Out Of The Shadows

NOTE: For this thread Owen is not married, never has been, does not have children. He is single. I love and respect this man, anything I write I mean no disrespect to him. He was a great man and wrestler and this is merely a bit of fiction, although parts of it may be drawn from real events or real places. This takes place the night after the Montreal Screwjob. If you don't know what it is...wiki.


1997

To say the last couple of nights had been insane, was a complete understatement. After all the Hart family had given to Vince McMahon's company, the shock of one of their own--their best and brightest star--being screwed over was monumental. Owen had never seen that sort of anger in his usually soft spoken older sibling. Granted Bret and Shawn had their bouts that had left Bret angry and confused, confiding deep secrets in his young brother, was one thing but this was a rage that was scary. It was one that seemed to have swallowed Bret whole, and it made Owen worry over his physical and mental health.

However, it was soon to be out of his hands. It was Bret who had always watched over Owen, and now at a time when Owen felt the need to watch over Bret...he couldn't. He stood near the hotel entrance, his wide, strong shoulders drooped as his gray-blue eyes moved over the faces of his family. There was Jim, habitually stroking his goatee, looking as solemn as Owen had ever seen him. There was Davey, his hair loose and fallen in damp ringlets over his muscled shoulders and massive arms that poked out from his black muscle shirt. He was completed with a black fanny pack around his thick middle, his hand met the shoulder of the taller man next to him and squeezed it reassuringly. Then, there was Bret. Owen's eyes rimmed with tears when they met the dark ones of his most beloved brother and best friend. The mist of tears were there because he felt deep the pain that Bret without speaking a word somehow radiated towards him. Vince had been a kind of father figure to Bret, and had in the end stabbed him in the back with a knife that was the man who had been Bret's lover.

It was a tragedy for so many of the people involved. The Hart crew had among other hostilities cornered Vince and demanded outs to their contracts. Bret was already out the door figuratively, but the other three wanted to go with him. The Hart's stuck together, that was that. But now Owen was left saying goodbye to his family because his boss refused to let him out of his contract.

He hugged Bret, he didn't want to let go. Sure it wasn't as if they'd never see each other again, but right now, so many things were wrong and it felt even worse not to be by Bret's side through this.

"I'm a big boy." Bret whispered into Owen's ear. "I can take care of myself...and there's always those two clowns."

Owen could feel Bret's lips curve into a small attempt at a smile next to his ear. He forced a smile of his own, a foreign feeling to him, since they usually came so naturally.

"Yeah, I know."

"Take care of yourself O. Don't let Vince set you up for any stupid shit. Watch your back, okay?"

Their embrace was parted, and Owen nodded his head solemnly. He watched the three men leave the hotel. The chill night breeze swept in through the doors after them, and then the glass panes silently closed. There was nothing left but the ghost of night air in an empty, dark lobby. If alone had a definition, then this sure was it.

With a sigh Owen turned away from the doors and walked back towards the elevators. There was nothing left to do but go to bed and get an early start on the next day. Maybe there was some reason he was left here, as the lone Hart. Maybe he had yet some purpose to serve here: Or maybe that was just his optimistic side refusing to be completely thwarted. His footsteps were dead set on that elevator and an attempt at sleep, but then something stopped him.

He took a detour into the hotel bar. It was still opened, though the crowd at this time of night was light. He wasn't normally into drinking, but tonight was going to be an exception. He headed towards the bar and sat down. He ordered a beer, the same kind that Bret always ordered when he drank. It seemed like some sort of small, personal tribute to him. Owen took a swallow of it, immediately disliking it. He wrinkled his nose. It tasted like shit. But right now, everything kind of did. It would have to do.

"To you, brother." Owen said quietly. "And...to figuring out why the hell I'm still stuck in this company...and...why you love this ass tasting beer so damn much." He took another drink. Hm, maybe it was just something you had to get used to.

Get out of this building. Speak to no one. It wasn't your fault. You were taking orders from me. I want the blame entirely on me.

He had taken four pills already for the night yet he could still hear the voices echoing louder and louder in his head and it was driving him insane. He grabbed the phone, tearing it out of the wall and with all of the strength he could muster, he flung it across the room into the door. "Oh God what have I done?" he cried.

Shawn sat with his head hanging low, shoulders slumped and the WWE Championship hanging limp in the palm of his hands. He stared at it but it was like he was seeing through it; the images on the other side of the belt ones he wished he could erase but it was too late now. Bret... He didn't want to think about Bret and yet here he was sitting, imagining that Bret was going to just walk through that door like all of this past year had just been a long, bad dream, but he knew better. His palms slowly closed around the belt, the coolness of the metal giving him some kind of sense of reality. Last night was real. Last night was VERY real and tonight was no different.

Shawn groaned, his head starting to ache a bit. His mind was starting to recall the night's events and how everyone oozed loathing as he walked through the building. If it wasn't for Hunter and Chyna, he very well may not have made it in and out without getting his ass kicked from one side of the arena to the next. Was he afraid all night? Yes....well he probably should have been but fact is, he was so high that he hardly registered fear. He carried on his various segments like a true champ doing everything he was told to do and smiling smugly because the key to success was selling. Did the audience buy it? Do they believe you're a fucking asshole and a jerk? This was quite possibly the easiest role he's ever played because right now he felt like being a jerk and he was pretty sure being an asshole came naturally--at least that's what Bret said.

Shawn groaned again. The thought of Bret also took him back to the midget Bret segment. Oh how he begged them not to it. Or maybe in his head he was begging. He couldn't be sure exactly what he said to Vince because to shut him up, various praises were said to him feeding his ego and in turn, he ended up doing it anyway for the sake of saving the company. Utter bullshit most likely but he did it anyway. Like a pro with no fucking conscience at all, he went out there letting Bret have it for all the world to see ending the segment with a pedigree and Sweet Chin Music to the mini Hart.

Shawn blinked, realizing that his eyes were clouded with tears when one fell, the salt running down his cheek and over his lips. He looked around his empty room. Upon entering it after Raw, he proceeded by doing his usual screaming his head off at Hunter, knocking over a few chairs and coloring in the mirror. It was the only way to get initial relief until the pills kicked in and right now they were doing anything but.

Shawn let the belt hit the floor as he stood, tripping over various objects as he stumbled towards the door. He didn't bother to shower or take off his ring gear. Bare foot and in his red tights, he stumbled into the hall heading straight for the elevator. By now he assumed most elevators should have grown a fucking brain by now because when Shawn Michaels wasn't checking in or out, he was hunting a bar, which is exactly where the next 'ding' took him. He dragged himself across the hotel lobby, grateful that only a few of his coworkers could be seen whispering in corners glaring as he walked by. On instinct, his hand went up in the air giving them all the i fingered salute before he slid into an empty chair at the very end of the bar.

"I want a whoooooole bottle of Crown. No ice." He propped his elbows on the bar, face buried in his palms as he waited for his drink tuning out the rest of the world who didn't give one flying fuck about Shawn Michaels, the human being.

The voice was familiar enough that Owen didn't have to turn and look to see who it was. But he did anyway. He could feel other heated glares cutting through the room and towards the smaller man who had his face hid in his hands. Much like Bret, the emotion seemed to radiate off of Shawn and touch him in some way. It made his heart sink. He had personally never had a problem with Shawn Michaels. He had never felt badly towards him, no matter what kind of troubles Shawn and Bret had gone through. As that relationship wore on, Owen's only advice to Bret had been to stop it. Stop it before it was too late, before Bret and Shawn were both hurt too deeply, but that point had been reached.

Owen looked back down at the half-finished bottle of beer. The thought of taking another gulp turned his stomach, but not as much as Shawn's state of being right now did. Unlike others who oozed hate at Shawn, Owen couldn't. He was pretty sure he'd never hated another human being in his life. He really couldn't even fault Shawn too much for what had happened. Shawn was hardly in his right mind. Owen's brother was not the only victim, there were many, and one of those was Shawn Michaels.

Owen knew that Shawn wasn't a bad person, anyone who could make Bret smile as genuinely as Shawn had once been able to do, had enough good in him worth saving. That good was just buried somewhere. No, Shawn wasn't a bad person, he was just a man who found himself in desperate situations and didn't know how to dig himself out of them. Owen knew that in this business, it was easy to become dragged down, and into habits that would eat you whole and spit out nothing more than a mangled carcass. That was why he made it his personal goal to be the resident funny man. It was important to smile, and laugh, and not to get bogged down in being on the road, far from home, exhausted, in pain, uncertain for the future...lonely.

He glanced over at Shawn again. Even though Owen didn't feel much in the mood for his own humor right now, Shawn seemed like he could use something.

"No ice? In Canada we have ice with everything...whether we want it or not!"

Shawn barely registered the voice and when he finally did, he was almost too far gone--pills finally kicking in--to register said voice to be that of Owen Harts. Shawn slowly raised his head, reaching out to grab the bottle dragging it across the table making as much noise as humanly possible. He popped the top grabbing the one of the signature Crown glasses to pour him a shot but then it sorta dawned on him that minus the ice, he may as well drink from the bottle--which he did and lots of it, fighting through the burning of his esophagus until he was forced to come up for air. Shawn slammed the bottle back down, drawing attention from various people walking by. He gave them all big cheesy grins before his eyes rolled and rounded on Owen.

He could only stare at the blonde haired man who at the moment, mirrored the Bret he first met years ago when he was coming up with Marty. The lighthearted voice, the kind eyes, the humor...all of this he registered but much like everything else, he figured it was all in his head. Owen's words, not hostile at all, was some kind of trick brought about due to the drugs in his system. He couldn't wait to get back to his room and finish it off with a dose in his arm. He'd fall asleep and forget it all.

"Why the hell are you here? All of..." He hiccuped, bringing the bottle to his lips once more chuckling. "Yooooooouuuuuur lot all left with the Hitman. They allllllllllll hate me and ya know what? I don't give one flying fuck because I don't need anyone." He laughed turning up the bottle some more, waving obnoxiously to anyone he caught staring never realizing how dreadful he was starting to look with each shot consumed.

"Why am I here? I don't...know..." Owen trailed off, watching Shawn with concern. He was already pretty far gone on something, and he was chugging that Crown like there was no tomorrow. At the rate Shawn was going, there wouldn't be. It really wasn't Owen's place to do anything about it, but for some reason, it was. It was because he was there, despite Shawn obviously wishing otherwise, and he seemed to be the only person in the bar who was worried for Shawn's well being. Even the bartender didn't seem to care, and didn't those guys have some moral duty to cut a patron off when they were this wasted? Owen watched the bartender, who was paying no attention to Shawn and busy flirting with one of Owen's female coworkers.

His blue eyes turned back to Shawn, watching him wobble. Some of the other guys in the bar were snickering, as if it was all so damn funny. He moved quickly off of his stool and stormed irately over to two of his coworkers who sat at a small table, hunched over too many empty beer bottles. He slammed both fists down onto the table, rattling the bottles together in a dainty sound like twittering wind chimes on a spring breeze. It was anything but something so picturesque. He glared from one man to the other, his lips curled downward into a sneer of disapproval.

"Stop it! Just...stop it! There's nothin' funny goin' on here! NOTHIN'!"

The two men looked at each other, and then burst out laughing.

"Ugh. Idiots." Owen mumbled. He made his way back over to the bar, back over to Shawn. He looked as if he could barely stand and he certainly didn't need to polish off the rest of that Crown. He wondered where Hunter or Joanie were, they were usually watching out for Shawn but tonight, no one in the bar was Shawn's friend, and the only two he probably had weren't to be seen. He ran a hair over his short blond hair.

"Hey Shawn...um...maybe I'm here to have a drink with you tonight. I mean, I've never had a problem with you. I still don't. I mean that. Why don't we get outta here, at least. I don't know about you, but I think if we stay here any longer, the rooms gonna spontaneously combust."

He had no intention of having a drink with Shawn, he just wanted to get Shawn out of the bar, and then get that bottle away from him. Enough shit had went down as it was, the last thing he wanted to see was Shawn Michaels not waking up to see the next morning.

Shawn was not hearing Owen. In fact, the more he drank the better he seemed to feel and it was because everyone was watching that he refused to go anywhere. "Thannnnnnnnkssssssss Owen," he slurred, stressing the 'thanks', "but Shawn Michaels isn't going any fucking where. I am...the World...Wresssssssstling Federation Champion and if I wanna sit and have a fucking drink, I will."

He looked past Owen at Vader, a fellow coworker who was sitting at a smaller table behind them. Loathing oozed from his eyes--posture too-- s he sat, laid back with beer in hand, eyes glued to him. Shawn smirked, downing more of his Crown. The bottle was half empty now but he had every intention of finishing it off. Hell tomorrow night meant a House Show in the next city over, wherever that was, and since he didn't have to drive who gave a flying fuck if he showed up with a hangover the size of Texas. He held up his hand, sliding off the bench. "Excuuuuuuuuse me for one moment."

He stumbled across the bar wearing his signature smirk as he approached Vader's table. "Yo fatso? Why you staring so hard at me hum?" He sat on the table staring down at Vader, who's knuckles seemed to be getting redder by the second. "I know why you were staring so hard," he giggled, leaning over just close enough to blow his hot breath on Vader's cheek. "Heeeeee its cuz you and allllllllllll the other boys want me to blow you? Is that it?"

Shawn hopped down from the table dropping to his knees in front of Vader. By now most of their coworkers were gone or were dragging themselves away from their tables either snickering or shaking their heads in disgust. Shawn didn't care. He knew this is what made people like him. Maybe they wouldn't like him later, but they'd like him enough to take him back to their room so he wouldn't have to sleep alone. Hunter had Joanie now. Kevin had Scott. Who did he have? Well tonight Big Bad Vader was on the menu.

Shawn went to work quickly, hands all over Vader before he could even think to protest. Vader mighta hated him but he was still just a man, a man just as intoxicated as he was and he knew he'd give in.

"Sh--Shawn, what the fuck are you doing?" he hissed, pretending to slap his hand away but subtly bucking into the light caressing of his crotch.

"I'm showing you a reeeeeeal good time," he slurred. He quickly grabbed Vader by the shirt, pulling him closer. "Big man, let me room with ya tonight and I'll show you the best fucking time of your life."

"Oh god." Owen's palm met his forehead. Shawn should have been escorted out by security by now, but the bartender was still hopelessly lost in his flirtations with a woman who was far out of his league, and probably only egging him on for the hell of it.

Once again Owen was up from his bar stool, this time hovering over the knelt Shawn Michaels. He got down on his knees next to Shawn, his cheeks pinking up hotly as Shawn pawed at Vader's crotch--a mental image Owen hoped he could blot completely from his mind after tonight, although he wouldn't bet on that being a success. His hand curled gently around Shawn's shoulder.

"Come on Shawn. Ya don't wanna...um...here...with him." Owen glanced over at Vader, trying to figure him out. He was seeming not to want Shawn's attentions and yet, he wasn't moving. As big a man as he was, Vader could have just got up, knocked Shawn to the side, and went on about his merry way. That was if he really didn't want Shawn exploring around between his legs. Owen shuddered. That was disturbing.

"Shawn you can--you can room with me! I'm all by myself now. Man, I don't know about you but I hate bein' alone. And I know I'm nothin' too pretty to look at, but I think I've got a leg up on Vader here. Or...at least a nose up. Come on. Ya don't wanna go up to his room tonight." Owen lowered his voice, and whispered close to Shawn's ear. "I hear he has a really bad gas problem too, I wouldn't wanna find out though!"

This was quite possibly the strangest conversation Owen had ever carried on. He glanced up at Vader, who was glaring down at the both of them.

Shawn only registered bits and pieces of what Owen said, the word 'alone' being one of them followed closely by gas, which he hoped he wasn't gassy. It was enough to stop his assault on Vader, his head turning to stare back into pretty blue eyes he never really noticed before. "You want me to room with you?" Shawn blinked then looked back up at Vader, realizing for the moment that despite the fact that Owen was a Hart, he grudgingly had to admit that he'd much rather find himself writhing underneath the smaller blonde than big Vader. Shawn scrambled to his feet, using the table as leverage. "Sorry V man but ya took too long. I gotsa better offer." He paused, grinning stupidly. "Kinda like Bret cuz thatsa why he left me."

Vader shrugged, going back to his drink. "If that's what you think Shawn then you need to check the fuck out. Bret not only got a better deal but he left to get away from your sorry excuse for a champ's ass. Take him away Owen before I do a little more than fuck him. More like fuck him up if you get my drift." He paused for a minute, glaring at Owen. "I know old hardass wouldn't let you go but do you really think it wise to be rooming with him knowing full well that a whole roster full of muscley men would rather see him 6 feet under for what he did to your brother? Wake the fuck up Owen. He's only good for one thing and I hope you get it and be done with him before your rep's ruined and you spit on everything your brother stood for."

Shawn barely heard the convo. His senses were fucking with him. He thought maybe he was staring as his feet but he couldn't be too sure. His ears were ringing and his vision was starting to blur. He took a step then stumbled, tripping over his own two feet and into Owen. "Heeeee sorreh."

Owen tried to blow Vader's comments off. He didn't have the goal of getting Shawn into his room for that purpose anyway, he just wanted to get that damn Crown away from him and put him to bed. Vader was probably right about some of the things he said, mainly about what the rest of the roster wanted to do to Shawn, and how this would make Owen's rep look.

He took a long hard look at Vader, wondering if he'd talk and have some tall tale of an Owen and Shawn encounter that would be spread 100 different ways to every man on the roster by morning. He decided Vader looked to drunk to remember much of it. Besides, Owen's reputation was an outstanding one among all of his coworkers, and given the recent happenings between Harts and Heartbreakers, they'd probably laugh off anything Vader might say as nothing more than alcohol induced ramblings. There were only a couple guys left in the bar, one passed out, and another looking near it. No one here would remember seeing he and Shawn leave together. Everything would be okay by morning, easy.

"Goodnight Girth Vader, smell ya later!" Owen waved to Vader, wrapped an arm around Shawn to keep him from falling. He stopped as their eyes met, blue and blue, a gaze that despite being clouded with too much booze and who knew what else, managed to make his breath catch in his chest. He had to admit that he'd never faulted Bret for being attracted to Shawn. Anyone could see why. Owen could see why. He offered a small smile to Shawn. "That's okay. Have a nice trip?"

He guided Shawn out of the bar, into the elevator, and up to his room. After Shawn fell asleep, he planned to let him have the room to himself and go spend his night on the couch in the lobby. At least that for sure would keep tongues from wagging.

Shawn instinctively put an arm around Owen and allowed him to lead the way. As they walked his vision became more and more infuriatingly blurred and that made it hard to work properly. "Maybe I shoulda not taken those piiiiilllllsssss yet."

He hiccuped, stumbling into the room breaking away from Owen and heading straight for the bed. He fell on it face first, his body registering the soft, cushiony feel. He was exhausted. The whole Montreal thing weighed heavily on him for weeks and even now that it was all said and done, he was still yet to have a moment to wind down from it it.

Shawn groaned, knowing he had a job to do. Work. He had to work for every damn thing in his life including a chance to fall asleep next to a warm body. He forced himself to roll over on his back, the alcohol numbing the usually excruciating pains in his back.

He kicked off a boot and then the other before he slowly sat up on the bed, licking his lips. "How do you want it Owen? Should I take care of you twice tonight?" He got up stumbling across the room, eyes unfocused as he latched onto Owen's waist dropping to his knees. He rubbed at Owen's sides, kissing his tummy. "Or do I bend over for you? Don't worry. I can take it. I can take lotsa things Owen."

Owen stared down at Shawn, barely able to comprehend what was going on. He'd heard plenty about Shawn, everyone knew of his reputation and there were very few who hadn't experienced that side of Shawn first hand. Owen was one of them. He had never seen Shawn like this, and he didn't want to. How could so many of the good men he knew take from Shawn when he was like this? He was broken, he was out of his mind drunk, and he looked exhausted. Owen's fingers looped into Shawn's soft hair. It took him a moment to find his voice and to get the words in his head to come out. When they did, they were soft, barely more than a whisper.

"Shawn, I don't want anything from ya. I just...want you to go to bed, okay?" He helped Shawn up, and sat down with him on the edge of the bed. "Just go to sleep Shawn. You look tired."

His hand moved to Shawn's back, rubbing soft circles between his shoulders the way he had sometimes done for Bret when he was too tense from another lovers spat. His plan to leave Shawn after he'd fallen asleep was already dissolving in his mind. Shawn needed someone, that much was clear. It troubled Owen to see Shawn at such a low point. He could see now more clearly than ever why Bret had to leave. For Bret no doubt seeing someone you loved spiral down into a dark void had been horrible enough--but not being able to help him out of it was even worse. Bret left because he couldn't take it anymore, living in a toxic relationship, seeing Shawn this way...

Owen had always been compared to his older brother. It was only natural. They were like in some ways, but different in many, and in this way they were also different: Bret might have been able to leave Shawn, but Owen knew already that he couldn't. Tonight in the hotel lobby, there was going to be an empty couch. Owen was staying right where he was.

Shawn did not take rejection well at all, especially when his body was the only thing of value left he had to give. He felt anger boiling up inside of him, even as Owen's seemingly gentle fingers rubbed at his back. "No--don't--don't fucking do this! I don't take unless I give Owen!" He looked over at him, signs of written anger all over his face masking the fatigue he felt. His head was spinning and he knew it wouldn't be long before the drugs wore off and he'd be able to feel the pain, smell the alcohol and the stench of sex, and the disgust, which in turn would hurt so much he'd cry.

Shawn jumped to his feet, legs unsteady due to the drugs. "No--if you don't take me then I'll crash in the hall--on the street--I don't give a flying fuck at this point so long as I'm not alone!" he yelled. He quickly wriggled out of his tights revealing the fact that underwear were hardly doable in such fitting material. He stood there, glaring at Owen holding a straight, stern face even though he wanted to cry at any second now. "Dammit Owen do something or else I go!" he screamed. "Nothing's fucking free in this world! You may be a Hart but all of your lot probably hate my guts and you don't even know me! I've seen the way Anvil looks at me. Fat fuck's eyes are just as dark and filled with disgust as Bret's but big fucking deal. I was nothing but a way for him to get off."

He crossed his arms across his chest, chilled, and feeling very embarrassed right now. Rejection. He was being rejected for his only bargaining chip. Had he really sank so low? Even intoxicated he knew very well that this--his body--was all he had left to give because his soul either left with Bret or was left every night in the ring.

The bed creaked quietly as Owen rose from it. He stepped over Shawn's kicked off boots, and approached him, his eyes constantly set on Shawn's face for fear that letting them stray anywhere else would distract him into something that did not need to happen under such circumstances.

"Listen Shawn, it's nothin' against you or anything, I just...um...well things are a little painful downstairs right now. Urinary infection. How 'bout we settle this with a simple kiss. If you still feel like that's not enough, then just say ya owe me one and we'll figure it out later." Owen improvised, making up the bit about the infection. He hoped Shawn would take a kiss as an acceptable request, give it, put his tights back on, and go to bed for some much needed rest.

Owen's hands slid over the stubble of Shawn's jaw and cupped his face. He decided not to wait for a response or a reaction. He pressed his lips to Shawn's, kissing him, the strong alcohol biting his mouth. He found it harder to break the kiss than he had imagined it to be, but he did break it after a few moments. He dropped his eyes down to the floor, down to Shawn's discarded tights, feeling some shame prickle at his conscience for the heated thoughts that now raced through his head. He gave it a little shake to clear it, bent to grab Shawn's tights, and straightened up again. He held them towards Shawn, offering them back to their owner.

"Will ya come to bed now, Shawn?"

Shawn had absolutely no idea how to respond to Owen. The kiss completely took him off guard, especially since he wasn't used to anyone kissing him for these kinds of business transactions. He snatched his tights from Owen, ignoring the comfort he felt in the kiss and damning himself for even being in the same room with the enemy. Who was Owen fooling? He dare not choose to be kind to him when his brother hated his guts but it was too late to leave now. Plus, his body hurt so bad right now that he was seconds away from choking out sobs.

He supposed it was because Owen was a Hart. That had to be why, for a brief moment, he felt lost in the comfort of soft lips. Bret... Owen was Bret, but Owen was not the Bret of today because that man's lips would never touch his own again.

He wriggled back in his tights not caring about anything anymore. As soon as his body hit the cool sheets, it seemed to suck him into the deep sleep he was craving. The drugs and booze would all help him fall into a dreamless slumber.

Owen curled up on his side of the bed, and was quickly asleep. He hadn't realized he was so exhausted, but he must have been because he slept like stone, not waking up once and barely moving at all. The only difference when morning crept through the blinds was that he was moved closer to Shawn, and one arm was curled around the smaller man. Soft snores were the only quiet sounds in the room. The covers were kicked off to the floor or bunched up at the bottom of the bed. Two pairs of boots lay haphazardly on the floor. Shawn's breath puffing in and out against Owen's face smelled strongly of alcohol, but he didn't notice it.

He was having some sort of dream where he was a little boy again at the Hart home, playing hide and seek with his many brothers and sisters. It had been declared by the various Hart kids that little Owen was the king of hide and seek, mainly because he was the youngest, and thus small enough to fit into all sorts of places the others could contort themselves into.

His arm held Shawn a little tighter, and the morning light brightened a bit more as the sun woke and moved higher in the new sky.

Shawn didn't remember dreaming. Or maybe he did dream, but it was of wrestling. He was wrestling some nobody at a house show and when it was all over he was following his usual routine of looking for Hunter, getting a ride back to the hotel, buying pills from one of his coworkers, drinking, and then offering himself for the night so that he wouldn't have to sleep alone. Usually the next morning, he woke up to either find that the person who screwed him was gone or he was rudely awakened by being kicked out of bed followed by various insults that ranged from dirty whore to junkie.

By now, he had heard it all which is why when he woke up to find a strong arm holding him in place, he couldn't help but think it was Bret. Only Bret had ever held him that way, tightly as if protecting him from the world. Only in the last few months did that stop until they could no longer stand the sight of one another. Or maybe Bret couldn't but Shawn could never completely hate Bret. When Shawn's eyes finally opened, he winced. Due to his hangover, his eyes were extremely sensitive to the light so he had to pace himself, opening his eyes a little at the time until his eyes were focused on Owen--not Bret.

For a moment, all he could do was stare as he tried to remember how he ended up in bed with another Hart. Oh yeah. He got fucked up in the bar last night and Owen offered him a room. Shawn did not trust Owen at all. In fact, he didn't trust anyone anymore which is why he had no intention of getting buddy, buddy with another Hart.

Shawn rolled over, groaning from the headache and as carefully and quietly as he could, picked up his shoes and slipped out of the room, stumbling back to his own where he planned to sleep until Hunter came looking for him.

The week went by with the usual house shows and traveling. Shawn and Owen saw each other in passing. Sometimes their eyes met, but one would always look away. Shawn was such a mess lately, so angry, so sad when he thought no one was looking. Owen found that he wanted to make Shawn smile, as he usually did with many guys when they were having a hard time. It was just in his nature, in his dna, he hated seeing others down. This however, was a down he knew he couldn't fix with some stupid joke or one liner. In fact, he had to be careful because under the circumstances, Shawn would probably take most of his attempts at humor the wrong way.

Thursday night found Owen with some down time after a house show, at least that was until his hotel phone rang. The Almighty Chairman was calling. Owen slid his feet into his boots and shrugged on one of his favorite shirt--a blue flannel with the sleeves cut off--and buttoned it about halfway up, deciding the rest didn't matter. It was a hot night anyway, especially to someone who was more suited to colder weather of the great icehole up North.

Owen walked the couple blocks to the hotel Vince and most of the other wrestlers were staying at. It was a pretty ritzy place which was far to expensive for Owen's tastes. Once in awhile, he'd stay with the others, and only then if he could get one or two people to split costs with him. He was big on saving his money, and so he often stayed in less glamorous get ups, or even with fans if they didn't seem too rabid.

Soon he was through the hotel lobby, into the elevator, and in the opulent room that Vince had no doubt dropped some big bucks on. Vince was sitting at a small table with some small artsy looking chairs. Owen was almost afraid to sit down...the chairs looked nearly fragile. If they could hold Vince and his big head though, then they could no doubt hold Owen. He sat down carefully, earning a small chuckle from his boss as he did so.

"What's goin' on Vince?" Owen asked, folding his hands onto the table and glancing at the papers Vince was toying with.


Maybe he's changed his mind, maybe he's letting me out of my contract...

"I'm trying to figure out what to do with you next, Owen. We don't have the rest of your family for you to interact with in the ring now. I was thinking of giving you a sexy valet, a real hot storyline, Owen. Drama sells, Owen. Sex sells. We'll make it real spicy, real controversial, juicy, Owen."

Owen shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Vince was right that he was going to have to change it up, but Owen wasn't comfortable with such racy storylines. He had too much respect for women to treat them as nothing more than a piece of candy waiting to be tasted, a sex object made to paw all over, it just wasn't his thing. Owen shook his head. He was a man who found it important to stand by his morals, and he didn't think something so crude was right for a wrestling ring--a porno, sure...but not in the squared circle. He might not take this business quite as seriously as Bret did, but he still sprang from the same seeds. Their father Stu had instilled the respect for wrestling into them with his words, and his brutal training tactics. This didn't feel right to him in too many ways, and it was a no go.

"I don't think that's for me, Vince. I know I can't tell ya what to do with your whole company, if ya wanna take some of your wrestlers into that kind of angle, but...not me, Vince. I'm not gonna do it." He watched the corners of Vince's mouth turn downwards, and the lines in his forehead deepend. "Listen, how bout this, Vince. I'm good at workin' as a heel, but I usually put some comedy into it, make it kinda goofy. How about you give me a chance to be a real serious heel. I'll feud with Shawn. I'm the last Hart left, he's driven the rest of my family away, let my heel persona be pissed as hell about it. I'll show you I can be a great heel on my own, Vince. I can do that even without the rest of my family here to interact with. I don't need a sleazy angle to get over. Whaddya say?"

Vince's mouth changed again, slowly curling back into a smile.

"I like it." He said in his characteristic gruff voice. "I really do. Thing is, I think Shawn's kinda sick of Hart men...and I could use Shawn in a lot of other areas, Owen. How bout we give the Heartbreak kid a call, get him in here, and pitch the idea to him. We'll see if he's willing to play. He's....very..." Vince searched for a word, looking up at the space above his head as if he could pluck and adjective from the air. "Uh...well lets just say, it's beneficial to me to do everything in my power to keep Shawn Michaels as happy as I can. He's the next to carry this company into the future, Owen. I wont force him into anything he doesn't want to do...I never have. That's just not my style."

Owen refrained from uttering the word 'bullshit' as he sat back in his chair and crossed his large arms over his thick chest. Vince picked up his hotel phone, and called the room of one Shawn Michaels.

Shawn didn't give Owen a second thought after their little incident and besides a few chance glances every now and then, he continued about his usual routine by sticking up under Hunter, Joanie and Pac. They were his family. They were all he had left and they were the only ones you gave a damn about him. The next week went by as expected. Shawn wrestled the house shows, usually hung over but hell, it's not like he was wrestling anyone he deemed worthy of being put over. His upcoming pay per view match would be against Vader, which often made him laugh out loud randomly when it crossed his mind as he could vaguely remembering offering to give the poor lug a Michaels Special. Vader of course, went out of his way to avoid him as if Shawn would rat him out. That also amused him because as much as he loved to humiliate those who hated him, he wasn't a rat which is probably the only reason he wasn't sitting at home with two broken arms and a leg.

The week seemed to drag on and by Thursday, Shawn was pretty much ready to rage on anyone who crossed his path. It was getting harder and harder to get his fix as Hunter and Joanie were making a nasty habit out of stealing his syringes out of his duffle. He knew it was them because on several ocassions Joanie voiced a little more than the usual concern over his drug usage, no doubt egged on by Hunter who was too loyal and afraid to say too much himself. That's why this week, he made sure to keep his bag with him at all times so that they wouldn't ruin his fun.

Shawn went out with Pac and the others that night and got a little more than drunk. But he wasn't nearly as drunk as Pac so he managed to get by without anyone having to carry him to his room. That's usually when Hunter or Joanie would nick his goods. He said his goodbyes and locked himself inside hurrying straight for the bed. He leaned over it dragging his bag out from under the bed, the antsyness starting to kick in. He needed this or else he was gonna explode soon. He pulled out a syringe and lighter, sterilizing the needle a bit before rummaging in his bag for what he hoped was "good stuff". Lately the guys were holding out on him and he was sure Hunter had something to do with that too. Shawn tugged his shirt over his head, tossing it aside revealing just a black wife beater tank. He flexed his muscle a bit and using his teeth, began wrapping the bandage around his arm. He was shaking so badly that he was getting frustrated and unable to do it properly on his own. "Shit!"

At that moment his phone rang which only annoyed him even more. His first instinct was to tear the fucking machine out of the wall, but since there was a pay per view coming up, that no doubt could be Vince which meant he had better answer or endure a long winded, pointless rant of some sort later on. He shoved the needle in his drawer, rolling over and grabbing the phone knocking it over. "H--Hello?"

Owen listened as Vince spoke into the phone, a short conversation asking Shawn up to his room to discuss a possible storyline. Owen hoped that Shawn would accept it for many reasons. He'd done a few matches with Shawn, but hadn't got to work with him in any major way and despite all that had happened, Owen still gave Shawn his due respect when it came to what he did in the ring. Shawn was good at what he did, there was nothing that could change that. Owen would like the chance to work with Shawn, and working with Shawn could be the perfect way for him to prove his worth to Vince. If Owen was forced to stay in this company, then he might as well make the best of it and continue to keep furthering his career as best as he could. He loved and respected his brother Bret, but what he really needed to do for his career was to show Vince that he had what it took to stand alone on his own without Jim, Davey, or Bret.

Bret had always been Vince's favorite out of the Hart group. Bret was damn good. Bret earned that respect from Vince, now it was Owen's turn. He could step out of Bret's shadow now and make himself noticed more for his own talents and abilities, not simply for his name and relations. One way to make a name for yourself...you take on the best, the top guy, you get yourself involved with Shawn Michaels and show that you can keep up with him.

Not only that, but it might give Owen the chance he had been looking for to get closer to Shawn. Someone had to help him before it was too late, and sadly enough there were far too many people who didn't care. He was sure Hunter and Joanie tried--those three were thick as thieves. Vince no doubt did what he could to keep his top talent from imploding, but on the other hand, he kept heaping the brunt of his companies burdens onto one set of tired shoulders. Sure every man and woman on the roster carried a portion of that weight, but whoever held the gold, the weight was near crushing. The bearer of the gold right now was Shawn Michaels, and it wasn't the only burden he had crushing him.

Vince hung up the phone.

"So...?" Owen raised a brow at Vince. "Is he coming?"

Shawn absolutely, positively did not wish to make a trip to see McMahon. In fact, he was the last person he wanted to see considering every time he came face to face with him, he wanted to rip him apart verbally for existing. On the other hand, there were times when Vince seemed to genuinely care--and maybe he always cared. But these days Shawn couldn't be sure because he often heard Bret's heated rant about McMahon being a hypocrite playing out in his head.

Shawn groaned, looking over his shoulder at the bag of drugs that would have to wait. No doubt if he showed up high Vince would light into his ass which he did not want. A McMahon rant seemed to go on for ages and it wasn't like Vince meant half the bullshit he ranted over anyway. At the end of the day Vince knew that Shawn Michaels was still WWE Champion which meant he was untouchable.

Shawn sat there for almost twenty minutes staring at the bag of drugs before he cursed loudly, tearing the phone out of the wall on his way out the door. He started to beg Pac to come with but hell he figured by now, with WCW doing a show just a few blocks away, he was somewhere laid up with old friends he dare not think about too much. God how he missed having his old bodyguard around. He just knew that if Kev was around, he wouldn't be feeling this jacked up and lonely.

Shawn only had to go up a few floors before he was standing outside of McMahon's door. He tied his long hair back into a pony tail, straightened his tank then without bothering to knock, he went inside. He closed the door, turning and stopping short at the sight of Owen and Vince together at the small table. The image hit him with a bad case of deja vu, the scene very similar to the meeting he once had with Bret and Vince about Survivor Series and then another with both Pat and Vince.

Shawn shook his head, the scene before him bringing back too many memories he wished to erase. "Whatever it is the answer is fucking no! I've 'bout had it with you," he growled, pointing at McMahon, "and your whole lot!" he screamed at Owen. "Just...fuck...stay away from me and I'll do the same!"

"Shawn, calm down." Vince said levely, trying to keep his cool as best as he could. He had worked with a lot of men in his time who were hot tempered or prema donnas, but Shawn really did take the cake. "We just want to talk business. Nothing bad. I was just thinking that it only seems logical to have something going on between you and Owen at this point."

"You were thinking that?" Owen mused to himself as he listened to Vince speak, and watched Shawn closely. Owen seemed to remember that Vince moments ago had proposed a seedy storyline, and Owen had countered with Heel Owen going at it with Shawn. Owen could only sigh. Vince taking credit for his idea wasn't as bad as it could be.

Vince went on.

"Owen's still under contract. I feel this is a good way to use him right now, Shawn. He'll go after DX while you and Hunter do your thing."

Owen spoke up a little, hoping to ease the tension off a bit.

"Listen Shawn, it's just business. I have nothin' personally against you, but a thing like this does make sense. Heel Owen...the Lone Hart...he'd be pissed and he'd wanna go after you and Hunter. It's just another work, ya don't hafta take anything I say as a heel seriously, 'cause...I'm not really an asshole. I just play one pretty well." Owen got up from his chair and moved closer to Shawn. "Shawn, I don't think you and I have ever had a problem that I can recall. I respect your ability in the ring, you're damn good at it, one of the best even. I'd really like to work with you, and this fits really well right now." He held his hand out to Shawn, offering a handshake. "Whaddya say?"

Shawn listened to both men plead their cases, not really buying into all of it because after Montreal, Vince would always be a closet snake in his mind so he needed to be careful. While Montreal did get him much desired heat, he also knew that anymore stunt like that would cost him the respect of the roster. They already hated his guts but they also knew he was the glue keeping the company alive and the go to guy when one needed a small push.

Shawn stared at Owen's hand for a moment, his words running though his head. No, actually he never had an issue with Owen and Owen's voice, mannerisms, everything about him right now seemed sincere but he knew all too well how some of the guys around here were pretty good at putting on a facade. "I...really don't want to do anymore storylines with Hart men. It's...it's too fucking real Vince, and okay, granted that's what draws ratings but does anyone ever stop to think about me?" He quickly held up his hand, shaking his head with a tiny laugh. "Of course you do. I'm the WWF Champion. It's always about me," he scoffed.

Shawn turned away laughing at the absurdity of this. Not only was he forced to humiliate every member of the Hart family for several weeks prior to Montreal, but now he was being forced to continue a story that was supposed to have ended at Montreal. That was the deal. He'd been feuding with Harts for almost 2 years now and it was past the breaking point now. He looked down at his hands, which were starting to tremble. He needed his fix and fast.

He turned around shaking his head. "No. I'm not doing this shit anymore and if all you got keeping this company afloat is a story using me to humiliate the guy who you're pissed at for taking a better deal then screw it and you." Shawn folded his arms across his chest looking smug. "Fire me. I dare you to and when you do, I'll go home and take MY WWF Championship with me because I fucking earned the right to keep that piece of tin! You won't take it from me!"

With one final glance at them both, he stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him and making post haste to his room to fire up.

For the following weeks, Owen was booked in house shows only, because Vince really didn't know how to use him at the moment. The risque angle was a bust, and the thing with Shawn...well Shawn refused again and again to cooperate. Owen was trying to bide his time, but he was soon getting tired of doing just house shows. He'd been working for Vince for nine years now, he was still here after the betrayal of his family, and all he had to show for it were mid card matches at house shows. He still kept his head as up as he could, not liking to get bogged down in the blues that came up in this business so easily. So he just went out and tried to entertain, have some fun. Still, enough was enough and after everything--well he felt he rightly deserved more than this.

He pitched a couple other ideas to Vince, but Vince didn't bite. Vince suggested something far worse, a trip back to the past which would see Owen returning to the ring in a gimmick that he would have rather forgotten. Earlier in his wrestling career, Owen had wrestled as a masked superhero called "The Blue Blazer". The catch was that The Blue Blazer was a clumsy, buffoonish character, not a valiant superhero role. It fit because Owen had the comedy vibe to pull it off, but he didn't want to go back to that. He wanted to be taken more seriously, and The Blazer gimmick would not do that, it would only set him back.

More weeks slid by, and finally, Vince proposed something Owen was not sure that he liked. Vince suggested something simple: Owen turns heel and goes after Shawn anyway, even though Shawn was remaining uncooperative.

Owen really had some doubts about until it was go time. Vince kept whispering in his ear that it was Owen's only real option, constantly reminding him of the dreaded revisit to the Blue Blazer gimmick, and of course...Shawn had done what he needed to do for his career, why shouldn't Owen do the same? Vince had said those words, and smugly smiled at Owen, adding on as an afterthought: But it's your choice, Owen.

He was conflicted, and he couldn't help but feel even worse for Shawn. He was feeling only a fraction of what Shawn must have felt leading up to Montreal. In the end, Owen decided that he had to go ahead and do it. Vince really gave him no other option. He couldn't leave the company, there was no better idea out on the table, and he didn't want his career to stall. He needed to get back into an actual televised show and get into a good angle that would get him over with the fans.

It happened at At Your House: Degeneration X. Shawn had just retained over Ken Shamrock, via a DQ. Shawn was poised up on the turnbuckle, holding his title above his head in victory. Owen's run-in from the crowd was not only a surprise to viewers who hadn't seen him for weeks now, but it was also a surprise to Shawn who had no idea this was going to happen. Owen ran into the ring and shoved Shawn from behind, sending him to the outside of the ring and crashing through the announce table.

Owen sprang from the ring and on top of Shawn, raining down blow after blow on Shawn's head, clawing at his face, even drawing blood from the side of his nose until Hunter came to the rescue, pulling Owen off of Shawn and shoving him into the barrier. Owen climbed over the barrier and disappeared through the crowd, leaving Hunter and Shawn on top of a demolished announced table as J.R. shouted again and again--

"Bah gawd, that's Owen Hart!"

Owen hurried to the back, and leaned up against a wall, wondering if what he had done was right or wrong. He couldn't quite tell, and that was enough to bother him. He certainly wouldn't get any heat from the guys in the back--they'd all probably loved to have seen him break Shawn's face good. He was frustrated, conflicted, and angry at Vince for backing him into a corner. Things would have been okay if Shawn could have willingly accepted the storyline, or if Vince had offered an acceptable out, but neither had happened.

And now...now what?

Shawn was pissed, but mostly Shawn was confused. Or maybe it was the other way around because the moment he looked up and realized it was Owen Hart bloodying his nose, he kinda knew Vince was going back on his word. He allowed Hunter to help him up and very quietly, they marched up the ramp ignoring Hart chants and jeers from the crowd. Once Shawn was backstage, he was greeted with many smirks from fellow coworkers who waited around no doubt to see how he would react. Well, he would fix them. He shrugged, smiling smugly as he snatched his belt from Chyna, holding it high above his head as he screamed loudly and obnoxiously that everyone could kiss his round ass because he was going to sit pretty as top dog for a very long time. Once he rounded the corner, he spotted just the man he needed to see.

"You want us to come with?" Joanie asked.

Shawn scowled watching the younger Hart as he stood, no doubt, contemplating what he did. A part of him couldn't blame Owen for trying to rescue his career. He didn't really know what it was like living in someone shadow, but then he was constantly reminded on a daily basis how Bret was a great champ.

"Naa...I just wanna chat with him a bit before I punch out McMahon." Shawn stormed towards Owen shoving him a little. "What the fuck was that all about?"

Owen looked up at Shawn, forcing his eyes to meet those blue ones. He broke the gaze only momentarily, to glance at the gold glimmering on Shawn's shoulder. Owen ran his hand over his face, feeling so tired of all of it right now.

"It's...everything's just a huge mess. I didn't wanna do it without you knowing but Vince...Shawn I didn't know what else to do! I'd rather have been out the door with the rest of my family but Vince wouldn't let me outta my contract so, I'm here. Vince shot down the rest of my ideas and the only thing he offered me was this stupid gimmick I did early on, this masked dummy superhero. I'm just tryin' to keep my job, Shawn. I didn't really have another plausible option." He dropped his eyes from Shawn's, looking down at his feet. "I just..." He spoke quietly, and looked back up at Shawn, his gray-blue eyes misty under a sheen of genuinely conflicted tears. "I just did what Vince told me to do. What else could I do?"