A/N: Thanks to everyone who's read and reviewed. 'Preciate it. This chapter's dark and ugly in places. Fair warning.

XVII. Shuffle

January 26, 2014
Seth had fallen funny when Roman dumped him and Dean over the top rope, so he wandered off to go see the trainers about his knee while Dean and Roman made their way back to the Shield's private locker room with so much tension between them it was a wonder the goddamn walls were screaming with it.

People congratulated Roman on almost winning as they walked by; he barely heard him.

He was having a real hard time keeping his damn mouth shut.

Ambrose had tried to dump him over the ropes halfway through the Rumble match.

Seth had stopped him, but by that point, Roman was operating on blind instinct and hadn't really given a damn that he eliminated both of his teammates in one go.

But the minute the door shut between the two of them and the rest of the arena, Roman rounded on Ambrose hard and said, "What the hell was that out there, Ambrose?"

Ambrose, all narrow blue eyes and a red, sweaty face, shrugged. "It's the Rumble, Rome. Opportunity was there. I wasn't gonna let it pass. C'mon. Whaddya want?"

He didn't sound very concerned about it, and that, for whatever reason, didn't sit well with Roman at all. "You blindsided me, man. What the hell? I mean, is that us? Sneaking around to knock each other out? We said if it came down to us three, we'd go out like men."

Again, Ambrose didn't seem all that concerned as he stood unwrapping his wrist tape. "I saw the opportunity and I took it, Rome. End of story. What do you want, an engraved apology. You would've done the same fuckin' thing."

"I'm not chicken shit enough I need to sneak around behind people's backs, Ambrose," Roman said. "Admit it - you were too afraid to wait to look me in the eye. You knew I'd eliminate you anyway."

That did it. The look Ambrose sent him from the garbage can could have given ice lessons in freezing. "I saw the opportunity," he said again, "and I went for it. I don't know what your deal is right now, man, but in case you forgot, it didn't work out so hot for me. So what the fuck are you so mad about?"

"I'm tired of having to watch my damn back around you, Ambrose," Roman said. It was true. If Ambrose wasn't trying to dump him over the ring, he was sniping at him behind the scenes. "We're supposed to be on the same team, but all I'm getting from you lately is attitude. You're all butthurt I've been at this a lot less time than you, but I'm already better than you. I'm really tired of dealing with it."

Roman swore to God he saw Ambrose's pupils contract to tiny points. "I could fucking wipe the floor with you, Reigns," he said. "On a level playing field, your ass would not stand a chance against me. You haven't seen half of what I can do, and you're not half as good as you think you are. You got, like, what? Three moves? How many guys you ever wrestle on your own without me and Seth there to protect you? You think your three moves could beat anybody?"

"They beat Punk," Roman said, pushing up into Ambrose's personal pace. "You couldn't do it with all your fancy moves."

"You beat Punk with my help," Ambrose said. His eyes were blazing. Up close, he was red-faced and sweating and hot as an oven. "You got lucky, big dog. Me and Seth weren't there, your ass would've lost, too. Like I said, you ain't half as good as you think you are."

"My twelve eliminations say otherwise, bro," Roman retorted. "How many did you get? Like zero?"

"Like three."

"Right, so I'm four times better than you."

"Oh, look, big football player can do math," Ambrose muttered, backing off. "You still fucking lost tonight."

"Got closer 'n you did, Ambrose," Roman couldn't help pointing out. "And you know what the difference is between us? You blew it. I didn't. Don't get mad you couldn't get the job done again."

"No, I'll blame Seth," Ambrose said. "He stopped me. And you dumped him, too."

"It's every man for himself out there, man," Roman said. "We all said it going into this thing."

Ambrose made his way over to his duffel bag. "Then why are you jumping my shit for bein' the first one to take my shot, Rome? Why is it I'm a jealous bitch when I try to dump you, but when you do it to me and Seth, it's every man for himself?" He picked up his bag and flung it at his chair. "You wouldn't be this pissed if it was Seth who made a run at you first, and you fuckin' know it. You wouldn't be standin' there tryin' to pick a fuckin' fight with him for no goddamn reason. But it's me, so of course you fuckin' are. Anything to make me look bad."

"I don't have to try to make you look bad," Roman said, turning to dig into his own bag.

"But you do it anyway," Ambrose said. "Sometimes, Rome, I swear to God you're doing it just to try to push me out. Like you want me to go away so you can have Seth all to yourself."

"Yeah, that's exactly it," Roman said, rolling his eyes. "You are so paranoid, Ambrose. If you'd stop with the bullshit a second and listen to us, you'd know how stupid it is to think that."

But even as he said that, he found himself thinking, and certainly not for the first time, how simple things would be for he and Seth if Dean was out of the picture. How much better it would be not to have Seth stressing over Dean's latest malfunction of the day. How nice it would be to just get a room for the two of them somewhere and not even have to think about anything but them and the damn amazing sex they always seemed to have when they were alone together.

And it was telling that Dean didn't answer.

Very telling.

xXx

Sunshine out. Blue sky overhead, unmarred by even a single cloud. Soft breeze just enough to rustle the pine trees and leaf-canopy overhead. Pine-needles and dirt on ground made pocked and uneven by thick tree roots twisting just under the surface like some serpent sliding across the water.

Vague smell of muddy water and sweetly rotting vegetation low and base under the smell of sweet flowers and fresh air.

All around, trees and more trees, a near-jungle of tangled plant life, shadow-thick and rustling uneasy.

Things in them.

(Wyatt, opening his mouth to reveal shark teeth…)

Dean shuddered.

Up ahead was a pitted, rutted dirt road with patchy browning grass growing in its center.

Familiar somehow, like he'd been here before.

The little girl beside him - Abigail - tugged his hand. Tiny thing. Curly dark hair. Eyes the same unmarred blue as the sky. Skin sun-kissed and rosy in the cheeks. Her grip on his fingers was surprisingly strong for somebody so little.

Let's go 'vencherin.

"Come on, doggy-doggy," she said. "We have to hurry."

Dean looked around. "Where are we?"

"Here," she said, all little-kid impatient. She began to walk, and he had no choice but to walk with her.

On the way down the tree-lined path, he kept firing questions at her - who-what-when-where-why-why-WHY - but she ignored him completely and started skipping while she hummed something that sounded suspiciously like, "He's Got The Whole World In His Hands."

A cold bead of sweat worked its way down Dean's back as he swatted tree limbs out of his face.

This felt wrong, like the world had slipped forty-five degrees off center and was spinning around cock-eyed.

They came to a break in the path, a place where the trees pulled back and the landscape opened up, and Dean never felt more relieved to see blue sky and sunshine in his life.

"Look, doggy-doggy!" Abigail suddenly exclaimed, tugging on Dean's hand to stop him beside a big tree.

She pointed off to her left, down a pitted and rutted dirt road, and Dean found himself collecting his jaw off the ground.

A short distance away, the same fucking little girl in the same little dress holding his hand was skipping up the road beside a stocky, husky sour-faced dark-haired kid.

The exact same little girl.

"Oh, what the fuck?" Dean muttered. "Who - what…?"

"Don't swear," Abigail insisted, her razor-sharp little fingernails digging into the side of Dean's hand. "'S me 'n Bray."

Dean looked down at her and then over at the other her. "...you," he said. "And Bray."

Yep. Yeah. No question now.

Dreaming. He was dreaming. He had to be dreaming.

Had to be.

"Yep," the Abigail holding his hand said. "Watch. Listen."

The sound of a voice - Bray's - carried up over to them. "...don't wanna go vencherin' for rabbits today, Ab." Petulant. Sullen. "Rabbits are dumb."

"No, they're not," his little sister protested. "You said you'd find me a new Georgie. C'mon."

"I'm tired," the boy said. "I don't want to go huntin' today."

"Yes, Bray!" the other Abigail insisted, bright and cheerful and insistent. "C'mon. We'll go to the clearing an' find me a new Georgie-rabbit. It'll be fun." The boy's face said otherwise, but he apparently gave up trying to argue after he found he couldn't shake his hand free.

Beside him, Abigail began to sing, "This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine! This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine!" As they passed where Dean and his Abigail stood, Bray's Abigail - and holy fuck, they were the same, down to the dirt on the hem of the dress - pulled on Bray's hand and said, "C'mon, Bray. Sing with me."

Bray swatted a chubby hand at a bug buzzing near his face. He looked like he'd rather be doing about anything else, but he said, "Fine. Just not that song. It's a baby song."

It raised the little hairs on the back of Dean's neck with the two kids broke out into, "He's got the whole world in his hands!" Their little voices bounced and echoed through the trees.

Seemed to cheer Bray right up, too, the way he began to swing his and his sister's joined hands.

A yank on his own hand drew Dean's attention back down to the little girl at his side. "C'mon, doggy."

"W-uh, we followin' 'em?" Dean asked stupidly.

She nodded and practically yanked Dean's arm out of the socket as she started off. Strong little thing. "They can't see. C'mon."

Dreaming, Dean reminded himself again.

They ventured up the pathway about twenty feet behind the little boy and his sister, Dean eyeing their footprints with interest: neither had shoes on. Bray had on jeans that were a little too big - cinched up with a piece of rope - and frayed at the cuffs with a big tattered old Hawaiian shirt on over a grimy gray undershirt. No hat. His hair was curled down to just below his collar, and neither his nor his sister's looked like it had been combed in a while, all matted with bits of grass or sticks in it.

Suddenly Bray and Abigail stopped up ahead.

Bray turned to his sister in confusion, song dying off mid-verse. "Ab? What?"

Off in the distance, Dean heard: "Ow. Stop! Stop!"

The Abigail up ahead said, all wide eyes and fear in her voice, "He's hurting him, Bray!"

And again, the cry came: "It hurts. It hurts. Please, no more. Please."

Another, deeper voice, said, "Shut up, boy. Just that mouth up right now."

"Daddy," the Abigail beside Dean said, as the Abigail up ahead turned to sprint off through a split between two huge trees - toward the sounds of the voices.

Bray, all pale-faced and wide-eyed like Abigail had been, lumbered off behind her. "Abigail! Abigail, wait!"

The Abigail holding Dean's hand charged off wordlessly behind them, leaving Dean no choice but to follow in their wake.

Daddy?

Cold dread sank into his stomach like a stone made of ice as he hopped over a couple of knobbly tree roots. If this was a dream, it was a hell of a dream: the rough bark from one of the trees scraped deep into his palm, making it sting and bleed. The pain was sharp and normal, not like in any other dream he'd ever had, where he couldn't ever remember anything that clearly.

Up ahead, he could hear the flat slap-slap-slap of bare feet in mud.

Could hear frogs and birds and the soft rush of moving water.

Could smell the mud and the water and again the gently rotting vegetation under it all, sweet and decaying.

It churned his stomach.

There were cattail reeds as tall as Dean himself off to the right, except for in a small break where there was a splintered old wood dock. Trees off to the left. And up ahead-

He drew to an abrupt stop right where the dirt became mud, struck absolutely dumb by what he was seeing.

A guy with the same dark brown hair as Bray and Abigail had some kid with short dark hair bent over a stump, and both of them had their goddamn pants down around their ankles.

The kid on the stump was sobbing.

The man behind him slapped a belt down on the kid's back. "Shut the hell up, boy. You got this comin' to you. Teach you to steal from my family."

No question - none - what was happening, and rage exploded alight in Dean's brain, driving everything else out. There was literally nothing but the red, raw desire to rip that motherfucker apart limb from limb. Without even pausing to think about what he was doing, he raced across the little clearing, not even stopping when heard, "You can't, doggy! You can't!"

And can't apparently meant you can't touch him.

Because when Dean lowered his shoulder and made ready to ram into the guy, he crashed into something that felt as hard as a wall, and went staggering backward into the mud, dazed and ears ringing.

He blinked himself out of his stupor in time to see Abigail - Bray's Abigail - running up to the man at the stump and grab his arm. The man stepped back and tugged his pants up hurriedly as he flung up a hand. "You stay back, little girl. Mind your daddy, now."

The red-faced boy bent over the stump kept crying until the man - Daddy - grabbed him by the back of the neck and snarled, "Quit your bellyachin'. Pull your damn pants up!"

The man heaved the boy onto the mud.

He landed near Dean's foot, but Dean all of a sudden couldn't move. It was like he was paralyzed.

But even as the thought flitted through his head, he felt a light touch on his shoulder and looked around at his Abigail. "Just watch," she said. "'S all you can do, doggy. What's already done can't be changed. I just want you to see."

"Why?" Dean asked sickly as the man brought the belt down over the boy's back again and again. The boy jumped like he was being electrocuted, his pained cries filling the little clearing and sending the birds boiling up into the sky.

But his Abigail said nothing, just turned all solemn to watch as the other Abigail raced up to her daddy, her little feet slipping in the mud. "Stop it, Daddy!"

Bray thundered up behind her, but stopped a short distance away, looking on anxiously, angrily. "Abigail, wait."

His little sister Abigail ignored him and tried to grab for her dad's arm as it swung.

The belt thumped hard across her face, hard enough that Dean and the other Abigail both flinched as she fell, blood already pouring out of her nose.

There was a wild animal noise from their right as a young, husky Bray Wyatt charged forward and did what Dean hadn't been able to do a minute ago: barreled into the man and knocked him on his ass.

Father and son fought like a couple of wildcats while the little girl gathered herself up off the ground, her dress muddy and her face bloody. The other boy - who looked to be maybe fourteen or fifteen, and had bushy dark hair and a vaguely familiar face - curled up in a little ball off to one side, whimpering.

Abigail screamed at them to stop as the father reared up and socked Bray in the mouth.

There was nothing sane in Bray's eyes as he dove in and bit his father's arm. The father howled in pain and fell back against the stump, and Bray took the opportunity to jump in his lap and start punching the shit out of him.

Once again, Abigail ran over. She grabbed hold of Bray's arm, and Bray whipped it, trying to shake her loose. She stumbled, but jumped on him again.

"Stop this," Dean said. His blood felt like it was just frozen. Somehow he knew - knew - what was coming.

Little Bray suddenly uncoiled and rounded on his sister. "Get outta my way!" he snarled at her. "Always in my way. He's hurtin us. I don't wanna vencher. I don't wanna find no rabbits. Just. Get. Out. Of. My. Way. I don't want him to hurt us no more."

And with that, he gave her a vicious two-hand shove, sending her reeling backward right into some rocks.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut so he didn't have to see her fall. He was pretty sure he was going to vomit, especially when he heard the way her father screamed in horrified anger.

He covered his ears, curling in on himself, burrowing as deep into his leather coat as he could. "No. No, no, no, fuck no. Fuck this. Why did you show this to me? Why?"

Abigail - his - tugged his hand. "Get up, doggy. We got more to see."

"No," Dean said. Something in his brain felt like it had just fucking snapped. Like a wall had gone up. Just - done. "No, no, I don't want to see anymore."

Jesus fucking Christ, he'd just watched Bray Wyatt shove his little sister into some rocks.

(Killed her.)

"We have to," that little girl insisted, sharp fucking fingernails digging into his wrist. "Look. They're gone. See?"

He opened his eyes to find himself sitting on a splintered old porch, with a sagging wooden railing running around it. Nighttime now. Sky run riot with stars. Moonlight, cool and silver. A breeze making the vegetation beyond the house's front yard swish and whisper like it was telling secrets. Crickets offered theirs, too, in soft reaping.

A quiet creak-creak from off to his left drew his attention to the other end of the porch, where young Bray sat in an old rocking chair, staring up at the sky.

Inside the house, lights burned and flickered, and a quiet babble of voices drifted out.

Dean looked around at Abigail, confused, disoriented. "What's-?"

"Shh," she cut him off as heavy footsteps approached the door. It opened and Bray's father staggered out, a flask of some kind of something clutched in one hand, ratty shirttail flapping out of the back of his ripped, sagging, bloody jeans. Long hair and a thick beard obscured his face.

He made his way over to Bray and sank to his knees. "Bray…"

"You pushed her, Daddy," Bray whispered. "She was just trying to help."

"What?" Dean blurted.

Even Bray's dad paused at that.

"You pushed her," Bray repeated, his rocking never slowing. His eyes never left the stars.

"She tripped," Bray's dad finally slurred. Sounded stuffy, like he'd been crying. "Don't forget that, boy. You saw her trip. It was just an accident. She shouldn't have been there, that's all. I'll remember that if you'll forget what you seen me doing with the Harper boy before that. Forget about it. Just forget you saw him there. It was just an accident."

Bray didn't say a word.

Just rocked and rocked.

Eventually, his dad got up and staggered back into the house.

"He pushed me," Abigail said from Dean's shoulder. "Bray. He just don't 'member right. Didn't want to 'member. Wanted to blame Daddy. Daddy was mean. He drank. He hurt us. Hurt other people."

Her hand fell onto the exposed back of his neck soft and splayed out like a spider.

It was all he could do to not bolt to his feet and shove her away as things - sounds-sights-smells - flooded his brain like he'd just stuck his head under a gushing waterfall of them:

The boy from the field - Matt, his name was; Matt Harper - threatening to run away and tell on Bray for "what you done to your sister." Bray, now two years older and bigger, snapped again and bashed Matt's head in with a rock.

(Being screamed at by his drunken father.)

Snapping again a year later on a family of four who were just trying to escape the home place.

(Being beaten repeatedly by his father.)

Snapping yet again on a scared girl his father had been - disgustingly - lusting after.

(Being accused of being a killer by his father.)

Bray and a young Luke Harper standing by the shore as fire boiled hot and gasoline reeking across the river.

Dean wanted to cry out in pain as the images assaulted the inside of his brain, but all he could do was curl up into a ball with his arms over his head, muttering, "No, no, no, not real, not real, not real, no, no, no," over and over again as all these godawful things - things he couldn't help but see - washed over him, threatened to drown him.

"Stop," he whispered. "Stop, STOP."

He bolted upright suddenly as the word stop bounced and echoed off the wall of the dim and dingy shack.

Shack.

Thin, stinking mattress under him. Dirty blanket scrap covering his legs. His ankle-

Shit.

Still shackled to the ceiling by a chain.

A shaking hand pawed at his face. Scrub of beard growth prickled against his palm.

"Not real," he muttered at himself. Something - anything - to stop his guts from churning because Jesus Christ what the fuck had just happened? "Just a dream."

"No," said a soft voice in the corner. "No, doggy, it was real."

"Go away," Dean said sickly.

The little girl, pale and translucent again, made her way over to his side. She reached for him. He flinched away like her hand was a white-hot brand, but it slipped right through him.

"Bray pushed me, doggy-doggy," she said, eyes big and bright and earnest. "You saw. He pushed me into the dark forever. Daddy said it was an accident. It wasn't. Bray was mad at me 'cuz I wanted him to find me a new rabbit. But it was his stupid doggy that ate my rabbit. Bray was mean like Daddy. Bad like Daddy. Daddy hurt people. Bray hurt people.

"I been talkin' to him," she went on, sitting down in the dirt beside the mattress. "Tellin' him to not hurt people. Showin' him other ways. Sometimes he listens. Sometimes he doesn't. The bad in him don't always let him hear what I'm sayin. Twists him up inside. Makes him remember wrong. I try to tell him he hurt me, but he thinks it's Daddy talkin' to him. He won't listen.

"Nobody listens.

"'Cept you, doggy."

Dean squinted up at a sliver of daylight visible through a crack in the shack's wall in front of him.

How the fuck had his life become this?

Sitting here in a fucking shack in the middle of who only knew where, either waiting to die or be used or be forced to follow some sicko fucker's little cult ways and talking to a goddamn little girl-ghost-hallucination.

All this shit in his head - these images - that didn't belong there kept trying to float up like ice cubes in water.

He looked at the little girl, and she looked back, calmly, like she could wait forever.

This was fucking crazy.

He had fucking cracked.

Because that fucking dream - was it a dream? - had felt just as real as this.

More like a memory.

Abigail's little voice broke the silence. "I tried to find other doggies," she said. "Nobody would listen. Even when they were sleepin', they just felt scared. They didn't 'member what I showed 'em. But you, Bray hurt you. I told him not to. But he didn't listen. And you were so mad."

Flicker-image in his mind's eye suddenly of himself approximately a lifetime ago, fisting Wyatt's beard in some arena hallway and lunging in to bite Wyatt's neck.

How goddamn satisfying that had been.

"Like a doggy," Abigail said. "Doggies shouldn't eat rabbits. Bray's Blue shouldn't have eaten my Georgie. Bray shouldn't have pushed me. Bray shouldn't have hurt those people. Sometimes, doggy-doggy, sometimes bad rabbits need to be eaten. Because they hurt people. Because they're bad. Because they'll keep hurting people."

Dean had already guessed a while back where she was heading with this, but he hadn't wanted to say the words aloud. Now, he lowered his voice and said, through numb lips, "You want me to kill him."

As if this wasn't insane enough.

She nodded.

He shook his head. "Wait a minute," he said, as a bubble of rationality pushed through the bog in his head. "This isn't right. He says you're the one telling him to do all this shit. You're the one showing him the way. You've known all along he's been doin' this shit, and it's still happening."

Abigail leaned forward and swiped a hand across Dean's face again.

He flinched, but felt nothing but cold air pass through him.

"Can't touch," she said. "Only talk. I tell him not to hurt people. It's the bad in him, doggy. I tell him how to not hurt people when he does stuff, but he don't always hear me. I told him not to hurt you. He didn't listen." Horribly, she sounded like she was going to cry. "I tried but nobody listens to me. He hurt me and nobody will help me."

"Okay, okay, all right," Dean said quickly. "Okay, don't - just… So you're saying you can't make him do anything. You just - you tell him stuff, and sometimes he listens and sometimes he doesn't. And he's really just doing what he wants." He waited for her nod, and then passed fingers through greasy hair. "Right. Okay. And you want me to kill him?"

Abigail looked at him with what Dean could only describe as hope. "Can you?"

Swallowing, Dean said, "Kiddo, I'm not a killer. Like, I've beat guys up, but I've never...I mean, I don't just - I can't. I don't think - no, I can't."

To his surprise, her little face didn't fall. If anything her expression became one of sheer, stubborn determination. "Maybe you don't gotta eat him. Maybe there's a way to just make him stop. Could you be my doggy then?"

Feeling helpless and trapped all over again, Dean just looked at her.

The reality was, he was probably gonna die in this hole anyway. Maybe he couldn't kill Wyatt - God help him if it ever came to that - but maybe he could take a damn good chunk outta the guy on his way out.

Even if what he'd seen in his head wasn't real - and, fuck, who knew, maybe it was - and even if he really was just hallucinating, the reality was he wouldn't have put it past that crazy fuck Wyatt to have done some of the horrible shit Abigail had showed him.

(Don't - don't even think about that shit.)

For all that. For kidnapping Dean himself. For what the fuckers did to Seth and Roman.

(To the Shield.)

"Yeah," he finally said, a little defeated. "But I just - I don't know how we're gonna make him stop."

Bray Wyatt's little sister Abigail smiled at him and said, "I got an idea for 'vencher, doggy, don't worry. Might take some time, but just listen."

She began to talk, and as he listened, for the first time since he'd woken up in this pit, Dean felt almost okay.

Almost.

xXx

Bray Wyatt, flanked by his two most loyal disciples, paused on his way around one of the arena's many backstage corners as he heard a gruff, "...later, Seth," drift up the hallway.

An impatient huff. One of the doors just around the corner was open. "Well, we're supposed to be meeting with Stephanie and Triple H in five minutes, so would you get a move-on already?"

"Why?" Reigns asked. "What do they want now?"

Sounded like he didn't care.

"Does it matter?" Rollins snapped back impatiently. "They want to see us, we go. End of discussion."

"Yeah," Reigns said. "Be a good little puppets, right?"

And, oh, wasn't that interesting.

Rollins snorted. "It ain't that bad, Rome, Jesus. Probably just need us to run interference on Bryan again or something."

"Which we did great at last time, didn't we?" Reigns said.

Triple H was bringing whole of the Authority down to bear on Daniel Bryan in these, the last few weeks before WrestleMania, but, as had been the case when he'd been down with the family, Daniel Bryan was proving a mite too wily and resistant for their liking.

Just last night at RAW, in fact, Daniel had managed to embarrass Reigns, Rollins, Dave Batista, and Randy Orton all in one go. He'd spun away from a spear from Reigns that sent Reigns into Batista. Orton had attempted to RKO Bryan right after that, only to find himself bumping awkwardly into Seth Rollins while Bryan squirted out of the ring and "Yes"-ed all the way up the ramp.

Shame the man hadn't been willing to follow Bray, but Bray supposed once The Authority finished decimating him, Bray would go scrape up whatever was left of poor Daniel Bryan and try to patch it together.

Just like the rabbit.

"Well, whaddya want, Rome?" Rollins snitted. Reigns muttered something too quietly to be heard, and whatever it was caused Reigns to reply, "We work for them. We're getting title shots because of it. I mean, so what if we have to go do their dirty work sometimes. It's the price you pay."

"And you're happy with that?" Reigns asked. "It feels dirty."

Reigns' voice sounded like it was moving, so Bray gestured for Luke and Erick to follow him on up to the ring. He chuckled quietly to himself at the crack he could practically feel running between Reigns and Rollins - serves you arrogant boys right - but kept his comments firmly behind his teeth.

They had more pressing things to worry about tonight, in any case, with Brother Luke's incipient match with the walking thorn in the family's side known as John Cena.

He'd been a wily one, Cena, so far evading their attempts to physically subdue him, but every time Bray stepped into the ring to educate the masses on Cena's blatant hypocrisy and falseness, he could feel a change in the air, could hear the people - those poor lost souls - beginning to rise up against the corporate puppet's blatant lies and endless shilling.

It seemed like everywhere they went, the boos against Cena grew louder and louder.

Music to Bray's ears.

Those were the shouts of the converted, people waking up and seeing the rotting heart that beat beneath all that neon and branding.

Just outside of Gorilla, Bray paused to take big Luke over to a quiet corner near some stacks of equipment. He fisted hands in Luke's tattered overshirt and brought their foreheads together, saying quietly, "Go out there and lay the man low, Brother Luke. If you beat him tonight, it'll deflate his ego that much further and make our victory over him at Wrestlemania that much easier. But if somehow he does eek out a win, don't trouble yourself over it. Weaken him as much you can. Put those doubts in his mind. That'll be enough."

"I'll make 'im wish he wasn't born," Luke said in a wash of rank breath. "Thank you for trusting me with this."

"There's no one Abigail and I trust more," Bray said, stepping away. He straightened his Fedora and smoothed down the front of his shirt before making his way back over to where Erick stood examining what appeared to be a blank piece of paper on a crate.

Funny, though, he thought as he led his boys back up to the ramp, how quiet Abigail had been the past couple weeks.

He thought she'd be pestering him all hours of the day to go see the rabbit, but she'd more-or-less stopped the day he explained to her that by keeping Ambrose snared as they were, chained naked and completely alone, they were showing him how powerless he truly was on his own. They were trying to show him how easily he made himself a prisoner. And that, eventually, they would show him how simple it was to leave that prison behind.

Abigail didn't say much to that, and aside from the occasional grumbling about my rabbit, had left the subject alone.

She was here; he could hear her quiet humming, and it reassured him.

Figured she was probably just biding her time.

She'd been waiting a long time for Bray to find her a new rabbit, and he reckoned she was content to wait just a bit longer for her chance to play with him.

Tomorrow, darlin', he promised her as he sat down in his rocking chair ringside, the crowd roaring to life around him and Erick pausing behind him while Luke climbed up into the ring. Tomorrow we'll go see the rabbit.

She didn't answer, but he swore to God he felt her smile.

It warmed him all the way through.

xXx

Roman, sitting to Seth's left in the office Hunter and Stephanie had commandeered for the night, glared at the splintered wood front of the desk and drew on every ounce of willpower he possessed to keep his damn mouth shut.

"-out there last night," Hunter was saying in that angry principal tone of voice Roman was really coming to hate, "but it can't happen again. Dave is still sending me pissed off text messages about this. You guys have got to keep your act together out there. It makes us all look bad when that little goat-faced weasel gets away with things like that."

"Look, we're sorry, Hunter," Seth said quickly. Out of the corner of his eye, Roman saw Seth raise both hands in a placating gesture. "Seriously. It was just - I mean, our wires got crossed. We didn't exactly have time to talk about who was going to be where. If we'd had a few minutes backstage to plan it out, we might not have had a problem."

Yeah, Roman didn't add, or maybe you do your own damn dirty work, Hunter.

Wild horses would never drag it out of him, but as pissed off as he'd been to look like a jackass last night, he kind of had to admire Daniel Bryan for still standing after all the shit Hunter and The Authority had put him through over the last few weeks. The guy was outnumbered five- or even six-to-one (or more) most of the time, but kept on fighting anyway.

Pain in the ass or not, Goat Face had a hell of a fighting spirit.

"-point, Seth," Stephanie was saying, her voice quiet enough to hide the usual shrill edges. "We'll have to make sure we're better-organized Monday. Because we're going to have you four - you two, Dave, and Randy - keeping an eye on things backstage while Hunter and I arrange a little surprise for Daniel."

Roman looked up, curious.

Quite a picture Hunter and Stephanie made: Hunter in his sharp gray suit sitting behind the desk with his thick hands laced together on the desktop, with Stephanie in her immaculate blue dress standing at his shoulder. Neither one of their faces gave away a damn thing they were thinking, or any hints of what they meant by 'little surprise.'

It was Seth who asked, "What kind of surprise?"

"We'll talk about it more Monday," Hunter replied. Hazel eyes flicked Roman's way. "Hey, could you give us a second, Roman? We need to talk to Seth about his Wrestlemania match here real quick. Shut the door behind you. Won't take but a minute. Thanks."

Roman exchanged frowns with Seth, but shrugged and wordlessly made his way out of the office, grateful to be the hell out of there.

He'd no more than pulled the door closed behind him when he heard an accented voice behind him ask, "Are Hunter and Stephanie having a meeting?"

"Yeah," Roman replied gruffly, turning to face William Regal head-on. Same Regal. Dude walking around like he had a giant pole shoved up his ass in his fancy black suit and with his nose in the air.

Cold eyes regarded Roman briefly before Regal nodded. "Will they be long, d' you know? I'm supposed to be meeting with them myself here momentarily."

"Shouldn't be," Roman said, moving off to lean against the wall beside the door. The painted cinderblock was cool and firm, almost comforting. Something in Regal's stare just made Roman itchy. "He's in there with Seth. They said they just needed a minute."

"All right," Regal said. He seemed to hesitate a beat before deciding to stand against the wall on the opposite side of the hallway. One hand sneaked up to flick his shaggy hair off his face. "So," he said stiffly, "I suppose congratulations are in order, then, on your impending Wrestlemania match."

Roman folded his arms over his chest, suddenly wishing he had his tactical gear on. "Yeah," he said. "I guess."

Regal nodded again and slipped his hands into his pockets, squinting off at a point down the hallway. "Any more trouble with the Wyatts, then?"

"No."

No thanks to you, old man.

Silence as awkward as anything Roman had ever experienced crashed between them. The only sound was the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead and the distant sound of footsteps. Roman kept his attention on the floor tile, following the pattern with his eyes and trying to ignore the vague ache already forming in his jaw.

If he thought he could have gotten away with it, he would have launched himself across the hallway and smashed Regal's big nose in.

Because if not for that asshole sticking his nose into Shield business, things probably wouldn't have fallen apart.

Dean might still be here.

Roman flicked a quick glance Regal's way. Decided to break the silence himself. "How is he?"

Regal blinked at him like he'd asked the question in a foreign language. "I beg your pardon?"

"Don't play dumb," Roman said quietly. "Dean. How's Dean doing?"

Again, Regal just blinked at him. "How the bloody hell would I know? I haven't seen him since the night you lot had that last match against the Wyatts."

"You…?" Roman closed his mouth. Shook his head. "He didn't go with you?"

"No," Regal said curtly. "Bray Wyatt managed to sour him on me right before your match. Rather undid all the goodwill we managed to build during our stay together. I texted him after your summit the next night, but was quite rudely told off for my trouble. I've been a bit too busy and, frankly, not interested enough to bother since. Why?"

Roman dug back through his memory to try to remember if Dean had said something about that. Came up empty. He was pretty sure Dean hadn't mentioned Regal at all. "I was just wondering, man," he said. "I've texted him a few times, but other than a few rude-ass answers, I'm not getting anywhere. Hoped maybe you knew something I didn't."

Regal looked at him oddly, tipping his head to one side and frowning. "Knew what? Anyone with half a working brain could tell you he most likely doesn't want to have anything to do with either of you right now after everything that's happened between you. Need I remind you it was Mr. Rollins who abandoned him to Wyatt during your match? Or that you two both shoved him down during your summit? Or that you decided he wasn't worthy of remaining a part of your relationship? I do understand, because I've seen it myself, how volatile he can be, and I'm not saying he's not guilty of making mistakes himself, but are you really, Mr. Reigns, genuinely surprised that after what's gone on between you three he's not interested in talking to you?"

"Oh, like you didn't have a hand turning him against us?" Roman shot back, glaring. "You get his head so twisted around he doesn't know whether he's coming or going. Like before."

"This again," Regal sneered. "I'm probably the one person who bothered to be straight with him during the entire period, Mr. Reigns. The only games I played with him were in the bedroom, and believe me, he wasn't complaining. Beyond that, I in no way, shape, or form tried to turn him on you two. You managed that all on your own, sunshine. And by the way, exactly why do you even care? I'd've expected you to put him out of mind altogether now you've got everything you wanted - Mr. Rollins to yourself, a championship match at Wrestlemania, no more Wyatts troubling you, and Mr. Ambrose no longer in your way. Or are you asking on Mr. Rollins' behalf?"

"None of your goddamn business, old man," Roman said. "And you're full of shit if you think for a minute I believe you weren't twisting him around. Or that you weren't involved with Wyatt somehow. I haven't forgotten."

Again, Regal gave him a strange look. Almost like a guy trying to decipher some weird painting in a museum. "Then why ask me? If you think I'm 'still involved,' what on Earth would make you think I'd tell you anything, even if I did know?" His forehead furrowed. "What has he said to you, exactly?"

Roman actually considered not answering, but wound up shrugging sullenly, glancing down the hallway, and muttering, "'Fuck off and leave me alone,'" he said. "I've gotten that most often. Sometimes 'I'm fine. Drinking my way down the Strip.' Or 'I have nothing to say to you so quit wasting my time. I'm fine.' And once was, like, 'You wanted me gone. I'm gone. Leave me alone.' It's stuff like that. Guess I was just hoping for more."

"Why?" Regal asked again. "I'm not clairvoyant, but he clearly isn't interested in talking, if that's what he's telling you. You know as well as I do you can't force him to do things he's not of a mind to do. And, again, I'm stood here wondering why you care all of a sudden. I had the distinct feeling it was you wanted him gone in the first place, much as you were at each other's throats - not, admittedly, that he was entirely without fault, but-"

The door suddenly clicked open, and Regal straightened, stopping himself mid-sentence.

Seth emerged, his face not giving anything away. He glanced at Regal and then around at Roman, and said, "You ready? I wanna get on the road. We're done here."

Roman pushed away from the wall, nodding. "Ready when you are."

He caught Regal's eye for an instant, but Hunter said, "Hey, William, right on time, come in," before anything more could be said.

Not that there was anything else, anyway.

Not that he'd give the old bastard the satisfaction of knowing maybe he felt bad about how shit went down between himself, Seth, and Dean and maybe wanted to make it right.

Fucker would probably just gloat, anyway.

As he and Seth rounded the corner, he said, "So what'd Hunter and Steph want?"

"Oh," Seth said, moving aside to let a couple of the Divas pass, "I asked 'em last time if they'd be all right with a ladder match for the US Title at Wrestlemania. Because I don't want to just beat like one guy. I want to prove to people I deserve it. You know? Make a statement. The future starts now, you know. They told me they'd have to run it by Vince for whatever reason, and they were just telling me it's a go. I guess they're gonna do a tournament on Raw over the next few weeks for spots in the match. Which is awesome."

Roman eyed him sideways. "What's wrong with beating one guy?"

"Nothing," Seth said quickly. "I wasn't - I didn't mean to imply anything's wrong with that. Just wanted to make my match different from yours, that's all." He cleared his throat. "What was Regal doing there?"

"Waiting for a meeting with Hunter and Steph, apparently,," Roman said.

"Oh," Seth said. He hesitated, and then asked, "He say anything? Seemed pretty tense out there."

"No," Roman lied. "But I didn't exactly try to say anything. Probably why."

"Huh," Seth grunted. "You, uh, you okay? You seem tense."

"Fine," Roman said. "Just hate that guy."

"I know the feeling," Seth said.

It didn't quite sound like he believed Roman, though.

xXx

Luke ended up losing the SmackDown match against John Cena, but that was the furthest thing from Bray's mind Wednesday afternoon.

He and his boys had arrived back at the home place, and, after stopping to greet the family (now grown to a dozen men, eleven women, and fifteen children - not counting Luke, Erick, and Bray himself) and walk around to see what everyone had been up to in his absence - the new shed at the back of the property was coming along nicely, the earth had been turned and spring planting was well underway in the gardens, and the roof of the communal house had been patched up again from the looks of things - Bray had gone into his house to clean up and take a brief rest.

Afterward, he'd risen and gone down to have a word with Brother Michael and Sister Laura, who'd been tasked with caring for and keeping watch over their "guest" in Bray's absence.

They reported that, for the most part, Ambrose had been quiet, although they both said that, on occasion, it sounded like he was very quietly talking to himself - so quietly the only way they could have heard was if they'd broken Bray's rules and gone inside, which, like the good and loyal servants they were, they'd been unwilling to do.

It was likely nothing anyway, Bray thought.

Two weeks of complete isolation tended to make people talk to themselves just to break up the silence.

Erick had been a babbling mess when Bray finally went back to him.

He took Erick and Luke down the back pathway with him, relishing the spring warmth as he made his way through the trees and out into the isolated clearing where they'd left the old shack - a remnant from the family's old house, long-since torn down and rebuilt on the other side of the river - situated.

Outside the shack, he paused and said to his boys, "Wait outside. I'm just going to stand on the other side of the door here in case yonder hellcat still has some fight in him. He can't reach that far."

Relief made Luke's face relax a bit. "Careful," he said anyway.

"Please," Erick said, voice muffled behind his cheerful lamb's mask.

Bray patted both of his boys' shoulders, and stepped past them.

"Goin' to see the rabbit, Abigail," he said under his breath as he slipped his key into the heavy old padlock and reached up to push the heavy old wooden door open.

Rabbit! Abigail exclaimed excitedly. My rabbit! See the rabbit!

Anticipation working its way through his stomach, Bray stepped through into the shed's dim interior.

The first thing that hit him was the smell: dirt, an unwashed body, a mattress and blanket wanting a good cleaning, and, under that, the faint if unmistakeable odor of human waste.

As he pushed the door shut and allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness, he made out a thinner-looking Dean Ambrose lying on his back on the mattress, one knee up, both arms behind his head, and the scrap of blanket covering him him legs to mid-torso. He looked like he was in serious need of a good meal, a bath, and a shave, but the eyes that focused in on Bray's were bright and alert.

"'Lo, Wyatt," he croaked.

He didn't make a move to sit up.

Bray leaned against the door and tipped his hat back. "Little rabbit. Figured it was time to come pay you a visit. Welcome you to my home."

"Two weeks too late for that, aren't you?" Ambrose said without any real heat. "And, uh, this is your home, huh? No offense, but these are pretty shitty accommodations."

"Don't swear!" Abigail said in Bray's head. She sounded upset.

Ambrose's gaze flicked to a point near Bray's leg as Bray shifted and said, "Mind your language, Dean. Abigail doesn't like it, and neither do I. It's uncouth."

All at once, Ambrose's attention was back on Bray, intent and intense. "Oh she does, does she?" he said. His voice sounded strange: strained. But it may have been because he hadn't used it much. "How do you know that, Bray? What, she talk to you or somethin'?"

"Matter of fact she does," Bray replied mildly. "She just did."

"Silly rabbit," Abigail giggled. "Silly funny rabbit."

"Isn't he, though?" Bray murmured, smiling. He folded his arms over his chest and squinted. "Do you know why I'm keeping you here like this?"

"So I don't run away or go kill you and your family, I'm guessing," Ambrose replied. A student reciting a rote answer. "I'm not dumb, Wyatt. Are you drugging me?"

Bray nodded. "When you have a wounded animal that ain't hurt bad enough it needs to be put down, you can sedate it to keep it from hurting itself or biting anyone. What we're giving you is mild. Won't hurt you or cause you to fall back into any addictions like you've had before. We won't let it."

Ambrose sat up, absently flicking the blanket free of the chain and drawing it around his backside so it completely covered his lower half. "So you drug me and you starve me and you don't let me have a bath. And you still expect me to be happy to see you?"

"I'm not expecting anything right now, little rabbit," Bray replied mildly. "I'm just here to say hello. See if you're ready to be rational and listen, or if you're planning to keep up this pointless fight." He shifted. "You know, I saw your boys yesterday. Reigns and Rollins. It's amazing how fast they moved on now you're gone. They've got title shots now, you know. At Wrestlemania. Reigns is going after the Intercontinental title. Rollins is gettin' your title. They announced those shots at the very next show after you left. They couldn't distance themselves from you or The Shield fast enough. That's how much they appreciated you."

"They…?" Ambrose's forehead furrowed. "You expect me to just take your word for that?"

"For now, you'll have to," Bray said, and he smiled a little when he heard Abigail say, "Mean doggies chasing pretties. They don't care about my rabbit no more." And he said,

His smile faltered a bit when he caught Ambrose staring hard at the wall right at his side, frown deepening to the point it made black holes out of his eyes. He didn't say a word, though.

Bray shifted again. "They're too wrapped up in chasing their pretties to even think about you, Dean. Your boy Reigns used to text you all the time, but even he's pretty much given up. Too busy trying to take the title off Langston. Rollins only texted me the one time. After that, it's been silent. And I'll show you, when I think you're ready to see it. I'll show what your so-called team has been doing in your absence. They're not thinking about you. Nobody is thinking about you. Except me. Except my family. And I know it seems like you're a prison here, but this-" he gestured at Dean's chain "-will all come off and you will leave this prison as soon as you're ready to take my hand and not bite me when you do it.

"Until then, you can sit there and listen."

Ambrose finally lifted his eyes. "Actually, Wyatt-"

"Call me Bray, little rabbit, if you would. All my brothers and sisters do."

"-Bray," Ambrose corrected himself, "I have a question for you. Like a real one."

Feeling a bit generous at the small bit of obedience, Bray spread his hands in invitation. "I'm all ears."

For whatever reason, the rabbit hesitated, one hand again sneaking up to swipe at the beard growth on his cheeks and chin. "I - would you, um. Was, um. I had a dream the other day. There was a little girl in it. I just - uh. I saw her for, like, just a second. Brown hair like yours. Eyes like yours. She was wearing a white dress. It was all dirty at the bottom. Scabs on her knees. She was playin' with a gray rabbit by a big tree. I heard a dog barking. And I was just - like I said, I just saw her for like a few seconds. But it was, like, really clear. Weird thing is, I'd never seen anyone like her before. I - well, maybe I could've in a crowd or something during a match. I mean, y'know, faces all blur together after a while." He hesitated. Seemed a little embarrassed. "Prolly just something I made up, huh? It was just the once, and I never saw her again."

Bray's heart gave a funny jag as Abigail giggled and said, "He saw me, Bray."

For one of the few times in his life, he was honestly too taken aback to think of a coherent answer.

Ambrose had seen Abigial?

"I don't know if it's the drugs or what," Ambrose suddenly went on, like he was completely unaware of Bray's shock, "but I've been having some really fu-uh, messed up dreams since I've been here. Like you twistin' John Cena in the ring ropes and puttin' a mask on his face, and some kid with funny voices singing at him. It's - what? What did I…? Why are you lookin' at me like that? I told you, my dreams have been weird since I've been here. Whatever you're spiking my water with is really screwing with my head."

Not three nights ago, Bray himself had had vision of himself tying John Cena up in the ring ropes and putting Erick's mask on his face. A few nights before that, he'd seen one of his followers' children singing at Cena in a ghostly, distorted voice while Cena was trying to crawl out of the ring.

"It sounds as though it is," he managed. "That's interesting, little rabbit. Very interesting."

Interesting.

Unexpected.

Unnerving.

Ambrose's eyes were mostly shadow as he'd lowered his chin again, and that made it nearly impossible to guess what he was thinking.

All of a sudden, Bray had a powerful need to go somewhere quiet and talk to Sister Abigail.

He straightened up from the door. "I've got to get back to my family, Dean," he said. "I'll be back in the morning to talk to you more. I want to hear more about these dreams of yours. We'll talk about you and your prison, too, while we're at it. For now, you take your rest."

"Hey, one more thing before you go," Ambrose said. "How did she die? Your sister. What happened?"

"My daddy pushed her when she was a small girl," Bray said quietly. "She hit her head on a rock. Went 'vencherin' on up to heaven, and came back to watch over us all. Guide us on our way." He smiled suddenly. "She's reachin' out to you, too, little rabbit. If you see her in your dreams again, stop and say hello. She don't bite."

Abigail giggled again. I love my rabbit, Bray. Thank you so much.

It came with another flood of warmth, and on his way out the door, Bray smiled again, knowing in his heart of hearts that this had been the right decision.

Interestin' darlin. This is interestin.

xXx

March 4, 2014
Back and forth through the tiny locker room, Dean paced.

Step-step-step-step, turn, step-step-step-step, turn.

Heavy footsteps undercut by occasional mumbling.

Roman, nerves stretched so tight he wanted to spear a hole through the wall, only just managed not to snap. He sat in his uncomfortable folding chair, already dressed in his ring gear, even though they weren't due out to the ring for this so-called Shield Summit for another two hours.

No sign of Seth anywhere; he was keeping a low profile somewhere. He'd texted Roman back a single 'I'm fine' this morning in response to Roman's worried three a.m. text, but otherwise it had been radio damn silence.

Good thing was, Wyatts had been sent home, so they weren't a worry.

"Gonna wear a hole in the floor," he finally said to Dean, gruff and quiet. "What're you chewin' on?"

Dean jerked to a stop in the middle of the room and passed a hand through hair that didn't look like it had seen a comb in a week. "Fuck, I don't know," he muttered. "Just runnin' over what I wanna say. 'We can handle being beat up, we can handle being bruised...' Or something like that. Then, 'But what we can't handle, what will keep us awake at night...' and go into what he did. I ain't gonna say a whole lot. You gonna want to say anything?"

"Yeah," Roman said, and then admitted, "I don't know. When he comes out, I just wanna say something like, 'You better have thought long and hard about what you're gonna say. And it better be good.' Is that…?"

"Sounds pretty good to me," Dean said.

"It's not very much."

Dean snagged his chair, turned it around, and planted it so he was straddling it close enough his knees touched Roman's. He leaned over the back of it, tired but sharp blue eyes fastening on Roman's. "It's enough," he said. "Look, the closer you get to the top - and you're gonna get there, big dog, and prolly sooner than you think - the more you're gonna have people tryin' to tell you what to say and how to say it. Don't fucking listen to them, okay? You know who you are. You're Roman fucking Reigns, and you don't need a thousand words to make your point." He touched the back of Roman's loosely clenched fist. "That is all you need. You say everything you need to with that.

"You're doin' great, man," he went on. Focused. Intent. Earnest. "I know I've been goin' outta my way to cut you down and be a dick, but seriously, I'm fucking proud of you. How far you've come. I'm sorry for how I've been acting. But you know you why. Seemed like everything I got, everything I had to fight for, you just walked in and took. I blamed you for for a lot of shit that was my own fault. I'm sorry about that, too." Before Roman could say a word, Dean shrugged and swung to his feet. "I been thinkin' a lot this last week, maybe those things I had are s'posed to belong to someone else. Someone who'll maybe do better with 'em than I did. 'Cuz maybe there's other things I'm s'posed to have. Who knows? 'Course," he added with a cornerwise smile, "I'm prolly just talkin' out my ass. I do that."

Head spinning from that tidal rush of words, and weirdly touched, Roman could only manage a weak, "I've noticed."

Dean waved him off, a jerky flap of one hand. The other found its way up to his shoulder. "Yeah, well, puttin' all that bullshit aside, you're gonna be fine, is the point. You know it. I know it. The whole goddamn world knows it. Just keep doin' what you're doin'. Don't ever let anybody tell you different - not even assholes like me. You'll be fine. I'll be fine, too. Just - might have to take a different road to get where I'm going."

He reached over to clap Roman's shoulder.

Roman briefly covered Dean's hand with his own. "Thanks, man."

"Yup," Dean said. He tugged his hand free and made his way over to the door.

"Dean," Roman called.

"Huh?" Dean paused and looked around, eyebrows raised.

"For what it's worth, man, I'm sorry, too."

Something flickered briefly in Dean's eyes before he smiled a little and nodded. "Cool," he said. "See ya later, huh?"

After Dean left, Roman sat there feeling like maybe, just maybe, something good was going to come out of all this mess.

It was a hope he carried with him all the way to the ring.

xXx

a/n: Whew. Made it. Thanks for reading. There were a lot of dots pulled from a lot of chapters, and hopefully this clarifies some of the confusion. There may still be some, but what's still unclear will be clarified soon. We're rounding third and heading for the home stretch.