone else. Toki, you look hungry, take mine.”

Toki had been eyeing the bag and accepted ravenously, already half way through his own egg and ham sandwich. The man must have been starving as he ate a bit of the paper wrapper in the process of downing the thing. Charles still didn’t know what to make of this bunch.

He knew Nathan like the back of his hand; what set him off, what made him happy, and everything in between. But these other three were a complete mystery, so he was trying to profile each one of them as quickly as possible to best serve the group.

Pickles was the easiest to understand, a rocker with a new chance at regaining his place in the spotlight. After some humbling years in prison, he was overall pleasant in character if still reliant on substances and somewhat aloof. The man seemed to make Nathan happy, the pair engrossed in a groggy chat about the greasy food in their hands, so Charles would be sure to try and make sure his more unsavory habits didn’t rub off onto Nathan. He already had enough demons to deal with as-is. 

Then there was Runke, a bit more of an enigma but still an archetype Charles could wrap his mind around. Dark, broody, and likely violent when pushed to his edge, a guy who’s sense of humor was buried so deep it was never to see the light of day. Ultimately though, he wasn’t a threat, just a different flavor of music nerd who had the same priorities as Pickles- get rich and play fast.

Finally that left Toki, the true wild card. While he had many of Runke’s brutal leanings, he also had a goofy smile and high spirit that completely clashed with the appearance he gave in day old paint smudged on his greasy features. At first glance, you’d think he and Runke were brothers, but it didn’t take long to realize that the men were polar opposites.

Charles considered that under any other circumstances, Toki likely would have been playing some much different music, and he wondered just what events in his life had led him to being glued to the older metaler’s side, copying his every move like a pup and master. 

Charles left them alone for a bit to eat, coordinating the delivery of the instruments to their practice space.

After the meal, the band gathered into the space and set up their equipment. When they reached guitars, the first disagreement of many began.

“Tokis ams plays guitar enough for both of us, you does bass Runke.” Toki said, sitting cross legged with the pink guitar from the night before in his lap.

Runke rolled his eyes, “Just because I know how to play bass does not mean I’m more important there than on guitar. Why don’t you play bass.”

Pickles interjected, “I think we need bass more than we need rhythm guitar, so one of you better start liking it.”

“Do we really though? I couldn’t even hear it. That other guy just stood there like a chicken half the time.” Nathan grumbled, leaning against the wall while the others figured this out.

Pickles sighed, “Fine, fine, let’s skip bass for now, see how everything sounds without.”

“I’ll record so you can hear the playback. Make your, ah, decision. If we’re going to need to add someone else to the lineup, I need to know today so we have some time to meet them for rehearsal.” Charles interjected, setting up a few mics in what seemed to be logical positions. Pickles walked over to help adjust them drastically.

“Good idea, dude. You ever worked in music before?” The redhead asked while moving a stand several paces further away from the band.

Charles replied, “No, just personal management.”

“Huh, could have fooled me.” Pickles grinned up at him, “I like you. Maybe one of these days you’ll be up to speed and we can find a way to personally remove Magnus from the equation, heh.”

“Yeah,” Nathan added, “I don’t like that guy. Charles is great, you all like him right?”

Charles’ heart warmed at the praise from his long-time charge, it was the little things that kept him going sometimes.

“Yeahs, yous real cool guy, likes our friend!” Toki said, nodding at him. Runke stopped tuning to smack him with the head of his guitar, presumably to force away that good mood.

Yeah, Charles wanted to get them separated, just to see what would happen. But for now, all hands were needed on deck, so he continued the professional side of this conversation, “Well, contractually Mr. Hammersmith is on board for this whole tour. But, afterwards, I can see about renegotiating if we are all in agreement.” Charles responded, taking an opportunity when he saw one.

Pickles furrowed his brows, “Whole tour huh? How many dates did I sign up for again?”

“Twelve total, one is complete so there’s eleven left.”

“Shit. That’s got to be at least two months of that guy.” Pickles complained.

“About two months, yes.” Charles confirmed, “Now then, shall we begin this rehearsal?”

It quickly became apparent that no one remembered what they did at the show. Playing through a whole song was just not on the table. Luckily, Pickles kept everything under control and opted to work through segments, one instrument at a time, and Charles was sure to record every finalized part for future reference.

However, during this process, Nathan got bored quickly, sitting in a chair in the corner of the room and messing with his phone.

While Pickles and Runke argued over a guitar solo, Charles went over to see how Nathan was doing, and maybe find a way to get him involved.

“Anything on your mind?” He asked casually.

Nathan groaned, “I feel useless, don’t know what they’re talking about.”

“Me either, but it’s important to support the band right now.”

“I guess, but I don’t want to get in the way. No need to keep ruining everything, hmph.” Nathan crossed his arms with a deep frown.  

“I don’t think that will happen,” Charles looked over to see Toki also unoccupied, twiddling with the guitar pedals, “Toki, can you come over here?”

The man obliged, shuffling over, “Whats you need?”

Charles racked his brain for something he noticed in the rehearsal so far that could be used, and remembered something, “You changed the, ah, tempo was it? Of the verse for Midnight Lovers, yes?”

“Oh yeahs, wes going to starts slower but picks it ups.” Toki explained.

“Why don’t you and Nathan work on how the vocals fit in that?” Charles offered. Maybe that wasn’t something that needed a lot of work, but it was something Nathan could do for now.

Toki nodded, “Yeahs, easy peasy. Yous remembers the words?”

Nathan shook his head, “I kind of just made it up as I went. I guess I should write something down.”

“Not goods. One of ours old vocalists got stabbed for forgettins, haha, was funnies for us but nots for hims.”

Charles was quick to procure a pad of paper, acting fast to prevent any kind of violence, and he left them to it. Supervised from afar.

When he turned to walk away, he was surprised by the door opening. It was Abigail, “Hey, hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

Charles greeted her at the front of the room, “Not at all, what can I help you with?”

Abigail stepped fully inside of the room, having to speak a bit louder to be heard over the now two guitars playing different songs at the same time, “I was wondering if I could steal one of those,” she pointed over at the guitar rack.

“I’ll have to ask the band, but, I’m sure. Might I ask why?”

Abigail chuckled softly, “You’ll never believe this, but Skwisgaar needs one. He stayed up all night watching videos on how to play and has been using a broom with a taped-on paper board to practice. I think he’s a little obsessed.”

Charles raised his eyebrows, “Really? That is unexpected.”

“Tell me about it. I guess Toki really inspired him. Anyways, totally get if he can’t, but I figured I’d ask before he starts trying to strum a mop.”

Before he asked about the guitar, Charles did have one more thing he had to confirm, “I hate to bring this up, but will this interfere with costumes at all?”

Abigail looked away for a moment, “Probably not? I’ve already sent for another one of our seamstresses to come help, and he does still have to approve everything, but it’s looking like I’m taking the lead for now. If that’s a problem, you’ll have to talk to Skwisgaar because right now he’s in his own little world. Sometimes this happens, where he gets engrossed in his research for a project. At the end of the day, it’s only going to make the costumes more authentic.” She offered.  

“Well, I suppose who am I to get in the way of his creative process. Let me go see what I can do.”

Before Charles could go ask anyone, Pickles was already shoving a guitar into his hands, “Take this one.”

Charles realized it was a bass, only four strings, “I think he wants the kind Toki uses.”

“Try this first. If we can get a new bassist from the inside, we should try.” Pickles insisted.

Charles almost got the instrument to Abigail, but a hand clamped on his shoulder and roughly turned him around, “This ams for Skwisgaar?” Toki asked.

“Yes, Pickles wants to encourage him to learn to play bass since that is what the band needs.”

Toki snatched it away and tossed it aside, the bass thunking to the floor loudly, “No ways, Skwisgaar needs guitar! Real guitar!” He turned towards Pickles and Runke, “Runke cans plays bass, is actually goods at it, just doesn’t wants yous to knows so he can pretends to be centers of attention. We was betters when yous did that! You knows it!”

Runke muttered some kind of protest, but Toki had obviously struck some kind of chord, the man folding inwards.

Toki grabbed the neck of the Les Paul Pickles was using and wrenched it away, popping one side of the strap off and offering it to Abigail, “Gives hims this.”

“Hey, that one’s mine!” Pickles protested.

Whatever look Toki gave him shut him up.

“Fine, take it. I can get a new one.”

Charles took it by the neck as Abigail hesitated, sensing more tension that he wanted in the room, and afraid he had no way to diffuse it, “Is, ah, everyone else alright with this?”

“No, not really.” Pickles grumbled, but a glare from Toki changed his mind, “Fine, whatever. He’s only borrowing it.”

There were a few awkward seconds, then Runke spoke up, “There was no way he’d learn enough in three days to be concert ready anyways, so let him do what he wants. Maybe in a year or two he can join us. Not likely though. Find us new bassist.” He said, turning to Charles, “Am not playing it.”  

That was fair, just because Skwisgaar may teach himself some basics didn’t mean he’d be able to keep up with what was essentially metal improvisation. And Charles figured he’d have to source a new member. Better to start sooner.

“Hey! Are we done arguing now? I need Toki to get back here, we didn’t finish!” Nathan called out, and the rehearsal picked back up where it left off.

Charles finally offered the instrument to Abigail, “Here.”

“You sure you don’t want me to bring him that too?” she asked, nodding towards the abandoned bass.

“I think it’s best we let Skwisgaar steer the direction of his interest.” 

“Yeah, true.” Abigail responded, accepting the instrument awkwardly, “So, are you stuck here all day?”

“Most likely, yes.”

“Even for lunch?” She pressed.

“I’m not sure this group is ready to be left to their own devices just yet,” Charles replied in a hushed tone.

Abigail grinned, “Ah, so you’re babysitting.”

“No. Well. Somewhat. I have a duty to Nathan first, and it is a contractual obligation that I do not purposely lead him into danger.”

“Charles, I’m sure he can take care of himself.”

“The last time I made that assumption, he ended the night hanging off a 20^th story balcony by three fingers and a vodka bottle.” Charles sighed.

Abigail blanched, “Oh. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. It can be hard work, but someone has to do it.”

“Tell me about it. Sometimes I feel like Skwisgaar needs a guardian, but in the sense that they’ll make sure he eats every day and goes to bed. It’s not my position to tell him these things and I gave up a long time ago. Not my job. But one of these days I’d not be shocked if it was him on that balcony.”

The two shared a knowing look, both in a profession that pushed their limits constantly. Both wordlessly accepting that burden to be an accessory to greatness, their own achievements constantly overlooked.

In this moment, Charles considered her not just a part of this tour, but a friend.

He smiled at her, “I understand completely.”

She smiled back, “I know you do. I’ll be back before dinner to go over design sketches with the band, I’ll see you then.”

He wondered if she considered him the same. Probably not. This was a professional exchange, nothing more. They were doing their jobs. But the shared connection between them, that mutual struggle they both grasped, nothing could make that any less real.

It had been a long time since Charles felt such kinship with another.

He hoped he’d come to know her better over these next two months, and while he dreaded the frustrating and confusing work ahead that would be entirely new to him, he found something that might make it marginally more pleasant in this other being.

“I look forward to it.” Abigail replied, and then she was gone.

“So, are you two going to kiss or what?” Nathan said, somehow having snuck up behind him.

“Nathan, ah. Hello. How long were you listening in?”

“That wasn’t a no!” Pickles chimed in, stepping over.

So, the whole band was privy, just in the wrong way. Charles had no romantic intentions, simply wanted to explore a connection with a rare individual.  

“Abigail is part of our tour team, and it is important to have a good working relationship with every member. I intend on getting to know all of you just as personally.”

“Ewww, Charles. Don’t say it like that. Personally, bleh.” Nathan groaned.

“Sorry pal but you’re not my type.” Pickles flirted, patting Charles on the cheek. Charles just stood there and took it, not flinching from the touch, “Whoa dude, you can react ya know. It’s just a joke.”

“I see.”

“Not funny.” Runke replied, “Besides, men and women can be friends without kissing.”

“Yous just says that because only boys will fucks yous.” Toki jeered, “Womens always runs screamings from Runke! Not Tokis though, they likes me.”

“Toki is a liar because how can a woman run from me if I do not pursue her, and also he is a virgin.” Runke deadpanned.

Toki gasped, ready to protest, but it was Nathan who spoke up first.

“You’re gay?” Nathan asked bluntly, turning towards Runke, “Not that there’s anything wrong with that, or whatever. You just don’t look, uh, you know. Gay.”  

Runke scowled under his thick makeup, much neater than Toki’s decaying disaster, “I do not pursue anyone.” There was a weight behind these words that Charles mentally took note of, some kind of romantic trauma that was sure to come to a head if he was pushed.

Add that fuse to the fucked-up powder keg that was this band.

“That’s also not a no!” Pickles added, seeming to enjoy the chaos, but opting not to rub Runke quite so much, “Wait, Nathan, what about you?”

Nathan froze. Charles knew this was a touchy subject for him, the man having only pursued women in the past but drunkenly admitting a more open preference on more than one occasion. There were a lot of NDA waivers signed on those nights, that was information that Nathan would reveal only when well and ready.

Before this got ugly, Charles interjected by clearing his throat, “It does not matter what orientation anyone in this band is, what matters is how you all sound together. Toki and Nathan have been working on the vocal arrangement for Midnight Lovers, are you all ready for a proper play through?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Runke said.

“I’ve got the lyrics written.” Nathan replied, giving Charles a look that told him he appreciated the save.  

“And we’re good to go here. Let’s do it, then.” Pickles added, stepping behind the drum kit. Once everyone was ready, Charles hit record and let the song play out.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was better, and that was progress.

Chapter Text

Abigail opened the hotel room door, guitar in tow, “Hey Skwisgaar, I- Oh.”

As she stepped inside, she found the designer passed out on the bed, broom-guitar resting beside him. Even in his sleep, his fingers twitched, but at least he was resting. She learned a long time ago how to sleep through his erratic schedule, but she was sure he’d not gotten a wink the night before, so this was good. Not wanting to disturb him, she set the guitar down on the side of the bed for him to discover later and collected her drawings from the morning.

She went downstairs and set up shop in the corner of the lobby at a high-top table, just close enough to the hall to the ballroom that she could vaguely hear the band practicing. Then, she pulled out her binder of swatches and got to work, having inventoried everything available this morning after making a trip out to the travel van and sifting through the costume supply boxes.

Worst case, she could try and find a local fabric store, but she wanted to use what they had first.

Time passed quickly, and soon enough lunch had come and gone, and she was back at the table. She made headway on some costumes but there was something stumping her.

Cohesion.

Each member had a very distinct style, and there was not much overlap between them. There needed to be a common thread connecting them, and she’d yet to discover it. The simplest answer would be incorporating a single color or fabric into each piece, but that made it feel forced.

She could try and make it more casual, each member dressing more drab, and just focusing on the frontman, but that then left another dilemma. The star was Pickles, certainly, but he was mostly hidden behind the drums, while Nathan was more central as a vocalist.

And, while a celebrity in his own right, Nathan wasn’t who the focus should be on, but inevitably all eyes would be drawn to that powerful yell standing front and center.

Leather felt like the easiest way to bring it all together, a mainstay of metal after all, but this wasn’t Judas Priest, and it was hard to find a middle ground between overdoing it with something not even visible.

She stroked a piece of purple velvet, debating taking a chance on a gothic interpretation. It would come from left field, but so was this band’s sound. But did that even fit? And would they like it? She’d hate to waste time on this, the schedule was crunched already.

She was already wasting time.

“Hm. Not sures about these.” Skwisgaar’s low voice scared her, sneaking up behind her.

“Well good morning sleeping beauty.”

“Ha. I likes whats yous doings here,” Skwisgaar reached over her shoulder to point at one of her Nathan concepts, a simple jeans and shirt with some chains on his belt and studded jewlery, “Shuolds be less flashy likes this on alls of them. The musics is the louds part now. Not compenskatings for talentless ams-beens”

“We’ve always struggled with simple,” Abigail replied.

“That’s whys we must forces ourselves to tones it down. Takes off the necklaces, we’re goings to paints their faces.”

This caught her off guard, “Like Runke and Toki?”

“Similars, have an ideas. Lets me sees that.”

She handed him the sketch and he picked up a stub of black charcoal, smudging it around Nathan’s eyes. Dust flew and speckled his whole face, “Mores this ways. Everyone lookings half deads.”

“Are you half-dead?” She asked him, finally getting a look at the man and he was ragged, still in yesterday’s clothes and gaunt.

“Ja. Now updates the rest like this, ams be backs in an hour.” He set down the drawing and Abigail began off this blank slate, erasing the necklaces, “Is musics that makes you wants to kills youself, that is my inspirations.”

She noticed some red on the edges of the paper and realized they were fingerprints. Bloody fingerprints. His fingers were bleeding, presumably from the gold guitar slung on his back.

Great.

She was glad she’d called in backup, because at this rate he’d be no help in assembly. But she also figured that the new vision being the band looking like death meant she could thrift some pieces and just distress them, so that could lessen the burden. 

By the time dinner rolled around, she had sketches approved by Skwisgaar, which he wasted no time in scooping up and taking to the band. She followed close behind, ready to take notes on their feedback.

He pinned them up on the wall, letting each member have a chance to review.

Of course, the comments came all at once.

“I don’t like the sleeves.”

“Do we really have to wear makeup?”

“Seems kind of dull.”

“I likes it! Needs more spikes though.”

She dealt with Runke first, “Want me to cut the sleeves off?”

“Well I can do that myself.” He replied flatly.

“I’ll do it for you. Anything else?”

“Not crazy about makeup pattern, too messy.” She half expected this comment from him, his current makeup much more precise and angular.

“We’ll take that into consideration.”

Next up, Nathan, “But you’re all going to be in the same face paint. Corpse paint to be precise. Many extreme metal bands wear it, supposed to make you look dead, we think it fits your current sound.”

Toki piped in, “Yeahs, is from Norways, and the guy whos started it actually used to bes-”

“That’s enough Toki,” Runke interrupted, and Toki immediately looked like he regretted starting whatever he was saying, “It’s very brutal. Will suit you well. Still do not like this splotchy pattern, the distinction between black and white is important to maintain.”

Abigail prepared for a war with him over the makeup at a later date, there was no way they were painting triangles on everyone, the messy appearance would look less intentional and better fit this casual energy they were cultivating.  

That was enough to sate the larger man at least, “Cool. Corpse paint, I like the sound of it. It’s not going to leave a stain though, is it?”

“Probably not,” and since he was here, Abigail turned to Toki, “We can see about giving you a few spikes. What about bootstraps? Skwisgaar?”

The blonde shuffled over, “No bootstraps. Maybe armband, or ons guitar straps.”

Toki tapped the spiked gauntlets already strapped around his forearms, “Can keeps these?”

Skwisgaar studied them, “Left one. But you’ll have to wear a plain belt.”

“Okee!”

Toki sated, this left Pickles who Abigail figured would be the hardest to convince of this new look. His outfit was the most basic of all, a black cropped tank top with cargo pants and sneakers, the only adornment being a bandana and his piercings and tattoos.

“I don’t know, I’m just used to a lot more, you know, everything.” He said, “It’s practically what I’m wearing now.”

“The thought behind these was a dark color palate of soft fabrics, with one metal element each, and the paint being the centerpiece. You’ve already got a lot going on with your body mods, so we wanted to keep things simplest.”

Pickles sighed, “I just feel funny about it, like, is it still my band? Looking at this line up, anyone else is going to immediately be drawn to Nathan.” He gestured up at the drawings, and she could see exactly what he meant. Sure, the outfits were all similar, but with his large stature and long hair, Nathan stood out despite the plain clothes.

The man continued, “Drummers can be front men, I’ve seen it before, but I’m not sure that’s even going to be the case here. In practice today, he’s been doing most of the singing. It just works better with how the instrumentals are changing.” Pickles rubbed the back of his head, “Sorry, I shouldn’t be worried about this.”

“No, it’s a fair concern,” Abigail began, “I take it you’ve never not been the frontman?”

“Nope, heh. I’m an easygoing guy, this shouldn’t matter. We’re all being paid the same.”

“But it does bother you. Maybe talk to Nathan about it? See if there’s a way you can incorporate a song that lets you get more attention or something. We still have the beaded vest, and you’re more than welcome to it.”

Pickles waved her off, “Nah, it’s not the clothes. I really don’t care about that. It’s just what made me put 2 and 2 together. But I should talk to him. Thanks.”

“Sure.”

“You gots everything?” Skwisgaar asked when she returned to his side with the notes.

“Yup, I’ll get the edits done tonight, then tomorrow we start assembly.”

Satisfied that it would all be taken care of, Skwisgaar excused himself to Toki’s company, pulling the guitar to his front. Whatever he did, Toki seemed impressed, so she left them to it.

“I suppose this means practice is over for the day.” Charles said, walking over to her.

“Yeah, I’m going to go get these changes done so I can go to bed at a reasonable hour. Going to get sleep while I can, because I’m sure the next two days will have little of it. I’m sure they all should take advantage of it too.”

“Understood, I won’t get in your way.” He said, stepping aside.

She wasn’t sure what his intentions were, but she’d take a friendly face where she could find one, “Thanks, next time we see each other, hopefully these will be tangible.” She held up the sketches for emphasis as she pulled them down off the wall.

“Absolutely. And before you go, there is one thing I’d like to ask first,” he continued.

“What’s that?”

“Last night, what exactly did you want to give me?”

“What? Oh, right, to wear. Funny you asked, I’d made this flowy top for Tony, thought it would look nice under your jacket to make you fit in more with the band instead of that suit if you went on stage like you thought you may have to. But it looks like I’ll be butchering it for Runke, sorry. If you do end up needing something, just let me know.”

She wasn’t entirely sure why he asked, but figured she’d just be honest. He considered this a moment, and she couldn’t get a read on his face as she pulled down the sketch of Runke wearing an altered version of the top with slits up the sides, now to be made sleeveless.

“I see, don’t worry about it. I believe my attire is, ah, appropriate for the role I’ll be taking on this tour.”

“Well, if you change you mind, we can see what’s left over and work something out.” Abigail said, feeling a bit bad about this exchange.

Charles was impossible to read, just blinking, “Focus on the band. Have a good night, Abigail.”

“You too.”

And then she left, not thinking too hard about the conversation and genuinely needing to get to work since Skwisgaar was down for the count.

Chapter Text

That night, Pickles hardly slept. He really was having a hard time coping with the fact that he was being upstaged in his own band. The rehearsal went really well, they were putting together actual arrangements, but every time they went back to the recordings, it became apparent what was needed from him to make this band work.

In the absence of a bassist, he was the entire rhythm section, so he needed to focus twice as hard on drumming, and his vocals were simply lost in the mix.

Nathan’s roar stood out, could keep up with this thrashing sound. 

His role was primarily to be behind the kit, and Pickles didn’t know how to cope with that.

So, when morning came and he felt like death both from stress and the usual hangover he was coming to once again appreciate, he knew there was no way he was going to be able to have a productive session. Dragging himself downstairs, he belted out a suggestion he knew would not be overturned, “Today, we are going to the beach.”

Toki immediately picked him up in a violent hug, “Oh Pickle! This ams a dream comes true! The beach!”

Before anyone could say otherwise, Pickles was pulling the guitarist towards the hotel’s exit, “Come on everyone, beach time.”

It was all too fast for even Charles to protest, and when Skwisgaar was found lurking at the coffee machine, Pickles grabbed him too, “Abigail can handle it today, you need this just as bad as I do.”

Everyone loaded into the bus, and Pickles just headed West, knowing eventually that he’d hit the gulf.

Once there, they spent way too much money at a surf shop on supplies and set up camp in the sun, screwing a large umbrella into the ground and laying out some towels.

Skwisgaar had complained about the swimsuit situation, insisting that in Sweden he could just go swimming in the nude. Charles had convinced him to change his mind due to the legal ramifications of such an act at a public beach in Florida. Regardless, he managed to find something with less coverage than ladies’ underwear.

Everyone changed into their swimwear of choice and begrudgingly let themselves be sprayed down in sunblock by Charles, who refused to undress beyond taking off his jacket and removing his tie, insisting it was business casual. He also had two stripes of zinc under his eyes, “And I’ll cover your entire faces if you start to turn pink,” he threatened the others.

“Normal day for me.” Runke replied, putting white cream on top of white paint.

“Oh, I am very Irish, give me that.” Pickles took the small tube of extreme sunblock from him and covered himself in it, not caring that it left him looking like a ghost. He also put on a UV rated shirt and broad hat in a tasteful shade of neon green, hellbent on not getting sun blisters this time.

The last time he’d been in Florida had been right after he’d been kicked out of Snakes and Barrels the first time, and nearly was hospitalized from the severe sunburn he gained while on a days-long bender on the sand.

Then, he plopped down under the umbrella and cracked open one of the many beers they’d brought along.

From this perch, he watched as Toki dragged Skwisgaar down to the water as everyone else crowded together in their shade oasis. Well, everyone except Runke who was also in far too little clothing, opting for an Olympic style minimalist bathing suit, and laying with spread arms directly in the sand, absorbing as much UV as possible.

“It is like the sun is melting into my skin,” He mumbled, “Very nice.”

“Be careful, yer going to get cancer.” Pickles replied.

“Good.”

Whatever, let him crisp. On his other side was Charles and Nathan. Pickles considered his conversation with Abigail the night before, and wanted to see if he could shoo the manager off to have some privacy. Very quickly, an opportunity presented itself by the water, “Hey, Charles?”

“Yes, Pickles?” The man looked up from his magazine.

“I don’t think Toki knows how to swim.” He gestured towards the shoreline with his chin.

There, Skwisgaar was searching for the guitarists in the waves, with a hand or face occasionally surfacing as the other man struggled for air.

“Oh, he’s drowning.” Charles bolted, rushing right into the water and soaking himself as he dragged Toki out of the current.

Nathan chuckled, “Told him he should have got a bathing suit.”

“Yeah, heh. We’re all just a bunch of idiots, huh? Even the smart one.”

“Definitely. Charles has done all kinds of crazy crap, once time I even got him to drink with me.”

“Really? How’s that go?”

Nathan rolled his eyes, “He almost drank me under the table, then we stumbled into a strip club and emptied his wallet.”

“I’ll have to go against him then, see what he’s made of.” Pickles laughed, “I’ve spent a lifetime getting my tolerance up. Hell, I’ve got more clarity drunk than sober.”

There was a long but comfortable silence then as Pickles opened another beer while they watched Charles start thumping on Toki’s chest.

Pickles considered how he wanted to broach the important topic while the manager was still occupied. His mind was still too sharp, he needed to mellow out for this, get that booze-clarity he so cherished, so he started chugging it down.

“So, about practice yesterday. It went pretty good, huh?”

“Oh yeah, it was epic.” Nathan agreed.

“Look, I need to talk to you about something I noticed. It’s really important, so hear me out.”

“Um, sure Pickles. What is it?”

Pickles took in a long breath, and a third beer, “It’s looking like you’re going to be doing most of the singing. Which, usually, means people are going to be looking to you as the leader, not me.”

Nathan quickly replied, “It’s still your band, Pickles. I’m not trying to steal it away.”

“I know, I think it just sort of happened. But you’re going to be the one calling the shots on stage, and I’ll be right there with you, but. Well. I guess I’m askin’ if you’re alright with that?”

This time, it took Nathan longer to reply, “Back on the team, everyone looked to me as a leader. That’s why we lost in the end. I don’t want to lose again. We won when you lead the band. I think that needs to stay the same.”

Pickles should have been relieved by this. He wanted to remain the leader, right? But how could he lead from behind the kit? He’d be barely visible, and audible was up for debate.

“I… We can try it. But you might need to step up, Nathan.” Pickles insisted, knowing what was necessary for continued success.

“Why?”

Pickles shook his head, “You’re going to be the dude standing in the front with the microphone, that’s why. Everyone is going to be looking to you. And like you said, we’re a team, but there’s only so much I’m going to be able to do, especially with the new sound we’re crafting.”

Nathan was starting to panic. His fists balled and his voice grew louder, “We’ll go back to the old sound then! People liked that!”

“It’s better this way, we just agreed that it sounded great.”

“Our opinion doesn’t matter! It’s what the fans want, and the fans want you, Pickles! Not me!” Nathan physically edged away, posture closing up. Pickles realized that he was loosing him, and needed to fight his way back in.

“Is that what this is about? You’re afraid people are still upset over the game? Look, in Florida you’re going to face your harshest critics about that, and you were able to turn that crowd around-”

Nathan cut him off, “No, you did. Me talking about you is what made them forget they hated me. But they’ll remember it again. I’m still getting so many nasty articles written about me and stuff. And I know I shouldn’t be looking at that, but I do, and it’s not nice.”

This time, Pickles handed Nathan the next beer. The man took a few sips, and Pickles continued, “Trust me, I’ve got my haters too, but most people just don’t care. That’s the fact of life, nobody gives a shit. There’s going to be the assholes, who are the loudest, and the super fans, who are loud too, but ninety-nine percent of the population could care less. That’s who we’re playing for, to try and show them that we’re worth a few hours of their life. We’ve got nothing to prove to the others.”

Nathan mulled this over as he drank, “Hm. I guess that one percent is pretty big and noticeable still. I can’t just ignore them when they’re right in my face.”

“Then punch them.”

“Seriously?” Finally, Nathan started to open back up, glancing over at Pickles.

“Yeah, you saw what happened last time, Toki got some guy to throw him their freaking finger! Yell at them to just kill themselves or whatever. Those die hards are going to listen, and then maybe the assholes will shut up.”

“Well, I don’t want the good ones to go away. I hear groupies are a good time, heh.”

Pickles shrugged, tons of substance-altered memories flooding him, “Sometimes, but not the crazy ones. It’s better if they don’t make it backstage. You’ll see.”

Nathan gave him a thin smile, “If I’m the leader, I guess I will, huh?”

“Hey now, drummers get girls too! Don’t you forget that. But, does this mean you’re willing to try it out? Just for one show? If it gets weird, I’m there. Maybe will trade places with Runke, dude can take over the drums while I cuss the crowd out. What do you say man?” Pickles raised his voice so the other man could hear him.

Runke responded with a snore.

“What the hell? The one time I want to talk to him, he’s out.” Pickles muttered, looking over at the passed out Norwegian.

Meanwhile, the other three were trudging back up the dunes towards their camp, Charles and Skwisgaar dragging Toki along.

“Make space,” Charles said, and before Pickles could move, Nathan was shoving towards him, pressing them together on one side of the circle of shade.

Toki was unceremoniously dropped in the middle of their camp, the man soggy and covered in sand. He coughed up some more water, spitting it into Nathan’s lap.

“Gross.” Nathan grunted.

“Sorries,” Toki rasped.

“He ams needs learns the swimings.” Skwisgaar said, squatting down next to Toki.

“We can, uh, sign him up for swim lessons I suppose. After the tour. For now we can all just enjoy the sand. How does that sound, Toki?” Charles offered.

Toki shot up, suddenly reinvigorated, “No ways! Ams learns now.”

He looked over to Nathan and Pickles, “Yous knows to swims?”

“Ahem, I knows.” Skwisgaar said, sounded offended.

“Yous lets me drown! I thinks Nathans can teach me.” His long fingers wrapped around Nathan’s bicep, pulling him up as Toki stood.

Nathan let himself be moved, and Pickles looked over the top of his sunglasses, comparing the two men. Both entirely muscle bound, but one much broader while the other built like a lightweight fighter.

Both would sink like bricks.

So would Skwisgaar though, all skin and bone and nothing else. That left Charles, who very much looked like he wanted to leave in his drenched suit, Runke who was still snoozing away, and himself.

Not that he was a star swimmer, but his gut would keep him afloat. Probably. It had been ages since he’d been in any water that wasn’t a shower, after all.

“I’ll go to make sure you all don’t get swept away,” Pickles said, following after the group. In the shallows, he had Toki lay back, with Nathan’s arms under him, “Spread yer arms out and try and float there, ok Toki?”

“Ams tryings! But Toki just sinks!”

“Yeah, I move my arms and he falls,” Nathan replied, “Don’t worry about it Toki, I don’t float either.”

“Just tries paddlings, roll on your stomachs.” Skwisgaar added, paddling around out further. He seemed hesitant to actively participate in this endeavor, probably worried about drowning Toki again. Charles was stood just on the edge of the water, making sure that didn’t happen as he dried himself out, still refusing to undress.

“Yeah, try that, like this,” Pickles tried to demonstrate paddling.

Toki did it, but Nathan noted that his knees were in the sand, so they had to go deeper.

Eventually, they got out to a sufficient depth, and after another scare when Toki’s head dipped below the waves, everyone was swimming. Toki was having the time of his life, laughing and splashing everyone.

Pickles wore himself out quickly, still sore in the shoulders from practice and burping up the beer he’d downed on an empty stomach, and left after about a half hour to go back to the umbrella where there was a sandwich waiting for him.

“Where’d this come from?” he asked as Charles handed him the food. He hadn’t even noticed that Charles had left.

“Delivery.” Charles replied simply, halfway into his own sandwich.

“Nice.” Pickles took a bite, “Oh, that’s not bad!”

“Am I doing this right?” Charles asked suddenly as they ate.

“Yeah, pretty good beach day I’d say. You saved Toki, brought food, didn’t fight us over coming. Ten outta ten.”

“No, I mean, the band management. I’m treating this like personal management, but it is surely more complicated.”

Pickles mulled this over as he chewed, “Hm. I’ve had a few managers over the years. Most would be yelling at us to get back into the practice room right now.”

“I’m seeing this morning as a team building exercise. There will be time to practice in the evening.” Charles responded.

“That’s a good way to look at things. Think this will work out fine. You’re not one of those asshats who’s just in it for the paycheck.”

“Never have been, though Nathan does compensate me generously.”

Pickles looked over at the man, somewhat disheveled from his swim but otherwise still put together, hair slicked back and expression blank. He was also turning a bit pink, “You might want to re-apply, yer nose is looking rosy.”

Charles was quick with the zinc, turning himself into a ghoul to match Pickles.

“And to answer your question more seriously, yeah I think you’re doing a fine job. Magnus handed you a mess, and it’s cleaned up pretty nicely. Still need to see about a bassist though, you on that?”

“I’ve started making the arrangements. No time for auditions, but I think there is a good fit, and should be at the Atlanta show. No time to practice in person, but I’ve forwarded along the current recordings and will continue to do so.”

“Really? Nice. What’s his name?”

“Her name, actually. Lady Face is her stage name, and she’s played in a few metal tribute bands over the years, I think it’ll work out.”

Pickles nearly gagged, “A woman? You’re kidding. She’s got to be brutal to make it in this scene, huh? And a tribute band player wasn’t a bad call, she’s used to copying other styles.”

“I’ve heard nothing but good things. Will share the news with everyone when we get back, pull up some footage of her latest gig with Rust in Pieces.”

“Oh, that’s a Megadeth tribute huh?”

“Yup. Though she’s done heavier things too from what I could find.”

“Sweet. But uh, most importantly, what’s she look like?”

Charles paused before responding, “Seriously?”

“Yeah, I mean, we’re a bunch of good looking guys, except maybe the snoozer over there, so we can’t have a random ugly member.”

“Am I going to have to hire her a security detail?”

“I mean, if she’s hot yeah, fans are rabid.” Pickles replied, licking the remains of his lunch from his fingers.

“I meant security from you all.”

“Oh jeez, no, never. That is a woman! You gotta respect her boundaries. But if she says yes, that’s consent, and you can’t stop me.” Pickles smiled smugly to himself, imagining all kinds of rock n roll babes.

“Right. Like I said, we’ll share the news tonight.”

“Nice.”

Charles went back to his food, and Pickles just laid back to rest, the weight of the world off his shoulders. He’d talked with Nathan, they had a bassist incoming, things were looking good.

Chapter Text

Runke woke up to an aggressive poking at his skull.

“What the hell?” He grumbled as he waves away the aggressor. It replied with a squawk. And then another, and another, and there were more pecks.

He quickly realized that he was being attacked by seagulls.

“I am not food! Shoo! Begone, hellspawn!” He waved his arms aggressively and immediately regretted this choice as his skin was burning, sending stabs of pain down his limbs.

He wiped the sand out of his eyes and sat up to find himself staring at a beautiful sunset. It was a shame he was too sore to truly appreciate it. In the yellow light, he looked down to find his skin a fluorescent red.

The morning came back to him. He’d arrived at the beach, laid down here beside the band’s camp, and must have fallen asleep. Turning to where the umbrella and towels should have been, he found nothing but disturbed sand. 

“Those assholes abandoned me.” He muttered. Looking around, there was nothing left, just him and his pocketless swim bottoms, his money was in shorts that were presumably taken away by the others.

Forcing himself to stand up, he considered what to do next as the beach was utterly deserted. The best option was likely the shop down the road where they’d gotten the supplies as someone there would have a phone he could use. There were closer structures, but they appeared to be private residences and Runke would rather not have the local authorities called for trespassing in this state.

Having no other choice, he made his way off the beach and onto the sidewalk, journeying barefoot to the crosswalk and then several blocks further, the shop was much closer when driven and the long walk was arduous. When he entered the shop after the tumultuous trek over boiling hot pavement, he was parched and somehow even crispier.

He opened the fridge by the door and pulled out a cola, downing it thirstily. The cashier stared as he approached.

“I need to borrow a phone.”

Dumbfounded, the young worker handed him a cell phone, which Runke had no clue how to use, there were no buttons just a screen. Ugh, so digital!

He pushed it back towards the young woman, “Never mind. I need you to call the, uh, the hotel over there. What was it called again… Vacation Inn, that one. Call it.”

She dialed the number and passed it back to him. Runke excused himself to the far side of the store where he politely demanded to be transferred to the ballroom, then not so politely screamed at the person on the other side of the line when Charles’ voice came through the phone.

“I see now that we, ah, made a mistake and that you did not make it up to your room for a shower as Toki insisted.”

“No I did not!”

“I’ll come get you.”

“You’d better!”

“Right, yes. Where exactly are you?”

“The surf store.”

“On my way.”

The line clicked. Runke restrained himself from throwing the phone and instead handed it back to the cashier, “Thank you.”

He took another cola on his way out, sitting on a curb partially shaded by a palm tree, flipping off any passerby who dare look at him. Once the soda was gone, he threw the can into the street for a car to crush.

Instead of dwelling on the ways he was going to kill Toki when he got back to the hotel, Runke reminded himself why he was here in the first place. He’d made this journey to protect Toki and give him a fresh start. He considered how lucky they were to have literally landed into a tour, and be invited to join it on arena dates.

He also considered that his skin felt like it was going to peel itself from his bones, and that this band had so easily abandoned him, apparently with Toki to blame. Runke did tend to lurk unnoticed in most spaces, but this was frankly offensive levels of being forgotten.

No one had bothered to wake him, letting him boil away all day. He stared ahead at the now crushed can. He was still thirsty, and starving, but he dared not go back into the shop. All he could do was wait, and the waiting was excruciating as his anger continued to stew.

When Charles eventually pulled up in the bus, Runke knew several things.

Firstly, he knew that his next demo tape would be about the sheer brutality of the sun.

Second, he knew he needed to get back to the cold darkness of Norway sooner than later.

And finally, he knew that no one in this band was his friend.

Toki was his brother, a young man who’d shown up on his stoop in need of a family, persistent like a stray cat you feed once which keeps returning day after day, hoping for more. There wasn’t much more to give, Runke and his band had no money to their names, only their music and the store, but for Toki this seemed to be more than enough, a roof over his head and sometimes some food to eat.

But just because they were brothers did not mean they were friends, and this trip was proving to Runke just how dire the situation was.

He’d known for some time now that he was losing his grip on Toki, the man drifting away from the darkness that Runke ruminated in, yearning for something else that Runke could not provide.

For a long time, there was nothing Toki craved more than Runke’s admiration. And Runke knew he was hard to please, much quicker to give criticism than praise, but he was sure to let Toki know when he impressed him, and most importantly to make Toki feel safe in the blackness.

Here, in the absence of light, no one could find him, no false gods or cruel parents.

The church was an instrument of evil in Runke’s eyes, a deity who allowed that which Toki suffered to persist in their name was nothing but a true demon.

But that hatred was long lasting. That god was also one who looked upon him and sentenced him to eternal damnation just for daring to love another who looked like him. That god had mercilessly torn his lover from him, and for that there would be no forgiveness, only rage, only hate. Only this darkness.

It had protected him when he’d taken his revenge, and he wanted only the same for Toki, for that shadow to keep them safe.

Alas, it seems that Toki no longer wanted to hide, and who was Runke to stop him? He’d done all he could.  

“We’ve got some aloe vera back at the hotel.” Charles said, interrupting his thoughts as he sat at the back of the bus.

Runke didn’t dignify that with a response.

“I’m sorry. We all are. Never intended to leave you there.” Charles continued.

Again, Runke kept his mouth shut. All that would come out if he opened it was acid.

Charles must have picked up on this as not another word was uttered until they pulled into the hotel parking lot.

“You’re probably going to want to go up to your room and shower off, I instructed Toki to leave the aloe there for you. And, by the way, I’ve arranged for a bassist to join us in Atlanta. So, just rest until you’re ready to rejoin practice.”

Runke exited the bus, stopping on the bottom step to ask, “Is the room unlocked?”

“What, oh, right you don’t have a key. I’ll go up with you, I have one.”

Silently they rode the elevator up to the floor all their rooms were on, clustered together like a dormitory. Charles had the first room, next Abigail and Skwisgaar were sharing, then Nathan, then Pickles, and finally Toki and Runke’s room at the end of the hall.

Charles swiped his key and the door unlocked, “There you are. If you need anything, call the front desk. Feel free to order room service for dinner.”

Runke responded with a sigh, closing the door behind him and going straight for the room service menu, ordering way too much food but not giving a shit. Then, he went in the shower to rinse the sand off. The water felt like bullets pelting his singed front, bur was refreshing against his paler back at least.

Finally done, he looked for the aloe and had no luck. Of course, Toki didn’t leave it for him. It mattered not, he was already dead, you can’t make the dead deader. Then the door opened as Rune was stood in the entryway completely nude.

Toki was used to his antics, but Skwisgaar awkwardly looked away.

“Move, ams need the room.” Toki barked, shoving Runke back into the bathroom, “Dis is for yous.” Toki tossed a green bottle at him. It smacked into his chest with a thud, nearly blacking out his vision from the pain.

Skwisgaar gently shut the bathroom door with a whispered apology, “Sorries we leaves you at that beach. Was unimstenstionals.”

Runke had a lot of things he wanted to say, but again just stood there.

Hoping it would help, he slathered himself in the aloe as he looked himself over in the mirror, half red and half white. The green gel did relieve some of the burning at least, so he was generous in his application. With no clothes available, he wrapped a towel around his waist and exited into the main area of the hotel room. Toki and Skwisgaar were sitting on one of the beds, practicing guitar together.

“Can’t you do this in the other room?” Runke asked.

“Nopes, Abigail and Trindles needs it for their works.” Skwisgaar replied.

“Abigail and who?”

“Trindle, she ams here to help makes your new costumes.” Skwisgaar explained

“Great, more people. Just what we needed.”

“Wes also have really cool ladies bassist joining us for show!” Toki added with a grin, looking tan and tropical in his obnoxious Hawaiian shirt, another purchase from the surf shop.

“I heard that part, one piece of good news I suppose.”

“Do yous wants to joins guitars practice?” Toki asked, scooting over to make room on the bed.

Instead, Runke sat in the plush chair in the corner, “No, you two have at it. Ordered some food that should be here soon so I’ll focus on that.”

When the food arrived, Runke was glad he ordered extra as Toki was quick to demolish much of it. That was one benefit of this trip, they were eating more than they ever had, that was probably good for their health. And some sun was also healthy. Unfortunately, Runke had gotten all of the sun. A lifetime’s dose in a single sitting.

Toki picked up one of the sliders Runke had ordered and tried to shove it at Skwisgaar, “Yous needs to eats too!”

Skwisgaar waved it away, “No, ams good.”

“But you barelies eats!”

“Leave him alone Toki, some people are self-loathing and deny themselves indulgence.” Runke said, tone mocking.

Skwisgaar paid him no mind, too engrossed in the guitar. His fingers were wrapped in thick white bandages, blood soaking through the fabric to stain it red, but he kept going. That earned a bit of respect from Runke, the same as he respected Toki for pushing though the literal learning pain.

He’d need to do the same, having no intention of missing the next day’s practice, going to bed early after the large meal.

The next day went fine, the band managed to play through a whole set and determined what they’d play the next night in Atlanta. Runke was ultimately tasked with writing some bass tabs to forward along to Lady in preparation.

Toki was too preoccupied with spending every moment they were not playing as a band with Skwisgaar, so he was a lost cause. Pickles helped as much as he could but didn’t have much experience with bass so acted more like moral support, and Runke could tell he’d rather be doing something else.

But he admired the man’s devotion to the band and let him assist with the occasional suggestion or opinion as Runke played over their recordings, keeping things fairly simple and low.

Every now and then, he added a bit of flourish, and Pickles approved of it. Nathan wandered over at one point after ravaging the dinner spread for every last crumb, “It kind of sounds like mush.”

“Is bass guitar, it all melts together into a bit of a drone sometimes.” Runke explained, “But it is important for sound foundation.”

“Play that one part you just did again, Nathan listen to this.” Pickles added.

Runke played a few more rhythmic notes, palm silencing to differentiate the plucks.

“It’s still really hard to hear,” Nathan explained, “I don’t know, is bass really necessary? I’m just not really feeling this Lady person.”

“Why not? She’s freakin’ beautiful.” Pickles protested.

Nathan shrugged, “Just feels weird inviting a stranger into this.”

“We were all strangers up until a few days ago,” Pickles pointed out.

“It’s just different. You want me to lead, ok fine I’ll try, but to do that with a new person? There’s too much changing at once and I don’t like it!” Nathan boomed.

Pickles gave Runke a look that told him to get lost, and he had no problem walking away from this situation. Nathan was a bit of a brute, acting before thinking, and Runke found it best to just stay out of the man’s way. Pickles could talk him down. Probably.

He took this opportunity to take the bass off and re-apply the aloe, his skin rubbed raw and fresh blisters popped from playing all day. He looked like the living dead, and privately hoped that he’d be able to skip out on the corpse paint for once.

“Hanging in there?” Charles asked, “We’re doing costume fittings in a few minutes.”

Runke huffed, “Whatever.” He physically could not have any less desire for fabric touching him.

Charles waited a few more seconds, giving him a chance to talk that Runke did not take.

“Very well.”

On his own, he sat in the corner and rested his eyes. He’d not gotten much sleep due to inability to be comfortable, fighting with Toki over the thermostat as he wanted warmer air as the cold hurt his skin, as did the sheets, and general discontent. Another strike against his brother.

His mind was swimming in a brew of disdain and anger, and although he was glad for this opportunity to expose large audiences to Hestkuk, a large part of him just wanted to walk away from it all and go home. Hestkuk was never meant for such a general audience after all. It was not likely that these shows could convert many fans from a sea of idiots.

But Runke wanted to at least try, so here he was, boiling alive in his own flesh, suffering.

When Abigail and Trindle eventually arrived with the costumes, he forced himself to go along with the fitting, thankful that he’d had the foresight to ask for bare arms. The shirt was loose enough to not bother him much, made of a light linen type material. But the pants were proving to be a real issue. He’d taken to just living in his swim shorts, the only article of clothing that didn’t touch burnt skin, and a loose tee to protect him from his instrument.

Skinny jeans were far from his very tiny shorts. They rubbed in all the worst ways and buttoned higher than the shorts, pressing on a blister.

“This isn’t going to work.” He winced, pulling them off gingerly.

The new girl, Trindle, pursed her black lips. She was quite lovely if Runke said so himself, covered in gothic tattoos and piercings while dressing in all black, tight corset top and pencil skirt with stockings underneath. He certainly wasn’t looking to make friends, but having someone bearable around never hurt, and so far Trindle was very tolerable.

“Hm, what about a kilt? That way you’re covered, but still have some space under there.” She offered.

Runke forced down laughter because it was actually a good solution, “Fine, but no plaid.”

Trindle smiled, “Oh, of course not! It’ll be all black, like the jeans, and we’ll take the chain necklace and hang it from there, since I don’t think you want any metal on your neck right now.”

“That would be ideal.”

“What do you think, Abi? Kilt on the big guy?”

He wasn’t that big, was he? Especially not when compared to Nathan. Runke shifted, not necessarily uncomfortable but he had hoped to make a decent impression on the one other person in this group who appeared to have good taste.

Abigail came over to assess the situation, “Hm, it could work. Maybe asymmetrical, that way it’s not so much heavy fabric. We need to make sure it doesn’t feel like a gown from far away either. Runke, you comfortable showing a little skin?”  

He gestured to his current state of undress, “What do you think?”

“Let’s see… We can crop your shirt about… here.” Trindle tapped just above his belly button, and he wheezed at the sudden contact, “Oh, sorry!”

“It’s fine.” He hissed, doubled over.

Trindle patted him on the back a few times, “Let’s get you undressed, and we’ll be back in the morning with something new for you, ok?”

“Sounds good.” He muttered as he peeled the stage clothes off and gladly gave them back.

Her hand landed on a very specific spot on his back, “What’s this?”

Right on his shoulder blade was a collection of dots and lines that at one point vaguely resembled an animal, “Bad tattoo.”

“Duh! But I mean what is it?”

Runke sighed, “Bathory goat.”

“Ohhh, I can see it. A little bit… not really, but maybe it used to be cool? I can hook you up with my artist if you ever want to get it fixed, though you’d have to fly out to Ontario to see him.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Do you know them?”

“…I’d hope I know them after sitting for hours getting all this done,” She gestured to the sea of tattoos on her own skin.

“Bathory I mean.”

“Is that a trick question where you’re going to ask me to name three songs?” She replied, tucking the clothes under her arm.

Runke was many things, but he tried not to be a gatekeeper when it came to music, ultimately this just led to making less sales and that was something he could not afford. “No, just curious what kind of music you like.”

“In that case, I know their popular stuff, but I mostly listen to death metal. I also like goth and industrial metal.”

That made sense, those were genres that were more popular on this continent, “All good things, though I will admit I avoid industrial.”

“Let me guess, too electronic for you?”

“Correct, yes. My preference is primarily black metal.”

She nodded, “I’d hope so seeing what Hestkuk puts out.”

“You know my band?” Now he was pleased.

“Uh, yeah. Everyone does. You all went viral, it mostly folks making fun of you, but I liked it.” She shrugged, “Charles said there’s a bunch of CDs and records ordered, what are the odds I can get one?”

Right, of course she knew. It was dawning on him that Hestkuk wasn’t exactly underground anymore. It would take a while to get used to that.

Runke rolled his eyes, of course she’d ask for a freebie. He wasn’t bothered by the supposed ridicule on the internet, even bad attention was still attention. Later, he’d have to borrow a computer to look up how their online sales were going.

“You can get first dibs, but no handouts.”

Trindle laughed, “I’ll remember that when I’m making your clothes. You said you wanted them extra tight and restrictive, right? Long sleeves, scratchy fabric, you can even borrow my corset! That’ll look good.”

Runke did not like the sound of that, “No, no! Very well, you may pick one out.”

“And you’re going to sign it for me.”

“And I will sign it for you.”

“Great! I’ll go get that kilt started, you hang tight and try and not get any more sun, ok?”

“Believe me, the sun is my enemy.”

“Living Vampire style, nice.”

“Something like that.”

She waved goodbye as she followed Abigail out with everyone’s costumes pinned and accounted for.

Suddenly, Runke had less of an urge to quit the band

Chapter Text

While the band was driving up to Atlanta with all their gear, Skwisgaar and Abigail drove separately with theirs while Trindle stayed back to return all the unused fabrics they’d acquired over the week, she’d catch back up later. 

They’d left earlier than the rest, having finished the current member’s costumes and final fittings, and needing to meet up with their new bassist before everyone else got their hands on her to prepare her costume. 

They’d been given photos and basic measurements, but there was nothing like having the person there to drape fabric onto, so only the most minimal of preparations had been made. It was going to be a long day, but Skwisgaar wasn’t feeling the pressure.

Instead, he was in the passenger seat, focused on yet another guitar lesson. He’d picked up a few instructional books earlier, and was rushing through them at lightspeed. 

Again, he plucked at narrow strings and got a slightly better tone. He was starting to get an ear for what was and wasn’t clean, how it should sound. Toki had helped immensely with that, taking the time to demonstrate proper technique in between band practice sessions. 

Skwisgaar was immensely thankful, but he knew he’d need to become self-sufficient in this journey. 

He incorrectly played a chord, swearing under his breath at the harsh sound.

“Hey, don’t be so hard on yourself. You’ve only had that thing for a few days,” Abigail said from the driver’s side of the van. 

Skwisgaar rolled his eyes, “If ams practices incorrectly, I will plays incorrectlies. Must bes perfect.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about impressing me. I’m just glad you found something you like.” 

Skwisgaar scoffed, “I do not likes this.” 

“Sure.” Abigail didn’t believe him. 

“Is just… Somethings to occupies time. Better understands the band. Makes better costumes, makes more monies…” Skwisgaar explained defensively. 

Abigail chuckled, “Yes, because you have so much free time to fill up. Ah! I bet you’re just looking for an excuse to hang out with Toki.” 

He hoped Abigail didn’t see how saying this made him tense up, “Psh, no ways. Tokis is justs a client.” He deflected. Seeing Toki almost drown had done a number on his psyche, and practicing guitar was the one thing that got his mind off the thought of the man dying. 

It wasn’t that he was his best friend, but he’d come to admire Toki. Spending time with him made Skwisgaar feel free for the first time in a long time, and that was something he didn’t want to lose so quickly, even though he knew it would never last. They’d wrap up here, he’d be able to pass the task of maintaining the wardrobe off, and then it was onto the next gig, the next paycheck, the next round of child support payments to absolutely drain his accounts… 

“Whatever, by the way you’re out of tune.” Abigail said. 

Skwisgaar played an open note, she was right. When did that happen? He immediately began to rectify this problem, “Hows you knows that?” 

“I grew up with four brothers who ran through every instrument known to man. Spent a lot of time tolerating them thinking they could shred.” Abigail said. 

Skwisgaar nodded, “I wills try to not recreates such experience for yous.” 

Abigial waved him off, “It’s fine. When we get closer to the city though, I am going to need you to stop playing and start giving me directions, Atlanta is a fucking maze.” 

“Can dos.” 

With that, he got back to his strumming and time passed quickly. Eventually, they reached the highway exit and he switched from a guitar book to a page of written directions from Charles. They were good, but after a detour for lunch the pair managed to get lost circling a random city block. 

“Is it left here or right?” Abigail asked. 

“Ams we facings north or souths?” 

She glanced at the compass, “…East.” 

“Shit. Gos right, then we ams face south so after that wes can go rights again.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works!” 

“Wells do yous have better idea?” 

“…Turning right then right again.” 

Somehow, they managed to reach the arena before the rest of the band and were able to get everything loaded in. Then, it was time to meet the newest member of the band. 

Abigail jumped in with the introductions, greeting the woman with a warm smile, “Hey, you must be Lady! I’m Abigail, and this is Skwisgaar, we’re going to have you try on some costumes before the rest of the band steals you away for rehearsal if that’s alright.” 

The other woman looked them both up and down and shrugged, seeming to want to be anywhere but here, “Sure, let’s get this over with.” 

She was conventionally attractive, curvy and with mid length auburn hair. However, the pouty frown she wore as a permanent feature made her seem dour. 

Skwisgaar let Abigail handle it, only looking up from his guitar when necessary as he stood off at the loading dock to wait for everyone else. 

About an hour later, the larger bus arrived and the band poured out, mid-argument about gods knows what. 

Skwisgaar didn’t let all the shouting stop him from seeking out Toki, he wanted to show him the progress he’d made and see if it was in the right direction. 

Toki, however, had another priority as he yelled back at Nathan, “Yous wouldn’t lasts a day in Norwegian winter!” 

Nathan folded his arms across his broad chest, “I’d be fine.” 

“Heh, I wouldn’t.” Pickles laughed, the only member unbothered, “Didn’t like the Wisconsin winters, definitely wouldn’t like worse ones.” 

“You’d freeze in an instant like a lizard.” Runke insisted, elbowing Nathan as he passed, “Where’s the toilet?” 

“Well I wouldn’t be naked!” Nathan retorted, “You can always put layers on, but you all would melt here in the summer. And don’t try to tell me otherwise!” He glared at Runke’s sad, crispy state. 

“It was an enjoyably harsh experience to become so acquainted with the sun.” Runke replied flatly as he pushed his way through the door into the backstage areas, ending his participation in this conversation. Pickles followed him out with some comment about needing the crapper too. 

“I likeds it too!” Toki added, “Especially the swimmings.”  

Nathan growled, “Sure, at the beach it’s nice. But imagine being in the middle of, like, a parking lot. And it’s even hotter, no breeze, no umbrella, no ocean to cool off in. Just enough radiation to cook an egg. But you’re the egg, and your car seat is the frying pan because that’s hot too.” 

“I’s be fine.” Toki insisted, finally turning around, “So whats you needs Skwisgaar?” 

“Wanteds to shows you somethings.” Skwisgaar said, gaze darting between Nathan and Toki. Was now a good time? 

Thankfully, Charles swooped in and pulled Nathan away, so Skwisgaar explained what he’d been learning and the feedback he was looking for.

Toki was more than happy to help, eyes wide and smile wider, “Shows me!” 

Before Skwisgaar got a chance to play, he was interrupted by Runke stepping back into the loading bay, “There’s a woman in there.”

“Ahs, is probably Ladies. News bass player persons.” Skwisgaar said. 

Immediately, Toki was drawn away by the premise of their new member. Skwisgaar followed behind, figuring he should check on what Abigail had been up to. After passing through a hall, and being joined by the other band members along with Charles, he found himself back at the room they’d been using where Abigail was making some final adjustments to Lady’s costume, meanwhile Lady herself was standing in just underwear, sour as ever. 

The band members crowded the doorway in just the right way that Pickles, Nathan, and Toki all got stuck in the frame for a few seconds as each rushed to be the first to greet her. Due to being the smallest, Pickles was able to break free first and extended a freckled hand out to the new band member, “Hi, I’m Pickles.” 

She was less than impressed, staring at his hand but not taking it, “Hey.” 

“And I’m Nathan!” He shoved his way in next, standing beside Pickles. 

Then Toki joined the line-up, “Ams Toki! Is nice to meets pretty ladies like yous! Yous be playings bass with us, yeahs?” 

Runke was in no rush and lingered in the back, “Yes Toki, this is who’s joining the band tonight. Don’t ask stupid questions.” 

“Ams not stupid! Ams tryings to bes polite!” 

Skwisgaar could tell that Lady was used to dealing with crazy men as she just turned back to Abigail, “Do you need anything else from me?” 

“Nope, I’ll have everything ready for one final fitting about an hour before the show.” 

Skwisgaar nodded, “Goods.” 

“Um, I’m going to go get dressed and then I guess we’re going to practice the set list?” Lady asked the band. 

“Yeah, I mean, if that’s what you want to do.” Pickles replied with a crooked grin.

“What I want to do is smoke dope and take a nap, but that’s not in my contract so I guess we’ll try and make this work.” Lady disappeared into the bathroom and the guys erupted in yet another fight, whispering this time. 

“She’s even more beautiful in person!” Pickled hissed. 

“Yeah, I really think we have a connection.” Nathan mused softly. 

“Ams going to be bestest friends!” Toki sighed. 

Skwisgaar just stood there, wondering how hard it would be to learn bass in about an hour. He immediately dismissed the idea but could not shake the stab of jealousy he’d felt from Toki’s reaction to her. 

Where the hell had that come from? 

“Wait, we can’t all have her. We gotta decide right now.” Pickles whispered firmly. 

“Ams not goods at sharings, I thinks I shoulds gets to hangs out with Lady!” Toki said. 

Skwisgaar felt his stomach curl. It had been a long time since he’d felt this way, and the realization of what this emotion was hit like a truck. Everything was moving too fast, there was no time to process any of this, and he could already feel himself shutting down, killing this before it ended in disaster.

Nathan shoved him, “I’m the singer, and everyone loves the singer, so I think, uh. Well she’d pick me, so we should just skip the contest.” 

“Oh no, I technically said hi first, so that gives me first dibs.” Pickles insisted, “Plus I’ve been a celebrity for longer, so I’ve got seniority.” 

It was looking like it might get ugly, then Runke stepped in, shoving past Skwisgaar, “Perhaps you all should have thought about this before asking me to write her bass lines. If there’s anyone she needs to spend time with, it’s me.” 

Toki looked ready to kill the man, and the other two’s expressions were not far off from that primordial anger. 

Skwisgaar forced himself to focus on something, anything else, than the scene playing out before him. So, he started plucking the guitar slung on his shoulder. It was a start. It was a comfort. 

He’d have to get over this crush, as he decided to call this amalgamation of feelings, fast. This was not the time or place. He’d been alone for too long, that was it. Later tonight he’d pull some groupies to the side and get some relief, and rid himself of this. 

He looked over to Abigail who was watching the development with an amused grin. She made eye contact with Skwisgaar and shrugged, oblivious to his inner turmoil. 

Then Charles broke things up, “Guys, Runke’s right, at this point the important thing is getting her up to speed, so he’ll probably be the best point of contact for that. And you can all be friends, together. There no, uh, need to assign that just yet.” 

Everyone wandered off to different corners of the room while Runke parked himself near the bathroom door. Skwisgaar migrated over to Toki, “Ah, could I shows yous now?” 

Toki became a little less glum, “Sures. Maybies will makes me distracted enough to not kills Runke in his sleeps tonight. Maybies.” 

“I can hear you.” Runke said.

“Goods! Sleeps with one eyes open, asshole!” 

Runke shot his bandmate a middle finger and Toki stuck out his tongue. 

“Ams goings to just starts now…” Skwisgaar muttered. 

Skwisgaar played the chords he’d learned in the car ride and Toki seemed to be paying attention. After a few, he stopped him to reposition his hand, “Angles your fingers likes this… Better.” 

Immediately, some pressure was released out of his wrist. It was better, “Thanks.” 

Toki nodded, “Sures.” 

Then, Lady emerged from the bathroom in a sleeveless top and cargo shorts and Toki’s attention was again stolen as he seethed, Runke taking her away to the stage to start practicing. 

“Ams going to goes with thems.” He said, abandoning Skwisgaar. The rest of the band filed out in similar broody fashion. 

Before he got the chance to consider leaving with them, Abigail called him over to look at the final costume for Lady. 

It was fine, echoing back to what William wore that first night with strappy boots and a vest, and not much else with very short shorts and a cropped tee. It would match what the rest of the band was wearing while still being individual. They didn’t want to draw too much attention to the lineup change, but folks would notice immediately so they might as well try and make that attention positive. 

WIth that done, they got to work setting up their racks and preparing the makeup counter, they’d call each member back two at a time to prepare, but that wouldn’t be for a little while as the band needed practice time. 

In the meantime, Abigail made the final alterations to Lady’s costume and Skwisgaar tried to relearn everything with this new hand position. It helped tremendously, and he had less skipped notes. The time flew by and then it was time for final preparations as Charles tried to help wrangle everyone back to the makeup station and away from the rider full of snacks and alcohol. 

The paint went on quick and messy, exactly how it had been conceptualized. For the best as no one could sit still, Skwisgaar just chalked it up to excitement before a show. 

Of course, everyone had some kind of opinion about the makeup as well, but once it was all done, he was satisfied. The band looked cohesive, and quite brutal. 

Charles informed the group that it was five minutes until showtime. 

“Hopes yous ams comes watch!” Toki said to Skwisgaar. 

“Ja, of course,” He replied, seeing this as a chance to support his new friend, and maybe learn a few more things from observing Toki play, “What sides should I stands on?” 

Toki pulled Skwisgaar away towards the wings, “Ams shows you!” 

“Ok, guess I’ll clean up while you go off and have fun.” Abigail shouted after him, more sarcastic than genuinely upset. When they reached the side of the stage, Skwisgaar realized that it was just him and Toki, the rest of the band on the other side. 

Nathan was shouting something at them, probably that Toki wasn’t on the right side, but it could barely be heard over the din of a sold out crowd. 

Skwisgaar wasn’t exactly sure what to say, Toki was peeking his head around the wall to get a peek at the audience. When he stepped back into the dark hall, he was smiling wide, “Thinks is even bigger crowds than last time!” 

“Realies? That’s good.” 

“I thinks I cans get used to this. Way cooler than the shitty gigs Runke would gets us in Norway. Maybies ten people, and no frees foods.” Toki replied, wrapping a solid arm around Skwisgaar and pulling him in close. 

At this proximity, Skwisgaar could smell the booze on his breath, and noticed how wildly bloodshot Toki’s eyes were. 

“Ams yous drunk? Whats ams you doings before this?” 

Toki chuckled, “Was longs bus ride so we stops for a drinks. Then during practice has a few mores.”  

 “Can yous plays likes that?” 

“Probabalies!” Toki giggled. 

Then, Nathan’s voice boomed as he started speaking into a live mic, greeting the crowd. Looking over Toki’s head, Skwisgaar saw everyone start to file out. It was time, the show was starting. 

“You’ve got to gets out there now,” Skwisgaar commented, trying to nudge Toki off him. 

“Ams goings, ams goings. But first, needs somethings for luck!” 

Before Skwisgaar had a moment to react, Toki straightened up and planted a rather wet kiss to his lips. 

“Byes!” 

Then, he was gone, stomping out on stage with one hand on his fretboard and one shooting the bird to the audience. 

Skwisgaar let his eyes pan across the stage, only to find Runke glaring at him from the other side, face somehow even more red despite the layers of makeup.

Judging by the ice in that stare, he’d seen. 

The seconds passed in an eternity before finally the guitarist was forced to look down at the pedals to unmute his instrument. Skwisgaar turned away and rushed out of the wing, quickly making his way to anywhere else. Eventually he found a bathroom and locked himself in it, squeezing into the corner as he gripped his biceps. 

What the fuck was happening. 

There was an easy explanation for this, Toki was drunk and feeling a little extra friendly. Friends kissing friends wasn’t entirely unheard of in either of their cultures, after all. 

But that didn’t help the fact that Skwisgaar had liked it beyond just a feeling of friendship. 

Sex with a handful of groupies wasn’t going to fix this problem, not anymore. 

Mindlessly, he licked his upper lip, tasting salt and the tang of beer. Skwisgaar forced himself to spit it in the sink and wash Toki’s kiss away. 

His hands started to pick at his skin, he needed something to do. He’d left the guitar over with Abigail, and really didn’t want to face anyone else in this state, so that was off the table. He settled on picking at the peeling paint on the walls of the old bathroom, chipping away at graffiti and stickers. 

The cuts on his fingers opened right back up, leaving red streaks as he made his way to drywall, like a prisoner digging to freedom. He needed to free himself. 

But, instead of finding light on the other side, he just hit cinder blocks. 

The hole grew to the size of a dinner plate, chunks now falling in larger pieces as he dug and scratched. 

Then, someone banged on the door, “You in there Skwisgaar? It’s time to go.” 

It was Abigail. As much as he wanted to, Skwisgaar realized he couldn’t ignore it. So, he shouted back, “Just a minutes!” And started washing his hands, cleaning off the white dust and blood. 

When he emerged, Abigail said, “Toki was looking for you between sets.” 

“Lets him look, ams leavings now.” He shoved past her, hoping he was going in the direction of the exit. 

Instead, he landed right back in the wing, catching a few seconds of Hestkuk’s furious wails. 

Nope, he pivoted back around right back into Abigail, “What is going on with you?” she asked pointedly. 

She reached out and grabbed his arm. He wrenched himself away, “Ams fine. Where ams my guitars?” 

“It’s in the van with everything else. Don’t you want to know how the show went?” 

“Show ams still goings on,” He replied, walking the other way. 

A four person obstacle was in his way to reach the loading dock. Nathan and Lady were in some sort of screaming match, Charles trying to mediate as Pickles egged it on. Skwisgaar paused, trying to find a way around this and listening in. 

“You can’t just walk off stage and leave us hanging!” Nathan bellowed. 

“It’s a free country! I have rights, asshole!” Lady shrieked. 

“This ain’t a country, it’s a band and in a band the new guy doesn’t get rights. New guy does what everyone else says.” Pickles replied with a smirk. 

Charles interjected, “According to the contract, you are all equal members in this current arrangement, Lady included.”

“Wait, I still get the final say on this stuff, right?” Pickles asked. 

“Um, yes and no,” 

He smirked, “So if I say ‘show ‘em yer tits’ you gotta show yer tits. Legally.” 

“Well no Pickles, that’s sexual harassment.” Charles sighed. 

“Ain’t there a loop hole for that or somethin’?”

“Yeah, I mean, if everyone asked me to do it, I’d do it.” Nathan stated confidently.

“See! We should do that next show, you got nice tits Nate.”  

“Thank you, Pickles.” 

Neither man noticed how strange this interaction was. Skwisgaar idly wondered if there were some kind of pheromones in the liquor the band had partaken in. 

Lady interjected, “You don’t even know your own contracts? You’re all just a bunch of clowns! Performing with a real professional just makes you realize that, and you’re jealous!” 

“Jealous of a bass player? Are you for real?” Pickles scoffed.

“Yeah I mean, bass sounds like mud to me. If mud was a sound.” Nathan added. 

“That’s it, I’m done. Good luck next show playing without bass, see how that goes!” She started to stomp off. 

“No, don’t go.” Charles said half-heartedly. Then, he turned to the other two who were busy exchanging a fist bump, “Really?” 

“What?” 

“What happened to the Pickles who said you have to respect a woman?” Charles deadpanned. 

“Eh, he left about a dozen drinks ago.” Pickles chuckled, “Speaking of, we should go find some more booze.” 

Charles sighed, “That would not be a wise decision. 

Nathan seemed like a deer in the headlights, having to choose between two very different paths. 

Skwisgaar took his chance and followed Lady out, not really caring about the outcome of this conversation. 

By the time he was outside, she was already gone, not that he really had any interest in confronting the woman. In fact, her departure would objectively benefit him by removing an item of Toki’s interest, but he tried to not think too hard about that.  

The kiss was just a kiss, not some love confession. They were far from love, or anything like it. Skwisgaar was just conflating his enjoyment of guitar with the person teaching him, or something. Probably. 

He could still taste the salt, and craved more. 

Alas, he’d have to go without. 

He pulled himself into the passenger seat of the van and waited for Abigail, picking up his guitar and letting his mind melt into the finger positions and strumming. At this point, he could just go home. The costumes were made, and Abigail was now working much more on this than him. With Trindle’s help, it would be fine. 

But the thought of never seeing Toki again made him feel physical pain. 

Even if it meant facing these feelings, Skwisgaar knew he had to stay and see this thing to the bitter end. 

They had five days before the next show in New York, that should be enough time to sort things out and maybe get back to having some semblance of calm in his heart.

Chapter Text

Every day, he filed a complaint. 

Every day, he was still bunk mates with that damn clown. 

Since Pickles had been bailed out, every day had gotten progressively worse for Dick, all thanks to Leonard fucking Rockstein, aka Dr. Rockso the Rock n Roll clown. For Dick, Dr. Rockso was his own personal hell.  

There was a time where Dick had considered himself a fan of the man’s work with Zazz Blammymatazz. Fantastic band to trip out to. But, a sober Dr. Rockso was possibly the worst human on planet earth. 

Dick had some sympathy at first, he’d gone through cold-turkey forced sobriety when he’d first been booked. But it was starting to wear on for far too long, and somehow time just made things get progressively worse.

The man was a manic disaster, constantly trashing their cell and speaking nonsense, ranting about cocaine, women, and how the world was out to get him. Paranoia was an understatement, and often the long rants lead to the smaller Dick being pinned to his bed, shoved in a corner, or crammed into the toilet bowl. 

Not fun. 

Dick  was reaching his wit’s end, and found himself plotting ways to kill the clown. Might as well make good on those fears and do something to change the situation. A 1-way ticket to solitary was sounding better and better with each passing second. 

He could make a rope out of nearly anything in here and strangle him, or smother him in his sleep with a pillow. Drown him in the toilet even. A classic stabbing would have been preferred, but his DIY tattoo gun had long been confiscated as contraband as Dr. Rockso had thrown it out into the hall during one of his searching sprees, tearing the room apart looking for any kind of powder after snorting the last of the toothpaste. 

Finally though, something was happening. 

From what he could tell, Dick thought he was being transferred, told to pack up his bunk and then hauled into a waiting cell. Thank the heavens and hell, someone had gotten his complaints! 

Instead of being loaded onto a bus, though, Dick found himself shoved into a visitation room. 

On the other side of the glass sat a familiar ginger, flanked by some kind of lawyer in a grey suit. 

“Pickles? You’re looking, uh, free. What are you doing back here?” 

Pickles grinned that crooked smile of his, “Want to produce some death metal?” 

That was not what Dick was expecting to hear, but sure, he was happy to work. Working meant time away from his cell, so he’d volunteer for just about anything, “I’m always ready, babe!” 

“Good,” The lawyer spoke up, “We need three singles in just as many days.” 

Woof. That was a steep order, but it was possible if the songs were already written, “Look, I’ll make it happen, work my magic. You’re in good hands baby! Just please tell me I don’t have to do it here.” 

“Oh hell no. You’re coming with us to Atlanta. Have a studio rented out, and like Charles said it’s a real tight deadline but if anyone can get it done, I know it’s you.” Pickles said, leaning back in the metal chair. 

“Sure thing! Wait, did you say death metal? What happened to Snakes n Barrels?” 

“Long story, we’ll tell you on the flight over.” 

Who was he to question his ticket out of his cesspit? Dick gave the men a thumbs up, “You got it!” 

About an hour later, they were in a private jet crossing the county and Dick gladly sipped on a flute of champagne, comfortably back into a pastel green suit while listening to quite the tale of a ragtag bunch of musicians from Pickles. 

“And then she just left!” Pickles exclaimed about their second bassist. 

Dick rolled his eyes, “Some women just don’t get showbiz.” 

“Exactly! Well, anyways, we’re struggling to get these three promo singles the label needs before our next show to keep funding after the disaster she caused at the last show. So, that’s why you’re here.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure I can fix it up real nice. It’s going to be platinum, babe. A single a day, no big deal.” 

Dick walked into the studio with confidence. 

The first face that greeted him was the color of a tomato, “The fuck is this?” 

Pickles introduced them, “Runke, this is Dick, the most insane producer you’ll ever have the pleasure of working with. Back in 1979 he produced a hundred albums in a single year!” 

“One hundred and four, but I won’t split hairs here.” Dick gloated, fondly remembering that cocaine fueled peak of productivity. 

“Damns hippie!” A brunette shouted, “But that ams a lots of albums. Maybies this works.” 

“That’s like… an album a day. Wait, no. More than that…” The large man seated in front of the sound booth tried to count this out on his fingers and stopped trying. That must be Nathan, their vocalist. Apparently he was also some kind of football celebrity, but Dick had been out of the loop long enough to not know him, nor had he ever really cared to follow any kind of sports. 

After a few hours, he realized just the disaster he was being stuck into. 

While the group was capable of playing cohesively, the interpersonal situation left little to be desired and fight after fight broke out. Everyone had their own agenda, their own ideas for how the new Snakes n Barrels should sound, and while it often came together in a wonderful, brutal cacaphonry, the live show recordings were truly something, right now it was just noise. 

Dick, however, had an idea that just might bring this band closer as a single unit, “Boys, boys. Let’s call a meeting real quick. Toki, babe, step out of the booth for me, we’re all going to sit in a circle here and chat.” 

This was met with a collective groan, “It’s for your own good, ok babes? Listen, this Snakes n Barrels part 2 thing just isn’t working.” 

Pickles frowned, “It has to work, we’re under contract to put out 3 singles, and they can’t be trash.” 

“I know, baby. But, look around you, is this even Snakes n Barrels anymore? Hm?” 

The others just stared, looking left and right at the other men sitting on the floor like a preschool class, Dick presiding over them in his rolling chair. 

“Didn’t think so. You’re something entirely new. Something hip and fresh, and just what the people need. Snakes n Barrels is old news, you’re… Well, who are you?” Dick asked, hoping for some ideas. 

“Ams you sayings we ams different band nows?” Toki asked after a few seconds of silence. 

At least someone was paying attention, “You got it! And if you’re a new band, you need a new name.” 

Pickles groaned, “Ah jeez, do ya know how long it took to come up with Snakes n Barrels?” 

“Nope! And if I remember correctly, neither do you, the others had that name before you showed up, isn’t that right?” Dick pressed. 

“Oh. Right.” Pickles rubbed the back of his neck, “Don’t know what I was rememberin’ there.” 

Beside him, Nathan chuckled, “Shit Pickles, you didn’t pick the name of your last band?” 

“Nah, already existed, I just replaced the first singer.” 

Runke spoke up next, interrupting an awkwardly long pause filled with nothing but Nathan and Pickles staring at each other, “So this truly is removed from the disgusting glam band far enough to warrant the change. I approve.” 

Pickles seemed against the idea still, “I don’t know… The tour is billed as Snakes, can we just change the headliner like that without having to give out tons of refunds?” 

Dick pulled out his new phone, he was still learning to use it after not having access to anything but a wall-mounted rotary in prison, but dialing a number onto the keypad was within his powers, “We can ask? Would be a pretty powerful PR stunt, no?” 

Before anyone could protest, he had Charles on speakerphone, who said he would check, and if they decided to go this route, it would likely also need to be approved by Magnus. 

“Ugh, fuck that guy.” Pickles groaned. 

“It would make his work promoting the tour that much harder.” Charles confirmed. 

“Really?” Pickles asked, quirking a brow.  

“Certainly.” 

“Then we’re changing our fuckin’ name!” Pickles announced, snapping shut the flip phone sitting on the floor before Charles could say no. 

Dick smiled, glad his plan was working, “It’s decided then. So, any ideas?” 

A full minute of silence passed. 

“Tick tock boys, or am I talking to the dead?” He pressed, needing these men to give him something to work with. 

Surprisingly, Nathan was who piped up, muttering some related words, “Dead… Time… Death… Hours…?” 

It was something, and it wasn’t half bad, “Keep going, babe, you’re onto something.” 

“Death ams good.” Toki said, encouraging him. 

Pickles patted the larger man on the back, “Toki’s right about that, death is brutal as hell.” 

“The ever persistent march of time, unrelenting.” Runke mused, earning a strange look from the others. 

“Let’s circle back to death.” Knubbler added, that was a direction that the whole group seemed to want to unite under. 

“Death… Clock?” Nathan grunted. 

“Ohhh, that’s good Nate. I like that.” Pickles said. 

No one protested. 

Squinting down at the phone, Dick started typing a text message to Charles. He didn’t check the message for errors, barely able to read the tiny letters on the little screen, and hit send, “It’s done! Congrats babes, you’re death clock now!” 

Meanwhile, the message read: 

Dethklok iz n3w bnd

While this was an achievement, ultimately it did little other than give the band a moment of camaraderie. 

At the end of the day, Dick had little more than a few guitar solos, a blast beat, and half a dozen verses from Nathan. It was workable, but it wasn’t the bombastic wizardry they needed right now. 

As everyone filed out, Dick stopped his friend before he left, “Pickles, got a sec?” 

“Sure, what’s up?” 

“You don’t need to be a genius to see this is a bit of a disaster.” Dick lamented, “Tell me, what was the secret ingredient that made it work the first time? Even your last show just wasn’t the same. I listened to the recording three times now, it’s good, but that first show. Wow.” 

Pickles shrugged, “Obviously having a crowd helps, but the other missing piece is the bassist. Can’t force him to come along, so we’re just trying new things. Charles is already tryin’ to get us another replacement, can’t say I’ve got much hope though after the last one.” 

“Mhm, and you may need a new guitarist soon, too.” 

“What makes you say that?” 

“The big one doesn’t want to be here.” Knubbler said, having observed Runke being the ‘odd one out’ most of the day. 

“Runke? Nah, he’s just like that, man’s a brooder.” Pickles shrugged, not taking it seriously.  

Dick stood up, putting a hand on PIckles’ shoulder, “Babe, I’ve seen more bands rise and fall than anyone. I know a short fuse when I see one. Something’s keeping him here, probably Toki if they’re as close as you say, but the dude is checked out. Phoning it in. A real space cadet. His heart’s in other places.” 

“Ugh, don’t tell me these things. This cannot fail. You know why more than anyone, we can’t go back.” Green eyes hardened. 

Boy, did Dick know that was the truth. 

“I know. Look, I’m going to mess around with this stuff tonight, and in the morning I’ll have something for you all to work with. It’ll be great. I promise.” 

“Thanks.” Pickles pulled Dick in for a quick hug, “Glad you’ve still got my back.” 

“Always, babe, just leave it to me.” 

As Pickles left, Dick has an idea. An insane idea, but an idea nonetheless, and one that hardly involved playing with the tapes. 

It didn’t take him long to track the first bassist down, one William Murderface, and figure out where he was located.

“Thank you BassBearLover69 for the information.” He muttered as he typed the address that William had been tracked to by the crazed fan into MapQuest, printing out several pages of directions. 

Then, he grabbed the keys to the band’s van and set off on a journey into the night. He truly would do anything to stay away from that clown, and if it meant a long night of driving, Dick was more than willing. 

After a pit stop to one of his most trusted plugs for essentials as well as medicinals, at 3AM he arrived at the trailer park and swallowed a handful of colorful, pill-shaped confidence. 

Dick felt energy coursing through his veins, a delightful high that he intended to sustain to the grave, and debated his options. He could just knock on the door or use a bobby pin to pick the lock. Ultimately, he decided on a silent entry, soaked rag in hand, prepared for some opposition from this William. 

It wasn’t hard to determine which room was Williams, the other bedroom obviously belonging to a child. Dick nudged the door open with his toe to reveal a snoring lump splayed out in the middle of the bed. 

He quietly walked over to the bedside, and covered William’s nose and mouth with the rag. The man inhaled deeply, absorbing the potent chemicals into his lungs. 

Immediately, the man flipped out, yellowish eyes bolting open and a meaty arm reaching out to try and get Dick into some kind of drowsy chokehold. 

Dick just focused on holding that rag to his face, “Shh, I need you to calm down Willy. It’s going to be alright!”

William tried to scream, but was muffled. He was quickly fading, but stronger than anticipated. Dick found himself flipped onto the bed, laying on top of the thrashing William. 

He just held on for dear life, and finally William started to slow down and finally fell limp from the chloroform. 

Dick rolled over on the lumpy bed, catching his breath and confronting his next problem. How was he going to drag this rather sizable man into the van? This plan was not thought out, but he’d figure it out. The echoing laugh of Dr. Rockso made sure of that. 

Then, a voice interrupted his thoughts, “What are you doing?” 

He quickly turned to the source of the noise, and a kid was standing in the doorway. Oh goody, another problem. 

“Hey, I’m-”

She cut him off, “You’re with Snakes n Barrels. I saw the van outside.” 

Right, the van had the band’s logo on it. That could be useful. 

“Glad you’re in the loop kid! I definitely am here representing Snakes n Barrels, and uh, we have come to get our bassist back.” Dick said, hoping it made sense of the situation for the girl. 

In the low light, her smile looked sinister as she bounced up on her toes, “Oh good, I’ve been begging dad to rejoin the band. Was starting to worry it was too late after you had the lady in the last show.” 

Oh, Dick could work with that angle, “That is exactly what’s happening. He called us tonight, super jealous of the gal, so we gave her the boot, and well, here I am!” 

“Cool. Oh my god, wait, are you two together? DID HE AGREE BECAUSE HE’S IN LOVE?”

Dick blinked a few times, weighing his options. 

“Yes.” He replied flatly. 

“OH MY GOD!” She screamed, “No wonder he’s been so weird about this, he was embarrassed. Duh…” 

Dick just nodded along, “Sure… Now, uh, maybe you should go back to bed so we can have some privacy?” 

“Of course, sorry, absolutely. I knew he wasn’t a complete loser.” She rambled, walking back to her room. 

Dick let out a long sigh once she shut the door, “Sorry about that one babe, desperate times you know…” 

It was time to grab the bull by the horns before the girl came back out to investigate, so Dick started to drag the unconscious man to the edge of the bed and hooked his arms under his, dragging him backwards. 

Booted feet smacked the ground with a thud, nearly dragging Dick down with them. 

The man was dense, somehow heavier than he looked. Dick just kept yanking him along, kicking the door back open and dragging William down the stairs, dumping him in the back of the van face-first. As an extra precaution, he used an extension cord to tie his hands together behind his back. 

When he went to shut the door, he caught William’s booted ankle in it, “Whoops!” Dick shoved it inside and finally got the back doors closed. 

Then, he climbed into the driver’s seat and prepared for another long haul. To pass the time, he blasted the concert footage CDs, trying to get a better feel for this new band’s sound to help him produce the best songs possible.

At some point near crossing state lines, he was interrupted by moaning in the back seat. 

Shit. 

Dick hoped the man would be disoriented enough to just keep to himself. Unfortunately, after a few minutes the shuffling from the back grew closer, and the grumbling started to become coherent words. 

“Where… am… what?” 

“Calm down babe, it’s all good here. Nothing to worry about!” Dick assured him with a sweet voice. 

“Who… you?” William mumbled, inching his way closer through the sea of wires in the back, “Why here?” 

“Look Willy, just need to borrow you for a few tracks, then we’ll get you back home right as rain.”

Suddenly, the man grew more irritated, the shuffling becoming thrashing enough to shake the van, “Why am I tied up?” he asked firmly, suddenly much more alert. 

“For your own safety. I’ll get those off as soon as we’re back to where we’re going. I need you to just sit tight for me, k babe?” Dick explained, hoping he sounded like he knew what he was talking about. 

“I hope where we are going is my house, looks like the sun’s coming up and I have a class to teach.” William replied. 

“No can do, we are just about back to Atlanta now.” 

“ATLANTA?” 

Suddenly, there was a man shoving his way between the driver and passenger seats, and Dick had to fight to keep the van in the freeway lane. 

“Pull over now!” 

“Sorry, can’t!” 

The ensuing scuffle involved biting and shoulder bumping, and eventually Dick was able to ram William into the passenger seat, but this also involved hitting a guard rail and nearly spinning out on the highway. Barely, he was able to regain control of the van.

“Sit your ass down and listen! My freedom, and the freedom of a dear friend of mine, relies on you coming with me! So, you’re going to stop freaking out and calm the fuck down, ok?” Dick said, breathless. 

William pouted, nursing a bloody nose gained from his head smacking into the dashboard when he fell into the seat without his arms available to soften his landing, “You’re going to get me fired.” 

“Boo hoo. Have you ever been bunkies with a deranged clown? Spent a decade in the slammer? I think not. I think you’ll manage just fine.” Dick had no patience for this. 

Dick then got another idea, reaching into his pocket.

When William opened his mouth to protest, he reached over and flicked a pill into the back of his throat. William gagged on it, but it went down.

“What was that?” He gasped. 

“Something to calm you down.” 

“I’m going to need a more specific answer, I don’t make a habit out of accepting drugs from strangers.” 

Dick chuckled, “Aw, we’re pals now? That’s nice. It’s just a little THC babe.” 

William sunk into his seat, “And now I can’t get a new job until that’s out of my system. Thanks a lot.” 

“Looks like your schedule just opened up then, fantastic! You’re hired to record bass on the new death clock single.” 

“You’re with those deranged Scandinavians, aren’t you?” 

“Bingo! Well, the whole band. Snakes n Barrels is going through a bit of a rebrand at the moment, hence the death clock thing.” 

“Jesus Christ. Fine, looks like I’m stuck with you, but I ain’t happy… Oh no. Trinity.” 

“What now?” Just what was this Trinity? Dick didn’t have long to contemplate this. 

Renewed, William lunged across the console and took the steering wheel in his teeth, forcing them back into the guard rail. 

Dick slammed the breaks, and as he got control back of the vehicle, William opened the door with his foot and bailed out. 

“Seriously?” Dick shrieked, throwing it in park as he ran out to give chase, “Get back here! Where are you going?” 

William ran down the highway, shouting that he was kidnapped in his sleep shirt and boxers. 

No one stopped, and eventually Dick caught up and grabbed the back of his shirt, “Just what do you think this is going to accomplish?” He shouted at the shorter man. 

Winded, William huffed out as he kept stumbling along, “Gotta get home… My daughter… I swear if you touched her! She’s going to be so scared!”

“The kid’s fine, and she knows you’re with me.” Dick explained. 

“WHAT?” William whipped around, eyes wild. 

“She was excited that you were coming back to the band, actually. Though she also thinks I’m your lover, sorry about that one. Wasn’t really a whole lot of time to argue, and I took what I could get to get het out of my hair.” 

William just blinked at him. 

“The kid’s fine. Now then, can we please go back to the van, get to the studio, and start work on the next single? Or are we going to run around some more out here?” 

William shook his head, but started stomping back towards the van, “Fine. Let’s go.” 

Dick patted him on the back, “Atta boy.” 

William jerked away, “Don’t touch me.”  

Taking a step away, Dick shrugged it off, just glad to have his prize finally cooperating, “Alright, you got it. Next stop, Atlanta!” 

Chapter Text

William glowered, staring out the window and refusing to acknowledge his captor.  

He was pissed, he was sore, and most importantly he was exhausted. So, despite his anger, William fell asleep in that cursed van in the early hours of the morning.

A flick to the temple woke him up, it was that blonde again, staring at him through coke bottle lenses, “There you are, rise and shine! Time to get to work!” 

Groggily, William was dragged back to a rather nice studio and his hands were finally untied. As he massaged his bruised wrists, he was handed some headphones. Meanwhile, his whole body was aching like he’d been dragged down stairs. Considering how he got here, that was probably the cause of the pain, “Can I get some pants or something first?” he asked. 

His request was ignored, “I want to play you what we have so far, and see what you think needs to be added. Can you put those headphones on for me?” 

William did as he was told, not wanting to end up back in restraints, who knew what else this madman was capable of. A few seconds later, music blasted through the headgear and woke him up. 

He gave it a listen and came to a very simple conclusion, “This sucks.” 

“I know that, babe. Going to need you to use your words here.” 

William shook his head, “Look, you know telling my kid that we’re a couple doesn’t actually make that true? Stop calling me babe. I don’t even know your name.” 

The blonde stuck out his hand, “Dick Knubbler, producer extraordinaire.” 

Although he considered not shaking it, William eventually decided to, squeezing the skinny hand gently, “William Murderface, hostage.” 

Dick laughed at that.

“It wasn’t a joke.” 

“Sure, Willy. Now, back to the track… thoughts?” 

William decided to give a real response, “It’s not a matter of what’s missing, there’s way too much going on. Can you take out some of the noise, just play like, guitars and drums?” 

“That was just guitars and drums… But I can isolate single tracks. Here’s the first…” 

Painstakingly, Dick played every single track back and William picked ones that sounded somewhat like music to him, but a lot of the process truly felt random to him.

“I don’t know why you’re having me do this, I’m hardly a musician, let alone a composer.” 

“Willy, we’ve been slaving away at this thing and you’re the first person with a real opinion on it. I knew we were missing something and that something is you!” 

“I ain’t special.” William uncomfortably scratched at the patchy skin of his elbow. 

“Whatever you bring to the table was absolutely necessary to this band’s success. Without you, all we have is that noise.” Dick’s eyes went wide, the man was serious, or just insane. 

Before this got any weirder, the door opening grabbed his attention and a familiar redhead stepped into the studio. 

“Duuude.” Pickles said, running a hand through his locs. 

“Surprise!” Dick said, jumping up and gesturing to William. 

William awkwardly waved, “I am not here of my own free will, but I’m guessing you don’t care.” 

“Dick what the hell did you do?” Pickles asked cautiously.

“Got your secret weapon back! This guy!” Dick beamed, gestuing harder with jazz hands.  

“Ya know what, I don’t want to know,” PIckles turned to William, “Well, are you willing to help us out or not?” 

William huffed, as much as he hated this, with drugs in his system and the school day already started without him, he probably needed this gig all things considered, “Guess so.” 

“That’s the spirit!” Pickles said. 

“We’ve been working on yesterday’s track, check this out.” Dick switched the output to the speakers and played the stripped back song, “I’ve got something from Nathan that might work over this, let me layer that in…” 

A few seconds later, slightly off-beat growls chimed in. 

Pickles grimaced, switching the vocal track back off, “Not quite, but he can re-record. I think it’s workable now. Just needs a bassline.” 

Now, all eyes were on William. 

To make matters worse, the door opened again and the rest of the band stepped inside. 

“Thought you went outside for a smoke or something, couldn’t find you,” Nathan began, then his attention shifted to William, “Holy shit, the guy’s back.” 

“Yay Williams!” Toki met William with a strangling hug, “Knews you’d comes back!” 

“Yay, it’s me.” William coughed out, not very excited by all of this. His mind was foggy from the various drugs in his system, but he was still very aware of the fact that the life he’d built for himself was in shambles now. 

“Sticking around this time, or just going to quit again?” Runke asked bluntly after Toki released him. 

“Do I get a choice?” 

“I mean, you’ll get paid if you stay for the full tour.” Pickles said, “The checks come at the end.” 

William considered that if he was in this deep, he could really use the money, “Then I guess I’ll stay.” 

“This is sounding half decent.” Runke added, listening to the track, “Just needs-” 

William interrupted him, “A bassline, I know. Guess I’ll go do that now since everything seems to be riding on me now!” 

“I was going to attempt it myself, but please, be my guest.” Runke droned with a scowl, still as ghoulish as the first day William met him. 

“Sure.” The track ended and the silence deafening as William just sat there, all eyes on him. 

He’d never written any kind of music, just played shitty covers from tabs. How the hell was this going to work?  

Nathan stepped forward, “Hey, you don’t need to stay if you really don’t want to. I thought we sounded really good together as a band, the five of us, but that was because we all wanted it. It’s got to be a team effort.” 

Pickles nodded in agreement, “What he said.” 

William normally didn’t dump all his traumas on others, but with his inhibitions lowered he spilled all the beans, “I don’t want to be here, but I’ve already lost my job just by being here. To make matters worse, genius over there drugged me up so I can’t even apply for a new position because that requires a drug test that I’ll fail, and most importantly my kid thinks I’m here doing the band thing and I’d hate to just be another disappointment in her life.” 

William took a deep breath, and kept going, “She’s got enough of that between myself and her mother, and I’ve failed enough teenagers already for one lifetime in the past week. So, like it or not, you’re stuck with me so I can get that paycheck and let Trinity know she can go to art school like she wants to. Just tell me what to do, I’ll do it, and then I’d like to go sleep somewhere that isn’t a van, and maybe get some fucking pants?” 

He rubbed his temples, and winced at the pain radiating out from his bruised nose, “Please?” 

Pickles nudged Toki, “Go see if Skwissgaar has some pants for him, hm Toki?” 

Toki rushed the door, “Okee bye!” 

Runke muttered something under his breath in another language.

William tried to catch his attention, “Did you, uh, have any bassline ideas since you were going to do it and all?”

“Ah collaboration! The mother of invention.” Dick chimed in.

“You shut the hell up.” Wiliam grunted to the taller man, “Just do the buttons and switches, I don’t want to hear another word from you unless its critical.” 

Runke huffed, almost a chuckle, “I have some thoughts. Let’s work it out in the booth.”

William didn’t want to be alone with this guy either, but anything was better than Dick, “Lets.” 

“If it brings you any comfort, I’m also not wearing any pants, heh.” Runke said once the booth door clanked shut behind them.

William’s gaze flicked down to sunburnt legs sticking out fron under a kilt, “Didn’t need to know that.” 

“But aren’t you glad you do?” 

“No, can’t say I am.”

The bit of amusement that had been on the other man’s face melted away. Oh god, had he been flirting? William hoped not, today was already bad enough, he did not need to deal with unwanted hospitality on top of it all.

“Just get comfortable, Toki is useless when that Swede steps into the picture. You’re not getting your pants any time soon.” 

“Good to know.” William shifted awkwardly, Runke turning away to pick a bass off the rack. 

Pickles’ voice crackled in through the talk-back mic, “Hey guys, Nate and I are going to step out for a smoke, you two got this under control?”

“Or do you want us to come back and babysit?” Nathan added. 

“We’ll be fine, take your time.” Runke replied after slinging a broad leather strap over his shoulder, “Pick something.” 

William appraised the rack of instruments and landed on a puke green firebird, an approximation of how he felt right now. There was a lot riding on this, primarily income for the foreseeable future as well as wanting to do right by his daughter.

In order to do that, he’d have to play nice with this rather strange bunch, and figure this out for real. He slipped the black strap on and tightened it, bringing the instrument up over his stomach. 

“Alright, let’s do this.” He said, trying to sound sure of himself but as usual his lisp got in the way of any ounce of seriousness in his voice. 

“Play the track, softly.” Runke said, and Dick did as asked.

“I was thinking about drop-D, something that could follow the percussion in near-synch, just enough delay to be audible.” Runke began, starting to play some chords.

William studied his fingers and tried to mirror it, but he knew he was muddying it up. Regardless, he played on through the whole track three times. Dick quickly processed the recordings, and seemed to be stuck on something.

“Sorry to pipe in, but this is important.” Dick said into the mic after a few minutes had passed.

“What?”

“So, I recorded both of your instruments separately, and I’m going to play both back now. Just listen and, uh, tell me if you’re hearing what I’m hearing.” 

The booth quickly filled with sound and the two men paid close attention. 

“Alright, here’s Runke.” 

The bassline was there, barely. Clean enough, and as promised following the percussion closely. Pickles drowned most of it out, leaving little space for any other sound in his blasts.

“Ok, it’s fine, good even, but now Willy I’m going to play yours.” 

The song kept going, but with the bass track switched.

“Ugh, I suck.” William lamented, his thick notes dancing all over the song with little regard for anything else going on. He was practically his own permanent solo, not obvious, but an extra layer for anyone looking to discover.

Runke chuffed, “I can’t believe it, but it is better.” 

“Way fuckin’ better! Willy, you’re incredible!” 

William screwed his face up as it dawned on him that this did, somehow, sound better. The bassline dragged everything down into a slimy bog that was perfect for the abusive sound they wanted to achieve. 

“What the hell…”

Runke flicked off the mic, “I don’t know how you did that, but you’re going to have to keep it up. Practice like your life depends on it, study well. The others will have questions, but we both know the answer is that you have no idea what you’re doing.” 

“Yeah, that’s not entirely wrong, but-”

Runke cut him off, “You cannot let them know that, they’ll eat you alive.” 

“Well I don’t know about that.” 

“Everyone is depending on you. You heard them, you’re the secret weapon. Act like it. Chin up, William, embrace this.” 

William knew Runke was right, but that didn’t mean he had to like that fact, “I’ll do my best, whatever I’ve been doing seems to be working so I’ll just keep doing that I guess.” 

“I guess you will.” 

Runke flipped the mic back on, “Transcribe the master into tabs, I’ll learn it just in case.” 

“In case of what?” William pressed, suddenly finding himself possessive of this new power. If everyone needed him so badly, this meant he’d have some leverage right?

“In case your best isn’t good enough.” Runke replied bluntly. 

William’s mouth hung open. Again, he was right. Again, this upset him. 

Runke, however, was already opening the door and taking his leave, “Go get some pants, hm?” 

“That’s probably a good idea…” William followed behind him, tossing the bass back on the rack haphazardly, “Where could I do that, exactly?” 

“Hotel is a block away, or you could try waiting for Toki.” Runke spat out the last few words, very obviously bothered by the guitarist’s absence, “I warn you though, has not worked well for me of late.” 

Both were bad options, but William ultimately decided that walking down the street in his underwear was the lesser of two evils. At least then he’d be somewhere Dick wasn’t. 

Finally, after a very embarassing jog through lunchtime traffic, William found himself in a clean hotel room with a backpack full of clothes. The band’s current manager, Charles, gave him a quick rundown of the specifics of what was happening. 

William was glad to finally be in the company of a sane person as he zipped up a fresh pair of cargo shorts, “Is there a phone I could use? Really need to call home, check in with the family.” 

“Of course, you can use mine for now and I’ll make sure you have your own soon.” Charles passed him a Blackberry, the fancy kind with the sliding keyboard.

“Thanks, I’ll just be a minute.”

“Take all the time you need, we’ll resume recording after dinner. Give you some time to rest and acclimate. Heard that you returned to us under less than ideal circumstances.”

“Something like that. I’m not going to dwell on it, looks like you’ll have better lawyers than I’ll be able to afford so just going to deal with things as they come.” William replied, waving the expensive phone in the air for emphasis. 

Charles just blinked, “I’ll leave you to it,” and left, closing the hotel room door behind him.

William sat on the edge of the single bed in the room and dialed a memorized number, Trinity would be in school at this hour so he called Dani instead. It rang a few times, then an automated message played,

“You’ve reached Dani, leave a message and I’ll get back to you ASAP!” 

There was no way William could summarize what just happened in one minute, so he just let her know that Trinity needed to be picked up from school today as he was suddenly unavailable, and to call him back as soon as she could at this number as he’d lost his phone. 

That would have to do, and while he wanted to stay up and wait for her to call him back, fatigue kicked in fast and the call of those pristine white pillows was too strong to ignore…

Chapter Text

It was the last day in Atlanta, and while Skwisgaar had been slacking off with his new ‘muse’ Toki, Trindle and Abigail were hard at work on the next challenge: creating a new band logo for “Dethklok”. 

Charles had been understanding when giving them this assignment, “I know you’re not graphic designers, but you’re all we’ve got unless you want to use this.” 

He’d held up a napkin sketch of completely illegible scribbles, looking like a child has scratched the paper.

“Is that even letters?” Abigail asked. 

Trindle laughed, “Someone’s trying to be edgy, but this kind of logo is a dime a dozen.”

Charles inhaled, “I see. Trindle, you seem knowledgeable about this, so I’ll leave you to it. Just make sure the letters can be read…” 

And so, the past 48 hours had been a rush of designing, re-designing, and altering. They’d decided on a clock motif at least, that was easy enough to decide, but balancing the elements was proving to be a challenge. 

Then, Trindle got an idea.

“You know,” She began as they sat at the tiny table in the hotel room, scattered with pages, all variations on the same thing, “We could make this a unique shape. Doesn’t have to fit in a box.” 

Abigail nodded, studying all the scraps, “I know, but for the sake of merchandising we’d want it to be easy to reproduce as a pin or patch.” 

“That’s fair, however…” Trindle picked a few tossed designs up, ripping a gear-clock off one and the lettering off another, sticking them together on the top of the pile, “This is pretty badass don’t you think?” 

Abigail took a few seconds to look at it, taking away the clock with long arms and putting it back, “I suppose we could have variants…” 

“Oh, and get this!” Another tear, scrapping axes away from yet another failure, “Now it’s dangerous!” 

Another moment of silence as Abigail studied it, finally clicking her tongue in approval, “Well, we’re almost out of time, and I don’t have any better ideas. Make a clean sketch, and we’ll take it up to Charles.” 

“You mean you’ll take it up to Charles.” Trindle teased.

“It’s your work, you deserve credit,” Abigail replied, oblivious to the insinuation from the younger women.

“And I know you’ll give it to me, but I also know you’re itching to go see the guy. One on one.” 

Abigail rolled her eyes, “We’ve been over this already, I don’t-”

“You’re not interested in romance. That’s fine. But with Skwis giving us both the cold shoulder now that he’s got Toki ,” Trindle stuck her tongue out, not exactly thrilled with her boss’ current favorite pass time, “You deserve some time with a friend.” 

“What’s wrong with Toki?” Abigail pressed, efficiently changing the topic.

Trindle went with it, needing to vent a bit, “Nothing is wrong with him specifically, seems like a nice guy if a bit eccentric. I just took this job to study under Skwisgaar, no offense, and if he’s a ghost…” Trindle trailed off, knowing Abigail would know her implication. 

“You won’t be able to move your career on as easily, I understand. I guess I’ve been looking at this from the perspective of a friend.”

“He’s happier, sure. But where is this going to leave us if he runs away to play guitar. He didn’t even glance at your costume concepts for William, just told you to do what you liked.”

Abigail took a moment to reply, “I don’t think he’s going to go that far.”

That moment gave Trindle enough information, if Abigail wasn’t certain about Skwisgaar’s next move, no one was. She was his right hand, after all. 

“I hope not. I didn’t take an apprenticeship with Eric con Wiechlinghammer for this gig.” Trindle sighed, “I’m not complaining, this has been a great experience. It just can’t end like this, approval from Skwisgaar is going to go far for my next moves.” 

“It won’t.” Abigail stood up, “I’m going to go find him and get you a straight answer on what to expect moving forward. I agree, we need some more direction moving forward. Will’s costumes should have been more of his direction, not mine.

She started moving away and continued, “You get some fresh air and a snack, then wrap up that sketch. Charles can wait.” 

Trindle watched her walk out of the room, “Aright, guess I could go for a drink.” 

Some time later, she found herself at the pleasantly empty hotel bar and ordered some funky local cider made with peaches. 

When the glass arrived, it wasn’t the only thing that sat down in her vicinity. 

A few seats down, the new, well old but now returned, bassist sat down one stool away. He and Trindle had gotten somewhat acquainted during the rush that was his costume fittings in between recording sessions, so she didn’t mind. 

“I’ll have one of those,” he told the bartender, pointing to Trindle’s frosty glass. 

“Didn’t take you as a cider man.” She replied. 

“It’s not a beer? Whatever, I’ll try it.” William shrugged. 

Trindle took a testing sip of her own beverage and was pleasantly surprised, “Well if you don’t care for it, I’ll take yours. Not bad.”

He just nodded, reaching for his glass when it was shoved in front of him. When his thick hand wrapped around the cup, he pulled it back with a wince. 

Trindle noticed that his fingers were crossed with cuts, looking like he’d untangled barbed wire. 

“What happened to you?” 

“Don’t like playing with a pick.” He grunted, gingerly picking up the glass with his other hand after wrapping a napkin around it, “Hm, pretty good.” 

Trindle kept the conversation going, “So what brings you down here in the middle of the day? Recording over?” 

“Somewhat, we just need vocals and I decided to remove myself from that, let everyone else fight over the lyrics.” William explained. 

“Sounding good?” 

“I guess? Toki disappeared so he forfeit any opinion, Pickles and Nathan are on board at least, Runke is being Runke.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“I don’t think he knows what he wants.” William ruminated for a moment, but before Trindle could say anything he kept going, “He wants Toki on board, but Toki’s more interested in someone else, and he’s not taking it well. Tried to buddy up to me but… I don’t know. He’s a bit much, not sure I want to associate with him outside of what is required. Professionally.” 

“I like guys who are a bit much, heh. Afraid of a little personality?” 

William raised an eyebrow, “He brought a jug full of goat’s blood into the studio today and started recording how it sounded to play a guitar soaked in blood. Now my bass is also covered in goat’s blood, and I might have contracted something from playing it.” 

Trindle laughed, “That sounds like something he’d do. Norwegians take their metal very seriously.” 

“Feels like more of a circus act to me.” William grumbled, “And then Dick… Ugh, what I’d give to get literally any other producer, but Pickles is insistent that we need him.” 

“Can’t say I’ve interacted much with him, what’s his problem?” Trindle asked, enjoying getting all this delicious drama while sipping on cider. 

“He’s fucking insane! Will interrupt a session to tell us to play faster, or change the tuning of our instruments, or some other half baked idea, and it just becomes a hot mess.” 

“Does it sound good though?” 

“Sometimes. Usually not though, we’ll just revert right back. I’d like to revert back home.” William muttered into his drink. The silence that followed was full of a palpable malcontent as he bounced his knee. 

Trindle didn’t want him to shut up, so she asked the first thing that came to her mind, “You mentioned you’re usually a teacher, right?” 

William chuckled darkly, “It is what I’d prefer to be doing, but it seems like I’m doing something else for now. At least my daughter is happy.”

“I’m sure she is, able to brag to all her little friends about how cool daddy is.” 

He finally cracked a small smile, “Yeah. Just hope she’s been doing that at school and not slacking off. Her mom works a lot, doesn’t really supervise…” 

“If it’s any consolation, I dropped out of 10th grade and am doing just fine.” Trindle said with a grin, “Wanted to focus on my craft full time, used to sell handmade skirts and corsets at renaissance festivals and night markets with my girlfriend. Well, ex-girlfriend. Bitch stole all our patterns and ditched.” 

“You don’t have a degree?” William asked, eyes wide. 

“Nah, it just wasn’t for me.” 

He scratched his cheek, thick stubble making a harsh sound, “School isn’t really optional.” 

Trindle grinned, “Difference in opinion.” 

“It’s not… Look, I’m glad you’re doing alright but have you ever considered going back for your GED?” 

“Not really, I’ve always had help where I needed it, or just figured things out on my own. I don’t need to know who the king of Rome was to make a suit.” Trindle took another long sip of her drink.

“Rome had an emperor, not a king… But you’re right, that’s not important. School isn’t supposed to be for memorizing facts, it’s so you can make educated choices in your life with a well-rounded background.” 

“Only background school gave me was the detention hall.” Trindle groaned.

William reached out, patting her shoulder, “I’m sorry it failed you. It’s not my position to judge anyone’s life choices, you’ve certainly worked hard to become a skilled professional, and I admire that. You should be proud of where you are.” 

Trindle turned her head to look into weirdly sincere eyes.

Her father had left long before she was born, and frankly none of the men in her life had ever paid her much attention, except negative attention. 

Working with Skwisgaar had been one positive, but he was quite sparse with compliments, especially towards lower ranking staff. 

This was absurd. William had known her for all of a few days, and he was proud of her? Admired her? 

“What the fuck?” She blurted. 

He immediately drew back, “Sorry, didn’t mean to overstep. Jeez, that was pretty weird of me.” William stared down into his glass. 

“No… Well, yeah, it was weird. But it was nice. Thank you.” 

“Oh. You’re welcome. I think I’m just too comfortable, you remind me of my daughter a lot, again hope that’s not weird to say.” 

They both took a drink. 

Again, this was strange, but it wasn’t really that odd. She considered that the man was probably old enough to be her dad, and not trying to be a creep like a lot of the male clients she worked with. Frankly it was a bit refreshing.  

“Must be a pretty rad kid you’ve got.” 

Once again, he perked up, “Absolutely, she’s bright and sharp. Sometimes too sharp, but that’s going to help her in the real world. I can only hope it won’t get her into trouble.”

“Trouble can be good. Builds character.” Trindle winked. 

“Don’t tell me that, it’s just going to make me worry!” 

“I’m sure she’s going to find her way just fine, especially with you backing her up, papa bear.” 

William smiled at nothing in particular, “Thanks. You know, when this is all over, would it be ok if I asked you to meet her? It might be nice for her to get to know someone who ‘gets’ her.” 

“Sure, why not. And don’t worry, I won’t tell her to drop out.” 

They stayed together at the bar a while longer, but Trindle knew she’d eventually have to go wrap up the logo design. So, after one more drink, she excused herself from William’s company. 

On the way back to her room, she passed Abigail, “What’s the word?” 

Abigail looked less than thrilled, “Would you like the plain description, or the audio experience?” 

“Huh?” 

Abigail rolled her eyes, “They’re fucking. Loudly. Circled back twice. Still going.” 

Trindle let out an exasperated puff of air, “Are you serious?” 

“Deadly.” 

“Good for them I guess? If it’s any consolation, William let me know the rest of the band is just as frustrated at Toki’s disappearance.” 

“I know.” Abigail rubbed her temple, “As much as I want to be happy for Skwisgaar, this is not going to end well if they don’t snap out of it and come back to reality.” 

“The show will at least force Toki out to perform, you’ll get a chance to talk to Skwisgaar then.” Trindle offered. 

“I’m counting on it.” Abigail then kept going on her way, and Trindle unlocked her room and got to work on the logo. 

After three iterations, she was happy with it, and phoned Charles to let her know as such. He instructed her to meet him in the lobby, and when she arrived the whole band was present with him, a mix of excitement and irritation on their faces. 

“Trindle has, ah, something to show you all.” Charles announced as she approached, and the gaggle of men all turned her way.

Cutting to the chase, she held up her drawing, “Viola! Your logo, dear Dethklok.” 

Nathan was the first to speak up, “That’s sick.” 

“Hell yeah,” Pickles added, elbowing the larger man before stepping up to get a closer look. 

“I’ll have scans of this sent to the label, they can digitize it for the release of the singles that Dick is wrapping up the production on as we speak.” Charles said, nodding approvingly. 

“Glad we were able to meet the deadline.” Trindle replied. 

Then, the voices of dissent started to chime in, “I don’t know, it’s a bit soft. Should have used mine.” Runke commented. 

“Soft? It ams has axes! Yous soft.” Toki bit back, arms folded.

“I meant the font.” 

“It was initially sharper, sure, but someone wanted it to be legible,” Trindle replied, gesturing to Charles, “Tried to balance text with some symbology to add edge, and make sure it was unique.” 

“I can’t market a squiggle.” Charles replied. 

“Oh come on, this thing is badass!” Pickles said, defending the drawing further. 

Runke sighed, becoming apathetic to the issue, “Whatever, at least it is hand drawn. Can’t stand when logos are made with stock digital fonts.” 

“For what it’s worth, I like it.” William added last, staying back. 

Toki stuck his tongue out, “Oh finally Williams likes something! Should gets hims a likes somethings award.” 

William didn’t have a comeback ready and just stared blankly at Toki for a few seconds before finally saying, “I’ll take a check if that’s the award.” 

“Everything’s about the money to you, hm?” Runke replied. 

“Yes actually. I have a life I am responsible for, and bills, and all that other adult stuff you man-children are avoiding in your little makeup and blood fantasy world.” 

“Fucks off.” Toki shot back at him. 

Pickles tried to calm things down, but it was no use, “Guys, come on.” 

“Oh no, I’m here for the long haul. You’re stuck with me! At least I’m actually participating and not just running away after recording rushed guitar parts.” 

“My parts ams great!” The quiet after Toki said that was painful. 

“Seriously?” 

Runke quietly said, “I re-recorded the bulk of your tracks when you couldn’t be found.” 

“I played perfectlies! This ams somes bullshits!” Toki took a step back, away from Runke and William, nearly bumping into Nathan. 

“The songs changed while you were away, dude.” Pickles explained.

“We couldn’t find you so, yeah, Runke did the new solos.” William added. 

“Was going to teach you the rhythm parts on the drive tomorrow.” Runke finished. 

“Rhythm? Fuckin’ hell! Seriously? I shoulds haves the solos, not yous! Ams the faster player.” 

“Your arms will be screaming by the end of the show, don’t worry.” Runke grinned in a way that didn’t inspire confidence that he was looking out for Toki much anymore, in fact it looked to be the latter. 

Trindle wondered how much drama happened in the studio, and how long this could go before boiling over. 

“Come to the sessions next time and you can have lead back.” 

Toki desperately looked to Pickles and Nathan for support, “You can’ts lets this happen!” 

“Sorry Toki, you didn’t show up, so Runke picked up the slack.” Nathan said bluntly, voice scratchy from all the recording. 

“He amen’ts even want to be here!” 

“Common story.” William said, having no sympathy for the slacker. 

Exasperated, Toki sputtered out a few more words in Norwegian then stalked off. 

“Uh, what did he just say there?” Charles asked once Toki was out of earshot. 

Runke narrowed his eyes, “He cursed us all. And I’m not going to forget what you said either.” He jabbed a finger into William’s chest, “What looks like fantasy to you is my livelihood, my art, and my passion. After the tour, go back to your little schoolhouse. I live for my music, and won’t have some asshole tell me I’m wrong for that. Deal with enough negativity back home, don’t want it in my own band.” 

Before William could reply, Runke went the way of Toki and disappeared out the front door. 

“Should you go after them?” Trindle asked, trying to break the anxious quiet. 

“Nah, they’ll get it out of their systems and come back,” Pickles replied, “I’m going to go get a beer.” 

As expected, Nathan followed close behind, then Charles politely excused himself with the drawing, leaving Trindle alone in the lobby. 

Unsure of what to do, she just went back to her room, but stopped short when she saw someone standing outside the door, lingering behind the corner just out of sight. 

That someone banged on the door, “Opens up Abigail!” It was Skwisgaar. 

Whatever she said in reply didn’t travel down the hall, but some time later Skwisgaar continued, “Ams nots quittings, so stops sayings that!”

Another pause. 

“Is just a short breaks! Ams alloweds!” 

Trindle pressed her back to the wall, inching as close as she could while still staying concealed.

“Once the tour is overs, wills be back to usuals! …I don’t knows if Tokis will be a parts of thats! And so what if he ams?” 

Trindle wasn’t sure how to feel about this revelation.

“Fines! I wills!” 

Skwisgaar started walking her way, so Trindle dashed away and hid in the stairwell until he had enough time to go away. Then, when she got back to her room, she found Abigail pacing furiously. 

“Skwisgaar is a fucking tool.” 

“We knew that already.” 

“He’s taking the rest of the tour off! And probably longer! My advice? Get what you can from him, then bail.” 

“That bad, huh?” Trindle said, sitting down on the bed to not be in Abigail’s way. 

Abigail paused, “Maybe I’m being dramatic, but this is my only chance. You know how the industry treats abandoned assistants.”

“Trust me, I get it.” 

“We’ll just have to stick together and get through this… Any other bad news for me?” Abigail asked. 

Trindle shrugged, “Depends, is the band being at Toki’s throat a good or bad thing in this situation?” 

“We’ll just have to wait and see, huh?” 

“Yup.” 

Abigail flopped down next to Trindle, “You know what? Fuck all those men, let’s go get some stupidly fancy dinner and charge it on Skwisgaar’s card.” 

“Hell yeah!” And off they went for several rounds of sushi, stumbling back into the hotel late at night to get some rest before the long haul to New York began. 

Chapter Text

It was way too early for this shit. 

They left the hotel at the crack of dawn to head towards the next show, and no one appreciated that early wake-up call. 

Runke attempted to show Toki the rhythm parts for the new songs on their drive in the back of the van, and that went about as well as Pickles had expected: Terribly. 

Pickles figured he’d have to step in, but the fact they couldn’t even get through a single part was disheartening. There wasn’t a choice in the matter, they would get through this tour, but if everyone would have all their limbs still attached when that last show came around was still to be seen.  

After about an hour of venom being spat back and forth between the men, with Skwisgaar awkwardly trying to defend Toki while not getting too involved and only heating Runke up more, Pickles climbed out of the passenger seat to break it up, excusing himself from the constantly interrupted conversation he’d been having with Charles about their record sales being frankly astronomical. 

“Alright, break it up you two, let me get in here.” The back of the tour van was cramped, so Pickles ended up nearly decapitating Skwisgaar with his guitar as he squatted down on an amp, “Toki I know you want to play lead, but I don’t think we have enough time for that right now so you’re going to have to learn these parts, and then we can talk about switching you two again.” 

Toki just glared up at him, “I don’t likes it, but fines. Will learns them from you, Pickles.” 

Runke stood up, hunched over as he shoved past Pickles, “I’ll be in the front.” he grunted. 

Toki shot the middle finger to his back. It was genuinely sad how quickly the two men who’d regarded each other as brothers became so spiteful towards each other, but Pickles had seen plenty of similar situations happen. Best friends start a band, and once things get real, the relationship gets put through the meat grinder. It takes a strong bond to survive that, and these two just didn’t have it, or didn’t care to try. 

Pickles quickly learned that the only way to get Toki to rehearse was to involve Skwisgaar, however with Skwisgaar around, Toki’s attention span was less than that of a goldfish, constantly getting distracted by the man. 

Pickles sighed, looming over the experienced and novice guitarists with his own instrument sitting on his knee. 

“Toki, we’ve got a lot of songs to get through on this drive, and if we focus I’ll leave ya alone for most of it, but you’ve got to get it together.” 

Toki glared up at him, “Ams getting it together, I sounds great! Don’t you agrees, Skwisgaar?” 

The blonde nodded, “Ja, sounds ok to me.” 

“That’s nice, but it don’t sound good to me, so we need to go through it again.” Pickles lamented, starting to pick out the intro to one of their new songs, slowed down, “You’ve got to play it like this, ok?” 

“Ams doings that!” Toki played it back at full speed, and the sound was muddy. 

Miraculously, Skwisgaar pointed it out, “Yous not silencing the other strings, and hits this one.” 

Toki stared back at Skwisgaar for a moment, “I dids?” 

Pickles was impressed, and had an idea, “Skwisgaar, why don’t you grab a guitar too, we can all practice together.” 

Skwisgaar hesitated for a moment, but did as Pickles suggested.

Pickles demonstrated one more time, calling out the notes as he went, “Let’s try that again.” 

Once again, Toki didn’t slow down and made mistakes. 

“Yous did the thing again.” Skwisgaar commented, his own playing very precise and stiff. It sounded too stilted, but Pickles saw some genuine skill in there. Toki had talent as well, both men were just unrefined in opposite directions. 

“No ways!” Toki exclaimed. 

“Yeah, you did. That’s why I’m asking you to slow down and focus. I’m not just going over the basics because Skwisgaar is here, however you learned to play, I think you might have skipped a few lessons.” 

From the passenger seat, Runke scoffed, “Hestkuk thrives on chaos, never was a problem for me. But, Toki could benefit from your teaching.” 

“Shuts up! Yous the one who taught me, so it just means yous suck too!” Toki looked ready to fight, but didn’t move to follow through, content to sit on the floor leaning up against Skwisgaar. His daily makeup had gotten less and less extreme over the tour, currently only sporting some eyeliner and black lipstick, slightly smudged for reasons Pickles didn’t want to linger on. 

Runke just looked back at Pickles for a moment, his dour expression telling the man everything he needed to know about what teaching Toki was like. The man was passionate, but lacked any attention to detail. That was a hard skill to teach, so Pickles just tried to focus on encouraging Toki to play more precisely. 

“Ah, play that again Pickle, want to makes sure I gots it right.” Skwisgaar said, breaking the awkward silence. 

Pickles was surprised at how easy Skwisgaar was to work with. He was barely keeping up with the lesson, but his role in keeping Toki grounded and on-task was essential. Pickles was still generally frustrated by this turn of events, but at least one person was on board with this session. 

Toki nodded, taking the advice after Pickles finished demonstrating, strumming the bars back at the slower pace. He incorrectly played a note, stopped himself, and started over without a word, getting through it the second time. 

“That was good, do it a few more times and just get a little faster on each pass,” Pickles instructed, and things finally started going well. It would be a long day on the highway, but maybe it wouldn’t be the torture he’d been bracing for all night. 

Meanwhile, he wondered how things were going in the other car. With Skwisgaar having been kicked out by Abigail and Trindle, Nathan and William had opted to ride with the ladies. It was probably a gay old time over there, carefree and not a last-ditch attempt to get the band in order before their largest show yet. 

Pickles wished he could be there instead, mingling with much more beautiful company, but he knew this would likely be his only chance to get through to Toki so he bit the bullet and rode amongst their gear. 

At the wheel, Charles mostly kept to himself, only piping up to ask if they wanted him to pull off whenever there was a rest stop. Runke seemed to not want to chat either, scratching away in a notebook for most of the ride. 

So, Pickles kept trudging along. Teaching two men the parts made it take longer, especially as it became apparent just how little Skwisgaar knew about the instrument, but at least Toki was actually trying, face screwed up in concentration as he worked his way through a whole song. 

Eventually, Charles pulled over and announced it was time for lunch, stopping in front of a diner. A few spots down was the other vehicle, Nathan leaning against it while talking with Abigail. Off to the side, William was speaking with Trindle, or at least until she spotted the others, rushing over.

“How’s it going?” She asked, then lowered her voice, “Got room for one more? Will’s sweet and all but I think he’s trying to be my dad or something.” 

“Why not, though know you will be subjected to musical monotony.” Runke replied, shoes thumping on the ground as he slid out of the passenger seat. 

“It ain’t that bad, at least not anymore. Toki’s making good progress, and Skwisgaar ain’t too bad either.” Pickled said, patting the taller men on the back. 

“Wes great, aren’ts we Skwisgaar?” Toki asked proudly. 

“Is going well.” He agreed. 

Trindle smiled, “Glad to hear it!”

“You all can stay out here and starve if you want, but I’m getting food.” Runke announced.

Trindle followed right behind him. Pickles had to laugh, at least someone still liked the guy. 

Everyone filed in soon after, taking over a long table at the back of the diner. It was loud and messy, everyone grabbing food off each other's plates, speaking over each other, and Pickles just had to sit back and laugh.

He’d never really had a normal family, his brother made sure of that, so he imagined this was a taste of what that might be like. Charles, stoic as ever, sitting at the head of the table with Abigail, watching as their feral children pounced on each other like hyenas. 

Not one to be left out, Pickles dove in, snatching some of Nathan’s onion rings.

“Hey, get your own!” Nathan protested. 

Pickles shoved a whole ring in his mouth in response, “Nah.” 

While he was distracted, Toki took the opportunity to snatch one of his wings. Runke smacked him in the back of the head, taking the wing from him as Toki dropped it by surprise, “What the hell!”  

About a half hour later, the waitstaff had to practically kick them out after a round of dessert. Somehow, a milkshake ended up thrown at the wall, and that must have been the final straw. 

Charles slipped the waitress some cash as an apology as the band filed back out. 

Pickles considered that they may want to kick someone out of the van to make room for Trindle, it was pretty tight since he needed room to practice with Toki and Skwisgaar, but before he could make that call Trindle crammed herself next to Runke in the passenger seat. 

Wow. He did not see that coming. Out of all of them, it was Runke who was able to land a chick? He made eye contact with the guitarist who seemed completely nonplussed by this turn of events. Pickles made a lewd gesture with his hands, to which Runke just rolled his eyes, pulling out his notebook to show Trindle whatever pretentious crap he’d scrawled onto the pages. 

The second leg of the journey was just as tedious, but by the time they arrived in New York, they had a competent rhythm guitarist and nearly acceptable understudy. 

As soon as Charles parked, Toki burst out of the rear of the van with Skwisgaar in tow, the pair conveniently disappearing for load in. 

“You better be back for wardrobe!” Pickles shouted after him, receiving no response. 

Charles stood beside him, “He will be. The only thing Toki likes more than… whatever it is those two are up to, is the attention on stage.” 

“I know, but I still felt like I had to say it.” 

“And I’ll drag him back if I have to.” Nathan said, stepping up to the pair, “That’s probably my responsibility now, huh?” 

Pickles wasn’t sure, “It can be if you want.” 

“Right now your responsibility is setting your gear up. Hop to it.” Charles said before wandering off himself. 

Pickles orchestrated the chaos, directing a small army of roadies and crew who arrived from the wings. When he stepped out onto the stage, he let out a low whistle. It’d been a while since he’d performed on such a large stage, this would be the largest venue of the tour, outside of the finale in Los Angeles that is. 

Before he knew it, it was showtime, and things went shockingly smooth. 

So, of course, it all had to go to hell afterwards. The afterparty was their reward for so much hard work, and Pickles absolutely needed it. He guzzled down more than a few drinks in succession with the rest of the band, and once he was floating on air, he planted himself down in a sea of groupies, a lovely new feature now that they’d made a name for themselves as Dethklok. 

He would have liked to seek out Abigail, truthfully, but the woman never stuck around for afterparties and he was fine with the current arrangements. Very, very fine with them. Good booze, lovely women, the knowledge that the show was a hit, yeah Pickles was in a good place. 

This pleasure only lasted a few blissful minutes of heavy petting as soon enough, some of the girls were distracted by something. There was shuffling, shouting, and a heavy thwack. Pickles forced himself to pick his head up and check it out. 

On the other side of the room, Nathan and William were holding back Toki and Runke respectively, the men shouting at each other in slurred Norwegian as the crowd of partygoers kept their distance. 

“What the hell.” Pickles groaned, his happy buzz becoming a sour wave of nausea. 

Runke jerked his head back, headbutting William who immediately hit the deck, blood gushing out of his nose. He didn’t charge, instead stepping up to the squirming Toki, knife brandished, “You seem to have forgotten everything I’ve sacrificed for you, hm. One taste of opportunity and you abandon me. Know I won’t forget this.” He nicked Toki on the cheek with his blade and stalked off, shoving past Pickles on his way out. 

William was close behind, running after him with one hand cupping his face, “Hey! Stop! You broke my nose!” 

Pickles got up and snagged him before he could go further, “Whoa there, let him go.”

“Let him go? Sherioushly?” William was also very drunk, breath tangy and sharp, lisp stronger than usual. It had been very obvious that he wasn’t used to heavy drinking, and Nathan had proved to be a terrible influence, pouring shot after shot for the group.

“We’ll figure it out once everyone sobers up ok… I’m way too drunk for this. And so are you.” The last thing Pickles needed was William picking a fight with a guy he was pretty sure would kill the other man without even blinking. 

William grunted in reply, swaying where he stood. 

Pickles studied his broad face, “Move your hand, lemme see if it’s actually broken.”

William huffed, face squeezed up in pain and frustration, “I’ve broken it before, I know what broken feels like.” 

Gingerly, Pickles poked at the squished feature, “Feels alright to me, maybe just bruised, ladies can you get this man some ice?” 

Not long after, William was seated with a bag of ice on his face and a rather large woman on his lap. That seemed to make him happy. 

It didn’t last long though as something else caught the bassists attention. 

“Guess who’s back! I brought so many freaking drugs, baby!” 

“Thank god.” Pickles groaned, waving Dick over. Little bit of whatever he has was sure to brighten the mood, and make William forget all about his nose. 

William’s face paled, “Oh no.” 

“Oh yeah! What happened to you, is that blood? Can’t really tell with all the makeup…” Dick moved closer to William, which sent the man bolting clumsily for the door, nearly slamming into a table.  

Once again, Pickles had to chase after William, if only to make sure the man didn’t fall off a ledge or something stupid like that. Instead, he trundled through the first door he found and spotted something that definitely did not bring him joy. 

Runke and Trindle were back together, sharing a joint in the green room and staring daggers at the intruders as Pickles peered over William’s shoulder.

“Privacy, perhaps?” Runke grunted. 

Trindle blew smoke, and Pickled pulled William back out of there, kicking the door shut.  

“He’sch a bad influence on her.” William slurred, blood still pouring down his face as he pouted, “Why’s sche like him so much. He’s an ass! I’m not an ass!”  

“I know, but she’s a grown woman, and can make her own choices. Honestly kinda glad one of us is getting anything. Started to lose faith in womankind after what happened with-” 

“Runke’s not getting schit from her!” 

Suddenly, William wrenched the door back open and began staggering over towards the pair.

Pickles shook his head, “Ah jeez.” 

Whatever William decided to say to them got Runke heated, and it wasn’t long until William was back on the floor, shoved with some force. Pickles rushed over before things got more serious, head throbbing from trying to focus through the booze.

“Knock it off you two!” Trindle admonished, taking a step away from the scuffle. 

“I’m just defending myself.” Runke deadpanned, voice droning slow. 

“You knock it off! This guy is bad news!” William retorted, sitting up on his elbows, “I told you about the schit he pulled in the studio.” 

Trindle folded her arms, “What does it matter to you? I told you, I like interesting people. Needed a break from whatever the fuck you were trying to do with me today. You need to back off.”  

William winced, and Pickles started putting the pieces together, “Come on, we’re all drunk, high, and whatever else, let’s just let this crap go ok? Can we go back to the party now?” 

“I’m schtaying right here.” William deadpanned from the floor, “Think that chick you found me gave me schome bad gummies…” 

“Your father didn’t teach you not to take candy from strangers?” Runke teased flatly. 

William stared at the ceiling, “He wasch too busy killing my mother for that.” 

“Shit.” Trindle said.

“Finally, something interesting about you. What other secrets do you have for me?” Runke squatted down next to William. 

William stuck his tongue out, refusing to elaborate. Pickles noticed he was shivering, damn he really must be having a bad trip, and this situation was not helping. 

“Alright, leave him alone, let’s go.” 

Trindle seemed torn, an apology on her tongue but something holding it back, so she quietly left instead. Runke just glared down at him one last time before scoffing and taking off. 

Alone with William, Pickles had one more thing to say, “Dude, they’re just like, being goth together or something. I don’t know what your deal is, but get it together. I ain’t your babysitter, we’re all adults here. It’s bad enough I’ve had to watch Toki all day. Do you need the hospital or are you good?” 

William didn’t reply, simply turning away, so Pickles left and returned to the party, if he wanted to be a dick, he could be a dick alone. 

Or at least he tried to get back to the fun, instead a familiar scowl greeted him, turning away from Toki.

“Yous don’t let me finish my story!” Toki said, voice pitchy, “Was just getting to the good *hic* part where Runke kills the guy who gots his stupids boyfreind!” 

Magnus looked back at Toki a moment longer, “I heard enough, thank you Toki.” 

“Is likes yous story, Toki. Keeps telling me,” Skwisgaar insisted, eyes unfocused, “Poor Isacs, deads in hims underwears… Glad someone dids somethings-” 

Toki pressed a finger to Skwisgaar’s lips, “Shhhh yous not supposed to knows that, no one knows thats…” Toki giggled. 

Magnus interrupted Pickles’ eavesdropping on whatever history Toki was recalling, “You all sounded fine tonight, almost as good as the recording.” Magnus said, can of beer in his hand. 

“What do you want now?” Pickles groaned, snatching the beer for himself and downing it. 

“Just checking in,” He nodded towards where some members of the band were mentally throwing daggers at each other, tensions still high despite both guitarists having other company in tow, “Make sure those two don’t become a liability. I’ve got a lot of other acts interested in joining the tour… Real professionals.” 

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Neither of them have a legal passport. The Norwegian police are asking around about Toki. They’ve requested he be deported back into their custody. I was able to work a loophole for now, pull some strings because I understand that he’s essential to whatever it is you’re doing with this band, but I can only do so much…” Magnus left the veiled threat hanging in the air, “Plus, there’s also a lot of people who wanted the Real Snakes ‘n’ Barrels tour still…

“We’re all just runnin’ hot, it’ll work itself out.” Pickles offered, unsure. But, what he was sure of was that of all people, Magnus wasn’t going to ruin this.  

Magnus clicked his tongue, “Boiling hot.” 

“Fuck off, Magnus.” Nathan said, stepping up next to Pickles. 

“Want me to fuck off with the funding too?” Magnus retorted, standing his ground. Pickles desperately wanted to fight the guy, but with so much at stake it wasn’t worth it. They’d have to do this the legal way, squeaky clean.

“This guy bothering you?” Runke added, flipping his blade around in his hand.

Toki joined next, “Pretties sure wes doings everythings wes supposed to. Whys you here?” 

Skwisgaar nodded his assent. 

Pickles puffed up, “I don’t recall seeing your backstage pass, Magnus.” 

Magnus looked the band over, and cracked a smile, “So that’s it? You all hate each other, but you hate me more? That’s real rich.” 

Everyone just stared back, united by a shared enemy.

Magnus shook it off, sharply turning away, “I’ll leave you alone, but the rest of this thing better be flawless.” 

There was collective relief once Magnus left. 

Dick approached with a fist full of pills, “So, who wants to have some real fun, babes?” 

“Absolutely.” Pickles took several, and let the night flow into a haze of shapes and colors, he trusted his friend to pick out the perfect poison and rode the high until dawn.