A/N: I was just remembering the reason I started writing this story in the first place. Matt and Jeff's sweet feud at Wrestlemania-time last year. Brother vs. Brother, Hot Guy vs. Hot Guy, the Contest To End All Contests! Evil Matt, the Black Cloud himself, was my inspiration and my muse. He whispered naughty things into my ear. :)
Fast forward to now, a year later. I still haven't come close to completing this damn story, and it's now going in a completely different direction than I'd originally intended (though Evil Matt still whispers bad things in my ear, hee hee). Matt turned face long ago, and Jeff isn't even with the company anymore. (sigh) What a difference a year makes…
Lucy Grayson, thanks! Mucho appreciated. :) Crystalgurl101, it's true, the plot is thickening into an ugly, gooey mess. Don't fall off of your chair just yet! There's more to come! :) Slashdlite, I had to throw the little twist in there. When I started to write the chapter, I fully intended to have Mark show up and kick Matt's ass. But I totally changed my mind. I just decided the story needed to be longer, and darker, and gorier, and more insane. And as for Jeff, you're right. Matt messed him up pretty badly. Poor Jeffro. :P I believe in you, stay tuned. Additional Jeff torture will commence at some point. You just won't know when it's coming… }:) Seraphalexiel, thank you! I'm not worthy, I'm not worthy! (Cheap joke, I know.) You're right, the Undertaker is kind of like Chuck Norris, though he's got a little Steven Seagal in him too. That guy is fucking crazy. It's true, Asshole Matt showed his true colors once again. He is a true dick. And as for the whip, I should've taken it a step further, and had him lick Jeffro's blood off of it. That would've freaked everybody out. Renna33, don't worry. Jeffy'll be fine, eventually… (insert evil laughter here) :)
Thanks to all who reviewed, and to anyone who's still sticking around to read this. It's much appreciated.
As always, the WWE owns all (except Jeff Hardy, who is owned by TNA now! WOO HOO! Thank God he's wrestling again!), I own nothing.
Enjoy the insanity!
Jeff lay still, staring dully at the plain white wall.
He'd given up trying to fall asleep hours ago, though sleep was what he desperately wanted to do. His mind was constantly shifting and twisting, a machine that moved backwards. Memories drifted to the surface of his thoughts like bloated corpses, floating lifelessly in the black water. And yet, somehow, no matter how many times he replayed his ordeal over in his thoughts, he never came to find any of the answers he so urgently needed.
He wished his brother's betrayal made more sense, that Matt had explained it to him in terms that he could understand.
Because he didn't understand. He didn't understand how his brother could make his life a living hell, and never feel an ounce of remorse for it.
Jeff closed his eyes, exhausted. He felt like one of his destroyed paintings, torn and shredded, the once-vibrant colors now faded. Jeff knew that there was no replacing that vital quality once it was extinguished.
He hugged himself tightly, as if for protection, bringing his knees up to his chest. He felt somehow safer, less exposed, that way.
Slowly, ever so slowly, his eyes slid open again. He was greeted with the same view as before. A blank, white wall.
Bitterly, the young Hardy wondered if he was beginning to lose what was left of his mind.
Five days had gone by since he'd come to this place, and he couldn't stand it. He hated the scratchy, paper-thin sheets on his hard mattress, the flawless, sterile walls, the sickly-sweet smell of chemicals in the air.
He hated the pain he was in.
Most of all, however, he hated the pitying looks from Adam, Jay, and Mark. They always tried to disguise it behind tight-lipped smiles or idle chatter, but Jeff saw right through all that. Bitterly, he thought about what their skittishness meant. His friends must think he was pathetic and weak, and why shouldn't they? After all, Matt had forced him to play his game, and he'd lost. Over and over, he'd lost.
It was only understandable, he supposed, that they pity him.
The three men sat at his bedside in shifts, providing a constant, ever-vigilant presence. They ensured that he was never left alone, and for that the young Hardy had to admit that he was grateful. He wasn't sure he could deal with being by himself right now. The fear of Matt returning to finish what he'd begun was ever-present in his troubled thoughts.
Jeff never spoke to his stoic guardians. He was afraid of what he would say if he did. Instead, he simply lay on his side, and waited for the pain to end.
He heard Adam shifting around behind him, probably bored out of his skull. The high-strung man didn't do very well sitting still for any length of time.
Tired of staring at the same plain, white wall, Jeff allowed his weary eyes to slip shut. But he knew, even as sleep rushed towards him, that there would be dreams. He saw his brother's face, lurking around corners, in the cold pools of darkness just beyond the light. No matter how fast he ran, no matter the hiding place, Matt would hunt him down and hurt him again. It was inevitable. It was beyond his ability to control.
Dread covered him like a shallow pool of ice-cold water. Stifling the urge to whimper, Jeff pulled the thin bedsheets tightly around his abused frame, as if he was attempting to shield himself from something.
Shifting uncomfortably on the hard mattress, he prayed for one nights' uninterrupted rest.
* * * * * * *
Mark leaned heavily against the cold, white wall of the hospital, deep in thought.
He was thinking about his and Jeff's arrival at the hotel several nights ago, running those fateful three minutes over and over in his mind like a silent movie. He had gone to check in, leaving Jeff outside by the car, alone and vulnerable. At the time, neither of them had thought anything of it, of course. They had been exhausted, and eager to find sleep after a long drive.
Matt had planned his attack well.
Taker ran a hand back through his unruly mane of auburn hair, huffing loudly in frustration. How could he have allowed this to happen? Jeff had been under his protection when that psychopath had grabbed him. He should have swept in, like the dark angel so many thought him to be, and taken his young friend back.
He should've helped Jeff.
Because he hadn't, that kid was lying there, a shell of the man he'd been before. Matt had wrecked him. And for what? Jealousy over who was the better wrestler? The better man?
Mark's gaze darkened.
Matt would pay for this. He would pay, if Mark had to hunt him to the ends of the earth and back.
Pushing out from the wall, the Deadman began the long walk towards Jeff's room. It was time to take over for Adam at the kid's bedside.
Unwanted anxiety swirled within Taker's guts as he mulled over the young Hardy's state of mind. It had been about a week now, and his injured friend still hadn't spoken a word since he'd been admitted here, at least not that he'd heard about. He was hoping that tonight, Jeff would snap out of it.
The Deadman was hoping to find Jeff in a state of animated conversation with Adam when he arrived at the young man's room. Jeff would smirk, and make some wise-ass crack about him looking old, or his hair looking like a toupee that'd been made out of roadkill. And the three of them might get in a game of poker, if Jeff was feeling up to it.
The big man smiled grimly.
He knew, in his heart of hearts, that things didn't work that way. But it didn't mean he couldn't put it out there.
* * * * * * *
When Mark arrived at the small, nondescript room, he found Adam doing a crossword puzzle and Jeff lying, as usual, with his back to the door. He couldn't tell if the young Hardy was awake or asleep.
Mark gestured to Adam, indicating that he should join him in the hallway.
"How has he been today?", Mark asked, when the blonde wrestler exited the room and closed the door behind him, "Any change?"
Adam looked down. "He just lays on his side and stares at the wall. Jay and I try to talk to him, but he never says anything."
Mark grunted, but did not say anything in response to this news. It had, after all, been anticipated. He fully expected that Jeff would come out of his funk soon enough. He simply needed time.
After making strained small-talk, the Undertaker and Edge said goodbye. Sighing, Mark made his way into the room, his eyes on the pale, unmoving figure in the bed. He walked over to Jeff's bedside, his dark eyes heavy with sorrow.
"What am I gonna do with you, kid?", he whispered. His rough voice was tinged with sorrow, and regret.
Taker studied his friend's face, scowling at the dark bruises and swollen skin that were marring his boyish good looks. When he'd first been brought in, the big man had seen the ugly whip marks that would probably never completely fade from his back.
Taker turned away, his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. He felt so helpless. Jeff's own brother had done this to him, and without a hint of remorse shown for it. He barely knew what to do in the face of that.
"Mark?" A desperate whisper, the sound of a small boy who'd been left alone in the dark.
Taker spun around, eyes wide.
Jeff's eyes were wide open, and he was looking up at Mark as if he wasn't quite convinced he was actually there. The big wrestler just stood there for a moment, staring down at his young friend. The Undertaker was unsure what he should say to break the uncomfortable silence. Jeff was looking up at him with a flat, glazed stared that made the Deadman extremely uncomfortable. He struggled to find any remnants of his friend in those dead eyes, feeling his stomach clench painfully when he saw nothing at all.
"Hey kid", he said gently, forcing a smile onto his grizzled face, "Took you long enough to wake up."
Jeff didn't react to the tender jibe. His expression remained completely impassive.
The Deadman moved to sit on the edge of the small bed, his gaze steady on Jeff's face.
"You're probably sick of lying down", said Mark, careful to regulate his tone so that Jeff wouldn't feel threatened in any way, "Let's shift you towards the wall so you can sit up for a while." When he reached out to take hold of Jeff's arms, however, the young man drew back violently, as if he'd been burned.
"Jeff?", prompted Taker, not sure how to proceed with his obviously-traumatized friend, "Kiddo, you know I ain't gonna hurt you."
Jeff said nothing. His face remained utterly expressionless. Finally, a breath. A narrowing of the eyes. "Why didn't you come for me?", he whispered, his voice so flat and emotionless that it sounded like another person altogether, "Why did you leave me there alone with him?"
Mark's heart broke when Jeff said that. Immediately, the Deadman felt foolish, and angry, and utterly, utterly useless. He had to fix this.
"Jeff", he said softly, almost tentatively, "I tried as hard as I could to track you down. Matt got ahead of me, though. I couldn't find you." Taker sighed, and suddenly looked very tired, and old, and worn down. The big man pushed a hand roughly through his auburn mane, moving stray hairs out of his eyes as he did so.
Mark's voice was quiet and full of remorse. He stared at the floor as he spoke, unable to meet Jeff's bloodshot eyes. "When I came back to the car and found you gone kid, well, I'm not gonna lie to you. I panicked. Rational thought just flew right out of the window. I kept picturing the worst-case scenario, over and over, and I just couldn't think straight. I should've called the police the second I found you gone. Instead, I ran off on some half-cocked chase through the back alleys of the city, sure that Matt would've gone that way." Taker sighed, and rubbed a hand across his weary eyes. "I'm sorry, kiddo. I did my best, but Matt beat me out that night. You paid the consequences for it."
"It wasn't your fault", the young Hardy said softly, his voice flat. He took a deep, shaky breath. "Matt just decided to go off the deep end, and I guess he decided I needed to join him there, whether I wanted to or not. Without you, there's no way I would've been able to survive all the bullshit he put me through. So don't go blaming yourself for anything." He sighed tiredly. "I mean, at least you were out there looking for me that night, right?"
Taker dropped a hand on his friend's shoulder, and gazed at him with serious black eyes. "You know, it's gonna be okay, Jeff", he said, "We're gonna figure all this out."
"I don't see how", replied the young Hardy, "My life is a fucking shambles. I'm afraid of everything, I don't trust anyone. I have nowhere to live, and, on top of all of this, my fucking brother is trying to kill me! God dammit, Mark, I don't see how any of this can be figured out."
Mark looked at his young friend grimly. "Look at it this way, kid. Things can only go up from here."
Jeff didn't reply. He only stared forlornly at his clasped hands, which rested in his blanket-covered lap.
Mark patted his young friend's shoulder gently, careful to avoid the bandage-covered wounds from the whip. "Alright enough of this doom and gloom horseshit. How's about a game of poker, Hardy?", Taker asked, smirking. He pulled a worn deck of cards out of his jacket pocket and placed it on the bedside table.
Jeff stared at the older man for a moment, blinking in surprise at the change of subject. Slowly, a small, tight smile crossed his wan face. It was not genuine, which disappointed Taker slightly, but at least Jeff was trying.
"You're going down, old man", said Hardy, trying to get into the spirit of things.
Taker flashed him his best shit-eating grin.
"We'll see, kid. We'll see."
* * * * * * *
Matt lounged in the spacious hospital lobby, burrowing into one of the tasteful, well-stuffed armchairs they had placed in one of the sitting areas. He'd grabbed a newspaper at the door, and was currently pretending to read the Sports section as he kept a watchful eye on the elevators across the way.
Suddenly, Adam Copeland exited one of the cars, looking exhausted. Matt watched him through hooded eyes as he made his way across the lobby and towards the front doors. The older Hardy smirked as he realized how truly easy it would be to make his move tonight. Copeland's guard was obviously down. All he'd have to do would be to follow him a few blocks, and then…
Matt frowned. Not tonight. He had another reason for being here, and that would yield just as much satisfaction as taking down Copeland. Perhaps more.
Adam walked right past Matt, and out into the cold night, his head bowed against the chill wind.
Matt smiled. It was time.
Lowering the newspaper, he looked around the sparse crowd of people milling about in the lobby area. His gaze fell upon a lanky teenager, who was making his way towards the front doors with a purpose that only the young possess.
When the boy walked past him, Matt stood up, causing the youth to look over, startled.
"Can I talk to you a minute, kid?"
"No way, man", replied the boy, continuing on his way as if Matt had never interrupted him, "I've got places to be. Besides, I don't talk to perverts who try to pick up kids in hospital lobbies."
Matt grabbed the kid's arm. Before he could cry out for help, the older Hardy flashed $200 at the astonished teen.
"I am willing to hand this money over to you tonight if you run a little errand for me. You won't have to leave the hospital. I just need you to drop off a package to one of the rooms."
The kid hadn't stopped staring at the money. His eyes were as wide as saucers.
Finally, when Matt pocketed the bills, the spell was broken and the kid regained his powers of speech. He managed a sickly grin.
"So, man, uh, what room am I going to?"
* * * * * * *
"Royal flush", Jeff said proudly, showing his cards to an incensed Deadman.
"You cheating, kid?", grumbled Mark, who let his cards drop onto the flimsy bedside table they were utilizing for their game.
"I never cheat", Jeff replied, "I'm just good at this game."
With that said, he grabbed the pile of Skittles they'd been using as the pot, and began to happily munch on his winnings.
Mark stretched his sore back muscles, and watched Jeff practically inhale the pile of sugar-coated candy he'd bought from the vending machine. He was happy to see his young friend smiling again, even if he knew the candy and card game were only temporary fixes.
"Want some Skittles?", Jeff offered, holding out a handful of rainbow treats to his companion.
Mark shook his head. The young Hardy shrugged, as if to say "your loss", and swallowed a mountain of the rainbow-colored candies in one fell swoop.
"Jesus, kid, you've gotta pace yourself!", said Mark, pushing the remaining Skittles away from Jeff's reaching hand, "Save some for later. If the nurses come in here and find you in a sugar coma, I'm gonna get my ass reamed!"
Jeff pouted. "You suck, old man."
"Yeah, so I've been told."
Suddenly, there was a rap at the door. Both glanced at the doorway, expecting it to be one of the nurses making their hourly rounds. It was, rather, a teenaged boy neither recognized, standing with seeming reluctance in the hallway just outside their door.
"Wrong room, boy", said Taker dismissively, turning his attention back to the conversation with Jeff.
"Uh, nope, this is the right one", said the kid, moving tentatively into Jeff's room, "I have a package for the patient. Special delivery."
Undertaker stood, standing protectively in front of Jeff. "You fucking around, kid? Cause you picked the wrong room. We ain't in the mood for jokes here."
Taker could practically feel the anxiety coming off of Jeff, like a palpable wave of static electricity in the air. He lengthened his stance, and darkened his glare. This was the last fucking thing the kid needed right now.
The teen raised his hands, palms-out, in a gesture of peace. "Woah, man, you've got the wrong idea! Listen, some guy in the lobby paid me a boatload of cash to deliver this to your room." He pulled out a small, non-descript cardboard box that had been sealed with masking tape. "He said to give it to the patient, and that you would know who it was from when you opened it."
"I already have a damn good idea who it came from", growled Taker. The big man glared at the kid. "What the hell are you still doing here, kid? Waiting for a tip? Get the hell out!"
The teenager didn't need to be asked twice. He ran out of the room as fast as he could, nearly knocking over a nurse on his way to the elevators.
Taker sighed, and turned back to Jeff. The younger man was staring at the unopened package as if it was a coiled snake that was readying itself to strike. He couldn't blame the kid. God knows what sick shit Matt had thrown in there to fuck with the kid's head.
Mark took a seat next to Jeff on the bed, clutching the package in his large hands.
"I'll tell you what, kiddo,", said Mark gently, "I'll open it. That way, you won't have to look if you don't want to."
Jeff just stared at the floor, his eyes dull and his face ashen.
Taker, studied his young friend's downturned face for a moment, and finally decided that his silence could be construed as accord.
Slowly, the big man pulled the tape off the top of the cardboard box. Holding his breath in anticipation, he steeled himself, realizing that Matt could've placed anything inside to fuck with his brother's mind.
Throwing Jeff a small smile for support, the Deadman pulled back the flaps and gazed down into the box.
His initial reaction was relief, as he realized that there were no body parts, human or animal, inside. This was immediately followed by confusion. What could his little gift mean?
Matt had placed a backstage photograph of both Hardy boys, Adam, Jay, and himself, the Undertaker, in the box. It was a candid shot, taken earlier in their careers backstage after a house show. They all had beers in their hands, and were obviously enjoying themselves.
Taker reached in and picked the photo up, turning it over. There, written in Matt's frantic scrawl, was the following: "Poor Jeffy, he's all broken apart, much like his house, his dog, his life. I'm looking forward to seeing you again so we can continue our game. I had so much fun last time. And in the meantime, well, I'll have these others to amuse myself with. All lined up in a neat little row. One by one by one, they'll fall. And it'll be your fault, baby brother. See you soon."
"Son of a bitch!", growled Taker, crumpling the piece of paper in his fist.
"What is it, Mark?" Jeff sounded like he might be sick, though, at the same time, there was a fierce quality to his voice that the Undertaker rarely heard.
"You don't need to be seeing this, kid", said Mark, who threw the crumpled picture back in the box, "It ain't important. I'm gonna take care of it, so you don't need to be worryin' about it."
"I want to see what was in the box", Jeff said, his soft voice rimed with steel.
Taker sat on the edge of his bed and took hold of the young Hardy's chin, ignoring the fear that flashed across the younger man's face.
"Please, Jeff", he pleaded, "Just let me take care of it. You don't need to deal with this shit right now. You're already having nightmares. You're already beaten all to hell. You can't-"
Jeff tore his chin out of the larger man's grip. "Just show me the FUCKING box!", he panted, his eyes wild and dark with fury.
Mark sighed heavily, running a hand through his tangled hair in agitation. "Fine", he said quietly, "Fine, kiddo. I'll show you what's in there. But I'm gonna promise you, you won't like it."
* * * * * * *
"How's Jeff doing?", Jay asked as he stirred his White Russian absentmindedly.
The voice on the other end of the phone obviously gave him some bad news because he pushed his drink away and began to massage his temple, as if he had a throbbing headache.
Matt sat in the shadows of a nearby table, watching the despondent blonde with his sharp, beetle-like eyes. Undoubtedly, Hardy realized, Christian was talking to Adam.
"I'll be watching Jeff in the morning tomorrow", he said, sounding perhaps more tired than he'd meant to, "Yeah, I know… Yeah, I'm worried about him too. But Mark's with him. He'll be fine, at least for tonight. Look man, I've gotta go… Alright, I'll talk to you later. Yeah, bye."
He hung up the phone, and, without further precursor, picked up his drink and downed it in one huge gulp. Panting, he slammed the empty glass down on the bar.
It had been almost an entire week since Jeff had been brought in, and he'd only seemed to get worse, Jay thought to himself as he ordered another White Russian. He never spoke, barely ate, and stared continuously at the wall, as if watching it long enough would reveal some long-hidden secret. Jay was beginning to wonder if his friend would ever snap out of it.
Suddenly, Jay's dark thoughts were interrupted by a hand gripping his shoulder tightly, and something hard thrusting into the small of his back.
"What the-?", he began angrily, straightening up and half-turning.
"Hello, Jay." Matt's smooth, accented voice had been the last thing he'd been expecting to hear, and he froze in confusion and panic.
"M- Matt?", he managed to grind out after a moment.
"Ah, you Canadians. So articulate."
Jay swallowed nervously. "What the fuck do you want, Hardy?"
Christian could feel Matt's smirk. "Feel that thing in your back? It's a gun." Jay tensed, his eyes wide.
"Jesus Christ!", he gasped, leaning into the bar and as far away from the gun as possible.
Matt pushed the gun barrel in harder.
"Move towards the door", Matt ordered in a no-nonsense tone, "I don't think I need to tell you what'll happen if you try anything, Jason."
Jay looked over his shoulder. "And where are we going once we've left the bar?"
Matt leered at his captive. "I'll guess you'll just have to wait and see."
I just had to include the White Russian; I had a conversation about The Big Lebowski with a pal at work earlier in the day, and I guess I had Dude on the brain! Matt is officially turning into The Joker/Jack the Ripper, because he's making up bad poetry and sending it as a precursor to murder/beating/torture. Why, Matt, Why? Jeff is kind of a lame duck right now, but he's going to get pissed off enough and fed up enough eventually to fight Matt off. But I have a lot more planned first. Oh, and sorry for all the angst in this chapter, but it was necessary. I promise, there will be more action next time! REVIEW! Thank you. :)