Chapter Text
Lucius opened his hand to watch the dirt fall from it and onto the coffin of lot #523-B of the local government-owned grave site. One could even call it a pottersfield. It wasn’t like he had much of a choice where his mother was buried. They were both dirt poor and it wasn’t like his after-school fry cook job would cover the cost of his funeral expenses. It barely covered the light bill half the time.
He stared blankly at the composite wood box that was getting further covered by the dirt. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know where to go. All he wanted to do was bury himself in his room and finger his guitar. But he had a suspicion that the foster home that he would most likely be going to wouldn’t offer him that type of privacy or solace. From the horror stories he had heard from some of his classmates, he would be lucky to even stay in one until he was 18.
His body continued to go on autopilot as he was packing the few possessions he planned on taking with him to meet the social worker. His favorite clothes, his CDs, his toothbrush, and of course the guitar in his case, and a picture of his mom, normal shit he was sure that he was never going to let go of, no matter what those pencil pushers at the government told him to leave behind before he could feel something shift in the floor.
Since when did that floorboard creak? He knew the place he and his mom rented from was a shit hole, but were the floors really rotting beneath their feet? He shifted his weight again and saw the other half of the floorboard move opposite to him. Putting down his stuff, he stepped on the board a third time and caught the other side before peering down the hole. Did his mom hide drugs in the crawlspace or something?
Now too invested in the mystery to ignore, he picked up what looked like a worn-down briefcase and what looked like an empty easter basket. It was weird, but at least it wasn’t meth or something…
Thankfully, the briefcase was so worn down that he didn’t need to figure out any locks. At first, it seemed to have normal papers in it. His birth certificate, boring but important stuff like that. But after shuffling the papers around a bit, he stared at a wad of hundred-dollar bills. Then another one.
In utter shock he dumped the money onto the floor beside him, avoiding the hole in the crawlspace, and stared at the amount. This was easily in the realm of a hundred thousand dollars. Why did she have this money sitting around when they were scraping by the whole time? Did his mom have connections or rob a bank?
He huffed in frustration. That wasn’t the woman who raised him. The woman who insisted that he would earn everything he got. She always made sure he got home on time to keep him away from the streets and often told him to watch his reputation. She wouldn’t rob a bank or associate with anyone else who did. So where did it all come from?
He looked over the papers he had also dumped for clues. He couldn’t wrap his head around it entirely, but he eventually came to the realization that it had something to do with a lawsuit. A paternity suit at that. This was settlement money. He looked over the clauses, trying to figure out who she settled with and why.
A fuzzy picture flashed in his head. Did he see this stuff before? He vaguely pictured the basket in a fresh state, stuffed with envelopes and a Hot Topic Gift card being handed to his mother. A red tie. He remembered a guy in a fancy suit and glasses with a red tie.
Getting back on his feet, he took a step back feeling cold sweat drip from his skin. Lucius tried desperately at that moment to remember to breathe, to not let the impact of that memory make him stagger for a few moments before giving in and falling back down on his knees.
A paternity settlement. He remembered watching that man using that word or something like it. How old was he then? 7? 8?
With renewed determination, he scoured the papers. He had to know. What in the hell was that fucking dildo talking about when they handed his mom that settlement.
He stared at the front page of the paperwork and scanned it until he was able to find the defendant of the suit.
Skwisgaar Skwigelf, represented by Dethklok incorporated.
Now dumping his backpack, he picked up one of the older Dethklok albums that he listened to pretty regularly. He stared intently at the blonde man on the cover. The long hair, the jawline, his build, and nose… then he looked at his own reflection that was staring back at him from the hard jewel case.
He didn’t know how long he sat there, staring at the reflection on the CD cover. But something bubbled up in him. A feeling so dark and uncompromising that it twisted his insides like barbed wire wrapped around his ever-beating heart.
He knew exactly what to do.
Fuck social services, fuck Dethklok, and fuck Skwisgaar Skwigelf.