This chapter is the second to last *shivers* You excited? I am. Let's wrap up all those loose ends, cause the action is all over at this point.

This chapter is set 7 months later of chapter 35, the first of two epilogues. The last chapter of this story will be set two years from chapter 35. Let's see how the boys are dealing with their trauma separately…each scene is a different pairing. The real epilogue will be them all together.

Dr. Melpomene…hmm, what can I say about her? She's my muse, and her last name is the name of the Greek muse of tragedy. Makes sense, ne? I thought so.

At 'Taker's Mansion…

Punk awoke with a startled yelp, sitting straight up in bed. He reached over his shoulder, rubbing at his back where the burn mark was. The skin there was still dark red, but at least it was open anymore. The doctors had been good on that, giving him cream and pills to help his body along in the healing process. His skin was grimy with sweat, and he ached as if he had been tossing around all night.

Phil caught his breath, glancing over at the clock to see it was nearly three in the morning. He sighed, tilting his head back as he tried to banish the nightmare from his mind. His shadowy dreams had been full of chains, the ghost of alcohol still on his tongue.

That thought brought bile to his throat, he had to go get something to drink or else he'd be sick on the floor. He saw the hulking form of his master shift around, but the big man didn't seem to wake up. Phil smiled to himself, kissing his fingers before letting them rest on the dark curve of his master's shoulder.

It hadn't taken long before he'd taken Phil back into their bed. At first, his master understood his need to sleep alone, and had taken a guest bedroom for himself. Punk had felt horrible about it, but he wasn't sure he could sleep in the same bed as the man he'd betrayed. But after a while, he'd asked Mark to return - and his master had obliged. Every time he laid with him like that…it was if it were the first time, Mark took these opportunities to reclaim every inch of him for his own.

Punk managed to get out of the bed without disturbing the other man, wincing when the cold stone floor touched the bottoms of his bare feet. He crept out of the bedroom, barely making a sound. He made his way through the large house in the dark, knowing it like the back of his hand. The kitchen was bathed in the moonlight that flooded in from the window over the sink, the white tile glowing dully.

Punk cracked open the fridge, wincing at the bright light. The cool air washed over his skin, cooling the sweat that still lingered there. He was still a little shaken up from the dream, and a Pepsi sounded delicious right then. He fished one out of one of the drawers, cracked the seal with a satisfying twist, and let the little cap drop noisily to the floor. He put it to his lips, moaning as the first few pulls soothed his dry throat.

Funny, standing there in the dark except for the light of the fridge…a few months ago, he would've been terrified. There was a time where he couldn't stand the dark, and he'd slept with the TV on and the bathroom light shining all night long. But then he'd managed to turn off the bathroom light, and two months later he could turn the TV off. It was thanks to Dr. Melpomene, a therapist Mark had hired for any of the subs (or masters, respectively) to use. She was a kind woman, but he'd needed her in the beginning to get rid of the fears.

Despite his scar, he'd gotten back into the wrestling game. Vince needed all hands on board, and about a month ago he'd jumped back in. He mostly wore a shirt until creative could give him a good storyline to explain them. Mark had been wary about using the results of his attack as a WWE tool, but he told Vince he didn't mind. It had to be good for something, right?

He'd ended his line with Jeff, and instead was replaced with a rather epic feud with himself and his master. Mark had wanted to personally oversee his career for the next year or so, minimize his physical contact with anyone else, and Punk wasn't about to protest. Their TV feud had brought them together, sparking up the passion again. He was surrounded by his master's love, protected by it now that the threat was over.

The rumor that all who had harmed The Court's boys had been slaughtered, and no one messed with them anymore.

No one.

But sometimes…he sighed around the lip of the bottle. Sometimes he couldn't stand to be touched. Sometimes he threw epic fits, and smashed anything around him he thought he could get away with (and sometimes, even that didn't stop him.) But those times were getting few and far between, down to once this month instead of every other day.

There was a slight noise, and he was proud of himself for not instantly jumping and diving for the nearest knife. Without taking his mouth off the bottle, he tilted his head and let his eyes drift over to the doorway.

There, leaning against the doorframe, was his master. Mark had only his long pajama pants on, a wife beater stretched across the broad plane of his chest. His long raven hair spilled down his shoulders, looking his most handsome half-hidden in shadow with his bright eyes cutting through the darkness. He had this expression on his face, one of trepidation and sorrow.

"Did I wake you?" Phil whispered, trying to keep his tone light. He set his Pepsi down on the counter, half of it gone.

"I'm sorry" came the deep rumble of his lover. He still seemed sleepy, and in this way - vulnerable to some of his more human emotions.

His dark eyebrows shot up into his hairline, "For what?"

"For…" Mark began, wetting his lips "For not knowing what to do when Glenn hurt you."

You could've knocked Punk over with a feather. His mouth fell open, but he quickly swallowed down his pop before it spilled over his chin and chest. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes still on the older man. He had no idea what the hell Mark was talking about. He'd done everything he could after he was attacked! He'd showered him with gifts, given him all his love and attention even when he was bone-tired. He would always come and tell him goodnight when they didn't sleep in the same bed, and would always make sure he was comfortable. He'd taken him to the doctor frequently, paid for everything right down to the few therapy bills.

"I've never been good at…comforting" Mark admitted, his words reluctant.

"Never been…?" Phil trailed off in a little laugh, as light as summer rain on glass "Mark, don't you ever think that."

"I can only show my love a certain way, Phillip" the older man's eyes fell to the side "You know how I am. I've tried to do my best. I hope it's been good enough."

Phil walked over, getting in his lover's personal space. He laid his hands on his chest, still cold from his Pepsi. He rested his forehead on the thick muscle, giving a weak hum of satisfaction when he felt a strong palm resting on the back of his neck.

"Your kind of love is enough" Phil murmured, smiling to himself as he realized how cheesy he sounded "More than."

Mark's eyes warmed at this, he knew his love to be speaking from his heart.

And that was enough for him as well.

xXxXxXx

Morrison was called warmly into the room, and he obeyed. He pushed open the door, revealing the blue and white themed office. There was a cushioned chair placed in front of a plush white couch, an extensively packed book shelf the perfect background to the scene. He smiled at the rather beautiful middle aged woman in the singled out chair, giving her a graceful nod. He received one in return. Her hair was an almost anime-ish color pink-red, the straight, sleek locks pulled and twisted into a bun atop her head. Ebony chopsticks were stuck through them, holding them in place. Her eyes were a framed by dark red frames, equally dark diamonds dangling from her ears. A jeweled collar was around her neck, the same dark sapphire as her low shoulder long-sleeved shirt.

She was the kind of woman you could fall in love with, faint age lines around her mouth and across her cheeks. Her clipboard was laid on her crossed thigh, skirt fluttering just an inch above her long-legged boots. Her shirt was parted to reveal the graceful line of her chest-

"Eyes up here, John" she chuckled.

"Sorry" he raised his eyes obediently, giving her a brilliant smile "You get lovelier every day, Jeanne."

"Mmm-hmm" she tapped her pen on her clipboard "I'm old enough to be your mother."

"My very young mother" John persisted, walking over and plopping down onto the couch with the carelessness of someone who'd done it a hundred times. Had it been a hundred? He couldn't remember.

What he could remember was the first time he'd come here. Shawn had driven him, and let him wear his leather coat so he could be immersed in the manly scent of his master. He'd managed to get through the door with the help of Jeanne (then he stuttered out Dr. Melpomene instead.) She had been so loving, so careful, so sweet…he couldn't help but let her lead him to the couch. He'd sat down rather hesitantly, keeping Shawn's coat pulled tight around him. Jeanne was understanding enough not to even hint at an offer to take it, like most would out of common courtesy. He'd had an affinity to his master's clothes after the 'incident', even today he liked to curl up in one of Shawn's old shirts. But those first couple months had been horrible, he never wanted to wear his own stylish threads.

Ironic…something he so coveted once had become so repulsive.

Shawn had been outside the entire time, reading The Green Mile rather contently in the lobby. He'd worn his shades, but even then a little girl had come up to him and asked for an autograph on a bookmark she had snagged at the reception desk. Later, John learned Shawn had signed it and sent her off with a little kiss on the hand before her mother had even turned around.

John could also remember not knowing what to say to her.

"So…I'm addicted to shopping."

They had both chuckled at that first line, his laugh more brittle than her own silky giggle. He'd touched along his scar, then sighed. It had sounded like a sputtering car to his ears, he recalled that much.

"…I've always relied so much on my looks…it's like, if I don't look good…no one can love me."

"Is that true?"

John had thought of his friends then, of his master…and how much they loved him.

"…no."

"John?"

John shook his head of raven tresses, tilting his head up and smiling at her.

"I'm sorry, Jeanne" he apologized "I was remembering my first time here."

Her smile was sympathetic, "It's okay. It was all so new to you then. I don't blame you for being nervous."

Jeanne turned her attention back to her clipboard, clicking her pen.

"How's your progress this past month?" she inquired lightly.

"Well, I've been getting my old strength back" John replied, thinking about it "I told you last month that I was going back into wrestling. I did. I've healed enough to look presentable, thanks to some really good scar cream. I had my first comeback match after we talked. I did really well, better than I would've thought. Better than anyone thought, really."

Jeanne tilted her head, expression gone from her face, "Does that make you happy? Being back in the ring."

"Yeah" he admitted "There's nothing like it. Creative gave me this really cool spin, and no one's really noticed the marks."

In an almost subconscious effort, John reached up and touched his cheek. Only a few spots showed signs of scarring. A line along his thigh, one on the swell of his cheek, and the bit of cut beside his nipple. Out of the bloody gash he had, he considered himself lucky.

She scribbled something down, "And the dreams, Johnny? What about those?"

"I haven't had a nightmare in two months" John was more than relieved to tell her so "I'm not saying I won't ever have them again…but so far, I've been sleeping pretty well."

She quirked a brow, "How about in the bedroom? You jumped back into the saddle rather quickly with Shawn…do you think that's effected you in the longer run?"

John's eyes lit up instantly, smoldering even, "Do you even have to ask?"

"I hope it's for a good reason."

"So good" he threw his arms along the back of the couch, clicking his tongue like he was hitting on her "We were never able to keep our hands off each other. Now's no different. I love him, and I trust him. He had me after dozens of other men had…what was one more?"

They chatted idly about his career, his training. His friends, and how he was getting along with them.

Jeanne leaned forward suddenly, putting down the pen. She removed her glasses, showing that her eyes had softened around the edges. She looked at him curiously, hope in her small painted smile.

"How do you think you're doing?"

"I think…" he inhaled slowly, blinking at her like he was seeing something blurry past her "I think I'm getting better."

This pleased Jeanne, and she put back on her glasses.

xXxXxXx

Like most thought, Ted handled his situation the best. He didn't need therapy, he just needed time and quiet meditation. He'd been through so much…he overcame this rather quickly. There was only once where he'd broken, and that was the first time John touched him intimately a month after he'd been rescued.

Ted destroyed their bedroom, and nearly set the house on fire in his rage to break everything in front of him. Thankfully, John had beaten the flames out of the curtains before they could spread much further (a candle from the dresser had been knocked over while it was being flipped.)

That was one thing he couldn't get over. The fear of the dark, the touches from other people, being alone…he could do all that. But if John even kissed him the wrong way, he could snap. He ended up clawing his master across the face once for playfully scooping him out of the bath. It had been all laughs and splashes before, but the moment John's hand brushed his ass…he drew bloody lines with his razor-like nails.

Ted felt horrible for weeks about that, and he crooned over his master until there wasn't a trace of the wound left in his lover's skin. John told him over and over it was okay, but the blonde wouldn't have it.

Ted had gotten back into the ring with his master, two months of following him from hotel to hotel before he decided he could deal with the stress again.

But now, after seven months, he was ready to try again.

John was kneeling on their bed, thick thighs spread as he braced his weight on the soft mattress. He was bare except for a pair of white boxer-briefs that framed his package like gift wrap. Ted's mouth was watering for it already, and that was the best sign he could hope for. Though simply himself, John couldn't have been more desirable…more lickable, if he was covered in honey. His smooth, stalwart body was open for him…for whatever he wanted. He was standing on the edge of the bed, his master looking at him with an unguarded expression of hope.

Ted reached out, laying his hand along the older man's pec. John sighed at the touch, but didn't push. Slowly, he began to take off his own clothes. He stopped when he got to his briefs, taking measured breaths as his tail swayed dejectedly past his legs. The scars were fading, but there were some that were seared so deeply into his flesh that they'd never go away.

John's eyes drifted over him, lust and appreciation in his eyes. But most importantly? There was love there, sketched into the very cerulean irises that he loved. With a small smile, Ted reached out and took the man's meaty hand by the wrist. He placed it flat over his abs, sighing and tilting his head back at the intimate touch. The older man's breath had picked up as well.

"We go as far as you want, kitten" John assured him in a strained voice, like he was holding himself back.

"No" Ted looked down at him, feeling his knees trembling "I want you to have me like you want. Dominate me. Claim me. I…I-I need it…I need to feel owned. Loved. Please, Master…"

John didn't need to be asked twice. He picked his lover up, and in a gentle scoop-slam, he pinned him to the bed. Ted cried out, but it was in pleasure as his lover's fulsome body covered his own. He spread his thighs without being told, cradling those thick hips he loved to have pounding into him.

John dropped kisses all down his boy's body, moaning in relief as he got the first taste of his flesh in months.

"I love you, kitten…I'm gonna show you just how much…"

Ted's heart swelled with love for this man, nodding vigorously.

"Give me everything."

xXxXxXx

It was freezing in Michigan, though it was the end of January. The two blonde brothers shivered and sighed out crystals, nearly hidden by the overhang of trees. They were standing beside the lake, looking out over it's half-frozen surface with squinted eyes. The sunlight gleamed brightly off it, but the light was soon taken away by a well-placed cloud cover.

Jay sighed in relief, letting his eyes adjust to the sudden shadow. He blinked dully out at the scene before him, his breath dancing around his head for a moment before fading away. His jacket was a little bulkier than his half brother's, fur trimmed thick at the collars. He shuddered sharply just once, his eyes the color of the ice gathering around the middle of the lake.

Adam stood beside him, his thick leather jacket doing well to keep the cold away. His hair was pulled into a messy bun, his sleek sunglasses perched atop his head. There was a scar, there…just above his eyebrow. Unlike his brother, who'd gotten away with his ordeal with no more than mental scarring, he hadn't been so lucky. That mark would stay with him his entire life, but it was just something he'd have to live with.

The only mark Jay seemed to retain was the constant phobia of stairwells and a few nightmares. Mostly, he just got angry in little bouts. He'd always been a livewire, but it had gotten worse as of late. With time, he cooled, but he was still quick to raise his fists. He'd had no use for Dr. Melpomene, after one session he'd called it quits on the whole thing.

"I can deal with it myself, Adam. I don't need that woman telling me what I should do to heal myself."

After a small bickering fight, he'd broken down and his voice had turned into a rasp.

"I know I'm broken, Master…I don't need someone to tell me that day after day. Just let me do it, alright?"

And Adam had trusted his sub and his brother to know what was best for him.

So far, it had worked.

"This is it?" Jay asked, casting a side-long glance at his older brother.

Adam nodded, "This is it."

"He's here? Beneath the ice?"

He had the decency to hang his head, "Yeah."

"Hmph" Jay's nose twitched, something the taller of the two was known to do "I thought I'd feel something."

"You don't?"

Jay examined himself inside for a moment, taking a checklist to his very soul. He tried to rustle up something, but there was nothing there to stir.

"Nope" he tried not to pout, a bit disappointed. He thought coming to the sight where one of his rapists was buried would help him settle the death of the other. Truth be told, he just wanted to make the trip. Angle wasn't on his conscious, not anymore. That was a burden for another, Jarrett or Carter even. What little of Angle's family could deal with it.

His shoulders were light, the weight of the death was gone.

Adam stepped up behind him, wrapping his arms around his waist. Jay let out a little exhale of pleasure, leaning back into the embrace like he hadn't had contact with his master in years. When, in fact, it had only been minutes before when they were walking to this secluded part of the lake.

Adam slid his eyes over to his brother, "What now?"

"Now?" Jay ran his tongue over his top teeth "Now we get back on the road. We only had two days for this little vacation, anyway."

The shorter blonde started to walk away, long legs eating up the distance. Adam stood there, watching him go with an odd expression. He wasn't sure if this was a good or bad reaction.

"If you hurry, we can have a quickie in the car" Jay called over his shoulder, not looking back.

Adam hurried to make tracks, not wanting to miss out on some fun time.

By the time he reached his sub's side, Jay had hidden the pleased smirk that had curled his lips.

xXxXxXx

The first thing Evan had done when they'd gotten home was make a phone call, and the next day men had showed up to uproot all the carpet in their living room. Chris hadn't said a word in protest, just handed over his credit card to pay for the little remodeling. Evan told him he'd pay for it out of his own wallet, but his master had been persistent.

Now, months later, Chris had been so sure that everything was falling back into place. His life was coming to order, his pet was getting happier by the day. They'd gotten a puppy, something Evan could play with in the backyard when they were home. Something that loved them, a little cocker-spaniel pup that would growl playfully at his sub and nip at his fingers. It wasn't real high maintenance, so the maid could feed it and take it out for a walk when she came by during the week.

They were gone for long periods of time, but it loved them both all the same.

Then, one day, Chris realized that Evan would never fully heal.

Chris opened the door to their bedroom, striding inside and starting to strip off his clothes. He'd just gotten his shirt pulled over his head when he saw his boy standing there by his bed, back to him.

"Evvy?" Chris cooed, smiling to see the young man after they'd had to take separate flights "Sweetling, what are you doing?"

Evan didn't say a word. He turned to face his master, and the first thing he saw were the tears. His cheeks were soaked, eyes red, the saltine streams trickling down over his chin and puddling on the floor. He looked so miserable, so broken…it shredded Chris's heart to see it. He felt it like a sucker punch to the gut, and for a second he couldn't breathe.

Evan was holding up their handcuffs, their play cuffs. His crimson-tinted eyes were far away, lost in his own personal memories. He was immersed in his own world. Standing there, looking at the shiny cuffs, he'd gone back to when he was young and his father had whipped off his belt in order to punish him for a crime he didn't commit.

"Daddy, don't…please don't hit me…"

"Be good for a second and I'll make the pain go away, alright boy?"

Evan blinked out of his haze when he felt Jericho slowly ease the metal from his fingers. He shook his head sharply, his voice no more than a rasp.

"Master?"

Chris took the handcuffs, looked at them a moment, then tossed them in the trash can beside their bed. Instead, he took his love's wrists in his hands. He lifted them, pressing his mouth first to one…then the other. There were thin scars on both, reminding them forever of what had gone on in this house.

"Never again" Chris promised lowly.

Evan collapsed into his arms, more tears leaking silently down his face. He was flushed from the effort of holding in his sobs, but refused to allow him. He wanted to thank his master, but only one thing came out.

"…I want us to move out of this house…"

"Anything you want, precious."

xXxXxXx

Matt was just settling into his hotel for the weekend when he heard the door click, smirking when it flew open and smacked into the wall. Like he expected, he was speared from the side and taken down onto the bed. He gave a belly laugh, wrapping his arms around the energetic mass that was squirming on top of him. He dropped a kiss in blonde-and-black colored locks, getting the faintly fruity smell of Skittles for his efforts.

Jeff latched onto his brother and didn't let go, laughing when the other tried to dislodge him and failed. He hadn't seen Matt in weeks, he wasn't about to let go now.

Seven months ago, neither knew that Vince's little exchange with TNA would happen just about the same time that Jeff's contract had expired. Carter had seen this as an opportunity, and had demanded the younger Hardy as part of her hush-price. After a long discussion with Vince, the Hardy brothers decided it wouldn't kill them if Jeff was at TNA for a year or so.

Surprisingly, it hadn't put a strain on their relationship. If anything, it had strengthened it. They were always happy to see each other, and their little fights on the phone always ended up with one of them calling back right away and apologizing.

Their master/sub relationship had relaxed since his attack. Jeff's tongue had gotten a little looser, and he shied away from Matt's darker needs. But once in a while he got the urge to be reminded who he utterly and completely belonged to, and Matt was always there to indulge him. It seemed like with time, that side of their relationship would strengthen and Jeff would become the picture-perfect pet again.

Until then, they were just a pair of brothers play-wrestling on a bed.

Eventually, when they were panting and smiling like loons, they spread out on the bed. Still close, the older Hardy let his eyes roam over his brother's smooth, pale back. His lips parted in a pleased 'oh' of surprise, the outline of the Hardy symbol was now filled in and lined with soft purple ink. The design was finished, nothing short of beauty on his brother's back.

"It's amazing."

"I know" Jeff turned back to him "Shannon finished it."

"Knew he would."

Matt pat the bed next to him, full lips quirking.

"Come 'ere."

Jeff obeyed, crawling over and plopping down into the sheets.

"You thinkin' what I'm thinkin' ?" Matt winked down at him, pulling a pillow beneath his head.

"Oh hell yeah."

They scooted closer, exchanging a brief kiss.

A few minutes later, they'd slipped off into a nap.

xXxXxXx

Night had fallen in St. Charles, Missouri. The Orton-Rhodes was home pretty silent. The doors were locked, the windows were shut. But the upstairs bedroom window had it's curtain pulled back, but unfortunately there was no moon tonight. Instead, the low glow of the nearby city and the stars provided a dreamy light.

Randy had his leanly muscled form stretched out on the sheets, nude as the day he was born and unashamed. His tattoos were like shadows on his tan flesh, dancing with every flex of his muscles. He was wide awake, watching his pet with a possessive gaze.

Cody was fast asleep next to him, nude as well but covered by a stark white sheet. His head was turned toward his lover, ears twitching once and a while but otherwise still. His breaths were silent, firm chest rising and falling in slow waves. Randy had his hand splayed over the taut curve of the boy's belly, a smile quirking his thin lips.

With all the snake-like grace he possessed, Randy slithered down the bed without moving the mattress too much. He leaned down and kissed the plump belly, nuzzling it with all the love of a proud father. Slowly, so as not to wake his love, his dropped light kisses along the curve of flesh. He knew Cody would get bigger, he was just now starting to show. But he couldn't stop himself from stroking his fingers across the brunette's hips and lower chest with a certain devotion fueling his touches.

They'd slipped back into bed almost right away. Cody had used Dr. Melpomene as a crutch for the first month, letting out all his pent-up emotions and doing what she told him to help ease the pain. Jeanne had suggested to Cody to trust Randy and resume the sexual side of their relationship, and after some long thought he'd agreed.

They had monthly visits from Dr. Collins, who was solely devoted to them thanks to Mark's payroll. He had a habit of choosing one person and sticking with them, and more likely than not those people were faithful.

Like Jeanne, and now Misha.

Randy had forgiven the doctor for his folly after he found out Cody had taken his seed and was pregnant once more. A son. He'd been scared to death at first, shaking Misha until his teeth rattled while barking at him about how it was dangerous for Cody to be pregnant so soon after his attack (wasn't it?) Though his head was being jolted back and forth, Dr. Collins had managed to tell him that it was okay - that Cody was just fertile, that there was no need to worry.

Randy had closed his eyes in bliss, rubbing his cheek along the silky texture of his boy's belly. He was whispering little words of love into the skin, knowing his baby son could understand him in his own way. He told him so many things in these late night sessions, from his own childhood to how lucky he was to have two such devoted fathers. He could feel slight movement beneath his cheek. Randy whispered about how he loved it when he kicked, that he would be a strong man one day.

"You never tell me how much you love the way I kick."

Randy's eyes snapped open, tilting his head to look up the length of the younger man's body to see he was awake. Cody was blinking at him rather sleepily, but his bee-stung lips were turned up in a smile.

"That's because…" Randy rumbled, crawling up the bed and coming face-to-face with his lover "I love it better when you bite."

Cody smiled wider, lips pulled back enough to expose the sharp little fangs he possessed. He dropped a kiss on his forehead, sliding to the side so he could take the weight off the smaller man.

"I didn't mean to wake you up" Randy apologized, resting his palm flat along his swollen belly.

"You didn't" Cody glared down at his stomach "He did."

Randy raised his eyebrows at this, "Is he supposed to be that strong?"

"I only have a month and a half left" Cody pointed out, swallowing down a yawn "Women are ovens, I'm a microwave."

Randy dipped his head, snickering at the analogy. Cody laughed with him, tilting his head back to get more comfortable on the pillows. He paused when he felt pressure at his neck, more than he usually felt. He realized that his master was touching the collar forever circled around his throat, his fingertips tracing the faint initials there.

Cody smiled and purred under the symbolic touch.

"No one's going to take you away from me" Randy said suddenly, surprising his sub "Our son…he's only going to have the best. I'm going to spoil you two rotten."

Cody reached up, skidding his palm across the older man's smooth cheek.

"You're going to make such a good father."

Cody yawned widely after this, giving a little keen. He let his lashes flutter shut, the wave of exhaustion coming back over him. He shifted his head a little on the pillow, sinking into it.

With his master still nuzzling his belly, Cody fell asleep.

xXxXxXx

Jake knew he was dreaming. Usually that was enough to pull him out of said trap, but not this time. He made himself stay where he was, not knowing where he was but knowing he had to be there. He was standing in a hallway he'd never seen before, the details vague enough for it to be any middle-class home. There was a door in front of him, and there was muffled sobs coming from behind it. He braced himself, grabbing the knob and jolting like it shocked him. But he was damned determined to open this door, so he pushed it open.

He could see his master…only younger, much smaller, much more vulnerable. He was bent over his own bed, crying in heartfelt sobs and clawing at the blanket. He was pinned down at the neck by a shadow…someone he trusted, someone Jake had never met…

"Shit" Jake cursed, gasping himself awake. He stayed where he was, hyper aware, every muscle in his body rippling as the shot of adrenaline burned his system. He flexed his fingers tight around his pillow, closing his eyes long enough for him to get his breathing under control. He slowly sat up, using one arm to brace himself while his free hand scrubbed over his face. His hair stuck up in tufts, cheeks flushed and warm from sleep. He didn't bother to turn on the light, there was fresh sunlight peeking in through the curtains. He peered at the clock, growling to see it was six in the morning.

The dream faded fast, he didn't have time to grasp it's meaning before he couldn't even remember if Mike had been in it or not. Something bad…something horrible He could hear words in his head like a forgotten lullaby, as if someone had told him it while he was asleep.

"He used to laugh when I started crying, so I stopped."

Where the hell had he heard that? Was it a movie? Or a tv show? He couldn't remember, and it drove him crazy. He rolled his neck, shaking his shoulders like a powerful lion before he got out of bed. He had to talk to his master about this, maybe he knew what the hell was going on.

As he padded out of the room, Jake scratched at his head and winced when his nails grazed his scar from the stitches. They'd been pretty okay since that incident months ago, they were both champions at the moment. Miz held the US belt, while his own World Heavyweight Championship was in the bedroom in a box. Sometimes they'd wear their belts around the house, sweep with it on or watch TV. If they felt really kinky, they'd make love with them both on.

It was quite the experience.

There was one thing, though. It bugged him, but there wasn't much he could do about it. Miz would get distant sometimes. It was as if he was keeping Jake at arms length. That didn't quell their passion nor did it keep Miz from lavishing him with attention and affection. But there was a quiet in the house where there wasn't one before. When it was just them, Miz didn't engage in too much conversation. It was as if he were afraid of saying too much, of sparking a subject that was taboo.

Jake padded down the stairs, a lop-sided grin appearing on his face when he saw his master sitting on the couch in his pajamas. The lavender had been taken from his hair a while ago, replaced with golden highlights that had almost turned him into a blonde. He didn't wear fedoras much anymore, he seemed as if he were breaking himself of the habit now that his character didn't wear them anymore.

Miz had a glass of red wine on the table, the curtains in the living room pushed open to let the newborn sunlight inside. His simple black clothes accentuated his long body, his tightening muscles. He was trimming down now that he wore only trunks into the ring, his waist becoming slimmer and revealing a curve at his hips that he wasn't supposed to have (as a man.) His legs were folded beneath him, coffee table pulled close to the couch. There was a magazine laid open in front of him, he was braced against the arm of the couch and peering down at it.

Mike glanced up, giving a little sound of surprise to see the younger man there.

" 'Morning, Jake-love" Miz tilted his head, smiling sweetly.

"Hey" the blonde crept down into the living room, standing on the other side of the coffee table "What are you doing?"

"I'm just shopping for something to buy the Orton brat" Mike teased, though he was really delighted that they were given a second chance "This kid is going to be showered in gifts, and I want to make sure he remembers that his Uncle Miz is ready to spend a ridiculously ton of money on him."

Jake was smiling before he could stop himself. All anyone could talk of lately was the new baby, and he wouldn't have it any other way. Cody was positively glowing, and Miz had been the first in line to feel the baby kick (after the proud father, of course.)

"Listen, Master" Jake started "I've been having these dreams lately. They've been…disturbing, at best."

The words were hard to say with his lisp, but he managed to get them out just fine.

Miz sat up, brow creased, "About what?"

"…he dislocated my jaw…"

"I'm not sure" Jake walked over and sat down on the other side of the couch "I think it's about someone being hurt. I don't know where I heard it from. Maybe it's something I dreamed…"

"He was pissed, said I thought I was so much God-damn better than him."

Jake jerked his head, "No, I didn't dream it. It wa-th real."

Mike blanched suddenly, "Do you…remember anything specific about it?"

"Someone was raped, I think" Jake pursed his lips "By someone they trusted. I had a dream earlier…but I can't remember who it was."

"…God, he stank of whiskey…"

"It's so hard to remember for some reason" he closed his eyes briefly, trying to concentrate "Someone poured their heart out to me, and I can't remember."

Miz looked back to the magazine, unable to meet his eyes, "I'm sure it's nothing."

"I screamed and cried…but he did it anyway."

Jake's eyes snapped open when he realized who had been bent over the bed in his dream. Those icy blue eyes, he'd recognize them anywhere. That face…his master's face.

"It was you, wa-thn't it?"

Mike tried to laugh it off, "Shut up, man. No one hurt me."

The blonde gave him a cold, unyielding look, "It was you."

Mike was getting impatient, "No, it wasn't-"

"It was your father."

Miz opened his mouth to snap at him again, ready to assert his authority. But that look, that steely look, told him that Jake wasn't about to let this go. He felt something inside him crack, and he sank into the couch. He had to tell him, there was no way around it.

"When you were asleep…" he refused to say 'coma' "Back when Kozlov attacked you…I told you some things about my past. I answered some questions you had."

"About what?"

"About…" Mike raised his eyes, gazing at his sub and looking ten years older than he should "About why I need you."

On the crisp, sunny January morning…Mike told his love all about his how father abused him.

And Jake, loving him in return, accepted it.

He was enraged, but he knew there was nothing he could do about it.