Things aren't going well for Wade or Heath this particular night, Heath watching backstage as Wade loses his Money in the Bank qualifying match. He grimaces, turning back to the other members of 3MB and trying to follow along with their conversation... when they go to the ring. Barely a minute has passed before The Shield comes out. Heath sneers and tries to be his usual, egotistical self, but nothing helps as Roman, Seth and Dean take control quickly and he tries, and fails to escape up the ramp.

All he remembers afterwards is burning pain in his midsection, and the scramble and exclamations of voices as they check on him, Drew and Jinder, and help them backstage. It's clear, to him at any rate, when Wade arrives on the scene, the abrupt shift of bodies surrounding Heath to allow him in, his voice low and annoyed as he leans over Heath and snaps at him. "Wake up!"

Heath grunts and forces his eyes open, staring at Wade. "What the hell, man..." Wade shakes his hand in front of him, waiting with a grimace until he takes it, pulling him up to his feet. "Ow. Ow." Almost bending in half as he grabs at his midsection, Wade thankfully waits until he looks up, the two of them staring at each other.

"Shit show of a night," Wade sighs, his temper showing just in the first word alone. Wade rarely curses beyond British slang. Heath squints at him and nods, gritting his teeth as Wade draws him upright and draws an arm over his shoulders. "Mahal and McIntyre are fine," he says when Heath hesitates. "Just a little bruised. Come on."

Finally allowing himself to get dragged away, Heath sighs and buries his face in Wade's shoulder as he leads him down to the locker room. Depositing him on the nearest bench, Wade finds his bag and zips it up roughly before nudging the other bags surrounding them. "Which is yours?"

"Over in the corner," Heath grunts. Wade looks up and finally spots it, trudging over and pulling it to rest next to his own. "We leavin'?"

"Yes." He grabs Heath under the arm and drags him upright.

"Man, ya ain't gotta manhandle me so much," Heath grunts, trying and failing to pull away. "Just gotta ask me to get up, I'd get up."

Wade's about to snap at him when he sees the tense way he's carrying himself still, his eyes squinted in leftover pain. "I'm sorry," he sighs. "Come on." They walk, slowly, side by side to the exit, both eager to get back to the hotel and rest for awhile.

After a short, steaming hot shower, Heath finds himself in bed, floating somewhere between awake and asleep, the stabbing pain in his ribs every time he breathes keeping him from completely drifting away. Likewise, Wade is wide awake next to him, the moment he'd lost his best chance at the Money in the Bank briefcase replaying again and again in his mind. He's just released another angry grunt when Heath stirs and rolls over, nuzzling into his side. He sighs and wraps an arm around him, closing his eyes.

"Like ya said," Heath mumbles sleepily, "what a shit show today was."

Wade nods slowly and presses a kiss to his forehead. "This is better though."

"Yeah, it is." Heath grunts. "But I can't sleep... too sore." Heath's words fade into a soft little whisper when Wade's fingers press into his sides and lightly massage, his voice turning into a whimper before long.

"Does that hurt?" he whispers, worried that he's doing more harm than good.

"No, don't stop," Heath groans softly. "Please..."

"I won't," Wade promises, rubbing circles against his flesh until Heath has all but melted against him, slowly falling asleep. With one last burst of energy, he leans up and kisses Wade on the mouth, smiling dozily at him. "What was that for?"

"'Cause you take such good care'a me," Heath offers. "And'a Boodah. Just wanted ta say thanks. And you're gonna be ok, with or without that briefcase. You'll see."

Wade smiles and kisses him between his eyes before drawing him back down so he can sleep more comfortably. "G'night, Heath."

"G'night, Wade."