Disclaimer: I don't own anyone.
Rated: M
Warning(s): Slash, etc.

Seth stood in the doorway of the hotel room, the handle of his suitcase clutched tightly in his trembling hand. The room was small, but quaint. Two twin-sized beds stood against the far wall, each accompanied by a small end-table and fashionable lamp. To his right, there was a window overlooking a nearby park, the streetlights casting a soft yellow glow over the benches and the concrete fountain. Randy had drawn the light blue curtains in order to limit the amount of light that would come into the hotel room, but Seth could still see the vague outlines of these things through the gauzy material.

There was a dining table with two chairs, the remnants of dinner askew on the shiny surface. Beside the table was a mini-fridge, with the prices of everything that it contained clearly displayed on the front. And finally, there was a large six-drawer dresser. Three of the drawers had been pulled out - Seth assumed that Randy had done this as soon as he'd heard official word from Hunter that Seth would be rooming with him. Without a word, Seth went over and started to unload his suitcase into his allotment of drawers. Randy watched silently, before he went to load up the cart for room service.

"The bed closest to the window is yours." He said finally. Seth nearly jumped out of his skin, not having expected Randy to speak so suddenly. "It is against the wall, so it'll help with the sleep anxiety."

"Sleep anxiety?" Seth raised an eyebrow. It had never once occurred to him that he would have any difficulty sleeping.

Randy shrugged. "I don't talk a lot about my time before the Authority, so don't get used to this. But when I used to be with John, he liked to cuddle... a lot. I realized, upon joining the Authority, that I'd become dependent on it and couldn't sleep without it. The wall helps. Trust me."

Seth blinked, more than slightly surprised at the fact that Randy was being this open with him. Then, "Does John know why you left?"

Randy's eyes clouded over, and for a moment, Seth worried that he wouldn't answer. "If he does, it certainly didn't help anything."

Seth had seen Randy and John interact backstage and he knew that that was true. John didn't know what was wrong, didn't know why Randy had turned away from him so suddenly and so completely. His reaction to it was less than pleasant - they wouldn't even look at one another when they passed in the halls of the arena, there was no pleasant camaraderie after a well-performed match... if Seth hadn't known that they'd been together at one point, he probably would've assumed that they'd always hated one another. But from what Randy was saying... they never quite moved past what happened.

"I heard that you have a confrontation with Dean and Roman scheduled on Monday." Randy quickly changed the subject. "It'll help to remove yourself from what is happening. Don't think of it like it is Dean and Roman you're hurting."

Seth felt fresh, hot tears begin to brew in his eyes. "I don't want to hurt them."

"You have no choice." Randy said nonchalantly. "It'll get easier. I know that that sounds heartless, but it's the truth."

Easier? And how many times was he expected to fight them until it reached the point where it got "easier"? Ten times? Fifty? One-hundred? He honestly doubted that it would ever be easy to take a chair to Roman's back or slam Dean's face into a steel cage. "I don't know..."

"You'll just have to learn to trust me. Trust is one of the building blocks of the Authority. If Hunter feels like he can't trust you, he'll kick your ass to the curb so fast you'll never see it coming. You just have to learn to keep your mouth shut and your head down."

Seth laughed wryly. "I've never been very good at keeping my mouth shut."

Now finished unpacking his things, he zipped up his suitcase and placed it at the foot of the bed. Instinctually, he checked his phone for any missed calls or text messages. Nothing. He honestly didn't know what he was expecting. He'd left Dean in the middle of the night, and Roman had left them a while ago. Had Dean noticed that he was gone yet? He would think that it would be impossible not to notice. It had only been the two of them back at the hotel room in Rio. Was he okay? This thought struck a chord. What if something had happened to him, what if he was hurt or sick or worse?

Randy watched all of this play out on Seth's face. He wished that there was something more that he could do for him, but really, from here on out, he needed to come around to these realizations on his own. It was clear that he was scared and lonely, and Randy knew that attempting to comfort him would only make things more difficult in the long run. Also, there was always the possibility that any attempt at comfort would be unwelcome. So instead, he clapped a hand on Seth's shoulder and squeezed gently, before heading over to his own bed.

Seth watched as Randy flopped face-first onto the bed, burying his face into the pillow. He hadn't even bothered turning off the light. Seth took this as his opportunity to change into his pajamas, before he sat on the foot of the bed. He turned his phone over and over in his hands, contemplating whether or not he should send a quick text to either man. Would it make him feel better? He didn't know. But he had a sinking feeling that he'd only feel worse when he woke the next morning and there was no answering text waiting for him. So instead, he set the phone on the bedside table.

"It'll get easier?" Seth asked, desperate for some level of reassurance.

"Pretty soon, it'll be like nothing happened. You just have to learn to be patient." His words were muffled by the pillow, but Seth could understand the basic gist of what he was saying.

"Have you been patient enough?" He pressed.

There was no answer.

Chris loved mornings like this. It was almost noon and Phil was just beginning to stir, exhausted from hours of wedding planning the night before. It was rare that he made it through an entire night without waking once, and even rarer that Chris woke before him. The Straight-Edge Star was curled into his side, head resting on Chris' chest, just above his heart. Chris rubbed soothing circles on the small of his back, drawing him slightly closer. The blankets were tangled around their bodies and pillows were falling off the bed. Phil moaned and stretched out, knocking one of the many pillows to the ground.

"Mmm... morning." Chris ruffled Phil's soft black locks affectionately, before planting a kiss on the crown of his head. "How long have you been awake?" His words droned off into a loud, obnoxious yawn. And then he broke down into manic fits of laughter.

"Oh, only about a half-hour or so. I didn't want to move because it isn't often that I get the chance to watch you sleep." Phil rolled his eyes, never having understood Chris' fascination with watching him sleep. "How did you sleep?"

"Like the fucking dead." Phil grinned. "And now, I am starving. Make me some food, huh?"

Chris raised an eyebrow. "Feeling bossy today, hmm? Why should I make you something to eat? You're fully capable of going into the kitchen and making yourself some breakfast... or lunch now, I guess."

Phil cocked his head to the side, fighting the tangle of blankets around his body. "I dunno. Maybe because you love me or something like that."

He sighed, feigning exasperation. "Well, I guess that I can't argue with that logic."

They didn't often eat in bed (Phil tended to get a little anal about crumbs in the sheets and Chris hated to waste the money to wash one fucking set of sheets), but this was an equally rare morning and they might as well continue along that same thread. About fifteen minutes later, Phil had a grilled cheese sandwich and a bowl of tomato soup - and, despite some slight grumblings about "knowing that Chris can cook something better (and healthier)" - which he devoured with gusto. Chris rolled his eyes. He acted like he'd never eaten in his entire life.

But it was good to see him eating again. Shortly after he came home after his second bout in the hospital following being shot by Ryback, Chris discovered that Phil had lost most of his appetite. He'd barely pick at his food, and a lot of the time he'd become violently ill after eating. Things had started to get better as he completed his physical therapy, but Chris was still careful with how much food he gave him and how rich the food was. Phil hated that he was being handled with kiddie gloves, but, at the same time, secretly loved the attention that he was receiving.

"What do you say we just spend the day in bed?" Phil asked suddenly. "With no worries or obligations. We don't have to think about the wedding, or my injuries, or you going back to WWE. Let's just spend the day in bed."

Chris kissed his forehead. "I think that's a great idea."

"...and anyway, I realize that I'm rambling, but I'm just kinda nervous... not that you make me nervous! No, it's just..." Darren sighed. "It's just that I really like you. But if you don't feel the same way, I don't want this to be that elephant in the room that changes our relationship or anything like that..."

John blinked slowly, allowing the words to sink in. And then, "I'm really sorry. I'm... I just don't think that I'm ready for a relationship right now." Darren looked crushed, and John tried to help by adding, "I really do like you. But -,"

Darren raised a hand to silence him. He wasn't in the mood to listen to more. "I know what you're about to say. I'm not Randy. I know that. I'm not trying to be Randy." He should've known better. This was a bad idea from the start.

"I really don't want to hurt you, Darren. I just don't think that this is the best idea." John said.

Darren was trying very hard to look anywhere but at John. "Whatever. I'll talk to you later, alright?"

As Darren stalked off, John couldn't help but feel as if he'd royally fucked up a relationship that he cared about. He wished that he did feel that way about Darren, or anyone for that matter - anyone other than Randy. But one morning, he'd woken up and Randy was just gone. They rarely talked anymore, and when they did, the conversations were usually angry and hateful. He didn't know what he'd done to make things take such a drastic turn, but he'd never been quite right after Randy had left and he didn't think that anyone else could fill the void that the Viper had left behind.

Recently, he'd become the Authority's plaything, which only made things that much more difficult. He and Randy had been placed in many matches together, first when Randy was the WWE World Heavyweight Champion, then battling for the place of Number One Contender. The cool hatred that he'd felt pouring off of Randy killed him - he'd never felt that way walking away from their earlier matches, especially their infamous "I Quit" match. John felt that Randy had turned his back on him and what hurt the most was that he had no idea how to make things better.

Sighing, he returned to his locker room. Even though he'd become the play toy to the Authority, he still, for the time being, was granted the sanctity of a private locker room. He was grateful for this time away from the other superstars, because it meant that he didn't need to keep up the charade. In front of the cameras, it was always hustle, loyalty, and respect. In front of the cameras, he was the charismatic face of the company. Away from the public eye, however, it was painfully apparent that he was hurting. He was breaking into smaller and smaller pieces and he didn't know if he could fix himself.

Monday Night RAW

It was a blow that they certainly hadn't been expecting.

Roman had taken the brunt of it, but there was no denying that it had been a nasty altercation for both men. Seth had come out of nowhere, wildly brandishing a chair, and had swung hard at Roman's back. Roman had gone down, and he had wisely stayed down, but that didn't mean that Seth was done. Far from it. Dean had counted twenty-three total strikes to Roman's back. By the end of it, Roman was unconscious and Dean was standing there, dumb-struck, unable to believe what had just transpired and knowing, without a shadow of a doubt, that he was next.

Seth had come at him with the chair and Dean had quickly slithered out of the way, charging Seth from behind and taking them both down to the mat. He was punching and kicking and clawing blindly at him, not really angry but rather hurt and betrayed. That had been when the Calvary had shown up. Randy Orton, also with chair in hand, had swung at his back and knocked him off of Seth, much like someone would angrily swat at a mosquito. A few more strikes had been landed, and the show ended with the earth-shaking revelation that Seth Rollins had joined the Authority, taking Batista's place.

"How are you feeling?" Dean really didn't have to ask. He could clearly see from the shaking, writhing mess before him that Roman was not okay. There was an unmistakable pain in his eyes, and Dean couldn't hold his gaze for very long.

"Like hell." Roman bit back harshly. "I can't decide whether or not I want to go back out there and strangle that little weasel or head back to the hotel room and take a long, long nap." Roman was wheezing, each word causing him increasing amounts of pain.

"It is probably a better career move to go back to the hotel room and take a nap." Dean offered softly, knowing that that wasn't what Roman really wanted.

"Where the fuck does he think he gets the right to do this?" Roman started to get up and Dean came to stand in front of him, gently forcing him back down into the seat. "Why won't you let me go? I know you want to hurt him too! Think of how he just left us."

And that hurt. It hurt a lot, and that was exactly what Roman wanted. "I also don't want to be put away for assault or murder."

Neither man knew that, on the other side of the door, Seth Rollins anxiously shifted from side-to-side, looking incredibly out of place in the abandoned hallway. He raised his hand to knock on the door, let if fall to his side, raised it again, let it fall... He recognized what he'd done was horrible and he knew that he needed to say something, but the words were caught in his throat and he knew that, should he come face-to-face with the ones he betrayed, he'd choke. And so he stood there, weighing the odds. Would it really get to be "easy", like Randy had said?

Back with Dean and Roman, Dean had climbed onto the back of the couch and was gently rubbing Roman's shoulders. He didn't want to accidentally aggravate any of the bruises. "I really think that you should at least be checked out by the trainer. You look about as good as you feel."

But all of that anger had suddenly deflated, and Roman returned softly, "I really just wanna head back to the hotel, okay?"

Dean could hear the pain in his voice, both physical and emotional, and it made his heart sink in his chest. "Yeah. Yeah, that's fine. Can you walk?"

"I don't think so." He sounded embarrassed. But it made sense - he'd needed assistance when leaving the ring earlier, and after sitting for so long, Dean could only imagine how stiff he'd become.

"That's fine." Dean brushed it off easily, not wanting to make Roman feel bad for something completely out of his control. Slipping off of the couch, he offered Roman his arm, "Here, take my arm. It'll help, I promise."

He helped him to his feet with some difficulty, and while Dean was more than happy to help him out, Roman still seemed reluctant to lean his full weight on him. When they left the locker room, Dean carrying both their bags over his right shoulder as he offered Roman his left arm, Seth had already disappeared. It only took about fifteen minutes to make it to the car, and thankfully, they didn't run into anyone along the way (Roman would, undoubtedly, have been mortified). Upon reaching the car, Dean set down the bags and helped Roman lean on the side of the car while he unlocked the door.

It took some careful maneuvering to get Roman up into the SUV, but once he did, he handed him a fresh bottle of water and two aspirins. Roman downed the two pills along with half the bottle of water, and then closed his eyes as he fought to make himself comfortable. He'd undoubtedly be sleeping on his stomach that night. Tossing the bags into the back seat, he came around to the driver's side and started the car. About that time, Roman had succumbed to a fitful and pained slumber. Dean smiled weakly, before pulling out of the parking lot. They both needed time to think.