His heart races and sinks at once as he peers down the stairs at his fallen foe. Randy Orton lays sprawled out on the ground before Wade Barrett, fresh off of a fall down the hard surface. Wade takes a step down towards him but pauses, the seconds feeling like hours as he realizes his rival- his foe- his enemy hasn't moved since the awkward, painful looking landing. Biting his lip, he quickly turns and ducks out of the door marked exit, barely noticing the freezing December weather as it nips at his bare skin, despite his being in only his wrestling gear.

He and Orton's feud had turned dark and vicious the last few weeks but this... he hadn't wanted this, no. As he runs, flashes of Orton laying, unmoving, at the bottom of the stairs, keeps haunting him. I'm finished, he thinks. I killed him. I have to run. It leaves him cold and nauseous to imagine leaving his life here behind, but Barrett isn't stupid or reckless. Jail for some British murderer would be all but unsurviveable, especially with his past record.

He keeps to dark alleys and lifeless parks for awhile, toeing around busy industrial areas and keeping his head down the rare time he'd come upon other people. Becoming uncomfortably aware of how he must look, running around in simple wrestling tights and boots, he ducks into an empty bus stop shelter and tries to think. Nothing of it, he decides with a grimace. I need clothes or I'll never get out of here. By the time he slips back into the hotel, it's well after midnight and the lobby is all but abandoned as he sneaks in through the back entrance, ducking into the dark staircase leading up to his floor.

He starts to relax little by little as he nears the top, trying not to dwell on the fact that it's stairs that's gotten him into this mess in the first place. Glancing this way and that through the small window in the door, he takes a breath before pushing it open and entering the hallway. His room is nearly on the other side of the building and, cursing, he walks as quickly as he dares. "Slater, you better be in," he mutters angrily, in disbelief that his future freedom lays with his former Nexus and Corre teammate and how he'll react to seeing him momentarily.

As soon as he reaches the door, he knocks. Struggling to be discreet, his gaze darts left to right as he first taps lightly on the door, then a little louder when no answer comes. Eventually stopping just short of banging on the door, he holds his breath as finally he hears "Comin', God, just hold your pants on." He's glaring ahead when the door is pulled roughly open, his redheaded roommate and sometimes friend peering tiredly out at him. "Oh. You. Guess you can't hold 'em on, huh?" He looks down with an amused eyeroll at Wade's attire. "The hell were you thinkin' going outside and just... doin' who knows what the last few hours like that, man? It's freezin' out there." He steps aside as Wade forces his way inside, unsurprised by the Brit's attitude.

"I was thinkin'," he mocks, "that I'd rather not get arrested for murder."

"Murder?" Heath repeats, looking confused. "Whatever, man." He shakes his head, quickly nudging over Wade's duffel with his toe. "I grabbed your stuff since you left it behind." As Wade ignores him and quickly digs through the items within, he rolls his eyes. "Yeah, you're welcome."

Wade looks up with a glowering expression before selecting some of the most discreet, warm clothes in the bag, preparing to leave quickly. As he pulls on a dark sweater and dark denim jeans, leaning over to change shoes from his wrestling boots to more durable winter boots, Heath drops down on his bed with a sigh. "What are the police doing?" he snaps over his shoulder, wanting some information before he leaves, to at least have some idea of what to expect.

"Police? No idea, why?"

"How obtuse are you?" Wade scowls. "Fine, never mind."

"Wait a sec," Heath says, the pieces slowly falling into place as Wade turns to the door, his steps quick and anxious.

"I don't have a second-"

"The way you're actin'," he drawls, sitting up to see the other man better. "Running like you did, not comin' back for hours, actin' all shifty... Askin' about the police and crap. Wade, d'ya think you killed Orton or something?" His voice slows, drifts off as he grows more somber, taking in the worried look hidden deep in Wade's eyes. "You dumbass," he sighs, standing and hesitantly venturing towards the former Nexus leader. "He's not dead."

A cacophony of emotion rolls around within Wade as he takes in these words, shaking his head. "I saw him, he wasn't moving."

"If you had waited a few seconds longer before running out, you'd have seen him start to," Heath corrects. "It was on TV and everythin'. You prolly just knocked him out for a little bit. Other than a messed up back and some cuts and bruises, he's fine. You might wanna run when he comes for revenge," he reflects, "but other than that, no, the police aren't after you. No one's after you. You're fine." The two men stare at each other for a minute, Heath going for his phone. "If you don't believe me, I can show you video of it on Youtube or something. But I wouldn't lie or lead you on about somethin' like this."

Wade holds a hand up as the tension drains from his body slowly. "I believe you," he sighs. As he sags onto the edge of the bed, Heath settling in next to him, he chuckles derisively. "I just ran around in the cold for hours in my wrestling gear for nothing..."

Heath laughs too, patting him on the shoulder, startled at the cold from his body still seeping through his clothes. "Damn, man. You should probably go get a shower. There should be some hot water left for ya."

Wade makes a face, trying to hold back a shiver. "There better be, Slater." He stands, marching towards the bathroom while peeling off his shirt. As Heath rolls off of Wade's bed and drops down onto his own, Wade watches from the doorway with an exasperated smirk. "Hey, Heath?"

"Yeah?" he asks, not moving from where he's sprawled out upon the sheets.


Raising a hand, Heath waves him off. "Sure, man. You're welcome. Now go get warmed up so I don't have to listen to your insomniac ass shivering all night long."

As if he hears anything, the way he snores, the Brit thinks as he ducks into the bathroom.