Warning: Alcohol, drug use; sex; stuff. Please, if this really makes you uncomfortable, I wouldn't suggest reading it.
Pairings: Skwisgaar/Toki, Skwistok, Wargelf, whatever you'd like to call it; mentions of Nathan/Abigail
Genres: General/Romance/Angst/Comfort
Summary: Terrible circumstances sometimes bring people closer in the strangest of ways. A traumatized Toki, now home after his kidnapping, finds solace in the arms of Skwisgaar. Slash. Post-Doomstar. Part 1 of 2.

I do not own Metalocalypse or anything related to it. I do not own Lunchables.

I would like to use this space to thank my beta-reader, Wednesday1990, for taking the time to edit and read my story. God knows it needed it.

Edit (01/22/2014): Made some spelling/grammar/syntax corrections, thank you for being patient.

-x-

Skwisgaar stared across the massive dark, oak table that their band had grown accustomed to meeting at over the years. The rather insignificant piece of furniture had seen its fair share of booze, sluts, hair-brained schemes and in Murderface's vicinity, stabbings. In the past, six band members and their manager were seated in their respective spots by the crack of noon, ever since the completion of Mordhaus. However, what with the recent and rather drastic turn of events, their CFO appeared to be gone forever, and their rhythm guitarist was in the dark about the nature of this meeting, which, unbeknownst to Toki, happened almost daily.

Where Charles Ofdensen sat in the past, his shoulders rigid and his pale face a mask of stone, now sat the dark-skinned, thin and rather attractive Abigail. She could be as serious as their previous manager when she cared to be, and what with him missing, had taken over a majority of their management, legal counsel, and held the title of their (at least temporary) CFO, with klokateers' assistants at her bidding and all. Although she was a producer, she fell into her new role of power rather naturally, and even if the men sometimes felt uncomfortable with the idea that a woman would be managing them, now that they were somewhat acquainted with her, they made the best of it—although it didn't hurt that their lead singer was fucking her, either.

"Murderface," Abigail turned to the bassist in question as everyone fought not to look disgusted by the current condition of his skin. It seemed to develop some sort of… unusual, blackened, purple rash. The said rash had a tendency to glow on occasion, but otherwise (as of now), other than gradually spreading around his skin, didn't seem to have too much of an effect on his usual whiney, dickish personality.

"Mmm?" William Murderface was using the sharp edge of his favorite knife to clean what appeared to be dirt from under his nails, his eyes not wandering up yet to address anyone in the room.

"...Have you at least considered consulting a doctor for your current… condition…?" She struggled to sound concerned, albeit at least not disgusted, which was painfully difficult. He was a disgusting man, after all, and even he didn't dispute that fact. This was a common conversation brought up by all members of the band, one that their bassist didn't take rather seriously.

"Pssht, the doctor? I don't thinksh sho." As if it pained him, he looked up at the other bodies in the room with a sigh as he tilted his chair back. "Kinda gettin' ushed to it."

"Dood," Pickles was the first to speak, a pierced eyebrow raised as he sat his bottle of whiskey on the table with a shake of his head. "You look like a fuckin' mess."

"Pfft, shaysh you!" Murderface pointed an accusing finger at the other man. "Don't even lie, it looksh pretty fuckin' badash. Kinda… I dunno, makesh me feel like Mike Tyson," he paused, as if he was expecting agreement from his fellow men, but only received looks of disdain, curiosity, and disgust. "Y'know… but wish a full body tattoo, not jush the face."

"I dunno, man," the famous growl of Nathan Explosion echoed out next in the large, stone room, both of his thick brows rising as his lips twisted in distaste. "Just kind of makes you look worse, if that was even possible. Like, uh… I don't even think that it's even… of this world, what if it kills you?"

Murderface stood abruptly, as if a great injustice was placed upon him, raising a hand to his chest as he attempted to explain himself. "I looksh better than ever! Can'tsh you guysh be happy that thish… rash kinda looksh like a really aweshome tribal tattoo!?"

He looked to each of his band mates, again for emphasis, before continuing. "Itsh like… An ancshient Mayan tattoo or shomeshing, y'know? Likesh there'sh a secret messhage-"

Without looking up from his guitar, Skwisgaar finally decided to contribute to the conversation. "It looks likes some rares case of leprosky, Moiderface, you looks repulksive." Murderface turned his infamous scowl at the only blonde in the room, leaning forward on the table as he made his point.

"It looksh aweshome, actshually! And beshides," he trailed off as he sat himself back in his chair, crossing his arms stubbornly. "Afshter my lasht few visits to a doctor, I don't think itsh best if I go back…" Murderface fought not to outwardly shudder as he recalled the advances of that gay doctor and his failed attempt to get plastic surgery. "I think, like mosht of these thingsh, it'll jush… Y'know… Worksh itsh way out on itsh own…"

The three other men looked at Murderface with an expression of muted horror and maybe even a little pity, before a sigh from Abigail drew their eyes back to her. Nathan, in particular, looked concerned. It was rare moments like these, after the ordeal that she had been put through with Toki, she looked exhausted and worn. The slight bags under her eyes shone, and make up could only cover so much. With a quick deep breath, she regained her composure rather easily, as if awful memories hadn't just been conjured in her psyche and turned back to Murderface, looking to move on from the subject of his even more grotesque appearance.

"Murderface," she started carefully, lacing her fingers together. "How was Toki this evening?" Said man rolled his eyes and sat up straight, pulling the knife out from the table carelessly before brandishing it as he spoke.

"Look, I shtill think we're coddling him jush a little…" He was quickly stopped by a nasty glare from their new manager and Murderface's voice caught in his throat. Sometimes, the men in the band had a habit of forgetting that Abigail too was kidnapped with Toki. She was not nearly as outwardly sensitive as their youngest band mate, and she could at least take solace in Nathan, so she was able to mask the pain she experienced in the dungeons below their old rehearsal space much better than the "delicate" Toki Wartooth. That being said, Toki was a tender subject for their manager, not that it shouldn't be, what with the current state he was in. Murderface was just being, after all, a total asshole. "He wash fine. Went to bed about an hour ago."

"Good, good," Abigail still threw him a threatening look as she continued to question him. "Did you check the room for alcohol? Knives? Anything we need to be concerned about?"

"Checked. Everyshing was clear. I turned on hish nightlight and everyshing," Murderface, much more gingerly this time, looked to the other men in the room. "I'm jush tryin' to say… This attention to Toki ish jutsh a little… Gay, right? And the fact we have to do thish every damn night..."

Skwisgaar, Nathan, and Pickles said nothing as they looked over to the woman sitting at the head of the table, each knowing better than to speak. She looked cool and collective as she shifted her hands, crossing them on the surface of the wood tiredly. "Murderface, we go over this every time," With that, Abigail stood and made her way towards a window looking over the blackness outside of Mordhaus, and even the usually emotionally stunted men at the table were able to see a sad and longing gaze in the depth of her pretty eyes.

"Toki is suffering, more than any of you realize. He is a member of the band, and even if you don't treat him like it, he's also an important one with a massive fan base. You saw how obsessed the fans became after he went missing." She decided to leave out a comment that she had grown rather fond of the naive man during their time together, trapped and filthy in what seemed to be their final days, with only one another to protect. "We need to make sure he's at least… stable."

Skwisgaar looked to Nathan, Pickles, and Murderface. Even Murderface looked a bit concerned as they traded glances. It was the responsibility of the four members of the band to look over Toki as much as possible, and for good reason.

"Abigail," Nathan growled out softly, his raspy tone helping him hide some of the worry in his voice, which he tried to do as much as possible around his friends. "We're trying, you know that. Even Murderface." He shot his bassist a warning look before gazing back at the object of his affection, who finally turned to face them again, in particular, their guitarist.

"Skwisgaar," she moved gracefully back to her seat, crossing her legs. "How is his playing?"

"Mmmm," He grunted slightly as he looked up from his own fingering. "Dildoes. Very, very dildoes. Even more dans he useds to be."

Abigail sighed and ran a hand through her long, curly strands, clearly frustrated. "We have music to record, and we need to start booking a show. I know Charles warned you all about the significance of this," The men in the room were suddenly all the more uncomfortable, and she took their silence as proof that she was correct. "Toki seems to be going through some type of… post traumatic stress that's hampering him emotionally and musically. It's your job as his friends—"

"Bandmates," Pickles paused after correcting her. "...Wait, are we still callin' each other brothers?" Nathan grunted and shrugged as a response, his eyes locked on his girlfriend. Abigail sighed at Pickles' suggestion and rolled her eyes slightly, looking to them all with a frown. They had begun to finally acknowledge they "cared" for one another, but not without being stubborn about it.

"Whatever. Bandmates," she hissed out, obviously disapproving, but giving in nonetheless. "It's your job as his bandmates to make sure he is well enough to record and really, to live. That's all for tonight. You're dismissed."

-x-

Within the bowels of Mordhaus, in the long hallway that housed each of the men's rooms, Toki Wartooth was curled up as tight as he possibly could be as he shivered under his blankets. With Deddybear tucked beneath his armpit, Toki, clad in his usual t-shirt and a pair of flannel pajama bottoms decorated with smiling, cartoon rabbits, pulled his sheets closer, as if the cloth was some type of shield against whatever was haunting him.

There was a part of Dethklok's rhythm guitarist that hated this sudden extra attention he was receiving from everyone in his home. His bandmates, along with Abigail and the klokateers, made him feel like they had him surrounded at all times, breathing down his neck, acting like he was a ticking time bomb ready to blow or even worse, a cry baby. But there was a larger part of him that knew they were correct. A larger part of him that knew that if he was to be left alone, he'd full out panic and go askew. Which, against his bandmates' knowledge, happened every night when he woke up from his terrible, terrible dreams.

Take tonight, for example. It was Murderface who was assigned to sit and "hang out" with Toki, which consisted of Toki being forced to watch some stupid, confusing documentary on the American Civil War. There he sat, curled up on the opposite corner of the couch (he wanted to be as far away from that fucking rash as possible), clutching Deddybear tightly. The small stuffed animal hadn't left his side since his return, and although he was at least able to have a few beers with his bassist tonight, the alcohol that had helped him fall asleep had long worn off and had been replaced with tormenting nightmares.

Right now, he was shaking like a leaf in the wind as he tried to fight back tears, curled up in a fetal position as he drew his blanket closer. In the darkness of the night, in his lonely bedroom, he felt like he could feel the mossy stone beneath him. The awful, awful smell of what was akin to a sewer and the cold, rusted chains that clenched his throat and his wrists. The splintering wood of the cross that held him upside down till his head felt flooded with blood. He could hear the cruel laughter of Magnus and the frightening growl of that man with that weird, silver mask. It always happened at night, when he was alone, in the dark, and it was happening right now.

Toki felt the hair on the back of his neck raise as he remembered the feeling of the icy cold knife being driven between his ribs, ending a false friendship with his band's ex-guitarist. With that, making sure Deddybear was securely at his side, he lept out of his bed with a frightened whimper and pushed the door open, slamming it closed behind him like an animal desperate to evade a predator.

As he panted, his chest pressed firmly against the wood, he pushed his flushed, sweating cheek against the cold surface and gauged his surroundings. He was no longer in that horrific place, being tortured and abused. He and Abigail were safe in Mordhaus, his bandmates had saved him, and everything was… almost, what with the prophecy… right in the world. Shakily, he wiped cold sweat off his brow and decided that it was best for him not to be in his bedroom, and that maybe he could, although he was frightened, have a little time to himself and have a midnight snack.

Toki felt more comfortable in the kitchen anyway, even if the fluorescent lights generated a strange buzzing sound and made everything look weirdly whiter and artificial. Then again, it was light none the less, and this time of the night, it was the brightest place in Mordhaus, as the lights were usually left on during all hours.

"H-heres we go, Deddy," Toki whispered to his inanimate friend. "You k-k-keeps watch, j-ja? Imma makes us… A littles s-snack…" Toki always felt so cold after his night terrors, and it didn't help that he was always left utterly petrified, so the shakes were part of this new, emotionally deadening package.

Toki knew that there was something wrong with him, as did everyone else. Some days, he felt normal, almost happy. Like he actually recognized he was safe and back with what he regarded as his family, and that the danger had truly passed. But other times… he felt like an emotional wreck. He had always been regarded as 'childish' and 'sensitive,' (to which his bandmates, in the past, tended to slightly abuse him about), but now, at the drop of a hat, his moods would swing, ranging from angry and bitter, to numb and unfeeling, and even worse, to a depressed and crying mess. It was embarrassing to say the least, and he could practically feel his bandmates judging him as they looked on, uncomfortable and unsure how to access the situation.

"PTSD," he could remember Twinkletits saying, which took Toki a little while to understand. "It should get better over time, you just need to be patient and understand…" All the rest was garbled. He now had to deal with the effects of what came with this… illness. The mortification about his bandmates knowing he was depressed. The awful nightmares. Feeling a total lack of libido. The random flashbacks, which weren't as common as his bad dreams but they tended to surface with what appeared to be his main trigger: the darkness. Oh, it was so dark and cold in that awful place…

Toki looked up to their usual liquor cabinet in their kitchen and frowned. All the booze was locked up via a combination lock he didn't have the combination of. It was frustrating to him, as alcohol was a much needed escape, and he hated that now he was given it in portions that were deemed "safe" by everyone else. But nothing… nothing compared to the frustration he was feeling about the guitar.

Toki Wartooth, who used to find solace in his treasured instrument, now only found grievance and pain. Since his return to the studio, Toki's playing had grown significantly worse. Although Skwisgaar argued that Toki's playing was always subpar, Toki had confidently felt that he could be nearly as good as his lead guitarist, what with him being able to somewhat keep up with the renowned playing of Skwisgaar Skwigelf. He knew it by the way their fans cheered and screamed for him. But since the incident with Magnus, it was a completely different story. It was like he couldn't remember even the simplest of chords. His fingers would get tangled on the strings and he could hear the collective groans and sighs of his band even from inside the recording booth.

He could recall a backhanded comment from Skwisgaar recently, which was along the lines of, 'He can'ts do it, I'll re-records it, as usuals,' which resulted in a mood swing from Toki and a broken guitar and amp. "Fuckings… Skwisgaar," Toki thought as he raided the cabinets of the kitchen for something edible, something that wouldn't put him into diabetic shock.

Skwisgaar, who was assigned to watch Toki more than anyone in Mordhaus for the sole purpose of practicing as much as possible, seemed to disregard more than anyone else Toki's current condition. He made the younger man work his fingers to the bone, practicing at least an hour a day, all while making sure Toki was aware of how burdening the task was. Although Toki could tell he was fighting not to make as many disparaging comments as usual, it just seemed to be in Skwisgaar's nature to be as cold as possible. It only infuriated Toki further that their new brand of 'guitar lessons' was actually credible (and didn't involve animal's blood) unlike in the past, where Skwisgaar took satisfaction with teaching Toki little to nothing at all.

Thinking of Skwisgaar and his nasty criticism did not help Toki's fluctuating feelings. Now, not just feeling frightened and sad, he felt angry, and even finding a case of Lunchables didn't make him feel better.

"He's s-so fuckings… Means… So m-means to me…" Their last practice alone actually ended with Skwisgaar fighting not to laugh at a sad attempt of Toki to play basic chords, which only made his nightmares all the more graphic that evening. An unhappy frown played on his lips as he attempted to, with trembling hands, rip off the plastic layer that every Lunchables was packed with. It was the pizza one, packed conveniently with pepperoni and marinara sauce, and even a little juice-box. Uncooperative fingers made this task torturous, and every try seemed to be a failure that added fuel to his mounting rage.

Toki remembered when he didn't have diabetes and he could eat his favorite Lunchables, the "Pizza and Treatzza." Not only did it come with enough sauce and pepperoni for two mini pizzas, it also came with chocolate frosting and mini M&M's to make what they described as a "dessert pizza." It was nothing short of fascinating and heavenly for Toki. Again, he felt frustrated that he no longer could enjoy the delicious confectionery he once loved due to his diabetes. His stupid fucking pancreas, and now his stupid fucking Post Dramatic Stress… Whatever it was fucking called!

After one more dashed attempt to open his Lunchables, Toki had enough. He reached inside the drawer that held a set of knives and began stabbing at the package, snarling as he did so, unable to help himself. "F-fucks you, Lunchables! Whats d-d-de fucks I dos to y-yous!"

Toki panted raggedly as he pulled the knife out from the now distorted Lunchables on the counter and smiled now that it was open (albeit destroyed). Stabbing viciously at his meal was how Skwisgaar found him, and although it took a moment for him to process what he was watching, Skwisgaar moved quickly into the kitchen from the doorway when he realized what was going on.

"What de fucks ams you doings?!" Toki quickly turned around and jumped in fear at the sudden intrusion, which overtook his anger temporarily. In the process, the knife he held in his clammy hand slid clumsily out of his palm and to the floor in a smooth, clean cut.

"FUCKS!" Toki screamed out and clutched at his wrist, doubling over slightly in pain as he cried out. "W-WHY DE FUCKS W-W-WOULD YOU DOS DAT?!" Skwisgaar, who was on his way to fetch a klokateer to find him a groupie or two to screw, did not expect to find Toki freaking out and stabbing a Lunchables in the kitchen when he walked by. According to Murderface, their rhythm guitarist had fallen asleep about an hour or so ago, so how the hell was he supposed to take in the sight of Toki trying to murder a piece of food?!

"...Yous… Gots to be kiddin's me, c'mere!" Skwisgaar tried to ignore the other's shrill wails of agony and his adamant protests as he dragged him towards the sink. "Why woulds I… You were stabbings dat fuckings Lunchables likes it owed you monies!" Skwisgaar, thinking as quickly as he possibly could, rushed towards the liquor cabinet to spin open the lock.

"IT WOULDN'TS O-OPEN AND YOU S-SCAREDS ME!" Toki could see the cut was shallow but it hurt nonetheless, and it didn't help that it was beginning to bleed profusely, despite how superficial the injury was. As he panicked, his knees threatened to give out beneath him, and Toki watched as Skwisgaar fetched a full bottle of vodka from their plentiful stash. After hurriedly unscrewing the cap, the taller of the two moved swiftly to join him back at his side at the sink.

"Dis… Dis ams goings to stings a little…" Before Toki could fight back anymore, Skwisgaar grabbed him by the arm and doused the cut in a good amount of the clear liquid, which only made Toki howl out and clench his eyes closed.

"O-OH GODS, D-D-DAT HURTS, YOU FUCKINGS DILDOES!" Toki broke away from Skwisgaar with ease and tried to run out of the kitchen, only to be grabbed by the collar of his shirt and dragged back towards him.

"It ams goings to cleans it, you idiot!" Skwisgaar wrapped an arm around his middle in an attempt to keep him still, pressing his body against his as he quickly fisted a hand full of paper towels, applying pressure to his cut with them. "Christ, Toki, whats ams you doings up anyways?!"

"I… I couldn'ts sleep!" He defended himself, the younger of the two letting out an anxious sniffle, the situation overwhelming in his current state. "D-Deddys and me wanteds a L-lunchables… De pizza ams too goods..." The end of his sentence trembled as he finally stopped his pursuit to escape, growing lax in his hold, leaning his head backwards against the other man's shoulder in apparent aggravation. Skwisgaar took notice to their proximity as he felt the other shake against him, sighing as he continued to hold him close. Conveniently, a set of klokateers rushed inside the kitchen, more than likely startled by their screaming, armed to the teeth and aiming semi-automatic rifles at the both of them.

Both men looked like deers caught in headlights, blue eyes wide, Toki's brimming with tears. Skwisgaar made a point to push Toki away from him before gesturing at his hand, addressing both klokateers. "He needs medicskals helps. Now." Toki noticed the firmness in his voice and assumedly, it was over the fact that the injured hand in question was the one that clutched the neck of his instrument. The klokateers silently nodded and each took an arm of Toki's in their grasps, rushing him out of the room and in the direction of the medicbay.

Once they were gone, Skwisgaar remembered to breathe again and picked up the knife once forgotten on the floor, tossing it angrily into the sink soon after. It was then that Toki's 'Deddybear' caught his attention and he moved towards it slowly, picking it up to gaze into its glossy, lifeless eyes. Toki had always been strangely close with the stupid thing since he had bought it, but since the return from his kidnapping, the two were inseparable. Skwisgaar contemplated leaving it where it was and going back to his original task, finding a woman (he was in the mood for an FBL this evening) but something inside him… something he found rather un-metal and annoying… told him otherwise.

It was the same un-metal feeling that dragged him down to the medicbay, where he sat waiting for Toki while loosely holding Deddybear in his lap. Not without irritation, mind you. He was scowling when he heard the door open and watched as a damp faced Toki walked out, his hand now bandaged properly and hanging tiredly at his side. Skwisgaar stood and offered Deddybear to a bewildered Toki, who blinked up at him with surprise, before he ripped it from the other man's grasp and walked briskly down the corridor.

'...Dat's de thanks I gets?!" Skwisgaar bared his teeth and took off after him, huffing as he spoke out loud. "Ohs, your welcomes Toki, I didn'ts just waits an hour to see hows you were doings!" Skwisgaar was taken back when he was acknowledged with a fake laugh, stopping dead in his spot when his rhythm guitarist turned suddenly on the heel of his foot.

"Thanks you…? Thanks you, you caused dis to happens!" Skwisgaar looked utterly affronted and he didn't hold back a snarl, pointing a finger at the shorter of the two.

"Lets me reminds you, you ams de phsyckos dats was stabbings-"

"I AMS NOTS A PHSYCKOS… PSYCHKOSPATHS!" Toki's scream echoed through the hallway, his blue eyes wide not with their usual childlike curiosity, but with anger and restlessness. "I KNOWS DATS WHAT YOU ALL AMS THINKINGS, BUT TOKI IS NOT CRAZIES! HE'S NOT!" Before Skwisgaar, who looked nothing but perturbed at his shouting could respond, Toki was stepping forward and pointing an accusing finger at him, making a point to jab it in his chest. "You a-all probablys… Laughs behinds my back, what else ams new… Hahaha, T-Toki's crazies! Probably laughed behinds my backs when I was holed up in dat f-fuckings cellar, hung upsides downs on a God damns crussificks!"

"Toki," Skwisgaar did not hold back from looking a little upset and disturbed at his stammering. "No ones woulds do dat—"

"DAN WHY DE FUCKS DIDS IT TAKES SO LONGS FOR YOU TO FINDS ME, HUHS?!" Toki was satisfied when Skwisgaar's mouth locked up tightly, pulling his Deddybear closer as his voice grew significantly quieter. "Yous p-p-probablys loved de facts I wasn'ts here… E-espesicallys you… No mores little Toki to worries about, n-no more Toki to fucks up de latest g-guitar riffs! You all probablys never thoughts about me," Toki's icy eyes sparkled with something other than the happiness they used to shine bright with. "You alls probablys thoughts M… M-Magnus dids you a favor."

Toki and Skwisgaar's eyes locked for a solid and brooding few seconds. Skwisgaar saw then, undoubtedly, sadness well up in the other's eyes. Before he could speak another word, Toki had turned away and taken off, running barefoot down the corridor, more than likely into the refuge (or prison) that was his room.

-x-

Well, for those who were able to make it past the first chapter, thank you very much. I know no one reads this shit, so don't feel bad if you stop reading right now. I just want to say I really appreciate critique, so don't be shy. This is my first Metalocalypse fanfic that I've written, and the first fanfic I've in written in a few years, so it's appreciated. This will be comprised of three chapters and is a part one of two, so there is a sequel planned. It will have much more of the other band members in it. Keep in mind, this is an interpretation of what's happening after Doomstar, so... erm, yeah, I'm sorry if it's shitty. Thanks again!