Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Author Note: Set before Money In The Bank 2016. Title is part of 1 Corinthians 13, specifically verse 12.

FOR NOW WE SEE IN A MIRROR DIMLY

The more Bray saw of Roman Reigns, the surer he was that Roman was destined for great things. Not the way Roman defined it– marriage, supposed adulation of people always looking in the wrong place for guidance, friends who would lead him down their own selfish paths away from the light, a family of expectation and assumption and bitter broken disappointment (it was as loud as the glory but everyone pretended not to see), an employer that pushed him toward sacrifice and an image that would destroy him.

No, no, there could be great things in Abigail's name, great things that were found on wings, with family, true family, so he could lead his own bloodline too. His family tree, it had poison all through its roots. That could be changed. Everything could change.

Bray had tried to force Roman to see that. He'd tried, like he did with all his children, to show love, to make a man see what was right in front of his eyes – the fester of this world, of so many of its people, how Roman needed to be saved. He needed to receive a benediction and join the masses that knew the truth. But Roman, the big dog he claimed to be, he had refused, he had fought, he had been so angry. It had been beautiful, the truth of him, there for all to see. But he hadn't accepted Bray's words.

That was the thing. John had refused to see, accept and unleash the monster he was, the monster that everyone saw, why else would they reject the image he wore instead? Roman had been a monster. Hadn't Dean and Seth been monsters too? Oh, they both knew it. Seth had known, he'd made it clear with a swing of a chair and it'd made him king. Dean, he'd always been a creature of blood and pain, he'd just never accepted Bray's truth or how Bray could lead him to a full embrace of who he was and what he could be. Bray still had plans for him.

Roman, he'd been beside them, silent maybe but a monster still. And now, now he claimed himself high above all creatures. A glorious victory on the top of a mountain, right where John had been. The people were turning from him too, turning in their droves. If only Roman would be a monster again, if only he'd follow the buzzards...

Why, people wanted to know, why was Bray bothering to convert a man so resistant? Why not convert the willing? The willing would always come. The unwilling, they were Bray's mission and passion. Abigail needed him to be her hands and voice in this world. She had always loved those that showed such potential but resisted the way.

"They need us," she'd said, so many times. "They need us so much. We need to show them."

And Bray, he'd always wanted a hound.

Bryan had left, John had refused all advances, all reason, all love. Roman had resisted too. So Bray would approach Roman differently this time. He sat for hours in his rocking chair, he talked with Luke and Erick and his many other children. He talked to Abigail. Then the answer became obvious, as it always did. Children.

It wasn't difficult. Abigail made paths clear, she made the fireflies glow. Soon enough, Roman journeyed furiously towards Bray backstage. Luke and Erick stood behind Bray's chair, unmoving, ready, obedient. Bray didn't need an army, he didn't need fists like Roman, what he had would last beyond all of that. It would thrive in the dust. How could Roman not see that? Not want it?

Roman had his belt with him, his prize, the gold that showed the world how special he was. And he was. Bray smiled. Roman's frown deepened.

"If you send one more gift to my girl, I swear I will crush you, Wyatt."

Bray looked at Roman, hand to his chin, drinking in those welcome words. There was the monster emerging, there was a step towards the light. So much could be done with that. Bray laughed suddenly, his delight bursting, and how it startled Roman, made him toughen his stance. Bray got to his feet. Yes.

"To make room for your empire? You can't build dreams on poisoned shores. Do you hear them? Smearing your name, telling you to leave, to give up the gold? Those that cheer, they cheer from a desire that you can't return. And your little girl-."

"Don't you fucking dare say her name."

Oh, this was perfect. Oh, sister, wasn't he perfect? Every day, Bray learned more from her.

"I don't hold that power, Roman. Father is another name for God, isn't it?"

Bray was close to Roman who didn't move. He was like something carved for a temple. Did he know what his heritage meant? How a legacy could choke every breath and meaning? And royalty was made to be toppled, to be revolted against. But in the shadow of Bray's wings, all that Roman loved would grow.

Maybe he knew that. Maybe he feared being supplanted.

Bray's voice quietened, "Your child is safe, because you love her. She was made to be cherished; to know the light, just like you. You think this world; this company will love her like that? You see how legacies are treated. Do you want that for her?"

Roman's frown was different now. Yes, he was thinking, he was remembering. Bray knew. His vessel had. He settled back down again, Luke and Erick flanking him with nothing but love.

"You know the answer like you know your ancestors' pattern, growing across your skin there. Only they can't protect you, not the way you want to protect your child. Your line, it's so many falling stars. Burning, broken, abandoned. And you're supposed to walk that line, to fall and keep shining so bright."

Roman was silent, there were no denials. Yes. In the end he only said, "Stay away from her, Wyatt."

Then he left. And Bray laughed again and put a hand out for his lantern. There was much his sister needed to hear.

Bray waited. Oh, he could be a patient man. It was what some children needed, how else would they grow? He didn't concede to Roman's wishes – gifts for his child continued to be sent. And the fact was, Roman's eyes were open now. So were his ears. He was able to see the company, his blood, in a way he hadn't before. Because of Bray.

It showed in how Roman smirked now at the crowds, how he held himself and that belt, how dark his eyes had gotten. He wasn't blind anymore.

And he would come back to Bray. He would claim he was trying to stop the presents, an excuse gift-wrapped by Bray. Bray was ready, humming psalms and teaching his children. Anticipation was his fire. His sister was so happy. The Universe needed to be shown, it needed to be consumed.

Roman would learn that too.

And there he was, pushing past the door, pushing past Luke and Erick and standing before Bray, not bristling with anger this time. Oh no. He had questions. He'd felt the poison and hopelessness, he'd seen the brokenness of what lay around and before him, of who was encouraging him and what they wanted. One day, he'd wear new patterns on his skin. One day, he would be guided and his glory would be so many fireflies. And he would be truly monstrous. Abigail was sure of it. There was so much for her and Bray to feast on.

There was nowhere to sit but Roman didn't sink down at Bray's feet. He would though, one day, he'd sit and eventually he'd press close, like a hound.

-the end