The dead don't stay buried Warnings: panic attack, grief, death mention, trauma, nightmare
Pair: Roman Reigns X Sol Ruca
Plot: In a world where old wounds never heal and old enemies never sleep, Roman Reigns is forced to confront the past he tried to bury. As new threats rise and forgotten shadows return, alliances will be tested, loyalties will fracture, and the truth will claw its way to the surface. Some ghosts whisper. Some ghosts haunt. And some refuse to stay buried.
song: “Growing Sideways” — Noah Kahan
okay so… chapter one is finally out and my heart is actually in shambles. this whole thing feels soft and heavy at the same time, and “growing sideways” just fits the vibe so perfectly. roman’s trying to hold himself together, the past is waking up, and everything’s about to break in the worst/best way.
be gentle with him. he’s not okay yet. ⚠️🥹😊❤️
Flasback Sol and Roman
The movie played quietly in the background, but Sol wasn’t paying attention anymore. She was curled into Roman’s side, legs tangled with his, her head resting on his chest. Every time something funny happened, she’d laugh and poke him in the ribs like he was supposed to react too.
He didn’t. He was too busy watching her.
“You’re staring again,” she murmured, eyes still on the screen.
Roman smirked. “Can’t help it.”
Sol rolled her eyes dramatically, grabbed a handful of popcorn, and shoved it into his mouth before he could say anything else.
“Eat. Watch the movie. Be normal,” she teased.
Roman chewed slowly, still staring at her.
“That’s not normal,” she said, laughing.
“It is for me.”
She softened. Just a little.
She leaned up and kissed his jaw, slow and warm, before settling back against him.
For a moment, everything felt perfect.
Later, they stepped out onto the balcony, the city glowing beneath them like a living thing. Sol leaned forward on the railing, letting the wind lift her hair. Roman stood behind her, hands resting on her hips, grounding her.
“You ever think about leaving all this?” she asked quietly.
“All the time,” he said. “But not without you.”
Sol turned, eyes searching his. There was something soft there. Something vulnerable.
Roman took her hands, thumbs brushing her knuckles.
“I don’t need anything else,” he said. “Just you.”
Sol’s breath caught.
Her smile trembled — not from fear, but from how deeply she felt it.
“Then you have me,” she whispered.
Roman didn’t drop to one knee.
He didn’t make a speech.
He just held her face in his hands and said the only thing that mattered.
“Stay with me. Forever.”
Sol nodded, eyes shining.
“Forever,” she whispered back.
He kissed her like he believed they had all the time in the world.
Sunlight spilled across the sheets, warm and soft. Sol lay half-asleep on Roman’s chest, her fingers tracing lazy shapes over his skin. Roman watched her like she was something fragile, something rare.
“You’re staring again,” she mumbled.
“Still can’t help it.”
She smiled, eyes still closed, and whispered the line that would haunt him for the rest of his life — soft, innocent, and absolutely devastating:
“I hope you know… you’re the safest place I’ve ever had.”
Roman froze.
Not because it sounded like a warning — but because it sounded like love.
He kissed her forehead, pulling her closer.
A noise outside broke the moment.
Sol’s eyes opened.
Roman sat up instantly.
“Stay here,” he said.
She nodded, but her fingers tightened around his.
“Roman… don’t take too long.”
“I won’t.”
He kissed her once more and left the room.
The world shifted.
Sol was running.
Bare feet slapping against pavement.
Breath shaking.
Tears streaking down her face.
“Please—” she cried out. “Please don’t—”
A struggle.
A scream.
A thud.
Silence.
Roman sprinted into the alley, heart pounding, lungs burning.
He saw her on the ground.
He dropped to his knees so fast it hurt.
“Sol—Sol, baby, look at me—”
His voice cracked.
His hands shook as he pulled her into his arms.
Her eyes fluttered.
Just once.
“Roman…” she whispered.
And then she was gone.
Roman’s scream tore through the night.
Roman jolted awake, gasping, drenched in sweat.
His hands were shaking.
His chest was tight.
The room was dark.
It was just a dream.
But it wasn’t.
It was a memory.
And it never stopped hurting.
Present Day Roman woke up like he’d been ripped out of another world.
A violent gasp tore out of him, his whole body jerking upright. His chest heaved. His hands shook uncontrollably. Sweat clung to his skin, cold and suffocating. For a moment, he didn’t know where he was — the darkness felt too familiar, too close, too much like that night.
His heart hammered against his ribs.
His breath came in sharp, uneven pulls.
His vision blurred at the edges.
He dragged a trembling hand over his face, trying to steady himself, but the tremor wouldn’t stop.
Beside him, the sheets rustled.
Gelina stirred, her voice soft and sleepy.
“Roman…?”
She pushed herself up on one elbow, blinking at him through the dim light.
“What’s wrong?”
He didn’t answer.
He couldn’t.
His throat felt tight, like someone had a hand around it. His pulse was still racing. The ghost of Sol’s last breath still echoed in his ears. He stared straight ahead, jaw clenched, trying to breathe through the panic clawing up his spine.
Gelina sat up fully now, concern sharpening her features.
“Roman, talk to me. You’re shaking.”
He turned away from her, shoulders tense.
“It’s nothing,” he muttered. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine.”
Her voice cracked — not angry, but hurt.
“You wake up like this and you shut me out every time. I’m trying to help you.”
Roman’s jaw tightened.
He didn’t mean to hurt her.
He didn’t mean to push her away.
But this part of him — this wound — wasn’t hers to touch.
“Gelina,” he said quietly, “just… go back to sleep.”
She stared at him, eyes searching his face for something he wasn’t willing to give. Something he couldn’t give.
Then she exhaled, slow and defeated.
“Right,” she whispered. “Okay.”
She slipped out of the bed, grabbing her robe. The soft click of the door closing behind her felt louder than it should have.
Roman sat there in the dark, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together, breathing hard. The silence pressed in around him, thick and suffocating.
He didn’t chase her.
He couldn’t.
Not when his chest still felt like it was caving in.
Not when Sol’s voice was still ringing in his head.
Not when the memory of her lying in his arms was still fresh enough to taste.
He reached for his phone with shaking fingers.
There was only one person he could call.
The only one who knew.
The only one who had been there the night everything fell apart.
He pressed the contact.
Jey.
The phone rang once. Twice.
Then—
“Yo,” Jey answered, voice thick with sleep. “Uce? You good?”
Roman swallowed hard, breath unsteady.
“No,” he whispered. “I’m not.”
There was a pause — a heavy, knowing one.
“You dream about her again?” Jey asked quietly.
Roman closed his eyes.
“Yeah.”
Jey exhaled, the sound soft but full of weight.
“I’m on my way.”
Roman didn’t say thank you.
He didn’t have to.
Jey already knew.
Jey didn’t even have time to knock.
He stepped up to the front door just as it opened from the inside. Gelina stood there in her robe, eyes red, jaw tight. She froze when she saw him.
Jey froze too.
Gelina swallowed hard, voice barely steady.
“He’s inside.”
Jey nodded slowly. “You okay?”
Gelina let out a shaky breath, looking anywhere but at him.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with him,” she whispered. “He won’t talk to me. He won’t let me in. I’m trying, but… I can’t keep guessing.”
Her voice cracked.
“I don’t know how to help someone who won’t let himself be helped.”
Jey’s chest tightened.
He knew exactly what she meant.
He’d lived it.
Before he could say anything, Gelina stepped past him, pulling her robe tighter around herself.
“Maybe you’ll have better luck,” she said quietly.
And then she walked away.
Jey watched her go for a moment — not judging, not blaming — just understanding.
Then he stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
Roman was sitting on the couch, hunched forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped so tightly they shook. He didn’t look up when Jey entered.
Jey approached slowly, like he was walking toward a wounded animal.
“Uce,” he said softly. “I’m here.”
Roman didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
Didn’t blink.
Jey sat beside him, leaving just enough space for Roman to choose whether to collapse or hold himself together.
A long, heavy silence stretched between them.
Then Roman finally spoke — voice low, raw, like it hurt to push the words out.
“I see her.”
Jey’s breath caught.
Roman’s fingers dug into his palms.
“I see her all the time,” he whispered. “In my dreams. In the dark. In the corner of my eye. When I close my eyes. When I open them. She’s everywhere.”
His voice broke.
“I can’t get away from her, Uce.”
Jey didn’t speak.
Didn’t interrupt.
Didn’t try to fix it.
He just listened.
Roman’s breath shook as he continued.
“Tonight… it felt real. Like I was back there. Like I was holding her again. Like she was—”
His voice cracked.
“—dying in my arms all over again.”
Jey’s jaw tightened, eyes burning.
Roman finally looked at him — and the look in his eyes wasn’t anger or fear.
It was exhaustion.
Deep, bone‑deep exhaustion.
“I feel like something’s about to break,” Roman whispered. “Inside me. Around me. I don’t know. But it’s coming.”
Jey reached out, placing a steady hand on the back of Roman’s neck — grounding him, anchoring him, reminding him he wasn’t alone.
“Then let it break,” Jey said quietly. “I’m right here. Whatever comes… we face it together.”
Roman closed his eyes, breath trembling.
For the first time in years, he let himself lean into someone else’s strength.
Just for a moment.
Just long enough to breathe.
Just long enough to not feel like he was drowning alone.
Jey didn’t leave Roman’s side for a long time.
He stayed there on the couch, one hand on Roman’s back, grounding him through the aftershocks of the breakdown. Roman’s breathing eventually steadied, but the exhaustion in his eyes didn’t fade.
Jey squeezed his shoulder gently.
“Come on,” he said softly. “You need air. And people. Not… this.”
Roman didn’t argue.
He didn’t have the strength to.
He just nodded.
The car ride was quiet.
Roman stared out the window, jaw tight, fingers tapping restlessly against his knee. Jey kept glancing over, making sure he was still present, still breathing, still here.
“You don’t gotta talk,” Jey said. “Just… be here.”
Roman nodded once.
When they pulled up, Roman hesitated.
“You sure about this?” he muttered.
Jey gave him a look — the kind that said stop pretending you don’t need this.
“Yeah, Uce. I’m sure.”
Inside, the house was alive.
Jimmy was in the kitchen arguing with Rhea about how much sugar belonged in coffee.
Damien was on the couch pretending not to laugh.
Solo was sitting on the floor with a controller in his hand, locked into a video game, brows furrowed in concentration.
The second they saw Roman, everything paused.
Solo was the first to stand.
“Uce?” he said softly, eyes narrowing with concern he didn’t voice.
Jimmy grinned to cover the shift in the room.
“Look who crawled outta his cave.”
Rhea smirked. “Damn, Tribal Chief. You look like you fought a bear.”
Damien lifted a hand. “You want a drink or a nap? Both are valid.”
Roman blinked — and something in his chest loosened.
Jey nudged him forward.
“Go on,” he whispered. “They missed you.”
It started small.
Jimmy shoved a mug of coffee into Roman’s hands. “Don’t worry, I made it. Rhea tried to put half a bag of sugar in yours.”
Rhea threw a napkin at him. “It was ONE spoon!”
“ONE?!” Jimmy yelled. “You tried to give this man diabetes!”
Damien choked on his drink. Solo snorted so hard he dropped his controller.
Roman…
Roman actually smiled.
Rhea caught it and nudged him with her shoulder.
“There he is.”
Solo stepped closer, eyes softening.
“You good, Uce?” he asked quietly.
Roman nodded. “Yeah. Just tired.”
Solo didn’t push.
He just bumped Roman’s shoulder gently — brother to brother — and went back to his game.
The room filled with noise again.
Warm. Loud. Familiar.
For a little while, Roman forgot about the nightmare.
Forgot about the shaking.
Forgot about the weight on his chest.
He just… existed.
And it felt good.
Later, Roman stepped out onto the porch for air.
Jey followed a minute later, leaning against the railing beside him.
“You good?” Jey asked quietly.
Roman exhaled, long and slow.
“I’m… better,” he admitted. “For now.”
Jey nodded.
“That’s enough.”
Roman looked at him — gratitude in his eyes.
“Don’t tell them,” he said softly. “Any of it.”
Jey didn’t hesitate.
“I won’t.”
Inside, Jimmy yelled something about Rhea cheating at cards.
Damien yelled that Jimmy was just bad at math.
Solo yelled that ALL of them sucked at the game.
Roman huffed a quiet laugh.
For the first time in a long time, the world didn’t feel like it was collapsing.
But deep down, beneath the warmth and the noise and the laughter…
He still felt it.
Something shifting.
Something waking.
Something coming.
The night outside the boys’ house was quiet.
Inside, laughter spilled through the windows — Jimmy yelling about Rhea cheating, Solo talking trash about everyone’s gaming skills, Damien pretending he wasn’t invested, Jey keeping one eye on Roman like a silent guardian.
But outside?
The air felt different.
Heavy. Still. Waiting.
A figure stood across the street, half‑hidden beneath the shadow of a streetlamp. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t blink.
CM Punk.
His arms were crossed, his expression unreadable, eyes locked on the house like he was studying it — studying them.
Behind him, four silhouettes lingered in the darkness.
Darkstate.
Deon. Osiris. Cutler. And Sequann.
Sequann stood slightly apart from the others — not because he didn’t belong, but because he was the one Punk trusted to see what others missed.
His hood was up, his jaw tight, his eyes locked on the house with a coldness Roman had never seen in him before.
Punk didn’t look at them when he spoke.
“He’s slipping,” Punk murmured. “You feel it?”
Deon stepped forward slightly, voice low.
“Something’s off with him.”
Osiris nodded. “He looks tired. Weak.”
Cutler smirked. “Good. Makes him easier to break.”
Punk finally turned his head, giving them a slow, cold smile.
“Oh, we’re not breaking him,” Punk said softly. “Not yet.”
He looked back at the house — at the warm light glowing through the windows, at the silhouettes of Roman’s family moving inside, at the life Roman was desperately trying to hold together.
“We’re watching,” Punk continued. “We’re waiting. And when the time comes…”
He tilted his head, eyes narrowing.
“…we take everything.”
Darkstate didn’t respond. They didn’t need to.
They understood the assignment.
Punk stepped back into the deeper shadows, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Let him laugh tonight. Let him breathe. Let him think he’s safe.”
He smirked.
“Tomorrow, we start pulling the threads.”
The four of them turned to leave.
But Sequann lingered.
Just for a moment.
His eyes stayed on the house — on the window where Roman’s silhouette moved, laughing at something Jimmy said.
Sequann’s expression didn’t soften.
Didn’t crack.
Didn’t hesitate.
He whispered under his breath, voice low and unreadable:
“He won’t see it coming.”
Then he stepped into the darkness with the rest of Darkstate.
Inside the house, Roman laughed — a real laugh, warm and unguarded.
He didn’t know the shadows were moving.
He didn’t know the past was waking up.
He didn’t know the storm had already begun.
The street was empty again.
Darkstate had vanished into the night, Punk leading them like a general marching toward a war only he understood. The air settled, heavy and cold, the kind of silence that didn’t feel natural.
But the shadows weren’t empty.
Not even close.
A figure stepped out from behind a row of parked cars, moving with the kind of quiet confidence that came from surviving too many battles to count.
Jon Moxley.
He didn’t look toward Roman’s house. He didn’t need to.
His eyes were locked on the direction Punk and Darkstate had gone, jaw tight, breath steady, posture coiled like a man who’d been waiting for this moment for a long time.
A second figure stepped beside him.
Smaller. Quieter. But just as dangerous.
Her hood was pulled low, hiding her face. Her hands were shoved into the pockets of her jacket. Her posture was rigid — not with fear, but with restraint.
Jon didn’t look at her when he spoke.
“You saw that?”
Her voice was low, controlled.
“I saw everything.”
Jon exhaled through his nose, shaking his head.
“Punk’s making his move.”
“He always does,” she murmured.
Jon’s eyes narrowed.
“And Osiris is with him.”
A beat of silence.
The woman’s jaw tightened beneath the hood.
“I know.”
Jon finally turned his head, studying her.
“You ready for this?”
She didn’t answer right away.
Her gaze drifted toward the house — toward the warm light glowing through the windows, toward the silhouette of Roman laughing with his family, completely unaware of the storm gathering around him.
Her voice softened — barely.
“He has no idea.”
Jon’s expression darkened.
“He can’t. Not yet.”
Her hands curled into fists at her sides.
“He deserves to know.”
Jon stepped closer, lowering his voice.
“And you know damn well it’ll destroy him if he finds out now.”
Silence.
Heavy. Loaded. Painful.
Finally, she nodded once.
“Fine.”
Jon looked back toward the darkness where Punk had disappeared.
“Then we watch,” he said. “We wait. And when they make their move…”
He cracked his knuckles, eyes cold.
“…we hit back.”
The woman stepped deeper into the shadows, her voice barely a whisper.
“For her.”
Jon nodded.
“For Sol.”
They disappeared into the night — unseen, unheard, unknown.
Inside the house, Roman laughed again.
He didn’t know Punk was watching
He didn’t know Darkstate was planning.
He didn’t know Jon was in the shadows.
He didn’t know the truth was coming for him.
To Be Continued
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