A/N: So kidney infections and hospitalizations are fun. Only, you know, if by 'fun' you mean 'quite possibly the worst thing ever.' Recovering now, and seized with the urge to get back to work on this puppy. Thanks for the messages and for sticking around. You're all awesome. This one moves pretty quick and it's bouncy. Enjoy.
XIII. Choice and consequence
Searching your eyes for a hint or a trace
I've been searching your eyes for humility
Searching your eyes for a hint or a trace
I'm still searching, searching
-"By and Down" A Perfect Circle
December 2013
Figured they'd be just as good in bed together as they were out of it.
Roman couldn't help marvel at the play of muscle in Seth's surprisingly broad back, and couldn't resist running fingers down the line of Seth's tattoo, tracing the scar.
They were standing at the foot of the bed, Roman buried to the hilt in Seth's tight ass, while Dean knelt down to suck Seth off.
The way Seth was rocking and rolling his hips, Roman knew he wasn't going to last long. It was just incredible – that friction, Dean's occasional urging that Roman should "get in there deep," and the sounds Seth was making, all of it just made Roman feel lit up like nothing he'd felt before.
He came so hard it felt like his damn brains were leaking out his ears, head back and eyes shut, hands tight on Seth's hips, and Seth choking out a groan.
He didn't have a lot of time to savor it, though; Seth moved away fast, yanked Dean up, and shoved him back onto the bed. Roman staggered over to the chair in the corner and sat down while Seth straddled Dean's hips and sank down onto his cock.
"Fuh-huh-huck," Dean gasped, head thrown back on the pillow. His hair was a sweaty-matted mess over his eyes; Seth's was, too - just a damp blond-and-black curtain.
Dean fucked up into Seth while Seth ground down.
"Get yourself off," Dean said, and Seth wrapped a hand around his own still-hard dick. "Let me see you come."
Didn't take long; Seth came all over Dean's chest in a wash of incoherent sounds and with his head down. Dean, knuckles white around Seth's hips, bucked up frantically until he came himself, soundlessly, jaw clenched and eyes shut.
Roman had to admit, it was actually hot as hell.
After a few quiet seconds, Dean heaved a heavy sigh and opened his eyes, turning his head Roman's way. "The hell you doin' all the way over there, man?" he slurred. "Get your ass over here."
Roman headed over to perch on the edge of the bed, near Dean's hip.
Now it'll get awkward, he thought.
Dean reached over and dropped a hand on Roman's leg, and poked Seth's stomach. "That was fun, huh?"
Seth nodded. "Yeah, it was."
"Could do it again sometime, maybe." Dean took the hand off Roman's leg and settled it back on Seth's hip. "Whaddya think?"
Here, Seth hesitated. Shrugged. Didn't quite make eye contact with Roman. "I'll think about it."
Roman was careful not to let his disappointment show. He knew a 'no' when he heard it. Still, he smiled anyway and said, "Cool. Well, hey, thanks. It - yeah, this was definitely a lot of fun. So." He stood up and padded over to grab his shirt and shorts. "Guess I'm gonna head back to my room. Let you guys get some sleep."
Dean snorted. "Definitely need it after that."
"Mm." Roman finished dressing in silence, and then said, "See ya in the morning."
"G'nite," Dean said, and Seth, who'd stretched out beside Dean on the bed, echoed, "See ya, Rome."
Roman headed to his room and went straight into the shower.
As disappointing as it was Seth didn't seem real enthusiastic about another run, Roman decided not to be discouraged. Dean seemed pretty into it, so - maybe…
'Cuz, damn, the way Seth had moved, how he'd sounded and smelled, how he'd been so tight and hot...
And the way Dean and Seth had looked together was just - man.
All of it.
I gotta get me more of that, he thought as he crawled into bed.
His dreams that night were awesome.
xXx
Monday night, the seamless triangle that was the Shield developed a crack that ran all the way through.
It snapped apart Tuesday night.
xXx
All the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't put it together again.
xXx
But:
Rewind.
Seven o'clock in a buzzing backstage on a wretchedly cold Detroit night, and all William Regal heard anyone talking about was the upcoming Shield Summit.
His own meetings and mentoring sessions concluded for the day, he meandered around by himself, listening to conversation in tiny snippets as he passed people by:
"-Rollins is here hiding-"
"-wonder what they're gonna say-"
"-punch that fucker in the mouth-"
"-no more fuckin' powerbombs, man-"
Say this for the lads, William mused, they certainly knew how to draw attention to themselves.
Didn't appear anyone was talking about anything else.
One saving grace for this evening was that neither the Wyatts nor John Cena were here, the lot of them thankfully sent home after RAW last night.
It certainly made for a more relaxed atmosphere, one in which he found it easier both to move around and to think.
He'd been called into a brief meeting with Stephanie McMahon and Hunter this afternoon, which he'd quickly begun to suspect was more a feeling-out than anything: the McMahon-Helmsleys trying to sort where he stood where the Authority was concerned.
They'd dropped veiled hints of upcoming job openings - Hunter had made some offhand comment about being unhappy with both Vickie Guererro and Brad Maddox as the RAW and SmackDown GMs that, on reflection, hadn't seemed all that offhand at all - and had casually mentioned those who'd been working well for the Authority now stood in line to perhaps reap some sort of benefit.
Nothing explicitly stated, of course, but they both again gave some indication (about as subtly as a man dropping a brick on his head, of course) that his his "good work" with the NXT call-ups stood him in line as a potential replacement, if he continued to show loyalty "to the company."
By which, of course, they meant "to the Authority."
William had smiled and assured them it wouldn't be a problem to show loyalty to the company.
By which he meant he'd remain loyal to the WWE and not its authority figures.
Of course, he wasn't idiotic enough to actually say that; he owed the McMahons at least a front of civility after everything they'd done for him over the years, so even when his views and theirs clashed, as was the case now, he tended to keep his objections to himself.
Keeping his cards close to his vest, so to speak.
Just in case.
Hunter and Stephanie, evidently satisfied with his response, had exchanged an approving look.
"Keep up the good work," Hunter had said, somehow managing to make even that bland compliment sound insincere.
William honestly didn't think the arrogant bastard could give a genuine compliment if someone held a gun to his head.
However, he mused as he idled down another buzzing hallway, the one thing he could say for them was that they were proper, detestable villains. No, their brand of unsubtle authoritarian villainy wasn't his particular flavor of tea, but it was a step above the typical cowards and loveable rogues (who were honestly more fun to cheer than the various shades of bland that made up the heroes' landscape here these days) who fashioned themselves villains.
Even the Shield lads found themselves cheered more routinely than not.
How would that change, he wondered, if they were to split tonight?
As he found his way into the crowded locker room where the monitor had been set up, he tried to imagine what he'd do in their shoes.
Honestly didn't have a clue.
He wasn't sure he could forgive.
The image of Bray Wyatt hovering over a prone and beaten Dean Ambrose was just too damning.
But with Wyatt still on the prowl, and William himself now unable to help in any meaningful way (a fact that galled him more than it probably should have), The Shield splitting up now was bad idea.
But.
It was up to them, he supposed.
Shaking his head, he made his way to an unoccupied back corner of the locker room and settled in to watch the show.
xXx
Late January 2013
"Up for another round?"
The question was quiet, spoken at his shoulder.
Roman, tee shirt in hand, turned, eyebrows raised.
Dean, already dressed in his street clothes, stood with his bag over one shoulder. Smirking, of course, but Roman swore to God nothing short of surgery would take that cocky look off the guy's face. "Seth and I were wondering if you wanted to, uh, join us tonight," he said.
After a moment's thought, Roman shrugged. "Seth's up for it, too?"
"S'what I just said, Rome," Dean said. "Whaddya say?"
"I'm down," Roman said, pulling his shirt on. After a quick look around to be sure they were alone, he added, "But, uh, what're the odds I get a piece of you tonight?"
As much as he wanted another round with Seth, Roman couldn't deny he'd developed a major itch to tear it up with Dean, too.
Wanted to see if he could tame all that crazy.
Dean, though, blinked like he was confused. "You wanna fuck me?"
"Yeah, man."
"I mean…" Dean grimaced, one hand sliding up to rub the back of his neck. "You gonna let me return the favor, or…?"
"Uh, no," Roman said, turning to step into his shoes. "I pitch. I don't catch."
"I don't either," Dean said. "That's - catching, that's Seth's thing, not mine. Says he likes how it feels better."
"Oh." Roman offered him an apologetic smile. "My bad. I thought you guys switched."
Dean shook his head. Still seemed a little off, but he covered it with a tight smile. "So, uh. Anyway, uh, we're out in the car whenever you're ready."
"All right, cool."
The weirdness wore off on the way back to the hotel, with Dean bouncing in the passenger's seat seat and jamming out to whatever the hell was playing in his head.
Seth smiled fondly at him, but said, "Cut out. People in the car next to us are gonna think you're having a seizure."
"So?" Dean asked, bopping along.
Seth's smile became indulgent. "You're an idiot."
He caught Roman's gaze in the rearview mirror and rolled his eyes.
Roman grinned.
They had a great time at the hotel, too, Dean and Roman getting Seth pinned between them, alternating between Dean sucking Seth while Roman fucked him, and Roman just watching as Dean pounded Seth through the damn mattress.
Seth was hardly passive, rocking and rolling just as hard with Dean as he did with Roman, encouraging and demanding and pushing until they were all three reduced to nothing more than a boneless, sweaty, sticky heap on a bed that was nowhere near big enough for all three of them.
Roman, sated and ready to sleep for a week, couldn't have cared less. "...damn," he finally murmured, putting a foot on the floor to keep from falling. "Think it was even better this time."
"...yeah," Seth said. He was on his back, wedged tight between Dean and Roman. "Holy crap. Think I could sleep like a week. Sucks we gotta be on the road in like three hours."
"You just had to go and bring that up, didn't you?" Dean grumbled. He was between Seth and the wall. "I'm not drivin."
"It's your turn," Seth told him. "I drove last night and Roman drove the night before."
"Well, I mean if you wanna get lost..."
Roman smiled quietly as he listened to his friends bicker like the old married couple he swore to God they were.
He had no idea how the hell he got so lucky.
After the argument ended, Dean said, "We definitely gotta do this again. Like soon. Mean, not that I wanna, y'know, cut into your time with the ladies, Rome, but yeah, if you want..." He paused and lifted his head to make eye contact with Seth. "That cool or should we think about it?"
"Nah, it's cool," Seth said. "Just gimme a few days to recover first, huh?"
"Well, yeah," Dean said. "Wasn't thinking tomorrow or anything, but maybe in the next couple weeks."
Roman nodded. "I'm down."
"No, you're up," Seth said. "As in get up. I wanna go get cleaned off."
"Me first," Dean said, yanking Seth back down.
"Hey!" Seth protested.
"Dude, I got your jizz all over me," Dean said, pointing at his come-covered chest. "At least where you got it, it's contained." He wormed off the bed and stood up, darting into the bathroom before Seth could offer any more protests.
Seth mock-scowled at Roman. "You believe that guy?"
Roman shrugged. "He's got a point."
"Traitor," Seth groused.
"Traitor with his own room," Roman corrected, rolling to his feet. "His own room with his own bathroom. Which he's going back to now." He bent down quickly and, feeling brazen, stole a quick kiss. "Thanks. This was fun."
"Uh, yeah," Seth said, dark eyes a little glazed. "Yeah, it was. G'night, man. See ya here in a few. Traitor."
Roman tugged his shorts on and tossed his shirt over his shoulder. "You know it."
His smile didn't leave until he fell asleep that night.
xXx
Rabbit, Abigail whispered at him. My rabbit.
Down below in the ring, Ambrose paced and twitched like his skin wasn't fitting him right.
Beside him, Roman Reigns stood immobile, like a statue, and Bray chuckled to himself: Reigns had all the personality of one, didn't he?
On the big screen above the ramp, Bray could see the rabbit's anger written all over the ever-contorting lines of his face.
They were up in a darkened skybox, Bray and his boys, hidden away where the prying eyes of management and the public couldn't see them. They'd been told to go home after they'd humbled John Cena last night.
Not that Bray was particularly intimidated by the empty suit that was Hunter Helmsley, but.
Being seen tonight of all nights might just cost them the opportunity to finally catch the rabbit.
The Shield Summit:
The fractured brotherhood exposing their broken edges to the world.
And, oh, how sweet it had been last night to see that look of sheer, devastated heartbreak on Ambrose's face when his so-called brother had walked away from him.
Hanging on that rope, Ambrose looked like his entire world had cracked apart.
"I told you," Bray had whispered to him in the ring. "I told you they'd turn their backs on you."
Now, Bray turned to lean sideways against the wall to watch the drama play itself out in the ring.
Luke, standing against the opposite wall, glanced over. "You think they're gonna split, don't you?"
Bray merely smiled and turned his attention back to the ring.
xXx
And, oh, how glorious it was:
xXx
Ambrose picked up a mic and began to speak. "We can handle getting beat up," he said calmly. "We can handle getting hurt. We can handle physical pain - that's no problem." He glanced over at Reigns. "I don't know about you, Roman, but there's one thing I can't handle, what I will not tolerate, what will keep me up at night, and that's being walked out on by somebody I trust in the middle of a war like that."
I told you, Bray thought again.
"All along," Ambrose went on, "we've been saying The Shield had each other's backs." Pace and pace and pace, like a powderkeg primed to blow. "But Seth Rollins didn't have our backs on RAW Monday. He walked out on us in the middle of a war! So, uh, we're not much for talking right now, so Seth Rollins, we know you're here since you called this little summit, so why don't you get out here and say what you're gonna say. Tell me something, tell me a story, tell me a lie, make an excuse, say something. After all the wars we've been through - you owe us that. And judging by the look on Roman's face here, you got about thirty seconds."
The big ox did look like someone had given his tail a good stomp, Bray supposed. "Here we go," he murmured to his boys.
The Shield's theme hit, and the skunk slowly made his way to the ring from the ramp.
Rollins approached the ring warily, and Reigns took the mic from Ambrose and moved to stare Rollins down, steel in his eyes. "Before you open your mouth," he said slowly, clearly, "I hope you've really thought about what you're gonna say. It better be good."
Rollins, standing up on the apron, took a moment to compose himself before raising a placating hand and saying, "All right, look, I get it. Leaving you two to fight the Wyatts three-on-two wasn't the most opportune time to prove a point. But what you don't understand is that the war isn't with the Wyatts-"
The camera caught a look of sheer disbelief on Ambrose's face, caught him mouthing, It's not?
Bray caught Luke and Erick's eyes, and shook his head. "They call themselves soldiers," he remarked. "But they don't even know who they're fighting. Isn't that something?"
"-the war is here," Rollins insisted. "It's between us. And, look, it's no secret the Shield hasn't been the Shield for some time. But I did what I always do on Monday night, and I sacrificed myself for the greater good so that we could get ourselves on the same page. Because-"
"You sacrificed?" Ambrose cut him off, an arm held out wide as if to say, Ladies and gentlemen, Seth Rollins. "Oh, Seth sacrificed himself. I didn't realize you were making such a sacrifice when you left us for dead against the Wyatts." His eyes were fairly blazing with righteous indignation. "There's a big difference between what you did and what I did, Seth. I fought off. You walked off."
Oh, now wasn't that interesting?
Luke, standing on the other side of the darkened skybox, glanced over. "Sounds like maybe Ambrose is getting it."
Bray nodded. "I think deep down he's always known he was the black sheep of that little family, but last night it was so obvious he couldn't lie to himself about it anymore."
The skunk, meanwhile, ignored Ambrose's point completely, and instead gestured between Ambrose and Reigns, almost frantically. "Look," he said. "Look. Look at you guys. For the first time in months, you're standing in the ring together, you're on the same page, you're seeing things eye to eye. Don't you get it? That's been where most of the problem is. I've proved my point. I'm halfway there."
Ambrose charged forward, and Bray found himself unconsciously leaning forward with him, thinking, Get him, little rabbit. Reigns, though, restrained Ambrose and continued to stare him down while Rollins warily climbed into the ring.
Rollins moved to stand beside the still-expressionless Reigns, facing Ambrose, who'd spun away and began his furious, uneven pacing again.
"Look," Rollins said quietly, expression beseeching now, "we can call this right now. We can walk and go our separate ways. And guess what? We'll be fine. We're all talented men. But you know what? What if fine isn't good enough?" He began to wind up now. "From the moment we came to WWE, we've been kicking down walls. And if we stand united, no one can touch us - not the Wyatt Family, not the Undertaker, not John Cena, no one! You know it and you know know it," he went on, pointing at Reigns and Ambrose in turn, voice big and bright with urgency. "So let's be the Shield and take this place back!"
More cliched war drum banging – all that sound and fury, and for what?
The big ox looked thoughtful, but Ambrose didn't look at all impressed as he mouthed, Is that it? Pacing. Restless. Still furious. "That's all you got?" he asked into the microphone. "You stood there and watched the Wyatts pick us apart - after everything they've done. And why? For the greater good? That's the Architech's great explanation? You sacrificed yourself to get us to fall back in line? That's your brilliant explanation? And, what, I'm just - I'm supposed to be okay with that?"
"That's right, rabbit," Bray murmured, smiling again. "Walk it to him. Don't let him walk over you. Not any more."
For his part, Rollins seemed taken aback, the expression on his face something like, Were you even listening? "The point," he said, "is we'll face them together. Like we always do. It's what I just said, man - together, nobody's stronger than the three of us. That's what I'm getting at. That's why I did what I did. For The Shield."
Ambrose stalked past Reigns and gave Rollins a little flick of a shove.
Rollins took a step backward, anger building in the rigid set of his jaw.
"Yeah, I get it, I get it," Ambrose said, and he gave Rollins second shove, this one hard enough to push Rollins off his feet.
Reigns spun around and shoved Ambrose down.
Ambrose's jaw sprung with surprise when he landed on his back.
Up in the skybox, Bray chuckled. "Ashes, ashes, we all fall down."
Down in the ring, Reigns, standing between Rollins and Ambrose, held both hands out as the two men climbed back to their feet.
Rollins, suddenly as itchy-footed and restless as Ambrose, began pacing jerkily "All right. All right. I know what's gonna fix this. I know what's gonna make me feel better."
He crossed the ring and belted Ambrose across the mouth.
Ambrose fell again, skin around his lips white, hand at his jaw, fury clear in his eyes.
Reigns glanced over at Rollins, face a bit cloudy, but made no move otherwise.
"I feel a lot better!" Rollins said, moving away. "That felt great! And you know what I think? Now that that's out of my system, I think you might need to get something out of your system, too. So I'm gonna do what I do best. I'm gonna take one for the team. Because you know what? We gotta get on the same page. We gotta do-"
Ambrose, who'd climbed back to his feet, socked Rollins in the jaw.
Rollins dropped like a marionette with cut strings.
Shaking his hand, Ambrose backed away. Reigns followed, standing almost directly in Ambrose's face to block him from going after Rollins again, but Ambrose didn't look either of his teammates in the eye.
Rollins picked himself up and wiped his mouth. "Are we done here?" he asked his mates, sticking his fist out. "Or are we done?"
Ambrose stood watching Reigns, who glanced over at Rollins.
Finally, Reigns wandered over, hesitated, and then finally put his out to touch Rollins'.
The pair exchanged a long look and a smile before turning Ambrose's way.
Ain't they a sight, Bray thought, mouth twisting.
Ambrose stalked off toward one corner of the ring opposite the other two, and spun around to face them, wild eyes flicking from one to the other.
They stared back, both silently imploring him to come complete the triangle.
Bray stood still, scarcely daring to breathe, eyes glued on the screen over the ramp.
"Look how they treat you," he murmured, barely away he was talking aloud. "They knock you down over and over again, they treat you like you're the problem, and still they expect you to fall in line. Don't. Take that leash outta their hands and stand on your own. You don't need 'em."
Ambrose continued to pace on like something caged.
xXx
May 2013
Post-Extreme Rules, and the whole Shield held gold.
Roman sat naked with an arm draped around an equally-naked Seth's shoulders, their newly-acquired tag team belts laid out flat at the end of their hotel bed.
"We did it," he said, leaning over to kiss Seth's temple. "Told you we're a good team."
Seth eyed the belts, and then glanced over at Dean, who was parading around naked with just his US Championship belt around his waist, bopping along in his weirdly uncoordinated way to the AC/DC song that was playing on the hotel room's radio, that big goofy-ass grin still on his face.
"Nah, Rome," Seth finally said, settling his head back on Roman's shoulder, "we're a great team. All three of us. This is something special." His mouth twitched. "Dean, take that damn thing off. Seriously. You don't know where it's been."
Dean shot him a look, all bright blue eyes and dimples. "Don't ruin the moment," he said. "I'm celebrating."
Roman rolled his eyes. "You've been celebrating for a half-hour, Ambrose."
"Yeah, c'mon, Dean," Seth said, smiling, exasperated, dark eyes warm. "Let's do some other celebrating now."
"Well…" Roman slicked the flat of his hand across Seth's chest. "Hey, if he's not ready, we could always get warmed up, couldn't we?"
The first time he'd suggested that - back in March - Seth had pushed him away, protesting that he didn't want to get started without Dean (who'd just popped into the bathroom for a minute). Last month, Seth had let Roman kiss him, but had pulled away kind of guiltily when Dean walked back into the room. Dean had looked back and forth between Seth and Roman for a second, shrugged, and climbed into bed.
Now, Seth just shrugged and wordlessly turned in Roman's grip to kiss him, which had Roman fighting off a smile as he gently sucked on Seth's tongue.
"You guys are a bag of dicks," Dean said from the foot of the bed. "Won't let me have my fun." There were three heavy sounds as all of their belts hit the floor, and the foot of the bed dipped down as he crawled in.
Seth snickered as he pulled away. "Dumbass, we want to have more fun. Better fun."
"Sex fun," Roman added.
Dean sat cross-legged by Seth's bent right knee and Roman's left, looking back and forth between them. His smile had disappeared. "So is this - I mean, can we just…" He cleared his throat. "We should do this."
Roman exchanged quizzical looks with Seth. "If you're talking about sex, Ambrose, that's what we're trying to do."
"No. I - well, yeah, that. I just - I mean, we should do this. Thing. It shouldn't just be me and Seth, and then you." He plucked at a loose thread on the blanket, and said, "Should be all of us. Like, we're a good team. So…" Abruptly, he shook his head. "Never mind. I don't know what the fuck I'm saying. Can we just fuck now?"
"No," Seth said, and Roman echoed, "No, just hold up."
Seth nudged Dean's thigh with his toes. "You saying you want this to stop being random threesomes and just be a regular thing?"
He always did speak Dean better than anyone.
And suddenly Roman didn't dare move, didn't dare breathe, didn't dare blink.
He was so damn close to getting what he wanted, but right now the moment felt fragile like thin glass, like the slightest little thing could shatter it.
Dean's fingers fidgeted with the thread. He wasn't looking at either Seth or Roman now. "Yeah," he mumbled. "I mean, still, y'know, like casual. A sex thing. WIth all of us. We practically are anyway, right? So why not?"
Seth glanced at Roman. Then at Dean. "We are a hell of a team. And, shit, Rome's here most nights now anyway. I like this. So - I mean, yeah. Why not?" His eyebrows went up, and those soft dark eyes found Roman's again. "That's up to you, though, Rome. If you just want to be free to, you know, come and go, that's cool. Or."
"Or hitch my wagon to you two bozos?" Roman asked. He smiled and reached over to tuck some of the blond behind one of Seth's ears, to punch Dean's shoulder lightly. "Why not? Like Dean said, I practically am anyway, and like you said, we're a hell of a team. We got a good thing. Taking the company by storm. Storming it up in the bedroom. Doesn't get much better than this, right?"
"Goddamn right," Seth said.
He stuck his fist out. Roman, feeling a little silly, stuck his own fist out and touched Seth's.
They both looked at Dean.
Dean eyed them. Frowned. "Since this is a sex thing," he said soberly, "I feel like we should be doing that with our dicks."
Seth and Roman each threw a pillow at him.
He fell backward off the bed, and the warm sound of all three of them laughing like idiots filled the air.
Roman slung his arm around Seth again and grinned at Dean.
On the short list of 'best days of his life,' this ranked pretty close to the top.
xXx
"Don't be stupid, lad," William Regal murmured under his breath. He stood alone at the back of a crowded locker room, watching the Shield's drama unfold out in the ring.
Ambrose still paced, clearly torn about what to do, while Rollins and Reigns stood united across the ring from him.
"Don't be stupid," William urged him again, as if somehow words spoken under his breath in a back locker room could be heard down in the middle of a crowded arena. "Yes, they're wrong, but use them to stay safe until Wyatt's been dealt with. Then go."
That gap though, between where Ambrose walked around and where the other two stood had never seemed bigger.
xXx
"Bray," Erick said, voice muffled by his lamb's mask. "Look."
He pointed at the ring.
Bray smiled.
xXx
"Oh shit," someone said at the front of the locker room said. "Look at this."
William straightened.
His stomach sank.
xXx
Face absolutely devoid of expression, Dean Ambrose bent down to retrieve his US Championship belt and climbed down out of the ring, leaving his two teammates standing with their hands together.
Head down, he made his way up the ramp.
Boos followed him.
He never slowed.
xXx
On the big screen, Reigns and Rollins stood watching Ambrose go, expressions hurt and angry.
Up in the skybox, Bray Wyatt began to laugh.
Get the rabbit, Abigail said, sounding excited.
It sounded like a good suggestion.
"Come on, boys," Bray said. "Let's go bring our brother home."
xXx
After a moment of stunned silence, the locker room began buzzing all over again.
"Did you see that?" and "What the hell just happened?" and "Are they really splitting?"
On the monitor, Ambrose disappeared behind the curtain, head still down.
The boos were so loud they carried all the way down here to the locker room.
Idiot, William thought, shaking his head.
Yet again, Ambrose's emotions had gotten in the way of reason: clearly (and understandably) his anger at being pushed and punched by his teammates had overridden his ability to see that he needed them to keep watch for the Wyatts.
Typical, really.
Ambrose walking away from the safety of his team meant the question of if Wyatt would strike again had now become a question of when and where?
The shot on the monitor changed back to Reigns and Rollins looking at one another in baffled anger, and it stayed on them as they lowered their fists from where they'd held them together. Rollins looked almost lost, big-eyed and skin a pale contrast to his dark beard and eyes. Reigns' forehead was all knots and grooves, his frown shadowing his eyes.
The duo climbed down out of the ring, finally, and made their way up the ramp themselves.
William spent a good minute or so debating whether or not he should try to approach Ambrose right now, and finally decided it was worth the risk of getting punched in the mouth.
Someone needed to keep an eye on the boy, just in case, and, if nothing else, he'd probably need a ride somewhere.
Mentally bracing himself, he tugged his suit coat off the chair, slipped it on, and quietly turned to make his way out of the locker room.
xXx
November 2013
"-that shit!" Seth was crowing. He was practically bouncing on his toes, voice boiling loud in the tiny locker room. "Goddamn, man! Human spear machine here! Four eliminations! What a beast!"
Roman, on cloud damn nine after a Survivor Series match that saw him tie a record, got up and slung an arm around his sweaty shoulders. "Damn right, baby! And I got a whole hell of a lot more spears where that came from. Can't wait to get you back to the hotel and show you." He unzipped his drenched vest, and glanced at Dean. "I got enough spears for you both tonight, boys."
Standing on top of the damn world, and it just seemed like the right time to stop pussyfooting around and get Dean pinned under him.
Dean wanted it. That was the thing. The way his eyes glazed over every time he watched Roman driving into Seth, the way he bit his lip and took these long looks at Roman before and afterward, the way he always seemed just about to say something right before he went silent, it was clear he wanted it.
It was just that he was too damn stubborn to spit the words out.
Like it was just that big a knock to his damn ego to admit he wanted to catch once instead of pitch.
Like he thought Roman look down at him for it or something - which was just stupid. Roman so wanted to know what all that crazy felt like moving under him, what Dean looked like when he was the one coming apart, how he sounded, if he was all smooth and powerful like Seth or if it really would be like riding a tornado.
The single-most victorious night of Roman's career seemed like the perfect time to finally win that little fight, too.
But Dean, hunched down on a folding chair and still sulking after his own embarrassingly-fast Survivor Series exit, abruptly stood up and gave Roman a flat look. He tugged his hoodie tighter around himself. "Four not enough for you, or what, Rome? Jesus."
"No way," Roman said, smirking. "I got enough spears to go all night long."
"'Course you do," Dean muttered. He squinted out the door. "Think I'm gonna get a cab and go get a drink."
Seth, an arm of his own around Roman's back, frowned. "No," he said, "you're gonna grab your stuff and come back to the hotel with us. It's tradition."
"We could get a drink first," Dean said grudgingly, "and then go."
"Nah, man," Roman said. "I wanna just go back to the room and savor this one with my boys." He reached over and settled a hand on Dean's shoulder. "Take care of you both right tonight."
Dean shrugged the hand away. The look he gave Roman could have frozen a volcano. "I don't need to be taken care of, Rome. I just want a fucking drink." With that, he turned away. "I'll catch up with you guys later."
"Hey, no." Seth reached over to snag Dean's arm. "Just because you had a bad night doesn't mean you get to act like an asshole. So what if you had a crappy night? Shake it off. Come blow off some steam with us. Celebrate the fact that the team won and that your teammate had an awesome night."
"Yeah," Roman put in. "Come on. I'll make it good. Believe that."
Light oververhead flashed on Dean's earring. "Yeah, no thanks," he said, not looking at either one of his teammates."I ain't in the mood to get speared or to be 'taken care of'. You guys celebrate or whatever." He hoisted his backpack up onto his shoulders and pulled up the handle on his suitcase. "I'll see you later."
He was gone before either Seth or Roman could even pull in a breath to say anything.
After a few seconds' tense silence - where it became abundantly clear Dean wasn't coming back - Seth turned away himself and stripped his gloves off.
Roman slipped out of his tac vest. "I'm gettin' a little tired of this. Can't even be happy for his damn team."
Seth's sigh was the sharp hiss of air gushing out of a tire. "Don't. Just - fuck, Rome, let's just go back to the hotel and have fun, all right? Screw it. We'll deal with him tomorrow. Tonight, it's your night. Our night."
Irritation momentarily forgotten, Roman glanced over. "You still wanna…?"
"Celebrate?" Seth said, flicking bits of blond and black hair off his face. "Yeah. We won. You were the man. It was a good damn night. Let's not waste it just because Dean's got his underwear in a twist again. It's his loss. I'll take any spears you wanna throw my way." His smile warmed those dark eyes right up. No trouble in them at all. "Whaddya say?"
"You're on, baby," Roman said.
Getting Seth to himself for an evening was never a bad thing.
Actually, now that Seth wasn't weird about having sex with just him, it had become a very, very good thing.
Maybe an even better thing that the three of them together.
Grinning, he added, "You better be ready 'cuz I plan on throwing spears at you all night."
Seth's smile widened. "Bring it on."
Roman ambled over and pulled Seth in for a long kiss, happy all over again.
It was a great damn night.
xXx
By the time William made it up to the area behind Gorilla Position, four security guards had arranged themselves in a line in front of the curtain.
"Authority's orders," one chubby guard informed William. "They're having a quick meeting backstage. Said it won't take but a few minutes. They'll let everyone know." He pointed off at the area where half a dozen other members of the roster had gathered. "Just wait over there."
William assumed - hoped - that 'Authority's orders' meant Hunter and Stephanie had corralled the Shield lads before things spun irrevocably out of control.
He moved down to take a seat on an empty equipment crate, idly fidgeting with his shirtcuffs as he listened to Ryback laughed delightedly with Curtis Axel about "no more of those triple power-bombs."
Ten tense minutes later, Reigns and Rollins emerged from behind the curtain, the pair of them tight-faced and with their body language broadcasting DO NOT DISTURB in screaming neon. Rollins paused to say something to one of the security guards, who called out, "Okay, folks, back to work!"
Ambrose was nowhere to be found.
Rollins followed Reigns out into the main hallway, neither of them paying even a scrap of attention to all the people sidling away from them.
Neither one even so much as looked William's way.
Instead, they slumped off up the quiet north hallway, each slipping an arm around the other's back.
They disappeared into a room halfway down on the right, and William casually rose to go after them. He made his own way up the north hall, walking slowly, but trying to look as if he knew where he was going so no one would question him being there.
He slowed further as he neared the remaining Shield members' locker room.
The sound of a voice drifted out: Rollins' voice, thin and tired-sounding. "...fucked up, Rome. I really did."
"We all did," Reigns said gruffly. "All three of us."
"I'm gonna try calling him," Seth said. "See if I can find out where the fuck he went."
"Well, his shit's gone," Reigns said, "so I'm guessing he took off with Regal already. Good luck getting him to answer his damn phone."
"Fuck," Rollins muttered. "Yeah, you're probably right."
William, hovering just inside the darkened doorway of the office next door, blinked at that: had Ambrose not told them about the fight, then?
For a moment, he actually entertained the idea of walking into the locker room and telling them, but good sense won out: more than likely he'd wind up Superman Punched through the wall for his troubles, and they wouldn't be any closer to figuring out where the bloody hell Ambrose ran off to.
Instead, he returned to the main juncture of the hallway and pulled out his cell phone.
He still had Ambrose's number, so he tapped out a quick text: I know you're angry with me, but if you need a ride or a place to stay this evening, I'm still at the arena.
To his surprise, his phone buzzed almost immediately with a response: Fuck off. Don't need shit from you. I'm still going to tear you apart when I get the chance.
William closed his mouth, frowning, cold anger sweeping aside any sympathy he might have felt.
So much for that.
He dropped his phone back into his inside coat pocket without bothering to dignify the text with a response.
"Ungrateful brat anyway," he muttered, straightening his cuffs.
With that, he made himself dismiss Dean bloody Ambrose from mind, and got on with the rest of his evening.
xXx
The frigid night rushed by them in a wash of headlights and streetlights and snowflakes.
When he looked out the truck's side mirror, Bray could still see the arena fading behind them.
Smiling gently, he tapped the cell phone against his thigh.
Abigail hummed a happy tune in the back of his mine, a sunshine-bright counterpoint to the night that enclosed them like a cold dark curtain.
It was warm in the cab, though, in a way that had nothing to do with the heater hissing out hot air at them.
Good timing, a stroke of good luck, and now everything was right with the world.
Luke glanced over. "Did he answer?"
Untroubled, Bray shook his head. "I doubt he will. He's probably too busy looking for a bed to slither under. Deep down, he's just like all the bad men - a coward. I bet he's lost his taste for rabbit now, though." A soft chuckle behind him had him sending a smile Erick's way. "Speaking of our rabbit, let me know when he wakes up."
Erick, face hidden under his mask, grunted an affirmative.
Slumped down in the seat behind Luke, wrists and ankles cuffed and a thin trickle of blood trailing down his forehead, Dean Ambrose slumbered on.
xXx
A/N: I spun the whole story out of the above song lyric. Those lyrics popped into my head as I was watching the Shield Summit, oddly enough. The next chapter will focus more on feels than the what-happeneds, so it won't jump around as much. But. I'm going to be working on Echoes in the Memory over the weekend, and then I shall dive back in. Thank you for reading.