A/N: Phoenix-Syren, I agree that Vince might not buy the headline, and I'll be attempting to address that in this chapter; Animal Luvr 4 Life and pony-loves-mcqueen,, Matt is a dick and he is evil, and it's only gonna get worse, so hang on for the ride!; Renna33, ya never know what Vince might swallow down on a bad day... ; Neroanne, thanks, I have fun writing Matty evil; and you never know when a brotherly confrontation may be lurking around the corner, so stay tuned; Crystalgurl101, many thanks! (Although, I have to say, the heel Matt on TV is kinda freaky just because he's so quiet.); Nelpher, thanks, it's fun to write Matt and Edge as evil buddies when they've been arch-enemies for so long; slashdlite, keep reading to find out Mark's fate, and you never know what will happen!

Thank you to everyone who reviewed!

As always, the WWE owns all, and I am broke.

"Vince, I have no idea what you're talking about."

Mark was truly at a loss. As soon as he'd entered the chairman's makeshift office in the arena, Vince had begun ranting furiously about an email he'd supposedly sent out. The Deadman had barely been able to get a word in since the tirade had begun.

"Don't lie to me!", shouted Vince, his face bright red, "Why would you lie about this anyway? I thought you were proud of your work!" He slammed his fist down on the desk, causing coffee from his mug to splash onto the wood.

"Vince", said Mark slowly, "Can I see this email I'm supposed to have sent out?"

"Why?", asked Vince, "You know what it says."

"Humor me."

Glaring, the chairman handed a sheet of paper across the desk. Mark's eyes darkened as he read down the page. He handed it back when he'd finished.

"I see why you're so upset", he said, "but I didn't write this."

Vince's eyes narrowed. "I have pretty strong evidence that you did."

"What evidence?", Mark said, his tone defensive.

Vince glared at him in an accusatory manner, furious that he was trying to act innocent when, in his mind, he was guilty as hell.

"I've had my people closely monitoring the wrestling news sites online, simply because they've been reporting far too many of our storylines before they happen. So, when the letter was posted, I was informed immediately. I thought it was bullshit at first. I figured a fan had played a practical joke or something. But then I realized something. These sites may be obnoxious and annoying, but they are meticulous about checking sources. They don't put just anything up. So, I got in touch with one of the reporters, and asked how they'd confirmed the fact that this wasn't all some elaborate hoax. He told me they hired a company to track the IP address of the computer that had sent the e-mail. It had tracked back to the city that Smackdown was in that night. They also found that the computer that sent the letter was using the wireless internet of the Holiday Inn on Route 63. That was the hotel we booked for WWE personnel during that timeframe." Vince paused, his eyes intense on Mark's face. "Is that enough proof for you?"

Mark stared. "So what you're saying", he said, "is that anyone in that hotel could've sent the letter."

"Oh come off it, god dammit!", yelled Vince, "What the hell is the matter with you, Mark?! Is there a particular reason you're trying to humiliate me like this?"

"I didn't do this, Vince", the Deadman said calmly, "When you've calmed down enough to think rationally, you'll realize I have no reason to jeopardize my career, or my position in the company, by pulling an asshole stunt like that."

"I don't know what the fuck has gotten into you, but hopefully a month of suspension will be enough time for you to clear the bullshit out of your brain", Vince spat.

"You're going to pull me from Wrestlemania for something I didn't do?", Mark said quietly.

"I don't believe you", the chairman said, "And a month is more than fair."

Mark rose. "Fine. I'm going, then."

"You're barred from the arenas and backstage areas for the length of your suspension. I mean it. I catch you anywhere near a WWE show, and it'll be two months, instead of one. Have a nice rest, Mark."

"Bastard", the Deadman muttered under his breath as he left.

Sighing resignedly, he began walking towards the parking garage.

Jeff wasn't going to take this news very well. Not well at all.

* * * * * * *

"Knock it off, Matt!"

Maria angrily pushed the older Hardy away from her again, her nails digging painfully into his skin. He grinned. He liked her fire.

"Oh, come on, let me buy you a drink, sweetheart", he drawled, his dark eyes fixed firmly on her half-exposed cleavage.

"Go away!", she said, shrinking back.

"Hey, Maria, he bothering you?" The Miz strolled casually up to the pair, a frown on his normally smirking face.

Maria just nodded once in reply to the query, afraid of what Matt was going to do.

Miz turned to Matt. "I don't think she wants to hang with you, bro", he said, "Maybe you should just move on."

Matt's face was impassive. "Is that what you think I should do?"

"Yeah, man."

"Well, I personally don't give a fuck about your opinion, so why don't you leave?" Hardy's voice was soft, and dangerous.

"When the fuck did you become all psycho, man?", said Miz, not backing down, "I mean, you used to be friends with Maria. And Jeff, well, what you're doing to him is just plain fucked in the head-"

Matt had been watching the Miz through dark, hooded eyes. At the mention of his brother, however, he'd felt an irresistible urge to break and hurt, and beat. He reached over and grabbed the back of the Miz's neck, smashing his face into the bar, doing it again, and again, and again. He heard someone screaming, and realized it was poor Maria, frozen stiff in her seat, her pretty cleavage spattered with her protector's blood.

Matt let the Miz fall to ground like a bag of trash, and began to walk away, before turning and coming to stand before Maria once more.

"You won't tell McMahon, will you?", he said, a ghost of a smile on his full lips.

She shook her head rapidly back and forth, her eyes wide.

"Good girl."

He leaned in and began to kiss her, pushing his tongue forcefully into her slack mouth. She whimpered in fear.

Matt pulled away after a few moments, his eyes closed in bliss. When he opened them again, his gaze swept over her dismissively, as if he didn't know her, or didn't care to.

Without another word, he walked out of the near-empty bar, leaving the mess he'd made behind him.

* * * * * * *

Mark paused outside of Jeff's hotel room, steeling himself for the imminent conversation. Sighing heavily, he knocked twice. He found himself fidgeting in his anxious state. He truly did not want to add to his young friend's burdens by telling him that he'd been suspended.

A moment later, the young Hardy opened the door. He smiled when he saw Mark standing there.

"Hey, Mark", he said, leaning against the doorframe, "Boy, McMahon kept you for a long time. Did he have a million script changes for you?"

Mark grimaced. Jeff immediately sensed something was wrong. His smile began to falter.

"What's wrong?", he asked, his voice suddenly very small.

Mark sighed again. "Let's go inside, kid." He placed a hand on Jeff's shoulder, and gently guided him into the room. He could feel the young man shaking under his touch. Oh god, he thought, this was not going to go well.

Jeff spun around to face him. "What's wrong?", he repeated, his voice unsteady.

Mark didn't quite know how to break this to him. He knew that he'd been Jeff's anchor ever since this bullshit with Matt had begun, and now, he was being forced to abandon him. He sat down heavily on the bed, leaning his elbows on his knees, avoiding Jeff's confused gaze.

"Mark, what-"

"Vince suspended me. For a month."

Jeff stared, sure that he hadn't heard right. "What are you talking about?"

Mark found that he was unable to look at the lost and frightened expression on the young Hardy's face. "Someone sent a disparaging letter to those internet wrestling news sites, with my name on it. It said some offensive things about the WWE, and Vince."
"And he actually believed that you would write something like that?", said Jeff, his voice rife with despair.

"He had enough proof to convince himself that it could've been me", Mark replied.

Jeff began pacing. "Matt's behind this. You know that."

The Deadman nodded noncommittally. He didn't want to bring Jeff's psychotic brother into the conversation, if he could help it.

"Mark, you know he-"

"Listen, Jeff", interrupted Mark, rising from the bed and taking the younger man by the shoulders, "This is a truly shitty situation. We both know that." Jeff nodded, looking down at the floor. Mark took his chin in hand, gently forcing the young Hardy to look at him. "But I'm not going to leave you, okay? Vince told me I'm barred from attending events, and from the backstage areas. But he can't prevent me from renting a room in a hotel with my own money. I'll just follow Smackdown on the road, and get rooms in the same places you stay. You won't be alone. And when you go to the shows, Jay can take over for me, so at least you'll have somebody to talk to."

Jeff looked up at the Deadman with tired, red-tinged eyes. "You don't have to do all of this for me", he said quietly.

Mark smiled sadly. "Knock it off, kid."

Jeff rubbed a hand across his face. "I'm so sorry you'll be missing Wrestlemania because of my brother's ridiculous bullshit."

"I never wanna hear an apology from you again. None of this is your fault. And I've had plenty of Wrestlemanias. A break might do my aching joints good. I am getting old, after all."

Jeff couldn't help but smile. "True." He pointed at the Deadman's mop of long red hair. "And if I've told you once, I've told you a hundred times, having long hair when you're balding on the top doesn't do a thing but make you look older."

"Jeffrey", Mark growled warningly, "Don't make me Tombstone you."

The young Hardy stifled a quiet laugh behind his hand. Mark just shook his head.

"What the hell am I gonna do with you, kid?"

Jeff just smiled impishly in reply.

* * * * * * *

That night, Smackdown had a house show at the local arena. Jeff had been pitted against The Brian Kendrick, in a brutal No Disqualification match. He was exhausted, and sore. He couldn't wait to get back to the hotel, so that he could sleep.

"I truly enjoyed it when you hit Kendrick across the face with a garbage can lid", quipped Jay, who was walking Jeff to his rental.

The young Hardy laughed. "Well, he did kinda ask for it."

Jay stopped walking. "I parked over this way", he said, pointing with his thumb, "I'm gonna go find my car. You gonna be alright to get back to the hotel?"

Jeff nodded. "Yeah, of course."

Jay grinned. "Don't tell Mark I left you alone for more than two seconds, or he'll rip my face off."

Rolling his eyes, Jeff said good night, and moved towards the row that he'd left his car in.

It was silent in the dim parking garage. Jeff spotted the black car up ahead, and he made for it.

A set of running footsteps resounded throughout the concrete structure suddenly, pounding up behind him. Before he could turn, or react, he was smashed on the back of the head, bringing him to his knees. He cried out with the pain of it.

A fist connected solidly with his jaw, throwing his head back like a jack-in-the-box on a spring. He felt blood pour from a cut lip. The fists continued to fly into his face, despite his efforts to block them. He felt himself growing slightly dizzy.

He needed to get away, and quickly. Maybe Jay was still around….

"Help!", he screamed, trying to punching out blindly at his attacker.

His efforts were rewarded with a kick to the gut. All the air left his lungs in a rush, and he began coughing and choking. Another kick to his ribs pulled a hoarse cry from his throat.

Desperate to escape, Jeff began to crawl towards his rental, his clothes becoming coated with the filth of the parking garage and the smell of gasoline. He whimpered in fear when he felt a foot come down on his back, holding him in place with painful pressure.

"Poor little Jeffy."

The soft voice, so full of disgust and hatred, made Jeff stiffen in fear. He swallowed nervously.

"W- What do you want, Matt?", he stammered, his voice quaking.

Matt pressed his foot down into Jeff's back, eliciting a pained cry from his younger brother. He smiled evilly as he looked at his younger sibling, powerless beneath his boot heel.

"I just came to offer my condolences about poor, poor Undertaker. Such a shame."

Matt let out a cruel laugh.

Jeff whimpered fearfully. The man holding him down sounded nothing like his brother. His brother was kind, and gentle, and warm. This person was sick, and perverted.

The younger Hardy began to squirm, trying to free himself. It only seemed to amuse Matt, who pressed down harder on Jeff's tortured back. The Enigma screamed in pain.

Before he could move, Matt removed his foot, and dropped down onto his brother's back, sitting on him. He twisted Jeff's arms painfully behind him, holding them at the wrists with one hand. His other hand fisted a clump of Jeff's colorful hair, yanking his head back harshly. The younger Hardy cried out at the rough treatment.

"Jesus Christ, Matty, just, please, let me go", he said, his voice breaking, "Please, stop it-"

Matt's gaze never left the back of his brother's head. A small, meditative smile never faltered on his full lips.

His eyes narrowed suddenly.

"Matt-" Jeff whimpered, feeling his brother tense up. He had a bad feeling about this.

All of a sudden, Matt pulled Jeff's hair again, harder. He leaned down, and whispered in his brother's ear.

"I told you that you would get hurt if you came near me again, Jeff. But, as usual, you never listen to me. Now look where you are."

Jeff tried to shake his head in protest, but found his hair still painfully restrained by Matt's tight grip.

Before he could react further to Matt's hateful words, however, he found his face being pushed forcefully into the concrete.

When Matt dragged his head back up by the hair, he was horrified to see the small pool of blood that had formed on the filthy garage floor. Blood was leaking out of his mouth, and out of his nose. He'd barely had time to recover before his face was smashed into the concrete floor with force once again.

The bloody pool widened.

"Matt- sssstop-", slurred Jeff, struggling weakly in his older brother's tight grip.

Once more, Matt snapped Jeff's head downwards. This time, he did not rise.

Matt stood, and looked down at his brother's still form. A grin split his face. This could not have gone any more perfectly if he'd tried.

Kneeling, he pulled a folded-up piece of notebook paper out of his back pocket, and slipped it into Jeff's hand.

His work done for now, Matt walked away, leaving his brother in a pool of his own blood.

* * * * * * *

"Yes, Hunter, I understand that writers are people too, and that even they have bad days, and that some of the worst storylines in WWE history have, at times, yielded good things. These things I do know", Shawn ranted, his arms waving around to demonstrate his points, "However, explain to me how I got stuck in a damn storyline for months with JBL, of all people, where the main focus was the friggin' economic downturn! What genius came up with that one?"

"Uh, I think Vince did", replied Hunter, scratching his beard.

"Figures", muttered Shawn.

The two were making their way through the immense parking garage after the Smackdown taping.

"I can't believe Vickie is doing the Big Show", quipped Hunter in his rough voice.

"Are you kidding?", replied Shawn, "I can't believe Show is doing her. I thought he had higher standards than that."

Hunter paused for a moment, looking around before speaking. "I think she's a man", he whispered.

Shawn burst out laughing. "Oh shut up!"

Hunter just looked at him.

"What proof could you possibly have that she's a man?"

Shawn suddenly stopped, realizing that he'd left Hunter behind him. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw his friend, standing there, looking down at the ground, his normally ruddy complexion turned sickly pale.

Shawn followed his gaze. His eyes widened in horror.

"Oh my god", he breathed.

Hunter bent down to feel Jeff's jugular vein for a pulse, and felt himself breathe again when he found one. The young man didn't look good. He was lying in a pool of his own blood, his handsome face bruised and bloodied, his clothes filthy. Someone had beaten the shit out of him, and left him for dead.

Hunter couldn't fathom who would do such a thing to Jeff Hardy. He was such a sweet kid, well-liked and respected in the locker room.

Shawn joined him at Jeff's side. "I called 911. Someone's on their way over."

Hunter nodded.

Shawn's eyes narrowed suddenly. "Hunter, do you see that?"

"What?"

"What is he holding?"

Hunter leaned in, then shrugged. "I don't know. Looks like a piece of paper to me."

Shawn's eyes widened. "He would not have been able to hold onto that while getting his ass beaten."

"So?"

"So, maybe the attacker put it there afterwards. Or, maybe Jeff wrote down the name of his attacker, knowing he would pass out. Either way, it could be a clue as to who did this. We should see what it says."

Hunter rolled his eyes. "You've been watching too much C.S.I. I'm cutting you off."

The Game did not hesitate, however, to carefully lean over the unconscious man and pry open his slack fingers, removing the piece of paper.

Shawn moved next to Hunter so that he could see as well.

Once they'd read it, however, they didn't know what to say. They just looked at each other uncomfortably, and gazed down at Jeff with a mixture of protectiveness, anger, and pity.

Baby Brother-

I've upped the stakes in this little game of ours, as you observed tonight. I attacked you in a public place, and left you for our co-workers to find. Let the accusations fly. Let the mob come with torches and pitchforks. What the fools don't know is that I will never be fired, because I've had the foresight to protect myself.

You, Jeffrey, would do well, to remember that fact, when you're in McMahon's office, showing him this letter and your little scratches as evidence.

I hope I didn't hurt you too badly. I want you to be able to put up a fight at the time I so choose to destroy you.

You are my little brother. And I hate you with all of my being, Jeffrey Nero Hardy. I will spend every waking moment of my life working to make yours a living hell, simply because of who you are. You don't measure up as a person, or as a man, or as a brother. I hate you.

And I am enjoying the destruction of you, piece by piece, by piece.

Love,

Matt

* * * * * * *

Thought it would be fun to have a little DX cameo, right in the middle of all the madness. I guess that's where they do their best work, right?

I've had some major writer's block with this one, so I hope to start this story up again. Slowly, but surely, my friends. Slowly, but surely. :)

Review if you're bored, or if you're not, or if you just think I suck! ;)