All Dalton had wanted was to prove to the world that their lifestyle wasn't wrong. That he and his Boys weren't hurting anybody, that they could hold their own in any circumstance. And, during the match, he thought he honestly had it a couple of times. Success just within his reach, but cruelly ripped away, taken from him just like his Boys now are, crying out, reaching for him as they're pulled away by Silas. He feels broken, weak inside. His body hurts, his mind is racing, and he feels like he could throw up at any time.
He's not sure how he makes it back to his hotel that night, this empty, quiet, dark hellhole of a place that he had bought when there were three of them, and now is forced to reside in while there's only one of him. Yes, he has other Boys back at home, but the Tates... the twins... His Boys... they are his favorites, his constant companions... His heart aches at the thought of what they must be enduring right now between Silas and Beer City Bruiser. Digging knuckles into his eyes, he fights not to cry, finding one of the Boys' phones and thumbing through it until he finds a slow song, one of yearning and pain.
He falls asleep to it, struggling to breathe against the musty lifelessness of the mattress that now dwarfs him.
-x
"HEY! You," Silas yells at one of them- Brant? Brendan? Aw, really, who gives a shit- and smirks as beer is immediately handed to him and Bruiser. He leans back in his chair and flicks disinterestedly through the TV channels, huffing when he finds nothing of particular interest to watch. Turning his attention back to the twins, he flicks a beer cap at them, laughing when it rebounds off of one of their foreheads. "Remind me what your names are again."
"I'm Brent," one of them finally says when his glowering is turning a little dangerous.
"And I'm Brandon," the other speaks up weakly, leaning down to clean up the splatters of beer from the thrown cap.
"Right. Brent and Brandon." He casts a quick look at Bruiser. "Christ, even their names are pathetic." They laugh darkly amongst themselves while the twins continue racing around, cleaning and doing whatever they can to make the place look better. "Ugh!" Silas finally barks at them once more, throwing the beer bottle at them and only just missing them, Brent twitching as shards of glass scatter around their feet. "I brought you here to be men, not housewives. Now sit down and shut up, I'm going to introduce you to some proper entertainment."
They hate it, it's clear in every inch of their faces, but they do as they're told to, wringing their hands and murmuring to themselves when they think Silas is too enthralled in the monster trucks and scantily clad women to pay attention to them. It takes a lifetime but finally the beer and general gloom of the room work its magic; first Bruiser falls asleep, then Silas nods off. Oddly enough, Bruiser is something of a quiet sleeper, but Silas snores loud enough to wake the dead.
Brent and Brandon grimace and exchange glances before slipping off of the lumpy sofa they'd been relegated to, inching their way into the bathroom so they can talk without being overwhelmed by Silas' snoring. They whisper while picking at the dirty tank tops and grimy jeans Silas had thrown at them upon their arrival, exchanging uncertain looks before shrugging. Nothing can be done for it, so they tiptoe to the window and push it open, peering outside. It's a dumpy hotel that they'd been brought to, nothing like the magnificant places Dalton would rent for them.
Brandon goes first, keeps an eye out as Brent scrambles out. They prop the window open an inch with a nearby branch and hope that the beer will keep those two under long enough for them to do what they've been itching to do since the end of the match where Dalton had lost them. They remember the hotel, they even find a kind older woman who gives them directions, her kind eyes narrowing as she takes in their dirt covered clothes, wondering what kind of trouble they find themselves in.
By the time they arrive, it's dark out, and they walk gingerly inside, trying to ignore all of the stares and whispers as they approach the elevator. "May I help you?" the man behind the desk asks, his eyes wide as he takes in the state of their clothes.
"We're with Dalton Castle," Brent says, watching with some satisfaction as the man's lips part and he quickly busies himself with paperwork, allowing them to continue on. Brandon is sneaky, had kept his keycard in the folds of his clothes and just slipped it into his jeans pocket before Silas could destroy the sleak fabric Dalton had so generously given them, so once they find the door, they unlock it quietly and sneak inside.
Outside of music playing softly, it's quiet and dark... but they can hear Dalton's breathing. Exchanging glances, the Boys walk over to the bed and stare down at him with sad, fixed gazes. He's struggling in his sleep, breathing harshly, and they both recognize the signs of his having a nightmare. Leaning in, they sandwich him in, smooth back his hair with soft touches. "It's ok, Dalton," Brent murmurs. "We can't stay long, but we'll find a way..."
"We're good at sneaking around after all," Brandon tells him, voice trembling slightly.
Brent kisses the side of his face, Brandon repeats the action on the other side, and Dalton seems to relax between them. "We'll find ways to come see you," he promises softly, nuzzling his nose into Dalton's soft hair. "Silas Young can't hold these Boys down."
"Definitely not." Brandon smiles weakly and they kiss Dalton quickly before having to get up, to leave him there to languish alone. "See you soon, Dalton... Take care of yourself."
It hurts more than the worst wrestling move, leaving him behind like this, but they don't really have a choice. "This is just temporary, right?" Brent mumbles when they're on the way back to Silas' rattrap.
"Of course it is," Brandon promises him, finding his twin's hand and squeezing it. "We'll be home in Dalton's arms before you know it."
Brent smiles hopefully, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight overhead.