A/N: This was requested by LSUGirl. There's some spanking in it, and a LOT of emotions. I banged this out in 2.5 hours, and had to remind myself to breathe through it because of EMOTIONS. It was an intense experience to write this, probably because I was getting out a lot of my feelings relating to their implosion. Writing is therapy. (There are probably typos galore, don't mind them!)

This is a completely new avenue for me – please review!

Seth raised his hand, prepared to knock on the door, but paused momentarily, his curled fist hanging in mid-air. Was he sure about this? Would they even listen to what he had to say? Yeah, it was a stupid idea, and seemed destined for failure, but he had to try. His conscience had been yelling at him all week, he could barely sleep at night. Images of the worst moments replayed in his mind as he lay in bed. This was the only way to put an end to it all.

Pulling up resolve from deep within, he sucked in a lungful of breath and rapped loudly on the heavy wood. He stepped backwards, subconsciously preparing for a less than pleasant welcome. They wouldn't be happy to see him, and honestly, he didn't blame them. He had a lot of explaining to do.

Thirty long seconds passed, with the door remaining firmly shut. Seth frowned and took a cautious step forward, pressing his ear against a panel. The interior of the locker room was deathly silent.

He knocked again, his fist knocking quietly this time, a less assured attempt to attract the attention of the room's inhabitants.

"Dean? Roman? Are you there?" He was once again greeted by heavy silence.

This wasn't like them. They must not be there. Seth knew that they wouldn't sit idly by if an opportunity to beat his ass presented itself to them. Not when he had been pulling some seriously shady shit on them over the past week and a half.

He glanced up at the ceiling, and let out a nervous sigh. His heart-rate had kicked up a notch, and his palms were now coated in a light layer of sweat. Swallowing awkwardly, he realised what he had to do.

He knew exactly where Dean and Roman were. The one place where they felt comfortable, where they had strategised for hours in their efforts to get into the main event scene in WWE, where they had formed an unbreakable bond. Well, a bond that hadn't experienced even the slightest dent until Seth himself smashed it wide open last week. With a fucking chair, of all things.

Pushing himself away from the wall, he rolled his shoulders back, straightened his spine and walked with a shaky determination back toward his brothers.

Dean slammed his fist into an equipment trunk, grunting when the pain hit, a small cut slicing open on the skin. He looked at the blood as it seeped out with utter indifference, wondering why he had never minded the sight of it. He hit the trunk again, feeling some satisfaction when the small agony bloomed into a greater hurt with his second effort. He felt a large hand land on his shoulder, pulling him away from the box.

"Dean, get your shit together man," Roman's deep voice warned, turning him around to face his friend, and the reality of the situation. "You're pissed. I get it. Trust me, no one else in this whole fucking world understands what you're feeling right now more than I do. But we have to think logically about this, we can't jump into the fray with nothing but our emotions to guide us right now. Seth has a plan, one based on logic alone. We need one too."

Dean let his head hang down in resignation. He wanted to let his impulses run loose, but as usual, Roman spoke the truth. Granted, Seth would normally be the one to calm him down, to keep their bond tight and unyielding. He was their glue. But that little fucker had ruined everything and allowed them to come undone, hadn't he?

And for that, he would pay.

Seth glimpsed Roman's hulking frame as he paced back and forth, his dark, wet hair hanging down, concealing his expression. It wasn't difficult to take a stab at what that expression would be. Pensive. Quietly, calmly working through the problem, turning it over in his mind.

A quick movement in the corner caught his eye – Dean. Jerking around, every muscle tight with frenetic energy, seeking release. Seth knew that he would have to be the one to offer that release to him. And by giving them that, he would earn his own. His release from the guilt and horror that had been eating him up inside. Dean ran his hands through his hair in agitation, frustrated noises falling from his mouth as he moved. Constantly moving. He was never content to sit still.

Seth had claimed to be the one who could harness Roman's power. The one who kept Dean on the straight and narrow. And maybe all of that was true. But they had their own roles to play. They kept him balanced, pulled him back when he was perched perilously on the edge of his own ambition. His own needy desire to stand out and take risks, all for the sake of giving the fans a memory. A moment. Through that, he carved out his own memories and moments. The ones where he felt truly alive. He needed to push himself to his limits, and then leap beyond them in the same breath.

He was liable to break his neck one of these days if someone didn't yank him back.

Of course, he knew that he had jumped too far this time. Aimed a little too high. And in the process, he had fucked everything up. Permanently? Probably. But he was damned if he didn't at least try to absolve himself of this mortal sin.

Steeling himself for the inevitable shitstorm that lay ahead, he stepped out into the light. As per usual, they gravitated toward the isolated, dark spots in the arena. A dim light buzzed overhead, casting the space in shadows, which is just how they liked it. They were renegades, they didn't care for luxury. The discomfort kept them on their toes, kept them hungry.

Dean was the first to spot him, and came to a standstill. That alone shocked the hell out of Seth. Shit, this was serious. Roman must have noticed the unusual behaviour too, because he looked up and stared Seth dead in the eye. His grey eyes were stormy, merciless. Roman had never looked at him like that before, and he hoped that he never would again by the time they were done here.

"It's our former business partner, Roman," Dean spoke up, tapping the Samoan on the chest. "Has the Prodigal Son returned to his family? Or is he still nothing but a Judas, wearing the clothes of a friend? And while we're on the subject, why the fuck are you still wearing your Shield gear? You lost that privilege the very second you allowed even the slightest thought of betrayal to enter your mind."

Dean moved quickly, getting up in Seth's personal space, roughly snapping open his vest and ripping his shirt from his body. Seth didn't even put up a fight. There was no point. He knew that he deserved their anger. Their pain. Their sadness. Their hurt.

"What do you want?" Roman asked flatly, no inflection in his voice.

Seth sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Where did he even begin?

"You hate me, I know that. I deserve that. I did what I said I would never do – I betrayed my own brothers. You were right, I am scum. I feel that in every second that passes. I thought I could do it on my own. I allowed my own arrogance and conceit to consume me. And y'know, I can stand here and push my words at you in an attempt to convince you of my sincerity, but the fact remains, I was fucking stupid."

The silence that met him when he paused for breath was unbearable. Why weren't they calling him out? Yelling and screaming at him? Giving him a taste of the damage that he had caused with his own moronic egotism?

"I'm sorry."

Dean crossed his arms and raised a sceptical eyebrow at him, but otherwise remained quiet.

"Why did you do it?" Roman's question came out on the same emotionless tone of voice that he had used earlier.

"Because I thought I was invincible," Seth confessed, his shoulders sagging. "The instant I did it, I knew how wrong I was. But then, with that first strike, I had set a chain of events in motion and couldn't back out. I had to follow through, no matter how stupid it was. I couldn't have lost face in front of millions of people."

"So your pride owns you," Roman stated conclusively, daring Seth to disagree.

"Well, yeah…"

Fuck, this wasn't going how he had anticipated. And maybe that was a good thing. He had expected fury and shouts and that it would get physical – fast. Their calm facades were terrifying.

"And once I found myself in a hell of my own making, I had to keep going with it," he rambled on. "Triple H thinks I'm firmly committed to his cause, that I'm a paid-up member of his fan club. But I'm not. I never was. I just fooled myself into thinking that I could be anything without you two by my side."

Dean snorted and rolled his eyes, obviously not buying any of it.

"I'm fucking serious, Dean!" Seth burst out in frustration. They had to believe him. They had to. He was nothing without them.

"Oh, you haven't run your mouth enough already?" Dean challenged, puffing his chest out and swaggering toward Seth. "All of that smack talk over the past week and a half, tearing us apart, telling everyone how you made us. Destroying every fucking ounce of integrity that we had. Sorry, that you had, cause last time I checked, Roman and I still have ours. We didn't fucking sell out."

"I know! I know. I can't expect you to forgive me, or believe me, but I have to tell you the truth. I have to let you know that I valued every second that we had together, the brotherhood that we forged on those long nights travelling down endless dark highways in the middle of nowhere. I know it all sounds like cheap, empty words right now, but words are all I have to show you how fucking wrong I was, and how sorry I will always be."

"That's not true," Roman said, still showing no sign of what was going on in that brain of his.

"Wh-what do you mean?" Seth stuttered, his eyes going back and forth between the two men in front of him.

"You know we're not all that big on words – we care about actions," Roman continued, holding on to his vest as he spoke. "Your actions have left us with a lot of unresolved issues – anger, a rightful feeling of betrayal, and a whole world of sadness that you would think to belittle us like you have."

"I know man, and if I could make it up to you - "

"Shut up, Seth," Dean interjected, eyeing him up with obvious dislike.

"It's always been our tradition to sort shit out amongst ourselves, to never let things fester and grow, to poison us from the inside." Roman's voice was still a lesson in restraint, which Seth had nothing but respect for, considering how he must be feeling.

"We get a bit rough, but we're not afraid of that. We use our hands. And that's what it's gonna take for us to even get close to believing that you regret what you have done. The many and varied ways in which you have destroyed our kinship and our legacy. You can start to fill in those cracks, and repair that damage, right now."

A blend of fear and realisation dawned in Seth's large brown eyes. In truth, he knew that this was coming all along. Roman was right – they didn't put much stock in words. They showed their loyalty to one another by going out there, night after night, and putting their bodies on the line for one another. It made sense that they would do the same when it came to a display of genuine remorse.

Seth turned around and faced the wall, placing his hands against the cold cement, bracing himself mentally and physically for what was to come.

"Pants off," Dean ordered.

Seth looked over his shoulder at him, incredulous. "What?"

"You're gonna feel our anger, I don't want any obstructions in the way. Or would you prefer to walk away right now and run back into Trips' arms, Seth?"

Without hesitating, Seth unbuckled his belt and kicked out of his cargo pants, leaving him standing there in just his boxers. Vulnerable. But that was the feeling he had thrust on them when he had hit Roman from behind, and then attacked Dean while looking him in the eye.

Seth knew that Dean had been particularly hurt by his actions. Trust had never come easily to him, it wasn't a gift that he offered lightly or to very many people. Dean wanted him to hurt, and he wouldn't hold back.

Seth's ears perked up at the sound of another belt being unbuckled. Of course. Dean was all about props – one look at his matches in the Indys revealed that fun little fact.

The leather snapped forward, catching Seth on his left ass cheek. The hit was sharp, accurate and stung like a bitch. But Dean wasn't satisfied with that. He wanted to break Seth, and then he and Roman would decide if he deserved to be put back together. He yanked Seth's boxers down to mid-thigh, revealing the tanned, round globes that lay beneath.

"You've earned every bit of this all by yourself," Dean ground out his words, flicking his wrist forward, the tip of the belt cracking against Seth's bare skin. Seth's entire body jerked at the force of the blow, but he bit back his protests and curse words. He wouldn't deprive Dean of this. It was the very least that he could do.

Dean unleashed his fury on Seth's body, snapping the belt viciously against his plump buttocks, uncaring as to how much pain he was inflicting on his former business partner's body. He had told Seth before, warned him, that being stabbed in the back by someone he considered to be a brother kept him up at night. It was the ultimate betrayal. Being beaten into the ground with a steel chair was a close enough second. And for that, Seth deserved to suffer.

Once Seth's ass was an alarming shade of red - thin, angry bites covering his flesh - Dean moved on to his thighs. He could see Seth shaking as he tried to hold in his agony, not daring to let it out into the space. His knuckles were white with the effort, his thighs jumping forward with every kiss of the leather on his skin.

Dean was sweating from his exertions, from the relentless hits that he delivered on to the willing victim. He was emotionally fucked up from this whole thing. Yeah, he was furious, but it just hurt so fucking badly. How could Seth do that to them? They were a pack of lone wolves, they looked to one another for survival. A heavy exhaustion settled itself on his shoulders. He knew he couldn't keep going for very much longer. With a sigh of resignation, he flicked the belt over Seth's ass one last time, only feeling a small sense of satisfaction at the tiny droplets of blood that seeped out. They matched the ones that were now drying on his knuckles. Yet another thing to bind them together in fraternity.

Dean shook his head and walked away into a darkened corner, his belt still looped tightly around his fist.

Seth sucked in shallow lungfuls of air, wondering if Dean wasn't just preparing for round two. He couldn't even acknowledge his physical self right now. If he did, he might just collapse from the raw, searing pain that was hiding behind the adrenaline that had burst forth after the first hit.

Roman approached silently from behind and assessed the damage to Seth's ass and thighs. Dean really hadn't held anything back - not that any of them had expected that he would. He carefully eased Seth's boxers back into place, thankful that the material was loose and didn't sit on the skin, aggravating it further.

If it were up to him, then Roman would grab Seth and hug him right now. He had a weakness for Seth. The guy was one of his two little brothers. They weren't related by blood, but were connected by something a hell of a lot deeper. They had chosen to be there for one another - they weren't bound by mere obligation. Their pact included a responsibility to call the others out on their shit, and do everything within their power to keep the hounds together. He had to follow through on those promises.

He caught Seth by the wrist and dragged him over to a bench that was lined up by the wall. Roman took a seat and patted his thighs, giving Seth a clear signal to drape himself over them. Yeah, this could be viewed as sexual, but it just wasn't. This was the quickest, and most potent, way for Roman to ensure that Seth got his message, and wouldn't be likely to forget it. There would be the physical pain, but the humiliation would really drive the point home.

Seth eased himself down over Roman's lap, his face flushed with embarrassment. He curled his hand into a fist and bit down on the fleshy part that extended down from his thumb. He wouldn't scream in front of them. He couldn't scream in front of them. He knew that this was the only way by which he could begin to claw his way back into their lives, and it was worth it.

Roman allowed Seth to settle, knowing that his mind would be racing with analysis, overthinking the whole scenario, worrying that it would all amount to nothing. That mind of his never rested, it was what made him such a good strategist, the Architect laying out their blueprints for domination and success.

He held his palm flat and spanked Seth's left cheek first, knowing that it would be the worst for him. Seth's sharp intake of breath was audible around his fist, his body quivering. His reactions were involuntary now, beyond his control. He was a primal bundle of nerve endings that had been set alight, the neurons trying to carry out damage control, but ultimately failing in their task.

Roman let a full minute pass, trusting that Seth's overly active mind would continue to do most of the work for him. He then smacked the right cheek and felt Seth's body finally give in, the tension bleeding out of his muscles, his head dropping down, his forehead almost touching the floor.

Dean emerged from the shadows, his eyes never leaving Seth's limp form. He dropped his belt and crouched down to run his fingers through Seth's sweat-soaked hair. Seth instinctively leaned into the touch, his breathing shallow and uneven, the gasping shuddery noises filling the quiet space.

They gently eased him up to a standing position, fully supporting his weight and enveloping him with their body heat. He would need it now more than ever as his core temperature eventually dropped once the adrenaline wore off. They were careful not to touch his marked up skin, patting him soothingly on the head and shoulders.

Seth sobbed silently, but didn't feel like less of a man for it. This was it, the bond that made them unique. They had just taken the first step on the long road of forgiveness.

And they had done it together.

"Summerslam," he rasped out, his voice barely breaking above a whisper. "We'll take that bastard and his little lapdog out once and for all at Summerslam. They'll never see it coming."

I need to sleep. This was INTENSE for me to write.

Thoughts? Should I ever step out of my romance/comedy comfort zone again?