Corre of the Matter
A/N: I started this in September. There isn't a good excuse for the length of time this took to finish, just life/other stories/laziness/lack of inspiration/blahblah. Like I said, no good excuse. It's set after the Super Smackdown in late-August.
Wade Barrett is, needless to say, disgusted after his match, not wanting to see or talk with anyone, so he's barely aware of what's going on around him when he makes his way to the back afterwards. He definitely does not notice Heath Slater standing off to the side, his dark eyes following his every movement. It's only when he's half way down the hall that the curtains part again, this time allowing Cena through, and he starts to pay a little more attention to what's going on behind him.
"Who do you think you are?" the familiar, deep accented voice of his former Corre team member sounds off and he closes his eyes, momentarily wondering why the younger man has to start up with him now after weeks of barely even seeing him around the back. However he quickly finds this isn't the case as he turns to yell at him to bugger off, when he realizes Heath isn't even within five feet of him. Instead he's near the gorilla position, glaring at Cena with his fists clenched at his side.
His eyes widening, Wade quickly returns the way he came, watching as Cena peers at him, a dangerous look on his usually jovial face. A change had come over WWE's golden boy since losing the WWE title to Punk-- he was a little more inclined to be angry, less joking. Even when he was Nexus' whipping boy, he had been the opposite-- not at all serious, more prone to mock them with stupid jokes designed to make his young fans cheer... but the Cena Barrett had fought tonight was different, more straightforward and ruthless. He considers dragging Heath away before his stupidity gets him killed but ultimately leaves it, knowing that to do so would cause Heath to follow him around all night, complaining about this and that.
Heath, however, is far from done. "...come to our show, initiative or not Smackdown is still our show, and think you're better than all of us? Who are you kiddin' with this, Cena?"
Barrett catches a motion out of the corner of his eye and looks over to find Ricardo Rodriguez, still holding his face where Cena had punched him not even fifteen minutes earlier, nodding grimly in agreement with Heath's words. He rolls his eyes and turns back to the confrontation just in time to see Cena lunge at Heath, slamming his full weight into the smaller man, sending him into a crate a few feet away. Everyone freezes as Cena lays into Slater, his head whipping back with the force of each blow, red hair going every which way.
It's not until Cena starts slamming Heath face first into a corroded section of the steel cage that had been replaced earlier in the evening and left behind, propped up against the wall until someone could get rid of it, that Wade comes back to himself and rushes forward, this beatdown going from ordinary (if weird, just because Cena usually doesn't take backstage confrontations to this level) to dangerous. He's not sure how many times Slater's been slammed into it by the time he reaches them but he ignores the worry rising up within him as he grabs Cena from behind in a choke, forcing him off of Heath-- who just slumps down to the ground, lifeless and limp-- and holds him tightly by the throat. "What do you think you are doing, Cena?!" he demands angrily, breathing heavily against the side of John's face as all of the fight leaves Cena, his eyes locked on Heath's motionless form.
Time moves unevenly after that-- Cena and Wade remain in this position, Wade's grip around Cena's throat slacking slightly as the shorter man doesn't fight at all. They're still standing there when he hears a curse in another language and Justin pushes past them, joining his former tag partner. "Heath!" he calls out, his Southern African accent coming out in full force as he drags the redhead over and settles him back against the wall, closer to the lights, so he can get a good look at the damage caused by Cena. "Oh, God." Even Wade is disgusted by the amount of blood pouring down Heath's face to pool against his chest, the gore almost TNA-esque. "We need help over here!"
Barrett pushes Cena away roughly and just catches out of the corner of his eye as security grabs him, not allowing him the opportunity to get another shot in on Heath, though he doesn't think that's a possibility anyway at this moment; Cena looks as dazed as Wade's feeling. He kneels down by Heath and shakes his head, "What was this idiot thinking?" he mutters incredulously as Justin looks up at him, pained. "Everyone knows Cena's been on the edge lately." Justin shakes his head as trainers rush over, quickly and efficiently doing their job, not unkindly pushing Justin and Wade out of the way so they can reach Heath easier.
The bustle is amazing as a gauze is pressed down on Heath's forehead, one of the EMTs holding it securely in place to attempt to stop the blood flow, but nonetheless by the time they have him on the waiting stretcher, even more blood has soaked through his hair. "Dear God," Wade mumbles, shaking his head. He tugs on a non-responsive Justin's arm, pulling him along as they follow the stretcher.
"Can we come with?" the shorter man asks, his voice faint and shaky as he watches his former tag partner's slack face.
"We need room to work," the EMT explains, looking from man to man. "One of you can though, if you stay out of our way and do what we tell you."
Wade works his tongue over his teeth, wanting to stay by the ginger's side but unable to bring himself to demand that the visibly freaked out Gabriel drive himself there. Decision made, he pushes Justin forward. "Go ahead, Gabriel, I'll be there shortly," he orders gruffly, turning before Justin could thank him.
"He'll be fine, right?" he hears before he's too far away, pausing to hear the answer.
"We'll do all we can," the EMT says calmly.
It's not a sufficient answer for either Justin or Wade and both walk a little faster in separate directions, Justin towards the ambulance and Wade towards the parking lot. As soon as he's out of sight, Wade speeds up even more and all but sprints to his car, the viscous red staining Heath's skin and hair fresh in his memory as he waits for the ambulance to depart, following it as close as he dares.
The trip to the hospital seems to take a lifetime, each bit of traffic slowing them down adding to his impatience. "Almost there," he mumbles, seeing the telltale slope of the hospital roof straight ahead. "I swear, Slater, when you wake up, I'm going to make what Cena did look like child's play..."
Luck is on his side, a car is pulling out just as they arrive so he takes the now free spot and is by the ambulance before they even pull Heath out. Justin is standing off to the side, his hand pressed to his mouth as he watches on distantly. "How is he?" Wade bites out, clapping a hand roughly on his shoulder to get his attention when he doesn't even look up at Wade's approach.
"He didn't wake up," Justin shakes his head. "He's still unresponsive and..." He takes a deep breath, his words trailing off and not reclaimed as finally Heath is pushed out of the ambulance, his skin even paler than Wade remembered from ten minutes ago. A haphazardly placed bandage is pressed to his forehead, already stained through with more blood.
"Move!" the EMT orders, helping to push the stretcher into the hospital. Justin and Wade follow as far as they can, both coming to a stop at the doors to the ER room he's wheeled into as nurses bustle around, working at getting Heath situated and vitals checked.
"Cena went too far," Justin mumbles after awhile, his dark eyes distant and troubled.
"Of course he did." Wade remembers getting caught under a pile of steel chairs thanks to Cena's temper, his first real proof of how disturbed the former WWE champion could truly be if he was pushed too far. "Slater can be annoying, but no one deserves this."
Justin doesn't respond, leans his forehead against the glass wall blocking them from the overly active room and just watches as people come and go, working quickly on Heath. It feels like they've been there forever but when Wade checks his watch, barely five minutes have passed since he parked his car.
Exasperated with waiting in this strained silence, he tugs on Justin's shirt, leading him a few steps away from the wall until he's certain the younger man will follow him the rest of the way to the waiting room down the hall. A coffee machine and various vending machines are scattered here and there, promising stale chips and who-knows-how-old candy. He bypasses them and goes straight for the coffee, pleasantly surprised to find the pot still warm. It tastes horrible, worse even than coffee from WWE's catering, but it's caffeine and warm so he swallows some quickly, not allowing it time to poison his tastebuds, before turning back to Justin. "Want anything?"
The dark haired man shakes his head, staring down at the pale brown carpet underneath his feet. "Do you think he'll be ok?"
Wade peers down at the styrofoam cup briefly before chucking it distastefully into the bin next to the cabinet he's leaning against. Rubbing his palms against his pant legs, he joins Justin and stretches out as well as he can, his tall body not agreeing with the uncomfortable, average sized chairs. "He's a stubborn arse... he'll probably be on his feet before we even realize it, returning to annoy us both before the week's done."
"It's Friday," the highflier comments, obviously without thinking. He glances anxiously over at his former Corre leader but Wade ignores the comment, choosing to take it easy on him. For now. They lapse into silence, not having a lot to say to each other since the dissolution of the Corre months back.
ERs are generally boring places anyway so Wade eventually finds himself watching the clock on the wall across from them slowly tick the time away while attempting to ignore the inane, soft chatter from the strangers scattered around the room. It's nearly 10 PM by now and only a few people are hanging around, the ones who are not rambunctious enough to be interesting or talking loud enough to even fill the static between his ears.
He's just about to get up and find Heath, slap consciousness back into his skull, when a blond doctor appears at the waiting room entrance, looking at the few people remaining within. Justin, as if psychically in tune with such things, peers up and locks eyes with him. "Did you arrive with Heath Slater?" he asks, walking straight towards the two men.
"Yes," Justin nods in relief, lunging to his feet, overly eager for some news on his former friend. "Is he ok?"
The doctor steps back slightly to avoid a collision with Gabriel, glancing to Wade and back as the British competitor pulls the smaller man back, giving him some room. "Uh, well, it appears he will be, yes. He regained consciousness while we were examining him. He seemed surprised when we mentioned you were here waiting for him to awaken, but he's asking for you. Visiting hours are technically over but we'll allow short visits while we prepare a room for him."
Justin, midstep, freezes and looks over at the doctor. "Prepare a room? He's staying here then?"
"Head injuries can be serious if not monitored carefully. We want to keep him for at least twenty four hours. You both can visit him whenever you want tomorrow, however."
Justin looks like he wants to ask a million more things but Wade tugs on his shirt, an old signal from their Corre days to keep quiet already, and it still works as he falls silent, clicking his teeth together. "Thank you," the Brit says calmly, releasing Justin completely. "Where is his room?"
The doctor leads them back, smiling slightly as both wrestlers peer into the small window into Heath's room. Wade pulls back with a sigh upon finding the younger man sitting up, his eyes open, if a little glassy. "Go ahead, Justin. You go first."
The South African's eyes light up in a way that makes Wade wonder, not for the first time, why exactly the two had stopped teaming together, being friends. None of my business, however, he thinks with a shrug, turning his back to the room as soon as Justin's inside, leaning against the outside wall to wait his turn. The walls are thin and he can hear Justin and Heath's murmurs; neither seem to say very much to the other but it's still a much more relaxed Justin that comes out a couple minutes later than had gone in.
They stand awkwardly for a moment, neither quite ready to look at the other, until finally Justin shifts forward on his heels, about to walk past him. "Thanks for letting me go first, Wade," he says quietly, accent just barely cutting through his words.
Wade takes a few moments to let the remaining bits of tension drain from his body before slowly pushing the door open, leaning against the frame as he peers inside. His former Corre teammate is laying back against the absurdly thin pillows, his face aimed towards the ceiling. Even from this distance, it's obvious how pale he is, skin almost matching the fresh gauze taped to his forehead. He's about to duck back out, thinking that Heath had dozed off after Justin left, but before he can even take a step backwards, Heath shifts with a sigh, somehow catching sight of him in the process.
"Wade?"
He pauses awkwardly before nodding, stepping back towards the bed. "Yes." From here, he can see how Heath's hair is still tinged with his own long-dried flaking blood. He swallows hard, remembering just how much of the red liquid there had been, shaking his head to clear it of the grim thoughts. "Was any sense knocked into you here?"
Heath frowns, confused. "What?"
"What exactly were you thinking, Slater? Prodding Cena now seemed like a good idea to you?" he asks, rolling his eyes as he pulls a chair over and drops into it, hyper-aware of the seconds ticking away, taking the nurse's patience with it.
"Wasn't thinkin' about it," he shrugs, sitting up slightly. He swallows thickly before he's even half way up and Wade leans back, not wanting to be in the line of fire should Heath get sick. After a moment, he gingerly presses on Heath's shoulder, pushing him back against the bed so he stops looking like he's enduring seasickness.
"That's obvious," Wade mutters with a roll of his eyes, smirking slightly as Heath makes a huffing noise, dropping his arms to his sides when the dizzy, nauseous feeling finally passes. The Brit then sits back, arms crossed over his chest, making it clear he wants some attempt at an explanation from the younger man and won't leave until he has it.
Heath makes a face at him, reaching up to scrub at his face, still slightly shaky from bloodloss. His hands graze the gauze at his hairline and he flinches, Wade wincing slightly as he closes his eyes against the renewed burst of pain. "I'm just tired of the Raw guys invadin' on our show," he admits dully. "Cena's the worst... damn glory hog..." He yawns, pressing his palms to his gritty, exhausted eyes.
"None of us does, as far as I know," Wade says slowly. "There's no point doing something asinine in response to it, though. Look at it this way, there's more competition now."
"True," he mumbles through a yawn.
Wade decides to let it drop for now as Heath's eyes begin to flutter shut. If he needs to have another lecture, I'll deal with it when he's actually awake enough to half-way understand what I'm getting at. He honestly hopes this is the end of Heath's overly dramatic handling of the Super Shows but with the ginger, it's hard to tell a lot of the time.
He's just reached his feet, about to retreat out of the room and leave for real this time, when Heath stirs slightly. "Wade?"
"Yes?" he says, snaps really, wondering if he'll ever be able to get out of this room in one piece.
"Thanks for... for everythin'," the exhausted younger man gets out before the last of his energy drains from him. When Wade turns back around, Heath's deeply asleep.
The dark haired man pauses at the door a moment, watching him breathe softly. He somehow looks more peaceful than he had when Wade had first entered. Best be gone before the snoring starts, he decides with a dark smirk, shaking himself out of his thoughts. "Good night, Slater," he mumbles before clicking the door shut behind him.
Wade Barrett is, needless to say, disgusted after his match, not wanting to see or talk with anyone, so he's barely aware of what's going on around him when he makes his way to the back afterwards. He definitely does not notice Heath Slater standing off to the side, his dark eyes following his every movement. It's only when he's half way down the hall that the curtains part again, this time allowing Cena through, and he starts to pay a little more attention to what's going on behind him.
"Who do you think you are?" the familiar, deep accented voice of his former Corre team member sounds off and he closes his eyes, momentarily wondering why the younger man has to start up with him now after weeks of barely even seeing him around the back. However he quickly finds this isn't the case as he turns to yell at him to bugger off, when he realizes Heath isn't even within five feet of him. Instead he's near the gorilla position, glaring at Cena with his fists clenched at his side.
His eyes widening, Wade quickly returns the way he came, watching as Cena peers at him, a dangerous look on his usually jovial face. A change had come over WWE's golden boy since losing the WWE title to Punk-- he was a little more inclined to be angry, less joking. Even when he was Nexus' whipping boy, he had been the opposite-- not at all serious, more prone to mock them with stupid jokes designed to make his young fans cheer... but the Cena Barrett had fought tonight was different, more straightforward and ruthless. He considers dragging Heath away before his stupidity gets him killed but ultimately leaves it, knowing that to do so would cause Heath to follow him around all night, complaining about this and that.
Heath, however, is far from done. "...come to our show, initiative or not Smackdown is still our show, and think you're better than all of us? Who are you kiddin' with this, Cena?"
Barrett catches a motion out of the corner of his eye and looks over to find Ricardo Rodriguez, still holding his face where Cena had punched him not even fifteen minutes earlier, nodding grimly in agreement with Heath's words. He rolls his eyes and turns back to the confrontation just in time to see Cena lunge at Heath, slamming his full weight into the smaller man, sending him into a crate a few feet away. Everyone freezes as Cena lays into Slater, his head whipping back with the force of each blow, red hair going every which way.
It's not until Cena starts slamming Heath face first into a corroded section of the steel cage that had been replaced earlier in the evening and left behind, propped up against the wall until someone could get rid of it, that Wade comes back to himself and rushes forward, this beatdown going from ordinary (if weird, just because Cena usually doesn't take backstage confrontations to this level) to dangerous. He's not sure how many times Slater's been slammed into it by the time he reaches them but he ignores the worry rising up within him as he grabs Cena from behind in a choke, forcing him off of Heath-- who just slumps down to the ground, lifeless and limp-- and holds him tightly by the throat. "What do you think you are doing, Cena?!" he demands angrily, breathing heavily against the side of John's face as all of the fight leaves Cena, his eyes locked on Heath's motionless form.
Time moves unevenly after that-- Cena and Wade remain in this position, Wade's grip around Cena's throat slacking slightly as the shorter man doesn't fight at all. They're still standing there when he hears a curse in another language and Justin pushes past them, joining his former tag partner. "Heath!" he calls out, his Southern African accent coming out in full force as he drags the redhead over and settles him back against the wall, closer to the lights, so he can get a good look at the damage caused by Cena. "Oh, God." Even Wade is disgusted by the amount of blood pouring down Heath's face to pool against his chest, the gore almost TNA-esque. "We need help over here!"
Barrett pushes Cena away roughly and just catches out of the corner of his eye as security grabs him, not allowing him the opportunity to get another shot in on Heath, though he doesn't think that's a possibility anyway at this moment; Cena looks as dazed as Wade's feeling. He kneels down by Heath and shakes his head, "What was this idiot thinking?" he mutters incredulously as Justin looks up at him, pained. "Everyone knows Cena's been on the edge lately." Justin shakes his head as trainers rush over, quickly and efficiently doing their job, not unkindly pushing Justin and Wade out of the way so they can reach Heath easier.
The bustle is amazing as a gauze is pressed down on Heath's forehead, one of the EMTs holding it securely in place to attempt to stop the blood flow, but nonetheless by the time they have him on the waiting stretcher, even more blood has soaked through his hair. "Dear God," Wade mumbles, shaking his head. He tugs on a non-responsive Justin's arm, pulling him along as they follow the stretcher.
"Can we come with?" the shorter man asks, his voice faint and shaky as he watches his former tag partner's slack face.
"We need room to work," the EMT explains, looking from man to man. "One of you can though, if you stay out of our way and do what we tell you."
Wade works his tongue over his teeth, wanting to stay by the ginger's side but unable to bring himself to demand that the visibly freaked out Gabriel drive himself there. Decision made, he pushes Justin forward. "Go ahead, Gabriel, I'll be there shortly," he orders gruffly, turning before Justin could thank him.
"He'll be fine, right?" he hears before he's too far away, pausing to hear the answer.
"We'll do all we can," the EMT says calmly.
It's not a sufficient answer for either Justin or Wade and both walk a little faster in separate directions, Justin towards the ambulance and Wade towards the parking lot. As soon as he's out of sight, Wade speeds up even more and all but sprints to his car, the viscous red staining Heath's skin and hair fresh in his memory as he waits for the ambulance to depart, following it as close as he dares.
The trip to the hospital seems to take a lifetime, each bit of traffic slowing them down adding to his impatience. "Almost there," he mumbles, seeing the telltale slope of the hospital roof straight ahead. "I swear, Slater, when you wake up, I'm going to make what Cena did look like child's play..."
Luck is on his side, a car is pulling out just as they arrive so he takes the now free spot and is by the ambulance before they even pull Heath out. Justin is standing off to the side, his hand pressed to his mouth as he watches on distantly. "How is he?" Wade bites out, clapping a hand roughly on his shoulder to get his attention when he doesn't even look up at Wade's approach.
"He didn't wake up," Justin shakes his head. "He's still unresponsive and..." He takes a deep breath, his words trailing off and not reclaimed as finally Heath is pushed out of the ambulance, his skin even paler than Wade remembered from ten minutes ago. A haphazardly placed bandage is pressed to his forehead, already stained through with more blood.
"Move!" the EMT orders, helping to push the stretcher into the hospital. Justin and Wade follow as far as they can, both coming to a stop at the doors to the ER room he's wheeled into as nurses bustle around, working at getting Heath situated and vitals checked.
"Cena went too far," Justin mumbles after awhile, his dark eyes distant and troubled.
"Of course he did." Wade remembers getting caught under a pile of steel chairs thanks to Cena's temper, his first real proof of how disturbed the former WWE champion could truly be if he was pushed too far. "Slater can be annoying, but no one deserves this."
Justin doesn't respond, leans his forehead against the glass wall blocking them from the overly active room and just watches as people come and go, working quickly on Heath. It feels like they've been there forever but when Wade checks his watch, barely five minutes have passed since he parked his car.
Exasperated with waiting in this strained silence, he tugs on Justin's shirt, leading him a few steps away from the wall until he's certain the younger man will follow him the rest of the way to the waiting room down the hall. A coffee machine and various vending machines are scattered here and there, promising stale chips and who-knows-how-old candy. He bypasses them and goes straight for the coffee, pleasantly surprised to find the pot still warm. It tastes horrible, worse even than coffee from WWE's catering, but it's caffeine and warm so he swallows some quickly, not allowing it time to poison his tastebuds, before turning back to Justin. "Want anything?"
The dark haired man shakes his head, staring down at the pale brown carpet underneath his feet. "Do you think he'll be ok?"
Wade peers down at the styrofoam cup briefly before chucking it distastefully into the bin next to the cabinet he's leaning against. Rubbing his palms against his pant legs, he joins Justin and stretches out as well as he can, his tall body not agreeing with the uncomfortable, average sized chairs. "He's a stubborn arse... he'll probably be on his feet before we even realize it, returning to annoy us both before the week's done."
"It's Friday," the highflier comments, obviously without thinking. He glances anxiously over at his former Corre leader but Wade ignores the comment, choosing to take it easy on him. For now. They lapse into silence, not having a lot to say to each other since the dissolution of the Corre months back.
ERs are generally boring places anyway so Wade eventually finds himself watching the clock on the wall across from them slowly tick the time away while attempting to ignore the inane, soft chatter from the strangers scattered around the room. It's nearly 10 PM by now and only a few people are hanging around, the ones who are not rambunctious enough to be interesting or talking loud enough to even fill the static between his ears.
He's just about to get up and find Heath, slap consciousness back into his skull, when a blond doctor appears at the waiting room entrance, looking at the few people remaining within. Justin, as if psychically in tune with such things, peers up and locks eyes with him. "Did you arrive with Heath Slater?" he asks, walking straight towards the two men.
"Yes," Justin nods in relief, lunging to his feet, overly eager for some news on his former friend. "Is he ok?"
The doctor steps back slightly to avoid a collision with Gabriel, glancing to Wade and back as the British competitor pulls the smaller man back, giving him some room. "Uh, well, it appears he will be, yes. He regained consciousness while we were examining him. He seemed surprised when we mentioned you were here waiting for him to awaken, but he's asking for you. Visiting hours are technically over but we'll allow short visits while we prepare a room for him."
Justin, midstep, freezes and looks over at the doctor. "Prepare a room? He's staying here then?"
"Head injuries can be serious if not monitored carefully. We want to keep him for at least twenty four hours. You both can visit him whenever you want tomorrow, however."
Justin looks like he wants to ask a million more things but Wade tugs on his shirt, an old signal from their Corre days to keep quiet already, and it still works as he falls silent, clicking his teeth together. "Thank you," the Brit says calmly, releasing Justin completely. "Where is his room?"
The doctor leads them back, smiling slightly as both wrestlers peer into the small window into Heath's room. Wade pulls back with a sigh upon finding the younger man sitting up, his eyes open, if a little glassy. "Go ahead, Justin. You go first."
The South African's eyes light up in a way that makes Wade wonder, not for the first time, why exactly the two had stopped teaming together, being friends. None of my business, however, he thinks with a shrug, turning his back to the room as soon as Justin's inside, leaning against the outside wall to wait his turn. The walls are thin and he can hear Justin and Heath's murmurs; neither seem to say very much to the other but it's still a much more relaxed Justin that comes out a couple minutes later than had gone in.
They stand awkwardly for a moment, neither quite ready to look at the other, until finally Justin shifts forward on his heels, about to walk past him. "Thanks for letting me go first, Wade," he says quietly, accent just barely cutting through his words.
Wade takes a few moments to let the remaining bits of tension drain from his body before slowly pushing the door open, leaning against the frame as he peers inside. His former Corre teammate is laying back against the absurdly thin pillows, his face aimed towards the ceiling. Even from this distance, it's obvious how pale he is, skin almost matching the fresh gauze taped to his forehead. He's about to duck back out, thinking that Heath had dozed off after Justin left, but before he can even take a step backwards, Heath shifts with a sigh, somehow catching sight of him in the process.
"Wade?"
He pauses awkwardly before nodding, stepping back towards the bed. "Yes." From here, he can see how Heath's hair is still tinged with his own long-dried flaking blood. He swallows hard, remembering just how much of the red liquid there had been, shaking his head to clear it of the grim thoughts. "Was any sense knocked into you here?"
Heath frowns, confused. "What?"
"What exactly were you thinking, Slater? Prodding Cena now seemed like a good idea to you?" he asks, rolling his eyes as he pulls a chair over and drops into it, hyper-aware of the seconds ticking away, taking the nurse's patience with it.
"Wasn't thinkin' about it," he shrugs, sitting up slightly. He swallows thickly before he's even half way up and Wade leans back, not wanting to be in the line of fire should Heath get sick. After a moment, he gingerly presses on Heath's shoulder, pushing him back against the bed so he stops looking like he's enduring seasickness.
"That's obvious," Wade mutters with a roll of his eyes, smirking slightly as Heath makes a huffing noise, dropping his arms to his sides when the dizzy, nauseous feeling finally passes. The Brit then sits back, arms crossed over his chest, making it clear he wants some attempt at an explanation from the younger man and won't leave until he has it.
Heath makes a face at him, reaching up to scrub at his face, still slightly shaky from bloodloss. His hands graze the gauze at his hairline and he flinches, Wade wincing slightly as he closes his eyes against the renewed burst of pain. "I'm just tired of the Raw guys invadin' on our show," he admits dully. "Cena's the worst... damn glory hog..." He yawns, pressing his palms to his gritty, exhausted eyes.
"None of us does, as far as I know," Wade says slowly. "There's no point doing something asinine in response to it, though. Look at it this way, there's more competition now."
"True," he mumbles through a yawn.
Wade decides to let it drop for now as Heath's eyes begin to flutter shut. If he needs to have another lecture, I'll deal with it when he's actually awake enough to half-way understand what I'm getting at. He honestly hopes this is the end of Heath's overly dramatic handling of the Super Shows but with the ginger, it's hard to tell a lot of the time.
He's just reached his feet, about to retreat out of the room and leave for real this time, when Heath stirs slightly. "Wade?"
"Yes?" he says, snaps really, wondering if he'll ever be able to get out of this room in one piece.
"Thanks for... for everythin'," the exhausted younger man gets out before the last of his energy drains from him. When Wade turns back around, Heath's deeply asleep.
The dark haired man pauses at the door a moment, watching him breathe softly. He somehow looks more peaceful than he had when Wade had first entered. Best be gone before the snoring starts, he decides with a dark smirk, shaking himself out of his thoughts. "Good night, Slater," he mumbles before clicking the door shut behind him.