This is a pseduo-sequel to "Trust Me, I Tried", essentially taking that short story and expanding on it (and elaborating as it were). I recommend reading that before reading this!

Warning: Contains major character deaths, weird lore, and sometimes really bad jokes.


Chapter Three

The biggest problem with being sober as much as Pickles had been lately is that it was harder to get into that escape mode that drinking usually created for him.

He needed to be focused and he needed to be able to see the task at hand - running around with swords drunk wasn't a good idea. He learned that the hard way when he was training with them years ago, and accidentally sliced off the tip of his left pinky.

So he cut back on the drinking, at least waiting until the fighting was over. He couldn't be accidentally cutting off limbs - or worse, killing their own - because they had so few people fighting for their side now.

With age came wisdom, but even he longed for the days that he was less responsible and not always held accountable for his actions. Hell, he longed for the days that they weren't leading a fight to take back the earth and help free millions of people.

That would take a lot of pressure off.

Even though it had been ten years since everything started, it felt like it had been longer. He had changed so much. They all had. Nathan's hair was starting to get grayer, and he was sporting a beard now. He kept his hair back most of the time, because having it down was causing a distraction and got in the way of his sight. Pickles asked him once why he just didn't cut it, but Nathan muttered something about keeping it as a reminder of who they used to be.

Yeah, Pickles understood that.

He had changed a lot too, his hair almost completely gray now - but it looked good on him, he was a silver fox (or so he thought) - and he was far more muscular that he was before. That was thanks to the fact that almost every day for the past ten years he was literally fighting for his life and for those who still survived around him.

He hadn't been driven by revenge like Swiksgaar was, and he didn't have the dethlight power anymore like Charles had, but he was driven by the fact that he wanted to make things right. Pickles felt responsible in a way for everything that happened, even if his fate had been decided by a prophecy years before he had even joined Dethklok.

That prophecy thing always rubbed him the wrong way. It still did, even when Charles talked about it as if it was still the be all that ends all. What the hell would drawings tell them that damn life experience didn't? He was well aware there was a war going on. He was living it. He was fighting the enemy each and every day, and running for his life any time the Half Man appeared on the battlefield (which thankfully wasn't too often, because you can't really kill someone above life and death).

The pressure of staying alive, of helping others, of trying to be a protector - it was getting to him. Enough that he wanted to take drinking back up again, but knew he couldn't drink like he used to when he was younger.

He was older now, and while he might not be completely wiser, his body seemed to be. Charles said Pickles and Nathan had to pay attention to their physical limits now, they had to remain sharp and on top of things, but know when they had to retreat.

It felt like all he was doing these days was retreating. Lately they had been losing more battles than they had been winning, and while they were still able to recruit to their resistance, they were still bleeding people faster than they could train them.

It was getting to be too much.

They returned back to base after a battle had actually gone well for once - they had gotten intel that there was a small sleeper cell of the Half Man's men an hour away, and they had sent in people to take them out. Without Swiksgaar leading the ground troops (and that was still a wound that wasn't healing for any of them), Pickles had lead the assault. He planned it out, and Nathan and Charles had agreed to the plan. It went exactly as expected, and they managed to take out some higher level men in the enemy's army.

So, Pickles wanted to celebrate.

It took some convincing to get Charles to join him, but eventually he did, and Nathan came down as well, the three of them sitting around a table in the abandoned mansion they had set up camp in.

"Found rum, whiskey, and look Charle, even got you brandy." Pickles laughed as he joined the men at the table, setting each of the bottles down. There weren't glasses, and any small luxury they had, they took these days. So a bottle for each of them, it was something to be celebrated.

Nathan laughed as he grabbed the rum and slid Charles the bottle of brandy. Charles actually smiled, which wasn't something that he did lately. To be honest, none of them did. After everything that they had lost, there wasn't much to smile about these days.

"Hey, you remember when we finally got you to come out drinking with us?" Nathan asked Charles, and Pickles laughed.

"Not sure he remembers any of that, right chief?" Pickles opened the bottle of whiskey and smelled it before taking a drink. The familiar burn warmed him up a bit, and caused him to sigh happily. He needed this.

Charles was tapping his fingers around the bottle of brandy, and laughed, "You're right, I honestly don't remember...any of that. I remember the fight earlier..."

"Wait, fight?" Nathan raised an eyebrow, and for a moment, Charles looked sheepish. Pickles stared at him, surprised to see Charles emote like this. He had been so stern for so many years now, Pickles almost forgot what it was like to see any of them just relax and be themselves.

Not that Charles had never really relaxed around any of them. Charles shrugged, "Yeah, there was a fight on the roof, ah, well to the death, really."

Pickles and Nathan fell silent for a moment before Pickles slammed his hand on the table, "I knew that story wasn't true! Jesus, you killed the guy!?"

"I didn't mean to! Listen, nothing was going to get me away from you guys, and I told him he'd have to kill me if he wanted to try..."

Nathan was laughing hard, holding his side, unable to control the deep laughs coming out of him. "This is fucking awesome," he laughed, "Holy fuck, you fucking killing machine." Nathan punched Charles' shoulder and despite shaking his head at everything, Charles grinned back and finally took a drink of his brandy.

Pickles leaned back in his chair, taking the bottle with him and rested it on his knee, "You know what's sad about all this, is that was part of the good old days. People dyin' around us all the time, we never batted an eye." He chuckled, "Is it bad I fucking miss that?"

Nathan shrugged, "Nah, I mean I miss that too. Not needing to give a shit."

"Hey, I gave a shit." Charles protested, but ended up laughing.

It all sounded so ridiculous, talking about the past and how things used to be when the world was so different now. Even where they sat now, this wasn't Mordhaus. It almost wasn't a house anymore, with walls blown apart, rubble everywhere. Pickles was surprised the house was still standing, but it still held most of their troops, and those that weren't in the house were camped outside.

It was a big difference from Mordhaus, and a big difference about how they used to live.

"Whatever dudes, I'd give anything to go back to that." Pickles said, thoughtfully pausing before taking a drink. The silence between the three men told Pickles that the other two thought the same, and they sat drinking in a comfortable silence for a while.

After a while, the silence broke and they continued to reminisce about the 'good old days'. They took turns telling stories, and laughing at each other. Charles even admitted he had been a huge Snakes n' Barrels fan back in the day, which prompted Pickles to drum out one of the songs on the table and Charles unashamedly sang to it, with Nathan laughing deeply the whole time.

It felt good to focus on something other than the death and destruction surrounding them these days - not saying that it didn't surround them before, but now there was the weight of the world on their shoulders. Being able to sit back, have a few drinks, and laugh about their shared history, felt good. It brought a better feeling to everything that they had to do.

At least, it felt better for Pickles, and that was all he really wanted.

Eventually, they called it a night - Nathan headed out first, wanted to get some sleep before the battle tomorrow, and didn't feel like welding a gun (or guns in his case) hungover. Charles mentioned that he wanted to go over the plans once more before bed - though the other two knew that Charles hadn't slept a day in ten years. Something about being the Dead Man with new abilities meant he never had to sleep. Or age.

Pickles was slightly jealous at that.

"Hey, chief before ya go?" Pickles said, as Charles stood up to leave the table.

"Yes?"

"Listen, I know this is a, weird request, but can ya promise me somethin'?"

Charles raised an eyebrow, "Depends on what I'm promising."

"When I die, will ya bury me with my swords? I feel like I might need them or somethin' after all this." Pickles shrugged as he stood up from the table, deciding to leave what was left of the rum on the table. "I figure I might as well be prepared. Ya never know."

Pickles' eyes diverted from Charles for a moment, in what might have been the only real serious part of the night. Charles just stared at Pickles for a moment, making no attempt to hide the sad expression that he held. It was a reasonable request, it was just one Charles didn't want to think about.

Pickles didn't either, but at least he knew it was something that had to be done.

"Yeah." Charles finally said, "I can promise that."


The plan was simple: they would pull out all the stops.

They had a chance to take more high ranking men, and Pickles wanted to do it out in the open, to prove that they had no fear of the other side. It was almost as if he had a death wish, but that wasn't true. He wanted to prove to the enemy that they weren't going to fucking back down. The Half Man and his army could take as many people as they wanted; they weren't going to fucking take what the Black Klok army stood for.

At first, Nathan thought the plan was insane. "You're going to get us fucking killed," he had growled at Pickles earlier in the morning, though he still stood fully behind the plan. "It's fucking insane."

"It's time we got up there in the middle of the fight, Nate," Pickles had said, pulling on his armor, "We can't expect no one to fight for us if we won't fight for them."

"He has a point," Charles had said, standing by in his own armor – purely for show at this point – his arms crossed over his chest. "We can't be leaders of the resistance if we refuse to show that we want to lead."

Nathan grumbled and muttered something under his breath that neither Charles nor Pickles heard. Some things would never change.

Pickles was grateful for that.

Their army was prepared for the fight and were warned that this could get bloody. This was the chance they were waiting for, Pickles had told them, this was the first time they had a huge opportunity to take more people out since Skwisgaar had died taking out the Traitor. Much to his own surprise, Pickles ended up giving a rousing speech, telling the troops that they would fight and they would win. He felt it in his heart; this was going to be the biggest step forward in ending this war.

It helped knowing that Nathan and Charles stood by his side, completely agreeing with the plan and going along with it. Together, they couldn't lose.

They moved their troops forward, the three of them leading the charge as their army came in behind them, and ran head first into the fight. The three of them stood back to back as much as they could: Nathan took the east, Charles handled the north and south, Pickles took the west. Nathan and Pickles stuck to guns, Charles had one gun on him but was using whatever powers he had now to knock people back - it wasn't something that Pickles understood, and it wasn't something he ever questioned.

He was just glad they had him on their side – he didn't want to think what this fight would be like if they didn't have someone who could potentially match the Half Man. Hell, he didn't really want to think about what this fight would be like if he wasn't with those he trusted. He didn't even want to be in this fight.

The three of them fought, and they fired. Nathan got a few right through the eyes, Pickles managed to get a few heart shots. No one knew exactly what Charles was doing, but whatever it was, it was working.

Until someone had managed to get between the three of them, causing them to separate from their position, the chaos around them was engulfing them fully.

Pickles took out his swords; both secure on his back and pulled both out quickly, immediately decapitating the two men who came towards him. He used every move he knew, every move he had learned from Charles over the years, and some that he ended up making up himself.

Maybe he didn't make them up, but there was no one around to question him now.

One of the Half Man's top Generals came running towards them, wielding two swords like Pickles did, and noticing this, the ex-drummer narrowed his eyes and ran towards the man at full speed.

Steel clashed with steel, and soon the general fell, losing his arm and then his head both by Pickles' steel. Despite winning the fight, Pickles didn't stop to celebrate; he knew how that had ended for Skwisgaar. Instead, he kept fighting, kept slicing, finding his way back to Nathan and Charles who had managed to regroup.

He reached them just as more rushed them, and while Pickles and the rest took out a lot of men, one soldier managed to stab Pickles in the side, through the soft part of his armor. Pickles fell to the ground screaming, pulling the knife out and throwing it towards the guy, hitting him in the back of the skull.

Well, at least he had aim.

Nathan and Charles protected Pickles as their troops surrounded them, Nathan and Charles helping Pickles up and falling back as their troops fought on.

By the end of the fight, the Black Klok army had won, taking out five top generals and most of the Half Man's army, taking some wounded men as prisoners to torture and get information out of.

Pickles had his arms around Nathan and Charles' shoulders, badly wounded but doing his best to keep going. It was until they were safe that Pickles struggled free and fell to the ground, landing on his knees, his hands planted firmly on the ground.

"Pickles, we have to keep going, we're almost back at the base, we have to help you." Charles spoke, his tone firm, but Pickles knew well enough that there was worry behind those words.

"I can't do it, Charlie, I can't go any further." His hand moved to where the knife went through, and as he held onto it, he fell onto his side in pain.

Nathan and Charles were at Pickles' side in moments, Charles helping Pickles to be on his back, and held up his head, as Nathan looked him over with a grim look on his face, putting pressure on Pickles' wound the best that he could.

"How do I look?" Pickles asked, choking out a laugh.

Charles offered a small smile, "It's not that bad, really…"

Pickles closed his eyes, "Charlie, just remember what you promised me."

Pickles went quiet, as Nathan looked down at the wound, and moved his hands, the blood completely covering his hands.

Later, they'd have a funeral, and Charles would honor his promise. Right now, they felt as though they couldn't do anything else.


The conference room was silent, as the four men in the room watched the screen and watched as Nathan and Charles honored Pickles in a small funeral, and Charles set Pickles' swords in the ground with him as he asked.

After a while, Toki closed his eyes and looked away, putting his head in his hands. "This ams too much!"

The silence in the room served as the reply, as William stood up and cleared his throat, heading for the conference room door. It had been a few minutes since Pickles had been buried in the ground, which meant he might be at Mordhaus now.

It felt like torture, waiting around for their brothers to die. It felt like torture sitting there not being able to do anything.

Slowly, more rooms had opened up to the four. William's bedroom had appeared in the hallway, and Skwisgaar's did too. Still, only their bedrooms and the conference room existed. They just had to wait.

Though, William knew what to expect by now. So into the hallway he went, and found another door had appeared – it must have been Pickles' room.

He found Pickles standing in his bedroom looking at a mirror – he wasn't the older man with gray hair that Pickles was in the video feed. He was the Pickles that William remembered, younger, skinnier, bright red hair. Pickles seemed shocked by everything, but seemed to be taking it better than Skwisgaar had.

"Hey ya, Murderface," Pickles offered weakly as he turned around to see William standing in the doorway.

They stared at each other for a little bit before, William gestured towards the hallway, and Pickles, nodding, started to follow him.

Their friendship had never been based on words when they were alive, but Pickles trusted him in life before, and knew well enough to trust him in death.

Besides, he had read more on the prophecy than the rest of them.

He had known all along that this was coming.

His swords rested on his bed as he shut the door behind him.