!FIC: Unified (The Colóns)
Author: TheFanboy
Title: Unified
Fandom: Wrestling (WWE)
Characters: Eddie “Primo” Colón, Carly “Carlito” Colón
Summary: Then, I felt his grip on my shoulder and I remembered something: he was there.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I do not own either brother, and I do not claim to know what was going through Edwin's mind back then. Or now. This is just a mildly elaborate guess.
Feedback: Really? I’d love it. Even if it’s just a few words to say you enjoyed it. However, constructive criticism is even more loved and appreciated. It helps me improve. This was by far one of the hardest fics I've had to write, just the format of it and its style. I don’t know what to think of it.
Author's Notes (Need to know): You need to watch this in order to picture the fic; it's the end of the Wrestlemania match, and Eddie's subsequent reaction.
~~~
I wondered if it was possible for my entire life to have been built around one single moment.
Staring up at nothing in particular, the first thing I realized was that I might've just pinned John Morrison to win the match. Actually, starch that; with a facial expression so completely incredulous, with the way I shook my head a couple of times in genuine disbelief, my first realization probably isn't an accurate telling of what might have just happened. I might have just pinned John Morrison at my very first Wrestlemania to become one-half of the inaugural unified tag team champions. It sounded more like another one of my dreams rather than anything that could have occurred, and I have dreamed about this before; if not about this night than in more general scenarios, I've dreamt about having one single defining moment that could make me feel like my entire life was worth it, a defining moment that justified all of my struggles and pain. There were always the apparent inconsistencies to let me know I was only sleeping, though: either the crowd would be completely silent all the way through or I would look younger; different hair-cut. No facial hair. A little pudgier. If all that failed then I would have one remaining irregularity to know that none of it was real - Carly wouldn’t be there. In spite of the fact that the crowd's applause was fast becoming insufferable to my own ears, ignoring the part where I could reach up and still feel the goatee on my chin or even downplaying how my big brother was right there, standing above me, I went back to shaking my head manically. I must have gotten wildly creative at some point; for as far reaching as my imagination was, I never thought I could visualize this honor. Maybe I couldn’t. Because this was precisely too be perfect to be true, a fairytale ending. Except that guys like me don’t get fairytale endings.
I tried to appeal to my own logic, telling myself that this moment was a natural result of many factors coming together, as if my life was a complicated physics equation, and this was the endgame. It was nothing too naïve or strenuous for my mind to accept. It was almost plausible for me to think that the way I threw myself into wrestling had finally resulted in a wave of elation that made me doubt my own sanity. It had been enough for me to just perform in front of an audience. It didn’t really matter, growing up, whether I was being watched by thousands or if only by a trainer who was paid to criticize my work, wrestling was the only thing that I ever truly excelled at, it was the only time I could let out all my frustrations without having to lose myself in the negative emotions of anger and helplessness. I could fight back even as the underdog, I could come at my opponent with everything I had, I could counter his moves - occasionally, I would even hear the crowd chant my name in support, and I'd be able to gain strength from that. It made no difference if I won or lost because I didn’t walk away from a fight. Unlike in my everyday life, where avoiding confrontation like a plague was my expertise. I appreciated the irony, took comfort in the dichotomy. It was enough.
It was enough to the point where I wouldn’t even register my older brother's promises that we'd make it someday - he would always say that, and my reaction would always be the same: an internal sigh as I wondered when that day would serve as anything more than just the epilogue to the glorified bedtime stories Carly would tell to get me to sleep soundly. The tale wasn’t of a brave prince or a faraway land though it didn't need to be; a future of success and happiness for us seemed just as ridiculously ideal an ending as anything you can find in a children's book, and I elaborated that to him. I told him he shouldn’t make assurances he had no way of guaranteeing, but he never listened. The outline of our future as a history-making duo in the WWF growing more intricate with every discussion, even going into match sequences and who would get the win. While I never allowed my expectations to get that high, it did help me sleep easier. More so the thought of starting a new life, was what helped. Working for Vince McMahon was just an added bonus if it did happen.
Funny that someone as adamant as I was about believing in God wasn’t willing to accept the fact that He was merciful, and could make the most impossible of aspirations a reality, completely disregarding it now even. This wasn’t an aftereffect of sleeping in church one Sunday, not even of choosing to confine myself to the less optimistic parts of religion which talked about punishment and suffering. I've never been guilty of either: I couldn’t sleep in church if I wanted to; far too many around. And if anything, I'd say that I focused on the popular aspects - particularly about miracles. I've read more than most about how those were possible, how we should never seeking its occurrence, working for it through good deeds and general all-around kindness. I never doubted it was possible… unless it related to me; then I would find myself less certain. Somewhere along the way I decided that God's benevolence was reserved for those who deserved it, and that didn't include me. Didn’t include a Puerto Rican who never prayed because he wasn’t sure what words to use, but mostly for the blasphemous reason that he doubted those prayers would be answered.
Then though, I felt his grip on my shoulder and I remembered something: he was there.
If there was just one factor unifying my years growing up in Puerto Rico, it would be that Carly was there for me when I needed him - there to correct a bully who had the poor judgment to push me around in school, there on my graduation day; grinning from ear to ear when my turn came, there when my fiancé passed away, and I needed someone to lean on. He was here now, in a rarity where the smile he wore made it all the way to his dark eyes, even more sparse was how his expression vaguely resembled a gleeful Anime character. It was a testament to how skeptical I was of all this that I'd been able to suppress the fact that Carly was the one constant in my life, and that his presence was the only reassurance I ever needed to know that everything was going to be alright. Maybe I just assumed I'd outgrown that at some point, yet once I actually looked back at him? It was clear that I might as well have been that teenager who needed his older brother even if he didn't want to admit it. The unparalleled safety I felt just by looking at him wasn’t so literal this time; it wasn’t safety from a backhand, a belt or even an injury… it was nothing so tangible. It was more the safety in knowing that I wouldn’t be waking up in a pool of sweat realizing this was merely a figment of my imagination. It was the safety in noticing how not much had changed since I was a teenager - as usual, I was over-analyzing every small thing, and he was already celebrating, soaking in the glory of this accomplishment. I figured the details of this, the part about making history at my first Wrestlemania would always be a little hard for me to believe. Having him here with me, though, it wasn’t hard to believe in the slightest. It made perfect sense seeing him wave his hands at me, telling me to jump in his arms for the celebratory hug. I did jump into his arms, possibly with a lot more force than I intended, but it didn't matter because in that second or two when his hold tightened around me, it became empirical that this was no figment of my imagination - the complete sense of safety I felt in those few seconds was far too real to be anything close to an illusion.
I wondered if it was possible for my entire life to have been built around one single moment, and I decided not to worry about getting into it now. This moment was tremendous, that I did know; the achievement itself was mind-boggling on its own, but getting to share it with Carly? I couldn’t even wrap my mind around how perfect it was.
…Only lightly tainted by the inevitably of him 'telling me so.'
Title: Unified
Fandom: Wrestling (WWE)
Characters: Eddie “Primo” Colón, Carly “Carlito” Colón
Summary: Then, I felt his grip on my shoulder and I remembered something: he was there.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I do not own either brother, and I do not claim to know what was going through Edwin's mind back then. Or now. This is just a mildly elaborate guess.
Feedback: Really? I’d love it. Even if it’s just a few words to say you enjoyed it. However, constructive criticism is even more loved and appreciated. It helps me improve. This was by far one of the hardest fics I've had to write, just the format of it and its style. I don’t know what to think of it.
Author's Notes (Need to know): You need to watch this in order to picture the fic; it's the end of the Wrestlemania match, and Eddie's subsequent reaction.
~~~
I wondered if it was possible for my entire life to have been built around one single moment.
Staring up at nothing in particular, the first thing I realized was that I might've just pinned John Morrison to win the match. Actually, starch that; with a facial expression so completely incredulous, with the way I shook my head a couple of times in genuine disbelief, my first realization probably isn't an accurate telling of what might have just happened. I might have just pinned John Morrison at my very first Wrestlemania to become one-half of the inaugural unified tag team champions. It sounded more like another one of my dreams rather than anything that could have occurred, and I have dreamed about this before; if not about this night than in more general scenarios, I've dreamt about having one single defining moment that could make me feel like my entire life was worth it, a defining moment that justified all of my struggles and pain. There were always the apparent inconsistencies to let me know I was only sleeping, though: either the crowd would be completely silent all the way through or I would look younger; different hair-cut. No facial hair. A little pudgier. If all that failed then I would have one remaining irregularity to know that none of it was real - Carly wouldn’t be there. In spite of the fact that the crowd's applause was fast becoming insufferable to my own ears, ignoring the part where I could reach up and still feel the goatee on my chin or even downplaying how my big brother was right there, standing above me, I went back to shaking my head manically. I must have gotten wildly creative at some point; for as far reaching as my imagination was, I never thought I could visualize this honor. Maybe I couldn’t. Because this was precisely too be perfect to be true, a fairytale ending. Except that guys like me don’t get fairytale endings.
I tried to appeal to my own logic, telling myself that this moment was a natural result of many factors coming together, as if my life was a complicated physics equation, and this was the endgame. It was nothing too naïve or strenuous for my mind to accept. It was almost plausible for me to think that the way I threw myself into wrestling had finally resulted in a wave of elation that made me doubt my own sanity. It had been enough for me to just perform in front of an audience. It didn’t really matter, growing up, whether I was being watched by thousands or if only by a trainer who was paid to criticize my work, wrestling was the only thing that I ever truly excelled at, it was the only time I could let out all my frustrations without having to lose myself in the negative emotions of anger and helplessness. I could fight back even as the underdog, I could come at my opponent with everything I had, I could counter his moves - occasionally, I would even hear the crowd chant my name in support, and I'd be able to gain strength from that. It made no difference if I won or lost because I didn’t walk away from a fight. Unlike in my everyday life, where avoiding confrontation like a plague was my expertise. I appreciated the irony, took comfort in the dichotomy. It was enough.
It was enough to the point where I wouldn’t even register my older brother's promises that we'd make it someday - he would always say that, and my reaction would always be the same: an internal sigh as I wondered when that day would serve as anything more than just the epilogue to the glorified bedtime stories Carly would tell to get me to sleep soundly. The tale wasn’t of a brave prince or a faraway land though it didn't need to be; a future of success and happiness for us seemed just as ridiculously ideal an ending as anything you can find in a children's book, and I elaborated that to him. I told him he shouldn’t make assurances he had no way of guaranteeing, but he never listened. The outline of our future as a history-making duo in the WWF growing more intricate with every discussion, even going into match sequences and who would get the win. While I never allowed my expectations to get that high, it did help me sleep easier. More so the thought of starting a new life, was what helped. Working for Vince McMahon was just an added bonus if it did happen.
Funny that someone as adamant as I was about believing in God wasn’t willing to accept the fact that He was merciful, and could make the most impossible of aspirations a reality, completely disregarding it now even. This wasn’t an aftereffect of sleeping in church one Sunday, not even of choosing to confine myself to the less optimistic parts of religion which talked about punishment and suffering. I've never been guilty of either: I couldn’t sleep in church if I wanted to; far too many around. And if anything, I'd say that I focused on the popular aspects - particularly about miracles. I've read more than most about how those were possible, how we should never seeking its occurrence, working for it through good deeds and general all-around kindness. I never doubted it was possible… unless it related to me; then I would find myself less certain. Somewhere along the way I decided that God's benevolence was reserved for those who deserved it, and that didn't include me. Didn’t include a Puerto Rican who never prayed because he wasn’t sure what words to use, but mostly for the blasphemous reason that he doubted those prayers would be answered.
Then though, I felt his grip on my shoulder and I remembered something: he was there.
If there was just one factor unifying my years growing up in Puerto Rico, it would be that Carly was there for me when I needed him - there to correct a bully who had the poor judgment to push me around in school, there on my graduation day; grinning from ear to ear when my turn came, there when my fiancé passed away, and I needed someone to lean on. He was here now, in a rarity where the smile he wore made it all the way to his dark eyes, even more sparse was how his expression vaguely resembled a gleeful Anime character. It was a testament to how skeptical I was of all this that I'd been able to suppress the fact that Carly was the one constant in my life, and that his presence was the only reassurance I ever needed to know that everything was going to be alright. Maybe I just assumed I'd outgrown that at some point, yet once I actually looked back at him? It was clear that I might as well have been that teenager who needed his older brother even if he didn't want to admit it. The unparalleled safety I felt just by looking at him wasn’t so literal this time; it wasn’t safety from a backhand, a belt or even an injury… it was nothing so tangible. It was more the safety in knowing that I wouldn’t be waking up in a pool of sweat realizing this was merely a figment of my imagination. It was the safety in noticing how not much had changed since I was a teenager - as usual, I was over-analyzing every small thing, and he was already celebrating, soaking in the glory of this accomplishment. I figured the details of this, the part about making history at my first Wrestlemania would always be a little hard for me to believe. Having him here with me, though, it wasn’t hard to believe in the slightest. It made perfect sense seeing him wave his hands at me, telling me to jump in his arms for the celebratory hug. I did jump into his arms, possibly with a lot more force than I intended, but it didn't matter because in that second or two when his hold tightened around me, it became empirical that this was no figment of my imagination - the complete sense of safety I felt in those few seconds was far too real to be anything close to an illusion.
I wondered if it was possible for my entire life to have been built around one single moment, and I decided not to worry about getting into it now. This moment was tremendous, that I did know; the achievement itself was mind-boggling on its own, but getting to share it with Carly? I couldn’t even wrap my mind around how perfect it was.
…Only lightly tainted by the inevitably of him 'telling me so.'