Toki opened his eyes and was rewarded with a blurry vision of the hospital wing within Mordhaus. It wasn't the ideal view, but it was better than the previous six times he has attempted to open his eyes, and hadn't been able to at all.

He was greeted by the sight of the four other members of Dethklok standing before him, trying, and failing miserably, not to look concerned.

Nathan's deep rumble reached his ears, though it took him longer to decipher the words.

"Hey...hey guys. I think he's, uh. I think he's awake."

Toki tried to speak, but realized to his growing horror that there was a clear plastic mask covering his face. Weakly, he brought his hand up --

-- oh Odin that hurt!--

-- and batted at the mask, trying to get it off. Dimly he could hear the high pitched beep of the heart monitor increasing as a steady, rapid pounding filled his ears. He focussed on Nathan's face, pleading for help, determined not to close his eyes because he knew that if he did, he would not be able to open them again.

It was Skwisgaar who gently removed the mask. Toki lay there panting, getting used to the suddenly decreased oxygen levels in the air, but feeling the panic ebb away.

"Uh, maybe...maybe you should keep that on..." Nathan said uncertainly.

"Nei," Toki gasped. "Nei, vær så snill!"

There was an awkward pause, and he mentally cringed. He hadn't meant to slip into his native language.

"Here," Murderface said, breaking the silence. He held out the small, spiny green plant in his arms. "It'sch a cactusch. Scho you don't have to water it and schit."

If he'd been more lucid, Toki would have been impressed that Murderface had been able to mention watering plants without making a reference to piss. As it was, he was still under the influence of heavy painkillers, and he felt tears welling up in his eyes.

Mortified, he tried to hide them, but he knew there was no point. By the looks on their faces, he knew the rest of the band had realized he was crying.

"T'anks, Moidaface," he said simply, as the bass player put the plant on the table next to the bed.

"Yeah, uh, you gotta get better," Nathan blundered on awkwardly. "Cuz, uh, I wrote a couple new songs. For the tour next month. If you can go."

"I wills be dere," Toki promised solemnly, although even the thought of playing the guitar, or even standing up, hurt. Then suddenly the burning tears were back and no matter what he did, he couldn't hide them. "I'm sorries, Nat'ans," he said. "I screws everyt'ing ups"

"Toki, you got shot," Nathan said, a note of admiration in his voice. "That's like, totally brutal."

"Reallies?"

"Yeah...uh, I don't think...I don't think any of us have ever been shot."

"T'anks, Na'tans," Toki said softly, his eyes falling shut of their own accord. He hadn't realized he was so tired, but suddenly he could barely stay awake. It felt like those first few times, just after he'd developed diabetes as an effect of overdosing on candy – when he hadn't managed it well enough, and ended up passing out during rehearsal, at dinner, in the corridoor, and one mortifying time, on stage during a gig.

He was vaguely aware of the sound of footsteps leading away from him: the rest of the band was leaving. Then the hated mask was slipped back over his face, and he felt himself slip into the darkness once more.

***

Skwisgaar shook his head as Nathan turned back to ask him if he was coming. The younger guitarist was mostly out of the woods, but he didn't want to leave him just yet. Call it a hunch, a premonition, whatever, but Skwisgaar just felt that he was needed there still.

So he sat, his fingers running over his ever-present Explorer, as he listened to the steady beep of the heart monitor and the whisper of the respirator, and tried to banish from his mind those nagging 'what if' thoughts: what if things hadn't turned out the way they had? What if the Dethcopter had been even five minutes later? He tried not to remember how it had felt to listen to the onboard medics, to watch them wield strange and fearsome looking equipment over the prone, blood-soaked body of his friend.

And he resolutely pushed out of his mind the memory of the heart monitor suddenly flatlining, and how suddenly hopeless and helpless he'd been when, in those surreal moments Toki had been dead, and Skwisgaar had suddenly realized just how much the younger man meant to him.

At first he didn't notice the chill that had descended over the room. Only when his fingers began to ache from the cold did he lift his head.

Anja Wartooth stood in the doorway.

Skwisgaar stood up, his heart hammering in his chest, and his hands shaking. "What are you doing here?" he snarled in Swedish, hoping that she would understand.

Unfazed by his hostility, she gazed past him, looking at the sleeping Toki.

"Meg sønn..." she whispered, and Skwisgaar repressed a shudder. Her voice was drier than dust, like it hadn't been used in a long, long time. She glided past him to Toki's bedside and paused, her hand outstretched, trembling faintly.

"Don't touch him," Skwisgaar growled. "Get away from him!"

Toki whimpered in his sleep, one hand gripping the blanket tightly. Skwisgaar stepped closer.

"Get out of here before I call security," he threatened, pitching his voice low so that Toki wouldn't pick up on it. Truthfully, he didn't know if the Klokateers could eject Toki's mother, but she didn't need to know that.

Gently, her hand descended, brushing Toki's long hair off his face. With her thumb, she made the sign of the cross on his forehead, then straightened. Her eyes bored into Skwisgaar's.

"Ta vare på seg," she whispered, and then as quickly as she'd come, she was gone.

* * *

Translations:

Nei, vaer sa snill! -- No, please!

Meg sonn – My son

Ta vare pa seg -- Take care of him.