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Seth saw Miz’s shit-eating grin as he raised the chair over Roman’s prone body and forgot how to breathe. Roman was lying in the rubble of a table, after having been knocked off a ladder. Helpless.
Not again. He was moving. Not again. Not again. He was running down the ramp, sliding under the ropes. Notagainnotagainnotagainnotagain. The chair was already arcing through the air. No time. Not again. Seth threw himself on top of Roman and the next second the air was knocked out of his lungs.
It fucking hurt . His chest heaved as he tried to take in air, and sparks flashed in front of his eyes. He'd gotten chairs to the back before - perhaps never more memorably than during his match against Dean in the Cell - but he had already been through a lot tonight. He had a sneaking suspicion that Kane had bruised his fucking ribs when he'd chokeslammed him onto the barricade.
Miz pulled the chair back and Seth had just enough time to breathe out as forcefully as he could before the second shot cracked across his back. His ribs screamed at him, but he could breathe. Roman was trying to move, trying to push Seth off of him. Seth grabbed Roman’s wrist, and hoped that Roman would understand.
Miz was saying something above him that Seth couldn’t quite make out. Suddenly hands were on him, pulling him up, pulling him away from Roman. He tried to fight them off, but they were too strong.
Then there was cool air on his chest and back, and he was being tossed back on top of Roman. They’d ripped his vest off. His mind had just enough time to recoil from that realization in horror before the chair was slamming into his back again.
It was so much worse. So much worse. He couldn't breathe again. There were more chairs somehow. The edges of his vision were getting dark. The pain in his ribs made him want to die . He desperately, weakly tapped his hand on the ground, he couldn't focus enough to remember if that could even stop a match in this situation, he just needed the pain to be over and for Roman to be safe. Pass out. Please pass out.
Dimly he noticed that someone, or multiple someones were racing across the ring. The sounds above him changed in tone. There was fighting. The chair strikes stopped.
And then-
Dean.
Dean’s hand was in his hair, his breath was on Seth’s cheek.
“I got you, brother. I got you.”
Several refs had helped Seth and Roman walk back through the curtain and they’d been led to separate rooms to see the docs. Dean had chosen to stay with Seth, which Seth assumed meant that Roman wasn’t very badly off.
They were sitting on the doctor bed thing side by side.
“Did I,” Seth frowned, the pain was still pretty bad and it was hard to think or speak or remember, “Did I tap out? Did I cost us the match?”
“The bell rang before they got your vest off,” Dean wasn't looking at him. “I tapped.”
“What? Wait, what?”
He didn't get the chance to ask anything further, because the doctor came in just then and ordered Dean out while they took Seth’s rib x-rays.
Seth was sitting alone while the doctors looked at his x-rays or whatever they were doing in that other room.
He couldn't believe it. Had Dean ever tapped in the whole time Seth had known him? He needed to watch the match. Moving hurt, but he pulled himself over the where Dean had dumped his bag and pulled his phone out. He opened the network app and fast forwarded through their match to the point when Roman had gone through the table. He watched himself sprinting across the ring, throwing himself on top of Roman, but looked away before Miz brought the chair down. Dean had sprinted into the ring as well, but Cesaro had gotten in his way, they had tussled till Sheamus had joined to tip the scales. Cesaro had put Dean in the sharpshooter so that Dean was facing the Miz. Dean pressed his face into the mat, but Sheamus grabbed him by the hair and dragged him up, forcing him to watch as Miz rained down strike after strike on Seth’s back.
And then he tapped.
Seth rewatched the moment again and again. Dean’s face was screwed up in anguish, he was almost crying, and then...there. He wasn't imagining it. Maybe. A look of determination right before he tapped.
No one could hurt Dean enough to make him tap out. It was a wonder anyone even bothered anymore. But Dean had tapped. Dean had...no. Seth didn't trust his judgement on this enough to guess. Even though it looked-
He had forgotten to pause the video after Dean tapped, too wrapped up in his own thoughts. Cesaro and Sheamus dumped Dean’s body out of the ring and joined Miz. It was they who had ripped his vest off, adding their own chair shots to Miz’s after the bell had rung. Dean was trying to fight past Kane to get back to the ring and refs were running down the ramp to yell uselessly at the chair-welding dickheads.
Seth shut it off. He mind was skittering away from the memory of that pain, nausea rising up his throat.
“Well, I have good news and bad news,” said the doctor, entering the room. “The good news is that your ribs aren't broken. The bad news is that they're bruised, just like you thought. You'll need to rest them for a few weeks. You know the drill.”
“Okay,” said Seth, barely listening. “Can I go?”
“You can.” She looked at him sympathetically. “Roman and Dean have already been discharged.”
Seth found them in the locker room. They were sitting on the floor, backs against the wall. Roman was pressing an ice pack against his neck, Dean had one wrapped around his knee. They had changed into their street clothes already. The room was empty but for them, the half the lights turned off. Everyone else had left, heading back to the hotel. They’re waiting for me . They looked up when the door closed behind him. Roman looked away, down at his hands, and Dean raised his eyebrows, “Broken?”
“Bruised. You guys?”
Dean made a face. “Considering we went to war tonight against three men and two monsters I think we're doing alright.”
There was a beat of awkward silence. Seth wanted to ask if Dean had tapped to save him, he wanted to ask Roman if he'd watched the match back while the doctors checked him out, he wanted to ask if he could sit with them on the floor and maybe take a nap there until his pain meds kicked in.
“Are you gonna change or do we live in this locker room now?” asked Dean.
“What? Oh. Uh yeah, let me just…” Seth pulled his clothes out of his bag, turning his back to Dean and Roman. The sweat from the match had cooled on his skin while he'd sat in the doctor’s room, but he was too tired to take a shower right now. He gritted his teeth against the ache in his ribs as he carefully pulled a sweatshirt over his head, skipping the shirt all together, and wiggled out of his gear. He leaned down to step into his sweatpants and hissed, falling sideways against the wall as a sharp stab of pain shot up his side.
“Fuck.” Seth glared down at his crumpled sweatpants.
Dean laughed. Seth turned to glare at him as well. They were both grinning at him. He must look a bit ridiculous, standing in a darkened locker room in his underwear, swearing at his pants.
“C’mon, big dog, our boy needs us,” Dean gripped roman’s shoulder, leveraging himself to his feet, putting minimal weight on his bad leg. Roman stood up too, grimacing at his own aches and pains.
“I can put on my own pants,” Seth whined, but moved so that Roman could pick up the sweatpants off the floor.
“Sure you can,” said Roman, smiling.
“Lean on me if you need,” said Dean, moving to his side.
“You can barely stand!”
“Uh huh, and you can't even put on your own pants so maybe shut up.”
Seth grumbled put his arm around Dean’s shoulders, careful of his ribs. Roman knelt down and held up the pants for him to step into. He did, and Roman stood pulling them up till the waistband was around Seth’s hips, and then left his hands there and didn't move away.
Seth blinked up into Roman’s face. The smile he found there was so fond that he had to look away. Dean was smiling at him too.
Joy was bubbling up in his chest. They loved him. He had his family again.