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

Roman was the first to make it to Seth's fallen frame. Seth was unconscious by the time that he arrived, but the flow of blood was still worrisome. His thick, two-toned hair was matted down to his face, concealing the dried tear tracts that he had tried so very hard to hide. Seth wasn't perfect. None of them were. And he had thought, for a while, that Dean and Roman had understood and accepted his imperfections. But when they had so callously turned him away when he needed their help the most… he just didn't know what to do anymore.

Dean handed Roman a clean, stray shirt out of someone's gym bag. He watched as Roman tore the fabric easily, desperation seemingly amplifying his strength tenfold. He wrapped the thin strip of fabric that he had torn off around Seth's elbow, tying it as securely as he possibly could, in order to form a sort of tourniquet. Feeling the sudden pinch of his skin, Seth started to come around. Blearily, his eyes fluttered open, flitting around and finally coming to settle upon multiple Roman's and a form that somewhat resembled Dean.

"You're awake!" That was Dean, he would be able to recognize that voice anywhere. "Oh, thank God you're awake!"

Seth's breathing was weak and his entire body utterly frail. He seemed as if he would break at any moment. "Are there any other injuries I need to know about, Seth? Or is this the only one?" It disturbed Roman to even have to ask that question.

Slowly, Seth turned his head away, silently asking 'isn't that one enough?'

And suddenly, Dean was squeezing into the small cavern beside Roman, fussing over their wounded mate. "God, Sethie, why would you do this to yourself? Why would you try to take your own life like this?"

"Don't pretend like you care." Seth spat out. His voice crackled and his throat was hoarse. He sounded like a wounded animal. "I tried to tell you what that freak did to me and you wouldn't listen! Don't come and pretend like you care what happens now!"

"I know. I'm sorry. I should have -," but Dean was cut off.

"I don't want you here. Go die in a ditch somewhere for all I care! Get out, and don't come back!" Seth screamed.

Dean recoiled as if he had been burned with hot coals. The looked of pained disbelief on his face was made all the more effective by the momentary flicker of shock on Roman's. Finally, trying to sound as if he could just 'brush it off', he said, "I'll go find that ditch…"

An awkward silence fell over the otherwise abandoned shower stalls as Dean rose to his feet and made his way toward the adjoined locker room, boots squelching with the water the tracks had absorbed. When the door to the locker room finally slid closed with a satisfying clack, Seth finally allowed fresh tears to fall. Roman was at a loss for what to do, as he had never needed to be the 'comforter' before. That was Dean's role. He liked to take care of Seth, to fuss over him and nurture him… and Roman blackened men's eyes for looking at him twice.

But now, Seth had just attempted suicide because he felt that his two lover's would be better off without him, and when one of those lovers tried to comfort him, he had, in no uncertain terms, told them to go 'die in a ditch'. Roman had never seen Seth be so cruel before. It was a true measure of how all of this must've affected him. And now, Roman didn't know what to do. He could either check on Dean and make sure he was okay, or he could stay and tackle one problem at a time. In the end, he chose the latter.

It was a new and uncomfortable idea for him, what he was about to do. However, he could sense that Seth needed it, and he had the strangest inkling that he needed it as well. Reaching forward, he pulled the still-bleeding man into a hug. At first, Seth tensed. He wasn't used to such a blatant show of affection from the Samoan warrior. But after a moment, he relaxed and started to sob into the crook of Roman's neck. His body folded against the wall of muscle like a wilting flower, and Roman could feel the blood mix with water and trail down his arm.

"I'm sorry that we weren't there for you, Seth." Roman grumbled. He tried to sound indifferent, but the damn sap had him on the verge of tears as well. "I'm sorry, Seth. It never would have gotten this bad if we only would have known."

Seth was sobbing so hard, it was incredibly difficult to make out what he was saying. Finally, he sucked in a harsh breath and forced out, "Why should I have to tell you what you already know?"

Roman forced Seth off of him and stared into the watery, chocolate-brown eyes. "What do we already know, Seth?"

"That I'm a useless, worthless, pathetic, filthy slut." Seth choked. He threw his arms around Roman's neck once more and just clung to him.

Roman honestly did not know what to say to that. Never before had either of them ever considered Seth a slut, nor had they called him one – even as a semi-sexy name in bed. Did Ryback make him think that? "You're not a slut, Seth."

"Yes I am! You just don't know!" Seth was starting to hyperventilate, and that was the last thing that they needed.

"Calm down, kid, okay? Just calm down. We can talk about this, but I'm gonna need you to relax. If you can't do that, I'll have to get the paramedics in here and then you'll be taken to the hospital." He neglected to mention that that would need to happen anyhow.

"I'm a whore… I'm a whore… A useless slut… I've been used and destroyed… Why am I still here, Roman?"

Roman smoothed Seth's sopping wet hair soothingly. "Why are you talking like that, Seth? You're not a slut, or a whore. You're just Seth."

"I look into the mirror… And all I can see… Is a reflection of him…" Seth was rocking himself in Roman's arms.

Roman rubbed soothing circles onto Seth's back, desperately attempting to comfort him, to calm him down. The last thing he needed to do was have a panic attack and cause even more damage to his body. "Who, Seth?"

Finally, Seth tilted his head back, staring up at Roman with half-wild chocolate-brown eyes. "It's not the first time he's raped me."

With that, all streams of consciousness rapidly flowed out of Seth's body. It was like watching a wind-up doll slowly start to lose power. Within seconds of saying those crucial words, Seth's body was totally limp in Roman's arms. Not wanting to waste any more time, Roman lifted him up off of the floor and carefully made his way out of the showers, out of the locker room, and toward the trainer's room. Nearby, there was always an ambulance – especially during a PPV event. Medical staff still hovered around it like hawks.

When they saw Roman start to approach with the body, they moved into high alert. It took two men to lift Seth's limp body, while Roman had been able to lift it with ease. Quickly, the two men that had lifted him started to work on bandaging his wounded arm. Another lady started to take his vitals, and Roman soon realized that they were dangerously low. Seth could be minutes, even seconds away from death. And yet, all he could do was stand there and wait until he was issued a command by one of the medical professionals.

"What can you tell me about his condition, sir?" Another lady, this one with a notepad, asked.

Roman continued to stare at the gurney, answering detachedly, "I found him like that. It appeared that he had self-harmed, and had made it into the shower stall before he collapsed."

"Do you have any idea why he would self-harm?" She asked.

Roman looked at her, his eyes locked with hers, and answered steadily, "Not the slightest."

There would be no use in going to the hospital that night. Seth was in no condition to give any further details about Ryback, let alone expand on what exactly he meant when he said 'it wasn't the first time he raped me'. It seemed like such a straight-forward statement, but it really wasn't. Why had he never told either Roman or Dean about this before? They were a team, a cohesive unit. And, above that, they were lovers. There were no secrets between them. Secrets were what caused painful rifts in relationships.

Roman returned to find Dean sitting on the bed in their hotel room, legs crossed under his body Indian-style. He lifted his head when he heard the door close behind Roman. "How is he?" Dean asked.

"Well, if you want the truth, not all that great. I was able to get a little conversation out of him. I tried to calm him down, but he just wouldn't stop exciting himself. He ended up passing out and was taken to the hospital about an hour ago."

Dean nodded in understanding. "You go? To visit him, I mean."

"Me? Nah." Roman shook his head. "The whole 'lying in wait at thy love's bedside is your sort of thing."

Dean smirked, but the mirth didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yeah, well, I don't think that he'll want me at his bedside any time soon."

Roman sighed. Once again, he had been thrust into the role of comforter. Needless to say, after this whole mess was over, he never wanted to be comforter again. "Look, once he's back to one-hundred percent, he'll be so sorry he ever said something like that…"

"No he won't." Dean's smile was sad. "Once he's back to one-hundred percent, he won't have the time of day for me anymore. I'll have to cherish all the times I made an asshole out of myself just to remember what his voice sounded like."

"Don't be like -,"

"Roman?"

"What?"

Dean started to shimmy out of his coat, his shirt following suit. "You remember that time in the locker room, when it was just the two of us? When you were blaming yourself for hurting Seth and all you wanted to do was hurt?"

"Dean, no…" but Roman's voice was weak, crumbling at the sight of more pale skin as it was slowly exposed.

Dean's rosy lips parted, forming the two words that would be Roman's undoing. "Hurt me."

Dean was desperate. All he wanted was to feel like Seth and Roman did… to feel utterly broken, abused, destroyed. It wasn't the same, he knew, because Roman was in control and he knew that Roman would never do any serious, long term damage to his body or his mind… but it was as close as he could get right at that moment and that was what he needed. He needed to feel something other than the cold, empty bitterness that was wallowing within his belly. And he knew that Roman would help all of that go away…

Roman fell down on his knees, allowing one hand to slide under the bed and remove a box that they had hidden there. Using the key that he had taken off of Seth before this whole ordeal had begun, he unlocked it and revealed an entire chest of toys. He fumbled around with them for a few minutes, trying to decide what he wanted to use. Finally, he settled on a long, thick, solid metal rod with segments of various sizes and weights all along it. Dean eyed it thankfully, knowing what it meant. After all this would come blissful unconsciousness.

Roman's eyes flickered up to him, ghosted with sadness. "Remember. You asked for this."

Dean didn't so much as flinch. "I know."

Soon enough, metal handcuffs braced him to the four bedposts and the first blow was delivered to his midsection. It was unbearably destructive, causing his body to attempt to double in upon itself, but quickly finding that it was unable to do so. Fifteen more of such blows followed, leaving ghastly purple stripes – the width of a human wrist – across Dean's chest, stomach, and thighs. Dean was practically sobbing, holding back his tears with only the knowledge that Roman was holding back on him, that 'this' was nothing.

Roman pulled the restrains just a little bit tighter, but not tight enough to truly cause Dean any chance of actual injury. Roman started to move the stick once more. Now that Dean had a little bit of a tighter hold on his emotions, he was calling out orders, instructing Roman to hit him 'harder' or to bring down the blows 'faster'. The Samoan always complied. It wasn't exactly pleasurable for him to do so, but this was Dean's own version of comfort. It was the way that he washed his mind clean of the own mucky filth that seemed to follow him about.

"Stop!" Dean called out suddenly, causing Roman to halt mid-blow.

Both were utterly silent for a moment, before Roman picked out the sound of Dean's phone ringing in the distance. "You want me to answer that?" He asked.

Dean nodded. "Would you?"

Roman walked out into the other room, fishing out Dean's phone from his gym bag. Immediately able to recognize the number, he selected 'ignore call' and discreetly slipped the phone into his back pocket. "Who was calling, Roman?" Dean asked weakly, sounding half asleep.

Roman's only answer was, "Wrong number."