Author's Notes: As of 1/9/2012, all chapters of this story through chapter 10 have been replaced with their rewrites. The chapters were rewritten in order to take advantage of my improved writing abilities as well as to make the entire story more cohesive. The rewritten chapters are not beta-read, and I apologize for any mistakes in spelling, grammar, and/or punctuation.
Disclaimer: I do not own Metalocalypse or its characters, and I make no money off these fics.
The following warnings apply to the entire story:
Language, male/male sexual content, violence, implied pedophilia and incest, implied child abuse.
DO NOT READ THIS STORY IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF EIGHTEEN.
"Sombahdy has t'wake Toki th'fack up," Pickles declared, exhaling smoke. It was exactly six forty-five in the morning—they had a show somewhere out of the country and the manager had made them wake up early—and he was having his breakfast cigarette.
"He is awake, dickface," growled Nathan, not even bothering to raise his forehead from where it rested against the breakfast table. "Sort of, anyway."
"He'sch fuckin' cata—caschtra—awe, fuck—" Murderface, who had been shoveling bacon and eggs into his rather large mouth, stumbled over the word, managing to spray Skwisgaar in bits of scrambled egg and spit in the process.
"Watch what's yous doingks, yous fuckingks dildos," Skwisgaar snarled, leaping to his feet and brushing himself (and his guitar) off frantically. "No ones be wantingks whats beens insides yours mout' alreadies!"
"Fuck you," Murderface answered, and wiped his mouth with the back of one pudgy hand before diving back into his breakfast headfirst.
"Catatonic, is what he meant," Nathan mumbled, groping with his right hand for his coffee cup. He found it, and raised his head just enough to take a sip before letting it drop back down. "But Pickles is right. Skwisgaar, go wake him up."
Skwisgaar, still preoccupied with ridding his jeans and guitar of half-chewed eggs and Murderface spittle, started at the sound of his name. "Eh, whats yous sayingks?" he asked.
"Go wake up Toki, douchebeag," Pickles snapped irritably. He was hungover and jittery, coming down from a tequila-and-cocaine binge that had left him with bright, bloodshot eyes and an extremely short temper. He cracked open a beer and drained half of it in one swallow. "We gahtta show t'do, he can't be call cata-whatsit or he won' be able t'play."
"Fucks you, dildoes," Skwisgaar grumbled. "I's been pukingks all de damn nights. Stupids fat whore…"
"Yeah, I wasn' really jumpin' fer joy when Seth's ugly face showed up, but they're gahn now, douchebeag." Pickles crumped the beer car in his hand a threw it over his shoulder, then began digging in his pocket for another cigarette. "Toki should fackin' snap outta it."
"Hows ams I goingks to be snappingks him outs of it?" Skwisgaar asked, sneering. "Besides, its not likes we really be needingks hims…"
"Well, we can't leave him, either," Nathan said. He lifted his head and slumped backward in his chair, rubbing his face with both hands. "He'll burn the fuckin' Haus down. He's like a fuckin' five year old."
"Well it'sch no fuckin' wonder he'sch like that," Murderface paused to chug his orange juice, then added, "Fuckin' creepy assch parentsch of hisch."
"Man, I didn't like those douchebeags," Pickles took a drag off a slightly bent Marlboro Red, then dissolved into coughing for a moment, missing the disapproving glances of his band mates. Once he recovered, he spit into the general direction of the trash can and continued, "I thought I had it bad w'my fackin' parents. Least they'd tahlk to me."
Skwisgaar—who had begun to turn a delicate shade of green ever since Murderface had said the word "parents"—suddenly scrambled out of his seat and dove for the sink. He dry heaved for a moment, then spewed forth a greasy, yellowish substance that could only be bile.
"Fucks de parents talks," he said slowly, a moment later. "I cant's be handlingks it."
"Brutal," Nathan mumbled, in response to Skwisgaar's sudden sickness. "But we've gotta leave in like an hour. Go try your fuckin' luck, Skwisgaar. If it don't work we'll get him a babysitter or somethin'."
"Ugh, fines," Skwisgaar sighed, and stomped off down the corridor that would take him to Toki's room. His stomach was still roiling, but by force of will he managed to calm it down somewhat by the time he reached Toki's door. It was decorated in a poster featuring a giant, bloody shark's mouth and a sign scrawled in Toki's distinctly childish script that read: "KEEPS OUT! THIS MEANS YOU SKWISGAAR!"
Skwisgaar tried to suppress a smirk and failed. He shook his head, and opened Toki's door without knocking. The room was pitch dark; the sheets from Toki's bed had been draped over the small windows. Skwisgaar couldn't see anything, let alone Toki, to save his life.
"Toki?" Skwisgaar ventured, a little annoyed by the darkness in the room. "Toki, we gots a shows today, yous can'ts be all cata…catsatonsnic, ors whatevers. Well, Nat'an's says you can'ts, we coulds do fines wit' outs you, you knows."
He paused for a moment, waiting to see if this little jibe was enough to bring Toki out of…whatever he was in, but he got no answer except for a very faint shuffling noise that came from his left. He felt along the wall for a light switch, but when he found it and flipped it, nothing happened.
"Toki!" Skwisgaar called, beginning to be very annoyed, "If I fucks up mine hands in yours rooms, I'ms goingks to kills you!" He held his precious hands out in front of him like a blind person, feeling his way toward the soft sound.
He heard it again, like someone shuffling along carpet in their sock feet…but the floor of Toki's room was black tile. At that moment, Skwisgaar smashed into a wall, stumbled backward, and fell, causing something hanging on Toki's wall to fall and shatter.
Probably one of those creepy pictures of his parents he keeps around, Skwisgaar thought in Swedish. He'd never yet ben able to master thinking entirely in English, and he wondered vaguely if Toki was able to. He would ask him, if the little dildo would ever snap out of…whatever he was in.
Skwisgaar began to feel his way along the wall, shattering a few more pictures along the way. His feeling hands were probably just the height of Toki's eyes; the Norwegian was shorter than him, after all.
Skwisgaar's blind-man explorations were halted when his crotch came in sudden contact with a doorknob. The force wasn't enough to put him on the ground, but it was enough to make him cup his throbbing balls in the palm of his hand and curse loudly for several seconds.
Over his own furious mumbling, he heard the shuffling noise again, and this time it was louder. Skwisgaar realized that the offending doorknob must belong to Toki's closet, and that the bizarre sound must be coming from behind the closet door. Still massaging his abused genitalia in one hand, he reached out and opened the closet door with the other.
Skwisgaar's icy blue eyes, now adjusted to the darkness of Toki's room, focused in on a peculiar sight. Toki's shadowy form was huddled at the very back of his closet, and he seemed to have buried himself in what looked like every piece of clothing he owned. Only his childish baby blues peered out from the folds of cloth hiding him.
"Toki?" Skwisgaar asked, a little incredulous. "Toki, yous little dildos, whats you doingks?"
The sound of Skwisgaar's voice made Toki cringe, and he tried to scoot backward some more. The strange shuffling noise was coming from the clothes that hid him as they shifted against the floor and one another. There was nowhere left for Toki to scoot, however, and Skwisgaar sighed as he began to feel along the wall for a light switch.
This one worked. This is insane, Skwisgaar thought, squinting into the sudden brightness. Toki's eyes had narrowed as well, and he was still trying to scoot backward, away from Skwisgaar.
"Toki, we's gots a concerts today, dildoes. Gets de fucks out of heres," Skwisgaar scowled as he spoke. He didn't like things that he didn't understand—granted, he didn't understand much besides guitars and groupies—and he certainly didn't understand why Toki should be hiding under his clothes at the back of his closet and refusing to speak.
Toki made no sound. The bundle of clothes began to tremble slightly.
Skwisgaar felt panic beginning to rise in his chest—what was he supposed to do with Toki now?—but he quickly channeled in into anger instead. It was easier to be angry. Tell himself that he was pissed off, not panicking, Skwisgaar snarled, "Gets de fucks out, Toki, or I'lls be makingks you get de fucks out."
This time, Skwisgaar could have sworn he heard the little bundle that was Toki begin to whimper. He paused for a moment, his feigned anger shifting more toward pity. Toki could sound so sad sometimes, so sad that Skwisgaar almost wanted—
The blond shook his head vigorously and held on to his anger, following through with his original threat. He dug one hand into the bundle of clothes that hid Toki, seized him by the hair, and pulled him up on his feet.
Toki's face contorted in pain and tears leaked from the corners of his eyes as Skwisgaar jerked on his hair, but no more whimpers escaped him. He seemed incapable of sound; he stood before Skwisgaar in nothing but a pair of black boxers, shivering and silent. Once again, Skwisgaar nearly lost his grip on the familiar, comfortable anger as it gave way to concern. Toki's body, usually so hard and muscular, was beginning to resemble Skwisgaar's own: thin, emaciated, with ribs showing and collarbones protruding. Skwisgaar, who had been almost dangerously thin for years, was used to the look on himself, but on Toki…on Toki, it frightened him. It looked unhealthy, unattractive (Skwisgaar conveniently decided not to acknowledge the fact that he had used the word "attractive" in association with Toki, no matter what form of it).
Skwisgaar, hand still buried to the roots in Toki's long hair, began to count on the fingers of his free hand. He hadn't seen Toki eat since the band's families had arrived for their visit three days ago. They had left two days ago, and since then Skwisgaar didn't think he had actually seen Toki at all.
"Toki?" Skwisgaar said tentatively. He waved his free hand in front of Toki's face. "Toki? Toki, cans you evens be hearingks me? Nods if you cans."
Toki blinked, his eyes still filled to the brim with tears that didn't want to fall. He nodded once.
Then why won't you fucking talk to me? Skwisgaar thought, and once again he twisted all his concern and panic into fury. He pulled his fist back to punch Toki—it wouldn't be the first time, and maybe it would wake him up—but as he moved to drive his fist forward, he saw Toki's blue eyes widen, he saw the tears in them actually begin to fall, and he saw one more thing.
He saw that Toki didn't move. Toki always moved when a beating was imminent; ever since the early days, when they'd been so young together, Toki always moved when Skwisgaar went after him. Whether it was an all-in-fun wrestling match or a serious fight, Toki had always, always moved, and he had always, always fought back.
Then, something clicked. Something that actually managed to draw the pity from Skwisgaar, pure pity that couldn't be contorted into anger, because for a moment, Skwisgaar understood. For a moment, Skwisgaar could identify with what Toki was feeling.
He pulled back just as the blow was about to fall on Toki's jaw. Skwisgaar uncurled his fist, he let go of Toki's hair, and he placed his hands gently on Toki's wet cheeks. With something warm and sweet blooming inside his hollowed chest, Skwisgaar brushed the tears under Toki's eyes away with his thumbs, then grabbed the shorter man in his scrawny arms and hugged him as tightly as he could.
"They can't beat you anymore, Toki," he whispered fiercely in Swedish. "You're safe here."
The Norwegian stood motionless for a minute, then Skwisgaar felt strong arms tighten around his waist as Toki finally became responsive. He dug his fingers into the place just below Skwisgaar's shoulder blades, buried his face in Skwisgaar's bony shoulder, and started sobbing. Not just crying—Skwisgaar had seen Toki cry before, had even caused it and had always made fun of him mercilessly for it, but dammit, this time Toki was sobbing, and it hurt Skwisgaar more deeply than anything had since he was a child, because he remembered when he himself had sobbed like that…nearly every night of his childhood. It had been the only way to fall asleep before he had discovered the guitar.
Skwisgaar didn't mention a word of this—in fact, as soon as he remembered it, he shoved it instantly out of his mind, because it made him feel nauseated—but he did stand there in Toki's closet and hold him until Toki finally stopped trembling and his choking sobs eased to the occasional sniffle.
Toki shocked Skwisgaar by being the one to break the embrace. He actually put his hands against Skwisgaar's sunken chest and shoved the taller man off, turning away and wiping his nose on the back of his hand.
"You'll make funs of me now, won't yous?" he whispered, bending over to dig through the pile of clothes he had taken refuge in earlier.
I am not staring at his ass. I'm watching him to make sure he's steady on his feet. He hasn't eaten in days. Skwisgaar though absently, then realized what Toki had just said. The thing in his chest that had been so warm a few minutes ago now ran cold, so cold that it was painful. It left him feeling hollow again, hollow and sad.
"Go aheads and tells me, Skwisgaar," Toki said, pulling on his dark brown pants and grabbing a random blue t-shirt from the floor. "Go aheads and makes fun of me now, or does you wants to do it in front of everyone else?" Toki snatched the shirt over his head—it was loose now, billowing around him like a sack—and began to crawl on the floor to find a pair of boots.
Skwisgaar dropped to his knees to help, still choosing not to answer Toki's question, still wondering why he was suddenly so sad.
"Damns it, Skwisgaar!" Toki cried, and the subject of this curse tossed his blond hair out of his face and cocked his head. They stared at each other, both of them on all fours like dogs. Toki's eyes were still red and leaking, his nose still sniffling, and Skwisgaar suddenly wished he had a Kleenex to give him. As it was, he settled for reaching out a flicking a stray tear off the end of Toki's nose.
Toki closed his eyes. "Stops pretending likes you care, Skwisgaar," he whispered, bowing his head. "Is not helpings."
Pretending? Skwisgaar thought, I'm not pretending, how do I…
The idea, bizarre and sudden though it was, came to him one instant and was acted upon the next. Maybe it would show Toki how much he cared, how much he fucking understood—
"Why is you looking ats me like that?" Toki had opened his eyes, and was looking askance at Skwisgaar. "Yous scaring me."
"Shuts up, Toki," Skwisgaar said softly, and leaned forward to press his lips against Toki's.
One second…five…eight…ten whole seconds their lips remained together, before Toki jerked backward, banging his back into the wall and covering his mouth as if Skwisgaar's lips had been on fire. Skwisgaar couldn't read Toki's expression to save his life.
Toki scrambled to his feet, staring down at the Swede, who had sat back on his haunches when Toki had jumped backward. Skwisgaar honestly had no idea what he was thinking, what he was feeling…except that the warm bloom inside his chest was back, and it had him smiling and forgetting just exactly how NOT metal it was to kiss another man.
"G-gets out, Skwisgaar. N-now. I…I don't…I don'ts wants you to do this to me." Toki tripped over his boot, one of the pair he had been looking for, and sat down hard on his ass, teeth clicking together loudly.
The sharp snap of Toki's teeth brought Skwisgaar out of his reverie, made him realize what Toki had just said. He felt the hollow darkness creeping back into his chest, felt the smile melting off his face, and he remembered what that feeling was at last.
It was hurt. Toki had hurt him. Not physically—that Skwisgaar would have understood right away—but Toki had hurt him emotionally. He found he didn't want to beat the shit out of the little dildo for it, either.
He wanted to hold him again.
Skwisgaar sat there for a moment or two longer, then rose to his full height, towering over Toki, who was still sitting down. He saw the toe of the other boot peeking out from a pair of jeans and bent down to retrieve it. Toki started to scurry away, but when Skwisgaar held out the boot, he took it wordlessly.
The Swede left the closet and walked to the door, his shadow stretched out before him in the light from the closet. He looked back at Toki, who was still sitting amongst his clothes and boots, looking so utterly confused that Skwisgaar had to smile.
"I's not pretendingks, Toki," he said quietly, "Buts you had better be hurryingks. We's gots to be leavingks soon."
With that, he slipped out of the closet, leaving Toki feeling better and worse than he had before.