John Cena was furious.
His sneakers stomping on the floor, he was storming down the hall, bright blue eyes filled with rage. His lips were twisted into an angry frown, and he was moving quickly, ignoring everyone he passed. John Morrison, Melina, Santino, they all backed out of the way as soon as they saw him coming. They'd all see what had happened…they all knew exactly why the Chain Gang Soldier was pissed. Morrison had tried to say something to him, tried to calm him down, but Cena shrugged him off quickly, causing the smaller man to sigh deeply and walk away. He didn't want to deal with a pissed off John Cena…hell, nobody did. Thick hands clenched into fists, Cena's arms swung at his side as he continued his rampage down the hall, still not meeting the eye of anyone who looked at him.
Randy Orton stood in the ring, arms at his sides, hands curled into fists. He was frowning slightly, and those pale eyes of his had a sharpness to them that wasn't there before. John stood outside of the ring, hands on his hips, chewing on his bottom lip as Wade Barrett and the rest of the Nexus slowly made their way to the ring. Otunga went to the left, flexing his biceps threateningly as his dark eyes glowered up at the WWE Champion. Heath Slater and Justin Gabriel flanked to the right, both wearing arrogant smirks on their faces. Justin in particular looked mighty pleased with himself, his lips curled into a sickening, toothy grin. And then of course came their leader. Wade Barrett's cold eyes were glaring at Orton with such intensity it made Cena's stomach churn. It didn't take long for Orton to realize the Nexus was surrounding him…as he realized this, he turned around, and his cerulean eyes narrowed, focusing in on John Cena.
Fuck, John had known what was coming. He'd been in the same situation before…he'd been attacked by the Nexus. He knew how they worked, knew they'd never face someone like Randy Orton, the Legend Killer himself, one on one. No, they'd outnumber him and use any disgustingly cheap tactic they could to defeat him. John had been attacked by the Nexus before…he knew how vicious they were, knew that they would show Randy absolutely zero mercy. Jaws clenching tightly, John shook his head as he continued walking backstage, determined to arrive to his destination without being intercepted by Wade Barrett. The boring, white cinder-block walls passing by him quickly, Cena couldn't help but think back.
Randy Orton stared at him with those icy eyes, and John Cena knew that he wasn't going to go down without a fight. He didn't; actually, he attacked first, striking Otunga in the face with a crippling punch. The crowd roared at that, and chants of R-K-O could be heard resonating throughout the stadium. Cena could feel his heart pounding in his chest as the rest of the Nexus jumped Orton, and he was silently cheering to himself, begging Randy to escape, begging him to somehow gain the upper hand and evade the punishment that was sure to follow. He put up a good fight, he was Randy Orton after all, and certainly no pushover. But in the end, even he couldn't take on four men at once.
Cena's fists tightened so much that he was sure his fingernails would draw blood. Fuck…he couldn't believe he had just stood by with the Nexus beat the living hell out of a man that most certainly didn't deserve it! He couldn't believe he'd allowed such a cheap, cheating attack to take place! What the fuck had he been thinking? Why the fuck didn't he jump in and help Randy? Sure, they weren't especially close, hell they were practically enemies…but that didn't stop John's chest from hurting as he watched Randy Orton get smacked around by fucking Wade Barrett and his stooges.
Somehow the Nexus managed to get the better of Randy Orton. Otunga and Slater grabbed him by each arm, and with grunts of effort, they heaved him into the ring, tossing his tan body across the floor like he was trash. Cena winced as Randy's back smacked the ground, and the Viper's handsome face immediately contorted into pain. Growling both in anger and agony, Randy rolled onto his stomach, eyes squeezed shut. Wade Barrett was smirking down at the fallen man, and John could feel his fingers itching to punch Barrett in the teeth, but he remained still, staring up at Randy. Otunga, Slater, and Gabriel didn't waste much time; they immediately rained down their fists and feet upon Orton, punching and kicking him with such force that nearly every fan in attendance was cringing. And then it all stopped, and Wade Barrett was demanding that Cena enter the ring…
John finally found what he was looking for: Locker Room 12. Supposedly the locker room Randy Orton was staying in. Raising his fist up to the wooden door, he made as if to knock, but then he hesitated, his hand levitating in the air uselessly. He didn't know how Randy would react upon seeing him…sure, in the end, John hadn't laid a finger on him. But knowing Orton…he'd probably still find a way to blame Cena for everything. And John wouldn't have blamed him, it was at least partially his fault, wasn't it? He just stood by while four men roughed Randy up…hell, he didn't make a single attempt to try and help him. Sure, it was obvious to anyone who was watching that John was getting no pleasure out seeing the WWE Champion get fucked over by the Nexus. But still…would Randy attack him on sight? Would he try to RKO Cena for even attempting to speak with him?
John shook his head, determination filling his thoughts. If Randy was pissed, so be it, but John would never forgive himself if he didn't at least check up on him. Orton had taken a beating…who knew what kind of shape he was in? John went to knock, but then stopped. He blinked slowly, giving a small frown. Sighing quietly, he dropped his hand to the door handle and twisted it, letting himself in.
The door opened silently, and John took a single step forward, the muscles in his left forearm flexing as he held the door open. Leaning in, his blue eyes scanned the room slowly. It didn't look all that much different from any of the other locker rooms: there were two wooden benches, a few metal lockers lining the walls, a black gym bag filled with clothes sitting on the tile floor. An opening on the far wall appeared to lead to showers and a bathroom, judging from the large amount of steam that was spewing from the entrance. Blinking, John took another step forward, still gazing around the room. Turning to his left, the opposite direction in which the door opened, and finally found what he was looking for.
Randy Orton was sitting on the ground, his back against the wall, legs stretched out in front of him. His torso was bare, causing his muscular abdomen and heavily inked arms to be on full display. He must've just gotten out of the shower, because there were tiny droplets dotting his chest and his shoulders, and his short brown hair had that dewy, wet look to it. Dark jeans clung to his hips, hanging low so that Cena could see a nice V-cut. His feet were bare—yes, he'd definitely just recently gotten out of the shower. The entire room had a steamy, humid feel to it, the air feeling heavy with dampness.
Randy suddenly looked up, pale eyes narrowing, and his mouth twisted into a crooked scowl.
"What…what the fuck do you want?" He snarled, breathing heavily, his throaty voice sounding strained.
Cena took a few more steps in, letting go of the door and allowing it to swing shut behind him. Orton's body tensed as John grew nearer, and Cena could feel his pulse accelerating as he looked down at the Viper. Randy didn't look good, to say the least. There were dark purple bruises winding along his left side, over the bottom portion of his rib cage. As he drew closer, Cena could see a dark, reddish purple bruise staining the skin over Randy's jaw, about an inch or so to the side of his chin. Orton's eyes were bloodshot and half-lidded over, like he was incredibly tired, and he was taking deep slow breaths, like the simple act of breathing was taking a lot of effort out of him.
"I said, what the fuck do you want?" Randy repeated, glaring up at Cena, his cold eyes narrowing dangerously.
"I…I wanted to see if you're ok." John said slowly. God, Randy looked like he was in so much pain…why the fuck did he let Barrett do this?
"Yeah, I'm fucking fine, now turn around and leave me the fuck alone." Randy snapped, grimacing and reaching a hand up to rub his side tenderly. His tattooed biceps flexed impressively as he massaged the bruises, pain evident in his reddened eyes.
"I'm sorry." Cena replied, still looking down at Orton. He didn't know why he was apologizing…he was almost a hundred percent sure Randy certainly wouldn't have helped him, had their roles been reversed. So why did he feel so guilty?
"Sorry? You're sorry?" Randy laughed, a croaking dark sound, "Fuck off Cena. Standing here and telling me you're sorry isn't going to fucking help me, is it?"
"Look, I came here to try and help you," John scowled, pointing a finger at Randy, "You don't have to bite my head off—"
Randy hissed sarcastically, "Oh yeah, I'm just so fucking happy to see a member of the team that just attacked me on national television—"
"I didn't lay a damn hand on you, you've at least got to give me that!" John retorted quickly, trying to swallow down his building frustration.
"I don't give a fuck." Randy growled, teeth clenched as he fidgeted, shifting his weight from one side to the other, "You're still a part of Nexus."
"Look, I came so I could try to help you—" Cena began, placing one hand on his hip and indicating towards Randy with the other.
"Help me? You came here to fucking help me?" Randy reached up, pressing both his hands against the white wall behind him, his body shaking as he tried to lift himself up. His legs quivered, but he managed to stand up, lips pursing into a pain-filled grimace as he glared angrily at the man in front of him. His abdominal muscles tightened nicely under his tan skin as he tried to stand up taller, causing the bruises on his side to look even darker, even larger.
"Maybe you're not getting this, Cena," Randy spat, leaning against the wall, breathing heavily, "But I don't want…I don't want your fucking help!"
Randy stumbled then, almost losing his balance, and John stepped forward, arms outstretched as if to help him, but Randy leaned back immediately, putting as much distance between him and John as he possibly could.
"You may not want my help, Randy," John said slowly, holding out his hands, palms up, "But you need it. Look at yourself, you can barely stand."
"I'm fucking fine!" Randy hissed, but even as he said it, his body gave out. He slid down slightly, his legs buckling from under him. Letting out a cry of pain, Randy let go of the wall, clutching his side, pale eyes squeezed shut. He would've fallen, would've crumbled to the floor, had John not rushed forward. As Randy fell forward, John was there to catch him. His left arm wrapped around the Viper's shoulders, and his right reached out, resting on his stomach, steadying Randy's slipping body. John grunted with effort as he suddenly felt Randy's weight, but he remained still, doing everything in his power to keep Randy standing.
"You see?" John said quietly, feeling Randy's hot skin under the tough of his steady hands, "You need my help."
"Just…just leave me alone…" Randy groaned, trying to stand on his own. Though he still protested, the fight had left his voice, and John could taste victory.
"Come on Randy, at least let me help you to your room." John reasoned, shifting his weight so that Randy was once again leaning against the wall. Once he saw that Orton was able to stand on his own, he released his grip, backing away slightly, his stony eyes staring hard at the hurt man in front of him.
"Just let me at least help you to your room." John repeated carefully, looking down at Randy, "I'll leave you alone as soon as I know you're ok, but let me help you get there."
Randy looked like he was about to start another fight as he scowled deeply, but, to John's surprise, he hung his head, staring at the floor.
"Fine." Randy muttered, still scowling unhappily, "You'll leave me alone after that?"
"Yeah, sure, whatever you want Randy." John sighed, "So…where's your shirt and shoes?"
Wade Barrett was leaning against a cinderblock wall, his hands stuffed into his jean pockets. Superstars and Divas alike passed by, and almost all of them avoided his gaze, shifting their eyes downward, hurrying past the leader of the Nexus as fast as they could. He couldn't help but smirk at that; apparently his attack on Randy Orton had not only put Orton in his place…but it also told the rest of the roster that Nexus was not to be trifled with. If they could take out the WWE Champion, if they could control John Cena himself, there was no telling what they could do to the rest of the underlings on the roster. Wade was finding that he greatly enjoyed this newfound respect that the others had for him, almost as much as he had enjoyed beating Randy Orton black and blue. The only thing better then slamming his fist into Randy's jaw was turning and seeing the look on John Cena's face when he did it. The so-called Champ looked ready to strangle Barrett alive…his anger made Barrett smile to himself Finally, finally he seemed to be getting inside Cena's head…
Speaking of the newest member of the Nexus, Wade had seen him doing something most…unexpected.
After Raw, Wade had gone back to the Nexus locker room, ready to deal with Cena's obvious rage. To his surprise, however, Cena was nowhere to be found. At first this irritated Barrett greatly, and he spent a good amount of time searching for his teammate. His anger had grown with each passing minute he couldn't find Cena, and he'd even briefly toyed with the idea of hunting him down at the hotel, and that was when he finally saw him…
Randy Orton was limping down the hall, and walking at his side—his meaty arm wrapped around Orton's shoulders, offering him support—was none other then John Cena himself. Wade ducked out of view as soon as he saw them, and—thankfully—neither Randy nor John realized that Barrett was watching them. At first Barrett was enraged that Cena would even consider aiding the WWE Champion, but then Wade could feel the gears in his mind turning: why on earth would Cena be helping Randy? The two weren't friends…at least, not that anyone knew. Watching the two stumble out of the arena, Barrett couldn't help but notice that Randy was actually letting John help him… Obviously, despite what had happened earlier, Randy still had some amount of trust for Cena…and Cena seemed to…care for Randy. At least enough to go help him when he was injured.
Leaning against the cinderblock, Barrett smiled to himself.
He'd always been told that John Cena had no weakness, that John Cena was virtually unstoppable, once he set his mind to something. But Wade Barrett had managed to find something that really hurt Cena…Randy Orton. Wade hadn't planned on doing much more with Randy—he only attacked him that night because he wanted to make sure he was hurting at Bragging Rights that Sunday. But now it appeared Randy Orton could play a far larger part in Wade's scheme… It seemed that destroying John Cena could be as simple as hurting someone he cared about…
Wade Barrett smirked to himself, his eyes darkening.
Randy Orton didn't know it yet, but the Nexus certainly wasn't done with him.
