Disclaimer: I own none of the characters in this fan fiction, sadly. Only the plot is mine.
Chapter 1: We're Here
"I hear voices in my head,
They council me,
They understand,
They -" "SHUT UP!"
"Dude, the fuck is your problem?" A viper glare crept on the face of one Randy Orton, who turned his head slightly toward his annoyed passenger. He was having the time of his life, finally getting his mind off the miles of road ahead of them, only for it to be spoiled by belated bitching. John Cena, after using every bulging muscle in his arm to practically break the power button on the radio, thrust his face into Randy's with full intent of giving him a piece of his mind.
"Hm, let's see! We've been on the road for three hours straight, listenin' to you bump and holler your shit on full volume like you're at a damned concert! What the hell happened to sharing the radio?"
"Well," Randy informed, slowly, venom on his tongue, "after experiencing what you guys call music, I felt compelled to enlighten you all with real music. Besides, that crap you call rap can't even be put into the same category. If you want to listen to some guy talk about their lives, go join some therapy group session."
Cena growled low at the driver's tone, his meaty fingers curling into a tight fist. He promised his friends he'd tolerate Randy's presence on this trip, ignoring his snide remarks and brushing of his arrogant behavior were easy tasks, but the one thing he hated, most of all, was being taken for an idiot. "Oh, so your tastes are better than ours, huh? Alright then, bub, turn back on the radio. Listen to your shit. See what I'll do next!" He leaned out of his seat, too cool for a seatbelt, fist raised, "I DARE YA! TURN IT ON AND WATCH ME POUND YOUR FACE IN!"
"Oh my God! Matt, make it stop!" Jeff Hardy drawled, rubbing his pounding temples. He was so frustrated with how things were turning out, and they haven't even made it to the camp site yet! Was it so difficult to enjoy a calm, peaceful road trip with minimal conversations. Fuck, he may be crazy in his own right, but even he needed a little quiet. And what surprised Jeff the most was how little his brother was reacting to the mess in front of them. Throughout the whole ride Matthew Hardy had done little more than take out his Ipod, plug up his ears, and close his eyes. Presently, Matt had abandoned his Ipod - the ruckus around him proving too much of a distraction from his tunes - for staring out the window. Ignoring everything. Even Jeff. 'Probably still mad about my clothes,' the younger brother pouted, 'Seriously, what's the big deal? He should know that fishnets are killer on me. At least I brought a few tank-tops.'
Just as Jeff concluded, Matt was indeed mad. Well, more like totally ticked off. He should've known better than to believe Jeff had listened to him and not brought those clothes with him for the trip. Those vulgar fishnet tops and surprisingly alluring cargo pants, all added to Jeff's rockin' bod and sexy blue hair made for a dangerous package. And considering how a majority of the people on this trip were hot-blooded males, a big brother can only worry so much. The crazy Hardy was no twink, thank God for that, but he was nowhere near the level of a dom. Not bulging with muscle, but built like a ripped model. And he's sexy as hell! Not even the girls could compete with him! And this made Matt anxious. Alert. 'And stressed out.'
Anyone can easily point out what made these two so different from each other, personal tastes regardless. From birth the Hardy boys were like yin and yang; whereas little Matt inherited his mother's dark, lushly curled hair, baby Jeff popped out with his father's striking blonde. His green eyes made a forest for Matt's deep browns. Both are the same height and have the same parents (contrary to what most people believe), but that's where the similarities end. Although both have bodies built for wrestling, Matt's bigger, more muscular frame made him outshine his younger brother in most athletic activities. While Matt has no piercing whatsoever, Jeff has five, or so Matt's seen. One in each ear, one in his tongue, another in his bottom lip, and a belly pierce. However, considering how it's Jeff, it wouldn't be surprising if he did have another piercing. Matt learned to accept, and in some cases approve, all the striking traits that made his brother so different from society. 'All except those damned hooker uniforms he calls clothes,' Matt scrunched up his face in disgust.
The arguing in front escalated as Phil Brooks' cell phone screeched a Killswitch Engaged song, an incoming call from Maria, one of the few girls brave enough to come with them. In one quick move the phone was flipped open and on his ear, his free hand blocking out most of the noise inside the crowded Ferrari.
"Hey Maria. What's up?" His once friendly voice was now strained.
"Sit your ass down and put on your seatbelt, Cena! You're going to get me a fuckin' ticket!"
"Screw getting a ticket! We're FORTY-FIVE FUCKING MILES from the nearest city, damnit!"
"If you don't SHUT THE FUCK UP AND PUT ON YOUR SEATBELT, I'M STOPPING THE CAR!"
"Um, hey, guys? Can you please chill for a s-" "THEN GO AHEAD AND STOP THE FUCKING CAR, ORTON! IT'S NOT LIKE YOU KNOW HOW TO DRIVE IT ANYWAY!"
"Come on guys. Calm down. Jeff has a headac-" "YOU WANT ME TO KICK YOUR ASS SO MUCH? FINE! I'M PULLING OVER! YOU'D BETTER HOPE THOSE FAT MUSCLES AREN'T JUST FOR SHOW!"
"WHAT THE-" "WILL YOU ALL SHUT THE FUCK UP?"
Phil's red face was steely with agitation by the time everyone looked at him, a hand combing through his loose black hair. His cell was held in a shaking, bone-crushing grip, proof of his boiling anger. Everyone knew Phil as a laid back kind of guy, much preferring to laugh off a prank and join in than fuss over it. Therefore, having known him for years, the four friends with him were a little shocked by his outburst. His drawn, scowling face finally tipped Randy and John to shut their hung mouths entirely. The Hardy brothers were embracing the moment for all it was worth, holding in their thanks until Phil calmed down. Needless to say, the moment of peace was short-lived. Pocketing his phone back into his shorts, Phil pointed out toward the road ahead, where stationary cars were approaching fast. "We're here."