A/N: Hey guys, this is my first attempt at a WWE story. It was originally meant to be a one-shot, but after Shawn decided to leave and absolutely rip all our hearts out, I came up with a second chapter and decided it was time to actually write it. Just as a warning, it may get a little confusing in the middle, bit I think it's easy enough to understand. I hope, anyway. Enjoy :)


Chapter One - Are You Ready?


November, 1992.

After fumbling with his key in the lock for God knows how long, a twenty-three year old Paul Levesque finally stumbled his way into his small apartment. Shaking his head at the rickety door, he slammed it back into place and dumped his bag on the floor before slumping down into his lounge.

Paul felt the stiffness of all of his muscles, tendons and aching bones relax under the slight comfort that the dodgy, old couch had to offer as he allowed a stifling groan to escape his lips. Even amongst every single twinge of dull, throbbing pain that he sensed consuming his body, an overjoyed smile crept across Paul's face.

Reaching into his pocket, Paul retrieved a white envelope and unsealed it, his beaming grin growing even wider at the twenty-five dollars he revealed from it. So what if he had been promised fifty? The point of the matter was that on this particular cool, Spring evening, Paul had been paid for his first ever wrestling gig. 'Terra Ryzing' was no longer just a figment of his imagination. He was a professional wrestler.

All the memories from those mere few hours beforehand suddenly began flooding back to Paul's mind. The boos that had erupted from the crowd when he marched out confidently into the gym, the first glimpse he had taken at the ring that sat perfectly centred just metres in front of him, having located where the camera was situated so he could purposely talk smack towards it - it was those recollections that Paul was certain would last a lifetime.

Just before Paul allowed himself to get too carried away in his own thoughts, he checked his watch to find that it was about twenty-five minutes past eight. Monday night RAW was on. He eagerly reached over and grabbed the television remote and then, stuffing his pay back into the depths of his pocket, Paul flicked his lengthy, blonde hair out of his eyes and settled down into the cushions on his lounge ready to enjoy a good two hours of the live sporting-variety show that had became the main source of inspiration in his life. Much to his disappointment, however, as soon as the T.V. flicked on, Paul felt the elated expression drop from his face.

"I am the Showstopper!"

Paul snorted in resentment. Shawn Michaels. The one downside, as Paul declared, to the great world of professional wrestling.

The Heartbreak Kid smiled smugly at the few boos heard amongst the crowd as he slicked back his long, blonde mullet and took a few seconds to admire his reflection in the camera lens before opening his mouth to speak again.

"And I'm coming after you, Hitman! I've proven that I can do absolutely anything on my own. I don't need Marty Jannetty or any other tag team partner. Ever."

Paul rolled his eyes and instantly hit the 'mute' button on the remote control. If there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was a big ego. It didn't matter to him whether you were a baby-face or a heel - as far as Paul was concerned, having a big attitude and an even bigger mouth was nothing to be proud of. And nobody got under his skin more so than Shawn Michaels.

"Showboating son of a…" Paul began to muse to himself before being interrupted by a long, worn out yawn that exploded from the back of his throat. He rubbed his weary, deep brown eyes, only now, after all of his initial excitement had faded, realising how drained and exhausted he really was.

Kicking off his shoes, Paul spread out on his couch and briefly fluffed the pillow that was sitting under his head. He shot one final glance at the noiseless television, only imagining what Shawn was possibly rambling on about. Closing his eyes to rest them, he then impulsively began to envision what chaos and turmoil 'Terra Ryzing' would be able to cause for the self-proclaimed Sexy Boy if he were ever given the honour of having the opportunity - this being the last thought that wandered across his mind before he slowly fell into a deep, peaceful sleep…


The immense heat streaming down from the bright lights above him intensified the emotions of glory that Terra Ryzing felt coursing through his veins. He stood tall and proud in the centre of the squared-circle with his arms held high above his head, taking in all the cheers and praise that exploded from the WWF Universe. It was everything that he had ever wanted - bouncing slightly on the creaky old canvas, surrounded by the tri-coloured ring ropes and hearing the screams from the five-thousand strong crowd around him. It was all a dream come true.

All of a sudden, something abruptly put that dream on hold.

"No, no, no!"

Paul shot his head up in the direction of where he heard a deep, agitated voice boom from the top of the ramp. Standing there was a large, tall man with long, blonde hair who was dressed in a pair of jeans, a black t-shirt and a leather jacket. A chunk of nerves caught in Paul's throat when he spotted the threatening sledgehammer that the man was wielding in his right hand.

"Nope, this is not how we're doing things," the man continued.

Paul's brown eyes widened as out of the blue he realised that there were now many other wrestlers and workmen hanging around the arena, although, there wasn't a single one that he recognised.

"First of all, we're going to need a bigger arena, not a piss-weak one like this!"

Paul gasped in shock when in the blink of an eye the stadium he was standing in suddenly expanded beyond all belief, as did the crowd, which now seemed to contain about twenty-thousand screaming fans - at the bare minimum.

The large stranger grinned in delight, "And would it kill anyone to make this ramp a little longer? Anything to help those of us who take fifty-million years to get to the ring, Orton!"

Paul looked over to where another man stood who was wearing black trunks and had intricate tattoos inked all across his shoulder blades, "Speak for yourself, Helmsley!" the second man spat back in sniping accusation.

Shaking his head in utter bewilderment, Paul gazed back up and froze for a moment as he noticed the first man who was making all the changes around him approach menacingly closer down the now longer ramp. He heaved his sledgehammer up over his shoulder and pressed down hard on the ring canvas, chuckling in disbelief.

"Come on people! It's the twenty-first century!"

"Uh, no it's not. Not quite yet, Mr. Helmsley," a small worker with a head set and a clip board replied nervously to the beefy man.

Bringing his hammer down to the ground so he could lean against it, the leather clad tough guy cast his gaze downward to the much smaller man, "Yeah, well, where I've come from it is. Besides, do you really think you're in any position to question the two-hundred and fifty-five pounder with the sledgehammer?"

The undersized maintenance worker gulped timidly and immediately shook his head, "No, of course, Mr. King of Kings, sir. Right, twenty-first century, starting with…?"

"I think the ring needs a bit of an update. Bigger T.V. screens, pyros, lighting, sound - just fix everything, ok?"

Scribbling down the notes on his clip board, the workman nodded before quickly scurrying away, "On it, sir."

The larger man smiled again, pushing a strand of hair behind his ear. Paul simply remained motionless in place, watching awe-struck at the unbelievable technological updates being made all around him. It was purely amazing.

It was then that the unfamiliar man before him spun around on his heels to face him, his intimidating stare landing on the slightly smaller frame of Paul Levesque. Paul hastily felt his heart come to a complete stop. The man definitely looked extremely daunting, but that wasn't the only reason why Paul had lost all sense his voice box. It suddenly dawned on him that staring at this absolute stranger was nothing short of fixing his vision on his own reflection. A larger, taller reflection. With much more facial hair.

In the next instant, the bigger man beamed a goofy grin at Paul, "Hey younger me!"

Choking his regular breathing pattern back to life, Paul apprehensively backed into one of the ring's turnbuckles, "What?" he barked in surprise, "Younger you? Who are you, what are you talking about?!"

"Whoa, whoa, take it easy man," the sledgehammer handler urged, "This is all just a dream. Your dream. I thought I'd make an appearance to check out what's going on. Come on, don't you recognise me?"

Paul raised his brow in further confusion, if that were even possible. The man before him simply held his cheesy smirk awaiting a reply from his so-called 'younger self'. A wave of hesitation impulsively swept over Paul. The argument given that this whole situation - the arena, the fans, the other wrestlers and workmen - was a dream was certainly believable. But Paul's future self coming back to see him in the flesh? That was the sceptical part.

Paul swallowed tensely, "What's with the beard?"

The future Paul stroked his chin proudly as he climbed up onto the ring apron and stepped in between the top and middle ropes, "All a part of the image. Speaking of which, this is for you," he went on, handing the sledgehammer to Paul, "This is Sledgie, take good care of her, she'll be one of the best friends you'll ever have."

Paul took a hold of the hammer and studied it in uncertainty, trying his best to ignore the dim blood stains that speckled the top of it.

"Anyways," the larger Paul began, "there actually was something I wanted to talk to you about -"

"Wait, what image?" Paul interjected, "What are you talking about?"

"Hey! No interrupting - I'd listen to me if I were you!… which I sorta' am, so listen!"

Paul sighed in defeat, "Ok, fine, uh… Paul?"

"Call me Hunter," the bearded man replied.

Paul cocked his eyebrow again, "Hunter?"

"Just go with it," Hunter advised, stepping closer towards Paul, "Now, back to business. Don't think I don't know what you said!"

Paul gulped at Hunter's sudden change in demeanour.

"First off, it's Showstopper, not showboater! And secondly, nobody can talk about him like that except for me!… man, I need a new hypothetical."

Ignoring Hunter's blatant sarcasm, Paul's eyes suddenly narrowed in realisation of what, or rather, who his future self was referring to, "Wait, you're talking about Michaels?" he asked with a roar of laughter, "Oh, please! He thinks way too highly of himself. I'd love nothing more than to give Terra Ryzing the chance to sort him out!"

Hunter rolled his eyes, "Oh yeah, congrats on your first gig, by the way."

Paul fell back to silence for a brief second as he tried to figure out how Hunter possibly could have known about his first ever match. Then it came to him. This was his future self he was dealing with - everything that had happened up until that point in Paul's life, Hunter had already lived it. Or so he claimed.

Still feeling slightly nerved at the particular circumstances, Paul locked an anxious gaze on Hunter, "Where did you come from, anyway?"

"Oh, about the year 2009," Hunter replied, cynically checking the face of his watch, "Figured I'd break away for my prep for this pay-per-view I'm fighting in next month."

Paul's eyes rapidly widened in wonder, "Pay-per-view? As in the World Wrestling Feder -"

"Uh, uh, uh!" Hunter cut in, "We don't call it that anymore. It's World Wrestling Entertainment."

"Entertainment?" Paul repeated.

Hunter nodded in confirmation, "WWE."

"So I really make it that big?" Paul's jaw gaped as Hunter nodded once again, "Wow," he went on, the tone of his voice coated in total astonishment. The smaller man then frowned, "But I still don't see what this has to do with Michaels?"

Hunter slicked his long hair back between his fingers, seemingly hesitating for a second or two, before allowing a sigh to emit from his lips, "What would you say if I told you that you and Shawn are one of the most prestigious and influential tag teams in the history of the business?"

"What?" Paul spat, his mouth still ajar, "That's ridiculous! Why on Earth would someone like Shawn Michaels ever do a storyline with someone like me?"

Paul furrowed his brow as Hunter merely burst into an array of laughter, "It's more than just a storyline, kid. He's not just your partner in the ring - he's your best friend out of the ring. He's been there since day one."

Hunter waited as he sensed his words gush through Paul's brain. After a minute or two, however, the twenty-three year old defiantly shook his head, obviously reluctant to believe the stories from the future he had been told.

"Yeah right," he argued, "This whole dream is probably just my subconscious acting up for insulting the selfish prick, or something, right?"

Hunter didn't reply. The older man only sighed again, slowly willing himself to admit defeat, "Fine. Believe what you want. The only reason I came here was to warn you that you're never going to get anywhere in the business unless you change your attitude towards him."

Paul remained completely quiet as Hunter turned around and half-heartedly stepped back out onto the ring apron.

"And FYI," he recommenced, "You sought after him, first."

Paul's head impulsively shot back up to meet Hunter's piercing gaze, though, the intense coercion immediately caused him to direct his vision back to the floor. It was then that his awareness was retargeted to the sledgehammer that he almost totally forgot he was holding. All the changes being made around him where still in full swing, as well. The ring where he stood seemed sturdier, the three ropes surrounding him were all a solid red, rather than the three colours they had previously been, and most notably, every single piece of technology around him was increased to an advancement beyond all that he saw ever before in any WWE arena. And while that was enough to take in as it was, as he gripped Sledgie tighter in his grasp, the thought of the further physical and emotional changes still to come continued to gnaw at him on the inside.

Him and Shawn. Shawn and him. The whole idea still seemed entirely inconceivable. While the smug, self-righteous Heartbreak Kid, Shawn Michaels may have just been a character in a WWE script, even now Paul couldn't possibly begin to picture having to work with him day in and day out. It would drive him completely insane, he was sure of it. He may not have been told by Hunter what year he started in the WWE exactly, but as Paul saw things, he could start tomorrow and there would be, what, seventeen years spent with HBK as it stood? None of it made sense.

Shyly casting his stare back upwards, Paul watched blankly as Hunter continued on his way up the long ramp headed backstage.

"Good luck next month, Triple H."

Hunter shifted his vision to his right to find the maintenance worker with the clipboard standing off the ramp looking up at him.

Paul frowned again, "Triple H?"

Hunter turned back and heaved his broad shoulders up and down in a shrug, "Shawn's idea. He thought my full name was too much of a mouthful."

"I hope you two win your match for the Unified Tag Team championships," the small workman added.

"What?" Paul unexpectedly called out. Hunter smiled at the curiosity he could perceive leaking from the younger wrestler's voice. "That's the pay-per-view match you were talking about?" Paul went on. As Hunter once again signalled his affirmation, Paul instantly felt a sense of wavering take control of his whole being.

He cautiously licked his lips, "Ok, let's say I believe you. Are you and Mich- Shawn scripted to win?"

A broad smile of success stretched across Hunter's face, "Sorry. You'll have to wait seventeen years and find out for yourself."

There was an abrupt pause. Paul let out a snigger of annoyance, "You're kidding, right?"

Stuffing his hands into the depths of his leather lined pockets, Hunter mischievously shook his head, "Don't worry, kid. Win or lose, it's worth the wait."

Paul immediately opened his mouth to retort with an argument, but in what seemed like the blink of an eye, Hunter disappeared out of thin air, and Terra Ryzing was hastily cut off by an almighty explosion of pyrotechnics from where Triple H had been standing…


The ear-splitting sound instantly caused Paul's deep, brown eyes to shoot open in shock. His breathing heavy, he allowed his vision to dart around and find that he was back in the confines of his apartment.

The television remote was still firmly in his grip, just like he could've sworn Sledgie had been a mere second or two beforehand. His heart gradually regaining it's regular pace, Paul sat up and pushed his hair back out of his face, adjusting his eyesight to the bright light of the T.V. that glowed back at him from the centre of the room. There was about five or ten minutes of Monday night RAW still to go, and the first thing Paul saw was none other than HBK standing over a battered and bruised Bret Hart, holding his WWF championship high in the air.

In a split second, Paul juggled the remote between his fingers and hit the 'mute' button again to bring the television's volume back to life.

"It's gonna' be the exact same story at Survivor Series, Hart! There's no way in hell you're getting a hold of the WWF championship, and the Heartbreak Kid will be there standing tall to prove it to you! All by himself."

The sounds of the crowd booing were rapidly shut down by Paul as he turned the T.V. volume down and slumped back into the lounge.

Everything that he had just experienced with Hunter had obviously in fact been a dream - that Paul could confirm for sure. But whether or not that dream held any actual reality in what was to happen in his future, he couldn't even begin to estimate.

Paul looked back up to the noiseless image on the T.V. screen. Much like normal, Shawn was doing some stupid little dance, assumedly to his own theme music, and was still checking himself out - now in the reflection of his title belt. If this were any other situation, Paul would be shaking his head in disproval and changing the channel. But instead, he simply sat frozen in place studying the illustration of the man before him.

It may have only been a scripted storyline, but the thought of teaming up with Shawn even when the words that he had spoken about being an individual and not needing a tag team partner still slapped Paul in the face pretty hard.

The very last thing that Hunter had spoken to his younger self was that whatever was to happen was certainly "worth the wait", but as Paul snapped back to reality and stubbornly shut the television off, he defiantly decided that no matter what his future truly held for him, he wasn't going to hold his breath.


A/N: So, what did we think? Again, I hope the two different time placed H's were easy enough to understand.

Also, about the only actual piece of non-factual info I included here is the whole Paul not liking Shawn thing. I suppose he actually did in real life, I mean, who doesn't, right? All the fun facts and information in here came directly from the boys' book The Unauthorised History of D-Generation X, Hunter's DVD The King of Kings, There is only One and good 'ol Wikipedia.

Let me know what you guys all thought and whether or not I should continue. Thanks guys :)

Reneyyyyyyyy x.