How About We Just Start Over?

A/N: **Originally posted on October 1st, 2017 on AO3** Because of my excitement for The Last Jedi, and because I just watched Rogue One, AND because of my ongoing Ambrollins craze, here's the WWE Star Wars crossover nobody wanted. Just something running through my mind. {Note: Hux (Seth) never saw Kylo's (Dean's) face during a meeting with Snoke. Also, I've left backstory details purposely vague and unclear because I didn't think all of this through and insert wrestlers for Star Wars characters.} Enjoy! :)

General Seth Rollins let out a sigh of frustration, sweeping his bi-colored hair out of his eyes with a gloved hand. He was absolutely exhausted after the consecutive meetings held throughout his last two shifts and damage reports about yet another destroyed console coming in on his datapad. He swore that Jon Moxley wouldn't hear the end of it from him this time. Too many credits from the First Order's budget were being spent on his little temper tantrums, and Seth was sick of it. He'd worked too hard his entire career to let some lowlife, non-human pain in his ass push him over the edge though. No, not even the destruction of his beloved Starkiller would throw him off, at least, not too much. Letting out a resigned, harsh breath, he marched off the bridge towards one of the lower-mid decks, dark cape billowing out behind him. Just when stargazing had begun to calm him down, too.

"Everything alright, Rollins?" came a warped voice to his right. Seth glanced over to see Captain Reigns walking by his side, helmet on, but voice no less concerned sounding through it.

"No, not really," he gritted out. "I am done putting up with Moxley's destructive behavior. This is the second-" A ping from his datapad interrupted him as yet another damage report came in. "-Aargh!- third damage report today! I don't care if he just got out of the medbay, I'm going to-!"

"Easy now," Reigns told him in his usual brotherly tone. "Look, whatever he destroyed, our technicians can fix it. It's within our price range and it's nothing on a major scale. Just relax." It always surprised him how soothing the captain could be during moments like this.

"But-" he attempted feebly, even though he already knew he'd lost this fight.

"Ah ah! No buts. Just head for your quarters and let me cover the rest of your shift on the bridge, okay?" The captain had noticed the dark, but cleverly concealed, bags under the general's eyes, the lack of energy in his normally precise, brisk movements, the usual shine in his comrade's eyes. It was the least he could do. Seth seemed reluctant, but he could tell the younger man was grateful.

"Thanks. I owe you."

"The only thing you owe me is you getting a decent night of sleep." With that, the black chromium clad soldier made his way back to the bridge. Seth commed in that he'd be in his quarters working on classified matters should anyone need him. He decided, however, to make a quick stop somewhere else first. Continuing on his route towards the middle of his ship, he planned on confronting Moxley, or at least throwing a snide remark at him, before collapsing in his quarters.

At least, that was the plan.

Seth stopped in front of the door to a control room, full of consoles that controlled trivial things, like temperatures in the lower deck rec rooms. Sparks flew across the polished floor and what used to be consoles were slashed and melted chunks of wiring and metal. Standing amidst the carnage, breathing heavily, shoulders rising and falling rapidly, was none other than Jon Moxley himself. Sans robes, his black protective vest, hooded, long-sleeved undershirt, pants, and combat boots were visible. Something was different though. He stood there, red crossguard saber humming in the otherwise quiet room, hood down, mask nowhere to be seen. 'It must've been destroyed on Starkiller,' he thought. That wasn't what caught his attention though.

Light brown curls sat atop his head, and the image struck a chord within Seth. They were deathly familiar, as if from a forgotten childhood. His breath caught in his throat. At the sound, Moxley went silent, face turning ninety degrees to his right. In the dim lighting, it was illuminated in shadow, but there was one thing Seth could confirm: Jon Moxley was human. He'd suspected as much, but had never been one hundred percent sure until that very moment. The surprise must have shown on his face, because Moxley threw his arm back, palmed curled at the door, which promptly slammed shut in his face. Without further thought, he proceeded to head back up to his quarters, promising to leave his confused thoughts for another day.

XxX

This had to stop. Seth rubbed at his temple, irked. Several stormtroopers had been sent to the med bay the previous night with burn marks and damage to their necks and throats, about a week after his discovery about Moxley. The man in question was currently wreaking havoc on the deck below him if the security footage feeding through his datapad was any indication. He was sitting at his desk in his quarters; a cup of untouched caf was placed in front of him, next to the current First Order budget he'd been working on for the past few days. His datapad sat propped up against the wall near the back of his desk, the knight gracefully yet wildly swinging and arching his lightsaber around. Though it was late, and he had just been about to turn in for bed, he got up and walked to his door. Might as well deal with that now, before things got worse.

With slightly (immensely) hurried steps, Seth made it down to the deck below in record time, awkward looks from 'troopers be damned. A sealed security door kept him from Moxley, whose destruction could be heard reverberating through the hallway. Keying in his override code, the doors slid open easily enough. He took one step forward before freezing in place. In casual wear (shorts, a regulation t-shirt, and some rather comfortable looking workout shoes specifically) was Jon Moxley, who gave one last graceful swing of his saber to an unrecognizable piece of machinery on one side of the room. Messy light brown curls, light skin, and, when he turned to face him, a pair of fierce electric blue eyes. The general felt all the breath leave him as he took in the all too familiar face, new scar and all.

"What," he growled, panting, "the Hell do you want, Rollins?" The angry expression faltered as he took in Seth's dress: grey sweatpants and a regulation t-shirt, plain socks, black glasses that sat a little low on his nose. The general's hair was thrown into a messy bun and his eyes were blown wide in recognition. That raspy voice couldn't belong to anyone else. He gulped, took a deep breath.

"Dean," he answered simply. Dean deactivated his lightsaber, slipping it into the pocket of his shorts before meeting Seth's eyes uncertainly. "Dean Ambrose, my Dean Ambrose… It's really you." As Seth took a step forward, Dean took a step back, feeling trapped in the suddenly small room. He stopped when they were about a foot apart, Dean's back now against the wall. "I…" he tried to say, feeling the words lodge in his throat. "I saw them take you. The Resistance, they stormed the academy on Arkanis, took you away from me… I thought I'd never see you again." His voice shook with years of pent up emotion, all the hurt, anger, and despair. Dean sighed.

"It was more me transferring schools than a kidnapping really. My uncle's academy was where they put me, my parents. Snoke gave me a plan to escape and an opportunity at continuing my true family's legacy through the Force; I took it." He gestured around him. "Here I am. Haven't looked back since." Though he was still breathing a little quicker than normal, his anger had faded to nonchalance. For some reason, that ticked Seth off.

"For five years, five years, we've worked together on this ship, and only now do I really know who you are. Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?" It was Dean's turn to be miffed.

"Do you feel like someone stabbed you in the back to please daddy dearest, to please the higher ups because they "had to?" Does it feel like there's a chunk of your heart missing, like the air isn't breathable, like the whole galaxy will burst into flames and burn down because your whole world betrayed you?"

"That was years ago-"

"And I forgave you, only for you to abandon me and help Roman as opposed to rescuing your boyfriend!"

"We would've all three died!" Seth shouted back. "I knew you could take care of yourself if something happened!" He lowered his voice, tone less frustrated. "Even if I had tried to help you, I would've been shot and Roman would've bled out on the tile floor of the lobby." He looked away, eyes starting to water. "Do you know how many sleepless nights I had, still have, reliving that night, that moment, that choice? I hated myself for years, still do, actually. All I've thought about all these years was that when we saw each other again, whether it be by some miracle on a First Order controlled planet, or the afterlife, I'd find a way to make it up to you." He was surprised to feel a pair of hands gently cup his face, turning his head to look at Dean again.

"Hey," he murmured quietly, "who says you can't start doing that now?" Seth gave a shy smile that Dean returned, dimples making an appearance and pulling a content laugh out of the two-toned man. Without another thought, they both closed the distance between them, engaging in a short, soft kiss that left them wanting much more. "I missed you," Dean admitted, wrapping his arms around Seth in a secure embrace.

"I missed you, too," Seth replied, returning the embrace. They stayed like that for a minute, letting the whole situation sink in before another presence entered the room.

"Am I interrupting something?" Roman appeared in the doorway, dressed similar to Seth, blaster hung by his hip. He took in the carnage of the room, then turned his attention to his two best friends/brothers. He stared coldly and suspiciously at Dean until something in his mind clicked, and recognition and warmth flooded his eyes. "Hey, Dean," he mumbled happily. Dean threw him a friendly smirk.

"Hey, Ro." He extended an arm out in invitation. Pretending it bothered him, Roman dramatically joined the hug, shaking his head.

"How about we just start over?" Seth suggested. It had, after all, been over a decade since they'd all three interacted like this. They could learn about each other all over again. He could make best friends all over again, fall in love all over again.

"I'm game if you two are," Dean responded. Roman nodded.

"I'd like that," he told them. They separated, Dean and Seth sharing one last kiss before the three of them went their separate ways. That report could always wait until tomorrow anyways.

Closing A/N: Random ramblings about our SHIELD boys in space. With lightsabers. And issues. Yeah…