"Now we're even," Dean said. Satisfaction warmed up his heart. Shivers ran down his spite as evilish thoughts filled his mind. The concept of revenge turned into reality. Now he felt complete. The urge to smile for the rest of his life was hard to fight. He succumbed. But he did what he had to. There were no regrets.

"How come they still haven't locked you in a madhouse?" Seth shouted.

"Chill, Seth. You're safe." Then Dean looked at Roman. He still stood tall, unharmed. Of course. Dean fired an "innocent" blank. All the bullets were blanks, which Dean found funny, but Roman was definitely not amused.

"Now give that to me," Seth insisted and furiously took the gun away from Dean. He looked at Dean, then at Roman. "No more shooting!" He had enough. How come he was the only who didn't find pretending to shoot somebody not funny at all? Those joked had to stop, or might join the club and use the gun he now had in possession.

"You fucking jackass!" Roman addressed Dean.

"Oh," Dean pretended to be hurt, "you don't think I would actually kill you, do you?"

"You wouldn't have guts to do it," Roman replied. It sounded as a challenge, but one had to admit there had been enough challenges for such a short trip. And this one in particular would definitely not end well.

"Like you would," Dean dared Roman.

The only one acting like an adult, definitely more than the others, was Seth. As soon as he acquired gun from Dean, he turned his attention to Roman, the guy who was still in hold of bullets. Blanks or real . . . like that would be an important issue for those two.

Seth stood up to Roman. "Give me the bullets," he ordered him. He looked pretty confident in that moment. Most of the time, due to Roman's size and authority, Seth wouldn't demand anything from him, but now he had enough. The days of his architect/peace-maker position may have passed long time ago, but he could anytime gather enough courage to oppose the other two and even force them to do what he wanted. He was Seth Rollins. He felt no fear. "I said give me the bullets," he repeated, although he was sure Roman heard him the first time. But he didn't want to give them up.

"Why?" he asked, as though it could be a deal-breaker.

"Because you two are dangerous even unarmed. I don't want to be forced to come back here one day and tell the police where exactly the murder happened."

Dean laughed. He was the only one.

Seth continued, "I'm surprised we've got this far without anyone getting hurt."

Dean raised his hand. He had some objections to that statement. Was it his quick overcoming of the obstacles that the other two threw in front of him that made them oblivious? What was he supposed to do to make them realize he was hurt? Collapse on the ground, curl into a fetal position, and cry? Maybe one day. But it was not this day. As fucked up as it had been, he was still able to put a smile on his face, and not a fake but the one that mirrored how he really felt, and live in harmony. Without a problem he could talk as though he was perfectly fine, as if nothing happened. Or take it to extremes. Scream, shout, act crazy. What mattered was that he was in control of all that.

Seth still had to work hard to accomplish his goal of getting in possession of all the weapons. "I count to three," he told Roman. He remembered that Dean still had a knife, which one couldn't be sure he wouldn't use. "And you," Seth addressed Dean while having his palm open for Roman to place the cartridge in there. "Give me your knife."

Dean for change looked at Roman. "Why is he talking to us like that?" he complained to his suddenly friend again.

For valid reasons Roman was suspicious of Dean's change in behavior. He would not support his mood swings and acting as if nothing happened. Roman still remembered how Dean fired at him just few minutes ago. "How dare you even talk to me?" The anger was still present. There still might be a reaction for Dean's action coming.

Hostility was everywhere Dean looked. In Roman's eyes, in Seth's eyes. He could even feel it in the air. "What did I do?" he asked, acting innocent and all, but he broke his character when he burst into laughter.

"The knife," Seth insisted. Judging by Dean's unpredictability, getting the knife away from him was the priority number one.

"Oh, right. Like there's a chance I'm giving you all the stuff I can defend myself with. You think I'm stupid? You think I forgot what you two have done to me? Oh, no. I'm not going to make it easy for you. I'm keeping the knife."

Angry face was the reaction Dean asked for. "For the last time, give it to me," Seth said slowly in a tone that sounded very serious. His self-control also had limits.

"I know what you're up to."

"Really?" Seth asked, amused, in a way deliberately teasing Dean. Then he made the necessary steps to be standing right in front of him. Dean's confusion proved he had no idea what Seth was up to. Seth knew; he wanted that fucking knife. Even if he had to take it himself. The lack of Dean's cooperation signaled to Seth what his next step should be. His hand reached for Dean's balls, and squeezed them so hard tears started forming in corners of Dean's eyes. The pain almost got him on his knees, but he would not kneel in front of him. He would not kneel in front of anybody! Not anymore. . . .

"Thanks," Seth said, and took the knife out of Dean's pocket to place it in his. He searched Dean's pockets for any left-over bullets as well but found none.

When he was done with Dean, he turned to Roman. "Will you give me those bullets?" he asked for the nth time. What he did to Dean, who was trying hard to pull himself back together, was to be a warning for Roman.

"I'm not gonna support this behavior," Roman said. Seth didn't give a fuck. He had no problems being a little aggressive to achieve what he aimed for. Roman continued to argue, saying, "Violence is never a way to solve problems." He finished that sentence in quiet voice because of the images popping into his mind depicting the events of the past 24 hours. And there could be no discussion over the aggressiveness, brutality, and lack of sympathy for the so-called enemy. "Look at yourself, what makes you suitable for being in possessions of all the weaponry? You're outraged, impulsive –" Roman used the chance that Seth gave him not to finish that argument. He was close enough to him now to cause those injuries he had been talking about earlier, and the dark eyes of his were fearless, ready to strike.

"Fine, take them," Roman finally gave up. "But if you try to use any of the weapons. . . ." He believed he made it clear even without stating the possible consequences.

"Don't worry."

Roman did a little, but he was more concerned about Dean. He went up to him. Not to check the damage Seth had caused, though. Quite the contrary. To kick him in the balls.

And now Dean was lying on the ground, in pain. Roman leaned to whisper in his ear, "Now we're even."

"What was that thing you said about violence again?" Seth asked.

Roman laughed. "I might have misinterpreted it. I think how really the saying goes is 'Violence is a wrestler's best friend.'"