A/N: Random OST about something that Jericho had said in an interview about Kane. Short and sweet and maybe the beginning of things to come. Anyways, enjoy my dears and as always, I don't own these men or saying that any of this true. It's just my overactive imagination at work.
The hotel lobby was completely filled; bodies of sleeping talent strewn around and left in compromising positions as their boss held court with the inept booker and hotel manager. It had been a complete and utter failure of extreme proportions when they had attempted to check in only to find that their lodgings for the night hadn't been secured a head of time.
He should have been sleeping and by all rights he was extremely exhausted; his body taxed beyond its normal limits. He had wrestled a match, ran in to interfere in another one, and then cut three different promos for the week. His mind was dragging, telling him that it was time to close the eyelids but his body on the other hand was turning at such a high rate of speed that it felt as if he was plugged directly into some sort of live wire.
Around him his colleagues were settling down for some semblance of sleep; even the normally turbo charged Hardy's were passed out, smiles on their faces as they slumbered peacefully next to their on air rivals. Surely there would be some red faces come the morning when each one woke up and seen who their snuggling partners had been.
With a sigh he wandered around, his eyes refusing to close even though large yawns erupted from him on a regular basis and the aforementioned eyes burned and leaked warm water down his face in silent a slight plea for rest. As he rounded a corner he stopped dead in his tracks and wondered if he be able to backtrack quickly and silently to avoid being squashed.
Before him in a hidden alcove were Mark and Glenn; the Undertaker and his demented baby brother Kane. How they managed to secure a nearly private area was beyond him, but he was certain that the slumbering auburn haired man on the couch wanted to keep it that way.
"Can I help you?"
The soft, deep voice made him jump and he flushed hard when he realized that he'd been caught. He started to stutter as he back up, his eyes locked with the 'younger brother' of the dastardly duo.
"I, uh, I—"
His eyes flicked over the seeming normal clothes that the tall man wore to the severely out of place red and black leather face mask, the dark coloring around his eyes making it seem worse than it really was. His mind, like it always did when he was confused or scared, decided to take over for him and his mouth opened of its own accord, spilling out words that made his eyes open in horror.
"Are you really as stupid as they make Kane out to be? You're not in the ring; you can take the mask off."
He clapped his hands over his mouth as the large man put aside his book he had been reading and tilted his head; a sure sign that he was about to meet his maker.
"And here I thought you had some semblance of intelligence, guess I was wrong." Glenn's voice dropped a notch as he looked around, furthering his own fear as it thundered in his gut. "You're right I can, but then what of Kane? What if picture of me without my mask get out? Hmm, how are they going to explain the fact that Kane has no scars or wounds on his face? Ever think about that hot shot?"
"Kayfabe is dead." He stated plainly as he crossed his arms over his chest.
"Perhaps, but I for one won't be held responsible for its demise. I am doing my part to help keep it alive and well."
"Well you haven't done that good of a job, the internet killed it big guy, I think you can take the mask off now."
If he had been able to see the large man's face he was sure that the lips would have been pursed in annoyance. He understood the reason behind the man's actions but in light of the situation and the complete ruination of the mystique of Kayfabe it seemed like a lot of trouble for nothing. The head tilted again to the right and he sucked in a breath, afraid that he pushed the large man too far and that he was going to suddenly be getting a face full of shoe leather.
Instead one of the large mitts that he called hands reached up and slipped the elastic off the back of his head; the leather face guard falling to the ground and landing with an audible 'thwap'. The smooth skin was slightly sweatied and a few errant chestnut curls stuck stubbornly when he tried to swipe them away and the black oil makeup under his eyes was smeared down as he wiped at them; rubbing them with a yawn.
"Would you like a picture?"
The question startled him and he turned a deep red when he realized that he'd been staring.
"I-uh…well…"
His stuttering was cut off gentle laughing and he looked up with a sort of put off scowl.
"No, harm meant." He patted the seat next to him and asked, holding his book up for Chris to see. "You like to read?"
He nodded took a seat on the edge of the seat not sure if he could trust the large man completely but as the talk turned to books and authors he relaxed and before he knew it he was nodding off, leaning on the tall man as sleep claimed him; his last thought being that a monster made the best type of pillow.