Summary: When Dean Ambrose snaps and puts a beat down on his two Shield brothers—Roman Reigns, and Y/N's older brother, Seth Rollins—Y/N is appalled and heartbroken. Dean, the man she'd come to love, was not the man she thought he was. She had only seen the kind of hatred Dean had exhibited, during her childhood. Hers and Seth's father had been a monster—abusing the both of them. Physically and emotionally. It was a miracle they'd both survived it.

Y/N could not go through it again. When Dean gives her a heated and rather steamy kiss, and stalks away, she thought he was done with the Shield, the WWE—and her. And so did Dean. Until the night Y/N is brutally attacked and left for dead. When Dean comes to her rescue and whisks her away against her will, a secret she'd been keeping from him is no longer able to stay hidden.

Dean plans to leave everything behind when his past threatens to destroy his future. Indulging himself one last time with a goodbye kiss to Y/N's mouth, he storms away from her and out of the arena. While getting his things together, he receives an anonymous phone call.

"Pretty girl you had back at the arena. Hope you both enjoyed that kiss. Gonna be her last."

By the time he finds her, Y/N is nearly at death's door. With no time to think, and no time to plan, Dean has no choice but to kidnap her himself—for her own good, and nurse her back to health.

And then? The bastards who hurt her are going to pay.

Disclaimers: I own nothing or anyone associated or affiliated with WWE. I own only the original characters. This is just a fictional story that came from my imagination. This story contains various scenes that are for people 18+ years of age ONLY. Chapters containing these scenes will be marked NSFW.

Chapter Content & Trigger Warnings: Language, sexual situations

Chapter 1

You sat on the sofa in your dressing room watching the end of the night's show, your breath coming and going in shallow respirations. Your arms were wrapped around your torso, locked in place. Noticing you were rocking slightly from side to side, you stilled yourself; desperate to not resort to old childhood habits. You shook your head, rose to your feet and proceeded to pace across your dressing room. God, its so freaking cold, you thought, rubbing your hands together, trying desperately to warm them up. You couldn't put an exact name on what it was you were feeling—you were feeling so many things at once—but none of those feelings were good.

Although you had started out ecstatic as you watched your older brother and Dean Ambrose hold up the WWE Tag Team Titles in celebration of their victory, that happiness quickly got shot down when Dean kicked Seth in the gut and then hit Dirty Deeds on him.

And then Dean, the man you loved with all your heart, proceeded to beat the hell out of your brother.

You glanced over at the television again and saw Roman running to the ring. You exhaled sharply, and some of your raw nerves dissipated. Ro will take care of this—he is the peace keeper. He will talk some sense into Dean and everything will be ok- Your thoughts were cut short as you watched Dean throw a hard right hook at Roman's head.

"What is wrong with him," you thought out loud. Your panicked breathing returned with a vengeance. "This isn't part of the story line! It's not even close!"

You felt an almost unbearable urge to run down to the ring. The script had been tossed out the window obviously. What would it hurt, you wondered. I might be able to get Dean to calm down, to think about what he is doing. Even as you thought the ridiculous plan through, your hand absent-mindedly drifted down to your slightly rounded stomach and remained there, giving it a loving pat. "No, I can't. I cant take a chance on something happening. Seth and Ro will have to handle this." You felt guilty for not even attempting to help your brother and close friend, but you could not risk the welfare of the little life growing inside you.

You turned off the television, unable to watch any more. You sat down again trying to think of a risk-free way to help Seth and Roman.

"I could wait on Dean in his dressing room and talk to him there. He will have calmed enough by then, surely," you muttered to yourself. "I just can't... I can't not do something."

Your mind made up, you rose from the sofa again, left your dressing room and headed strait for Dean's. Your mind raced all over the place as you stalked down the hallway and turned the corner. You passed a couple more doors before you reached the one that had "The Shield" taped across it. Not bothering to knock, you walked in and immediately noticed that something wasn't right. You could see a few of Seth's things and some of Roman's things tossed carelessly around the room. Which was the normal part. The guys tended to do that during a show, and then would scramble about packing up their stuff in a hurry to get on the road or to the hotel they were staying at.

But what caught your eye, was that in one corner of the room, a rolling suitcase stood with Dean's jacket neatly folded and draped over it. None of his things were out of place.

And that... That was the weird part.

Dean was the messiest one out of the Shield. He was always the first to throw his stuff around and the last to tidy up.

"He's ready to get out of here in a hurry," you realized out loud. You sighed and rubbed at your temples. What is going on with him, you wondered. How long has he been planning this?

You thought back to a few months prior. Dean had become different. Quieter. He seemed worried about something. He wasn't the fun-loving Dean you knew him to be anymore. When you confronted him with it at your house one night, he wouldn't talk about it. Instead, he clammed up. Then at your persistence, he'd grown frustrated and latched onto your arms. You had a brief moment of fear before his mouth crashed against yours. And then you were in heaven. You never got him to talk about what was bothering him. You'd both been too busy ripping at each other's clothing stumbling to your bed and having endless sex over the next few hours.

You were happy then. Maybe, just maybe, that's why Dean has been so distant and moody, you thought. He has feelings for me and didn't know how to act on them. Probably because of Seth.

Yes, you were happy. At least you were until the proverbial morning after.

You woke that morning to bright sunlight filtering through your windows. As you turned on your side to avoid said offensive daylight, you found that Dean was lying beside you still, awake—seemingly deep in thought. You leaned over to kiss him, but he pulled away from you. He quickly sat up, then got out of the bed, and wordlessly began yanking on his clothes that were scattered about the floor of your bedroom.

"Dean, what is it," you'd asked, sitting up in the bed and holding the sheet up over your chest to hide your nakedness. Why you bothered, you weren't sure. It was just still so surreal to realize that you and Dean had spent the entire night having sex. "What's wrong?" You were dreading his reply. It wasn't going to be good. At all. You could feel it.

"This was a mistake," he drawled, his back turned to you. His voice seemed even more gravelly so early in the morning.

Your breath whooshed out of you. That's what you were afraid of. You had to save face. You had to preserve your friendship.

"I know," you said softly. No it wasn't, you wanted to scream instead. You stood with the sheet wrapped around you, and forced a false brightness to your voice. "Let's just pretend it didn't happen. You go on ahead and go do what you have to do to get ready for the next show. Pack or whatever. I will catch up with you and Seth and Ro later."

And then you had moved past him without sparing him a glance, and entered your bathroom, clicking the door shut behind you. You'd gotten in the shower and silently cried your eyes out until the water ran cold.

Four months later, here you were. Still not knowing what was wrong with Dean. Pregnant with his child. You had no idea how to tell him. Will he get even angrier? Will he get violent with me? Normally, you would have rolled your eyes at such a question. But, after what you just witnessed, you had to wonder. Not to mention the abusive childhood you and Seth suffered. You couldn't handle going through any of it again.

"Y/N... What'cha doin' in here?"

With a sharp gasp, you spun around; saw Dean watching you. Noticed how he kept stepping closer to you. He was shirtless and sweaty and the sight did things to your body you would rather ignore. You inched backward as he continued to advance on you. The way he moved, paced and stalked reminded you of your father even though it was hard to imagine Dean hurting you. "I-I... I want to know..." You took a deep breath and stepped back once more—bumped into the wall behind you. Dean followed you, staring intently at your face. And then he had you caged against the wall with his muscled arms.

"What, Y/N?" He demanded softly. His blue eyes bored into yours; held your gaze captive.

"Why... Why are you doing this? Why are you angry at Seth and Roman? At me?" The questions flooded from your mouth and you couldn't stop them. "What did we do-"

You got no further because his mouth was on yours. Again. He drove his tongue past your lips, with no care to whether you wanted the kiss, or not.

But of course you did. You could not, and would not deny him anything. He growled low in his throat as he kissed you and pressed you further into the wall behind you. You couldn't stop him. Not even if you wanted to. You whimpered into his mouth, then moaned. Your arms moved upward to wrap around his neck as his took hold of your hips—tugged you closer against him. He was hard already, you could feel. His denim-clad erection pressed against the lower part of your stomach. "Shit," he whispered against your lips and snagged both your wrists with one of his large hands, pinning them to the wall above your head. "What did you do?" His raspy voice taunted. "You went and made me want you so fuckin' bad you're all I can think about. It's agony. I can't stand it!" His lips traveled down your neck as you struggled to free your hands—not in fear, but in the desire to touch him as well. But he had a death grip on your wrists. You weren't going anywhere. His free hand went around your throat, but didn't squeeze. He just held you in place while his mouth assaulted yours. Not that you minded, of course.

"Dean..." you panted his name in between his bruising kisses. "Dean, please..."

"What is it, Y/N?" His thumb stroked lightly over your pulse. You couldn't stop the shudder that rippled through your body. Then his fingers brushed over your swollen lips. "Ya want more?" At your shaken nod, he grinned and his beyond sexy dimples appeared in his cheeks despite the full beard he had grown out. He moved his face closer to yours. "You want me to fuck you like I did that night, Doll? Make you scream my name again? And again?"

Tears burned your eyes, because he was mocking you. You could see it on his face, in his demeanor—his crude choice of words. You sobbed, humiliated and helpless. You loved him, despite his cruelty. "Y-yes."

If you didn't know any better, you thought you could see his gaze light up in surprise—just a fraction. He quickly recovered however, and smirked at you. He kept your hands pinned above your head as he leaned down, nibbled at your neck. "Tell me. Wanna hear ya say it." His free hand shifted down between your legs, cupping your sex. "Who does this belong to?" You gasped at the sudden sexual contact; your pregnancy hormones wreaking havoc on your libido. A soft cry passed your lips and your hips rolled against his hand. Dean groaned in your ear, a tortured sound. "Tell me. Now, damn it."

"You," you panted nervously, struggling to keep your gaze on his. "I belong to you."

Surprise did register on his face then. He didn't, or couldn't hide it.

"The hell?" He was clearly baffled. The grip he had on your wrists slipped a tiny bit.

"I love you, Dean," you whispered. A tear finally spilled down your cheek. "I love you, so much."

The light left his eyes. His face went blank. He released you and stepped away. "You don't even know me, Y/N."

"Yes, I do," you protested. You approached him again—touched his arm tenderly. "There is so much more to you than..." You motioned with your head in the direction of the ring. "Than that. I've seen it. You've shown me-"

"NO!"

His roar startled you. Very much. You stumbled back away from him, collided into the front panel of the sofa arm.

"How the hell can you say that," he demanded. "I haven't shown you anything but a good fuck session!" He reached out in his anger and flipped the little end table next to the couch. The lamp went crashing to the floor, right in front of your feet.

"You stupid little BITCH!"

You could hear your father's voice clear as a bell.

"If you break one more thing in this house, I will kill you!"

You could feel the sting of his slap next.

"Daddy... No..." you sobbed. Your legs buckled, and you slid down to the floor; hugged your knees. Rocked forward and backward. "Please, don't hurt me, Daddy..."

You didn't see Dean's wide, shocked eyes. Didn't see him back up as if he'd been struck himself. Didn't hear him utter a soft: "No. No. Sonofabitch..." And you didn't see him turn, grab his suitcase and jacket, and leave; hurrying away from you and the fear he'd triggered.

You had no idea how much time had passed. It could have been only minutes. It could have been an hour. You became aware of the sound of glass crunching under feet. Male voices cursing up a storm. Warm hands on your face, gently tapping your cheeks.

"Baby girl... Come on. Snap out of it."

Ro, you thought, your mind still a little hazy.

"What's wrong with her? Why does she keep saying "Daddy" over and over?"

"Our dad was abusive," came Seth's voice next. He sounded uncomfortable as he explained your pasts to Roman. "She's having a flashback. Kiddo? Y/N? You're okay, I promise. You're safe. The old bastard can't hurt you anymore. He's dead. Remember, honey?"

Slowly, you came back to yourself and saw Seth and Roman crouched down in front of you, concern etched across their faces.

"Did he hit you," Seth demanded, tilting your chin up with his hand. "Did Ambrose put his hands on you?"

You shook your head, still in a daze somewhat. "No." Not like you're thinking, anyway. You let the two men help you to your feet and leaned into Seth a moment, trying to gain control over your shaky legs. "No, he just got angry. Flipped that table," you said, indicating the over-turned end-table and broken lamp. "The lamp shattered, and brought back an old memory. That's all."

"That's all?" Roman spoke up next. "That sounds pretty violent to me. Considering you're-"

"What? A woman," you tried to tease him, get things back to normal.

"Well, yeah," Roman replied, his onyx-colored eyes flashing. Obviously, it was going to take more than your feeble attempt at a joke to get him to lighten up. "That and the fact that you are so much smaller than any of us. He had to know better."

"Are you guys okay?" You reached up and turned Seth's face to get a better look at the black eye he was sporting. You noted Romans split lip.

"We're fine," Seth replied, pulling you into a hug. "Just glad you're okay."

You nodded. "I'm going to go get my stuff together and get home," you said, grateful that the show had been in your hometown that night. After the evening you'd had, you needed a night's sleep in your own bed. "I'll see you guys in Atlanta."

"Let me walk you back to your dressing room," Roman suggested. Only you had a feeling it wasn't really a mere suggestion. "Just in case, okay?"

You nodded, and allowed him to lead you out into the hallway. You'd walked almost half the distance before Roman spoke again. "The baby okay? Dean really didn't hurt you?"

You glanced around, making sure no one was within ear shot. Roman was the only person you'd told about the baby. Well, except for the McMahons and Hunter. You had no choice but to tell them so you wouldn't be put in any matches. They had all helped come up with the fake "weight-lifting/back injury" off screen, so that nobody would suspect anything more than that. You knew you'd have to divulge the info to everyone sooner or later, but you were opting for later.

"He didn't hurt me—physically," you replied softly. You left out the fact that you had started to wonder if he would however. "Don't worry, Ro. I'm fine. The baby is fine."

You'd reached your dressing room door then, and you both saw Stephanie McMahon hurrying in your direction. "There you are," she exclaimed. "Are you okay," she asked Roman. "Where's Seth?" Her gaze shifted over to you then. "Are you okay?" She quietened her voice considerably. "The baby?"

You nodded.

"I think we are all okay," Roman replied. "Obviously, me and Seth have some unfinished business with Ambrose, though."

Stephanie looked absolutely stressed. And that was very unusual. She was usually the one who kept a level head through anything. "And I'm afraid its going to remain unfinished."

"What?"

You and Roman spoke at the same time.

"Dean came by my office a few minutes ago. I thought he wanted to discuss his new contract. But he said he was done. That's it—he said nothing else. He turned around and left. I have no choice but to accept that as his resignation."

Your mind went blank then. You couldn't imagine the WWE without Dean Ambrose. You couldn't imagine showing up to work with your baby, and his or her father not being there too.

"I-I have to get going," you said. "I need to get some sleep after this night."

"Let us know if you need anything," Roman said, pulling you into a quick hug. "We are only a phone call away."

"That goes for Hunter and I as well," Stephanie told you, patting your shoulder. "If there is anything we can do to help, just say the word."

You gave them each a small smile. "You have already helped me so much. Creating an injury angle for me, and keeping this a secret until I can get the courage to tell Dean and Seth. Thank you both so much." Giving them one last smile you stepped into your dressing room to finish packing up your things. A few minutes later, you reemerged, eager to get home and get some sleep. Thankfully, Roman and Stephanie were gone and the hallway was empty. You didn't want to talk to anyone. You just wanted to get to your car and drive home.

Hurrying out to your car, you got inside and headed for the freeway.

So preoccupied with your stress were you, that you didn't notice the black van tailing you from a short distance—following every lane change you made.

}i{}i{}i{}i{}i{

Dean stalked across his bedroom, grabbing things to pack and not even paying much attention to what it was he was placing in the suitcase.

He was angry. Angry at himself. For hurting his brothers. Hurting Y/N.

At just the thought of her, he roared and drove his fist into the wall nearest him. How could I do that to her, he wondered. Scare the hell outta her like that? He had always suspected that she and Seth had endured some kind of childhood abuse, but Y/N's reaction to him flipping that table cinched it.

Dean gritted his teeth at recalling how she crumpled to the floor, hugging herself, literally begging "Daddy" to not hurt her. He didn't know who her father was, but if he ever met him face-to-face he would gladly beat the hell out of the subhuman piece of shit—no hesitation. "Fat chance I'd ever meet him, but if I do, I'll kill the son of a bitch."

He threw some more clothes into the suitcase along with a pair of black military boots and zipped the luggage closed. Then he gave a long, purposeful stare at the SIG Sauer laying next to his jacket on the bed. With only a slight hesitation, he picked the pistol up and put it in the shoulder holster he'd tugged on moments before. He'd just slid his jacket on to conceal the gun and holster when his cell phone rang.

"Yeah." His answer was curt and not welcoming at all.

"Pretty girl you had back at the arena, Mox."

And just like that his blood ran cold. He knew exactly who he was talking to. He couldn't let them know they'd just rattled him. He attempted a nonchalant reply. "The name's Ambrose. The hell do you want?"

"UDM wants you back, Moxley. You've made quite the career for yourself with your little fake fighter friends and the ridiculous sheep you call fans, but its time you come back home. You made us a lot of money back in the day. You're gonna do it again."

"The hell I will," Dean shot back. "I've been done with you for years. I ain't goin' back. EVER."

"I'll tell you who's done, if you don't get your ass back here. That sexy little slut you had your hands all over back in your dressing room."

"Touch her and you're fuckin' dead."

"Hope you both enjoyed that kiss. Gonna be her last, Moxley."

The line clicked.

"SHIT!"

He snatched up the back pack that held his firearms and ammo, and then hauled his suitcase off the bed.

Only a matter of seconds later, he was in his SUV and peeling out of his driveway.