Count Me Out
"You sold out! You sold out! You sold out!"
The sneers. The boos. The frowns, the thumbs-down. A young boy in an orange John Cena shirt offered him two: one on each of his tiny hands. Seth Rollins stood warring and superior against the sea of condemnation. Triple H had told him to smile, just smile, like you own the world. "You're proud of what you did, remember?" he'd asked backstage, nudging Seth's shoulder with too much force. "What's done is done, so don't worry about what they think."
Triple H, in the ring with him, was also smiling, absolutely delighted in Seth, what he'd done, the very much expected retaliation of the present WWE Universe. This was a night of broken hearts and tears shed. A night to follow the biggest bombshell of the year. A night of bewilderment and ire and, above all, unadulterated abhorrence for the man on stage.
Seth's stomach was in knots. He couldn't even look at Triple H's self-satisfied little smirk without feeling like retching. His body wanted to tremble. His heart bled. I am the most hated man in the world.
"A lot of you probably think I'm just out here to brag, right?" Triple H's professional voice boomed into the microphone over the shouts. "To rub it in your faces. To come out here and say 'I told you so!'" He was practically frolicking. Seth puffed his chest out, trying to absorb some of Triple H's spirit. "Tell you 'I won!' But no, I'm not that kind of guy."
Seth scoffed inwardly. Nah, of course not, Hunter, he thought. You're a fucking saint.
"I'm not," Triple H assured them.
You are.
"And besides. All of you already know that, anyway." Triple H paused to allow the stadium to rise with fresh boos and hisses, as expected. All according to plan.
"No, no, I'm here," Triple H continued, wagging a finger, "I'm here to help you get answers to your questions because I know all of you have questions—you have so many questions—of this man." Triple H dramatically swung his arm towards Seth, as if to say, "Ta-da! And now for our feature presentation…" "Of Seth Rollins."
Naturally, everybody booed. Seth stared blankly at Triple H. His stomach still whisked with acid which crept to his already aching heart.
"You wanna know why," Triple H proceeded. "You have so many questions for Seth Rollins…the man responsible for the most dominant group in the history of the WWE, the Shield."
Seth heard in Triple H's voice an unspoken command. Appearances, Rollins, appearances. Seth plastered the fakest of all smiles onto his face. Could anybody truly see how much he was suffering?
Of course not. Even if they could, they didn't care. He hadn't just betrayed the Shield. He'd betrayed all of them.
"Seth Rollins, the man responsible for the group that came in here and dominated everything that stood in its path."
Seth couldn't even keep up a counterfeit smile. Triple H forcing him to reminisce the days of the Shield, speaking the absolute truth about the power behind his team…his family…his brothers…they'd been an unstoppable force, a maelstrom of conquest…
Triple H went on and on for a good minute about the Shield's accomplishments. Seth wanted to crawl under the ring and hide. He wanted to kick Triple H square in the jaw, knock a couple of teeth loose and get them lodged in his throat so he'd choke to death—
"So Seth," Triple H said, voice calmer now. "I think you owe them an answer. They wanna know why, Seth, why, why did you do what you did Monday night." Triple H extended the microphone towards him.
Seth stared at it for a long time. He lifted his dark glare onto Triple H. Here's your chance, something told him. He's stupid enough to let you tell the world whatever you want to tell them—here's your chance for redemption, for repentance, a chance to expose this bastard for all he is and all he threatened to do…
Why did I do what I did on Monday night…the real reason…what do I tell them?
The crowd jeered and heckled him on and on.
Why did I do…what I did…
It started on Monday night, just before Raw.
Actually, that was not true—this ongoing "proposition" operation between Triple H and Seth Rollins stretched back months. It started with an "ordinary" request that Seth had literally laughed in Triple H's face about upon hearing it. Triple H wanted him to leave the Shield. "Better yet," he'd said, very close to stroking his chin like that of a cartoon villain, "not just leave, but betray them. Stab them in the back and turn heel. People would freak out! They'd love it!"
Seth hated Triple H. After a good hearty chuckle, Rollins dismissed him with a "no thanks, I'm good."
The next time Triple H summoned Seth to his office like a principal after a juvenile delinquent, he'd made the offer again, with a prompt benefit.
"It's your greatest chance at getting the WWE World Heavyweight Championship."
"I can get a title just fine with my team," Seth said, annoyed at Triple H's persistence. "We've got the tag team title. Ambrose has the greatest of them all. No thank you."
Triple H tempted him as the serpent had tempted Eve in the Garden of Eden, promising a reserved spotlight just for him; no sharing. Popularity, fame. Titles. Money. Did Rollins want all of it? Of course. But Roman and Dean meant more to him than any belt the company had to offer. They were his family, his brothers. There was nothing he would put before them, nothing he wouldn't do for them.
So when Triple H yet again sent for a private meeting with Seth in his office, Seth was past the point of indignation. He decided not to waste energy being confused and exasperated by Triple H's persistence, and instead focus on celebrating last night's victory at Payback with Dean. He dropped into the chair and put his feet up on Triple H's desk, not caring what he must have thought.
Triple H didn't scold him for it.
"What now, Hunter?" Seth asked, biting down on a thumbnail. "Or, wait, can I guess? Let me take a guess, I'm good at this game. Let's see…" Seth cleared his throat, then deepened his voice to Triple H's range. "Seth Rollins, you can do so much better than the Shield. They're holding you back. You can do this and that and this and that if only you'd get your head out of your ass and let them go." He leaned back in his chair, voice returning to normal. "Spoiler alert: it's not happening. Did I get it right? Or are you here to congratulate me for destroying your team last night?"
Triple H grinned, tapping the tip of a pen on the desk. What was he up to now?
"You've got a lot of potential, Rollins. You do. No matter where you are, I hate to say it, but you're gonna go far, kid."
"So I've heard." Pride swelled within him. It was true.
"It's a damn shame Ambrose and Reigns aren't exactly in the same boat. You know? They don't have your talent. Your prospects. Your strength."
"Roman and Dean are greater fighters," he defended. "And we're a hell of a team. One of the greatest this company's ever seen. I'd even say we're a little better than DX." Seth allowed himself to boast. "Is that why you want me to go your way, Hunter? Turn on Dean and Roman the way you did Shawn Michaels? You jealous of the faction?"
Triple H scowled. "Watch it."
"Why am I here, Hunter, ol' boy? You didn't bring me in here to gloat about how great I am. As flattered as I am."
"I've told you before, and I will continue telling you until it gets through that thick skull of yours." He aimed the pen at Seth. "You quitting the Shield is what's best—"
"'Best for business'," Seth finished with him. "I know. I've heard it. I've a freakin' migraine from how much I've heard it."
"It's not just what's best for business, Rollins," Triple H said darkly. "It's what's best for me, what's best for you, and what's best for Dean Ambrose."
Seth cocked his head. "The hell does Dean have to do with this?"
The smirk returned, unfurling over Triple H's face. "More than you know, Rollins. More than you know."
Seth's nostrils flared. Don't drag Ambrose down this path, Hunter, or I'll break your nose.
"You see, Seth Rollins can look after himself if it comes down to it. Roman Reigns can even look after himself if it comes down to it. Dean Ambrose, on the other hand?" Triple H shrugged one shoulder. "He's not nearly as impressive as the two of you. Roman's all brawn, albeit very uncharismatic. You're the undesignated leader of the pack. The brains. The architect, they call you. Dean? He's not worth much, is he?" Triple H clasped his hands together and leaned onto the desk. "Let's face it, Rollins, he's useless. He's the weak link. I can't even call him the eye candy of the team; that's more on Reigns. Ambrose is a lunatic. He's there to make cute little quips, stick his tongue out…he's the comedy relief. And he can't make it in this company by himself. He needs someone there with him to get anywhere. He needs someone like Roman, or someone like you, to pull him along, to look after him. To make sure he doesn't get hurt." Triple H forced the last few words out with aggression. "You get me?"
Seth's chest tightened. "You wouldn't."
Triple H shrugged again. "Of course I wouldn't. I'm just a businessman. I'm here to make sure things run smoothly in the shop. For others…"
The door opened, and someone shuffled inside. Seth craned his neck and saw Kane standing there, dressed in a suit, glowering down at him.
"Others, it's their job to do what I ask of them. And Kane here is very good at that. He's a faithful employee. He knows how to cause a great deal of pain."
Seth turned back around to face Triple H. He swallowed hard. His mouth was dry as cotton. "You can't do that."
"I can, and I will. Believe that," Triple H mocked. "This is my company, my business. I'll do whatever it takes to preserve it. Whatever it takes to keep the people satisfied."
"I can't believe what I'm hearing, Hunter," Seth stammered. He had to grip the edge of the chair to keep from falling out of it. "You're telling me you'd threaten Dean, to force me to betray my brothers, for good ratings!?"
"Of course," Triple H stated boldly. "The people out there, they don't care about morals. They think a team of good guys is boring. But if one of them turns heel, then the crowd will be ecstatic. We're here to entertain them, after all."
Seth licked his lips. Is this seriously happening?
"They're not impressed by superheroes, believe it or not. Sometimes you throw a villain in the mix. The crowd will lose their minds over the man who crosses the line like that. It's he who walks alone is champion next. The network will skyrocket. Ratings will take flight."
"Is this supposed to convince me!?" Seth's voice rose, which he immediately tamed. He didn't want Triple H to know the advantage he had on him. Not that it was much of a secret at this point.
"No. This is." Triple H rose to his feet, planting his hands flat on the desk. "Betray the Shield, join the Authority, work for me…or I will end Dean Ambrose's career. You will witness Kane dragging Dean Ambrose to hell."
Tears pricked at the corners of Seth's eyes. This was unreal. Inconceivable. Join the Authority or Dean would be put in harm's way? How could he even take that risk? How could anything come before the personal safety of his brother, his best friend?
So I either lose them, or I lose him. This is fucking fantastic.
"Is that understood, Rollins?"
Seth pressed his lips together, eyes drilling into Triple H's in total weakness. Even if he warned Ambrose and Reigns, even if they united again as a team to take on the threats, Dean was still in danger. Seth couldn't be there to protect him all the time…not even Roman could…
He had no choice.
"Fine." He spat the traitorous word out. It tasted bitter, made him feel queasy.
"Perfect," Triple H said placidly, like he'd known it would be Seth's answer all along. "Now, here's what you're going to do tonight…"
Rollins wasn't surprised early on that night during Raw when Batista quit Evolution. It came as a shock to everyone in the audience, and even Triple H managed to feign aggressive astonishment, black eye and all, when Batista made the declaration. But it was all part of the plan. What Triple H had dubbed "Plan B."
Seth was one of the few souls in the world who knew about it. The other two were Randy Orton and Hunter himself.
He felt like he was going to pass out.
But the Shield's music hit, and the crowd erupted as Seth led the team down the steps towards the ring for Roman's match against Randy Orton. The main event. Where everything would fall into place.
Or out of place.
Dean had asked him backstage moments ago if he was alright. His discomfort had been physically visible. "Fine," Seth said. "Just a little sore after last night." I'm in so much pain.
"Don't worry," Dean said, patting him on the shoulder. "Roman'll kick the crap out of Orton, and then we'll go get some pizza or something. How's that sound?"
Seth smiled grimly. Whatever you've got planned won't happen, Dean. I'm sorry. No more late-night pizza deliveries to their hotel room…no more conversations and shit-talking until four in the morning, when they'd pass out and wake up late the next day, nearly late for their flight to the next city…no more Shield…no more Ambrose…
I have to hurt him to protect him!? This shit makes no fucking sense! God, give me a heart attack and let me fucking die before I have to do this! His shaking hand clenched a microphone tight.
The music drew to an end, and Dean held the microphone to his lips. "How do we look?" he asked the crowd. The response was whistles and hoots. Triple H was so wrong about him. People loved Dean. People admired him. After tonight, that respect, that adoration, all would be stripped from Seth, all shifted especially the more onto Dean…
I'm sorry.
"'Cause we feel great," Dean said.
Speak for yourself, Ambrose.
"Bruised, beaten up for sure. Because last night, we faced our biggest challenge to date, a no-holds-barred elimination match against Evolution." Whistles didn't drown out his confident tone. "When the Napalm settled, we did exactly what we said we were gonna do: a clean sweep! We eliminated every single member of Evolution without suffering a single casualty."
Seth watched Dean. Watched Roman watch Dean. He felt like Death himself.
"Now that is what I call domination!" Dean screamed, thrusting a finger at the camera. The audience cried on, support for the Shield. Dean stepped back. Seth's turn to speak. He couldn't let Dean or Roman onto actions he'd yet to take. Blurting the truth out now was a one-way ticket to hell for Dean. It didn't even have to be tonight; it would be a surprise, that was The Game's "game." His throat felt like he'd swallowed a cactus.
"Adapt or perish, that was the whole deal, right?" He nodded along with his own statement. His face sweated profusely. "Last night at Payback, the Shield adapted while Evolution perished!"
This was perhaps the last time these people would ever cheer for him.
Maybe it's not too late. Maybe I can still save Dean.
Ambrose held up a flexed arm, advocating Seth's words.
Maybe I can still save myself.
"And earlier tonight, the whole world was a witness to their implosion." He felt like a fucking woman with PMS, from how badly his stomach was cramping up. "And the reason Evolution perished was because even though they are three of the greatest superstars in the history of this industry, last night, they were not one like the Shield."
I want to slit my wrists. I can't believe I'm fucking saying this shit.
"In the end, they were just three strangers who happened to be standing on the same side of the ring."
That was all he could muster. He lowered the microphone.
Roman laid a hand on Seth's shoulder. "They weren't brothers," he said. Seth wanted to punch him in the face just for that. Don't make me feel worse than I already do, Roman, for fuck's sake, don't bring out the family symbol—
"The men standing in this ring are brothers." Roman made his signature fist.
God, kill me. I'm not even fucking kidding You. If You're real, prove it to me right now by striking me dead. Fucking dead. Now.
Seth looked helplessly at Roman. Brothers. That's exactly why I'm doing what I'm doing. To protect my brothers. Protect Dean. I'm doing this because I love them both. And I want no harm to come their way…I'm choosing for them to hate me over losing them to the hands of a fucking deviant like Kane or Triple H…
Dean touched his back.
"This is Evolution," Roman said, stretching his hand out. Closing it into a fist again, he added, "This is the Shield."
Seth had never felt so lost. He wished he could lose his sight right now, if nothing else, just so he wouldn't have to see the look on their faces when he "betrayed" them.
I hope you understand. But maybe it's not too late…
Roman faced forward, breaking that contact with Seth. "So Randy Orton, bring your ass out here and let me break your jaw with the symbol of excellence."
He cast the microphone behind him. Let the crowd fall for the Shield members all over again.
All three of them.
Maybe it's not too late…
The music hit, and Randy Orton and Triple H stepped into view. Triple H was armed with his notorious sledgehammer. Seth moved back, sliding out of the ring to claim two metal chairs from near the announce table. The world would see it as weapons of defense for his teammates. It was a painfully good cover. He sagged back into the ring, leaving one chair on the mat and upholding the other with one hand. The announcers rattled something off about toys and defense and Payback the night before.
Seth joined Roman and Dean in the row, Roman in the middle. It kills me to hurt either one of them, but I'm glad it's not Dean next to me. Roman can handle a hit. Dean…I don't know…
"In case you haven't figured it out yet," Triple H said, pausing down the walkway with Randy Orton at his side. "What I do better than anybody else is adapt."
Way to twist my words to your advantage, fucker. He wiped a line of sweat from his forehead.
"Last night was Plan A." Triple H twirled the sledgehammer in his grasp, admiring it as a mother would admire an infant. But Seth knew damn well it was not the weapon he was admiring, but what was yet to come. "Tonight: Plan B. There's always a Plan B."
Seth's knees were failing him.
Roman looked from Dean to Seth, and back to Dean. The two of them stepped forward, ready to fight. Seth looked at Triple H. Proceed, the face said, an or else, attached.
His mind was foggy.
He was trapped.
It's too late.
I'm sorry.
Seth swung the chair back and heaved it forward, whacking Roman in the back. Roman's figure fell weakly forward, his chin hitting the bottom rope.
Orton looked ecstatic.
Triple H looked like a proud papa.
And Dean?
The look on his face hurt more than anything. Jaw on the mat, face drained of color, eyes bulging out of their sockets. Looking at Seth, wordlessly asking "Why oh why?"
Let's leave it at that. One hit and done. Please, Hunter. Is that all?
It wasn't all, of course not.
The crowd was outwardly appalled. The boos began.
Seth stared Dean down. Don't make me hurt you, Dean. Just let me walk. Please.
Dean didn't obey Seth's silent pleads. He rushed forward to attack. Seth hadn't a choice but to spear Dean in the stomach with the chair, then smash it over Dean's back as he bent forward in pain. Dean collapsed onto the mat.
Just do it and get it over with and fuck this, fuck me, fuck everything, I hate me so goddamn much—
Down came the chair, again and again and again onto a flailing Dean Ambrose, a sinful force guiding Seth's hands, a corrupt spirit possessing him. Dean was trying to crawl desperately to Roman for protection. He couldn't look out for himself. It was like beating a puppy.
The hits became so great that the chair broke over Dean's figure. Seth flung the chair over the ropes, expecting this, and seized the other one. Dean cries were loud even over the crowd. He could feel the Universe's heart breaking. You don't understand, he couldn't tell them. I had to. I have to hurt Dean…to protect him.
At least whatever he did to Ambrose couldn't compare to the torture Triple H most likely had planned should Seth have refused his offer yet again.
Seth looked down at the fallen Ambrose, still desperate to move away. Seth bit down on his trembling lip.
I'm sorry.
"You sold out! You sold out! You sold out!" The stadium was alive with the chant.
Seth dropped the chair onto the mat. End it.
He rushed against the ropes for a charge at the same time Ambrose finally pushed to his feet. Dammit, Dean, why didn't you just stay down!? Seth forced the Curb Stomp, rattling Dean's skull onto the chair, no barriers, no protection.
Dean rolled away, defeated. Roman was still flat on the mat.
Seth glared at the Universe, the people who now hated him, crying over Ambrose. If only you knew. If only you fucking people knew the truth, you wouldn't be so damn sad. You have no right to suffer over this. I do. I'm the one who's hurting the most right now. You have no fucking idea.
He reclaimed the chair. The audience leaned forward in their seats, expecting him to continue the assault. But he couldn't. No longer could he bring himself to cause harm to his brothers—his former brothers. His heart ached for them both.
I'm sorry.
Seth slid between the ropes and hopped onto the floor. He wandered, feeling defeated on his own, towards Triple H and Orton. It couldn't go on. Maybe I should hit you with this thing. Teach you to blackmail me like that, threaten Dean.
But Kane could have been on standby backstage for all he knew.
Seth was powerless.
You're done, Triple H appeared to say without opening his mouth. It's over for you.
Randy Orton could take over from here.
Seth surrendered the chair to him and watched helplessly on as Orton assaulted Dean and Roman on his own—Roman got the most of it this time, as Seth had pummeled on Dean pretty brutally. Seth followed Triple H to the ring. Together they stood on the apron and watched as Orton tore Roman's shirt off his back. The Samoan's skin was purple and black, bruising already in nasty clouds of discoloration.
Orton RKO'd Reigns right onto the chair.
Triple H stepped into the ring, beckoning Seth to follow. Seth obeyed. Roman lay helplessly on his back, arms stretched up high above him like he'd been crucified. Triple H draped a muscular arm over Seth's shoulder and gave him a pat. "See?" Triple H asked over the boos, which muffled his words. "I knew you could do it."
Seth hated him so much. He hated himself. He hated this audience. He hated his life.
"I win," Triple H said to the camera.
Seth could only watch Roman, then Dean. Gone was everything he'd given his life for, for the two people he'd give his life for.
I'm sorry.
Triple H was confident. He hadn't handed over this microphone entrusting Seth. He'd done it in arrogance, knowing damn well his threats over Seth were still active and Seth would still obey him. The dirty deeds he'd committed on Monday weren't the only part of the deal. He had to commit.
As long as he committed, Dean was not at risk.
Seth couldn't be honest. It was too dangerous.
He'd even tried to be honest with Roman and Dean Monday after Raw. Of course they'd refused to speak to him, see him, even answer a call or a text. They'd gone to a different hotel and hadn't said where they were.
They didn't know.
They'd never understand.
He had to accept what he'd done. The hatred. From every end. From outside and within.
Seth faced the SmackDown crowd and put the microphone to his dried lips.
"So everybody wants an explanation?" he asked. "You want to know why I did what I did to my brothers on Monday night?"
"Boooooooooooo…"
"So let me tell you…that the only person who knows why I did what I did on Monday, and the only person who needs to know, and the only person that I owe anything to…is me."
"BOOOOOOOOO!"
Seth dropped the mic.
I'm sorry will never be enough.
They'll never know. Never.
This was the life he chose to live.
Without Dean. Without Roman.
For their own good.
The Shield was no more.
For their own good.
Here he is, Seth Rollins, the world's most hated man for doing the right thing. And nobody will ever. Fucking. Know.