Hello all. Hope you're all safe and well in these weird times we're living in.
Time to find out what Bray has done with Dean!
xXBalorBabeXx, Evil Seth just can't stop himself, but deep down I think he's just mixed up and misunderstood. Maybe?!
Skovko, Evil Shield Seth and Evil 2014 Seth are easily my favourite incarnations. In the Shield he was just such an ass and on his own he was such a wonderfully slimy little weasel. Which also makes him fun to write!
Rebel8954, Yep, Bray is definitely one for gloating. And rambling. And talking in riddles. And being weird. I swear Bray is the greatest villain the WWE has ever created. He's so creep-tastic!
Mandy, Hi, hope it's been as good a week for you as it can be given everything that's happening. Hope you like this chapter as much as the last one! I agree, Seth is hiding how he really feels. Not that he has to be honest about it!
Wolfgirl2013, Well, there may still be hope for Seth!
HannonsPen, Seth? With a filter? Hmm. Would that even be Seth? Haha, you've been very patient. Have a gold star!
XwwecoyoteX, Yep, Roman is always a safe bet when it comes to trusting someone. As for Seth? Well, who knows what's going on with that knucklehead. I'm not even sure he knows!
Wrestlingfanforever, Aww, thank you. Reading/writing is the best for escaping the real world.
Phoenix lord of rebirth, I always say that Roman is like a big cuddly blanket. Everything feels a bit safer when he's near. I mean, obviously Lauren would rather Dean, but Roman is definitely the next best thing.
Minnie1015, Aww, thanks! I love the little details, sometimes I have to rein myself in so that things don't get too quirky! Or, well, any more quirky than they currently are!
Enjoy everyone!
Hurt
As Fandango's dance music blared across the arena, I snapped my head up suddenly and wiped away my drool.
"Wha – what's going on? Oh god. Was I sleeping?"
There was an audible thunk as my mike was turned off, followed by Michael Cole clearing his throat along the table as he held things together. Or tried to at least.
"Fandango in action tonight, accompanied by Rosa," he offered in response to the woman in a slinky black number with a flower in her hair, who was dancing fairly badly in time to the music in a bright shaft of spotlight in the middle of the ring. Ducking low into the splits she pointed to the rampway, where Fandango was stood copying Jericho's pose, since Jericho had –
Uh.
Okay, I'd missed that part. But the last thing I could remember, Brock Lesnar of all people had been stood with Jericho in the middle of the ring and so based on that I assumed he'd been flattened like a purple trunked bug.
Rest in peace Jericho.
Taking a run up, Fandango slid beneath the ring ropes and nearly headbutted Rosa straight in the crotch, which Lawler in particular seemed to have been hoping for,
"I sure do like Rosa's body language," he was saying, "And she knows how to use it as well,"
JBL meanwhile poured out a glass of water and then pushed it my way,
"Drink this will you,"
"Thanks."
Not that he could bear to be kind to me for too long, or – you know – at all really,
"You're embarrassing yourself."
Ugh.
Throwing the water down in one gulp like a drunkard, I shivered and let the icy cold chill wake me up. Not that it was my fault that I was feeling a little weary considering that in the previous twenty four hours I had managed a grand total of forty five minutes of sleep, on account of my husband, best friend and life partner having been kidnapped by a hillbilly freak.
How could I have slept? I mean, even if I'd wanted to. Which I hadn't, in case I had missed anything. Like Dean busting loose and then kicking our hotel door down like an action movie hero, which I had desperately hoped for. Because Dean was a badass. So why hadn't he come back to me? Why hadn't he escaped?
Unless –
Unless he was hurt. Or unless Bray was keeping him locked up in a dungeon, or really had fed him to crocodiles.
Alliga –
Oh never mind.
The point was that sleep had been entirely impossible and it was starting to catch up with me.
The music died off and Rosa slunk back as Dango picked up a microphone and then kissed a Slammy statue that definitely wasn't his own. Because no matter how deeply I had been sleeping, I would have noticed if Fandango had won an award. Unless, you know, it was maybe for dancing. Or whatever it was he did, since it didn't always seem like dance.
"It looks like Raw is Jericho," he started, in the weird half breed accent that I never been able to place, "Is now Raw was Jericho,"
He snorted in amusement and –
Oh okay. So Chris was dead then.
"And so just like my Wrestlemania victory," he continued, although luckily for everyone that was as far as he got, since suddenly a familiar pounding bassline descended and the whole place erupted as a name popped up on screen. Which included me and my re-turned on microphone,
"Yay."
Roman Reigns
"Oh boy," Michael Cole yelled out, as the whole place turned and began to look wildly, trying to see which set of stairs he would appear from,
"Hey, there he is," JBL barked, as the glowering form of my older brother strode crowd-side and then stood up on the steps looking bulky and mean,
"Looks like the Slammy award winning wrestler of the year is here," Michael Cole bellowed as I beamed with familial pride. Because I had most certainly been awake for that part. Although it hurt that Dean had missed it. Unless he was there and Bray had him tucked away somewhere with a monitor, watching it all happen.
Crap.
I swallowed down a lump and then tried not to think about the other alternative. That Dean was in New Jersey a million miles from where we were. Or three hundred and thirty six miles to be specific, but which might as well have been a million as far as I was concerned.
"Of course last night folks," Michael Cole continued, "At the TLC Pay Per View in Cleveland Ohio – ,"
"Which has an unhelpful police department," I interjected, earning looks from my colleagues and another mike turn off.
Darn.
"Last night Roman Reigns came down and took out the Big Show, aiding John Cena in his battle with Seth Rollins."
"So then what does this interfering hot head want now?" JBL drawled, as part of his usual one man mission to crawl up my father's rear end far enough to see the sun. Irrespective of the fact that Steph and Hunter were not there for the taping, which was the one thing that evening that had actually gone my way.
I glanced up into the rafters,
Thanks mom.
Because I always liked to figure it was her watching over me when something went right.
Tell Dean we're coming, okay?
Roman swung between the ropes and flipped his hair back like some sort of oiled up Ancient Greek god, as my bestie Kelly liked to say and in fact had said when I had phoned her that morning crying my heart out about Dean.
"Well," she had said, "At least you've got that oiled up sex god and besides, it's Dean. He's going to be fine."
Fandango stepped forward with a look of pure outrage as Rosa skittered out, which was a wise move from her.
"What do you think you are doing?" he demanded, "This is my moment, this is my – ,"
"Ohhh," Michael Cole barked in a physically reaction as Roman responded with an almighty slap. One which actually propelled Fandango backwards as the mike skittered off with a pop of playback noise. Meanwhile Jerry Lawler half squeal-half chuckled.
Because of course he did,
"Hoo hoo."
He sounded like an owl. Albeit an owl who not three seconds earlier had been watching Rosa's legs scrambling out of the ring.
As Fandango checked his nose for a possible breakage, Roman let out an oooh which was mirrored by the crowd and then flung his arms out, all full Samoan warrior, before charging and nearly spearing Fandango in half.
"Spear – ,"
"Oh my god," JBL beamed broadly, forgetting he hated Roman as Dango's lanky body broke.
"He is going to feel that in the morning," Lawler offered as Roman looked up and then grinned, or no, smirked but in a way that was better than Stephanie and Seth and even the helpful drag queen from last night.
For a minute he stood surveying his yard again, for the first time in what had been nearly five months and as the audience chanted his name over and over. Which we sat and let them do, uninterrupted.
Roman Reigns.
Looking around he nodded my way in solidarity and then lifted up the microphone.
"Here he goes," Lawler barked, although before uce had a chance to get a single word out, there was a sudden blast of music and a blue flash of light, as well as a worryingly familiar opening.
Uh oh.
"Oh my goodness. The Big Show is here," Michael Cole squealed like a preteen at a concert, "The man Roman Reigns speared through a table last night when the Big Show tried to interfere in the matchup between Cena and Rollins."
"Come on now Michael," JBL huffed, gesturing towards the ramp where the big man was lumbering, "That wasn't interfering. Show was trying to help, that's all."
"Trying to help Seth you mean," I shot back with a frown, as I remembered his performance the night before in my hotel room.
I'm glad Bray took Ambrose.
Stupid Seth.
I balled up my fists, as the Big Show picked up a microphone that may as well have been from a doll's house since that was how looked in his giant sized hands. Roman beat him to it though and god he was awesome. I mean, not as awesome as Dean was, but still pretty cool.
"Show," he rumbled, "I'm telling you right now. You come down to this ring and I'm a hit you in the nose."
"Whoa," Lawler chuckled as the audience cheered wildly, since up to that point it had been a pretty weird show. Mostly because, like me, they were wondering when the hell Wyatt and Dean would pop up. Or if they would, or what in the hell was happening, to which I felt like standing up and saying hey me too guys.
Show shook his head like a great big bull mastiff,
"Well now pretty boy, I would like to see you try. Standing out there with the audience cheering," which they did again. Loudly, "They're so excited you're back. But you see you made one little mistake already. You put me through a table last night on TLC and so now I have to put you back in the hospital."
He dropped the mike down and my heart flipped clean over.
No. Not Roman. Who would help me save Dean? Although luckily before Show even got through the ring ropes, Roman countered with a Superman Punch, which made Michael Cole nearly explode in excitement. And the audience too.
"Oh, Superman Punch."
Big Show stumbled but managed to keep his footing, then turned and wandered back over to the ring.
"Oh no," I squeaked, "Is he getting back in there?"
But instead all he did was kick out at the steps, then pick part of them up to throw right at the apron, like a toddler having a breakdown over milk, or toys, or candy, or whatever kids fussed about. Which was everything according to Kelly, who had a son.
Lawler – yep, you guessed it – chuckled,
"I think Big Show just spat out one of his teeth."
Back in the ring Roman flexed his fist proudly and then shouted across the distance, although I couldn't hear the words. Hmm. One of them sure looked like bitch though on the monitor. Michael Cole coughed hurriedly,
"Uh, Big Show backing away and clearly deciding that at least for tonight anyway, retreat is the best course of action to take."
JBL snorted,
"Please. Reigns hasn't won this. All he's done here is anger the beast."
Roman's music was playing in the background and to celebrate he had clambered up onto the ropes.
Which was where he still was when the lights went out suddenly. Or at least the overhead lights went out suddenly anyway, because the titantron in front of us stayed bright and piercing as a whiskery face slid in and filled the screen.
Bray.
I let out a squeak right into the microphone, partly from excitement and partly through fear. Because as freaky as it was, where Wyatt was, Dean was and so this was our chance.
He grinned,
"Hello Mockingbird."
I shuddered.
Oh god. He was talking to me directly. From the corner of my eye I watched as my colleagues turned their heads and as the cameras also spun towards me. Which, you know, was great.
Thanks guys.
I sucked in a breath and then tried to act stoic, but it came out looking constipated.
Enough - I wanted to scream - where's my husband?
Roman shifted uneasily in the ring and weirdly Bray seemed to sense it, or see it, since his head suddenly snapped to the side with a flick, which when he did it was decidedly not god like.
"Well, well, well," he grinned, "Welcome back Reigns. 'Cept I bet you're wonderin' what happened to your boy, right? Wonderin' if Bray has been treatin' him right? Well don't you worry none, because Dean Ambrose is fine here. More than fine even. I'm makin' him better."
Better? I blinked. Because what did that mean? Dean was already perfect. He couldn't get any better. Well, except for - you know - maybe by putting his socks in the hamper instead of trying to slingshot them from right across the room. But perfect nonetheless. Or perfect for me anyway.
Bray laughed roughly. God, I hated when he did that. In fact I hated when he did pretty much anything.
"You see, Dean Ambrose is like me," he carried on, "Dean's a monster and people don't like monsters. Oh, you think you do, but you just want to point and laugh. You don't care about us. You don't care about Ambrose."
I made a disgruntled humph into the mike. Um, exsqueeze him? Because that part was nonsense. Of course we cared. We happened to care a whole lot.
"An' so that's why I'm makin' him better," Bray grumbled, his voice tapering off at the end of each word, as if he was singing but had forgotten the tune, "I'm makin' him harder. I'm makin' him tough. Because once I'm done, Dean Ambrose won't need you. He won't need any of you. He'll be better. You wanna look?"
I gasped,
Yes. Or -
No, wait a second. Did I?
Because what if Bray had him under Wyatt mind control? Or strung up over a pit of alligators, or strapped to a table or -
Bray grinned,
"Well here he. The great Dean Ambrose."
He swung the camera lens suddenly around, like a third year film student trying to be edgy, but coming across like, well, a third year film student. Although in his case a super batshit hillbilly one. For a second it was hard to even figure the shaky frame out, but eventually the gloomy looking shot stabilized and I let out a squeak and then covered my mouth over. Because yep, sure enough, there he was, as promised.
Dean.
Not hanging over a pit of hungry reptiles, but instead sitting down and slumped over on the ground. His wrists had been cuffed to some meshing behind him - because god, what was it with Bray Wyatt and cuffs - and he looked to be asleep. I gulped. Or unconscious, which was something I hadn't thought about.
JBL swallowed,
"Good lord."
"See?" Wyatt grinned, putting the camera to his face again, "Here he is. Safe an' sound just like I said."
He reached out and tousled Dean's damp hair clumsily and I shuddered in response and had to look away.
Ugh.
Back up in the ring, Roman was balling his fists up. But what could he do? We didn't know where they were. Although as Bray moved the camera to try and get a better angle, the lens swept over a dimly lit factory floor. Or at least, what had once been a factory floor at some point, based on the open and echoey space and the holes in the ground from where machinery had been ripped up and -
I blinked.
Holy crud.
Dean was at the compound.
The compound we had all thought was somewhere in swampland, but which was actually in a warehouse on the New Jersey shore. I squeaked and JBL reached a hand across the desktop and patted my shoulder,
Was he comforting me?
"There, there," he grunted, sounding none too convincing, "A pretty girl like you is bound to find a new husband soon."
"John," Cole hissed, digging at him with an elbow as the Texan spread his hands wide and looked baffled,
"What?"
Back up on the titantron Bray let out a chuckle. Not that I was paying much attention to that, since instead I was staring intently at Roman, who turned and nodded at me, having realized the same thing. Which was namely that Dean was holed up in New Jersey. And what was more, was that we had the address for it too, since the Big Dog had cornered Luke Harper in catering while I had turned on the tears until he'd given it up. Of course, back then we'd still been working on the basis that Wyatt was fixing to show up with Dean on Raw, but now we knew that he definitely wasn't, there was nothing to stop us.
"Say goodbye Dean," Bray laughed.
The camera went dead and the main lights flooded back again. Not that I noticed since I was already on the move and clumsily trying to rip off my headphones,
"Hey, where do you think you're going?" JBL barked, squinting up through baffled eyes at me.
I shrugged at him,
"Where else? I'm going to rescue my man."
Oh yeah. Mike drop.
Or okay, not a mike drop, since the mike was on the headphones and cost more than my house, which is therefore why I put them down super gently and then spun on my heels with my heart in my throat. Roman had already started climbing through the ring ropes and so I scuttled round to meet him at the foot of the ramp as Cole narrated like crazy in the background and presumably tried to run damage control,
"Uh, good evening folks and if you've just joined us then it looks like Lauren and the newly returned Roman Reigns have got themselves a score to settle with Bray Wyatt."
"And I sure wouldn't want to be him right now," Lawler chuckled - what else - in reply to him, before his voice was abruptly swallowed up by the crowd, who were yelling and cheering and whooping like crazy things.
"Roman I love you."
"Go kick Wyatt's ass."
"Whoo, Lauren. That's right. Get 'em out girl."
Because why was there was always some big drunken idiot screaming loudly for boobage?
It was a family show.
Avoiding gorilla – and therefore our chairman, who would no doubt be incensed at two of his workers bailing out – I trotted beside the big man as we went around the side way, ducking underneath the metal arms of the titantron and then weaving through packing crates and rigging and lighting before suddenly popping up in the parking garage, where the brightly liveried WWE trucks and - perhaps more crucially - our rental car were parked up.
As part of the plan to be ready for anything that Roman and I had laid out the night before, our luggage was already locked up and loaded and the gas tank was full.
"You got the keys baby girl?" Roman rumbled as I half jogged beside him,
"Check," I nodded pulling them out of my bra, which, since I was wearing a dress with no pockets, had been the only option.
Roman threw me a look,
"Do I even wanna know what else you got down there?"
Dean of course would have stopped and had a look. Complete with his tongue poking out in exertion as he rummaged around and generally copped a good feel. Ugh. Holy crap I missed him like crazy. I missed his wet kisses and his hands on my hips and running through my hair and down my back and –
Yep.
In my bra cups
"Um, only the address for the compound," I panted back, suddenly wishing I had picked a flatter shoe choice, or perhaps a pair of in-lines to help me keep up.
Note to self: Ebay search a pair of roller skates
Roman unlocked the rental car with a click and then slipped behind the wheel as I launched for the backseat, where my kidnapping rescue mission outfit was stashed, which comprised of black leggings, a black turtleneck and black pumps, so I could blend into the shadows. Or else Bray Wyatt's black heart. Pulling on the leggings like a Vegas quick change act, I had my woollen dress halfway over my head and was about to fling it off my body completely when suddenly the passenger door flung open wide.
"What in the world - ,"
I squealed and pulled it back on again as a figure clambered in holding a camcorder,
"Matt?"
"Oh hey sweetie," he chirped, like it was perfectly normal to jump into our car with a camera in tow. I blinked at him,
"Um, w-wait, why are you here?"
For a second he stared like I was speaking in tongues, before smiling and tentatively holding up the camera like he had only just noticed it,
"Oh, you mean this? Uh, Vince told someone to grab some equipment and follow you. You know, to keep the WWE universe in the loop. He wants to do a segment on tomorrow night's Smackdown."
"No," Roman rumbled, reaching an arm out over him and then pushing the passenger side door wide open in a not so subtle hint.
Matt huffed then pulled it shut again,
"Now listen here Reigns - ," Roman glared, "I mean Mister Reigns. Because Vince is hellbent on someone tagging along, so either it's me, or it's somebody else back there. Somebody who doesn't know or care about Dean, which I do because I happen to be best friends with Lauren."
I blinked at him,
"Really?"
"Absolutely."
"Oh Matt, that's so sweet," I leaned forward and squeezed his arm, "Because you're my best friend. Um, I mean, my best work friend."
He shrugged,
"I'll take it."
Roman rolled up his eyes,
"Alright, alright. Now if you two have finished, do you think we could maybe go and rescue my best friend?"
I nodded and then pulled my woollen dress off swiftly, before struggling frizzy haired into the turtleneck.
"Let's go."
Matt picked up the camera and then pressed the record button,
"Matt Taylor here, intrepid backstage reporter, currently traveling with Lauren Ambrose and Roman Reigns, as they head for - ," he paused, "Um, where are we going?"
"New Jersey," Roman grunted,
"Uh, excuse me?" Matty gasped, "New Jersey? As in, Jersey Shore, New Jersey?"
I nodded at him,
"Yep."
He blinked,
"But I haven't G, T'ed or L'ed."
Roman sighed wearily,
"This is gonna be a long ride."
I mouthed thank you in the rear view and he shot me a wink, then shifted the car into drive and started forwards up the ramp for the parking lot. Or I mean, he would have, had my door not been flung wide all of a sudden, followed by an unpleasant face poking through. An unpleasant face with a brittle bleached blonde streak and a Stephanie sneer.
I gaped at him,
"Seth?"
"Damn it Lauren," he snapped, You're taking the whole seat up. Move over will you moron."
He prodded me in the side and then kept on prodding until I slid across clumsily. Or more like fell across as he shoved me.
Rude much?
"Ouch. Seth, stop poking and – ugh. Why are you here anyway?" I frowned at him, caught between annoyance and alarm, "I thought you were glad Bray took Dean. Remember? Remember saying that? Remembering curb stomping him in the head? Remember all the horrible things you've been doing? So if you think you can jump in like nothing has happened then – ,"
He put his hand across my mouth and ignored me,
"Drive uce."
Uce.
Roman's eyes flickered up briefly towards me. Seth hadn't called him uce since last June. Right before he had taken a chair to the both of them and broken up their brotherhood. So why in the hell was he starting now?
I bit on his palm and then poked my tongue out at him as he pulled it back cursing,
"What the fuck Lauren? Ow."
"Put your damn belt on. Both of you," Roman rumbled like a father to his rambunctious, bickering kids, before shifting the rental once again into drive move, pulling away from the arena and out on the road towards Dean.
The hunt is officially on!