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Do it yourself!	By : varenoea Category: +M through R > Metalocalypse > Slash - Male/Male Views: 2070 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Metaocalypse or its characters, and this is a non-profitable work of fiction.

Chapter List
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Charles is aware of things. Unfortunately. It’s one thing to walk in on a guy who has his ass up in the air, trying to suck his own cock. There’s not much embarrassment about that, at least for Charles.

But this here is completely different. Charles knows that all the crucial parts are covered up and Pickles can’t see anything, but he knows there’s a tube coming out from under the cover and there’s a bottle hanging beside the bed, and it’s half-full, and Pickles can see the bottle. It’s so humiliating.

It was bad enough in the morning. Pickles wanted to feed Charles his breakfast; so far, so good. But then when the nurse came for the washing part, Pickles didn’t for the life of him see why he should go out, until he was told very clearly.

Not even in the least aware of the aforementioned pee bottle, Pickles is now sitting by the bed and tries to cheer Charles up in his own special way.

“I like how they shaved your chest hair. Straight away over the chest, but up at your neck they left it. Hehe. You could start a new fashion trend!”

“Eh. I don’t think this will ever get fashionable. Pickles?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you going to get me something I really need?”

“Grapes?”

“No. My laptop.”

“Uhn-uhn. You’re not allowed. You’re not allowed any work at all. Besides, where do you want to put it? You can’t put it on your belly. You can’t even eat alone, how do you want to type?”

Charles growls.

“We’re doing this for your own good! It’s like… like the day you didn’t want to give Nate the ten thousand dollars for socks. You don’t like it, but it’s best for you. We know what you do for us. So now you can see, we are prepared to do it for you too.”

Charles exhales slowly. He’s under heavy stress right now. The need to check his business email is driving his heart rate up. Blood is pumping loudly in his ears.

Pickles leans over to him and says in an understanding voice: “Unless you want to watch porn on your laptop. That’s okay, but I’ll check that you’re really watching porn, and not working.”

“Pickles, will you get me something else? It’s nothing… nothing do with work.”

“Sure! What? Grapes?”

“No. Grapes are easy. What’s the most exotic, un-purchaseable fruit at this time of the year?”

“Hmmm. Papaya? Noooo. I think strawberries. There are really no strawberries around, I think.”

“Can you get me some and only come back when you have them? It’s really important that you do it yourself.”

Pickles frowns. “You’re a real asshole when you’re sick, Charlie.”

Charles sighs. “I just want to be left alone. For one hour or so.”

“Yeah. I know. And when I come back, you’re sitting up and phoning a hundred people and reading faxes and having stress. And then you die.” He taps Charles on the shoulder with his index finger. “I’m not having that. That’s what I’m here for. To keep you from having stress. Because you always take care of us, but now we’re taking care of you.”

Charles feels his strength dwindle. The fruitless conversation is pulling him down. “Listen. Please. I am stressed like hell. Because you can’t manage yourselves alone. Least of all now.”

“Don’t think about it, dood, we’re fine! Just fine!”

“I can’t not think about it”, Charles replies weakly.

Pickles leans forward over him and his soft lips come down on Charles’. The short hair from his beard is tickling Charles’ face where it isn’t covered in band-aid. Pickles’ hand is on Charles’ upper arm. The warm lips move softly against Charles’, which are not moving one bit. Then it’s over, and Pickles sits back up and pulls his hand back.

“What was that?” whispers Charles.

Pickles doesn’t answer. His lips are half-open, and so are his eyes.

“Why did you kiss me?” Charles asks louder.

Pickles closes his mouth and grins.

“Pickles! I mean it, what were you thinking? Why did you kiss me?!”

“Now you have something to keep your brain occupied, other than manager stuff.” Pickles grins, visibly pleased with himself.

Charles’ breath is going fast, but his heart rate is suddenly very calm. His chest has been aching all along from the quick beating, and he only becomes aware of it now. He tries to will his heart rate to slow down.

He knows that Pickles was very experimental in the 80s. It’s very hard to spend three days with an ever-talking Pickles beside your bed and not to know everything he did in the 80s. Kissing a man doesn’t mean a thing to him. Did he do it for fun? To distract Charles? Is there any meaning behind it? Does he just care, or does he care?

Charles hates to admit it, but Pickles was right. Finding the answer to this question is much more urgent that business right now.

How dare he?!

“Charles?” Skwisgaar asks sheepishly while his face appears in the door. When he sees that Charles is peacefully in bed (where else should he be?), the rest of him follows through into the room. Behind him are Toki, Nathan, Murderface and Knubbler.

“Erm… are you decents?” Skwisgaar has apparently learned a new sentence, but not that you say it before you walk into a room.

“Yes. Extremely so. I wish I could be indecent in some way, but at the moment I don’t seem to have a chance.”

“I mades you a guinea pig!” Toki darts forward, sits on the bedside and produces a sock, stuffed with what appears to be more socks. The shaft is cut off behind the heel, and the end is tied together. It looks more like a bean-shaped sausage, but with three buttons for the eyes and the nose, and a big painted mouth with a manic grin.

Charles is moved. His worries about the boys come back more violently than before. “Thanks, Toki.”

“I stuffs it here beside your pillows, okays?”

“Okay. Uhm. How are things going?”

“We’s doingks pretty well, akshully”, says Skwisgaar nonchalantly. “Yesterdays, we dids de calculations for de album sales and how many we haves to print more, and how’s de cheapest way.”

Charles is alarmed in the highest degree. “You? Who? How did you do it?”

“Well, we trieds a calskulators, and den we trieds Ex-sells”, explains Toki proudly. “But dat didn’ts works, so we does it in de head.”

The entire Western civilization is lost .”In the head?” Charlie inquires carefully.

“Yah.” Skwisgaar hands him a piece of paper and a stack of bills, stapled to it (the stapling was Knubbler’s idea).

Charles has a look at it, the pencil-scribbled numbers, and the one at the very bottom which is underlined. He browses through the bills and gives it a quick think. Then he looks at the number at the bottom. “What is thirty millions three thousand and fourty-five divided by one?” he asks carefully.

“Just ignores de one. It’s thirty million and de rest”, explains Skwisgaar.

Charles is very careful about believing his own eyes, but… “It… looks right.”

Nathan clears his throat. “I’m not an expert, you know, and I don’t remember how it was done when it was… done, but I got the blue print of the house and I’m organizing the rebuilding teams, so… yeah… what’s the best place to start? We’ve ordered a bit of building material. You know, the architect Klokateers, they knew how much was sensible to start with. But we don’t have the original architect. You were there when it was done.”

Charles pinches the bridge of his nose. This is way over his head now. He can hardly keep up. “I remember that they started building the arch in the middle, but it doesn’t hold things up unless you also pull up the walls of the side buildings. We had huge problems with that in the beginning”, he says weakly. “So you can’t have them start with the roof until all the walls are fixed. Except for the arch, of course.”

“And while we’re at it, we thought about some minor improvements”, adds Murderface. “I suggested a bowling area, nothing fancy of course.”

“I wants a balls box!” squeaks Toki. “You knows, a room filled with balls, red balls and green balls and yellow balls and blue balls, and I can go swimmingk in dem!”

“Ah yeah. And I thought about it, we don’t need so many cleaners right now, especially not so many instrument cleaners, with so few instruments left and only half the rooms still useable.” Murderface waves another pack of paper. “So I told them to become builders really quick or fuck off. And what else…? Ah yeah. I made some phone calls after Toki’s and Skwisgaar’s calculations. The album is selling really well, the supplies were running out, after only three days, so, ahem, I took care that new ones are being pressed.”

“How many?”

“Fourteen millions seemed good. We can always order more.”

Charles lies in his bed, loss for speech, wondering if he’s dreaming. This isn’t the sort of thing that happens in reality. In the morning, Pickles kissed him, and now his band is… different.

“I need dats balls box right next to my rooms so I cans go swimmingk before breakfasts!”

Well, maybe not entirely changed, but he has never seen them like this before, and he doesn’t trust the whole thing. But what choice does he have? It’s probably all going to end in disaster. But for the first time, he has the feeling that it’s something other people should take care of. He’s too sick.

Something in his stomach feels like a raw itching oozing wound, and it wasn’t there before Pickles’ kiss. He needs to figure out what it is, and why it makes him so mad.

“Fourteen millions sounds good”, his voice says from somewhere far away. “If the numbers aren’t rising by tomorrow, you better reduce it to ten. It’s better to keep them hungry.”

He pauses. There are a million important things to ask them, but right now he can’t ask half a dozen. “How are you doing?” he asks when he sees their expectant faces. “Nobody hurt, do you have enough food and all that?”

“Yes, mum”, mumbles Murderface.

“How are de pills?” asks Skwisgaar nastily. “What colour and flavours?”

“If you can spare Jean-Pierre, you can send him by to make me some pill salad. I think they would taste better with some dressing.”

“Dood, I always thought that yoghurt dressing consists mostly of spunk anyway”, snickers Pickles.

“John-Pear spunk?!” Toki puts his hand over his mouth. “Mmmmmbh!”

The voices around him make his head spin. He didn’t remember them being such a mental strain when appearing as a team. “Did my office burn out?”

“Then where would I have found the blueprints, huh?” Nathan waves the paper rolls. “No, it’s mostly still there.”

“Mostly?”

“Mostly. What do you care? You can’t work.”

Charles has a desperate plan. “Nathan, would you mind staying here with me tomorrow?”

“Hmmm. I guess not, but…”

“Oh, I understand. Asshole. Douchebag.” Pickles screeches his chair over the floor, away from the bed. “My company’s not good enough for you.”

“I just want a little… change, Pickles, is that so bad?”

“Oh, I get it. I get it. I’ll go out. Have a smoke.”

Pickles strides out and closes the door behind him.

“Wow. Why did you send him away?” Nathan asks.

Charles sighs. He’s too tired for this. He’s sick, can’t they cut him some slack and let him be selfish? “It’s just… for a change.”

“Ah, he’ll gets over it.” Toki stuffs the guinea pig a little more to the right beside Charles’ pillow. The guinea pig smells a little like Toki didn’t bother using a freshly washed sock.

The day with Nathan isn’t nearly as effective as Charles thought. Nathan proves completely immune to pleas for a laptop, a telephone, or anything else. He also doesn’t talk much. He begins his conversation with “Whoah, that guy beat you up when you were already out cold. What a motherfucking coward!”, and this is also where it ends. Charles has a look around and finds that he has nothing to keep himself occupied with. So he listens to the noises of building, far away, and finally he resorts to a means he really loathes: television.

He switches channels, and Nathan looks at his activities with interest, until finally he asks: “What are you looking for?”

“The news. Dethklok minute. The financial news. Anything.”

“Oh. Yeah. You can’t have them.”

Charles’ weakened hand muscles are nearly bursting with the need to strangle someone to death. “Why not? That’s not excitement, that’s… amusement. For me.”

“You can get some channels”, says Nathan reproachfully.

Charles looks away from Nathan, up to the screen, very slowly, and then back to Nathan. On the screen, Barney the Dinosaur is trying to master the problems of walking with four legs.

“I don’t think they were really purple back then”, mumbles Nathan.
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Do it yourself!