Welcome Home

“I can do it, Pauly! Just stay right there!”

Paul laid flat on his back, watching his younger brother from the middle of their trampoline, anxious and concerned as Hayes followed each clumsy step with another up their father’s six-foot step ladder.

“Dude, I don’t think this is a good idea…”

“I can do it! Just like Tsonda!”

“Shit…” Paul muttered under his breath.

Younger Brother had made it to the top of the wooden step ladder, white socks cautiously finding grip at the very top. Mom’s hairspray had helped to style his dark hair, as close as he could to match the Sultan of Style’s.

“Hayes,” Paul pleaded, heart pounding inside his chest. “C’mon, man.”

“Trust me!”

Arms reaching out, the dark eyes of the youngest Hanlon sibling grew wide, the ladder shifting under his weight, fighting for balance.

Big Brother’s eyes darted from the wobbling legs of the ladder, to the shaky legs of his brother.

“I’m the Model Citizen!”

And then, the leap.

Hayes jumped back from the ladder top, whipping his head behind, doing his best to arch his youthful body mid-air to replicate the moonsault.

But the ladder had failed, and his jump only pushed it away, leaving him unbalanced and awkward in the air, twisting and plummeting head-first toward the springs of the trampoline.

“HAYES!”

Paul flung himself from the trampoline’s mesh, fighting for grip against the bouncy surface. But too late.

Far too late.

The back of Younger Brother’s head clipped the steel ring of the trampoline’s frame, folding him in half like a lawn chair with a sickening clang before he rag-dolled to the grass of their front lawn.

“SHIT SHIT SHIT!”

Paul scratched and clambered, throwing himself over the edge and onto the lawn, scrambling to the limp body of his brother, finding him with eyes closed and shaking him at the shoulders.

“Hayes!? HAYES!!!”

You know, it really bums me out that we haven’t met yet, Chandler.

A year and a half ago, I probably would have found any reason to find you backstage. Chandler Tsonda. PRIME Hall of Famer. Longest reigning Universal Champion. You’re someone I should have played “fanboy” for during my first year in the ReVival.

But I gotta be honest.

I wish you hadn’t.

“...Hayes?”

He lurched from his trance, blinking twice from the cheap pleather chair. The youngest Hanlon turned his dark-eyed gaze over his shoulder, finding his father leaning into the doorway.

“You alright, son?”

“I’m good, pops,” he said, turning his head away. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

Gregory offered a nod, and signaled his exit with a pat against the door frame.

“Hey, dad?”

The Father paused.

“Is she still here?”

A heavy sigh from the Hanlon patriarch.

“Yeah, son. She is.”

The Son’s turn to reply with a nod.

“Take your time,” said Gregory, stepping into the hallway and walking off.

Hayes leaned forward in his chair, turning his attention back to the man he joined at bedside. A broad brick of a man, long black hair spread out against his pillow. Black beard flowing onto his chest. A massive chest only drawing breath thanks to a ventilator in his throat.

Grandpa.

The winter break was anything but. His victory over Jared Sykes at Colossus felt hollow; tainted by what the media was calling “the incident on Skyline Drive.” The four week break was hell on the Hanlon family, as they were barraged constantly by journalists and reporters, exacerbated by the fame Hayes was earning in PRIME.

Olivia had found herself in court very quickly after careening her Mercedes into her grandfather, and there she remained, facing manslaughter charges. Fortunately, all signs pointed to self defense thanks to a mountain of evidence via Ring doorbell camera footage. Long and oppressive as the legal system was, Older Sister was looking free and clear of any charges.

Paul’s drug addiction only took a turn for the worse after his grandfather pressed a gun against his head, and the media storm only pushed him further down k-holes and tainted acid trips.

Gregory had only grown more distant from his wife, as the truth of her lies had become public knowledge in West Linn, Oregon. He took advantage though; it was rare for all three of his children to be within arms reach for such an extended period of time, and he had used that time as a distraction from the mess that represented his wife and her father.

And Sofia, unrelenting as always, was forced to stand in the spotlight of the lies she admitted to on Skyline Drive, knowing they were outside the reach of the law.

Somewhat ironically, Hayes found himself not as the focal point of his family’s drama, but on the outskirts. The old man in the hospital bed, somehow dodging any gray in his hair, was all but a stranger, but at the same to so, SO familiar to him. Everyone had said how much Hayes looked like his grandfather, and there he was. Barely breathing. Like staring into a mirror that showed him what the future held.

A grandfather, that Hayes had said a total of seven words to.

Like…

“Grandpa?”

And..

“FUCK, MAN! LET HIM GO!”

And…

“NO!!!!!”

And oddly enough, the steady beeps of the EKG monitor were strangely soothing to Hayes; a rhythm he hadn’t felt after the chaos of his family, or the previous year of PRIME”s ReVival.

Beeps that represented some sort of hope. That his grandfather would pull through, and offer more truth to his family’s story, that felt everyday more like fiction.

But Hayes knew better.

And instead, leaned in close to the ear of the Grandfather.

“I want you to know I don’t blame you,” Hayes said quietly.

He waited, but not sure for what. Those words felt like a trigger. Like an angry mob would burst through the door and lynch him right there in that hospital room.

But the mob didn’t come. So he continued.

“I’ve known it for so. Long, grandpa. About the truth of my mother. Your daughter. I don’t blame you for wanting to destroy everything, anything, that she was a part of.”

Hayes sat back, his broad back landing heavily into the fake leather of the chair.

“I wish I was given the chance to know you.”

The beeps of the EKG, and the forced breaths of The Grandfather, worked in tandem to break the silence of the room. Hayes wiped his mustache, then turned a sharp eye to the unconscious face of Toby Castellanos.

“But…”

Hayes drew a sharp breath into his nose, and curled his lips.

“But you used my brother, he seethed through a whisper. “My BROTHER. To get to HER.”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“And I can’t forgive you for that.”

Lifting his eyes to the ceiling, Hayes exhaled long and deep, before leaning in close to his grandfather’s ear one more time.

He whispered;

“And I hope you can find a way to die for that.”

You’re a legend, man. A legend I wish had stayed dead and gone. I know that’s weird coming from me. Even now, in all my new Glue Glory, I still look at the Old Guard like warriors old, that you only read in dusty tomes in forgotten libraries. Nova. Youngblood. Hessian. 

You.

Or at least it used to be you.

But no. You decided you haaaaad to come back And by doing that…

…you ruined everything.

The walk from his grandfather’s room in the ICU to the hospital waiting room felt like a long, heavy mile.

And as he rounded the final corner, the image of his mother, sat one chair removed from his father, would haunt him for years to come.

She stood immediately, clutching her brown duster around her thin frame. Her sharp features looked like dull razors as her youngest son approached, hands tucked into his gray hoodie.

“Hayes…” she forced.

“Was any of it true?”

His question struck like a stiff slap to the jaw. Her blue eyes vibrated in their sockets, but she kept her chin high.

“I don’t know what you mean…”

“Any of it?” he doubled down, pulling his hands from his pockets and holding them out wide. “Anything you said while we were growing up?”

Sofia’s lip shifted, threatening to respond, but her son interrupted her in that dull, gray waiting room.

“Because, mom…I don’t think I ever believed any of it.”

Daggers to the heart of any mother.

“I think I knew in my gut, even when I was a little kid, that you were a liar.”

His mustache shifted as those hammering words fell from his lips, driving the daggers deeper while Sofia’s blue eyes began to shimmer.

He whispered. “And I was right. Wasn’t I.”

“Hayes,” Gregory interjected, placing a hand on his chair’s armrest to push himself from the seat.

“Don’t,” Hayes interrupted, pointing a sharp finger at his father, but keeping his dark eyes on The Mother.

“You lied to him, too. Didn’t you,” he spat. “When you said your vows?”

Sofia’s lips pursed, hot air pushing through her nostrils.

“And you lied to me, too. Didn’t you. Every time you somehow managed to say ‘I love you.’”

“Hayes,” Gregory pressed.

“DON’T!!” he bellowed, his voice carrying off the waiting room walls.

A long, heavy silence.

“And did you lie to me again,” Hayes asked, taking a step forward toward his mother. “When I came home last April? When you said I was “already a greater young man than he could have ever hoped to be”?

“Hayes. Please. Listen to me…”

“No.”

Sofia Hanlon’s youngest breathed quickly through his nose. To her credit, her heels stayed glued to the waiting room floor as he stepped forward…

“Don’t worry. I’m going to take care of Paul now.”

…and she trembled at the words that fell into her ear after:

“... and I hope I never see you again.”

Sofia and Gregory’s third child offered a hard glare at his father as he b-lined out of the waiting room, disappearing down the hall and headed for the hospital exit.

Only after she was absolutely sure that he was gone, did Sofia let herself fall into her chair…

…and sob into her hands.

A while back, FLAMBERGE said I could be a “threshing hoof grinder.”

A Thresher of Hooves.

And when I look back, I guess I am. Look at some of my big wins.

Dusk. Garbage Bag Johnny. The Anglo Luchador.

Ivan Stanislav. Twice.

Jared Sykes. King Blueberry himself.

And now, maybe you?

But man, I wish it wasn’t. Because you ruined everything by coming back.

Because you’re in the HALL, Tsonda. You’re one of the myths. The LEGENDS. The Sultan of Style from my youth. The Viet Viper. The longest reigning Universal Champion in PRIME history.

And you came back.

To be mediocre. And accept the Alias Title as something to be proud of.

And man, that pisses. Me. OFF. 

You betrayed the 11 year old Hayes.

And I don’t think I can forgive you for that.

“...Hayes?”

Younger Brother didn’t let the Older’s exhausted murmur keep his eyes from the road ahead. Paul pulled his skull from the window, rubbing his eyes between thumb and forefinger, blinking to get his bearings.

“Fuck, man. My head is killing me.”

“You’ll be alright,” said Hayes, winding his way along the Willamette river near their home of West Linn, Oregon.

“Man I hope so,” Paul replied, sweeping his messy black hair from his eyes, crossing his arms in the passenger seat while bloodshot eyes tried to gain focus through the windshield.

“Bro, where are we going?” asked Paul as Hayes turned off of Salamo Road and onto 10th street.

“Don’t worry, man,” said Hayes, coldly. “It’s gonna be good for you.”

Paul’s brown eyes darted, confused, as his younger brother turned his white Audi from 10th street, and onto 8th Avenue.

“Bro. Hayes,” he said, head whipping left to right, searching for answers through the windows.

“It’s alright, Pauly,” said Hayes, taking a left. And then another.

“Bro. Bro, what the fuc…”

Paul’s heart sank as they pulled up to the entrance of a modest, blue-painted building. The entranced bordered by brick;

The sign made him want to puke all over the dashboard.

Riverbend Addiction Rehab Center

“No…” Paul whispered, eyes wide like saucers. Hands scratching for the release to his seatbelt.

“Pauly,” Hayes said softly.

“NO!!!” Paul screeched, ripping at the door handle. “YOU CAN’T FUCKING DO THIS TO ME, MAN!!”

“C’MON, PAULY!” Hayes hollered, his eyes already glistening. “LOOK AT WHAT’S HAPPENING TO YOU, MAN!”

“Fuck you, dude. FUCK! YOU!”

“IT’S GONNA KILL YOU, BRO!!” Hayes roared, slamming his fist against the center console. Paul inhaled and exhaled manically, nearly hyperventilating; trapped in his brother’s car. An addict, staring down the nightmare of sobriety.

“And I can’t watch that, man…” said Hayes, breaking the silence through broken breath.

“You hypocrite…” Paul seethed. “You fucking. HYPOCRITE!”

“I KNOW, MAN!!!” Hayes bellowed, gripping Paul by the shoulder like a vice, shaking him hard. “I KNOW! BUT DON’T MAKE ME WATCH YOU DIE!!”

Tears flowed freely from Paul’s face, his gangly frame hunched over and heaving in the passenger’s seat.

“I hate you, man,” he cried, body bucking from the sobs. “I fucking hate you, Hayes.”

“I know,” Hayes whispered, fighting the choke in his throat, rubbing his older brother’s back.

“I hate myself, too.”

I wish this match was different, Chandler. It deserves a brighter spotlight. A younger Hayes used to dream about a match with the Model Citizen. I guess a mid-card spot will have to do.

It was a tough year for me last year. I wanted to hold onto that belt tight. For a long time.

But the Old Guard just HAD to come and take it from me.

So, this feels like an opportunity. To show the world, to show PRIME, that I'm not here to be a fanboy of the ReVolution era anymore.

I'm here for now, and what's to come. Maybe that's me. Maybe I'M the ReVival.

And if I'm gonna be the Thresher of Hooves, maybe it's my job to stomp out the ReVolution. And man, that absolutely breaks my heart. But if that's how it's gotta be, then maybe I'm glad you came back after all.

Welcome home.

“HAYES!!”

Younger Brother’s eyes fluttered open from their lawn, and Paul breathed deep in relief.

“What…what happened, Pauly?” asked Hayes, stirring against the grass.

“Dude. DUDE. I thought you died, man!”

Paul rolled to the ground, lying next to his brother, breathing heavy sighs of relief while Hayes sat up, rubbing the back of his head.

“Did I hit it?” asked Hayes. “Did I hit the Model Citizen?”

“Yeah, Hayes,” said Paul, laughing through his heavy breaths.

“You hit it clean.”