Disclaimer: The author is in no way, shape, or form in any form of association with World Wrestling Entertainment (WWE), any of the wrestlers mentioned in this story, or anything else. I just wrote the thing. Please enjoy.
It wasn't often that Dean dreamed. Dean had always prided himself on the fact that he could make it through the night without remembering anything the next morning. Sometimes, the wrestlers around him would talk about the weird dreams that they've had and they look to Dean, asking him about his own dreams. They all assume that he's had some weird ones considering who he was. He always told them that he never remembered his dreams. They didn't push it, but he didn't think they believed him. He wasn't going to try and talk about it, though.
The thing about Dean is when he does dream, they aren't dreams. They're nightmares. They're nightmares about the things that have happened in his life. The shitty childhood he had growing up, the jumping around through independent circuits. His days of pure disregard of his body. Nights of bleeding and feeling dizzy from the blood loss, touching the wound and watching as his hands come back covered in red.
He's going through it again. He's about to go through a table with tacks and glass and barbwire and he's struggling. He can't let that happen. No, not again. As much as he tries to struggle, though, he can't move. He goes through it, but it feels like something goes straight through him, is protruding from his chest. He can't breathe, he's shaking, he can't move. Why does he keep doing this to himself? But then he's looking up, at a faceless opponent who is laughing down at him. But not just at him. He's looking over too… Dean uses all of his energy to turn his head and his stomach lurches, his heart shattering as he sees Seth in the same predicament, but he's looking at Dean with a glassy, dead stare.
"No!" Dean gasps out loud, shooting up out of his slumber and immediately grabbing at his chest, like he's trying to pull the glass from his chest, but finding nothing there. He's still in immense pain, but he needs to make sure Seth is okay. Seth can't go through that too. He has to keep Seth safe.
He's still in the haze of the dream, whipping his head around, but he can't find Seth. His mind doesn't process that he's in bed and not in a wrestling ring, that there's no blood and no glass or barbwire or tacks. He's still panicking when he can't find Seth before he hears the faint sound of the shower. Seth. He has to get to Seth. He's stumbling out of the bed, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste.
He pushes the bathroom door open and is jerking back the curtain. He terrifies Seth, who is looking at him like a deer in headlights, but Dean is stumbling in and wrapping his arms tightly around Seth. He presses his face into his back, feeling the water cascading over him, and that wakes him up a bit more, but not enough, and he's shaking.
"Dean?" Seth asks, his voice small, his hand reaching back to gently touch Dean's side. Dean jerks away from it, his breathing picking up some, squeezing Seth closer. Seth had seen him like this before. It takes him a moment to realize just what was going on, though. "Shit, Dean," he breathes out as Dean lets out a soft, broken noise. He's quickly shutting off the shower and forcing his way to turn around in Dean's arms.
He's wrapping his arms around him, Dean tightening his own hold once more. They end up sitting on the wet floor of the tub; Dean's head was tucked against Seth's shoulder.
"Hey," Seth whispers in his ear, his cheek pressed against his temple. "Hey, it's okay. It was just a dream. You're okay," Seth assures him, but Dean's nails are biting into his back still, one hand moving to press to his back, feeling for something. "Everything's alright, yeah? We're all fine. We're in the hotel. In the bathroom of the hotel, to be exact. Tonight, we were on Raw and you won against Cena, remember? Now we have that match at Hell in the Cell."
The words come slowly, spoken in Dean's ear, and Dean is listening, because he trusts Seth to help him through this. "You were hurt," he rasps out, his voice low, almost deadly. He wanted to hurt the faceless man. He wanted to rip his face off. No one but him was allowed to put their hands on Seth. No one.
"I'm not," Seth tells him, grabbing Dean's chin gently and pulling his head up to look him in the eyes. "Do I look hurt?"
The words are what really cause a clearing in Dean's mind. Seth doesn't look hurt. He's looks flushed red from the heat of the shower and his eyes are pretty clear, looking at Dean with intent. Dean looks down to his chest and that's nothing there. It's just his chest and he reaches forward, putting his hand on his chest. His heart is beating steadily, if only a touch faster.
Nothing's wrong. Seth's alive. Dean isn't stabbed or bleeding. Everything is just fine. No one but Dean is going to have his hands on Seth. His face is twisting up into a grimace when he realizes that he's just spent the past ten minutes or more panicking over just another nightmare.
Seth is still cupping his face, though, and Dean looks up at him, feeling much more awake than he had been a few minutes ago. "I-…"
"Don't," Seth says, even though Dean wasn't sure what he was about to do. Seth always is a step ahead of him, it seems. "Let's just go lay back down, okay? Let's see if you can get some more sleep before you have to sneak out in the morning. Next time I'll just wait to shower until morning."
"Never do what I did," Dean murmurs to him and Seth just nods, because he knows exactly what Dean is talking about.
"I promise I won't," Seth tells him, and it seems to sooth Dean, who nods as he stands, then turning on the shower so it pelts down onto Seth's head.
Seems things were back to normal already (or maybe Dean just didn't want to talk about it. Either way, Seth would respect it).
I'm posting so many fics now. Sorry!
Reviews would be great :P