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Parabola	By : Ennead Category: +M through R > Metalocalypse > Slash - Male/Male Views: 1106 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Metalocalypse, nor do I make any money off of any of the fan works I create of its characters.

Chapter List
- 10
- 11
- 12
Nathan was dreaming.
As was often the case, he knew he was dreaming; normally this would spoil the dream, but not this time. The dream in particular was recurring and always a trial to sleep through, typically making him jolt back awake with a sudden sick feeling. However, through the haze of the medicine he had taken, Nathan was finding it difficult to force himself back awake, and so had to endure what was occurring before him.
He was viewing himself, asleep on a perfect copy of his own real bed, looking far more peaceful than he must have in real life. His dream self was clutching another person to his chest tightly, like a kid holds onto a favorite stuffed animal - that same desperate squeeze that says they'll stay asleep if whatever they've got doesn't go anywhere. Nathan didn't have to be on the other side of the bed to see who Dream Nathan was holding; he already knew this scene too well.
Honestly, he hated it. Where it should have been a rare comfort in contrast to reality, it was just another reminder of what he wasn't able to get. His own brain was taunting him, sleeping within sleep. None of it was real, or could be real, and the more aware of this he became, he more he tried to struggle awake. Nathan reflected that maybe he should have taken only one of the sleeping pills, and that he could be stuck in the dream for hours before the meds wore off.
Fuck.
Charles opened the bedroom door, stepping inside and peering at the bed. He had expected to find the frontman reading, but instead he seemed to have gone to sleep. Nathan's position was awkward looking, flat on his back above the neatly folded covers, body tense. Having seen him asleep in both his own bed and on various pieces of furniture and floor across Mordhaus, Charles was familiar with Nathan's sleeping habits - looking angry and taut was not typical for him. Was he having a nightmare?
Stepping away from the door and towards the sleeping man, Charles suddenly felt incredibly creepy. What the hell was he even doing there? What had he thought he'd do, if Nathan had been awake?
The answer was bold and, he saw now, very unrealistic. He had been planning to take a chance, do whatever impulse came to him at the moment he walked in, and being faced with an unreceptive audience made him falter. What a stupid idea this was, he thought. Thank god Nathan's asleep and I don't have to make excuses for why I'm here... I should never have been so foolish.
Charles shook his head and walked over to the bed, sitting down on the edge and leaning over to look at Nathan's face. He was frowning deeply, eyes squeezed shut. What did the frontman of Dethklok have nightmares about, Charles wondered. He knew he should just leave, lucky to have escaped without being seen, but it felt wrong to just leave Nathan alone in that state. The man looked absolutely miserable.
"Nathan," he ventured, pushing on one heavy shoulder. "Hey."
Still mired deep in his dream, Nathan pushed on his own consciousness as best as he knew how. Normally he could wake up, though it took plenty of effort, but this time it wasn't happening. He was aware of weird sounds, sounds outside of the dream itself; someone talking? In the hallway, maybe, he couldn't tell, or over the announcement system. Probably not actually to him, since he was clearly asleep, but someone was making noises near him. What the hell was that?
Worried now, Charles pushed Nathan harder. "Wake up."
Still no response but further grimacing, which meant the singer had either taken some kind of drug - hopefully nothing dangerous, but given his size... probably not - or drunk himself to sleep that night. It wasn't unusual behavior for Nathan to drink until he passed out, but he didn't smell like alcohol and Charles wasn't aware of any bottles nearby. He really shouldn't leave, if there was a chance Nathan might not be able to wake up for some time. Someone should be keeping an eye on him, Charles justified, leaning against a pillow and looking down at the sleeping frontman.
Someone who could be trusted.
Sighing, Charles got up and cast another look at Nathan before leaving the room, not bothering to shut the door. He made his way down the hall to Pickles' room, feeling pretty wretched about what he was about to do. Still, he knew that he couldn't trust himself alone with Nathan, and would more than likely wake up snuggling the singer like an old teddy with no explanation as to how he'd come to be there. He had to do the right thing.
"Pickles," he called through the door, knocking sharply. A groan came from within before it opened, revealing the only member of Dethklok typically awake in the early hours of the morning. Pickles looked stoned but not tired, and Charles knew he hadn't woken the drummer up. "I need a favor."
"Oh yeeuh? C'min. I gatta talk ta ya anyway," Pickles grinned. "Good timing, I was gettin' bored."
Charles raised an eyebrow and entered, suspiciously eyeing the redhead's gleeful expression. "Oh?"
Gesturing at the bed, Pickles chose to stay standing as he often did with visitors. He had intended to speak to Ofdensen the next day, but if he was awake and looking for company, Pickles could oblige and get his own goal out of the way early.
"I wanna talk to ya about Nat'en," he said, calming an irritable look with a wave of his hand. "I wanna hear how ya feel about the guy. An' be ahnest, Ah'm nat gonna tell anybahdy. Ya know thet, but I want the truth."
Charles frowned. "I don't see how-"
"C'mahn. Don't play me fer a fool."
He sighed. Pickles had him, he supposed; he'd called it from the very beginning, and of all the boys, the drummer was certainly the sharpest. He'd been around longer, if nothing else, almost as long as Charles himself. Perhaps it would be best to just tell him the truth.
"I... don't..." Words failed to come easily, and he faltered. "It's not quite so simple. I just care about him, very much. I actually-"
"No, no, ya don't. Ya care about all of us, even Murderface. I wanna know the whole truth."
Pickles couldn't actually make the CFO tell him anything, but Charles was pretty clearly looking for someone to speak to on the subject. He looked very stressed and concerned, in a way even Ofdensen usually did not, and Pickles guessed that the whole thing had been taking its toll on him. He already knew Charles had a thing for Nathan; the question was, what level was he on?
"I- don't wish to put it into words. It's complex. May we just leave it at that? You're clearly already far more aware of what I'm feeling than you should have been, I'm not really comfortable with this."
"Do ya wanna be with him?"
"Yes!" Charles snapped, waving an arm at Pickles irritably. "But I hardly see how it's important as he is not only my client but straight. In case you were unaware. So may we stop this and get to why I actually came here?"
Pickles processed his reaction. If he was that upset, Charles was probably knee-deep in a sucking tar pit of infatuation by this point; the man rarely let his emotions go like that. He decided not to push it - he already had his answer. "Sher. Whaddaya need?"
"Nathan appears to be so drunk or otherwise intoxicated that he won't be roused from sleep. He looks very uncomfortable. I'd like you to keep an eye on him, as I..." Charles looked away a bit, embarrassed. "Really don't have the self control to be there right now."
Grinning widely, Pickles gave Charles a crooked thumbs-up. "Sher, chief. Go beck to bed. I'll watch the big guy an' make sher he's okee when he gets up. Prahbly took some sleep meds or somethin'. Don't worry about it."
Nearly blushing, Charles nodded gratefully. "Thanks, Pickles. I, ah, I'll speak with you tomorrow then."
"Okee," the drummer agreed, stepping aside to let Charles leave. "How about we go drinkin' with the guys tamarrow? Ya don't hafta get too drenk, but ya should spend some time around the guys. We'd like ya there, yer fun."
Charles was baffled, but nodded. "All right. If that's what you'd like."
"Yeeuh. Later, den," Pickles confirmed, leaving his own room and setting off towards Nathan's. The CFO went down another hall, silent and confused, wondering what on earth he was going to do art a bar with the boys. Maybe Nathan would be so drunk he wouldn't remember Charles was there, and he could slip away from the band and back to the house unnoticed. After all, it wouldn't be the first time he went home alone.
Or the last.
- 10
- 11
- 12
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Parabola