4:

Randy was after Punk like a shot.

He grabbed Punk's throat and hurtled him into the wall, while Punk tried to fight him off, shouting, "No, no, no, no, no, no...GACK!"

I think that last word was supposed to be stop.

The look in Orton's eyes was one of fury. He was ready to do whatever was necessary to shut Punk up for good. I stepped up beside them, saying, "Alright, let's just talk about this like adults."

Orton didn't even flinch. Punk looked at me with pleading eyes, his air slowly being constricted out of his lungs from Orton's severe grip.

What could I say to make this better?

In heated situations, I used humor because it helped me cope better. I took on a more sarcastic appeal and said, "Look, Orton, we can't kill him. We've got no trash bags to hide the remains, no easy exits, and I don't think we're getting past security."

Orton's viper-like eyes rolled in their sockets to look at me. He held his cold expression for a moment more, then he suddenly cracked a smile. He let go of Punk's throat just enough so Punk could choke in some air, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

Then Orton glared at Punk and said, "You're lucky Cena is taking this so lightly."

Punk sucked in another breath and replied, "I get it, I get it, alright! I know you're upset, but you can trust me! I'm not going to tell anyone!"

"How can we trust you?" I became serious, igniting Orton's inner protector to stare Punk down for signs of weakness.

Punk put up his hands in defeat and explained, "If I tell management that two of their headliners are doing each other backdoor doggy-style, there's going to be publicity and an investigation and all the negative shit that comes with a revelation like that, then they'll want a statement from me, and they'll investigate my background, and they'll probably bring up that time when I was in college..."

"Wait, wait, wait," Randy put up his hand to stop Punk's oddly turning rant, asking, "Did you just call my feelings for Cena 'backdoor doggy-style'?"

Punk swallowed hard, saying, "What? No, I didn't say...what? No! I don't care what you two are doing, you know? I was just...I don't know...guessing...okay, what?"

I could tell the situation was getting out of hand fast. I asked Punk, "How do we know we can trust you not to tell anyone?"

Shrugging, Punk answered, "I guess you don't."

Orton reached for Punk's throat again, so I backed him off by saying reasonably, "Randy, we have to just trust him. What are we gonna do? Give him a swirly and wedgies until he vows to remain silent?"

Punk pointed his finger at us, shouting, "Ha! Wedgies won't work because I'm not wearing any underwear!"

Both Orton and I stared at him. He mentioned almost to himself, "I've said too much."

Then Punk suddenly kicked Orton in the knee and ducked away from his grip, running for the door. I rushed after him, shouting, "Punk, come back!"

I ran out into the hallway, and caught sight of Punk rushing past the drink stands.

Damn, he was fast.

He was easily going to outrun me, but I started after him anyway, shouting, "Punk, wait! Don't let it go like this!"

He rounded the corner, so I chased after him, turning just in time to see a baseball bat coming toward me.

It made contact with my left knee, sending me into a mid-air somersault before I hit the cement floor hard. I tried to catch my breath again as I saw a figure masked and dressed in black come to stand over me, lifting the baseball bat to make contact again.

I rolled out of the way just as the bat came crashing down and shattered when it impacted against the floor. I tried to get back to my feet, but my knee was still in pain and I stumbled back down again. I turned to face the figure, making my way backward as the figure stepped closer, holding the broken end of the baseball bat like a makeshift weapon.

"Hey you!" I heard Big Show's booming voice shout from down the hallway.

The figure and I both turned to face him. Big Show was coming up fast, so the figure turned and took off down the opposite path, disappearing like they already knew where they were going.

Mental note: wrestlers were more rehearsed in arena layouts than anyone else.

"Cena, are you alright?" Big Show came over to help me up.

"Yeah, I'm fine. They just got me in the knee," I took Show's hand for support in getting back to my feet.

"John!" Randy shouted from down the hallway.

He's never said my first name like that before. Like it meant something to him. Like I meant something to him.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," I told Orton as he came close.

Orton helped me stand up straight, and analyzed me with his eyes. I could see the intense emotion there, but Orton hid it instantly when Big Show got close, asking, "Do you know who attacked you, Cena?"

"Attacked?" Orton became confused.

I explained, "I was coming around the corner and someone dressed all in black hit me in the knee with a bat. They tried to hit me again but I got out of the way, then Big Show came and they took off."

Orton looked around suspiciously, then he stopped cold when he saw the splintered remains of the baseball bat on the floor where the attacker had missed me. Orton clenched his fists so hard, I could see drops of blood seeping through his fingers where his nails had dug too far into his skin.

Big Show took my attention away from Orton when he asked, "Could it have been a crazed fan? Or maybe another wrestler?"

"I don't know, it could've been anybody," I shrugged.

"I'm going to call Vince. He should know about this," Big Show said, reaching into his pocket for his cell phone.

I glanced back at Randy, but he had his eyes closed, lost in that place inside of his head again.

Where is he now?

:-:

TEST MESSAGE FROM: WADE BAREBUTT

RECEIVED: 10:45AM

WHERE R U CENA? LOST U ON 5TH. STATUS. NOW.

I stared at Wade's most recent text message, wondering how long I could wait to answer him before he texted me again. Probably not long, considering that he had been texting me every twenty seconds like clockwork since I decided to ride with Randy to the next event.

"What's he asking you now?" Orton asked, surveying the abandoned field around us as he took a bite of his sandwich, his left wrist still balancing on the steering wheel of his black truck.

He always took the black truck to events because it was beat up and simple looking, a great deterrent when we didn't have time for fan or publicity encounters. It proved not to be useful this time, since we were in the middle of Nebraska and we hadn't seen so much as a lizard and a series of tumbleweeds that liked to dart out in front of us at the last second.

"He wants to know where I am and what I'm doing, like always. He's totally pissed that I chose to ride with you, especially after he thought he had us pegged after his Survivor Series stipulation," I said.

Orton chuckled and asked, "So what's your reply?"

I answered jokingly, "I've run out of things to tell him. I think I'm going to try a detailed approach: I'm staring at an open field. I thought I saw a celebrity at the gas station we passed, but it was a homeless guy. I had a little gas in my lower intestine, but it passed so I think I'm okay now."

Randy burst into a loud, booming laugh. I was taken by surprise, never hearing him laugh out loud like that before. When he finished, I said more seriously, "Wade is really pissed about this, though."

"Well he'll have to live with it, because I'm not letting you out of my sight after last night," Orton replied.

"Do you think it will happen again?" I asked curiously.

"If it was someone in the Nexus like I think it was, then yes, it will," Orton stated.

My phone buzzed again with another text. Randy and I both groaned, then he asked, "Again? It's only been a few seconds!"

I answered passively, "Oh well, I'm not worried."

Orton narrowed his eyes at me incredulously. I explained, "Every second I have to spend with him just means I'm one second closer to spending time with you."

I looked at him, and for a moment, Randy looked legitimately touched by my words. Then he used his trademark ultra-dry sense of humor to tell me, "That is total sap, Cena."

I started laughing, and he did, too. Randy started his truck to head out onto the road again, telling me jokingly, "I think I'll take that and publish it. They'll call me Randy of the Romance and I'll make millions."

"Glad I could help in your additional career pursuits," I replied with a chuckle.

My phone buzzed again with yet another text. I opened it and sighed as I read it. Orton asked, "What?"

"He wants me to report to him right away when we get to the arena," I relayed.

"So much for seeing the sights," Orton joked morosely.

Randy put the truck in gear, then he looked at me and said, "Come here."

I leaned over and he took me by the back of my neck, pulling me even closer to him so he could give me a long, deliberate kiss. When he let go, I was left wanting more, but I knew that Wade would be timing my every second getting to the arena. Orton seemed to know it to, pulling out of the field as he said, "If Wade docks you even a second for being late, you tell him to come straight to me."

I smiled, asking only half-seriously, "Why is Wade afraid of you?"

Orton answered passively, "Guess I get under his skin."

I searched his expression for clues, but I couldn't tell for sure if Orton was hiding something from me or not.

:-:

"I want coffee, Cena."

Wade's accent made it sound like he said, "Cay-fay." I could just tell him we don't make cay-fay in good ole' America, but that would be amusing, and The Wade doesn't like to be amused by The Cena.

"The refreshment cart doesn't make coffee at night, especially this late," I said.

Wade stepped up more closely to me so he could tower over me, saying strongly, "Then go make some, errand boy."

I kept my glazed over expression. As long as I didn't show emotion, Wade couldn't tell if he was getting to me or not. He chuckled slightly and asked, "What? Are you a robot now, Cena? Do you take my orders and process them mechanically?"

His constant ridicule was starting to get on my nerves. I opened my mouth to retaliate when Slater walked in with Punk.

Wait...what?

I looked at Punk, then at Slater, then back at Punk again. Slater was laughing like Punk had just told him a great joke, then Slater saw me and became aloof, asking, "Shouldn't you be doing something productive for us, Cena?"

Punk put his hands in his pockets and acted like he wasn't listening. Wade interjected and asked Slater, "You and Punk ready for your tag match?"

"Tag match?" I asked aloud before I realized it.

Slater took on a cocky smile and answered, "Yeah, Cena. Looks like I'm going to be winning a title tonight and you're going to...well...whatever it is Wade tells you to do."

A hundred insults went through my mind at once. Instead of saying any of them, I replied simply, "Good luck to both you and Punk tonight, then."

Slater smiled, countering, "We don't need luck, Cena."

Clapping his hands together, Slater motioned for Punk to follow him out the door. I was glad to see them leave, but they weren't out yet when Otunga came in, telling us in a hurried voice, "Someone attacked Orton with a baseball bat!"

My entire being just went numb.

"What?" I yelled.

Slater and Otunga both looked at me with confusion. Punk kept his gaze to the floor so as not to betray what he knew. Wade glanced at me, and realizing that I was about to blow the secret that he was still sure only he knew, Wade stepped in front of me to block me from the others as he asked, "Is Orton alrigh'?"

"Yeah, he just hurt his shoulder so he's out of his match against DiBiase tonight. Doc said he'll have to wear a sling but he'll be fine in a couple of days," Otunga informed us.

Wade signaled to everyone, saying, "Alrigh', well off with you, then."

They left, then Wade turned around to face me with a stone expression. I fought back the urge to pummel him like a caged animal, saying as calmly as possible, "I have to see him."

Wade blinked and took on a look of realization. For a single moment, I read on his face that he knew how much Randy and I meant to each other, and for a single moment, I thought he was going to set me free for one night to do as I pleased.

Damn single moments. They give you too much hope.

The look faded and Wade told me in his usual tone, "You stay right here with me."

"But you don't need me!" I countered desperately.

"Tha's no' the point, Cena! You do as I say," Wade argued.

I couldn't take it anymore. I held out my arms, shouting at Wade, "What do you want from me?"

He answered in less than a heartbeat, "Your obedience!"

"Or what?" I really wanted to know.

Wade came nose-to-nose with me and said acidly, "Or I'll tear your world apart."

:-:

I stopped thinking. I stopped caring. I just did whatever Wade said and forced myself not to think of Randy. Hours passed, but Wade was still having me fulfill orders long after the show ended, making it impossible for me to get checked into a room when we finally arrived at the hotel.

Wade smirked when I realized that he had already booked his room, and he left me in the hotel lobby to come up with a place to spend the night. I managed to charm the desk clerk into telling me what room Randy was staying in, then I ventured up to find him. I saw that the door to his room was slightly open, but I knocked anyway, saying before anyone answered, "It's Cena."

"Door's open," Randy said, so I walked inside.

He was lying on his bed with his right arm in a sling, watching the widescreen in front of him while he held the remote in his good hand. I glanced at the screen and saw that he was watching a rerun of Sesame Street, and I lifted my brow in surprise.

"What? I like the celebrity guests," Randy admitted.

I closed the door and came over to him, saying, "I'm sorry I couldn't be here sooner. Are you okay?"

Orton frowned slightly and answered, "It doesn't matter what happened to me. Wade shouldn't be keeping you so late. It's fucking ridiculous."

I shook my head, insisting, "I still should've been there sooner."

Orton changed the subject, asking, "Did you have any time to get a room?"

"No. I think I'll sleep in your truck if you don't mind," I said.

Scoffing, Orton answered, "My bed is huge. You're sleeping in here with me."

Again, I was struck with surprise. Orton saw my cheeks reddening and brushed it off another dry joke, "I need someone to make fun of late night infomercials with me. It's stupid if I do it alone."

I went over to the other side of the bed and took off my shoes, then pulled off my shirt and unbuckled my jeans. Randy watched me the whole time, then when I was down to my boxers, he said thickly, "Take everything off."

"What?" I asked.

He let the silence linger a moment longer before he said, "I want to see all of you."

I felt something rise inside of me. It was unlike anything I had felt with someone before. I had spent most of my adult life wrestling half-naked in front of thousands of fans, and yet now, I felt truly raw and exposed.

I tugged on my boxers and let them slide to the floor, revealing me entirely in the flesh. Randy's eyes scanned over me slowly, as if he were taking mental pictures of every part of me, then he took on his faraway look again.

"What are you thinking? Am I too big?" I joked.

Randy came back to the present, chuckling a little before he took on a look of pain and cradled his arm. I pulled my boxers back up and climbed into bed to get to him, asking, "Are you alright?"

He let go of his arm and locked eyes with me, saying in a slightly pained tone, "I'm fine. I was just thinking about all the things I want to to do to you right now."

I smiled, replying, "We'll have time for that later. Why don't you just tell me some of it for now?"

I settled in to listen to him, but Randy said, "I would rather show you."

He reached for me with his good arm, but suddenly my phone buzzed in my jeans on the floor. I groaned with frustration and sat up to answer it while Randy muttered his own series of curses from the bed. I saw that it was a text message, but I didn't recognize the number. I opened it, and I read the same words that had struck me down hours earlier.

I'LL TEAR YOUR WORLD APART.