Metalocalypse: Impending Doom

Chapter Twenty Three: Nathan

Abigail's sharp eyes were piercing through Nathan's head, and he couldn't help but straighten up, though he met her gaze unflinchingly.

"Huh?" He grunted, slightly annoyed that he was being stared at.

"You weren't listening to what we were saying, were you, Nathan?" Abigail sighed.

"Uhhhhhhhhh," was all Nathan could say.

"I said I want everyone to cooperate because I believe we can all agree that we're all sick of the drama. But especially when we all need to join forces to stop those trying to hurt you all and those who killed Charles."

Nathan's lips pursed as the nightmare of Charles' broken body filled his mind once more, and all he could muster was a grunt of acknowledgment. However, Abigail didn't seem willing to let up on him as she had with Salem, apparently (noted by the fact that they looked relieved to be left alone, their face now slightly in view).

"Maybe as the leader of Dethklok, you can go first?" Abigail questioned.

The pit inside of Nathan seemed to roar like a lion before it was quieted by the numbing sensation that crept through him. He hated this. At least when he repressed his emotions before, it was a choice. Was this how Charles felt? Was he also equally unable to control this desensitized coldness that seized his limbs like hypothermia? Did he also once feel as though he were at peace when drowning in all that was supposed to be painful toward him?

"What's there to say?" Nathan's voice sounded dull to his ears despite the gruffness. "Nothing."

"C'mon Nathan, what did I just say-"

"I heard you." Nathan stared into her eyes, eerily calm with the deadened sensation continuing to circulate through him. "Go bother someone else first, and then we'll talk."

"Why can't we talk now?" Abigail's searching gaze felt like she was pushing him under the water. "If there's not much to say, get it out now."

"You already know." Nathan's bitter tone reverberated through the room, making him feel self-conscious. "Don't have a bad past. Don't have a traumatic backstory. This is just the way I am. I don't, uh, drink to ignore shit."

"Hmm. Why don't we talk about one thing I know that does bug you, then?"

Here we go, she wants to talk about Charles, Nathan thought with a cold lump in his chest.

However, before Nathan could even say anything, Abigail said, "what about your emotions?"

Nathan choked a little on his saliva in surprise. "Uhh- huh?"

"You've always been pretty reserved, right? How about as a kid?"

"I mean, yeah, I guess, whatever," Nathan mumbled, staring hard at the woman in front of him. "What's your point?"

"What about your anger issues?"

"I don't have anger issues!"

"You tried throwing a ckouch yeschterday," Murderface spoke dryly.

"And it was bolted tew da floor because yew t'row shit a lot," Pickles pointed out.

"Whatever, shut up, both of you," Nathan growled. "So maybe I do have anger issues. Maybe as a kid, too. So what?"

"Have you ever thought that maybe you use alcohol to relax for once or that you use it to keep your anger under control?" Abigail pressed, and Nathan stiffened.

"Shouldn't you be the one that knows that?"

"Not if you don't talk to me. What do you expect when you drink?"