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.

Wherever it was, at least he was warm. Dean sighed and shifted, trying to take in his surroundings. Crappy, stiff bed, shitty excuse for a pillow, antiseptic smell and beeping monitors. Ugh.

"You're up." It wasn't a question.

There was movement in the room. A few seconds later, it seemed much darker.

Opening his eyes slowly, Dean waited for his vision to focus. Roman had shut the curtains and turned off the lights. He looked around. Private room. Not bad. He started to speak, only to gag at the dryness in his mouth. Roman offered him a couple of ice chips. Dean swirled them around his mouth until they melted. "What's going on, Roman?"

"So you know who I am?"

Ambrose blinked. "Why wouldn't I?"

"You sure as hell didn't last night."

"I didn't?" Dean squinted. Roman was still in his ring gear. "What happened?"

"What happened is that Dean Ambrose can't get a concussion like normal people. When Dean Ambrose gets a concussion he has to go into some kind of CZW flashback and go on a rampage in twenty degree weather."

"Rampage?" Dean echoed.

Roman held up a hand and began ticking items off. "First, you scared the shit outta Stephanie McMahon by bolting up outta the blue. Then you decked Hunter. And that was before busting out of the arena."

Dean blinked owlishly.

Roman carried on. "Seth and I took off after you because we figured, hey, we'd be the best guys to calm you down, right? You suckerpunched him and bit me." He held up his forearm, showing off a small white bandage. "And that was after calling me... what was it you called me?"

Ambrose looked anywhere but at Roman.

"A tatted up twat," a third voice chimed in from the doorway.

Dean looked over at Seth. His black cargo pants were part of his gear, but the bright blue hospital shirt he wore sure wasn't. "Nice shirt. You raid a nurse's station for that?"

"Oh yeah." Seth pulled the bottom of the shirt up. His ribcage was covered in white bandages. "Goes great with the three broken ribs."

"Oh."

"You swing a mean pipe, Ambrose."

Dean looked down at his hands, fussing with the blanket that obscured his legs. "Guys, I-"

"Shut up, Dean. It's fine." Seth pulled up a chair on Dean's other side, across from Roman. He dropped into it with a soft hiss. "But trust me, next time we have a miscommunication spot in a match, I'll be sure to remember this."

"Wouldn't have it any other way." Ambrose squirmed. "Docs say when I'll be outta here?"

"You're gonna get a few more tests this morning. You were a little uncooperative last night." Roman arched an eyebrow.

Dean started to speak, only to wind up yawning.

"Get some rest, man."

"'kay," Dean murmured. He tried his best to stay awake for a little while longer, but soon found himself lulled to sleep by the voices of his teammates.

THE END