A/N:

Three things, nice and easy:

1. It's rated for swearing and swearing alone. The actual show is rated TV-M, so if a few swear-words get to you, you probably shouldn't be watching Metalocalypse. Just sayin'.

2. It takes place at Seth's wedding reception during the episode Dethwedding; right after Dethklok performs and right before Seth opens his present from the band.

3. Also, they're no pairings (aside from Seth/Amber which is a given, der!). I don't do them. Nothing against romance or anything it's just... no, wait. It's everything against romance. I don't like romance. Sorry.

Disclaimer: I don't own Metalocalypse or any characters affiliated with it. Metalocalypse is owned by Tommy Blacha, Brendon Small, and Adult Swim: none of which I am a part of. This is for entertainment purposes only.

Enjoy!

Guilt Can Wait

Pickles sat; face down at the cheap, wooden table his brother had rented for his joke of a wedding. Empty bottles that once held assorted alcoholic beverages decorated the table's surface, circling the drummer as his feeble attempts to get wasted enough to forget his current location was failing him horribly. At least his dick-head friends were having fun.

That thought made him groan and it was enough motivation to lift his heavy, drunken head to drink more vodka from an already half-empty bottle, but he paused, the bottle stopping at his lips with the liquid halfway to him as he noticed someone standing at the other end of the table. He raised a pierced eyebrow at his pregnant sister-in-law and lowered the bottle from his lips.

"Can I… eh… help… yeh?" Shit, what was her name again? Even if he was sober, he probably wouldn't have remembered it. Seth's wife nervously looked around, as if making sure he was addressing her and no one else. She bit her lip after a few seconds and nodded.

Autumn… Aaron…?

"Can I sit here?" she asked, pointing to the chair next to Pickles. The drummer blinked and stared for a while before exhaling through his nose and mumbling a lame approval under his breath. Leaning back, he kicked the extra chair out from under the table and watched the expecting woman eagerly sit down. She stared at him for a few seconds before she pulled her beloved cell phone out of her pocket and plugged it into the wall.

"It's dead," she informed his as if he cared. "I hate that. The thing lasts me two—maybe three days tops before it dies on me."

Pickles rolled his eyes and pulled the liquor back to his lips. He thought about starting a conversation with the woman. It would have been about how Seth probably wasn't the best man to marry, about the baby, about the wedding, about how two to three days of straight texting was actually a pretty good life span for her overused cell phone… but he decided against it.

Instead, he drank, allowing the vodka to burn his throat until it was numb. He didn't get to finish, however, as it was quickly snatched away from him. He jumped in surprise, spitting out the liquid and it ran down his face and into his goatee. He licked his lips a couple times to try to clean it up, before looking at what's her name with a startled look.

"What de hell?" He asked, but the woman in front of him downed the bottle, only stopping when there was about a shot worth left. Pickles stared at the woman, wide-eyed and confused before his gaze dropped to her stomach. "Ain't… uh… ain't yeh pregnant?" She responded with a sharp look, setting the bottle on the table and grinning slightly.

Alexia… Alexis…

"What, I can't have fun too? Just 'cause I got a kid comin'?" Pickles stared for a bit, very much wishing he was unconscious from alcohol poisoning so he could just stay away from the awkwardness of this entire conversation.

A… A… it begins with an 'A'…

"I don't really care, babe," he finally shrugged, and leaned over the table, resting his throbbing head in folded arms. Words slightly muffled; he snorted, "Kids wouldn't stop me from feckin' drinkin'." The woman burst into laughter, snorting while doing so. Pickles turned his head to the side so he could see her better, his lopsided grin planted on his face.

"Damn, girl, yeh've been serprisin' me all neight!" His sister-in-law crossed her legs and turned towards the drummer, tilting her head to the side.

"How so?" she asked.

"Well, fer starters, yeh're talkin'," she snorted again as she tried to hide her snickers. "Drinkin' too. Yeh downed dat vodka pretty fast fer a girl."

She snorted again, laughing almost obnoxiously, and Pickles was silently thankful he wasn't sober enough to get annoyed by Seth's wife. Snickering himself, he grinned again.

"Yer one to talk aboot drinkin'," She mocked his accent and motioned to the empty liquor bottles around the table. "I just had a little sip." She grabbed the bottle and jiggled the contents mere inches from his face, almost taunting him.

"Yeh, yeh, I know…" He laughed, grabbing the bottle and finishing it off before he slammed it onto the table to join the rest of his collection. "My name is Pickles and I'm an alcoholic." His sister-in-law burst into laughter, snorting and howling, drawing a few eyes from the room. Pickles sunk a little lower in his chair, before realizing there was more attention towards the two Scandinavians leaning against the far wall.

"Yous likes de colors of de skys?" Pickles and the pregnant woman overheard Toki practically shouting his question to an irritated Skwisgaar next to him. "I's don'ts. It ams… too bluishs for mes. Right, Skwisgaar?" Skwisgaar huffed and pushed the Norwegian over. The brunette slid across the wall in almost an arch and landed on the floor as his counterpart walked away, clearly annoyed.

"I's done babysitting yous, Toki! Stay dere and don'ts move. Idiots." He walked over to a table to get some beer himself before a crash made him shift his attention back to the younger man. "Toki, what I just says? Sit downs! Yous goings to—TOKI, NO!" Skwisgaar practically dove and tackled the rhythm guitarist, pinning him to the ground.

"Your foreign friends are kinda cute," Pickles' attention shot to the woman next to him. His pierced eyebrows were knitted and slightly raised. She giggled and rolled her eyes. "What? They are! Just 'cause I'm married, doesn't mean I can't look, right?"

"Uh… I'm pretty sure dat's exectly what it means," Pickles grinned, scanning the table for another beer.

"Seth looks."

"Yeh, he does." There was no use in denying it. Seth wasn't known for his loyalties. That's one of the reasons why Pickles was so surprised when his brother said he was getting married.

One of the reasons; there were many, many others.

Alex… Audrey… Alabama… Shit!

"I'm sorry, what's yeh're name again?" Pickles finally asked. He gave up trying to figure it out, and he didn't want to call her by the wrong name. The last time he did that to a girl, he was bitch-slapped, single, and had about fourteen random objects thrown at his head with remarkable aim. All under thirty-five seconds too. That had to be some kind of record.

"You know, I'd normally be mad but I forgot yours too," she smirked. "Amber."

AMBER! Der.

"Pickles."

"Pickles?" She snorted, "Really?"

"Yeh, jest don't ask." He gave his lopsided grin.

"I like your smile, Pickles," she complimented, causing the drummer to furrow his brow.

"My gey lil' half-smile?" He laughed, "Why?"

"I dunno, it's different," she shrugged, "Almost cute."

"Hah! Yeh, okey."

"I'm serious!" She giggled, "I've never seen it on you before, and Seth told me you never smiled."

Pickles rolled his eyes. "Yeh, well… Dere's never really a reason ta smile around Seth. And besides, he alweys made fun of me fer it. He calls it a—"

"—gay little half-smile?" Pickles nodded, thinning his lips.

"Yep."

"Which doesn't make much sense, he smirks like that too."

"Dat's what I said!" Pickles shouted, "And yet, the bastard still made fun of me fer years. He's always been a lil' doosh bag."

"Really? He made fun of you? He always told me how he was looking out for you; especially when you guys were younger."

Pickles burst out laughing.

"Yeh, okey, dat's a laugh! Seth didn't have my back for nothin'; especially when we were younger."

She giggled, "Well then maybe you can clear something else up for me because we apparently know two different Seths."

He nodded, too drunk or tired to object to anything anyway.

"Does Seth have asthma?"

The drummer's brow furrowed in confusion.

"Uh… no? Why would yeh tink dat?"

"Well… Before you guys got here, he was tearing up the house looking for something, but he wouldn't tell me what it was. Then the other day when Seth followed you and your friends out of the restaurant – you know, after you ran away screaming after Seth's speech at the table— an inhaler fell out of his pocket. I picked it up and gave it back to him, but when he saw I had it he started freaking out and snatched it away from me real quick and told me not to tell anyone he had that."

"Why was he carryin' an inhaler?" Pickles asked, cocking his head to the side. The pregnant woman shrugged.

"I don't know, but I've never seen him with one prior. And he seemed so nervous and shady to have it on him, I just made the assumption that he had asthma and was embarrassed or something, you know?"

Pickles absent-mindedly nodded, trying to think. That really made no sense. Even Pickles didn't carry around his inhaler. He used to all the time, but his parents took it away from him when he was in middle school when he learned in seventh-grade health class that there was a slight possibility a person could get high off the thing.

Pickles was quite eager to try it. He went home and took about twelve unnecessary puffs, got the giggles for about an hour before feeling dizzy, tumbled down the stairs, and cracked his head open right in front of his parents and the neighbors that were over visiting.

Needless to say, his inhaler was quickly confiscated.

His parents only gave it back to him when he was actually having an attack or proved to them that he really needed it. In other words, he had to learn how to calm his minor attacks down without it, for they wouldn't fork it over unless he was nearly unconscious or suffocated. It seemed like a cruel punishment, but he learned how to control it for the most part. He eventually got his inhaler back when he was fifteen after he had a nasty attack when he was with his friends and 911 had to be called for it.

Seth had gotten angry at his parents for that. He never fought with them, but that night, their "star child" yelled and screamed and accused them of being the worst parents in the world. It was almost like he cared, but immediately afterward he went to go see Pickles and demanded the twenty bucks the younger brother borrowed from him. After all debts were paid off, Pickles was informed that he could die now, because Seth got what he needed.

The drummer could come up with no reason as to why Seth would have an inhaler on him. If Seth did want to get high, it wouldn't be much of a buzz. Pickles sure as hell wasn't going to attempt it again (whether his parents believed him or not), and Seth never seemed at all interested in doing that. It couldn't have been out of concern either, for Seth didn't care about anyone but himself. Pickles was highly confident this entire wedding was simply Seth's way of getting as much cash from his brother as he could.

Amber did mention he was looking for it, though. That meant that he didn't have it on him until they got there. There was absolutely no reason or meaning behind it, whatsoever, but Pickles couldn't stop thinking about it. Come to think of it, though, he did have one more really bad attack before the 911 incident.

"Seth, where yeh goin'?" Pickles asked, rocking his feet as he balanced on the curb; avoiding the road the best he could. Seth rolled his eyes and turned around.

"I'm goin' to go hang out with my friends for a bit, Pickles. Is that okay with you?" His tone was obviously sarcastic, and he didn't exactly care about his brother's opinion, but Pickles didn't exactly care about Seth's.

"Can I come too?"

"No. I don't gotta take you everywhere, Pickles, just go home." He turned to walk away, but there was a tug at the end of his shirt and he whipped around to see redhead grasping him.

"You ain't supposed to cross the road, Pickles. Mom said eight-year-olds ain't supposed to cross the road by themselves."

"Mom also said that eight-year-old's ain't supposed to walk home by themselves without dere fifteen-year-old brothers," Pickles scowled. He was used to his brother's cruelty, so he could take whatever Seth threw at him, and he didn't want to attempt to go home just to get lost. Seth gritted his teeth and rolled his eyes.

"Fine, but don't embarrass me, okay? If you do, I swear I'll hit you for it later." Pickles made a face at the threat but didn't say anything as he followed his brother towards the two bums.

"Seeeeeth!" One of them shouted, his speech was slurred and his balance was terrible. The can in his hand was most likely the culprit, and Pickles had a good idea the liquid inside wasn't Coke-Cola as the label so clearly read. The kid was around Seth's age, maybe a little older. He wore a bluish-purple polo that looked like it had gone through several years of hand-me-downs and a green trucker's hat on his head that was tilted slightly down to hide his blood-shot eyes from any passersby. His friend was dressed about the same, only lacking a hat and exposing a crazy mane of a mullet.

Hat (as Pickles had labeled him, given Seth probably wasn't going to properly introduce them) extended the can to Seth who took it with a grin. "Wha' yeh up ter?" His breath reeked so strongly of alcohol; Pickles could smell it from his standing position a few feet below the taller kid.

The young redhead dropped his backpack to free his hands so he could cover his nose with his sleeve, trying hard to avoid the stench the best he could. The dust cloud that erupted from the ground from Pickles' bag was enough to draw the attention of Seth's friends.

"DAMN!" Hat shouted, commenting on the dirt that had slowly settled back to the ground. "That's what yeh get fer havin' no rain fer about a month, am I right?" He snorted and smiled, looking over at his friend whose gaze was fixed on Pickles.

"Who's the kid?" Mullet asked, releasing a puff of smoke into the air. Pickles coughed and covered his nose again.

"The parents are making me watch him until they get home," Seth rolled his eyes taking another sip from the can. "He's my brother."

"Ah…" Hat nodded as if he had just discovered cold fusion. He grabbed another open Coke-Cola can from a cooler by his feet and leaned down to meet Pickles face-to-face.

"So, what's yer name, kid?" he asked; the overwhelming smell that omitted from his breath made Pickles gag.

"Pickles," he mumbled, his words muffled by his sleeve. Hat grinned.

"Pickles? Dat's a weird name," he snorted, looking up at Seth who shrugged.

"We don't even call him by his real name anymore. It's been Pickles fer as long as I can remember."

Hat grinned and grabbed Pickles shoulder for balance, causing the younger boy to squeak.

"Yeh want some Coke, Pickles?" Pickles face brightened. He reached out his hand to accept it, but the can was quickly snatched away from a third-party. Hat and Pickles looked up at Seth who had a very irritated expression on his face.

"Why the hell would you waste a beer on him?" he snapped. "Besides, the last thing I need is for the light-weight to get alcohol poisoning. Try explaining that to my parents."

"Fine, fine," Hat rose but almost fell backward again. His stumbling kicked up more dirt, causing Pickles to cough again.

"Dude, one beer wouldn't hurt him that badly," Mullet joined in. He finished his cigarette, silently watching the three. "Besides, I always wanted to see a little kid drunk. Give him some, Seth, what's the big deal?"

"Yeh know, I read somewhere that givin' beer to kids when they're young will teach them to not drink when they're older." Hat smirked, taking a sip of the can in his hand. Seth rolled his eyes.

"You don't read, dick. And I already said no. I ain't getting in trouble 'cause you guys want to be douche bags."

"Whatever," Mullet mumbled. He tossed his cigarette to the ground and stomped it out, causing more dirt and dust to spike up into the air. Pickles' coughed again, but this time, Seth noticed.

"You ain't serious, are you?" He snickered. "Does a little bit of dirt make you cough? Seriously?" He burst into laughter.

"No," Pickles defended, although the itch in his throat wasn't helping.

Seth laughed and stomped the ground a few times, making more dust spike up into the air. Pickles tried to hold his breath to stop himself from coughing, but it became too much and he went into a coughing fit. Hat and Mullet found this hilarious, for they decided to join in too, and eventually there was dust and dirt everywhere. After a few moments, the three teens started coughing themselves and they stopped to let the dirt settle.

Pickles had run out of the dust cloud long before they stopped, but he still couldn't get any fresh air. His coughs soon turned to harsh gagging and his breathing became desperate wheezes the more he tried to gain control of himself. He grabbed at his chest as he felt it tighten up and he was starting to feel dizzy.

"Dude, is yer bro, okay?" Mullet asked, cocking his head to the side to watch Pickles gasp for air.

"He's fine, he's faking," Seth rolled his eyes and picked up a new can. "He's just a freakin' cry baby. Can't take it when I pick on him; he'll probably rat me out fer this too, the lil' bastard."

"Yeh sure, dude?" Hat asked, slight concern on his face.

"Positive. And what the hell do you know? Yer wasted, dude."

"Yeh, but—"

"Pickles!" Seth shouted; his brother didn't look up. "Knock it off! Stop being a lil' attention whore! That doesn't work with our parents and it won't work with me." Pickles began to stumble, tears in his eyes.

"Pickles…?" Seth took a step towards his brother, his heart increasing with every passing second. "Pickles… are you… okay?" Concern clung to his words as he watched his little brother squeeze his eyes shut and collapse to the ground.

"Shit!" Seth ran over to his brother. He fell to his knees and slid like a baseball player, somehow managing to scoop up Pickles in the process. He sat his brother upright and leaned him against his chest, grabbing his flailing arms by the wrists and pulling them over his head. He whipped around and looked at his dumbfounded friends.

"Get his inhaler, dickholes!" He shouted, and motioned towards the backpack Pickles had dropped earlier. They quickly ran over to his bag and rummaged through it. Seth turned back to his brother who was trembling as if he was cold.

"Pickles, you gotta calm down, bro, 'k? Don't panic!" Tears streamed down the redhead's face, but he nodded, twitching as he tried to find his breath. Seth whipped around again, slightly pulling his brother with him. "WHERE THE FUCK IS HIS INHALER?" He shouted; his voice cracking.

Mullet snatched the bag from Hat and flipped it upside-down. Books and papers scattered everywhere, and they continued to rummage through it, but they kept turning up with nothing.

"GIVE ME HIS GODDAMN INHALER!" Seth's voice caused Pickles to jump and the older boy's eyes widened as he gave his attention back to his brother. He wrapped his arms around him and slowly rocked him back and forth. "Shhhhh, it's okay, Pickles, calm down. Shhhh… just calm down, okay? Just try to breathe, just breathe with me, okay? On three, one… two… three, breathe. One… two… three, breathe." Seth was starting to panic. Pickles' breath was a fourth of what it should be and his younger brother was visibly shaking now.

"Dude, it ain't here! His inhaler ain't here!" Hat shouted and he and Mullet ran over with Seth, giving up on the search. Tears were streaming down Seth's face as he sobbed into his brother's hair, still rocking him back and forth.

"Call 911. Please! He can't breathe. Please! Call them! Call an ambulance!" When he didn't get a response, he looked up at his friends who were just staring at him. "PLEASE! CALL A FUCKING AMBULANCE!" The two teens jumped at Seth's outburst, but they looked at each other skeptically.

"Dude, 911 brings cops. Do you have any idea how much shit I have on me?" Seth looked at his friend in disbelief.

Pickles made a weird half-choking/half-sobbing sound once again catching Seth's attention. He gave a lopsided grin to his older brother before his eyes seemed to roll up into the back of his head and he went limp.

"Shit, shit, shit!" Seth cried. He scooped up his brother, bridal style, and took off running down the street: ignoring his friend's cries asking where he was going and to please not call the police, ignoring his own heavy breathing, ignoring the pain in his legs—all he could focus on was the wheezing coming from his brother, and hearing it made him run faster.

It felt like forever to reach his house, even though he got there in less than a minute. It wasn't until he stopped running when dizziness felt the need to smack him in the face. He shook his head to make it go away and set his brother down next to the door, brushing aside his red bangs that were stuck to his forehead from dirt and sweat.

"Pickles, I'll be right back, okay? Just try to breathe."

He didn't wait for a response, instead, running inside the house and up the stairs, skipping a few along the way. He darted into Pickles' room and over to his dresser, quickly discarding everything on the shelves and throwing it onto the floor. It took him longer than he would have liked, but he finally found the inhaler. He ran out of the room and nearly jumped an entire flight of stairs; promptly twisting his ankle as he landed. He limped outside and collapsed next to his brother, swearing again at the now-throbbing pain in his foot.

Shakily, he grabbed Pickles and leaned him against his chest again before shoving the inhaler in his mouth and releasing the medicine, praying it wasn't too late. Pickles jumped at the spray, startled, but nothing got into his lungs. Seth was so happy his brother responded he almost laughed.

"It's okay, it's okay, Pickles, calm down, 'k? It's just me, it's just me. I'm going to do it again, but this time, breathe with it, okay?" Seth sprayed the medication again. Slowly, Pickles' breath began to regulate, and he just started coughing again. He looked up at his brother, his head falling all over the place because the eight-year-old was too weak to support it. With heavy eyes, he blinked until the worried face of his brother came into focus.

"S-Seth?" He coughed then took a look around. "How'd we get home?"

Every emotion Seth was holding, released that very instant. He pulled his younger brother into a massive hug and sobbed in his hair.

"Why did you do that to me? How could you, Pickles? I thought you were going to die! I thought I killed you! Why didn't you have your inhaler?!" Pickles looked down, almost ashamed.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. His throat was dry, but he was done coughing.

"Why didn't you have your inhaler?" Seth repeated, almost angry now.

"S-Seth…" Pickles started, trying to form words. Seth looked down at the small boy he had cradled in his arms.

"Yeah?"

"You're cryin'."

Seth bit his lip and looked away, allowing more tears to fall down his face before nodding.

"Yeah."

"Why?" The boy's voice was getting stronger as he grew more conscious. He probably would've been fine on his own now, but Seth showed no sign of letting him go.

"Why didn't you have your inhaler?" he repeated. "You know you have asthma, why wasn't it on you?"

"Because you make fun of me for it," Seth's facial expression loosened. It was one thing to know that he had caused Pickles' attack, but to be the reason why he hadn't been able to fix it on the spot too? That just wasn't fair.

"Pickles, I want you to always have your inhaler on you, okay? Always. No matter what. Don't you do that to me again!"

"But what if I forget it?" Seth snatched the inhaler he had dropped on the ground and shoved it in his brother's hands.

"This had better stay with you. Don't lose it, don't play with it, don't give it away, don't sell it—it stays with you! Got it?" Pickles nodded and Seth let him go. "I'm going to go get your backpack and beat the shit out of my friends if they're still there. You go clean up your room, I sorta trashed it. Are you sure you're okay?"

Pickles nodded.

"Good." Seth punched his brother's arm and grinned. It didn't hurt, but Pickles looked up at him in disbelief. "That's for embarrassing me, dick!" He laughed and limped away on his swollen ankle.

Neither one of them spoke of what happened that day. Not even Seth, who normally brags about that kind of stuff to his parents to get more brownie points with them. Seth apparently did beat up his friends, for Mullet and Hat were covered in bruises the next time Pickles saw them. Until he got it taken away, Pickles had stayed true to his word and always kept his inhaler on him, although he did notice his extra one was missing a few days after Seth saved his life.

"Pickles?"

Pickles blinked, and looked around. Slow, agonizing music, people in suits, alcohol everywhere, drunk Norwegian, Seth's wife…

Oh yeah.

"Sorry, I… uh… got a little spacey dere," He laughed sheepishly and the woman smiled.

"Yeah, it's cool. Happens to me all the time," she reached under the table and unplugged her cell phone, stuffing the charger in her pocket. "Thanks for the chat, but my phone's alive again. I'll see you around I guess." And with that, she flipped open her phone and began texting away.

"Women," Pickles mumbled when she was out of earshot. He guiltily looked over at Seth who was talking with his drunken friends. Obviously, Seth took his extra inhaler, but why? It couldn't have been a 'just-in-case' thing, right? Seth didn't care about anyone to have a 'just-in-case' moment.

"HI, PICKLE!" Toki Wartooth dropped onto the table, tipping and almost flipping it before rolling off and falling into the empty chair that Amber once occupied. Glass bottles slid off the table's surface and onto the floor, some broke upon impact with the ground, creating an annoying shattering symphony while others rolled away, catching a few people's feet and making them trip.

"Toki! Would yous sit stills for one seconds? What ams wrongs with yous, huh? No more of de drinks for yous!" Skwisgaar appeared and attempted to pluck the cup from Toki's hand, but the Norwegian pulled away.

"No, Skwisgaar, NO! Justs one mores, please! I's fine! Honest!" As if on cue, Toki leaned over and emptied his stomach on the floor, spilling the contents of his Styrofoam cup in the process. It would have gotten on Pickles' feet, but the drummer withdrew his legs fast enough to miss it. He sat awkwardly, hugging his legs in his chair, waiting for Toki to stop vomiting. Skwisgaar took the opportunity to snatch away the alcohol.

"Toki, I think Skwisgaar's reight, you had way too much, dood," Pickles patted the Norwegian's head and looked up at the irritated Swede.

"Whys ams I always de one dat has to watch him?" He huffed, venting to Pickles and pulling Toki back on his feet. He swung Toki's arm over his neck to give the Norwegian support. "Yous tinks Murderface or Nat'ns would offers to helps, but no! Dey saves dis job for Skwisgaar!"

Pickles snickered, setting his feet back on the ground, carefully avoiding vomit and broken glass. He stood up and grabbed Toki's other arm. "Aw, come on, Skwis! Yeh know yeh like to babysit."

Skwisgaar scowled at the drummer. "Nos, I does NOT! He ams all over de places! And I swears, Toki, if yous throws ups on mes, yous on your own for de rests of de nights!"

"Jeg er okay med det, Skwisgaar," Toki laughed, not even realizing he abandoned his English, leaving Pickles somewhat lost.

"Oh, yous am? Yous wills nots wonts to nots dones be okays—whens—whens I leaves you by alones yourselfs with arounds no ones, yous ungratesful drunk dildos!" Pickles sighed. A frustrated Skwisgaar made as much sense as a Norwegian-speaking Toki. He wasn't going to know what either one of his band mates were saying, and he wasn't in the mood for an argument.

"Skwisgaar, jest don't worry aboot it. I'll watch Toki. You go have some fun, k?" The blond stared at Pickles in disbelief.

"Ams yous sures?" He asked, a smile twitching at the end of his lips. The Swede seemed skeptical and eyed Pickles suspiciously, but the drummer simply nodded.

"Yeh, I'm—" Before Pickles could finish, Skwisgaar threw Toki's arm off of him and ran as far away as he could get before the drummer changed his mind. Pickles blinked and smirked before glancing at Toki who was happily leaning against his shoulder.

"Hei, Pickle…" Toki giggled. Pickles smirked.

"Hey, Toki. Can yeh speak English, please? I don't speak… uh… foreign people." Toki laughed and snorted.

"Jeg snakker Engelske dum!" Toki shrieked, "Engleske! Engleske! Engleske!"

"Okey, Toki, dood, you ain't makin' any sense at all. I don't speak… not-English."

"I's says," Toki laughed again, "I's says I ams are speakings de English, Pickle! Silly Pickle! Silly, silly, silly—" Toki would have collapsed on the ground had Pickles not caught him. It was awkward holding the taller man, but Pickles managed to somehow set him in the chair and rest Toki's unconscious head on the table.

"Toki, sometimes I jest don't know what to do wit' yeh…" Pickles drew his attention back to his brother, who was now standing up on the stage holding Dethklok's 'present'. Pickles, personally, didn't even know what it was. He gave Skwisgaar and Toki some cash and told them to go get something, mainly because those two were the only ones that seemed even remotely interested in being here.

He didn't even really hear what his brother was saying.

"—Dethklok! Wonder what it's gonna be, ye know? Should I open it?" Pickles frowned. The entire time they were here, when Seth was referring to Pickles, he said Dethklok. It wasn't Pickles who was giving the gift, it wasn't Pickles who had convinced his friends to come with him to this hell hole, and it certainly wasn't Pickles who had paid for Seth's entire cheap-ass bachelor party—it was Dethklok. Did the bastard appreciate or care about anything or anyone other than himself?

"Hold on, Pickles, okay? Just calm down, it's okay."

"Pickles, I want you to always have your inhaler on you, okay? Always. No matter what. Don't you do that to me again!"

"Open the gift!" Hat shouted. Hat and Mullet. They haven't changed since they were kids.

"Think it's gonna be fuckin' sweet?" Seth chanted again. Pickles sure as hell hoped so. He just wanted to get out of here.

"OPENS IT!" Toki shouted, startling Pickles. When did he wake up? Let alone stand up and get another cup of alcohol? Pickles shrugged it off and looked back on stage, anxiety very visible on his face. He was starting to feel guilty. Guilt was not something that Pickles was accustomed to. It wasn't something that he felt towards anyone—especially Seth.

And besides, guilt… was not very metal.

Why he felt guilty, though, he wasn't exactly sure. He hadn't ruined Seth's wedding, and honestly, he thought that he had behaved quite well during the whole event. That went for his friends too. Usually, when Dethklok did public appearances, someone would have been dead, beaten, mauled, burned, or eaten by now. He knew he wasn't feeling guilty because people were still tripping over the empty liquor bottles Toki had knocked off the table. And he definitely wasn't feeling guilty because he broke some stupid little promise he made his brother years ago.

"But what if I forget it?"

"Okay, here goes nothin'," Seth smiled and pulled off the top of the cylinder gift, tossing the lid to the side of the stage.

"S-Seth…"

"Yeah?"

"You're cryin'."

"Yeah."

Maybe Pickles hadn't given Seth enough credit. He could've cared a little about him. Who knows, maybe he would let his brother have a job with Dethklok. He'd have to run it by the band first, but he didn't think that they would have much of a problem with it. Pickles felt ashamed. He'd make this up to Seth. Somehow…

"What the fuck is this shit?" Seth practically shouted, pulling out a blender. "What the fuck IS this shit, you penny-pinchin'—"

"It's whats registereds at Crates n' Barrels!" Toki laughed, calling over the crowd while Skwisgaar gave him an unamused glance over.

"Fuckin' Pickles! You fuckin' piece of shit! How fuckin' dare you come and ruin my fuckin' wedding!"

Then again, he is kind of a greedy dick.

"Alright, dat's it! I'M GONNA KILL YOU!"

Hell, guilt could wait.

I apologize for any and all grammatical errors, spelling mistakes, verbal confusion, repeated words, missing words, or overall crappiness you may have stumbled upon reading this story [my bad].

Thanks for reading!

- Redd