TITLE: Through the Alleys

AUTHOR: Simply_Cath
DISCLAIMER: Don't own anyone involved, not making a profit. Names trademarked to WWE, guys own themselves obviously.
DISTRIBUTION: Get my permission first
RATING: M
CONTENT: Violence, bad language, lots of bad language.
SPOILERS: None
SUMMARY: Moxley's had people pissed at him. He's had people after him. He's never been hunted like this.
NOTES: An idea that's been kicking around for a while.

Jon ran blindly, until he stopped feeling the cold. His lungs burned. His legs ached. His head, god his head. Licking his lips, Moxley looked around. The street was a little busy. It seemed late. He started to head away from those guys, shoving his hands in his pockets and keeping his head down. Now that he had some time, he started to take stock of the situation. The back of his head throbbed. With fingers that burned from the cold, Jon patted the back of his head. His fingers came away clean.

A police car turned left on to the street. Gasping, Moxely threw himself into the recessed opening of a doorway. The cop car inched passed, lights off, sirens quiet.

Once it disappeared around a corner, Jon started to walk again. The street lights hissed at him, a steady constant drone that buzzed in time with his headache. Bright flashes teased the corners of his eyes. He looked around; was someone taking his picture? Jon drew the hoodie up over his eyes and walked faster.

There was snow on the ground, but not much. It crunched under his feet. He paused at a red light, turning away from a pair of headlights that assaulted his eyes. Moxley backed up a step and looked up. The street sign was huge, but the letters were moving, blurring. He wiped his eyes, but that only made it worse. Cursing under his breath, Jon started across the street, flipping off a driver who braked sharply in front of him.

When he dared to look up again, it was mostly dark. The only source of light came from a gas station with a big convenience store. Jon huddled deeper into the hoodie. His fingers brushed something soft. Blinking, he grasped the item and pulled out a couple of twenties. Jon took off across the street and slipped into the building, sighing.

"Cold enough out there, huh?"

"What?" Jon looked over his shoulder, but there was nobody in the store save for him and the clerk. "Huh? Yeah, whatever." His hands ached. It felt like his blood was unthawing. His fingers felt swollen, heavy and useless.

Moxley took his time browsing the aisles, walking past the cartoony cereal boxes, crappy energy drinks and useless candy. He grabbed the first energy bar that wasn't total garbage and made his way to the front of the store. The kid was young, dark hair, stupid frosted blond tips that reminded him of someone it hurt to think about. Jon tossed the money on to the counter.

The cashier handed him the cigarettes, water and protein bar. He nudged the change over, then paused with his hand covering the coins. "Wait," he lifted his hand and tilted his head to the side, trying to study him from another angle. "Aren't you-?"

"No." Jon snatched the money off the counter and shoved it into the pocket of his pants. "I'm not anyone." He put the hood up over his head and walked out of the store. Just past the gas station there was a phone booth. Jon broke into a run and slammed the flimsy door behind him. The booth reeked of gas and garbage; it was smeared with half-assed graffiti. He ran his hand through his hair, then shoved the quarters into the slot with shaking hands. He jabbed at the numbers and held his breath, then sighed as it started to ring. "Come on, come on, pick up."

"What?"

"Sami?" He murmured.

"Mox! Man, I saw what happened; are you-?"

"You saw what happened tonight?" He gripped the phone tighter. "What happened tonight? I don't know what happened. I don't remember."

"Whoa, whoa, slow down. What's going on?"

Jon clenched the fist of his free hand and beat it against his thigh, using the pain to keep himself focused. "I dunno, man. I mean, I - I woke up and there were all these people around and all these lights and it was so bright and I think..." He grabbed his hair, yanking at it until the glassy pain sharpened his thoughts. "I think they slipped me something because these lights are like so fucking loud and they're way too bright and my head is pounding." He took a deep, shaky breath. He wanted to yell and scream, but the words came out in a whisper. It felt like there was a hand wrapped around his throat, a thumbnail digging into his jugular. He hunched over the phone. "I don't know where I am, Sami."

"Oh."

Sami never sounded like that. Sami always talked too loud and didn't say enough and now in that one little word, Jon heard way too much. He swallowed. "Look, I need you to come get me okay. Some serious shit is going on here. I didn't even do nothing and there's these two guys after me and I didn't do anything! I like ... I took this hoodie, okay? Nobody was using it and it was there and it's cold out! I need you to come get me." There was silence on the other end of the phone for a very long time. Jon's heart was pounding so loud, he was sure it would bust through his ribs any second now. "Please."

"Mox," Sami's voice was low and steady like he was trying to talk down a wild dog. "I need you to listen to me, okay?"

He nodded until he realized it wouldn't be seen. "Yeah."

"You need to go back."

Jon planted his hand on the wall of the booth to keep himself upright. "What?"

"You have to trust me on this. You need to go back there. Those guys-"

"No, no, no," Jon shook his head. "Haven't you been listening? They're AFTER me. I didn't even do anything and they're after me and -" He trailed off. A gust of wind blew open one of the doors of the booth, slathering him with cold air. "They got to you."

"What? No, Mox, listen to me, you're-"

"You son of a bitch! What'd they give you huh?" Jon hung up the phone. He wanted to smash it. He wanted to tear the whole thing down, but he couldn't. He dropped to a crouch, with his head down and gripped his hair in both hands.

Someone knocked on the glass three times. Tap. Tap. Tap.

"Fuck off," Jon snapped.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

"Look, I said-" He shot to his feet, hands balled into fists.

It was the them.