Country Roads

Disclaimer: I own nothing associated with the WWE. Just any OCs! Lyrics to "Country Roads" belong to John Denver.

Summary: After a car accident leaves them stranded in the middle of nowhere, the members of the Shield find themselves wrapped up in a deadly game where no one can be trusted but each other. But there is one catch– the game is intended for only one winner, and to lose is to die.

Characters: Dean Ambrose, Tyler Black/Seth Rollins, and Roman Reigns, features OCs

Pairings: None

Rating: M (warnings below)

Genre: Horror/Suspense

Author's Note: Well, I've finally broken down and decided to write my first Shield story, lol. I just love these guys too much not to do so. This is rated M for language, violence, and hints of mature themes. However, it will be nothing too explicit, so the rating is just to be safe. This is also not a songfic, just a couple lines of lyrics are used. If you come along for this wild ride, feel free to read and review, just no flames please! Thank you, and I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1

"Almost heaven, West Virginia...

... Life is old there, older than the trees

Younger than the mountains, blowing like a breeze..."

The first thing he was fully aware of was that his head was pounding.

However, this wasn't a necessarily unusual sensation for Dean Ambrose. He couldn't recall just how many days he had woken up with the mother of all hangovers where he had a difficult time just getting out of bed due to the nauseating pain.

But this wasn't the mother of all hangovers. It wasn't even the son of the mother of all hangovers, which really wasn't too bad if he thought about it. No, this was something else entirely.

Groaning quietly, Dean tried to move since his back was uncomfortable against the hard surface behind him, but he surprisingly found that he couldn't. He quickly opened his eyes, immediately knowing that was a bad idea because even though wherever he was was very dim, his head felt like it was going to spin right off his shoulders. That sensation was a bit more familiar, having had a few concussions in his twenty-seven years of life.

But the part that unnerved him was he wasn't even sure of where he could have possibly gotten one. The last thing he remembered was leaving the hotel the company he worked for had been staying at with Seth Rollins and Roman Reigns, two of his best friends, as they made their way toward the next city for a televised event...

Squealing tires... crash...

Shaking his head slightly as he took a deep breath, Dean attempted to remain calm. He cast his gaze toward the hard floor, noticing that his hands were tied tightly behind his back. A sharp feeling of fear pierced his stomach. Wherever he was, it was against his will. And the worst part was, he was alone.

He closed his eyes for a moment, willing his heart rate to slow. He needed to think, and he couldn't do that with the loud pounding that was echoing in his ears. He just had to try to remain calm and figure out what to do. Panicking wouldn't help. And it wasn't as though he wasn't used to the feeling of being alone– he had been alone for as long as he could remember.

But this... this was different...

Suddenly, his eyes snapped open again. A quiet sound was heard over his own pounding heart– a whisper of breath, short and shallow. But at that moment, it was the best sound he had ever heard. Someone was in the room with him.

Squinting slightly, Dean finally noticed the slouched figure sitting across from him. It was so dimly lit that he hadn't even noticed the second person in the small space with him before. He was sitting so close that their legs, though folded neatly under each of them, were nearly touching. The limited lighting made it difficult to see who it was, and the only thing he could see clearly was the long dark hair that was hanging over their face, concealing their features even more.

And then, he saw the streak of blond.

"Se... Seth..." Dean managed to croak out, surprised by how weak his voice sounded. "Seth..."

He attempted to push away from the wall behind him, wincing until he leaned back again. There wasn't much he could do with his hands tied anyway, so instead, he slowly uncurled one leg and stretched it out in front of him, an action which took more effort than it usually should have since his muscles were so stiff to the point where it was painful.

After taking a deep breath, and once the pain in his legs died down, Dean lightly kicked the other man's leg, attempting to rouse him. "Seth, come on, man..." he muttered, kicking him a second time when he got no response. "Don't leave me alone here... you asshole..."

After a couple more soft kicks, Seth finally began to stir. A quiet groan of pain passed through his lips as he slowly started to raise his head, looking around him in confusion. His gaze was disoriented as he attempted to figure out where he was, but recognition entered his dark eyes when he saw the other man.

"De... Dean...?"

"You got it." Dean sighed as he looked at Seth a bit more carefully. Now that his eyes were starting to adjust, he noticed that a dark bruise was forming over his left eye, standing out against his paler face. "Is your head pounding as much as mine is?"

Seth's eyes narrowed for a moment before he shook his head slightly. "No... not my head," he muttered. He paused, raising his gaze to Dean's face. "Definitely looks like yours is, though..."

Dean arched an eyebrow before immediately lowering it. What had happened to make even that small action painful? "What do you mean?" he finally asked quietly, the throbbing in his temples once more returning. "Do I have bruises or blood or some shit like that on my face?"

"Yeah, it's..." Seth began to try to raise his arm to show his friend where the blood that stained nearly his entire right cheek was, but just like Dean, he quickly discovered that his hands were also tied tightly behind his back, and fear grasped his heart. He tried to straighten up a bit, both to try to get a better sense of his bearings and to find a more comfortable sitting position, but a quiet cry of pain escaped from him before he slouched over again.

"Seth!" Dean leaned forward slightly with wide eyes, watching as his dark hair fell into his face once more as he dropped his head. "Seth, what's wrong?"

For a long moment, there was no response from the other man other than the loud sound of his harsher breathing. Then, Seth slowly lifted his head again, and Dean was alarmed to see that his face had lost nearly all of its color. "My... my side is killing me..." he murmured, his voice hardly louder than a whisper. "Maybe... broken rib... at least..."

"Fuck!" Dean closed his eyes for a brief moment, the dread that had been gnawing away at him for some time returning with a vengeance. "Listen, man, just sit still, okay? Don't move unless you absolutely have to..."

Seth nodded and leaned his head back against the hard wall behind him as he attempted to calm his breathing. He had to try to regain his composure in effort to think about where he and the other man possibly could have been, what had happened, and how they could escape. He watched as Dean fell back against the wall behind him in frustration before he closed his eyes to try to take some deep breaths. But every time he tried to fully inhale, the same sharp pain from his ribs returned, and he had to wonder just how many were actually broken.

Then, his eyes snapped open in horror as he lifted his head away from the wall to look at his friend better. "Dean!"

Dean raised his head slightly as well. "Yeah?" he wondered casually, though he admitted he was concerned to hear the anxiousness in the other man's tone.

And as soon as Seth asked his next question, he knew he had every reason to be anxious, for his own dread was once more rekindled.

"Where... where's Roman?"

Dean's gaze faltered as he lowered it. "I... I don't know," he told him, his tone low. "It's just you and me..."

Sorrow crossed Seth's face at what those words could possibly mean, and he let out a quiet sigh as he leaned back against the wall again. Dean closed his eyes, attempting to remain calm. He didn't know what concerned him more– Roman being nowhere to be seen, or where he and Seth could have possibly been and why. Both queries seemed grim, and the worst part was he didn't know what kind of answer he would get from either of them.


"Country roads, take me home

To the place I belong...

... Take me home, country roads..."

Poke. Poke. Poke.

"I think he's dead..."

Roman was irritated to feel that something small had been poking his side and chest before finally moving on to his face. He groaned quietly, weakly raising his hand in effort to brush whatever it was away. He really didn't want to be bothered.

"Wait! He's moving..."

Poke. Poke.

Suddenly, Roman's eyes snapped open as he pushed himself up on his tattooed arm, hearing a loud, high-pitched scream from right next to his ear. He briefly shut his eyes at the unexpected sound before what sounded like hurried footsteps reached his ears, and he opened them again in time to see two identical blonde girls who couldn't have been older than eight running as fast as they could away from him. They were both wearing light floral print dresses and matching sandals with denim backpacks over their shoulders, and they occasionally sent glances over their shoulders at him as they continued to run.

"Wait..." Roman attempted to call after them, but his voice had almost completely given out on him. He sighed quietly as he shielded his eyes against the bright morning sunlight, watching as the girls left the small country road and disappeared into a field of tall, swaying wheatgrass.

Now that he was alone, he slowly attempted to sit up, pausing with a quiet hiss when his head throbbed in protest. "Where the hell am I?" he wondered to no one in particular when the pain died down enough for him to get a better look at his surroundings as he finished straightening up. He was sitting on the hard asphalt of a street that appeared to not have been freshly paved for years, the yellow lines down the center hardly noticeable anymore. He was under an overpass of some sort with a bridge above his head, an array of colorful graffiti that he couldn't quite focus on enough to read nearly covering the entire underside of the stone arch.

But it was what was across from him that mostly caught his attention. For across the street at the base of the overpass was a black car that was completely dented on the driver's side, leaning against the graffiti-filled structure.

Seth chuckled quietly as he playfully argued with him and Dean about what radio station to listen to...

Dean inhaled on his half of a cigarette, making sure that all the smoke drifted out toward the night sky before tossing it out the passenger side window...

He sat in the backseat behind his two friends with his phone held securely in his hands as he texted his fiancée to tell her how the show had gone and that he couldn't wait to see her...

Seth pulled off of the interstate so they could find a gas station to fill their tank and get some snacks for the road, briefly pausing at a stop sign before he began to drive under the overpass...

Glaring headlights... squealing tires... crash...

Roman's dark eyes widened with horror as he stared at the wrecked car before him, clearly remembering the accident now. But what had happened after they had been forced off the narrow country road, he couldn't be certain...

"S-Seth? Dean?" Roman staggered to his feet, nearly stumbling as he hurried over to what had once been their rental car. Fearing the worst, he pulled open the crunched driver's door with some difficulty, and his brow furrowed in confusion when he saw that it was empty. He was standing in a pile of broken glass, a third of a license plate, and a puddle of gasoline, but his two friends were nowhere to be seen.

Then, something caught his eye from the backseat, and Roman once again had difficulty with the door next to him. Once he finally got it forced open, he reached inside and picked up his cell phone from the seat he had occupied the night before, lightly tracing a finger over the crack that nearly split the screen in two. It still lit up under his touch, however, and his gaze saddened when he saw the picture he had always kept as his background.

His beautiful fiancée was smiling back at him, and in her arms was their little daughter. Though she was only three, there was so much in her face that reminded him of her mother, though her waved black hair was similar to his own. Roman sighed quietly, slipping his phone safely into the back pocket of his jeans before his eyes widened when he caught sight of his reflection in the rearview mirror that was dangling precariously from the front windshield out of the corner of his eye. He leaned a little closer, his gaze passing over the deep gash in the middle of his forehead, his split bottom lip, and the bruises that were present on his right cheek.

What still unnerved him most, however, was that he had absolutely no idea where Seth and Dean could have been or if they were even all right.

Then, he heard another vehicle approaching before slowing to a stop, and Roman looked up in time to see a black sheriff's car park across the narrow road from him. A portly man with graying hair and a clean-shaven face wearing dark sunglasses and a cowboy hat stepped out from behind the wheel, exhaling smoke from his cigarette before dropping it on the ground and putting it out beneath his boot.

"Step away from the car!" he declared as he began to make his way toward him.

"You don't understand... this was my rental car," Roman said, gesturing back to the wreckage. "My friends and I... we were driving on the interstate and just pulled off to get some gas..."

The sheriff, however, didn't seem to hear a word he said as he approached, raising his sunglasses a bit and looking at the younger man with some suspicion. "You from 'round these parts, boy?" he asked.

"No," Roman answered, shaking his head. He paused and briefly closed his eyes, knowing that had been a bad idea when his temples pounded a little. "No, I'm not... My friends and I, we..."

"You what?" the sheriff pressed when Roman's sentence trailed off. "Speak, boy."

Roman sighed quietly. "We travel for our job," he explained. "And that's all we were doing. We just finished a show, and we were on our way to our next one when we pulled off the interstate to get some gas last night, as I said."

The sheriff looked at him for a long moment, his gaze passing over his bruised face and the tribal tattoo that covered his right arm before he lowered his sunglasses and stepped around him. He let out a low whistle as he surveyed the damage that had been done to the black rental car. "Wow, boy, you really wrecked this up good..."

"That... that wasn't our fault..." Roman tried to explain. "Someone hit us as we were going under the overpass and forced us off the road..."

After looking over all the damage that had been done for a couple more minutes by running his hand over the dents and the shards of glass that remained in the windows, the sheriff turned to look at the other man again. "You keep saying 'we' and 'us,' boy. And yet you're the only one here."

Sorrow crossed Roman's face. "I don't know where my two friends are," he muttered. "They... they were gone when I woke up..."

The sheriff continued to stare at him intently, and Roman had to admit that he felt uncomfortable since he couldn't see the other man's eyes. He wouldn't have been surprised if he believed he was drunk or on drugs or something equally ridiculous. "Do you have any identification, boy?" he finally wondered.

For a moment, Roman panicked. Since he had clearly been dragged out of the car after the accident and left on the other side of the narrow road, he had no idea what whoever had run into them could have possibly taken from the car or off of his person.

But strangely enough, his wallet was still in the right front pocket of his jeans where he always kept it. So, whoever had rammed them off the road hadn't robbed them too. "Yeah, sure... Here."

The sheriff took his plain black wallet and opened it, taking off his sunglasses and hanging them on the collar of his beige uniform before he pulled out his driver's license, his light eyes moving from the picture there to its owner's face a couple times before he seemed to be satisfied. Roman looked back inside the front seat of the wrecked vehicle as the older man started to go through his credit cards, store rewards cards, and even his library card, hoping he could find what he was looking for. His heart lifted a bit as he quickly leaned forward and picked up the keys to the rental car from the floor where they had fallen and landed by the brake pedal.

"This your wife and kid, boy?"

Roman felt his stomach tighten a bit at the sudden question, and he slowly straightened up and turned around. The sheriff was holding up a pocket-sized picture of him, his fiancée, and their daughter, all with broad smiles on their faces. It had just been taken a couple of weeks ago when he had a couple days off from the road, and they had taken the young girl to the park to play.

"Fiancée, actually," he corrected quietly. "But yes, that's my family."

The sheriff nodded slightly, seemingly disinterested, before he slid the photograph back into the wallet. Then, he pulled a second picture out and held it up. "And who are these two?" he asked.

Roman's gaze faltered slightly when he saw himself, Seth, and Dean looking back at him, two of them with smiles though the latter had a smirk and raised eyebrow instead. It had been taken from their days back on the developmental circuit, and the three of them had been out at a bar celebrating Seth's birthday. "Those... those are my friends who are missing," he answered quietly.

A moment passed before the sheriff nodded slightly as he looked back at the picture he held. "Well, boy, I'll have to take this," he said.

However, Roman adamantly shook his head despite the throbbing pain. "No, you can't just take that," he replied. Not only was that an important picture to him, but he was a bit educated on his rights.

The sheriff sighed quietly. "Do you want to find your friends or not, boy?" When Roman didn't say anything, he shut the wallet but kept the picture of the three men as he offered it back to him. "That's what I thought. You'll get it back when I'm finished, boy."

Roman looked at him for a long moment before he slowly reached out and took his wallet back, slipping it in his pocket. The sheriff put the photograph in his own pocket, reaching into his back one and pulling out a pack of cigarettes. "Now, you'll have to come down to the station with me and fill out a report," he told him, taking out a cigarette and looking at the younger man before he offered him the pack. "You smoke, boy?"

"No." Roman shook his head.

The sheriff just shrugged and slipped the cigarettes back in their proper place, pulling a lighter out of his front pocket and lighting the one he had taken out. "So, you can just get in the car..."

"Wait."

"For what, boy?" The sheriff watched as Roman walked to the back of the wrecked rental car and unlocked the trunk before pushing it open. He pulled out what appeared to be three luggage bags, and he quickly set his hand on the gun on his belt. "What's all that?"

Roman paused when he saw the older man was ready to pull out his weapon, shaking his head in a slightly placating manner. "This is just the stuff we bring with us from city to city," he tried to explain. "Personal luggage."

"Set 'em down," the sheriff ordered. When he saw that the younger man was about to protest, he started to pull his gun off his belt.

"Okay, okay." Roman sighed as he set the three bags down on the road and stepped back from them. He watched as the sheriff approached, looking up at him with a slightly suspicious eye once more before he began to thoroughly make his way through each of the bags, sifting through extra changes of clothes, necessary toiletries, their ring gear, books for minimal free time reading, a couple magazines, extra packs of cigarettes, pocket calendars and planners, grocery store coupons, and a slew of Sharpie permanent markers.

Once he was finished and determined that the contents of the bags were not a threat and there were no concealed weapons, the sheriff raised his curious gaze to Roman. "What is it that you and friends do for a living, boy?" he wondered.

"We're professional wrestlers," Roman explained.

The sheriff looked back at him with a raised eyebrow for a long moment before he shrugged, proceeding to close all three bags. "All right, boy, just toss these in the back, and we'll be on our way."

Roman sighed quietly with relief, bending over and picking up his, Seth, and Dean's luggage bags before he followed the older man toward his squad car. He opened the back door and set them inside before he walked around to the other side and sat in the passenger seat as the sheriff slid behind the wheel. The car was started before he began to pull away from the scene of the accident, and Roman quickly looked over at him when a question that had been on his mind since he had regained consciousness once more occurred to him.

"Where exactly are we?"

The sheriff briefly paused at a stop sign before he pulled away from the overpass, chuckling quietly. "Wow, boy, you must have been involved in quite the accident if you don't know that," he said. "We're in the southern part of beautiful West Virginia."

So, they hadn't quite left the state yet as he remembered he, Seth, and Dean had believed the night before. Roman sighed quietly to himself as he leaned back against the seat behind him and closed his eyes, hoping against hope that he could figure out what the hell was going on as they made their way down the narrow country road.

Author's Note: Well, that's it for that one! Hope you guys enjoyed it, and the next chapter will be up soon! Thanks for reading! Your reviews are much appreciated. Thank you!