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Frost Blue Eyes	By : Yaoiandcoffeeaddict Category: +M through R > Metalocalypse > Slash - Male/Male Views: 1401 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Metalocalypse or Thor and make no profit from this.

Chapter List
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- 4
Chapter 2
After talking with the police and being told there had been no child matching the boy’s description reported missing by his teachers or parents, the police determined that this was probably a case of severe abuse, catalogued the injuries, and offered to place the boy in a foster home. Charles had never seen the boys care so deeply about anything but themselves. He knew they didn’t like police but their stream of curse words at the suggestion coupled with the way Pickles wrapped the child in his arms, Charles knew he was stuck. Before he knew it, he was arranging to have adoption papers filed before the band finished their tour in Norway. Now, all they needed was a name.
Charles found it almost eerie how well the unnamed foundling fit in with the band. Maybe it was because each member saw some piece of themselves in the boy. Like Hammersmith, the boy but was able to communicate what he needed just fine when he really required something; though it was clear he was very hesitant that first week as to what he was suppose to do and if he should even ask for something like food in the first place. The boy liked to follow Magnus around the most and Hammersmith treated the boy like his protégé, even teaching the boy to play his guitar.
Not to be outdone, Skwisgaar had also tried to give the boy lessons and quickly grew frustrated with it. His interaction with the new member soon became that of a jealous older brother, insulting the kid for something small but not allowing anyone else to hurt the boy’s feelings.
Nathan treated the boy like a pet, patting him on the head and asking every time he spotted him, “Who’s a good boy? Who’s my favorite bunny?”
Pickles, who was never good at looking after himself, was surprisingly responsible with the boy. Pickles was the one who woke him up for breakfast, combed his hair, and kept him away from the boys’ stash of alcohol and drugs and Murderface’s knife collection. Pickles was the one who took the boy out shopping for clothes and made sure he was taking his antibiotics. Of course, this didn’t stop Pickles from drinking himself into a near coma the minute the kid was out of the room, he just made sure he set the alarm before he opened a can of beer.
As for Murderface, well… he was the only one who hadn’t completely warmed up to the new houseguest. Charles reasoned it was because of the kid getting more attention than him. For the most part, Murderface would just ignore him when the kid was in the same room or simply grumble something under his breath and walk away. Yet, Charles could tell it would be only a matter of time before Murderface did something cruel to the new kid and the longer he suppressed the urge to be a dick, Charles knew the action would be worse.
Murderface chose when the band was preparing for their concert later that night and packing up their stuff they didn’t want the roadies to handle. When, Charles had been using the small dining table as his desk and the kid had been playing quietly and alone with his straw doll on the couch, finally relaxed enough that he wasn’t eyeing anyone as a potential threat, and Murderface simply walked over and snatched the doll from his hands.
The kid blinked at him in confusion and held out his hands, expecting it to be given right back. Murderface just laughed cruelly, “Awe, doesch the wittle baby want hisch toy?”
The kid began to shake, obviously scared. Charles knew that if he interfered, William would just make sure to mess with the kid even worse when Charles wasn’t around. So he stayed quiet and observed the interaction out of the corner of his eye.
“Come on, if you want the toy you’re going to have to schay schomethin’,” Murderface pressed, dangling the doll in front of the kid before gripping one of the doll’s arms. “I guesch you don’t want the doll, then.” He then proceeded to rip a straw arm off the doll.
The kid was on Murderface quicker than Charles could blink. Before Charles could stop him, the kid was punching the bass player in the face and yelling in a croaky and obviously little used voice, “Ingen! Han er min! La min venn alene!” Well, at least now they knew the kid was actually Norwegian and not smuggled from somewhere.
The first two members of the band to come running were Pickles and Nathan. “Whoa, brutal,” Nathan commented before pulling the kid off William and handing the flailing boy to Pickles, who was having slight trouble controlling him. A few soothing words later and the kid had stopped flailing and had gone into a comatose state.
“What the hell did you do to Toki?”
“Nothin’,” William lied, still lying on the ground and holding what most likely a broken nose shut with his fingers. “I juscht wal’d by and he flipped out! I thin’ we schould get rid of ‘im, he’s a wild animal. He will ‘ill usch all in our beds!” His accent was even harder on the ears with a broken nose.
“Toki?” Charles found himself questioning. The boy’s name was Toki? That wasn’t Norwegian as far as he knew. And it was so close to his ex’s name he immediately didn’t like it.
“Well, we have to call him somethin’ and I heard that name in one of those Japanese cartoons last night so… Hey!” A light bulb just seemed to go off in Nathan’s head and he rounded on Charles faster than a trapped tiger, “What were you doin’ when all this was happenin’?”
“Yeah, Dude,” Pickles agreed as he sat the apathetic boy on the couch and kept a hand on his shoulder. “You’re supposed to be his dad now! Where were you?”
Charles blinked, completely flabbergasted by the fact the boys had remained on the same train of thought for more than five minutes. “Well it appeared ‘Toki’ had everything under control so…”
“Ya know Murderface is a dick and you let him mess with your kid?”
“Well, he’s not my kid. He’s not even officially a foster child that we have custody of yet…”
“That’s bull and you know it!” Nathan growled as Murderface tried to move away and retreat. “And where do you think you’re goin’?”
“I ‘ell you I didn’t do nothin’!”
Pickles had a rare moment of understanding and realized when he looked down, “Dude, Toki’s clown is on the floor and its straw arm is busted.”
“I didn’ do i’!” William protested as Nathan seized him by his vest.
“Fix it NOW!”
“Why should I? Jusch’ giv’ me one gu… OW! Motherf… Charles are you jusch’ gonna le’ ‘em…” Murderface whined as Nathan let him drop back to the floor hard enough to give him a concussion.
Charles made no move to help the bass player. “Well, William, I believe this should be a lesson to you on how to treat others. I suggest you attempt to fix the doll and apologize to Toki.”
William huffed as he reached for the doll. “Fine!” He grabbed the straw remains and attempted to jab it back into place with his bloody fingers. It soon became apparent that that way was not going to work and the other arm soon was tumbling out of its place. Straw was soon lying in strands and sticking up on the carpet floor. It was, in short, just a huge mess. “Schrew i’!” Murderface in his frustration just threw the doll to the opposite corner of the room. “I’m gonna ‘a’e care of my ‘ose.” He left the room holding his nose with one guilty side look at the kid sitting on the couch.
Pickles, meanwhile, had been trying to shake the kid out of it. After several minutes of nothing, the redhead was hysterical. “Dude… he’s not movin’! Charles, call someone. Toki’s broken!”
/ / / / / / / ( 0.0 )
A few hours later, Charles was backstage in the rented dressing trailer with his boys as the roadies tested the sound equipment. Murderface was stiff, his face still swollen and purple and his eyes refusing to meet anyone else’s in the trailer. It was likely he wasn’t going to be wearing the custom make-up for quite awhile, so he was mostly ready to perform right there. Nathan was giving William a death glare every few minutes as he tried to coax ‘Toki’ awake with a gentle nudge or offering him something.
Toki’s withdraw was affecting everyone else in the band as well. Skwisgaar was attempting to act normal, chatting up one of the groupies in his lap and ignoring the silent Norwegian sitting next to him. However, the furious pace of his fingers on the guitar demonstrated his agitation. Magnus was simply staring out the window of the trailer, obviously unable to think of anything to do. Pickles was coping the only way he knew how- drinking himself into almost an unworkable condition. Charles quickly subtly signaled a roadie to switch some of the alcohol with flavored water before the redhead drummer died of alcohol poisoning.
“Sir,” a roadie said, entering the room with a case of bottled water. “It’s ten minutes to show time. The opening band is already on stage.”
“Thank you, Roadie 15,” Charles acknowledged, standing up and straightening his suit subconsciously. “Well, boys, I think…”
“That Tokis ams the crybabys?” Skwisgaar asked, flipping his hair back as the groupie reached over to play with it. “We knows.” He turned his crystal blue eyes on the Norwegian and hissed, “Sluta vara en crybaby. Jag kommer att ge dig en ny docka.” Charle’s Swedish was rusty but he thought the guitarist was promising the boy he was going to either buy or make him a new doll if he stopped being a crybaby.
Toki blinked, but remained silent.
Skwisgaar sighed, rudely pushed the groupie off his lap, and made a sound of annoyance as he strode past the comatose kid to leave the trailer. Magnus followed, then Nathan, then a slightly stumbling Pickles, and lastly a guilty looking Murderface who whispered a quiet, “I’m schorry,” as he passed the Norwegian.
Charles lingered in the trailer after everyone, including the groupie had cleared out and knelt down to Toki’s level.
His Norwegian was rusty, but he had to try to reach the disturbed boy. He cleared his throat as he attempted to search for the words he wanted to say. “Je… jeg bekla..lager om doll, Toki. [I am sorry about your doll, Toki.]”
It took several seconds before the pupils of the frost blue eyes dilated and turned to meet his. Pale lips opened and closed before the boy finally got the courage to say something, “Men han var min eneste venn…. Jeg har ingen nå. [He was my only friend. I have no one now.]”
Curious, Charles pressed on with his questioning after roughly translating the answer in his head. “Hvorfor sier… du det? [Why do you say that?]”
So Toki began his sad tale, speaking slowly and softly so Charles was able to translate each sentence, “No one ever wants me around. I was abandons in the snow as a baby because I ams a freak. Reverends and his wifes of nearbys village finds me and takes me in. To repays them, I hads to do chores arounds the village. I ground wheats and barleys, I fishes in the frozen lakes, I watches over the herds in the blizzards. But I could never dos anything right. I ground grains too much or too little, I catches only the fishes that has lampreys feastings on thems, I lose a calves to wolfs.” Those beautiful blue eyes glistened with unshed tears as the boy refused to meet his gaze. “But I keeps tryings to please thems. I stays quiet. I keeps outs of the church ‘cause its no place for somethings likes mes. Clowns was the only things whats always smiles at me.”
Charles didn’t know quite what to say in response to Toki’s tale, partly because he was unsure if he translated the words correctly. So, he settled for another question, “So what is your real name?”
“I don’ts has ones,” the boy admitted, staring at the carpet.
“No one in the village called you anything?”
“They calls me Devil and Trickster, but I donts thinks thems am names.” Scared blue eyes suddenly met Charles’ own hazel. “You’re not going to sends me backs, right?”
Charles found he got a very sickening feeling in his stomach at the thought of sending anyone to that fate. There was also something at the back of his mind was bugging him about the story. There was obviously much more to Toki’s past than what he was willing to tell right then and more than Charles was willing to ask. “No, we’re not sending you back.”
“Whys?”
“Well… for one, I would never subject a child to go through that kind of treatment. Also, the band is fond of you and has persuaded me to adopt you. You’re going to live with us from now on.”
“You wants me?”
“Yes, Toki,” Charles replied. “You don’t have to be alone anymore.”
“Reallys? You won’t just throw mes away likes trash. You promises?”
“Considering both the Norwegian and United States Governments will soon have me registered as your father, I would consider such action a very unwise decision.”
The boy blinked in confusion before asking quietly, “You’s going to bes my papa?”
Charles froze. Dear god, he really was going to be someone’s father. Despite the fear coursing through his veins at the thought, he nodded. Then, quicker than Charles could blink, he had his arms full of a grateful Norwegian child. A moment later, a loud clash of thunder ripped the sky just as Nathan’s mighty roar and Pickles’ drums came to life and vibrated the metal walls of the trailer with their intensity.
“Do you want to go watch the band play?” Charles asked when Toki finally released him. An excited brunette head bobbed up and down in enthusiasm. Moments later, they were standing on the side of the side of the stage, watching the long locks of blonde and black swirl in a memorizing pattern to the beat of the magical notes of the guitar and bang of the drums.
/ / / / / / / ( 0.0 )
The next day, the band loaded their equipment on a rented tour bus and took off for their next location. So far, Charles had been proven correct in his belief that holding concerts in Norway would boost Dethklok’s popularity. The label had called earlier that morning and claimed that all the albums from Oslo to Lillehammer were sold and three times as much stock as before had been ordered from the record stores. Fan sites had started to spring up like weeds in a lawn that had been left alone for a month, the most popular of them being ‘Die-for-Dethklok.Com.’
Before they reached their next destination, the head of the label called to tell them there was now a program on a music video channel called “The Dethklok Minute.” Charles asked for a copy of the first show to be sent to them through the internet and the boys were amazed to see their every actions being emulated and analyzed by fans and pop culture experts.
Nathan summed up the events the best. Awesome.
Since his chat with Toki the night before the concert, the boy still didn’t say much but Toki appeared deliriously happy. For the road, Charles bought the boys and Toki a variety of things to occupy their time. There were board games, video games, books with pictures, coloring books, pencils, and school books. Charles was surprised to see Toki latch onto the book on mathematics immediately and soon had ten of twenty one sections done. Perhaps when Toki had more schooling, Charles would finally have someone other than the occasional roadie to talk finances and strategy with, that is… if the boys didn’t corrupt him.
“Dude, what cha doin’ readin’ this kinda stuff?” Pickles asked, pointing to book where Toki was trying to uncover the meaning of y. “It’s not metal.” He pet Toki on the head and tried to steer the young man towards the Nintendo device lying idle beside him.
Charles sighed. There went that hope.
“Leaves him be Pickle,” Skwisgaar said, not even looking up as he watched a movie on the bus’s small screen. “Tokis likes the numbers. He needs numbers to be managers likes his Papa.”
Charles nearly choked on his own tongue at the thought. God help Dethklok and the world if he wasn’t around in the future.
“Hey, Toki what’s that around your neck?” Nathan asked as he spotted something and reached forward to grasp it before Toki could move away. Charles caught a flash of bright amber stone before Toki yanked it back. Nathan shrugged and moved to a vacant chair to join Skwisgaar in watching his movie.

To be continued…
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Frost Blue Eyes