AU: I've been kicking this around since Elimination Chamber and only just now got around to writing it. This will jump around a fair bit during this set up chapter, but it'll settle down as we get cracking. Slash and violence and all the usual warnings apply. Enjoy.

By and Down
I. Elimination Chamber

"Poor lost little lamb," Bray Wyatt whispered to the limp man in his arms.

Where it had been the two of them surrounded by thousand and thousands of roaring voices, they'd not battled their way into a secluded dark corner of the arena, well off the main track and nowhere near anyone.

Dean Ambrose blinked blearily up at him.

Wyatt smiled gently at him and said, "Your boys are holding you back, child. Acting like you're the problem. Telling you what you can and can't do. Not letting you let out all that anger you got in you. They tell you it's 'cuz they love you - oh, I know all about the things you men do behind closed doors - but it's 'cuz they're afraid. They beat you down and keep you on that leash they call love 'cuz they don't want to admit they're afraid you're going to get out and show them up - outshine them."

"Fuck you," Ambrose muttered, and, to Wyatt's unending amusement, he tried to escape. Weakly, though, hands flailing and punches that fell wide of the mark. The blow he'd taken to the back of the head left him as uncoordinated as a newborn foal. "Fuck you."

Wyatt kissed his forehead. "We'll talk later, little lamb. I've got to get to my boys."

And with that, he twisted.

Sister Abigail onto a concrete floor in a hidden corner of the arena.

There was a brisk, flat smack as Ambrose hit the ground full-force, and then the man who couldn't stand still to save his life lay unmoving at Bray Wyatt's feet.

This, Wyatt thought, chuckling softly as he turned to make his way back to the fight, was going to be fun.

xXx

As the Wyatts circled around Seth like buzzards circling carion, he looked around desperately for an escape.

For help.

Roman was crumpled like a wadded paper towel in the ring, clutching his ribs and groaning.

Dean was - where?

He'd disappeared into the crowd with Wyatt, last Seth saw.

Here was Wyatt, but where the fuck was Ambrose?

The Wyatts closed in, and Seth fought them off best he could, but there were three of them and one of him - an irony not lost on him, even as he took a foot to the gut and someone grabbed his hair and rammed into the ring apron - and as Harper and Rowan picked him up to slam him down him onto the Spanish announce table, Seth braced himself.

No help was coming, and oh fuck, this was going to hurt.

He flew.

Crashed down.

Blackout.

xXx

Roman didn't have time to look for help once Seth went down.

Three on one.

Fight of his life, and for one shining, desperate moment, he thought he had it.

Superman flying high, throwing punches with a kind of adrenaline-fueled desperation that made it feel like the whole world was shaking when he landed.

The crowd roared its support. He could feel them with him, leaning forward in their collective seats as they urged him on.

Ro-man Reigns!

But Superman met Kryptonite in the form of a big boot driving all the air out of his lungs again, and this time, he didn't have the strength left in him to break out of Wyatt's grasp.

Hot wash of rank breath on his face, and then everything was a blur as he felt himself smashed onto the canvas face-first.

This time the roaring in his ears was only blood.

And everything went gray.

xXx

On the way up the ramp, Bray Wyatt turned to his victorious boys and said, quietly, "Go and grab Ambrose's things outta their locker room. Quickly now, and make sure no one sees you. Take 'em to the truck."

Harper eyed him curiously. "We takin' him with us after all?"

Wyatt shook his head. "Just his things. You'll see. Now you boys run along. I'm going to finish dealing with him. I'll meet you back at the trainer's area when I'm done."

xXx

Because they still worked for the Authority, the Shield boys had their own private locker room down the same private hall where Orton and company had theirs.

No one was around.

For Luke Harper and Erick Rowan, getting into the Shield's locker room unseen was didn't require anything more than opening a door and stepping inside.

xXx

Getting out was another story, but they didn't see the man watching them carry Ambrose's things away.

xXx

William Regal had been on his way up to rub a little salt on the wound.

Like everyone else these past months, he'd been watching the Shield's slow implosion with baited breath.

Roman Reigns poised to break out, Seth Rollins right behind him, and Dean Ambrose the jealous weak link so far behind and beneath the other two it was utterly laughable.

Oh, he supposed going to up to mock Ambrose while he was down was petty, but even two years later, Regal still checked the corners to make sure that rotten bastard wasn't skulking about.

His equilibrium had never been the same since, either; that blow to the ear and subsequent damage made him get dizzy just standing up too fast.

Nearly ended his career.

He could never resist needling the man for his failures - of which, lately, it seemed there was nothing but.

But when he saw the two strapping Wyatt lads - Harper and Rowan - skulking away from the locker room the Authority had given the Shield with what looked like Ambrose's luggage (Regal thought he recognized the camouflaged backpack and the black case Ambrosed used to carry his title), he made a quick detour around a corner to keep from being seen.

Once they were gone, he made his way up to the Shield's locker room, curiosity overriding his better judgment.

What on Earth were they doing in there?

On finding the room empty other than Reigns' and Rollins' things, Regal hurried off to track where Harper and Rowan were headed.

He kept his distance and watched from a shadow-tucked corner as the pair left the building.

Outside, he watched from behind a big rubbish bin as they carried the suitcase and backpack to the battered old truck they drove venue to venue.

He nipped over once they went back inside and peered into one of the dirty rear windows.

Nothing in there but luggage scattered carelessly across the back seat.

He couldn't distinguish Ambrose's things from the mess.

Nor was there any sign of Ambrose himself.

Interesting, that.

xXx

Roman wasn't injured, but the trainers wanted to check Seth out once they'd pulled him out of the table wreckage and got him into the back.

Seth told a worried-looking Roman to go find out where the hell Ambrose went.

After that, he closed his eyes against the sterile white light overhead and laid back to let the docs do their thing.

Thirty minutes later, Roman came back into the trainers' area still in his sweat-soaked ring gear and frowning deep enough to cut lines across his forehead.

"His stuff's gone," he said, pushing his hair back off his face. "I checked around, even went outside and looked in Wyatt's truck, and I didn't see anything. Nothing in our car. I tried calling him, too, but no answer. Nobody saw him leave, but nobody's seen him around."

Seth, trying to hold still so the docs could finish stitching up a nasty cut on his back, frowned. "So, what are we thinking? He just bailed on us?"

"I don't know. I hope not, but, man, I hope nothing happened. I'll keep looking."

"Yeah, call him again. Shoot him a text or something."

"Oh, look," a mocking voice drawled from the doorway behind them, "the bits and pieces of the Shield. All the kings horses and all the kings men, tryin' to patch 'em back together again."

Roman tensed.

"Hey!" one of the docs snapped. "Get the hell out of here, Wyatt. Take your goons with you."

Seth looked around him at Wyatt, slouched insolently against the doorframe, hat low over his eyes, slanted grin visible even through the layers of beard.

Behind him, Harper and Rowan stood like a couple of ugly mongrel watchdogs, Rowan in his battered sheep's mask and Harper bug-eyed and smug.

"Go," the doc snapped again, a restraining hand on the back of Seth's shoulder to keep him from moving.

Wyatt said, "Oh, now, Doctor, there's no need for that. We're not here to cause a fuss. We only wanted to congratulate these boys on a battle hard-fought." He made a show of looking around. "Seems you're missing one, though."

Roman took a step forward, puffed-chested and glaring daggers. "What did you do with him, Wyatt?"

"Why, I showed him Sister Abigail's true face," Wyatt said, "and it shook him to his very core. He ran like the scared little boy we all know he really is. I let him go."

Harper's grin revealed a mouthful of crooked teeth. "Turns out your boy's blood runs piss yellow."

Another step forward, and Roman grabbed hold of Wyatt's flowered shirt and used to slam Wyatt back against the doorframe. Roman's nostrils were flaring like a charging bull's. "You got exactly five seconds to tell me what you did with him."

Rowan and Harper tried to move in, but Wyatt held up a hand. "I already told you. He ran off. Seemed to be in an awful hurry to get up to your locker room. White as sheet, he was, and runnin' like very hounds of hell were nippin' at his heels. She frightened him into revealing his true colors."

"Piss yellow," Harper said again.

Roman slammed Wyatt back. "Bullshit."

"Believe," Wyatt said, pushing Roman's hands away, "or don't. We just came to wish y'all a good night." He looked around at Seth, smiled again, and said, "I'm sure we'll be doin' this again real soon. 'Til then…"

With that, he turned to lead Harper and Rowan away.

Roman flicked his hair back again and turned. "What the hell was that?"

Seth lowered his head back onto his forearms as the docs continued their work. "No idea, man."

xXx

They were up in their private little locker room - not much bigger than a coat closet, really, but it did have a shower, at least - getting changed and trying to figure out what the fuck they were going to do when their phones both buzzed.

Roman, his shirt still off, got to his first. "It's Dean," he said, squinting down at his screen. "Sent a text."

Seth tugged his shirt on and snatched up his phone off his bag.

I had to leave, Dean's text read. Don't want to talk. On my wayto GB. See you at the arena tomorrow.

Relieved and annoyed all at once, Seth flipped his hair out of his face and tapped out, Not coming to the hotel?

No, came the reply. Want to be alone. You guys ok?

No. I went thru a table n Roman got pinned. U left us hanging asshole.

It was a long time before Dean answered. Sorry. Had to leave. Wyatt fucked with my head bad.

"The fuck does that mean?" Roman asked. He'd stood up so he could read over Seth's shoulder.

Sounded about as pissed off as Seth suddenly felt.

"I don't know, man," he said. The phone made furious little clicks as he typed. Don't care. We needed u and u weren't there. WTF?

Talk tomorrow, Dean finally texted back.

You fucking better.

This time there was no answer.

xXx

Ten miles up the road from the arena where they'd won their war, Bray Wyatt laughed to himself as he tossed Ambrose's cell phone back into the backpack he'd pulled it out of.

That had been more fun than he'd expected, fooling those two.

Easier than he expected, too.

Harper, wedged behind the wheel as always, glanced over. "Where did you leave him?"

"Oh, somewhere he'll be found," Wyatt said vaguely. "Not by them, of course, but he'll be found. Eventually." He settled back in his seat to watch the road unfold itself ahead of them. He swore it was Abigail herself, holding open her hand to guide the way. "We'll take Rollins next, and Reigns last. I'll leave it to you boys to decide which of you gets which."

"You don't want them?"

"They're all yours."

He'd had his fill tonight; there was no need to be greedy.

Content, and with Abigail singing sweetly to him, he looked out at the night once more.

xXx

Furious, Seth flung his phone into his bag. "That fucking asshole really did it. He fucking walked out on us in the middle of a match." He watched Roman walk around and hunker down in front of him so they were eye level. "I don't believe this."

"The way Wyatt seems to be able to get to him, is it really that surprising?" Roman's big hands hands found their way to Seth's knees. "Thought we had all that 'weak link' crap squashed after Punk left, but that errand boy shit - man, you knew that was gonna stick. Not that that's any excuse."

"No, but still," Seth said. "He better have a better fucking reason than that."

"Yeah," Roman said. "You don't abandon your team in the middle of a fight no matter what."

"Especially when it's us." Seth rolled his neck gingerly and winced. "Fucking Wyatts."

"He didn't have to listen to them."

"I know."

"He walked, man."

"I know."

The problem ran deeper than just Dean's habit of letting people like Bray Wyatt get into his head, though, and they both knew it.

Those damn cracks in the Shield's foundation were getting harder and harder to ignore.

But that didn't mean they couldn't try.

Impulsively, surprising even himself, Seth lunged forward, took hold of Roman's bare shoulders, and dragged him in for a hard, long kiss.

He was fucking sore, fucking pissed off, and just not in the mood for anything that required thought.

Not now.

He'd been trying for months to keep this shit together, but every time it seemed like they had one crack patched, another one opened up wide, and he was fucking tired of all of it.

So he kissed Roman like it was the last fucking time they'd ever have a chance to, one hand tangling in Roman's shower-damp hair and the other sliding down Roman's chest, tongues and lips sliding together fast and furious, needing and fucking desperate and not giving a fuck if somebody walked in.

By this point, only a blind and deaf man wouldn't have known they were fucking.

When Seth pulled back, gasping, Roman smiled and turned slightly dazed eyes on him. "What was that for?"

"We needed it," Seth said, wiping his mouth. He stood up. "I don't want to drive tonight. Let's get just get a hotel and stay here. I don't want to deal with any of this shit tonight - Ambrose, the Wyatts, the match, any of it. I just don't."

Roman climbed to his feet "So don't, then. We can get a room. I got no problem with that. Anything else you need? Because, uh, just so happens I'm in a pretty damn giving mood right now."

"A back massage, you to fuck me 'til I can't remember my name, and a good night's sleep."

"Long as you remember my name, baby."

"Always."

"Then I think I can help you with a couple of those."

Seth narrowed eyes at him. "What about you? You need anything?"

"Besides you?" Roman shrugged and grabbed his shirt. "Nah. I think I'm good."

"Fucking sap," Seth said, but for the first time in two hours, he found a smile.

Not much, but it was a start.

xXx

It didn't even occur to Regal to let Reigns and Rollins know that the Wyatts had Ambrose's luggage.

Or perhaps he just didn't want to - the old villain in him too keen to watch this whole thing explode into disaster to bother with all that.

That, and he got a bit lost down in the infernal maze that was the arena's criss-crossing hallways as he tried to find Ambrose himself. Not worth the bother of trying to find his way back out just to go find them because he'd never find his way back down where he was.

He'd overheard - eavesdropped on - Wyatt's conversation with Rollins and Reigns about Ambrose running, and had slipped off to watch for the Wyatts to leave.

The hairy trio had left alone.

Instinct told Regal Ambrose was still in the building somewhere.

As he'd gone down to look, Regal supposed he probably should let someone know, but there was always a chance that he was wrong or that it would get back to the Wyatts that he'd been eavesdropping on them - neither of which was a particularly appealing prospect.

And, really, he wanted to be the one to find Ambrose.

If only so he could laugh at the foolish boy for letting himself be so easily manipulated.

Again.

Bit disappointing that, he mused as he turned down one narrow, out-of-the-way hallway.

Bloody boy hadn't learned a thing about how to guard himself against people trying to pluck his strings.

Regal rounded another corner, and pulled to a sudden, startled stop.

There was Ambrose, a huddled figure down in a dark corner.

He was on his knees, hands cuffed together behind him and the cuffs themselves attached to the wall somehow, what looked like half a roll of black trainer's tape over his mouth, his head down and his shaggy hair a wild mess.

There was a small silver chain that had two keys on it hung around his neck, too.

The part that had Regal's mouth twitching was the fact that Ambrose was almost completely naked.

He had his shirt on and nothing else.

The rest had been tossed into a pile beside him.

He honestly looked like someone who'd had a nasty rib played on him, and Regal finally lost the war against the laughter that wanted to bubble out. "Well, well, well," he said, chuckling as he made his way down the hall, "what on Earth have you got yourself into now?"

No answer, of course, not that Regal expected anyway, but it did strike him as a bit odd how Ambrose didn't even look a fuck you his way.

There were twin hard spots of color in Ambrose's cheeks, dark and angry red.

Regal stopped laughing all at once: faint smell of sex in the air, underpinned by something vaguely metallic.

Blood.

A thin trail of it down the back of Ambrose's leg.

There was also a damp white stain on the wrinkled back of Ambrose's black shirt.

Suddenly there was nothing in Regal but a cold, swooping anger.

He crouched down in front of Ambrose, took the man's unshaven, overheated face between two hands, and turned it up to force eye contact.

Bright blue eyes full of shame and anger looked back at him.

Two very old, familiar acquaintances of Regal's, shame and anger, and he sighed. Rolled the ball of his thumb just once over Ambrose's cheekbone.

"What have you gotten yourself into, lad?"

Once again, nothing.

Regal reached for the tape and got to work letting Ambrose loose.

xXx

A/N: Thanks for reading.