A/N: I finished this over the weekend. Before everything. So yay. Didn't proofread it a million times like usual, but I think it's ok.

Alberto Del Rio, not wanting to disrupt the rest of Ricardo Rodriguez, quietly slips out of the hotel room, relieved to find the building quiet, all but deserted in the late morning hours. The night before, Jack Swagger had gotten his hands on the younger man and viciously snapped his ankle, leaving him scrambling and crying in pain. Neither of them had slept much at all, though Ricardo had since drifted off, pain killers finally allowing him to find the rest he so clearly needs. Del Rio closes his gritty eyes and slumps down to the floor, burying his hands in his face.

Their flight back to Florida is later in the afternoon, the Mexican aristocrat wanting to give the younger man plenty of time to rest before making him go through TSA and all of the other time and energy draining things that catching a flight entails. Which unfortunately means that he has a lot of time to reflect on the night before, reliving each horrible moment leading up to and after the attack. He slams his fists against the floor and stares blankly ahead, breathing in shakingly. "Ay dios mio," he groans. He's not sure how long he's been sitting there when his phone beeps in his pocket and he automatically reaches for it, staring blankly at the screen before it clicks with him.

Twitter flashes on his screen, Ricardo's screen name below it. The words- and the picture with it- barely register with Del Rio before he's on his feet, resting a hand on the door as it flashes with another alert, the younger man trying to uphold the company's PG standards but yet letting Swagger know what he thinks about his actions. He returns to the picture Ricardo had uploaded, swallowing brokenly. Through it all, he'd never seriously questioned those years when they'd been apart, the years he'd been competing while Ricardo had remained in Mexico, but now he wonders. Sixteen years old? he repeatedly thinks again and again, finally unlocking the door to their room and venturing inside. How? What- an accident?

Their eyes lock as soon as he walks to the bed, and Ricardo immediately looks down, understanding what the dark look in Del Rio's eyes mean. "Lo siento," he breathes. "I didn't mean- I just... you weren't supposed to find out that way."

Alberto takes a few breaths to calm down before shaking his head. "Find out? I'm still not sure what I read." He stares down at the younger man's covered ankles and swallows. "What happened? How- I mean... why...?"

Ricardo winces and stares at the wall. "I didn't want you to know, but now it... it's probably necessary. Just in case." He swallows, bunching his fists around the sheets. "After you left for wrestling, the... um... the bullying picked up again. In secundaria but especially preparatoria. When I was sixteen, it was... the worst it'd ever been. I was trying to get away from them and saw a lake, so I just... jumped in and held my breath to hide until they'd gone past." He tilts his head and stares now at his hands, seeming unable to catch Del Rio's eye. "I didn't realize just how shallow the water was- and my heart was racing so hard, I didn't feel the pain until I breached the surface and tried to get out. I had snapped both of my ankles on the bottom of the lake. I don't remember arriving home, exactly, just that I spent the whole time afraid those schoolkids would find me, crawling on- on the side of the road..." He swallows, closing his eyes as Alberto reaches out and grips his hands, squeezing faintly. "My madre tried, she did. The nearest hospital she took me to, they set my ankles and... I suppose did what they could, but infection set in and the antibiotics weren't working. There was... was... talk of... amputation..." His words fail, tears trailing down his cheeks and he looks away again. Forcing the rest of the story out, he chokes, "They- performed surgery, and tried a different kind of antibiotic and finally, it began to work. The infection healed, and I was cleared to return to school a couple of months later." He scrubs at his face. "So I was left with this scar, and these memories. It- I thought it was behind me until Swagger- until..."

Alberto coughs and wipes a hand down his own face before gripping Ricardo's face, staring deep into his eyes. "I'm so sorry, mi amigo. I- I should've been there." He pulls him closer, hugging him. "I should've..."

"You tried," Ricardo whispers, stopping short when Del Rio pulls away to look at him and shakes his head violently. "El Patron?"

"I didn't mean just last night, I should've- should've been there when you were a teen. I just, I figured you'd be ok, that I had handled all of the bullying. I never imagined..." He shakes his head again, the picture of Ricardo's ankle trapped in his mind. "I'm so sorry, Ricardo."

"No one could've guessed," Ricardo says, heart hurting at the look in his employer's eye. "I don't blame you, El Patron. It was just- one of those things. You did the best you could to help me back in those days. Please don't doubt that."

"I tried, but-"

"You succeeded," he insists, reaching out for him. When Alberto scoops his hands up, squeezing carefully, he sighs. "El Patron, I never expected you to put your life on hold because of me. You did more than most while you could, and that mattered more than anything to me. Yes, sometimes when things were bad, I wished you were still there to encourage me, but I understood that you deserved to follow your own dreams, and I never would've refused you that opportunity. I still won't, no matter what. Especially this time. I won't allow my... my ankle to ruin your Wrestlemania moment. I promise."

Alberto's eyes look suspiciously wet as he leans forward, cupping the back of Ricardo's head and drawing him in once more. "You are such a good friend, Ricardo."

"As are you, El Patron," he mumbles, smiling into his shoulder when Del Rio hugs him again, murmuring vows in Spanish to make Swagger pay, the ring announcer nodding in pure faith in his employer, never doubting him.