Seth couldn't lie. He was nervous.

He wasn't quite sure what to expect, requesting Bray Wyatt's presence following the taping of Raw in Denver, Colorado. But here he stood, center ring, alone, waiting, and a tad jumpy. Just hours ago, rambunctious fans were shouting at him, hissing, condemning him for his behavior. Meanwhile, praising so-called fighters like Roman Reigns and Dean fucking Ambrose for no good reason. Seth was sick of it. He couldn't stand his former brothers.

And finally, finally, he had a plan to get rid of them. No more would the fans swoon over Roman's brawn or Dean's insanity that, for whatever reason, people found appealing. There would be only one name worth commending in the WWE. And that name was Seth Rollins.

First, though, he needed a little assistance. And assistance came to him in the form of a bearded, hefty gentleman by the name of Bray Wyatt. He appeared where most of the wrestlers would reveal themselves before a match (except Roman. The cocky bastard always wanted to be different and come out from a side door. How quirky.) Bray's gray eyes locked onto Seth, and he walked with power in his stride towards him. Seth felt a lump in his throat. He swallowed against it. Chill. Just chill. You haven't done anything wrong. You're not asking for much here. He'll go for this.

Seth offered a smile he hoped was convincing enough. "Mr. Wyatt," he greeted. "How are you doing?"

Bray hoisted himself onto the ring and over the ropes. He hadn't fought anyone tonight. He'd only appeared on the TitanTron during Roman's first match against Kofi Kingston since Money in the Bank, taunting Roman the way he had been for weeks now. Honestly, the act was a little irritating. If he wanted Roman so badly, why not get him? But tonight's exploit had been what really cemented Seth's idea. He could give Bray anything—and everything—he wanted.

Bray ignored Seth's question. The sturdy wrestler made a steady approach. "What do you want, Rollins?" Bray asked, voice low yet firm. Seth felt a familiar tightness in his chest, the same inner strain he felt when Brock Lesnar was storming onto the ring to challenge him.

"I'll cut to the chase, Bray. Wouldn't want to waste your time. I've been watching you play mind games with Roman Reigns for a while now."

Bray's eyes seemed to lose all trace of a soul within him at the mention of Roman's name.

"I don't blame you. The guy's trouble. Always standing in the way, an inconvenience to all your hopes and dreams. What if I told you…I could give him to you? Put him right at your feet, to do to him whatever it is you feel you need to do?"

Bray grinned. It was chilling, a threatening little beam. God, I'm glad I'm not Roman. I would not want beef with this guy.

"How exactly do you plan to do that?" Bray challenged. "It's not exactly easy getting to him…for most people." He leered, fully aware he was one of the few people who could get under Roman's skin.

"I'll strike a deal with you. You bring Dean Ambrose to me, and I guarantee you'll get your hands on Roman Reigns."

A fluffy eyebrow arched. "Dean? How? Why?"

Seth grinned, delighted to answer that question. "You've done a number on Reigns so far. I applaud you for that. I respect you for that. But you haven't hit his pressure point just yet. The nerve that would hurt the most if touched. A defect in the otherwise flawless Roman Reigns."

Bray's nostrils, already quite large, flared. He seemed to get angrier the more Seth spoke that name. Seth hoped it would only entice him all the more to agree to this deal, instead of backfiring. Seth didn't want Bray losing control quite yet. "See, the minute Roman hears his boy Dean Ambrose is in trouble, he'll come running. Roman loves him. He wants to protect him. He wouldn't want anything to happen to his precious little Dean. He'll stroll in, thinking he's going to be the hero, but it'll really be you waiting for him. Then you can have your way with that son of a bitch."

Bray was quiet. Seth took that as a cue to continue.

"You and me, we're on the same side, man. We're going after the same thing in this life. Revenge. Taking back what's rightfully ours. You work with me, and you get that pain-in-the-ass Roman Reigns. The Big Dog will be nothing but a whining puppy when you're done with him."

Bray's face was blank for many moments. Seth was starting to doubt his plan, doubt himself, when Bray's lips suddenly uplifted into another frightening smile.

"All I need to do is bring Dean to you?"

"That's your only job. Then all you have to do is wait."

"You've got yourself a deal, Rollins." Bray took Seth's hand in a powerful grip and shook it with might. Seth chuckled on the outside, but the bones in his fingers screamed from the pain.

Bray released Seth's hand. "Great," Seth said, a new sense swelling inside him, charging his veins. Hope. Arrogance. "Here's all you need to know…"

Falling for him?

Roman cupped his hands underneath the gentle trickle of the sink until they were full, then splashed the mountain water on his face, over his eyes. He rubbed the skin dry with a towel, then stared his own reflection down, hands gripping the sides of the little counter. The water continued spurting from the faucet. The hotel room was quiet otherwise, empty, but Roman's mind was alive and clamorous with thoughts.

He shook his head, the thin strands of his long hair gyrating around his face. Impossible. There's no way. I'm not falling for him.

Am I?

The thought had occurred to him for the very first time this evening. Many hours ago, during Raw, when Dean Ambrose was facing off against Sheamus, a rematch from the night Sheamus bailed in the middle of the fight and Randy Orton stepped into his path. He had faith in Dean in all of his matches, but tonight, witnessing the brutal attack from the Celtic Warrior, something was different. Not one speck of confidence was lost in Dean, but Roman caught himself prowling on the side, a wolf prowling the shadows, in case something went wrong. In case Dean couldn't take it. Especially when Sheamus used the Cloverleaf on Dean, one of his signature moves…Roman was convinced Dean was going to tap out, but he didn't give up. Roman couldn't remember the last time anyone didn't tap out when Sheamus enfolded their body in that gruesome way…his opponent's face twisted in pain, pellets of sweat dotting his face, veins bulged and skin red…but Dean had held on. Before Dean made his escape—the announcers had called it miraculous and beyond belief—a thought had flashed in Roman's mind. A funny thought like lightning, striking into existence just for a moment, and disappearing just as quickly.

You're falling for him.

You're falling in love with Dean Ambrose.

Sure, he cared about the guy. They were best friends. The media paired them as brotherly figures, especially after the creation (and eventual destruction) of the Shield. He'd do anything for Dean. Seeing him suffer like that always sucked…

But did that mean he was in love with him?

"Maybe I care too much," Roman said, his own voice surprising him. He splashed his face again, as though another cleansing would open up some clarity. But when he looked into his own eyes, all he could see was the truth. A wall of denial, a Jericho of rebuttal, with an army of trueness ready to knock it down.

Perhaps saying it out loud would help.

"I—I am." He cleared his throat. "I am…not…falling in love with Dean."

You're a goddamn liar. The voice again. The same voice that made the original accusation. It sounded an awful lot like…himself.

The voice had a point. Now say it for real this time, it commanded him. No tricks.

"I…love him. I'm in love with Dean."

How easily it came. How natural it sounded. Like everything suddenly made sense. It was strange and unusual, but wonderful at the same time. Roman felt better. The confusion was gone. He liked it so much that he decided to say it again.

"I'm in love with—"

A key entered the slot on the door, and Dean pushed into the grand hotel room. They almost always shared a hotel room. It was cheaper that way. A common fact Roman never really reflected on before, but now he was suddenly and completely aware that he and Dean would be sleeping so close to each other tonight.

In a near-panic, embarrassed he'd almost been caught, Roman turned the water off. Dean poked his head into the bathroom. He was still dressed in his off-white undershirt and tight blue jeans from the match. His clothes were stained, his hair was messy, and sweat particles clung to his skin from face to feet. Roman still thought he looked pretty damn good.

Wow, he reproached himself. Never looked at him so different. Just saying the words out loud changed everything.

"Hey," Dean said, arms grabbing hold of the doorway's edge.

"Hey," Roman echoed.

"Turns out the Miz is crashing two floors down. Wanna switch hotels?"

Roman chuckled. "I don't think that'll be necessary. If we hear him yammering at any point, we'll just go shut him up ourselves."

"How are you feeling?"

Roman's heart hammered. "What do you mean?"

"Y'know, physically. That Trouble In Paradise looked pretty nasty."

"Psh. Takes more than a simple kick to keep me down."

"Yeah. You knocked him down a peg or two." Dean shook his head, his brown locks shaking. "Might be time for the sun to set on the New Day. I'm getting sick of 'em."

"I hear ya." As interesting as this rush of emotions was, Roman couldn't help but pity them as strongly as he welcomed them. Certainly he was the only one in this state of mind, state of heart. There was such little chance that Dean possibly had these feelings, too. Even in the slimmest of slim chances he did, what could they do about it? Nothing the media wouldn't rip wide open, expose for the world to see. People could turn on them. The WWE could drop them in a heartbeat.

"Hey." Dean's voice broke his thoughts, calmed his anxiety. "You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah. Just tired. Long day ahead." He yawned to emphasize the feeling. Smackdown was scheduled in Atlanta on Thursday. One night in the hotel was all they had.

If only it could mean something more than just crashing before another grueling trip.

"You going to bed soon?"

"Probably. You?"

Dean's hair fell over his green-blue eyes, giving him that enigmatic look he was famous for. "I was thinking of getting something to eat. There's a taco shop down the street. You want anything?"

"I'm good."

"Come on. You sure? You look wiped. Maybe some greasy beef and cheese will do you some good."

His eyes are fucking beautiful. The voice again. But then again, you've always thought that, haven't you?

Roman shook his head, wanting Dean to believe it was another polite decline to the offer, but the gesture was for himself, an answer to the voice. And they call Dean insane. I'm a wreck in my own head.

Dean shrugged a shoulder. "Suit yourself." He crossed the spacious room and drew back the dark orange curtain. "Ugh, damn. It's snowing again. Can you believe how much it snows here?"

"Hi, welcome to Colorado," Roman teased. He stepped out of the bathroom. "Don't you have a coat?"

Dean rubbed his chin, then his eyes widened in some realization. "Oh, whoops. I think I left it back at the arena."

"Walking around at night without a coat? What's wrong with you?"

Dean grinned. Something else he was known for: that deranged, yet endearing, little smile. "What's right with me, Roman?"

"True."

"I'll be fine," Dean insisted.

"Don't be stupid. You can wear mine." The words tumbled out of his mouth with speed. Roman hoped he wouldn't catch onto the slight thrill in his tone.

"You sure?"

"Sure, I'm sure. I'm not going anywhere."

Dean reached for the black winter jacket hanging on a golden hook by the door. "Thanks, Roman." It was a little big on him, but he looked comfortable in it. Adorable. He pulled the zipper up. "Be back in a bit."

"Be careful," Roman instructed.

"Thanks, Mom." The door fell closed behind him.

Roman leaned against the wall, casting out a long breath. This won't be easy. Is it worth it?

His head ached.

Memory was rattled.

It was dark.

Dean slowly became aware of the world around him again. His first comprehensible thought was Why is it so dark?

He tried to move. Couldn't.

His arms were bent, behind his back. He tugged. They didn't budge. Tried to move his feet. They were immobile as well.

What the fuck?

It was warm where he was. Hot, in fact. It took a few seconds for his brain to process that that meant he was no longer outside. But he'd been outside, not a minute ago, right? He'd been walking to Marg's Taco Bistro. Craving a bean and cheese burrito. Then—

What the hell happened after that? His brain ached from how hard he tried to think. Let's see…I was on that street. Wynkoop. That was the name of it, right? Yeah. Outside the hotel. Walking. Then…

He tried to move again, with collected strength. It was wasted. He couldn't move more than his fingers, toes, and neck muscles. He'd used the all his power up. Now he was weak again.

Fuck, my head hurts…

He heard something. At least his ears still worked. Footsteps. A little sigh. Of relief? Weird how he could tell. Something about heightened senses when one was deprived. What the hell did that useless information matter?

Beneficial information: it's dark because your eyes are closed, idiot.

Dean opened them.

The light was dim in here, wherever he was. His blurry vision slowly sharpened, and Dean found himself looking at…

Seth?

"Heya, Dean-o," Rollins said. "Sleep well?"

Dean's head hurt with a new pain, sheer confusion. His eyes surveyed the area. He was in a tiny room, what looked like an deserted office. Bare bookshelves. An empty desk. A flatscreen TV perched on a rolling stand. Then him, center of the ring. He looked down, his stiff neck shooting pain down his back. He was bound to a wooden chair, hands behind his back, ankles tied to the legs of the chair. Seth sat in a backwards chair, straddling the seat, his arms over the top rail. He was smiling. Dean hated that smug little smirk. It never seemed to drop.

His muscles were aching, his headache disorienting. He was in worse pain now than he'd been after his match against Sheamus. Something must have happened to him while he was out.

"Save your energy, brother. Won't do you much good here."

He had no right to use that word. "Where am I?" Dean growled. "What the hell's going on?"

"Hey, relax. What did I say about saving your energy? Don't wanna pass out again, do you?"

"Fuck you."

The smirk spread over his screwy face. "Aw, Dean. You're hurting my feelings over here." His hands went over his chest in feigned distress. Dean didn't think he could hate someone so much.

"Eat me."

"I can think of a few worse things to do with you. For now, though, we're just gonna hang out in here."

Dean lurched against the ropes. Surely he could get this…what material was this, nylon? Someone had really gone through meticulous methods to secure him. There had to be a weakness somewhere. Slack. A tear in the material. Somewhere.

Dean figured barking wasn't gonna get anything out of Seth. "What are we waiting for, Rollins? Ball to drop? You wanna kiss me at midnight? Give me another two months or so, then we'll see where we're at."

"That's it." Seth wagged a finger. Rose from the chair, talking to nobody in particular. "That's what I was waiting for. That cute little attitude the people just eat up every week. The great Dean Ambrose. The Lunatic Fringe. So hilarious. So charming." Seth took hold of Dean's hair and yanked his head back. "You ain't shit, Ambrose."

"Least I'm not full of it," Dean responded.

Seth let go of Dean's hair, pushed his head forward again. Growled. Dean liked how easy it was to annoy Seth. Rollins sauntered towards the desk.

"What the hell am I doing here, douche bag?" Dean demanded again. His fingers longed to wrap around Seth's pencil neck. Squeeze him until he sank into black unconsciousness.

Seth looked beside himself. "The rule's to show, not tell." He grabbed something off the desk. A phone. His phone. "So allow me."

He toyed with the phone a little. Then pressed it to his ear. Making a call? As Dean's mouth opened, Seth put a finger to his lips. Shhhhh.

Seconds ticked by. "Roman!" Seth exclaimed. "Buddy! How are ya?"

Dean's chest enveloped on itself. Roman?