Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Cody swore under his breath, sneakers pounding through the maze of hallways backstage. The air smelled like metal, sweat, and freshly cut pyro. He barely ducked in time as two stagehands passed, hauling a massive chunk of the dismantled set.

He had gotten into his vehicle immediately Raw ended—had simply thrown on a random tee over wrinkled jeans, his heart racing. He'd driven like a man possessed.

Because Bron Breakker. Because Roman had gotten speared through a barricade so hard, Cody swore his own ribs ached with phantom pain. Because Seth Rollins and Paul Heyman were playing 4D revenge chess, and Cody was tired of watching people he cared about turn into pawns.

He had no idea what he’d say when asked why he'd showed up to a show he wasn’t booked for. He'd figure that out later. good lie, maybe. One with charm. But first: Roman.

He flagged down a passing stagehand. “Hey—you know where Punk and Roman are?”

“Medical.”

Cody was already gone.

“Yo! Dusty’s kid!”

Sami Zayn jogged up like he’d been waiting to tag in. Hair wild and grinning in happiness. Then, as his brain caught up to Cody’s presence here, the smile sobered like someone had flipped a switch.

“So, from you being here right now, I’m guessing our little chat actually worked its charm?”

Cody cleared his throat, trying to swallow the flush creeping up his neck.

Sami slung an arm over his shoulder, walking in step like they were in a high school hallway.

“Hey, I’m happy for you, man,” he said, voice dropping to something genuine.

Cody nodded, throat tight. “Is he alright?”

Sami groaned. “Depends. Last I saw, they were trying to physically wrestle him down to the bed. Punk was a statue. Roman...not so much. Pearce actually threatened to bring handcuffs.”

“Jesus,” Cody muttered.

“EYO UCE!”

The call hit like a flashbang.

Cody and Sami both spun as the chaos twins themselves—Jimmy and Jey—barreled toward them like two toddlers high on a sugar bender and hype.

Jey clutched his championship like it was both a trophy and an emotional support device. Jimmy dropped to his knees mid-sprint, gasping like he’d just run through the multiverse.

“Thank God, Cody,” Jey wheezed, repositioning the belt so it stopped slapping his backside. “I was just 'bout to text you.”

Jimmy froze mid-wheeze and jerked upright. 

Cody frowned. “Why were you about to text me?“

Jey stiffened like someone had hit pause on him, eyes widening in some personal realization.

Jimmy’s eyes did laps around the hallway. “To, uh, ask where you were, Uce! You missed the Championship Yeet Down!”

Cody winced. Right. That had happened. In between crisis control and emotional whiplash, he hadn’t even congratulated Jey yet.

“Guys,” Sami stepped in like a traffic cop, “I don’t think Cody’s really in the mood for a Yeet Down right now. He’s probably still steamed about Cena.”

Cody nodded solemnly. Bless him. He wasn’t still mad per say—kind of hard to be bitter when Roman Reigns had curled up in his bed last night like a six-foot Samoan cat—but he’d ride the 'wounded ex-champ' narrative if it got him out of this circus.

“Right! Cena,” Jey nodded like it was gospel. Jimmy echoed it like a backup dancer. “Yeah, totally.”

Cody fidgeted. Now how did he ask about Roman without sounding like a creep?

“How’s Punk?” he blurted, immediately cringing at the clumsy segue.

Jimmy and Jey lit up like someone had plugged them in.

“Punk’s good,” Jey offered immediately.

“Yeah, Roman too,” Jimmy added, too fast. “Couple cracked ribs, but he’s in the back—restin’ and recoverin’. You know. Real strong, real quiet. Real Roman. Nothin' a little Tender Loving Care couldn't solve.”

Jey cleared his throat. Loudly. Jimmy stiffened. Sami looked like he was delegating half his braincells into plotting something absolutely diabolical.

“OW!” Sami yelped suddenly, clutching his knee like he’d been sniped. “Oh, that’s not right. My leg. Feels like pudding.”

Jimmy and Jey were on him instantly.

“You good, Uce?” Jimmy asked, crouched like a lifeguard mid-rescue.

“I think I need a doctor,” Sami groaned, completely unconvincing, which of course made it more suspicious.

Cody clocked the play. Sami was creating a distraction. A big, blinking, neon please-go-that-way distraction that was so painfully obvious, it was almost cute.

“I’ll take you to medical,” Cody offered, already catching Sami’s smirk of victory.

“NO!” Jimmy and Jey shrieked in perfect unison.

Cody flinched. “...What?”

“We could, uh, drive him somewhere else,” Jimmy offered, looking ready to jump into traffic to avoid this conversation.

“Yeah! Yeet,” Jey nodded, trying to improv a lifeline. “Because uh—McAfee's office here!“

Cody stared dumbfounded at the twins. Were they drunk? Had they still been celebrating since Saturday’s win?

Jimmy shoved Jey behind him, Jey dutifully dropping to look over Sami's knee while Jimmy took over explaining coherently.

“What Uce means,” Jimmy said, with the poise of someone completely winging it, “is that Roman, Punk, and McAfee are already in there. Lotta traffic for one room, feel me?”

Fair point. Cody cursed silently. This was like trying to sneak into Fort Knox.

Jey coughed. “Ice pack,” he muttered.

Cody saw Sami narrow his eyes at Jey suspiciously.

“You could get him an ice pack tho'!” Jimmy said brightly, like he’d solved world peace. “That way, uh, he’s got something to hold on the drive to Definitely-Not-This-Arena General Hospital.”

His nervous laugh was three octaves too high, for something so unfunny.

Fine. Ice pack. Doctor’s room. Roman.

“Jey,” Cody said, pivoting mid-chaos. “Can we talk later?”

Jey shot up so fast his title fell off his shoulder and smacked Sami squarely on the foot.

“OW!” Sami yelped, hopping on the foot attached to the supposedly injured knee.

Cody sighed deeply, resisting the urge to facepalm into the next decade.

Jimmy was back at Sami’s side in a flash, while Jey snapped to attention like he was being inspected by a drill sergeant.

“Why? Whatchu heard? Did Jimmy say some'n? Whatchu need to talk to me 'bout?!”

Cody blinked slowly, absorbing the pure panic in Jey’s voice, Sami wobbling, and Jimmy holding onto his teetering form like it was a paid job.

“I just wanted to apologize,” Cody said carefully. He didn't want to throw the trio into a frenzy again, for whatever reason it was happening, “for not congratulating you. On beating Gunther.”

Jey blinked. Then melted with relief.

“Yeet,” he exhaled.

“Yeet,” Jimmy echoed, still holding onto Sami’s shoulder, Sami's throbbing foot dangling uselessly between them.

“It’s all good, Uce,” Jey clapped Cody on the back, immediately back to his overly-jovial self. “I know you been busy.”

“Busy doing former champion stuff,” Jimmy added, then frowned like he regretted saying it out loud.

“If it’s not too much trouble,” Sami cut in, voice dry, “I think I really need that ice pack now.”

Cody gave a grateful nod. “On it.”

He turned and finally, finally, headed toward the doctor’s office, heartbeat speeding up.

Roman was waiting.

Chapter Text

As soon as Cody rounded the corner, Sami stood up slow and way too dramatically. He bounced on one foot. Then the other. All of a sudden perfectly fine.

“I’m healed,” he declared, arms thrown skyward. “It’s an Easter miracle. I have risen.”

Jey blinked. “Bruh.”

Jimmy narrowed his eyes. “You been fakin’ this whole time?”

Sami just shrugged. The kind of shrug you gave when you were caught red-handed but figured charm might get you halfway out.

The silence that followed was thick—like molasses laced with secrets, denial, and just a dash of mutual telepathy.

Then Jey cracked. “Aight. So… we all know, right?”

“Know what?” Jimmy asked way too fast—like he was trying to beat the lie detector buzzer.

Sami tilted his head. “You mean the know? Or like… an off-brand, gas station version of the know?”

Jimmy squinted at Sami. Then at Jey. “You think he know?”

Jey scoffed. “The minute he said ‘miracle’ and tried to skip on his gimp leg, I knew he know.”

Sami pointed between them like a confused game show host. “But we’re talking about the same know, right? The not-a-thing that’s definitely a thing?”

A heavy and suspicious pause. Filled with appraising squints and distrustful eyebrows.

Jey looked around like he expected hidden microphones. “Okay… let’s just say—hypothetically—somebody got a thing with Roman.”

Jimmy held up his hands like a hostage. “Not sayin’ it’s real.”

“Nah, nah,” Jey nodded. “Purely hypothetical.”

“Totally fictional,” Sami nodded.

“Pure speculation,” Jimmy added. “Like a documentary with dramatic reenactments.”

“Oh my God,” Sami groaned suddenly, rubbing his face. “How did you guys know?!”

Jey gazed off into the middle distance, traumatized. “Waffle espionage.”

Sami blinked. “I’m sorry, what now?”

Jimmy nodded, deadly serious. “Cody and Big Uce pulled up to Waffle Hut in disguises—”

Sami blinked harder. “Disguises?”

“Disguises,” Jey confirmed, grim.

“Made a bold, public but totally private proclamation of romantic synergy,” Jimmy added, “and then strutted off into the sunrise like the world's biggest power couple.“

Then Jey chimed in, “Funny thing is—Roman and Cody don’t know we know.”

Sami stared, connecting dots like a man putting together furniture without a manual. “That explains why Cody was all twitchy earlier. Dammit. You two can’t keep a secret to save your lives.”

“And we suck at lyin',” Jimmy added helpfully.

Sami looked exasperated. “Cody at least knows I know. Matter of fact I helped him know. I’m basically his personal Ginger Guru.”

“Yeah,” Jimmy replied as if remembering. “We were sittin’ right behind them at the Waffle Hut. Just… knowin’ things we wasn’t supposed to be knowin’.”

Jey threw up his hands. “A'ight I’m gettin’ secondhand stress from all this knowing. We need another word.”

They stood there, letting the shared absurdity hang in the air like smoke from a dumpster fire full of feelings.

“…So,” Sami said, cautiously, “do we say something? About you guys knowing? I mean—I’ve got clearance. Certified Emotional Support Ginger and all.”

Jimmy shook his head. “Nope. We keep it tight. Real ones mind their business. Like old church ladies at brunch.”

“Yeah,” Jey agreed. “Mature and respectful. Like dudes who read poetry on purpose.”

Jimmy tapped his temple. “Subtle. Sophisticated. Cloaked in vibes.”

Sami gave them a long, tired stare. Then facepalmed so hard it echoed. “You two are absolutely the worst secret-keepers alive.”

Jimmy exhaled. “Man… I almost confessed to Cody just then. The pressure of knowin' but pretending to not know is spiritually exhaustin'.”

Jey glared at him. Hard.

Jimmy shrugged. “My bad.”

Sami groaned. “Guess that means it’s up to me to come up with a solution.”

Because clearly, someone was going to have to lie-proof the twins. It certainly wouldn't help for people to think they were drunk or high half the time.

---

Cody’s hand hovered at the door jamb of the medical room, just shy of pushing in, when he heard his name shouted like it owed someone a paycheck.

“Codeman!”

Randy.

Of course.

The Viper himself swaggered over, duffle slung like a war trophy across his shoulder.

Right. He’d been on Raw tonight. RKO’d Cena just for sport. Cody cursed inwardly, brain scrambling for a half-decent excuse.

“I didn’t know you were booked today,” Randy said, stopping in front of him, brow creased in suspicion.

“I wasn’t,” Cody answered too fast, then covered with a shrug. “I was supposed to pick up Jey and Jimmy—Yeet celebration through town—but Sami twisted his knee, so now I’m on Ice Pack Duty.”

Randy nodded satisfied with the answer. Crisis dodged.

“By the way,” Randy added, tone smug, “I don't know if you were watching, but I got your boy good tonight. Hit John with an RKO so clean he’ll be wearing a neck brace till SummerSlam.”

Cody forced a tight-lipped smile, growing rapidly impatient. “That's good news, Randy. I gotta get the Ice pack.“ 

He gestured a thumb over his shoulder, towards the door to medical.

“Fair warning,” Randy stepped forward, malice etched all over his face. “There's a couple of psychopaths in there.“

A pause. “And McAfee.“

“Good thing I brought my pepper spray, then.“ Cody joked.

Randy checked his watch like he had somewhere to be but zero intention of going. “I got time. I could come in with you if—”

“Randy.” Cody’s hand landed flat against Randy’s chest, right over his heart.

The touch was light, but the reaction was immediate. Randy’s pulse jumped beneath his skin, eyes flicking from Cody’s fingers to his face like he was short-circuiting.

“You don’t have to babysit me alright?” Cody said gently. “Losing is a part of the job description, picking yourself back up even more so.“ He finished softly.

Randy’s expression shifted from sharp and dulling to warm and flickering. “You sure?”

“I'll be fine.“ Cody offered a soft smile, dropping his hand. “I’ve slain a beast before, haven’t I?”

That earned a genuine and crooked grin from Randy. He watched as Cody stepped into the room, door clicking shut behind him.

Only once Cody was out of sight did Randy let out a breath and rub the spot over his heart where he could still feel the echo.

He shook his head, lips twitching despite himself.

Boy was that man going to be the death of him.

Chapter Text

Cody stepped into Medical, and the first thing to assault his senses was a shirtless, growling Roman Reigns.

Not even figuratively, the man was actually growling, seated on the exam bed, chest heaving like a cornered animal, and eyes burning with unfiltered murder. His knuckles were white from clutching the edge of the gurney, every muscle in his torso flexing like he was ready to launch at the next person who dared to breathe near him.

So much for the resting and recovering fantasy Jimmy had sold him; this was less TLC and more UFC with blood in the water.

Cody did a quick sweep of the room: Punk was passed out cold on a bed in the far corner, dead to the world. McAfee's little entourage looked halfway out the door already, Pat himself limping and wheezing between them.

“Hey, QB,” McAfee croaked, voice sandpaper-raw. Gunther's chokehold had clearly left a souvenir.

“Hey, man.” Cody walked over and laid a steady hand on his shoulder. “You good?”

McAfee blinked slowly. “Honestly? I’m not in the headspace to answer that right now.”

Fair. Cody had been spiked by Solo more times than he'd like to remember, and it never got easier. Fun memories.

“You probably shouldn’t be testing your vocal cords,” Cody said, wincing in sympathy. “Text me later. I’ve got a sore throat remedy that’ll change your religion.”

Pat nodded in thanks, and his entourage escorted him out with the urgency of people who knew danger when they saw it.

Now it was just Cody… a snoring Punk… and Roman Reigns mid-Godzilla meltdown, locked in a stare-down with a nurse who looked one wrong word away from quitting the profession forever.

Said nurse was visibly shaking, stammering something about taping Roman’s ribs while the Tribal Chief roared at him so loud it looked like the man might evaporate. Roman’s nostrils flared with every ragged inhale, pupils dilated, and shoulders squared.

Cody glanced at Punk, surprised the roaring hadn’t stirred him. Must’ve been some premium-grade sedatives.

The nurse shrank in real time, as Roman's fury escalated by the second, the man practically folding into himself.

Cody stepped in before the poor guy could perish from sheer fear alone, sliding smoothly between the two men. Like stepping between a predator and its prey was just another Thursday.

“I’ll take this,” he said, plucking the bandage roll from the nurse’s hand with surgical precision. “Why don’t you grab me an ice pack instead?”

The nurse hesitated, eyes darting between Cody and Roman like he needed permission from God himself to exhale.

Roman glared, slow and deliberate, all simmering intent. His eyes tracked the nurse, jaw locked and head tilted in an unnervingly calm way.

Cody gave him the most reassuring smile he owned. “Take your time.”

The nurse squeaked, nodded, and evacuated the room with the speed of someone rethinking their entire career path.

Cody waited a beat, then slowly turned to Roman, drawing on his inner disappointed boyfriend look. Arms crossed, eyebrow raised, and lips pursed in full Judgement Mode.

“You know,” he began calmly, “there are less terrifying ways to say ‘no thank you’ to medical assistance.”

Roman’s breathing was still uneven, his chest rising and falling with the kind of fury that made the air in the room vibrate. His gaze snapped to Cody, and held, and Cody swore there was a flicker of something raw behind it. Roman's fingers twitched against his thigh, unable to decide whether to clench into a fist or reach out to hold him.

Cody crouched in front of him, unwinding the medical tape with quiet efficiency. It peeled in crisp loops off the roll, Cody’s hands moving with the calm, practiced care of someone who'd done this a thousand times before. His presence grounded the space and muted the air just enough to dull Roman's fury.

Roman glared at the wall, his chest rising and falling too fast. Sweat dotted the line of his brow, and despite this, he didn’t push Cody away.

“Seth first,” he muttered suddenly, voice low and lethal. “Then Paul. Then the little dog who thought joining in with that pipe-cleaner-limbed leech, and putting his hands on me, was a good idea.”

Cody didn’t flinch. He’d seen this movie before.

“You know,” he said, gently laying the gauze across Roman’s ribs, “you might want to reconsider murdering your coworkers. It’s mostly bad PR.”

“I’ll reconsider,” Roman growled. “I’ll reconsider how I kill them.”

Cody huffed a quiet laugh. “See? Progress.”

The tape stretched tight across Roman’s skin, and he winced slightly—but didn’t move. Cody’s fingers brushed his side, slow and intentional, smoothing the gauze beneath. Roman's abdomen tensed briefly under the touch, but he didn’t pull away

Roman stayed quiet for a beat, jaw clenched so hard Cody could see the tension pulsing in his cheek.

Then, unexpectedly, he spoke.

“He knew, Nightmare. Seth knew exactly how I’d react. He planned for it.”

Cody met his eyes. “Yeah,” he said softly. “He did.”

Roman blinked like he hadn’t expected that much honesty. The fury behind his eyes flickered and dimmed just a little.

“And Paul?” Cody asked, furthering their therapy roleplay.

Roman’s scowl deepened. “Paul told him, helped him strategize.”

Cody stood, finishing the wrap, and firmly pressed the last bit of tape down. His hands stayed on Roman’s sides a second longer than necessary.

“You’re not wrong,” he said, voice low. “But if you go nuclear, you’re just playing their game.”

Roman stared up at him, breathing hard with wild eyes.

And then, he asked softly, scared of the answer: “What the hell am I supposed to do with all this rage, Cody? I need to do something.”

Cody leaned in, close enough that their foreheads almost touched, voice barely a whisper now. Roman’s gaze dropped to his mouth for a split second, then darted away.

“You can share it with me.”

Roman blinked. “What?”

“You don’t have to burn the whole place down alone.” A pause. “And make no mistake, you will burn the place down later. You just—you've got me now. Let me help you hold some of it.”

The anger in Roman's eyes finally flickered into a dull ember, and he inhaled, mouth opening to say something, but couldn’t find the words.

Then, with one last glance at Punk to make sure the man was still unconscious, Cody leaned forward and kissed him. A brief, but grounding connection, tethering him. Roman leaned into it for half a second longer than he meant to.

When it broke, he exhaled slowly, some of the tension immediately bleeding from his shoulders. His eyes dropped to Cody’s hands still at his waist.

“You’re gonna make me soft,” he muttered.

“Too late,” Cody said with a smirk.

Roman swatted at him, half-heartedly. “Ow. Ribs.”

Cody tapped the taped section gently. “Try to avoid any more unnecessary growling for the next 48 hours, and you might actually heal.”

Roman grunted. “No promises.”

The nurse returned with the ice pack, and both men sprang apart, the air instantly chilling.

The nurse handed Cody the ice pack, nodding at the bandage job.

“Decent work.”

“I’m a wrestler,” Cody replied. “I’ve broken ribs more times than I’ve broken up with exes.”

The nurse chuckled, prompting Roman to growl again, low and possessive.

Cody gave him a look. Behave.

Roman stopped growling, but the sneer still etched itself deep into his face.

Cody wiggled the ice pack about.

“I’m going to get this to Sami,” then glanced over at Roman’s taped ribs, “and then have Jimmy and Jey come pick you up.”

Roman was still glaring at the nurse like the man had insulted his bloodline.

Cody sighed, slung an arm over the nurse’s shoulder, and started steering him out.

“Walk me out, would you?” he said casually. Wouldn’t do to let Roman consume the guy for trying to do his job.

He glanced back at Roman silently as he and the nurse shuffled toward the door.

Call me. He mouthed at Roman, taking pleasure in the soft smile the action elicited from the man.