AN: I don't own the WWE, any of it's actors or characaters.
"So..." Jeff said, looking at his brother.
"Yeah?" Matt asked around a mouth full of cheeseburger. He'd been really hungry, he was on his third. Even though Matt was a big guy, he never normally ate that much.
"Slow down or you'll get sick." Jeff said, watching Matt nervously. Jeff put a couple of fries in his mouth and chewed quietly. Usually it was Matt who had to say things like that to him, but for some reason, Matt was hauling ass on his food, devouring it.
"I will not get sick," Matt said after swallowing a big bite he'd hardly chewed at all.
"If you keep eating so fast, you might accidentally grab one of mine... And they're McDonalds cheseburgers. They come with mustard." Jeff said simply. Matt gagged before snatching his cup up off the table, glaring at Jeff. He sucked up the sickly sweet liquid from the straw.
"That was mean, Jeff." Matt said, snatching some of the others fries.
"But it got you to slow down."
"Touche." Matt said. "Now what were you going to say to begin with?" Jeff took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He let out a deep sigh and opened his eyes. Matt instantly sat his drink down, knowing something was wrong.
"My contract is being terminated." Jeff said.
"What?!" Matt demanded.
"That's... What it is. I failed the drug test." Jeff said, simply.
"Fuck, Jeff... Fuck!" Matt screamed. He punched the table. That wasn't enough so he kicked it, knocking it over. It's contents scattered across the floor. "Fuck!" He said again, raking his fingers through his hair. "You need to start thinking about things, you dumb ass! You're going to get in trouble one of these days!" He got up and stomped around the room for a minute, running his fingers through his hair. He continued to curse untill he'd come to a decision. He turned to Jeff. "I'm going out for a while." He said, grabbing his hoodie off of his bed. "Don't wait up." He said before slamming the door behind him. In fact, he slammed the door so hard, it bounced back open.
Jeff let his head rest against the upturned table. He suddenly felt very sick.
~*~
Matt found the nearest bar outside of the hotel and decided to drink himself stupid. He was mad at Jeff. Very mad, but he loved the little asshole. He felt like crying at first, but after a few beers, he felt like fighting.
Against his better judgement, he found himself in an alley way with four other young men. They all looked like they wanted to tear him limb from limb- or eat him. He didn't know which scared him more.
As the fight began, a rush of adrenaline overtook him and he launched himself at one of the young men, clipping his jaw with a left hook, sending the boy toppling to the ground. A rush of fists and feet assaulted him, but hardly any of it phased him. He flipped one of the young men over his shoulder into another, then busied himself with the other one.
Not five minutes later, just after he'd broken out into a good sweat, to Matts surprise, and irritation, someone broke up the fight. Three of the young men were staring behind Matt, looking through him. This sorely crossed him. He could hear one of the young men gagging behind him. He turned around to look, a snarl on his lips, a low growl escaping him.
His jaw fell slack when he realized just who broke up the fight. Mark fucking Calaway. He was smiling a bit, holding up one of the young men by the throat. Matt scrunched his nose, the smell of sulfer assaulting his senses.
"I know I shouldn't feel this way, but it makes me smile a little when people piss themselves at my mere presence." He said, setting the boy down gently. The boy fell to his knees and began to beg for the older mans forgiveness. The others had already fled. "Yeah, yeah, get out of here, ya runt." He said, nudging the other with his boot.
The boy scurried off, muttering his thanks, tripping a couple of times.
"Heh, can you believe that?" Mark asked, looking down at the Hardy. Matt just stared up at him. "Whats wrong, kid? Cat got your tongue?"
"Why'd you stop them?" Matt asked.
"What?" Mark asked, quirking a brow. "Oh, come on! They were going to tear you appart, kid." He said, tilting his head in the slightest. He watched Matt like a hawk as the other approached him, gritting his teeth when Matt took a fist full of his hair and pulled him town to his level.
"I'll ask again," His sweet southern drawl was slightly slurred and Mark could smell alcohol on the others breath. "Why. Did. You. Stop. Them?" He accentuated every word.
"Let go of my hair, Hardy." Mark instructed.
"Make me." Matt said, pulling harder. Mark calmly brought his hand up, untangling the intoxicated mans fingers from his hair.
"I'm not into that, kid." He put the others hand at his side, but he refused to back off. Matt grabbed the front of Marks shirt, pulling him down again.
"I'm not saying 'fuck me', I'm saying 'hurt me'. You took away my source of pain, now you have to make up for it." Matt snarled, growling dangerously when he was done. Mark didn't seem to be phased.
"Kid, I save you and you threaten me? That's not how it works, last I checked."
Matt couldn't seem to wrap his mind around this. He threw a punch at the 'deadman'. It was slow and sloppy. Mark easilly blocked. He held Matts fist in his hand untill the other gave up and went slack, all the anger seemingly draining from his body. Matt turned around and kicked the nearest thing- a dumpster. It rattled with the force of his kick.
"What the hell has gotten into you, Hardy?" Mark asked, taking a step back from the drained man who leant against the rusting metal.
"It's Matt," Matt corrected, sighing softly.
"Fine, Matt," Mark said, scoffing a bit. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
Matt didn't answer. Instead he knelt down, picking at the ground for something. He was mumbling to himself. He seemingly found something. He was making the same repeated action over and over. Mark raised an eyebrow. He took a step closer to try and inspect the other. When he was within arms length, he could hear what the other was mumbling.
"This is somehow my fault. My fault. Somehow, this is my fault. I did it. Me. It's all my fault." When Mark realized what he was doing, he almost panicked.
Matt screamed when Mark grabbed his wrist, taking the piece of glass he had with the other hand.
"What the fuck, Matt?!" He demanded. Matt struggled, grunting and hissing. He pushed weakly at Mark, looking like a scolded child when Mark held the glass up in his face. "What the fuck were you doing with this?" He asked. Matt just glared. "Give me your other hand." Matt flat out refused. "Give me it!" Mark yelled. "Now!" He demanded, not caring who heard. He was genuinely concerned for the elder Hardy. Matt held up his arm, looking away. His head was lolling to the side a bit and he looked zoned out. Matts arm was covered in several cuts and scratches. Some of them were bleeding badly, dripping with blood even, some were just welts, the skin not even broken. "Oh, Matt..." Marks voice was much more gentle now. It made Matt snap to attention, looking at Mark with a curious and almost scared expression on his features. "Why would you do something like this to yourself?" He asked, simply. He tried to keep as much emotion from his voice as he could.
"Please let go of me." Matt asked.
"Not untill you tell me what has got you cutting yourself," Mark said, dropping the glass. Matt tried to glare, but ended up pouting. "Please?" Mark offered gently, letting go of Matt. Matt slumped against him.
"Jeff got himself fired," Matt muttered, leaning into the embrace that surrounded him. In his drunken state, Mark reminded him of a mother bear -- Strong, gentle, loving and ready to kill for the ones it cares about. He couldn't help but smile into the older mans cotton clad chest.
"Ok, and?" Mark asked, pulling the smaller male closer to him.
"The Hardy brothers are over," Matt whined.
"And so starts the reign of Matt Hardy," Mark said, sighing a bit.
"It's not the same..." Matt said, trying to press himself deeper into the strong chest.
"What do you mean?" Mark asked, pulling the elder Hardy back. Matt whined, trying to stay put, but Mark wouldn't have it.
"I'm nothing without Jeff." Matt said. When Mark opened his mouth to speak, Matt interupted. "Don't give me any of that 'oh yes you are' bull shit, ok? I fucking know I'm nothing. I'm not a fucking high-flyer, I don't do crazy shit just to get peoples attention. I'm fucking boring."
Mark searched for something to say to cheer Matt up, but found nothing. Well, he found one thing, but he didn't want to sound gay. He sighed. Matt was drunk anyway, like he'd remember.
"At least you're good looking." Mark said with a shrug. Matt just stared at him for a minute, slack-jawwed. Then, he started to laugh. It was small at first, just barely a giggle. But it quickly grew into a complete and utter guffaw.
"Me? Good looking? You're funny." He said, slapping Mark on the back. "You're really funny. I like you." Matt made to walk off, still laughing.
This offended Mark. He grabbed Matts wrist and pulled him back, slamming him up against a brick wall. Matt whimpered and tried to pull away.
"I don't compliment men very often, so I suggest you listen to my words and take them to heart." He snarled. Matts eyes were tearing up.
"Please let me go..." Matt begged.
"Hardly." Mark said, then he realized he had a hold of Matts wounded arm. "Shit!" He cursed, letting go. He looked down at his hand to find small smears of the Hardy's blood on it. "I'm sorry." He whispered. "Come on." He said, placing his hand on Matts shoulder, pushing slightly, leading Matt out of the alley way.
"Where are we going?" Matt asked.
"To my hotel room. You need someone ta watch you tonight. Make sure ya don't kill yourself."
~*~
"He's not picking up," Phil said with a sigh, flipping his phone shut, yet again, after hearing Jeffs excited voice on his voicemail.
"Maybe we should go check his room," John suggested, pushing his hair back out of his face. "He could have just fallen asleep, ya know."
"I know, but with everything that's happened recently, he might..." Phil cut himself off, pouting, chewing nervously on his lipring.
"Might what?" John asked, playing with the zipper of his jacket.
"Do something stupid," Phil whispered, standing up. "Are you coming?"
"Might as well. It sounds like you might need some help." John said. "Do you really think he'd be suicidal?"
"Shit, those drugs he takes are suicide." John rolled his eyes at Phils remark. The two left their room and headed for the elevator.
AN: I swear to crack I'm not on god. Um... Review, please? Ja ne!