THIS ENTIRE STORY IS PURE FAN FICTION. IT IS SLASH AND PURELY CREATED BY MY IMAGINATION. I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THE NAMES USED IN THIS STORY! NAMES ARE OWNED BY WWE! ALL I OWN IS THIS PLOT. ENJOY

People don't touch Chris Jericho. In fact, everyone made it a blatant point to go as far as doing the impossible – not breathing the same air as Chris Jericho. It wasn't anything personal – except for the few people who held deep hatred for the man – and Chris himself had never actually made it known that he wanted people to avoid him like the plague. However, despite that, what made everyone wary was that Chris harbored something dark and uncomfortably uncertain and it emitted a sort of stay-the-fuck-away aura. And people did exactly that – they stayed the fuck away. Whenever Chris appeared in the hallways, the crowd would immediately part like the Red Sea, silence themselves, and only dare to breathe once he was out of sight. Making eye contact with Chris – unless it was scripted – was something only a handful dared to do.

People were afraid of Chris Jericho and they didn't even know why.

While his presence made people's skin crawl, Chris didn't mind the solitary lifestyle. He was comfortable, and content. He rather enjoyed his company rather than the company of those unnecessary cretins.

Raw went off the air signaling the start of a well needed break for the WWE employees. Despite being on SmackDown, Chris Jericho was present at Raw just because he could be. Chris strutted out of his locker room – that despite being a public locker room, had only become his because no one else came in when he was inside – his expression deadpan as he walked down the emptying hallways. His gym bag was slung over his left shoulder, and it was noticeably heavy. The people in the hallway quickly looked into random directions, and pasted themselves on the walls bordering the tiled hallway floor.

Chris scoffed lightly. //Enough already! Next time just crawl back into the holes you came from instead of making such a scene!// He pressed on quietly fuming with anger and disgust.

A shoulder – that was not his – bumped into his left arm. The loud thud of the gym bag, and a few soft gasps were the sounds that trailed in afterward. Chris's sky blue eyes lit ablaze with fury he didn't know he had. Someone had touched him.

Someone had touched Chris Jericho.

"I-I'm so sorry."

He narrowed his eyes and looked down to be greeted by a pair of big, dark brown eyes, a small figure, and a too-cute-for-words hurt puppy look. It was all he could do not to blush at the angelic sight that his eyes beheld. //Who is this?!// He racked his memory only to come up blank. The smaller man, clad in a pair of dark jeans and a T-Shirt that was a size too small with a pair of sneakers to finish the look, beamed a gentle smile at the older man. He knelt down and picked up the fallen gym bag – struggling somewhat with the overwhelming weight. When he finally stood he held out the bag ahead of Jericho – who was still lost somewhere no one could ever follow – all the while smiling without a care in the world. Jericho blinked, took a deep breath, and blinked again. The smaller man rested the bag on Jericho's shoulder. His fingers brushing over the exposed flesh covering Jericho's neck. //T-Twice?! He touched me twice!// Jericho quickly composed himself after a sudden backward movement. His thoughts centered.

His tone dipped into venom, "Who are you?"

The smaller man's smile twitched a bit and slowly chipped away. Chris's overbearing aura was crushing him. "I-I'm Evan Bourne! Nice to meet you!"

Before Jericho could retaliate to the loud response, Evan had already clasped his hands over his lips, widened his eyes in terror and began to slowly back away from the situation.

//What is with this kid?// Jericho stepped forward. Evan scooted further away. "Hey -"

"I'm so sorry!"

And with that Evan ran off. Jericho, along with the surrounding crowd, all gaped at Evan until he was out of sight. //What was that all about?!// Jericho snapped his mentality back to the present and turned to resume his exit. The crowd – that had gathered to take a gander at what was going on – dispersed once again to give Jericho, his massive ego, and that humongous dark aura enough space to leave the building. Chris heard a few hisses and snarls. They all sounded like animals surrounding a prey they could never hope to reach, or more like a bunch of politicians who bickered behind the backs of those they chose to greedily support.

Chris entered his car. No one was around because everyone chose to park furthest away from him and either left before or after he did. The car started. //It's all the same//, Chris noted as he turned right, //people did whatever benefited them. It could range from helping an old lady cross the street to sleeping with the enemy.// The latter applied to him. Experience had taught Chris to never trust a human being. They were all corrupted, living rotting corpses. They didn't have a heart, and they were all in humane. And ugly. Very, very ugly.

***

His face was flushed. His eyes were wide. //This isn't real// Tea greens met his baby blues with a gentle gaze that had an under lining pulse of covetousness threading through them. //This isn't real// He tried to grasp the current situation. He wanted to speak, but for some reason his tongue was unable to do so.

"I'll see you later tonight." A pair of keys landed in his hands, "This is a spare for my room. I always carry it in case the original gets lost." Hot lips traced the outline of his ear making his face burn hotter and his body shudder with pleasure and want. "Room 506. I'll be waiting Chris"

That low gravel voice purred his name with a lust filled tongue. It was all Chris could do not to collapse right then and there. As the sound of the door shutting finally reached his ears, Chris's knees gave way. Fairy tales never happened for him. He knew that. He came expecting nothing, but instead... He looked down at the keys and clutched them tightly to his chest. //I'll be there.//

***

The sound of a loud knocking brought him back to reality. He rose slowly – quite surprised to find himself in his bed – and stepped towards the door. He stopped on the way once his weary eyes caught a glimpse of his reflection. His skin was aged. It didn't have the shine it once did. Although for his age he was fitter than most guys a decade (or more) his junior, and he was aging quite well as he didn't really look his age, Chris couldn't help but let out a sad sigh. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. //I need to stop having these stupid dreams.// The knocking got louder and more impatient. Chris hissed under his breath and quickly swung open the door – rage blazing ahead in full colors.

"Can't a guy get some sleep -" He stopped, composed and leaned casually on the door frame, "What do you want Jack?"

Jack Swagger. Aside from personally, Chris had never known the kid on a business level, and had only really exchanged one word with him. He was asking about something at the time – much to shock of everyone else – and Chris simply told him to leave. The kid obeyed like the good boy he was and left. Never in any dream Chris could possibly have did he think he would be in this situation. Jack Swagger at his door at four in the morning (Chris had checked the radio clock at his bedside briefly before answering the door).

"Chris, we need to talk." Swagger's tone was nervous.

Chris smirked deviously, "About?"

"Well..." Swagger looked away a bit and then inhaled enough air to last the human race a couple more years before letting it out slowly, "I can't do this anymore."

"I thought so." Chris gently rubbed the side of his neck, and looked at the carpet below before flicking his eyes back at Swagger. "You're on Raw now. You got what you wanted. Good for you." He moved to shut the door. "Good night."

Swagger planted his foot between the door and the frame. Chris looked at him with knitted brows. "Chris, don't -"

Chris's tone was fatally cold, "Don't call my name. You don't know me, and I sure as hell don't recall you. Good night Swagger."

Jack's pleading expression contorted with anger, "Will you at least hear me out?!"

Jericho raked the boy over with bored eyes, "I don't see duct tape over your mouth, and this is a free country."

"You -!"Jack audibly ground his teeth as he tried to rein in his anger, "I...just....I just wanted you to know that I didn't use you. I was just in love with someone else. I loved you too, but it wasn't as strong." Jack sighed defeated, "I, I'm sorry. I just wanted you to know that. And I also want you to know that I will always be your friend, and I hope you can forgive me."

Chris stared at him. "Is that all?"

Jack shot him a look of utter dismay.

"In that case, I forgive you for whatever it is you feel so guilty about. Now, get your foot out of the doorway before you lose it. Vince has no need for cripples. And you wouldn't want all your hard work going down the drain now would you?"

Jack's chest puffed up with hot air as he glared daggers at Chris's nonchalant expression. "You think you're better than me or something?! You think I slept with you to get to the top?! I didn't! I got to the where I am because of my own strength!"

"Yeah. Your strength in bed." Chris's eyes darkened, "Now leave."

The door slammed on a protesting Jack Swagger. //Stupid kid getting me awake for no reason at all!// Chris slumped back into his comfortable sleeping position – lying on his back on one side of the bed. It was a habit Chris developed, unsure of exactly when he developed it. However, the reason was all too clear. From the way his hands laid on his chest and stomach he looked like a vampire resting in a coffin. His muscles tensed as he tried to break the stupid hold, but soon feel asleep in that position – a position to protect his self.

*-*-*-*

SmackDown ended with Jericho doing nothing of major importance. To him anyways. The IC Title was at least a few miles beneath someone of his caliber, and fighting with Dave's Latino lover – Rey – was proving to be the straw that would break the camels' back. Dave hated Chris. Scratch that. Dave loathed Chris. He loathed Chris so much that he'd probably sell his soul just to ensure that Chris's eternal life was forever laced with torment. Chris held no grudge towards the leviathan. Yes he was intimidating, utterly large, and very skilled, but he was the one guy he could think of who never had a prime even after being placed under the guiding wings of the legendary Nature Boy and The Game himself. The guy had it made and somehow Orton was the talk of the town.

Chris walked off screen after his match with Rey. The little firecracker had dealt him a couple of hard blows that were meant to hurt more than to entertain. //I'll need at least two hours soaking to get the ol' muscles moving again// He chuckled lightly to himself as he registered his use of "ol'" to describe parts of his body. You know you're old when you start calling yourself that. He reached the locker room – not surprised to find it empty –but hadn't even sat down properly before the door flew open, banging loudly as it hit the wall behind. Chris looked up with shock at the large man standing in the doorway, breathing loudly, and puffing steam.

"You son of a bitch!"

Jericho sighed inwardly. He knew where this was going – and it wasn't a place he would enjoy. "Dave, I'm not even going to try to pacify you, but-"

"Shut up!" Dave stomped over to Jericho, wrapping his large hand around the blond's neck and squeezing with all his might. "Why are you so hell bent on humiliating him?! What has Rey ever done to you?!"

Jericho coughed a bit, before glaring into Dave's smoldering ebony eyes. Being this close to Dave was fearsome indeed. Being choked by Dave was downright scary. "It's our job Dave! If you don't like it, then you're free to leave!"

Dave clenched his teeth and clutch. Jericho squirmed as he felt the trickle of oxygen slip through his veins. "You didn't have to go for his mask! That was downright dirty! And the way you just beat up on him after that was sick! You're a sick fuck Jericho! And I think I've had enough of you messing with Rey!"

Jericho clawed at Dave's large hand as it threatened to break his windpipe. //I'm gonna die! I don't believe this! A leviathan not fit to be the same species as me is going to kill me!//

A voice called into the room. It belonged to neither man.

"Let go Batista! Let go!"

Jericho opened his eyes, but couldn't even get a glimpse of who it was. His vision blurred and then vanished. All he could recall was the feel of warm hands cradling his head to a softly beating heart. It had been too many years, than Jericho cared to admit, that he had been offered some sort of comfort. A whiff of a random flowery scent, mixed with a hint of masculine husk caught his nose almost immediately. //What... is...this?// He tried to open his eyes, but nothing showed. When he closed them again, a familiar grin, and wicked eyes fell right into his line of sight. //No! No!// Jericho tried to move away from the oncoming figure, but his body wouldn't listen. He stared frantically at the slowly approaching figure. That tanned aged skin, those chestnut blond locks that swagger in his step, that low growl, and those intense eyes. Chris felt himself being drawn to it all. He wanted it. A pair of hands came out of the darkness and pinned Chris down. // Wait! No wait! Stop!// Chris tried to move again only to be betrayed once more by his unresponsive body.

"Chris"

//Let go you bastard!// Chris fought, and struggled, but the hands stayed pinning him down. //Let go! Stop it!// His body began to move, slowly at first and then rapidly as if sped up. He thrashed about only to gain a hard, sharp shout that rang deep into his ears.

"Chris!"

Awoken by the sudden shout, Chris opened his eyes to see a sad face looking at him. There was a light shining above the younger man. It made him look just like an angel. A small smile cracked Chris's hard face that was now dripping with sweat. //What the hell?// Chris slowly looked about. His smile dropping. //This is a...a...hospital?!// He looked up at the man above him. //I know this face.//

"Are you alright Chris?" Brown eyes caved with worry, and his tone sounded distressed. "Are you hurt?"

//I'm in a hospital.// He stared blankly at the man pinning him down and hovering above him. Immediately, he put it all together. "Get off me." He didn't mean to sound cold, but it was a general reaction.

The man looked hurt, as he slowly pulled his hands back to his sides, but betrayed his inner feelings with a bright smile. "The doctor's said you just passed out. A few more minutes and you would've probably died. I'm happy you didn't."

Chris narrowed his eyes a bit to clear his vision. "Aren't you, Evan?"

Evan's face colored instantly. //He remembered me?!// "Uh...Uh...Y-Yeah." //Come on Evan pull it together!//

Chris cocked an eyebrow upwards. //It's that dude from before. The one who touched me.// "Why are you here?"

Evan shied his gaze away from Chris and onto the floor. His ears had gone red too. "I-I got Dave to l-let you go. It's n-no big deal."

Chris scoffed heavily, "It's hard to imagine someone so small being able to shift that huge giant." His cold blues fell on Evan- who was now looking at him with disbelief. "But then again, I'm sure you must have given him something. People don't call Batista by his first name unless they've rolled around in his bed."

Evan glared harshly at Chris. The blush on his face got redder with anger. "People call Dave whatever they want! It's called being his friend! He has Rey, and he would never do that to him!"

If it wasn't for the pain killers and whatever else these sick doctors had pumped into him, Chris knew he would be wickedly laughing right about now. The kid's innocent reaction amused him.

"You make that leviathan sound like a saint, when he's closer to the Devil." Chris sighed inwardly, "Listen, thanks for -"

Evan all but shouted at the top of his lungs, "Don't say it! I told you it was nothing!" He turned around and walked away – steam puffing from his ears. He stopped once he reached the door, "I hope you get better Chris."

Chris's brow creased downward, "Hey don't call -" The door slamming behind Bourne stopped him mid-sentence. His facial features lightened as he stared at the ceiling and muttered, "- my name."