FAN TO APPRENTICE- Chapter 1
Disclaimer- I do not own the WWE, John Cena, the Undertaker, Carlito Carribean Cool (DOWN WITH CARLITO!), or anything wrestling-related. Well...I do own a replica of Cenas chain...which I bought fair and square via Internet. But you know what I mean.
(A/N: I got the idea from this story when I watched Carlito steal Cenas title AND chain, then found out what happened to him at that nightclub. 'Fan to Apprentice' is rightfully mine. You steal it, you die.)
Carlito, wearing the chain of my hero, fell to the floor of the ring at the hands of the Undertaker. I cheered loudly, jumping as high as my fifteen-year-old, Converse-hightop-wearing feet would allow me to. Undertaker saw me, and took Cena's chain from the neck of Carlito Carribian Fool (thats what my cousin and I call him), then tossed it to me. I caught it with a smile. I saw him mouth 'Meet me backstage' to me, and I nodded.
I was wearing a jersey similar to Cena's...of course, it was numbered '17' and read my nickname, 'Rolo,' on the back...as well as a pair of torn jeans, foam knucks reading 'Word' on one and 'Life' on the other (I bought 'em on the Internet), and Converse hightops. In one hand was Cena's chain. Under my other arm was a sign I had made myself. It was navy blue, reading 'GET WELL SOON, JOHN!' in white. See, he was at an after-hours club last Thursday after SmackDown!, and he got attacked. Currently, he was in a hospital in Boston, the town I was in at the time because my cousin's un-famous band was on tour and I had to go, making a recovery. Anyway, I met Undertaker backstage after everyone had left the arena exept the wrestlers. He was still wearing traditional black trenchcoat and hat. "You still have John's chain?" he asked me. I nodded, showing it to him. The lock had a large 'W' on it, and under it read 'Word Life'. "Good. Listen, I know youre a fan of his. The jersey's a dead giveaway." I chuckled quietly. "Give him the chain. He's at the hospital nearest to here. By the way...who brought you here?"
"My big cousin."
"I see...Anyway, get your cousin to drive you there."
"Right. Thank you, Undertaker."
The Undertaker nodded, and I left the arena, hopping into my cousin Marcs Ford F250. "Was it fun?" he asked with a sly grin. Marc was twenty-one years old, and my second-youngest cousin on my moms side. Since my parents died, Marc was my legal guardian. My parents always said that if anything happened to them, they needed a guardian of mine who had a similar personalaty to mine. And it was true--Marc and I had very similar personalaties. The only real differences were our genders, and the instruments we played. I was a guitarist, and he was a bassist.
I nodded at Marc's question, wearing a grin to match his. "We need to get to the hospital. Undertaker said to give John Cena back his chain."
"So YOU'RE the one he threw the chain to."
"Uh huh! Why? You watched on tv?"
"Yep. And you left the arena later than anyone else."
I laughed, and Marc started the truck.
"Excuse me, miss, but I need to see Johnathan Cena."
"Yeah, youre the hundreth fan today," the receptionest said. "Sorry. Cant let you in."
"I need to give him something, though!"
"Uh huh. Riiiight..." she rolled her eyes.
I showed her the chain.
"Where'd you GET that?!" she asked loudly, eyes wide.
"The Undertaker gave it to me and told me to give it to him."
"...John's in room 27B..." she said, still in shock. Marc and I walked to John's room, and knocked on the door. "Mister Cena?" I asked.
"Come in," responded the weak and familiar voice of my hero. I opened the door with a smile, which faded when I saw John laying in his bed, bruised and beaten. He grinned at the sight of me, and I sat by his bedside, chain in my pocket. "The Undertaker told me to give this to you..." I said quietly, digging through my pocket. I pulled something out. Marcs comb. I rolled my eyes, looking at my cousin, who stood in the doorway. "Marc..." I said quietly. He laughed, and I tossed his comb to him. I then pulled out the chain, and handed it to Cena, whose face lit up right away. "Kid..." he said, smiling, tears of joy in his eyes. "...I like you. Whats your name?"
"Roland Smith. I know its a boy name...but its a long story. Everyone calls me Rolo."
"Well, Rolo," he said with a grin. "I think I can get you...a job...if you'd like one."
"What do you mean?" I asked, tilting my head to the side in deep confusion.
"I...would like an apprentice. As soon as I get out...of this hospital..." he didnt need to finish his sentence. I knew what he meant. He'd get me into SmackDown!, and I would be introduced to the world as the worlds first apprentice of a wrestler.