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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 knows that something is wrong one morning when the nurse comes into his room at seven in the morning, ready to draw open the curtains in a businesslike manner – and gasps and pulls them shut again.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing”, she says lightly, with a tremble in her voice. “It’s gonna be cleaned up in no time.”

“What is it?” Charles begins to creep out of bed.

“No! No, stay where you are!” She comes towards him and pushes him backwards by the shoulders. “Don’t look! It’s… somebody seems to have had an accident.”

Charles, pushing against her stubbornly, reaches the window and tries to pull the curtain aside. She is trying to push him back, and only the threat of immediate firing makes her let go.

The sun is coming up over the rooftops of Mordhaus, some of which are looking pretty impressive again. The rest is looking even more impressive, in a ruined kind of way. On a wall in medium distance, very well visible from the infirmary, something stands, looking like a lollipop…

Charles fumbles for his glasses.

It’s the head of a Klokateer, eyeballs and tongue cut out. But what’s most horrible is the long cut on his left cheek. Precisely in the same place as Charles’ new scar.

The hollow eyes seems to be looking at Charles reproachfully.

Charles’ legs give in. There’s only black before his eyes, and the heavy pressure in his stomach keeps him from breathing. “Fuck”, he mumbles and begins to fall. The nurse catches him but can’t hold him up well, calls for help, and somehow another nurse comes and they shove him back into bed. Charles couldn’t care less. If he passes out now, that’s just fine by him. Anything is better than to think.

When he wakes up, things go “beep” over his head.

Face the music and dance. “Fuck”, he whispers.

“Yeah, fuck indeed, dood. What did I tell you about excitement? You’re in the intensive care section again. Man, you know how to party!”

“He knows I’m here.”

“Of course, where else would you be, in Honululu with a banana skirt and flowers in your hair?”

Charles swallows. “I had sort of hoped he thought I was dead.”

“We didn’t bother buying a grave for you, if that’s what you mean.”

“We could… you could… it’s not too late. We could make it look like I just died.” Charles talks feverishly. “If I just never leave Mordhaus again… he wouldn’t notice.” That could be a plan. It might work.

Pickles pulls up his eyebrows. “He’s gonna dig out the body just to be sure.”

“We could make it a Viking funeral… with burning… we must have enough bodies of my size…”

Pickles grabs Charles’ face between his hands. “Shut the fuck up and get your shit together, dood! You don’t sound like yourself! That assassin isn’t coming in here. If he could get you, he would have. He’s trying to scare you.”

“Well, yes, he’s doing a good job.”

“Exactly! He wants you to go bonkers! Because if you’re using your head, he don’t stand a chance against you!” Pickles taps his forefinger on Charles’ head. “That’s why he wants you scared. If you get well and everything, he’s back to square one!”

Charles closes his eyes. His chest hurts like hell, in the heart region. “You say it like it’s so easy, but I can’t switch off the part of me that’s afraid. He could just… shoot me through the window. If he gets up on the roof like this, he just needs the right kind of gun.”

“Yeah, but that’s not what he wants, is it. Shooting you would be easy. That’s not a bad enough punishment.” Pickles grins and leans forward. “Tell you what, Charlie. That guy is shitting his pants when he thinks about you. So he’s making himself look big. Like a gorilla who wants to fight.”

“A gorilla.”

“Yep. I saw that on Discovery Channel. They make all their body hair stand upright, so they look bigger.”

Charles swallows and closes his eyes. A few tears are pinching him from behind his lids. He wouldn’t give a damn about a head before his window. Normally. But he’s too unravelled. Since he got shot, his mind is going differently about these things.

“And how are you guys?” he asks nonchalantly.

“Fine. We miscalculated the album sales a bit, we hadn’t had enough made, so there were a few riots in Japan… nothing too serious. And, oh, we kind of got some things wrong with planning the interviews, so we had to cancel four or five, but everything else is going lovely.”

Charles nods. This probably means a few hundred dead and injured people in Japan, but it couldn’t be helped. Considering that they haven’t blown up the planet yet, they’re doing remarkably well.

Can’t they do without him? If he just goes away, far away, secretly? Some country in Southern Europe, maybe? The world is so big, one single man would never find him there.

“Charlie? What’ wrong?”

“Nothing”, he lies. “I’m fine.”

Pickles bows his head down and lays his ear on Charles’ chest. “Boy, that sounds like a steam-train!”

Charles is forced to talk to the back of Pickles’ head. “I can’t help it.”

“Calm it down. You gotta focus and slow it down. It’s all in your head.”

Charles presses his lips together. Easy for Pickles to talk like that.

“Dood, you should watch some porn now. That’s gonna take your mind off the trouble.”

“I don’t think so.” Charles turns away, to face the wall. He doesn’t want to face anyone right now, least of all chirpy, silly Pickles. Least of all.

And that is pretty much all he does for the next four days. It gives him awfully much time to think. How many signs have occurred before the head on the wall? Have they kept them from him? He should probably be grateful, but he isn’t.

Pickles is right. If Charles were healthy and in a fighting mood, he would stand a good chance against the assassin. Unfortunately, he is neither, and doesn’t see it happening any time soon. The assassin doesn’t need him to be well, just alive and conscious, to be a good torturing subject. If he detects any opportunity to abduct Charles, he will. Or, worse even, he might just kill everybody in the infirmary and then torture Charles right here. They wouldn’t hear much upstairs or downstairs. The walls of Mordhaus are medievally thick.

He’d kill the nurses, and the doctor, and everybody from the band who would be here. Pickles. He’d kill Pickles, and he’d make Charles watch. Because he knows that Charles does all this for one purpose only – to protect his boys.

How did he ever get into this, risking his life for a bunch of people who think it’s really brilliant to press really hard on your eyes and then see the colours and patterns appear behind their eyelids?

Because he loves heavy metal, that’s why. He used to, that is, but now he couldn’t care less.

Charles has hit rock bottom. He’s not communicating, he’s just lying there, facing the wall, thinking and brooding. Pickles is stubborn. He doesn’t talk, but he doesn’t leave for one minute.

“If you’re gonna be an asshole, fine, be an asshole”, Pickles said, crossed his arms and went into silence. Not even Pickles’ enduring presence is making anything better. He doesn’t even care about work any more – why should he? What’s in it for him?

Only once, he turned around and said: “Pickles, I think it would be the best if you left. Seriously. It’s for your own safety. If that guy comes in here, somehow, there’s nothing you can do. He’ll kill you. And if you guys aren’t safe, everything I tried was in vain.”

“Shoulda thought of that before I loved you”, says Pickles, and then there’s silence again. Of course he wouldn’t go. Stupid idiot.

Four days he spends in this state, and on day five he thinks he’ll burst, and it all breaks out of him over breakfast.

TBC.
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