Charlie's Last Nerve

Rating: PG
Category: AU
Pairing(s): None
Warnings: M-preg. But don’t worry. It’s like… totally metal. Yeah. And puns.
Summary: Charles finally loses his cool.
Notes: BIRFDAY FICLET FOR riverotter7! Based on an idea I got when [info]deth_pixie mentioned that she would like to see a ficcie where Skwisgaar got pregnant. Somehow it evolved into this.

For the first time in his life, Charles Foster Ofdensen had Dethklok’s complete and undivided attention. They sat on the couch in the main room, hands folded on their laps, feet together, their eyes absolutely enormous as they watched their long-suffering manager, who admitted readily and publicly that he adored his ‘boys’, pitch a full-blown fit. For years they had suspected that eventually they would cross the line and he would snap, but they hadn’t expected the results to be so… well… epic. His jacket was gone, as was the trademark red tie. His hair and glasses were askew, his shirt partially undone, and he was raving as if he had gone completely insane. Most of what he was shouting didn’t even qualify as words. Finally he spun to face them, cords standing out on his neck, a vein pulsing on his forehead, and froth collected in the corners of his mouth. His chest heaved, and with every last ounce of strength he had left, bellowed the question at them foremost on his mind.

“WHAT. THE FUCK. WERE YOU THINKING?!”

Toki’s lower lip wibbled, and he pulled Deddy Bear closer, his blue eyes shimmering with yet-unspilled tears. Pickles fidgeted uncertainly. It was Murderface who finally spoke.

“We… shorta… didn’t.”

Charles hurled his briefcase across the room, killing a big-screen TV.

“No shit, geniuses!” Charles ranted. “It never occurred to you that maybe… just… maybe… summoning an Incubus was a bad idea?”

Toki whimpered. Charles spun to face him, pointing a finger dead at him. “Don’t start. You are not going to cry your way out of this one. Oh no.” He turned to face the rest of the band as well. “I am sick and tired of being the guy who has to find new and inventive ways for covering up your weirdness. And it’s not just typical rock star weirdness. That I could handle. But you guys don’t do typical weirdness. No. There’s no pregnant groupies, or limos at the bottom of pools, or a couple of kee’s of pot in a suitcase in the airport. No no no no no. With you guys it’s giant radioactive sea monsters, and Finnish lake trolls, and freak tornados that wipe out hippie folk music concerts. And I’m the doctor that has to spin this shit into something that doesn’t sound quite as insane as it actually is. And believe it or not… I’m happy to do it. I love you boys. I do.”

The last few words were spoken with soft affection as Charles gazed at the five young men gathered on the couch, blinking back at him. He even smiled slightly. Then he picked up a wrought iron side table and threw it as if it was made of cardboard.

“BUT HOW THE FUCK DO YOU EXPECT ME TO EXPLAIN HAVING TO CANCEL AN ENTIRE TOUR ON THE GROUNDS THAT THE BAND ACCIDENTALLY SUMMONED AN INCUBUS AND NOW EVERY DAMNED ONE OF THEM IS PREGNANT?!”

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. Toki whimpered, leaning against Skwisgaar. Nathan tugged at the hem of his t-shirt, which no longer quite went around his large round belly.

“Well maybe you could… uh… say we’re sick. Like with… viral hemorrhagic fever… or something. You know… something where we uh… have to be quarantined for a while.”

Charles raised an eyebrow. “That’s not bad. I can do that. You boys were all recently down in the Amazon. That’s… not too far-fetched. Very good, Nathan. I’ll get right on that.” He sighed heavily, and began tending to his appearance, slowly gathering his composure. “So,” he said as he did up his shirt. “Have you boys thought about names?”

“Oh I wants to waits untils I meets mine,” said Toki. “Can’ts name baby I don’ts know.”

“Well that’s very sweet, Toki. Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?”

“No, I wants to be surprised.” He looked at Skwisgaar. “What’s you goings to names yours?”

“Havesn’t decided yets. What’s about you, Murderface.”

“I’m gonna call mine Mabel, after my favourite aunt.”

Charles began putting on his tie, struck by the unusual sweetness of what Murderface had said. “So you’re having a little girl then?”

“No. But I promised my aunt before she died that if I ever had a baby I would name it after her.”

“Oh well dood, can’t break a promise like that,” said Pickles. “I mean you can’t lie to someone on their deathbed.”

“What are you naming yours, Pickles?” asked Nathan.

“Gherkin,” he said happily. “’Cause that’s a little Pickle.”

“I’m gonna name mine Scrambles,” said Nathan. “I just really like it.”

Charles sighed heavily. “So I should just hire the child psychologist now.”

The five heavily pregnant death rockers exchanged glances.

“Yeah that… might be a good idea,” said Pickles. “Oh… uh… Charles?”

Charles had been about to leave the room, but paused, looking over his shoulder at Pickles. “Yes?”

“Well, we thought you should know that…uh… well… we really appreciate all you do for us.”

Charles smiled at him warmly, the first real smile they had ever seen him give them. There may even have been the glint of a tear in his eyes.

“Thank you, Pickles,” he said. “That… that’s really nice to know.”

Charles left, heading to his office to cancel tour dates, five sets of eyes watching him depart the main room.

“Poor Charlie,” said Pickles. “I just didn’t have the heart to tell him we accidentally included his name in that spell that summoned the Incubus.”