Disclaimers: I own nothing or anyone associated or affiliated with WWE. I own only the original characters. This is just a fictional story that came from my imagination. Chapter Content & Trigger Warnings: Violence.

Chapter 2

By the time you got home, unloaded your suitcase and repacked it with fresh clothing for the next round of shows, it was nearly 2 A.M.

Ugh... I should go to bed, you thought. "But I really need to unwind a bit." You were so keyed up you would never get to sleep without something to help you relax. You opted for a warm bubble bath.

You headed into the bathroom and started running some bath water in your large claw-footed slipper tub. After adding some lavender-scented bubble bath, you began undressing, tossing your clothes into the laundry hamper.

Within minutes, your bath water was ready and you were slipping down into your beloved vintage bathtub. The fizzy bubbles never ceased to help you relax. The nagging tenseness in your muscles instantly began ebbing from your body.

Your hand moved down to rest on your ever-growing stomach. It had been easy enough to hide so far, what with baggier clothing. But being naked in the bathtub, there was no hiding it, whatsoever. You felt a swift little thump within your belly and you giggled, lovingly rubbing your swelling tummy with your hand. "You love these warm baths too, huh?" You felt another kick, stronger this time, and laughed a little louder, then cooed, "My goodness! You have your daddy's dropkick!"

And then you were sobbing and crying. For so many reasons. And not just due to your jacked up pregnancy hormones.

It felt as if everything was falling apart around you. You felt as if you'd also lost Seth and Roman. Which was ridiculous. Okay, so that part is due to the hormones, you admitted to yourself. But not everything else. You lost Dean. The father of your baby. The solidness of your friendship with him, and Ro, and Seth. The three of them together gave you so much strength. And now that strength was fractured. Along with your heart. "I'm so sorry, my sweet baby," you whispered, patting your tummy. "I wanted you to have a father—a real dad. But, I seemed to have messed that up for you."

The sound of shattering glass jarred you straight out of your thoughts. Did that come from my bedroom? My balcony doors! You scrambled to get out of the bathtub without sloshing water and making noise, which was an impossible feat. You finally managed to climb out and not wasting time to dry off, you snagged your bathrobe from the hook on your bathroom door, and yanked the garment on. You inwardly groaned as you discovered the robe would barely tie around your belly. You needed to get a larger one. Soon. Then you rolled your eyes at yourself as you carefully opened the bathroom door and peeked out.

I am almost positive someone is breaking into my house, and here I am freaking out over my robe being too small. Such an idiot.

The hallway looked clear. You stepped out quietly, keeping your eyes peeled and your gaze darting everywhere in an attempt to catch any signs of movement. I need to get downstairs. Get a weapon. Get out of the house! Those thoughts at the forefront of your mind, you began your cautious descent down the wooden stairs. You slipped, and barely saved yourself from falling down the remainder of the staircase. I should have dried my feet off at least, you thought regretfully. But there was no time! I just have to get out of here. Get to a neighbor's house, somehow. The thought made you hesitate. How would you make it to a neighbor's house when the nearest one was about a mile down the road and you were barefooted? Great idea, Y/N, you berated yourself. You just HAD to have your privacy and live out in the country, didn't you?

You fought the urge to cry. It would do you no good, and tears would not save you. You had to save yourself. There was no other option.

You made it into the kitchen, and grabbed a butcher knife out of the knife block on your counter-top; the blade making a metallic swoosh as it came out of its slot. The pantry door directly behind you blew open at that moment and a powerful arm wound around your neck instantly. With a startled scream you shot your knifed hand upward and back, but it never reached its target. Your attacker seized your wrist and squeezed it painfully in his grip until you had no choice but to drop the knife.

"Please," you gasped out, struggling with his arm's iron-clad hold on your neck. "Take whatever you want—anything. But please, don't hurt me! I'm pregnant!"

"Then I guess that's your fault, little girl," a male voice rasped in your ear. "Because I have orders. You die tonight."

You sobbed, and immediately hated yourself for it. "Who are you?! Why are you doing this? Who wants me dead?" Even as you asked the questions, you bucked against him, desperate to get free.

You heard the man's exerted grunt just as, what you could only assume was his fist, connected with your lower back, and almost simultaneously, electricity was shooting up your entire body. Your blood seemed to scorch your veins. All of them. Your knees threatened to buckle, but you knew if you went down, the man would have you right where he wanted you. You couldn't give him that. If he was going to kill you and your baby, then win or lose, he was going to have a fight on his hands.

You were flung around and pinned against the counters. His hand grabbed your throat this time and squeezed just enough to show you the power he had in his grip. You couldn't make out much about him in the darkness of the kitchen. He appeared to be bald and possibly clean-shaven.

"The only question is..." He said calmly—too calmly. "How should you die? Or...make it look like you just disappeared without a trace? Maybe just good, old-fashioned murder? A murder no cop would ever solve, because I'm just that freaking good." He squeezed your throat a little tighter. "Nah, that wouldn't be any fun. I take delight in causing as much pain as I can... So, why don't we go with suicide? Devastate that brother of yours? And that big Samoan that's so clingy to you?"

"They would never believe it," you choked out. The man's hand was getting tighter by the minute. Not to mention your kidney felt as though it was spasming after the punch it took. "I have too much to live for."

"Mox doesn't want you, does he? That seems like enough to drive a mommy-to-be over the edge."

"Mox?" Now you were really confused. "I don't even know a Mox. You have the wrong person! Let me go!" Your struggle began anew. No way am I dying for something I have nothing to do with and know nothing about!

His fist tightened around your throat then, until you couldn't even get a fraction of a breath. Your time was running out. I have to do something. Now. Your brain was growing fuzzy from the lack of air. As quickly as you could, you reached up and gouged one of the man's eyes with your thumb, hard. He shouted and released you for an instant. An instant that bought you a little more time.

You drove your knee up into his groin.

And as he gasped and sputtered and grabbed at his crotch when he collapsed to his knees you drew your fist back and punched him square in the face.

Then, you spun around and ran. Stumbling to the stairs, your plan was to get into your bedroom and lock yourself in. Your cell phone was in there and you could call for help. Plus, you could look for something to use as a weapon. If you lived in a normal neighborhood, you would have simply ran out your front door and got help at a neighbor's house. But that was not an option at the moment. Glancing back toward the kitchen, you saw the man slowly getting to his feet, still wheezing.

"YOU-!"

His cut off shout sent you scurrying up the stairs as quickly as was possible. You could hear your cell phone ringing in your bedroom! At this hour the only person calling you would be either Seth or Roman. They could call the police for you if the man got to you before you could place the call yourself. Pain was hitting you in every square inch of your body, but you had to ignore it. You had no time to think about it. You had to get to that phone!

"I'M GONNA KILL YOU SLOW!"

You reached the landing to the second floor when you heard him approaching the stairs. You hobbled into your bedroom, slamming the door behind you and securing the lock, not bothering to turn on the light. Your ringing phone was providing the only light you needed at that moment. You dove for your night table and snatched up your phone, fumbling a bit as you tried to tap the "Answer" icon.

"Seth? Ro? Help me, please! He's trying to kill me! Please, call 9-1-1-"

"Y/N?! Doll? I'm on my way to your house, baby—right now! Are you hidden? Ya safe?"

Dean?

"I'm l-locked in my b-bedroom," you stammered, growing even more confused. "Why are you-"

"Sweetheart, stay locked in. I'll be there in less than five minutes."

The man had apparently finally made it up the stairs and was now trying to kick your door in. "Oh, God... Dean... He's trying to break into my bedroom! My door won't hold! Please, call the police!"

"The police ain't enough, Y/N. These guys... The police have no idea who they're dealin' with."

Your door began shuddering and you ran to your closet, desperate to find something—anything, to use as a weapon. I'll use one of my stilettos if I have to! Then your gaze fell on your old softball bat from high school. You grabbed it up.

"And how do you know," you hissed, beginning to wonder what the devil Dean had gotten himself mixed up in. You could hear the door threatening to splinter as the killer on the other side of it continued to try and break it down. You didn't have much longer.

"I used to be tied in with them."

"Oh, my God... Are you a killer?"

There was a long pause. "That is a hard question to answer, Y/N."

"Oh, my God..." You cried again. Then, realization dawned. "Are- Are you coming to help him kill me?!"

The notion seemed so ludicrous! But... Dean had shown a side of himself that you'd never seen before. He was different. Harder. Colder. And there was a man outside your door trying to kill you. A man that Dean apparently had some sort of connection with. You had no idea what to believe.

You had no way of knowing if Dean answered your question or not, because your door all but exploded then. You had no choice but to drop the phone and wield the bat in front of you. Drawing it over your head, you charged at the large man now standing in your bedroom. "Get out of here," you screamed. "Leave me alone!" You swung the bat downward, aiming for his head. Unfortunately, the pain radiating through your body had affected your motor skills. The killer latched onto the bat and yanked it toward him, pulling you with it—and consequently—closer to him. He held it out between the two of you horizontally, an end in each of his hands. You could see where this was headed, but you couldn't let go of the bat completely. He would have it to his full advantage then. The killer smirked before driving the bat straight into your forehead. You stumbled back—stunned, before tumbling to the floor with a soft, pained groan. You could vaguely hear Dean's frantic voice over the phone laying beside you on the floor, but you couldn't make out his words due to the ringing in your ears. Then the pain in your head finally registered. Your skull throbbed and ached, and quite frankly, felt as if it was on fire. Blood dripped down into your eye. You quickly swiped at it.

A concussion, you wondered as the throbbing in your head intensified.

And that is all you had time to think about. Strong hands latched onto your throat and squeezed—viciously hard. You could literally feel the man's hatred for you.

"I am gonna choke you till you pass out, and then wake you up and do it again. And again. And again. You'll wonder each time whether you'll wake up or not," the man growled in your face. Sheer terror took over and you grasped at his hands, trying to free yourself. "You are going to BEG me for mercy—to just finish you off quickly. But I won't. You're gonna suffer now, little girl."

Your eyes felt as if they were about to explode. You had to do something. You couldn't give up. You tried to scream to no avail. In a last ditch effort, you lifted your hands to his face and scratched at his eyes, his cheeks, his neck, anything that would make him let you go. You could feel small shreds and fragments of his skin under your fingernails. His distant shout filled your still-ringing ears, and he finally released you.

You needed to move. You knew you did. But you couldn't. Your limbs would not cooperate until you'd gotten sufficient oxygen to your brain. You lay there, gasping and coughing. When you were finally able to move a bit, you tried to rise to your feet.

"Oh, no ya don't!"

You made out a metallic clicking sound, and in the next instant felt a burning pain at your right shoulder-blade. Wet warmth streamed down your back and over to your neck, down your chest. Your intentions to get on the move were still there. But your body would not get on the same page with what your brain wanted to do. Something scraped at the bones in your shoulder and you felt bile threatening to rise in your throat. You fought off the urge to gag as you were flipped onto your back.

A choked cry passed your lips as cold metal pressed against your neck. "Looks like your time is up."

You made a feeble attempt to grab at the knife at your throat. But the man nicked your skin and pulled the knife out of your reach. The sicko was toying with you and enjoying every moment of your torture. He brought the knife to your stomach then—and slashed. Your weak scream was a mixture of pain and terror. "Not... m-my ba- baby..." you whispered. Your teeth were chattering now. A tear rolled down your temple and seemed to scorch your rapidly-chilling skin. Within your muddled mind you were somehow able to detect the signs that you were going into shock.

The killer ignored your soft pained words and grinned down at you. "You're just too stupid to realize it, aren't you? IT'S OVER!"

Despite the fuzzy ringing in your ears, you heard a sudden... shout of some sort. It sounded human, if your ears weren't tricking you. A male. And he sounded...scared. And furious. Lethal—like a wounded animal.

And then your attacker was not on top of you anymore. The knife was gone from your neck. You wanted to roll onto your side; to stand up somehow and get out of there. But your shoulder had become completely numb and your arm was useless; your body heavy and slow.

You became aware of the sound of punches, and kicks, and stomps and snarls. You shifted your head toward the two men in your bedroom just in time to see the newest assailant grab hold of your attacker's head and give it a violent twist. There was a very audible CRACK as the killer's neck broke. The other man tossed the lifeless corpse to the floor. You could make out his silhouette turning toward you in the darkness—could feel his eyes raking over your body.

"Please..." you choked out, trying to drag yourself away from him with your uninjured arm. You winced at the twinge in your upper back but somehow managed to fight and claw your way to your feet. The pain was lessening, but that only frightened you. It couldn't be a good or normal sign after what your body had gone through. "Don't..." You sobbed in your despair and stumbled back several steps; bumped into your dresser and sent various items crashing to the floor. The mixed smell of several different fragrances wafted up to your nose as you grasped the edge of the bureau in order to stay upright. You didn't have any more fight left in you. You just didn't.

You heard the man mutter something under his breath. Your bedside lamp turned on. You were blinded for a moment as your eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. But then... Then you saw Dean. Hurrying over to you. His arms went around you and gently tugged you against him. A weak yelp passed your lips as a sudden burst of pain attacked your shoulder and back. You flinched at his touch, still terribly frightened.

It's Dean... you thought. But... He just killed a man! He broke his neck—right in front of me! He's a killer! You began struggling anew, but Dean's hold on you was firm. "You killed him..." you cried, growing more frightened. "Oh, God... Dean, what is going on?" Your breath came in snatches as you panicked. "Please, let me go..."

"Shhh-shhh, you're gonna be okay, Doll. Promise." His fingers brushed over your neck, pausing at your pulse to monitor the beat of your heart—which was all over the place.

"No," you whispered, trembling and shivering. So cold... The floor was swirling at your feet. "Never okay again... Feel sick..." And though you fought to stay awake, your body had had enough. You began sinking. Despite the distinct feeling of Dean's arms holding you up, you felt yourself plummeting.

Darkness claimed you then, but you could have sworn you heard Dean apologizing softly in your ear as you faded.

"I'm sorry honey. So, so sorry."

}i{}i{}i{}i{}i{

Dean sped down the freeway, keeping his eyes peeled in the darkness for the turnoff to Y/N's road. He had a bad feeling he may already be too late.

A very bad feeling.

He used his car's bluetooth to place a call to Y/N, all the while breaking the speed limit. By a lot.

Her phone rang.

And rang. And rang.

"Baby, come on! Pick up the fricking phone!"

The rings finally ceased and Y/N's frantic voice was crying out to him. Or to Seth or Roman, rather.

"Seth? Ro? Help me, please! He's trying to kill me! Please, call 9-1-1-"

His heart flew into his throat. He pulled a sudden sharp turn onto her road. I am too late, he thought. There's still a few miles to go. "Y/N?! Doll? I'm on my way to your house, baby—right now! Are you hidden? Ya safe?"

"I'm l-locked in my b-bedroom." She sounded more than a little confused and absolutely terrified. "Why are you-"

He cut her off. There was no time for questions. "Sweetheart, stay locked in." He pressed harder on the gas pedal even as he spoke. "I'll be there in less than five minutes." He heard a loud wooden thud in the background and gritted his teeth.

"Oh, God... Dean... He's trying to break into my bedroom! My door won't hold! Please, call the police!"

"The police ain't enough, Y/N. These guys... The police have no idea who they're dealin' with."

"And how do you know?"

Her voice sounded accusatory then, and he didn't blame her. In the least.

He hesitated before answering, hating to deliver the next blow. "I used to be tied in with them."

"Oh, my God... Are you a killer?"

He inwardly groaned. "That is a hard question to answer, Y/N."

"Oh, my God... Are- Are you coming to help him kill me?!"

"God, baby... No. Why would-"

He heard the sound of wood breaking, and then Y/N was screaming.

"Get out of here! Leave me alone!"

There were the sounds of a struggle and then a dull thud, followed by Y/N's soft gasp of pain; the sound of her body falling to the floor. "Y/N! I'm coming, baby!" He had no idea if she could even hear him.

"I am gonna choke you till you pass out, and then wake you up and do it again. And again. And again. You'll wonder each time whether you'll wake up or not." Dean heard the man growl sadistically. "You are going to BEG me for mercy—to just finish you off quickly. But I won't. You're gonna suffer now, little girl."

"NO!" Dean's fist beat the steering wheel in his frustration. His car was nearly flying over the gravel of the road. He tuned out what he was hearing over the phone then. He had to. If he had to hear Y/N cry out in pain once more he was going to lose his mind. He couldn't handle wondering what the guy was doing to her. He would most likely be rendered useless to Y/N if he thought about it for too long.

Finally, he spotted her large house and didn't bother with the driveway. He just charged into the yard and slammed on the breaks, narrowly missing her mailbox. Barely managing to kill the engine, Dean jumped out of the SUV and tore for Y/N's front porch. It took him two hard kicks to get her front door open, but then he was inside and running for her staircase.

He was flying up the stairs when he heard the man's voice: "...too stupid to realize it, aren't you? IT'S OVER!"

Everything seemed to move in slow motion for Dean then. As he reached the landing, he could see into Y/N's bedroom. A large man's silhouette straddled Y/N in the darkness, holding a knife to her throat. His vision went stark red, and he became aware of a loud, pained battle-cry ripping through the atmosphere as he charged into the room and tackled the man away from Y/N. He was aware of punching the low life. Punching, kicking, he even threw in a head-butt for good measure. And when the killer was stunned for a brief moment, Dean grabbed hold of his head and the next thing he knew, he was hearing a sickening crack echo throughout the room.

He turned and saw Y/N still lying on the floor. His gaze took a quick assessment of her to make sure she was unharmed.

"Please," she cried softly. He saw as she tried to move farther away from him, and he was angry with himself once again. She somehow made it to her feet, albeit shakily. Then she stumbled back into her dresser. "Don't..."

"I'm an idiot," he grumbled softly, reaching over to turn on her bedside lamp. Then he wasted no time in going to her and pulling her into his arms. A pained cry burst from her lips and she winced. Whether from fear or pain, Dean couldn't tell. He began checking her over, spotted blood at her shoulder and neck.

"You killed him..." she sobbed. "Oh, God... Dean, what is going on? Please, let me go..."

"Shhh-shhh, you're gonna be okay, Doll. Promise." His hand stopped its roaming at her neck, checking her pulse.

Y/N shivered as she shook her head. "No." She was swaying then; about to pass out. "Never okay again... Feel sick..." Dean watched helplessly as her eyes lost focus and she fell limp with a soft whimper.

"I'm sorry honey. So, so sorry." He whispered the words as he bent downward, scooping her legs up, and cradled her. He immediately headed over to her bed and gently deposited her onto it in order to better check for injuries.

The blood at her shoulder had him worried. It was a lot. He gently tugged the shoulder of her robe down so he could better see her skin, and then turned her torso so he could find the wound. It was at her shoulder-blade. "No," he growled. The wound was deep and jagged—a stab. He'd had some basic medical training in his past, but this... She needed a doctor. Soon.

Sighing shakily, he eased her onto her back once again and began planning mentally. He went to her dresser drawers and pulled out an over-sized nightshirt to dress her in. He laid the garment on the mattress, and then he grabbed her quilt off the quilt-rack at the foot of her bed and laid it down beside her. His gaze fell on her suitcase. He grabbed it and ran down the stairs to his car where he opened the passenger door and laid the seat back flat, and then piled the suitcase in the backseat.

Seconds later, he was back up in her bedroom and untying the belt of her robe.

That is when he spotted more blood.

At her stomach.

"What?" Did the monster stab her twice, his mind roared as he then frantically began trying to remove the robe from her body.

He tugged the garment free and meant to assess the wound.

But he became distracted by the soft swell of her belly.

He stared blankly—his brain not computing, nor processing what he was seeing. His hand moved toward her with a mind of its own. Entranced, his fingers brushed lightly over her rounded stomach. He cursed, his voice cracking. He laid his palm tenderly against her warm belly then, breathing heavily. He felt a firm thump against his hand and jolted. "No." My baby, he thought, dumbstruck. She is having my baby. His gaze went icy then as it shifted to the dead man on the floor. That son of a... he tried to kill her—and my baby. Tried to take what's mine. "Should'a killed you slow."

Shaking his head to clear it, Dean quickly checked the wound on Y/N's stomach. It appeared to be a superficial cut. Shouldn't need stitches, at least, he thought. He tugged the nightshirt onto Y/N's limp frame, and then gently wrapped her up in the quilt before pulling his cell phone out and making a call.

"Hello?"

"Doc, it's... It's Mox." Dean began, at hearing his older friend's voice. He almost shuddered at using his past name. He'd hoped he'd never have to use it again. "I know it's been a long time, but... I need your help."

"Well, Moxley," the older man exclaimed. "All you have to do is ask, son. What do you need?"

Dean hesitated. He hated to even utter the words. "UDM is after me. They..." He puffed out a sigh. "They came after someone I... Someone close to me. She's hurt. Bad." He glanced down at her and saw that her pallor was getting much lighter. Sweat dotted along her hairline. "I can't take her to a hospital—that'll be the first place they look for her."

"Say no more. Meet me at the-"

"Don't say it. Not over the phone," Dean cut him off. "I know where. I will be there as soon as I can."

He ended the call and pocketed his phone, wasting no time in lifting Y/N up into his arms. Then he was carrying her down the stairs and out the front door. He heard her whimper slightly as he neared his car.

"Please, don't hurt me..."

He glanced down. Saw that she'd come to, but only slightly. "I'd never hurt you, Doll." He watched as her eyes went out of focus and threatened to close again. "I can't lie though. That stung a bit," he said, gently laying her on the flattened passenger seat. "But I realize I didn't give you much reason to trust me, earlier tonight." He tucked the quilt around her and buckled the lap-belt across her waist, then closed the door and hurried to the driver's side. He quickly got behind the wheel and tore out of the yard; driving like a madman in his haste to get to Doc. He was Y/N's only hope at that point.

"Hang on, Kitten," Dean said softly, snagging her limp hand in his free one as he drove. He squeezed it; brought it to his mouth and kissed the back of it. "Just hang on."