Disclaimer: I don't own anyone.
Rated: M
Warning(s): Slash, Threesome, Kidnapping, Threats, Self-Harm, etc.

Phil blinked slowly, blearily taking in his surroundings. He was in an unfamiliar room, in a bed that was much more uncomfortable than any hotel room bed he had ever slept on, with monitors and gadgets and all other such nonsense beeping madly all around. Where the hell was he? Carefully, he turned his head to the side, peering through the glass window and noticing a mob of men and women in scrubs frantically running back and forth.

The hospital. He was in the hospital. But why was he in the hospital? Slowly, he rolled his head in the other direction, taking in the slumbering form of his lover nearby. Chris leaned back in his chair, his fingers neatly looped together over his chest. His breathing was deep and even, and occasionally, his head would loll to the side and golden locks would fall down in front of his handsome face. He looked peaceful, the worry lines aside.

He turned back so that he was staring at the ceiling. Even that small movement served to churn up his insides and make him dizzy. He sucked in a harsh breath and forced his eyes closed, the pure oxygen burning his nostrils. Why did he feel so absolutely terrible? The last thing he remembered was a violent, burning pain tearing through his abdomen and causing him to lose consciousness. But what had happened?

Chris blinked, slowly coming around. It didn't take him long to realize that Phil was awake for the first time in several days. "You're… awake." It was all he could come up with.

Slowly, Phil craned his head to look at his boyfriend. "Yeah… I'm awake." He rasped. He swallowed hard, wondering why it was suddenly so difficult to speak.

Chris was instantly at his side. "Don't force yourself, baby. Do you want some ice chips?" Phil nodded hesitantly. Chris started to scoop them into his mouth. "You've been through a lot. Don't force it."

Phil swallowed down the ice chips with some difficulty. "A lot? I've been through… a lot?" Chris nodded. "I don't understand what… what… happened to me?" He forced out.

Tears crystalized on Chris' eyelashes, but he refused to let them fall. "You don't remember?"

Phil looked at him, obviously confused. "I don't. Should I?"

"Oh, God, Philly." Now, there was a real threat to the tears falling. "Some much happened, I'm amazed that you don't remember. And I wasn't… I wasn't there to protect you, and I am so sorry for that."

Phil took some more ice chips, before saying, "But you've never actually told me what happened."

That was all it took for him to break down. "You were shot, Philly. Some bastard tried to kill you!"

Realization dawned on Phil's face as all of the memories came crashing back like a tidal wave. He was sick to his stomach and all at once, he started to make frantic motions for the trashcan. Chris handed it to him and turned away as he violently emptied the contents of his stomach, knowing that Phil wouldn't want him to see him at a moment when he was so vulnerable. When he finished, he weakly handed the bucket back to Chris.

Phil could remember, quite vividly, the feeling of the bullet as it pierced his skin. The blinding, burning sensation increased tenfold as he remembered all of the blood, the feeling of his skin as it tore, and it was all so real. It was like it was happening right at that moment. Frantically, he clutched at his middle, terrified to find the bandages that lay there, soaked with fresh blood from his over-zealousness. Chris stared at him, concern evident in his eyes.

Phil fought to calm himself, and when he felt he had full control of his emotions, he turned to Chris. "I don't… I don't remember any of it." He lied. It was an unconvincing lie, but it was a lie all the same.

Chris stared at him for a few minutes, before responding, "Then what was…"

"Nothing. I was just… surprised, I guess. You don't exactly get shot every day, now do you?"

Chris had no choice but to accept this as the truth. "Of course. Yeah, I guess you're right about that."

Phil stared at him uncertainly, before he asked. "How long have you been here? The whole time, or…" he trailed off. He assumed that he had been in the hospital for a while, considering he had been shot and all.

Chris nodded, sucking in a harsh breath. "Yeah, I've been here the whole time. There's nowhere else I'd rather be." Chris said, before adding, "I have to get the doctor and let him know you're awake, but I'll be right back. Okay?"

Phil nodded, already feeling a little sleepy. "Okay."

He managed to stay awake through the doctor's examination and was even able to answer a few questions, but he had to remind himself to not focus in on those surrounding the attack. He didn't want to think about it. He was sure that, if he did, it would slowly eat away at him. Chris hadn't been there and he hadn't seen who had shot him. It had been so dark and… maybe they would never know. And Phil didn't know if he could live with that.

"What do you mean by you know who did it?" Roman asked, his voice little more than a low grumble. He took on a more offensive position, but his arms were still crossed neatly over his chest.

"Take a look at these letters." Dean said. When Roman didn't look like he was about to move, Dean shoved them in his direction. "Look at them, Roman. There's an underlying theme in all of them. See if you can pick it up."

Slowly, Roman leaned forward. His dark eyes scanned over the wrinkled sheets of paper, trying to see if this was some sort of trick that Dean had concocted to hurt him. It was awful that these letters had managed to make everyone so distrustful of one another. Roman couldn't say that he ever trusted anyone, exactly, but what he felt for the other members of The Shield – his lovers – was as close as he had ever come.

Finally, after several minutes of debating the pros and cons of actually taking the papers, he snatched them from the smaller man's hand and started to read over them. Just as Dean had said, there was an underlying, threatening tone about each one of them. The letters were never addressed to anyone, and they were never signed either, but it was overwhelmingly clear that they were addressed to Seth. After all, his name was rarely, if ever, used…

He looked them over, feeling the knot of disgust in his stomach grow tighter and tighter. And, with it, came a new sense of infuriation. Roman remembered being shoved around by this creep, being forced down onto the pavement and… and then his mind went blank. Maybe it was because he couldn't remember. Maybe it was because he didn't want to remember. Carefully, he folded the papers back into their original state.

"Okay, so you have these letters. What exactly do you expect to prove with them?" Roman asked.

Dean blinked slowly, amazed that Roman couldn't see it. "Read between the lines, Roman. Look at the way the letter is written. The author is employing our own method of attack against us. Single out and attack."

Roman nodded. "Yeah, I can see that. Whoever wrote these letters singles out Seth, constantly referring to him as 'You' and only referring to him by name once or twice. But our names are all over the place."

"That narrows it down significantly. It is someone we've attacked before, someone we've singled out." Dean said.

"That doesn't really narrow it down at all…" Roman trailed off.

Dean ignored his little side comment. "Now, look at these letters." Dean picked out two of them. "All of the letters refer to Seth as a submissive in some way, but these two? They clearly state you will submit to me."

Roman still wasn't catching on. "And?"

Dean pulled out the last letter. It was Roman's supposed suicide note. "Read this one." Roman did. "Does it sound familiar?" He shook his head. Dean sighed. "The rapist just lost someone close to them, and not for the first time."

Suddenly, an image started to manifest in Roman's head. He had heard a rumor around the locker room – not that The Shield was a 'welcome' presence in the locker room – that Justin Gabriel had just experienced a horrific break-up with his boyfriend of seven months, but he couldn't remember the boyfriend's name. All he remembered was that Justin had to file a police report because his ex had decided to whip his feet with a leather whip…

"I just want to sleep… my feet hurt so fucking bad, I don't even want to look at them."

Dean stared at him, a far-off look on his face. "The man that raped Seth… is Ryback."