Disclaimer: I don't own anyone.
Rated: M
Warning(s): Slash, Threesome, Kidnapping, Threats, Possible Non-Con, Considered Self-Harm, etc.

Roman's eyebrow twitched. Slowly, he turned around to face the larger man. "What did you say?"

"You know what I said." But even so, he still took the opportunity to repeat himself. "If you take one more step, I'll turn around, head back to the hotel, and kill him. Put him out of his misery. The misery of your existence, that is."

Now, his chocolate brown eyes narrowed. "Shut the fuck up, bastard, before I shut your mouth for you."

"Oh, but if you did that, you would never be able to find out where Seth is and I don't think you're willing to take that kind of risk, are you?" When Roman didn't answer, he added, "I didn't think so, kiddo."

Long, thick fingers took hold of the man's bald head and smashed it against the concrete. Blood spilled over his fingers, but he didn't much care. "Don't pretend to think that you know what's going through my head."

"It's not all that hard to figure out, Roman. You're a lot of hot air, but besides that, a lot of fear." He hissed.

"And what gives you that impression?" Roman whispered. His assault had stilled momentarily, but he was still infuriated.

The man's blue eyes widened. "Well, y'know, there is the fact that you're still here, listening to me, begging for me to tell you if Seth really hates you." A pause. "I hate to break it to you, Roman… but you're trash to him."

Roman's heart was tearing and he didn't understand it. "Shut up! I thought I fucking told you to shut up!"

"No." The man smirked. It made Roman uneasy. "You asked me a question and I answered it. Did you want me to lie?"

"No… but I didn't expect you to tell me the truth. And I still don't." Roman slurred. His head was starting to hurt.

This was his chance. He waited until Roman stumbled forward, a look of utter delirium in his eyes, before he took full advantage of his second wind and climbed to his feet, knocking Roman to the ground. He watched with sick satisfaction as all of the air forced its way out of Roman's lungs and a little bit of blood dribbled out of the corner of his mouth. For a second there, he almost felt bad for him. But then he remembered who he was and what he was there for. There was no time for remorse.

As soon as Roman was down, he was out. In the cold still of the night, it was even difficult to tell whether or not he was breathing. But the man knew that he was. He couldn't take the chance of killing him. If he killed him, then there would be fingerprints and DNA and all of the other high-tech gadgets that they had nowadays. But if he assaulted him… well, that was a scare-tactic. Obviously, taking Seth didn't have a big enough effect on them. He needed to take it to the next level.

He took out a piece of paper and scribbled down a quick letter, which he stuffed into Roman's fist. It was the only part of Roman's body that wasn't covered in blood, which was remarkable in and of itself. It seemed like Roman's entire body was covered in the sticky red substance. Once he was sure that it wouldn't float away when the wind started to pick up, he allowed his hand to trace down Roman's chest, still covered in the hoodie. He stared into Roman's black chocolate eyes.

"Just think about it this way, Roman." He drew out Roman's name in a sing-song manner, a sick smile on his face. "I'm not doing anything that isn't a long time coming. You mess with the bull, you get the horns. Poor Seth already learned that the hard way."

Roman was silent, aside from the gurgling sound in his throat as he tried to breathe around the blood.

"But I'm sure that you won't see it like that. Hell, who am I kidding, of course you won't see it like that. You're Roman Reigns. You're above everyone else. But even the great and powerful Roman Reigns can be broken down…"

He took hold of Roman's hips and dragged him down until their bodies were almost touching. Once there, he tore the button off and watched it fly across the sidewalk, skidding into the sewer, never to be seen again. But that didn't bother him too much. He turned back to Roman's vulnerable body, unzipping Roman's pants and pulling them down his hips. Quickly ridding himself of his own pants, he spread Roman's legs, and, casting one last glance up at Roman's face, started to move in….

Dean stared into the mirror of the hotel room uncomfortably. He didn't like the way that his face looked. It seemed like a kind of selfish thing to say, but it was all he could think of with Roman mysteriously gone and Seth in some other man's bed. All he could think about was his face. It wasn't exactly the most beautiful face in the world. If he were to be honest with himself – Roman was the sexy one, Seth was the cute one, and Dean… well, sometimes Dean kinda felt like he was just there.

He tapped the handle of his blade against the porcelain sink, wondering once more if he shouldn't just end it. He could feel his relationship with Roman deteriorating and he had no idea what had become of his relationship with Seth. That one call from Seth's phone had been the last time he had received contact from the boy. That felt like an eternity ago. Now, as he stood before the mirror, he felt incredibly tired and sick to his stomach. When he looked in the mirror, he hated himself.

Maybe it was because he couldn't keep Seth safe. Maybe it was because he couldn't seem to fix his relationship with Roman. Or maybe, deep down, it was because he had never thought that he deserved the love of either of them and was just waiting for them to walk out on him. And now that it had happened, he didn't know what to do with himself. The tap, tap, tap of the metal handle against the porcelain sink was all that could be heard in the silence, and it slowly drove him mad.

He turned the knife around, staring at the blade with a mad look in his eyes. Wasn't it Seth that had called him 'crazy as fuck'? Truer words had never been said. One minute he wanted to make love to Roman, the next, he was all alone in the hotel room, feeling like a little kid being ostracized by his friends. One minute, all he wanted to do was rest in bed with his two lovers, the next, he was back there, staring at the knife. He never did anything with it, only stared at it. But still…

But finally, he let the knife fall out of his hand and watched as it hit the basin with a soft clank.. He wouldn't do anything with that knife. At least, not tonight. He was still confused, still worried. And the more anxious he became as a result of that, the more he wanted to take that knife in his hand and squeeze. Not cut, just squeeze. He wasn't bloodthirsty, not yet. But there was still time. There was always time for further deterioration.

"How is he doing, nurse?" Chris asked, his eyes swollen, bloodshot, and tired. The nurse smiled at him sympathetically. She had seen him knocked out in the waiting room and had brought him a blanket to keep warm.

"He's doing better, sir. He's still not conscious, but his vitals are better. If you want, you can go in and visit with him. He's been cleared for visitors." Her smile never faded.

She'd never seen a man get to his feet so fast. "Thank you, ma'am."

And then he was inside of the room, dashing to Phil's bedside. He took hold of his baby's hand, his heart breaking as he realized just how easy it was to lift up off of the bed. Phil was so weak, his body so frail, it was almost as if he was dead. That thought caused him to grow still. A tremor shot down his spine. If Phil died… God, he couldn't even think about it. All he knew was that they would have to bury him with him, because he couldn't live without Phil.