Every Step I Take Is Another Mistake To You
Real men do not cry. How many times has he heard this expression in his life? Too many to count. Real, true men do not cry. They do not have their feelings hurt because they are not supposed to have feelings in the first place. So when the stinging comments start, he largely forces himself to ignore them because he knows better than to show any sign of weakness to his lover. Besides, his Swiss heritage is something to be proud of and he isn't the least bit ashamed he wasn't born in America. Why should he be? It does not make him any less of a wrestler, and plenty of the best wrestlers in the business—Barrett, McIntyre, and Sheamus—are incredible wrestlers who were not born in America. He assumes he'll simply be another one of the imports and doesn't much mind it until Jack starts making comments about it. Truth be told, he wouldn't even be in this stable if he had a choice, but the Authority thought it would be amusing and so here he is, pretending to be patriotic for a country he isn't from.
And it doesn't matter that he's legally an American citizen because he is, but he only really went through with it because Marta insisted it would make entering the WWE easier for the both of them. She was right. Having their citizenship makes it easier to travel, they never have to leave the country to deal with Visas or worry about having to. They can be here for as long as they like to be, and they can up and head back to Switzerland when they want to. It works out in their favor.
It starts out as a joke, he thinks. Jack cuffs him on the shoulder as he's leaving the shower and makes the remark. "It's not like you're a real American. I mean, you're technically Swiss."
"Try telling that to Hunter for me," Cesaro mutters, heading into the shower himself.
He tried himself, telling Hunter that no one was going to take him seriously as a Real American because the shtick is stupid and he happens to be from Switzerland. He has an accent, for God's sake, but Hunter just shook his head and told him to roll with it and Colter was a good manager. No, Colter was not a good manager but Cesaro doesn't have the build-up in the company he needs right now anyway. How could he just walk out when he needed the company more than the company needed him? So he stays in the Real Americans and Jack's jabs start getting to the point where Cesaro can tell they're not supposed to be jokes anymore. He's being serious.
"I don't see the fucking point in even keeping this stupid team going." Jack throws his bag down one night after another loss, then turns on him, shoving him up against the wall. "You are fucking useless foreign trash and I shouldn't have to step in that ring with you."
Cesaro sucks in a harsh breath and shoves Jack off of him. "Then don't." And he stalks off.
Not that Jack lets him get far. Before he can even reach the door, Jack's hand is in front of his face, keeping the door firmly in the frame. Not that he can't knock Jack off and leave anyway, but still. "I'm sorry. Look, I didn't mean that. You know I didn't mean that. I'm just... I'm just frustrated and tired, you know? Just... Lashing out." He feels Jack's forehead against the back of his head, warm breath on the back of his neck, and he thinks he understands lashing out.
"If you every say that again..." He trails off, not sure what the threat will be.
And Jack invents a suitable one for him. "I won't. I don't want you to leave me."
It's an isolated incident at the time; Cesaro lets it go. In the back of his mind, he knows he shouldn't let it go because it was bad, but he lets it go like an idiot nonetheless. He lets himself believe Jack didn't mean the words he said even though he knows very well Jack meant them.
"You stupid son of a bitch!" Jack lashes out again the next week when they lose again, not shoving him up against the wall, not this time. Instead, he gets thrown into the lockers, the protruding bits of metal digging into his back hard enough to leave bruises. "Why don't you go back to fucking pansy ass Switzerland? You don't belong in this fucking company."
Colter is in the room at the time and tries to keep them separated, but Jack shoves the man out of the way and throws a punch that Cesaro wisely ducks. Another curse leaves Jack's lips when his knuckles collide with cold metal, but Cesaro can't bring himself to care as he grabs his bag and starts for the door, intent on just getting out of here and finding another bus to crash on for the night. If he plays the pity card, maybe 3MB will be kind enough to lend him a spot.
"I'm finished. I'm done with this," he fires back over his shoulder before bolting from the room, letting the door slam behind him as he hurries down the hallway. Best to get some distance now.
He stumbles out of the venue into the freezing night air, wishing he had time to put on his jacket, before hurrying over to the bus he knows belongs to the Three Man Band. Three knocks is enough to have the door swinging open, Heath Slater standing in the doorway with his shock of bright orange hair just as vivid as it is in the daylight. He cocks his head, dark eyes flashing as he takes in Cesaro's appearance. "Not that I have a problem with you being here or anything, but it's pretty late at night to come knocking. Can we help you with something?"
"Just... Had a fight with my partner and don't think it's a good idea to stay the night with him. Not on a bus." When Heath wrinkles his nose in confusion and starts to say something, no doubt a turn down, Cesaro pulls out the big guns without even thinking twice about it. He wants to get away from Jack tonight, and if that means showing off his back, so be it. Quickly, he spins around and lifts up the back of his shirt. "He just did this to me. If you don't mind, I'd really like to stay with you guys just for tonight. But if you can't let me on, I'll understand that, too."
Heath's sharp intake of breath coupled with warm fingers on his cold back pretty much cements he's getting a spot on the bus tonight. Sure enough, Heath invites him on with a sharp look at his fellow "bandmates" when they start to ask questions. Drew falls silent first and swings his legs off of the couch and onto the floor, offering Cesaro the spot beside him. Cesaro takes it, pulling his knees to his chest and trying to hold very still so as not to rub his bruising back against the couch and irritate it further. The last thing he wants to do is cause himself more pain; the ache echoing through his chest is more than enough all by itself. Funny, how he honestly thought Jack would just stop because he said he would. When has Jack ever just stopped?
"Want a drink?" Drew offers, holding a bottle out to him, the questions lingering in his eyes that he refuses to speak. Good for him; so few people understand that there are some questions that should never be asked. This bus is the best place he could have ended up, then.
The bonus is that Jack doesn't happen to be on it and likely never will be.
It's Jack's words that drive him away from the "Real" Americans. Jack's words that echo in his ears when he storms up to Cesaro after the announcement, demanding to know what the fuck he was thinking even though Cesaro has made it perfectly clear that he doesn't want Jack in his life any longer. Choosing Paul Heyman was a fast way to escape. He wanted new talent, and Cesaro needed a new manager. It made a cruel kind of sense because they do need each other whereas Colter didn't need him and Jack made it very clear he never wanted him.
Lesnar claps him on the shoulder when he passes him, grinning at him in welcome before heading into the arena for his won match. He gets no more than a few steps in before he's picked up, barely holding back a scream before realizing it's only Ryback and breathing a sigh of relief. Curtis Axel is there a moment later, slapping him on the back to congratulate him. So much for that bullshit about not being Paul Heyman guys anymore. Of course, what is often said in the ring means so very little when compared to what happens backstage, and Heyman is a good guy.
"Thought you two didn't work with Heyman anymore," Cesaro mumbles when they set him down, his hands still fastened tight to the trophy he brought with him out of the match.
"Only to the fans, man. Only to the fans." Curtis slaps him on the back, not hard enough for it to hurt but hard enough for it to be felt. "As far as they know, it's just us and Heyman isn't in the picture anymore. But he's a hell of a manager and we need him. And now you're one of us. How does that feel, being a Paul Heyman guy? It's fucking great, isn't it?"
Ryback nods and drapes an arm across his shoulders, and Cesaro smiles despite himself, warmed by the personalities of the other two men. And he didn't even get along with them prior to now. "He's going to do wonders with you, man. You're on the way up and you're gonna go way fucking up. All you gotta do is lay back and relax because you got it made now."
He's standing backstage between Axel and Ryback weeks later when the "deportation list" is first brought out, eyes narrowing slightly when he sees his name at the very top. The first name they wrote down was his; he isn't even the least bit surprised by this at all. Next to him, Ryback bristles and growls, his hands curling into fists that shake. On the other side, Axel just makes a disgusted noise and shakes his head; all of them seem to be of the opinion this has gone too far. Even Heyman is on the list, and Cesaro just rolls his eyes and scrubs a hand over his face. Amazing how the Authority will let this go on without realizing how damaging it is.
"Funny how they want to deport you now," Ryback mutters, and Cesaro grins up at him.
Axel shakes his head and drops his hand on Cesaro's shoulder, squeezing. "This is such bullshit. You know what? You're from Switzerland and you're fucking cool. Being Swiss isn't bad."
"Sheamus is on the list. Marta is not going to take kindly to that. Funny how she isn't on the list and she's Swedish, too." Ryback snorts and Cesaro has to muffle laughter against the palm of his hand. "Swagger is just jealous you aren't with them anymore. Now they officially suck."
"We officially sucked even when I was still on the team. We couldn't win at all," Cesaro argues because he can't take credit for something he couldn't do then but can do now. The looks the tag team sends him make him furrow his brow. "What? It's true. Whether or not I'm with them, they sucked. There's not really a way to change that."
Ryback shakes his head, his hand dropping on Cesaro's shoulder as well until he's more or less flanked by the two men. "Dude, no. You were the only thing that was ever good in that team. You were the only part worth watching. Swagger is washed-up."
There's not much he can think to say in response to those words, so Cesaro just nods and continues to watch the screen, smirking when Adam Rose comes out and interrupts. And who really cares if Zeb Colter and Jack Swagger think he should be deported when weeks ago they considered him one of them? He isn't a Real American anymore. There's no reason to worry about Swagger when he knows the guy is just going to end up jobbing because no one really wants to put him over. Getting busted for using steroids tends to piss off the older wrestlers.
"I don't want to watch this anymore. It's starting to get pathetic," Axel mutters, and as if the two of them are connected, Ryback reaches forward and shuts off the television. Cesaro doesn't comment, but they were right. This is getting pathetic and he's glad it's turned off.
"Let's find somewhere quiet for a change," Ryback says, and Cesaro startles a bit when he realizes the big man is talking to him and not to Axel. And they're both staring at him.
The three of them have become not-quite-friends since he joined up as a Heyman Guy after winning the trophy, but he doesn't really know why he's suddenly being included in their plans to leave. Usually, they bid him farewell and walk off together, talking about whatever it is they happen to be discussing at the time. Cesaro doesn't mind because he is hardly that petty or stupid, but he feels oddly happy nodding and falling in step with him, remaining silent while they start discussing what was just on the screen. "Clearly, Colter is an idiot." "Swagger is worse. He's following the old man." "I would've pulled his mustache harder." "Oh yeah. Way harder."
It takes him a few minutes to realize their hands are still in place on his shoulders, and he wonders at that before letting it go. Nothing to worry about. Not this time. Neither of these men have caused him actual damage. No one has called him useless or trash since he joined up with them. No one has made him uncomfortable. What should he be afraid of or worry about?
He ends up on the unofficial Heyman Guy bus, the position a little awkward. His back is against Ryback's chest, his feet propped up in Axel's lap, but it could be worse and it's actually quite pleasant. No one's ever just sat and held him before. Jack never even gave it a thought.
"You okay, man?" Ryback asks, the words coming out in a soft breath on the back of his neck.
It's reminiscent of the first time Jack said he was sorry, but it's a lot more pleasant and he doesn't ache from being thrown into a wall. "Fine, yes. You?"
"We're both good, thanks," Axel answers for him, and the hum of agreement Ryback offers rumbles against Cesaro's back. "Just... Yeah, we're good. Just getting to sit here with you is a pretty damn great thing, actually. Heyman even thinks we're doing better in the ring."
"Because we share a manager? I'm afraid I'm not following." His accent thickens with his confusion, and he scowls slightly at it. Why does it have to do that?
Axel looks at a loss for words, one hand coming to rest on top of Cesaro's ankle. His thumb strokes over the delicate bones there and Cesaro isn't even sure Axel has any idea he's doing it. "Just, like... You're a great addition and now we get to work with you all the time. Like, we're learning from you and from watching you and from just having you around. You're great."
"Really great. Like. One of the best," Ryback adds, and Cesaro flushes slightly.
"You'll be the best one day." Axel grins broadly. "I know you will be."
Cesaro doesn't get a chance to respond to the oddly sweet and heartwarming words before his chin is tilted up and back, Ryback's lips layering over his in an unusually sweet kiss for such a big man. As soon as that breaks, Axel is suddenly balanced above him, one hand on the back of the couch and the other on the edge of the cushions, gripping tightly to hold himself up before his lips brush over Cesaro's as well. It's... Odd, to say the least because Cesaro isn't even into the idea of a relationship right now... But he thinks they can make it work anyway.