A/N- I had this idea for a long time. Finally had the time to sit and write it down. Its probably not so good. Since, I haven't posted anything in a long time I decided to post this anyway. Hopefully, You guys will enjoy it.

Warnings - M/M slash, cursing, violence.

Pairing - Randy Orton/John Cena/CM Punk.

Disclaimer- Nope, Don't own them.

Chapter 1/?

2004- St. Louis, Missouri.

The wind blew against him, unmerciful, and hard. Thunder rattled above his head illuminating the entire alley. It made for weird and twisted patterns on the walls. One with a light heart would surely mistake them for works of ghosts or other invincible forces wreaking havoc in the darkness. He was not light-hearted, he had seen far worse, done far terrible things. If he were so inclined to believe in a god, which he was not thankfully, he'd think this was the gods way of punishing him.

Except it was not.

This was his own undoing.

John rubbed his face tiredly. By now small rain drops were starting to fall, one by one. It was only a matter of time. The storm was going to hit them with full force in a few hours time. There was another storm brewing in the horizon, much more sinister, and when that hit there was no stopping it, no going back. This should be his cue, to get the hell out of here while he still had the chance. There was no need to save some ungrateful son of bitch's ass. Orton the fucker he was, was being deliberately late. Knowing the guy though, he shouldn't have expected anything less. He always purposely made everything difficult for John. Sometimes he had to wonder why he expected anything different from Orton.

He should have chosen some-place else to meet, somewhere with a damn shelter. One with a roof and four walls. No place was safe though. Even meeting in a back alley like this couldn't be called safe, but this was the safest from any other place. They wouldn't expect him to meet in such a place. He had covered his ass, got ridden of all the trails. Hunter hadn't made it easy. John paced back and forth, nervous energy boozing out of him. Five more minutes and he'd be out of here. Screw Orton. His ass was on the line too, something Orton tended to forget, mostly ignore.

Five more minutes turned out to be a good half an hour and another fifteen minutes more before he noticed a limo pulling over, momentarily stunning him.

Way to come unnoticed.

Hours of work gone in the drain. Was Orton really planning to get both of them killed tonight? Definitely. Forget about Orton, If anyone had trailed the limo, and saw them together he was as good as dead. John let out a frustrated sigh. This man was going to be the end of him. The man got off, and straightened his suit, took some purposely slow strides towards him, and John matched him with equally slow steps. Two could play this game.

Neither were aware that their actions tonight would cause grave consequences, that this night would come back to haunt them in the next ten years.

If they did they simply did not care.

One nodded curtly at the other, a meek acknowledgement. Even as they faced off, John knew. Lust, intensified hatred and new found respect for each other had them meet at this place tonight.

"Jonathan." Orton greeted, disdain and distrust evident in his voice.

"You're late."

"Maybe, I wasn't interested in this meeting."

"Yet you came."

"Yet I came." Orton probably wanted to say something in vicious retaliation,though in the end he seemed to decide against it, simply opting to repeat John's own words. Orton was trying his best to not to lose it.

John was impressed.

"So, how about you get what you have to say in the out and over with and we can go our separate ways." Orton continued." I don't see the reason we had to meet out here, unless of course you've something stupid planned to take me out for good. I've warned you before and..."

"And here I thought we were over this." John drawled, effectively cutting him off mid sentence, closed the remaining distance between them. "You're always quick to assume the worst of me Orton." He let out a disappointed huff, trailed his fingers just above Orton's heart, where he knew the scar was to be hidden right beneath the thick fabric of the suit he wore. "Because if I wanted to take you out..." He paused midway, letting the words linger in the air. "You should know, I never miss." He straightened Orton's suit, flashed a toothy grin. Orton had a way of bringing out this side of him. Orton expected to see him submit, bow his head like the rest of them. That's where he was wrong, he wasn't his minion. He was his equal.

"I didn't call you here to cause any trouble, by the way is it just me or are you going soft? These days the more you threaten me the less I'm inclined to believe -"

He heard the click, and felt the muzzle of the gun press against his abandon before he finished.

John grinned teeth all in the out.

That was more like it.

If Orton could bring out a side of him that was completely non-existent to the world, he sure as hell could provoke a similar reaction out of him. Even for a second he didn't doubt Orton wouldn't pull that trigger, because if the positions were reversed he sure as hell would. Just not with killing intentions. That's where they differed. Where Orton would probably pull that trigger to kill, he'd do it too, to hurt, maim and show who the real alpha is between them.

"Just, even for a second do not think of my generousness to let you live as a weakness. One more word to irritate me and I'll guarantee it wouldn't end well for either you or your friend. Choose your words wisely John."

Maybe he had pushed a little bit far than necessary. With how their last meeting had ended it wasn't wise to rile him up like this. Now it was too late to reconsider, the bastard was in a cranky mood. Mission accomplished in a way, only he could rattle the always composed man like this. It didn't come without a price though. Usually, whatever Orton said and did didn't bother him much, but that as much he didn't want to admit had managed to cut through him. Things were tense with them. It wouldn't matter that he had missed that night on purpose. In Fact it was he who spared Orton that night, but that was in the past. With Orton it was the present that mattered. He had to prove himself to Orton, and so far he had done a piss poor job. Getting shot tonight wasn't an option whatsoever. There was a difference between being bold and downright foolish. Suicidal.

He had to be tactical.

He raised his hands in mock surrender, took a step back. Orton had the audacity to look overly pleased.

Smug bastard.

Still, there was some sort erotic vulnerability in being backed away. It was terrifying and hot altogether. And even he knew seriously, something had to be fundamentally wrong with him to crave this, whatever this was. He was fucked in the head. At least that's what Punk used to say anyway.

If this was some other time he would have tackled the guy then and there. This was not the appropriate time.

The sex could wait.

He had more important matters at hand to discuss. Until now he had dragged time, putting the more important matters to the back, thinking if he delayed more he'd be able to convince himself enough to stop doing this. It was a futile effect though. He had decided already, hasn't he?

"I'm here alone."

Finally, put it in the out, a measure of trust on his part. As much as he loved pointing guns and open hostility, they eventually had to reach onto some level of understanding. Eventually, they had to start somewhere.

"What, you surprise me John. Finally decided to get rid of your friend?"

He didn't like the way Orton grasped and widened his eyes, weighing shock. He should get angry, snap at the man for mocking him. Usually, he'd retaliate; say something equally biting; now he knew better. He could read the man unlike those early years. He could see the uncertain flicker in those eyes, hopeful yet so suspicious. Beneath the mocking, uncaring tone Orton cared. In his own twisted way Orton was asking about Punk. It brought a rare smile on his face. For someone who claimed to hate the guy he sure as hell didn't forget to ask about him every-time they met. It was ridiculous, this silly game going between the three of them. Last time Punk had accompanied him to a meeting between the three of them things got rather out of control. For some godforsaken reason they rubbed off each other in the wrong way. Now don't get him wrong, he completely understood why Punk 'despised' Orton if he were to court Punk's own words. Orton was on the wrong side of the law. That didn't mean he couldn't wish they'd get along one day though. If he could get along with Orton, surely Punk could too. They obviously liked each other to fuck around, but hated too much to call out on the mutual attraction. Idiots. Both of them. Even now it amused him, how these two used to butt heads.

It had happened two, three weeks ago. That night he had dragged Punk into Orton's territory, ignoring his bitching. Punk liked a thrill of a game just like he did. Punk had finally given in, saying that going into Orton's place without being made would be the ultimate fuck you in Orton's face, at least in Punk's head it had sounded way. They had made it in without giving themselves away, and Punk had disappeared into the crowd.

Everything that happened after that was a fond memory.

John controlled a laugh that was threatening to split out. Orton now wore the same scowl he had that night. That night Punk had been so uncomfortable. He had evened the score. It was so easy to rile these two, pit them against each other. It was fun to watch. Pity though that Punk didn't share the same sentiments.

Punk always remembered to ask him if he was over this silly infatuation. Punk believed he'd tire of Orton, when the time comes he'd be able to pull the trigger without a blink. John had believed that in the start, thinking this as a mere obsession. Now though, not so much. He couldn't kill Orton even if his life depended on that.

He made sure to ditch Punk before coming here tonight. Until now it had all being fun and games. He was not going to drag Punk down the same hole he had dug himself into, or was literally digging into. He wouldn't let Punk make the same mistake he did. He had made his decision before coming out here.

"Let's say he's not going to be a problem any-more."

"So you killed him, right?"

John thoroughly ignored Orton. Orton didn't really want Punk dead. If he did, Punk would have died on that night. Orton was merely annoyed. If memory served him right they have had this conversation many times since that night. Orton was still not over that night. It was not his problem to deal with. Quite frankly it was Orton who started the whole mess.

"The raid is going to happen tonight." Business, as usual. It came first. Whatever fucked up relationship, if even it can be called that, came second. Orton had gone dangerously calm. It was amazing how quickly the guy managed to go from royally pissed to deathly serious.

"I suggest you clean out everything before shit hits the fan." That was absolutely the wrong thing to say. He never liked to be told what to do.

Not that he gave a fuck about what Orton thought.

"What about Punk?" Orton was calm and collected, no real malice in his voice. He was genuinely curious. If only he could point that out to Orton. They cared about each other in their own twisted way, though they'd never admit it. But sometimes moments like these showcased it.

"He made his decision."

I made the decision for him.

When all hell broke loose, Punk should be out of the fires line. John would face any wrath if it meant protecting Punk. Let Orton believe that Punk had made a decision. It wasn't fair to ask Punk to leave everything behind, everything he loved because John was too selfish to drag him into this hole.

Orton was disappointed, the slight surprise disbelief in his eyes gave it away. But he collected himself quickly. And John was astounded how he could read the man so well.

"Who is the mole Jonathan?"

That surprised him, really it did. He had expected more questions involving Punk, heck even more questions about the raid, about how he knew. If Orton wasn't interested that meant only one thing. He wouldn't ask unless,

-of course, unless Orton knew beforehand.

"You knew?"

"Of-course, I'm not blind to whatever happens in-front of me. Just didn't know when and who." Orton turned his back, pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a light from his pocket, offered one to John. John politely turned it down.

"No? Shame. Afraid it'll kill you?"

"I don't fear death Orton."

"Everyone fears death."

"Do you?"

He didn't expect an answer, had proven his point. They were so fucking alike. Orton didn't look angry, but he had seen the brief flash of anger in those eyes mixed with something akin to pride. It unnerved him. Orton had a fierce temper; sometimes it clouded him from whatever was going in front of him. They stared at each other for a couple of seconds taking in each other's presence.

I fear you, of what you do to me.

Didn't say that bit out loud. He'd always prefer a quick death, but with Orton, if he was the one to take his life one day it wouldn't be a quick and merciful one. The prospect of dying never scared him as much as falling for this man did. Orton's face was devoid of any expression, his eyes though they were seeking answers.

This was it.

"Gabriel." The name rolled out of his tongue easily. It shouldn't have, it was wrong in so many levels. There was no going back again. He had taken the first step forward in eliminating him from the rest of his men. He'd made himself a target, officially. Didn't want to dwell on that thought for long, he'd not regret his decision.

Orton played with the fag, rolling it between his fingers. Let a final huff of smoke into the thin air, before letting go of it completely.

"You claim to be my friend, then tell me Jonathan, tonight, if I were to go down, will you go down with me? Will you be there to witness my downfall?"

Next chapter will be up in a couple of days. To be honest, I'm not satisfied with this one, but I needed to write something down. Tell me what you'll thought in a review. If there are mistakes point them out. I won't snap or anything. Lol. Constructive criticism is more than welcome.