Wrong Target
A/N: I expected them to do something more like this after that Sin Cara match. I was a little disappointed they didn't, heh.
Alberto Del Rio is alone in his locker room, wondering what's taking Ricardo so long to get something from catering, when Jack Swagger saunters out to the ring, Zeb Colter by his side as always. He listens half-heartedly as the two men rant on and on about their agenda for this nation, the same old lecture against immigrants. He sighs heavily and wishes that his best friend had arrived in time to listen to all of this, so they could at least pass the time mocking the two men, but instead he's stuck here listening to it alone. He's just begun pondering going out to interrupt the nonstop spiel when something Swagger says gives him pause.
"To accomplish this, we've decided it's time to prove how dedicated we are to the cause." Colter takes over speaking then, but Del Rio's eyes are locked on Swagger's face as he marches towards the front of the ring, glaring down the ramp at seemingly nothing, waiting for something to happen. There's a strange look in his eye that unsettles even the World Heavyweight Champion and he frowns, sitting forward so as not to miss a word. "Sin Cara last week was only the beginning. We will clean all of these... immigrants from this company," he vows with no lack of disdain, eyes still locked on the large screen before them.
Finally music that Alberto thinks he remembers vaguely from... somewhere begins playing on the titantron, realization stabbing through him when he catches a glimpse of the titantron. "No, no," he mumbles, shaking his head desperately. Just that moment, the door opens and Ricardo enters the locker room, frowning at him before he glances towards the TV, recognition smacking him upside the head as well, gaping as Memo Montenegro slowly makes his way past the curtain. "Mi hermanito," Del Rio hisses, his fists pressed tightly to his sides. "Ricardo-"
They watch as Memo Montenegro walks down the ramp, his eyes dark with uncertainty while he approaches the ring for his first televised match. Ricardo doesn't even say anything, following his employer closely as he leaves the locker room loudly and rushes down the halls towards the gorilla, knowing that this won't end well for his brother, just barely missing running into various people scattered around. Ricardo ignores them as well, keeping up with his employer until they're at the ramp and Alberto is sliding into the ring, kicking Swagger off of his brother and breaking up the Patriot Lock just in time as Memo writhes away, gripping his ankle. Thankfully Swagger and Colter both retreat as Ricardo joins them, resting a hand on Memo's trembling shoulder while Del Rio helps his brother sit up.
Alberto is so angry that he's shaking and he glowers up the ramp at the two men, his need to be there for his brother the only thing keeping him from going after the two smug men. "You will pay," he vows in both Spanish and English, shaking his head before turning his attention back to Memo. "Are you alright, mi hermanito? Your ankle-"
"I'm ok, I'm ok," he whispers, wincing as Ricardo obligingly goes for his ankle, unlacing his boot and examining his leg while they wait for the trainer to enter the ring. "Just sore, hermano." The trainer confirms this after a few moments and Ricardo helps Alberto get Memo to his feet, the two men supporting him back up the ramp and to the locker room for him to relax, rest. "Lo siento, Alberto, I thought- maybe, I could-"
"No apologies, Memo. It's my fault, you never should've been dragged into my mess. I will make those perros pay," he vows, taking a ice pack from Ricardo and resting it on his brother's ankle. "I'm the one who's sorry. They won't get away with this, I promise you." He pats his brother's head and grimaces, turning to look at Ricardo. "Mi amigo, I want you to be careful. If they're willing to target mi hermanito, you..."
Ricardo nods grimly, glancing from Memo to Alberto. "I understand, El Patron. Don't worry, I'll keep an eye out. Everything will be fine."
And they all opt to believe this until the following week's Main Event, Alberto in the building just to pass some time leading up to Smackdown, ignore the jitters he still feels following the attack against Memo and how close he'd come to being seriously injured just because of his being Alberto's brother, when he hears that horribly familiar theme music of Jack Swagger, eyes narrowing as the supposedly "True American" makes his way to the ring, Colter alongside him. He wonders for a moment where Ricardo has gone off to this time, but is distracted when Colter begins speaking, a shrewd look on his face as he drones on about America and ridding it of all of the job thieving foreigners who can barely even speak English, his usual spiel that Alberto's begun to tune out instinctively. Until...
"I've especially picked Jack Swagger's opponent tonight," the older man announces, smirking with a dark gleam in his beady eyes. "Cue the music, let's get this over with, hm?"
Del Rio chokes as a familiar theme music- rarely heard but yet again recognizable- begins to play, his eyes narrowing as he takes in the masked man walking hesitantly down the entrance ramp. "No, no," he mumbles, pressing his fingers to his forehead. "Maldita sea!" But there's nothing to be done other than watch as El Local enters the ring, adjusting his wrist bands as he stares uncomfortably at Swagger through his mask.
At some point after the six man match he'd competed in with Memo and Alberto, Ricardo had asked his employer if there was a way for him to compete more regularly. His initial contract with Alberto had been just as his ring announcer, the younger man content with even that much for a way into the biggest wrestling federation in the business, Alberto only realizing how poor a decision this had been for the younger man once he'd seen him competing in FCW a time or two. But what had been done couldn't be changed, until the next contract cycle, when Alberto had reworded it so he could have a little more leeway to compete now and again. Except by then he'd been attacked by Big Show and lingering neck issues haunted him, causing the trainer to be a bit hesitant to clear him. Another reworded contract later and Alberto had agreed to his competing sometimes under a mask, though that came and went as well thanks to further attacks from Sheamus, Randy Orton and Big Show. But all of the down time had led into Ricardo thinking up El Local, and Alberto signing off of it, when he'd seen how desperate his friend was to compete.
And it had gone alright, Ricardo having a few matches as El Local on Saturday Morning Slam, NXT, even overseas in non-televised events. But, now, for the first time, the Mexican aristocrat regrets agreeing to it as his friend stands across the ring from his Wrestlemania opponent, all alone. He makes it to his feet and rushes out of the room, through the hallway to at least be nearby during the match when he catches a glimpse of the action on a monitor, Ricardo down on the mat with Swagger leaning over him, kicking and slapping him derisively. "Ay," he huffs, moving faster but knowing it's taking too long- his locker room had been a good ways away from the gorilla, and he wonders why the universe always seems to be working against him, against them.
When he finally makes it to ringside, Ricardo is on his stomach, tapping desperately as Swagger twists his ankle cruelly, blatantly trying to snap it. He's so lost in his own dark thoughts that he doesn't note Colter yelling at him, the fans reacting to Del Rio's presence, or anything else- nothing gets through to him until Del Rio is in, flying off the rope to kick him in the side of the head and send him off of Ricardo, who falls against the mat, gasping and choking against his mask as he curls in towards his injured ankle and Alberto stands over him protectively, a hand secure on his back as he struggles, glaring out at the two men muttering back and forth on the outside.
Referees swarm out, some ordering Swagger and Colter away from ringside as others go to assist Ricardo, and Alberto stands between where he's being checked out and the front of the ring, glaring down at the two men reluctantly leaving up the ramp, the referees' demands only enough to make them keep moving at a snail's pace. Once they're gone, he heads back to where his friend's laying, his eyes locked on the lights overhead as the trainer examines his ankle carefully. "Is he ok? His ankle-?" Del Rio demands, resting a hand on the side of Ricardo's mask, not caring as questioning glances come his way from those unaware that Ricardo is El Local.
"It's not broken," the trainer says after a few moments. "It's probably going to be sore for a few days, however. Let's get you to the back, and get some ice on it," he tells the masked man, who nods wearily. Once they're ready to move, Alberto rolls out of the ring, waiting to support his friend as the trainer helps him towards the ring ropes, the Mexican aristocrat looping his arm around his shoulders and easing him around the ring.
"People are going to be so confused," he mumbles beneath his mask, glancing up when Alberto peers down at him, confused. "About why you're helping me like this," he clarifies.
"Don't worry about it, mi amigo," he says with a faint smile, his first since realizing who Swagger and Colter had chose for the match. "I'm not. Most aren't aware that you are El Local, and if they ever do realize it, it's fine. I'm just glad you're alright."
Ricardo nods, staring down at his leg as he limps along, supported by his employer. "Gracias, El Patron," he murmurs, worried about what else this whole feud leading into Wrestlemania will bring- but knowing that Alberto will always do his best to keep them all safe.