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Chapter Text

Most residents of Rock ‘n Roll Heaven are privy to this part of their home, and most don’t mind it at all. There were always those overtly Catholic artists who were against it, even now that they were dead, but even they knew nothing could be done about it. This part of Heaven was a city exclusively made for metal musicians, from classic heavy metal, to brutal death metal. They didn’t all live there, but some of the ones that did would say they could not possibly live anywhere else.

The hero of today’s story, Ian Curtis, formerly of Joy Division, admittedly did not know shit about metal before his death. He knew Black Sabbath and Rainbow, but that was about it. Even so, it seemed he himself was well-known within the metal community. Not long ago, he was visited in his own home here by a man called Martin Eric Ain, who claimed that his former bands Hellhammer and Celtic Frost were greatly influenced by Ian’s work. Though Ian had been flattered by this, he had trouble understanding the connection.

Regardless, Ian had visited the metal community a few times, and found himself quite comfortable in it. He was a friendly face to most of them, and seemed to be more appreciated there than the punk community, oddly enough. So he decided to visit them today.

Passing through the metal horn-shaped gates, he was faced with the typical sight. Music played loudly from all corners; some people he couldn’t recognize played their instruments flawlessly in a corner, with a small, but very energized audience. Houses lined the streets like any other town, all decorated uniquely to suit whoever lived there. Some people spotted him and either called to him or waved, and Ian waved back meekly as he walked along.

He strolled aimlessly for a long while with his hands in his pockets, before finding himself in a large park. A band composed of people from different generations played on a makeshift stage in the back, and a small moshpit had formed on the grass before it. Ian noticed that the bassist was actually John Entwistle, and wondered what he was doing there. Visiting like him, maybe?

Three people conversing at a picnic bench apart from the show caught his eye. Ian recognized two of them- Ronnie James Dio and Cliff Burton from Metallica, but he couldn’t recognize the third guy. He was far away enough to not be able to hear what they were saying, but it seemed rather serious. He stood around for a moment, half watching the show and half trying not to eaves-drop. He glanced back over at them, and it seemed Cliff told a joke, and the other two laughed with him.

Moments later, they all stood up and said goodbye, before dispersing. The guy Ian didn’t recognize went to watch the show, and Dio idled a few feet away from the bench, watching the show from a distance. Cliff seemed to be in a hurry as he walked off, but he met eyes with Ian as he passed him. They had spoken to each other the past two times Ian visited, and Cliff was a fan of his.

“Oh, hey there, Ian!” The bassist grinned at Ian and reached to shake his hand. Ian took his hand with a silent smile. “How are you doing, man?”

“Ah, I’m really good,” Ian mumbled. It was the truth, but Ian still hadn’t recovered from his insecurity, despite being dead for a long-ass time. “How are you?”

“I’m great,” Cliff lilted. He didn’t sound very genuine, but Ian made no comment. He glanced over his shoulder at Dio, and Ian saw his face sink slightly, before he turned back to him. “Uh, if you came to talk to Ronnie,” he said, leaning his face closer to Ian’s. “He was telling Chuck and I about this weird forest place. He’ll definitely tell you about it if you ask.”

Ian guessed “Chuck” was the guy he couldn’t recognize. “I wasn’t planning on talking to him, honestly,” he replied, furrowing his eyebrows. “But… weird forest place?”

Cliff pursed his lips and glanced back at Dio for a split second. “I don’t have time to explain. You should ask him, actually. You might get more out of it.”

The statement and Cliff’s delivery of it slightly confused Ian, but Cliff shrugged and stepped off before he could respond. “Well, I gotta be off. I’ll see ya, man.”

And with that, the bassist walked off. Ian’s eyes trailed after him, and he wondered what his rush was. Not like he had a job or something.

Once Cliff was out of his sight, Ian turned his head back to Dio. The small, silk-clad man was still watching the show from where he was near the bench, but he had a somewhat noticeable nervous expression. Ian’s curiosity got the best of him, and he tottered awkwardly over to the man.

Dio seemed to hear Ian walking up when he came maybe two yards away from him. He turned to him, and Ian saw the singer’s eyes brighten with recognition. “Oh! Ian Curtis, yeah?” As he spoke, the tension in his face vanished. 

Someone being happy to see him made Ian smile involuntarily. They had never spoken one-to-one before, but they both knew each other, and Dio was very friendly. “Yeah, hello Dio,” he crooned. He realized seconds later that he had called him Dio instead of Ronnie, and wanted to kick himself.

Dio made the horns with his hands to Ian in greeting. “It’s nice to see you,” he said cordially.

“You too.” Ian’s smile faltered a bit. He saw Dio glance over his shoulder at the show again, and decided to be bold. “Who was that other bloke you were talking to?”

Dio tilted his head in surprise to Ian, but answered smoothly. “You mean Chuck? Chuck Schuldiner, from the band Death.” He smiled again. “Lovely fellow he is. You should meet him.”

Ian nodded in understanding, and opened his mouth to speak, when Dio went on suddenly- “You didn’t happen to hear what we were discussing, did you?” He wrapped a dark curl around his finger shyly, and Ian wondered what his problem was.

“Uh, no,” Ian admitted. “But Cliff told me, kind of. But he--”

Dio cut him off. “Oh, that Burton,” he muttered disdainfully. “I wouldn’t think him to be a gossiper.”

“Oh, he didn’t, he wasn’t,” Ian sputtered, sensing the conversation becoming awkward. “He just said that, um, you were talking about… S-some sort of forest?” He began to fidget with his hands, watching the older man’s face warily.

Dio then burst into laughter, which nearly knocked Ian off his feet. “I see, I see,” Dio chortled, covering his mouth with his hand. He met eyes with Ian again. “Were you interested? I’d be glad to tell you about it.”

Ian’s eyes shifted a bit, but he nodded curtly. “Y-yes, I was, actually.”

Dio clasped his hands together. “Wonderful. I think you’ll be interested in this.” He gestured to the bench and sat down at it. Ian followed him, taking a seat across from him silently.

Dio seemed excited, more-so than he did when talking to Cliff and Chuck. He spoke in a dramatic, story-teller voice, which Ian thought resembled his singing. “I was not aware of this until recently,” he began, leaning on his arms. “There’s a deep, dark forest on the very edge of Rock ‘n Roll Heaven. Few people have gone there, and it has very little life anyway. Chuck was telling us that he and one of his friends that lives in Jazz City traveled near there one time, on a dare, and they saw a huge plume of smoke coming from the middle of it.”

“Smoke?” Ian gasped. Now he was thinking the worst.

“Uh-huh.” Dio nodded, his face hardening. “They didn’t actually go into the forest, but the smoke was large enough that it reached their noses.”

“I didn’t even know forest fires were possible in Heaven,” Ian muttered, lifting his hand to chew at his nails.

Dio nodded, somewhat solemnly. “That’s why Chuck and Cliff think it might not be part of Heaven. Like, it may be some sort of strange purgatory area in the form of a dark forest, between Heaven and Hell.” (Get it?)

Ian’s lips hung open slightly. He was in disbelief, but had no reason not to believe Dio.

Dio lifted his head again, before reaching into his back pocket to pull out a folded piece of paper. He waved it in front of Ian for a moment. “Chuck and his friend did end up going back to the outside of the forest--” he spread the paper out on the table, revealing a carefully drawn map, “--and they created this map to it.”

Ian’s widened eyes scanned the paper for a few seconds. Without raising his eyes, he asked, “But they never went inside?”

“Never. And, you know, I can’t help but wonder what the interior is like,” Dio mused. Ian’s eyes found his face again. “They said it’s not even blocked off or anything. It’s just a forest, and you can’t see inside of it, because it’s so dark.”

Ian glanced back down at the map, then met eyes with Dio again. “Would you ever go there?”

Dio itched his chin briefly in thought. “Well, frankly, I’d be nervous,” he confessed, keeping eye contact with Ian. “I haven’t visited Hell yet, though I did plan to, and that likely isn’t very far from it. I don’t know if I would go by myself.” He folded his hands in front of him. “But at the same time, what would happen? Not like I could die again. Worse that could happen, I guess, is some demons steal my soul and drag me to Hell.”

A chill was sent down Ian’s spine. Dio was joking, probably, but Ian was imagining a terrible vision. He had not visited Hell either, though he’d always wanted to. He heard Sid and Nancy lived there, and Andy Warhol. But who could live in this burning forest?

Ian’s lips pursed and he looked back down at the map. It really was on the edge of Rock ‘n Roll Heaven, miles past the jazz city. He figured you could get there by car, but it would take a while. But, time barely existed here, so that really didn’t matter.

“Would you ever go?” Dio’s words broke Ian from his train of thought. They met eyes again. 

“Um… I…” Ian began to fidget again. “I don’t really know. Can I… Can I keep the map?”

Dio smiled inquisitively to Ian, as if he knew what he was thinking. “Of course. They have a few copies of it.” He folded the paper again and slid it over to Ian. “If you ever wanna go… Tell whoever’s there that I sent you."

Chapter Text

Two days had passed since Dio spoke to Ian about the forest on the edge of their home, and gave him a map to it. Ian assumed that, by giving him a hand-drawn map, Dio had expected him to walk there, or go by bike or something. But that was not the case.

Ian had caught the train that rode all the way through Rock ‘n Roll Heaven. It was actually called the Crazy Train, which is just a great joke. Ian had ridden it once before; he lived in Punk City and once traveled to Jazz City on the train, since it was too far for him to feel like walking to. Now, he was once again going to Jazz City, but he would get off at the edge of the city and begin the journey out to the forest this time.

And, he was by himself.

A pit of black dread hung deep in Ian’s stomach. He’d called Dio before he left, as a mutual friend had given him his number, and he had wished him luck, but Ian realized that he had no idea what to expect. If it was really a purgatory, he figured he would see people burning alive, repenting for their sins, embracing the Heaven or Hell they would be sent to. That itself sounded like a nightmare. He would rather just go to Hell than see that.

But if it wasn’t, then what was it? What if no one actually lived there at all? What if it was really just a dark forest, and it looked scary because no one had gone in it? That was obviously preferable, but how likely was it? Not only had there been a fire, according to Chuck and his mate, but no one had ever talked about the forest before this.

Ian’s hands were sweating so much that his office pants were damp. He stared out of the window, watching the huge brown buildings of Jazz City pass by. It was really a beautiful town; he had only visited once, with Annik, for sight-seeing. He would have to come back after this, but wondered if he would be too shaken by this experience to do so.

For now, Ian had to hold his breath. He glanced around the train. His immediate surroundings were filled with happy people, musicians and their families, most of which Ian didn’t know, and likely didn’t know him. He wondered how many of them were aware of the forest, if any were at all. It’s not like it would be a public attraction. Or maybe it would?

Before Ian knew it, the train stopped. Ian felt his heart begin to pound against his chest as he exited the train. Walking out of the railway station, he held the map firmly in his hands. It seemed like it was maybe 4 miles out of the city, and he would have to walk all that way. With a long sigh, he began his trek.

He walked damn-near silently out of the city. He glanced about every once in a while, and saw some people he didn’t recognize hiking along the trails. They were going in the same general direction as him, but just from their demeanor, he assumed they weren’t going to the same place. These people were happy, having an outing with their friends.

Whereas, Ian was on his way to Hell, possibly.

Ian saw the sun begin to set as he walked through the terrain. There were no clocks in Heaven, so the only way to tell time was through the sun. He regretted not leaving earlier in the morning, because it would probably be dark when he reached the forest.

But then… The forest would be dark anyway. So why did it matter?

Ian felt as if he had jump-cut through life. When he focused again, he was before the forest. His jaw hung open as he trailed his eyes along the trees. Dark birch trees that could not be seen through. He looked up, past the treetops. He couldn’t see or smell any smoke, and he was closer than he assumed Chuck and his mate had been before, so now he began to question their story.

Ian swallowed hard and walked a couple meters closer to the trees. It was then when he began to hear voices. There was no way he could understand what was being said, but it was definitely voices. He was actually frozen in place. He was glad he went to the toilet before getting on the train, or he may’ve pissed himself. If anything, Ian felt no holy presence here, but not exactly any evil.

Suddenly, he smacked himself across the face. Get it together, mate, he said internally. You chose to come here. And you’re not a pussy. He blinked twice.

Yes. Definitely not a pussy.

With a strange, new found confidence, he began to speed walk into the trees. The voices became louder gradually, though still indiscernible, and Ian had to walk more carefully over the vines to keep his footing. He was keeping his breathing as quiet as possible, but still felt like he was being louder than ever. As he came closer to the voices, he heard an acoustic guitar begin to be played, and later a drummer started playing along.

Now this was odd. It sounded like they were playing some western, folk-type music, which is like, the least intimidating music ever. The guitar was being played finger-style. Other people, no more than three, were cheering and laughing. It seemed almost tribal. Someone began to sing along, and Ian felt like he recognized the voice. This threw Ian off a bit, but he was very close now. It was also getting really dark now.

When he figured he was meters away from the music, he peered through the trees. He couldn’t see anyone, so decided he would come closer, when suddenly, his right leg got stuck in a small shrub. He inhaled sharply as he tripped and fell onto his knees… making a loud, unmistakable sound.

The worst thing that could have happened, just happened. The music stopped as soon as he hit the ground. Ian covered his mouth in terror, and freed his leg as quickly and quietly as possible. But the music had stopped, and those people for sure knew he was there. He closed his eyes tight, and began to hear footsteps coming toward him.

He had never felt like he was being hunted before, but that was the best way to describe this. He opened his eyes suddenly, and right as he did, the bushes before him opened. He saw a shock of long blonde hair, and a face. It was a man, one he couldn’t recognize.

The man showed his teeth and let out a hiss at him, like some sort of vampire, and Ian screamed in fear. He began to scramble backwards, expecting the man to follow him, but instead, the blonde figure began to cackle with delight.

“Kurt!” The figure turned his head to call out behind him. “Kurt! Come look! We have a visitor!” Ian heard that he had a Scandinavian accent.

Wait, did he say Kurt? Like, Kurt Cobain? That wouldn’t make sense. He’d met Kurt Cobain before, when he came to visit Punk City. He lived with the other members of the 27 Club. What was he doing in this forest?

The bushes opened fully, and a man stepped out. From where Ian was sitting, he couldn’t see his face.

“Where?” That one word sounded far too familiar. That was definitely the voice of Kurt Cobain.

“In here.” The first blonde man leaned back down to Ian and reached out an arm to him. “Come on out, you. Come meet the fellows!”

It didn’t even register for a moment that the man with the (possibly) Swedish accent was offering to bring him out to see his friends. He looked at the man’s hand as it reached out to him.

“Come on!” The man shook his hand impatiently in front of Ian’s face. “Just take my hand. You won’t regret it.”

Ian felt nauseous all of a sudden, but he complied. He grasped the man’s hand and saw him grimace in disgust, likely at the dampness of his hand. He stood up with the man’s help and was led through the bushes, where he saw the familiar face of Kurt in the darkness.

Kurt himself seemed surprised to see him. He grinned and stepped closer to them. “Oh shit, it’s Ian Curtis,” he beamed. “Didn’t expect to see you here!”

The Swedish man turned his head to Kurt. “Wait, you know each other?”

“Yeah, kind of,” Kurt shrugged. “We’ve talked a few times.” He knocked Ian’s shoulder with his hand, making him jump, before he looked back to the Swedish man. “Actually, he’s a brother of ours in a way, ‘cause he killed himself too.”

“Really?” The Swedish man looked back to Ian, scanning him up and down with pale blue, soulless looking eyes.

“Yeah, in a different way, though.” Kurt waved a hand in front of Ian’s face, who seemed almost catatonic. “You okay there, man?”

The two stared at Ian, as if he was the problem here. Ian fisted his eyes and came back to consciousness. He blinked between the two blonde men, before opening his mouth and attempting to speak.

He got nothing more than a wheeze out. He saw the Swedish man scowl, before reaching into the pocket of his strange, cut-up pants. He then pulled out some sort of dead animal, and chucked it straight at Ian, who stumbled out of the way with a strangled gasp. He looked down and was astonished to see it was a real dead crow.

“Ugh, you can’t even handle that?” The Swedish man rolled his eyes and picked up the bird. Kurt began laughing behind him. “Just say something. What do you think we’re gonna do, kill you?”

Ian let out a shaky breath, before his vocal chords decided to work again. “K-Kurt,” he rasped. “What are you doing here?”

Kurt cocked his head slightly. “I was gonna ask you the same thing.”

“Do you, like… D-do you live here?” Ian began to scratch his arm in fear, but he was able to speak again.

“I don’t, I just visit a lot.” As Kurt responded, the Swedish man stepped beside him. Kurt finally introduced him. “This is Pelle. He’s the one that lives here.”

“I’m Pelle the Corpse,” the Swedish man hissed, putting his hands up and making a clawing motion. “But you can call me Dead.”

Kurt chuckled, and Dead did as well. “We’re friends, and pretty close ones,” Kurt said, putting his arm around Dead’s shoulders. “So I visit him pretty often. But no, I don’t live here.”

Dead softened his eyes and looked into Kurt’s. “You know, you can live here if you want,” he muttered. “I’ve got lots of space in my den.”

Kurt laughed out loud, which seemed to downcast Dead a bit. “I’m sorry buddy, but I have duties at the 27 House.” He met eyes with Ian again. “So. Have you come to visit Pelle?”

Ian shook his head and realized his heartbeat was slowing, finally. “I, um… I just-- I came to see what was, what was in the f-forest.” His voice still came out in strangled breaths, but was able to be understood.

“Well, it’s just us,” Kurt said as he took his arm away from Dead. He looked like he had more to say, but was cut off when two men stepped out of the trees. One of them was holding a lantern that led their way. Kurt and Dead turned to them.

“What’s going on here?” the one not holding the lantern demanded, looking between all three of them. All of a sudden, his eyes widened when he looked at Ian. “Sweet Satan,” he gasped. “Ian Curtis! Is that really you?”

Ian, mouth-agape, realized who the large, red-headed man that was so shocked to see him was. Ginger Baker was right in front of him. Ian had been sure that Ginger Baker would’ve gone to Hell, considering what kind of person he had been. And here he was, in the forest with Dead. He couldn’t recognize the other man. He was a bit shorter than Ginger, had fluffy brown hair, doey blue eyes, and wore a sweater with a dress jacket.

A few seconds passed with everyone staring at each other, not saying anything, when the man Ian couldn’t recognize decided to ask- “Who?”

His voice was very soft, even though he had only said one word, and he had something of a southwestern midlands accent. Ian still couldn’t remember who he was.

Ginger met eyes with the unrecognizable man. “Remember that song I showed you, uh…” His voice trailed off slightly as he replied, but quickly snapped back, “Love Will Tear Us Apart?” When the man nodded, Ginger pointed to Ian and said, “He’s the one that sang that!”

The brown-haired man looked back to Ian curiously, before his eyes brightened with recognition. “Ohhh,” he breathed. “I see. Pleasure to meet you.” He bowed, quite awkwardly, lantern still in hand. “You are, er, were, um, very talented.”

“Am I the only one that doesn’t fucking know him?” Dead sounded a little angry. Everyone turned to him.

“It’s alright,” Kurt said, smiling comfortingly to his Swedish friend. “I’m sure he doesn’t know you either.”

Ian shuffled on his feet, still scratching his arm. He felt Dead glaring at him, and tried not to look at his face. At least it wasn’t dark anymore, as the lantern lit up the entire area they were in. He figured the drumming he had heard earlier had been Ginger. But who had been singing and playing guitar?

He finally mustered up the courage to speak to the brown-haired man. “Who… Who are you?”

The man blinked at Ian. “Me?” Ian nodded, and the man seemed to blush slightly, as if he were embarrassed by the question. “I’m Nick Drake,” he muttered, dropping eye contact with Ian. “I live in a different part of the forest, not with Pelle.”

Nick Drake. Ian definitely knew that name. That’s why the guitar playing and singing had sounded familiar, because Ian had heard many Nick Drake songs before. He had never seen his face, however.

Ian eventually nodded to Nick. He met eyes with Ginger. “Do you... live here as well?”

Ginger shrugged. “Sort of,” he said, far too plainly. “I don’t really live anywhere. But I visit these two--” he waved a finger between Dead and Nick, “--and play music with them, very often.”

A sudden rage flared up inside of Ian. He had felt nothing but anxiety and fear until now, so this caught even him off guard. He spoke loudly, without thinking- “Who would live in a forest like this? This is an ungodly place. If more people knew this forest existed, they would have it destroyed.” He sharply pointed a finger to Nick Drake, who flinched and clutched the lantern to his chest. “You! You’re a good person. You shouldn’t have to live here.” He then snapped his head to Kurt, whose eyes were wide in surprise. “And it doesn’t make sense that you’re here. That you’re friends with this…” He sucked in a breath through his teeth as he glanced over at Dead. “With this vampire!”

Kurt seemed offended, almost hurt by Ian’s snapping. He frowned and put a hand on Dead’s shoulder. “What do you mean ‘it doesn’t make sense’? You don’t know who Pelle is. I do.” He looked up to Dead, who was red in the face with hate. “And, like, he’s not a vampire,” Kurt said, looking back to Ian. “Though he wishes he was.”

Ginger stepped closer to Ian, who met eyes with him. Nick cowered behind him, clearly shook up by the change of energy. “You know what we’re doing here, boy?” The drummer spoke firmly to Ian. “We’re here because we’re outcasts. Nick and Dead didn’t feel welcome anywhere else, so they came here. And Kurt and I visit them, because we feel the same. Do you understand?”

Ian’s lip quivered, not with fear, but with inexplicable rage. But he did understand. He would definitely rather someone like Dead living out here, or in Hell, than in Heaven. He exhaled, his hands hanging at his sides. His black hair was matted to his head from the sweat.

“And, we’re not the only ones,” he heard Ginger go on. “Lou Reed comes here every once in a while. Andy Warhol and some of his friends, too.”

Ian lifted his eyes slightly. “But… don’t both of them live in Hell?” His voice came out as a whisper.

“Yep. And they visit here, for the same reason as I.”

“You don’t have to be afraid, honestly,” Ian heard Kurt say. “It’s not like this is actually a bad place. We make music here.” He turned his head to Nick, who was still standing, shaking behind Ginger. “Hey, how about you show him?”

“Sh-show him?” Nick scratched his face nervously, staring at the ground beside him. “I mean, I guess…”

Kurt smiled at Nick reassuringly, before turning back to Ian, who was still breathless. “This is a good place, I swear,” he asserted. “You should visit more often.”