Summary: Dean Ambrose was one star among others who seemed like a distant memory, when remembering the show of shows. When a certain someone meets in the locker room, will he be able to shed the pent-up anguish?

Disclaimer: I do not own WWE superstars, divas or anyone or anything else except the plot.

It was John Cena's B'day! Yay! HAPPY BIRTHDAY JOHN!

P.S. I know this is late, and I'm truly sorry. It's a two or three part story. The leading chapter is dedicated to John Cena and the second will be to Wrestlemania and my fantatsic viewers.

Special Mention to Emily, the 51st reviewer of my stories. You go, girl.

Oh, I've written the second Chapter already. If John wins against Rusev, I post it on the 26th. If not, I'll need time to see if they put him up for a good feud on RAW. :)

Many wrestlers had their demons put to a rest, but several others still roamed inside many more hearts.

One such example was in the middle of facing his second opponent tonight, the battle exhibiting the war and turmoil being faced by the Lunatic Fringe himself.

Several Wrestlemania matches were history. The Giant's Battle Royale, The Tag Team match, the…...

…Intercontinental Championship Ladder March.

He'd stopped keeping track since then.

Dean Ambrose quietly brooded inside the quiet locker room of the Levi's stadium. Wrestlemania was going on in full force, and he could hear half the roster cheer from the end of the hallway, their sounds resonating through the corridor.

He had lost. And it wasn't a normal loss, no, he'd been defeated. From the moment the Medics ordered him to go backstage and he'd been deemed unable to continue.

Damn Harper.

No, worse….. Fuck Harper.

It was evident he did not share an amicable relationship with the bearded soul. Hell, he was skeptical the guy had a brain and had conveniently thought that the bulldozer would have been the least of his concerns. And yet, 'the least of his concerns' managed to put the small man out of action. Hell, he'd been seeing stars and was quite sure he had suffered from a concussion after looking at the amount of blood that had seeped out of his body.

His spotlight had been stolen.

His face mirrored inactivity, but his eyes shined like two orbs that could suck you in and make you get lost within mazes in deep seas of sheer anguish. His hip hurt, but then again, so did his head and his entire body. Still, what hurt more were the sounds in his skull trying to get out. They were trying to force him into doing something radical.

Something foolish.

Something he would certainly come to regret.

He didn't like it. He felt a tension in the air, and somewhere inside him, he felt worthless. And if you could find the darkest part of his heart, you would discover that it seemed to be reeking of…. insecurity.

He had not been the witness of a good year. Yes, with the shield, he was one of the top show's golden stars last year, but it had gone downhill since Payback.

Seth Rollins betrayed him. He had been cheated.

So it was Rollins' moans he had heard when he returned to his room the night of Payback.

Son of a bitch had bitched out to Triple H.

Asshole.

At Summerslam, he almost got his revenge. Except he didn't.

He was put out of action the next day. Damn Kane.

Roman got his redemption with Seth. Roman even won the Royal Rumble where two giants knocked the jean clad guy out and threw him from the ring like a piece of trash.

But Hell in a Cell was supposed to be his moment of redemption. Seth should have paid. He would've broken the guy in half had…

Bray fucking Wyatt not taken it from right under him.

Sorcerer? More like Shit.

This was meant to be his day. His moment. He deserved it.

He had earned it.

Fuck Harper.

Another roar of cheers rung in the corridors. One more step had been taken towards the culmination of Wrestlemania 31. One more person had been defeated, his dreams being mercilessly crushed under the boot of the other.

He thought of picking himself up to congratulate the winners, then promptly decided against it. Nobody had come to show an ounce of concern to him therefore they did not deserve to be placed on high pedestals.

He assumed that Triple H vs Sting had culminated. The vigilante had probably won. He'd heard a loud ovation and assumed there might've been massive interference is the match.

He heard the shuffling feet and looked up to see someone he did not want to see.

Curious, sympathetic, concerned eyes, from the one and only, yours truly, John Cena.

Dean was surprised. He had known that John's match was third from the main event, but did not, in his dreams had predicted that so much time had passed.

Moreover, he had the United States Championship Belt resting over his shoulders.

So much for rubbing salt on his wounds.

"What the hell do you want, Cena?" He spat out, his tone jarring like acid.

"So, I take it that your bout did not go well?" He replied, his back towards Dean, amusement shining through his voice.

The Lunatic Fringe simply scoffed. Everyone on the damn roster knew John had a habit of watching all matches before his match. He knew John had witnessed his nasty bump and this was his way of showing concern, spoken in an ever so casual and Cena-like tone, perfect for masking the worry that the big man held for the smaller one.

Ambrose, being Ambrose, decided to play along, "Oh, not at all. It was a walk in the park," he said, dropping bombs of heavy sarcasm.

"So I take it that the bump through the ladder was not painful?" Aw damn, Cena immediately thought, me and my big mouth.

Dean gazed at the back of the mega-star, a wide smirk plastered on his face. Aha, he thought, caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"It was, but I put on a good show."

"You are a lying son of a bitch."

"Huh?" To say Ambrose was taken aback, was an understatement. John Cena was known to be a man of many words alright, but cuss words seemed to be absent from his dictionary.

John finally turned around. "I said you're a lying son of a bitch, a lying piece of shit and all you say just makes me wonder how stupid you are to think that anyone trusts this bullcrap."

"What the hell are you yapping about, Cena? Say it to my face, don't keep spinning the story around!" Dean was fuming with anger and although he was standing a good 10 feet from the new US Champ, he looked like he was soon going to march up to the other guy and go toe to toe with him if need be.

"You, my dear friend, reek of insecurity." John Cena could tell the comment hit home. Dean Ambrose's expression changed and he looked ready to blow up. He looked ready to make a move and while John Cena fully expected a punch, what Ambrose did truly surprised him.

"Fuck you." The former US champ breathed out and started walking out the door.

"Going to play hide-and-seek, eh Ambrose?" Cena drawled out, making Ambrose halt in his tracks. "You forget one thing…... you can hide from yourself."

"I do not need to hide myself," Dean responded, much alike a petulant child. I have been facing these demons all throughout my life and have conquered all of them, myself. And I am damn well going to kick the next one's ass like the rest of 'em!"

Ambrose was seething. He could see red. Who the hell was John Cena to question him?

"I see you're taking one of the pages from my book with that 'Never Give Up' shtick." Cena said the words with an as-a-matter-of-fact tone, wanting to screw with the other guys brain. Sitting down on the bench the remove his shoes he continued, "You feel nobody can see through your façade, Ambrose. Unfortunately actions do speak louder than words. You know what I think? Again, you may not want to hear it, but in what world do I give a damn as to what you want. I think that you blame your reckless attitude towards these so-called demons and although it is justified to an extent, I just feel you've begun to hide behind them. Stop being a fucking bitch and step-the-fuck-up. You may hate Harper, you may detest him, despise him, but you can't forget, he was the one that has, in his own, demented way, taught you a very important lesson."

"Oh Savior of the Masses, please tell me the lesson too! After all, the sermon won't be complete without that, will it now?"

"Quit being a pussy, step up, and do stop bitching while you are at it."

John had just ended his talk, when he was turned around by an angry Dean Ambrose, who promptly slapped his across his face. Damn. Hard. He tried to slap him again but when he did, his arm was twisted around and his front was pushed against a wall.

John pressed up against him and used his power to lift Dean up, using his throat and back as leverage, making him uncomfortable from lack of oxygen.

"Boy, you do not mess with me, you understand?" Cena growled. The anger in his voice was evident as he bent forward, menacingly whispering into the smaller man's ears. "Realize what I'm about to tell you very clearly. You may be insecure and may be putting up a façade, but I am supposedly always putting one up. I look jovial and yes, it takes a lot for me to snap, but you do not want me to snap. You think Randy is conniving? Think his anger issues are bad? Boy, when it comes to me, Randy is just looking in the rear-view mirror."

John then released Dean, who fell on the floor in a heap, his chest heaving, his body thankful for being provided with air. Realizing the other man had learnt his lesson and, somewhere, feeling that he had forgotten the humiliation of defeat to some extent, he walked out.

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