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Band's Best Friend	By : sillyneko345 Category: +M through R > Metalocalypse Views: 2174 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the cartoon this fic is based off of (Metalocalypse). I make no profit from writing this.

Chapter List
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AN: I had to. It’s as simple as that. I wanted to mess with Toki and his new wolf some more. I wanted to see if I can write short chapters when it’s needed. And I wanted to see if I could write something kind of sad when pressed. So this little follow up to "Underwater Friends" is a literary Guinea pig, if you will.

This version here has the mild guitarist slash goin' on. The version on FF.net doesn't.

Characters: Belong to Small & Blacha. I made up Loki.

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Loki trotted swiftly down the long hall, toenails tapping gently against the cold stone. As he shook his massive head and then held it high, the long steel spikes of his leather collar gleamed brightly in the torch light.

At nine months, Loki was big for his age. Thanks to a steady and balanced diet, he was already bigger than a good majority of the yard wolves that called the grounds of Mordland home. He could also beat more than half of them in a fight. The young wolf allowed his tail to wave behind him like a banner as he wended his way through the dim passages, confident in his entitlement to traverse the grim mansion at will.

Loki was proud to be the one and only Haus wolf. Of all the scruffy animals on the large estate, only he was welcome beyond Mordhaus’ doors. Only he wore a collar, had a name, and got the regular recognition of the pack of humans who lived inside. He slept at the feet of Toki Wartooth, fetched Sharpies and other such helpful objects for Nathan Explosion, and gleefully ran rings around the enraged Skwisgaar Skwigelf on a daily basis. He sympathetically laid his furry head on Pickles the drummer’s knee when the man had brutal hangovers and received thankful pets and scratches for his time. He had even learned, after one painful experience, to avoid William Murderface’s boots like the plague; no matter how tempting they might be to chew, the things might as well have been toxic.

Even manager Ofdensen could be counted on for a friendly pat on the head from time to time. Though the wolf pup had at first not known who exactly was the leader of the pack, Nathan or Ofdensen, he had ultimately decided to play it safe and treat both men as alphas. Better to be safe than soundly put in his place by one of them someday.

There was, however, one thing that could possibly persuade Loki to challenge either or both of them.

Loki respected Nathan and Charles. Loki held the rest of the band in high and affectionate regard. But Loki *loved* Toki.

Toki, who talked to him like he wasn’t a wolf, but a companion who understood about things like guitar riffs and the importance of solos and how somewhere called Norway could be a bad place and a good place at the same time. Toki, who made sure his bowl was always full of the choicest morsels, shared secret candy stashes with him, and brushed him until his coat shone thick and healthy. Toki who wrestled with him, laughing and howling and tumbling head over tail until the TV hanging overhead rattled, and someone (usually Skwisgaar) screamed at them to take it outside.

Oh yes, Loki loved his Toki. And he would defend him to the death. Nathan. Manager Ofdensen. An unknown opponent. It didn’t matter in the slightest. Like most dogs and their immediate family Loki was nothing if not protective, and anyone who messed with the Norwegian rhythm guitarist was asking for a pissed off timber wolf messing with their innards.

Loki’s tail wagged faster as he remembered back to a day not long before. The day he had finally gotten to test his metal, as it were.

A crazed fan of Skwisgaar’s had managed to infiltrate Mordhaus dressed in the black hood of a faceless Klokateer. Determined to rid the world of the fastest guitarist’s only real competition, the man had been running at Toki’s unguarded back with a knife upraised when crushing jaws sank into his leg. And when he was down, his wrist. And eventually, his throat…

Loki still had scabs under the fur of his shoulders and chest from the stab wounds, it was true, and it still hurt the slightest bit to move his front limbs, but the glorious memory of that night was well worth a little pain. Oh, how Toki had hugged and praised him despite all the sticky blood! How the band and the manager and the legitimate Klokateers had made much of him! The very next morning, Nathan himself had fastened the brutal leather and steel collar around his neck.

“Good boy. Good wolf. You earned these wicked spikes, you hear? You’re like… the Dethwolf, now.”

He had all but spontaneously combusted with pride, if a wolf could know what such a phrase meant. By saving one of their own Loki was no longer a simple pet, hovering on the fringes of the band’s notice until he annoyed someone—he was accepted, became one of the pack. He would do his best to make them proud.

Tongue hanging out happily, lost in vague lupine thought, the young wolf trotted deeper into the bowls of Mordhaus. Soft scurries and squeaks preceded him down the hall, and he quickened his pace. The rats that inhabited the out of sight, out of mind corners of the mansion were truly huge. Prime game.

Loki Wartooth was on the hunt.

- // - // - // - // -

“Loki!” Toki cheerfully shouldered his guitar as he stepped out of the studio. The late practice had gone surprisingly well, and now he was free to do what he wished for the rest of the evening. “Practices are overs wit for today. I cans play wit you now! You wants to go play fetch?”

No happily wagging wolf came running at his call. The Norwegian was surprised. It was strange not to find Loki dozing outside the studio waiting for him, as had been usual since Nathan banned the hairy menace from attending band practice.

Poor Loki. It wasn’t his fault that he liked to howl along with Toki’s guitar playing. Though the chilling sound had been cool at first, and had been allowed to remain on a few of their newest recordings, the howling couldn’t clash with their music forever. There was now a sign with a crossed out wolf on it prominently displayed on the studio door.

Now Loki couldn’t be found anywhere. It was very strange.

“Loki? Is you mad ats me? I’s sorry you can’ts comes to practices no more. I makes it ups to you, I promise! Comes out now?”

Loki did not come. More confused than ever, Toki began to search in earnest. Calls for his furry companion had never gone ignored before. Had Loki managed to get shut inside a room somewhere? There had been that incident the day Jean Pierre had stocked the walk-in freezer with a new meat shipment... Or had a Klokateer forgotten and blocked the dog door while he was outside? That had been known to happen once or twice.

Mordhaus was big, so Toki went wandering. Every few minutes he would stop and call out again, just to make sure he didn’t wander in and out of the wolf’s earshot without being heard. “Loki! Where is you?!”

Toki was starting to get well and truly worried when he rounded a corner and caught sight of grey fur. Immediately he relaxed, laughing a little at his own foolishness. Of course Loki was okay. He had just been preoccupied at one of his favorite pastimes—chasing and eating rats, as the fresh rodent corpse he was poised over attested to.

“There you is! Whats you been ups to up heres all alone, huh? You catches lots of de rats today?”

The wolf remained still for a moment, then looked back at Toki over his shoulder. His tail wagged once, twice, slow and uncertain before falling limp once again. Finally Loki turned and began to move up the hall toward the guitarist. His steps were wobbly and hesitant.

“Wowie, Loki… you doesn’t look so good.” Brown eyebrows furrowed. Concern renewed in a cold rush, Toki bent down to intercept his pet. There was blood on the wolf’s face, but that was nothing strange considering the rat he had just killed. Toki couldn’t think what might be wrong. “What’s de matters? Is you sick? Eats too manies rats?”

The young wolf whined. Swayed. Staggered the last few steps into Toki’s outstretched arms and promptly collapsed like a dead weight. On the verge of sudden, crushing panic, the Norwegian did the only one hundred percent fail proof thing he knew to do. He screamed.

“Nat’aaaaaans!!!”

- // - // - // - // -

“Slooowly… Caaarefully…”

Tongue clenched between his teeth, one eye closed in drunken concentration, Pickles lifted a bottle. With its gentle placement, the waist high replica of Mordhaus made entirely of empty booze bottles and dented beer cans would be complete. Nathan, Murderface, and Skwisgaar sat in a line on the sofa, raptly watching the drummer work and each secretly plotting how they would go about wrecking the finished masterpiece the second Pickles went off to find a camera.

The bottle was almost to its final resting place when Toki skidded into the room. His back to the door, Pickles had no warning and no chance to stop the impending calamity. The Norwegian’s impact knocked him headfirst into the impromptu sculpture. Luckily, the bottles weren’t stacked high enough nor did the falling drummer weigh enough to break the glass when everything went to hell in half a second.

Toki was screaming before the crash had even settled. He continued yelling right over the tinkling of rolling bottles, the clattering of hopelessly smashed cans, and completely ignored the surprised squalls of a redhead who found himself suddenly, painfully buried in the ruined work of almost two hours’ drunken but steady stacking.

“Nat’ans, Loki’s is sick! Yous has to helps me!”

“What the hell, Toki?” Looking displeased that someone else had managed to destroy the Boozehaus before him, Nathan got up from the couch. “You should, uh, look where you’re going. And that thing’s getting way too big for you to be carrying him around like that.”

“That’s what I tries to tell you! He’s is sick—he *can’ts* walk by his self!” Frustrated and worried nearly to tears, Toki hefted the limp wolf higher in his arms. “What’s we gonna do, Nat’ans?!”

“Damn. He doesh look pretty bad.” Interest perked, Murderface also rose to closer inspect the animal in question. “He’sh not dead, ish he?”

“Nos, he’s not dead, but he’s is really very bad sick! He t’rows up on de way downs here and everyt’ing. I still gots rat parts and wolfs spit on mine pants!”

Apparently having already forgotten the wrong that had just been done to him, Pickles struggled out of the pile of cans and bottles to take a look. “Whoa, dood… Loki? You okay, little furry buddy? Can I get ya some tequila?” Taking the lolling head in his hands, Pickles tried a gentle shake to rouse the wolf. No good. “Shit, this is terrible. Poor guy.”

Skwisgaar was the only one still seated. He twiddled absently with the ever-present guitar in his hands, looking on with an expression of slight curiosity. “Dat’s is a bummer, I’s guess. Maybes you shoulds go and gets—”

“Can I help you boys?”

The Swede looked pleased, but also a bit confused when Charles stepped into the room. “Ja, dat guy. Hows did you knows so fast dat we neededs you?”

The manager held up his cell phone. “I got Pickles’ text and came down to see what it was he wanted to show me. Apparently it was quite urgent. What did you want me to look at, Pickles?”

“Ferget that, Charlie.” The drummer’s eyes darted only briefly to the scattered remains of his project before centering back on the issue at hand. “Toki’s wolf’s pretty sick, here. What should we do?”

“Well… I’m not quite sure. What seems to be the matter with him?” Hesitating only for a moment, Ofdensen approached Toki to take a closer look at the animal.

Loki’s eyes were slitted and he panted heavily. Every few breaths one exhalation would end in a soft, pained whine. Toki cradled him carefully, his own bright blue eyes filled with worry. “Everyt’ing is de matter wit him. He can’ts walk, he t’rows up ons me, he breathes real hard. Fix him, please, Charleses?”

He was a business man, not an animal doctor, but Charles immediately saw that his boys weren’t overreacting. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about sick pets… Was he acting strangely this morning?”

“Nei, he’s was normal. Not’ing strange ats all.”

Nathan gazed in awe at the red, foamy saliva beginning to form around the furry muzzle. “Do you think he has rabies? Oh my God, rabies is so brutal!”

Suddenly the wolf began to gag and thrash in Toki’s arms, almost convulsing. The Norwegian gasped in fright, tightening his hold so as not to drop his pet even as Loki began to vomit blood. Not rat blood commingled with rodent fur and bone like the first time, but honest to goodness internal-organs-in-the-process-of-being-ruptured blood. Pickles and Ofdensen quickly recoiled to avoid the splatter.

Nathan blinked, scratching the back of his head. “Wow. Uh, maybe he just needs a liver transplant?”

“I highly doubt that, Nathan. Toki, put him down! Lay him flat, now. Hold his head up, make sure he can breathe.” There was rising alarm in Charles’ voice. He never, ever panicked… but he was becoming increasingly worried. This was obviously a real emergency. “Toki, think for a moment. Has Loki eaten anything odd today that you know of?”

Toki was clearly trying to think as he lowered the wolf gently to the now bloody carpet, though he seemed about to burst into tears. “Nei, I doesn’t see him eats anyt’ing weird! Just de normal stuffs. I feeds him his breaksfast dis mornings, later he has part of mine lunch wit me, we shares a candies bar before practice, he gets some rats up de stairs—”

“Rats?” Charles had frozen in place, kneeling next to the shaking wolf. The razor sharp managerial tone in his voice got everyone’s attention at once. “He was chasing rats? Inside the house?”

The younger guitarist blinked. “Ja. He loves to chase de rats. Is good for exercises.”

“And then he eats them?”

“Ja, he’s be doings it all de time. Dey’s like… rat snacks. He’s was eatings one when I finds him. Is dat bad?”

Without answering, Charles rose smoothly to his feet and flipped open his phone. “We need to get this wolf to a veterinarian. Immediately.”

“Charlie, it’s really late,” Pickles pointed out with unusual rationality. “Are any vets gonna be open this time’a night?”

“We’ll find one. I’m afraid this can’t wait.”

“What’s is wrong wit him?” Toki demanded, more frightened than ever. “Does you know? Can de vets-train-arians helps him?”

“I honestly hope so, Toki.” The manager sent off a rapid-fire text, then snapped the phone shut. “I really don’t know how to say this, but… The rat problem in Mordhaus has been bothering me for some time. Several days ago I finally got around to having poison laid out.”

“He’sh been eating poishon?” Murderface yelped, looking disgusted and impressed at the same time. “Shick.”

“Poisons? Like de stuff dat kills de rats?!” The look of abject horror was growing on Toki’s face as he hovered over the wolf that had finally gone exhaustedly still, a thin trickle of blood still running from its maw. The Norwegian quickly ran his hands through rumpled fur, petting almost manically. “If de rats eats poisons and Loki eats de rats—is Loki goings to die of poisons too?!”

“I believe him having somehow gotten the poison into his system is the most probable explanation for all this. But whether or not he’ll die from it—that depends on how fast we can get him into capable hands.” With that, Charles jumped into action. “Quickly, Toki, pick him up. There should be a car waiting for us. Nathan, I think you’d better come along, too.”

The big man looked bewildered. Not an unusual look for him, after all. “Me? Why do you need me?”

“Nathan, please. Just this once, do as I ask?” Charles’ tone brooked no argument.

Surprisingly, Nathan followed without too much grumbling as they hurried out the door. His heavy boots ground fresh dribbles of wolf blood into the carpet as he chased after the retreating figures of his manager and rhythm guitarist. “Fine, whatever. Damn it, where’s my coat…”

In the suddenly silent room the remaining three band members stared at one another.

Pickles shrugged. “So I guess we’ll jest… wait here, then.”

“Yeah, I guessh sho.” Murderface cleared his throat conversationally. “But yeah, that wolf ish totally gonna die. Probably gonna jusht croak off in the car on the way there, yep. Too bad. Kinda liked that thing…”

“Aww man… that sucks. We got a people hospital right here—why don’t we have one for animals? That’s not cool. Now Toki’s gonna be all depressed an’ crap. We’ll never get anything done in the studio.” Pouting, Pickles dropped down on the sofa next to Skwisgaar. “B’sides… I like the little furry guy, too. Don’t tell anybody I said that.”

The Swede just rolled his eyes elegantly. “Oh, ja, is all terrible. Poors little Toki. De worlds is at an end. Pffft. Comes on, for serious! Dat wolf isn’ts goings to die. Ofdensens would nots let dat happen. He finds a good vets-train-arians dat fixes wolfs.”

The drummer and bassist swapped equally skeptical looks.

Skwisgaar frowned, fingers speeding up on the strings. “For reals, guys, it will be’s okay! Rights…?”

No one bothered to offer an answer.

Rather uncomfortably, the remainder of Dethklok settled in to await the return of their missing companions. It appeared that only time would tell whether the wolf that accompanied them would be numbered among the living.

- // - // - // - // -

To be continued…

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(2nd)AN: Man… this came along so dang fast! I am so pleased… Pleased like punch, yep. We’ll try to get back to this soon, and see what happens to our furry friend! Oh, and the boys too, of course...
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Band's Best Friend