So, back again, with the next chapter in tow :-)
Thanks for all the feedback and even if this chap is different from the first one, I hope you enjoy it, too!

Have fun!
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x

A frustrated growl passed his lips. Why couldn't this man leave him alone? His eyes found the rearview mirror, showing him John who was still standing there, staring after him. And Randy could imagine the expression on John's face – a mixture of frustration, guilt and sadness. He'd heard the man's voice and knew that John simply couldn't stop being the always helpful and nice guy he was and that was so fucking annoying because it made himself feel bad for acting towards John like he did. But he couldn't stop… he had no choice.

And it was always the same. In the end he started to tell himself that John had no right to ask questions or mess with his life and above all that he wasn't the nice guy he pretended to be… In the end he managed to talk himself into hating John and all the other people. In the end it would be like it's always been and he would be alone, but it was okay because he needed no one. In the end it didn't matter…

And at a moment's notice his world exploded into screaming pain before black darkness pulled him in. There was no time, only… nothing.

But then a faint voice called him and the pain returned, paralyzing, excruciating. He knew that voice that was calling him over and over again, but he couldn't answer, couldn't breathe. Seconds… minutes… hours...? Darkness was reaching for him to pull him back into that peaceful nothing… and he didn't fight it… but suddenly air filled his lungs and he could breathe again…

There were soothing touches that eased the pain… and that voice… he wanted to follow that voice… wanted to hold onto it when the touches vanished…

And then he drifted in and out of consciousness and glaring white hot pain. It all became too much, too much and he wanted it to stop… and then the darkness was back and he fell…

xxx

A soft knock on the door disturbed the quietness of the room and trailed off unheard and the opening door revealed someone Randy for sure wouldn't have wanted to see. John Cena.

Hesitantly John entered the room. Behind him the door clicked shut and cut off the busy sounds coming from outside the room. It was crushing to see all those tubes and wires and machines… and the younger man in that bed between, motionless.

With slow steps he walked up to the bed, his eyes wandering over the man lying there, stopping at the pale face. For a few minutes he just stood there, stock-still.

He could almost hear the younger man's sharp voice asking him what the hell he was doing here, if it was fun to stand there and watch him. If John was happy that he finally got rid of him. John gritted his teeth. God knew how much he would like to hear those words in reality because it would mean that Randy was okay.

The older man shook his head and stepped closer, took off his baseball cap and sat down on the chair beside the bed. A heavy sigh escaped his lips.

"I'm sorry…," John whispered. "I'm so damn sorry."

His voice was rough, heavily laced with sincere regret and worry was written all over his face, shone in his eyes, unseen and unheard by the unconscious man in the bed. But John wished, prayed that it would reach Randy somehow.

He had no idea what to say. Groaning, he tilted his head back closed his eyes. The past days hadn't been the best in his life… so to speak. Every time he tried to find some sleep, he was back at that night, back at the car. Back at Randy's side. And everything he'd felt those minutes flared up again. He could still taste the blood…

John couldn't remember what had happened after the paramedics had taken Randy away. When he woke up the next day he found himself in a hospital and Punk at his bed.

"They wanted to give you something to calm down but you collapsed," his friend explained, worry etched to his face.

His eyes however told John that there were questions. Questions like: why did you risk your life for someone who gives a shit about you? Or: You know that you should stay away from that man? Or: I saw you at his side and why do I have the feeling that you care much, much more about him than you admit?

Punk didn't ask him all these questions and John was deeply grateful. He couldn't have answered them. At least not yet. But they were still there and sooner or later he had to face them.

Hesitantly John allowed his hand to settle close beside Randy's. The normally tanned skin looked pale, still a few shades darker compared to his own.

Maybe Punk was right and he should stay away from Randy. Let's take a realistic view of the facts, Randy actually hated him. But talking of realistic views of the facts, John cared a lot about Randy. Much, much more than he would admit to anyone. He bit back a bitter laugh. It was hard enough to admit it to himself.

Faintly he registered the steady sound of the heart monitor and oddly enough it was calming to hear it. It meant that despite all that had happened Randy was still there. And John tried his best to concentrate on the electronic echoes of Randy's heartbeat… and failed. His thoughts simply wouldn't come to a stop, not even one damn second.

And again his mind jumped back… He'd called the hospital and asked about Randy, they'd told him that they weren't allowed to tell him anything. Three Times. He'd tried three times to get any kind of information but he only ended up sitting alone at home, frustrated and worried. And he still felt immensely guilty.

For six days he stayed at home like a hermit, not answering calls or short messages or knocks at his door. Then he received that special short message from Punk that got him out of his lethargy.

Answer your damn calls! God knows I'm gonna regret that… Call his parents, idiot!

A number was attached. John had no idea how the hell Punk had gotten the number of Randy's parents but he wasted no time with asking him that and made the call.

He'd talked to Randy's mom and it hadn't been a pleasant conversation. Randy's parents refused to visit their son because of a fight they'd had. To say John had been shocked would have been an understatement. If you refuse to visit your son whose life is on the brink of death then there must've been far more than a simple fight.

John didn't ask further, he wouldn't have gotten an answer anyway. In the end she told John, that Sam wouldn't visit Randy either.

John suggested that he could go and look after Randy. And to his surprise Randy's mom agreed. An hour later the hospital called him and John was told that he'd been named as Randy's next of kin.

No friends, not his ex-wife, not even his closest family… there was nobody who wanted to know if Randy would get through this. This was so… sick.

Randy had chosen to be on his own and he made a good job of it. Now he was literally completely alone.

„No, not alone. Not anymore," John murmured and let his fingertips brush tenderly over the back of Randy's hand, bearing the little hope that the contact would cause a reaction.

But there was none. Nothing. Not even the tiniest of movements…

When he arrived at the hospital the first thing he did was talking to the doc. Multiple cuts and lacerations that needed lots of stitches. Bruises. The left arm was broken three times. The left collarbone was broken, too. Broken ribs, a disruption of the lung, a bruised liver. A broken right thigh and two broken vertebrae in the lumbar region. It wasn't sure when Randy would wake up. In an hour? Three weeks? Long weeks in the hospital would follow. And rehab.

All he could do was stare at the doctor and nod. Not one word came over his lips. After the conversation he sat on a lonely chair in the corridor in front of Randy's room for a while and tried to process the information.

Now he was here, beside the bed and willed Randy to wake up. Even if Randy would kick him out directly.

Uncountable times John had asked himself why the younger man hated him. He obviously did. And he found no answer, couldn't remember anything he'd said or done to make him that mad.

"What the hell happened? I… I just don't get it, I mean there were times when we talked and even went out for a drink. What have I done that you are so incredibly mad at me? What happened that you push everyone away from you?" John quietly asked into the silence of the room. "I liked those times when we were… friends. I know you wouldn't exactly have called me a friend back then, but for me you were a friend. And despite everyone opinion I know that there is another… amiable Randy under all those layers of egoism, asshole attitudes and what else you bring up to keep people away. I know he's there, I saw him…"

He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the bed, and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Man, I'm tired…" he murmured. "You know what? I'm gonna get me a coffee and in the meantime do me the favor and wake up, okay?"

His hand found back to Randy's and gave it a soft squeeze before he rose and left the room.

When he reached the door, he turned back and let his eyes roam the unconscious man once again, before he closed the door. He leaned his forehead against the doorframe and again a sigh escaped his lips, a heavy, heartfelt sigh. Like so often that day.

"Always the inveterate optimist, aren't we?"

The unexpected but familiar voice made John's head snap around. Punk sat a few meters away on a visitor's chair, arms braced on his knees, hands folded. His lips were only a thin line and an arched eyebrow indicated a 'John, John… stupid boy'. Slowly Punk rose from his chair and walked over to John.

"What are you doing here?" John asked, trying to keep the exhaustion he felt out of his voice, but the way Phil looked at him made it pretty clear that he not only sounded exhausted.

"I tried to call you but you obviously forgot how to answer calls," Phil remarked. "And when I didn't find you at your place I thought that there's a smaaaaall chance to find you here. And SURPRISE, I was right."

John brushed his hands through his face and asked: "Came here to deliver a sermon?"

"No, I came here to look after you. And now that I see you I guess it was a good idea," the other man replied softly. "You need to take a rest, man. You need a shower and a shave, food and sleep."

Shaking his head no, John started to walk down the corridor and Phil followed.

"No, I can't go home now. What I need is a coffee. I'm gonna wait here until he wakes up."

"Yeah, sure, Cena. What if he wakes up in a week?"

"Then I'm gonna wait here for a week."

"This man is crazy!" Phil proclaimed, pointing at John, before he grabbed him by the shoulders and steered him to the restroom.

"Now, Cena, tell me what you see," Punk demanded when they came to a stop in front of a mirror.

The mirror showed him a pale, very tired looking man with dark circles around the eyes and uncontrolled beard growth. John wanted to turn away from that picture but Phil held him in place.

"John," Phil murmured, "they're going to call you when he wakes up. It is absolutely okay if you allow yourself a rest. You're not helping him if you collapse again."

Defeated John gritted his teeth and nodded.

"Attaboy. Come on, let's go home…"

x

A while later they sat in John's kitchen, John having a beer, Phil sipping a coffee. They had been talking about random stuff, trying to bring up a better mood but they ended up sitting in silence, thinking.

John wondered why Phil was here. Okay, they were friends… he had a lot of friends but Phil was the only one who was there to talk, to help. On the other hand… he hadn't answered calls and short messages, so what did he expect?

His eyes swept through the kitchen and stopped at Phil, who stared at him with a soul-searching expression.

"This is going to break you if you're not careful, okay? He is going to break you," Punk said into the silence, his voice insistently.

John frowned and looked down at his beer.

"Huh… I thought you were different," he replied quietly.

He was tired of people telling him to stop care about 'that fucking asshole'. They didn't know Randy. He was sick about explaining himself to those people. And he'd really thought Phil was one of the few people who accepted his decision without further discussion.

John felt Phil's gaze on him and kept staring at his beer.

"John… you're falling for him and he's not going to return your feelings…"

That got John's attention. His eyes snapped back up to the man.

"What the fuck are you talking about, Punk?" he growled. "Are you calling me gay?"

Phil took a sip, set the mug back down on the table and pursed his lips. His hands played a little with the mug while he held John's gaze.

"We've had similar cases were you tried to be a friend for guys nobody else liked," Phil continued and John focused back on his beer. "The difference is: in those cases you decided after a while that it's a dead loss. But this time you seem to be willed to risk everything and more. He told you uncountable time to stop sticking your nose into his business. He even tried to punch your lights out. And you have nothing better to do than try it again and again. Come on, you have a soft spot for Randy. Don't tell me otherwise.

"You are nuts!" John threw his hands up in the air and exclaimed to the world in general: "This man is nuts!"

"Yeah. Yeah, maybe I'm nuts, Cena. But I saw you that night. I saw your face, your eyes and I heard your voice. There is more. We both know it."

John jumped up from his chair, walked over to the coffee machine and leaned on the counter, his back turned towards Phil.

"Stop that shit," he snapped.

"Okay, then look me in the eye and tell me that I'm wrong", Punk huffed.

John would just have needed to turn around and tell him exactly that. But he couldn't. Under different circumstances he would have looked the man straight in the eyes, pretending that Phil was on a completely wrong way. But under different circumstances he probably wouldn't have been so tired and too weak to pretend… and maybe Phil wouldn't have been so damn right…

Instead he hung his head and closed his eyes.

"I'm not judging you and you know that I'm not going to tell anyone anything," he said and got up from his place, walking over to where John stood. "I just want you to be careful that you're not losing yourself into whatever this is. And… if you need help or someone to talk to…"

John took a deep breath and whispered: "Thanks, Phil."

Punk patted his shoulder and let his hand rest there.

"You should go to bed," he murmured. "Call me if you need something. Or if he wakes up. Okay?"

John nodded and side gazed at the man. Punk smiled encouraging, squeezed the broad shoulder lightly and started back for home.

Minutes later John still stood at the same spot, not able to move an inch. Phil's words echoed in his mind, words that bared facts which John never wanted to name.

God damn yes, he had a soft spot for Randy and there was more, he knew that all too well. And he knew that even if Randy would ever let pass his well-built defenses… he would never return…it. There, he couldn't even call it by its name.

A groan of pure exhaustion passed John's lips. He had to drag himself into bed somehow, although he was sure that he wouldn't have a fitful sleep… or sleep at all. Finally he pushed himself away from the counter and started his way to the bedroom.