FIC: Endings Are Brutal (Dethklok (Nathan/Pickles), NC-17)
TO: stealing_mail
FROM: lostscore
Title: Endings Are Brutal
Main character(s): Dethklok, Charles Offdensen, Various OC's in minor but somewhat vital roles.
Pairings: A little bit of Charles/Nathan implication and DEFINITE Nathan/Pickles
Timeline: During Season 3
Genre: Horror/Drama/Supernatural
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: OC's, Slash, Major Character Death,
Summary: The State of Florida has never had a particularly wonderful relationship with Dethklok. This is MUCH worse than a hurricane.
A/N: Without giving anything away, I can safely say this was a HECK of a lot darker than I originally plotted. I do hope it's enjoyed. I really wanted to play up on my recipient's thoughts on being preoccupied with the music and what it implies and this is what I came out with.
Charles gazed over the shoulder of his top hacker Klokateer whose eyes were narrowed with concentration.
“I’m sorry Mr. Offdensen, but the place is locked tighter than a drum, firewall-based speaking. We couldn’t have done any better ourselves with Dethklok’s own online security. I hate to question your motives, but what exactly does this museum collection have to do with the band? If you were interested in seeing it, I’m certain you could merely take a day trip?”
“It’s not ah, the collection at the museum I’m interested in per-se. It’s regarding the pieces they’re not displaying.”
“Well sir, surely a man of your intellectual background and negotiation ability-”
Charles straightened. This particular Klokateer was rather intelligent and while his skills were not limited to being a master hacker they were what he was basically employed for. “During my nine months away, I discovered a group dedicated to monitoring the band. An Illuminati society. They appear to be following an ancient Sumerian prophecy and their goal is to bring down Dethklok. I doubt highly that there is anything to this ‘prophecy’ other than mad conspiracy theorists however the group itself has proved a danger to us as a physical threat if not a supernatural one. On top of that, we were recently denied a concert venue here in Florida where the exhibit is currently being shown. Nothing I could do has made any difference.”
“You believe that there is some link between the collection and the inability to get a concert venue.”
“Exactly. I have reason to believe scare tactics are being used. You remember exactly what happened the last time Florida had an altercation with Dethklok.”
The Klokateer rubbed his chin. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Stay up all night if you have to.” Charles nodded. “Let no avenue go unexplored.”
The Klokateer nodded. “Of course sir.” Turning to the rest of the Dethtech crew, he changed his tone. “You heard the man! Brew a pot of black coffee and order pizza. It’s gonna be a long night.”
***
The IT department weren’t the only ones in Mordland in for a long night. Charles Offdensen returned to his office, refusing to let the matter of their concert venue go. He flicked on the Dethklok minute as he always did late at night, whether or not he was immediately headed for bed. It was always good to prepare for what might come his way to deal with in the weeks to come.
“Big news for Dethklok. After being denied a concert venue in the state of Florida, the US Army has gotten involved! General Crozier, head of Military operations has gone on record saying that in the event that Dethklok is not allowed to perform, the army is poised to nuke Florida!” The disfigured man swapped out to show one of the generic stock photos of Nathan the newscast had on file. “Nathan Explosion has not been available for comment regarding the damage this would do to his family home life. In other news, Murderface has put out some Planet Piss T-Shirts. Could this finally be the release of the long-awaited ‘Planet Piss’? Meanwhile, looks like there’s trouble between Dethklok’s infamous guitarists. Could this cause a rift between them?” The brief clip of the usual argument between Skwisgaar and Toki (‘Stop copies me!’) Charles decided was nothing to be concerned about. “Finally, Pickles the Drummer has decided to produce his own line of rum: Rum Fer Gettin’ Drunk. That’s the Dethklok minute!”
Charles flipped off the television and tapped his pencil on his desk. Besides the news about the army, there was nothing unusual about the Dethklok minute this night. It did however remain to be seen whether the threat of friendly nuclear fire would goad Florida into allowing that concert venue. No doubt if the scare tactics ran deeply, he would have to make provisions to get the Explosion family to safety. As he was thinking this, the phone rang. The caller ID showed the Governor of Florida was the one making the call and he picked up expectantly.
“Do not worry about the concert venue. Dethklok will have their show in Orlando.”
Charles had spoken to the Governor on quite a few occasions and the man was a seedy little guy with a bit of a nasal voice. This voice was deep and almost certainly didn’t belong to the man he’d been arguing with the past few days.
“To whom am I speaking?” he demanded.
“The Governor’s secretary. The Governor himself is indisposed. He has asked me to pass on this message.”
“Very well, then we’ll ah- set up our venue on Monday as decided.”
***
Nothing if not cautious, Charles monitored the news all week for reports of the Governor’s death or that any harm had come to him. Most news coverage was about the relief of millions of fans that Dethklok’s concert was still on. Finally on Sunday his diligence was rewarded with a small spot of the Governor stepping out of his car to greet millions of cheering citizens of his state. If he was dead or harmed, this was an excellent imitation.
Nonetheless, he sent the television capture down to for analysis of anything strange. There was nothing left to do now but prepare for tomorrow.
***
In the green room, Toki was eating from his provided bowl of candy while Nathan was having an argument about the set list with Skwisgaar.
“I don’t care. I want to play the new stuff. Fuck you Skwisgaar.”
“Nat’ans you ams sayings its yourselfs. Its am nots readies. We ams not practicing and Toki’s guitars ams sounding bads enoughs withouts songs whats we don’ts knows!”
“Cans toos Skwisgaar!” Toki complained through his mouthful of milk duds
Scowling, Nathan shook his head. “We’re playing Blood Rain Mutilation. First song. Be ready.”
Murderface and Pickles glanced at each other. “Not that I’m pickin’ sides here dood, but uh...you never change the set list. What gives?”
“Yeah!” Always one to latch onto the slightest instance of potential dissonance, Murderface jumped in. “Why are we changing the shet lisht!?”
“It umm....seemed like the correct...action to take and stuff.”
“I’m fine with it.” Murderface surprised himself.
“Yeah. Me too dood.” Pickles shrugged and returned to applying his corpse paint.
“Has! Yous ams outvotesked Skwisgaar. I wants to play the new songs too!”
The Swede looked around. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to admit that he was actually okay with the idea now that it had some time to settle. “Fines. We ams changing the set lists. Howevers don’ts yous comes to my house on crybabies vacation when Toki ams fucksing it up.” He swept from the room, fiddling as ever with his Explorer.
“Guess we’re on.” The frontman shrugged, getting up. “So it’s agreed. Blood Rain Mutilation first then the rest of the songs as normal.” As Nathan took his spot at the microphone and the music began, he spotted Charles Offdensen out of the corner of his eye, speaking to a Klokateer who was gesticulating frantically.
Offdensen’s gaze scanned over the heads of the crowd. He seemed to spot who he was looking for and his eyes widened. He strode onto the stage. It took a moment for the band and the crowd to realize what was going on.
“Nathan you have to st-“
It was as far as he got. The earth yawned, the heavens began to rain. Not water but fat, sticky drops of blood. The sky turned an awful, orange-red. As though possessed, the band continued to play as the audience screamed, having realized none of this was special effects. The song thundered on and Charles barely got out of the way of the support beam that was coming for him, rolling away and skidding to a stop ungraceful but alive next to Toki’s feet.
The creatures that poured forth onto the earth were hideous. They made Mustakrakish look like a kitten, and a man with silver hair stood in the midst of it, laughing. The people were falling into the yawning maw, being torn apart. The carnage was impossible. Brutal. Metal.
Charles knew that there was only one thing for it. He needed to stop them. Scrambling to his feet, he sized up Toki who seemed not to know he was there, his eyes glowing a baleful red. Putting all his power behind one fist, he pulled it back and let fly. Toki staggered, but his hands remained on his flying V, notes still spewing forth. He didn’t try to counterattack either, just played on - zombie-like. Charles positioned himself in front of him and summoning all the martial arts strength he possessed, slammed a fist into the guitar. There was a crack. Another punch. Another crack. On the third try, he punched a hole through the instrument, his knuckles bloodied from strings and splinters. It was however, successful. The music stopped.
Nathan’s microphone fell to the stage with a heavy clunk and a whine of feedback. “What the hell...?”
“There’s no time to explain now boys. We need to get back to Mordhaus.” Charles chivvied them off the stage and towards the waiting Dethkopter. Mordhaus however had crashed to the ground, splintering to rubble and by extension the copter was no more.
The five band members looked at the CFO who to his credit was only momentarily stymied. “We look for the Dethbunker.”
***
“Do you mind telling us what is going on?” Nathan demanded.
“I...have made a grave error in judgement, boys. I knew of a group that was exercising interest in harming you based on a Sumerian prophecy. I imagined it to be a conspiracy theory. A significant amount of...”
“Dood. We did this?” Pickles gestured at the burned and blackened landscape.
Charles sighed. “Yes, Pickles, you did.’
To that statement, the band was silent.
They waded through the grasslands of Mordland. It was impossible to decide who was who - everyone, everywhere was dead. Some were barely recognizable as fans. Elsewhere bits of charred black that might have been Klokateer uniforms hung on blackened bones. Grease smears that were once children. Charles envied the dead.
As the steel trapdoor that lead to the underground holding tank arrived in view, just as they thought they were home-free, the rumble of a snarling growl made all of them, even Charles jump in surprise.
Very slowly as a unit, the band and their manager turned to face the oncoming beasts. Once yard wolves, the hell-spewed forth on Earth had changed them, mutilated them. Charles elbowed his way to the front of the group, removing a knife from his jacket pocket and picking a hefty bit of what was probably once someone’s femur from the ground. “Go.” He ground out. Much to his surprise, not a single member of the band turned to flee.
“We’re here for yoush, man.”
“Yeah. We uh...yeah.”
“GO!” Offdensen’s snarl was even a shade more intimidating than the yard wolves. Dethklok went, not looking back to see what had happened. The metal door clanged shut behind them, and they sat in the dark for a moment.
When Nathan took a step into the darkness, it was understood without words. Charles wasn’t coming back.
***
With the shock still fresh in their minds, the band stumbled numbly into the ornate rooms prepared for them, Nathan’s silk and Skwisgaar’s furs duplicated deep underground. There were rations for days in the cupboards and water but no alcohol or drugs. No television or recording studio.
Murderface, Toki and Skwisgaar dispersed to the bedrooms but much to his surprise, Pickles wandered into Nathan’s room. Nathan expected a complaint about the hell that was sobriety, but Pickles just sized him up.
Nathan complied, knowing what was being asked of him, not in so many words. It would have to be nothing more special than a blowjob or a handjob - there was no proper lube available and certainly neither of them wanted to add further pain to the day.
Nathan unzipped his pants, barely noticing that today of all days he’d decided to freeball and Pickles, with no witty repartee or remarks put his lips to Nathan’s cock and sucked. Why, he didn’t know. Maybe he had an oral fixation with all the joints he smoked and bottles he drank from.
Above him, Nathan grasped the dreadlocks roughly, pushing Pickles deeper on his cock. He could feel the other man’s weight shift as he supported himself on one hand to fondle Nathan’s balls.
The frontman groaned, his eyes slipping closed. It didn’t matter that it was a dude sucking his dick, it just mattered that there was something other to focus on besides what had happened today. Unbidden the face of his manager sprang to his mind. Each and every last soldier had given his or her life for Dethklok. The hand on the back of the drummer’s head tightened of its own accord.
Pickles too was focusing on nothing but the task at hand. Swirling the tongue around the tip, down and along the shaft. Murmuring in the back of his throat. To his surprise, he realized they were words...or might have been. Wasn’t any language he knew.
Nathan groaned, but didn’t release Pickles when he came, shuddering, the growling moan bouncing around the stone chamber. He didn’t care who heard.
A few moments relaxation and then, a big hand moving towards Pickles. Time to return the favour.
Shaking his head, the drummer put his hand back into his lap. Pickles had no erection, just a bit of cum at the end of his beard. His eyes followed it, but he didn’t bother to brush it away.
“So this is how it’s ganna be.” He said at length.
“What the fuck do you mean?” Nathan was getting exasperated. What was this nonsense? Some kind of withdrawal-druggie reaction?
“Stuck together with you douchebags fer all eternity.”
Every man, woman and child on Earth was dead.
The world was a pit of boiling stone.
The five survivors who were together hated each other.
The Metalocalypse.
Brutal.