What's up, guys? I'm back again! :) I know y'all are mad curious about the aftermath of the previous chapter's insane ending, so here it is. For those of you who've read my other stories, you've probably figured out I like hospital scenes. Don't know why! Hospitals are usually gloomy places. But there's almost always a hospital scene in each of my stories, though I've never had to stay overnight in one as an adult (thankfully.) I've also never been shot (again, thankfully), but I do my best to provide a logical story, as close to realism as I can manage through extensive research. Even in a fictional AU story, my wonderful readers deserve a sense of accuracy. :) All that to say, enjoy this next chapter! You won't be disappointed! :)

He should have guessed he was dreaming.

But the atmosphere felt very real, too real, scary real.

He felt like the viewer of a movie, watching Dean roll into a bar Roman had never visited before in his life, and no matter how much the spectator implored and bellowed and ordered the main character of the flick not to go into the scary place, the hero naturally could not hear the cries and therefore ignored them.

Dean shielded his eyes from the colonized smoke in the air. He waved to a bartender, who looked like someone Roman had met once or twice before, who gestured back. Dean had not a trace of fear in his air as he sauntered towards the corner of the shabby establishment. Roman followed with his eyes.

Bray Wyatt was there. He didn't look surprised to see Dean at all.

"Okay," Dean said. His voice was prominent even over whatever harsh music blared through the speakers on the ceiling.

"Okay, what?" Bray asked, sounding as though he already knew the answer. Roman could hear him over the deafening beat, too.

"I'll come back. I'll do whatever you want, Bray, just leave Roman alone."

"No!" Roman cried. Dean didn't hear him. Didn't look back his way once. Roman wanted to get to Dean, to yank him away from Bray's very presence, but in the moment he was trapped as if cemented in place. He couldn't move. Whatever invisible force bound him here was relentless, sadistic for making him watch this. "Dean, I'm right here! Don't do this!"

"Good boy," Bray said, reaching out and gently tucking Dean's hair behind his ear. "I knew you'd come to your senses eventually."

Bray snapped. Luke Harper was suddenly there with others Roman didn't recognize. They seized Dean by the shoulders and knocked him against the wall. Business carried on in the bar as though they were invisible to the other drunk patrons.

"What are you doing?!" Roman roared. "GET OFF HIM!"

Dean made a disgusted face as Luke cackled in his ear, "Welcome home, pretty boy."

"DEAN!" Roman screamed.

"Ro? Roman? You coming around, buddy? You with us?"

"Dean," Roman said again. His throat was arid. His voice felt weak. He was no longer screaming—he couldn't gather enough air in his lungs to produce the great noise he'd been generating before.

"Hey, Roman. It's Seth. You're alright."

Roman's eyes fluttered open.

He was no longer in the bar. This place was much quieter, calmer, brighter; zero smoke, more sweet air to breathe. All he could hear was a steady heart monitor emit beep after beep after beep, an occasional buzz—a hiccup in the machine—that proved he was very much alive.

Alive.

Roman grunted. His neck itched. He reached to relieve the tingling, but his fingers felt a rough patch of dressing instead of flesh.

Seth was with him. He took a gentle hold of Roman's hand and drew his wiggling fingers away from the bandage. Why was it there? Why was he here? Where was here?

He still felt dazed, his mind bleary. Seth's face was all he could make out in a bright background.

"Seth?" Roman asked, not exactly to verify Seth's obvious presence but to feel the comfort of his voice.

"Hey, Roman."

He blinked. The light began to dissipate. Perhaps it wasn't actually as bright in here as he thought. "What happened?"

"Someone"—the tone revealed Seth had a good guess as to the identity of this 'someone'—"shot up Java Central. It was a drive-by. Emptied some kind of semi-automatic rifle into the joint, then took off."

The more Roman blinked, the clearer his surroundings came to be. Seth was no longer a floating head bobbing on an ocean of luminescence. His entire figure leaned over Roman's on a bed atop a scratchy green blanket. The room they were in was narrow and smelled of clorox. His right pointer finger was pinned in a sensor connected to the heart monitor.

"I take it I caught one of the bullets with my bare hands," Roman said, noting the tiny blue gown enveloping his muscular form. The tight fabric stopped just beneath his hipbones. It was probably an amusing sight for whatever nurse had dressed him this way.

Seth smiled grimly. "You would have if you'd been facing that way, sure. And, y'know, psychic, so you could have predicted the shooting. You're pretty badass like that."

Roman mirrored his bleak smile. It dropped as a troubled thought surfaced in his head. "Where's Dean? Is he alright?"

"He's fine. He stepped out a few minutes ago. Said he was dropping by the gift shop."

Roman managed to arch an eyebrow. "You believed him?"

Seth stood up straight. "Yeah…should I not?"

"What time is it?"

Seth checked on his phone. "Little after midnight."

"Does the gift shop stay open this late?"

Seth blinked, his eyes open wide now. "Shit, you're right. Want me to go check on him?"

"If you wouldn't mind."

"Yeah, I'll go do that. I'll go let the doctors know you're awake, too. We've been worried about you."

"Thanks for caring."

"Yeah. You bet. Glad to see you up."

"I'm getting there. And I'm really glad you seem to be okay, too."

"Oh, yeah, I'm good. Little shaken up, but I'm not hurt."

"Thank God."

Seth lingered for a quiet moment, as if taking in the relieving sight of a vital Roman, then stepped out of the hospital room. Roman sat up. It didn't hurt, but his muscles felt stiff from the prolonged stillness. Instinctively his hand raised to rub his neck, but he was met with the thick layer of gauze again.

Why was his neck bandaged?

He swore he'd felt the discomfort in his shoulder…his arm…

But Roman could find no indication of physical trauma on either arm. No other cuts, wrapped wounds or even bruising; just a few sleep lines, printed into his skin by pillows and sheets in his slumber.

He wasn't alone for long. A tall blond man in a white coat stepped into the room, clipboard in his hand. "Hi there. I'm Doctor Jericho. I've been watching out for you tonight."

Tonight? So he hadn't been here long, or even longer than he thought. Was it still Thursday? "Hi, Dr. Jericho."

"Could you please verify your full name and date of birth, sir?"

Why? "Uh, sure. Roman Reigns. May 25, 1994."

"Good." He made some note on his clipboard. Maybe this was a way of testing his brain's functionality, or to make sure some patient hadn't switched places with Roman for whatever reason. "Do you remember what happened, Roman?"

"Barely," Roman said. It hurt to try to think of it. He wanted to dodge that nightmare, too. "My friend Seth kinda filled me in."

Dr. Jericho smiled sweetly. As though his situation was worth grinning over. "You took a single bullet to the side of your neck. Your exam didn't show injury to any deep organs or tissues. There were a few bullet fragments left in place, because removing them may cause more injury to the nearby tissues. Scar tissue will form around that area. Once healing is complete, fragments usually don't cause any symptoms, so you shouldn't have any problems with it. Your body heals itself, like nothing ever happened."

Like nothing ever happened. Roman nearly chuckled at that one. Good one, Dr. J. "Wait," he said, remembering something. "I was shot in the neck? I could have sworn it was my arm. I remember a lot of pain, especially in my shoulder area."

"That's perfectly normal. Mixed signals can trick you into thinking there is a problem in one area of your body, when the origin is in another. It's a condition called referred pain. More than likely, nerves that were damaged in your neck set off a warped sense of pain in your arm."

Shot in the neck… "I can move, though. How the hell am I not paralyzed?" Roman wiggled his fingers as best he could to further demonstrate this miracle.

"The bullet only grazed your neck. It made contact with your skin, took out a chunk of it. I stitched you up and put on the dressing. It'll protect it during the healing process."

Roman leaned back against a firm pillow. He let out a great sigh. Unbelievable. "Stitches. I get shot…and the result is just stitches."

"You got very lucky, Roman."

"I was tripping pretty hard for someone who just got grazed."

"Shock affects everybody differently. I take it you've never been in a situation like this before."

"No. Never." Roman so badly wanted to scratch his neck, the area the bandages protected. "So I'll be able to go back to school?"

"If you don't feel like taking a day off just to rest. As long as you follow my home-care instructions, you should be completely better in a matter of weeks."

A day off to rest wasn't feasible if he could help it. Not this close to the end of the semester.

Although getting shot was a pretty good excuse for skipping a class…skipping a final altogether…

Seth reappeared in the doorway. Dean was behind him, looking sluggish and deteriorating. His hair was in disarray. His eyes were swollen and purple as though he'd exhausted himself by crying. He looked ready to break down again as he made Roman out.

"Hey, Dean."

"Hey, Superman," he whimpered, voice breaking on the last syllable. His trembling frame tromped toward Roman, and Roman sat up as best as he could in bed as he took Dean into his arms. Dean put his chin on the side of Roman's neck without the bandage and wept into his shoulder, "I'm sorry…I'm so sorry, Roman, this is all my fault…"

Doctor Jericho understood the gravity of their moment and stepped out of the room. Seth made his way to the other side of Roman's bed.

"Dean, what matters is I'm okay," Roman said. "I'm alright. I survived."

Dean pulled away from Roman. "I told you I was going to protect you, Ro. I said it, and I let you down." He shoved hair from his tired eyes. "I fucking let you down. You're in here because of me."

"I'm in here because of a maniac with a gun. You didn't do this to me."

Dean bit his lip. He pressed his folded arms tight over his chest.

Roman's hand rose to his neck again, this time the center where his necklace pendant usually rested. It wasn't there. "Where's my necklace?"

"On the counter," Seth said. "They took it off to patch you up."

"I'm just glad I didn't lose it."

Dean was no longer speaking. He stared down at the off-white ground in a rather unusual silence.

"What'd you get me?" Roman asked.

Dean looked up at him. "What?"

"I heard something about a gift shop. Or was that supposed to be a secret?" Roman tried to smile, but Dean chuckled softly, humorlessly.

"Oh, yeah. I was on my way down, but as soon as I saw Seth, I figured there was an update on your condition. He said you were awake, and I just wanted to see you."

Seth gave Dean a look that Roman registered as skeptical. What was that about?

"That's sweet. But I was only teasing. You don't have to get me anything."

"But you know I will."

"Only if you really, truly want to."

"Of course I do."

"Then you'll have to wait until morning," Seth said, still looking at Dean. "Looks like they closed at seven."

"Oh." Dean's face flushed. "Guess I lost track of time, then. Sorry. It's been a fucking crazy night."

"I don't blame you," Roman stated. Why was Seth acting so paranoid? Was it his own shock still taking great effect on him?

"Can I bring you anything from the cafeteria, Ro?"

"Probably closed too, Dean," Seth said. He wasn't acting afraid. Very irritable, but certainly not fearful.

"Oh, right." Dean chuckled. It sounded forced. "How about the vending machine down the hall, Ro? A pop-tart or a candy bar?"

"You know, that does sound good," Roman said. "I'm starved, and I probably don't have any other food options right now."

"Great. I'll bring you back something sweet. What about you, Seth?" He craned his neck to stare into his best friend's eyes.

"Oh, I'll go with you."

"Unnecessary."

"I think it is, Dean."

Dean rolled his eyes. "I doubt whoever shot up Java Central followed us here, Seth. Relax, max. We're alright, okay? We're safe here. You don't need to play bodyguard."

Seth shook his head, giving up on whatever he was going for. "Fine, Dean. Go to the vending machine."

"Think I got some cash in my wallet…" Dean snatched his worn-out leather wallet from the counter that also held Roman's necklace and other belongings. "Back in a flash."

When he was gone, Roman asked, "What was that about?"

"He was talking to someone on the phone outside the very obviously closed gift shop," Seth spilled. "I asked him who he was talking to. He had to think about it. Obviously he was surprised to see me standing there. He told me it was my dad, then hung up right away. I asked him if he'd just hung up on my dad. He said, 'Yup. He's probably tired. Let's go see Roman.' And scurried off."

"You think he's trying to cover something up?"

"I'm ninety-nine percent sure. I nearly made him jump when he saw me behind him."

"Why didn't you just ask him again?"

"I was waiting for him to be honest with me. Clearly that wasn't going to be the case. I'm just frustrated he'd lie like this in our circumstances. I do my best to protect him, and now he's holding back secrets."

"And you're absolutely sure he wasn't really talking to your dad?"

"If my dad heard from Dean what had happened tonight, the first thing he'd do is tell my mom. Doesn't matter what the time is—he'd wake her up and tell her. Then the first thing she'd do is call me up to find out if I was okay." He held up his phone as evidence. "No calls. Not even a text. He wasn't talking to them. He's lying to me."

"Then who could he be talking to, and why wouldn't he want us to know?"

"Isn't it obvious? He's trying to contact the Wyatts. Put an end to this."

Roman swallowed. "No…that can't be true." My dream cannot become a reality. It can't.

"He broke tonight, Ro. He was bawling the entire way here. He thought you were dead. You weren't moving when the paramedics pulled you off his body. It was hard enough staying strong for myself, let alone for him. I had to be the one to tell him everything would be okay, when it's usually the other way around. I was worried as all hell about you, Roman, but Dean…" Seth licked his lips. He paced back and forth in front of Roman's bed. "His biggest weakness isn't sugar and sweets, or his reckless attitude, or even his ticklish ribcage. His biggest weakness is us, Ro, especially you, as jealous as I admit it makes me feel that someone could overcome my position in his life."

Roman felt both flattered and remorseful over the fact.

Seth shook his head, his blond and brunette locks swaying. "You can't tell him this, because it would just send him into bigger hysterics, make him feel even shittier. But what the police said back there at the coffeehouse, what they told me when I gave a statement before heading here, was the way you were sitting…how you were right in front of the stage tonight, in front of Dean…that bullet could have hit him. It should have, if it hadn't been for you. You took what could have hit him right in the chest. What could have killed him."

"I took a bullet for him?"

"Yeah. You really are fucking Superman."

Roman blushed. "I would have done it on any day."

"So would I."

"You're right about keeping that little piece of info from him. Can't imagine what he'd do in that instance…"

"It doesn't matter. It seems to be too late now. He's either gonna do something irrational in an act of revenge against them, or he's going back to them to make the attacks stop. They're in this unending game of ping pong now, just going back and forth, back and forth…Bray says check, Dean moves another piece. It had to end at some point. It couldn't go on forever."

"Then why aren't you out there stopping him? Making sure he's not planning anything?"

"It doesn't matter what he says or what he plots, Ro. His mentality doesn't necessarily define his actions, not if we have anything to say about it. We're not going to let him go to them, in any case. Whether he wants to draw up another attack or surrender to the gang members again, it's not happening. He's staying far away from those freaks."

"I agree."

"He thinks he can protect us this way. And look how well that's worked out."

"Seems to be taking a long time," Roman said, eyeing the door. His heart swelled with black terror. "You don't think—"

"No. He wouldn't have left as long as you're here in this hospital room. It's after tonight we have to up our surveillance on him. Make sure he doesn't run off."

"If you're sure."

"I'm usually right about these things. I'm unfortunately a pretty good forecaster for Dean's impulses."

"Well, one thing is for sure. I'm not staying here tonight."

"You sure?"

"You know how much an overnight stay at the hospital costs on average? Fuck that. With my medical bills most likely already pretty high, I'm set on not spending more than I need to."

"What if the doctor says to stay?"

"It's not his call. He told me earlier I'm all stitched up and he's got some home care tips for me to follow. I think I'm good."

"If it's an issue with money, Dean and I can—"

"Seth, I just want to go home." Roman was exhausted. The longer he stayed here, the longer he stayed awake, the more tempted he was to miss class the next day. Spend an entire day resting in his apartment with Seth and Dean. Nothing to do, nowhere to go, nobody to be with except the two people he loved most.

Seth pressed his lips together. "Okay. Alright, let's get Dean and Dr. Jericho back in here and find out what's up."

As if on a cue, Dean hopped back into the room. "Hope you like Snickers," he said, handing over the candy bar to Roman. Roman peeled off the wrapper and took a bite. He didn't realize how hungry he was until after that first mouthful.

Dean nibbled on a snack of his own: a chocolate chip cookie. He handed a package of peanut butter crackers over to Seth, who slipped them into his pocket, clearly not hungry or unwilling to eat for another reason.

"Everything good, Dean?" Seth asked.

"Oh, yeah, this is delicious," Dean answered. "Love me some chocolate chip cookies. Can't beat a classic snack like this one, right, Ro?"

"Right," Roman sighed. What the hell was Dean up to now?

Doctor Jericho entered again. He went over his care instructions, strongly advising Roman to follow them to a T. How to wash and care for his wound, the do's and don'ts of recovery. Serious symptoms to watch out for, to contact either Dr. Jericho or his regular physician should he experience any. A warning of how obviously traumatic a shooting is, and some common mental side effects of such an event. Roman had already encountered one of those symptoms: the nightmare.

When Roman asked if he could be released that night, the doctor was clearly hesitant about agreeing, but he'd been right. There was nothing further the doctor could do for him that Roman couldn't do for himself. Dr. Jericho recommended scheduling a follow-up appointment for next week. Roman agreed to it.

Seth and Dean both promised the MD to look after Roman and make sure he followed the doctor's orders to ensure total healing as soon as possible.

Though the discharge process took nearly an hour, with Dr. Jericho prescribing some painkillers and antibiotics for Roman's injury and the matter of the bill, Roman was finally free to go.

"Where's my car?" was his first question outside the hospital, which glowed white in the darkness of the winter night.

"Still at the coffeehouse," Seth said. "But you're tired, and I've got my car. I'll drive us back home, then we'll get it tomorrow or something. Okay? I'm sure it won't get towed."

"Okay," Roman said, offering no protest. "Thanks."

Roman napped on the drive home. It was too short of a sleep to produce any dreams, thankfully. He'd rather not dream at all than have his brain succumb to another hell like what he'd seen.

How likely that hell will come to earth…come true…

He didn't want to think on it. He didn't even want to think on what Dean was planning, whoever he'd been speaking to on the phone. The car rolled to a stop and Roman stirred from his light sleep. He was home. He was alive. Dean was alive, Seth was alive.

That was what he wanted to think on.

The positive.

Roman carefully changed into pajamas. His wound had received a fresh dressing from the doctor before he left. He was careful to avoid touching the area as he stripped of his shirt. Dean and Seth were as ready for bed as he was. Seth gave Roman an easy hug and wished him goodnight. He made his way into Randy's former room and closed the door.

Dean, dressed in nothing but boxer shorts, creeped under Roman's comforter.

"You alright, Dean?" Roman asked him.

"Yeah, more than alright. So glad you're alive, Ro. Now come join me. This bed is too big for just one person."

Roman tested something. "Seth said you were on the phone earlier? Outside the gift shop?"

"Oh, yeah. I just rang up his folks to let them know what was going on, in case we ended up on the news or something. It probably will. I mean, who shoots up a coffeehouse? Bunch of no-good fuckers, that's who. I hope his parents weren't too upset about being woken up so late. But I felt they deserved to know."

Was Dean lying to him? He tended to ramble when he was hiding something…

"You sure?"

"Absolutely. Roman, I miss you even when you're standing right in front of me. Come hold me. Please." He held out his arms, bottom lip jutting out.

What is he hiding…

But Roman flicked the light off and joined him in bed. Dean snuggled up close to him, linking his arms around Roman, hands pressed against his back. The hold seemed tighter than it was other nights.

"I love you so much, Roman Reigns," Dean whispered. "You're my world. You're my everything. I can't…I couldn't go on without you, Ro. As fucking weak as that makes me sound. It's true."

"I know how you feel, Dean. It's everything I feel about you, and more."

Roman felt Dean's warm, soft lips on his cheek. His breathing steadied further and further as the minutes passed. In a little while he was asleep.

Roman was on the street.

A great pressure crushed his chest. A boot on his sternum. Attached to the foot was the rotund, bearded, sadistic fucker Bray Wyatt.

Standing over Roman like playground bullies were the Wyatt brothers, Bray leading the assault.

"It's over," Bray hissed, giggling. He pressed down harder on Roman. Roman grunted, coughed. The intake of breath was difficult. "It's over, Roman. He's mine."

One of the figures suddenly turned into Dean. He was crying again.

"D-Dean?" Roman wheezed.

"I'm sorry, Roman," Dean said, but it was not his voice—it was Bray Wyatt's. "It's the only way to protect you."

Bray kicked him in the face. Howled laughing. Blood leaked from his nose like a faucet. Dean watched on, remorseful yet…one of them.