A/N: This could turn into something longer, depending on what I'm thinking and the response. Anywho, this is written for AmbroseSaysNope, one of my favorite writers with one of my favorite pen names. Hope you enjoy. Sorry it's so dark. Apparently that's how I roll.

What struck him was how soft her lips felt.

Plump, full, and tasting of cinnamon – always with the smell of cinnamon. They both groaned into the kiss, his arm snaking around her waist and pulling her flush against him. Her arms wrapped around his neck, holding onto him as though he were some kind of life preserver that would keep her from floating out to sea.

His lips moved from hers, nipping at her neck. She felt like porcelain, so fragile.

"Dean..." she whispered. Her voice floated on the air. It sounded almost distant. Her hands were in his hair, wrapping firmly around his curls as his lips and tongue worked at the side of her neck. Above them, the moon shone bright, illuminating the woods with its light. His hand was working at pushing the skirt of her white dress up. His lips returned to hers, his tongue working in a perfect rhythm. Her hands began to work at unbuttoning his shirt, smoothing it open with her hands. She pushed it down his shoulders, leaving him in his white undershirt and jeans.

Then she pulled back. He stared at her, mystified. With a mischievous smile, she turned away from him, untying the halter top of her white dress. She pulled the dress down, revealing that she was naked underneath. Dean groaned as she walked towards the water. He watched, wide eyed, as she walked on the water, her footsteps leaving ripples in the clear blue waters. He followed with great trepidation, putting his foot out, surprised to find it felt like a glass surface underneath his feet.

It felt like she had created a world of distance between the two of them, even though her movements were slow. He followed after her, desperate to finish what had been started. She stopped in the middle of the water, where the moon cast a spotlight on her. She looked exquisite, like a fine piece of art.

He approached slowly, still sure the water would fracture beneath him and swallow him whole. She stood, waiting for him, wearing nothing but a soft smile.

There was a loud crack in the air, the unmistakeable sound of a gunshot. His head snapped behind him, but there was nobody there. Turning back, he saw the surprise in her eyes.

The hole began to form in the middle of her forehead. A small circle of red accompanied it, before a single stream flowed down the middle of her nose, down her chin and to her chest. She began to teeter. With another deafening crack, she exploded in a pile of ash.

"No!" he shouted, reaching forward, but it was too late. The ashes landed on the water, bobbing back and forth with the soft waves.

Then Dean fell through the water.

Dean Ambrose came awake with a start, his icy eyes darting around the dark, empty building. It took him a moment for his eyes to adjust in the dark and get familiar with his surroundings. He realized he was still at work, at the cushy police job Hunter had arranged for him when he turned eighteen. He stretched, the wheeled chair he was sitting in sliding back several inches. He reached into his pocket for his cigarettes. It was against the law to smoke inside the building, but Dean had bigger things to worry about. After everything he had been forced to endure, he just didn't care one way or the other about what happened to him. He was in a world of trouble; all he was waiting for was for the other shoe to drop.

With shaking hands, he pulled a cigarette out of the pack and put it between his lips. He reached into his pocket, surprised to find his lighter was gone. His hands began skimming the top of his desk, meeting nothing but flat surface and paperwork. Opening the top drawer, he settled on a pack of matches. He struck the match against the back strip, illuminating the room with a faint glow as he lit the end of his smoke. He shook the match, the only light in the room the glowing orange dot at the end of his cigarette. Leaning back in his chair, he took a long drag and removed the cigarette from his lips, blowing the smoke into the empty room.

It had been two weeks. Two long weeks since his entire life went sideways, and his darling Nikki had been killed. Her burial had been short and efficient, with her mother and her last surviving sister sobbing over her grave site. He had watched stoically as her casket lowered into the ground, ignoring the torrents of rain that doused him, causing his curly dishwater hair to plaster to his head. When she was in the ground, he looked up, his eyes falling on her.

Paige. She had been Nikki's best friend. Nikki would have done anything for Paige, and he always thought the feeling was mutual. But behind Paige's brown eyes, there was nothing but a black heart and a hollow soul. Dean had seen it first hand. She was dressed in a little black dress, her hair styled elegantly. She held a deep purple umbrella. To her credit, she kept her expression blank. Nikki's mother wanted to hurl herself at Paige and beat her until she cried for mercy, but Dean was there to stop her. Too much blood had been shed. He wasn't sure he could handle anymore. After everything he had come to discover, and everything he had experienced, Dean would not have been surprised to find out that Paige had arranged the death of Nikki's sister, the event that had brought them to this point.

He remembered the day Nikki's oldest sister had died. He could vividly remember every detail, right down to the way the heat of the sun bore down on him. He remembered the nausea that ripped through his entire body when he came across the body, mauled and mutilated. The police were supposed to look the other way at Hunter's activities, but Dean always had a problem with it. Knowing the victim made it worse.

Nikki had come down to Hunter's tower, breaking through the caution tape. He could see the anger, the despair and the helplessness in her eyes as she broke out of his partner's grips and opened the body bag. They had locked eyes. He wanted to comfort her, to stop her from doing something stupid, but his partners Roman Reigns and Seth Rollins wouldn't allow it. Seth worked closely with Hunter, closer than Dean, so he knew that he had to tread carefully. Seth and Hunter both regarded Dean as the rebellious sort.

Dean wasn't stupid. He'd always been a street smart kid, and he always kept his ear to the ground. He'd heard the rumours about Hunter, that he had his parents murdered. Hunter was cutthroat, twisted and ruthless. Nikki was angry. Dean knew it was a recipe for disaster. He sighed, taking another drag. If only he had been able to foresee the events that were about to unfold.

He blew out the smoke, watching it in the air. He stared at Seth's empty desk and remembered waking up at two in the morning to the phone call from Nikki's mother. She had been absolutely frantic. Nikki had gone after Hunter. He knew that she was unconscious before she ever made it to Hunter. Dean knew it was Seth, the self-proclaimed ninja. He'd beaten her within inches of her life, then taken her to Hunter. They dumped her in an alley, convinced she was dead.

But she wasn't.

Dean smiled, recalling the surge of relief that he had felt finding out that she was the first to survive. Even after three weeks, he still couldn't put the feelings into words. He had scrambled out of bed, pulling on whatever clothing he could find and running to the hospital. He knew it was a matter of time before Hunter and Seth found out that she had survived. He knew that they would come back and kill her. Their cardinal rule was to never leave any witnesses. Dean knew right away that he had to get her out of the Hartford Sector.

He'd been to the hospital hundreds of times during the course of his job, but the place still made him nervous, with the bright lights and the fact that his parents had died there. He'd always suspected that Hunter had killed them. They were known revolutionaries. They had taught Dean to question everything, and to never let anybody know what he was thinking. He often wondered why they didn't kill him. He was sure it would have saved Hunter a lot of headaches over the years.

Dean had found Nikki's mother standing at the window, staring out at the slums, her arms crossed over her chest. He could still hear the violent sobs in his ears. They both knew the kind of danger Nikki was in, and she was already in the process of burying another child. She had quietly begged for his help, terrified that Hunter could somehow hear them in the hospital. Dean went back a long way with Nikki and her family. They looked out for him when nobody else would, when Hunter was too busy making Seth his Golden Boy. Dean knew the ramifications of what she was begging him to do, but he didn't care. He couldn't lose her. It was his plan to escape with her, to greener pastures where the two of them could live out the rest of their days in peace.

But she hadn't wanted to go. He'd fought with her. Strapped to the hospital bed with the machines beeping and the IV drip running fluids into her, she dug her heels in. She was still angry. She wanted Hunter's head on a stick. It was the first time Dean had ever been the realist in a situation. Change was fine and good, but she was one person with one foot in the grave. Saying it aloud had scared him to death in the hospital room. They had fallen silent. Dean had to fight back the tears as he begged her to let him get her out. It took a while, and the condition that her mother, sister and Paige had to go with them, but he would have done anything just to get her out of there.

He shook his head, angry, standing. He bumped the chair hard, sending it wheeling away. He'd loved Nikki for years. She was tough as nails, but there was an underlying sweetness and a loyalty that he admired. They had clicked instantly, but he could never tell her how he felt. He was bad with words, and even worse with emotions. So he tried to do whatever he could for her to show how much he cared about her. He wasn't sure how she felt, but he loved her in the only way he could.

Taking another drag, he ran a hand through his hair. The dreams were increasing. They were becoming more and more vivid. Some nights he woke up and he could smell the scent of cinnamon, heavy in the air. It was a scent that he closely associated with her for years, dating back to the days where she would help her mother out in her bakery. Walking into her mother's bakery and into coffee shops since her death had been unbearable. He was doing his best to keep himself composed and together, but he was angry. He hadn't felt such anger in years.

Hunter was watching him closely now. Dean had revealed himself a traitor by trying to escape with Nikki. They had killed her right in front of him. He closed his eyes, a solitary tear drop rolling down his cheek as Seth put a bullet in her. The rage he'd had to swallow was still a bitter pill. For good measure, Paige killed Nikki's other sister, leaving their mother as the sole survivor in a family that had already known too much loss.

Dean wondered when everything had become such a mess, when Hunter had taken things over, but he knew it was long before he had ever come around. It dated back to Hunter's father, a dictatorship passed from generation to generation. He stubbed out his cigarette on Seth's paperwork, not even caring. It was his passive-aggressive way of letting Seth know he was angry. A week ago, Dean had been forced to take a call. Someone had gone to great lengths to dig Nikki up and leave her in the dumpster behind her mother's bakery. He had answered the call with another guy by the name of Daniel Bryan. Dean had been so angry. Without a word spoken, Daniel had helped Dean put her back in her resting place. Despite everything, he still wanted to leave. He still wanted to get her mother out of there. He couldn't protect Nikki, a fact that killed him slowly with each day. He promised himself that nothing would happen to her mother.

"If I had five minutes alone with that fucking bitch..." he growled under his breath, crossing his arms over his chest. He stared out the window. The past two weeks had been a haze of alcohol. His hair had grown a little, the curls falling into his eyes. A decent beard had broken out on his face. He always looked tired, something Seth and Roman constantly pointed out to him. It took everything within him not to hit Seth. He did everything he could to create distance with Seth and Hunter. He wasn't like them. He was crazy to think he ever was.

The thought of throwing himself into his work was unappealing. Hunter had gotten in contact with the bar owners in town, officially cutting Dean off of his bender. Hunter wouldn't let Dean drink himself to death; it was too easy. Dean was a dead man walking and he knew it. He rubbed his face, grumbling under his breath. He had to come up with something soon.

There was a thump on the roof. He looked up at the ceiling, his face darkening. Part of him hoped it was Seth, there to finally end all the suspense. But he knew better. Seth was quiet. He'd never hear Seth coming. He wondered what Paige's role was with Hunter and Seth now. He couldn't believe that she had betrayed her best friend, and then had the audacity to attend her funeral. She was rubbing salt into the wounds now, frequenting the bakery and ordering Nikki's mother around as though she were some kind of indentured servant because she had been the only one spared.

"I guess it's time to meet the Maker," Dean murmured to himself. He slid on his leather jacket and pulled the gun out of the back waistband of his pants. If he survived, he planned on going back to Hunter's tower after. It was where he lived now, his bachelor pad privileges revoked because of his traitor status. Killing him was too easy; Hunter and Seth were seeing to it that Dean suffered.

Dean went up the back stairwell that would take him to the rooftop. He stood in front of the door for a moment, wondering how to proceed. Reaching out slowly, he placed his hand on the doorknob and slowly turned it. Pushing it open, he was greeted by a gust of cold December air. It burned his nostrils and made his eyes squint. He stepped onto the snowy balcony, letting the door blow shut behind him.

He spotted her right away, standing in the middle of the roof. She was facing the direction of Hunter's tower, an eyesore that stood head and shoulders above every building in town. Her waist-length jacket swayed with the breeze. Dean felt a lump form in his throat. She definitely looked like some kind of an assassin.

"Hey, lady! You can't be up here!" He informed her.

He waited for a response, but got none. She didn't acknowledge his existence at all. There was something Dean could feel in the air that was more chilling than the winter breeze. He approached slowly, his gun still drawn. He knew Nikki's death was to eliminate a witness and keep Dean and his dangerous thoughts of change in line, but he knew that he was still on thin ice. He had no doubt Hunter would try and have him killed at some point. He was surprised to see that he sent a woman to do it.

"Come on. Let's go. You can't be up here. You're trespassing."

"I'm not going anywhere."

He froze.

It was her voice.

It couldn't be. She was dead. He blinked, shaking his head, trying to shake the cobwebs out. Awake or asleep, she haunted him. Everything about her stuck to him like a second skin that he couldn't shed, no matter how much he drank. He tried his best to shake off the strange feelings that had overtaken him for the moment.

"I'm not gonna ask you again," he threatened, regaining his composure as best he could. "I've got my weapon drawn. So turn around. Identify yourself."

She turned to him. Dean's every nerve stood on end. He lowered his gun, his eyes widened and his hands shaking.

It was her.

"Nikki?" he gasped. He put his gun back into the waistband of his pants. He shook his head, running a hand through his hair, pacing back and forth. He stopped, pointing at her. "The fuck is this? You're dead. I saw it. You took a bullet right between the fucking eyes!"

She didn't speak. He studied her. The smell of cinnamon was thick in the air. She was dressed like she was ready for war, in tight black pants and a black tank top underneath her jacket. Two belts of bullets hung off her hips. Her hands were wrapped tight with black tape. He looked into her eyes. They were a blank slate. He felt himself deflate as he realized that she didn't recognize him.

"Nikki...you are Nikki, right?" She nodded. He looked at her, approaching. She backed away from him. Something flickered in her eyes. "It's me – Dean Ambrose. Don't you remember? We go back a long way. I've known your family for years."

"I don't have a family," she informed him tersely.

"What are...?" His head was spinning. He knew Nikki was dead. He saw it with his own two eyes. But she was standing right in front of him. There was no sign of the bullet wound that had taken out a good portion of her brain. There was no sign that she had been buried twice. But there was something different about her. A coldness. "Nikki, of course you have a family."

"It's just me," Nikki said firmly. The way she said it made Dean wonder if something had happened to her mother. But he shook it off, making a note to stop by her mother's house on the way back to the tower. "And I won't rest until Hunter is dead."

"Hunter..." He shook his head. "I can't let you do that."

"You don't have a choice."

"Nikki..." He reached out to grab her, but she pulled back.

"Don't touch me. Don't ever touch me," she growled. She had gone from a confused woman to a cornered, feral animal in two seconds. Dean put his hands up in mock surrender.

"Nikki...I don't understand what's going on here, but we're friends. We've been friends for forever," he explained slowly, taking another step closer to her. She backed up. "I don't know what's going on here, but someone had better fill me in here, because I saw you die. We buried you twice. Were you ever dead?"

She nodded. "That much I remember."

"What do you remember?"

"I have to go."

"Nikki, please...don't go..." he pleaded. He rushed forward, reaching out and grabbing her by the arm. He couldn't lose her again.

"I said don't touch me," she snarled, turning. She punched Dean in the chest. He flew back several inches and hit the ground, sputtering. He struggled to catch his breath on the snowy rooftop as she jumped off the edge.

"No!" he shouted, scrambling, half-crawling to the edge. He looked over to see her taking off into the night on foot. She was headed in the direction of Hunter's tower. He held onto his aching chest and stared until she disappeared from his view. His entire body slumped in defeat.

He had no idea what was going on, or how her presence in front of him was even possible. All he knew was that he had lost her yet again.