Kane was dressed in a suit. Even for summons out of bed close to three in the morning, The Devil's Favorite Demon managed to stay classy. Seth met him outside.

"You look like hell, Rollins," Kane greeted Seth. "What's going on?"

Seth smirked. "Remember when you told me you'd give anything to fuck up Dean Ambrose?"

"Yeah?"

"I have him."

Kane stared blankly. "You…have him. What, here? Now?"

Seth nodded.

Kane scoffed. "How'd you manage to pull that off?"

"I just asked for a little help."

"From who?" Kane asked, arching a suspicious eyebrow.

"Nobody we need to worry about now. But I finally figured out how wrong we've been playing this game for so long. The best way to fuck up Dean Ambrose isn't to fuck up Dean Ambrose. It's to fuck up Roman Reigns."

"And vice versa," Kane stated.

"Well." Seth shrugged a shoulder. "I mean, we don't have to touch him, really." He pushed some hair from his eyes. Sweat was freezing his mane to his skin. "That's the best part. Hurting Roman would hurt Dean a lot more than anything else we could do to him."

"True. But there wouldn't be anything wrong with roughing him up just a little, right?" Kane pressed. "He can still feel physical pain."

"Yeah, but I think Dean is pretty strong physically. Too strong. Mentally, though, we all know he's off his rocker. Breaking Roman before his eyes is probably the best kind of revenge."

Kane stared at Seth, skeptical. "Unbelievable. After all this time, I thought you'd toughened up just a bit. But you're still soft."

"What?" Seth asked, tone snappy. Defensive.

"You don't want revenge on Dean. You want revenge on Roman. Because you still have feelings for Ambrose."

Seth was stunned. He laughed heartily to cover it. "What the hell are you talking about, Kane?"

"Have you touched Ambrose yet tonight? Laid a harmful hand on him?"

"Like I said. Hadn't had to."

Kane cocked his head, forming some conclusion in his head Seth couldn't see. "You haven't because you can't. Sure, you can wail on him in the ring. Heat of the moment, business as usual. But I see right through you, Seth. You love the kid. Let hell come to Roman Reigns in any way possible, but the less you have to hurt Dean Ambrose, the better."

Seth snorted. "Oh, come on, Kane. I'm not my mushy ex-brother Roman Reigns over here. The only feelings I have for Dean Ambrose are that of spite, hatred, and wrath."

"So if I go in there and rough Dean up a bit for you, you wouldn't have a problem."

Seth licked his lips. They were stinging and chapped in the arctic winds. "Not at all."

Kane didn't look convinced. "And where's Roman, then? Does he know you have his little friend?"

"Not yet. Gotta let him know where we are." Seth waved the phone in Kane's face.

"Call him up," Kane demanded. "And take me to Ambrose. I'll do what should have been done the entire time."

"Wait, you're not gonna…" Seth swallowed hard. That lump was back. "Kill him, right?"

"No, dumbass. I'm not. For someone who planned such a risky ploy—risking jail time—you sure didn't think things through."

Kane stormed into the building. Seth trailed behind, serving as a human GPS for Kane to find the main-floor office where he had Dean stashed. Kane pushed the door open. Dean, startled at the sudden burst, whipped his head up.

Kane glowered at Dean, standing before him. His grin was infernal. Seth lingered by the door, phone to his ear.

"Seth, where the hell are you?" Roman snarled in his answer.

"Clear Creek Business Park. 6830 Broadway Street." The way Kane was towering over Dean, Seth knew what to expect. He put the phone on Speaker and said, "Better hurry. Kane's not one you want to keep waiting."

Kane stormed Dean in the chair, hitting him again and again and again. Face, ribs, chest, stomach, knee, one after the other in random order. The chair fell over, and Kane didn't lay off until he'd exhausted himself. He stood up and kicked Dean in the chest one more time. Dean let out a wicked cough, spitting a clump of blood onto the dingy carpet. Each abrupt breath Dean took in made his face contort with pain.

Seth was aware of the pain in his chest. The lone tear in the corner of his eye.

Roman had heard it all, too.

"We'll be waiting." His voice wasn't compelling, not even to himself. Seth hung up the phone, leaned against the doorway, and crossed his arms over his chest.

Kane knelt beside Dean and gently pushed some hair from his eyes, like suddenly Kane felt sorry for him. "While I never liked being yelled at over the phone and dragged out of bed at three in the morning," he spoke, "this was worth it. I've been waiting to get my hands on you for a long time, Ambrose."

"You're gonna kill me, right?" Dean asked, voice strained. "Is this the way it'll go, Kane?"

"Kill you?" Kane sounded amused. He continued to sweep hair from Dean's eyes, which kept falling back into his face because of his position on the ground. "And waste my best leverage? Not a chance. Not until I know for certain I'm absolute done with you and won't be needing your services anymore."

Kane stalked out of the room. "Let's go," he called to Seth. "We've gotta prepare for our guest."

Dean coughed again, drawing in a shaky breath. Seth bit the inside of his cheek until his teeth tore through the skin. He wandered towards Dean, scooped up Roman's jacket from the floor, and tossed it over Dean's body. Then he left Dean alone, following after Kane.

Maybe getting Kane involved wasn't necessary. Maybe I panicked. I could have handled this alone.

But it was too late now.

Roman was in hell.

He'd been driving around for what felt like hours, searching everywhere he could think to look for Dean and Seth. He hadn't called for backup. This was his war to fight. He didn't need anyone else's assistance. What good could anyone else do, really? And he wasn't particularly fond of any of the other wrestlers, either. They wouldn't care as much as he did.

He was fueled strictly by determination and vexation. He wasn't even tired, in spite of the green neon letters in the car indicating sunrise was due in a matter of just a couple of hours.

Roman was back outside their hotel when Seth called again. Hearing Kane assault Dean, listening to Dean's shouts and groans…Roman nearly broke. He felt sick. He was going to hurl, empty his stomach—acid and all—right there on the street, outside the luxurious hotel. Pass out. But if he passed out, he couldn't save Dean.

He needed to save Dean.

On the drive—he took the slick roads very carefully, going at least ten miles under the speed limit on most streets—his mind trailed back to the night Seth betrayed them. He struck Roman first with a chair, then attacked Dean in a worse degree. If Roman hadn't been so dazed, so weak, Dean might have taken less hits than he did. So many people were surprised, and of course that shocked bunch included the other two former Shield members. There were rumors all three boys would go their separate ways, but Roman was determined to stick with Dean. Dean was all he really had in the WWE. Dean was his family. His everything.

He swore then, and he swore tonight, to never let Dean down. To never betray him or let him fall. To never leave him behind. To commit all actions to the greater good, to protecting his family.

He wouldn't let Dean down tonight.

What would have been a ten-minute drive on a normal day with decent weather conditions ended up taking him twice that long. He leaped out of the car and scurried towards the building.

Just like the garage, the glass door was propped open. An invitation.

Roman slinked into the building.

It was quiet in the spacious lobby. For a moment Roman fooled himself into believing he had the element of surprise going for him. Maybe they didn't know he was here yet. He could find them before they found out, perform a sneak attack, get Dean and give Kane and Seth a little hell.

Roman wandered down a long, winding corridor, gently pushing doors open—the ones he didn't find locked—and poking his head inside. No sign of Dean so far. He hoped he wouldn't have to search every single floor of this joint before finally coming across Ambrose, but if that was what it took, he was willing to drive the entire trip.

A door on the left was the last one in this hallway. Roman pressed his ear against it. Something was going on in there. He heard it. He sensed it.

Roman prepared himself for whatever awaited him past this door.

He kicked the door open with an aggressive shout.

He found himself in a cramped office. The room was empty except for a tragic sight featured in the center of the room. Dean Ambrose, bound to a wooden chair by his wrists and ankles with thick rope. His hair was messy and his face was bruised, his eyes in clouds of purple haze. He stared up at Roman, and his breathing picked up. Roman couldn't tell if Dean was afraid or relieved.

"Dean," Roman whispered. His resolve was broken already. The sight of Dean like this wore down the last bit of resistance he'd had to offer.

"Hey, Roman," Dean said pathetically.

Roman rushed to Dean and knelt in front of him. He gently pushed Dean's hair from his face, tilting his head back, checking for all injuries sustained.

"Where are they?" Roman asked.

"I don't know. I heard him say you were here…Kane let me have a couple more blows, then they just…left."

Roman vigorously clutched at the ropes, his fingers wriggling like worms, trying to burrow between the knots. It did no good. Neither did tugging.

"Don't bother," Dean said. "I've been trying to get out of these for hours."

"I'll carry you out of here in the chair if I have to."

Dean lifted his lips in a weak half-smile. "Let's hurry, then. Don't know when they'll be—ROMAN!"

Roman felt the presence behind him as soon as Dean screamed his name. Roman whirled around, but it was too late. The Devil's Favorite Demon wrapped his hand around Roman's throat and gripped it tight. Roman choked and spurted, his hands grabbing at Kane's. Suddenly Kane lifted Roman into the air and slammed his body into the floor. A Choke Slam. One of Kane's signature moves.

Roman's head hit the floor in the impact, knocking him out cold.

It was such a bullshit plan. Not bullshit because it was ridiculous but because Seth and Kane were clever bastards. Of course it worked.

Kane and Seth knew Roman was there. That's why they'd just left Dean in the room. They didn't ambush Roman, they let him take his time finding Dean. To catch him off guard they planted the idea in his head that there would be no attack, no surprises, and once he found Dean, nothing would stop him from just taking Dean out of here.

Dirty fuckers.

Kane loomed over Roman's fallen figure. He looked to Seth. Smiled. Seth nodded. What language were they speaking to each other without a word?

Dean was horrified. He stared down at Roman. Begged him to wake up and kick some ass.

"Where do you want him?" Kane asked, lifting Roman up over his shoulders, wearing him like a backpack.

"That conference room down the way," Seth answered. Dean noticed he was feeling his face a lot. Touching his lips, massaging the pulled skin of his temples. Pacing the floor. Was he nervous? This hadn't gone as smoothly as he'd been hoping, Dean figured. But he couldn't exactly question it aloud here and now, confront Seth on his true feelings of these circumstances.

"You've got it. And you're sure you wanna take him instead of him?" By his gestures Dean read the first him meant Roman. The second, himself.

"Positive."

Kane peered at Seth grimly. Like Seth had made the wrong decision or something. Seth rubbed his nose.

"Hey. What do you think you're doing with him?" Dean queried. Kane's only response was that goddamn satanic little smirk again. He towed Roman out of the office.

"HEY!" Dean screamed. "GET THE FUCK BACK HERE, KANE!"

"Jesus, stop yelling," Seth said wearily. "Your fucking voice is gonna give out on you. And he won't listen, anyway."

The back of Dean's neck itched. A line of sweat had left it burning and sticky. "You wanna get me some water or something, Seth?"

Seth cocked his head. "Why?"

"Kane said he had to keep me alive. Control reasons. Can't really go on unless I get some water."

"Human body can last a few days without water. You'll be fine."

Dean's voice rustled soft. "What are you gonna do to him?"

"What'd I say about your voice, Dean? Save it. Think of yourself for once. For God's sake."

Dean was stunned. Seth was clearly losing it here. The cocky son of a bitch he'd been just hours before seemed to be hiding away somewhere, terrified of the real man in charge here now. He was pacing again, only stopping in the middle of a step when Kane reappeared in the doorway.

Kane snapped his fingers and craned his neck in the direction of wherever he'd stashed Roman. "All yours, Rollins."

Seth glared at Dean with traces of a fire in his eyes. They weren't black anymore. Dark brown, his natural color. Seth was fighting to still be angry but he was feeling something else.

Dean opened his mouth to try. Just one more time. Kane reached over and smacked him across the face, silencing a plea that had yet to be entered.

Seth sauntered out of the room. Leaving Dean and Kane alone.

Kane kicked off whatever plans he had for Dean by lifting the heavy desk and dragging it across the room so it was right in front of Dean. Kane extracted something small from the pocket of his suit jacket—a switchblade. The hell did Kane need that for? He lowered himself to his knees in front of Dean. Dean braced for pain but realized in a second Kane was using the switchblade to slice through the ropes binding his ankles to the chair. He grabbed hold of Dean's ankles. Drug him closer to the desk, setting his feet on the desk. His long legs stretched over most of the desk's surface area. The desk was also taller and his legs were at an awkwardly higher angle than the rest of his body.

Kane used the longest pieces of the portions of the rope to refasten Dean's feet together. Lugged off his tennis shoes and dirty white socks once they were secure.

"You gonna start anytime soon?" Dean asked.

Kane didn't say anything to the sarcastic jibe. He was fiddling with something else from his pocket. Dean recognized a flicking metal sound. A lighter igniting. Sure enough Kane was upholding a Bic lighter. He raised the blade of his pocketknife underneath the tiny flame, let the steel heat up until it singed red. Turned the blade over in his hand and heated the other side.

Dean's fingers drummed against air in the ropes.

"It's kinda boring in here," he went on. "Can I get some toys to play with? Maybe a set of Legos or a—"

Dean interrupted himself with a scream of pain. Kane pressed the searing blade against the sensitive skin of Dean's right sole. He held the blade there for several seconds, what felt like thirty excruciating minutes to Dean Ambrose. The villain only drew the blade away for a moment, giving Dean no relief at all as the flesh continued singing underneath the enduring layer of heat.

He forced the blade's side into Dean's sole again. A bit higher up than his previous hit mark. Listened to Dean yell and scream.

This went on and on and on. He'd hold the blade to a certain area of Dean's foot, pull away just to hit another area a second later. The only real "breaks" Dean received was when Kane took a little time to reheat his knife. The "breaks" were nothing to look forward to, anyway. It hurt like hell all the same.

The bottoms of the feet were perhaps the most heat-sensitive area on the human body. Kane really thought this through. Knew what he was doing. Felt no remorse. Sadistic fuck, Dean thought, nearly letting the words escape past his lips as Kane burned him again. Of course Kane kept switching from the right foot to the left and back again to ensure Dean wouldn't be able to walk without excruciating pain for a long time.

Dean desperately sought out a happy place. Somewhere for his mind to vacation until this was over. Couldn't find it in any childhood memories. Not even in his young adult life. His fondest memories were perhaps his most recent ones. Signing on with WWE. Meeting Roman. Uniting with him and Seth in the Shield—nope. Bad memory, very bad. Ended awfully. Skip over that part. Him and Roman, him and Roman. Tag-teaming. Fighting together. Helping each other through difficult nights. Signing that contract. Beating Seth. Beating J&J Security. Watching Roman in many victories.

All of his good memories, the things in life worth fighting for, always wound their way back to Roman. Several rivers ending in the same lake. Roman made this life worth living. Above all.

Kane peeled back a burnt layer of skin off Dean's foot. Dean's lip was split from how hard he'd been biting down. He tasted blood.

I've gotta get the fuck out of here.

He had a plan. Would it work? Wasn't sure. Didn't know. Worth a shot.

The next time Kane burned him with the piping hot knife, Dean let out another furious cry and slumped back in the chair, eyes closed, pretended the pain had caused him to pass out. He immediately set to work on a breathing exercise that helped him lower his heart rate, in case Kane checked for that. It was a good way to decrease a dangerously high heart rate. Deep breaths. Slow as to not betray his own plan. Performed the "Valsalva maneuver" in which he strained the muscles in his abdomen after those deep breaths.

He waited.

Waited.

Heard Kane shuffling.

Sure enough Kane's massive hand came onto Dean's neck, checking for a pulse. The pressure on the side of his windpipe let Dean know his breathing techniques had worked.

The knife clattered on the desk. Dean felt Kane's energy leave the room. Still he waited another few seconds before carefully opening his eyes to check.

He was alone.

Dean clenched his toes, perhaps the only spot on his feet left untouched, and drew them back, going for the knife. The angle his legs were at was painful, but his practically smoldering feet helped him ignore that particular discomfort. He slid the toes of his left foot underneath the knife handle and situated the toes of his right foot atop, enclosing the weapon in a steady grip. He moved slowly, steady, with the knife between his toes. At one point the blade poked his big toe, and he bit back a yelp. It was still scorching hot.

Once the knife dangled halfway over the edge of the desk, Dean used the very edge of his heel to boot it to the floor. He used enough power to make the knife fall a little ways behind him.

Next came the hard part. He'd have to work fast here.

Dean used his weight to tip the chair. It wobbled a bit on its two right legs, then returned to stability. Dean tipped it again. Again. Finally the chair toppled over. There was no way to quiet the sound of the crash.

His slim fingers reached desperately for the knife.

Come on, he commanded himself. Come on. Just stretch a little…bit…further…