Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Summary: Emma finds him in a bar with a drink in his hand and a dejected look on his face. AmbroseEmma, set after 6/2/14 RAW, oneshot

So, my last fanfic was a RomanRenee story and was originally just going to be something by itself, but the little DeanEmma moment that I put in that fic just wouldn't leave me alone. And I need to write more for this whole...issue because it won't leave me alone. So, now, I plan on having a trilogy of these Shield fics in the aftermath of...you know. Anyway! Here is the second one! It ties in to my RomanRenee (which is the first of the three, of course), but I think it can be read as a stand alone. The third and final one should be up sometime soon, and will focus on Seth and...someone. I haven't decided, haha. Please enjoy my first attempt at Demma! I hope I do them justice!

To Feel Nothing

Emma found him completely by luck.

It might be a bit of luck, or it might be just the fact that she knows him, but either way, she was a bit happier when she ended up stumbling through the doors of one of the only bars in town that played good, classic rock music and laying her eyes on his lanky frame crumpled over the bar, Shield gear askew on his frame, his chin resting on one palm as his other hand fiddled with the paper napkin his drink was sitting on.

For a moment, she just watched him, trying to figure out just how to approach him. No matter how she were to attack this particular problem, she knew that he might just snap at her, or he might just sit in silence and ignore her. His volatile personality was known by all - one never knew what one would get when dealing with The Lunatic Fringe, Dean Ambrose.

She watched as Dean took a sip of his drink, almost tentatively at first, before downing the whole thing in one foul swoop and smacking the glass against the countertop. He waved two fingers at the bartender, who nodded in recognition and refilled his drink.

A woman sauntered up to him, blonde and leggy and clearly not knowing what she was doing or who she was talking to, for as soon as she pressed a hand to his shoulder and whispered in his ear, Dean audibly snapped, "Fuck off, lady."

The woman huffed and stomped off, clearly not going to bother after getting that kind of welcome from him, leaving him by himself again.

This time, Emma approached, sliding onto the bar stool next to Dean with her own peculiar brand of grace - which was, if she was honest with herself, nonexistent - and motioned to the bartender with the same two-fingered motion Dean had exhibited before. "Water, please."

"Shit," she heard Dean say, not in irritation but in surprise.

The bartender nodded, sitting an empty glass in front of Emma before placing a few cubes of ice in it and then following it with the water she requested.

"Thank you," she murmured; the bartender nodded and turned around to serve his other customers.

Dean knocked back yet another drink, while Emma ran a finger around the rim of her glass, eliciting a ringing noise.

"I expected you to be more...vocal..." Emma trailed off, chancing a glance at Dean through her peripheral vision.

There was a moment of silence before Dean answered, "Rome got the brunt of it." There was a sardonic scoff and then, "How did you know where I was?"

"Magic."

Dean's responding laugh was so startling, it caused Emma to jump before she began laughing herself.

"This is just so...fucking stupid," Dean drawled, running a hand over his already messy hair, making it worse. Emma felt the urge to run her own fingers through it, straighten it out a bit, but stamped it down. That would not be the best course of action, she figured.

"Yeah, it is."

"You don't know - "

Emma held out a hand, stopping his tirade before it began. "I know I don't know the exact situation you're going through, but I do know the feeling of being betrayed. I do know how it feels to trust someone so much, and then have that trust thrown back at you. In my own way, I do know."

She could tell that she hit a nerve, that she had made Dean's hackles come up, but she wasn't sure she cared. She needed to let Dean know that he wasn't alone in this - that he had Roman and herself and...and...

"Seth," he said on an exhale. It was both sad and angry at the same time. Both a plea and a curse. His fingers clenched around the empty glass in his hands, his knuckles turning white.

Emma said nothing, only pressed her fingers to his. He jerked as if to take his hand away, but she held steadfast and eventually he relented and allowed himself to be comforted by her touch.

"I thought it would have been me," he said, so quiet that he might have not said anything at all.

Emma quirked a brow, confused for a moment, but then she realized.

"We...we were having such a hard time...and I thought of it. I thought of turning my back on them. I was so angry at them. I wanted...I wanted..." Dean gnashed his teeth, as if fighting the words themselves as they came from his throat. He was clearly still angry, but not to the point of yelling. Emma didn't know if she was grateful or not. "But then I felt bad about it. Everything started going so well and we found our groove and I felt bad for even considering...and then Seth..." And there it was again, that heartbreaking, wounded way of pronouncing his name, while still with that edge of anger. She wasn't sure how to describe it.

"We're all a bunch of fucking idiots," he surmised. Emma squeezed his fingers that much tighter, as tight as the feeling in her chest. It said a lot that he was willing to reveal that much about himself, and she felt a bit honored despite the heaviness of the situation.

She tried to find some light-hearted comment to make him smile, tried to search herself for anything that would make him look at her and not the drink in his hand, but she came up short. He wouldn't want to hear her make light of this situation, because it was anything and everything but.

Suddenly, the familiar beginning of Led Zeppelin's "Black Dog" began to play throughout the bar.

Emma gave his fingers another squeeze. "Zeppelin."

"'Immigrant Song' is better," he commented, turning his clear blue eyes on hers for the first time since she arrived.

"I beg to differ."

"You always do," he said, moving his hand from the now empty glass in front of him and fully clasping it between both of his own. His hand was still cold and wet from the condensation of the glass, but Emma didn't mind - in fact, she welcomed it. He repeated with a strange fondness, "You always do."

They settled into a somewhat comfortable silence, listening to music and making the occasional comment here and there. Every few minutes, Emma would look over and see that familiar darkness cloud Dean's features, and she knew he was beginning to think of just how badly they had been wronged. In response, she would squeeze his fingers yet again, and he would glare at her but become distracted nonetheless.

You're fine, she wanted to tell him. You're fine.

Though, as much as she'd love to believe otherwise, Emma wasn't sure if Dean would be fine for a long, long time.

End.