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mrfelixfischoeder · 2 months

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I wish you would write a fic where Cal & Pickles babysit Seth's son for a day

this got.... so long....... but i love it. thank you!!!

Australia. Fucking, Australia. They had to gig there again at some point, and Pickles knows any time would be too soon, so might as well rip the band-aid off. The “We Will Get Better” tour is being accepted on a broader scale than imagined. The world is ablaze, or mostly is now, but everyone still wants to preach to the choir. Sing the hymns that Nathan gives them and raise their hands in praise.

“Fuck, Australia got hit bad.” Pickles remarks, staring out of their hotel room window at what is left of Sydney – the place is awful. Calypso clears her throat.

“Uh, actually, because of its location, only the West got hit by the Doomstar… Australia’s one of the few places that didn’t get, like, wrecked completely…”

“Oh… Well… Shit.”

She laughs, until there’s a knock on the door. She barely has it open before the person on the other side barges in, Seth grinning in his sickening way as he sees Pickles first thing. Pickles glares, watching Cal flex her fist before thinking better of it. He saunters in, a small figure behind him.

“Hey brother, you didn’t come by and see me when you landed.” He muses, the fake accent grating on Pickles. Not that he has any pride in where he comes from – but somehow when Seth gets involved, he can be mad about anything. “Gutted but uh – I’ll get over it. Hey, listen, your ain’t playing tonight, huh?”

“No, Cal and I are- we’re tomorrow.” Pickles is thankful for the swapping aspect of the band, if only because he can fiddle with the roster and get some alone time with her.

“Cool, cool, cool, cool, uh hey, this is my son.” Seth steps aside, looking out at the city – his city, as far as he’s concerned. The mayor can go stick a rusty nail up his ass. Anyone who helps run Dethklok, runs the world. Seth knows that now; he knows how to play the game. “Look, I’m kinda busy today. Amber wants to uh, I dunno, go shoppin’. I dunno. But we need to, y’know, bond. Get close again. Can’t do that with this little guy around, right? You get where I’m goin’ with this, brother.” Pickles’ face crumples, “Look, you got a whole, a whole day to yourself. I don’t get any time. With Amber or myself, haha. So do me a favour, huh?”

“Do you a favour,” Pickles is interrupted by Seth shoving a paper bag in his arms, “Seth, look, Cal and I gotta relax before the gig tomorrow, and we probably gotta help ‘em set up,”

“Sounds fun,” Seth is not listening, walking back towards the door – he stops by his son, patting him on the head, and the boy leans back out of his reach, “Alright, you can send him home at uh, 9.”

“Nine?!” Cal snaps, but Seth barely looks at her, walking out backwards and giving Pickles some very lazy finger guns.

“Thanks, brother.”

The door slams shut. Cal and Pickles look at each other, and then down at the red headed boy who is playing with the fringes of the blanket on the bed. He finally looks up at them. Immediately Cal can’t be mad – cause she isn’t gonna be mad at a kid. But Pickles is still tense, and he slams the paper bag down on the desk. “This ain’t fair! He can’t keep doin’ this to me, man! I told you every time I’m near him, he just drives me fucking insane!”

“I know- Pickles,” Cal walks over, trying to quell him before he says something he might regret. Pickles shakes her away.

“No, I can’t keep doin’ this, he sucks! I don’t wanna fuckin’ babysit a kid, I wanna go out for a fuckin’ drink with my girlfriend, and see my friends play their fuckin’ music!”

“PICKLES!” Cal raises her voice over him, angling her head at the nephew. He’s staring at them, still, but with a more resigned expression than she expected. Pickles freezes, staring down at the boy. Red headed, in clothes that don’t quite fit. He’s trying to stay angry, trying to keep it all contained so that he can release it on Seth later. But he’s angry now, and Seth isn’t here now, so what good is that? No doubt he won’t even be around at 9 either.

“Oh.” He deflates, “Uh – sorry. Kid.”

“Ok.”

Pickles feels even worse. He wonders what Seth is like as a parent – how often Amber is on her phone, or if she tries at least… A little. He’s never been interested in being a dad, mostly because he’s older now and it isn’t in the cards for him anymore. He doesn’t know how to interact with this kid. But he doesn’t have to be the kid’s dad – he just has to be… Present. “You wanna watch tv?”

The boy sits on the bed, legs crossed, and eats his little grapes. Cal watches, and peers into the bag for the rest of his lunch; a sandwich, pathetic and squished, with a bite out of it already. That’s it? “This is pathetic.” Cal whispers to Pickles, who glances at the back.

“Seems like a pretty normal lunch to me.”

Cal rolls her eyes, patting Pickles on the arm, “Oh, sug’.” She ignores Pickles’ questioning look, knowing they’ll get into it later. “I’m gonna go get some real food – you’d like that, right? Both of ya?”

“Yeah!”

“O-Okay.” Pickles suddenly follows her to the door, “Wait, can I go too,”

“Hon, no.” she pushes him back into the room, “I won’t be long, alright?”

“You can’t leave me alone wit’ him! What do we talk about?”

“He’s watching tv, he won’t even want to talk.” She leans in and kisses his cheek – and though he looks worried, he leans his head to kiss her cheek back before she retreats. “I won’t be long. Promise.”

And then she closes the door. He turns, and well, true enough: the boy is just staring at the tv, perhaps willing Pickles to disappear into another dimension.

Pickles stares at the tv. A kid’s show – or a babies show, really – with Anthro dogs. The only reason he even recognises it is, he knows the episode: Toki has some of the stuffed animals in his room. “Aren’t you too old for this?”

“Aren’t you too bald for that hair cut?” he snaps back, and Pickles clenches his fist. But he’s a kid. He’s a kid. He’s a kid. And it was so quick, he almost admires it. Suddenly a Lhasa Apso came on screen, with exaggerated snout whiskers. Toki’s voice comes out of it, and then a red Komondor appears on the other side of the titular character. Pickles barely remembers recording those lines.

“You know dat’s me, right?” he points. His nephew looks sceptical, but does seem familiar enough.

He hesitates before replying, as if he might get into trouble, but surely if his dad said it then there must be some truth to it: “My dad says you don’t do anything.”

“Your dad doesn’t know shit.” He doesn’t hold back, tired of sticking up for Seth or saving his ass when it is undeserved. And his nephew doesn’t seem phased by the language or the disparaging comments. “I saved the world, kid.”

“That’s kinda cool.” He mutters, and Pickles almost straightens up. They both sit quiet, and when the episode ends, Pickles offers to show him some real entertainment, changing it to a rock music channel. The boy’s eyes widen as he stares at the guitars and the drums and the music fills the room. He’s enamoured; neither of them speak.

Then Cal comes back with proper food – burgers and fries and chicken nuggets and juice. Both boys’ faces light up and they grin, and Cal looks between them both. It’s like staring at the past and the present. The moment she puts the stuff down on the bed, they rip apart the bags, creating a free for all.

“What happened to your eye?” the boy peers at her, and Cal hesitates. Pickles doesn’t give any helpful indication of what to do. She shrugs, crossing her legs.

“Uhm, I got into a fight. They took it out.”

“Sick.” The boy stares at her, but it isn’t in disgust. She looks back at him, smirking a little.

“You ever get into any fights?”

“Ugh, yeah.” He jabs a fry into the sauce, “Peter keeps shoving me into lockers ‘cause of dad. He sucks.”

“Fuck yeah!” Pickles can’t hold back, and he doesn’t even care about the look Cal gives him. “I’ll drink t’that!”

He holds out his beer, crouching to get to face height. He raises an eyebrow, and Pickles picks up the boy’s wrist and clinks his beer with his juice box, “Why aren’t you fightin’ back?”

“I dunno how.” He mumbles, sipping his apple juice, watching the way Pickles downs his beer. Cal makes a face, shaking her head and finishing the nugget in her hand.

“Nuh-uh, that won’t fly with me.” She stands, gesturing for him to stand too – “I’ll show you some defensive stuff, ‘kay? And then I’ll show you an uppercut. And some other stuff if we have time.”

Pickles watches her, leaning back on the headboard of the bed. He smirks a little, and his nephew seems absolutely ready to learn. She shows him a block, and how to tip someone over his shoulder (he laughs so loudly, so jovially, as Cal picks him up and throws him back onto the bed. Pickles can’t help but laugh too). And then she shows him how to trap someone’s arm, “And if you do it this way, you’ll break it. But uh, y’know. You’ll only use that in self-defence, right?” she stares at him, and he nods slowly, “Ya promise?” she holds out her pinky. She notices he hesitates, before finally interlocking his pinky with hers, and they shake on it. Unable to stay out of the conversation, Pickles offers to show some more backhanded stuff; less flashy, but it got him out of plenty of situations on the streets.

Before they know it, a Klokateer knocks on their door.

“We have been contacted by your brother, my lord. He wants his child back.”

“Oh – uh,” Pickles looks over at his nephew, who is drawing something with Cal, “Really? So soon?”

“It is midnight, my lord.” He pauses, “And a school night.”

“Oh.” Pickles assumes that’s a bad thing. The boy looks up, and Cal notices the way his face changes. He knows it’s time to go home. “Okay, well uh – let’s go, kid.” He waves him over. The boy reluctantly makes his way to the door, and Pickles hesitates. They stare at each other, and Pickles can’t handle the vulnerable, truthful face of a child up close. He kneels down. “Look, uh, come see me play tamarrow, okay? I’ll send Seth tickets, right? VIP. You can watch me and Cal do our thing. And we’re the best.”

They smile at each other. His nephew hands him the paper he was doodling on, before saying bye to them both. At least he was leaving the room with a smile. When he feels Cal stand next to him, he looks down at the paper: a fairly well put together drawing of Pickles playing the drums and his nephew playing a guitar. Or a bass. There’s seven strings, so it’s hard to tell.

“Aw, well.” He takes in a deep breath, “That uh, you know. That was fun. He’s cool, y’know?”

“Wonder where he got that from.” Cal wraps her arms around Pickles waist, chin on his shoulder. He tries to humble himself with a laugh. But he sees it too. She pauses, thinking. “Do you remember his name?”

“. . . Ah shit.”

#mtl oc #pickles x oc #pickles x calypso #calypso #writing prompt #oc x pickles #mtl seth

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