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“Where is he, Will? I haven’t heard from Hangman; he won’t answer his texts or his phone…”
Why the fuck did he openly admit that to Will, of all people? Oh, right. He of all people would know what they all went through. But that level of honesty..? That didn’t feel right. Swerve sat in his hotel room, his eyes glued to his cell phone. Should he even bother trying again? He’s texted him in between shows, and even during his down time. They would go through, no problem. But never a response short of the ‘read’ notification.
He sighed deeply, as he continued to think it all over. All he had to do was give him a sign of life. Hell, he’d take a stupid gif at this point in time. The irritation of the situation made his very bones itch. What was so fucking hard about giving someone a call back—
Swerve stopped that train of thought immediately. The idea that he was owed any sort of courtesy from a man whose life he actively tried to ruin is…galling. But it was STILL so fucking rude. He was owed something; he became a fucking vampire BECAUSE of Hangman. Leaning back in his chair, he let his head fall backward onto the cushion. The phone didn’t work, and the other way…? The other sure-fire way to see Hangman was blocked off.
“What fucking good is it to be able to materalize to someone if you can’t even do it,” grumbled Swerve. And oh man, the way he found out suuuuuucked.
—————————-
A week or so ago, Swerve was at his home and sitting on his couch. He took a deep breath and mentally reached out to Hangman, as he’s done so many times before. Swerve felt his body feel lighter as if his very presence was being erased. He expected to rematerialize near Hangman, like he’s done so many times before. But no; this was unexpected and…unpleasant. When he felt like he was all but gone, he felt a sharp pain in his chest. The searing heat of it raced through his veins and made him gasp in agony. Bile was crawling up his throat, stomach acid stinging all the while. Swerve fought to regulate his breathing, but the pain made it damn near impossible to execute it.
“Fucking HELL,” he gasped.
Swerve was in one piece again; at least to his immediate knowledge he was. He clutched his chest as his heart hammered within his ribcage. What the fuck was that?
The situation freaked him out so much, he went to someone who knew about the ins and outs of his coworkers. So Willow being one of the resident witches on the roster of humans and monsters was his first visit after his experiment.
“A ward,” commented Willow. Swerve raised an eyebrow at her.
“A what?”
Willow shrugged and leaned against the wall backstage. She raised an eyebrow and continued to elaborate.
“Sounds like Hangman is being proactive about his privacy here. Wards are usually put up to protect your home from unwanted visitors. Considering how you described it? It’s a person specific lock. Other people will feel nauseated if they walk by it, but if a specific name is attached? It’s worse.
Hearing the words “unwanted visitors” caused a dull ache to settle in his chest. Unwanted visitors, huh. That’s where it all got started. He knew he had no right to feel offended or sad about it all, but for some reason? It still hurts.
Willow glanced over and saw Swerve deep in contemplation. She reached out and gently patted his shoulder.
“Both of you have gone through a lot together, and Hangman especially as of late. Give him time. Just…don’t try to do the vampire fast travel again. It’ll hurt.”
He nodded and let his hand rest over hers, giving it a gentle squeeze.
”Thanks, Willow.”
“Anytime, big brother.”
She pulled him into a hug, and he hugged her right back. The feeling of warmth was a huge change compared to the agony he experienced earlier.
Willow said to give Hangman grace. It feels like it flies in the face of what he wanted, but he trusts her words. She’s not the type to give baseless advice or platitudes.
——————————-
He did what she said; he gave Hangman space. Swerve busied himself with promoting AEW and found that the time sunken into that didn’t allow for his thoughts to drift to him. The hectic schedule seemed to keep him even; work, work out, remember to feed, be sociable..that is until his right shoulder started hurting him again.
The same shoulder that got injured during their brutal Texas Death Match. Swerve groaned as the pain crept through it. At least it had the decency to act up while he was resting, he thought. He was resting in his bed after a long day prepping for Comic Con. He left the tv on in the background, knowing that Collision would be on soon. More busy work, he thought. That’s the problem with finishing everything on your schedule; your thoughts wander to the very things you’ve been wanting to ignore. And the pain coming back caused his thoughts to drift right back to Hangman.
Swerve tried to gently stretch his shoulder to alleviate some of the ache, but with every slight move, the pain crept on. It slowly built up from a dull pain to something much sharper. He bit his lip to stifle the wave of pain that came next. Every nerve in his shoulder was alight with agony, as if he was reliving that match once again. He could’ve sworn he felt the barbed wire scraping his skin, and every staple being driven into him.
“Fuck,” he groaned. Did he miss his feeding today? It WAS a busy day, but he was pretty sure that he drank a full pack of B positive before media day started.
Swerve rolled out of bed, letting his body hit the ground with a heavy thud. Crawling towards the fridge, he managed to open it and found a blood vial close at hand. Snatching it up, he bit the cap off and spat it out before chugging it. He groaned in relief as the remnants were smeared across his lips.
Oh, he thought. That’s all it took to—
His heart thudded loudly in his chest and his breath caught in his throat. The brief respite was followed by an even sharper pain taking up residence inside him. It spread from his shoulder to his heart. Every nerve was scraped raw as he lay there gasping in agony. The pain was nigh on debilitating and Swerve was struggling to even get his thoughts together to try and fix this.
A voice cut through his mental haze. It sounded familiar, and caused his heart rate to slow down. The pain lessened, and he managed to turn his head towards the sound.
Looking up, he saw Hangman on TV talking with Brody and Bandido.
“Don’t tell me…”
He laid there on the floor, watching what Hangman had to say to them both. As Hangman continued to speak, his body calmed down. Taking slow and deep breaths, Swerve didn’t want to get up immediately. The last thing he needed was to get up too quickly and be right back where he is now; on the goddamned floor. He grunted as he clawed his way up to his bed and leaned over it. Swerve finally got his legs under him and even that felt like a Herculean effort. His eyes drifted over to his phone and he reached out to grab it. Quickly unlocking it, he found Hangman’s text conversation.
Swerve tapped the record option and gasped out five words: “this is all your fault.”
The message was marked as ‘delivered’, and as just as quickly, it was marked ‘read.’