Charles dreamed. He was looking for the band. It seemed like that was all he did; look for the band, look after the boys, protect them, enable them. . . Not for the first time did he wonder why he was driven to serve Dethklok.
He heard familiar voices through the jungle and hurried towards them.
"Huh. Here he is. I told you he'd make it," Nathan growled.
"Dethklok's dog," Skwisgaar snorted.
"Bloody CuChulainn all over again," Pickles murmured, but the drummer smiled when he said it.
Dethklok's creative powerhouses were sitting around a slab of stone, playing a game. For a second, Charles thought they were playing chess, but a second glance showed shiny round playing pieces, almost like go.
Charles took a long look at his charges. Undeniably, they were Nathan Explosion, Skwisgaar Skwigelf, and Pickles the Drummer.
Nathan was wearing a feather headdress, the skin of a jaguar and lots of blue paint. He seemed . . . more intelligent than normal, although Charles wasn't sure how.
Skwisgaar lounged on his side of the stone slab, draped in white silks and gold decorations. One of his eyes was gone. Instead of a patch or glass replacement, Skwisgaar's right eye was a black void. He had also had managed to say two words correctly, which made Charles uneasy for some odd reason.
Pickles was practically poured over the slab on his side. He seemed normal – well, normal for Pickles – except for the small fact that his dreads had all become red-skinned tentacles. He grinned at Charles and used a dreadacle to move one of his playing pieces, which now looked like those little pewter figurines used in role-playing games.
These guys weren't Nathan, Skwisgaar and Pickles. They weren't, but they were, but—Abruptly, Charles realized that this made perfect sense, but he had forgotten why. The reason dangled just out of recollection, but hell, he was on vacation, not to mention really drunk.
Why stress over it?
"It's good you boys are having fun," Charles announced. "Have you seen Toki or William?"
The three men gathered around the game board reacted to his realization. They relaxed slightly, exchanging glances. Skwisgaar gestured to a small trail snaking into the jungle.
"Toki is down that way. I believe he's playing with your wives," the blond stated.
"Yeah, it's nice you were concerned about them," Nathan said pointedly.
"I can turn my back on them for five minutes and not have all Hell break loose," Charles returned, letting the 'wives' comment slide. "They're capable."
Pickles sniggered at this.
"We wouldn't want Hell to break loose," Skwisgaar announced, studying his cards. "Hell should stay right where it is."
The other two murmured agreement. Charles ignored this cryptic comment and started down the path.
Barely two steps into the woods the temperature plummeted sharply. A few more steps and snow was crunching under Charles' shoes. The jungle was gone, replaced by pine forest. Just ahead, he could hear the tinkling laughter of children. A figure stood at a bend in the trail, draped in a dark cloak. The person had their back to Charles and there should have been no way he could know who it was, but the blood-red spill of fabric told him all he needed.
"Mercy."
The hood of the cloak turned, revealing the face of the middle triplet. There was a circle of gold around her brow and her hair was loose and spilling down the slope of her breasts. She wore a long, red dress that looked perfectly natural with a cloak over it, but what really caught Charles' eye was the fact that she was pregnant. Some part of him pointed out that he really should be surprised by this, seeing as how she was easily in her third trimester. Another part pointed out that this was a dream. Still another part seemed to think this made perfect sense as well, if he only had the eyes to see why.
Charles ignored the different thoughts clambering for attention and greeted Mercy with a gentle kiss and a gentler hand on her swollen belly.
"There you are," she said happily. "I knew you'd be joining us."
"You . . . . ah . . . . you know me; I can't rest until I know where my family is," Charles said lightly.
Mercy beamed at this declaration and kissed him lightly again.
"Well, Hope and Toki are here," she said, turning back the way she had been facing.
Running across a small clearing in the forest were a girl and a little boy. Charles wondered who they were for about half a second. Then he realized that he had seen the boy before – in a picture of Toki as a child. Again, dream logic pointed out that Toki would prefer to live his childhood over again, so as long as no one else minded, this should be perfectly okay.
"Papa!" Toki squealed, running straight for Charles.
Hot on his heels was a girl of twelve or thirteen. Charles had never seen her exact image before, but he'd be in bad shape if he couldn't recognize that odd blend of Asian and Caucasian features, that broad grin, and the telltale mole under her right eye.
Strangely enough, Charles first thought this time wasn't that Hope wasn't really a pubescent girl, but rather an uncomfortable realization that he had done things to her you weren't supposed to do with girls her age.
The part of him that seemed to be at ease here scoffed at the thought that Charles had done anything wrong. Obviously he hadn't made love to her when she was this age; he had waited until Hope was older, like Time was a two-way street you could backtrack.
Toki tripped on something under the snow and sprawled on his belly. Hope stopped her headlong flight towards Charles and headed back to pull Toki to his feet and brush the snow from his clothes.
"Takk, storesøster," he told her.
"Be careful; you'll catch cold," Mercy said, starting towards the pair. "Here; put your cloaks on."
"Awwwww, we're still playing!" Hope protested.
"Jeg vil ikke!" Toki agreed.
"We're going to go find Faith and William," Mercy said. "Charles wants to see everyone."
Mercy produced two cloaks from under her red cape and handed them to Hope. Hope swirled the green one around her own shoulders, then buckled the smaller black one around Toki's throat. They started back across the clearing. Toki took two steps and tripped again.
"Here, hold my hand," Hope ordered.
"Takk, storesøster."
"Mine, too," Charles said, taking Toki's other hand.
Little Toki beamed up at him, Mercy took Charles' free hand and they made their way down the path. It seemed like only two more steps and Toki was now a teenager, wispy bits of beard fighting through his smooth skin. Charles looked around him to Hope, who had also done some growing in the last couple of seconds. She still looked young enough to get you arrested, but not murdered in prison.
That was a relief.
A small sound made Charles look around. Mercy wasn't holding his hand any longer because she was holding two babies swaddled in red cloth. She looked tired, but that was to be expected after giving birth to twins in .03 seconds.
"Oh here; let me . . ." Charles began, taking a baby from her.
"Toki's der gotses de littles brother!" The young Norwegian exclaimed in delight, now looking close to his true age. Hope's rapid growth seemed to have slowed, but she looked somewhere in the 18-21 range.
"Two little brothers," Mercy corrected.
The child in her arms was now a toddler, a blond haired little boy sleeping against her shoulder. When Charles looked down, the twin he was holding was the same age, this little one with brown hair and sleepy blue eyes.
"If we don't find Faith and William soon, I'll be a grandfather," he joked.
Toki stumbled on the path again. Hope turned to help him.
"Can't see, storesøster," Toki said.
"Hold onto my shoulder and I'll guide you," Hope instructed.
Toki was now older; somewhere in his late thirties but Hope seemed to be backtracking again. She looked more like a fifteen year old. The twins raced through the trees, laughing and playing tag as ten year old boys should. Charles was starting to wonder if they'd ever find Faith and William when they reached the end of the trail.
A dark cave belched cold mist into the forest. Just before the opening was another game slab. Two figures sat around this one. One was draped in a midnight blue cloak. A fat white braid hung out of the cowl.
"Faith," Charles said with a smile.
The cowl tilted back to reveal the eldest triplet's face. She was eldest in every sense of the word, now; her hair gone white and face lined with fine wrinkles.
"You've come a long way, love," she said. "Was it worth the trip?"
"You know me," Charles said. "I'm . . . ah . . . I'm not happy until my family is together. And if this is a glimpse of what awaits us, then I'm happy to have seen it. You're still beautiful."
Faith's faced creased further in a smile.
"Thanksh for notisching me, asshole," Murderface growled.
"Hello, William," Charles sighed. "You . . . ah . . . you appear to be dead."
"I'm not fucking dead! How would I be playin' thish dumb game if I were dead? Whoshe turn ish it?"
"Yours," Faith said.
"It's just that . . . uh you're half skeletonized," Charles protested.
Murderface looked down at himself. The right half of his body was wasted into a skeleton; dried strips of flesh clinging to the bleached bones. Skin that had once bulged with cellulite now hung loose, stretched out like a deflated balloon. Charles caught a slight buzzing sound on the edge of his hearing; on closer inspection, it was coming from a solid black mass that weaved in and out between Murderface's exposed ribs. Charles felt the bile rise in his throat as he realized the mass was made entirely out of flies.
Hope whimpered and cringed against his side. Two more figures pressed against Charles' shoulders. The twin boys were now lanky teenagers, peering at Murderface with something akin to horror.
"I'm . . . well . . . oh. . . . It'sh okay, she'sh fixing it," the bass player said dismissively.
Charles peered around the corpse of William Murderface. There was a creature crouching behind the stone he sat on. William had said 'she' and Charles would have to take his word for it. He was also going to guess she was human under all that filth. The . . . . person was dressed in muck-splattered fur and rags. Her skin was so filthy it was hard to tell what color it was to start with; a greenish tinge said some of that mud wasn't mud at all. It was likely the only reason Charles couldn't smell her from where he stood was that the scent of William's decaying flesh overpowered it. The woman was reaching into the putrid, rotting mass that was all that remained of Murderface's internal organs and coaxing half-solid flesh from the black ichor. Using twine that she cut to length with her own teeth, the woman was carefully tying the rotted organs back into place using William's ribs as a framework.
Charles wasn't a doctor, but he was certain it would take more than that to 'fix' dead.
The woman saw him staring and shuffled further behind Murderface.
"Papa? I have to go now," Toki announced.
Charles finally tore his gaze away from the dirt woman. Toki was older, in his later thirties or early forties. And he was completely blind. His already pale blue eyes were clouded and milky. He'd found a long stick somewhere to feel his way around.
"Thank you for being my papa. You did a good job, even as an aftermarket father," Toki joked, hugging him.
"I . . . uh . . where are you going?" Charles asked.
Toki hugged Mercy, Hope and the twins, thanking each of them in turn for being his family.
"I have to go to where I belong now, Charles," Toki said, feeling his way around the game stone. "Ah, thank you, bestemor."
He gave Faith a hug, felt around the stone, then took his cane and whacked Murderface upside the head with it.
"Motherfucker!" William howled, some of his guts spilling out of his pants. "What the fuck wash that for?"
"For all the times you got me into trouble," Toki said, chuckling. "When you come to my kingdom, we will do it all again. Goodbye."
"Just for that I ain't coming to your fucking kingdom!" Murderface bellowed.
Toki ignored him and walked into the cave. Almost as soon as he passed under the stone arch, blackness claimed him utterly.
"Toki?" Charles called.
There was no answer. Charles frowned and picked his way around the game stone to approach the cave entrance.
"Toki?"
"Charles, don't go in there," Faith called.
"I have to find Toki," he said, heading into the cave.
Charles was dimly aware of shouts behind him, but suddenly they were muffled. The cave was dim, but not totally black. Charles could see what looked like tree roots – massive tree roots – forming the walls.
"Charles? You aren't supposed to be here," Toki announced.
The rhythm guitarist suddenly looked about eight feet tall and broad. A young woman, of similarly freakish height, was laying a black fur across his shoulders. She was beautiful, in a frail, pale kind of way. In fact, she was so pale of skin she might have just gotten out of a coffin.
"I – I need to check on you," Charles protested. "I need to watch my family."
Toki smiled beatifically.
"Charles – Papa, you will always be close to me. But this isn't your place. You need to leave now."
"But –"
"Your other sons need you," Toki stated.
"I –"
"DAD!"
Strong arms wrapped around Charles from behind. He got a brief glimpse of blond hair before they were both jerked back out of the cave. Charles sprawled on the ground with his rescuer. A young man of similar build and features, only this one with dark hair, stood over them holding a rope tied around the blond man's waist. It still didn't even dawn on Charles who the young men were until he saw his own eyes staring back at him.
His sons had pulled him out of the cave. His sons . . . . his sons? He had sons? These two men were the little babies Mercy had been holding – Mercy had his babies?
"What the fuck are you doing here?"
Conway was back. Well, since he was wearing yards of floating pink fabric, had his wings uncased and was surrounded by a divine glow, he'd probably prefer to be called Cupid at this point.
Charles pointed a shaky finger at him.
"If you aren't back to the hotel by tonight, you're fired!" the manager announced.
Cupid's jaw sagged open. He shook himself and pointed right back at Charles.
"You don't belong here!" he snapped. "Go back!"
Charles opened eyes he didn't remember closing. He immediately cringed at the bright light streaming through the windows. Oh . . . oh God . . . . oh kill him now; it was better than the hangover jackhammering the inside of his skull. The manager groaned and rubbed his face, only to flinch at the sudden sharp pain in his arm. What the . . ? Why did he have an IV in his arm?
"Oh good, you did survive," a sweet voice observed.
Still squinting at the punishing light, Charles looked over to see Faith sitting in a chair next to his bed. He appeared to be in some sort of infirmary.
"Next time you find life too much to bear, please rethink drinking yourself to death," the eldest triplet stated. "You could always run away with us and be our kept man."
Faith . . . there was something about Faith – the braid hanging over her shoulder kicked Charles in the memory.
"I had a really strange dream," he rasped. "You were in it. And the boys. And Hope and Mercy –"
"It was probably your brain dying by slow inches," Faith said soothingly. "Seriously, alcohol poisoning is an ugly way to go."
Charles grumbled and pulled the covers up over his head. Something about death and darkness also tickled a memory.
"Send some medical Gears to check on Toki and see if his eyes are bothering him again," Charles rasped.
"Toki has eye problems?"
"He was blind in one eye from a detached retina when he joined the band. We . . . ah . . . . I think it was all the abuse from when he was a kid. He's had surgery on both eyes at this point."
Faith got up from her chair and went to speak with the doctor. Charles realized he'd been ordering her around like she was a Gear – or his assistant. The triplets were putting up with so much this trip. What sweeties.
"Sorry to be so brusque," he murmured when she returned. "I will make it up to you later, I swear."
"Charles . . . . how much do you love us?" Faith asked.
Mercy asking that question would be looking for coddling and reassurance. If Hope said it, she usually wanted to be spoiled with a treat. For Faith to ask it . . .
"What did you do?" Charles demanded.
"It wasn't our idea!" Faith said quickly. "Apparently you had your assistant set up a press conference before he died horribly. Well, the press showed up this morning. Toki refused to go in front of the camera. So did Nathan and we couldn't even wake you or Pickles up and I remember you said Skwisgaar never did his own public speaking because he didn't like it when people made fun of his accent."
"So?" Charles prompted.
"S-so Mercy's used to public speaking . . ." Faith said, her voice rising in distress. "It was Nathan's idea!"
Charles stared at her for a long moment, then forced himself to relax. Mercy . . . Mercy did have charm and she was used to speaking to juvenile minds. There probably wasn't a better choice for an impromptu speaker.
"Ah . . . ah . . . I . . . all right. That's . . . ah . . . . that's fine. Yes. So Nathan told her about the 'language barrier' story, right?"
Faith stared at him. Charles reflected that he really didn't like seeing that 'deer in the headlights' look on her. Also, a muscle at the corner of her mouth twitched when she was on the verge of panicking.
"Uh . . . N-Nathan didn't say anything about a story," Faith said weakly. "Toki told Mercy . . . . Toki told Mercy to come out for him."
Charles put a hand over his face.
"Could you tell Mercy that I'd like to speak to her as soon as possible, please?" he asked with deadly calm.