Fear is Real {WWE FanFiction}

Chapter 6

It'd been a week since the last incident. Roman plopped down on the bed, relaxing into the mattress with a weary sigh. They had just finished taping SmackDown, and Dean was at some bar down the road, no doubt hitting on some defenseless girl. The thought made him chuckle.

A knock at the door startled him out of his thoughts. Grumbling, he got up and peeked through the peephole. He opened the door.

"This a bad time?" Seth asked.

Roman glanced up and down the hallway before stepping aside to let the two toned man in. It was still early enough in the night that he knew Dean wouldn't be back anytime soon.

"What do you want?" Roman said.

"Did you turn into a vampire or somethin' since I left? That why it's so dark in here?" Seth clicked on one of the bedside lamps. "Better."

Roman grimaced. "Maybe 'cause I was tryin' to sleep?" He sat on the edge of his bed.

Seth sat across from him on Dean's bed. Roman noticed how pale his former friend's skin look, the deep bags under his eyes. Concern welled up as an automatic brotherly response.

"I just couldn't sleep," Seth said quietly. "Scratch that - I haven't been able to sleep worth a damn for a couple days now. Not sure why. Somethin' is still bothering me but I can't put my finger on what."

Roman didn't say anything.

"How's Dean?" Seth asked after a long pause.

"He's...better," Roman answered, knowing Seth would understand his meaning. "He's at the bar right now. I think he misses you, to be honest. He'd never admit it but..."

"I know," Seth said.

Both fell silent. A thick, awkward tension filled the space between them, the kind of tension of two people who know each other better than anyone else - best friends - brothers - who don't know when it started to go bad, who only know where it fell apart. Roman stared at his hands. An image drifted to the surface of his mind -  Seth beaten and lifeless - and his hands clenched into fists. Bile rose to his mouth.

"You should go," he heard himself say over the dull roar in his ears. "Dean will be back soon."

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force this unwanted and unexpected rage into a cage. When he opened his eyes, he was alone. The room didn't seem quite so bright now; all of the color seemed bleached, drained. He laid down, arms over his eyes.

He was still awake when Dean came stumbling into the room at some ungodly hour of the morning. The burn of alcohol and vomit reached his nose. His upper lip curled in distaste, knowing just by the smell how wasted Dean was.

"Roman, bro, buddy, pal," Dean mumbled.

Roman peered out from under his arms at his friend. Dean's blue eyes were bloodshot and his hair a mess, and numerous stains adorned his black shirt. The sandy haired man swayed where he stood. Roman wouldn't have been surprised if Dean fell over right there.

"Oh, good, you're awake. Come here." Dean grabbed Roman's leg and tugged.

With a resigned sigh, Roman stood. He knew better than to protest his drunk friend's antics. He was friendly and laid back right now, but Roman had firsthand experience of how fast Dean could get violent.

Dean immediately pulled him in for a hug. Roman patted his friend's back, the stench of vomit even stronger now and making him gag. Dean squeezed tighter.

"I love you, man," Dean slurred. "I'm sorry for being such a dick. They're just putting me under a lot of pressure and- and- and I don't know what to do."

Roman frowned. "Who's 'they'?"

"Man, you have some seriously sick hair," Dean chuckled, letting go of Roman. The taller man pulled at a lock of Roman's hair.

The Samoan batted his hand away. "Dean, who's 'they'?"

Dean just hugged him again. Impatience and annoyance growing, Roman pushed him away. Dean tripped over his own feet and fell onto the bed.

"What the fuck?" Dean asked. He didn't seem pissed, more confused and hurt. "Ro?"

"Don't call me that," Roman heard himself snap. Annoyance morphed into something larger, uglier, and he could feel his entire body shake with it. Fire coursed through his veins, burning like whiskey.

"Roman?" Dean's voice was quiet. Scared.

Roman turned away, hands balled into fists so tight his palms were bleeding. Everything was tinted a violent shade of cobalt. The inexplicable anger from earlier threatened to consume him.

You have to fight it, a voice in his mind urged. Fight.

"Rome?" Dean whispered.

A low growl emanated from deep in his chest.

Fight, commanded the voice.

"I'm- I'm fine," Roman said forcibly. He made himself believe it.

And just as quickly as it had come, the rage vanished, leaving him drained.