"We never should've trusted you!"

It comes from Dean, standing over Seth while the latter looks on, bruised and battered. Dean looks absolutely livid, blue eyes blazing. Seth can see his fists shaking, muscles tremoring, and all he can think of now is how he hadn't meant for this to happen.

He sees now; they really shouldn't have trusted him.


Seth has been staring at his phone for almost twenty minutes now. He turns it over and over in his hands like it might change shape and color if he continues to stare at it, only punching the home button every once in a while, glancing at the screen with dull eyes. There's one unanswered message in his inbox now; it's been bothering him all afternoon.

tomorrows the day.

whats the plan?

It's from Roman. Even on the other side of the screen, Seth can feel the reluctance rolling off the man in waves. Seth knows that he would probably rather step on a Lego in the dark for the rest of his life before he wasted anymore of it trusting Seth; the fact that he's even bothering to text Seth first is a feat in its own right.

Unfortunately, he doesn't have the answer to that question. The plan up to this point…is not really a plan at all.

"Going out guns blazing isn't really your style," Roman told him once. "You've always got something; even if it's as simple as changing the way we walk to the ring."

And he's right. Seth is always the one with a plan, which, as its been turning out this week, has failed to stay a constant in the current sea of variables.

Seth is pretty sure he's stuck. He's found a speedbump in his own plan, and its proving to be a bit of a bitch. Eventually, Seth drags his hands over his face and sighs. He lies back and stares at the ceiling, gathering himself, then rolls off his bed and goes to the bathroom. He's really just killing time; trims his beard, stupid stuff like playing with his hair in the mirror, opening his mouth really wide and poking around at his teeth in the very back –that ones actually a health measure, he got decked pretty hard the other day; it still bothers him twenty-four hours later.

He needs to get it together. 'You've got a plan in motion, whether you're on board or not,' he scolds his reflection in the mirror. 'Get your shit together.'

Being the kind of guy he is, Seth decides a trip to the hotel gym is just what he needs. He changes into a t-shirt and another pair of gym shorts and grabs his bag. A good sweat will help him get around these roadblocks, right?

The gym isn't empty when Seth gets down there. Of course, housing a bunch of wrestlers in the same area, it wouldn't have been empty to begin with. But its still a little shocking to see so many of his co-workers down there. It figures the two guys he could probably trust aren't here at the moment. What the hell, Cena wasn't even here? Seth sighs and finds a corner to start his warmups, vaguely wondering where his team is before he shakes the thoughts loose from his head and forces himself to focus on his workout.


Well, no one said that it would be easy, that's for sure.

There's not really a word for what Dean feels when he looks at Seth. Obviously, 'feelings' would be operative, but if you told him that, you would be a smartass. He could grant himself the ease of calling it love, but then that would snowball into so many other words that made his head hurt when he thought about them. He could say those words, but he would hesitate, and who would believe that then? Dean certainly wouldn't.

It's complicated. And it's not like he would ever tell Seth that; tell him that he loved him. Because even though he'd stabbed him in the back, Dean still waited for him to come back around to his old self –he'd never be able to forgive himself or Seth if he told him the truth before he was sure he could trust him completely. Yeah, he might love Seth, but he was still healing from the past.

He kind of hated him for that. Dean might've told him the truth back when they were the Shield, but then Seth had gone and ruined that. He'd set Dean back so much, torn down the courage he'd worked up after all that time. And he hadn't even apologized for it.

Was that why he was so mad? Because Seth had completely disregarded his feelings?

Dean is asking himself rhetorical questions and is getting nowhere. He thinks briefly about going to find Seth and preoccupy himself with listening to him rattle off yet another phase of his plan, but once his stomach starts to turn at the thought of his former teammate, he kills that idea before it can see the light of day.

And that's another thing.

Why are they taking so damn long to act? Didn't Seth say the Authority had caught onto them already? It would've made more sense to attack now that they'd been found out. Seth was smart, Dean would give him that, but he liked to take his time. He liked to wait things out and be slippery, too slippery to be caught. But Stephanie was exactly the same. She was the only one who could beat Seth at his own game, and from the looks of it, she already had.


where are you?

we need to talk

about what?

tomorrow.

downstairs. table by the window. youll see me.

That's what Seth texts Roman. His phone tells him he'd sent that last two messages almost fifteen minutes ago, but there was still no sign of Roman. Seth wasn't stupid; he knew Roman still didn't care too much for him at the moment, but come on. The sooner they acted on this plan, the quicker Roman got towards being left alone for good. And Seth knew he was still in the building, because when he'd left the gym, he'd spied the silent giant wandering down the hall with his back to him, headed for the pool. He'd given him an hour while he'd gone over the plan in his head, and another thirty minutes in between text messages. It wasn't like he was asking the man to dress up nice and formal just to meet him in the lobby.

Seth's phone buzzes on the table next to him.

too many people.

He raises an eyebrow at Roman's text.

okay, he replies. where?

It takes Roman a few minutes longer to respond, but when he does, Seth finds himself a little wary of how cryptic it sounds.

341.

dont be late.


Room 341 is a room that Seth isn't familiar with. It's not Roman's or Dean's.

He knocks on the door twice and bounces on the balls of his feet while he waits. The sound of heavy feet on the carpeted floor inside makes him freeze, knowing someone was coming to answer the door- he wishes Roman would just cut the mysterious shit and tell him whose room this was- and the lock comes undone.

"Hey," says John Cena, standing there with one of his kilowatt smiles, "come to join the party?"

Seth rolls his eyes. "Yeah. You guys really need to stop with the cryptic bullshit," he says walking past Cena into the room. Roman, the bastard, is leaned on the table by the balcony window, gray eyes smug with amusement. Dean is lying back on one of the beds like he owns the fucking joint, and waves a lazy two-fingered salute in Seth's direction.

"Seriously, you had me worried," Seth continues, folding his arms over his chest. "And since when did you three get so close?"

"We're not," says Roman. "We're all here for the same reason. You've got something to tell us, yeah?"

Seth looks the man in the eye and nods. "Tomorrow's the Raw taping," he says. He gets a few affirmative grunts from his audience. "I can't exactly say that I'm happy with the way this last week played out –to be honest, I was hoping that we would still have a few weeks secrecy left. But we don't. We've got to put an end to this tomorrow."

"About fucking time," says Dean from the bed. Seth ignores him.

"Tomorrow," he says, "we're calling out Triple h and Stephanie on their bullshit. It won't be easy, but I've got one last trick up my sleeve."

He eyes the three others in the room with a mischievous glimmer in his eye. "How d'you guys feel about a good fight?"


The thing about secrecy is that whatever is done is supposed to be a secret.

Seth didn't know that he'd have to explain that simple concept, but as he finds himself being screamed at, he realizes that maybe he should've taken the time to reiterate.

Monday Night Raw goes as planned it seems. People come and go, have their matches and cut their promos. And then Triple H and his wife make a surprise, impromptu appearance. It goes without saying that everyone is a little confused as to what the power couple is doing out here so late in the show, and as for the two themselves, they seem as pissed as the crowd seems puzzled over being out in the ring.

Triple H motions to ringside for a microphone and begins explaining himself. "Sorry for the interruption, everyone," and his voice doesn't reflect that at all. Instead, he sounds absolutely livid and only barely containing it. "We apologize for stopping the show so suddenly, but there has been a series of accidents that have been called to our attention recently-"

Triple H pauses when his wife grabs his arm and angrily hisses something at him –the mics don't pick it up, whatever she says, but the way she's barking at him doesn't leave much to the imagination.

("Accidents?" she hisses. "This was no accident.")

"But it seems that someone has seen fit to sabotage our wrestlers," Triple H continues after a quick hand motion in Stephanie's direction, the universal sign for 'calm down'.

The audience boos and catcalls, but Triple H talks right through it. "Unfortunately, the locker room has been selectively and meticulously picked apart by some 'unknown' group of people. We're working to resolve this issue quickly and professionally; the show will go on."

He pauses, and suddenly rears back like some sort of crazed warlord.

"Do you hear that, Seth Rollins? Dean Ambrose? The show will go on! You, Reigns, Ambrose –you can't beat me at my own game!" the Game shouts into the microphone. Seth kind of has to applaud his old mentor for figuring it out as quickly as he did. It wasn't like they were being very subtle about it, but for all their blatant exhibition, and the fact that they were the only ones in the locker room that hadn't been on the list of injured wrestlers, Hunter did a pretty good job on his own. Congratulations are in order.

"Well, that was easy," says Seth. He steps out from behind the Titantron and out onto the ramp, a grin on his face and the Heavyweight Championship title on his shoulder. He's not dressed in his usual gear –not the black latex the Authority gave him. Instead, he's taken it upon himself to run around causing trouble on his own terms, in his own clothes. He'll be damned if he wears the Authority's colors while he tears them down –its been far too long since the ball has been in his court. He's going to play it out the end.

"I mean, it wasn't that hard to figure it out was it?" Seth says, gauging the venomous look on his former bosses' faces. He takes his sweet time walking down to the ring. "Well, whatever, that's not the point. You're probably wondering how this all happened, aren't you?"

Now its Triple H's turn to smirk, even though it's kind of hard to read it as a confident front when the vein in his left temple is throbbing like it might burst.

He says, "I always knew you were a slimy, two-faced, backstabbing son of a bitch," like he's suddenly got checkmate in this situation. He's fucking wrong.

"Learned from the best," Seth replies with a smile. He can see the rage in Hunter's eyes from the ramp, but before the CEO can act on it, Stephanie intervenes. "What do you want, Seth? I know you've got some motive for all of this. You attack our employees; beat them down so that we're completely defenseless, just you can have an uninterrupted audience with my husband and myself?" she offers him a smile, proud like a mother's, condescending as ever. "Such a smart boy. But if that was all you wanted, you could have just asked. We're always here for our superstars. I must say that I'm surprised you managed to get your old stablemates to put their trust in you again. And all it took was, what, a few titles? Promise of a once-in-a-lifetime match? Money?"

"Liberation, if you must know," is what Seth gives her. "It's been a good run, but let's be real, Stephanie; it's about damn time someone put you in your place."

Stephanie has the gall to look mock-offended. She puts a hand to her chest and blinks innocently. "Why, Seth –those are some big words coming from someone like you," she says sickeningly sweet.

"Someone like me?"

"Yes. Someone who was so starved for power, so easily manipulated by even the slightest whiff of recognition, someone so pathetic, that they sold their soul for it," Stephanie elaborates. She's playing a mind game, and Seth knows it. Either she's either a brilliant actress at keeping her feeling hidden, or something's up.

Seth narrows his eyes at her. "I'm willing to go through hell to get it back."

And then, Stephanie's entire façade contorts. In hindsight, Seth would've pegged her for a psychopath the way she smiled at him, so sweet and cold, before she told him, "Oh, don't worry. You will."

No.

Seth sees them out of the corner of his eye, barely has time to throw away his title belt and pull himself into a defensive stance before six shadows slip into the ring through the ropes and corner him. He doesn't know these people. He can't tell if he'd ever seen them before either because he can't see their faces –all six figures are wearing masks. Not Bray Wyatt's drones, because these aren't lamb masks. They're like ski-masks, the kind that movie burglars wear.

The first one down is smaller than Seth is –it's the one he slugs first. Nothing special, just a straight suckerpunch to the jaw with all of his might, and he has barely enough time to smirk in satisfaction when he feels something break against his knuckles, and then the world is a blur.

Tonight, Seth realizes three things.

One, he totally owes Dean and Roman for actually coming out to help him. While the mercenaries beat Seth like a dog, like they'd been paid to do, he'd kind of had the sinking feeling that maybe Reigns and Ambrose weren't sticking to the plan. Maybe Roman had talked Dean out of it. Maybe they didn't think this was all worth putting their careers in jeopardy.

Seth wouldn't blame them –it wasn't the greatest of ideas to make an enemy out of the boss. But he was sure it would work. This whole plan had to work, or he would die trying.

It looks like he'll be doing the latter at the moment.

Well, until suddenly the boots to his head and chest abruptly halt. They don't completely disappear, but enough falter so that Seth can finally look up and see two of the six mercenaries lying sprawled out on the mat, and a giant figure towering over them.

And then something else is going on to Seth's right, and he can hear the crowd screaming, cheering, so it must've been something –

Oh, it's Dean.

Dean has just tackled Triple H to the mat and is now planting his fist squarely into his face.

A flash of gaudy orange knocks the rest of the mercenaries away out of Seth's vision. John.

This might actually work.

"You okay?" Roman is suddenly asking Seth. He's kneeling over him, though he momentarily rights himself and slugs an oncoming merc.

Seth nods. "I'm okay. They were ready."

And that's the second thing Seth knows. Somehow, Triple H knew that they were planning on rebelling tonight. He'd even hired protection in advance. He'd known they were going to render him vulnerable as far as human shields went. But then, that meant…

And it happens at once, all at once, so quickly and chaotic that it leaves Seth's head spinning.

The sound of a chair slapping against a human body fills the ring. Roman twists in time to find Dean hitting the mat like so much deadweight, Triple H standing over him with the steel chair in question. Cena is just standing there, watching it all happen, watches the mercenaries scramble to their feet and rush Roman, as one of them cracks the heel of their boot across Seth's skull.

Seth's head is spinning like a top and he can barely see past the little black spots dancing across his vision. But he knows where he is –lying on the floor outside of the ring; how did that happen?- and he can still make out the figures of John and Triple H, talking with their hands. Well, more like arguing.

They aren't fighting, though, and that's the issue.

Roman's fight with the mercenaries has taken him outside the ring. He's a big guy, sure; the most muscular one out of every one of them. But even he is having trouble keeping all of the masked men at bay. They've all but forgotten about Seth leaning heavily against the steel steps nearest the announce table. This isn't working.

Something moves in Seth's peripheral vision. Stephanie. Damn, he'd forgotten about her.

When Seth sees her fully, she's holding something in her hands. She's smiling up at Triple H, who is steadily ignoring John as he shouts at him, and she hands the offending item to her husband through the ring ropes. Dean still hasn't moved.

Triple H circles his fallen prey with his sledgehammer in tow. The smile on his face matches the same sadistic one stretched across his wife's, and instantly Seth knows what is about to happen. Hunter grinds the heel of his black leather shoes into Dean's chest, and only then does Seth see movement from the formerly motionless man. His hands go towards Hunter's ankle, trying feebly to pry the foot from his chest. Hunter leans down and shouts something at him, cackling like some cheesy old-timey movie villain, except this isn't a movie, and no one else is laughing. He glances up momentarily, catches Seth's eye from the ring steps.

"This is on your hands," he shouts, spinning the sledgehammer in his grip idly. Stephanie thinks that's hilarious; Seth can hear her laughing on his left. Hunter raises the hammer, glaring icy daggers into Dean's head.

Roman is still preoccupied with the mercs, tosses one over the barricade and stumbles on dizzy feet to face the others; he won't make it in time.

Shit.

Seth sends a prayer to whoever is upstairs listening and bolts.

(please let me be fast enough)

He's moving, sliding, palms hit the mat and-

(crack)

...

He missed.

Hunter missed.


Dean is surprisingly not wasted, and is indeed alive. He's warm, feels heavy. Can't breathe. Why?

Dean's been staring up the whole time, meeting Hunter's intense glare with an icy one of his own; defiant, he'd be damned if he wasn't going to go down swinging.

He sees Seth. He's so close. He can see his eyes, brown like dishwater, staring directly into Dean's, dull and marble-like. He looks scared.

(crack)

Dean flinches this time. Not from the noise –though it's deafening and definitely wrong- and suddenly Seth isn't looking at him anymore. Dean can sit up now, prop himself up on his elbows and stare down at his former best friend, lying still on the mat next to him, halfway in his lap and halfway sprawled across Hunter's shoes.

Triple H looks almost as surprised as Dean does, as Stephanie standing outside the ring watching it all go down. But not unpleasantly surprised.

Dean's head hurts. He sees red.


Seth sees Dean. Dean's shoving him off, turning Seth on his side in the process, and crouching in front of him like a feral dog. He won't look at him. He's looking at someone else.

Then he's screaming, jumping at Triple H and raining blow after hard blow to his former bosses head. It goes on forever, Dean screaming, and some woman's voice is added to the mix.

Stephanie, right.

And there's blood mixed with spit flying everywhere, and its so loud. Seth wants to get up. His body just feels so heavy; his eyelids feel like they're made of iron. He can see the telltale black spots dancing along the edges of his vision. He holds out long enough to see something big and black slide into the ring and finally stop the screaming and the spit and blood. Roman.

Roman is dragging Dean away from their bloodied up boss, dripping red from his mouth and nose and looking positively livid behind the puffiness of an inevitable black left eye. And then there's orange.

John. Oh. Right.

And they see him, turn their fury on him too.

"We never should've trusted you!"

It comes from Dean, standing over Seth while the latter looks on, bruised and battered. Dean looks absolutely livid, blue eyes blazing. Seth can see his fists shaking, muscles tremoring, and all he can think of now is how he hadn't meant for this to happen.

He sees now; they really shouldn't have trusted him.

It was John, all along.


had to make an edit: a couple people thought that it was Seth fighting triple h. context has been added because that is not correct.

-ac