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: T
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.

"Are you okay, Mister?"

Jon yelped a curse and whirled around, wide eyed and ready to fight. Guys like him didn't get called 'Mister.' A kid was looking at him, probably a little young to be out this late, but who the hell was he to judge? "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." He licked his lips. "You gotta light?"

"Yeah." The kid pulled a lighter out.

Jon wiped his hands on his pants and pulled out the cigarettes, tearing open the package with practiced ease. He withdrew a thin white stick and held it between his fingers. The second it was lit, he took a deep drag, letting the nicotine work its magic. "Cool."

The kid gave him a funny look. "Aren't you-?"

"No," Jon shook his head. "I'm not." He took off across the street. He made his way to some kind of office building. There was probably some idiot working late whose car he could jack. There was a lot of lights, but they didn't seem so loud now. Everything seemed muted. God, he was tired.

He leaned against a street lamp, closing his eyes as he finished off the smoke. It took every bit of his willpower to open his eyes.

The tall guy was two feet away from him.

"No," he murmured. "Leave me alone."

The dude held something out. "Put this on."

It was the hoodie. "No."

"It's freezing out here, you idiot."

"Listen, asshole, you can take that hoodie and stuff that right up your-" A harsh blast of wind asasulted the street, kicking up bits of trash and snow. Grumbling under his breath, Moxley slid his arms into the sleeves and zipped it up as high as it would go. "If you think for one second that I'm gonna say thank you, you've got another thing coming. I wouldn't even be out here in this if it wasn't for you."

"That's yours, you know."

Jon cocked his head, as though he didn't understand the language. "What? No. I've never-"

"Roll up the right cuff."

Dazed, Jon dropped the butt and stomped it out. As if of their own volition, his fingers curled around the hem and flipped it over. "What are you-?" He squinted. Among the black material, barely visible, he spotted three, one inch tall letters. 'Mox.' "The hell?"

"You put it on there so you'd always remember where you came from."

Jon swallowed hard. He looked up at the guy and started to speak. His vision started to grey out; it was like looking through the end of a long tunnel. The pounding in his head suddenly hit a crescendo. His legs were turning to rubber. And yet, for the first time tonight, something became clear. The black hair and dark eyes locked into place.

"Roman?"