"Roman, what the hell is going on?"
Roman was striving to pull his boots on over his feet. Why were the easiest tasks so onerous to perform when one was in a hurry? "You know that guy I'm seeing? Dean?"
"Yeah?" Randy folded his arms over his chest, impatient for Roman's explanation of the pictures.
"Well, he's in a little trouble with a gang."
"He's a gang member?"
"No. Well, kind of. Used to be. But he left them, and now they're after him." And anyone who's associated with him.
"I'd call you batshit crazy, but these pictures are pretty friggin' unnerving," Randy said, going through the photographs once more while Roman yanked his keys off the hook by the door.
"Dean doesn't have a phone, and his roommate's got stolen by the gang. So there's no way for me to contact 'em, warn 'em about this. I have to drive over there and tell 'em myself. Make sure they're alright."
"Wait. What do you have to do with this? I mean, I know he's your boy and all, but—"
Roman contended with his coat. Even the act of getting dressed proved to be difficult. "They're trying to get to him by targeting anyone who knows him. Including me."
"Holy shit, Roman, I can't believe this."
"Randy, I know this is coming at you really fast, but I kind of want you to go with me to Dean and Seth." He figured Randy could determine for himself who Seth was.
"Wh—what? Because—"
"Because our apartment is in these pictures, Randy. They know where I live. They could swing by again looking for me. I don't want you to get caught in the crossfire. Just come with me so you can be safe. I need to protect you too now."
Randy sighed, shaking his head. "This is nuts."
"I know. And I'm sorry about it."
Fortunately his roommate wasn't stupid enough to argue. "Alright, fine. If he's in trouble, we need to get to him. Shouldn't we call the police?"
"No time. Plus Dean is kind of anti-cop. They've never been able to help him before."
"That doesn't mean—"
But Roman was out the front door, locking it behind them. Common sense evaded him. Logic was a stranger. All he could think about was getting to Dean and Seth before the Wyatts had a chance.
Randy crawled into the passenger's seat, and Roman roared his car to life.
He dropped his phone into the cup holder. It didn't take long for the device to ignite with activity.
"Want me to get that?" Randy offered. Roman nodded. He gripped the steering wheel tight. Talking on the phone, texting while driving, was something even in this uneasy state of mind he knew was a terrible idea.
"It's a call from…Seth," Randy read from the screen.
"Don't answer it," Roman instructed. "It's them."
"Right. So who are these guys, anyway? Didn't know the Springs had a major gang problem."
"I didn't, either. I'm not even sure how big the Wyatt 'family' is. But whatever the size, they are vicious motherfuckers."
"Yeah, they're not just the shoot-now-no-questions-asked type, are they?"
"They're crafty."
The phone stopped buzzing. Moments later there came another buzz, once, short. "Voicemail," Randy said.
"Leave it for now," Roman asked of him.
"You really think they'll try to break into our place? Attack us, attack you?"
It was a frightfully accurate statement of fact. "Yeah. That sounds like something they'd do."
Bzzz. "Text," Randy said, Roman's phone still in hand. "Same number."
"Guess you can read it," Roman said, his morbid curiosity winning him over.
"'Dean is not worth it'."
Roman's arms shook. "That's Bray Wyatt for ya."
"Roman, what are we gonna do? If it's not even safe to be in our apartment…"
"I'll figure something out, Randy. I promise. I've been playing hero a lot lately, and you're not out of my range of protection."
"That's sweet, Roman, but I still don't feel a hundred percent better."
"You're taking it calmer than I expected," Roman noted.
"It's the shock. Once it wears off, I might react a little more realistically."
Bzzz. "Another text."
"Read it. Please."
"'I'll leave you alone if you leave him alone'."
Roman struck the top of the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. "Fuck him. Fuck him."
"Roman, if this Bray Wyatt guy is dangerous—if Dean's in some deep shit—maybe for your own good, you should—"
"I'm going to look after him, that's what I'm going to do."
"I know you care about the guy. I know you do. Can't remember the last time I saw you smile that wide with someone else responsible. But you need to think of yourself too, Ro. I say this as a friend, and from one human being to another. Protect yourself."
"It's too late," Roman grumbled. "I'm in it, and I'm in deep."
"In trouble?"
And love.
Bzzz. "'Does his life mean more to you than your own?' See, he and I are on the same page, except he sounds like a sick fuck and—"
Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz.
"Another call," Randy said.
"Give it to me," Roman snarled.
Randy surrendered the phone, and Roman barked into the receiver, "You wanna fight, asshole? Meet up with me somewhere and we'll have it out right there, just you and me."
Bray Wyatt's satanic laugh came through the phone, audible enough for Randy to hear—and shudder at. "Roman, Roman, Roman, I'm not looking for a fight. I never was. All I want is Ambrose. Then the fear, the pain, the frustration—all of that'll be over for you."
"What is your obsession with Dean?"
"What is yours?" Bray sounded amused.
"At least I'm not up his ass all the time. Threatening him, going after the people he cares about. I'm with him because I care. You're all over him just to make him suffer."
"Uh-uh. No, Roman, you've got it all wrong. Dean needs to understand that family don't just quit on each other."
"He's not your fucking family."
"Do you know the beauty of Dean hardly having anyone in the world? It makes it that much easier to take away everything he loves. Now ask yourself, Roman: is it worth it? Is it really worth throwing away your entire existence over one reckless little man?"
"Where are you. I'll meet you myself and fucking end you."
"You can try. But my family is stronger than you. I am stronger than you. I passed this off as a warning, and that voice message I left on your phone? That's a warning for Dean. I consider myself a patient man, but it's wearing thin for someone as rash and unpredictable and selfish as our Dean Ambrose. His time is running out. Yours can still be redeemed. You can still have a wonderful life, graduate from school, get married, have little Roman and Romana Reigns running around your house in the suburbs. Being with Dean won't get you any further than tomorrow morning."
Dud he just use my last name? "Where. Are. You."
Bray Wyatt just laughed.
The call ended.
Roman dropped the phone into the cup holder again.
"Jesus," Randy said, looking pale. Surely he'd heard a good deal of ghastly that verbal exchange. "This guy really has it out for Dean. And you."
Roman licked his lips. Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit all. Dammit all!
He was guided by his own memory to Seth's parents' house. No police cars or broken glass. Seth's car was still parked across the street. That was a good sign. Roman grabbed the envelope and informed Randy he didn't have to come inside, but to stay on alert for any vehicles around that looked suspicious. Randy agreed.
Roman bolted up the driveway and slammed his finger against the doorbell twice. A twinge of pain shot through his hand. Cold night air nipped at his exposed skin.
Hunter answered the door several too-long moments later.
"Oh, hi, Roman," he said. "We thought you'd gone off for the night."
"May I come in?"
"Of course."
Roman stripped of his damp boots, abandoning them by the front door. He didn't bother wondering if Hunter questioned why he was in such a hurry. He cut through the living room, giving Kane and Stephanie a wave on his way, and scurried down the staircase.
Seth's door was closed. He didn't want to frighten them with a surprise entrance, so he knocked, then shoved the door open.
"Hey, you're back!" Dean called. He and Seth were together on the bed, laying close enough to invoke a bit of jealousy in Roman if the circumstances were any different. Seth paused some action movie on the TV. Dean rolled out of the bed.
Seth was the first to detect his panic. "What's wrong?"
"Wyatts."
"Fucking, what did they do now?"
Roman held up the envelope and extracted the photographs. "Take a look."
He handed them off to Dean first. Dean went pale as Randy had, as Roman felt, looking over each one. He choked on nothing, coming across the final picture: the image of the house they were in now.
"Holy shit," Dean said. "Holy shit."
"What?" Seth demanded.
Dean allowed him to view the pictures next. "They were following us. All three of us. Now Roman's in the club."
"Can I cancel my membership?" Roman joked without laughing. "Then on my way here, I started getting calls and texts from Seth's phone."
"Bray?"
Seth thumbed through the pictures slowly, incredulous about the existence of each one.
"He said he left a voicemail, and it was a message for you."
"What did it say?" Dean asked.
"I don't know. I didn't listen to it."
Dean held his hand out, wanting the phone. Wanting to hear the message.
"You sure?" Roman asked.
"I have to know."
Roman freed his phone from his pocket and slowly handed it over to Dean. He managed to get to Roman's voicemail on his own, and he put the message on speaker for Seth and Roman to hear.
"Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean," came that voice. "You are perhaps the most selfish person I've ever met, you know that? Surely you do. Come on. It's apparent you don't give a damn about anyone but yourself. You are putting entire families at risk, doing what you're doing. So many folks have their necks stuck out for you, and maybe they don't even realize it. Tell me, when was the last time you told the truth to anyone? You're convicted of high treason, boy, and one way or another, you'll pay the penalty. Why do you continue to let others suffer for you? Seth. Roman. Seth's parents, that brother of his. If you want it to carry on, so be it. Our war is coming. The apocalypse is upon you. Dean Ambrose, you know deep down you're a Wyatt. You fit in well with us here. You manipulate people. You lie. You're egotistical. You're not all there in the head, and that's just what we look for in our family members. You'll always be one of us, Ambrose, whether you're at home or with your fellow fags. It's okay. We're very forgiving. But we're also ruthless. I'm not afraid to chase you around the world. If you don't choose to come home, I'll bring you home."
The laugh.
And the message ended.
It was quiet in Seth's room. Nothing but whipping winds outside.
Dean turned, phone still in hand, and grabbed something off Seth's desk. It was his black book, Roman realized.
"What are you doing?" Roman asked.
"I thought of something while he was rambling on."
"You're not calling him up, are you?" Seth queried, concerned.
"No, silly goose. I can't go after him. And neither of you can go after him. I have no other choice but this one right now."
Seth and Roman exchanged perplexed glances. A common facial manner whenever Dean was up to something.
Dean flipped to a page, his eyes scanning each line for something specific. His finger hit one line when he'd found it at last. He punched something into Roman's phone and whispered, "Don't worry. Blocking the call so you can't be traced."
Roman arched an eyebrow.
Dean cleared his throat and spoke in a husky voice, "Hey, Ace, this is Bray Wyatt, how are ya? Oh, fine, thanks. Listen—no, no, I'm not looking to buy tonight. Listen. I have to tell you something. I, uh…had a moment of clarity today. An epiphany, if you will. I realized I've been going on in this life in all the wrong ways. I wasn't put on this earth to be a fat, stupid drug dealer. I was put on this earth to be a fat, stupid…saint." He had to pause, cover his mouth to stifle laughter, then cleared his throat again. "I've given my life over to Jesus Christ. I want to make a change. I have to make a change. So tonight, for the very first time, I'm going to confession. Make that two confessions. One to a priest, and one to the cops. I'm sorry, buddy, we've had a fun run together, but it's time I clean up my act. I'm going to the cops and telling them about our entire operation. If I have to give them the names of every guy I've come into contact with, yours included, so be it. It's all part of the complete cleansing of the soul. I hope you'll forgive me, as God has forgiven me, and I've forgiven myself. And I pray someday you'll see the light, too."
He hung up before Ace made any sort of response.
Then bursted into insane, maniacal laughter.
"Oh man, I'm a fucking genius!" he howled.
"What the hell was that?" Seth asked.
"Don't you know anything about the streets, Seth? Snitches get stitches."
Dean made several more calls, each mimicking the last. He told five or six of Bray Wyatt's clients that Bray planned to turn each of them into the police. He grinned as he ended the last call over a screaming voice.
"You don't fuck with my family, Wyatt," Dean said, pulling the bedroom door open and storming across the basement. "You don't fuck with my family!" He spun around and stared Seth and Roman down, his tongue sliding between his teeth. "He's got bigger problems now besides me. Bray Wyatt ain't gonna live much longer with all these gang-bangers after him before he 'goes to the police.' It's over. It has to be over."
Dean seemed so damn proud of himself, but Seth and Roman stared at one another. They knew as well as anyone—anyone besides Dean—that this was far from over.