So, I think absolutely everyone has heard about Roman's 30 day suspension for wellness policy violation.
I'm not using this to sit there and say one way or another whether Roman deserves his punishment/"he must be guilty"/he's messing around with drugs etc. etc. etc.
This is entirely based off of some of the headlines I saw regarding Dean's championship win and how Roman's suspension could potentially have factored into things; the idea wriggled into my brain and refused to leave unless I wrote it.
So yeah, Roman's suspension from Dean's perspective. I apologise if Dean comes off a bit OOC, I haven't had any sleep or any beta look this over.
Should be a two parter at most!
Italics are background noises/headlines/read stuff/flashbacks, bold is internal thoughts.
As usual, if you have any questions, comments, critiques, queries or you just want to place your bets on what'll happen next, then feel free to leave me a review!
(On an unrelated note: I'm so fucking happy that Dean is now champion, regardless 3 )
Message received 19:26
I messed up, babe. I'll explain tonight. Love you – Ro.
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ROMAN REIGNS SUSPENDED
WWE has suspended Joe Anoa'I (Roman Reigns) for 30 days effective immediately for his first violation of the company's talent wellness policy.
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WWE suspends dethroned champion!
Top WWE wrestler Roman Reigns suspended over drug use!
Did WWE know about Wellness Policy violation before Money in the Bank?!
Roman Reigns drops WWE title after failed drug test!
Roman Reigns' Suspension a major opportunity for Dean Ambrose?!
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WWERomanReigns
I apologize to my family, friends and fans for my mistake in violating WWE's wellness policy. No excuses. I own it.
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Dean's hands were shaking at he stared down in disbelief at the constant stream of notifications on his phone, the WWE title draped across his knees as he sat on the edge of the bed in their shared hotel room.
Roman? Suspended?
He almost refused to believe it.
This had to be a work. That was it, Dean nodded frantically to himself, digging his fingertips into his championship belt. His championship that he won fair and square. His championship that he had rightfully earned after so long coming up short to his brothers.
This was all just an elaborate story to push their storyline, right? After all, there was no way he was won the most prestigious title in their industry just because the company had no choice but to get it off Roman, right?
His victory wasn't tainted in this way, surely? He was meant to have the belt. This was his time. He'd finally been given the chance he'd been desperately clawing away at for over 3 years…
But as Dean kept scrolling through the news sites and gossip blogs, the comments and the videos, he couldn't shake the nausea curdling in his gut. He couldn't control the sickening way his heart seemed to grow heavier and heavier in his chest as he tried to find some inkling that this was all just a joke, a rib, that this wasn't sending the voices in his head into overdrive.
This wasn't a joke.
Roman had been suspended.
Management had known before the pay-per-view that he'd failed a drugs test.
Roman had known before the pay-per-view that he'd failed a drugs test.
And yet none of this had been mentioned to him when creative had come up to him on the morning of the event and told him that by the end of the night, he'd be standing tall as champion. Dean had assumed that this was part of the ongoing cycle of revenge against Seth, that Roman and Seth had both agreed to it because this was finally, fucking finally Dean's chance to climb to the mountain top.
And now?
Everything Dean thought he knew was crumbling into dust around him. Roman? Suspended. His title victory? Only because it needed to be taken off of his brother. His heartfelt speech, thanking the fans for supporting him, for keeping him alive and motivated as he picked himself up and dusted himself off as he crawled on his hands and knees towards the light?
Worthless…
Second rate…
Empty…
Dean took a deep, shuddering breath. Switching his mobile to silent, he dropped it behind him on the bed as he leaned forward to prop his elbows on his knees, hands bracing his face as he stared down at the belt.
He was overreacting.
The rumour mill always blew things out of proportion; there was no point in getting himself worked up about something without getting the facts first. There was no point in having a panic without talking to Roman first.
Until then, there was nothing he could do but try to calm down. Relax. This was all just a big mistake, and once he hears those words come out of Roman's mouth, he'll chastise himself for even thinking half of the shit he is right now.
But Dean knew that it would not be that easy. Now that he thought about it, he could clearly remember how Roman had reacted the night before once they'd made their ways backstage after the show was over.
It seemed like everyone on the roster was willing to come by and celebrate Dean's historic victory; Sami had practically tackled him to the ground in a tight hug, Kevin had given him a brief shoulder bump with that grin that told Dean he was legitimately happy for him, he'd been given a standing ovation by the few guys left in catering, the atmosphere had been absolutely incredible. Dean had no shame in admitting that he'd been genuinely choked up by their reactions.
By the time he'd managed to get back to his locker room, Roman had finished his shower and was packing up the last of his things, his movements slow and methodical. Dean had to resist the urge to jump on him then and there, but his own body was beginning to remind him of the hellacious match he'd gone through himself, and he snuck up behind him, wrapping his arms around Roman's waist as he buried his face in Roman's shoulder.
Roman had tensed very briefly before turning in Dean's grip, a soft smile on his lips as he brought his arms up to gently loop around Dean's neck.
"Hey Champ…"
Roman's words were whispered with an awed hush as he pressed a brief kiss to Dean's temple, working his way down Dean's sweaty face until their lips met, Roman's hands moving to cradle Dean's cheek. Dean's eyes had slipped shut, his fingers running up the length of Roman's spine before settling against his throat; he could feel Roman's pulse beating beneath his fingertips, and he couldn't help but gasp when Roman wound his hand into Dean's wet hair, dragging him deeper into the kiss for a few moments before pulling away.
Dean whined as the contact was reluctantly broken, the exhaustion in his body slowly being overtaken by a heat and bone deep desire for the man in front of him; he gave a soft sigh though as Roman's thumb caressed his cheek, dipping down to brush against the edge of Dean's kiss swollen lips. It was all Dean could do not to suck that digit into his mouth on each pass.
Dean could feel himself shivering as he finally opened his eyes, staring straight into that spellbinding grey gaze that he loved so much. They were warm and full of pride…
But something in Roman's eyes didn't seem quite right. Roman's eyes had always been particularly expressive, incapable of hiding anything from Dean; Dean could read Roman like a book just from the way his eyes lit up, or where he held his gaze.
But now? There was warmth and pride, sure, but it seemed shallow. Lost.
A little bit fake.
There was a glassiness to Roman's stare too, but yet again, Dean had been on the edge of tears since he'd been given the belt in the middle of the ring. He'd put it down to Roman being exhausted and emotionally drained; he had just lost his championship after all, and even it being around Dean's waist instead of Seth's didn't mean that it would necessarily be any easier for Roman to process.
When they'd both managed to get back to the hotel room, there hadn't been any special celebrations for Dean's title win; considering that Dean had gone all out to make Roman feel like a god after each of his championship matches, Dean felt somewhat put out and a little bit disappointed that he hadn't been afforded the same attention, but he didn't let it get to him. They were both dying for some sleep after all, all of the aches and pains from the ladder match beginning to throb under Dean's skin. After a quick shower, Dean had found himself laying on their shared bed, Roman curled up against his back as his arms wrapped protectively around Dean's stomach. Their legs were entwined, Roman's head on Dean's shoulder as he grazed his teeth and lips along Dean's throat, the occasional nip of pain being instantly soothed by Roman's tongue.
As much as Dean enjoyed it, heat blooming in his chest at the adoration being laved on him, it still didn't feel quite right. It was lazy, distracted attention, and Roman had never been about that; when he loved, he did it with every ounce of his being.
It felt… off.
But, with the heaviness of sleep pulling at Dean, and Roman's honey-gravelled tone bathing him with whispered words of praise and affection as he traced Dean's throat with his mouth, his fingertips stroking the leanly muscled skin of his abdomen, Dean found himself fighting a losing battle.
They were both tired, that was all, and as Dean drifted off to sleep, he tried to cast any shadowy doubts from his mind…
Dean knew that there'd been something off, that Roman was hiding something from him, and now he knew.
As much as he desperately tried to keep a lid on his emotions, trying to rationalise with himself that it wasn't as bad as it seemed, Dean could feel his insecurities and demons starting to claw at him. His hands wouldn't stop shaking, his eyes glazing over with a film of tears he couldn't hold back. It was pathetic. It was pointless. He still had everything he'd had before, he'd still earned everything himself, right?
Right?
But even as he tried to swallow against the lump in his throat, flashes of headlines and gossip blogs flittered across his mind. "The WWE knew about Reigns' suspension before MITB, so they had no choice but to drop it." "The only reason Ambrose was given the title is because of Roman's violation. Everyone knows that without that, Ambrose would never be anywhere near the championship." "Ambrose will only ever be a last choice, transitional champion to keep fans happy until Reigns returns." "The WWE had run out of options."
Last choice. Last option. The unwanted and undeserved belt warmer until Roman returned.
God, Dean knew that the internet was full of shit not even worth bothering with, inflammatory opinions and people who gave no care to abusing him and his profession, but those words kept spinning around and around in Dean's head, screaming louder and louder, scratching deeper and deeper until Dean felt like he was going to be sick.
Dean was shaking as he looked back down at the title belt draped across his thighs. His distorted reflection stared back at him, the shine now almost looking brassy and fake.
Tainted…
Everything he thought he'd finally achieved was all off of the back of panicked last minute decisions and a need to shift the belt. He was at the top of the mountain, but with no support ropes to help him if he fell. No backup from management or the people with the power. Only perched there with fan support that was always known to be a fickle mistress.
That was why Roman hadn't seemed overly excited about his championship win.
Because Roman knew that he wasn't supposed to be champion.
He was just a fraud holding Roman's place until he could come back.
Meaningless.
There was no point in blinking back the tears that Dean could feel faintly rolling down his face, dripping off his chin to land on his belt.
No, not his belt.
Roman's belt.
You will always be second best…
They will all know now…
The fans… Your so-called friends…
Dean's heart was pounding in his chest, and he couldn't hold back the choked sob that passed his lips as he stood up suddenly, letting the belt fall to the floor.
Tainted…
Cheap…
Dean could feel the anger stirring deep in his gut, fuelled by the demons and voices singing their familiar songs of self-loathing and emptiness. It was brittle though, like trying to hold back the crashing waves threatening to drown him with nothing but his own hands, slipping through his fingers like sand as he felt the nausea roiling in his gut.
Never meant to be champion…
Not even a blip on the scale…
Unworthy…
Last choice. Last option…
"Shut up…"
Roman was lying to you…
He doesn't think you can be a champion…
"Shut up!"
Roman doesn't care… Hiding the truth from you…
Would someone who claims to love you do this to you?
"Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!"
Dean dropped down into a crouch, hands balled into fists as he rested his forehead on his knees. It had always been his reaction when the voices in his head became too much to bear, to curl up as small as he could and hope that they disappeared, but it wasn't working this time.
A snarl turned into a whine turned into another agonising sob as he screwed his eyes shut, beating his knuckles against his temple. That logical smidge of his brain that was telling him he was overreacting, that he needed to take a deep breath and stay calm, had all but been drowned under the torrid icy flood.
Just another thing wrong with him.
Biting down hard on his lip, Dean instantly tasted blood, and for a second it was enough to briefly ground him.
But not quite enough.
He felt sick. He was sick. A masochistic fraud trying to convince himself otherwise.
"Dean?"
Dean froze, painfully swallowing down the cry that threatened as the sound of his name filtered through the hazy layers surrounding his brain.
The sound of his name coming from his lips.
Dean pushed himself back up to standing, roughly scrubbing his palm across his eyes in a futile attempt to disguise the tears that refused to let up as he turned to face the other person in the room.
Dean had no idea how long Roman had been standing there, but the wide eyed concern and guilt in those hypnotising grey eyes emphatically told Dean that Roman had been there long enough to see at least a part of his meltdown.
Good…
Blinking back the insistent dampness budding at the corners of his eyes, Dean met the older man's gaze, his fists clenching and unclenching convulsively by his side.
Roman looked exhausted, his shoulders slumped and his hair pulled loose from its ponytail as he struggled to maintain eye contact. He didn't look imposing and all-powerful, his presence not filling every inch of the room in crackling energy like normal.
He looked small. Tired. Human.
Dean's heart lurched in his chest, but it still did nothing to stop the demons crawling in his veins.
"Dean, baby?"
Dean snapped.
"Don't you fucking 'baby' me, Roman!"
Dean's voice was dripping with acid, and Roman flinched at the tone. Actually flinched.
Roman lifted his arms up in a sign of surrender, taking a step towards the unstable man. Dean held his ground, violently trembling as the tears started streaming once more down his clammy cheeks. His nails digging into his palm, he wrapped a hand around the juncture of his own throat, tapping a manic rhythm.
"Dean, please. I made a mistake. It was an accident. I never meant for it to happen."
I never meant for you to be champion…
Roman took another step forward, slowly reaching out his hand. Brushing the back of his fingers down Dean's cheek, it was all but impossible for Dean not to recoil away from the touch like he'd been burnt. Roman wouldn't be denied however; rubbing his thumb along Dean's cheekbone, wiping away the errant tears slipping down his face.
Dean physically could feel himself melting into Roman's touch; he couldn't help it, it was an instinctive response no matter what was going through Dean's mind, and in that moment Dean couldn't help but loath himself for it.
So weak…
"Did you know?"
A brief look of confusion crossed Roman's face, and Dean couldn't decide if he wanted to kiss him or punch him.
"Did you know before the match?"
Dean's voice was wrecked and raw, the beginnings of a migraine scrapping behind his eyes. He needed to know.
Roman held his breath.
A tiny flicker of hope desperately flitted through Dean-
"Yes."
-Destroyed by one whispered word. Buried by the guilt-ridden expression in Roman's eyes.
And Dean felt his heart crack.
Roman made no attempt to move or defend himself as Dean stepped away, and Dean couldn't work out if that made him feel better or worse for it. Roman was supposed to be the strong one of the two. He was supposed to be the guiding light that saved Dean from crashing into the cliffs. The rug had been pulled out from beneath his feet. His world had always revolved around Roman's steady presence, and now it felt like everything was wildly spinning off-kilter with no way back to safety.
This wasn't his Roman. Oh, it was his eyes and his hands and his lips, but it wasn't his Roman.
His Roman's face wasn't supposed to crumple as Dean grabbed his phone and his keycard, stuffing them into his pockets with shaking fingers.
His Roman's eyes weren't supposed to glaze over with unshed tears as Dean pulled his sneakers on.
His Roman's hands weren't supposed to stay dangling by his side, defeated, as Dean shrugged on his leather jacket.
"Dean, please, I'm sorry, just let me explain…"
His Roman's voice was never supposed to sound like that. Broken.
Dean let out a deep sigh, the anger in his words replaced with a bitter pain that only made him feel more ill as it seeped out into the room.
"I need air…"
Dean never looked back once, never saw Roman's eyes fall on the championship belt now discarded on the floor, as he slipped out the room, letting the door slam shut behind him as he made his way down the hotel corridor.
He needed advice.