Hey, guys! You've been waiting for this one, huh? Me too. I'm so overjoyed to be able to bring it to you at long last. New characters will be present in this story. New conflicts. New tensions. New drama...yet the same love we've experienced in Roman and Dean, and the brotherly bond between Seth and Dean, and Roman and Seth. Love that's always changing, always growing, always taking us for rides on a roller coaster of feels. Here's the very first chapter. I hope it was worth the wait!

Roman Reigns peeked down at the Superman watch that almost never left his wrist. Three and a half hours to go.

It was a big day.

Maybe not for him, maybe not for anyone else in his situation, but for Dean Ambrose. And anything that was so sacred to Dean was sacred to Roman, too, because…well, it was Dean.

The day had been marked on the whiteboard calendar that now hung in the living room next to the coat closet. Roman had invested in the implement when shopping for supplies for his classes this semester, feeling it could be a useful tool for both him and Seth Rollins, as Seth was active in his own courses now. Weeks lessened to days, now lessened to mere hours.

The day Dean got his cast off.

Or, as he'd scrawled on today's date on the whiteboard, "the day i (dean) come together with my guitar (caroline) again." He'd doodled tiny musical notes and smiley faces beside the message.

He hadn't been completely deprived of his instrument since receiving the cast, following a near shattering of his entire forearm. There were nights he just sat with her in his lap, in his arms—one practical, one kaput—thinking about what he'd do, what he'd play, the day he finally got utilization of his arm again.

"You're pathetic," Seth had jeered, but he and Roman knew damn well they were just as excited for him as Dean was to get the cast off.

His appointment was at four-fifteen today. Roman would take Dean to the doctor after the class he was in now, Epidemiological Basis of Diseases. He'd have to miss his final class of the day, Mental Health/Stress/Crisis—personally his favorite of the semester—but it was justifiable. Seth was working tonight and couldn't take Dean to the appointment himself.

Roman was happy to do so. He wanted to be there for Dean.

"I know you guys aren't going to be happy to hear this," Dr. Harris said, finishing off his slideshow lecture and moving towards the whiteboard, "but looking at the syllabus, you have an essay assignment that will be due in a couple of weeks."

He spoke over early groans and gripes of the students. Roman would normally roll his eyes and denounce his fellow scholars for acting like teenagers in high school rather than adults in college—it's what we pay to do, guys, come on—but at the moment he was refraining from grumbling himself. He was tired. This semester was damaging him mentally. Not that he had any right to complain about it. He'd challenged himself with this schedule.

It wasn't going to be easy, but it was going to be worth it.

Like anything wonderful in life.

Like dating Dean Ambrose.

Dr. Harries wrote out five terms for disease control measures on the board. "The best part is," the instructor carried on, "you don't have to write on all of these. Pick three to compare and contrast. Any three you like. Explain how each are effective—or ineffective—for different diseases. Specifics of the assignment are on the assignment sheet printout."

Roman studied each of the words—vaccination, treatment, isolation, quarantine, and travel restrictions—and pondered them with half a mind. The letters were only black smudges to his eyes. God, was he tired. Damn that Ambrose for being such an optimal late-night lover. He rubbed his eyes, then concentrated on the words. He scribbled "vaccination", "quarantine", and "treatment" into his notebook, then pressed it closed. Fine enough.

Class was over.

Time to leave.

Almost time for Dean to be free.

Roman packed his things away and plodded out of the classroom, down the stairs at the end of the stretching corridor, outside Parker Hall. The February afternoon was milky and slate, a blend of the white snowfall overlaying the campus and the dismal gray skies above, offering no evidence of an existing sun. The weather wasn't too miserable, but it wasn't helping his drowsiness. Heat made him angry, cold made him sleepy. An odd sensation.

Roman sailed past the Quad on his way to the parking lot, a spacious field inhabited by athletes and the studious alike on warmer days. Some still managed to find the area comfortable enough to lounge around in. Including an old, familiar, friendly face.

"Yo, Reigns."

Roman smiled at his friend and former roommate Randy Orton, bundled up for the cold in a black jacket with the hood pulled over his smooth head. He swung his hand into Roman's and pulled him into a hug.

"What's up, brother?" Roman asked.

"Not much, man. Just waiting for Nikki to get out of Ethics. How've you been, dude? Off the crutches, I see."

"Yeah, for a little bit now." Roman's injuries had limited his movement to crutches for only three weeks. Sometimes his foot still burned from the former gaping tear in his skin, but he was improving day by day.

"The fact I didn't know that is a sad sign that we don't hang out enough."

"No, we don't, and it is sad. I miss you." Roman truly did. Their lifestyles might have clashed and perhaps the boys had nothing in common, but Randy was a sincere guy. He wasn't a liar or a cheat, he always knew how to make Roman laugh, and his concern for others was genuine. A curious fact about the biggest ladies-man Roman had ever met.

"Miss you too, dude." Randy rubbed his bare hands together. They must have been frozen. "You got any plans for Sunday?"

Sunday was Valentine's Day. "I'm plotting as we speak," Roman answered.

"Oh, that's cool to hear. Figured if you and Dean didn't have anything going on, you could join up with me and Nikki."

"Thanks for the invite, but I've got some special ideas in mind already."

Randy grinned. "You sly dog, Roman, look at you. I'm still really happy for you and him."

"Thanks, Randy. I'd love to stay and freeze to death out here with you, but I need to go. Dean's got a doctor's appointment."

"Oh, yeah, yeah, man, go and take care of that. Keep in touch, alright? Smooth criminal."

Roman chuckled. He wasn't sure exactly what that meant. "Sure thing. I'll see you."

It took him over half an hour to get home. The roads weren't terrible, but everyone in Colorado apparently lost all ability to operate a motorized vehicle whenever snow was present in the atmosphere. Luckily the doctor's office wasn't a long drive from the apartment. Roman parked in front of his complex and texted Dean to let him know he was there.

A few moments later, Dean Ambrose stepped through the front door of their place and pulled the door shut behind him, locking the apartment secure with his key. They saw each other every day. Slept in the same bed every night. Yet the sight of Dean still made Roman's heart thump wildly. But the bliss over Roman's face contorted to bafflement and slight irritation as he took in the sight of his love dressed in a black t-shirt, his prominent blue jeans, and boots.

And nothing else.

No coat. No gloves.

Typical.

Roman pushed the car door open and stood up outside. "Go back inside and get a coat," he called.

Dean furrowed his brows. "Why? I won't need it once I'm in the car, or at the doc's place."

"Dean."

"Roman, it's not a big deal—"

"Dean."

Dean sighed. His long hair swayed over his beautiful eyes in a shake of his head. "Fine."

"You can wear one of mine."

"Stupid protective boyfriend."

Roman heard the smile in his voice.

Dean shoved into the apartment and returned again, struggling to tug one of Roman's winter jackets on over his casted arm. "Piece of shit," he said in the car, referring to the mold.

"Don't worry. It'll only be a pain in the ass for a little while longer."

"Bring it on, dude. Can't wait to be rid of this damn thing."

"Dean."

"Yeah?"

"Hi."

Dean smiled. "Hi, Ro. I missed you today."

Roman leaned over and touched his lips to Dean's briefly. "Missed you, too."

"How was class?"
"It was class. Pop quiz in one this morning, got an essay to write in another. No big deal."

Dean stuck his tongue out. "Yuck. Essays are the worst. Always hated those when I was in school. Luckily they were never really an issue for me."

"Because…?"

"Never did 'em."

"Ah." Roman pulled out of the lot onto the main road. Soft rock music from a CD soundtracked the short drive. "Did you graduate high school?"

"Nope." Somehow it didn't surprise Roman. "Dropped out when I was seventeen. Figured it'd be better for me to try to work and support my family."

"Did that end up working out?"

"Nope. Worked at that Taco Bell for a while. Tried out a few other odd jobs. Then left." His tone had waned. "What the hell does someone like you find attractive about someone like me?"

Roman took a moment at a red light to look at Dean and arch an eyebrow. "You think I don't have a reason to find you attractive?"

"Well, you shouldn't. You're cranking out these five college courses, getting good grades and actually doing your homework and studying and shit. You're fucking brawn and brains over here. Me? I got nothing."

"Not true." Roman's hand found its way to Dean's hand in his lap. "You have a zest for an adventurous life. You have this defiant, confident perspective that nobody else really has—nobody I've met, anyway. You're one hell of a musician. You're street smart. You care about people. So relax. School isn't for everyone. And lack of an education isn't a deal breaker for me, obviously."

"Or else you probably would have moved on by now, right?"

"I'm not one who likes to waste my time. And you're not a waste of time, Dean." He steered one-handedly into an open parking spot in front of the doctor's office. "You're worth it to me. Worth everything."

Dean's grin was back. So sexual and adorable all at once. "I love you, Roman."

"I love you too, Dean. Now let's go get this thing off you."

"Hell yeah!" Dean cheered outside the car. "Freedom!"

Doctor Benjamin used a special saw to remove the cast. Dean squirmed uncontrollably through most of the process. "Try to hold still, Jon," the doctor advised him.

"I'm sorry," Dean apologized. "Kinda tickles."

The cast snapped with a crack and fell off of Dean's arm like it was melting.

Dean gasped at the sight of his arm. The skin looked flaky, scaly. The hair was thick and clumped. "It's not gonna look like this forever, right?" he asked the doctor. "I mean, my arms are one of my best features."

Roman, sitting across the room, wouldn't deny that one.

"No," Doctor Benjamin replied, smiling. "The changes are normal. It's just an effect of the cast. Your arm will return to normal in no time. Now, let's do a quick examination."

He led Dean through a series of motions and movements. Dean didn't wince or flinch at any of them, impressing both Roman and the doctor. He was improving greatly, too. Recovering. Finally.

"It's healed up quite nicely," Doctor Benjamin praised. "Just follow the at-home instructions carefully, and you shouldn't have any further problems. Of course, if you do, call me up and I'll take another look."

"At-home instructions," Dean said, looking at Roman. "Getting real tired of those, huh, Ro?"

"Whatever gets you better the quickest," Roman said.

"Doc, am I cleared to play guitar?" Dean asked hopefully.

He glanced up from his clipboard and smiled again. "I wouldn't recommend starring in any heavy concerts for a little while, but you should be fine to play leisurely at home. Just try not to overdo anything."

Dean nodded. He blinked rapidly, eyes shifting to the floor, like he was trying to hide tears.

"Thank God," he whimpered.

It might have been the only time Roman ever heard him utter the words.

At home, Roman unlocked the door, and Dean darted past him.

"Honey, I'm home," Dean said, snatching up Caroline from her stand. At least he was smart and used that particular exertion with his left arm, not the right. He lowered himself to the floor, where he seemed to be the most comfortable playing, legs crossed, Caroline nestled in his lap. "Missed you so much, baby girl."

Roman hung his coat up and slipped his wet shoes into the closet.

"Roman probably thinks I'm crazy for talking to you like you're a person," Dean went on.

"Roman thinks you're crazy for a number of reasons," Roman answered, smiling.

Dean bobbed his head. "Roman might be right. And Dean also thinks Roman is a little crazy for referring to himself in the third-person."

"Yeah. I'm the crazy one."

"Do you realize, Ro, that without you, without Seth, and without a guitar, I'd have nothing in the world? Nothing. Not a damn thing. I wouldn't make it. Don't see it happening."

Roman understood that. Dean lived by himself—not to say alone, by himself, but by himself. His own standards, his own outlook on life and view of the universe, his own actions and the consequences of such. But others also took care of him, protection he needed, protection he couldn't do without no matter what he believed. He was probably the most codependent self-governor Roman had ever had the honor of knowing. He was a conundrum. A conundrum Roman was crazy about.

"That's why she means so much to me," Dean said, stroking the top of the guitar. "That's why this day means a lot to me."

"I understand. Nobody's judging you for it, Dean."

Dean drew a pick from between the strings and strummed Caroline for the first time in over six weeks. He frowned at the displeasurable off-tune.

"Need your tuner?" Roman offered.

Dean scoffed. "You act like you know me so well, then ask a question like that. I don't need some fancy device to tune my guitar. But, since it was a Christmas present you spent money on with my best interest in mind, I suppose I can use it."

Roman chuckled as Dean fetched the gadget from the front pocket of his case and spent the next minute or two tuning the guitar to pristine sound. He strummed openly on Caroline again, satisfied this time with the noise she produced.

"Killer," he said.

Roman flicked on the fireplace, then lowered himself to the carpet next to Dean. "So, this is it. Moment of truth." He wrapped his arms around his knees.

"Hell yeah, dude." Dean started off with simple chords. Like he really needed a warmup. "Remember how my New Year's resolution was to learn a new song every week? Well, I've missed out on six weeks. So that's six songs to learn before I'm caught up. So while you and Seth have been learning about diseases and the criminal justice system—respectively—I've been watching tutorials on Youtube for different songs to learn to perform. I'm both a visual and an auditorial learner, so to watch those guys on Youtube play and go over chord progression and whatnot, I say I've learned a lot already."

"That's great, Dean. Very impressive."

Dean beamed. "Thanks."

"Think you said your first song was gonna be 'Stairway to Heaven.'"

"Yup. I know it already."

"Show me," Roman challenged.

"I will later on. That's not what my first song to play is gonna be."

"So what is?" Roman was actually impatient, and avid, for this.

Dean answered him in song. His hands drifted over the strings like a veteran. Roman recognized the tune immediately, and his heart was touched.

"I took a walk around the world to ease my troubled mind

I left my body lying somewhere in the sands of time

But I watched the world float to the dark side of the moon

I feel there is nothing I can do, yeah."

The song sounded wonderful on acoustic, in Dean's voice, here and now, their moment together, Dean's most perfect and long-awaited day. Roman's fingers toyed with the Superman pendant dangling from his neck as Dean sang the next lines, then stormed into the chorus with power.

"If I go crazy then will you still call me Superman

If I'm alive and well, will you be there holding my hand

I'll keep you by my side with my superhuman might, kryptonite."

Dean's rendition of the song was flawless. He performed like he hadn't missed a single day of practice, like he'd been playing this song every day for a year and hadn't learned it over the span of a couple of weeks by eyesight and hearing alone.

He drew the song to a close with covering "Whoa-oh-oh"s and a polished outro. His eyes had been closed for most of the act. They pulled open again and regarded a smiling Roman.

"So?"

"Dreadful. Do it all over again."

"My pleasure. At some point. I have a lot to crank out on this baby."

The doorknob rattled as a key jostled inside it. Seth pushed into the warm apartment.

"Seth!" Dean shouted. "Welcome home. Look!" He raised his right arm into the air.

Seth smiled. It was bleak. There was low speed in his walk, a bend in his posture, weight in his eyes. He kicked off his work shoes and let his coat and gloves fall to the floor.

"Guess it's kind of stupid to ask you how work went," Roman said, pity tweaking at his heart.

"So fucking tired." Seth flopped onto the couch face-first. Between classes he'd been taking up extra shifts, covering coworkers willingly if they wanted a day off, and even pulling doubles to compensate for both Roman and Dean being out of work. Roman had made it back to Java Central a couple of weeks ago, working his first open mic night without Dean in a long time, but Seth was keeping up his hard-ass work attitude until all three were able to work fully again. Rent wasn't going to pay itself. Roman was of course able to help with money from his savings account and his paychecks prior to his absence, but Seth had been the breadwinner the past month. He was a hero to Roman and Dean.

"Another double?" Dean asked.

"Mhmm." His voice was muffled. A cushion nearly suffocated him.

Roman took up the little space left on the couch beside him, patting his leg. "You don't have to keep doing this, you know. You have school to focus on. I'm getting a decent paycheck next week. Don't kill yourself over rent, okay? It's not that bad."

He'd made the same plea with Seth two or three times before now. Seth always gave him the same answer.

"I don't mind."

"It's taking a toll on you, whether or not you mind." Dean perched himself on the armrest of the couch, tousling Seth's hair with his hand. "We're not gonna get evicted. We made rent this month. We'll make it next month, too."

Seth said something Roman couldn't quite make out. "Errm ferring rmmm mmm fffmmhmmm."

"What?" Dean asked.

Seth shifted his head up. "I said I'm feeling like my father."

"Hey, that's fine by me. Your daddy's a rich-ass dude. I'd love to be rich. Just so I could blow all the money on shit for my guitar and give the rest to homeless shelters."

That, right there. That was why Roman loved Dean. One reason of a plethora.

"He's rich 'cause he got lucky. Me, I'm actually working hard to provide and make a difference."

"You are," Roman insisted. He kept rubbing Seth's leg. The muscle felt taut. Seth was obviously in pain. "But you can't graduate from college if you're dead. You can't keep working hard to make a difference as a deadman, either."

"Roman's right," Dean said. "Take a break. Chill with us. We'll be fine. Don't stress so hard about money."

"I need another job," Seth said, completely disregarding both Roman and Dean's counseling. "Or at least one that pays better than Lighthouse. Shit's not worth all I put up with."

"Start looking. But seriously. Stop killing yourself over this, Seth. It ain't healthy. It ain't right. If I was doing it, you'd tell me to knock it off and chill out. Right?" Dean looked to Roman for confirmation.

"Right," Roman said.

Seth rolled onto his side. "Feels good, Roman. Don't stop."

Roman glanced at Dean, feeling the need for approval from his boyfriend to go on massaging Seth's rigid muscles. Dean nodded. Permission granted.

"Sorry. I don't mean to be such a bitch over here. I'll feel better in the morning."

"You're fine, Seth," Roman said. "I've been feeling pretty taxed over school lately, too. But I know you'll do what I'm going to do about it: fight on."

"Thanks, Ro."

"Man, when did the two of you start living more stressful existences than me?" Dean asked.

"Because we're adults with responsibilities. It's what we do," Seth said, perhaps more aggressive than he meant to sound. "This is what adults do."

"I know." Dean sounded sad. "Sorry, Seth."

"No. I'm sorry, Dean. I'll quit griping. Congrats on getting your cast off."

"Thanks, dude. But seriously. Rest. You need it."

Seth was nodding off before Dean even advised him to do so.

"Poor guy," Roman said, voice low, watching Seth do his best to rest after his arduous day. "He works so hard."

"He's always been like this. Always," Dean said. "It's crazy, how committed he is to work. No matter what he's working at. In a way, I'm kind of jealous of it."

"He'll get his break soon. I believe it."

"We all deserve a break. We all deserve to be happy and healthy and just at peace."

"I think the time for that's coming. Especially with your cast off, and your playing back on."

"It's a sign, for sure."

Did Dean even believe in those?

"We've got each other," Dean said. "We're family. No matter what happens, that won't change. We can change the world, but it sure as hell won't change us."

"It could change us. Make us stronger. Better. Closer."

"That's the only kind of change I will accept within this family."

"You're right otherwise. We're family. Nothing can tear us apart."

Dean held his fist out. Roman tapped it with his own.

"Believe it, baby."

Roman did.

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