This story popped into my head. I think I'm a little bit in love with John and Randy. Anyway, hope you guys like this one. I know I'm not quite finished with my other one but I'm working on it too. These wrestling stories seem to flow out of me pretty well and pretty fast.

I don't own anyone mentioned in this fic

"I'm like half an hour away," John insisted into the phone. "Just tell me you've got the place set up like you promised."

"Yeah, yeah. I've got it set," Mike's voice filtered through, exasperated. "You owe me one."

"Whatever, dude. You owe me about twenty. This just makes a dent in the favors I've yet to call in on you."

"Just get your ass here, alright? I'm not your wife."

John rolled his eyes. "But you're certainly bitchy enough."

"Ass," Mike commented before hanging up. John shook his head and dropped his phone back into the console of his car again.

There were a few bags in the backseat but most of his stuff had already been moved. He was just taking the final step. That familiar feeling of depression settled over him at the thought. He was only twenty eight. He shouldn't have to take this step yet.

His eye caught the ring still on his finger as it rested against the wheel of the car and he scowled. He took his hands off the wheel for just a second; just long enough to take the thing off and he had to forcibly shove thoughts of what he was driving away from to the back of his mind.

Xxxxxxxx

Mike was passed out on the couch when John finally made his way into the house. It was a nice place and as he'd promised, Mike did have it all set up when John arrived. It was late and John made his way upstairs. His bed was set up in his room and he dropped down on it, falling asleep almost instantly.

Xxxxxxxx

They were replaying it…again. John sat on the couch morosely, legs stretched out in front of him as he watched the play that had ruined his career. He saw himself lying on the field, unable to move.

"That's it," Mike's voice broke into his thoughts and John looked up to see him standing behind the couch. He hadn't even heard Mike come in. "I'm canceling ESPN."

"No you're not," John answered with a snort. "You'd never do that."

Mike sighed and walked around. He shoved John's legs out of the way so he could sit. "This what you've been doing all day?"

John shrugged. He hadn't really had much to do while Mike was at work and he hadn't wanted to venture out into town just yet. After the accident, he'd been getting recognized even more, even by people that had never watched him play a game before.

"We need to go out," Mike said. "Come on."

John hesitated. "I don't know if that's a good idea…"

"I do. You can't sit around here all day feeling sorry for yourself. Come on." There was a determined gleam in Mike's eyes, the same one he'd gotten when he'd been trying to convince John to stay with him.

"You can't stay in the house forever," Mike pointed out. He got up and grabbed John's hat from the counter, throwing it at him. "Let's go."

Xxxxxxxxx

Michaels Bar & Grill was printed on the sign above the door of the place Mike stopped at. The place was nice, clean and John would admit that he could use a drink. They stopped at the bar.

"I'll be right back," Mike said to him before wondering off to speak to one of the waitresses, leaving John at the bar by himself. There was only one person tending that night and after a minute, he stopped in front of John with a smile on his face.

Now, John wasn't blind and he could always appreciate beauty and he was struck instantly with the beauty of the man before him. He was tall, several inches taller than John, with tanned skin and a shaved head. The light brown shirt he had on was thin and tight enough to show off the muscles underneath. Tattoos covered his arms and John had to admit, even though he'd never been a fan of them himself, they worked for this man.

"What can I get you?" He asked, his gray eyes meeting John's blue. John saw that moment of recognition in the bartender's eyes but, thankfully, he didn't comment.

"Uh…just a beer," John answered with a smile of his own.

"Any preference?"

"Whatever's fine," John said easily. The bartender nodded and turned to get his drink. John tilted his head slightly, taking a moment to admire the way the man's jeans fit him. John glanced in Mike's direction but his friend was heavily involved in a conversation with the pretty blonde girl.

"You might want to stay clear of that end," the bartender's voice drew his attention and John met his gaze again. The guy tilted his head towards the other end of the bar, where several younger men were sitting, talking loudly.

John pulled his hat down further on his head, getting the meaning behind the words. "Thanks," he said.

"No problem."

"Randy!" Another voice called loudly. The bartender finally looked away from John and John saw as his gray eyes light up and the smile on his face widen.

"Yell if you need anything," he said to John before moving down the bar to the young man that had called to him. John watched the two men converse, the younger leaning over the bar and he had a brief moment of regret that the guy was most likely taken.

"Don't even think about it," Mike's voice called to his left and John turned his attention to his friend.

"What?"

Mike tilted his head in the direction of the two other men. "I saw the way you were looking at him."

"I can look," John said with a roll of his eyes. He'd maybe been thinking about flirting a little, just to test the field, see if the guy might swing his way or if he was already taken.

"Yeah, well, you shouldn't be looking. That's Randy Orton," Mike told him with a grimace. "The guy's a total freak show."

John frowned at the words. Randy Orton seemed perfectly normal to John. He was speaking animatedly to his friend and even though John knew he'd recognized him, he hadn't said anything about it, something John was more than grateful for.

John was about to ask Mike what he meant when one of the young men down the bar caught sight of John's face.

"Oh my God! You're John Cena!" He yelled way too loudly, drawing the attention of everyone at the bar. John groaned before pasting the best fake smile he could muster on his face.

Xxxxxxxx

Randy looked up at the yell from Justin Gabriel. The college dropout and his buddies were regulars and at that moment he and his friends were gathering around the end of the bar. Randy frowned at the frozen smile that had appeared on John Cena's face.

Like anyone who had watched pro football in the last few years, Randy had recognized the man instantly. Randy could see what was about to happen and a surge of sympathy ran through him.

He'd never been able to stand Justin and his friends. They'd spread some pretty nasty rumors about Randy around town when they were still in high school. Randy had hoped that that kind of shit would have stopped after they graduated but the three boys seemed to not have grown up at all in the seven years since.

Before he knew what he was doing, Randy had opened his mouth and the words left him before he could think about it.

"Hey, Mikey! You and Heath ever get that motel room you were talking about earlier?" He asked the question loud enough for everyone at the bar to hear. McGillicutty, Slater, and Gabriel all turned their attention to him and he smirked. "You know, with the one queen sized bed?"

"What the hell are you doing?" Cody's voice was incredulous and he was staring at Randy like he was crazy. Randy shrugged. He hadn't been thinking when he said it. He rarely did around those three. He didn't back down when they approached.

"Do you want to get your ass kicked, Orton?" McGillicutty asked, scowling at him. "Because I will do it for you."

Randy rested his hands on the bar. "You can try," he countered with a glare of his own. McGillicutty made a grab for him. Their skin only made contact for a second but it was enough for Randy to feel the intent and anger behind his words.

Xxxxxxxxx

John watched the exchange between the three men and Orton, a little surprised. The bartenders little outburst had successfully diverted everyone's attention from him and he wondered if that had been Randy's intention and, if it was, why he would do it.

John stood without thinking. The three of them looked furious and he wasn't about to let someone get their ass kicked for him, at least not when he could stop it.

"What are you doing?"

John ignored Mike's question and stalked over, placing himself between the men.

Xxxxxxxx

Randy jerked his arm away, his own anger doubling at the force of McGillicutty's. He made another move towards Randy but suddenly there was someone else between Randy and the jackass.

John Cena stood facing the three of them, his back against the bar and Randy. He shoved the flat of his hand against McGillicutty's chest, glaring.

"I'm thinkin' maybe you three should leave," Cena said, voice hard and unwavering.

"You gonna make us?" Justin spoke up, his awe at seeing Cena in the bar completely gone.

"If I have to," Cena answered with a shrug.

Randy watched as the three men surveyed the odds. Cody was standing next to John and they'd never liked fair fights. Plus, he could see Justin dart a glance towards the back office. Shawn would kick them out if they started a fight, maybe even ban them too.

"You really are a freak, Orton," Justin called before the three of them turned and headed for the exit.

"It was nice to see you too, Justin," Randy answered brightly.

"Watch your back," was Justin's parting shot. They were gone after that and Randy relaxed a little.

"You really are an idiot, you know that," Cody said as soon as he turned back.

"Yeah, yeah." Randy turned to Cena. "Thanks for that."

Cena shrugged. "I'm pretty sure that you just diverted everyone's attention from me."

Cody studied the man a moment. "You really John Cena?"

Cena groaned, Randy laughed and he put another beer in front of the man. "On me," he said, still smiling.