A/N: This short piece was inspired by the Sept. 22nd episode of Raw. Once Dean was revealed under the box, I found myself wondering what exactly the Lunatic Fringe, who can barely keep still, was doing in that box the whole time to keep himself entertained during the long match? And yes, if you're wondering, these are actually the odd thoughts that go through my head while I watch wrestling lol.

Thus, this fanfiction is born. It's a bit of an experiment on my end, so any feedback would be very helpful for future pieces. Just an F.Y.I., anything in quotes is a text message, italics are thoughts, just to clear that up.

Hope you all enjoy my experimental piece...I've never tried a single point of view, texting story before, so I'll just hope for the best :)

He'd forced himself to be patient, the least of his virtues, if he had any at all…

He'd kept himself from doing it all day. However, now that he was finally alone in the dark, his abstinence was rewarded by something to keep his attention while he was forced to stay still, one of the few things he did worse than have patience.

"Hey brother, not sure if you're allowed to have your phone right now?" Dean texted, his tongue sticking out, ever so slightly, at the corner of his mouth as he concentrated on the small letters of his smartphone's keyboard. Honestly, who has fingers this small? he wondered as his large thumb hit the B and the N at the same time.

"I had it snuck in," came a quick, seemingly eager reply.

"Well look at you, a regular golden boy rebel."

"Shut up."

Dean smiled, relieved at the easy banter. Maybe things aren't so bad after all, Dean thought. "How you feelin'?" Dean texted.

"Eh. Been better, been worse. You?" Dean wasn't sure if he was supposed to feel reassured by that answer, but he let it slide for now, choosing to answer the question instead. "Bored," Dean replied

"Yeah, I figured that's why you text me."

"Hey! That's not true. I really did want to know how you were doing," Dean replied.

"Wow, a multi-sentence text with punctuation. You really must be bored."

A beat of silence, and then Dean's phone vibrated again. "Hey, why don't you just call? I know how much you love texting…," Roman asked. Dean cursed quietly as Roman's text interrupted Dean's next, and undoubtedly witty reply. He wondered if it was worth typing it all over again…

Even in a text, Dean could hear Roman's sarcasm, making the blond chuckle as he remembered the epic battles he'd previously had with technology, battles that only ended when Roman came to his rescue each time. The big man had no end of patience when it came to Dean and his mortal enemy: technology.

"Can't," Dean replied.

"Why? Getting warmed up for a match?"

"Not exactly. I'm stuck in a box."

"In a box?"

Dean could just hear the incredulous tone that Roman would have asked that question in if Dean had been able to call, and it made the Lunatic Fringe smile as he replied, "Yup. Hence why I'm texting you."

"What are you doing in a box? Other than texting me?"

Dean chuckled at Roman's last line. His brother knew both Dean and his sarcasm well. "Waiting to ruin Rollins' night," Dean replied with a happy smile he wished Roman could see.

"Oh, well in that case, punch him a few times for me too."

"Will do :)" Dean answered.

"Dean, have you taken any hits to the head recently?"

Dean had to read the message three times, making sure that his confusion was legitimate. Why would Roman ask a random question like that? Maybe Roman was the one who got hit in the head...

"I don't think so. Why?" Dean asked, confused.

"Only you wouldn't be sure if you got hit in the head or not," Roman replied. Dean imagined Roman's deep, rumbling laughter as he'd texted that remark.

"Yeah, and?" Dean asked, not caring if his slight annoyance carried through in his text.

"Dean, you just sent me a smiley face. Now I'm guessing the only reason why you would ever do that is because you've taken too many blows to the head tonight."

"What? I can't try new things?" Dean typed back, hoping Roman could sense his indignation in the small, pixilated letters. Dean sighed, he'd been trying to cheer up his injured brother, so he guessed he'd succeeded, even at the cost of being laughed at.

"Go for it," came Roman's reply, and Dean could imagine Roman holding his hands up in surrender, an innocent, placating smile slowing forming on his lips.

"Gotta go, they're setting up the cinder block curb stomp. Call you later." Without waiting for Roman's reply, Dean placed his phone into the hole of the cinder block next to him, hoping the Otterbox was worth its price tag.

Suddenly, his world, pitch black before, illuminated with bright, white light, momentarily blinding Dean as he tried rapidly to blink the tears from his startled eyes. Show time, Dean thought to himself as he coiled, all of his muscles tense and ready to strike. As soon as the box was removed from over his head, Dean sprung up from his seated position and launched himself at Seth Rollins, the bane of Dean's existence, starting off his attack with the punches that Roman had requested.