Hey, guys. With my one day off this week, I decided to honor myself and my readers with another update to this story. You're in for a treat, my lovelies. You learn a lot in this chapter, a bit more about Dean's past and the history of his mysterious uncle, with an ending that was both adverse and fun to write. Enjoy~

Roman was awake even earlier than Seth for once. He had the opening shift at Java Central, and he had to be on the clock at five-fifteen for the shop's opening for business at six AM. At least he would be off early in the afternoon, assuming it wasn't so busy that his boss required him to stay past his scheduled eight-hours. Already he was missing Dean, missing Seth, missing the cozy apartment with his big comforter and fireplace and movie collection and assortment of snacks in the pantry to munch on while watching said movie collection in the living room in front of said fireplace, with said Seth and Dean.

The little things in life meant the most. Roman counted himself blessed that he was able to appreciate them.

At the same time, he was thrilled to be going to work again. The paycheck was preeminent in his living situation. He'd also grown to miss Dolph, and even Curtis once or twice in the forced leave. The coffeehouse was special to him. A great majority of his live stemmed from the facility.

Roman blinked away exhaustion as he swung his Civic into an empty spot in designated the employee parking row. Dolph's car was a couple of spots away from his. He was astounded to see a disorganized formation of enthusiastic and shivering patrons gathered in front of the doors. Word must have spread fast about the reopening. The window was fixed as though never damaged in its life, and balloons were tied outside with a chalk sign welcoming guests back to Java Central. Roman actually had to jostle through the mass to reach the entrance. He used his key to gain access inside, pulled through the narrow opening he allowed for himself, then relocked the door behind him. He felt like an apocalypse survivor trying to hold off a horde of zombies. Curtis was behind the counter, thumbing through a wad of one-dollar bills.

"What are all these people doing here?" Roman asked Curtis, jerking a thumb towards the door.

"They're excited for us!" the manager exclaimed. He'd obviously had three times his regular morning coffee intake this morning. "And I am, too. Welcome back, Roman. It's good to see you. Are you doing better? How's your wound?"

Roman grinned. Curtis was fidgety. Roman nearly offered to count the cash register for him so he could concentrate on other tasks, spend a bit of his energy by walking around, but he wasn't allowed as a regular employee to perform manager tasks. "It's better. Thanks."

Curtis pushed out a sigh of relief. "Oh, good. Don't know what I would have done today without your help, Roman. You're the best I've got."

Dolph appeared from the back of the shop. "Thanks, Curtis, heard that loud and clear."

"Oh, come on, Ziggler. You know I appreciate you both as workers very much. Why do you think you're here this morning? Wouldn't trust the opening shift on the grand reopening with anyone else!"

Curtis pushed past Dolph and rounded the corner into his office.

"Did you spike his coffee with Red Bull?" Roman snickered.

"Nah. He did that himself."

Roman kept laughing, but Dolph didn't look too thrilled right now. Nobody Roman knew was a "morning person", Dolph included, but his blond coworker didn't just look tired—he looked drained, depressed, weary in more ways than just physical.

"You okay, man? You look like hell. I mean, no offense…"

"Nah." Dolph lifted a hand to let Roman know he wasn't insulted. "Feel about as good as I look." He smiled grimly.

"What's wrong?" Roman didn't want to nag, but Dolph had been there for him a time or two before, even offering money and a shoulder to cry on during one of Roman's bad days. He wanted to extend the same affinity if Dolph needed him.

"Lana and I broke up," Dolph said softly.

"Oh." Roman ignored the crowd, all tasks of the morning, and approached Dolph to place a comforting hand on his shoulder. "That's rough, bro. I'm so sorry."

"Thanks. I don't know, she was giving me all this shit for being in contact with my ex, then…" He rubbed the back of his neck, not looking directly at Roman. "Runs back to hers the minute he starts sweet-talking her again. Didn't even give me a chance to work on things that I didn't even know were wrong."

"What a bitch."

"That's what I keep telling myself. I love her, though. Still do."

"You'll get over it. I know it's hard to believe now, but time does heal all wounds. You'll make it through this alright."

Dolph finally elevated his sad look to Roman. "Thanks. I believe it. Just sucks right now."

"I know." Roman didn't remove his hand just yet. "Hey, what are you doing when you get off? You'll probably be tired as hell, but if you want, you could come over and hang out with me and Dean, and our other roommate Seth. We could get something to eat or play some games, or whatever you wanted to do."

"I really appreciate it, Roman, but I'm helping her move her stuff out of my place today. Wish I was a bigger asshole; I could make her do it all on her own, and just go straight to bed when I get home. But nah. Sooner she's packed up and out, the sooner I can move on with my life."

"Okay. I understand."

"But I'll keep that offer in mind for another day? If that's alright?"

"Perfectly alright."

"Cool. Thanks, man. You're a good guy, Roman."

Normal life for Roman Reigns was never others coming to him for comfort and advice. Normal life for Roman Reigns was quite the opposite; if he ever needed someone for help, he'd get what he could out of them and isolate himself once more. Old Roman didn't socialize, he didn't invite anyone over to hang out. Old Roman also didn't have Dean Ambrose in his life as more than a stranger.

Old Roman also didn't have a gang called the Wyatts after him.

Even so. Roman preferred his new way of life. It was different, but Roman wasn't against that.

The cluster of people outside multiplied as six o'clock drew nearer. Roman was positioned behind the counter, and Dolph held up his golden key like the weapon of a warrior bracing for battle.

"You ready?" Dolph asked.

"Let's do this."

Dolph unlocked the doors and drew away from them before he was trampled. The crowd shuffled inside. Somehow the mob molded itself into a line, and Roman took his first order of well over a hundred for the shift.

He and Dolph were an amazing team. Roman rang customers up, including discounts on each transactions, while Dolph whipped every order that came his way. Another coworker clocked in half an hour after opening, and the three worked tirelessly and concertedly as bees, often trading positions from cashier to barista to get as many customers' orders done as quickly as possible. Roman was sweating and his arms arched from how much he was using them, but adrenaline retained his sense of awareness. He wasn't tired. he was happy, so happy to be back at work doing what he liked to do.

He was far too busy, focused on work, to worry whether or not the Wyatts would return today.

The morning rushed by so fast that when Dean and Seth came into the shop and waited in line until their turn at last, Roman was confused as to why Dean was apologizing for being so late. He glanced at the clock on his screen. He had only forty-three minutes left in his shift.

"We would have been here earlier," Dean went on, "but we were shopping for Christmas presents for you."

Seth stared at Dean, incredulous. "Nice. Way to spill the beans on that one."

Dean was just as surprised as Seth was. "What? It's Christmastime. Buying him presents ain't exactly a secret. Geez."

"Whistleblower."

Dean rolled his beautiful eyes. "Jerk."

"What can I get for you guys?" Roman asked. He enjoyed conversing with them, but the line was still fairly lengthy behind them. "Usual?"

"Actually, could I try a peppermint mocha?" Dean asked.

Now it was Roman's turn to be incredulous. "No salted caramel for you today?"

Dean wrinkled his nose. "Nah, not today. Don't get me wrong, it's still my favorite, but peppermint mochas are more…seasonal. Can't get those here everyday. Might as well order while I can. Extra whipped cream."

"That works." Extra whipped cream was very Dean. "What about you, Sethie?" Oh good God, where did that nickname come from?

Seth seemed amused by the spontaneous endearment of choice. He rubbed his scruffy chin as his hazel eyes studied the menu. "What's a Polar Bear?"

"An espresso with white chocolate sauce and milk."

"Ooh, that sounds lovely. I'll take one of those, please."

"You've got it."

"Thanks, Ro."

Roman unfortunately had to send them aside to wait for their order while he tended to the next patron.

As expected he wasn't able to find time to clock off until a small break in business, nearly twenty minutes after one-fifteen. Seth and Dean were at a corner table. He walked in on a story, or the end of one.

"The guy ended up paying me fifty bucks to smash his car into a brick wall. It was awesome. Thought it would hurt a lot more, but I did wear the seatbelt, and it kept me from breaking my neck or my head going through the windshield." Dean finished off his drink and set the empty cup to the side.

"Um. What did I miss?" Roman asked.

"I was just talking to Seth about the first time I played here, and what got me here in the first place," Dean said.

Roman blinked. "And that somehow ended with you crashing a car for a guy?"

"Oh, yeah. It was all on the same night."

"I didn't learn about the car crash until literally just now, so I'm just as baffled as you are, Ro," Seth said.

"Alright. Start over, then we can head out." Roman didn't want to linger off the clock in a place that still might have needed his help.

"Do you remember my first night here?" Dean tested him.

Roman pressed his lips together, racking his brain in the chaos of the coffeehouse for that particular memory. "Maybe. Was it in the summer?"

"Early summer. Late spring would be a closer guess, 'cause it was snowing that night. The fact that it snows here in May just baffles me."

"Only sometimes," Roman pointed out.

"Frequently," Seth said.

"Yeah. Anyway. It was late spring, and I'd been living with Seth for a few weeks. Think it was before he learned my name wasn't actually Jon Moxley. He was working all the time, out of the house, and I was bored. I didn't need a job, 'cause I had all Bray Wyatt's money tucked away in my pocket. I missed playing my guitar in the public, but I didn't wanna get arrested again. Wondered if there was a place that could satisfy that need. So I just started looking. Became familiar with the city, further than downtown where I'd grown accustomed. I saw a flyer for open mic night posted in the window of this place. Walked inside, asked the manager what the deal was with that. It was just what I needed. Somewhere I could play for others indoors, warm, without risking a ticket or jail time. That's what mattered most to me. I didn't need to get paid or tipped for it. I just liked playing. I love playing for others, too. Kinda like the attention, not gonna lie. Love the applause. That's not why I play, but it's a perk."

"Kinda jealous of you," Seth admitted. "You've got that passion in life, something you want to do no matter what the world thinks, or if you get a paycheck for it. Wish I had something like that going for me."

"Learn an instrument. Music is an endowment, bestowed onto the world in accordance to every single god that may or may not exist."

"That's pretty profound of you, Dean."

"Weird thing is, I'm not even kidding. Music has this way of just getting you. There's a song out there, an instrument, a band, an album, down to a lyric, for everyone, that gets you in a way nobody else on this planet can. Music speaks when words can't. And as someone who's not that fantastic of a talker, music helps me get everything out there that I'm otherwise…" Dean licked his lips, drawing a breath, as if accumulating the valor necessary to push all that remained in his sentence from mind to lips. "Afraid. To say. To show."

Seth couldn't comment on it, nor could Roman. Dean's admittance to being afraid in some instances was inexplicable. And sort of a relief. If he was aware he could be afraid, it humanized him. Put him on levels with Roman and Dean that perhaps he didn't see himself on before. He wasn't indestructible.

"Anyway," Dean carried on. "I came in a couple nights later for my first open mic night. I was really late, 'cause I walked the whole way from home. I didn't want to disrupt any performances or anyone waiting, so I just kept to myself in the back for a while until several others went before me."

"Oh, I remember that," Roman said with a nod. "Well, you always showed up late, and you always went last way late into the night, but I think I was working that first time you showed up. You looked confused as all hell."

"Luckily it didn't take me long to fall into the process. You remember what I played that first night?"

"I have a guess, but far be it for you to be predictable."

"Hey, I can be predictable sometimes. I sit in the same spot every week, I order the same drink from the same gorgeous barista. Might be a lunatic, but even we have our patterns in certain areas."

A smile touched Roman's lips. "Was it 'More Than Words'?"

"It was," Dean confirmed.

"Called it."

"Still my favorite song to play."

"And the fifty bucks and the car crash?" Seth questioned.

"Oh, yeah. It was someone I used to hang out with on the streets. He saw me playing there that night and asked for a favor. He was living out of his car until he finally landed housing somewhere down south. He had insurance on the thing, and it would have paid him a nice check if something ever happened to it. So he had me trash the thing for a reasonable price. Haven't seen him as of lately, though, so I dunno if it worked out for him or not."

Dean snatched his empty cup and flung it towards a trash can. Incredibly, he made the shot. He lifted from his chair and used a napkin to wipe away a couple of drops of his drink. What a considerate patron. "Thanks for the mocha, Ro. It was good. Not salted caramel mocha-good, but still Roman-made good."

"I'm glad to hear it." Roman didn't mention how Dolph had prepared the mocha, not him. He appreciated the compliment nonetheless.

Dean, Seth and Roman pushed outside. With a little less than two weeks until Christmas, the city was bustling from the parking lot stretching to the winding streets and stationed shops and businesses on every corner. It was such a stressful time of year for many, Roman included. But this Christmas looked a bit more promising than years past.

"We heading home?" Dean asked, looking to Seth and Roman and back again.

"Yeah, we can do that. I'm off today," Seth said.

"I'll ride with Ro, if that's okay, Seth. Since I rode with you up here."

Seth smiled. "Of course. That's fair."

Roman freed his hair from its tie and zipped his jacket up. "See you at home, then."

Dean's phone was buzzing when they got into the car. Dean waited past the slamming doors, the engine turning over, and Roman turning the music down on the radio before answering. "Hey, man."

Roman focused on driving, but it was impossible not to eavesdrop on the conversation with Dean right next to him. He didn't miss the color sapping from Dean's face, his bottom lip twitching as whoever he was speaking to fed him information that might have concerned him. Dean rubbed his mouth.

"You sure?"

A long pause. Roman was anxious to hear everything he was missing.

"Okay, when? Same place?"

Another long pause. Roman tried to control his breathing. Was this Dean's uncle? Was this good news? Bad?

"Yeah, I can do that. Jeff again? Sure. Yeah, that works. Okay. Thanks."

Dean ended the call and sighed.

"Was that your uncle?" Roman asked before Dean could make him wait any longer.

"Yeah."

"What's going on?"

"Well." Dean's hands folded together in his lap. His knee bounced on the floor. Roman made a mental note to vacuum his car, clean it out, at some point when he was free. "Luke Harper is dead."

Roman nearly hit the brakes in the middle of the road. He allowed himself to look at Dean, search for honesty in his expression, for a moment before forcing his eyes back on the road, the surrounding traffic. Dean wasn't lying. His face was somber with the refreshing reality. "Luke's the one who we met at Zodiac, right?"

"Yeah. The real bushy one. Well, they're all bushy, I suppose…"

"The one who got shot that night you called up those other gangsters," Roman specified.

"Yep." Dean popped the letter "p" on his lips.

"Holy shit. And he's sure?"

"Yep." Pop.

"How?"

"From what I heard from Uncle Mark, he had 'surgery complications.' He was expected to survive after getting shot down that night, but my uncle had different plans for him."

"Your uncle…"

"Probably the one responsible. Yeah."

Roman's grip tightened on the steering wheel, fingers white and shaking. "So you're related to a murderer."

"Yep." Pop.

"You gonna tell me what he does for a living? Or can I come to my own conclusion by now?"

"He's not a murderer by trade, Ro. He hardly reduces to that anymore. It's something he picked up…where he's from. A last resort in his back-alley training."

"And where's that?"

"Guess I can tell you everything now. I don't want you thinking anything less of him. He's a good man. He's fucked up in the past, but who hasn't? But I'll wait till we get home. I'm sure Seth'll wanna hear this. Don't want him thinking I'm keeping secrets from him."

And so Dean waited. Seth was just as baffled to hear of Harper's death as Roman had been. Dean may or may not have been concerned on his own level, but it sure wasn't showing. How mellow he was throughout the moments was bizarre, but not outside his expected behavior.

Dean sat on the floor before Roman and Seth on the couch, arms wrapped around his knees.

"My uncle was a sergeant in the army. That's as far as he got before he was dishonorably discharged for his involvement with the Bandidos. Ever heard of 'em? They've a ton of current and former military members. A 'one-percenter' motorcycle club and organized crime syndicate with a worldwide membership."

"Think I learned about them in a current events class," Seth said, nodding.

Roman's hands folded atop his knees. "He was dishonorably discharged just for being in the gang?"

"No. He was dishonorably discharged for things he did within the gang." Dean smiled sadistically, then frowned. "Crazy things, things he hasn't told me entirely about even to this day. Ended up getting his stupid ass arrested for aggravated assault. Sentenced to twelve years, got out in eight and a half on parole. He changed in some ways doing time, and in some ways, he was the same men. He grew to hate gangs, all of them, every kind. They screwed his life up, he said, and he was going to put a stop to them himself. He was familiar with how gangs worked, many of the Bandidos, and he used the knowledge to his advantage. He can't get on with any police forces, of course, so he does everything on his own. Kind of like a self-employed hitman. He calls himself the Undertaker. Targets gangs and anyone involved. That's why he was so keen on helping me get the Wyatts. He's had a change of mind, but not a change of heart. He's still the deranged, violent type, but at least it's for the 'greater good.'"

"And you feel safe around him?" Roman asked.

Dean knitted his eyebrows. "Of course. He's my uncle, I'm his li'l nephew. We're family. He'd do anything for me. And so far, he's been a great help. I'm meeting with him again tonight to catch up on everything he learned, and where we can go from here. Where he can go. I'm not sticking my neck out there again. Hence why he's here."

"So, how did he off Harper?" Seth asked. "Sorry if that makes me sound sick, but I just care to know."

"Same way he offs all his victims. Breaks their neck."

Roman made a face. "Ouch. What a traumatic way to go."

"Yeah." Dean stretched his legs out in front of him. "He didn't say that's what he did, but 'surgery complications' was just an excuse. Nobody'll catch him. Nobody ever does."

"I really hope not," Seth muttered.

"When are you meeting him?" Roman queried.

"The hotel again. Late in the evening. He's got other work later. Don't want to inconvenience him for long. And, no offense, but could you guys wait on me somewhere besides the hotel? I really don't want him knowing that I told you everything about him. Seeing you once was probably enough to set something off inside him."

"Sure," Roman said reluctantly. "We'll hang out somewhere else while we wait for you. Just be careful."

"Of course. Now's the time to be more careful than ever. Harper was Bray's righthand man. I mean, I know they're all a bunch of closed-off, incestuous swamp apes, but Luke Harper and Bray Wyatt were closer than family. This I can attest to. I've seen it. Bray is not going to be happy."

"We'll see you to the door, and back out again," Seth said. "Guess we can trust you to watch after your own ass inside the hotel."

"Well, Taker will be inside waiting for me, so no worries there."

The Undertaker. What an eerie name. For someone of his position, it was appropriate. Fitting. Chilling.

Dean pushed himself to his feet. "I'm getting hungry. What are you making us for lunch, Seth?"

"Why do I have to make lunch? Why can't you cook something for once?" Seth said through a grin.

"Fine. Microwave popcorn and ham sandwiches on white, it is."

"Sounds like a good enough lunch to me," Roman said.

"I concur," Seth said.

"Fine," Dean said again. But he was smiling, too.

"Late in the evening" ended up being around nine-thirty that night. Roman, Seth and Dean drove in Seth's Camaro this time, to conserve Roman's gas tank. Snow clouds had rolled in during the afternoon, now the heavens were salting the city with cold, crisp flakes. Roman shivered in the backseat. He'd only worn his Captain America jacket, expecting to be warm and indoors for a majority of the drive. It was warm, but not completely to his physical essentials.

"You alright?" Dean asked, beside him.

"Little chilly."

"Heater's working on it," Seth said. He cranked the air up a bit and put his fingers against the vent, testing the temperature of the flow. He didn't want to crank it up until the air was hot. "Almost there. Promise."

"I've got it in the meantime." Dean slid close to Roman so their arms were touching. He leaned over and rubbed Roman's other arm up and down with a quick hand. "That helping?"

"Kinda," Roman laughed. He opened up his arms, choosing to hold Dean instead. That would help the most. "Thanks."

"Of course."

"I'm watching you guys," Seth warned. "No dirty shit in my car."

"Hey, Seth, you got stain remover back here?" Dean asked.

Roman caught the face Seth made in the rearview mirror. "Fucking gross, dude."

"Think you meant to say 'Dude, gross. Fucking.'"

"Hey, y'all can do whatever it is you do best together another time. Not in my car."

Dean feign-pouted. "Boner killer."

Seth pulled his car in front of the hotel. "Final destination."

Dean pressed his warm lips against Roman. It would physically hurt to let him go again, if but for an hour or two. "I love you. I'll be back."

"Love you too, Dean." His insides swelled with affection.

"Love you the appropriate amount, Seth."

"Whatever," Seth laughed. "Get in there and get it done, whatever it is."

Roman watched Dean hurry up to the doors and disappear behind them inside the hotel.

"So. We've got some time to kill," Seth said. "What do you want to do?"

"There's a McDonald's over on Wahsatch Avenue. Not too far of a drive. If you're not above cheap, greasy fast food."

"I'm nowhere near above cheap, greasy fast food."

"Let's do it."

In an empty McDonald's restaurant with sixties music playing softly over the radio, over a table bearing trays of McDoubles and a large fry the boys shared, Roman informed Seth of his plans to turn Annie's scraps into homemade Christmas gifts for Dean.

"Oh, dude, that's a great idea," Seth said, popping a fresh hot fry in his mouth, chasing it down with a swig of ice-cold soda. "What all did you have in mind?"

"I made him a pick out of a piece of the guitar. I was thinking of taking the sound hole and crafting it into a picture frame."

"Love it. He's gonna go nuts. What else?"

Roman dragged two fries through a glob of ketchup. "The only other thing I could think of was taking another section of the body, painting over it, and writing a song lyric he likes on it."

Seth's eyes lit up behind his glasses. He claimed to wear them more often in the winter because the dry air irritated his eyes, shriveled his contacts too easily. "Look at you, Mr. Arts and Crafts. Mr. Sentimental. Who knew you were a clever little schmaltz?" He chuckled softly. "Just kidding. No, he'll really love those. I think it's a great idea."

"Can you think of anything else?"

Seth had just taken a great bite of his burger. He wiped away a smear of ketchup on his upper lip, covering his mouth with his hand to speak. "Make a bracelet out of the, um, guitar strings. He'd get a kick out of that. He likes jewelry."

"Does he? He doesn't wear much, besides that earring. None that I've seen."

Seth swallowed the lump of food. "I don't know, he thinks it's hot on himself and on others."

That explained the necklace in one way. "That's a good idea."
"Hey, guys," the young cashier said, walking towards their table with a broom in hand. "The dining room is closing down soon, just to let you know."

"Oh, okay. Sorry."

"I still haven't heard from Dean," Roman said, checking his phone even though it hadn't buzzed in half an hour. No texts or calls.

"He's alright," Seth said, to Roman and to himself. "Who knows what all they've got to talk about?"

"Where do we do in the meantime?" Roman held the door open for Seth. It was a fight to push through the door against a great gust of wind.

"Shit, it's cold. Oh, shit." Seth rubbed his gloved hands together. "I don't know. If nothing else, we can just sit in my car in the hotel parking lot."

"Think Dean would be okay with that?"

"He should be. We're not making our presence known inside. His uncle wouldn't know we're there, since we wouldn't go inside."

"I guess we can—"

"HELP!" a female's voice wailed over the arctic winds. "SOMEBODY HELP ME!" Following her screams was a crash, then a wicked, husky laugh. Roman's widened eyes fastened with Seth's.

"The hell's that?" Seth asked.

Roman internally kicked himself for not grabbing his pocketknife before heading out, though he was certain he wouldn't even need it for what should have been a short trip. He flexed his muscles and jogged with Seth behind him, trying to trace the source of the frightening noises.

The screams came from around a trash enclosure, across the parking lot of the McDonald's, a bit further from the humming lights of the restaurant. The perfect place for an assault. He moved quickly, quietly with Seth, and glanced around the corner to find a young woman struggling against a hefty man, attempting to pin her against the wooden enclosure.

"HEY!" Roman screamed. "LET GO OF HER!"

Both the woman and the man twisted their necks to look at him. He couldn't make out facial features on either of them, for it was so dark back here. Instead of attacking the defendant Roman, the man shoved her to the ground, spun around, and ran away.

Roman approached the woman with quickness and caution. "Are you alright?" he asked. She was shaking like mad, without a coat to protect her from the frosty air. He put his hands on her shoulders.

Her head moved up to look at him. She wasn't screaming or crying anymore.

She was smiling.

Roman recognized this face at once.

"Abigail?" he asked, throat closing up.

Someone else cried out. This time it was Seth. Roman swiveled around to see Bray Wyatt and a shorter, stouter individual he didn't recognize restraining Seth against the compound, striking him in the face again and again with their fists.

"HEY!" Roman screamed. His throat burned at this point, a pain he neglected. He had to protect Seth. Before he could move, Abigail raised a leg and kicked him in the back of the head. The heel of her boot managed to break the skin, and his hands flew up to compress the throbbing area. He tried turning around again when suddenly he was grabbed by a pair of burly arms and thrust against the wooden paddock. A man matching Bray Wyatt's appearance in every way, but with a red beard instead of brown and a smooth shaved head, alternated between hitting Roman in the face and lower in the stomach. Roman took several crucial hits before his body kicked into defense mode.

This was not okay, and he was going to stop it.

He lifted his foot and thrust it into the attacker's knee. The bash had Roman's desired result, and the man buckled to the cold ground. Roman used his foot again, this time hitting the assailant directly in the nose. Roman was on top of him even before his figure hit the ground, pinning him flat and discharging his own batch of strikes to the Wyatt family member's bruising face. Roman jabbed him in the neck several times as well, repeating a thought in his head again and again: If I have to kill him, so be it. If he had the chance to kill me, chances are, he probably would have…

"ROMAN." It was a loud shout, one that didn't come from Seth. Roman's head shifted right. Bray's little associate had his arm wrapped tightly around Seth's throat. Even in the dark of night, Roman didn't miss the flash of a blade in his other hand, the tip of which was pressed against Seth's neck. Bray stood beside his "family member" and the victim Seth. He was smiling. Roman practically felt smoke rising from his skin, he was filled with such rage, such hostility…such fear for Seth's life.

"Off him, now," Bray said, voice light, like it was a command he was confident Roman would obey. With that knife at Seth's throat, Roman hadn't another choice in the world. With a snarl, he pushed off the brawny ginger. The man immediately scrambled to his feet and rushed to Bray Wyatt's side like a wounded animal.

Roman, not letting up on his glare, put his hands up to inform Bray Wyatt he was unarmed and had no plans to proceed with additional savagery. Not that Bray was expecting it of him. He held all the cards, Roman knew it, Wyatt knew it.

"Where there is death, there is life," Bray Wyatt spoke. Seth coughed against the exertion still around his neck. Not that he could move much in this position, but he had to be careful not to shift in place at all, or else that knife would be through his throat in an instant. "There is a time and a place for everything. A time to be born, and a time to die. A time to kill, and a time to heal. A time to tear down, and a time to build. A time to love, and a time to hate. A time for war, and a time for peace. A time to leave…and a time to come home."

Bray was looking at Roman now.

Or something behind him.

Another swift kick to the back of the head from Abigail's boot sent Roman's figure to the ground, spiraling into a black unconsciousness.

Big things happening! Bigger things to follow! What happens next? Stay tuned for the next chapter. :) As always, reviews make my whole day!