A/N: I had this Y2AJ story idea in mind when they were still together. I felt like writing it even after the breakup, so I just tweaked it to add more angst. c: Don't worry, there's some fluff, too...enjoy~

Bray Wyatt spooked him, not just because Bray was the most unnerving creep AJ Styles had ever encountered, but because he'd moved into the locker room without a sound. Yet AJ turned the corner—dressed, thankfully—and he jolted in place when he saw Wyatt lingering between the locker bays. Not even by the door, as if he'd just walked in. Like he'd been waiting for AJ.

"Hello, AJ," Wyatt spoke. Even such a pleasant, casual statement came off eerie past his lips.

AJ blinked. "Hi?"

"I never got the chance to welcome you to this place properly."

Tiny hairs on AJ's neck stood rigid. At least he wasn't with his crew, Black Sheep, White Sheep and Sweat Stain. "Thanks…"

"You have a good, solid head on your shoulders, boy. I see that about you. I see that in you. The way you walk, the way you talk…just a look your way's enough to understand what you're here for. What your capabilities are. Now it's time to recognize your purpose."

"Look, Wyatt, I appreciate the"—cold, uncomfortable, disturbing—"welcome, but I've got a match tonight, so."

Bray didn't take his hint to get out of his locker room and leave him be. His dark eyes skimmed over AJ, head to toe. "In every world, whether it is the physical or the…supernatural…man has a need to belong. Man shouldn't be alone. We are called to take care of one another as brothers. You, Styles, you're here, and you are yearning to belong."

AJ hadn't a response except to blink again.

"I am offering you a place to call home, Styles. I am offering you people to call family. My brothers, we will protect you and care for you as our own. It's our calling, and it's yours as well. Do you hear it? Do you feel it?"

"No…?"

"You will," Wyatt stated like a vow, nodding slowly. "It takes time for some."

"Look, I'm not interested in your band, okay?" AJ asked. The longer he stood here, face to face with…well, the New Face of Fear, the deeper his frustration settled, doing away with the panic. "I've seen you work with guys before, but I'm good without. Alright? No thanks."

Bray's eyes didn't narrow nor widen, instead continued to drink AJ in like the sight of him quenched a nasty thirst. AJ was done with him. "So if you'll excuse me?"

"Pardon, then," Wyatt said. He shifted right, giving AJ more access to the door. Like AJ was supposed to leave, not Bray himself.

Guess I'll go hang outside for a while, AJ thought, leaving Bray Wyatt behind, no doubt to watch him go and think of him long after.

He had other things to think about.

What went wrong?

AJ thrust a fist into Chris Jericho's face and the veteran wrestler stumbled backwards, holding his nose. AJ was ready to strike again, channeling vengeance, anger stimulating each attack…

Yet he'd never stop asking that question.

What went wrong?

I trusted you, I let you in when I shouldn't have, you petty son of a bitch, you stabbed me in the back…

AJ stormed forward. Jericho ducked under another swing and booted AJ in the chest. It cracked the air from his lungs, and he deliberately faltered to allow a moment to recover his breath. Chris denied this moment and clutched AJ's neck under his arm, holding him there like a serpent constricting its quarry.

AJ remembered when Chris's touch meant security. Now it meant devastation.

"Come on…" Jericho said, shaking AJ. AJ's upper half wilted towards the mat, held up only by Chris's malevolent embrace. The massive crowd bellowed their disapproval, chanting the very name Chris had, for whatever reason, grown to despise. "Just give up…just end it…"

"Screw you!" AJ shouted, driving a fist into Chris's ribcage. He could say a lot worse if he didn't have an unsound reputation to mend with half the WWE fans. He was no longer that man, rather a man who physically ached each time he had to hit Chris Jericho. It hurt to hurt him. AJ hit harder. The festered wound would not heal.

Dammit, I still care. Why should I…he doesn't…probably never did…

AJ twisted in place, trying to pry free from Chris's burly arms.

The lights shut off.

A strange blend of instruments, screaming and static cackled through the arena.

AJ felt Chris's grip loosen, and he tugged away, remaining there to avoid tripping. He couldn't see a thing, not even his hair falling over his own eyes. The hell's going on…?

AJ received his answer when the lights ignited the expansive arena again.

He—they, rather; Jericho hadn't gone anywhere—were surrounded on all four sides of the ring by the Wyatt family.

AJ gawked in Bray's direction who leered at him, cheeks plump from an unhealthy smile.

Chris was similarly puzzled, even more so since he hadn't been the one confronted by Bray. What do these hicks want?

Bray touched the rim of his Fedora, and that proved to be some sort of signal as his family members invaded the ring. AJ spun around as Luke Harper reached for him, pitching his fists one after the other, but Erick Rowan wrangled AJ into his beefy arms. He elbowed AJ twice in the side of the head to stupefy the southern fighter, to efficiency.

Chris backed against the ropes, viewed the situation from the short distance. He anticipated a twofold attack from these swamp monkeys, but they weren't regarding him at all. All eight eyes were cemented into AJ, the quadruple ambush reserved for him. Rowan kicked both of AJ's knees from behind, driving him to the mat. He wrenched AJ's arms back, pasting him in place while Harper and Braun Strowman took turns battering him with fists and feet, to his chest and gut, to both sides of his jaw, making his neck swivel side to side.

From outside the ring, Bray watched, already delighted with his brothers' work.

Jericho scowled. He didn't like what he saw. "HEY!" he shouted, tearing forward against all logic. "GET OFF OF HIM!"

AJ couldn't register Chris's gracious but imprudent heroism. Black spots shaped in his vision. His arms were so tightly drawn behind his back that he couldn't even lean forward, sink into the pain as the assault endured. Now it was only Harper battering AJ while Strowman turned to Jericho. Chris tried whacking him in the head but it had no impact on the giant. It didn't stop Chris from trying again. Something had to work.

Yet nothing did, not in time, as Strowman suddenly crushed Jericho's windpipe in his weighty hand. Chris choked and spurted against the force, losing air. His hands clinched the top of Strowman's, fingers tearing at the digits asphyxiating him. Too late now, now he was in for it…

But no group assault befell him next. Chris was penalized for his deed with a simple chuck out of the ring.

Strowman's strength was too remarkable; by a single swift swing of the arm, Chris flew far enough to smack against the announce table, the three broadcasters out of their seats, pushing back against the barricade for their own safety. His backbones rattled on impact, and Chris groaned.

"Chris…" AJ tried. His voice was nearly gone, breath depleted, strength crippled. Blood spritzed from his nose, from a gash in his lip. Only now did Bray Wyatt present himself in the ring. He loomed over AJ like a shadow, bearing that same superior look from before. Did he feel like he'd truly won something here? He'd sicced his fellow brutes on him. That was no accomplishment; that was cheap and dirty. AJ could barely make out the bearded fiend before him. Just enough to know he was accountable for this and things weren't going to get better from here.

Strowman joined Bray at his side. Bray tipped his hat again. Another indicator for action. Rowan released AJ only for Strowman to scoop him up next and crush AJ in a mighty "bear-hug". AJ couldn't struggle. His consciousness was quick to wane and the last thing he saw was Chris Jericho rolling off the announce table, looking up in his direction…

Right at him.

Pain…

AJ fell limp in Strowman's arms.

The crowd was spooked silent.

Bray Wyatt nodded to his boys and the four of them mingled arms to raise AJ up in the air like this was a mosh pit. The family shifted out of the ring, onto the floor. Bray Wyatt hummed on their slow walk down the ramp, "He's got the whole world in his hands…He's got the whole wide world in his hands…"

Chris Jericho pushed himself to his knees with his hands, then recovered to a standing position one leg at a time. His back throbbed where it'd struck the table. "What the hell…" he wondered aloud. "What…"

"What just happened?" Michael Cole voiced.

"For one reason or another," JBL stuttered, "the Wyatts came in here and grabbed AJ Styles!"

"What are they going to do with him?" Cole speculated.

Chris wondered the same thing. It was a cold dread crawling through him, toes to head. No. This wasn't right. This was awful…this couldn't happen and yet it had, and now…

The Wyatts had AJ.

Why? What for?

These were not the questions to answer just yet.

Jericho was bitter. All he asked now, all he knew in this overcome state, was he had to get AJ back.

Nobody else had the right to touch him.

AJ woke to a dingy setting, grime in his nostrils, pain holding him as a secondary captor. He tugged his arms to touch his aching head and found they were immovable. As were his legs, when he tried shifting them to walk. He was sat on the floor, knees bent, tethered by wrists and ankles to the wall behind him.

"Hey!" he screamed. His throat was scorched and the cry forced a harsh cough from his lungs. He wetted his mouth all over with his tongue and swallowed a couple of times before trying again, louder, angrier. "Hey! What the hell?"

A few minutes awake gave his eyesight time to return to him. Not that it helped. This place was dark. It held a musty smell. The distress skulked over him that he'd been kidnapped by a band of kooky bumpkins and he hadn't a clue what they were going to do to him.

"BRAY!" AJ hollered. He needed water, badly. His throat was blistering even from those few exclamations. "YOU GET ME OUT OF HERE!"

AJ sat by himself for many minutes. His bondage rattled—ah, chains, excellent. Not the standard freak bondage ropes, but heavy-duty, rust-swabbed metal chains that pinched his sore muscles. Struggling within them only worsened that rawness. What he'd give for freedom and an ice bath right about now…

A door across the…let's call it what it is, AJ: a dungeon, you're in a damn dungeon right now…across the dungeon creaked open, piloting in a stream of light that was stomped out by the lofty shadows of the Wyatt family. They filled the room, Bray leading the way as always.

AJ had too many questions but felt prattling would have amused his primary captor. He kept his mouth shut for now.

"Comfortable, pet?" Bray mused.

AJ withheld a snarl. Even soundless, Bray seemed to detect it.

"Don't worry. You're only a pet for now. Soon you'll be just like us. A mighty soldier. A man of spirit and gallantry in the apocalypse."

Bray Wyatt is really, truly, literally off his rocker.

Bray hunched down to meet AJ's glare eye-to-eye. "I wish it hadn't come to this, boy. I wish you were smart enough to know your place. But like I said. These things take time, sometimes. Once you've had a taste of the power, there's not a way in the world it can be taken from you. You'll be blessed by supremacy. You will be a god."

AJ couldn't suppress quiet laughter. "You're out of your mind. I told you. I'm not joining your damn crew."

But Bray just kept grinning, baring his teeth now. Did anything have a negative effect on him? Why was he so damn confident? "I love that about you, AJ. Your resilience is worthy of praise. You have an avid spirit. Good. Beautiful…when used for the right cause. Learn to transform that spirit for the good of your purpose, instead of resisting what I have to offer you. Don't be a fool. This is the right time. You were not in the right place. Until now."

AJ snorted. "I've heard my share of crazy preachers in my day, Wyatt, and lemme tell you, you're the craziest one of all."

His uncanny smile didn't ease up. "I promise that this is what's necessary for you, Styles. You'll find comfort in my family. You'll find protection. And you can guard your brothers in return. But first, you must be transformed. It's like a muscle. You've got to tear it down…in order to build it back up again. Stronger than ever."

"I don't break easy," AJ spat.

"You will. You've built some pretty high walls for yourself, AJ—I admire that—but the transformation process cannot begin until you submit. And you will submit."

"The hell I will."

Bray drew back a step, prompting Luke Harper and Erick Rowan to step forward. Great. AJ knew what was coming. He braced his muscles as best as he could for the second round of thrashing. The bondage made it difficult, especially from this low position on the ground. The men were merciless. New pain erupted atop the old as knuckles and feet slammed into his bare ribs, his cramping stomach, his swelling jaw. AJ wished they'd just knock him out again before Bray barked, "Enough."

Harper and Rowan backed off. AJ couldn't suppress his groans. He coughed again.

"Wh—what, you're…you're just gonna kick the crap out of me till I agree to join ya?" AJ asked between desperate gasps for air. Oxygen was scarce in this place. He inhaled mostly dust now, dust and perspiration. "That's pretty desperate, Bray. Hate to break it to you, but I've handled pain worse than this."

"Oh, I know you have," Wyatt whispered. "You've got a powerful embodiment about you as well, Styles. All the more reason to make you mine."

AJ groaned again, sagging his head, freeing his eyes from the sight of Bray Wyatt. He's fucking nuts…

"I have the perfect way you break you, AJ. I'm a man of my word. You'll understand the truth. You need me. And I need you."

"Go…to…hell."

Five stout fingers gently pushed AJ's hair from his forehead, then touched the sweating skin. The feeling was chilling, more chilling than AJ was expecting, and he drew his head up and back, but Bray kept his hand on AJ.

"You'll understand the truth," Bray spoke again, soft.

AJ gasped. This sensation was disturbing. Nothing like he'd ever felt before. As though literal darkness was a liquescent, and his head was absorbing it through Bray's touch. His muscles felt iced over. He was aghast, fearful like a very young child, wanting to bolt, wanting to scream, shake loose this delirium…fear, devouring him like acidic rainfall…was Bray Wyatt somehow transferring this to him? What kind of supernatural creation was he?

AJ shouted out. Wrenched his head side to side, unable to pull free from this touch. This was sheer misery.

"GET OFF ME!"

At this, Bray removed his hand. AJ threw his head back, nearly smacking it on the wall and knocking himself out. What the hell had that been? He'd been scared shitless, but of what? Getting touched by Bray Wyatt? No, it—whatever it had been—had gripped him like a demonic possession, throttling him. He'd been afraid of nothing, but it had been real, true terror of naught.

Just fear. Fear alone, like he'd never felt before.

Some of it endured. The icy sensation was gone, as was most of the power behind it, but it left behind a fraction of what he'd undergone. A slight chill in his bones. Minor panic of things to come.

"What did you do to me?" AJ questioned.

"I gave you sensitivity, if you will. Sensitivity of the real world. To prove to you why you need me. Normal people experience fear. We're all human in that way. Me? I am the face of fear. I can show you terror like you wouldn't believe. And I will. I'm consecrating you with a heightened reaction to things you might find mild, harmless…so you'll know the truth of what you thought you knew. Things that didn't frighten you before will frighten you now. Things that frightened you before…it will be a living, walking nightmare, in your realm."

AJ tried to make sense of his vague, evangelical-style rambling. "You're…you're actually…installing fear in me?" Supernatural, alright.

"Not installing. You are not a machine, AJ. I'm simply blessing you with a more…open mind, if you will. So you can see things as they truly are. I'm opening your eyes. And once your eyes are open…you will know just how badly you need us. You will submit, and I will restore in you a spirit like ours. Your strength will be mine. Your soul will be mine."

"You're a fuckin' sadist," AJ snarled through his teeth, but there was less anger there, less hostility he wanted to use, to seem stronger than he truly was. Now he sounded ready to burst into tears.

Bray Wyatt stood up. "Treat him."

AJ's eyes stretched wide as Luke Harper and Erick Rowan approached him again. Now they were even more terrifying. He was disconcerted with just how much damage they could do to him.

Whatever Bray had done to him, it was working.

He was afraid.