Chapter Text
It started as a game.
Could they do it?
Were they smart enough to get away with it?
As it turns out, they were very, very good at it. That is, with practice. That first robbery was sloppy, the result of watching too many heist movies and not enough planning. Spur of the moment, unexpected, something they had talked about doing at night in their shitty apartment, a way to a better life together. Dean had said that they would just do it once, get enough money to move to a beach in Mexico, somewhere where all their problems didn't exist anymore; he'd buy a little cantina and sell drinks in coconuts to the tourists. Seth believed him because Seth would follow Dean into Hell itself if he asked. It was the thrill of the act, the adrenaline rush, the pure power, that hooked them.
They got better at it by the fourth bank.
By the tenth, they were the most wanted criminals in the United States.
And they lived for every second of it.
They had plenty of money, plenty of chances to get the hell out of dodge and find that beach, but neither seemed to want to stop despite the trail of bodies they left in their wake. Casualties, collateral damage on the path to their own highway to hell. The idea of stopping never occurred to either of them. Why would they? They had more money, more fun, and more of everything that they had ever wanted. Whats was dropping a grand to get into the best clubs, drink the best alcohol, party until the sun came up only to fall into each other arms at the end of it all? There was no incentive to stop. Why would they? They had the money to burn, they were young, in love, and could have anything they wanted.
It was heaven.
And they would go down in a blaze of glory together if they had to.
Maybe that was their one mistake. They had gotten cocky, complacent, sloppy. To Dean Ambrose and Seth Rollins, they were untouchable and no one could catch the dynamic duo. They were famous, had fans and admirers, and a slew of magazine covers contemplating just who these two handsome men were and where they might strike next.
They loved it. Modern day Bonnie and Clyde they were called. Not too bad a moniker until you consider how their path of destruction ended. That's because they hadn't counted on catching the eye of one of the best the FBI had to offer.
Roman Reigns was top of his class at Quantico, a real all American. By the time he was 30, he’d already received two commendations and a prominent position in the bureau's criminal profiling division. And he loved his job.
Until this file landed on his desk.
He thought it would be easy. He’d dealt with serial killers and the very dregs of society, so what were the antics of a few murderous bank robbers?
He was dead wrong.
They were smarter than he anticipated, hitting their targets and disappearing like nothing had ever happened, a puff of smoke and a few dead civilians in their wake. Any photos of the two he could get his hands on were grainy at best and they weren't stupid enough to look directly into camera. In fact, he’d say they were well aware of where the cameras were when they went into the bank, which meant they did their research. These two would take him from state-to-state following bad leads and poor information until he’d give up and start from square one.
They were smart.
They were fearless.
They had no problem cutting down anyone in their path.
They were his white whale.