A/N: I am so thrilled you all enjoyed this story, and I appreciate each and every one of you. A big thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, favorited, or followed this story. Your encouragement keeps me writing.


The gang bumped fists in the center of the ring and, for that split second in time, they morphed back into the group of wide-eyed rookies who had first entered the company during their November 2012 debut. With Cody Rhodes, Goldust, and Rey Mysterio left in three separate, crumpled messes on the mats — like balled up and forgotten sheets of paper — The Shield celebrated their Raw victory, winning their designated match for the second evening in a row. They were on fire, being touted by the company as the next big thing, but for all the group attention they received, Roman remained the focal point. The night was still young, however, and there were more exciting plans in the works later in the broadcast for all three of them to partake in.

After a series of brief handshakes with their opponents in the back, the renowned men of The Shield formed a line, all matching each other's pace as they headed to their locker room. Their striking presentation garnered looks and head turns that couldn't be ignored, and they shared knowing smirks amongst themselves when they weren't being watched, basking in the new, more inviting climate that greeted them each time they returned backstage. Farther ahead, John Cena turned a sharp corner, headed right their way, and Seth didn't need to exchange words with Dean to know what they had to do. Without warning, they each grasped either of Roman's arms in their clutches and dragged him around the corner, into a darkened, unpopulated hallway, much narrower than the others.

"What the hell?" Roman scowled, tugging himself free of their clawing hands. "Isn't this kidnapping or some shit?"

"That's such a dumb comment it sounds like something Dean would say," Seth laughed, slapping his thigh at his own joke. "Just kidding, man." He patted Dean on the back, and Dean's face scrunched in a grand show of sarcasm, his soaring ego momentarily bruised. "Anyways, you're not a kid, and we're not 'napping you, so to speak. This is just an act we're partaking in for your own good. You'll thank us later."

An assortment of voices drew nearer, and they set their conversation on pause, waiting until the approaching parties passed so that their hidden location wouldn't be discovered. If there was one thing a WWE superstar prided themselves on, it was maintaining their privacy in a bustling backstage area that made it nearly impossible to do just that. When the immediate threat of being found out was squashed, Dean dove at his opportunity to explain their actions. "Think of it this way, Roman. If you had a brother who was hanging with the wrong crowd, doing drugs and drinking, wouldn't you do everything you could to get him away from the people making him go down that road?"

"Uh...yeah, I guess so, but what does this have to do with me?" he asked. Dean scratched his chin and looked over at Seth.

"Where was I goin' with this? I forgot."

"Seriously, Dean?" Seth rolled his eyes and pushed him out of the way, facing Roman head-on. "The point we're trying to make, or I'm trying to make," he cut his eyes at Dean, "is that in the previous scenario, you're like the kid being led astray, and Cena and Orton are like the troubled kids making you that way."

"Since when are Cena and Orton leading me into drugs and drinking?" Roman's eyes narrowed, and his pupils played a joint game of tennis, darting between the two of them like the little green ball being swatted from one opponent to the other. "Are you guys feeling all right?"

"We feel fine," Seth said. "This whole thing is a metaphor. We don't mean that you're being led into drugs in the literal sense. In this case, the drugs represent, like, arrogance and separation."

"So now I'm arrogant?" Roman folded his arms across his hulking chest, gulping in heaving breaths and pushing them out with enough force to make several strands of Seth's wild hair blow across the bridge of his nose. Their pep talk was losing a bit of its pep, and he wanted to steer it back on track, but it was difficult with a man as large as Roman glaring at him. Maybe they should have waited until they were on more neutral grounds to have their discussion, in a place where Roman couldn't possibly be angry with them, like a restaurant. The guy loved his food and would never be able to exude such ire over a steaming rack of barbecued ribs and french fries.

"No, you're not, but you're getting there," Dean said. If ever there were a horrible time for him to find his voice, it would have been right then. Dean's timing was atrocious, and that was where Seth's calming efforts came in, as he was typically the voice of reason for the group when things began spiraling out of control, such a they were at that very moment.

"Oh, I'm getting there?" Roman asked, slinging his hair away from his face with excessive force and sending his darkened waves smacking into the wall behind him before they finally settled against his back. "So just because I win at our second Survivor Series and want to hang out with two of the top guys, I'm arrogant all of the sudden? If Cena and Orton had asked you guys to hang out with them, you wouldn't have turned them down, so why are you coming down hard on me for taking full advantage of an opportunity you would have jumped at, if given the chance? Sounds to me like you're both just jealous."

"Hold on, both of you, let's all calm down," Seth placed a light hand on Roman's chest, but he swatted it away, the same way a horse would use its tail to chase off an annoying fly.

"You guys want to talk? Talk to yourselves," he spat out, like a bitter taste in his mouth. "I'm out of here."

Seth sighed, pressing his body against the wall as he watched Roman's back, until he finally turned the corner and slipped out of sight completely. Dean stared after him in shock, mouth agape, and all Seth could do was shake his head. "That went well."

"Tell me about it," Dean replied.

With every minute that ticked by, Seth and Dean could only hope the passage of time would work as a healing balm, meant to mollify the emotional wounds they had inflicted upon Roman. Seth had made an effort to go after him, but Roman hadn't been in the mood and had basically forced him to back off. He even went so far as to jog around corners and duck into random locker rooms while Seth was in pursuit of him, repeating the process down at least two hallways that Seth had counted, before he finally threw in the towel. He would have to let Roman come to him on his own time and, luckily for The Shield, they were expected to interrupt a top match on the card later in the evening.

As with all attacks, they were merging together as a pack, ready to sink their teeth into CM Punk like a group of rabid dogs, and with the helpful direction of a production assistant, Seth and Dean were led through the arena to the precise location where they would cut through the crowd, a different spot than they used when they made their regular entrance. When the two men arrived, a single road agent was already waiting with Roman, leaning in toward him to offer some last-minute instructions while Roman dumped a bottle of water over his head, shaking his hair out as if he were a dog and it was his drenched fur, just like the aforementioned canine that he was: a true hound of justice. Seth detected the exact point when Roman noticed them coming up on his side, his eyes nearly rolling right out of his head as he turned away. Seth stopped in his tracks, the deafening roar of the crowd ringing in his ears while they waited for their big spot.

Leave it to Roman to stop a man of Seth's bravery in his tracks with only a withering roll of the eyes. However, Seth's pain ran deeper than a simple gesture. Roman was his brother at heart, just like Dean had become, and with a single unhappy person in their group, they were all certain to be doomed. Seth stumbled back a few steps as his vision grew hazy, and it wasn't until Dean's hand came down on his back that he realized he had begun to lose his balance. Concern circulated through Dean's irises, infiltrating every inch of ocean blue, and making for one of the few times Seth had ever seen him in such a solemn state.

"You okay, bro?" Dean asked. "You don't look so good. Sort of pale and...weird."

"I'll be okay. Let's just do this," Seth trudged forward, with Dean placing a tentative hand on his arm.

They walked as a pair, strolling up behind Roman, who was jumping in place to heat his previously cooled down muscles. Seth turned away from Dean's red-hot gaze, which has glued itself to the side of his face. While thankful he had a friend who cared so much, Seth didn't want or need to be pitied. Being lightheaded for a few seconds was no cause for true concern. Roman and Dean jumped in place in tandem and, off to the side of them both, Seth stretched his arms across his chest, smiling weakly when Dean glanced over to check on him again. As he ran his left hand over his face, fingertips lingering near his chin, they were given the signal to go on.

The men formed a single file line, Roman taking the lead and Seth falling in the back, as they cut through the roaring crowd. Seth barely tolerated the flood of unfamiliar hands patting his back as he passed the seats of fans, groaning when they reached the barricade and he had to find the strength to hop over it. Dean waited on the other side of the barrier, reaching out a helping hand, which Seth used to give himself a boost, planting his feet safely on the other side. By the time he rounded the far corner of the ring, Roman had already taken matters into his own hands, delivering a monstrous spear to CM Punk, which left him in a broken heap on the ringside mat.

Some unknown force filled the stale air and wrapped its arms around them like wild vines, joining the three men in a bond that could only be described as pure unity. Roman ate up the gasps from the crowd, smiling and scanning the audience as they let his sudden attack sink in and, just that quickly, all backstage conflict between the three of them slipped away, like a helium balloon released outdoors and left to explore the universe in parts unseen to those on the ground below. Seth's eyes met Roman's and he smirked, an expression Roman matched with ease, as Seth held his hands out toward Punk's limp body, as if to ask what should come next. Without the need for words, their eyes clicked and the decision was made; they would finish the job they had set out to do, and they would complete it as a team.

They lifted a nearly unconscious Punk by his scraggly arms, Seth and Dean teaming up to slide him into the ring where Roman, intent on inflicting a surplus of pain, awaited Punk's arrival. Seth snaked his hand around Punk's midsection while Dean held his arm, holding him up like a steak meant to be devoured by a bear. Roman was, in every sense, as unmercifully vicious as any bear would have been with his meal dancing around on the end of a string, right before his very eyes. Punk was an unlucky victim, having committed the accidental crime of showing up in the wrong place at the wrong time and, now, he was going to have an example made out of him for all the world to behold.

Punk went for a ride, receiving a boost in preparation for a triple power bomb, the Shield members smiling with glee, like a child would upon their arrival at a jam-packed toy store. The attack was nothing personal and was only another in a long line of examples as to why The Shield was not to be toyed with. They would bulldoze through anyone, if it meant proving their abilities, and as they put in triple the effort to slam an already dazed Punk onto the awaiting mat, Seth felt it again. His mouth dropped open slightly as he played to the crowd, putting overwhelming pride for his team on full display, but the vague sense of disorientation had returned, only this time, it was worse.

As they extended their arms over Punk, fists uniting in celebration of a job well done, Seth wondered if the same solid brotherhood would hold up when they returned backstage. Had Roman forgiven them, or was he playing along for the cameras, only doing what was required of him to make a paycheck? Plenty of questions hung in the air, and Seth waited for the answers to come rushing in, but, first, he had to make it out of the ring. He climbed down and jumped from the apron to the mat below, following Dean up the ramp and coming up on Roman's side. When they slipped behind the curtains and back into the backstage area, Seth made a beeline for the water cooler.

Using both hands, he pulled two cold bottles out, unscrewing the top from the first one and dumping the contents over his head, where they landed in an unceremonious puddle at his feet. One of the stagehands tossed a clean towel down to sop up the mess, and Seth's eyes spoke an apology his lips were unable to get out. The assistant nodded politely and went about his business, and Seth tossed the empty bottle aside and opened the other one, chugging the liquid down and cringing when his temples began throbbing in protest of too many cold fluids at once. The pain traveled from the center of his forehead to straight down the bridge of his nose, and he groaned, frustrated and unwell.

"You all right?" Roman slapped his back, and Seth gave a feeble nod, crossing the hallway to a chair positioned against the wall. He took a seat and continued downing slow sips of water, hoping that once his body cooled down he would return to normal. The last thing he needed was to be coming down with some sort of illness. There was too much left to fix, and he had made it his personal mission to mend all that was broken, with or without Dean's help.

"I feel a little off, but I probably just need to eat something," Seth guessed. Dean and Roman knelt on either side of his chair, and Seth brought his unfinished water bottle up to his face, pressing it into his forehead in the hopes that it would cool him down more quickly. He mumbled against the bottle, as dew drops trickled onto his nose, "You were good out there, Roman. You too, Dean. I really think we outdid ourselves this time."

"That's pretty much what we always do," Roman acknowledged. "We get better every week."

Dean scratched the back of his neck and bit his lower lip, setting it free before long. "So do you want me to grab you a plate from catering, Seth? Everyone already ate, but I can see if there's anything good left. Or we can all shower and cut out of here early, maybe find a restaurant," he said, gaze lowering bashfully when he realized his slip-up. "Not sure if you're up for hangin' with us, Roman, but you're welcome to, if you're not too pissed about earlier."

Roman sighed, tossing his hair over his shoulder. "Look, I had some time to think while I was away from you guys, and I was being dramatic earlier."

"Like a girl," Dean nodded. Roman slugged him in the shoulder and he cringed, grabbing the sore spot and grumbling to himself.

"Don't push it, pal," Roman laughed. "I'll admit I overreacted, but it was a little weird for you guys to just come at me like that out of nowhere. I'm always supportive of you, and you're normally that way with me too, but I felt a little attacked when you called me arrogant. I still don't even get why you both feel that way. Literally, all I did was hang out with Cena and Orton for one night, and you're both groaning about what an asshole I am. Maybe I'm not seeing the situation clearly, but I really don't think I did anything wrong."

"I never thought you did anything wrong either, per se," Seth replied. He brought the rim of his water bottle to his lips and downed another large gulp, taking his time in swallowing it. "I can't speak for Dean, but I was coming from a good place. I thought spending time with those guys might make you lose who you are, and I was trying to stop that from happening. I just didn't want you to forget where you came from and all the blood, sweat, and tears we've given to get where we are. We may not have had the same journey here, but we banded together somewhere along the way, and this friendship between the three of us is one that should stick. There's no reason we need to be pulling away from it, or am I wrong?" Seth asked, raising his eyebrow.

"No, you're not wrong, but I'm not pulling away from anything. We'll still always hang out, and I never said we wouldn't. You guys assumed I was doing something I wasn't," Roman said. "It was a simple night out with the guys. We had a few drinks and danced with some girls. Scratch that; Randy and I danced with girls, and John brought Nikki along and made out with her in the corner for a while. It was cool overall, though, I guess. I still don't see what the big deal is."

"Maybe we were in the wrong," Dean said. He cleared his throat loudly and looked at Roman. Up until then, he hadn't been brave enough to do so. "I guess we thought you were pulling away when you really weren't. There might even have been a little bit of jealousy on our parts, but we didn't mean it. We just want to see our group stick together."

"And we will," Roman promised. He extended his arm, just as they had in the ring a few minutes earlier, and curled his hand into a fist. "The mighty will rise," he smiled, waiting for Dean and Seth to join in.

They bumped fists, and Seth took Dean up on his offer to help him out of the chair. The sooner they made it back to their locker room, the sooner they could shower and get back on the road. They hadn't been able to secure a hotel room for the night, because they had been running late on the drive into town, so before they could eat dinner or go out to party, they had to find a room for the night, lest they find themselves sleeping in their rental car, which they had all been subjected to doing at previous points in the past. Such were the rigors of chasing a dream akin to the oft-unforgiving world of professional wrestling.

Dean loosened his grip on Seth when he was confident he could walk without falling, and they navigated the hallways expertly, returning to their locker room and cleaning themselves up one by one. When a knock came at their door, Seth was in the middle of repacking his duffel bag, Dean was still dressing after his shower, and Roman was in the midst of taking his own shower. Seth's right eyebrow arched. "Were you expecting someone?"

"Nope." Dean shook his head, returning to his previous task and Seth sighed, rubbing his throbbing temples as he headed to the door and pulled it open, greeting John Cena with a startled set of eyes. He was in awe, absolutely, but not for the reason most might have assumed.

"Oh, it's you," Seth said, struggling not to sneer. Yet, in the back of his mind, he knew his behavior was childish. Roman was one of the best friends he had ever made in life, and anyone who was a friend of Roman's had true potential to become a friend of his. He could at least put in a genuine effort to be cordial, whether he liked John or not. "Sorry. I just meant that I wasn't exactly expecting you. What's up?"

"Roman around?" John asked, looking past him and squinting into the room.

It was just like Cena to find himself so superior that he rejected putting in the effort for the simple act of speaking in complete sentences. Seth edged the door forward with his foot, closing the gap on John's view. He could be nice and all, but he wasn't just going to let the guy come up and stare into their locker room as if he owned the place. He may have been the face of the WWE, but he hadn't proven himself to be anyone of substance where it concerned The Shield's personal locker room, and he was beginning to infringe on their domain. Perhaps some of Seth's onscreen character was spilling into his real life persona; he was becoming both callous and cold.

"Well, this is his locker room so, yeah, he's around," Seth answered smartly. His eyes darted rapidly from left to right, but he managed not to roll them at John's arrant nerve. He wasn't getting past Seth without a fight. Tossing his power around backstage was all well and good, until it affected Seth or his friends. "What do you need?"

"I was hoping to tell him that," John said, a sharp edge to his tone that hadn't initially been there. Seth was making him defensive.

"It'll have to wait. He's in the shower."

"Tell him I came by," John tossed over his shoulder, already in the process of walking away before even completing the sentence.

"Yeah, I sure will," Seth said, pushing the door shut and hunching over with laughter. "Not!"

"Come on, we can't keep messages from him," Dean cut in. He had gotten fully dressed in the time since Seth turned his back and was rummaging through his work bag for some unknown object. "He has a right to know who leaves a message for him. I don't want him hanging out with those guys any more than you do, but we can't really stop it. It's just not our right, and you shouldn't be so territorial anyway. We're starting to act like possessive girlfriends or something, and that's just not cool. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were more worried about the effect losing Roman could have on your career than you are about what it might do to our friendship."

Seth struggled to answer but was frozen in place, drowning in a new, sudden sea of nausea and vertigo. He tried to face Dean, to deliver the message that something was seriously wrong and to scoff at the suggestion that he cared more about the progression of his career than about his friends, but the words were caught in his throat, his vocal chords not strong enough to form the message he so desperately needed to get out. Since he was still near the door, Seth placed a hand on the wall for balance, folding at his hips and staring down at the cold, hard floor. He wasn't well, and all he could do was keep his composure and hope Dean would look over and see for himself that something was amiss.

"Was someone just here?" Roman asked, slipping out of the bathroom. "I thought I heard a knock, over the sound of the shower," he said. Roman was halted in his tracks, spying Seth near the far side of the room and exchanging a look with Dean, who was still distracted by whatever item lurked in his bag. "What's with him?"

"Who?" Dean asked. When he glanced up, Roman was pointing, and his eyes followed Roman's index finger until they landed on Seth, woozy and distressed, as he clung to the wall. "What the...Seth, what the hell is wrong with you? Are you joking?"

"Stop playing around, man. We have to get ready to go," Roman said, shaking his head.

He turned his back, pulling out a clean set of clothing and preparing to get dressed. Dean abandoned the desperate search for his MP3 player and strolled tentatively across the room, bending over near Seth, who had one hand pressed against the wall and the other one resting on his forehead. As it turned out, he arrived just in time to make the save. Seth's legs chose that very moment to buckle underneath his weight, and Dean caught him in the midst of his spiraling crash to the floor. Dean gasped and slowly lowered Seth's motionless body to the ground, beside himself with fear as he yelled for Roman to summon help.

All Dean could do was sit. Sit and wait.