((So this is very first attempt at a story request! A big thank you to Vbajor10 for asking this of me, I had a great time writing it. It's going to be a long time in the making, so I hope people enjoy it, stick with it, and let me know what they think!))
Everything he'd done, everything he'd sacrificed, everything he'd suffered had lead to this moment. Months of twisting and turning, manipulating, had given him what he wanted. This was the goal, this was his prize. It was finally within his grasp. All he had to do was take it. But it wasn't proving easy. Doors were in his way, no matter how hard he kicked, no matter how hard he punched, they'd swing a little, before blocking him off. He'd thrown all he had at them. Both. First one, then the other, using one as leverage to try and force the heavier aside.
Two doors.
Two men; two hulking men who were screamed and cheered for by that crowd, no matter what they did. No matter how long they stayed away for. No matter their actions they were untouchable. He remembered those days, he remembered them well, as he lay, face down on the mat. Sweat glistened and dripped from his face, but he wasn't alone. Behind him he could hear the grunting breaths of the Beast, and next to him so close he could almost feel his pulse, Cena. Two men who insisted on getting in the way, on ruining everything. The carefully laid plans of mice and men could be uprooted by Neanderthals who had spotted something shiny and decided they wanted it. This was about so much more than the belt. It was about proving he was better. Proving he deserved to stand among them, revered and respected.
Why wouldn't Lesnar stay down?
He'd just hit a Curb Stomp. Straight after Cena had landed yet another AA. But no matter what he, what they did, it didn't seem to be enough. The Beast had earned his name and stubbornly refused to let him snatch what he'd earned. He could hear movement; the bigger bodies rolling toward the ropes, but he didn't follow. He'd taken himself down and needed to catch his breath, give himself a few seconds to try and get his strength back up.
There was a sudden roar, and he just managed to turn his head to see the two hulks crash through the barricade. Well it was a miracle it had stayed intact as long as it had. A handful of the crowd started to chant Holy Shit! Holy Shit! Like they'd never seen it happen before, like it was the first time anything impressive had happened in the match. He growled, gritted his teeth, forced his hands against the canvas and started to heave himself up. His body wanted to stay down, exhausted, but there was more work to do. The ref hovered over him, trying to keep tabs on all three men. Good fucking luck mate. There was Cena again, Lesnar's body slammed into the steps, causing Heyman, the fat tub of lard he was, slimmer than any slug, to waddle out of harm's way. Seconds later the same steel smacked against Brock's thick skull, laying him out on the table. This was fine. This was good, let them waste their strength.
Seth was on his feet, hit a running baseball slid under the ropes into the unsuspecting face of Cena. Ha. A quick glance, this was it. This was his chance to put Lesnar under once and for all! Cena was out of the way. He gripped the ring ropes, started to climb, the crowd's anticipation urging him on. He didn't do it for these people, but the encouragement, it helped. He had to admit, it helped.
Standing there, on top, for a moment, no matter how it made his heart burn, he was immortal. The pain that was coming was temporary. This was it. A leap of a faith, and he threw himself forward from the turnbuckle. Down, down, elbow held out, and smashed straight through Lesnar, through announce table.
Ouch.
Flat on his back, among the ruins, his eyes scrunched with pain, for a moment, he was lost in the ache. Followed by the thought of; that better have looked awesome. Lesnar wasn't moving next to him. If only he could get up, capitalise
This is awesome! This is awesome!
Excellent.
But it was clear that Cena was on the move. Seth felt as he was pulled forward, toward the ring, heaved up and back on in. Cena wanted to take his chances. Well fine. But minutes later, neither man had been pinned. No matter what they did, small packages, power bombs...it wasn't enough. But then Cena managed to lock in a STF. He struggled, felt the strain in his neck, hand flailed, tried to find the ring ropes, but nothing. He could feel his will slipping, but out of nowhere back up arrived. Two white shirts started to pummel Cena, pulling him off Seth and allowing him to breathe again. He held his throat, swallowed, and looked around. A stretcher for Lesnar. So he was out of the picture now.
Just him and Cena. And a gold money in the bank briefcase.
Two attempts didn't get him. J&J were out of the picture.
He couldn't give up. They threw punches. Somehow, a chance appeared. He rebounded off the ropes, managed to hit a vicious Curb Stomp. But no, fucking, pin. Why wouldn't he lay down? Why wouldn't he just make this end? Seth stood, glanced back toward the turnbuckle. One last spectacle. He climbed, he jumped. Spiralled down and hit it. That was it. That was it, finished! But as soon as he hit the floor, he felt hands around his waist, his body thrown back, head smashed against the canvas. Dazed, he shock himself, tried to recover, just to see Cena receive the same treatment. How could this be? How? Lesnar had been on a stretcher seconds before...
But there was no time to think. No time to breathe. Lesnar had locked in the hold once again, made to launch another German Suplex. Somehow, Seth landed on his feet, hand wrapped around the handle of that briefcase, slammed it into the skull of the behemoth he faced. Twice. He was down. Fast. He had to fast. An idea struck, he jammed the briefcase under Lesnars head. The ropes! He hit against them...but found himself hoisted into the air. No. No. No. No!
The impact knocked everything out of him.
He felt numb. His head hammered and he could barely register as the pin was made. As the hand hit the mat, one, two, three.
Lillian Garcia's voice drifted through his consciousness.
Here's your winner, and still WWE World Heavyweight Champion, Brock Lesnar!
No.
He'd been so close. Seth blinked black spots away from his eyes, he could hear Lesnar's music. He'd been beaten. He couldn't...even comprehend it. He rolled onto his stomach, started to push himself up, when he heard the crowd roar. His eyes were unfocused, Lesnar leaned up in the corner, someone was coming down the ramp. Hands found the ring ropes, somehow managed to lever himself up. Three people, the crowd were going nuts.
He recognized those shapes, those faces.
Not now.
On all sides. Reigns. Ambrose...Paige? He blinked, moved away from the ropes. It was set up like an ambush. The crowd wanted his blood. They were screaming for it. He barely had enough left in him to stay upright, they could see that. They wanted him finished. Seth Rollins, the ultimate betrayer, was going to be decimated. And they loved it.
He looked about him left and right, hands held out. Lesnar watched with obvious glee in his eyes. The three looked at one another. Then climbed the ropes. Ambrose's eyes were wild, like he was about to tear into a piece of meat. Seth swallowed.
They were in the ring. No escape. Nowhere to run. Closer. Closer. They stopped. The crowd were going crazy.
This is awesome!
Yes.
Yes it was.
Paige came forward. Her leather jacket swung, her hair flowed over shoulders, eyes stern. For a moment nothing else existed.
But then she smiled. Seth felt his own mouth turn, a glance to Reigns and Ambrose. Arms folded, arms loose, but both wore shit eating grins. They may have had their wins and losses, but some things could not be foreseen by even the smartest of marks. Paige's hand found his shoulder; he knew that everything had come to a head. His hand slinked around her skinny waist.
Lesnar stared, not sure what he was seeing, and the four of them rounded on him.
The crowd was confused, it was clear, but when they realized, they exploded.
When it finally sank through that thick skull, Lesnar charged toward Roman. But he was ready, arm cranked back, he hit a Superman Punch so hard you could hear his knuckles crack. The Beast was stunned, wavered, but still on his feet, head reeling, eyes rolling. Detaching herself from his hold, Paige slinked on over, she was tiny compared to the man before her, but she wasn't scared, wasn't afraid of anything. She slyly linked arms, turned, hooked his leg and slammed him straight down to the canvas, the back of his head bouncing hard.
She stood up, dusted herself down, and shrugged to the audience. Oops, clumsy me. She walked backward, one step at a time until she was back in Seth's arms, her bare back against his chest, one hand reached up, and was met and slapped by Ambrose. He skulked forward, tongue flicked out, licked his lips, anticipation of the kill...moments later, Dirty Deeds had been hit. Lesnar was motionless. Seth almost didn't hear the crowd anymore, lost in what was happening. It was like a weight had been lifted. All the lies, all the deceit. People finally knew, people could finally see, that no matter what had been done, no matter what had been said.
All you had to do was believe.
He kissed the back of Paige's head, let go and hit the ropes, rebounding, he slammed his foot down on the head of the slowly recovering Brock. He slumped, and he found himself stood tall, faced with four old friends. He reached out slowly, a shaking arm. His hand was grabbed by Ambrose, and he found himself pulled into a forceful hug that nearly knocked the wind out of him. Dean was screaming, but Seth didn't hear a word. Roman next, a bear hug that could have broken bones, he could feel everything for the first time. Like after the months of hatred, he was finally becoming human again. He felt a finger tap his shoulder, turned and found Paige.
Held in her black painted nails, in those slender hands, out for him, was a golden, bashed briefcase.
The time had come.
The referee had left the ring, but lurked on the outside, holding the belt until Lesnar had recovered enough to take it, but now, Heyman tried to make off with it. The ref wasn't a push over however, and shoved the walrus away, threatened to expel him from ringside. Heyman's fat mouth opened and closed like a goldfish, as Seth smirked.
'I'm cashing in,' he shouted, and held up the case so the world would know.
He heard the bell ring.
The briefcase hit the floor, and he looked to the two men who'd had his back all along. A single nod was shared. Together, they lifted Lesnar's broken body from the floor. He was on Reign's shoulders, and together, they slammed him down. The ring shook with the impact, and Seth found himself tangled over the prone body, he heard the slams as a hand hit the mat.
One, two, three.