Chapter Text
Doing what he was told to do hadn’t been something that Dean had ever been particularly good at. His tendency to throw caution to the wind, deal with the repercussions of his actions after the fact, coupled with the rebel spirit that lived inside of him that loved to defy usually lead him to do the exact opposite of what he should be doing.
Those two things combined is the reason he finds himself heading toward Brock Lesnar’s locker room, wielding the barb wire wrapped baseball bat that had been given to him by Foley tightly in one hand. The earlier segments from the night still fresh in his mind giving him an adrenaline rush that had him high on his victories of the night. Bringing Brock’s earlier attempt to beat the shit out of him again to a screeching halt with the aid of a crowbar that had later been traded for the present of the bat by Foley in the locker room. Yeah Dean would say then he came out victorious tonight. Morally so but nonetheless. He revels in the pissed off look that Brock had shot him, knew the beast would probably be even more pissed off now after he no doubt witnessed Dean’s receival of the gifted bat. The thought had occurred to him that his current destination was possibly the last place he needed to be going, that he should be leaving instead and heading to his hotel. He ignored it though, pushed it out of his mind for the time being.
Bray’s warning was still in Dean’s head as well, had been since last week. It was a constant little nagging voice in the back of his mind telling him to leave Brock Lesnar along that nothing good would come of what he was doing, of the hole he was digging himself into. It also had occurred to him that he possibly should be heading Bray’s warning but listening to Bray wasn’t something he normally did. He knew that defying the brunet wouldn’t end well for him as Bray was a vengeful fucker, who would undoubtedly turn his attention toward Dean once Brock had been taken care and disposed of. The high he was riding now though pushed those thoughts from Dean’s head. To hell with the consequences if Bray found out. He’d deal with them once he got there and who knows, Bray might not find out.
Dean knew that neither Bray nor any of the other members of the Wyatt family were at the arena tonight. The whole place had practically been buzzing with that fact and he’d heard it as soon as he arrived. He was slightly bummed at the news as he wanted to ask Bray what that stunt was he had pulled at Roadblock. The last minute switch of opponents had him just as confused as everyone else. He wanted to know the details of why although he could possibly figure them out himself if he speculated on it long enough. He had thought it was strange that Bray opted out of a fight with Lesnar as he’d been practically biting at the bits just to get a chance at it but if this was one of Bray’s mind games that he was attempting to play then Dean wouldn’t think it as strange, rather strategic. He knew how Bray operated, had fought Bray enough to know he could be a force to be reckoned with when he wanted to be but if he could get some mind games in before hand then he would not turn it down. It didn’t matter how Bray was playing it. Dean was sure Bray would get his revenge, Bray always got his revenge sooner or later and if Brock dropped his guard then that revenge would strike him hard.
Dean couldn’t speculate on Roadblock and the what ifs and what would bes as he was coming up on Brock’s locker room. Luckily all the crew members in the area seemed to be too busy with getting everything packed up and ready to roll out and weren’t paying Dean any attention. He eased up to the door, the large sigh with Brock’s name on it allowing it to be a dead giveaway. He couldn’t help but grin when he saw that it wasn’t completely closed. From inside, Paul’s annoyed voice reached his ears.
“I cannot believe the Authority allowed this to happen! As if there already wasn’t enough weapons under the ring but nooo they just had to go and okay for Mick Foley to give him a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire! Not only that but he can legally use it during the street fight! I cannot believe they let that lunatic anywhere near a weapon as dangerous as that!”
Dean grins, taking that as his cue to announce himself. He shoulders his way into the room, says loudly, “I know right! Isn’t it awesome?”
Paul jumps visibly, whips around to stare wide eyed at Dean obviously very surprised that Dean was there or would even come looking for them. That look changed to one of wary when he caught sight of the weapon that Dean had shouldered, the very weapon that had been the subject of his complaining.
“Now Mr. Ambrose,” there’s a nervousness to Paul’s voice now as he hold his hands up as a gesture for peace, “Let’s just think about this for a minute and not do something we might come to regret later.”
“Oh are you saying that me substituting your head for a baseball and trying to knock it out of the park for a home run is something I shouldn’t do? Is that what you’re saying Paul?” Dean asks, gripping the bat with two hands and taking a few practice swings with it before shouldering it again.
Paul swallows, taking a few steps back.
“Do me a favor Pauly and keep quiet will you,” Dean continues, pointing the tip of the bat at Paul, “I’m not here to talk to you,” he moves the tip of the bat to where Brock was still sitting, “I’m here to talk to him.”
During the whole situation Brock hadn’t moved a muscle from where he sat on the benches that his locker room offered. He had looked up when Dean had barged it but his expression is unreadable, even now Dean couldn’t tell how affected Brock was at the sight of him. He certainly didn’t look worried at all at the fact that Dean was standing in his locker room holding a very dangerous weapon, willing and more than capable of using it. Dean wanted some sort of reaction out of him, needed it almost to keep his adrenaline pumping.
Brock remains silent though, just raises a brow at Dean. He pushes himself to his feet, walks forward until he’s mere inches from the tip of the bat. He doesn’t even acknowledge the weapon, eyes focused solely on Dean’s face. He stand there, staring down Dean, who’s starting to become less and less confident about his decision to come here.
“Brock.” Paul’s worried voice fills the room, breaks the tense silence that gathered.
Brock’s attention shifts at the sound. He turns his head, glancing at Paul over his shoulder before turning his attention back to Dean huffing out, “Don’t worry Paul, he’s not here to do any harm. He would’ve done it by now if he were,” Dean tenses at that, bristles at that. Didn’t Brock know he was unpredictable? He contemplated taking a swing, he wouldn’t miss at this close of a proximity that was for sure, but he remains still, keeps up his smug face. He waits.
Brock smiles, tight lipped and menacing in its own right, “So, are you here on your all mighty protector’s behalf seeing as he’s gone and gotten himself injured enough to where he can’t fight me?”
Dean’s eyes widen. He knew who Brock was referring to but the last bit was news to him. Since when was Bray injured? “What the fuck are you talking about?” And Dean doesn’t like the way Brock’s eyes flash at his confused question.
“Oh! You didn’t know?” It was Paul that spoke up. He’d come to stand behind Brock. He had a gleeful look on his face, “For someone Mr. Wyatt supposedly proclaims his love for, you really are well uninformed on his well being. Since you aren’t informed, allow me to catch you up to speed, Mr. Wyatt sustained the injury during Smackdown’s taping and thus Mr. Harper was scheduled as his replacement. The match was supposed to have been a Handicap Match but apparently Mr. Wyatt was still too hurt to compete. We didn’t find out until after the match. I’m surprised, quite frankly that you seemed to be the last to know of this considering Mr. Wyatt and merry band of followers have done well to not allow you out their sight for more than a few seconds.”
Dean’s smug expression crumbles. He’s standing there, staring at Paul in disbelief. There couldn’t be any way that he was telling the truth. Dean had been with Bray pretty much the whole night and he hadn’t seen Bray show any signs of hurting and he’s pretty sure he could tell. Yet, he still feels a sliver of doubt at that. Would he know if Bray was really hurt if Bray went to the links to keep it from him?
His distraction gives Brock an opportunity, an opening to reach out and snag his weapon from him. It’s one Brock doesn’t miss and suddenly Dean is unarmed and being slammed back first against the wall. The impact of his back making contact with the wall causes a grunt to escape him and he doesn’t get time to even begin to struggle before his arms are being pinned above his head by his wrists. The bat is flung across the room, well out of Dean’s reach.
“Fucking let me go,” Dean growls, trying and failing to put heat behind his words. The new information on Bray had him distracted enough that he couldn’t muster up the energy to put up a fight. Though he would never outright admit it,he was slightly worried about Brays conditions - a helluva lot more pissed off at Bray for not fucking telling him, and he wanted nothing more than to go searching for the Wyatts, even if he had to go all the way to fucking Louisiana to find them. He wanted to know what happened and when.
Brock doesn’t let him go though, just grins down at his annoyed expression. “I find it absolutely amusing that you’re actually worrying about him,” Brock comments and Dean tenses up even more. “I thought all those rumors that I kept hears about you and the Wyatt Family patriarch were just something that the fans had come up with and it had gotten around to the locker room but it looks like there was some truth to that after all.” He’s grinning wider now and it’s really starting to piss Dean off.
“Fuck off,” Dean tries to heave himself up against Brock’s grip, attempting to break it but the pressure on his wrists merely increased, halting his attempts. “Just fucking fuck right the fuck off.” He tries to get a knee up to drive it into Brock’s stomach but that’s also thwarted when Brock presses his body up against Dean’s, the solid weight crushing Dean enough to stop his attempts and make it where he couldn’t hardly move.
“Paul,” Brock turns his attention once again to his advocate, who was watching from where he’d been standing before. There’s an unhappy look on Paul’s face as if he already knows what Brock was going to say. “Go wait for me by the car. I’ll be out in a few moments. Dean was right, we have some things to discuss.”
“Very well,” Paul says discouragingly as he starts for the door. He grabs the handle, throwing over his shoulder as he went, “Please don’t take too long though, we have an appointment in forty five minutes that you absolutely cannot miss and then we have a flight to catch.”
Brock’s already turned his attention back to Dean but he nods and the door clicks closed, leaving the two of them alone. Dean expects Brock to release him once Paul is gone but that doesn’t happen, Brock doesn’t move.
‘This was a bad idea’ It was a little too late for that thought and for Dean to realize it now, when he’s once again gotten himself into trouble. He tries to get his bravado facade in place, to meet Brock’s intense stare with one of his own.
“You said we have some things to discuss? Well what are you waiting for? Let’s get to discussing, you heard your advocate, ‘only got forty five minutes.’”
“You seem to be in an awful big hurry to leave Dean,” Brock observes, pressing forward more, causing friction between their bodies. “Forty five minutes is a pretty long time.”
Dean bites his bottom lip as heat courses through him. He couldn’t get lost in this, not anymore. For as much as Dean hated to admit it, Bray had been right when he’d said that his tangling with Brock wouldn’t lead to anything good. He couldn’t let it happen. “You’re implying that I don’t have somewhere I need to be myself, which I do,” Dean hopes that Brock wouldn’t try to call his bluff, “just because they weren’t here tonight, don’t think Bray or the boys ain’t around. It’s like Paul said, they won’t let me stay outta their sight for long. For all you know I’m on a timer too, if I don’t make it back to the hotel within a certain time, they’re gonna come hunting for me.” It’s a lie. He’s staying by himself and he really hopes that Brock didn’t know that bit of information and if it’s any indication from the anger that flashes briefly in Brock’s eyes before it’s reigned in, Brock didn’t know. Dean had to fight not to smile. “So you said you had something to discuss, start talking. This isn’t about our match is it? You aren’t getting cold feet and want to back out are you?”
Brock smiles at the inquiry, “Oh believe me Dean, I’m still very much looking forward to our match at Wrestlemania.” He leans forward, until his face is hovering just inches in front of Dean. Dean picks up the minty fresh scent of his breath as it washes over his face. “Beating your ass is going to be such a pleasure and so will be beating the asses of your little swamp monster as well as any and every one of his boys’ too if they’re stupid enough to think they can win against me.” Dean hisses out when he feels the button of his jeans being undone, tries to shrink away from the hand that works its way into his boxers.
“Fuck,” he groans out as that hand wraps itself around his semi hard cock and starts to stroke firmly. He tries to tell himself not to enjoy it but a good firm squeeze and an increase in speed shuts that part of his brain down. The pleasure traveling up his spine overwhelms him, has him moaning out, fanning his breath over Brock’s face. “God fuck”
A chuckle falls from Brock’s lips, had Dean’s eyes squeezing shut to avoid the smug look that he knows would be present on the other’s face. He tries to will his hips to stop hitching forward to chase that hand as it moved up his cock, succeeds only for a stroke or two. He’s shaking as the pleasure starts to build slowly.
“Oh what I would give to have your little swamp monster here right now, see what I’m making of, what was it - oh yes, his precious little lamb.” Suddenly Brock’s lips are right against the shell of Dean’s ear and he’s growling, lowly, causing Dean to shudder and for his cock to twitch. “You’d like that wouldn’t you?” That hand squeezes and swipes across the head of his cock, smearing the precum that was leaking out, “I bet you’d get off on it wouldn’t you?”
“Would get off on watching Bray kick your ass all over this room,” Dean pants, hopes his voices comes out as smug as he meant for it to.
Brock laughs at that, a full, long laugh. “Oh Dean, Dean” He pulls back tsking, “if you actually believe your swamp monster can do anything against me then you really are mental.”
“D-Don’t be fucking surprised then when - fuck - when Bray’s beating your ass then.” Dean retorts with a smirk. It causes Brock to frown and surge forward to connect their lips roughly, cutting off any more smart ass remarks from falling from Dean.
It’s the taste of his own blood from a hard bite to his bottom lip along with Brock spending up his hand that has Dean cumming right in his pants. His loud moan is muffled by Brock’s mouth and Brock doesn’t stop his ministrations until Dean’s right on the edge of oversensitivity. Dean slides down the wall, ending up in a sitting position on the floor when Brock finally releases him and steps away. He’s panting and exhausted, his orgasming having taken whatever was left in his tank completely out of him and he still had to travel for Smackdown’s taping. He watches, eyes heavily lidded as Brock walks across the room, retrieving the bat that he’d discarded earlier. He brings it over, dropping it beside Dean.
“Make sure you don’t lose that before our street fight.”
Dean arches a brow, his brain still scrambled enough that he can’t form the words to actually ask why.
“It’ll be the thing I use to end our little match with, since you’re so fond of it. We’ll see how you like barbed wire.”
Dean manages to huff a cackle. Not many people - Roman and Bray were about the only two people here in the WWE that did - but Dean had been in barb wire matches earlier in his career, well before his WWE days. It didn’t scare his as it did others.
“I’ll be seeing you Dean” Brock shakes his head, heading for the door, “Give my regards to your swamp monster for me and tell him he’s got an F-5 waiting with his name on it.”
The response Brock gets is the middle finger before he exits the room and Dean is left to gather himself. The mess that was soaking through the front of his jeans was going to make it very awkward in trying to get out of the arena, perhaps he could get mad enough luck to not encounter anyone on his way out.
--
Paul’s leaning against the SUV, looking irritatedly at his phone when Brock makes it to the parking garage.
“Ready?” Brock asks as he walks up to where the man was waiting.
“Finally,” Paul says exasperated, “We have fifteen minutes to get there!” He opens the back door to the SUV and climbs in, scooting over so Brock could climb in behind him. “I take it all went well with Mr. Ambrose?” He asks once they’re both buckled and the car is pulling away, heading for the exit.
Brock nods, his attention focused out the window of the SUV.
“I don’t suppose you told him the real reason behind Mr. Wyatt’s injury?”
“No. He’ll find out soon enough.”
“He’s not going to be too happy when he finds out that you were indirectly the ultimate cause of it.”
Brock couldn’t help the small smile that appeared on his face. That’s what he was banking on. A pissed opponent is one that will leave themselves wide open for attacks. When Dean finds out that Bray was attacked and hurt when he confronted the people that Brock had tailing and spying on them, he had no doubt that Dean would be raging, which was good. He would use that to his advantage and finally destroy the man that claimed himself to be indestructible.