Okay, this is a story I've had sitting on my computer for a while that I wrote for something else. So I figured why not post it here. Hope you like it.
Disclaimer:I do not own the WWE or the wrestlers in this story. I own only my ocs. This story is fiction and is to be taken that way. No Copyright Infringement Intended.
Fall Creek, Texas
The muffled scream woke John Cena. He snapped to a sitting position in the leather recliner, turned his ear toward the sound and listened. Even through the haze of his heavy pain meds and bone-weary fatigue, he didn't have to listen long or hard to hear the raspy moans and gasps.
Someone was in a lot of pain, perhaps dying. And that someone was on the front porch. Because he was a man who usually dealt with worst-case scenarios, John automatically considered that this might be a burglar or killer. But since he was at his brother's house in the tiny picturesque town of Fall Creek, which wasn't exactly a hotbed of criminal activity, he had to consider another possibility: that his brother, a doctor, had a visitor, a patient who was about to die on the porch. It made sense since there wasn't a hospital in town.
Just to be safe, John grabbed his Sig-Sauer from the end table next to him and maneuvered himself out of the chair. Not easily. It took effort. Lots of it. He cursed the intrusion, the throbbing pain and the unidentified SOB who'd put a .38 jacketed slug in his right leg four days ago—on Christmas day, no less. Some Christmas present.
John wore only his bathrobe and boxers, and he considered a detour to the guest bedroom for a shirt and shoes. But after two steps, he changed his mind. If someone was truly dying on the porch, they'd be long dead before he could get dressed and back to him.
Another moan. Another muffled scream. Yep, he had to hurry. John jammed his cane onto the hardwood floor to get better traction, and with thirteen excruciating steps, he made it to the door. He aimed his gun, and braced himself for whatever he was about to have to deal with as he glanced out a side window.
The sun was just starting to set but there was still plenty of light for him to see the blue car parked in front of his brother's isolated country house. John had to look down, however to see the driver. She was lying on the porch. Her tan wool coat and long, loose dark-green dress were hiked up to her thighs, and she had her hands clutched on her swollen, pregnant belly. She was writhing in pain.
John dropped his gun onto the pine entry table, threw open the door and maneuvered himself onto the porch. It wasn't freezing but it was close and he felt the chill slide over his bare chest and feet. She turned her head, snared his gaze, and he saw the horrible agony in her blue eyes.
"Help me." She begged. Her warm breath mixed with the frigid December air and created a misty haze around her milky pale face. "My water broke when I got out of the car and the pains are already nonstop."
So, not dying. In labor. Not the end of the world but still a huge concern. She needed a doctor now. John turned to go back inside to make the call to 911, but she latched on to his arm and didn't let go. For such a weak-looking little thing, she had a powerful grip. She dug her fingernails and dragged John down beside her.
He banged his leg on the doorjamb and could have sworn he saw stars. Still, he pushed the god-awful pain aside—after some grimacing and grunting of his own—and he tried to figure out what the heck he should do.
"Who are you?" He asked.
She clamped her teeth over her bottom lip, but he still heard the groan. "It's not the time for introductions." She grumbled. She fought to rip off her panties and then threw them aside. "Help me!"
"I've never delivered a baby before." He grumbled back but John knew he was in the wrong position if he stood any chance of helping her.
Another of her muffled screams got him moving. Plus, she drew blood with her fingernails. Somehow, he managed to get to the other end of her. What John saw when he looked between her legs had him wanting to run for the phone again. Oh, mercy. The baby's head was already partially out and that meant they didn't have time for an ambulance to arrive.
"I think you're supposed to push." John suggested. Heaven knows why he said that. Maybe he'd heard it on TV. Or maybe this was just some crazy dream brought on by prescription pain meds. Man, he hoped that's all it was. The woman obviously didn't doubt his advice, because she pushed. Hard.
John positioned his hands under the baby's head, and he watched. That long push strained the veins on the woman's neck and it also eased the baby out farther. He didn't just see a head but a tiny face. Realizing he had to do something, John pulled off his terry-cloth robe and laid it between her legs so that the baby wouldn't land on the cold wood. It was barely in time. As the woman pushed again, the baby's shoulders and back appeared.
"One more push should do it." John told her.
She made a throaty, raspy sound and bore down, shoving her feet against the porch. Seconds later, the tiny baby slid right into John's hands.
Wow, was his first reaction. Followed quickly by holy frickin hell.
John had experienced a lot of crazy and amazing things in his life, but he knew this was going to go to the top of his list. "It's a boy." He let her know.
And that baby boy had some strength because he began to cry at the top of his newborn lungs. Obviously, he wasn't having any trouble breathing on his own and John was thankful for that. He wouldn't have had a clue what to do if there'd been complications.
Going purely on instinct, John bundled the bathrobe around the baby, especially around his head, and pulled him to his chest to keep him warm.
"A boy." She repeated. She sounded both relieved and exhausted.
The woman pushed again to expel the afterbirth and then tried to sit up. She didn't make it on her first attempt but she did it on her second. She reached for the baby. John eased him into her arms.
It was strange. He immediately left a….loss. Probably because he was freezing and the tiny baby had been warm. The mother looked down at her newborn and smiled. It was a moment he'd remember, all right. Her sitting there with her blond hair haloing her face and shoulders, and the tiny baby snuggled and crying in John's own bathrobe.
"My son." She whispered. And then she said something that nearly knocked the breath out of John. "He's your nephew."
Oh, man. Oh man. It was obviously time for him to talk to his brother. "I'll go inside and call an ambulance." He told her. He began the maneuvering it'd take to get him up. "By the way, we should probably do those introductions now. But you obviously already know that I'm John Cena."
"You can't be." She said, her voice trembling, too. "This is Adam Cena Copeland's house."
"My brother isn't here." He told her. "He's on rounds at the hospital in a nearby town." In addition to confusing him, she'd also capture his attention with that comment and her reaction. "Who are you? Are you a friend of my brother?"
She frantically shook her head and put her index finger in the baby's mouth. He began to suck and stopped crying. "I need a doctor."
He wanted answers, but they would have to wait. "Come inside." He insisted. "It's too cold out here."
"I don't think I can get up. Please, just call an ambulance."
Well, he certainly couldn't help her get to her feet. He could barely get up himself. So, John tried to hurry as much as he could. With lots of pain and effort, he made it back into the living room. All thirteen steps. He dialed 911, reported the incident and requested an ambulance. He also requested that they contact his brother and have him accompany that ambulance to his house.
"Get the baby and mother inside ASAP." The emergency operator insisted. "It's dangerous for a newborn to be in the cold."
John agreed with her, hung up, then wondered how the heck he was going to accomplish that with his bum leg. He was more likely to fall than to be able to lift them. Still, he'd have to do it somehow. With his cane clacking on the floor and his mind racing with possible solutions to his lack of mobility, John went back to the porch. He got there just in time to see that it was empty. No mother. No newborn baby.
Just a lot of blood. And the blue car was speeding away.