Out of Darkness - Chapter 4
by DethKlaire
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Brendon Small is a god. 'Nuff said.
Gratitude: Huge thanks to my excellent Beta Reader, and partner in crime, the lovely YvetteD!
Notes: My first story. Not yet complete, but I consider these first 6 sections to be "Part 1"
I am not a doctor or a scientist, so sorry if some of the medical / technical stuff is off…
I love Charles. Therefore I challenge him.
Warnings: Some strong language… but seriously, it's Metalocalypse, what did you expect? ;)
Hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think!
The occupational therapist guided Charles towards a larger room, seemingly in the same complex as his suite. He tried to walk confidently, knowing that other Gears were around, and probably watching him, but the uncertainty of having no idea what surrounded him cautioned his every step, despite having taken hold of her arm to guide him.
It was easy for her to see his hesitation. "There are a variety of things we can work on to increase your ability to perceive the environment around you. It won't always be this scary."
Scary? He wanted to fire her then and there. But she was just doing her job, and she was right. He was scared. But he kept walking, despite the overwhelming urge to stop and let himself be swallowed up by the darkness.
When they arrived at their destination she described it to him. "This is one of the studios where we conduct occupational therapy for Gears & other staff that are injured or maimed on the job. Picture it like a gym or a dance studio. Basically a big, open room. This particular room, along with its highly trained staff, has been reserved for you, Sire, as long as you should need it. "
Charles knew that the incidence of workplace injuries among Mordhaus staff was abnormally high. He was also aware that many Gears continued to work for Dethklok after recovering from or adjusting to their conditions. Somehow Dethklok inspired that kind of loyalty, despite the fact that their mere presence seemed to often lead to random brutal accidents. Charles had always been immune to this "curse of Dethklok". And he felt like while what had happened to him was tied to his association with the band, it didn't have anything to do with this strange "bad luck". He has always felt a strong connection with the phenomenon that is Dethklok. The power, and responsibility that came with controlling and containing such a force- somehow he still felt in control of this. He knew it had not turned on him.
His internal dialogue was interrupted by the physical therapist approaching from a distance. He was so engrossed in his own thoughts he hadn't even realized that she had left his side. He admonished himself.
"You're going to want this," the Gear announced pleasantly as she got close. She was more direct than the other Doctor, which he appreciated.
"Am I?" Charles inquired. He already had an idea of what it was, and reached out with mixed emotions. The fiberglass cane was folded and he took it and examined it with his fingers. Another badge. But one that was necessary for his increased independence. He slid the three separate parts, held together by an elastic string, together to extend the cane. He felt all the way down the length, wanting to get a mental picture of how long it was, and what it might look like. Then, quickly, he announced "Okay, show me how to do this. I have a meeting to get to."
"Lord Ofdensen," came the gentle voice of the Gear, "it's going to take many sessions for you to become proficient at walking safely and independently with the help of the cane. It's not something anyone can teach you in a few hours. In the meantime, one of your staff will be assigned to you at all times, to guide you to where you need to go."
Charles turned and took a few steps away, not wanting her to see any signs of frustration on his face. 'Make it happen!' he wanted to yell at her. 'I'm the manager and CFO of one of the greatest forces on the planet! I have a schedule!' He knew deep down, of course, that she was right. Adapting to this disability was not something he could just pencil in when it was convenient. But he had tried to do it anyways, in one last attempt to regain some of the normalcy of his old life. He took a deep, calming breath before turning back to where the therapist stood.
"Okay then. Where do we start?"
She proceeded to give a verbal overview of how to hold the cane and the sweeping and tapping motions used. The purpose of the cane, he gathered, was to extend the users range of perception a few feet. The other senses, she explained, could also be used to extend this perception further. In essence, the cane, which, she explained was her area of focus with him, was just one faculty that would contribute to his new way of perceiving the world. Charles listened carefully, trying to wrap his mind around the idea learning a whole new way to "see" what surrounded him.
" I have one more thing for you before we get started." She approached and handed him something that felt very familiar. He slipped the band at the end of the cane over his wrist to allow two hands to unfolded the glasses she had given him. He slid them on, the cane swinging on his wrist as he did. They felt familiar and comforting. He felt stronger.
"Are they dark?" he asked.
"Blacker than the blackest black times infinity," came a deep, unexpected reply across the room, in front of him.
It only took a second to connect that distinctive voice with the presence of one Nathan Explosion. What was he doing here, at this supposedly private therapy session? Charles did not like being caught in what he considered a very vulnerable position.
"Hey Charles," Nathan said, almost a little bashfully. His shy tone softened the CFO . It also confused him a little.
"Hello Nathan. What, ah, brings you here… to, ah, this..? Can I help you with something?"
"No. I just felt like coming to… say hi." He paused, and then, as if unloading a burden, he started talking. "We thought you were gone again, you know. Dead. Not coming back. For real this time. For good." There was a pause, then he finished, "I'm glad you came back, Charles."
Charles was taken aback by what was, by Nathan's standards, an emotional statement.
"Ah, thank you Nathan…" before he could think of what else to say Nathan interrupted him.
"And I'm sorry that you're blind now. That really sucks. But I need to know… are you still gonna, you know, be our manager? "
The question was as much of a shock as Nathan's sudden appearance.
"Ah, yes, I'd like to. If, ah, that's what all of you want..." It had never occurred to Charles to ask.
"Well fuck yeah it's alright. Oh my god, Murderface is already planning that fuckin' sandscape thing again. That was just all kinds of wrong. Seriously, it was so fucked. So, like, we need you to, like, do whatever it is that you do, so shit like that doesn't happen."
Someone who didn't know the boys as well would have simply thought the request petty, and the conversation very inappropriate for the time and place. But Charles knew the part he played in the Dethklok dynamic, and whether preventing the boys from causing World War 3, or preventing the common room from looking like a bad peyote trip, what mattered was that he was still needed. 'The boys don't just stop being, well, the boys, at your convenience,' Charles mused, the thought sending a slight smile to his face.
"What's so funny?" Nathan inquired.
"Ah, that sandscape, it really was awful." Charles answered, knowing this would satisfy Nathan.
"God, I know! At least you won't be able to see it if he did it again. I would have to kill him though. Another thing you would probably be glad not to see, cause it'd be pretty brutal."
Charles marveled at how Nathan just breezed candidly through the potentially awkward "sight" comments. 'Leave it to him to treat me normally,' Charles thought, his smile growing slightly. Nathan's idea of 'normal' may be harsh and to the point, but Charles appreciated it nonetheless.
Just then an alarm went off on his watch. He silenced it with a voice-command and turned to where he hoped the female Gear still stood. "I'm sorry, I need to leave now. I'll, ah, check in with you tomorrow. Thank you."
"A member of your guard is waiting outside to take you to your office, Sire." She replied, unfazed and un-offended at her lesson being interrupted and then cut short.
"You have a guard!?" Nathan interjected. "What the fuck were they doing when you got captured? Or the last time, when you got killed?"
"Ah, they don't follow me everywhere, Nathan,"
"Well they should have. Who are they anyway? They could be anyone. Charles, they could be them." Charles knew Nathan was referring to the Revengencers. He had never seen Nathan so paranoid and worked up before. But then the boys were usually oblivious to the catastrophes that occurred around them. Charles' condition served as a potent reminder of an incident they couldn't ignore.
"Nathan, please relax. The higher ranking Gears are reliable and trust-worthy. I personally oversee their training." Or did.
"Well I don't trust them," came Nathan's sullen reply. "Where are you going? I'll take you." Most people would have taken this as a statement not to be argued with. Charles was not most people. And, as well-intentioned as Nathan was, Charles knew his propensity to stay on task was not strong when he wasn't focused on his music. They'd probably end up in the common room, or on the golf course or something.
"Ah, thank you Nathan, but I'll be fine. I'll see you at tomorrow's band meeting, ok?"
"What? No, you'll see me now, cause I'm coming with you and your "guard"," he said this last word suspiciously. "Just to be sure…"
Charles sighed. There was no way to shake Nathan so he might as well just accept his unnecessary shadowing. Nathan would probably get bored and leave part way through the walk anyway.
By this time the guard had entered the room and was at Charles' side.
"Sire, take hold of my arm" the Gear instructed. Charles wasn't sure how he knew that Nathan was about to protest, but he did. He turned sharply in what he hoped was still Nathan's direction and cocked his head warningly. The gesture worked, Charles realized with a mixture of surprise and pleasure, as Nathan replied,
"Fine, but I'm watching you. Both of you." Charles knew he needed to let Nathan live out his paranoia and eventually it would go away.
"Okay then, you do that. Let's go."
...
