Alberto Del Rio stews the entire way backstage. He'd been through a fair amount of embarrassments over the years, especially since joining the WWE, but this... this is on a whole other level. He'd lost to Sin Cara two weeks in a row, his cheeks stained with a bitter blush as he makes his way to the exit, determined to ignore the whispers and stares that he receives. Life blurs around him until he arrives back home, the hours passing all too slowly until he finds himself entering through the front door of the house he'd spent hours searching for when he'd first moved to America to try his chances in the WWE.
Sofia is clearly fast asleep, the house dark and peaceful, so he's careful as he makes his way down the hall to his own room. Unable to stop himself, he pauses and stares across the hall at the closed up bedroom that had once been his former ring announcer's, his teeth grinding together as he ponders just how badly his career has fallen since he'd fired the younger man. Huffing to himself, he lets himself into his bedroom and collapses against the bed. His mind keeps replaying the failures of matches against Sin Cara, reminding him again and again of his failure. "Ay dios mio," he snaps, unable to find any kind of rest while plagued by these memories.
Making his way to the living room, he finds the remote and turns the TV on, accessing the DVR. Keeping the volume low, he plays Raw and watches his match, keeping an eye out for mistakes. The commentary is a low buzz in his ears as he plays it again and again, looking for that one moment, that one action, that doomed him to failure, but King's voice attracts his attention after the fifth time and he turns the volume up a little, listening in disbelief as it finally registers what he'd been saying this entire time. "That perro," he hisses, glaring at the TV as King's obnoxious voice reiterates again and again that Alberto's never worn a mask, as if it makes him somehow lesser of a competitor than Sin Cara, as if he has no idea what it's like to compete in such gear.
He grits his teeth and throws the remote carelessly, barely minding as it bounces off of the wall and rebounds towards the couch, his eyes narrowed dangerously as he flexes his hands. "I'll show them," he mumbles. "I'll show them all..." He stares at the TV as it drones on, wanting nothing more than to destroy it with his mere gaze. But he'd already made too much noice, not wanting to wake Sofia up, so he stays where he's at, thinking hard about his future, where he wants to go from here. "Si, si... They will regret all of this..."
He takes his time, planning and plotting, working with Sofia to create a new mask. It's simple, with rich greens and reds of his heritage swirling around a white base, and he is pleased with it the instant it's done and held in his hand. As she helps him to put it on, feeling the fabric stretch around his face, he smirks and crosses his arms over his chest, staring down at the housekeeper. "What do you think, Sofia?"
She steps back and analyzes him, smiling fondly at him. "It looks impressive, senor. I hope it brings you good luck in the rest of your career."
"I have no doubt it will," he tells her, turning to look at himself in the mirror. His eyes flash dangerously as he adjusts it once more, content in how it looks, how he feels inside of it. More like his old, powerful, confident self than this failure of a former champion he'd become.
By the time he makes his return to Raw, rumors had already begun to spread that Alberto, disgusted by his World title loss and defeat by Sin Cara had quit, gone home to Mexico. The comments are laughable, as if the Mexican aristocrat would ever quit, but he keeps his comments to himself, aware that he can't say much of anything or risk his secret coming out in hour one. Which would be more than unfortunate since no one blinks twice as he walks through the halls, his hands held steady at his side. His size and attitude are obvious despite his mask so, when a booker calls out to him, not recognizing him but interested in trying him out, he responds immediately, aware that this, the first few weeks of his experiment, are the most important in digging his heels into the business.
So he accepts anything, defeating the Los Matadores invidividually and together, making short work of El Torito whenever he tries to get involved. His eyes are on Sin Cara still, determined to get revenge on him, luchador to luchador... so he's not that surprised when he's got El Torito by the nape of his neck one night, shaking him and preparing to kick him unconscious when there's a flash of white and the man himself attacks, Sin Cara snagging him and flipping him over his shoulder, flipping on top of him before he can get back up.
El Torito is safely with the Los Matadores by now so Alberto makes it to his feet and sneers at Sin Cara, lunging forward and punching him again and again, barely fazed by the attempts Sin Cara makes at attacks of his own, finally forced to fall back and defend himself. The eye covers in both of their masks keep them from being able to really stare at each other, but Alberto can still feel the weight of his gaze, uncomfortable and intense, as he pushes him into the turnbuckle and dropkicks him, knocking him to the mat within moments of the strike. He laughs as he walks backstage, pleased with himself. Not only had he taught the Los Matadores and their little bull a lesson for thinking that they could overwhelm him, but also he had gotten a little measure of revenge against Sin Cara for embracing him and devaluing the name of Alberto Del Rio.
For the first time in quite awhile, he feels fully like his father's son once more.
He's just sat down in the locker room, unlacing his boots, when he feels another stare on the back of his neck and he glances around until he spots another masked man, someone who he'd seen a time or two backstage before the repeatedly embarrassing losses to Sin Cara, dressed in full body gear in red and white, his mask matching. His eyes too are hidden from view but Alberto doesn't look away from him. "Que?" he snaps, his voice sharp yet melodic in his mother language.
The other man's lips- the only part of his face visible- twist and he shakes his head, turning away to resume pulling at his own wrestling gear. Alberto continues to stare at him, his eyebrows furrowing as he examines him, thinking that there's something familiar about him but unable to put his finger on it. He hates his memory's rare failure at pinpointing what exactly is calling to him about this man but he keeps it to himself, determined to focus on Sin Cara and what he expects to come from their confrontration this evening.
As he'd expected, that following week, he's alerted that he's been placed in a match against Sin Cara and he walks into the locker room with a confident swagger, holding no doubts of who will be walking out victorious in a short while. The match itself does nothing to dissuade his expectations, Sin Cara overwhelmed by Alberto's pure anger and need for vengeance early on. That is, until Alberto is struck hard, his ears ringing as he staggers away, giving Sin Cara just enough space to climb to the top rope. Terrifying flashes of the last time this had happened, leading to Alberto's loss, causing the taller man to roll out of the ring and he's just moved to circle when there's a flash of color overhead and he looks up in time to see Sin Cara's body crash down on top of him, sending him heavily into the mat covering the cement floor. It's hard, and painful, and Alberto kicks out in anger, desperate to catch any inch of Sin Cara that he possible can... even when the two of them get to their feet, both ignore the match, the referee counting to ten over their heads, everything else going on around them as they continue to exchange blows while looking for other ways to attack and weaken their opponent.
It's only when the bell rings loudly that Alberto realizes, a sinking feeling in his stomach. He hadn't won. No, the match had ended in a double countout because his anger had gotten the best of him, taking away his awareness of anything but causing Sin Cara pain. He spits and takes more swings at Sin Cara until referees run down and separate them, Alberto glowering and trying to fight free to reach the other man, but failing as Sin Cara holds his hands up in aggravation and allows the referees to usher him out, not wanting to risk injurying any of them in an attempt to get at Alberto again.
Del Rio sneers at his disgusting good guy routine before pulling free of the referees still surrounding him, heading for the trainer's as soon as he's backstage. The man is one of the few that the masked competitors trust to keep their secrets, his title as doctor enough to keep their identities to themselves due to HIPAA, along with the unspoken backstage code that even trainers and doctors have to abide by if they want to stay on the good sides of the already on-edge competitors, some of whom wouldn't mind taking a swing at anyone, suspensions or worse be damned.
He hesitates, however, when he arrives at the office, the man from before in the full-body suit already there, the gear zipped half-way down his body as the trainer examines his arm, unwrapping some heavy duty bracing tape from it with deft, efficient hands. The masked man looks up and over, tensing slightly when he spots Alberto, but relaxing and leaning back into his chair as the trainer lifts his arm, clearly checking his range of motion. Alberto can tell even from this distance, with the trainer standing between them, that it's painful, a faint gasp coming from the man, and he grimaces upon spotting bruising against the flesh, most of which had been hidden by the sleeve and elbows pads the man tends to wear. It looks horrible, but he keeps his thoughts to himself as he settles in across the room to wait, relieved when the trainer tells the masked man they're done and urges him to get dressed before approaching Alberto.
He lurks around, preparing a tray with things he may need to examine Alberto, until the other man slips off of the cot and leaves with a mumbled gracias. As soon as they're alone, the trainer motions at Alberto to pull his mask off so they can do another IMPACT test, which he'd done after every match just in case, since Sin Cara had given Alberto a concussion in their last match, which had been part of the reason why he'd decided to take a couple of weeks off, regroup and come back as this... his masked self, which had always brought him success and luck in Mexico. Alberto sits through the examination, doing everything asked of him, before curiosity gets the better of him and he jerks a thumb towards the door. "Who was that man? With the arm injury?"
The trainer hesitates for a moment, a strange look on his face, before straightening up and examining Alberto's eyes. "El Local," he says simply, Alberto humming as he digests the strange name. It somehow fits perfectly for the man he'd seen and he nods, relieved when the trainer steps aside. "You're fine," he tells him.
Del Rio is relieved, not wanting to even think about getting another concussion now, when he's so determined to get his revenge against Sin Cara isn't an idiot, seems to take the hint quickly and returns in kind, always on guard and eager to throw back some offense whenever his rival makes his appearance. No one knows it's Alberto, not even when he starts going by El Patron, a name that only Ricardo Rodriguez had ever called him. It fits him well and he's already used to answering to it after the years spent with his ring announcer, who had ultimately failed him one two many times to be kept in his employ.
Del Rio quickly gets tired of waiting for each television taping, wanting things handled now, so when he's wandering through the arena one night, he glances towards the ring to find that Rey Mysterio- that chihuahua- is in the ring, locked up with El Local, the two men having a quick pre-show match, just to warm up before the event actually starts. He barely notices them, however, his eyes immediately focusing on Sin Cara as he stands outside of the ring and watches them go at it, cheering on Mysterio. He's quick, quiet, runs down to the ring and strikes Sin Cara with an enzuigiri that sends him to his knees immediately, distracting Rey enough for El Local to take advantage and slam him to the mat, his height enough to completely tear Rey's attempt at defense to shreds.
Their eyes lock for a moment but El Patron quickly turns his attention back to his opponent, kicking and punching him until Rey slides out of the ring and crouches by his friend, trying to defend him from the taller masked man. "Get out of the way!" he snaps at him, moving to kick Rey as well when Sin Cara lunges forward and tackles El Patron to the mat, trying to punch and kick him in kind. Rey watches on blankly until El Local joins them, gripping Sin Cara by the back of his gear and tugging him off of El Patron.
"Hey-!" Whatever El Local is about to say is cut short when Sin Cara whips out with a hard punch, sending El Local's head snapping back from the force of it, causing him to stumble back into El Patron, who keeps him on his feet long enough for him to regain his balance before pushing him away. The four masked men are glaring at each other when El Patron rolls his eyes and walks away, El Local glancing over at him before heading up the ramp as well. He stays a few feet behind the taller man, keeping an ear out for the two men behind them to try anything, which they thankfully don't.
Glad that there are two locker rooms so he doesn't have to see the chief cause of his burning anger the past few months, El Patron goes into the nearest one, slumping down on a bench and staring ahead blankly until the door opens a few moments later and El Local enters, sitting on the bench across from him. Neither men say a word but when they look at each other, a certain kind of camraderie passes between them despite their not being able to see each other's eyes.
Alberto doesn't have friends, in or out of the business, only trusting his immediate staff and family because everyone else tends to only want him for his money and influence, but something about El Local's presence is a comfort, Del Rio growing more and more confident with his company. After weeks of attacks that are growing in intensity and hatred, it's finally announced that El Patron and Sin Cara's been placed in a match at the Royal Rumble. There's no question in Alberto's mind as he steps into the ring that night, he has it all together. Unlike when they'd faced off before, when he'd been reeling from the loss of his World title and, yes, the lack of Ricardo's constant compansionship, his mind is clear, focused now. He has no doubt this match will be his.
Sin Cara also seems to be back to normal, bungling and failing at any incredible feats of offense against El Patron, every attempt he makes being met by razor sharp kicks, his opponent careful not to target his arm as he tries not to do anything that had caused him to become so complacent when competing as Alberto Del Rio, always depending on the same strategy to get him to victory again and again. Without the arm, he focuses on anything else that shows itself to him as a weakness, ultimately ending in his slamming Sin Cara in a bridging German that gets him the much desired three count, El Patron grinning against his mask as he rolls out of the ring and raises his hand up in victory, absorbing the boos and jeers from the audience.
He can only imagine the commentary bemoaning Sin Cara's loss and claiming that he'd just had an off day, some such nonsense, but it does nothing to cheapen his victory in his own mind as he walks backstage, smug and secure once more in his own abilities. He's just reached up to adjust his mask when he realizes that El Local is standing nearby, watching him. He raises his eyebrows at the other man as he approaches, hand outstretched. "Congratulations," he offers, his voice muffled by the mask so that it's hard to hear him over the sound of the crowd.
Alberto freezes for a moment, examining him to suss out any potential betrayal but ultimately sees nothing to hint towards such a thing and meets him half way, shakes his hand. "Gracias," he says simply. They then walk side by side to the locker room in quiet companionship.
However his contentment is short lived as Sin Cara refuses to let it go, using everything in his arsenal to wile El Patron up, calling him a coward and a fraud, demanding a rubber match to confirm once and for all which of the two of them are the better man. He laughs most of it off, but the repeated insults wear him down so during his match at Elimination Chamber, when Sin Cara comes out and watches quietly from ringside, his focus slips and he's caught up by a freshly returned Batista and slammed to the mat, successfully pinned. Gritting his teeth at his first real loss as El Patron, he stumbles backstage, staring Sin Cara down as he passes him on the way to the locker room, all kinds of ridiculous thoughts rattling around in his mind as he goes.
El Local glances his way as he sits down. "Lo siento," he says quietly, adjusting his gloves.
El Patron huffs. "He will pay, I will make sure of it." He starts to work at seeing his goal through the next night when he goes to ring side and demands a microphone. Standing in the middle of the ring, he takes charge of everything, not allowing Sin Cara to insult him any further. "Hey, perdedor," he calls out. "If you want your rubber match, I'm down. I will make you pay for what you cost me last night. That match was mine and you stole it from me... so at Wrestlemania, I will enforce who the better man truly is!"
Sin Cara still speaks very little usually, his constant insults towards Del Rio the most he'd spoken ever, but he still comes out and points at El Patron. "You're on," he says simply. "Mask vs mask!"
This stops everyone short as Alberto tugs at his mask for a moment, paralyzed by a brief moment of fear. He had finally reclaimed his career, his heritage, but he knows if he refuses this challenge, he'll all but confirm Sin Cara's claim of his cowardice so he forces himself to let go of the fabric. "Si, fine, whatever," he spits out into the microphone. "Wrestlemania, El Patron vs Sin Cara, mask vs mask." The audience is loud at the thought of it but he ignores them, storming backstage to find El Local once more, watchful and waiting. He stares at him as he tosses his things in a bag and prepares to leave, his old anger and aggravation overwhelming him once more. "What do you want?"
El Local hesitates for a moment before shrugging. "If you require anything," he starts to say.
Alberto's sharp, annoyed laughter interrupts him. "Why would I need anything from you?" he enquires, trying to remember if he had ever seen the other man wrestle since he'd donned his own mask. He doubts his arm injury would've kept him off the shelf for this length of time, and even if it had... why would he remain lurking backstage like this? El Local doesn't offer an answer so Alberto gets up and leaves, relieved to slam his hotel door behind him, sink into his mattress and tear his mask off, throwing it blindly across the room. It's quiet but he still can't quite fall asleep, the faint echoing offer of help from El Local repeating again and again. He grunts and punches his pillow, burying his face in the stiff fabric as he tries to put a finger on why the offer is bothering him so thoroughly.
He can't quite place it so the following week, when he arrives at Raw, he locates El Local and stands before him until he looks up, uncertainty bleeding from his pores as they stare at each other. "You can train?"
"Uh, yes," he says slowly. "Why?"
"Meet me in the ring in ten minutes." Turning, he marches out of the locker room, leaving an agape El Local behind him, needing a few minutes to himself to tape up his wrists and consider what he'd just done, and why. Still not sure of the answer, he realizes that ten minutes have passed and makes his way out to the ring to find El Local waiting, tugging at his wrist tape anxiously. As soon as El Patron enters, however, he falls into the zone, neither man saying much as they circle each other, feeling each other out. El Patron starts with a lock up, El Local struggling against it for a minute before sweeping out with a kick that actually knocks El Patron off balanced for a moment. He pushes the shorter man away before shaking his wrists out, giving himself a second, before lunging forward and kicking El Local hard in the arm, testing out his previously injured appendage.
El Local flinches but barely reacts past that, swinging a wild punch towards El Patron. He dodges it, and the second one, before El Local lands a heavy strike across his face, almost tearing his mask off with the force of it. He curses in Spanish and tugs his mask back into place before turning to glare at El Local, his anger slipping into a kind of shock when he realizes that El Local is smirking a bit, amused by his cursing perhaps. They stop playing after this, El Patron arm dragging El Local down and wrenching back on that same arm just to receive a sharp knee to his face, sending him backwards. El Local tries a moonsault from the second rope, just grazing El Patron enough to wind him. Even so, it ends quickly after that, El Patron snagging him in a brutal bridging German suplex that leaves him breathless and writhing in pain on the mat. He's pinned and a few of the wrestlers who had scattered around the ring, watching, counts out the three before quietly dispersing, knowing better than to approach El Patron.
El Local is sitting up, adjusting his mask and trying to catch his breath, when El Patron holds a hand out to him. El Local hesitates before reaching up and gripping his wrist, pulling himself up. They're standing face to face when El Patron shakes his hand. "Perhaps we can do this again some day," he says simply before pulling away and leaving the ring, El Local gaping after him.
The weeks leading towards Wrestlemania pass slowly and Rey Mysterio makes it more and more obvious that he's on Sin Cara's side in his feud against El Patron, which isn't a surprise, but makes El Patron stew even more because he doesn't trust that perrito, never had and never will. He and El Local are watching on a backstage monitor when Rey offers to be in Sin Cara's corner at Wrestlemania, to ensure that El Patron doesn't do anything underhanded, and Sin Cara agrees. He grits his teeth, ready to tear the monitor off of its hinges and throw it across the room, when he tilts his head and stares at El Local for a moment. "Hm," he smirks, a plan forming in his mind.
He keeps it hush hush, relieved that El Local agrees easily enough to do what he suggests, and the talk of everyone is how El Patron is sure to lose now that he can't cheat or do anything dirty to retain his mask. It grates at him more and more that people think he would have to use such extraordinary measures against Sin Cara but he keeps it to himself, pleased to have something in his back pocket that no one would expect. When Wrestlemania finally comes, he paces around backstage, trying not to lose himself in nerves. I've just regained my mask, my pride... I cannot lose it this early, he thinks desperately. I will not! Sin Cara will pay for humiliating me... I will have my vengeance...
El Local joins him before Wrestlemania and they stare at each other before El Patron kneels down, losing himself in a quick prayer for the best possible outcome of this evening. El Local says nothing but sits and listens quietly, unaware of the deja vu Alberto is currently experiencing. Except that, last year, he had been preparing for a World title match and it had been Ricardo sitting next to him, patiently supporting him despite his still mending ankle. He shakes his head, trying to rid himself of this unnecessary memory before standing up and clapping El Local on the knee. "Come, it is time," he says simply.
Sin Cara and Rey Mysterio can do nothing but stare in disgust as El Patron comes to ringside, El Local by his side. Both men sneer at the other two's reaction as El Patron enters the ring, more than ready for the match to come, especially now that he knows El Local will keep Mysterio out of his hair no matter what. Upon the bell signalling the match's official start, Sin Cara does put up a fight, better than during their last match, at any rate, but El Patron has confidence on his side and he feels it deep in his core as he shakes off every punch, kick and high flying maneuver that Sin Cara attempts to put on him. Knows it better than he knows himself when he lands blows of his own, his fists and boots, knees and elbows impacting against the other man so thoroughly that El Patron isn't sure how the other man is still standing, though it doesn't last for long after a particularly nasty enziguiri that rattles him all the way up to his knee.
He starts to laugh as he hits another of those monsterous German suplexes, so similar to what had felled El Local in their training weeks earlier, feeling the ring rattle with each strike of the referee's hand on the mat as the three count is achieved and El Patron is announced the winner. When he reaches over and roughly pulls Sin Cara's mask off, he doesn't bother to look over, disinterested in seeing his opponent's shame. He had done what he had wanted, had survived, had paid Sin Cara back for embarrassing him so thoroughly all of those months ago. He considers it done even as he walks backstage, El Local by his side and the ugly mask tangled in his fingers. He tosses it in a nearby garbage bin before dusting his hands off and turning to look at El Local, who is laughing lightly at what he'd just done.
Realizing that El Patron is staring at him, El Local soon calms. Stands straighter and crosses his arms behind his back, looking back at him solidly. "Felicidades, El Patron."
It's the first time he'd said Alberto's name that Alberto can remember, the taller Mexican pausing at the familiarity of it. His lips part in shock as he realizes... All of the times he'd thought about Ricardo, had felt like he'd sat next to El Local before similar moments before... had been because he had. The entire time, his former ring announcer had been right next to him and he hadn't even realized it. He swallows hard and holds out a hand towards the younger man, smiling faintly when El Local meets him halfway, shaking his hand without any idea that anything's changed. That is, until Alberto doesn't let him go. Only then does he recognize the anxious press of Ricardo's lips, a disbelieving smirk crossing his own as he examines him, everything from his mask down to his boots obviously him now. How did I miss this? he wonders, squeezing Ricardo's hand quickly before releasing him.
The younger man seems to breathe a little easier, stepping back to put some distance between them. Only when he seems calmer does Alberto speak up. "Gracias, Ricardo."
Ricardo swallows hard, probably expecting to be attacked now that his truth is realized, but Alberto simply turns on his heel, leaving his best friend, and all of his prior anger, behind. He has no doubt that they'll keep seeing each other backstage, perhaps even train more often together, and that everything will be fine. He grins, pleased and only a little surprised at how natural it feels to accept, even look forward to, all of these things.