Post by “The Better Man” Warren Kidd on May 26, 2024 1:03:26 GMT
Warren Harper assured himself that he deserved the greatest opportunity of his entire career. It wasn’t easy for a natural pessimist and self-deprecator to acknowledge that he had legitimately earned a third chance at the Men’s World Championship. Though he’d never give Dean Harper, Allen Chaney or Caleb Cannin the satisfaction of knowing, the controversial finish of the Roulette a couple months ago ate at him still.
Whilst a team of well trained officials, and even Roberto Verona himself had all assured him that Warren’s victory was not only well deserved but fully justified, it did not feel as great as it should have. He silently scrolled through Dean Harper’s instagram and questioned why if it was so indisputable that Warren was the 2024 Roulette Winner had Roberto Verona gone out of his way to find a supposedly equitable and fair solution to satisfy the incessant whining of men who couldn’t just wait in line whilst Warren Harper settled both his personal and professional business with Dean, finally?
He knew the answer of course, ego.
It was always ego among professional wrestlers. For years, Warren had tried to check his own at the door. For years, Warren had bit his tongue, smiled through every inconvenience that had ever irritated him and put on his best and brightest smile. A lifetime of denying himself happiness, true happiness, had left him feeling hollow and unfulfilled. A lifetime trying to prove that he was nothing like the devil that spawned him had only made him incredibly resentful and bitter, angry at the world and himself for his ongoing professional impotence.
Dean Harper should not be that hard to beat, and yet the more he stewed on every defeat to his husband, the more he was forced to concede that Dean had his number in the ring, and always would so long as he held back and honoured The Pack ethos of pulling your punches against family. It was a rule almost entirely enforced by yet another psychopath that he once loved like a brother - Caleb Lockwood.
It was crazy to think part of him was still governed by the rules and wishes of dead men, Kane and Lockwood. Bastards who were rotting in premature graves entirely of their own design, and yet his instinct was to hail them his betters. Long before Judas or Rowan had fucked him up, it had been quite literally beaten into Warren that he was not a leader, but a follower. It had made him much more reserved, docile and compliant than he probably would have been otherwise.
Every man he had ever known or loved had conditioned him to accept second place in the world. Every man who claimed to love him, from bastard fathers, psychotic brothers, degenerate priests and smothering husbands trapped him in a uniquely gilded cage, and each said it was for his own protection.
“I love you, you know that, don’t you?” They’d insist.
“Yes sir,” he’d whisper.
“Good boy,” they’d ruffle his hair and smile.
He was always a good boy in the world of better men. Boys like him would never amount to anything, ever. If John Kidd knew of his ridiculous pipe dream of once again leading the Imperial Wrestling Federation as a two time World Champion, the fat tattooed fuck would choke to death laughing. He could almost hear him now.
“Boy, you fluked it once, and that was against a half-blind moron, be happy with that.”
A loud feminine moan from the next room interrupted John’s unwelcome intrusion into his thoughts. Warren sighed and rolled his eyes, as he checked his phone.
“Who the fuck has sex at six in the morning?” He asked the minibar.
“Vivienne Rodgers apparently,” Shea O’Hara stepped back into their room.
Shea always brought a smile to his face. She made him feel safe in a way he hadn’t felt since Max. Dean did his best of course, but between them knowing how to care for each other was akin to the blind leading the blind. Both Shea and Vivienne had grown up with siblings and so their care always felt more natural and warm than Dean’s best efforts.
Warren watched the confident red-head walk across their shared Imperial Twin Room, fresh from the en-suite shower, still snuggly cocooned in a pair of towels and sat down in front of a mirror. She unwrapped her head and shook her hair free, scarlet curls cascaded down her shoulders.
“I swear they’re worse than jackrabbits,” Warren laughed, mostly to himself.
Shea didn’t say anything, instead relying on the sound of her hairdryer to save them both from the inevitable screams that were yet to come. In the void of hotly blown air, Warren refocused himself on how lucky he felt to have a true friend in his life, even if part of him insisted that he absolutely did not deserve Shea O’Hara.
Fortunately, Warren was the only one who ever entertained his anxieties, Shea insisted on pulling him back from spiraling as best she could. Knowing he was anxiety ridden and on the edge of depression about facing Dean once more, she had insisted on them sharing rooms so that she could keep an eye on him and stop him doing something stupid again, like he had in Paris, coming back to their hotel drunk one night.
Warren quietly worried that tongues would start to wag about them sharing a room, but it didn’t seem to concern Shea, likely because as far as she understood he wasn’t interested in her that way. He had been burned by rushing and ignoring the warnings and rushing into a relationship with Dean because he’d convinced himself it just felt right.
He absolutely would not make that mistake with Shea, he promised himself.
“Go shower,” Shea said. “Lots of things planned and I don’t want to be late.”
“Yes dear,” Warren stuck his tongue out at Shea, playfully.
She threw the wet towel which still carried the sweet scent of her cherry blossom shampoo at him in response, hitting him square in the face, and they shared a mutual laugh that seemed to lift all the burden from Warren’s shoulders, at least for the moment.
He’d do anything to hold onto that unbelievable feeling, a feeling made even more extraordinarily precious by the fact that only two people in his world were capable of making him feel so at peace with himself and neither one was his husband.
Trevi Fountain, yet another architectural jewel in a string of jewels draped around The Eternal City of Rome. Being here again, Warren Harper vividly recalled the first time Vivienne Rodgers had dragged him here, just over four years ago. She’d insisted that he needed a break from preparing for his fifth Roulette back then. Vivienne had absolutely insisted it would be fun and that they both needed a little luck in their love lives.
The light in Vivienne’s eyes had been unforgettable that day. She’d squeezed his hand and educated him on the legend of tossing a specific number of coins in the fountain. He was far less jaded about love back then, so he’d bought into what Vivienne was selling him - a little extra luck with Dean Harper wouldn’t hurt, he’d thought.
One coin meant you’d return to Rome, two meant you’d fall in love and three meant you’d return, find love and marry, so of course in their desperation to be loved by their one and only, both Warren and Vivienne took it in turns to toss up to three coins each into the fountain.
As he approached the fountain again, this time with Shea, he reflected on how at least technically the magic had worked. He had found love and married Dean, and that was all that the legend had promised, not that it would last. Perhaps Vivienne’s enthusiasm had planted the idea of marrying Dean more firmly in his head, he wasn’t exactly sure.
“One coin to return, two for love, three for marriage,” Warren advised with a smile. “So the legend goes anyway.”
“Really?” Shea grinned. “How many coins do you think it’ll take to be happily married and have a baby with the love of my life?”
“Since when did you want babies again?”
“Since always,” Shea grinned. “I just needed time to heal. So do you, like.”
“I’m fine.”
“Like hell you are,” Shea said, tossing her first coin.
“Okay, you got me, I’m not,” Warren tossed his first coin.
“Thank you. I know vulnerability don’t come easy ta ya, like.” Shea’s second coin skimmed the water.
“Just another thing to thank dear old John for, I guess,” Warren’s second coin was thrown.
“Like toxic masculinity is ever anything to be thankful for.” Shea tossed a third coin.
“Girls love it apparently, how else do you explain Cyrus and Viv?” Warren threw his final coin.
“Ya got me there like,” Shea took Warren’s hand in her own. “I can’t explain that, but the kind of guy Viv typically goes gaga for does absolutely nothing for me.”
“Really?” They turned away from the fountain, “What kind of guy does it for you then?”
“Honestly?” Shea took out her phone to snap a selfie of the two of them standing before the fountain. “A guy like you would be perfect, only you know less gay.”
“Well, you’re in luck, I’m bi.”
“Oh, well…shame you’re still married then,” Shea stuck her tongue out, snapping another silly selfie of the two of them. “I’m glad you’re comfortable enough to be yourself around me.”
“Yeah, me too, honestly,” Warren joined her in pulling silly faces, pressed cheek to cheek. “You’ve always been my home away from home. You and Viv, I guess.”
“What about Dean?”
“He’s different, I guess,” Warren admitted. “Like I love him but…”
“Well, whatever happens between you two, I’ll always be here for you.”
“Yeah, I know,” Warren squeezed her hand. “That’s what I love about you.”
“Aww, I love you too,” Shea said. “Bestie.”
“Yeah, besties,” Warren swallowed awkwardly. “Forever.”
Whilst a team of well trained officials, and even Roberto Verona himself had all assured him that Warren’s victory was not only well deserved but fully justified, it did not feel as great as it should have. He silently scrolled through Dean Harper’s instagram and questioned why if it was so indisputable that Warren was the 2024 Roulette Winner had Roberto Verona gone out of his way to find a supposedly equitable and fair solution to satisfy the incessant whining of men who couldn’t just wait in line whilst Warren Harper settled both his personal and professional business with Dean, finally?
He knew the answer of course, ego.
It was always ego among professional wrestlers. For years, Warren had tried to check his own at the door. For years, Warren had bit his tongue, smiled through every inconvenience that had ever irritated him and put on his best and brightest smile. A lifetime of denying himself happiness, true happiness, had left him feeling hollow and unfulfilled. A lifetime trying to prove that he was nothing like the devil that spawned him had only made him incredibly resentful and bitter, angry at the world and himself for his ongoing professional impotence.
Dean Harper should not be that hard to beat, and yet the more he stewed on every defeat to his husband, the more he was forced to concede that Dean had his number in the ring, and always would so long as he held back and honoured The Pack ethos of pulling your punches against family. It was a rule almost entirely enforced by yet another psychopath that he once loved like a brother - Caleb Lockwood.
It was crazy to think part of him was still governed by the rules and wishes of dead men, Kane and Lockwood. Bastards who were rotting in premature graves entirely of their own design, and yet his instinct was to hail them his betters. Long before Judas or Rowan had fucked him up, it had been quite literally beaten into Warren that he was not a leader, but a follower. It had made him much more reserved, docile and compliant than he probably would have been otherwise.
Every man he had ever known or loved had conditioned him to accept second place in the world. Every man who claimed to love him, from bastard fathers, psychotic brothers, degenerate priests and smothering husbands trapped him in a uniquely gilded cage, and each said it was for his own protection.
“I love you, you know that, don’t you?” They’d insist.
“Yes sir,” he’d whisper.
“Good boy,” they’d ruffle his hair and smile.
He was always a good boy in the world of better men. Boys like him would never amount to anything, ever. If John Kidd knew of his ridiculous pipe dream of once again leading the Imperial Wrestling Federation as a two time World Champion, the fat tattooed fuck would choke to death laughing. He could almost hear him now.
“Boy, you fluked it once, and that was against a half-blind moron, be happy with that.”
A loud feminine moan from the next room interrupted John’s unwelcome intrusion into his thoughts. Warren sighed and rolled his eyes, as he checked his phone.
“Who the fuck has sex at six in the morning?” He asked the minibar.
“Vivienne Rodgers apparently,” Shea O’Hara stepped back into their room.
Shea always brought a smile to his face. She made him feel safe in a way he hadn’t felt since Max. Dean did his best of course, but between them knowing how to care for each other was akin to the blind leading the blind. Both Shea and Vivienne had grown up with siblings and so their care always felt more natural and warm than Dean’s best efforts.
Warren watched the confident red-head walk across their shared Imperial Twin Room, fresh from the en-suite shower, still snuggly cocooned in a pair of towels and sat down in front of a mirror. She unwrapped her head and shook her hair free, scarlet curls cascaded down her shoulders.
“I swear they’re worse than jackrabbits,” Warren laughed, mostly to himself.
Shea didn’t say anything, instead relying on the sound of her hairdryer to save them both from the inevitable screams that were yet to come. In the void of hotly blown air, Warren refocused himself on how lucky he felt to have a true friend in his life, even if part of him insisted that he absolutely did not deserve Shea O’Hara.
Fortunately, Warren was the only one who ever entertained his anxieties, Shea insisted on pulling him back from spiraling as best she could. Knowing he was anxiety ridden and on the edge of depression about facing Dean once more, she had insisted on them sharing rooms so that she could keep an eye on him and stop him doing something stupid again, like he had in Paris, coming back to their hotel drunk one night.
Warren quietly worried that tongues would start to wag about them sharing a room, but it didn’t seem to concern Shea, likely because as far as she understood he wasn’t interested in her that way. He had been burned by rushing and ignoring the warnings and rushing into a relationship with Dean because he’d convinced himself it just felt right.
He absolutely would not make that mistake with Shea, he promised himself.
“Go shower,” Shea said. “Lots of things planned and I don’t want to be late.”
“Yes dear,” Warren stuck his tongue out at Shea, playfully.
She threw the wet towel which still carried the sweet scent of her cherry blossom shampoo at him in response, hitting him square in the face, and they shared a mutual laugh that seemed to lift all the burden from Warren’s shoulders, at least for the moment.
He’d do anything to hold onto that unbelievable feeling, a feeling made even more extraordinarily precious by the fact that only two people in his world were capable of making him feel so at peace with himself and neither one was his husband.
~~~
Warren Harper stood in front of the magnificent Elephant and Obelisk marble statue, adjacent to a small church. He wore a white Dean Harper ‘Most Loyal’ t-shirt, matching shorts and a wide smile. The mask was back up and it was time to go to work once again. Faking it until he made it was the only sure way he’d keep his depression at bay long enough to make it through this deeply unpleasant work obligation. He didn’t want to fight Dean just to lose yet again, it was getting tiresome.
“Better luck in the Roulette. If you make it through, we’ll do this dance again.”
Well, I made it through, Sweetie, so let’s fucking dance again, shall we?
A couple of months ago at High Stakes I was thrown into the biggest annual attraction match we have in IWF for the seventh time in my career, the Roulette. A match that, let’s be honest, nobody expected me to actually win. Why would they?
After half a dozen failures, the safe bet was always against me.
You knew it too, didn’t you, Dean?
Of course you did. I know you expected me to lose, just like I had every single other time I’d been in the damned match. No matter what you may retroactively tell yourself or the world, you never truly believed I had it in me to finally do exactly what I needed to to earn yet another shot at you. If you had really believed in me, even for a single solitary second, you’d not have been nearly as snarky in your tone when you wished me luck.
You challenged me to do the impossible - and now I have.
You forced me to break through - and now I have.
You made me believe in myself - and now I do.
So thank you, Dean. Thank you for giving me exactly the push I needed not only to get myself to this point in my career, but also to make you feel a little less certain of your future after Night of the Immortals. It’s been fun watching you scramble through open challenge after open challenge just so you get at least a few more defenses under your belt before we inevitably meet again.
I’ve been telling the world for months now that your fine ass is mine.
And make no mistake, lover, it absolutely fucking is.
Nobody else on God’s green earth deserves this more than I do.
Nobody fucking deserves you more than I do.
And nobody else is going to come between us and the kind of sweet release I know you’ve been dreaming about. Ours is a most unique and potent ecstasy, Sweetness, it always has been. You know it as well as I do. After all, there’s a reason why you and I always keep coming back together, don’t we Dean?
You believe in fate, destiny, kismet and everything, so I know you’ll understand when I tell you that I am your only true equal in life. I was your beginning and I will be your end, not because I want to be, but because I have to be. I have to be the one who relieves you of your greatest burden on the grandest stage of them all, because only I understand the most private and personal hell you’ve been through in recent months.
I was there for you in Scotland in a way I have never been before, and for that I am deeply and most sincerely sorry. I should have been there for you many more times in your life than I ever have been, but somehow I’ve always managed to let my fear get the better of me.
Everytime I should have stayed, I ran.
I don’t have a good excuse for that, I’m sorry. All I have is the truth, and I hope for both our sakes that that is good enough, because the truth is Dean, I never felt ready or capable enough of being your rock. I’ve always considered myself an anchor and a noose, dragging you down instead of lifting you up.
I admit it, I’ve been a pretty crappy husband.
And I just didn’t know what the hell to do until Uriel Black came back into our lives.
I saw an opportunity to make everything up to you as best as I could, and so I swallowed my pride and made sure that if you were going back to face your demons, you wouldn’t face them alone, not this time.
Afterwards, my purpose in your life became clear, Dean.
I know now that I’m your guiding star in life.
Without me you’d not only be lost at sea, you’d fucking drown in it.
And I love you too damned much to watch you burn yourself out whilst you carry this company on your back. You may welcome the distraction because it spares you the necessity of reflection and processing and truly coming to terms with what that Scottish prick did to you, but honey, you can’t avoid healing forever.
I know it hurts but the fact is you need some time off.
You can’t carry on like this, and I won’t allow you to use the World Championship as a band-aid anymore. You need to let the wound bleed, you need to let yourself cry. You need to allow yourself to feel the rage and condemn the utter injustice of what happened to you.
And you know you can’t do that as World Champion, don’t you Sweetness?
I know you’ll never admit it, but you know I’m right, deep down.
I know I’ve likely already lost you, but that doesn’t mean I want you to lose yourself.
~~~
Warren Harper stood in front of the magnificent Elephant and Obelisk marble statue, adjacent to a small church. He wore a white Dean Harper ‘Most Loyal’ t-shirt, matching shorts and a wide smile. The mask was back up and it was time to go to work once again. Faking it until he made it was the only sure way he’d keep his depression at bay long enough to make it through this deeply unpleasant work obligation. He didn’t want to fight Dean just to lose yet again, it was getting tiresome.
“Better luck in the Roulette. If you make it through, we’ll do this dance again.”
Well, I made it through, Sweetie, so let’s fucking dance again, shall we?
A couple of months ago at High Stakes I was thrown into the biggest annual attraction match we have in IWF for the seventh time in my career, the Roulette. A match that, let’s be honest, nobody expected me to actually win. Why would they?
After half a dozen failures, the safe bet was always against me.
You knew it too, didn’t you, Dean?
Of course you did. I know you expected me to lose, just like I had every single other time I’d been in the damned match. No matter what you may retroactively tell yourself or the world, you never truly believed I had it in me to finally do exactly what I needed to to earn yet another shot at you. If you had really believed in me, even for a single solitary second, you’d not have been nearly as snarky in your tone when you wished me luck.
You challenged me to do the impossible - and now I have.
You forced me to break through - and now I have.
You made me believe in myself - and now I do.
So thank you, Dean. Thank you for giving me exactly the push I needed not only to get myself to this point in my career, but also to make you feel a little less certain of your future after Night of the Immortals. It’s been fun watching you scramble through open challenge after open challenge just so you get at least a few more defenses under your belt before we inevitably meet again.
I’ve been telling the world for months now that your fine ass is mine.
And make no mistake, lover, it absolutely fucking is.
Nobody else on God’s green earth deserves this more than I do.
Nobody fucking deserves you more than I do.
And nobody else is going to come between us and the kind of sweet release I know you’ve been dreaming about. Ours is a most unique and potent ecstasy, Sweetness, it always has been. You know it as well as I do. After all, there’s a reason why you and I always keep coming back together, don’t we Dean?
You believe in fate, destiny, kismet and everything, so I know you’ll understand when I tell you that I am your only true equal in life. I was your beginning and I will be your end, not because I want to be, but because I have to be. I have to be the one who relieves you of your greatest burden on the grandest stage of them all, because only I understand the most private and personal hell you’ve been through in recent months.
I was there for you in Scotland in a way I have never been before, and for that I am deeply and most sincerely sorry. I should have been there for you many more times in your life than I ever have been, but somehow I’ve always managed to let my fear get the better of me.
Everytime I should have stayed, I ran.
I don’t have a good excuse for that, I’m sorry. All I have is the truth, and I hope for both our sakes that that is good enough, because the truth is Dean, I never felt ready or capable enough of being your rock. I’ve always considered myself an anchor and a noose, dragging you down instead of lifting you up.
I admit it, I’ve been a pretty crappy husband.
And I just didn’t know what the hell to do until Uriel Black came back into our lives.
I saw an opportunity to make everything up to you as best as I could, and so I swallowed my pride and made sure that if you were going back to face your demons, you wouldn’t face them alone, not this time.
Afterwards, my purpose in your life became clear, Dean.
I know now that I’m your guiding star in life.
Without me you’d not only be lost at sea, you’d fucking drown in it.
And I love you too damned much to watch you burn yourself out whilst you carry this company on your back. You may welcome the distraction because it spares you the necessity of reflection and processing and truly coming to terms with what that Scottish prick did to you, but honey, you can’t avoid healing forever.
I know it hurts but the fact is you need some time off.
You can’t carry on like this, and I won’t allow you to use the World Championship as a band-aid anymore. You need to let the wound bleed, you need to let yourself cry. You need to allow yourself to feel the rage and condemn the utter injustice of what happened to you.
And you know you can’t do that as World Champion, don’t you Sweetness?
I know you’ll never admit it, but you know I’m right, deep down.
I know I’ve likely already lost you, but that doesn’t mean I want you to lose yourself.
~~~
Trevi Fountain, yet another architectural jewel in a string of jewels draped around The Eternal City of Rome. Being here again, Warren Harper vividly recalled the first time Vivienne Rodgers had dragged him here, just over four years ago. She’d insisted that he needed a break from preparing for his fifth Roulette back then. Vivienne had absolutely insisted it would be fun and that they both needed a little luck in their love lives.
The light in Vivienne’s eyes had been unforgettable that day. She’d squeezed his hand and educated him on the legend of tossing a specific number of coins in the fountain. He was far less jaded about love back then, so he’d bought into what Vivienne was selling him - a little extra luck with Dean Harper wouldn’t hurt, he’d thought.
One coin meant you’d return to Rome, two meant you’d fall in love and three meant you’d return, find love and marry, so of course in their desperation to be loved by their one and only, both Warren and Vivienne took it in turns to toss up to three coins each into the fountain.
As he approached the fountain again, this time with Shea, he reflected on how at least technically the magic had worked. He had found love and married Dean, and that was all that the legend had promised, not that it would last. Perhaps Vivienne’s enthusiasm had planted the idea of marrying Dean more firmly in his head, he wasn’t exactly sure.
“One coin to return, two for love, three for marriage,” Warren advised with a smile. “So the legend goes anyway.”
“Really?” Shea grinned. “How many coins do you think it’ll take to be happily married and have a baby with the love of my life?”
“Since when did you want babies again?”
“Since always,” Shea grinned. “I just needed time to heal. So do you, like.”
“I’m fine.”
“Like hell you are,” Shea said, tossing her first coin.
“Okay, you got me, I’m not,” Warren tossed his first coin.
“Thank you. I know vulnerability don’t come easy ta ya, like.” Shea’s second coin skimmed the water.
“Just another thing to thank dear old John for, I guess,” Warren’s second coin was thrown.
“Like toxic masculinity is ever anything to be thankful for.” Shea tossed a third coin.
“Girls love it apparently, how else do you explain Cyrus and Viv?” Warren threw his final coin.
“Ya got me there like,” Shea took Warren’s hand in her own. “I can’t explain that, but the kind of guy Viv typically goes gaga for does absolutely nothing for me.”
“Really?” They turned away from the fountain, “What kind of guy does it for you then?”
“Honestly?” Shea took out her phone to snap a selfie of the two of them standing before the fountain. “A guy like you would be perfect, only you know less gay.”
“Well, you’re in luck, I’m bi.”
“Oh, well…shame you’re still married then,” Shea stuck her tongue out, snapping another silly selfie of the two of them. “I’m glad you’re comfortable enough to be yourself around me.”
“Yeah, me too, honestly,” Warren joined her in pulling silly faces, pressed cheek to cheek. “You’ve always been my home away from home. You and Viv, I guess.”
“What about Dean?”
“He’s different, I guess,” Warren admitted. “Like I love him but…”
“Well, whatever happens between you two, I’ll always be here for you.”
“Yeah, I know,” Warren squeezed her hand. “That’s what I love about you.”
“Aww, I love you too,” Shea said. “Bestie.”
“Yeah, besties,” Warren swallowed awkwardly. “Forever.”
~~~
So please, Dean, let me help you.
Let me shoulder the burden, for once. You’ve carried that World Championship on four separate occasions now, and I won’t deny that this is by some considerable margin your single best reign to date. When we meet on Sunday it will be your 208th day as Champion.
The best I ever managed was 150 days or so on my first go around.
True, it’s taken you four reigns to really find your groove as the best professional wrestler in the world today, but the fact remains, you made it in the end. I’m so unbelievably proud of you, baby.
Really, I am.
You’ve done incredibly well, walking your father’s footsteps and representing his legacy, but now it’s somebody else’s turn at the wheel. Now it’s my turn at the top of the mountain. I want to make you as proud of me as I am of you, bunnykins.
You can understand that, can’t you?
If you really loved me, you would.
Please, this year, let me do exactly what you couldn’t do last year.
Let me actually make my Roulette win count.
That’s not too much for me to ask, is it?
I’ll even make it worth your while after the match, if that’s what it’ll take for you to do right by me. After all I’ve done for you, the least you could do is accept that your time in the sun is setting with a little grace and humility. Or are you really so determined to become Angel Blake Junior that like that stubborn old git you won’t go out until somebody puts you out?
Please don’t make it be me.
I don’t want it to be me.
I mean it, no tricks, or smoke and mirrors here. I’m being completely genuine. You want me to take care of you, I’m willing, so let me. You’ve spent months asking me how you could make me happy and how you could fix us, and I know I’ve been brushing you off and insisting that I didn’t know the answer.
That’s not exactly true, hun.
I know exactly how we can fix this, but I also know you’re not going to like the answer. You’re not going to like any honest answer I give you. Not really. Not that I blame you for feeling that way. We’re both professional wrestlers, by design it’s not in our blood to lay down or give up, even when it really would be in our best interest to do exactly that.
Honestly, you could fix us in three seconds if you really wanted to.
Just lay back, let me mount you and put you out of your misery, Dean.
It’s really not hard, I promise I’ll be gentle, loving even.
Imagine it babe, just you and me, the world no longer between us. We can go back to how we were, you can come home. You and Damien both. I miss you both and I know you miss me. Please don’t make me tell our son that the reason Daddy can’t come home again is because fourteen pounds of gold and leather is more important to you than either me or him.
I really don’t think a boy who is barely five is ready for that kind of parental rejection.
It’s a fair trade when you really think about it Dean. I’m not asking for much, just one world for another. I’m being far more reasonable with you than the other undeserving bastards who want your head would be. Men like Chaney and Cannin see you as just another obstacle, only I’ve seen you as a person, Dean, flesh and blood.
Only I’ve been strong enough to embrace the monster inside you.
Only I’ve managed to tame the beast that haunts you.
Only I’ve seen you at your most human. I’ve held you tight, and I’ve kissed away all of your hurt more than once. I’ve caressed your scars without flinching, without revulsion. Any other opponent wouldn’t hesitate to beat you into submission, beloved, but only I know, and only I understand that that will do neither of us any favours.
I don’t want to hurt you, I never did.
All I want is your love and your submission.
You’ve already given me your mind, heart, body and soul, so why not your title as well?
If it’s because you believe I don’t deserve it, well then I have to ask what did I do to deserve your loyalty and devotion that I haven’t done to deserve your World Championship?
We’re still married, Dean and that means when I become Champion again, that belt still comes home with you. All that really changes is who gets to wear it in our post match celebration. You remember those, don’t you, Darling?
We had so much fun, didn’t we?
You’d give anything for us to be that happy again, wouldn’t you?
Those days aren’t over. We can feel great again, together.
All you have to do is swallow a little pride and make me look like your equal on Sunday. You married me because you considered me an equal in our personal life, now all I’m asking is that you please extend me that personal privilege to also include professional courtesy.
You can do that for me, can’t you, lover?
I know you can, you can do anything.
You have all the power here.
You can make us or you can break us, Dean.
I made a mistake by asking for a separation; I’m man enough to admit that, so let me make it up to you. Give me a chance to make it up to you, let me prove my worth as your better half both in and out of the ring.
I need this, babe.
In a perfect world, you wouldn’t be the only one who could validate my entire career in one night, but cruel fate has left us no other choice. You can lift me up proudly or you can cast me down once more. Our record against each other is about as lopsided as it can get. Surely you’ve had your fun embarrassing and humiliating me at every turn now.
All I’m asking for is this one win.
It took you three Roulettes to win one, whereas it took me fucking seven. On those numbers alone you’re the better wrestler. I’ve never been able to keep you down, isn’t just knowing that enough for your ego and professional pride, Sweetness?
Let’s be real honey, you beating me changes nothing, but me beating you changes everything. You have nothing to lose and I have everything to gain. In the grand scheme of things, things will run so much smoother for us if you just listen to me and do the smart thing.
At the end of the day, I’m not asking you to sacrifice anything that I haven’t given up several times already. Only last year in fact I was forced to sit on the sidelines and watch you fumble your Night of the Immortals main event. I remember how torn up you were about not being able to prove yourself to your father under the most brilliant spotlight we are ever afforded as competitors in this crazy business.
Are you really so cruel as to inflict the same pain that Angel put you through?
Or do you actually love me as much as you want me to believe you do?
Well, here’s your chance to prove it, sunshine.
Make me a believer in the love of my life again.
Stand by your words and show me I mean more to you than yet another win.
Lose this match or lose me forever.
How much do I really mean to you, anyway?
We’re about to find out, because the choice is yours, Dean.
Now be a good boy and make the right one, won’t you?
So please, Dean, let me help you.
Let me shoulder the burden, for once. You’ve carried that World Championship on four separate occasions now, and I won’t deny that this is by some considerable margin your single best reign to date. When we meet on Sunday it will be your 208th day as Champion.
The best I ever managed was 150 days or so on my first go around.
True, it’s taken you four reigns to really find your groove as the best professional wrestler in the world today, but the fact remains, you made it in the end. I’m so unbelievably proud of you, baby.
Really, I am.
You’ve done incredibly well, walking your father’s footsteps and representing his legacy, but now it’s somebody else’s turn at the wheel. Now it’s my turn at the top of the mountain. I want to make you as proud of me as I am of you, bunnykins.
You can understand that, can’t you?
If you really loved me, you would.
Please, this year, let me do exactly what you couldn’t do last year.
Let me actually make my Roulette win count.
That’s not too much for me to ask, is it?
I’ll even make it worth your while after the match, if that’s what it’ll take for you to do right by me. After all I’ve done for you, the least you could do is accept that your time in the sun is setting with a little grace and humility. Or are you really so determined to become Angel Blake Junior that like that stubborn old git you won’t go out until somebody puts you out?
Please don’t make it be me.
I don’t want it to be me.
I mean it, no tricks, or smoke and mirrors here. I’m being completely genuine. You want me to take care of you, I’m willing, so let me. You’ve spent months asking me how you could make me happy and how you could fix us, and I know I’ve been brushing you off and insisting that I didn’t know the answer.
That’s not exactly true, hun.
I know exactly how we can fix this, but I also know you’re not going to like the answer. You’re not going to like any honest answer I give you. Not really. Not that I blame you for feeling that way. We’re both professional wrestlers, by design it’s not in our blood to lay down or give up, even when it really would be in our best interest to do exactly that.
Honestly, you could fix us in three seconds if you really wanted to.
Just lay back, let me mount you and put you out of your misery, Dean.
It’s really not hard, I promise I’ll be gentle, loving even.
Imagine it babe, just you and me, the world no longer between us. We can go back to how we were, you can come home. You and Damien both. I miss you both and I know you miss me. Please don’t make me tell our son that the reason Daddy can’t come home again is because fourteen pounds of gold and leather is more important to you than either me or him.
I really don’t think a boy who is barely five is ready for that kind of parental rejection.
It’s a fair trade when you really think about it Dean. I’m not asking for much, just one world for another. I’m being far more reasonable with you than the other undeserving bastards who want your head would be. Men like Chaney and Cannin see you as just another obstacle, only I’ve seen you as a person, Dean, flesh and blood.
Only I’ve been strong enough to embrace the monster inside you.
Only I’ve managed to tame the beast that haunts you.
Only I’ve seen you at your most human. I’ve held you tight, and I’ve kissed away all of your hurt more than once. I’ve caressed your scars without flinching, without revulsion. Any other opponent wouldn’t hesitate to beat you into submission, beloved, but only I know, and only I understand that that will do neither of us any favours.
I don’t want to hurt you, I never did.
All I want is your love and your submission.
You’ve already given me your mind, heart, body and soul, so why not your title as well?
If it’s because you believe I don’t deserve it, well then I have to ask what did I do to deserve your loyalty and devotion that I haven’t done to deserve your World Championship?
We’re still married, Dean and that means when I become Champion again, that belt still comes home with you. All that really changes is who gets to wear it in our post match celebration. You remember those, don’t you, Darling?
We had so much fun, didn’t we?
You’d give anything for us to be that happy again, wouldn’t you?
Those days aren’t over. We can feel great again, together.
All you have to do is swallow a little pride and make me look like your equal on Sunday. You married me because you considered me an equal in our personal life, now all I’m asking is that you please extend me that personal privilege to also include professional courtesy.
You can do that for me, can’t you, lover?
I know you can, you can do anything.
You have all the power here.
You can make us or you can break us, Dean.
I made a mistake by asking for a separation; I’m man enough to admit that, so let me make it up to you. Give me a chance to make it up to you, let me prove my worth as your better half both in and out of the ring.
I need this, babe.
In a perfect world, you wouldn’t be the only one who could validate my entire career in one night, but cruel fate has left us no other choice. You can lift me up proudly or you can cast me down once more. Our record against each other is about as lopsided as it can get. Surely you’ve had your fun embarrassing and humiliating me at every turn now.
All I’m asking for is this one win.
It took you three Roulettes to win one, whereas it took me fucking seven. On those numbers alone you’re the better wrestler. I’ve never been able to keep you down, isn’t just knowing that enough for your ego and professional pride, Sweetness?
Let’s be real honey, you beating me changes nothing, but me beating you changes everything. You have nothing to lose and I have everything to gain. In the grand scheme of things, things will run so much smoother for us if you just listen to me and do the smart thing.
At the end of the day, I’m not asking you to sacrifice anything that I haven’t given up several times already. Only last year in fact I was forced to sit on the sidelines and watch you fumble your Night of the Immortals main event. I remember how torn up you were about not being able to prove yourself to your father under the most brilliant spotlight we are ever afforded as competitors in this crazy business.
Are you really so cruel as to inflict the same pain that Angel put you through?
Or do you actually love me as much as you want me to believe you do?
Well, here’s your chance to prove it, sunshine.
Make me a believer in the love of my life again.
Stand by your words and show me I mean more to you than yet another win.
Lose this match or lose me forever.
How much do I really mean to you, anyway?
We’re about to find out, because the choice is yours, Dean.
Now be a good boy and make the right one, won’t you?
Well howdy there pardner.