Legend Killer 8
Warnings: Swearing, Angst
After Randy and Roman left the cabin, John and Seth carefully moved Dean to the bedroll where they had laid Roman earlier, trying not to tear his stitches. Then John set about proving Randy wrong about his ability to cook.
"Is he always an asshole?" John asked eventually, making sure there was no horse hair left in the pot before he got started.
Snorting a laugh, Seth said, "I've only just met him today but according to Dean, yes he is."
John glanced at the door and lowered his voice. "What happened with Benoit must have been really bad for him to still react like that," he observed.
Remembering Abigail and the cavern of horrors, Seth could completely understand Randy's reaction. "What we went through with Abigail was beyond nightmares," he said slowly, trying to explain to John something he could never understand unless he himself experienced it first-hand. "But unlike Randy, we had already met the Saint. By the time we went up against that bitch and her followers we knew what was happening. We were also very, very lucky. All of us survived." Seth shuddered and drew a deep breath. He still had nightmares about Carcosa. "It could have easily gone the other way. Randy was the only one of his group to make it out alive. You saw his scars. I imagine those memories weigh on a person."
Seeing Seth's haunted expression, John decided to change the subject. They talked about inconsequential things for a bit, like what herbs would make the stew taste better and that led the conversation to what made meals on the road palatable. "We let Dean cook exactly once," Seth said. "He told us it was rabbit stew, but I am pretty sure it was heated up swamp muck." The food was nearly ready when Roman and Randy came back, both looking thoughtful.
"So what's going on?" Seth asked. He was glad to see they hadn't killed each other, given the mood Randy had been in when he left and Roman's own volatile temperament. Oddly, Randy looked more relaxed than at any time Seth had seen him.
"Did you know the natives call Randy the Legend Killer?" Roman asked, very nearly teasing Randy who just rolled his eyes in response. He was more interested in the food. "So is it edible, Marshal?" Randy asked, coming over to inspect dinner.
"Call me John," John suggested, determined not to take any more crap from Randy. "And I'll let you know when it's ready."
Randy smirked at him, but backed off and went over to check on Dean. Dean's fever was still high, but he seemed to be sleeping peacefully. He reached down to gently brush the damp hair from Dean's forehead.
"At least he's not tied up at the bottom of a mine shaft," Roman commented, grabbing a place by the fire. Seth nodded in agreement.
John glanced over at Roman. "What happened?" he asked, dishing up the food. As they found places to eat, Roman and Seth told him how they had first met the Saint of Killers. John listened in fascination as they described the shoot-out with Glenn and his two stooges, especially from Roman's point of view. Time passed quickly and soon Seth was asking, "Should we save some for Dean?" looking at the rapidly dwindling supply of food. The four grown men were making very short work of John's meal.
"He's not going to be hungry for a while," Roman said, speaking from experience while wolfing down a biscuit. "This is pretty good, Cena. Much better than Dean's cooking."
"I can hear you, you know," Dean said from the corner. Seth and Roman grinned at each other. The atmosphere in the cabin was relaxed. Even though some of them had just met, all of them shared common experiences and enemies.
Randy ate in silence, listening to them talk but not offering to join the conversation. It had been a long time since he had been in the company of other US Marshals and it felt...nice. More than that, it felt right. He had missed the comradery more than he realized.
All too soon John asked, "What's the plan for taking out the Nexus?"
That earned a sharp look from Randy who had been staring into the fire, lost in his own thoughts. But it was Roman who answered. "We had one earlier, but those plans went out the window when Dean got captured and you and Seth got involved. But Seth will come up with something," he said. "He's brilliant at planning."
Seth looked both flattered and mildly alarmed at the same time, glancing at Randy with uncertainty. But Randy just smirked at his discomfort and to his surprise gestured a 'go ahead' to him. "I have a few ideas but I'll need more information before I can get anything nailed down," Seth said as John distributed the last of the biscuits by tossing them across to whoever held a hand up.
"What do you need to know?" Roman asked, catching two biscuits with a nod of thanks. With Seth there, it felt like old times to him, if old times could be described as a few weeks ago.
"How much does the Nexus know about you guys?" Seth asked Randy.
"Too much," Randy admitted. "They know about the Saint, the guns and me. Unfortunately they now know about the brat over there," he gestured at Dean, who was awake enough to make a rude gesture back. "And they probably know about Reigns since that nosy bartender told them I met with two guys at the saloon that night. And Reigns is hard to forget with that pretty face of his," Randy teased.
Roman also made a rude gesture at Randy, who grinned evilly back. John watched their interaction with a little bit of jealousy. They were comfortable enough to tease each other without the threat of violence. He was definitely feeling like the outsider here.
Mulling that information over, Seth asked Randy, "Do you think Nexus still want John?" John looked a little nervous at that.
Nodding Randy said, "Oh yeah, they definitely want him. He's a famous US Marshal who is now tainted with their blood and they can control. If they can finish possessing him and get him back to Washington, the Nexus will be impossible to eliminate." He had seen the taint through the Saint's eyes. It looked like an oily black stain running through the bright essence of the man's soul. He was honestly tempted to just kill him before the Nexus could take him over, just for John's own sake.
"If they're looking for me," John said, trying to sound calm, "maybe I should go. My being here puts all of you in danger."
"Knock it off with the martyr routine" Randy sneered. "We'd still be in danger even if you weren't here. Believe me, they want us dead more than they want you alive." Roman and Seth exchanged smirks at Randy's words. Seth had called Roman out for trying to be a martyr more than once.
"Besides, they can control you if they get near you," Seth added, glancing at Randy who was glaring in annoyance at John's sincere offer to help. "I'd like to avoid having to make these guys kill you too when they take down Nexus." He gestured to Randy, Roman and Dean.
Scowling, Randy glanced over at Seth. "What are you talking about? We aren't going to protect him."
John looked startled at that. Seth frowned and thought Randy was just being an asshole. "It's not about protecting him, Orton. We need someone inside the Marshal's office that can stand up to Hunter. I'm just a deputy, but John is a full-rank marshal. He has more authority than me and contacts out east. Hunter would be less likely to try to pull shit with him. And then I can be available to help these guys."
Roman looked thoughtfully at John but Randy was shaking his head. "Don't you remember what happened when you killed Abigail?" he said. Really, Seth should know better.
Closing his eyes at the memory, Seth's shoulders slumped. "Shit, I forgot about that," he admitted.
"What?" John asked, trying to follow the conversation.
"Tainted humans don't survive if the infecting demon dies." Randy's tone was very factual. "But on the bright side we'll know the Nexus is truly gone when you drop dead."
John swallowed and went pale.
"Christ, you are a cold bastard," Reigns said as he shook his head in amazement.
And that was true, John decided watching Randy shrug in response. But he wasn't as cold towards the kids. John wondered what exactly they had gone through to gain Randy Orton's extremely rare affection. He had to admit privately to himself he was used to being treated like he was important and Randy's complete indifference to him had bothered him. But at least now he understood why. To Randy, John was just another dead person who just hadn't stopped breathing yet. But Randy didn't know John, and John wouldn't go down without a fight. "Is there any way to get rid of the Nexus' taint?" John asked him directly.
They all looked at Randy, curious about the answer.
Randy steepled his fingers and tapped his forehead as he considered his reply. He was tempted to lie to them and say there wasn't, because telling John the truth would give him a false hope there was a chance. But he decided against it. Randy was many things, some of them downright nasty, but he wasn't a liar. "I've seen the natives do it once. But it wasn't pleasant for the guy they did it to," he said. Crowfoot had performed the cleansing ceremony on one of the Blackfoot warriors and if Randy had been any other person, he would still be having nightmares about it. What he had witnessed made him briefly, truly grateful for the Saint's innate protection from demon possession. But that wasn't even in the top five horrible things he had experienced in his lifetime. Still, it had been a very disturbing ceremony. And the Blackfoot warrior hadn't been the same after that.
"Do you think they would help me?" John asked, looking hopeful.
Randy shrugged. "They aren't feeling too friendly towards the white man these days. But if Old Crowfoot thinks you're worth it, he might do it," Randy said surprising himself. "But it has to be done before we kill the Nexus," he warned. The look of gratitude in John's eyes made him feel uncomfortable. He hadn't decided how he felt about John. Cena represented everything Randy's life was not: safe, he had a father who had protected him and he had the respect of his peers. Randy could easily hate the man. But decided it wasn't worth the effort. The guy would be dead by the end of the week, yet another number added to the staggering body count of Randy's life.
Meanwhile, Seth was still analyzing the situation. "We need to hit them when they least expect it," he muttered.
"How are we going to do that?" John asked, squaring his shoulders as Randy's pale stare came to rest on him again at the word 'we'. "They'll be on their guard after this afternoon."
But Seth answered his question with one-shouldered shrug. "I'm still working on it. We need to make them think they are hunting us," he said, thinking more out loud than talking to his audience, his eyes distant. Roman saw Seth's expression and smiled fondly at his friend. When Seth was in full planning mode, they never failed. The guy was nearly an architect when designing and executing complex plans.
Seth gathered up the courage to ask his next question. "Why don't the Colt Walkers affect you?" he asked Randy, who didn't bristle to his straightforwardness. "Both Roman and Dean go into shock after killing a demon, but you seemed fine after Tarver. Have you built up a resistance or something?"
Randy could tell by Roman's expression he had suspected the truth and in the corner, he could hear Dean struggling to sit up. Sighing, he shook his head. "No, it's just the opposite. The Colt Walkers' recoil doesn't affect me anymore because my soul has sustained too much damage from using them so much."
Pale, Roman swallowed hard. "The Saint told me it would happen eventually, but I thought it would take a lot longer."
Looking tired all of the sudden, Randy reminded him, "Kid, I have been doing this for years. Normally it wouldn't be a problem because demons are mostly a single entity, except for the Nexus. And I've already gone up against them twice," he said, ignoring Roman's muttered, 'Don't call me kid.' "That's why it's so important the Nexus gets put down for good this time. Shit like this will shorten the shelf-life of your soul considerably."
"What happens if we lose our souls?" Roman asked. He looked right at Randy but Randy stayed silent. It was the Saint of Killers who answered from the corner of the room, 'I will cut you off from the guns before it gets that far. But you and the brat over there are fine. You will be able to kill a hell of a lot of demons before your souls become truly endangered.' He didn't say anything about Randy however. The glare Randy leveled at the Saint could have melted lead. But the Saint was unmoved. Having been through literal hell itself, Randy's rage did not intimidate him at all. Roman shifted uncomfortable as he relayed the Saint's words to the others.
"What about Randy. Are you going to cut him off?" Seth asked.
"He'd better not," Randy growled.
'When I decide it, he will be,' the Saint of Killers answered with a tone of utter finality, but only his three acolytes heard the answer. Randy glared in fury and hatred at him. Roman and Seth exchanged looks and Seth, catching the unspoken assent, dropped the subject.
John was watching Randy closely. He knew the guy was years younger than himself but it was easy to forget that in the face of Randy's knowledge and experience. When he heard Randy confess the price he was paying for killing demons, he felt sick. He wanted to be able to hate the guy because he was a stone cold killer and an outlaw, but the man was literally sacrificing his soul to fight for the human world. By the time he pulled his thoughts away from Randy Orton, the conversation moved on. Seth and Roman started talking about the individual Nexus members, kicking around ideas with Dean occasionally making a comment that didn't necessarily add to the conversation but they appeared to be used to it. John made some suggestions too, but Randy himself withdrew from the conversion. After discussing ambushes and traps until the fire burned low, Seth decided they needed sleep and sent them off to bed. Roman grumbled good-naturedly and Dean just lay back down and drifted off to sleep again. Randy didn't say anything but he left the cabin.
It was still dark when John woke up from an uncomfortable dream the he couldn't remember. He looked around, noting the fire was now merely faintly glowing embers. The three youngsters were sleeping peacefully together in a way that suggested closeness and mutual trust he could only guess at, but there was no sign of Orton. Feeling uneasy, he gingerly got up and slipped out of the cabin. The night air was utterly still. The stars blazed brilliantly overhead through the towering pine trees but the eastern horizon had the faintest glow of the impending sunrise. Having lived all his life in the city, John took a moment to marvel at the awesome beauty of nature but was no sign of Randy. He decided to check to see if Randy's horse was still there. He was nearing the paddock when he heard a voice, low but practically snarling with rage.
"You can't do this to me."
John almost jumped out of his skin, but as he was reaching for his gun he recognized the voice. Orton was talking to someone. Curious, he crept closer. He saw the silhouette of Randy leaning against his horse, arms crossed over its bare back. The horse itself was just standing hip-shot, head lowered. There was silence for a bit then Randy spoke again. "If you cut me off, how am I supposed to defend myself when those fuckers come after me?"
John strained to hear the answer, but there was nothing but silence. Randy paused and seemed to be listening to someone only he could hear. John nearly gasped as he realized who that someone was. Then Randy spoke again. "Look, I admit those kids are going to be good, real good if they can stay alive long enough to get the hang of this. But Hunter is still out there and when, not IF, WHEN he learns they are still alive, he will stop at nothing to get them. Do you really thing the two of them can take on Nexus, the Beast and Hunter without me? You can't just..." He was interrupted by some John couldn't hear. Then Randy snapped, "You're not protecting me! You're just making sure Hunter and the demons win!"
For a few seconds, the silence was broken by Randy's breathing. Obviously not liking what he was hearing, Randy snapped, "I don't care. It's my choice!" and stalked off. John waited a few moments, and then followed. At first he thought he had lost Randy in the dark, but a sudden flare of a match caught his eyes and he recognized Randy leaning against a tree lighting a cigarette. He walked over, pulling his jacket tighter around him to ward off the damp chill in the air. "Don't you sleep?" he asked Orton quietly. It was so still and so silent it felt wrong to disturb it.
Randy must have felt the same because he answered in the same soft, low tone. "Nope, they get the drop on you when your eyes are closed." He took a drag off the cigarette and exhaled. Benoit had opened the prison wagon and attacked them during the hour of the wolf, while he and Ted had slept. Cody had been on watch, not knowing Benoit already had the key…
For long moments they stood together in silence, just watching the east become slowly brighter bit by bit. A mule deer walked by, large ears flicking at them then disappeared into the forest. Eventually John shifted his weight, his legs feeling stiff and cold. "What was that about?" John asked dragging Randy's attention back to him. Seeing Randy looking at him sideways, he clarified his question. "You were arguing with the Saint of Killers."
"Just a difference of opinion is all," Randy shrugged. The marshal didn't need to know about family squabbles.
"If the Saint cuts you off like he's threatening to, what are you going to do?"
"That's not your business, Cena." Randy drawled, taking another drag from his cigarette. "Out east you may be a famous US Marshal but here you're just another walking dead man."
John's mouth tightened but he didn't back down. He tried a different tact. "It looked to me like you've handed the fight off to the kids. Has the Saint cut you off already?" John flat-out asked, even though he was sure the younger man was going to tell him to fuck off, to mind his own business, or even just walk away.
But Randy surprised him. It had been a long time since Randy had a conversation with someone whom he might have considered an equal if his life had gone differently. And this man, this John Cena, who represented everything Randy had ever wanted but had been brutally denied, seemed like he was genuinely a good person. "Not yet, but he's going to," he admitted.
"Why?" John asked.
"He thinks that if the damage to my soul doesn't get any worse I can still move on to the afterlife, as if I give a shit about that," Randy snorted. John didn't know what to say to that, but he had another question. "What is the Beast?" John asked, remembering Randy's list of enemies in the area.
Randy grew serious. "It's another demon on its way here. It's very powerful."
"But you guys can just kill it with the Colt Walkers, right?" John didn't understand why a single demon would be a bother someone who wielded the Angel of Death's own sword.
"Normally, it wouldn't be a problem," Randy agreed. "But this one is being escorted by a US Marshal."
That shut John up briefly. He wiped a hand over his face. "Christ. Do you know who the marshal is?" John asked concerned. Yesterday morning he had no idea about demons, and now it seemed like the world was full of them. And the marshals seemed to up to their ears in it.
"Yep, it's my old pal Dave Batista. Him and Ric Flair were my mentors before Benoit."
"Shit," John swore softly. "Is he in on Hunter's schemes?"
"Fuck if I know, but it doesn't matter," Randy replied. "Batista follows Hunter's orders and he killed Edge. That situation will be addressed."
"You said Batista was a friend once," John reminded him. "Doesn't it bother you to kill him?"
Randy gave him an unreadable look. ""I kill people, John. That's what I do. I've done it for so long that I don't even know how many people I've killed. If the war taught me anything, it taught me that human life is cheap. Whether it's by my hand or someone else's, death is as much a part of this life as living is. Sometimes the best thing you can hope for is to die quickly." Randy said.
John shivered at Randy's words. "Damn," he muttered softly. "You really are cold-blooded, aren't you? You're not scared of going to hell for killing someone who is just doing their job and may be innocent?" John asked. "Or have you just accepted the fact you're going to hell no matter what?"
"If I do end up going to hell, why do you care?" Randy snapped at John, impatient and perplexed.
"I don't." John said, angry at Orton for being such a callous bastard, and for being right. He was angry that he was going to die, and there was fuck-all he could do about it. It wasn't really Randy whom he was mad at, but Randy was the nearest target. "If I had my way, I would arrest you and see you hang for the cold-blooded killer you are. But I can't do that. Because I know what you are, and you are only one of three men that can save the world. And I hate the fact that a guy like you, who should spend the rest of his life in a jail, has to remain free so the rest of us won't be taken over by demons." Orton was glaring at him. He was opening his mouth to say something but John cut him off.
"No! Don't say anything! But you know what really pisses me off? That I can't even hate you because I see what you're going through, and I see what you do and I know the price you are paying. I know that you will die alone and despised and your only reward will be an eternity of damnation and torment in hell," John said quietly. "And even I know you don't deserve that."
Rolling his eyes Randy growled, "You have no idea who I am and what I deserve, Cena. The world I live in is very different from yours. The rules are different, and so are the rewards."
"So what is your reward?" John asked.
An eternity of nothingness. Even though the Saint had told Randy he wouldn't allow it to get that far. That he would refuse to let him destroy his soul, to allow him to be condemned to fate worse than hell. And even now there were such large, gaping holes filled only with hollow emptiness it scared him. But that fear was far outweighed by his rage at the continuing existence of demons in his world. He had watched, helpless as Ted and Cody were tortured and sacrificed, as he felt the bullet burning deep in his guts, as Benoit carved his mark across Randy's shoulders with his acid blood. Sheer hatred surged through his veins every time he encountered a demon. He wasn't kidding when he told Roman he would kill every damned demon he had come across. After Benoit, Randy was willing to pay any price to exterminate demons as payback for Ted and Cody.
Any price, including his immortal soul.
And now with the imminent arrival of the Beast, Randy knew the two boys would be overwhelmed if he didn't help them. But Randy didn't say any of what he was thinking. Instead he simply said "I get to kill demons."
"Until you can't," John reminded him.
Randy stayed silent.
"Are you getting close?" John persisted as if he could read Randy's thoughts. "How many more demons do you think you can kill before you're cut off?"
Randy didn't look at John. "Maybe one or two," he confessed. But the fate of his soul was secondary to his need for vengeance. Unfortunately the Saint had disagreed violently with that sentiment and was serious in his threat to stop allowing Randy use of the Colt Walkers, which would be disastrous. As if Randy needed another reason to despise him.
John whistled in amazement. "Fuck. And there are how many Nexus left? Six? And a new demon that's on its way too? I know you care about those kids in there, don't deny it. But don't you care about what's happening to you?" he asked unknowing arguing the Saint's point, which annoyed Randy.
"It doesn't matter," Randy snapped then stopped and took a deep breath. He changed the subject. "But since you seem to be so interested, do you know of another way we can win? Hunter has too many resources. He's taking us out faster than the Saint can bring in new recruits." He glanced at the cabin and for a brief instant John saw the desperation Randy usually kept very well hidden. "I can't keep them alive."
For the first time since he'd met Orton, John realized just how much was resting on Randy's shoulders. He could see past the cloak of arrogance and indifference and saw the raw helplessness. John couldn't imagine what the man had to deal with on a daily basis. "You don't have to worry, I'm not going to try to kill you or those kids in there," John assured him. "But is it really that hard to get new recruits?" he asked. "I would think if people knew what was going on, some of them would be willing to help. I mean, could I volunteer?" Though it terrified him if he were honest with himself, John was willing to become one of them. He saw what they were fighting and the price they were forced to pay, but he wasn't a coward.
Randy cocked his head to the side as he considered John. "Have you ever taken the life another human being, John?" he asked. John shook his head, no he hadn't. Out east was a much more civilized place. With surprising patience Randy explained, "You have to be a killer to even have a chance at this job. Oh I know, there are a lot of people out there who have killed thanks to the war, so why doesn't he recruit them? Because here is the crucial question: if you killed another human being, would you ever regret it? Taking a life is no small matter to most people. And if you did have regrets then you aren't of any use to him. I don't regret what I did, Reigns and Ambrose don't either. Because it is our nature: we are killers. Now, he's called the Saint of Killers for a reason: you have to pray to him, but not for forgiveness. You have to be praying to continue living so you can go on killing. That's not so hard though, right? Except you need to be dying violently while you pray before he'll answer you and make his offer. Now how many people do you think actually do that?"
"Not many, I imagine," John answered.
Randy nodded. "Damned few. Most people are more concerned about what happens to them after they die. It takes a special individual to want to continue living in order to continue killing. And even then you're not guaranteed he will answer you."
It was light now so he could see John's expression, and the steep stipulations of the Saint's contract opened John's eyes to the odds against anyone becoming a demon killer. "Christ," John muttered.
Randy nodded. "Sorry John, but that's the way it works. I really wouldn't recommend deliberately attempting to enter into an agreement with the Saint. Even if you wanted to, chances are extremely unlikely you could ever become one of us. "
John didn't know whether to be disappointed or relieved at Randy's words. The Saint of Killers himself would only ever speak directly to John once. He sighed. "Okay then, but I was serious in offering my help. I want my death to mean something."
Smiling his slow, unlikely grin as the sun cleared the horizon Randy said, "If we're lucky, it will mean we won."
TBC
Hey everyone! Legend Killer has a beta reader! So huge, huge thanky ou to Kiss 316 for reading this over and over (and over).