((I'm once again, very sorry for not updating recently! Lots of work, but rest assured, when I have the time, I will always update. I'm not leaving these stories alone! I hope you enjoy this chapter!))

LAST RIDE HIGHWAY

It had been a difficult decision for her, to surrender control, to hand over the wheel and let someone take them forward. He'd seen it in her eyes, the struggle to relinquish their journey, their destination to someone else. She'd been the one to carry them as far as she had. He saw her strength, but also her exhaustion. It was a different way of viewing the world, from the backseat.

When they'd escaped from Kennedy, he'd been in that passenger seat, arms strapped down by the belt so he couldn't bolt, run back on foot to drag Dean kicking and screaming with them. He could still see it; hear the echo in his mind as gun shots splintered through his brother. It had come from nowhere. Dean had forced them to go. He knew that alone he could survive; he could find a way to pick out the bullets and bring feeling back to his legs. He could hide with the rats and keep himself out of sight. Together they were difficult to cover. So they had to run.

He knew that.

But the guilt – it rotted his gut as heavy as it had when he'd left them before. It cut too deep to know that together they were complete, but apart...they were safer. The two men next to him were not his brothers. A rebel and a medic; it was not the company he would have chosen. He wanted a gladiator and a backstreet brawler. He wanted his body mended. He knew that was the purpose of this Mick Foley. Oh, he knew the name, had heard it muttered a hundred times by Dean. This man who had once been a legend on the streets had been locked in a box. But he was trusted. But this...Dolph...whilst he had to be at least a little thankful for his intrusion earlier, there was something he didn't like.

He didn't like people. Never had, they bent too easily. Iron was forged in the hearts of the lowest and the true. He knew men. He knew women. This blond thing to his side...even how he breathed felt wrong, hitched in his throat, as if he didn't sleep, but lurked on the edge of consciousness. Perhaps he shouldn't have judged.

He hadn't slept for years.

Seth felt weak, frail without his brothers. It was a curious thing – he'd never quite realized just how he needed their support. When they were with him, he felt untouchable, a strength which could never quite be described. It wasn't just his body Kane had damaged; his mocking words had scraped his ego and his pride. Kane. The thought alone was a cruel one, it dug straight into his gut and reminded him that the monster was still out there, following. The enemies they'd left behind in Kennedy were escaping its walls and falling out into the world. The Game himself no doubt would soon leave the city's safety.

But he wasn't alone. Renee slept in that passenger seat he'd once inhabited; quiet, but uneasy. Her head moved constantly, body uncomfortable. It was a clear sign that she was already changing, adapting to the fugitive life. In a second, he knew she could wake and run if she had to.

He had to hand it to Roman, he'd chosen well.

Few would have been as strong, as faithful as she had. It would be a shame to leave her behind when they were all reunited. But she was a means to an obvious end. She was survival. And as he watched her reflection in the mirror through his weary eyes, he knew he'd be lying to himself if he said he didn't like her. She had fire. He could see her arms wrapped around that precious cat of hers. On her hands, wrapped round tight, never leaving, were those Dirty Deeds. Dean would have been appalled at the mere thought of someone wearing his beloved gloves. He'd been atom bonded to those fibres, and it was when they were removed that people truly had to fear him. Renee was becoming reliant on them to protect her, whereas Dean had used them to hold him back...

There, in the driver's seat, vision glued to the rolling asphalt, a lone Bella drove. Her fingers curled round that wheel so tight she looked as if she might pull it from the dash. Perhaps, out of it all, she was what he feared most. Her story and hatred were built deep in heavy foundation. He deserved her loathing. But she'd bonded with Renee it seemed, and if the time came when Brie was a danger to him once again, and he would have to move against her, he knew it would not be taken well.

Brie watched him in that mirror. Her eyes were clouded, difficult to read.

'Like what you see Bella?'

'Got to hell,' she growled, eyes flicked to Renee and then back to Seth, 'Why is she helping you Rollins? She's too good, too kind – she doesn't belong with wolves like you. What could you have possibly done to deserve this chance she's given you?' she took a deep breath and she shook her head, 'I don't understand you. I don't see what this power is that you hold over people. You can't offer her anything except misery.'

Oh, sweet Renee. She didn't know what she was doing, it was true. Just by being involved with them, she was changing everything. Every pre-determined ending was being re-written. Without her, the death of Seth Rollins had been stamped. She'd erased all of that. These people – none of them would have surrounded him if not for her. Roman, somehow, in a moment of confusion, or madness, had brought this woman into their lives. And she'd saved them all.

'She came when I needed her, helped without being asked. She is a good woman, for better than anyone else in this tin box.'

His voice was still strained, but louder than before. Maybe he was getting better.

'I was a good person once.' Brie muttered, seemingly to herself more than him.

To his side, Mick grunted loudly and turned, his head crushed him against the window. You could see where a chunk of ear was missing, pieces of her, teeth from his open mouth. The same old stories applied to them all – they were damaged goods.

'We all were.'

'You and your brothers,' she almost spat the word, 'are to blame for what happened to me. I never hurt anyone until you took my husband away from me. You broke me, destroyed my entire world. I had nothing left but pain, and was willing to do anything to get rid of it. Even pass it on to others.'

'How many?'

She wouldn't look at him. Her lips seemed stapled shut, unwilling to reveal the true extent of the agony she'd both suffered and caused.

'Two.' He only just heard her. 'Killing was always Nikki's thing. Even since our parents died in the fires...at first it was violence; she'd carry a switchblade, get into fights for the hell of it, and come crawling to me when she was beaten up. Eventually, she came and told me she'd killed someone, a homeless man...God she didn't even know his name. She told me it made her feel alive. She started taking contracts after that. I met Daniel...I wanted nothing to do with it. But then she fell in love...a cop of all things. He'd tried to arrest her, she'd evaded him, cat and mouse started...she said she'd give it all up, for him. But then he disappeared.

She fell in deeper, took a contract from the Game to take out two sons of the old Authority. They heard and decided to take her out first. They found me instead.'

Seth closed his eyes and leaned back against the headrest. It was old; the padding crumbled out of holes in the fabric. It offered no comfort, no support, could barely hold the weight of his head. It surprised him how little he wanted to know of her. How just hearing what had happened in the aftermath of killing Bryan, how she'd fallen so far.

'That razor you carry – it was Bryan's.'

'Supposed to be his birthday gift – stayed in the box it was bought in until they came. It slit their throats rather than shaved his. What use is a razor to a dead man? I cleaned away the blood, swore to his soul I would never kill again. I promised him, Rollins, that I would never take another life. He was a good man, I felt like I'd tainted his memory.'

'Even mine?'

She seemed to be practicing some intense form of self-control and he could hear her counting to ten as slowly as she could. It must have hurt – telling the man who killed your husband your life story. She hated him, he could feel it radiate through her skin through to his own. She wished this illness deep into his bones, wanted him to feel the pain she suffered.

'I wanted to. Nikki found me first, when I realized that Daniel wasn't coming home. I've not been separated from this blade since I first killed Rollins, and she knew what I wanted. She convinced me to follow her...that she would be an eventuality. When we were told about the bounty on you three, I felt I'd been handed my chance. But when we found you...I told her we'd drag you to the Game instead, because finally faced with the opportunity to kill you Rollins, I couldn't do it.'

She almost sounded ashamed. But her words resonated.

'I couldn't break my promise, it felt like I owed him to keep it.'

He could remember. Death was never a new game to him, his eyes had seen too many bodies to be surprised by it. But the first time he'd dealt it had been a shock; killed to protect someone else. A man he'd never met, a name he'd never known. He still didn't know, quite why he'd done it.

Like all Kennedy nights, the rain hit hard. It misted the sky, too wet for the low street light. The world was heavy, drooped the shoulders of every fool stupid enough to walk the dark. Too cold for the skin. He'd only been out of shelter for a minute or two, and already he was soaked through. His bones felt damp, sluggish, and he trudged because he couldn't lift his legs to walk. Hands hid deep into his pockets and his head low, tried not to meet car headlight or street lamp; didn't want attention, had placed to be, no time to stop. Onward, half drowned through the downward spiral.

Didn't want to stand out, eyes glued to the puddled sidewalk. Shadows were his friends, he didn't; take the eyes which followed from every alley mouth. There was no discrimination in the Kennedy slums. All were easy prey. Every man a victim; you'd sooner see the flash of a blade than of a smile. He'd learned young to be quick, to be a smart little fucker, ahead of the start. There were some real shiny things hidden behind boarded windows and bricked up doors.

Sounds, scuffles in the dark. Instinct told him to carry on, but frozen from cold, he stood, dripped, head turned in the half light toward that noise. Eyes didn't want to look, tried to lock on that broken pathway, but he couldn't stop himself. Quiet, the lip of that stiletto blade down the sleeve to his gloved hand, he turned his narrow body to that wall. Ahead, hung under the dark was an young and old. Old bleeding from the chest, and young laughed.

He'd never handed out death before, his blade was a tool of the trade, a deterrent.

A lucky throat shot. He gargled and bled out and slipped down into the squalor and the rain. He coughed and he struggled and last sight was the unsure face of a young thief. The old man was already dead, and he'd killed for nothing. Blood on his hands, for nothing.

It gave him emptiness. No fear of what he could do. Death was a frailty – everyone died, no matter how they tried to avoid it. From that alleyway, he found a cold jail cell for his sticky fingers and clever throwing hand. He'd killed an arsehole who'd caused important men problems. There were more like the dead man in the alleyway, men who liked to break the system.

He became the answer to the problem. All he needed, were men he could trust...

'Rollins?'

He glanced at her, realized how far he'd drifted away. 'Bella?'

'Do something for me.'

'What?'

'I don't know what this is about, why things have changed the way they have, or where we'll be at the end of this shit storm. But promise me, that no matter what happens to you, you'll protect her. Because you're right – she's the only good thing in this truck, and that's enough for me. This might have started out about you – but this is about her.'

Renee Young – how she'd shaken worlds.

'Only so much I can do as I am.'

'Rollins -,'

'I will, dammit I will, but there's something you need to understand Brie Bella. Something I think you don't realize. You're a part of us now. This Shield has broken but we're all fragments and now you're part of that very unit. Hate me all you want, but this is not three men anymore. This is everything.'

'Pretentious fuck.'

'Get used to it.'

She actually smirked a little at that. Her hair was twisted up into a knot, something he'd not noticed. Renee looked strange but almost sweet with her too-short hair. Dolph was blond until the roots. Mick's own hair was a nest. His own? A combination of them all. They were all incredibly different people. But they'd come together to form this collection of misfits.

And of all of them, the man to his side, head now against the glass, eyes closed with his weird breathing, he didn't know. Brie seemed to catch his confused look, and as if to cement the fact that his worries were warranted, she gave him a slow nod. Criminals alone, knew to be on edge. The silence that descended between them was hounded by the grumble of the truck, it had been tested and turned and forced to do so much, it was holding out. The cruel storms of the previous night had given way to a wind that somehow found its way into the truck, caused his body to shiver, teeth to clench. Too sick for it, too sick of it.

Ahead, Buchanan waited, but he was afraid of what lurked in the burned out shantytown. Too many people had lived and died there. He'd been told stories of the Rhodes brothers. Two men who stuck to their roots and ashes, and never left each other's sides. He was jealous of them. Seth Rollins was a selfish fucking bastard. Dean Ambrose was a jealous fuck. Roman Reigns was a self-righteous arse. But they were brothers. He missed them, felt that emptiness more than ever.

'Rollins?'

She'd lost a sister – had driven her away by turning from the violence. A hand drifted between the gap in the seats toward him, feminine, almost gentle. Unsure, he reached out, fingers scraped the skin and she caught him, held his hand.

'You're not alone.'

His silence seemed enough for her, and she made to let go, but he wouldn't let her. He clung on to what she said, to what she did for him. A reassurance from this woman who loathed him, who rightfully should have killed him; it was everything.

'You're a fucked up shithead, who deserves nothing, but...I can't hate you. I'm tired of it. I may not be a good person, Seth Rollins, but you're right. I guess it takes losing everything to realize just what's standing next to you. And right now, it's you, it's Renee. I'm not alone, and neither are you. We don't have what we want, but we have what we need. God gave us hearts to love, not to hate. You're a long way from my love Rollins. But, I forgive you for what you did, for who you are.'

Her fingers squeezed his tightly before she let go, hands back to that steering wheel. Seth's eyes moved to the window, past Mick's crazed hair, and he looked to that cruel horizon, that future he couldn't predict but wanted to change. The slither of dawn licked the darkness of night. Day was coming – he'd missed the light.