Categories > Celebrities > Metallica > Epicene Part 1

The End Is The Beginning Is The End

by Cerilla 0 reviews

When Dave Mustaine was kicked out of Metallica, his life was going to change more than he could ever imagine.

Category: Metallica - Rating: R - Genres: Angst,Drama,Humor - Warnings: [V] [X] - Published: 2016-02-15 - Updated: 2016-02-28 - 1660 words - Complete

Author's notes: English is not my mother tongue and I have no beta reader. Sorry for any mistake.
Warning: Genderbending fic, full of crude language,some sex and some violence.

Dave Mustaine wheezed and twisted on the seats he had occupied in the back of the bus, cocooned in his blanket –well, the blanket he had stolen to an elderly man a couple of days before.
His head was dull and heavy, his body sweaty and hot and he was aching all over; Dave had been feeling like that since his first night on the road to California, a courtesy from his now much reviled ex bandmates (the one-way ticket, not the strange fever that was consuming both his mind and limbs).

No one of the other passengers had bothered to check on him; in fact, they all preferred to keep a dignified distance from the feverish guy and ignore him altogether; it was only at the end of the trip that someone –the bus driver– approached him.
“Hey kid,” he said, “we’re in L.A.” Dave didn’t budge. “We’ve arrived at the end of the line.” He insisted, shaking the guy hidden under the blanket. “You’ve got to get down now.”
Dave mumbled something unintelligible and emerged from his cocoon. Slowly, he tried to get on his feet, but fell back on his ass unceremoniously; the strange fever had passed, but he was very weak as he hadn’t eaten nor drunk anything during the whole trip. He groaned, collected his meagre possessions and tried to stand up again, this time more successfully, and finally managed to get off the bus.
The driver looked at him with his brow furrowed. That’s weird, he thought. I would have sworn…

Still unsteady, Dave sat down on a bench and closed his eyes. His mouth was dry and his stomach growled. He fished in his pockets for a few coins and stared at them. He could buy something to drink or he could call someone to come and get him. Nobody knew he was back in L.A. He wasn’t supposed to be back in L.A. He was supposed to be in New York with his band, preparing to record his first fucking album. But nope, no such thing. He had been kicked in the ass and put on a bus.

Fucking bullshit. He thought. But he was too feeble even to get angry, something that usually came to him with extreme ease and simplicity.
In the end, Dave opted for calling someone and walked to the closest payphone; he picked up the receiver and put in some coins. Who to call? His mother? One of his sisters? A friend? He decided that some maternal care was what he needed and phoned his mom.
“Hello?” His mother’s kind voice answered. It was so nice to hear it.
“Hi mom, it’s me. Listen, can you come and pick me up? I’m at…”
“I’m sorry, who are you? I’m afraid I don’t recognize your voice.”
“It’s Dave, ma, I’m…”
“Dave? What do you mean you’re Dave?”
“I’m your fucking son, mom.” He replied irritated. “Can you…”
“This is not funny.” His mother cut him off once again. “And not very clever either. Do you really think you can pass for a man?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Don’t use that language with me, young lady, and try to use your time for something more productive that prank calls.” She said before hanging up.

Dave was floored. “What the actual fucking shit was that?” He exclaimed.
He was about to spend the rest of his money to call a friend, when he stopped abruptly. Now that he wasn’t feeling so dizzy anymore, he could realize that something was wrong with him.
“I’m… I’m…” His voice cracked. Oh yeah, something was definitely wrong.
He covered his mouth with his right hand. His leather jacket was too big, his jeans too long, his shirt ill-fitted. He wriggled his toes. Even his shoes were too long. It was like he had shrunk, say, four inches or so and his body were deformed.
Dave moved his hand between his legs and grabbed his crotch. Nothing. He squeezed harder. Still nothing. His left hand was still on his now non-existent junk, while his right one went to his chest, clawing at a round lump that hadn’t been there before.

For a few seconds, he stood motionless, not daring to draw a breath. Then, a dreadful scream broke the air, attracting the attention of every person in the surroundings.
Dave was howling hysterically, like the victim of a gruesome crime. He pulled his hair, scratched his face, roamed his hands frantically on his body.
People around him were too terrified to react and just witnessed the disconcerting scene taking place in front of them. They saw a young woman dropping on her knees and screaming her lungs out, flailing her arms like a mad woman.
“Call the police.” Somebody finally said. “Or an ambulance.”
Two men flew at Dave to restrain him and try to calm him down. With his arms blocked, Dave stopped moving and breathed heavily. He didn’t hear a word of what the men were saying, he couldn’t even think straight. In the bat on an eye, Dave wriggled himself out of their grasp, grabbed his bag and ran away.

He didn’t know where he was going and he didn’t care; he just ran until his feet ached, stumbling multiple times because of his now too big shoes, until his body was sore and his throat parched, because he hadn’t had a drop of water in days. He dragged his feet around until he found a small park and collapsed into a bench. Dave caught his breath, and for couple of minutes he seemed to have calmed himself, but then he burst into tears, still too shocked for what had happened to him.
It was early in the morning when Dave had arrived in L.A., and now the sun was going down. Completely worn out, Dave took the stolen blanket out of his bag and fell asleep.

When the early morning sun hit his eyes, Dave woke up feeling not one bit more rested than the day before. He reached for his chest and found he still had breasts, but he had no time to dwell in that thought, not when every cell of his body was screaming for some food and water. He rose to his feet and dragged his ass to a public fountain. Dave guzzled down plenty of water, drinking until his belly was full and started aching.
Now that he had satisfied his most basic need, Dave could sit down and reflect about his situation. Apparently, he was a woman now. He beat down another panic attack and forced himself to think straight. I am a woman. He repeated to himself. IamawomanIamawomanIamawoman…
Dave shook his head. Focusing was apparently kind of hard, when you underwent an overnight sex change. About that… a fever cannot change your sex. There’s no virus that can do that, it’s scientifically impossible!
He went back to the day he had mounted on that damned bus and tried to remember any small detail, but nothing, absolutely nothing could justify what had happened to him. What was he to do, now? Should he go to the police? To the hospital? And say what? Nobody would believe his story, it was just too absurd. They would throw him into an asylum. Or, even more horrifying, they would believe him and conduct experiments on him. Keep him segregated. The freak show. He sweated nervously.

When his stomach growled, Dave was remembered that he had to eat too, but he was left with less than a dollar. And that brought up a multitude of other problems. He was poor, homeless, alone. Especially alone, since no one of his friends and family would recognize him. Oh, he could show them his documents, but would that prove anything? He was a girl, not Dave, those papers were worthless. Everybody would probably think he was a deranged, dangerous chick and call the police on him.
He was alone, and he was a nobody, a completely new being that wasn’t even supposed to exist, not even for the government. He was a nonperson.
He cried silently. This is one cruel joke.

His belly growled again. He was starving, but he had no food; he also needed shelter, but he had no home, and in order to find food and shelter he needed money, which he had none. That meant he had to find a job, but in order to find a job, he needed an identity, which he hadn’t anymore. He could try and get a fake ID and other documents, but then again, he needed money for those, and the vicious cycle started again.

Dave snickered. He could make a great outlaw, impossible to track down, out of every radar. He considered restarting his career as a pot dealer; it wasn’t ideal, but it could take him out of hot water. Certainly, he didn’t want to become a prostitute. He shivered. Unless there was a market for lesbian sex; he was great at foreplay –that was what lesbian sex was about, wasn’t it?– and could put his tongue in good use.
The pangs of hunger took him back to reality. Looks like for today I’m panhandling. He thought, moving to find a good spot.

Additional Notes: If you have problems picturing Dave as a lady, you can use as reference 'Roswell'-era Katherine Heigl. Pics "1": & "2": Except with Dave's hair, of course.
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