Disclaimer: I don't own anyone, other than Kelly.
Rated: M
Warning(s): AU, Slash, Threesome, Teacher/Student, Pain Kink, BDSM, etc.

Roman slipped a blindfold over Jay's eyes, and Seth bent to whisper in his ear, "Be a good little bitch and do as you've been told. You don't want to know what'll happen if we have to bring you here again."

Jay's hand clenched around the butt of the pistol. He thrust it forward blindly, "What's to stop me from turning around and using this on one of you two fuckheads?" He hissed, "Just keep shooting 'till I put a bullet in one of your skulls."

"First of all, you're aiming at a fucking wall." Roman pointed out dryly, before continuing, "Second, I'll break your neck before you even have a chance to put pressure on the trigger. It's not worth it."

"Enough," Seth snapped, "Just knock him out and stuff him in the backseat. We don't have time to deal with this bullshit."

Roman raised an eyebrow, "Oh, because you're really looking forward to having our little chat that much sooner?"

"You don't understand! That entire scene was taken out of context -," but Roman cut him off before he could continue.

"There aren't many ways to interpret you fucking presenting yourself to another man like a prized bitch in heat." Roman growled, and under normal circumstances that probably would have been incredibly sexy. "You're a fucking worthless slut."

"Roman…" there were no words to properly convey just how much Roman had hurt him with that simple phrase.

"We'll talk about this later."

Roman turned and clubbed Jay hard on the base of the neck, causing his entire body to lurch forward and black dots to obscure his vision. The second time his forearm collided with his spine, the world faded to black. He manhandled Jay's body back into the wheelchair, before exiting the room and heading down the long corridor which would lead them to the parking lot.

Seth stayed behind for only a moment. He was shaking visibly, tears burning behind his eyes. He'd known that Roman was apt to respond poorly to the news, but then, he'd never actually thought that he'd be found out. And now that he knew, it was only a matter of time until word spread to Dean. Perhaps they'd leave him – they'd take Kelly and travel far away to some place beautiful, with lush green fields as far as the eye could see so Kelly could run and play to her heart's content…

And he'd never see her again. And that would hurt, yes, it would be like having someone reach into his chest and rip out his still-beating heart… But it was what he deserved for sacrificing their beautiful little family for what? A quick fuck?

It took him several moments to command his feet to move. He knew that, given how angry Roman had been a few moments ago, he was more than likely to tear out of the parking lot like a bat out of hell and leave Seth to find his own way back to their house. It wasn't too far, he could probably walk, but… He didn't think that his pride could handle such a blow. And so he willed himself to move faster, faster still, until he was almost running after the shadow of a man he could never quite catch.

When he finally caught up to the big man, he was shoving Jay's body into the back of their car. He was being much more violent than necessary, ensuring that there would be marks that would last for several days after their encounter.

He slammed the door shut, causing Jay's entire body to jolt. He then yanked open the driver's side door, "Get in the fucking car, Seth." Not even bothering to wait, he dropped down into the driver's seat and slammed the door shut behind him.

Seth decided to try a different tactic, "Do you think that he'll actually follow through with it? Killing Adam, I mean."

"If he knows what's good for him," Roman answered simply, not really interested in perpetuating the conversation.

Seth stared out the window, "It was a risky move, I have to say. We don't know much about Sleeping Beauty here, aside from the fact that he has the misfortune of dating that blond bimbo. He could always try and turn to the police -,"

"Then we go to Plan B and we kill both of them, make it look like a murder-suicide. Paul has connections in high places. Trust me, we'll be the first ones to know if something goes south." Roman said flatly. He didn't bother looking away from the road.

"And what will we do about the other one?" Seth continued.

Here, Roman smiled darkly. "As long as he's carrying Paul's grandkid, he's untouchable." He cracked his neck menacingly, "Paul has something very special in mind for the brat who killed his son. It is… truly a work of genius."

As Roman continued to talk, Seth allowed his mind to wander. Maybe they wouldn't be satisfied with merely leaving him high and dry. Maybe that would be considered a mercy that he was not worthy of. He remembered how Roman had cruelly clubbed Jay over the back of the neck – the goal had been to knock him unconscious, sure, but he'd wanted it to hurt. It was meant to be a clear demonstration of the power that Roman exercised over the smaller man, and while Seth would've found that sexy under normal circumstances…

He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. They'd been together so long… he knew too much. There was no way that they'd let him walk away from this with his head still attached to his shoulders. There was too much of a chance that everything he knew would come back around to bite them in the ass. They were just as likely to put a bullet in the back of his skull and tell their daughter that he went on a forever-vacation. He eyed Roman out of the corner of his eye, unable to make heads or tails of his blank expression.

He fidgeted in his seat and turned his attention back to the window. There was a solid half-hour before they arrived back at the hospital. Plenty of time to brood over his impending death.

"Darling," Ms. Ryder pressed the side of her face to the door, "I have a cup of tea and some fresh chocolate chip cookies with your name on them. Can I come in?" Gingerly, she touched her hand to the doorknob.

A few seconds passed without an answer, so she resorted to knocking softly. There was a soft shuffling from inside her son's bedroom, and she pulled away from the door just in time for Zack to crack it open and poke his head out, "I'm not really all that hungry."

"You haven't left your room in three days. That boy of yours has left so many messages he's filled the machine -," Zack cut her off.

"He's not my 'boy' anymore, mom. He c-cheated on me." This was not the first time he had told her, but that didn't make it any easier.

Ms. Ryder did not wait for an invitation into her son's bedroom. Instead, she gently forced the door open all the way and made her way over to her son's bed. Zack watched her for a moment, as if trying to decide whether or not he wanted to kick her out of his room, before shrugging his shoulders and grabbing a fresh box of tissues off of his desk and plopping down on the bed beside her. Used tissues were scattered over the bed, the floor, the desk… in fact, they were pretty much everywhere but the actual trashcan.

There was a picture of Zack and Dolph on the teen's nightstand. It was taken in mid-Spring, under a beautiful cherry blossom tree. Zack had actually fallen asleep in Dolph's arms, and the larger teen was holding him tightly to his chest, his lips pressed to Zack's forehead. It was a beautiful picture, one of Zack's favorites… it now had a massive crack down the middle of it, like Zack had thrown it against something in a fit of anger. Ms. Ryder offered him a sympathetic smile, and Zack allowed himself to collapse into her warm, welcoming arms.

"We'll slip some rat poison into his water at cheerleading practice." Ms. Ryder said, her voice deadly serious. She squeezed him a little tighter, before grabbing the cup of tea and pressing it into her son's hand. "Make him suffer before he dies."

Despite the tears that were still brewing in his eyes, Zack found himself laughing. "You're positively diabolic, Ma."

"Nobody hurts my little boy." She said. "I'll administer the rat poison, make sure that there are no fingerprints at the scene of the crime to incriminate you. He'll vomit up some blood before he finally keels over. Then I'll dismember his body -,"

"You've been watching too much Dexter. What's next? We throw each body part into its own little trash bag and then drop them into the ocean at the dead of night?" When his mom didn't respond, he actually laughed. "We can't actually kill anyone, Ma."

She winked at him obnoxiously, "Of course we can't, darling. Absolutely no horrendous murders are being planned right now."

Zack reached for one of the cookies, staring at it for several seconds before finally taking a bite. He'd barely eaten anything over the course of the last few days, so it settled weirdly in his stomach. The cookies were probably just as deadly as the rat poison his mother wanted to put in Dolph's water bottle, but his mom had tried and it was the thought that counts. He ate another one, allowing his mother to card her fingers through his short brown hair. The cookies might've been totally disgusting, but they were familiar and they made him feel safe. Just like his Ma.

"I just… I thought that he loved me, you know?" Zack whispered sullenly, "He was never going to tell me, I know that much. He was just going to let me act like a fool, thinking that everything was fine." He choked back a sob, "God, I can't believe I let him… I l-let him…"

Ms. Ryder looked at him sternly, "None of this is your fault, darling. He's the one who couldn't keep it in his pants."

Zack wiped his eyes on the back of his hand, "Is it wrong that, even after all this, I still want him back? But I don't… I don't know that I have enough room in my heart to forgive him." His eyes flickered over to the picture, which looked utterly wrecked in the half-light of the room.

"Zack," she cupped his face in her hands and forced him to look her in the eye, "The two of you have been together since the ninth grade. As far as I know – and a mother knows these things – he was your first and only love. That kind of connection doesn't just go away overnight."

Zack sniffled, "So what're you saying?"

"I'm saying that you need to give yourself time to know and understand what you want. Give yourself time to know what it's like to be without him. And then you'll know truly whether or not you're willing to invite him back into your life."

She sat with him for a short while longer, before taking the empty tray of cookies downstairs. As soon as she was gone, Zack flopped back onto the bed and stared listlessly at the ceiling. Give yourself time to know what it's like to be without him. How was that even possible, when everything reminded him of the bottle-blond? Even the sheets still smelled like him…

He rolled onto his side, burying his face into the pillow. It reeked of AXE body wash and the cheap, grocery-store cologne that Dolph liked to fucking bathe in – but God, it was intoxicating when it mixed with his sweat and pheromones – and Zack reveled in it. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine the larger teen in bed behind him, enveloping him in his arms and squeezing him tight to his chest. Nothing had felt so blissfully overwhelming or safe before, and he doubted that it ever would again.

It didn't take him long to fall asleep. After all, his mind and his body were both exhausted from the emotional turmoil that he'd experienced over the last several days. He slept peacefully, his hand steadily creeping closer and closer to the shattered picture throughout the night…

Phil laid on the floor in the bathroom, curled in a ball. His head was pressed against the cool porcelain wall of the bathtub. The bathroom reeked of vomit, and he didn't have the energy to reach up and flush the toilet to try and dissipate some of the stink.

The nausea had started about three hours earlier. He'd taken some medicine for it, which had seemed to settle his stomach at the time, and had tried to eat a little bit of chicken noodle soup – before it had even had time to begin the digestion process, his body was wracked with horrific stomach cramps and he found himself stooped over the toilet. He couldn't remember a time when he'd felt so violently ill and weak.

Fear began creeping up inside of him like vines on a trellis. His stomach had long since calmed, but he was almost positive that he wouldn't be able to climb to his feet under his own power. Worse still, he didn't know if such a simple movement would trigger another attack, and he didn't think he was strong enough to make it through another fit of vomiting. But what was he supposed to do? His mother was off God knows where, dedicating her life to saving everyone but her own fucking son. And Chris wasn't answering his fucking phone.

He thought about calling 911, but he didn't want to end up in the hospital, being poked and prodded with all sorts of needles and getting attached to a variety of machines that checked everything from his blood-glucose level to his heart rate. He'd been in too many hospitals over the last few years, an unhappy side-effect of being in a relationship with Brock Lesnar. The last time he'd checked in to a hospital, he'd ended up vehemently denying prescription pain medication multiple times and getting twenty-seven stitches in his lip without Novocain.

Even if it was only a nasty stomach bug, and would probably only involve a round of fluids being inserted intravenously, he wasn't in the mood.

It took an insane amount of energy to reach into his back pocket and fish out his cell phone. He didn't know why Chris' number was the first one that he came across, or why he even bothered to open a new SMS message to him. He fired off a quick message, unable to look at the screen for too long because the bright, florescent light was making his head swim.

I know u probably won't respond, but I think I need help. Can't get up off floor. Room is spinning and everything hurts. Please help.

The phone slipped out of his hand as another horrific stab of pain tore through his stomach, and he doubled over, not even able to make his way back to the toilet before he was sick all over himself. God, what had he ever done to deserve this nightmare?