Story Title: God-daughter
Story Type: Friendship, Family
Characters: CM Punk, Colt Cabana
Pairings: None
Rating: PG
Series: None
Disclaimer: As confused as I am at this moment, I'm still sure that Punk and Colt don't belong to me. They just belong to each other, ROH/WWE and themselves.
Warnings: Language, possible OOCness and a deep, deep friendship
A/N: This is, hands down, one of the weirdest things I've ever written in my life. I have no idea where it came from, none. I was just writing a different Punk/Colt when all of a sudden I randomly wondered if Jewish people have god-parents and then I got attacked by this bunny and, well, here it is. I'm afraid this might come off OOC on Punk's part, and I apologize in advance if it reads that way to you guys. I almost didn't even finish it, but candy_belle convinced me to. I'm still not sure of it, but after I finished it, I realized I do have an odd sort of fondness for this side of Punk. I hope at least a couple of you guys like it. Oh, and 'cause I really can't help myself, there is some very light Punk/Colt, but it could read as just friendship.
Punk leaned on a tree outside the school building, looking around in distaste. In all honesty, he hated school just as much now as he had when he was younger, but he did this every time he was in town because he loved his god-daughter.
He was amused at the suspicious looks he was getting from the parents gathered around; Punk knew he didn't match anyone's picture of a responsible parent or guardian, or hell, even a responsible person in general, with his tattoos and piercings. Every time he showed up here, he expected someone to call the cops and report some creeper on the school grounds. He supposed that either Colt had warned them about him or they just didn't care enough to investigate it as long as Punk didn't bother anyone. He hoped, for his god-daughter's sake, it was the former.
Punk watched with barely concealed impatience as the building emptied and he saw Angela walk out, looking around before her gaze focused on him. She always looked for him on Fridays and, unless he was out of the country, he always stopped by to pick her up when she got out; it had been that way since the first time Punk had picked her up from day care when she was two. The look on her face as she had toddled toward him on unsteady legs had stayed with him and was one he'd never forget, no matter how many head bumps he took.
"Uncle Punk!" She said happily, walking towards him as fast as she could. Once she got near him, Punk caught her in a tight hug, laughing. She looked up at him with the same brown eyes of his best friend -the best friend who had worked through the indies with him, who had stood by him through everything and still, to this day, had never let him down- and then grinned and, for a second, he was struck with memories of all the times Colt had grinned at him like that.
"Come on, brat," Punk told her with an affection that most people would never have believed of him. "Let's get some pizza and then, maybe, you can come with me to go pick up your father at the airport."
Her eyes lit up at the reminder that her father was going to be home for the weekend and she started bullying her favorite uncle into taking her and Colt to the comic shop and then to see a Cubs game on Saturday. "That way I can spend time with you and Daddy, Uncle Punk." "We'll see," Punk told her, even though he knew it would probably happen.
Neither one of them could resist spoiling her and, as he ran a hand over her hair before pulling on her ponytail playfully, he couldn't help but muse that the best thing Colt had ever given him was the trust that had come along with naming him Angela's god-father.
Colt's now ex-girlfriend had thrown a fit about it, telling him that she didn't want anyone as cold as Punk was in such an important role in Angela's life, but Colt had fought her on it, telling her she never saw the real Punk, the one who would do anything for the people who mattered the most to him.
Punk had been stunned by Colt's faith in him and was speechless when Colt had pulled him aside at the hospital and explained to him why he wanted him to be god-father.
"It has to be you, Punkers, you're my best friend," Colt had said, a rare seriousness in his voice. "More then that, you're the one who'll do anything for her; I know it.
"Sure, I could ask my brother to do it or Hero or Ace, and they would do it and be good at it. They'd love her and spoil her and it would be fine, but I need more for my daughter.
"I know the real you, Punkers, I know how deeply you care for people once you let them past your walls. You'd kill someone for me if you had to, if it was necessary. And that's what I need for my daughter, I need someone who would murder anyone who hurt her. That's why it has to be you, Punk."
And from the moment Colt had placed Angela in Punk's hands, he had been helpless to do anything but love and guard her just as zealously as Colt did.
Once again, Colt had proven that he knew Punk better then he had known himself and just like all the other things Colt had done for him, Punk knew there was no way he'd ever be able to make Colt understand how much it meant to him.
But, Punk thought, maybe Colt did understand. He understood everything else when it came to Punk; it only made sense that he would get that, too.
"You better wash your hands before you go back to your mom's," Punk told her, catching sight of the black X on the back of Angela's hand when she brushed her bangs out of her eyes. "You know she doesn't like you drawing on yourself."
Maybe he should have said something else to her; she was only twelve, after all, and most people would think that was too young to understand what being straight edge was -or what being anything meant.
But Punk remembered another twelve year old who had stood in his living room surrounded by empty beer cans and bottles and had known already what he was and wasn't. Angela never had to go through what he had -and Punk was fervently glad for that- but he didn't doubt that she was just as sure of who she was as he had been.
"I'll do it on Sunday before Daddy brings me back," Angela said, frowning a little as she slid into the front seat of Punk's car. "I don't want to get into another fight with her."
Punk got in and put his seat belt on -something he only did if he had Angela with him- and started it.
"What was it about this time?" Punk asked as he pulled into traffic.
He wasn't overly worried about the fight; for all his problems with Sara, he had to admit she was a good mother. The problem was Angela seemed to have inherited not only Sara's stubbornness but also Colt's single mindedness as well. The result was that they butted heads over things a lot, especially for the past year or so.
"She tried to give me some aspirin when I got a headache the other day," Angela explained, shrugging. "When I told her I wasn't putting any of that crap in my body, she started fighting with me about it. She ended up calling Daddy and she wasn't happy when he told her to leave me alone about it. He said unless it was life or death, it was my choice."
"Christ, you sound like me, Angie," Punk laughed as he pulled into the parking garage. "You keep it up and Sara's going to get real pissed at me."
"Nah, I don't think she would, Uncle Punk. I heard her tell Daddy that at least I wasn't trying every drug I came across like most kids my age did and that there were worst people I could try to be like," Angela informed him blithely as they got out of the car.
Punk paused in the middle of closing the door to stare at her in disbelief. "Your mother and father talked about that in front of you?"
"No, not exactly," she answered, smiling innocently at him. "I may have overheard it when I was supposed to be laying down."
Punk shook his head as he set the car alarm. Pocketing the keys, he reminded himself to tell Colt to double check on where Angela was whenever he was discussing anything with Sara he didn't want her to overhear.
"We're gonna have to put bells on you, kid," Punk teased, smiling when she stuck her tongue out and crossed her eyes at him. Fuck, she was all over Colt, that was for sure.
"How's school?" Punk asked once they were inside their usual lunch place -City by the Slice in downtown Chicago- sitting by the window so Angela could people watch.
"It's alright, I guess," Angela answered, playing with the paper from her straw. She took a sip of her soda before going back to turning the paper over in her hands. "It's whatever."
Punk raised an eyebrow at that. Angela had also inherited her father's terrible ability to lie; every emotion she felt was written across her face the same way it was on Colt's. Something was bothering her, all right, and it had to do with school.
"Come on, Angela, you know you can't lie to me," Punk told her bluntly. "You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to but I'm here if you decide you want to talk."
Angela sighed and looked at the table. "I got into a fight at school," she said, her voice quiet. "They didn't call Mom or Daddy because it was the first one I've ever gotten into and they cut me a break."
"Who was it with?" Punk questioned, slightly amused at the look on her face. If a fight once in a while was the worst of what she got into, it would be an easier time then when he had been in school.
"This kid Dave," Angela answered, taking another sip of her soda.
"A boy hit you?" Punk demanded, furious. Wait until Colt got off that plane and he told him about this, there was a good chance that they both were going to end up in jail before the night was over.
"Well, yeah. But I hit him first," Angela said, not sure why her uncle suddenly looked ready to yell. "I punched him in the face."
"You punched him in the face," Punk repeated, anger momentarily forgotten. He grinned and took a drink of his own soda. Maybe Angela was hanging around him too much.
"Yeah, just the way you and Daddy taught me," she continued, looking proud of herself for a minute before frowning. "I guess I shouldn't have, though. Hitting people isn't exactly nice."
"Can I ask why you suddenly felt the urge to belt some kid in the face?" Punk asked, still smiling.
The waitress dropped off their pizza, smiling and asking them if they wanted anything else before she went back behind the counter.
Angela took a tiny bite of her veggie slice before putting it back down and looking at Punk. "He said it was weird the way I only see Daddy on the weekends and then he said that wrestling wasn't a real job and that only pansies rolled around with other guys like that.
"I told him to shut the hell up and that he didn't know anything. Then I pushed him and told him at least my parents still talk to each other and that any time I want to talk to my father, I can call him and he'll answer instead of just ignoring me. Then Dave said that the reason Daddy traveled so much was so that he didn't have to look at me, so I punched him in the face."
Punk sighed, apparently nothing had changed since he had been in school; kids were still assholes.
"Angie, you know how much your father loves you, right?" He asked, desperately hoping he could find the right words to help her. Fuck, he hated emotional situations; why couldn't she need help with math or something?
She nodded, but kept her eyes averted from his. "Yeah, he tells me all the time."
"Do you know what would happen if you went to him, today, and told him that? Do you know what he would do if you said you missed him and wanted to see him more often; that you wanted to see him everyday?" Punk said, trying a different tact.
"He would finish up whatever matches he had booked and then he would quit wrestling and find a normal job," he continued after Angela had shook her head. "And he wouldn't even be upset about it."
"But Daddy loves wrestling," Angela protested, her eyes wide.
"Yes, he does, but no where near as much as he loves you. I've known your father for more years then you've been alive, a lot more, and I know him better then anyone does -even your mom.
"And in all the years I've known him, the only thing I've ever seen come close to his love of wrestling is you. Colt wants you to be happy, sweetheart, and if having him quit wrestling and get a desk job so he'll be there for you more is what it takes, he'll do it; with no regrets or bitterness."
"Really?" Angela asked, sounding slightly dazed. It was a superficial question, though; she had learned early on that Uncle Punk didn't lie about anything, ever. He would tell you the truth about whatever you asked him, even if you didn't particularly like the answer.
Punk nodded. "I'm guessing you haven't told your mom about this and it's up to you if you do or not. If you don't want me to say anything to anyone, I won't. But trust me when I tell you there's no question about who or what your father loves more."
"I don't want Daddy to give up wrestling," Angela said, taking another bite of her pizza. "I like going to his matches when their here and he told me maybe next year I could go with him out of town once in a while during the summer."
Punk didn't say anything, he just let her talk it out. He knew all Angela had wanted was reassurance from someone she trusted that her father loved her and now she was going to ramble on until she decided what she was going to say to Colt.
"And I see him more then Hailey sees her dad," she went on, mentioning one of her friends. "Hailey only gets to see him for a couple weeks in the summer 'cause he lives in a different state.
"How could anyone want to live any where except Chicago, Uncle Punk?" Angela demanded, wrinkling her nose in disgust.
"No idea, Angie," Punk said, smiling. "But people seem to like other cities, too."
"People are so weird," Angela commented before switching the subject. "I don't like keeping things from Daddy, Uncle Punk, but if I tell him, he'll tell Mom and I really don't want her to know."
"Why not?" Punk questioned, glancing at his watch before he picked up his pizza. They had just over a half hour before they had to leave to go get Colt.
"'Cause she gets this weird look on her face whenever anyone says anything bad about Daddy's job. And I don't want them fighting 'cause some idiot didn't know what he was talking about. Plus, I heard her tell someone on the phone that she thinks Daddy should quit wrestling until I'm eighteen.
"When I asked her about it later, she told me that she's glad Daddy's still wrestling, but that it would be easier for us if he made more money. And then she told me not to worry about it, that being happy is better then being rich. Then she mumbled something about not everyone being able to go to WWE."
Punk narrowed his eyes, but didn't say anything. He knew exactly what Sara had meant about that crack; even though Colt wasn't pissed at him for what happened -it wasn't his fault, Punk knew that, but he had still felt guilty over the whole mess and the fact that he had stayed on after Colt got fired- hell, Colt had been happy for him and had told him how proud he was of Punk's whole WWE run, especially that last year.
Despite all that, Punk knew Sara had always been -not bitter, exactly, but the fact that Punk had more money then her or Colt had always aggravated her. It was a simple fact of the wrestling business: sometimes, no matter how good you were or how much you deserved it, you just didn't get that big break. Punk knew it, Colt knew it and Sara should have known it, too. She had been a wrestler before Angela was born.
He wasn't going to say anything to Angela about any of that, though; in the first place, she was too young to worry about money or anything else that serious and in the second, Punk might be an asshole, but there was no way he was going to bad mouth Sara to her. He knew, too, that Sara wouldn't have expected Angela to hear what she had said about him.
"Which I don't understand 'cause Daddy told me about how crappy they treated you while you were there, so why would anyone want to go there?" Angela went on, oblivious to her uncle's thoughts. "Plus, the whole world knows you don't become a wrestler to make money, you do it 'cause you love wrestling."
"Everyone knows that, huh? Finish up your slice, brat, we have to leave for the airport in a few minutes," Punk reminded her, drinking the last of his soda and leaning back in the chair.
Angela nodded, hurrying up to finish her food. After a minute, she shoved her chair back and stood up. "Come on, Uncle Punk," she told him, looking impatient. "Daddy'll think we forgot him if we're late."
The ride to the airport was quiet; after digging through his CD's and putting on Bouncing Souls, Angela just looked out the window. Punk let her go, he knew you couldn't solve every problem by talking it out.
"I think I will tell Daddy about the fight," she said quietly as they got out of the car. "Maybe if I ask him, he won't tell Mom."
"Maybe he won't," Punk agreed. "But even if he does, and even if they start fighting, you know it's not your fault. Right?"
Angela nodded and then brightened up when she realized they were inside the building. Punk led her up to the gate, smiling as she bounced around impatiently. Lucky for them, the plane was relatively on time and they only had to wait an extra ten minutes.
He spotted Colt first; he stepped out of the gate, pausing a minute to look around expectantly. Colt saw Punk and smiled, raising an eyebrow at him. Punk nodded, nudging Angela forward. "Look, there he is."
"Daddy!" Angela squealed, running straight at him. Colt grinned, all the weariness and exhaustion falling from his face.
"Hey, princess," Colt said, picking her up into a huge bear hug. "I missed you, Angel. How's everything?"
"I missed you, too, Daddy," Angela told him, pulling back and beaming. "It's OK. I'm glad you're home, though. I told Uncle Punk he should take us to the game tomorrow."
"You did, huh," Colt said, exchanging grins with his best friend as they walked over to him. "I supposed that has nothing to do with the fact that the comic shop's on the way and you ran out of new ones last weekend?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about," she said, giggling.
"Hey, Punkers," Colt said, pulling him into a hug. If the hug was a second or two longer then it should have been, neither one of them minded it. "Did she behave herself or was she completely out of control?"
"No more then normal," Punk smirked, running his hand over Angela's face when she pouted. "I didn't have to beat her, so I guess that could be considered good."
"Uncle Punk!" Angela protested, laughing as her father threw an arm around her shoulders. "You never hit me."
"Then I guess you're always good," Punk told her, smiling. "We already ate; figured we'd stop and grab you some Subway," he added as they made their way to the garage.
Colt nodded. "Sounds good to me," he said before turning his attention back to Angela, who was busy telling him about school for that week.
Punk let them pull ahead of him, content to walk a few feet behind. He had never considered himself a good person; he was an asshole -he knew that without question and it wasn't something he was ashamed of, either- he got into a lot of fights, he hated most people on sight, he was blunt and more then one person had told him he had an attitude and that he was impossible to get along with outside of a ring.
But, as he watched the two best parts of his life talk together, Punk thought that whatever his faults were he had obviously managed to get some things right.