Dean was bored. He was bored of being surrounded by the same faces night after night. He was bored of the meaningless wrestling matches he kept being stuck in. And, right now, he was bored of the predictable, often bland, food provided by catering. He looked with distaste at the plate of food he had chosen. There wasn't a single thing on it that he actually wanted to eat.

He looked around the room at the assembled wrestlers. They were milling around, some eating, others just hanging around talking, waiting for the show to begin. Cesaro's bald head entered Dean's line of vision like a target. Now there's something interesting I could do, Dean thought with an impish smile. He scooped up a spoonful of potato salad and took careful aim.

"Good choice," Seth said, startling him, as he put his tray down on the table across from Dean. "His head makes a particularly satisfying target, but he's pretty chill, so he's more likely to join in than totally flip out."

What the hell? Dean thought, his spoon temporarily forgotten. Dean and Seth had an unspoken agreement. Because fighting backstage was not allowed and resulted in stiff fines, any wrestlers that could not get along were expected to keep their distance. In the early months after the Shield split up, this meant that Seth and Dean avoided even being in the same room. More recently, they had found they could manage being in the same location as long as they deliberately avoided any form of contact. As recently as last week, they were still carefully avoiding eye contact and pretending that the other did not exist when they happened to find themselves in the same room. So what was Seth doing, sitting down with Dean and chatting like nothing had ever happened between them?

"I think I would have gone with Fandango, myself," Seth continued, gesturing over Dean's shoulder to where Fandango was sitting beside Rosa, seemingly oblivious to Dean's confusion. "He probably would flip out." Seth smiled wickedly at the thought as he sat down.

Dean slowly shook his head. Was this a dream? Did Seth somehow hit his head and forget the past year? What game was he playing?

"Maybe we should do it at the same time, cause some real chaos. You go for Cesaro. I'll get Fandango," Seth suggested, chewing on a piece of roasted asparagus.

Dean shrugged his assent and once again readied his spoon as Seth scooped up a glob of red jello from Dean's tray. On the count of three, they each hurled their ammunition at their respective targets. As the catering area quickly broke into an all out food fight, Dean grinned. He didn't know what Seth was up to, but hey, at least it wasn't boring!

xxx

Dean strolled unhurriedly down the hall. He was meeting Roman later to drive to their hotel. It wasn't something they did routinely anymore, but occasionally they would ride together for old time's sake. As he passed the catering area, he noticed Seth inside, working busily to clean up the mess left behind from the food fight. If Dean had witnessed this scene a year ago, he would have been unsurprised. Back then, he would have described Seth as the type of person to clean up after his own (and often others') messes, but that description didn't jibe very well with the spoiled brat persona he had adopted since joining the Authority.

Maybe Triple H heard that Seth instigated the food fight and is making him clean it up, Dean thought, but that didn't seem right either. Seth was whistling and joking around with Jamie Noble and Joey Mercury as he wiped down the tables. "Catch!" he called to Jamie as he tossed him the rag he had been using and replaced it with a broom.

Dean shrugged his shoulders and continued down the hall. He would never understand Seth Rollins.

xxx

"So, I heard you had a pretty interesting time in catering this afternoon," Roman said offhandedly as he drove toward the hotel.

"Mm hmm," Dean answered noncommittally.

"You started a food fight?" Roman continued, still trying to sound casual.

"Yep."

"With Seth?" Roman asked, his tone becoming sharper.

"He was there," Dean acknowledged.

"Damn it, Dean." Roman hit the steering wheel with his palm. "Why are you being difficult about this? I just want to know what's going on!"

"I don't know what's going on!" Dean exploded back. "I was just sitting there, thinking about throwing potato salad at Cesaro's head, when Seth walked up and sat with me like nothing had happened."

"And you didn't ask him what the hell he thought he was doing?" Roman asked.

"No. I just went ahead and threw the potato salad at Cesaro."

Roman glanced at Dean disbelievingly. "And what did Seth do?"

"He threw some jello at Fandango."

Roman shook his head. It was official. He would never understand Dean Ambrose. "Look I'm sure there's no need for me to tell you this—"

"—then don't tell me, then," Dean interrupted.

"Just be careful, Dean. There's no telling what Seth is up to," Roman finished stubbornly.

"You think I don't know that?" Dean huffed. "Look, you just worry about yourself. I can take care of myself. I've been doing it for a long time. I don't need a big brother to look after poor, little, gullible me."

They finished the car ride in silence.