A/N: This is what happens when the ending of RAW 1,000 meets a Kelly Clarkson song.

This is NOT part of the Hard to Handle/Core 4 Verse. Just a two-shot-Yes, TWO-SHOT, no more than 2 chapters to follow, I don't care how much people ask me for it! lol-that I felt I needed to do after last night's 1,000th Raw and well, a little inspiration from IHeartTeryse's great story "Take Care of Me." Go read it, it's great! Just a little Punk/AJ thing to deal with…whatever it is that Punk might be now (hopefully a tweener with some edge like he was last summer, not a full-blown heel; that's what Randy Orton's for…lol) I will still be a Punk fan regardless, because (Jim Gordon voice) he's the champion that wrestling fans deserve…just not sure if he's the one we need right now…

And lol at the people clamoring for a Punk heel turn around the net. If the IWC had their way, EVERYONE would be a heel, there'd be no faces to fight. Hmm, I wonder what would happen if I turned heel? It'd probably be something like…(cue dream sequence)

I give, and I give and I give for you stupid, mindless reviewers and readers, and all you do is take, and take, and take more of my soul and my heart and demand that I make more, not caring about what I want or my own schedule, because you're too lazy to write your OWN stories! And you thought, 'hey' it's okay, he's good ol' Jean-theGuardian, he's our hero, he's the Man!' But I am not your hero, idiots, I am the Devil Incarnate, and all you simpletons, you stupid, mindless morons and sheep and cretins, you ALL bought into it, hook, line and sinker! But no more! Because I will stop at nothing to prove that I am better than all of you, all you people on FF dot net, the fans watching/reading at home and the brain-dead, overweight, douchebag marks in the IWC always clamoring for heel turns while they live in their mother's basement in their 30s and 40s without a date or any real job! Because I am the greatest!…single!...fanfiction author out there today, in the past, in the present, in the future, and there's not a damn thing anyone can do to stop me! Dance, puppets! Dance for your master puppeteer! You don't have to love it, but you better #DealwithIt! !

(Slaps self in the face) Woah! Fell into the dark side a little too deep there for a minute! lol Sorry, guys, I'm a goooood Jean-theGuardian again! Honest! Lol totally jk!

Read, review, enjoy! (Unless you happen to be one of those trolls hiding in the guest file lately trying to pick a fight with me-which is likely the same person over and over. In that case, kindly turn around, don't bother to leave a review and please go away. If I want to be trolled, I'll go to YouTube. I write for fun, so let's keep it fun, okay? :) PeoplePower1, that ESPECIALLY means you. Your comments here will be deleted immediately unless you learn to act mature. You want to troll? Go to YouTube, you should fit right in, kid. )

Disclaimer: I don't own the lyrics of Kelly Clarkson's "Dark Side" or WWE. If I did, Punk would still be a face, Punk/AJ would be the power couple of the year, Ziggler and Sheamus would battle for the World Title, Brock Lesnar would be outta here, and Cena would stop dressing like my niece's favorite breakfast cereal and go back to being a thuganomics major.

Dark Side

By Jean-theGuardian

There's a place that I know
It's not pretty there and few have ever gone
If I show it to you now
Will it make you run away

Or will you stay
Even if it hurts
Even if I try to push you out
Will you return?
And remind me who I really am
Please remind me who I really am

Everybody's got a dark side
Do you love me?
Can you love mine?
Nobody's a picture perfect
But we're worth it
You know that we're worth it
Will you love me?
Even with my dark side?

"Dark Side," Kelly Clarkson

Backstage- RAW 1,000th Episode - St. Louis

After the show

CM Punk was not a hero.

Oh, sure, it was easy to make that misconception, especially over the last year. To lump him in the same category that people would lump Triple H, or Sheamus or even…blech…John Cena.

The truth was, however, that he wasn't the smiley good guy to run in and make the save for the "fellow heroes" or the "little guys." Sure, he might make the save for a damsel in distress every now and then…one, in particular, a tiny brunette with expressive chocolate brown eyes and a smile that literally sparkled…but he only made the save if you were a friend of his or family. If he cared.

But to play the white knight in shiny wrestling boots? "CM Punk the Hero?"

That wasn't him. It never was. He tried that for a little while early in his career, and it just didn't feel right; doing the run-in, making the save no matter the risk of injury just because other people told you it was the right thing to do? That wasn't who he was. He spent much of his life standing out from the crowd, not fitting into it because that was the "cool thing" or the "right thing" to do.

Yet, as he trudged up the steel steps of the rampway, hearing the shocked gasps, angry cries of betrayal and jeers from the crowd, the scared, crying faces of children wearing his shirts and hats who were unable to understand why their idol, their hero had done what he did to the Rock and left the great John Cena alone at the mercy of the raging giant known as the Big Show…Punk couldn't help but feel the nauseating mixture of self-loathing, anger, regret and guilt amalgamating into one poisonous, nameless emotion that wrapped over him like a cocoon.

It was as if something else had overtaken him completely a few minutes ago…a side of him he buried a while ago and thought he would never have to see again. Maybe it was the realization of how close he came to losing his beloved WWE Title, maybe it was the taunting words from Eve and Big Show weeks ago reminding him of how often he had been overshadowed even with the nost prestigious championship in the business around his waist all these months, maybe it was just the presence of Rock and Cena together near him at the same time or something…but he just reacted.

And now, many of the people that he had enjoyed making smile earlier in the evening were staring at him as if he had just run over a puppy on purpose. And then backed up over it. Over and over again.

As he trudged through the curtain, he heard the loud chatter among the luminaries at the show and his fellow co-workers drop to a tense, yet still audible buzz. Their stares were mixed with shock, some with anger, others with confusion. Punk ignored all of them, stuck in a haze of his own tortured thoughts as he replayed the night's events in his head; how such a great, important night ended so crappily.

One of the first to reach him was Sheamus, a good friend of his ever since he arrived in the company two years ago. Flanking him was Kaitlyn, his girlfriend…and, adding to the complications, the BFF of Punk's own girlfriend, AJ, and a pretty good friend of his, as well.

The World Champion's firm, pale hand planted on Punk's right shoulder, the Irishman's stern blue eyes boring into him, searching for answers.

"Ya wanna tell me what the hell that was all about, fella?" Sheamus demanded.

All the Second City Saint could do was stare at him morosely, yet still having enough anger within him to push off the hand holding him back. "Not now, Sheamo. Okay? I just…I just need to think."

"Think? Maybe that's what ya shoulda done a few minutes ago before ya lost yer head out there! Christ, Punk, did ya even think about what the consequences would be? What this means fer yer placing in the company?" Sheamus shook his head, probably in disgust, Punk realized. He knew that he was going to get heat because of this from a lot of people, but he didn't think it would be from his friends.

"Punk, just what the hell were you thinking?" an indignant Kaitlyn demanded, her pretty face scrunched in confusion, hands on her hips as she stared beratingly at Punk. "Do you have any idea what this means?"

"Guys, back off," Punk warned, as his voice hardened defensively. Realizing that he was in no position to get into a fist fight right now, not to mention the occurrence to him that this was a close friend of his he was speaking to, Punk sighed as he let the WWE title drop in his hand.

"Look, I…I don't know what to say. But this is one of those times where I need you to be a friend and not ask me too many questions about this, and just…" he broke off, shaking his head as he found himself at a loss for words, a rarity in and of itself.

Reluctantly, the World Heavyweight Champion found himself nodding. After all, he wasn't exactly a saint in his stint within the company either; he had even ended a man's career once, that Jamie Noble fella. And that wasn't even the worst of it. "Fine," Sheamus groused. "Get yerself together; but you and me are gonna have a talk later on about just what the hell is going on in that thick head of yers. And don't expect me to let you off the hook on that, lad."

"We just want to help," Kaitlyn added, her face a portrait of sincerity.

Off a nod from Punk, the two men exchanged a hi-five and a "bro-hug" before the Irishman walked off, Kaitlyn throwing him a wary glance as she wrapped her arm around Sheamus's waist as the couple headed off in the other direction.

Just what I needed, Punk thought to himself in dismay. Even my own friends think I've lost my shit.

He didn't get far before he ran into an unwelcome sight—the smirking, svelte form of the sultry Eve Torres.

"I knew that White Knight hero garbage you've been acting out the last few months wouldn't take," she smirked knowingly, eyeing him up and down in appreciation. "Isn't this much better, Punk, more natural for you? To do what you want to do, to do whatever you have to get to the top, the hell with what other people say or think? Now you're finally acting like a real winner around these parts." Brazenly, she moved closer to him, placing a hand on his arm and making sure that her breasts brushed close to his chest as she inched her lips near his mouth. "All you need now is a real woman to work out that tension from you. Someone who isn't built like an awkward prepubescent teenager, and can make you sweat, shake and beg for—"

Her sentence never finished. In a flash, Punk's vise-like hands gripped hard on her shoulders, fingers digging into her flesh which drew a startled cry from the former model as the furious WWE Champion shook her hard, once, while he brought his scowling face close to hers.

"You do not. Ever. Talk about AJ like that again," he snarled, his teeth bared like a hungry Doberman. "And I am the last person you want to be around right now. Now get out of my face; I'm sure your pimp is looking for you right about now, anyway."

With disgust, he shoved her back, leaving her stunned, trembling and gap-jawed while he stormed away from her, tuning out the stares and gasps from nearby Divas, Superstars and backstage hands.

He only wanted to be near one person right now…well, actually, he didn't really want to be around anyone at the moment. He wanted to be alone, to go back into his tour bus, take an ice-cold shower and just sleep off the anger and the confusion. But if there was one person I would want to be around right now…

A hard hand suddenly shoved him against the wall, jarring him out of his thoughts. "What the hell is your problem?"

…he would not be that person, an annoyed Punk finished thinking as he glared angrily at the furious man who threw him into the wall.

"You wanna tell me why you left me hanging against Sasquatch after the match?" a livid John Cena barked. "Now, I don't give a damn about what you did to Rock, that's your business. But trying to pin me after Show sucker-punched me, then leaving me behind without lending a hand? I thought you were better than that, man!"

"See, that's your problem, Boy Scout," Punk snapped, angrily. Who the hell was Cena to judge him, anyway? "You don't know me, you don't know the first thing about me! It was a championship match, and I did what I had to do in the heat of the moment. I don't even know why I hesitated as long as I did before that cover, it almost cost me the damn match—"

"Oh, you hesitated!" Cena spat mockingly. "Good for you! I guess you making all those conflicted faces really made up for you walking out on me when I was getting pounded on! You realize how easy it would have been for me to cash that briefcase on you last week when the tables were turned and the Big Show had you down and out?"

"That was your mistake, not mine," Punk fired back, coldly. "And since when did it become part of my job description to fight your battles for you? Why should I, huh? When did you ever fight for me? Where were you at, Mr. Big-Time-Main Eventer, Mr. 12 Rounds, when I was working my ass off and clawing my way to the top? Or in the last year when I was fighting off Kane and Jericho? But that's okay, you're too busy grandstanding and glory hounding in the main event scene to bother with the little people, right, Mr. Face of the WWE? Huh?"

"So, this is what this is all about?" the West Newbury, Mass native shook his head incredulously. "Still mad at me for just going out there and doing my job? Blaming me for your shortcomings?"

"No, I'm mad because no matter how hard me or anyone else tries, Vince and his corporate mooks still can't get their heads out of your ass to let anyone else step up and show how much they can give to this business!" the Voice of the Voiceless venomously spat, letting his frustration of the past few months spill out of him in one fury-laced tirade.

"Do you have any idea how humiliating it is to be the WWE champion and not even get the chance to main event your own show for months on end? All I've done since winning this belt is prove that I'm the best night in and night out, and for what? To get second billing to you, Mr. Stephanie McMahon, the MMA wash-out Lesnar and Dwayne whenever he decides to stop shooting crappy Disney movies? Forget it, I'm sick of that bullshit! I have a responsibility to make the WWE Championship the most important title in the business, and if that means I have to step on you and rip out that bleeding heart of yours out of your chest, John-Boy, then that's exactly what I'll do!"

The condescending, holier-than-thou glare that Cena gave him…it was enough to want to make Punk kick his teeth down his throat.

"So, that's the way it is, huh?" Cena shook his head, disdainfully. "You know, I was starting to respect you and what I thought you were all about. I thought you had the honor, the class of all the guys who held that belt before you; I thought you were the kind of guy a parent would be proud for his kid to look up to, like all those kids in the stands wearing your shirts and your wrist bands. Is this the kind of guy you really are underneath?"

As close as those words hit for Punk, feelings of rage and guilt roiling within him, nothing prepared him for Cena's next words: "Is this the kind of guy AJ wants to be with?"

Immediately, Punk's eyes widened in rage, his mouth drawn in a hard, straight line. Motherfucker, you just went too damn far!

Punk shoved Cena hard, the Cenation leader responding with a push of his own, the two biggest names in the company only moments from an all-out brawl when…

"Guys! Guys, stop, break it up! Please! I said 'STOP!"

Punk's eyes rested on the small, lovely frame of his girlfriend, dressed in ripped jeans and a short black tank top with a white skull-and-bones, as she somehow popped up out of nowhere to separate the two Superstars.

A look of concern was on her face as she inserted herself between the two men. And despite being oversized by two much larger, stronger people than she, her presence was enough to cause a temporary cease-fire between them.

"AJ, stay out of this, this is between me and Captain America over there," Punk ground out, not taking his eyes off Cena.

"Step aside, AJ, you know your boy's got this coming after what he did," Cena retorted.

"No," she replied, her voice calm, but assertive. "Even if I wasn't dating one of you and friends with the other, right now, I'm speaking as your new boss. John, hit the showers, I need to talk to Punk."

Punk grimaced as he remembered that AJ, in a stunning turn of events, was named the new Raw and Smackdown General Manager only an hour ago. Like it or not, her word was law around here now.

Seeing that John refused to move, AJ softened her stance. "Please, John…just give us a minute, okay?"

Reluctant, but hardly in a position to argue, John began to move back off. Pointing at Punk, he warned, "You get a pass this time, for her. But you and me got business now. And we're gonna settle it one way or another, Punk, I promise you that."

Unimpressed, Punk sneered. "I wouldn't have it any other way, Boy Scout."

"Punk," AJ said warningly, allowing Cena a moment to shake his head and leave the two alone.

After Cena left, AJ sighed in relief, her hand rubbing her tired, tiny little facial features that never failed to captivate Punk. "Are you okay?"

Punk merely shrugged. "Of course I am. Cena's a big girl, anyway. I've gotten hit by worse."

"That's not what I meant," AJ replied, the poignant stare coming from her letting Punk know exactly what she was referring to.

"Oh," he quietly muttered. Scratching his neck, Punk let out a harsh snort of air from his nose. "Look, babe, I've had a rough night. And I really, really don't want to talk about this right now."

AJ could see the conflict in his eyes, his body language, and she knew that whatever had just happened out there, the man she loved needed her. Perhaps now, more than ever.

"Punk, we need to talk about this," she said with a kind of quiet, yet strong plea.

"No, you need to talk about this," he replied, brusquely. "I just…I just need to get out of here, alright?"

But AJ was not to be denied. Patiently, she replied, "You know, I could just make you talk. I mean, I have both the girlfriend card and the 'I'm your boss' card I can play."

She laid her small, sun-kissed hands on his firm chest, just over his heart. "But instead, I'm asking you to let me in here." Her voice became softer, more tender. "Baby, please…just talk to me. Let me help you."

Even as he savored the gentle, soothing touch of her warm hand over his heart, closing his eyes, Punk felt a sense of shame come over him. It wasn't enough that he felt like such a dirtbag after the fans gave him hell and his co-workers and friends drove him nuts…now his own girlfriend, his sweet little spitfire, was making him feel like crap, and all she was trying to do was to help his high-strung ass.

"I thought sleeping with the boss was supposed to make me exempt from these employee meetings," he weakly joked.

The look on her face was not a pleased one. "Philll…" she ground out forebodingly.

"Alright, alright," he sighed, tiredly. "But can I at least shower first?"

Sighing, AJ nodded. "Okay. I'll meet you back in catering in 20."

TBC

Sorry, I would have gotten it out in one-shot, but I'm kinda busy job hunting now. The conclusion is coming tomorrow. And maybe after, more Hard to Handle goodness! And tell me who you like better - heel Jean-theGuardian or face Jean-theGuardian! lol jk

Later!

-Jean-theGuardian