Author's Note: Had this story in my head last night, had to write it before I forgot. Haven't written Dean in a while, so hopefully it turned out well! I'll probably continue this another time, but for now, hope you like!

Humble Pie

Charlotte hated being amongst the other wrestlers, hated being amongst the 'peasants.' She was the queen - a three-time Women's Champion. Why should she be forced to coexist in the same space as these other women, these ordinary women? She was too good for them, and too good for the men too. It was too bad, Charlotte often told herself, that there were rules against intergender competition. She would've loved to show Owens how genetically inferior he was compared to her, maybe snatch the Universal Championship out of his grubby mitts.

What was worse than hanging around losers on her own brand was hanging around losers from Smackdown. These rare shows where both brands would congregate felt so ridiculous. Why was she even here, to face some women that she'd already pinned on Raw, Smackdown, and NXT? They weren't worthy to breathe her same air. Naomi, Nikki Bella, Natalya - she'd beaten these women before, and she'd always delight in beating them again and again. Unnecessary as it was, Charlotte could do it without breaking a sweat if need be.

Her nose wrinkled in disgust as she walked through the backstage area. Smackdown superstars were so beneath her. She couldn't help but flash a knowing smirk at the current Smackdown Women's Champion, Becky Lynch. That belt didn't interest her - it was a championship drummed up by Daniel Bryan because he couldn't have the real champion on his show. Becky wasn't her concern, luckily for the Irish woman. No, Charlotte's only concern now was making her way to the locker room to prepare for her soon to be one-sided match versus Nikki Bella. The thought made her scoff.

She took a swig of water, the refreshing beverage making her lose sight of where she was walking, before nearly falling to the ground. Her bottle of water was now spilled all over the floor, and she looked upwards to see who would be foolish enough to bump into her.

"Ehh, dropped something there."

Dean Ambrose, the WWE's resident nutjob, pointed to the ground at Charlotte's now wet boots. She lifted her nose in derision, refusing to give him the privilege of having any eye contact with the Queen. She stood there, waiting for Ambrose to apologize for making one of the biggest mistakes of his entire career. Yet, as she stood - appearing as regal as she could - Dean stared in silence, unsure of what to make of this situation.

"You got problems or something?"

"I'm waiting for an apology."

"Sorry you bumped into me."

Only now did Charlotte deem it acceptable to commit to eye contact, giving him a glare that she wished would send him running - a glare that should send him running. Instead, he remained fixed in that spot, fists swinging back and forth as he punched the air in front of him. Did he not know who she was? She was the Queen! The fact that he wasn't bowing before her was already a red flag, the man obviously insane. Though, she figured, that wasn't exactly news. She'd seen his matches, watched as Dean threw himself haphazardly around the ring. He didn't care about his own well-being. Charlotte doubted he cared about much at all, which infuriated her more.

"Who do you think you're talking to?"

"Listen, maybe the suckers on Raw buy into the whole 'Queen' front you've been puttin' on," Dean's air quotes made Charlotte's blood boil, "but that ain't my style. Save me the speech - or, 'royal decree.'"

"Front? Guess you didn't see me destroy little Ms. Boss inside the cell. Now that I think about it, that makes my record in that match better than yours. You could learn a thing or two from me."

No way for him to recover from that. Charlotte's demeanor grew more smug by the second. Dean was child's play, and she wasn't unconvinced that he didn't have the brain of a child to match.

"Sounds good. Teach me how to be a big ol' coward like the great Charlotte Flair."

Did this lunatic just call her a coward? As if he was some shining example of bravery. Putting your body in danger didn't make you some sort of courageous hero. It made you an idiot, as far as Charlotte was concerned. This moron didn't know what he was saying.

"Me, a coward?" Charlotte flipped her hair, accentuating that she was not taking him seriously. "Cowards don't show up and agree to step into twenty-foot cages. Oh, I get it now! You're not a lunatic - you're just a dumbass."

"I'm just callin' 'em like I see 'em. You walk around here all high and mighty, showing off that belt like you deserve it. You beat Sasha down before the cage even dropped, trying to take the easy way out. Trying to take the coward's way out. Just like Soccer mom Styles. Well congrats, champ - you did it. You showed the world you don't need a spine to wrestle, hallelujah!"

If Dean hadn't annoyed Charlotte before, he definitely did now. Charlotte grit her teeth, clenching her jaw so tight that she was afraid it'd snap. But she didn't care - didn't care about anything except dealing with this man. This man that tried to diminish her accomplishments, this man that tried to take away the credit for her victories.

"Who the hell do you think you are? I've worked my whole life fo-"

"Yeah yeah, I got it. 'Worked my whole life to get here,' 'trained every day,' 'wrestled in gyms for scraps.' Seems 'bout right to me. That's what all the cowards say to justify their cowardice." There was an intensity in Dean's voice that hadn't been there before, Charlotte noticed. It almost scared her. Almost. "I bounced from halfway house to halfway house growing up, wrestled in the streets if I had to. No mats, no refs - just fists and concrete. I busted my ass for this and I earned my keep. People like you and Styles think you've got it made - don't take anything seriously. I'll be damned if I let anymore of you entitled assholes try to tell me you worked for this. You ain't worked for anything in your life."

As Dean finished up his tirade, Charlotte could only do what she'd been doing and stand there in disbelief. Dean Ambrose, of all the people in the WWE, was the one that struck a chord in her. It was the way he spoke, the pure animosity behind his words, that did it. He almost seemed as if he was genuinely angry with her in particular, like she'd personally wronged him. Charlotte didn't know if losing to AJ Styles had made him snap, but there was something here she was missing. Suddenly, she wasn't feeling like much of a 'Queen' anymore - she was feeling like someone that people didn't understand.

"Hey!" Charlotte called out to Dean, who had shoved past her in an attempt to end their spat. Charlotte grabbed his shoulder, forcefully turning him around to face her. "You don't have any idea of what I've sacrificed for this. I gave up everything to wrestle. My whole life I've had to hear people talk about my dad, telling me that I'd never match up to him. You don't know what it's like to carry on a legacy that everyone doubts you're worthy of carrying. You may not agree with what I've done, but I'm not going to stand here and let you call me a coward! I earned everything I worked for, just like you. So you can take that 'entitled' garbage somewhere else!"

Charlotte was breathing heavily. She hadn't meant to yell. This guy pushed her too far, and she couldn't stand there and let him badmouth her. Forget about being the Queen, this was about proving that she was a wrestler. She was ready to argue with this buffoon all night if she had to!

"Sorry."

The reply from Dean made Charlotte's head spin. Right as she was preparing to launch a full frontal assault, he broke out an apology.

"Sorry that I bumped into you?"

"Nah. An actual sorry. Think I took it a bit too far, you know? Hit you a little below," Dean patted Charlotte's title, "the belt. Just been dealing with guys like AJ and Seth too long. Hell, even Rome sometimes thinks he deserves the whole world on a silver platter. I forget that you are Charlotte Flair. Having that last name ain't easy."

"It isn't."

"But you're still a no-good cheater." Charlotte moved to retort, but Dean cut her off. "You've got all the skills. I've seen you perform - moonsaults to floors, backs to barricades. You've got guts. Not sure why you choose to take the low road when you kick ass just fine on your own."

"Because I have to."

"Bull. That ain't you, is it?"

"Maybe it is. You don't know me."

Dean seemed to take that to heart, pulling a pen and a used napkin out from his pocket, scribbling numbers onto it as fast - and messily - as humanly possible. "Let's get to know each other then. Hit me up after the show. We'll talk, grab some food. I'm buyin'."

Before Charlotte could ask what Dean meant, he walked past her, heading to the back of the arena. Did he just ask her out? She looked over the napkin in her hands, not bothering to question where it'd been before, his phone number etched onto it. Charlotte felt like she'd just been mercilessly humbled, and though she wanted to wring his neck a minute ago, she was now starting to consider talking with Dean. If anyone could potentially understand her hardships, maybe it'd be the person that grew up with more hardships than most. She continued her almost forgotten trek back to the locker room, sighing when a new problem came to light.

Her boots were still wet.