Merry update day everyone! Hope you're all keeping safe and healthy. For some reason I did the reviews in backwards order this week #cabinfever

Phoenix lord of rebirth, Yep, you just made it! Thank you, we're all okay here. I hope the same for you and yours.

Minnie1015, Haha, I love that you like hurting Dean as much as I do (although never too badly obviously. We need to keep him fit and healthy for more stories!)

HannonsPen, Yep, the gang is (nearly) all here! Although honestly I think Seth adds the most comedy value. And by comedy value I mean him being an ass!

XwwecoyoteX, Seth and Lauren are definitely an annoying brother-little sister combo, which you get to see even more here. Won't lie though, I love writing snarky Seth!

xXBalorBabeXx, Bradshaw's lack of tact is my favourite thing. Lol!

Skovko, Seth deserves a lot more than a bite! He's a complex little creature though, so maybe we can't blame him too much for his evil doings!

Wolfgirl2013, Rule number one: never mess with Roman in dad mode!

Rebel8954, Yep, Seth is definitely battling with himself in this story, which is why I wanted to write this so bad!

Mandy, Seth is just a gift to write during this time! He was sneaky and arrogant, but also a real scaredy cat too. He made such a good weasel!

Here comes The Scooby Gang...

A Good Man Is Hard To Find

Something about being given a camera had brought out the inner Steven Spielberg in Matt, since he spent the first eight and a half minutes of our journey filming out through the windscreen or trying to narrate. But in whispery tones like a naturalist filmmaker trying to crawl up on his stomach towards a hungry pride of lions. Which was equal parts crazy and oddly amusing,

"Operation Save Dean Ambrose. Hour one," he intoned, panning the camera in an arc around the rental and starting with Roman, before swivelling to me and Seth, "Location. Detroit. Mood — ,"

He paused for a second,

"Pensive."

"God damn it," Seth barked, "Will you put that thing down."

Reaching out he punted the camera lens off him and Matt took it back and rubbed the glass with his sleeve, as if having Seth's weaselly fingerprints on it would break it and potentially ruin his new backstage career,

"Uh, excuse me," he huffed, "Keep your hands off the merchandise and anyway, what are you so twitchy about? I mean it's not like anyone forced you to get in here."

"Good point Matt," I nodded, before glaring back "Why are you here?"

Roman's eyes flickered up in the rear view, which I assumed meant he was thinking pretty much the same thing and in response to everyone staring right at him Seth shifted semi awkwardly and then waved a loose hand, as if he thought the answer should have probably been obvious.

It wasn't.

"What do you mean, why am I here? Why do you think? I'm here to save Ambrose, or whatever the plan is."

Roman raised a brow,

"Are you sure about that? Or are you trying to get out of that cage match with Cena I heard you bitching about earlier?"

I gaped at him,

"Wait. Is that what this is? You being a weasel about a main event cage match while my husband is being tortured? That's it. Uce, stop the car."

Not that Roman could have stopped if he had wanted to, given that we were bombing flat out down the road and having to stop to push Rollins onto the freeway would have wasted time I wasn't sure Dean even had. Not that Mr Money in the Bank had to know that.

His eyes went wide,

"Whoa. Uce, do not stop this car."

"And another thing," I frowned, warming up to my rant now, which okay, so maybe wasn't all down to Seth. But hey, it had been a rough twenty four hours and I had to blame someone, "What is up with you keep saying uce? And going to Harper to find out about the compound and jumping in here like you — ,"

Ohhh.

I stopped dead and then blinked for a second as it wrapped around my brain stem, along with the other non asshole things he had done in the crazy six months since The Shield had imploded. Like trying to help me out when I'd been stalked, which okay, so he hadn't really done with much patience, but had still done. And stopping the shotgun wedding with his briefcase.

I gaped in astonishment at him,

"You care."

It wasn't a question, but he reacted like it was one. Or, no. He reacted like he had been punched. Rocking right back in his seat in pure horror, or else like I'd insulted his teeny tiny dog. Which I would never have done because Kevin was a cutie.

"What? No I don't."

"You do too," I nodded back, completing my descent into becoming five years old again, "And that's why you're here. Not because of some match, but because deep, deep down you still care about your brothers."

I was actually feeling just a little bit smug. Because after all, I had always insisted he cared about us and here he was practically proving it himself. Maybe when I finally took the plunge and went to college — once I had kicked ass in my new commentary career — I wouldn't take English or art history like I had planned on and would go into criminal psychology instead. Since really, I seemed to have a knack when it came to psychopaths. Or at least, I thought I had.

Seth snorted,

"Oh please. You really think this means I give a damn about you people?"

Matt raised a hand up helpfully,

"Uh, yes?"

"Wrong," Seth snapped, "It doesn't mean anything. I'm only here because I care about me and what's best for me is butting heads with Dean Ambrose. Because with Cena or the Big Dog here, who says I'll win? But with Ambrose it's like shooting fish in a barrel. I win every time."

Roman slammed on the breaks and Seth, who had pointedly ignored the seat belt warning, slammed nose first into the headrest in front of him.

"Ow. God damn it Roman."

Uce shrugged,

"Oops. My bad. I thought I saw a squirrel up ahead in the road."

"What squirrel?" Seth barked, "There aren't even any trees here."

"Like I said then," Roman repeated, "My bad."

Seth rubbed the bridge of his schnoz for a second, then carried right on,

"And anyway — ,"

Ugh.

"You idiots need me if you're going to beat Wyatt. I mean, unless the plan here was to just waltz right in?"

"Um, no," I shot back maybe a little too hastily. Since, yep, okay, so that had totally been the plan. Clearly and annoyingly, what we needed was an architect. I looked up towards the rear view and Roman nodded at me.

Darn.

"Fine," I huffed, "But you're not allowed to talk to me. Or look at me. Or breathe near me."

Seth snorted,

"Fine."

"Fine."

From up in the front, Matty leaned towards Roman with a not so subtle whisper,

"Are they always like this?"

"Pretty much," uce grinned back, before flipping on the blinker and then merging into the tailback snaking out of Detroit. Tall silver street lamps had been placed along the median so that the moment one passed us the next one sprang up, which created a warm background glow of dusky orange as I leaned against the window and blew out a sigh.

The rumble of the tires on the freeway was soothing and so I shut my tired eyes and then thought about Dean.

Was he angry? Hungry? Was he hungry and angry, or possibly hurt? Maybe even still knocked out?

I fell asleep somewhere just south of Toledo. Or I must have done I guessed, since when I looked up again the sky was blue. Not bright blue with birds and clouds and sunshine. But a mottled and inky sort of predawn shade of blue, with a hot streak of gold creeping up on the horizon, which was dotted with containers and buildings and ships.

Huh?

Even more bewildering was that at some point in the hours, or what felt like seconds that I had been obviously asleep, I had flopped over sideways and laid my head against something.

Something that felt solid and muscular.

"Dean?"

I sat up at once, rubbing the sleep from my eyeballs with the balls of my fists like a tiny little kid and in response, my pillow kind of stiffened in embarrassment and then cleared his throat.

Super nasally.

Oh.

"Hey, keep over your own side," Seth snapped tersely as I pushed up against him and then blinked in to the rental in bewilderment,

"But — ,"

"I'm not here to be your personal sleeping bag Lauren. Or to get your drool over me."

I ignored him because I could,

"Where are we?"

"New Jersey baby girl."

"Wait. We're here?" I gasped, pitching myself forwards so I could lean right over between the front seats and peer out into the inky gloom through the windshield to where Roman was easing the rental through the docks and tall shadowy buildings and rundown warehouses, which looked abandoned and pretty unloved.

Not to mention the perfect place to keep a kidnapped wrestler husband.

I sucked in a breath.

"There it is uce," Seth barked, rudely bashing past me to point at a structure, half hidden in the gloom behind a rickety chain link fence and with a sign above the door that was dirty and faded, but still just about legible.

Franklin's Dog Food And Fish Cannery.

Seth was right.

That was the compound. The compound where Dean was and —

The compound we were driving past.

I panicked,

"Roman stop. That's it. That's where Dean is. We have to go look for him. Wait, where are you going?"

"Take it easy baby girl," the big man rumbled back at me, from the front of the rental in his big brother tones, "First I gotta park up where Wyatt can't see us. Then we'll get uce back."

"Oh," I blinked, "I knew that."

As Seth snorted loudly I shot him a death glare, then sliced what I hoped was a threatening finger across my throat, as Matt meanwhile did a few quick vocal warmups and then fired up the camera,

"Mah may me mo moo. Ahem. Operation Save Dean Ambrose. Hour nine. Location? Jersey. Mood? Uncertain. Matt Taylor here folks, reporting from outside the notorious Wyatt compound, where my sources say The Lunatic Fringe is being held. Mom, if I don't make it home, I love you and no, Samantha cannot have my room. Christiano, who I met in that club on the Lower Eastside and who took my gay virginity — ,"

Wait. Was he making a living will?

Roman pulled up around the corner from the warehouse and then stopped the car, so Matt hurried things along,

"And to Genevieve Torres who bullied me in high school, suck on it bitch," the red light switched off and Matt spun around and then shrugged, "So what's the plan here?"

Right, the plan. I sucked in a breath, only to find stupid Seth talking over me.

And at me as well,

"You and Lauren stay here. Me and Roman will go and bring Dean back."

Matt and I both spoke at once,

"But I have to film for the show. Because if I don't get something then I'm going to be fired — ,"

"Uh, excuse me? He's my husband. Which means I'm going too."

Seth rolled his eyes,

"Oh god damn it. Uce, tell her."

Roman glanced up and I scowled in response, pouting my bottom lip out for extra good measure, which Dean would have totally prodded back in, but couldn't because he'd been kidnapped by a madman and so no way in heck was I not going in. Even though the thought of Bray Wyatt terrified me.

Roman turned his hands up and shrugged,

"Sorry Seth, but baby girl has every damn right to be in there and besides, I trust her a whole lot more than I trust you."

"Thank you Roman," I chirped back sweetly, leaning forward and patting his big loyal chest, before poking my tongue out directly at Rollins and then flinging the door open, "Now can we please go save Dean?"

Because it was six o'clock in the morning, in the middle of December on the New Jersey coast, the wind outside was super icy and made me shiver. Although, okay, so I guessed that could have also been the nerves. Which were definitely the reason that I stood for a second while the others clambered out and then let Roman take the lead.

Seth grabbed my arm,

"Hey Lauren, I'm serious. Don't expect me to come and bail you out of trouble in there."

"Well then don't expect me to come and bail you out either," I huffed back, before threading my arm through Matt's and then following Roman as he skirted the chain link, with my heart pounding crazily.

Hold on Dean. Hold on.

Given that the warehouse which doubled as the compound — or the inner city compound since perhaps there were more, like a mountain compound or a weekend beach compound — was so badly rundown and crying out for repair, it didn't take long to find a gap in the fencing that was big enough to climb through. Roman went first and then held back the chain link. Or, well, he held it for me and Matty at least, since when it came to Rollins he let it ping from his fingers and whip back into the two toned head.

Seth looked up furiously,

"Hey — ,"

Roman shrugged,

"Thought I saw another squirrel."

"You what?"

"Shush," I hissed, which, I'll admit probably wasn't too fair, but hey after everything Seth had done to us, like the chair to the back thing and stomping Dean's head into a block, it felt good to be able to get a little retribution. Even if it was a bit childish.

Or a lot.

Throwing us a look, Seth squeezed through the chain link and then stood up, brushing crud and schmutz off his pants. He pointed a leather gloved hand in my direction. Wait, when had he put those on?

"You owe me for this."

"Well you owe us for breaking The Shield up. So let's call it even."

I spun on my heel, deliberately trying to slap Seth with my ponytail and then followed Roman across the broken up ground, which looked like an army of subterranean mole men had been trying to tunnel up through it from beneath. Because ugh –

Of course Bray would know evil mole men, that was totally his style.

At one point, I tripped and fell but was saved from face planting into the concrete by a firm black gloved hand.

Oh god damn it.

I straightened up and then swallowed my pride long enough to nod back at him and wave an awkward hand in the air,

"Um, thanks."

"I knew you coming with us would be trouble," he muttered and yep, okay so he was definitely still an ass.

Up ahead Roman had stopped by a doorway, set low in the shadows of the compound at the back which Seth pushed past me without a word to press his ear to, because presumably chicken weasels had better hearing than dogs.

He paused for a second and I held my breath with him until my vision turned blue and started to spot, at which point he thankfully looked up at Roman and then shrugged.

Wait. I blinked. Was a shrug good or bad?

"I don't know man, I can't hear anything."

"Think we should try it?"

Roman put out a hand and turned the rusty handle as my poor thumping heart rate sped suddenly from triple into a dizzying quadruple time. Because what if Bray Wyatt came barrelling out at us? Or a thousand cult members with pitchforks and sticks? Or a Dean who had been given a vial of hick blood and had been turned into a half human monster?

A WereDean?

"This is it sweetie," Matt held up the camera and then squeezed my arm as I bit back and squeak as the door let out a tiny half creak of protest and then gradually inched open to reveal –

Nothing at all.

"Oh."

Not that I had been hoping for WereDeans or Wyatt or cult members, but I had totally been poised and so to be greeted with nothing but a fusty smell and darkness was kind of disappointing.

Which was weird.

Seth cleared his throat and then tried to look like he wasn't also freaking at the lack of Wyatt shaped figure.

"Come on."

Letting him go first, like he had in their Shield days, Roman stood back to let me and Matt past, before inching the rickety door shut again behind us and sealing us into the Wyatt compound.

Oh god.

For some bizarre reason, when I had pictured the interior of Bray's evil lair — you know, in nightmares and things — I had mostly envisioned something clean and sterile looking, with virginal young women walking around in white shrouds. But instead the inside was as rundown as the outside, because, yep, they definitely had a weekend beach place. The corridor we were stood in was covered in debris from the ceiling, which had cracks in it and was missing big plasterwork chunks and the walls had been sprayed in random tags and graffiti. Presumably from before Bray had earmarked it for his home.

Because we had stepped in from out of the moonlight and the slowly approaching early light of the sun, the inside had gone back to being thick black again, only broken up by the paleness from the main space beyond, which I guessed had been the main cannery floor in its heyday, since it was big and open and sort of factory like, with corridors leading off into a series of back and store rooms, or dungeons and whatever else Bray had installed. Including maybe a closet to keep his bad Hawaiian shirts in.

The whole place was silent.

I bit my lip,

"Dean?"

It wasn't a shout, it was more like a whisper, or, okay, a squeak since I was really really scared, but it still dislodged a roosting pigeon from somewhere, which shot out in a burst of feathers and nearly made me straight up scream.

Roman put his hand over my mouth then held his finger up in a classic shush motion that I assumed was a gentle warning to me because of the fact I couldn't hold it together, but wasn't, which I realized as he pointed off into the blackness.

Huh?

Narrowing my eyes across the floor of the factory, I noticed a figure shambling away across the space. A big, bulky figure, that didn't look or walk like Dean did. In fact, if I had to guess, then I would have said it walked like –

Bray.

Holy crap. There he was. Bray Wyatt. The man who had kidnapped the love of my life and made me spend the whole night crying and snivelling like a child.

I balled up my fists and then took a step towards him before I even had time to realize what I was doing. My foot crunched down on a loose bit of plaster and the noise echoed out like a bomb around the place.

Bray paused instantly and then spun around towards me, but Roman got there first, physically dragging me back as the four of us flattened against the wall of the corridor with our hearts pumping like crazy.

Or, I mean, mine certainly was.

For a second Bray stood where he was, unmoving, but then the pigeon fluttered again and he turned and then continued to stalk across to the main entrance, which were a great big set of doors that could have fit a truck through, before pulling one open just enough to slip out past and then pulling it shut behind him with a scratch of concrete.

He was gone.

Blowing out a sigh of relief I slumped backwards and then looked up guiltily,

"Um, sorry about that. I just, ugh, I really wanted to hit him,"

"You and me both baby girl," Roman growled, before softening a little and then my ruffling hair up. Fondly too, which was nice.

"Scrappy Doo," he grinned, which I liked as a nickname, because Dean and I loved watching old cartoons. Or he loved watching and I liked snuggling up beside him, so he would like the comparison. When we found him that was.

Uce jerked his head along the corridor away from us and then threw a reassuring wink at me,

"Come on."

With Bray gone — though where to or for how long wasn't certain — the compound seemed a little bit safer to search. But still creepy though. As in super duper creepy, which was part of the reason that I moved so darn fast, positively speed walking my way along the corridor and throwing every door open like a crazy person.

"Dean?"

Roman and Seth were both following behind me, giving the whole place a proper sweep through and Matt was behind them, videoing everything, but as the rooms started to dwindle I began to freak out. Because what if we had driven all the way there for nothing? What if it was all part of some big Bray prank and Dean really was in a swamp, or in Cleveland, or strung up over a pit of hungry crocodiles.

Oh god, oh god.

I flung open the final door, expecting it to be dark and stale like all the others and panicking so much that I was already halfway out so I could pool down into a heap in the corridor and cry my eyes out for my poor missing man, when I realized that instead of being black like all the others, there was a lightbulb hanging down in the middle of the room, which lit up a figure huddled up in one corner, with his hands cuffed tight to a piece of meshing at his back. His head was hung low which made his scruffy hair pitch forwards and he seemed to be sleeping, or unconscious.

I stopped and then spun back into the room with my mouth open as Seth crashed into me hard from behind and then snapped back in characteristic impatience,

"Lauren, what are you doing?"

But I couldn't respond. I couldn't even move or breathe for a moment. Because sat there, right in front of me, was my husband.

I gasped,

"Dean."

See you next week folks. Not too long until the end now (this is only a short Lauren and Dean story) but still plenty of action left to go!