Flashes of visions crossed Pickles' mind. A boy that looked like him but wasn't him stared back at him from the mirror, pale and red-headed and eyes aged with time. Next to him another redheaded boy with a faraway glance like he wasn't in the same exact realm as the other. More shadows aligned behind the first two; a meek child with russet brown hair covering most of their features, holding in their arms something small wrapped up in a blanket, two sandy blond children standing identically side by side with faces of self-importance and hidden sorrow in their eyes, a dark brown curly haired child with the hard features of someone who'd seen some shit... and finally, a black haired child with a face of steel and strength and leadership, but also of emotion.
Pickles watched hazily through the eyes of the aged child as he counted each head. There were seven. For some reason, Pickles felt as though one were missing.
As if on cue, a dark, shadowy hand seemed to grip the last child's throat and the skin of their neck seemed to illuminate as the child opened their mouth wide in fear and pain, eyes glazing and then darkening. The hands seemed to absorb the glow from the other's neck before retracting. There was a cackle deep within the darkness, and then a soft, sad sigh from both nowhere and everywhere.
More kids that looked familiar began to line up behind them, until they had blended into the background, too many to count, all with one particular child of each group with hands around their neck, and the same instance happening as before.
The voice spoke with odd softness that Pickles had never heard before. "The prophecy is in danger. Was always in danger. Blood shed... the death of a chosen one long before they were chosen... now it mimics, standing where they stood, destroying what I have tried to create.. Do not trust the one with death seeking eyes, stained hands, and bloody lips, and maybe you will survive... I'm sorry for failing you all..."
As Pickles began to come back to full consciousness, the visions and voice faded, as well as his memory of the encounter.
~~~
It didn't work... Nothing was working. Pickles hunched over with swirling vision, watching as his pink and bloody vomit splashed the toilet. The bag of drugs he had held onto for so long was emptied, his mouth covered in drool, bile, and flecks of unidentified substances.
Pickles purged once or twice more before angrily wiping his mouth and flushing the toilet. He was too weak to stand, so he resorted to sulking in the corner of the bathroom, feeling his pulse throb weakly.
It had only been a day after Salem and Pickles had officially ended... whatever was going on with them. Pickles would be lying if he said he wasn't hurting, angry, bitter, offended, depressed. Pretty much anything negative, Pickles was feeling.
He had originally accepted and agreed to Salem that this was the best thing, so that Salem might get some help. However, Pickles's selfishness had begun to rise the second Salem had walked out, choosing to throw things in his room, get high, cry, and then of course try to kill himself, though not before trying to find Salem again and realizing that they had continued to avoid him as they had always done. It was just their way of running away from him, Pickles was sure of it.
And so he angrily popped drugs into his mouth to see where it would take him; if it killed him, it killed him. Unfortunately, his body was immune to such a method and he could only throw up and hope he would choke on it.
Pickles continued to brood until he heard a knock on the door to his bedroom. He sighed, knowing immediately who it was, and stood up on shaky feet. At least it only looked like Pickles had gotten fucked up to get high, and not for anything else.
He opened the door to see Nathalia with her big begging eyes, giving him such a sickly sweet smile that automatically pissed him off. Without a word, he pulled out a bottle of booze from a stash he kept just for Nathalia, silently handed it over, and closed the door on her before she could say anything. He felt guilt gnaw at him for the rudeness, but he really didn't want to deal with her shenanigans at the moment. She didn't seem to mind, since he could hear her giggle drunkenly and then waddle off.
Ever since her birthday party, Nathalia would keep coming up to Pickles to see if he had smuggled any alcohol into Mordhaus (which of course he had), which resulted in Nathalia becoming an unlikely drinking buddy. Eventually she would come over just to ask for some booze and then leave, which made Pickles feel even more lonely but he was usually happy to oblige regardless. Besides, when she did stay, their conversations usually revolved around...
Pickles sighed. He couldn't escape from his thoughts about Salem, no matter what he did. He vaguely remembered one of his drunk discussions with Nathalia that had actually led to Pickles confronting Salem.
"Soooo, you and Salem still..?" Nathalia slurred as she hung upside down from Pickles's bed, alcohol dripping all over her face as she attempted to drink from her position.
"Ye. Dey're avoidin' me still,'' Pickles mumbled. It was sometime after Skwisgaar and Toki had blown up, and he was preparing to go visit them eventually once Nathalia wandered off to wherever she usually went after their gossip time. He picked at the fuzz on his blanket uncomfortably, remembering the way Salem kept flinching and dodging him. What was wrong with him, to have them act that way?
"Don' take it uhm... words... yeah," Nathalia groaned, finally sitting up to look blearily at Pickles. "Personally? Yeah. They're usually like this with everyone."
"Everyone?" Pickles repeated.
"Everyone. Besides well, me 'n' Tobe. But like all their lovers and shit. They're not even good with guckin' froupies. I mean fuping groukies. Gackin frappies. Shit..."
"Fuckin' groupies?" Pickles helped. Nathalia nodded.
"They got very high anxiety. Sometimes worse'n mine... sometimes."
"Yew lit'rally tackle people," Pickles laughed a little.
"Yeaaaah but I don' abandon people when I realize I like 'em," Nathalia snorted, and Pickles raised an eyebrow to this. "Salem ain't right in the head. But that's okay, they deserve to be a lil fucked up."
"How so?" Pickles never heard much about Salem's past and wondered what they could be possibly hiding that made them seem so damaged.
"They killed a fucker before," Nathalia shrugged then blinked. "Wait, that doesn't explain much, does it?"
Pickles stared at Nathalia in horror. Salem? Kill someone? "How does dat explain deir commitment issues?!"
"Fuck, forget I said anything," Nathalia laughed loudly and hysterically, blushing lightly.
Looking back on it, Pickles didn't really know why that conversation led to the argument he had with Salem. Maybe he was just tired of the beating around the bush and not getting any answers. Maybe he felt like Nathalia didn't have an actual reason for Salem's behavior and it pissed him off. Maybe the idea of Salem being aggressive led to him being suspicious about what else they could possibly be hiding.
All the confrontation led to though was more guilt as Salem ran away with tears in their eyes, obviously embarrassed and ashamed. Pickles could tell they were fighting themselves internally, fighting something that maybe Pickles would never know about or understand. All he could think of though, was the pain that it caused for him, and it festered into a cruel bitterness.
So Pickles found more drugs under his bed, got high, and blindly wandered from his room with his face swollen, body dehydrated, and mind completely gone. He was hungry and needed food. Where was the kitchen again?
Pickles ran into a solid body and his first reaction was to loudly laugh, before puking on himself, blood bubbling from his mouth. Someone said something but he wasn't sure what it was. His hand instead gripped a thick arm to hold himself up, his breaths turning into gasps as more blood seemed to clog his lungs. Was he finally dying?
A hand unsurely pushed Pickles toward his room, and he absolutely refused, trying to keep his feet solid on the ground. He just wanted some food! Until he easily toppled over from the nudge, falling face first and landing in his own vomit. Pickles began to cry without realizing it; very loud, embarrassing sobs that would most likely catch someone's attention if he didn't stop soon.
The person whom he had run into seemed to panic and scooped Pickles up, carrying him the other way and to the nearest room, then placing him down on a bed. His head rolled around on his neck, not able to control his own body and wasn't even aware that he couldn't.
His face, then parts of his exposed chest, were wiped clean while sobs continued to rip through his throat and wrack his body. He wasn't even sure at this point why he was crying and rubbed his eyes like a small child, sniffling and hiccuping.
Once he had calmed down slightly, hands tried to help Pickles up again, possibly to lead him back to his room now that there wasn't a possibility of causing a scene (hopefully). Unfortunately, at this time, Pickles's eyes had registered who it was that had helped him.
"Yew," Pickles whispered.
Words were said, Pickles didn't know what words they were. He could only stare while slightly swaying back and forth, ready to topple over at any second. Another grip kept Pickles from tipping, and Pickles slapped the hand away, only to fall forward and land on the chest of the other person. His fists clenched against their shoulders before he started throwing punches, faster and harder until blood had splashed his face, stunning him momentarily.
Pickles took a step back, falling back onto the bed. His hands were bloodied, his face was wet with tears and more blood, and the other had resorted to leaning against the nearest wall with their hands against their face. The drummer couldn't even register his own thoughts or feelings, so all he could do was glare at them while feeling his own heart pound out of his chest.
Hands were held up in surrender as they walked slowly toward Pickles, who shrank back until his back was against the wall. He tried to kick the other away, but missed (not that the feeble attack would do anything anyway). Pickles squeezed his eyes shut until a gentle head was placed against his arm, forcing them open again in surprise.
The head was bowed with their forehead leaned against him, allowing more blood to spill from their nose and onto Pickles. The red-head froze, not sure how to deal with such a... vulnerable position. A hand was placed on Pickles's stomach and he immediately shoved it away in defense. The other person didn't seem to mind.
"Help," The person whispered, so dead-like. Pickles blinked, staring helplessly down at them. How the fuck was he supposed to help?
Maybe Pickles asked it out loud without realizing, or maybe the other was just prepared for such a question, because they answered either way. "Kill me."
Pickles was taken aback by this. He looked down at soft, troubled eyes that never seemed to sleep, a face haunted by demons. A face that seemed to regress as time went on, a face full of remorse that didn't know how to express such emotions. Pickles shuddered, a chill rippling down his spine.
"Fuck me." Wait, did Pickles really just say that? Apparently so, because the other person looked just as shocked.
"Wh- what..?"
"Fuck me," Pickles repeated, voice raising though the only thing he could truly hear was the pounding in his chest from his frantic heartbeat. "Please, fuck me."
When the other person made no move, Pickles practically attacked them, face smothered against theirs as their lips crashed into one another. How Pickles could go from attacking them to kissing them, he didn't know. He could taste blood and he wasn't sure if it was theirs or his own.
At first the other responded, slowly and unsurely, probably mostly out of surprise. Eventually, they pulled away and grasped Pickles's shoulders to pull him back. "The fuck?"
"Please," Pickles whimpered with his tears falling freely down his cheeks again, small gasps coming from his parted lips. "I need..." What did he need? A distraction, that was it. He was using this person. He flinched to the idea, he didn't want to be so toxic that he treated someone like a fuck-toy, but he had no sense left in his head. He needed to feel good while he was at his peak, or he just might have a full psychotic breakdown... well, worse than it was currently.
The other person shook their head, refusing further advances by grasping Pickles tightly by the arms to prevent him from moving closer. "You're fucked."
Pickles dropped his head, sobbing into their shoulder and feeling his body droop with defeat. They didn't seem to know how to react to this and allowed Pickles to cry it out, allowing himself to be spit on and drooled on and wailed on.
Pickles was pathetic, disgusting, worthless, nothing but a whore that hid his feelings behind sex...
He pulled his head up one last time to press a kiss to their cheek before he dropped into their lap, curling into a ball. He felt his skin practically buzzing and itching from the drugs he had taken earlier. His brain however, was becoming undone and relaxing to what Pickles hoped would be the beginning of his death, so he closed his eyes.
~~~
Then suddenly, his mind became clear again, forcing his eyes open once more. He sat cross-legged in his pretty purple forest, causing him to frown. He really didn't want to be back here.
Pickles tried to remember his moments before he supposedly passed out and ended up here, and found that he could find no trace of any memories. Funny, he hadn't gotten that fucked up in a while. He touched his forehead, knowing that things would come back to him, and so much more, if he just...
He jerked his hand away and folded his arms across his chest. No, he refused. But now he didn't know what to do except wait until his body in the real world stopped shutting down on him.
Pickles recalled the last time he had been back here and flinched, remembering his conversation with Salem. Poor Salem... They were going through a lot. He knew that in this world, but once he woke, he wouldn't remember... he would just blame them for everything going wrong with his life right now. To be honest, he still kind of wanted to, just so he wouldn't have to focus on himself and his problems, even though he knew that was wrong of him. Like Nathalia had said before, Salem 'deserved to be a little fucked up'. Maybe not as much as they seemed to be milking - they should've gotten help way sooner after all- but nonetheless.
For some reason, Pickles giggled to himself which created a full breakdown of hysteria, and then he gasped. "Oh I'm HIGH high." He hadn't felt this fuzzy in this world in a long time. He was sure it was still much clearer than how he would be doing while conscious. Not that he could remember anything from the past hour, though that also sort of just proved his point.
Rubbing his eyes to hopefully clear his head, Pickles tried to think to himself. When Salem and Pickles had talked, Salem had basically convinced him to go pass that prophetic message to the last person of the group. Though he could no longer remember the smaller details of the prophecy, he always knew he had to talk to someone and pass along the information that something big was going to happen, after being 'convinced' to do so.
The prophecy haunted him in his past lives too, from what he could remember. That was until he vowed to never look through his third eye again in the hopes he would forget- which almost worked, though he supposed some things just couldn't be forgotten this way.
He for some reason couldn't remember his past lives even with the third eye, the names he was given during them, or what his mission necessarily was (and still technically was, currently), just that it ended the same way each time, which roughly translated to failure. Pickles used to look into his own future for this life and was sure that it would end the same way, but Salem was determined to get Pickles to keep trying until their last breath, which in a way was inspiring.
Unfortunately, Pickles had forgotten the most important detail. He needed to talk to the last person and tell them that something was about to happen, but he didn't know who. Pickles had a feeling it would be met with a lot of resistance and that he would need to do quite a bit of convincing. He really didn't want to waste his energy trying to think of who he needed to talk to if he had to argue with some asshole after the fact, and he had a feeling if he tried to use his third eye for an answer, he would mostly just remember things he'd rather not.
Not that it mattered, because it seemed the more Pickles got high or delved into his powers, the faster he'd forget once he stopped using it. At some point he felt like he knew who he was supposed to talk to. He felt like he knew most things about his past lives, more than just how they seemed to end. He probably knew what he had to do to make this prophecy work. These were things he couldn't even use his third eye for, to remember now. Maybe instead of refusing to use his powers and hoping to forget that way, he could've at some point just tried to overextend his limitations and get some major amnesia after...
But would Pickles then forget Salem? He was sure that couldn't be possible, just like it seemed impossible to forget the prophecy, but then again he had never tried that method. Maybe he wouldn't remember anything eventually, not even his own powers. Then he could get high in peace. And it wasn't like he would permanently lose Salem, since they were in literal Mordhaus with him.
For as long as Pickles could remember, he had had dreams of a tiny, white, fairy looking person. Once in a while they'd be in chains, black, destructive, and always they would be far away, too far for Pickles to grab or hold. He felt an immediate bond toward them. Not that his awake self would know any of this.
Once his eyes had landed on Salem in the real world, he had realized that they were the person of their dreams, but only remembering such a discovery in those dreams. He couldn't imagine a life where it wouldn't come as knowledge to him that he was probably meant to meet this person since birth, and first became curious, then obsessed when they became more frequent after a certain age. Even if Salem would be there in the real world, there was a special type of connection in this world that he didn't want to lose.
Plus, Pickles supposed that now he owed them a little since he agreed to partake in the prophecy. The issue was, who the FUCK was he supposed to talk to?
Only in the very back of Pickles's mind was he monologuing and allowing his thoughts to circulate through; on the outside, and within maybe the first two layers of his brain, he was completely out of it. He had given up a while ago to actually focus and register his thought process, rather to just needlessly wander and wave at the whispering mushrooms around him. God, was he so trashed.
Hadn't Salem said something about talking to someone mean? That didn't really narrow down his options much. Nathan was a hard-ass on purpose to seem brutal, Skwisgaar was a cocky egomaniac, Nathalia was... basically a second Nathan with slightly more emotional range. He had already talked to Salem, and he didn't even know Tobias well enough to cross him out; for all he knew, the man was hiding some dark secrets like Salem was. The only person he couldn't possibly consider would be Toki. Despite his anger issues, he was still generally sweet, if not a little unstable.
Pickles supposed he could just wander and hope for the best, not that he knew where to go or if he was even really allowed to since he had never tried. His feet began to drag him in a certain direction, hoping he would at least be going the right way.
He tripped over his own feet at some point and landed in a large, grassy area where the brush was almost as tall as him. He lifted his sore head from the ground and spotted a very pretty woman with her back to him, long blonde hair flowing over her shoulders- oh wait, that was Skwisgaar. Pickles didn't seem as disappointed as he himself thought he would be, as the Swede turned around to spot Pickles peeking up from the bushes.
"Oh? Pickles?" Skwisgaar looked a little surprised.
There were a few things Pickles knew about each band member and things he could see or sense, without his third eye. Again, he didn't know if they were things that could eventually be forgotten, but they weren't just things he'd always known, they would just come to him simply by looking at the person.
Skwisgaar was a very egotistical man, but he was also fragile. Years of neglect caused him to become his own cheerleader, so to speak. While at the same time growing contempt for the rest of the world around him, for being disappointed by them over and over. Yet a secret love for the idea of love and seeing the things who invest their love into him, find enjoyment.
Salem had been obviously arguing with the other blond but Pickles still hadn't noticed them until they popped their head around Skwisgaar's side. "Oh?"
"Eyyyyyy," Pickles grinned. "'M lookin' f'r the mean one... You mean?"
Skwisgaar blinked slowly. "No."
"That's a damn lie-"
"You shut it!" Skwisgaar turned to glare at Salem for sassing, though without any actual venom. "Did you not tell him who had already been spoken to?"
"No, I didn't have time. Pickles, listen- hey wait, where you going?!"
Pickles had apparently gotten bored after receiving his no, so he stumbled through the forest area with a wave. "'Ll see ya later, Skwisg'rrr. I'll come see ya like usual on your almost-death bed."
"Yes Mother," Skwisgaar rolled his eyes, while Salem stuttered to try and explain something to Pickles, who had already taken off somewhere.
Pickles shoved through some trees and found his way into a less thick clearing with loads of animals, when he felt hands grip his shoulders and steer him in the opposite direction. "You don't need to be in here," Skwisgaar seemed a bit flustered, and Pickles knew why.
"Youuuuu got a soft spooooot," Pickles teased as he was roughly led to the edge of the forest. "Look at all this! Look at all thoooose!" He gestured wildly to the deer and rabbits that were eyeing the odd newcomer with confusion and interest.
"Gets the fucks out of heres," Skwisgaar wasn't speaking in strange tongues anymore but rather spat angrily in English from embarrassment, shoving Pickles into the nearest direction. "Go find who you need to talk to."
Pickles lifted his hands like he was playing Airplaine and began zooming off into the forest. If he wasn't high before, he certainly was now. It was like the drugs were only getting stronger, rather than fading away after a certain period.
The branches slapped at his face while his hands kept hitting the tree trunks, as he sped through the wooded area. As the trees began to thin out, so did the grass, until his bare feet were hitting hard dirt that eventually turned to sand. He had to drag himself through it, all the while noticing dead bodies surrounding him.
"Brutal," Pickles whispered in awe. He found himself straying too far to the right and ended up stubbing his toe on a wet rock that was halfway buried in the ground. He fell face first into a salty ocean that he hadn't even noticed and began to sink.
While Pickles continued to sink, an irritated voice spoke in his head. "The fuck?"
Pickles tried to speak, but the water surrounding him nullified his voice.
"Just speak with your uh, head."
"Ya mean think?" Pickles wondered to himself.
"Yeah, that. Dumbass."
Pickles wasn't about to point out that Nathan was slightly hypocritical for calling him that, mostly because he was too high to focus right now.
"The fuck are you even doing here in my dream?"
"'M hiiiiigh."
"What, I- you know what, never mind. That explains it."
Pickles grabbed hold of his feet and began floating around in the water, watching all the pretty colors swirl around him. He didn't know where Nathan was, but could sense his overwhelming presence. He could practically smell the depression and heartache dripping off of him, the fear, and most of all, the rage. Just like with other things Pickles simply knew, Pickles knew why; but then again, it didn't take a genius to figure it out.
"We'll find him," Pickles assured his friend in a slur.
"Who?" Nathan knew who, and Pickles knew that Nathan knew. Whether Nathan knew that Pickles knew that Nathan knew was up for debate.
"Ey."
"Uh... what?"
"Are you the mean person I gotta talk to?"
"...What."
"Salem said I gotta talk to a mean person, is it you?"
"Do I fucking look mean?!" Nathan all but snarled and Pickles could see a shadow flicker for a moment as the brute singer darted around Pickles in a quick circle.
"Yes."
Nathan sighed. "Wait, someone mean. Salem. Aw fuck, did you guys fuck up my prophecy or something?!"
"Noooo, I didn't anyway. Salem probably did."
"Maybe if you guys were going to fuck up the words you could've written it down or something, shit. I'm the one who started this in the first place!"
Pickles giggled as he began to float up toward the surface. "Alright, I'm gonna go find the mean person."
"Pickles, wait-"
Pickles practically leaped out of the water and landed on his side like a fish, flapping a little before he managed to get onto his hands and knees to stand. Up ahead, with several heads on a stick beside it, lay a cave entrance. He could vaguely hear singing from within.
Did mean people sing? Apparently, if Nathan was able to be the lead singer of Dethklok. A rock to the back of Pickles's head told him that Nathan could still read his mind, so he began to walk forward with a grumble and see who awaited him there.
Pickles felt compelled to listen to the words being sung to him.
The truth hits you in more ways than one,
A bleeding heart will die for the ones they love.
But why do you run until they're dead and done?
Pickles felt entranced not just by the silky yet deep voice, though it felt like it was compelling him to think about things he didn't want to. All he wanted to do for the past year was hide from people so as not to be a burden on them. He even began to blame and accuse Salem of doing what he'd been also doing all along to everyone he loved. Avoidance and non-confrontation.
Pickles continued moving forward. He wasn't sure if he could get hurt in this realm but he didn't chance it, resorting to avoiding the traps and dead bodies as much as possible because dead bodies just equaled more traps, most likely.
A stake drove itself up from the ground and Pickles dodged to the side with surprising ease, like he knew that would happen, grasping the nearest tree branch and hoisting himself up. The tree, home to a few dead and lynched bodies apparently, groaned under his weight as he clambered to the top, noticing one of the branches that drooped toward the entrance of the cave that he just wanted to get to. Surely an especially mean person would try to kill literally everything that resided in this area?
Pickles felt the branch actually curl around his foot, and his high self fell forward, gripping the next branch in his hand while the tree actually seemed to fall apart. Pickles gritted his teeth as it bucked forward; he wasn't sure if it was coming to life to kill him or it was just withering away, either way though more stakes began to pop up from the ground, so if he fell he would probably not make it.
Then Pickles noticed a gash in the tree due to one of the stakes coming up from underneath it and twisting to jut out. It made the trunk very unstable, to say the least. Pickles gripped the nearest rope, cutting it down with the dagger he always held in his belt and watching the dead person slip out of it before falling and being staked right through the chest.
"Oops, mah bad," Pickles apologized before clambering down to the half-broken branch he had tripped on, wincing as it threatened to drop him in a sea of sharp, dangerous objects. He pulled the rope around both the stake that had gone through the tree as a brace, and the trunk itself, tying it quickly and as securely as possible. It stopped leaning, momentarily, so Pickles once more scrabbled to the top, his fingers now sore and slightly bloody from the amount of crawling up and down the rough bark that he had to do.
Once Pickles had reached that one branch again and started balancing on it to waddle his way toward the cave, which was the only spot now that WASN'T trying to kill him dead, the tree began to lean again and threaten to snap under his weight. However, Pickles had saved himself enough time with the rope, and managed to slide down, landing on his face right by the cave entrance.
Whoever had been singing finally stopped, and Pickles looked up to see who it was. He didn't expect to see a demon looking woman staring down at him with surprise.
"Awh God, don't eat me!"
"What? It's Nathalia, you fucker!"
"What? Oh, heyyy," Pickles grinned as he slowly sat up. "Why'd you try to kill me?"
"I- oh fuck it, not this explanation again." Nathalia sighed deeply. "I didn't put those traps there. And I can imagine you're not here for me to actually kill for making it through."
"Well someone's feeling MEAN today," Pickles commented, earning a venomous look. "'N' no probably not, just wanderin'."
"I'm going through some shit right now Pickles, and I haven't been here in like a week so I have a lot of dumb asses to go through and lure to their deaths. So if you don't need your stupid soul reaped in the name of judgment, get outta here."
"Fine. Oh, by the way," Pickles said as he began to back out of the cave, though hesitating at the very edge. "Are you the asshole I'm supposed to be talking to?"
Nathalia whirled around with a raised fist. "No the fuck I'm not!" She hissed, starting toward him. Pickles yelped and shot out of the cave to escape. Despite her fitting the description well enough, she seemed to not be the one.
. . .
Tobias stared up at the stars (or would, if he could see, but instead could only look up at the light that the stars produced), contemplating to himself. He had been reading the stars and planets for quite some time, despite his obvious disability. Even in the real world, he still gazed up into the sky every so often to see what secrets the stars held, and knew that something was wrong.
The sun, what used to be a faraway yellow speck, was getting closer and redder in light. And the moon was swelling in size and developing its own light orange color as well. What did it mean? Tobias was the only one who watched the weather or really any kind of news that didn't revolve around Dethklok, and there were reports of strange patterns in the oceans, the air, the storms, everything. The world seemed to be cracking and it frustrated Tobias that not only was he the only one who seemed to care, he also probably couldn't do anything about it.
Suddenly, a very humanoid shape began floating past his vision, startling Tobias slightly out of his thoughts. Who was that?
"Wheeeeeeeee," A soft, dazed voice crowed as the body did a side-flip while they seemed to hold onto their feet like a toddler.
Tobias blinked. "Pickles?"
"Hellooooooo," Pickles replied. The man was fucked up in this realm too, apparently.
"Uh... hi. What uh, what ya doing?" Tobias asked unsurely.
"I dunnoooooooo!"
"Alright, well..." Tobias didn't know how to explain to the crackhead that he couldn't possibly read the stars and come up with a theory, with a floating alcoholic swimming in and out of what little vision he had.
"Are you mean?" Pickles questioned. Tobias blinked.
"I don't believe so, no."
"Feck. Who have I missed then?"
Tobias realized that Pickles was probably looking for whoever he was supposed to pass the prophecy to. Which meant that at some point, the prophecy's words had become even more skewed and confusing, or maybe everyone was just hopelessly lost compared to Tobias. "Who are you supposed to talk to, someone who's... mean?"
"Yeeee," Pickles giggled.
Tobias frowned, thinking to himself. He had talked to Nathalia, and then Toki, and Toki had talked to Skwisgaar, if his theories were correct... There were very limited options afterward, and Tobias couldn't exactly remember where he figured Pickles would most likely fit at (especially since right now he didn't seem to fit anywhere) but if he was correct in his assumption that the 'mean' person was the last one of the prophecy, then he would know who Pickles needed to talk to, and it was not a good thing.
As a last resort, Tobias spoke helpfully, "Have you talked to Nathan, or...?" He was sure Nathan most likely started this entire thing since he was a leader of the band, but he still hoped that maybe his theory was wrong and that somehow...
Pickles's head glow moved up and down in a nod. "Ye, I talked to pretty much everyone. I dunno who it could beeeee." Pickles suddenly found himself hanging upside down, still facing Tobias it seemed.
Tobias bit his lip softly. "What about... Murderface?"
It suddenly became so quiet that the only sound Tobias could hear was his own blood pumping through his system. Pickles was frozen in place, not moving or saying anything for the longest time.
"...Fuck," Pickles eventually whispered. "I uh, forgot... him."
Tobias shot Pickles a sympathetic look, before realizing Pickles was already floating away. "Hey, wait-"
But he had already disappeared into the darkness.
. . .
Well, that trip had certainly sobered Pickles up as much as it possibly could. He really didn't want to have to deal with Murderface, even if the bassist had chilled out for the past week or so. He was still very much pissed off at the man for what happened last year, let alone what he tried to do to Salem, of all people. Although he kept it civil in front of others, which was meant to be disarming to keep drama and fighting at bay, inside he wanted to tear the man into little pieces.
Pickles did notice though almost right away that Salem was very skittish and hid behind the other drummer a lot at just the sight of Murderface, so Pickles tried to keep a calm and collected front to also hopefully ease their worries. He had wanted to be protective and strong for them... He still did.
Looking around at his environment, Pickles frowned. He had accidentally started wandering again and now didn't know where he was; nothing was recognizable, just tons of sand in front of him. He turned his head; he couldn't even find where Nathalia's cave was anymore, and the ocean had long disappeared as well. The sand no longer felt like hot, wet, sticky sand during a beach day. It was dry and very dusty, and with every kick Pickles choked on the specks as they flew into his face.
The sand seemed to stretch on forever in front of Pickles, and his body actually felt tired and heavy for once, rather than graceful and energetic as it usually was. He continued to drag his feet through the ground below him, not even sure if he was going the right way or why all of this sand was even here. It felt like a video game almost, with so many different biomes connected fluidly to one another (aside from where Tobias's lair was located; Pickles wasn't even sure how he managed to get up there or how he got back down).
A gust of hot, airy wind blew against his face almost purposefully, pushing his red mane backward and causing his third eye to shoot open almost immediately and expectantly.
It wasn't like looking through a normal eye- rather it was like having a really vivid imagination, while his two original eyes seemed to grow sharper and clearer. It was disorienting sometimes to him, when he hadn't used his sight in a while.
Pickles winced from images he didn't care to see again and brushed the hair back over his eye, feeling it close once more to rest. However, just before his vision completely faded, he noticed a small, scattered trail of something red on the ground, leading in the direction he had been going but then branching off toward a nearby sandy hill.
In curiosity, Pickles bent down to see if he could see it in plain sight, and noticed a tiny scrap of metal, as well as almost completely buried footprints with old splattered blood. Pickles frowned to this and stood up straighter, beginning to follow the trail. Well, hopefully this was a sign... and he could get this over with. The fact that Murderface, a well-known douchebag to the world, was considered the 'mean' one by even the universe, did not make Pickles feel any better.
Once he had sifted through to climb up the sand mound, Pickles noticed that the blood was becoming more and more noticeable. At the same time, Pickles was suddenly more interested in the fact that in the distance, a mountain, or perhaps a volcano, peeked through more sandy and rocky hills.
Pickles stumbled through the terrain, feeling the sand turn into jagged stones that cut into his feet and suddenly he understood why there was so much blood. He winced and hobbled along, not liking the fact that he could still feel pain since he usually never did. That either meant he was coming down from his high slowly, or maybe this place was just meant to be painful. Perhaps both.
Thick, black smoke was coming from the very top of the mountain, but also from the middle, where it seemed a giant crevice had been dug in the side. It looked like there was a fire going somewhere within which would probably explain the smoke.
Pickles was staring so intensely at the mountain that he didn't notice a shard of something poking from the ground, and he jammed his foot directly onto it, yelling out in pain when it seemed to pierce right through. He tried to lift his foot immediately to pull it out, not realizing it hadn't actually stuck in, and lost his balance, about to topple forward with his chest directly above the sharp object.
A rough hand grabbed the back of Pickles's tunic, then aggressively yanked him backward so that he could stumble back on his feet. Despite the pain, Pickles managed to regain footing, if anything out of sudden fear to feel a somewhat familiar hand on his body.
Without thinking, Pickles's eyes darted toward his 'savior' and stared into harsh, lime green eyes that he loved to hate and hated to love. A vaguely familiar face stared stonily back, thick eyebrows furrowed, lips which curled in a grimace. Thick, heavy curls fell over his sweaty forehead, and two goat-like horns poked from the top, though one seemed to have been smashed.
Pickles was at least several miles away from everyone else, and stuck in a somewhat secluded mountain with Murder-fucking-face.
Just as quickly as Murderface had grabbed Pickles, he had let go, and opted for placing his hands on his hips. "Watch where you're going!" As with everyone else, Murderface didn't have his obnoxious accent, but he spoke the same language Salem had, which was odd to hear coming from this man's mouth. If anything, Pickles expected something less graceful and more harsh and rough around the edges.
Pickles would smack himself for thinking this but Murderface definitely didn't look as bad as he did in the real realm- not that he looked attractive or anything, just better- and he didn't actually look mean or permanently angry like usual, either. He instead looked like a very tired and annoyed, mini Bigfoot. The man was also absolutely covered from head to toe in cuts, even on his face. His arms were blackened with soot and there were bright red burns all over his hands. His clothing (a much better aesthetic than in real life, too) consisted of leathery armor with metal cuffs that were also forever scorched by some type of heat.
"Uhh..." Pickles suddenly realized he'd been staring at the other for a good minute while Murderface glared back without any venom. "Thanks."
Murderface harrumphed as he decided to finally side-step past Pickles, hoisting a pickaxe over his shoulder and carrying what looked to be a heavy bag. This of course irritated the drummer, no longer feeling shy while he decided to follow the bassist toward the mountain.
"I saved you. Doesn't mean you get to join me," Murderface said coldly, but Pickles just rolled his eyes as he decided to stroll along beside him.
"I don't think I give a fuck. I gotta talk to ya."
"I also don't give a fuck."
The two stopped to stare harshly at each other, Pickles finally noticing a more aggressive fire burning in his eyes that hadn't been there a minute ago. He was becoming increasingly hostile, apparently. This didn't phase the red-head, who crossed his arms stubbornly.
"You owe me."
"I owe you? I owe YOU?" Murderface spoke angrily. "I- you-"
"For last year." This time it was Pickles's turn to become stone cold as he pursed his lips, feeling built up frustration in the back of his throat. He'd been holding in his anger and hatred for so long that he didn't know if he could keep it at bay now. Pickles was worried about being alone with Murderface, but the truth was that maybe the other should be worried.
To Pickles's utter surprise, Murderface's eyes softened to those words just slightly, despite still scowling. He abruptly turned back around, but muttered an, "Alright," while walking away, so Pickles continued to tag along in a limp.
At the base of the mountain was another human sized crevice for the both of them to slip through, Pickles being careful not to touch Murderface as he followed. There was a short bridge in front of them that hung over a large pool of lava, which Pickles noticed with dismay. He carefully followed the bassist all the way toward the center of the mountain, where a large stone plate sat inside of the floor, attached by pulleys and other contraptions. Once Pickles slid onto the plate, Murderface began pulling the rope next to them, and the drummer jolted when he felt himself being lifted.
Murderface grunted softly, veins in his arms throbbing as he pulled on the rope. Pickles wondered how painful and annoying it would be, having to do this every time. Especially now, with an extra body.
They were dragged into another section of the mountain that looked like it had been picked into a neater complexion, with bridges on either side of them. All the bridges seemed to be made of some kind of strong metal and stone, except for the bottom one that Pickles had stepped over, which felt similar to wood but didn't look to be; he wasn't sure what the material was.
Pickles was sure the material used for the top bridges would burn and be painful, so he mentally braced himself. What he didn't expect was Murderface grabbing Pickles's arm and quickly dragging him across the hot bridge.
Pickles gasped in pain as he felt his skin automatically blistering to the heat. Murderface gritted his teeth without a word, continuing to pull the other along until they were on the other side, where the drummer collapsed with a moan of pain.
"Fuuuuck, why the fuck do you live here?!" Pickles groaned as he rubbed his sore, blistered and bloody feet. "Shit's a death trap."
"I know," Murderface said grimly as he dropped a bucket next to Pickles's feet, startling him. Some water sloshed inside of it, spilling over and splashing his dry, red skin. Pickles gingerly pulled the bucket closer and awkwardly lifted his leg up high so that he could rest it carefully inside to touch the water, wincing at the sharp coolness. "You get used to it."
Pickles looked up to see Murderface with his back to him, dumping his bag of whatever next to what looked to be a furnace. There was a whole smithing table beside it, a hammer and an unfinished project of some sort. Looking around, Pickles noticed that there were about eight seemingly random suits of beautiful polished metal, heavy glass, and other unknown materials, and only one was unfinished. None of them seemed to be able to fit Murderface except the one that wasn't finished.
"What're you workin' on?"
"No idea. None of your business, anyway."
"Okay, harsh," Pickles grumbled as he looked away in annoyance, observing the mountain instead.
Murderface sighed heavily as he placed something in the furnace and watched it roar back to life, flames licking their way toward his face. He barely winced as a flame snagged his cheek, creating a red mark that had almost hit his eye. Pickles noticed this while looking around.
"Dude, you're gonna lose an eye."
Murderface ignored Pickles and watched the flames with such concentration that for a second Pickles wondered if the man had completely lost it in this world. He wouldn't blame him; after all, this place... sucked. It was hot, it was painful, and at least Salem and Skwisgaar seemed to have animals, Pickles had talking mushrooms (and just got to be high in general), Nathalia had dead bodies and at least a calm, cool place to sing, and Nathan could probably talk to the fishes or whatever weird thing he thought about doing in his free time. Even Tobias had a peaceful area to reside in, even if it was about as lonely as Murderface's. This man just had pain and fire waiting for him.
Pickles supposed that making it into an armory of some kind to preoccupy his time was kind of neat, but what was he to do if he ever ran out of resources? Ever ran out of steam or creativity? Nobody would even know how to get to this place on their own, let alone would WANT to come visit Murderface, to even buy his work or something. For the first time in a long while, Pickles felt a little bad for the man.
This entire area was practically a metaphor for Murderface's rough exterior, in both here and the real world. Though Murderface didn't speak on it much (and usually when he did, it was in bragging form), everyone in the band knew he had somewhat of a horrible childhood. From watching his parents die, to being raised by two disgusting and awful grandparents that taught him to be just as gruesome, then yelled at him for doing what he was taught. Learning from a young age to hate his body and also hate everyone else just because it was his only way to have a defense. Becoming a hard shell of what he could've turned out to be, because of the environment he had been placed in so long ago.
None of this necessarily excused Murderface's behavior; he'd had time to grow and develop as a person since leaving his family to pursue his career. But at the very least there was a reason for it, not only that he felt like being awful one day.
Just like the mountain too, and the molten lava rolling around underground, Murderface over the years learned to become a soft gooey mess over certain things. He was arguably the most sensitive out of everyone, just in different ways. But just like the lava, it would eventually re-harden once forcibly brought to the surface. Maybe if everyone could just acknowledge the soft, sensitive interior without trying to break him open, it wouldn't create more rocky walls to climb over in the long run. That was partially why he was probably even more of an asshole these days.
Okay, Pickles was getting way too poetic and sentimental over such a silly idea. Plus, he was still rightfully angry at Murderface for everything he had done, and no amount of inner squishiness was going to stop him from being mad-
"I'm sorry." Pickles's thoughts froze in their tracks at the bitter sound of Murderface apologizing begrudgingly while he placed melting iron in the furnace.
"...What?"
"You heard me, you fuck!"
"Yeah but I wanna hear it again."
"...I'm sorry." Pickles certainly hadn't expected a first apology, much less a second one. And he was supposed to be the mean one? Nathalia was meaner than this!
"I'm honestly surprised."
"Well I can't tell you when I wake up so might as well tell you in my dream, even if you're not actually real." Murderface shrugged.
"Wait, you think this all is a... dream?"
"What else could it be, dumb shit?!" Ah, there was that meanness.
To be fair, Pickles once thought he only had very vivid dreams while high and that he had a wicked imagination to think the way he did. It never fully solidified even years later when the proof was right in front of him; even when he began to believe more, he was still skeptical every so often. Certain events, including meeting Salem, helped him fully come to terms.
"What if I told ya, all this is real?"
"How the fuck could it be?"
"No idea, but-"
"But nothing. Take my apology and stop haunting me now, weirdo."
Pickles blinked. "Haunting you?"
Murderface sighed heavily. "Every time I ApOlOgIzE to you, you still come back for more. I just didn't expect you to be here, of all places this time."
Pickles raised an eyebrow. "My bad. If it helps, I think that was legitimately your imagination, but I'm real this time."
"Sure."
Pickles crossed his arms and pouted, but then let a sly grin slip out. Murderface noticed this and became distracted for just a split second, causing him to burn his hand on whatever he had been poking the iron with.
"Fuck! WHAT?!" Murderface snarled, but Pickles only grinned wider.
"Youuuuuu apologized a looooot," Pickles teased, ducking as a rock was thrown his way. "That's so sweeeeeet."
Murderface hmphed as he turned back around. "Only to get you off my dick so I can work in peace."
Pickles almost felt disappointed until he realized he hadn't even done anything when Murderface had apologized this time. Also, Murderface's shoulders were ten times more tense than before. That molten lava was spilling out a little, making Pickles smirk. He wanted to push the man's buttons so bad, but it would just reharden faster.
"Sooo... what ya apologizing for?"
"You know what."
"I wanna heaaaar it."
"You get what I give you!" Murderface growled, face slightly red as he began to rotate the steel. Flames licked at his skin but he seemed not to notice this. He turned to give Pickles a glare, who could see the rage and also fear in his eyes. Why did the drummer have to go for the emotionally unavailable ones?
Pickles sighed, feeling heaviness in his heart. "Never mind. I'm only here to bring you a message, anyway."
"Okay?" Murderface slowly turned back to his work, but he seemed to not be able to concentrate all of a sudden.
"There's danger approaching and we all need to be prepared for something," Pickles told him, remembering the prophecy's words that he had grown up rehearsing.
"Yes this means in real life and yes you have to take it seriously. If there's one weak link, everything could fail." Pickles hadn't been explicitly told this, it was just one of those things he simply knew.
Murderface scoffed. "And you automatically assume I'll be the weak link?"
"Murderface, look at me."
Slowly the other man did, staring into Pickles's hard expression. "If you take this as a joke, or don't believe what I'm saying in any way, we could die."
Murderface rolled his eyes. "Sure."
"I'm fucking serious!" Pickles grabbed a hold of the other man's leather shirt while glaring at him. "What have you got to lose, just by listening to me?!"
"My sanity, probably," Murderface shrugged.
Pickles seemed to snap as he bared his teeth. "You never fucking had it, dude. You're a fucking mess of a person. All you do is cry and whine, threaten your own friends, play with their head for fucking months just to use their body to sleep with and- and-" Pickles felt his face burn with frustration and rubbed at his cheeks roughly. No, he was going to let this all out right fucking now, and get it out of the way since he had no other chance to...
Murderface decided to sit down in front of Pickles, expression blank as he studied the red-head. "Yeah, I fucked up. What do you want from me, Pickles?" He looked a bit drained from this argument, though his eyes still burned on with aggressiveness.
"An explanation! An apology! A real one, in real life!" Pickles hissed in irritation.
"Can't give you that." Murderface seemed suddenly very disinterested in the conversation as he turned his back to Pickles, further annoying the other.
"Why the fuck not? Because you're not actually sorry? You don't actually give a fuck what you did to me?! You took advantage of me, and then told everyone, I-" Pickles choked on his words, causing him to fall silent. Murderface didn't answer, continuing his work in silence, leaving Pickles to sob quietly to himself.
As he was wiping his face for the tenth time on his drooly tunic, Murderface tossed a slightly dirty cloth to him, catching him in the face. He pulled it off and looked down at it, before looking back up to see the other glowering with intensity toward his way.
"Stop being a baby, learn to face your problems."
Pickles used the cloth to wipe his face, then stood on sore feet and shoved his way in front of Murderface, accidentally burning the both of them, though neither noticed. "YOU'RE my problem, so what now?"
"That's better," Murderface growled. "You mad?"
"Fuck yeah!"
"Then act mad!" Murderface yelled suddenly. "Get furious! Scream if you have to! Punch me! But never fucking cry like that in front of me again!"
Pickles swung a fist automatically, landing a hit to the jaw that made him stumble back a little, but he was apparently much sturdier in this realm and stood his ground.
"That feel good to do?!"
"YES!"
"GOOD!"
In actuality, Pickles did not feel better; he felt worse. While Murderface's eyes seemed to glint with sudden liveliness. The two stared at each other for the longest time, blood dripping from the taller one's mouth. Finally, Pickles lowered his head, relaxing his tense muscles with a sigh.
"...Sorry."
"Never apologize to the enemy," Murderface spoke coldly as he moved to walk past Pickles, whose hand shot out to catch the man before he had fully passed.
"...You're not an enemy."
"Then what am I?" Murderface challenged. "Because I don't even know what the fuck I am anymore. Why I am the way I am, why I do stupid things, why I hurt people when I don't need to because I'm a baby that doesn't understand stupid shit. Then feels bad for it, wants to fucking die for it, wants to cry about it, but then instead says or does something else dumb to avoid those soft, gay ass feelings, until everyone else is the one in tears and I can feel better about myself when I'm not the only one in pain. So what the fuck am I, Pickles? Please fucking tell me what I need to be so I can be it instead of switching back and forth like a crazy person."
Pickles didn't have a proper answer for that.
"I honestly don't know. Because I can't tell what your intentions are anymore," Pickles muttered. "How much you want one thing'r the other when you're split like this. And I guess I never knew it was this bad. But I hoped..."
Murderface angrily tossed something else in the furnace before yanking out a lump of red-hot steel that he placed on his work bench to roll into proper shape. It looked to be the beginning of a helmet. "Hoped that I wasn't a piece of shit? Too fucking bad."
Pickles's lip quivered again but he chose to keep his tears locked up and instead sneered at the dog-faced man. "You don't have a right to be this pissy with me, I didn't do shit to you."
"I know!" Murderface shouted as he slammed his hammer down extra hard, startling the other. "That's why I'm pissy! Fuck off and leave me to brood, you have better shit to do than bother me about this again and again! I fucking know you didn't do anything, I fucking know because-" Murderface's face set into a more numb scowl. "Get the fuck out, dude. Go bother Salem's dream and you two will be able to talk shit about me."
"Maybe I will!" Pickles scoffed, though he stepped to push Murderface aside, sliding himself in front of the man so he could have his undivided attention. "If you're feeling so fucking guilty, why do you act like I'M the burden?"
"Get out," Murderface hissed, shoving Pickles away harshly then immediately grabbing his arm and pulling him closer as a knee-jerk reaction when he began to fall over. Murderface gave almost a wicked, strangled laugh as he gripped Pickles's elbow tightly. "This shit's never gonna get better, is it?"
Pickles was confused by both what had happened and the question itself. He gently pried himself away from Murderface, watching as he turned his back to resume his work angrily. He wasn't sure what to do or say now, but luckily Murderface had decided to continue talking.
"I don't know how to apologize properly. For the longest time, I felt betrayed."
"By fucking what?!" Pickles demanded, crossing his arms over his chest. But he knew why already.
Murderface glanced only once up at Pickles, before looking back down. "I don't know what to do now with myself. Especially after fucking up twice."
Pickles knew that he meant Salem, too. "I dunno, how about A-P-O-L-O-G-I-Z-E to us?"
Murderface gave a wry smile. "You know I'd rather take the easier route."
Pickles rolled his eyes. "Apparently."
Murderface resorted to placing his hands on his hips after a moment. "Would you believe me if I said I never did those things in the beginning to hurt you?"
Pickles huffed as he looked away. "Don't lie to me."
"I'll believe you about your stupid message if you take a chance to believe me."
Pickles once again dropped his guard in surprise. "That's not how shit works..."
"Why not?"
Pickles turned back to Murderface, who had a mischievous look on his face... but it wasn't with malicious intent. He almost looked like a little kid this way. Just a really bloody, hairy one. Pickles growled in irritation, and Murderface grinned a little, which made Pickles's heart leap into his throat. He hadn't seen such childish joy from this man in a long time.
"Look I know it seems like an overreaction to just rumors and questions but you literally listened to me talk to you about how much I didn't want anybody else to know these things about me, and you turn around and create a fucking FORUM. I'm allowed to be in disbelief that you weren't just digging for dirt on me because you're grossed out by what I am." Pickles muttered.
Murderface blinked, seeming surprised by the grossed out part, but didn't comment on it. His eyes were focused on the flames in his face once more. "... I feel a compulsion to do bad shit. I feel a compulsion to hate what I don't get. I feel a compulsion to just destroy everything around me... Sucking the energy out of others to make them empty and hollow like me, makes me feel good. Like I'm not alone." Murderface spoke almost dreamily, and it made bile rise in the back of Pickles's throat. "But it always goes. I feel guilty, awful, angry at myself. So what do I do? I keep being a piece of shit." Murderface shrugged. "I've gotten better at controlling it because... I no longer have any will to actually change or fix what happened, but also no will to try and fill my void anymore. So in a way, you won. You can just wait for me to die now."
"That'll take too long, you're stubborn," Pickles commented, earning a dirty look from the other man. "Look... I can't do this shit for ya, obviously. Not that you asked," He added quickly when receiving another nasty look. "Nobody can fix you 'xcept yourself. Why wait in pain and self-loathing for death when you can just fucking TRY for two seconds to be a better person? Actually believe you can be a better person? Or use what you can do to be helpful? You're a cunning, plotting, hard-headed, sneaky little dick." Murderface huffed but Pickles continued. "You can use that to help us, not hurt us. You don't gotta feel anything for me. You don't gotta be nice... But you don't gotta give up either."
Murderface shrugged carelessly, so Pickles grabbed his shoulder to get his attention again. "You're not a nice person. I get that. You'll always be a rude, selfish, whiny, stupid dildo who has tantrums and cries a lot to get what you want, but you can have a heart, too. You can be a dick who makes mistakes, owns them, and tries to be better for next time. What makes you impossible to deal with is your lack of will to fuckin' fix shit after others have suffered. Sometimes it just ain't about you, dude. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and just do better."
Pickles remembered telling Salem to do better before as well and it almost struck a chord in his head of how similar they were. The way they both self pitied, but Salem chose to overexert themself to take care of others and avoid their problems, and then hurt those same people by not taking care of themself, whereas Murderface pushed everyone away and hurt them for self pity, maybe in the hopes someone would pity him too.
Murderface pursed his lips, not having an answer to that and not liking how the conversation had turned out. Time seemed to be up anyway, when suddenly Pickles lost all of his strength and fell forward on top of Murderface, his consciousness in this world fading.
~~~
Pickles opened his eyes slowly with a moan of pain, staring straight into the clothed and bloody chest of someone else. He was on top of another body, and wasn't sure how he ended up there or where he was. His head was pounding so hard that he couldn't think straight, and ended up laying there for the longest time without moving, until he heard a grunt and slight shifting from the person underneath him.
The deep, gruff voice is what made Pickles shoot his head up, staring down with wide eyes at Murderface's sleeping form, dried blood caked all over his nose and mouth. His mouth dropped open in horror and immediately began screaming so loud that he wasn't surprised people didn't come running.
"Picklesch, we didn't do anything!"
Pickles had thrown himself off of the bed after Murderface jerked awake to the sound of the drummer's howls, and had feebly attempted at grabbing at him to stop him from running out.
"No! NO! Get away from me!" Pickles shouted as he stumbled to the door, slamming his head into the wall on accident and almost knocking himself out.
"Fuchking schtop you idiot!" Murderface yanked him back, before Pickles pulled out of his grip once more, slapping the hand away.
"You stop, Murderface!" Murderface immediately froze in his attempts to re-grab Pickles, whose chest was heaving. Green irises stared into each other with intensity for the first time in a long while. "Please, just stop," Pickles gave a strangled whisper. "I- I don't care what happened, okie? Jus'... Lemme go."
Murderface reluctantly unhanded Pickles, though he still remained close to the other. "I... We-"
"I know." Pickles's voice was getting harder to come through. "I- I know, okie?"
He remembered. It had registered in his brain once his eyes had made contact with Murderface that he had tried to fuck him last night.
"D- don' follow me," Pickles croaked before he whipped around and flew through the door, leaving the bassist to stand there all alone.
He flew down the hallway, not sure on where he should go; back to his room where he'd end up thinking about committing suicide again, or maybe go into someone else's room to try and focus on another person's problem.
Maybe Toki or something...
Pickles bumped into another person and out of instinct shoved them away harshly, knocking them to the ground while he screamed, "Jus' fuck off, shit!" He froze to see Salem against the floor, both surprised, hurt, and insulted, but didn't stick around to see Pickles reaching for them with an apology on his tongue. They stood up and pushed past him, presumably to go to Skwisgaar's hospital room, leaving Pickles to hang there with guilt and self-hatred running through his chest.
He ended up sitting by Toki for a few hours, watching him sleep most of the time though he finally began to stir once vicious light began to poke into the room. Toki was a mess and couldn't get up to use the bathroom so of course when he woke up in a half-drugged state and had to go, he practically screamed at Pickles to leave so he could use the bowl next to him. A few minutes later a nurse who had also been monitoring Toki, walked out and told Pickles he could go back in.
Toki was practically bright eyed and bushy tailed by the time Pickles came back in, apologizing for his outburst. His oxygen mask looked like it had been clawed at and chewed on for a moment, worrying Pickles. Nobody liked constriction, but Toki had never acted so primitive over it before.
Regardless, Toki decided to start talking Pickles's ear off about random subjects while watching some cartoon show on the T.V, and Pickles was happy to listen so he could distract his brain. Toki for some reason didn't act as childish as he usually did though; he didn't excitedly talk about his show, or discuss his model airplanes, or ask about getting toys for Christmas.
Mostly he talked about being worried about Charles, and how Nathalia seemed to keep disappearing, about Salem looking a little ill, and finally mentioned Pickles himself.
"You looks sads Pickle, ams somethings wrong?" Toki's voice was soft and hesitant, like he was worried about stepping on eggshells around Pickles. To be fair, Pickles was kind of out of it after running into Salem earlier and accidentally pushing them, so he definitely looked like he was on edge.
Pickles gave a soft sigh and gave a small smile, reaching to touch Toki's hand softly. "Ye, I'm okie bud. Jus' worry aboot yerself."
"I won'ts," Toki frowned. "I can'ts feel betters until you all ams feels betters."
"Aww, Toki." Pickles reached over to press a soft kiss to Toki's forehead, if anything so that the rhythm guitarist couldn't see the sadness passing his face fleetingly. "It's gonna be okie."
When Pickles pulled away, Toki looked depressed and unconvinced, but gave a small nod while picking at the sheets draped over his stomach. "I loves you Pickle..."
"I love yew too," Pickles murmured, and Toki suddenly turned his head away from the other man. "Hey, Toki..."
Suddenly the door opened after a quick knock and Toki snapped his attention to it, eyes widening to see Skwisgaar slowly make his way in with a pained grimace. In front of him though was Salem, who stopped short the second they made eye-contact with the red-head. Skwisgaar ran into them a second later and they muttered an apology while trying to get him to balance. In response, Pickles jerked his head back around to look at Toki, who once again looked a lot happier.
Salem pointedly sat as far away from Pickles as they could and even though he had been rude first this time technically, he did give them a pained look, just wanting to learn how to apologize and make it up to them. After all he hadn't meant to do that, even though by this point the push seemed very intentional and Salem had every right to be offended. Everything was such a mess.
Once Skwisgaar had drawn closer, Toki immediately began to giggle like a child; like the old Toki used to. "You ams the balds!"
"Shuts up! We don'ts talks about thats!"
Pickles slowly tuned out their bickering and pouting, wishing nothing more than silence and to be back in his room and sleep the rest of the day away. He was becoming increasingly suicidal with each passing day that more and more shit seemed to pile on top of his shoulders; the fact that Nathan was no longer interested in anything or anyone except brooding, and that Nathalia seemed to not give a shit about Pickles's obvious depression even though she saw him the most, and his entire drama with Salem, who also looked mighty ill and a little hungover from something possibly hardcore. Then there was Murderface... could anything else get worse?
Salem offered to take Skwisgaar back to his room after they went to do something (what that was, Pickles was suspicious but honestly didn't know what it could be except something sketchy), and he offered to do it instead. Salem looked surprised but agreed before hopping out of the room fairly quickly. Pickles wasn't sure what they were getting into, but he figured that maybe it would be best if he gave them an option to just relax in their room instead, and maybe to avoid him longer; since now, HE seemed to be the one causing problems, and he didn't want to.
Then eventually Salem came back to explain that there was a meeting that Pickles honestly didn't give a shit about. Everyone filed in, including a very trashed Nathalia who just waddled to and fro while giggling to herself. Nathan looked a little annoyed but not too much, mostly just seemed his normal grumpy self. Tobias was passive as usual and Murderface was looking everywhere but the faces that glared at him with deep loathing.
Abigail began but Pickles wasn't prepared to listen until she said, "It's probably not the kind you want to hear," in terms of news. Pickles raised an eyebrow in slight interest.
"Is it aboot...?"
"No, it's not about Charles." Abigail sighed heavily. "Aside from Nathalia, Tobias, and Salem, your families are all going to be coming as a little get-together."
At first Pickles was stunned, too stunned to hear what else she said, then he became horrified. He hadn't seen them in so long, and after last year with what Murderface did and they felt the need to butt in... He found himself lurched over, vomiting into a bucket that had been pushed his way. When he had finished, a new thought, a horrible thought, entered his mind. She had said 'families', not just 'parents'. "Is it jus' my parents, 'r...?"
"Your brother said he wanted to join, unfortunately."
Everyone knew that Pickles hated his brother with a passion, and truth be told after Pickles had gained a more 'masculine' figure, he had become aggressive for a while and because he basically paid his brother the same amount he paid his parents, he didn't feel as afraid of the man on top of that since he basically held the ex-con's finances in his hand. Now that that was gone, and Pickles's masculinity was on the verge of constantly feeling threatened, all irritation and hostility was gone, replaced only by a deep fear and repressed memories he tried not to think about...
"As it stands, there's nothing I can do about it."
While Murderface came up with a small elaborate idea to stop the party from happening, and Skwisgaar offered to sacrifice his mom for the cause, Pickles couldn't help but land his eyes directly on Salem, who had moved to soothe skwisgaar back into his seat after pulling something, and became jealous and angry. Why couldn't they just get along for two damn seconds?! Why did Salem have to start it all by running away from him and their feelings?!
"Pickle, takes over fors me. Defends my legacy!"
"Yew got it, dood."
"Bruh, what legacy, I-"
"The legacies of gettinks to actualitys doings something withouts beings monitored like big baby dildoes!"
"Jesus-"
For almost no reason, Pickles's frustration with the world had finally boiled over. It was too loud in this room- he wanted to distract himself from his problems, not be overloaded with so much dumb shit. "Let Salem do it, dey 'pparently done it before."
The room suddenly became too quiet and when Pickles could finally hear his own thoughts again, he realized what he had just said. He dropped his eyes to the ground so as not to meet anyone's gaze as they stared at him with shock, including Salem.
"What." Nathan was the first to break the silence, and almost sounded angry and annoyed. Just more unnecessary drama for the leader of the band to clean up after Pickles opened up his giant, stupid mouth. Pickles fluttered his eyes upward, spotting Nathalia who had gone from a crackhead to being really invested in a fake plant nearby.
"...Not'in', inside joke,'' was all Pickles could manage in a feeble defense, guilt rippling through him. He felt like an asshole for outting Salem like that, though he did honestly feel disturbed; and had been feeling disturbed; since finding out that piece of information.
The sound of Salem dropping their body to the nearest chair made him wince. He wanted to look up and see their reaction, but was afraid of seeing the consequences of his own actions.
"Salems?" Skwisgaar was the next to speak, so gentle and hesitant. Was it out of fear or concern? Pickles couldn't tell and Salem probably couldn't either. "Salems, it... it ams okays..."
Abigail moved fluidly, clasping her hands on their shoulders. Pickles finally looked up to see Salem become limp and stare at a wall in response like a robot that had been powered down. They looked absolutely dead inside.
"M'lords and ladies, there's a call that wants to come through on screen."
"Not now."
"It's not from anyone's families."
A sigh from Abigail. "Let it go through."
A T.V was wheeled in and everyone was once again surprised and filled with horror the second that the T.V had flickered on.
"Charles?!"