The day starts off ordinary- John arrives bright and early to pick Mike up so they can make it to the airport to fly to Florida, prepare for another taping of Raw. He scoops Sara Louisa up and spins her around, Mike shaking his head and laughing while George peers up at them from his playpen set out in the sun, letting out a sleepy yawn when John peeks in at him. "You leaving this poor guy out here past his naptime?" John asks, sounding horrified.
"Yes," Mike says dryly. "We're such a torment to the poor thing."
"Sounds about right to me. Don't you think, Sara?" he asks, tickling the little girl still half hanging in his arms. She shrieks and giggles, squirming all over, until Mike takes ahold of her and settles her in the grass next to her little brother.
"Come on, John, we've gotta go." Mike presses a quick kiss to both of his childrens' foreheads and leads the way to the car.
The flight is boring, straightforward. There isn't even turbulence to make it interesting at any stage throughout. They land, find their luggage, make their way to the rental car waiting for them, and stop off at the hotel for a minute to drop some stuff off, shake out some of the airport smells that always linger.
Normal, normal, normal. Everything is as it should be, nothing is out of place, even the match they're thrown into is simple enough once they learn Drew McIntyre isn't around due to having tested positive for COVID, against Sheamus and Keith Lee. Mike thinks they have a chance, because Lee and Sheamus argue more than he and John ever have even on their worst days.
Then everything falls apart. Literally. John is leaning against the corner, Keith Lee is barreling towards him, and he slams into him with so much forward momentum that John slams up into the turnbuckle post and the impact just... snaps the entire locking mechanism and all Mike can do is stand there and watch, frozen, as the ropes snap and the turnbuckle slams into the back of John's head and he falls to the mat hard, grabbing immediately at his neck, the ring ropes and turnbuckle tangled around and under him.
No, Mike thinks, frozen in place on the apron. Not again, I finally just got him back. Not another neck injury, or somet- something worse... please, no... His body catches up with his thoughts and he moves, drops down and climbs partially into the ring. "John! Can you hear me?" he demands, ignoring the referee next to him asking a lot of the same questions.
"Mike," John mumbles, writhing over to look at him. "I- I... ya gotta tag me out," he says breathlessly, trying to squirm into a sitting position
"Tag you out?" Mike repeats incredulously. He's overwhelmed- horror, and worry, and relief that at least he's talking, and- "John, you need to get examined, like now."
"I think I'm ok," he says. "I just need... need a minute, but I need out of the match right now."
It's ridiculous. He's a ridiculous man. And Sheamus and Keith Lee are standing over them, laughing with their arms around each other, like this is some damn spectacle and not some guy with a history of neck issues at their feet, barely focused on the world around him.
He remembers those days, when John needed surgery, and couldn't feel his hands, or... Mike closes his eyes, aware that John can out-stubborn him most days, and exhales slowly, hating himself already for even considering this. "Squeeze," he says tensely, pressing hsi hand into John's.
John looks him in the eye, some of the haze already slipping from his gaze, and squeezes.
Mike grits his teeth, it's a solid squeeze, apparently his grip strength is fine, which is a good sign, but still. Still. So many things could go wrong if they continue this. But... he is Money in the Bank holder and a win could help bolster him for whenever Drew is back. "Fine," he snaps. "Fine. But if anything feels off ever, you let me or the ref know. We'll stop this. Understand?"
John nods, wincing a little as Mike helps him stagger upright, getting him over to their corner. He glares warningly over at Lee and Sheamus, daring them to do anything, and they're wise enough to raise their hands in concession, allowing John to tag out. John does get a little stronger throughout the match, even gets back in at some point, wrestles off and on for awhile, and he's ultimately the one to eat the loss while Mike sits on the outside and blinks blurrily. As annoying as another loss is, he doesn't really care. Is relieved to get ahold of John and drag him up the ramp, leaving Sheamus and Lee behind to bicker and ultimately get into another match, which... any other day, would be hilarious, but not today.
John sits in the trainer's office, holding his breath and waiting while he's examined thoroughly. This isn't some rushed together operation on the road in the middle of nowhere, this is as close to the Performance Center's trainer's facility as they could get, after weeks of being in one place. So Mike feels moderately relieved as the trainer checks his neck out, gauges his grip strength much like Mike had, feels around his skull, and tracks his responses to things.
"I think he's ok," the trainer says after a moment. "He's probably going to be feeling it in the morning, and I want to see him again before he flies back. Just to make sure. I recommend regular IMPACT testing for the next week, just to make sure concussion symptoms don't sneak in on him." The man reaches out and squeezes his arm. "All in all, you were pretty lucky, Morrison."
"Don't I know it," John mumbles, eyes shut against the florescent lights. The trainer leaves and Mike shuffles closer, half-smiling when John reaches out and snags his wrist. "Can we leave now?"
Mike barks out a rough laugh. "Yeah, man, soon as we go get our things."
John nods and slides off of the cot, motioning Mike to lead the way. He's steady enough on hs feet that Mike can almost ignore the tight pain visible in his gaze.
He holds off on the worst of his mothering until they're back at the hotel, Mike staring at his things. At the toiletries provided by the hotel. They're not much. He wasn't expecting anything like this. And he's not about to go shopping at this hour, so he makes do. Grabs the lotion off of the bathroom counter and checks it. It's thick, smells alright. He shrugs. "Hey, John?"
His best friend is sprawled out in bed, face down in the pillows, his response muffled. "Yeah?"
"You awake?"
"I think so."
"Great," Mike mumbles. He lathers the lotion up in his hands and walks closer to John's bed, relieved that the guy still instinctively sleeps shirtless, no matter the weather or anything else. Well, he thinks. He does almost everything shirtless or at least unbuttoned, so why not. Once he's sure the lotion is warm between his palms, he presses them gently into John's shoulderblades.
"Wh.. what are you doing?" he wonders, tensing under Mike's fingers briefly.
"It's a massage, John. What do you think?" He's done this for him before, especially after the surgery, and he thinks he can still see the thin scars littering his friend's skin just around his hair line, but he's not sure, it's been so long.
John hums. Relaxes. Sighs into his pillow as Mike digs a little deeper, trying to be careful to not injure him further. "Feels good," he admits, sighing softly. "Is that hotel lotion?"
Mike bristles as John laughs. "And so what if it is?" But he's not really angry, especially when John giggles under his fingers. Falls into a repetitive motion swirling from John's shoulderblades up his neck, back down, pressing gently, listening for any hitch of pain in John's breath or sudden tension in his muscles, but there's nothing, just continuous relaxation, and... the next time Mike looks down at his partner's face, half-hidden by pillows, it's to find it relaxed and breathing calmly into his pillows, eyes closed and lips a little laxed. Fast asleep.
He smiles and slowly lets his massage taper off. "Good night, John," he mumbles, struggling with the sheets a few moments before finally succeeding in partially covering his best friend's body before stumbling over to bed himself. He thinks sleep may not come easily this night, memories of John collapsing to the mat below, so still, so limp, fresh in his mind, but the hotel lotion is still soothing his fingers, John's steady breathing lulls and comforts him, and he falls asleep relatively quickly.