One minute I held the key
Next the walls were closed on me
and I discovered that my castles stand
upon pillars of salt, and pillars of sand
~ Viva La Vida by Coldplay ~

Shawn lay staring at the lights through slits of turmoil, his eyes half shut, his face marred with hurt and resentment, the sour ache of bitterness tight in his beating chest. It hurt to breathe; inhaling took tremendous effort thus drawing shallow gasps from his broken form, the sear of agony burned throughout his entire torso, the flames of pain raging from the fire at the base of his spine.

A strangled whimper broke from trembling lips masked beneath vehement swearing. He could not allow the dam of emotion to bubble and bleed here in the ring, let Shawn Hickenbottom mourn Shawn Michaels privately, there was no need for tears out here in public, the world did not need nor want to see the collapse of The Heartbreak kid live and in Technicolor, let the man crack and crumble behind the curtain, away from external eyes, they were here for entertainment not to empathise.

The lights were getting brighter as his eyes flickered open, his head light, the arena spinning and distorted in a blur of anguish, frozen against the mat the tumult of the fans roaring around him dipped and dived with every blink, his breathing low and laboured as he struggled to rise. Unable to move of his own accord he futilely cursed his worthless limbs, deserted by the temple that was once his torso, his body was broken and battered, too seeped in damage to allow him dignity at the crux of his career. The bell had tolled on HBK yet he was unable to walk away with head held high instead he was reduced to the wrecked figure lying prone and motionless against the cold and unrelenting canvas for all the earth to see.

With a precarious grunt Shawn once again attempted to claw himself upwards, a moan of frustration split the air as he failed once more, sapphire spheres welled to pools of dismay as he scrunched his face up in anger, determined not to let the beads of sorrow birth.

His breath escaped him on a soft cloud of surprise as he startled under warm palms of comfort, the reassuring grasp held him tight as Hunter firmly but gently pulled him to his feet.

Shawn stood on unsteady legs, shaking slightly as he stared across the gulf between them, the gorge between injury and health, between livelihood and redundancy, their friendship that was sure to fracture in absence. In one fluid movement he breached it, his trembling arms wrapped tightly around Hunter as he spoke all the words that he struggled to say in one tender embrace.

" You'll always be the best to me"
Shawn felt his throat tighten as he struggled to exhale over the lump he felt building as Hunter's words washed over him. The sentiment in Hunter's tone underscored the heated emotion he himself could feel course through his fragile form.

"Here's your chance kid" he whispered gruffly, "Don't screw it up with a Curtain call"

Hunter's weak chuckle was bittersweet as it echoed in his ears; their time together was drawing to a close, brutally cut short by one mistimed bump combined with years of wear and tear. Robbed of his crown Shawn was no longer the showstopper, but even in his sullenness for Steve Austin and the company he felt were betraying him the angry young man had a soft spot for one of his dearest friends, knew that in his absence Hunter could be given the chance he had hungered and sought for years – the chance to shine free from Shawn's shadow.

With a sigh of sorrow Shawn released his friend; a sad smile graced paling features.
Oblivious to the mass of humanity around him he stared into Hunter's eyes, whiskey puddles of compassion simmered brightly amongst a mess of concern.

And the dull ache that had niggled and tore at his heart all day threatened to overwhelm Shawn at that particular moment. This was Hunter, his best friend, and he had to leave it all behind. He had to leave the legacy, the job he'd loved since adolescence all because of one foolish error, one mistake and his life was over.

His time as top dog of the WWF well and truly over, he had long outstayed his welcome, the gold around his waist once so vibrant now lay tarnished in the grasp of Steve Austin and neither co-worker nor casual fan cared for Shawn's heartache. His castle of sand slipping through his fingers as his dream collapsed beneath his feet rendering him helpless and alone – lost in darkness as the one gleaming light of his life snuffed to blackness taking his career and spirit with it.

Without Shawn Michaels, Shawn Hickenbottom ceased to be. The character was an extension of him, a part of him, without him he was nothing but a shell; his self worth tied to the identity of sports entertainer he was humbled and broken in the wake of his professional demise.

He lurched as he attempted to walk unaided from the ring, Hunter and Chyna walked several terse steps behind, watching his stumbling with panic and distress for his wellbeing.

Shawn shrugged their boring gazes, did not want sympathy nor pity, as the heavy black curtain swished behind him and the flood of tears broke free, all he wanted was one more chance to have the crown he'd held mere minutes ago back in his possession with the promise of time on his side.

He wanted his castle back but the fort he had built on the foundations of athleticism and ambition lay in ruins around him, as severed and torn as the discs in his back. With a silent sob his shoulders heaved, the torment crashed through the barriers of bravado he had spent so long constructing as the realisation dawned.

Shawn Michaels no longer ruled the wrestling world and Shawn Hickenbottom had no choice but to return to Texas, alone and grief-stricken thrust from the world in which he had once reigned supreme.