Disclaimer: I don't own anyone.
Rated: M
Warning(s): Slash, Domestic Violence, Unhealthy Relationships, etc.
Dedication: ScarredTissue

It had been twenty-four hours since Brock had been put behind bars, and Hunter had already arrived to bail him out. He couldn't hide the way his hands trembled as he handed over the money - the woman offered him a sympathetic smile, which did nothing to soothe the aching knot in his stomach.

How could she ever hope to understand what he was going through? He felt nauseous at the idea of seeing Brock on the other side of those bars, but... He knew that things were bound to be infinitely worse if he didn't do this. Brock would already be upset that it had taken twenty four hours for him to fill out the appropriate paperwork and withdraw the inordinate amount of money that the judge was asking for. He didn't need to make things any worse by postponing the inevitable.

An officer - a kindly, older gentleman with a pot belly and crow's feet beside his light blue eyes - led him over to the cell where Brock was being kept. The monstrous man was sitting on a bench, his head in his hands and his eyes glowering holes into the concrete floor. At the sound of the jailer's keys rattling, he looked up. For a minute, something like excitement flashed across his face. And then a dark look came over his face and he slowly, calculatingly, rose to his feet.

"Well, look who decided to finally show up." Brock hissed. He came as close to the bars as he dared, wrapping his fingers around the cool metal and squeezing until his knuckles turned white. "Took you long enough. Were you waiting to see if I would rot in this fucking hell hole?"

Hunter swallowed hard, "I came as soon as I could. You can't just walk into a bank and ask to withdraw fifty-thousand dollars without -,"

Brock narrowed his eyes at the older man, "If you really loved me, you would've found a way to spring me from this hell hole sooner. I think you wanted to keep me here." His lips curled into an ugly snarl, "Why don't you love me, Hunter?"

That knot in his stomach seemed to snap as Brock's words washed over him. "I do love you. Why the hell else would I withdraw that much money to bail you out of jail? Need I remind you that the reason you're here is because you threatened my ex-wife and dislocated my shoulder?"

"Hunter, sweetie, you know that I didn't mean to hurt you... And I'd never put my hands on a woman." Brock's voice was sickly sweet.

"No, I know that." Brock wouldn't dare to put his hands on Stephanie - if the potential legal fallout wasn't enough to make him back down, then the damage it would do to his career certainly was. "Let's not talk about it anymore, okay? Let's just go home."

There was a certainly finality in the way that the cell door rattled as the officer opened it, taking hold of Brock's cuffed hands and dragging him out into the common area. The door slammed closed on the other three inmates that Brock had bunked with overnight. And then, grabbing the keys from the ring at his hip, he unlocked the cuffs around Brock's wrists. The blond fighter immediately began to massage his wrists, correcting the circulation.

Hunter's eyes never left the younger man's hands. The hands that had caused him so much pain in the last few months... That would undoubtedly cause him more as soon as they were out of range of the officer's watchful eye. "Remember to report to your court mandated anger management meeting tomorrow, Mr. Lesnar."

"Yeah." Brock scoffed, looking totally put-off by the idea. "I'll show that judge where he can shove his 'court mandated' -,"

The officer narrowed his eyes at the former inmate, "I suggest that you watch your mouth, young man. You're walking a thin line here."

Brock straightened to his full height - although it was only a few inches taller than the officer, somehow it made him infinitely more intimidating. Hunter had to give the man props, however. He didn't back down. "You think I'm afraid of an old geezer like you?"

"Brock -," Hunter was about to intercede, not wanting Brock to have assaulting an officer thrown onto his ever-growing list of charges.

Brock whirled around and smacked him so hard across the face, he could taste the coppery tang of blood in his mouth. The officer's eyes widened, and he made to intervene before things escalated - "Who the hell was talking to you, bitch?"

Hunter swallowed hard, attempting to overcome the shock of what had just happened. The officer grabbed Brock's arm and was about to manhandle him back into the handcuffs, when Hunter spoke up once again, "It's okay, officer. He didn't mean it. His hand just slipped -,"

He spat out a mouthful of blood, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. "You need to have that looked at, sonny. Your cheek is swollen to the size of a grapefruit."

But Brock wasn't about to hear anymore of this conversation, "We're leaving. Now."

Brock grabbed hold of Hunter's wrist hard enough to bruise, and dragged him out of the jail. Hunter allowed himself to be dragged, not wanting to cause anymore of a scene than they already had. Honestly, he just wanted to go home and go to bed. The last forty-five minutes had been positively exhausting and he was just done. He was scarcely able to pull himself from his stupor long enough to grab the keys from his pocket and unlock the car.

As soon as the door was unlocked, Brock shoved him into the passenger seat and got behind the wheel. The scent of burning rubber filled the car as they sped off, tires squealing against the asphalt. The majority of the ride was spent in silence, with Hunter staring at his hands and trying not to further aggravate his lover. The last thing he needed was for Brock to lose his shit and ram them both into a tree.

He didn't think he'd ever end up in this position - he'd divorced Stephanie for what he'd thought was the love of his life, only to find himself trapped in a one-sided, heavily abusive relationship. It was hard, because he'd told himself that he should be able to defend himself against the blows. He should fight back. What kind of man couldn't (or wouldn't) even defend himself in the face of such blatant abuse? Sometimes, he didn't think of himself as much of a man at all.

This was quickly turning out to be one of those days.

"What the fuck was that at the jailhouse, huh?" Brock had backhanded him so hard that he knocked him over. Hunter landed hard on his injured shoulder, and let out a soft huff of pain. "I don't need my bitch to fight my battles for me! Next time you need to mind your own fucking business!"

Hunter slowly rolled onto his side, inching upward until he was in an upright position. He rubbed his cheek - it really was swollen to the size of a grapefruit. "It was never my intention to embarass you... I just didn't want that officer to throw you behind bars again."

His fist connected with Hunter's throbbing cheek again, and tiny black dots spread across the COO's vision. "Did I fucking tell you that you could speak?"

"I'm sorry..." Hunter mumbled. He wiped the blood away from his mouth, wisely choosing to keep himself low to the ground in case Brock continued his assault.

"Shut. Up." Each word was punctuated by a kick to Hunter's now prone body. His body lurched each time one of those heavy boots made contact with his body. "Shut up. Shut up! Shut up!" Finally, he kicked him in the side of the head, and Hunter's neck snapped to the side violently before it all went black.

He didn't know how long he was unconscious. It couldn't have been very long, because it was still light out... but he'd moved from the floor into the bed, and someone had taken the time to change him out of his suit and tie and into a pair of loose fitting pajama bottoms and a plain white t-shirt. He blinked a few times, letting the room come back into focus. It was then that he realized that he wasn't alone.

Brock was sitting at the foot of the bed, and it looked as if he was massaging one of Hunter's bruised legs. So he must be coming down from his bloodthirsty high, then. It was not uncommon for him to go on a rampage, beating the life out of Hunter until he either lost consciousness or Brock lost interest. Then, by the time he came around, Brock would be apologetic - he'd never come right out and say it, but Hunter knew that he meant it all the same.

"How're you feeling?" He asked. Hunter didn't know when the other had realized that he was awake, but he knew better than to keep him waiting for an answer.

"I'm okay. Or I will be, at least." There was no use lying - he knew how badly he'd beaten him. "How long was I out?" Normally, he'd wait a little bit longer before he went asking questions. But his head felt like someone was taking a jackhammer to his skull, and he just wanted answers.

Brock was silent for a moment, and Hunter worried that he'd pushed too hard, too fast. Finally, he mumbled, "Fifteen or twenty minutes. Not too bad, this time."

Suddenly, Brock was on his feet. He came around to the side of the bed and shoved a Dixie cup full of lukewarm water into Hunter's hand, as well as two small, ovular white pills. Hunter took them without complaint, "Thanks."

"Yeah, whatever." An awkard silence came over them, before Brock rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "And thanks... y'know, for bailing me out."

Hunter shrugged, before wincing when the movement aggravated his still-throbbing shoulder. "What else are partners for?"

"Yeah. Partners. Right." Brock was clearly at a loss for words, which was fine by Hunter. Every time that the younger man spoke, his words bounced around in Hunter's head like a ping-pong ball. "Listen, about earlier. Y'know I would never... well... You don't need to be... Jesus Christ, this is fucking difficult."

Hunter already knew what he was trying to say, and so it wasn't difficult to tune him out. No matter how many ways he tried to say that he hadn't meant to do what he'd done - nothing would change the fact that he'd done it. He'd put his hands on Hunter in a way that the older man didn't appreciate and he'd hurt him. He'd done lasting physical and psychological damage that Hunter wasn't sure he'd ever be able to fully recover from. No amount of 'I'm sorries' would every truly atone.

WWE's COO would not offer his partner forgiveness. He didn't think that that was what Brock was truly seeking, anyhow. But he would not lay there and tell him that what he'd done was okay. So instead, he set the now empty cup on the beside table and swallowed down his medicine, before patting the bed beside him. Brock fell silent - the gesture seemed to have him at a loss for words. Finally, he came around to his side of the bed and sat down.

A moment later, and both men were lying awkwardly next to one another. An entire state could have fit in the space between their two bodies. "Good night, Brock." This was the only consolation that Hunter would offer him, before his eyes slipped closed and he allowed himself to drift off into sleep.

"Good night, Hunter."

A/n: Forgive me! I just realized that I still had unfinished prompts waiting to be finished. So I know that this is super late, and really rather depressing, but here's the latest installment in the series!

I hope that you all will still continue to leave prompts, and I will do my best to not let three years pass before filling them XD Thanks for reading!