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Sweet Robot	By : varenoea Category: +M through R > Metalocalypse > Slash - Male/Male Views: 2074 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Metalocalypse, any of the characters, settings or plot elements. No financial profit is being made with this story.

Chapter List
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Charles was sitting in the middle of the row of five beds that contained his band.

Technically, of course, you couldn’t be sitting in the middle of five beds, but Charles sat between Pickles and Murderface, near the middle, and was kneading his hands on his lap.

The band’s attempt at curing their measly summer cold through blood-letting had nearly led to their demise, and now they were laid out on a row of white beds, and had saline solution dripped into their veins while the blood for the donations was being warmed up.

It wasn’t the first time that they had done an idiotic thing that Charles’ mind would never have come up with, but it was the first time they had nearly given him a heart attack.

Charles breathed out. At the far end of the row, Toki was moving his lips soundlessly, then there was Nathan lying like a mummy, with his mouth closed, and then Pickles. All of them pale, but on Pickles it looked the most worrying. His chest was heaving very slightly. His eyelids were twitching. He had to be cold. They all had to be, but, well, it just didn’t matter that much that the others were cold. The thought of Pickles being cold right now was far worse for Charles. He considered taking off his jacket and putting it over Pickles’ chest, but then decided it would look strange.

Pickles’ fingers twitched now, too.

There was the overwhelming urge inside Charles to put his hand over Pickles’, running his fingertips over the calloused digits and giving them some warmth, but he couldn’t do it. Simply couldn’t.

Pickles’ eyelids fluttered. His irises were fixed to the ceiling; they began to roll, and finally got stuck on Charles. Pickles let his head sink to the side.

“Dude, what happened?”

“Uhm. You don’t remember?”

Pickles closed his eyes again and swallowed. Like a tired little bird. Charles hated to see him like this. “Naw. Not much.”

“You were giving yourselves a blood-letting. Complete with some leeches.”

“Ow.” Pickles’ face screwed up in agony. “Not a good idea, dude...”

“You nearly killed yourselves.” Charles spoke in a low voice in order not to wake the others.

“Fuck”, groaned Pickles. “Hey, did you find us?”

“Yes. I was wondering what you were up to. When nothing can be heard of you for a while, I know that you’re in trouble.”

“Musta been brutal”, Pickles chuckled.

Charles leaned forward, speaking softly but firmly. “Next time I catch you birdbrains doing anything like this, I’ll kill you myself.”

That was not a thing Pickles was used to hearing from this man. And it sounded so matter-of-fact. He flinched. “Dude, when you try that, you know that we can fire you, don’t you?”

Charles smiled pleasantly. “You would be dead before you could say You’re f.”

Pickles didn’t like this. He frowned. “What’s going on with you, man? You’re never like that.”

No. Not to them, not usually. It puzzled him time and again how clueless they were with respect to some pretty obvious things.

“Not often”, he said. Pickles was startled, even a bit repelled by this side of Charles he didn’t know. It made Charles feel like he had just turned into Mr Hyde.

“You don’t like seeing blood, is that it?” Pickles ventured, his green eyes nosily looking Charles up and down.

“No”, Charles said under his breath. “I don’t like you trying to kill yourselves. That’s what I don’t like. That’s what pisses me off.”

Pickles looked down on the white cover that went up to his chest, and poked his IV probingly.

“Stop that.” Charles rubbed his forehead.

“Dude, you can’t…”

“I said stop it.” Too much was too much. His nerves had been taut like wire over the last two hours. Charles was at a point where he didn’t take shit. Not from anybody, not even from Pickles.

And the sharp tone in his voice worked. Pickles drew his hand back and looked at him. Confused. And somewhat angry.

“You never wondered why I’m staying in this job, did you?” He never let himself go. But right now, there was something that had to get out.

Pickles shook his head, knowing that he would be told in a few seconds.

“This job I have here is the most interesting one I ever had. And I mean that in the worst possible sense. I could get a more quiet or more regular job any time, hell, I could even get one where I get paid better. After managing you guys – and I dare say successfully – anybody would want me for their company. And you know why I don’t go? Because I like you. You, and Toki, and Skwisgaar, and Nathan, and Murderface. You’re thoughtless, reckless idiots with no sense of decency. But you’re a lot more honest than most people I had to deal with. And at least you don’t poison rivers for profit or invent mass-killing weaponry.”

Pickles grinned, embarrassed, and apparently not sure if this was a compliment. “Thanks.”

“And you - I like you a lot. More than I should, professionally.” The words came out of his mouth, with his head wedged and cramped between his shoulders. His lips were dry. “I can’t have a job where I find you bled out on the floor because you were doing something stupid. If I ever see you like that again, I’m gonna get so pissed-off I swear I’ll kill you personally.”

Pickles’ grimace was slowly turning into a smile. “Aw, Charlie.”

“So”, said Charles, leaning back, straightening out and becoming his old self, “just keep that in mind.”

Pickles looked at him, with a strangely pensive expression. It looked almost unhealthy on him.

“Why de fuck’s it so cold here? I’m freezingks. My fingers is blue. Can’t someone cranks up de heat? Where are wes, North Pole?”

“Skwisgaar?” Toki piped in.

“Over heres.”

“I needs some hots coffee. I’m sssooo cold!”

While the voices around him rose, Charles knew that he had said too much. He was embarrassed. He had let himself go. Everything had been somewhat acceptable, but the last bit… no. He could only hope that Pickles, in his wonderfully thoughtless approach to things, would forget it.

And he spent the rest of the day being extra accurate.
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