Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/9629126.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage, Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence
  Category:
      Gen
  Fandom:
      Metalocalypse
  Relationship:
      light_hints_of_various_toki_ships
  Character:
      Toki_Wartooth, Nathan_Explosion, William_Murderface, Skwisgaar_Skwigelf,
      Pickles_the_Drummer
  Additional Tags:
      Preklok, Underage_Drinking, Drugs, Eating_Disorders, Self-Harm, trans
      pickles, Suicide_Attempt, Vomiting
  Series:
      Part 11 of Pearly's_Preklok_Fics
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-02-10 Words: 3969
****** He'd be there ******
by Pearly_Pornography
Summary
     Toki's POV. His impression of his new band.
Notes
     fiddled with the ages in my preklok timeline a bit. Nathan is the
     second-youngest with Skwisgaar being one year older than him. Toki is
     a few months older than Nathan which is weird but consider: fight me.
     mostly writing this because i SUCK at writing Tokaroonie
He'd never even thought he'd end up in a band. Especially not such a cool,
fucking brutal, badass band. 'Dethklok'. The name rolled off of his tongue like
some kind of really cool... really delicious... candy. Or something. Shit, man,
he had no idea. But it was totally cool and he was 100% into it, everything
about it. Even if everyone in the band was kind of weird and gross and stupid.
(Not everyone could benefit from his superior Norwegian intellect, or...
something.)
Regardless, he'd make this the high point of his life.
(His standards were low.)
-
He could tell that Nathan was totally brutal. The baddest motherfucker of all
time. Nathan had more badassery in the spiral of his left cochlea than Toki had
in his entire body. Hardly a conversationalist, probably because he was hiding
some dark, spooky, tragic past behind that thick wall of muscle and long, black
hair.
When he wasn't playing black metal CDs in the living room or stumbling drunk
like a 2-year-old who just learned to walk, Nathan would just sit in silence.
Usually with his hands hanging limply between his knees, and that wide curtain
of hair covering his entire face. The type that even straight guys would admit
a mild attraction to. Something nebulous and wild, like a raven on the rocks of
Stonehenge, calling to its brethren through the soft wind.
Of course, Toki never spoke to Nathan unless prompted. He was wildly afraid
that Nathan would call him stupid and break his neck. Especially since Toki was
already replacing a guitarist that he couldn't help but assume was much better
than him, he was definitely on thin ice.
It didn't take long to realize that, while Nathan was totally cool, he wasn't
very smart. At least, not book-smart. Not to mention that, at the very least,
Toki recognized that his lyrics were far from ingeniously written. (Several
times, Murderface attempted to get a song into their records. However, Toki
feared that would be a doubly disastrous endeavor.) Along with that, Toki
discovered Nathan's strong adoration for animals. Around the back of the
apartment building he'd visit all of the cats living in trash and squalor. He'd
feed them and pet them with rubber gloves on. It was like something straight
out of a family film, which Toki had seen very few of.
One time while observing Nathan from the second-story window, Toki decided to
run down the stairs and have a really meaningful conversation with the guy.
(Because, frankly, holding a conversation with Nathan was like pulling teeth.)
Using his labor-toned legs to scale the steps at nigh-impossible speeds, he
scuttled into the back alley where all the trash went and nearly ran face-first
into a wall with how fast he was going. And all that he met in the end was a
blank stare.
"...Hi."
"What're you doin' here." Nathan seemed less angry and more just completely
shocked. He drew his hand away from a small cat, who insistently rubbed its
face against his thick palm. "Pashmina, no."
"I just, uh. Wants to see... what you's ams ups to."
"No- nothing."
"I loves, uh... what- what's ams dose in English."
"Cats?"
"Ja, I loves cats."
"Holy shit, okay, uh, this is Pashmina, she's an asshole. That's Denim, he's
really fat, but like, by stray standards. That's Cotton, that's Silk, that's
Cashmere, that's Leather, that's Faux-Fur, that's Polyester, that's Chiffon,
Batiste, Chino, Pique, Lace, Nylon..." He paused. "...Bombazine... Down..."
Toki could see the red tint creep into his face as he realized what a tangent
he'd just gone on. "..V...Vinyl... and Chintz..."
"How's you remembers all dems?"
"Uh..." He swallowed. "I dunno..."
"Dat ams pretty cools, Natens."
"I-it isn't really."
"No, it ams! I loves cats." They were so fluffy and cute. "Can I pets dem?
Which one ams dis?"
"That's Cotton. She uh, she's FHV-positive." Toki stared in confusion. Those
were letters. "She has like, cat herpes."
"Oh. Oh! Ams it concktagious to peoples?"
"I'm not really, uh... sure. So I wear gloves." Nathan paused. "Because I'm...
not really... far enough in my career to get herpes."
"Hehe. Hehe! You ams a funny guy!"
"What?! N-no, I'm not funny! I'm fucking brutal!" He was yelling, moreso out of
exasperation, but Toki still flinched, throwing up his hands and expecting one
hell of a beating. "...Shit, fuck. Are you okay? Fuck..." He backed up. "I'm,
uh... s... sorr'..."
"No, it's ams fine."
"I... I really wouldn't, uh, hurt anyone. Unless they were seriously fucking
with me." He grunted. "Like, if I was at a party... and they wouldn't gimme
booze..."
"...Uhm..." Toki backed up. Shit, he had made things awkward. Internally he was
cursing his own past for ruining this wonderful time. "Well, uh... It was nice
to see you's and you's cats, Natens. Dey ams very pretties."
"Yeah, I wanted to take 'em in, but, uh..." He trailed off. "...Skwisgaar
didn't want 'em, Pickles was worried about the cat herpes, and Murderface just
said 'no pets' and then went to his room." He picked up one of the cats,
scratching it behind the ear. "Good kitty. Uh, good Cashmere. I love you."
"Maybe Skwisgaar ams allergic to cats."
"...Yeah, I guess."
"Well, I sees you later, pals." Toki waved goodbye. Nathan didn't respond, as
he was too busy babytalking to one of the cats. (Denim?) He had no idea what a
soft, gentle soul Nathan was beneath that cold, hard exterior. Perhaps the
whole game of "brutality" was just a facade he created to avoid emotional
confrontation. Toki pushed the thought away, not wanting to over-analyze the
actions of his bandmates. That'd just be awkward.
-
Skwisgaar, perhaps, threatened Toki even more than Nathan did just by his sheer
existence.
"Superiority, thy name is Skwisgaar Skwigelf" was a phrase Murderface spoke a
few times as a joke. However, he couldn't have been more right. Perfect body,
perfect hair, perfect face. Women adored him, men envied him, he played guitar
and played it better than anyone else, and was so smooth it'd make a secret
tribe of butter people seethe with rage. Toki owed Skwisgaar his life. After
all, nobody else was looking to let him into this new band.
It was a bad habit, but Toki did whatever the guy asked him to. Well, really,
he did that for all of Dethklok. But he felt like he owed Skwisgaar, or
something. He'd still be on the streets if it weren't for the guy, and Toki
couldn't help but consider himself dead weight.
He was scared to communicate with Skwisgaar. Because he'd be wasting the guy's
time. Skwisgaar was callous and unfeeling. Toki never saw him emote outside of
when he was violently hammered. But when sober, he just silently and blankly
fiddled with his Gibson, and barely spoke more than he needed to. He didn't
play with kittens, he was the real McCoy, a real emotionless badass with no
fear and nothing to worry about.
But Toki wanted to be friends with him.
And it burned.
But what would he talk about? What would they do together? He wasn't as easy as
Pickles or even Murderface. What was he interested in? Did he like sports, or
knitting, or animals, or art, or video games, or cartoons, or obscure flavors
of jelly, or staring at the decomposing corpses of birds, or mini-golf, or
what? But if he asked he'd just look silly. Like he was trying too hard. All he
wanted was to get to know him, but he couldn't.
So he went through the days looking on at his amazing talents. Wanting to be
just like him.
But failing to do so.
The recording studios were really nice. They'd just gotten an actual deal with
a record producer and got accommodations for doing their music stuff. Toki had
never seen something quite so lavish as the tall, glassy buildings and suits
and ties. It seemed like a change of pace for everyone EXCEPT Skwisgaar.
His fingers locked up around the frets as he fumbled with his notes.
"Stops, stops." Skwisgaar put his head in his hands. "Dis ams de fiths times
you re-plays dis. You ams learnings how to un-plays de guitar."
"Sorries." Toki looked away. It was a hard riff to get just right, and his
fingers were too short and stubby to reach the right frets at the right times.
His playing just sounded lame and dinky and he hated it a whole lot.
"Stays dere."
He stared for a moment, then noticing Skwisgaar approaching the glass booth. Oh
fuck. What was he gonna do?
Slowly, gently and deftly, he slid around Toki's back, dwarfing him in height.
"You gots to reach you's fingkers over here. And press dems downs really hard."
"I knows dat, Skwisgaar, I just can't does it."
"Here, here, here. Ah, try doesing it... slowlies."
Well, that was slightly less challenging. He attempted to slow the song down in
his brain, and while it didn't sound nearly as good, it'd still be way easier
for him to play. So he went for it, doing pretty well aside from a few teeny
weeny fuck-ups that only he could recognize. "Stops."
"Huh?"
"I 'tink I gots it. Hold on a seconds."
Skwisgaar shuffled out of the recording booth, not even seeming to raise his
feet off the ground, and rummaged through a bag of guitar stuff he generally
brought with him to recording sessions. Then he walked back in, holding some...
weird metal thing.
"What's ams dat?"
"De guitar clips. Holds down all de strings at a certain frets while you
plays." He clipped it on. "Frees up you's fingers so you don't gots to frets
all weird and snap you's hands." Quickly, Toki played a chord on his guitar. It
was in perfect key. He grinned wildly.
"T'ank you."
"Olrights, now. Since we got de clips you can sort of cheats and play de chords
differentlies." He patted Toki's head like he was a little kitty cat. "Now, can
you plays it at de normal speeds?" Toki shrugged, taking some time to figure
out where to press for it to sound nice. Then, as quickly as possible, he ran
through the riff and hardly missed a single beat. His face lit up. Skwisgaar
was SMILING at him, like he'd just done something amazing. "Good works."
"C-can we records it?"
"I t'inks we can." He walked towards the door. "I'll show it to de guys in de
morningks."
After that, Toki didn't really have many meaningful interactions with Skwisgaar
outside of recording or practicing. Which was fine. Hearing Skwisgaar speak
passionately about the guitar was enough to turn Toki's mood around for a whole
day. And he always, always wanted to take tips and improve as much as he could.
Someday he'd be just as good at guitar as Skwisgaar, and what better way to
achieve that than by learning from him?
-
Pickles was considered by everyone to be the band mom. Despite him being a
transgender man, it wasn't a term he seemed to mind. ("What, can't a guy be
mom?") Already, the fact that he was trans set him apart from anyone Toki had
met in Norway, along with that he was extremely bisexual and not afraid to say
so. Back home that kind of thing was frowned upon, and he never thought he'd
meet someone who was so proud of it. It was a refreshing change. Toki supported
the fuck out of him.
But Pickles was also the oldest, most experienced, and most involved with
keeping the band out of trouble. This was, of course, many years before
Ofdensen would live in the same building as them. Pickles was just so kind and
maternal in his own strange, drunken way. Day after day he'd go through bag
after bag of weed that Nathan or Murderface would buy from some random dildo,
making extra-extra-extra sure they weren't laced with something awful. Despite
his numerous addictions, he always vehemently insisted that "his boys"
shouldn't touch cocaine or heroin, at least not until they're super famous and
can afford the funeral. That, at the very least, scared Nathan and Toki enough
to keep their hands off of his stash.
And what a zazzy, multi-talented mom he was. Toki could barely even comprehend
why he was working with a rinky-dink little start-up band like Dethklok in the
first place, when he could probably start a solo career and take the world by
storm. Murderface would ALWAYS complain that it was unfair, that he and
Skwisgaar should've been sharing their talent instead of keeping all that good
fortune to themselves. Toki, though threatened, didn't mind as much. Watching
them play was an experience he never wanted to miss.
Pickles was the only one he felt like he could TALK to.
Because he was just so open and inviting.
Like a real mom.
So that's what Toki would do. Just to talk about his new band, or their lives,
or the world, or just the weather, Pickles was his go-to man. Having someone to
talk to at all was a brand-new experience for him and he wanted it to stay that
way forever.
When everyone else was wildly drunk and passed out, they'd just stay up awhile
and talk. But a few months into their friendship and Toki realized he knew...
nothing about Pickles' life, or his family, or anything. Which he understood,
since he hated talking about his home life. But he felt as though him and
Pickles were close enough to know literally everything about one another, and
yet they didn't. Slightly drunk, he worried Pickles just didn't LIKE him
enough.
"...Hey, Pickle."
"Yeh?" He looked over, bottle of Corona in one hand and the other buried in
Murderface's hair. (That kid slept on Pickles' lap more than he slept in bed.)
"...What's ams you lifes like?"
"Depressing." Pickles flapped his lips, making a 'pfft' sound. "I hate
everythin' about it. Why?"
"I dunno, I just... don't knows much about anyones in dis band. I feels...
Estranged."
"Oh, don't worry. I barely tell anyone about my life unless they ask." He
shrugged. "I think it's pretty borin'. Just the same old tiring slog of endless
hatred. Hey, dat's actually a good song lyric... I should write it down..."
"You gots parents?"
"Yup. My dad's a real asshole, too." He shrugged once more, then lowering his
gaze, seeming to stare into Murderface's ear. "My mahm... she don't appreciate
me none. Don't appreciate me as a musician, don't appreciate me as an artist,
don't even appreciate me as a man."
"I hears you. My moms and dads are... scaries."
"Yeh. Then dere's my stupid brudder. Always tryin' to be better than me."
Pickles grumbled, taking a long swig of beer. "Of course, mahm likes him, he's
modest, and an underachiever, and gettin' a 'reeeeal jahb'. And he was born
with the hardware he's usin'! Ugh!"
"Well, even if you's gots de wrong hardwares, Toki still loves you."
"...Dood, the fuck?"
"It's ams true, I loves everyone heres! Evens if I'm scareds to tells 'em. Even
if it amn'ts brutal, it ams true! So sucks it!"
Toki paused for a moment. "...I gots carried away. Sorries." He was surprised
to hear Pickles softly laughing, his shoulders raising with each breath. He
relaxed. Thank god, he hadn't pissed off the only person here he well and truly
connected to.
"Yer a great kid, yanno that?"
"...No?"
"Well, I'm tellin' ya now. Here's to you." He rose his bottle, then taking
another looooong drink before leaning back. The room went silent, other than
the sound of Nathan's guttural snoring from the corner where he passed out,
sitting up. Pickles continued after the long silence. "But, yanno, I hope one
day I can be an inspiration for people. Den my mahm will be proud of me,
instead of feeling like she's... stuck with me."
"You should tells you's mom to go fucks herself."
Pickles gave him a weird look.
"Dood, I can't do dat, she's my mahm!"
"Okay, okay. I'm just sayin's. If it was me in dat sicktuations, I'd say to
fucks herself!" (No he wouldn't. Not with HIS mother, anyway.)
"Yeh, well, I can't."
It was still nice to know more about Pickles. Even if it was a touchy subject.
Toki was further inspired by his heart-wrenching rise to fame, like it were
straight out of a soap opera. He could relate. His parents were pure evil, too!
And he wanted to stay close to Pickles, who'd been twice the mother than his
real one had been. (Though, then again, two times zero is zero, so maybe that
was a bad analogy to use.) Nonetheless, he was ready to continue working with
Pickles for the long, long future ahead of them, no matter what happened.
-
On the reverse end, Toki had never quite worried about someone as much as he
had about William Murderface. Within his first few hours of being a Dethklok
member, Pickles was forced to explain that Murderface had attempted suicide
very recently and somehow, by a wild stroke of luck, came out with only two
broken legs. ("And dat's why he's got casts on and is fuddling around in
crutches like a doofus.") And even before that, attempting to call him
"William" was responded to by screaming and lashing out. Those things alone
left a really good idea of what Murderface would be like, and it wasn't pretty
in the slightest.
Murderface was constantly on watch by his peers, which might seem unnecessary
for an 18-year-old, but frankly, Murderface was a special case. Dealing with
him was an act that Pickles compared to playing a game of Tapper. Because no
matter where you are, there's something waiting for you that only booze can
fix. And, while a bit of a silly metaphor, Toki could see it clearly within his
day-to-day life. Every time he entered Pickles' bathroom he could see the
counters littered with broken shaving razors, and mild red stains diluted by
water in the sink. Or old vomit, still sitting in the toilet, sometimes with
Murderface hunched over the lip, two fingers shoved in his mouth and an
expression of shock as he realized he'd forgotten to lock the door again. Or
even just Murderface himself, staring into a mirror in women's clothing and
very convincing makeup, only for him to notice Toki peering through a crack in
the door and screaming bloody murder.
It was a daily task of the band's to just make Murderface do things. "Eat."
"Put some clothes on." "If you need to use the bathroom, go do it." "Take a
bath." "Brush your teeth." And he was always petulant, insisting he didn't need
to. He wasn't hungry, beds were made for pissing on, and baths were for
pussies. 'Instead, let's get drunk and watch Ren & Stimpy'.
Another thing Toki noticed about him early on was that he deeply mistrusted
Toki, for reasons nobody wanted to speak up about. Though Pickles didn't say
too much, he put out the basics: Dethklok's old guitarist, whose name was
something like Magnets Hangersmelt, took advantage of Murderface for sex and
in-band leverage, and essentially scarred him for life. The already wary
bassist became even moreso, and didn't even want a new rhythm guitarist to
begin with.
It broke Toki's heart, the way someone so young could be so screwed up inside.
Pickles knew a lot about the kid, perhaps because he'd dump down the
information while drunk. An orphan who moved in with his grandparents into an
overly-religious household in Georgia, went through life bullied and tormented
before leaving home with a wallet full of prostitution money and hitchhiking
his way down to Florida. Lived with Magnets for a few years, became his
boyfriend and cut off the relationship twice as fucked-up as before. Had eating
disorders, depression, possible bi-polar, maybe even BPD, though he'd never
seen a psychologist to prove it. Dyslexic and only got out of school by
threatening his principal, clearly gay but refuses to admit it due to his
confusing past with religion. He was an open-and-shut case.
Toki wanted to help him.
Because he wasn't ugly, and even if he was mean, Toki knew deep down there was
more to him than that.
But Murderface refused to be helped.
So instead of helping, Toki watched as Murderface was dragged through each day
by his band, clinging to life by the skin of his teeth. Drinking, puking,
crying, locking himself in his bedroom to listen to XTC albums and try cocaine
for the first time even though Pickles said not to, and everything in-between.
He was alone, and while he didn't like it, that's how it'd stay.
At 2 AM Toki found him, once again face-first in the toilet bowl, breathing
heavily. Pickles chalked it up to his close watch on the kid as to why he'd
stayed alive for so damn long. He stared up from the floor with a harsh gaze,
raising up his shoulders like a porcupine extending its quills. Toki had no
intention of threatening him. Really he just wanted a drink of water. But the
half-opened pill bottles and red marks on the faucet told him that this time,
he had to stay.
"Toki, what're you doin'?! Get outta here!"
"Moidaface, you takes all dese pills?"
"Who'sch aschkin'."
"...Toki?"
"Get out!"
Toki swallowed. Normally he stayed in his lane, but Murderface was a special
case.
"You feelin's okays?"
"...They're juscht to make me honk up my food, jeesch." He reached for another
one. Toki smacked his hand, as gently as he could. "Hey, don't gimme that!
You're not FAT." Murderface was most likely drunk, which at least made his
emotions a bit more malleable. It'd be easier to talk him out of anything
dangerous this way. Murderface was too busy pinching at the tight skin on his
own body. "Schtupid fucking love handlesch... Why are they called that?! Nobody
could love thesche!"
"Moidaface, you--"
"Maybe I should juscht drown myschelf in my own fucking puke, then I'd feel
better..."
"Moidaface, no."
"What, what're you gonna do? Hit me?!"
"I ain'ts gonna hit you." Toki dragged him to his feet, pulling one arm over
his own shoulder. "You's needs food, and you's needs a bath, and you's needs
sleep. And Toki amn'ts budgin's on dat."
"I don't need food. I need lessch food, I have food issuesch, are- are you
schtupid?!"
"Shoosh."
Toki set him down on the kitchen floor and hastily heated up some instant
ramen. (It was really the only thing he knew how to make in a short period of
time.) He was stuck force-feeding Murderface half of what he had made before
the poor kid's fucked-up digestive system had him looking almost green in the
face. As soon as Toki turned around to clean the used bowl, Murderface had
vomited on himself once and promptly passed out. Toki decided to wake up
Pickles and have him deal with it. He wasn't sure where to go from there.
Murderface was a sad, sad kid. And Toki wanted to be there for him more than
anything. Sometimes he feared, though, that the task was too demanding for him.
But if the going got tough, he kept it in his heart that he'd be there for the
youngest member of Dethklok, no matter what kinds of insanity got between them.
It was, after all, quite a workload for one solitary alcoholic of age 23 to
deal with on his own. Luckily, Toki would be there for him, too. Toki would be
there for Dethklok, and in return, they'd be there for Toki. It was a beautiful
and perfect equation of equal parts.
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