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The Death of Hyacinth	By : Yhu Category: WWF/WWE > General Views: 1992 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the celebrities of WWE/WWF. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-The Death of Hyacinth
- 1
Death of Hyacinth
Pairing: Bret/Shawn
Rated: R
Disc: Not my men, the painting isn't mine either
Part: 1/1
Summary: An omen in the form of an art postcard sets off a series of events that will open up new wounds-- and maybe just close them once and for all.

NOTES: (hee, my first fic based on a painting) PLEASE VIEW THE DEATH OF HYACINTH BEFORE READING---

http://www.complex.com.pl/~rodzynek/Grafika/2ob.jpg

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!HOWEVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Please do not read the myth. It'll ruin the story.

---))---((---

Coombs, man's- or rather Bret's- best friend was doing what he was trained to do. If Bret was not up by time the 1 o'clock mail came, he was to bring it to him. However it was very rare for Bret not to be up by time the mail man came. Footsteps approached the house, several letters and one postcard came out of the mail slot, and then the footsteps walked away. Coombs quickly gathered the mail in his mouth, his small tail wagging away as he hopped up the stairs to Bret's room.

Normally with his tiny little legs, Coombs could never reach the bed- thankfully Bret always had a small stool for the dog at the side for connivance. He quickly scaled the side of the bed, using the crumpled covers as a bit of a ladder for greater ease. He dropped the letter pile on Bret's back, yipping to get his attention.

Bret grumbled quietly. Sometimes he didn't want to get out of bed, and this had to be one of those times. Ever since his 48th birthday party, getting out of bed in the morning became harder. His knees hurt, his back hurt, and all that medicine he had to take wasn't his idea of fun. But if Coombs was up here, than it had to be 1, and all of the morning was gone.

He reached back to take the mail, reached in to the drawer to give Coombs his treat, and looked to the pile of letters in his hand. "Let's see Coombs, bills, invitations, the plane ticket to Connecticut, and a... naked postcard..."

Coombs whined a little cocking his head to the side as if he understood.

"Well, it's tastefully naked. It's neo classical art. ...Wait, why am I trying to explaining it to you? You can't understand me, buddy." He sighed and then turned the card over.

----

THE DEATH OF HYACINTH: Jean Broc 1801

It just reminded me of you and me.

A Friend.

----

Bret blinked at the back of the card, then turned it around to the front. Two young men, both blonde, both naked, one seemingly dead and smaller than the other cradling him in his arms. There was a small red disk at the bottom of the painting, and a scarf fluttering in the wind wrapped around the taller blonde.

That just didn't make any sense what so ever. Sighing, he sat the card down. Well, it's something to do at least. He got out of bed, scratching the small of his back on his way to his desk top. He flicked on the tower, and waited till his browser loaded before typing in 'Death of Hyacinth' into the search bar. He drummed his fingers on the desk, yawning a little.

332,000 results! Seemed like he'd be here for awhile. After scrolling down though the phone had rang separating him from his internet access. Scowling, he picked up the phone.

"Hello? ...Oh yes, Vince. I forgot that you were going to call-- Yeah, I-I just woke up. ...I know, I know. I can't believe it either. And I did get the ticket. I'm ready to go, and I'll see you by the end of the week to discuss the plans for the DVD. Yes, I am looking forward to it, actually. ...Oh, something else you say? ....I see. I... I am ashamed of that." He murmured paling a little. "Just one thing first before I let you go... Do I need a lawyer? ...Okay. Okay. I see, and thank you. Goodbye, Vince. Right, see you Friday. Bye." His hand shook a little as he let it back down on the receiver, the color from his face completely void of any shade of color.

He ran his hand over his untidy hair, looking to the almost puzzled face of Coombs staring up at him with huge brown eyes. "Daddy's in big, big trouble."

Suddenly finding out how Hyacinth died became less of an important task, and more of something to shove in the back of his mind.

---

It made him sick sometimes, thinking about it , it made him feel like the worst scum of the earth. Less than scum, even. He never met for it to happen, it just... It just happened and he couldn't stop it! He made Bret do it, he made it happen. He said all of those awful things in that dressing room, things that he couldn't block out- that had begun to sting more and more with each passing second.

He threw the first blow. Bret Hart lost his control enough to punch Shawn Michaels right across his fuckin' face. Fists flew between them and nasty words flew too, faster than punches. Bret grabbed him by the upper right section of his honey colored hair and yanked it right out of his skull. Shawn howled loudly covering the section of missing hair with his hand and fell to the ground.

Bret disguised chunk of Shawn's hair, and started pulling off his belt. Shawn would get what he deserved no matter what it took.

He couldn't think of it anymore, otherwise what little he had for breakfast would be all over the floor. That wouldn't be a good thing, considering the closeness of the man sitting next to him on the plane. No need to ruin the man's loafers. Vince had said he didn't need to bring a lawyer, that everything would be okay. They were all going to sit down and talk this out before working on the DVD. Working everything out. After nearly a decade, everything would finally be settled.

More than anything, that would help release the load on his shoulders that he'd been carrying around for so long. He could apologize to Shawn, and set things right- which was the most important thing by far. Granted, Shawn never apologized for his betrayal in the screw job, but that could have been brought on by his overly uncalled for actions. He never did find out if it was planned or... just revenge. Either way, they had a lot to talk about.

He pulled out the postcard of DOH; what he fondly referred to it as. In his little amount of time he had dedicated to finding out the true meaning of the picture, he had come up with Hyacinth being the smaller one, and Apollo being the tall blonde. He wanted to find out more, but he couldn't devote the time to it that he wanted to.

He still couldn't figure out what why some one would send him this particular painting though. He wasn't Greek to his knowledge, and he wasn't a big fan of mythology.

It was all just too strange. Too strange for now, anyway. He didn't want to seem weird by holding a postcard with naked men on it, so he quickly stuffed it back in his bag, and back to the abyss of his memory. Opting for sleep sounded like a much better idea than facing the accusing eyes of the noisy man next to him anyway.

---

The long flight from the western end of Canada to the eastern end of the US always took it's toll on Bret- just like it would when he was a 20 year old man. He hated flying, but the drive was well over 10 hours. He sighed as he started going toward his hotel room, with his bag slung over his shoulder. He was also well aware some of the other superstars giving him either a look of reverence, or a look of pure hatred.

A locker room divided. Over them. This had to stop as soon as possible before someone else got hurt- hopefully Shawn didn't drag anyone else into this that didn't need to know. Though, if the blonde had his way, he'd have told everyone just to get them on his side. He sighed tossing the bag into the room, and instantly gravitated to the bed.

Ahh, hotel beds. He never missed these. Lumpy mattresses, oddly smooth comforter, and itchy bed sheets-- real fun. Just like everything was going to be this weekend... Real fun.

Maybe he should turn off the lights and go to bed. But he should eat. Eating would make him throw up. Trying to sleep would result in wasted efforts. It's funny how something almost ten years ago that shattered his world could be effecting him so badly now. If he had only faced it, maybe it wouldn't have overshadowed his achievements the way it has.

Bret Hart, wrestler.

Bret Hart, writer.

Bret Hart, actor.

...Bret Hart, rapist.

Sure, Shawn was alot of good things. He was also a lot of bad things. But what he did to him, what he FORCED him to do... Pushing him up against the vanity in the dressing room, doing what he wanted to him- At first it didn't seem like Shawn minded. He didn't fight, he even participated. But then...

"No damnit! I don't do that anymore!"

No made it bad. No made it not okay. But he didn't listen. The first time in his life, his body got the best of him. He couldn't stop himself. He couldn't... He was an awful person worthy of the worst death possible. He raped Shawn Michaels.

Bret lurched up quickly, leaving the bed for the toilet like a frat boy after his first keg.

---

God, he hadn't thrown up since the day after he actually did the deed. He even considered turning himself in the day after, but something told him no. He knew Shawn was up to no good, but that didn't give him the right. He peeled himself off the bathroom floor, doused in cold sweat. With shaky legs he brought himself up to look at his face in the mirror.

Lined, wrinkly, old. Frown lines so deep he could run his nail through them. This was killing him. It had to end, and had to end right now. ...Right after a good shower and sanitizing his mouth from the foul taste of bile. Yes, he definitely after getting rid of the bile taste.

~

"Of all the people at my door, I didn't expect to see you here." Shawn murmured staring at the new, older, Bret Hart. He looked like a broken man, one that had spent a good long time suffering inside for what he had done. Well, at least for the past week. Even if Bret had forgot about the incident, which he doubted, it would have eaten away at him bit by bit whether he knew about it or not.

"We need to talk."

"I'm sorry."

Bret blinked at Shawn- surprised to hear the words come so easily out of his mouth rather than his own.

"I'm really, really sorry... Our stupid game got so intense a-and..."

He reached out and grabbed Shawn's wrist. "Please stop apologizing, Shawn. I did something inexcusable. I shouldn't have pushed you, ripped out your hair... I'm sorry. I... I definitely shouldn't have ra-raped you. I lost control, I crossed the line-"

"Stop, Bret. I know. And I forgive you for it, I pushed you to do it."

"No! You stop apologizing right now, Shawn. We were both stupid, both out of control. We're lucky we didn't kill each other."

"Knowing us, that was the next logical step." Shawn gave him a small, discreet smile. "After all these years... Truce?"

A truce. An end to all the fighting, to all the bitterness. Maybe healing can begin here. "Truce." Bret smiled to him, shaking Shawn's hand. "You don't have Hunter waiting in there to attack me, do you?"

He laughed and rolled his eyes. "Of course not. Why don't you come on in, and maybe we can talk about the DVD for a bit. Pick our best matches and segments..."

"Alright-- That sounds like a plan. Maybe we can order a pizza."

"That's my favorite." He grinned shutting the door over as Bret walked on in.

"It doesn't matter what the kind as long as it's pizza- I remember. No matter what awful combination I could think of, you'd say you'd try it."

He looked touched that Bret had remembered something so trivial that the had talked about at least 13 years ago. "You're right." Shawn brushed a few strands of stray hair out of Bret's hair out of his face. "You look a little scraggly. You've even got stubble, and you hate that."

"Funny how we remember some things and not others." Bret rubbed at his face and sighed. It was a little rough, and possibly most of that stubble was more than half gray. "I'm beginning to remember how much fun I had with you. Before the-"

"Politics?"

"Yeah. You'd always know how to end my sentences too. Do you think I can borrow your razor? Now that you mention it... I need to get this off my face."

---

Bret woke up on the couch late the next morning to the soft snores coming from the bed at the end of the room. He was in Shawn's suite- they had made up, called for a truce, ate pizza and talked till 2 in the morning at the very least. Some of it was about the DVD, most of it was about the past. Talking with him helped ease a void that had been there since Owen had died. A part of him that always felt so empty with out his little brother. Shawn and Owen were just about the same age, separated only by months. While the were different, they shared the similarities being outgoing, happy individuals. Though Shawn was certainately more theatrical than his younger brother, he liked picking on Bret every chance he got.

He felt refreshed talking to Shawn-- almost happy. It certainately was a weight off his back. Now, all he had to do was ask about the postcard and he'd be good to go. Obviously it had to be from Shawn. Well, maybe not so obvious, but it was the only explanation he had for receiving such an odd thing. Shawn was trying to play up his guilt so he'd come talk to him. But then again, when he first showed up, Shawn almost seemed eager to apologize when Bret had a whole lot more to be sorry about.

Stirring sounds from the bed broke his train of thought for the moment. "Shawn, you up yet?"

"Rrgh. Yeash. I think so. Ask again later." He moaned and curled up on his side.

"No-- we slept too late as it is. And I have to ask you something. It's really important." Bret said and sat down on the side of the bed. Shawn rolled over to look up at him with sleepy hazy blue eyes.

"Mmph. What?"

Bret reached into his back pocket and took out the postcard from his back pocket. "I got this in the mail the other day. Did you send it?"

Shawn plucked the card from him, looking at the front, then the back, and back to Bret. "Okay. Number 1: I don't know where you live. Number 2: Why would I send you a postcard with naked people on it?"

Simple logic that had never dawned on him, but now that it had, it made perfect sense. Almost embarrassingly so. "...Yeah, you're right."

"The postmark says it's from around this area. But the only person I can think of that lives out this way is Hunter- and he doesn't know where you live either. Well, though he could probably find out real easily being Stephanie's husband. But why would he?"

"... I don't know, Shawn. I haven't even been able to look up the story behind it."

Shawn frowned a little. "Maybe we can look after the DVD meeting."

"You actually want to help me?"

He blushed some and nodded. "Yeah, I do. I liked spending time with you, Bret. I always did. Even when we were fighting... I guess once I found out that you were going to WCW, it felt like you were stabbing us all in the back by jumping ship. I got so mad at you, I didn't care what I did."

Bret pushed the strands of hair out of Shawn's eyes, stroking his bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. "I could tell. But that's all said and done. You gonna get up and get ready or what?"

"Or what?"

"I know where all your ticklish spots are. I've put you in enough holds to hear you trying not to giggle. Like when I put you in the sharpshooter- the backs of your knees are extremely ticklish. If I just brush against them..."

Shawn gasped and pulled the blankets around him. "No! You jerk, don't you even think about it!"

"Go get dressed then!"

The blonde gave a grunt, hoping out of the bed with the blankets wrapped around him as he went. He shut the door to the bathroom over, and the sound of water running soon followed. Bret walked over to the door, tapping on it so Shawn could hear. "Hey, I'm going to get dressed and ready myself. I'll meet you in MacMahon's office, okay?"

He heard a response from beyond the door, but wasn't sure of what it was. It sounded like OK, but he wasn't 100% positive about it. He couldn't wait any longer for Shawn to come back though, Bret had to get ready too. He needed several whacks with a razor, and good long run with a hair brush to tame the tangled mess of auburn hair that came with a night's sleep on a couch.

---

Bret sat down in front Vince's desk, right next to Shawn who was looking far too eager to see him. "There you are- I wanted you to wait for me!"

"Oh come on, you'd have taken an hour."

He pouted at him. "The sad thing is , is that you're probably right."

Vince sighed a little and looked to them with a slightly raised eyebrow. "This was hardly what I was expecting behavior wise from you two. I wouldn't have had extra security on had I known you'd be this civil."

Bret adjusted himself in his seat wishing that Shawn would let go of his hand. "We worked things out last night."

Shawn smiled broadly to Vince and nodded in agreement. "You know I always liked Bret, Vince. An-And how much I wanted to patch things up as soon as possible."

Vince sat back against the high backed chair, looking the two with a very unreadable expression on his face. "Hm. Good then. Now then we have a very busy schedule of planning today- We need to find out a way to portray the screw job tha-"

"We can't make Bret look bad!" Shawn blurted out and lurching forward in his chair. Having a vice like hold on Bret's hand, he was nearly knocked out of his chair from the force. "Ohhh no! Are you okay Bret? I didn't mean to knock you down!"

"Shawn no-- It's okay. Just let me go."

The blonde shrank away like he had just touched a hot pan. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you mad..."

Bret sat back in his chair, adjusting his shirt a little. Well, didn't this feel slightly awkward? "I think the Montreal incident could make or break this dvd- but at the same time it has to be portrayed neutral. It's a very fragile situation here, Vince."

The older man took his time answering him, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "You're right about that."

There was another long, nearly grueling pause between them. It was the most uncomfortable experience Bret had in the past few years. It was as if Vince's eyes bore into his very soul, and were setting it on fire with out warrant. It was nearly frightening to say the very least. "Do you have any ideas, Vince?"

"Not particularly. I'm actually not feeling myself at the moment. I'd appreciate having some time to go over the facts- And I would like a moment alone with Bret to discuss a few things."

Shawn pouted and stood up. "But Vince!"

"Shawn, what did I say?"

"But I don't want to leave! Why can't I listen in too?"

"Shawn, don't be difficult."

He frowned and gave a bit of a huff. "Fine. I'll be outside waiting."

When the blonde had left the room, Vince slowly leaned forward to rest his arms on the desk. He stared at Bret again and put his hand out on the table. "I heard you got strange postcard dealing with some 19th century art. Shawn told me earlier on the phone about it. I know art very well, so maybe I can tell you about it."

Bret reached back into his pocket, handing him the badly folded postcard. Vince looked at the card for a bit before setting it down on the desk. "This is painting based on a Greek myth. It's called the Death of Hyacinth, and there happens to be two different versions of it."

"Please tell me you know what they are."

"You're a lucky man. I do happen to know them both. The taller figure is that of Apollo, and the smaller is Hyacinth, the Spartan prince. In the myth they were lovers, playing a game of discus in a field. That's what the red thing is at their feet. In the first version, their game got deadly competitive. They kept throwing the discus harder and faster until one throw from Apollo strikes Hyacinth in the head as he was trying to catch the errant disk to impress his lover and he dies on impact."

"That's very sad..." Bret said frowning gently.

"Yes, it was an awful accident. The other version was far from that though. The second version brought in Zephyrus, the wind god. He was in love with Hyacinth, and jealous of Apollo. Realizing that he could not have the man, he directed the path of the disk to strike Hyacinth in the head so no one could have him."

"You're right-- that is worse. But some one wrote that it reminded him or her of me. Why would that be?"

Vince shrugged and gave him back the card. "There are alot of freaks out there, Bret. I'd forget about it for now."

---

He should have guessed not too long after Vince's refresher break that he'd cancel their planning session. He did offer to put Bret up for another week no charge at the hotel he was staying at though. He would have liked to have gone home, but that didn't seem the case with this. Vince seemed fit to do it his way, and he really wasn't surprised. Shawn however, DID surprise him. The blonde remained his constant third arm.

"There's a pre season football game on tonight- do you want to watch it in my hotel room with me?"

He wasn't sure of how good this situation was. It was like having a brother with him. One with a definite orientation towards clinging though. "Uh, okay. That sounds good."

"Great, I'll order wings from the pizza joint down the street! ...So where you gonna go now, Bret?"

Yep, exactly like having a little brother. Almost like how Owen was when they were kids. He'd follow him around everywhere, ask him all sorts of questions, and would barely let him have a moment's peace. "I'm going to take a nap, Shawn. You can't be a part of that."

"Oh, I know. I'll just... I'll just start getting ready for tonight then!"

"You do realize that you'll have to let go of my arm though, right?"

Shawn gasped and instantly let go. "I'm sorry!"

"Hey hey- stop apologizing. You haven't done anything wrong." He said firmly, squeezing Shawn’s hand gently.

He gave him a sheepish, almost guilty expression. He shuffled his feet as if he HAD done something wrong and finally gave a nod. "...Okay..."

"Say it, Shawn."

He put his hands behind his back and blushed some. "I didn't do anything wrong."

Bret smiled and grabbed his chin in a teasing manner. "That's what I wanted to hear. I'll see you later?"

"Definitely! Bye Bret!"

Rubbing the spot where Shawn had his vice like hold on his arm to gain feeling in it again, he made his way back to his hotel room. ...It all just seemed so strange. He sighed, taking a seat on the bed.

First the postcard, and then Shawn. The way the man was acting made little to no sense at all. Before the screw job and the his awful deed, Shawn was... well, cocky. Not to the extent that he portrayed himself on TV, but not like the damaged individual he found just yesterday. Was this all his fault? Quite possibly yes. More than possibly, in fact. What he did was a psychologically damaging thing. Maybe that, and Shawn's sordid past finally caught up with him, leaving this broken little shell of a man in it's place. He felt like chewed up gum on someone's shoe, and must feel worse.

It explained almost everything about Shawn. How apologetic he now was, how clingy he was... He was a broken man. He could never get mad at Shawn for attaching himself to him at every second- since he contributed to his behavior. He sighed running his hand over the top of his auburn hair and down to his neck.

He was going to make up for this some how.

---

Flowers were a start. Roses were a better start, but he didn't want Shawn thinking he wanted a romantic relationship with him. That wasn't the case, and it had nothing to do with dislike of Shawn, he just didn't want to have something with a man he might have destroyed emotionally. Well, maybe not yet anyway. He knocked on Shawn's door, surprised to see it swing open- like he had been waiting for Bret's knock.

"Bret! There you are. Oh, flowers!"

Now, Bret being many things, was most of all a man. And he happened to be of the bi persuasion, and always thought that Shawn was at the very least attractive. Right now the heartbreaker was sporting those damn little black shorts, and an old Dallas Cowboys ripped up shirt that showed off a good portion of his midriff. "You look ummm..." Legs. Belly. Banana smuggling shorts. "So cute."

Shawn blushed brightly, and put his hand on Bret's arm. "Do you really think so?"

"Yeah, in fact I know so. If anything, I'd always say at least he's cute."

"You mean that?"

"Of course."

There was a hesitant pause, with Shawn's hold on Bret's forearm becoming more of a slow grip. "I always liked you. Even then... I wo.. would h-have if you just asked..."

Bret paled a little at the sad, teary look in Shawn's eyes. He thought they had talked about this the day before, but this was something that just couldn't go away as if by magic. He'd be paying for this the rest of his life. "Shawn... Shawn, please- I'm so sorry, I wouldn't ever wish what happened to you to anyone, and I know sorrys aren't good enough because a word is just a word. But I promise you..." He grabbed Shawn's hands, rubbing the skin on his hands. "I will spend every chance I get making it up to you."

"I know you mean that because you're that type of man who wouldn't say that and not follow through."

"Will you please let me make it up to you, Shawn? I will spend every day with you if you want me to- What I did was the worst thing I've possibly ever done, and I'll never forgive myself for it."

"I know... because you're that kind of man. They... they don't make them like you any more. Well come on in, the game's going to start." He smiled through his tears, and stepped aside to let Bret in. "I got honey barbeque and medium on the wings. I remember what happened when you last had hot sauce on the-"

"Eb eb eb. We're not talking about that." Bret said quickly stopping Shawn from continuing. No more painful memories for tonight! "Let me pay for the wings, that was sweet of you."

"No, don't be silly. Come on grab some- the pre game show has started."

Bret sighed a little and picked up a plate. He slipped a twenty inside the money part of Shawn's wallet on the table before the blonde could catch him. "Alright alright."

"I bought you some Labatt's too." He said sheepishly looking over at the older man carefully.

"Shawn! You didn't have to go through all this trouble, I know you don't drink! I would have been just as happy with soda--"

"...You're not getting mad at me, are you?"

Bret placed his plate of wings down on the table to reach over and pull Shawn close. "Sh... I'm not mad. I just don't want you to be spending all this money on me; you don't have to."

"I know I don't, and I probably shouldn't- I just like you, Bret. I like you a lot. I think I always will..."

"You shouldn't, after what I did."

"I can't help it." He said looking to me with defeated expression. "Every time I try to forget I remember all the fun we used to have. I want to have so more of them... Those good times I loved so much are the only happy memories I have left. All I've got is Hunter left as a friend."

"Now Shawn, I don't believe that. I know when I left, you had plenty of people wanting to be your friend or bust."

Shawn turned his head away from the older man, letting tendrils of blonde hair fall forward a little, obscuring Bret's view of his face. "Alot of things change over time, Bret. After people f-found out what I ha-had to do and still do they wanted little to do with me."

Bret wanted to know what that meant desperately. But Shawn looked so upset that he didn't want to press any further... "Come here, please." He said tapping his thigh.

He looked a bit confused, but he obeyed. He stood up standing in front of him. Bret placed his hands on his hips, turning him around, and pulled him down on the couch between his legs. His strong arms wrapped tight around him, kissing him on the cheek. "It's going to be alright. Don't you worry about this kind of thing anymore."

"You're going to take of me?"

"Any way I can." Since it was mostly his fault that Shawn was this way. He felt Shawn's body sag against him, his face pressing into the side of his neck. Warm tears trickled down the muscles in his neck coming from Shawn's tear strained eyes.

"From you, I believe it."

"You put me on too high of a pedestal. I'm no where near the man you think I am." He whispered rubbing his chest a little.

"You can't tell me something like that because I wouldn't believe you if tried to show me."

Bret sighed resting his chin on his shoulder. "You know, the wings are going to get cold."

"Are you trying to change the subject off of you?"

"It's not my favorite subject."

Shawn sighed and finally gave up. "Okay okay. But you're right- the wings are getting cold."

---

Bret woke up the next morning with Shawn wrapped up tight around him on a cramped hotel couch. The rest of the night went well... they had the wings, they watched the game, they teased each other, they went to bed on the couch. The poor kid... He was an emotional mess. Bret was going to fix this though; come hell or high water he would.

Shawn grunted a little as Bret left and took his warmth with him. He didn't go far; just to see if he got any calls after he had turned off his cell phone. The phone vibrated like usual as he turned it on, the display screen showing that he had missed one call at around 8 last night. He was watching the game with Shawn at the time, so that made sense. He dialed his voice mail number and waited.

"Bret, this is Vince. I'd like to see you in my office at 10 am alone to discuss some of your stampede matches, and your early WWF ones. I hope you get this before it's too late."

Yikes- it was just about 10 now. He reached over the top of the couch to shake Shawn awake. "I gotta go see Vince, Shawn. I'll be back in a bit alright?"

The blonde gave him a sleepy look, yawned and then sat up. "Wha..? You're going where...?"

Damn, Shawn was cute in the morning. "Just to see Vince. It'll probably take an hour, given his love of cutting meetings short. I'll see you later, okay?" He said planting a kiss on Shawn's cheek.

"W-Wait!"

"He said he wanted to see me alone, and I don't want to bore you. It's mostly about my stampede career and some early WWF footage- nothing too interesting. I'll bring back bagels!"

And with that, Bret walked out the door before Shawn could get another word in.

---

At just about 5 to 10 Bret came in wearing slightly ruffled clothing- he was sure he had something on backward too. He didn't want to come in looking like he spent the night in his clothes- which was exactly what he did. "Good morning, Vince." He said sitting down in the chair across from the desk.

"Good morning. Shall we get started?"

"Mmhmm. I'm ready- I've got some stampede footage with me."

"That's good- but I think we need to touch on some old business first."

Bret shrugged and relaxed a little. Just like Vince- he always liked to wrap things up as quickly as possible. "Okay."

"You spent the night at Shawn's hotel room last night."

He looked a bit startled at Vince's knowledge of that, but gave a shrug. "Yeah, I did. ...How do you know?"

"I called him, like I always do."

Bret blinked a little. That was a little odd. "Oh- I um... I see."

"And about your postcard."

The sudden topic switch nearly made his brain swim. "Ye-Yeah? What about it?"

"Have you given the story any thought?"

He gulped and shook his head. "N-Not really."

"Well then, I see. You must have been too busy fucking Shawn."

"NO! I didn't touch him like that, I swear it!"

"Dammit Hart! You never knew when it quit did you?! You're playing in the wrong man's garden!" Vince's eyes burned with an almost irrational hatred in them.

Shawn's secret. The thing that made him hated in the locker room- he was having sex with the boss. No one could tell if it was Shawn's ability, or his close contact with Vince that got him to the top. He gave so many people hope- hell Bret had squandered for 16 years before the championship could come his way... Shawn waited, but not nearly as long. In fact, it was unprecedented that he sky rocked so fast in 1995 that he got the title already. "Oh my god."

"He always loved you! Always! He'd never stop talking about you... Bret, Bret, Bret... All the time! Do you know how aggravating it is when your lover is thinking of someone else other than you?!"

"I... I..."

"For years I had him, and all he could talk about was you... And do you know what you had to go and do during all that hero worship he had for you?"

"I.. I raped him..."

Vince stood up to his full height, puffing out his impressive chest. "You killed him inside. He's no longer than man he is. Do you want to know why you were sent that postcard?"

Bret could only nod along, chewing on his bottom lip as he watched Vince.

"It's because you killed him. You took him away from me, like Zephyrus did to Apollo. You killed him, you killed Hyacinth."

Bret's eyes widened to an impressive degree. He grabbed his hair in his fists in frustration and anxiety. "You sent me it- stop. Stop it, Vince. I don't want to do this... I'm fixing it. Shawn's okay with it. He's not mad at me, I'm going to help him... I.. I promised I'd help him..." He babbled listening to Vince's footsteps walking around the room half heartedly. However that all changed when he heard the sound of a gun hammer being cocked. ".....Vince...."

"I'm going to get rid of you, Bret."

"They're going to arrest you for it."

"I think you're forgetting something."

The cold steel of a hand gun pressed against the side of his temple. His mouth was so dry, his heart leapt into his chest. He could almost taste the beat of it. "Wh... What's that?"

"I'm Vince MacMahon."

The oak office door opened with such force and surprise Vince almost shot Bret from shock.

"No Vince, don't!" Shawn pleaded with tears streaming down his face. "I love him! He said he'd take care of me! That's all I ever wanted, please!"

"Get out of here, Shawn. This isn't for you. And I take care of you! No one else!" He said pointing to the door.

"I love him." He said firmly.

Even though the cold metal was pressed to his head was no longer there, he barely wanted to turn his head. That is, until the scuffle ensued.

"Let go god damnit!!"

"Don't shoot him, I love him!"

"LET GO!"

The sound from it tore through the air, exploding in Bret's ears. He froze, thinking for just a brief second that it might be him... But that quickly vanished when he saw the two bodies in front of him frozen.

Shawn finally slid down from Vince's body, as if in slow, painful motion. He crumpled to his knees finally against the floor, toppling to the side in a pile of immobile limbs.

"I... I..."

"You shot him..." Bret murmured though it felt like his words just flowed out with out moving his lips. "You killed him."

Vince wordlessly moved the gun up to his head.

"Vince no wait don't!"

"There's nothing left."

---

One ambulance. One body bag. One body. One hospital bed for Shawn. He got shot through the shoulder, and would be out for quite some time.

"Guess this is my chance to really take care of you." Bret said quietly. "You save me."

Shawn smiled, taking his hand. "Of course..." Shawn murmured. "Though... I think you're... you're gonna be mad at me though."

"Why... What did you do?"

"I lied about the post card. I.. I sent it to you. I knew the story... I asked Vince for your address so I could send it to you."

"Wh... Wha...?"

"I always thought of us as Apollo and Hyacinth. I thought you might look it up and draw the connection. It was all my fault for killing your WWE career with the screw job, leaving that stupid mark on all your accomplishments. Our game of trying to out do and impress each other ended up in such tragedy, it really fit... That, and you're shorter than me. Like Hyacinth was shorter than Apollo."

"...You had to bring that up, huh?"

"Always, Bret. Always. ...Are you mad?"

"No, Shawn- I'm not mad. Just a little hungry... I'm going to snag something from the hospital cafeteria while they change your bandages."

"Okay." He smiled as Bret kissed him on the top of the head.

Bret left the room for a bench down the hall. He took the postcard out of his pocket, and looked at it. "One little omen." He muttered and ripped up the postcard. "Goodbye... Good riddance." He threw the scraps of it in the waste basket, and went on his way to the cafeteria.

He'd better eat enough though, he was going to have a lot of promises to fulfill waiting for him in that hospital room.

FIN
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The Death of Hyacinth