Disclaimer:I only own the OCs in this story. I own Charity Burns. I don't own any WWE stars, or anything involved with that stuff. This is for my own sick amusement. :)

A/N: Yo, folks. Thanks for the reviews. I'd say another two chapters and that's it... for sure. Okay... uhm... yeah. Enjoy! (Someone definitely WILL). ;)

Ayla helped Punk stand, which wasn't easy for her, being she was much smaller and also pretty weak herself. Still, they moved slowly up the stairs, Paul following even slower from behind. The blonde woman felt slightly at ease, knowing the murderer was dead… but what about Randy Orton? Triple H had mentioned he was a part of this. What if they got to the others in time to be killed by him? And what about Matt? He had to be somewhere. She had to believe the motto he lived in life was true, Matt Hardy would not die. Then… where was he? Was he hurt? Or was it already too late?

She sighed quietly, ignoring the curious gaze Punk sent in her direction. Finally, she asked. "What about Matt?"

Paul looked at her. "What about Matt?"

"He's here somewhere. At the other log cabin. We can't just leave without him."

"Is he alive?"

Ayla's eyes narrowed at the slight mocking tone in Paul's voice. Sure, he had saved her life, but the way he said those words… it angered her. "Ayla is right," Punk struggled to say. "We need to find Matt. He could be hurt."

"Like everyone else already isn't," Paul grumbled, placing a hand on his wound. "Hurry up then."

Ayla smiled slightly and changed directions toward the other cabin. Once she got there, she knew she'd have to travel down those steps and that Punk was in no condition to do anything like that again. "Wait here," she demanded quietly, while Paul looked on from about ten feet away. "I'm going to go check inside."

Punk nodded. "Be careful, alright?"

Ayla smiled. "You're alright, CM Punk."

e smiled back at her, motioning weakly for her to go on. And when she was out of hearing, he whispered, "I'm not the only one that is in love around here."

Inside of the cabin she had been in not too long ago, Ayla shivered. It felt like forever ago they had run down the old stairs and found Jeff's body. Jeff… was his body still down there? It was a possibility. Tears flooded her eyes. "Dear God help me," she muttered lowly before walking down the steps, the stench of blood and rust filling her nostrils. The first thing she saw was the mangled body of Jeff's. Blinking back more tears, she waited for her eyes to adjust. It was hard to breathe already from the day's events, but with the disgusting odor of blood and the faint smell of sawdust, she couldn't help but gag.

Slowly, Ayla crept forward, keeping her eyes focused on anything but the once highflying Hardy brother. Her only hope now was to find Matt in the darkness. "Matt?" she croaked quietly. "Hello?"

A silhouette filled her vision then, the body of the elder Hardy brother. If she couldn't breathe before, now it was nearly impossible. Matt's body was still, completely still. With a partial sob, she raked forward and fell straight to her knees. From his head Matt bled, a nasty gash that had left plenty a stain of dark crimson. "Matt," she sobbed quietly, putting her trembling fingers to his neck. He had a pulse!

Instinct kicked in then and Ayla realized she had to stop the bleeding from Matt's head. Her eyes searched frantically for anything to do so, knowing her hands with filthy and she would cause an infection using her own palm. Her eyes floated down to the shirt she had underneath the torn jacket she wore. Quickly, she pulled the remainders of the jacket off, and tore a piece long enough to wrap around his head.

As she did so, a groan escaped his lips. Never before did she think a sound like that would make her happier in her life. His eyes fluttered open as she struggled to tie a knot on the self-made bandage. "Ayla?" he murmured quietly. "What…?"

"Shh," she whispered. "Save you energy."

"Don't trust Melody, she's—"

"Dead," Ayla finished flatly. "We figured it out. Triple H killed her."

"Paul?" Matt struggled to answer. His face was pale as snow and his breathing was heavily labored. "Paul is… dead."

"No. Long story." Ayla stood, trying to figure out how to get Matt Hardy out of the basement without hurting herself or Matt in the process. She was so much smaller than him and he had barely any strength to stand as it was.

Matt frowned, blinking excessively. It was obvious that it frustrated him not to be able to figure out what she meant. Stubborn Matt, Ayla thought as she looked around her. "We have to get out of here," Matt said quietly, like he read her mind.

"You have no energy and I can't lift you."

Matt rolled his eyes, trying to stand up, but failing miserably. Ayla smirked. Men.

"I'm going to…"

"Just give me your hand," Matt whispered hoarsely. "If you just get me up, I can walk."

"Matt—"

"Trust me." The urgency in his eyes made her heart freeze. The way he looked at her, it was so… stunning. She had never felt anything like that before. Her lips pressed together, but she did trust him. And after a minute or two of struggling, Matt was in a standing position. She could see the many slashes on his arms now in the dim light from the moon. It was a miracle he was still alive.

"Punk and Triple H are outside," she said softly, as Matt inched his way toward the stairs. "It's over." But it wasn't, even if they wished it was. As Matt stared once more at his fallen brother, they both knew though the worst seemed to be over of the nightmare, the effects would go on for a long time after this… to haunt them foreve

A/N: I'm just gonna say: :) here and let the writign speak for itself. READ AND REVIEW, UPDATE I SHALL. ;)