As he traipsed back through the curtain, Roman felt like he was underwater. Voices surrounded him, but they all sounded like the adults in Charlie Brown, a series of whomp whomp whomps he couldn't begin to translate. There was a line of Superstars on either side of him as he walked, their eyes cast down, and he realized they were all there waiting to congratulate whoever became the new champ. And at the end of that narrow aisle of people was Dean, one white towel around his neck and another in his hand.
"I got 'im," Dean said—the first words Roman could understand—and he patted Roman's face with the towel before slinging an arm around him, kissing his temple. "Don't worry, I got you."
Dean led Roman to the locker room, where more apologetic faces greeted him. Roman started peeling off his clothes, and it was as though someone else occupied his body. Someone else walked him to the showers, turned on the hot water, tipped his head up toward the showerhead. Dean took the empty spot next to him, opened his mouth wide at the running water, stuck his tongue out like a child, gargled and spat at the wall. But Roman mostly let the water glide down his body, wash off his sweat, blend in with his leftover tears. No sense in getting clean right now.
As he dressed, others offered their condolences, a ride to the hotel, a free meal, but Roman only stayed long enough to remove his contacts and bundle up for the weather. He wanted nothing to do with their pity. Dean pulled on his 'Dirty Deeds' ugly Christmas sweater and a beanie with ear flaps. He looked ridiculous. Roman almost smiled.
"Wanna hit up Denny's, get some breakfast?" Dean walked beside him toward their car, his mouth moving like he was chewing gum even though he wasn't. "'s like my girl Tori says, 'Breakfast every hour, it could save the world.'"
It took a minute for the words to register, and Roman tried to think of who Dean was referring to but couldn't remember anyone they knew named Tori. "Who?"
"Tori Amos. She's a chick rocker or something. That's the only song of hers I know." And now Dean was talking to talk, to fill the silence, to be a distraction. He was okay with that. "It was on Pandora one time, and I let it play, it wasn't so bad. And then she sang that line, and she's a hundred percent right. Breakfast is awesome." Once their car was in sight, Dean pulled the keys out of his pocket. "Everyone feels better after breakfast."
Roman heaved his suitcase into the trunk. His entire body ached. "I just wanna sleep."
"Gotcha."
Dean drove them back to the hotel. A herd of autograph collectors were waiting in the lobby, and Dean barked and hissed every time they got too close, a technique he liked to call 'creep repellent.' It usually made him laugh, like most things Dean said and did. He wished he could now.
Once they entered their room, Dean started shedding his clothes, getting ready for bed, and Roman began to do the same. It had already been an hour since the match ended, and he thought—he'd hoped—that by now the shock of his loss would've ebbed, but his body felt like it'd been anesthetized. It was awake, but barely.
Roman used the bathroom after Dean and tried not to make eye contact with his reflection as he brushed his teeth. The ghost of his joy when he first held the belt still remained. He remembered the roar from the fans, the hurricane of confetti. He was giddy, ready to scream like a kid riding a rollercoaster, a moment away from making a confetti angel in the center of the ring, but Hunter ruined that. Hunter ruined everything.
He emerged as Dean switched on the heater, the box droning to life. Dean plopped on the queen-sized bed opposite his. Although they usually shared a bed, they always asked for two.
"You um…" Dean scrunched his mouth to one side, the skin between his eyes pinched. "You want space tonight?"
Dean's voice was soft, mournful, but understanding, and a sudden pressure seized Roman's chest, as though his heart were choking. "That's the last thing I want." He sat on his own bed and patted the space next to him.
Dean took the cue and moved next to Roman. He rubbed small circles on his back before winding his arm around Roman's neck, pulling him close. "Hey. Tomorrow you're gonna wake up, and… probably still feel like shit. But you won't be alone, okay?" Dean guided Roman's head to his shoulder and nuzzled his hair, lips at his ear. "I'm not good at this sort of thing, but for what it's worth, I'll be here. Still your brother, and still stupidly in love with you."
Roman could feel new tears forming, but he willed them down as he locked eyes with Dean. "You're not even mad, are you. That I beat you."
"Nope."
Dean's lips were slightly pursed, his eyes wide like an owl's. A smile tugged at the corners of Roman's mouth, and he allowed it to happen. "Kiss me," he said, and Dean obliged.
They eventually settled under the covers, lights off, arms around each other. Dean dragged kisses over Roman's face, nosed along his jawline. Roman inhaled his scent and exhaled peace.
Tomorrow morning they'll have breakfast, and they'll have it again after RAW, and everything will be okay.