I think the title of this chapter says it all! Dean and Lauren are back, with a bit of a twist for this story.

Hope you enjoy it!

Oh My God We're Back Again

Jack Swagger was still being rolled from the canvas like a sack of potatoes when the cameras came back, forcing us to grin like a bunch of crazy people, as in front of us a referee tried to grab his unitard, yet somehow managed to miss Jack completely so that he rolled beneath the ropes and hit the floor face first.

Ouch.

In response Michael Cole cleared his throat two seats away from me and I forced my screwed up wince down and then beamed into the lens like I was hosting the live grand finale of The Bachelor, or was stood on the stage at the end of Miss World.

It was the first time I'd been allowed to do a link on live pay per view and I was totally committed to not messing it up.

From somewhere on the floor Jack Swagger groaned loudly and so I blurted my lines over him,

"Uh, welcome back folks, to what has been an action packed evening of wrestling. Wouldn't you agree King?"

"Oh, absolutely I would," Jerry 'The King' Lawler chuckled back heartily, which seemed to be his standard reaction to everything. Performer falls head first off a cage? Nervous chuckle. Powerbomb through the announce desk? Surprised chuckle and a whoa. Briefly I wondered if he chuckled in the bedroom and then decided it was probably best not to know.

"Uh, John?" I ploughed on, "Any thoughts on this evening?"

John Bradshaw Layfield sucked in a long breath, like I had asked him for a plan on the third world debt problem, or a breakdown of what had happened in the Suez Canal. In front of me my newly promoted backstage friend Matty — who was working as floor producer for the first time that night — whirled his finger in a hurry up motion as somebody shouted in his headset.

Probably Vince.

"Well now, I would say — ,"

"Thank you John," I interrupted, smiling so hard I thought my cheeks might ping off and trying to ignore the instantaneous Texan death glare that shot back my way.

JBL and I had never been friends. Which was probably because he was a hardened wrestling veteran who had been in the business since the beginning of time, while I was a small town girl from Wisconsin who had sort of blundered into it fifteen months before. Plus he was a stooge for The Authority and my father, not to mention my evil stepmother; the Wicked Witch of the Steph. While I stood for truth and justice and my husband.

But mostly my husband. Speaking of which,

"Still to come tonight, a tables, ladders and chairs match between the hunkalicious Dean Ambrose and," I wrinkled my nose, "Bray Wyatt, in what promises to be the main event of a lifetime. So, let's remind ourselves how these two hot gere."

Wait, what?

My face dropped a mile as I muddled my words up. On live television. In front of thousands of fans. Millions even, by the time it hit YouTube and —

Oh god. Oh god.

"And off to VT," Matty chirped brightly as the titantron behind us began to play a super loud recap of events, which included the night Bray had crashed the Hell in a Cell match and him driving Dean headfirst into a backstage wall.

Ugh.

"Great job sweetie," Matt double thumbs upped me, which didn't much help.

"I said hot gere," I wailed, dropping my head into my hands in embarrassment, "I meant to say got here. But I said hot gere instead."

"Which I'm sure no one noticed," Michael Cole offered kindly.

"They will once I tweet it," JBL pulled out his phone and in response I slammed my head down on the desktop to try and knock out the memory,

"Oh god. Kill me now."

Not that I actually wanted to die though. Because in spite of the hot gere thing, my life was going pretty well, given that I was married to the hottest man ever, had a dog, a career and a brand new marital home. Which we were going to move into in six days and counting and so to say I was excited was an understatement and then some. We just had to get through the match with Bray Wyatt and our life would be perfect. Or, you know, near enough.

An electric guitar cord blasted out suddenly and I quickly shot upright rubbing my head as fourteen thousand people in the Quicken Loans arena went wild with excitement. Although they weren't the only ones,

"And here we go," Michael Cole bellowed hoarsely, "Tables, ladders, chairs and this guy,"

I sucked in a breath as my husband strode out, wearing a black sleeveless hoodie with his initials and holding a ladder like he was carrying a tote. There were plenty of ladders set up for them anyway — on the ramp, by the barriers and right the way around the ring — but clearly the ladder he was bringing was special, or lined with razor blades or maybe poisonous frogs. His fists were taped up and he was looking wild and angry. Which I really liked.

Ooh. Was it hot or was it me?

"Dean Ambrose, the Lunatic Fringe," Cole continued as my husband manhandled his ladder through the ropes, "Whose problems with Bray Wyatt date right back to his Shield days, when Lauren was kidnapped by the Wyatt Family."

"Ugh. Thanks for reminding me," I winced in response to him. Because needless to say that had not been much fun. You know, what with all of the pulsating terror and the wanting to go home and the crying for Dean.

Back up in the ring the man himself stripped off his hoodie and then tossed it towards me with a shit eating grin, like a world famous rocker on stage at the Garden throwing his moistened sweat rag to a hysterical fan. I stuck out my tongue but then smothered a giggle as the hoodie missed me completely and hit JBL in the face.

"What in the world — ,"

"Oops, here let me get that" I chirped back brightly as I unwound it from his head before choosing to slip it on over my own dress. Which wasn't great for impartiality. But who cared?

Go Dean.

The lights in the arena went dark again suddenly and I shivered on instinct as Bray's music kicked, followed by the man himself and his lantern. Because god, what was it with him and that lamp? The arena around us was lit up with cell lights, which would almost have been pretty if it hadn't been so weird.

Lawler chuckled, because of course he chuckled.

"Would you look at this? Man oh man, now that's a sight."

"Bray Wyatt likes to call them his fireflies," Cole offered, as the hillbilly slowly picked his way down the ramp and was it too much to hope he would fall in the darkness and knock himself out on a ladder? Apparently yes, since he made it in one piece and then stood beneath the ring ropes with the lantern light swaying. Which wasn't at all creepy. Much.

"Bray Wyatt has of course been playing mind games with Dean Ambrose," Cole was filling in for the audience back home, "Including mentions of Dean's troubled childhood. Lauren, can you tell us a little more about that?"

Um, no?

Up in the ring through the flickering half light, I could see Dean pacing and rattling the ropes. Which he would probably have snapped in half if he'd heard our conversation, since Dean hated discussing his past with anyone. Let alone with Michael Cole and a bunch of strangers. I decided to answer the best way I knew how, with poise and eloquence and total mastery of diction.

No, only kidding. I rambled instead,

"Uh, well, I mean, I wouldn't say it was troubled. More like, um, kind of lacking at times? And anyway, when you think about it, what even is normal? Because I believe it was Vincent Van Gogh who once said, that normality — ,"

"Oh good lord," JBL barked out suddenly. Although luckily it wasn't directed at me. Or at least not entirely. Because while I had been rambling, the arena lights had come blaring back on and Dean had decided to kickstart the match up by throwing a ladder directly at Bray. As in directly at Bray. Right over the ring ropes. Jerry Lawler even let out a scream,

"Oh my god."

It must have been bad if he didn't even chuckle. Or, wait. No. Good. Hurting Bray was very good.

As the heavy metal weapon came down on his forehead, the hillbilly crumpled like a heap of wet rags and for a second I figured the whole thing was over. Good show everybody. Ring the bell. Dean had won. Except, because Bray was Bray and not human, he sat up again suddenly.

I slapped the desk,

"Oh come on."

"Dean Ambrose wasting no time in this match up," Cole offered, in a mastery of understatement as Dean slid beneath the ropes and then grabbed Bray up by his dank looking follicles before throwing him headfirst into another ladder.

Oof.

"Ho now, that's more like it, let's get this match started," JBL chirped, bouncing up and down in his seat. Not so much rooting for Bray or my husband, but just pleased there was a fight, "Hit him, hit him again."

Michael ignored him, like I suddenly wished I could.

"Now we've already seen what these two men can do. So imagine what will happen in a tables, ladders and chairs match."

"Um, we know what will happen," I pointed out, "Dean will win."

And then he would take me back home to our lake house. Or what would be our lake house when we finally got the keys, where the two of us and our lovable rescue dog Boomer would live happily ever after. Not that I said that of course.

Smack.

Bray caught Dean with a slap to the cheekbone and all four of us winced. Well, three of us did. Jerry Lawler meanwhile. Yep you guessed it. Chuckled.

"Man oh man. I felt that. Ho ho."

In response Dean shoved Bray up under the ring ropes, which probably should have been the start of the match. Except that Bray slithered over the canvas like an inchworm and then dropped down in front of us, which was way too close.

Crap.

"Whoa, look out," Lawler murmured — no chuckle — as Bray cracked his neck and then suddenly straightened up. His cold hard eyes narrowed instantly towards me and I squeaked in alarm and grabbed hold of JBL. Which went about as well as I could have expected,

"Hey now. I just had this suit dry cleaned."

Bray smirked in at me over the desktop and it made me shudder. I hated him being so close. Because even though he no longer had Rowan or Harper, who he had thankfully 'set free' a few months before, he was still a big scary hillbilly nutbag, with bad breath and no social skills who I would never ever trust. He chuckled. Oh great. Lawler Syndrome was catching

"I'm sorry Little Bird, but this ain't about you. Bray has his eyes on a bigger prize this time."

I frowned at him.

Huh? What the hell did that mean?

"Bray Wyatt at ringside intimidating Lauren," Michael Cole was explaining for the viewers at home, "Who as you may know is the wife of Dean Ambrose and oh my god."

He suddenly slammed back in his chair as a body came sailing through the ring ropes towards us. A handsome looking body in a black DA tank and a pair of stretch jeans that clung in all the right places. Like the thighs and the ass and his —

"Suicide dive ."

Hmm.

Not quite the word I would have used to describe it, but okay then. The impact hit Bray like a train and propelled him gut forwards into the announce desk, since for an athlete, Bray Wyatt was surprisingly round. Oh and also surprisingly creepy, which we had already covered.

"Dean Ambrose," Cole yelled, nearly breathless from all the excitement, "Dean Ambrose launching himself through the ropes, to try and save his wife from the clutches of Wyatt."

Um, dramatic much?

"Hey," Dean rasped, "You okay?"

I sucked in a breath and then nodded,

"Yep, think so. You?"

In response he leaned over the desk, then cupped the back of my head and hauled me closer for a sudden, unannounced and very wet kiss. Or make that a sudden, unannounced and very hot kiss. Because holy crap it was. Like at the end of an action film, when the hero is all sweaty and covered in gunsmoke. Which Dean was. Uh, sweaty I mean, not the gunsmoke part.

Cole coughed hoarsely,

"Live TV Lauren."

Oh, right. Good point.

I pulled back and then ran my tongue over my bottom lip hungrily, as my husband spun around like the smooch was old news and got back to the business of pummelling. Because had I mentioned that my job could be crazy sometimes?

I mean, I had kind of mentioned that part, hadn't I?

Dean meanwhile was busy climbing onto the desk, which on the plus side gave me a near perfect view of his tushy, but on the down side nearly flattened JBL's precious hat. Although, wait a second. Was that really a down side? Probably not.

"Hey, be careful," he squawked, snatching it back as Dean planted his boot down and then cradling it to his bosom like a mother with a child.

"You know," I chirped brightly, "You two make a lovely couple. Have you thought about children?"

He glared at me.

Guess not.

From up on the desktop Dean pointed to the audience and then down to Wyatt. The whole place went wild. Well, all except for me who knew what was coming and wasn't happy about it.

"Dean, no," I shouted out, totally forgetting the live microphone in front of me as my husband took flight off the desk like a swan. Or something more manly — like a hawk or buzzard — and knocked Bray over the barricade into the crowd.

"Whoa," Jerry Lawler, do I need to say chuckled, twisting in his chair to try and follow the fight, as the action disappeared off into the fan base where someone had set yet another ladder up. Because seriously, did we have some sort of deal with Home Depot? I mean where did they even come from? Did Vince keep them in his shed?

"This match now spilling out into the WWE Universe."

The WWE Universe. I hated that term, since it sounded like Vince thought he owned a whole cosmos. Which he probably did. Like some kind of Greek god.

Back with the match Dean jumped off a set piece, left behind from the earlier TLC kickoff show and then followed as Bray scrambled back over the barricade, looking wide eyed and rattled which, I won't lie, felt good.

"Bray Wyatt has not been able to get into this match up," Michael Cole commented, speaking through a wince as Dean drove the hillbilly into the ringpost and then hit him with a chair, "It's been all Ambrose so far."

"Well," I shrugged, "Dean's got a lot to pay him back for. I mean, like Bray nearly breaking his neck and the fact that he insists on white pants after Labor Day."

All three of my colleagues looked round at me.

"What?"

Reedy chants of this is awesome were lifting around us, which promptly doubled as my husband pulled some kendo sticks out and then rolled back into the ring to face Wyatt, who was staring right back at him.

JBL shook his head,

"You know, I'm not sure which one of these guys is crazier. The Eater of the Words or the Lunatic Fringe."

I gaped,

"Um, exsqueeze me? For your information my husband is not crazy. Because what he happens to be is clever and completely in control."

Or at least he had been right up until that second. Because as Bray moved he suddenly brought the kendo stick down. Again and again and again like a sadist or, annoyingly, a crazy person.

JBL smirked,

"You were saying?"

"Ambrose up on the second rope," Cole continued, cutting smoothly through our bickering like he nearly always did and had gotten pretty good at in our six months as an announce team, "Leg drop with a chair right on top of Wyatt's face."

"Oh man," Jerry Lawler chipped in with his customary chuckle, which yep, he definitely did in the bedroom as well.

Dean was trying to climb back up the ringpost, but Bray got there first and gave him a shove. Backwards, I should say. Bray gave him a shove backwards right through a waiting table. What was that doing there? Michael Cole meanwhile had some sort of breakdown,

"Dean Ambrose through a table, Dean Ambrose through a table, Dean Ambrose through a table."

I wailed into my hands,

"No."

"Huh. I take it all back. He knows exactly what he's doing," JBL chirped like an asshole to my left, as Bray Wyatt swung like a chimp through the ring ropes and threw his hands out,

"You didn't listen Little Bird. And now this is what you get. You didn't listen and now look what's happening."

He was bellowing so loudly he didn't need a microphone to put his point across. I mean, whatever his point was, since as usual he was speaking Brayese and not English. I shrank down a little and then glanced over to Dean, who was still lying flat on his back and not moving as Bray stamped across and hauled him up by his hair, which was one of the things that most surprised me about wrestling. Because for a masculine sport there was a lot of pulling hair. Slamming him backwards again, into the barricade Bray rolled Dean up into the ring and my stomach flipped over as the blue eyes flashed over me with no recognition.

Come on, come on Dean.

Bray hooked his leg and the referee slid in,

One, two —

Nope.

"Kickout at two," Cole filled in, for those who had nipped out to go to the bathroom and over the top of my happy squeak,

"Yes."

Although my smile promptly faded as Bray picked up the kendo and then whirled it around like a majorette.

"Oh look out," Lawler barked as I buried my head in my fingers, which blocked out the sight but not the sound of it.

Whack.

"Urgh."

The noise of Dean yelling was horrific and not for the first time I questioned my career, since who else had to sit fifteen feet from the action while the person they loved most in the whole world was attacked? Maybe I could get a nice job in a library or at a store that sold yarn? Because that would have been better, right?

"Bet Dean Ambrose is regretting that kendo stick," JBL snorted. I glared sideways through my hands, then hesitantly winced back up at the match again as Bray drove Dean nearly eyeball first into the stick.

In response I may have screamed just a little bit. Or, okay, a lot actually, but then so did Cole.

"Oh my god."

Bray Wyatt got down on his knees and spread his arms wide,

"You can't beat me Ambrose."

"Can Dean see?" I squeaked, as my husband leaned over the ropes and pawed his eyeball. My happy little vision of our future life was fading fast and being replaced with us in our new house and Dean in an eyepatch, like some wrestler pirate spouse.

Bray hooked him back in a sneaky little roll up, but he kicked out at two.

"Come on Dean," I yelled, totally forgetting that I was meant to be impartial as Bray ran him over with a step ladder from behind. On special offer at Home Depot, only nine ninety five folks.

Cole winced,

"Bray Wyatt just taking his time as Dean Ambrose struggles to get back in this match up."

"He's, um, just having a breather," I lied as Bray set said step ladder up in one corner and then whipped Dean right into it. JBL snorted,

"Sure."

I could see Dean looked groggy, which was kind of a problem since Bray was gearing up to plough into him again. Except bodily this time which would have squashed him like a pancake, or a really cute bug.

I launched up suddenly,

"Dean, move."

Realistically, given the noise in the arena, which was a mixture of this is awesome and we want more chairs, my husband shouldn't have been able to hear me. But we had watched a documentary a few nights before when we'd been stuck in a crummy and very grubby motel room about how Emperor penguins could pick their chicks out a flock, in spite of all the other baby birds that were calling. Which I guessed was what happened between me and Dean, since he looked up through the hazy baby blues I loved so much and then suddenly threw himself off to one side, as Bray Wyatt who'd been charging like a gigantic steam train, hammered into the empty ringpost and nearly knocked himself out.

JBL gaped as I sat back down next to him,

"Are you allowed to do that?"

"Uh, sure," I shrugged vaguely, knowing the answer to that was a no and in hindsight it was probably a really really good thing that I didn't have an earpiece connected to Vince.

Staggering up Dean caught Bray in the ring ropes and then leg dropped him down right onto a chair,

"Oh this is it this time guys, I can feel it," Lawler beamed broadly as Dean hooked up Bray's leg.

One, two —

The crowd were all counting with it, almost willing the knockout finish.

"And Wyatt kicks at two."

Damn.

"Ugh, stay down you big ugly hillbilly," I huffed in frustration as my husband slapped his own face and began to hype himself up the only way he knew how to. With physical violence.

"Oh man, look at this," Lawler squeaked with a side order of chuckle, "Seems like Ambrose is getting pumped up."

"Looking for Dirty Deeds," Cole shouted excitably, as Dean hooked Bray up under the arms and as the crowd started leaping and jumping like crazy.

"Here it comes," JBL yelled. Wrongly as it turned out, since instead Bray spun and tipped Dean over backwards before kissing his head.

Uh oh.

"Sister Abigail — ,"

Dean wiggled out and then tried to bounce off the ropes for momentum. But Bray saw it coming.

"Clothesline," Michael Cole barked, as the big hillbilly levered back a big vicious forearm and then knocked Dean into almost into a different time zone, "Oh my god. That shot nearly took Dean Ambrose's head off."

"No," I wailed over him, "Get up. Please get up. Because we still need to move into our new house by the lakeside and Boomer needs his daddy and — ,"

Dean kicked out at three, which I liked to think was all down to my pleading. You know, on account of the whole Emperor penguin thing. Wearily he rolled himself out beneath the ring ropes as Jerry Lawler chuckled,

"How in the world is he doing this?"

"Um, because he's awesome?" I offered back helpfully, "Oh and handsome. Don't forget about that."

"God forbid," JBL drawled sarcastically, as Bray slithered after to try and prod Dean back in, since pinfalls for this match only counted on the canvas. Dean countered with a lariat.

Boom.

I had never been more proud.

"Oh yeah," I crooned, pumping my fists in a circle and then excitedly poking JBL on the arm, "Awesome and handsome, see? What did I tell you?"

"Quit touching me damn it," he snapped in response, before casting around for some help, "Hey, security."

From the end of the desk Lawler chuckled at us both. Only this time I didn't really much seem to mind it and besides which, it was drowned out by the roar of the crowd as Dean dragged a ladder from the middle of the rampway and wait, what?

I blinked,

"Guys, what's going on?"

"Bray Wyatt out cold and at Ambrose's mercy," Michael Cole offered by way of a response, partly for me but probably mostly for the viewers who were watching at home.

Huh? I tried to squint through the ropes and yep, sure enough, there he was. Bray Wyatt. Laid flat out on a table with his stomach heaving up and down, as Dean dragged the ladder in closer towards him and —

Uh oh.

"Now what's that lunatic husband of yours doing?" JBL drawled with a sneer in my direction.

"He's not — ," I started before tapering off, as my husband started hauling his broken body up the ladder rungs. Oh, who was I kidding? Once up at the top, he paused for a second and then glanced across the ring at me. I shook my head no, which I figured he would get, what with us being Emperor penguins, or King penguins — oh, what the hell — I would even have settled for Queen. Except no, because instead he simply grinned like an idiot and then bit on his tongue tip which made his dimples pop out and turned me into a giggling schoolgirl.

"Dean Ambrose making his way to the uppermost rung," Michael Cole panted, almost breathless with excitement. Which on the plus side made one of us.

Okay, maybe two.

"Ho, ho, ho, I already know this is not going to be pretty," Lawler chuckled as Dean pumped his fists in one last showboat for the keenly watching audience and then bent his knees for his big flying jump. Or what would have been his big flying jump anyway, had the lights not gone out and plunged the whole place into dark, which made my poor heart race nearly a mile a minute and my brain explode in terror.

Oh god, oh god.

Because the last time I had been near a ring with Bray Wyatt and the lights had gone out, I had almost been choked, oh and had my arm wrenched from my socket and been kidnapped. Was he coming for me again? Had his whole weird angle with Dean been to get to me?

In my panic I scrambled into JBL's lap and then clung round his neck like a terrified monkey as he spluttered into my blouse folds,

"What in the world — ,"

I was almost positive Bray was lurking behind us. But when the lights snapped back on he was nowhere to be found.

I blinked,

"Oh."

"God damn it, you're as crazy as your husband," JBL grunted, depositing me off to one side and then desperately trying to straighten his suit out.

"Uh, speaking of which," Lawler chuckled in response, but nervous chuckled, like something had happened, "Where exactly is Dean and more to the point where's Wyatt?"

Huh?

My head sprang up at once and I blinked towards the rampway, where my husband and his nemesis had been moments before and where the table and the pride of Home Depot both still were, but where Bray and Dean were not.

They were nowhere.

Dean was gone.

See you next Thursday...