It happens so quickly. Another failed Fade to Black, another choking sense of gravity failing him, and then harsh impacts with the mat again, and again, and again. Even the trainers and the referees aren't sure what to do for Aleister Black as he sprawls over the announcer's table, motionless and not even blinking as he stares up blankly. They eventually, gingerly, ease him off of the table onto a stretcher, but he panics, despite being unresponsive verbally. Flails out, catches one of them in the jaw, and then scrambles off of the stretcher before they can strap him in, and stumbles around the table, along the side of the ramp towards the back.
They follow him, unable to do anything but guide him, make sure he doesn't run into anything and hurt himself worse. When he makes it to the back, he leans against the wall and stares blankly ahead, breathing roughly. "Aleister, you have to talk to us," the lead trainer says, shining a flashlight in his eyes, hoping for some response, but there's nothing there- he's as lost as he was before they put him on the stretcher. The fight that had been there seems to be gone now, leaving just a shell behind. They ignore the whispering wrestlers passing this way and that, focused on the man before them, when they hear footsteps stop, then shuffle right up to them.
Almost sensing trouble on the horizon, the referees turn to look upon the ridiculous form of Velveteen Dream, bright head-scarf, mostly unbuttoned shirt, shimmy pants and all, staring back at them, his lips twisted thoughtfully. "Dream, leave him alone," Drake Wuertz warns him, but he ignores the man, brushing past all of them gracefully and staring down at Aleister, quirking an eyebrow thoughtfully.
He hums under his breath, reaching out towards Aleister's face. The referees tense up, ready to jump in and stop him, but Dream ignores this as well, his touch careful, almost gentle as he cups Aleister's jaw and stretches his fingers out over his cheeks. "He did a number on you, hm?" he murmurs, exhaling slowly as he bows his head close to Aleister's, searching his lifeless eyes. The referees are frozen, watching in disbelief, as purple haze brushes out of Dream's finger tips, teasing over Aleister's pale skin.
A minute, an hour, a lifetime, no one's sure how much time has passed exactly when Aleister gasps, awareness returning to his eyes abruptly. He stares up at Dream, speechless, when the man slowly pulls away. Adjusts his shirt as calmly as if nothing special has happened before turning on his heel and making his way back through the referees as easily as he'd come. They all gape after him before turning back to Aleister. The trainer is the first to finally speak, move. "Come on, let's get you checked out," he says, reaching out to guide a subdued Aleister through the halls to the rooms set aside for injured competitors.
As Aleister sits on the cot and waits for the trainer to collect his things, he shivers a little, thinking about before, where he was when Dream interceded. Not exactly something Lars cultivated on his own, but a world of darkness that's all Aleister's- where the doubt and the fears and the self-loathing own him. When his certainty shattered due to Lars constantly being one step ahead of him had led him down, down, down into the void of his own mind where he's meaningless, where nothing he does matters, where all of the titles in the world won't be enough to fix him in the end...
He had been drowning in it, lost with no easy way out, when he'd felt a cool comfort, soft purple wisps overwhelming the darkness around him, a small spot of beauty in so much gloom. Dream's voice had startled him, but he'd listened anyway, confused and uncertain why his harshest rival would be here. He did a number on you, hm?
Why are you here? Aleister asks, still staring. Uncertain if this is Dream just here to belittle him, or to somehow trap him even deeper in his own weaknesses, or what.
To get you out of here, of course, Dream says smoothly. What good would it be if I won the title and it wasn't you I was defeating? Aleister says nothing in response and more of the purple brushes forward, as if searching for him. When Aleister feels it against him, he hisses out a breath and Dream sighs, as if he can read him that easily. Are you here because Lars got the drop on you the last two times? Please, Aleister. You're not the type to give up. You didn't give up against me, nor Cien Almas, so why would you give up against someone like Lars Sullivan?
You don't understand, Aleister mutters.
I don't understand. Dream's laugh is a little bitter. Come on, man. I understand better than most, probably. You forget how well I know you by now. He exhales, the purple haze growing thicker the longer they wait here, Aleister intrigued by how it overcomes the darkness so easily.
He's stronger than I am, I can't- I just-
You can. You will. Just like you did against Almas even after he dumped you in a cooler of ice water and left you in the middle of the ring, embarrassed and beaten. I know you. You're not going to let this fall apart just when you finally have what you've always wanted. Now what are you going to do to get out of this place?
Aleister remains in this hellhole for only a moment longer, stewing over Dream's words, before accepting Dream's words, his belief in Aleister. Feels awareness coming back to him, the sensation of Dream's fingers gripping his face, and the intensity that greets him as he stares into Aleister's eyes, dragging him back to reality. Thank you.
-x
AJ had taken some time off at his first chance- after Backlash had seemed as good a time as any, Shane was still taking it easy after his surgery, or claimed to be, anyway, so AJ had decided this was a good time to ensure he wasn't just making empty promises, that he was actually resting when he was supposed to, and not overdoing it otherwise. Neither of them like to relax, both antsy and uncomfortable the first couple of days as they try to make it work- doing nothing but hanging around the New York penthouse that Shane lives in. He's healing nicely, the doctor pleased with his progress, but he's definitely not up for the strenuous traveling that WWE requires, so leaving everything in Paige's hands is still necessary, even though AJ can tell Shane's itching to get back to it.
"In time," AJ tells him calmly. "You'll be back doing what you love before you know it."
"Hopefully by Summerslam," he mumbles, absently rubbing at his stomach until AJ grips his hand and stops him, not wanting him to aggravate the scars there.
"Relax," he says. Then laughs. "C'mon, Shane, you expect me to believe you're gonna be a good lil McMahon and not do something ridiculous in the next couple of months?"
Shane huffs. "I'm always a good little McMahon."
"Oh come on!" AJ rolls his eyes at him. "Ya jump off cages, get thrown through announcers tables, and ya tell me that with a straight face? I'm officially involved with a lunatic."
Shane makes a face. "Ambrose? Do I need to send someone after him, 'cause I will-"
AJ groans, stopping short of instinctively swatting Shane, not wanting to cause him more pain. "Oh please. Ambrose ain't my type at all. Seth can keep 'im. Nah, for whatever reason, I tend towards ridiculous, immature sons of billionaires who think they can do whatever they want with their bodies and not pay for it in the slightest until they go on vacation and end up in a hospital in another country with a bunch of infections and nonsense going on, and almost give me a heart attack."
"Immature," Shane repeats, lips quirking up. "That almost stings worse than surgery." He grips AJ's hand where it'd frozen awkwardly after he'd stopped short of hitting him and squeezes it. "I've told you before I'm sorry for scaring you, and I'm saying it again, but I'm gonna be fine. Had the best doctors, and the surgery went really well. Hell, I was up on my feet within a few days, I just need a little more time before I'm cleared for travel. So yes, I will be a good little McMahon and follow the doctor's orders. Your orders," he promises, lifting AJ's hand and pressing a teasing kiss to his knuckles. "Alright?"
"Fine. Ya better. I have enough to deal with due to Nakamura than also havin' to worry about what nonsense you're gettin' yourself into all the time," AJ mumbles, brushing his fingers through Shane's hair, making his eyes flutter. "Get some sleep. I ain't going anywhere." He settles closer to Shane and smirks as he falls asleep, still holding onto AJ's hand. "Ya just had to make sure of that, huh?" he asks, leaning back against the pillows and thinking about all that's ahead- his last man standing match with Nakamura at the forefront. I'll win. And I'll keep winnin' until he goes away. It's the only thing to do that makes sense, he decides, turning to watch Shane sleep, his lips twitching upwards at how peaceful he looks.
-x
Tommaso has a very obsessive personality. He'll be the first to tell you so. Gets fixated on a point and revisits it over and over and over again until his eyes are imprinted with the moment and all he can see, all he can hear, is then. So of course, in the weeks between Gargano splitting his head open in over half a dozen places on the titantron, he replays it again and again. What was a blur to him becomes crystal clear. The blank look of rage on Johnny's face, the pure agony on his own as Johnny hovers over him, towels drenched full of his blood, and how more pours out of his wounds as Johnny locks in his submission and leaves Tommaso tapping desperately, just needing it to end, his vision obscured with red.
He hears it in his waking hours, he sees it in his dreams. It doesn't matter if he watches it or not anymore. There's more lost in the madness, WWE's editing stripping moments of his pain, his agony, away like it's inconsequential. Just like they did with his surgeries; not a mention was made of that until his return, until he made it be known just how bad his condition was at the time of his and Johnny's final match as a tag team. So he scours the internet, finds some pictures, one grainy video, and this fuels him for awhile longer- watches Johnny smear his blood over his face, licking it off of his hand like it's honey, and marvels for a moment at how low his wholesome, cheerful tag partner from a year ago has fallen. Ponders how they could've torn through the NXT tag division if he had just known this was lurking within the man and how easily it would be to bring it out in him.
This time, it's his fingers searching out the familiar number, his attention on the simple, vague voicemail message that is proceeded by a beep. "I've been watching us," he says slowly, the image of Johnny tasting his blood like some starved vampire filling the screen of his tablet. "You, how you enjoyed tearing me open as I bled so heavily that it stained the floor around the titantron crimson. Did it taste good when you licked your hand clean?" he wonders. "Do you sit around now, ignoring your pretty little wife while craving another taste?" His voice softens just a smidge. "How is Candice doing anyway, Johnny? You know you can't blame me for that. I was nothing but patient with her, even when she came into my place of work and slapped me. Didn't lay a hand on her." He sighs. "This was always between you and I. She was just in the wrong place, at the wrong time. You know I didn't mean to hurt her." The only you goes unsaid, but Ciampa figures, should Johnny bother listening to this, he'll hear it loud and clear anyway.
He sits quietly for a few seconds, eventually realizing the voicemail will probably cut him off soon if he doesn't say something else. "I suppose you can try to get another taste on Saturday," he says. "But I think you'll be surprised by the result. See you then." He hangs up, unaware.
Unaware that, in the days leading up to Chicago, when not strategizing, or at the gym, Johnny listens to the message repeatedly, gritting his teeth and ignoring all of his base instincts. How correct Tommaso is on most everything he's said in that 49 second message.
-x
The apartment is quiet. Dark. Cass rolls his eyes, venturing deeper inside until he can reach the light switch. He blinks against the sudden brightness before spotting Enzo, sprawled out on the couch, his face buried into the cushions, ridiculous clothing not having changed much despite his time away from WWE. Cass wanders around for awhile, putting his bag at the foot of their bed, changing into more comfortable clothes, before sitting at Enzo's feet and lightly resting a hand on his ankle, thinking.
He has a rematch against Daniel Bryan which will hopefully go easier than his first. PPVs without Enzo feels weird, and he's fairly sure that's why he'd failed so quickly at the first, that disconnect without Enzo's presence. But Enzo is keeping busy, between his rapping and various clothing ventures he's trying out. Cass is unsure how stable everything will be for him in the long run, but Enzo's the type to throw everything he is into whatever he's interested in, so Cass tries to accept it, encourage him when he may need it. He sighs and squeezes Enzo's ankle, hearing him stir and mumble under his breath.
"Nnn, that better be you, Cass," he mumbles, "or I guess I gotta kick someone in the face."
Cass chuckles and rubs his hand further up Enzo's ankle, listening to him sigh and reluctantly pull away from the couch, squinting over at him. "G'mornin', sunshine," he says cheerfully.
"Morning," he groans, adjusting himself and pressing his feet into Cass' abs. "What time is it?"
"About 2 PM." Cass laughs at the surprise on Enzo's face, before gentling when he gets a good look at just how exhausted he really seems, eyes bloodshot and dazed. "Long night, huh?"
"Ugh," he grunts, dropping down against the couch. "I keep tryin' to perfect this one rhyme and it just ain't flowin' like I want it to..."
"How many things can you rhyme to G anyway?" Cass cracks, barely flinching when Enzo digs his toes into his stomach, aware that he deserves that.
"Not fair," Enzo mumbles, flopping back down against the couch. "Made us a killin' as a tag team, all my rhymes'a G."
"That it did," Cass sighs, feeling almost guilty because without that, he probably wouldn't be where he is right now with the company. He watches Enzo for a few moments before remembering something, lighting up a bit. "Hey, I gotcha somethin', man." He leans over to where he'd put the item by the couch, watching Enzo's face closely as he hands over a souvenir cup that he'd snagged after spotting one at the latest tour he'd been on.
Enzo grimaces at it, searching the various faces on it- Joe, Ziggler, Nakamura, Owens, Becky, Sasha, Becky, Alexa- and looks up at Cass. "Why'd I want this piece'a crap? Geez bro, you tryin' to rub it in or somethin'?"
Cass waits until he takes a minute to breathe before gripping the cup and turning it around in Enzo's hand, realizing he's found it as soon as his eyes lock on the brim, his breath hitching a bit. "There ya go," he says with a faint smile.
"Ya mean they still sell this? Really?" There's a weird look on his face, like he's about to cry. "Huh, y'know, it's prolly the last bit of merch that I'll ever appear on for that company."
Cass nods, feeling another pang deep inside. "Yeah," he says quietly.
Enzo scrubs at his face with his free hand before releasing a shuddering breath. "And hey, we're together on it and everything." He forces a smile. "Still look good together, despite everything."
"Course we do," Cass says, nudging his foot lightly. "Always will."
"Even when we're old and scraggly, huh?" Enzo laughs, tapping his fingers against the cup.
"Definitely." Cass leans his head back against the couch and smirks at him, feeling things slowly slot back into place for him.
He feels like he's going to be alright this PPV. Daniel Bryan better watch out, he thinks, watching Enzo analyze the cup, lips twisted in a thoughtful pout, before Cass lightly pulls the cup out of his hand and tugs him over until he's half leaning in Cass' lap, kissing the sadness from his eyes. "We're gonna be alright," he repeats out loud for Enzo's benefit.
"Definitely," Enzo repeats, smirking and tugging Cass in for another kiss.
-x
Dean is rehabbing harder than ever at the Performance Center when he senses eyes on him, looking up and over from the machine currently sending pulses through his arm between sets of weights to get his strength back to where they want it. Frustrating, slow work, but Dean is trying to abide by it, not wanting to make things worse. Again. "Well," he rasps. "Look what the cat dragged in."
Seth rolls his eyes and shuffles over to him, yawning as he settles in on the bench next to him, picking at some of the weights, making a face at them. "Nice to see you too, Dean-o," he says, voice giving away just how exhausted he is.
"Hard life, being the champ, huh?" He nudges Seth lightly and Seth hums, squinting over at him. "So, no offense, good to see you and all, but why are you here? Thought you'd be on your way over to Illinois to prepare to kick Elias' ass."
"I was gonna go early, see my mom before MitB," he admits. "But I decided to come here instead. I see my mom a lot, it's been awhile since you and I actually got to sit and talk." Between Seth's schedule as Raw's most visible champion, and Dean's hard-paced rehab plan, they really haven't seen much of each other in the last few months, keeping up with each other via texts and video chats, not that Dean is great with either, but he does try, Seth has to hand it to him.
"I knew you missed this face," Dean smirks, motioning at his recently shaven face, his haircut making Seth itch to reach over and mess it all up.
But he's too tired for much of anything so he shrugs with a mirthless kind of smirk. "Well, I mean, yeah."
Dean blinks, not expecting that simple admission and reaches over, squeezing Seth's shoulder. "You alright? For real? This isn't like you, man. Dropping everything to come see me."
Seth sighs. "Everything's fine. Just... tense. Stressed. Missing you. I needed a minute or two to get my head back on straight." He looks back at Dean. "Everything's easier when I'm with you." Which is weird of him to say, because everything's always so raw and visceral between them, when it's good, when it's bad. But it's true. They know each other so well in and out of the ring, no matter how different they are, that Seth only feels at home in his own skin when Dean has his back or is at his side. "Sorry I interrupted your rehab."
"It's fine," Dean says, waving it off. "I have weeks left to go of this nonsense. Sometimes I need a minute or two too." He winks at Seth and smirks when he colors a little. "I've missed you too."
Seth exhales what seems like every ounce of oxygen held in his lungs before leaning over, resting his head on Dean's good shoulder. Dean reaches over and brushes his hair out of his face, looking down at him. "So tired," he mumbles.
"You gonna fall asleep on me right here, man?" Dean asks, amusement and worry mixing in his voice as he tries to adjust Seth to be more comfortable.
"Maybe," he says, but slowly sits back up, scrubbing his hand over his face. "Sorry."
"Stop apologizing," Dean says, rolling his eyes. "Hey, come here." He turns, motioning until Seth shifts as well, the two of them facing each other. Gripping Seth's jaw with his stronger arm, Dean leans in and kisses him. "You let me finish this next set, we'll go back to my hotel and you can sleep on me there as long as you want, alright?"
Seth laughs weakly. "You don't have to. I know you're busy-"
"Hush," he chides him. "Just give me like ten minutes. I'll be right with you. Actually, I have good motivation to finish up sooner, so give me five." He chuckles when Seth nods dumbly, standing up and walking over to lean against the wall, fiddling with his phone, to give Dean and the rehab specialist that works at the performance center space to finish up. Dean watches him go before turning back to the hovering woman. "Let's finish this up. I've got an exhausted champion who needs me."
She doesn't look thrilled but he doesn't let it dissuade him as he sets on the weights with renewed vigor, Seth's presence giving him the extra push he needs to finish up for the day, eager to enjoy the few hours they'll get together before Seth has to fly back out to make it to Illinois in time for pre-MitB media.
-x
It comes out of nowhere. The rumors, the speculation about Money in the Bank. About James canceling his scheduled China events. Carmella frowns down at her phone, finding herself with a couple of days between Smackdown and the PPV. Her match against Asuka. So she takes a little trip, finds herself in Maryland. Taps her fingers against the steering wheel as she drives her rental through the quaint little area that James lives in. She squints up at his house and sighs, leaving her car idling for a few moments before taking the key out and easing herself out of the car. Walking up the grass to his front porch feels odd, almost a little like coming home, although she only spent a limited amount of time here when things were good between them. Before she'd stuck him on a leash and everything fell apart, leading to his release from the company. Something so sudden that even she hadn't foreseen it.
She knocks and leans against the doorframe, waiting and blowing at her nails boredly, looking up as he slowly unlocks the door and pulls it open, frowning at her. "Carmella? What's going on?" He seems confused, a little nervous, and she rolls her eyes at him, pushing her way inside out of the Maryland humidity.
"So," she says. "Scuttlebutt going around, some people think you're gonna involve yourself in Money in the Bank this weekend. That true?" She snaps her gum as she turns to face him, noticing that the house is really quiet. She glances at the clock and realizes it's still early enough that both of James' daughters are in school. "Well?"
He sighs. Eyes her quietly as he offers a chair to her, but she refuses, feeling like she wants to keep the advantage in one way or another as she waits impatiently for an answer. "I don't know what the rumors are about, I haven't done anything to even suggest that anything's going."
This adds to her suspicion as she stares him down even harder. He'd tweeted about being Braun's tag partner during Wrestlemania, he'd tweeted about the Rumble, he'd done many things since December that had made people think he'd be back in one way or another. But he had been very quiet about everything this week, which only adds to her wariness about the situation. She steps closer to him and points right at him, her recently done fingernail only inches from his nose. "I swear, Jimmy, if you do anything to screw this up for me-"
He smiles suddenly, somehow a perfect blend of innocent and mischievous. "Now why would I do something like that, Princess?" he asks.
She blows out a breath, frowning at him. About to say something else when the front door is pushed open and his daughters tumble in, laughing and talking loudly about their days- when they spot her and the oldest squeals, "Carmella!" running to her and hugging her tightly around the legs.
Carmella blinks hard, forgetting about her mixed feelings towards their father and kneeling down to greet both girls, listening patiently to them as they go on about their schools and friends and watching her on TV with their dad and she digs around in her tote bag and pulls out her title case, letting the girls touch it carefully. "This is a lot shinier than Daddy's title," little Lilly says and Carmella looks up in time to see a flash of pain cross James' face before he looks away.
Marina is murmuring something when Carmella stands up and joins him, watching the girls flock over her title, and the shirts and hats and everything else in her bag. "Be careful, girls," he chides them and she shakes her head, smiling a bit. "Sorry, I didn't expect-"
"It's fine," she says. "I didn't realize how much I missed them until I saw them again." She casts a quick glance at him and sighs. "Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have barged in here and started being so aggressive about it all. Especially over some stupid nonsense said online. Besides." Her voice softens a little and she smooths some hair out of her eyes, blowing an impatient breath out. "It wouldn't be the worst thing ever if you did get to come back someday, huh?" She offers him a small smile. "We had a lot of fun, huh?"
"Yeah," he breathes out. "We did."
She leans in and brushes a hand over his shoulder, taking his breath away at that simplest touch. "I'd just hope if the opportunity did arise, I'd hear it from you and not from some random schmuck online. Right?"
"Of course," he exhales, still focused on her fingers teasing along the collar of his shirt. When she leans closer, searching his face, he freezes. "Carmella..."
Her hands shift to curl behind his head, brushing through his hair, and all he can do is stare into her eyes as she inches closer, kissing him. It's a lot like before- but different too, she's calm, and patient, letting the kiss linger as he slowly starts to respond to her, until she pulls away with a sigh and a faint smile. "I have to go," she says reluctantly. "I'll see you around, yeah, Jimmy?" He can barely find the words to respond, nodding dumbly as she rescues her bag from the girls. Seeing Marina with her hat on, she chuckles and adjusts the ballcap so it fits more snugly, before digging around in her bag and finding a second one, placing it on Lilly's head. "There you guys go, you both look f-a-b-u-l-o-u-s! Don't they, Jimmy?"
"Yeah," he says weakly. "They definitely do. What do you say, girls?"
"Thank you!" they say together, James offering them a quick smile before walking Carmella to the door.
As soon as she's inside her rental and he's watched her drive back off, he closes the door and leans against it, a smirk spreading over his face as he taps his fingers against the wood. "Yeah," he murmurs. "I'll be seeing you very soon, Princess."
-x
Kazuchika looks pale. Unhappy. Gedo is bustling around in the background, doing this and that for the former IWGP champion. "I'm fine, Shinsuke," he insists. "You don't need to keep calling and asking..."
Shinsuke is worried about him. How he had lost his belt, the crowd's reaction. Mixed in with the fact that Nakamura is a sea away, unable to properly be there for him... "Kazuchika," he says tiredly and Okada shakes his head.
"Do not misunderstand me, I am pleased to hear from you. Just... I have no patience for things right now. I apologize."
"No need," Shinsuke sighs. He stares down at his phone, brows furrowed. "I wish I could be there for you."
Okada smiles wearily. "I wish it as well, but you have to stay and defeat AJ Styles for the World title. I understand." All too well, Nakamura thinks, considering their complicated past with the man. "I will be cheering you on from here. I have no doubt you will win."
"Arigato," Shinsuke sighs softly. "I will call you tomorrow- and try to remember not to ask how you are." He smiles when Okada actually laughs, not as enthusiastic as usual, but still. "Make sure Gedo takes good care of you."
"He always does," Okada says, fondness lighting up his words. "I look forward to seeing that belt around your waist."
Nakamura smiles, his eyes crinkling up as he pictures it himself. "I will do my best not to disappoint you."
"You never do," Kazuchika tells him before Gedo says something behind him. "Ay. I must go, it's my first interview since losing the belt." All happiness has faded from him and Shinsuke nods solemnly. "Mata ashita, Shinsuke."
"Mata ashita," he echoes before the screen goes dark.
It's not fair, he thinks. They were supposed to be champions together- he on top of WWE, Okada on top of NJPW. But life had not worked out that way, he had lost and lost and lost again, and now that there's a chance he may win, Okada is not champion anymore. But he cannot add to Okada's turmoil, so win he must.
Win he will.