"Post office is closed today, right?"

Dean glanced at Roman from the passenger's seat of the Civic. Roman gripped the steering wheel tight as he made a right turn. He was familiar with the area of Seth's parents' house, but he'd need Dean's guidance a little later on to remember the specifics of their destination. Seth was waiting for them there.

"Yeah," Roman answered.

Dean hit his knee. "Shoot. I finished this up, and I'm really itching to get this to Bray's place. Signed, sealed, delivered, baby."

Roman didn't say anything. He was strongly tempted to lick his lips, the way he usually would, feeling this anxious. But he'd misplaced his tube of chapstick, and he didn't want to risk his lips splitting open in the cold.

"You okay, Ro?"

"How'd she know?" Roman asked over a low-volume ad for a jewelry company on the radio. "How'd she know me? How'd she know I worked there?"

"Don't worry about Abigail, alright?"

"It's not her I'm worried about."

"I didn't think you were worried at all, Superman."

Roman cast out a breath. "I'm trying not to be. I'm not, really, it's just…you know. Anxiety at all. Always makes good situations bad and bad situations worse."

"I guess I can't really relate. I'm kind of a thrill-seeker."

"I know you are."

Dean ran a hand up Roman's leg. The gesture made his skin tingle. "Roman Reigns, you're brave. You stick around me, there's your proof. You flat-out said if the Wyatts try anything, that's what they asked for. So tell that uneasy mind of yours to fuck off." He raised a pointed finger and tapped the side of Roman's head. "Bray Wyatt gettin' in here a little bit? Making you a little upset? Making you a little angry? That's good! I like my Roman Reigns angry. I like my Roman Reigns upset. Don't succumb to the fear—embrace it. Swap it out for some rage, a short temper. Don't let him get to you the way he wants to get to you. Show him what it means to tug on Superman's cape. Show him what a mistake it is."

"And that's how you deal with it?" Roman asked, caving to Dean's overconfidence. "You choose not to be afraid of him—you just stay pissed off?"

"I'm not afraid of anything."

"Everyone's afraid of something."

"Clearly you haven't visited the insane asylum known as my mind."

Dean was afraid of plenty. Roman had seen the color drain from his face when he received the message that Seth was in the emergency room. He chose to outright deny it, defy its existence through a riot of his psyche. Telling Roman to turn his fear into a fight was just a small glimpse at how Dean subsisted with the emotion he called "useless" and "wasted."

Dean had a weakness outside sugar. It was emotions in general.

Emotions such as fear, and love.

Was Roman somehow causing Dean to stumble in his fortitude simply by being there? Unwillingly offering another piece of leverage for the Wyatts to use against him?

Roman wasn't going to let the Wyatts near him. Or Dean.

Or anyone.

"Where do I go from here?" Roman asked at the intersection just outside the Rockrimmon neighborhood.

"Straight through this light. Left at the stop sign. Will you go with me to the post office tomorrow?"

Roman obeyed his directions. "Sure."

"And…maybe Walmart so I can get a new phone?" Dean asked, grimacing as though it was the most ludicrous request in the world.

"Of course. I'll go anywhere with you. It's just gotta be after my class."

Dean smiled. "I can wait. I'm not looking for a fancy-shmancy Android like you have. Just a cheap little thing I'll probably throw away within the next couple of months. I hate being without a phone, though. Not being able to get into contact with Seth."

"I can understand that. He's your best friend."

"Right turn here."

Roman recognized the area. On Thanksgiving he'd felt underdressed here; now in his work attire he felt even shabbier. On any other day, the concern would be major. His circumstances allowed him to care a little less about his physical appearance.

Seth opened the door for him, as though he'd been waiting by the door and watched them arrive through the window. "Hey," he said. His face looked a lot better. Like there'd never been an attack at all.

"Hey," Dean said, patting Seth on the shoulder.

"Hey, Dean."

Dean scuttled into the house and down the corridor to say hello to Seth's parents. Roman lingered behind just inside the front door with Seth.

"Thanks for bringing him here," Seth said. "Being without him for a night ain't easy. As sorry as that sounds."

"Hey, it's no problem. The way you say it makes it sound like we're a divorced couple in a custody battle over our son Dean."

Seth snickered. "You stickin' around?"

"Yeah, maybe, for a little while. But I think I'll sleep at my place tonight. I want to be there with my roommate."

"Oh?"

Roman pursed his lips, lowered his voice even though they were the only two around. "I had a run-in today with Abigail."

Seth's jaw unlatched. "Wyatt's sister Abigail?"

"Wyatt's sister Abigail."

Seth ran a hand over his mouth. "Did she know—"

"Well, she knew my name, thanks to this." He jammed a finger against his name tag, which he realized at that moment he'd accidentally worn home instead of stashing it in his cubby back at work. "But no, she already knew much more. She called Dean out, right in my face. Said Bray's gonna find Dean wherever he is and take down anyone who's with him. Anyone who's in contact with Dean is in as much trouble as he is."

"Jesus."

"Yeah."

"Are you okay?" Seth asked, touching Roman's arm.

"Could be better." Roman smiled grimly. "Could be worse, too."

Dean appeared at the end of the corridor like a ghost. "Seth, mind if I hop in the shower? I feel like a wolverine over here."

Roman had to bite back his request to join Dean in the shower. Another time. Not with Seth and his family here.

"A wolverine?" Seth asked.

"You know. They smell."

"Why not a skunk?" Roman queried.

"Why not neither?"

"Yeah, go ahead, Dean," Seth said. "Roman and I'll just hang out in my room or something."

"I'll be quick," he promised, darting upstairs.

To get to Seth's bedroom, they had to pass through the living room. Stephanie greeted him from the couch, glass of wine in hand.

"Hey there, Roman. How's it going?"

"Pretty good, ma'am." Liar. But how could she know the truth? If she didn't already? "I hope you're well."

"I am. Thank you."

Roman chuckled at the condition of Seth's basement bedroom. He apparently hadn't taken much with him when he left home to live on his own. The room was fully stocked, that of a teenage boy's, albeit very organized: a Chicago Bears poster above his bed; a tidy desk holding a laptop and books that looked like the complete required reading list of a high school class; photo frames with pictures of the family; a calendar tacked to the wall, stuck in time on December of 2013; an empty snake cage.

Seth sat on the edge of his made bed. "Welcome."

"It's nice," Roman said. "Much bigger than mine."

"Is anything in this house smaller than anything you own?" Seth ribbed. "Nah, Dad makes good money. We're very fortunate."

Roman sat in the spinning chair at Seth's desk.

Seth shoved his hair from his face. "Listen, Ro, from the bottom of my heart, I'm sorry you're involved in this mess with the Wyatts. This ain't anyone's idea of a perfect situation."

"Except a sadist, maybe."

"Maybe. But you're a decent guy. You've got the good life going. Dean loves you, I…well, I guess I sorta do, too, but maybe not in the same way Dean does?"

Roman smiled. This time the act was genuine. Seth was getting flustered.

"The point is, you mean a lot to me now, too. I attach myself to people, and I care about them whether or not they feel the same way. It's a pain in the ass."

"Well, your attachment isn't unreciprocated. I feel for ya, brother." Roman leaned forward to pat Seth's shoulder, finding the muscle to be extremely taut. "You've been through a lot. And you deserve someone to look after you for once, after everything you've done for Dean."

"I guess."

"You do." Roman pinched the stiff muscle. "Trust me."

Seth half-smiled.

Roman noted a picture frame on the desk with two young boys posing with funny faces and Mickey Mouse hats. "This you and your brother?"

"Yeah. First trip to Disney Land. We made it out there a few times when I was a kid."

"You guys pretty close?"

Seth's hands were playful in his lap, clasping and unclasping one another, eyes fallen. "We were. Till we grew up. It's weird. Usually kids fight every second of every day when they're younger, then grow up to appreciate that sibling bond. Us, nah. We got along okay as kids. Then got older and found we wanted different things."

"That sucks."

"Yeah. I still see him, from time to time. But he's got his own life to live. And I've got mine." He lifted his gaze. "But we're not in here to be all sappy, huh?"

"Nah, we're just in here to protect our asses from those damn Wyatt brothers."

"I think we're here so I can kick your ass at Metal Wars."

"What's Metal Wars?"

Seth gasped. "Bro. You've never played Metal Wars?"

"Of course I have. I was just testing you."

Seth threw his head back. "Roman, my man, you're missing out! It's the best game of the year, hands down. The plot is, the president stopped using human soldiers to fight all our wars, and started establishing these super robots for the military."

"And let me guess, the robots end up turning on the humans, right?"

"Nope," Seth contended. "You as the player are the super robot soldier. You're invading other countries, protecting your own, knocking everything over. It's a good time for everyone. And there's something about a love story, the main character falling for the daughter of his chief, but we don't play the game for the love story. We play the game to blow shit up."

"Well, let's do it then."

Seth started up the game and entered a particular mode where players could go head-to-head on either the side of the battle: in favor of the robot soldiers or the humans. Seth allowed Roman to play as the robot soldier first. He bragged about how good he was, no matter what side he played on.

A fact that was quickly objectified when Roman caught onto the gameplay quicker than expected and only lost the first round by a couple of kills.

"You're catching on," Seth praised.

As he started up another round, Dean came into the room, hair dripping and clothes partially sticking to areas on his body where he forgot to dry himself. "Whoa," he said, eyes fixed to the screen, "why is this here and not at our place?"

"Thank God it wasn't at our place. Bray might have taken it," Seth said.

"I doubt he's too interested in Xbox games."

"Dang it!" Seth cried, nearly dropping his controller as his character fell dead. "Stupid bots shooting me with a rocket launcher from two feet away. Who does that?"

"Looks like the bots are on recruit rank, Seth. They're not cheating, you just suck."

"Fuck off, Ambrose."

"I want in on the next round." Dean dropped onto the floor in front of Roman, hugging his knees.

Roman lost again—this time, however, by even fewer kills than the round before.

"I'm catching up," Roman said. "Be ready, Seth. Might take away your championship reign here pretty soon."

"Bring it on."

Dean joined in the game and started off as a robot soldier. Seth clicked his tongue.

"We have a Judas in our midst," he said.

"Where are you?" Dean sang.

"Right here! You're dead, sucker," Seth hissed at the screen. "Not so badass against a flamethrower, are you?"

"Take this grenade and shove it," Dean replied.

"Ha, missed. Told you your aim sucks."

"It's alright, I got your back," Roman said to Dean, shooting Seth's soldier in the head. He stared at Roman incredulously.

"The hell was that? I thought we were tight, man."

"Something, something, love and war."

Suddenly the last of Seth's comrades was dropped by a faraway enemy. A sniper Dean had planted in a tree high above him. The screen declared victory for the robots, and Dean howled, "That's how you do it!" He and Roman high-fived.

"Whatever," Seth said. "You're such a cheater. You just hide out and snipe people."

"Yeah? So?"

"Why don't you come down and fight like a man?" he challenged.

"Bring it on. I can play with just a handgun and throwing knife, and still kick your butt."

The next round was interrupted when Stephanie texted Seth, informing him Thanksgiving leftovers were available for dinner tonight.

Roman realized, as much as he wanted to stay, he needed to get home to Randy. He had homework to do; not to mention he wasn't sure if Randy was all that safe with a potential member of the Wyatt family following Roman now. If they knew where he worked, what other sort of classified information did they have on him?

Seth deserved an evening with Dean, anyway. Roman had been hogging him a bit lately.

"Sure you don't wanna stay?" Seth asked upstairs.

Roman pulled his coat on. "Yeah, like I said, I've got homework and shit to do. Plus, I think my roommate might think me and Dean eloped to Vegas if I don't come home early enough."

"He can get over it if we did," Dean teased. He enfolded Roman's hand in his own and took his lips against his own. The kiss was sweet and ardent and Roman wished it could last all night long.

Roman caught Seth glancing behind as his eyes opened.

He gave both of them a hug and promised to see them in the morning. Dean had some errands to run.

"A college student believes that (s)he is depressed. Reported symptoms include lethargy (e.g., stays in bed most of the day, misses classes, doesn't study), stagnation (e.g., believes that life is going no where, what's the point of trying), and poor nutrition (e.g., eats little, mostly junk food). Given this information, offer a therapeutic plan from any TWO of the following: behaviorism, psychoanalysis, humanistic psychology. For each approach, indicate (a) how you would determine the cause of the "depression", and (b) offer two "help" suggestions (i.e., advice, therapy, plan of action)."

"Just fall in love," Roman said to the imaginary college student in his essay question. "That's what got me to feel a lot happier."

"Dammit!" came an exclaim from outside the room.

Roman pushed away from his desk and jogged out to the kitchen. "You alright?"

Randy stood over a smoking stovetop. He reached to turn the front burner off, covering his mouth with his arm. "Yeah," he said through a cough. "Was trying to make vegetable stir-fry with rice for dinner. Think I set the temperature too high or something."

"You're trying to cook?" Roman was genuinely surprised—and impressed by the spontaneous effort.

"Yeah. Figured we can't live off ramen and bowls of cereal forever. We have to survive like men with real food!" He fanned his mighty have over the smoldering pan. It did little to rub out his mistake. All that remained was a sticky blob of blackened rice and shriveled vegetables. He made a face.

"Want me to help?"

"Nah, you've got your essay thingee. Don't worry. I can maintain." Randy brought the pan across the kitchen and dropped it into the sink with a loud clank.

"I appreciate it and all, but you wanna just order a pizza before you burn the whole place down?"

"Sure," Randy said, dropping the pan. "Sounds good. Last time I ever try to play housewife for you, Ro."

Roman chuckled.

He was surprised when there was a knock at the door just ten minutes later. The ad for the neighborhood pizzeria boasted about fast deliveries, but they'd never arrived this soon before. Randy opened the door, cash in hand.

From the living room, Roman didn't hear voices.

"Everything okay?" Roman called.

"There's nobody here."

"What?" Roman rose from the couch.

"Wait. There's an envelope."

Roman's chest tightened.

"Says your name on it, Roman."

His throat dried.

Randy closed the door behind him, upholding a thick paper envelope. "Secret admirer? Don't tell Dean," he teased, but Roman was not in the mood to joke around. He unwillingly took the envelope from Randy and tore it open.

There were photographs inside.

Photographs of him.

This one of Roman perusing the streets of downtown; that one of Roman leaving work one night, based on the darkness of the picture; another of Roman leaving his apartment.

In every single one, his face was slashed through with a red marker.

The rest of the pictures were of his apartment, his car, a couple of Dean and Seth. Seth's face was slashed out as well; Dean's, encircled. Only one picture of the apartment contained another figure. Randy. Meaning this one was the most recent, since he'd been gone for many days.

"Roman, what the fuck is that?" Randy asked.

Roman couldn't answer. He felt his vision fading, his hands shake, as he took in with severe alarm a picture of Seth's parents' house.

In the same red marker used to dash through the faces of Roman and Seth and encircle the face of Dean, the perpetrator had written one word that made his flesh crawl.

"RUN."