"The Dream Team"

Disclaimer: I do not own Chris Jericho or Christian. The following is a work of fiction, intended for nothing but fun. So don't sue.

A/N: I literally dreamed this in my sleep last night. Isn't that weird? I apologize if it seems a little….different. I woke up this morning and just scribbled it down. It's in Jericho's POV, by the way. As always, your reviews/constructive criticism is appreciated. I hope you guys enjoy this :)

Dedication: To the sweet, lovely, beautiful MC. I hope you like and don't forget, I'm still working on the other story for ya :) I love ya girl.

The Dream Team.

That's what we used to be. Everyone, from the creative team to the other wrestlers, and even the fans themselves, used to call us that, and I think it fit. We were both extremely good-looking, funny as hell, and massively talented. The two of us were the perfect marriage of charisma, wit, and skill. Performing for a capacity crowd each week was definitely an adrenaline rush for me, and I don't know about you, but I loved it. We had undeniable chemistry and played off of each other's personalities so well. I think that we gave the crowd a great show any time we were scheduled to appear.

Thick as thieves. We were not only The Dream Team onscreen, but off-screen as well. We just seemed to click. I remember Kurt saying that we were "two peas in a pod," always running around and annoying the hell out of the other superstars. Some would say that we were childish, but I like to think that we were simply mischievous. Like little boys, ya know, always goofing off and giggling. We always seemed to have fun together. I guess it's because we were so much alike and we understood each other. I've had many friends in this business, many close friends, but none of them understood me the way you do. We truly were best friends.



All good things must come to an end. I'll be honest with you; I never thought that our friendship would end. I knew that we wouldn't be able to be partners on-screen for very long, but I felt that its ending still wouldn't affect our relationship. I guess I was naïve to think that we'd still be friends even if we hated each other on TV. We had a bond akin to brothers—unbreakable, everlasting. I honestly never thought you would stab me in the back like you did. In retrospect, I guess I should have known better. I should have listened to the others when they warned me that you would eventually turn on me, just like you had turned on Edge. I was foolish enough to think that you felt the same way that I did about us. We were brothers, and brothers never turned on each other. I would never betray you, and I didn't think you would betray me either. Guess I was wrong, huh?

You ended this. I will never forget the night you betrayed me, no matter how hard I try to shut the memory out. I'm not talking about when our on-screen friendship ended, oh no. No, what I'm referring to is much worse, and I still cannot believe that you made me look and feel like a complete jackass. There's a code, things you do and don't do to a friend, and you crossed the line. How could you sleep with my girlfriend? You knew that Tiffany and I had been together for over five years, and yeah, we were having problems, but we were working them out. Why the hell would you stab me in the back like that? Did you think I wouldn't find out? That one of the other guys wouldn't tell me? According to them, you didn't exactly try to hide your betrayal. I was totally oblivious to what you were doing until that night.

The first cut is the deepest. I only wish that I could have found out about what you did to me through someone else. Do you know what it's like to walk in on your best friend and your girlfriend, caught up in the throes of passion and completely oblivious to anything else? Well, let me just tell you: it sucks. That's an understatement, really. It burns. I'll always remember the 

stabbing, fiery anger that I felt when I saw the two of you that night. I was so stunned at first that all I could do was stand there and watch as you took my girlfriend right in front of my eyes. I wanted to kill you right then, and given my state of mind at that moment, I'm surprised that I didn't. After the anger finally subsided, the worst kind of pain set in: hurt. And not just the kind of hurt you feel when something bad happens to you, either. This was a special kind of hurt that comes from the betrayal of a person close enough to be your brother. What the hell, man? Why?

The dream is dead. I don't think I will ever be able to forgive you. I don't even want to talk to you. God knows you've tried to contact me, though. You've left me voice mails, text messages, e-mails, everything. I guess you think that I've gotten over it by now. But I haven't. I've moved on, but I haven't forgiven or forgotten. As soon as the whole fiasco was over, I immediately headed home to Tampa and started moving my stuff out of the house we were sharing. I didn't want to be anywhere near you—it would have been a constant reminder of that night. You were my best friend, my brother, my confidant and my partner in crime. We were "The Dream Team." But I guess now the dream is dead, huh?