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.