Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing. If I did, the WWE would turn into a weekly episodic program very similar in nature to the Magic Mike movie, but with less storyline and more striping.

This was the story that was running through my mind toward the end of Ghost of You, but I've been so busy this summer, I'm just now starting it. One thing I want to let you guys know: I have done some research for this story, but I found that it was a massive undertaking and I didn't have the time. Some aspects of this story are going to be technically incorrect. If this bothers you, than please don't read this fic or don't feel that you need to let me know about the incorrect technical aspects, because I already do. Remember that this is a work of fiction and I don't do this for a living; I'm a busy college student!

HeartDeNijs

"Answer your phone, dumbass!" Liz Cena anxiously bit her thumb nail as she waited for him to answer his phone. She sighed in relief when there came a "Hello" from the other end of the line, but that relief was quickly replaced with rage.

"What took you so fucking long to answer your phone, dumbass?" Liz all but screamed into the phone.

"I was working on putting our plan into action. These things take time. You need to trust me to get the job done." The man's voice had an annoyed edge to it.

"Trust you? Really? This is the third time that you have tried to kill that philandering little bastard. They say that the third time is the charm, but you should understand if I have my doubts. Do you realize how important it is that he dies? If he is able to divorce me, I'm going to be out on my ass without a single penny and do you know what that means? You won't get paid. We have to kill him before he changes his will so I can live in luxury for the rest of my life!" Liz panted in excited anger.

"Yea, I know. He's a hard bastard to kill, but I have a good feeling about this time."

Liz narrowed her eyes and then sat down in a chair next to her pool. "And why is that? What is your plan?"

"John has a Make-A-Wish event today, so he can't take the plane to Japan with the rest of the roster, so WWE has chartered him another flight. I've seen the plane and I almost mistook it for a pack of gum. This thing looks like a death trap. All I have to do is mess with a few things to ensure it goes down somewhere in the Pacific and no one will question why."

Liz's eyebrows rose for a moment before going back down. She thought over his plan for a few moments and came to the conclusion that it was brilliant. "How are you going to make sure the plane goes down?"

"Well, I've poisoned both the pilot and co-pilot with a poison that won't kill them until they're in the middle of the ocean. I've also messed with the plane's little black box, so all I have to do is press a button from here and then it will explode. They'll never be able to find John's sorry ass without that data."

Cackling to herself, Liz smiled an evil, twisted smile. "You are so brilliant, but make sure you get the job done, understand?"

"Yea, I understand. You just sit back and practice that fake cry of yours because you are going to need it." With that, the man hung up on Liz, so she ended the call on her end and placed the phone on the end table beside her. She glanced up at the sky and smiled. John was going to pay for filing for divorce, more than he ever thought he would.

People often asked him if fulfilling these wishes ever depressed him. John could understand why they asked such a question because the Make-A-Wish kids were most of the time suffering from life-threatening illnesses. To John, fulfilling wishes was probably the best thing about being a WWE superstar. There was nothing that could uplift his mood more than making a child's life better and making them forget about their troubles if only for a few minutes.

Noticing that the SUV he had been riding in had just arrived at the airport, John moved to collect his shoulder bag before opening the door. The driver already had the trunk open and was working on getting his luggage out. John went over and helped him, which seemed to shock the poor man a great deal.

"Hey, thanks for driving me around today. You were a very good driver." John tipped his baseball hat at the driver and flashed him a dimpled smile before turning and walking into the airport.

The airport wasn't as busy as it could have been since it was getting into the late night hours, but John liked it that way. He loved his fans, but sometimes it was nice just to be able to get checked in and through security without being surrounded by fans wanting pictures and autographs. He needed time to breathe sometimes.

He checked in and was through security in no time. All he had to do now was find his gate and then he could catch a few minutes of sleep before having to board the plane. After about ten minutes, finding his gate was proving to be a bit of a problem. After being with the WWE for ten years, he was familiar with most of the airports in the country and some abroad, but he was having issues finding this gate. Tried and frustrated, John decided that he could part with his man card and stopped to ask an airport employee for directions.

The woman looked confused for a moment and thought for an even longer moment before realization dawned on her face. "It's been a while since I've seen anyone sent to this gate, if it can even be called that. I'm not even going to try and describe how to get there, so please follow me." John was a little unsettled by this statement. How were they sending him to Japan, by pigeon?

John silently followed after the woman and after going down many flights of stairs and twisting corridors, John honestly wondered if she was taking him to Narnia. He was proven wrong, though, when she stopped in front of a rickety looking door that had his gate number sloppily painted on it. "Good luck and have a nice flight." was all the woman said to him before leaving.

Staring at the door for a few moments, John wondered if she had somehow made a mistake. This door looked like it led to a broom closet, not a waiting area to board a flight. Gathering his courage John opened the door and surveyed what was inside. It was honestly about the size of a broom closet but had another door opposite the one John had just opened. From the window at the top of that door, John saw that it lead straight onto the tarmac. Looking around the small room, John took in the two small benches that were on opposite walls. One was occupied by a man with a scruffy beard, a dirty, torn Cubs baseball cap, and Beats headphones covering his ears. CM Punk.

John stood silently in the doorway, not moving a muscle. Everyone on the roster knew not to put him and Punk in the same closed space together unless they wanted world war three. Punk HATED John Cena with the passion of a thousand suns and took every opportunity that was afforded him to let John know that fact. Not one to take being treated as such, John would retort back, thus starting an argument of epic proportions.

There was one thing that no one on the roster knew, however. John Cena wanted Punk. Not his blood, not his painful death, but all of him; his luscious body, intelligent mind, and barbed personality. Some might call John's feelings pure masochism, but he thought of it as infatuation.

One of the reasons, a very small reason, why he had filed for divorce from Liz was Punk. He knew he would never have a chance with Punk, but his obsession distracted him and had harmed his marriage. It wasn't fair to Liz to have her husband be lusting and pining after someone else, especially another man. Liz didn't know about his feelings toward Punk, but she had often accused him of having someone on the side. He wished.

John was pulled from his thoughts when Punk looked up from his comic book. At first, his expression was shocked, but then his extreme dislike took over and he leveled a scathing look at John. "What the hell are you doing here?" Punk all but growled at John.

If someone could spontaneously combust from a look, John felt like he would be engulfed in flames at this moment. "This is my flight. What the hell are you doing here?" John dropped his bags in front of the other bench and then sat down.

Punk narrowed his eyes and his lip curled in an ugly sneer. "Wonderful. I have to deal with your sunny personality for 12 fucking hours. They fucking over sold the plane and the businessman who had also bought my seat got here before me. So, they stuck me on this flight."

"Gotta love airlines these days." John said absently as he moved his baseball cap lower on his forehead to hide his smile. Maybe he was a glutton for punishment, but he relished the few moments that he could have with Punk alone, even if it meant being insulted the entire time.

All conversation halted at that point and the two men sat in silence. Punk continued to read his comic book and John messed with his phone. The room was completely silent except for the almost silent breaths of the two men. Not use to such silence, John began to fidget and became anxious.

Breaking the silence, John asked, "So what are you reading?"

Punk looked up at John with an annoyed look on his face. "Don't even try to make small talk, Cena. You just sit there like a good little boy scout and be quiet." Punk turned his attention back to his comic book.

'Well, I got told, didn't I?' John thought to himself. He had never understood why Punk hated him so much. He had always been nice and cordial with Punk when they had first met and then Punk had seemed to develop a deep hatred for him. Their relationship, if one could even refer to it as such, had deteriorated from there. What had he ever done that was so bad to Punk?

"Why do you hate me so much?" John couldn't keep the question from spilling from his lips. From the speed with which Punk snapped his head up to his surprised expression, John could tell that he had caught Punk off-guard.

Punk stared at John for a few seconds before he opened his mouth to reply. He was interrupted before any words could come out of his mouth, however. A man wearing a captain's uniform opened the door that lead onto the tarmac. "Hey, we're ready for you guys to board if you'll follow me please."

Both John and Punk gathered their things and followed the man. 'Punk may have gotten out of answering my question this time, but he'll have to answer eventually.' John thought to himself as he walked out of the little room. Punk was walking in front of him and John couldn't help but check him out from behind. He wasn't given many opportunities to do so and he wasn't passing this one up.

Punk was wearing his usual loose fitting jeans that made his ass look nonexistent, but John knew it was there. Punk's ring gear made sure that he was well aware of how perky and round and luscious Punk's ass was. There were many times in the last year that John had to sit on his hands while Punk was in grabbing distance to keep him for copping a feel. He honestly didn't understand why a man that made as much as Punk did, still wore jeans that looked he had bought them in high school. John supposed that it was beneficial to his sanity that Punk did wear those old jeans.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me." Punk's voice pulled John's attention from his ass to the sight that was in front of him. Upon taking in the "plane" in front of him, John had to reiterate Punk's statement. They were sending them to Japan by pigeon after all.

The plane was a jet, but it was very small. John quickly counted how many windows it had and he only counted 10. How in the hell was this plane going to be able to make a 12 hour flight. It looked like it only had a 2 to 3 hour range. "Umm, there must be some mistake. We're supposed to be flying to Japan." John said to the captain.

Not missing a beat, the pilot explained. "This is a global private jet, meaning it is a very small aircraft, but it has a large enough range to fly to Japan or Europe from the United States." With that, the pilot took both John and Punk's bags and placed them in a small compartment underneath the plane. "You can board now. We'll be leaving shortly. The co-pilot and I have to finish some last minute checks and then we'll be on our way. The flight attendant was not able to make this flight, but help yourselves to any beverages and snacks." The pilot dashed up the few stairs that lead into the plane and disappeared into the cockpit.

John looked over at Punk, who looked over at him and from the look on his face; John could tell that the pilot had convinced Punk of the range of the aircraft about as much as he had John. Not at all.

Both men hesitated for a moment before John moved to board the plane. His logic was that the WWE wouldn't put their two biggest moneymakers on a plane that wasn't safe and they had never put him in harm's way before. Punk seemed to come to the same conclusion when he followed John onto the plane.

The plane looked even smaller from the inside. There was a small kitchenette area where John assumed the aforementioned beverages and snacks were. The plane looked like it could comfortably sit 10 people and uncomfortably 15. The chairs were large, nicely padded, and covered tan leather. John sat down in one of the seats at the front so he had room to spread out, but Punk moved past him and sat at the very back of the plane. 'Typical' John thought to himself.

John watched out of the corner of his eye as Punk settled down into his seat and placed his headphones on his head. If John listened hard enough, he could hear the faintest sound of heavy metal music. Punk put his seat back and then returned to his comic.

John waited until after takeoff to get as comfortable as Punk. The takeoff itself went surprisingly smooth which helped to assuage John's lingering distrust of the plane's ability to fly.

John settled into the flight about a half an hour into it and began to feel sleepy. Not seeing any reason why he shouldn't pass the 12 hours it took to fly to Japan by sleeping, John closed his eyes and quickly dosed off.

About six hours later, John was awakened by the sound of violent retching. Startled, John looked behind him and saw that the co-pilot was bent over the small kitchenette sink vomiting. John quickly stood up and went over to him to try and help or do something for the poor guy. John only had time to touch his shoulder before the man collapsed as his feet and started convulsing.

"Oh my God! Shit!" John said in total shock. He had no idea what the hell he was supposed to do. Sure, he had his degree in exercise physiology, but that did nothing to prepare him for this situation. He needed help.

"Punk, get your ass over here!" John thundered at Punk. He made sure that he was loud enough so that Punk could hear him over his music. John heard a couple of loud stomps before he looked up into Punk's red-rimmed eyes. He must have been asleep, too.

"What the fuck do… Oh Shit! What the hell is wrong with him?" Punk said as he looked down at the co-pilot, who was now foaming at the mouth.

"I don't know. Help me get him into a chair." Both men hauled the co-pilot off the floor and into a chair that was across the aisle from John's seat. John looked over at Punk, who had a very concerned look on his face.

Punk turned his head and looked John in the eye, "I'm going to go check on the pilot and see if I can find out what's wrong with him. He's needs medical attention soon, so I hope there's someplace close were we can land." Punk left John with the sick, probably dying co-pilot.

Meer seconds later, John heard Punk scream, "Oh fuck!" from the cockpit. John left the co-pilot, there wasn't anything he could do for him, and ran into the cockpit. What he saw made liquid terror run down his spine. The pilot was already dead and it looked like he had died the same way the co-pilot was. He and Punk were on a tiny plane in the middle of the Pacific Ocean without anyone to fly said plane. How could this get any worse?

The fates seemed to have heard John's thoughts because at that moment, an explosion went off toward the back of the plane. This caused the aircraft to violently tumble in the air. The plane started to nose dive because the autopilot had shut off or was broken by the explosion.

Acting quickly, Punk grabbed the controls and pulled up hard. The aircraft protested before righting itself. John sighed in relief that emanate death had been temporarily averted. Punk turned to John with a terrified look on his face, "Go check on the co-pilot and I'll call for help." John turned and did as he was told.

The co-pilot was already dead when John checked on him. They were so fucked. Going back into the cockpit, John saw Punk throw the radio headset away from him. Looking John in the eye Punk said, "We don't have any form of communication left. The explosion must have taken it out and I'm losing power in both engines. We're not going to stay up for long. You best strap in a brace yourself.

Before John even had a chance to react, there was another explosion, which sent the plane into barrel rolls. John was knocked to the floor behind the chair Punk was sitting in. He had hit his head on the way down and the last image he had before blacking out was Punk struggling to regain control of the aircraft. John had never seen him so afraid before. His eyes were wide and he was gritting his teeth. John's last thought was that he wished he could make all his fears go away.

The first thing John noticed when he came to was that he was wet. The sun was also bright behind his eye lids and it made his head hurt even worse. Did he get drunk last night? John opened his eyes and as soon as he saw his surroundings, it all came back to him.

The place had crashed, that was obvious, but how had he survived? John noticed that the water was tinged pink around him. Placing two fingers on the spot on his head that hurt the most, John pulled them away and saw that there was blood on them, but not enough to make the water pink.

Punk. Where was Punk? John thought to himself. John had come to facing the passenger area of the aircraft, so he had to turn his body in order to see the rest of the cockpit. Punk was in the seat John had last saw him and his eyes weren't open. Jumping to his feet, John rushed over to Punk to check and see if he was still alive. John's knees almost gave out from powerful relief when he felt Punk's carotid artery pulse beneath his fingers. John sent up a silent prayer, grateful that Punk was still with him.

John checked Punk over and that's when he noticed the source of all the blood. Punk had a huge gash on his left side that went diagonally from his bellybutton, across his left hip, and down to the middle of his outer thigh. "Shit," John said before taking off his shirt and pressing it to the wound. He heard Punk moan in pain at the pressure. John knew that Punk had already lost a lot of blood from the look of the water around them and he was losing more.

He knew that if he couldn't stop the bleeding, Punk wouldn't survive. "Don't you fucking die on me, Punk! I know you hate being around me, but I need you." John dissolved into tears as he applied more pressure to Punk's wound.

I know you probably hate me right now for leaving you on a bit of a cliffhanger, but please review and tell me what you think. Is this a good idea or not? Try to stay cool!

HeartDeNijs