Summary: This ties in with Disturbing and Obsession.

This was the most uncomfortable drive from one arena to another that Roman had ever made. Usually, road trips were a blast but this one was definitely not. He tried to focus his attention on he road in front of him, not his passengers. But every so often he'd cast a wary glance out of the corner of his eye or in the rearview mirror. A shudder would run down his spine and he'd quickly focus on the long stretch of road in front of him.

For the first time in a long time, he wished he had opted to fly instead of driving.

Twitchy fingers drummed on the dashboard and he could feel the weight of a speculative, hard blue-eyed gaze on him but he tried his best to ignore it. Because he knew what would show on his face if he looked at the other man. Fear. It was hell to admit but right now, he was afraid of the dirty blonde that he called his brother. His foot hit the gas pedal a little harder and the car picked up speed slightly.

Why did these hardcore legends keep giving Dean weapons anyway? Was it some weird ass sort of initiation? Did they want to live vicariously through him? Want to see how far he'd go? If he'd end Brock once and for all?

It wasn't like he needed these extreme weapons. He knew first hand just how adept with steel chairs or a kendo stick his brother was. They didn't need to give him things that he could severely hurt or even kill someone with. It was just tempting fate to give someone who had such a bloody past presents that would ignite it again. To lure him down that rabbit hole when he had fought his way free from it.

Who else was going to creep out of the shadows and pass their badge of hardcore honor onto the younger man? Abdullah the Butcher? Please, Dean had his own fork that was just as infamous as the butcher's. Sandman? That'd be overkill considering he already had the man's preferred weapon in his collection too.

He really hoped that they could make it through the last three televised shows without anymore gifts being delivered. That was all he was asking for. His nerves really couldn't handle anymore presents that the legends thought were acceptable. Between the battle with Triple H and his brother's ever growing collection of weaponry, they were stretched tighter than piano wire. Right now, he hadn't gotten a full night's sleep since he saw Dean with Barbie in his clutches.

"So you ain't talking to me why?" Dean gritted out, agitation plain in his tone and his fingers moved from the dashboard to his collarbone.

There were so many ways he could answer that. Because I'm worried that you're losing it and spiraling back into your old mindset. There's a crowbar, barbed wire bat, kendo stick and chainsaw strapped into the backseat as if they were human. You attacked random people with weapons and carved up a bar with said chainsaw. I don't know what you're really capable of or if I'm safe from it.

None of those would go over really well.

"ANSWER ME!"

The shout made him jump in his seat and the SUV swerved because of it. He managed to get it back in control before it caused an accident. Letting out a shaky breath, he clamped his hands tighter on the steering wheel and tried to keep his face blank. "I just got a lot on my mind."

"Thinking of Hunter? All the ways you can torture him?" There was that creepy sadistic tone that made his skin crawl. "I could give you some ideas…"

"I'm good." He cut the other man off quickly, not wanting to know where that was going.

"You sure?" From the corner of his eye he could see the twisted, disturbing smirk on Dean's face and the evil gleam in his eyes. "Cause I got an idea involving a blowtorch, handcuffs, a dozen cinderblocks and broken glass."

The SUV veered again as he flinched as far away from his friend as he could. He corrected it and shook his head quickly. There was no way in hell he wanted to hear how those objects meshed together. It would probably give him nightmares for the rest of his life. Not to mention all the therapy he'd most likely have to undergo.

"The fuck's up with you?" Dean huffed angrily. "Trying to fuckin' kill us?"

Roman gulped, "Sorry about that."

They lapsed into a tense, uncomfortable silence. He could feel the heat of Dean's glare against his profile but kept his attention focused on driving safely. They were halfway to Boston. Only about two and a half hours left in this trip. All he had to do was keep his mind on that and not the other man and his descent into madness.

Dean harshly cleared his throat. "I gotta watch my back? You planning on putting a knife in it like Seth?"

He blinked in confusion. "What?"

"You're acting off, just like that traitorous fucker did right before he turned."

"I'm not planning on pulling a Seth." His tone was even and sincere. "Like I said, just got some stuff on my mind."

An eyebrow rose, "If it ain't bitch ass Trips then what's eating you?"

"You." He said with a heavy sigh. "I'm worried about you."

It felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders at the admission. Like he could finally breathe a little easier. At least for the moment. He chanced a look at his brother out of the corner of his eye. To his relief, the other man didn't look mad, only confused.

"Don't worry bro." Dean flashed a smile that was savage, almost baring his teeth. "I'm gonna dismember Brock at Wrestlemania and smear his blood across my skin like a fuckin' trophy."

Ah, there went that relieved feeling he got to savor for a moment. Fear gripped him once again and he clutched the steering wheel tighter. "That right there is what has me worried."

"Why?"

"Cause it's not you!" Roman shot back quickly. "Or at least not the you that I've known since FCW."

Blue eyes rolled, "I never hid the fact that I like these kinda matches."

"No, you haven't but you've never been so graphically violent when talking about them or what you're planning on doing." He stated firmly. "Moxley was."

The dirty blonde's leg started bouncing and his fingers tapped quickly against his collarbone. Both were classic signs that his brother's temper was rising. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Maybe you don't see it but ever since Brock Lesnar was thrown at us leading up to Fastlane, you've been obsessed with bringing him down. Now you're getting all these past hardcore legends passing the torch to you in the form of crazy ass weapons. Not that you need them because you're one of the most talented people I've ever met. But yet you're letting yourself get drawn back into the darkness and blood shed that you worked so hard to put behind you. It's scaring the hell out of me because I'm pretty sure that you're the one who's gonna end up hurt after the dust settles."

Dean had a scowl on his face and those blue eyes were cold. "Don't matter as long as I make that son of a bitch writhe in pain, scream in agony and make his blood flow like a waterfall."

Roman heaved a sigh and shook his head sadly. There was no talking through this. No bringing the other man back from the ledge. His brother was set in his choice and not going to listen to reason. He could only sit back and watch, hoping that when it was all said and done that he'd have his real brother back, not this deranged and warped part of him.