Disclaimer Dean Ambrose is the property of the WWE and/or the actors / sports entertainers / superstars that portray them. This story is intended as tribute only and is not intended to infringe on any copyrights.

Original characters are the property of me, and the children of my own imagination. Any resemblance to any real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

Italics mean flashback.

Promises Past and Present
Part One

"Okay," Cinnamon said as she walked into the living room, her jacket slung over her shoulder. "You're all set, right?" She was preparing to go out and do some shopping, and Dean had promised to stay and be there when Neil got home from school.

Dean looked up from the couch where he was watching TV. "Yeah, I'm fine," he said. When he realized she was actually in the room, not still in the hall, he quickly hid the object he had been holding around his back.

"What's that?" Cinnamon asked, looking instantly suspicious.

"Nothing." Dean attempted to push the object further out of sight and look completely innocent, and failed at both. Cinnamon leaned over and started reaching between his arm and the sofa. "Woman, if you keep trying to get my shirt off me, you'll never get out of the house," he growled, grabbing her and pulling her onto his lap.

"I wasn't trying to get your shirt off," Cinnamon said, snuggling up and wrapping her other arm around him. "And if I was, face it, your shirt would be off, you're pretty easy."

"Bull," he said, shaking his head, and smirking. "You don't have that much power over me."

"Really?" She pulled her arm from around him, holding the object he had been hiding. "Well, what do we have here?" She held up the bright yellow plastic Nerf gun.

"How did that get there?" Dean asked, trying to look as if he had never seen the gun in his life, even though it was the first Nerf gun he had ever owned, the Maverick Seth had given him.

"Were you watching the network and shooting Seth again?" Her expression was serious, but there was a glitter in her eyes that indicated she might be more amused than upset at the situation.

"Maybe," Dean said, looking about the room as a child who was being questioned by a parent might. "Or, maybe I was shooting Hunter, instead."

Cinnamon shook her head. "Just remember, you break the TV, you buy a new one," She kissed him, and then rose from his lap.

"Do you have to go right this minute?" he asked, his gaze running up and down her body.

She nodded. "You know and I know, if I don't go now, we'll end up in the bedroom and by the time we're done with that, Neil will be home. Besides, don't you have a show to do?"

"It can wait." In an effort to keep his name on the minds of the fans, Roman had suggested that maybe Dean could do some promos to be shown on WWE's You Tube channel. It started out as Dean with a computer, talking about whatever the hell he wanted. Within a couple weeks, those simple videos had gone viral, as Dean cheerfully told the world exactly what he thought about everything from the proper way to tie your shoes, to what toppings were good for pizza, and which ones were stupid. For someone who hated technology, Dean was a natural internet star. The WWE wasn't stupid. By the middle of the third week of these simple You Tube videos, they had sent out some easy to operate, but very advanced recording equipment. He and Neil had set it up in the spare bedroom and at least twice a week, often more, he would sit down and just start talking. He'd send what he shot to the media guys and they'd edit it. Sometimes it would be on You Tube, sometimes they put bits of it on Raw and Smackdown, sometimes they edited it into 15 minute segments that they put on the network. The fans loved it, the WWE loved it, and even though he might be hard pressed to admit it, Dean loved it too. It wasn't as good as wrestling, but it was a lot of fun. "I want to do one after Smackdown tonight." Every Friday or Saturday, he usually did one offering his opinions on the shows of that week. His remarks were often biting, sarcastic, and funny as hell. He found he had a gift for being able to poke fun of wrestling and to get others to laugh with him.

"Well, still, I have to go, I don't want to be home too late." She picked her coat up from where it had fallen on to the floor and slipped her arms into it. "There's cookies in the jar for you and Neil to have when he gets home, try not to eat too many and don't let Neil eat too many either." She grabbed her leather backpack, which doubled as her purse, and slung it over her shoulders.

"I won't," he said, getting to his feet and walking her to the door. "Drive safe, okay?"

She smiled, leaning in to kiss him. When they broke apart, she let the smile overtake her face again. "I will," she promised. "Don't worry, I'm just going to the mall."

"I can't help but worry," he admitted. "It's the Christmas season and everyone is driving like an idiot."

"I'll keep that in mind." She grabbed her keys from the hook by the door and left the house.

Dean closed the door behind her and turned around. Going over to the sofa, he grabbed the remotes, shut down the TV and headed down the hall to the master bedroom. Christmas was coming faster than he thought and he knew he had to get Cinnamon something, he just wasn't sure, what. Neil was easy; he had flown to Vegas for three days and brought back a bunch of WWE merchandise, including a couple of prototype action figures of himself. They were always sending Dean this stuff, and normally, Dean, not being too into having an overabundance of "stuff" would give it to friends or donate it to the Children's hospital. But this year, he would give it to his son. Between that and the things Cinnamon would buy him (he had given Cinnamon a chunk of money to help with the gift buying) Neil was going to have an excellent Christmas. But he wanted to get something for Cinnamon, too.

He looked around her bedroom for inspiration, knowing that of all the rooms in the house, this was the one that designed to be the most "her." It was homy, comfortable, and Dean found that he slept better here than anywhere else, including his place in Vegas.

He looked in her closet first, seeing if there was something she didn't have and needed, although he wasn't sure if he'd know if something was missing or not. He saw her shoe rack on the floor and smiled. Cinnamon owned eight pairs of shoes. Five of them were plain white Keds. The other three were a pair of flats, a pair of sandals and a pair of boots. Unlike most women, Cinnamon was not a shoe fanatic. So, I guess a gift certificate to DSW, is not a good idea. Everything else in her closet seemed normal, and he soon realized this was a stupid idea anyway. If he could even tell if she had something missing from her wardrobe, chances are it was because she didn't want it in the first place.

So, what else? He planned on getting a new TV for the living room, but he figured that was an "Everyone" gift, so that wouldn't do. He knew she was complaining about the vacuum cleaner being on its last legs but when he spoke to Roman last night on the phone and asked his opinion on if he should get her a new vacuum cleaner for Christmas, Roman had laughed for a good three minutes straight and then said, "Sure, if you want to sleep on the couch for the rest of your visit." So, he figured he'd pick up a vacuum cleaner for her one of these days and just give it to her.

He spied her jewelry box on top of her dresser and grabbed that. Cinnamon didn't wear much jewelry, she hadn't when he knew her before, she didn't now. But maybe looking at the few pieces she had would give him an idea. Didn't all women want jewelry as a gift? He took the box, sat down on the bed and opened it.

There seemed to be a great deal of things in there, bright colors, odd materials and he thought for a moment Cinnamon might have the worst taste in jewelry he'd ever seen, until he realized these were things Neil had made for her, probably in nursery school and kindergarten. Macaroni necklaces, bits of braided yarn with buttons and various other outlandish and colorful things decorating them. Dean could imagine that she had worn each piece as proudly as another woman might have worn prized jewels, until Neil probably got old enough to be embarrassed by them. Then she had tucked them away into the box as if they were still precious treasures. That was the type of girl Cinnamon was, effort meant as much if not more to her than appearance. He could buy her a ten carat diamond at the finest jewelry store, but if he had done it as a last minute after thought and she knew it? She would never love it.

There were a few other pieces of jewelery, some that seemed to be nothing more than cheap costume jewelry, probably bought to wear for a particular occasion and then rarely, if ever worn again. There were a couple nicer looking pieces, one a tiny necklace with a tiny gold heart on it, that he suspected was hers as a child. The other a pearl necklace that might have belonged to her mother or her grandmother.

Towards the back of the box was a small box that he reached for. As he pulled it out to examine it, he saw the name of the jewelry store on it and almost dropped it. He knew the box, he knew before opening it, what the ring inside would look like. He knew because he had given it to her, ten years ago.

He held the small box in his hand, and put the jewelry box aside. He wanted to open it, wanted to see the ring inside, but then again, he didn't. Part of him wanted to put the ring in his pocket and the next time he was out alone, throw it away. He had given her the ring and when he had, she had cried and worn it all the time. She probably only took it off when they broke up. She had loved that ring, he had hated it. To her, it represented that he cared, to him it represented that at that point in his life, he had been a failure, at least when it came to her. He wasn't surprised he had blanked out the ring once they separated, no one like to be reminded that they could and had failed.

He and Cinnamon were almost always broke. Normally, this didn't bother them too much, they were young, in love, and had a lot of energy. Who needed a lot of money when they could spend their time going to parties, having sex, walking her dog, watching wrestling, or, even better, going to wrestling, where she could cheer him on? And it wasn't like they needed a ton of money to get by. She had her scholarship and her part time job, he had his wrestling and whatever crappy weekday job he could grab. Sure, he was constantly losing jobs, because he would refuse to work if it interfered with wrestling, but that was okay, it was part of the sacrifice. Both of them were sure the day was coming sooner, rather than later, where he would break into the big time. And if it didn't happen as soon as they wanted, Cinnamon would graduate from college in four years and she was sure she'd get a good enough job that they could keep a roof over their heads and the lights turned on, so he wouldn't even have to worry about a job, unless he wanted to. He could devote himself full time to wrestling, both doing it and training himself to get better at it. Dean had a girlfriend who was as dedicated to his career as he was, and that was pretty great.

The only really hard times were when Unexpected Things came up, like cars breaking down or Rocky needing vet care, or an unexpected medical expense. Those were a pain, but they dealt with them. Usually Cinnamon could get a few extra hours at the coffee shop where she worked and she did pretty well there. She was a bright, sunny girl on the job and the customers liked her. Or, he'd pick up some extra work.

Then, he got a cut on his arm and everything went to hell.

At first it wasn't a big deal. He wasn't even sure how he did it, it just seemed that one Sunday morning, he woke up with a cut on his arm. He had spent the night at Cinnamon's and he was up before her, wanting to go for a run. He went into the bathroom, put a large band aid on the injury, and went out running.

A few days later, he noticed it was getting red, and decided to use some antibacterial ointment. It also didn't seem to be healing very well, but he wasn't concerned, he guessed it was deeper than he originally thought and didn't deep cuts take longer?

By the end of a week, Cinnamon started asking why he always had it covered. He tried to blow it off, thinking it was no big deal, but she kept pestering him and finally by the end of the second week, he showed her and she was not happy. By this point, the entire area was puffy and red with tiny red lines running out from the wound, so it almost looked like a mutant spider. The area felt hot to the touch too. She insisted he soak his arm in hot water, which he did, then she put a whole lot of antibiotic ointment on it and bandaged it again. She told him that she wanted him to put a hot compress on the arm at least a few times a day. He told her he would, but he constantly forgot. But, he wasn't worried, he showered almost every day, and on those few days he couldn't, he did a full body sink bath. His arm was clean, he would be fine.

Except the cut just was not healing and instead was getting worse. He started wearing long sleeved shirts and distracting Cinnamon every time she asked about it. "It's doing great, god you look beautiful!" was a good one. Sure, the arm wasn't getting any better, but he was getting more sex. She didn't question that when he took off his shirt, he still wore the bandage, he made sure she had other things on her mind when his shirt came off.

Then he just started to feel bad. Not just the arm, but his whole body felt achy and he felt hot. Not all the time, but a lot of it. The wound wasn't healing, it was getting more and more swollen, the red circle and "spider legs" getting bigger and bigger. He was putting on bigger bandages to cover it. He started taping up his arms more in the ring, to cover the injury, wrapping it over the elbow and letting people think it was just a way to pad his elbows a bit. He kept an ace around it when he was out of the ring and complained of a sprain. He had started doing the compresses that Cinnamon suggested, at least once a day, but it wasn't doing any good. Neither was slathering it with antibiotic ointment.

It was around this time that he knew he should see a doctor, but he had no insurance and couldn't afford it. He had heard the old time wrestlers talk about going to the emergency room and giving a fake name and address, but that wasn't going to happen now, now they demanded ID before they would help you.

Then one Friday night they were at a party with some of his friends and he thought he might have the flu he felt so bad. He staked out a place on the sofa, wishing he could take off the long sleeved shirt he was wearing, but he only had a regular bandage on his arm, trying to give it a little air and he knew the bandage was seeping. But wow, he was so hot. "Can you go get me a beer?" he asked Cinnamon, feeling thirsty.

"Are you okay?" she asked and it took him a moment to realize what she had asked because her voice sounded so far away.

"I'm fine," he said, a little grumpier than he intended. "I just want a fucking beer, okay?"

She rose from the sofa and went off to find him a beer and he leaned back on the sofa, feeling like his body was on fire starting from his arm and radiating through him.

When she returned and handed him the can of beer, he took it, his hands trembling. "Mox, I'm worried about you," she said.

"Again, I'm fine," he snapped, then he dropped the beer all over himself and the sofa. He tried to get to his feet, but he couldn't do it, his body just wouldn't cooperate. Instead he fell back on the couch and blacked out.

When he woke up, Cinnamon was kneeling beside him and he was laying on the floor. There was a crowd around him, people looking worried. His shirt was unbuttoned and Cinnamon was stroking his hair. "Mox, what's wrong?"

He stared at her and knew he couldn't fake it any more. "My arm," he whispered. "It's fucked."

She got his shirt off and gasped. The bandage he had put on it before they left was soaked through with blood and the yellow and green of infection and smelled awful. "Mox, we have to get you to the hospital."

"No," he shook his head. "Can't afford it."

"You can't afford to die, either," she protested, helping him sit up.

The room, the faces of his friends all swam before his eyes.

"I know someone," a guy said. He wasn't a wrestler, but he was friends with a few of the guys. Dean was pretty sure his name was Steve or something like Steve. Scott? Sean?

"Someone?" Cinnamon asked, her brows raising.

The guy nodded. "He's a vet... but for five hundred bucks, he'll treat him up."

"You suggest I take him to the vet?" Cinnamon's voice rose several octaves.

"You take him to the hospital and just the doctor will cost you three grand," Steve or Scott or whatever his name was said. "Plus, they'll do labs on him so on and so forth. By the time you get done, you're looking at four to five grand. That's a wound, dogs and cats get wounds all the time. Go to this guy, for five hundred, he'll fix him up and he'll be just fine."

Cinnamon had wanted to take him to the hospital, to hell with the bill, they'd figure it out later. Dean, however, thought the five hundred sounded like a much better solution. Steve called his vet friend and as luck would have it, he was on call that night anyway.

While it was a little weird being in a vet's office to get treated, it seemed pretty much like any other doctor's office. He was diagnosed as having an abscess, which the good vet drained, cleaned, and packed. He gave him antibiotics and painkillers and gave Cinnamon a huge list of instructions on how to treat the wound. Cinnamon gave the vet five hundred dollars, that he had no clue how she got, but she told him not to worry about it. She took him to her place and he didn't wrestle that weekend. The antibiotics and painkillers threw him for a loop. But by Monday, he was feeling better.

That's when he noticed she wasn't wearing the ring. The ring she wore on the day he met her, the ring she had worn since her parents had died, her mother's engagement ring.

"Are you okay?" he asked, looking at her hand. "Did you hurt your hand or something?"

"No." She gave a puzzled look. "Why?"

"Your ring," he said. "Your Mom's engagement ring. You always wear it."

She tried to change the subject, but he kept after her until she finally confessed. She had borrowed the five hundred dollars to pay for the vet from Steve, but he had expected to be paid back the next day. While Dean had been sleeping the next day, she had done the only thing she knew to raise the money quickly, she had gone to a pawn shop with her mother's engagement ring.

He stared at her, knowing how much the ring meant to her. "You shouldn't have done that!" he finally exclaimed. "It was my problem."

"No," she said, shaking her head. "It was our problem. We're a team. And while I loved my mother's ring, I love you too. It-it was just a ring."

While her words were brave, he knew she was hurt. And he swore he was going to get that ring back for her. "What type of loan did you go for? Thirty, sixty, or ninety day?"

"I didn't," she said. "I sold it to them."

"Why?" he couldn't believe it, why did she sell it? Didn't she want to get it back?

"Because there is no way we're going to be able to come up with 500 dollars, plus 30 dollars a month for every month of interest," she explained, a slight crack to her voice. "If I just pawned it, I'd be sitting around thinking there was a chance. This way it's gone, it's done."

"You're an idiot!" he exclaimed, unable to stop himself. "Now I'm going to have to buy it back and they aren't going to just give it to me for five hundred, they want a profit! Now it's going to cost me a lot more!"

"I'm not asking you to get it back!" She shot back. "It's gone, okay? You want to get mad at me, get mad at me, I don't care. I sold it to pay to get you fixed up and I'm glad I did it. If you're unhappy with me, that's your problem!"

"I want to get it back for you!" he protested, not understanding why she was so upset.

"It's not going to happen!" she shot back. "Just drop it, okay? It hurts enough to lose it. I'm glad I had it so we could use it for you, but it still hurts a little bit, so please, let's just drop it, okay?"

He saw the tears in her eyes, but he wouldn't give up, "can you at least let me try?"

He was able to get the name of the pawn shop out of her and he went down and talked to the owner, who was actually pretty sympathetic. He was able to get the sale switched to a 30 day pawn loan instead. Dean tried to get a ninety or a sixty day loan, but the owner wouldn't go for that. He was disappointed, but he just figured he'd work twice as hard. But he would get that ring back. It had been his own stupidity that cost her the ring in the first place, if he'd taken better care of that wound, it never would have gotten that badly infected. Cinnamon never said a word about that, never faulted him for that, but he faulted himself. So, he felt it was his job to get that ring back for her.

End of Part One

Yes, another Cinnamon and Dean story. I don't know why, but every time I'm pretty sure I've written their saga, Cinnamon and the version of Dean that lives in my head tell me that they aren't done speaking yet. And, to be honest, I think this story is important to the saga.

If you like what you've read, please consider leaving me a review, because I'll never know if I'm doing things right if I don't get feedback letting me know. If you didn't like the story, please leave me a review. I will never improve if I don't get feedback letting me know what I'm doing wrong. I know I sound like a broken record, but the worst thing I can get is silence. Silence tells me to give it up and find another hobby.

Until next time, take care.