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Will is alone.
He sits in a darkened room, lit only by a single television currently blaring an inane commercial for some fast food chain. He's had a lot of time to himself lately. He's not used to it.
He's not sure he likes it.
His attention is once again drawn to the pain in his neck, the throbbing at the incision point, and the bandages that cover it. A constant reminder of how his body could have failed him and the decision he made so that it wouldn't. It's for your own good, he'd once told himself. Now he's not so sure about that.
The first few weeks were the worst of it. He couldn't turn his head too far in either direction, nor could he escape the pain. To think, just a few months prior he was performing feats of athleticism that brought thousands of people to their feet, roaring in approval.
If he closes his eyes and imagines it just so, he's back in that moment. The roar of the crowd. The lights on his face. And his tag partner, so easily tumbling into an embrace with him. A sudden, familiar ache in Will's chest tears him from his reverie, just as a figure with a pair of blue eyes and a head of shaggy blonde hair threatens to replace the image of Swerve.
Swerve Strickland. Will's… friend? Partner? Somehow those words feel inadequate now. They'd called each other brothers before. The word stuck itself in Will's chest. It was positive, a term of endearment. So why did it feel so wrong?
He hated this surgery. He hated that it was keeping him from the people he loved. From the people he so desperately wanted to love each other. He wanted to make them smile, to feel that warmth bubble up in his chest when that joy was pointed toward him. He wanted to fight alongside them. Instead, he's watching everything he can't have through a TV.
Then, a buzz. A text!
"See you soon. ;)"
Will snorted. It wasn't like Swerve to flirt via emoticon. Will savored the feeling of the unbidden smile that rose to his cheeks. Smiles felt few and far between lately. Flirtation aside, what was Swerve even talking about? They weren't even in the same country.
Suddenly, a crowd's applause burst from the television speakers. Commercials were over. The show is back on again. Will's heart clenches again when he sees his love walk to the ring. He's not smiling.
This damned surgery. He remembers the bright lights and the smell of antiseptic. The chill of the hospital air conditioning. The nurse's pitying smile as he administered 3 different kinds of medication meant to mediate a pain that never really went away. Learning how to balance again. Learning how to walk again. Needing someone's help just to move around. It's not who he's supposed to be.
He knows who he's supposed to be. Will Ospreay, Aerial Assassin. Every limb of his body under his complete control. Not someone who needs assistance just to step on or off a curb.
He'd hoped watching Adam would distract him. Sure, it wasn't at his side like he wished it could be, but he was witnessing it live along with the rest of the world. That'd be enough, right? Will hoped his well wishes could somehow permeate the miles between him and his cowboy. He's defending the Men's World Championship again, the one Will had failed to employ Swerve's help in getting back. The one that Swerve helped Adam win anyways.
Will had been secretly hoping that the three of them could be just that: a trio. He loved Swerve, and he loved Adam. Maybe the two of them could put their differences aside and love each other. It seemed to be going that way until Swerve was also made to leave for his own surgery. The few weeks they spent commiserating made the worst of the recovery period feel lighter, but it did end up halting progress on Swerve and Hangman's newly positive relationship. Will could tell things were tentative between them, but surely love wasn't out of the question, right? Will grew nervous at even the thought of the word. Love wasn't something to be rushed, but he could just tell that something could bloom between the two of them. If only they could truly see each other.
Maybe that was just the wishful thinking of a lonely man in pain.
Hangman Adam Page looked so beautiful as he walked to the ring. His golden curls, his steely determination. Will's traitorous heart sped up ever so slightly. He missed him so much.
Will was no stranger to steel cage matches. The blood, the brutality, the betrayal. He'd be a fool to think he could protect Adam from any of it. That wasn't the nature of the business. Wrestlers hurt each other, that was the name of the game. That didn't stop a part of him from wishing he could do something, anything, to lessen his cowboy's pain.
Pride unfurled in his chest as he watched Adam fight tooth and nail, even through the blood and sweat. The steel may be unforgiving, but nothing could keep Hangman Adam Page down.
Nothing but betrayal, of course.
A quiet rage slithers through Will's stomach as he watches that scrawny kid show his true colors and help Samoa Joe win Adam's championship. Will felt sick. He should be there. He commended Eddie Kingston for his assist, but Adam needs someone who was specifically there for him. For the umpteenth time, Will curses this damn surgery and the damn recovery time and his damn neck for keeping him from Hangman Adam Page.
Seeing Adam lay prone, another feeling made itself known in Will's chest. Will puzzled at it. It was as cold as dread with the heaviness of guilt. He'd give anything to take Adam's place. It should be Will hurting, not Adam.
Samoa Joe and his fifteen Opps share their awful, undeserved victory. Adam, bloody and beaten, laid out in the middle of the ring. Will's heart ached. He's so alone. Will never hated anyone more than he hated himself for not being able to be there with him.
Then the lights went out.
The crowd stirred. The image of a house suddenly set ablaze projects on the big screen.
Will scoffed a laugh of relief. Is this what Swerve was trying to be cryptic about earlier?
A spotlight, a silhouette. Prince Nana is here and he taunts the camera. Will's heart balloons with love and joy and relief. He's here. He must be!
Then, armed with a brand new song, Swerve Strickland makes his entrance.
He walks with the regal suredness of a king. Slow, steady, and deadly. Will wanted nothing more than to leap out of his chair and celebrate. Once again, his neck held him back.
Swerve and the Opps eye each other. Samoa Joe presents Adam to Swerve, as if serving him on a silver platter. Swerve takes off his leather jacket and Will's breath catches in his throat. It would be the perfect opportunity to give his forever-rival just what he deserved.
Only, instead of attacking Adam, Swerve goes for one of the Opps.
Chaos ensues. Samoa Joe and his favored Opps escape the ring as Swerve fights the ones they leave behind. It's beautiful. It's beyond Will's wildest dreams. He's so proud, so in love.
So alone.
He watches as Adam gets back on his feet, standing together with Swerve Strickland, his worst enemy. The tides were turning now, Will was sure of it. Swerve, of his own volition, showed up to help the man who burned his childhood home down. Anything was possible, maybe even the three of them could be.
If only Will's damn neck would let him be there.
He longs to be between them. Standing between them, that is. Any other interpretation of the word would send a buzz through Will that he wasn't sure he deserved to feel.
The broadcast ends and Will turns off his TV. It's dark in his room now, the silence deafening after what he'd just watched. He closes his eyes and pictures Swerve and Adam together, himself alongside them. They're smiling.
Will is alone.