Chapter Text
Dynamite, 5/15/24
For a second, all of the chaos around Jack Perry falls quiet. The sound of feet stomping on the canvas, blows being thrown, and the roar of the crowd falls to white noise. The only thing Jack can hear is the familiar thumping bass of Darby’s entrance music. His heart is beating faster than the rhythm of the song, it seems as if every single blinding light all turned to frame the two tunnels and the screens that run the cartoon video. His eyes dart around, trying to see what dark corner Darby will crawl out of, where he will materialize after haunting Jack since August.
All he can do for a second is stand there, awestruck. The sound of heavy platform boots and the body of Nicholas Jackson curling over as he’s hit with a skateboard snaps Jack out of his trance. He’s here. He’s back. Darby Allin. Currently hitting the EVP’s with his skateboard. Jack blinks. On autopilot, Jack charges at Darby.
Jack’s shoulder rams into Darby’s stomach and on impact Darby gasps out, “welcome back.” His voice is horse and painfully familiar.
“Shut up.” Jack grunts out as he rips away Darby’s skateboard, preferring to hit him with his bare hands, to feel Darby under his fingertips. “Shut the fuck up” Jack reiterates. He pushes Darby so far back that he crashes into the ring post, so now when Jack shoves his shoulder into Darby’s gut, he just gets closer. Startled by the sudden solid force behind Darby, Jack falls to his knees. He keeps his head to Darby’s side, too frightened of what he sees if he looks up at Darby. He can’t look Darby in the eyes as he kneels on the ground. Can’t be reminded of all the other times he was in a similar position.
“What? Did you miss m- ” Before Darby can finish his sentence, Jack punches him right in the gut and the air is knocked out of him. In retaliation Darby just coughs out a laugh and rains down blows to Jack’s back. Not satisfied with just blunt damage, Darby decides to pull up Jack’s shirt to claw at his back. Although Jack has been hit with much worse, the feeling of Darby’s fingertips trailing up his back knocks him prone. The pain of Darby’s stubby nails scratching into Jack’s back doesn’t register in his mind because all Jack can think about is the fact that Darby is touching him once again. Darby’s fingers scraping on bare skin in harsh quick lines, the force of it pulling Jack into his embrace. Jack has his left arm around Darbys waist, paradoxically trying to get away from Darby’s attacks, but not wanting to leave him. Jack yells out, but his screams don’t register to Darby, he keeps clawing up Jack’s back, his hands setting Jack’s body aflame.
“Darby!” Jack chokes out. Hearing his name from Jack’s lips Darby pauses and in his hesitation, Jack pulls back. When his back straightens out and he fixes his posture, Jack catches Darby’s eyes. They are wide and manic, darting all over Jack’s body and much more icy blue then Jack recalls. Darby’s face paint does nothing to hide the brace on his nose and Jack can’t help but be amused. Of course Darby is here. He couldn’t stay away. Not when he had an ankle that's still healing and a wad of bandage on the bridge of his nose. Even with all that pain, he has to be here. He just has to ruin Jack’s victorious return. Typical.
Jack stumbles back and ends up getting tangled up with Bryan Danielson. He is too disorientated from Darby, whether it be his attacks or his presence Jack can’t be certain. Regardless, he winds up with his arms held behind his back by Bryan. Darby noticeably avoids Jack’s eyes as he charges towards him and rams Jack in the gut with his skateboard. This blow is different. The wind is knocked out of his lungs and he is left breathless for a second time tonight but for a much different reason. He stumbles back and winds up in Cash Wheeler’s clutches as he drags Jack out of the ring by his hair. He stumbles out backwards up the ramp, and finally has a moment to drink in the sight before him.
Darby standing on the first rope, his piercing blue eyes staring through Jack and his new friends. Jack tears his eyes away from Darby’s prying gaze and stumbles back. He looks at everything but Darby’s eyes: his ridiculously pink jacket, the splotchy face paint that fails to hide the bandage that covers the perfect arch of Darby’s nose, his mesh top that is so sheer it loses all function of a shirt, and the body underneath. Fuck. Jack needs to get out, get away from Darby. Still winded from the skateboard to the gut, clutching his torso Jack heads backstage and retreats to the EVP’s changing room for some much needed privacy and peace.
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After Dynamite, 5/15/24
Nothing hurt in the ring, there was something magical about it. Once he applies his face paint and hears his music play, it doesn’t matter if he falls into a glass pane or gets hit by a bus, nothing can touch him. Maybe it's adrenaline not magic providing him with the perfect amount of natural painkillers and reckless abandon. He’s coated in a thin layer of sweat thanks to his ridiculous thick pink jacket. His face paint didn’t do much to hide the bandage around his nose and his ankle still twitched every once and awhile, yet somehow the body part giving him the most pain is the developing bump on his head. The magic has worn off. After beating the crap out of the Elite, but more specifically Jack Perry, Darby retreated into some nook backstage, no longer having Sting’s dressing room to return to. A bottle of water by his side as he sits there, on some crate full of equipment and nonsense, thinking and fuming.
He should be stretching, doing something to alleviate the pain in his foot or putting ice on the back of his head. But all Darby can do is sit there, his knee bouncing and shoulders heaving, thinking about what happened. What happened with Jack. How he’s dissolving into a completely different person. ‘The Scapegoat’. Sure he was a little annoying during his feud with Hook, but this was new. This was corrupt and vengeful. Not that Darby could blame him, if he was fucked over like Jack, he’d be pissed off as well. Picking at the sparse nail polish on his stubby nails, Darby thinks about Jack’s armband and his hair, slimy but still beautiful. How even though he is a fan of the tassel boots, he can appreciate Jack’s black jeans and leather jacket. How even though he was hanging with the EVP’s, he is still Jack Perry. The same Jack Perry who used to ride out on the shoulders of a dinosaur.
Fed up with all the confusing bullshit in his life, Darby slowly exhales and stands up. He didn’t have time to wallow and rot. He needs to act, to talk to Jack or get back to his hotel and go the fuck to sleep. Just as he was going to move on, leaving whatever dark backstage room he is in, he hears voices. “Wow. What a great show. Really. That was something!”
“You know what made it so great? Us.” Matthew Jackson said, heartily slapping his brother and fellow EVP on the back. “We did a great job, I mean we fired that asshole and beat up ‘team AEW’. Who does it better than us?” Although Darby couldn’t see Matthew, based on his obnoxious tone he could practically see the sneer smeared across his face.
“Nobody!” Nicolas responds enthusiastically.
As Darby hears the footsteps getting louder and the stink of whatever suffocating cologne they use get stronger, he retreats back into the equipment boxes. His ankle burns as he crouches down and does his best to disappear while wearing his bright pink jacket.
“The only thing that could’ve made that show perfect would be those idiots forfeiting. It would save us a lot of work.” One of them complains, Darby doesn’t give enough shits to try to differentiate. To him, both Jackson brothers are equally annoying.
“True. But hey, at least we get to kick the shit out of them now.” The other idiot responds.
“Yeah but now we gotta deal with Darby and he’s like a cockroach. Gross, tiny and impossible to kill.” A brother said. Darby scowls, it's not his fault everyone in this industry is some retired football player.
“Hey, did you see Jack’s face when he heard Darby’s music hit?” A gaping hole of dread in Darby bloomed after hearing Jack’s name. “He just stood there for a couple seconds with his mouth open like an idiot.”
“Yup then he got destroyed by a emo pink pom-pom with a skateboard. We gotta talk some sense into Jack. He can’t be freezing up like he just saw an ex or someshit. It's bad for business.” Suddenly, Darby is very warm, and it's not because of his jacket.
“Either that or we just beat the shit outta that punk scum.” Matthew said with a chuckle. “I’m looking forward to dress-coding him. I’d say to wipe that dumb face paint off, but then we’d have to see his awful face tattoo.”
“You know, we should ban him from next week’s Dynamite. And I didn’t think Jack and Darby would go straight for each other. You know, I’m kinda offended Darby didn’t chase after us. After all, we did retire Sting.”
“Oh yeah. That is weird, those two must really hate each other.” Matthew paused. “I wonder what started that. Was it the whole pillar thing? Or something Christian Cage related?”
“Who gives a fuck. I don’t care as long as Darby is six feet under at Double or Nothing and Jack stops staring at him.” Nicholas responds.
Their voices grow fainter as they move on to discuss Christian and Swerve. Eventually it is quiet again, except for the thundering sound of Darby’s heart pounding in his ears.