A/N: This is not something I would normally write. But I had something bubbling in my head about Batista and suddenly when I was on my way to work, I got jumped by the John Cena muse who started shouting in my ear, and well... the entire thing was planted in my head and wouldn't come out anymore. I had wanted to post it before Extreme Rules, because it's about the Last Man Standing match, but I only finished it last week...
Disclaimer: I own no-one not even these muses, and believe me, I don't want to. I have other muses that are much better company. The Cena muse is sole property of Legacychick, though he invades my house once in a while to drink all my booze or go joyriding in my car. I do not own a Batista-muse, nor do I want one. So if you have one that's been troubling you, please keep him, Legacychick and I have enough trouble with the muses we do own.
Well, please read and review and let me know if I should try writing things like this again.
It's real to me….
It had been the worst six months ever. He had never expected to be treated like that. He had never expected that they would allow him to be treated like this. He was John Cena after all. He was the poster child of the WWE, the face of the company.
Take the Best of Raw DVD. He couldn't believe it was all about Randy Orton, Randy Orton and Legacy and DX. It should have been about him. It was him who the people cheered for, and now the DVD of the best PPV matches of 2009 was being promoted as DX vs. Legacy. John was starting to lose his patience. At the very least it should have had him on the cover, but it almost felt like he was losing the respect of the company and of the public. He had even been booed at, at a few shows. Booed at, him, John Cena. The public started to choose freaking out over Randy Orton instead him, the great John Cena, the superstar of the year.
But forget about the DVD's, forget about the public's reaction, even forget about fucking Randy Orton. After the Iron Man match last year, Randy had barely bothered him. He wasn't allowed to. John chuckled at this thought. Randy had been so sure he could beat him, so sure he could kick Cena off Raw, that he had been tempted into forgoing his rematch. It had been very amusing to see Randy and his midgets getting humiliated by Kofi Kingston after that. Randy Orton was back to mid-card matches, right back to where he belonged.
But being the success that John was, when he was champion once again, it didn't take long for other vermin to start preying on him. The total humiliation of being forced to compete with someone who had only just debuted, the total humiliation of losing to the freaking Irishman, time after time, the beatings he took. The commentary still ringed in his ears, "Has John Cena finally found someone he can't beat?" The worst thing about that had been the glee in the voice of the commentator. They wanted him to fail; they wanted him to fall off his pedestal.
But John wasn't prepared to give up on his spot in the company, his place in the centre of attention. He fought back; he fought back with all his might. He had gone through hell and was rewarded after the elimination chamber. He was champion once again. He remembered that moment oh so clearly. Everything hurt; he could barely stand afterwards... but when the referee handed him his title, he felt like everything had been worth it. The last few months had been forgotten. He had shown everyone what he was worth once again.
But then Vince appeared; Vince appeared and with him came Batista. Batista represented everything that was rotten in the world. Batista was evil, he was egocentric, he only cared about money, about attention, he never thought of anyone else but himself. Just look at the evil expression in his narrowed eyes, to the clothes he wore, to the sunglasses that he even wore at night. Look at the way he had tried to destroy his best friend. Look at the way Batista had thrown the admiration of the public back in their faces. Think about the spotlight that followed his every move. He was despicable; he was truly an animal, a big stinking dog.
And that Animal, that cowardly excuse of a man, had let Vince McMahon buy him. He was too lazy, too much of a chicken to compete in the chamber himself, he chose the easy way once again, and got away with it. Vince let the star of his company be humiliated by that monster. But the worst thing was that it happened time after time, again and again. Batista didn't care about fighting fair; he didn't care about winning a match. He didn't care about being disqualified, and he didn't care about preying on a man who was down.
But after that last beating, when Batista molested him with a chair until he couldn't stand up anymore, John had decided it had been enough. At Wrestlemania he had shown Batista and the WWE Universe again who was king. He had made the Animal tap out. That may have well have been the best moment in his career, and the public chanting "You tapped out, you tapped out," at the next Raw, that had been the funniest thing ever. John had expected Batista would have learned his lesson by now and would return to Smackdown where he belonged. Remember that? Batista wasn't even supposed to compete on Raw. It was against the rules… but no one cared about the rules anymore.
Barely a week later Batista had taken his revenge. He had conspired with that ass kissing monkey from NXT. John didn't understand how they could've made a Rookie guest-host of Raw. It was a shame, a travesty. Raw was supposed to be about him... but John was sick of it, he was sick of playing by the rules, sick of laughter behind his back, sick of being molested. Batista thought he would be the last man standing. Well, John would have a major surprise for him.
"Do you know what's been bothering John lately?" Randy asked. He looked around at the three other men sitting across from him at the breakfast table.
Batista shook his head. "He barely speaks a word to me anymore. Not since we started this storyline and even before he was hostile."
"Doesn't he talk to you Randy? I thought you guys were close?" William Regal looked over at the table where John sat by himself. He thought that John didn't look well. He had always been a cheerful man, normally he was surrounded by people, but the past few months John had retracted himself into a silent bubble, turning away everyone close to him. A lot of the time he could be found mumbling to himself.
"We used to be close, but he hasn't spoken to me for months. I thought it was just me, but I noticed he isn't speaking to anyone. I tried to talk to him about it last week, you know, to see if something was wrong with him, but he looked right through me, like I didn't exist. I wonder if I should go to Vince. I think John needs help."
"I just wish Shawn was still here. Cena always listened to him. It looks like he is letting things get to his head." Hunter sighed and picked up his fork.
"It's almost like Cena is starting to believe the storylines," Batista joked. The three other men burst out laughing.
John looked at the three laughing men with eyes filled with hatred. There they were, plotting and scheming against him. He was surprised to see Dave, Randy and Hunter getting along. Would they reignite Evolution? He was right not to trust Hunter. He was a two-faced dog. The moment Shawn had turned his back, Hunter was back with his old friends and probably to his old ways. No, he could trust no one around here; he was surrounded by evil.
John was getting ready for his match at Extreme Rules. He had a locker room to himself. At least this was something that was like it was supposed to be. John had the most luxurious locker room available. It wasn't much, but the suite he had booked in the hotel made up for this. He hadn't talked to anyone for days now. He didn't trust anyone anymore. The only one he really trusted had been Shawn, and now, because of that so called Deadman, that creature from the Underworld, Shawn was gone. There was one last righteous man left, but then again, you could never truly trust a Mexican. So it was just John against all the evil that invaded the Company he once loved so much.
Batista had tried to strike up conversation when they both waited for their entrance, but John had ignored him. For him it was too late. John had stared right through Dave, not even acknowledging his presence. The moment his music hit, he ran through the curtain. The knot in his stomach dissolved as he took in the cheers of the people. He was going to do the right thing. After tonight, the world would be a better place.
For nearly half an hour the match went both ways. Cena had never fought with more determination, had never meant it more; had never hit anyone harder... and still it wasn't enough to keep the man down. For what must have been the fifth time, Cena stood in the distance waiting for Batista to get back to his feet. The count was on to seven now and still the man wasn't back to his feet.
"Eight,"… and he pulled himself up on the barricade…
"Nine,"… and he struggled to get one foot under him… Cena bit his lip. This wasn't the way he wanted to end his. All his careful planning would have been for nothing. He could still execute his plan, but it wouldn't be the same.
"Umph," He felt like he had been hit in the ribs by a train. Batista had managed to get back to his feet after all. Apparently he had been stalling and he'd taken John's distraction to spear him against the ring. All air had been driven from his lungs. Batista finally started to play along, he finally caught up on the fact that this wasn't a normal fight; this was an epic battle, a battle of Good versus Evil, and Good would always prevail. Still, Cena had no way to duck the chair that was rammed against his back. If it had been him swinging the chair, Batista would have been out cold. But chairs weren't John's style. If he used a weapon, he used a real one, and it wouldn't be long before it was time to get it. But first he had to get Batista into the ring with him.
"Five," John realized he was the one sprawled out on the floor and he needed to get to his feet very soon. He could do what needed to be done even when he lost, but he wanted to make this the end of the match.
"Six," He pushed himself up on his hands and met the slit eyes of the animal, a mocking smile around his lips.
"Seven," He got hold off the apron. He paused. He needed the rest. Batista would be on him the moment he stood.
"Eight," Only two more seconds to go. He grabbed the bottom rope and pulled his feet under him. The moment he saw the official stop the count, he rolled into the ring. He pushed himself back to his feet and walked to the nearest corner to rest and wait for Batista to get back into the ring.
He needed Batista off his feet for at least 6 seconds, but not long enough to be counted out. No attitude adjustment then, something a little less damaging. A running clothesline would be just right, and he slammed his arm against Batista's chest and neck before the man realized what was going on. Immediately he slipped out the ring. First he ran to the announcers table demanding a microphone, than he dived under the ring to get what he needed. He scrambled through the stuff lying there, praying it wouldn't be gone, but then his hand touched the familiar cool steel grip. John let out a sigh of relief. He felt so strong, so confident, so peaceful. When he climbed back into the ring he was very careful not to show what he had in his hand. He didn't want panic, not yet anyway, not until everybody understood.
Batista was already standing, seemingly confused about Cena's whereabouts. Well he would find out soon. Cena was already back in the ring, on to his feet and he waved a hand towards Batista to stop his approach. Shocked cries echoed through the stadium and Cena realized he must have waved the wrong hand. No way to hide, no turning back now.
"You think you are so great, don't you Batista?" Cena's voice boomed through the stadium. "You think you can cheat your way into the WWE championship again!" Batista's eyes were almost bulging out of his sockets as he stared at the object in Cena's hand. He held up his hands and crawled backwards towards the ring post.
"Stand up, Dave. Stand up and face me like a man!" Shaking, Batista got up to his feet. He didn't dare come any closer. John was disappointed. Somehow he expected a little more fight out of the man. He had been a bouncer once. He must have been eye to eye with a weapon before. John realized this might have been better with Orton after all. It would have been interesting to see what he would have done considering his Marine training. Maybe he would get his chance with Orton later. Batista was only the first step.
The public was starting to panic now. Some of them were fighting to get out the stadium; others refused to believe that this was really happening and stayed, on the edge of their seats.
"You requested this match Dave, but I'll be the one to win it." And with those words he fired the 9mm gun he held in his hand. One, two, three shots echoed through the stadium. Batista slumped down onto the floor. Blood already pooled on the floor. But John still had his final statement to make. He stood over the fallen Animal and grabbed the gun in both hands. He pointed it at Dave's head and pulled the trigger for a final time.
"I AM THE LAST MAN STANDING!"