Jeff woke up in the middle of the night and rolled over, until the idea of water entered his mind. Unfortunately, said water was in the kitchen which was a whole room too far. But…water. Refreshing, cool water. Thinking too much about whether or not to get water, made him more awake. He forced himself out of bed, opened the door, and found a figure of a man sitting on the couch, making him freeze in his tracks, but ready to kick ass in sweatpants. "Matt?" he carefully questioned.
"It's me," his brother murmured.
"Christ," he sighed, rolling his eyes. "Sit in the dark like a psychopath somewhere else." Now wide awake with adrenaline dying down, Jeff continued to the kitchen.
"Sorry."
"What are you even doing?" He grabbed a relatively clean glass off the counter. "Other than scaring the hell out of me at the Godforsaken time of night." His guess was it was some where between two and four in the morning. He picked up a half-empty gallon of water, poured it, and downed the glass. He arched a brow at his silent brother; setting the glass down. "You okay, man?" He walked to the living room.
"It's just– Ugh." Matt turned on the lamp, causing them both to turn away and wince as if the Sun itself was in their living room.
"Warning next time?" Jeff hissed.
Matt waved a hand, jumping to his feet. "Forget about that!" He was dressed in a white tank-top and grey sweats. His eyes were exhausted. He ran a hand through his messy hair. "Just be straight with me."
"About?" Jeff arched a brow and crossed his arms.
He accusingly stared at him in the eye. "The reason you're so nonchalant about this whole Undertaker business and clearly in no hurry to get scrap is because I'm taking the bullet for you."
Jeff's eyes darted around the room as if searching for reasons for his brother's conspiracy, then looked back at him when he didn't find any. "What?"
"My life, Jeff!" He roughly gestured to himself. "My life is on the line! Not yours! You screwed up, so I get killed! Why didn't you tell me? Was it an entire charade to distract me and then on Thursday at noon, you shove me to The Undertaker?"
"What?" Jeff cried. "Man, do you hear yourself right now?"
"I had to hear from a crime lord and not my own brother! Just tell me the truth!"
His heart cracked in two. "You think I'd do that to you? My own brother? You're the reason why I'm not trying to weasel my way out of this! I knew if I ran, you'd die! The reason I didn't tell you is because I didn't want to scare you! Please tell me Undertaker gave you that insane idea."
A wave of relief washed over Matt as he bowed his head and sighed. "I knew you wouldn't do that," his voice was heavy, "but I had to be sure. Desperation does things to people." He sat back on the couch, staring at the floor with his elbows on his knees. "I was ready for it, too. If you betrayed me, then I could betray you. I know I sound paranoid, but–"
Jeff slowly stepped back. "Wait, wait, wait. Betray me?"
Matt raised his head to him. "The Undertaker had me pulled aside after our match. He offered me to fight for my life. I could either sell you out or I kill you by Thursday." He shook his head. "I don't want to do either of those things. I can't." He rubbed his face.
Jeff noticed his brother was oddly quiet after the match tonight, but thought it was just exhaustion. "But you were getting ready to– Perfect," he icily growled. "Just perfect. Either one of us dies or you betray me or we magically get 150 pounds of scrap in six days. That's the choices we have." He was about to turn away, but a morbid solution came to mind. He forced himself to look at his brother, pointing at him. "You're going to sell me out."
Matt's head shot up. "What? No!" He jumped to his feet. "I'm not doing it!"
"I'm not going to let you get killed for my mistakes!" He stared his brother in the eye with a heaving chest. "If I don't come up with the scrap in six days– which I won't– you die for my screw-ups, Matthew." He stepped back. "Now…try to get some sleep." He returned to his room and before Matt could say a word, he closed the door, walked to his bed, and collapsed on it. He stared at the ceiling, wanting to scream.
Saturday was supposed to be a normal day, but when the brothers saw that the gym was closed at 12:30, it felt like nothing was right in the world because Jonathon Macowitts never closes the gym, but it was true– nothing was right in the world. There was an irradiated wasteland in the States where it was survival of the fittest or in some cases ruthless; a crime lord wanted either of the Hardy Boyz's heads; and Jeff already came up with a plan that was going to shatter his brother.
On Sunday, to Jeff's relief, Matt was out of the house at 2:30. He couldn't have passed the final goodbye as a regular, everyday goodbye. Instead, he left a folded letter on the counter and walked out of the house. He walked three miles to the Black Star, the seedy bar where mercenaries, drug dealers, and anyone looking for good, extra scrap came for a job. With his hood pulled up, head low, and hands in his jacket pockets, Jeff weaved through the cigarette smoke-filled establishment that he once called home. Spotting a familiar man sitting at the bar, he slid beside him with an elbow propped on the counter. "A.J."
A.J. Styles turned around and his eyes grew along with his smile. "Jeff?" He laughed. "You got some nerve showing your face here. What do you want?"
"I'm turning myself in to the Undertaker."
He smiled in uncertainty. "Man, are you high? You gotta be high, right?"
Jeff tilted his head.
His smile faltered. "Holy crap. Jeff Hardy is giving himself up! Well." He patted the counter, jumping off the stool. "Unfortunately for you, I have a job to get to in five minutes." He spotted a man briskly walking passed them to the exit, and held out an arm in front of the man. "Whoa, Roger. Hold up."
Brown eyes locked on A.J. He was a shorter, scrawny man with messy, brown hair with his hands in the pockets of an oversized, brown coat and torn jeans. A cigarette loosely hanged at his lips. "What?" he rasped.
A.J. smiled. "Roger, you remember Jeff. Jeff, Roger Mallory."
"Yeah," Roger softly smirked at Jeff. "I remember you. You're the guy who stabbed Marlow in the hand."
Jeff shrugged. "He came at me."
"Didn't say he didn't have it coming. I'm just surprised ya didn't kill 'im." He looked back at A.J. "What do you want?"
"I have a job for you: you're going to take Jeff here to the boss."
Roger glanced at Jeff, lightly shaking his head. "Can't. I'm late for a job as is. Wait." He looked at Jeff. "You're turning yourself in?"
A.J. began to walk away, patting Jeff on the shoulder with a smile. "See ya!" He walked out before Roger could stop him.
Roger growled, slipping the cigarette from his lips and extinguished it on the counter. "Fine. Let's go." He slipped his hand back into the pocket and walked away with Jeff following him out the bar to a white, rusted Jeep parked in front. He opened the trunk to a small crate labeled "grenades" and two handgun cases. He picked up bundled rope, removed a large knife from his hip, and cut the rope.
"Who's getting those?" Jeff asked, looking at the loot.
"A friend." He slipped the knife back into the scabbard. "Turn around and hands behind your back."
He looked at him. "Are you serous?"
"Like I'm going to have a professional wrestler have his hands free."
He removed the hood. "Fair enough." He turned around with his hands behind his back. Once the ropes were tightened, Roger closed the trunk, opened the backdoor, and Jeff slipped inside. The door closed and he bowed his head, wondering if he made the right decision. Did Matt find the letter yet?
The man hopped behind the wheel, closed the door, threw the key in the ignition, and pulled away from the curb. "I have to drop that stuff of first, then I'm taking you to the boss. I don't know if that chatterbox told ya, but two guys from Sacramento were lookin' for ya the other day by the 'Kings orders.' The boss scared them off. Steal from the King, too?"
"Embezzled."
Roger chuckled. "You're crazy, man. I like you. You and I would have made a good team if I knew what you were doin'."
"It was just for my brother and I," he quietly replied.
"Huh-uh. Sure. Then ya ended up stealin' from ol' 'Taker. Didn't embezzle enough scrap?"
Jeff looked out the window. "Blew it."
"On what? Drugs? Booze?"
He inhaled. "I'm clean."
"Oh."
They drove to a parking lot of an abandoned mall fifteen minutes away where a lone, red car waited and parked in front of it.
"Stay quiet," Roger growled, killing the engine. He stepped out of the car and closed the door.
Jeff leaned to the middle, staring at the Buick with furrowed brows as two women stepped out of the car. The Sanguine Wanderers were buying weapons? That's right…they were leaving the wasteland. Riley told the story of the guy who showed without the guns and, of course, it was Roger Mallory. However, did they know they were buying from the Undertaker? And grenades? Really?
After talking for a minute, Roger gestured the women to follow to the trunk and Jeff bowed his head when they passed, but Alexa Bliss already saw him because she was standing at the window, staring at him with utter confusion, mouthing, "Jeff?"
The trunk opened and Riley and Roger started talking business.
"Alexa?" Jeff dumbly mouthed.
She tried to mouth something, but he couldn't catch it.
"Ignore me," he mouthed. "Just go and pretend I'm not here!"
She cocked her head. "What?"
"Pretend I'm not here!"
Her eyes fell into unamused slits, mouthing, "Jeff. Slow. Down. Please." Her eyes emphasized the last word.
Jeff tried to move his hand, but forgot he was tied up and rested his head back with closed eyes. He really could not turn himself in in peace, could he? No. The Sanguine Wanderers had to be the buyers and Alexa just had to try to strike a conversation through a damn window! He turned back to the woman, sternly mouthing: "Just go away and stop talking to me." He might as well have been speaking another language because she lightly shook her head, mouthing something that he couldn't catch. He tilted his head, cocking a brow. "What?"
"Lexi!" Riley called, walking passed her to the Buick.
Alexa held up a finger to the frustrated captive and trotted to her friend's side.
Jeff rested his head, staring at the ceiling. "Unbelievable," he murmured. After a minute, he noticed the Australian return and gave a little wave in passing. Within seconds, a gun was fired, causing him to jump in his seat. "What the hell was that?" he cried, trying to look over the backseat, but couldn't see anything.
His door flew open to a grinning Alexa Bliss. "Hi, Jeff!"
He stared at her with eyes wide and a heaving chest.
"You know," she folded her arms, "you were talking too fast for me to understand. What were you trying to say?"
He stared at her in disbelief. "Are you ser– I was trying to tell you to pretend I wasn't here!"
"Oh, but you're my friend and I can't just ignore you when you were a little tied up, so we both decided to help, too." She twirled a finger. "Turn around for me."
Not able to argue, he obeyed. However, Riley just killed one of Undertaker's men and if he somehow found out, he was going to come after her!
"Why would you want to be left here anyway?" She began to pick at the tight and careless knot. "I assume you were the reason why Roger was late?"
"He said that he was going to do some business first and was already running late. Didn't know it was you two he was meeting."
"Oh. Are you okay, though? You don't look like you put up a fight."
He snorted. "Great observation, Lex."
"Just saying." She got the rope loose and tore it away. "Done!" She stepped aside.
Jeff rubbed his wrists. "Thanks." He hopped out of the Jeep just as Riley passed with two handgun cases in each hand. He grabbed her arm, making the Aussie turn to hm. "Are you insane?" he seethed with a curled lip. "Do you know who you just killed?"
"Ah, my old friend?"
He blinked. "What? No! That," he roughly pointed to the back of the vehicle, "was the Undertaker's guy!"
Riley's face dropped and paled.
Alexa swallowed. "Oh…no."
He slowly released her. "You didn't know where you were getting ammunition from?" His eyes were wide with pupils the size of pinheads.
"We gotta go!" Riley spun on her heel. "Right now. Wait!" She turned to him. "Then tell us why the hell were you headin' to Undertaker like a prisoner!"
"I'll explain on the road because I am not waiting for backup when they realize their guy is missing!"
"Good call!" She hurried to the Buick.
"I'll drive!" Alexa called, following with Jeff at her side.
Riley hopped in the backseat, placed the gun cases beside the crate of grenades that was on the seat over, tossed the keys on the driver's seat just as Alexa opened the door. Jeff took the passenger seat. Once the everyone was buckled up, the Buick pealed out of the parking lot and on the road.
"First," Jeff began, looking at the two women, "you two got weapons from the Undertaker and didn't know?"
"Roger was my mate," Riley answered, leaning forward. "He helped me get through the Irradiated Boarder in Mexico and was my go-to guy since. We'd also meet up for a quickie here and there over the years, but it wasn't anything serious. Anyway, I didn't know where he got the goods from. All I know is that he could get it."
Alexa's eyes flew open. "That was Roger?"
"Yep."
"Oh, I finally had a face to the name. Well. Explains the nickname."
"So you killed your boyfriend in cold blood?" Jeff dryly questioned. "Harsh."
Riley groaned. "He wasn't my boyfriend! He screwed us over and overpriced the shit. We needed it and you were also in trouble, so I killed 'im. Your turn, Hardy. Why were you Undertaker's prisoner?"
"Fair enough. I owe Undertaker 250 pounds."
"What?" the Wanderers both cried.
Alexa briefly snapped her gaze to him and then back to the road.
Riley uneasily giggled. "You got a bloody death wish, mate?"
"First, it was 150, but he pushed it to 250. The reason I stole it is because Matt was stabbed and the medic was more expense that we thought due to blood loss, so I went back to Undertaker just to steal from him."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Alexa glanced at him. "Two things: Matt was stabbed and you went back?"
"I used to run for him for two years," he heavily answered. "A month ago, Matt was stabbed by a junkie and he managed to get home, but by the time he got home…he wasn't looking so good."
"He's okay now, right? I mean you two had that match the other night."
"Oh, yeah, he's fine. It was mostly blood loss. Well, now Undertaker wants his scrap back by Thursday, but I only have fifty pounds to my name and if I don't get it to him," he deeply inhaled, "he's going to kill Matt."
"So, how did you end up with Roger? I can tell you didn't put up a fight because you look too…neat."
"After our match on Friday, Undertaker took Matt aside. He told Matt the truth– By the way, I completely lied to Matt. I didn't tell him why I stole scrap or that it was actually his life on the line, not mine. Anyway, Undertaker gave him an offer to fight for his life since I'm the one who put him there. Matt could either kill me himself or sell me out, so I gave myself up. Matt told me what happened in the middle of Friday night and I told him he should just give me up. Last night, I tried to bring it up again, but he didn't want to hear it. So today," he deeply sighed, "I just gave myself up. That was that. I knew Roger a little bit, but not well."
Alexa briefly looked at him. "Matt doesn't know you did this?"
He rubbed the back of his neck. "I…left a letter."
"You left a letter to tell your brother that ya went out to get yourself killed?" Riley sharply questioned.
He looked in her direction. "What else was I going to do? Have him try to stop me? It's his life or mine."
"Did ya even think about what it would do to 'im?" Her voice was low. "That ya gave yourself just up like that without even sayin' a proper goodbye?"
"Did you think what it would do to me if my brother died for my screw-up?" He loudly snapped.
"Guys!" Alexa shouted, looking firmly at Jeff, then through the rearview mirror to her heated friend. "Not now." She looked back at the road.
They fell into a pause.
"Thanks," Jeff eventually murmured, looking out the window with his elbow propped on it, "for saving me."
"No worries," Riley mumbled.
"Wouldn't have left you," Alexa quietly replied.
Ten minutes later, the Buick pulled up in front of the small, brown house in the quiet, rundown neighborhood. "Home, sweet home," Jeff murmured, unbuckling the seatbelt. "You two can come in if you want. Don't know how pleasant it will be, though."
Alexa killed the engine. "Right behind you."
He led the way to the front door with chipping paint and opened it. "Matt, I'm home." When he didn't get a response, he walked to the hallway and peered down. "Matt?"
His brother staggered out of the room on the right, wearing simple jeans; shoes; and black shirt. "You're alive?" His voice was hollow.
When he approached, Jeff hitched a breath at his brother's red, glassy eyes and tear stained face. "Matt–"
Matt grabbed him by the jacket, curtly shaking him. "You turned yourself in! You gave yourself up to die and left me alone!" He shoved him away. "I know you do crazy things, Jeff, but this– this takes the damn cake! Should I even ask what you were thinking?"
"If I didn't die, I'd see you soon?" He was decked in the jaw with a right hook and fell to his knees.
"Oi!" Riley jumped in between them, holding her arms out like a referee. "That's enough, both of yous! Jeff's alive and that's all that matters, yeah?"
"I deserved that," Jeff murmured, rubbing his cheek as he carefully got to his feet.
Matt pointed at him with a curled lip. "You deserve more than that!"
"The reason I stole the scrap was because we needed to pay back the medic," Jeff rushed. "We needed 150 pounds to save your life, so I came up with a plan to get it quick and I stole it. It wasn't because it felt like stealing from a crime lord would be fun!"
"Who said that's what I–" He growled, looking at the women. "Did you two save him?"
"Sort of," Alexa gingerly answered, stepping forward. "Long story short: we were at the right place at the right time."
Matt locked back on his brother over Riley the referee's shoulder.
Alexa took her friend's arm. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"
"Don't kill each other!" Riley demanded, following her friend out the front door.
Jeff looked at his brother when the front door closed. "Matt. I tried to fix this."
"By getting yourself killed. You left a letter telling me what you were doing. It was a suicide note if anything!"
He looked away, guilt twisting up his heart. "So what are we going to do?" He straightened himself up.
"I don't know," Matt heavy replied. "I don't know. All I know is I came home to that letter and wanted to kill you myself for being an idiot."
Jeff pressed his lips together, looking away.
"I'm sorry I punched you, but you were right: you did deserve it." Matt leaned against the wall as if the energy was completely drained from his body.
He nodded. "I did. I really did."
Hearing the door open, he turned to a smiling Alexa as Riley closed the door. Her hands were behind her back. "Guys. Riley and I talked about it. Want to come with us to Redding?"
Jeff blinked. He turned to Matt, who was staring in disbelief. "Want to go back home to North Carolina? Get out of this hellhole?
"First," his voice was heavy with exhaustion, "a crime lord wants one of us dead. Then, I thought my brother got himself killed. Now, we have an opportunity of leaving this place for good? When does this rollercoaster end because I want off."
"We're serious," Riley stated, joining them. "We can't just leave ya 'ere on good conscience."
"You both look exhausted," Alexa murmured.
"I've been mourning my brother for the half hour or so," Matt dryly stated.
"I feel like I can sleep until my debt is due," Jeff murmured with a burning cheek.
She stepped forward, looking him in the eye. "Come with us."
Jeff turned to his brother. "I'm going where you go, brother."
"That was probably one the worst half hours of my life," Matt said. "And I really don't want to go through that again, but if we stay here, I know I will. I say let's just get out of here."
Jeff deeply inhaled, nodding. He turned to the Sanguine Wanderers. "Let's get out of here."