Summary:

Dean had watched this promo dozens of times, had lived it before it was taped and had re-lived his own story as he told it. He'd regretted it at times and others felt it like the most liberating experience so far in his life.

"I have something to prove, something that I owe to somebody, and she's pro wrestling. I owe pro wrestling; it's the only reason I'm still alive. And it pisses me off, and it makes me sick, everybody else thinks wrestling owes them something."

Notes:

I'm back to continue where we left in Chapter 3!

I found time to write this weekend so here is a new update. My apologies for the 'Chapter 4' uploaded for a few days since AO3 wouldn't update when I posted Chapter 3.

I've transcripted most of it for this chapter (which took forever), but before we start, I recommend you watch the promo mentioned in the last episode anyway, it will break your heart and blow your minds. I shared the video here: post/168187467291/our-story-whatever-it-was-chapter-4-is-up

Enjoy and thanks for reading!

NOTES: Italics are for promo speech. * between promo paragraphs signal there are excerpts I'm leaving out of it and didn't transcript.

Chapter 4

Tuesday, 17th May 2011

FCW building, Tampa FL

"So much of being a success in this sport is predicated on how well you take advantage of opportunities when they come. Sometimes, no matter how desperately you want them; no matter how ready you want to seize them, no matter how hard you try, the opportunities just don't come."

"Opportunities come, and they sit in front of me I just stare at them blankly. Like a disenchanted teenager would stare at his parents when he's been told to clean his room or do his homework. But it was only- it's hard enough when a guy like me, just getting through the day without being jailed or hospitalized and I come to wrestling-"

Something akin to self-consciousness invaded Dean as he stared at the sight of himself on the screen, how worn out and fucked up he looked. He flinched at the awkward way he seemed to be hiding into himself at the start of it, fidgeting uneasily, crossing an elbow over the other seeking for protection at the same time honesty burned through every word leaving his lips.

Dean could distantly hear the turning of pages around him, some furious scribbling; muttering to themselves, some harsh breathing, a gasp here and there. He didn't want to take his eyes off the screen and see the reactions from the other wrestlers, he knew they were blown away, and that made him proud. His promos meant to make people uncomfortable, to stir something in them.

But the reactions he got always forced him to take responsibility for how much he opened during them, edging away from the wrestling character and digging into the person behind. There had been times when he hadn't know where one ended and the other began.

Transfixed by his performance and from Dusty's words before playing the video, Dean felt like jumping out of his skin. Such praise felt heavy and tugged at his heartstrings in a way that made him want to storm out of the classroom, hide somewhere to cry it like a child.

As the promo went on, his rocking got more erratic, his tone sharper and resentful, letters tripping over themselves and letting in that the emotion he showcased came from the reality behind them. Dean wondered if his words hit people in the face the way they struck him as they left his mouth, the slap burning harder as they became more intimate through his speech.

"Everybody, as soon as I walk by- I hear it everywhere, voices. Voices. Voices. I don't know what they're saying or why they're saying it. I don't understand but I- I have a pretty good idea. Well, Jon, Jon's got some talent. But we don't understand everything he does or why does it completely; or approve of everything he does necessarily, so he's a fuckup. He's just a fuckup. But those voices aren't even the worst. The worst voices are the ones in my head, twenty-four seven, just camped out and they never shut up, and they scream, and they yell, and they echo in my ears in my brain, and they never shut up-"

"Every time I get in the ring it's like wrestling a ghost, and no matter how hard I try I just can't get a grip."

Dean had watched this promo dozens of times, had lived it before it was taped and had re-lived his own story as he told it. He'd regretted it at times, and others felt it like the most liberating experience so far in his life. Whatever the case, it never seemed to stop him from experiencing the clench in his gut at the moment he breaks and is overwhelmed by his own story, at the point of no return tearing his heart out.

"I have something to prove, something that I owe to somebody, and she's pro wrestling. I owe pro wrestling; it's the only reason I'm still alive. And it pisses me off, and it makes me sick, everybody else thinks wrestling owes them something. All the time, me me me me me, I should be champion, I should be a featured performer, I shouldn't be paired with this guy in a team, I should get more mic time, I should get this, whatever. I'll give you something! I'll give you all something to cry about tonight! I love pro wrestling, and I owe pro wrestling. It doesn't owe me anything. Because it's given me the only thing that makes me happy, the only high in this world that makes it worth getting up out of bed every day, and when it hits my bloodstream, and it courses through my veins, and explodes in my heart and the warm feeling coming over my brain, the whole world makes sense. And that's what I owe pro wrestling."

The sound of a pen falling on the floor, a harsh gasp, and a 'Holy. Fucking. Shit.' mumbled by a familiar voice -loud enough for him to catch over the video's sound-, Dean finally looked around and glanced at the other wrestlers. Their eyes were glued to the screen, some mouths gaping open but the one who looked the most shocked and was cursing his brains out was Rollins.

A pair of dark-rimmed glasses sat at the top of his nose as he clutched his notebook tightly and stared at the screen glassy-eyed. Dean would have laughed at the sight after their previous interaction hadn't he been so shaken from rewatching the promo.

His train of thought was cut by a loud eruption of applause, which he hadn't seen coming even when he was looking towards the other wrestlers. His promo was over.

Dusty was standing up.

His fellow wrestlers were standing up and applauding.

He was overwhelmed.

Dean felt full, and finally, finally, his dream was becoming true.

He'd made his way it into WWE, taken his opportunity. And fuck did that feel right.

"Congratulations, son. Congratulations." Dusty approached Dean and grabbed his shoulders in a fatherly way. "Someone turn the lights on, kids." The legend shouted and chuckled under the sudden tight hug Dean pulled him in. "That's one of the best I've ever seen, and this old man has seen plenty!" He patted Dean again on the back as he was let go and the young wrestler returned to his seat.

Dusty thanked the wrestler who turned the lights back on with a grinning nod and looked around the circle of chairs. "Any thoughts? Questions? We have the genius here to reply himself." Several hands raised up in the air. Dusty pointed towards one of the students, allowing him to talk.

"What the fuck was that? That was fucking awesome!" Dean burst into laughter when he looked over at the dark-haired man raising his voice. He was huge, built like a football player, which he probably was prior to joining FCW. From his olive-tan skin tone, prominent jaw, and wide nose, Dean assumed the guy came from some Samoan family with connections in the business. Said guy was shaking and looked like he couldn't believe his eyes or ears.

Dusty joined in the chuckling. "Ambrose won't even have to answer that; I'll do it for him Leakee. That, my young friend, is a fucking wrestling promo."

The Hall of Famer went on to praise and analyze the video, Dean's posture, voice and general delivery, going back to highlight some points and criticize others. He broke down every single moment, body expression, the structure of the promo.

Dean felt thankful that Dusty's speech directed everybody's questions away from him as he was blown away by the words he'd just heard. Nobody had ever spoken so highly of him; nobody had ever praised him in such a way.

When the class was declared done for the day, Dean went straight to thank Dusty and shake his hand. He couldn't have a full conversation with him though as his phone started ringing. The veteran gave him an apologetic look as he answered the call.

Dean left the classroom and paced towards the locker room to fetch his bag and go home. He was exhausted and hungry, but he didn't give a fuck. He felt warm and full from the feedback and admiration he'd received, and that would fool his body for a few more hours.

He almost bumped into one of the wrestlers when he opened the locker room door. It was the big Samoan-looking guy, Le-something. "That was awesome man!" the big guy seemed to be in awe as he beamed at Dean. "I'm gonna learn so much from you…" he offered his hand for a shake, and Dean accepted it gladly, feeling he would get along with this wrestler. "I'm Roman Leakee by the way, didn't get a chance to introduce myself earlier."

Dean grinned at the ridiculous name. "Dean Ambrose, hope I can see you in the ring soon!"

Roman patted his shoulder energetically. "You will! By the way dude, ya coming for lunch? Everybody's heading to the restaurant already."

Dean gulped, suddenly uncomfortable again and conscious of his situation. He couldn't afford eating out and had to walk a long way back home while starving. While he owned a car, he couldn't afford gas to drive it. The newcomer sighed and looked down at his own feet. "Sorry man, but gonna have to pass today… didn't bring any money."

He looked up at the low chuckle that followed. "Hey, there's no shame in having no money here, you think most of the guys can afford to pay for anything? Many live too far to go home then come back for the second session of the day." the explanation made Dean feel a bit better. "Since we end up spending our whole days here, FCW has an agreement with a nearby bar. They feed us lunch every day to make sure we are eating properly and won't pass out during training." He eyed Dean from head to toe and chuckled again. "You certainly look like you would bite the walls given a chance."

Dean joined in the laughter when his empty stomach protested, his shoulders relaxing and a new optimism washing over him. "Sure, let them feed me then. Hope they give out good portions."

Roman gave him a thumbs up. "Don't worry, they'll give you as much as you want, you can't imagine the amounts some of us eat. It will also help you get to know the guys you'll be fighting soon."

"Cool then dude. Gonna pick my stuff then and I'll go with you." Dean stepped into the room and looked around for his duffel bag. Once he picked it up and turned to leave, he almost ran into someone for the second time in a couple of minutes. This time it was an irritated Rollins, who stood in his way with a scowl on his flushed face and his glasses hanging low, his figure tense and his fists closed tight.

Dean raised an eyebrow in a silent 'What the fuck,' not getting what that was about at first until he realized it had to do with the words in his promo, which should have hit home on the high flyer after their previous interaction. "Any problems? Is your interior diva offended by my promo or was it my talent?"

Seth's nostrils flared and his chest visibly rose and sunk violently under his rough breathing. It was surprising that steam didn't come out of them from the way he was seething. Dean snorted at the sight, getting no other reply than the brunette turning around and trying to storm out of the room for the second time that day. "Rollins!" he called him out and smirked satisfied when the other stopped. "I was serious when I said you either stand up for the challenge or go fuck yourself. I've got no time for shit." he pondered his next words but decided to screw his former plans to avoid making enemies on his first day. "You are way too arrogant for someone who needs so much improvement."

Rollins turned around slowly; his eyes narrowed as he glared at Dean with a mix of shame and frustration. "Fuck you." was the only thing he said before he finally left the room.

Dean cracked his neck and made his way out as well, shrugging at the amused look he received from Roman, whose eyes went from one wrestler to the other. "I take it you met that asshole already." he muttered as they started walking.

He devoured his generous lunch until he felt ready to explode and had a good time with the other guys at the restaurant. Dean's day and general life seemed to be taking a turn for the better, and he couldn't be any more grateful for it.

Thursday, 19th May 2011

TV Taping at the FCW building, Tampa FL

Soon enough, Dean learned that taping the show over one month in advance kept the production costs infinitely lower, allowing the episodes to be studied and edited with enough time between broadcastings. If anything needed to be repeated, they used the live events or other tapings in between to shoot it. It also helped Dusty and the wrestlers work on the upcoming shows, making any changes or improvements on what they were working on without the audience noticing.

Dean was invited to stay around to watch the show even if he wouldn't take part on the tapings yet. Regal also told him he would finally make his debut on May 26th at a live event. It would be a squash against an inexperienced guy who would job for him, Monty Lynch. The only purpose for it would be introducing his heel character to the fans. Dean already knew the guy from training with the newbies and would have a full week to build the match with Lynch.

He wasn't excited to have a quick squash with him as he'd already fought him in classes, knew it wouldn't be a good match, not even a decent one. But his heart throbbed in delight at the thought that he would start leaving his mark in WWE for the first time there. He had an opportunity now, and he was going to squeeze until the last bit of it. It wouldn't take long for everybody to know who Dean Ambrose was.

Sitting at the back with Johnny Curtis and Husky Harris, on a corner where the cameras would be most unlikely to catch him on video; Dean discretely adjusted his baseball cap and zipped up his hoodie, not too happy about the Florida heat.

They watched the whole taping of the show and how the matches and promos were shoot. A couple of producers gave instructions to referees and wrestlers regarding the booking and alerted them of any commercial pauses. They tried to hid their move calling from the fans, and the young wrestlers did their best to prove their worth during those matches.

Dean finally had a chance to see Leakee fight. The Samoan was undoubtedly awkward in the ring, and that was being extremely nice in the judgment. He was green as hell, stiff and looked disoriented and out of place during his awful match against Ricardo Rodriguez, which he won. While Roman hadn't uttered a word at all, Dean already knew he was a bad promo from the way he stood when he made his entrance, the tight expression in his face, the intense panic in his eyes as he looked at the fans. He meant it when he said he would learn a lot from Dean.

The match between Damien Sandow and Seth Rollins was a lot better.

Sandow was a good talker and made a decent introduction to the match before Rollins came out, showing off the FCW 15 Championship medal for the cameras to pick. Dean found it a good idea that the brunette didn't cut a promo since he was awful at it and Damien had done his part perfectly.

Sandow was a big guy, really tall and broad yet not too defined. He could hang in the ring though and was obviously experienced, knew what he was doing. His slower, hard-hitting style meshed well with Seth's flashiness, both selling a good story of an underdog babyface in peril against a cocky heel. The fifteen-minute match was nothing special, just entertaining and well executed until the bell rang and Rollins raised his hand in victory, still the champion. As soon as he made his way out the ring and approached the gorilla position, his face sobered again, dark brows frowning in irritation.

Dean didn't feel like Rollins had a right to complain after such a match. It looked like Jimmy was right when he said he was a brat back when he called Dean to congratulate him for his signing. If there was something Dean knew, it was that he wouldn't tolerate that attitude no matter how good the other was in the ring. It only reinvigorated his desire to make the FCW locker room a better place, with better wrestlers. He was going to teach by example what being a star was.

Notes:

I love that promo to pieces and couldn't NOT include it in this story; it was a damn perfect fit. It looks like things are starting to move now. The first classes are over, and Dean made some new friends (and an enemy as well) plus he will debut in a few days. :)

Don't forget you can still send me your ideas or requests for the side one-shot from Seth's POV that I will be posting around Christmas. Any part of this series that you'd like to see from his point of view? Any other moment in their WWE/FCW career you'd love him to tell you about? Don't be shy and ask. I may deliver. Or I may even save the idea for another story and write it for you if it inspires me enough ;)

So, what are your thoughts? As always, I love getting your comments and feedback and our talks about them, so please comment -comments are open for guests too-, tell me what you liked, what you hated, what you think will happen or anything you want to share. Remember you can always drop me a line on Tumblr (Besaster) if you want to and that I keep posting previews, updates and little random bits on the process of writing this mammoth of a series.

Thank you so much for reading and see you very soon :)