Open your eyes, look within. Are you satisfied with the life you're living?-Bob Marley

August 21, 2014 1:30pm

Seth sat in the chair in the hospital, leg bouncing up and down as he waited for Dr. Johnson to get there. All of the results from the tests they ran yesterday were finally in and the nurse had called the room to inform them that the doctor would be arriving shortly to give them the news. That statement was what had him on edge. If all of the results had come back normal then the man would be coming with release papers. But no, he was coming to discuss the results which meant that something had to be wrong.

Of course it had been too easy so far.

Did he actually think that something wasn't going to go wrong? That his stupid decision to curb stomp a human being's head into cinderblocks wouldn't cause damage? Just because Dean wasn't showing outward signs of being injured that it meant that everything was alright? That there couldn't be internal damage done? How could he convince himself that things would work out the way he wanted?

He should know better than to ever allow himself to act without thoroughly thinking things through first. He worked a lot better not making snap judgments just because it looked like it would lead to something he wanted. It always came back to bite him in ass big time. Had always proved him wrong when he didn't want to be. Haunt him for a long time after…

"Would you cut that shit out?" Dean snapped at him. "Fucking annoying me with all that bouncing and thinking. I just wanna rip your fucking leg off and beat you with it so it'll stop."

"Wait…what?" His eyes widened in disbelief. "You're telling me to stop fidgeting?"

"Yeah, it's driving me nuts."

He couldn't hold back his laughter. That was absolutely hilarious to him. The twitchiest person he ever met, a man that could not be still to save his life, was telling him to stop moving. What the hell was going on? Had he been transported to an alternate universe?

Ambrose sneered at him, his hand curled in and out of a tight fist, knuckles turning white from the pressure. "You know, your laugh is getting on my nerves too."

Ah, now he realized what was going on. It was classic Dean. He was worried about what was going to happen, what the doctor was going to say. The only problem was that he didn't deal with it like most people. No, the dirty blonde's first reaction to most situations that made him uncomfortable was to lash out, be it verbally or physically, because it took his mind off what he was feeling for those few moments.

Knowing why the other man was suddenly in a bad mood, he made an effort to control his own suffocating anxiety for now and focus on being there for the dirty blonde. He held up his hands in surrender, offering him a contrite grin. "Sorry man, just a little wound up about this whole thing."

"Should've listened when I told you to get the hell outta here for a while. Go to the gym, for a run or some shit." Now the older man was the one fidgeting, fingers drumming against his collarbone and shifting constantly where he sat. "But no, you wanted to stay and now you're being all fucking squirrelly, driving me up the damn wall."

"Says the deranged chipmunk." He teased lightly, bringing an old nickname out to play in hopes it would get a laugh.

A fist slammed into his shoulder, hard and without warning, and he winced loudly at the unexpected contact. Jesus, Dean really knew how to hit someone just right so it would do the most damage. Pain radiated up and down his am in waves. People sometimes mocked the way the dirty blonde tended to flail away in the ring but he knew that there was a intentional reason his former brother did that. If Ambrose allowed himself to really hit his opponent, especially one who pushed him a little too far, there was a damn good chance he might not stop.

He rubbed the spot and hissed as instead of making it feel better, it actually made it hurt even more. That was definitely going to leave a mark. His mouth opened to reprimand the eccentric man but he thought better of that decision once he looked the man on the bed. Instinctively, he averted his gaze and shrank down in his seat with a shiver. If looks could kill then he'd be dead from the murderous one that Dean had trained on him at that moment.

"The fuck I tell you about calling me that?" His fist connected with the architect's shoulder again. "I ain't no fucking chipmunk."

Seth winced again, pulling his arm tight against his body. If he wasn't in so much pain, he'd find it amusing that the part of that quip Ambrose took offense to was being compared to an adorable rodent and not the whole deranged part that preceded it. But that was just how Dean was. It always got worse when he was in a mood like the one he was currently in. Dealing with an upset, worried Dean was a lot like walking through a minefield, you had to be extremely cautious and tread lightly or you'd get blown up.

The door opened and Dr. Johnson came in.

Dean sat up straighter, his usual lazy, slouched posture suddenly rife with tension. Blue eyes were narrowed on the man, an odd mix of trepidation and anger shining in those unfathomable depths. "So what's the verdict doc? Am I getting the hell outta here today or what?"

"Mr. Ambrose, I'm happy and pleasantly surprised to inform you that most of the tests we ran have come back much better than we could have anticipated." The doctor was consulting the pages in front of him. "Given what we were expecting, this really could be considered miraculous."

Seth let out a breath he didn't realize that he was holding, relief flooding his body. He reached over and clapped his former brother on the shoulder, "That's great news, isn't it Dean-o."

The dirty blonde shot him another glare at the use of the nickname but nodded, "So clean bill of health doc?"

"No."

Two sets of eyes swung to the Doctor and they spoke in stereo.

"What?"

"But you just said…"

"While most of the tests came back in the normal range, the motion and response testing guidelines have indicated that you did suffer a concussion as we initially suspected. On the scale of grading and due to the symptoms you're exhibiting, it falls right between a grade two and grade three which puts it in the serious range. The headaches, confusion and memory loss-"

"Huh?" Dean interjected, staring at the man as if he was crazy. "What the hell are you talking about? I'm not experiencing any memory loss."

"You indicated in our conversation yesterday that it's February, correct?" After a nod confirmed it for him, the doctor continued. "Has that opinion changed since that time or do you still believe that?"

Annoyed blue eyes rolled, "My opinion hasn't changed because it is February."

The doctor nodded to himself and handed his patient the daily newspaper. "Please read the date for me."

"August?" The dirty blonde's complexion had paled, eyes widened impossibly, hands shaking as they held the paper. "What the hell? No, it's…it just can't be August."

"I assure you that it is."

Those eyes were the stormiest blue as they settled on the architect. "Why the hell didn't you tell me that it wasn't February? You just sat there and let me go on and on about shit and kept your damn mouth shut."

Seth swallowed thickly and opened his mouth, but no words would come out.

Thankfully, Dr. Johnson saved him. "I advised anyone who had contact with you not to disclose any information to you until the results of the tests were in. As I've told them, it's not uncommon to experience Post Traumatic Amnesia given the fact that your head sustained a horrific impact. Now that the tests have confirmed a concussion diagnosis and showed no sign of brain damage, we are confident that the memory loss is a direct side effect from that."

Dean's voice betrayed the myriad of emotions he was going through at that moment. "So, I'll get my memory back?"

"You will."

"Now that you've confirmed the reason for it, do you have any idea when it'll come back?" Seth inquired, his nerves flaring at the thought. "I know you said before that it couldn't be predicted…."

"And that still holds true." The doctor stated flatly. "No two head injuries or concussions are alike. Cases like this, memory loss has ranged anywhere from mere minutes to several weeks."

Dean's tongue poked at his cheek, a sure sign that the older man definitely had something on his mind. "Say if I wanted to try to trigger it-"

"I would strongly advise against that." Dr. Johnson cut him off before he could even finish that thought. "The best thing you can do for your long term recovery is to allow it to progress organically. Forcing any aspect of recovery can have adverse effects."

Seth's leg started bouncing of it's own accord again. "What kind of adverse effects?"

"Again, it varies from patient to patient. Most common cases see a higher level of stress and anxiety than usual which is counterproductive to healing. The more extreme examples have resulted in patients experiencing severe depression, bouts of sustained rage and even suicidal thoughts and actions."

Shaking hands raked through dark hair as he struggled to process that. Dean had already been through so much in his twenty-eight years of life that it was amazing he wasn't more messed up than he was. Yet he fought through everything life threw in his path, managed to build a life a decent life for himself and despite everything, he was relatively well adjusted. But how much more could he take before he broke? He'd been teetering close to the edge for the last two months, his emotions all over the place, this injury could very well snap the last tether to sanity he had.

He chanced a glance at the dirty blonde and found him gnawing on his lower lip, a sure sign that he understood exactly how precarious this could be. But he was stubborn to a fault. Hated to be told what to do. Detested anyone who was in a position of authority or who thought that they knew what was best for him. Would do anything he could just to spite them or prove them wrong.

Hopefully, his former brother would see that the doctor was right and not try to force the issue. That for once, he'd just accept what he was being told and focus all that boundless energy on following directions. That he'd put his health above everything else. Of course, he'd probably bitch and complain. But as long as he wasn't doing anything he wasn't supposed to then that would be fine.

"Does all this mean that I'm not getting released today?" Dean piped up, his voice quieter than usual.

"No, there is no point in keeping you here. Medically, there's nothing more that can be done. Only you can get yourself healthy again by following the protocol." Dr. Johnson informed him flatly. "I do strongly recommend having someone with you during this crucial time in your recovery because with a concussion of this magnitude serious side effects could set in."

"I'm going to stay with him, help him through this." Seth chimed in, noticing the dark look on the dirty blonde's face. "Is there anything he should avoid?"

"This is a printout of post concussion restrictions. As you can see, it's a quite long." The doctor handed the list to the architect and smiled. "However, I do want to verbalize the main points so there can be no confusion over them."

Brown eyes widened as he quickly perused the four pages of post concussion recovery mandates. Damn it, this was going to be a hell of a lot harder than he initially thought it would be. Basically, Dean couldn't do anything at all. To accomplish what this protocol entailed, he was going to have to handcuff the dirty blonde to his headboard for the duration of his recovery because he hated being idle and nothing was more dangerous than a bored Ambrose.

"Great." The huff from the dirty blonde was sarcastic as his narrowed gaze flicked over the man who he now viewed as the enemy. "Can we get on with it?"

"During your recovery there should be very limited physical and cognitive activity until you've been cleared by a doctor. Stimulation, mental or physical is not conducive to your health. Time away from all aspects of work is crucial, you will not receive medical clearance until you show no lingering symptoms. This also means that you are not permitted to watch your peers on television while you're recovering. Alcohol consumption is strictly forbidden. No driving a car or motorcycle, riding a bike or operating heavy machinery until you are medically cleared."

Dean rolled his eyes, his patience obviously dwindling. "Is there anything I can actually do?"

"Rest and relaxation is the most important step in ensuring your recovery goes as smoothly as possible. So as your doctor, I'm prescribing sleep and a lot of it."

Most people would love to hear that but as Seth knew, sleep was not something that came easily for the older man. He was a chronic insomniac who basically took twenty minute periodic naps throughout the day. Sometimes he got lucky and could get a few hours of sleep between the hours of four am and ten am. Those times were few and far between though unfortunately. But given what these guidelines were saying, those twenty minute cat naps might actually be the best thing for him.

"Right, sleep." Blue eyes rolled. "That sounds easy enough."

"If you'll excuse me, I've got a couple of patients to check on. When I finish, I'll see if your release papers are ready."

Seth waited until Dr. Johnson left the room and let out a breath that he'd been holding. "I got to say, considering everything, this is good news."

"Is it?" One eyebrow rose in challenge, anger turning each word to a hiss. "Is it really?"

"Yeah, it is." He stated firmly, holding that burning glare. "Because you could have been brain damaged, paralyzed, stuck in a vegetative state or dead instead. So yeah, you have a concussion and that sucks. But the fact that you're alive, awake, can walk and talk is good news to me and it should be good news to you too."

Dean looked sheepish, eyes studying the ground intently. "Seth…"

All the emotions he tried so hard to keep at bay were crashing over him. Completely overwhelming his brain and body. He buried his head in his hands, his palms digging into his stinging eyes to try stop himself from breaking down. "No, don't Seth me because I'm right and you know it! As usual you're just too damn stubborn…"

"You're right." The admission was quiet and defeated. "It could've been worse."

That surprised him. It usually took a lot more effort and time to get the eccentric man to admit something like that. "I get that you hate having to follow doctor's orders and be patient, to not just rush right back into the ring. Too bad. You need to suck it up and do what you're told this time. Not just for yourself but for Roman and me too. We need you to be healthy."

Dean's cell phone picked that moment to chime and Seth wondered if Roman had some sort of a sixth sense for the times when things got rough. The dirty blonde sighed heavily and held up a hand, indicting for the talking to stop. His finger swiped to accept the call and he brought the phone to his ear. "Hey Rome, what's up?"

Seth took that opportunity to go into the bathroom but not only to give the dirty blonde privacy while he talked to Samoan man. Truth was, he needed a few minutes alone. He splashed cold water on his face and tried to compose himself. To get those spiraling emotions firmly back under lock and key. Not just for his own sake but for Dean's too.

His eyes went to mirror and stared hard at his reflection. But he couldn't look at himself anymore, that same sense of crushing guilt bearing down on him. Turning off the water, he closed the lid on the toilet and sat down. Hands cradled his head as he tried to work through it. There was no more that he hated than feeling like this, so weak and unsure.

He needed to be strong, level headed and unwavering so he could do his best to make sure the dirty blonde adhered to doctor's orders. Dean recovering completely was his number one priority. Anything less than the older man being back to one hundred percent would be a failure. And that was just not an option. So he had to take all the guilt, pain and remorse that he felt and use it as motivation to get the results he wanted.

At least until Dean's memory returned.

That was when things would get ugly.

But he didn't want to think about that yet. So until the day came, he was going to do everything he could to make up for his stupid, dangerous decisions. Approach this like he did with every other challenge he took on in his life, full force and with unbreakable confidence. Prove to his former brother that he really was sorry for what he'd done, that he truly regretted letting something as trivial as the spotlight become so important to him that he'd be alright with betraying them. Put his whole heart into the task at hand, ignoring the fact that he would most likely end up the one who was shattered when the dirty blonde remembered.

Looking back on the choices he made, it disgusted him that he stooped to the levels that he did. Yes, getting to the top was important to him. His goal was never to be just one of the guys. He wanted to be the man. But he never needed to go the route that he did to get there. If he wanted to go it alone, all he would have had to do is sit down and explain things to Dean and Roman, who would have agreed to dissolve the Shield because they also wanted to be more than just part of the roster.

Handled that way, the friendship and brotherhood would have remained intact. They still might have clashed in the ring but it would've been different. Done with respect and the desire to give the fans the best match possible. Not with jealously, hatred, the intent to destroy each other or cause serious physical injury. And there'd have been no outside interference constantly to cheapen the victory.

There was a quick knock on the door, "Seth, you alive in there bro?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" His voice betrayed his confusion.

"Cause you've been in there for like half an hour." The amusement in Dean's voice was plain to hear. "I think the doc thought I offed ya when he came by to have me sign my release papers."

He blinked, getting to his feet and pulling the door opened, eyes scanning the room but coming up empty. The doctor sure as hell wasn't in that room. His attention focused back on the man, who was dressed in his usual t-shirt and jeans, in front of him and he really hoped that he wasn't witnessing a side effect of the concussion. The paper did warn that hallucinations could occur in patients. "Uh, I don't see him. You sure he's here?"

A smirk curved the lips of the older man, his body doing it's usual excited wiggle. "He's been here and gone already dip shit. Speaking of being gone, can we get the hell outta here now? Cause I'm a free man who's sick of this place."