Hello again everyone!

This is based off a prompt I received from the lovely Shezli, who wanted some hurt/comfort and unrequited Seth dealing with Dean's absolutely insane workload recently.

After all, no one can deny that Dean is working his ass off as champion, and we were both worried about our poor baby!

This should hopefully only be a 2-3 parter at the very most. It'll mostly be dealing with Seth's unrequited love for Dean, but there'll also be hints of suggested Ambreigns and Ambrollins to come in later chapters.

Hope you all enjoy, and please remember to leave any reviews and comments!

The sweat was dripping off of Dean as he pushed his way through the curtains into the gorilla position, his championship belt heavy over his left shoulder. It hadn't been a long match tonight, but that didn't mean that it had been a walk in the park; Dean knew better than to underestimate anyone he faced, especially considering that the title in his possession made him the top target for anyone wanting to prove themselves.

Dean still found it odd. He'd spent so long climbing up the rungs of the various ladders put in front of him, fighting and clawing and scratching against all-comers to earn his opportunities that he'd almost forgotten that those same people he'd fought on the way would now be after him.

Not that Dean would have it any other way, of course.

After he'd gotten over the worst of his insecurities and paranoia surrounding the circumstances of his title win, he'd gradually begun to believe what those around him were saying.

He did deserve the belt. He had earned that belt. He was the rightful champion.

That didn't mean that those voices and demons crawling under his skin had stopped tormenting him; they were still there - as they always would be – whispering in his ear when he laid in bed at night, twisting his gut into knots every time he made a mistake, trying to convince him that all it would take is one slip up for everyone to see him as a fraud.

Dean would have been lying if he said that, more often than not, he found himself staring into a mirror with the belt lazily gripped in his hand. Dean really was his own worst enemy, and it was still frighteningly easy for him to pick holes in what was reflected back at him.

Scruffy appearance. His too skinny waist and inability to actually get any muscle definition regardless of how long he spent in the gym. Pale skin and ugly scars.

Now though, just occasionally, he saw something staring back at him that made it a little bit easier to breathe. Something that brought a small and genuine smile to his lips.

He saw someone who had finally made it. Someone who was sitting on the top of a mountain previously believed to be insurmountable.

The conqueror.

An actual champion.

The champion.

Although right now, Dean conceded, the exhausted champion was probably a much more accurate description.

Dean wasn't naïve; he'd known that being champion meant that he'd suddenly find himself in high demand. Roman had given him a bit of a reality check of sorts before he'd gotten on the plane back to Pensacola, trying to prepare Dean as much as possible for the impending burst in activities.

They'd both been sat in their shared hotel room, a bottle of Jack Daniels between them as Roman had tried to impart his wisdom – although, to be honest, it had mainly descended into that friendly kind of chaos that summed up their relationship to a tee.

There'd been the few nuggets of gold, like how to deal with management, which person on creative was worth talking to for more freedom in promos, how to make sure he didn't lose the goddamn belt in his travels (to be fair, both times, Dean might have been hungover and kind of forgotten that he needed to drag it around places) and how to deal with the locker room and the inevitable jealousy and backstabbing that goes on.

Dean had been half listening, more focussed on fiddling with the loose strands of Roman's ridiculously majestic hair, when Roman had given up and decided that there were much more fun and important ways to spend their last night together for a while.

Dean had worn that hickey like a medal of honour for days.

Anyway, Roman had mentioned offhandedly that being the champion meant more travelling, more matches, more tours, more appearances, more having to be behaved with the fans and more self-control.

During their nightly Skype sessions, Roman had become more of a mother hen than usual; he'd insist on checking that Dean had eaten, that he'd been to the gym, that he'd taken care of any bumps and bruises, that he knew his upcoming schedule, that he'd been getting enough sleep…

The last one was usually said with that authoritative tone in Roman's voice and that raised eyebrow that emphatically told Dean he'd better not lie to him.

Dean didn't technically lie.

When he told Roman every night that he was sleeping better than he usually did – an easy task for a chronic insomniac like him – Roman didn't really need to know that it was only a couple of hours at the most, the aches and pains and demons making it nigh on impossible for him to get any decent rest.

Dean did feel guilty for bending the truth, but he didn't want Roman to worry. Of course, if Roman knew the actual details, he'd worry more than usual, but as long as Dean didn't do anything stupid, he was fine. Besides, when Roman eventually returned, Dean would be able to sleep considerably easier anyway; Roman just had that effect over him.

Right now though, Dean was almost beginning to wish that Roman would be back sooner rather than later.

The last ten days had been a nightmare.

First there had been the tapings, then the dark matches, then Jacksonville and Orlando in the same goddamn day, then being shepherded onto a plane bound for Hawaii, more matches, then off to Tokyo and the whirlwind of constant appearances and press conferences, with less than a day to recover before the current round of tapings…

It was intense. Dean had felt like a ping pong ball being batted back and forth, with no time to take a breath or even sit by himself and chill before the next onslaught. Dean and Roman's nightly Skype chats had dwindled to the quickest 5 minute talks that left both of them relatively unhappy and unsettled. Dean's bruises were developing bruises, and there was a deep throbbing that had carved its way into Dean's very bones.

If it wasn't for the fact that they were in Ohio, Dean's name being screamed and cheered at him by the crowds when he entered the arena this morning as a homecoming hero (if you told him that 10 years ago, he'd never have believed it), Dean wouldn't even have been sure where the hell he was.

Simply put, Dean honestly couldn't remember the last time he'd been this exhausted.

If it wasn't for the fact that he was in his home state, if it wasn't for the fact that he had his name and his position as champion to defend against people like Rollins, then Dean almost would have been tempted to go to management with his tail between his legs and ask for a day off.

But Dean was a fighting champion. He'd never admitted weakness in his life, and he wasn't going to start now.

Slouching against the wall, Dean bent forward, resting his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. His tank top was sticking to him uncomfortably, his wrist tape starting to itch where it had begun to unravel. The base of his back was aching like a bitch from dropping Dirty Deeds on the announce table, another irritating inconvenience to add to the myriad of bumps and bruises burning under his skin.

Normally, Dean wouldn't mind the sting of pain; there was something about the rush of adrenaline that he got when he'd press his fingertips firmly against marks of various sizes and colours, the throbbing note of discomfort making him feel alive again in a way that wrestling couldn't.

But now, as Dean dug the knuckles of one hand hard into the base of his spine, trying to relieve the tightness there, a thick wave of nausea rolled over him.

Dean gasped out a breath, a fresh film of sweat breaking out across his flesh as he quickly stood up.

He immediately regretted it.

The rush of blood to the head was the worst that Dean had ever experienced, even when he had been coming down from drugs, and his vision went black around the edges. His tongue felt too heavy in his mouth, his skin suddenly felt too small and tight, and Dean had to urgently swallow down the bile that burnt at his throat.

Dean went to push himself away from the wall when a sickening spike of dizziness crashed over him. He barely had time to even open his mouth and take a breath before he felt his legs give way beneath him and he slumped to the floor in a heap, his belt falling forgotten beside him as he was rushed by backstage personnel shouting for help.

Dean was out.

Seth had been dragging his suitcase out of his locker room, ready to go back to the hotel when he was banged into by a member of backstage crew that he didn't recognise.

"Mr. R-R-Rollins, sir?"

Seth gave a frustrated sigh, pulling his earbuds out.

"What?"

The crew member flinched back at the tone of Seth's voice.

"W-W-We need your help. Ambrose has passed out a-and needs to be tak-taken home."

Seth paused, his heart briefly clenching in his chest before he pushed past the crew member.

"What do you mean he's passed out? Where is he?"

Seth could feel a thrum of nervous energy burst through him when the member of staff pointed down the corridor, Seth flanking him every step of the way.

He had watched rather dispassionately from a distance as Dean had flounced around, wearing his title around his waist. Sure, he'd been involved in the matches, he may have been in a feud with the man, but that didn't mean that Seth had invested much of his off screen time and energy on it.

He'd gone out of his way to avoid Dean backstage, trying to keep everything purely business. Seth knew what happened if he let it get personal. He knew all too well.

Seth couldn't afford to let himself get tangled into the spider web that was Dean again. It had damn near crippled him the first time getting out of it as unscarred as he did. He'd had his wings torn the first time. Seth knew he'd never let himself get close enough to risk it again.

He'd promised himself.

And yet, here he was, being dragged through the bowels of the arena by some random member of staff who was telling him that Dean had passed out and Seth was 'the only friend they could think of who'd be able to look after him'.

Friend.

The term made Seth want to laugh and cry in equal measures.

Dean and him had been friends once. They'd all been friends once; him, Dean and Roman.

Before he'd torn his own heart out.

Before Dean and Roman had gotten too close.

Before he'd destroyed both of them, thinking that it would be enough to finally scupper and quench the flickering flame Dean had unknowingly lit in him.

Taking a deep breath to try and ease the vise-like grip that tightened around his chest, Seth half listened to the continued rambling and concerns of the member of staff until they rounded the corner and Seth saw him.

Dean was surrounded by medical personnel and a couple of the guys from the locker room – Sami, Kevin and Cesaro – who were crouched around him, trying to shift Dean's dead weight to sit up against the wall.

Seth clenched his fist tight by his side; the urge to rush over there, push everyone else away and carry Dean off in his arms was briefly overwhelming, and Seth had to stop himself from snarling at everyone else there as he moved to squat down next to Sami.

Internally, he was screaming; he knew that Dean would be freaking out at the vast number of people in his personal space if he was conscious, knew that Dean would be trying to convince everyone that he was okay before he disappeared to lick his wounds in private. This was Dean at his most vulnerable, and Seth couldn't stand it.

"Seth, apparently you're gonna look after him?"

Sami's voice and eyes were wary of Seth, a note of disbelief and uncertainty in his tone. Seth immediately bristled, his heckles raising as the attention suddenly turned to regard him.

"You got a problem with that, Zayn?"

Kevin surged forward, some kind of rebuttal on his lips before Sami wrapped one of his arms around Kevin's chest, rubbing small circles with his fingertips into the curve of Kevin's neck to try and calm the bigger man down.

"I guess if you know where he lives and have the time, then there's no problem by us, is there Kev?"

Kevin didn't look quite as certain, staring down Seth fiercely despite Sami's best attempts to placate him. After a few moments, Kevin gave a gruff sigh, leaning back against Sami.

"Nope."

Kevin's response was icy, but Seth hadn't expected any less. Kevin was surprisingly protective of those he cared about; Seth would probably get an extra hard pop in the jaw the next time they were in the ring together for daring to go after Sami like that.

After what felt like an eternity, one of the trainers turned to look at Seth.

"I don't think there's any foul play going on here, I think Dean's just passed out from exhaustion, probably from a lack of substantial food and drink as well knowing what he's like. I reckon if you get him home, try and get a decent meal in him and let him sleep it off for a couple of days, he'll bounce right back. You'll be surprised by the amount of first time champs who underestimate the workload."

Seth nodded absently, remembering how it was only being surrounded by Noble and Mercury all the time that reminded him to do the basics like eat and drink.

"I'll sign him off shows for the rest of the week, hopefully he'll be back and raring to go by next tapings. You need any help getting him back to his place?"

"No, I got this."

Seth had barely gotten the words out before he bent down, curling his arms under Dean's knees and his shoulders to haul him up bridal style. Dean's breathing was soft and silent as he instinctively curled himself into Seth's chest before settling, his cheek laying against the hollow of Seth's neck.

Seth resolutely ignored the lump in his throat and the agonising heaviness in his chest as he carried Dean to his rental car, depositing him as carefully as he could in the backseat.

If he apologised under his breath for the occasional jolt and scratch as he got Dean secured, then no one other than him needed to know that.

Grabbing the bags that Sami and Kevin had dragged behind them both, Seth threw it all in the boot, snubbing the other two men as he slid into the driver's seat and started the engine.

Time to go home.

Dean's home.

With Dean.

Seth let his eyes briefly slip shut before he pulled out of the parking lot.

Why the fuck was he doing this to himself?