A/N: Thanks, as always, to everyone who's read, reviewed, favorited, and followed. It's always appreciated. Enjoy.
X. Push-Pull
Dean hated to admit it, but he felt pretty fucking good.
Relaxed for what felt like the first time in months - which, hey, no complaints there, but he hated to admit it because the reason he felt as good as he did this evening was a little bit messed up.
Getting his ass pounded the way he had earlier this afternoon had turned the volume way down on all the shit circling around in his head - Seth and Roman, the Wyatts, the match on Monday - and had left him pretty content to hang by himself back in Regal's cramped, bare cracker box office while Regal was off calling matches.
(There was, like, literally nothing in the room but a desk, one extra chair, and a monitor on one wall. Could've been a fucking janitor's closet for all the space there was to even turn around. But whatever.)
The volume was up on one thing, though: that he apparently liked the kind of shit he let Regal do to him this afternoon - 'cuz he'd pushed and pushed just to get Regal to lay it on him even more, like he couldn't fucking get enough.
Regal'd whopped Dean's ass until it felt like fucking hamburger, then he'd thrown Dean facedown on the mattress and had fucked him like he was trying to split him fucking in half.
Who knew the old bastard had it in him?
The more drawn-out and teasing shit, yeah, Dean expected, 'cuz it was Regal all over: the sort of asshole who couldn't ever straight-up give Dean anything; the sort of asshole who'd only maybe give in a little after he'd driven Dean absolutely bugfuck nuts for it; the sort of smug fucking asshole who completely got off on the fact he could make Dean that crazy.
He just didn't strike Dean as the type to fuck out his aggression on somebody.
But that was exactly what he'd done - clamped a hand over Dean's mouth and nose, sucked more hickeys into the sides and back of Dean's neck, ordered Dean - fucking ordered him - to lift his hips and jerk himself off while his head was buzzing from the lack of fucking oxygen, and drilled Dean's ass so hard the whole fucking bed felt like it was about to shake apart.
The hard slap of his hips against Dean's ass - already abused from the smacking it had taken earlier - had been the painful exclamation on the entire ridiculous thing.
Dean, right on the verge of passing out, came so hard shit went fuzzy on the edges of his vision.
Regal followed right behind, snarling something in Dean's ear that Dean honestly was too far gone to hear.
As they'd collapsed onto the bed and Dean had taken a few wheezing, coughing breaths, he'd thought, a little dazed, Holy fuck, what was that?
Because he felt fucking raw and sore, and, like, had that really been fucking Regal that had done that to him?
Made him feel all floaty-headed and quiet and like there'd been some big fucking knot in his head that had finally come untangled?
Same dude that got off on fucking with Dean's head and just kinda unfucked Dean's head, and...huh.
If Dean didn't dig at it too deeply, it didn't freak him out.
He'd done shit like this to Seth plenty because Seth seemed to crave it from time to time, but he'd never even considered he might like being on the receiving end of it.
But he guessed it was like watching some weird-ass porn and going, 'Huh, guess this shit does it for me, too. Well. Who knew?'
If he left it at that, it didn't freak him out.
At the end of the day, even if it was Regal fucking him, and even if Regal hadn't seemed surprised at all to discover Dean was into this kind of shit, it was still just fucking.
Still just sex.
Even if it was Regal and even if Dean really liked all the shit they'd done together so far, as long as he told himself it was just sex, it didn't freak him out.
Still, it was a little telling that things had ended for real with Seth and Roman today and they still had Wyatts floating around like unflushed turds in a toilet and this was the thing he was thinking about while he sat with his feet kicked up on Regal's tiny desk and watched the NXT matches on the big monitor on the wall to his left.
Of course, he was pretty much done worrying about the Seth and Roman shit.
It was gonna be awkward as fuck to be around those two for a while, but done was done and over was over, and the sooner he accepted that,the sooner he learned to live with it, the better.
Dwelling on it wasn't going to change anything now.
Maybe they'd be buddies, maybe the team would make it, or maybe this Shield shit really was about to crack apart - who knew?
Who fucking knew?
Once the last match of the night ended - some way-too-choreographed flippy-floppy thing that the crowd in the arena seemed to dig - Dean got up out of the chair and turned the monitor off. He snagged his old leather jacket off the back of the chair and shrugged it on, perching on the edge of the desk and staring at the floor while he waited for Regal to finish up.
Found himself kind of starting to wonder what the fuck Regal had in mind for this bet thing.
Which was just-
"...this way, Wyatt," Regal's voice suddenly drifted in. "We can chat where it's quiet."
Dean whipped around toward the doorway.
Wyatt.
And sure e-goddamn-nough, Wyatt's voice rolled in right behind Regal's: "Why thank you."
"Oh, don't thank me. After you."
Dean straightened from the desk just as Wyatt walked in, rain still dripping from the brim of his hat and the ends of his beard.
Wyatt came to an abrupt stop, eyes widening.
Hard smile in Regal's voice, and, "Oh. Silly me. Completely forgot my office was occupied." He shoved Wyatt forward hard enough to send him stumbling all the way into the room, and quickly stepped inside himself, pulling the door shut behind him.
Teeth bared in a wordless snarl, Dean moved in fast and grabbed a double-fistful of Wyatt's flower-printed shirt. He slammed Wyatt backward into wall beside the monitor. "Oh-ho, you stupid fucking son-of-a-bitch!"
Little bits of spittle flew out of his mouth and onto Wyatt's face.
Wyatt actually flinched. "Little rabbit-"
"Shut up," Dean growled, slamming Wyatt backward again. "Shut up, shut up, shut up."
Nearly screaming by the last one.
Wyatt tried to pry Dean's hands off of him. "Let go."
"I'm gonna fucking kill you."
"Regal, call him off."
Dean snapped a quick look over his shoulder. Saw Regal perched on the corner of his desk - tall, shaggy-haired man in a dark suit, hands braced loosely at his sides, the expression on his face that of someone watching a really good movie.
"He's not a bloody dog, Wyatt," Regal said. "Besides which, I think he's quite earned the right to do as he likes to you." He inclined his head. "Do hold on a moment, though, dear boy, before you take your pound of flesh. I'm curious as to what's brought Wyatt out here tonight. What is it you wanted to chat with me about? Or better yet, what was it you were planning to threaten me with? I assume that's why you're here. Attempted blackmail, more mind games - that sort of thing. So. Out with it, then, sunshine."
"Well now," Wyatt said, sharp fingernails digging into the soft part of Dean's wrists. "'Less you want me to rip your veins open right here, boy, you best let me go."
Dean tore his hands away, only to rear back and smash a fist into Wyatt's oh-so punchable mouth.
Wyatt's head snapped back and blood immediately oozed out of his lower lip.
"Don't you fuckin' threaten me again, you piece of shit," Dean snapped at him. He wanted to shake his stinging hand, but didn't want to give Wyatt the satisfaction, so he lowered it instead and backed off a cautious step. "You got exactly three seconds start fuckin' talking. What the fuck do you want?"
Manic wildfire in Wyatt's sudden grin made his eyes look like they were fucking glowing. If he cared he was bloody-mouthed, it didn't show. "I want you. But not just for me. For her."
Dean, who maybe knew a thing or a thousand about fucking crazy, backed off a step. "Who?"
"Abigail." Impatient, like Dean should have already known that. "You're her little rabbit. The lost, dark little soul she wants to save."
Incredulous, Dean shot Regal a You hearin' this shit? look over his shoulder.
Regal just shook his head, one hand shoving his hair off his forehead. "And, what, you think doing what you did to him and trying to push him and his mates apart will get him to fall under your spell? You think what did to his mate is going to make him want to do anything but see you dead? Bloody hell, Bray, I always suspected you were delusional, but this…"
If anything, Wyatt's weird little smile widened. "You can drop the outraged act now, William. I know you wanna keep him to yourself a little longer, but we did have a deal. You watch me have my fun, you have yours, I take care of his friends for you, and after that you walk away and let me - let us - have him." His eyes flicked over Dean's shoulder. "I've held up my end, and now it's time for you to do the same. Walk away."
"Like hell I will," Regal said.
"Yeah, nice try, Wyatt," Dean said, doing his best to sound like he didn't give a fuck. "You think I'm falling for this shit, you got another thing coming."
He already fallen for it once; it wasn't a mistake he was planning to make twice.
Wyatt, meanwhile, shifted, the smile fading. "He's good, I'll give you that. A terrific actor. Almost had me convinced. But think about this: men like him - proud, vain, greedy men like him - can't let go of those old humiliations. You beat him. You humbled him. That's the worst thing you can do to a proud man, and the kind of wound you dealt to his ego - well, it ain't the sort that's going to just heal up on its own. That's the sort of wound that festers, grows. Consumes a man.
"You brought him low and made him humble, didn't you? Made him less than he was."
He was picking up steam now, voice taking on the preacher's cadence he used in the ring. "What better time for him to move in on you, to get a measure of revenge on you, than when you're falling on your face more often than you're standing?
"Your whole world is breaking around you. You're falling apart in the ring. Your boys tossed you aside like you were nothin' to 'em. Big, bad Wyatt is there chasin' you like a monster out of your nightmares. Ground is shifting under your feet, and you don't know which way to go. Where do you turn?
"To him, the one person who just so happens to be offering some stability just when you need it.
"To a man who's been waiting almost two years to bring you to your knees for what you did to him."
Dean's hands balled at his sides, loosened, balled up again.
"He set this up, little rabbit," Wyatt went on. "We sat here in this very office and planned it out. I owed him, you see, and this was what he wanted: us to help him avenge his wounded pride-" his voice twisted on that "-by causing you as much misery as he could before he tossed you aside just like your so-called brothers did.
"The more I watched you, the more she started seeing you were no different than I was, once. Lost. Stuck in a dark place. Unable to get out of your own way. Being held back and held down, when you should be runnin' free. But nobody wanted to let you. Because they're afraid of you. They know they can't control you and they can't predict you. You don't care about their neat lines and rules and order. And they know once you let that destructive little monster out of its cage, they won't be able to stop you from doing exactly what you want - from taking what you want.
"Trouble is, it's gonna burn you up if you let it. That's why she wants to help you - to show you the way you can channel it, how you can use it. And together, you and me and my boys, we can burn the Authority to ash. Make the bad men pay. Expose liars like John Cena for what they are. Show the power-hungry like Hunter and Stephanie how powerless they really are. Show the greedy like Vince McMahon how poor they really are." His gaze cut to a point over Dean's shoulder. "Humble the proud man."
He stopped talking, raised his chin, looked back at Dean.
Dean kept right on clenching and unclenching his fists.
It was all he could do to keep them from flying away from him.
Thing was, he got it - why morons like Harper and Rowan fell for this shit.
It wasn't impossible to think this was true. It was reasonable, some of it, and Wyatt didn't exactly sound like a desperate man trying to sell Dean a bill of goods; he sounded like he believed every fucking word he was saying, just like he did every time he started fucking sermonizing in the ring.
He said it like it was all fact.
Hell, maybe some of even it was.
Not the shit about Regal - Dean would sooner believe the sky was purple and that fish mooed than believe that these two were working together - but Wyatt's reasons for doing it tracked with the shit he was always spouting off in the ring, all shit about bringing people like Cena down and shit.
But the bottom line was Wyatt's boys had put hands on Seth, and Wyatt had - well, Wyatt had fucked with Dean himself, and the crazy fuck was absolutely out of his fucking mind if he thought in any universe that was okay.
Dean glanced over at Regal again, eyebrows raised. "You heard enough of this bullshit?"
Regal's mouth twitched. "Plenty. Interesting bit of fiction, though, isn't it?"
"It's not fiction," Wyatt cut in. He'd straightened away from the wall and had wiped some of the blood off his mouth and onto a handkerchief he'd produced from somewhere. "Every word is true. If you keep going the way you're going - and going with him - you're gonna be in an even worse place than you are now. I know you got hard feelins, and I know you got no reason to believe me, but you should."
"Yeah, whatever," Dean muttered. "I'm done. Can I-?"
"Watch-!"
Wyatt's foot smashed into Dean's gut just then, driving all the air out of his lungs and doubling him over.
"This ain't over, boy. But now ain't the time."
Before Dean even had time to wonder what the fuck just happened, something clubbed him over the back of the neck, driving him down to his hands and knees hard enough he smacked his forehead on the floor.
Over the distant buzzing in his ears, he heard someone - Regal, he thought - yelling, but he too busy trying to remember how to fucking breathe that he couldn't do much more than squeeze his eyes shut.
Fuck that hurt.
After what felt like a fucking eternity, the volume in the room turned back up and he managed to take a whooping, wheezy breath, which immediately turned into a cough. He sat back enough to hug his stomach.
A hand settled on his back. "Easy, lad. Easy. Slowly."
"Wyatt?" Dean managed to wheeze.
"Ran out of here after he knocked me down."
Still coughing, Dean shoved to his feet. He pushed Regal's restraining hand away and stumbled off toward the door, anger and adrenaline muting the pain in his stomach and forehead for the time being.
Wyatt was a fucking dead man.
Dean hung a right and jogged out into the hallway.
It was empty, just white walls broken up by a few posters and gleaming white-and-gray tile and buzzing lights overhead.
No voices.
"Fuck," Dean muttered, peeling off toward the exit.
Heavy rain pelted down fast and angry from bruised clouds outside, and Dean couldn't see shit when he squinted out into it. The parking lot lights weren't enough to cut through it.
"Get back here and fight me like a man, you son of a bitch!" he yelled out into it anyway, not giving a shit who was around to hear him.
The only answer was the steady wash of the rain on the pavement.
Like Wyatt had just fucking vanished into thin air.
Dean growled in wordless frustration and turned to kick the door shut. "Son of a bitch." He spun around to glare at Regal, who'd moved to lean against the wall on the opposite side of the hallway. "You just fucking had to let him talk."
Regal sighed. "Sorry."
"He's here," Dean snapped. "Probably all three of those assholes fucking waiting for us out there."
Something very cold and very dark in Regal's smile as he adjusted his suit coat's cuffs. "Don't know about you, dear boy, but I quite hope they are. Let them come at us. Find out what happens when you poke the proverbial bear once too often."
Surprise broke through Dean's anger momentarily, and he did a quick double-take. Regal inclined his head, smile widening, and Dean couldn't help answering it with one of his own.
Like, Holy fuck, this is really happening.
"Have you got everything?" Regal asked then. "Because I'm ready when you are."
"Yeah," Dean said, feeling suddenly wild and ready to fucking go, the pain in his chest and his head muted again thanks to a fresh surge of adrenaline. "Let's do this."
Regal had already grabbed his umbrella, even, and flicked it open to hold over them outside.
Off in the distance, lightning flashed and flickered, and thunder rumbled quietly, the sound like the far-off explosion of fireworks or gunshots. The rain itself sounded like it was fucking roaring.
Dean scanned the parking lot, but he could tell after a few soggy steps that they weren't gonna see Wyatt: just a handful of cars left in the employee lot, and none of them anywhere near Regal's, which was sort of out in the middle of a row that had been mostly full when they'd pulled in earlier.
"Well, that's disappointing," Regal said, raising his voice so it carried over the storm.
"Yeah," Dean said. He took one last look around the empty parking lot. "Yeah, it is."
For a lot of reasons.
xXx
It was about ten-thirty when the text came through:
Had a visit from Wyatt at NXT taping tonite. We're OK. Call me when you get this.
Seth, who'd been half-dozing in his recliner while Roman slept on the couch, shot up. "Shit!"
The sound from his footrest snapping back into place caused Roman to jerk awake, eyes wide and darting around the living room. "Seth?" he said muzzily. "What's wrong?"
"It's Dean." Seth put the phone on speaker and tapped 'redial.' "Hang on."
Two rings, and Dean picked up. "Seth?"
"He was fucking there?" Seth asked without preamble.
"Yeah," Dean said. He sounded tired. "Alone, though."
"Who?" Roman asked through a yawn. The pillow he'd been hugging had left a bright red seam that ran from his ear to his chin. He rubbed it absently. "What's going on?"
Dean told them about Wyatt showing up at Full Sail, about what Wyatt said, and about what Wyatt did.
The more Seth heard, the more his pulse began to pound, the more pressure seemed to build up behind his eyes, and the tenser he became - hands clenching so tightly his knuckles went white and his palms hurt where his fingernails cut in.
Wyatt in Tampa.
Wyatt where Dean was in Tampa.
Wyatt going after Dean in fucking Tampa.
Wyatt had gotten to Dean again when Seth and Roman weren't there to stop him.
"Goddammit," Seth erupted as soon as Dean was done. His face felt hot. He could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears "You need to come up here."
"Seth-"
"No," Seth cut him off. He jumped out of his recliner, phone in hand, and began pacing jerkily across the living room. "Look, I don't care if you don't want to be around us right now, Dean. I don't. It doesn't matter. The only thing I do care about is that you're safe, and the only way I'm gonna know for sure you're safe is if I can see you here. I need you here, Dean, so just - suck it up and come up here. I'll pay for your damn plane ticket."
Hell, he'd get in his car and make the twenty-hour drive, if he had to.
Fifteen hundred miles away, Dean sighed. "Calm down, Seth. It's fine-"
"It ain't fine!" Seth snapped. "Nothing is fine about this."
He looked around at Roman for support, and found him watching from the middle of the couch. His hair was a dark, sleep-matted mess around his head, and the black tee shirt and shorts he was wearing were wrinkled all to hell, but Roman looked wide awake now, his forehead knotted and his mouth pulled tight. "No," he finally said, raising his voice a little, "no it's not. Seth's right, man. You should be here."
"I'm fine where I'm at," Dean said.
Because he was stubborn and an asshole.
"Dude, no you're not," Seth said, scrubbing a hand over his eyes. "Wyatt was fucking there."
"Yeah, at Full Sail - not here. He was already gone by the time we left. I don't think he's going to bother-"
"You don't think," Roman cut in. "That's a long way from you actually know, Ambrose. How the hell did he know where you were in the first place? That's what I want to know."
"He didn't," Dean said. "He was-"
"-there to see Regal," Seth finished for him.
Roman shot Seth a look. "Dean-"
"Don't even start," Dean said sharply. "Just don't. I'm not arguing with you about this again. I was there, Rome. If they're workin' together then I'm a fuckin' nun. Okay? Hell, if they're workin' together I'll take a fuckin' vow of chastity or something and - well, okay, no I won't, but I'd wear one of those - whaddyacallems - those nun hat things."
Nonplussed, Seth dropped his face into his hand and snorted. "Nun hats?"
"Yeah, the habits or whatever."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Seth asked, laughing almost helplessly as his mind served up the weirdest damn image of Dean dressed like a nun.
"What? I totally think I could rock it."
Seth shot a mind-boggled look over at Roman, who just spread his hands and shook his head, looking every bit as baffled as Seth felt.
"The point is," Dean went on, "they're not working together, and I don't wanna argue about that anymore."
"Fine, fine," Seth said. "Look, that's not even the point, okay? I don't give a fuck about Regal right now. Just - Dean, I need you here." He took a breath. "I want you here." Maybe he was being irrational, but after the week they had, it didn't feel like anything was going to be all right unless they were all together.
Like a kid wanting a security blanket, Seth just wanted both of his boys around him.
Wanted Dean cracking some dumbass joke to lighten the mood.
Wanted Roman fighting off a smile as he rolled his eyes.
Wanted to be able to sling an arm around both, sharing the what an idiot eye-roll with Roman and sharing the I can't pretend I didn't find that stupid shit you just said funny laugh with Dean.
Maybe then it wouldn't feel like he was being pulled apart.
The week he'd had, he'd earned the right to be a little selfish about this.
But when he realized he hadn't heard an answer from the other end, Seth sighed. Scratched at his beard. Pushed the rat's nest of his hair off his face.
It wasn't even a surprise when Dean said, "I - um, I think I'm just gonna stay where I am. Y'know? Clear my head a little. But 'll text you tomorrow or something. Or you can. Whatever. If you wanna talk about this Wyatt shit or whatever. Or - y'know, if you wanna just - I mean, if you need to, like, talk. You can. I'll be around. Might be, uh, a little busy here and there, but I'll be here."
Didn't stop it from feeling like trying to close his hand around a ghost, and Seth heard the raw, almost desperate edge in his voice when he said, "I know you don't want to be around us right now, but this Wyatt thing - we can't be separated like this. And, look, we'll - if you're uncomfortable, we'll figure something out. Whatever we gotta do. So stop being a stubborn asshole and just come up here for the weekend."
"Yeah, man," Roman put in quietly, eyes never leaving Seth's. "I know things are messed up right now, but Seth and I both want you here. We really do. I do. Miss having your crazy ass around here already."
Seth stopped pacing suddenly and made his way around to the couch.
While he waited for Dean's answer, he sat down right beside Roman and, for the first time since they got home, reached over to wrap an arm around shoulders.
Roman's smile chased away a lot of the shadows in his eyes, and he slipped a firm arm around Seth's back. He pressed a kiss into Seth's temple and murmured, "I gotcha, baby."
"Always do," Seth mumbled, half-smiling.
Which was true, but Seth suddenly felt a little bad about pushing Roman away the last couple days.
He kissed his own apology, lightly, into the angle of Roman's jaw and set the phone down on his thigh so he could reach over and wrap his other arm around Roman's chest.
He hadn't wanted to really be touched the past couple days, but now it felt - well, normal.
Not weird.
Which honestly took some of the sting - a little - out of Dean saying, almost apologetically, "Like I said, you can text me or call me whenever. I'll be around. But, uh, right now I gotta go. I got - uh, a thing. So."
"So who is it?" Seth asked quietly, bitterly. He dug in closer to Roman's side.
"Huh?"
"Who you're about to go bang." Seth ignored Roman's frown. "That's the 'thing' you got, right?"
"Uh." Dean cleared his throat, and Seth could just picture him reaching up to scratch the back of his head. "I'm pretty sure you don't want me to answer that."
Something in his voice, and the nagging memory of something he'd said this morning made Seth squeeze his eyes shut. His stomach shriveled up like a raisin.
Oh, God, don't picture it, don't picture it, don't picture it.
Dean and Regal, and-
Dammit.
He pushed the images right out of his head. "What are you doing, Dean?"
"What?" Roman asked quietly. "Seth?"
"Pretty sure you don't wanna know that, either," Dean said, a grin in his voice. "And on that note, I'm out. So, yeah, call me whenever and we'll, uh, we'll talk. Good night."
He hung up, once again without giving Seth or Roman time to answer.
Dick.
Roman, frowning, rubbed circles on Seth's back. "What did I just miss?"
"Fuck, I don't know," Seth said. Lied. "It's Dean. Who knows what weird shit he's getting up to down there. Probably got, like, half the fucking city in his bed right now."
He was pretty sure blood would shoot out of Roman's eyes if Roman caught wind of what was going on, and it was fucking world war Seth just didn't want to be in the middle of.
He was going to have to talk to Dean about it, but for right now, all he really hoped was Roman would let it go.
Roman's hand slid up to the back of Seth's neck. "Probably," he finally said. "But whatever makes him happy, I guess, right?"
"I guess," Seth said. "Hey, so I don't suppose I could get a backrub, could I? I'm still a little sore."
"A backrub, huh?" Roman's smile broke slow like a sunrise, lighting his eyes. "Might have one of those hanging around here somewhere I could give you. More, if you want it."
"Well, let's, uh, let's just start with the backrub," Seth said. Still skittish as a man in a minefield, and he hated that. "See how goes."
Roman's smile didn't waver. His tattooed arm slipped around Seth's chest to cage him, loosely. "I can do that, too. Whatever you need."
"Thanks," Seth murmured.
"I love you," Roman said then, lips grazing the top of Seth's ear. "So forget all this other bullshit for a while, and just remember that. Okay? Whatever happens, no matter what, that ain't gonna change."
The man in Seth bristled a little at Roman's overprotective boyfriend shtick, but there was a part of him that had to admit that it was nice to hear that after such a shitty week and even after the rollercoaster that today had been. Something solid under his feet, grounding, steady.
This, right here, this was what he needed more than anything.
None of his anger felt like it was really gone, but it was simmering away, low and plenty warm, in the back of his mind. It wasn't going anywhere, so he didn't mind leaving it alone for the time being.
Much as he wanted Dean here right now, the new reality of the situation was that it would've put a damper on quiet moments like this between Seth and Roman because Seth would've felt guilty and Dean probably would've pulled his I'm-gonna-say-I'm-not-mad-but-I'm-gonna-act-mad crap, and Roman would've jumped in all mad, and - yeah.
This was was probably better.
"I love you, too," he finally said. "I really fucking do, Rome."
Roman's whole body seemed to relax at that.
Seth suddenly felt like an asshole.
It was Roman who'd been there the most when Seth needed him - a steady shoulder, somebody to vent on, a reliable workout partner, someone he didn't have to worry about all the time.
That was why this worked.
It was why he'd wanted this - just the two of them - in the first place.
Less stress, less drama, less headaches, and after the week they'd had, this was exactly what he needed.
Didn't stop him from reaching for his phone, though, and firing off one more text before he let Roman lead him into the bedroom:
Hope you know what your doing. I don't like this. Be careful.
He tossed the phone aside without waiting for an answer, and headed off to bed.
xXx
Ambrose squinted at his phone's screen, rolled his eyes, and then dumped the thing rather carelessly onto the nightstand.
He was stretched out on Regal's guest bed again, still fully dressed aside from his coat and shoes, one hand tucked behind his head and legs crossed at the ankles. The fingers of his other hand drummed an absent rhythm on the rumpled front of his shirt.
Regal, who'd once again listened from the doorway, wandered in and sat down near Ambrose's hip.
After they'd made it back here, Ambrose had paced and sulked around in the living room, still angry that Wyatt had gotten away. Regal had watched with increasing annoyance.
While it was nice that he hadn't received a single side-eye or suspicious look this time (Ambrose hadn't even appeared to buy into Wyatt's line of utter nonsense for even a moment, which - that was a relief; meant not waking up to hands 'round his throat tomorrow), Ambrose's dogged refusal to calm down and let things lie for the night began to grate.
About fifteen minutes ago, when he couldn't the mumbling and grumbling anymore, Regal none-too-subtly shoved Ambrose back toward the guest room.
But he wound up wandering by soon after when he heard Ambrose arguing with his mates.
At the moment, Ambrose's forehead was a mess of frown lines, and the eyes that met Regal's were full of whatever war he was waging in his head. "You think I should fly up, don't you?"
"Hmm." Regal reached over to smooth out some of the wrinkles in Ambrose's shirt. "I think the better question is do you want to? I know you told them you didn't, but I'd hardly fault you if you changed your mind. Does rather seem they want you there."
"I probably should," the boy said, mouth thinning. "The way Seth's freaking out…"
"I didn't ask you if you thought you should," Regal said. "I asked you if you wanted to."
"I should, but I don't want to. How's that?"
"Better."
"Yeah, well."
Regal sat back enough to shrug out of his suit coat. He toed off his shoes for good measure, making a vague sort of move it gesture with one hand afterward as he tossed his coat next to Ambrose's over the footboard. "Budge over," he murmured, swinging his legs up, and, after Ambrose moved, stretching out next to him.
He laced his hands together over his chest while Ambrose rolled over onto his stomach and folded his forearms under his pillow, head turned Regal's way.
Waiting, clearly.
"I'm not going to tell what you to do," Regal finally told him. "You're an adult, and free to come and go here as you please. Whether you're here or there, it doesn't make much difference to me as long as you're not alone."
"Think he'll come back?"
"No."
"But you don't know that."
"True, but it's unlikely. I think we scared him off sufficiently well."
"You don't know that," Ambrose said again, frown deepening. "For all we know, you go outside tomorrow and there they all are."
After an unsettled pause, Regal shook his head and settled back on the pillow. "Doubtful, but even so I'm hardly an invalid. If they - or even Wyatt himself - come at me, I'll fight them to the bitter, bloody end."
"I know you're not, and I'm sure you would," Ambrose said. "Shouldn't have to, though."
"None of us should have to," Regal said, "but here we are." In an effort to lighten the mood, to needle the boy, he smirked a bit and said, "Concerned about me, are you?"
He was prepared to see Ambrose's expression close down, for a snap, for some quick denial.
He wasn't prepared for the simple answer of, "Yeah," that Ambrose gave him. Guileless, unreadably quiet blue eyes watched him from across the bed.
Regal took a breath to ask a question, but let it go in a quiet rush.
Pretty obvious why, and - well, he was selfish enough to admit he didn't mind that a bit.
"Then I suppose you'd best stay then, eh?" he said. For once, he couldn't see a reason not to give the boy what he was looking for. "Just in case."
Ambrose didn't smile, really, but he seemed to relax a bit, some hidden tension releasing from his shoulders. "Just in case," he said. "Mean, I know Seth's freakin' out or whatever, and I know he wants me there, but Roman's there and - y'know, he can call if he needs to talk. I'd rather be here in case those fuckers do show up. Two on three's still shitty, but it's better than one on three."
"That it is," Regal said agreeably. "You know, you don't actually have to justify yourself here - not to me. You've every right to do what you want. If you want my opinion-" he raised eyebrows in silent question and waited for the nod before resuming "-this nonsense they're doing to you is selfish on their part. They want you there, they don't want you around me, they want you to fall back in line and as you're told. I know they're your mates, but for your mates, they don't seem all that concerned about what you want. Which is why I think you're right for wanting to put some pace between you. Because from a purely objective perspective, it's not very fair of them to tell you they want a life of their own, but not let you go have one of yours. I know it's down to timing - if this Wyatt nonsense wasn't happening, I doubt they'd be showing this much concern - but still, that's more a question of you being off some alone where Wyatt could get to you than you needing to necessarily be with them. That, as I said, is just my opinion, but there it is. Do what you want."
Bit brutal, perhaps, but not untrue.
Didn't seem to faze Ambrose in the slightest; if anything, it seemed to relax a bit more. Even yawned. The night probably beginning to catch up to him. "Really just wanna track that asshole down and turn him into a human pinata."
"You may yet get your chance for that," Regal said. "But I meant 'do you want you want' more in the sense of 'do what you want where your mates are concerned.'"
"I know what you meant," Ambrose said. "I was just sayin'. You know. Perfect world and all."
"Ah."
A bit of silence fell after that - the winding-down kind. Regal felt fatigue creeping in, and could see Ambrose's eyelids beginning to droop a bit.
Eventually, though, the boy pulled an arm out from under the pillow, propped his elbow up, and rested his cheek in his hand so he was looking at Regal almost sideways. "Gotta ask, though - what do you want?"
"Where Wyatt's concerned, the same as you."
"Well, yeah, I kinda got that part, but no, I mean, like, um. Like, it's cool I'm here? Mean, like I said, I - you know, probably better I'm here just in case, but that's - I mean, if I'm gonna be underfoot-"
"You haven't been, and I don't see that you will be," Regal said over him. "And if you'll recall, I did invite you here."
"Well, yeah, but…"
"I'm not in the habit of saying things I don't mean, lad."
"Yes, you are," Ambrose laughed. "Mean, I'm not calling you a liar or anything, but, like, you told Renee Young she had looked nice tonight, and as soon as she was gone you told me she looked like she was wearing a garbage bag."
Regal chuckled himself. "She did, but she's also in Hunter's back pocket - figuratively speaking, at least - at the moment, so I'm careful what I say to her."
"Figuratively speaking."
"I've no idea whose bed her shoes wind up under at night - if they do at all. No do I care. I'm more interested in not alienating The Authority." Not yet, at least. "At any rate, we're getting off track. I meant about things like this, I don't say things I don't mean." He waited until Ambrose nodded an acknowledgement to add, "I'm assuming when you're asking what I want, you mean from you? From this?"
"Uh-huh."
"Well, I suppose that dovetails into a conversation we're needing to have, doesn't it? I know it's only been a few days, but I think - because it's us - we'd better actually do this now before our wires get crossed and we wind up back to wanting to pull knives on each other."
Ambrose groaned. Buried his face in his pillow. "I don't wanna talk about it."
Regal reached over and flicked one of his ears. "You know I'm right, and you did ask."
"I know, I know. Fine. Let's get this shit over with."
"It's so nice when you're reasonable, but do look at me, would you? I don't fancy talking to the back of your head."
"You didn't mind doin it this afternoon," Ambrose muttered, but he turned his head on the pillow anyway.
There was a bit of color in his cheeks, which made Regal laugh to himself. "I was rather occupied with other things then," he pointed out. "You can relax, by the way. All I really want to know - what I want you to think about - is if you want to continue this after this week, or if you think we'd be better off just leaving it here. I don't need an answer now," he added, holding up a hand. "I don't even have one myself, honestly. It's just something to think about for later. For right now, I'd just as soon not even worry about it. We can just enjoy this, and whatever happens happens. All right?"
Ambrose looked at him dubiously. "I mean, I wanna say yes, but, like, that's almost too easy."
"Well," Regal said, "I'm not actually interested in making this part of it complicated. Given our history, I don't think that's a good idea. It'd be too easy to fall back on the old ways, and the next thing you know, as I said, out come the knives."
"Fork, in my case," Ambrose said.
"Right," Regal said. "Wouldn't be you any other way."
"You fuckin' know it."
Sitting up, Regal reached over and patted Ambrose's chest. "On that note, lad, that's me done for the night. Don't know about you, but I feel like I could sleep a week."
"I know," Ambrose muttered. "What a fuckin' day. I still wish I could've gotten my hands on that asshole. So fuckin' close."
"To use a horribly overdone cliche," Regal said, "you'll get him next time."
"Fuckin' hope so." Ambrose shifted over to his back again - carefully, Regal noticed - and threw an arm over his eyes. "So is it still a 'no' on you telling me what you're gonna make me do for this stupid bet?"
"It's very much still a no," Regal said. "Nor will I tell you when."
"Asshole."
"Oh, now, there's no need to be a sore loser. It's all in good fun. Although that does remind me, d'you play any card games? Cribbage? Poker? Things like that?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"More betting opportunities, of course. If you're interested."
Ambrose moved his forearm off his forehead, and slipped it behind his head. His smile then was all dimples and narrowed eyes. "Chance to win one back? You're fuckin'-a I'm interested. And no, you ain't gonna get in my head about it this time. I play to win."
Chuckling, Regal stood. "All I ask is you have mercy on an old man, then."
"Where's the fun in that? Besides," he added, "for a geezer, you can still go."
"Careful," Regal said. "That sounded dangerously close to a compliment." Couldn't resist a bit of smugness, though. "Did notice you're moving a bit slower than usual this evening. If it's getting too much for you, you can always tap out."
"Oh, come on, Regal, I've had glass in my eyeball and fuckin' barbed wire wrapped around me dozens of times, and I didn't tap then. You think a little pain in my ass is gonna get me to now?"
They had a good laugh about that, the sound filling the room and driving back the often-maddening quiet. It was a good sound, Regal thought.
He gave a quick little salute and turned to head out, but paused as something occurred to him. Turning, he said, "By the way, while you're here, it's William."
Ambrose - Dean - blinked at him, forehead furrowing all over again. "Uh, okay," he said.
"I'm just down the hall if you need anything," Regal offered before the silence grew awkward. "Good night, Dean."
"Uh, good night, uh, William."
Bit odd, that, but it was a start.
xXx
As he got himself ready for bed, Regal took bets with himself over whether or not he'd wind up sleeping alone tonight.
If Wyatt hadn't shown up at Full Sail - the gall of that man!- then Regal would have bet no.
Wyatt's presence changed the odds.
Wyatt's presence changed a lot of things.
For all that he man was doing his damnedest to make their lives miserable, for all that he'd managed to help pull the Shield lads apart, his presence certainly had done wonders for things here - had even, indirectly, helped rebuild a bridge Regal had long thought burnt beyond repair.
One hadn't even realized he wanted to rebuild until now.
But there it was: a cessation of hostilities and the possibility of play - a more satisfying and interesting sort of play than the acts of casual cruelty and stalking and unending cycles of strike-counterstrike they'd engaged in before - had opened up a new realm of possibilities.
Had him wondering just how far he'd be able to take things.
How far he'd be able to push this.
What he'd be able to get away with while avoiding burning the bridge again.
He'd already pushed it further than he thought he'd be able to with this afternoon's activities; Dean had barely batted an eyelid - had, in fact, gone from, "That all ya got?" to "Harder, old man. Fuck." without missing a beat.
That was promising.
Very promising.
xXx
The bet he took with himself was that he'd start the night alone, but not end it that way.
It was a bet he won.
Sometime in the middle of the night, he awoke to find Dean fast asleep beside him.
Regal smiled and inched a bit closer before drifting back off.
Very promising indeed.
A/N: Thanks for reading.