It's been only few days since he saw her but he already missed her. America. Although he spent most of the year travelling, it didn't come to him as such a problem because he was still in his homeland; no matter how big it was. But flying all the way to Japan and seeing fans so different from the typical Americans, he got homesick. Moreover, WWE had shows in Canada before that, so he was away from home for too long.

"Finally I don't feel too tall," Dean mumbled when he returned to the States.

"Starting to feel short again?" Roman teased him.

"You're the same height."

"I never said I didn't want to be taller; I'd welcome a couple more inches."

That was when Erick Rowan sneaked behind their backs. "Do I make you uncomfortable?" he asked in a creepy voice.

Dean wished that Kane appeared and showed him, but who knows where he was. He probably had something better to do than talking about height.

"Fuck off," Roman said to Rowan. He sounded annoyed and bored, the way he did on TV. Making you believe he was better than the rest; making you like him and his slackness. When Erick Rowan was gone, Roman started to wonder. "What now?"

"Nothing."

"I'm so tired, you wouldn't believe. I want to lie down in bed and sleep for the rest of my life."

"Nobody's got time for that," Dean cancelled his dreamy plans.

"You got something better to do?"

"I have plans with Renee. New York and stuff."

"Wow. You must have put a lot of thinking into it," Roman replied sarcastically.

"Maybe I have." Judging by Dean's mysterious smile he could have had something planned. But then again, Dean's face, as much as his words, was often misleading. One could never say if he was telling the truth.

Roman sighed. "I hoped you, Seth, and I could go to a bar or something . . . you know, like good old times. Where is he anyway?"

"Phew, like I care."

Dean's disgust with hearing his former partner's name grabbed Roman's attention. "What's between you two? You don't talk; you don't hang out. Is it just me or is there really hostility?"

"You know him."

"That's why I'm asking. I bet there's a reason he's acting like that."

"Don't get me wrong, but what I appreciate about you is your not digging into other persons' problems, so please let's not open this topic. Thank you." The case was closed for Dean. Roman just shrugged his shoulders. He respected Dean's privacy. Moreover, sometimes it's better not to know. Let the kids resolve their problems. Only when the fight erupts it's time for intervention. Until then, live happily in ignorance.

Dean flung the door open and stormed into the room. Everybody looked at him. His face was red with anger. He was clenching his fists and then opening them up again, stretching his fingers; as if warming up his hands for a fight. With the laser eyes he searched the room, from left to the right. Not a single soul wished to be looked at. They were all wrestlers, not rarely portrayed as brave superheroes, but now they were getting scared. They were wondering what got him that mad and if they were his target. They hoped not. He looked furious. Now he was a real lunatic, and more than one person would like to see him in a straightjacket.

Then he found the victim, or the culprit in his eyes, and at first walked briskly, then started running his way. Seth stood still. He was less terrified than the rest but nobody who saw him in that moment could call him calm, either. Still, he was aware of his crime and bravely waited for Dean to say whatever was on his heart. Unfortunately, Dean didn't feel like talking it out. His fist hit Seth's left cheek. And so that the other one wouldn't feel left out it received its punishment too. The right. The left. The fast strikes were coming from both sides and quickly got Seth on the floor. It reminded a scene from the ring. Some people even whispered, "Are they shooting a promo?" No. This was real. And it felt real for Seth. Dean definitely didn't hold back. "Separate them," someone called out when the missing cameras made it clear that this was not something they would later show on Raw. "What the hell got into him?" Questions about Dean's sanity were coming from all sides. People didn't understand. Dean and Seth were friends. The post-Shield conflicts belonged on the screen, not the backstage. Had Dean turned into his gimmick? Actors sometimes forget where the line between the character and their real personality is. Maybe the same thing happened to Dean. But Dean and Seth knew it wasn't like that. He had a reason for attacking Seth. . . . And it wasn't a steel chair that once landed on Roman's back.

Dean felt hands on the shoulders trying to put him away from Seth. Everybody saw Seth as a victim. The fact that he didn't counterattacked or didn't even defend himself very believingly made them sure he was in this innocently.

"You went too far, Seth," Dean shouted after the audience's successful interference. He could no longer reach him. Seth was safe.

"Calm down," several voices ordered him. Dean didn't care who stopped him; he kept watching his enemy. The enemy was calm. Maybe even calmer than before. Maybe there was guilt in his eyes. Seth might have realized Dean was right. But he did what he had to do; what was best for everybody.

"Seth, you're all right? Did he get you?"

"Of course he got him!" somebody answered.

"I'm fine," Seth said. This publicity wasn't good, he thought. Dean should have chosen a better time and place, without all the people. But Seth knew Dean; Dean wouldn't plan the attack. What he cared about what might others think if this happens? He acted passionately, without thinking twice.

"If we were alone, you'd be dead."

"Fine," Roman agreed. "Do whatever you want." He yawned. He really was tired. "Enjoy New York," he wished Dean before they both went their own way.

Time was short. The moment Dean arrived to New York, he felt like forgetting about sight-seeing and going to Renee's place instead. Then spend the whole time in bed. With her, of course. But promise is promise. And he wasn't a lazy piece of shit, either.

First, he took her to a dinner. It was a nice restaurant but not too noble. Dean never favored places when you needed to pay fortune just to get a reservation there. You had to dress appropriately; jeans were out of question. And sure, Dean was from time to time willing to put on formal clothes but not more often than necessary. Besides, those first-classes restaurants stank when it came to the staff and their behavior toward you. If it was up to Dean completely, if he wasn't with Renee, a hot dog from a street stand would do. Maybe it wasn't the best for your health but who gives a damn? Body's gonna take care of it.

Still, Dean was convinced that he did everything right. And he was acting nice, too. That was why he found it strange that Renee lacked enthusiasm. She didn't even touch her food. "Aren't you hungry?" he asked.

"No."

"Are you sick."

"No, I'm fine."

"Aren't you happy to be with me?" Dean asked, worried. Her sad mood was making him sad too. And sooner he'd find a reason behind her sadness, sooner he could make her happy. At least in theory.

Renee did her best to smile. She swallowed before she replied, "I am."

"Then?"

"I'm tired."

Dean smiled; it wasn't that bad. It was something he could change or make her forget about. "You're not the only one. But we'll get to the bed eventually," he joked, "after a little trip."

"I don't feel like taking a trip."

"Renee, don't be like that. I'm doing it for you," he had to silence his voice because the waiter came to their table.

"Madam, are you finished?"

Renee nodded, and the waiter quickly took her full plate away. Dean looked at her worryingly; her face seemed to be in pain. "Are you sure you're all right?" Renee waited if he didn't offer going home instead of continuing with their date, which wasn't so far very successful.

When Dean didn't say more, she answered with simple, "Yes." She didn't feel like talking, either.

Dean had to watch her; he really started to worry about her. She wasn't moving, not even breathing movements were visible. She lowered all her survival needs to minimum. Her eyes were set on nothing in particular and her skin was pale. There was no remainder of a smile.

"Look at me," he pleaded. She stayed stale. "Look at me," he repeated. Finally she answered his urgent prayer. Her eyes were calling for help. Two small dots lost in a vague emptiness. Dean wasn't experienced enough to tell the difference between physical and mental exhaustion. But no matter what was happening, he needed to do something before it was too late.

"Let's get you some air," he said and immediately stood up to guide her out. He held her tightly for he wasn't sure if she wouldn't fall to the floor if he used any less strength. He felt responsible. As her boyfriend, it was his responsibility to take care of her.

When they got out, he watched her. He looked to her front and to her back, as if a physical reason for her weakness existed and could be found. But there were no signs. No scars, no bruises. She was all right. In a way. Dean stroked her cheek and held her hand. His eyes were looking into hers; when they had the chance; when she allowed them to.

"Can you stand?" Dean asked as if she was a little child and needed his guidance. But he was just caring.

"I'm fine, Dean." She didn't want to say more. Her voice was cold and distant. She didn't ask for his help. If he let her stand there without his holding her, she wouldn't fall. And she wouldn't faint, either. Maybe it appeared to Dean that Renee was physically weak and at any moment she could lose consciousness, but in reality she knew very well what was happening around her. And she also knew the catalyst of her state of abnormality. No, she wasn't sick. On the other hand, saying that she was tired wasn't a lie. But she didn't bother telling her boyfriend what the problem was. If he cares that much, why doesn't he figure it out by himself?

"I need to cheer you up," Dean said. Why, she wondered. Laughter is not solution to everything. It's just a distraction from the real problem.

Maybe she should have said she didn't want to go anywhere. She wanted to be at home. But the matter was, alone. Not with Dean. If she told him she wanted to go home, he'd go with her. And he'd stay there. And he'd want to get all he could out of privacy. After all, it was better to follow him blindly wherever he'd planned to go, whatever he'd planned to do. All he could do among people was to kiss her. Softly; nothing too adventurous. She could survive that. Maybe if she tried hard enough, she could even make him believe she was enjoying it. But was it worth pretending? Why to put so much energy into something you don't care about?

Renee didn't even know how they got there, she was too apathetic to keep on track with what was going on, but now she was standing on the top of the Empire State Building. Was that Dean's "big plan?" Was that it? Or was there more? Please, don't let there be more, she begged. The Empire State Building was a well-known symbol. Just as the Golden Gate was a favorite place of people who wanted to commit a suicide, the Empire State was where people often chose to propose. Please don't let that happen, was a thought that kept on repeating in Renee's head, as her hands searched Dean's pockets for a ring. Her heart's beating was only calmed down by finding nothing.

"Are you looking for something?" Dean couldn't not notice her busy fingers. Maybe she found the lost enthusiasm, he hoped.

"Just checking."

Dean looked around. It was clear to him. "Aha, you think that I took you here to . . ." he didn't finish. The end of that sentence was predictable enough.

Renee turned around and mumbled, "That's the last thing I want to happen."

Dean didn't notice her comment; it was better that way. He expanded on his thought, "I wanted to visit this place with you; with someone I care about. I know you've been here before, and I was here too, but I thought it'd be more special if we were together." Dean could have kept on talking but Renee didn't seem very interested in what he was saying; she walked toward the edge and stopped to look at the beautiful view. It was supposed to be beautiful but it looked casual. Right next to her there was a couple taking a look at the same landscape, but those two people were somehow more pleased by it. They were smiling, holding hands, really enjoying each other's presence. On the other hand, Renee's face was much closer to scowling and her eyes'd much more prefer being shut. But her feet were steady and she was in charge of her body as much as of her emotions. She wouldn't break down; she had everything under control. That didn't mean, though, that she wanted to build walls around her and let nobody in.

Turning around, she looked to both sides, then into his eyes for a short instant. "This place's not so bad after all," she said, and added to Dean's already existing confusion.

"Maybe it'll make you feel better."

"It can't make me feel better," she replied skeptically.

"Then maybe I can," Dean tried his luck and kiss her. She wouldn't let him. And he started to think the reason wasn't possible illness. Not even weariness. "Are you mad at me?" That was the most probable explanation of her behavior.

"I don't know."

"So yes."

Renee tilted her head to one side in annoyance and let out a deep sigh. "I'm confused; I don't know what to think. How should I feel, Dean? One day you say you love me, and a little later I learn that you keep in touch with your ex. And there's a question that won't leave me alone. Why is she still in your life?"