Chapter Text
Friday, 8th July, 2011
MLK Center, Gainesville FL
With his heart still trying to pound a hole through his chest and more than a bit lightheaded, Seth struggled to control his breathing as he surveyed the backstage area.
He knew exactly who he was looking for and almost immediately spotted Dusty and Regal, their faces into a harsh rictus as they spoke to a nearly recoiling Ambrose.
Panic rushed through his body as he put two and two together. They were firing Dean.
Seth wasn’t stupid; he knew that no matter what management said, FCW needed both wrestlers for their plans to work. If one of them got fired, Dusty and Regal would never convince Vince McMahon to start all over again. So his best possible outcome would be staying in FCW, maybe make it to the ring as a jobber until the end of his three-year contract; then move somewhere else and hope he could still have a decent career.
He could say goodbye to a Wrestlemania moment, to a career full of titles and historic matches. To arenas covered with his face on posters.
No Hall of Fame, no recognition. Not being remembered like one of the best ever.
All the years of busting his ass performing, learning, traveling; the laughs, the hate, the hunger, the frustration, the injuries sustained so far… Seth's whole life dissolved before his eyes faster than the shaking in Ambrose’s body grew.
Feeling his own knees tremble, Seth stepped closer, noticing moist trails of sweat falling down Dean’s back, Regal’s grimace, Dusty’s disappointment.
It only took a few steps to be able to listen. “-fucked up? Were you frustrated because you aren’t getting what you think you deserve, drowning it in cocaine and alcohol? Or did you just believe you’re some kind of wrestling god and that you’d do fine anyway?” Dusty was implacable. “I don’t give a fuck if you destroy yourself, but I won’t let ya endanger any of my boys.”
There was a long silence between the three men, only disturbed by the noises in the room and Dean’s arduous breathing. Seth watched his body falter and his knees drop an inch, Dusty’s eyebrow arching up in worry.
With a flick of his gaze, Regal stared into Seth’s eyes for a moment before looking back at Dean. “If you were struggling, you could have spoken to us. That's part of what we do,” he assured softly, his words too slow for Seth’s frantic brain. “But you thought it was better to fuck it all up and deal with things your way. For what? For almost beating the living shit out of a coworker, fucking up your future and everybody else’s. Was it worth it, Ambrose?”
Dean’s head tilted down and his body wobbled unsteadily as he seemed to clutch at his collarbone, his elbow swung directionless and appeared to tear at his own chest as his breath hitched.
Seth reacted out of reflexes because his brain was already fried from everything else when he lunged forward. His hand clenched at the back of Dean’s neck, barely noticing the sweat and how cold he felt to the touch. “Dean? What the fu-” he dug his fingers into Dean’s skin, hard enough to cause pain but not enough to bruise.
Still on his feet, Dean stumbled back against Seth’s chest, destabilizing him and nearly making both fall over. Ambrose was a hair away from passing out.
But they never fell.
Faster than Seth could focus his sight, Regal had shot forward and grabbed Dean by the trunks at his hips, holding him up. Seth steadied himself, noticing his hand had never left Dean’s neck. “Oh my god, Regal. We need a do-” He almost felt backward again when he felt as much as he heard the smack of a large hand against his colleague’s face and his body jerking against his.
“Pull his head up,” Regal instructed. “We’re going to make him lie down and get a medic.”
“Fuck, dude-” was all he could whisper in his eloquence. Seth slid his hand up Dean’s neck and grabbed his hair, tugging firmly to keep his head for dangling wildly. A small whimper could be heard when he did so, and suddenly Dean was gasping for air; shaking, only held up by Seth and William Regal but unconsciously trying to stand on his feet by himself.
For many long seconds, none of them moved besides Dean twitching as his body responded again, still out of it.
Seth exhaled in relief when Regal stepped back, letting go of Dean’s neck but still too scared to break the contact. Instead of settling for such an intimate touch, he placed the hand on his shoulder, steadying him up with a firm grip.
Dean blinked at them and looked lost, like he was trying to focus. Dusty was sweating, pale with worry and Regal didn’t tear his eyes from Ambrose with a mix of something unreadable that could have been recognition, or pity, Seth didn't care.
Feeling Dean twitch in anxiety while he felt ready to vomit his heart at any moment, Seth took a deep breath and did his best to plaster a grin that he hoped replaced the panic he suspected must be showing in his face.
“Dude, why the long face? The crowd fuckin’ ate it up,” he did his best to sound ecstatic as he threw a pleading gaze to his bosses. “You guys saw that? They were marking out; they loved it! Was that the hate ya wanted, Dusty?”
Dean finally squirmed out of his grasp, turning toward Seth with a strange look in his eyes and two red, slightly swollen marks on his face. It didn’t look like he’d noticed what had just happened, or maybe he was just trying to pretend nothing happened. Seth didn’t know and didn’t care. However he saw that amongst the turmoil or whatever was going through Dean’s mind, there was an evident touch of surprise.
Dean probably didn’t expect him of all people to obviously interfere in his favor, even if in a subtle enough way.
“Not like that, son,” Dusty emphasized with a tired shake of his head before he addressed Dean severely. “That you had a panic attack is not gonna erase what you’ve done. I’m not firing you tonight, but you’re hanging on a thin thread here. And neither Seth or the crowd will save you next time.”
Something clicked on Seth's brain when Dusty mentioned Dean having a panic attack. Had it been stress then? Ambrose tried to kill him because he was stressed?
He'd seen people go through these before, at school when he was a kid and sometimes from other wrestlers under a lot of pressure or after a dangerous botch. Some would hyperventilate, others would scream their minds, others would... pass out. It made sense, but it didn't help Seth any better.
Regal took two steps forward, revealing a small notebook and a pen out of his jacket’s pocket. He scribbled something on a page and ripped it off, handing it to Dean. “Our initial plans for you to win the medal off Rollins during the feud have been aborted. We will not reward your attitude with titles.”
Seth’s mouth hung open, surprised at the change of events.
Not long ago, during his meeting with Dusty, he’d been told he’d lose the title to Dean to prolong the feud. He would reclaim it soon afterward to lose to Ambrose again, and then they’d push him into the Heavyweight Championship. Now he was back to point zero? Or was there anything else they weren’t telling him again?
Ambrose hadn’t been fired, which was good. If him keeping the medal was also something to see positively, he wasn’t so sure.
But still, Seth tried to remind himself that the feud hadn’t been dropped, that he still had his chance. His stomach hurt, and he felt weak now that his heart had calmed down from the spiral of events.
He noticed Dean glanced at him, confused and exhausted, and wasn’t sure if he was trying to speak or just mouthing incoherently. Seth just shrugged, unable to provide an answer to whatever his fellow wrestler was looking for.
“Well, I just came over to say I’m fine and willing to forget what just happened out there. Off to the showers now,” Seth said apathetically, avoiding to look at Dean and turning his attention back to their bosses. “Need anything from me? I’m dying to get back home.”
It was a relief when Dusty smiled amicably, his expression a stark contrast with how he was looking at Dean when Seth spotted them. “You can go shower son; you did a good job. Thanks for staying professional above everything else,” he said fondly, glancing at his watch. "By this time traffic is better so you could make it home in under two hours."
Going home had never sounded like a better idea.
Seth felt drained after the day and just wanted to get out of there, scream to some music in his car with a huge coffee, roll a joint and listen to some music in his couch before crashing into bed. Or maybe just directly go to bed, he was done with the day.
Still, he flashed a small smile to Dusty and walked away, leaving Dean alone to deal with the two legends and with his own shit. He’d done his part already, show Regal and Rhodes that he hadn’t been scared.
Of course he’d been, but the thought of dropping his dream was way more terrifying than anything that could have happened in that ring.
Once he made sure he was out of the three men’s sight, Seth quickened his pace toward the locker room. He practically stormed into it, desperate to be done and just drive home.
He was glad that he wasn’t on speaking terms with almost anyone, and Sandow and Bo Rotundo didn’t even flinch when he rushed toward his duffel bag, they continued making some small talk while they dried down after showering.
Seth sat down and furiously removed his kick pads, angrily stomping at them with his foot before he picked them from the floor and dusted them, placing them to his side before he removed his boots.
Soon after, his wrestling gear lied on a small pile next to his bag and he stood in the room naked except by a pair of old flip-flops. There were things he didn’t want to experience again like a fungus infection.
He winced and reached between his legs uncomfortably, sweaty and sticky after removing his wrestling trunks and compression underwear. Seth didn’t pay any attention to his dick, a bit fat.
After all, it was a natural reaction every wrestler experienced when their adrenaline rushed into the ring, and he was more than used to it.
As his feet led him toward the shower area, he was still on edge, a little dizzy and out of himself. Seth’s skin tingled, and his hairs stood up when he walked into the slightly steamy, humid room, glad that he’d probably be the only one left there once the other two wrestlers left.
He hung the towel over the shower’s door and got inside while gripping a soap bar tightly, his body moving on autopilot and suddenly cold water was streaming out of the nuzzle, falling onto the floor and licking his toes.
Seth braced an arm against the wall and rested his forehead on it, shaking and letting the tension pour out of him as he breathed deeply.
When the small pool of water around his feet felt warm enough, he shifted to stand under the spray. He could only hear the stream as it cascaded down his face and body, his mind grateful as some of his thoughts were washed away.
The warmth made him aware of the soreness in his body as his muscles relaxed, starting to come down from the extended rush of emotions he'd lived that night.
Tilting his head down at the burning ache under his collarbone, Seth saw a dark red mark where he’d been hit before; sure he would be bruised for a few days. Slowly, heavy-limbed, he raised a hand and splayed his fingers against the damaged flesh. He vaguely noticed the slight flush spreading through his chest.
Seth’s heart sped up its beat again, pieces of what had happened in the ring replaying before his eyes again while he raked his fingers through his hair to wash the sweat away.
Contemplating how his excitement before the show had turned into this, his mind was a bold contrast to his tired body. Seth grit his teeth and repeatedly hit the wall in front of him, trying to release his frustration in the easiest way he could.
This wasn’t how he had imagined his first match against Dean Ambrose, anything but this.
While they had been booked to have a short interaction that was meant to last less than one minute, it was an important minute for Seth.
Sixty seconds that would decide his entire future.
He frowned as he lathered his hands with the soap bar, ready to wash his body. There was no testing their chemistry like Dusty intended; he had almost been beaten up.
Instead of flowing through an intense yet short performance, just like he’d imagined so many times from the moment he learned about the match, he had been thrown to the wolves.
Seth had imagined too many times how their first clash would be, hyped himself up thinking how their styles would mash, how much strength he would have to use to lift Dean into the air, the impulse he would need to perform a Falcon Arrow on him.
He bent over, frowning as he rubbed the soap up his legs, annoyed by how heavy his cock felt when he wasn’t even hard and certainly wasn’t turned on in the slightest. Natural bodily reaction to a fight or flight situation or not, it was uncomfortable as fuck.
During the countless hours he’d spent watching Dean’s videos, Seth had seen vividly how his coworker would throw him around. He could almost feel the physical, solid mat wrestling, the chops, the bumps against the mat after fast-paced sequences, his high flying comebacks.
Seth had imagined the crowd going nuts during their matches, torn between cheering him and booing Dean out of the country, the praise to the quality of their wrestling.
Enthralled by his thoughts as he was, he just vaguely realized his fingers had curled around his dick at some point while he lathered himself, sliding back and forth lazily, spreading the lather along his heated flesh.
While his mind kept going back to the way he envisioned his future, his body seemed to have taken a scheme of his own, and Seth let it be since he was too far into his mind.
It had felt so close, so tangible… He’d seen himself as part of the main roster, cementing the company’s future in a great match against Dean to main event Wrestlemania. Dusty had said they were the future of WWE, and after seeing what the other could do in a ring, Seth had no doubts that it would have been a match of epic proportions if they played their feud well.
A Wrestlemania moment was what he had always dreamed of, and boy, it felt close when Dean told him everything about Dusty’s plans. He was surprised by a soft moan coming out of his lips as his wrist’s pace increased, a bit too much once water washed away the soap and his callused hands increased the friction on his skin.
Picking up the soap bar again, he leaned forward and pushed at the wall with a hand, keeping himself steady as the stream fell down his back, lightly pulling at his hair.
Seth had reached the point where he just wanted to get out of there and drive home, but he was tired, and now he was also hard, so there was no turning back.
He decided that releasing some tension wouldn’t hurt him either and would save him from being uncomfortable any longer than needed. The other two options were getting into a fight or go out to try to find some woman to fuck, and he didn’t feel like experiencing any of them tonight.
He just wanted to go home.
Spreading his legs further to steady his body, Seth held his cock at the base, tightening his grip as he began a series of firm, slow strokes that made shudders run through his whole body. He couldn’t suppress a groan when he squeezed at the tip, running his fingers roughly over it with the help of the soap before going all the way down again.
Seth had gotten off on it way more times that he would ever admit, on the thought of what it would be like finally becoming the star he knew he was. Being able to taste his dream always set him on fire.
And not only that, because he could almost feel Dean’s skin pressing him against the mat, fingers digging into his flesh to inflict pain, moonsaulting out of the ring and stunning crowds all over the world.
Seth’s hips began thrusting into his hand as the pace of his wrist grew desperate, his breath coming out in soft pants as he bit back some pained moans. His legs parted a bit further, shaking under the stream of water, the waves of pleasure and frustration making his stomach clench and tiny shocks crawl under his skin. His mouth parted as precum mixed with the soap and moisture, making everything slicker and taking over his mind.
The sound of the adjacent shower running killed his momentum abruptly. “Fuck!” he wasn’t sure if he’d cursed or moaned it before he pressed his free hand against his mouth, but it almost made him fall over as he lost his balance.
Trying not to make any noise, the hand on his dick slowed down, and he returned to tight, long strokes, muffling the moan threatening to leave his lips as the change of pace brought him even closer to the edge.
There was somebody else in there, and they had heard him for sure. And he knew it was also a natural thing, for wrestlers to run into their colleagues relieving themselves after a match, sometimes out of excitement, others out of frustration, of pain… Hell, sometimes the guys would just jerk off quickly there before going out to last longer when they got laid after with a fan or any girl they met out there. He’d done it himself too many times to count.
But still, it annoyed him to be interrupted when he was finally relaxing and had given into one little fantasy he only indulged himself into when he was alone in the privacy of his home.
Seth's hand sped up the moment he heard the stream of water hit the body under the other shower cubicle. Feeling his cock throb, frustrated and aching to come, he ditched any thoughts of being discrete anymore.
He wanted to come and get the fuck out of there to avoid whoever had involuntarily walked out on him masturbating to his dreams of greatness.
With his eyes tightly shut, Seth braced himself against the slippery shower wall.
The desperate tugs of his hand mixed with images of himself winning the WWE Championship belt at the main event of Wrestlemania, and it was too much for him.
Seth whimpered as the pressure in his balls exploded and shook through his body and water washed the spurts of cum down the drain.
He stood under the stream for a while, breathless and feeling his shaky legs give up; only the pressure of his heels pushing down keeping him from falling as his flip-flops made a complaining noise against the floor.
Seth quickly washed again as soon as he was able to function before he hurried out of the shower. He had taken way longer than intended and didn’t want to have to face whoever was still there.
While still tense, he felt better than before he stepped into the shower and wanted to float in that peace for the rest of the night.
Seth would usually defend himself when anyone told him he took too long to get dressed and ready, but this time he grudgingly had to curse himself and admit that he did.
Already half dressed on a pair of sneakers and sweatpants, he patted his hair to keep it from dripping and raked his fingers through it, not wanting to waste any time combing before he tied it into a ponytail.
Nerves clenched into his stomach when he realized he had been so caught up after coming down from his orgasm that he hadn’t noticed the distant shower noises had stopped. Seth was so tired and sore that every single muscle in his body felt heavy and stiff. At least he felt calmer, focused now that he had literally sent some of his frustration down the shower drain.
Seth’s blood ran cold, yet his face burned in embarrassment when he saw Dean standing between the shower and locker area, almost hesitant to step into the same space as him. He quickly looked away and loomed over his bag, fetching an old black band tee shirt and proceeding to put it on.
Of course, from all the people who could have caught him fucking his hand, it had to be the guy who had appeared in his little fantasy; the same one who had provoked him to be so stressed on the first place.
Seth was expecting the mocking or teasing coming his way as much as he feared it, ready to retort if necessary, but it never came.
Dean didn’t say anything about what he sure knew had heard, and Seth wasn’t going to comment on it either. And fuck was he thankful for that.
Gathering his stuff quickly, Seth needed to leave the room before his nerves got the best of him. He didn’t know what else could happen and was too tired to face anything else.
Seth could feel Dean’s eyes fixed on his back when he turned around, could anticipate there were words trying to break out of his colleague's lips. But he didn’t want to hear them; he just wanted to forget that this day ever happened because otherwise, he would explode, there was a lot more frustration and aggression where his shower stint came from.
“Seth,” Ambrose called in a faint rasp, sounding almost scared.
Feeling his spine tense painfully, Seth’s feet planted on the spot. His teeth clenched and his vision blurred from how much his eyes narrowed. He tried to take a deep breath, to ignore Dean and get it over with quickly.
“Hey, sorry about before. I’m serious, Seth,” there was a pause and a long, shaky sigh before he continued in a defeated tone. “I could have killed you and fuck everything up for everybody. It won’t happen again, I swear.”
The sound of the words ‘fuck up everything’ was what made Seth lose control for a moment.
He turned around abruptly, his mouth tightened in a twitchy line, his face hurting from the expression he must be making. His nostrils tickled violently with heavy breaths.
“Da fuck was that out there, Ambrose?” Seth blurted, his fists clenched and his body leaning backward slightly. Just realizing he didn’t even know for sure what had happened out there felt like a cruel joke. His initial good intentions to believe he had witnessed two panic attacks immediately escalated into wanting to punch Dean’s face. “Don’t give me any bullshit ‘cause I’ll beat the shit out of ya right here.”
But Seth was too tired. His body seemed to slouch as he took a step forward, his confidence faltering as he got closer. Dean wasn’t threatening in any way though, just looked as tired and despaired as Seth felt. Even worse, Ambrose looked like he was breaking before his eyes as his gaze shifted down and he seemed to ponder his words.
“Ya want the truth? Okay, I was anxious as fuck and lost my mind. I didn’t know what I was doin’ and lost control. Was coming down from last night, hadn’t slept and then the fuckin’ drive here,” he recalled, his eyes seeking Seth’s, crazed like they were telling a story themselves. “Regal yelled the shit outta me, and then ya hit me and-”
And that was it? Dean thought it was all about what happened in the ring? Didn’t he take any sort of fucking responsibility for his acts?
“That’s not the fucking problem!” Seth took a few more steps forward, menacing. “Ya get wasted the night before a trip now? When they’re launching our feud? The first time we’re gonna step into a fuckin’ ring together and that Dusty asked us to work our asses on? Why did you do that?”
He just didn’t get it. Couldn’t get it. Seth could understand it if Dean was anxious, would gladly support him if it meant their feud would be a success, but not this.
Who in their right damn mind would fuck up their lives like that? What kind of lunatic was standing in front of him?
Dean gasped and looked away, uncomfortable. “I get now what ya meant when you said there was no real competition here," he admitted pathetically but sounded so sincere that Seth could only relate to it. "I’m frustrated already and lost control after the match with Curtis. I drank, got some attention from the chicks-” his pale cheeks flushed as he looked away. “Sometimes ya just do the only thing ya know, and that was a fuck up. Fucked up big, dude.”
Just like that. “Yeah, you did,” Seth had to bit his lip to keep his mouth from running cruelly, but he managed to keep himself in check and try to carry a necessary conversation. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to trust you in the ring now? It’s my fuckin’ body I’m putting in your hands, dude.”
Seth couldn’t be any more honest, and while he hadn’t paid any attention to the thought, it had been rummaging through his mind from the moment he'd been attacked by Dean in the ring.
Dean didn’t reply his question directly; he just launched another question, looking confused. “Why did you help me with the bosses earlier then?” He stared at Seth, as impatient for an answer as he felt. “I don’t get it; you held me up when I was gonna pass out and supported me. So don’t give me any bullshit either, why did you do it?”
When he was gonna pass out. Had Ambrose really been that out of it? Seth looked down as he reached up to fix his bun. He sighed softly and faced Dean again, too weary to keep the despair and resignation out of his voice. “Because I’ll never get outta here if you’re fired,” he breathed as he looked away, overwhelmed by the confession.
Dean looked disappointed. Like he had any right to be when he’d been the one to fuck everything up. With an indolent shrug, he fixed his eyes on Seth again before he stepped back to finish getting dressed, making a visible effort to appear nonchalant.
“I’m pretty sure they’ll put us on another six-man match again, I’ll show ya there that if there's a place you can trust me, it's in a ring,” he promised, his voice firmer as he slid into a tank top.
Seth had enough. “I hope so,” he said turning away again and rushing to gather his bag. He needed to get the hell out of there, get to his car, buy a coffee and drive home. If he stood around Dean for one more minute, he would just lose his mind or collapse in exhaustion.
Still, something was gnawing at his insides. His body refused to move any further when his hand reached the door handle and tightened around it. He hesitated for a moment, biting his lip in a last attempt to keep the words to himself and failed. “Please don’t fuck this up, Dean,” he pleaded between gritted teeth before he left the room, pushing the door closed with a kick.
He still had a two-hour drive until he got home.