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every me, every you

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Dean remembers all his lifetimes just as vividly as each other. There’s him, and there’s Seth. Always, always Seth.

And Seth always ends it for him. Every single time. There are dozens of Dean Ambroses spanning history, each of them dying young at the hands of Seth Rollins, whether it be by poison or in battle or because of underhanded politics.

He lets Seth in, is the problem. Lets everything out to him, lets him see every single filthy-broken part of himself that Dean doesn’t allow anyone else. It’s the same, every time, but sometimes Dean doesn’t even notice the blade that Seth’s slipped him until it starts twisting.

Sometimes, the knife is literal.

Sometimes, it’s being shoved out of the rocket, floating away into emptiness, left there to die when the oxygen in his suit runs out.

Sometimes, it’s–

Dean doesn’t like to focus on his deaths all that much. There’ll be another one, and many more after that, and as much as he wants to snap out of it, he can’t. He’ll try to fight it, but – he can’t.



One time, they’re pirates – or fancy themselves as such, anyway.

They stow away on a ship that Seth is sure is bound for treasure, hidden underneath the deck, waiting.

It turns out that Seth was waiting for something entirely different altogether.

Seth sells him out for the chance to be on the crew, sells him out to the goddamn captain of the ship. Another life, another death sentence.

Dean jumps overboard before anyone can do anything about him. He doesn’t go down easy, but if he does, he makes sure it’s his own doing. Not Seth’s. As inevitable as it is that Seth will be his end, Dean will never let Seth take him without trying.



Another lifetime and they’re wrestlers, teammates with another beside them. They win titles and fight for justice and maybe, just maybe, this is the end of the cycle.

But it isn’t. Of course it isn’t.

The show’s almost over, and Roman ends up with a steel chair to the back.

The show’s almost over, and Dean feels the same solid weight of the metal too many times to count.

This time, it’s different, though.

This time, Dean has Roman, and Roman is good. Solid, and in a completely different way to that fucking chair. In his next lifetime, whatever that may be, Dean hopes he gets to have a Roman again.

This time, it’s not as dangerous a life as it usually is. This isn’t piracy or politics or anything that gets read about hundreds of years later. This is wrestling. Dean’s allowed to get back at Seth, to get even. He’s allowed to run his mouth, to fight Seth, to hurt him.

So, even though the cinderblock incident has him pretty close, he’s probably not going to end up dying any time soon. He’s got Roman on one side, and a mic in his hand and words in his head, and even though Seth’s got a golden briefcase and a whole squad of goons behind him, a whole squad of goons who can make Dean’s life a living hell, Dean’s got this.

It’s going to be a long war.