This is just a random piece I wrote while listening to a few songs. Probably very out of character of Charles, but I'd like to believe he was a little different while away from Dethklok. The ending comes from the ep RenovationKlok so spoilers if you haven't seen that ep yet. Warning, it's very random and jumps around a bit so sorry if it's hard to follow.

And I've mentioned before that I love the father/sons dynamic in the show (although FatherKlok might have just proved all that wrong concerning who's the 'dad' of the band). I'm not fond of slash, so any slashy sounding bits were unintended.

"He can't be dead, that's like . . . impossible, right?"

"Dude, there's no way!"

"Can't you reschart hisch heart or shomthing?"

"They woulds have dones thats by now if theys coulds, Murderface!"

The sound of someone noisily sobbing drowned out all the other sounds.

'Please, take care of yourselves, boys, and each other. I'm sorry. I hope one day you can forgive me,' he thought to himself before finally giving into unconsciousness.

-----

The ocean was something that had always intrigued him. As a child, he remembered his parents bringing him to the beach for several vacations. He never set foot in the water though, preferring to walk along the edge where the sand and water mixed, letting the cool sand cake to his feet. A few feet away, a dead crab lay tangled in seaweed. Rocks and broken shells littered the coast, the good ones already having been picked by the early morning beach combers. Not like that's why he was there anyway.

The sun was starting to set, casting it's last golden rays over the vast ocean before him, the reflection of which nearly blinded him. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he removed a pair of slick, black sunglasses, and put them on. Now he could see better, but was he supposed to be looking outward or inward?

The ocean. Its blue-green waters now a mixture of pink and yellow from the sunset. To him it almost looked like a child's finger painting that was continuously being swirled together. Unlike a real painting though, the colors never mixed, instead they kept their individuality while still staying part of a whole. It reminded him of something.

Actually, it looked like something his boys would do if given finger paints. No, scratch that, they weren't his boys anymore. They were Dethklok, their own entity. An entity that did not include him. He made his choice several months ago when he had himself pronounced dead after Mordhaus was attacked. A choice that ever since that day, still hurt him, even if he wouldn't admit it out loud. The past few months had been nothing but torture on his already stoic personality. Every time he heard a fleeting mention of Dethklok or one of it's members, it took everything in him not to react. Every time he didn't react, he felt another crack in his carefully constructed armor. Almost like a part of his soul was being violently ripped away from him. It wasn't like he had much of a soul to begin with anyway.

He closed his eyes behind the sunglasses. Everything was black -- the reflecting light blocked from reaching his eyelids. It reminded him of the early days of his recovery. The days where his eyes -- and most of his face -- was covered with bandages, rendering everything pitch black. The soft cotton was comforting against the harsh stitches and jagged skin. He lay there for what seemed like an eternity in a drug-induced haze, his mind unable to form any semblance of thought during that time, until he finally came out of it a few days later in a different place and with a different name, miles away from what he had given up.

Running a hand through his hair, it struck him that it actually moved. It wasn't slicked back anymore, it actually fell in it's natural place. The hair dye was starting to wear away too, leaving a few grays peeking out around his temples. It didn't bother him though, he simply didn't care about trivial things like that anymore. Besides, the gray hairs made him look more distinguished, only aiding in transforming him, oh hiding him from the celebrity status he had gained.

His mind drifted again. He thought about what the boys -- HIS boys damnit -- were doing right now. He wondered how the reconstruction of Mordhaus was coming along. His mind was trying to process everything he was thinking about, but it simply couldn't keep up anymore. A few months ago, he could have handled twenty things being thrown at him, now even two was getting hard to manage. Wasn't he supposed to be a manager? Wasn't that his job? Had he really become that pathetic that he couldn't even do his job anymore?

The sun had now completely set, darkening everything around him. He took off his sunglasses and replaced them in his pocket. Out of instinct, he went to put his regular glasses on before remembering that he didn't wear them anymore. Because he had worn glasses since childhood, it felt too weird being without them. Probably why he always had the sunglasses on nowadays. Several times now he found himself trying to take off his phantom glasses or push them up on the bridge of his nose, a habit he wasn't quite ready to fully give up.

The cool ocean air swirled around him, forcing him to pull his jacket tighter around him to fight against it. Any other time, the cold wouldn't have bothered him so, but with still-healing wounds, his body wasn't able to maintain it's body temperature as easily. Underneath the black leather jacket and black t-shirt he wore, there were several stitches still in his chest. The arrow had just missed his heart. If he stopped to think about it, he could still feel the searing pain as it tore through him, leaving a bloody gaping hole that just bled, forever staining the gray suit he was wearing that night. (Not like he didn't have a large supply of them back at Mordhaus.)

He gingerly felt the raised scar on his face, mindful of the condition it was in. It too still had stitches in it, but these were finer, cosmetic stitches, usually reserved for people getting face lifts and such. There were several spots on his face with stitches, yet for some reason, the three inch one purposely inflicted was the most painful of them all. Perhaps it was because of how deep it was. Or maybe it was because he was defenseless when he received it? He knew the moment his face was cut that that wound would leave a permanent scar. He was never a vain man, but simply knowing that he would forever carry a scar on his face, wounded his pride a little. Isn't that what makeup was invented for though?

He briefly considered taking some of the pain medication he was prescribed for his healing body. The pill bottle was in his pant's pocket, still containing every pill he was originally prescribed. He refused to take any. Physical pain was easier to overcome than emotional pain, and he wasn't prescribed any medication for that. They didn't make a pill strong enough to dull the ache of having to abandon the five people you cared about most at a time when they needed you more than anything. The day they did make a pill to deal with that would be the day his soul would be taken to hell.

With a heavy sigh, Charles stood up, his period of introspection ending. This wasn't like him. It wasn't right to dwell on the past, only to focus on the future ahead of you -- that's what his father always told him. The future ahead of him though, did not involve the ocean. Turning his back to the incoming tide, he walked back toward civilization, back to the new life he had created for himself, albeit a temporary one at that. At least he hoped so. He still had a long way to go before he could even consider wanting what his heart truly desired.

The desire to be back with Dethklok, with his boys.

-----

"Where have you been for the last nine months?" Nathan asked, no trace of hate or anger in his voice. The others merely listened, still in shock.

"Well I can't tell you now, but when the time is right, I will." He turned his back to them so they couldn't see the anguish still lingering in his eyes, and focused on straightening his tie in the Dethcopter's window. "You see, there is something much bigger than us going on out there, but that's a story for later." He turned back toward them, and with a straight face, added, "In the mean time, we've got some work to do."

As the view of the now-airborne Mordhaus came into view, the only thought he could process in his mind was 'We're home boys, we're finally home.'

Season 3 is awesome so far. Can't wait for the second half of it.

Please read and review.

- Silvarius