This is so typical.

Triple H regarded Roman Reigns over his microphone. "It's terribly unfair," he said in regards to his rambling about how Roman kept finding his way at the bottom of the barrel each time an opportunity for the world heavyweight championship passed by. Roman knew what he was going to say before he spoke the words: "The reality of it is, it doesn't have to be that way."

Roman smirked at him, begging him to go on just so he could laugh at the "reality" of this one-sided conversation. You're gonna ask me to sell out, he thought. Tempt me like you tempted Rollins. Break me.

"It could be a lot easier," the Game said, talking with his hands in professional stance. "It could be a whole lot easier, you see, it could be…" His brown eyes now regarded the glistening title belt between Roman and himself on the table. It was beautiful, hard not to look at. "That you don't have to enter that tournament. All those other guys could step into this ring and do battle just for the right to fight you at Survivor Series, to see who becomes the WWE world heavyweight champion."

Roman narrowed his eyes, knitted his brows. Get to the point, old man. They all know what's coming.

Hunter shrugged as though this situation was so casual to him. Just another day in the business. "That, in my opinion, seems much more fair. Now, before you say anything, I want you to understand one thing, and I've never told you this before. But the reality of it is, back when we made Seth Rollins the future of the WWE…we strongly considered you first."

Roman muted a growl, tucking it away behind a mask of smugness. You son of a bitch.

"And I mean strongly considered," Triple H stated. "All that time when Evolution was fighting the Shield, I was scouting. I'm always scouting."

Surprise, surprise.

"And I was looking at you. You had it all, Roman. The size, the strength, the speed, charisma, athleticism, the aggression! Everything, you have everything you could want…except for one thing. Except for one thing," he repeated, wagging a finger, "and that is the one thing that Seth Rollins had: was the willingness to do absolutely anything to be the man. You have dug and scratched and clawed to earn your way back to this, and you have met with wall after wall…after wall." Hunter grinned. I could make those walls go away."

Here came the sleazy sales voice. If there was anything the Game had mastered, it was that voice. That lure in his tone.

"Understand what I am offering you here." His finger touched the golden plate on the craved title. "This is everything you ever wanted, from the time you were a boy. You wanted to put this on your shoulder, right?"

Triple H lifted Seth Rollins's former championship and positioned it on Roman's shoulder. The beckoning was impossible to deny, to rebuke. His fingers grasped the vacant championship out of his control. He had worked hard, harder than anyone, for this title…walls did keep coming up…he was tired, so tired of failing each and every time…like Frodo and the ring from Lord of the Rings, as badly as Roman wanted it…what would it cost him?

Everything he had left here. And that wasn't much.

"You wanted to say," Triple H carried on, "'I'm the man.'" He put a hand on Roman's shoulder, over the belt. God, did it feel good to hold this thing… Hunter, you're a real bastard… "You wanted everything that comes with it. The respect, all of it. You don't wanna die and on your tombstone, it says, 'Yeah, but everybody liked me!'"

Roman leered at Hunter. It wouldn't even say that…I don't get the respect I deserve here…the appreciation…

"You want them to build a monument in your honor. Right?"

Rollins levels. Not quite there yet, Hunter.

Roman's gaze was affixed to the belt. He was enchanted by the damn thing. Witchcraft. This was a spell, a true spell.

"I am offering you an opportunity here for you, and what is most important in your life, and I know what is most important in your life outside of this: your family. Your family."

Roman's insides were ablaze. Don't you dare say that word like you know what it means.

"I'm not talking about setting up your wife and your daughter. I'm talking about setting up your daughter's daughter, Roman."

He thought of them fondly, black eyes still gaping at the glittering, glistening, coveted, beautiful, honorable title… Joelle would be proud of me, wouldn't she?

Hunter pulled away. "I'm talking about giving you everything you have ever wanted out of life! All you have to do…" The villain tore the belt off Roman's shoulder, and he could feel a piece of him go with it like Hunter had extracted it through his skin. It hurt that much to lose it, again, when it was that close. "All you have to do…is be my man."

Triple H stuck his hand out to Roman. Deal's a deal. It seemed sealed already, in Hunter's eyes.

Roman stared at the hand which awaited a shake. Confirming betrayal. Confirming Roman's utter desire to make it big, the best in this business…be a champion…

But Hunter had spoken to him on a different level.

Family.

He'd left someone out of that equation.

Ambrose.

Dean was truly all Roman had left in this business. The Shield had been unyielding. Forged from iron. They were family, brothers. Unstoppable. Until Triple H got ahold of Seth and enticed him, lured him away, coerced him to betray Reigns and Ambrose, stab them in the back—or, rather, beat them with a chair—and leave behind everything he loved and worked so hard for.

For that fucking belt.

The belt which Hunter held up again, in Roman's direct line of sight. Worm on the hook. Cheese in the snapper trap. The temptation…so strong now…

No. Roman couldn't do this. He wouldn't put his family, his brother, his Dean Ambrose, through that misery again. That pain of loss. Dean was his weakness, and his strength.

The strength Roman needed to grab the microphone from Hunter and bark, "Everything I have in life, I earned it. Everything that I've done, I did it my way. I've never taken a handout! And nobody can ever take that away from me…" Not Rollins, not the Authority…not you, Triple H.

Roman glared down at the mat. Am I so willing to say no…?

Dean flashed in his mind. Sprawled on a mat much like this one after a brutal beatdown. Crawling on top of Reigns to protect him even in his own suffering. Sobbing as Rollins left them behind.

Believe that.

Roman's head snapped up. "But it ain't going down tonight. You can take your offer and you can shove it."

Roman ignored whatever wails and protests elevated behind him, ignored the disappointed-daddy look on Hunter's smug face, especially ignored that title belt.

He clawed his way to the quarterfinals after an angry match against Big Show. The Spear finished the powerhouse off.

His night was over.

Until next time.

The tournament would hold his name. His potential—but not a guaranteed victory.

He'd earn that himself.

Roman went off backstage after the fight. Tensions were peaked here tonight. Superstars gearing up for their own matches in this tournament. Conversations were turned off. Friendships were obsolete. It was every man for himself now.

The way it should have been.

If it wasn't for a soft spot or two.

Roman was half-naked, stripped of his muscle shirt and ready for a hot shower to untwine his aching muscles, when someone rapped on the door.

"Yeah," Roman called.

The door pushed open. Dean stood there.

Roman's arms fell to his sides. "Hey."

"Hey."

Dean's match against Tyler Breeze wasn't until much later on in the night. Dean had time. He looked relaxed. The stress of it all hadn't hit him yet—if he was capable of feeling it tonight. There was no telling just what was going through his head at any given point.

"Listen…I heard what you said out there to Hunter," Dean said, shuffling into the locker room, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. The door fell shut behind him. "About his little offer?"

"Yeah?" Roman sighed. Can't believe he came after me. What a tool. If he goes near Dean, I'll kill him.

"I gotta say, man, I'm surprised."

"Surprised that…what? I turned him down?"

"Well…you know. Yeah."

Now it was Roman's turn to be surprised.

"Not that I think you should or ever would join the Authority," Dean said, lifting his hands from his pockets to indicate a defense. "No. You're better than that. But honestly, Roman, with how hard you've worked over the years…how close you've come to that title…you must be so tired, Roman. I thought by now, you'd be ready to just take it. Any man would have. Any man that doesn't have your willpower. Your integrity. Your courage."

Roman bit his lip. He thinks I'm courageous? 'Cause I feel like ass right now.

"While I admire you and applaud you for telling Triple H to shove it," Dean said, grinning, baring his teeth. "I can't help but wonder. Why?"

Roman wanted to consider himself how Dean thought of him. Strong-willed. Moral. Valiant. Perhaps it was true. But these reasons fell weak compared to his one strongest point, one defiant reason why Roman would never, ever become Triple H's "man" and ultimately become the champion.

"You. Because of you, Dean."

Dean's oceanic eyes shimmered like the title belt. Head tipped to the side as he tried to understand. "You gave up a championship…for me?"

Roman nodded slowly. "Because I love you more," he said, the stability of his voice damaged by the truth, the softness of his kindly words.

Dean's forehead crinkled. He let a breath out through parted lips, in disbelief. "Roman—"

Roman drew forward by a step and enveloped Dean in his strong arms. His hands were fists on his own shoulders, from how closely he held Dean, how securely.

"I will never let you go," Roman promised, moving his hand to Dean's back, squeezing just beneath his shoulder. "Never. Not for anything."

Dean was at a loss for words.

Roman just held him there.

In the quiet.

Until Dean pulled away.

"Wow," he breathed, shaking his head, his bangs careening over his eyes. "That's, uh…that's pretty incredible, Roman. Can't believe I mean that much to you."

"Of course you do."

"And…you know…it could still happen. That title belt could still be yours. Think about it. You don't have to bend over to Triple H, kiss his ass to become someone big. We ain't all Seth Rollins over here."

Roman chuckled. "No. Definitely not."

Dean tapped Roman's shoulder. "Could happen."

"I hope it does."

"I better go. I need to get ready to fight Prince Pretty tonight. Feel like stealing his selfie stick and beating him to death with it."

Roman laughed. "Might get you disqualified. I wouldn't risk it."

Dean paused on his way to the door. He looked back towards Roman, but not at him. "You know we might have to face each other in this thing."

"Yeah." The thought tweaked Roman's heart like a guitar string under stress. "I know."

Dean met Roman's higher gaze. "We'll see."

"We'll see," Roman echoed.

He watched Dean go.

He wasn't worried. He and Ambrose could make it through anything.

Even each other.

Dean refused to go easy on Roman. Roman wouldn't have allowed it even if Dean were feeling up to that kind of pathetic charity. He wants to earn it, he can earn it. He wanted that.

Their match at Survivor Series was hell. The epitome of perdition. Dean was as impressed with his brother Roman as he was aggravated that no matter how hard Dean pressed on, Roman wouldn't stay down. It crushed his heart to ash, having to make Roman groan and holler and cry out like this.

But this was the business.

This was his job.

And he deserved that belt just as much as Roman did.

But Roman was a warrior. He broke out of submission holds, kicked out of pins, and even encouraged Dean to break his arm at one point. Whatever it takes, right, Roman? Roman certainly wasn't giving him any mercy. His hits on Dean hurt just as badly as having to deliver them right back to Roman.

But there was nobody on the roster Dean had more honor to face for this title than Roman Reigns.

Roman loved him. Protected him. Sacrificed health and soundness all for the sake of him. Someone like Dean Ambrose, the Lunatic Fringe, a nut job with an unstable mind. Roman had always been there for him. And he always would.

Even after this match. No matter who won.

Dean believed it.

Dean choked on a breath, face twisting in pain as Roman Speared him to the mat. Dean was tired, troubled, hurt. He couldn't muster the strength to kick out of Roman's pin before the official hit the mat for the third time.

The bell tolled thrice.

The arena exploded with praise.

Roman Reigns was the new world heavyweight champion.

Roman was exhausting, sobbing, fallen over and unable to move. Dean was equally tired, suffering unimaginable physical pain…yet his heart was happy, so happy for Roman, and nothing could cripple that sentiment.

Dean slung an arm over Roman's neck and cradled him in a weak yet unabating grip. "I'm so proud of you, Roman," he said, voice soft compared to the howls of the WWE Universe. "So damn proud."

Roman was having trouble gathering the breath for necessary oxygen, let alone a voice. But his eyes said enough, looking into Dean's. He was euphoric, obviously—yet humbled, so humbled at what his brother, his adversary and worst enemy for the last several minutes, had to say.

Dean rubbed his head, fondling Roman's tousled black mane. "Ain't even that upset about losing, because if it was gonna be to anyone, I'd rather it be you. Because I love you more."

Roman wept openly for more reasons than one, they both did, pressed into one another.

It hurt Dean to release Roman, to roll away, but he deserved his moment, deserved to absorb every energetic molecule in this room, Roman Reigns atoned with praise, admiration, surprise, honor, respect…

Victory.

Roman had victory. In the match, and with Dean.

They were still a family. A team. Brothers.

"And nobody can ever take that away from me."