One year, five years, ten years.
Pickles grew. Toki grew. Alex grew.
The two fathers watched their shy, quiet five year-old grow and evolve into a fifteen-year-old young man. Shoulder-length brown hair masked his face, like Kurt Cobain hiding a smile. Alex still resembled a Toki that wore baggy jumpers, always rolled up to his elbow; ripped jeans, and Converse. Of course it was real Converse. Pickles wouldn't buy him anything less, even when Alex insisted. The young man's experiences were still forming his personality, who he was, and many a night did he cry into his pillow, hating who he was, hating himself so much, so convinced that his real parents hated him back, that was why they'd abandoned him...
But then he thought of Pickles and Toki. Alex didn't give a fuck if they loved each other. They were his parents. Dethklok were his family. He was raised on good music, and he was adamant in the belief he would be a musician when he was older. While growing up in Mordhaus, he had been outside many times. He had thought about life, and whether or not he would ever forgive his biological parents.
The answer was no. If they had loved Alex, and kept him in their care, he never would have been the young man he was now. Alex wouldn't have changed himself for anyone - and he wouldn't change his stupid, crazy, brutal, dysfunctional family either.
Dethklok were getting on. All of the band members were pushing fifty-three and only Skwisgaar still looked twenty-four. Alex had created a running joke that Skwisgaar's guitar kept him frozen in one time dimension, so he could shred forever and keep metal alive. Even though they were older, and not as agile as they were in earlier years, and Alex was nearly eighteen by now, they were still teenagers when all together. They could still laugh, they could still watch movies together, go shopping - and end miserably - and still be the Dethklok that Alex remembered all those years ago.
Until the night Toki wouldn't wake up from his sleep.
Alex cried. Pickles cried. Murderface cried. Hell, even Nathan cried.
Skwisgaar was a robot.
Nathan, Murderface and Alex just sat, totally uncaring, when Pickles suddenly flew himself at the lead guitarist and began punching him, pounding his fists on his chest. Skwisgaar didn't even seem to notice.
"Y-Ya stoopid fuckin' ass! Toki fuckin' loved ya and ya cean't even cry about him! Yer g-gonna f-feel so f-fuckin' guilty, y-ya stoopid f-fuck, and t-then ye'll jest cahmplain, fuck, do ya even understeand what he fuckin' meant ta me? Ta US? THE F-FUCKIN' BAND? HE WAS MY FUCKIN' HUSBAND! HE WAS-"
Nathan stood up without a word and effortlessly pinned Pickles' arms behind his chest, holding him away from Skwisgaar. Pickles continued to scream and fight, his words of love for Toki and hate for Skwisgaar's apathy spilling out of his mouth. Alex didn't look up. His mane of brown hair hid his face entirely. Nathan looked at Skwisgaar, and was reduced to even further speechlessness. The lead guitarist was crying.
Charles - bless his soul - explained everything.
Toki had passed away in his sleep. It was a rare occurence, a very rare one, said the doctors - why did it have to be my Toki? Pickles wanted to scream. He had had a heart attack of some sort in his sleep, without even knowing it, and died only a few moments later. Pickles couldn't comfort himself with the stupid fact that Toki didn't suffer. All the suffering that Toki could have undergone was now being transferred into the drummer.
He couldn't even listen to music anymore, or walk around Mordhaus without seeing eighty million things that reminded him of Toki. Everything Nathan said, or Skwisgaar played, or Murderface ranted about. Pickles was some kind of nihilist but now he wished that Heaven was a real place. Was Toki watching over Mordhaus? Was that even possible...? Pickles felt more alone than he ever had in his life.
Everything hurt.
On Alex's eighteenth birthday, there was little celebration. Toki would have had them laughing, whether he meant it or not. He recieved brilliant presents, but the best one of all came from Skwisgaar. He had come up to Alex in his room, who had been upset over the fact one of his fathers wasn't there anymore to see one of the most important days of his life. The lead guitarist waited until Alex sensed his presence, and then pulled out what he was hiding behind his back.
"I think you should haves dis," he murmured, his accent still thick with Swedish. He was holding, by the fretboard, a black and white Gibson Flying V. The very same that Toki had used all the years Dethklok ruled the world. It was obviously worn, and played to death. But it still had years and years of life living inside of it, waiting for the right person to coax it out with their hands.
For the first time since he'd arrived at Mordhaus, Alex hugged Skwisgaar. And for the first time he could remember, Skwisgaar hugged him back.
There were rumours. Tabloids. Sensations everywhere. Will Dethklok split up? What does this mean for the world? Will they continue as they are? Dethklok Minute has it all...
Thousands of potential rhythm guitarists couldn't match up to Toki Wartooth - and Skwisgaar Skwigelf had said so.
The job went to Alex.
And whenever he went on stage, he would just have to take a look at his stupid, crazy, brutal, dysfunctional family - and the music would find itself through the guitar. He would jump about, run around, just how Toki had. He played like Toki. But still, Alex was so uniquely himself. He was the baby of the band. He wore different clothes. And the world bowed down at his feet.
For Dethklok, they hadn't really cared about the music unless it was brutal.
This time, they cared. So much thought and effort went into their debut album with Alex that it was regarded as a whole new Dethklok: but the album went to legendary status almost immediately, the solos outranking that of previous guitarists that had ruled the metal world. The album showcased Nathan's vocal talent, even containing a ballad dedicated to Toki, written by Murderface. But it was still a thunderously loud song, the vocals spanning over three octaves and was one that never left their setlist. Murderface's best bass skills dominated an entire track: three minutes of an improvised bass solo. It had been unusual to include a bass solo on albums, but it was the most widely known track on the album. Pickles bashed his drums like no tomorrow, not stopping until every beat was perfect and he had it right.
The album was dedicated to Toki Wartooth. On the cover, there were no brutal images of graphic childbirth, murder, or whatever. Instead, was a simple photograph. A portrait of each band member, looking downwards. In the middle of the portraits, was one of Toki, smiling upwards.
The smile never left his face.