Chapter Text
The first brush of death that he had, that he could remember, had been when he was no older than six. He was fairly angry with his parents, Charles remembered clearly, he had been angry for days before he decided that he would try to make it out into the world on his own. Charles had run away, during the time he should have been in primary school, he had packed a bag of things that he thought he would need, which included money from a jar he always knew had money in it, a flashlight, his own social security card, a change of clothes, some snacks that he could fit into his bag and an old stuffed dog toy, that had a few patches on it from misuse.
After he had gathered his items, he wrote a simple ‘Goodbye – C.’ on a note and left it on the kitchen table with the jar that held the money. He had managed to make it to the next city over before any suspicion was alerted from the authorities. Charles was walking through the streets when a police officer had pulled up next to him, asking him if he needed a ride home. Like a good boy, Charles said no and then walked faster—he had no idea who this officer was and a little part of him was panicked at the idea of some man trying to walk off with him.
When he had been pressed for his information, Charles had, in favor of giving it, ran off from the spot he had been at. Charles had run for some time, glancing behind him to see the police car chasing after him and, like a stupid child, he had not looked where he was running—he had run straight into a busy intersection and was hit by a car.
Strangely, little Charles had walked away from the accident with nothing more than a few broken bones and stitches that he needed on his leg where the bone snapped out of the skin. The stitches had left quite a scar during his years of growing up.
The second time he had an intense brush with death had been when Charles was 15, stupidly in love with the wrong person, in the wrong era. He had attempted to discreetly court a popular football player during his high school years, and while his courting had been successful for a few days, the two had been outed swiftly and the very boy he had courted turned on him with such intense rage that Charles knew he would not walk away from this fight. The football player, with three or four of his other friends, had beat Charles within an inch of his life.
He was hospitalized, in a coma for 30 hours and he had regained consciousness with little trouble. The biggest gash he had, from being beaten nearly to death, had stretched from his sixth rib to his nipple on the left side of his torso— at the same time of his healing, Charles decided that he would remain single and, in the future, he would satisfy his sexual desires with anonymous, one night stands that would never make it back to him.
During his time in the hospital, Charles had been alone often. He never had any friends and his parents had both been very busy with work—and Charles understood that; so when he was lying in the bed, staring forlornly out the window, he had not expected to hear the door open. When his attention finally drifted to the… being in his room, Charles had not expected an older man. There was no vocalization between them, but the two had a conversation of what Charles thought was a joke, but his interest was piqued despite the ridiculousness of the subject. At the end of the conversation, Charles was given a black, leather bound journal with a pentacle drawn in dried blood on its cover
The third time he met Death, Charles was in college and in his fencing class with a fellow student. He and the student had been fairly decent acquaintances, but Charles had not anticipated his opponent to want Charles to suffer— after the battle that had ended with Charles’s back being sliced to hell, Charles was sent to the hospital for the first time since he was 15. While he was bandaged, Charles had decided at that time, he was to never trust anybody with himself and his well-being.
After college, times with death had come too often and Charles had lost count and care. Charles worked through life, bored and no longer caring about his life— until he met them. Until he, stupidly went to a seedy bar, in some far off town from his dead-end job and watched this band play.
The band was stunning, five men working together to bring a cacophony of sound that just pulled the rug from under Charles and drew him in like they were sirens, and he suddenly found himself in front of the stage, staring up at the singer with hair like the void and a voice like what Charles had imagined God had sounded like. He was floored by their music, never having really heard or had a taste for it before, but now—now he knew he had to be with them in some way.
Taking up the opportunity to speak with them, Charles had decided to pay for three rounds of whatever they wanted to drink. They agreed—well the redhead did, the drummer; Charles recognized him after Red spoke. Pickles, from Snakes and Barrels—he was a drummer now? Interesting.
Sitting beside the singer, Charles felt that he had been given a gift and he knew he could not squander it. He let them sit in silence while he worked through mild anxiety (and thoughts of what spells to use tonight) before the singer grabbed him by his suit jacket, yanking for his attention and staring down at him with such intense green eyes, that Charles knew he was in over his head already.
They had accepted his offer to become their band manager, much easier than he thought, and Charles was left with a $400 tab and a sense of satisfaction. Sure, Charles was a lawyer, but he could wing the rest of what he needed to do to negotiate anything for Dethklok.
Months went by, he got them gigs, he got them money and beer and cleaned up their destructive partying ways—he spent every night by himself, in his apartment and drawing magick from the world to help. His intentions were to always bring safety to Dethklok, and secondly to bring the boys luck. They were simple spells that required his self-pleasure and full attention.
During one of his rituals, he had been drawn out of his shaky state by a knock at his front door. Who would disturb him at nearly five in the morning? Or had it been later? Charles did not know nor did he seek to find out. With a great deal of struggling, he left his bed room with a robe on over his naked body and answered the door. His eyes, while normally an inviting shade of hazel, were nearly black with how blown his pupils were; drew upwards from the floor to the face of the singer.
Still struggling with containing the magick inside of him, Charles merely lifted his eyebrows while the coldness in the air behind the singer crawled into the apartment with long, wispy tendrils that licked and cracked along Charles’s exposed skin.
Suddenly, Charles was pushed aside and the singer let himself inside, going straight for the kitchen to grab whatever alcohol the manager had. Normally, Charles would put up a fight and argue but he was flickering out of existence and fading with the magick, so he let Nathan into his apartment and let him do whatever he wished while closing the front door. The manager walked with some hesitation before he found himself in front of Nathan, looking up at him as a man would look upon the first God; he feels his body moving without his command to touch the singer’s stomach and sides with soft little strokes of his fingers.
Nathan looked down his large nose at Charles, if only, just now noticing how strange Charles looked. More pale than usual, his skin looked like it was clammy yet too tight on the muscles and bone below it; but what really stood out for Nathan was the way Charles smiled. His teeth were showing, like he was grimacing but he looked really happy and it was starting to fuck with Nathan’s mind. The hands on his sides and stomach felt weird, drawing him in but pulling him away at the same time—he bared his teeth a little, drank the bottle of shitty Coors beer before tossing the bottle onto the ground, causing it to shatter.
That did nothing to draw Charles out of this weird state and Nathan reached his hands to grab the manager by his shoulders, to shake him, but the moment he touched Charles’s shoulders, he feels frozen in time as coldness crept up his fingers like a very sure inchworm. He gets closer to look into Charles’s eyes, where he sees how dark and faded they are. “What’s—” As soon as Nathan spoke, Charles lunged forward and captured Nathan’s lips in a very intense and forceful kiss.
While startled, Nathan did not pull away. Instead, he moved his hands down to Charles’s hips and picked him up with complete ease. His motions startling a moan out of the manager’s mouth while teeth and tongues clashed and clinked together in a feverous abandon while they moved around the apartment. Since this had been Nathan’s first time at Charles’s apartment, he had slammed him up against the wall and tried to pin him there because he didn’t want to pull away to be lead into the bedroom.
Charles seemed to be okay with being up against the wall, his robe falling open while his arms were pinned above his head. He moaned into the kiss, trying to get some friction with his erection with no results; he got frustrated and struggled against Nathan while trying to pull back from the kiss. After his lips were released, Charles leaned in and whispered in Nathan’s ear, asking him to take him back to the bedroom.
But, unexpectedly, Nathan just pulls back to look down at him with confusion written all over his face with mild annoyance. The singer wonders if he should try to talk again, so in favor of talking he grabbed a hold of his manager and brought him back toward the bedroom.
Upon being lifted like that, Charles shivered and tried his best not to go boneless, but he was very weak and very easily influenced during this time. He was being pulled around like he was nothing, and the warmth of his bedroom hit him hard, suffocating him yet making him feel like he was being cradled and welcomed home; the two had suddenly stopped walking and Charles spotted the circle he had drawn on the floor.
Trying to make a joke, he said something to Nathan and expected at least a chuckle, but the two of them merely made awkward eye contact and Charles frowned. He went to talk again before Nathan brought his hand up and covered his mouth, then Nathan pulled the robe off his shoulders, making Charles feel strange but he wouldn’t stop anything now.
He shouldn’t have answered the door, Charles mentally kicks himself as he realizes that he was fading. “Please.” Charles moaned softly as the warmth in the air licked at his skin like biting kisses.
Nathan wanted time to admire Charles’s skin and the way he looked, but the poor guy seemed like he was going to burst if he didn’t get help coming. Nathan wanted to—eugh, he hated this word—sort of romance Charles, but the guy was speaking weird gibberish that didn’t sound like any language that Nathan had heard before now and he kept trying to talk to Nathan, but Nathan didn’t want to hear the gibbering and had essentially told him to shut up by holding his hand to Charles’s mouth. When Charles finally stopped trying to talk, Nathan moved his hand down and wrapped both around Charles’s neck, without thinking about what he was doing.
Charles’s heart fluttered wildly in his ribcage, barely being contained as Nathan’s oh so large hands wrap around his neck and start choking the life out of him. The world started to go dark, his intentions becoming twice as strong to protect and make each of his boys happy. Charles’s eyes flutter and slide close while he gently groped at Nathan’s pants, trying to get his dick free and return at least some favor, but his hands were slow and dumb.
Nathan had tried to push Charles onto the bed, but the guy just suddenly seemed so much heavier to the singer and he stopped choking Charles to make sure that the manager was okay, but as soon as his fingers left the manager’s neck, Charles just fell into him and tried to drag him toward the painted circle on the floor.
It took Nathan a moment to realize what the manager had wanted and he finally moved them over it, hoping he wouldn’t regret doing this—and when the two were in the circle, darkness swallowed them and all Nathan could feel was the warmth from some candles and the manager in front of him. The singer looked at his manager, eyeing him and wondering what kind of shit that he just got himself into by coming over so damn late and not being entirely sober.
Soft whimpers and moans escaped Charles’s lips while he pet at Nathan’s shirt and pants, trying to convey his need to get Nathan just as naked. He was helpless to try and speak, as his vocal muscles felt like they were straining with just the very idea of making some noise other than moans. So, when Nathan finally gets undressed, Charles sags against him and reaches out into the darkness of the circle, he comes back with a small mortar and pestle that had some things already crushed in it. He dipped his fingers into the content before coming back and shakily trying to paint his fingers along Nathan’s chest.
Nathan stared down at Charles while he painted nonsense all over Nathan’s chest, he wasn’t sure if this was good or not but his brain felt like he was in quicksand and the stuff that was touching his chest had been cold, but quickly warmed like that lube—he went to touch it too, but Charles lazily slapped at his hand. The singer growled a little and captured Charles’s lips in a rough kiss while Charles painted himself up a little more, feeling more hands on him than he knew was possible.
He wants to pull away from the kiss, but Charles bit Nathan’s lower lip hard enough to cause a jolt of pain to shoot straight down to his dick. Nathan felt more hands petting over his skin while Charles’s fingers danced and then rubbed the non-liquid over his dick, which jumped at the weird sensation of how cold it felt. Soon, the weird shit started to warm and nearly burn—but it was still pleasurable, almost like how he got when he was jerking it too much.
A low growly, moan escapes from Nathan and he bit back at Charles’s lips. He almost refuses to pull back, but Charles was whimpering like he was in pain and Nathan didn’t like the sound of it. When he pulls away, Charles had brought the non-liquid from Nathan’s body to his own, painting small swirls and seemingly random designs on his own chest, but covering up much more of his own body than he had covered up Nathan’s body. Nathan found himself just watching Charles, enchanted by the way his shaky hand seemed to draw better than what Nathan thought was possible.
After he finished drawing, Charles set the mortar and pestle down somewhere, then he scooted closer and started to kiss along Nathan’s neck with these soft, shaky little kisses. Nathan would have been annoyed and demanded that Charles either get rough or stop shaking so much, but he wasn’t sure if he possessed the words. So, instead, he threaded a hand through Charles’s hair and grabbed both of their cocks with one hand, stroking both of them—the more he stroked, the warmer that not-liquid got, and despite it being weird feeling, Nathan found it to be pleasurable. He groaned before pulling Charles into a kiss, trying to get him to bite and lick back.
As soon as he was attacking Charles’s lips for a response, Charles seemed to writhe and shake weirdly, but despite the shaking and trembling, Charles was moaning with pleasure and pumping his hips into Nathan’s hand.
Time passed weirdly, Charles was eager to do whatever Nathan was doing to him and tried to reciprocate as much as he could, but his hands felt too cold compared to that non-liquid on his body and Nathan just had Charles hold his hair, before he picked Charles up, making the manager wrap his legs around Nathan’s body while the singer knelt down inside of the circle, jerking their dicks together while Charles writhed and moaned, his voice getting deeper and the candles got darker the closer the band manager got to an orgasm.
Nathan moved from kissing to biting and marking Charles’s neck and shoulders up, silently marking Charles as his hips and hand moved with a rhythm working together beautifully, making Charles cry out with such pleasure. It was strange, and nice, but still strange—the manager seemed to be whispering and his head dropped back, allowing more of his neck to be exposed.
While Nathan bit at the exposed flesh in front of him, Charles’s eyes clouded over, becoming nearly and completely black while the manager breathlessly whispered the rest of the incantation. He dug his nails into Nathan’s back, his hips stuttering and then he cried out loudly as he came all over Nathan and himself.
Somewhat surprised at how quickly Charles came, Nathan gripped himself and worked himself to completion with a low growl—which echoed in the bedroom—he panted and breathed over Charles, realizing that it was one of the most intense orgasms he’s had in sometime. Nathan moved his hair out of his face to glance down at Charles and ask if he’s okay, but he sees that Charles is already asleep. He bristled, frowning angrily and pulled Charles off of him. Nathan brought the manager to his bed, deciding that staying the night would be the worst thing and he got dressed, not caring if he disturbed Charles—when he got to the front door, Nathan could hear Charles stirring and he felt a rush of panic.
He opened the door and left the apartment, deciding that this was not going to happen again and if Charles was into weird shit, that was fine, but Nathan wasn’t and he wasn’t into dudes and that what happened was a fucking mistake and a fucking dream. Nathan was going to drink until he forgot what he did with Charles.
The following weeks, even months, after their strange encounter, Nathan avoided Charles as much as he could but the manager always just seemed to find him no matter where he was. Nathan relented after the fifteen or sixteenth time of being caught in a bar, he sat and demanded that they drink but not talk.
For a few hours, Nathan drank and drank before he got annoyed at Charles. “What? What the fuck do you want from me?” The singer snapped.
Charles looked at him with a careful and guarded look, remaining very passive while he nursed a gin and tonic. “I wanted, ah, to let you know that I…” There was a slight pause, Charles looked briefly conflicted before he pushed his glasses back up his nose, “got Dethklok a record deal.”
And that was the last time Charles had decided to try and bring up what happened.
With the news of the record label, Nathan completely forgot his anger and worry in favor of wide eyed shock and excitement. He hollered loudly before finishing his beers, “why the fuck did you take so long to tell me?” Nathan would ask, and Charles would apologize but never give a real answer. They would talk, Nathan would celebrate before demanding that they get all the boys and party together. Charles would oblige and just simply be the sober part in all of it, just watching his boys make fools of themselves but he would happily clean up after them.
The next day, they signed the contracts for the label and Charles was briefly glad that this had finally started to work in their favor. He would need to use another ritual to ensure that their fame would become secure.
Three days after the label signing, Charles got wind of Magnus Hammersmith going completely off the edge and stabbing Nathan. The manager was pissed, he had to deal with another negotiation while his boys figured out if they wanted another member to the band or not—Charles sat for days in Roy Cornickleson’s office, pouring over the contracts and, in the end, he had to pay money out of his own pocket to make sure that there would be no legal action taken and after the revisions were made, the boys found their fifth and final band mate, Charles had them sign the contract once again.
Then, they were given time to record.
Their first album was stunning.
Dethklok was perfect.
The world stood no chance.
Charles knew he had chosen the correct career path as Dethklok rose from the Depths of Humanity to the top billboards all around the world. Their single, Thunderhorse, became the most played song and it brought a certain type of happiness to Charles to know that he had a hand in this.
After three weeks of being the top single being played, Charles had the full album released and had the boys working on the second album for a few weeks afterwards. Charles gave them a month of vacation after half of the set list was finished.
During their vacation, Charles watched over them like a hawk but never interfering unless he had no choice. They were a wild bunch of young men and had the whole world at their hands.
Then came their first world tour. Charles knew Pickles could deal with the stress, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t worried about how the rest of the band would take the constant travelling—he made sure to get great arrangements with the first of what would become the massive army known as the Klokateers; things went off without a hitch during their first live concert. Or, at least that’s what Charles wish he could say.
It became very clear to Charles that death would follow his boys around like a smog. Charles had doubts that it could have been his fault for using such a strong spell, but he cast out the idea for now and worked on a press release for the deaths of fans.
The world seemed to be okay with how many people died at the concert and it stunned Charles, but as ever, he never gave a single hint to his emotions. Offdensen became the manager they needed, he became a shell of what little was left of his personality and did anything his boys needed—
It became clear that Charles Offdensen would die for Dethklok.
Years into the future, when the band manager would face against the Masked Assassin, he would accept his fate to die for his boys. But that would be then, in the now, Charles was dealing with contracts for the fans so they could not and would not sue Dethklok for any liabilities for accidents during live shows.
When the first lawsuit came against Skwisgaar Skwigelf for birthing a child, Charles got him off the payments with some trouble and then he went through a contract that all groupies would have to sign in order for them to even see Skwisgaar. The next five lawsuits came from a mixture of people and Charles eventually came to stating that all who went to see the Swedish guitarist would need to sign a waiver.
After a short celebration with his boys, he trusted #001 with his boys’ lives and went home.
Home never felt right and the stains never came out.