Chapter Text
Braun Strowman calls himself the Monster Among Men, and Roman has fought monsters before, he's been toe to toe with the Beast Incarnate, the Cerebral Assassin and the Eater of Worlds, he's been betrayed by his brother, has seen his daughter threatened, has had victory snatched out of his grasp more times than he can count, but none of it has prepared him for the freakish strength and sheer brutality of Braun Strowman.
He's not about to give up or back away, but there has been a moment in every match where he has been afraid. Where he has thought: He's holding back. For more than ten years now, Roman's been fighting, and he knows the difference between a stiff blow and a pulled one.
Braun Strowman picks him up and throws him into the steel steps and Roman thinks, with a flare of panic: He's not human.
He thinks: I'm going to die.
When he staggers out of the ring, bloodied and broken in ways he can't let the trainers see or they'll pull him out of action, strap him down to a gurney and send him off on another extended medical leave, his mind is reeling with it.
Nothing human hits that hard. Nothing human hates that much.
What is he?
He pushes aside the refs and the trainers, dodges the medical staff with a determination that would make Dean proud and narrowly escapes into an empty locker room where he doubles over, cradling his damaged ribs. A pained hiss escapes him and he clenches his teeth around the keening sound working its way up his throat. He needs to keep it down, buy himself enough time to assess the damage, change the bandages and get his act together before someone comes find him.
It'll be Seth, probably. Unless seeing him injured brings back the old guilt and the things they don't talk about, in which case Seth will avoid him for days and then show up grudgingly, all awkwardness and tension, until Roman punches his arm and tells him to cut it out already. He wishes Seth would man up and apologize. Or failing that, accept the forgiveness as granted and move on.
Roman puts a hand on the bench at his side, pulls himself up. The pain is sharp, searing. The ribs have the worst of it, sending a stabbing pain through his chest each time he breathes, but there's not a part of him that isn't aching. His shoulder feels broken. He’s afraid to try to extend his arm.
Not for the first time he thinks about quitting. Last time they skyped, Jojo talked about a fight with Mel and he made all the right sympathetic noises to hide the fact that he couldn’t remember who Mel was. He had to ask Galina afterwards. It’s a constant ache, seeing his daughter grow into herself from a distance, over phone calls and skype sessions in desolate hotel rooms. The thoughts of quitting have been there ever since Seth turned on them, and they’ve grown more intrusive in the last couple of months, since he fell out with Dean, since the brand split kept them from mending all that broke.
It's not easy, though. Walking away. He's tried, but he can't. Especially not now, with Braun Strowman working his way through the roster and the thought of what he'll do once he gets to the ones that matter. He has nightmares about it; Braun tearing Dean limb from limb, tossing Seth around the ring like a rag doll, making his fight with Triple H seem gentle and kind in comparison. They may not be brothers, anymore, but Roman will never not look out for them.
Even monsters can be taken down.
He sees movement out of the corner of his eyes, catches a glimpse of something off-white. He startles, hits his elbow against the bench as he looks up at stranger who entered the room unnoticed. His first thought is "stalker" and it chills him to the bone. Not that he couldn't defend himself - the fan is just a kid, barely out of his teens, all long limbs and angles. No, what scares him is the level of dedication it'd take to get through all the security and slip into his locker room unnoticed. With a person like that, all bets are off. And Roman draws more than his share of haters. Until tonight, he hadn't even known the "you deserve it"-chants could be used like that.
Then the kid turns and catches his gaze and Roman realizes he had it wrong. It's not a kid. And it's not a he. She's pregnant, towards the end of the last trimester by the look of it, the size of her at odds with the fluidity of her movements. When Galina was that big, her pain and discomfort was constant. He pulls himself up, aware of the sweat cooling on his skin and the blood stained bandages. As he opens his mouth to ask how she got in she takes his sweaty face between her smooth, cool hands.
”I choose you, little warrior.” Her voice is deep. Rough. Very definitely a man’s, except- She brushes a strand of hair away from Roman’s face and smiles at him, terrible and kind. ”Darkness walks these halls. Don’t let it go unchallenged. Be brave, be strong, and know that you carry my favor, Child of the Burning Moon.” She - he? - leans forward and presses a soft kiss to his forehead, and Roman feels moonlight spilling through the frosted glass near the ceiling, hitting his skin like liquid silver. A bond between them, familiar and fey at the same time. Her love is not a gentle thing, her blessing not a comfort. She's otherwordly, terrifying, but he finds himself curiously unafraid.
His skin is glowing. At her touch, he feels a surge of strength, all pain and fatigue washed away. He's crying and he doesn't know why, jubilant and heartbroken. It feels as if something has been given and something stripped from him at the same time.
She smiles at him, knowing. Her fingertips brush away the tears and she’s just about to speak when the door to the locker room is pushed open, all the familiar sounds of the post-show bustle spilling into the room.
”All right, I’ve convinced the trainers to leave you alone, so for the record, you owe me one, and you had better not be dying in he-” Seth steps through the open door and freezes on the spot. "Oh, shit," he says. And then, in a tone more fearfully reverent that anything Roman would have thought him capable of: "Lady."
She turns his gaze on Seth and Roman sees him cringe under the steely-eyed judgement, swallow and raise his hands as he backs away. "I'll go get Dean.”
That seems like a non-sequitur, but the door falls shut behind him, and the lady in question turn her attention back to Roman. She takes his hands, pulling him to his feet. He’s taller than she is, bigger and stronger in every way, but her gaze is older than the ground underneath their feet and he can’t remember ever having felt so small. ”Forgiveness is a powerful weapon. Have a care how you wield it, child.”
It strikes him as absurdly, irresistibly funny that this, this creature would show up in his locker room just to warn him against forgiving Seth Rollins, but the laughter gets stuck in his throat and then it's just sad.
There is no pity in her gaze and little enough compassion. She pushes a sweat-soaked strand of hair back from his face, turns and leaves - through the door, like a person - and this time Roman does laugh, and there's a broken, hysterical edge to it.
Later, when he unwraps the bandages, his wounds are healed. There's not a bruise on his body. He stares into the mirror for a long, long time, and he's not entirely sure he recognizes the man looking back.