A/N: This part is fairly dark. Keep reading, there will be a light at the end of the tunnel. I promise.
For Ricardo Rodriguez, TLC had simply been torture. First he had gotten covered in food when Miz slapped a plate of Alberto Del Rio's dinner in his face, then he had attempted to help in the ladder match, just for the rickety steel monstrosity to get tipped over by Miz and Punk. The last thing he remembers is freefalling before hitting hard, agony immediately wiping out everything else as he skids and smacks into something even more unforgiving.
He's swimming in a sea of darkness for what feels like a really long time, distorted sounds coming and going. When he does finally come to, he's laying in a hospital bed, a doctor and nurse both bustling around the room, whispering to each other. "What happened?" His body throbs from head to toe and he thinks he has some busted ribs, each breath sending a sharp pain up his chest. He's wearing a neck brace, which makes it impossible to move his head even an inch.
"You fell off of a ladder into a table," Alberto's voice surprises him, his eyes widening as he just manages to spot him out of the corner of his eye sitting in a chair against the wall, giving the hospital staff room to work now that he's awake.
With a startled breath, he remembers vaguely climbing a ladder to the very top in an attempt to reach the title belt, all focus only on assisting Del Rio in regaining his title belt... and then nothing. His face scrunches up as he considers a fall from that height. "Oh." His voice is small and a little fearful, to his own shame.
Alberto stands, resting a comforting hand on his arm as the doctor greets his patient, delving right into his prognosis. "There's no sign of any permanent injury. I want to run a few more tests now that you're awake, but so far all that's obvious is a couple broken ribs and a moderate concussion, along with some bruising and contusions. You were lucky, after a fall from that height."
Ricardo agrees to the tests, getting sent back immediately for a CT scan. The last thing he sees before being wheeled out of the room is Alberto sitting back down, an aggravated glower on his face. Obviously he had had an unsuccessful match and this is the last place he wants to be right now.
So, for this reason, when the results come back proving that Ricardo appears fine, just concussed as initially diagnosed, with some added in whiplash for fun (which explains the neck brace, that the doctor suggests he continues wearing for stability), the ring announcer opts to be released despite the doctor's recommendation to admit him.
Alberto relaxes slightly as soon as he spots the car in the ER parking lot, one of his favorites, a bright red Mustang. Ricardo grows even surer about his decision now. He feels a little dizzy and sick as his headache grows even worse, but sinking into the soft leather seats feels nice, his eyes slipping closed immediately.
"Ricardo?" Del Rio's voice revives him slightly. "I want to drive straight through to Pennsylvania. If you need anything before we go, say so."
He's comfortable and warm, lulled by the soft purring of the car's engine, so he just shakes his head, already half-asleep. "I'm fine." In all honesty, his ribs and back hurt, his head throbs down to his neck and back up and he's as far from fine as can be possible, but he doesn't want to move. Desperate for comfortable rest, he tugs off the neck brace and throws it into the back seat to put back on later when he's a little more awake.
"Very well." The hours pass quietly, the two just managing to avoid arriving in the middle of a nasty snow and rain mix. Ricardo, a little more awake now, keeps his mouth shut and eyes closed, his concussion still making watching the passing scenery impossible. He lets Alberto have his peace as they drive around aimlessly, the night sky just starting to light up as day tries to take over from the gloom.
He's not sure how long they've been driving when Alberto re-enters at a 55 zone and begins going faster, testing the car's durability in these cold temperatures. Forcing his eyes open, he turns briefly and glances at Del Rio, takes in how the street lights outside flash against his still angry eyes, his hands tight around the steering wheel. He sighs softly and turns back to facing ahead, his hands shifting against his thighs.
It's only a minute or two later that the man next to him mumbles a strained curse and Ricardo feels it underneath him- the car's tires abruptly lose traction, skidding across the road as Alberto struggles to regain control. Black ice, the ring announcer thinks in horror, tangling his fingers in the flimsy bar on his door as gravity seems to shift around them. It's instantaneous- he looks up in time to see the car on a collision course with one of the many light poles dotting the side of the road and, without thinking about anything but how Alberto's side of the car is about to slam at high speed into the pole, twists and lunges forward to protect the destined one, alternatively relieved and horrified that the classic car doesn't have seat belts or airbags, the protection not keeping him from attempting to shield Alberto but also not there to keep Alberto in his seat.
The last thing he hears is a deafening crash, the squeeching sound of metal folding up around them following the sobering sound. A sharp pain blares through his mid-section, worse than before, robbing him of his breath as darkness overwhelms everything for the second time in six hours.
Encompassing pain is the first thing that digs past the barrier of unconsciousness, teasing along his ribcage and up his chest. He sucks in greedy, desperate gasps of air, his head throbbing in time with the rest of him. It feels like a lifetime passes as he struggles to open his eyes, his fingers fruitlessly flexing against something warm and... wet? This more than anything makes his eyes snap open, his gasps turning into pitiful groans as he shifts wrong and his whole body lets him know about it.
As his eyes focus to the muted darkness, he ignores the pain that seems to ratchet up with every movement and shifts once more, looking down at his hand. It's pressed against fresh, bright red blood, spreading slowly across familiar clothes. He pales and stares, trying to make sense of the scene before him. "Alberto?" He finally sorts himself out enough- inch by painful inch- and looks up slowly, finding himself half-sprawled out across Del Rio's prone form. "Alberto...?" The driver's side window is cracked, spiderwebbing viciously from top to bottom. Alberto's face is pressed awkwardly against it in what looks like a very painful position
The silence drags on, taunting him. "ALBERTO!"
His still bloodied hands fluttering around the unconscious man's shoulders and face, not quite willing to move him in case he should make whatever damage there is worse, he panics for a few more moments before he starts to work automatically at what he can to try to fix this. "Ok, ok, I'll call- I'll call for help," he groans, shifting awkwardly to pull his phone from his pants pocket. Thankfully the wreck hadn't broken it and he nearly feels like kissing the screen as it lights up in his hand. Instead, he glances at his motionless friend once more before dialing 911.
As it rings in, he leaves his free hand pressed against Alberto's shoulder, needing some sort of connection. "Hold on," he whispers. "Just a little longer. Help's coming."
He panics further as he realizes he has no idea where they're at. Thankfully there's GPS and the dispatcher begins tracking his phone, relaying the information to the ambulance that is on its way. Reassured, however briefly, by this, he puts the phone down carefully next to Alberto in case there's further need of it and watches the other man's shallow, slow breathing. He shakes his head against the stinging in his eyes and leans closer to Alberto, resting a hand on his neck lightly- his pulse is slow and almost faint, leaving Ricardo cold and clammy at its unsteadiness, but it's there, and that's a good thing.
He hurts all over too, his back pressed uncomfortably between Del Rio's seat and the steering wheel, and it's hard to focus. After awhile he realizes he's clasping onto the edge of Alberto's scarf, now dotted with bright red blood. "We'll have to buy a new one," he murmurs in a daze, his head swimming as he clings to anything that he thinks may keep himself on this side of consciousness while he waits for the ambulance. "And the car," he continues, grimacing. "You loved this one..." His energy fades further and he presses his face against Alberto's shoulder, dizzy and weak from his own injuries. "Sorry..."
His awareness comes and goes until finally, thankfully, he hears the loud, grating sound of the ambulance siren as it nears. "Alberto? They're here..." He pats Alberto's arm uncoordinatedly, disturbed by how cold the other man feels. "You're gonna be fine," he breathes out, trying to convince himself too.
His vision starts to swim as the sirens finally grow deafening, just to cut off abruptly. He closes his eyes but can still see the bright blue and red lights flashing against his face. "Help is here, Alberto," he repeats tiredly.
He's too out of it to watch but he hears many footfalls on either side of the car, and it seems to take forever until finally the passenger door is wrenched open, rescue workers working quickly as they wrap a neckbrace around him to secure him- This seems familiar, he thinks drily- before carefully pulling him out of the car. By the time his eyes flicker open, he's sprawled out on a stretcher and they're working on Alberto. He's unable to see what's going on through the sea of workers scattered outside of the car, his breathing speeding up as more time ticks past.
"Alberto?" he calls out, mist streaming from his lips with each breath as the freezing December air drifts against his skin, leaving him shivering even as a female EMT fusses around him, dropping a couple of blankets on top of him as they wait. "Alberto..."
"They're working on him, sir." The female EMT smiles, her frazzled blonde hair whipping around in the late night wind as she tucks the warm fabric more securely around him. "Are you comfortable? Is there anything I can do while we wait?"
He doesn't respond, his eyes still aimed in the direction he thinks Alberto is at, his lips twisting. "No," he finally whispers distantly, the cold a far away discomfort as he thinks about how still and pale his friend had been. "I need to help him," he groans, trying to sit up despite the various aches and pains he can feel. "He needs..."
The woman doesn't give him the opportunity, however, pushing him back down carefully, her lips held in a grim line. "No, sir, I can't let you off of this stretcher. You hang on, alright? We're preparing him for transport and then we'll get you both to the hospital ASAP."
Far from pleased with this, Ricardo has no choice but to settle back down and attempt to catch a glimpse of Del Rio in the sea of EMTs he can just see out of his peripheral vision.
Finally the wall of people parts just enough for him to catch a glimpse- the Mexican Aristocrat is tucked securely into a stretcher, a blanket similar to the one holding Ricardo in place wrapped around his body as well. "He can't go to the hospital alone," the ring announcer says clearly, the mere thought of Alberto alone in an ambulance while unconscious and this vulnerable- which is a term he never thought he'd use for his friend- seeming near criminal.
The female EMT pauses, staring over at the ambulance. "Listen, we're going to take you both together in the same ambulance, ok? It's badly icy around here and we aren't going to wait for another van to make the trip." This appeases him, his attention turning back to the prone form on the stretcher.
By the time they're both in the ambulance, Ricardo's adrenaline has crashed and he feels every ache and pain- especially along his mid-section, and neck. Even so, his eyes remain locked on Alberto as they are secured in the back of the vehicle, the EMTs spending the most time on a still-unconscious Del Rio. "Why isn't he waking up?" Ricardo asks, clenching his fists. His worry grows as now-dried blood flakes from between his fingers, reminding him of its presence.
"He hit his head," the female EMT tells him quietly, both of them watching as her coworker continues to work around the former world champion. "Most head injuries are worse than they appear, mostly because they bleed so much. Try not to worry." She notices as his hand flexes around the dried blood once more and smoothly wipes his palms off with a wet paper towel.
"Thank you," he breathes, still watching, all the more worried, as his friend doesn't even twitch upon the other technician applying a piece of gauze to his head wound. Red begins seeping through within seconds. "Alberto..." Their stretchers are next to each other so it thankfully only takes a small amount of shifting to move, his hand now resting on Del Rio's upper arm. Even that small amount of stretching sends pain up his midsection, but he ignores it, needing the contact.
When they arrive at the hospital minutes later, Ricardo breathes a little easier. Alberto's breathing had held strong through the trip, assisted by an oxygen cannula. His fingers brush against the soft fabric of his shirt once more before the other stretcher is pulled out of the ambulance, leaving Ricardo trying to keep track of him despite the headache that ratchets up with each movement.
"Take it easy, sir, we'll have you inside in a second," one of the male EMTs urges him, Alberto's stretcher already heading for the hospital doors.
He shakes his head, though it barely moves around the neck brace. "I can't... I need to be with Alberto," he reiterates, fingers clenching around the blankets wrapped snugly around him. "He can't be left alone."
"There are many doctors and nurses taking care of him right now," the female EMT tries to reassure him as they finally tug his stretcher out of the ambulance. "Don't worry, he's in good hands here."
He wants to believe them but his twitchiness remains throughout the wait, desperate to see for himself that Alberto is doing as well as is possible following the accident. He closes his eyes, body melting into the uncomfortable hospital bed that he's moved onto for his examination and winces as he recalls the scene of the accident in vivid color, how bright Alberto's blood staining his hands had been. "No," he groans, his eyes slamming open once more.
Moments later, a doctor bustles in, bleeding stoicism and effeciency. "Hello, Mr. Rodriguez, I am Dr. Reno Olmstead." He quickly looks over the chart before beginning to remove the neckbrace holding him still. "You were in a car accident?" He stares critically at the young man, quickly piecing together things found at the scene. Like the neck brace one of the EMTs had spotted in the back seat and dragged out with them, leaving at the nurse's desk before going out on his next ambulance run. "Were you injured before the accident?"
He nods morosely. "I, um... fell off a ladder. Into a table." Some of the doctor's calm cracks slightly as he raises an eyebrow. "I work for WWE." Nothing more needs to be said as the auburn haired man nods grimly, rolling his eyes slightly. A bit offended, Ricardo chooses to submit to the examination without a word. Getting this neck collar off is again a relief as he idly reaches up and scratches at his sweaty, sore neck.
The doctor, taking his cues from him, remains silent as he runs his hand over Ricardo's neck and skull. After cursory checks of his spine and extremities, the doctor settles back down in a back-less chair and scribbles for a moment before facing Ricardo. "What were your previous injuries?"
Startled, Ricardo jerks, remembering his earlier stop at the ER. "The doctor told me moderate concussion, a couple cracked ribs and whiplash."
"Incredible," the doctor mumbles, quickly looking him over once more. "How do you feel?"
"Sore all over," he admits tiredly. "My vision is still messed up too... but I don't feel that different from earlier."
"What do you know. You were lucky. I'm not seeing any major worsening of your condition, based on what you told me. I'll want to run some tests just to make sure, but so far... I'd say you're gonna be fine. Do you have paperwork from the ER visit?"
He bites his lip, trying to think. "I... it would probably be in the car." As the doctor makes a note of that and tells one of the lingering nurses to notify the police they'll need whatever paperwork they find, Ricardo ponders over the doctor's words. He's unable to feel very lucky, especially when he thinks of how still the usually animated Alberto had looked the last time he had seen him. "Can I see Alberto soon?"
Dr. Olmstead pauses, considering his patient. "I'm not sure what's going on with him. I can have a nurse check, but first we'll get you in a room. I want to keep you for awhile, just to make sure I haven't overlooked anything." He taps a pen against the clipboard, the repetitively dull thudding of plastic against wood adding to Ricardo's tension, before he pushes the chair back, standing. "A nurse will be in shortly with a wheelchair to take you to your room."
He nods grimly, hands clenching into fists around the gown they had him change into while he waited, his stained shirt resting on the counter across the room. He shifts, wincing slightly as his midsection protests the movement and runs a hand over his face, sighing. Please be ok, El Patron.
He's still sitting there, staring blankly ahead, when a nurse pushes her way into the room, bringing a wheelchair with her. She smiles up at him calmly and he focuses on her bright name tag as she locks the chair in place before joining him. Gwen. "Are you ready to get out of here?"
"Yes," he agrees decisively, pushing himself away from the examination table. "My room..." He hesitates, licking his lips. "Can you tell me where Alberto Del Rio is?"
As she assists him to the chair, helping him to settle in and locking the foot rests in place, she tries to explain, "I'm not entirely certain, he's down the hall getting examined. By what I do know, however, he's going to be kept here for awhile; they're already preparing a room for him." She licks her lips and pauses before releasing a gusty breath. "It's in the ICU, Mr. Rodriguez."
Ricardo absorbs this for a moment, shaking his head worriedly. "His condition is severe then? I need to see him..."
"Dr. Olmstead wants to get you settled in first," she says quietly. "Once we know that your friend is in his own room, we'll take you to him. Alright?"
He's not thrilled with waiting alone or with a stranger in some hospital room but ultimately nods, gripping the arms of the wheelchair tightly as she pushes him out of the ER area.
Once the nurse bustles away, her patient secure where he's supposed to be, he passes the time staring out of the window just visible from the hospital bed. The room is small, only space for one bed, so he breathes a little easier at not getting stuck with a rabid wrestling fan or something equally as mortifying. He's still peering out over the downtown area, watching as fog settles over the skyline at this early hour, when the nurse returns with a small smile.
"Mr. Rodriguez?" At his tired glance her way, she takes a deep breath, her voice softening. "Your friend is in his room now, I can take you to him... briefly."
His eyes light up slightly as she assists him back to the wheelchair. Even though he knows he could walk if he absolutely had to, it's hospital procedure and his body is throbbing more and more, the adrenaline having faded away a long time ago, leaving the trauma of the pay per view and car accident to catch up with him finally.
As the long, unending hallways stretch out before them, he's relieved for having the wheelchair, blinking slowly as the nurse turns him towards the elevators. "He's on the fourth floor," she explains softly as he peers over his shoulder at her, eyebrow raised curiously. "ICU."
He doesn't say anything to this, his hands gripping the wheelchair tightly as the elevator dings loudly, the nurse quickly pushing him out into the hallway and down towards the rooms. "Ten minutes and I'll come back for you, you need your rest too," the nurse says softly, pushing him to a stop outside of a room. At his reluctant nod- just ten minutes?- she pushes the door open and rolls him in.
He holds his breath as more of the room becomes visible to him, releasing it all in a whoosh as he spots Alberto for the first time since the ambulance. "Ay dio mios," he mumbles fretfully, gaze wet and horrified. "Alberto..."
The Destined One has many machines connected to him via tubes and wires, monitoring this and assisting that. He watches the thin lines on the screen of what appears to be the heart monitor, alternatively curious and disturbed that his friend's pulse has to be counted by this device. Finally pulling his attention away from all of them, he hesitantly rolls himself closer to Alberto's bed and stubbornly stands, grimacing as his midsection pulls. "Alberto," he breathes out, resting a hand lightly on top of Del Rio's head, rubbing circles against his forehead. "I'm here."
He's still standing there, mindlessly running his fingers against Del Rio's skin, needing the connection more than anything else in this moment, when the door slips open and the nurse from before returns. He gazes over his shoulder at Gwen and murmurs, "What's wrong with him?"
She looks unsettled as she looks over at the unconscious man, her lips parting slightly as she takes in a deep breath. "The doctor hasn't talked to you yet?"
"No," Ricardo murmurs, allowing his hand to fall back to his lap. "Can you tell me anything?"
Hands running quickly through her blonde hair, she considers him, licking her lips anxiously. "This is all second hand, from the ICU nurse so I'm not sure if it's completely true but I'll tell you the bits of what I've heard and pieced together. He's not expected to wake up right away... They haven't gotten results from all of the tests they've run but so far they know he has a pretty serious head injury. Because of that, they're keeping a close eye on him," she hedges, staring sharply at Ricardo as he turns to look at his friend, paling harshly
He leans forward, watching Alberto breathing for a few moments, as he remembers the eerie silence from his friend following the car accident. "No, no..."
Gwen gives him a moment longer before resting a hand on his shoulder. "Come on, let's get you to your room. You need your rest." When he looks like he's about to argue with her, she shakes her head at him. "To be strong for him. He's gonna need you. If you pass out here from exhaustion, it won't help him at all."
He grimaces, giving in with one final glance to his friend as she starts to guide the chair back into the hallway. I'll be back as soon as possible. Hang on.
"Here we are," she says quietly, pulling the chair to a stop next to his hospital bed. He nods vaguely, taking in a deep breath as she helps him stand. His ribs protest every movement, his eyes squeezing shut against the pain, but finally he's settled into the bed safely and she aptly bundles him beneath sheets and blankets. "Do you need anything?"
The list of possible answers for that is long and sundry but he leans against his pillows more thoroughly, wiped out, and shakes his head. "No, thank you."
"Alright. Here's the call button," she says, holding the remote-type device up and putting it on top of the sheets near his arm. "If you need anything, press the red button. Get some sleep, alright?"
He nods with a grimace, his hands rubbing across his painful rib cage. Sure... like I can sleep right now. Pressing the back of his head against the headboard, he stares at the ceiling and sighs. Wake up soon, Alberto. Please.
After a few hours of restless attempts at sleep and a long discussion with a not very thrilled Dr. Olmstead, Ricardo is released from the hospital early that evening, immediately going back to Alberto's room. His condition hasn't changed, the older man motionless and silent. The only sound in the room is the heart monitor still tracking his vitals. Ricardo bites his lip as he forces himself to walk up to the bed, peering down at his friend. "Oh God," he sighs, sinking into the hard plastic chair nearby. "I had hoped..."
He's still sitting there, staring vacantly, when there's a soft knock on the door. Looking over, he finds Gwen watching them with a sympathetic smile. As he turns back to the bed, she ventures into the room, a couple of large plastic baggies in hand. "Mr. Rodriguez, I was told to bring you these."
"What is it?"
She releases a soft breath before resting both bags in front of Ricardo, careful not to disrupt anything around or connected to Alberto. "These are your things, what was taken from you by the EMTs and at your arrival here." She shifts a hand, rests it on the second bag. "These... are Alberto's." As he touches them reverantly, she kneels down so they're eye to eye and peers at him. "These can't leave the hospital, they can only leave with Alberto... but I thought it might offer you some comfort to watch over them yourself."
He turns sharply when her words register with him and clutches at the bag, his hands trembling slightly around the plastic. "Thank you," he finally manages.
"Is there anything else I can get you?"
"No," he whispers softly, focus entirely on the bag in his lap. As she leaves, he tugs the bag open and starts rifling through it. Alberto's scarf is inside, along with his phone, which had made it through the accident unharmed. His wallet, the hotel key card and a set of keys for one of his other many cars settle at the bottom of the bag and Ricardo releases a deep breath, setting them down on the bed.
"El Patron..." He presses his hand against the cool plastic of the other man's cell phone and shakes his head, shuddering. "What do I do?"
He curls in on himself, his forehead brushing against the edge of Alberto's bed as he listens, listens, listens to the repetitive beats of the heart machine overhead. "This can't be happening..."
Sitting back up, he stares fretfully at his still motionless friend, who at any other time would be lecturing him to not show weakness like this. As much as he hates it, he would give almost anything to hear that lecture right now. "Alberto..."
Hours have passed with him sitting near Alberto, listening to the repetitive beeping of the heart monitor at the front of the bed, when there's muffled footsteps behind him. He chooses to ignore the sound until Gwen rests a hand on his shoulder, attracting his attention. "Mr. Rodriguez, you have company," she says softly.
"Who is it?" he wonders, hand brushing circles against Alberto's wrist. When she doesn't answer for a moment, he half-turns in the chair, catching sight of the person in his peripheral. Gulping slightly, he turns completely and stares. "Brodus Clay?"
"Hey, Ricardo." The larger man stands next to him and peers at his former mentors with a frown. "Everyone at Raw's talking about you two. I just wanted to drop in and see how things are going before the show starts." His frown deepens as he takes in the pale former WWE champion, the large gauze bandage along his forehead, spotted here and there with dried blood.
"Not very well," he hedges. "He hasn't... woke up since the accident. They say... they say he has a head injury. All they can do is keep an eye on him, and wait. And hope." His voice trails off as he clenches his fists in his lap.
They sit quietly for awhile before Brodus turns to look at him, a sympathetic gleam in his dark eyes. "Honestly, Ricardo, I'm a big guy. Not a lot in my life has unnerved me but there were moments... Del Rio's anger, at times, that did it."
Ricardo nods vacantly, knowing what he means quite well, though why it needs discussing here, now, is avoiding him. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. Something like this, a car accident, can't diminish that kind of fire, you know? You just have to give it time."
Ricardo releases a deep sigh, frowning down at Alberto. "Hopefully we'll have time..."
Brodus grows even more awkward, dropping a large hand on his shoulder, squeezing slightly. "Don't lose faith, man. He wouldn't want you sitting here waiting for the worst to happen." Ricardo knows he speaks the truth, it's just hard when the Mexican aristrocat looks so uncharacteristically vulnerable...
Not long after Brodus leaves, Ricardo hears something ringing and recognizes the ring tone quickly, grabbing Alberto's cell phone out of the bag. "Hello? ... No," Ricardo whispers slowly, his heart sinking. "This is Ricardo Rodriguez. Alberto is... is unavailable at the moment. May I help you?" His eyes flicker over to his friend as he listens to the call, nodding unhappily. "Yes, I can be there shortly."
He flips the phone shut and leans over his friend. "Alberto, I have some things to handle. I will be back as soon as possible." He rests a hand on Del Rio's upper arm and forces a smile, even though the other man can't see it. Uncertain what else to say, Ricardo quietly leaves the room.
Awhile later, Ricardo taps his fingers anxiously against the seat of the taxi, peering out at the passing downtown scenery until he sees what he's looking for. As the taxi slows, he takes a deep breath. "Tow Depot," he mumbles, rolling his eyes slightly.
A pile of paper work is thrust in front of him as soon as he explains why he's there and he sets to filling out what he can, thankfully having the foresight to bringing Alberto's wallet with him to answer insurance and driver's license questions that otherwise he would've been unaware of. "Can I see the car?" he asks in the middle of this slough.
"Well, yes, but it's in bad shape," the man who had pushed the papers in front of him comments, having guessed by the blood within the car and the lack of its actual owner what had happened exactly. "Prepare yourself and follow me."
Ricardo takes a few deep breaths as they make their way through the office to the outside, where cars of all makes, models and condition are holed up behind a chain link fence. His eyes go right to Del Rio's car, its sleakness obvious amongst all the common cars, despite how beat up it is. He steps ahead of the man leading him and walks slowly towards it, as if magnetized.
His hands trailing along the top of the car, he leans down till eye level with the cracked driver's side window, biting his lip. The inside has remained untouched since the EMTs had left it, leaving behind every evidence of their time stuck within the vehicle.
He stares at it, troubled, for a long time, before moving to the damage caused by the accident directly- the warped hood, ruined left side of the car. It looks horrible in the spotlights, red paint chipped clear off what remains of the bumper like a bad nail polish job. His eyes shift to the interior of the car once more and he shakes his head, wishing again that his attempts to protect Alberto had been more worthwhile. I'm sorry... so sorry, El Patron.
The young man working at the place gives him a few more minutes before returning to his side. "Sir? We need to discuss what you would like to do with the vehicle now." It's obvious by their attitudes that they're aware he's associated with a powerful, rich man. Money, after all, always talks.
He's just finishing with more paperwork to send the car back to Alberto's ranch in Mexico when his cell phone rings. He pauses mid-signature, his mouth suddenly going dry. Something feels... off. "Excuse me," he mumbles, dropping the pen and stepping away to answer the device. "Hello?" He listens for only moments before paling, just managing to not drop the phone. "I'll be right there."
He's so flustered as he hangs the phone up that when one of the men lean over the desk to address him, he flinches away. "Sorry, didn't mean to..." He pauses and attempts again. "Sir, we can drop you off somewhere if you need?"
It requires no thinking as he nods, not wanting to wait for a taxi. No, no, no, he thinks desperately, hands clenched in his lap the whole trip over.
Once back at the hospital, he ignores the ever present nurse trying to explain to him what had happened, not interested in the medical terms he vaguely registers as he marches into Alberto's hospital room and comes to a sudden stop at the door, his hand clenching the frame. "Oh, God."
Gwen stops short too, letting Ricardo take a minute as he hesitantly enters the room to get a better look. Alberto, still pale and motionless, now looks all the more vulnerable, a bright blue tube running into his mouth. "Wha... what is this? What happened?" he demands, his eyes welling up.
She rests her hand on his shoulder briefly before entering the room to check Del Rio's vitals. "We had him on oxygen because his levels were too low, as you know." At Ricardo's nod, she continues gently. "Shortly after you left, he began showing more serious signs of respiratory distress. He has no living will on record advising against it, so we began ventilation to ease the strain on his body."
Ricardo sinks into the chair next to the bed and watches the machine assist in Alberto's breathing. "What does this mean?" His voice, usually his biggest asset, strong and confident, sounds weak and shaky.
Her gaze passes along the machinery before she rests a hand carefully on Ricardo's slumped shoulders. "It means his body will have more of a chance to fight, get stronger. Heal, while the machine handles everything else. It's not neccessarily a bad thing."
Ricardo nods grimly, taking this in. "How long will he need to remain on the machine?"
"However long it takes," Gwen comments softly. "Don't dwell on it, and remember it's here to help him, no matter how bad it might look."
He nods vacantly, barely registering her words as he leans forward. "Alberto..." Taking this as her cue, the nurse leaves them alone and Ricardo relaxes a little, abandoning the chair after awhile to rest next to Del Rio on the bed. He carefully adjusts the bedding around the Mexican aristocrat, hands moving slow and gentle around the wires and tubes leading to and from the other man's body.
He sighs, watching him briefly before his eyes flutter shut. The bed is far from comfortable but he had been on his feet a good portion of the past few hours, despite the soreness from the car accident still with him, the shock of finding Alberto like this adding to his body's exhaustion. He tries to blink awake once more but it's a losing battle, his need for rest slowly winning over as he sinks down next to Alberto, his fingers curling lightly against Alberto's arm.
Ricardo...
He jerks, his fingers tightening slightly. Eyes rolling around beneath his lids, he mouths something quietly and presses his forehead against Alberto's shoulder, drawn by the warmth.
When he awakens, the sun is gleaming brightly through the thin drapes right across his face, his face scrunched up as he squints into it. Gwen is bustling around, whispering apologies to him as she adjusts the blinds so the sun is blocked from the room.
He sits up and scrubs his hands along his face, only briefly mortified that he'd fallen asleep on Del Rio's hospital bed, and slept through the night, no less. "How is he?"
"He has stabilized," she says calmly, her name tag flashing blindingly in the softer early morning light. "The ventilator is doing its job." Her lips curve upwards comfortingly as she resumes making notes of Alberto's vitals. "He's a fighter."
"Yes he is," Ricardo murmurs quietly as the nurse leaves with her notes. "Now he just has to wake up." Despite being a hospital bed, it's comfortable and Alberto is warm, his pure bone-weariness making it difficult to get up completely from the mattress.
Grimacing, he leans over and runs a hand over Alberto's forehead, taking care not to jostle the ventilation tube. "You're not as pale," he mumbles. "That's a good thing." He's reluctant to touch the other man for too long, on the offshot he should hit one of the wires keeping Alberto as stable as he is, so he does eventually pull away, settling back down in the chair close to the bed.
As he wakes up more, something nags at him and he groans, rubbing his hands over his face. His hands tremble as he shakes his head. "I think I was hearing your voice," he mumbles to the unmoving Mexican Aristocrat. "In my sleep... but that makes no sense. You can't talk." He sighs. "A dream, I guess. Or maybe I'm losing it."
He's still sitting there a few hours later, watching the heart monitor quietly, hypnotized by the repetitive beating and whoosh-click sound of the ventilator when a large hand drops on his shoulder, almost sending him clear out of the chair. He doesn't even turn around as he regains his balance. "Hello, Brodus."
"Ricardo," the large man greets him before dropping down in another chair. "He looks..." His deep voice drifts off as he peers over at his former NXT pro, unsure how to proceed.
Ricardo ignores the strained silence, his thumb rubbing circles in his friend's arm that is free of IVs. "He was having difficulties yesterday. They tell me the ventilator is only there to assist him while his body heals. I choose to believe them."
"Of course." Brodus turns his focus back to the younger man and sighs slightly. "How long have you been here?"
Ricardo blinks slowly for a few moments, shaking his head. "What day is it?"
"Tuesday," the big man says, his worry ratcheting up all the more at the distant look in Rodriguez's eyes.
"I left for awhile last night to take care of the car," he recalls, the memory feeling like a dream due to everything that had come afterwards. Spotting the worried, exasperated look on his former rookie's face, Ricardo huffs slightly. "I'm not leaving him. I did that once and this happened."
"Your leaving here didn't make this happen," he responds after a few moments of shocked silence. "He... he's just been through a lot."
Troubled gaze locked on Del Rio, Ricardo shakes his head. "If I had moved a little faster..."
"Ricardo, come on. You're honestly blaming yourself for this?" When no response comes from the smaller man, Clay grumbles, rubbing his eyes. "Damn." He drops his large hands on Rodriguez' shoulders, causing the younger man to jerk. "Think for a minute. Over the last year, how many times have you protected Alberto in this business alone?"
"This is different," he whispers. "It's not supposed to be like this."
"Of course it isn't," Brodus sighs. "You still did the best you could, though." They sit in awkward silence for a few minutes until the big man glances at the clock hanging by the door. "I have to go now though, my flight's soon. You hang in there, alright?" At Ricardo's slow nod, he pauses only momentarily, watching them, before turning for the door. "If anything happens, you call."
"Of course," the ring announcer murmurs distractedly, brushing some hair off Alberto's forehead. When he turns to look a few moments later, Brodus is gone. He sighs tiredly.
He fusses with Alberto's bedding for a bit, adjusting it around his chest, energy slipping through his fingers once more as more and more time passes. After almost two full days in this hospital, even a hotel bed sounds lovely but he's unwilling to leave Alberto's side. The fact that the nurses hadn't fought him more on staying this long leaves him with a sick taste in his mouth, the thought of what it all could possibly mean for Alberto's true condition nagging at him. His eyes fluttering, he cushions his head against his arms on the edge of Alberto's bed and releases a deep, troubled breath.
He's dozed off, listening once more to the soft rumble of Alberto's thick accent cutting through the darkness, when it happens. The familiar beeps that had started to feel like a part of his soul by now begin to falter, drift away into nothingness. By the time he peels his eyes open, the noise has become one long, piercing tone that he's only heard on TV shows and in movies before. Even so, he knows exactly what it is, tears pricking at his eyes as he gazes up at the former world champion from his awkward position half-sprawled across his bed.
"No," he chokes as doctors and nurses rush in at an attempt to revive Alberto, one of the women- Gwen, he thinks vacantly- gently pushing a frozen Ricardo out of the way. He leans against a corner of the room and watches on in horror as needles flash, medical terms are thrown around that he doesn't understand. Minutes pass and they fight on, and on, and on but he's known from the moment he awoke to that noise- it was too late. Alberto Del Rio is gone.
Time of death is called- he'll never forget hearing 6:49 PM echoing throughout the silent hospital room for as long as he lives- and the doctors and nurses slowly leave, Nurse Gwen having convinced them to give Ricardo some final time with the Mexican Aristocrat. She touches him on the arm gently as she passes, smiling sympathetically. He barely looks at her, his eyes locked on the motionless, lifeless form on the bed before him.
As soon as he's alone in the room, he ventures slowly out of the corner, feet dragging him to the bed like he's magnetized to it. He rings his hands for a few moments, flashes of his friendship with Alberto running through his mind- the joy on his face when he had won the WWE title, the happiness when Ricardo himself had returned after Money in the Bank. Many other moments like that that had meant so much to both men.
He sucks in a deep breath, his eyes glassy with exhaustion and sadness. "El Patron..." He ignores the chair pushed roughly against the wall in the madness of only five minutes earlier and sits on the bed next to Del Rio, bracing himself as he reaches forward and brushes a hand through Alberto's hair, marveling at how soft it feels when free of product. "I'm so sorry," he chokes out, gripping the former world champion's hand carefully. "I should've been quicker... this should be me, not you." He knows that Alberto would smack him upside the head for saying such things but he can't help what he feels as he leans over his friend once more and takes him in, free of tubes and wires for the first time in what feels like forever now that they are needless. "Please... forgive me..."
When exactly he falls asleep, he's not sure, but he embraces the darkness, the numbness.
"Ricardo..."
He gasps out loud, the sound echoing into the nothingness surrounding him, his soul torn as he listens. It can't be, but he's still somehow hearing Alberto's voice in his dreams.
"They say you can probably hear me. If this is true, you gotta listen to me. I tire of this place, don't you? Please, Ricardo... Open your eyes."
It's so confusing, and everything hurts so much, his thoughts running in endless, maddening circles- Alberto is dead... Alberto is talking to me... Dead...dead...
He hears the well-familiar annoyed huff of the former world champion and almost smiles, picturing the matching look on Del Rio's face. The brief moment of levity is trashed, however, when he remembers that Alberto is dead and he will never see that, or any other, look on the Mexican Aristocrat's face. He drifts in the darkness for awhile longer, emotions that he's held back since the accident in an attempt to appear strong for Del Rio now overwhelming him.
"Are you... crying?" A question that would've left him mortified in the past barely incites a reaction as he mourns, somehow feeling something physical- a tentative touch along his face, brushing under his eyes, down his cheeks. "Ricardo..." The touch shifts, his pain cresting into a tidal wave of agony as hands pull him into a sitting position and he can't help but wonder why it hurts so much. Warm arms wrap around his back, pressing him closer until he's breathing in a familiar cologne, the scent dragging him closer to the surface.
His eyes are open now, his vision unfocused and spotty. He releases a weak breath, wondering what happened between his falling asleep and now to make him feel so weak, so... pathetic. Something familiar and warm is still supporting him, however, so he doesn't question it right away, melting into the long-missing comfort.
"Ricardo..."
He freezes, his breathing picking up slightly as he recognizes the voice whispering into his ear now. There's... there's no chance... I saw him... die... His body further taxed by his heart racing and his lungs heading towards hyperventilation, he slips back into the welcoming darkness.