Dean sat alone on the roof of the hotel the roster had invaded for the night. He didn't have the slightest idea where Roman was, and to be honest, he couldn't care less. Roman was a big guy, he could take care of himself for one night. Dean squashed the little niggling voice in the back of his head saying that Roman needed him the most right now. In fact, that little voice was reason enough to stay away. He was too close. He couldn't let Roman take anything away from him.

Dean learned long ago that people take. His life was a testament to how much people take. The drugs took his mom. The cops took his dad. There was still a dark bitter hole from when Social Services took his cousin; that one stung the most. She'd been the only good thing in his life, the only reason he didn't go and buy himself a pretty little gun and put himself out of everyone's misery. She had screamed and kicked while they took her away, while three burly cops held him down. Heh, she'd done him proud, then.

Now, Evolution took his brother.

Dean knew better than to ask why. People take. He couldn't believe he was dumb enough to think Seth wouldn't leave, why wouldn't he? He was the fringe lunatic, he was the pet psycho Roman and Seth had on a cute little leash. Idly, Dean wondered what Triple H had offered. Money was an option, he was rolling in that. A title shot was equally arrangeable. Didn't make much of difference anyway. The point was, Seth sold out on them. On him.

A can being thrust enthusiastically into his line of vision interrupted his introspection. He followed the arm to it's owner. Standing there with the can still proffered -was that root beer?- was a fairly pretty young lady with an awkward smile on her face. Her tightly pulled side ponytail hung just to her collarbone, and her brown eyes were surprisingly warm matched with her silly smile. Wait, was she wearing three different headbands? She looked vaguely familiar, but Dean wasn't sure where he had seen her before. He sat there, waiting a few moments before he quirked an eyebrow at her. He didn't feel like talking right now, and no one on heaven or earth was going to make him.

"Don't tell me you don't like root beer. Aw man, I totally should've brought another flavor in case." She set the can down and plopped down about a foot away from him. A full, awkward minute passed before she spoke again.

"Sorry, I'm Bayley." A foggy memory emerged at that. She was an NXT Diva, if he remembered correctly.

"I saw what went down at RAW." Ah, that was why she was here. She wanted all the juicy gossip or maybe she wanted to give him pointless advice about how not everyone was like that or-

"I know how you feel." Dean whirled on her in less than a second.

"Don't feed me that crap. That's all anyone every says and it's the most useless pile of garbage to ever come out of anyone's mouth besides the oh-so-sincere 'I'm sorry'. Don't tell me you know how it feels to-"

"Have your partner and friend knock you out in the middle of the ring and join the people who have been picking on the both of you for weeks?"

Dean froze at that. She had summarized the resentment and the hurt and the shame boiling in him in a succinct little sentence, but the look on her face wasn't angry that he'd been yelling at her and flinging her words in her face. Instead, she had a wry smile on her face.

"I used to be partners with Charlotte -she's the NXT diva's champion now- a while back. We were," Bayley paused a moment before continuing with a smile plastered on her face, "good friends. There was this other tag team picking on us, mostly me, and generally being the mean girls in the locker you come to expect. But I didn't care much. I was excited to have a friend as awesome as Charlotte. She was pretty, talented, sweet, everything anyone could want in a friend."

"Except for loyalty, evidently."

She blinked and her smile wavered, the only indications she gave that the words had struck.

Dean continued, "This is a charming little story, but what, exactly, is your point? Are you going to tell me how I need to open up my arms and forgive him for backstabbing me and it'll all work out, he'll tell the COO to stick it where the sun don't shine and we'll all be a happy, little family again like you and your partner?"

"She never came back."

Foot, say hello to your old friend mouth. Dean sat there for a moment, before violently running his hands through his hair. He opened his mouth, closed it, and said "...what's your point?"

She smiled at him, like she was grateful he was humoring her, and leaned back a little on her hands.

"It hurts, doesn't it? You finally meet someone who's ok with who you are, who doesn't care if you maybe hug people a little too tightly or too long or you're a big meanie who cuts people off," and then she had the audacity to stick her tongue out at him.

"Well no duh, Einstein," Dean bit out, "if that's all you have to say, then you wasted your time and mine." He couldn't help but feel a little disappointed. Of course, why was he expecting philosophical from a grown woman wearing a freaking side ponytail. Bayley huffed and picked up the can and practically shoved it in his face.

"You never let me finish!" At her mock glower, he reluctantly took the can of soda.

"What I was going to say was that, when it happened, I kept thinking about what had I done that pushed her away. What I could've done to make her stay. All I wanted to do was ask her why? I remember feeling like I was alone, that I was the lowest person in the world. And then I took a step back and looked around me."

Bayley paused and faced the city line. Dean no longer had any idea what this woman was doing, where she was going with this train of thought, or even why she was wasting her time trying to help him. Somehow, this cheesy little monologue of the Diva had caught his attention. Somehow, all the trite little formalities coming from her sounded sincere.

Bayley suddenly cut into his thoughts. "I realized I wasn't the first one to be back-stabbed, nor obviously am I the last. I saw how it changed people. They became bitter. They never wanted to feel that way again, so they closed themselves off, they became the backstabbers and it starts all over again. I don't blame them, but I didn't want that. I didn't want to be cold, I didn't want to hurt people, I didn't want to hate people before I got to know them. So I made a choice."

Bayley pushed herself off the ground and faced Dean. "I decided I was going to never hurt anyone like that." She smiled big, cheesy "I made a lot of friends," and then her smile changed, grew more thoughtful "and I'm happy."

Dean didn't respond to that, and she shook her head a little, still positive. "If you need anyone to fill in the quiet moments where he used to be and it hurts to think or breathe, you can just ask me to chatter away. I'm a professional friend, it's what I do." She turned to leave, then doubled back to give Dean a sneak hug before dashing off to who knows where.

Dean watched her walk away, and sat there for a moment processing what in the world just happened. Bayley, quite possibly the silliest and most inane diva he had ever met, had hugged him. More importantly, she had actually given him something other then "I know how it feels" to chew on. Dean was proud to be one of the most feared men on the roster, but this young woman had just waltzed in, plopped down, and told him what to do, as simple as that. He shook his head and growled a bit. He needed to work on his rep. But more importantly, he needed to find Roman.

The next day, he found a piece of paper with a phone number on it and a headband slid under his door.