Back again with the next chap!

Now, I keep this short. I love you guys.

Enjoy! r&r is love ;D

Oh, and:

BrightAsNight – we're talking about Johnny-Boy here :3

Alonia187 – the boys are a BIT stubborn and indecisive… aren't they?

Julie - *hands some patience* ;D

leoxrko – mess is an understatement O_o

Vindictive John Dark Fantasy – you keep on reading, I'd say it'll be… interesting…

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The next day came much too fast, like it had happened so often before. Over and over again. A goddamn never-ending déjà vu. And it hurt and it was scaring and heavy with desperation. It was almost noon when John opened his eyes and he found himself alone on the couch. A blanket was covering him, telling him that at some point along the night Phil must've gotten up to get one. Somehow he was relieved to be alone and that he hadn't to face the still existing tenseness between him and Phil right now, no matter how much he had needed someone around the past night and how much of an asshole he was for coming to Phil for comfort and now being relieved that he wasn't here.

His eyes caught a glass of water on the coffee table with some painkillers lying beside it and he would need it. His head pounded like a jack-hammer. Groaning John sat up, immediately leaning forward as a wave of dizziness surged through him and with another groan he pressed the heels of his hands against his temples. It took him about a minute until he could sit up straight again, reaching out for the painkillers and the water, hoping that his stomach wouldn't revolt. Thankfully it didn't. And then he saw a note sticking to his cell and with a small frown he took it.

Hey, sleepyhead. First of all and just in case you don't remember much of the past night: nothing happened. I thought you would rather want to wake up alone, so I hope I was right. And I owe you an answer. Yeah, we are still friends and I'm glad you came to me. I hope for you that Randy will come to his senses soon. He said that he loves you and he's not the type of guy who says that and doesn't mean it. So just be patient, even if it takes a while. And I promise I'm gonna be there for you, so call me if you need something. Hang in there, Sunshine. It'll be alright.

And again John felt relieved, because… they were still friends. And because he knew Phil still had his back. Brushing his thumb over the small piece of paper he thought about what he should do now. There were only two options: not going back to the hospital and giving in to Randy's ridiculous stubbornness, hoping he would come to his senses on his own or going back there and talk at him until he got through to him. And risk making it all worse. A bitter chuckle passed his lips. As if he really had a choice. He would go back, although John had no damn idea what to say anymore to shake Randy awake…

With a sigh John leaned back against the backrest of the couch, closing his eyes as he waited for the painkillers to kick in. Listening into his mind and his heart he realized that once again he'd reached a point where he couldn't possibly hurt more than he already did. Pain, numbness, desperation… his old friends… they were back and he was too tired to summon the strength to fight them.

In the bathroom waited a toothbrush and a towel for him and after his trip there he found a small breakfast waiting for him in the kitchen and John had to smile. After all that had happened Phil was still the always worried, always caring good friend. His own mother hen. And because he didn't want to strain Phil's good nature too much, he hurried to leave the house so that the younger man could come back home. While sitting in a taxi on his way to the hospital he typed a short message to Phil.

Hey, Phil. I'm off for the hospital. Thanks for letting me crash on your couch, for listening to me. Thanks for you being you and thanks for still being my friend. God, there are so many things I have to be thankful for… I wished I knew how to make up to you for all of it.

The way to the hospital went by much quicker than John would have wished and so he found himself standing at the entry to the building, staring at the big glass door. Fiddling the cell in his pocket he pondered if he should call Phil to hopefully hear some encouraging words. He was playing for time. People passed him, in the background was traffic noise. He heard people talk, laugh, argue. The life around him went on in its normal pace. Normal. John wished things would, could be normal for him and Randy, too. Between all the sounds around him he heard his cell beeping and absentmindedly he reached into his pocket, retrieving the small device and when he flipped it open, he found a message from Phil.

No need to, Sunshine. It's okay, really. And now go to him. I know you, you're standing in front of his room, playing for time. Right? Get in and shake some sense into him and tell me how it went.

Smiling softly he stored his cell away and went into the building and the lady at the information told him that Randy had been moved to his normal room. The way up to Randy's room gave him some more time to gather the guts to face whatever was waiting for him and when he reached his destination he breathed a few times deeply, squared his shoulders and knocked. After a moment he stepped in. Randy was staring at the ceiling and John noticed that his eyes were reddened and puffy and it fed the tiny hope in him that the younger man had realized his mistake.

For Randy the time between the moment after John had left the ICU and this very minute had been paralyzing. Being awake and fade into soothing oblivion merged into each other. Time went by so fast and everything seemed to be so far away and out of his reach and even if he'd tried to get a hold on it, he would have failed. But it didn't make any difference to him because every time he emerged from the peaceful depths of a dreamless sleep, he wished he just wouldn't wake up anymore. It would have been so easy and so much less painful… But he did wake up, again and again and every time reality hit him full force again. He was a nursing case. And… there was no John. It was what Randy had chosen. Being alone. It wasn't what he really wanted.

The sound of an opening door cut into his dull thoughts. Slowly turning his head towards the door, Randy furrowed his brows and squinted his eyes as if it would help him to see who was standing there.

"Who's there?" he murmured.

Swallowing hard John walked up to him, noticing fine lines of gnawing sorrow on Randy's face, and his voice was very quiet as he said: "It's me, Ran. How are you feeling?"

The tiny hope John harbored was crushed in a blink as Randy snapped: "Why the hell did you come back? I told you to go!"

John.

Randy's heart reached out to him, but his mind held it back. Utterly torn between being relieved and happy that the older man had come back and wishing he would have stayed away it was all he could do. Snap at John, bite him away.

Again John swallowed hard, although this reaction didn't take him by surprise, and just as he wanted to say something, Randy's expression changed to freezing cold as a scent reached his nose.

"You're smelling like him," he stated, his tone matching the expression on his face and it sent a chill down John's spine.

"Weren't you the one who sent me to Phil?" John asked then clipped but he already regretted his words the very moment they left his mouth.

The cold expression on Randy's face wavered a bit and underneath John saw sadness and something heavier and it made him regret his words even more.

Sighing he wiped a hand down his face, adding: "Nothing happened. No kisses, no touches, no sex. Nothing. I only crashed on his couch because I felt so goddamn alone without you, Ran."

The tiny sound which dropped from Randy's lips could have been sigh or a huff but it didn't make a difference anyway. There was no sign that the younger man would revise his decision. Quite the contrary. There was a certain determination showing up on his face, rejection even, etching the fine lines even deeper into the handsome features. But it was a lie and Randy hoped he wouldn't give it away, that John wouldn't read him like he used to. Knowing when there was something else.

"Please, Ran," he whispered, hoping. "I love you and I know you love me. Why are you doing this? Don't send me away…"

"No, John. Nothing has changed. I don't want to destroy your life with my problems. It'll happen and I don't want that. Please, just go."

Randy's voice was weak as he spoke but certain and his left reached for the nurse call. Quietness fell over the room while John stared at Randy. He knew that Randy would call a nurse to make him go. He'd lost and he would do the only thing he could do. Leave him here alone and hope. Hope that Randy would realize eventually that this was wrong.

"Okay," John whispered defeated and got up from his place. "Okay. I'm getting my stuff and I'm going."

A minute later he had his stuff packed up. He walked over to the door and with every step pain and desperation grew and when he reached the door it hurt so much that John barely could breathe. Turning around he let his gaze roam Randy. The younger man's face was still strained and suddenly very pale, his breathing fast and shallow and for a terrifying moment John was back at what had happened in the recovery room. But then Randy turned his head more or less into John's direction and the seizure John feared might happen… did not happen.

Swallowing on the lump in his throat John willed his voice to work as he said: "I… I guess that's it then. You won."

With that he left the room, leaving it to time and hope to set things right. The sound of the closing door behind him seemed much too loud between all the busy noises surrounding him and it sounded so unbearably final that the pain in his chest exploded, stealing his breath away. He managed to walk over to a chair, sitting down heavily on it as a queasy feeling flooded him again, bringing dizziness along. No… it wasn't supposed to end like this. After everything they went through this wasn't right. There should have been a happily ever after, a life together in happiness and love and joy. Not… this… It wasn't fair and it hurt, so damn much. He failed as he tried to bite back the tears and with a choked sob he hung his head, crying silently…

He'd been wrong. He had by far not reached the point where he couldn't hurt more than he already did. It was getting worse… this very moment and with every single second…

On the other side of the door reigned quietness. Utter, leaden and defeated silence. It was choking him, weighing down on Randy, crushingly heavy. Slowly he realized that it was over. That they… were over. It was what he had planned on doing, wasn't it? Making John leave to live his life. A free life. Without him, because over the time John would heal and he could be happy again. With someone else, someone who wasn't a burden for him. Someone who could make him happy instead of causing him pain. It was what he deserved. Randy had known it would hurt beyond words to lose him but… not like this. This… it felt like… dying. Slightly turning onto his side, Randy wrapped his arms around himself and half a sob, half a moan slipped past his lips. It had been the right thing to do, but why did it feel so fucking wrong? He owed John to let him go, to have a good life, then why couldn't he let go of him now?

"John…"

The name dropped as a begging, pained little sound from his lips.

"Johnny…?"

He fought… and he lost. Tears fell… And he cried, bitter and accusing tears and it felt like the last bit of energy drained out of him. Heaviness settled down on him, pulling him down into a silent blackness. Welcoming it he let himself fall… hoping that this time he wouldn't come back…

x

Ten days.

Coming home from the hospital after Randy had told him for the second time to go had been pure agony. For long minutes he'd been standing at the front door of his house, fingers gripping the handle with an almost painfully hard grip. He wasn't able to move, let alone to step into the house. And then he sat on the steps to his house for about an hour, staring absentmindedly into nothing. He simply couldn't go in.

It was a message from Phil that shook him out of his thoughts, saying that he should simply call or send a message if he wanted to talk or if he needed anything. For a brief moment he was tempted to call Phil, to ask him to come over. Maybe even to hold him in those comforting arms of his. But he didn't. Phil had done enough and John didn't want to burden him now. Again.

And for the rest of the day he sat in his living room and although he knew that he should eat something he settled for drinking something. And it wasn't water. It wasn't a good idea and he was very much aware of the fact that he would regret it later, very-very much so, but for the moment it helped him drowning the pain.

The following days weren't much different. He stayed up late because he couldn't find sleep and when he finally fell asleep, he slept long into the day. He didn't bother to shave and the beard was hiding the thin lines of worry, pain and sorrow which were etched around his mouth. He didn't eat much, if anything at all, drank too much and spend his time sitting in his semi-dark living room. Hurting. Thinking. Too much and sometimes nothing at all.

He called Dr. Green every day, making sure he was just sober enough to make a call at all, asking how Randy was doing and it was always the same answer. The healing was making progress but Randy still refused to speak. And the medic always asked if he himself was okay, since he didn't sound like he was. He was. That's what he always said to the man. He was… fine.

Every day there came a message from Phil, asking if he was alright, if he needed anything and John's answer was always the same, too. I'm fine, thanks Phil.

And every damn day he hoped for a call or a message from Randy, that he finally had come to his senses. But there was none… and it was killing him. The stupor he was caught in refused to let him go and day after day he sank deeper into it, lost himself in it…

It was day eight when he finally reached the point where he felt like he couldn't go on. Waiting was futile and hoping absurd. Randy had decided to shut him out of his life and he was too damn tired and exhausted to fight this decision. Maybe it would be the best to accept that decision and try to live on. Somehow…

Day eight was the day he stopped drinking. Day eight was the day he stood in the middle of his hallway, unable to make even one more step. He sank down and lying onto the floor he curled up to a ball. And he cried for hours until his eyes burned like fire and his whole body ached.

On day nine all he did was lying in his bed with the nastiest hangover of his life, spending his time with trying hard to sleep, not to throw up and keeping some water down. Hour after hour passed in a painful, dizzy blur, accompanied by sickness, but when the aftermath of a week full of too much alcohol lessened… something in him stirred.

And it said fight.

Go to him and fight for him. You can't let that happen. It's wrong, it's goddamn, fucking wrong and he is just too stubborn to realize it. You can't give up. You can't give him up because you love him and he loves you. Get your ass up and do something.

His body struggled against the abuse of the past days. His mind reared up against the haze. And the love he felt for this stubborn mule of a man lashed out and fought and filled his heart and soul. Funny. It was like stepping out of the darkness, like a switch being flipped because suddenly his will to fight was back and stronger than ever. Just like that…

It was day ten when he got rid of the beard, like a sign that it wasn't over. It was the day he left his house again, determined to get back what belonged to him…

For Randy those ten days felt like a countdown. The countdown to a life alone. He was back at the point where everything had started, before John had come along.

Every day was the same and it felt more like one endless, agonizing day. Nurses came in, checking on him, trying hard to make him speak but he didn't want to and so he kept holding onto his stealthy quietness. The doctor made his visits, telling him that he was making progress, but it didn't feel like anything had changed at all. And the medic insisted that he needed to speak because otherwise he couldn't be released from hospital. Those were the rare moments he muttered a yes or a no.

Nothing changed over those days. Every single day it hurt and every single day he missed John and he wished he could be with him. Every single day he felt the urge to call John, asking him to come back but he didn't. The same voice that told him he'd done and was still doing the right thing was forbidding him to call him and that voice was telling him to protect John. All the same he hoped that John would call… just maybe… or ignore what he'd said and come back to him.

The darkness of his world was endless and filled with sounds and noises and it wore him down, pulled him into a paralyzing void.

He was barely able to get out of the bed and into the wheelchair to go to the bathroom. It took him a little eternity to find the right way by feeling around and then it took him another little eternity to find the way to the bathroom. It was straining and depressing and it didn't get any better.

On day eight he gave the hope up that John might decide to at least visit him against his explicit wish. It was the day he accepted that he had done it, that he'd driven John away. Most successfully. On that day he fell into a crying fit and he cried for hours and so hard that a nurse had to give him something to calm down.

It was day nine he gave himself up. With it he accepted his own painful decision he'd made to be alone. And the life he'd chosen. The fact that he suddenly was able to move two fingers of his right hand a little wasn't making him feel better. It was the day he asked a nurse to book a room for him at a hotel. It was the day he surrendered to the void that was still pulling him deeper and deeper...

On day ten Dr. Green came to him, telling him that he would be released from hospital in a few hours. And he waited for the message that he could go and he counted the minutes, because that very moment he had to leave this room… it fucking scared him…

John also counted the minutes as he walked into the hospital, making his way to the ward where Dr. Green was waiting for him. He was determined to take Randy home, if he wanted or not. Dr. Green briefed him on the news and gave him some instructions. The medic was still confident when it came to Randy's healing progress, but he was deeply worried that Randy seemed to slowly slip into a depression.

After only a few minutes John said his good-bye to the medic and made his way to Randy's room, mentally preparing for the fight that was about to come. At the door he stopped, taking a deep breath, telling himself that everything would turn out good and holding onto that thought he stepped in.

John's eyes swept through the room. Randy was lying in his bed, the blind eyes staring out of the window. The wheelchair waited beside the bed and someone had packed his stuff up, the bag sitting beside the wheelchair. The younger man looked worn out and pale, much older than he really was. His left hand was buried in the blanket and John noticed happily that Randy was moving two fingers of the right hand a bit, just like Dr. Green had told him. And while he watched those movements… they slowed down. Turning his head a bit, Randy faced the unknown person. And there were those two spots where they had shaved Randy's head. The spots where the scars were, still reddened and slightly swollen and very much visible and the sight sent a chill down his spine.

"When will the discharge form be signed?" Randy asked monotone.

"The discharge form is already signed and you're allowed to go," John stated carefully neutral and Randy's eyes widened visibly in surprise.

"John?"

Randy's voice was very quiet. Very, very quiet. And it was heavily laced with disbelief and there was maybe even a little bit… relief in it?

"I'm here to take you home, Randy," John explained and he had a hard time to keep his voice neutral, because after ten days without the younger man every fiber in his body demanded to just go over and gather him in his arms.

"Thank you, but no," Randy replied clipped, shrugging the surprise off. "I have a hotel room booked and…"

"I know and we're gonna cancel it later," the older man said and as Randy wanted to cut in, most likely to tell him to go to hell, he added quickly: "For the last ten days I've been sitting at home, hoping you would call, but you didn't. And it hurt, you know? And then I began thinking about just coming back here, but you made it pretty clear that you want me to stay away. Two days ago I had reached the point where I was about to accept your decision. But all the time it almost killed me not to be at your side. I've been feeling alone like never before in my whole life, knowing that I can't live a life without you."

Slowly he walked up to the bed, coming to stand a step away from it and Randy was surprisingly quiet. But he turned his head away from John, facing the window again and the world outside he couldn't see. He didn't want to hear that…

Not done with what he had to say, John continued, his voice dropping to a very calm tone: "You pushed me away with words, even bodily and I came back to you. You yelled at me, you sent me away and you dropped me just like that because you thought it would be the right thing to do to go back to your wife and I came back to you. I pulled you out of that burning wreck of a car and I didn't leave you when I heard about the cancer. Goddamn, I thought you would die back then after I got you out of your car and all the time you refused a treatment. I stayed at your side, the whole time, no matter what you said or did or what happened. When I promised you this I was serious, Randy. I was even willed to live my life at your side as your friend, thinking there could never be more than that, although I love you so damn much that it almost tears me apart. Then you told me that you love me too and it was perfect. Everything was perfect. And in the recovery room, when you… fuck, it was the third time I had to be afraid to lose you and then, just when I thought everything would turn out good, that we could finally start our life together you tell me to fuck off because you don't want to destroy my life? You know what? You are destroying my life with what you think is the right thing to do."

Under the impact of John's words and the unsettling calmness of his voice Randy closed his eyes as if he could shut the world and the truth out. It fucking hurt to hear it and every word left a crack in his barely strong enough will go through with making John stay away.

"Can you even imagine how much you hurt me? I didn't run. Not one fucking single time, Randy. I wished for you that you could move your legs and that you could see, because I know how much you suffer. But I love you, no matter if you can see or not or if you can't move your legs. And if you would have come out of this fucking surgery as that living vegetable you were afraid of to be, I would have taken you home with me because I still would have loved you. And god knows, if I could change places with you I would do it without hesitation, but I can't. All I can do is take you home with me and tell you how much I love you and proof it to you if you let me."

For a long moment silence fell as John gazed at Randy, whose face was strained, sad and the younger man swallowed hard, maybe because he wanted to say something but didn't get the words to leave his lips… maybe because he wanted to hold something back.

"You said that you love me, that you'd rather die than ever let me go again and as corny as it sounds, I saw in your eyes that it is the truth and don't try to tell me now it was a lie. I wouldn't believe it," John said eventually, sitting down on the edge of the bed. There was a tiny twitch around Randy's lips as he felt the bed dip. "And because I love you and because I know you love me too, I'm going to take you home now. I want you to be the love of my life, Randy, I want the you and me to be an us but I promise I'm not gonna try anything, no touches, no kisses or whatever if you don't want it. All I ask for is being allowed to be close to you and be there for you, okay?"

When Randy turned his head back to John again and opened his eyes, the dazed grey orbs stared right through the older man and there was an acrid little smile stretching those beautiful lips. His willpower faded and scraping what was left of it together, he put it all in one last push.

"Even if your big ego makes you think that you can make everything alright just because you are John Cena, you're wrong. I'm sorry to tell you this, but you can't work wonders, so stop being Super-Cena for once," he said in a tone that was matching his smile. "You just don't know when a case is lost, do you? Go, live your life. And I'm sure Phil will happily agree to be part of it…"

"Will you finally cut that fucking shit out, Randy?" John said, ignoring Randy's biting words and somehow he managed to keep his voice calm although he wanted to shake or smack some sense into the younger man. "You are not a lost case. You can already move two fingers of your right hand again and you'll regain sight and there's still a chance that you'll be able to walk again. But you need to fight for it, so stop feeling sorry for yourself and stop deciding what's good for me and what's not. And I don't want Phil, I want you, goddammit. My life is only a life when you're part of it. And now get out of that bed. We're going home."

"You can't force me to come with you," Randy replied, the acrimony still very much audible, along with a good amount of bitterness and he somehow managed to hide that there was no more real intensity behind it.

"You are a goddamn bastard, Orton," John said, the calm tone giving way to the hurt he felt. "Again I've come back and bare my soul to you like a complete idiot and you…!"

A bitter huff dropped from John' lips and he got up, walking over to the window to brace on the windowsill. At a loss what else to say John hung his head with a quiet sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. It was like talking to a wall and the worst thing about it was… the man he loved and he knew loved him back was hiding behind that wall, just because of the ridiculous idea that he was destroying John's life. It wasn't supposed to end like this and he had no idea how to go on without Randy. It simply wasn't an option. Waiting for a reaction that never came John stared out of the window, pressing his lips to a thin line, breathing deeply against the stinging pain in his chest. This had to stop. Now.

"I can't force you, huh?" John muttered then and got back to the bed, leaning over Randy. "Well, you're wrong."

With that he picked Randy up, earning a startled gasp from him, and sat him into the wheelchair.

"What the fuck, Cena?! You…!" Randy snapped as he shook the surprise off, but John cut in.

"Shut up!" the older man roared, effectively silencing Randy with his outburst.

He wiped a hand down his face and squatted down in front of the wheelchair, taking hold of Randy's hands who flinched a bit at the touch, but at least he didn't pull his hands back.

After a brief moment he continued much softer: "I'm sorry, I… We could have been perfect, you know? And we still can be perfect, Ran. Do you really, and I mean really want to lose that and be alone?"

He settled one of Randy's hands on his cheek and one… over the spot were Randy had marked him, holding them there gently but loose enough that the younger man could pull them out of his hold if he wanted. But instead Randy began to brush his thumb back and forth slightly over a soft cheek and screwing his eyes shut he hung his head. A single tear escaped nevertheless. It hadn't been a fair move from John to do this. Make him touch him. And goddammit, his fingers remembered the feeling of John's skin and suddenly his body remembered very vividly the feeling of John's body against his and… and his heart remembered his voice and his warmth, his touch… his kisses… his whole presence. There had been a reason that he'd avoided John's touch after the surgery, that he'd tried not to touch the older man. He'd known that if he touched John, that he wouldn't be able to let him go. Yeah, he'd known it. A frightening certainty. Every fiber in his body screamed.

And it screamed John.

"No. I don't want to be alone," he admitted very quietly and beaten as his will shattered into a thousand pieces.

"See?" John said softly, hoping silently that Randy was finally come to his senses. "I promise I'm gonna make it alright for you, Ran."

Randy's shoulders sagged a bit as he realized that he had lost this fight. John's words settled down on him and in the pure need for this man he wrapped them around himself like a warm blanket, savoring the comfort it was providing. The past days had taken their toll and because he simply didn't have any strength left to fight, he gave in. For now.

It was the tiniest of nods Randy gave that lifted the suffocating weight of the past days off John's shoulders, at least for now and for the first time ever since they had taken Randy away from him for the surgery, he felt like he could finally breathe again. That Randy agreed to come home with him was a start and he was so very thankful for that chance. He placed Randy's hands down on the younger man's legs and throwing the younger man's bag over his shoulder, he stepped behind the wheelchair.

"It's gonna be alright, okay?" he said quietly and again John's voice washed over Randy so very warm. "Let's go home, Ran."

The hushed and partly defeated partly relieved yeah wasn't much… but it was a start…