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Grief is a treacherous thing. A force gripping its fingers around the heart to drag the broken pieces into the ground. A weight that can not be shaken except with the vague promise of time. A twisting knife with each mundane action that is now forever touched by the memory of a person who will never return.
Grief is a treacherous thing that Roman was becoming all too familiar with.
But life was cruel as well; it stopped for no one, not even a man who lost everything. The fire took so much. It took everything. His partners. His home. His happiness.
So Roman adjusted as best he could. New apartment. New clothes. New routines. An endless static in his ears.
All felt devoid of life. Empty. Placeholders. He tried to hang some posters; they didn’t help much.
Today was another day. Another battle of wills. Another agonizing reminder that Dean and Seth weren’t there.
Splashing cold water on his face, Roman tried to ground himself back into reality. He stared at the drain as the water swirled around, pushing away the memories of ashes swirling around a similar drain that the motions dredged up.
Drying his face with a towel, he looked at himself in the mirror. The bags under his eyes were becoming more noticeable, the lines around his eyes more defined, and he was losing weight. Looking less alive with each passing day.
There was movement behind him in the mirror. His head whipped around, looking for the intruder. But the apartment was empty. Still devoid of life, except for Roman, if he even counted.
Looking back at the mirror, Roman screamed.
Seth was standing next to him.
“Hey, Big Dog.”
Roman slapped himself. This couldn’t be real. He looked at the vacant space behind him, then back into the mirror, where Seth was still waiting. Where Seth was laughing. Seth was laughing at him.
Seth wasn’t there. Seth was dead. Roman was officially losing his mind.
“What? No hello? No nothing for ol’ Sethie?” The voice was Seth’s, but it was wrong. The sounds were not in sync with the movement of his mouth, and they were veiled in a coat of static.
Roman took a slow step back, “This isn’t real…”
A hallowed cackle echoed from the halls into his mind, “Oh, Rome, your refusal to accept what’s right in front of you will continue to be your downfall.” The spectre's facial features distorting, twisting into a hateful grin that spread too wide across its face.
Chills ran down his spine. His Seth never spoke with such venom. His Seth never sneered at him like this. His Seth never had such hateful eyes.
He ran out of the bathroom, abandoning the monstrous laughter the spirit distorted from the memory it had stolen from his Seth. Forcing himself to breathe, he braced himself against the kitchen counter.
A punch of guilt connected with his gut as the scent of the electrical fire filled his nose. Choking on smoke that was not there. The deafening roar of the fire. Seeing Seth stumble out of the flames. Alone.
“Grief sucks. Dying was worse.”
Roman jumped, tripping over his trash can and falling backward. Fear locked all of his bones in place as he gazed upon the visage of Seth Rollins in his kitchen. Translucent, almost flickering, but undeniably present.
Standing, Roman shook his head, hoping to correct his vision. “I’m going crazy.”
“No, you’re being haunted, dumbass.” The spectre inspected its nails, then lazily motioned at Roman, “Boo, or whatever.”
“You’re dead.” Memories of the fire made him flinch, “You shouldn’t be here.”
The ghost frowned but said nothing, and Roman swore he could see flames in its eyes.
Roman clicked his tongue, “Why are you here?”
The response was dry, “Keeping a promise.”
“Where’s Dean?”
A menacing silence. Static filled Roman’s ears. A fork shifted in the sink. Seth glanced above it with an inscrutable expression, and Roman’s eyes followed.
“That would be your only concern,” it finally spat. Whatever that was supposed to mean.
“So, it’s only you?”
“Us.” The ghost corrected, whipping his head to stare through Roman’s soul, tilting its head at an angle a bit too extreme. The unsettling feeling ate into his bones, boring into the fabric of his being.
This was not Seth. Not the Seth he knew.
Seth was everywhere after that encounter. At the edge of his peripheral vision. In the dark corners of the apartment. In the translucent reflection of the windows. In his dreams. In his nightmares.
And now at work, as he watched the coroner zip up the body bag, he could swear that for a moment, the victim had Seth’s face.
Being a crime scene cleaner probably wasn’t the best career for Roman anymore, but when Dean had pitched the idea back in the day, it had made so much sense. The three of them, cleaning up gore and viscera, taking home a big paycheck, and being left alone.
Roman struggled with the mental load of the job– it was macabre– but Seth and Dean were his rocks. Kept him distracted from the stink of death that clung to their gloves. Kept his mind on the task rather than the cause. Kept him sane.
And now every crime scene he was called to was a cruel reminder of their absence.
Today’s clean-up had been particularly gruesome, and there was not enough hot water in the world to make Roman feel clean once he got into his shower.
Life, like the water, was rushing around him, moving without him. And here he was, stuck in place, watching the dirt and sweat and blood and ash and, and, and… they were gone.
He shut off the water, leaning against the shower wall. Each gasp felt like choking for breath. Despite the floor firmly under him, Roman was falling into the void of emptiness as the reality of spending the rest of his life alone and stuck in this limbo swallowed him whole.
Life was rushing past him, moving on from his grief, erasing Dean and Seth from its flow, from its memory, and it had left Roman behind in its wake. Leaving him a crumbling man grasping to cling to what he lost– his rocks were gone.
He wasn’t sure how he ended up in the kitchen, but he was doing dishes, not that there were many. Once dried, he put the silverware in the drawer, the knives in the knife block, and the plates in the cabinet.
It took longer than he cared to admit to notice that Seth was missing from the apartment. Or, the ghost claiming to be Seth. Maybe that stage of grief had passed. Maybe he could move on.
Exhausted, he retreated to his bed with a sliver of hope. Sleep came quickly.
It’s storming outside, but the house is warm. Or, at least, Roman is warm, with Dean tucked under his arm and Seth sprawled across their laps. Lightning. The lights go out. Laughter, as they blindly stumble to bed.
Roman blinks, and he is in the basement of the house, watching Dean and Seth mess with the fusebox. It’s all fuzzy, but Seth is holding the flashlight. Then it's Dean. Then it's Seth again. A brain trying to find the proper place for things it did not witness.
The click of a breaker being flipped. A spark. A crack. Two bodies are tossed backwards as electrical wires are consumed by flames. The crunch of bones echoed in Roman’s ears, and he looked away, not wanting to see Dean in that state. Instead, he watched the fire dance across the room. It spread so fast.
He looked back to see Seth struggling to his feet, bleeding, embers catching onto his clothes. Following Seth’s gaze, he saw Dean coughing up blood. Dean was alive, arms trying to push himself up, but to no avail.
Seth was by his side, but as soon as Dean’s feet were under him, they both collapsed to the ground– Dean pulling Seth down. Each passing moment was more difficult to decipher as smoke and flames filled the room. A flaming beam fell next to them; Seth barely moved out of the way in time.
“Seth go!” Roman couldn’t see them through the flames, the heat forcing his eyes shut. The smoke was wrapping its tendrils around his throat. He needed to get out of here.
Someone was choking on the hot air. “I’m not leaving you!”
“Rome needs you.” Dean sounded so sure despite the ashes in his voice, “Keep an eye on him for me.”
“No! You’re getting out of here. We’re gonna–” Coughs interrupted Seth’s plea.
“Promise me.” The fire was so loud.
“I promise.”
Roman woke up in a cold sweat to an empty and dark room, ears still ringing. Nightmares were common now, but only from his perspective. His memory. His experience.
Maybe it was part of this new stage of grief.
He rolled over to turn on the lamp and froze. In the corner, he could see the glint of a familiar smile, slightly too big. The hazy figure began to laugh– a nasally, ugly, twisted distortion of a sound he once cherished.
No, that wasn’t a nightmare… that was… Roman didn’t have the words for it. But he knew it was Seth’s doing.
He turned away from the ghoulish figure, “Don’t you have better things to do?”
“Not really,” An icy chill crashed through him as the ghost walked through his body, through the bed, to face him. Roman clenched his teeth, but said nothing.
The ghost that looked like Seth tilted its head to the side. It almost hung to his form, unnatural. “You didn’t have to be alone, you know?”
Roman pulled his hands through his hair and shut his eyes, “Why are you doing this to me, Seth?”
He didn’t have to open his eyes to see Seth’s indignant expression; he could hear it in the voice that rattled his bones, “You know why.”
When he opened his eyes, Seth was gone. But the scent of fire lingered.
With the hope of sleep out of the question, Roman decided to get up and face whatever life would put him through.
On his walk to the kitchen, he noticed one of the posters was no longer on the wall. It sat on the otherwise cleared table, half rolled up.
As he slowly picked it up and stuck it back to the wall, he couldn’t help but wonder if it was another desperate cry for attention from the insufferable spectre. Next time it showed up, he’d ask.
“It’s crooked.”
Roman’s hands balled into fists, “Shut up!” He turned to face the empty living room. Cruel laughter faintly echoed around him.
He grabbed his jacket and walked out the door. The silver twilight of an incoming sunrise greeted him, beckoning him to join the cool breeze of freedom. And he left his haunted apartment.
The miasma of Dean was glaring at Seth. He was not a fan of what his partner became in death, but it was hard to fault him for it. The good parts of Seth had died. This is all that was left.
Ghosts exist forever stuck in their last living emotional state. While Dean was at peace when he took his last breath, Seth was not so lucky.
The anger was unnatural. It was dangerous. Dean worried for Seth as much as he worried for Roman. Seth deserved to rest. He deserved a break from the torment. And Roman deserved to move on.
Communicating with Seth was a pointless endeavor. The ghost was too blinded by rage, too committed to a twisted vow made out of desperation.
Angry ghosts are strong. And Seth was certainly angry.
Seth could be seen and heard; Dean could not. Seth could inflict emotional waves on the living; Dean could not. But Dean could do one thing Seth couldn’t: interact with objects.
Roman needed to stop Seth before he became stronger, and Dean knew exactly how to point him in the right direction to get help. It would take all day, probably exert all the strength he had, but he needed to try.
An ad for a local medium may not be much, but it was all he could do.
He needed to free his boys from this vicious cycle of grief.
Roman did not want to return to his apartment, but he was exhausted, and the thought of lying in his own bed won out over his aversion to dealing with Seth. Or, whatever was trying to be Seth.
“I knew you couldn’t stay away from me forever,” the spectre smiled. It was almost familiar. Almost could feel normal. If only it had fewer teeth. If its head didn’t almost fall off every time it tilted to the side.
There was a magazine and a pen on the table, which was odd because when he left, he was certain that the table was empty. Seth must’ve gotten bored.
He tossed the items aside and laid out all the books and candles he had purchased on his adventure. In the kitchen, he heard something clatter. Hopefully, the spirit would still respond to dollar store candles, but knowing his bougie ass, maybe not.
“Did the Big Dog get an Ouija board? Are our conversations not good enough for you?” The faux hurt dripped out of the voice, condescending, “Wish it were Dean gracing your presence?”
Roman huffed and ignored the ghost, focusing on finding the pages in the books he needed to reference. He could feel the presence over his shoulder, scrutinizing his every move. He already felt crazy for venturing into the metaphysical section of the bookstore; he didn’t want additional judgment, and certainly not from the thing claiming to be Seth.
“Oh…” The ghost almost sounded disappointed as it realized what the living was planning, “You’re trying to get rid of me?”
All Roman could muster was a grunt in reply. The poster fell again. Seth glared at it. Roman ignored him.
He had to figure out this seance thing on his own.
“You don’t want to do this, Roman.” Seth warned, almost fearful as his eyes still lingered by the fallen poster, “You don’t know what you’re doing.”
Roman ignored the ghost. He needed it gone. He needed Seth out of his life. He needed space to breathe. He needed the smell of smoke out of this apartment. He needed to move on.
The instructions seemed simple enough— candles, salt, a chant. Avoiding looking too closely at the flames, he began the ritual to banish lingering spirits. He could taste freedom with each word.
Roman ignored the clattering of dishes in the kitchen. He ignored Seth’s goading words. He ignored the static amplifying in his ears. He ignored the lights flickering. He ignored the screaming. He ignored it all.
Until the scent of cigarettes and sweat hit his nose. A scent he knew so well, but had almost forgotten, choked out by smoke. A scent that caused him to freeze in his tracks.
Dean. Dean was here.
“What the fuck did you do with him?” Seth was still there, but it wasn’t his Seth’s face. The skin was melted off, an eye was missing, and the teeth and bones exposed. All the rot on full display.
“Dean?! Dean’s here and you didn’t tell me?!”
The spirit glared at Roman, and Roman could see where ribs were puncturing lungs, “Not anymore, you absolute idiot!”
“The fuck does that mean?”
The rotten form turned to flames, and Seth’s neck slid, hanging off his form again, the snapped vertebrae in full view, “You banished him, dumbass!”
Roman threw one of the books at the figure. It went right through Seth’s too-wide smirk and hit the wall behind him. “Why didn’t you tell me he was here?”
“What would that change?” The spectre hissed, his ghastly form slowly morphing back into a more recognizable form of Seth.
Roman pulled at his hair, avoiding looking at the ghost, “Everything!”
“It would change nothing, except the fact that you’d be trying to get his attention.” Seth sneered, his hair beginning to curl at the ends, “God, you’re hopeless.”
“Where is he?” A demand.
“Gone.” Seth motioned to the messy ritual on the table, “I told you not to do that.”
Roman’s eyes glazed over the table, and he felt tears threaten at the corners of his eyes. He would be stuck with some twisted and vengeful version of Seth instead of Dean. Or hell, even normal Seth, annoying as he could be.
He walked to his room, shutting the door behind himself. “This is torture.”
“Now you’re getting it,” the ghost sang as he followed Roman through the closed door, “At least you’re alive.”
Roman lunged at Seth, but only succeeded at throwing himself to the ground as the spirit disappeared.
“Why won’t you move on? Why can’t you let me move on?”
“Because I promised to look after you.” Seth’s voice was from everywhere, stacked with static that reverberated through Roman’s skull, “That’s what I tried to say before you–”
And Roman is blindly stumbling out of the house, smoke clinging to him. Blinking the vision back into his eyes, he turned to look at the inferno. He felt himself scream but heard nothing over the roaring flames.
Then, a miracle, stumbling out of the garage, limping, burned, and wrecked, was Seth. The elation in his heart almost caused him to stumble, as he pulled the man into his arms and away from the flames.
“Where’s Dean?”
Seth opened his mouth, only to fall into a wheezing, coughing fit. Roman couldn’t tell if Seth was crying or if his body was reacting to his injuries. So he held the man closer. Something cracked.
“He… he made me promise–” a choked sob.
Roman pulled Seth back, studying the other’s face, “Seth, where is he?”
Seth just shook his head and fell back into Roman.
“You left him?” Roman shoved Seth away from him, the smaller man stumbling backwards, bewildered, “You left him behind?!”
He wasn’t thinking when he yanked Seth up by the hair. He wasn’t thinking when he dragged the man back towards the flames. He wasn’t thinking when he kissed him. He wasn’t thinking when he snapped his neck. He wasn’t thinking when he shoved the dying man into the inferno.
He wasn’t thinking.
Seth was watching him with dark curiosity, head again tilted too far to the side. “You weren’t thinking? That’s your excuse?”
Roman didn’t move from where he was curled up on the floor, covering his face, ”What do you want me to say? Nothing will change what happened.”
The spectre’s nostrils flared, “Admit it.”
“Admit what?”
A spiteful chuckle, “You know what…”
Roman removed his hands from his eyes and looked at the ghost. Through his tears, it looked so much like his Seth, he could almost make himself believe it was Seth. With his stupid skunk hair and wide nose that was perfect for planting kisses on. But this wasn’t his Seth. Not anymore. Not like this.
“What? That I killed you? That I wanted Dean to survive over you? Is that what you want to hear?” Rage took control of his tongue as words fell out of his mouth, “Look at what you’re doing, Dean would never do this!"
The ghost snorted, stopping his flood of words.
“That you need me, Ro. Look at yourself. You killed Dean again; this is what happens when you start thinking you know better.”
“Why are you like this?” He hated how his voice caught in his throat.
The thing with Seth’s face laughed Seth’s laugh, but Roman only saw the rotten ghoul underneath, a sight burned into his memory. Disparaging all their good memories, distorting who Seth was in life, desecrating the dead.
“Dean was right, you do need someone to look after you.”
His blood boiled. “Don't bring him into this!”
“Why not?” The spectre expanded into a shadow, swallowing the entire room in static-laden darkness, his voice omnipresent around Roman, “It's your fault he's gone forever now!”
“Don't turn this on me.” Roman covered his ears, but the static only grew louder. There was no escaping Seth's rage.
“You're nothing without me, Roman.”
“I hate you!”
Seth returned to the familiar form Roman knew in life, though the blurred edges and disingenuous innocence plastered on its face betrayed what he truly was. A vengeful spirit.
“And yet I love you– isn’t that sick?” There was no kindness in the ghost’s voice, no escaping the reverberating static in his mind, “It’s you and me, together until the end.”
If there was one thing Roman knew about Seth in both life and death, it's that he's a man of conviction. Terrifying conviction. He would be stuck in this apartment with this abomination of Seth.
Stuck together until the bitter end.