((Back to the Wyatt Lot for this chapter! Thank you everyone for your continued support and I really hope that you enjoy what is to come! I apologize for not being able to update as regularly as I'd like, work is work and work pays bills! But forget the bills, please let me know what you think of this chapter!))

COTTONWOOD, WYATT FAMILY LOT

A different room but the same sweet smell of that wood smoke; it poured through the holes in the walls and through gaps in the ceiling. Every room was a compartment, different pieces of the brain; it was where Wyatt harvested his children. The special ones were kept and used over and over until all they could think was obey. Long ago; Dean had hazy memory of getting lost in Cottonwood, of a light guiding him home, a gentle hand on his shoulder, a woman's voice pushing him on, taking him forward.

We'll meet again one day Dean.

How she died Wyatt had never told him. The buzzards had taken every piece of skin from her bones, left them so he could play the witch doctor, so he could build her a shrine, so that he could promise her remains that he would rebuild her. The monster would make his creator whole once again, but only the tainted were strong enough in his eyes. His head and his eyes would twitch, his tongue would gargle and twist as the voices told him yes, yes this was what needed to be done. Dean had seen these faces before, he'd heard their words. It could be anything, could mean anything – but like all the evils in the world, he understood. Somehow, he always had, even as a child.

When his mom had drowned herself, he'd stood at the tubs side and said goodbye. Because whilst he hated her for leaving him, for all the terrible things she'd said and done to him, he got it. She didn't want to live in their crap apartment. She didn't want to do her shitty job. She didn't want a stinking brat for a kid. So she went away, and didn't come back. He got it. He really fucking did. The darkness and the cruelty of every single particle, of every black heart, it was understood.

They strung his arms up high, up above his head; every single noise was too loud. He could feel their drugs in his system, their own kind of special K, but nothing sweet about this low. It drove through his head, as if someone had taken a drill to his skull. His head rolled and through the sweat he could see Wyatt. He moved as a blur, his colors drifted across the room before falling into themselves again. But there was more, behind him, an alter of candles, each painstakingly lit. He could just make out what lay there, through the haze; a body, surrounded by things dried.

He knew; he didn't have to be able to see her, to know.

'AJ?' his tongue felt fat in his mouth.

Wyatt hovered in front of him, turned to look over his shoulder at the young woman's body. 'She's perfect, Dean,' the glee in his voice was unmistakable, 'and soon, soon she'll be complete. I have the pieces I need. We were so careful, we only used the very best. I took my time. She always told me to be patient,' he moved too fast for his size, his hands on either side of Dean's head, his nails dug into skin and hair, 'and I have been patient Dean. I waited, waited for them to come to me. Oh and they came, they all came one by one and two by two and they laid themselves down,' He ran his hand across Dean's sweating forehead, 'just like you did. You knew Dean; you knew this would happen if you returned to Cottonwood. You couldn't ignore her could you? In here?' a finger tapped against the temple. 'Because once you feel her love, she takes your mind.'

'Wyatt,' it sounded strange in his mouth, 'Wyatt...stop this.'

Wyatt threw back his head, his hair like weed roots and he laughed. 'Stop? Stop? Dean how can I stop?' he spread his arms out toward the alter, 'See how far we've come? Soon it'll all be nothing but dust, and this will be our new world, and she,' he turned, stroked AJ's pale cheek, 'she will take us into the new dawn. Can't you see it Dean? Can't you see the flames kiss the sky? Can you smell it all burn?'

Dean jerked his head away. He forced himself to blink awake. He strained his arms as Wyatt watched his struggles. But this wasn't about breaking free, not yet. It was about waking up; it was about getting his body back. God knew it had belonged to others for too long. The wool of his throat was met with the brick in his brain and the lead in his limbs. But under the dirt, he was alive, and he was breathing. Those glassy eyes watched, saw Wyatt.

'Now...at last...we have the heart, the brain that will complete her.'

He called himself The Eater Of Worlds, and played his wicked games for his own amusement, because that was what he knew. The world was ablaze in his eyes, and the only way to save it was to consume it whole. He had a tongue which could turn your brain round his finger, and even the smart, even the brave could be lost in his dimension. But he'd not conquered Dean – perhaps that was why he was intrigued by him – two men so alike with such different ideas. Perhaps if they had met before the Shield, before Seth had pulled him from the white walls of the asylum, they would be brethren instead, locked in maddened stare and unquenchable blood lust.

Rowan lurked in the off light, the cruel grin of a knife in his hand. There was only one use for a blade in Wyatt's Lot. The scars across Dean's stomach knew the thirst. Wyatt snatched it from his follower's hand and held it up to the lantern light, turned it over in all manner of ways so that he could appreciate and match it's smile.

'There is something beautiful about life Dean, how easily it's decided; how we can change it ourselves when what the gods choose isn't good enough. This is what we choose Dean, this is what she chose.'

He moved forward, purpose in those black eyes.

It would have been so easy to be afraid. Fear was greater than any drug; addictive and paralytic, it sank in through every pore and it froze the blood and the muscle.

The only fear Dean Ambrose had ever known, was how much he loved his brothers. It terrified him that two humans could mean so much, could creep into his every thought. He'd never wanted it – had resigned himself to the streets and the lost children when he broke through that locked door and found his mom belly up. He'd never thought he could be fixed – wouldn't let anyone close enough to try. AJ fought through to him, she held him up on some golden pedestal because he mattered to her. It was what she did, and the words she said, that taught him that it was possible to love, to care, when you were cracked. The tainted were not celebrated, just knocked aside into the dirt and the ditches. The idea of losing them would have been enough to kill him; and to give them a blast at life was his dying wish.

But a lunatic with a knife, that was nothing to fear.

It was a challenge.

'Try it,' Dean urged, he licked his dry lips, his eyes slowly adjusting, 'try me on for size Wyatt.' His voice seemed stronger with every word, 'you never came too close, touched only when I couldn't hit back, hung me up to dry, took what was mine, all with that special K inside. I'm here Wyatt, I'm awake, and as long as I'm breathing, you're not getting the fucking satisfaction of hurting me again.'

For a moment, the fat man faltered, but that grin did not – stapled to his fucking face. Those eyes could see a billion universes, but didn't recognize what was there with him in that room. He called Dean the Greatest Demon of Them all.

He didn't know that he was right.

'So I said to him, it's not my goat, what do you want me to do about it?'

Roman had to remind himself for the hundredth time of why he'd brought along the cop. He didn't shut up, but he was a barrel of power waiting for a reason to explode. If he could be thrown in the right direction, it could make finding Dean easier. The house of Wyatt was massive. Endless wooden corridors had dozens of doors and staircases. Some lead to nowhere. Doors didn't open. Stairs were fragile as wheat. Wyatt clearly didn't want to be found in his trick house.

'That's great Cena, real great...' he muttered. The cop didn't even seem to hear the sarcasm.

'Well in the end it was all solved, I used great American reasoning on him.'

He was given a grunt in response, and followed down the hollow corridors with no evident fear or even recognition of how dangerous the situation was. He knew what Wyatt was capable of, but hadn't seen it or experienced it firsthand. Roman knew. He'd dragged its bleeding carcass from Cottonwood. Back then, the Wyatt Lot had been far smaller, this building not even plotted in stones.

'I threatened to break his kneecaps and feed them to his wife.'

'Doesn't sound like the sort of language a cop would use,' Especially this one – even in his vagueness he almost seemed gentle. But Roman wasn't fooled; he'd seen many a man pushed too hard snap. It would only be time until Cena unfolded and the exterior broke. He'd been made meek and mild by Wyatt's own breed of chaotic madness.

'It worked though, he backed off and the goat was set free to return to his original owner. Shame really, I liked him, he had these eyes, you know? Determined little bastard, still, I'm sure his wife would have been glad to have him back.'

Perhaps if he'd actually been listening, Roman would have stopped to question him, but his attentions were elsewhere, his ears tuned to try and locate Dean. If it had been torture he wouldn't have been quite as worried as he was. Dean could take all manner of pain. His brother was fragile from what had happened, confused still, impulsive. It made him dangerous and prone to mistakes. Wyatt had always had plans for Dean. Cottonwood held bad memories and promise of worst to come. His rough hand trailed along the wood, and he stopped, eyes narrow as instinct caught a hold.

'Stop,' his arm shot out to block off Cena who nearly went straight through.

'What's wrong big man?'

He couldn't rightly answer. If there was anything that he'd learned over the years, it was trust your gut. It had saved them all more times than could be counted on their fingers.

There – at the end of the corridor, a hulking figure in a greased green boiler suit moved from the wall. It turned its head, masked. The lamb stared, silent. Roman was still, knees bent, body ready to pounce. He could feel the tension as their eyes locked. The man was massive, bigger than him by a head, with too pale skin and a tangled forest of a beard burst from the mask. But the silence...he could have called for help, could have yelled intruder, but nothing.

He raised his own hand to his head, started to bash it.

'Obey, obey, obey,'

He charged.

Roman made to move, but found a great hand on his shoulder. Cena shoved him out of the way as if here made of salt. The giant ploughed straight into the former Kennedy cop, and Cena caught his arms, his shoulder and with his whole body weight pushed back. A grunt of effort snorted through his nose, sweat on his brow. Roman jerked forward but Cena motioned ahead.

'Go! Go!'

He didn't need telling twice. Caution no longer mattered. He didn't even hear his own feet. Perhaps it was something in his head, a tracking beacon that sounded out, brought everything to him, a brotherhood which was derived from everything – a love that couldn't be drowned it. Dean was alive, he was close. He could feel it. Their existence was a battle, a war that never fucking ended and he was beginning to forget what it felt like to walk. Behind him he heard as someone was thrown into a wall, as the two behemoths battled for supremacy.

'Dean!'

His own voice seemed to come back at him from every wall, every corner, every false lead. He turned the corner from which the giant had come. There – at its end, a door ajar, a glow of light throbbing through the gap like some ghastly heart.

Slowly, so slowly, he advanced, feet as light as he could, body tense. He didn't know what he'd find; he had to be prepared for what was waiting. Wyatt was beyond mad, he thought himself the twisted messiah of a new world that he wanted to build from bones. There was no coming apocalypse. There was only the life they made in the shit that was handed to them. People dreamed of better days when they should have counted the minutes they had left and made them count. Roman's every heart beat was for the seconds he could still see, they hammered so loud they called out.

'He's got the whole world, in his hands. He's got the whole wide world, in his hands.'

He pushed the door open.

Blood, so much fucking blood; it stained the floor, the walls.

'Dean?'

Two loose ropes, torn hung from the ceiling and moved on the ever constant breeze that eased through the cracks in the walls. Candle light alone illuminated an eerie glow and at its center it sickened him to see her. AJ seemed as if she were sleeping; her dreams had flown far away now. Dean had buried her. Only the sick would disturb her resting place. Around her were flesh and hair and teeth and bone and organ, positioned to where they would be placed. Two kidneys, one old, one fairly knew lay upon her scrubs. He knew one.

'He's got the whole world, in his hands. He's got the whole wide world, in his hands.'

'Dean?' Roman's voice was soft.

There. The source of the blood, was Dean. It stained his hands and his scrubs. His wrists were raw from being bound, eyes saw nothing beyond what was sat in his hand. It was fat and black, stuffed with fat, and the blood ran from it as if trying to escape. The unmoving body on the floor stared up at the ceiling with cosmic eyes and a smile that seemed too happy.

'Dean?'

He was slumped against the wall, the heart drip, dripped to the floor. He finally looked up, but didn't even seem to see Roman. He could have been anyone in the world for those eternal seconds. But then recognition flashed.

'Do you think there's a hell Rome?'

'I don't know Dean.'

'Hell is where you go when you die, if you commit crimes and if you're a bad boy.' He grinned, showed far too many teeth. 'I ain't dead yet and I've been really fucking bad, wonder if the devil'll gimme his right hand to lounge in. Or is this hell? I think I recognize it. One to another. Must be dead – from a box to a cult to this,' he held up the heart, inspected it slowly, 'took it from him Rome. Had to. He wasn't using it. Seemed a terrible fucking waste.' He cocked his head, 'think my heart looks like this Rome?'

'No.'

'He was going to use a knife on me Rome. Couldn't let that happen. Not again. Too many sharp things seen this skin now. Had enough of that shit. Called me things again...said I was a demon. You know I would have believed him, think I did. But right now?' he shook his head. 'See Rome...demons...they can't love. They can't understand it. Wyatt? He thought he could – thought he loved so much that he could save the world. No. He felt nothing. I know. I can feel it. I can fucking taste it.'

Without warning, Dean brought the heart to his mouth, tore a chunk out with his teeth and chewed.

'There's nothing here Rome.' He said between bites and swallowed. He knocked a fist against his own heart. 'But in here...I get it now. I'm not a demon Rome. I'm you. I'm Seth. That's all I am and everything Dean Ambrose ever will be. Love – love is fucking dangerous – more dangerous than a mad man with a straw hat and a sharp knife. Love is home. I want to go home Rome. I want you. I want Seth.' He threw the heart aside in disgust. It hit the floor, bounced, and landed beside Wyatt. 'We were never good men. But we're good together.'

It should have scared Roman had calm he felt. The scene in front of him, in the low light, it was the stuff of nightmares. But there in the middle of it all was Dean. Perhaps he should have been afraid. But the Dean from before, the one in Cottonwood, in the asylum, he was what had terrified him. Covered in blood, with the remains of heart on his tongue, was the true soul as the core. He was the human race, the animal backed into the corner. Dean Ambrose had woken up.

'We'll find him Dean. I promise that. Spent too long trying to find you in the fucking first place to not. He's safe, he's with a friend.'

'Hmm a friend...I know friends. Is she pretty?'

'...Yes. Yes she is.'

He was too smart, saw too much. Dean knew things; the truth people searched their entire lives for was laid out in front of him without effort. The human was just another animal to consume. His head lolled back against the wall as he processed the thought.

'We'll keep her.'

It was all the approval he'd ever get for a companion. Dean was a jealous man. He kept what he wanted close and didn't like to share. Slowly he got up, rubbed his hands on his scrubs. As he did, a shadow fell over them both, lamb faced. Roman jumped forward, turned ready to fight.

A low chuckle escaped and a hand reached up and slid the mask onto the top of his head.

'You shoulda seen your faces.'

'Damn it Cena.'

'Bit of a mess in here.' He leaned in to get a closer look and peered round. When he saw Wyatt's corpse, he shrugged. 'Oh well, guess that's case closed.' But then he saw Dean. For a moment there was nothing. Then, the slow glimmer of recognition flashed in his head, Dean too, curious seemed to know him.

'Ambrose. Dean fucking Ambrose,'

'John fucking Cena.'

For a moment, Roman was certain he was going to have to throw the two of them apart. But then, Dean nodded. The action was repeated by Cena. Words couldn't express what it meant. Mutual respect. Dean looked over to AJ.

'We put my girl at rest, for good this time. Then, then we find our brother.'

'Can I come?' Cena raised his hand. It smacked against the ceiling but he didn't seem to notice. 'Got nothing else to do now Ambrose closed my case, could use some change, that's for sure.'

'We travel alone.'

'I got great travel stories.'

Dean sniffed and wiped blood from his mouth, eyed the giant suspiciously. 'What kind of stories?'

'Well there's this awesome one about this goat...'

'We keep him too.'

Roman closed his eyes. Here we go...