Fear is Real {WWE FanFiction}

Chapter 5

The world seemed silent, like the earth was holding its breath. Nature had been unbalanced. Roman had been brought back from the dead. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, hard. Stars blossomed in the darkness, and from them figures emerged.

Dean laid on the ground, his neck twisted at an odd angle, his face beaten to a pulp. Rain poured from the sky. The pavement was cracked around Dean's lifeless form, as if he had fallen from a great height.

The image shifted. Now instead of Dean, it was Seth. And instead of looking broken, blood pooled around his corpse, leaking from hundreds of lacerations and slices.

The image changed again. Roman looked down at his own body. It seemed totally unharmed. Then, as he watched, it sat up and popped its neck. The eyes were black.

Roman shoved off from the bed.

"No," he growled. "No, no, no."

"Roman?" Dean's groggy voice asked from the right, shattering the silence. All at once, the sound returned: car tires on the road, wind through the tight, open-air hallway of the hotel, a couple a few doors down going at it.

"I'm fine," Roman said. Even to his own ears his voice sounded tense. "Just can't sleep."

"Yeah, well, you can sleep when-" Dean stopped midsentence. Roman cringed.

"Sorry," Dean muttered. "Automatic response."

"It's fine," Roman said again. "I'm going for a walk."

His hand was on the doorknob before his friend answered.

"Be careful, Ro. You never know wha- who's out there."

-*-*-*-

The air was cold for this time of year. But it felt good as it invaded Roman's lungs, piercing through the fog that blanketed his mind. It had only been a day since Dean told him he'd died. But it was a long day. Roman didn't remember anything. Just dim glimpses of a figure, and muffled, incomprehensible words. He shivered, but it wasn't because of the cold.

He turned a corner. All of the streetlights on this block were out. A dog barked a few streets away. Roman hesitated, then trudged on. He was undead, in all meanings of the word except he wasn't a zombie. What could possibly scare him worse than knowing he had been dead?

-*-*-*-

"Hey, man, get up." That was Dean, shaking him awake. "Roman, seriously, let's go. We're going to be late."

Roman rolled over. He opened his eyes, stretched. An involuntary catlike noise escaped his throat as he did. Then he sat up and looked around.

Confusion swept through him. How did he get back to the hotel room? The last thing he remembered was walking down the blacked-out street. Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he noticed he still had his boots on, and they were muddy.

"Did it rain last night?" he asked.

Dean shot him a sideways glance. "Not that I know of. Why? And what time did you get back last night?"

"I... I don't know," Roman replied. He felt like he was saying that a lot lately. "I don't remember."

"Probably just the stress," Dean said. "Being revived must've done something to your head. I'm sure you'll be fine in a few more days. Now come on. Get dressed."

He tossed a T-shirt and darkwash jeans at Roman. The Samoan got dressed in silence as his thoughts returned to the cause of his walk last night. He had a feeling that the visions weren't just random conjurings of his subconscious mind.