A/N: Alright, my lovelies, how could I NOT write Ambrollins fanfic after tonight? I think the only good part about SummerSlam was Seth and Dean winning the tag team titles. I cranked this out with a heart full of feels and anxiety to get this story finished before I had to go to sleep, so sorry if it's too fluffy and not...meaty, I guess? I promise, deeper Ambrollins fics are in the future. I'm so happy for our boys tonight! Without further ado...let's go~

"No matter what happens, I'm proud of you."

Dean Ambrose flashed a cocky smile at his teammate Seth Rollins. "What are you talking about, 'no matter what happens'? This match is mine."

Seth didn't look too sure. Amazing! Did he not know how truly talented Dean was in the ring? "I'm just saying," Seth said, hopping off the bench to step closer to his Shield partner. "Anything can happen out there. I just…"

"RVD's got nothing on me, baby," Dean sang, hip-dancing in place. "Trust me. I know what I'm doing."

Dean would never forget this—Seth reached over and took his gloved hand in a squeeze. The tough, protective material couldn't keep out the warmth of his feel.

"No matter what happens," Seth repeated, pulling his hand away but maintaining total eye contact with his…friend? Brother? More than that…?

His Ambrose.

"I'm proud of you."

Dean beamed. "I'm proud of you, too."

"Eh, I haven't done much yet. It's only the pre-show."

Dean tapped Seth's shoulder, wondering if he had that same "warm-'n-fuzzies" impact that Rollins had on him. "You got my back out there, though."

"Always will, Dean. Let's go."

Had that really been…Dean recalled the year in his head…four years ago?

Now here he sat at the Barclays Center in New York, meditating. Going in and out of his mind to process ideas, offensive techniques, defensive techniques, weak points in Sheamus and Cesaro he could exploit…while figuring out his own so he could protect himself. He was alone here. The night progressed, SummerSlam 2017, and it was brutal out there. Titles were lost left and right, men and women…

What did this mean for him?

For them?

And he did not just mean the tag team championships on the line.

What did this mean for…

Dean glanced across the locker room, feeling alone.

But not quite as alone as he had…recalling the year…

Three years ago. Three SummerSlams back, when…

Staring across the ring, snarling, murder in his blue eyes.

Seth Rollins was such a dick.

He was across the way, so easy to attack from here, but he had to wait. Wait for the bell, for his shot…a year ago this man had been proud of him, and now they were at war. Dean breathed hard through his nose, in and out, an animal, a lunatic they'd dubbed him, wanting war.

The ring was surrounded by superstars, the good and the bad, even a few uglies. The ugliest superstar of them all was a few feet away.

Dean wanted blood.

His heart was in pieces, even still, the splinters of it slicing his soul.

'I'll kill you for what you did.'

Thrice the bell rang.

"Let's go!" Seth roared.

Dean attacked.

"Dean."

Ambrose was shaken from his memory by a voice. He was no longer alone, and a bit started. Seth was grinning at him. It was not pompous nor ugly nor spiteful. It was Seth Rollins, his…friend? Is that what they were now, after…

"You ready?"

Dean lifted from the bench, chuckling at the lame joke he'd thought of a few minutes ago. "Well, one of us is gonna have to change."

Seth laughed. It was signature, dubbed the "Waluigi laugh" by fans all over social media. "Ain't gonna be me. Red's a good color on me."

It sure is. Dean scolded the thought.

The space between them was filled as Seth took an awkward step forward, hands clasped behind his back as though he was guilty of something. "So."

He's gonna say it. Dean sucked in a big breath. No matter what happens…

"This is it, huh?"

And he deflated. No. Surely Seth didn't remember that night. "Yeah. Guess so."

Seth's eyes skipped away from him, observing walls, the floor, bays of locker. Anything but him. "Feels good to be back."

"Yeah." The small talk was suffocating him.

"You okay?"

"Sure." Dean turned around, perceiving a tremble in his muscles. No. Don't freak out. It's just another night, another match. What we had, we can't get back. We just…don't work. But they had to. Tonight. Card said so.

And Dean was smashing his hopes before they flew too high and took him to space.

"You're not okay."

"I'm fine, dude. Really." Do you remember anything about us? Good, bad, ugly…

"Alright, well. I'm gonna go check out the end of Balor's match. 'Bout time someone freaks Bray Wyatt out for once."

Dean smiled but Seth couldn't see him. He was still turned around. "Yeah."

"Get more words in your vocabulary, lunatic."

Am I so willing to put my heart out on the line—?

Seth slinked out of the locker room and the door was closing as Dean made himself turn around. His head was full of thoughts off tonight, far from it, his mind riding a DeLorean back in time once more to two SummerSlams ago…

I hope John Cena breaks your face.

Dean Ambrose frowned at the thought. He and Seth would not cross paths tonight, not in the ring, and certainly not backstage if the bastard knew what was good for him. He and Roman Reigns, all he had left in this business, were facing the Wyatts tonight. Bray made the mistake of getting under Roman's skin. Dean was happy to retaliate alongside his brother. Who else could get under Roman's skin so easily? Dean himself.

Also, Seth Rollins.

But fuck him. Fuck that blonde-and-brown-haired weasel. He was dead to Dean, practically nonexistent on the card. Didn't matter that Seth was up for TWO titles tonight. Didn't matter at all. Seth didn't matter. He wasn't worth crying over…again.

Dean was done with that drama.

Almost past it.

Almost…

He'd tear through all the Wyatts tonight and pretend he wasn't hurt.

Roman put his hand on Dean's shoulder. "You ready?"

"Yeah."

"Let's go."

Ready or not, here they came. Matching outfits and all.

It was Seth's idea, the humorous little architect, who wanted to mock Sheamus and Cesaro every way possible. The challengers strolled to the ring in the utmost confidence. Dean wanted this, he did. Whether it was side by side with Seth, or…anyone else, maybe, possibly not…he wanted the gold. Needed it. Missed it. Gold, gold, this is what tonight was about. Winning. Gold.

And, sure, yeah. The man standing right next to him.

The man he'd gotten ice cream with after the show, four SummerSlams ago.

The man he'd dreamed of punching in the face instead of counting sheep when he went to sleep, three SummerSlams ago.

The man he considered done and dead and none of his business. Drained of feelings and the ability to care, only to envy. Two SummerSlams ago.

Dean scaled the apron. Seth did the same.

Who was this man anymore?

And then…last year…

Seth Rollins was hard to ignore.

Tearing his knee to shreds last November. Missing for ages. Dean tried to ignore it. Hurt for the guy, sure. Didn't miss him.

Seth Rollins returning to the ring to challenge Roman Reigns for the title.

Then things got…complicated.

Hitting him again just felt strange. Most unusual, given Dean's previous loathing for the guy, but Rollins was nothing but an opponent now. Anyone else on the roster, he would have hit the exact same way. Even when Rollins and Dean ganged up on Roman—sorry, bud, business first—it felt strange.

Once more Dean and Seth had nothing to do with each other at this pay-per-view. SummerSlam 2016 featured Rollins and Balor for one title and Ambrose and Ziggler for another. Two separate worlds they lived in, and Dean was fine. Not great. Not terrible, certainly not as damaged as he'd been a couple of years ago. He just absolutely didn't care anymore.

Dean retained his title and headed to the back.

Crossing paths with Rollins along the way.

Dean paused, to let him pass. Seth did the same.

It was uncomfortable. Dean didn't recognize the man standing next to him. He looked different now, and not just because his hair had changed.

"Good job," Seth said. All he said.

And he left Dean alone to gasp as his heart falling into his stomach.

Stitches have a funny way of coming undone when you don't properly take care of them.

Scars have their way of showing up and burning at certain triggers.

Crazy match.

Seth was hurt. He looked it, or he was faking for theatrics. Either way Dean wanted to pounce. His face was sweating and his hair was a mess. His heart was going haywire.

The man you once loved is hurt. He needs you.

Dean licked his salty lips.

The man you once hated is hurt. Let him go.

But Dean had let him go! That was the irony! A year or so ago, this man was a stranger! A black-haired, belt-less stranger! So why the hell was his mind pried open to thoughts and memories of the past that wrecked him as badly as they soothed him?

The man you don't love anymore needs you.

The man you don't hate anymore is your equal.

Seth reached for Dean's hand. He was weak.

Dean felt huffy.

Maybe this wasn't about gold.

Maybe this was about him and Seth…

Seth Rollins had publicly apologized to Dean Ambrose.

No, worse, much worse. He handed Dean a goddamn chair and begged Dean in anger to strike him. Dean hadn't, of course—that was not his level—but Seth had somehow wrangled his heart into hand again and now he was just toying with it. Pressing buttons to see what would happen.

Right? That's all this was. Rollins was a coward and a bastard and wasn't really sorry…

Right?

Then they'd saved each other.

In the weeks to follow, Rollins saved his ass and Ambrose saved his.

What did it make them? Not even the WWE universe could decipher that one.

Friends? Brothers? More than that? Less than that? Nothing at all? Tag team partners? Family, again?

Dean didn't know what to think anymore. Tell me who you are, Rollins.

He needed closure. Immediately. 'Tell me who you are and what you plan to do to me. Hurt me, huh? Trick me and then stab me in the back? Or are you someone I haven't seen in years?'

Dean hadn't counted on Seth hurting him, but it happened.

Then again, Dean hadn't counted on Roman hurting him. Ever. And the two weren't even speaking anymore.

His feelings were wild, up in the air, and here and now he had to decide what he wanted to do about them.

'Can I afford to let him in again?'

Dean gasped.

A pin. The count. One! Two! Three!

The bell.

They'd done it. They'd won the tag team titles.

The universe exploded for them. Dean cried, of course. Seth was ecstatic. Dean welcomed the familiar weight of the heavy title as his arm was lifted and he and Seth were declared winners and the new Raw tag team champions.

Life's funny sometimes.

Seth talked his ear off down the ramp and backstage. "We did it, we freaking did it, dude!" He was hopping like a bunny, bounding down the corridor and almost off the walls. Suddenly he was exhausted, and he huffed, "Holy shit. I still can't believe it. What a match!"

Dean smiled. He was weary, too. For more than one reason.

"If you say 'yeah', I'll punch you," Seth suddenly declared.

"Seth."

Seth blinked at him. "Yeah?"

Dean grinned. "Stole my line." What does this mean for us, Seth? Who are you?

"I say we go out and celebrate, dude." Seth wrapped his arms around Dean's shoulder, and there it was—warmth he hadn't felt in years. The tingles. The "feels", as many said. "You got the Grand Slam, buddy."

Are we buddies?

"You did it, Dean."

Who are we?

"I'm so goddamn proud of you."

He's proud of me. The words from so long ago chimed in his head. "No matter what happens, I'm proud of you."

The scars of his heart itched.

Scars have their way of showing up and burning at certain triggers.

Dean looked at Seth, his blue eyes suddenly filling with tears.

"What?" Seth asked, shocked.

The door opened.

And Dean hugged him, there in the middle of the hallway as several superstars had to veer around them to pass by.

Seth, clearly confused but equally as pleased, hugged him back.

Seth, the man Dean once loved.

You always had my back out there.

Rollins, the man Dean once hated.

You were worth suffering for.

Seth freaking Rollins, the man Dean still loved and could call his own for the first time in so very long.

You're my gold, Seth. Not the belts.

It'd hurt like hell not to have him. Even root-deep in denial, he knew it.

"I'm proud of you, too."

"Thanks, Ambrose."

His voice was warm in Dean's ear. In his heart.

"Alright, celebration time," Dean said, shaking himself of the warm and fuzzies for the time being. He took Seth's hand in his own—Seth, his tag team partner, his fellow champion, his best friend, his brother, maybe even more than that. Holding Seth, Dean found himself right at home.

"You're buying."

"Fine. Let's go."