The man sitting beside him gave him the fucking creeps. There was no other word for it. He made Dean's skin crawl, and if Dean weren't a tough son of a bitch, he would have gotten up and moved his chair to the other side of the room. But, he was a tough son of a bitch. He was a goddamned crazy motherfucker, if most people who had met him were asked, and he didn't get up just because he was told to sit next to some guy who looked like he ate baby chickens for breakfast.

In fact, just to prove a point, Dean turned in his seat and looked straight at the guy, who was already looking at him. Dean grunted and said, "Wanna know what I look like with my skin inside-out, buddy? The last guy you turned inside out? Yeah, just like that."

The guy sneered and Dean rolled his eyes before turning to stare straight forward. The fuck was he getting into with this place? Yeah, he knew they needed rough and tumble motherfuckers. They had come and gotten his shady ass off of death row, after all, but damn. So far, the only people he'd met outside of the big bosses were a hot crazy bitch and a dude that looked like he had an Ed Gein complex.

Dean snorted. "And, by the way," he said, "I'm prone to rashes." Which he wasn't. "I wouldn't make a good lamp, either." Which he wouldn't.

"Alright, Dean, enough." He didn't turn around to watch Trish walk into the room. Not that he didn't want to, because dear God, to get a look at that bod walking toward him, but because he didn't want to have to split his attention between admiring the boom-ba-da-boom of Trish's hips and the psycho sitting next to him.

He was pretty sure this was the guy AJ had mentioned last night, the other new recruit that was locked in at night, like her. He thought about asking Trish about it, then changed his mind. No one was supposed to know that he had let AJ out of her cell last night, and he hadn't seen her at all that morning.

Trish walked past him, and though he couldn't watch her coming, he was more than happy to watch her walk past. He admired her body, but he'd never actually try anything. She was a little too sane to be his type. She was too rational to have anything at all to do with him outside of work, and Dean didn't really care for rejection. It made him do things that he hadn't planned, and it was a hell of a lot harder to get away with those things without a plan.

"You've got a lot of glass around here," Dean said with a snort. "Got a thing for watchin' people? Or being watched?"

Trish started to sit down at her desk, but at Dean's words, she stopped, her body bent forward, hair falling into her face. Trish shoved her hair back as she stood upright. She stalked around the desk and Dean almost pushed his chair back. That was a dangerous woman, right there. He had to keep reminding himself that his games would only go so far with her. He had no doubt that she would end their little business arrangement quick if Dean pushed her too far, and that ending wouldn't involve him going back to prison.

Trish crossed in front of Dean, to stand between him and the creepy fuck next to him. She hopped up to sit on her desk. Her legs dangled in front of her. She clasped her hands together in a big fist and let it hang between her knees. Dean almost grinned. That posture said, My dick is bigger than yours. Try me, asshole. This was definitely a woman who knew how to handle overly aggressive men.

"If you think you're going to get a sexual harassment seminar, Ambrose, you're sorely mistaken," she said. "What you will get, however, is notice that women around here don't complain to HR when a guy's being a dick. The guy just gets a fist, or a foot, to the face. I prefer a foot."

Dean nodded his head slowly. "Duly noted."

"Good." Trish sat up and unclenched her hands. She gripped the edge of her desk as she said, "You both know who I am."

"Actually," Dean said, "you never told me your name."

"But, I'm sure you've found it out by now."

He grinned. "Nice to meet you, Trish."

"Keep being a smartass and it'll be Ms. Stratus," she told him, her eyes stern. She was hard, for sure, but there was something about her that told Dean that there was something going on with her other than typical tough bitch shit. Dean was pretty good at reading people, and he read from her that she had issues.

He watched her knuckles go white as she gripped the edge of her desk. He looked up to her eyes and saw the realization at how hard she was holding on, then looked back down to see her relax her grip. Something was occupying her mind, and she was barely reigning herself in. He was going to have to be careful where he stepped and what he said, at least until that tension left her.

"Dean Ambrose," Trish said, "meet Roman Reigns."

Roman's response was a grunt. Dean gave a grunt of his own, but followed his up with words. He jerked his thumb to the side as he said, "Now, that dude's a fuckin' serial killer."

Dean felt Roman bristle beside him a second before he blurted out, "Jesus Christ, just pass my profile around, already."

Dean chuckled under his breath. "I haven't read your profile," he said, "I just read you."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Dean turned to look him head on. Roman Reigns wasn't the first bad motherfucker that he'd come across, and he wouldn't be the last. Yeah, the guy gave him the creeps, but he was going to have to work with him, or at least that's what he assumed since they were being introduced. He needed to let this guy know that he wasn't a mark.

"I've been called a serial killer before, but I'm not," he told him. "I'm just a mean son of a bitch that likes to hurt people. But you, my man? You've got the pathology. You, Reigns, are a creepy motherfucker. You don't think I know what it feels like to have somebody searching me for the perfect spot to put a knife? Do the time that I've done, and you pick that shit up, quick. You're a fuckin' hunter, and I'm tellin' you right now, I'm not a guy you wanna hunt."

Roman smirked. "You think you could take me?"

"I think I wouldn't have to take you, not one on one, because your pathology won't let you do it until you've got the whole thing planned. Me? Don't need to plan it that much. I don't need to stalk you or learn your patterns. I've just gotta be where you're not expecting me before you finish your rituals and planning. No matter what others might say, I'm not a serial killer, but I've fucking studied 'em enough to know one when I see one, and to know how to get him before he gets me."

Dean saw a challenge in Roman's eyes and wondered if maybe he should have kept his mouth shut. Yeah, he wanted this guy to know that he wasn't a target, but the look in Roman's eyes said that he thought Dean might be the most fun target yet. Dean might have just made himself into the ultimate mark for a serial killer. When he was locked inside an underground facility. Where there were weapons everywhere.

Fuck.

Roman's challenging grin seemed to shift, then. His head nodded up and down twice. His grin turned into an actual smile. Was that… approval? Respect? Dean guessed Roman hadn't had too many guys look him in the eye and talk at him like they could go toe-to-toe with him. Maybe Dean hadn't put himself on the serial radar, after all.

"Are the two of you quite finished, yet?"

Dean and Roman continued to stare at one another. Dean knew that you didn't take your eyes off of a cobra until it was already going in the other direction. It wasn't a staring contest, the first one that looks away is a pussy. Dean didn't give a shit about staring contests. Dean was looking Death in the eyes, and he didn't look away until Death had found someone else a hell of a lot more interesting.

Roman pulled his gaze from Dean and turned toward Trish. Only then did Dean allow himself to do the same. He sat back in his seat and folded his arms. "I guess we are for now," he said.

"Good." Trish pointed at Roman, then at Dean. "The two of you," she said, "are going to be paired up in your training classes until I say otherwise."

"Why?" Roman asked her.

"Because you've got a lot to learn, and he's gonna teach it to you." She hopped down off of her desk and moved around to sit behind it. She turned her back on them easily, even after the display they'd just given. Dean gave her credit for that. She didn't give a shit that she had murderers at her back.

Sitting down, Trish put her hands on bound packets at either side of her. She pushed them simultaneously toward Dean and Roman. "You're going to read these. I'm not about to read them to you. Rules and regulations, boys," she said. "Know them, and love them."

Dean snorted. "Seriously?" He leaned forward and grabbed his packet. Out the corner of his eye, he saw Roman doing the same. "Just, here's your homework and that's it? What kind of teacher are you?"

"The kind that teaches adults who know how to read." Trish leaned back in her chair and folded her hands in her lap. "I'm going to highlight the big ones for you, and then I'll leave the rest up to you. We have more important things to teach you that require personal attention."

"And that would be?"

"You both know how to kill a man, but do you know how to get answers out of him before you kill him?"

Roman grunted. "Torture gets you answers, but it doesn't get you the right answers."

Dean jerked a thumb and said, "He's got a point. Most people will say whatever you want them to say to make the pain stop."

Trish laughed, and Dean knew that it would haunt him in his sleep. It was a wicked and mocking laugh, the kind that tore all the way through skin and bone and muscle to bury itself deep at his core. "Oh boys, the pain is just the foreplay. The pain is the fun that you get to have. The pain…" She smirked. "The pain is there so we can get the lies out of the way. Once you have all of the information they're willing to give up, there are ways to make a person believe he or she is in Nirvana and they only get to stay by telling the truth."

"And you're gonna teach us that," Dean said.

"Among other things," she told him. "Of course, there's hand-to-hand combat. Weapons training. Surveillance. There's much more, and you have to pass it all by my standards before you ever get into the field. And I want you both in the field as soon as possible."

Dean snorted. "This one especially, right?"

"Yes, Dean," she said, "Roman especially. " She sat up in her chair and pulled it forward to the desk. "Now, there is one more new recruit that you will probably meet. If things go well, you'll meet him sooner rather than later."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Let me guess," he said, "you're putting together a team."

Trish winked and clicked her tongue at him. "You're a smart one, Dean. I have plenty of people who work well together, but they don't have all the bits that I need to really make a good team."

Roman said, "And you think the three of us would. I don't know anything about the other two, but I'm not that much of a team player."

"You're military, Roman, and the team aspect was not the problem you had in the military. You're a team player. And Dean will be anything I want him to be, won't you, Dean?"

He shrugged. "As long as I get to have some fun, I'll be a cross-dressing porcupine if you ask me nicely."

Trish smirked. "And your third, well, he's a good boy. I'm sure the two of you will correct that in no time." She leaned back in her chair again. "Now, as far as the rules and regulations go, there are just a few that you need to hear coming from my lips."

Dean had a quip about her lips, but he kept it to himself. He wasn't a moron, after all.

"You will hear the term decommission," Trish told them. "I take it the two of you understand inherently what that means." Dean nodded. He looked to the side. Roman was nodding, too. "There are only a few ways to get decommissioned around here. We treat our operatives well. We even have a firm that works with us to help you set up very lucrative retirement funds, as well as beneficiary accounts in case the job stops you from reaching retirement."

Well, that was one hell of a way to say if you got your ass killed.

"We expect retirement at some point," Trish said. "Sometimes, operatives retire to beautiful parts of the world. Sometimes, they retire around here in case they feel the need to come out of retirement. We are not into decommissioning our operatives because they get old or injured. Unless, of course, you break your contract."

"And I take it the contract has a confidentiality clause."

"Yes, it does, Dean," she said, "and that clause clearly states what will happen should you break it." She stared at him and he just shrugged. Dean knew how to keep his mouth shut. "The number one way to get yourself decommissioned is to decide that someone else's deal is better than ours. And if you want to know why the veteran operatives give me a very wide berth when I come through and look like I'm on a war path? Well," she said with a smirk, "you can guess who has taken care of quite a few of those decommissions."

Dean cast his eyes to the side. Roman Reigns may have been a serial killer, but the man wasn't a complete sociopath. He knew what fear felt like, and he knew when to be afraid. His face didn't change, didn't overtly show his fear, but it was in the way his eyes widened for a second. Dean knew that fear because he felt it himself. He just knew better than to show it. If Reigns was going to be working with him, he was going to have to lean it, too, and quick.

"We do not take kindly to traitors around here, gentlemen. Let that stand as your first and final warning." Trish pushed back from the desk and stood up. "Now, if you'll follow me, we will head over to HR and get your paperwork started. You will be issued new social security numbers and you have some federal tax forms to fill out."

Dean barked a laugh. "Are you shitting me? We have to pay taxes?"

"Didn't anyone ever tell you the only certainties in life are death and taxes?" Trish winked at him. "Now, when your paperwork is done, you'll have the rest of the afternoon to familiarize yourself with the building and to begin reading your rules and regulations. I'll meet you both after lunch for your first class."

Dean asked, "Weapons training?"

Roman asked, "Hand-to-hand?"

Trish grinned at them. "First Aid and CPR, boys." She winked again. "Priorities, gentlemen. My, I do have a couple of mad dog killers on my hands, don't I?"

Trish walked around the desk and again put her back to them as she walked to the office door. She didn't look behind her as she stepped through the door and began her descent down the stairs. She knew they would follow, and they would follow soon. Dean sure as hell wasn't about to keep her waiting for too long.

But, before he left, he leaned to the side and said, "And they call me crazy?"

Roman grunted and pushed to his feet. He looked down at Dean and said, "You looked me in the eye and offered a challenge. You are crazy." He snorted, then smirked. "But, that woman? She's worse than crazy."

"Oh yeah?" Dean stood up. "And what's worse than crazy?"

Roman said, "She's vicious," then stepped to the side and walked to the door. And all Dean could do was follow and shake his head, because dude had a pathology that should have put him in the chair, but he was definitely not wrong.