Dean Ambrose x Seth Rollins

WORD COUNT: 2.8k

DESC: Seth's betrayal of the shield is hard for Dean to manage

WARNINGS: Not Proof Read//Self-Harm//Suicidal And Just Destructive Ideation//Manipulation//Death Mentioned//I Don't Know What Classes As Dead Dove But This Is Pretty Out There For Me

A/N >> I don't recommend reading because it is in fact just me projecting, despite popular belief mental illness exists outside of depression and anxiety so take that as your warning, feel free to send fic/edit/etc requests

TAGS: @fangin-n-bangin @turnbuckletalk

Enjoy!

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A number of things in life were certain, were without a doubt, irrevocably certain and one of those things was the fact Dean, no matter the occasion, is perceived as utterly volatile down to the very blood which constantly rushed to his skull and that sickened him. Dean has never been a stupid man, recklessly obsessive yes, but never stupid which is why he found himself once again desperately wanting to drown in the destructive comfort of betrayal. Dean had been betrayed before, it was a natural part of his life which he handled with the grace and dignity of personified chaos; he’d drink, he’d fight, he’d mutilate himself until his veins glowed blue melancholy then he’d forget it happened and treat each betrayal like a beautiful summer’s affair but with Seth it was different, he didn’t want to hurt, he didn’t want to forget to get better, he needed to hurt for Seth, forget at his command and the very notion sickened him.

The very second Seth’s hands forcefully guided the chair to Roman’s unsuspecting back everyone expected Dean to do what he does best, destruct without rhyme or reason but for Dean, falling apart has always been much harder than he made it seem, he couldn’t simple crumble to pieces, there was much more painful nuance in between; first he had to force himself to grow away from the comfort of codependency, the comfort of knowing that to one man he wasn’t a volatile force, he could fall apart out of spite and receive no judgement, he wasn’t forcefully understood yet he could simply just exist in sickness comfortably. This has never been a state which Dean found himself wanting to tear himself away from so he did the only thing that made sense to him and him alone; force himself back into a comfort which would surely sicken him. At first Dean would fantasise about clawing out his eyes so he wasn’t forced to waste his sight on insignificant objects which reminded him of Seth, but he couldn’t bare to lose another part of the man so he then tried to deprive himself of his senses to finally numb his longing but all he could hear through the static silence was Seth’s voice whispering sickening promises of perfection so, exhausted, Dean finally turned to the most pure, artistic form of destruction he could; mutilation. A part of Dean remained furious at Seth, not for the betrayal but for what his betrayal had done to the man, Dean found himself unable to hurt himself selfishly anymore, every cut, every reckless decision was for Seth in some way; if fate would allow it Dean would happily yank the teeth from his skull until blood filled his lungs because if he was no longer allowed to taste the poisonous promises of Seth’s lips he would rather taste blood and nothing else because in his eyes nothing could compare to the poison dripping from the man’s voice.

As the weeks passed Dean had grown increasingly desperate to be back with Seth but he couldn’t contact the man, not with Roman comfortably nestled in his ear, practically banging on his eardrum in an attempt to get it through to his skull that Seth is no good for anyone but Roman knew better than anyone he couldn’t be around Dean all of the time to stop him from contacting the man again. To no one’s surprise the second Dean was left to his own devices he did the one thing he had done countless times before, he calculated his destruction like an art form; he knew he could make Seth appear with a few words but, no matter what anyone says about Seth, Dean knows that his fear grows steadily with time, he knows that if he teases the man with the prospect of his destruction he can truly revel in his downfall. So, like he had done many times in the past, Dean began weighing up each method of destruction; drinking himself blind was always something that Seth was weak for but Dean didn’t want to forget the night which was waiting to occur so he did the only thing he knew how to do, he caused pain, Pulling a small blade from his kitchen drawer Dean let out a shaky exhale, despite everything it has always been difficult for Dean to quite believe the things he did when blurring the lines between his true nature and his sick desire for destructive peace.

Dean quickly steadied his hand knowing that if he carried out his mutilation carelessly his blood would be wasted on an act not worthy of art; carefully he presses the blade to his skin, just enough to introduce his insides to the complexities of art, opening himself up just enough to serve a purpose, once his skin was burning from the cool flow of blood caking it just enough for it to mean anything Dean casually pulls out his phone and calls Seth.

Each ring of the phone sent an uneasy vibration coursing through Dean’s entire nervous system, each ring serving as a reminder for how out of reach the other man truly is after he threw everything away for nothing more than- Dean’s self-indulgent spiralling is cut short as he hears the faint click of an accepted call; the man on the other end remaining cautiously silent. For both men speaking first, breaking the silence which the two once found so intimate would be to go against everything that they had worked for; for Seth to break the silence his betrayal of the only people he could bring himself to try to care for would prove to have been futile with the escape of any sound from his lips, he knew he would always be tied to the two men that had meant so much to him, but to admit he couldn’t break away from that notion sickened him more than the guilt which served to drive his very being. Dean, ever the martyr, weighed up his self-inflicted sacrifice; he found himself doomed to either waste his suffering on himself or admit that to exist without Seth was too much for him to consider handling and the pathetic nature of his reality overrides his ever fleeting pride.

Neither man dares speak, at least not a first, not until Dean lets out an uneven sigh which let Seth know one of two things: either Dean was drunk, unlikely because with his inebriation always comes a self-satisfying pleading from the man for Seth to validate every fear he had, meaning that there’s only one other thing that could be happening, Dean was crashing hard. Seth’s pride was momentarily drowned out by memories of every time he had been with Dean in this state, memories of every tear which had blinded Dean, obstructing his view from seeing the fear in Seth’s eyes every time head to face the fact he cared for the man. Letting out a sigh of his own Seth finally speaks, almost too quietly for it to matter, ‘I can’t keep coming back for you Dean, Seth’s forefinger and thumb tightly clench the bridge of his nose so tightly he was sure he was seconds from suffocating himself with regret, ‘but I can’t leave you behind like this’ Seth mutters in a way akin to a God preparing to grant his most devoted follower the grace of an eternity with the one entity that he thought worthy of his devotion despite being the sole reason for his destruction.

Neither man could tell if time had really passed but simultaneously before and far too long after each man could process what was truly going on Seth found himself at Dean’s door, terrified to knock on the barrier; not out of fear of what he would find, he had seen Dean in every state, nothing the man could do to himself could surprise Seth anymore yet he still found himself terrified to knock; he had never been one for such formalities when it came to Dean, the men’s bond transcending any tangible relationship and for Seth to knock on that door would shatter that bond, make them nothing more than friends, acquaintances and that was something more difficult to handle than anything that Dean could be going through behind the door.

After wiping his hand over his face Seth decides that he can’t bare the idea of their relationship being anything other than complex, anything less than what they had haphazardly constructed; so with one final squint of his eyes Seth ignores the formality of a bolted door and presses his shoulder into the door with enough force for it to give. Pushing the door open Seth sees a sight all too familiar to him, before him was a sight that no sane man could ever grow tired of; Dean, as he himself would put it, was completely wrapped up in his art, the wrath of God himself couldn’t pull his focus from his staining arms, could unsteady the meticulous hand which so elegantly distributed him blood over his arm, he always said that to spill blood was to waste art, he was always so eager to paint his skin in hopes it would absorb the blood which he freed from his form so he could continue to be an artist in his own right. Nothing that is expect the presence of his artistic, transcendent muse; despite being completely consumed by his actions the presence of Seth seems to cure something deep within Dean; despite not looking up, despite continuing to obsessively chip away at himself, as he senses the presence of Seth, despite everything he had done to him, Dean’s lips curl up into a content smile almost as if he knows that in this very moment everything is worth it because Seth was perceiving him just as he always had.

Instead of panicking, instead of rushing to Dean’s side, Seth remains stood in the doorway with an always sickly tender smile on his face, despite everything he was more than happy that his betrayal hadn’t changed Dean, his emotional expression was still as twisted as the day Seth made the choice to dismantle the only stability either man ever had the grace of knowing. Like he had done many times before, Seth went over to Dean and sat himself down and waited for the man to explain his art, to get his feelings out in the only way he knew how. However, unlike every time before, Seth noticed something different, Dean had a small hand towel delicately stained with blood next to him which caused Seth’s eyebrows to furrow, in all of the years he had known of Dean’s method of destruction he had never known the man to actively clean his wounds while he was expressing himself; Dean always told him that there was time to fix himself up afterwards, that he didn’t find it necessary as he didn’t make mistakes, he’d never misplace a drop of his blood so carelessly.

‘The towel?’ Seth finds himself questioning before he really realises that he’s speaking.

Dean blinks slowly, almost as if he was trying to steady himself as he silently motions to Seth to look down at his arm. As Seth looks down he notices nothing out of the ordinary, light scarring, perfectly executed to appear as meticulously planned as possible; all except for one. During his current art exhibition Dean had made two incisions on his arm; one perfect just like the rest, a slowly drawn straight line, the angry glow of his skin seems almost mocking, despite the picture of disgrace the mark perpetuated the precision which had been used was nothing short of artistic perfection. Seth could barely bring himself to pull his eyes away from the first incision as the second was something he had never seen on Dean before, it was painfully human, it was nothing like the precise mutilation the man held dear and that worried Seth, Dean wasn’t one to change such an intrinsic part of himself like this and that fact filled both men with dread. This mark on Dean’s arm was angry, it was jagged, it was nothing more than a display of humanity.

‘Don’t look at that one’ the man weakly protests ‘that one an ugly reminder of how you made me feel after-’ he sighs ‘just don’t look at that one.’ Dean had always prided himself on his work, no matter how damaging it was, it was his and his to be proud of but when it came to Seth the only way to ensure he always came back was to swallow him pride and be pathetically human,the desperation radiating from this one cut is the only thing which kept Seth coming back; he couldn’t resist the man Dean became when he was desperate enough to truly need him.

The two men sat in silence as Seth reluctantly adverts his gaze, unsure what to say; although he had always reveled in the complexity of their relationship it was always hard for him to see Dean so overcome with emotion that he’d fall out of love with his sensibilities. Eventually Seth sighed, he didn’t bother to attempt to slow Dean’s bleeding; the man would never forgive him for that if he lived through the night, instead he simply begins to speak,  he doesn’t speak comfort, he doesn’t utter a promise, he tells Dean exactly what he needs to hear; a renewal of their codependence. 

‘You know I’d never have done this if there was another way out of there’ he meets Dean’s unfocused eyes ‘I never set out to hurt you, I just had to destroy the bond we all shared…we deserve more than what we had.’ He waited a second, he needed Dean to really hear what he had to say next. ‘I don’t think you’re a bad person for needing something destructive to believe in but I’m sorry that I let you believe that I was the person to nurture your unethical sensibilities.’

For the first time in what felt like forever Dean lets out a morbid chuckle, his entire body deflating from a mix of exhaustion and misplaced comfort he has only ever felt under Seth’s gaze; ‘I hope I’m never strong enough to quit you’ he admits in an almost reverent tone before smiling weakly, ‘I’d be a numb man without what we have.’ Seth doesn’t respond or even really acknowledge Dean’s words for a long minute when he finally hums in weak acknowledgement of Dean’s words. 

After some time Seth finally speaks; ‘you think you’ll make it to next time or should I stay to finally see you out’ he asks softly, barely keeping the indifference in his tone. Dean’s answer comes quick despite the slow release of his words ‘stay but not to see me out, I need you to finally see what living for you does to me’ he briefly pauses ‘I wouldn’t change us but if I can’t know what it feels like for us to be healthy I need-’, his words get caught in his throat before he furrows his eyebrows, holding his misplaced anger just under his skin, ‘I need you to really know what being sick for somebody feels like.’ Before Seth could even consider replying Dean continues, his voice low ‘I wish you were sick for me Seth instead of being so…comfortable with power that you’d-’ Dean doesn’t continue, he can barely bring himself to admit that their relationship will never and has never been mutually beneficial.

Seth listens quietly, he couldn’t deny that despite the sick care he feels for Dean the man’s dependance was always so much more enticing than any bond he could ever form with the man; quietly he sits himself right next to Dean, close enough for the man’s blood to stain him [causing Dean to smile in the process, the connection it symbolises bringing him peace] before Seth speaks softly; ‘yeah I’ll stay, you clearly need my attention tonight before we go back to hating each other tomorrow’ he says softly, both men knowing that they’ll never truly leave each other, their dependence on each other being too strong for either man to want to overcome.