Dean used to watch a lot of Cosmos. He learned all kinds of cool shit about the universe, and probably would've learned more if he didn't spend half the episodes drinking or falling asleep. One thing that stuck with him was the concept of the Big Bang—how an explosion created the universe, and how the universe is still expanding, and once the universe stretches as far as it can go, it'll start collapsing, and over the course of billions of years, the universe will draw back into itself like a pill bug, and then, nothing.
And that's kinda how Dean feels right now. Like the end of the Big Bang.
He walks backstage with no purpose for once because his purpose was to beat Seth at Summerslam. He didn't. His purpose was to go all Ghost Rider on Seth and make him suffer the pain he's inflicted on others once he turned corporate. He failed. Dean knows he will get a rematch, but fuck, what he wouldn't give right now to drive Seth's face into a jigsaw.
And as he's about to round a corner, Seth appears, heading in the opposite direction. He's shirtless, panting, still holding the Money in the Bank briefcase, and at first Dean is too stunned by his appearance to do the ol' jump-and-punch routine. But then he makes the mistake of looking directly into Seth's eyes, which he always thought were Seth's best feature.
Did you mean that, his eyes ask. Did you mean it when you said you love me.
And then he's grabbing—clawing Seth's face as he kisses him, as he backs him into the wall, as he cages Seth's body with his own. Seth is sweaty and he smells like garlic and it takes everything not to sob his relief when he hears the boom-thunk of the briefcase as it hits the floor and Seth cradles him close, fingers digging into his back.
And for a moment Dean feels the phantom of good memories. The 2AM drives through towns with names like Poverty Flats. The impromptu jam session with a busker outside of Rite Aid. The quiet mornings with coffee and donuts and hugs from behind and Seth's eyes like fucking whirlpools pulling him in.
And then it's not so much kissing as it is a desperate crash of mouths, a search for something no longer there, but goddamn it, they have to try. Except Seth doesn't try. His fingers sink, and then they surface, and then his hands glide up Dean's body and over his chest, and Dean knows what's coming and he'll be damned if he doesn't beat Seth on this count.
Dean breaks off the kiss, shoves Seth against the wall even though Seth has nowhere to go. They're catching their breath, and Dean can still feel the raw scrub of Seth's facial hair on his chin. Seth's cheeks are a pale red, and for some reason this pisses him off.
"I love you." Dean's voice wobbles, his breath shakes, and he feels his eyes and nose and mouth pinching, collapsing, Big Banging toward the middle of his face. "I love you, and I fucking hate you."
Seth sticks to the wall, hands braced against it like he's gonna keep it from toppling on them. His face isn't nearly as tight, his eyes and nose and mouth relaxed because he's an unapologetic asshole who would sell out his mom for a title shot. Seth looks at him again, and Seth used to comment on his blue eyes, and how he loved blue eyes, but he always thought Seth's eyes were dreamy, which wasn't a word he used in normal conversation or abnormal conversation but fuck, they were so dark, like looking into the end of the universe.
"I know," Seth says, and then he licks his lips.
He holds Seth's gaze for too many seconds, then turns his attention to the briefcase still on the floor. Dean picks it up before Seth can, holds it with both hands. Seth looks to him, then the briefcase, then him again, and now Seth's brow is pinching and Dean wants to fucking scream.
Dean shoves the briefcase into Seth's arms and walks away. The universe is still getting sucked into nothingness, but he can't feel it. He can't feel a goddamn thing.