Title: Sunset
Rating: K+
Fandom: Wrestling, WWE
Character: Christian/Jay Reso
Summary: When he gets into the ring, Christian is fighting more than just his opponent.
He stared at the canvas in front of his face, at the droplets of blood that had fallen from his nose. There were only two small spots of red against the white, but they'd stop the match if he wasn't careful.
He rubbed it away quickly, leaving a smear of blood on his finger. He cast a glance around the ring for the camera man. Didn't see him. That meant he was behind him. That meant his opponent was behind him.
He knew he was taking too long to get up. Knew, even through the haze of pain, that an ambush must surely be waiting for him. He touched his nose gingerly, though that wasn't what hurt. It was his head, and it was only getting worse.
Finally, he staggered to his feet. Steeling himself for the inevitable, he turned. Instincts honed over years of competition told him to dodge, but his reflexes were dulled by pain and exhaustion. He took the brunt of the spear head on, his opponent's shoulder burying itself in his gut, forcing him back into the turnbuckle.
For a long moment he thought he would throw up, and that was worse than the jarring impact. He took a deep breath, and then another. This couldn't happen, not here. He could see concern flicker through the eyes of the man crouched over him.
"End this quickly?" his opponent murmured, voice too low for the mic and a curtain of hair obscuring the view of the camera. He shook his head in one quick movement, and like that the concern was gone.
He'd been through worse, he told himself as he was dragged by his legs into the center of the ring. Even if it wasn't true, it focused him. He'd been through worse. He could get through this. He would prove to himself and everyone else that he could do it. He barely remembered to kick out in time.
The rest of the match was a haze. One spot blurred into another until he wasn't quite sure where he was. Tornado DDT, blocked. Springboard plancha missed, stupid to even try it in this condition. Hard whips to the apron. Kick out after kick out. Finally, it was time for the grand finale.
His opponent was down as he went outside the ropes to climb. The ring swap before him as he mounted the turnbuckle and he swayed dangerously as he reached the top. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as he waited for his moment, but before he knew it, the weight of another man climbing the ropes shifted his precarious balance, threatening to pitch him forward. Hands grabbed at him, keeping him steady, even as they forced him up higher.
He fought off the superplex attempt, got the upper hand. It was time to take the plunge. He took a deep breath and looked out into the crowd. They were cheering for him. He raised his arms and stood on the top ropes, for an instant weightless and euphoric. Then he flew.
He dove over his opponent's back, grabbing his thighs on the way down. It seemed like forever until it was time to execute the flip, until they both came crashing down on the mat. He covered, and was vaguely aware of the ref counting and the crowd cheering over the ringing in his ears. His nose was bleeding again, but somehow he'd pulled out the win.
Later on, he couldn't remember what he'd done, or how he'd gotten to the back. That place in his memory was taken up by a flashback from earlier that night.
"Are you sure about this?" Adam had asked as he was getting dressed. Concerned like usual, and overbearing as always.
"I'm sure," he'd said, and that had been the end of that. Almost.
As he was leaving the dressing room, Adam had looked down at the tangle of tights in his bag and said, "Whatever you do, don't wear the red and white ones. They make you look like you're fucking dying."
He woke up in the trainer's room; for a moment, his vision was blurred, doubled. Two faces swam before him, the man from his memory and the one he'd just faced in the ring, both hovering over him disapprovingly. He blinked rapidly, and the two images became one.
He tried for a smile that he knew wouldn't do anything to change his friend's concern, fear, or anger. "Match of the night?" he asked groggily. They must have given him something, and for once he was glad.
"By a long shot," Adam answered, a smile of his own finding its way to his lips. Then it fell away and he sighed. "You know you can't keep doing this forever, Jay."
And he knew. He'd barely made it through this one. If he'd had a great match, it was only because Adam had carried him to it, and he couldn't expect that of anyone else. Not when he would only get worse.
Somewhere between landing on his knees in the ring and watching his own blood stain the canvas, he'd figured it out. His days were numbered.
Notes: This was written in August 2010. I like to refer to it as a "kayfabe" fic, because I try to write the wrestlers as the camera sees them, not necessarily in character or out. It's set in a hypothetical future from when it was written, where Christian and Edge are feuding.
Also, the move that Christian does and which is referenced in the title is the sunset flip powerbomb. I don't know if he's ever actually done that, but he does do a sunset flip, so it's conceivable.