Fic: Step Thirteen
Title: Step Thirteen
Summary: Tragic news today.
Fandom: Metalocalypse
Word Count: 500
Rating/Contents: R, mentions of child abuse and incest, character death, homophobic language
Pairing: past Seth/Pickles
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: You know how sometimes you get a story stuck in your head and it must exit? Yes.
Tragic news today from Sydney:
"I'm glad you've finally found it in your heart to forgive your brother," Charles said, leaning back in his desk chair. "That's very noble of you."
PIckles gave him a hard look. "I won't ever forgive that motherfucker."
Charles pinched the bridge of his nose. "Pickles, if you haven't completed your twelve steps, I'm afraid that-"
Pickles slammed his hand down on the desk. "This is more important than twelve fucking steps, dude."
"Why don't we, uh-" Charles shifted uncomfortably. "Would it help if you talked about it to someone? Maybe if you could explain- look, I'm trying here."
"Sure," he said, snorting. "Why don't we talk about it."
Seth, charismatic head of Dethklok Australia and brother of Dethklok's own Pickles the drummer, fell thirty-six stories to his death.
"One day when we were teenagers, he said to meet him in the shed out back," Pickles said, his eyes going dull and glassy. "Said he had something to show me. I figured, hey, maybe he's not going to be a prick for once. He was like that some times. Like he didn't hate me so much."
Investigation into the incident continues, but as of this morning, police were considering the death accidental.
"He had a handful of Mom's muscle relaxers and a fifth of gin. It wasn't enough, not for what happened next."
Charles cleared his throat. "I don't think I need to hear any more."
Pickles looked up at him. "I think you do."
Seth's blood alcohol content was well over the legal limit-
"Dad didn't believe me. He said if I couldn't keep my faggot hands off my own brother, I could get the hell out. So I did." Pickles collapsed back into his chair, all the energy going out of him at once. He blinked at Charles. "I've never told anybody that before."
-and toxicology reports also indicated the presence of cyclobenzaprine, diazepam, and several other prescription drugs.
He was already crying by the time Charles rounded the desk and went to him. There was something there, overriding Charles's discomfort around other people's emotions, some more primal instinct.
Front man Nathan Explosion, when asked to comment, said, "[Expletive deleted] that guy, seriously. That's guy's a [expletive deleted]."
"Don't worry," Charles said, his arms wrapped around Pickles, rocking him unconsciously. "Daddy's going to make it better."
That just made fresh tears spring to Pickles's eyes. "Daddy," he whispered, clinging to Charles's shirt.
"That's right," Charles told him. "Daddy always looks out for his boys."
Neither Dethklok's manager, Charles Ofdensen, nor Pickles responded to interview requests.
Charles picked up his phone. "Have the jet ready in twenty minutes. I have some urgent business to attend to."
Further updates will be given as this story unfolds.
This entry was automagically crossposted from http://sabinetzin.dreamwidth.org/294051.html.
comments over there.
Summary: Tragic news today.
Fandom: Metalocalypse
Word Count: 500
Rating/Contents: R, mentions of child abuse and incest, character death, homophobic language
Pairing: past Seth/Pickles
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: You know how sometimes you get a story stuck in your head and it must exit? Yes.
Tragic news today from Sydney:
"I'm glad you've finally found it in your heart to forgive your brother," Charles said, leaning back in his desk chair. "That's very noble of you."
PIckles gave him a hard look. "I won't ever forgive that motherfucker."
Charles pinched the bridge of his nose. "Pickles, if you haven't completed your twelve steps, I'm afraid that-"
Pickles slammed his hand down on the desk. "This is more important than twelve fucking steps, dude."
"Why don't we, uh-" Charles shifted uncomfortably. "Would it help if you talked about it to someone? Maybe if you could explain- look, I'm trying here."
"Sure," he said, snorting. "Why don't we talk about it."
Seth, charismatic head of Dethklok Australia and brother of Dethklok's own Pickles the drummer, fell thirty-six stories to his death.
"One day when we were teenagers, he said to meet him in the shed out back," Pickles said, his eyes going dull and glassy. "Said he had something to show me. I figured, hey, maybe he's not going to be a prick for once. He was like that some times. Like he didn't hate me so much."
Investigation into the incident continues, but as of this morning, police were considering the death accidental.
"He had a handful of Mom's muscle relaxers and a fifth of gin. It wasn't enough, not for what happened next."
Charles cleared his throat. "I don't think I need to hear any more."
Pickles looked up at him. "I think you do."
Seth's blood alcohol content was well over the legal limit-
"Dad didn't believe me. He said if I couldn't keep my faggot hands off my own brother, I could get the hell out. So I did." Pickles collapsed back into his chair, all the energy going out of him at once. He blinked at Charles. "I've never told anybody that before."
-and toxicology reports also indicated the presence of cyclobenzaprine, diazepam, and several other prescription drugs.
He was already crying by the time Charles rounded the desk and went to him. There was something there, overriding Charles's discomfort around other people's emotions, some more primal instinct.
Front man Nathan Explosion, when asked to comment, said, "[Expletive deleted] that guy, seriously. That's guy's a [expletive deleted]."
"Don't worry," Charles said, his arms wrapped around Pickles, rocking him unconsciously. "Daddy's going to make it better."
That just made fresh tears spring to Pickles's eyes. "Daddy," he whispered, clinging to Charles's shirt.
"That's right," Charles told him. "Daddy always looks out for his boys."
Neither Dethklok's manager, Charles Ofdensen, nor Pickles responded to interview requests.
Charles picked up his phone. "Have the jet ready in twenty minutes. I have some urgent business to attend to."
Further updates will be given as this story unfolds.
This entry was automagically crossposted from http://sabinetzin.dreamwidth.org/294051.html.
comments over there.