Disclaimer: See chapter 1.
AN: Thanks for the great response to last chapter. I wasn't so sure about it, so it was good to know people liked it!
So, Miz wasn't in this chapter at first. Or in the story at all. But then him and Dolph were just adorable at Comic Con. So they are now Cleveland Buddies. (Which, I realized, Dolph has definitely remarked on him and Miz going to a Cleveland home game before. So it was already true!)
These next three chapters are some of my favorites so far! I wrote chapter nine sort of concurrently with this one, so there's a good chance it will be up soon.
Chapter Warnings: Showers hate Dolph. April is uncertain. Brock Lesnar is a human being. Ghostbusters. Hardcore Trading Places references – like if you've never seen this movie, you need to go Google it. Hardcore divorce feels. Homesickness. Briley is judging you.
Nick was not a fan of Monday morning.
He never fell asleep that night, and jumped when their wake up call came, startling April. She was not a happy camper, groaning, whining, and pinning him to the bed under her dead weight in attempts to avoid getting up. He'd finally pried himself away, no where near motivated to start that day, only to have the showerhead come flying off, narrowly missing his head.
The universe had it out for him. It really did.
When she finally got out of bed, April stayed grouchy, mumbling something about baby wipes when he told her the shower was broken. He chalked it up to exhaustion and waited over fifteen minutes for her to get ready. When they finally left, the woman from PR accompanying them on their morning journey had been about to start banging on their door.
The ride to the studio was silent. The interviews went well, both of them slipping comfortably into character. Nick's head swam the entire time with weird, sleep-deprived cloudiness, but he powered through.
Nick broke the ice on the car ride back.
"April."
She looked over at him, and he couldn't read her face. "Yeah?"
"You okay?"
She nodded. "Yeah. I'm fine. Just…really tired."
"I couldn't fall asleep."
"Really?"
"Yeah. I was just…wired."
"You should have said something."
"You were asleep."
"I would have stayed up. The hour and a half I got didn't make much of a difference."
"No. That's dumb."
She shrugged. "Well I would have."
"It's okay. I survived."
They were quiet again the rest of the way to the hotel. Up in their room, April locked herself in the bathroom for a while. When she came back out, Nick held his arms open for her from bed. She shook her head and climbed into the other bed by herself.
She went out like a light.
Nick watched her for a while, only turning over and closing his eyes after praying she was just grouchy and tired, not anything worse.
He came to in the early afternoon. April was awake and changed, watching television and eating a pack of mini muffins.
She laughed at him. "You look so confused."
He was. "I think my brain liquefied while I was sleeping."
She smiled. "I tried to wake you up, but you swatted at me, so I let you go."
Nick sat up and stretched, his back cracking in several places. "What time is it?"
"A little after two."
"Jeeze…"
"Shower's fixed if you want to get in there."
He nodded and relaxed against the headboard. "I need a while…"
"That's fine."
"Do you want to go out and get food?"
"Um…" April bit her lip and went back to watching television for a while.
Nick waited for an answer and didn't get one. "…April?"
"I think we should talk about what we did last night." She didn't look away from the television.
Nick stared, confused and worried. He tried to push the worry away. "Um…okay…."
April watched the last five minutes of the episode, and Nick spent the entire time getting more and more confused, more and more fidgety. When she turned off the television and turned to him, he was so relieved he nearly forgot what she was going to talk about. "We shouldn't have done it."
Nick felt like he'd been slapped in the face. "…What?"
April got up and came to sit next to him in bed. "I don't…I don't think last night was a mistake. But at the same time, I sort of do. Do you know what I mean?"
"No." Because for him, the night before had been the exact opposite.
"Last night was great, like really great. Super great. And I don't regret doing it. But we shouldn't have."
Nick stared at her. "Did you just try to stroke my ego and then shut me down?"
April laughed a little, but it faded to a sad smile. "Well, I mean…it wasn't showing off because you backed it up, right?"
Nick laughed. This was all ridiculous. "You're adorable."
"Yeah…but you were way too upset for me to have let that happen. And I think if I hadn't been so tired, I would have turned you down."
Nick smirked at her. "Likely story, but no one turns me down."
"Well rested April would have." She grabbed his hand. "But unrested April didn't. And I feel like now that well rested April is here, she needs to set this all straight. It's not going to happen again."
"Ever?"
"No. Not never. Just…not now, you know?"
"I fucked up, didn't I?"
"No. You didn't. We both kind of did…it's not a hopeless case or anything. I just feel like maybe we need to take a couple steps back."
"If that's what you want, it's what I want."
"Really?"
"Yeah. I mean, what am I going to do, throw a tantrum about it?"
"I might actually put up with that."
"Don't kid yourself. You'd kick my ass."
"I would."
Nick pulled her in and pressed a kiss to her temple. "I need to go cry in the shower now."
"Oh, shut up! You're not going to cry."
"I'm going to bite my fist so you can't hear the sobs."
She smacked him with a pillow. "Go shower so we can get going. I'm starving."
"Hey lady. You got mini muffins. Don't think I didn't see you chowing down on them."
"Darn. I thought maybe you missed that."
"No. And they were blueberry, which are my favorite too."
"Go shower. You smell terrible."
"That's pretty much your fault."
She blushed. "Go."
He did.
Raw that night was so weird.
Nick's whole story for the night was that he wasn't cleared. He wasn't going out until the end of the show when he would wail on Alberto after his count out loss to Punk. He already knew the chances of running into Punk because of his involvement in the match were high…he just didn't want to run into him before he absolutely had to.
He had a few texts from Punk already. Mostly just asking if he was okay. Nick had ignored them, feeling like an asshole for doing it, but he didn't want to lie and say yes. He wasn't in the mood to start explaining his jealousy over Punk's success to him. He was pretty sure Punk wouldn't appreciate it in the least.
So he was camped out in a nice little spot near the Divas locker room with E and April. Things between the two of them had been odd the whole day…but he was determined to keep things from being awkward, so he was treating her the same as always. And if E noticed anything was off, he was kind enough to keep it to himself.
E and April were – once again – discussing something Nick had no clue about, and he was fiddling with his phone when Punk texted him again.
Punk
I know you're here. Do you think I'm stupid?
Punk (2)
Just let me know if you're okay.
Punk (3)
I'm just really worried after last night.
Nick sighed. I'm okay.
Punk
Thank you.
Nick put his phone away, and focused on anything but it's weight in his hoodie pocket.
A while later, April, E, and most of the Divas locker room filed out for their promo with Stephanie McMahon. After sitting by himself for a while, he got too bored to sit, and started off for more populated areas of the walked around and talked with a few people he ran into, and soon enough, a PA was leading him up front to get ready for the segment.
Punk was already there.
Nick wasn't quite sure what to do, but awkwardly stopping short called more attention to him. Punk looked his way and watched him for a second, jutting his chin in his direction after a while. Nick gave a stiff little wave back.
And then Heyman rolled up with Brock Lesnar, and Nick sort of wished the wall would absorb him – Punk looked as if he was having the same thoughts, but he offered Brock a handshake anyway.
The segment went off without a hitch, and Nick was sure that the crowd's reaction was the biggest pop he'd ever gotten (also, he'd felt like Bryan when he and Alberto went flying off the stage). They'd made their way back around to gorilla, and Jesús ended up telling him all about how he had looked like Bryan – minus all the hair.
Nick turned from Jesús and was greeted with Punk, limping over to him, holding his sides. "That son of a bitch…thought I was going through the ring for a second."
"I thought you might too."
"He's lucky Paul and I have an unspoken agreement that I treat him like a human being…"
Nick smiled. "Sounds about right."
Punk leaned against a table and smiled at him. "So. I must sound like the world's pushiest asshole, but will you come out tonight? John doesn't have to come if that's a problem…"
"I can't."
Punk's face fell. "Nick…"
Nick held a hand up to stop him. "No, I'm not skipping out on you. I just have to leave in like…10 minutes. I'm on SmackDown."
"Oh. Okay."
"Yeah…" Nick stepped closer to Punk. "Text me though."
Punk studied his face, leaving Nick a little uncomfortable. "Yeah?"
Nick nodded. "Yeah. I'll talk. I promise."
Punk raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. He reached out and squeezed Nick's shoulder, and Nick couldn't help but lean into the touch. "I'll see you next week, man."
Nick nodded and went off.
Punk vowed to himself on the walk to his and John's booth that he was not going to let how bothered he was by the Nick thing affect this outing.
He had done that last night, and it wasn't fair to John – he had nothing to do with this situation (though, okay, Nick had seemed pretty against being anywhere near John). Punk shouldn't punish him for that. John hadn't actually done anything to cause whatever Nick was mad about (as far as Punk knew) so…John was completely innocent. He didn't deserve any of Punk's confusion.
"So, we going to talk all about Ziggler again tonight?" John got right to it.
Punk leveled him a glare he'd like to think was menacing, but with John, Punk sometimes couldn't manage those looks. "No. He's fine. What I do want to talk about is my 'Hawks."
John groaned. "Ugh, God, not Hockey."
"Yes, God, hockey. After tonight, I'm officially their…groupie? No. That's wrong. But I plan on following them around until this lovely company drags me away again."
John shook his head. "Lost cause, dude. That's the Bruins' Cup and you know it."
Punk rolled his eyes. "Yeah. Sure. You're just jealous."
"Need I remind you that we whooped your ass in overtime tonight and on Saturday?"
"Need I remind you that we whooped your ass in triple overtime in Game One?"
"So?"
"I've got a lot of faith in my boys."
"You mean you've bought them a lot of pancakes. That doesn't mean anything."
"You wanna bet?"
John smirked, dimples popping, and sat back on his bench. "Oh. I would love nothing more than to see you lose to me. So yes – I'd like to make a bet."
Punk smirked back. "All right, Gretsky. How much?"
John nodded, thinking face pasted on. His eyes widened and the creepiest, most predatory grin Punk had ever seen spread across his face. Punk wondered for a second if he should take it all back before John had him agreeing to something crazy.
But he didn't. "One. Dollar."
Punk laughed with relief. "A dollar?"
"I saw Trading Places on Comedy Central this weekend. I want to bet a dollar, Billy Ray Valentine."
"Why am I the Eddie Murphy in this situation?"
"Because Dan Aykroyd rocks. And you're already Bill Murray when we play Ghostbusters. I'm just keeping with that line of thinking."
Punk laughed. "You are going to owe me a buck this time next week, Ray."
"I bet you I won't."
Punk rolled his eyes. "We aren't starting this again."
John's whole face lit up as he laughed, and Punk smiled at the sight.
John got back from dinner with Punk to find Nikki still up and watching television.
"Hey babe." He set down his phone, key, and wallet, and started changing for bed.
She smiled at him. "Hey…. where were you?"
"Out."
She frowned. "With Punk?"
The question gave John a bad feeling. "Yeah…where else would I have been?"
She rolled her eyes. "Thanks for the text."
"I didn't think I needed to check in…"
"Well, I texted you asking where you were. The least you could have done is answered. I was worried."
"Worried? Like what, that I got kidnapped?"
She stared him down and pursed her lips. "You know what I mean."
"Nik. You know him and I go out all the time. I seriously can't imagine where you thought I was."
"You never know, John!"
"Jesus, Nik! I don't have to tell you about everything I do!"
"John. The point is that you go out with him all the time without telling me."
John threw his hands up in frustration. "Did you want to come? Is that why you're angry? Because you can come next time! No one cares!"
"No! It'd just be nice to know where you are. Or, I don't know! Spend some time with you – alone – that doesn't involve sleeping?"
"We spend time together." She shot him an incredulous look and he realized he wasn't helping his case by lying. "Okay. We could spend more time together-"
"Well, halle-fucking-lujah! You finally figured it out!"
"Can you just stop? You want to spend time together? Let's spend some time together now!"
"No! Don't tell me what to do!" She got out of bed and slipped on her sandals. "I'm going to stay with Brie and Bryan. Fuck you."
"Are you serious? I want to spend time together right now, and you're going to go?"
"I'm exhausted from waiting for you! And yeah, you really sound like you want to spend time with me right now, John. With all the yelling!"
"You yelled first!"
She brushed past him on her way to the door, but it was more like a tackle, and he had to make an effort to keep his footing. "Well now, I'm leaving first!" She slammed the door open and stalked off.
John didn't go after her. "Well, fuck that!" The door banged shut behind her.
He went to the mini fridge and grabbed a $15 Heineken. He rarely ever did this, but he needed it tonight. He cracked it open on the little opener built into the door, slammed the door shut, and took it out to the balcony, collapsing into a chair and trying not to choke on the hot, humid night air.
Everything was going to shit with Nikki since his lapse in judgment at Extreme Rules. They hadn't spent much time together since then – he'd been busy with a million promotional things, and she'd been off shooting bachelorette parties and weddings for Total Divas. The time they did spend together often resulted in situations like this: lots of yelling, lots of disagreeing, lots of accusations.
She had broached the subject of what he'd meant when he'd told her he was trying to save her from himself several times – and John had shut her down every time she even tried to start. It was frustrating her; even if she hadn't already expressed that to him, he could tell.
But he just didn't know how to explain it all to her without…he wasn't sure. Would he be giving too much away? Would he offend her? He'd probably just scare her completely away.
At the same time, he'd been trying to figure out how to bring up how she was feeling about Punk…without actually listening to any of her previous complaints about how much time he spent calling and texting him. Of course, surreptitiously texting him while he and Nikki were spending time together hadn't been a great decision, and she'd shut him down with a, "think about why I might just be a little angry."
And now Punk was back, and he'd fallen into a cycle of spending time he should be spending with Nikki with him. Just in real life. Which was, apparently, a lot worse.
Right now, he could see their relationship was on the fast track to being over. But he didn't know how to stop it. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to be the first one lay it all out – though Nikki had done a fairly good job of starting it up with all her Punk complaints. John had no clue how to take the initiative…to figure out how to work past the anger and work it out – even if figuring it out was the difference between breaking up and staying together.
His marriage had fallen apart for the same reason. John was shit at rocking the boat.
He'd always been this way. Sure, he pressed his parents to get a rise out of them as a kid. He had really worked on their last nerves as a teen. But when it really counted, he backed down. And that's why he was so successful now. He pressed when it was urgent, but when it really came down to it, he left the decisions up to the people with real power. And that's why he was the champ. It's why everything had worked out.
But it's also fucked him up when it came to moving through the normal stages of relationships.
Liz was his best friend – it was really that simple. It had taken him so long to marry her because the concept of losing their friendship if it didn't work made him insane. It was something he couldn't fathom, didn't want to have to think about. Fuck, it had taken him over a year to first kiss her when they were kids. It was why they'd been so on and off over the years….
But he'd done it. It had been the best decision he'd ever made for a while. God, he'd never been happier. And he'd sat there wondering why he had been so scared and cowardly for so many years, why he had fucked around with so many other insignificant women when he could have had her. They could have been happy for so long….
But then the laying awake at night and wondering started. Wondering what it would be like to still be just best friends. Wondering if they would ever be able to go back.
It had all been theoretical at first. He was still enamored, still committed, still so in love with her and their marriage.
But then things changed. Being lonely on the road and only hearing her voice, getting her texts, just wasn't enough. She didn't want to come out and travel with him; she wanted to retain some sense of normalcy for herself, even if he was going to be a superstar.
He didn't know how to change – to go home and be what she wanted. And he didn't know how to ask her to go back to the way they were. Fuck, if he'd just asked her to be friends but stay married for both their benefits, she probably would have gone along with it. He just didn't know how to bring it up.
Because he hates changing shit. Hates it. Hates being the catalyst in any situation. Hates taking initiative. He's still shocked he was ever able to get down on one knee and offer up a ring.
And it's why he cheated.
Fuck – he can admit it – he cheated. Maybe even as much and as often as the internet made it seem. He hadn't wanted to do it, hadn't wanted to hurt her. But he had no clue how to say to Liz, "this isn't working, we aren't working, we need to end it." He wanted to stay her friend, he loved her too much not to.
But he slept around. It had been and still was a blur: he picked up pretty much any woman he could. He had no problem seducing them, being intimate with them, because it wasn't changing any preexisting relationship.
And Liz wasn't a fucking moron; she'd figured it out pretty easily after a while. He'd denied it and denied it...until he couldn't deny it anymore.
He'd picked so many dumb fights, come up with so many dumb excuses. Then he'd run off and filed for divorce all on his own, without ever telling her. To save her from all the hurt he was laying on her. And blamed it on a renovation.
Months into the divorce, after he realized he was a complete fucking moron but he had to go through with all this after the shit that had come out, it was suddenly July 11th; in the middle of all this, it was their third wedding anniversary. And he'd felt so guilty the whole day. He'd needed Punk pretty much at his side to get through.
(Punk, who had been there through most of it. Who'd seen him slowly make cheating a routine and warned him over and over that it was a bad idea. That he was going to hate himself for it. That the guilt wasn't worth it. That he needed to stop spilling everything to Punk and start spilling all of it to his wife.)
And that night, she'd called. And she told him it could all be over if he just admitted it. He admitted he'd cheated, and she'd laughed, and that was that.
A week later, the divorce was final. And now they weren't friends at all.
And he wondered now, if the reason he was the one to run out and end it without a single effort, was because he found a better best friend…and hadn't really cared anymore.
Nick was waiting on E and April in the parking lot after SmackDown, when Miz walked up to him on the way to his rental.
Mike shot him a big smile and shook his hand. "Heading out?"
Nick nodded. "Whenever the rest of my car gets here, yeah."
"Ugh, wish I was going to the airport. My mom's birthday is Thursday, so I'm going back home tonight."
"No shit? That sounds hellish."
"Yeah. But it'll be nice to be home home, you know?"
And Nick did know. Nick knew exactly how it would feel to go home to Cleveland and see his family – his entire family, now that Ryan was home – rather than to an empty house in Phoenix. "Yeah, that sounds pretty amazing right now."
"It does. Got tickets for the game tomorrow."
Nick and Miz shot shit about the Indians for a while. As involved as he was in the conversation – because being angry with the Indians was a Nemeth family tradition – he couldn't stop thinking about how great it would be to just go home until the house shows that weekend. It had been a long time since he'd gone home for no reason. He only ever got home when they were appearing in Cleveland or at the holidays. The idea of dropping in unannounced was…
"You got anything going on?"
Nick shook his head. "Nah, man. Probably just go home…read HuffPo at the gym. Go to Chipotle…"
Mike laughed. "You should come man. Give me someone to bitch about the Indians to on the drive. And I've got a couple extra tickets. Bring your brother!"
Nick laughed. "As great as that sounds, I already have the flight and everything…"
"And that cost what, $400? Fuck it man. Rebook it and just come."
Nick wanted to say yes. He really did. He knew going home would be good for him. He knew talking to Ryan about things would help. But at the same time, he felt like going home was admitting some kind of defeat – at what, he didn't know. But he felt like if he went home…he was hiding. Like it was something he didn't deserve and something he would look cowardly for choosing.
But at the same time…No. He wasn't going to do that.
He shook his head. "Sorry, bro. I'm gonna go." As he said it, he spotted E and April making their way out to the car.
Mike shrugged. "All right, that's cool. I'll see you this weekend."
"Later!" Nick ignored the tight feeling in his chest as Miz walked off.
"Hey!" April greeted, smile on her face as they got closer.
"Hey guys."
E nodded his greeting as he popped the trunk. "Sorry. Didn't realize I had the keys."
"It's cool. I was only out here like 10 minutes..."
April tossed her bag in and yawned. "I can't wait to get home."
Nick nodded. Because he agreed. But he knew he didn't want to go back to Phoenix. Not this week. The tightness in his chest constricted, and Nick felt his panic rising.
"Fuck it!" He exclaimed, grabbing his bag off the ground.
April furrowed her brow at him. "Nick…"
"Go without me. I'm not going."
"What? What are you talking about?"
"I'm going to Cleveland, I'll see you on Friday." He started off in the direction Mike had disappeared in, and stopped him just as he was pulling out of his parking spot.
He pulled the passenger's side door open, sliding in after he threw his bag over the headrest and into the backseat. "That ride to Cleveland still on the table?"
Mike smiled. "You know it." He started off again. "Thank God we won tonight, or I was going to give up on the whole season."
Nick nodded in agreement. "I know exactly what you mean."
Miz dropped Nick off outside his parents' house, with promises of the Indians game the next day, a bit after 1. It was the weirdest – coming here totally unannounced, right after a taping. He didn't know if he should have called ahead to avoid startling anyone. But the glow of the living room tv was leaking out the front windows. Someone was still up.
He climbed the front porch, retrieving the spare key from the magnetic in the awning, and let himself in.
Ryan startled awake on the couch, wiping drool from his chin. He stared at Nick like he was an alien, and Nick laughed. "You all right, bro?"
Ryan nodded, yawning. "What the fuck?"
Nick shrugged. "Was in Toledo. Had to choose between flying home at 3am or catching a ride here…chose here."
"Good choice."
"Yeah. It seemed like the right one." Nick unloaded his bag in the entryway and pulled off his shoes. He may technically be a guest in the house now, but his mom would still chew him out if he wore them on her carpets. He shuffled over and flopped down next to Ryan. "What are you watching?"
"Um…I was watching an Amy rerun…I have no clue now."
Nick grabbed the remote and started flipping channels. "Well, now we're watching the news."
"Oh God…"
Nick laughed. "I promise not to talk back to the anchors."
"You will anyway. You have a problem."
"Whatever. How are you?"
Ryan shrugged. "Been better. Been worse. Working on stuff."
"Good. Keep busy."
"That's the plan."
Nick nodded. They relaxed for a while, and the more comfortable he got, the more he realized he had a headache. Of course he would. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "This is getting old."
"Head?"
"Yeah. I think I'm going insane."
"You aren't; you already were."
Nick rolled his eyes at Ryan's smirk. "Haha. You are such a funny grown up, little bro. Can't handle myself."
"Haha, I actually am a funny grown up, big bro."
Nick feigned shock. "Are you implying I'm not funny?"
"Something like that."
"Fuck you."
"Fuck you, too. Want a beer?"
"Do I want to breathe?"
Ryan muttered something about Nick being a dick under his breath, but got up and padded off to the kitchen. Nick gave his phone a quick check.
Punk
Let you have til the taping was over
Punk (2)
So talk
Nick turned his phone off.
Ryan came back and handed him his drink. "Thanks man."
"No problemo." He plopped down next to Nick, jostling him a bit, and threw his legs on top of Nick. "All right, tell me all about how you've been."
"I've been fine."
"Really, because…I feel like you haven't? Also, April texted me that you've been freaking out…."
"Ugh. April." Nick laid his head back on the couch and tried not to groan.
"Ooh! Start there. I want the gossip."
Nick couldn't suppress the groan anymore. "Messed up. Big time."
"So. Not juicy gossip? Did you tell her she's weird or something?"
"No. That might have gone better..."
"Did you make some big Jerry Maguire speech declaring your love? Because that should have worked…"
"Nope. Never got that far." Nick took a big swig of his beer.
"So you do love her?"
Nick shrugged. "Maybe? I don't know…she's great."
"She is."
"Something about having sex with a girl after you've been crying for an hour makes them want to go back to being just friends though…"
Ryan pulled a face that would have had Nick crying with laughter in any other situation. "You cried?"
"Not during the sex. Just for a long period of time before…which she bore witness to…"
"I'm surprised you got it in at all."
"Shut up."
"That's right though. Girls love the crying." Ryan smirked. "Super player status, over here."
"I didn't just cry to get her to fuck me."
"Again, surprised you managed-" Ryan stopped short when Nick glared at him. "Sorry."
"Can we take this seriously for a second? I've been having a pretty shitty time."
"Wahhh, I'm Dolph Ziggler! Everyone loves me! I've got a peach tank top and a can cozy in my merch!" Ryan taunted.
Nick frowned. "Please, Ry?"
Ryan sighed. "Sorry. Just thought I might get a laugh out of you…."
"Yeah. I just have a lot going on. Give me some advice and then you can make fun of me all you want."
"Fair enough." Ryan took a sip from his beer. "So why were you crying?"
Nick groaned. "This is the longest story…"
"Well, if you want to whine and then get advice, I need to know what happened. Not sure if you're aware, but advice is dependent on the situation and specifics."
"Okay. Fine. Payback was just a very upsetting night for me."
"…Were you seriously upset over losing-"
"No! God, I'm not that shallow….Okay. Maybe I was a little upset about it."
Ryan snorted, laying a hand over his heart. "My brother. My hero."
"Anyway," Nick shot, taking another pull from his bottle, "It was upsetting for me."
"Why?"
"For many reasons."
The blank look Ryan gave him made Nick regret that non-answer. Nick sighed. "I don't know how to get any of this out. Without sounding like-"
"An asshole?"
"Yes."
Ryan rolled his eyes. "Okay. I see that I'm going to have to hold your hand through this." Ryan took a big gulp of his beer, and Nick tried not to be offended that his brother was treating him like a moron. "Let's start with this: You were upset about the pay-per-view. You were upset because you lost. But you aren't a cry baby? Even though you did cry. So why were upset past that?"
Nick shrugged. " You…Life….Punk."
"You were upset with me?"
"About you."
Ryan raised an eyebrow at him. "That's…okay. Why were you upset about me?"
Nick stared at him. "Why shouldn't I be?"
"Well, I'm not chronically ill and I haven't been kidnapped by the Russian mafia…"
The horror…."Neither of those things would be funny."
"No. They would be serious. This? Me?" he motioned to himself, "I'm fine. So I don't see why you're upset."
Nick rolled his eyes. "Forgive me for having a sense of loyalty."
"Loyalty, schmoyalty. This is professional wrestling. If I was on the title scene, I wouldn't have cried over you, just to be honest…."
"Yeah, but it wouldn't have been your fault."
Ryan narrowed his gaze at Nick, confusion written over his face. "…This was your fault?"
"Yeah." It sucked that it was, but that was the truth in Nick's eyes.
Ryan tensed up next to him, and Nick knew it. He knew he was in for it now when his brother finally realized what a scumbag he was. "Care to elaborate? Because I'm about 2 seconds from kicking your ass if you sabotaged me…"
"…I tweeted a bunch of stuff…and I ignored some phone calls…"
There was a tense moment before Ryan laughed, totally deflating. "Yeah, something tells me this wasn't your fault. Something tells me these peoples' mothers just dropped them a few too many times."
"Did you just imply WWE execs have brain damage?"
"Oh, I'm sorry. Did that cross the line?"
"Yes!"
Ryan rolled his eyes. "Do you have some newfound sense of loyalty or…?"
"Because I think…" Nick lowered his voice. This was hard to admit. "I think I have brain damage."
Ryan snorted. "Yeah, no. You don't. None that's new anyway."
Nick rolled his eyes, rubbing at his pounding temples. "Oh, haha. You're hilarious. It's a wonder you don't have your own late night talk show yet."
"Go fuck yourself."
"I'm serious, though. Shit has been wrong with me ever since I got hurt…"
Ryan shook his head and watched the television for a while before draining his bottle and speaking up again. "So you were upset because you felt guilt? Very misplaced guilt?"
"Yes. And a few other things…"
"Oh, enlighten me on these 'things'!"
"I don't know! I guess I just felt like you were the precursor to my firing? I don't know…. What happened made me like…aware of my own mortality?"
"Mortality?"
"Yes? It was a metaphor for my career but…"
Ryan held up his hand. "Stop. Let me get this straight. My release couldn't just be it's own thing, right? It has to play pre-show to yours?"
Nick was taken aback. "Ry, that's not what I meant..." It wasn't. Ryan wasn't some opening act. He was his brother.
But his brother shook his head. "I know that's not what you meant. But you have to realize you have serious oldest child selfishness and martyring issues. Like to the extreme, dude."
"Hey!"
Ryan held up a single finger for silence. "It's true. My firing had to do with me. With you?" he shrugged. "Maybe a little. Because I wasn't going to end up being your nearly-a-twin younger brother? Though if that's what they'd asked me to do, I would have done it. Gladly. But they didn't. They didn't do anything with me or have any faith in me.
"So when it came down to it, they got rid of me. That's that. You really think your dumbass Raw live tweets had anything to do with it? Because they didn't…They'd been treating me like shit down there long before you asked your followers to tell Vince your account was hacked."
Nick felt like an asshole. "That's what Punk said…"
"Well then Punk is a smart guy."
"He is…"
"Then why were you upset over him? Because he was smart like me?"
Nick laughed and shook his head. "Oh man," he groaned. "Well. Want to hear a sort of…funny and embarrassing story?"
"…I'm really not sure. Is it gay?"
Nick smacked him across the chest. "No."
"Then tell me."
"Well…after you called me and told me you had been future endeavored… I got really upset."
"…I'm sensing a pattern."
"Shut up." Ryan gestured for Nick to carry on. "I was thinking about you, and how I thought it was my fault, and then my job, and then my head…and Alzheimer's," Ryan gave him a weird look, "and I…kind of had a panic attack about it?"
Ryan's eyes widened. "Dude…"
"It sucked. Really bad. I thought I was having a heart attack or a stroke or that I was dying. And then Punk walked in on it…pretty fucking embarrassing…"
"It's not embarrassing-"
"No. It was." Nick sighed. "But now he like…knows something was wrong…and I only told him a little. I know he knows it's more. He keeps asking."
Nick fingered his powered down phone in his pocket. "And I guess I was a little mad at him because he sort of egged me on with those tweets. And, I know you said they weren't the problem, but I still feel like they were. So I was angry with him. And then I was extra angry with him because he was in a great mood, which makes me sound like an asshole." It did. It really did. It hurt to think about. "And he didn't get it – which I mean, I don't blame him because I didn't explain why I was upset – and he kept trying to get me to go out to eat with him and fucking Cena-"
Ryan threw his hands up. "Wait. No. John Cena is part of this story too?"
"Begrudgingly so…"
Ryan stood up, grabbing his empty. "Fuck me. I need another beer. I need to prepare myself for you being 35% less rational now that Cena is involved."
"Hey!"
"It's true. Don't deny it. You have a compulsion."
"I do not!"
"You do!" Ryan called from the kitchen.
Nick groaned. He did not have a compulsion. And what was this about his rationale decreasing at the idea of Cena? The guy was an asshole – his hatred and annoyance were completely founded.
Ryan returned, already nursing his new drink. "Okay. Great. So launch into this diatribe…"
"It's not a diatribe."
"Oh, I bet it is."
Nick glared. "He all but accused me of wanting to get Punk hooked on black tar heroin!"
Ryan stared at him. "So…he…didn't actually accuse you of wanting to do that? Because no one would accuse anyone of that…except maybe heroin dealers…."
Nick frowned. "Well…it was implied."
"I'm…I can't even fathom a conversation where that could be implied."
"He told me to keep him on the 'straight and narrow'."
"…And you got 'forced black tar heroin addiction' from that?"
"Shut up, Ryan."
"You're fucking delusional."
"Whatever. Other than that, he was just a grade A dick the time I talked to him."
"So you hate him because he spoke to you – once – and because he – maybe – implied that you might get Punk into trouble?"
"It was twice! When you say it that way-"
"Yeah. You're a tool."
"I'm not."
Ryan pulled his legs up and sat Indian style. Nick nearly flinched – when Ryan got comfortable like this, he was in for the long haul. "Can I paint a picture for you?"
Nick nodded slowly. "You're going to anyway…"
"So. Okay. I got fired. And you immediately worried about your job. Also…brain damage? I'm not even sure. Then, you were mad, maybe jealous, of Punk for being happy and having a good match. Can you think about that one?" Ryan took a sip of his drink. "And now, you hate Cena more because he told you to keep your mutual friend out of trouble."
Nick stared.
"That's completely fuck up, dude."
"How?"
"Are you serious?"
"I'm having a rough time!"
"Cut the bullshit. You're making excuses."
"I am not."
Ryan stared at him. "This is how I see it, and don't interrupt." Nick nodded. "You got hurt. You got stressed. You let it get to you because you let everything get to you because you, for some reason, feel the need to put the weight of the world on your shoulders. Punk came, and you made a new friend. But he's already got Cena, who apparently asked you to not take Punk out and force a peyote experience on him. So boo hoo, fuck Cena. Then I got fired, and in your infinite big brother wisdom, you took all the blame upon yourself. Mental breakdown. You lose your title. Mental breakdown. Punk is happy and you aren't. Mental breakdown. Fuck Cena. Am I right?"
Nick ground his teeth. "In the meanest way possible, I guess so."
Ryan nodded. "Hey. Tough love, dude. Break you down to build you back up."
"Whatever."
Ryan moved sideways to better face him. "You need to calm down. Let some of this shit out. Telling me about it was a good first step, okay?"
Nick nodded.
"Now, Punk doesn't know you were upset he was happy…and also about him getting you to tweet stuff?"
"I guess. Yeah. It's nothing I ever said…."
"Tell him. He might tell you to go fuck yourself, but if he's been putting up with you acting like this…he might just like you enough to stick around when he realizes you're a drama queen."
"Okay…"
"Your head is fine. You would have failed the ImPACT tests if it weren't. If it's really bothering you, go get a second opinion. Once that comes back fine, find a shrink."
"I don't need a shrink."
"Then keep a fucking journal," Ryan snapped. "Just stop letting this stuff build up until you have to steal away to Cleveland in the middle of the night."
"…How did you know I stole away?"
"Did you miss the part where April texted me?"
"I hate her."
"You don't. And, about that: figure out what's going on."
"I know what's going on."
"You don't. You don't know if you love her. You're too damn old to run around having sex and ruining your friendships because you're confused and crying."
"That's completely inaccurate…."
"Shut up. This is my advice time." Ryan looked thoughtful for a bit. "And you're grossly jealous of Cena."
"Am n-"
"Yes. You are. You make fun of the way the man walks, Nick. You hated him before whatever contrived bullshit he committed when you befriended Punk happened. I don't know if it's Nikki-"
"It's not Nikki."
"-or career trajectory. But let it go. You're a lot cooler than him anyway. And if I know you, you'll say the wrong thing, and we'll both be living at home again. And dude, I don't know about you, but I like not sharing a bathroom."
Nick laughed. "Of course. It's all about your precious shower time."
Ryan shrugged. "What can I say? I like a forty-five minute steam while I listen to my Ke$ha albums."
"A man of such luxurious tastes."
"That I am." Ryan relaxed back into the couch. When he spoke again, it was much softer. "And, Nick?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks. For worrying about me. Even if it drove you nuts."
"Of course I worried. You're my best friend."
Nick saw Ryan smile out of the corner of his eye. "I'm sorry you had to freak out over it."
"It wasn't just you…it was a lot of stuff."
"Well…I appreciate it anyway."
"Anytime."
They watched CNN a while longer before Ryan got up. "I'll see you in the morning, bro."
Nick nodded. "Night."
Ryan studied him for a second before hugging him. "I love you. Even if you're a moron who needs their problems spelled out for them."
Nick squeezed him tight. "It was all a little overwhelming."
"You'll be fine." Ryan pulled away, ruffled his hair ("Ow! Why did you smack my hand?" "Because you'll make it frizzy!"), and headed up to bed.
Nick sat in silence a full twenty minutes before pulling out his phone and turning it back on.
Punk
I saw the read receipt.
Punk (2)
You're a douchebag
Punk (3)
Fine, fuck you too
And then a while after that…
Punk
April says you went to Cleveland.
Punk (2)
Is everything all right?
Nick quickly tapped the reply field: I'm sorry. I'm fine. I'm a dick. I'll explain when I see you. I promise.
AN: I love this chapter. I also love the next one. And the one after. Just yeah.