I try to let it go

But the echoes,

The ripples,

The tremors,

Pile up

An unbearable weight

Oh, to be free.

Chapter 1

Seth exhaled heavily as he examined his appearance in the mirror. The dark circles under his eyes stood out starkly on his too pale face. So far no one had noticed anything—he had worked very hard to make sure that no one cared enough to look too close—but the consequences of too little sleep for too many days were becoming difficult to hide.

He rifled through his bag for the small tube of concealer that he had purchased earlier in the week. Groaning softly, he twisted the cap off the tube, squeezed a small amount into his open palm, and began carefully dabbing it onto the discolored flesh under his eyes.

"So, you've decided to start wearing make-up now, pretty boy?" Dean's voice mocked, the words bouncing around painfully in Seth's mind.

Seth had to fight the urge to spin around. The voice was only in his head.

Suddenly Roman's face joined Dean's voice, the image's lips pressed together tightly in an expression of utter disgust.

The voice and the face crowded together, swirling around Seth's brain making him dizzy. Dropping the concealer into the sink, Seth fell into a crouch, squeezing his eyes shut and clapping his hands over his ears trying to block out the unwelcome images. As if it wasn't bad enough that Dean and Roman were torturing him nightly in his dreams, now it seemed they were determined to haunt his waking hours as well.

Several minutes passed before Seth felt like he had regained enough control over his own mind to continue his work. With great effort, he pushed himself back into a standing position, forced his eyes open, and finished camouflaging the effects of too many sleepless nights. He straightened his shoulders and practiced his trademark arrogant smirk in the mirror. Tonight he would hide his pain from the world, just as he had done so many days and nights before.

Just one more day, he silently instructed his image in the mirror. Just make it through one more day. It was a mantra that he had been repeating for months now, but he was growing increasingly uncertain of just how many 'one more days' he had in him before the unbearable weight he was shouldering finally fulfilled its mission and crushed him.

xxx

Freshly showered, Seth lay down in the dark hotel room and closed his eyes. Bang! Bang, bang! The image of himself assaulting his brothers with a steel chair played over and over on the backs of his eyelids. His eyes sprang back open. He had already spent nearly two hours on the treadmill in the gym downstairs trying to literally run from his troubles, but exhaustion still refused to take him. He sat back up, scooted against the headboard, and pulled his knees up to his chest, too tired to even turn on the television for distraction. As he stared into the darkness, he knew that he couldn't do this any longer. He had to do something to finally take away the pain… for good.

xxx

Pills were easy to get when you were a wrestler. Seth sat on yet another anonymous hotel room bed, his head resting against the headboard, studying the bottle in his hand. It looked so innocuous. Just a plain bottle. Nothing out of the ordinary. He shook it slightly to hear the sound of pills tumbling one over the other, colliding into the container's walls. It didn't look like it contained an impending tragedy.

Seth sighed. He hated that part. That he would become yet another lurid headline, yet another untimely death. That he would be contributing to the negative stereotype that clung to the professional wrestling industry no matter how hard Vince McMahon tried to wrest it loose.

But he was just so tired. The thought of facing one more endless night or waking up to yet another joyless day was more than he could bear. He couldn't do it. He couldn't walk into yet another arena and don the mask that hid his brokenness from the world.

No one knew. Well, no one important anyway. The WWE doctors knew that he was on antidepressants, that he'd been taking them since long before he'd ever been signed by the WWE. But as long as the medicines were legally prescribed, which they were, and taken as indicated, which they dutifully had been, the doctors had no reason to confide his condition to any of Seth's higher-ups. Seth was pretty sure that not even Hunter knew that he had been struggling with depression since he was a teenager. Seth was good at masks.

Dean and Roman didn't know. They didn't even suspect. Well… maybe Dean suspected. Or had suspected back when he cared enough about Seth to notice his well-being. That was the reason Seth had to destroy the Shield. They were getting too close. His carefully constructed mask that proved to the world that he was happy and whole and normal was slipping. He couldn't keep it in place enough any more, not enough to fool two men who were around all the time. Two men who cared about him like a brother.

They were better off without him anyway. An ex-girlfriend had once told him that he ruined everything good in his life. She was right. He was like the kid who spends ages building the tallest block tower he can, just to knock it over when it was finally completed. He didn't do it on purpose, not really. He always meant for his constructions to last, yet he found his past littered with the blocks of fallen towers nonetheless.

Yes, Roman and Dean were better off without him. He had to hurt them now so he wouldn't hurt them even worse later. Day by day, month by month, Seth could feel himself slipping deeper and deeper into depression's black hole. He would be damned if he dragged his brothers down with him.

It had been hard to figure out how to get rid of them, though. They loved him too much to let him just walk away. So he had found a new mask, the mask of a traitor and a sell-out. At least this mask was one he only had to wear at work.

They believed the mask was real.

Seth had made sure they believed. Feuding with Dean the first time around had been terrible but necessary. If Dean was angry enough, he wouldn't see through the cracks, wouldn't figure out what was really going on. Feuding with Dean the second time had almost killed him. He wished it had.

And that brought him back to the pills in his hand. A few quick swallows and this could all be over. He wondered if he should write a note, but what could he say? That he was sorry? It was a bit too little, too late for apologies. They wouldn't change anything. His own mother hadn't left a note, and Seth was happier for it. That way he could pretend that the overdose had been accidental, not a deliberate attempt to leave him behind.

It was funny. Dean had no trouble talking about his fucked up childhood. He made no secret of the fact that his mother had been a prostitute and a drug addict. That his childhood had been riddled with fear and neglect and pain. And that gave Dean a freedom that Seth envied.

But Seth's family did things differently. Unlike Dean, they believed in keeping secrets. They guarded their chosen facade fiercely. They were a happy, upper middle-class family, and that was all the world needed to know. After all, what could possibly be wrong in their picture-perfect lives? So what if there were many days that his mother hadn't bothered to get out of bed in the morning? So what if his dad had worked long hours and then gone drinking so that he wouldn't have to face the dreariness of his own home? So what if Seth had been lonely, terribly lonely, afraid to get too close to anyone lest they learn the truth? So what if Seth struggled with the same demons that had claimed his mother?

But they had lived in a nice house. Seth had gone to a good school. He had worn trendy clothes and owned the latest electronics. Everything was fine. And when his parents split up because his father didn't want to deal with it all anymore, at least his mom had bought him a trampoline. Because that made everything all better, right?

At least when Seth ended it, he wouldn't be leaving behind anyone who cared.

As Seth sat there, weighing the bottle in his hand, anticipating the bitter taste of pills on his tongue, a thought struck him: He was the problem! Maybe if he had been different, better, more… more something, his mother would have found the will to face her demons. Maybe his father would have decided that he was worth the effort of parenting alone. Maybe Dean and Roman would have hunted him down and forced him to explain himself. Maybe the truth was that Seth simply wasn't worth fighting for.

And sometime tomorrow, after his body was discovered, the whole world would finally know that truth. All of his masks would be ripped away, and he would be revealed for what he truly was: a pathetic, weak, broken man.

Fuck that. Seth sat up on the bed, anger suddenly coursing through his body. He was many things, but weak was not one of them. Despite everything, he had made something of himself. He had scratched and clawed and fought his demons day after hopeless day. And every time he had fallen, he had managed to climb out of whatever hole he had found himself trapped in.

But this hole was different. He was in too deep. He had already fallen too many times. He couldn't get himself out alone. He was too exhausted to pick himself up and attempt to scale the wall one more time. Like it or not, the truth was going to soon be revealed. He couldn't hide it anymore. One way or another, his secret was coming out. And if that was the case, then he had one more thing he needed to try before he threw in the towel. It probably wouldn't work, but he had to try. He had to know for once and for all if he was worth fighting for.

Seth sat the pill bottle down on his bedside table and picked up his cell phone. With shaky fingers, he dialed the number he had long since erased but never forgotten. His pulse raced as ringing sounded in his ear. And when the voice actually answered with a gruff "Yeah?" Seth's breath hitched. His mouth moved but no words came out. Finally, after several long seconds, he found his voice. "Dean," Seth croaked, "I need your help."

It was time for the masks to finally come off.