Title: He Thrusts His Fists Against the Posts and Still Insists He Sees the Ghosts
Author: Emono
Rating: FRM
Fandom: Wrestling
Pairings: John Cena/Jack Swagger, Randy Orton/Cody Rhodes
Disclaimer: The WWE is not mine nor are any of it's child branches, it is the 96% property of the McMahon's and God bless the bastards that work for them. I respect the sexual preferences and identities of all the wrestlers on WWE roster, and who they share a bed with is really none of my business.
Beta: gil_follower
Warnings: Character changes, slash, wrestling violence. Serious OOC, note this.

(AN: This is my response to seeing a question on the internet saying "Do you think Jack Swagger is just like a young Kurt Angle?" Yes, Swagger is an ass, but Kurt Angle was totally horrible to watch. I remember when he first came out. So here it is. And for some reason the "Oogie Boogie's Song" kept playing in my head as I was writing. Weird. Also, no referee for this match. Does that happen? I dunno, I've never seen it. But I want a real match, and the referee would just get in the way. I told you this was like Wrestling AU. Plus, I forgot to write one in and I'm lazy.)


11: Who Roam Throughout the World Seeking the Ruin of Souls.

The WWE got a small jolt to it's system, not all were happy with how things were playing out.

A remix of "Citizen Soldiers" played on the screen, along with a montage of someone RAW hadn't seen in a long time. Kurt Angle came down the catwalk, getting a bout of 'boos' which he just grinned at. He came out in that American spandex uniform, bald, bulging, riddled with steroids, and with that fucking attitude that pissed everyone off. Maybe not as much so as Chris Jericho, but enough to get him booed.

There was a table set up right at the end of the catwalk, not a foot in front of the ring. It had a contract sitting there on it, along with a pen. It wasn't a regular table, this thing was wood with a steel rim. It wouldn't collapse so easily, not like the others would.

Angle walked around it, heading up the stairs. He carried a mic and a grin, making his way to the middle of the ring. He looked around, a brief sneer of disgust marring his face before he schooled it into an easy expression of smugness.

"For those of you who don't know, I'm Kurt Angle. The Champion, the All-American Dream" Kurt's eyes flashed darkly "The first and original All-American American."

He shook himself, strolling around the rectangle of the ring, "I've been gone for some time now. I've decided to dedicate my time to the real wrestling world, you may have seen me on a little show called TNT Impact. And what happens when I leave? The poser-wave comes in. I almost feel like I should apologize."

The wrestler scoffed, "Almost."

*What is Kurt Angle doing? Is he trying to stir up something?*
*I'm not sure he's even aloud in here.*

"At the start of this year, I saw a star rise in ECW" Kurt continued, gesturing a bit "A mere kid calling him 'Jack Swagger', and the 'All-American American'. I sat back and watched as he won the ECW title in only four months after his debut."

Kurt clicked his tongue, shaking his head, "Four months…impressive, isn't it? He reminds me a little of…well, a young me, you'd say."

*You don't think he's going to try to recruit Jack Swagger, do you?*
*I don't know, Mike. Angle always has an ulterior motive.*

Another type of look came over his face, "At first, I was content to let him go. But even with the title…I saw him change. After he got injured, he became less of what he should be. This man - this kid- conformed to you people. He lost what made him great, and became "the good guy" for you. But he still called himself The All-American American. Now this…this didn't sit right with me."

*Oh no, this isn't good.*
*What's Angle trying to pull?*

Kurt shook his finger in a 'no-no' way, staring right into the camera, "That doesn't sit right with me, Jack."

The wrestler continued to walk at a leisurely pace, "And now this little fling with John Cena. You can't get farther from true wrestling roots than with Cena. I thought Jack Swagger was a true athlete, discarding the rules as I did and showing what a true man could do. This is no longer the case, and I must admit…I'm displeased with it."

*He's displeased? Who does the hell does he think he is?*
*Technically he's been around a helluva lot longer than Swagger.*
*Shut up, Michael.*

"I, Kurt Angle, am now discrediting 'Thack 'thwagger."

*Oh, that's cute with the lisp.*
*Don't spill your sarcasm on the table, Jerry.*
*I've never even heard of someone doing this.*

"I am the American Dream" Kurt's voice rose "I am a true athlete, a true contender. I am the face of this industry, one I have carried on my shoulders only to be tossed aside like trash! I am all that wrestling means! And I…am the first and only All-American American."

*Oh man, he shouldn't say stuff like that.*
*I'll give Kurt Angle this…he sure can turn a crowd.*

This was true, because the crowd was booing louder now.

"I declare Jack Swagger nothing more than a filthy poser!" Kurt shouted, pointing at the catwalk "I declare him nothing more than Cena's bitch."

The crowd roared at this, mostly negative.

*I wonder how Cena feels about this little speech.*
*Cena? What about Swagger? He's gotta be pissed.*

Angle paused, looking as if he were waiting for either of said men to come out. When they didn't, he just grinned in triumph.

"I'll take that as a confirmation."

*He's just asking for a gut wrench bomb, Mike, he is.*
*I think Angle's got more in mind.*

"As you may have noticed, there's a little contract sitting there on that table" Kurt threw his chin at the table in a pointed way "Now, as you may know, I am not exactly under Vince McMahon's employ anymore. So this is an unscheduled event, something he didn't find out about until it was too late. It also may not be known, but Vince tends to coddle his wrestlers. So…those papers? Those are directly from the every-lovely Stephanie McMahon-Levesque. I'm sure ol' Vince and Triple H don't care."

He took this moment to give a little laugh.

*Angle's lost it.*
*Amen.*

"But that's neither here nor there" Angle cleared his throat, continuing solemnly "That is a contract that states the name 'Jack Swagger' and the title of 'The All-American American' are put to forfeit. I demand -- no -- I command that he come out here right now, sign this contract, and become nothing more than Jake Hager again."

The crowd didn't seem to like this at all.

*Become Jake Hager?*
*His fans wouldn't stand for it.*

"And if he decides to put up a fight about it, then I challenge him to fight me" Angle thumbed at himself, then gestured outward sharply "But not just any kind of match, this one is new for the fans. No referee, no count-outs. I'm talking about an Unsanctioned/Last Man Standing match. It's do or die, kid."

Angle dropped the mic to the side, an expectant look aimed at the entrance.

*What was that?*
*Kurt Angle just demanded -- I'm sorry -- commanded that Jack Swagger come out here and forfeit his name. His name, man, everything he's worked for!*
*Can he do that?*
*I don't know, but he just did. He's Kurt Angle, I don't think he cares.*
*There has to be a referee.*
*Well, Mike, there are some unsanctioned matches where a wrestler can request no referee. Angle must've planned this out further than we thought, because otherwise Vince would have stopped this.*

Age Against the Machine played suddenly, the montage of none other than Jack Swagger coming on the big screen. Kurt Angle didn't seem surprised, his smug grin just stayed on his ugly face.

Jack strolled out, a look of ire on his face. Shirtless, black armlets on his wrists, faint fingerprint bruises peeking out of his worn, ripped jeans…the crowd roared for him. He didn't do his pyro, nor his signature push-up, not even his little half-salute to the crowd with a wink as a tribute to his lover.

No…he just walked down the way, eyes only for Angle. The lack of grin and laughter and general show-offy-ness made the crowd just that much wilder, they knew how pissed off the man was.

*Swagger looks displeased as well.*
*Swagger is pissed. I've never seen that look on his face before.*

"There you are, Jake" Kurt teased, eyes bright "Now that I smoked you out…why don't you go ahead and sign that?"

Jack just stared, making his way closer to the ring.

"Along the dotted line there, sweetheart" Kurt nodded at the contract, needling the blonde.

Jack didn't spare the table a glance, just continued on until he was climbing the steps to get into the ring. He swung his leg through the second and third rope gap, bending over briefly to get through before taking an offensive stand. He kept his fists curled at his sides, lips pursed.

*Swagger's just staring him down.*
*This can't end well.*

"Down there, pretty boy" Kurt kept speaking into the mic, pointing down at the table "I'm not joking about this. Get. Down. There. And give me your name."

"My name's mine" Jack stated firmly.

"You're not worthy of it" Angle spat.

Jack couldn't stop himself. He threw a punch, catching the man off-guard and in the cheek. Kurt didn't stumble, but it whipped his head to the side.

*Swagger struck first!*

The mic dropped, it was on.

The older man charged him, catching him around the waist and taking him down. Two punches fell down into Jack's face before he could register what they were, but he managed to block them with his forearm.

"What the hell are you doing?" Jack hissed, anger lacing with his blood "Is this some fucked up storyline no one clued me into?"

"This is you versus me" Angle spat, digging his knee into the blonde's ribs and making him cough "This is a real fight. I'm gonna make you bleed, kid."

Oh shit.

"Yer crazy!"

Jack shoved him off, managing to get to his feet. Ok, a real fight. Instead of pulling his hits, this was full-on. Ok, yeah, he could do this. This is how he started out, right? Some of his moves…well, he'd just have to tweak them enough.

They went at it, exchanging punches and blocks. Jack was faster than he used to and Angle was slower, he had the advantage right away. Jack found himself seized by the wrist and tossed into the ropes, only to come back and get an uppercut to the jaw. Jack didn't like the taste of his own blood in his mouth, so he countered. Kurt swung him into the ropes again, so he took the older man down with an Lariat takedown. Angle hit the mat hard, but the blonde wasn't letting up. Jack gave him an elbow drop, hitting him right between his shoulder blades.

Kurt turned over, seizing him by the head and flipping him all the way over. Jack hit the mat with a grunt, finding his leg and neck seized in an attempt to ankle-lock him. He kicked out with a bit of struggle, managing to drive his knee into the older man's temple. Angle pulled away and got to his feet, but only delivered a diving stomp to his chest.

Jack coughed and rolled away, managing to get to the ropes. He got to his feet, not leaving his back to his opponent. Angle charged him, but Jack was having none of that, and gave him a serious sole kick to the chest. Even as thick and steroid-riddled as the man was, Angle did bend over and clutch at his chest. He seized the bald head and rammed his knee into the man's face, feeling something split beneath his attack.

Kurt Angle wanted real, he'd get real.

Jack got some real of his own. The knee to his face only pissed him off more, the other shot up and delivered a kick to his ribs. Jack took some more kicks to his body, none of them pulled. He dodged, but Kurt seized a handful of his hair and smacked his head off the black turnbuckles. The Oklahoman's head spun, but he managed to lodge his elbow back into the older man's gut. Jack stumbled back when he was released, blinking as he tried to clear the spots from his vision. He found himself thrown into the ropes…getting a clothesline to the chin before he could think straight.

Flat on his back in the ring, Jack really hoped those lights blinding him were the stage lights and not some coma induced hallucination. God, could the crowd get louder? Guh, ow.

*Swagger's down with a clothesline to the chin! Damn, there's no punches pulled here tonight.*
*Oh man, I think Angle's setting up for the…oh he is!*

Jack felt hands on his ankle, and knew right then he had to get to the ropes. He twisted around, reaching for the red salvation, but Angle was standing and had the advantage. He dragged the younger man out into the middle of the ring, curling his hand and forearm around his ankle. He dropped to his knees, twisting the man's leg around and applying harsh pressure to the joint.

Jack cried out as his entire leg was jolted, pain shooting up all the way to his bruised ribs. He nearly fuckin' clawed at the mat to attempt to get closer to the ropes.

*Swagger's trying to get away, but Angle's got him locked tight!*

"That's it, bitch" Kurt was laughing, fucking laughing at him (even though his mouth was bleeding) "Call out for Cena, see if he comes. Show the world you're his crying, pathetic bitch and nothing else. Scream for him! Every sound you make gets you farther from your fans, and closer to the truth."

Jack knew then that even if he reached the ropes, he wouldn't let go. This was unsanctioned.

"You are such a self-conceived jackass! You're full of shit, man!" Jack was biting back any groans of pain, though his face was tight with it. He started looking around, judging the distance from all four sides of the ring. He was dead in the middle, literally.

Jack pounded his fist in frustration on the mat, glaring at the referee and fucking daring him to try and call that a tap-out, "This is bullshit!"

*Swagger seems frustrated and in pain.*
*As he has every right to be. Kurt Angle's demanded his title and his name, not to mention his ankle looks ready to snap in that lock.*

//They don't know the half to it// Jack bit down onto his lower lip, the pressure on his entire ankle so intense he wouldn't be surprised if it did shatter. He pressed his forehead to the mat, panting harshly now. His heart was beating a mile a minute, but he knew he had to get out of this. He wasn't giving up his name, and this whole 'Cena's bitch' thing was getting really old.

Jack Swagger was going to show the world he was no man's bitch.

He built up his strength, taking a few heavy breaths and blocking out the pain in his ankle. He was an athlete as well, he still had most of the raw strength that came with his body-building and steroid use a year ago. He may have slimmed down a few half-dozen pounds, but that didn't make him weak.

Ok, Angle was holding his right foot so…

Just when Angle was sure he had him, Jack swung around. He put all his weight into a swing-kick with his left leg, using his elbow as a pivot point and a balance. He caught Angle's neck with the crook of his knee, clamping down on his windpipe. Angle acted predictably, releasing his ankle to regain his breath.

Jack stood, getting a roar from the crowd. He couldn't afford any of his usual dramatics, but he did smirk just before he set Angle up for his Red, White, and Blue Thunder Bomb. He didn't hold back, he took that man and he slammed him.

*It's the RWB Thunder Bomb!*
*Swagger is not taking any chances on letting Angle back up!*

The older man stayed down after he got slammed, groaning faintly. Well thank God. Jack rolled him over with his foot, making sure press down hard on his windpipe for a few moments. Anger was pumping fast and hard through his veins, making him wish he could do more.

"Cena's bitch, huh?" Jack grumbled, a plan half-forming in his head "I'll show you."

Jack turned toward the crowd, face devoid of emotion. Suddenly, he stomped on the mat and held his palm up over his head.

*Well look at that!*
*It looks like…Swagger's had enough!*
*Do you think Cena'd like this?*
*Uh, Mike, I don't think there are any rules to this fight.*

Just as Jack realized his lover might not appreciate him using his move, the music went off.

Duh-dun-dun-duh! Duh-dun-dun-duh! Duh-dun-dun-duh!

Your time is up, my time is now, you can't see me, my time is now!

Oh shit, John must be pissed.

*John Cena is in the house!*
*What's…what's he got in his hand?*

John did come out, one hand curled around a mic and the other wrapped around the back of a lawn chair. Jack slowly lowered his hand, watching in confusion as his boyfriend strolled down the catwalk to his own theme music. John just dragged the chair behind him, spinning it around and setting it up not six feet from the table. He sat down, one arm slung over the back and legs carelessly spread in a thug posture. He brought the mic to his lips, which were curled in a smile.

"Don't stop on my account, Jack" John gave a nod and a flutter of his hand "I just wanted a better view. By all means…continue."

The crowd roared in approval.

*Cena's given his approval?!*
*I think we're about to see the Five-Knuckle Shuffle whether it's him or not.*

Jack looked down at his twitching opponent, knowing this would be fitting. But he had only seen John do the move on-screen like everyone else and a few times during training. He recalled it perfectly, but he was a little nervous. Oh well, John was watching him now (as well as the audience) so he couldn't pussy out now.

Again, he stomped and raised his hand. Fans went nuts, it was weird. Jack turned toward Angle, crouching down easier on his ribs. With a barely suppressed grin, he waved his hand in front of his face in a 'You can't see me' way that made his adrenaline pound. Angle just barely had his eyes open in slits, he hoped he was seeing it. The muscle in his cheeks twitched, the older man frowned…yep, he could see him.

Oh, this was fun.

*Angle can't see Swagger!*
*This is amazing!*

Jack straightened, deciding now or never. He threw himself into the ropes, using the momentum as Cena did. He teetered just over his opponent, giving a salute to the crowd, then swung his clenched left fist down into Angle's face. Sharp pain shot through his knuckles, but Jack ignored it.

The older man jolted at the impact, flipping over onto his back and gasping. It had hit mouth and nose at the same time, probably broke something. The crowd was loosing it, happy as hell for some reason. Seeing a serious no-rules fight had tapped into their primal urges, and they got their satisfaction as both wrestlers shed blood on the white ring.

Jack stood carefully, keeping his left hand limp now that it was radiating pain. He walked over to where his lover was sitting, cocking his head at him.

"That…was pretty cool" John spoke into the mic, grinning full-on now.

Jack groaned and rolled his eyes, "I swear."

"What did you guys think?" John gestured to the crowd, still spread out on the chair "By round of applause, how do you feel?!"

The crowd nearly deafened themselves, probably rawing their throats for the next morning with how hard they screamed. Jack ducked his head a little, wiping his bloody nose and lip across his forearm to leave streaks of crimson behind. This was ridiculous, Vince must've been going crazy. Jack stepped forward to get out of the ring, but his lover's wide-eyed look stopped him.

Jack opened his mouth to question this, but found out soon enough.

A thick arm shot out over his shoulder, he gasped hoarsely when it curled around his neck.

*Kurt Angle's up!*
*If he wasn't displeased before, he sure as hell is now!*

Jack tried to fight, but he was caught in a sleeper hold before he could stop it. Angle was loaded to the gills with muscle, and that made it that much worse. Angle curled his right hand over his shoulder, tightening his hold that much more, and his left fisted in blonde hair to press him into the hold further.

Jack was gasping more now, eyes watering as he was mercilessly choked. He'd been in a lot of sleeper holds, but most had been to get him to tap out. This was made to seriously crush his windpipe. He felt his trachea give way, effectively cutting off his air supply. He caught John's gaze, the man was ready to jump into the ring and stop this.

"That's it, let him see how pathetic you are" Angle hissed into his ear "Show the world."

Jack shook his head, waving his hand in a cutting motion to stop him.

*Swagger's telling Cena not to interfere.*
*I don't see why, Cena looks like his only chance at this point.*
*He's a big boy, Jerry, he can take care of himself.*

His lover didn't sit back down in the chair, but didn't make a move to advance. He hoped it wouldn't be his undoing, for he could feel his dwindled strength slipping away from him. He had to do something quickly or he was going to pass out right here at Kurt Angle's feet, and who the hell wanted that?

*Swagger's fading fast. I bet Cena's lookin' really good right now.*
*Swagger's not down to count.*

Jack put both hands over the bulging forearm, shifting his weight back into the other older man. Jack threw the bastard right over his shoulders, effectively breaking the hold. But Angle was a little disorientated, and Jack was fast. So when Angle tried to come up and spear him at an angle, Swagger side-stepped him. Kurt shot past him, breaking the momentum at the middle of the ring. He slowly turned around, glaring at the blonde with those fierce eyes.

Jack stood his ground, raising his chin in defiance.

John was all but twitching behind him, but stayed still.

*Swagger broke the hold!*
*But Angle looks deadly, he's ready to break this young man.*

There wasn't much of a pause, Kurt Angle charged him in a spear.

Jack acted on pure instinct, diving away at the very last possible second and getting behind the man. The ropes should have stopped him, but Jack had no more mercy in him at this point. He used the momentum and acted in seconds, grabbing the man's ankle and shoving him right over the top rope.

*Angle's gone over the rope!*

Kurt Angle fuckin' flew over the edge, hitting the table with such force that it collapsed under his 200+ weight. It splintered and broke in half, the man out cold before he hit the floor.

*Angle is down for good now.*
*Did Swagger really just put him through the table?*
*Remember Mike, no rules on this one.*

There was no referee to count-out, but Lillian decided it was a ten-count from the fact that Kurt Angle was passed out cold on the ground.

*And the winner of the Unsanctioned/Last Man Standing match…The All-American American, Jack Swagger!*

Cena looked on coldly, cocking his head at Angle. What a jackass.

Jack was panting for breath, looking between Angle and his lover. Cena stepped over to the unconscious man, making a show of lifting up his wrist twice and letting it drop to the floor each time.

"I call 'em like I see 'em" John shrugged, addressing the crowd with his mic. He pointed down at the bald man, making a face. "Kurt Angle, the All-American Jackass, everyone!"

The crowd roared in delight.

"And Jack Swagger" John held out a hand toward his lover, proud as anything "Still, without a doubt…the All-American American."

The crowd agreed completely.

Jack picked up the mic Kurt had dropped, taking a deep breath before addressing the crowd, "Jack Swagger is no man's bitch!"

Once more, the crowd agreed.

*Swagger's shown us here that tonight, in more ways than one.*
*I think he's really turned the minds of some people here tonight.*

"And if there's anyone else out there that thinks I am…" Jack pointed at the entryway, knowing he had to do this for his rep even if he was ready to collapse "…then I dare you to come out here right now and take me on! I'll show you what I can do!"

No music came on, no one came out.

Jack almost fell over in relief, but handed over his mic to Lillian.

Jack slid out of the ring, taking measured breaths so as not to show his pain. He flashed a cocky grin at the audience, raising his right hand in a fist of victory. They cheered for him, and it was intoxicating, but there was something else he had to do.

Jack walked around the splinters and the unconscious Kurt Angle, standing by his lover's side, "Got a lighter on ya?"

John pulled out a regular Bic, handing it over without an ounce of hesitation. Jack accepted it, knowing this was going to be satisfied. He bent down and snatched the contract from where it had fallen to the chilled floor. He held it up, shaking it in emphasis, before lighting the very tip on fire.

*Swagger's burning the contract that would have him give up his name.*
*We're lucky that's all he's doing with it, Mike. I'd have made Angle eat it for trying to pull a stunt like that. Jackass.*

Making sure it would burn, Jack dropped the quickly burning contract not a few inches from Angle's shiny, fat head.

The Time is Now played over their heads, but Jack couldn't care less.

John gestured outward, indicating Jack should go first. The blonde rolled his eyes, but kept up a jovial appearance for the audience. Every bit of him was throbbing in pain as he made his way up the walkway, the scent of copper invaded his senses (his own blood, it made him ill to think about.) John followed closely behind, though he kept glancing back at Angle just to make sure he'd stay down.

It was like Annie Wilkes, he kept coming back.

As soon as they were out of sight of the audience and in the hall, Jack doubled over and cried out, cradling his fist to his stomach.

"God damn it!" he barked to no one in particular, leaning into the wall "Shit!"

"Babe, what's wrong?" John was right there, rubbing the base of his back and supporting him. Other wrestlers were trying to come out, but Cena glared and they backed off.

"M-My hand, John. I think I did your move wrong…fuck, I was just guessing, man."

"Come on" John led him to the locker room, not exactly private but there was a stock of First Aid kits in there. A few onlookers lingered, but nothing they couldn't handle. John sat his lover down on a bench, fetching a first aid kit and a chair. He sat himself right in front of the blonde, holding out his hand expectantly. Jack hesitated, but gave his hand over.

John winced at it. There was a large gash extending from his lover's middle-finger knuckle to the bend of his thumb. It was raw and already showing signs of infection. He moved it from side to side, noting how the blonde winced.

"You're going to need a medic, Angle was brutal" John stated, pulling out a bottle of antiseptic and a cotton ball "He didn't pull any punches, did he?"

"Understatement" Jack muttered "He wanted to kill me."

"You shouldn't have gone" John spread the younger man's out carefully, tipping the bottle of hydrogen peroxide over the wound. It hissed and bubbled and whitened, but Jack only clenched his eyes shut and bit his lip. "This is called a 'fight bite'. It's what happens when you do my move and hit their mouth. The human mouth-"

"-is one the nastiest places on earth and a breeding ground for bacteria, I know" Jack hissed, cracking open an eye to glare at his boyfriend "I don't need a lecture, okay? I'm sorry I did that, it was stupid. I'm seriously hurting."

"Ok, ok" John dabbed at the cut with a cotton ball, wiping away the bubbles before pouring it on again "I heard someone call a medic, and Vince should be down here. This was some bullshit and you know it, another reason Stephanie shouldn't be in charge. Guys sweet-talk her into some stupid shit."

"Don't let Hunter here that."

"Like I give a shit."

The door opened, people filed in. At the tail end was a medic, then a pause…Vince McMahon walked in. He looked a little ruffled, but nothing much more than that.

"Dude, that looked brutal" Miz stood by, leaning against the lockers "What kind of 'roid rage was that?"

"Angle lost his damn mind" Carlito stated, grabbing something out of his locker "The man's gone loco, let me tell you."

"But ya kicked his ass 'mon!" Kofi looked pumped "Ya put him threw that table like nothin'! Brilliant, Jack! I thought he had ya, but ya got 'im in the end."

"Out" Vince's word was law, and all the wrestlers started filing out. Jack looked over at the door in time to see Cody Rhodes hanging at the entrance. He looked a little out of place, but mouthed the words are you okay? at him. Though Jack thought it was a little strange, he had a soft spot for the kid. He held up a thumb, and Cody seemed relieved before he disappeared through the door.

The medic stayed, sitting beside Jack, "Mr. Swagger, I'm going to need you-"

"That can wait" Vince glared at the small man in his white uniform, who conceded "Now, Swagger, what Angle said was true. I had no idea what was going on, I was in my limo when little DiBiase called me about what was going on. Why that kid called me and not one of my Chief Executive or the Board, I'll know. The assholes must've thought it was good television."

DiBiase? Why would he do that? Unless, of course, Cody said something…

Jack opened his mouth to speak, but Vince cut him off, "Because it was good television. It doesn't matter now, because it will never happen again. Angle was out of line, and since he is technically not under my employment…I am offering you the chance to press charges. He's worth some money, you and I could split the profits."

"I don't want him near me, and I don't want his money" Jack stated, watching his lover carefully clean the gash on his hand "He can't have my name, so he can forget it."

"Well of course not, that's absurd" Vince walked over, briefly patting the blonde on the head "Your name belongs to me, and I'll be damned if I let Angle try and take it away."

Neither John nor Jack said a word, knowing this man could destroy them if he so see fit.

"Now if you'll excuse me boys" Vince turned and walked toward the door, straightening his tie "I have to go talk to my daughter about a few things. I knew I didn't put her on the board for a reason. And that bastard Ted Turner…I'll tell him to keep a tighter leash on his dogs. And here I thought I'd washed my hands clean of him, the rat bastard."

Vince left, the medic sighed.

"Mr. Swagger, I would like for you to come with me. I don't think you'll need a hospital, our small clinic here in the arena will be enough."

"Yeah, ok" Jack got up, flushing when his lover wrapped an arm around his lower back to keep him steady "I'll be fine, John. You don't have to go with me."

"I don't have a match tonight" John leaned in when the medic was heading out the door, dropping a sweet kiss to his temple "I want to go."

Jack huffed out a laugh, wondering how the hell he had gotten so lucky.