Skovko, Ha, maybe I can make that a spin-off series!

AngelOfDeathOfWrestling, Yeah, I kind of put Dean through the ringer in this story. But it's all for the best (or to satisfy some perverse need I have...I'm not sure yet!)

So, Seth and Dean in real (TV) life have made up. How about in this story? Time to build a bridge?

Hatred (A Duet)

The morgue was not a place Dean had ever liked visiting, but knowing what had happened to her made things worse. At some point she had been down there on a metal tray, lying on her own, all cold and unloved. It half-killed him to think of her body being down there and it made him fucking shudder as they walked in through the doors.

It's okay Dean, she's not there, she's safe now.

If it was safe to be buried in a coffin beneath the ground.

Stephanie looked up as they strode in together and lifted off from the wall she'd been leaning back on. It was strange how at home she looked in the surroundings but then again, Dean wasn't especially surprised. She was Stephanie McMahon Helmsley after all. Death was probably frightened of her.

"Gentlemen. Did anyone see you come in here?"

Dean shrugged,

"Nobody who knew who we were."

"We told them we were relatives," Seth fleshed out for her, "Distant cousins."

Roman grunted,

"Very distant – from Samoa."

"I see."

If the meaning didn't pass her by however, then the humour almost certainly did and Dean glanced across at Roman and grinned a little. It was good to have someone else to try and needle her. It had been getting kind of boring being a mischievous one-man-show.

Seth – for his part – seemed a little more serious, standing with his arms crossed against the tiled wall and frowning at his boss across the unforgiving space.

"Where's the victim?"

The mood turned in an instant and noticing it, Stephanie flicked her head,

"Follow me."

Together they trooped beyond the cold little chamber and into an equally cold little room. There were medical trolleys laid out in straight lines and they were empty except for the very last one. No matter how many times Dean laid eyes on a body bag – and having been in the police for as long as he had, he'd come across a fair few in his time – the sensation would never not be unsettling and he felt himself inhale at the familiarly peaked sheet. There was a tray of implements lying alongside them and he glanced down at them distastefully as Stephanie peeled back the shroud.

"Same marks as before?" Roman asked gruffly, as Dean kept his eyes on the poor deceased man.

He was probably somewhere in his early to mid-thirties, with a shaved head and a slightly scraggly beard. He was muscular – not overly, but enough to look healthy – and otherwise seemed to be in pretty good shape. There were a couple of tattoos scrawled across his chest in the usual combination of crosses, skulls and roses and the guy had a stud in one of his ears.

In essence he was a regular Suplex City kind of guy.

Just like he was.

Dean shuddered a little bit.

"Just like the others," Stephanie confirmed stonily, producing a file which contained several glossy photos. Each of them showed a long red incision, expertly made but then never stitched up. The reality of the case – coupled with being beside the victim – was sobering and shocking all at once. Even serial killers had some sort of reasoning – a compulsion, a violent childhood – but stealing organs seemed somehow worse. People were being lured and killed for the money and the callous, unfeeling nature of the murders chilled every single one of them to the core.

"Name?" Dean asked huskily,

"Not sure yet – we're still looking. At this point we're waiting for a missing persons report. That's probably the best lead we're going to get. Especially since this gang – ,"

"The League of Nations,"

Stephanie blinked at him and in the silence Seth stepped in to explain,

"That's what we're calling them."

"Okay, The League of Nations, only pick guys who are down on their luck. If this guy was homeless or didn't have employment then it might take a while for people to notice he's even gone."

Dean sighed heavily.

That was a bleak assessment and probably just another way that he was perfect for the job. After all, who would really notice if he went missing? No family, no friends, no – well – no her. If he hadn't joined the police force then maybe it would have been him, living a sad and unextraordinary life and ending up, all alone in the morgue. It made for pretty melancholy thinking and was pretty all-consuming as well. He didn't even realise that they were shifting from the body until Roman put a hand on his arm,

"Hey,"

Dean jumped and frowned a little,

"Huh?"

"We're leaving. You okay?"

God damn Roman and his near eagle eyesight. Dean shook him off again and offered up a shrug, going for casual but totally misjudging it and as a result coming off a little too cool,

"Who me? Sure – yeah, I'm good. Better than good. Why?"

Roman sighed,

"No reason."

Stephanie and Seth had moved off ahead of them and were discussing the case when the others caught them up. As Dean tried to shake off the lingering coldness, his boss turned to him pointedly,

"You made contact with the gang?"

"Uh, yeah."

"But not the surgeon?"

"No, they said they'd be in touch. Somethin' about tests and blood samples and all that stuff. I'm guessin' I'll meet the butcher then."

Stephanie nodded briskly,

"I guess it's possible. Keep me informed."

Dean saluted,

"Aye aye boss."

"In the meantime," Seth stepped in again smoothly, as the commissioner's eyes narrowed in a warning not now Ambrose look, "We were going to try and find out some more information about the nephrologists you've got on that list. We've split the foreign trained surgeons up between us and me and Roman were going to hit them up."

"You think he's foreign? The whole League of Nations angle?"

Damn she was quick.

"We think it's possible," Roman offered back at her and she nodded again – a sure sign she agreed.

"I like it. Let me know what you manage to find. I'll have the investigating team take on the paper trail, have them focus in on those individuals in particular and see if they can see anything that might help narrow things down."

It seemed pretty pointless – the police had already failed on this one – but if nothing else it proved she was keen to help and trusted their instincts and so Roman nodded back at her,

"Sure, that would be good."

As they had been talking, they had been moving from the basement levels, tracking through the windowless corridors towards natural light. Usually Dean didn't mind the gruesome bits – over the years it had just become part of his job – but something about the man on the table and the kidneys and the damn League just put him weirdly on edge.

Much like Roman, he had a bad feeling.

But he was Dean freaking Ambrose, so he couldn't admit that.

"Dean?"

"Huh?" he looked up with a start, Stephanie was staring back at him,

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

His question drew a dual frowns from his ever-perceptive teammates, although his boss simply sighed and repeated the question, slower the second time a little like he was a child,

"What are you going to do now?"

Oh, right.

"Nothin' much, just go and show my face in The Battleground, make a big deal of bein' pathetic and drunk. If these guys are gonna try and keep tabs on me, then I've gotta make 'em think I belong."

On reaching the deserted back doors of the hospital, Stephanie slid a pair of sunglasses on. When she pushed on the release bar there was a man waiting for her – security detail – who shepherded her back towards her car. Halfway across the parking lot, she turned back towards them, as ever needing to have the last word,

"Keep me informed," she stressed, semi-warningly, "I want to know exactly what's going on."

Then she climbed into the backseat of the town car and they watched as the driver spun her out onto the road. It felt a little like a hurricane had whipped through the area and as the vehicle disappeared from sight around the corner, each man let out a sigh of relief.

"Always a pleasure," Dean quipped with a grin and Roman smiled back at him,

"She really is something isn't she?"

"Something?" Seth snorted, "She's a McMahon, they're all like that. Words can't describe them."

Together they ambled down the steps towards their own cars – well – that's to say two thirds of them did. In their haste to get down to the morgue and their latest victim, Dean had jumped in with Roman for the ride. From the direction he was walking he was counting on a lift back and that dependency hit Roman with a sudden brainwave.

If he wanted Dean and Seth to mend their differences, then he would have to force them into the same space. What better way to do that than with a car ride?

His plan would either make or break their team.

"Look uce," he offered, trying to sound casual, "You know I'm heading over to the West Side, right? Well that's the opposite way to The Battleground. Seth's heading East, maybe he could give you a ride?"

The look he got was two-parts murderous to one part –

No, on second thoughts the whole thing was murderous and utterly dissenting. Seth on the other hand positively bounced.

"Fine by me, I mean, it's on the way so – ,"

He shrugged as his sentence tailed off hopefully and two pairs of eyes turned expectantly to Dean.

Fuck.

What the hell had he done to deserve such cruel punishment? From Roman of all people? He thought they were cool. His lingering silence made his answer clear however and as he stared across blankly, Seth suddenly shook his head,

"Uh, but, if you want to – you know – go with Roman then that's – ,"

Oh god damn it.

"It's fine," Dean grumbled, hating the response he got as his teammates snapped their heads up to stare at him,

"It's fine?"

"Yes Roman, I said it's fine. I'll go with Seth, it's not like it's a big fuckin' deal."

Only that was an out-and-out lie because it was a big deal and they all knew it which made it about eighteen times worse.

To prove his point – or to disprove theirs – Dean turned and crossed the asphalt towards Seth's car, waiting pointedly at the door. He was trying to ignore Roman's smirk as he did it and the way Seth positively skittered behind. He hated that the pair of them were on eggshells around him. Since when had he become the difficult one?

"You two be careful," Roman offered warningly,

"You mean because we'll be trapped in the car together or you talkin' in general?"

"Both uce."

As Seth unlocked the doors, Dean grumbled slightly and climbed into the passenger side whilst glaring daggers at his friend. Roman didn't deserve to call him uce. The Big Man knew exactly what he was doing and the grin he offered through the window at his teammates only confirmed that.

Different directions my ass.

Dean hunkered down against the plush leather seating and folded his arms like a sullen child across his chest. It was the universal sign of don't talk to me and Seth followed that advice to the letter, simply firing the truck into life and pulling them silently out of the parking lot. For a blissful few moments Dean even began to think that the entire journey might be conducted in an uncertain stillness – which, for the record, would have been fine by him – but then, barely three minutes from the god damn hospital, Seth drew in a breath and broke their newly established rule.

"Look man – ,"

"Don't," Dean fired back instantly, drawing a frown,

"Don't what?"

"Waste your breath," he shrugged, "Not interested."

"But you don't know what I was going to say."

"Don't I?"

"No."

To his credit, Seth had the audacity to look actually confused and the expression was so genuine and so totally fucking clueless that Dean found himself replying with an instinctive and very wry sounding snort.

Seriously?

"So you weren't gonna apologize to tryin' to stove my head in with a chair three years ago? Apologize for lyin' and – oh yeah – breakin' up the team we built?"

The younger man faltered briefly, his mouth working up and down like a goldfish,

"I – ,"

"Yeah," Dean cut in sharply, crossing his arms in tighter, "Like I figured."

"Look Dean," Seth continued, clearly not noticing Dean's hint or his body language or the semi-murderous glare in his eyes, "I know I've said it before in letters and on the witness stand and in the hospital and everything, but this time it's different."

"How?"

"Because this time it's face to face, alright? This time you're going to see that I mean it and if you still don't believe me, then – I mean – if nothing else, I'll know I've tried."

Dean snorted again, the sound echoing in roughly off the windows,

"You call this tryin'?"

"For your information, yes I do."

"Well shit Rollins – ,"

"Dean," Seth put in bluntly, cutting off the cynicism and positively flinching at the cold surname treatment, "Hey, I'm sorry, alright? I'm really, really fucking sorry and I know that doesn't mean much and it doesn't change what happened but I'm saying it anyway and I need you to believe me. I'm so fucking sorry dude, for everything, okay?"

It was a pretty impassioned and desperate missive and made all the more loaded for the anguish in his tone. It was Seth's last attempt. He had nothing left to give Dean and so if his teammate – his brother – didn't accept it this time then he had literally no clue what else he could –

"The hospital, huh?"

Seth blinked at him,

"What?"

"You said you apologized in the hospital. When?"

Oh.

"When you were – uh – when you were – ,"

"Unconscious?"

Seth winced visibly at the starkness of it,

"Yeah."

"Wait," Dean shook his head like a Labrador, making his untidy bangs bounce back and forth. His face was screwed up and Seth couldn't quite read it but it seemed to be a combination of anger and bafflement, "You came to the hospital? Why would you do that? To finish me off?"

"Come on man," Seth groaned, "No, I would never do that. I couldn't – ,"

"You almost fuckin' did Seth, so don't give me that shit. When it comes to you and what you're thinkin', I don't have the first god damn clue. Maybe I did once, but now? No. You put me in the hospital and I'm supposed to forgive you because – what – you confessed while I was fuckin' concussed? While the doctors were tryin' to figure out if takin' that chair shot had busted my skull in half or not?"

Dean had been growing progressively angry and as the sentence tailed off, it rose to a shout. There was three years' worth of rage in the statement and bottling them up had taken their toll. Honestly, it almost surprised Seth a little. He had half expected Dean to be done with him, their friendship and the past. But instead there was still a swirl of emotion, which possibly meant – no, had to mean – that deep down he still cared.

"Dean – ,"

"If you felt so fuckin' guilty about it, then why didn't you tell it to someone that mattered, huh? Why didn't you go and tell the boss? Confess what you were doin' – what you'd done?"

Dean's fierce glare deserved a truthful answer and as Seth negotiated the late afternoon traffic, he tried to best to figure out what that was. In the past he had shied away from analyzing his behaviour, but faced with it suddenly, it wasn't hard to figure out.

Why had he not confessed?

It was simple.

"Because I wanted to tell you first, I wanted to be able to explain when you woke up. I knew I wouldn't get the chance to do it otherwise and – guess what – turns out I was right. Besides, I didn't know if Stephanie would believe me – ,"

Dean blinked,

"But you thought she would believe me?"

"Guess I always knew she liked you more. She certainly yelled at you less anyway. Plus – even if she didn't believe you – I was there to back you up. I was always going to tell the truth."

"Oh," Dean exhaled, full of bitter mocking, "So that's why you hit me over the head with a chair. You wanted to tell the truth. Sure, that makes sense."

Seth grit his teeth in utter frustration,

"I already told you a million times man, I panicked."

"And I already told you what I think of that. Bullshit."

"Look – ,"

"Nuh uh," Dean interjected firmly, "Bullshit Seth, alright? I'm not buyin' what you're sellin'. Never have. Not on this. You don't do what you did to me out of panic. You don't hit someone in the head with a chair. Once maybe, but you did that shit twice. So come on brother, you want me to forgive you? Tell me once and for all. Why?"

Shit.

His question was the one that Seth had been dreading. For three years that word had haunted him.

Why?

It was something he had thought very long and very hard about and although he had some rough ideas, there was nothing in his head that answered it outright – mostly because there had been nothing in his head the night he had been busy smashing in Dean's. There was no way in hell that answer was going to fly though and so Seth took a deep breath and tried to explain,

"I told you that I was all messed up back then, right? Not knowing what Hunter was going to do?"

Dean scoffed,

"When you apparently couldn't tell your best friends what was happenin'? Yeah, sounds familiar."

"Will you shut up and let me finish?"

"Maybe, or maybe I'll just hit you with a chair."

Seth groaned loudly and let his eyes shut, which wasn't a great idea considering he was driving. His teammate really was a fucking child and it was starting to grate on his nerves.

"Come on, Dean – ,"

But as it turned out, Seth wasn't the only frustrated one, because suddenly Dean was reaching for the door and his tone was as icy as it was oddly calm,

"No. You know what? We're done here."

"Dean," Seth barked, scrabbling across the console until he finally hit the button that triggered the locks, "What are you doing? We're fucking moving – ,"

Dean glared back at him,

"Open the doors Seth."

"Not until you hear me out."

"I'm warnin' you Seth," Dean spat, "I swear to god – ,"

The whole situation was deteriorating rapidly and Seth could feel his heart starting to pound. In three whole years it was the best chance he'd had to explain what had happened the night he'd turned his back and suddenly the moment was slipping away from him. He couldn't let that happen. He had to make it work.

But what did he say?

His emotions bubbled up on him, mounting and mounting until they finally burst.

"I was angry."

"What?"

"I said I was angry, so fucking angry."

"Angry at me," Dean glared back, "Right?"

"No, at everyone – the whole situation – but most of all I was angry with myself. I was pissed that it all got so out of hand like that. I was angry that I had let Hunter get a hold over me, I was angry that I couldn't protect my family, I was angry that I had let you down. I was just angry, alright man?"

He wasn't entirely sure what he was saying or what was going to come out after that but although Dean was still glaring back at him angrily, he had at least stop trying to bust out of the car.

That had to be a good sign right?

"What the hell has that got to do with me?"

Maybe not.

Seth sighed,

"Because I knew that you would never have let things go down like that – you would never have gotten into such an unholy fucking mess. You just have this – I don't know – knack for surviving Dean. I mean, for Christ sakes, you're still doing it now. After everything you've been through, after your childhood – ," he tailed off with a wince as Dean sort of stiffened, trying desperately not to say the wrong thing but at the same time needing to make him understand, "Don't you get it? I fucking idolize you man. You and Roman. Both of you guys. I always have done – you're my big brothers."

There was a momentary pause as Dean drank in the adulation, before screwing his brows up,

"So then why did you – ,"

Seth already knew the rest of the sentence .

Why did you hurt me?

"Honestly man?" he sighed, "I couldn't handle it. I couldn't handle the disappointment in your eyes and I just – I don't know – I had to make it stop somehow. I just couldn't stand seeing it."

Dean's expression clouded over again,

"So you decided to fuckin' beat it out of me?"

"If that's how you want to phrase it, then yes. But when I say I wasn't thinking straight, I mean it. I literally wasn't thinking at all. If I had been, no way would I ever have done it or left you there. I – I was messed up. You know, I actually drove to the bridge right afterwards and thought about ending it there and then," he shrugged and glanced away from his teammate in embarrassment, "I never told anyone that part before."

"So why didn't you then?" Dean asked quietly, before pulling a face, "I didn't mean it like that."

Seth nodded,

I know.

"I guess I just figured I had to make it up to you somehow and I knew that jumping wasn't the answer. I needed to know that you were alright. I mean, I know that's not enough. I know you don't forgive me but – ,"

Dean groaned heavily, sounding frustrated and he suddenly threw his hands up in the air,

"Ugh, god damn it – I forgive you, alright?"

Seth blinked,

"Hold on a minute, you do?"

"Yeah," Dean shrugged, "I mean, I even kind of get it, y'know? Hunter was a fuckin' bastard. You weren't the only person he got on the ropes. But what I can't fuckin' do is forget what happened and I don't know if I ever will. I don't know how to trust you anymore."

It was like one step forward and two steps back and in a desperate attempt to make Dean believe it, Seth pulled the car up to the side of the road. Spinning in his seat, he eyed Dean intently and tried to load his look with the sincerity he felt.

It was literally now or never.

"That's what I'm tryin' to tell you man – you can trust me, I mean it, okay? I'm not going to betray you again Dean, not ever."

His teammate blinked away from him then sighed,

"Then maybe I don't want to trust you."

"Dean – ,"

But apparently the conversation was over because the older man interrupted him again and although his tone wasn't angry or accusing, it did sound weary and essentially done.

"Let me out of the car Seth."

Shit.

It kind of seemed like he'd almost broken Dean. That certainly hadn't been his intention and he doubted it had been Roman's masterplan either. But then what had he expected? Dean had been through so much. Was it any fucking surprise that the re-emergence of his best friend and his turncoat brother had sapped his last reserves?

Seth wasn't even sure where the conversation had left them. Were they better now or even worse than before? Dean didn't want to trust him. That was worse, right? Even so, he couldn't stop the concern as he unlocked the doors and watched Dean step out,

"You – you probably shouldn't be on your own man, not with The League out there with a target on your back."

Dean paused in the doorway briefly and his face was unreadable,

"I'll be fine."

"You sure?"

For a second he thought that Dean was going to walk away from him – no smile, no nothing – but suddenly he stopped. With one hand on the doorframe, the blonde hunkered down a little and offered him across a quirky little grin.

"I'll see you back at the roach motel though, right? You're gonna be there, keepin' an eye on me?"

"You bet," Seth replied, his heart thumping rapidly.

That was a good sign. It fucking had to be.

Dean continued to linger for a second and then nodded at him briskly and slammed shut the door. The second he was out he pulled up his collar and stuck his hands in his pockets. In an instant he belonged. Dean Ambrose was like a chameleon and it was just one more thing that left Seth in awe. Watching him through the windshield like a damn hawk, he traced his teammate until he stepped around the corner and disappeared completely out of sight. Letting out a sigh, Seth pulled back into traffic, his head in disarray but one thing clear.

If didn't Dean couldn't trust him, then Seth would have to change that.

Then maybe the three of them could be brothers after all.

So this is...well...they haven't made up exactly, but it's baby steps, right? They're talking at least.