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"Just try it, they said. It'll be fun, they said," Seth Rollins mutters as he skulks through the mercifully abandoned concrete hallways of a annoyingly familiar yet nondescript arena. "Just a short jump, Capt'n. Just a brief stop back to fix what went wrong."
He was supposed to be in Dublin, Ireland, November 4, 2015, a few hours before the house show that would tear his right ACL, MCL and medial meniscus, lose him his title and put him out of commission for months. No, strike that. He was supposed to be hanging out with Xavier Woods, Big E and Kofi Kingston at an UpUpDownDown-tournament in August 2016, giving them shit, because time machines aren't supposed to be an actual thing.
Instead, he's somewhere that’s neither Dublin nor November 2015. He knows this, because he's already had to dodge Ryback in the hallway, and Ryback hasn't been signed to the WWE for ages. He was relieved to find Hunter, but Hunter looked annoyed, called him Brandon (like Brandon would ever be this fit, hello, has he seen him?), told him family members weren't allowed at this part of the arena and tried to get security to escort him out. Seth had to talk fast and dodge into a supply closet to get away.
He doesn't know if it'd be better or worse if he were in his wrestling gear. On one hand, it would make it look like he belongs here. On the other hand, he might run into someone who knows him better than this version of Hunter seems to do, and what wrestler could he be when he’s not himself? The roster's not that big. People would notice.
He's just decided to find someplace comfortable to sit tight and wait for Xavier to bring him back when he hears familiar voices coming from the end of the hallway, and just like that Seth knows exactly when and where he is.
"-not gonna work. Because someone had to steal my fucking tape-"
"I wouldn't have had to steal your tape if you hadn’t made us late again with all your-"
"Hey, hey, guys, focus!” He’s used to hearing his own voice on tv, but some of the weirdness never wears off. This feels exactly the same. Seth remembers this moment, both this fight and the match that follows. What he doesn’t remember is sounding that young and that desperate. "C'mon, we’re on in like ten minutes! Stop bickering, grow a pair, and focus on what matters."
"We wouldn't need to bicker if that jackass had left my tape in the bag like-"
"Oh my god, I'll buy you some goddamned tape!” Seth snaps. "I'll fill your whole damn bag with tape. Now shut up about it and listen!"
Seth rolls his eyes and backs away. He doesn’t need to relive this particular fight. He already knows how it goes, knows that in a little while they’ll go out there, their teamwork will be off, and he’ll end up tapping out against Daniel Bryan, thereby ending a perfect undefeated streak of six man tag team matches, not counting the DQ loss like a month earlier, because why the fuck would anyone count that?
It still stings, that tapout. That after all Reigns and Ambrose’s bitching and moaning and pissing around, he was the one to break.
After the match, Dean and Roman will head on out for beers, and Seth will stay behind, too mad to talk, disappointment thick and churning in his gut. He’ll hide out in their out-of-the-way locker room until the arena is empty but for stage hands, and then he’ll shower and take a long walk back to the hotel, while replaying every minute of the match in his head, trying to determine what they should have done differently.
There’s not much Seth can do about the match tonight, not without staging a straight up intervention. And he’s familiar enough with time travel stories to know how well that’s likely to go. With his luck, that loss would probably turn out to be the catalyst that sets him to the road of winning the World Heavyweight Championship some two years later, or some stupid shit like that. But what he can do is be there for himself at a time when no one else is. He knows exactly what it feels like to be forced to tap out when you know that you’re that much better than the other guy. After all, no one knows Seth Rollins like Seth Rollins.
Exactly forty-three minutes later the match is over and Roman and Dean have cleared out like the cowards they are, leaving their teammate alone to figure out where the hell they went wrong. He pushes up the door to the locker room and strolls right in. ”Hey, Seth."
He remembers this room. He remembers the scent of stale sweat and fancy conditioner, the lime green walls and the fluorescent light’s annoying flicker. He does not remember ever being that young. And oh, yeah, fuck, the crying. He’d forgotten about that. Seth’s lousy with other people’s tears, even, it turns out, if those other people are him.
Seth-the-younger raises his head and stares at him.
"You're--” He blinks, rubs his eyes, blinks again. "You're me. But that’s- you can’t- what's with the hair? And the-?” Then he notices the t-shirt. "Wait, Lamb of God has never done a tour named-" He breaks off, staring, and Seth can see the moment when the truth hits home. He stands up slowly. "You're me. Future me. Either that or I've got a concussion, but I can’t remember taking any blows to the head tonight."
”Got it in one," Seth says. He’s weirdly, powerfully proud of himself. ”Brains and beauty. We really are the whole packet, aren’t we? Would you believe Hunter thought I was Brandon?"
"Brandon?” The younger Seth looks annoyed. "Like he'd ever be that fit.” He takes a step closer, tilts his head and looks Seth up and down with a straightforwardness that would be offensive if they weren’t basically the same person. He looks impressed, and Seth feels a warm, pleasant flutter in his stomach. He’s used to impressing people, fans mostly, but even with everything he’s done he’s never been able to impress himself. The other Seth shakes his head, whistling softly. "Holy hell. You're built, man. What did I do? Please tell me it's not drugs."
”No drugs. You really think you'd be stupid enough to risk everything you've fought for, just for a cheap shortcut?”
Other Seth shakes his head. There’s a look of wonder on his face, and he reaches out, fingertips brushing against Seth’s arm. ”You’re real."
Seth laughs. He wonders what it must feel like to be face to face with the new, upgraded, improved you, the you you’re going to be in just a couple of years, if you play all your cards right. ”Yup. Time travel. Cool, isn’t it? Very Harry Potter and the Cursed Child."
"There is no Harry Potter and the-” He breaks off, eyes widening. "No. You're kidding me. Are you kidding me? Because if you are, I swear to God-"
"No kidding. You’re gonna love it. Summer 2016."
"Holy shit,” Seth says. ”Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. That’s amazing. Is Harry and Ginny still- no, wait, no spoilers!"
Seth grins and mimics zipping his mouth shut, locking, and throwing away the key. They stand in silence for a moment, staring at one another. Seth’s always known he looks good, but this athletic, graceful, geeky kid is beyond good-looking. He’s absolutely breathtaking, and for a moment Seth wonders what he’d do if he shoved him up against the lockers and kissed him. Then he realizes that he doesn’t have to wonder. Because that Seth is him, and he, hell, he would have loved to get fucked by a bigger, stronger, tougher, meaner version of himself.
Just as he’s about to make his move, the other Seth speaks up. ”Wait - Hunter? You mean Triple H? What the fuck where you talking to Triple H for?"
Oh, sweet summer child.
Seth takes a moment to think back - this is before Shield got signed by the Authority, back when they were still running rampart all over the roster, high on their own success and the chaos they left in their wake. For this Seth, Triple H and Stephanie are WWE’s power couple number one, dangerous, ruthless, despicable, and so far out of his league that they might as well be mythical figures. He’s never gone up against Hunter in the ring. He’s never felt his hand on the back of his neck, the warmth of his approval or the weight of his disappointment.
”Look,” he says, "no spoilers, all right? But- you can trust Hunter. He’ll do right by you. If he offers you a deal, you take it. It will be the best decision of your life."
The younger Seth looks hesitant. ”Isn’t he… kind of bad?"
Damn, young him is adorable. He wants to pinch his cheeks and ruffle his hair and coo at him, but that’d get him kicked out in a hurry, and he wants to have kinky incestuous pseudo-twin sex more. ”It’s not as simple as that. You’ll see for yourself."
The younger Seth takes a step forward. ”Are you- is this some Christmas Carol-type thing? Like you’re the ghost of Christmases to come? Did I fuck up somewhere? Because if you’re here to tell me I’m going to wind up lonely and bitter unless I mend my ways I don’t see what I could-"
”Nah.” Seth closes the last of the distance between them and lays a hand on the back of his neck. ”Honestly? I’m mostly just here to fuck you. Because I'm gorgeous, and I’ve always wondered what it would be like to sleep with myself. And so have you."
Other Seth makes a choked sound, color rising on his cheeks, and suddenly Seth understand why Dean enjoys riling him up as much as he does. Because if he reacts like this every time, the temptation to fuck with him has to be almost overwhelming. He leans in for a kiss, and the other Seth parts his lips automatically, tilting his head back even though they’re both exactly the same height. A hand touches his face, lightly, as if he’s not sure it’s allowed, and when Seth grabs his hair and tugs, he shudders and moans into his mouth.
This Seth surrenders so easily, so automatically. He knows how to make himself soft and malleable, how to follow direction and take non-verbal cues, and it’s a little disturbing how Seth never knew that about himself. He knew he liked to follow, sure, but he didn’t know it happened like this, like a switch that flicks on in his brain at the first touch. It makes sense, at once, his long history of bossy lovers. Because this Seth, Seth from three years ago? He wants to wreck him. He wants to push and push and push, just to see how far he’ll bend.
Dean once tried to tell him about the urge some people get, to take something beautiful and destroy it. Seth never got it, until now. There is something decidedly strange of thinking of himself as slapable, but there it is.
He leaves a trail of kisses down the side of other Seth’s neck, easily finding all the sensitive places, the spots where a brush of lips make his knees buckle. He’s breathing shallowly, they both are, and when he murmurs, ”I want to fuck you up against the wall,” he gets a needy whimper in response, a choked off word that might just be a 'please'.
”Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you. And if you’re really, really good-” he leans in and kisses the side of his neck, right at the sensitive spot below his left ear, feeling his younger self shiver ”-I’ll show you a thing or two that will really blow Dean’s and Roman’s minds when the three of you start fucking."
Other Seth looks up, startled. ”When we start? You mean-”
”When,” he confirms. ”You’re in for one hell of a ride with them before it’s over."
His sudden joy shines bright enough to cut. But Seth doesn’t want himself thinking about them when he is right there, so he walks them across the room and shoves Seth up against the ugly, lime green wall. It's one of his fondest fantasies, wall sex, and that means it’s other Seth's fondest fantasy too, and his breath catches as his shoulders smack against the wall. Their bodies are flush against one other, as he deftly undoes the straps and buckles of Seth's tactical west.
"I know you," he whispers, feeling Seth shiver in response. "I know every lie in your heart, every secret desire, everything you want and never dared to ask for. I know what you need. I know what makes you burn. And I can give it to you."
Seth stares at him. His lips are parted, eyes wide, and he could move but doesn't, as if he’s scared that one wrong gesture will break the magic. Seth kicks his legs apart, and grinds his thigh against his crotch, drawing a low, sweet moan from him. He tries to remember how long it's been since this Seth got laid, and with whom it was, but he’s a little distracted by the gasps he makes and the gentle, reverent way he grinds against his thigh.
And Seth gets it. He does. He catches his wrists and pins them over his head and feels a jolt of triumph at how easily he surrenders, staying exactly where he's put and hanging on to every touch and every word.
”In the last couple of years I have learned things you'd never believe." With his free hand he works other Seth's belt and fly open, pulling the cargo pants low on his hips. "I've done things that would make you blush to think of. You think what you did with Marek was wild? Oh, kid, you have no idea." He finds Seth's dick and strokes it, best as he can at the awkward angle and in the tight confinement of his pants. "I'll take you apart. I'll touch you in all the ways you thought no one ever would. I'll give you things so filthy you can’t even admit to yourself that you want them. I'll corrupt you. And you'll beg me to do it, won’t you?"
Other Seth moans and bucks into his hand, a whimper on his lips.
”C’mon. Say ’pretty please’. That’s all I’m asking. Just a tiny little ’pretty please’, and I’ll give it to you so good that everyone you ever sleep with after this will be a disappointment."
It takes less than fifteen seconds for other Seth to crack and start begging, and it's the sweetest sound he's ever heard. He thinks he might have a crush on himself, but judging from the naked worship in the other Seth's eyes, at least it's mutual.
In the end, it’s like Seth always secretly suspected: He is, without a doubt, the best lay he’s ever had. Maybe even the best lay anyone’s ever had. He watches himself fall apart under his own hands, and it's a kick he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to explain or recreate. He’s always liked watching and being watched, fucking with the lights on or in front of a mirror, being able to see himself, first hand. That’s good. This is better, and he wonders how he'll remember this when he gets back. Since both Seths are him, will he have memories both of being pinned and of doing the pinning? Will he just remember being in control, or will those memories be spliced with images of falling to his knees in the shower, wrists crossed behind his back, being face fucked under the steaming water?
Afterward they clean themselves up, then get dressed side by side in comfortable silence. At least, Seth thinks it’s comfortable until the younger him blurts out: "Seth? Am I a bad person?"
”What?” Seth turns, t-shirt in hand, staring at him. "Where did that come from?”
”It’s just. I wonder sometimes.” He brushes the blonde streak back from his face and shrugs. ”There was something you said, about Triple H and a deal, and things with Dean and Roman being over and, well, I-"
”This really, really isn’t A Christmas Carol, you get that, right? There’s no moral of this story. I’m not here to save you from yourself. You don’t need saving. You’re brilliant. You want what you want and you go get it. There's nothing wrong with you."
”Yeah, but… am I good?"
It feels like a lifetime ago, but Seth remembers. What it felt like to be that concerned about right or wrong, good or bad, to think that victory without ethics meant nothing, and that the ends could never justify the means. It’s naive, and childish, and he will grow out of it soon enough. Seth doesn’t have to be the one to take it from him, though.
Seth pulls on his t-shirt and runs his fingers through his damp hair. ”What does Marek say?"
”You know what Marek says,” Seth says with a wry smile. "He’s my best friend, I figure he’s contractually obliged to reassure me."
”You should listen to him.” Seth sits down and starts drying off his hair. ”You can be whatever you want to be. All right? Good, bad, I don’t give a fuck. Follow your heart. Trust your instincts. Don't be a coward. Make the tough calls, take your chances, and never hesitate to cut your losses. Just remember what you love. All right? Remember what you love."
The other Seth nods, thoughtful. ”You said it’s over. The Shield. Is that- was it my fault?"
And there they are, right in the middle of things that Seth won’t talk about, not even - especially not - with this bright-eyed, innocent, fledgling version of himself. He lets the towel fall, stands up and clasps his younger self’s shoulder. ”You’ll be fine, Seth. If you remember nothing else from this, remember that. I’m from August 2016, and I’m still wrestling, better than ever. Remember that. You’ll be-"
Seth blinks.
”—fine."
He’s standing inside of the ridiculous painted cardboard box The New Day insists is a fully functional time machine, and Xavier Woods is rapping his knuckles against it, hard enough to make the whole thing shake.
”Seth? Capt’n? You all right?"
Seth rubs a hand across his face. He feels weird, sated and sad at the same time, buzzed and weary and suddenly and inexplicably lonely. He pushes the flap that serves as a door aside and steps out. ”Of course I’m all right, you moron. Jeez. It’s a cardboard box, what did you think would happen?"
”Did it work? Did it work?” Kofi demands.
Big E smacks him across the head. ”Course it didn’t, dumbass. If it worked, we’d have no memory of what we’d sent him back to fix. We probably wouldn’t even understand what he was doing in our time machine to begin with. Hey- would we even have a time machine?"
”We’d have to have a time machine, or we wouldn’t have been able to get him back,” Kofi says.
”Oh,” Xavier says. ”Right. Damn. Should have thought of that first. Whew.” He grins at Seth. ”You’re damn lucky it was a bust, Capt’n, or we might have lost you in the past forever. Hey, wait - your hair is wet. Did you shower?"
Seth bats Xavier’s hand away. ”Don’t be ridiculous.” He reaches past Big E and snatches up a PS4 controller. ”Are we going to play or what?"