I'm spoiling you guys rotten with these quick updates, huh? :) Y'all deserve it. Days off are so nice. Anyway, here's the next chapter. A little bonding between your favorite boys, plus the introduction of another character. Enjoy!

Roman took the long way back to his car. He didn't want to risk taking a wrong turn and running into that bastard Bray again. He walked on the street's side, on Dean's right, keeping Dean closer to the buildings.

Dean drew something from the pocket of his leather jacket. Roman realized it was an electronic cigarette. The vaporizer lit blue as Dean took in a deep drag, then cast out a sweet-smelling exhaust.

Roman frowned in disapproval.

"Something wrong?" Dean asked. The man who'd just been screamed at and assaulted by a deranged imbecile, asking Roman if something was wrong.

"Shit's just bad for you, that's all," Roman said, not wanting to get preachy.

Dean chuckled. "So is living in general. Besides, they're better than the real thing. In taste and health." He took another inhale, emitted the vapor turned away from Roman, then returned the e-cig to his pocket. "Hey, thanks again for, y'know. That."

"Yeah, no problem. What are you doing out here alone, though?"

"I play here a lot." Dean lifted and lowered his guitar case as evidence. "Makes a decent amount of tips."

"This part of town's pretty treacherous. The later it gets, the worse it is."

"Relax. I look out for myself. Sometimes my buddy comes with me, so I'm not always alone. We'll chill for hours out here, listening to people tell their stories, playing music, getting a couple bucks for something to eat. It's only as dangerous as you think it is."

Dean might have been crazy. Hell, he might have been dangerous himself. But he fascinated Roman more than anyone ever had.

"You have a ride home?" Roman queried.

"My own two feet, man."

This guy was going to put Roman in the hospital with heart complications. In more ways than one. "Not that I don't trust you've got some hidden superpowers of your own, but after what I just saw, I think I'd be a little more comfortable giving you a ride home."

"I can appreciate that gesture on a night like tonight."

Roman waited for Dean to explain who the hell that Bray guy was, and why he'd been harassing Dean like that. Instead Dean's fixed look dropped to the bag in Roman's hands. "Escape Velocity? Isn't that that comic book store back there?"

"Yeah. I like comics." Roman braced for taunting.

Dean picked a snowflake from his dark blond mane. "That's cool. Didn't know anybody really read them anymore, but yeah. You a DC or Marvel guy?"

Roman's posture relaxed. "Marvel, hands down." Speaking of marvel, he couldn't believe what he was hearing. Dean wasn't making fun of him. Was Dean like him, by some wonderful chance?

"Me too. They have way better movies. Loved The Avengers. I thought the sequel was better, but nobody really agrees with me."

"I liked both differently, but equally." Even if he was just a fan of the movies, and not a diehard True Believer—a nickname Marvel fans established for themselves —Roman could live with that.

"What else are you into?" Dean inquired.

"Um…" Roman wasn't used to talking about himself. He was more accustomed to listening to others prattle on about their own interests and accomplishments. "Comics, video games, school, working out…"

"So let me get this straight. You've got brawn and brains? Damn, dude, you're pretty much perfect, aren't ya?"

Roman's heart expanded. "Oh, no. Not perfect."

"Well, you've got it all. You clearly know how to kick some ass, you probably have more knowledge of the world than most people. You're a college kid, you take care of your body, and on top of that, you're not bad on the eyes."

"Neither are you." The words escaped him before Roman could halt himself. His pace slowed, and his cheeks burned red against the frigid temperature. He hoped Dean couldn't catch onto it.

"Ha. Thanks. I've been told I have a weird face."

Roman scoffed. "Haters."

They'd arrived at Roman's car. Roman opened up the trunk for Dean's guitar case. The backseat of his Honda Civic was disorderly with textbooks, empty McDonald's cups and Monster cans, candy wrappers and papers torn from notebooks. He suddenly felt insecure about the condition of his car's interior. Not that he figured Dean would judge him for it. He just never knew what people would think of him.

Roman held the passenger door open for Dean. If he noticed the mess, he didn't say anything.

Roman pulled the door shut and cranked the engine on. The radio, currently tuned to a station that bragged about playing a "variety" of music, was playing a song by Florida Georgia Line.

"Ew," Roman and Dean said in unison. They traded smiles.

"Not a country fan?" Dean asked.

"No, sir. Guessing you're not either?"

"Unless it's Lynyrd Skynyrd, hell nah."

Roman carefully moved out of his parking spot and merged onto the narrow road among the slow-moving traffic. The streets were glossy and perilous with ice beneath the snowfall. He'd have to take the drive slow and steady. Not that he minded being in a car for such a long time with Dean.

Dean spotted Roman's collection of CDs crammed in the shelf on the door. "Oh, for real?" he asked, reaching for the stack. "What are these antiques?"

Roman chuckled. "Can't seem to let go of the past."

"With how shitty music is nowadays, I don't blame you." Dean inspected the CD on top of the stack, then moved it to the bottom to review the next case. "Still listens to CDs and still reads comic books. You're something else, Roman."

You're one to talk, Roman thought with an inward smile.

"Oh, yes!" Dean cheered, choosing a Led Zeppelin and jamming the others back into the shelf. "I knew I liked you."

Seriously, quit it with that. I will have a heart attack in this car and we'll both probably die.

Dean stuck the CD into the player. The car filled with the band's song "The Ocean."

"Favorite genre?" Dean asked.

"Classic rock, if you couldn't tell," Roman said.

"My kinda guy. Top five favorite bands of all time?"

"Oh, geez," Roman laughed. "Why don't you just ask me to pick my favorite kid someday when I'm a dad?"

"Bet you anything it'll be your first kid. Almost always is."

He sounded a bit sad in that answer. Roman wondered what that was about. His fingers drummed on the steering wheel. "Metallica, Iron Maiden, Judas Priest, AC/DC, and Thin Lizzy."

"Sweet. You have great taste."

"What about you?"

"Hmm. Pepper, ZZ Top, Escape the Fate, the Red Jumpsuit Apparatus, and Pierce the Veil."

Roman had only heard of two of them. Pierce the Veil and ZZ Top, though he could only admit to really loving just one of the latter's songs: "Sharp Dressed Man." "That's cool."

Dean mouthed the chorus to "The Ocean" dramatically and strummed away on an invisible guitar. Roman merged onto the highway and kept the car rolling at a safe speed of 50.

"So," Roman said, plucking a thought and giving it verbal life. "Elephant in the room. Er, car. Who was that guy?"

"Who, Bray? Ah, just some guy who's been giving me grief since I moved to the city. He's adorable, isn't he?"

Wasn't my word of choice. "Looks like he gives you a little more than grief."

"I'm not afraid of him. Him and his band of pricks, they got nothing on me."

"I just want you to be care—"

"I know," Dean interrupted, a bit more snappy than he probably meant to sound. With a sigh, he expressed, "You really don't need to worry about me, Roman. I look after myself. Been doing it for a while. And I have people…a person, I guess." He rubbed the back of his neck, then shook out of his leather jacket. He must have been hot. The car did warm up quickly. Roman turned the heat down a tad. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to go off like that. I just don't want you thinking I'm this dumb kid who can't take care of himself."

"I don't think you're a dumb kid," Roman insisted. He felt awful for prying. What was the matter with him? Couldn't he have just left it be? This is why he had difficulty allowing himself to care about people. It'd get to the point where he cared too much, and suddenly his feelings were nothing more than a bother to others and himself. It was why he was okay with having so few friends in the world. If you had nobody, nobody could hurt you, and more importantly, you couldn't hurt them.

"Thanks. Go ahead and get off on the next exit, it's not much further."

Roman was worried the rest of the car ride would be painfully awkward when Dean suddenly asked, voice light in tone once more, "Who's your favorite superhero?"

"Superman."

Dean scoffed. "Get out of here. Batman's way better."

"You kidding? Superman would stomp that little Goth." Roman loved Batman a lot, too, but he liked getting into this friendly debate with others. Especially someone like Dean.

"How's that?"

"Superman operates on a global level. Batman's used to using his gadgets and Batmobile and everything in the city of Gotham. But take the fight to a desert or a…I don't know, a rain forest or something, and Batman's shit out of luck. He's out of his territory. He's screwed."

"All Batman would need to do is load up a gun with kryptonite and bam, Superman's done for. Turn right up here."

"How the hell is Batman gonna randomly get his hands on kryptonite?"

"He's got people. They'll seek it out for him."

"In space?"

"Hell yeah, in space! Bruce Wayne could own space if he wanted. He's that rich and that awesome."

Roman laughed.

"Take this next turn. It's this last building up here on the left."

Roman found himself in the parking lot of a shabby apartment complex. Dean guided him to the correct building, and Roman swung his car into a spot.

"You wanna come inside for a while?" Dean asked.

Roman's heart hammered. Were they ready for this? Was it too soon? "Uh…sure, that sounds good."

"My roommate's home."

"Oh."

Dean knew, he had to have known, what Roman was thinking at the invitation inside. That little smile was so cocky, so cute. Fuck, everything about him was just so irresistible. Roman was susceptible to his emotions, defenseless against this developing crush.

Dean recovered his instrument from the trunk, and Roman followed him up to the second floor. Dean stuck a key into the doorknob and jiggled it until the lock gave. "Piece of shit," he muttered, pushing the door open. Roman was met with the smell of incense. He stepped into the tiny, cluttered apartment behind Dean.

"Sorry for the mess," Dean said, not sounding very apologetic at all.

"Oh, I don't care," Roman replied.

"Hey, Seth! We're home."

"'We'?" came a voice from the back. A muscular guy poked his head out from a door down the hall. Half of his hair was nutmeg-brown, the other half, sunshine-blonde.

"Yeah. Roman, this is my buddy Seth Rollins. Seth, this is Roman."

Seth met them in the living room and took Roman's hand in a high-five-turned-handshake. "What's up, man?"

Before Roman could fire off his amusing response to that question—"gas prices"—the polite smile on Seth's face dropped. He took Dean's chin in a hold and turned his neck. "What the hell happened?"

A bruise had formed where Bray had struck him. "Oh. Uh…nothing?"

"Bullshit." Seth eyed Roman suspiciously, like Roman had played a role in Dean's injury. Roman supposed he didn't blame Seth for being wary like that, but he'd never lay a harmful hand on anyone unless it was to protect someone else. Case in point, Bray Wyatt.

"I ran into Wyatt tonight. He caught me off-guard. It was actually this guy that made him back down." He jammed a thumb in Roman's direction. "You want something to drink, Roman?"

"Uh, water would be fine, thanks," Roman said.

Dean darted into the kitchen around a corner. Seth looked up at Roman—Roman had him on height by a few inches—and pursed his lips.

"He had an altercation with Wyatt?" Seth asked.

"Yeah. I was downtown when I saw the two of them. The guy was yelling in his face, then just slugged him out of nowhere." He allowed himself the luxury of a boast: "I knocked the hell out of him for it, though."

Seth shook his head. "I hate that guy," he said softly.

Roman nearly asked Seth if he could provide any information on this Bray Wyatt character, but Dean returned with a tall glass of water. "Here you go."

"Thanks."

"So how'd you guys meet?" Seth asked. Dean sat down on the couch, Seth very close beside him. Roman stayed standing until Dean gestured to the empty spot next to him. Their hands were close when Roman was seated. He could almost feel a buzz between them.

"He works at Java Central," Dean explained. "Happened to be in the right place at the right time tonight."

"Yeah, thanks for that," Seth said. "Seriously. I wish I'd been there."

"Ah, you were working. I won't hold it against you."

"Where do you work?" Roman asked.

"I'm a mechanic over at Lighthouse Automotive."

"Oh, okay. Cool."

"Yeah, yeah, big strong mechanic lifting cars above his head all day," Dean said. "Speaking of Superman."

Roman felt a twinge of jealousy.

"You wanna stick around for a little while, Roman? You said you were a gamer. You like Halo?"

Roman wanted to stay. He had to be up for work in—he checked his phone—nine hours. He had the opening shift. He should have really gone home, gotten to bed early, but somehow that sounded like the worst thing in the world he could have done right then. Maybe an hour or two wouldn't hurt.

"Love it," Roman said.

"Seth, you should order us a pizza."

"Sounds good," Seth said. "Got a preference, Roman?"

"I'm not picky."

"Good. Neither are we."

"Supreme it is!" Dean called.

Roman stayed for much longer than he meant to. The boys wolfed down the pizza twenty minutes after it arrived and switched from Halo to Gears of War to Call of Duty (not Roman's favorite, but he joined in and had fun with it anyway), then back to Halo. Around eleven o'clock, Roman prepared to leave when Dean asked if he'd stay for a movie.

"We have all the Marvel ones," Dean coaxed.

Roman couldn't say no. Couldn't resist that face.

Dean made it through the first half of Iron Man 2. He fell asleep leaning against Seth's shoulder. Roman stared forward, eyes burning into the screen. He didn't want to stay and watch Dean sleep soundly against Seth. But he couldn't just leave in the middle of the flick. That was rude. He made himself stay, battle his exhaustion, battle his jealousy, until the credits rolled.

"Think I'm gonna head out," Roman said, pushing himself off the couch. It didn't make much of a difference, but he picked up his paper plate and napkin and carried them to the kitchen to throw them away.

Seth met him in there, carrying his own trash.

"Listen. Thanks for being there when you were, Roman. I can't tell you what that means to me."

"It's no problem." Roman glanced up at Dean, whom Seth had left on the couch to sink onto a pillow. It was a better sight than Dean curled up cute and sleeping on another guy's arm. "Who is Bray Wyatt? What's his issue with Dean?"

Seth bit his lip. He looked uncertain of the answer—or very certain, but ambiguous on whether or not to admit it. "It's a long story. We should probably save it for another time. Dean can fill you in. It's his business, not my own. I just lend a hand whenever he needs it."

"He's a little reckless," Roman said, smiling to tell Seth it wasn't an insult.

"Yeah, I know it. He's in this young and wild and free mentality. Thinks he's stronger than everyone else." Seth looked back at the sleeping Dean. Roman read the look as longing, downcast. Seth had feelings that were more likely than not unreciprocated, or at the very least not nearly as strong. It was what he gathered from their interactions with one another earlier on, the face Seth had on him now. "I love the guy. He's got his issues, but who doesn't? Anyway." Seth cleared his throat, looked up at Roman again. "Thanks again."

"Sure."

"We'll see you around?"

"I'm thinking so."

"That'll make Dean happy. He needs more people in his life."

Roman ignored the sock on Randy's doorknob. As though he really needed an alert to what was happening behind that door. Sounded like a different girl, and just one this time. At least this one wasn't a screamer, whoever she was.

He knew he should have gone straight to bed, but he had a new comic to enjoy first. He plugged his headphones in and listened to "More Than Words." Not from Youtube, from his own library—he'd purchased the song earlier this morning before class. The words filled his mind as he dove into the next edition of The Walking Dead.

But he couldn't quite focus on these characters.

He gave up trying to concentrate on the story after a little while. Dean wouldn't leave his mind. This was ridiculous. Nobody had ever gotten to him like this before. Not any of his exes, even AJ whom he was convinced he'd marry someday (before he caught her in bed with his former roommate Phil, hence why he now lived with Randy.) He hadn't sworn off love, per se, but it agitated him that he'd left himself feel this way about someone else after all that happened.

But he wasn't letting himself.

He couldn't win this fight for anything.

He was losing against those eyes, those arms, that voice, that laugh, that personality. Every little tiny factor, every fragment of a disposition that banded together to create one imperfect yet sublime human being.

Dean Ambrose.