Shane halted in his tracks only a few steps out of the elevator, hit in the face by the overwhelming scent of distressed omega. He fished in his pocket for the nasal inhaler Daniel had handed him before sending him off on this mission and sprayed it in each nostril, sniffing deeply and smacking his mouth as the bitter suppressant runoff tickled the back of his throat. Within seconds the strength of the scent in the hallway began to diminish. Trusting in the medication and in his own sense of decency, Shane resumed his short journey, rapping sharply on the door of room 351.

A chilly blast of air spilled out of the room as the door was opened by a dishevelled and vague Dean Ambrose, beads of perspiration glistening on his skin despite the frigid temperature of the room and the fact he was clad only in a pair of loose gym shorts.

"Shane! Boss man! To what do I owe the pleasure? Everything ok?" The casual jollity of his tone seemed forced, the words oddly clipped as if they took effort to enunciate clearly.

"I should be asking you that don't you think? Can I come in?"

Dean stepped back and made way for Shane to enter, closing the door behind him. "Come on then, get it over with. From the look on your face I'm probably not going to like what you're about to say any more than you're looking forward to saying it."

Realising the offer of a seat was not going to come, as Dean himself still stood, shoulders resting against the closed door, Shane gathered his thoughts and gathered his jacket a little closer to ward off the chill. Dean was right, best to get this unpleasantness over and done with.

"It's come to management attention that you've been off your game this past few weeks, Dean. You've been unfocused in the ring, unresponsive to the official's directions, putting other workers and yourself potentially in danger. We can't have one of our roster acting so recklessly. I know you don't pay much attention to the internet, but we're starting to see rumour and speculation that you may be under the influence of drink or drugs," Shane held up his hand to halt Dean's imminent protest. "Before you say anything, I know it's not that. There has however also been some speculation of your presentation and whether or not your recent behaviour is connected."

Dean shrugged. "You know I don't care if they know what I am."

"Do you want people citing you as an example of why omegas don't belong in the men's division? Or in professional wrestling at all?"

"You're supposed to call it sports entertainment, Shane…"

"Not the time for your flippancy, Ambrose. You need to get yourself sorted out," he cringed internally at what he was about to say next. "We can arrange for one of the primary care trained alphas on the books to pay you a visit, or if you have an arrangement with an alpha of your own, we will do what we can to facilitate you. Alternatively we can make contact with the nearest heat clinic on your behalf, discreetly of course…"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Primary care...ha! I think I'll pass. Don't need a knot, just a cold shower and a decent night's sleep. Look...I've changed my suppressants recently and it's taking a little while for my body to adjust. I'll admit, they've made me an itty bit more antsy than usual, but I'm dealing with it, ok?" He marched over to the nightstand and lifted a water bottle, waving it in Shane's direction, murky straw coloured liquid sloshing about inside. "See! I've even got this tea stuff from Lila in wardrobe, it's got some all natural omega health friendly crap in it. Supposed to help me find my balance, or shit."

Dean took a swig and placed the bottle back, licking his lips to chase the last of the sweet taste. He turned back to Shane, cheeks even more flushed than when he had opened the door.

"She Pinterested it...wait...is even a word? Pinned..unpinned...saw it on there anyway I don't know...have you ever been on it…"

"Dean, I think maybe you should sit down." Shane interrupted his rambling, concern spiking as the omega began to sway on his feet.

"Whaaaa? Shush...I'm ok...just wow...there is no air in here...damn AC must be on the fritz...gotta call the thing...the fix things guys...where you come in...the desk! The desk...gotta call the desk."

Before Shane could even vocalise his concern, because the temperature was very, very far from anything resembling warm, he found himself darting across the room, lunging to catch Dean, saving him from cracking his skull against the nightstand as his eyes rolled up into his head and he crashed to the floor in a dead faint like a puppet whose strings had just been cut.

From this prompt on the wrestling kink meme. wrestlingkink . dreamwidth 279 . html ? thread = 1294359 # cmt1294359 (remove spaces for url)

This prompt could very well have been made just for little old me - I love omegaverse & Deanomac! It has more or less consumed me & I have most of the story down so there shouldn't be too long to wait between updates.