Warning: This chapter has quite a few dark moments; probably the craziest chapter of the story thus far. I didn't want to use extremely graphic content - it's not that kind of story - but said graphic content is, at the very least, suggested/implied. But it's epic and exciting nonetheless, and it has a crazy ending. I really hope you enjoy it nevertheless. So get ready!
In movies, TV shows, spy novels Roman got around to reading from time to time, waking from unconsciousness was a trope. The shifting of the head, eyes flittering behind closed lids until they remembered how to open themselves. Sometimes characters woke with a start, jolting to awareness by an invisible electric shock. Roman stirred from his unconsciousness as though he'd been blackout drunk the night before. His head throbbed where Abigail had hit him. His vision was obscure even with eyes still closed. There was a blank spot in his memory that physically hurt even trying to fill in.
Roman's eyes pulled open like curtains, letting in a stream of dim light, reshaping his eyesight.
That memory blank was filled to its maximum when he got a look at his surroundings.
His body stretched over dirty carpet. His wrists, he quickly discovered, were confined by what felt like rope behind his back. His knees were restrained the same way. He couldn't move much except to roll, wriggle like a worm.
It was cramped in this dingy room. Cramped and hot.
Abigail Wyatt was sitting on the arm of a tattered couch, legs swung over the side, hands clasped together in her lap. Her feet still sported those boots that had done Roman in. Beside her on the couch was the bearded redhead who'd initially ambushed Roman; beside him, the portly rogue who'd held the knife to Seth's neck. Ringleader Bray Wyatt was in front of them, sitting upright on the floor, an outstretched and equally bound Seth before him. Bray was giggling as though he'd heard a wonderful joke shortly before Roman's awakening, his thick fingers sweeping through Seth mixed blond and brown locks.
The sight of them, all of them, especially Bray treating Seth like a cat, made Roman's stomach twist into knots and inside out. He strived against the impulse to pass out again. Stay awake for Seth, he told himself.
"At long last," Bray said through a sigh of what could only be interpreted as relief. "At long last, the sun is coming up."
Roman's eyes drilled into Seth's. He thought the words it's okay, it's okay, it's going to be alright again and again, as though he could convey them into Seth's own mind by the look alone. A mental fax. Emitting reassurance. A hope for refuge.
Seth stared back with only sadness. Roman couldn't tell if Seth was getting the message, or if he chose not to believe it.
"I'll be honest with you, Roman," Bray continued, "I thought my gray skies would never clear up. Especially not after I found my baby brother Luke Harper dead in the hospital, neck broken. Now, are you going to sit here and tell me you had nothing to do with that? Hmm?"
Roman said nothing in the silence Bray allowed for his chance to speak. Whatever Roman said would not be taken seriously. Bray was nuts. He was going to believe anything he was going to believe, truth or false.
"I thought so," Bray spoke softly. His hand moved from Seth's hair to around his neck. The fingers spread over the tender throat and closed with light pressure. Seth coughed, grappled for breath over the pressure, the pain, the closure to his lungs. Roman growled, arms tugging against the bondage—to no aid. "Would be a real shame if I made the decision to…punish you for that, by breaking your baby brother's neck. Wouldn't even be that hard, either. Just have to…" Bray tightened his clench on Seth's throat. His face ignited with shades of dark red.
"Stop!" Roman barked. How could he be so angry? Rightfully so, of course, considering all that managed to happen to him…but he wasn't afraid. Not for his own life, a bit for Seth's on the other hand…but for his very first (and, God willingly, last) time as a victim of kidnapping, he was inordinately calm. Irate, yes, but not panicky. "Just stop."
Bray was smiling. The sick puppy knew he was holding all the cards. But Roman wasn't ready to fold.
"No," he whispered. "I already have my plans for tonight. For you, for little Seth here"—the fingers returned to Seth's hair, treating him uncomfortably and sinisterly nicer—"and for your Dean Ambrose."
Roman's head ached from his abhorrence for Bray Wyatt and his whole fucking family alone. "What is your fucking obsession with Dean, I'll ask you again? Why is it so fucking important that you 'get him back'? Why can't you just leave him be and move on with your fucking life?"
Bray's smile twisted downward. How was the smile so much more frightening than his frown? "Your language isn't necessary, boy, and it isn't a good idea, considering where I am." Bray Wyatt pushed himself to his feet. "As for the answer to your question, Dean's the one who let himself in as my family. And family don't just quit on each other. You can walk away, but you can never leave. You can fight, but you don't give up." He shifted back and forth in front of Roman, eyes never leaving the fettered Roman. "There's different types of family, too. It's a concept not to be taken too delicately, but it isn't limited to flesh and blood. Hell, you don't even need the same last name to be family. Though flesh and blood might be the most important thing in the world, like Abigail here, Erick, little Bo."
Ah. Bo—Roman recalled Dean referring to him as Bo Dallas, a "little shit"—was the teapot-looking man, short and stout. Erick Rowan must have been the redhead.
"It goes further. Deeper with some. Family, Roman. Family. You can't just leave. Then again, I wouldn't expect you to know much about family, would you? Hmm? You see, as I've watched you, I've noticed you don't have much family around, do you? You go from work to that cute little comic book store—and home and that's it. What do you have in this life? Who do you have in the world? Rollins here, and Ambrose. And that's it. It's sad, really. You don't know what you're missing."
Roman closed his eyes. Could he simply wish Bray Wyatt away? Wish away that evangelical preacher-style verbalization of his? Praying alone wouldn't get him out of this. He had to think. Keep Bray calm. Who knew what the bastard had planned?
"And tonight…tonight I get my family back. It'll be a homecoming celebration. The prodigal son shall return to the father, and there will be a great feast."
"Dean's not your family," Roman said. "He never was, he never will be. And he's never coming back to you."
"Is that so?" Bray mused. He slipped a meaty hand into the pocket of his pants and extracted a device. Roman realized at once it was his phone. "I know you're madly in love with him, Roman Reigns, but it sounds to me like you don't know him the way I do."
He tapped on the screen, knowing how the gadget worked. So he wasn't a backwards, backwoods yokel after all. Roman swallowed hard. What was to happen?
Dean's crepitant voice filled the room as Bray activated speaker mode. "Finally, Ro. I texted you a few times. I was starting to worry."
"Wise thinking on your part, Ambrose. Not something you're really used to doing."
Silence for several drawn-out seconds. Roman's heart slammed loud with each one that passed. "Bray?"
"Ah, there you go, my boy."
"W-where did you get Roman's phone?"
"On his person, of course, silly thing. Stashed away in his jacket. Kinda fell out of the pocket when I was tying him up."
Roman could visualize Dean now, exactly how he looked and all he was doing during this phone call. Pacing the floor. Hand against his head, compressing the shock, his fear. Breath increased, unstable. Chest aching like he was having a heart attack. His heart was under attack.
"Where is he?"
"He's with me. We're all here for your welcome-home party, and I just now thought to invite the guest of honor." Bray smiled sheepishly, placing a finger to his cheek as if to say whoopsie.
"Let me talk to him."
"Of course." Bray shoved the phone into Roman's face and said, as though Roman hadn't heard Dean's appeal, "For you, Roman."
Roman just glared at Bray. Perhaps if he was able to remain silent, Dean could buy this as a prank, another trick, a mind game, psychological warfare just to fuck with his already indisposed mind…Dean wouldn't fall for this, he couldn't, he had to stay away from this miserable place…
He shook his head no. Defiant. Valiant. Had to be.
Bray sighed, inconvenienced by Roman's noncompliance. He nodded to Erick, expecting this, who drew a handgun from beneath his hoodie. Roman assumed the weapon would aim for him, a fear tactic to make him talk, but instead the gun lowered toward the floor and Seth was made the target instead.
"Speak, or he dies," Bray said, voice never lifting from its natural peace.
Roman's head drooped. Defeated. He felt like a traitor as he said at last, "Dean."
"Oh, shit. Oh Jesus, Roman, what the fuck's going on? Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"
"Dean, don't lose your mind. Please. I know this is fucked up, but you need to stay calm. You can't give him what he wants—"
"Your bravery is imposing, Roman, but foolish," Bray said, pulling the phone away. "Are you really so willing to risk your safety, risk your life, for him? Ambrose is a lying, selfish, crafty little shrew, who thinks he can use people to his advantage until they no longer serve an advantageous purpose, then he drops them. He will learn how you just can't do that to family."
"Fuck you, Bray, I'm not your family!" Dean screamed.
Bray set the phone on the carpet. Removed something else from his pocket. The knife from before; it was still on him. Bray took hold of Roman's throat to hold him steady as he trawled the tip of the blade from his cheekbone down to the jawline. Roman shouted out in pain, helpless against it, just what Wyatt wanted. The pressure was strong enough to break skin, and blood seeped from the narrow laceration, slinking down his neck.
"GET AWAY FROM HIM!" Seth howled, writhing in his bondage. He was silenced and stilled when Erick touched his back with the butt of the handgun.
"What was that?" Bray asked Dean. "I couldn't hear you over their screams…could you repeat that? Or, may I advise you not to berate me like that again, Ambrose. For the sake of your only two friends in the world, I wouldn't if I were you."
"F-friends…"
"Yes," Bray said, thrilled with himself. "Your little buddy Seth Rollins had an invitation to the homecoming as well. He RSVP'd posthaste. Do I need to prove it to you?"
"No! No—okay, okay, okay, okay." It was the most painful thing in the world to hear: Dean breaking. "Where are you…I'll be there, just…don't. Please. Not anymore. Please."
Roman's cheek stung like a bad sunburn. His face was contorted with pain. He turned away from Seth, so Seth wouldn't have to completely witness Roman's pain. Both the physical and the inner.
"You know where I am, Dean. You've been here before with my sister. Remember? When you scared her bad and made her cut her hair? You remember."
"Yeah, I…I remember." He'd omitted several curse words from the sentence, Roman could tell. The calmer he could respond to Bray, the less he could agitate the "swamp ape", the better it would be for Roman and Seth.
"Tell me what you're doing, Dean," Bray directed him. "I want to hear you say it."
It took Dean a long, long time to force the words from his esophagus.
"I'm coming home, Bray."
Bray ended the call before Roman could angrily protest.
"Okay, boys," he said next, turning to Bo and Erick. "Do away with him."
Roman twisted his neck back around in time to see Erick and Bo off the couch, hoisting Seth to his feet. "What are you doing?" he interrogated.
"Putting him somewhere safe. Don't worry. He's not going anywhere," Bray assured.
Roman watched helplessly as Seth was forced into a different room across the area at gunpoint. Bo flicked a switch, and a bright, buzzing light revealed a kitchen, mostly empty except for a stove on one side and an industrial-size freezer on the other. From where he was, Roman had a full view of Erick tugging the metal door open. Arctic air pushed from the spacious inside. Erick and Bo shoved Seth into the freezer.
"HEY!" Roman screamed, squirming in his bondage, a hostile caterpillar snared in a cocoon.
Before Seth could recover, Erick slammed the door shut, rattling the appliance. He gave an order to Bo: "Keep him in there." With a nod Bo slid to the floor, pressing his back against the door, holding it sealed. Erick returned to the living room, to Bray's side.
"No!" Roman said. "No, get him out of there. I'll take it, I'll do it, I'll do it for him." They'd made him go into the freezer without a jacket; only his t-shirt, jeans and bare feet. Seth had muscle, but Roman was far more built. He could withstand the cold better than Seth could. He hated to beg, but he wanted to protect Seth. He needed to. Uncommon anatomy facts weren't his strong point; how long can the human body withstand freezer temperatures…
"That's mighty sweet of you, Roman, but I have something else planned for you," Bray said.
Seth was subversive in the freezer. Roman heard him slamming his foot against the door over and over again, a muted cry of, "Let me out! Let me the fuck out of here!"
"Quit your kickin', or I'll kill you in cold blood!" Bo Dallas hollered. He flared up with hysterical laughter at his own atrocious pun. "Wanna test me on that one, Rollins?"
The kicking slowed, then eventually stopped. Roman tried convincing himself Seth had stopped voluntarily in favor of Bray's orders; not because he'd lost consciousness in there already…he was strong, he could hold on, please, Seth, hold on for me…
Bray lodged his arms underneath Roman's and heaved him to his feet next. Roman wasn't up for long. Erick and Bray maneuvered him towards the couch. Abigail stepped out of her brothers' way, and Bray bent Roman over the armrest of the sofa, hands still tethered and incapable behind his back, his face now pressed into the couch cushion. He turned his head to the side so he could breathe.
He was humiliated by the position, inclined with his lower half sticking into the air. Roman felt Bray's strong hands take a firm hold of either side of his waist. He felt Erick's hand clasp the back of his neck, holding his head in place. His gash throbbed. Drops of blood crept through the open skin, staining the fabric of the couch.
He couldn't think of what Bray's "plan" was for him.
He didn't want to.
Roman was invited into a chilling reality when Bray's fingers coiled through the belt loops on Roman's jeans. They receded from his waistline with a couple of tugs.
He really began to struggle. No. No, no, no way was this happening. Bray Wyatt was not about to do this to him. But as he shifted, grappling the bondage with grunts, Bray kicked both of his knees in from behind. Roman collapsed, falling as far as the position allowed him. Only the thick armrest of the couch upheld him now. He couldn't even stand.
"Relax, Roman, shhh," Bray hissed in his ear. "It's much easier if you don't fight it."
The comment made Roman strive all the more to free himself. Somehow. In some way. He had to.
Erick shoved his face into the couch cushion. He was losing air fast. Bray gave his pants one last tweak, and the material met his ankles on the floor.
"NO!" Roman wailed as Bray drew closer to him, touching him now from behind…
There came frantic knocking at the door just then. Aggressive, loud. Was it the police? Had they heard the shouts? Was this finally over?
"Get your ass out here, Wyatt!"
It was Dean. Roman's heart sank into his stomach.
Even with Bray's back to him, Roman could see him smiling. Bray crossed the living room floor and unfastened both locks on the front door. He pulled the door open, arms extending already.
"Oh, yes. This is wonderful. Dean Ambrose has finally come home."
He is so fucking sick crazy maniacal creepy sadistic motherfucking fuck…!
"Roman," Dean shrieked, attempting a rush towards his love, but Bray caught his neck in the bend of his arm and pulled Dean against his billowy form. Dean's hands latched onto the thick arm, nails tearing at the flesh, trying to pull free. A useless endeavor. Roman watched Dean watch him. Dean had been crying, very obviously by his inflated eyes and dried tear-stained, crimson cheeks. This was Dean's breakage in physical form and it hurt, fuck did it hurt to see him so damaged, both internally and externally…
"You have me, motherfucker," Dean muttered, jaw tight, the rest of his body slack. "You hear me? I'm here. You have me. Let him go. You don't need him anymore."
"Not needing Roman anymore would mean killing him," Bray said, clicking his tongue. "I'm sure you wouldn't like that very much, my boy. Besides, I do in fact still need him. The three of you will embrace your punishments. I'm sorry that they have to suffer on your behalf, Ambrose, but I have no choice. You did this to them by acting so careless."
Erick was still standing above Roman, now brushing his fingers through Roman's long mane. What was it with these creepers and hair? Was it a fetish? The very thought made Roman feel ill again.
"The only one with a choice right now is you, Dean," Bray said. "So what'll it be? Would you rather watch Mr. Muscles take his punishment? Or take his as your own?"
Dean looked thwarted. His eyes were gaping. His eyes went from Bray to Roman, then back to Bray. "Fine. I'll do it."
"NO!" Roman roared, furious. Erick was having a difficult time constraining Roman on his own. He used both hands to crush Roman's shoulders to the couch. "DEAN, NO! DON'T YOU DARE!"
Bray, meanwhile, grinned ear-to-ear, as though it was the most perfect response he could extract from Dean. He was getting off on Roman's reaction by itself. "Excellent."
"But get him out of here," Dean insisted. He was referring to Roman.
"Oh, no, Dean, I can't do that. You accepted the deal, and now Roman will get to fully understand why you don't turn on family."
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Roman hollered. He'd implode if he heard Bray incorrectly use that word one more time. It was obnoxious and disgusting. Everything about him was repulsive.
Erick lifted Roman to a standing position again, then shoved him to the floor. Roman's head smacked against the wall, and he groaned as his body rolled onto his side. The impact had knocked his vision into fog. It sharpened in time to see Bray flinging Dean onto the couch, flipping him from his back to his stomach like a pancake. Dean was offering no resistance. He couldn't. Not with so much at stake, too much at risk. When Erick and Bray moved behind him, to pin him down and begin stripping him as they'd done to Roman, Dean lifted his head, eyes focusing in on Roman's.
And he smiled.
It lasted a fraction of a second, plenty of time for Roman to see it, but not to understand why.
Dean Ambrose, on the brink of a brutal assault, was actually fucking smiling.
Roman was taken aback. Nearly out of breath at what he saw.
Is he up to something? Or is he just fucking crazy?
The smile dropped, and Dean voiced, "For the record, Bray, I still fucking hate you."
"Family does think that about one another sometimes. But it doesn't change a thing, my boy. Not a thing."
Roman was amazed at himself. He didn't implode, after all.
Why. Did. He. Smile.
Erick took both of Dean's ankles in each hand and yanked his legs apart.
Something exploded outside.
The explosion was closer, more linked to this predicament, than Roman thought when he first heard it. His initial assumption for the noise was a car backfiring. He didn't have time to take in what else it could possibly be until the explosion rang out in the night again.
This time, he recognized the horrifying sound.
Gunfire.
Two bullets had pierced through the golden lock on the door, which swung open, smacking the wall behind it, nearly soaring off its hinges like a bird from its nest. Roman looked over and saw the man of intimidation from the hotel, Dean's uncle, the Undertaker stepping slowly into the apartment.
Bray Wyatt and Erick Rowan were clearly baffled at the man's appearance. He'd managed to get into the home by shooting the lock, yet he appeared unarmed with such a weapon.
"Wh-who the hell are you!" Bray cried out.
Undertaker said nothing.
"What the hell's going on in there?" Bo called from the kitchen.
"Take care of him, Erick," Bray commanded.
Erick nodded and hurried to aim the gun at this intruder.
Roman saw it. Now was Dean's chance.
Dean thrust his leg in the air, kicking Erick's hand, sending the gun flying. He shot up from his laying position on the couch, knocking Bray in the jaw with a clamped fist. Bray spun around, dazed. Erick frantically moved to recover his gun, but Undertaker reached him before the recuperation. The strong man wrapped his hand around Erick's throat, gripped it tight. Erick, wide-eyed and blanching, choked and spurted. Suddenly Undertaker lifted Erick into the air and slammed his body into the floor. Erick didn't move. He might have been out cold.
Abigail screamed. She darted to the back of the apartment, unfollowed. She wasn't the greatest threat.
Bray Wyatt staggered backwards, holding his head in a lingering daze, still astounded by this man's presence. The further he backed away, the closer Undertaker drew near to him, one patient step at a time. Taker passed over Erick's fallen weapon, and he kicked it towards Dean, who took it in a hold of his own. Bo Dallas made it to the doorway of the kitchen, and when his eyes took in the turn of events in the living room, he turned back around to run, hide. Dean narrowed his eyes and raised the gun. Without hesitation he pulled the trigger. Bo cried out. The bullet lodged itself deep in his back. His plain white shirt blackened with blood, and his lifeless body collapsed to the floor.
Now Dean Ambrose was a murderer.
Not that Roman was going to hold that against him right now.
Bray Wyatt couldn't back away from Undertaker any longer. He made the decision to fight. He swung a fist at the older man, aiming for the nose, the throat, something that would have an impact, but Undertaker dodged the attempted strike and countered with a hit of his own, this one successful. He locked an arm around the back of Bray's neck and thrust his mighty fist into Bray's stomach, over and over and over. The force was enough to make Bray cough without the touch of his neck, his knees starting to fail him.
Roman blinked. He couldn't just watch. He had to get moving. He was still tied up, and Seth was still trapped in the freezer.
Dean leaped over the couch to Roman's side, landing gracefully like a cat, armed with a pocketknife. Roman didn't know whose it was, Dean's or Taker's or Bray's or his own. Dean used the weapon to cut Roman free of his bondage.
"Thanks," Roman said. He couldn't get the words out fast enough. "Seth's in the freezer."
Dean's face was blank, lifting to panic. "What?"
"Yeah." Roman sprung up and rushed across the room, Bray Wyatt and Undertaker still contending in the center of the living room. He vaulted over Bo Dallas's body, blood still gushing from the wound. Roman approached the freezer with too much speed, slamming into it with both hands before he was able to come to a stop. He grabbed hold of the latch and heaved the door open wide. Seth's body was balled up on the floor, shaking violently as though he was seizing. Roman reached inside, grabbed hold of Seth's arms, and lugged him out of the freezer. His skin was patchy with goosebumps. His hair was frozen in clumps. Roman held him closely, tightly, using both hands to rub up and down Seth's bare arms. "I've got you," he said in Seth's ear. "I've got you…it's okay…" He put a strong hand on Seth's neck. The skin was so cold that Roman's flesh nearly stuck to it. He held his hand there, warming the tender area.
Dean gasped as Erick Rowan grabbed him from behind, twirling him around to knock him in the head. Dean still had the knife. His body did its best to absorb the unexpected blow, and with a shout, Dean lunged his hand forward and skewered Erick's ribcage with the blade. Erick's entire form went stiff. Not believing that particular stab was fatal, Dean jerked the knife out of Erick and plunged it into him again, this time higher up, near the area of his heart. Dean sobbed softly as that lunge seemed to do the trick. Erick's body joined his brother on the floor, soul lost in heaven or hell or wherever it may have gone.
Dean teetered backwards, dropping the knife, taking each breath in shaky and deep. "I—I didn't want to have to," he said.
"But you did have to," Roman said, feeling gloomy for Dean. Seth was curled up still in his hold.
Leaning against the counter, Dean glanced out towards the combat in the living room.
"Shouldn't we help him?" Roman asked.
"No. Stay here where it's safe," Dean said. His voice was dismal now, as though his actions fostered him in a dark home. "He knows what he's doing."
Bray lunged at Undertaker again. Taker caught him by the throat, slamming his body down. Roman caught Dean grinning as his uncle drew a thumb over his own throat, tongue poking through his teeth. It must have meant something, something only the two of them understood. I know Dean said this guy isn't family by blood, but geez, are they similar…
In a swift, trained motion, Undertaker gathered all of Bray Wyatt in a hold. He rotated Bray Wyatt's body so that Bray's head was only several inches away from the ground. With a light jump to power his next action, "Uncle Jeff" collided with the floor, crushing Bray's neck against it. Roman might have just imagined it, but he swore to himself he heard the very snap of Bray's neck upon impact.
Bray Wyatt's inanimate body slumped on the carpet of his own residence. Murdered in his own home by a trained professional, Dean's uncle.
Roman was dizzy. Dizzy from all that had happened, dizzy from whatever was yet to even come.
Seth was coming around, slowly but surely. Roman didn't trust him to walk on his own two feet yet, so he carried Seth into the living room. It reeked of blood and of death; if death had a scent, this was it.
"Rest in peace."
Even his voice was menacing.
Undertaker's sunken eyes looked up at Roman and Dean—and Seth, in Roman's arms. "Are you boys alright?"
"Better now…" Roman said. He must have been in shock. His brain had shut down, refusing to process any of this any further. Probably until a bit later, after the dust settled and he had time to fully register this mad night. "Thank you."
The Undertaker nodded. Nickname's very suitable.
Dean's eyes swept over the floor, from the kitchen back to the living room, over Bray Wyatt. There was a certain twinkle in his eye that Roman didn't miss. "Can't believe it," he said. "It's…over. It's actually over."
"For you," Undertaker stated. "Take my rental car to get your friend's. Leave it at the hotel. I'll be out of the city by morning. You won't get any more calls or texts from me from that number."
"I understand. Need any help cleaning up?"
"No. I have a process, Dean. You know this." He offered a smile, meaning to be friendly, perhaps playful, but Roman couldn't shake that sinking feeling about him. Better to have the crazy, demented killer on your side rather than against, he supposed.
"Okay."
"And you should know better than to call the cops, of course."
"Right. Yeah, I get it." Dean rubbed his mouth. "Okay. We're out then, alright?"
"Take care of yourself, boys. Look after one another."
"We will," Roman promised him.
Undertaker tossed Dean a set of keys, who immediately handed them over to Roman. Seth rolled forward, wanting to be free of Roman's hold.
"You okay?" Roman asked.
"I'm fine. Better now, yeah. Thanks, Ro."
Roman still put an arm around him, as though to tow him, just in case he couldn't quite make it on his own. "Thanks again, Undertaker. Sir."
"Don't mention it," he answered. "I mean that."
Roman swore he wouldn't.
Weak but alive, tired but enduring, Roman, Seth, and Dean trudged out of the home, what would have been a future crime scene if Roman didn't trust Dean's words that the Undertaker was meticulous and knew what he was doing.
The one man who could save them all.
Roman breathed the words sweet as air. Was it finally over? Yes, he could perhaps start to believe it now…
Over.
It was over.
...but is it really over? ;) Of course not! Our boys still have quite a bit of story ahead of them. Where troubles with Bray Wyatt may be over, who knows what else is in store for them? And of course, with all the drama and continuing secrecy (:O) comes the happy times, such as the upcoming holiday, Dean's new job, and family bonding. Thanks for being such crazy awesome faithful readers, and I'll see you guys in the next chapter! :3
