Disclaimer: I don't own anyone.
Rated: M
Warning(s): Slash, Threesome, Kidnapping, Threats, Possible Non-Con, etc.


You're a filthy little slut. Dean and Roman couldn't care less whether you lived or died. You're filthy. You're worthless. And by the time you realize that neither of them could ever love you, it would be too late. If you disappeared, who would care? Certainly not them. You're a wanton little whore, Seth. You've been used and you've been destroyed. Nobody wants you anymore, so why are you still here? Nobody cares…

Seth's hands trembled as he crumpled the note into a ball and tossed it into the trashcan. "You okay in there, Seth? Last time I checked, it didn't take forty-five minutes to take a shower."

Seth dried his eyes with the back of his hand, not even realizing that he had started to cry. "Yeah… um, I'm fine. Just give me a minute or two, okay? I nicked myself with the shaver."

Roman rolled his eyes, chuckling blandly. "Poor little Seth, crying because he cut himself with the shaver." He rolled his eyes, amused by the idea of it.

Pissed off, Seth stormed out of the bathroom. "Fuck off, Roman!" He threw his toothpaste in the older man's direction. "And you too, Dean. Both of you can rot in fucking hell!"

It was Dean's turn to look confused. "What crawled up your ass and died?"

"Nothing. I just want you to leave me the fuck alone!" The door to the bathroom slammed closed behind him.

Seth stared at his reflection in the mirror, running a hand through his multicolored locks. He had found that note in his locker room after he had come back from the 3-on-1 handicap match on the last Raw of the 2012 year. He didn't know who had written it, but it was obvious that their intention was to hurt him. Was it true, what they had said? Was it true that Roman and Dean wouldn't care whether he lived or died?

Turning on the water, he splashed some onto his face. The dark eyeliner that circled his eyes ran down his cheeks and colored the tear tracts that stained them. His hands trembled. The nerves overwhelmed him, or maybe it was the numerous head-shots that he had taken in the match, but he fell down in front of the toilet and emptied the contents of his stomach into the porcelain bowl. Dean heard and started to knock on the door once more.

"C'mon, Seth! What's the matter? We can hear you in there." The worry in Dean's voice was obvious.

"Seth, open the door now." Roman's calm monotone washed over the room.

Seth wiped his mouth on the back of his arm. Tears streamed from his eyes as he glared at the door, in no mood to deal with his two lovers. "Leave me alone!"

"Don't be like that, Seth. We just want to help you." Dean pleaded.

"I don't want to put up with anymore of your shit! Just leave me the fuck alone, both of you!" Seth screamed.

Dean and Roman shared a look, before they nodded. "Okay, Seth. If that's what you want. But we will talk about this." Roman muttered lowly.

And as they walked away, he unrolled the note and read it one more time, breaking down into another fit of sobs.