Seth suspected he wouldn't get an answer right away, but the silence, though it drove him nearly crazy, was maybe a good sign(?)
It meant that Dean was thinking. He was thinking about Seth's answer and if he really wanted to risk stepping into that mine field again, or if he was just better off cutting his ties with him altogether and finally moving on.
Or, it could just mean that he was indifferent to Seth's question, and didn't think it was really worth an answer.
Seth hoped it wasn't the latter, but he had confidence in his former friend; if Dean thought a question was stupid, he would usually let you know that he thought as much, loudly, brutally and with enough bite to rival a Rottweiler. That's just how he was.
The sun was barely shining through a small slit in the curtain when Seth finally poked his head out from under the duvet. Dean was nowhere to be found in the room, but from the other side of the wall, Seth could hear the sound of pattering water, and the distinct smell of the body wash Dean sometimes used wafting through the air from the bathroom. It was his favorite wash, expensive as fuck and kind of hard to find, so he only bought it when he really wanted to treat himself. Seth finds himself grinning at the scent gently perfuming the air. He was the one who had gotten Dean hooked on the body wash; he'd let him borrow some back when they first showed signs of getting along back in FCW, and he'd been a glutton for it ever since.
It was kind of nice to know he still used it. At least that meant that he wasn't reminded of Seth whenever he used it and simply insisted on having it around because he liked the way it smelled. That was an easier thought to swallow than Dean trying to eradicate everything that even remotely reminded him of Seth.
No one else was in the room. Seth was alone. The other bed was obviously slept in, the sheets tousled and the imprint of a heavy body within the mattress, but Roman was nowhere to be found. That was probably a good thing; Seth didn't really want to have to deal with a beating this early in the morning if the Samoan happened to see him.
Sitting up, Seth scratches his hair, running his hand through it in a very flat attempt to untangle the knots that had accumulated overnight, no thanks to him forgetting to brush it. Catching a significantly stubborn snag, Seth blew out a huge breath and shifted to sit up crosslegged, using the fingers of both hands to coax the tangle free without ripping out a chunk of hair.
He ponders scenarios in his head.
Say, if Dean decided that he wanted to try and salvage the old relationship he'd had with Seth, how would the Authority react to it? How would Roman react to it? It would be rough trying to convince him to come back, for the three of them to be a unit again, not as the Shield, but as three different brothers from three different mothers. And hell, if the Shield wanted to rise through the ranks again and overthrow the Authority for the top spot, Seth was fine with that too.
Actually…that wasn't a bad idea.
Seth loses himself in thought, trying to put ideas together into a working plan, eyebrows knit together and burning a hole into his palms sitting open in his lap with his eyes.
With one member of the Shield as the heavyweight champ, it would be an undeniable fact that they would be the top dogs of the company; after all, he knew first hand that the title holder of the WWE Heavyweight Championship belt had a lot of pull in the way the company worked, more so than other holders. It was practically just a level under the CEO. With that much power, they could systematically take the other titles as their own and perfect and cement themselves as a powerhouse faction, much in the same way the infamous nWo had done years prior, but with more edge.
Not only could they crush the locker room, but with enough pull with the number of titles they held, they could probably overthrow the Authority in terms of power. An all-out raid. Checkmate at it's finest; a triple cross. Ah, it was beautiful.
Seth felt a little bit of the burden he shouldered falling away. Realization that he didn't need the Authority anymore reenergized him. He could do this with actual family, actual blood who he would gladly share the throne with. Maybe this could work. And maybe he was getting ahead of himself; he didn't even have a definite answer from Dean, and he would sure as hell have to work himself to death to convince Roman that he was good for it.
So much work. But he was willing. He was fucking ready.
Now came the queasiness of anticipation. Seth wasn't sure what else he would do if both of his former brothers decided not to take him in again. The answer was obvious –return to the Authority and keep going- but that wasn't really the answer he was hoping for, now that he'd had a real moment to think about it.
Seth frowns and curls his hand into a fist. Hm. It looks kind of lonely all by itself.
It's joined soon enough, almost a split second before Seth's temple explodes with pain, and he barely catches sight of a huge fist aiming for his face for a second time. This blow lands square against his cheek, throwing his head to the left and making him see stars for a startling moment. When the little lights finally clear out, Seth blinks and gets a moment between to look at his attacker- oh, hi, Roman- before he's forced to scrabble at the hands squeezing around his throat.
Fury, fury, fury.
The swear on the tip of his tongue is cut off abruptly along with his air supply, sounding more like a hoarse croak than a violent curse. Vaguely, Seth makes a mental note to himself: getting strangled hurts like hell. What made it worse was that Roman wasn't even talking. He wasn't screaming at Seth and calling him a lot of really crude names that Seth hadn't heard since his days in high school. He was just silent, like he was content to just sit there and watch the life drain out of his ex-teammate's eyes.
Mm. Depressing.
Seth can pretty much accept that he probably deserved to be scared like this, and try to appeal to Roman after this. If not…well, fuck.
He can hear the shower turning off on the other side of the wall, and he thinks it's kind of interesting that he has time to notice that the t-shirt Roman is wearing used to belong to him.
Interesting.
Even more interesting, is that he lets go at the last second.
Seth is a human stress ball, coughing and immediately curling in on himself, his first instinct is to grab at his throat and massage. He decides against it after his esophagus makes it clear that it will not be handling anymore hands wrapping around it; it hurts like hell every time he even brushes against it.
"Oh, cool," Seth hears from somewhere in the room. Somewhere to his right. "He's not dead. I don't have to get the lime and shovels after all."
Definitely Dean. Only he would know how to dispose of a dead body; he's told Seth how to accomplish the deed in several different ways for the most convenience.
"I wasn't trying to kill him," Seth hears from a closer range. It sounds like it's right on top of him. "I was only holding on long enough to scare him."
Roman. And he doesn't even really sound apologetic.
"Be honest," Dean's voice sing-songs, like a parent berating a small child. "It felt fucking great, didn't it?"
Seth can practically hear the smile in Roman's voice. "Like you wouldn't believe. I got kinda carried away after a bit."
"Okay," Seth decides to jump in now, gingerly propping himself up on one elbow, using the other arm to steady himself. "I might've deserved that. But seriously, what the hell, man? Are you fucking crazy? I thought you were actually trying to kill me!"
His vision is a little blurry. He sees two Romans sitting next to him for a few seconds.
The Romans shrug. "Thought about it. But then, I wouldn't want to have to be the one to explain to the hotel staff why there's a corpse in their bed."
"Gee, thanks," Seth rasps sarcastically. "Fuck. You scared me. I know I've done a lot of shit, but I didn't think you'd actually try to put me eight feet under."
Dean, sitting on the opposite bed in a pair of jeans and a towel thrown over his still-wet hair, waves him off. "Eh, you would've been fine: one of us here knows mouth-to-mouth resuscitation." He winks at Seth, which doesn't make him blush. It doesn't.
Roman rolls his eyes and pads to the bathroom. "Dean, honestly, what have I told you about bringing mangy strays around here?"
Seth glares at the space where he'd been sitting and shouts after him, "Ha ha."
Dean grins, holding his chin in one hand. "Seriously, though. You doin' okay?" he asks. His voice is hushed, like he isn't supposed to be talking to Seth. He probably isn't, if big brother Roman has anything to say about it.
"I'll live," Seth replies flatly. He flops back against the pillows and closes his eyes. Something about being nearly strangled has made him rather gutsy it seems. He doesn't try to hold back his words.
"I missed this," he murmurs. "I don't get this from the Authority. It's like the fucking Brady Bunch turned twisted in that circle; or the Bates family, I guess is better-"
"Try Addams family," interjects Dean. Seth laughs.
"Yeah, that's more like it. I never really realized how much I actually hated it. I don't like anyone and they don't trust me. At least when I was with you guys, we put the fun in dysfunctional."
"Aww," sing-songs Dean, "put that shit on a Hallmark card, people; that warms my heart."
Seth shakes his head. "You don't have one of those. And you never really answered my question last night either. I've been thinking about that."
"Really," says Dean, though he makes it sound more like a statement than a question.
"I…" Seth stares up at the ceiling, counting the number of popcorn studs he can find until he reaches sixty, and then continues with a little more conviction. "I want out."
Dean is quiet for a heartbeat. Then he tilts his head curiously to one side, looking at Seth suspiciously. "I thought you didn't want to leave?"
Seth shakes his head, turns to look Dean dead in the eye and repeats, "I want out."
Dean pauses, studies him for a long moment, then nods once, slowly. "And to what do we owe this change of heart?"
Seth looks back at the ceiling. "I don't need the Authority. I was doing just fine with my real family. Besides," he glances back at Dean, a little of his earlier mischief twinkling in his eyes, "what's more fun than a triple cross?"
Dean's eyes widen. Seth only grins, all teeth and eyes like a devil.
"Are you serious? I mean, are you sure?"
"Positive. I've been thinking about if for a while; you got me thinking last night. But I didn't want to say anything until I was sure you were still with me," Seth says, trailing off slowly. He fidgets a bit uncomfortably under Dean's scrutiny, really hoping that he could still get Dean on his side. If he had to convince him that he was squeaky clean about it, no quadruple crossing or whatever, then he would do his best, because, fuck- he didn't think he could handle being a confused mess like this all the time.
"You know if you ask Roman, he'll probably beat you up and tell you to fuck off with that noise, right?" says Dean, and it's driving Seth crazy that it isn't a direct answer to the question. He nods, rolling his eyes. "I know, but I'll cross that bridge when I get to it. I'm asking you. I want to know if I have you."
"How do I know the minute we team up again, you won't try to one-up us again like last time?" Dean asks seriously. The way he looks at his former teammate spells out just how much he really trusts him at the current moment: not very much.
"Honestly, you don't," Seth sighs. May as well get around what was really hanging over them like a dead goose. "I know that I'm not gonna try that shit again; look where it got me. Yeah, I've got the title, but I don't like anyone in my corner, sure as hell don't trust them, and they don't trust me. I'm paranoid, I don't get any sleep…last week I showered for almost an hour trying to make sure a death threat I got in the mail didn't get arsenic all over me."
Dean seems to disregard all of that in favor of a different question. "D'you miss us?"
Seth looks at him, startled, but hesitantly nods. "Yeah. Kinda. I'll be honest; when this whole thing started out, I wasn't really thinking straight. That's not much of an excuse, but you know, we're all human."
"Mistakes were made," Dean agrees solemnly, nodding his head. He's staring at some vacant spot on the other bed, just above Seth's body.
"That's right," he murmurs, more to himself than to Seth. He nods again, and finally directs his eyes back to him, hard and serious. "Don't make me regret this, Seth."
"Hey, do you really think I would tempt the fates like that again?" Seth says, unable to hide the small smile breaking out across his lips. "I let Roman bust me in the face twice and strangle me until I almost passed out to prove that I'm trying to get clean with you guys. Do you really think I'd put myself through that again?"
Dean looks thoughtful. "Yeah, you did, didn't you? When do I get to whale on you for a bit; you did double cross me, too."
He's smiling when he says it though. Seth shakes his head.
"Don't push it."
"You know, you'll have to convince Roman, right?"
Seth runs his hands through his hair with a sigh, humming deep in his chest. He knows. It won't be easy either, though the big guy might surprise him; God knows Dean sure did.
Suddenly, Dean is tackling him to the floor, no fanfare or warning- but that's just how Dean moved. It scares Seth to near cardiac arrest the suddenness of it all, and freaks him out even more so when Dean starts making these gross, hacking noises from the back of his throat.
"That's disgusting!"
What are they five? If you asked Roman, he'd definitely say yes.
Seth knocks Dean away and then the two of them are tussling around on the floor like a pair of rabid toddlers, shouting and growling and being far too boisterous for seven o'clock in the morning. They only quiet down when Roman comes back and throws a wet t-shirt in their direction, and threatens to step on their fucking faces if they don't quiet down.
Lying in a heap on the floor, Dean laughing next to him in his ear, eyes closed and a wide, genuine smile on his face, Seth feels tons lighter, like he's home and there to stay. He missed this. He even missed Roman glaring at them from around the bathroom doorway like he is now.
"You should've seen your face," Dean insists, still laughing. Seth smirks at him wryly and hauls himself into an upward sitting position. "You're real fucking gross, Dean Ambrose, you know that?"
"Hey, some people like it gross and dirty," Dean says and winks at him. Seth rolls his eyes and shoves at Dean's cheek, knocking his head to one side. "You're a freak."
"So I've been told."
Seth just sighs and gets to his feet. Glancing at the alarm clock on the bedside table, he frowns. It's a little past seven, almost seven-thirty. He'll be expected to be up and dressed and ready to be on the road for the next show by eight; no need to have Trips and Stephanie thinking he's on thin ice by showing up late. They weren't exactly patient people.
"I've gotta go," Seth explains awkwardly, fiddling with the corner end of his loaned t-shirt between his thumb and forefinger. "I'll…um, I'll wash the shirt. And the sweatpants. Guess I'll give 'em back the next time we bump into each other."
Dean snorts and kicks out at Seth's shins. "What is this 'bump into each other' shit? Sounds like we'll be keeping in touch real often if you're gonna try to bring down the Authority."
Seth blinks. He almost doesn't understand what Dean has just told him; his brain lags like dial-up internet and takes longer than needed to comprehend that Dean is still on his side.
"Yeah," he eventually replies, blinking rapidly. "Yeah. Right."
"Just remember," Dean grunts, getting to his feet. He's suddenly inches from Seth's face, blue eyes hard like cold slate, and any traces of his laughing, boyish looks gone. "If I find out that you're still a slippery scumbag, you so much as trip and fall flat on your fucking face again for the Authority, your ass is mine. Got it?"
Seth meets his intense gaze, a feat of strength he's actually very proud of considering Dean is looking at him like he might bust his skull open right then and there. "Got it."
Dean nods, satisfied, at least for the moment it seems. "Alright, get outta here. Mom and dad are probably wondering where you are, yeah?"
Seth nods. "Yeah. Guess I'll see you around."
He legs it out of the room before he can convince himself that the only reason his face is burning is because of their earlier skirmish.
"You scraped by by the skin of your teeth, huh?"
Seth groans inwardly at the voice behind him. Kevin fucking Owens was waltzing down the hall towards him, smirking, would-be swagger in his step- would be, because Seth had at least a few inches on him. "If it hadn't been for Taker," Kevin continues, seemingly unaware of how unwanted he was, "you might've been a stain on the mat, wouldn't you?"
Seth doesn't look at Owens at all, pretends to be more occupied with something on his phone instead. "I could say the same for you and Cena, couldn't I?" he replies coolly, letting the sarcasm drip from his voice like acid. He can't help but smirk a little at the way Owens gives him death glares at the side of his head.
"You'll forgive me if I don't agree,"says the Canadian. "Unlike you, I actually pushed Cena to his limits. I made the man pull out his best moves; I made him desperate. You? You hardly even made a dent in Lesnar. He probably didn't even break a sweat on you."
Something ticks in Seth's jaw. Owens is really starting to piss him off; he really doesn't have the patience for the snarky kid, especially someone so green. "Okay," he says slowly, finally turning his gaze on the man, "so if you pushed Cena to his limits, how was it that he ended up beating you anyway?"
Why was Owens trying to yank at Seth's chain? Yeah, the kid was one of Hunter's pet projects, but he really had no room to be so bold, especially with someone as recognized as Seth.
"Look, I don't know what game you're trying to play, if you want to be 'the man' or whatever, but you need to stay the hell away from me." Seth narrows his eyes, lets his voice drop dangerously low instead of getting in Owen's face. "Don't fucking start something you'll never be able to finish."
The bastard smirks.
The fight that breaks out the next hour on Raw is astounding.
The entire roster is called out to break the Undertaker and Brock Lesnar up before they tear each other apart, and the chaos is enough to get the blood pumping in anyone who was watching it.
Well, the entire roster minus John Cena, the Wyatt family, Kevin Owens, Roman Reigns, Dean Ambrose and one Seth Rollins.
Actually the only one who had noticed that the champ wasn't there, as well as his former brothers being absent, had been a surprisingly watchful stage hand, who had wandered around trying to make sure that the three of them hadn't gotten ahold of each other and were beating each other to death, or making out in the closet.
He'd found Seth watching the chaos unfold in catering, and Cena in the monitor room. There was no sign of the Wyatts (of course) or Reigns and Ambrose.
Not until Seth decided to head back to his locker room.
Seth hadn't even noticed Roman sitting there on one of the steel chairs in the corner until he'd passed him by and the man had begun talking.
"So, I hear you're trying to start a rebellion," his deep baritone rang out into the otherwise silent room. Seth jumps so hard that he crushes the water bottle in his hand, sending the cool drink splashing down his hand and the floor. Roman doesn't look the least bit impressed.
"Jesus," Seth breathed, "how'd you even- you scared the hell out of me. What are you even doing in here?"
To himself, he muttered, "First Dean and now you?" as he went looking for a towel in his gear bag to clean up the water. Roman uncrossed his arms from his chest and cleared the short distance from his perch to Seth in three giant strides, cool as a cucumber, yet somehow boiling with annoyance underneath. Seth hardly even hears him coming, instantly recoiling when he turns to find the huge Samoan looming over him.
"What's this I hear about you turning coat?" Roman rumbles. Seth shouldn't be scared, but he kind of is. Not of Roman, of course; he knew how to outrun the big man. Roman knew about his idea to abandon the Authority, which was unnerving in itself. If he knew that- Dean probably told him- then he might be here to tell Seth the same thing that Dean had told him.
Or to tell him to stay the hell away from the both of them, and that they didn't need or want him back.
Either way, he might get punched in the mouth tonight. Wonderful.
"Is this you trying to get back in our good graces or something?" says Roman carefully. "Or is this just you playing lead bitch for Hunter and Stephanie? Either way, I might end up breaking somethin' of yours."
Of course.
"I'm not doing this for the Authority. This is me trying to find a way out. Dean should've told you that already," says Seth, trying to ignore the way his heart is pounding and how sweaty his palms are. How did he get boxed in against the lockers like this?
Roman doesn't look any more convinced than he did before. "I don't believe you."
Seth opens his mouth to say something, but Roman beats him. "I know you, Seth. You're a stubborn guy; you don't change your mind unless you've got a gun to your head."
Seth frowns. "'Stubborn' is really negative. I prefer 'determined'-"
He admittedly flinches hard when suddenly Roman's fist pounds deep into the locker door next to his head. He wonders if he's made a dent. He won't turn and look now, afraid that Roman might actually aim for his face this time if he takes his eyes off of him.
"This isn't a game, Seth," growls Roman, and it's only now occurred to Seth that he hasn't once been addressed as 'Rollins' since the two of them had begun talking. It kind of makes him hopeful.
"You think I don't know that? I don't want to do this anymore; I'm trying to get out of this hole I've dug myself into," Seth says. He needs to make Roman see this.
"I'm…tired."
Roman snorts. "Really? So am I. So is Dean. So is everyone who was ever dumb enough to care about you. I've been tired since the day you attacked us with that fucking chair!"
Seth kind of stings at that. "So then help me!" He tries to stand up to Roman's height, which, despite him only being a few inches shorter, feels next to impossible. "Help me get out of here, and this all ends."
"Help you?" the sneer on Roman's face is terrifying. "You want me- you want us- to help you? After you beat us down in that ring with a chair? After you sicked your fucking security guards and Kane on us week after week? After you nearly cracked Dean's skull open on those cinder blocks and cost him the title shot? After you made me believe that for all the years that I've known you, that you were actually worth fighting for?"
Oh. Ouch.
That stung.
"I protected you, you bastard!" All the anger is pouring out of Roman at once now. Seth hopes he won't drown in the intensity of it; the man is literally nose-to-nose with him. Seth can see every tired, dark ring around his eyes, every last bit of the exhaustion he bore in his grey eyes. It's a lot like being trapped under water.
"I threw myself in front of danger for you! I dragged you out of the fucking flames! I loved you, you fucking sellout! You were my brother! And then you have the fucking guts to ask me to help you? You're asking me to help you after all the shit you pulled? Are you fucking serious?"
Seth is at an odd angle. He finally tears his attention from the absolutely livid eyes of his former teammate to find that at some point during the screaming match, he'd leaned to the side, shrinking away from Roman to avoid being suffocated by all of that rage.
Rage directed at no one but himself.
Roman seems to notice it too, and pulls back. Seth's arm hurts. Looking down, he sees dark bruises forming already, a bracelet of blue around his upper arm, just underneath his shirt sleeve. Roman's fingertips brush uncomfortably against them when he pulls his hand away. When had he grabbed him?
It all happened so fast, he guessed.
It's eerily quiet in the locker room, save for the sound of the two of their lungs pumping hard and fast to keep the air flowing through their throats. Seth frowns at himself. Why is he panting? He hardly said anything in edgewise.
Seth looks up from his arm to Roman, who seems to find more interest in the floor tiles than the man who he had been screaming at just moments before. Seth has to work to stop himself from curling his hand protectively over his arm.
"I know," he says quietly. Roman snaps his gaze up towards him, and Seth forces himself not to flinch. He's pretty sure that now that Roman has gotten the anger and rage out of his system for the time being, he won't hurt him. Still, he'd never actually seen Roman enraged before. There was no telling what he was capable of when he was livid.
"I know," Seth repeats quietly. "I know the last thing I deserve is to ask you for your help. Hell, I don't even have the right to even think about asking you to forgive me."
Roman says nothing, so Seth continues, carefully picking his words.
"I know I can't take back what I did, or what I said. I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't at least hopeful that you guys would consider accepting an apology, but I'm not asking you to do that. If you find it in your heart to do that, then I will do everything in my power to honor that. And even if you don't, I'll understand. I'll just have to live with it. But I can't keep living like this, constantly looking over my shoulder and being paranoid all the time. There's no one I can trust. I keep hearing…" Seth shakes his head.
"Nevermind that. Look, don't accept my apology, or do. Either way, I just think that it's good to let you know that I'm finding a way out."
For his part, Roman is quiet. He doesn't sneer at Seth, and even more astoundingly, doesn't punch him square in the fucking face. He levels him with a wary stare, like he's a wild animal who doesn't trust him. If he didn't look completely spent before, he sure does now.
He sighs.
Then he says, low and cold, "And why should I care?"
Seth can't deny that his heart drops a little at the easy dismissal, but he shrugs anyway. "You don't have to care. Just wanted you to know what was going on. Didn't want to keep you guys in the dark anymore."
Roman exhales hard through his nose and looks away, grey eyes downcast. His shoulders slump in defeat of some sort, and the next thing he says, kind of makes Seth's heart hurt. "It's…Seth, it's too late for that. I appreciate what you're trying to do now, but that ship has sailed, man."
Seth nods once, slowly. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't disappointed. But at least Roman wasn't trying to bust his face in.
"That's fine." Seth nods again. "I get it. No, really. I just wanted you to know. I didn't expect you to believe me or even forgive me."
He looks down at his feet, then back up at Roman, fishing for words. "Uh, I…have to go. Need to go keep up appearances, y'know. Hunter's probably wondering why I haven't checked in with him yet."
Roman looks confused, but he lets him go with a stiff nod, just a short tilt of the head. Seth smiles tight-lipped and strained, and then he goes. He all but runs out of the locker room.
It's probably fifty degrees when Dean gets up and walks out to the courtyard for a smoke.
Well, he'd stopped smoking a while ago, a little before the Shield had been put together. He'd wanted to give that endeavor his all, and he knew he sure as hell couldn't do that with black tobacco tar in his lungs. After, well…
He'd already worked so hard to quit, he'd be damned if he let all that hard work go to waste; at least something good would come out of the Shield debacle.
Smoke breaks usually came in the form of Dean standing outside in the chilly night air and breathing in and out, watching his breath dissipate like smoke and letting his lungs fill with the cold. It made his chest heavy and deep like the cigarettes did, and when he went back inside to the warm, room temperature hotel, his lungs tightened up and then relaxed eventually. It kind of simulated cigarettes. It was enough sometimes.
Dean was by no means a ninja, but somehow, he manages to sneak up on the unsuspecting guy in the courtyard –the only other crazed motherfucker to be outside at two in the morning- walking around in circles, staring at the moon.
"Sorry, to interrupt your little ritual," Dean smirked at Seth's startled flinch, "but its about time for all the little witches to go to bed."
Seth frowned at him, unimpressed at the jab. "I'm thinking."
"Knew I smelled smoke." Dean plops down in one of the lawn chairs on the green, looks expectantly at Seth. "What's on your mind, kid?"
Seth sighs wearily. Dean has only now noticed that he isn't wearing a jacket, or sleeves for that matter. What was probably a nice white band t-shirt in its earlier life had been mutilated and amputated into a sleeveless muscle top –Dean was pretty sure he'd seen Seth wear that to the ring a few times back in FCW. Ah, memories.
"Rome told me you two talked," Dean says to lure some conversation out of Seth. Seth seems to deflate at that, raking his hand over his face. Dean acts on that. "Do you…wanna…talk about it?"
"Not really," comes Seth's raspy admittance. "I've been trying to find a way around that."
"'Round what?"
Seth finally turns to him fully. "He didn't tell you?"
"Whatever it is, probably not. He just told me that you two talked in the locker room and that I should keep an eye out for any of your shady activity."
Seth sighs again, has the audacity to look crestfallen. Dean shouldn't care, Roman's kind of right. Seth's just never looked so…hopeless.
"C'mere."
Seth drags his eyes to Dean, flat and unimpressed. Dean nods, scoots over to make a little sliver of room-barely enough space for one ass-cheek- and beckons to him. "C'mere," he says again.
Seth reluctantly relents, crossing the short distance and dropping uncharacteristically carelessly into the tiny space Dean had made for him. He kind of elbows him in the chest when he leans back, but Dean doesn't mention it or even make a noise about it, and wraps an arm around Seth's shoulders like an iron band before he can protest.
"You're freezing," he mumbles. "Why didn't you wear something with fucking sleeves?"
Seth shrugs against Dean's side. He honestly doesn't know. He'd gotten up out of bed –he hadn't been sleeping, just lying awake under the covers- and had shuffled out here in his sleepwear for some fresh air. He picks at the frayed end of the hem of his left sweatpant leg with his toe and avoids Dean's gaze at all times.
"What's the setback, kid?" asks Dean. "You look like you've lost your best friend."
Seth gives him a flat look with enough venom in it to kill small animals.
"Sorry," Dean apologizes.
"I tried to apologize to Roman. I'm guessing you told him about the plan to leave the Authority; he didn't take too kindly to me asking him to help me out," Seth finally explains.
"He didn't hurt you, did he?"
Seth's brow furrows. His mind draws a blank pause for a moment. "What?"
"You're okay, right? I know Rome can get a little rough when he's pissed off."
"We both know that," Seth absently corrects him. "But, no. I'm okay. He basically told me that he can't trust me, and you shouldn't either. He said…" Seth frowns deeper, becoming more aggressive in his absentminded quest to mess with the hem of his sweatpants. "I think he regrets being my friend? He doesn't accept my apology, which is understandable, I get it. He regrets looking out for me, I think? Being the 'big brother'. And I know he has every right to, but, I mean, it still…" Seth breathes out, long and tired, trying to clear the scratchiness in his throat. "It still…kinda…"
He trails off. He can't bring himself to admit it.
It hurts.
He knows he's the last person Dean wants to hear complain about being hurt by your friends; the irony was almost physically sickening. It's not even pride that inhibits him from admitting how badly it stings to have Roman tell him that he regrets literally all of Seth's existence –its humility. But as the giant Samoan had so eloquently told him; too little, too late.
Hindsight was a fucking. Bitch.
"You know I'm with you," says Dean, breaking Seth out of his thoughts.
"Yeah, about that," Seth cranes his neck to look back at Dean. "Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why are you with me?"
Dean looks thoughtful for a moment. "I got trust issues. But you know that. You know lots about me. I know lots about you. You may think you're puttin' on a real brave front for all o' those people in the stands, but I've seen how you're wilting out there."
Dean turns and looks at Seth fully. "You're dying out there. Got it? You used to have such a glow about you, and ever since mom and dad started having their doubts about, you've been looking over your shoulder and questioning everyone around you. I know the look of a guy who's losing his mind."
"Maybe it's just me spending way too much time around that giant fucking sap Roman, but I don't want to watch you go out like that."
Seth shivers, but it's not the night air.
Everything is just so fragile. He sees that now. One wrong move, one misunderstanding, and he was done.
He's just kind of staring at Dean now, lips pursed like he's locking them closed, keeping the words that are trapped in his head from rocketing out, saying something stupid.
Dean nods and shakes Seth's shoulder. "C'mon. Let's go inside; I think I'm gonna catch a fucking cold just looking at you."
He gets up, helps Seth to his feet. They walk back in complete silence, and Seth realizes they haven't actually spoken about much pertaining to the whole Authority turn. That's okay with Seth though. He'd rather fine-tune his backup plan and then take a fucking nap, because, wow, is he suddenly tired.
"I'm sorry."
It doesn't matter who said it first; they both stop in the middle of the hall and stare at each other like they've turned purple. Seth blinks and then clears his throat.
"I'm sorry," he repeats. "For everything. I honestly understand if you regret being my friend too. It's just, I know that I can get out of there on my own, but that's not even the point," and Seth doesn't care that he's rambling, probably doesn't even know, "I feel like it's not worth it if I just leave without getting anything back, and I don't mean the belt or the fame, or any of that shit; that doesn't even matter. I don't want it anymore. And I'm not saying that I just got tired of all of that, and I'm not saying that I got tired of you and Roman either. It's not a disposable thing, I mean-"
"Breathe, kiddo," Dean says gently, which in itself is insane, because Dean's not a gentle guy. But it shuts Seth up.
"I thought you said Roman didn't hurt you," Dean says now, eying Seth skeptically.
Seth furrows his brow in momentary confusion, then rolls his eyes. The bruises.
Damn sleeveless shirt.
"It doesn't matter," he says firmly. "And maybe it wasn't Roman, yeah? I was in the ring tonight."
Dean snorts. "Fucking please. You were in the ring for ten minutes with Cena and didn't do shit. He dragged your name through the mud for all ten of those minutes. You walked off without so much as a swing in edgewise."
Something ticks in Seth's brain. "It doesn't matter! Okay? You don't care –you shouldn't give a damn about what happens to me, right? I deserve whatever comes to me, right? I'm tired, okay? And Roman's probably wondering where you are."
Seth has literally no idea where all that venom came from, and he isn't exactly up to finding out why. He just wants to go to sleep and forget about how weird this day has been.
Forget about how part of him is thoroughly ecstatic that Dean is worried about him.
He doesn't deserve it. Roman knows that. Why doesn't Dean?
Seth's room is cold when he gets inside. Just like he left it.
He slips under the covers, slaps his room key on his bedside table. Vaguely he's reminded of the impromptu sleepover he'd had with Dean the day before as he curls in on himself under the sheets, and even fainter, fingertips brushing across his cheek bones, kind of chlorine-smelly and warm.
It's harder to fall asleep now that he's alone.
Especially now that he's alone.
Sometimes, if you didn't know Dean any better, you'd mistake his sense of humor for innuendo.
"I don't care if you don't trust him. Don't beat on Seth, alright?"
Roman grunts and rolls over. He'd been asleep when Dean had come in and seated himself on the edge of his bed.
"What?"
Dean stares at him in the darkness. "I saw those bruises you left. I thought you said you were just talking?"
Roman growls, either pissed at being woken up, or…
No, that was probably it. Being woken up to be scolded about someone he didn't even like –what was worse, someone Dean didn't even like, until now apparently.
"We got into it, so what? You punched him in the face more than once –you've left worse bruises than that," he says, sounding sleepy and positively venomous. Let him.
Wasn't like Dean cared anyway.
"Don't act like you never got mad at him," Roman continues. "Fucking hell, you act like he's your girlfriend or something."
Dean snorts. "Well, if you try to break his arm again like that, I'll beat you like the devil beats his girlfriend."
Roman laughs with no humor behind it and rolls over. Goes back to sleep.
Dean tries to. Really tries to.
Fuck Roman and his girlfriend jokes. He tells himself that it's because of him that Dean dreams of girls with blonde hair on one side of their heads and fucking beards.
And he's kind of okay with that.
hi everyone. might leave this here. let me know if you want more. if not, we'll just let Dean's unrequited love be unrequited forever.
-AC