A/N: Just wanted to let everyone know that Onions has no regard for current or past WWE roster situations. In the retarded little world Onions calls their own, all of the wrestlers travel together, work together, and get drunk together. Why not? It makes sense to Onions.
The McMahons own everything. Onions owns nothing. On with the story.
The warm shadows of the North Carolina summer wrapped themselves around him, lulling him into a contented half-sleep. He closed his eyes, and listened to the sounds of the swamp. Layer upon layer, they washed over him.
Suddenly, thunder rent the air. His eyes snapped open as he felt fingers snake into his long, unkempt hair. His gaze was immediately drawn upwards. His aunt bent over him, her ancient face twisted into a mask of anger and stern reproach, her claw-like hand tightly fisting a clump of his blondish hair. He started to ask her what was wrong, why she was so angry, but immediately thought better of it. He stared up at her, his green eyes tearing as she tightened her grip.
"Jeffrey", she said in a low, ominous voice, "I have been looking for you all morning." She did not relax her hold on his hair, and he did not move.
He swallowed nervously. "I'm sorry, Aunt Anabella", he said softly, "It's just such a beautiful day, and I thought I would sit in the sun for a while-"
The slap to his face was sudden, and it left him reeling for a moment. When he'd regained his senses fully, he was looking into the full face of his aunt's fury, which was both rare to see, and utterly unpredictable. He wished his brother was with him now, and wondered desperately where he was.
"You are so weak, Jeffrey", she sighed. Her perfectly-groomed eyebrows furrowed, and her dark eyes raked over his pale, frightened face. She smiled warmly, and touched Jeff's cheek affectionately. "I will teach you to be strong."
Pain. It was all he felt, all he knew. His back was burning, was bleeding, and it wouldn't stop. He saw the whip coming, and tried to prepare for it, but the leather thong slapping against his open wounds was too much. He screamed, screamed until his throat became sandpaper. And through it all, she watched, and smiled, and nodded.
"Jeff!"
He heard his brother calling his name distantly, his tone fearful. Darkness began to replace the hazy sunlight of the North Carolina swamps. Jeff was terrified of the sudden silence, terrified of its implications.
"Jeff!", Matt's voice, louder this time, "Wake up!"
The younger Hardy jerked awake, his eyes wide, his breaths heaving and deep.
When he'd had a moment to compose himself, Jeff realized that Matt was sitting on the edge of his bed, looking at him with concerned eyes.
"Are you alright, man?", asked the older Hardy, dropping a hand on Jeff's quaking shoulder.
Jeff looked at him with a puzzled expression on his face. "Sure. Why wouldn't I be?" His eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What're you doing in my room in the middle of the night?"
"Jeff, well, um, you were screaming", Matt said, his eyes intense with worry as he gazed at his little brother.
The younger Hardy felt his gut clench as the full memory of the terrible dream came rushing back to him. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose tightly, as if he had an elusive headache growing just beyond his reach.
"Jeff, what's going on?", Matt said softly, growing more worried by the second.
Jeff didn't reply. He was trying to remember all the details, all the words, all the images shown to him in the disturbingly vivid dream.
"Aunt Anabella", he muttered softly, a faraway look in his eyes.
Matt stared at his younger brother. "What did you just say?"
Jeff's eyes met his brother's. "That big house of hers, in the swamps. We were there, once, a long time ago, when we were kids." His voice dropped to a whisper. "She did terrible things." Matt looked back at Jeff, understanding passing between them. "After mom died, dad never let us set foot in that place again."
"I had a dream about the swamps too", admitted Matt.
Jeff absorbed this information, looking as if he would be sick.
The younger Hardy sighed. He rose, and walked to the minibar. If he was going to get any sleep tonight, he would need a drink to calm his frayed nerves. Bending down, he selected a tiny bottle of Southern Comfort. His lips curled into a bitter smile at the irony of the beverage's name. He poured two glasses, and handed one to Matt.
They downed their drinks, wincing at the bitter taste of the warm alcohol.
Matt rose then, making his way back towards his own room. "Good luck getting to sleep tonight, little brother."
"You too, man."
"Good night, Jeff."
"Good night, Matt."
* * * * * * *
Edge looked down at the urinal, a look of disgust stretching across his long, tanned face. "This bathroom is nasty, dude," he said to Jericho who was standing next to him expelling the remnants of this morning's Crab Palace lager from his system.
"Do you think birds can talk to each other?" Chris asked his tall, muscular buddy.
"What the hell are you talking about?" asked Edge incredulously, thinking his Canadian colleague had finally lost his mind.
"Eh, I was watching some show about birds on the Discovery channel last night," answered Jericho, almost proudly, as if he gained instant credibility for watching an educational program. "I fell asleep right before the part where they were going to say, once and for all, if birds actually communicated with each other. I want to know."
"I don't fucking know if birds talk to each other. I think they do. But I'm standing here pissing, so I don't really care either!" Edge said as he pulled his shiny spandex pants up. "The real question is, why don't Matt and Jeff sew zippers into our damn pants so we don't have to piss with our asses and dicks hanging out?"
"True that, my Canadian brother, true that," quipped Jericho, as he flushed the lager remnants away. "Let's get back out to the ring. I have some ass-kicking to practice." Y2J laughed out loud as he thought about the choreography for tonight's match. He gets to sucker-punch Edge in the kidney and then throw him onto the announcers' table, spilling JR's coffee all over the cowboy wannabee's fat belly. Such fun. "Wrestlers have the greatest job in the world," he thought to himself as he turned and curtseyed to the grand urinals. This was a pre-practice ritual he never missed. Pee and curtsey. Pee and curtsey. It kept him safe.
* * * * * * *
"Son of a bitch, dude!", screamed Jeff, glaring at JBL darkly, "You nearly took my fucking head off!" He grabbed the rope and pulled himself up, his green eyes intense on the pig-faced superstar.
JBL, who had been sparring with Hardy for the last twenty minutes or so, was annoyed to hell with him. So, he'd slipped and kicked for his face. Big god damn deal. He rolled his eyes. Hardy had ducked out of the way, hadn't he?
"Sorry man. I thought my super-kick was supposed to happen there. My bad," the untoned cattle rancher said, half-heartedly.
"Yeah, well, whatever dude." Jeff hated this guy. He had love handles, man-tits and a face only a mother could love. If he was a nice guy, Jeff could overlook the moobs, but JBL was a jackass, plain and simple. The rumor was that one time, a young fan with a backstage pass was getting autographs from some of the superstars backstage and JBL flat out farted in the kid's face. He argued that it was a "special souvenir," a "one-of-a-kind experience." Vince had set the big oaf straight with a good five minutes of harsh words and warnings behind closed doors.
"Alright, let's get back to work," instructed Jeff. He would work his tail off for the fans, even if it meant having to come in contact with JBL's flabby, greasy skin.
Across the gym, there was a second ring set up to make the most of the practice schedule. Chris Jericho and Edge were in the middle of rehearsing their match, and Jericho had Edge hoisted over his head, ready to chuck him over the top rope. All of a sudden, he started to laugh and buckled under Edge's weight. Both wrestlers toppled to the mat with a loud thud.
"What in the balls of hell are you doing, dude?" Edge asked his ring mate, rubbing the back of his spandexed thigh where it hit the mat.
"Oh man, sorry. Sorry! I was just thinking about Rainbow Boy screaming like a girl last night. What a pansy!" Jericho was barely able to get the words out, he was laughing so hard. He motioned for Edge to follow him. "Let's go razz him. Maybe we can make him cry."
Jericho and Edge hopped out of the ring and headed over to where Jeff and JBL were just finishing up the Whisper in the Wind segment of their impending match.
"JBL, dude, you have to get your damn body into the center of the ring!" Jeff yelled, frustrated with the lack of preparation of his pudgy opponent. "The Whisper in the Wind can only work when everything and everyone is precisely where they need to be!"
"I was in the center of the ring, numbnuts!" JBL shot back immediately, and shifted his bulky form into the center of the ring. "Try it again."
Jeff climbed to the top rope and readied himself for the signature move. He was about to leap off onto the waiting mass of flesh on the mat, but was distracted by hissing noises nearby. "What the fuck?" he thought, looking around for the source of the distraction.
"What a pansy!" "Hee hee!" "Waaaaa! Waaaaa! I'm a girl! Waaaaa!"
Jeff jumped to the floor and looked around for where the muffled voices were coming from. Around the left side of the ring, he found them, huddled in the corner, giggling like schoolgirls. Edge and Jericho were pointing at Jeff and laughing.
"PANSY RAINBOW BOY CRYING LIKE A BITCH!" Edge screamed at the top of his lungs. He yelled it so loud, he hurt his throat.
"BITCH BOY HAS A 'GINA!" Jericho almost shit himself from laughing so hard.
"What is your freakin' problem, dudes?" asked Jeff, completely annoyed with his hecklers. "You're so immature!"
"We heard you screaming and crying in your room last night, dude! It was hilarious!" Edge said, rubbing his jutting Adam's apple.
Jeff's face grew tight with anger. "Fuck you", he said, stepping towards the Canadian wrestlers.
Somewhere behind him, Jeff could hear JBL's rasping laughter. It infuriated him.
Glaring, Jeff straightened, bringing himself up to his full height. He clenched and unclenched his fists as he stared Jericho and Edge down.
"It's cool, man", said Jericho, smirking, "It's not like we're gonna tell anyone-"
Jeff rushed forward, and punched him with all the strength he could muster. Jericho's head snapped back with the force of the blow. He had no time to recover, as Jeff hit him bodily, knocking him to the ground. The younger Hardy's fists rained down on Jericho's face, neck, and shoulders, as Chris tried desperately to throw him off. Rage took him over, and he found himself unable to stop.
"Hardy! Yo, man, stop! Stop!", yelled Edge, his eyes wide.
Jeff was deaf to his pleas, and to Chris' grunts of pain. He was exhausted, and at the absolute end of his rope. His punches fell in a steady, unfaltering rhythm as Jericho's pleas rose to a desperate, piercing caterwaul.
"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE??!!!" A booming voice penetrated the red haze of his fury. Jeff froze in mid-swing. Blinking, he looked up. Mr. McMahon stood over him, scowling down at the unusual scene. Jeff sat back on his haunches, allowing Chris to scurry out from under him.
The Chairman stood there, assessing the situation with the acumen of a mole-man in an underground tunnel. He was used to handling this kind of nonsense, being a father to two of the most drama-hungry people on the planet. He couldn't recall how many times he caught Stephanie and Shane smacking, punching, kicking each other over the years. He planned to treat this scuffle between two of his most promising superstars just like he would his now-grown children, and silently reveled in the sick joy of it.
"Jeff, front and center! Now!" screamed Mr. McMahon, veins bulging out of his stippled, red neck.
Jeff, head down, shuffled over to where his boss was waiting, moving like a beaten animal.
"What in the blue hell is going on here?" questioned the boss-man, his lips curling into the frightening snarl he was known for. "I don't think you beating Chris in the head is part of tonight's routine, Jeff. Explain."
Jeff quickly thought of what he was going to say, thoughts rushing in and out of his throbbing head. "I, uh," he stammered. "I had a bad night and Chris and Edge started in on me and I lost it. Chris put his hands in my face and they smelled like urine and I just lost it. I apologize."
"Well Hardy, you know how I feel about my wrestlers fighting out of the ring. It sickens me, it just sickens me," scolded Vince, his eyebrows meeting in the middle of his forehead like a fuzzy caterpillar.
Jeff hung his head in shame, and his colorful locks fell down into his hooded eyes. "I'm sorry, Mr. McMahon."
The wide-shouldered chairman stepped forward. "You'd better be, son. You'd better be. And you!" He shifted his attentions to Jericho and Edge.
The overwrought chairman glared, a twitch beginning beneath his left eye. "Any more of this crapola from you two, and my foot's gonna be a permanent fixture in your hairy ass cavities. Got it?"
Jericho and Edge shuffled their booted feet uncomfortably. "Yeah, Mr. McMahon", they muttered in concert.
He nodded, and began to walk away. The three wrestlers watched him go, all breathing a sigh of relief. Suddenly, McMahon seemed to have a thought, and stopped. Turning to look at Jericho, he added, "And wash your damn hands, Chris!"
The chairman stormed away.
When they were sure he'd left the vicinity, Edge and Jericho turned back to Jeff.
"What the fuck, man?", said Edge angrily, "Are you trying to get us shit-canned, or something?"
Jeff sighed tiredly. He'd had enough of this for one day. "Whatever. I've gotta go." He tried to push past the taller men, but they weren't having it. They shoved him backwards.
"It's not as easy as that, Hardy", said Jericho, rubbing his sore jaw, "I believe I'm owed some payback."
Jeff gave them a fierce glower. He said evenly, "Get out of my way."
He tried to push his way through once again, though his efforts were rebuffed by an angry Jericho. Edge ducked behind him, and grabbed his arms, pulling them tightly and painfully behind his back. Jeff struggled like a trapped animal, trying every maneuver he knew to get out of the punishing grip. His anger and anxiety clouded his conscious mind, however, and he found himself unable to do anything but thrash and curse.
"Get the fuck off of me!", he yelled, his voice echoing brightly off the gym walls. Edge twisted Jeff's arm, causing him to cry out in pain.
"God dammit!", shouted Jeff. His attackers, obviously enjoying themselves, began to laugh.
Jericho stepped in front of Jeff. That god damn smirk was written all over his face, and it made the younger Hardy want to start pounding him into a bloody pulp all over again.
"Don't worry, man", Chris said smugly, "I'm not going to start wailing on you. Unlike some people here, I believe in fair fights." Jeff tried to move in Edge's grip, but found it was still rock-solid. He glared. "Despite the fact that you did crap up my stellar appearance. I mean, what are my female fans going to think when they see these bruises?"
Jeff rolled his eyes.
Chris continued. "So now, I'm obligated to get my revenge." He walked over to his duffel bag, and retrieved an item which sent shivers of dread down Jeff's spine. Jericho held a shiny pair of scissors in his hand. "We're gonna give you a nice, new haircut, my friend. I think the 'Randy Orton' is in this season."
Jeff Hardy's eyes widened in horror. His mouth worked, but he could find no words to say. He mutely shook his head, in silent protest. His struggles resumed.
Suddenly, the voice of salvation echoed through the empty gym.
"WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE???!!"
Matt Hardy stood in the doorway, his face displaying unbridled fury at the treatment his brother was receiving.
At the sight of the older Hardy brother, Chris Jericho promptly released Jeff's shoulder-length hair from his grip and stepped back a few paces. Edge did the same. They knew of the bloody rage Matt was prone to when his younger sibling was being threatened. They had witnessed the carnage before.
"YOU MOTHERFUCKERS. IT'S ON. OH YEAH, IT'S ON." Matt said, clenching his fists to the point his knuckles turned white. "Jeff! Formation X! Now!"
On command, Jeff leaped into position next to his brother. The Hardy Boyz stood in front of their prey, menacing, ready to attack.
Edge looked down at the wet mark that was now soaking through his silver pants and grabbed Jericho's forearm for support. He had heard of the carnage Formation X left in its wake and couldn't believe he was soon to be a victim of the same. "Stupid, Edge. So stupid!" he muttered to himself.
Jericho braced himself, placing his right foot a good 18 inches in front of his left, and readied himself for the worst. No sooner had he done so, Formation X sprung into action.
"BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRG!" The sound of the brothers was deafening. In one swift motion, Jeff Hardy's right knee cap was embedded in Edge's face as Jericho's gut felt the full force of Matt Hardy's forehead. Jericho couldn't breathe and fell to the hard, concrete floor. Edge turned to run, but was punched in the back of the head before he could move.
"BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRG!" came again, this time louder than the first. Formation X came down on Jericho from above, like a two-headed angel of death. Jeff kicked Jericho in the left ear while Matt used his stomach as a punching bag. There was only one way to describe the scene. Unrelenting fury.
With Jericho too busted to move or even utter a groan, and Edge lying face down on the ground twitching like a naked Californian in an igloo, Formation X disbanded and became Matt and Jeff Hardy once again.
Without a word to the beaten wrestlers lying on the floor, the brothers walked out of the gym without a glance back.
* * * * * * *