Wrestling 1. Chapter 1

A Cold Day.

Summary: Dean claims it'll be a cold day in hell before he lets Randy touch him. Little does he know that Randy takes that as a challenge.

Takes place shortly after Dean's appearance on Art of Wrestling, then goes AU.

Chapter 1

"So I hear that you like watching me?"

Dean Ambrose's head popped up. He stopped lacing his wrestling boots for the time being. He eyed Randy Orton leaning against the door jamb, arms folded across his chest. He noticed Orton wearing his latest t-shirt, as well as being dressed to wrestle.

"What?"

"Your interview with Cabana. You said you liked watching me."

Dean suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. "No, I said I liked watching you wrestle. There's a difference."

Randy shrugged and sauntered into the room like he owned it, now leaning against the wall opposite Ambrose.

Dean resumed lacing his boots. Looking down, he continued. "If you'd listened to the whole thing, you would have also heard me mention I enjoy watching Punk as well. I don't see him here being a smarmy ass."

Orton smirked at the insult. "Dean, Dean, Dean..."

"What, what, what."

Randy pushed off the wall and neared the US champ, until he was standing right in front of him.

"I know how to read between the lines. You don't just like watching me wrestle."

Dean looked up at Orton, feeling a little uncomfortable at how close the man was to him.

"You like watching *me*."

Dean slid from the bench and moved away from the Viper, wishing Roman and Seth hadn't gone to the cafeteria.

"I said I like watching you wrestle. If you read more into that than I meant, that ain't my problem, man," Dean said, hoping the older man would take a hint and leave.

No such luck as Orton sat down, straddling the bench. Dean looked through his bag for tape to wrap his hands, unaware that Randy's eyes were all over him. Ambrose found the tape and started wrapping his hands, not realizing that Randy was nearing him again. Suddenly, Dean was pushed towards the wall, his hands in front of him being the only thing that saved him from a broken nose.

Randy pressed his muscular body into Dean's, his hands roaming down the man's body. He leaned into Dean's neck, taking a deep sniff, savoring the scent.

"Hmm, you smell delicious."

Dean's eyes widened at what was going on. He was able to push back and move away from Randy, putting two benches between them, the hand-wrapping tape long forgotten on the floor.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Dean's eyes were like saucers, his hands clenching and unclenching as Randy slowly moved towards him again. "Stay the fuck there!" Ambrose thundered. "Don't come near me!"

Randy's face changed from arrogant to sweet, but Dean could still see the malice in his eyes. His face might appear appeasing, welcoming, but Ambrose had learned, growing up the way he did, to spot those kinds of looks. He knew a false platitude when he saw it.

"And why shouldn't I come near you? Sooner or later, we will be feuding over something. Be it a title or some other issue. I'll have to come near you then. And my hands will be all over you, baby."

Dean's eyes filled with fury, his teeth grinding. "Don't. Ever. Fucking. Call me that. Again. I will beat you into the fucking ground. I am not your 'baby'. And it'll be a cold day in hell before you ever touch me."

Randy's face when stony. His own fists clenched and he started towards the smaller man but stopped when the door popped open.

"Hey man!" Seth Rollins called. "Oh, hey Randy." He turned back to Ambrose. "Our segment is up next. Gotta move."

Dean let out a slow, shaky breath. He would not admit it, not to anyone, that he was actually afraid of Randy in that moment. He had a look in his eyes that was unfamiliar, yet appeared lethal. As he left the room with Rollins, Dean's mind wandered a little. Just what had Randy had been planning? He shook his head, it was probably nothing.

As Dean and Seth met up with Roman, he set the little scene aside and focused on the camera. He couldn't lose his focus now. Not because of Randy fucking Orton. He didn't care at all that Randy was the so-called face of the WWE. No way. If Dean had his way, his face would be stomped into the ground.

Segment finished, the trio headed to the outside of the main arena. They still had about 20 minutes to kill. All Dean wanted was to get it over with so he could sleep. He suspected though, that sleep would elude him tonight. Randy's actions were playing havoc with his thoughts. Maybe he could just picture Orton's face over one of the Usos faces tonight. Glancing at Roman, he reconsidered. Maybe not. The big man wouldn't forgive him if Dean hurt one of his cousins. Guess it was up to Ziggler to take the brunt of his anger.

He smiled briefly as he heard Special Op start up. He fixed the US title in his pants like he'd been doing recently and headed down the stairs, Roman and Seth in tow. He put forth the image of disinterest as he glided over the barricade. His eyes focused on the men in the ring.

Dean sent a glance to Roman. He knew Roman didn't like fighting his cousins, but when tag teams were few and far between, what could you do.

****

Backstage, slate-gray eyes watched the screen of the match, lingering on Dean Ambrose whenever possible. He crossed his arms over his chest, his lip curling in anger. Just who did he think he was? No one rejected Randy Orton. No one.

He noted that Ambrose was quite good, he had to give him that. Really good. He'd wrestled the brat before, found him to be very capable, willing to dish out anything he took. Guess his years in the indies did him well.

"Whatcha watching?" came a voice behind him.

Orton turned, eyes going back to the screen after seeing who his companion was. "Miz."

"So you wanted to see me?"

"Hmm-mm. Feast your eyes on the screen."

Miz looked at the screen, seeing Dean Ambrose tag into the match, his fists wailing the living tar out of Dolph Ziggler.

"What about him?"

Randy made a noise in his throat. "Dean needs to know who's the top dog around here."

Miz looked from the screen to Orton, not liking the expression on the Viper's face. "What'd he do?"

Randy slowly turned his head and levelled a pointed look at Miz.

"Turned you down, did he?"

"Fuck you, Miz."

"Come on then."

Miz's shit-eating grin annoyed Randy. He rolled his eyes and turned to walk away. Miz looked at the screen a moment longer before following Randy to his dressing room. He closed the door behind him before joining the WWE World champion on the couch.

Miz glanced down before taking a deep breath. "Can I ask you something?"

Randy took a swig of water, nodding once.

"I've heard rumors over the years, of other guys getting out of line, and you putting them back in line."

Orton was silent a moment, pondering Miz's statement. "And?"

"Just wondering if it was true."

Randy sat back, drinking his water, thinking of a reply.

"And just what exactly do you think happened?"

Miz remained silent but sent Randy a knowing look. After several moments, Randy smiled, telling Miz that what he thought happened, actually had happened.

"Are you in?"

"Am I the only one?"

"What do you thing?"

"So who else?"

Randy smirked and stood. "You'll find out later. This is going down very soon. You need to be ready to go on very little notice. You have a specific ring for my call, correct?"

Miz nodded.

"Well, you'll get that call within the next week. Mark my words, Miz, it's going down in a big way."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Seth Rollins was worried.

For the last several days, Dean had been uncharacteristically quiet. True, he tended to listen and learn first, but when he opened up, you couldn't shut him up. He and Roman had known Dean for about four years now. They really had no secrets, no issues with each other, and held nothing back in conversation.

Dean had hardly said a word since Raw on Monday, four days ago. The only time he spoke in sentences longer than three words was the promo he shot for Smackdown on Tuesday, and even then, it wasn't with his usual piss and vinegar gusto.

Seth glanced over at the second bed in the room, with Dean stretched out, eyes closed, earbuds in, ipod on his chest. It was a rarity to get an actual break, so Ambrose was taking the time to rest.

Rollins sat on the end of Dean's bed, watching as the short-haired man opened his eyes. Dean pulled the buds from his ears, eyeing Seth curiously.

"What's up man?"

Seth gave a small smile. "I could ask you that."

"Why?"

Seth sighed. "You've been quiet. Usually if you have something going on in your head, you have no problem talking about it. You've hardly said anything since Raw."

Dean looked away. He didn't want to talk about how much Randy's advances were playing on his mind. It bothered him, more than it should. It bothered him that he didn't want to talk about it, it bothered him that it played on his mind so much. And now it bothered him that he had apparently been worrying his friend.

"Nothing's going on man. Just working through some stuff in my head. Nothing to worry about."

Seth looked skeptical. "You sure?"

Dean nodded.

Rollins stood from the bed, heading across the room. "Well, Roman headed home about an hour ago. Imagine he's looking forward to seeing his little girl."

"Yeah," Dean said as he pulled himself to sit up. "When are you leaving?"

Seth fit a few more things into his suitcase. "When I'm done here." The Shield had the next few days off, much to their collective relief. ''What about you?"

Dean shrugged. "Dunno. Don't have any family to go back to. Might cruise the strip, hit the strip joints, get a bit hammered."

Seth snorted. Leave it to Dean. He finished his luggage, and looked to Dean, who smiled. They came together and hugged briefly, before Seth turned, grabbed the last of his bags and left the room.

Dean sighed. He really didn't have anyone to go home to. He'd lived his life a certain way. He'd had plenty of sex but not one second of it had been meaningful. He was going to be 30 in a couple of years. Might not be a bad thing to look for something long-term. Maybe then, he wouldn't feel so empty all the time.

****

Sheamus headed down the hall towards his hotel room. A few more bags, then a few days off. He looked forward to it, even though he just had six months off for his shoulder injury. Still, it was better to be off because he could, not because he had to be.

Just as he went to unlock his door, he heard a loud voice. "Are you kidding me?"

Curious, Sheamus moved down a couple of doors, standing outside a partly open door. He noticed the room number, then leaned in a little. The voices continued.

"Are you sure you want him involved?" one voice asked.

"Don't worry about it," another voice, one Sheamus quickly identified as Randy Orton, said.

"Are you sure we can trust him," an accented voice offered. Wade Barrett, Sheamus recognized.

A low chuckle from Orton. "I wouldn't include him if he wasn't trustworthy. He knows the score. There's nothing to worry about."

Silence for several moments.

"So when are we doing this?"

"Just as soon as I can ensure privacy."

A cold chill trickled down Sheamus's spine. That sounded ominous. Just what was Orton planning? Sheamus backed up and stealthily headed back to his own room, quickly entering and closing the door.

Sheamus paced the length of his room, his mind racing at warp speed. When Randy Orton was planning something, it was bad, very bad. He knew exactly how dark Orton's mind could be. Before his recent heel turn, he didn't buy the good guy act he'd put on, not for one damn second.

If he had heard a name mentioned, Sheamus could go help whoever was going to be the brunt of Randy's attention. But how could he protect 30 guys or more? He couldn't. All he could do is wait and hope this– whatever 'this' was– wasn't going to be as bad as he expected it to be.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Violent and trigger-y.

It was hours later when Dean Ambrose climbed off his Harley. He hooked the helmet and pulled off his leather jacket, draping it over the seat. He looked around, hands on hips. It was a beautiful scene in front of him. Trees, wildflowers, all types of plants, everywhere. And best of all, no people.

On rare occasions did he actually allow himself to enjoy his life. One of those times was in the ring. The other was out here in the open. Wild, unfettered land, free from the touch of humanity.

He grabbed the backpack he'd brought, slinging it on a shoulder and started walking. Endless minutes passed until finally, he came upon a cozy little lake. With a smile, Dean dropped to sit on a nearby rock, propping his elbows on his knees, and propping his head into his hands. It was so incredibly beautiful out here. Nothing like exquisite nature to clear your mind.

Dean pulled his backpack in front of him and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Lighting one up, he inhaled deeply, letting the acrid smoke fill his lungs. He knew he needed to quit but it was so hard.

He let out another deep breath. It was so serene here. Sometimes he wished he could have a more simple life, but he honestly didn't know what else he'd do. Wrestling was all he knew, and all he every wanted to do. Anything else would be unfulfilling.

Suddenly, he heard a voice behind him. "Well, well, well, what do we have here?"

Dean froze. What the hell was he doing here? He was in the middle of nowhere.

He turned, eyeing the man warily as he snuffed out his smoke. "What are you doing here, Randy?"

Randy's eyes were cold but a smirk was on his face.

"Just saw you up here, thought I'd say hello."

Dean didn't buy that for a second. He'd rode on his Harley for quite a while, going wherever, for over an hour before he stopped here. There was no way in hell Randy could follow him without having wanted to.

Ambrose felt uneasy. He went to stand up when a hand came down on his other shoulder. He looked up to see Mike Mizanan aka The Miz looking down at him.

"Hey Dean. Stranger."

"I saw you two days ago."

Miz smiled but it didn't reach his eyes.

"Yeah, we did."

Dean looked around and noticed a few more men nearby. Jack Swagger, Wade Barrett and Drew McIntyre. Just what the fuck was going on? What were they here for, to beat the shit out of him or something?

With a sigh, Dean rose up, intending to leave but his path was blocked by Randy. "Move, Orton."

Randy smirked that sadistic smile he flashed the world when the 'voices' played in his mind. "I don't think so."

Without warning, Randy leveled a punch at Dean, knocking him to the ground. He fell on the previously used sitting rock, which dug into his side.

"Now!"

Jack, Drew, Miz and Wade rushed forward, each holding a limb as Randy started ripping at Dean's clothing.

"What the fuck! Get the fuck off me you assholes! Stop this now!" He wildly kicked out, catching a couple of the men in the legs and stomach.

Angry now, the men ignored him, grabbing Dean's arms and legs tight. Randy pulled at Dean's clothes until his jeans were bunched up around his ankles.

"Turn him over!"

Oh fuck no! Dean thought and he struggled in earnest. He managed to pull away from the men briefly, being able to get about five feet away before he was tackled to the ground. The men then started punching him.

"Don't hurt him. Too bad."

Dean felt chills go throughout his body. This was bad, this was very bad. He felt every blow on his body like the tip of a knife. Soon each man had each limb held tightly. McIntyre and Swagger had his arms held out straight, their boot-clad feet digging into his body. He almost felt like they were going to pull his shoulders from the sockets.

"Fucking stop this, you bastards! Let me up!"

Randy chuckled darkly. He ordered Wade and Miz to open Dean's legs wider, then Randy laid on top of Dean's back, leaning down to the man's neck.

"You brought this on yourself, Ambrose," Randy informed him. "You should have never turned me down. Only bad things happen to those who reject me."

"I didn't reject you!" Dean cried out, his voice rising with panic as he felt Randy's erection pressing against his ass. "I didn't realize–"

"Bullshit!" Randy yelled, smacking Dean on the back of the head. He grabbed Dean's head and pushed it into the soft grass, so hard that Ambrose couldn't take in any air. Dean struggled in earnest, his arms and legs flailing hard against his captors. Finally, Randy let go. The Shield member lifted his head, gasping, gulping breath into his lungs. He started coughing as the air burned his throat.

"Please," Dean rasped, "please don't do this. Please!"

Randy pulled himself up, unbuttoning his jeans and pushing the garment down his hips. He pumped his erection briefly, spit on his hand and wrapped it around himself. He leaned down, pushing the head of his cock between Dean's cheeks, then slammed himself inside.

Dean let out a primal scream, tears of pain, anger and humiliation falling down his face. He continued begging Randy to stop, but if anything, Orton thrust into Ambrose even harder, unable to ram himself deep enough into the man beneath him.

"Fucking cocktease. You fucking asked for it! You don't say no to me! Maybe you'll learn now!" Randy spewed at Dean. "You're nothing, you're useless, nothing! Goddammit!"

Dean tried to fight but the pain was nearly unbearable. He knew Randy had ripped his hole when he pushed in. He could almost smell the blood. Every bit of pounding of Orton's cock ripped him even more, to the point he was screaming upon every thrust.

"Stop! Please! I've learned my lesson!"

Randy slowed slightly. "Have you? No, I don't think so." The Viper sped up again, pounding Dean's blood-covered ass painfully for a few more minutes before coming deep inside of the pliant man. Orton pulled out, blood and cum dripping from his cock.

Dean was a proud man, self-confident and had learned how to deal with rough and tough situations from his life growing up on the streets. But now, in this time, Dean felt broken. Tears soaked his face and blood coated his ass.

When his limbs were released, he started to crawl, attempting to get away from his assailants. But he only got about five feet when he was grabbed again.

"No, no! Please, let me go!"

"Don't think so mate." It was Wade Barrett.

Ambrose had no fight left in him, laying there as he was assaulted in turn by Barrett and the Miz. All the while, Dean kept his eyes closed, letting his mind drift away. If he could get his mind far enough, maybe he wouldn't feel the pain. Think about being in the ring, winning titles, beating the crap out of anyone really.

Dean was wretched back to reality as suddenly he was flipped over and punch after punch was lobbied at his stomach, chest and face. Soon, he couldn't even see out of his badly-swollen eyes. He couldn't even see to fight now. And he was quickly losing hope in coming out of this alive.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

AN: just want to point out that I know nothing about the street layout of Las Vegas. Or anywhere really. Just making it up.

Warning: violent and trigger-y.

****

Dean's throat was raw. His torso had been used as a punching bag. His arms felt like they were ready to fall off. His ass burned like he'd had a branding iron shoved in him.

Still, he was trying all he could get away.

Randy was lounging back, watching the proceedings, having let Dean's blood and his own cum dry on his cock, a cock what was hard again, as he viewed Jack Swagger reaming Ambrose over and over.

Randy's smirk was utterly sadistic as he looked Ambrose over. His face was swollen, his body covered in bruises. The prick wasn't even fighting back anymore. He knew it probably wouldn't have taken much to break him. After all, Randy heard stories of Dean's past, of how he grew up. All Randy was doing was putting him back in his place. Fucking bitch.

Orton stood up, noting Jack moving away after filling Ambrose up, and made his way over to where Drew had his dick in Ambrose's mouth, after threatening death to him should he even offer to bite. The Scottish man was gagging Dean on his length, thrusting down his throat, not caring that Ambrose couldn't breathe.

"Ease up, man. We don't want to kill him."

Drew looked up, the Sinister Scotsman moniker fitting him now more than ever. "Are ye sure 'bout that? After all 'e knows now."

Randy crouched down as Drew eased his thrusting, allowing Dean to breathe again. "Oh he won't say a fucking word. After all, I'm the face of the WWE. And he's considered a loose cannon. He'll just explain that he was in a car crash or something of that nature, heal up, return like he was. And he'll know that all it takes is one word from me to make his life a living hell. It'll make this look like Disneyland."

Drew's hips were moving erratically now. "Open yer goddamn eyes, Ambrose. Now!"

Dean couldn't do as ordered. A cruel smile played over Randy's lips as he crouched down over Dean's back, reached down and pried his eyes open. The man's eyes were blood-shot, red and watery as Drew pulled out and ejaculated in his eyes, making the violated man whimper. Then Randy dropped Dean's head, his face hidden among the blood, cum and grass.

Randy and Drew left Dean on the ground. Both men pulled up their pants, satisfied that the bitch had learned his lesson. They went back to Wade and Miz, who were chatting away, acting like they hadn't violated a man.

Drew, Jack and Randy went down to the lake to clean Ambrose's blood off before buttoning themselves back up. Each man sauntered back up over the bank to watch Dean as he tried to crawl away. He had moved maybe two inches in 10 minutes, showing how injured he was.

"Stupid cunt!" Randy cried out, running at Ambrose and kicking him hard in the side.

Dean screamed out in pain as he turned onto his other side, curling up into a fetal position. He tried to protect his ribs as best he could but it was pointless, as two of his other assailants started kicking at him as well.

"Please stop... I can't... please..."

Dean's whimpers were almost silent, but Randy heard him. He grinned, then kicked him down over the bank, his body stopping just a few feet from the lake. With a calculating look in his eyes, Randy headed down over the bank himself, the other four men wondering just what the Viper was up to.

Each man's eyes widened as Randy used a foot to push Dean towards the water. Soon he was completely immersed, only his head above the water. Orton looked around, noticing a discarded tree branch, probably left from a fire. He grabbed it, tested the sturdiness, then moved back to the lake, using the limb to push Dean even deeper into the water. Satisfied, he went back up to join his cohorts.

"What?" he said as they just stared at him. "Hey, if he drowns, that ain't on us. We didn't push him under the water, I only put him out there to clean him up. I can't help it if he's too stupid to swim."

Wade nodded, the others quickly followed. They started to walk away, not caring if Dean was able to pull himself out of the water. They walked away, not taking into account what they had done. In their minds, they had done nothing wrong, they'd simply righted a wrong and Ambrose himself would have to live with the consequences. If he even lived at all.

****

Sheamus was beyond frustrated. He'd been stuck in traffic for the last god knows how long. He'd made a point to follow Randy Orton when the man left a rundown hotel in Las Vegas. The redhead knew it was creepy of him to have been following Orton for the last several days but he couldn't help it. Not when someone was in danger.

And he knew, without a doubt, that someone was in danger. When Randy let his sadistic side come out, no one was safe.

"Feckin' hell! C'mon, bloody move!"

Sheamus hit the wheel in frustration, relief quickly flooding through him as traffic started to move. He hoped he could track down Orton and his still cronies. He knew Wade Barrett was one. God knows who else the jackass had helping him.

The Irishman took a chance and pulled out of traffic, driving illegally along the sidewalk. He just hoped to god he didn't get stopped. He was already worried that he was too late to prevent whatever it was Orton had planned. That he'd only be able to help Randy's victim pick up the pieces.

Sheamus sighed in relief as he was able to turn off the main road, heading up an out-of-the-way lane. He put the petal to the metal, speeding as fast as he could. He raced by a couple of cars, recognizing one of them as Orton's. He looked into the rearview mirror to see the cars pulling out, heading into the opposite direction.

The redhead slowed down, keeping his eyes on the cars heading away, turning his own car around. His eyes were glued to the departing vehicles until they drove out of sight then moved to park near the spot he'd seen them pull out of.

The man jumped out of his car, running into the wooded area, hoping he wasn't too late.

****

Dean Ambrose had done a lot of things in his life, pissed off a lot of people, but he never believed something like this could ever happen to him.

He bobbed in the water, his body numb. He still couldn't open his eyes even though he was continuing to try. He had no clue how long he'd been... he couldn't even say it. After another few minutes, Dean managed to open his eyes a little, surprised to see the sun high in the sky. He looked around himself, stunned to see himself surrounded by blood. And he was so far out too. He vaguely remembered Orton pushing him out with a tree branch.

Did they expect him to die here?

Dean's mind was so muddled. Did Randy orchestrate all this because he turned Orton down last week? Would the man be so... petty? And to bring four of his other co-workers into it?

He felt the edges of his mind start to fade out. He was so tired. He just wanted to sleep. If he did that now though, he would die. But would that be a bad thing? After all, he had no one to go home to, no family really. There were only a handful of people he could truly count on. Dean wouldn't burn bridges, no, he'd blow them up.

Ambrose looked towards the shoreline as he shivered. It was so far away. If he did survive this, what would happen to him, really happen. It would be his word against the five men who assaulted him. How would he be able to function, knowing those men were free? What if he was put into a storyline with one of them? With Randy?

Dean felt shame envelop him. He prided himself on being able to deal with any situation and come out of it on top. But this time, his mind and body had been ripped to shreds. He couldn't deal with this.

He _wouldn't_ deal with this.

Mind made up, he stopped flailing, letting himself sink below the surface, his body sinking. No one would miss him anyways. The only entity that wanted him was death.


	5. Chapter 5

_Thanks for the reviews. I appreciate them so much._

**Warning: triggery.**

Sheamus ran into the woods, eyes everywhere, as he searched for any sign of life. He came upon a Harley, recognizing it at belonging to Dean Ambrose. But where was he?

The redhead continued running, going down the length of the beach before coming upon a puddle of blood. He was frozen for a few moments as he tried to process what he was seeing. He heard a splash and turned, seeing a head going under the water. Without thought, he turned and ran into the water, quickly swimming out to where the head disappeared.

Dear god, where was he?

Sheamus dove under the water, eyes wide, heart pounding, panic rising. There!

He swam to the figure, sliding an arm around the man's naked chest and swimming to the top. They broke the surface, both men coughing and gasping for air. The Irishman gave Dean a few moments before he started paddling towards shore. Ambrose was nearly unconscious and didn't protest.

Once ashore, Sheamus laid Dean on the beach, trying not to notice the man's battered frame. Sorrow filled his eyes at the punishment Dean had apparently received.

"Dean? Can ya hear me? Dean, it's Sheamus."

Dean's head rolled back and forth, and no response came. Sheamus sighed as he crouched next to the man.

"Dean? I have ta go to m'car and get a few things and I'll be right back. Okay?"

Sheamus waited until Dean was coherent enough to know what was being said. Dean's shattered eyes looked into Sheamus'.

"I'll be back in two minutes, aight?"

Dean's eyes let him know he understood. Sheamus quickly rose up and ran to his car, quickly opening the trunk. He pulled out a stuffed duffle bag and a couple of thermal blankets. A minute later, he was back by Dean's side, covering the shivering man up.

Sheamus tucked the blanket around Dean, all the while telling him what he was doing. "I'm going to keep you covered while I change, alright fella? I'll go over here so you don't see me. You understand?"

Dean nodded briefly before closing his eyes.

"I'm right over here. I'm not goin' anywhere."  
>Sheamus quickly stripped out of his soaked clothing, stuffing it into a plastic laundry bag he had, then dried off with a towel and redressed. His boots were waterlogged and he didn't think of bringing another pair. Bare feet it was then.<p>

Going back to the prone young man, Sheamus crouched by him again. "Are ya warmin' up?"

Dean nodded. His throat was too damn sore to say anything. After a few moments, it clicked into Sheamus' head.

"Throat bad?"

Dean didn't answer. He didn't have the strength to.

"I need ta get ya outta here. In case those bastards come back."

Panic filled Ambrose's dead eyes, fear as well. When Sheamus hesitantly reached out, Dean allowed the help. After a few moments, Dean was standing.

"Can ya walk?"

Ambrose shook his head no.

Sheamus observed the man before offering, "Would you allow me ta carry ya to the car?"

After a beat, Dean nodded once.

Sheamus stepped forward cautiously, wrapping the blanket around Dean's back. He grabbed the second blanket from the duffle back and wrapped it around frontways. Then he gently slid his arms around Ambrose, one at his back, the other at his knees, lifting the man into a bridal cradle, carefully carrying the man to his car.

When he finally had the blanketed man in the passenger seat, Sheamus pulled the seat belt across and buckled it.

"I'm going back ta get my supplies, okay? I'll be a minute or two."

Dean nodded. Sheamus shut the door and ran back to the beach, quickly gathering everything up. He took Dean's tattered blood-dried clothing and put it into another bag before heading back to the car. He threw the bags into the trunk and climbed into the driver's seat before turning to Dean, who was looking at him through swollen, wary eyes.

"Dean, I promise ya, I will not hurt ya. I will do ma best to help ya. I'm going ta get ya out of here and someplace safe, alright fella?"

Tears filled Dean's eyes, falling unbidden down his swollen face. He mouthed the word 'where'?

"Someplace no one knows about. I have friends in Vegas. So happens a coupla friends are out of the country, so I can use their place. No one knows about it. You can heal there, away from pryin' eyes."

Dean turned his head, looking out the window. He swallowed hard, his throat raw from the screaming he'd done earlier. He turned back to the redhead.

'Why? How?' he mouthed.

Sheamus looked down before answering. "I'll answer everything ya want ta know. When we're safe, is tha okay?"

Dean sighed and nodded.

"I want to say again, Dean. On my honor as a man, I'll do nothin' to hurt ya. I'll do everything in my power to help you."

The inkling of fear in Ambrose's eyes faded, much to Sheamus' relief. He started up the car and took off. Half an hour later, Sheamus pulled the car into a three-car garage. He got out and closed the door, making sure the garage door was locked.

He rounded the car, opening the door entering the house, then opened the passenger side door. Dean peered up at Sheamus, a lost look in his eyes.

"Can you stand now?" Sheamus asked softly.

Dean struggled to get out of the car, not the easiest thing to do while being wrapped in two thermal blankets, but Ambrose gave it his best effort. Finally, Sheamus helped him stand, circling an arm around Dean's waist, slowly moving him along.

Once in the house, Sheamus led his charge to the living room sofa. He stood and closed the blinds, turning on the lights, making sure his friend had plenty of light and privacy. He turned to look at Dean, who was staring at the carpet. The redhead moved to sit on the sofa but not too close. After several minutes of silence, tears welled up in Dean's eyes and he began to sob. Sheamus slid close to him, wrapping his arms around him, laying the man's head on his shoulder. Dean had never been one for self-pity but the only thing he could do right now, was cry.

Several long minutes passed before Dean was able to compose himself. He looked up at Sheamus with wide eyes. So many emotions passed through Ambrose's eyes that Sheamus couldn't really pinpoint one.

"Why?" Dean managed to rasp.

Sheamus sighed, turning his head slightly. He leaned back against the sofa, Dean's body going with.

"Why did I help you, lad?"

"Yeah."

"Because I know how devious and evil Randy Orton can be. He has a very dangerous aura, can draw anyone into his plans, can turn anyone into a villain. But most of all, because I know what you're going through now and will continue to go through."

The redhead looked at Dean's face and saw dawning realization in his eyes. "He did.. To you?"

Sheamus nodded, noting that Dean looked crestfallen.

"Not to this extent. How many were there?"

Dean was silent for a bit. "Five, I think. Orton, Swagger, Barrett, Miz, McIntyre."

Sheamus was stunned. He knew Barrett was capable of this, having done it to him, but that Drew was involved floored him. He had considered the Scotsman a good friend, but not anymore.

"Drew? God."

"Sorry."

Sheamus' head snapped to look at Ambrose. "Don't be sorry, Dean. You've done nothing wrong."

"But I know Drew's your best friend."

"Not anymore. He lost my friendship as soon as he agreed to hurt you."

Tears filled Dean's eyes again. Sheamus reached out and tenderly wiped them away.

"None of that, love," Sheamus said, making Dean flinch at the term. "Sorry, I call all people 'love' at some time or another. I'll not do tha if ya don't like it."

Dean shivered, his throat hurting. "I just want to sleep. But I know I won't."

"I do have vicodin. Had it for pain for my shoulder," he clarified. "It would help put you out."

Dean thought a moment before nodding his head. The Celtic Warrior helped Ambrose rise to his feet, aiding him along to put him in one of the beds. He quickly went to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water and the pill for Dean. Once the abused man took the medicine, he was out in under 10 minutes.

****

Sheamus O'Shaughnessy sat back on the sofa, house phone in hand. He sighed heavily, tears welling in his eyes, a lump forming in his throat. This should have been stopped. He should have stopped Orton years ago. When he'd had the chance. He thought of the battered man asleep in the guest bedroom, how abused he was. He'd been there.

His mind drifted back to three years prior when he'd been victim to Orton and Barrett. They'd done it to put him back in his place, or so they said. Sheamus knew it was because he'd turned down the Viper's sexual advances. Only they hadn't followed him to a deserted area and nearly killed him.

The redhead lifted the phone and punched in a number from memory.

"'Lo?"

"I need a favor."

"Name it."

"I just got back to the WWE but I need more time off."

"How to you want to play it?"

"Come up with some injury, something that'll give me a couple of months."

"Broken leg? I can switch out x-rays and fudge the results."

Sheamus stood and ventured to the kitchen, grabbing a beer, snapping off the cover and quickly draining half of it.

"That sounds good."

"Where are you now?"

"Vegas."

The man on the other end sighed. "Okay, well. It'll take a little time to get things forged on this end. But you should hear from me in a couple of hours, alright?"

Sheamus sighed in relief. "Thanks, Doc." He hung up as he emptied the beer in his hand.

The redhead paced around a little, trying to get his chaotic thoughts in order. At least he had Dr Chris Amann in the know. Doc had found him three years ago after his attack from Orton and Barrett. Chris had helped him recover, and since then, the two men had a close friendship.

Sheamus thought back to his own experience. How Randy had approached him with a night out to celebrate both their recent accomplishments. Barrett had tagged along. The Irishman had no problems with that. He'd known Wade for a very long time, considered him one of his closest friends.

But it had all gone wrong when they were on a deserted road and Randy had feigned car trouble. Wade and Randy had gotten out first, to see what the problem was. When Sheamus had gotten out, they had grabbed him, dragging him into a field and assaulted him. Then they'd left him there, like cattle being put out to pasture. He didn't know if Orton and Barrett intended for him to succumb to the elements but the surprise on their faces when next they saw him was proof enough, in Sheamus' eyes.

Sheamus shook his head, clearing his thoughts. Had it not been for Dr Chris Amann, the WWE's ringside physician, he probably would have died. Doc had wanted to take him to the hospital but the Irishman refused. It wouldn't solve anything and it would cause a lot of negative publicity, most of it probably towards himself.

He knew there was a lot of stigma towards rape victims. Those who didn't understand that it was about power and control, not sex. Orton believed Sheamus was becoming a bigger star than him, and aimed to take the redhead down a peg or six.

He just didn't understand why Orton attacked Dean with four other men. It they'd been any rougher, Ambrose would be dead, Sheamus was sure of that.

Sheamus rose up, heading to the guest room. He'd left the door open in case Dean rolled off the bed from the nightmares he was bound to have, but peering into the room, the redhead saw that his friend hadn't moved. Fatigue was easy to see on his face, cuts, bruises. No doubt he was swollen in various places too.

He sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at the man. Sorrow filled him. He wished he could have prevented this. But, by God, who would avenge it.

***

Drew McIntyre picked up his half empty beer bottle. He'd been drinking non-stop since his participation in the destruction of Dean Ambrose. Why he got involved, he'll never know. Wade had convinced him that Dean was somehow responsible for Drew not having a place on TV anymore. Where the logic came in, he didn't know.

Drew checked to make sure his door was locked, before heading back to his living room. He'd been paranoid as hell since he had split from his co-conspirators. Randy had urged him to be vigilant but how could he? He'd helped rape a man, had witnessed his possible murder.

The Scotsman felt sick. He rushed to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before emptying his guts. When his stomach was empty, he continued dry heaving until he was nearly unconscious.

Oh my fucking god, he thought. I'm a fucking rapist. What had he become?

After a few minutes, Drew stood and looked into the mirror, beyond disgusted with himself. He used the mouthwash thoroughly before exiting the bathroom. He headed back to the living room of his house in Reno, stopping short when he saw his long-time friend Sheamus sitting on the couch.

"Hey."

Sheamus looked up at Drew, managing to suppress his disgust he felt.

"How'd you get in?"

"Did ya forget ya gave me the key?"

Drew smiled, "Oh yeah. My mind sometimes..."

Sheamus looked around the room, noticing how many empty beer bottles there were. He raised an eyebrow as he looked at Drew, who had the decency to look ashamed.

"Just had a few days off, just got into town. Where else am I going to go?"

Drew looked at his friend. "Want a beer?"

Sheamus laughed. "I think you'd had enough, D."

"I'm not drunk, Shay. Just haven't cleaned up in a while."

Sheamus smiled as he rose up, "Ah. I'll get it."

The Irishman watched as Drew picked up the TV remote. Sheamus stopped a second. "You got any of those cookies left?"

"Yeah, I think so."

Sheamus continued on, grabbing two beers from the fridge, twisting off the covers. He dug into his jeans pocket and came up with a vial filled with clear liquid. Hesitating only slightly, he poured the contents into Drew's beer. To avoid accidentally crossing them, he took a long swig from the other bottle.

A minute later, he was seated back beside Drew, who took the beer and drank away. Sheamus looked at Drew, his mouth in a firm line, as he watched the man quickly empty the bottle, continuing to watch as he became sluggish.

"I know what you did, Drew."

"Whaaa...?" Drew struggled to look at the redhead.

"I know you can hear me loud and clear, Drew. I've given you a drug to weaken you."

Drew looked confused. "Why?"

"I know what you helped do to Dean Ambrose."

The blood drained from Drew's already ashen face. "Huh?"

"I found him. In the lake. I pulled him out."

"He's alive?"

"No thanks to you and those other cronies of Orton."

Tears welled up in Drew's eyes. "I don't know why I did it. I really don't. Wade convinced me of it. I'm so sorry! Please tell him that! Please!"

Sheamus looked at his former friend stoically. "I'll tell him."

Drew sighed in relief. "Thank you Shay."

"Doesn't change anything right now though."

"No, I suppose it doesn't."

Sheamus' hand went into his pocket again and came up with a handful of pills. He held them out in front of Drew, who looked to him confused.

"Take these. Atone for your sins."

Drew was in disbelief. "What is it?"

"Vicodin. If you don't take it willingly, I'll shove them down your feckin' throat."

The Scotsman could clearly see the rage in Sheamus' eyes. "Why are you so mad?"

"'Cause Randy did the same feckin' thing to me, goddammit! And I'm going ta make the bastard pay!"

Drew's lip wobbled, his eyes wide in fear. After a beat, he took all the pills in Sheamus' hand, swallowing as many as he could dry. He coughed and a few flew out of his mouth. Sheamus passively picked them up and handed them back to McIntyre. He handed over his partially empty beer bottle, which Drew downed.

"I'm sorry, Shay. I know I'm such a disappointment. I deserve this. Tell him I'm sorry..."

McIntyre laid back on the couch and closed his eyes. Sheamus just started at him and waited.

Five minutes. Ten minutes. Fifteen minutes. Drew's chest had stopped rising but Sheamus continued to watch him. He waited another half hour, making sure the man was dead, lifting a shaky hand to his throat.

No pulse.

"It's not my place to forgive ya, Drew. That's Dean's place. I'll tell him your apologies but it won't make it disappear."

Sheamus stood, turmoil careening through his body. Oddly enough though, his mind was clear. This had to happen. He would make it as right as he could. It could not be undone but it could be avenged.

The Irishman turned to leave, looking back one last time at the man who was once his best friend, a man he loved like a brother.

The man he just killed.

Drew was the first. There were four more to follow. Those men had signed their own death warrants as soon as they touched Dean Ambrose. But he wasn't doing this just for Dean, but himself too. His rage had been dormant for far too long. He relished this.

With a sigh, Sheamus exited the house for the last time, leaving inside the dead body of Drew McIntyre.


	6. Chapter 6

Just want to say thank you for all the wonderful reviews. Makes me feel like I'm doing something right. :)

Dean Ambrose slowly came awake, the sludge in his mind fading. He went to move but couldn't. He looked down to see blankets wrapped around him body.

"Wha...?"

"Dean. Glad to see you awake."

Ambrose looked over to see the WWE's ringside physician sitting on a chair, a medical file in hand.

"Chris?"

Dr Amann nodded. "How are you feeling?"

Dean took a moment to think and with lightning speed, everything came back to him. Chris saw when it did and approached the bed cautiously.

"Calm down, don't freak out. You're safe, okay?"

Dean was nearly hyperventilating, but tried his best to calm himself. Several minutes passed.

"Where's Sheamus?"

Chris averted his eyes inconspicuously. "He had an errand to run. He should be back soon."

"Can you help me to the bathroom? I want to get clean."

Chris nodded, nearing the bed to help Dean to his feet. It took some doing but both men were able to get to the bathroom.

"Do you want me to stay? In case you need help with anything?"

Dean looked conflicted.

The doctor nodded. "I know how you feel. I went through this with Shay, he was the same way. I could get a stool and set in the tub so you can clean that way."

Dean stared off. "Why'd they do it?" he asked quietly.

Chris sighed. "They wanted to control you. To scare you. They used your own body to gain power over you."

Ambrose was shaking slightly as he heard a thump.

"Don't worry, it's probably Shay. No one knows he's here."

A knock came on the door a moment later. "Everything alright?" came the Irishman's voice through the door.

"Would you rather he help you here than me?"

Dean's eyes were watery as he nodded. Chris opened the door to leave, allowing Sheamus to enter the room.

"Hey fella. How you feeling now?"

Dean drew in a shaky breath, letting it out just as jagged. "Like I was ran over by a steamroller."

Sheamus nodded. "The first few days are the worst. Healing from the injuries, mentally coming to grips with what happened."

"I want to get clean."

"I know you do. Would you like me to help you wash?"

Tears fell down over Dean's pale cheeks. "Would it be weird?"

"Not at all, love." Sheamus was pleased that Dean didn't flinch at the term. "I feel privileged that you trust me this much."

Dean began pushing the blankets from his body, the shaking increasing. Sheamus looked at the dark bruises mottling Ambrose's body and his heart broke. What they had done to him was unspeakable. It was unforgivable.

The Irishman's gaze continued down Dean's body, his own eyes watering, cringing when the man's chafed penis came into view. He looked back at Dean's face, gently wiping his tears away.

"I am so sorry this happened to you, Dean."

That seemed to open the floodgates again and great wracking sobs came from Dean. Sheamus pulled the man into his arms, holding him tight, allowing him to cry for as long as he needed. Sheamus sat them on the edge of the tub, one arm bracing his back, the other away from Dean.

"Doc Amann said it was power and control."

"Aye, it is," the redhead agreed, nodding. "I expect that it was more than just that though. Did Orton hit on you?"

Dean's head turned sharply, looking deeply into the man's blue eyes. "How did you...?"

"Same situation, I'd imagine. He hit on me, in his goading, egotistical way, making it seem like I should be feckin' grateful I was in his sights. I turned him down. Two nights later, he and Barrett came up with a ruse to get me alone out on a deserted road. They attacked me in an empty field and left me for dead. Chris found me. He nursed me back to health. Damn well saved my life," Sheamus praised.

Dean looked around, seemingly unaware of his nudity, although it felt better not to have layers of cloth on his sore frame.

"I don't know how to deal with this. How can I just go on like nothing happened, go to work and have to see them? I just..."

Sheamus wondered if he should tell him what he had done earlier but maybe it'd make him feel better.

"You may not have to worry 'bout that too much longer. I'm taking care of it."

Dean looked at Sheamus, not understanding what he was talking about.

"When I left earlier, I went to Drew's house in Reno."

Dean stiffened at the mention of one of his attackers.

"He'd been drinking. I drugged him."

Ambrose's eyes widened in shock. "You... what?"

"I let Orton and Barrett get away with it before. Not this time," he informed his friend. "I drugged him, then I told him I knew what he had done, what he helped the other bastards do. Told him that you were alive, then I forced him to take an overdose."

Dean was stunned. "You..."

"He's dead, Dean. And I don't feel one bit of remorse. He fecking deserved it. And I–"

"Oh god," Dean sighed.

Sheamus rubbed Dean's back. "Look, fella, they'd never be punished for this. The number of men involved, they'd provide alibis for each other. You'd be in hell every day, having to put up with them. And who's to say you wouldn't have to face any of them in the ring. There's no reason for you to have to deal with that."

"But he's your friend," Dean tried to reason.

"No. I said before that he became my former friend the second he agreed to hurt ya, fella. He claimed that Barrett coerced him into it."

Dean scoffed. "Small consolation."

"He apologized."

Dean just stared. Silence followed. There was nothing more to say.

*****

Wade Barrett heard the phone ring, answering it distractedly.

"'Lo?"

"Have you heard the news?"

Wade stopped short. "Wot news?"

Mike Mizinan sighed. "Drew's dead."

Wade was stunned. "Wot? When?"

"Apparently he took an overdose of vicoden."

"Why the 'ell would he do that?"

"Why the fuck do you think, man? What we did. We fucking raped a man because Orton said he posed a threat to our place in the company! Jesus Christ, we watched Randy push him out in the fucking water. He probably fucking drowned!" Mike yelled wildly.

Wade went to speak but Mike continued on.

"Drew was probably overwhelmed with guilt! God, I didn't know to what extent Randy and the rest of us were going to take things."

"Calm the fuck down, Miz! Wot's done is done. Nothing can feckin' change it now. So just pipe down, you're givin' me a bloody headache."

Wade wandered around his temporary apartment in Carson City. He picked up various objects, a notepad, a pen, the phonebook, before tossing them back down.

"Drew's dead," Wade said. "I can't believe it."

"Yeah. Well, I think that none of us really thought about the aftermath of what we did," Miz pointed out. "I know I didn't. Something like that you can't take back."

"Yeah," Wade agreed.

Miz continued. "Like it or not, this is something we have to come to terms with. We destroyed a man's life and probably caused his death, because Orton said so. And now with Drew's suicide..."

Wade sighed heavily, sitting back on the leather couch. "Yes, I get what you're saying. Doesn't make it any easier to deal with though."

Several moments of silence passed.

"Well, I just called you to tell you about Drew. I have to go. Maryse is probably wondering where I am."

"Yeah, well. I'll talk to you later."

Wade disconnected the call, tossing the phone aside. Could the guilt have hit Drew so fast and hard that he felt there was no other way out than suicide? Drew, who had so much to live for.

Barrett rose up again, heading to the kitchen. He decided to forgo beer in favor of coffee. He didn't need to be drinking, not when he had an important secret to protect.

But Wade knew he shouldn't have listened to Randy. It wasn't the first time either. He'd listened to Randy when they had raped Sheamus and left him for dead. The only way he'd dealt with it was to take that experience and shove it into the far corners of his mind. But this was so much worse.

He knew his actions had killed a man. And Ambrose had never done anything to him. How way Dean more of a threat to his status in the company than, say, Roman Reigns or Daniel Bryan. If anything, he should be more pissed at Daniel for betraying Nexus.

Wade emptied his coffee as he entered his bedroom, laying the empty cup on the dresser. He was suddenly so tired for some reason. And it was only 4 pm.

"Why'm I so bloody tired?" he wondered out loud as he flopped back on his unmade bed.

"I drugged you."

Wade looked up to see Sheamus O'Shaughnessy standing at the foot of the bed, a blank look on his face.

"Shay?"

"Don't call me that. You don't have the right, not since you and Randy Orton raped me."

Sorrow and regret filled Wade's eyes. "I should never have done that. I'm so sorry Shay– Sheamus."

Sheamus moved to the side of the bed, glaring down at Wade, but his expression gave nothing away.

"Have you heard about Drew?" the redhead asked, knowing full well the Brit had gotten a phone call about the man's 'suicide' earlier.

"Yeah. Can't believe it. Drew seems like the last person who would kill himself."

The Irishman just levied a look at the prone man. "Perhaps his role in Dean Ambrose's rape pushed him over the edge."

"Yeah." Wade stopped as his mind processed what the man had just said. "What?" Knowledge dawned in Barrett's mind. "You know... about... that?"

Sheamus sneered. "I pulled him out of the feckin' lake!" he informed the increasingly nervous Brit. "I saw all the marks you laid on his body. I know who's involved. Drew was so remorseful."

"Wait," Wade began as he struggled to sit up but failing. "You've seen Drew since that happened? But that was only..."

"I know when it was, Wade," Sheamus replied coldly. "I took care of Drew."

Wade's eyes were wide as he realized what Sheamus was telling him. "You... you..."

"I gave him a choice. Either take the Vicoden willingly, or I'd shove it down his fecking throat."

"Oh my fucking God!" Wade cried, the gravity of what he had partaken in finally sinking in. "What have I done?"

Sheamus' eyes curled. "You expect me to have sympathy? For you? You destroyed lives for Chrissake! There's no good excuse for that!"

"I know," Wade slurred, the drug taking hold of him completely.

Sheamus reached down to a black box he'd brought with him. He pulled on elbow-length black gloves before opening the box. Immediately, a rattler rose up, slithering out, searching for threats. When Wade saw the snake, he started panicking, kicking his legs out. The snake moved around, avoiding Wade's legs, before curling around his thigh and sinking his fangs in. Wade screamed out, trying to reach down to remove the snake but he felt like he was trying to swim through molasses. The snake reared back and struck again, depositing a second dose of poison.

"Shay, why?" Wade cried out as he started frothing.

"You deserve to die for your sins," Sheamus explained calmly. "What you did to me, what you've done to Dean, is unforgivable. There will never be a just punishment from the courts. So I have taken on the role of judge, jury and executioner. And I'm not worried about being bitten. Even if I was, I've taken anti-venom, something you won't be getting, if that wasn't already obvious."

Sheamus watched as Wade's cries eventually quieted. The snake was still gnawing on Barrett's thigh, its poison wafting through his body. Quickly and efficiently, the Irishman grabbed the snake by the back of the neck, preventing him from further attacks, then putting the reptile back into the box, locking it before removing his gloves. By then, Wade was foaming at the mouth and a rash had broken out over his face. The Brit started convulsing, his limbs flailing about wildly, doing so for several minutes before he was still.

Sheamus sighed before nearing his former friend, checking for a pulse and finding none. He turned to check the window, glad he remembered that the screen had a hole in it. He opened the window, giving whoever found Wade's body fair reason to believe a snake came in through the window. After all, how else would a snake just happen to get in?


	7. Chapter 7

Dean Ambrose pulled himself into a sitting position, not the easiest thing to do given the abuse he'd taken, but it was getting better. He was healing well enough though. Doc Amann had gotten him some medication to prevent infections, both from the attack and for being in the lake afterwards.

Speaking of the doc, he was sitting in a barcalounger across from him, working on something on his ipad. Sheamus had told him how Chris had helped him, fudging various reports so the Irishman could stay with Dean while he healed. Dean would be forever grateful for everything the redhead had done for him.

But just how was he going to go on? He'd been so thoroughly violated, so broken, nearly obliterated. And why? Because he was good at his job?

He shuddered when he recalled the vitriolic words Orton had hurled at him while tearing open his body. How one man could hate another man, be so cruel, was unfathomable to him.

Dean, as Jon Moxley, had proclaimed to be a 'sick guy' but Orton and his cronies were beyond that. They were deplorable and to know Orton had gotten away with it once before was so disheartening.

But Sheamus... Sheamus was taking measures to ensure this could never happen again. He'd killed Drew McIntyre, made it look like suicide. He'd actually killed his best friend, to avenge Dean.

God.

That kind of loyalty was astounding. Sheamus offered no apologies, he didn't need to. Dean would not try to talk Sheamus out of it though. Drew deserved to die, in his opinion. He'd throat-fucked Dean's airway passage raw, had nearly suffocated him. The only thing Dean would change was for to have been there to see him die.

It might make him a bad person but he didn't really care. Drew was one of five men who attacked him on such a visceral level that he'd probably never be the same again.

"Hey there."

Dean looked up to see Chris' concerned eyes on him. "Everything okay?"

Dean shrugged. "Just thinking."

Chris nodded. "It's a hard thing to have to deal with. I personally haven't been raped but I know of more men than you'd expect who have."

"I just don't know how to even start to move forward. I don't even know how the company is dealing with this."

Another voice cut in. "You've been officially listed as missing."

Dean looked up to see Sheamus and instantly he felt better. He always felt better when the Irishman was around. He didn't dwell on that thought too much though.

"Who reported me missing?" Dean asked, pulling the thick blanket around him more.

Sheamus walked into the room and sat near Dean. "Seth and Roman are frantic because they can't find you. Vince is in a dizzy, first from your disappearance and Drew's suicide. Orton–" his lip curled in anger– "is smug as hell. You were supposed to win the WWE world heavyweight title from him. This is why he went after you."

Dean was floored.

"Randy realizes that he's getting older and he won't be the top guy forever. Holding this title, right now, could very well be the last time he does... He feels rather insulted that he's supposed to lose the belt to you," Sheamus concluded.

"Professional jealousy? That's why they..." Dean trailed off. "How do you know this?"

Sheamus smiled eerily. "I have my sources."

Dean cracked a smile for the first time since his ordeal began. "I'm sure I don't really want to know."

Chris laughed.

Sheamus continued. "I want you to know Dean, that anything you need or want to say, you can do so in front of Chris. He's been helping me, not only with you, but–"

"He said that he fudged reports for you so you can stay with me."

Sheamus offered a small smile. "Aye, but as far as Drew went... Chris helped me procure the specific drugs I used."

"Oh." Dean remained silent for several moments. "So..." he really didn't know how to ask Sheamus anything, not knowing how nosy he could really be.

"You can ask me anything, love," Sheamus told him. "But I think you were going to ask me where I was." Dean looked a little embarrassed at that. "I know I was gone for a long time. I drove to Carson City. To kill Wade Barrett."

Dean, again, was stunned. "How?"

"Poisonous snake. He's always had this hole in the screen of the window in his bedroom. I just made a point to open the window. Snakes are native to Nevada. It wasn't too hard."

Dean's face was unreadable. "Did he suffer?" he asked lowly, his eyes cold and hard.

"Yes he did."

"Good."

******

Mike Mizinan was worried. With good reason. Maybe the word was paranoid. God knows. His feelings were all muddled up, had been for a long time now. The only thing he was sure of was Maryse. She had told him earlier that they were expecting a little Maryse or a little Miz. He was going to be a father.

He should be happy. Well, his career had taken a decided turn and he was relegated to being a jobber again. He was WWE champion for a fucking year and now he was jobbing to the likes of R-Truth or Ryback.

He'd had such plans. None of those plans included essentially killing a man but that was the past and the past could not be changed. Although what he wouldn't give for that memory erasing doohickey from Men in Black...

Drew was dead. He'd killed himself. Guilt-ridden, Mike guessed. But Wade... a snake had gotten into his house through a hole in his window screen. Of all the bad luck.

But Mike had his suspicions.

For example, what if somehow Dean Ambrose had survived the attack on him? What if he was the one doing all this? But then he'd be realistic about it. He'd be too injured to do anything. Mike almost smirked at the thought.

He wasn't really sorry he'd taken part in the attack on Ambrose. After all, the Shield tended to be in almost every main event on Raw and Smackdown. That should be his spot. Roman was untouchable due to his connection to the Rock and the Samoan dynasty. Seth was being overlooked, just like him, even if he was garnering praise for his talent. Dean was the one they could get to. And knowing Randy like he did, he probably hit on Dean and Ambrose turned him down.

Randy was always such a whore. He's sleep with anything, with or without a dick, willing or not. He'd done it for years. Mike had been one of the willing. But for every willing fuck Randy had, there were probably five who were unwilling.

It's not like Mike didn't have a violent streak. Everyone knew he did. But they didn't really know how deep that streak went. And he'd been more than willing to get involved as soon as Randy proposed going after Ambrose. But the idiot was dead now, so it didn't matter. Just like Dean himself didn't matter.

Mike laid his ipad down after closing the webpage reporting on the latest wrestling death. He could understand Drew offing himself. The guy seemed a little wacked out anyways, especially after his marriage to Taryn Terrell, another prime example of crazy.

Mike stood and started to walk around the house. He was bored. He had a few weeks off, given his wedding was happening soon. Vince loved Maryse and hoped to get her back in the company at some point. Guess that was out now that she was pregnant.

He wandered into the kitchen, taking a dessert out of the fridge. One of his neighbours had brought it over as a congratulations on the wedding. It was something he'd never heard of. Rocky Road Bars. He lifted the dish up, seeing marshmallows, chocolate chips, coconut. Ooo, sweet milk. After cutting out a piece, he took his plate, grabbed a beer and sat on the couch.

He picked up the remote and began flipping through the channels, stopping every few seconds when something caught his eye. He twisted off the cap of his beer, gulping some back before laying it on the coffee table.

Almost immediately, his vision started to blur. He put the plate on the table and rubbed at his eyes. His sight cleared just as suddenly as it had blurred.

"Hey darling," Maryse greeted, coming into the room. "Look who stopped by."

Mike looked behind his fiancée to see Sheamus.

"I'm just going to go to the shop to check on everything. I'll be back in a couple of hours. You fine with that, oui?"

"Oh course, sweetie. I'll just have a chat with Shay."

The beautiful blonde kissed her soon-to-be husband and left, the door clattering shut.

"So what brings you here Shay?"

Mike shook his head, trying to shake free of the cobwebs forming in his head.

"What's wrong, Mike?"

Sheamus sat in a chair opposite Mike, fixing the man with a look that could make roses wither.

"What?"

"Just waiting for the full effect to hit you."

Mike was confused. Just what the hell was Sheamus talking about? Suddenly, his equilibrium went crazy, making him feel like his head was a tennis ball being bounced back and forth over a court.

"Eat your dessert Mike."

"Why?" Mizinan slurred.

Sheamus remained silent. Mike didn't like the look in the Irishman's eyes but did as he was told. Maybe then, he'd understand what he was actually doing there. He had the confection gone in a few bites, setting the plate down.

"There. Satisfied?"

"Not quite."

Sheamus moved forward, bracing his elbows on his jean-clad knees. "I'm here to inform you of something."

"What's that?" Mike asked, feeling a strange tightness in his chest.

"Dean Ambrose is alive."

Mike's head popped up, his eyes wide with panic.

"I pulled him from the lake. He's alive and healing. And I'm here to make sure he heals in peace, without the threat of you and his other attackers around."

Mike looked confused, even as he started rasping. He moved to the edge of the couch, hand on his chest, feeling very uncomfortable.

"What are you..."

"Drew and Wade. I'm not going to give you a long winded story. I killed them. Because of what they did to Dean. Wade partly because of what he helped do to me."

Mike stared at Sheamus with horrified eyes.

"Yes. Randy and Wade assaulted me. Three years ago. And now, because of you, Wade, Drew, Jack and Randy, Dean is suffering. I'm making sure to ease at least some of that," Sheamus informed the gasping man.

"What have you done to me?"

Sheamus smiled cruelly. "I made the dessert and left it for your neighbour to bring over. It's laced through with peanuts, and I know how deathly allergic you are to them."

Mike attempted to rise, frantically trying to get to the kitchen where he kept his epinephrine. Sheamus, however, rose up, standing in front of him, a hand out, pushing him back to the couch.

"Sit your arse down. You're not going anywhere fella. This is your punishment for daring to lay an unwelcomed hand on Dean Ambrose."

Mike started gagging as his throat started to close up. He started to convulse, his eyes rolling back into his head. He fell to one side, his body flailing about, foam coming out of his mouth.

Sheamus watched impassively as after several minutes, Mike's body was still. After checking for and failing to find a pulse, the redhead stood and left.

****

Dean looked up as Sheamus entered the room.

"Mike is gone."

Dean lowered his head again, reacted as if Sheamus had just told him what the weather was.

"You want details?"

The man thought a moment. "No, not really. It's good enough for me that he's gone."

Sheamus nodded. "So what have you been up to today?"

"Not much. Just watching tv, surfing the net, wondering what the hell to do." He looked at Sheamus will all the innocence of a newly born babe. "I mean, I'm missing but how do things go forward? I'll go back to a company where some of the superstars have died..."

"Well, for now, ya have to stay missing. It's too dangerous for ya to be found, to be around people. You're fine here with me and Chris but what happens if Seth or Roman go ta hug ya. Would you freak out? Ya don't really know, love. Ya need to be able to deal with being around other people.

"And look at our profession. We deal with close physical contact as part of that profession. What if you're in a match with Kofi or Antonio and it just flashes ya back to it? It's live, fella. You may need more help than I can give ya."

Dean wiped his eyes. "You got through it. You handled it."

"Aye, I did. But every man is different Dean."

Dean felt tears forming in his eyes. "I love wrestling. It's all I've ever known. I don't want to have to give it up!"

Sheamus moved to sit beside Ambrose, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. "I know that."

"I'm so fucking sick of crying and being afraid of every fucking noise and the nightmares and–" he let out a jagged breath. "I just want to be me again. I want to feel something besides numb. I want to go outside and not have to look over my shoulder. I want to–" he broke off, pulling away from Sheamus. "I want to live again."

"You will," the redhead assured him. "You will."


	8. Chapter 8

Sheamus sat back on his king-sized bed thinking. He had a beer in one hand, his cellphone in the other. His phone was blowing up because Mike's body had been found. Maryse had called the police, then him. He told her he left after he and Mike had a row, which wasn't very long after she left. When she had asked what the fight had been about, Sheamus told her that he wouldn't be able to make it to their wedding in the Bahamas. That made her cry anew.

The Irishman still did not feel any guilt after finding out Maryse was pregnant though. She should have known what type of man he was. She'd seen his darker tendencies after all.

The redhead sighed and finished his beer when the bedroom door opened and Dean's face appeared.

"Hey there."

Dean smiled thinly. "You busy? I can come back..."

"Nah, I'm not busy. I was just thinking. That door closes by itself. Guess the house is tilted."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. He trudged in, the limp from the attack having finally gone away.

Chris had been more scarce around the house. Since Dean was healing so well and so quickly, there really was no need of him being there. Plus, he didn't have a valid excuse to give the bosses for him to be gone longer. He'd fudged the reports and turned them in, getting the okay on it. Surprisingly, no one high up in the company had asked to see him. Sure Sheamus 'injury' had derailed certain plans but he really didn't care. Dean was more important.

Dean climbed up on the bed, sitting beside his savior. His once pale face was now a rosy red, like it had always been. The scratches and bruises were nearly gone. The hardest part had been when Chris had to check him to make sure the tearing was healed up. Dean had sobbed, allowing Sheamus hold him close.

Ambrose knew his life had been irrevocably changed. He'd never see the world the way he used to. It would always be tainted now. The rose-colored glasses had been ripped from his face and shattered beneath his feet. His viewpoint would always have a darkness to it, put there by five men who felt it was their right to do what they did, three of which were now dead.

He knew he should feel sorrow that three of his co-workers were dead but he didn't. His vision was tainted of them too. His nightmares were so bad. The cruel taunts, the insults, the bitter words pulled screams from his lungs. He hadn't gotten a good night's sleep in what seemed like months. He knew he'd probably sleep better with Sheamus in the room or even beside him but he didn't want it to be weird. He didn't want to equate Sheamus with the good because when Dean was healed and back home...

Not that he had a home, not really.

Sheamus cared for him, did everything in his power for him, had killed for him. Part of it was, yes, his own rage but finding Dean like he did seemed to have ratcheted the fury higher. Dean was able, quite easily, to keep the two separate in his mind. Sheamus the man, who was his friend and co-worker, and Sheamus his saviour, who had saved him from a certain death.

Dean trusted Sheamus. Implicitly. He'd probably never trust another person more. Yes, he trusted Roman and Seth. They were his best friends. Sami Callahan too, to an extent. But he didn't know how they'd deal with the knowledge of his assault. Would they walk around him on eggshells? Pity him? Or just think he was disgusting?

He was feeling a lot better physically. Mentally he felt more fragile than a tissue in a rainstorm. He wondered what this meant for his life now.

"Yer thinkin' too hard," Sheamus' voice cut through his thoughts.

"Nothing else to do," Dean shrugged.

"Perhaps."

The silence resumed.

"Maybe you should start imagining various scenarios and how you'd react to it."

Dean turned his head. "Like?"

Sheamus turned his body slightly. "Well, after my attack, one of the ways I got through was to picture myself in different situations and imagining my reaction to it. I didn't miss a whole lot of time back then, I was o nly gone long enough for my physical wounds to heal."

Dean thought about that time. He hadn't even started at FCW yet. He wasn't focused on anything else except his training.

"I used to imagine," Sheamus recalled. "That I was in a match against Wade. At first, I'd start hyperventilating, go into full-blown panic attacks. But I forced myself to replay the scene until I could see myself beating the shit out of him. First time I got in the ring with him after that, I threw quite a few stiff punches. He pretty much steered clear of me after that."

"But that was how you reacted. I'll probably be different than this."

Sheamus smiled assuredly. "Aye, but you are the only one who can decide how much you can handle."

Ambrose though about that. He was right. Of course he was right.

So he sat back, closed his eyes and imagined himself have to face Randy Orton. Immediately he froze. He felt himself start to shake. A cold sweat broke out over his body and his arms and legs felt like they were covered in ants. His eyes flew open and he looked to his friend.

"It takes time, love," the Irishman reiterated. He cautiously wrapped an arm around Dean's shoulder, pleased when the man didn't so much as flinch.

"How long did it take you?" Dean asked once his head rate was back to normal.

"Well," Sheamus answered, leaning his head back. "I spent one whole day at my place, alone. I ran different scenes through my head, even speaking them out loud, over and over, until my anger outweighed my fear."

Dean was silent, head down, looking at his fingers which were clenching and unclenching.

"Do you think Orton did this to anyone else?" Dean wondered in a small voice.

The redhead sighed. "I've thought about that. Many times in fact. I also wondered how many men he's destroyed since then. I didn't speak up after all, so if anyone's to blame–"

"No!" Dean broke in. "You are not responsible for any of this. He's the cocksucking piece of shit, not you. No one's to blame but him."

Sheamus smiled serenely. "I know that. Even though the fear dissipated and anger replaced that fear, guilt is the hardest thing to overcome. Then there's the what-ifs. Like 'what if I hadn't been there' or 'what if I had done something differently'. It could drive you mad if you let it.

"A lot of victims don't get the support I got back then, or that you're getting now. Some have to deal with it alone and it completely ruins them. But allowing that lets the rapist win."

Dean nodded emphatically, letting Sheamus pull him close, enjoying the man's embrace.

After a few moments, he pulled back. "I know you'll go after Jack next and leave Orton for last." He waited until his friend confirmed that. "When you handle Orton, I want to be there."

Sheamus was surprised. "Are you sure about that?"

Ambrose nodded, determined. "I think that may be the only way to truly gain closure. To know that it's really and truly over. I think it's something I need."

Sheamus was a little skeptical at first but hearing the man's thought process convinced him.

"When are you going for Jack?"

"Not sure. Just have to remember to take the crutches. Lucky I remembered them when I went to Mike's. 'Course, I didn't expect his girl to be there."

"You've accounted for everything. One little slip won't ruin everything."

Sheamus was silent.

"If she became a problem, would you... take care of her?"

The redhead looked at Dean, who's blue eyes were expressionless. "If I had to," he admitted.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sheamus was exhausted. He looked down over the cliff, eyes Jack Swagger's car engulfed in flames. One more to go.

The redhead sighed and began walking. It was a few miles until he got to his hidden car but that gave him plenty of time to think. Hell, he was always thinking.

He never realized how tired he had become since his own attack. It was soul draining really, putting up a facade of indifference when it came to Wade and Randy. But Wade was dead now. His soul felt marginally lighter because he knew Wade didn't come up with the idea of attacking him. He couldn't imagine how he'd feel once Orton was dead.

Sheamus sighed again, heavily, as he thought of his friend Dean. He knew he was pushing the man, sometimes too hard but Dean needed to live again. But really, would what meant everything to him before mean much now? Sheamus still didn't know. Sure he had won titles and accolades but it always felt like something was missing. Randy had stolen something from him that he had yet to find or get back. But the more he helped Dean recover and deal, it seemed like he was slowly getting that missing piece back.

Sheamus pulled his hat down over his head and shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. He realized he was probably falling in love with Dean, but he would never approach it with him. He was still fragile. He might never want to be intimate again. And Sheamus didn't know if Dean would even be open to a relationship with another man. The only thing he knew about Dean's romantic past, if you could call it that, was his encounters with ring rats.

The Irishman himself hadn't had sex since before his attack. That was three long years. If he was intimate with someone now, he'd probably explode before his pants were off. That would be pretty embarrassing. Sure he had plenty of 'private' time but he never allowed anyone to get close to him like that since. He knew it was different with Dean because he was going through the same thing.

Finally, the redhead came upon his car, an old clunker with no GPS in it, and headed back to Las Vegas. Dean was at the house, probably wondering where he was. Chris was there for company but he noticed that Ambrose didn't truly relax until Sheamus was back in his sight. He'd be lying if he said it didn't make him feel all warm inside.

A few hours later, Sheamus returned to the house. He stayed in the garage for a few minutes, composing himself. Letting out a breath, he entered the house after making sure everything was locked up.

Dean's eyes lit up at seeing him, and he almost turned around and left the room again. It was humbling to see that kind of trust from a man who'd been so violated. He didn't want to be his crutch. He wanted Dean to be able to live his life again. Free and independent, not having to rely on anything or anyone. Of course, nothing was easy.

"So?" Dean asked.

Sheamus smiled eerily. "Over a cliff."

Dean leaned his head back and closed his eyes, trying to imagine the moment when Jack Swagger's life ended.

Sheamus glanced at Chris surreptitiously, indicating that he would need privacy.

"Well, I should head out. Work to do," Chris said, rising up. "I'll see you later, alright Dean?"

Dean nodded. Sheamus waited until hearing the door open, then close and lock.

"Well, that wasn't exactly subtle," Dean noted.

Sheamus offered a small grin. "Well, I want to talk to you about something and the less Chris knows, the better."

Dean turned to his friend as he sat on the couch.

"Four of them are gone. All considered accidents or suicide. But still, no one knows what they've done."

Dean nodded, urging the redhead to continue.

"Randy Orton will be different. Everyone will know he's been murdered and I'm okay with that. Everyone knows how horrible a person he is. This will be his penance. But I will get a complete confession from him. Count on that. However, after this happens, I want us to leave the country."

Ambrose was confused. "I don't understand. Why?"

The Irishman grimaced, knowing this explanation wouldn't be easy. "Do you think of wrestling the same way?" he asked.

"That's an odd question."

"Not really. Just think about it."

Dean shrugged and let his mind wander. He imagined himself in the ring, facing Kofi or Antonio. He felt his skin crawl. He tried to imagine him physically locking up with one of them. He had to force the bile down.

"I don't know if I can do it again," Dean replied, his eyes filled with wonder and panic. "What does that mean?"

Sheamus sighed, running his hands through his hair. "It's been a chore to perform in the ring the last few years. I don't like being touched like that anymore. I'd walk away if I didn't think my friends would track me down."

Dean snorted.

"If I let everything progress naturally, and Randy was arrested, I'd be put away for murder, no matter how justified."

Panic careened through Dean. No, he couldn't be without Sheamus. He needed the redhead. He moved towards Sheamus quickly, grabbing his arms.

"You can't leave! I can't do this without you! I need you to help me through this. I can't... I ca..." Dean started sobbing as he lowered his head to Sheamus' shoulder. "Please, don't leave me!"

Sheamus wrapped his arms around Dean's back, holding him close. He felt Dean slide his own arms around his torso, hands rubbing at Ambrose's back.

"Shh, fella, it's okay."

"No it's not!"

Sheamus started to wiggle in Dean's embrace, the man's grip tight. "Can't breathe," he rasped and immediately, Dean loosened his grip.

"You misunderstand me, Dean. I'm not suggesting that I leave, I'm suggesting that you come with me."

Dean's sobs subsided and he pulled back to look into Sheamus' eyes. "Seriously?"

The Irishman nodded. Without even thinking about it, Dean leaned forward and kissed Sheamus hard on the mouth. He pulled back, horrified.

"Uh..."

"It's fine. Might be the only kiss I ever get from you," Sheamus said, fingers touching his lips.

"What do you mean?"

Sheamus smiled sweetly. "Dean, love, after that, I'm not going to lie to you about anything. I do have feelings for you but I'm not going to push."

Dean stared at the redhead in awe. "You have... feelings... for *me*?"

Sheamus felt a twinge of anger over how unloved Dean appeared to be. "Yes, love. I've felt a kinship with you from when all this started, but I've seen the kind of man you are. No pretenses, no hidden parts, I've seen all of you. At your worst. My feelings are independent from what's happened to you. I can see how strong you are, how kind a person you are. Every part of you is beautiful to me," Sheamus impassioned, deciding to lay it all out in the open. "Even little things, like how you chew your lip when you're thinking, how you smile when you don't know I'm looking. You're gorgeous cheekbones that I'm love to caress in the head of passion, how your eyes sparkle when you laugh."

Dean blushed, hanging his head down. Sheamus reached out and raised it back up.

"Don't hid from me, love. Everything I've seen from you, good and bad, has made you the man before me now. And yes, that man is the man I love."

Dean took in a shaky breath. He felt something break free inside of him. He'd always felt so alone, so empty. And it was horrible that it took something like this to open their eyes.

But looking at Sheamus, who seemed so apprehensive, Dean felt something he hadn't felt in such a long time: acceptance for who he really was.

Dean smiled through his tears as he smiled at Sheamus. "I, uh, can't say that back to you, not yet. I usually feel nothing. Disregarded, overlooked, ignored, abused..."

"I don't expect you to tell me you love me. That wasn't why I told you. That would be incredibly selfish of me. I'm willing to wait," Sheamus informed him, "for as long as it takes for you to feel comfortable in letting me into your heart. I'd wait forever."

Ambrose wiped his eyes. He was filled with.. was that joy? to know this handsome man loved him, wanted him and was willing to wait for however long it too for him.

He cleared his throat. "Well, uh... I don't think you'll have to wait forever but I'll need more time."

Sheamus reached out a hand to caress Dean's hair. "I didn't mean now, love," he laughed. "You take as long as you need. There's no time limit, no timeline. You will not be pressured for anything."

Dean looked down at his hands briefly. "What if we started to... and then I can't?"

"Then we stop," Sheamus replied firmly.

"Really?" Dean's voice was filled with wonderment.

"Really. After all, the last thing I want to do is hurt the man I love."


	9. Chapter 9

AN: This chapter has explicit violence in it.

Randy Orton moaned as he came awake. What the hell did he drink? How much did he drink? He went to rub at his eyes but found he couldn't. He opened his eyes and was greeted by completely darkness.

"Hello? Anyone here? What's going on?"

His voice echoed all around him. Was he in some kind of warehouse or something? It felt cold and very weird.

Suddenly the lights came on, nearly blinding him, making him squeeze his lids shut. Gradually, he adjusted and opened his eyes. He looked around. He saw his arms restrained out to each side of him. His feet were restrained in a similar manner. He also appeared to be naked with a single sheet draped over him.

"What the fuck is going on? Who the fuck's doing this?"

"You kiss your daughter with that mouth?"

Orton turned his head to see Sheamus O'Shaughnessy leaning against a far wall.

"Sheamus? What the hell?"

"Not only me."

Sheamus pointed across the room and Randy felt the first inklings of fear as Dean Ambrose stepped forward, pushing himself off the opposite wall.

"Surprise, Orton."

"How– what– there was no way–"

"Shut you, jackass," Dean said with a snarl.

"Oh and you're going to make me?"

Sheamus quickly neared the Viper and smacked him hard across the face. After a moment he told Randy, "I could just let loose, let myself go and kill you real quick, but where would the suffering be then."

Randy's blood ran cold as the casual mention of killing him. Sheamus was calm– too calm for his liking.

"You can't kill me. You'd never get away with it," Randy pointed off confidently.

Sheamus stared straight into Orton's eyes. "Tell that to Wade. Or Mike. Or how about Jack or Drew. Oh wait... you can't."

Randy drew in a sharp breath. "You killed them?" he questioned incredulously.

Sheamus was silent. Randy looked to Dean, who's expression could melt concrete. Ambrose simply neared a table and removed the sheet on top, revealing a plethora of weapons. Knives, hammers, various assortments of blades, whips and guns, and that was just what Orton could see.

"Just what are you going to do?" Randy asked tremulously.

Sheamus' grin was positively sadistic. "Look at that table. Think of what you did to me, to Dean. Then ask yourself that question again."

Orton swallowed hard. "Is there anything I can say or do to get out of this?"

Sheamus appeared to think. He and Dean had talked about this. "Well, how about a full confession of everything you've ever done to us. And to any others. Just between us."

Dean surreptitiously pressed the button on a handheld tape recorder, as well as pressing record in a program on the ipad on the table.

In fear of his life, Randy Orton caved and sang like a bird, revealing every slight, every insult, every single detail of everyone he'd ever hurt. Sheamus was stunned to know that Wade Barrett was also a victim of Orton's. Even more bowled over to know that Randy himself was a victim, having been assaulted early on in his career by Dave Batista. The redhead now knew why Batista was currently in a permanent vegetative state.

After 20 minutes or so, Randy finished confessing. Both Dean and Sheamus was stunned silent. Randy had assaulted far more men than they both knew. Batista, Justin Gabriel, Heath Slater, Alex Riley, Brad Maddox, the list went on and on. It was the main reason Ted DiBiase was injured and ultimately left the company.

Sheamus looked over at Dean, shock on his own face, unsurprised to see sorrow on Dean's face. Ambrose turned away from Randy, sinking to his knees, tears streaming down his face. A moment later, he felt Sheamus wrap an arm around his shoulder.

"Shh, love. Don't let that prick get to you. He's nothing but a weak, power hungry coward. He used your body to try to destroy you. He can't do that anymore. We're both here to make sure of it."

Sheamus' words struck home. He felt the sadness go away. He dried his face and stood up. He immediately allowed himself to slip into Jon Moxley mode. Mox was a careless, hedonistic fucker. He revelled in his time as Mox. It was time to let him out again.

Dean turned to face Orton. He clicked the tape and the ipod recording device off, making a point to slide it into Randy's line of vision. But the Viper was uncharacteristically quiet. He'd said all he wanted to say.

Ambrose stepped forward, looking at the instruments on the table. One after the other, he picked them up. Randy's eyes widened and his blood turned to ice as Dean picked up the Pear of Anguish* as he looked at Orton speculatively.

"What do you think, Shay?"

"Don't you think that'd be a bit of an overkill?"

"Nah, probably just kill enough."

Orton was not above begging. "Please, don't use that on me. Please!"

Sheamus looked at Orton, "And why the hell not? You didn't care about getting four of your buddies to help you rape Dean. Why should we give a damn about your comfort? Huh?"

Randy swallowed convulsively. "I don't deserve your mercy–"

"Good," Dean said, licking at his lips obscenely. "'Cause you ain't gonna get it, bitch."

He laid the device back on the table and picked up a police-issue baton, going over next to his rapist and glaring down at him with contempt. Then he ripped away the sheet and starting hitting Orton on his stomach, legs, groin, feet, head, arms, everywhere he could.

Randy screamed in agony as Dean focused on Orton's flaccid penis, battering it frantically. After another minute though, Sheamus pulled Dean back.

"He's out! He's out! Calm down! Please, you're going to lose yourself."

With superhuman strength, Dean managed to rein himself in, shaky hard as he dropped the baton.

"I'm sorry," Ambrose whispered.

Sheamus wrapped his arms around Dean, holding him tight. "Nothing to apologize for, love. He deserves this but if we do too much too soon, he won't be suffering. He'll just be dead."

"You're right," Dean panted. "You're right. Maybe I should sit it out, just observe."

"Maybe so, lad. You're not far removed from what he did to you. I've had years to deal with what he did to me. Don't get me wrong, the shame, the anger, the soul killing, it never truly goes away but it does get better. It'll get to the point where it isn't at the forefront of your mind."

Dean stood, going to another table where a few bowls of water were set up. He cleaned the drops of blood on his hands and face. Sheamus watched him, wondering if this would be too much for him. He saw as Dean stood up, firm, determined, all emotion vacant from his face. He cricked his neck and cracked his knuckles, shaking his head free of all feelings.

Sheamus stopped Dean before he moved again, the Irishman's eyes filled with the love he had for the Ohio native. "Dean, remember this, please," he whispered. "I love you."

Dean's eyes fluttered with emotion, a small smile on his face. "I know, Shay."

Ambrose moved to sit on a chair over by a wall with a clear view of Orton, who was coming awake again. He immediately cried out in pain, Dean smirking as he eyed all the bruises and contusions rising on Orton's body.

He watched as Sheamus neared the table and picked up a knife, looking Randy dead in the eye as he sharpened it.

Randy's head lulled back and forth, incoherent moans coming from his bloodied mouth. "Please, stop... please... I can't... just..."

"What? 'Please stop?' 'I can't take it anymore?' Isn't that what I said to you, Randy?" Sheamus reminded Orton, his voice eerily calm. "I asked you, I BEGGED you, I pleaded... but did you listen? No. And what was it I did that deserved to be violated in such a way? I fucking turned you down!"

Sheamus turned, breathing deeply, attempting to reign in his anger. After several moments, he turned back, lowering the knife to Orton's leg. With steely nerves, he pressed the blade down, across the ankle, until a line of blood appeared as he broke through the skin.

"Ahhhh! That hurts!"

The redhead looked at Orton. "Good. It's supposed to."

He returned to his task, making line after line until Orton's leg was covered from ankle to thigh, then he repeated the action with the other leg. Randy was nearly delirious with pain, his arms and legs fighting against the bindings.

"So," Sheamus started, turning to Dean, knife held up and dripping with blood. "Should I start on the arms or the penis?"

Randy was horrified as Dean actually contemplated Sheamus' question.

"Too soon."

"Aye, you are correct, love."

Dean thought a moment, looking deliberately cute, legs crossed, resting an elbow on his knees, his other hand had his index finger pressed to his lips, as if he were actually pondering what to have for dinner, instead of what torture to visit on a man.

"How about if we 'remove' his tattoos."

Sheamus scrunched up his eyes, wondering what he meant.

"I mean, you have the knife there, Shay. Just... cut off his tattoos."

The Irishman grinned at Dean's ingenuity and turned back to Orton, who was begging for his life.

"Please, don't do this please! I'm so fucking sorry! I wish I could take it all back! I'm so goddamned sorry! Please!"

The Viper was actually crying. For the first time, he was actually regretting his actions.

"Please, I'm so fucking sorry!"

Sheamus rolled his eyes and looked to Dean as if to say, 'well, what now?' Dean got to his feet and picked up a box on the table.

"What do we have here?" he asked rhetorically. "Ordinary table salt. Just what should I do with this?"

Randy screamed in agony as Dean poured the salt out over Orton's legs. He laid the box back down and pulled on leather gloves, rubbing the salt in.

Dean glared at Randy, no hint of smugness in sight. He hated Randy so much, it was almost a physical pain. Seeing him suffer now was doing so much for his psyche. Dean was almost enjoying it. But what did that make him? Just as bad? Worse? Had Orton killed Dean's humanity? Or was it something else?

No. Randy had made him this way.

Dean wasn't an innocent man, not by any stretch of the imagination. He'd done things that nulled and voided his innocense, but he'd never intentionally set out to hurt someone outside of the wrestling business. He'd grown up in a horrible environment, a drugged-out mother, an absentee father, and he had to pull himself up by his bootstraps and make himself successful. He wasn't an innocent but he didn't deserve what Randy had done to him.

Ambrose turned to grab a knife from the table. Without warming, he started carving around the skull tattoos on Randy's arm, making the man scream in pain. After a moment though, he pulled back and put the knife down, moving back to the chair.

Sheamus watched, concerned, as Dean sat down and buried his head in his hands. The redhead went over and crouched down beside him.

"What is it, love?"

Dean lifted his head, his blue eyes a dull hue as he just stared into Sheamus' eyes. "What's happening to me?" He wondered lowly, his voice lacking volume but not feeling. "What the hell have I become?"

Sheamus slid a hand into Dean's hair, leaning his own head against the other man's. "You don't have to do anything here. You can leave if you want. But nothing has happened to you that he didn't make happen. He doesn't give a damn what consequences his actions have. He's a useless fuck and deserves everything he's getting."

Dean's eyes were closed, silent tears trailing down. "I can't make Moxley come out anymore. I tried to be him, to deal with hurting him, but I can't. I just don't have it in me anymore. I don't think I can do this anymore."

"This?"

"Wrestling. If it was just being Moxley it'd be one think, but it's Dean Ambrose too. I just want to be Jon Good again."

Sheamus nodded, understanding completely where the man was coming from. "You can, love. When we're done here, we'll go away and never come back."

Dean looked to Sheamus with hope-filled eyes. "Promise?"

Ambrose smiled, savoring the promise. "I do love you, Shay," Dean confessed. "I really do."

Sheamus felt his own eyes water, his hand caressing Dean's head. He pressed his lips to the man's head and stood up.

"I have our escape already set up. Once we're done here, we can leave the country."

Dean nodded, turning as Sheamus went back to Randy Orton. He picked up a knife, holding it point down to Orton's heart. A moment later, Dean joined him, adding his hand to the knife. Together, they pushed the weapon until it was completely buried in Orton's chest. Randy's screams echoed through the building for a minute more before going silent.

Sheamus O'Shaughnessy and Dean Ambrose let go of the knife and stepped back. It was over. It was done. They were free.

~~~

*For those who don't know, the Pear of Anguish was a medieval torture device shaped like a pear, it had four segments which opened and closed at the turn of a screw at the top, like a flower opening its petals. It was inserted into the mouth, the vagina or the anus depended on the crime. Because of its purpose, it could easily filet a person's insides.


	10. Chapter 10

**_Well, this is it. I have enjoyed this story and the evolution of Dean Ambrose. Thank you for all the wonderful reviews. They were greatly appreciated._**

Six months later...

Sheamus O'Shaughessy looked out over the beach to see where Dean was. He grinned to himself as he spied the man in the water again. One thing he'd learned about Dean in the last six months was that he loved swimming. The Irishman was glad he'd chosen the right place for them to disappear to.

The redhead left the deck of their beach house, heading down the towards shoreline, sand covering his feet as he went. He reached the shore, where the sand wasn't loose and there were chairs set up.

Sheamus watched his love as he sat down, wearing only shorts. He glanced down and cursed his inability to tan, even in weather like this.

As soon as Randy Orton died, Sheamus and Dean had left the building. They'd gone directly to the closest airport, where everything was set up, and left the US for the last time. They would never return.

When the plane was out of US airspace, Sheamus had sent a text message to the local police, directing them to the warehouse. Once it was confirmed that Randy Orton was dead and had, in fact, been murdered, the story blew up big time. Everyone and their dog, it seemed, came out of the woodworks to talk about how good and kind a man Randy was.

And then the tape was revealed. The names of Orton's victims hadn't been revealed for their own protection and privacy, but Randy's actions had been revealed. He turned from a beloved man who died too soon to a devil in human guise.

Sheamus sighed as he looked out again, seeing Dean dive off a nearby rock into the crystal blue water. It had taken a long time for Dean to actually allow himself to live again. It wasn't always wine and roses with them. The first time they'd kissed and Sheamus started to touch Dean's back, Ambrose had freaked out and ran out of their house. Dean sometimes didn't like it if it was too dark, he didn't like a lot of trees around, he didn't want to hear talk of owning a Harley again.

Dean had changed. So had Sheamus. For the better, he thought. When fingerprint and DNA analysis came back, showing who was responsible for Randy's death, Sheamus and Dean had become two of the most high profile murder suspects in the country.

Vince had immediately tried to distance the WWE from Randy, Sheamus and Dean, until it was discovered that Vince had known what kind of man Orton was and had received complaints. Stephanie and Hunter had then pressured the eldest McMahon into resigning from all things WWE and stepping away from it all. When he learned that Orton had assaulted his beloved son Shane, Vince had a stroke which left him in a coma he had yet to come out of.

After about a month, Sheamus filmed a video about his involvement in Randy's death and sent it to CNN, which created a new firestorm. He could tell the world where he was but it didn't matter. The country he'd chosen for he and Dean had no extradition treaty with the US so they couldn't be forced to go back. There's no way he'd be able to survive being separated from Dean at this point.

In the video he'd sent to CNN, Sheamus made a strongly worded statement accepting responsibility for Randy's death but telling it in such a way that made it seem like death was the only answer for Orton. He said he'd left the recordings of Randy's confession there on purpose, to show what kind of man he was and what he'd done to deserve such a horrible death.

After that, the hunt for them had died down and a lot of the controversy went away somewhat. When the true extent of Randy Orton was revealed, Sheamus and Dean were even lauded as heros for protecting future men from the same abuse.

But the men would still not return to the US. They'd still be arrested and separated. Sheamus was positive that Dean would not be able to handle prison. Other inmates would probably turn Dean into their toy and Sheamus wouldn't be able to live with that.

They talked regularly to their friends. Seth, Roman, Cesaro, numerous others. They hadn't been abandoned by them. True, Dean and Sheamus might never see them again but still, there was regular contact.

Money wasn't an issue either. They had both emptied their bank accounts, funneling the funds to offshore accounts. Dean and Sheamus both had been frugal with their money and had amassed plenty to live off. Sheamus knew though, if money every became an issue, their friends wouldn't hesitate to help them.

Sheamus stood up and neared the water. "Dean, love, you ever coming out of there?"

"What for? The water feels wonderful."

Sheamus smiled at hearing Dean's disembodied voice. "You're turning into a prune."

The water splashed as Dean resurfaced and he started to swim in. Sheamus grabbed the towel on the other chair, wrapping it around his love when he was on land. Sheamus dropped a soft kiss on Dean's mouth, happy when Ambrose opened his mouth to accept the redhead.

A while later, Sheamus was sitting on their couch, drinking some iced tea. Dean was clearing up the living room. The redhead noticed that the dirty blonde was a little more jittery than usual.

"What's up, Dean?"

Dean stopped what he was doing. "Uh, why?"

Sheamus smiled, "You seem nervous."

Dean's cheeks reddened slightly before he went to sit by the Irishman. "It's been six months since we came here. I never imagined that I could be happy not wrestling. I didn't think I could ever be happy at all. But I am. And a lot of that is you, Shay. You, being here with me, supporting me, loving me."

Sheamus felt his chest fill with affection. "I do love you, sweet. You never have to doubt that."

Dean smiled. "I don't doubt that. If there's anything on earth I can be sure of, it's of your love. You're been so incredibly patient with me. But now, I– I think I'm ready for more."

Sheamus was stunned for a moment. "You mean–"

"I want you to make love to me."

Dean took Sheamus' hands in his after putting the iced tea aside. He brought one of Shay's pale hands to his mouth, kissing it tenderly.

"I love you, Shay. I want nothing more than to be with you, to know your touch, to feel the love you have for me. I want you do know how much I love you."

Sheamus' smile was heavenly as he took Dean's mouth with his, pulling the man closer to him, wrapping his arms around him. After a moment, Dean pulled back and rose up, Sheamus' following suit. They walked towards their bedroom. Even though they hadn't been intimate, they still shared a bed; Dean was unable to sleep if Sheamus wasn't near him.

Dean urged Shay onto the bed, while Ambrose lit a few candles. He rounded the bed, placing a few supplies on the nightstand before climbing in beside his man. He leaned down to kiss the redhead, his passion stirring as it did so often now. He felt such a desire for the Irishman, he couldn't believe it sometimes.

Dean laid on his back, pulling Shay on top of him, urging him to take control. Sheamus grinned against Dean's mouth as he took over, leaving kisses on the man's face, neck and down his bare chest, the redhead's hand roaming down his chest. Shay broke from Dean's mouth and leaned lower to suck on his love's nipples, drawing a strangled groan out of his mouth.

"Ah, God, Shay! Never knew I was s-so s-sensitive there..."

"Hmm."

Sheamus continued his journey south, his tongue sliding down Dean's abs and around his navel. He stopped at the band of Dean's tented shorts, pleased he caused such a response from his love. Sheamus looked up to Dean's face, and seeing no hesitation, pulled the garment down over his hips, Ambrose's already leaking erection popping out.

Sheamus just stopped and looked at Dean. "Yer so gorgeous, love. So beautiful." He looked up at Ambrose, his eyes wide with reverence. He leaned down to kiss the head of Dean's penis, sucking away the precum before pulling the organ into his mouth. He savored the taste before sliding his mouth down until his lips were at the base of Dean's cock.

"Oh God! Shay! So... good!"

Sheamus rose up and fell on Dean's dick, feeling it harden even more under his ministrations. He reached under him to fondle the man's balls, rolling them between his fingers. The redhead pulled away and pushed Dean's legs up, so that each foot was flat on the bed. Then he trailed his tongue down over Dean's crack and gently probed his hole. He waited until Dean became antsy.

"Please, more!"

Sheamus pushed his tongue in gently, one of his hands lightly pumping Dean's cock, keeping it steely hard. The redhead used his other hand to reach for the lubricant he had uncapped and ready. He poured some over his fingers and gently introduced a finger to Dean's passage.

"Relax love."

Dean did so, allowing Sheamus to slip his finger all the way in, after which he began to thrust the digit in and out slowly. Dean groaned loudly, his legs moving wildly.

"God Shay! Fuck!"

Sheamus smiled before lubing a second finger to introduce. Once inside, he started to scissor his fingers slowly before lowering his mouth to Dean's cock again, making the man whimper. The redhead looked up to see Dean thrashing about on the bed, a thin sheet of sweat covering his gorgeous body.

"Please Shay! Take me!"

The Irishman pulled up, his eyes sparkling as he looked for confirmation. Dean nodded and Sheamus removed his fingers. He moved back to his knees after removing his own shorts, his erection painful as he covered himself with a condom.

He pushed Dean's legs up, carefully spreading his cheeks, exposing his glistening hole. Sheamus laid his cock on Dean's entrance, pushing slightly.

"Please, Shay. I need you!"

Spurred on, Sheamus pushed himself into Dean's willing body slowly, inch by inch, until he was fully seated inside his love.

"Oh God, Dean. You feel incredible!"

Dean wrapped his legs around Sheamus' hips as he settled his body over Ambrose's to kiss him tenderly. Dean's hands ran through his now sweaty hair, holding his head as he ravished his mouth.

"You feel so goddamned good, Shay. So big, so full of you," Dean panted. "Please... I love you, please love me."

"I do love you, baby. Love you so much."

Sheamus began to move his hips, hesitantly at first, then in longer strokes with Dean urging him on. Soon, Sheamus was plunging powerfully in and out of Dean's body, feeling his channel clenching him sensuously.

"Oh baby, yes!"

Dean moved his hips against Sheamus' body, the need to come becoming overwhelming. Shay grabbed Dean's cock and jerked him frantically.

"I'm gonna come, Dean, come with me!"

Sheamus pounded Dean hard, feeling the man's tunnel beginning to clench. Dean cried out, panting hard as with one final stroke, he erupted, splattering his seed over his and Sheamus' bellies, the pleasure overtaking him, his legs squeezing his Irishman tight. A few seconds later, Sheamus bottomed out and exploded into the condom resting inside his love. He continued moving his hips until his orgasm subsided, then just laying on Dean. He felt Ambrose run his hands over his sweaty back, and a kiss being laid on his head.

"Love you, baby," Sheamus told the man beneath him, tiredly kissing him.

"Love you too," Dean replied.

Sheamus finally slid out of Dean's body, pleased to see the absence of any blood. He disposed of the condom, grabbing a wet cloth from the adjoining bathroom to clean their bellies after which he laid down next to him, pulling him close.

The redhead thought he heard Dean sobbing and turned his head. "What's all this love?"

"I can't believe it. Just... you... I could feel how much you love me. It was a physical, tangible thing and god, it's so incredibly overwhelming."

"Ah love," Sheamus said, wrapping his arms around Dean's torso. "You know how much I love ye. I would give up everything for ye. I have given up everything for ye. Because I love you, I believe in you and I wouldn't have it any other way."

Sheamus kissed Dean's head, feeling the other man clasp onto the arms around him. It wasn't too long before Dean drifted off to sleep. Sheamus looked down at the man who'd stolen his heart. He wasn't lying to Dean. He may have given up everything for Dean but he didn't regret it. Dean deserved closure and got it when Randy died.

Sheamus had to admit he missed the thrill of wrestling at times. But feeling the way he did when recovering from his own attack, he could see how Dean wouldn't want to do that again. A lot of who Dean once was had gone away. He was more vulnerable now, more wary. But where they were now, they didn't come into a lot of contact with other people. It was just them.

Dean stirred a little, turning in Sheamus' embrace, making him look down at his love. Dean looked so innocent, so free of worry when he would sleeping. Everything Sheamus had done... he wouldn't want to do it again but he certainly would for Dean.

This man, Dean, was his everything. Sheamus never thought he'd find love but found it under the most horrid of circumstances.

The Irishman reached down to pull a thin blanket over them, kissing his love on the temple again. Everything was fine now though. They were free. They were in love.

They were happy.


End file.

Wrestling