Chapter Text
Rhea stumbles backstage in a haze, replaying the last five minutes on a loop in her mind’s eye. How did she not notice? How did he manage to take her by surprise? How could she not have seen it? There must have been signs, must have been ways she could have prevented this betrayal.
Right?
She clutches at her injured shoulder; she should probably go to medical, but the idea of anyone, even the medics, seeing her like this is too much to bear. She needs somewhere private to lick her wounds and give the hurt and heartbreak time to boil into rage.
She rounds a corner and suddenly finds herself wrapped up in large arms, holding her close to a broad chest. Her first instinct is to fight and curse at whoever dared to touch her, but she picks up the familiar spiced cologne, and allows herself to sink into Damian’s embrace.
“Damian, he-”
“I saw.” His voice is strained, barely holding back the fury she’s sure he wants to unleash. She feels him moving, gently nudging her along until the bustle of backstage fades to a dull hum and the sound of a door clicking shut ushers in an almost-silence that she welcomes gratefully.
He hugs her again, tightly, and she ignores the throbbing in her shoulder to return his embrace.
He pulls back just enough to cradle her face in his hands.
“I’ll kill him.” He promises, “Say the word, and I’ll fucking end him.”
She looks up into his warm brown eyes, and knows he means it. Damian is no stranger to violence, even for a wrestler, and he’s never been afraid to throw a punch when his temper gets the better of him. This is different, though. The man standing in front of her now holds murder in his gaze, and is fully prepared to become her own spirit of punishment.
She shakes her head.
“You have your match against Gunther later. You need to prepare.”
“Rips-”
“I’ll be okay.” She cuts him off, squeezing his arms and giving what she hopes is a reassuring smile, “I’m gonna get back to the hotel so I can watch you retain your title. I don’t think I can hang around here, after what happened.”
“Of course.” He presses a kiss to her forehead, then slips a plastic card into her hand.
She looks down at the room key in surprise.
“I thought you might wanna get out of here.” He explains, “You’re welcome to stay with me tonight, if you don’t want to be alone.”
Raw affection for her brother covers the ache in her chest like a salve. Before Dom joined up, even before they kicked out Edge after Finn joined, her and Damian would often room together. Her split with Liv was still fresh, and she wasn’t used to sleeping alone, so she often wound up watching TV in his room until they both fell asleep.
Not to mention, neither of them really felt safe around Edge one-on-one after she joined. The looks he would sometimes give her… well, it’s fair to say that safety in numbers became a necessity for them.
“Thanks, Priest.” She wraps her arms around him again, allowing herself ten whole seconds to enjoy the physical contact, before separating to send him on his way.
“Beat Gunther’s ass for me.”
Damian grins- that sweet, crooked smile he saves just for her, and gives her hand a comforting squeeze before he rounds the corner, presumably heading to the Judgement Day club house to prepare for his title defense.
Rhea exits the private room cautiously, keeping an eye out for any other women on the roster, in case they want to take on The Eradicator and make a name for themselves. However, the halls are abandoned, aside from the backstage crew that knows better than to step into her crosshairs.
She can’t drive with her injured shoulder- not to mention the keys to the rental car were nestled in Dominik’s pocket- so she orders an Uber and decides to wait at the loading dock. She’s only minorly surprised when she sees that the spot where the rental used to be parked is now empty, likely due to Dom and Liv hightailing it out of the arena as soon as they got back to the gorilla.
She looks down at her phone, the colorful icons of social media beckoning to her tauntingly, and sighs.
It’s going to be a long night.
Damian prowls the halls, seething with rage and an itch in his hands to close them around the throat of one Dominik Mysterio.
There are few things he hates more than seeing Rhea cry- it’s only happened on two occasions- and the rat bastard just broke her heart on live television.
He needs to do something , despite his sister’s insistence that he focus on his upcoming title defense. How can he, though? The glimmering gold of his title belt means nothing when his family has been shattered. He’s at a loss for how to make things better, for how to mend the cracks in his sister’s heart, so he does what he does best. He gets white-hot, seething, pissing-vinegar angry .
He storms into the clubhouse, a force of nature personified, and barks questions and demands. His vision grows increasingly red with every apology and non-answer.
Then, Finn speaks up, and that vicious, doubting voice in the back of his head compels him to close his fists around the fabric of his brother’s shirt.
“Was this you?” He demands, “Did you know?”
Finn balks in offense, but Damian can’t bring himself to feel guilty in the moment, not when one of their own turned on the woman they owe almost everything to.
“Answer the question.” He grits out.
“No!” Finn insists quietly, “I didn’t know.”
Damian growls as the rest of his faction files out, presumably to hunt down the traitorous bastard and bring Damian his head on a platter.
Focus. He needs to focus. Rhea will be pissed at him if he loses to Gunther just because he was distracted.
When he retains his title, he’ll bring Finn to the hotel and consult with Rhea on their next steps.
For now, though, he has a General to put down.
She opens the door to her hotel room cautiously, half-afraid that Dominik and Liv would be there… celebrating their victory. Thankfully, the room is empty, save for her bags piled at the end of the bed.
Dominik’s belongings seem to have been ferried off to wherever his new girlfriend is staying.
How long ago was he here? Did he move his things before they even got to the venue, or did he rush in and out after he and Liv arrived?
She had waited for Dominik in the lobby before they left. He said he had misplaced his vest again. Had those five minutes been all it took to transport his loyalties to the bed of her enemy?
The room, despite being impersonally sterile in the way all hotel rooms are, feels like hostile territory, loaded with ‘what ifs’ and ‘whens’ and ‘hows.’
She gathers her things, haphazardly swiping her hand over the bathroom counter to push her toiletries into her bag, and rushes over to Damian’s room. She holds her breath as she swipes the key through the scanner, praying that it didn’t demagnetize so she doesn't have to deal with the front desk, and sighs in relief as the small light blinks green.
The room smells faintly like him- half spiced cologne and half high-strength antiperspirant- and it settles her nerves a little, though she knows she’ll be on-edge until she can sink into his crushing hug at the end of the night. They’ll order room service, celebrate his victory over Gunther, and call Finn to plan how to make Dominik and Liv pay for taking her title.
Shit, Damian’s match.
She lunges for her bag, rifling through it until she finds her tablet, and pulls up the event stream. She missed their entrances, it would seem, but the match is only just heating up. She watches with baited breath as the momentum of the match shifts back and forth, and almost cheers when she sees crimson well up on the Ring General’s chest.
Even a god can bleed.
Just as it looks like Damian is being overwhelmed, she catches sight of Finn rushing to ringside. He calls out to Damian, encouraging him to power through. She feels a warm rush of gratitude toward their teammate.
At least someone can be there for Damian, even if she couldn’t bring herself to stay.
Damian hits Gunther with a South of Heaven, then goes for the pin. Gunther is lying motionless, and she knows Damian has just won the match.
Then, Finn fucking Bálor puts Gunther’s foot up on the rope.
For the second time that night, Rhea Ripley’s reality shatters and pieces itself back together, even more broken and jagged than before.
Damian looks confused, at first, then he trains his gaze on the jumbotron, and she sees him register Finn’s betrayal, hurt turning to rage in record time.
Everything goes to shit from there. Damian manages to break Gunther’s chokehold, but is so focused on Finn that he doesn’t see the Ring General coming up behind him for a second attempt. She watches her brother’s eyes drift closed, and when the referee lifts his hand, it drops with a thud as heavy as her heart.
She doesn’t pay attention to the remaining match, barely registers Solo's goons ganging up on Cody, only blinks at Roman Reigns’ return, and the commentary afterwards simply washes over her like white noise. Even after the stream ends, she stares down at the black screen, brain racing yet somehow feeling as though it’s trying to doggy paddle through molasses.
She should have been there. She should have stopped it. If she had been able to get to the ring, she could have taken out Finn so Damian could focus on the match.
But no, instead she was so focused on her own issues that she was only able to sit on her ass in his hotel room and watch it happen.
She feels her phone buzzing on top of the sheets, and knows it’s probably Damian calling her, but she can’t bring herself to answer. What could she even say?
Sorry, I was too busy with my breakup to be there for the most important match of your career.
Yeah, no. She’ll let it ring.
Shame boils in her gut. Two of the most important people in their lives just betrayed them, and she was too blind to see it coming. She knew tensions were high in her absence, but everything seemed to get better once she returned- Damian and Finn were no longer at each other’s throats, she had Liv backed into a corner, and Dominik had loudly proclaimed his hatred for her rival in front of thousands of people.
Or maybe nothing had gotten better, and she was simply too wrapped up in Dominik’s supposed loyalty to recognize the signs.
Her skin itches where her face is caked with makeup and sweat, but she can’t bring herself to get up. She feels paralyzed, caught in the fuzzy, gray area in between rage and exhaustion.
She’s not sure how long she sits there, how long her phone goes to voicemail before ringing again a second later, but she blinks and the door swings open to reveal Damian stomping in and flinging his bag at the far wall of the room.
The crash it creates makes her jump, snapping back to reality just in time to meet his hurt gaze.
“Finn fucked me.” He says simply, dragging his hand roughly through his hair.
“I know.” She whispers back, nodding at the tablet on the bed, “I saw. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”
He shakes his head.
“You didn’t know what was going to happen, Rips.”
“Still.” She argues, finally standing up and pacing the room, “I should have been there. I should have noticed something was up!”
“You didn’t know. We didn’t know!”
“I should have known!” She snaps, whirling on him as all of her hurt and rage and frustration bubbles to the surface, “I should have fucking known, Damian! I should have seen it coming! I should have seen the signs- there had to be signs! There had to be reasons! There has to be a reason why our family just betrayed us!”
And, there it is, the ugly truth of the matter. It’s not just about the titles or the matches, but the Judgement Day itself- their family. Their own family threw them to the wolves without an ounce of regret or hesitation.
Her eyes are burning, and it’s only when Damian wraps her up in a crushing hug that she realizes that tears have begun to stream down her cheeks.
“Why did they do it?” Her anger is flushed from her voice by her broken whimper, “Why did they turn on us, after everything we’ve been through together? Why… why did he do it? Why did he choose her ?”
“Oh, Rips…” Damian’s voice sounds as bereft as her own, and she hears him sniffle as he presses a kiss to the top of her head.
She loses track of how long they stand like that, his face buried in her hair and her head pressed against his chest, but eventually she feels the itch of sweat and oil on her face again.
“I need to shower.” She whispers, the silence feeling almost sacred, “Do you mind?”
Damian releases her and steps back to look her over.
“Take your time.” A cautious smile blooms on his face, “You look like shit, Rips.”
“Oh fuck off!” She snorts, laughter sounding a little wet, “At least I don’t reek. Whatever deodorant you’ve been using, it isn’t working.”
“Liar.”
“Hey, don’t kill the messenger.”
With that, she grabs her toiletry bag and disappears into the bathroom.
She cranks the water as hot as it will go, standing under the stream and finally allowing her muscles to relax under the pressure of the shower head. She goes through the motions, washing her face roughly before moving onto her hair, then the rest of her body.
All the while, a memory flashes behind her eyelids whenever they flicker closed.
It’s not the kiss- no, that would be too simple. It’s the shrug- the fucking what can you do shrug- he aimed at her as they sauntered off, as though his betrayal was a forgone, unavoidable conclusion, and the ton of bricks he dropped on her heart was simply an inconvenient but necessary consequence.
Was she the only one that didn’t know? Was the entire roster laughing behind her back while she was beaming at Dominik with love in her eyes?
She scrubs at her skin, trying to erase the feeling of his hands leaving searing trails over her body from the night before, but the ghost of his touch lingers.
Finally, she gives up, turning the water off and stepping out of the shower to towel off.
It’s only after she’s finished mostly drying her hair and rushing through her skincare routine that she realizes the shirt she’d grabbed to change into was a piece from Dominik’s merch line- the one advertising him as a wanted criminal.
Ex-con Dom. What a stupid fucking gimmick.
She can’t bring herself to put it on.
“Hey, Priest?” She calls out softly, cracking the door to the bathroom open.
“Yeah?”
“Could I borrow a shirt? The one I brought is…” She bites at the inside of her cheek, tossing the oversized shirt in his general direction.
He picks it up, realization dawning in his eyes.
“One sec.” He rifles through his duffle bag, withdrawing one of his own shirts- the one with the purple Puerto Rican Flag- and handing it to her, “When we get on the road again, we’ll find a place to burn this.”
She gives a soft thank you , then closes the door to change.
The shirt is one he wears often, and she relishes in the well-worn softness and the smell of his cologne that stubbornly clings to the fabric. No matter what state or country they find themselves in, his presence has always served as a source of comfort.
She exits the bathroom to find Damian sat on the bed, elbows braced on his thighs and looking deep in thought. She starts to tell him that the shower’s free, but thinks better of it, closing her mouth with a soft click .
Whatever it is he’s turning over in his mind, he’ll get up when he’s good and ready. Until then, she’ll let him sit with his thoughts. She puts her things back into her bag and sits on the other end of the bed, grabbing her tablet to distract herself.
“I should have said something.” He finally says, deep voice almost thunderous in the quiet, despite the low volume he speaks at.
“What?”
“I should have said something.” He says again, looking at her over his shoulder with dark eyes, “About you and Dominik.”
“You didn’t know, Priest.” She responds, “Neither of us did.”
He shakes his head, getting up and taking his turn to pace a hole into the carpet.
“He was never good enough for you.” He spits, “I knew it. He was weak, immature, cowardly. But, he made you happy, so I bit my tongue. I should have said something!”
“Priest…”
“No! You’re my sister, Rhea! I’m supposed to look after you! I should have taken one look at that slimy little bastard and-”
“And what?” She cuts him off, stepping to stand in front of him, “Forbid me from seeing him?” She laughs bitterly, “We both know how that would have played out. No, the only one to blame here is myself for not seeing things clearly.”
“This is not your fault, Rhe.”
She pauses.
“You’re right…” She feels it, feels the hurt and sorrow and betrayal get injected into the fusion reactor of her heart and get converted into raw, white-hot rage , “It’s not my fault. It’s not yours. There’s only two people to blame for all this.”
“Finn and Dominik.” Priest fills in the blanks, and she sees the fire of anger in his eyes.
“They betrayed us.” She hisses, “After everything we did for them.”
“You gave Dominik a championship title.”
“You saved Finn from Gunther just the other week.”
“Those bastards turned on us.”
“And for what? Some ass and petty grudges?”
Damian barks out a laugh.
“They’re gonna regret it.” She grabs her brother's face in her hands, dragging him down to press her forehead against his. She feels a savage grin stretch across her lips, “We’re gonna burn those motherfuckers to the ground.”
His smile matches her own.
“ Al final, el diablo viene por todos .”
In the end, the devil comes for all.
“They wanna make us their villains? We’ll be their devils .”
They’ve got wicked work ahead of them.
She can’t wait to get started.