What's a wrestling story without cameos? Skovko, I hope you like these ones!
Introduction To Solution
"I don't like this," Roman offered for the third time, "I've got a bad feeling about this guy."
Dean snorted wryly, stretching his legs out and wincing as they collided with the solid metal side. That was one of the dangers of being taller – the inability to fit comfortably inside a surveillance truck. Not to mention any seat anywhere that wasn't located next to an aisle.
"Well, providin' we've got ourselves the right guy here, he tricks people into gettin' their fuckin' organs ripped out. Pretty sure a bad feeling is the only type to have at this point, y'know?"
Roman rolled his eyes a little,
"Not about what he does. I meant what he wants with you. Because at this point we have no idea how this deal goes down. We're going in blind here."
Dean blinked at him,
"Hold on – you're worried about me? What the fuck for?"
"Why do you think?"
Big brown eyes stared back at Dean pointedly and he cleared his throat awkwardly and pushed it to one side. He was completely out of practise with having someone care for him and he was not prepared to admit that it actually felt nice. Roman had always fussed over him a little and the fact that he still did was both reassuring and alarming.
Different but the same.
"So, you all good on your background story?" Seth asked, interrupting the love-in, "Want to go over the details again?"
Dean glanced across at him, appraising him carefully. Why the sudden change in tack? Could Seth sense that maybe he was feeling uncomfortable or did he not like the reminders that Dean and Roman were still close?
"No, I'm good. Do I look like a rookie?"
Seth threw his eyes skywards,
"Did I fucking say you were?"
Dean muttered something that was vaguely incoherent but sitting alongside him, Roman grinned. The tension was still there – it was practically zinging – but there was something almost comforting about it as well. Even back when they'd been thicker than thieves, the three of them had bickered and argued consistently. It was kind of how their brotherhood had worked. The fact that Dean and Seth were picking on each other but not directly throwing any barbs, was oddly like flicking the reset button and for a second it made things seem not so bad.
It was pretty ironic.
"What are you laughin' at?"
Roman shook his head at the sharp blue eyes,
"Nothing."
Fortunately Dean's less than friendly reply was cut off by the sound of his wristwatch beeping and was joined by a flicker on the dashboard dial as both timepieces struck the hour.
Nine o'clock.
Time to get to work.
Sighing resentfully, Dean stretched his limbs out and pushed himself up from his seat with a groan. Despite his casual reassurances to Roman, the truth was that he felt pretty seriously unsettled. He had done undercover work before – it was his forte and his own speciality within their team – but that had been with drugs gangs or prostitution rackets. That had been business, fucked up though it was. This time however, the stakes were so much higher.
This time it was murder.
No question about that.
"You good to go man?" Seth asked cautiously, surprised by the ensuing lack of retort.
"Uh huh."
"You sure?"
"Will you stop fuckin' worrying? The two of you are drivin' me mad over here."
Roman shook his head.
It really was like old times but the re-emergence of their old patterns was a telling detail in itself. In the moment Dean seemed to have completely forgotten his permeant glowing hated of Seth and that meant their teammate was clearly feeling rattled but trying his damnedest to keep it all in. Dean feeling scared wasn't something they were used to and it made Roman frown,
"We're right here babe."
Babe.
Dean flinched a little.
No one had called him that for a year. It struck him with equal parts comfort and annoyance and in the end it was the latter of those emotions that won through.
"Like I can forget with him in my fuckin' earpiece, chatterin' away at me."
He gestured at Seth but at the same time was slipping back into his jacket and checking the wire on his hidden microphone pack.
"It's working," Seth supplied laconically, "I got that insult in stereo, so – you know – thanks for that."
Despite himself Dean smirked a little and the tension seemed to slightly lift off. Then an expensive saloon car drove past them and disappeared round towards the empty lot. No one from The Battleground drove big foreign-made cars and at the realization that it was probably Sheamus made Dean's expression drop again.
Show time.
"Try and get the name of the doctor. He's the guy we're after not the – ,"
"I've done this before Seth."
"Hey," Roman offered as Dean pulled the handle and listened to the solid sounding click of the latch, "I meant it alright uce? We're right here if you need us."
"I won't. I'll be fine."
Besides, too little too late.
Then without a backwards glance, he pushed the doors open and hopped into the darkness before turning and slamming them firmly shut.
It was cold once out of the shelter of the van and Dean responded to the sudden drop in temperature by pulling up the zipper on his trusty leather jacket and stuffing his hands into the pocket of his jeans. Their surveillance truck was parked up outside some old building, with badly faded letters over what were once the doors and windows that were smashed and half-boarded up.
Ah, The Battleground.
Turning the corner into the business' old parking lot, Dean stopped short at the sight of three guys. Three huh? Shit was suddenly getting serious. Fortunately Sheamus was easy to pick out – given that he glowed like fucking moonlight on a lake – and Dean turned towards him, ignoring the newcomers and murmuring a message back to his teammates.
"He's brought some friends, two big dudes."
"You need backup?"
Typical Roman.
"Nah, not yet – let's see what goes down first."
"Be careful uce."
"That's the plan."
As he drew in towards the grim looking trio, Dean snapped on his character face and in an instant the drawn-browed, sharp-eyed policeman was replaced by a wide-eyed, uncertain-looking mook. Sheamus had been leant against the hood of their saloon car but on seeing Dean approach he suddenly stood up, throwing his arms wide and walking towards him with a deeply insincere smile on his face,
"Moxley my man, glad you could make it,"
"Told you I would be here."
"I know – you did."
"So, who're these guys?" Dean looked around uncertainly, "They – like – friends of yours or what?"
His baffled-seeming glance allowed him to look at the men properly and drink them in pound by villainous pound. There was a big guy sitting on a stack of upturned packing crates but his size came from his girth instead of hours in the gym. As seemed to be the staple in the area, he too had a little goatee beard and long brown hair which was scraped back into a ponytail. His shirt was wide open almost down to his nipples and there was a tacky looking gold chain slung around his neck. The whole thing afforded him the look of a porn baron, but one of those sleazy type ones from eighties who liked to give themselves roles in their films.
The other guy was taller – as in way taller – than the rest of them and looked unhappy with everything he saw. He too had a goatee but a big thick dark one and small eyes that stared back like a lion spotting prey. In short he had the look of a scrapper and the fact that his ears stuck out like they'd been pulled there and his nose had clearly been broken and reset, did little to offer Dean much in the way of comfort.
The guy meant business.
He sounded like it too.
"What the fuck does it have to do with you who the fuck we are?"
Dean blinked.
The guy was British.
"Nothin' man," Dean shrugged, "I was just askin' – kind of new to this, y'know?"
"Sure, sure," Sheamus nodded back at him, placing a placating hand on the Englishman's breast, "Don't mind him, he just gets a little riled up. We care about our work, you understand?"
Dean almost laughed.
"Uh, yeah but – I mean – what work is that exactly? Because you kinda mentioned it before but didn't give me a whole lot to go on and if I'm gonna sign up to this thing – y'know – then I'm gonna wanna know what I'm lettin' myself in for. What the hell do I got that someone would be willin' to drop five grand for?"
Sheamus gazed back at him evenly,
"Organs."
"Organs?" Dean echoed, pretending to be shocked or confused or – hell – somewhere in between, "What does that mean? Like internal organs?"
The Englishman snorted disparagingly at him,
"We're not talking church fucking organs here are we? Unless you've got a couple knocking around."
"What's your problem man?"
"Easy Dean," Seth murmured in his earpiece but their teammate knew exactly what he was doing and he wasn't about to be put off. Dean was trying to test for any weaknesses and it seemed likely that their resident hot-head was it, "Don't push him man."
Shut up Seth.
As the British man suddenly came stamping in towards him, Dean acted scared and took a step back. The black goatee practically towered in over him and an angry finger pointed in his face. It hadn't taken much – just one fucking question – but already the foreigner was dramatically on edge.
"My fucking problem mate is you – ,"
"What did I do? Come on man, I don't even know you."
"Barrett," Sheamus snapped from somewhere behind them and Dean smirked.
Bingo.
They had themselves a name.
His victory however was a pretty short-lived one as Barrett gave him a sudden two-handed shove. It was a powerful thrust that launched Dean backwards and he collided into the brickwork with an actual grunt. In the blink of an eye, Barrett was on top of him and holding the lapels of Dean's jacket in tight. It actually cut off the air just a little and Dean struggled to keep his Moxley character intact. Really what he wanted to do was to rip the guy's head off but that didn't exactly scream jittery alcoholic and so he simply stood against the cold wall unmoving while trying to look scared instead of royally pissed.
"Uce? You alright? You need us to come out there?"
"What's going on Dean? Talk to us man."
Fortunately however the situation was rectified by the unannounced arrival of the bulkier man, who inserted himself between the two men fluidly and carefully began to back Barrett up.
"Come now, this is not how we treat client."
His voice was heavily accented too and his use of grammar ever so slightly broken. It was a fact that Dean decided to ham up and he let his eyes widen,
"Where the hell are you from?"
"None business of yours."
Dean shook his head in wonder,
"It's like the god damn League of Nations out here."
In his ear he heard the sound of Seth's distinctive snigger, followed by a deep inhalation of breath,
"Okay, I've got it. British asshole guy is called Wade Barrett and he's got a rap sheet as long as your arm for fraud, assault, handling stolen goods, possession of a weapon – ,"
So basically, in short, he was not a nice guy.
What the hell had happened to the immigration system?
"Mox?"
"Huh?"
At the sound of the nickname – which apparently he had now – Dean's head jerked up towards a milky white face. Sheamus had come in to stand alongside him and he was looking a combination of concerned – fake – and pissed. Clearly he wasn't happy with Barrett scaring off their income and so was moving into heavy damage limitation mode.
"You okay? Look, I'm sorry about that. I promise that's not going to happen again."
Dean nodded haltingly,
"I – uh – that's alright man, but – look – I'm not sure about this whole thing so – ,"
"No, no, no," Sheamus replied quickly, taking the bait and swallowing it whole, "Don't let's forget about that five thousand grand now and how it's going to change your life."
From someone who had kidneys to someone who's dead.
Dean shrugged a little and sighed,
"Well, I guess – ,"
"Good man, that's the spirit."
"But I still don't know really what this deal is about. I mean organs? Which ones? Isn't that some pretty – like – dangerous kinda shit?"
Sheamus smiled back at him somewhat benignly, almost as if dealing with a naïve little child. It was obviously the expression he used to dupe people that he assumed knew nothing about the world.
"Nah, come on. It's not dangerous in the least. I told you Jon, I'll make sure you're looked after."
"Does that mean – does that mean you do the surgery?"
Sheamus shook his head,
"No. We have an actual surgeon for that. Don't worry, he's amazing. He does this all the time. I've watched him perform over a hundred operations. Trust me, he knows exactly what he's doing."
"I bet he does," Roman grunted darkly and Dean cleared his throat to force down his smile,
"So what would he be doing to me here? I mean, if I agree to this thing."
"Well if you agree, he would be harvesting a kidney. Just one – you've got two so it's not a big deal."
Oh sure.
"What really? You can live with one kidney?"
"Sure, some people are only born with one."
"So why do we have two?" Dean asked just to fuck with him but it quickly became obvious that in terms of giving answers, it wasn't exactly Sheamus' first time at the rodeo.
"It's just one of those little quirks of nature. A throwback to when people lived different lives. Did you know we all have the base of a tail bone? Haven't needed it in thousands of years, but there it is. Having two kidneys is just like that."
Impressive.
Total bullshit of course.
But impressive.
Dean frowned like he was thinking and then nodded his head,
"Okay so, if we only need one, then why would anybody pay so much for mine?"
"Because some people's don't work right or stop working – they don't have any – and do you know what the hospitals do? They put them on a list. These folk are dying and they make them wait. Do you know what Moxley? Twenty two people die in this country every day while they are waiting on these lists. That's not right."
Honestly, Dean had to hand it to Sheamus, he knew how to spin a sob story alright. All he was missing was a tiny violin and a couple of crying children.
"So, if you take one of mine – ,"
"If we take one of yours then we can get it to where it's needed. What we're providing is a service for those in need. That's why we need you – people just like you – people who can actually help. Can you Mox? Can you help them?"
Dean nodded haltingly.
Jesus.
"Uh, I guess but – I mean – I'd still get paid for it, right?"
"Absolutely my man," Sheamus responded, beaming like Dean was some sort of martyr, heaven-sent to help the poor, "I keep telling you Mox, we're going to take good care of you. Stand-up fellers like you are hard to find."
It was a pretty interesting approach to the whole thing – the flattery angle. That was new. If Dean had really been a sad alcoholic then he had little doubt the speech would have completely pepped him up. Five thousand dollars to be a bona fide hero? What poor schmuck could say no to that?
"Do you think – do you think it would make my girl proud of me?"
"Are you kidding me? Mox, you're saving someone's life. If she wants you to step up and show you're worth something, what better way to do it than that? I promise you man, when you tell her what you've done here? You'll be back in her bed even faster than you can blink."
Dean chuckled,
"Really?"
"Trust me, I know so."
Bouncing on his toes in a measure of excitement that Dean used both in and out of the real world, he nodded resolutely and looked back grinning,
"Okay man, I'm in, alright? I mean, sign me up."
Sheamus laughed brightly,
"I knew I could count on you – I knew the second I laid eyes on you that you were a good man."
"So what happens now?"
"Right now? Nothing. You go back to your life like nothing has happened. You don't tell anyone about this, you understand? Not everyone gets what it is that we're doing here. The hospitals don't like us stealing their dough."
Dean shrugged his shoulders,
"I guess that figures."
"Big business trying to hold down the man."
Somewhere in his ear he heard Roman grumble and he could almost see the look on his face,
"Is this guy for real?"
Sadly he was and as Dean blinked back vaguely in faux-bafflement-come-excitement, Sheamus drew in close and wrapped an arm around his neck,
"Once we've got word of someone who needs help, then we'll contact you and run through a couple of little tests – ,"
"Tests?"
"Nothing serious, just a few little blood tests – make sure you're healthy and we're all good to go. I mean, we wouldn't want to make the situation worse for these poor folk now, would we?"
Dean thought about it,
"I guess not, no."
The response he got was a slap to the chest that reverberated through him and almost made him gasp. He wasn't sure if it was supposed to be friendly or mildly warning or a mixture of both. The one thing it did tell however – no question – was that Sheamus' nice guy shtick was just that. The whole thing from his smile to his man of the people deal was nothing more than an elaborate act.
An act that he clearly thought Jon Moxley was falling for.
"We're going to do great things together feller," Sheamus continued as somewhere in the background, the Englishman – Wade Barrett – sneered and narrowed cold little eyes.
The guy was nuts.
Oh who was he kidding? They stole people's organs. They were all fucking mad.
"You okay uce?"
Roman's voice centred him and Dean cleared his throat to assure them he was fine. Well, other than being pretty damn creeped out which trebled as Sheamus drew him closer to his side. Lowering his face, the Irishman leant into him, his pale lips practically brushing Dean's neck. His voice was gruff and endlessly unsettling as he practically growled at him,
"We're going to save lives."
So I'm not sure why I chose the League of Nations (they're not exactly current I know). But I always kind of liked their swaggering arrogance and they seemed to fit, so hey, here they are! It would also have been nice to see The Shield go up against them, in real life I mean (well, on the show) so this is my way of sort of creating that. Anyway, I'll stop rambling now. See you next time.