There was too much noise. Too many heckling screams, too many voices crying out what he already knew. Too many people kicking and punching at his shell. Even the hardest of shells crack, and Dean's was crumbling quickly.
He knew this place all too well; his mind was a frightening place he didn't like to dwell in, but fuck he couldn't get out. He was trapped within himself, and he knew no one would pull him away. The noise encased him during the day; the visions barring him from nightly sleep. Too many times he resided in this blackness, and his strength to fight pathetically waned. He was done with it all. He was at his wit's end.
Those voices were right – there was absolutely no chance of escape now. No one would try and stop him; no one would try and save him. He knew, and they knew. There was no light in his world, nothing to drive the shadows away from inhabiting his heart and mind. Not even Seth or Roman, the two people he considered to be friends. Even they were pushing him away now. They constantly fought, ganging up on him to knock him down some more. Fuck it, he was done.
His skin tingled, a shudder passing through his body. He felt cold. Whether it was from the chilled shower tile biting into his boxer-only clad body, or from the fact that he was sure his innards had turned to ice with lack of feeling, he was unsure.
The white of the hotel bathroom was a blaring contrast to the dark he felt inside. His chest felt hollow; nothing was there anymore. The only things inhabiting his body now were those screams. Worthless. Fuck up. Even your friends don't want you anymore, you waste of space. Do everyone a favor. No one would miss you anyway.
A balled-up fist made its way to his temple, an attempt to break up the sounds with a few thumps to his skull. "Shut up, shut up, shut up," he mumbled to himself, gripping tighter to the intricate handle of his pocket knife. This would shut them up forever. He could finally be free.
Something was not right. Seth hated that feeling. His gut told him something was wrong, and it was usually right. The only thing he could think of was Dean. He saw the change; he saw how introverted he became, even more so than usual. His in-ring work diminished, he couldn't concentrate on anything for more than a minute, and he barely talked to Roman and himself anymore.
He had no idea what changed in Dean, but it made him nervous. Dean had left the arena early, not bothering to stay after their match. Seth had followed not much longer after, only telling Roman that he didn't like the way Dean was acting and was going to make sure he was okay. Unfortunately, he already felt that he knew the answer. No.
The drive to the hotel was one of the most stressful drives he had ever endured. All he could do was hope against hope that everything would be fine and he could tell himself he was overreacting.
Dean had barely heard the shuffling in the main room, or the knock on the bathroom door, or the familiar voice that passed through the wooden barrier. All he could hear was the noise. He flinched when he felt a warm hand rest itself on his bare shoulder, looking up from his icy, unforgiving blade to a much more beautiful sight of deep brown. He could sense concern in Seth's eyes, but it was all a lie, wasn't it? It was just a sick method to open himself up to more torture. Not again; he wouldn't fall for that trick.
"Why are you here?" he demanded, shrugging the hand off his shoulder, instantly missing the warmth. Shit, Seth just had to show up and ruin everything.
"I could ask you the same question," Seth commented softly, returning his hand to its original place, kneeling to stare directly into Dean's eyes. "I'm here because I'm worried about you, man. And I guess I have good reason to be. What the hell are you doing with that?" he questioned, motioning his head to the blade still tightly gripped in Dean's hand.
"Taking away the problem. No one needs someone like me around, especially not you and Rome. Everyone will be better off this way. No need to keep taking up space."
Seth's heart shattered at the broken voice and the lack of emotion in his eyes. His usually fiery blues that radiated confidence and shined brighter than stars were dulled to a painful grey, reflecting the internal storm with its shade.
"Where'd you get that idea, and Roman and I wouldn't want you around?" he questioned, uneasily staring at Dean's hand, still holding that damned blade in a death grip. He wanted so badly to reach out and tear it from the other man's grip, throw it out a fucking window and watch its colors disappear from their lives.
Dean chuckled darkly at the question, twisting the blade in his hand to rest within his palm, squeezing slightly. His chest filled with an indescribable burn, excitement and relief from the sharp sting to his skin, but also to the reaction he got…or lack thereof. Seth didn't move. The fire burned within him. That was all the proof he needed.
"You just answered it yourself. Stay or go, it's up to you."
"Dean, I'm not going to stand here and watch you off yourself. We're brothers, and you know that," he started, his hand finding its way into the older man's hair, gently playing with the curls. "I rushed over here because I was worried, and so is Roman. I don't know where you came up with the idea that we don't want you, but it's fucking ridiculous. But, if this is what you want, then I'm not letting you go alone."
Dean's eyes widened, mouth opening slightly in shock. What the hell was Seth talking about? He was the fuck up. He was the one who didn't deserve his life. He was the one who needed to disappear. He, and he alone. So what did Seth mean; why was he making this so difficult?
Seth watched that powerful emotion pass over Dean's face. Fear. Dean would feel that fear, the same fear of losing that Seth felt upon walking into that room. That painful ache in his heart of losing the one person who mattered the most to him. For the longest time, Seth had no idea what Dean was doing to him. There was so much confusion, so many nights quelling the internal war in his mind, trying to figure out what these feelings were. There was no denying it now. Seth knew the second he walked in; he was in love. That love wouldn't allow him to sit back and watch Dean destroy himself.
Moving to sit cross-legged in front of Dean, Seth grasped gently onto the hand still clutching that damned blade handle in a white knuckle grip. He frowned slightly at how cold Dean's skin was; it was like his body was already miles ahead of the act, already giving up, abandoning its usual warmth.
Dean refused to meet Seth's eyes, even though he could feel them burning a hole through his skull. He was too transfixed on what Seth was doing. His hand was twisted in Seth's own, changing the direction of the blade to rest against Seth's thin wrist. Dean looked at the ink scarred into his skin, the word 'forever' split in half with the unforgiving metal. That forever would be broken, taking Seth away from him. That was a forever he never wanted to face.
Seth watched his face intently, noting the flood of emotion pass over the other's expression. Dean was never good at hiding powerful emotions; his face gave away so much to the inner workings of his mind. What Seth didn't expect to see, and what made his heart ache in being the one to cause it, was a single tear escape those earlier lifeless eyes. He felt horrible for being the one to cause so much pain, but fuck it had to happen. This pain had to happen to get through to him.
"Dean?" he questioned, feeling the hand shaking within his. Pulling it away from his wrist, Seth watched with satisfaction as the blade clinked against the tile, closing it away and sliding the offending item into his pocket. He watched Dean quickly unravel before his eyes, shoulders quaking, choked sobs escaping his throat. Moving closer to the older man, he tightly wrapped his arms around him, ignoring the dampening of his shirt. He would hold him forever if that's what it took. He would do anything for this man.
Dean calmed at the feeling of gentle fingers playing with his messy curls, hands tightly gripped in the younger's shirt. He knew he looked weak, and part of him hated that, but fuck he didn't even care at this point. He had never felt a fear like that in his entire life. The fear of losing Seth was just too much for his mind to handle. Seth didn't seem to mind his weakness, his hold on him not faltering even as the tears subsided.
"Don't ever fucking do that again," he mumbled into the skin of Seth's neck, earning a soft chuckle from the other.
"Same goes for you, too. You go, I go. Remember that," he smiled, holding Dean's face to look directly into his eyes. That beautiful color that caused his stomach to knot and his heart to beat faster was back. He was completely taken with the older man, there was no other way to describe it, and now was a better time than any to show it.
Holding gently onto the older's face, he placed a gentle kiss to those thin lips that tempted him for months. He waited for the recoil, waited for the disgusted grunt, but nothing came. Instead, Dean returned the gesture, deepening the kiss, their lips moving perfectly together. Seth pulled away first, staring into Dean's blues for any sign of remorse or regret. Nothing but life shown through, a beautiful contrast to the grey he saw earlier.
"I love you, Dean," he stated confidently, pressing their foreheads together as they continued to stare into each other.
Dean smirked, returning his head to its previous location on Seth's shoulder. If there were any other noise besides their breathing, Seth wouldn't have heard the returned confession of love from the other. Dean wasn't going anywhere, and that's all Seth could ever ask for.