Archive of Our Own ^beta

Skwisgaar grabbed the nearest vodka he could find in a huff and downed it like water. He had never been so miserable, so pissed in his life. Toki has practically built his own fame by trashing the lead guitarist’s reputation. One he had worked so hard to build and maintain. His reputation was everything. His pride and joy. He needed his fans to adore him. It was all he had. At first Toki might have had a point of calling him a dick before, but now? Fuck him. He hoped the crowd would eat him alive. That would show him.

He fell into the couch of their common area and did not let up on the drinking until he saw Murderface in his periphery. 

He was reading that goddamned book . 

“Does youse minds?” He shouted, tossing the empty bottle aside, which landed in an earth shattering smash. That barely felt good at all. 

Murderface simply turned the page and snickered, loving for once that the media had turned on Skwisgaar for a change. Between this and what happened a couple of months ago, this level of drama was pure gold. “I don’t believe I will, Schkwischgaar.” 

“If you don’ts puts dat downs Moiderface, I swears to Odins…”

“...You’ll be an even bigger Dick than Knubbler?” Pickles finished as he walked into the room, beer in hand. He was on the right combination of drugs and alcohol for clever wordplay. “The book ain’t all true but that don’t mean you don’t have your moments, Dood.”

Skwisgaar crossed his shoulders and pouted in denial. “Names one times I ams a dicks, huh? You ca-”

“Your kids” Nathan answered, walking in the room with his own beer, having heard the conversation from down the hall. “You abandoned like hundreds or thousands of them. Or something. That.”

Skwisgaar’s nostrils flared. “You don’t gets to talk abouts my families mattors.”

Murderface answered, “We do when one of your 'trophies' schowsch up at your doorschtep and isch now following the Robot.”

Pickles took a swig, then replied, having recalled the rumor,“Oh yeah-didn’t tha kid travel cross country with tha paperwork and all the cash ta tell ya ta feck off too? Shoulda kicked yer ass.”

“You didn’t meets hims. He amen’t an angel.” 

And he wasn’t. That little shit drank his cold beer and cockblocked him while he was trying to relax, just because he wanted attention. He was just as needy as Toki. It was pathetic.

“He ams just the sons of the she-devils what ams what sues me. Onlies thats.” 

Murderface snapped his fingers. It jarred a memory of him overhearing Charles address the kid by his proper name. “Oh yeah. Valley. Luschifer. Schon of Schatan himschelf.”

Skwisgaar winced. He didn't want to hear any mention of either name.

Nathan snorted in small disapproval of how Skwisgaar handled the situation and idly replied, “Lucifer. Metal name.”

Pickles seemed to pick up on what Murderface was doing and played along. While Skwisgaar didn't do him any personal injury, it was payback for his brother’s wedding, and the favoritism he got from Murderface. He got to be in on the fun for once instead of being miserable. 

“Ya know, he did show up about a month er two ago before tha book.” 

“What ams thats has to does with anythingks?” He stubbornly looked away from them.

Murderface sported an evil grin, “I mean…he playsch guitar, isch younger than you…”

“...would leave more sluts fer us…”

“...is following our manager around…”

“...and Toki likes ‘im, Dood…more than you…”

Nathan listened in and tried to contain his smirk. So, that's what they were doing. It was really funny . He had to add the last jab.

“All the kid’s gotta do is break your speed record, and he could, you know, be your replacement.”

Skwisgaar’s face dropped in horror. 

He remembered something that he told the kid to get him to stop crying. Something the rest of the band wasn't aware of.

“If you amsk so much betters than me, then proves it. Surpasks me and takes my place."

That was not what he meant! It was supposed to be a metaphor, or something that was going to be done very far away from him. Long after he died! Not NOW! Not with HIS BAND! Was this little shit really as spiteful as his mother? Was the sadness just an act to make him feel sorry for him?

He stood up and walked out in a fury, heading to Charles's office immediately. He had to nip this shit in the bud, if he was ever going to avoid getting replaced in the band. 

The other three snickered as he stomped out of the room. They probably went too far. But it was still hilarious.

—

It was providence that Charles’s office door was wide open, or Skwisgaar would have ripped it off its hinges. But the fancy lamp was not so lucky. Skwisgaar swept it off his desk to grab his immediate attention. Charles remained calm with his hands folded at his desk. He was used to these outbursts by now.

“Did you get that out of your system?”

“AMS HES REPLACINGKS ME OR NOTS?!”

Charles, an immovable object, calmly wiped the spit off his glasses with a microfiber cloth and placed them back on with his usual level of patience. 

“While Toki is gaining popularity, these things are usually tem-”

“I AMS NOT TALKINGKS ABOUT TOKIS! I AMS TALKING ABOUT LUCIFERS!”

Charles raised his left brow in confusion. This was a surprise. He would look into where he got the notion later, but for now, it was time for damage control.

“Even if he were to break your guitar speed record, Skwisgaar, that wouldn’t be the case. Your son-”

“-He amen’t my sons” Skwisgaar huffed in denial. 

“Your… bastard …"

The word was as cutting as it was accurate to the CFO. It was an ugly reminder of one of his greater sins against innocent children. One that gave him enough shame to keep him awake some nights.

"…has no interest in the pursuit of joining this band. He is simply being educated by me regarding logistics, delegation, and managerial affairs.”

Charles avoided mention of any prophecy, major or minor. The rest of the band did not know, and it was much too early to tell them. Instead, he stuck with a cover story that the kid was looking into the business side of band management. After all, he was the greatest financial mind in the country. No one would suspect a thing.

“If you ever bother to read any of the reports I have sent you on the matter…”

The monthly reports weren't  much of an attempt to get Skwisgaar engaged. He had long given up on his attention span. They were there on the rare chance that if Skwisgaar did take a sudden interest, he wouldn't be blamed for not notifying him.

Skwisgaar sneered, “He can learns any of dese things in a boardingk schkools or somethingks. He aments needs to be heres ! I wants him outs!”

Charles stood and fixed his glasses on his face. He knew Skwisgaar was having a very hard time, but he was getting close to crossing a line. 

“That will not be happening, Skwisgaar. It is best for his protection and yours that he is educated here . I have arranged it so there is no schedule overlap. Not to mention his business is very separate from yours.” 

Skwisgaar snarled, "Maybes if yous dids your jobs and keeps that spoiled little shits that shoulds have been swalloweds out of heres, instead of playingsk favorites thens it would be no probelms!"

Offdensen glared at the guitarist. He had never felt more pity for the boy and by extension the rest of the children than he did now. Even 4245, who irritated him on her best day, was not this callous.

He answered in a deadly calm,“You should be grateful that there is only one here, and that he is willing to make the sacrifice to make sure the others don’t pull the same stunt. We are both cleaning up your mess. This discussion is closed.”

Snapped out of his irrational anger and chastised like a scolded child, all Skwisgaar could do was walk out of the office in a huff. Great. Not even his manager was on his side.

—

Desperate times called for desperate measures. He hated this guy, but he needed someone, anyone to listen to him. 

He made an unannounced visit to the office, bypassing the secretary at his front desk who tried to speak up. Skwisgaar pushed her aside, and she scoffed, “You really are a dick!”

When he opened the door of the office, all he could see was a weeping psychiatrist covered in banana stickers and sucking his thumb in a fetal position. 

Skwisgaar stood underneath the office light, which had unintentionally created a halo effect. His face covered in shadow, he asked, “What the hells happens to yous?”

Only registering what he saw, and not what he heard Twinkletits prostrated himself at his feet. “You came back! You forgive me, don’t you, Lucifer! Please PLEASE say you forgive…”

Disturbed by the display, and annoyed by the added reminder of him , he kicked the man off and shut the door, leaving the former band therapist weeping on the ground.

—

Skwisgaar stomped back at the halls of Mordhaus, seeing red . 

He had enough!

If Charles wasn’t going to throw him out, he would do it himself! 

He didn’t care that there would be kicking and screaming. He didn’t care that Toki would object, the dildo! He was going to get his place back if it was the last thing he-

His ears picked up the sound of a guitar playing.

It wasn’t Toki. He was getting ready for the Guitarganza. Not to mention the playing was much more studied than he would give Toki credit for. And when Pickles picked up the guitar, it was mostly to play something that erred on the sensibilities of classic rock. It couldn’t have been Murderface either. It had the same soul, but it wasn’t acoustic. 

That meant it was him .

The melody continued down the hall. It was slow, brooding, moody. He couldn’t exactly name the key or the technique, but if a guitar could weep, that  was the sound it would make. 

The music swirled with the thoughts in his head.

This…wasn’t the sound of someone who was furiously practicing to replace him. It was much too pitiful. As pitiful as he looked when they met. The sound was an emotionally evocative. Expressive. Something that stirred what Skwisgaar knew he already felt in the depths of his own soul. The feeling of incompleteness. The ugly emptiness that had laid in his gut since Toki abandoned him.

Skwisgaar knew if he so much as opened the door between them, even just a crack, that the playing would stop. That it would just be a fight.

He was never good when it came to talking about his feelings. Or listening to them. And he suspected that if this really was his son, and not some devil spawn who came to haunt his nightmares, then he worked the same way.

The lead guitarist walked quietly to where he could pick up the nearest guitar, before he sat on the floor where the sound was the loudest on the other side of the wall, and began tuning.  His breath hitched as he waited for an opening. And when he heard it, he added in his own melancholic, yet probative musical response to the sad call.

The melancholic tune vanished in an instant. 

Skwisgaar exhaled. Maybe this was a step too far. This was a waste of-

Three notes played from the other side of the wall. 

Where did he hear that before? 

Something less melancholic but still associated with sadness replaced the original playing. Or at least the act of venting sadness.

It was the blues. 

…wait a minute. It was a very specific style of blues. Either he was being snarky at the moment, or he met...

Skwisgaar played the blues technique he learned specifically for Murder Train A Comin’. If he was right then- 

He received confirmation from the other side of the wall with the quick guitar solo from Murder Train A Comin’.

Not only did his so- this kid- at least knew how to play metal, but he had enough musical taste to go with technique. It wasn’t as good as his playing, but…he sounded a lot like that when he was younger.

It reminded Skwisgaar of the day that he and the rest of the band first performed that song. It was right after both he and Toki had cinder blocks tied to their wrists to get them to play slower. It was a good memory. One of many he had with his bandmates. 

A light chuckle escaped him. 

He missed those days. He missed Toki.

Perhaps that was why this hurt so much. He wasn’t angry at the loss of his audience or his career. Not really. He was angry at the loss of his bandmate. His friend. 

Huh. Maybe he wasn’t such a little shit after all. This actually made him feel better. 

He played a few frets to make it known that he was leaving before he stood up. Maybe if he hurried, he could make it to the Guitarganza.