Monday Night Raw the Night of the Blizzard - 1/27/15

WWE Headquarters

Seth finally allowed himself to crumple down against the wall of an empty conference room. If he was going to break down, he reasoned, this was a good place. He was alone and unlikely to be interrupted. He lowered his head to his knees and released the tears of frustration, hurt, and disappointment that had been building for months. Seth didn't remember the last time he had cried, but right now it felt good to finally let out some of his pent-up emotions.

Suddenly the door to the conference room opened. Seth tried to silence himself mid-sob. There was still a chance that whoever opened the door wouldn't notice him. He was crouched in the shadows with a long table separating him from the intruder. Seth refused to even raise his head from his knees. He simply sat in silence and willed the other person to leave him in peace.

Luck was not on his side.

"Seth?" a familiar, incredulous voice rang out.

Seth lifted his head and softly banged it against the wall. "Dean," he replied. No, luck was definitely not on his side.

"Seth, are you. . . crying?" Dean asked. Seth could hear the smirk in his former friend's voice. He quickly went on the offensive.

"Yes, Dean. Yes, I am," he snapped, exasperated. "Do you wanna take a picture so you can post it on Instagram? You wanna tweet about how pathetic I am? Tell the world how you found me crying in a dark room by myself? Well, do whatever it is you're gonna do, and get out, alright? Just leave me alone." Seth let his head flop back down and wrapped his arms protectively around his knees.

"Nah, I'm not gonna do any of that," Dean replied calmly, walking toward Seth. "You know me and technology don't really mix."

"So you going to stand there and gloat, then? Or kick me while I'm down?" Seth's voice came out much weaker this time, already weary from the confrontation.

"You gotta admit, you would deserve it," Dean responded as he sank down beside his former best friend, his former brother. "But right now I'm too curious. What's up?"

What's up? The question reverberated in Seth's skull, seemingly shaking loose words without Seth's conscious consent. "What's up?" he repeated slowly looking up. "What's up is that I'm a freaking failure, Dean!" His voice cracked as he forced out the words. "I can't beat Brock Lesnar, and this stupid briefcase I sold my soul for is completely useless." He hurled the briefcase across the room. "I'll never prove myself to you and Roman. This whole venture has been a complete and utter failure!" Seth's head collapsed back onto his knees.

"Seth, what are you talking about? Since when do you care about proving anything to me and Roman?" Dean asked bewildered by Seth's outburst.

Seth slowly lifted his head and turned to look Dean in the eyes. "What do you think this whole thing has been about?"

"By 'whole thing,' you mean selling out and stabbing me and Roman in the back?" Dean asked bitterly.

"Yeah," Seth sighed rubbing his temples. His head was really starting to hurt. Actually, after last night, everything hurt. Seth stared straight ahead and haltingly began his explanation. It felt good to finally say all the things he'd bottled up for so long-consequences be damned. "You know how in the last couple of months before the Shield ended-"

"Before you betrayed me and Roman, you mean," Dean cut in.

Nodding tiredly Seth agreed, "Yeah." He rephrased, "In the last couple of months before I betrayed you and Roman, you know how a lot of fans online were saying that I was the weak link? That I was the least likely to succeed when the Shield finally went their separate ways? That. . . that was really hard."

"Yeah, so?" Dean said impatiently. "Fans say all kinds of shit online."

"Yeah, I know. It was hard, but I could deal with it. Then I found out that you and Roman felt the same way."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Dean questioned raising his voice.

"I heard you, alright?" Seth answered matching his tone to Dean's. "We were at a restaurant a few nights before our match with Evolution. I left to go to the bathroom. On my way back, I heard you and Roman talking. You asked him who he thought the Marty Jannetty of the Shield would be, and he said, 'Well Seth obviously,' and you laughed and said, 'Well, we'll let the little guy ride on our coattails a little longer.'"

Dean raised his eyebrows in surprise and tried to interrupt, but Seth held up his hand to silence Dean's protests. "And I know you are going to say that it was just a joke, but it was the last straw. You and Roman were always treating me like your annoying kid brother. It didn't matter that the Shield was my idea in the first place. It didn't matter that I was always the one to figure out all the boring shit: the hotel reservations, the rental car reservations, scouting for gyms, figuring out where to wash our gear. Hell, I even tried to remember which places made your allergies act up so we could have your allergy medicine on hand! You two were always fighting for dominance leaving me to play peacemaker. Well, I was sick of it, alright? I was sick of being picked on, sick of being doubted, sick of playing second fiddle to you and Roman while taking care of all the grunt work. So when Hunter approached me after the pay-per-view, yeah, I sold out. I thought that that way you, Roman, the fans would finally see me as something other than an afterthought."

Seth stopped his rant and took a few deep breaths. Then he continued, his voice strained, "But it blew up in my face, alright? I'm not an afterthought anymore, just a scumbag. A smarmy, sell-out scumbag in a stupid suit. And everybody hates me. And Stephanie and Hunter don't believe in me anymore than you and Roman ever did. That's why they saddled me with that stupid J & J Security which makes me look even more like a loser, and I just have to smile and bear it, and act like it's all great because if I don't then I'm totally alone. And now, I can't beat Brock Lesnar, and I'm gonna end up a joke like Damien Sandow. And I can't even really complain about any of it because it's all my fault! I've made my bed. I know that. I'll lie in it. It just really sucks."

His outburst finished, Seth placed his head back on his knees. Dean was at a loss. He had wondered all along why Seth had done what he had done. He had wondered how Seth was dealing with the consequences of his actions. Now he knew, and he had absolutely no idea what to say. "Well, uhh. . ." he began but was saved from having to come up with anything else to say when the door to the conference room was again pushed open.

"Dean? Seth?!" Roman exclaimed, spotting his two former Shield brethren sitting amicably side by side.

"Damn it," Seth said, then again louder, "Damn it! I really am a screw-up. I can't even manage to find a private place to be miserable in." He stood up, retrieved his briefcase from the opposite wall, and stalked past Roman and out the door, leaving behind a tongue-tied Dean and a very confused Roman.