Tinkerbell Flies Solo pt.2.

"Move In Day." Each University, from one side of our great nation to another, has their own traditions to embrace on an annual basis when it comes to the day in which new students become residents of the college for the very first time.

For Dean Ambrose and the brothers of Sigma Pi, that "tradition" consisted mostly of dragging the sofas and recliners from their massive house's TV room and basement out into the front lawn. Their large Victorian style abode was situated in the perfect spot for observing all the goings on that would mark the first day of residence.

"Boys, remember; it's not a hangover if you didn't earn it."

A series of haphazard laughs followed. Dean cracked open his first beer of the day, though it wasn't yet even Ten AM, and pulled the lever on the chair he occupied.

"Ahhh," he sighed contentedly, his feet now propped up on the footrest, one leg crossed over the other. To his left, Christian and Brian Cage slouched on a nattily upholstered Davenport sofa, a styrofoam cooler resting between them.

"I love college," the larger Cage cousin rumbled, prompting a laugh from Christian. Behind them, a young man clad in basketball shorts, completely broken-in cowboy boots, and an unbuttoned sleeveless vest rested his feet on the raised back of the Cage sofa.

"Hangman," Dean called out to the curly-mulleted cowboy, "you ready to smack around some pledges?"

Adam Page, who hadn't yet opened his eyes, simply nodded and mumbled "yup."

Dean shook his head, in pure disbelief that his pledge brother and good friend still seemed to be so melancholy.

"Bro, you still smarting over that robotics thing? That was in like April."

Adam cracked open a twelve ounce can of cheap domestic beer, finishing the lager in one long pull, before announcing his victory over the hops and barley with a loud belch. "Shit was fucked up."

Dean nodded, though he didn't feel nearly as strongly about it as Page apparently did. "You'll make your glorious comeback this fall. Bet."

Adam nodded, pulling a second beer from a gun-holster like apparatus he was wearing around his waist. The young man was obsessed with the Old West, and cowboy lore, and the beer holsters had been a gift from his pledge brothers the previous Christmas. Finally, Dean turned to the trio of massive Samoans occupying an entire full-sized sofa, an absolutely space consuming object that looked like it had been dropped off from 1955 with no stops in between. It was a monstrosity, a station wagon for living rooms. And these three boys had dropped it unceremoniously on the front lawn as though it were so many dirty towels to be picked up for cleaning.

"Did I show you the text Ruby sent me?" Dean asked the centermost of the three, who was also the largest and presumably the oldest.

"Like eighteen times," Roman Reigns groaned. "You haven't shut up about it literally since it arrived. What I WOULD like to hear is why you think you have a chance with a girl who's been on the covers of Sports Illustrated and US Weekly?"

"She was on the cover of SI?" Brian Cage turned and asked Roman. The mammoth Samoan nodded.

"Yep. She was on the 2016 Olympic women's gymnastics team. Won a Gold Medal with the team and two Silvers for her own stuff."

"I'm impressed that you took the time to wikipedia all that," Ambrose retorted glibly.

"I'm just lookin' out for you, man. I've seen you fight above your weight class before, but never like this. Alexa Bliss is famous. Like, 'network TV' famous. Not Insta or TikTok. Like, 'interviewed about overcoming her crippling eating disorder and going on to the Gold Medal' role model for little girls worldwide famous."

"What's your point?" Dean asked, refusing to admit his friend might be onto something..

"She's not in your hemisphere."

Ambrose scoffed indignantly. "Bitch, I was on a magazine cover too!"

With that borderline ludicrous statement, all the Sigma Pi brothers broke out into raucous laughter. Adam Page perked up for the first time that morning. "Motherfucker, you were on the five dollar program the football team sells before games. They make seven a year."

"That totally counts!" Dean insisted, taking a long swig of whatever was in his red Solo cup.

Before the idle chatter could continue further, the cohort of young men drew almost eerily silent as a slightly worn down looking golf cart approached them, a mildly pallid man in his late thirties in the driver's seat.

"Gentlemen," the bald man began as he eyed the platoon of fraternity brothers.

"Adam goddamn Pearce. How are you?" Dean returned, his jovial tone spiced with just the faintest hint of menace underneath.

"I'm fine, Mr. Ambrose. Just making sure we don't have any drinking on school property going on out here."

Ambrose checked over his shoulders, an exaggerated motion meant to subtly demean Pearce's meager authority over him. "Nope, no drinking on school property. As you know, Adam, school property ends right there." As he spoke, Dean pointed along the border where the lush front lawn met the cracked sidewalk. "Sigma Pi National owns this house, yard, and my soul. And they don't give a shit if we tie one on at Nine in the morning, do they, boys?"

A loud, brash cheer erupted from the dozen or so actives occupying the common space outside the vintage multi-story home that sheltered them. Dean stood up, bringing him past eye level with the older man until he almost towered over him.

"And since we're not on school property, there's really no reason for you to be here, is there?"

Pearce snickered, though deep down he was mildly uncomfortable with the staredown he found himself in. "Easy, Ambrose. We're just going by all the houses and making sure everyone is up to date on the Rush rules."

Dean rolled his eyes as the brothers around him groaned. The scruffy Junior held out his hand, as though he was waiting for something, then smiled with an air of arrogance as Adam Page slid a fresh can of lager into his awaiting fingers. Ambrose held up his other hand to Pearce, signalling for him to "wait a second," before pulling his car keys out of his pocket, poking a hole in the bottom half of the beer can, and "shotgunning" the entire contents of said refreshment. Dean crushed the empty aluminum can in his hand, dropped it haphazardly on the ground, and belched loudly, sending an unspoken message to Adam Pearce that the brothers of Sigma Pi weren't about to be intimidated by a half-assed "rent a cop" and the empty threats he brought with him.

"Hey guys," Ambrose addressed his friends without taking his eyes off of Pearce. "Raise your hand if you plan on giving any rushees alcohol this week?"

Dean stared at Pearce as every other occupant of the front yard avoided his eyes. Adam Page downed a full beer. Jimmy and Jey Uso played "rock paper scissors" across the body of Roman Reigns, who was lounged in between them on the largest couch in the front yard. Reigns, for his part, simply sat, his arms and legs crossed, eyes closed and face pointed toward the sky. Brian and Christian Cage, who were Sigma Pi officers and might have otherwise been handling this conversation, simply did their best not to make eye contact with anyone for fear of breaking into laughter. Seeing no hands raised, Adam Pearce did his best to posture himself as though he were in control of the situation. Ambrose continued.

"See? We're rule-abiding folks here. So how about you let us tie a half a buzz on in peace."

Pearce checked his digital watch. "It's… Ten Fifteen in the AM, gentlemen. Isn't it a little early for that?"

"It's five o clock somewhere, Pearce," Dean fired back. His expression suddenly changed, as though he'd just had the brightest idea in the world. "Roman, remind me to assign a 'Jimmy Buffett' pledge this semester."

"The fuck are you talking about?" Reigns grumbled incredulously.

"Yeah," Ambrose continued. "Like the song. 'It's 5 o Clock Somewhere'?" He snickered, picturing this in his mind as he spoke. "We'll have a pledge who always has to know where on Earth it's 5 pm. At any given moment."

Roman stared at his pledge brother. "That's fucking brilliant."

"I know," Dean confirmed. Pearce rolled his eyes, beginning to grow antsy at Ambrose's nonsense.

"Look, just don't let any rushees get a hold of any alcohol and there won't be any problems, ok?"

Ambrose gave Pearce a glance from his toes to the top of his bald head, noting that it was beginning to turn pink in the almost oppressive sunlight.

"You saw my guys, Pearce. No one is breaking any rules here. Not that you can prove, anyway."

"Don't give me reason to pull your house's charter, Ambrose. Just don't."

With that final warning, Adam Pearce re-boarded his golf cart and sped away, leaving a snickering band of Sigma Pi's in his wake. Dean stood there, pretending to wave, before turning his arm motion into a "jerkoff" closed fist, gesturing his head at the departing disciplinarian to the amusement of his fraternity brothers.

"So, what're we gonna do about Rush?" Reigns asked Dean, sounding both annoyed and confused. "Pearce and Laurinaitis clearly aren't going to just turn a blind eye like they did last year. We got a lot riding on this pledge class, with all the legacies and-"

The scruffy, unkempt, yet eternally composed Junior took a long swig of beer before continuing.

"How many legacies?" Jimmy Uso asked, taking a nice swig of light beer.

"At least five," Ambrose fired back. "Brock Anderson, Brian Pillman Jr., Jack Perry, and Colten and Austin Gunn. We may have one more, but he kinda seems like a flake so I wouldn't sweat it."

"And that Jack Perry kid's dad is famous?" Brian Cage inquired, drawing the gaze of every participant in that morning's informal festivities.

"His dad is Dylan fuckin' Walsh, man. Fred Andrews. The Reverend Jeremiah Cloutier." Ambrose returned, naming three of Luke Perry's most famous roles.

"He was in that rodeo movie, too," Adam Page chimed in. "Eight Seconds. Love that movie."

Ambrose nodded. "Yep. And he was a Sigma Pi at UCLA, so we don't need to act like dicks when he brings Jack to see our house." Dean glared at his brothers. "I mean it. Don't fuck this up."

Every Sigma Pi brother present nodded intently. Even Dean Ambrose, who had at least one other pressing matter on his mind, understood that this Rush Week was incredibly important. What he was unaware of was how the presence of Luke Perry at a simple meet and greet would end up being the vessel for Dean to get to know the girl of his dreams….