A/N: Just an idea I had after SummerSlam and the post-PPV episode of Raw. Pure crackfic. Please don't take it too seriously. 0:)
Seth Rollins couldn't see.
Not a minute after he'd returned to the Barclays Center for Raw, two rivals had yanked a pillowcase over his head and blitzed him with feet and fists. He made out their distinct voices in grunts and shouts. The ambush hurt like hell yet it didn't surprise him—these two were itching for revenge, after all, since he and Ambrose snagged their tag team championships last night. What did jolt him with fear was Sheamus and Cesaro hastily bounding his wrists and ankles with heavy-duty tape, then lifting him into the air and running away with him. Where the hell were they going? By now he was far too weak to defend himself let alone run away. One of them had shot his boot right into Seth's ribcage, and now it hurt to breathe. The pain made it difficult to process what was happening. Ten minutes ago he'd called Dean Ambrose to tell him of his close arrival to the venue.
Now he was being kidnapped?
Seth's body was pitched forward and he landed on something hard. A door slammed shut and everything got dark even past the pillowcase.
"Let me out of here!" Seth screamed. His captors didn't listen, of course, and Seth heard them yelling amongst themselves as a car engine roared to life. Shit. He was in the trunk. Most if not all car trunks had releases, right? Seth struggled to roll from his belly to his back in a feeble search for the emergency release handle, but fresh waves of pain reeled through him mixed with nausea and panic. Perhaps it'd be easier to make a run for it once they got where they were going…wherever that was…and he could get some of his strength back, pushing himself on a mighty rush of fear and adrenaline.
You gotta get out of here and get back to Dean before they hurt him, too, Rollins…come on…
He was certain either Cesaro or Sheamus, or both in tag team effort, had broken one of his ribs. Taking in badly-needed air proved to be a physical challenge, and he felt bruises swelling up over his entire body.
The car stopped. He heard footsteps pattering, getting closer. Seth made himself focus. Come on. Do this for your partner.
As soon as the trunk door heaved open, Seth launched his feet into the air, hoping to get whomever was closest. He missed, unable to see anything with this damn pillow case secure over his skull, and he was punished for it with another blow to the jaw.
"Quit strugglin', you cock!" Sheamus bellowed.
And he was in the air again. Transported like a damn parcel, shifting from the warm outdoors to an indoor area of air-conditioning and noiselessness. Seth could sense nothing but pain, perceive only worry. What the hell were they going to do to him? Over a couple of damn title belts? Was that worth all these illegal proceedings for them?
Apparently so.
Seth had no idea Cesaro and Sheamus had transported him back to their hotel room. He was refastened to a wooden chair, tethered by his aching limbs to the sturdy legs and armrests of the seat. Only now was his pillowcase finally removed, and he made the mistake of gasping for sweet air—fire tore through his sides, and he had to stop.
Looming over him were his foes, smug bastards grinning down at Rollins…their prisoner. Seth felt a chill drip down his spine as he realized that's exactly what he was. This was no delusion and his pain and danger were very real.
Sheamus lifted a strong hand and smacked him across the face. Seth flinched. He already had two black eyes he could detect, and his lip was one chomp away from spewing blood. Now his cheek stung like mad. Everywhere hurt but he refused to yelp.
Cesaro squatted in front of him to make eye contact. "Ah, Seth, I'm very sorry it had to come to this. But after you decided to show a little humanity for Dean Ambrose, you gave us no choice."
Seth wasn't gagged, he could speak, but he didn't want to give these bastards the satisfaction. He only glared back at Cesaro, both eyes daggers.
Cesaro kept up that smirk. "You know what we want."
You're not getting it. Seth didn't even have his belt with him; it'd been in his duffle bag. Unless "Shesaro" had thought to snatch his luggage on their hurry out the door before anyone saw them abducting Seth. Peering side to side, Seth didn't see the bag. Idiots. They'd left their prize behind. This had all been for nothing…right?
"Your compliance is highly appreciated. Saves us all a little trouble…and pain."
Seth wanted to tell him to fuck off, him and his pasty partner. He kept his mouth shut.
Cesaro recognized his resistance and stood up again with a sigh. "I'll tell you, Rollins, this really is all your fault. You've been highly selfish over the years, putting yourself above everyone else, making sure Seth Rollins was number one, and Seth Rollins was the man on top. Your greatest downfall was your own ego, until a few weeks ago when you shocked the world by making a save no one saw coming."
Seth hardly paid attention to his rambling. He watched Sheamus cross the spacious hotel room and turn the television on. For a moment Seth wondered if they were going to make some sort go hostage video to broadcast during Raw, but reality was much worse.
Cesaro was in his face again, amusement tinting his voice. "You've given us a crucial piece of information: that there is someone in this world you love as much as you love yourself. I'd even wager that you care about him more than you do yourself."
Seth's heart began to pump harder but he withstood giving Cesaro a reaction. You're wrong. I'm an asshole and you'll do with me what you want because I deserve it. Not him. He has nothing to do with this.
Sheamus toyed with the remote control until he found the right channel. Raw was starting in a few minutes.
"The question now is…" Cesaro drew his phone from the nightstand, and Seth tugged at his bondage. He didn't like where this was going at all, more afraid than ever. "Does he feel the same way?"
"You're wrong," Seth blurted, unable to help it. "He's not an idiot. He'd never fall for your shit."
"You know who I'm talking about, eh?" Cesaro mused. "Interesting. I don't remember saying a name."
Seth licked his lips. Shit, shit, shit, no. Please, no. He can't get Dean involved in this.
"Your beloved Dean Ambrose might not be an 'idiot', but he's weak. Just as weak as you are. You've both fallen back in love with each other and I wager he'll do whatever it takes to get you out of this mess."
I wager I'll beat the shit out of both of you as soon as I get out of here! Seth was struggling against the bondage harder now, resolve cracking apart piece by piece. You'll never get your hands on Dean!
"Your emotion's showing there, Rollins," Cesaro taunted, and Sheamus snickered with him. "That was always your problem in the Shield, right? You just cared too damn much. All of you."
"I'll kill you both if you touch him, you hear me?!" Seth was yanking now, and his heart sunk deeper into his stomach the longer he sat here and struggled to no avail. "I swear to God I will!"
Cesaro put his phone to his ear, then a finger over his lips, as if to say, "Shh. I'm on the phone."
Where the hell was Seth?
He'd called very recently and now he wasn't answering. Dean tried his cell again and again, pretending not to be concerned Rollins had ditched him. Again.
No. He couldn't have. Not after last night...
Dean tried his phone again. Voicemail.
Dammit. How could he believe anything but the dreadfully obvious? Rollins had set him up, used Ambrose to gain the titles and then dash away as soon as he claimed victory...but these were shared titles. Not the WWE championship or anything. It was a team effort. They were on the same level. Seth couldn't claim victory without Dean, and vice versa.
In spite of the past, Dean trusted Seth.
Tried his phone again.
They'd be on soon. A rematch, probably. Where the hell was he?
Dean sought after him backstage, ignoring his coworkers and rivals and even Roman Reigns. Maybe they'd talk later, catch up again someday, but Dean had priorities right now and unfortunately Roman wasn't on top of the list.
Seth...
Dean rounded the corner and froze in place.
Seth's duffle bag was down the corridor, abandoned by itself with his phone and the tag team championship belt stuffed within. No way in hell Seth would let his personal items just sit around unsupervised. Something was seriously wrong here. Dean claimed the items to protect them from thieves, amazed nobody had swiped them by now.
But who had Seth? Where was he?
"Dammit," Dean mumbled aloud. This has gotta be a joke.
Suddenly his phone was going off. A call he wasn't expecting. Who the hell...?
"Yeah, what?" Dean answered, out of patience.
"Ambrose. Hello."
Dean blinked. He drew the phone from his ear to look at the screen. Didn't recognize the number. "Who is this?"
"Come now, Dean. You know who this is."
His breath latched in his throat. Dizzy, he felt dizzy as puzzle pieces tumbled together and began to fashion a devastating mental picture. Seth missing out of nowhere...a strange phone call from one of his two current nemeses in the WWE...
"Cesaro?"
"Good guess, fella."
He and Sheamus spent way too much time together. "What the hell's going on, Cesaro?"
"Relax. Nobody's hurt just yet. From here on out, your friend's condition depends on your compliance, do you understand?"
Dean's head throbbed. He dropped to his knees before he passed out. No, this can't be happening, no...
"You're kidding me, right?"
"I can send you proof if you like. Better yet..."
Dean heard a yelp, then a groan. Like someone had been struck right in the gut, breath knocked out of him. Dean hadn't time to even wonder who it was, wonder if Cesaro was bluffing or not, when his phone bleeped again. Text from this number, a photo attached. Dean didn't have to peep at it to finally understand the gravity of this situation. Those sons of bitches. This was real.
"You have Seth," Dean breathed, whimpering, stating the obvious in his own fading understanding of reality.
"Yes," Cesaro mused, "we have Rollins, and if you'd like to see him again in one piece, you'd better listen to me."
Dean swore in his head. You hurt him, I kill you, you understand me!?
"On Raw, you will go to the ring when it's your turn. You will explain how you've been fooling everybody the entire time—you and Rollins are not a tag team again, this is no bloody Shield reunion, you did what you had to do in order to grab the gold, and now you're admitting to it in front of everyone."
Humiliation. Defeat. Lying about lying. This was so stupid.
"Then you'll denounce yourself as champion, you'll relinquish the belt right then and there, and the championships will be anyone's for the taking."
Dean was not a fool. By "anyone's", Cesaro surely meant Sheamus and himself. But why? What was the damn point of any of this? All to get their stupid titles back? The belts didn't mean nearly as much to Dean as Seth did...
And because of that damning fact, he bowed his head, anger smoking within him. "Don't hurt him."
"Don't give me a reason to."
Fuck you.
"We'll be watching the program from—where we are," Cesaro stated before blurting out his location. Somewhere with a television, yet not in public because of the little hostage situation? Their hotel room, perhaps? One of thousands in this city? "As soon as you've dropped the titles and admit to everyone what a failure you are, how idiotic your partner is, call me back and we'll talk more."
"Cesaro, I swear to God—"
"Don't do it, Ambrose!"
Dean's stomach turned inside out. A frantic voice, one he wished he didn't recognize, the angered shriek of a man Dean loved with everything he was...
"Don't listen to them! This is bullshit!"
Another yelp. Another grunt. A harsh cough. Dean closed his eyes and salty tears dribbled through the lids. They were hurting him. This was too real.
"Call me back when you're done," Cesaro repeated.
Boop boop boop. The call ended.
"Dean!" Seth roared, but Cesaro had hung up and flung his phone onto the bed. Too late.
"He'll do exactly as I say, of course," Cesaro narrated, wandering towards the television with his hands behind his back. "And when he does, I'll break his leg. Right in front of you. That oughta hurt, eh? Might teach you to mess with us ever again, Rollins."
They're psycho! They're nuts! All Seth could do was yank and wrench against his bondage. His gut was killing him. Sheamus had Brogue kicked him twice during the conversation with Dean. He'd be damned if Dean did anything as irrational as Cesaro's demands...
But of course he couldn't say he wouldn't do the same for Dean, if they were swapped.
He'd do anything for Dean Ambrose. Anything in the damn world.
Dean dashed towards the locker room. He had no intent of following Cesaro's commands, not yet; he could think of nothing but to get to them, wherever they were, and rescue his friend before it was too late. He had time. He wasn't scheduled to appear on Raw until a little later. Maybe an hour or so, that's how long he had to track these assholes down.
Who would know their whereabouts?
Dean barged into the locker room, air laced with steam from a series of recent showers. Nobody in here worth speaking to in any other circumstance, but he was desperate.
"Matt, Jeff," he panted, approaching the Hardy Boys around the corner. "Sheamus, Cesaro. You know where they are?"
Jeff and Matt traded expressions before Matt provided an answer on behalf of both of them. "No...? Can't say we do."
"Damnit," Dean whimpered. He briefly interrogated everyone he came into contact with. A clock was ticking down in his head, and all he could hear in a roaring echo was Seth's screams and shouts. Don't do it, Ambrose!
How can I not, Seth?
Dean rushed through the door again. Could nobody help him?
He rounded the corner and froze, briefly.
Roman Reigns was there, meditating most likely away from the hustle and bustle of the locker room.
He stared down his once-friend. His once-teammate.
Perhaps they could still be friends, for a moment, so Dean could make everything right.
"Roman."
"Dean?" Roman posed as a question. They hadn't had much contact lately, not since that whole apple pie incident...
"Look, man, I'm desperate." Dean worked hard to gather his courage, his resolve. "Cesaro and Sheamus nabbed Seth. They're holding him somewhere unless I go on Raw and make up some crap about tricking the audience and I don't really love Seth..."
Roman raised an eyebrow. "You don't what?"
Dean hadn't time to explain. "Please, Ro. I need your help. I need to know where they are, where they've got him."
Roman nodded. He wasn't smiling, but his words were of great comfort. "You're in luck, Ambrose. I saw them pull into the parking lot of my hotel hours ago."
Relief flooded through Dean and he got his breath back. "Thank God. Take me there. Please."
"Sure, let's hurry it up." Roman believed him. Dean dashed behind him on a jog to the locker room so Roman could fetch the keys of his rental car. Out the door again, he heard Roman bark in humor, "So I guess you forgive me for the whole apple pie thing?"
"Sure do," Dean said. He tried to laugh but he couldn't. He had to get his brother back.
Cesaro and Sheamus were lucky they'd done a wonderful job tying Seth up. One snap of these ties, and Seth's fingers would be firm around their throats, both of them at the same time...he'd do so much damage to each of them in sync if he could just...break...free...come on!...
They could only laugh at his struggle.
"Quit wasting your energy, Rollins," Sheamus ordered. "You'll be out of there soon enough. As soon as your laddie gives the announcement."
"And is thoroughly punished for making us look like arses," Cesaro noted.
You are arses. And a thousand other worse terms I can think of. "Just...please, just..." Not like Seth Rollins to beg but God, was he tired. Ready for this whole ordeal to be over, no matter what it took, just please not the dignity of Dean. And especially not those broken bones they promised. "You've got me, guys. Have at it! Kick the crap out of me!" An offer he pledged again and again, but one they weren't willing to accept.
Surely someone in this blasted hotel could hear him roaring?
On any other day, Dean and Roman might have had conversation in the car. Small talk, inside jokes, laughing, remembering...though there was nothing between them in the recent past worth reminiscing over. Instead the drive was filled with radio station advertisements and overplayed tunes, and Dean's own thoughts tormenting him. Loving him again sure was risky, but I never thought something like this would come around...hold on, Seth, I'll kill them for laying hands on you...
"Proud of you," was all Roman could say on the long, long ride. Was only minutes but felt like an eternity.
"Thanks," Dean grumbled. Process the guilt and missing him later.
Roman flung the rental vehicle into an available spot and the two of them jogged to the hotel's main entrance. Dean had called it.
"I'll get their room," Roman assured. "I'll pull the celebrity card."
"Whatever you can do, just hurry," Dean begged. Huh. Begging felt weird to him. Loving Seth again sure was damning. Maybe it was worth the ride as long as he held on tight.
Seth watched a street fight kick off between Big Cass and Enzo Amore. Didn't matter. All that mattered was Dean not listening to Seth's captors.
Suddenly he heard a rapid knock on the door. Several more of them followed.
Cesaro glared at Sheamus. "Who the hell is that?" he demanded.
Seth had never felt so helpless. If that's you, Dean, get ready...
Cesaro peered through the peephole and snorted. "It's him."
No! Tired as his arms were, Seth started up his writhing again. He had to be close to busting through this bondage now, right? Surely!
Sheamus stood next to his partner, ready to ambush Dean.
Cesaro unfastened the latch and pulled the door open.
Seth squeezed his eyes shut.
Sheamus lunged.
He was met with a Spear, the shocking presence of Dean's company, who'd hidden down the hall in case Cesaro did check first. Roman was atop Sheamus, hurling punch after punch into his pale face. Seth was almost too surprised to see Roman there with Dean, charging in like this to the rescue...
Dean slammed Cesaro against the wall. The two traded blows, dodging the other's fist while struggling to gain the upper hand. Seth lost his mind—watching his tag team partner and someone he once called brother...still could, maybe, more on that later...he rocked the chair back and forth, back and forth, until the legs lifted in the air and he had enough force to finally tip the chair over, come crashing to the carpet...
That did no good. Now he was bound to a chair and stranded on his side.
Roman roped Sheamus into his arms and slammed him against the wall. The television rattled, then slid off its hanging structure with a smash on the floor. Then Roman recovered his muscular frame and flung him across the room. Sheamus's body collided with his tag team partner's, headstrong and headfirst, and their figures slumped to the floor, somewhere between conscious and non.
Good time to get the hell out of there.
Roman and Dean didn't smack fists just yet. In a frenzy they approached Seth, able to undo his restraints at last with Roman's pocketknife, a tool he hadn't been forced to use against Cesaro and Sheamus, lucky for them.
"God, Seth, are you okay? Are you hurt? Did they hurt you?" Dean stammered as he captured Seth in his arms.
"I'm fine, let's just go," Seth grunted. "Get security in here to haul these idiots off."
Roman and Dean positioned themselves as Seth's sides, allowing him to use both of them as crutches on their brisk pace out of the hotel room and down the long corridor.
"Thanks, guys," Seth mumbled. "Can't believe this shit happened. Guess anything can happen in this business, eh?"
Dean couldn't resist. He kissed Seth's hair, promising himself to kiss Seth many more times, as much as life allowed him. "I'm just glad you're okay."
"Me too," Roman agreed.
"Hey, Roman. Good to see you again," Seth wheezed, laughing pitifully.
"We're even now."
"Huh? Oh yeah, apple pie thing." Seth shook his head. "At least it got you two to talk again."
Dean and Roman could agree, if not aloud then quietly in their minds. Maybe this wasn't the start of a Shield reunion. Maybe Seth and Dean wouldn't be tag team champions forever. Maybe, certainly, Sheamus and Cesaro were off to prison for their insane revenge tactics. No matter the circumstances, as Seth had put it, anything could happen in the business—regardless of any situation, good or bad, at least Roman Reigns, Dean Ambrose and Seth Rollins could hold fast to what they once had to one another. Brotherhood. Friendship.
Love.