Legend Killer

The first thing that Randy did when they arrived at his small cabin high up in the hills was to build up a fire and get some water boiling in a pot. Lighting a lantern, he looked at Dean. "Sit," he ordered, pointing to a crude wooden bench.

Dean looked at him suspiciously. "Why?" he asked.

"Because that needs to be looked at," he indicated Dean's head wound. "Now sit down and shut up."

Dean, in a testament to how tired and sore he really was, did as he was told. He muttered rebelliously though, not enjoying Randy's bossiness, but Randy ignored him. He hung the lantern over Dean's head then proceeded to inspect Dean's Rowan-inflicted wound. He dabbed at it with a damp cloth with surprising gentleness, dipping it in the hot water to soften the scabs and clean out the grime. It started to bleed again.

"Stop that," he said when Dean started to squirm. "It needs to bleed to get the dirt out. If that gets infected, you are useless to me." He was starting on Dean's arm when he glanced over at Roman, who looked like he was starting to droop with exhaustion. "Reigns, there are some biscuits and jerky in my saddle bags. Get some and eat. And give some to Ambrose." As usual Randy didn't ask, he ordered.

After Dean's head and arm were patched up to Randy's satisfaction, it was Roman's turn. Like Dean, Roman opened his mouth to say he was fine, but Randy wasn't taking arguments. "Your strength is important and I'm not going to trust my back to a couple of guys that could keel over at any moment due to untreated wounds." Roman obviously didn't like that but he was too tired to care.

After he was done making sure they weren't dying right then, Randy told them to get some sleep while he took care of the horses. As the two settled down and quickly fell asleep, Randy took the opportunity to be alone and think. The night was dark, with no moon. The river of stars streamed across the sky and the air was cool. It felt good. Nearby, one of the horses snorted.

He realized he was gritting his teeth in tension and tried to relax. There was absolutely no resemblance between Roman and Dean with Ted and Cody. None. The guys were exactly opposite in everything from temperament to looks. Ted and Cody were fresh-faced and eager to learn. They were fun, never taking anything too seriously, no matter how stressful the job got. But that didn't mean they weren't any good at what they did. No, they had potential to be very, very good and Randy was proud to be their mentor, even if he gave them a hard time. They had made Randy laugh for the first time since the War. When they were around, Randy felt the rage he had carried since watching his family slaughtered loosen its hold on him. They had been his first real friends.

And now he got to watch them die again and again every night in his nightmares. Randy vowed that he would never let anyone get that close to him again. Even Edge he considered only an acquaintance.

In contrast, Roman and Dean were hard and hostile. It was obvious they trusted only each other. And that was fine as far as Randy was concerned. He didn't need anybody, he reminded himself. With what he did for a living, caring about people was a liability. But despite his vow, Randy felt a sort of reluctant kinship with Roman and Dean already. He figured it was because they too had been in the Marshal service and had gone through exactly what he did. That made them brothers, of a sort. And he recognized the same protective instinct for Roman and Dean as he did with Ted and Cody. Ruthlessly he squashed the feeling.

He exhaled, annoyed at himself. He couldn't afford to get emotionally involved. This whole Nexus situation was very dangerous and if he wasn't at his very best, none of them would make it out alive. His lips twisted into a smirk. Good thing he was at his best when the stakes were at their highest.

The next morning, Roman joined Randy outside as he was watering the horses. Roman nodded at Randy but didn't talk. Randy appreciated that. He had gotten up early and cooked some bacon and eggs and left them out for the boys, along with more biscuits and coffee. The air was crisp and still. A few high wisps of clouds broke the blue of the sky. Randy looked at Roman critically as he rubbed his horse's black forelock. The younger man looked amazingly better after a good night's sleep and breakfast. Dean's sorrel wandered over to see if there were any treats.

Randy inspected his big roan's shoes, making sure none were loose. They were now just waiting for Dean to get up and eat.

Finally, Dean emerged from the cabin, his hair sticking up in all directions and a cup of coffee in his hand. He stretched and walked over to Roman and Randy, sipping the hot liquid. He scowled and moved his coffee protectively out of reach from his horse who stretched its neck out to sniff at it.

Seeing that Dean was awake, Randy decided it was time to get Roman and Dean acquainted with the Nexus. "Alright boys, are you're ready to get started or do you need more time?"

The two of them looked at Randy, but didn't say anything. Randy took that as a 'yes, Randy, please get started'.

"As you know, the Nexus is who we're after," Randy said, pulling out his piece of paper and a stub of a pencil from his jacket pocket. "There are six targets: Justin Gabriel, Heath Slater, maybe David Otunga, I'm not entirely sure if he is Nexus, I haven't gotten close enough to him to find out, same with Husky Harris. There is also Michael McGillicutty, and last but not least, Sheriff Wade Barrett."

"Wait, we're going to kill the sheriff?" Roman wasn't sure he heard Randy right. Dean raised his eyebrows but didn't comment as he took another sip of coffee. His horse bumped his nose against Dean's shoulder, almost causing him to spill his coffee down the front of his shirt. He scowled again and shove the horse's face away from him. The sorrel, not taking him seriously, stuck his nose back in Dean's ear, his whiskers tickling.

Randy gave Roman a level look, but answered the question. "Yes, the sheriff is a member of the Nexus and I'm pretty sure he's the one that got away last time."

As Dean finished his coffee, he was starting to feel the effects of the caffeine in his system. That made him fidget but Randy ignored him as he listed out the physical descriptions of each Nexus member. "Of course I will make sure you two know exactly who your targets are when we are ready to take them down. We need to go into town at some point and get you two some clothes with less bullet holes in them, and you need a room. This place here is only to be used in emergencies. You shoot me or one of the horses and there will be an issue," he growled at Dean, who had pulled out his loaded gun and started to slowly try to work through the motions of the Border Roll. Giving Randy an innocent look, Dean continued to try to spin his revolver like Randy did the night before.

"Where's Mark?" Dean asked as he concentrated on his revolver. "Thought he would be hanging around."

"He's got better things to do," Randy said, not wanting to discuss the Saint. "Why do you call him Mark?" he asked, his eyes narrow.

Shrugging, Dean said, "He looks like Mark Calaway from Virginia City."

"Do you see him like that too?" Randy asked Roman, who nodded.

"He said that he looked like Mark because I needed to see a friend when I was dying," Roman said, his jaw muscles twitching. He still had nightmares about dying alone in the pitch-black mine with blood filling his lungs and drenched in sweat.

Randy snorted. "Manipulative bastard," he muttered to himself. "I only call on him when a demon needs taking down," he said in a normal voice.

Dean's revolver spun out of his fingers and fell on the ground. It didn't discharge, luckily. Rolling his eyes, Roman shook his head. He and Randy moved to stand off to the side of Dean before resuming their discussion. "How do you know who is a demon if the Saint isn't around?" Roman asked.

"Didn't he explain anything to you?" Randy asked, frowning with impatience. Not at Roman though. The Saint should have at least caught them up to speed.

"He did some after I pitched a fit. But he didn't tell us anything about sensing demons. I don't think he thought we were going to survive long enough to bother," he shrugged.

Swearing to himself, Randy tapped his pencil against his chin. Finally he said, "The way I understand it is while the Saint possesses you, a very small amount of his spiritual essence remains in the wound in your soul made when you pull the triggers of the Colt Walkers. With that essence as a part of your soul, you become more sensitive to the spiritual energy around you. Demons have a very corrupt energy, almost oily. You can sense it, sort of like when you are being watched. But its different than that. That's why we need to go into town and expose you two to their presence. Its the only way you will develop the feel...God damnit Ambrose!" Randy shouted as Dean's gun went off, the bullet buzzing between Roman and Randy. The horses jumped.

"What?" Dean asked, innocently. "If I'm doing it wrong, then show me how to do it right. You're the teacher here." Dean's snide tone made Roman shake his head and smirk. Randy's superior attitude was grating on Dean too.

"For fuck's sake," Randy muttered, pulling one of his Smith and Wesson's from its holster. Dean's eyes were pinned to Randy's gun like a cat eying a twitching string. "Here, like this." Randy demonstrated the move slowly enough that both Dean and Roman could see exactly what he was doing. He did it slowly once more, then one last time at full speed. Roman had to admit it was impressive as hell.

Dean grinned like a maniac and tried again. This time it went smoother. And with less stray bullets.

"Something you might want to remember, in the real world gunmen who rely on flashy tricks and theatrics die quickly," Randy told Dean, not caring if he was listening or not. "The only old gunslingers are the ones that do not shoot to impress, but to kill." Again, there was that superior tone.

The rest of the day Randy made them show him their skills with their firearms and tracking. He had them shoot various targets and tested their reflexes. He himself demonstrated how to shoot two separate targets at once. "Normally, demons really aren't that hard to kill because every shot from the Colt Walker is a kill shot. But the Nexus is different, and you may have to take out two of them at once. Remember, when using the Colts, you don't have many tries to hit your targets before you yourself feel the effects." He frowned. "That reminds me, you've shot one demon each. How long did it take you to recover?"

Roman and Dean looked at each other. "An hour?" Roman hazarded. He had been unconscious afterward when Edge had found him. That memory reminded Roman that he wanted to ask Randy a question about Edge.

Dean shifted and shrugged. "How should I know? I had just been shot in the fucking head." He was annoyed that Randy had consistently outdrawn and out shot him. His temper was getting hot and either Randy didn't notice, or he didn't care.

It had been colossally bad luck that both Roman and Dean had been wounded while wielding the Colts. That probably added to their recovery time. Randy pursed his lips, remembering how long it took him his first time. He had been damned lucky no one had found him unconscious laying next to the dead body. The recovery period got shorter each time he pulled the trigger of a Colt Walker after that. It was because he had less soul to damage. Lately there was less pain and more numbing, which was itself even worse. He didn't need the Saint to tell him that was because his soul was damned near shredded from the last Nexus fight in which he had taken most of the kill shots. Swagger had been too new to wield the Walkers effectively, his soul too intact to repeatedly fire those damned guns too many times.

But he didn't tell them that. And with luck, they would never have to pay the terrible price Randy knew was coming due for himself for his protection of his student. Jack had accused him of arrogance and he agreed. But he had made his decision. "The two of you have to stay together so you can cover one another, otherwise you will be easy pickings."

Dean scowled at Randy's tone, if not his words. In his mind, Randy was heavily implying that him and Roman were too weak to work alone whereas Randy didn't seem to have that issue. Randy's attitude was so standoffish and superior that it really ground Dean's gears. He wanted to get a rise out of the man. He could see Roman was irritated too. "What about you, Orton? Don't you need anyone watching your back?" Dean challenged.

"No," Randy smirked right back in Dean's face. There was a hint of warning in his tone that Dean completely ignored.

"Oh yeah? And what makes you so special, Mr. Spoiled Brat I Had Everything Handed To Me Before I Fucked Everything Up And Got My Deputies Killed Randal Orton?" Dean demanded. Roman mentally winced. Dean had the self-preservation instincts of a depressed lemming.

Randy's face went white, then red. Roman actually thought he was going to draw his gun and shoot Dean. For a long minute the two glared at each other. Then Randy rolled his shoulders and smirked, a bitter twist of his lips. "Because I'm the best," he growled.

Speaking of nonexistent self-preservation instincts, Roman stepped in between them and said, "So you didn't you ride with Edge?" he asked. "Funny, I heard otherwise."

Surprised, Randy grimaced and turned away from Dean. He didn't like to think about Edge. "How did you know about Edge?" he asked, annoyed. "He's supposed to be dead."

"I ran into him a few days ago right before we took down Abigail," Roman said. "He looked pretty good for a dead man."

"Its funny, isn't it Roman? Everyone thinks Edge is dead," said Dean with fake thoughtfulness. "The word is getting out that Roman and I are dead too. You would think that if Hunter thought Orton was dead, he could do what he needed to do without looking over his shoulder constantly. But here he is, walking around practically daring Hunter and every other lawman to come get him. With an ego that size, you would think Mr. Orton feels he's better than everyone else. But he's obviously not smarter than everyone else, or he would make Hunter think he was dead too. Now that you and I are involved, I don't like feeling like a bull's eye is painted on me. Are you that full of yourself? What game are you playing Orton?" Dean was swaying on his feet, glaring at Randy through the fringe of his hair.

Eyes narrowed, Randy marveled at Dean's quicksilver mind. But Randy's temper was now running high. "The dangerous kind, Ambrose. Its not about Hunter."

"Then what?" Roman demanded. If they were ever going to trust Randy, and right now that wasn't looking like a possibility, they need the entire truth. "You're putting us in danger too."

"You ever run into a demon on a rampage?" Randy snapped, by now truly enraged. It was a rhetorical question. Obviously neither Dean nor Roman had.

"Well I have, and I'll spare you the details unless you want nightmares the rest of your life. Demons don't give a shit about human life. When they come up from hell, the first thing they do is slaughter anything in their path. After that, they keep going. You know what stops them? I do. So what can you do to minimize the damage, maybe even make them pause? Here's your answer: if a demon knows I'm here waiting for them when they cross over from hell, it makes them cautious. They hide their presence and now its less likely that civilians will get caught in the crossfire. And knowing I'm out there also keeps their attention focused on me, so Edge, or maybe someday even you or Roman here can kill them before they know you're there."

Dean's eyes widened at Randy's words and Roman held his breath. But Randy wasn't finished. He stalked towards Dean and snarled right in his face. "So yes, I do wear a fucking bull's eye on my chest. But I'm doing what I have to to win this damned war and minimize casualties," he growled. "Do you have a problem with that?"

"Nope," Dean said, simple and direct. Roman could see a new respect for Randy in Dean's stance and felt a bit of relief that it hadn't ended in bloodshed. Of course, the day wasn't over yet.

Randy stepped back, flicking his gaze over to Roman who didn't move. "You have anything to add?"

Roman shrugged. "How long did you and Edge ride together?"

Rolling his eyes, Randy admitted "We partnered for a short time, back when he was new to the whole demon-hunting business." They had worked well together at first, but the size of their respective egos made a falling out inevitable and Edge's inability to keep it in his pants only hastened the end of the partnership. "In the end it was a mutual decision to go our separate ways."

He decided they needed to move on to another topic before someone got hurt for real. "If you have any other questions, not about my private life, you need to ask now since no one has bothered to fill you in," Randy snarked in case the Saint was listening. His temper was still uncertain but he worked to control it.

"Why are there demons here?" Dean asked suddenly. He had started twirling his revolver absently again. Randy had given him a lot to think about.

"Here in particular? Come Dean, you're smart enough to figure that one out. Helena is filled with millionaires. Who has more influence than people with money? If the Nexus can take over a millionaire or two, their influence is poised to spread worldwide. Or did you mean here in this country in general? That's easy to answer, we just fought a major war. They are attracted to all the death and misery it caused." Randy's face became cold once more. The War held horrifying memories for him. And after the War, when he had joined the Marshals there was a brief time he thought his life was getting better, that he could put the horror behind him. But the horror came back stronger than ever.

"You fought in Missouri," Roman said. It wasn't a question. Randy had mentioned earlier that he had rode with the Missouri volunteers. "Pretty harsh."

"What about 'no questions about my private life' did you not understand?" Randy said through gritted teeth, his rage starting to boil again.

Finally feeling like had mastered the Border Roll, Dean put his revolver away. He looked at Randy and shrugged. "We know nothing about you, except for the stories which don't inspire confidence. We just want to know if we can trust you to have our backs," he said mildly.

That opened Randy's eyes, both figuratively and literally. He calmed down a bit. He had been so concerned about not getting emotionally involved that he had forgotten that these guys needed to trust him and they couldn't do that if they knew nothing about him. He realized to his consternation that he had subconsciously been treating them like Ted and Cody: young guys that were inexperienced and still required his protection.

But they weren't. Dean and Roman were grown men with experience and confidence. He too would have been insulted had someone treated him the way he had been treating them. Ruefully he shook his head. Randy, you've been alone too long, he thought. You don't know how to deal with human beings anymore.

Glancing up to gauge the time, Randy decided it was time to eat. Both Dean and Roman still looked a bit weary from their ordeal with the Wyatts. He motioned them back to the cabin and started whipping up some biscuits to eat with hard cheese and stew.

"Alright, what do you want to know about me?"

Roman asked. "What's your story?"

As they ate, he told them about his family whom he had lost at a young age, his mother and older siblings were murdered by a gang of thugs while his father had been off fighting down in Mexico. He had hidden, too scared to move until he had been found by neighbors a day or so later, attracted by the smoke from the burned out homestead. He had been sent to an orphanage where he lived until he was old enough to survive on his own.

He had enlisted in the army, lying about his age. He told them about War. Missouri was a unique state in that it had its own troops fighting on both sides, literally dividing the state. Neighbor fought neighbor and entire families were slaughtered by marauding troops. Randy's voice was very matter of fact throughout the whole telling.

Roman and Dean listened quietly while they ate. Finally Randy shrugged. "After the War I wanted to get away, so I joined the Marshals and came out here. Hunter had known my father from his army days so he took me under his wing. You pretty much know what happened after that."

Roman and Dean exchanged glances. "So what's the plan regarding the Nexus?" Roman asked, feeling a bit better about their mentor.

"You've already figured out Plan A." Randy said. "They know I'm in the area. They can't let me live and they know it. They'll have to come after me before I get to them. But they don't know about you." His grin was predatory. "They won't see you coming."

"So, what's Plan B?" Dean asked, his eyes a bit feral. He enjoyed hunting dangerous creatures, human or not. This plan had more than enough variables to make it very exciting.

Randy answered with a psychotic grin of his own. "Burn Helena to the fucking ground. Lets see them try to hide when their bolt-holes go up in smoke."

If anyone had told Roman that the best teacher he would ever have would be Randy Orton, he would have smirked, and then flattened them for being such an idiot they were a danger to people around them. Everything he ever heard about Orton was bad: the man was a murderer and a traitor; he was arrogant and difficult to work with; he had a mean temper. Technically everything Roman had heard was true. But he began to realize over the course of the next few days that despite all the stories, Randy took his responsibilities about teaching him and Dean how to survive in a world of demons while being hunted by the authority, very seriously. Once he got over his attitude, Randy was a pretty decent guy.

But that didn't mean he wasn't an asshole, Roman decided as he drifted off to sleep as Randy stood watch, feeling almost safe for the first time since before setting out after the Wyatts.

Notes:

In case you are new to wrestling, I am very loosely basing this story on the Nexus storyline that took place in 2010.

Helena actually has burned to the ground several times over the course of its history. The symbol of the town is the fire tower on the hill overlooking Last Chance Gulch, which is where the gold was discovered.

I had to listen to Bury Me With My Guns On by Bobaflex about 100 times to beat this one into a decent chapter that needed to address certain future plot points and some character development. They say 90% of what you write initially is crap (and that's very true in my own experience). And the 10% that may be decent enough to get through an editing process is mediocre at best. I wrote and rewrote and rewrote this chapter. That's why it took so long to get out. I had to convince myself that "good enough" is not a standard I want to strive for. "Best" is worth going for, even if it takes longer.

As always, if you would like to leave a review, I would greatly appreciate it! And if you have any questions, please contact me. I love to discuss writing, story development and characterization. ~ Belle