TITLE: Wings In StoneAUTHOR: sadness1986 PAIRING: Matt/ Jeff Hardy RATING: NC-17 WARNING: angst, incest, mental and physical cruelty, non consensual sex SUMMARY: Are you asleep? Am I awake? Are we a dream? The world and I?
NOTES: Lyrics by Dornenreich.
Schlaefst Du? Wache Ich? Sind wir Traum? Welt und Ich?
[English translation]
Are you asleep?
Am I awake?
Are we a dream?
The world and I?
It was past midnight as the morphine died out in his blood. Pain came back, rolling in steady waves from his spine, rippling through every vertebra on its way, jarring them so ever slightly, licking at them ever so softly and cruelly like the very tips of a wave on a stony beach touching round marble like stones. The draw back was worse, taking parts of him with it on its way back to its origin, ending with a sharp ripping feeling, that made him arch and tense despite better knowledge and he muffled a scream in the crisp, damp cotton of his pillow.
He lay on his back trying to catch his breath, blinking rapidly at the moving shadows on the wide expanse of the night-grey white of the ceiling. It wasn't even, soft curves, barely recognisable. He wouldn't have recognised them, if he weren't staring at them since weeks.
Unbelievingly his hands gripped and groped for his thighs, checking if his legs were still there, again and again, panicked first, then it became a nervous agonised urge. Still there, still so solid and soft flesh, still a useless dead weight.
He bit down on lip and struggled to sit up. His arms were still strong enough to haul him upright. Pain fired through his body, but he fought it back, out of consciousness for a while like he did all his life.
With a harsh motion he ripped the thin blanket from his form and stared at the thinning foreign shapes of his legs. His strong hands looked so out of place on the pale skin exposed by the fabric of his hospital gown, that had ridden up past his hips.
Then he stared at his crotch and reminded himself to thank god, that he still had some control over his bowels, even if he didn't feel much past his navel.
He stared at the button for a long time. Then he set his mind, covered himself with blanket again and lay back down like good little boy with hands resting over the white fabric, took a deep breath and pressed it.
The nurse would come soon, he waited patiently for her light footsteps. Maybe she would have a good day and smile at him, talk a little, switch the light on, chase the mocking shadows away and her warm presence would take the chill of the night away for a couple of minutes. The she would give him some oblivion in a syringe. Her nimble cool fingers would touch his skin and he would deny, that he craved that more then the morphine and try his best to hold still, not to lean into the small comfort.
He had always been a very physical being, very easy with sharing affection and expression it with touches and kisses.
Hoping, that she would come soon, he tried to ignore the shadow in the far corner of the room, that reminded him so much of his little brother standing on the second rope on the turn-buckle and posing for the crowd.
Morning came with familiar sounds and scents. A weed-eater and the strong odour of cut grass, green and fresh. For a moment everything was alright, he was back home, in his own bed, Itchweeed in his front yard. He was a little concerned though. It was so early still, maybe Jeff couldn't sleep last night, he should get up and look for his little brother.
Determined he rolled over and fell out of his bed.
He stared blankly at the grey smooth floor, stared under the bed, where no trace of dust was curling in the dark, everything so sterile and memory rushed back to him, hit him like a train at full speed and knocked the breath out of him.
Jeff...
His timing had been so cruel. When he burst into the hotel room, shoving vultures with cameras out of the way, when he rushed to the side of sibling sprawled on the sheets, still in his ring attire, he witnessed the last violent fight of his battered body, the cramping from head to toe, saw him convulse for one last time and when the lights went out in his eyes, they were focused on him with the same expression, that always made him feel so fucking weak and he wanted to do, what he always did, take him in his arms and whisper to the colourful strands, stirring them with his breath, that everything is gonna be alright, everything is gonna be alright, everything is gonna be alright.
And the thunder and lightning of a dozen of greedy fingers pressing little buttons and the roaring whispers of 'I told you..' and 'I knew...' made him so fucking furious. They knew nothing about pain, about agony, about sleep deprivation, of slavery to something so cruel, he leaned down and closed those eyes full of terror gently with the tips of his trembling fingers and try to avoid the drying tears. He wiped the pink foam from those lips with the sleeve of his shirt, white mixed with blood, his blood, their blood and leaned down for the last kiss, brave and gentle, showing the world, what they never meant to see, what had stayed behind closed doors for almost two decades, what existed just in whispers behind their backs, what was quickly denied with a joke or a smile.
Now out wide open.
The lightning increased its force. He turned around to face it. Now that it was tangible, he struck out, like he did all his life, when something meant to harm his beloved brother.
It would cost him a fortune, but he didn't care.
It had cost him his sanity, his health and his freedom.
He groaned and wished for a thousandth time, that he would have been there just five minutes earlier, wished, that he could have hold him, comforting him, not leaving him alone with those doctors and those fucking vultures, who sold the pictures and videos, that mocked him from every fucking front page and every fucking news flash...
Two male nurses entered the room to see, what the racket was all about. They found him there on the floor, helpless and crying.
An sedative injection and some unceremonious hauling later and his once 230 something frame was strapped onto his bed, face down.
Through the blurring shapes of white and green, he heard them curse at this 'stubbornness' and his 'misbehaviour' as the ripped the fastenings of his hospital gown open. His hands weakly curled into fists and he tried to wriggle out of the bindings securing his wrists. So soft, not to leave a mark, but so strong and tight enough to keep him trapped.
The didn't bother to bind his ankles, though, it was pointless.
He stared out of the window, out to the green, fuzzy shapes of the trees and the tiny little bird, that flew past the panes of security glass, that separated him from the world outside, he stared at the large brick wall and tried to remember, what lay behind it, but failed as he felt hot breath on his neck, carrying the scent of coffee and an unpleasant dampness onto his skin. Rough fingers, five of them and a large palm between his shoulder blades, pressing him down, as if he was able to escape, as if he actually still was a threat. Trapped in this useless, crippled, rapidly thinning body, he was not dangerous, not at all, he wished the weight on his back away, he could barely breathe and now he was grateful, that he didn't feel anything below his waist.
He heard the insults, though, hissed directly into his right ear. 'Incestuous cock slut' and whatever. Couldn't deny the truth of some of them, but he would have found better words for the sins, he had committed. They accused him of things, he had never done or even thought of, not with Jeff. Who could have such thought with somebody like Jeff? He was so sweet and gentle and radiant and pure.
By the time the second one took his turn, geared with a condom and a large amount of this ultrasonic gel for not to leave traces, he slowly drifted away, the obscenely slick sounds of penetration and the barely contained groans and growls didn't reach him any more.
Everything was just fuzzy cotton white and smelled of antiseptic.
Between the harsh folds of his pillow case was his hiding place, that's where he had stacked his memories, that were more real than his life now or what was left of it.
He stared blindly at the fabric and found just this perfect smile of his brother and the scent of pine trees and dirt and rain and traces of acrylic paint on gentle hands...
Since he chose to jump out of the window of this dreaded hotel room and his body had to refused to let him go, had chosen to go on, shattered and crippled and he had fucking laughed as he had recognised, that he landed on the fucking roof of his own fucking hastily parked Corvette, had laughed at the candy orange, had laughed at the fucking irony, laughed his own fucking life again.
He simply didn't care any more.
Let them do to his body, whatever they want. Let them talk and hiss and scream whatever they want. They can't break, what is already dead, gone.
Afterlife, he learned, is a place, where memory remains, a refuge for his broken mind, but it will gone as soon as he will stop breathing. So he holds on, stubborn as ever, refusing to give in. As long as there are Itchweeed and Jeff and Willow, he will not die and they won't either.
Fluegel In Fels Rege mich in dunklem Berg,
Fuehle Fluegel selbst in Fels Breite Schwingen tief in Stein,
der weckt in mir den Traum vom Flug
Ich falle bis zum Fluegelschlag
So oft scheinen Schwingen schwach
Und doch sind sie es, die mich frei'n Gleitend trau' ich wohl den Lueften,
Gespannt und zugleich hingegeben,
Bringen mich zu neuen Landen einzig meine Fluegelschlaege?
Fluegel gebrochen - Tiefer geheilt
Jetzt bin ich in allem
[English translation]
[Wings In Stone]
Stirring me in dark mountain
Feeling wings even in rock
Spreading wings deep in stone
To wake the dream within me
A dream of flying
I am falling to the stroke of wings
Wings seem weak so very often
And yet it's them that free me
Gliding, I might trust the breezes
Tense and given all at once
Will only my strokes of wings bring me to pastures new?
Wings broken - healed deeper Now I am within everything