He knew it was a dream as soon as it began. It was that hazy sort of disjointed reality that only happens in dreams. He was in the holding cell where he had been for the past month and then some. He hated it. The small room seemed even more claustrophobic in his mind. The walls seemed closer, the air heavier, the bars thicker.

He heard the door that he had heard so many times before followed by heavy, booted footsteps. They moved slowly, deliberately, toward him. His dream self gasped when he came into view. It was himself, a mirror image of what he knew himself to look like. Same smug grin, same auburn curls hanging loosely over his forehead, same intense blue eyes that bore holes into his very being. What separated them as different was the clothing. This version of himself wore black cargo pants under a black tank and vest. He was heavily armed, wore black gloves, and an attitude of confidence that exuded from him.

"Who are you?" He found himself asking, though he already knew the answer.

The other him raised an eyebrow and laughed. "Jon Moxley. You know exactly who I am."

"Dean Ambrose."

Dean's grin widened, "The one and only."

Dean opened the cell door and strode in, dancing ever so slightly as he came in close, assessing this version of himself, circling him like a shark, taking in everything about him. "This is what they turned me into? A little punk?"

"I'm not a little punk!" Moxley spat as he rounded on Dean.

Dean laughed, "That's exactly what you are. You can't function without that bitch, Stephanie." Then his smile dropped and was replaced with a dangerous expression that caused Moxley to drop eye contact. "See, I remember everything. Everything they did to you, all the pain, everything they made you do, and everyone they made you forget. Then they locked me away in your head where all I could do was watch as you and Stephanie…how am I ever going to be able to look my wife in the eye again?"

That last statement he said more to himself than Moxley and it was evident that he was hurt and disgusted with himself. Dean sat on the small cot after a moment of reflective thought and pulled the photo of he and Abby out from under the pillow where Moxley kept it after he stole it from the album. He ran a gloved finger down her face and smiled sadly. "I miss her. I would walk through hell if it meant I could hold her. I guess that's what this could be, right? Hell? Seeing the person you love through another's eyes and not being able to reach out to them."

"Dean, I'm sorry."

He laughed and shook his head. "I know. And I know none of this is really your fault. But you have to understand, you aren't real. You're an imposter in my brain. But I've been reduced to this." He said and gestured to his whole self.

"What do I do?"

Dean was on his feet again, the dangerous look dancing again in his eyes as he advanced on Moxley. "You can die!" He spat, the blade in his palm ready to plunge into Moxley chest. Moxley screwed his eyes shut, ready for impact. None ever came. He opened his eyes and Dean was screaming, trying desperately to force the blade into his chest only to be stopped mere inches from the flesh by some unseen force. Even using both hands and all his body's leverage couldn't move the blade any further forward.

"Fuck!" Dean screamed and threw the knife against the wall and it clanged to the ground. "Why can't I kill you!?"

"Maybe because I am you?" Moxley offered with a shrug.

Dean pointed an angry finger in his face, "Let's get one thing straight, you are not me! You are nothing but a figment, a personality created through pain! I want you gone!"

"I don't know how to do that!" Moxley screamed back.

Then he woke up with a start, sitting up in the cot like a shot and gasping for breath. His heart was racing and his head hurt, but the most traumatizing thing was that he didn't feel like Jon Moxley anymore. Nor did he feel like Dean Ambrose. He felt like nothing, an empty shell waiting for one of the two personalities to take over so he could function.

That's when his eyes fell on the person outside the bars. It was Abby, smiling at him like she had so many times before. "Am I still dreaming?"

She drew her eyebrows together in confusion, "I don't think so. Did you dream of me again?"

He shook his head, but didn't explain his vivid dream to her. Rather he swung his feet over the edge of the cot and stretched out his sore back. He didn't look at her. For some reason, he couldn't. He felt ashamed for how he had treated her as of late. Actually, part of him wanted to reach out and hold her. The other part wanted to huddle in a corner and hide away from the world. He felt like he was standing on the edge of a cliff, just waiting for something to push him over.

"I know you took the photo." She said, watching him carefully.

He made no reaction to her. He just sat there, staring at the floor. "I can give it back."

"Keep it." She said. "Why did you take it?"

He shrugged, not feeling like talking much. Yet he could feel apprehension beginning to build in his stomach. It was like something huge was about to happen and he was just waiting for it to do so.

She didn't press the matter of the photo any further. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing." He answered flatly. It was a lie and somehow he knew she knew that. When he finally looked at her she was standing at the bars, watching him. He wanted to run to her, hold her tightly against his chest, run his fingers through her blond hair, but he couldn't. He just couldn't do it. Why?

"You aren't Moxley anymore, are you?" She asked with a hopeful expression. That's what it was. He wasn't. He shook his head and she covered her mouth with her hands as tears began to streak her face.

"Dean?" She choked out through the tears.

It hurt him to do so, but again he shook his head. He was neither Moxley or Dean as both personas battled it out in his head. He was both as he waited for one to overpower the other.

"Can I ask you something?" He said as he stood and approached her. She nodded emphatically and he took a deep breath. "I need to do this. For some reason, I need to kiss you. May I?"

Again she nodded and moved her face close to the bars. She waited there for him to make the move, allowing him to go at his own pace. He moved slowly, inching his face towards hers. lightly taking her chin in his fingers, he brushed his lips against her. It felt...right. It felt like home. He pressed them closer, deepening the kiss as much as the bars would allow.

That was it. It was finally as fin he had been shoved over the edge as memories flooded back into his head. The cargo ship, the way she curled her fingers in his shirt, the Authority, his place in Headquarters, his life with Abby, his wife, Italy, Venice, Wade Barrett, Stephanie McMahon, and even Jon Moxley. He remembered it all.

He broke the kiss and fell to his knees, clutching his head as everything flooded back. Then he looked in her concerned eyes and he knew who he was. He was Dean Ambrose. "Abby?"

She laughed and ran her hand down his face, "Hi Dean."

He couldn't hold back the tears. "Hi darlin'." He whispered and again pulled her in for a kiss. When they separated after a long moment, he wiped the tears away from her face with his thumb before looking down happily. "You're pregnant!"

She nodded happily, "You're going to be a daddy."

Then his smile fell and was replaced with something akin to horror. "I am so sorry." He whispered as fresh tears filled his eyes. "I...she made me…I tried to hold on to you. I didn't want to forget. The things I did…oh god..."

It was her turn to wipe away his tears. "I know."

"How can you even look at me knowing what I've done...with her? What I would have continued to do? What I wanted to keep doing?"

"It wasn't you." She said and kissed his cheek. "They made you do it."

"They made me forget you."

"Do you remember me now?" She asked with a hopeful smile.

He nodded and smiled, "Yes."

They hugged as much as the bars would allow, both unwilling to get the other go for a moment, almost afraid things would change if they lost physical contact. It wasn't until he felt her grip he shirt unusually hard she they part. He looked at her. She wasn't smiling anymore. "What's the matter?"

She looked like she was in pain and she doubled over, gripping her stomach. "Something's wrong."

They both looked down at her lap only to find blood staining her pants. She looked up at him in horror before doubling over onto the ground and gripping herself in pain. "Abby! Jesus!"

He couldn't get to her, he couldn't do anything behind these bars. He couldn't even hold her. He just got her back and now he was watching her bleed in front of him and there was nothing he could do about it.

"HELP!" He screamed.

Roman Reigns came bursting through the door and found Abby lying in front of the cell bleeding on the floor. Dean held her hand and looked up at him with pleading eyes. "Big Dog! Help her!"

"Shit!" Roman spat and immediately dialed a number on his phone. "I need a doctor, ASAP!"

Dean leaned in as close as the bars would allow, "You'll be ok."

She smiled at him and clutched his hand tight as he repeated the words over and over. The paramedics were there quickly.

"I have to get you to the infirmary." Roman said and lifted her easily into his strong hands. Then he regarded Dean, "I'll be back to deal with you."

She held onto Dean tight and it took him prying her hand from his to get them out the door to medical attention. He held onto the bars, trying to keep his eyes on her as Roman took her away. He kicked at the metal and shook the bars as he screamed. "God dammit!"

He needed her to be ok.

A/n: oh no! What have I done!? Smalls, Nangel4, MsConCon, thank you all for the reviews! We're finally free of Moxley! Or are we? Only a few chapters to go. Please keep reviewing! Thay make me a very happy and motivated writer. :P