The Monster [Dean/Roman]

"If I told you what I was,
Would you turn your back on me?
And if I seem dangerous,
Would you be scared?

I get the feeling just because,
Everything I touch isn’t dark enough
If this problem lies in me”

The intrusive medical jargon of the doctors tending to him barely penetrated the dull throbbing in his skull, the rush of blood through his veins magnified a hundredfold and whatever was happening around him—the bright lights shone into lifeless eyes as one of the trainers repeated a question he had no want of answering at the moment, the vague feel of his flak vest being stripped off his shoulders which he offered no resistance to, the sensation of human hands tending to the mess of ruined flash that mapped across his battered back unheeded—-all seemed like a faraway mirage.
One which was blurry and unfocused; the mute background to the outrage of a crowd 12,000 strong which reverberated through the arena so much Roman could still feel their fury underfoot and all that remained in his head was the cold and stony gaze of a young man beloved as an older brother in his eyes who turned away at his wordless plea in the very end and left him to the mercies of a snake wearing human skin who all but tore him apart in spectacle akin to a gladiatorial execution.

Seth had betrayed them.
It wasn’t the first time, but as the echoing screams of Dean’s agony at an assault he could not see while writhing from his own ordeal but had a good idea as its severity from the twisted heap of chair which landed close to him spitting out nuts and bolts continued to barrage through the maelstrom of thoughts in his head, one thing that was clear to him was that it would be the last.

There was a commotion around him, he began to finally realize as the medics shuffled aside warily while one of the heads—he assumed this was the head given how much sand the woman had to have to be yelling away at a harassed-looking Cesaro—-tried to stop the Swissman from approaching him.

Something about Dean, the former gridiron captain’s mind filtered the older man’s urgent babbling down to raw, base pieces he could comprehend.
Locker room. Rampage.

And just like that, the world seemed to stop for a moment so he could process with a crystal-clear clarity the situation which presented itself—-the broad brushstrokes of Cesaro’s words detailed right down to the very last line as he heard his entire body groan with the effort of trying to stand up much to the consternation of the medical team.

Dean was out for blood.
Dean whom three-quarters of the locker room avoided like the plague when he was in a good mood and the remaining quarter learned the hard was as to why when they crossed his path wrong.
Dean whose vitriolic, foaming anger terrified even him behind the camaraderie, whose views he did not share, whom he straddled the line between wanting to know more of and blissful ignorance with care; wary of how deep the abyss behind those icy-blue eyes could be was once it truly opened up to him.
Yes, Roman was the beast in the minds of many but he was not the monster—-no, that one looked far more unassuming than 6’3 of rage-filled, tattooed Samoan war tank but there was no denying the primordial fear that would have been struck in hearts of even the hardiest veteran when those drooping eyes of a street brawler came alive with the light of a barely-contained slavering insanity.

His footsteps quickened in pace as Cesaro led him through the narrowed corridors within the labyrinth that was backstage, part of him feeling like Theseus looking for the Minotaur more so when the sounds of chaos were heard in the distance; growls and snarls and screams of rage punctuated by the sound of breaking furniture and the hollow clanging of metal.
This was the monster they all feared, and it would have been a blatant lie to say that he didn’t share the same sentiment sometimes.

There was a reason he had been closer to Seth, found it easier to laugh with Seth who had treated him fondly whereas his relationship with Dean while as cordial as could be allowed by the indie veteran’s abrasive personality, there was always an invisible wall conceived out of mistrust and resentment between them he could never scale, the shadowy glimpse of an eldritch abomination peeking just over the edge ensuring he would never try.

There was red smeared in streaks across the wall, lines spiderwebbing from where fists struck and entire chunks of whitewash torn out by benches no doubt flung into them judging from the haphazard pile of wooden furniture leaning against the side of the lockers, several which were dented with the clear impact of feet lashing out against them.
Two or three had toppled over completely into a messy heap of broken steel around which several of the boys gingerly gathered around, unwilling to approach the seething man who stood in the epicenter of this whirlwind of destruction with skin peeling away from knuckles so bloodied and cracked Roman could see the white of bone through them.

Sheamus made the first move, firmly grasping Dean by the wrist to ensure the man still had functioning knuckles after this ordeal as Barrett tried to talk to him with as much civility as could be had when facing what in retrospect was a wild, injured animal who probably thought itself cornered

Seth wasn’t here.
Hunter wasn’t here. There was nothing to achieved destroying property which wasn’t even theirs.
Calm down.

Calm down.

Those two words seemingly cut the last thread the Cincinnati brawler had to whatever little rational thought he had in mind and he snapped, lunging for a confused son of England as the Irishman hung on for dear life, shouting for reinforcements even as he tried in vain to restrain Dean which was about as easy as trying to wrestle a Doberman in a blanket.

Before Roman knew what he was doing, his feet had already decided for him the course of action as he strode over to where the three men were entangled, each step amplifying the pain which wracked every synapse in his body, a body begging for respite at this point but his mind quickly silenced those lamentations with the simple notion that this was Dean.

Dean, the same monster who had lain next to him for twenty minutes reeling from Seth’s betrayal, who had shoved the medics away as they tried to tend to them, who had, for no reason Roman could think of more so that he had been so certain that the man’s minuscule capability for trust had been ground into dust underneath The Authority’s well-polished soles, decided to carry him all the way backstage.

And it was this that resonated strongest in Roman’s mind as he took his friend and brother by the shoulders to wrest him off Barrett and felt the rage boiling within the man’s coil-spring body changing course and target to him instead, the fists pummeling away at him making both of them topple back clumsily into the heap of metal.

The feel of those fingers wrapped around his throat like a vice would have prompted a struggle but the Samoan did not fight back, features dissonantly serene as he stared into the abyss behind his team mate’s gaze and saw something more. Something human.
Black fury.
Murderous intent.
Blazing hatred.
The deep, profound sadness of a man who had for two years something to hold on to after having nothing to lose since he could remember only to have it ripped away from him in ten minutes.
The cold dread as he recognized the face of an old friend battered by his own hand and the thought that he could lose Roman as well to the fear and the hatred far too many had for him.

The cracks in the massive wall between them widened, chunks shattering on the ground as Roman gripped his forearms reassuringly and spoke as well as he could with the grip on his throat slowly loosening. It was like the voice of a man who hadn’t spoken to a single soul for an eternity, cracked and broken in places but the determination from emanating from those ten words made them the steeliest he had spoken in his time here.
People never remained for very long in Dean’s life.
And as those walls came crumbling down and the shadow of the monster behind revealed itself to be hurting so much that it seemed for the first time more human than the unfeeling countenance of the traitor he had loved in what felt like an eternity ago, he reached out to the darkness and touched it, taking hold of the tendril of hands which clung back.

"I’m ain’t goin’ nowhere man, I promise. I’m right here."

He would not be one of those people.
He would not leave.

"I’m right here."

Dean had never been good at lying.
Raw anguish at its most primal was hard to fake and it reverberated in the animalistic howl that echoed off the walls as Dean finally released him, doubled over in heavy, whistling breaths with his head in bloodied hands and the fury in his eyes replaced by a wild bewilderment.

'Where do I go from here?'

Where he would have normally fought off any show of affection from the massive Samoan who had the irritating habit of needing to touch everyone close to him whether it be slaps on the shoulders or an arm slung around them to pull him close or playful elbows to the ribs, Dean didn’t fight back when those same arms dragged him into a hug as both men knelt in a heap on the floor, all those around them giving them the space they sorely needed.

'Start by trusting me'
The gesture spoke for Roman’s intentions clearly as he felt Dean go slack in his embrace and the next few words came in a gentle murmur only heard between the two of them.
And as he felt rough hands rise up to his back and fingernails digging into his skin refusing to let go, in that moment the pain was buried under the memory of lifting the same man upon his shoulders after Extreme Rules and the understanding of why he felt compelled to do so.

"I’ve got you."

The monster had always been a man.
That man would always be his brother.