FIC: Agony Of Defeat (Centon/Candy; PG-13)
Disclaimer: Usual disclaimers apply.
Title: Agony Of Defeat
Pairing: Centon/Candy
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Randy is caught at a crossroads, with no one to turn to. John could be, very possibly, his only solution. But is he willing to listen?
Author's Notes: This fic is part of what has turned out to be a series. The first fic is here, while the second part, a teaser, is here. Events in this fic take place a couple of days after the teaser, so it would make sense to read at least that one.
Dedication: For a veeeeeeery long time, I was in a fic-writing rut. My writers' block lasted almost an entire year. And now I'm back, and what keeps me coming back and coming up with more ideas are my friends, the people who keep coming back to read and review my fics. It's always good to know that your time has been worth it, and that there's always at least one person to acknowledge your talent and skills. So my biggest thank you's go to the following - angrbooa, rkoholic, bella_gray, annemarie_blfan, blood_ecstasy and bugz_aroc. Thank you for sticking around. I honestly really love you guys for being this awesome to me. I'm only good at this because you say I am, and that's the truth (HUSH UP, ANNA).
X-posted: marcianafics, cenaortonmylove and lady_tavington
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Agony Of Defeat
A Centon fic
Part 3 of a Centon/Candy series
by MARCIANA (lady_tavington)
Rated PG-13.
"Hey, stranger."
Randy turns, only to see, of all people, John standing a few feet from the bench he's sitting on, hands in his pockets, his head cocked slightly to one side, a lopsided grin in the corner of his mouth. Randy lets out a sigh, not quite sure why he does it. "Hey," he answers back monotonously, strangely not surprised that John actually said something to him.
"I know that pose," John says with a minute chuckle as Randy turns back around, "That's your 'I'm only pretending nothing's eating me, but really I want you to come talk to me about it' pose."
"You're mistaking me for someone else," Randy replies, taking another puff from the cigarette in his hand, trying to convince himself that he's not interested.
"No, I'm pretty sure you're who I think you are," says John, now walking around the bench to actually look at Randy, "Nobody hides behind an act better than you do."
Randy looks up at John through narrowed, annoyed eyes. John stands calmly, unflinching, his massive arms crossed in front of him. "You're blocking my sun," Randy points out as coldly as he can manage.
"Coz you really need a tan, right?" John answers back, still unfazed.
"What is that you want, Cena?" Randy asks, "I haven't got all day."
"By the looks of things, you do," John contradicts, his tone simple, as he sits himself down beside Randy on the bench. Randy makes a silent vow to himself not to look John in the eye for as long as he possibly can.
"You need to get your eyes checked then," Randy shoots back, "I'm busy."
"Doing what?" John asks in reply, looking not at Randy, but at the same thing Randy is looking at - a group of little kids playing in the playground, "Wallowing in self-pity? Wondering what the hell your life is really all about? Watching kids that aren't yours play all day and complaining about the childhood you wish you had? Or worrying about just how much baby oil you still need to use before Johnson and Johnson gives you a sponsorship, maybe?"
"Keep going, Cena, and you'll wish you never opened that big fucking mouth of yours," Randy answers, his tone gruff. He really, really doesn't need this. Not now. Probably not ever.
"...Something really is wrong with you, isn't there?" John asks softly, and for a split second, Randy thinks he sees John reach a hand out to him, but thinks it's just a trick of the light, "I mean...aside from the obvious thing we're not talking about."
Randy gives him a look he imagines is disdainful. At least, he hopes it looks disdainful. Enough.
"Which we won't talk about, apparently," John says, "What's going on with you? I'm serious this time."
"You're not going to go away unless I tell you, are you?" Randy asks, fighting the urge to flick his cigarette at John.
"Unlike you, I do have all day," John answers, clearly trying to fend off an ironic smirk.
"Then you could be here all day," Randy says, turning away from John again, "I'm just not interested."
"...It's Cody, isn't it?" John says, just coming right out with it.
Randy almost drops his cigarette. He can feel John's eyes on him, though, and knows better than anyone how John's gaze almost seems like an x-ray, shooting right past his body and into his very soul. And of course, John really isn't going to leave him alone, not when he has him like this, not after...Well...
Randy shakes his head slowly. "It's not Cody," he answers, "Well...not just him. Not him him. Not strictly."
"The kid adores you," John points out, "He worships the ground you walk on, no matter what kind of shit is lying around on it."
"I know that," Randy says, "I know..."
"...But it's not enough?" John finishes by way of asking.
Randy says nothing. He feels his jaw clench, hating how right John is. Again.
"I did it again, John," Randy confesses quietly, "...I did to him the same thing I did to you, before the shit really hit the fan."
"...Yeah, I know," John tells him, and it draws Randy's attention fully to him, "It was an accident. He didn't mean for me to see, but I did."
"I think I'm losing my mind," Randy says, "I hurt him, John. I honest-to-goodness actually hurt him."
"The knife wound will heal over ti--" John begins to say, but Randy cuts through him.
"I'm not talking about that," Randy interjects, "...The other night...He was sleeping, and I couldn't...I don't know why, exactly. Maybe I had too many things to think about. Something pissed me off, and I..."
The memory of the look on Cody's face when it had happened comes flashing, unbidden, into Randy's brain, and he grits his teeth against the guilt that threatens to make him snap. He closes his eyes momentarily, trying to keep his breathing normal. When he opens them again, he sees an all-too understanding expression on John's face. He knows.
"You should have seen his face, John-John," Randy manages to continue, "At the time, it didn't seem like anything to me, what I'd just done to him. But I don't know...I think you've infected me or something. I've become more prone to doing things without thinking first, and...well..."
"He didn't say a thing to me about that one," John tells Randy, "He tried to defend you, actually."
"I'm going to lose him," Randy replies with a heavy sigh, "I'm going to lose him just like I lost you, and I'll have no one else to blame but myself, and I'll just take my frustrations out on someone else, and then the vicious cycle starts all over again. Something is wrong with me, John-John, and I don't have the faintest idea how to fix it."
John is quiet for what feels like an eternity, something Randy is finding strange. Too strange. It looks like a cloud has passed over John's face. The look in his eyes have changed.
"Fucking say something," Randy demands, the cigarette in his hand long forgotten, "Tell me I'm being stupid, or that I'm right and I should just toss the kid over a bridge or something, tell me to go see a therapist - not that it would work, it never has - Just tell me something."
The smile John turns to him is sad, and Randy finds himself guilt-tripped into silence by it. "I don't actually know what else to say to you, man," John says, "If you don't know how to fix it, then I don't know that anyone else does."
"Bullshit," Randy replies, "You always know how to fix stuff like this. Always. You've ALWAYS known how to deal with my crap, because you know me better than anyone else does, better than me. You know how to fix me."
"Fix you?" John asks in reply, and only now does Randy become aware of what he had actually said, "You think you're the problem?"
Randy finds he can't look at John anymore. Fuck him. Fuck him for making him keep on talking until he doesn't know what he's saying anymore. Fuck him for making him let it all out like this. Fuck him for making him vulnerable.
"I don't think you're the problem," John says, his finger lazily tracing a random pattern on the empty space between them, "Even if you were, and I had the solution to it, I wouldn't want to fix you, I wouldn't want to even try. You're you. You're the way you were made. And I've never, NEVER, wanted to 'fix' that. If you ever DID get 'fixed', then we'd have REAL trouble on our hands."
It's a compliment. Randy understands. It's John's own funny way of appreciation. And yet, there's something there...
John gets up off the bench with a sigh and makes to leave Randy with his thoughts. "Oh, by the way," he says, just as he turns his back to head in the other direction, "You were wrong."
"Wrong?" Randy echoes.
"You haven't lost me," John answers simply. He gives Randy a tiny smile, and then walks off.
Randy takes a deep puff from his cigarette, frozen to the spot, his head aout ready to explode.
~ TO BE CONTINUED. ~
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Title: Agony Of Defeat
Pairing: Centon/Candy
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Randy is caught at a crossroads, with no one to turn to. John could be, very possibly, his only solution. But is he willing to listen?
Author's Notes: This fic is part of what has turned out to be a series. The first fic is here, while the second part, a teaser, is here. Events in this fic take place a couple of days after the teaser, so it would make sense to read at least that one.
Dedication: For a veeeeeeery long time, I was in a fic-writing rut. My writers' block lasted almost an entire year. And now I'm back, and what keeps me coming back and coming up with more ideas are my friends, the people who keep coming back to read and review my fics. It's always good to know that your time has been worth it, and that there's always at least one person to acknowledge your talent and skills. So my biggest thank you's go to the following - angrbooa, rkoholic, bella_gray, annemarie_blfan, blood_ecstasy and bugz_aroc. Thank you for sticking around. I honestly really love you guys for being this awesome to me. I'm only good at this because you say I am, and that's the truth (HUSH UP, ANNA).
X-posted: marcianafics, cenaortonmylove and lady_tavington
======================================================
Agony Of Defeat
A Centon fic
Part 3 of a Centon/Candy series
by MARCIANA (lady_tavington)
Rated PG-13.
"Hey, stranger."
Randy turns, only to see, of all people, John standing a few feet from the bench he's sitting on, hands in his pockets, his head cocked slightly to one side, a lopsided grin in the corner of his mouth. Randy lets out a sigh, not quite sure why he does it. "Hey," he answers back monotonously, strangely not surprised that John actually said something to him.
"I know that pose," John says with a minute chuckle as Randy turns back around, "That's your 'I'm only pretending nothing's eating me, but really I want you to come talk to me about it' pose."
"You're mistaking me for someone else," Randy replies, taking another puff from the cigarette in his hand, trying to convince himself that he's not interested.
"No, I'm pretty sure you're who I think you are," says John, now walking around the bench to actually look at Randy, "Nobody hides behind an act better than you do."
Randy looks up at John through narrowed, annoyed eyes. John stands calmly, unflinching, his massive arms crossed in front of him. "You're blocking my sun," Randy points out as coldly as he can manage.
"Coz you really need a tan, right?" John answers back, still unfazed.
"What is that you want, Cena?" Randy asks, "I haven't got all day."
"By the looks of things, you do," John contradicts, his tone simple, as he sits himself down beside Randy on the bench. Randy makes a silent vow to himself not to look John in the eye for as long as he possibly can.
"You need to get your eyes checked then," Randy shoots back, "I'm busy."
"Doing what?" John asks in reply, looking not at Randy, but at the same thing Randy is looking at - a group of little kids playing in the playground, "Wallowing in self-pity? Wondering what the hell your life is really all about? Watching kids that aren't yours play all day and complaining about the childhood you wish you had? Or worrying about just how much baby oil you still need to use before Johnson and Johnson gives you a sponsorship, maybe?"
"Keep going, Cena, and you'll wish you never opened that big fucking mouth of yours," Randy answers, his tone gruff. He really, really doesn't need this. Not now. Probably not ever.
"...Something really is wrong with you, isn't there?" John asks softly, and for a split second, Randy thinks he sees John reach a hand out to him, but thinks it's just a trick of the light, "I mean...aside from the obvious thing we're not talking about."
Randy gives him a look he imagines is disdainful. At least, he hopes it looks disdainful. Enough.
"Which we won't talk about, apparently," John says, "What's going on with you? I'm serious this time."
"You're not going to go away unless I tell you, are you?" Randy asks, fighting the urge to flick his cigarette at John.
"Unlike you, I do have all day," John answers, clearly trying to fend off an ironic smirk.
"Then you could be here all day," Randy says, turning away from John again, "I'm just not interested."
"...It's Cody, isn't it?" John says, just coming right out with it.
Randy almost drops his cigarette. He can feel John's eyes on him, though, and knows better than anyone how John's gaze almost seems like an x-ray, shooting right past his body and into his very soul. And of course, John really isn't going to leave him alone, not when he has him like this, not after...Well...
Randy shakes his head slowly. "It's not Cody," he answers, "Well...not just him. Not him him. Not strictly."
"The kid adores you," John points out, "He worships the ground you walk on, no matter what kind of shit is lying around on it."
"I know that," Randy says, "I know..."
"...But it's not enough?" John finishes by way of asking.
Randy says nothing. He feels his jaw clench, hating how right John is. Again.
"I did it again, John," Randy confesses quietly, "...I did to him the same thing I did to you, before the shit really hit the fan."
"...Yeah, I know," John tells him, and it draws Randy's attention fully to him, "It was an accident. He didn't mean for me to see, but I did."
"I think I'm losing my mind," Randy says, "I hurt him, John. I honest-to-goodness actually hurt him."
"The knife wound will heal over ti--" John begins to say, but Randy cuts through him.
"I'm not talking about that," Randy interjects, "...The other night...He was sleeping, and I couldn't...I don't know why, exactly. Maybe I had too many things to think about. Something pissed me off, and I..."
The memory of the look on Cody's face when it had happened comes flashing, unbidden, into Randy's brain, and he grits his teeth against the guilt that threatens to make him snap. He closes his eyes momentarily, trying to keep his breathing normal. When he opens them again, he sees an all-too understanding expression on John's face. He knows.
"You should have seen his face, John-John," Randy manages to continue, "At the time, it didn't seem like anything to me, what I'd just done to him. But I don't know...I think you've infected me or something. I've become more prone to doing things without thinking first, and...well..."
"He didn't say a thing to me about that one," John tells Randy, "He tried to defend you, actually."
"I'm going to lose him," Randy replies with a heavy sigh, "I'm going to lose him just like I lost you, and I'll have no one else to blame but myself, and I'll just take my frustrations out on someone else, and then the vicious cycle starts all over again. Something is wrong with me, John-John, and I don't have the faintest idea how to fix it."
John is quiet for what feels like an eternity, something Randy is finding strange. Too strange. It looks like a cloud has passed over John's face. The look in his eyes have changed.
"Fucking say something," Randy demands, the cigarette in his hand long forgotten, "Tell me I'm being stupid, or that I'm right and I should just toss the kid over a bridge or something, tell me to go see a therapist - not that it would work, it never has - Just tell me something."
The smile John turns to him is sad, and Randy finds himself guilt-tripped into silence by it. "I don't actually know what else to say to you, man," John says, "If you don't know how to fix it, then I don't know that anyone else does."
"Bullshit," Randy replies, "You always know how to fix stuff like this. Always. You've ALWAYS known how to deal with my crap, because you know me better than anyone else does, better than me. You know how to fix me."
"Fix you?" John asks in reply, and only now does Randy become aware of what he had actually said, "You think you're the problem?"
Randy finds he can't look at John anymore. Fuck him. Fuck him for making him keep on talking until he doesn't know what he's saying anymore. Fuck him for making him let it all out like this. Fuck him for making him vulnerable.
"I don't think you're the problem," John says, his finger lazily tracing a random pattern on the empty space between them, "Even if you were, and I had the solution to it, I wouldn't want to fix you, I wouldn't want to even try. You're you. You're the way you were made. And I've never, NEVER, wanted to 'fix' that. If you ever DID get 'fixed', then we'd have REAL trouble on our hands."
It's a compliment. Randy understands. It's John's own funny way of appreciation. And yet, there's something there...
John gets up off the bench with a sigh and makes to leave Randy with his thoughts. "Oh, by the way," he says, just as he turns his back to head in the other direction, "You were wrong."
"Wrong?" Randy echoes.
"You haven't lost me," John answers simply. He gives Randy a tiny smile, and then walks off.
Randy takes a deep puff from his cigarette, frozen to the spot, his head aout ready to explode.
~ TO BE CONTINUED. ~
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