The art of living is more like wrestling than dancing.-Marcus Aurelius

August 22, 2014 9:30am

Seth had been laying on the sofa in Dean's living room for the last two hours, eyes on the hideous popcorn ceiling, trying to figure out what the hell to do. Turns out that he wasn't good at being idle either. Normally at this time of the day, he'd be in the middle of a crazy cross fit session or on a run to cool down. Leaving Dean unsupervised just wasn't a good idea. He had no doubt that he'd come back to find the dirty blonde doing something he wasn't supposed to do or even worse, that he'd come back to an empty apartment.

Because he just knew that Dean was crazy enough to ignore doctors orders and try to drive up to the mountains or go for a run of his own. Wouldn't be the first time he did something like that. He'd witnessed firsthand the fact that injuries were just something Dean ignored. Didn't matter how bad the injury was. The dirty blonde would just stubbornly stick to his usual routine and not worry about it.

So he had no doubt that history would repeat itself if he dared to let the other man out of his sight for more than a minute.

He'd check his twitter but he already knew what would be awaiting him due to what happened on Monday's show. Reading death threats was no way to start your day, he knew that from recent experience. It was funny how he wasn't numb to them at this point in time. By now, after about a couple thousand of them, they should just roll off his back. But they didn't and he wondered if they ever would, if he'd ever get used to people wanting him gone.

Watching TV was apparently also out of the question since the remote control was nowhere to be seen and like most flat screen's, there was no power button on the console. His stomach rumbled again, it had been doing that for a while, and he sighed. As much as he'd love to cook breakfast, there was no food in Dean's house. That wasn't him being sarcastic or finicky. He really wished it was but he made the unpleasant discovery when he attempted to cook dinner for them last night.

This must be what it's like living in a frat house. The cabinets were empty except for several bottles of whiskey and a half eaten bag of stale popcorn. His freezer only had ice and something unidentifiable that was ominously covered in a very thick layer of impenetrable ice crystals. Whatever it had been, there was no doubt that it was no longer remotely close to being considered edible. Other than beer and an old bottle of Coke, the fridge had been barren until they put the leftover Chinese food they'd been forced to order in there.

Which meant that at some point today, there was no choice but for them to go to the grocery store. He refused to allow them to live off takeout for however long he was at Dean's. No matter what the eccentric man argued, you could not live off pizza, Chinese food and French fries alone. Well he guessed they could if they didn't have to worry about or they just didn't care about their physical fitness and well-being. But since they were WWE superstars, they had to try to live a healthier lifestyle than that.

Grocery shopping with Dean was not going to be fun. He had suffered through the task numerous times back when they all shared hotel rooms and used to buy food to save money on the road. The only scenario he could equate it to, even though he had no first hand knowledge of it himself, was that it was probably a lot like what it'd be like to shop with a child. There was a lot of telling the dirty blonde no and taking things out of the carriage that he threw in when you weren't looking. In return, Dean would toss anything remotely healthy back onto a shelf and argue that life was boring if you worried too much about doing everything right.

Because of that, the simple errand took a hell of a lot longer than it needed to.

His thoughts cut off at the sound of the bedroom door creaking open and he sat up, eyes wide as he watched the dirty blonde exit, looking really rough. That discolored area of his forehead was starting to change colors, the purple lightening somewhat to a sickening blue but it had also started yellowing at the edge. He looked away from it quickly and swallowed thickly, "Everything alright?"

"Untwist your panties, I've just gotta use the bathroom." Dean rolled his eyes as he crossed the room. "Ain't even been a full day and you're already driving me up the fucking wall. Keep it up and I'll kill you before the week's out."

Oh yeah. He had somehow foolishly forgotten that the other man was not a morning person. It usually took Ambrose about an hour and two cups of coffee before he warmed up enough to humanity that he stopped threatening death upon anyone who spoke to him. Guess with everything that happened over the last few months, he repressed most things about his former brothers. It made it easier to pretend that he never cared about them in the first place, that he was fine with leaving them behind, that he didn't miss them.

He rubbed his face roughly as the bathroom door closed loudly, like an exclamation point to his annoyance. There was no sense in just sitting there anymore. Might as well get up and reheat their leftovers from last night. Once in the kitchen, he searched for a pan but frowned when he only came across one. A small frying pan that looked like it had seen better days and couldn't hold much at all.

Not a baking pan or larger frying pan to be found.

It completely baffled him. How the hell was it possible to cook everything in a basic small frying pan? A cheap, non-stick type that looked like the damaged coating was a cheap Teflon imitation. One that couldn't even go into the oven because it wasn't cast iron. That had a flimsy plastic handle screwed onto it and would melt from the heat of the oven.

The bathroom door opened and he decided to get to the bottom of the mystery. He waited until the older man was closer then questioned him. "I was going to reheat our food but all I can find is this one pan."

"Use the microwave." Dean was looking at him like he was an absolute idiot. "Fucking quicker and easier."

"Chinese food in the microwave is disgusting. It somehow manages to get soggy but also rubbery and hard at the same time." He scoffed. "I usually heat it up in pans so it's edible but for some reason, this is the only one I could find."

"Cause that one's all you really need." It was an annoyed grumble. "I like to keep it simple when I bother to cook so I don't need a lot of stuff. Eggs, grilled cheese and my own brilliant creation, a happy bowl sandwich all fit into that."

"Your oven works though, right?"

Blue eyes blinked, "The top part does, no clue about the bottom."

He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling for all the world like a parent dealing with a teenager who had just moved into their first apartment and really had no idea what the hell they were doing. "You've never used your oven? What do you do if you don't want a sandwich or eggs?"

"Order out, hit up the buffet at a casino, eat at this little neighborhood joint I found or microwave a frozen pizza."

"You live off sandwiches, disgusting frozen food, greasy take out or horrible buffet food? That's…I mean…it's just-" His eyes closed as he fought the urge to lecture the concussed man on his dietary choices. "You have an indoor grill, sitting right there on the counter, please tell me you use that at least? I mean, you like burgers so you must, right?"

"Nah, I only have that cause Roman got me it as a housewarming gift. Don't know why he didn't just get me some booze instead cause I have a hell of a lot more use for that than any of that fancy cooking shit. I couldn't even tell you how to turn that damn thing on."

Brown eyes stared in horrified fascination, "You can't be serious."

The dirty blonde was actually almost pouting. "Don't look at me like that. I don't like cooking. It's boring and takes too long. Plus after the fourth fire, I kind of gave up on the whole thing."

The architect stared in open-mouthed disbelief at his former brother. He had to have heard that wrong. Hopefully. Because if not then he really had a problem with the dirty blonde living on his own this far from anyone. "Four fires?"

"Two grease and two that probably still puzzle the fire department to this day." Dean didn't look the least bit ashamed or affected by that. He almost looked proud. "Figured it'd be best if I just stuck to the basics from then on."

"This was recent?" Panic was literally spiking in his body.

"Nope, years ago." His tongue poked at his lower lip as he considered. "I was still living in Cincinnati then."

Seth tried to process that. He knew from numerous conversations that Dean had left his hometown a long time ago, moving to Philly to work for CZW in 2009. That was five years ago to be exact. "You've gone all these years, eating crappy food and haven't bothered to learn how to cook? Why?"

"Told you, I don't like it." He shrugged unapologetically. "Plus, I usually lived with people and they knew how to cook. Working at bars when I wasn't wrestling got me free meals during my shifts. When I wrestled, I used to rack up on the pretzels they had leftover after the show. So I never really had to worry about it."

"That's not acceptable." The architect tugged at his hair. "You can't live like this. It's not good for your health."

"Calm your ass down mother hen." A dark, aggravated look flashed across his face. "I'm a big boy and I've been getting along just fine."

No, he really hadn't but he knew better than to say that aloud. No need to start a war this early in the morning. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, trying to reign in his patience with the injured man. "You can't go on living off sandwiches. I'd be a shitty brother if I allowed that to continue. I need to teach you how to cook like an actual adult."

"Pretty sure that's on the mile long list of what not to do that the doctor gave you." Dean looked really smug about that. "Might as well pull the stick outta your ass about it and we'll both be better off. Not to mention, something tells me that this place would go up like a tinderbox in the event of a fire. It's probably loaded with asbestos."

Seth gaped at him, aggravation slowly working it's way through his body. His hand gripped the handle of the frying pan tightly, deciding that it was better to leave this battle alone for now. It could get revisited once the man started feeling better. "I'm going to reheat the leftovers."

"But I don't want Chinese food for breakfast." Dean's tone was a borderline whine. "I want waffles or pancakes. You know, real breakfast food. Not stuff I usually eat when I'm hung-over."

"Well that's not happening because you're apparently allergic to the grocery store." He shook his head in exasperation. "I just don't get it man. How do you have no food at all here?"

"Cause I'm hardly ever here." An eye roll followed that. "Doesn't make sense to stock the place. I usually just grab whatever I'll need for the few hours a week that I'm home."

Well at least there was some truth and skewed logic to that. Their profession really didn't give them a lot of opportunity to spend time in their own homes. So buying a lot of food didn't make sense. Yet there were plenty of things you could purchase that wouldn't go bad quickly, that could survive longer than a week. "You know what I found funny? That you have more than enough beer and whiskey readily available even though as you said, you're not here a lot."

"They have a longer shelf life."

"We're going to the store later and we're going to get food. Real food. Not any of that revolting microwave crap."

Dean huffed, "It's always crowded and people annoy me cause they stand in the middle of the damn aisle with their carriages, talking to their neighbors about stupid ass shit and blocking the damn way!"

"Too bad." Seth kept his tone firm. "We need food."

"Why do I have to go? I can stay here…"

"Leaving you alone is dangerous enough when you're at a hundred percent. Don't want to find out what would happen when you're concussed."

"Oh come on." There was a definite edge of exasperation in his tone. "It's not like I've never had my brain scrambled before. What's the worst that could happen?"

A shudder ran down his spine as several probable scenarios danced through his brain, bringing with them vividly disturbing images. "I don't want to find out what would happen."

"And I don't want to deal with being mobbed by fans right now." Ambrose admitted quietly, sounding tired as he rubbed his temples. "Normally, I don't mind signing shit and taking a picture, talking with them for a few but I just don't feel up to it today."

That statement made him freeze. Oh shit. For a few minutes, he had managed to forget their current reality. Completely and totally pushed it out of his mind that they weren't really friends or brothers anymore and that they shouldn't be seen together at this point in time. All it would take would be a fan saying something to them about what happened or posting their picture on Twitter or Instagram and everything would go straight to hell.

It was better if he figured out a different way to get them food.

Not to mention that Ambrose really wasn't up to it right now. That he did need to avoid situations like that until he was symptom free. "Right, yeah, that'd be too much stimulation and the doctor said you should avoid that."

Dean smirked, somehow managing to look smug once again even though his fingers were still dancing in circles on his temples. "Guess that means that this little excursion gotta wait."

"Not really." His mind had already come up with an alternative plan. "A lot of grocery stores have online shopping and home delivery service. I'll go online and see if any of the ones near here have that option. Where's your laptop?"

"I don't know." A lazy shrug followed that. "Got to be around here somewhere."

It really wasn't surprising that he didn't know where it was, probably had nothing to do with the concussion either. The dirty blonde had been prone to losing or forgetting stuff since the day they met when he showed up in FCW and couldn't remember where he'd left his bag. He'd lost count of how many phone chargers and hotel keycards that Ambrose had lost over the course of the last two years. Hell there was even several times where the older man had somehow forgotten where he'd parked their rental car. So a missing laptop was just par for the course when it came to dealing with him.

"Seth?"

"Huh?"

"I still want waffles or pancakes." Dean rolled his eyes at the incredulous look he was getting in response to that. "I know you can't make them cause we don't got the stuff. We could go to this diner I hit up to sometimes. It's kind of a dump but the food's good and no one bothers me there."

It sounded tempting. Really tempting. He didn't feel like leftover Chinese food for breakfast either. But it was way too risky. Thankfully, he had the list to fall back on and mentally thanked the medical community for his excuse. "Sorry man, I don't think the doctors would approve. You're supposed to be on a strict regimen of relaxation and sleep."

"I'm fine other than this damn headache from hell."

"Which is a side effect from the serious concussion you have." Needles of guilt stabbed into him and he jammed his hands into the pockets of the basketball shorts he wore. "In fact, you shouldn't even be up this long. Go lie down and take a nap. I'll handle getting us food."

"All this doing nothing is boring." Dean argued, crossing his arms over his chest. "It's going to drive me crazy."

Seth smirked at the easy opening he'd been given. "That's a short drive."

That remark earned him a hard punch to his non-bruised arm. He flinched away from the concussed man, eyes wide. "What the hell man? It was a joke."

"Huh, looks like my sense of humor hasn't woken up yet." He gave an edgy smirk, eyes colder than ice. "Try again later."

The three times he'd been punched in the arm hadn't been the usual playful jabs they used to exchange frequently. Not even close. Each shot had a lot of force behind them and aimed to the part of the arm that would inflict the most pain. And the attitude that followed had been anything but apologetic or joking, it had been angry. He rubbed his arm and started to wonder if this was a side effect of the concussion or if maybe this was Dean's subconscious way of letting Seth know that it remembered what he had done.

Brown eyes studied the dirty blonde carefully, trying to gauge the older man. He needed to get to the bottom of this which meant trying to talk about this. "How are you feeling? I mean really feeling. Not what you think I want to hear."

"Told ya, I'm fine except for the headache." But he wasn't making eye contact anymore, focusing his gaze slightly over the left shoulder.

"The hospital gave me a prescription for you. Said you might need it even though I told them you weren't a fan of pain killers." Seth ventured cautiously. "I could get that filled if you want. Maybe it'll help."

"I'm good." Those words were terse, sounding a lot like they were forced out between shards of broken glass.

He knew what had his former brother worried and wanted him to know that he could rely on him to help him through this. "If you're worried about the meds, I'd take charge of it and only give you one when you really needed it. You know that I wouldn't cave and give you more than you were supposed to take just because you asked."

"No."

"Dean, if you're in that much pain…"

"I said that I'm fucking good so just leave it alone!" The dirty blonde snapped, eyes flashing warningly as they finally settled on him, his fist pounded hard against the countertop. He leaned in, voice a savage hiss. "Don't push me to do something I don't want to. If it gets too bad, I'll pop some fucking Motrin or something."

He held up his hands in surrender, taking a few steps back . "Ok, sorry I even brought it up."

Without another word, Dean stormed off to his bedroom and slammed the door with enough force that it rattled for a moments after.

Seth heaved a sigh and sat down on the stool in front of the kitchen island. He had to admit that hadn't been one of his smarter moves. Dean had a hair trigger temper and hated to be pushed into doing something he didn't want to, especially when he had made his feelings about the subject perfectly clear. So he shouldn't have continued to bring it up. It would have been a lot better to just drop the subject and trust that they'd find a way to deal with the pain in a manner that didn't draw the ire of his friend.

He face palmed as he realized that getting Dean angry probably wasn't good for his health. Would probably make that headache a lot worse. So far, he was really failing spectacularly at this whole helping him recover mission. But he could make it up to the older man. All he had to do was find Dean's laptop, a local grocery store that would deliver what they needed then cook him a breakfast that would make Mark Henry jealous.