Okay, I did that only once before: this is NOT Centon.

Well, there will be mentions of John and Randy, but this one is de facto about Punk and Sheamus.

It's more or less a parallel story to What you see but no first person view.

And I'm very curious about your feedback. Really. So please tell me if I did good.

Have fun ;-)

About 2 years and 8 months ago

"What is your fucking problem, Farrelly?!" Phil snapped, slapping the big white hand away which had pushed him back into the locker room.

Stephen slammed the door shut and leaned back against it, crossing his arms over his chest. Warily he gazed at the other man who in turn glared at him. John had just told him that Phil had dropped into his locker while Randy was there, too. Brooks was a good observer, so leave it to him to smell the rat and he obviously had since he congratulated them to finally being a couple. When Stephen came by not much later Randy was very still and John slightly confused but also a bit relieved that there was someone else now who knew, who was okay with it. And for Stephen's taste he was a bit too naïve about the whole thing.

"I know tha yer have just been at John's locker to congratulate them and I just want to put something straight, Punk," he began slowly. "If yer tell anyone about it, I'll make yer regret it."

Phil's brows rose to his hairline and the glare morphed to a quizzical expression as he crossed his arms over his chest, too, and looked Stephen over.

"Now, now, the big white oaf is threatening me," Phil replied then, his voice lacking of the usual sneer and sarcasm. "Look, I know the three of you are best buddies and I understand that you're all watch-dog about them now but, you know, I actually meant what I said."

Cocking his head Stephen kept looking at him, searching for a sign that it wasn't the truth but there was none. When there was no other reaction from him Phil shrugged his shoulders as he turned away and walked over to a bench where he sat down heavily, starting to untie his boots.

"Why suddenly so kind, Punk?"

Phil halted for a moment, shaking his head slightly. A quiet chuckle. And then he continued his task, kicking the first boot off while giving Stephen a quick sideway glance. An arched eyebrow followed.

"I've always been a kind person. Most people just don't bother to find out about it," he said in a tone equally arch, making Stephen snort. "Okay, back to topic. First of all, I don't have a problem with homosexuality. Live and love the way you like as long as no one gets harmed. And really, they have acted like an old married couple for years now and only a blind wouldn't have seen the spark between them. I think it's hard enough to find the one person you want to spend the rest of your life with, so I'm happy for them. When I went there to congratulate them I was serious. I know it doesn't look like I do like John and Randy, but I in fact do. So calm down, big man."

While the younger man spoke his voice took on a soft note and for a fleeting moment Stephen noticed a surprising discovery wave at him. There was a different Punk from the one he'd put up with all the years and that Punk was actually… amiable. The second boot was kicked off and a towel was retrieved from a bag, along with shower gel and… Phil froze.

"What?" Phil asked after a moment, meeting the other man's stare.

Stephen puffed a tiny laughter, pushed away from the door and took a few steps closer to him where he squatted down to be on eyelevel.

"Yer know why people don't bother to find out who yer are, Punk?" he asked, his voice becoming deep and calm. "Because yer keep biting them away. Maybe yer should let someone in every once in a while."

"Maybe. But most people aren't worth the effort," Phil sighed wearily. "I have a name, by the way. And I would be grateful if you could leave now, I need a shower."

Nodding Stephen straightened up, making his way to the door and he was about to get out of the room as he stopped in the doorway, turning back to Phil. He was still a little confused about Phil's so un-punkish behavior. It was a bit perturbing even, yet… he could get used to it. Exhaling softly Phil got up from the bench, glancing at him with questioning eyes.

"Promise, I'm not gonna blow the whistle on them," the smaller man assured quietly. "I know what the stakes are. Got it?"

"Yeah, got it," Stephen replied, the deep voice echoing throughout the room. "Thanks, Phil."

The last thing Stephen saw was a soft nod and small but evident upturn of lips before the door clicked shut.

About 1 year and 7 months ago

Pulling the hood down over his forehead he let his iPod slip into the pocket of his jeans. The music was blasting from his in-ears and distracted him from the dull burning pain in his sore shoulder. Bloody Lesnar, couldn't bear that he had to lose and took it out on him.

The job was done, it was late and unlike his co-workers Phil wasn't up for a party after the show, because he was damn tired and the company there would most likely not be the one he preferred. Throwing the bag over his shoulder he left the locker and made his way along dimmed corridors to the parking lot.

And then suddenly there was a bruising grip on his shoulders from behind and he was practically thrown against the wall. His head collided hard with the wall and for a brief moment his world blacked out but the second he came around again he wished he would just have stayed in that blackness. His head exploded in roaring pain and as did his shoulder as his arms were yanked up. A large hand closed around his wrists in a painful grip, holding them pinned against the wall above his head and just as he wanted to open his eyes to see who the attacker was, a blow to his strained and sore shoulder made him his eyes screw shut as a wave of white hot pain rolled through him, ripping a cry of pain from his throat.

Phil would have fallen to the ground if it hadn't been for the hand which still held his wrists in a vice-grip. He took a deep and shuddering breath, a second, trying to breathe the pain away. The headphones were ripped from his ears.

"Thought you'd get away just like that, you freak?" a voice growled close to him and that voice made his eyes snap open and through his fuzzy vision he found Lesnar there.

Much too close. The weird eyes were wide, the usually pale face reddened in anger and his agitated breathing sent warm and wet air fanning over Phil's face. Disgusted he wanted to turn his face away, but Lesnar's free hand immediately grabbed his chin, forcing his head back around.

"The… only freak here is you… fucking… Neanderthal…" he wanted to spit but it wasn't by far as snarky as it was supposed to be, since he could barely move his jaw.

The hand on his face left, only to dig into his shoulder and he bit back another cry of pain.

"If you want to… beat me up then go ahead… don't want to make an evening… of it…" he panted with a shaky smirk on his lips.

Phil was aware that it would be a good idea not to provoke the gorilla but he also knew that he wouldn't get away just like that, no matter if he kept his mouth shut or not. So he could as well bite back. And he had to pay the price immediately. The hand that was holding him up let go and his arms dropped to his sides, drawing a groan from him and the very second he began to slide down the wall Lesnar's fist landed a hard blow to his face. His knees buckled and within the blink of an eye he dropped to the ground face down, the fire in his face merging neatly into the roaring his head and the white hot pain in his shoulder. He felt a wetness on his face and he couldn't tell if it was tears or blood. There was a buzzing in his ears, getting louder with every heartbeat and he hoped dearly it was the messenger of an unconsciousness. Through the buzzing he heard a spat freak and despite the pain he managed to roll onto his side, sneering up to the seething man.

"Compensating the lack of brain with… with muscles, are we?" Phil gritted out, shoving a snigger right after.

The kick to his stomach knocked the breath out of him and gasping he curled up to a ball, wrapping his arms protectively around it. But not for long. Two hands grabbed him, hurling him up and the next blow to his face sent him to the ground again. The wetness on his face became more and this time it was definitely blood. He could taste it… smell it. A low and breathless groan passed his lips. Pain. His head, his shoulder… everything. Pain. And the unconsciousness he begged for… stayed away. From the corner of his eye he saw Lesnar reach out for him again, taking hold on the collar of his sweater and he was yanked up. Faintly smiling he closed his eyes, waiting for the next blow.

It never came.

He felt a hard tug at his sweater and suddenly the hand was gone and while he slumped down he heard a thud, a groan, definitely Lesnar's, and shuffling steps which became very quick steps, veering away from him. Moaning softly Phil blinked and saw black sneakers and blue jeans. He really wanted to lift his head or at least turn his face a little to see who it was, but movement caused even more pain and he had enough of it already. The blue jeans remained still for another few seconds before its owner approached him, kneeling down beside him.

A gentle hand on his back and a soft voice, asking: "Phil? Yer with me?"

Oh, hey, he knew that accent…

"Huh, the big white…. knight… coming to rescue the… damsel in distress," Phil chuckled but since it was causing him even more pain he stopped immediately. "How… corny…"

"Tha man can be beaten to a pulp but his big mouth keeps biting," Stephen huffed, shaking his head and when Phil tried to sit up he cautiously helped him, wincing compassionately at every moan and groan. And then he began to gingerly prod Phil's face, murmuring: "Busted lip, busted eyebrow, bleeding nose… The gorilla did a nice job on yer pretty face."

Leaning back against the wall Phil wrapped an arm around his belly and closed his eyes, exhaling: "Not only there."

Another moan. Speaking hurt and maybe he should really keep his mouth shut for once. A soft dabbing on his cheeks told him that Stephen was trying to free his face from the blood and he wanted to laugh at the ridiculously tender touch as the other man held his head steady. The funny thing was that he almost missed it when the hand vanished.

"Yer belly?"

"The bastard kicked me…"

Stephen hummed and took hold of Phil's arm to lift it away but the other man flinched slightly and green eyes snapped open, gazing at him warily.

"I'm not gonna hurt yer, okay?" Stephen calmed him, not letting go of the arm. "Trust me."

Phil's eyes roamed the man kneeling in front of him. As usually white as a sheet but for a soft tinge of pink of his cheeks and bloodstains on his hand, eyes slightly narrowed in worry… blue. Blue eyes. He could have sworn they were green? The red hair was falling unruly, looking a tad too fluffy for a man of his size.

"You're looking very fluffy, you know?" he muttered then, playing for time… not sure if he should give in or not.

Was there a small smile around the Irish man's lips?

"Well, yer are looking very dented," Stephen replied then and yes, it was a smile.

A nice smile. A warm smile. One that reached the worried eyes. All of it, that smile, the whole Stephen as he was sitting right there… it made him look… safe. Maybe for once he could risk it. And with a sigh Phil let his arm slide to his legs, giving a silent okay. His sweater was lifted gingerly and the soft prodding from his face continued on his aching belly. A surprisingly gentle touch for such a big man with such big paws.

"There'll be bruises but yer are gonna survive it," Stephen murmured and pulled the sweater back down. "Feeling a bit better?"

Phil puffed a small chuckle.

"I'm feeling like a ball of pain."

"We should talk to Vince," Stephen suggested but Phil shook his head slightly no.

"What for? Even if he kicks Lesnar out, the gorilla will be back sooner or later. He's a crowd puller."

Resuming his dabbing the blood from Phil's face he replied quietly and heavy with sincerity: "Don't think so. Lesnar is shit compared to yer and Vince knows tha."

Swallowing hard Phil could only stare at him. His heart tripped. Now, over the past months they had become… well, friends wouldn't have been fitting, but Stephen had definitely become one of the few guys of the roster he didn't mind to have around. On some days he even enjoyed the Irish man's company. Not that he would have admitted it. Yet he wouldn't have expected words like these.

"Well, you definitely know how to make a beaten man feel better," he groaned as he shifted a tad to get some pressure off his sore shoulder.

That got him a smile and not for the first time he thought that the Irish man's smile was kind of addictive and so he found himself smiling, too. A little at least since the cut in his lip stung.

"Now, how about we try to get yer back on yer feet?"

At a hesitant nod from the smaller man Stephen threw both their bags over one shoulder, took Phil's good arm and hooked it around his neck before he slipped an arm cautiously around his upper body to help him get up. Although Phil tried his best to stifle any sounds of discomfort, he failed miserably and despite his protest Stephen more or less carried him back into the building to the next trainer.

Three hours later it was a knock on the door of his hotel room that shook Stephen out of his thoughts which were revolving around what had happened. Hopping from the bed he walked over, wondering who this could be and the door revealed… Phil, standing there with his bag in hands and a sheepish expression spread on his face. The busted lip was visibly swollen, as was his eye and around the butterfly stitches on his brow was dried blood. He looked like a beaten cat.

Stepping aside he waved the smaller man in and Phil slipped into the room immediately, walking over to the armchair. The bag dropped to the floor, disturbing the quietness with a soft thud, followed by the quiet sound of a closing door.

"Sorry if I woke you," he apologized quietly as he turned around.

"Yer didn't," Stephen replied, still a bit confused about the late night visit. "Yer okay?"

Rubbing his hands he laughed nervously, averted his eyes and admitted: "Maybe… not… I don't know… uhm… I thought that I… maybe I could stay here tonight? You won't notice me and I don't think I can sleep, so the armchair is perfectly fine and…"

Stepping up to the rambling man he called his name twice before Phil eventually halted mid-sentence.

"No, Phil," Stephen said then and green eyes snapped up to his, not really surprised but disappointed in a way and the moment he wanted to reach for his bag a big hand closed around his good shoulder, stopping him. "I can't let yer stay on the armchair the whole night. The bed's big enough for two. But I warn yer, if yer snore like a walrus I'm gonna kick yer butt."

"As I said, big man, I don't think I'll sleep tonight," Phil murmured as he watched the Irish man crawl back under the sheets. "Is it okay if I read a little?"

"Yeah, 's fine."

Producing a few comics from his bag he switched the bedside lamp on and the big light out and crawled into the bed. Under normal circumstances he would never have considered knocking on Stephen's door or even sleep in the same bed with him… or any other man. But this weren't the normal circumstances and instead of feeling weird for being here he felt… calm. It was the most fitting word. Calm. Not that he had been scared being alone in his room but there had been a certain unease lingering deep within him and the idea of having Stephen's company had been inviting so… one night would do no harm, would it? Sighing softly he focused on the comic in his hand, preparing for a long night...

Turning onto his side with his back to Phil Stephen gazed at the window… or rather at the image it mirrored. It was showing Phil, reading, not noticing being watched. He'd always known the man as a tough guy and so it was disconcerting to see him like that. The whole thing had left him obviously more shaken than he would have admitted, yet… with being here Phil had admitted it in a way. This was an entirely new side of him. The more he came to know this man, the more he… liked him.

Not even an hour later a snore ripped through the quietness of the room and when Stephen rolled onto his other side to stick to his promise and kick his bed neighbor, he smiled instead at the sight of a peacefully sleeping Phil. He took the comic from his hands, reached over him to switch the light out and whispered to him to scoot down a bit. Phil never woke up but followed the urging voice. The blanket was pulled up to his shoulders and a sigh was his answer.

Lying back down Stephen waited for the sleep to return to him and for once it was a constant snoring that lulled him back into the land of dreams.

Present

His voice was a whisper as he asked: "Randy… what did yer do?"

He heard a tiny sound through the line and when Randy spoke again the words they were wrapped in a sob.

"I… I think I… slept with Sam…"

A shocked gasp slipped past Stephen's lips. And then there was utter silence because the information hit him like a sledgehammer.

"What the fuck? Haven't yer pulled enough bullshit on him already, you goddamn bastard?" he growled suddenly. The growl became an angry groan and then there was a brief catch in his enraged breathing before he added with a slight tinge of confusion: "Wait, what do yer mean, yer think yer slept with her? Why were yer with her at all?"

"After John left I didn't want to be alone and… I wanted to see Alanna but she's with her grandparents and Sam offered me to stay in the guestroom," Randy whispered then. "And yesterday I got drunk and… this morning I found a hickey on my neck but I can't remember what happened after I started drinking… Stephen, I need to know that you're gonna be there for him when… I have to go."

"Christ, Randy…" he whispered in reply. "Okay. Listen, I'm gonna call Phil and I want yer to go to him… if John sends yer away. Yer hear me? I want to be sure tha yer are not gonna do anything stupid. Promise me tha yer go to him."

The call ended and his hand dropped to his side, fingers closing tight around the small device while he pressed the heel of his free hand against his forehead. This was so goddamn bad…

"Jesus… Jesus…" Stephen breathed horrified.

As if the past days hadn't been worse enough, no, now… that. He took a quick glance around, looking out for John but he was still alone.

Fuck…

Here he was, witnessing as a relationship that was meant forever broke apart and the pieces were falling so fast that he couldn't put them back quick enough to stop it. He couldn't let that happen, no way, but he had no idea what to do.

Taking a deep, collecting breath he lifted the cell, scrolling through his contacts until he found the one he was looking for. The one he could ask for help. His thumb hovered over the screen for a second, before he hit the dial-button.

Every single beep through the line made the few moments of waiting seem like an eternity and when the call was answered it wasn't quite relief he felt, but it certainly felt like a part of the weight had just been lifted from his heart.

"Hey, big white man," greeted a good-humored voice through the line.

"Phil…" he exhaled shuddering.

"Good god, you okay?" Phil asked, the tone becoming worried in an instant.

Stephen shook his head no, muttering a shit, before he replied hushed: "It's about John and Randy. They had a nasty fight and…" He stopped, deciding to keep further details to himself for the moment. "I need yer help, Phil. Can Randy stay at yer place for a while?"

Brief silence.

Then: "Sure, but what the hell happened?!"

A mirthless laughter spilled from Stephen's lips.

"I can't tell yer… now. Listen, Randy will drop in later. Take care of him." He swallowed hard against a lump in his throat at the thought of what would happen in the near future. "Thank yer, Phil."

Silently he thanked what higher spirit there was for Phil, because he was an ally. And a friend.

"Anytime," Phil said and the warmth in his voice washed soothingly over Stephen. "Promise you call me later. I want to be sure you're okay."

Stephen whispered a yeah. The call ended. The weight on his shoulders was back and his heart plummeted to his belly as he moved to find John…