This is just a little side thing I decided to make after a friend recommended Metalocalypse to me, so it'll be written in between my main project. This is my first time writing for this fandom, so I hope you guys enjoy it! Feedback and constructive criticism is always welcome. ^^


"Get the fuck back here, you stupid sack of shit!"

Bare feet padded against packed dirt with the jagged clacking of metal cuffs dragging behind his ankle as he moved forward. How long he'd been going, he knew not, only that the sun had long since set, allowing the night chill to set in as deep as the unwashed reek seeping from his pores and the exhaustion quaking rail-thin legs. He pressed a bleeding hand tighter over his eye while he pushed himself to limp faster; he'd think he ran, but all his battered body could manage was a scrambling hobble on a heel which continued to bleed.

"Don't think this is over! I'll come find you, and everything before will feel like a damn picnic when I'm done!"

He kept running and his wounds kept oozing blood with every step, further staining the red-soaked bathrobe he wore. His shoulders shook with wracking sobs when the pain in his body sank even deeper and threatened to buckle his knees from under his weight, but he persisted. He staggered and he cried, weeping and wailing into the uncaring night with each agonizing step begging to be the last — he'd already walked so far, yet still the road and the trees flanking either side stretched even farther ahead of him.

A green sheet cresting into view caught his attention; "Now entering: Cross City" its bold white letters proclaimed.

A ragged laugh escaped him. Just a little bit further, Nathan, he told himself. A little further…

-.-.-

Wrapped in Pickles' embrace, Nathan finally pulled away. The sting of iron lingered in his mouth; apologizing in the middle of a funeral had proven much more difficult than he'd anticipated. Yet, here he stood, on the other side of a bridge he'd felt so sure that had been burned beneath his feet.

"What ams that looks for, Magnus?"

A hand resting on his shoulder yanked Nathan's focus from the man in front of him. "Nathan."

"Nothing, bud. These apologies going on just have me thinking…"

The person he found behind him when he turned held a face that drew his hackles up to meet again: Magnus Hammersmith, with his graying brown hair and that milky eye staring back at him. Toki stood at his side, aiming an eager grin at the pair, and Nathan moved his arm to sweep the boy behind him in one smooth motion.

"What do you want?" he asked him, crossing his arms. "Did Toki put you up to this?"

Magnus glanced over one of Nathan's broad shoulders to see Toki flash him a reassuring nod, and he sucked a breath in between yellowing teeth.

"Listen, about all that went down before—"

"You mean you stabbing me?"

"…Yes," the older man replied through a tight-lipped grimace. "I just wanted to say… I'm sorry for everything that happened, alright?"

Toki smiled wider.

Nathan just took a step forward. "Listen, the only reason you're not being thrown outta here right now is because of him," he said with narrowed eyes and a finger behind him. "Maybe you've changed, who knows, and for some reason, he trusts you. But I don't. And if you do anything to him, I'll kick your fucking face in. Again. Got it?"

Magnus beamed. "Of course, Nathan. I got you."

"Good, good…" Nathan replied, shuffling his feet. "Uh, brutal, I guess. So—"

Pickles's voice all of a sudden screamed behind him. "Nate'n, look out!"

With a tiny beep something small and flashing exploded beneath Roy's coffin, setting a deep crack into the ground as the blast dismembered the corpse inside. Nathan, thrown to the dirt, scrambled back to his feet and away from the widening fissure that only opened more and more space between himself and his bandmates, yawning into a rocky black void which swallowed the chairs along with chunks of dirt raining down its gullet, belching a thick smoke. Out of this void figures began to emerge, clawing and shambling their way to the surface and flanking a familiar, hulking form bearing a silver mask.

Nathan's gaze darted between the two halves of earth visible through the curtain of smog; the others — including Toki — were on the opposite side of him, with Offdensen already moving to dispatch the masked man while the small squadron of Klokateers began to fight the rest of their attackers. Good, he thought.

"Nate'n!"

"I'm fine!" he called back. "Where's Abigail?"

Though he looked, no sight could be found of the woman; only smoke and — to Nathan's simultaneous surprise and dawning horror — the sight of their men being overwhelmingly occupied by the hoard of enemies. Barely any had been left to protect the others or himself. And still, Abigail could not be found.

That voice. "I wouldn't try to run, Nathan."

Snapping around on pivoting heels, Nathan spotted her, eyes pleading to him as she clutched at Magnus's hand which clenched around her neck in a choking grip. The man leered at him from over her shoulder, and he removed a small blade from inside his shirt to raise above his head.

"Get away from her!"

"Now, Magnus!"

Magnus only screamed something Nathan could not hear over the din of screams and gunshots, and with another grin he swung the dagger down a metal-gray arch until it plunged through Abigail's back.

"No!"

Magnus let Abigail's limp body drop to the ground when Nathan charged, and he jumped over her in a single leap before he continued to barrel toward him, balled hands raised with a face twisted into a visage of infernal rage. He would take his other eye, Nathan thought to himself, oh yes would…

Even more smoke surrounded him, closing in on the two when Magnus lunged in turn and stabbed the knife into his stomach.

"NATE'N!"

-.-.-

Nathan looked up when the dirt road cut off into asphalt; he let his heart soar a little despite the pain in his body and the weariness aching his legs. He'd come upon a split in his path some time before, and after turning right and passing what looked like a lumber mill he picked up his pace to run as much he was able on blood-slicked feet. Oh how he wanted to sob and scream when his eye at long last spotted streetlights, a house. A long, narrow place, squat with only one story, a home that shone at Nathan like a beacon. He burst through the front gate, across the sparse lawn, and hobbled up the porch steps.

He stopped at the door and wasted no time in beginning to knock. The white slice of wood shook in its frame in time with his desperation, Nathan begging whoever lay inside to hurry up and open the fucking door! He shot a worried look down the street in search for any signs of his car; surely he would be looking for him while he wasted time here, prowling, ready to drag him back for more…

Nathan ran again.

More empty roads, more houses refusing to open for him, more time for him to find him, and Nathan could feel those hopeless cries leaving him again in short, raspy gasps. He didn't want to be moving, didn't want to be standing at all, but he pressed on; to rest meant to stop, to stop meant that dreadful black car getting even closer. To stop would bring the uncertainty of whether or not he would be able to start again at all.

This house had a doorbell; a sleek white and black box set into coarse brick. This fact dimly stood out in Nathan's mind when he pushed the button, quick and sporadic. The lack of response had become unsurprising for the man, almost expected in fact, though that did not diminish the sting it brought him. His mouth dropped open, and he pressed even faster.

Help…

A hoarse cough searing his throat like a brand would be the only noise to leave him.

Somebody help me.

He blinked back more tears, then turned. The cuffs skidded across the cement, under his foot, and Nathan let out a gasp when his legs caught the chain and he hit the ground with an impact he felt throughout his body. The pair of heavy steel shackles attached to his withered waist by a chain and padlock were jabbed into the healed scar on his gut, and he groaned. He scrambled to get back up though, pushed against the sidewalk and strained with all his waning strength even when it hurt, when everything hurt from his feet to his head; letting himself collapse here would not be an option, not in the open like this.

Not like there's anything to go back to—

He shook his head and pushed harder. Tensing muscles pulled at the cuts up his arms to steal a whimper from him, and still he kept forcing himself up. He needed to get up. Find someone, somewhere.

He'd just managed a standing position when tires crunched against the street behind him.