You find yourself standing in the kitchen the next morning, cooking breakfast. It had been a long night of sitting beside the couch dozing in and out of dreamland as you waited for the stranger to wake. He didn't, but he did slip from complete passed-out unconsciousness to semi-conscious sleep.
He mumbled and talked in his sleep, but it was mostly incoherent, nonsensical words. A few times, he moaned and groaned, which was what woke you the most during the night, but it was only when he moved and when you looked at him, he was still asleep. He moved a lot in sleep, tossing and turning and thrashing about, and it worried you because he could have injured himself even more than he already was, but he didn't seem too bothered by any pain he must've been feeling.
You eventually got up, though, early the next morning at the crack of dawn and started your chores. You had a lot to do, which was mostly feeding the animals you owned. There were a few chickens, a rooster, a couple ducks, a goose, a couple goats, a couple dairy cows, a donkey, and some sheep. You wanted to get a horse too, but just didn't have the room yet.
Once done with your chores-feeding the animals, gathering eggs from the chickens, and milking the cows and goats-you called your puppy and the two of you went back inside the house. You told her to watch over their guest, she obeyed and sat in front of him, while you cleaned yourself up and then went to the kitchen to start breakfast.
Just as you were finishing up the pancakes-having already cooked the sausage, egg, and hashbrowns-you heard a loud groan from the living room. You shut the stove off just as your puppy starts barking and tears into the kitchen. You wipe your hands off on the apron around your waist, pat her on the head, and give her a sausage link as a treat. "Good girl," you say and walk into the living room.
The man was already sitting up, rubbing the back of his head and muttering to himself. You walked around to in front him so he could see you and waited patiently. He sat there, not noticing you, so you greeted him, "Good morning, Mister." He jumped suddenly, spinning to see you and moved farther down the couch away from you. You could see the panic rising quickly in his eyes and you held out your hands in defense and took a step back. "It's okay, Mister, I'm not going to hurt you."
"Who the fuck are you and where the fuck am I?!" he yelled, obviously not believing you. His voice was raspy and low and deep and honestly, you kinda maybe thought it was the sexiest voice you've ever heard-not that you would tell anyone that. "Answer me!" he commanded.
You tell him your name and what happened-how you found him on the highway and brought him home and patched him up-but you can see that he's still not believing you, and you start to get worried. Your worry increases when the man starts rambling. You watch as he stands and starts pacing back and forth through the living room, staying away from you, and in this moment, you learn some of his quirks.
He twitches and wiggles as he paces, not once taking a straight step, as he rambles to himself quietly-all you can really understand is the swearing and cursing part of his ramble. His hands are busy with clenching and unclenching, rubbing and scratching at his collarbone, smacking himself on the cheek, and cracking knuckles. His cerulean eyes are a whirpool of emotion, constantly changing within seconds from mostly anger to terror to confusion.
"What's your name, Mister?" you ask, startling him again.
He jumped again, startled by the sudden question. You conclude that he got so wrapped up in his mind that he forgot you were even there. "Wh-what? My...n-name?" he asks, stuttering slightly, then goes still and silent for a moment. Confusion fills his eyes a few minutes later, then panic, and he starts scratching at his collarbone with his right hand. "I...I don't know...I have a name. Gotta have one...but...don't know...why can't I think?"
He starts up his rambling again and not wanting to see him hurt himself, you walk over to him and take his hand away from his chest. "Hey, Mister, it's okay," you say and he stares at you for a long moment before jumping away. "Sorry," you apologize and release him, taking a step back. "Do you have a billfold in your pocket? Or a cell phone? We can find out who you are."
Once again, he's quiet-you think maybe he's got some brain damage from whatever accident he was in-as he lets the words sink in. He suddenly starts patting down his legs, feeling for anything in his worn out jeans, but there's nothing there. "Nothing," he mutters.
"Maybe there's something in your jacket?" you ask and pick up the leather jacket. It's cold to the touch, having sat on the chair all night long, and smells like cigarette smoke, alcohol, and something you can't quite place but love the moment the scents hit your nose. You pass it over to him and he starts searching the pockets.
He pulls out a box of Marlboro Black 100 cigarettes-the same kind one of your friends smoke-a silver zippo lighter with an engraving of a spike-collared dog, a set of dog tags on a chain, and an old fork with what looks like blood on it. He stares at the things he's found, then glances at you, and hands you the dog tags.
You glance over them, seeing engraved words on one side of them, an image of the collared dog on the back. "One says 'Dean Ambrose' and the other says 'Mox, Street Dog'," you read, then glance at him. "I guess your name's Dean Ambrose and Mox the Street Dog is your nickname?"
He shrugs at that, his eyes on the fork. He seems entranced by it for some reason and you notice an engraving on it. You look closely, without stepping any closer in fear he'll freak out and read the letters 'DMA' on it. "It's beautiful," he whispers and touches the fork lovingly, a small smile appearing on his face.
You stare at him, noticing the dimples popping with the smile and you can't help but smile too and think to yourself how he's kinda cute with his messy hair and that smile of his. Suddenly, your puppy barks, jumping into the air between the two of you and trying to catch your attention. "Yes, Baby Girl?" you ask her and she settles on her haunches, staring at you.
She barks again, then lays down and looks up at you with large brown eyes. She pouts and you sigh, then kneel down. "I didn't forget about you," you say and she rolls over. You rub her belly, smiling and cheers her up. You see the man kneel down too after sliding the fork into his pocket, and he starts rubbing her belly too.
"Cute dog. What's her name?"
You tell him her name, then say, "But I usually just call her 'Baby Girl' because that's what she is. She's my baby." You see him smile more as he stares at the dog, petting her more. You look at the dog tags again, then at him. "Should I call you Dean? Or Mox?"
He glances up, having forgot about the dog tags and shrugs. "I dunno," he says, then takes the tags from your hand. There's a moment of contact that leaves your skin tingling and you feel your cheeks heat up a bit, a light blush appearing. "Whatever you want, I guess."
You nod and stand. "I have breakfast ready," you tell him and hear his stomach growl at the sound of food. That makes you chuckle and you lead him into the kitchen. "Have a seat, you say, motioning to one of the plates set at the small round table. He does and you can feel his eyes on you as you move the food to the table.
"It looks good," he says.
"Take all you want," you say, sitting across from him and start making your own plate of food.
He glances at you, surprised and confused, then piles his plate high with food and starts eating like he's been starving for weeks. And you wonder if he has. He wasn't in the best shape when you found him last night, but he didn't look like he wasn't in the worst shape ever. His muscles were hard to the touch, but he was a little slim in the waist.
"You're staring," he says through a mouthful of food, his eyes on you and you mumble an apology and start eating yourself. A soft chuckle comes from him, the deep sound rolling in his chest, and he smiles again. Another one of those dimpled smiles that makes him look really cute and makes you smile too.
Your Baby Girl stares at the both of you, confused about what's going on, then sighs and curls up under the table as the both of you eat.