A/N: Thanks to all those who read and also those who reviewed the first chapter. Not a whole lot of plot movement in this chapter - mostly just character stuff. I should have mentioned this last chapter, but I'll give the warning here: this story goes to some dark places and touches on subjects some of you mind find uncomfortable and/or disturbing. Proceed at your own risk.
By and Down
II. Where We Forget
Bright summer morning, deep in the heart of a Florida swamp: sun shining bright through the trees, birds chattering everywhere and bugs buzzing and critters crawling everywhere.
"This little light of mine," Abigail sang in her cheerful little voice, "I'm gonna let it shine! This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine!" The hand holding Bray's squeezed and big blue eyes pleaded with him. "C'mon, Bray! Sing with me."
"No, Ab-"
"Braaaay! Please?"
He swatted at a big, lumbering wasp and said, "Fine. Just not that. It's a baby song."
Abigail was only seven, so she could sing baby songs still, but Bray was nine and nine was too old.
His little sister was a bossy pain in his butt sometimes, but she was also his best friend in the whole world. Unlike the other boys and girls back at the compound, who were mean and quiet and didn't like to play, Abigail was always singing and laughing and dragging Bray off into the swamp on "''venchers".
Like now. She had him firmly by the hand and was leading him off on a 'vencher down one of her favorite little wooded trails, bare feet leaving tiny prints in the dirt and the bottom of her white dress getting dusty. Her hair, dark like Bray's, had come out of its little pigtails, too, but she was grinning a big gap-toothed grin as she started singing again: "He's got the whole world in his hands, he's got the whole world…"
"...in his hands," Bray sang with her. He liked that one.
Their daddy was probably going to tan Bray's hide for this - he didn't like it when Abigail ran off on "venchers" - but right now, Bray didn't care.
If Abigail wanted to off vencherin' to the fishing hole and try to catch frogs, that's just what they'd do.
He'd rather be doing this than stay in the boring old compound anyday.
"He's got the whole world in his hands."
xXx
"Turn your phone off," Roman said as he followed Seth into the hotel room.
It was a cheap room, but clean, and the bed looked plenty big enough for the two of them.
Roman pulled his phone out and, holding it up so Seth could see, powered it off. Then he tossed it onto the nightstand. "No distractions."
"Fuckin' right," Seth said, doing likewise. "Make me forget about this stupid night."
Big arms wrapped him up. "You got it, baby."
xXx
It wasn't how Regal intended to spend his night, ferrying a furious-silent Dean Ambrose to Green Bay, but that was indeed what the night had in store for him.
Once he'd taken in and processed exactly what Wyatt had done to Ambrose, Regal had honestly meant to see to it the man made it back to his teammates.
Even Regal had his limits.
For his part, Ambrose had hardly acknowledged it; once Regal freed him, he'd merely massaged his wrists and stretched his shoulders before gathering his clothing. He'd silently redressed himself and then had turned to ask Regal, in tones of deadly quiet anger, if he'd seen Reigns and Rollins.
As he'd answered that he had, Regal tried not to stare at the line of angry red marks that trailed up the sides and front of Ambrose's neck - marks from Wyatt, no doubt, and up high enough nothing short of a scarf would cover them completely.
They looked like lovebites.
Regal found that utterly infuriating.
Before they'd gone up to try to find Reigns and Rollins, Regal had suggested Ambrose might want to stop by a men's room to clean the mess off the back of his shirt.
Ambrose, his mouth twisting like he'd bitten something sour, had stripped the thing off entirely and had thrown it the first rubbish bin they passed on the way back.
There was a pair of bloody bite marks on the back of his shoulder, and two more on his sides, and Regal tried not to stare at those either.
Tried not to let himself imagine carving bite-shaped pieces out of Wyatt's hide.
Why do you even care?
He dumped the wad of tape he'd pulled off of Ambrose's mouth into the bin, too, but, after a moment's hesitation, pocketed the handcuffs and keys.
One never knew when such things would come in handy.
Ambrose had given him a long look at that, but hadn't said a word.
They hadn't found Reigns or Rollins, though; the locker room, in fact, now stood deserted, all of Reigns' and Rollins' things gone.
The car was gone as well, and Regal frowned at that:
Surely Reigns and Rollins hadn't believed Wyatt's claim that Ambrose left.
Something like panic in the jerky way Ambrose shook his hair off his face. "Why would they just leave?" he'd asked. "Why didn't they…?" And then, as if suddenly realizing just who he was asking, he'd turned and given Regal another long look. "The fuck were you even doing down there in the first place? How did you even find me?"
"I wasn't actually looking for you," Regal'd answered, slipping his hands into his pockets. "I got lost wandering 'round that infernal maze down there. Happened to hear something."
It wasn't a great lie, but Ambrose just grunted and turned to stare out at the near-empty carpark again, fingernails dragging frantically across his chest and shoulder. "I don't even have my fucking phone. What if the Wyatts got to 'em? Huh? What if they ran 'em off?"
Regal had just shaken his head and passed his own phone over. "They were fine when I saw them, and I did see the Wyatts leaving. But here."
Ambrose had eyed the phone like it was a snake, but took it.
He'd handed the phone back after no more than a minute. "Straight to fuckin' voicemail, both of 'em."
They'd given in a few minutes, Ambrose packing back and forth like a caged animal and Regal heading over to his own rental to dig out a spare shirt.
In the end, Regal had suggested pressing on to Green Bay, and Ambrose had reluctantly agreed.
Wasn't a thing to be done sitting around Minneapolis, especially with Reigns and Rollins not answering their phones, and they both knew it.
Now, two hours into a nearly five-hour drive, Regal ventured a look over. Ambrose was slouched down in the passenger seat, and glaring out the window, but he flicked an annoyed look Regal's way. "Would you quit that? Fuck. I'm fine."
"Are you?" Regal asked.
There was a long pause, and then Ambrose said, "It's just another way of beating somebody up. Trying to knock 'em down. That's all it ever fucking is. Kicking a guy when he's down. Wasn't the first time, anyway." He stopped himself, as if suddenly realizing what he'd just said. "I'm fine."
Regal couldn't help another, sharper look. He was gripping the steering wheel so tightly his fingers ached. "Wyatt's gotten to you before?"
"Not Wyatt," Ambrose said tightly. "Just - look, forget I said anything, and you better not fucking breathe a word to anybody - not even Seth and Roman. Assuming we even fucking find them. What if they're not at the hotel?"
"Then I suppose you come to the arena with me in the morning and we wait for the Wyatts."
A wash of headlights across Ambrose's face illuminated how tired he looked, the rage still smoldering low in his eyes. His palm hissed over stubble-rough cheeks. "We, huh? What, you mad Wyatt got me before you did?"
Regal frowned. "What?"
"What the fuck do you care what happened?" Twist in Ambrose's voice like a rusted barbedwire snarl. "I told you a long time ago, you could have it. You're the one who said no. So what difference does it make to you if Wyatt got me? You didn't want it."
You didn't want it, Ambrose said.
You didn't want me, Regal heard. He checked a sigh. "This hardly the time for that discussion, although, no, it has nothing to do with that - at all. What it comes down to is that I find it utterly reprehensible, him doing this sort of thing to you or anyone else. He needs to be stopped."
"Right, 'cuz you doing the hero thing and stopping Big, Bad Wyatt, that's totally you."
Regal again chose not to rise to the bait.
After a pause, Ambrose slumped down in his seat. "Two fucking years you pretend I don't exist, and the one fucking night I'd rather cut my nuts off than see you, there you fuckin' are. And Roman and Seth nowhere to be found. Huh. What a coincidence."
"I had nothing to do with that, either," Regal said, forcing himself to loosen the death grip he'd had on the wheel. "I know you've had a bad night, but there's no point in trying to cast me as the villain of the piece. I could have left you down there for someone less discreet to find; I chose not to. I didn't have to offer you a lift; I chose to. When we find your mates, if you decide you don't want me to help you, I'll leave you to fight your monsters. Really that simple."
"Simple."
He didn't sound like he believed it, either.
"As simple as it gets for men like us," Regal said anyway.
"...yeah." Ambrose glanced over. "Ain't like 'em to have their phones off."
"You…" really care for them, don't you? But that was a silly question. Clearly he did. The more interesting question, Regal mused as he fished his phone out of his breast pocket and silently passed it over, was how much they cared for him.
He hadn't thought they'd believed Wyatt, but he hadn't seen sign one of them once he'd left the trainer's area to go watch the Wyatts leave. They certainly hadn't come down to look, and, coupled with them still not answering their phones, that did strike him as a bit odd.
"Hang onto it," Regal said when Ambrose tried to give him the phone back. "In case they call."
Ambrose tapped it against his knee. Turned his head so he was staring out the passenger window once more. Sighed gustily, the sound like that of air rushing out of a deflating tire. "Thanks."
"Sure."
Silence fell again, but Regal found himself breathing just a little easier into it.
xXx
"-brothers and sisters in his hands," they sang.
Abigail stopped all at once, though, just froze all at once in the middle of the narrow dirt trail, little face turned toward the fishing hole.
Bray, still holding her hand, stopped beside her, thinking she was about to light off on the start of whatever vencher she had in mind.
But she whispered, "He's hurting him, Bray."
"Huh?"
Then he heard it: faintly, coming from just beyond the stand of trees she was staring at, someone was crying. Saying, "It hurts. It hurts. No more. Please, no more."
And someone else said, "Shut up, boy. Just shut that mouth up right now."
Abigail let go of Bray's hand and ran off toward the fishing hole, quick as a hiccup, leaving Bray to lumber after her.
"Abigail, wait," he called, but she raced ahead of him, dark hair streaming out behind her, feet kicking up dust.
He followed her into the dark between a couple of huge old trees, and then out into the reedy area that marked the edge of the fishing hole.
They came to the muddy bank, and Bray heard Abigail say, "Daddy?" real soft-like.
Fear grabbing Bray like a rabid dog and shaking him, he crept up to Abigail's side.
A long time ago, somebody had brought some old cut-down stumps down to use for sitting. It was short ways up the bank from where Abigail and Bray now stood.
Daddy, a huge man with a dark beard down to his chest and hair the same dark color as Abigail's, was over at the stumps with one of the Harper boys - Matt, the oldest. He was fifteen and mean and almost as big as Daddy, but you wouldn't have known it right then because Matt was bent down over one of the big stumps facing Bray and Abigail's way and crying like a baby.
As much as Bray liked to see Matt get some back after all the times Matt pushed Bray around, he was still afraid: Daddy had his big, old leather belt in hand and brought it down smart across Matt's shoulders two or three times. The snap it made echoed and rolled off the muddy water like something out of one of Bray's many nightmares.
And then Daddy kind of pushed Matt against the stump a few times, and whatever he was doing made Matt holler again.
Daddy brought the belt down. "Shut the hell up, boy. You got this comin' to you. Teach you to steal from this family."
"Daddy!" Abigail yelled. "Daddy, stop!"
She tore off toward him, a fearless, tiny thing in a dirty white dress, feet slapping the mud.
Daddy's head snapped up.
Bray took one look at him and ran after her.
xXx
Regal swam awake with the distinct feeling he hadn't been asleep long.
Rather annoying, that, considering how long it took him to fall asleep in the first place.
No sign of Reigns or Rollins at the hotel Ambrose said the trio had arranged to stay - they'd never checked in and their car wasn't in the carpark - and Ambrose had become quite agitated at that.
He had, surprisingly, turned down Regal's offer to get them separate rooms.
After he'd had himself a long shower, he'd emerged wearing nothing but a towel wrapped over his underpants, and had, for a time, proceeded to pace about the darkened room while Regal lay quietly on his own bed, watching.
Probably would have paced the damned sun up if Regal hadn't gotten up and wordlessly shoved him toward the empty second bed.
It was still dark outside now and the only light in the room came from the weak nightlight. Still, that was enough for Regal to see the second bed was once again empty, this time having been divested of its duvet cover.
Which was wrapped around Ambrose.
Who'd migrated over to Regal's bed at some point, and now lay curled up beside him, cocooned in his blanket so Regal couldn't see anything of him except the shaggy top of his head and the hand resting atop Regal's blanket-covered side.
He was by no means a small man, but right then he reminded Regal irresistibly of a small child who'd had a bad dream and had crawled into bed with a parent - and not at all of the walking hurricane who'd completely managed to upend Regal's life and wreck his career all those years ago.
The bed felt cramped and too warm with the pair of them in it, but as Regal reached down to absently card fingers through the fluffed-up mess that was Ambrose's hair, he decided it wasn't worth the fuss.
Ambrose sighed and shifted just a bit closer.
Just this once.
xXx
Seth carefully untangled himself from a snarl of blankets and Roman's sleepy hold sometime after six.
Wincing, he made his way over to grab his toothbrush and some gym clothes.
After he dressed, pulled his hair back, and scrubbed the grime off his teeth, he picked his phone up and turned it on.
By that point, Roman had stirred and now blinked sleepily at Seth from his nest of blankets. "Goin to work out?"
Seth, frowning down at his phone screen, nodded. "Yeah. Who the hell is 608-555-9457?"
"Huh?"
"I got like half a dozen calls from that number last night and this morning."
"I dunno," Roman said, scrubbing a hand over his face. He sat up and pulled his sleep-rumpled hair back off his face. "They leave a message?"
"Huh-uh."
"Mm. Hey, throw me mine."
As he tapped his redial button, Seth reached behind him for Roman's phone and tossed it onto the bed.
The call clicked straight to one of those automated voicemail message thingies that only told him the phone number. He hung up without leaving a message.
"Yeah, hey, I got calls from the same number," Roman said suddenly.
"Well, I just called it, and got voicemail. No name. Just the auto-greeting deal. Whatever." Seth pocketed his phone and bent down to reach for his shoes. "I guess if it was important, they would've left a message. I'm gonna head out."
There was a CrossFit box not all that far from here and this was always the best time of day.
Roman yawned and made his way out of the bed, padding over to wrap Seth up again in a sleepy-warm hug. "Have fun with that," he rumbled. "I'm gonna hit the gym downstairs like a not-crazy person."
Seth scraped his beard along the top of Roman's shoulder. Let his arms drift around Roman's broad back.
"So last night was good, huh?" Roman said then, voice quiet against the shell Seth's ear. "Just us. I liked that. A lot." He pulled back to catch Seth's eye. "Something to think about going forward, huh? What if it was just us two?"
"Rome-"
"Just think about it. Because it was just you and me last night, and I didn't feel like we were missing a thing. That felt right - like it was supposed to be. I'm not saying it's bad the other way, but last night was the most relaxed I've seen you in months. What does that tell you?"
We're just avoiding our problem.
Seth shook his head. "Dude…"
"Just think about it, all right? You know I'm crazy about you, and how good we are together. Now go. Work out."
With that, Roman disappeared into the bathroom, leaving Seth to frown after him.
xXx
When Regal awoke for good later that morning, he still wasn't alone in his bed.
It was still early enough he didn't have to be up quite yet, so after a quick trip to the toilet, he slid back under the covers and stretched out on his back, careful not to disturb Ambrose, who was, to all appearances, still asleep.
He was lying on his stomach now, eyes closed with his chin on his folded forearms, and the blanket he'd wrapped himself in now down around his waist - low enough Regal could see he was naked under it.
The bite marks on the backs of his shoulder looked fairly nasty, the edges puffy and red, and Regal made a mental note to suggest antibiotic cream for them - God only knew what diseases Wyatt had picked up down in the swamp or wherever the bloody hell he came from.
Yes, he mused, a rusty serrated knife drawn slow and deep enough to nick the bone,
That would be fitting for what Wyatt had done to the-
(-my-)
-boy.
Regal blinked and shook the thought away.
Don't.
What he needed to do - all he needed to do - was see Ambrose safely to his team, and leave it at that.
Why he'd even thought it was a good idea to go and rub sale on the wound in the first place…
He should have just left it closed and moved on as Ambrose clearly had - even if he was doing a poor job of it.
But perhaps that was the rub.
An absent hand stole out, made its way to the top of Ambrose's head again, and settled there, fingers carding lightly through the shaggy - albeit thinning - mop.
Where Regal had expected Ambrose go it alone and bulldoze his way through the WWE's ranks the way he had FCW's, the boy had instead aligned himself with two admittedly talented and handsome young men, and had let himself be marginalized - pushed aside and overshadowed, his chaotic nature restrained, his frustration and runaway ego manifesting itself increasingly wrong ways.
This - the man who'd left Regal a dizzy heap in the middle of the ring all of two years ago - was the supposed weak link in the Shield's chain, a self-defeating madman who these days more resembled a mindless rabid dog than the wily and gleefully chaotic demon he'd been once upon a time.
What happened to you?
Ambrose's eyes - those odd, mercurial things - opened and flicked up, too bright and alert for him to have actually been asleep.
Regal withdrew his hand.
For a while, they simply watched one another, calm and quiet and still.
Expectant.
The breathless moments before a storm.
Eventually, Ambrose shifted to his side again, breaking eye contact as he reached over to skim the flat of his hand across the blanket covering Regal's chest, along his stomach, and down-
"No," Regal said quietly, pushing the hand away.
Not for the first time.
"I want you to."
The words were sleep-rough, artless and brash, much like Ambrose himself, and although he wasn't terribly charmed by it, Regal couldn't deny the temptation was there. It always was. The man had filled out quite nicely over the past two years, new muscle rounding out areas that had once been flat and uninteresting.
Areas now visible thanks to a low-slung blanket.
Don't.
"After what Wyatt did to you last night?"
Cruelty in the name of kindless was a language he spoke probably better than anyone.
Ambrose looked up again, all brilliant blue eyes and raised eyebrows, hair flying every which way, and in desperate need of a shave. Still bloody attractive, though. And he said, "He just beat me up, that's all. In a different way. Like I said, that's all it ever is. Doesn't even have anything to do with this. I just want you to. One time. You want it - I know you do, so don't even act like you don't - and I want it. We both do and you fucking know it. So fucking do it."
Regal blinked at that, hand sliding back through his own hair. "It won't fix anything."
"You don't fix getting beat up - no matter how it happens. You just heal up and move on. One time. However you want. I won't ask again after that."
"Perhaps I'm missing something, but I fail to see how letting me give you a poke up the backside will help you move on. Finding your mates, on the other hand, would help. We can go and wait at the arena." He pushed his blanket aside and climbed to his feet before his hands or body could do anything to betray him. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go and have a shower. Give your mates another ring."
Ambrose rolled onto his back and thumped his head back onto the mattress, teeth grit. "Yeah, yeah, yeah," he muttered, "go take your fucking shower. Have fun jerking off."
Regal paused in his quest for a fresh change of clothes. "You'll thank me for this later, you know."
"If you think that, then you don't know me half as well as you think you do." He lifted his head. "Why's it so fucking hard for you to ever give me something I want? Help me forget everything for a while. That's all I want."
"Because the things you want from me aren't good for you," Regal said quietly as he turned away. "Ring your mates, lad."
He carried his whole suitcase into the bathroom and shut the door, locking it behind him and sagging back against it. The suitcase thumped to the floor, and he covered his face with a hand, sighing.
How easy it would have been.
But how bloody unfair.
The horrible mental image of Ambrose handcuffed half-naked to the floor like some animal caught in a trap was still quite fresh in Regal's mind's eye, and for all the boy's brave words about healing up and moving on, he was walking wounded, and apt to be for some time.
Best to hand him off to his mates and content himself with a measure of quiet revenge against the Wyatts.
Keep the door closed, leave the past where it was, try to forget it and move on.
But as he climbed into the shower and stood under the spray, he couldn't quite help taking hold of himself, closing his eyes, and masturbating while fantasies of everything he - still - wanted to do to and with Ambrose played out in his head.
xXx
"Abigail!" Bray hollered at his sister. "Abigail, wait!"
But she ran, quick as lightning, across the muddy bank and over to where Daddy and Matt were.
Daddy stumbled back, pulling his pants up - why were they down in the first place? - and snapping, "You stay back, little girl. Mind your daddy now."
Matt kept on bawling like a baby. Daddy grabbed him rough by the back of his neck and one arm and threw him down into the mud. "Quit your bellyachin'. Pull your damn pants up."
He raised the belt again and brought it down. Snapped sharp like a gunshot. Bray jumped. He was so scared that he wanted to turn and run away, but Abigail hadn't stopped running.
She ran up to where Daddy was getting ready to take another swing. "Stop it, Daddy!"
Daddy brought the belt down hard.
It made a different sound this time, more a dull thump than a sharp snap, but Abigail suddenly dropped like a stone, shrieking in pain.
Bray forgot all about being scared and just got mad.
Daddy hunkered over her, belt dangling from his hand. "Dammit, girl, I told you-"
He didn't have a chance to finish what he was saying, because Bray barreled into him. He was big enough for his age that he sent Daddy tumbling backward into the mud, just like Daddy had tossed Matt down there.
As Daddy tumbled, Bray caught a strong whiff of whatever Daddy had been drinking this morning - whiskey or beer, Bray never knew which, but it brought the fear back.
When Bray turned to crouch over his sister, who'd fallen to one side and curled up in a sobbing ball, he saw blood on her dress. Both hands were covering her face, and when he pried her hands away from it, he saw her cheek had been cut open: a bright red line that ran from just under her eye to her upper lip. Her nose was bleeding some, too.
He didn't have much time to look because one of Daddy's big hands grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and the next thing he knew, he'd been tossed down over one of the stumps.
He caught it hard enough in the belly to make him cry. He wasn't no baby, but it hurt.
And then something snapped down at him, a line of fire licking him from shoulder to butt, and he screamed. "You were supposed to watch after her!" a voice thundered down at him. Another line of fire. "You were supposed to watch her, you worthless bastard."
Three or four more lines burned across his back.
Until he heard Abigail scream, "Stop it, Daddy! Bray! Bray! Daddy, stop! You're hurting him! You ain't supposed to hurt people! You ain't! It's bad!"
"Get back, little girl! I don't wanna hurt you."
He turned his head in time to see Abigail, her little face swollen and bloody, bite down on Daddy's big forearm. He picked her up by the scruff and the front of her dress and shoved her off of him.
Her little feet, ordinarily so quick and nimble, got tangled up together and she fell backward onto one of the big rocks behind Daddy, her teeth clicking together when she hit her head.
She never woke up.
x
Later that night, Daddy, red-eyed from all the crying he'd done that day, crouched down in front of Bray. Bray'd spent most of that day in the rocking chair on the porch - Abigail's chair - trying to understand what all the grownups were trying to say: "accidents" and "gone off to be with the angels in heaven" and "she's not coming back."
It didn't make sense.
Who was gonna go take him off for venchers now? Who was gonna chase frogs with him? Sing with him?
Daddy put both hands on the arms of the rocking chair to still it.
"I'm sorry, Bray," he said. He sounded sorry.
"You pushed her," Bray whispered at him, still too mad to be scared. His back hurt almost too bad for him to sit, but he didn't want to move. "You pushed her, Daddy. She was just trying to help."
"She tripped," Daddy said. "Don't forget that. You saw her trip. It was just a damn accident. She shouldn't have been there, that's all. You should've watched her better." He cleared his throat. "What you seen me doing before that? To that Harper boy? Forget about it. Just forget you saw him there. You understand me?"
Bray just nodded.
Daddy jawed at him some more and said more stuff about forgetting, but Bray stopped listening and instead turned his attention up to the stars in the sky.
He'd heard once those were all the angels in heaven.
He wondered which one she was.
He hoped she was the brightest.
And he hoped she was up there having lots of venchers.
xXx
A/N: I kind of like to layer stories together; hope y'all don't mind. This, I think, is probably going to be a little different. But we'll be back to plot next chapter. Reviews are always appreciated. Thanks for reading.