A/N: I did, in fact, sneak a Sharkboy and Lavagirl reference into this story. I do not, in fact, regret it.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction using characters from World Wrestling Entertainment. I do not claim ownership of these characters or the universes they inhabit. This story is written purely to entertain and is not intended to be read as canon. All rights to their respective owners.

Firestarter

"I AM THE TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS!"

The Undertaker facepalmed—actually, literally facepalmed—as he rounded the last corner on his journey to his brother's dressing room. Daniel Bryan had texted him in a panic several minutes ago, something about "Kane" and "fire"—it had been sort of hard to read, given it was all in CAPS; God, his eyes were starting to go in his old age—but those two words right next to each other had been enough to get the Deadman walking. On his way here, he'd stopped briefly to interrogate a few of the frightened souls Kane had left in his wake, and he'd gathered that someone had said something to seriously piss off the Big Red Machine—badly enough to produce an arena-wide power surge and enough misplaced sparks to start a small fire. The fire they'd gotten under control quickly enough, but entirely without Kane's help, because as soon as he'd realized what he'd done, he'd fled like the hounds of Hell were on him with his tag team partner (so small, so brave, so stupid) hot on his heels.

Now, Daniel was evidently trying to goad Kane into coming out by reigniting what was by far the dumbest argument Taker had ever heard any two people engage in. It was nice to see his brother lose some of his ever-present tension and grow comfortable enough to be silly with someone, but that was where Taker's generosity ended—the someone in question received none of it, and so, from his point of view, Daniel Bryan looked like a goddamn idiot yelling a gramatically incoherent statement at a closed door.

"Ease up, goat boy," he said as he approached. Daniel looked up, eyes widening, and didn't even seem to take notice of the "goat" comment.

"Taker, thank God!" he exclaimed. "I've seriously tried everything, I don't know how to make him come out—"

"Scoot." Taker pushed Daniel—more gently than he would have admitted under threat of death—out of the way and took up a position immediately in front of the door that bore a sticker with his brother's name on it. He glared absolute death at the unyielding wood, knowing he could just as easily break it down if it came to that but unwilling to go that far just yet. "Reason you don't know how," he said absently, as he studied the door with a look in his eye that gave one the impression that he was actually looking beyond the door somehow, "is because you can't. He don't wanna come out, he's not gonna come out."

"Taker," Daniel said, in a very quiet, very intense voice, "he could be hurting himself in there. Please, you gotta make him open up."

Taker hadn't been all too sure about this goat-faced kid when Kane had first shacked up with him. Nearly all of Kane's previous tag team partnerships had ended in betrayal, grief, and violence, and his brother had retreated further into himself with each one. Kane loved too much, too fast; he got attached entirely too quickly and with entirely too much ardor, so unavoidably, when the shit hit the fan, he was always blindsided and brokenhearted. This little relationship with Daniel Bryan, in Taker's mind, had been only a matter of time, and he'd been resigned to watching his brother suffer yet again and perfectly prepared to be there to pick up the shattered pieces of Kane's fragile self-esteem when the inevitable betrayal finally occurred. But as the relationship between Daniel and Kane deepened—moving from a blazing animosity, to a reluctant respect, to a shy friendship, to a bond forged in fire that seemingly nothing could break—Taker had become less sure that such a betrayal was going to happen at all. And if Daniel's concern over Kane's well-being right now were as genuine as it seemed, then by the end of this little romance (not that either of them realized it was a romance yet, because Kane saw himself as unlovable and Daniel was fucking oblivious), Taker might just end up having to eat his lucky hat.

"He ain't hurtin' himself," Taker said, still watching the door. "Not physically, anyway."

"What the hell does that mea— How do you know."

"Trust me. I know."

"Yeah, uh, Taker? Oddly enough, that doesn't make me feel better." Out of the corner of his eye, Taker saw Daniel cross his arms and get into a pissy little pose. Kane always did like 'em with more attitude than body mass.

"Well, good," Taker drawled, finally looking away from the door so he could turn his glare on Daniel, " 'cause I ain't here to make you feel better. I'm here to make him feel better." He jerked his head in the direction of the door. "And in order to do that, you need to leave."

"Wha—? No way! I'm not leaving him like this."

"You ain't leavin' him alone. I'll be here to make sure he doesn't do anything suicidal or stupid." At Daniel's wince, Taker reflected that using a word as strong as suicidal in a situation as delicate as this probably hadn't been the best idea. He sighed and readjusted his hat, fixing Daniel with a stern but not altogether unfriendly glare. "Don't worry, Bryan," he said lowly, and Daniel evidently registered the shift in his tone, because he straightened up and met Taker's eyes with an earnestness that served as one more nail in the coffin of Taker's surety that his brother's latest fling was going to end in tragedy. "I'm gonna talk to him, get him to open up. But it might be a while, and I get the sense that if he knows you're here, he won't come out no matter what I say. Just go, and I'll keep you posted."

Daniel's pursed mouth worked furiously for a few moments; he uncrossed his arms and planted his hands on his hips, then just as quickly allowed them to fall to his sides. Finally, he sighed and nodded with a distinct reluctance about him. "All right," he muttered, then had the audacity to glare at Taker—the Undertaker—and half-bark, "You better keep me updated, Take. If I don't get a text in ten minutes, tops, I'm coming straight back here."

Ballsy little bastard. Taker had to give it to him. Most people wouldn't be able to look the Reaper of Wayward Souls in the eye and be so demanding simultaneously. No wonder Kane liked him so much. Kane was one of the few people brave enough to be disrespectful to the Undertaker, and he always enjoyed the company of the rare person who was able to match that energy.

Taker tipped his hat in Daniel's direction with a solemn nod. Daniel hesitated a few more seconds before—with what was apparently a great force of willpower—turning and marching away, fists clenched anxiously at his sides.

Taker sighed as he turned back to the door. One obstacle down, one to go.

Without wasting any time, he rapped his knuckles on the door. "Kane?"

"Piss off," Kane said, which was a pleasant surprise, because Taker honestly hadn't been expecting to get a verbal response right off the bat.

"Nope," Taker said flatly. "I'm stayin' right here."

"Shut up, then."

"No can do, Little Brother. You and me need to talk."

"I need you to piss off." The novelty of so quick a verbal response from his distressed brother was quickly wearing off, and Taker was settling in for a long and frustrating confrontation.

He sighed through his nose and resisted the urge to try the doorknob. He'd swear on their mother's grave it was locked, and the attempt would only agitate Kane, who was in a delicate frame of mind as it was. Best not to tempt the pyrokinetic, especially considering what had landed them in this situation in the first place.

"I'll wait out here, then," Taker said patiently. He backed up a few steps and leaned his shoulders against the wall, eyes still locked on the door.

"I'm not—" Kane's protest abruptly ended with a raw-sounding breath that was only a few centimeters away from being a sob. When he spoke next, it was with the distinct strain of held-back tears in his voice. "Just go away."

"Can't. I promised Bryan I'd give him an update in ten minutes. You don't want him comin' back here to bother ya, do ya?"

"You're bothering me."

"Big brother's privilege. I can annoy ya whenever I like."

"That's the little brother's privilege, you dimwit. Younger siblings are the annoying ones."

"Well, you're livin' up to it mighty fine right about now," Taker said, allowing himself to scowl. "If you ain't gonna open the door, at least talk to me."

"I am talking to you." Taker rolled his eyes—at himself, not at Kane. He really should've seen that one coming. Even when in acute distress, his little brother never passed up an opportunity to be a smartass, especially if it came at Taker's expense.

"You know that's not what I meant," Taker said with quiet steel in his voice. Behind the door, Kane fell silent. After a moment of waiting for a response, Taker continued, "I meant what I said, ya know. I'm gonna wait out here until you're ready to talk. Don't care if it takes all day. I got nowhere to be."

More silence. Taker took that as a sign that they were making progress.

Ten minutes passed in their monotonous pace. Taker shot a quick text to Daniel: So far, so good. Don't come back yet. Afterward he slid down the wall and situated himself on the ground, his hips starting to ache from standing stationary for so long. He propped his forearms on his knees and drummed a slow rhythm with his fingers, eyes still locked intently on Kane's door. Every so often he reached out mentally, tentatively brushing against the bond he shared with his brother, just to make sure Kane's distress wasn't worsening, just to make sure he wasn't doing anything stupid in that dressing room without Big Brother's eyes on him. Though his mood hadn't lightened any, Kane had thus far remained stable, and so Taker was content to keep waiting. He'd meant it when he'd said he had nowhere to be. He'd wait all day and all night for his baby brother if he had to. Wasn't no skin off his nose.

An hour passed, then two. Taker didn't bother to keep track of every minute that passed. He wasn't a patient person except when it came to his brother. Kane was the exception to damn near every rule the Undertaker had ever had. Taker wanted to be annoyed with him for it, but honest to God, he loved Kane too much to begrudge him for upsetting all of Taker's norms so effortlessly. He figured that was merely another little brother's privilege.

Finally, as evening was well on its way, Taker reached out to brush up against Kane's mind once more and felt that there had been a shift: minute, but significant. Kane felt more… open, now, like a long-locked door that had been unlatched and cracked open just the tiniest bit. Taker ran his thumb along the brim of his hat and raised his head, still seated on the floor.

"Little Brother?" he called softly.

"Yeah," Kane responded.

"You ready to talk now?"

"Yeah."

"Can I come in?" It was worth a shot.

Unsurpisingly, Kane said, "No." But he didn't sound overly upset.

"All right," Taker said agreeably. "I'll just sit out here, then."

He went silent, giving his younger brother the floor to start the conversation. After a moment, Kane did so, saying, hesitantly, "Back when you were the American Badass…"

"Hm?" Taker prompted.

"It was like our roles were reversed. All you wanted was to be normal—well, for a given value of 'normal,' anyway… and I was reveling in being a freak."

"Do you wanna go back to feeling that way?"

A beat, one that sounded distinctly taken aback. "What?"

"Do you wanna go back to feelin' like 'freaks are cool'?"

"I can't go back," Kane said immediately.

"Why not?"

"Because the only reason I felt that way back then was because I was naïve," Kane said in an obviously tone of voice. "I know better now."

Taker rolled his lips in displeasure. "Do you?" he said blandly.

"There's nothing cool about being a freak, Mark," Kane said tightly; Taker tensed up a little, because Kane only addressed him by his real name when things were about to get real. "There's nothing admirable or enviable about having these destructive powers. There's nothing enjoyable about being cursed."

Taker blew out a slow breath. This was a conversation—not quite an argument—they'd had many times. He gave his usual refrain: "It's only a curse if you think of it that way."

Normally, Kane would roll his eyes or grunt in a way that clearly communicated, I think you're full of shit, but I'm not going to waste my breath arguing. Taker enjoyed being psychic; Kane did not. Once upon a time their roles had been reversed, but it hadn't been long before they'd gone back to their usual arrangement. There was no reconciliation of opinion to be had on this topic, and normally Kane didn't bother trying to change Taker's mind. This time, though, he shot back testily, "Easy for you to say."

Taker's immediate instinct was to get offended, but he clamped down on it. He was not about to risk upsetting his brother back into a sullen silence, not after they'd finally gotten the ball rolling. So all he uttered was a very flat, very careful "I'm sorry?"

"Mark, when I get angry, things burst into flames. When I have a panic attack, things around me burn up and explode. My power isn't good for anything but destruction. There's no use for it beyond wrecking things and hurting people."

There were a number of objections Taker could have made, and it surprised even him when the one that came out of his mouth was "Are you forgetting who set the fire that day?"

Kane sounded flabbergasted when he responded, after a long hesitation, "What?"

Taker's mouth twitched. He didn't like to talk about the fire, mostly because he hadn't forgiven himself for it and figured he never would. The fact that Kane had forgiven him, ironically, only served to make him feel worse. But there was a point to be made here, and if Kane was going to try to make himself out to be a monster, then they needed to set the record straight: Kane wasn't the only one. "You know what. I used my own power to set the fire, Kane. I made lightning hit the house. And it went up in flames, just like things do when you get upset."

Kane sputtered helplessly for a moment, and when he spoke next, it made Taker's heart clench with an equal mix of adoration and exasperation, because he sounded worried for Taker, as if Kane wasn't the one locked behind a door. "That was different. It was one time. How many times have I accidentally set something on fire because I lost my temper?"

"I don't keep track, Kane, because it doesn't matter."

"It doesn't matter?" Kane growled.

Hearing the anger in his brother's voice, Taker hastily leapt to damage control, saying, "All right, maybe it does. But it doesn't make your powers a curse. Fire can give life as easily as it can take it away. It's all a matter of knowin' how to control it."

A scoff that sounded more tired and sad than anything. "Don't you think I should've mastered it by now?"

"How could you have?" Taker retorted lightly, shifting his legs. "You didn't have anyone to teach you. No one other than Bearer, and he wanted you to go around blowin' shit up. I didn't have anyone to teach me, either. There's not many psychics in the world, Kane. We're a rare breed—those of us who aren't fakin' it for fame or money, anyway."

Another scoff, much more derisive this time. "If those people knew what it was really like to have these powers, they wouldn't be so eager to try them on."

"I disagree. There's a reason people are always snatchin' at any bits of power they can grab, Kane."

"Sheer stupidity?" Kane snarked. "I agree. People don't know what they're wishing for."

Taker smirked a little. "Would you say the same thing about me?" he asked without offense.

Kane's immediate, perfectly serious-sounding reply was "You don't count—you're insane, therefore your opinion holds less value."

"Anyone who enjoys being a 'freak' with powers is insane accordin' to you, right?"

All the joking had gone out of Kane's voice when he said, "Insanity is the only possible explanation for taking enjoyment in being like this. Insanity, naïveté, or stupidity. Pick one."

Taker sensed they were about to go in a big circle and lose a good deal of the progress they had made if he didn't say exactly the right thing. He frowned deeply and said, "Your powers are a part of you, Kane, just as much as any other part of you. You wouldn't be Kane Callaway without them." He tried not to sound overly reprimanding, but it bothered the hell out of him when Kane got to talking about such an integral part of his personhood with such disdain. It reminded him too much of the way he'd felt about his own powers in the aftermath of the fire. Countless years had passed under a tar of self-loathing so powerful it had turned his insides black. He didn't want Kane suffering like that, especially not when he saw everything about Kane that Kane himself didn't or refused to. Kane was not a simple, destructive flame.

He was light.

So it made Taker's heart ache when Kane immediately responded with "As if that would be such a bad thing. What's Kane Callaway good for?"

Taker chuffed a laugh. "Kickin' ass and takin' names, which I happen to know for a fact you enjoy."

Kane didn't respond. Point one for the Undertaker.

Then, much more solemnly, much more quietly, Taker said, "Being my brother. Kane Callaway's good for being my brother."

Kane released another raw-sounding breath. "Why did it have to be us, Mark?" he asked plaintively. "Why did we have to get stuck with these fucking powers?"

Taker casually tilted his hat up. "Call it a miracle of genetics, Little Brother. I know you never got to meet our grandmother, but she was a freak, too. It runs in the family, same way insanity runs in some families."

"Consider us two for two, then," Kane muttered with only the tracest tinge of bitterness.

Taker gave a faint smile. "You're not insane. You just got a lot on your plate." The smile turned wicked. "Me, on the other hand…"

Kane snorted, and Taker's heavy heart lightened with the knowledge that the worst had passed.

A moment went by in comfortable silence, then two, then three. Taker asked, "You feelin' better in there?"

"I dunno," Kane said noncommittally, but he sounded distinctly more like himself than he had at the beginning of the conversation. "Kinda."

Going out on a limb, Taker tried, "Can I come in?"

"No."

Taker shrugged and pressed his shoulders back against the wall, digging into his pocket to pull out his phone; he had a goat-faced kid to text, to let him know the firestorm had passed without incident. "That's all right, then," he said. "I'll wait. I'll always wait, Little Brother."

The End