Post by Dean Harper on Apr 11, 2024 3:48:31 GMT
The camera comes on to Dean sitting on his throne with his legs thrown over the side, the world championship draped over the back of it as he vapes.
“I know. I know everyone’s upsetty spaghetti about what I did at Odesey. I have Kaster with his mystery cash in at some point. I have Warren whose entire build to the roulette built on wanting to pin little old me and prove himself to be the better man. And what did I do? I put the belt on the line for whoever wanted to have some fun.” Dean smiles wide, “Was I expecting my little brother to come running down to the ring and toss aside the television title? Of course, I was. There’s always time for that later. Sabin wants to win Joker in The Pack, so I’ll wait for that.. But hey, who am I to look a gift horse in the mouth?”
“And this is a gift. Because unlike some I encourage people to play with me. I get bored just sitting here holding the title. If you want a shot at me all you have to do is walk up and declare it. I’m not a little bitch about it. Come and have a go. Except Warren. Warren can earn another shot.” Dean laughs, “But estranged husbands aside consider me an all-you-can-eat buffet of defenses. I have no problem fighting all comers. The World Championship is not meant to sit somewhere undefended. If I had my way I’d defend it weekly. Hell, if I win why don’t we do defenses every week leading to Night of the Immortals? Hear me Roberto? I’ll leave you a voice note about it too.”
“To me this belt validates me. Makes everything I’ve ever done worth the trials and tribulations. And I will defend it against anyone who wants to come and try to take it from me. Tell me you think I’m unworthy of it all you want. I earned it. I’ll defend it.”
“I, arguably, killed a man for this belt once. I beat James Gilmore to the brink of his sanity for it. I beat my father with everything I had to hold it. And I took Pax to hell and back to take it back. Four times champion. Only one man in the history of this company has held the title four times. And yes, I know it’s my father. But I am better than him. I always have been, I just didn’t see it. I was obsessed with getting his approval I wanted him to say it. But it’s fine. No, really. It’s fine. I’m fine. I understand that there is only one person who I can rely on.” Dean gestures to himself, “And it’s myself.”
“Do I love my son? Of course. But I don’t rely on him. He should rely on me. To love and take care of him. Damien is a kid and I love him with my whole being but I’m sure there will be a time in his teenage years when he’ll tell me he hates me and hopes I was the one who died instead of his mother. If I’m lucky he’ll go do a normal career like an accountant. If I’m very unlucky he’ll join the family business and I’ll have to experience the pride and rage of him trying to end my legacy.”
“Nightmare fuel." Dean shivers, "But until such a time comes I will continue to build my legacy free of the restraints and fear of overshadowing my father. Fuck em. I am the best there has ever been and there will ever be. And I’ll prove it again this week.”
Dean had tucked Damien into bed and walked down the stairs to the driveway of the Airbnb he’d rented for the trip. Since Florence was on vacation Dean hadn’t found another nanny he trusted to look after his son so on the road he went again. Damien was safe here, regardless of being in Scotland again, having Damien upstairs with Bluey sleeping on the borrowed bed felt safer. Dean sat in the car that had been Maxine’s that still had the engagement ring he’d given her hanging from the rearview mirror. He started the car and set his phone up to the radio.
“Alexa, play Playlist One on random.”
Summer went away
Still, the yearning stays
I play it cool with the best of them
I wait patiently
He's gonna notice me
It's okay, we're the best of friends
Anyway
When he was unsure what to do he found himself repeating certain patterns. Thoughts going back to Maxine. Maxine died May 2nd, though she had been dying the whole pregnancy, Dean had thought that if they delivered Damien early, maybe there was enough time to save Maxine. There wasn’t. Maxine had told him there was no way to outsmart death and she’d been more than willing to exchange her life for the life of their child. Dean had disagreed at the time. Had trouble even going to see the baby, and had to be dragged from Maxine’s body by staff and his father.
He had wanted to hate the thing that had taken Maxine from him. Hate the way she had died for nothing. But…everything that made Dean who he was—his love for the dead women upstairs, his love for Angel, his loyalty to The Pack, his love for Warren who’d run off again at the time, his hatred for his enemies, his home, his name, his self—disconnected from him in that second—replaced by a million steel cables all tying him to one thing—to the very center of the universe. The gravity of the earth no longer tied Dean to the earth, It was the baby from the moment he held him for the first time.
Not that he hadn’t still mourned Maxine. Dean had refused to listen to the radio for months after. He had refused to do anything but try to stumble his way through his career and his time as a single father. So much of that time was a fog to him. He barely remembered what he did or who he talked to. He betrayed The Pack at that time but it felt like someone else was doing it. He felt numb and cold. He tried to live but it barely felt real. He had tried turning into a better version of himself, the anger and the bloodlust were gone.
Steve even mocked him by pretending to dig up Maxine’s body and making out with her ‘corpse’. Others might have said nice things about the sack of shit since he died but that was all Dean remembered of that time. He’s fucked Steve’s ex-wife but even that had felt hollow in the fog.
He remembered the first time the fog had dissipated and he felt himself, his real self in months. He’d been in the car after losing to Steve thinking about driving off the bridge with Damien asleep in the car seat. Being together with Maxine was all he’d wanted but while he was shifting gears the radio had turned on, and a song had made him break down. Everything he’d been suppressing for months spilled out. The fog lifted. It felt like a message from Maxine herself, even though Taylor Swift was neither of their style of music. Metal, rock, and screaming.
You're on your own, kid
But Swift singing Lover saved him, saved Damien, Saved the car.
You always have been
Since then he has bought every album. He’d listened to every song. He’s even sneaked past reporters and fans into the Eras tour a couple of times. He played the songs on the smart speaker at home. But the car seemed to be the place he felt closest to Maxine.
Was she his usual musical taste? No.
But sometimes when her discography was random it felt like a message from beyond the grave. Not that Maxine would listen to Taylor Swift either but the music at least made him feel connected. Sometimes listening to her songs in the car before he slept let him dream of Max again. Her smile could fill his dreams in ways that felt more like home than anywhere else. Not that Warren could or would even bother understanding. To Warren, it was just yet another way Dean was less than he should be. Dean sat on the hood of the car and stared at the stars.
Part of Dean felt sort of connected in the stupid parasocial way that as his marriage was falling apart and he was going to have to witness the trial of Uriel Black just as Taylor was releasing yet another new album. Poetic irony.
You're on your own, kid
You always have been
If life had taught Dean anything, most especially in the last few months, it was that fate was cruel, unkind and unfair. Something about being in Scotland again had made Warren insist that he would be staying near wherever Dean was staying, in case he needed him…another complicated way that made it hard to figure out where and what they were. It wasn't easy for either of them, but for now they were in the country but away from the city. No need to go there until the tour absolutely demanded it.
“Some luck, huh?” Warren observed as he walked up beside Dean, almost another ghost like the ones in his thoughts right now. “Being here again, first we dealt with Uriel Black and now Ethan King randomly pops up again. It’s like time is throwing us backward instead of carrying us forward. How’re you holding up, Sweetness?”
“Focusing on all the ways I’m going to break Ethan King.” Dean answered, “Surprised you’re here.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Warren unwrapped a stick of gum from his pocket, and popped it into his mouth, literally chewing things over. “King did what he always does, get his cheap shots in where he can. You’re lucky to not have a concussion right now. I need you to be healthy before we dance again, even if beating the shit out of me is starting to bore you, apparently.”
“I’m sure you’ll find a way to make it exciting for me. But you can’t be mad at me for wanting to try someone else to dance with every once and a while.” Dean took another pull from his vape. “I have to get my kicks somewhere.”
“Sure, you wouldn't be Dean Harper otherwise,” Warren said. “Tell me, Deano, does that desire extend to our marriage, or is it just in the ring you wish I was somebody, anybody else?”
“Do you really want to talk about our marriage right now?” Dean turned to look at Warren for the first time that night.
“Seeing what I’ve seen, knowing what I know now, that shit has changed everything for me. Made me realise how short and precious life is, and how trivial most of our marital issues are against the bigger picture of our lives. So yeah, we need to talk about it sooner or later, and the sooner you’re ready, the better.”
Dean took a deep breath, “I fought to keep you with everything I had. You wanted out. You wanted space. Maybe I put you on a pedestal. Maybe I loved you more than you could ever love me. A lot of my fantastical ideals about us being fated, soulmates, or whatever we aren’t. My dissatisfaction with having to keep fighting you in the ring has nothing to do with our marriage.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake, this again,” Warren sighed. “Look, I get it, alright? I’m not the perfect guy you’ve built up in your head, just like I’m nobody’s perfect wrestler, or son or brother or father or anything else everybody expects me to be. I’m just me, and that should be good enough for you. If it isn't, then we should just cut our losses and accept this isn't ever going to work. It shouldn’t be a fucking fight to keep us together. You shouldn’t freak the fuck out every time I need space, yet you do, which makes me feel more possessed than loved, and I’m not here for that, Dean. I never will be, especially now. Because you know who else was possessive? My stepfather. No matter how devoted my mom was to him, he always demanded a little more and in the end, it killed her. I won’t live like that Dean, I won’t be controlled or guilted into not living my own life anymore. I love you, but it turns out I love myself more and I deserve to be free and independent, and you need to trust me that when I ask for space, that's all I fucking want. Stop thinking that it’s code for wanting to leave you, I’m not fucking going anywhere until you leave me no choice. The fact I’m still here when so many of our colleagues are convinced they see the writing on the wall for us should prove something, shouldn’t it?”
Dean knew how this fight used to go. He used to need to make himself perfectly understood so he’d hammer on the point Warren had built of some version of him that wasn’t true or was a massive mischaracterization of him. Now it felt like the same dance they’d done a billion times before.
“I never wanted anyone but you. I wanted nothing more than to know you, whoever that was. But you build up these walls. You keep only your council. You never tell me what I’ve done wrong or haven’t fulfilled.” Dean shook his head looking back into the darkness, “Look, I love you, and I'll probably love you forever. But I don’t know how to get you to talk to me. I don’t know how to get you to let me in.”
“What the fuck is this if it’s not us talking?” Warren sighed. “You’ll always be in my heart, Dean, but you’ll never be in my fucking head, hell even I don’t want to be in my own fucking head most of the time, so I have no idea what the hell else you want from me. Obviously, no matter how fucking open I am to you, it’s not enough, so you know what? I’m done. I hope you find somebody who is willing to be as vulnerable and open as you need because that will never be me. Judas, Rowan, Spike, Eternity, they all got in my head at one time or another and all they did whilst they were there was fuck with it, and now you want to do the same. Well, I’m sorry Dean, Dr Griffiths says I need to set healthy boundaries so I hold onto as much of myself as possible. I’ve compromised myself in ways you can’t even begin to imagine. If my comfort level isn't good enough for you now, it never will be.”
“Okay.” Dean said getting off the hood of the car. “I just wanted you to trust me.”
“Who the fuck says I don’t trust you? What have I ever said or done that implies I don't trust you? Is it because I refuse to make my issues your issues? Is it because I refuse to compound all our fucked up trauma? We both have more than enough to deal with on our own, don’t we? Do we really need to traumatise each other over and over again? Because that isn’t what love is to me, Dean. Everytime I’m drowning I don’t want to drag you under with me. You should be my rescue boat, not my fucking anchor.”
“Is that what I’m meant to be?” Dean turned and stepped into Warren’s personal space, “Is it love refusing to talk to me about anything that was bothering you, refusing couple’s counseling but telling millions of strangers on camera everything that doesn’t work in our relationship? Was that not meant to be traumatizing?”
“Well, excuse me,” Warren chuckled. “You know for somebody who openly flaunts themselves as everybody’s favourite psychopath and positively delights himself in how easy it is to get under your opponent’s skin, you sure can’t take it when somebody knows you well enough to play you at your own fucking game,” Warren smirked. “You wanted the gloves off, you wanted me to stop holding back, and you were right. Because look at me now, I actually took your advice and pushed myself that little bit harder, and I finally fucking won the Roulette, on my seventh attempt. And now we have a date with destiny at Night of the Immortals because I know you’ll keep your end of the bargain and embarrass King for the both of us. I wouldn’t be where I am now if you hadn’t pushed exactly the buttons that needed to be pushed for me to break out of my shell, so thank you, Sweetness. I just wish you were smart enough to see that I’m just trying to do for you what you've done for me, because I need you at your absolute best so that when I beat you it means that much more,” Warren pushed Dean back hard, leaned in close, “And if you’re a real good boy, we might even celebrate like we used to, afterwards.”
“Fuck off.” Dean hated the heat that came to his face, embarrassed or something much more complicated he wasn’t sure. He turned to grab the keys from the car. When had the music stopped?
Warren pushed him up against the car, voice almost a growl, a spark in his eye. “What’s the matter, Sweetness? Don’t like the end result of all your hard work trying to stop me holding back?”
Dean’s body shivered despite himself, the heat very quickly going down his whole body, fuck, his tongue which was usually fifteen steps ahead of his brain seemed to struggle to find the right thing to say for the first time in his life. “Is that what this is?”
“Yes,” Warren whispered, close enough to kiss, but not quite as if teasing Dean with the possibility. Dawn had told Warren that this was the only thing a brat like Dean would understand, so now Warren cast the die. He’d tried everything else to try and get Dean to see his side. This may not go any better, but it also certainly couldn't go any worse.
Dean’s entire brain short-circuited as a sound came out of him he didn’t recognize as his body shivered, and words failed to manifest.
“Christ, she was right,” Warren laughed. “So, that's why you've been acting like such a petty bitch lately. Need to be disciplined, I should've guessed.”
“Shut up.” Dean objected as soon as words found their way into his mouth.
“Make me,” Warren smirked, devilishly.
Dean hated how similar in height Warren was, how much more muscle he had, and very much the thoughts that were bubbling in his head. Dean moved to close the distance, to kiss Warren. Warren kissed him hungrily, cupping the side of Dean’s neck firmly, pressing them both into the car. Dean moaned, pulling Warren closer as instinct wanted to take over but he wasn’t used to being the one pressed against something. Satisfied with putting Dean finally in his place, Warren pulled back, licking his lips, a sly smile spread across his face as he’d gotten what he wanted, control of the situation and of Dean Harper himself, something he’d never had before.
“Nice try. See you at Night of the Immortals, love.” Warren left Dean to his thoughts again.
Dean stood there a moment trying to process what just happened when the radio helpfully…
I'm holdin' out hope for you to say, "Don't go"
I would stay forever if you say, "Don't go"
“Thanks, Maxine. Helpful as always.” Dean muttered leaning against the car door with his eyes closed.
“Hi, Ethan. Miss me? I’ve missed you. All I wanted in 2019… You are all I wanted, rich boy. I wanted Ethan King. I wanted Ethan King’s head. I wanted his head on a pike. I wanted to burn his house to the ground. I want to take everything that means even the slightest to him and kill it while he watches bleeding on the floor. But nooo, you had to fuck off. Then I got to have a one-off match as a tag team where you were protected by AJ.”
Dean tilts his head. “But now I have you exactly where I want you. I can get my pound of flesh. And Ethan, I’m owed a hell of a fucking lot. I have no doubt you’re going to give me even more reason to want your head served on a nice silver platter. You are going to look for the big red button. You are going to push that button, you don’t want to do that with me this week.”
“Yeah, so here is the only warning on how that play will go. I will still leave you bleeding out in the ring and then I will go to your house. Don’t fucking test me on this, King. I’ve done worse for less. Please just give me the excuse. Hate for your wife and your children to have to pay for your crimes, but maybe that’s the only way things will sink in.”
“You have multiple fucking year's worth of beatings coming your way. I will enjoy playing with you. You disappointed me. You disrespected me. You humiliated me. And now I am going to get my God-given vengeance. You are all mine.”
Dean gets a small almost proud smile, “Last time we fought you were all crazy. I’ll admit I prefer the put-together version of you. Makes it much more fun to break. But wasn’t it easier for you, Ethan? Being broken down to your very basic form. No bullshit. No lies. Just look your mistakes in the face as the pain worked its way through your body. Being so near death, low-key wanting to just give into that sweet night and go fucking feral?”
“It was a low point for you. Do you think you’ve fully recovered? That’s why I am so pleased to have you just where you are. Across the ring from me. There’s so much work left to do, isn’t there?” Dean laughs. “I gave up the torture game. But hell, out of all the vices I’ve given up lately what’s one slip off the wagon between friends?”
“And while everyone wants my head it’s different for you. You don’t just want to beat me. You need to beat me, King. Not like the others. Not like Kaster who wants it to make his big splash. Not like Warren who wants to prove he can. Not like Pax or Allen, who wanted to beat me to prove something bigger. No, no. You need to beat me.”
Dean smiles wide. “Beating me would fill that empty pit inside you. Make you feel a little more whole. Because winning would do that, right? Makes you feel like you can go back to who you were before. Spoiler, Ethan, you can never go back to what you were before. You can never go back so stop trying to be whole. The plate is broken and no amount of nice words thrown about makes it magically piece itself back together.”
“Ride high with that smile, Ethan. Come at me with your best shot. I want you to come play with me. Use all that spite and pain, use all that time you sat on the sidelines to really make that big comeback you feel you deserve. Prove them all wrong. Give into all that rage and darkness and put me the fuck down. You’ll fail but god won't that be a rush to see?”
“I know. I know everyone’s upsetty spaghetti about what I did at Odesey. I have Kaster with his mystery cash in at some point. I have Warren whose entire build to the roulette built on wanting to pin little old me and prove himself to be the better man. And what did I do? I put the belt on the line for whoever wanted to have some fun.” Dean smiles wide, “Was I expecting my little brother to come running down to the ring and toss aside the television title? Of course, I was. There’s always time for that later. Sabin wants to win Joker in The Pack, so I’ll wait for that.. But hey, who am I to look a gift horse in the mouth?”
“And this is a gift. Because unlike some I encourage people to play with me. I get bored just sitting here holding the title. If you want a shot at me all you have to do is walk up and declare it. I’m not a little bitch about it. Come and have a go. Except Warren. Warren can earn another shot.” Dean laughs, “But estranged husbands aside consider me an all-you-can-eat buffet of defenses. I have no problem fighting all comers. The World Championship is not meant to sit somewhere undefended. If I had my way I’d defend it weekly. Hell, if I win why don’t we do defenses every week leading to Night of the Immortals? Hear me Roberto? I’ll leave you a voice note about it too.”
“To me this belt validates me. Makes everything I’ve ever done worth the trials and tribulations. And I will defend it against anyone who wants to come and try to take it from me. Tell me you think I’m unworthy of it all you want. I earned it. I’ll defend it.”
“I, arguably, killed a man for this belt once. I beat James Gilmore to the brink of his sanity for it. I beat my father with everything I had to hold it. And I took Pax to hell and back to take it back. Four times champion. Only one man in the history of this company has held the title four times. And yes, I know it’s my father. But I am better than him. I always have been, I just didn’t see it. I was obsessed with getting his approval I wanted him to say it. But it’s fine. No, really. It’s fine. I’m fine. I understand that there is only one person who I can rely on.” Dean gestures to himself, “And it’s myself.”
“Do I love my son? Of course. But I don’t rely on him. He should rely on me. To love and take care of him. Damien is a kid and I love him with my whole being but I’m sure there will be a time in his teenage years when he’ll tell me he hates me and hopes I was the one who died instead of his mother. If I’m lucky he’ll go do a normal career like an accountant. If I’m very unlucky he’ll join the family business and I’ll have to experience the pride and rage of him trying to end my legacy.”
“Nightmare fuel." Dean shivers, "But until such a time comes I will continue to build my legacy free of the restraints and fear of overshadowing my father. Fuck em. I am the best there has ever been and there will ever be. And I’ll prove it again this week.”
Dean had tucked Damien into bed and walked down the stairs to the driveway of the Airbnb he’d rented for the trip. Since Florence was on vacation Dean hadn’t found another nanny he trusted to look after his son so on the road he went again. Damien was safe here, regardless of being in Scotland again, having Damien upstairs with Bluey sleeping on the borrowed bed felt safer. Dean sat in the car that had been Maxine’s that still had the engagement ring he’d given her hanging from the rearview mirror. He started the car and set his phone up to the radio.
“Alexa, play Playlist One on random.”
Summer went away
Still, the yearning stays
I play it cool with the best of them
I wait patiently
He's gonna notice me
It's okay, we're the best of friends
Anyway
When he was unsure what to do he found himself repeating certain patterns. Thoughts going back to Maxine. Maxine died May 2nd, though she had been dying the whole pregnancy, Dean had thought that if they delivered Damien early, maybe there was enough time to save Maxine. There wasn’t. Maxine had told him there was no way to outsmart death and she’d been more than willing to exchange her life for the life of their child. Dean had disagreed at the time. Had trouble even going to see the baby, and had to be dragged from Maxine’s body by staff and his father.
He had wanted to hate the thing that had taken Maxine from him. Hate the way she had died for nothing. But…everything that made Dean who he was—his love for the dead women upstairs, his love for Angel, his loyalty to The Pack, his love for Warren who’d run off again at the time, his hatred for his enemies, his home, his name, his self—disconnected from him in that second—replaced by a million steel cables all tying him to one thing—to the very center of the universe. The gravity of the earth no longer tied Dean to the earth, It was the baby from the moment he held him for the first time.
Not that he hadn’t still mourned Maxine. Dean had refused to listen to the radio for months after. He had refused to do anything but try to stumble his way through his career and his time as a single father. So much of that time was a fog to him. He barely remembered what he did or who he talked to. He betrayed The Pack at that time but it felt like someone else was doing it. He felt numb and cold. He tried to live but it barely felt real. He had tried turning into a better version of himself, the anger and the bloodlust were gone.
Steve even mocked him by pretending to dig up Maxine’s body and making out with her ‘corpse’. Others might have said nice things about the sack of shit since he died but that was all Dean remembered of that time. He’s fucked Steve’s ex-wife but even that had felt hollow in the fog.
He remembered the first time the fog had dissipated and he felt himself, his real self in months. He’d been in the car after losing to Steve thinking about driving off the bridge with Damien asleep in the car seat. Being together with Maxine was all he’d wanted but while he was shifting gears the radio had turned on, and a song had made him break down. Everything he’d been suppressing for months spilled out. The fog lifted. It felt like a message from Maxine herself, even though Taylor Swift was neither of their style of music. Metal, rock, and screaming.
You're on your own, kid
But Swift singing Lover saved him, saved Damien, Saved the car.
You always have been
Since then he has bought every album. He’d listened to every song. He’s even sneaked past reporters and fans into the Eras tour a couple of times. He played the songs on the smart speaker at home. But the car seemed to be the place he felt closest to Maxine.
Was she his usual musical taste? No.
But sometimes when her discography was random it felt like a message from beyond the grave. Not that Maxine would listen to Taylor Swift either but the music at least made him feel connected. Sometimes listening to her songs in the car before he slept let him dream of Max again. Her smile could fill his dreams in ways that felt more like home than anywhere else. Not that Warren could or would even bother understanding. To Warren, it was just yet another way Dean was less than he should be. Dean sat on the hood of the car and stared at the stars.
Part of Dean felt sort of connected in the stupid parasocial way that as his marriage was falling apart and he was going to have to witness the trial of Uriel Black just as Taylor was releasing yet another new album. Poetic irony.
You're on your own, kid
You always have been
If life had taught Dean anything, most especially in the last few months, it was that fate was cruel, unkind and unfair. Something about being in Scotland again had made Warren insist that he would be staying near wherever Dean was staying, in case he needed him…another complicated way that made it hard to figure out where and what they were. It wasn't easy for either of them, but for now they were in the country but away from the city. No need to go there until the tour absolutely demanded it.
“Some luck, huh?” Warren observed as he walked up beside Dean, almost another ghost like the ones in his thoughts right now. “Being here again, first we dealt with Uriel Black and now Ethan King randomly pops up again. It’s like time is throwing us backward instead of carrying us forward. How’re you holding up, Sweetness?”
“Focusing on all the ways I’m going to break Ethan King.” Dean answered, “Surprised you’re here.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Warren unwrapped a stick of gum from his pocket, and popped it into his mouth, literally chewing things over. “King did what he always does, get his cheap shots in where he can. You’re lucky to not have a concussion right now. I need you to be healthy before we dance again, even if beating the shit out of me is starting to bore you, apparently.”
“I’m sure you’ll find a way to make it exciting for me. But you can’t be mad at me for wanting to try someone else to dance with every once and a while.” Dean took another pull from his vape. “I have to get my kicks somewhere.”
“Sure, you wouldn't be Dean Harper otherwise,” Warren said. “Tell me, Deano, does that desire extend to our marriage, or is it just in the ring you wish I was somebody, anybody else?”
“Do you really want to talk about our marriage right now?” Dean turned to look at Warren for the first time that night.
“Seeing what I’ve seen, knowing what I know now, that shit has changed everything for me. Made me realise how short and precious life is, and how trivial most of our marital issues are against the bigger picture of our lives. So yeah, we need to talk about it sooner or later, and the sooner you’re ready, the better.”
Dean took a deep breath, “I fought to keep you with everything I had. You wanted out. You wanted space. Maybe I put you on a pedestal. Maybe I loved you more than you could ever love me. A lot of my fantastical ideals about us being fated, soulmates, or whatever we aren’t. My dissatisfaction with having to keep fighting you in the ring has nothing to do with our marriage.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake, this again,” Warren sighed. “Look, I get it, alright? I’m not the perfect guy you’ve built up in your head, just like I’m nobody’s perfect wrestler, or son or brother or father or anything else everybody expects me to be. I’m just me, and that should be good enough for you. If it isn't, then we should just cut our losses and accept this isn't ever going to work. It shouldn’t be a fucking fight to keep us together. You shouldn’t freak the fuck out every time I need space, yet you do, which makes me feel more possessed than loved, and I’m not here for that, Dean. I never will be, especially now. Because you know who else was possessive? My stepfather. No matter how devoted my mom was to him, he always demanded a little more and in the end, it killed her. I won’t live like that Dean, I won’t be controlled or guilted into not living my own life anymore. I love you, but it turns out I love myself more and I deserve to be free and independent, and you need to trust me that when I ask for space, that's all I fucking want. Stop thinking that it’s code for wanting to leave you, I’m not fucking going anywhere until you leave me no choice. The fact I’m still here when so many of our colleagues are convinced they see the writing on the wall for us should prove something, shouldn’t it?”
Dean knew how this fight used to go. He used to need to make himself perfectly understood so he’d hammer on the point Warren had built of some version of him that wasn’t true or was a massive mischaracterization of him. Now it felt like the same dance they’d done a billion times before.
“I never wanted anyone but you. I wanted nothing more than to know you, whoever that was. But you build up these walls. You keep only your council. You never tell me what I’ve done wrong or haven’t fulfilled.” Dean shook his head looking back into the darkness, “Look, I love you, and I'll probably love you forever. But I don’t know how to get you to talk to me. I don’t know how to get you to let me in.”
“What the fuck is this if it’s not us talking?” Warren sighed. “You’ll always be in my heart, Dean, but you’ll never be in my fucking head, hell even I don’t want to be in my own fucking head most of the time, so I have no idea what the hell else you want from me. Obviously, no matter how fucking open I am to you, it’s not enough, so you know what? I’m done. I hope you find somebody who is willing to be as vulnerable and open as you need because that will never be me. Judas, Rowan, Spike, Eternity, they all got in my head at one time or another and all they did whilst they were there was fuck with it, and now you want to do the same. Well, I’m sorry Dean, Dr Griffiths says I need to set healthy boundaries so I hold onto as much of myself as possible. I’ve compromised myself in ways you can’t even begin to imagine. If my comfort level isn't good enough for you now, it never will be.”
“Okay.” Dean said getting off the hood of the car. “I just wanted you to trust me.”
“Who the fuck says I don’t trust you? What have I ever said or done that implies I don't trust you? Is it because I refuse to make my issues your issues? Is it because I refuse to compound all our fucked up trauma? We both have more than enough to deal with on our own, don’t we? Do we really need to traumatise each other over and over again? Because that isn’t what love is to me, Dean. Everytime I’m drowning I don’t want to drag you under with me. You should be my rescue boat, not my fucking anchor.”
“Is that what I’m meant to be?” Dean turned and stepped into Warren’s personal space, “Is it love refusing to talk to me about anything that was bothering you, refusing couple’s counseling but telling millions of strangers on camera everything that doesn’t work in our relationship? Was that not meant to be traumatizing?”
“Well, excuse me,” Warren chuckled. “You know for somebody who openly flaunts themselves as everybody’s favourite psychopath and positively delights himself in how easy it is to get under your opponent’s skin, you sure can’t take it when somebody knows you well enough to play you at your own fucking game,” Warren smirked. “You wanted the gloves off, you wanted me to stop holding back, and you were right. Because look at me now, I actually took your advice and pushed myself that little bit harder, and I finally fucking won the Roulette, on my seventh attempt. And now we have a date with destiny at Night of the Immortals because I know you’ll keep your end of the bargain and embarrass King for the both of us. I wouldn’t be where I am now if you hadn’t pushed exactly the buttons that needed to be pushed for me to break out of my shell, so thank you, Sweetness. I just wish you were smart enough to see that I’m just trying to do for you what you've done for me, because I need you at your absolute best so that when I beat you it means that much more,” Warren pushed Dean back hard, leaned in close, “And if you’re a real good boy, we might even celebrate like we used to, afterwards.”
“Fuck off.” Dean hated the heat that came to his face, embarrassed or something much more complicated he wasn’t sure. He turned to grab the keys from the car. When had the music stopped?
Warren pushed him up against the car, voice almost a growl, a spark in his eye. “What’s the matter, Sweetness? Don’t like the end result of all your hard work trying to stop me holding back?”
Dean’s body shivered despite himself, the heat very quickly going down his whole body, fuck, his tongue which was usually fifteen steps ahead of his brain seemed to struggle to find the right thing to say for the first time in his life. “Is that what this is?”
“Yes,” Warren whispered, close enough to kiss, but not quite as if teasing Dean with the possibility. Dawn had told Warren that this was the only thing a brat like Dean would understand, so now Warren cast the die. He’d tried everything else to try and get Dean to see his side. This may not go any better, but it also certainly couldn't go any worse.
Dean’s entire brain short-circuited as a sound came out of him he didn’t recognize as his body shivered, and words failed to manifest.
“Christ, she was right,” Warren laughed. “So, that's why you've been acting like such a petty bitch lately. Need to be disciplined, I should've guessed.”
“Shut up.” Dean objected as soon as words found their way into his mouth.
“Make me,” Warren smirked, devilishly.
Dean hated how similar in height Warren was, how much more muscle he had, and very much the thoughts that were bubbling in his head. Dean moved to close the distance, to kiss Warren. Warren kissed him hungrily, cupping the side of Dean’s neck firmly, pressing them both into the car. Dean moaned, pulling Warren closer as instinct wanted to take over but he wasn’t used to being the one pressed against something. Satisfied with putting Dean finally in his place, Warren pulled back, licking his lips, a sly smile spread across his face as he’d gotten what he wanted, control of the situation and of Dean Harper himself, something he’d never had before.
“Nice try. See you at Night of the Immortals, love.” Warren left Dean to his thoughts again.
Dean stood there a moment trying to process what just happened when the radio helpfully…
I'm holdin' out hope for you to say, "Don't go"
I would stay forever if you say, "Don't go"
“Thanks, Maxine. Helpful as always.” Dean muttered leaning against the car door with his eyes closed.
“Hi, Ethan. Miss me? I’ve missed you. All I wanted in 2019… You are all I wanted, rich boy. I wanted Ethan King. I wanted Ethan King’s head. I wanted his head on a pike. I wanted to burn his house to the ground. I want to take everything that means even the slightest to him and kill it while he watches bleeding on the floor. But nooo, you had to fuck off. Then I got to have a one-off match as a tag team where you were protected by AJ.”
Dean tilts his head. “But now I have you exactly where I want you. I can get my pound of flesh. And Ethan, I’m owed a hell of a fucking lot. I have no doubt you’re going to give me even more reason to want your head served on a nice silver platter. You are going to look for the big red button. You are going to push that button, you don’t want to do that with me this week.”
“Yeah, so here is the only warning on how that play will go. I will still leave you bleeding out in the ring and then I will go to your house. Don’t fucking test me on this, King. I’ve done worse for less. Please just give me the excuse. Hate for your wife and your children to have to pay for your crimes, but maybe that’s the only way things will sink in.”
“You have multiple fucking year's worth of beatings coming your way. I will enjoy playing with you. You disappointed me. You disrespected me. You humiliated me. And now I am going to get my God-given vengeance. You are all mine.”
Dean gets a small almost proud smile, “Last time we fought you were all crazy. I’ll admit I prefer the put-together version of you. Makes it much more fun to break. But wasn’t it easier for you, Ethan? Being broken down to your very basic form. No bullshit. No lies. Just look your mistakes in the face as the pain worked its way through your body. Being so near death, low-key wanting to just give into that sweet night and go fucking feral?”
“It was a low point for you. Do you think you’ve fully recovered? That’s why I am so pleased to have you just where you are. Across the ring from me. There’s so much work left to do, isn’t there?” Dean laughs. “I gave up the torture game. But hell, out of all the vices I’ve given up lately what’s one slip off the wagon between friends?”
“And while everyone wants my head it’s different for you. You don’t just want to beat me. You need to beat me, King. Not like the others. Not like Kaster who wants it to make his big splash. Not like Warren who wants to prove he can. Not like Pax or Allen, who wanted to beat me to prove something bigger. No, no. You need to beat me.”
Dean smiles wide. “Beating me would fill that empty pit inside you. Make you feel a little more whole. Because winning would do that, right? Makes you feel like you can go back to who you were before. Spoiler, Ethan, you can never go back to what you were before. You can never go back so stop trying to be whole. The plate is broken and no amount of nice words thrown about makes it magically piece itself back together.”
“Ride high with that smile, Ethan. Come at me with your best shot. I want you to come play with me. Use all that spite and pain, use all that time you sat on the sidelines to really make that big comeback you feel you deserve. Prove them all wrong. Give into all that rage and darkness and put me the fuck down. You’ll fail but god won't that be a rush to see?”