I would kill to see Roman's face right now.
He'd answered the call with a grumbly voice. Seth didn't care what time it was, and he knew Roman wouldn't, either. If Dean was calling, he'd answer. "Hey, where are you? It's—"
"Roman! Buddy!" Seth's tongue slid between his teeth. His cheeks hurt from smiling, and the night hadn't even really begun yet. "How are ya?"
There was silence on the other end. Seth had been expecting shock, obviously, but he had to check the phone screen to make sure the call hadn't disconnected. He could imagine Roman sitting there, laying there, whatever, in disbelief. Anger. Above all, fear.
"Rollins?"
"Speaking!"
"Where's Dean?" His voice had sharpened. He was catching onto the scenario. Your little Dean's in a bit of a pickle, buddy.
Instead he said, "Oh, Dean and I are hanging out right now. Catching up, like the good old days. We'd love it if you could join us. We've got a lot we could talk about." He pressed more poise into his voice than he usually did, knowing it was the right tone to absolutely piss Roman—and Dean—off.
"Let me talk to him."
"Sure thing." Seth pulled the phone from his ear and pressed the Speaker option on the screen. "Roman wants to say hi, Dean."
"Roman?" Dean asked. Seth watched his chest rise up and down, up and down, in a panicked breath. Dean was catching on, too. Finally. This wasn't a joke for either of them. Their wisecracks and wit wouldn't save them here.
"Dean?" came Roman's voice. Was it shaking? "Are you hurt?"
"No, I'm fine," Dean grumbled. Lie of the century right there.
"What the hell's going on?"
"You can fill him in," Seth said, loud enough for Roman to hear.
Dean glared up at him. Without breaking eye contact, Dean spoke, "Seth…nabbed me off the street at some point. Has me tied up in some office."
No words, but Seth caught the sound of Roman's heavy, irregular exhalations. I'd give anything to see his face…!
"Where?" Roman growled. The Big Dog was a suitable nickname for him in that moment.
"Doesn't matter, Roman. You can't come here."
Whatever Roman's response to that was was overpowered by Seth's loud chuckle. "Oh, he's coming here, alright. You hear that, Roman? If you ever want to see Dean again, I suggest you follow my instructions very carefully. You got that?"
Seth imagined the conflict of Roman's mind. Common sense, logic, respect for himself and his own safety—banished by his will to protect Dean from whatever was to come.
"Where. Are. You."
"Commercial Automotive Warehouse off Grove Street. Can't miss it. But Roman? You're sounding a little angry right now. I get a little nervous when you're angry. And when I'm nervous, I tend to do really horrible things without thinking about them." Seth quickly upraised his foot, striking Dean in the face. He shouted out in pain, leaning back. "Don't make me nervous, Roman."
"Seth, I swear to God—"
"Oh, there's that tone again. You're freaking me out, Roman." Seth kicked Dean again, this time in the ribs. He was well aware of the minor rib injury Dean had sustained in his match against Sheamus. Dean slumped forward as much as his bondage allowed, grunting again. Seth held the phone close to Dean so Roman could hear everything. "You done yet?" he bayed.
Silence. The call was still going. "Good. Like I said, Commercial Automotive Warehouse. Grove Street. Come alone or I swear to God, Dean will pay for your mistakes. That understood?"
"Yes," Roman said, defeated.
"That's what I like to hear. See you soon, Roman."
Seth ended the call and tossed the phone back on the desk. He reclaimed his seat in front of Dean. "And he's going to get the surprise of his life once he gets there."
"There?" Dean asked, still slightly out of breath. Shock consumed his face as he realized, "Not here? You sent him somewhere else."
Seth clicked his tongue. "Damn. I spoiled the surprise on that one, didn't I? Won't make that mistake again."
Dean shook visibly in the ropes. "If you touch him…if you hurt him in any way…I swear I'll—"
"What? What are you gonna do? What's he going to do?" he announced to an imaginary audience. "You and Roman keep doing this. All talk and no action. Tell you what, if you can get out of that chair in the next thirty seconds and take my ass down, I'll call up my buddy and tell him not to lay a hand on Roman Reigns." Seth folded his arms over his chest, waiting.
The shaking was worse. Seth could only laugh inwardly as he watched Dean yank and jerk against those ropes. There was no suspense. He wasn't going anywhere. Bray had done a wonderful job. He must have been an expert in such a craft.
Finally, Dean gave up and swore under his breath, looking down.
"That's what I thought," Seth said.
"Fuck you, Rollins."
"Like I said. I can think of a few worse things to do with you. Maybe later, if you ask nicely. Won't be much worse than what's in store for Roman."
Seth hit a chord. Dean went mad in his bondage, writhing and shouting. Helpless little Dean. This was the best night of Seth's life. His ex-allies, his worst adversaries, up against perhaps the worst night of theirs.
Seth has Dean.
The words came as a much greater surprise than his previous thoughts did. Roman couldn't believe it, yet of course it was true. He'd heard Dean admit it himself. The cockiness tainting Seth's voice. There was no doubt. He wanted to believe it was a cruel prank. Dean, for some reason, was in cahoots with Seth to pull the biggest trick on Roman imaginable. But thankfully—and unfortunately, all at once—it wasn't a prank.
This was real.
Seth—batshit-crazy, demented, backstabbing Seth Rollins—kidnapped Dean Ambrose. Had him stashed away at some warehouse. For why? What purpose? Did the Authority have anything to do with this? Or was Seth just a psychopath who was willing to stoop to such low levels just to get back at his former brothers?
Roman was willing to believe either one.
He practically ran through the hotel lobby and through the parking lot. He leaped in his rental car, summoned the engine to life, and peeled out of the parking lot. He didn't know exactly where Grove Street was, but he was aware of the vicinity of the Commercial Automotive Warehouse. They'd passed it on their way to the Pepsi Center for tonight's episode of Raw.
His fingers were white, gripping the leather steering wheel of the rental. His arms were shaking, a combination of cold and anger. It was a quarter after one in the morning. He ignored the cold, his loathing of Seth heating his skin. He hoped Dean was warm in the warehouse. Perhaps Seth was kind enough to let him keep the jacket on.
The thought of Dean in any sort of peril…especially peril as real as this…there were no officials here to hold Seth back if he went too far. Hurt Dean too much. Don't think about that, he told himself, swerving onto the next street in a sharp right turn. The roads were black with ice. He forced himself to slow down. He couldn't save Dean if he wound up in the hospital after a car crash.
"It'll be fine," he spoke aloud. His breath came out in a wispy cloud. "It'll be okay." Hang on, Dean. I'll get you back. And I'll murder Seth if he hurt you.
The warehouse, as Seth had said, was fairly easy to find. He shot past the red and white sign for the business and pulled the car to a screeching halt. It was quiet outside. Snow fell from the swirling white heavens like salt out of a shaker. Roman slammed his car door shut, hoping anyone who heard it—if anyone could hear it—would realize Roman was there, and he was willing to do anything to get his Dean back.
The glass door leading into the main structure appeared to be locked up tight; however, a metal garage door was slightly ajar at the bottom, a rusty old lock cast aside. Roman felt someone left the door like this on purpose, the lock in full view to deliver a message: I'm expecting you. Come on in.
Roman heaved the rickety door like it weighed nothing. He stepped into the chilly warehouse, and once he let go of the door, it fell noisily shut behind him, rattling against the concrete. If they didn't know I was here before, they should now.
Inside wasn't nearly as big as he'd been expecting, for a warehouse. It was set up more like a garage, without any cars. The walls were aligned with racks of tools, shelves toppled with toolboxes. Tables were pressed against the walls, also lined with tools. There was no sign of anyone in here except himself.
"Where are you, you son of a bitch!?" he shouted. His voice echoed off the walls, bounced back into his eardrums.
A light came on, blinding him for a moment. Roman shielded his eyes. A familiar laugh was the next sound to shake the walls.
Roman dropped his arms and looked around. He couldn't pinpoint the source of the laugh, but he knew it and knew it well.
It belonged to Bray Wyatt.
He was in on this, too?
Loud music blared from four speakers in the top corners of the warehouse. Roman's hands nearly flew over his ears to protect his hearing, but he recognized the music quicker than the laugh. It was Dean's theme music, the song "Retaliation." His arms fell to his sides again. Roman looked up and down, behind him and ahead, but he still saw nobody. No Bray, no Seth, no Dean.
The song played until the very end, then faded out. "Show yourself!" Roman screamed. He sensed this was yet another mind game. They might have gotten old, but they were still effective.
Instead, something else played over the speakers. It was Dean's voice.
"I'm ready. I'm always ready. I was born ready. Question is, are you ready? 'Cause you look a little uptight. You look a little tense. You look a little stiff. Bray Wyatt gettin' in here a little bit? Making you a little upset? Making you a little angry? That's good! I like my Roman Reigns angry. I like my Roman Reigns upset. That guy that got kicked out of Smackdown last week for roughin' people up—that's the guy I want in the ring with me tonight in the main event against Seth Rollins and Kane, because you already know, baby, no disqualification."
It was a recording of a conversation Roman and Dean had had before a no-disqualification match against Kane and Seth Rollins. Roman then heard his own voice from the recording.
"I hate Bray Wyatt. I hate the Authority. I don't like anybody around here, other than you. You're the only family I really got around here."
"How precious!" the voice of the very one Roman had sworn hatred for cried out in mocking delight. "Rollins was right about you, Roman, my dear. All this time I thought I had you right where I wanted you, but now…only now do I realize how much I've been missing."
His voice pricked from the speakers. Roman had to track him down. There had to be a door, a staircase, somewhere.
"I've always known you're weak, Roman. You act tough, you bark, you talk about tearing down walls and ripping people apart…but on the inside you're afraid. You're so delicate. And your undoing is so apparent that it's a wonder I didn't figure it out before."
By now Roman had walked every inch of floor inside the garage. Only on his last steps did he see a door, a white door with a gleaming golden knob.
"Dean Ambrose is your weakness."
He reached for the knob.
"You're a man…in love."
Roman pushed the door open.
Bray Wyatt was waiting for him.
The husky ogre of a man knocked into Roman, sending him to the cold concrete floor. Roman's arms broke his fall. Bray approached him slowly, taking his time with his prey. Roman pushed himself back, trying to regain his balance, clutching his arm. Already bruises were forming where he'd hit the floor.
"There's no escape for you now," Bray cooed. "You're all mine."
"Cute jacket," Seth jeered, lifting Roman's jacket from the floor. Dean had been stripped of it before he was bound. "Yours? Or Roman's?" He pitched the jacket at Dean. It hit his face, then slid into his lap.
Dean sighed. This probably wouldn't work. But he had to try.
"Seth," he said. His wrists ached from his struggle against the ropes. He couldn't deny the pleasant aroma he picked up from the jacket. It smelled deeply of pine and dark chocolate. Like Roman on a day he wasn't sweating and bleeding. "You can't do this to him. To us."
Seth snorted. "There hasn't been an 'us' since last year, buddy. You and Roman mean nothing to me. I care about the Authority, and I care about my championship belt. I wouldn't waste any concern on you or your boyfriend."
Dean's face burned red. He hoped to God Seth would read it as anger, not humiliation. "I hate what the Authority did to you. They really messed you up in there, huh?" He pointed his fingers, trying to refer to Seth's head. His fucked-up, empty head.
"The Authority does what needs to be done. They think exactly like I do. I should have been with them the entire time, instead of wasting my time with you two. But living with regrets is almost as big of a waste of time and energy as the Shield was. So I try not to let it ruin my future."
Dean sighed. It was pointless. He should have known. He couldn't worry himself over winning Seth over right now. He was worried sick for Roman. Had no idea what was "in store" for him.
The phone in Seth's hand—Dean's phone—buzzed. Seth answered the call. "Hello. Oh, really? That was fast. Alright, you know what to do." He dismissed the call and grinned down at Dean. "Showtime."
Dean's heart rammed against his ribcage. Seth walked over to the TV and powered it on. Dean blinked at whatever was showing. It was too dark to tell.
"Should have made popcorn for this one," Seth said. He dragged his chair beside Dean, dropped down into it. From here Dean was nearly close enough to head-butt the bastard. But his eyes were glued to the screen. What was happening?
Roman's voice came through the television. "Where are you, you son of a bitch!?"
A light came on. Someone laughed. Roman came into view, wandering the grounds of the garage. Dean was baffled when his own music played next. He was forced to listen to his own theme for four minutes while watching Roman desperately hunting him down.
"Show yourself!" Roman screamed at the end of the song.
Dean listened to his own voice then. His own words. Encouraging Roman to get angry, get upset, for the sake of their upcoming match.
"My Roman Reigns," Seth mocked, snickering. "That's cute. He really outdid himself here."
"He"? Right. Seth's "buddy." The one really meeting Roman at the fake location. Dean racked his brain for the culprit.
Then he realized.
Only one man toyed with Roman like this.
And did a damn good job of it, too.
Bray Wyatt.
Sure enough. "How precious!"
Seth nudged Dean. "You ready for the match of the year, Dean-o?"
Bray was going to ambush Roman. He was taunting him now, mocking, howling at the soft spot Roman had for Dean. Dean was infuriated. It was a wonder the ropes hadn't snapped from the labor.
"Dean Ambrose is your weakness," the villain announced.
Roman approached a door. Dean nearly screamed at him not to open it. Like he was watching a horror movie featuring a stupid main character.
"You're a man…in love."
Seth cackled as Roman opened the door.
When Bray Wyatt emerged from the shadows and struck Roman, knocking him to the ground, Seth cried out, "Oh! Did not see that one coming."
Dean bit down hard on his lip. Roman could take Bray. He'd done it before. Several times. He had nothing to worry about. Nothing to worry about—
Then he noticed Bray Wyatt was armed. With a tire iron.
Bray hovered over Roman, who was struggling to get back on his feet. No. He couldn't go down just like that. Not his Roman Reigns.
"Come on, Roman," Dean muttered. His veins nearly burst through his taut biceps. "Get the fuck up."
"Boo, Roman. Boo," Seth said. He held up a thumbs-down on both hands. "Go Bray."
Dean could have closed his eyes. Made it all go away. Pretend it wasn't happening. But like a driver passing a nasty car accident, his attention was fully fixed on the unofficial match. He watched Bray Wyatt hover over Roman, laugh. When Roman was on his feet again, Bray hurled the tire iron into his arm. Roman collapsed. Bray swung the tire iron the opposite way, hitting his other arm.
"No Superman punches from the Big Dog today," Seth commented.
A hot tear stung the corner of Dean's eye. No. He couldn't see this. Couldn't sit here and watch Roman get destroyed by Bray Wyatt. He tried closing his eyes. Seth's response was to crank the volume up. "You're not gonna miss this," he said, hitting Dean's cheek. In those five words, his arrogance was gone. Replaced by pure wrath. This was a twisted fucking individual.
Dean heard nothing but the whack of the tire iron against whatever part of Roman's body, then Roman's yells just before taking another hit. Finally they stopped, and Bray was the one to let out a holler. Dean forced his eyes open. Roman had lifted his legs and kicked Bray in the hand. The tire iron went flying across the room. Bray held his hand. Roman kicked him again, this time in the gut. Bray stumbled back a step or two, but he wasn't completely distracted. Drawn off for long enough for Roman to finally get his ass off the floor.
Roman cradled his right arm. His good arm. Dean figured it was broken in at least one place. Don't let that stop you, Roman. He voiced his hopes aloud, to annoy Seth and comfort his boiling emotions. "Fuck yeah, Roman! Don't let that crazy-ass hillbilly keep you down forever!" His tongue went through his teeth. Roman can do this. He can do this.
Bray lunged at Roman, who swung his left arm up as a defense. It knocked Bray back several more steps. He was clearly bewildered. It allowed Roman more time to recover his strength. He charged at Bray Wyatt, arm up. It was his injured arm, but his best one. He soared past Bray, clocking him in the face. It was enough power to finally get Bray on the ground. Roman spun around, stopping himself before he collided with a table. Bray stumbled to his feet. He shoved his hair from his face. He was fuming, but still smiling. What was up with that?
Roman charged yet again, shouting out as he struck Bray in the throat, then held his head in place to deliver seven punches to Bray's face. Bray finally tried defending himself by locking an arm around Roman's throat, but Roman used the move to his advantage, wrapping his arms around Bray tight and leaping up. The move sent them both to the floor, Roman on top of Bray.
"Even outside the ring, my boy's a champion," Dean said, laughing. Seth really thought this was going to be torture? Hell, even Dean thought so not five minutes ago. He was confident in Roman.
Roman straddled Bray, throwing punch after punch into his already-bleeding nose. Bray grabbed Roman by the arms and squeezed tight. Roman howled in agony as a muscle already injured took even more damage. Bray lifted Roman up by his arms alone and hurled him into a table. The corner struck Roman in the ribs. He collapsed on the floor.
"Yeah!" Seth shouted. "Get him!"
Bray hoisted Roman up by the arms and threw him onto the table, pinning him against the rough wood. With a slick hand he fetched the closest tool, a hammer. Dean's heart dropped to his stomach. No, oh fuck, oh fuck, no.
The demon brought the hammer down towards Roman's chest as though to break every rib. Roman outstretched his hands and caught the hammer before it made contact with his body. Bray tried to shake the hammer free from Roman's grasp, but Roman held on tight. With his other hand, Bray pressed into Roman's throat tight. Roman started losing oxygen. His grip on the hammer loosened. His hands went instead to his throat. Once his weapon of choice was back under his full control, Bray struck Roman in the side of the head, then lowered the weapon to his tender ribcage. Blow upon blow upon blow.
Dean was thrashing harder than ever. Tears glided from the corners of his eyes, down his cheek, into his ears. "STOP!" he bellowed though he knew damn well Bray couldn't hear him—and wouldn't stop even if he could. "NO! STOP! NO!"
Seth wasn't saying anything. He didn't call Dean out on tears over Roman. He didn't hoot and holler at Bray's successes. It would have been a strange occurrence if Dean wasn't so distracted.
Roman slumped to the floor. He was barely moving. Dean held his own breath, hoping somehow he could detect signs of life from Roman if he was quiet enough. Bray knelt down and lifted Roman's head in his hands. Roman's eyes were closed. Dean closed his own, tears filling his lids and seeping through the slits. His head slumped as lethargically as Roman's entire physique had.
No.
This wasn't happening.
He couldn't lose Roman.
Wouldn't.
He'd never accept it.
Roman completed Dean.
They needed each other.
Without Roman, Dean was not whole.
He loved Roman…
I love him. I love Roman so fucking much. God, if You're listening, please do not fucking take him from me…