Guess who's back, back...back again...Savannah's back...tell a friend. :D

What's up, you crazy awesome people! I am back. After taking a little time to brainstorm and call for assistance, I think I'm on the right track for where I want this story to go! So here it is, Shield 2.0's return and journey going into WrestleMania. Not only will they take on enemies, new and old, but also their own personal demons...and even each other. Can't wait for you to read it! Please let me know what you think!

Special thanks to penelo14, Dana1, 2345Nayababy, and Debwood for all the advice, ideas, and editing skills! You guys are the greatest, and I might have given up completely if it hadn't been for your support. Seriously, thank you.

With that, carry onto the story~

Days Until WrestleMania: 24

Seth Rollins watched the main event from ringside. Dean Ambrose was facing against Sheamus in a match that had been glamorized and promoted throughout the entire program, and now as SmackDown drew to a close, all that was left was watching Dean and Sheamus take each other on. Seth stood in place, arms folded tight across his chest, refusing to pace. If he gave into his urge to move around, he might have lost control of himself and jumped into the ring to protect Dean, if necessary. But he trusted Dean to take care of himself.

Sheamus was hostile in this match, even more so than the Celtic Warrior typically acted. He drilled his pale, mohawk-capped head into Dean's stomach and propelled him back against the ropes, driving his fist again and again into Dean's gut. Dean wasn't giving up quite yet. Seth admired him for that. Dean wasn't a quitter. He never walked away and never just left a match.

Dean straightened himself up, swinging from a defensive position to offensive. He knocked his right fist into the side of Sheamus's head, then his left fist, right again, left again, pushing Sheamus back towards the center of the ring. With a good amount of distance between them, Dean rushed back to launch himself off the ropes. As he charged forward again, powered by the bounce off the ropes, Sheamus met him in the middle with a brogue kick. His foot stabbed Dean in the neck, and Dean collapsed to the ground. Sheamus pinned Dean, gripping his leg tight and snarling, casting saliva from his mouth. The ref struck the mat once…twice…Dean kicked out. The audience gasped. Seth merely smirked. He wasn't surprised. Dean could make it out of a lot of shit by himself.

Off towards Seth's right was Roman Reigns, pacing back and forth like a lion. He looked ready to jump into that ring any second and kick the Celtic Warrior's pasty white arse. If there was anything anyone could do to set off the even-tempered Samoan, it was cause any sort of harm to Dean. Seth could admit to that same foible. But entering the match at this point would have given Sheamus a victory, the result of a disqualification. Neither of them wanted that for Dean. It was a fight in itself not to interfere.

Dean rolled over, confounded eyes rolling to meet Seth's, then Roman's. Seth gritted his teeth. "Come on, Dean," he encouraged aloud. He was more vocal about his unease than Roman was. He clapped his hands together and said, "Let's go. Get up." He trusted Dean to take care of himself completely. It was just hard not worrying about the guy.

His love for Dean could be denied to anyone else but himself. Roman knew of Seth's soft spot. He didn't seem to hold it against Seth, almost as though Roman himself denied it as well.

The fact that Roman and Dean were together—together together—didn't seem to put that fire in his heart out.

So denial was his only way out.

Sheamus wasn't done. He knocked Dean in the head with his shoe, rolling him over and away from Seth and Roman. Seth caught Roman flinching, catching himself before he moved onto the mat. Dean scrambled to grab the middle rope. Sheamus kicked him again. This somehow recharged Dean's strength and he sprouted to his feet, hurled himself against the ropes for potency, and knocked Sheamus down with a mighty punch to his jaw. While Sheamus recovered on the ground, Dean shimmied up the ropes and perched himself atop the post, enlarging his eyes, taking his breaths in and out through his bared teeth. Seth grinned. Dean was crazy. They didn't call him the Lunatic Fringe for nothing. Ambrose Asylum had come to town.

He cast himself at Sheamus while the Irishman staggered to his feet. Dean pinned him there with Sheamus's leg in the air and an arm pressing Sheamus's shoulder to the mat. Seth's hand clenched into a bracing victorious fist. The ref counted to two before Sheamus kicked out. Seth uncurled his fingers and huffed. Dammit. Dean shoved hair from his face, clearly irritated.

Sheamus kneed Dean in the back, then swept the boy into his arms as Dean fell forward. Sheamus raised Dean and projected him through the ropes. Dean's chin clipped the announcer's table, and he dropped to the floor. The audience shouted in dread. Roman couldn't stay still. He rushed over to Dean to check on him. As long as he didn't hit Sheamus, the ref wouldn't call interference. Seth understood this and followed behind Roman. Dean was already up by the time Roman and Seth arrived. Sheamus charged over, knocking Seth and Roman out of the way as he seized a hold on Dean again. Seth hit the floor, his left arm breaking his fall. Pain unfurled from his elbow to his fingertips. He clenched his arm tight.

Roman jogged over and helped Seth up. "You okay?" he asked.

"Fine," Seth groaned. Kick his ass, Ambrose.

Dean allowed Sheamus to get two punches to the face in before Dean hit him back. Dean drove Sheamus back towards the ring with punches, then held the back of Sheamus's head and propelled it into the pole. The pillar reverberated with an audible ding as Sheamus collapsed to the floor, unmoving.

Dean stalked the grounds of the ring, round and round, while the ref called out each number. If he reached ten before Sheamus reentered the ring, he'd lose. Sheamus teetered to his feet. His white skin had darkened to a deep red. He stormed back into the ring at the count of eight. Dean was ready for him. Dean finished Sheamus off with Dirty Deeds, going to the ground with a swift kick and taking the Celtic Warrior down with him.

"Yeah, Dean!" Seth called out.

Dean raised Sheamus's leg and held him there until the official made the final call. Dean Ambrose's name was called over the microphone as the winner of the match. Sheamus remained on the floor, curled up, pounding his fists into the mat in vexation.

It was safe to enter the ring now. Seth scuttled into the ring with Roman to congratulate Dean. Roman got his hug first. It lasted a long while. Seth just chewed the inside of his cheek, waiting for his turn. They seemed to take forever in their embraces, in spite of what others might think watching them. Finally Roman pulled out of the hug, lightly knocked heads with Dean, and rubbed his hair. Geez, Roman, make it more obvious, why don't you? Dean looked to Seth and opened his arms. Seth took him in a tight squeeze. He smelled of sweat and declining deodorant, but he didn't care. It felt good to hold him like this, hug him tight—

Dean's music was cut off. The audience's roar went from enlivened to hushed disapproval as the Authority's theme replaced it. Stephanie McMahon and Triple H strode down the walkway together. He'd been so distracted by Dean's match that only then did Seth remember, right. Tonight's when I find out who's taking me on at WrestleMania. They'd been saving this "breaking" news for the very end of the night. They'd built up the revelation as sensationally as Dean's match against Sheamus.

Two of the matches for the event had already been revealed. On Raw a few nights ago, Roman was told he'd be battling Kevin Owens for the United States Championship, and it was announced the World's Biggest Athlete would go up against Mark Henry. Dean wasn't part of a match yet, but Seth knew he would be in no time. The Authority would fail if they established matches for Roman and Seth, and not the third crucial member of their group.

Seth knew he'd be defending his title as World Heavyweight Champion at the event. He just wasn't sure against whom yet.

He was about to find out.

Stephanie held a microphone to her red lips. "Rollins," she said. "At the beginning of the night, we informed you that your opponent at WrestleMania for the WWE World Heavyweight Championship would be revealed to you tonight."

Seth nodded. Without a microphone, he couldn't exactly respond to Steph. If he had the opportunity, he'd probably call her a spineless bitch in front of the whole crowd. But he refrained.

"So without further ado, my friend…"

Seth scoffed at her use of the word.

"Here he is."

The sound of her shrilly voice was replaced with roaring music. "I HEAR VOICES IN MY HEAD, THEY COUNCIL ME, THEY UNDERSTAND, THEY TALK TO ME…"

The audience exploded into applause as Randy Orton revealed himself from behind the scenes. Steph and Triple H moved away from each other, creating space between them for Randy to stand. He stared Seth down, grinning.

Seth was shocked. Wasn't Randy a "good guy" now? Or was he back on their side, their new golden boy since Seth reinstated his devotion to the Shield?

"You see, Seth," Triple H said, taking steps towards the ring and waving his hands with the words. "Randy here isn't here to make friends, or make a team with other wrestlers. He isn't here to take sides, or take part in silly feuds, or even to talk into a microphone to get the crowd going, although…" Triple H swung his head back in Randy's direction, then returned facing Seth with a proud smile. "He's pretty damn good at that. No, see, Randy is here for one purpose and one alone: win. He's the kind of guy we need—no, the kind of guy we deserve as a champion. He's strong, he's crafty, he's a hell of a fighter. He is, without a doubt, the future of the WWE."

Seth's jaw dipped towards the floor. Randy Orton, the future? Over him?

"Now, unless you face him and somehow manage to beat him at WrestleMania," Triple H carried on, placing his fingers to his chest as if the thought alone triggered laughter he had to smother, "then we have faith in our decision."

Seth was shaking. Not in fear—no way in hell was he scared of Randy Orton—but indignation. Did the Authority really think Randy Orton was the future of the WWE over the true champion? They were trying to make Randy the future of the company, again? Didn't they try this once before? And look how well that worked out, morons. He almost wanted to laugh if he wasn't so irate.

He clutched his World Heavyweight Championship belt tight against his side, the title he'd managed to hang onto since the last WrestleMania. His most prized possession, the championship he'd bled for, broken over, exhausted himself just to retain.

Roman gave him a look, one of a protective big brother who wouldn't let a thing happen to his little bro. It was comforting, but Seth wasn't feeling threatened. Insulted, yes, but not threatened.

"And for extra kicks," Triple H said. "Why don't we give you a little taste of what's to come here in a few weeks?"

Randy Orton was storming forward like a hurricane before he was done talking. Seth barely had the time to comprehend the whirlwind coming at him until it was too late. Randy sprung over the ropes at Seth. The Shield 2.0—the self-titled name established after the team was back together—was ready.

Roman lifted Randy onto his shoulders to attempt a throw, but Randy hopped off and landed behind Roman. He cast his arm around Roman's throat like a fishing line, turned so their backs were pressed against one another, and rammed him onto the mat, landing on top of him. The force around his neck was enough to make Roman cough and wheeze.

Dean swung his fists at Randy, hitting him several times before Randy drew back and plowed forward like a bull, grabbing Dean and spinning around to power slam him onto the mat. Enraged with fresh vigor, Seth dashed at Randy with a flying kick. It was enough to temporarily stupefy Randy, but not knock him out completely. Instead of blitzing Seth again, Randy knelt down, seized Dean by the air, lifted him to his feet, then flung him over the ropes, onto the hard floor below.

Seth took the bait. He charged at Randy, ready to send up another flying kick. Instead, Randy utilized his signature move on Seth, the RKO—described by the enthusiastic announcers as "outta nowhere!"—and Seth smacked against the mat. He'd landed on his arm that already took a good amount of damage from Sheamus's hit. His face twisted in pain.

With enough resting time, Roman flew up and Superman Punched Randy in the face, sending him down. Randy tried to rise after the impact, but Roman let out his infamous yell and Speared Orton. He wasn't getting up too quickly after that hit.

Roman extended a hand towards Seth and helped lift him up. He patted Seth's shoulder in that same big-brother demeanor, and they left Randy behind, dropping out of the ring. Stephanie and Triple H spun on their heels and departed, unfazed by Randy's loss. Yeah, you better friggin' run, Seth thought, his inner voice growling.

Dean was still on the ground. Roman towered over him. "You okay?" he asked, laying a strong hand on Dean's chest.

With a groan, Dean held a thumb up. "Perfect." His snakelike tongue slid between his teeth. Classic Ambrose.

Roman and Seth helped lift Dean to his feet. He wrapped one arm around Seth's shoulder and the other around Roman's waist. Seth pretended he wasn't euphoric about being in Dean's arms—well, arm, but one was better than walking alone—like this. He might have even feigned a little extra weakness, just so Dean would have a more stable hold on him. Dean could look out for him just as often as they looked after Dean.

The team ambled off down the walkway as the announcers wished the WWE Universe good night.