Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Author Note: Set before and after Night of Champions 2014, and written before Dean revealed that he'd just found a back door to use when locked up during the first Raw post-NOC and that he isn't in fact Houdini ;) Written because I miss Roman and I think Dean does too.

OUR NEXT TRICK

Everything happened so fast, Roman barely had time to contact Dean. He managed to send a text message though, outlining what was going on, that it was a routine operation because he knew Dean would worry since he loathed and distrusted hospitals so much. He finished the message by saying the operation meant that Roman would be missing Night of Champions. He knew that would really get Dean's attention because Dean had planned on being in the city, on spending time with Roman now that he'd recovered from his journey through cinder blocks and that he'd been determined to surprise Seth in some way.

Roman was disappointed and furious – why was this happening now? When he had a real opportunity to shut Seth's smug mouth with a ton of deserved pain? Instead it was Roman who was in pain and nowhere near able to swing his fist like he wanted to. He didn't have to tell Dean that, Dean would know.

Still, the surgery went well and the hospital staff were all positive afterward, telling him that he'd make a strong healthy recovery if he rested up properly. He could be back in the ring in two to four months but it could be longer. It all depended on how well the tissue healed. Roman could extract the positives from that. He was going to fight his way back and Seth wasn't going to know what hit him.

At least the drugs were good right now. Roman hated feeling sluggish but the pain he'd felt that morning had been off the scale and he didn't usually get that when injured. He wondered what Dean had done and if he could reach his cellphone. He fell asleep before he could.

Eventually Roman was permitted to eat and drink in moderate amounts and he was allowed access to his cellphone. He messaged his family who he knew would be worrying – he was fine; he just had to make it through recovery now. There were several messages from Dean waiting for him. Roman smiled, his thumb sliding over Dean's words.

You're fucking kidding.

You're not.

Get someone to send you footage.

There was no talk of needing bail so that was something. Roman scanned through the rest of his messages and found a video attachment from a cousin. It was footage of the PPV, there was Dean beating the shit out of Seth, in the ring and through a crowd who looked like they were loving it. Roman was too, it was probably helping his recovery. He watched as eventually security swarmed Dean and dragged him out of the arena. Dean was swearing that this wasn't the end, at all. Seth looked rattled and completely pissed off. Good.

Roman watched the footage through a couple of times. It hurt when he laughed so he settled on a smirk and a smile. God, he missed Dean, it was a completely different kind of burning pain. They were supposed to see each other this weekend, they were supposed to both actually in the same place at the same time for the first time in too long thanks to Seth. Roman had been looking forward to it. But he doubted that his best friend would make it through a hospital front door even for Roman.

Roman understood, though his hands reached out across the empty side of his hospital bed anyway.

He woke up and heard a very familiar snap of gum. He cracked open an eye because it couldn't be. Dean, in jeans and a vest, sweating and glaring down at his phone, was sat beside Roman's bed, one hand pressed to Roman's wrist like he was checking Roman's heartbeat. One of the machines that Roman was plugged into made a noise as he woke up properly.

It was still dark outside and Dean was limed with moonlight. He had to be a dream, his smile was all teeth and his fingertips were rough on Roman's skin. Dean couldn't be there.

"You with me, big guy?"

Roman managed a smile then blinked, the movement feeling way too slow. Sleep was dragging him under, sleep and the drugs flowing through his veins, and he couldn't fucking stop it from happening. He was gone and so was his vision of Dean.

When he woke up the next morning, there was a half-empty packet of gum stuffed between his fingers. Roman stared and then tried his best not to laugh. Fuck, that hurt.

Dean had actually been there and had left him a text message.

Those drugs must be fucking golden.

Roman grazed fingers across his own pulsepoint and remembered the feel of Dean's fingers. He didn't know if he felt better or worse. Dean should have been traveling towards the next show, not visiting Roman; he had business to take care of. Roman missed him like hell but Dean had to be all about keeping his eyes on the prize.

He messaged Dean back Not good enough.

He got sent more videos on Monday night, from several family members. There was Dean talking up a storm in the ring, telling the world he wasn't dead and that he was completely set on tearing Seth apart. He also told Cena to back off. Then there was Dean getting hogtied and locked away, only for him to appear at ringside amongst cinder blocks and surprises. It was good to see him so amped, openly wearing his pain that had been caused by Seth and bristling with every injustice that needed to be eliminated. Roman watched the videos avidly once, twice, three times, focusing on a new detail every time – the way that Dean's tongue poked out through his teeth, how he tapped his fingers on his knee as he waited to be entertained, the sideways way that he threw himself off the announce table, the way the crowd gloried in welcoming him back.

Keep having fun, Houdini Roman sent him.

Ain't got shit on me was Dean's gleeful reply.

More than a week later, Roman got another visit. Again it was at night but Roman wasn't sleeping so heavily this time and he woke up pretty quickly when he felt Dean's breath on his face. Dean was in jeans and a vest again, his leather jacket creaking and his gum still snapping. Roman's smile was broad and not because of the drugs.

Dean's hand tightened around Roman's wrist.

Roman's voice sounded deeper than normal. "How'd you get in?"

"They don't watch the laundry at night."

The laundry. Dean had, what, crawled up a laundry shute so that he could get inside the hospital without being stopped by security? Because it was way past visiting hours. Roman could believe that. Dean's eyes hadn't left him, he was drinking Roman in like a starving man staring at a buffet.

"How many drugs and shit will they give you if I pop your stitches?"

Roman arched a eyebrow pointedly even as his pulse thumped hard, "I'd be out of action longer."

Dean frowned at that and Roman's fingers grasped Dean's wrist, mirroring Dean's grip on him. Dean's expression flickered into a softer version of his smirk, Roman felt it all the way down to his busted tissue.

Dean's smile sharpened up again, "Did you see his face?"

Roman tried not laugh but a chuckle escaped and he spoke even as he grimaced, "Fuck, yes."

Dean purposefully shucked off his jacket, lowered the railings at the side of Roman's bed and slid his hand up Roman's arm, locking them close together. Roman made a greedy pleased noise. Dean's smile was back and so was Roman's tiredness. Fuck. The doctors had warned him that he'd get tired easily now, that he needed to rest as much as possible so that his body could heal but all he could think about was Dean sitting there, so close and sharp and God, Roman wanted him even closer. That was a goal to aim for, along with finally getting his PPV match with Seth. His grip tightened on Dean as he thought about Seth, Dean squeezed back like he knew. He probably did.

He dropped his head forward and rested it against Roman's chest, his free hand burying itself in Roman's hair. Roman didn't need to reach into any empty space tonight. He felt Dean press a damp kiss to his chest, followed by a sly tease of sharp teeth. They were both aiming for the same particular goal.

"You're gonna do things to your shoulder," Roman pointed out, aware of how kinked Dean's body got whenever he slept awkwardly.

Dean shook his head against Roman's skin, "I'll survive."

He always did, "Cockroaches, Twinkies and Dean Ambrose."

"Fucking right."

Dean's teeth scraped against Roman's skin again, like a promise, and his gaze felt hot enough to melt Roman's stitches. Roman didn't expect him to still be there in the morning but maybe Dean would leave something behind again, remnants of his wrist tape or perhaps his socks. That was totally something Dean would do. Roman smiled; neither of them relaxed their grips.

Fuck, Roman had missed this, how he always felt around Dean – powerful, molten and fucking fantastic. That was what they were together, they always had been, with and without Seth. They both knew it and craved it, Seth knew it too. Roman hoped that Seth couldn't sleep at night now, craving what he'd turned his back on, worrying about the future. Roman ran his free hand through Dean's hair, Dean made a strained guttural sound.

"Get well soon, big guy."

His words were heated, bent out of shape and not a joke. More like a commanding plea really. Through the pain, Roman tugged on Dean's hair and bodily pulled him close enough for a needy curse of a kiss. Yes, he would heal, they both would, together.

-the end