This is my first wrestling fanfiction and my first fanfiction since

I learned how to actually write. I hope you like it.

Inspiration from: Devil's Backbone- Civil Wars

No Angels- Bastille

The three brothers could hear the "champion" CM Punk cutting a long-winded promo about how he would've taken everyone out had he been medically cleared. Yeah, right.

"Weak," Roman snorts, incredibly amused at the excuses tumbling out of Punk's mouth.

Seth heaves out a laugh. It stops abruptly once he looks over to see Dean slapping himself repeatedly, while tapping the fingers of his other hand on his collarbone. Telltale signs of his anxiety issues. No matter how anxious or furious Dean got, he always hurt himself. Never his brothers. Never.

Seth makes his way over knowing that of the two of them, he was less likely to get his face bitten off by grabbing a volatile Ambrose. They just had this, this bond. He didn't like to question it.

"Hey, hey, hey. I've got you," Seth reminds him gently. He brings up one gloved hand to calm the tapping, wrapping the other around to the back of Dean's head to bring their foreheads together. "We've got this," he says as Roman gives an affirmative nod. Dean nods back, breathing in deeply and pulling back from Seth just enough to see Roman behind him comfortably.

He was calm enough now that Roman felt comfortable stepping forward and placing a stabilizing hand on his shoulder blade. If he felt Dean needed it, Seth had no problem dishing out comfort, nonexistent consequences be damned because it's Seth. Roman, however, often chose to air on the side of caution.

They snap back into reality as Justin Roberts announces their match. The first ever six-man tag team TLC match. The weight of what they were about to do started to set in. Roman even flinched slightly, very slightly of course, at the pyro of the Devils Favorite Demon. They all did really, though Dean would rather die than admit it.

"...What a fucking stupid mask," Dean mutters stepping out of the comforting warmth of his brothers. He rolls his eyes and begins stretching his arms in an attempt to release some tension.

"Just wait 'til the goat comes skipping by."

"Pretty bitchin' theme though," Dean mutters almost regretfully.

"Doesn't hold a candle to ours," Seth adds on, almost in awe. The three of them had always dreamed of being in this spot, of course. The WWE is the big dream for every wrestler and whoever denies it is just a big fat fucking liar. Dean and Seth had pretty notorious indie careers, while Roman had dominated in developmental. But no matter how good you are, there's no telling how far you'll go. The WWE was a cutthroat business. They were lucky to be there and even luckier to be there together.

Sierra. Hotel. India. Echo. Lima. Delta. Shield.

"Let's do this," Dean states, immediately snapping into his leadership role. Seth and Roman share a small smile behind his back as the Lunatic leads the way into the crowd. Here we go.

Seth scrambles up the ladder, his heart pounding away. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

Seth feels Ryback grab his belt before his last conscious thought, "I done fucked up."

Dean registers the bell ringing. Finally. Their theme reassures him that they've won. Of course they have, because they're the shit. They're the big dogs, the hounds, the Shield. But...where's Seth? Dean grabs onto Roman and gives him a high five before reality slaps him in the face. Seth was laid out under a table. Shit.

He and Roman scramble over and shake him softly. He stirs and blinks wearily up at Dean, eyes completely glazed over. Dean and Roman have to carry him out of the rubble due to his legs evidently taking a vacation day.

"'m, 'm ok," Seth insists though its obvious he's anything but. A look at the replay on the tron confirms that Seth's head had bounced nastily off one of the four tables he had been launched into from twenty feet above.

"Shh," Roman soothes as Dean flies off the handle, spitting and cursing at Ryback. Dean flipping his shit isn't exactly what he needs, but Seth can't help but find it just a tad endearing. His head feels like there are dwarves mining his brain with axes, his legs might as well not be there, and his vision is black around the edges. None of that matters, though, because Dean is in full-blown lunatic mode because he is hurt. Maybe there is such a thing as silver linings.

Dean turns back around to find Seth propped up against Roman's legs on the ground. If the sight didn't make him move his ass to help, Roman's meaningful stare certainly did. They didn't need words to agree. Their brother's down, so it's their job to pick him back up. He slings Seth's arm onto his shoulder and helps Roman heave him to his feet. Together they stagger backstage. Normally, Dean would use up all his creative energy to fling witty insults at the superstars who gather there, but not today. Seth is a higher priority. The highest if he's totally honest with himself…

They make it to the locker room, miraculously empty, and the boys kneel and place the two-toned man gently onto a bench. His eyes are still glazed over and his legs never really regained any significant strength. Roman lifts a finger in front of Seth's face and instructs him to follow it. Seth tries to follow the geometric pattern Roman traces in the air, but it causes too sharp a pain behind his eyes and in his head.

"Fuck," Dean curses softly as Seth squeezes his eyes shut and turns away groaning.

"I'll go get a trainer," Roman declares. "They're here for a reason, right?"

"Ro-,"

"Shut up," Dean interjects. "Go, big man." The powerhouse nods and exits the room with purpose. Dean stands and runs his fingers through his hair trying to calm down. He spends some time pacing and convincing himself that murdering Ryback would get them nowhere. Then again…

He's pulled from his devious musings as the Architect lets out a rather pathetic whimper. Dean glances over at his ninja. He's sitting up, albeit leaning a bit precariously. His breathing is ragged and his eyes are still screwed shut tightly. Another whimper escapes as Seth shifts to hunch over in pain, elbows on his knees and hands in his hair.

Dean snaps into action. He crosses the room in two big steps and kneels in front of Seth. He peels his hands gently out of his hair only to replace them with his own. He probes gently until he finds the large knot under bleached hair. Seth hisses and starts to pull away.

"Alright, alright," Dean whispers gently smoothing Seth's hair from his face. Seth leans into the touch.

"Ow," he cries softly.

"I know, I'm sorry," Dean apologizes. He should've been there. He should've let Roman go back to destroy the stupid goat alone and stayed to help Seth. If he hadn't left, Seth wouldn't have been hurt. "I'm so, so sorry."

"Shut up," Seth sighs and leans forward to rest his forehead on Dean's. "We fuckin' won. Was worth it." His words slur slightly, but Dean does have to admit to himself that winning did feel pretty good.

Dean feels Seth's breath ghost over his lips. It makes him realize just how intimate a position they're in. Dean is kneeling between Seth's legs, hands in his hair, and faces up close and personal. His gaze sweeps over the now gently closed eyelids, his slightly too big nose, and his pretty, pretty lips. His fingers scratch Seth's scalp absentmindedly causing Seth to exhale and lean more heavily into Dean's embrace. The sound goes right through Dean and his heartbeat quickens as his breath leaves his mouth in a soft gasp.

Seth opens his eyes. Blue meets chocolate brown and Dean can no longer resist cupping Seth's face and leaning in. The kiss is sweet and way too short, but the message is clear. I'm sorry you're hurt. I'm here now. I'm not going anywhere. I love you.

Seth sighs happily, eyes closed once more. Dean hears Roman's footsteps and sits back on his heels and retract his hands. Seth whines at the loss of contact and forces his tired eyes open, mouth ready to voice his complaint.

"Easy," Dean soothes, hand rubbing Seth's knee before he stands.

The door opens and Roman comes in with a trainer in tow. The trainer quickly makes his way over to Seth. He asks permission to probe his head and proceeds to question Seth extensively.

"Think he's concussed?"

"Maybe," Roman answers thoughtfully, crossing his arms and leaning against the door to ensure privacy. Dean joins him after a beat. "Better safe than sorry, though."

Dean studies Seth, still weak and pitiful and completely adorable. He puts up mental barriers against any thoughts of what could've happened to Seth if he was seriously hurt and they hadn't sought medical attention. He's going to be okay. He has to be.

The doctor confirms that Seth is going to be fine. No concussion, but pretty damn close. The good news doesn't stop Dean from insisting that Seth sleep with him that night, just in case. He doesn't really have an excuse for demanding it every other night until he no longer has to ask.