The thing about Seth was that he had a habit of isolating himself from everyone else when he really got to thinking. He would come up with an idea and then you wouldn't see him for a few days, and then when you looked for him, it was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. Dean used to joke that if you wanted to find him, you could always check for signs of smoke anywhere; the gears in Seth's head would be turning so quickly that the stuff would billow from his ears or something.
So here it was, two days after the confrontation with Roman in the hallway, and Seth was nowhere to be found.
"I always hated when he did that," the Samoan grumbles. Mostly it was just him hating to be kept in the dark, more than actual worry for Seth's wellbeing wherever he was. And it wasn't like he could just call the kid up and ask him where he was; Seth didn't answer his phone at all when he was off being mysterious and sage-like, and part of Roman still didn't like him enough to give him even the slightest satisfaction of receiving a call asking of his whereabouts.
Dean nonchalantly shrugs him off though. "At least he's being productive," he offers, steadily flipping through television channels. Roman grunts, eyes darkening quickly. "Yeah, that's what I'm worried about. He's being productive, but with who?"
Dean glances over at him and finally stops punching the remote's 'channel up' button. Roman feels his friend watching, finally looks over to find unimpressed blue eyes boring into him.
"What?"
"C'mon, man, don't be like that," Dean says.
Roman rolls his eyes and throws his hands into the air. "What, you're saying you trust him now?"
"I'm willing to give him the benefit of a doubt," Dean clarifies. Honestly, you would think he had forgotten how hard the betrayal had been on himself as well as Roman, the way he was just brushing shit off like that.
"You know him," Dean continues, muttering now, like he's talking to himself instead of Roman.
Roman snorts. "I thought I did."
"You know him," Dean repeats with a firmness, "well enough to know that he wouldn't half kill himself for show."
If Roman rolls his eyes anymore, they'll probably pop right out of his skull. "Please. He'd do a lot of things for show. He'd probably cut off his left hand to get sympathy from someone."
"Rome."
"What?"
Dean is staring at him with hard glass eyes now. "He passed out and I had to carry him back to the hotel."
"Is that supposed to make me feel sorry for him?"
"You know how he is about his body. He hasn't been eating for weeks. Something's wrong with him."
"Why are you throwing yourself so heavily into this?" Roman demands. He's beyond annoyed right now, both with Seth and Dean.
"I've been waiting," Dean murmurs. He trails off and then returns with a stronger resolution, "I've been waiting for the old Seth, and I can see it in him now after all this time. I'm not about to lose him; if I have to grab him and wrap my hands around his throat just to make sure he stays put, if I have to hold him for so long that we melt together, if I have to stand on my fucking head to see him smile like he used to."
And something makes sense to Roman. It's not quite what Dean was trying to tell him, but he understands something now. "You sure are fighting awfully hard for him," he says slowly.
Dean doesn't say anything, shakes his head. He hasn't seemed to pick up on the fact that Roman knows something he doesn't.
So Roman keeps the game up a little longer. "Want to tell me why?"
Dean meets him cold. "A while ago, wouldn't you have done the same fucking thing?"
"But why you? You aren't exactly the guy with the best track record for trust."
Dean is quiet for so long that Roman wonders if he's just begun ignoring him. He almost decides to just ask the question head on, but Dean eventually mutters something so low that Roman barely even hears it.
"We're brothers."
Well, yeah, there's that but…
A blind man could see that Roman Reigns was opposed to the whole idea of Dean having feelings for Seth. He knew damn well that Dean had a thing for Seth; it was pretty obvious. Maybe it was because he knew him so well. He was still learning; Dean was like a baby, in the way that he didn't come with a manual. You had to learn on the job.
But there was always a moment in time, a little quirk of the lips or arc of electricity in his eyes that gave away exactly what Dean was thinking, even if he didn't really realize it himself. When he saw Seth, his eyes went kind of quiet. His smile was quiet. He was quiet. Everything about the explosive man was near silent, like he was content to just watch Seth, scared that if he was too loud, he'd shatter everything around them.
Sometimes Roman went so far as to wonder sometimes if the only reason Dean had accepted Seth again so quickly was because he was trying to get in his good graces. It should be the other way around, damn it.
Seth resurfaces in time for the next show.
He does a pretty good job of staying out of their way for the majority of the night, but around the corner, on the way back from catering, Roman walks past a mostly quiet hallway –'mostly quiet' because the easily recognizable low rumble of John Cena reaches his ears. Roman pauses, noticing the two figures standing in the hall, talking quietly with little gestures with their hands. Even without the blonde in his hair, Roman still recognizes the build of one Seth Rollins, even if it is a bit smaller than usual, standing in front of the superman himself.
It's odd enough to see the two rivals actually talking to each other and not punching one another in the face, but things kind of cross over from pretty odd to pretty weird in a matter of moments. Seth actually cracks a smile at John, which is returned at almost full force, and the two continue talking in hushed voices.
And when did Seth start letting John Cena of all people touch him?
The former champ has his hand pressed against the side of Seth's face, looking at him with something Roman can't really explain. He says something –what, Roman doesn't know- and grins, nodding his head in satisfaction. He retracts his hand then and moves it down Seth's arm, gives him a friendly punch in the shoulder after the moment lingers on.
Roman moves on after that. It really isn't his business, and he really doesn't care who Seth chooses to hang out with so long as it doesn't pose an issue to Roman himself.
Curious, though.
"So he's going after the United States belt next, eh?"
Dean nods his head in approval as he watches the monitor. "Greedy little shit. Maybe I wanted to win that one, huh? Seein' as how you got the Intercontinental an' all. I feel left out."
Roman shrugs, staring straight ahead and not really watching whatever it was Seth was doing on the monitor. "We can see about gettin' you the Diva's title, if that makes you feel any better."
He gets a dig in the arm for his trouble.
"Well, if it isn't the superman," Dean suddenly barks out at something across the room. Roman looks up and grimaces. Cena.
"Fair warning, Seth's comin' for your belt," Dean continues, leaning back in his chair with an elbow on the back rest. John, in his bright orange traffic cone t-shirt, sidles on up next to them, gazing up at the monitor.
"Yeah? Well, good luck to him. He's gonna need it," says John. Something about that makes Roman cringe.
"Speaking of which, how are things?"
Dean quirks an eyebrow.
"What? What things?"
John shrugs. "I haven't seen the two of you trying to tear off a piece of Rollins at all recently. Though, you guys have had your hands pretty full with the Wyatt's, eh?"
Dean shrugs. "Seth's not exactly the biggest threat at the moment. We got bigger things to worry about than some spoiled brat. Besides, Brock was doin' a pretty good job of ripping the kid a new one anyway."
"Nice vacation, huh?"
"Been fun," Dean nods offhandedly. "But now he's your problem. He's coming after that US title of yours; when it comes time to scuffle boots, give 'em hell for us, got it?"
John tilts his head to one side, and then he smirks. Like a smug little shit.
Seth is talking to John again after the show.
From the looks of it, he's already packed his gear up and taken a shower, now standing in the hall in a hoodie and jeans that still look a little loose on his body.
They don't speak loudly, stay off to the side so that people can keep walking around them, though there aren't that many stragglers roaming the halls now; the show's been over for at least an hour.
Unlike earlier, Seth and John aren't using their hands to communicate: Seth's are shoved in the front pockets of his hoodie, John's hidden within the crooks of his folded arms. Whatever they're talking about, it's got nothing to do with being enemies. People's faces tended to contort when they were speaking to rivals; like they couldn't quite contain all of that venom in a straight face.
Seth isn't like that. He looks completely calm, like the two of them are just chatting about the weather or something.
John nods once Seth's stopped talking and offers him his hand. Seth shakes it, the hints of a small grin pulling at the corner of his mouth.
A blink-and-you'll-miss-it moment.
Then they're parting ways, Seth heading back in Roman's direction, and John with his back to the both of them.
Seth shoulder's his bag and scratches at the back of his hooded head, probably on his way to the parking lot, stretching with one arm.
"So."
The sudden voice startles him. He glares up at Roman, lurking like a shadow around the corner. Dean is sitting next to him on top of a black equipment box, looking cool as a cucumber. It's Roman that looks like he has something he wants to say.
"When did you two get so sneaky?" Seth deadpans. He's kind of tired of being startled by his former teammates. It used to be the other way around.
Roman shrugs. "When did you and Cena get so chummy?"
Seth raises an eyebrow, but remains unimpressed. "Never took you for the jealous boyfriend type, big guy."
Maybe it's a little early to start jabbing at Roman like they used to, what with the wounds still so fresh. But damn it, he'd had enough of people looking over his shoulder like he was some kind of criminal that had to be watched every moment of the day. To appease the man, Seth sighs and clarifies, "I get that I'm on some type of probation from you guys, but really, this is a little much. Don't you have anything better to do than follow me around to make sure I'm not sleeping with the enemy? What did you do before when I was gone?"
"It wouldn't feel like probation," says Roman, looking at Seth with hard slate eyes, "if you hadn't turned on us like you did. You'll forgive us if your privacy isn't really a priority right now."
Seth's eyes go comically wide. "What –you mean Cena? You know that guy's squeaky clean; why would I be conspiring with him? That boyscout probably hasn't done a bad thing a day in his life; aside from that godawful Thuganomics thing. He wouldn't snitch."
"Still," this comes from Dean. "It is a little odd that you two are talking without beating each other up."
Seth rolls his eyes and frowns. "Isn't that what we're doing though?"
"You aren't trying to get off easy in the title match with are you?'
It kind of makes Roman smile at how disgusted Seth looks with the question. "Fuck off, you know I wouldn't do that. Why does it matter anyway? It's got nothing to do with any tricks up my sleeve or 'super secret alliances' or whatever. Maybe I'm trying to patch things up with a lot of people. Maybe I'm genuinely trying to make things right again."
"Don't tell me you're trying to make friends with John Cena of all people."
The hostility in Seth's eyes is not unlike that in Roman's.
"Maybe I am? I mean, it wouldn't hurt to be in the good graces of the guy who's been one of the most powerful faces in the company for over a fucking decade. But that's not even the point. That's not what's going on here. Cena's just…" Seth trails off, a little perturbed by the expression on Dean's face. It's weird, like he's seeing Seth, but not really. The thousand-yard stare, but to a lesser extent, and looks more like a death glare than a trip down memory lane.
Seth runs a hand over his hair, brushing the hood away, and sighs. "He wanted to tell me…may the best man win. Y'know. At Summerslam. No tricks or gimmicks. Just a clean fight."
Roman nods, still looking pensive. And for the life of him, Seth can't explain why Dean is still looking at him like he might tackle him to the floor.
"Are you two…" Roman gestures from Seth towards the opposite direction, where John had disappeared. He raises an eyebrow. It takes a moment for Seth to comprehend, still curious as to why Dean was being so weird. When it clicks, the look Seth gives Roman is packing enough venom to kill small animals.
"No. What the hell are you even thinking? Just because you see me talking to him, you automatically –he's dating Nikki, for fuck's sake!"
Roman shrugs, raises a hand in placation. "Hey, everyone knows he can't give her what she wants. Maybe they've both decided to move on."
Seth kneads his temples, already very annoyed, and it isn't even Dean's fault, which was a first.
"What do you want from me, guys?" he finally relents. "I'm telling you everything, and everything is true. What more do you want?"
"Where've you been?"
It surprises Seth when he hears Dean's voice. It isn't worried or angry. Just…curious.
"Thinking. Trying to put the pieces together in my head before I tried anything else out."
"And?"
Seth looks between the two former Shield members and hums.
"What are you guys doing tonight?"
Seth tosses a French fry at Dean and laughs when he catches it in his mouth halfway across the room.
"Two points."
Dean shakes his head. "Nah, it wasn't seasoned or anything. One point."
"Fuck you."
"If you ask nicely."
Seth rolls his eyes, catches sight of Roman doing the same thing from the other bed.
They've ordered room service and settled for camping out in Seth's hotel room for an hour or so while they eat and discuss the plan for Summerslam. So far the only thing that's happened has been an impromptu game of basketball with the French fries and an argument over the finer points of how to make a good barbecue chicken sandwich. Roman has occupied the vacant bed on the right side of the room and Dean has systematically made his way around the room from bed to floor to chair and finally back to floor again. Seth is halfway melted into the pillows at the head of his bed, somehow managing to curl all six feet of him into the corner like a bird in a nest. He's been grazing from a salad the entire time, one cucumber, one piece of lettuce, one tomato at a time.
"This is why you and Roman are going to be the ones to get the tag team belts; at least you won't talk to him like a horny teenage girl all the time," says Seth, popping a piece of lettuce into his mouth, generously slathered in ranch dressing. "It was already the obvious decision. I mean, no one would believe it if one of you guys tagged with me, and we just aren't quite there yet are we?"
He sounds far away around the end of the sentence, musingly.
"Still, it isn't like we've been close enough in each other's business to be believable enough to go after the tag team titles respectively," says Roman. "The operative word is tag team. We aren't exactly a faction anymore. If we won them together, it would feel like an awkward and clumsy win."
"Well, do you have any better ideas? I mean, it's only the two of you, and there's really no one else to pair either of you with that would feel believable. Not to mention, no one who's in on this whole thing."
Dean has had this thoughtful look on his face for a little while now, while Seth and Roman have been going back and forth.
"Why not super Cena?" he pipes up suddenly from the floor. When Seth gives him an odd look, he points at his open mouth and adds, "one fry, one answer."
Once Seth throws a fry in his direction –"you know, you can just get up and come get some fries if you want to"- he elaborates. "Why not stick him with one of us and say the reasoning behind it was because he just wanted to rub it in your face that he has some semblance of what you left behind."
Seth seems to weigh it out in his mind. "I mean, we could, but none of you have really seen eye-to-eye before; it would be even more awkward to put you together when he doesn't really have much business in the feud in the first place. And anyway, he doesn't know what we're doing. You guys on the other hand, while you don't really seem the types to team up for the tag titles, you can just play it off like you just want them because you're bored. Y'know, for shits and giggles. You're not actually trying very hard to get them, you just want to wreck some people's stuff like you used to, since those are the only two titles left open at this point."
He leans back and sighs, thinking hard. "I guess that's all we can hope for."
"What's next after that?"
If Roman knows one thing for fucking certain, it's the way Seth's mind works. He might not say it, but he's already got the next three steps planned out; he just didn't want to overwhelm everyone else with the influx of information. The kid was smart, he'd give him that. But where he was smart, Stephanie was cunning.
"You know," he continues out loud, "that once we do this, Stephanie's going to catch on eventually. All three former Shield members holding belts? She'll think something's up. Got a plan for that?"
Seth doesn't even look bothered. In fact, his eyes are sharp and give off a shine like the cold glimmer of a steel knife blade.
"Please," he says, looking at Roman with those impish eyes, "she may have been the mastermind behind the biggest schemes in this company, but I've outsmarted bigger liars and thieves. She likes to work in the shadows and prey on people's most precious things. I can work within her shadows and then some. By the time she realizes what's happening, we'll have already broken her hold on the company."
Stephanie didn't operate under the saying 'one man's trash is another man's treasure.' She saw her employees as expendable things, a means to an end. Once she'd wheedled away at them all she could, she would dispose of them. She was good at breaking people; just look at the Big Show, once a giant powerhouse, now reduced to being nothing more than the world's largest bitch under the Authority's reign.
But Seth was good at breaking people too; examples A and B were currently sitting on his floor and bed at the moment. He knew how to prey on people's greatest insecurities and the things they loved most too. He knew how to stay two steps ahead and have a contingency plan on the side for every outcome; even the bad ones. Especially the bad ones.
"After the three of us have the belts, then we have to play our cards right and take the Authority apart little bit by little bit. For me, that means sticking as many wrenches in Stephanie's plans as I can behind the scenes; I have to take out her attack dogs first," Seth says, nibbling on the pad of his thumb. "You two will play the good guys and try to get some momentum from the locker room; if you've got wind in your sails, then you can go anywhere. They back you up, we've got ourselves extra firepower."
"Why can't we just kill 'em all on the spot?" asks Dean, lazily gesturing to Roman to throw him another French fry. "It would be easier than sneaking around with all this cloak and dagger shit, right?"
"It would, but that's a short term plan, and that's dangerous in itself," says Seth. "If we get enough guys willing to back us, god forbid if something goes wrong, then we won't fall back a step if, say, something happens to one of us. We all know Hunter fights like a starved dog when he's cornered. If we let on that he's losing ground, he'll just come at us all at once and take us out at the same time. If that happens, we're fucked. Someone's got to be in the lead at all times." He looks at Roman.
"If it's not me, it's you. If it's not you, it's Dean. There always has to be one of us playing the gamble. If we avoid freaking Hunter out, we can get through this smoothly, without any of us losing an eye or something. If Stephanie smells blood in the water, it's over. She'll give us everything she's got if she thinks we're trying to mess with her."
Dean nods, but Roman has to ask, "You're taking out the attack dogs, you said. Gimme an idea on who they're supposed to be."
"Obviously, it's going to be the big guys. Big Show, most likely, since Kane has already been put out of commission," Seth explains, counting them off on his fingers, "they've barely got a leash on him, but Brock Lesnar is second guess. Undertaker's got dibs on him, so we'll let him deal with that.
"That leaves Kevin Owens, Bray Wyatt, and fucking Sheamus especially with that Money in the Bank contract on the obvious offensive. And," Seth sighs and rubs his forehead, "if I even try to handle Sheamus, I'm gonna have to deal with Randy Orton by extension. He's been gunning for that redhead's contract for weeks now, and he isn't really my biggest fan either. Far as he's concerned, I'm a consolation prize."
"You're gonna try and take 'em on alone?" asks Dean. There's something in the cadence of his voice that sounds off. Worry? Disbelief? Awe?
Seth shrugs. "I mean, may as well. I'm the only one who can get close enough to them to take them out without Stephanie and Hunter focusing all their attention on you two. You've got enough work cut out for you as it is."
Roman raises and eyebrow. "The tag titles? Please, that's hardly work."
"Maybe not," says Seth, "but you've got Wyatt on your tail too. You guys have history; Stephanie's for damn sure gonna capitalize on that. Especially now that you've got a title. He's work enough."
The silence that settles over the trio voices truth enough.
"It'll be a while before you can challenge for the tag titles," Seth eventually says. "When it's time, you've got to be quick. Don't give Stephanie any breathing room; if she catches on, she'll probably invent some stupid stipulation match to keep you guys from winning. Don't mess it up. I'll do my best to make it as stressless as possible, but no promises. You two aren't the only ones keeping a close eye on me."
Roman nods, slow and solemn. "But," he says sharply, low and cold in his baritone, "if they catch you, I'm not so sure you wouldn't sell us out to save your own skin."
Seth shakes his head, pushes the salad away. He's not very hungry anymore.
"I already told you. There's no reason to save my own skin."
Thankfully, Dean and Roman write that off as Seth's confidence in his own plan.
Dean wakes up on the floor.
The lamplight is still on, filling the room with a yellow glow from the bedside table. Roman is sprawled on the left bed, long legs hanging over the edge, arms folded under his head.
Seth is turned away from the world, one hand curling and uncurling in tiny spasms in his sleep. It reminds Dean of babies. How he knows baby mannerisms is weird in itself, but no one ever asked him why he knows that, so he doesn't talk about it.
He doesn't turn the light off.
The mattress gives way as he shifts his weight into it, but Seth hardly even stirs. He flinches, makes a fist, then relaxes again into whatever sleep he's having. Dean wonders if he's dreaming. Then he wonders what he's dreaming of.
Maybe Crossfit. Maybe he's coming up with more plans in his sleep.
Whatever it is, Dean is happy it's there in Seth's head, because it means he can watch Seth without him waking up and being weirded out by Dean sitting on the edge of his bed, having the time of his life just looking at him while he sleeps.
Dean wonders, as he relaxes into the pattern of Seth's shallow breathing, if he's the epitome of head over heels for someone. Like, he's just tickled pink to be here, watching Seth breathe of all things. Doesn't that show just how fucked up he is for him?
Dean's never been in love before. Sure, he's loved people, like the people who were there through his life who actually cared about him. Like his niece. Like Sammi. Like Seth. Like Roman.
But this is a different kind of love –like- isn't it?
Like, let's tell terrible jokes to each other because you actually really like their smile. Like, every time they start talking, you just get hopelessly dizzy. Like, sometimes you forget to finish sentences because they suddenly looked at you.
Like, you just like being around them so much that you stand over them at night and watch them sleep.
Okay, that one could teeter over the line of insanity, but this kind of love made you ask yourself if this was what you thought it was, and you answered yourself, 'probably'.
Dean was in –like? Maybe? Possibly?- with a complete nerd, and it made him so topsy-turvy to even begin to think about it.
So many 'L' words.
Full speed.
That's how Seth is moving this week. Summerslam is lurking around the corner like an alleyway monster, the Authority is desperately trying to keep it fed so that it doesn't attack the audience come Sunday and horribly cripple someone, and Seth has learned that there are over five thousand nerves in the human body and Kevin fucking Owens has managed to get on every last one of them.
Seth had known that Owens would be the hardest to crack. While you could beat Bray Wyatt well enough by outsmarting his contest of wits, and Sheamus was easier to windup than a windup toy, Owens was the epitome of a cool cucumber. Nothing got to him. He didn't deal in smarts or insults, one-upmanship or any petty garbage like that.
He knew he was good, and he was just here to have a good time. Everyone knew he was good. He was really being paid to come to work and be good.
In a lot of ways, Owens was kind of like Dean. They were both top-notch fighters, they both knew it, they both kind of punched people in the face with how not-bothered they were.
But the similarities ended there, because of one thing in particular. Where Owens lacked empathy, Dean had an insecurity for almost every letter of the alphabet. Granted, he did a fair job of keeping most of them hidden and under wraps, his Achilles' heel stood out like a sore thumb.
"Trust me," was not a saying Dean took lightly. You could make or break Dean Ambrose with that word. He probably held trust in a higher value than he did money or romance or really anything. It was the one thing he lacked, one thing he craved.
Kevin Owens gave no fucks. Period. And that made him attack dog A.
"He's my first priority. Physically, he isn't even remotely the strongest guy on the Authority's side, but the guy's like a steel vault. You can't get to him. Jokes about his weight, doubting his strength –none of that works. You have to take him out physically," says Seth.
"Why shouldn't it be Rome then?" Dean asks. He's taping his wrists, not looking at the job he's doing or even Seth as he talks to him. "He's got a few pounds on me. Couple dozen on you, especially since you decided to stop eating for all those weeks. He can take out that giant fucker Owens no problem."
"Because Wyatt," Seth replies simply. "I can't ask him to take Owens and the Family on at the same time. Four against one? No way."
"I'm with him," Dean retorts, now looking at Seth with faux annoyance, which turns real when Seth snorts.
"Yeah, two against four powerhouses? Not a chance in hell. And don't forget, just because we aren't strangling each other behind closed doors, it doesn't mean that I'll go easy on you in the ring," Dean makes a curious noise, makes some filthy comment about strangling kinks that Seth immediately talks straight over, "I still have to keep appearances up. And I know you won't, but don't even think of pulling your punches. Hit me like you hit me before."
And maybe it isn't Dean who's doing the hitting, but the pain, when it comes, is worth it.
John comes by later, after Summerslam has come and gone for the year, pokes his head into the locker room.
"Jesus, you're just like Roman," Seth says. He's grinning when he laces up his sneakers though. "Really, I'm okay. He used to mother hen over me and Dean all the time too."
John shrugs sheepishly, raises his hands in placation. "Just wanted to be sure. And congrats. Hope that," he gestures to the United States belt lying on the bench next to Seth, "helps you towards…whatever it is the three of you are working on."
Seth hesitates momentarily, and corrects himself before he thinks it's noticeable.
"What? Who three? Trips and Steph?"
John shakes his head, and in that instance, Seth knows that he hasn't been fooled. "Roman and Dean."
"What are you talking about? I'm not working with those two losers."
John smiles. "You can drop the act, you know. I already know you kids are playing nice again. Towards what, I don't know, but I'm sure it'll be a hell of a ride. You three were always the best at that."
He claps Seth on the shoulder and then turns for the door. "Take care, Seth. Hope whatever it is works out between the three of you."
"What's next on the agenda, cap'n?"
"Night of Champions. Be careful."
"You too."
if you get bored, we can stop.
and ksv12, or Kelly, i just want you to know that you nearly made me late to class the morning I got your comment; i just kind of curled up under the covers and whimpered in gratitude. so thanks for that.
-AC