Author's Note: It is clear that I lost much motivation to proceed writing Poking The Hornet's Nest. Regardless, I am going to attempt to continue writing it whenever something sparks up. Quite frankly I can't get enough writing about Dean Ambrose - and although I am currently working on mainly Drunk on Us and This Unholy War - I think Dean deserves some spotlight (Not only Punk). So here is something I actually spruced up before Poking The Hornet's Nest. I hope you all fairly enjoy this story and please don't forget to review for I am eager to know your thoughts on this first chapter. This story will start from the beginning - early relationships between Charlotte and Dean - and to current time. From adolescence to the wrestling ring.
I: Lost & Found.
She remembered finding the boy who shared little to none words with everyone within the school but instead scarred his knuckles unconscious by her stoop. She remembered how harshly the rain poured onto his shivering body, and how pale, sick pale his normally golden flesh was. How his auburn shaggy tendrils stuck onto his body and all she could see were his chapped and faded lips that quivered lightly. She remembered that day randomly going from something so fruitful with a rich cloud-free blue skies and enlightening rays of sun to harsh, ferocious winds that almost removed the clothes right off her body as she waited for the bus to go home.
The skies now crackle with thunder and agony and although it is simply four in the afternoon it appeared to be at amidst of midnight. Dark, ominous, treacherous. Something she remembered before stepping outside of her rather empty home the words that her parents advised her all the way from Europe (due to their business trips) called and spoke to her. Whatever you do Charlotte, I heard for these couple of weeks it's going to be rather dangerous with the rain and all, try not stepping outside unless it's for the sake of going to school. And although she normally heeds their warnings - today was just the day she wanted to waver from those obligations.
As she stepped outside quickly her the rain didn't waste a second in making sure to soak her to the bone. Through the light peach colouring of her midi-dress you could see the black lacing of her bra and even underwear. But at the moment she didn't really fret - for it was alas a second within her lifetime she felt some sort of complacency. She was alive and well - she could fee, breathe in the dew from the rain through her clear nostrils. As she took light steps forward to her stoop, she gasped aloud, as she noticed not only the resting figure on her stoop, but the trail of blood that followed right behind where the body rested.
Panic washed over her, as she didn't know exactly what to do. Nobody was home and of course she didn't want to deal with the authority and the questions that are bound to be bombed her way. She kneeled over his body, as she pushed aside the brown tendrils as she quickly noted who that is. It's that guy... Jonathan from English... She knew nothing of him, but his physical appearance stated a story all of its own. Scarred knuckles, bruised and battered face. What could've possibly happened to him...? Charlotte - within nature is charitable, as all she ever wants is good things - and for the sake of finding peace within herself she indulges in acts that benefit others more than herself.
It was a means of coping - for shunning away all bitter sentiments within her. Even if it was temporary. At the least bit it was gone for that second of her life.
But this was something else, a part of her felt responsible as to what she could do with the body. She knew if she stood outside any longer she could gravely affect her health with this weather. And to be frank, she isn't quite fond of thunder/lightning for that matter. Every single bark from the musky grey clouds would only cause her rather lithe framing to flinch. Charlotte only bit her bottom lip as her conclusion was to only drag the body into the warmth of her home for she herself couldn't allow him to freeze in such conditions.
With little to none strength for she lacked plentiful today - Charlotte took hold of his hands, and she could feel callouses almost scrape the flesh right off her own delicate palms. She felt the scabs of his knuckles brush onto the spacing of her fingers and a part of her wanted to whimper as the warm crimson content that seeped right out of the rather large scars on his hands and those that trickled from his arms would make the once soft pink from her hands almost rogue and coated in dirt - just like the once what she remembered to be a blue denim jacket - now black, plagued with mud and blood.
She tugged with all her might, carefully as she had to drag his almost lifeless form up the stairs and all his rather heavy frame left behind was a trail of sludge and his lifeline until finally she cried out from the tensions building on her back and shoulder joint from the last pull as she managed to fall into the loving embrace of her spacious home with the enigma she knows simply as Jonathan Good - the kid who would always prop dirty boots on the back tables of her English classroom and although he never exchanges words with any of the students within their high school (even during group assignments) - he always did have something exquisitely insightful to say whenever it comes to a piece of text being discussed in class.
His voice dominated above all else. And one thing Charlotte could admit that she would be eager to listen to the kid with the mud-coated boots and torn up denim jacket participate. Because he had something greater to say than anyone else.
Charlotte picked herself up, still holding onto the clammy rough hands of Jonathan as she would proceed to drag him to the first floor bathroom. She was panting by the time she got to the bathroom and she would with the last bit of energy push him off the porcelain floors and into the tub. Charlotte bit her bottom lip as she stared for a mild second at the male who through the treacherous process remained unconscious and back to the trial behind her.
I sure as hell got a chore on my hands tonight don't I?
Bitterly she thought to herself as she then stared down at her hands. The rest of her body shivered - but her hands - coated in his blood and dirt felt warm. Whereas the almost white but peach coloured dress revealed her lingerie for it clung onto her body for dear life. She could feel the puddles at the soles of her anke boots gush through the etchings of her boot.
Charlotte stared at Jonathan for a second - she noticed his body, specifically his torso and lips didn't remain still. They quivered like mad, and through parted lips it was as though she could hear what he could possibly be dreaming about - but none of it made any sense. It was barely audible, and the only reason she knows he's even alive is because of the reaction his body is going through.
"What could've possibly happened to him..." She whispered to herself as she proceeded to remove the denim jacket, that was heavy in her hands. Underneath he wore a white shirt that she could clearly see through now at his rather muscular frame. Her hands began to shake - never has she been so close to man before. Not willingly, not like this. She noted how softly his breathing is as his chest slowly goes up and down. She pried her eyes against her will from his chest and down to his feet where the familiar biker-like boots she slipped off with great ease. He remained in nothing but his jeans and white shirt - unsure how else to approach this matter.
However, she pushed his hair back and noted the fact that his arms have cuts, his face his bruised, and certainly he probably fractured his nose. His chest also has cuts. By the looks of it someone used a weapon. Who would even do something like this...? Then again, according to rumours, Jonathan is from the 'boondocks' of Cincinnati. Where drugs, prostitutes, and crime are the pre-dominant way of life. Shamefully.
She had to clean him up. She had to tend to his wounds. And thankfully, stitching is in her arsenal for after all she never had her parents around to tend to her. She cracked her knuckles, determination evident in her fevering green oculars.
This time his breathing as eased, he no longer shivered, and it felt as though time flew by so quickly for one second it was four in the afternoon and currently it is nine at night. On the phone, she glanced often to the living room where she placed Jonathan to rest. She didn't say much due to the fact that on the other line her parents, specifically her mother was talking to more than three people at the same time; not including her.
"Mom, look, I am only calling to let you know I am okay. The cleaning lady should be coming over around tomorrow after school so I'll be here to make sure nothing goes missing as you said. I am okay, don't worry about me. Let me know how you guys trip goes."
"Charlotte baby, I am so sorry. Don't forget Mami loves you." The line went dead, and hearing those words made her feel all the more, well dead.
With much dread flooding in her system she placed the phone down and found herself startled once more as not only the sound of lightning boomed within the eerie quietness of her home - the sound of glass crashing onto the marble floors. The sound emanated from the living room, that was clear and Charlotte only quickened her pace as she rushed towards the living room to now find an awakened Jonathan Good.
A knot formed on her throat as she stared at the glass fragments by side him and him, who stood tall and notably with those rather puzzling oceanic hues would stare down at himself and his surroundings, until his gaze snapped up to her direction. Charlotte cleared her throat, as she noted his attempt to pivot his foot forward. He grimaced in pain as then Charlotte held her hands up in defense.
"You mustn't move. Your wounds need to fully heal."
Jonathan only sucked his teeth. "You, what the hell am I doing here?" Regardless of injuries, his words articulated themselves ever so clearly. It boomed within her home, her insides, rapturing her so called peace. She lowered her hands, fiddled with her thumbs as she only shook her head, trying her best to ignore his statement. She walked towards him before she took him by the shoulders and pushed him onto the couch where he through gritted teeth tried his best to mute his cry of agony.
"What the fuck is your deal Princess?" That word.
"Y-You should be thankful! I found you almost for dead by my stoop! I should be the one asking you what the hell your deal is!" She stammered, but kept her voice proud.
Jonathan sucked his teeth as then he sunk himself into the couch, a look of realization appeared to have washed over him. She noted his pupils as though they were scanning something and she realized then he was in a state of flashback. He was recalling every single foul moment of what happened to him. After she cleaned her home and stoop regardless of the madness that Mother Nature enacted upon Cincinnati today - she noticed his boots had intense scrapes all over. He was running. His jeans were torn, along with his jacket. It was the weapon that was at hand.
Jonathan this time would only sigh as with much hesitation he combed through his now clean hair. Before she washed him up he reeked of cigarettes, old english fourty ounzes, filth, and even fear she could claim. He was running for his life. He didn't want to die, and they were trying to kill him.
Charlotte sat on a chair across from the sofa - fingers continued to tap against one another. She didn't look up at him. Now that he's awake, she felt all the more frozen. He was like lightning. But then the image of him freezing, wounded by her stoop reminded her that he was once vulnerable - a stray dog. Who lost himself and now she found him.
A pet.
"You patched me up all by yourself?"
"Yeah. Your arms and chest had lacerations. If I hadn't stepped outside you would've bled to death."
"Well, would you look at that? Princesses do know how to handle your own. I thought rich-kids like you would have someone even fanning the fart away from your ass." Charlotte remained quiet. The one thing she isn't quite proud of is clearly being shoved into her face like a pile of shit.
"Tch, hit a nerve didn't I? Or wouldn't you be in danger, interacting with someone so low as me? After all, in that hell-hole you and I attend - all they do is talk."
Charlotte remained quiet once more. Until she fiercely shook her head. "Nobody would know." She whispered. Something inside of her was trembling, not how she trembles when lightning strikes, but perilous. She didn't feel like this as he rested, and now that he's awake - these are the first times the two exchanged words.
"And why is that? Care so much about your image you'll pay someone to keep quiet"?" Shut up.
She bitterly thought to herself. She snapped up from her seat as she pointed past the living room to a rather long hallway entrance. "You know your way out."
Jonathan piqued his eyebrow with interest. "What about my injuries?" That bullshit puppy look. The guilt in her wounded heart at hearing this. She didn't say a word, she glanced at him instead for a mild second before she cleared her throat and headed for the stairs.
"There's a guest room upstairs. It's probably your safest bet to stay here for a bit. I'll talk to officials in our school and let them know you're at the hospital or something so you won't be jeopardized until you heal. You can stay here for as long as you need. My folks won't be home for a couple of weeks."
"And why the charitable nature huh Princess?" Jonathan felt stuck, perplexed as to the one woman in his life would deem him lower than shit due to her social-standing would even welcome him to her home. To her so called palace. It bothered him, but he knew she was right. He just couldn't understand why, and the blazing headache that caused these incessant screeches didn't help either - to clear his thoughts that is.
"I have a heart Good, don't let what you see fool you." She combed through her blond locks, unsure herself as to why she's allowing someone clearly who reeks of danger to rest at her home. She found a stray dog, and wanted to keep it to herself...? A pet? Her pet?
This time Jonathan remained quiet. And when it was past midnight he remembered glancing into her room, he spotted her due to the lightning and watched her flinch every single time it boomed. Her arms wrapped around herself for the sake of comfort. The screech crept its way back in as instead of resting on a bed, he leaned his back against the wall by the entrance to her room and fell asleep to her whimpers and sobs.