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darlinrogue · 4 years ago

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matthew found himself getting anxious at every all elite pay-per-view. but something about this specific revolution—— this specific main event had him more worried than usual ‘exploding barbed-wire death match’… it had problems written all over it. biting nail after nail, cuticle after cuticle. “since pac’s going after the tag titles, adam’s next in line for kenny” he heard tony khan say from the headset in guerilla. matt’s heart stopped, right then and there. he had to find adam.

Matt

A few hours before the show Adam had scoped out his vantage point. A seat in the back on the ground floor at Daily’s Place. High-up, but not too far away. Even better it was an empty section. After his match with Hardy, Adam changed into street clothes, crept-out from backstage, and took his seat. While the street fight with Darby and Sting played on the big screen, the ring crew set-up for the so called, “Exploding Barbed Wire Death Match.” The crew wore thick leather gloves. They maneuvered pieces of hardware, metal, and explosives to the floor. Bryce looked like the marshmallow man from Ghostbusters. It was, without a doubt, the most elaborate, inane match idea Adam had ever seen. He never delved into that Death match shit. An occasional no DQ with chairs and table settled Adam’s need for violence, but this was next level.

And it was the exact kinda bullshit that Kenny would come up with.

The construction of a wrestling ring had always fascinated Adam. In his teenage years he shadowed production crews to shows. From them he learned how to square a ring by measuring the diagonal, how to lay down the boards, roll out the pads, and lash down the mats. Then, tightening the ropes and tying in the turnbuckles. For the cheaper productions, duct tape repaired holes torn in the apron. All the little things he didn’t have to do anymore now that he was a ‘star.’ Part of Adam missed the days on the indies when he’d show-up a day early for set-up and leave late for tear down. Get to watch a show for free that way. Somehow, watching the AEW ring crew bind explosive barbed wire around the ropes didn’t make Adam feel very nostalgic, though. Instead something cold settled in the bottom of his stomach.

Adam had brought a beer out with him and he brought the bottle to his lips. He watched the pyro tech guys rig-up the explosives with lines of electric wire. The ring crew were filtering out. The fight on the screen was winding down. Adam glanced over though as someone approached on his right. Wedging himself between the seats and coming down the row was Matt Jackson. He’d changed back into a gray, AEW jacket, his hair twisted into a quick and dirty bun. All he had for Adam was a half-smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He shoved his hands in his pockets and his throat bobbed, not meeting Adam’s gaze. Instead he focused on the dust laden concrete beneath his feet. Adam shifted in his seat, coming forward, elbows pressed into the arm rest. Matt chewed on his lip and then gestured at Adam’s hand.

“You okay?” He asked, thinly. “Matt worked you over good.”

“Oh, yeah, it’s fine,” Adam said. “Just sore.”

He looked down at his hand. An athletic trainer had wrapped it in bandages and popped him a couple ibuprofen. There was nothing broken, just some bruising and swelling. Adam’d have to get an X-ray sooner rather than later, though. After the match high ran down though it hurt like a mother. Matt and Adam stared at each other for a second, before Adam tilted his head to the side. An indication and invitation for Matt to sit. Matt sunk into the chair beside Adam, hands rubbing over his knees. His fingers pattered over his thighs and he shifted, exuding nervous energy. When he settled back into the chair it was like he was sitting back into the barbed wire in the ring.

“Congratulations, on beating the carny though,” Matt offered with a small laugh. “You guys had a good match. What are you going to do with the money?”

“Oh, yeah, uh, well I was thinking,” Adam began, he put his beer on the floor by his feet and leaned back. “I need a new lawnmower and there’s enough to pay off the mortgage— I don’t need much else so like, I told them to just, just to give the rest to some cause. Someone mentioned the public schools in Jacksonville? I liked that, so that’s kinda what we went with.”

“Seriously?” Matt breathed. “That’s amazing, Adam.”

“Fuck, I don’t want that money anyway, makes me feel dirty,” Adam admitted. He sucked on his cheek. “Chris and MJF didn’t beat you up too much did they? Ya’ll pulled it out, but it was kinda brutal to watch.”

“Oh, so you watched our match?” Matt noted. They looked at each other and something warm sparked in Adam’s chest. “Takes more than a baseball bat to keep me down. Besides that’s nothing compared to— to all this.”

Matt’s voice rasped as he flicked his finger towards the completed ring. Adam followed his gaze and got what he meant. It wasn’t the barbed wire or the explosives. It was the anticipation of seeing Kenny in the middle of that ring. Kenny, bloodied and burned and hurting, with his life on the line. There was a long, long list of shit that could go wrong. And Adam and Matt shared in common a worry wort gene. It was in their nature to look at a set-up like that, then let their minds run to all the terrifying possibilities. It was the inner instinct of ‘older brother’ in them. The shit going on Matt’s mind had already crossed Adam’s a half-dozen times.

Injury, pain, and even death, were the risks of their sport, everyone who stepped in the ring had comes to terms with their mortality. It wasn’t often though that Adam sat down for a match and was fully level with the idea that one of his oldest friends may actually die. It was a ‘holy shit’ moment, this was how far they’d come. Well over a year ago Adam remembered the way Kenny’s voice cracked over the phone when he talked about Mox. The desperate, twisted edge in his tone, jagged as broken glass. It was obsession rolled with a fragile mental health teetering over the abyss of fear, anxiety, and depression. All Adam had done was stand back and watch as Kenny was crowded to the cliff. Then, Adam witnessed the merciless hand shove Kenny over. And now, at the bottom, body and mind broken over the rocks, Kenny challenged Mox to an Exploding Barbed Wire Death Match. The entire Elite had hit rockbottom in the past six months at least once but none of them had involved explosives.

“Kenny’s gone off the fucking deep end, man” Adam observed, like he was commenting on the weather. He picked-up his beer from the floor and took a sip. “This is batshit. You let him do this?”

“It’s not like he asked us?!” Matt protested, his hands fluttered around him. “TK approved it and you know, it’s his show. Besides, it’s not exactly like Kenny is talking to us right now.”

Adam shifted in his seat. He and Kenny hadn’t been on speaking terms since October. A long run of almost six months as they awkwardly avoided each other in the hallways. Of course, Adam had his handful of ignored, attempted phone calls and double texts from back when the tag-team broke-up. He’d kept abreast of the Elite’s crazy drama and then felt quietly grateful he wasn’t apart of it. Forsaken doors, Barbed Wire Death Matches; literally everything to do with Don Callis, Impact, and the Good Brothers— no thanks. Adam got why he was out of the loop, though. Kenny getting sick of his shit and kicking him out of his life was inevitable as it was deserved— But, Kenny wasn’t talking to the Bucks either? That was a red flag. Shit, Adam shouldn’t be worried about Kenny, grown ass man that he was but—Adam took another sip from his beer and returned it to its spot by his feet. Yeah, he was kinda worried about Kenny.

“Why are you even out here?” Matt asked, an edge of accusation in his voice.

“Shit, I dunno, figured if my old tag-partner was gonna get blown-up I should at least be here to witness it?” Adam speculated, with a shrug. The buzzing crowd indicated the end of the Street Fight that Adam had been ignoring. Whispers of anticipation floated through the arena. “Maybe— I just got some shit on my mind. Trying to figure out what comes next.”

“You’re in the rankings,” Matt blurted-out. Adam glanced at Matt and met his eyes. His face was stricken in the stark lights and his throat bobbed. Music hit, Mox’s theme, moments before Adam could even think up an answer.

Mox wasn’t a bullet point on Adam’s list of relations. He was just a guy he occasionally saw backstage or in production meetings. They’d been in a ring once before. Adam kinda saw him as this hardened badass with a devil may care attitude. A weird, enigmatic guy with a prickly attitude and a hardened reputation. The flash of a silver flask, drawn from Mox’s inner jacket pocket, spoke to Adam though in a way few else in the arena would get. He understood the motivation behind the deep drink Mox indulged. If a guy like Jon Moxley needed alcohol to steady his nerves, then shit, it was really that bad. Kenny’s entrance then, was a nail in the coffin. He dressed subdued, in jeans and a shirt instead of elaborate gear. No bullshit spiel from Justin Roberts, just his music, and the belt. Adam worked his jaw and took some solace from his own beverage. Besides him, Matt shifted and squirmed, his thumb at his mouth gnawing on his already bitten down nail.

Before Ring of Honor shipped him off to Japan, Adam was never into Japanese wrestling. His library of matches included the DVR recordings of WWF matches, the local shit you could get on the TV, and eventually, the various indie shows across the South-East he attended. It was all catch wrestling, some technical shit, and whatever the Hardys were doing. Death matches, likewise, were a joke in the schools and shows he attended. “How many commas?” Was the refrain for what it’d take to get an average wrestler to do something as stupid as involve barbed wire in a match. Therefore, a Japanese, Exploding, Barbed Wire, Death Match, was completely out of Adam’s wheel house. He had no idea what to expect. What he got when the bell rang was totally outside of the realm of his imagination.

It was the little shit: Kenny was dead serious, Mox made the sign of the cross, and the methodical, slow pace they set. It was all physical strength as they jostled, tied-up with each other, all too aware of the limitations of the ring. After a year as his tag-partner, Adam was familiar with Kenny’s style. His explosive speed, how he worked the ropes, and his overwhelming energy. This was a different Kenny, almost uncomfortable in the confines of his cage. Close calls, pushing, prodding, biting each other, trying to force the other into barbed wire they treated with the respect it deserved it. Mox beat Kenny with every instrument available and Adam knew the way Kenny writhed was genuine. When Kenny sent Mox into the far ropes and a flash of fire sent billows of smoke into the arena, Matt gripped Adam’s hand like it was an instinctive reflex. He squeezed, hard, pressing his fingers around Adam’s palm. Pain shot-up Adam’s arm like a bolt of lightning. Adam hissed and reached over to pry Matt off his injured hand.

“Jesus, Matt,” Adam hissed.

Matt murmured apologies and yet his grip just switched to Adam’s wrist instead, which wasn’t much better because Adam’s whole arm was sore. Since apparently Matt needed to cling to something, Adam hooked his whole right arm around Matt’s shoulders. Then reached his left hand over to grip Matt’s hand. It was awkward and the armrest dug into Adam’s ribs but Matt rested his head in the crook of Adam’s shoulder, so it worked. Their fingers interlaced and Adam could only imagine how fucking goofy they looked. If the cameras happened to pick them up in the crowd they would never live it down. At least, Kenny had his footing in the match, he was in control, working over Mox, looking for that pin— Adam wasn’t sure if he was rooting for Kenny or not. Or, if he just kinda wanted this to be over because it was evidently mentally ripping Matt to shreds.

Wanted this to be over, the belt out of Kenny’s hands, and somewhere else, where it couldn’t be between them anymore.

Blood and smoke, broken hardware, torn skin. Kenny in the ropes, blinded by the dust, begging for water for his burned eyes. Matt’s breath, high in his throat, turning his face into Adam’s shoulder. And Adam just watched. He watched and forgot about the beer warming to room temperature by his side. A pressure built in his jaw, and yet, he couldn’t look away. No clear thoughts surfaced, nothing solid, or real. Just ideas, images, tangled together with the scene before him like the barbed wire wrapped around Mox’s arm. He didn’t allow himself to settle. Didn’t allow himself to latch onto anything, just let it all drift, staying in the moment of the violence, pain, and brutality of two men literally trying to kill each other. The sight of Kenny’s blood, red, crimson, staining his white shirt, and marring his pale skin burned Adam’s vision.

He thought back to Full Gear. The way he could tell Kenny was in his head. Always a half-step ahead. And that whole match Adam was working his ass off just to keep-up. Trying to wiggle his way into opening, taking advantage of every opportunity like a life line. He’d watched that match back a hundred times and he could every single one of his mistakes. He found a new error to fixate on each time he hit the replay button. The truth was that physically, Kenny had no significant advantage over Adam. In fact, Adam knew he had all the benefits of superior strength, better cardio, and youth. In skill, there was nothing dividing them— After that tag-team run, Adam knew he could hang with Omega. What kept Adam back, what left him behind, in the shadow of Kenny was himself. His own tangled thoughts and anxieties, burning a hole in his heart. He had stared-up the lights, like a crashed angel, and kinda accepted that final pin.

Like, he just gave-up, after bearing the burden of a year from hell. Let it all roll off his shoulders. Atlas shrugged, and the world shattered. And in the midst of broken glass, he had rebuilt. With no end goal in mind. Just, kinda up, kinda forward, one step at a time, gazed fixated on his toes so he didn’t slip in his own blood, and not ahead, and now he was looking at the ring. Accepting the smoke and blood and tears and sweat, the desperate men swinging punch-drunk as the ten minute warning sounded. It was an observation, he could note it, and let the moment past. Adam was in the rankings, number three last Tuesday, maybe higher next Tuesday. It didn’t mean anything, it didn’t have to mean anything.

Didn’t have to do anything but just sit here and hold Matt.

When the Good Brothers rushed out to the ring Matt sighed and laughed, but it was high-pitched, shaking his head. Adam watched Mox go through the chair in a One Winged Angel but all Matt was muttering was that he ‘couldn’t take this anymore.’ He didn’t want to see the ending, but he did hear the three count, and Adam admitted that his masochist desire had puttered out. So, he pushed Matt to his feet and they slid through the rows to escape the arena. Outside, fresh air, cool and tinged with the taste of the metallic city, brushed against Adam’s heated face. Matt walked to the curb outside Daily’s place and collapsed. He sat there, breathing hard and fast, head between his knees, some, strangled, broken noise erupting from his throat. Adam shoved his hands in his jean pockets and sat down next to him. A lot of noises erupted from the arena behind them but the sounds muddled with the traffic, sirens, people, nothing distinct.

“Hey,” Adam whispered, reaching for Matt’s shoulder. He placed his hand in the crook of Matt’s neck and gathered him closer to his side. Matt was still hyperventilating and so Adam ordered firmly, but not unkindly, “dude, slow down. Take a deep breath. It’s okay, it’s over.”

Matt’s entire body trembled and Adam had half a mind to break six months of radio silence by calling Nick to tell him to come get his brother. Instead, Matt collapsed against Adam, burying his face in his chest as for the first time in probably an hour, he breathed. Every tensed muscle unraveled beneath Adam’s hand as all the fight left Matt. Tears tracked trails of dust down Matt’s cheeks and Adam hummed, low in his throat. It was something content, a pleased purr. He always liked feeling useful, needed, relied upon, and to have Matt physically leaning on him like this— felt good. It felt right. He’d been dropping the Bucks and Kenny, fumbling like an idiot, for a while now. Maybe now, when he felt a little stronger, a little more firm, he could hold them right.

Maybe—

Maybe, and the thought trailed off without conclusion.

“I hate this, why can’t it just be over,” Matt gasped into Adam’s shirt. “Why can’t we— why can’t we just, just be friends again?! We should never have left Japan. This shit wouldn’t have happened if we hadn’t made this damn company. AEW was supposed to be fun, and all it did was just—just tear us apart.”

Against Adam’s thigh, Matt fisted his hand, nails biting into his palm. Adam placed his chin on top of Matt’s head. He didn’t respond to his question because he didn’t have an answer. No response that was adequate. Just a recap of all their broken dreams and failures. Matt knew the story. He didn’t need Adam to try to fix this. Adam couldn’t fix this but he could be here. He could do that.

“I want things back to how they were,” Matt admitted, and his voice was softer, but hitched with a sob.

“I don’t,” Adam said.

Matt stiffened under Adam’s arm. And Adam had a feeling the thoughts that came to his mind weren’t the most gentle thing to say to Matt as he spiraled off a panic attack— but they were maybe the things Matt needed to hear.

“I hated being in the EVP room,” Adam continued, and his voice shook. “I hated living in your shadows. I hated watching you guys go out with Kenny and be in his corner, while I always had my matches alone. I hated— I hated being the weak link. I hated never feeling like I belonged. Like, I never deserved to be your friend.”

“Hangman—” Matt pulled back to look at Adam, his eyes wet with tears.

“No, no, Matt listen,” Adam insisted. He hooked his hand around the back of Matt’s neck. “This shit, would’ve happened in Japan, or NXT, or Ring of Honor, no matter where we went. Because wherever you go, there you are, and we carried our baggage here.”

“I just had no idea we made you so miserable,” Matt confessed. “That we made you—”

“Dude, I made myself miserable,” Adam laughed, interrupting him. “All up in my head and shit, and I’m done with that. I’m done with the bullshit and the drama. Maybe, I’m not the best, but I just wanna—I wanna focus on, I don’t know, having fun? Doing what I can. Forget about the stupid title.”

“So, you’re not going to challenge Kenny?” Matt asked. He reached for Adam’s face, pressed his palm to Adam’s cheek. Adam shivered under his touch, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“I don’t know,” Adam admitted. He ducked his head but Matt smoothed his thumb over Adam’s cheekbone and forced him to look up again. Forced him to meet Matt’s dark eyes, and Adam had no choice but to think, Holy shit, I love him. So, he whispered and confided, “I don’t know if I can.”

“I think you can,” Matt said. He inched closer so they were thigh-to-thigh, he tilted Adam’s face down to knock their foreheads together. Adam could hear the smile on his lips. “Someone has to knock some sense into Kenny. I don’t want to see my best friends fight but—”

“Matt,” Adam sighed. His hand reached across to Matt’s opposite hip.

“What?” Matt asked. Adam nuzzled his nose into his cheek. “Adam?”

“Nothing,” Adam smiled.

And he couldn’t help but to wonder why Matt believed in him when no one else did. What he saw that he recognized as potential. Matt’s patience as Adam strayed and wandered— that the frustration, read more as worry now than anger. And it was Adam that Matt sought out tonight. And Matt wasn’t shoving him away as he leaned in, the ghost of his breath on Matt’s bottom lip. Then, Matt’s phone rang and he was cussing, digging into his pockets. He checked the collar ID, noted it was Nick and murmured bashful excuses to Adam before answering. Adam leaned back on his hands, scratching his boot heels against the pavement.

“Hey, man,” Matt intoned, a hand running through his hair. HIs voice was still raw and he swallowed hard, putting on a mask of cool, stoicism for his little brother. “What’s up?”

Adam heard the low rumble of Nick’s voice on the other side. Chewing out Matt for vanishing during production. TK needed them ASAP, and Matt was nodding, promising he’d show-up soon. He just needed some time to get some fresh air.

“Is everyone okay?” Matt asked, and Adam leaned forward to hear the response.

“Yeah, everyone’s okay, Kenny, Mox, and fucking, Eddie? He ran out there right before the bomb went off, the idiot,” Nick grumbled. “But it was a fucking dud. It didn’t go off at all— the fans actually boo’ed, I can’t tell if TK is furious or relieved. I mean, Kenny made it so I don’t know what we expected—”

Adam choked on a laugh, leaning his elbows on his knees. His entire shoulders shook as cackles broke out of his chest and he covered his mouth to hide the noise. Adam barely registered Nick asking Matt who he was with before Matt hung-up the phone. Matt shook his head and then he was laughing too, breaking the tide of all the bundled, nervous fear that had held them. Adam knew in his head there was way more shit to work out between them. That they weren’t out of the woods yet and his heart was too tender, too fragile, to take another break but— it felt better.

In some ways, it almost felt good, and ‘almost good’ is a state Adam hadn’t been in for a long time.

“You should uh, go do your job,” Adam suggested.

Matt pushed to his feet and Adam stood too. He felt that awkwardness, the unacknowledged weirdness of almost making out with your not-best-friend, or the fact that they’re supposed to hate each other right now. All the crap that was still between them, all the land mines of conversations not yet triggered. Maybe, they were untangling the barbed wire. Closing the distance inch-by-inch, and it was magnetic, almost inevitable— but Adam wasn’t sure if he was ready to stand beside Matt. Maybe because he was afraid of being hurt again. Maybe because he was dead terrified of the air in the EVP room when he was swallowing all his words. Maybe, because he had always walked behind, and never beside.

He asked Matt, last year, for a little more time, and apparently, he still needed a little more yet.

“Yeah, uh, talk to you later, I guess,” Matt managed. When he breathed there was a shutter, the residuals of his panic attack. Adam figured if he was with his brother, he’d be fine. Nick would take care of him. Adam worried about a lot things but he never worried about the Bucks because they always had each other.

“Yeah,” Adam nodded. “See ya.”

Matt turned back to the arena first. Adam stood there, watching him walking away and refusing to let his thoughts roll over it.

It is what it is.

#darkenedhearts #‘The Hangman’ || Adam: IC #‘Deals with God’ || Adam: Verse

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