Alberto spends the next few days resting at home before he flies out for Minnesota. He shivers as soon as he steps off of the plane, grimacing at the snow covering the ground. "Ay," he mumbles, huffing in disgust at the weather. He gets in his car, relieved to have that bit of a reprieve from the wind, pausing only long enough to take a picture of his surroundings and send it to Twitter before he drives off for the arena. His match against Batista, of course, is at the forefront of his mind as he drives through the snow city, stewing quietly. His neck feels a good deal better, but still. He's not looking forward to the evening.

The only plus of it all is that Ricardo is commentating, one of the first things Alberto sees as he walks into the building a few minutes later, his disquiet fading away slightly as the former ring announcer looks up at him and grins. "Hola, Alberto," he greets him, tapping his papers against a nearby table. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm alright, mi amigo. My neck is doing better, at least." He rubs a hand gingerly against the back of his head before holding out the borrowed neckbrace. "Here, if you want this back-"

Ricardo looks down at it, hesitating. "I'm not sure, Alberto... if you think you might need it again..." There's a weird look on the younger man's face, calculating and shrewd, and it stirs old memories of many hours in the past spent with the two of them thinking up various ways to unsettle or distract Alberto's opponents.

Del Rio stares down at the neckbrace for a long moment and glances back up at him. "Actually, now that you mention it..." He rests a hand on Ricardo's shoulder and leans closer for some privacy. "Do you still have your crutch from last year?"

He's pretty sure he paints a very pitiful picture once Ricardo and he concludes the makeover, the neckbrace back in place and Alberto hobbling around on the crutch, wearing loose gym clothes. "What do you think, mi amigo?" he asks, purposely grimacing as he takes a step, and another.

Ricardo grins and shakes his head, examining him. "I think if you want to put Batista in a false sense of security prior to the match, this will do it quite well." He glances around, spotting the clock, eyes widening. "Ay, I've got to go, it's almost time for the preshow. Good luck, Alberto. I hope you do well tonight."

Alberto smiles at him. "Gracias, mi amigo. See you later." He watches as Ricardo rushes out of the room to catch up with Marcelo and Carlos, running his hand across the cool steel of the crutch, remembering all of the weeks his ring announcer had been stuck using it a year prior when his ankle had been broken thanks to that perro Swagger. So much has happened since, he thinks, sighing. Some good, so much bad... Shaking his head, he stands up and goes to find Vickie, sell this entire situation just a little more. She remains unmoved by his plight and it's with some relief that he watches her leave, glad that the match will continue on as it should. He feels a little more secure in his chances against Batista now that he will have a weapon and a means of distraction.

For now, he turns his focus to the show, finding a place to sit where he can wait for his own match. It's almost no surprise when the Spanish announce table is destroyed during the Shield vs Wyatt match, Alberto watching closely as Seth Rollins is chokeslammed through it by Harper and Rowan, the three men doing commentary scrambling away to safety. He shakes his head and sighs, glad that at least it's the table and not his best friend being repeatedly targetted anymore.

When his match against Batista starts, things work the way he wants for a short while- he comes out with his crutch and neckbrace and announces that he's not going to compete tonight, just to take the first opportunity when it comes and attacks Batista with the crutch, beating him down repeatedly before he pulls off the neckbrace and throws it aside, unzipping his gym clothes down to his ring gear. From there, the match starts in earnest, Alberto fighting to keep Batista down. His luck comes and goes, sometimes his offense enough to keep Batista down and sometimes not, but he doesn't give up, bolstered by the crowd cheering for him, apparently finding Dave as despicable and annoying as he does. In the end, however, it's not enough. Batista gets ahold of him and slams him to the mat with a rattling Batista bomb that sucks the air out of his lungs, Alberto able to do nothing but stare up into the lights as he's pinned.

As soon as things stop hurting as much, he slowly rolls onto his stomach and stares through the ropes at where Ricardo is still sitting, taking in the worried sympathy in his gaze. He sucks in a deep breath and nods discreetly to ease his friend's tension before slowly flopping out of the ring to stumble his way back up the ramp backstage, hand sneaking up to rub at his throbbing neck. He's still sitting in the trainer's office, unwilling to move, when the show ends and Ricardo appears a few minutes later, resting a hand on his knee. "I'm ok," Del Rio mutters automatically, not even bothering to open his eyes as the younger man fusses over him.

"Did the trainer say that?"

"Si," he sighs, gripping Ricardo by the wrist and tugging him over to sit on the cot next to him. "Relax. I'm just tired, mi amigo, and sore. It will pass. As it always does." But he can tell that this does little to vanquish the ring announcer's anxiety so, after a few minutes, he sits up and turns to look at him. "Let's get out of here. We'll get something to eat, then go back to the hotel and get some sleep. Alright?"

Ricardo glances over at him, smiling warily. "Si, of course. Sounds like a plan, mi amigo."

The hallway is a mess. Shouting, crashing, and- Ricardo swallows and runs forward, glancing left to right until finally he finds the cause of the ruckus- Batista is growling in anger, slamming knees into Alberto's spine, abdomen, head, between throwing him into walls and trunks, any and all surfaces possible. Ricardo stares on in horror as his former employer tries to cover up, block further blows. Batista pauses for a moment and Ricardo takes the opportunity, rushing forward to separate them. "Stop, stop," he exclaims fearfully, kneeling down in front of Alberto to shield him from the angry man. "That's enough!"

"Move out of the way, little man," Dave tells him, getting in his face with a warning expression on his face. "Right now or else-" Ricardo gulps but remains as hands roughly grip him, trying to lift him away from Del Rio.

"No, no- you're gonna kill him-" he pleads, struggling to stay by his best friend.

"Mi amigo! Mi amigo, wake up," a voice breaks through what he's seeing, his eyes opening abruptly to find that he's not actually in the hallway of the arena, no... he's laying in a hotel bed, Alberto leaning over him with a worried look on his face. "Ricardo, que-?"

"Alberto," he chokes out, realizing that tears are filling his eyes. "You're alright." He grips his arms and stares up into his face, struggling to catch his breath. "Ay..." Mumbling to himself, he collapses back against the pillows and covers his face with his hands, trying to calm down.

Alberto gives him a few minutes to collect himself, sitting by his side patiently until he starts to peek out from between his fingers. "What happened, mi amigo?" he asks softly, relieved to see his eyes are now dry if a little redrimmed. "Are you still having nightmares...?" The mere thought that Ricardo still has nightmares about his actions way back last August leaves him ill and disgusted with himself.

Ricardo seems to clue in to his thoughts, unfolding from himself. "Not- not about anything that you did, Alberto. I... it..." He shudders. "Batista was attacking you and he... he wouldn't stop, I tried to protect you, but..." Del Rio's face softens and he leans forward, pulling Ricardo closer to him. "Lo siento, I didn't mean to wake you up..."

"It's fine," he mutters. "Do you think I'd rather leave you stuck in your own terrible subconscious? No, no... You want to protect me, well, I want to do the same for you, mi amigo." He cards his fingers through Ricardo's hair and pulls away with a small smile. "I'm going to be fine, I already feel better after that match last night, so you have nothing to worry about." They sit quietly for a minute, Alberto slowly pulling away from him. "Do you think you can sleep again, mi amigo? The sun isn't even up yet."

Ricardo hesitates and shrugs. "I think I can, si. I don't want to disturb you, I know you'll probably have a match on Raw and need to be well-rested..."

"You too, Ricardo," Alberto tells him. "I've seen you backstage, you're quite busy helping out with various things before and after the shows. Don't discredit yourself." The former ring announcer nods slowly, releasing a soft breath as he eases back against the pillows, staring at Alberto as he adjusts the sheets around him. "Comfortable?"

"Si, muchas gracias." He looks sleepy despite clearly being unwilling to look away from Alberto, should his nightmare revisit him.

"It's ok, close your eyes. I'm fine. You're fine." Alberto continues to fuss with the bedding until finally he listens, relaxing completely as he follows Del Rio's command, the older man staying by his side until he falls back asleep. With a small smile, the Mexican aristocrat carefully stands and returns to his own bed, staring at Ricardo for a few minutes longer before he too sinks back into the piles of pillows and sheets, fast asleep after one more glance at his best friend.

When they awaken to the sound of Ricardo's alarm, it almost time to head out for Raw, Ricardo looks a bit sheepish but Alberto merely smiles at him, not wanting to make the situation worse for him by expounding on his nightmare. "Come, mi amigo, let's get some breakfast before we go to the arena. What are you hungry for?" he asks, walking past the beds to duck into the bathroom to clean up and change his clothes. He smiles when he sees the appreciation in Ricardo's eyes for his letting the subject go.

But all doubts return when they arrive at the arena and see the matchboard, which lists a rematch of Del Rio vs Batista, Ricardo's shoulders tensing up as they glance at each other. Alberto isn't thrilled by the prospects either but opts to stay strong for the younger man, resting his hand steadily between his shoulderblades to lead him away. "I'm going to be fine, mi amigo. Don't worry about it."

"I know," he mutters, trying not to show just how worried he really is, though he thinks he fails. But Alberto says nothing, the two of them walking through the halls until a tech pulls Ricardo aside to discuss interview plans. "I'll see you later, Alberto," he calls, not wanting to hold his former employer back from his prematch preparation as he handles his own business.

"See you, mi amigo." Alberto releases a soft breath and walks off, some uncertainty crossing his face as he enters the main locker room, dropping his bag on the floor and sitting on a bench, digging his fingers through his hair. "Hmph," he sighs. Ricardo's nightmare has a ring of truth of it, he could easily picture something like it happening himself. "Maldita sea..."

But despite the doubts and the fears leading into the match, it ends up Alberto has nothing to worry about. The match goes back and forth between the two men for quite awhile, but just when Alberto's advantage begins to slip, Batista starting to get some serious offense in, Randy Orton interrupts, distracting the Animal and allowing Del Rio the chance to snag his opponent up in a roll-up. When the three count happens, he gapes for a moment before scrambling to safety, not wanting to get caught up in Dave's anger and risk Ricardo having to live the reality of his nightmare. He sneaks up the side of the ramp, avoiding Orton, and makes his way backstage out of the view of the cameras, considering the victory. "Hm." He smirks and walks around until he finds Ricardo, watching him wrap up another interview.

Ricardo's just put his microphone back on a nearby trunk for a tech to collect when he looks up and spots Alberto, his face relaxing into a small smile. "Alberto, you won?"

"Si, I did, mi amigo," the Mexican aristocrat grins back at him, walking over to him. "See, I told you everything would be alright."

"Si, I should've believed in you, Alberto. Lo siento."

Del Rio shakes his head fondly. "No need to apologize, mi amigo. It means a lot that, after everything, you still worry about my wellbeing."

"I always will," he says softly, shrugging quietly. "I'm glad you won. And I'm glad you're alright."

"Me too," Alberto responds after a moment. "Very much so, amigo."

But he's not after Smackdown. His attempts at flirting with Vickie to get the night off are once more rebuffed, the Mexican aristocrat wondering what exactly it is about him that doesn't entice her- he's good-looking, rich, charming when he has a reason to be... He can't understand why she's always so immune to him. Either way, that doesn't matter- he has a match against Sheamus to focus on now, glaring blankly at the wall. He knows the Celtic warrior almost better than any other competitor he'd faced off against in the years he'd been in the WWE, remembering bitterly all of the things that the man had put him and Ricardo through. At least, this time, the ring announcer wouldn't be in position to receive a Brogue kick or any other kind of attack, safe in the back watching the show with Miz and AJ. He dislikes both of them, but it is convenient to have a personal locker room at their disposal to keep them safe or separate from prying eyes and mocking comments.

Once the match does start, it only lasts a few minutes before Christian's music hits and he scowls, looking up as yet another long-term rival of his walks down to commentary, clearly not here for him. He and Sheamus had been fighting a lot lately and Del Rio wonders if his luck will hold out, if he'll be able to sneak another victory and leave early- but no, Sheamus works through whatever distraction Christian may be causing and traps him in a Cloverleaf, sending him writhing around in pain as his back spasms all the way down to his knees. To his relief, the move is broken abruptly as the ring pounds with running footsteps, a flash of blond hair attracting Alberto's attention as he looks up and over, Christian in the ring now, struggling with Sheamus. Alberto recovers relatively quickly, ignoring the pain and joining the fray... He takes over when Christian gets batted away, trying to tangle Sheamus up so he can weaken his arm, but the Irishman fights free and Brogue Kicks him clear out of the ring, staring up at the lights until the trainer helps him to stand up so he can move, go backstage for a proper examination.

Ricardo meets them, of course, and Alberto rests a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently until they're safely in the office, Alberto sitting and grimacing through the trainer poking and prodding at his neck and spine, to ensure that nothing is seriously wrong after what Batista had done to him. Thankfully, he checks out quickly and Ricardo sighs in relief, smiling at him wearily. "Did you hear the commentators mention when Sheamus stole your car?"

It feels so long ago now, thinking of everything Sheamus had done to them, and he shakes his head. "Ay, mi amigo. That perro." He grunts. Winning the World title from Big Show had been everything last year, but still. He would've loved to have been the one to end the ginger perro's title reign. Alas it wasn't to be. He looks up to find Ricardo staring at him worriedly and he forces a smile, licking his lips. Falling into much more fluid, pure Spanish, he reflects on another past time- the six man they had competed with David Otunga against Sheamus, Sin Cara and Rey Mysterio, Ricardo's pleasure at teaming alongside Alberto.

He's not sure if the younger man will exactly want to relive that night, considering everything that had happened since, but he grins and nods, responding in Spanish as they exchange memories and moments that had comprised the three years they had worked together, voices growing softer as they talk on and on. This is only interrupted when Mike walks into the office, looking back and forth between them. Taking their silence as an invitation, he joins them and, after mocking Del Rio with his silence, finally comes out and says what's on his mind- inviting Del Rio to his and AJ's wedding. Alberto stares at him, surprised, before glancing over at his best friend. He takes a quiet breath before nodding, wanting to be there for the younger man. "Very well, Miz. I will be there."

As they shake hands, he wonders if perhaps, after everything, things could thaw a bit more between the two of them. Not that it matters to him, but he knows it would make things easier on Ricardo. For awhile, they had almost been friends, after all... Before August. Before the plan whose repercussions knew no limitations. He thinks he might be alright with this, if it should happen.