A/N: I own nothing, so don't sue. This is the sequel to "Why" and it focuses more on John than Randy. Please review, I love reading any of the comments that I get. It makes my day. :) Enjoy.

Savior

John Cena helped Randy Orton down the hall toward his locker room, rage churning in the pit of his stomach. He had just found the younger man lying in the middle of the hallway leading to Evolution's locker room, blood covering his face and the floor around him. After Randy had released some of his pent-up emotions in the form of tears, he had told John what his former stable Evolution had done to him out in the ring. John had been in Vince's office talking over his new storyline, so he hadn't seen what had happened. But now that he knew, he was pissed.

John didn't know Randy too well, but he seemed like a good kid. A little arrogant, maybe, but who wasn't in this business? So for Hunter Hearst-Helmsly, Dave Batista, and Ric Flair to do something that cold and brutal to Randy seemed like sin. John could understand wanting to teach the kid a lesson, but to play around with his emotions like that was just wrong. And to add to the pain and humiliation, they had to ruin the biggest night of the kid's life and punctuate it with a vicious blow to the face with his new title belt. No, John didn't know Randy too well at all, but from now on he was officially taking the poor guy under his wing. No one would hurt Randy that bad ever again as long as he was around.

John reached his locker room and pushed the door open with the hand that wasn't holding a barely-conscious Randy up and stumbled inside. He tugged Randy in after him and shut the door. Then he helped the younger man over to a bench and sat him down. "Stay here for a moment," he told Randy, who just gave him a bleak look.

John hurried over to his locker and grabbed the water bottle that he had set there earlier for after his match. He went back to Randy and unscrewed the cap. "Sorry, this might be a little cold," he warned the Legend Killer. Randy didn't reply.

John poured the water gradually over Randy's head until the bottle was empty and almost all of the blood was washed off of his face and the ugly wound in the right side of his forehead. Then he trotted back to his locker and grabbed a clean towel. He returned to Randy and sat down on the bench next to him. He held out the towel to Randy, but the younger man didn't move to take it, so John shrugged and started rubbing Randy's head with it, attempting to dry him off.

"Randy, buddy, you gotta say something," John said as he dried Randy's hair. "I know it hurts, but you have to recover. Your career depends on it."

Randy turned his head towards the wall opposite of John, and John got the feeling that he was crying again, so he was silent the rest of the time and instead focused on getting every last drop of water out of Randy's dark brown hair.

When he had finished drying Randy off, he tossed the damp towel into a laundry basket and rummaged around in his gear bag, searching for a Band-Aid. He finally found one and ripped the outside wrapper off with his teeth, a bit impatient because the wound in Randy's head was welling up with fresh blood. John placed the Band-Aid carefully and gently over the cut, trying not to hurt him.

"You should clean that at least twice a day until it heals so it doesn't get infected," John advised as he threw the balled-up Band-Aid wrapper away and washed the blood off of his hands with another water bottle. His advice was met by silence.

John dug two power bars out of his gear bag and set one down on the bench next to Randy while he ripped the other open. He took a bite and sat down beside the Legend Killer, who was still mute as he stared at the opposite wall.

John chewed quietly for a few moments before he asked, "So what spurred you to join Evolution in the first place?"

Randy didn't reply, but John noticed him stiffen at the mention of his former stable.

"Too soon?" John questioned.

Silence.

"Okay then." John took another bite of his power bar and scuffed his sneakers against the floor. A moment later he said, "You know someone's going to come looking for you."

Randy's fingers twitched.

Inspired by that tiny reaction, John continued, "Your dad, or Coachman. Hell, maybe even Vince. Or..." John trailed off, wondering whether he should push as far as he was planning. Finally deciding that Randy needed to be pushed in order to bring him back from whatever wasteland he was stuck in, John finished his sentence. "Or even Evolution."

Randy's fingers curled into fists and his gray eyes flashed.

"They might want to finish what they started," John mused out loud. "Knowing Hunter, he'll track you down. It's not like him to leave unfinished business. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if they knocked on the door right now and demanded that I toss you out."

Finally, after a combined total of fifteen minutes of silence, Randy turned his head towards John. "You would do that?" he croaked, his voice cracking noticeably.

John felt a flash of pity for the young man sitting next to him. He had been screwed over and betrayed from the first moment that he had set foot in the WWE, so John couldn't blame him for being unwilling to trust anyone. Randy acted tough and arrogant, but now his mask had slipped, allowing John to see the vulnerable and hurt kid underneath. And it was a sad sight.

"No," John answered firmly. "I would never do that. You're safe with me, Killer." John picked the power bar up off of the bench and offered it to Randy, who looked simultaneously relieved and exhausted. "Here, take this. After what you've been through, you need something in your stomach."

Randy hesitated, as if expecting John to yank the bar back and yell "Psyche". When he didn't, Randy reached out a hand and took the bar. "Thanks." As he unwrapped it, he glanced up at John and asked, "Why do you call me that?"

"Call you what?" John responded, his mouth full of power bar.

"Killer." Randy answered, nibbling at his own bar.

"Oh, that." John leaned back and swallowed. "You call yourself the 'Legend Killer', so I guess I just shortened it. It has a nice ring to it, and you look like a 'Killer' to me."

Randy took a small bite of his power bar and chewed slowly, mulling this over. He swallowed after a few minutes and muttered, "I don't feel like a 'Killer'. I feel like shit."

"You look like shit." John agreed. When Randy didn't laugh, he sat forward on the bench and clapped a hand on Randy's shoulder. "I know what you're going through, Randy, believe me. I can't trust anybody around here either–they all want to beat the shit out of me. Some of them have succeeded. I could easily just retreat into myself and shut everybody out, but you know what? I've never really been the type of guy to give up that easily. And I've never thought of you as that type, either." John stretched his arms over his head and shot the empty power bar wrapper at the trash can in the corner. It went in, and he grinned widely. Then he turned back to Randy, who was watching with a dull gleam of amusement in his eyes. "So what's it gonna be, Killer? It's do or die time. You can be one of the greatest wrestlers to ever set foot in this business, I know you can. But in order to do that you have to be willing to fight when someone else tries to keep you down. Are you willing to fight for your future, Randy?"

A slight smirk tugged at the corner of Randy's mouth, a shadow of the guy that he used to be before Evolution stomped him out. "John," he said, crumpling the power bar wrapper in his fist, "I'm always willing to fight." Raising his arms above his head like he was about to shoot a basket, Randy tossed the wrapper at the trash can. It went in without even touching the sides. He turned towards John, the smirk obvious now.

"I'm the Legend Killer, remember?"