Warning (Same as usual): English isn't my mother language (French is). So if you see mistakes, don't hesitate to tell me. I'm always eager to improve :-)

Authors' note: I wrote this chapter in July 2012, but only published it today (March 20, 2014), because Rhianna Mator and Natalie Vanstone showed interest to it in their podcast (thanks girls!). Because honestly, with absolutely no review for this story, I thought no one cared and wanted to give up.

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TOWARDS THE LIGHT

"The Corre of our Souls"

Chapter 2 – Burning in the Skies

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Wade pushed the door of the locker room, expecting no one in the area at this late hour. Most of the wrestlers had already left for the hotel, and those who were still there, were packing their stuffs in their rental cars. Being on commentary, he hadn't really fought today, just a kick in Sheamus' face and a wasteland. But lifting the Irishman's sweating body on his shoulders had given him the urge to change his silver shirt. And of course, he had forgotten his car keys in the locker room. It had to be in the locker room: he had already checked every other place where he had also been. The locker room was his last chance. If he wasn't successful, then he would have to call a cab, and call the rental car agency tomorrow morning to get some spare key and retrieve what was left of his stuffs in his car. But when he opened completely the door, he realized there was - surprisingly - someone else in there.

The man was sitting on one of the benches, still in his ring outfit, his elbows on his thighs, his back slightly arched forward and his head low. Long locks of red hair were hiding his face, but the gloomy atmosphere around him was almost tangible. Wade noticed that Heath was holding something in his hand, absentmindedly caressing it with his right thumb, as if it was a wounded bird. Approaching slowly and silently, Wade recognized one of Justin's wrist protections. The South-African might have lost it earlier during their fight; Heath had probably picked it up on his way backstage. And for some reason, he had kept it.

Wade sighed softly and sat near Heath, remaining silent and still, knowing that if Heath hadn't perceived his presence yet, he would soon, gradually. After a long moment of silence, Heath quickly took a deep breath, still staring at Justin's bracelet.

"I tried…", he started with a raspy voice, breaking the silence. "I tried to be as credible as I could… to make things easier for him… So that he could move towards the light… ". Wade placed his left hand on the youth shoulder, in a rather comforting way but remained silent. Heath let go of the air in his lungs in a bitter laugh. "And I was good… naw mean?". Wade noted that the youth's voice was unsteady and slightly rubbed his shoulder. "Yes you were, Heath… You were incredible…", the Brit answered with an unusual soft tone and a warm smile, even if the red-haired couldn't see.

Yet, the former bare-knuckled champion froze when he suddenly felt Heath trembling under the palm of his hand as the youth tried to choke an anguished sob. Wade's eyes became wide; he hadn't suspected his friend to be that down. But he knew why. He didn't say a word but pulled the other against him, passing his right hand in the smooth red hair and pressing the youth's head against his chest. Heath didn't resist, but rather grabbed the Brit's shirt like a drowning man would grab a piece of floating wood.

"It hurts so much, Wade", the younger one's voice was a bit muffled, his face still pressed against his elder's chest. Wade slightly patted his head. He knew the youth wasn't referring to a physical pain, but to a mental one. The nostalgia of their life from before. When they could still decide of their actions, their friendships, their alliances, their anger, their dreams,... Their life.

Now, every decision made by the WWE management was like fire letters burning in the skies. You couldn't go against them. You had no choice. Free Will was a vague concept only people on the outside had the right to embrace. Not them. Not anymore.

Passed the first joys of entering the most renowned wrestling company in the world, they had quickly discovered that, unless you were a top dog like John Cena, you were just pawns in a big chess game of which there was no actual proof that the players knew exactly how to play.

You quickly learned to treasure any moment of friendship, because there was no guarantee that the next day – or in the next hour - your best friend wouldn't become your worst enemy, if WWE management had decided so.

Wade hugged Heath tighter, knowing what kind of thoughts were running through the youth's mind, silently sharing them all. When they had started in WWE, they had basically been given the worst food possible, locked into a broom closet, changing in reduced areas, and treated like crap. The door of the cage had been unlocked by the end of NXT; but dogs treated in a bad way, they could be the nicest breed in the beginning, they see the cage open, they get out and are going to bite.

So they had tried to rebel against the Management, and had created the Nexus, the link between them all, reminding them all of who they were, and what was their purpose.

But Management had sent John Cena to stop them. It had taken the Golden Boy some months, but he had succeeded. Through the help of seeds of mutiny, treacherous attacks, and 23 chairs, Nexus had died. Wade had tried to recreate another – improved – Nexus while in exile with Heath and Justin. The Corre. Their little family of equals had worked well for awhile. Until Management had sent two bulldozers on their way. John Cena and The Rock had even joined the kill in the end.

And now, the original Nexus was almost totally divided, its former members one by one sent on different paths. Heath and Wade were the only ones left. And soon, Wade knew it, the last remnants of the original bond would dissolve. And the rebellion would disappear from memories.

Wade could see that future approaching quickly and could feel a mixture of panic, sadness and anger. But he wouldn't show these emotions outside. It wouldn't help. Quite the contrary. He had to stay strong for his remaining friend. He always had, and probably always would. People expected him to have no weakness, no feeling. People needed him. He had no other choice. This was his cross to bear, and he would bear it as long as it would protect his friends. As long as he would have friends to protect. Even though he would always pretend that he didn't care for nothing else than money, power and dominance.

Yet, he was sure Heath could see through his armor. The young one had often been like a playful puppy around him, trespassing his safety zone, patting on his shoulders or his back, hugging him, giving him loud friendly kisses. It was like Heath was always seeking for physical contact. Wade didn't know if it was unconsciously to be reassured in this hellish environment, or if it was something completely natural from West Virginians. But with him around for awhile, Wade had learned that team members needed to be encouraged and touched now and then. Physical contacts between wrestlers could sometimes be different from punches in the face or in the stomach. A pat on the shoulder, an occasional hug, could be as effective as a long discourse. Even more, actually.

In contact with Heath, Wade had started to learn what it was to be human. He still had a long way to go before being considered as 'normal', but he had made considerable progresses since his dark past in the wastelands of Europe.

So he held Heath tight against him. While he still could.

"Don't worry. You'll join him one day", he spoke quietly. He felt the youth frowning against his shirt and explained. "One day or another, WWE Management will decide it's time to turn one of us Face".

Heath's reaction was immediate: he tensed and grabbed Wade's shirt stronger than before, if it was even possible. The Brit knew he'd have to break every single one of the ginger's fingers if he planned to leave now. Maybe speaking about the future and unavoidable separation wasn't the best idea of the day, especially after what Slater had just been through with his soul-brother. It was as if Heath was only able to remember the latest pronounced sentence. He wasn't focusing on the idea of meeting Justin again, but on the fact he'd be separated from another of his friends.

"Don't be afraid of the light", Wade spoke softly on a cheering tone. "You were there before. You know that place… And see the bright side", he added with a pun, "Justin will be there, waiting for you".

"No, I'll be left alone in the dark", Heath muffled against the Brit's shirt, still holding on to him desperately. Wade couldn't see his face expression, but he didn't like the tone of his voice. The West Virginian went on.

"Look at me, I'm a ginger, and many wrestlers call me a diva because they say I look like a girl".

"An ugly girl, then", Wade interrupted him with an attempt of humor. Failed.

"People hate my voice and my accent", Heath went on, ignoring him. "Whenever I walk to the ring, all they see is a dumb red-headed redneck from West Virginia".

Wade frowned, trying to remember where he had already heard those words. Who had told this? It was a long time ago, in another place, another ring. He was sure he had been on commentary booth when this had happened; speaking about someone manipulating Heath. Whispering in his ear. Like a tempting demon…

"-loses all the time", the younger man went on; Wade realized his thoughts had taken him far and away for a moment; he had missed some of Heath's words. "…and when they eventually chant my name, they say Wendy". Another wonderful gift from John Cena.

"You'll be Face before me". Heath concluded, sounding defeated and morose – unusual for someone always smiling and annoyingly full of energy as he usually was. Wade felt it. It was like something shimmering in the air, ominous, almost electric, like just before a lightning strikes on the earth. Many pieces of a puzzle seemed to gather with the speed of light in the Brit's mind and he suddenly saw a possible future where Heath wouldn't be there anymore. Because he would walk towards some light. Permanently.

Before he could think any further, Wade pushed Heath's shoulders and grabbed both side of his face, looking at him straight in his eyes, their nose almost touching.

"Stop that, silly ginger, or I'll wasteland some sense into you!", his voice exploded and slightly echoed in the empty locker room. Heath stared back at him, with a mixture of surprise and fright in his eyes.

Wade wasn't exactly angry, but he knew that tender words wouldn't help Heath; not right now. Not in his state of mind. Actually, his friend would rather freak out if Wade talked softly to him. The Brit had to be the same old brutal asshole of a leader for him. Now that he had Heath's attention, he went on:

"No matter how Management uses you now, there are people who remember how you were before; people who will support you no matter what!". Wade was emphasizing some of his words with a slight shake of his hands still holding Heath's face. Every time, the youth would blink and briefly break the eye-contact. Wade went on with the don't-you-dare-contradict-me look on his face: "If you manage to get people by your side when you're presented as a total shit, there's absolutely no limit to what you'll be able to accomplish. It's for them that you must go on and fight!".

Wade released the pressure on Heath's face and softened a bit his voice: "If you ever let the keyboard warriors, or WWE management discourage you, I'll regret the time I lost believing in you."

Heath's eyes became wide. What? Wade, not insulting him as usual, but acknowledging his talent? This couldn't be real. It was probably a concussion from his match against Justin earlier tonight. The Brit narrowed his eyes and smirked slightly, as if he had read his mind. Maybe he had, Heath thought with a nervous amusement.

"If you ever repeat to anybody what I'm going to tell, I'll deny this conversation ever took place and claim you had a concussion from your match earlier".

Heath stopped breathing; he was paralyzed. This was becoming surrealistic.

"When I arrived in FCW, I admit, I had expected the "number 1 Heath Slater" to be more of a Batista or Lesnar style. I was surprised when I first saw you after your match, and misjudged you, thinking that if you looked soft, you were soft. You proved me wrong. Plenty of times. You proved me that you were one of the best in this business. And not just because you could defeat anyone, or use almost every wrestling techniques, or get the whole public to love you… But also because you never let that go over your head and considered yourself like a semi-God. No, you were always there to help people evolve, you would always tell the right word in the right time in order to motivate people to go beyond their limits. And when WWE first proposed you to join them, you refused because the younger ones still needed someone to guide them, and there was no one else of your level able to help them evolve... You sacrificed yourself for everyone back then, and you always put the WWE Universe entertainment before your own glory or safety". Wade marked a brief pause, to make sure he had Heath's full attention.

"You're the hero Cena tries to pretend he is."

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TO BE CONTINUED

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If you liked or were surprised by Wade's declaration to Heath in the end, read chapter 5 of my other fanfic "WHAT THE BIGGER PICTURE IS FOR". Full of details, based on FCW events. Now, since that fanfic is a thriller, you might wanna read the other chapters too :P

I wonder who amongst you recognized the "whispering demon" reference... ;-)