Disclaimer: I don't own anyone.
Rated: M
Warning(s): Slash, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt(s), etc.
Seth was able to call Randy's bluff almost immediately. His walls were collapsing down around him. He knew, just as well as Seth, that he wouldn't be able to avoid John forever. Perhaps he was plotting something, like a way to break away from the Authority so that he could be with him again? Seth doubted it. As members of the Authority, they were expected to be at the shows every night, and put on a united front for the WWE Universe. They couldn't just back away from that responsibility. The only way out would be for Randy to piss-off Triple H so much that he seriously hurt him to put him back in his place... and that would just be stupid.
Nevertheless, Seth could see something in Randy's eyes. He'd made up his mind on a certain course of action, but didn't seem too keen on the idea of sharing what it was. And that was fine. Seth had his own secrets, his own decisions, and he knew that he'd follow through with them, with or without Randy's consent. He didn't make the mistake of thinking that they were friends. At best, they were co-workers, both of whom had been thrust into the unfortunate situation of living under the heavy-hand of the Authority. They would help each other cope, sure, but they wouldn't turn to each other for comfort.
If Seth had to guess, he'd bet money on the fact that that was what had hurt the most about John's little 'visit' earlier. Seth knew that Randy hadn't been with anyone else since breaking up with John - he'd heard him in the night, 'taking care' of himself while whispering John's name, only to all-but break down afterwards. And suddenly, the idea that he was so desperate to do anything to get back to John didn't seem so far-fetched. Seth wanted to say something, perhaps to try and talk some sense into Randy, but he remained silent. Instead, Randy was the first to speak.
"I need to take a walk." He stood quickly, avoiding Seth's eyes. Seth did his best to avoid imagining Randy's actions as 'a long walk off a short dock'. He'd be fine. Or, at least, that's what he continued to tell himself. "Don't wait up for me, okay?"
"Are you sure that that is the best idea?" Seth tried to deter him. Without really thinking about it, he channeled Dean from so many months before, "It's almost two o' clock in the morning, Randy. Do you know what kind of crazy fucks roam the streets at two o' clock in the morning?"
And Randy, unwittingly, gave Seth's exact response, almost word-for-word. "And what would they want with me, huh? I'm not exactly the first place trophy, in case you never noticed." The words had a lot more bite when they were redirected back at you, and Seth felt deeply ashamed that he'd ever said them to Dean at all.
Seth sighed. "You're worth a lot more than you're giving yourself credit for, Randy. You're irreplaceable. Think of how many people would be utterly devastated if you were gone." This conversation was rapidly becoming much deeper than any they'd dared have before. It was scary territory.
"Name one." Randy hissed. He sounded so broken, so lost, so confused. This was not the Randy Orton that the WWE Universe was used to seeing.
"John." Rand scoffed. John, of course, had been the obvious answer. And, if Seth's suspicions were correct, he was also the reason for this suddenly erratic behavior. "And me." He added quickly.
"You?" Randy raised an eyebrow. Clearly, that had been unexpected.
"Yeah." Seth stuffed his hands into his pockets, staring down at the ground. "We're never gonna be the best of friends. I get that. I've accepted that. But at the same time, you're the only one that's cared enough to help me through this mess. You're needed and loved, Randy. Whether you think it's true or not."
The ultimate irony of the situation was that those were the very same words that he'd needed to hear from Dean and Roman all those months ago, when they'd originally had their fight and broken up. If only someone had been there to assure him that he was still loved, still needed, still worth something to their relationship, then maybe things wouldn't have devolved in the way that they had. Sure, Ryback would've still been a psycho out for revenge, but maybe their relationship wouldn't have had to be completely destroyed in the process of bringing him down.
He felt like a fool now, for having ever believed those letters. But they had seemed so real to him then, and they'd planted a seed of doubt in the back of his mind that had quickly and painfully manifested into more. This contract that Randy had signed was practically the same as those letters that Seth was receiving. They were like an invisible binding, trapping him in misery that he couldn't share with others. That kind of cut-off, isolated, internal existence was devastating. But Randy needed to know that there could be a light at the end of the tunnel - Seth might not have one, didn't deserve one, but Randy still had a chance.
Randy's blue eyes met Seth's brown, and for several moments, they simply stared at one another. Finally, Randy conceded, "I'm not gonna do anything rash, kid. I just need to take a walk and clear my head, just to get out of this stuffy old room for awhile. I'll be back before you can miss me."
Seth didn't seem too terribly convinced. But instead of calling him on it - doubting Randy's intentions was never a particularly smart course of action - he simply asked, "You have my number, right? Just in case."
Randy nodded. "But I won't need it." He was quick to assure. "I'm a big boy. I can handle myself."
Seth shrugged, lying fluently, "I never thought that you would."
And just like that, Randy was gone. Seth couldn't help but flinch at the sound of the door shutting behind him - it seemed so painfully final. But he took Randy's word at face value (not that he really had any other choice), and knew that, at some point in the future, Randy would be coming back. This meant that he had to act quickly. If anything, that conversation with Randy had only cemented his fears. Nothing got better. It would only get harder as time went on. And Seth was just so tired of crying himself to sleep...
It was actually much harder to wake Roman up than he'd originally thought. With the amount of pain that he was in, one would think that he would be sleeping very lightly. But when he'd finally drifted off into his dreamland, apparently the boat had decided to take refuge in the middle of the fucking ocean. There was no way that gently shaking his shoulder and calling out his name would reel him back in. So, faced with only one other alternative, he sucked in a deep breath and pressed his fingers into a particularly nasty bruise at the small of Roman's back. And oh, did the poor man howl.
"What the fucking hell was that for?" His face was flaming red, his body awkwardly contorted on the bed. Dean carefully helped him to a sitting position, barely avoiding a nasty right hook to the face.
"We got a letter from Seth." Dean said. "I really don't think that I can describe it with words. You need to read it for yourself."
Roman looked like he had escalated from wanting to punch Dean, to wanting to throttle him. "And why should I give a flying fuck about anything that little weasel has to say after what he did to me?"
Dean sighed, "I think he wants to kill himself, Roman. Because of what happened last night... how we reacted... hell, even going back to what happened with Ryback... He's not in a good place right now, and I really think that you need to read this letter."
With a sigh, Roman took the letter from Dean and started to read it over. As he progressed down the page, his face became tighter and tighter, his mouth thinning out into almost a straight line. Once he finished, he read it over again. And again. Until finally, he slowly set it down on the bed beside him, before carefully pushing up off of the bed and grabbing the bottle of Tylenol. Dry-swallowing two pills, he put the bottle back and began searching for clothes to cover himself with. Dean watched all of this, not quite sure what to make of the sudden turn of events.
"What are you doing?" It was a stupid question, but it was the only one he could think to ask.
"What does it look like I'm doing, Dean? I'm getting dressed." And then, sighing, "Obviously, if you're interpretation of the letter is right, then we need to reach him as soon as possible. In other words," he offered him an imploring glance, "Care to help me with this? It would move a lot faster if we worked together."
"Oh, yeah. Sorry, sorry. I wasn't thinking." Dean hurried to his side and carefully helped him slide into the clothing. Roman groaned uncomfortably, but otherwise, didn't make a sound. It was clear that he was in unbelievable amounts of pain, but doing his best to hold it in. Dean didn't have the heart to call him on it.
"How long ago did the letter first arrive?" He asked. Once he was fully dressed, he carefully lowered himself down onto the bed to put on his shoes.
"I'm not really sure." Dean said. "I was just up getting some water and I saw that it had been slipped under the door. It could've been there for an hour, maybe longer."
There was a moment of silence, then, "Do you know what room he's staying in?"
Dean blinked, before cursing vehemently under his breath. "I didn't even think about that. I'll go downstairs and ask."
"Yeah. You do that."
After making sure that Roman was properly attended to, Dean raced out the door and grabbed the closest elevator. What he didn't realize was that, in the second elevator, Randy was currently riding down to the first floor to take his little 'walk'. It had only been about ten minutes since the end of Randy and Seth's conversation, and Seth was currently alone in the hotel room that he shared with the Viper. It took longer than Dean would have liked for the elevator to arrive, and when it did, it was filled with people. With a sigh, he stepped inside and pressed the button for the ground floor.
There were two other groups of people in the elevator, so things were pretty cramped. The first was a mother and her two children, both of which were clearly under the age of five. Both children seemed to be suffering from nasty colds, and when they weren't coughing or sneezing (and they never covered their mouths), they were rubbing their grubby little hands over anything and everything that was within their reach to infect. The second was a couple, both of which seemed to be incredibly exhausted, who were hanging off of each other obnoxiously. Dean did his best to ignore both groups.
When the elevator doors opened, Dean was the first out. He hurried over to the front desk, realizing the urgency and sensitivity to the matter. The girl working the front desk looked barely alive, and Dean seriously wasn't in the mood to be dealing with that. He needed answers and he needed them quickly. Making his way over to the desk, he waited several moments for her to turn her attention over to him - when she didn't, he rang the bell multiple times. She jumped, startled, before she leveled him with a particularly nasty glare. Dean gave it just as good as he got it.
"And what do you want?" She popped her bubble gum at him obnoxiously.
"I need to know what room Seth Rollins is in. It's a matter of life or death, so I'd seriously appreciate it if you'd act like the mature young lady you supposedly are and hand over the information nicely." Dean hissed.
"Well, aren't you just a little bucket of sunshine?" She bit back viciously. "And why should I help you?"
Dean sighed. Obviously, this woman wasn't too bright. "Let me put it this way. If my boyfriend succeeds in killing himself before I can reach him, because you refused to tell me what room he is staying in, then I will hold you personally responsible for the fall out."
She offered him a critical glance, before rolling her eyes. "You're a jackass. And you're damn lucky that you're a client, or else I'd tell you exactly what I think about you." And Dean had only a moment to wonder just how colorful that description would be.
"Just tell me the room number, okay?"
Her fingers flew over the keys on her laptop, before she reached behind her and handed over a keycard. "Room 316." And then, with a sweet smile, "Go rot in hell."
Seth carefully lowered himself into the tub, closing his eyes as the hot water slowly enveloped him. The sensation of being swallowed whole by the steaming, clear liquid was overwhelming, and he sighed heavily. He'd taken one of the knives off of the tray from room service, and it lay on the edge of the tub beside him. He'd use it soon enough, but right now he really just wanted to enjoy the feeling of being submerged in the water one last time. He estimated that he had a decent half-hour, maybe longer, before Randy returned from his 'walk'. That was more than enough time to finish things.
Lifting up the knife, he slowly pressed it to the inside of his wrist. Realizing what he'd done wrong the first time he'd attempted to take his own life, he turned the knife until it was in line with his hand and, pressing hard, drew it across his flesh in one quick stroke. He ended the cut at his elbow, and then dropped his arm into the water. Thick ropes of red quickly diluted into thin streams of pink, and he felt himself becoming light-headed a lot sooner than he'd expected. Sinking down deeper into the water, he closed his eyes. Seconds later, his head went under... and everything went black.