DISCLAIMER: Jon Moxley/Dean Ambrose and Roman Reigns are neither my creations or my property. They belong to the WWE and/or the actors/sports entertainers/professional wrestlers who play them. Jessica and Leah (who are only mentioned) are characters born of my imagination only and any resemblance between them and any person living or dead is merely coincidental.

Trigger Warning: Well, if you've gotten this far, you have a pretty good idea of how dark this story is. If you continue reading it now, you know what you're dealing with. This part gets even a little darker than the previous parts. If you are particularly sensitive, you might want to reconsider before continuing.

Rain Dance

Part III

3:49 am.

Roman turned around slowly, carefully, not wanting to set Jon off. It seemed like the longer Jon played his game, the meaner he got about it, and that worried Roman a lot more than he wanted to admit. He could take pain, he was trained to be able to withstand pain, but this was a whole new ball game. He was fighting for his life, but it wasn't a fair fight and no one told him the rules because there were no hard and fast rules, Jon was making it up on the spot. But at least I'm out of the cold, he thought, and maybe as I warm up, my brain can start working better. "If you say so," he finally said, knowing Jon was expecting an answer.

"If you say so," Jon mimicked Roman with a sarcastic twist. "You're not being a whole lot of fun, Roman," he said, in his normal voice now. "Fuck it, this isn't nearly as fun as I thought it would be." He paused and sighed. "Maybe it's just time to get this over with."

"No!" Roman said, a little too quickly. When Jon glared at him, he hastily continued. "I mean, we've got all night, right? We might as well talk more."

"I get what you're doing," Jon laughed. "Oh, don't worry, Roman, I'm not upset. You're trying to buy time, save your life, I even admire that. It won't work, but I do admire it." He started to pace in the room, pace around Roman. "Fuck, why do I have to be crazy?"

"You don't," Roman said, watching him carefully. The gun wasn't to his forehead anymore, perhaps this was the chance he needed. He had to warm up though, right now it felt like his blood was the consistency of refrigerated corn syrup. "If you really do feel your head is messed up, we can get you help. If you're upset about having to act crazy for the WWE, that's a choice you make. You may have to do it in the ring, but you don't have to be that outside of the ring.

"No, it's not," Jon disagreed. "Nobody cares about me unless I'm crazy. Dean wasn't crazy enough for them, I had to bring Moxley back. Yeah, yeah, it's all PG crazy, but crazy is crazy. That's the only thing people like about me. 'Oh, you were so great as Mox! Oh, I loved Moxley! Dean is okay, but Moxley, wow, that guy was awesome!'" He mimicked the majority of his fans almost perfectly before sighing. "I feel like no one knows me, Roman. Like no one sees me. They just see the crazy. The crazy was supposed to be a gimmick, something that made me stand out. Remember our last appearance as Shield, when we were outside the door, getting ready to go in? That dumb ass fan who kept yelling, 'MOXLEY! JON MOXLEY!' I just felt like...wow, this person doesn't like Dean. This person doesn't care about the fact that I'm Dean Ambrose and I've worked hard to be a great Dean Ambrose, all that matters to him is that I was once Jon Moxley, so he's going to show off to his friends like a fucking twink hipster. 'Oh, look it me, Dean Ambrose is way too commercial and sane for me. I liked him only as Jon Moxley. I won't even acknowledge that Dean Ambrose exists, I'm only going to call him Moxley, because I'm a hipster asshole and I love the crazy,' I mean, don't get me wrong, I do have crazy inside me. But that crazy was for self defense. Life sucked growing up, crazy kept it from sucking worse. The crazy was never meant to be me. It was never supposed to be the only part of me people liked, it was supposed to be the part that made them leave me alone!"

Jon paused and looked at Roman. "It was like I had two choices, be crazy or give up. My mother and her druggie friends? They gave up. They crawled up a pipe or into a needle and just gave up. I refused. People would...expect things of me. My mom and one of her sick, druggie friends once cut me up with the lid of a can, just so they could take me to the hospital and get pain medication. Once they got it, they ignored me. They couldn't even give me some goddamned kid's Tylenol or something, just let me lay in bed, while they got high off the medicine that was supposed to make my pain manageable. And that wasn't the half of what went on in my life. There was a guy who used to force me to sell drugs for him. Yeah, that's right, he'd give me meth and order me to sell it. And if I didn't bring him the money, I knew he'd kill me. So I'd sell his stupid drugs. I didn't dare bring it home, or my mother and her friends would have taken it from me and let this guy kill me. On top of that, my mom would hook to make money. By the time I left for good, her entire life was dicks for the fix. But, sometimes she'd get a stupid client. A guy who had shit on him and was dumb enough to give her something before he got what he needed. And if he was too generous with my mom, and gave her something to slow her down, rather than speed her up, sometimes she'd pass out. Not a good thing, Roman. It's never a good idea when a whore passes out. Especially when a guy is really, really horny." He paused in his pacing and studied Roman. "You warming up, bro?"

Roman nodded, his gaze going from Jon's face to the gun, back to the face, back to the gun. He was trying to be as calm as possible, but it was getting harder and harder. The gun, the horrible story, horrible but true story, coming from Jon's lips.

"Good," Jon nodded and resumed pacing, resumed his monolog. "Now, sometimes my mom's clients didn't care. Hell, some of them likely had a few necrophilia fantasies, so they could appreciate that mom was pretty much catatonic. 'crawl on me, living dead girl' shit. But sometimes, they didn't want that, they wanted someone who would interact with them, sometimes even someone who would put up a fight. And when you're high, horny, and desperate, an asshole starts to look about as good as a vagina. Hell, for some of them, it probably looked even better. Especially better than my mom's vayjay, which was probably a little worse for wear, if you get my drift. So, they'd start looking at me, Roman. Looking, at, me. In that way, that same way they looked at my mother, like I was a piece of meat or some exotic toy that was theirs to play with until they broke it, then they could just throw it away and find another one. And I could smell that desperation on them. It smelled like that faint stench of garbage that lingers after you've taken out the trash, it smelled like that shit and Pine-sol scent you smell in the bathrooms of bus stations. It smelled like rotting, wet grass and old spunk. It didn't matter that I was a kid, they were just as addicted as my mom was, but it was sex they wanted instead of drugs. And at that moment, my ass was like a shining beacon of happiness to them. They wanted my ass, Roman. They didn't care that I was eight, nine, or twelve, they wanted my ass. So, you know what I learned to do?"

Roman shook his head in the negative.

Jon was continuing before Roman was done shaking his head. "I learned to be crazy. There's something magical about crazy, Roman. Most people don't understand it, so they fear it, at least when it's turned into their direction. They also think it's contagious, so they don't want to hang around with it very long. So, I learned that if I could act crazy enough, they'd leave me alone." He paused and laughed, but it wasn't a happy sound, it carried up and down in range, from a high cackle to a low chuckle and it just sounded lost and eerie. "I remember this one guy, came into my room, all tough. I think I was twelve at the time, maybe thirteen. But this asshole comes barging into my room, screaming about how he paid my mother good money, and how she spent it on drugs and now she's passed out in bed."

Jon paused and shook his head in disbelief. "Do you believe that idiot? He gave my mother money and let her go buy drugs with it before he fucked her. Is that stupid or what?" He shook his head several more times before continuing. "So, he's saying that he's getting some, one way or another, and if she won't put out for him, I will. Wanna know what I did?"

"Only if you want to tell me," Roman said, his voice getting slightly stronger as he was warming up. He didn't like hearing this, it hurt to think of the pain his brother-by-choice had suffered as a child, and part of him wanted to tell Jon to just shut up, that there was nothing he, Roman could do to help with that pain, so why did they both have to relive it? What good would it do, if Jon got his way and both of them died that night? But he didn't dare. As long as Jon was talking, as long as Jon was telling stories, Roman was alive.

"I sat up," Jon continued. "I was in bed at the time. So, I sat straight up in bed and glared at him. Had my lip curled, nostrils flared, the whole bit. And I said, 'Get your ass over here, I've been looking for a good screwing all week. So yeah, you'll get your chance at me, but when you're done? I get my chance with you. And if I don't find your performance to my liking? I'll bite off your dick and cram it up your own ass, do I make myself clear?'" He paused and laughed. "I guess I was crystal, because I started getting out of the bed and the douche nozzle goes running out the door. I never saw him again."

Even though it was a horrible story, there was a part of Roman that admired Dean. Admired him for standing up for himself, for fighting back to save himself. There were too many people who would have let themselves be beaten down to where they couldn't fight back. Or they would have learned to take it out on something weaker that themselves, but Dean hadn't done that, Dean had fought back against the one responsible. He wanted to tell Dean/Jon this, tell him how brave and strong he thought he was, but he didn't know if that would be smart or not. How long has he carried this crap inside him? Roman thought. I've seen his old promos, I've listened to his offhand remarks when we've been talking. I always thought he was really open about his bad past, but I was wrong. He kept a lot of it bottled up. Dean's childhood had been like a rotten onion. Layers and layers of hurt and horror, and the further in you went, the worst it got, until you just couldn't stand it anymore and you just wanted to run away, scream, anything to make it stop.

"That's how it started," Jon said. "Crazy was a weapon. As long as I was crazy, people left me alone. However they reacted, I reacted twice as bad. You tell me my Halloween costume sucks? I'm going to cram that candy apple down your throat. And at first it was great, I could turn it on and off when I needed to. Then, I get into wrestling... and it's the best thing I've ever had in my life. I'm selling popcorn and cleaning up locker rooms for the company, but I don't care. I get my reward, I get to watch and I get to learn."

Roman nodded, still not taking his gaze off of Jon. Even though he was pacing, he still was close to Roman, too close for heroics. He kept making eye contact, and waving that gun around, as if it were an instrument meant to accentuate whatever point he wanted to make.

"It wasn't like it was for you," Jon said. "I don't come from a family of wrestlers, there aren't people in my family to teach me, I had to do it this way. But it's worth it. Then, I'm finally old enough so I can do more than learn, I can be in it. And I have to come up with who I'm gonna be in the ring. So, we talk about it and I tell 'em, 'I can do crazy,' and we go with that. And I do it really, really, good. Too good, some say, but mostly, it's just love for the crazy man. Apparently, crazy is only scary when it's directed right at you. Watching someone get crazy on someone else is fucking drugs to some people. And I have to admit, I didn't mind that at first. Love is love, right? And when I started getting into the hard core stuff, well," He paused, shaking his head. "I found out there are chicks that totally dig a guy who bleeds for entertainment. Seriously, it gets them all crazy or something. Like makes their vagina's itch and only a hard core wrestler's dick can scratch it. And hey, that was a lot of fun for awhile too," He frowned now, still waving the gun. "Well, it was fun except for... well, you know, the dog and all such." He stopped pacing and looked at Roman. "Are you bored, brother?" he asked, the final word coming out as more of a sneer.

"No," Roman said quickly. He wasn't lying either. The last thing he was right now was bored. His body was finally warmed up enough that he felt that he might be able to take a risk, if opportunity presented itself. "Go on."

"Why don't you sit on the bed," Jon suggested. Roman didn't need to be told twice, he sat on the bed. "We'll get to you in a minute, big guy, I haven't forgotten about you."

"I didn't think you had," Roman said. He was grateful to be sitting. Even if it meant he had to look up at Dean, he was resting and he felt he might need to rest, reserve his strength.

"So, I'm crazy," Jon continued. "And I keep being crazy, until I get to the fabulous WWE family. Then I'm told, 'you can't do that anymore,' and sure, at first I'm a little scared, but I'm also thrilled, because I'm going to finally be me. No crazy guy, but me. Will I be off the wall? Yeah, but that's okay. I am off the wall. I'll have an ego the size of Madison Square Garden, especially when it comes to wrestling, because I just am that good, but I don't have to be insane crazy anymore. And I go along and soon start working with you and Seth. Awesome. Now I'm mean, they say I'm crazy, they call me the lunatic, but it's a controlled crazy. It's more aggressive than crazy. And people still seem to like me. I'm finally starting to feel like I fit, like I have a place in this world, not as crazy guy, but as Dean Ambrose. Unpredictable, off the wall, but fairly sane. I start to think I can make a life out of this. Hell, I even started thinking of trying to find Cin-" He stopped abruptly. "Trying to find something, you get the point, right?"

Roman nodded. "Now they took that away from you," he ventured. "Dean Ambrose was the closest you had to normal, but now they're telling you to make him as crazy as Jon Moxley. Am I close?"

Jon stopped his pacing and stared at him, then walked over and put the gun to his forehead again, pressing it into the skin until Roman could feel an impression of the barrel being molded into his skin. What did I say wrong? he thought. What? "Jon," he whispered.

"Yeah," Jon said, as if he hadn't heard Roman say his name. "You're close. Maybe I should let you win the prize, Roman. Maybe I should let you go now, because this can't be fun, sitting around in your boxers, probably ready to piss yourself, listening to me ramble and knowing how it's all going to end. So, should I end it? Just blow your head off right now? Because I'll do it, brother. If you're bored and you're ready, I'll do it. Anything for my Shield Brother."

"No!" Roman objected. He stared at Jon, stared into his eyes, hoping he might see Dean flashing behind them. If he could see Dean, he might be able to reason with him. But all he saw was Dark Jon Moxley. "I don't want to die."

"This again?" Jon rolled his eyes and stepped back. "I thought you finally understood, this game isn't about if, it's about when."

He started pacing around the room again, but still never too far from Roman, still making sure to keep almost constant eye contact with him, still waving that gun. "Why do you want to live anyway? I mean, I know life is cool with you, beautiful fiance, great kid, every woman wants you, but still, what's it all mean? Beautiful fiance that you barely see. Beautiful kid you Skype with. One hotel room after another. 'Hi honey, what are you doing?' 'Nothing, Baby girl, I'm just sittin' with my next door neighbor,' knowing the only moment you'll feel truly alive is when you're hitting those stairs, heading for that ring. Most of your life is just waiting for that hour or so. It's filler waiting for those few minutes. You know what? I wish your lady was here."

The change of subject came so quickly that Roman almost didn't catch it, "Why do you want Jessica to be here?" he asked.

"She's beautiful," Jon said with a shrug. "I'd love it if she gave me a blow job. I think it would be a trip, Roman. I blow your brains out, have her blow me, and at the moment I'm about to get off? BANG!"

It took everything Roman had not to take his chances and attack Jon. Sure, he might die, but he wouldn't have to listen to this bullshit. And if anything convinced him that this really wasn't Dean it was that. Dean had always made it clear that while he thought Jessica was a beautiful woman, he never entertained the idea of making a play for her. If anything, their relationship leaned more towards the much liked sister in law of the favorite brother. Someone you can appreciate, someone you can admire, but never want to own for yourself. Never once had Dean even joked about doing anything with Jessica. Even Seth had joked about it a time or two, but never Dean. It was like Jessica was someone untouchable to him. And now, here he was, casually talking about raping her. Yeah, he wanted to take his chances badly, man up and do his best to take Dark Jon out, but one thing stopped him, Leah. Had it been only himself in this world, he would have done it. Had it been just he and Jessica, he might have done it, but for Leah's sake he would not. She was just an innocent kid who deserved a Daddy who would do everything in his power to make sure he stayed around to watch her grow up. If he was to die this night, it would not be because he took unnecessary risks. It would not be because he didn't do every single thing in his power to stay alive.

"You'd do that?" Roman asked, unable to keep the disgust tinged with fear from his voice. "You'd kill both of us? Leave Leah with no one?"

"No, Jessica would still be alive," Jon said, shaking his head. "And here I thought you were listening!" He came over and smacked the gun in the side of Roman's head again, not quite as hard as the first time, but still hard enough to hurt. "I'd blow my brains out, not hers. I wouldn't leave your kid an orphan, Roman, I'm not that cruel."

"Oh, but for her to know that her daddy's best friend killed her daddy and himself, while Mommy watched, that's cool?" Roman said, trying not to wince.

"She'll get over it," Jon shrugged and went back to his pacing. "Jessica will sue the WWE because they put us together in the Shield. The WWE will settle quietly, Jess and Leah will have enough money to wipe their ass with hundred dollar bills every time they eat tacos, and Jess can get the best therapy in the world for both of them. Of course, the sad part is that Jess being here is just a fantasy. I'm never going to get a blow job." He laughed, a cackling laugh that sent shivers down Roman's spine.

"No," Roman said, staring at Jon, unable to stop himself from speaking, "The sad part is that you run around whining how your mother was a druggy and your father was always in jail. You whine that your life sucked because you didn't have a family. And I won't argue that it's true, but now, after all the pain you suffered not having a stable family, you can decide to take away another child's chance at a stable family, just because you decided you wanted to bring a date for your trip to Valhalla? That's selfish, Jon. That's really selfish. You claim you're not Dean, so you don't love my daughter, but you don't have to love her to know what a selfish thing it is you're doing."

Jon had started pacing as Roman talked, faster now, making small jerking motions with his head. He brought the hand not holding the gun up to the opposite shoulder and started drumming his fingers on it. He started licking his lips, almost compulsively and his steps took on a jerky quality. Even when Roman stopped speaking, he paced for another few seconds, before walking back over to him, nostrils flared. "Not fair, Roman, not fair at all."

Roman stared back, his own nostrils flaring, but he kept his voice low. "You're talking about killing me, and you want to argue about what's fair? You're unbelievable, Jon."

"Enough!" Jon's free hand curled in a fist and he started to raise it, as if he would strike Roman with it, then stopped. He forced his fingers straight and flexed them. "Time to play a game," he said through gritted teeth.

Roman stared at him. Game? I do not like the sound of this. "What?"

"It's called, 'What will you do to save your life,'" Jon's grin wasn't just crazy now, it was evil. "And, I'm serious here, you might actually get the chance to save your life. You won't save mine, I'm too far gone, but something tells me that right now, you don't give a fuck if I live or die. True?"

"Not true," Roman said, and he knew he wasn't lying. While Jon wasn't the favorite person on his list right now, he was still Dean. He could be claiming split personality all he wanted, and maybe there was something to that, but Dean was there too. And he couldn't stop loving Dean, he couldn't stop thinking of Dean as his brother. "And if you can hear me, inside of there, Dean, you'll always be my brother."

"Shut up!" Jon roared. He grabbed Roman by the hair and yanked on it, hard. Having his hair yanked was nothing new to Roman, it was a common game in the ring and with his hair being so long, it was a tempting target. But there was a right way and a wrong way to grab someone by the hair, and Jon was definitely going for the wrong way. Roman lurched forward to cut back the pulling, and Jon laughed. "On your knees, brother," he sang out, stepping back as Roman leaned forward, so Roman was forced off the bed and on to his knees on the carpet. "You're lucky," Jon sneered as he watched Roman kneel. "We stay at the nice hotels now, the ones with the plush carpet and the thick padding. Not those awful places we used to stay where the carpet was glued directly on to the sub flooring. This will be much nicer for your knees. And I'm going to keep you on your knees a lot, Roman, because that's the kind of game this is." His fingers were still wrapped in Roman's hair, pulling tightly on it. While he held his hair, he hit Roman again with the gun, but this time in the face.

Roman grimaced as the gun hit his face, crashing into his nose. For a moment he felt nothing but this tingling sensation like he was going to sneeze, then the pain came, nothing he couldn't handle, nothing he hadn't experienced a million times before, but this was so much worse because it was Dean, or at least Dean's body that had inflicted it, not as a part of the act, but because this evil in Jon wanted to hurt him, wanted to see him in pain. Blood trickled down from his nose to his lips, but he forced himself to look at Jon, to make Jon see what he was doing. If Dean was still in there, maybe Dean would see.

"That blood on your lips almost looks like lipstick," Jon said. "Red is your shade." He shifted the gun so it was sticking in Roman's forehead again. "Okay, you want to live? Beg me."

"Wha?" Roman asked, spraying blood from his mouth. Looking at Jon he had to tilt his head back, causing his bloody nose to start draining into his mouth instead.

"Beg me," Jon said, grinning. "You're the one who claimed you'd do anything to stay alive for your daughter's sake, I want to test that. I've never met someone who's that dedicated to this miserable thing we call life. Everyone has their limits and I want to find yours. If I don't find them by the time you get your morning phone message from your daughter and your fiance, I might let you live. Don't count on it though, I think I know your limits."

"Jon, don't kill me," Roman began, his voice calm and soft, despite the blood that trickled out of the corners of his mouth. "I don't want to die."

Jon frowned. "Try again, I don't sense much sincerity from that."

The moment that Jon had announced this was a game, Roman's mind invented a game of its own. The game was called "Can you?" and it was simple; every request Jon made of him, his mind would ask him, Can you? And every time, he would do his best to answer himself, Yes, I can. Because he might have a chance, slim, but a chance. And if there was any chance at all, he was going to see his daughter again and she would never know how close she came to losing her Daddy this night.

Can you?

Yes, I can.

He looked up at Jon, and did his best to fix a look of sincerity on his face. "Please," he said, his voice soft, but allowing a waiver to come to it. "Please don't kill me, Jon, please, I'm begging you."

"Why shouldn't I kill you?" was Jon's reply and while he spoke, he brought the gun down to Roman's mouth and began running the barrel over his lips, the blood from his bleeding nose dripping on to the muzzle.

Can you?

Yes. I can.

"For my daughter's sake," he whispered. "She doesn't deserve this."

"I'm tired of that excuse," Jon yawned. "I mean, I believe it and all," He paused and ran the gun around Roman's mouth again, pushing harder this time, parting his lips slightly, so Roman felt the tang from the taste of the gun joining the coppery taste of the blood in his mouth. "But I don't want to let you live, just because of your daughter. Besides her, why do you want to live?"

Can you?

Yes, I can.

"Because I still love being alive," Roman said simply. As he started speaking, Dean removed the gun from his lips, which he was grateful for. "I know this life is a grind, I know it's 300+ days of here, there, everywhere, and I know that even on our few days off, we're often still supposed to go or be going to, here there and everywhere, but I still love it. I love waking up in the morning. I love Skyping with my daughter, Jessica, my parents, I love that I live in a day in age when I can do those things, so even though we can't be together as much as we like, we can still be close. I love wrestling. Yeah, it takes its toll on the body, we both know that, but I still love it. Maybe it's because I haven't been doing it professionally as long as you have, I started out with football, but I'm still thrilled by it. I still love that every day, even if it's another show in the same town, it's different." He paused to swallow back some blood. He knew you weren't supposed to swallow blood, but he didn't dare spit it out while Jon had a gun to his forehead, just in case he violated some unspoken rule Jon had decided upon.

"Is that it?" Jon asked.

"Do you want more?" Roman asked.

"Sure," Jon shrugged. "Why not?"

Can you?

Yes, I can.

"I love my family. Not just Leah and Jessica, although they're a huge part of it, but my parents, my siblings and their families. My aunts, uncles, and cousins, all my enormous, extended family," Roman said, his voice growing calmer as he spoke, confident in what he was saying, even if the situation was terrifying. "I'm lucky, Jon. I have a family that I love and a career that I love."

"Wrestling will kill you one day," Jon commented. "I mean, I know it's not a given, but we wrestlers don't have a reputation for living long, healthy lives."

"That's why I take care of myself," Roman said. "And I know the risks, I know every time I hop in a ring, I might leave by stretcher, I know I might leave the ring unable to walk on my own power again, but I still love it. You said once you knew someone who told you that even though professional wrestling is considered low brow, she still considered it an art form? She's right. It isan art form and you either get it or you don't, and if you get it, no one has to explain it to you, and if you don't, no one can. I love that I'm in a career like that. Even when I want to choke the writers or the Powers That Be, I still love it.

"Not bad," Jon said, but he didn't look pleased. He looked disappointed as if he would have rather Roman had faltered on his reasons. "Okay, you pass on that one." He brought the gun up to his own forehead and tapped the barrel against it a couple of times. "Hm... the problem is that this game could turn into one very high stakes game of truth or dare, and while that might be amusing, I really don't have all night," he said. "So," he twisted his hand tighter in Roman's hair as he spoke. "I'm going to cut to the chase, Roman. I want you to blow me."

Can you?

"What?"

"Blow me," Jon repeated and grinned. "I said earlier I wanted to have a blow job before I died, and since I don't see any women up here, I'm going to have to get one from you. Here we go, Roman, will you give me a blow job?"

Can you?

I don't want to.

That isn't the question; the question is, can you?

But-

Can you?

"Yes," Roman found himself saying out loud. "If it means I save my life, if it means my daughter grows up knowing her father, I'll do it."

"I don't know if I'll let you live if you do blow me," Jon said. "I'm making no promises. So, with that in mind, knowing that this could all be in vain, I'll ask you again, will you give me a blow job?"

Can you?

Yes, I can.

"Yes," Roman said, through gritted teeth. "I'd do it, even if all it gives me is a chance. Because a chance is better than nothing."

"Oh wow," Jon laughed, his fingers buried in Roman's hair, pulling it even harder, the other hand still holding the gun to his forehead. "You're awesome, Roman. You'll let me rape your pretty mouth, just so your daughter will have a father? That's amazing. Maybe I should let you live. Maybe it is a fair exchange, a blow job for the chance to some day walk your daughter down the isle when she gets married. Yeah, maybe I'll do it. But first..." He leaned so his face was only inches away from Roman's, "I want you to beg."

"What?"

"Beg," Dean smirked, straightening up. "Beg me to suck my dick, Mr. Reigns. And you'd better convince you, because I'm only giving you one fucking chance. One chance, big guy. And if you don't convince me with your words, that you are just dying to suck my dick? You die. Start begging."

Can you?

ohgodnodon'tmakemedothisjon.

Can you?

This isn't something you can go back from! God, no Jon. Blowing you would be bad enough, being raped is bad enough, but you're going to make me beg you to do it?

Your daughter, your fiance, you family, your life. This is what's at stake here, Roman, so again, ask yourself, CAN YOU?

"C'mon, Roman," Jon tapped the gun against his forehead impatiently. "Start begging or I'm going to pull this trigger."

CAN YOU?

Roman gulped, swallowing down a lump of blood and saliva, that seemed to turn into a solid mass that was squeezed down his throat. It was like the air had turned solid too, and it took all his effort to suck in a breath. Jon's fingers were still twined in his hair, yanking painfully on it, the gun to his forehead and he didn't want to, oh no, he didn't want to, but that didn't matter, the game wasn't do you want to, the game was can you, and for the sake of his family, the answer was both wonderful and so god awful horrifying.

Yes, I CAN!

"Jon," he whispered, doing everything in his power to make his voice sound humble and eager. They said professional wrestlers were more actors than athletes, and this would be the time he proved it. "Please let me-"

"-Oh god, you were going to do it!" Jon interrupted, roaring with laughter. "You really were going to beg to suck my dick, you degenerate. You'd beg me to rape your mouth, not even for a guarantee you'll see the sunrise, but just for a slim hope you might! Wow, I don't know what to think of you now, Roman. Again, I don't know if you're awesome, or just a whore. Oh wait." He moved the gun so it was in Roman's temple again, "I've decided; you've lost. Say goodbye Roman."

"No!" Roman gasped and made one last effort to twist away, but Dark Jon had his hair so tightly wrapped around his hand, and the gun was right up to his temple, and the look on his face told him this was over. In a last futile attempt to make some sort of sense out of this, he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to send a message by telepathy to his family, friends, and mostly his daughter. Goodbye, I love you! And then Jon was pulling the trigger and Roman would have sworn that he could hear the sound of it being pulled back, and then-

Click.

He waited for the noise to get louder, for the pain, but there was nothing. And then he felt Jon's fingers leave his hair. and the barrel of the gun leave his temple. He opened his eyes slowly.

Jon was staring, not at him, but at the gun. "Do you believe this?" He shook his head. "What's this world coming to, when you buy a gun on the streets and they don't even load it for you."

"What?" Roman was in shock, momentarily unable to process what was going on, what Jon was saying.

"I guess you won," Jon said, shrugging as if this was no big deal. "Unless you want to wait while I go score some ammo. Do you? Nah, I didn't think so." He leaned over and pulled Roman up to his feet. When Roman was standing; shaking, but standing, he put his hands on his shoulders, steadying him. "The odd thing is, I think the gun was loaded when I got it. I think that somewhere while I was on my way over here, Dean took over for just a minute... just enough time to get rid of it. Because, in his own weird way, he loves you, Roman. And between you and me? I don't think he wanted you to suck our dick either. 'Cause once you cross that line, you, there's no going back. He'd always be the guy that made you beg him to rape you. Not cool. It's hard to keep a brother thing going with a guy who rapes your mouth."

Roman was trying to steady himself, but his brain was having a hell of a time trying to figure out what had happened, and what was supposed to happen now. He stared at Jon, unable to talk.

"It'll be okay, Roman, you'll be fine." Jon leaned over and gently kissed him on the cheek. "Get some sleep, It'll be morning soon." He lowered his hand and put the gun back into the pocket on the inside of the jacket. "I'll see you later... maybe. That depends on if I can score some bullets. But you're safe, Roman. I've put you through enough." And with that, he turned and headed for the door.

When he was almost to the door, Roman's brain finally clicked and started working. Sure, professional wrestling wasn't real fighting, but it wasn't exactly fake either. And he hadn't been working out for six plus hours in the gym every day because he was weak and that working out sure didn't make him weaker, it made him stronger. And he sure as hell wasn't going to let Dean or Jon or whatever he was calling himself get out the door. As fast as he could, faster than he thought was possible, he ran up behind him and punched the back of Jon's head so hard that he crashed forward, falling into the door, with a resounding thud, then slumped to the floor. No dramatics, no spinning around, no slow fall like in the ring, this was nothing but the sound of flesh and bone hitting flesh and bone, then almost as quickly, flesh hitting the metal door, and then the body falling to the floor, almost instantly. Roman had cold cocked him with one punch.

Calmly, almost too calmly, considering the circumstances, Roman walked over to his luggage and took out a pair of boots. Quickly, he pulled out the laces, then went over, knelt on the floor and used the laces to tie Dean's hands together behind him, and then his feet. These were those nylon laces, stronger than your average cotton ones. They might not keep Jon restrained forever, but he didn't need them to last forever.

He picked Dean up and threw him on the bed. Jon's eyes fluttered open for a moment, but he said nothing and they closed again. And even though this night was easily the worst one in his life, he was still glad Jon/Dean was alive and he didn't know if he was glad he was glad, or upset he was glad. He grabbed his phone from the nightstand and started dialing 911 As his fingers fumbled to punch the number in, his glance fell onto the alarm clock by the nightstand.

4:45 am.

End of Part III

Author's Notes: You have gotten through the worst of it. Seriously, the conclusion will not be nearly as violent as this is.

Just A Reader I understand exactly what you mean, this is like a train wreck. Writing it was a train wreck, because there were times when I was saying, "No, he wouldn't do that, he wouldn't." But that crazy, scary, Dark Moxley/Dean kept saying, "Oh, yes I would!"

Thank you to everyone else who left reviews. I really do appreciate it. And I hope I continue to get reviews on this creepy little tale. Reviews are like the drugs that keep me writing. I know that sounds weird, but there you have it. To be honest, I'm so discouraged lately with wrestling itself, I'm getting so tired of all the hate I'm seeing for Roman Reigns everywhere but here, that I'm about ready to give up on wrestling all together. The man is out on medical leave, why can't they cut him some slack?

I've got ideas I want to write. I want to do a sequel to Chasing the Moonlight. But I keep wondering if I should even bother. Yeah, Dean is hotter than hell right now (thank god) but I like writing about the dynamics between Shield, whether they're together or not. I don't want to write about "Dean, the champion and hottest property of the WWE, Seth the evil, popular brother, and Roman, the jobber for Bo Dallas."

Sorry if I sound frustrated, it's not you, readers. It's the WWE and the IWC. So, Roman's interview on Raw wasn't the best piece of television ever recorded. The man is healing, cut him some slack.