Chapter Text
The tv remote clattered to the ground, sending the AA batteries flying out as it landed against the linoleum.
Back when he was able to afford a therapist, Magnus was encouraged to not look for news about Dethklok. It was something he found himself doing more often after the band kicked him out. In the beginning, he justified it as him wanting to keep tabs on his old band as they climbed in popularity, but it didn’t take long for this to turn into something he did to intentionally hurt himself. The feeling of his throat closing up when he saw their album sales. The rage burning behind his temples when the bar he frequented would play their music. The envy tightening in his chest and gut whenever he would ask someone if they liked Dethklok and listened to the glowing praise that followed. The reactions were so physical that they would often leave Magnus in a state where he felt too sick to eat or sleep.
And there was something intoxicating about that. It reminded Magnus of the times he would go to a party when he knew his ex would be there with their new partner, just so he could watch them from a corner. An addictive combination of anger, jealousy, and yearning.
It required constant insistence from a qualified professional for Magnus to realize that there was something unhealthy about this pattern of behavior. So he quit seeking out news about Dethklok. They would still cross his radar from time to time, of course. It was impossible to avoid their presence entirely. But he managed to resist the urge to continue submerging himself in that world. Even after the healthcare plan under his new job didn’t cover therapy so he was left to navigate his mental health on his own, he felt a small glimmer of hope that he was finally moving away from that chapter of his life. He felt like, some day, he could move on.
And then, all that progress came crashing down.
When he turned on the news and found out that Charles Offdensen was dead.
Magnus stumbled backwards, collapsing on the couch as he found himself unable to take his eyes off of the tv screen.
Not just dead. Killed.
Magnus didn’t know how, exactly. He was in too much of a daze to process the words coming out of the news anchors’ mouths. But judging by the photos they showed, it had to be painful. His glasses cracked, suit ripped, dried blood plastered against his ruined face, pouring from his split lips, severely broken nose, and a deep gash lining the left side of his head.
There was no way Charles would have approved of this photo being brought to light. Charles was always mindful of his appearance and public image. Not in a vain way, but in a way that was protective and professional. It made those rare private moments that much more special, when Charles would let his guard down and allow his real self to be seen. Everyone else only knew him as the faceless mastermind behind Dethklok’s success, or the man in the suit who would sometimes accompany the band during public appearances. But Magnus knew there was more to him. Even after his days with Dethklok were far behind him, he would always cherish those intimate memories of Charles like a little secret just between them.
Charles would have had the power and influence to prevent those photos from leaking to the press. More than seeing his damaged face on his screen, that is what made Magnus realize that this was real and started to push him through the denial stage of his grief. The one PR story he couldn’t spin was his own, and his carefully-constructed image died with him. It had been almost a decade since he’d last seen Charles, and even longer since he wasn’t living alone. But his apartment felt emptier.
Magnus remembered how he felt when he was lying on the floor of his old apartment after barely withstanding Nathan’s fists against his face, when he was unable to process anything but the intense pain searing through him. He wondered if Charles felt the same.
With the remote’s batteries lying scattered on the floor and Magnus finding himself unable to get off of the couch, the television continued playing in the background, dissolving into white noise in Magnus’ head. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Magnus was not supposed to outlive Charles . Magnus was reckless and impulsive while Charles was always careful in every facet of his life. While Magnus often neglected to look after himself, Charles put a lot of effort into taking care of his health. Charles was always surrounded by a security team who would stop at nothing to protect his life, while Magnus would sometimes come home so wasted that he would leave his apartment door wide open while he passed out on the floor. Magnus should have died so many times. The bar fights, bad relationships, dwindling mental and physical health, substance abuse, the Nathan incident. He gave the universe so many chances, but instead it took Charles. The man who did everything right. The man whose life still had value.
It wasn’t fucking fair.
…
Magnus didn’t own a suit, so he had to rent one. Well, “rent”. He kept the tags on so he could return it after the ceremony. The ceremony he never got an invitation for, by the way. He knew he parted with the band on less than ideal terms, but that stung. They wouldn’t even let him have this.
Fortunately (for him, at least), showing up where he wasn’t allowed was one of Magnus’ many talents.
He stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, the dingy lighting making his face look sickly and jaundiced -- or maybe that’s just what he looked like now. It didn’t help that the suit looked… bad. Finding a suit that fit his frame was difficult. They were either too short or too loose and they always required tailoring, but Magnus never actually did that. It probably didn’t count as a suit, as Magnus decided to wear his usual denim jacket instead of a proper one, but he knew that Charles would have expected as much.
Magnus wasn’t wearing a tie either, because he never learned how to properly put one on. The few times he had to wear a suit for some kind of public appearance, Charles would always secure his tie for him. In fact, he had to do that with most of the band members. It was always last minute and Charles was always frustrated when he essentially had to help him get dressed. Magnus probably could have saved him a lot of headaches if he learned how to tie one himself, but he never did. He didn’t want to say goodbye to that little moment of gentle contact before they would have to go back to work.
He considered wearing a clip-on tie to the funeral, but he decided against it. That felt like something Charles would eternally haunt him for. As he continued scrutinizing his appearance in the mirror, he could practically hear his playful mocking in his ear.
“I can, uh, see that even my own funeral wasn’t enough to get you to dress properly.”
Charles would have said it with a smile, maybe as he reached up to fix the collar of his denim jacket as if it would help improve things. Magnus would have laughed and placed his hand over his, holding it against his clavicle, before bringing his fingers up to his lips.
The moment was so vivid in his imagination that Magnus collapsed against the wall as he felt his heart sink into his chest. It was like every couple minutes, his mind forced him to remember the impossible reality that Charles was gone. No matter how many times it happened, it never got easier. The thoughts and memories of Charles hit him like a sledgehammer, leaving him unable to think about anything else.
However, he still hadn’t cried. Which Magnus didn’t know if he should feel proud or ashamed of.
Magnus sank down against the wall, partially so he wouldn’t have to keep looking at himself in the mirror but also because he could feel the strength leaving his legs. He crumpled to the tile floor and stared up at the popcorn ceiling.
Charles promised he’d take him shopping for his first suit. His first real suit, since they were going to be meeting with major record labels. Even though there were plenty of suit shops in the area, Charles insisted on taking him to his favorite spot. It was in England, which meant they wouldn’t be able to go unless they both suddenly found the free time to go on an international trip.
Life kept getting in the way, and the trip never happened. Since then, Magnus never stepped foot in a proper suit shop. Even after he was no longer part of Dethklok’s life, he knew it wouldn’t be the same without Charles.
His eyes were watering and he felt his breath hitch in his chest.
Shit- no- goddammit- why the fuck was this the thing that set him off? The moment the first tears formed in his eyes, he couldn’t stop them. Soon he was on the bathroom floor, trembling as it felt like each painful sob had to be ripped out of him. It certainly didn’t help that lying there, with the side of his burning face pressed up against the cool tiles was enough to set off another memory. Specifically, the countless times Charles would have to hold his hair back whenever he had to puke after a night of binge drinking. The fact that Charles could still stand to be around him after seeing him like that would always surprise him. Charles had seen him during most of his worst moments and he would always come back. Until he didn’t.
Magnus rolled over so he was lying flat on his back, his chest heaving and his face sticky with snot and tears. It had been ages since he cried like this, so it felt like he was out of practice. Each choked breath and downpour of hot tears felt like opening an old wound. It didn’t help that the last person he cried in front of was Charles.
Charles had heard about what happened with Nathan and apparently he agreed with the decision made by the rest of the band. Magnus naively believed that their relationship would have protected him. That when Magnus showed up at his office looking for help, Charles would have thought about the secret smiles they’d share. The brief kisses when they knew no one was looking. The long nights they’d spend together, sometimes having sex but mostly just talking. Sometimes Charles would fall asleep mid-sentence, so comfortable in Magnus’ arms. Magnus loved it when Charles would relax around him, because he knew he was very particular with who he allowed to see him like this. Magnus hoped that Charles would recall these moments.
There were many things Magnus admired about Charles. One of those things was his ability to keep his personal and professional lives separate. And Magnus soon found himself separated from all of Charles’ lives.
…
Magnus didn’t leave his apartment until he knew he could keep his sobs under control. Even if he could do so in the privacy of his truck, he couldn’t risk having someone see him. He listened to the Snakes N’ Barrels tracks blaring through the speakers as he drove. A long time ago, Charles burned a disc for him containing all of his favorite songs. Magnus never played it when he was alone, only saving it for when Charles was in the car with him. He wished he listened to it more, given Charles’ tastes more of a chance no matter how much some of them clashed with his own. Especially when Charles always listened to his music, no matter how strange, unwieldy, or avant-garde. Magnus wished he had done better by Charles in general, when he had the chance.
There was a bottle of deep amber Courvoisier in the passenger’s seat, protected from Magnus’ foolhardy driving by the seat belt wrapped tightly around the neck and base. Magnus felt like he had to bring something. Flowers felt too awkward, and cliche on top of that. He needed something that Charles would actually appreciate.
They were both young and at some house party that had gotten out of hand. Magnus was stashing some unused paper plates and cans of beer into his coat while he explained to Charles that it was customary to take things from rowdy house parties. Charles, in his adorably drunken state, interpreted this as permission to steal a bottle of top shelf brandy from one of the cabinets. Apparently he’d been eyeing it all night and Magnus basically gave him the go-ahead.
Ever since, a bottle of Courvoisier was something of an inside joke between them. Magnus would save up to buy him a bottle to tease him with. Charles would be embarrassed, but he liked the brand too much to turn it down. To Magnus, it was more than just a playful way to poke fun at him. He hoped it served as a reminder to Charles that he was capable of letting loose and doing something reckless.
Magnus also hoped that he could have one last drink with him.
The traffic leading up to Mordhaus was dense. Magnus unbuckled his seatbelt and kicked his legs up against the dashboard as he slumped in his seat. He didn’t want to make his presence known, but it was hard to resist the urge to start leaning on the horn and screaming out the window. Charles would have ducked his head under the window in shame, like he always did whenever Magnus exhibited road rage. Even when driving up to his own funeral, Charles would have been desperately trying to roll the window back up.
Magnus should have yelled something. Because who the fuck were the people in front of him? They weren’t attending the funeral of Charles Offdensen, they were attending the funeral of Dethklok’s manager. A bunch of vultures looking to grease elbows, network, or even just be seen at an event associated with the biggest entertainment act in the world. These people didn’t know Charles. If he wasn’t working for Dethklok, they wouldn’t have given him a second glance. They didn’t know him like Magnus did.
He placed a hand over his solar plexus to monitor his breathing until he was able to lull it into a level state, emphasizing on the exhale. Another trick his old therapist taught him, but he found that he wouldn’t do it unless he was lucid enough to remember, which rendered the technique essentially useless. He considered cracking open the bottle of brandy, but decided not to. It was a gift, after all. Also he was still driving, even if the traffic left him at a standstill.
As Magnus stared over the infinitely long line of vehicles snaking up towards the fortress, he wondered how many people would attend his own funeral. Not many, he imagined. Definitely not his family, didn’t have many friends, his dealer blocked him, even the grave digger wouldn’t want to stick around.
But he always liked to imagine that Charles would have showed up. For the longest time, that was the only way he imagined their reunion would occur.
The CD was already starting to loop again, and the traffic still hadn’t budged. Magnus glanced at the bottle of brandy, and sighed.
“Fuck it.”
He put the truck in park, yanked the bottle out from its confines, and kicked open the door.
As he trudged up the hill, he could feel the other people staring at him. Probably not out of recognition, thankfully. He wondered why more people didn’t think to do this first. Maybe the people taking the time to attend Charles’ funeral were classier than the average rabid Dethklok fan. Or maybe security would have wiped them out.
Shit. He wished he would have thought of that before he got out of the truck.
Magnus imagined what he must have looked like to the other funeral attendees. Some disheveled man in a cheap suit, trudging towards Mordhaus with a bottle of liquor in his hand. They must have thought that he was some drunken madman. Or worse: a fan of Dethklok.
Charles probably would have been able to find some amusement in seeing him like this, but Magnus liked to imagine that he would be at least a little flattered to see the lengths he was going to in order to attend his funeral. Magnus meant it when he promised he’d stick by him until the end. His mind wasn’t the one that changed.
His legs were aching, the bottle of brandy in his hand felt like it was made of iron, but he kept pushing forward. It was too late to turn back now. Magnus couldn’t even remember where he left his truck in the packed lines of traffic. He’d probably have to take a bus or a cab home. Considering Dethklok’s security let him leave alive, of course.
Magnus turned his attention from the honking cars and instead looked over the concrete wall lining the other side of the highway. With his height, he could just barely see over the top, which only allowed him a brief glimpse at the mountains stretching out towards the constantly-overcast sky. This was probably the same view Charles looked at every day, just from below. He remembered Charles’ old office and how sometimes he would take a short break from his work, just to glance out his window at the city below. It was one of the few sources of entertainment he allowed himself. After Dethklok, sometimes Magnus would find himself standing on that same street and looking up at the office building looming over him, and hoped that somewhere Charles was looking back.
He kept walking, his dedication and loyalty morphing into stubbornness. By the time the highway and lines of cars were behind him, Magnus had to collapse to his knees to catch his breath. He did it. Mordhaus was right there . There were people who would sell their newborn children to be where he was. But Magnus couldn’t care less about that. He needed to find the ceremony.
Magnus pressed his back flat against the jagged rocks at the base of the fortress and slowly crept his way forward. He could practically hear his heart pounding in his chest, which soon became the only thing he heard as the noise traffic faded into the distance. It was at that moment when Magnus realized,
“Huh. This idea was kind of stupid.”
The image of Charles rolling his eyes was so vivid in his head.
“What idea?” He would have said. “You walking alongside traffic, or you trespassing onto Mordhaus?”
“Shut up. Maybe if you sent me an invitation, I wouldn’t have to do this.”
He scampered up the rocks and used the additional height to launch himself over the outer gate. The moment he landed, he hissed and fell to the ground, his ankles and knees throbbing. He was probably going to feel the repercussions of this in his hips the next day too. At least the brandy was fine.
Magnus managed to push himself up, ignoring the stinging pain in his joints. He was standing in some kind of grassy field that definitely did not match the landscaping he saw from the highway. It felt like he entered another dimension where plants could grow and life could sustain itself. Even those craggy mountains were no longer visible.
The fields seemed to stretch out forever in all directions, only broken up by the occasional hill or tree. It reminded Magnus of a golf course. Charles tried to take him golfing once. Magnus would have loved to say that even though golf wasn’t for him, he was just happy to spend time with Charles. But no, that would be a lie. Even quality time with Charles wasn’t worth suffering through that inane chore of a game. If the only way Magnus could see Charles alive again had to be over an 18 hole game of golf… well Magnus wouldn’t say no, but it would require a lot of reflection on his part.
Magnus stared at the field, unsure in how he should proceed. Just running across the grass felt too easy. There was no way this place wasn’t dotted with landmines and tripwires. He kept his back pressed against the wall as he considered his options.
“Hey!”
Magnus felt his heart stop when a loud, gruff voice barked at him. A large, stocky man wearing a black hood over his head was running towards him, brandishing a pair of gardening shears. His movements didn’t seem to follow any specific pattern, so maybe Magnus was lucky and there weren’t landmines in the area.
Well, lucky as he could be when he was about to be impaled with a gardening tool.
“Hey, you!” He yelled again. “State your business!”
Magnus didn’t expect that he’d be given a chance to speak.
“I’m uh… here for...”
For Charles’ funeral. Even though he’d come all this way for this exact event, he knew he wouldn’t be able to say those words out loud without breaking down right there. He could already feel himself starting to choke.
“...the funeral.” He finished quickly, bowing his head to hide any traces of emotion creeping onto his face.
The hooded man lowered his shears, but before Magnus could let out a sigh of relief, he spoke again.
“Invitation.” A command, not a question.
Goddammit, Charles.
“I…” Magnus backed up further against the wall. The longer he went without speaking, the more he could feel the man’s patience waning. If he didn’t do something soon, it wouldn’t be long until he’d become intensely acquainted with those shears.
Magnus swung the bottle of brandy at the man’s head and slammed it hard against his temple, not hard enough to shatter the bottle, but enough to send him stumbling. He took advantage of his shaky balance by swiping his foot under his ankles and he fell backwards onto the grass. The gardening shears flew out of his hand in the commotion, and Magnus picked them up before the man could reach for them.
“The ceremony.” Magnus placed the sole of his boot on the man’s chest, pinning him to the ground while he pointed the shears at his throat. “Where is it?”
…
Okay, Magnus was definitely not going to be able to return this suit. Unless he could find a really good dry cleaning place that didn’t ask too many questions.
He was never told the location of the ceremony, but he did manage to take the man’s hood. Figured it would help him go unnoticed. If not, well, if Charles would have found humor in the idea of Magnus getting killed breaking in to his funeral, he would have found the idea of Magnus getting killed breaking in to his funeral, while dressed like one of his employees to be fuckin’ hilarious.
Magnus kept wandering through the fields, no longer caring if they were trapped or not. With nothing but the monotonous landscape around him, he was left with nothing but his rambling thoughts to occupy him.
What would Magnus have said to Charles if he knew he would be taken from him so soon? Would he have fought more to remain at his side? Would he have swallowed his pride during that one practice session? He knew he never could have prevented this. In the end, Charles having a job with this band is what led to his death, and there was nothing Magnus could have done to save him from the only thing he lived for.
Magnus must have been walking for a long time because he reached another wall, this one short enough for him to peer over. When he did so, he felt his body go cold.
He could see a crowd of people gathered near the moat that snaked around Mordhaus’ perimeter. Considering how insane the traffic was, Magnus was surprised to see that the crowd was fairly modest in size. The band was there, of course. Seeing them again, even from above, caused another shock to run up his spine. But what really caused his body to tremble was the sight of the casket. Charles’ casket. Beautiful, glossy wood positioned over a pyre. Closed. They wouldn’t even let him get another look at him.
From his vantage point, Magnus was given the perfect angle to stare directly down at Charles’ final resting place. He didn’t care about the crowd, the fortress, or even his old bandmates anymore. He just stared at the casket, and hoped that this is what Charles would have wanted. Maybe then, this would all be worth it.
The guilt grew stronger in his gut as he continued to watch. They were honoring a specific version of Charles at that ceremony. Not the Charles he knew. Not the Charles who would want him at this funeral.
What was he doing?
Who was this for, really?
Magnus finished the brandy alone in his apartment later that night.
It felt like a more fitting way to honor Charles.