Mike is disgusted with himself. They'd done everything right, isolated as much as they could, holed up in various hotel rooms and other wrestlers' homes, just to try to have a somewhat ordinary Wrestlemania, despite how fearful everything is and how uncertain it all feels, balancing on the edge of a knife while they wait for something else to happen. But then he wakes up feeling a little off on Saturday morning, and he recognizes the feeling. How? Why now? What do I do?

He panics, gripping the sheets of the bed Zack had so kindly pointed him to when he and John had first arrived, and Mike shakes his head. What if... What if...

Shaking off his thoughts and uncertainties, he forces himself upright and swallows hard as he struggles to regain his balance, feeling untethered and just strange. He grabs for the thermometer they were all urged to have and takes his temperature. When it comes back normal, he breathes a little easier but still. Still. He is in pain and he's not sure why. So he does the only thing he can think of.

He finds his cell phone in the mess of stuff scattered around the nightstand and starts making calls.

-x

"The Miz is officially out of Wrestlemania tonight, due to injury, so John Morrison will be competing alone in a triple threat ladder match to determine the tag titles!"

There are whispers. So many whispers, and John glowers at the suspicious glances aimed his way. Come on, focus, he huffs at himself, limbering up. Taping his wrists up. Trying to ease the tension out of his muscles. You're fine. It's ok. They said it doesn't seem to be anything to do with corona. Mike's going to be ok. Everything's going to be ok. You'll bring back the tag belts and he'll... he'll be fine.

Things had been a whirlwind. Mike had seemed ok after they fought off both Usos and New Day the night before, but waking up had proven otherwise. Maybe an errant punch, possibly he twisted the wrong way, no one knows for sure, but he's done something to the muscles of his neck, along his right shoulder, and John remembers- all of those years ago, needing surgery due to nerve damage. He'd do anything to protect Mike from the same need, so it had felt right to speak up, declare that he'd compete alone at Mania to defend their belts. Somehow, in the scramble, this was accepted, and their match had changed.

Mike had looked both horrified and grateful at the same time.

"I owe you one," he says, voice faint and shaky over the phone, John having left early due to needing more time to get his head on straight now that he's going it alone.

"Nah, it's just what we do, huh? Miz and Morrison, hey hey, ho ho." He grins when Mike huffs out a laugh, staticky over the phone. "I'll bring those belts back, soon as I can, brother. Hang in there."

Mike's gratitude is fresh in his mind as he stretches out as far as he could, staring up at the ceiling. Life is weird, this strange sort of pressure that he just floats through, doing the best he can and trying not to let those who matter the most to him down. It just seems even more tightly knit in these times, with everyone scared and trying to get through things as quickly as they can. He presses his feet against the wall and leans back in a haphazard set of push ups, before standing up and grabbing for his jacket. "Time to go," he murmurs, squaring his shoulders and heading out to the ring, alone for the first time since he'd rejoined WWE.

The match itself is a blur. He grabs the wrong ladder, it's the main thing he remembers, but everything had worked out anyway- they all fought hard and unrepentant, so determined to walk out with the W to their names, but in the end, despite all three of them clinging so tightly to the belts, it's John who falls away with belts in hand, and is determined to be the winner. He lays on the mat, breathless and achey, and laughs. Laughs because he's done it, he's won at Mania, laughs because now he can uphold his promise to Mike, and bring these belts back to him. Laughs because this feels like a little vindication to every doubt he'd had about returning to WWE, especially after the nothing that was his showing in the Royal Rumble.

John breathes a little easier as soon as he's back at Zack's house, standing in the shadows of the porch and staring down at the two titles gleaming in his arms. It makes it feel real, when so much feels so unreal right now. "I really did it," he breathes to himself before letting himself inside. His grin is large and toothy as he picks his way through the dark house, hearing Zack recording something in his toy room as he walks past it. He only has one goal in mind, however, and he stops outside of Mike's door, listening. It's quiet inside, and he shrugs, lightly opening the door to peek inside.

Mike is sprawled out in bed, fast asleep, the faint moonlight drifting over his face, and John's expression softens as he pads inside, careful and quiet. "Hey man," he whispers to his sleeping tag partner. "Hope you're feeling better." He glances over at the scattered things along Mike's mess of a bedside table and chuckles soundlessly. "I kept my word. Not sure if you saw it or not, but that's ok. We'll watch the replay tomorrow if you want." He leans over and rests Mike's belt against his side and steps back. "Sleep well. See ya in the morning."

As he heads for the door, he hears a soft shuffling noise behind him and glances over his shoulder to find Mike had rolled over, clinging to the belt in his sleep. He chuckles once more before taking his leave, quietly shutting the door behind him.