Title: I'm Moving On
Type: Songfic
Features: Stone Cold
Timeline: Approximately one year after Stone Cold left WWE.
Rating: PG-13 for some language
Disclaimer: I own nothing and no one. Characters belong to WWE, song belongs to Rascal Flatts. I make no money, you don't sue. If you feel you have to sue, prepare to be laughed out of court. Feedback is always welcome but if you flame me I'll just toast some marshmallows and put 'em in your shoes.
Summary: Stone Cold reflects.
A/N: Yes I know, another songfic. I have been inspired lately by listening to the radio. I thought the contrast of such a sweet song and the tough Texas Rattlesnake made for a interesting combination. Read on, hope you like it!
Steve sat alone on the top of the picnic table in the backyard, his booted feet resting on the seat. An opened can of Budweiser sat warming beside him, the twilight sky deepening from brilliant blue washed with red and gold to gray and purple, and finally to black. He often came out here after dinner to think. He scoffed at the idea of meditation - damn New Age freaks messing with your head - but he had come to look forward to this quiet hour or two of peace and solitude.
This past year had seen many changes in his life and for the first time in many years he had started to feel like a normal person again. He had started to feel like Steve Williams again instead of "Stone Cold" Steve Austin. Walking out on Vince McMahon and the WWE was both the best and the worst decision he had ever made.
It was the worst because, really, when you get down to it, it's just stupid to walk out on a job without notice. Everybody else has to pick up the slack, and in his case, his decision affected more people than his just his co-workers. Steve had always been one of the hardest-working men in the business. You could always count on Stone Cold to get the job done. He had no respect for the guys who felt like the world owed them something or acted like they were too good to earn an honest day's pay. It cheated the fans and that was one thing that still burned in his gut about what he had done. If nothing else, Steve knew that it was the fans that kept Vince on top—even if the man himself had forgotten. But hey, burning bridges was something Steve could definitely qualify as an expert on, so who was he to judge?
Tonight his quiet evening had been interrupted a bit—their closest neighbors were having a barbecue and someone had brought a boombox outside and turned up the volume on the music. They lived about a quarter mile away so it wasn't intrusive, but in the cool evening the sound traveled and the opening bars of a song he had never heard reached his ears.
I've dealt with my ghosts and faced all my demons
Finally content with a past I regret
I've found you find strength in your moments of weakness
For once I'm at peace with myself
I've been burdened with blame, trapped in the past for too long
I'm movin' on
Steve picked up his beer to take a swallow, but the can never made it to his lips as the words of the song washed over him. He absently placed the can back on the table, his face still tilted towards the night sky. He rubbed his hand over his face and looked at it in surprise, shocked to find wetness on his palm.
I've lived in this place and I know all the faces
Each one is different but they're always the same
They mean me no harm but it's time that I face it
They'll never allow me to change
But I never dreamed home would end up where I don't belong
I'm movin' on
Debra had tried to understand and be supportive, but he had been unable to tell her what was going on in his mind. He was considered articulate, perhaps surprisingly so considering his chosen vocation but the words to express the emotions roiling inside him just wouldn't come. She had grown used to the lifestyle that performing gave them and when the glamour was gone, so was she.
Wrestling had been his life for so long that the transition to private life was hard at first. Steve was a performer at heart and to not be on the road, in front of the crowds, in front of the cameras left a gaping hole in the very fabric of his soul. For a long while he wasn't very pleasant to be around (how's that for the understatement of the year?). He had to re-learn how to live at a pace the rest of the world was familiar with. Once people had stopped asking him why he quit wrestling, it got easier though. That hole was mending up quite nicely now as he got to know his family once again.
He had missed so much of his kids' lives that it was a shock to find that he really didn't know them at all. He didn't intend to miss out on any more. Besides, he had a grandson to spoil. Yeah, wasn't that a kick in the ass – Stone Cold as a grandpa. What would have believed that a three year old boy could twist the Bionic Redneck so firmly around his little finger? Will was his pride and joy, the apple of his eye—all those other stupid clichés that he was sure would never apply to him. He had even worn one of those "I'm a grampa" t-shirts to take Will to the park last week.
I'm movin' on
At last I can see life has been patiently waiting for me
And I know there's no guarantees, but I'm not alone
There comes a time in everyone's life
When all you can see are the years passing by
And I have made up my mind that those days are gone
After Wrestlemania, he knew that it could never be the same. The passion was gone, his heart empty and he just couldn't give anymore. The ceaseless chants of "What?" had driven him batty after the first two weeks. It was supposed to be a joke for chrissakes! It was disrespectful and belligerent—just the sort of thing Stone Cold would say. It wasn't supposed to become a damn catchphrase. The writers had taken it and run. Unfortunately they hadn't gotten very far. Between Stone Cold demanding "What's my name?" and the Undertaker doing a bad Rodney Dangerfield impression looking for respect, his passion had dried up. He and Mark had been around long enough that they should have had more say over their characters than some punk ass writer who was still in diapers when Stunning Steve and the Undertaker had made their debuts. In the end, Mark had toughed it out and stayed, but Steve had had enough. Stone Cold was at the end of his run and he had gone home to lick his wounds.
I sold what I could and packed what I couldn't
Stopped to fill up on my way out of town
I've loved like I should but lived like I shouldn't
I had to lose everything to find out
Maybe forgiveness will find me somewhere down this road
I'm movin' on
I'm movin' on
I'm movin' on.
As the last few chords drifted through the night air, Steve rested his elbows on his knees and his forehead on his palms, the last few tears running down his arms. He stayed like that for over an hour, heedless of the chill creeping over his skin.
His daughter Connie found him that way in the garden. She was a nurse who worked second shift at the nearby hospital and had dropped by to visit on her way home from work.
"Dad, are you okay? What's the matter?" Concern colored her voice as she hopped up on the table next to him. She put her arms around him and chafed his upper arms, trying to warm him a bit.
Steve looked up at her and she was taken aback to see the dried trails on his face from his earlier tears. He smiled at her though, a real smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes and lips. He turned and wrapped his arms around her for a rib-crushing bear hug.
"Everything's fine hon, just fine now that you're here." He released her and sat back, looking into her eyes. "Come on, let's go inside and you can tell me about your day. Tomorrow I've got an important phone call to make."