DISLCAIMER: Jon Moxley/ Dean Ambrose and Roman Reigns are not my creations or my property. They belong to the WWE and/or the sports entertainers/professional wrestlers/actors that play them. This was written for entertainment purposes only and is not intended to infringe on any copyrights held by said people/companies above.

Trigger Warning: If you've gotten this far, the worst is over.

Rain Dance

Pt IV (The conclusion)

Two weeks later

10:15 am.

Roman held out his drivers license to the woman behind the counter. "I'm here to see Dean Ambrose."

The woman looked at him and shook her head, almost sadly. "You're nothing, if not persistent," she remarked, taking his license and handing him a plastic tray. He said nothing to the woman, merely gave her a half smile and shrugged, but he emptied his pockets into the tray. There wasn't much to remove, he had been here enough times that he had learned not to bring much in with him. His wallet was safely locked in the rental car. along with a pair of nail clippers and a pen knife he sometimes carried on him, those were things that could get him banned from ever coming in here again, so he made sure not to have them. The only thing he came in here with was his drivers license, the keys to the rental car, and a package of chewing gum. All of these he put in the tray. When he was done, he handed the tray to the woman, who put it on a shelf behind her. "You can pick it up on the way out," she commented, as she slipped the license into a slot in the front of the tray to allow for easier identification.

"Thank you," he said.

He was able to walk through the metal detector without having to take his shoes off. He learned that the first time he was here, wear sneakers, preferably with plastic eyelets and don't wear a jacket with a metal zipper. Fortunately, it was warm enough today that no jacket was necessary. He was also fortunate today that the metal detector wasn't too sensitive, because the zipper on his jeans didn't set it off. It had the first time he'd come here and it was a little freaky at first, having someone come over and run a portable detector over his privates. The guy manning the metal detector smiled at him, "Good to see you again, Mr. Reigns," he said.

"Thanks." That was one thing you had to give this place, the security officers were polite. He had heard stories before about staff at places like this, heard that they could be obnoxious, but security here was unfailingly polite and it didn't seem like an act, either.

The guard hit a button when he got through the metal detection area and the double doors made a loud buzzing sound. Roman opened the doors and went through.

By the time he got to the visitors room, Dean was already there, sitting on one of the vinyl couches. He didn't see Roman walk in, which gave Roman a few moments to look at him, to judge how he was doing. He looked pretty good, compared to all the other times he'd been here. Those other times, he and Roman barely talked and the visits hadn't lasted very long, but today, he looked better, more like Dean. Less like a zombie. Roman walked over. "Hey."

Dean looked up at him. "I-I'm.." He paused and took a deep breath. "I'm surprised you're here. Glad, I mean, but surprised. I was surprised enough when they told me you called and made an appointment, but I half expected you wouldn't come anyway. I wouldn't have blamed you if you were a no-show."

"This will be the sixth time I've been here," Roman reminded him. "I try to come every week if I can."

"Really?" Dean shook his head. "I don't remember."

"I think they had you on some pretty powerful meds when you first got here," Roman said, sitting down across from him. The room was bright and sunny and looked like a generic waiting are, like one would find in an airport or doctor's office. It was only the orderlies wearing scrubs and the fact that about half the people in here were wearing some form of pajamas that gave away the true nature of the place. The other times Roman had visited, Dean had been wearing plain gray pajamas that the place had issued him, because Dean usually just slept in boxers and a t-shirt, so there had been no pajamas in his luggage when Roman brought it here for him. Today though, he was wearing a pair of navy blue sweat pants and an old, very worn CZ wrestling T-shirt.

"That sounds about right," Dean said, scratching his head. "Those days... it's like a fog, you know? My doctor cut down the meds early this week and I've been slowly coming out of the fog."

"I'm glad to hear it," Roman said, and he was glad to hear it. He wasn't sure if he had completely forgiven him for that night that seemed so far away when the sun was shining, but so recent when the night came and he woke up in a cold sweat, thinking he still had a gun pressed to his temple.

"I saw you, on RAW," Dean said, almost shyly. "They let me watch it, Monday. At least I watched the first half, so I watched you challenge Randy. I fell asleep for the second half, it's really hard to stay awake at night with these meds, so I didn't see your match. Sorry."

"It's okay," Roman said. "You can catch it on the WWE network soon enough." He debated if he should make a "For a mere 9.99" joke, but decided against it. Roman was back at work now, but after "the incident" (as it became to everyone who knew about it) Dean hadn't been the only one who had been affected. Roman had spent an entire week at home, a lot of it playing with, talking to, hugging, and just enjoying time with Leah. Jessica too, not just hugs though, he and Jessica had made love with a renewed avidity, as if they both needed to reassure each other that both of them were alive and well. And the nights when he woke up, sweating, thinking he had that gun to his forehead? She was there for him. She never made a big deal out of it, either, acting like she had just happened to wake up, that his bolting upright in the bed, sometimes even shouting, "No!" had nothing to do with it. She would curl up in his arms, letting him hold her, because that's what he needed, not to be protected, but for him to be the protector. Some nights they would make love again, getting lost in the sweetness and closeness of flesh meeting flesh, other times they would say nothing, just lying there in the glorious wonder of being together.

Roman and Dean sat in awkward silence for awhile, neither of them knowing what to say. There is no Hallmark greeting card for an occasion such as this, Roman thought, and if there was, what would it say? I hope you're not feeling too bored / As you do your time in the mental ward?

When Roman had dialed 911, he hadn't asked for the police, he asked for an ambulance. He had ridden to the hospital with Dean, who had ended up in there for "observation" for 48 hours, all they legally could hold him. Roman told the doctors what happened, and they wanted to send Dean to this place. At first Dean had refused, but then, they struck a deal. If he agreed to sign himself over to this place for at least three months, Roman would not go to the police and press charges. Thank God Dean had seen the wisdom of that, and had signed, because Roman wasn't sure if he could have pressed charges or not. He didn't like what Jon/Dean had done, thought it was wrong and a sign of the sickness he was carrying around, but if he, Roman, had to go to court and testify? See him possibly thrown in jail? Roman knew he would have backed out. Dean was still his brother. Dean had the excuse of being crazy when he did what he did. If Roman got him thrown in jail, it would be all on his head, no excuses for him to fall back on.

It was Roman that finally broke the silence by saying, "everyone misses you."

"Do they know what happened?" Dean asked, looking as if he wasn't sure if he wanted the answer to that question to be yes, or no.

"They know some of it," Roman admitted. "They don't know about the gun or you holding me hostage. As far as they know, you had a sort-of break down, and you're getting help."

"The doctors are calling what I had a psychotic breakdown," Dean said. "Which is the technical term for, I went whacko crackers."

Roman couldn't help but chuckle at that. "What do they say about the whole, Dean vs. Jon thing?"

"The jury is out on that," Dean said, shrugging. "Because some doctors believe in Multiple Personality Disorder and most don't. The term Dissociative identity disorder has been tossed around a lot."

"Do you believe?" Roman was curious.

"I don't know," Dean said, tapping his fingers on his legs. "Sometimes I think yes, sometimes no. I don't remember that night very clearly. I remember there were parts where it was like I was watching myself do everything. Like I was standing outside of my body, watching it, like it was a TV show. Other times, I swear it was me that did those things. And I'm ashamed of myself for doing them," he hung his head.

Roman nodded. "You were pretty convincing. At least to me. I was pretty sure I was going to die that night." Unconsciously, he reached up and rubbed his nose, which was still hurting slightly. The black eyes were gone, and the stitches in his lip had dissolved awhile ago, which was a good thing, but a broken nose itself didn't heal so fast. He hesitated, then drew in a deep breath. "Dean, can I ask you something?"

"Sure," Dean said looking up again, fingers still drumming.

"Why me?" Roman stared at him, not only wanting to hear Dean's answer, but to see his reaction. "What did I ever do to you, that would make you do what you did to me? You're my brother, I've always tried to be there for you, and you paid me back by...well, let's be blunt here, terrorizing me for a few hours, convincing me that you were going to kill me. You pistol whipped me, kicked me, threatened to rape me. And I still don't know what I did to deserve it."

"You didn't do anything to deserve it," Dean said softly, "Except some might say you deserved it by being stupid enough to be my friend." His leg started to twitch and for a long time, he said nothing, just sat there, leg bouncing up and down, staring at Roman as if trying to collect his thoughts. "I don't know... well, I have some ideas, but I can't really give you a cut and dry reason. It doesn't seem to work like that."

"Give it your best shot," Roman said, still keeping his voice neutral. "I think you owe me."

Dean's leg stopped bouncing and he looked at Roman. "I think," he began. "That I knew something was really, really, wrong with me. And I think that I didn't know how to stop it, or how to... deal with it. I'm not like other people. When I say, 'I'm crazy,' people nod. They think it's just the Dean Ambrose or the Jon Moxley crazy. But this wasn't the same."

"Okay," Roman said, slowly, "But that still doesn't answer the question, why me?"

"Because," Dean said, trying to collect his thoughts, "because I think I knew you were the only one who would listen. If I had gone crazy like that on anyone else, I wouldn't be here, I'd be in jail. They would know I was crazy, but they wouldn't get me help, they'd press charges. You're the only person I know who would listen. You're the only one who would see what I did for what it was, a cry for help."

"Bro, couldn't you have just said, 'I'm not very stable right now, and I think I might be a danger to myself or others, can you help?'" Roman asked.

"Would you have listened?" Dean asked pointedly, "I mean, I know you can say right now you'd listen. But really, before I did what I did, would you have listened? Or would you have said, 'Everyone feels like that sometimes, Dean. I know what you need, let's go party it up tonight, tear this town down to the ground!'?"

Roman hesitated. He wanted to say that of course he would have listened and suggested Dean get help, but when push came to shove, like most people, he would have tried to talk Dean down. He would have treated this like a mood Dean was in, a mood he needed to be talked out of, as if it were nothing worse than a bad day. "I wish I could say I would have listened, but you're right, I probably would have tried to talk you down off of it." He looked down at his feet for a moment. "And for that, I'm sorry, bro."

Dean shrugged. "You don't have to apologize, I have way more to make up for to you than you ever will to me."

Roman shook his head. "You don't have to make up anything to me, Dean. You're still my brother."

"That's another reason why I probably did what I did to you instead of someone else," Dean said. "Because I knew you'd help me, and I knew you'd forgive me." He paused and reached out, putting his hand over Roman's, a comforting gesture, but it wasn't sure who was being comforted here and maybe it was both of them. "Because, as you tell me, we're family. And that's what family does."

Roman chuckled at this. Shot down by my own logic, he thought, but he smiled at Dean. "Yep, that's what family does."

"I may be jealous too, we haven't gone into that as much," Dean said.

"Of what?" Roman asked, although he had a pretty good idea. "It can't be my career vs. yours, buddy. You are the man. You're still the man. Everywhere we go the fans are holding up signs about you, wishing you well, saying they miss you. 'We want Ambrose' chants have replaced 'CM Punk' chants."

Dean tried to look unmoved by this, but he couldn't pull it off, and instead grinned. Then he frowned. "What do the fans think?"

"That you were badly hurt in an altercation," Roman said. "Who it was with is not released. And, it's close enough to the truth, it's just we're letting everyone think someone went after you instead of you going after me, and that your body has been busted up, not your mind. But like I said, the fans just want you to get well and get back to the ring. So, I know you aren't envious of my career."

"No," Dean admitted. "It's the other stuff, you know? You lived this... almost perfect life. And you have this perfect life now, at least outside the ring. Beautiful lady, awesome kid. And yeah, I know that doesn't justify what I did, nothing can do that. But there are times when I can't help it, I wish I had that too."

"Nothing can change your past," Roman said. "But there's no reason why you can't someday have the other stuff, the beautiful lady and the kid. Maybe even kids."

"Yeah," Dean shrugged. "I guess. I just...I never found anyone I clicked with enough in that way, you know? I mean, I get plenty. I've even had relationships that extended beyond the one night stand, but I've never met anyone who could put up with me, all of me. I never met anyone I cared enough to let them know the real me."

Not quite true, Roman though, but decided to change the subject. "Look, is there anything I can do for you? The list of stuff I can bring for you is pretty limited, but anything you want, that you can have, I'll get you. Do you want anything? Need anything?"

Dean started to shake his head, but then stopped. "There's one thing-" he began, then stopped again. "Never mind, it's too much, I can't ask."

"No, you can ask anything," Roman disagreed. "And if I can, I'll get it for you."

Dean sighed. "I can't read." As he said it, his leg started doing that bouncing thing again.

For a moment, Roman thought Dean was confessing he was illiterate, but then he remembered several times when he had seen Dean reading, not just scripts or signs, but newspapers and books. "They aren't forbidding books, are they?" Roman asked. "I could have sworn I saw books on the list of acceptable items."

"No," Dean shook his head, still looking embarrassed. "They don't forbid reading, in fact, they've got an awesome library in here, lots of books. But I can't read them. The words... they jumble around sometimes and I can't focus on them. Sometimes, I can't read them in the right order or something. I've tried using an index card and going line by line, but it doesn't work. It's like I can't concentrate on the words and string them together. Which is weird, because I can follow TV or the radio. I just can't seem to be able to read."

His leg continued to jerk and part of Roman wanted to reach out and put his hand on it and stop it, because part of his mind thought that if he stopped it, the tension would leave Dean.

"The doctor's say not to worry," Dean continued. Bounce. bounce. bounce. bounce. "That as I'm weaned off the high dosages of the meds, the concentration will come back and the ability to focus will come back, but in the meantime..." his voice trailed off. Bounce. bounce. bounce.

"Do you want me to find some books on audio for you?" Roman asked. Jessica listened to audio books when she worked out and she got them online from some place. Maybe they could get an inexpensive MP3 player and load up a bunch of them for him. It wouldn't be that difficult.

Dean shook his head. Bounce. bounce. bounce. He reached around behind him, to a window ledge, where there had been a book sitting that Roman hadn't noticed. "Would...would you read to me?" He finally looked at Roman and now that the request was out of his mouth, he started speaking rapidly. "If you can't, if you don't want to, that's fine, I'm just asking, please don't think you have to say yes, I'll be fine, but I was just wondering, aw shit, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked you, you probably have to leave anyway, after all I put you through, I'm a total ass and I'm sorry, forget I asked." He started twisting the book in his hands as if he was going to rip it apart.

Roman reached out and grabbed the book from him, before he destroyed it. When he first heard the request, he thought it was kind-of silly, and he was going to suggest that he would get whatever books Dean wanted on audio, he'd put a rush order on it if he had to. The idea of reading to a fully grown adult was kind of embarrassing.

Then, as Dean struggled to give him a way out of it, rushing to tell him it was okay, Roman realized that it had taken so much for Dean to ask and was it really all that silly? If Dean were blinded in some way, wouldn't Roman have read to him without hesitation? So, what was the difference here? The fact that Dean's problems were in his mind rather than his body? The end results were the same, Dean couldn't read."I've got a couple hours before I have to leave," Roman said, looking at the thickness of the book. "But I can get started with it, then I'll see if we can't get you an audio version, or-" he hesitated, realizing that it wasn't just that Dean wanted to hear the book, he also wanted the interaction. One of the most personal things you could do with another human being was read to them or be read to by them. He had noticed that with Leah, even noticed it with his younger siblings when he was growing up. Something about two people sharing a story together, created an air of intimacy, as if for the time you were reading, you wove an invisible blanket around you that kept the two of you in your own world together. "-if you can wait that long between readings, I'll read it to you when I visit."

Dean's eyes lit up like a child being given an unexpected present, for no reason other than the giver saying, "I just wanted to get this for you, I thought you would enjoy it." "Really?"

"Yeah." Roman stood up and went over to the couch. "Move over." He sat down as Dean moved further down the couch, giving him room but not too much room. Enough for Roman to be comfortable, but their shoulders were touching.

Without even being aware he was doing it at first, Roman found himself putting his arm around Dean, as if he were nothing but a child. And without thinking about it, Dean moved closer and put his head on Roman's shoulder. And it didn't feel weird, or unnatural. The perpetual twelve year old boy, that lived in Roman's mind, that was sexually immature, that probably lived in the mind of every adult male, wasn't going, "Oh, dude, that's so gay," because twelve year old boys had no clue what tact was. But on this, the twelve year old was silent and Roman was glad for that.

Maybe Dean has regressed, Roman wondered. Maybe something did die in that room that night, but it wasn't me, thank god. And it wasn't Dean, but maybe something dark died... and maybe it died so something better could be born from the ashes. Something that can be nurtured and cared for, and allowed to grow up better.

That's when the twelve year old found his voice, and maybe, if you get a little more sappy, we can make our own maple syrup. Cut the crap and read the book you pussy. Because sometimes twelve year old boys knew how to cut to the heart of the matter.

So, Roman opened the book and began reading:

*"My name is Odd Thomas, though in this age where fame is the alter at which most people worship, I am not sure why you should care who I am or that I exist..."

The End.

*Credit first: The book Roman is reading to Dean is Odd Thomas, by Dean Koontz. And if you haven't read it, you really need to, the series is miles ahead of Twilight and most other "let's deal with the supernatural" books. Yes, I know, Dean Koontz is the guy your parents read, but the Odd Thomas series is fantastic. The lines I used were reprinted without permission, shame on me.

Thank you's and author notes:

Iremmy: Thank you!

Guest: Well, now you know what Roman did.

Just a Reader: Yes, I understand exactly what you're saying when it comes to Roman Reigns. I don't get all the hate the man is generating either. Yes, the interview came off poorly, but I've seen a whole lot worse. There are a lot of things that go on, a certain family rivalry comes to mind that are way worse than that interview and I don't see everyone going, "We need to fire them RIGHT NOW!"

As for your compliments on my writing, aw, thank you. This was a weird story because I hated writing it, and I enjoyed writing it. Jon demanding Roman give him a BJ, well, I figure it was in part to see how far he could push Roman. And, I figure deep down inside, Dean's a little bit envious of Roman. Not career wise, but the fact that Roman has this great woman, great kid, great family. I didn't find the way to dive into it more, but I figure after a lot of therapy, Dean's going to realize that.

Author's Notes: Yeah, this one is weird. I'm sorry for that. Usually I try to keep my writing on a lighter note, although readers of my story Scars may beg to differ. But, at least Scars ended in a happier place. Although, even though Dean is in a mental hospital, I think this book does end in a happier place than where it began.

And yeah, there is a huge debate on whether multiple personality disorder is a real condition. When the woman who became known to the word as, "Sybil" finally admitted to having her therapist manipulate her into multiple personality, that the books and such were pretty much false, that blew the lid on the whole disorder. Me, personally? I believe it can exist, but I believe it's much rarer than we think. I also believe it's been overused as a defense. Do I think Dean/Jon in this story had/has it? Yeah, I do. Not a classic textbook case, because he confesses to Roman that part of him felt he was watching this happening and part of him felt he did do everything. I think Dean/Jon had a breakdown. I also think that when you're supposed to be crazy, when crazy is your calling card, it gets really hard to ask for help. I think the reason why Dean/Jon went after Roman was because he knew Roman would get him help, but he had to really really prove he needed it. I also think he picked Roman because if he'd done it to anyone else, that gun might have been loaded.

This story can be partially blamed on Betagirl. What I wanted to do was to sit down and write a sequel to Chasing the Moonlight. I couldn't do it, I kept stalling. I tried to write scenes for what I wanted in the story, figuring I could string them together, but that wasn't working either. I finally told Betagirl I was blocked.

She responded as she usually does, not just with sympathy and kindness, but with a challenge. "Write a fiction based on a song," she said.

I scoffed, because I'm like that. "It takes a lot of skill to pull off a good songfic, because it's always the same plot. Character is going through something and listens to the song and realizes how it relates to their situation. Can it be done well? Yes, but that's rare and it's done by someone other than me. So, stop it, I'm not writing songfics."

And she rolled her eyes at me and gave me one of her special looks. "Did I tell you to write a songfic? I did not. I asked you to write a story based on a song."

"So," I said, knowing I couldn't get her off of this, "What song?"

"A random one," she explained. "And this is how you will pick it." And she laid out the rules to me, and I admit, I was interested. And I'm going to give you folks the rules, in case you want to give it a shot too. Is it challenging? Yes. But, at least for me, I found it a good challenge as it got my brain working in ways I never thought it could.

5/4/3/2/1 Song Challenge

5: Go to your history on You Tube. Pick the 5th song you listened to recently (No, you can't count those Shield videos you've watched eight hundred times, or those adorable Chibi wrestling videos that are so cute they'll give you diabetes, but who cares, the insulin shots are worth it.) Scroll until you get to the 5th song you've listened to and click on it.

4: When you get to the page with the 5th song, go to the bottom and count up to the 4th song they recommend. (At the right. Again, ignore the Shield and wrestling and any other videos they might recommend that do not contain songs) That will be the song you will use for the story. If instead of one song, the 4th recommendation is an entire album, you use the 2nd song on the album as your inspiration.

3: You must use at least 3 lines in the song, in your story, whatever lines you want.

2: If You Tube recommends an entire album instead of just one song, you pick the 2nd song on the album. If just one song is recommended, you must use a line from the 2nd verse.

1: Title of the song must be the title of the story.

Additional rules? No fair quoting the song as a song to get those three lines. You can't have, "And Roman remembered hearing this song on the radio Blah blah blah/ blah blah blah/blah blah blah." or, "And Seth turned on the radio and the sounds of Blah blah blah/blah blah blah/blah blah blah filled the room." Or even, "The words to that song came into his head, "Blah blah blah blah/blah blah blah blah/blah blah blah." That is called cheating. The lines must fit into the story as smoothly as possible. The ultimate goal should be that if someone is reading the story who hasn't heard the song, they won't have a clue what lines came from the song, or what lines are your writing. You can use more than three lines, and if you do, you can give yourself extra pats on the back. But you must use at least three lines. Same with the title. Your story title has to be the title of the song, but you need to also try to make it fit the story, not just have it be a random title that doesn't fit anything.

(So far Readers, do you know what lines came from a song in this story? Care to guess?)

At the end, you need to put in your author's notes who does the song so if people want they can look up the song themselves and decide if you passed or failed. Your story should not just have the lines in it, but try to give a similar vibe, that the song has. Since not everyone gets the same vibe from the song, this one is left more to the writer to figure out if they succeeded or not. But if others agree with you, then yeah, that's worth more pats on the back.

The idea seemed interesting enough, so I set to work. I've been listening to a lot of older stuff lately, because for some reason, my brain has decided that it can write Dean best when listening to older stuff, stuff my parents listened to such as Neil Young, CSNY, Deep Purple, Alice Cooper, CCR, etc. I don't know why my brain only wants to listen to that stuff when I write Dean. It might have something to do with the promo of Moxley singing Sweet Caroline, but Neil Diamond isn't on my list of "Music that inspires me to write Dean," so I don't think that's it. But for some reason, when I'm playing this older stuff, that's when the Dean Ambrose who lives in my head, comes out and talks to me. Anyway, so when I got to my inspiration song, it turned out to be from an older (like from the 1960s older!) group called The Guess Who. The group isn't totally unfamiliar to me, my Dad had one or two of their greatest hits albums. But I knew them by songs like "Share the Land," "Laughing," and "Undone." Their songs always had a folksy hippie vibe to them, at least to me.

Well, the song I got was one I hadn't heard before by them, called Rain Dance. And I listened. And it was really, really, really creepy. I don't know if you, dear reader, would find it creepy, I've talked to some folks who have listened to it and some agree, some don't, but I found the song really creepy. It's typical Guess Who for the most part and the second half is very typical Guess Who, it's got that, 'hey, let's all plant a tree and sing a song!' feeling to it. But the first part? Yeah, creepy. And, if that wasn't enough, the creepiest line in there, not only for the words, but for how it was sung in relation to the song, was able to pretty much inspire 90% of this story for me.

The line?

"Where'd you get the gun, Jon?"

(The written out lyrics spell it "John" but since I don't have the original lyrics from the band, I think it's up to interpretation how Jon can be spelled.) Yeah, random song and it has a line using the name of one of the characters I want to write about.

So, that's how this all started. Where did Jon get the gun? Who was asking him where he got the gun? Why did he have a gun? What was he going to do with the gun? And, if Jon had a gun, where was Dean? And, as every writer knows, once those questions get into your head, you have to start answering them.

This story violated one of my biggest rules, which is that I try to write fanfiction that if the character creators and/or main portrayer ever read it (No, I don't think they ever will. I hope the actors who play the characters in this story have better things to do than to hunt down my clumsily written fanfiction.) that they wouldn't be horrified, and that maybe they could even see the character doing most of the things I have them doing.

In most of my stories, I feel I do okay with that. Even in Scars, the Mox promos hint around at such a lousy childhood, that I think it's not too hard to imagine that happening to Moxley/ Ambrose. The other stories? Yeah, I think they fall right into the lines of, "Things the characters would do."

This one? Roman, I think I got him. He's not a wuss and I hope no one thinks I portrayed him as one, but when you have a child, your whole perspective on your life changes, or at least it does for every real man I've ever known. (For every real woman I've known too, but women are less likely to need to be reminded don't play hero when it could cost you your life) It's not about you and your choices, it's about how your choices will affect that tiny human being that you've chosen to bring into this world. So yeah, I don't think he would have tried to play hero unless he knew 100% that he was going to succeed. Because he didn't want his daughter to grow up without a daddy. That doesn't make him a wuss, if he had recognized a real chance, he would have taken it. It's just that Dean wasn't giving him one.

Dean? There's the rub. I am not sure if the actor/sports entertainer that plays Dean Ambrose, that really created Dean Ambrose would understand what I've done at all. And for that, I almost didn't publish this on FF net.

But Betagirl, and my S/O told me to do it. And both of them told me that in their opinion, I did more than pass the challenge.

If this story bothered you, I'm sorry, That wasn't my intent, which was why I put warnings on it. I know that it's hard to imagine Dean being that crazy mean to the one person who has stuck by him. But yeah, the way life works, sometimes we do the meanest stuff to the ones who deserve it the least.

And if you're still upset? Tell yourself, "It's just fanfiction, it only exists in Willow's fictional world, not mine." And, feel free to write me an angry review telling me how upset you are. I'll understand. I wasn't very happy with myself when I wrote this.

Then, have a cup of tea. Because tea can fix just about anything.

Thank you for taking this journey with me.

Willow