ABC's of the Second City Saints

by DarkAngel0410

An alphabetic look at Punk and Colt. Slash.

Story Title: The ABC's of the Second City Saints

Story Type: Slash, AU, Friendship, various others

Characters: CM Punk, Colt Cabana, mentions of others

Pairings: Punk/Colt

Rating: PG-13/NC-17

Series: None

Disclaimer: Definitely not mine; they belong to WWE/ROH, themselves and, as has been proven over and over, each other.

Warnings: Slash, language

A/N: So, I wanted to write a Punk and Colt one shot, but I couldn't find a bunny for the two of them, anywhere, until I was screwing around on ffnet and saw this set up in one of my other fandoms and thought 'why the hell not?' and here you go. These are supposed to be drabbles -meaning a 100 words or less- but as much as I tried, I couldn't limit myself in some of them. My bad.

A/N2: Anyone who reads any of my stories knows that I never call Punk 'Phil', for a lot of reasons, one of them being I can't picture him as ever being a 'Phil'. But some of these take place when he was fairly young, so as much as I hate to do it, he will be 'Phil' in a couple. The same goes for Colt; he'll go by 'Scott' in a couple of these.

A is for Absolut

Phil came in the house after another detention; the black eye and bruises on his face and arms doing nothing to help his body when it was already sore from the beating his so called father had given him. The house reeked of vodka and beer -there was nothing new about that- and there were empty Absolut bottles all over the living room floor. And even though he was only twelve, Phil swore he would never be anything like the people that had given birth to him.

B is for Brothers

Having a brother, as far as Phil was concerned, was a punishment no one deserved. When it came to him and Mike, they were as different as oil and water. They had never gotten along; for as far back as Phil could remember, it had always been every person for themselves at his parents' house, and Mike had always taken that to heart. Whether it was snaking the last little bit of food in the house or blaming Phil for something he did to avoid their father's infamous temper, Mike had always come out on top. By the time he was in high school, Phil had already decided that he would never let anyone become as close to him as brothers were supposed to be. It wasn't until years later, long after he had left the name Phil Brooks behind, that Punk finally understood what brothers were supposed to be like. It was part of the irony of his life that it was with someone who wasn't even related to him, and a jock on top of it. But Punk knew, because Colt had taught him, that blood didn't matter when you were brothers.

C is for Control

Control meant everything to Punk; control over himself, his environment, his friends, his relationships. Until he had been eighteen, his parents had had all the control and his life had been a living hell. After that, Punk made sure he held all the cards, no matter what game was being played. At first, his friendship with Colt was the same, but, little by little, he found himself trusting Colt with things he had never trusted anyone else with. Which was how he ended up handcuffed to his bed, panting and moaning while Colt drove into him, over and over. Punk had finally found something -and someone- that was worth losing control over.

D is for Death

Ace stood in the graveyard, completely alone; his wife had given up trying to comfort him and had gone to wait in the car. He stood there, looking down at their gravestones. Ace tried to tell himself that it would be OK, but the truth was, nothing was ever going to be all right again. Phil Brooks and Scott Colton. To other people, they were just names, but for Ace, they were reminders of what could have been.

E is for Electric

When the electric went out in the hotel room, Punk wasn't worried; it wasn't like it was the first time he'd had to go without lights for a night. Even Colt shrugged it off. It was when the heat shut off that they began to get worried. As the temperature steadily dropped, they decided they'd have to sleep in the same bed and share blankets as well as body heat. It wasn't the first time they'd shared, but it was the first time they'd ended up plastered against each other. That close together, Punk couldn't ignore the look in Colt's eyes -the one that let Punk know Colt wanted more then just friendship from him. A look, that if he was honest with himself, was mirrored in his own eyes. His last thought, as he closed the tiny space between them and kissed Colt, was that he wouldn't mind freezing on a nightly basis if this was what he got out of it.

G is for Goal

His whole life, Punk only wanted one thing: to be a wrestler. From the time he saw Roddy Piper nail Jimmy Snooka in the head with a piece of melon, he kept his eyes on that prize. He never let anything distract him from his goal; girls, guys, money, injuries. Nothing was ever important enough to make him forget what he wanted. That was until he was at the Domain and some preppy, jock type walked in; despite the other man's appearance they had been drawn together from that first moment. Punk realized, too late, that Colt had the power to steer him away from the goal he had been striving for since he could walk. But it was alright; Colt had the same goal as Punk and made him realize he didn't have to do it by himself.

H is for Hate

Punk learned how to hate very early; his parents had made sure of that. Since he was old enough to understand, he knew that he would never be as important to them as their vodka and beer, their coke and heroin binges every couple months. They taught him not to depend on anyone for anything, not to expect anything from the world in general -and people in particular- but a kick to the teeth and then spit on his face when he was on the ground for an encore. It wasn't until he was nineteen that he had his first real friend, and another year after that before he started to trust Colt. By the time he was twenty two, it was the first time he ever cared for someone else besides himself. And when he was twenty five, he finally felt settled, felt like he had someone who understood the real him. Yeah, Punk's parents taught him all about hate, but it was Colt that made him understand there was more to life.

I is for Ice

Punk was used to the accusations he had tossed at him by his ex's; he was too cold, too smug, too closed off, too cynical. One of them had told him -back in high school, this had been- that he might as well be made of ice for all the emotion he ever showed for anything or anyone. She had then informed him that if he kept this up, he would be alone for the rest of his life. That didn't bother him; being alone was preferable to being lied to and used. It wasn't until he was in training that Punk met someone who made him think that he might be wrong.

J is for Justification

It was the middle of December and it was gearing up to be the coldest in recent history. The heat had gotten turned off the day before and when Phil had seen the turn off notice for the electric on the table, he had asked his parents when they were going to pay it. His parents had just looked at him, his father getting that mean look in his eyes again, and Phil had known better then to push the issue. But when his father had come home with more beer and cigarettes for them, he knew that there was no justification for letting his kid freeze and starve so he could have a good time. And even though he was only ten, Phil could feel the resentment burning in his stomach as he watched his parents throw back more beer. It was then that he promised himself that he was getting out of there as soon as possible.

K is for Killed

The first time Colt ever killed someone, it was because they had a gun to Punk's head. He didn't even realize he had it in him; all he knew as he stared at the gun digging into the back of his best friend's skull was that he couldn't lose Punk, ever. Standing over the guy, staring at the blood dripping from where Cot had smashed his skull in with a brick, Colt reflected that Punk was worth it. When Punk shoved him over, and then fired the gun that had been dropped on the concrete at the dead guy's friend, Colt knew that Punk felt the same way about him, too. After that, killing got easier -for both of them.

L is for Lied

More then anything, Colt hated being lied to. He supposed -when he thought about it, which wasn't often; he was never one to dwell on the past, now and the future being more important to him- it was because his parents had lied to him the whole time he was growing up. Every time they looked at him or talked to him, he knew he was always going to be distant second to Greg. They said he loved him, but Colt could tell by their voices that it wasn't true. It wasn't that they hated him, or even that they didn't want him around. It was that they didn't care what he did, at all. It was that indifference that hurt; that they used the same tone with him when the cops brought him home for fighting as they did when he made the football team or when he told them he was going to become a drug dealer. Nothing he ever said or did caused more then an absent "Sure," and a nod of their head. When Greg came home and told their parents he got an 'A' on a math test and they acted like Greg had walked on water, he had known that he would never live up to his brother. He never complained about it; they would never change and he knew that there were kids who had it a hell of a lot worse then he did, but he did start insisting everyone always tell the truth around him. It was one of the main reasons why he got along with Punk when almost no one else did. Punk was brutally honest about everything and Colt appreciated that more then anything else about him. If Punk said he was proud of him, he meant it. And if Punk said he was being completely retarded or that he needed to work on his wrestling, he meant that. And when Punk said that he loved Colt, Colt knew he meant that without a doubt, too.

M is for Mad

Punk was mad. Hell, mad was too tame a word for what he was feeling. He was pissed, fucken livid, at what Colt had just told him. The tremble in his best friend's voice had gone straight through the heart that most people claimed didn't exist. He hung up after telling Colt he would be in Chicago as soon as he was done with the Friday show. He called Laurinaitius, and after ten minutes, he knew exactly who had said what to whom, and how that had led to Colt getting shit canned. And at the end of that ten minute conversation, Punk knew exactly who was going to pay for this. And even if it took him fucken years, Cena was going to be sorry he ever stuck his damn nose into something that wasn't any of his business. Punk held a grudge worse then anyone else, especially when it was important to him. And there was no one who meant more to him then Colt.

N is for No

"Look, Morrison, I know you're not as stupid as you act," Punk said, as he shoved his gear into his duffel, and swung it over his shoulder. "I've told you 'no' so many times, I sound like a fucken broken record; I've tried every way I can to make you understand I mean it. I will not fuck you," Punk told him, smirking at the disbelief on the ECW champion's face. "I'm not ever going to fuck you. Even if I didn't have a boyfriend, I still wouldn't; but I do, so it's definitely not going to happen." "Come on, Punk," John said, touching Punk's shoulder and smiling. "I have a boyfriend, too, but they don't need to find out." "I would never cheat on Colt," Punk said quietly, shaking off John's hand and heading for the door. "And trust me when I tell you Colt means more to me then Mike obviously does to you. Unless we're wrestling, stay the hell away from me, Morrison. And just in case you are that dumb, the answer's always going to be 'no'."

O is for Original

Punk had always prided himself on being original, different then everyone else around him. When he was fifteen, he started wrestling in a friend's backyard -well, acquaintance was really more accurate; Punk simply didn't let people get close enough to actually consider them friends. While everyone else around him was drinking, Punk stayed focused on the one thing he knew would get him out of his parent's house, and away from their kind of life. He didn't drink, didn't do drugs, didn't fuck around -well, once in a while he would, but even that gradually wore off as he got older. Once he started at the Domain, he became even more determined, even more focused -and possibly even a little more smug of the fact that he was still different then everyone around him. But when Colt walked in, and he saw the same determination in his eyes, and found out how alike they were, and Punk realized that he wasn't very original any more, he expected to hate him. Instead, he found a friendship that would become the best thing in his life.

P is for Phone

For most people, when the phone rang at three in the morning, it usually meant something bad had happened. For Ace, it just meant that Punk and Colt were fighting again. "Hello?" He answered sleepily, his eyes half closed. "Wait 'til I tell Ace; he's going to tell you that you're being -" "Fuck you, asshole! He's going to tell you to leave my shit alone!" Even as Ace groaned and his wife started cursing at being woken up this early for the third time in a week, he still had to smile. Some things never changed.

Q is for Question

Punk sat on his couch, the WWE title on his lap. He could hear Colt in the kitchen getting a drink. He had everything he had ever wanted; he was the WWE champion, he was in the middle of the biggest push of his career and Vince had finally given him what he had wanted from the first day he had walked in there: complete creative control over his promos and angles. For the life of him, Punk couldn't understand why he still felt...unsettled. Hungry. But why, and for what, that was the question. When Colt called out and tossed a diet Pepsi at his head, it clicked for him. Even as he caught the can, and put it on his coffee table, the wheels were turning in Punk's head. By the time Colt sat down next to him and asked him what he wanted to do, Punk had pieced the last twelve years together to form a completely different picture and had a new question for his best friend.

R is for Raw

Colt choked briefly when Punk mentioned ROH on Raw. He couldn't help the grin that crossed his face when Punk waved and said 'hey' to him on national television. Colt listened as Punk went off on his tirade, shaking his head when they cut the mic feed and went to commercial. As much as he appreciated the way Punk had put him over, he just hoped that Punk wouldn't get fined a ridiculous amount of money for it. Colt knew Punk would think it was money well spent, but the Jew in him cringed at the thought.

S is for Scars

Everyone had scars, Punk knew that. And it was usually the ones that didn't show that were the hardest to get over. But for the life of him, he couldn't quite believe that Colt had any. Everything he knew about the other man told him that Colt had grown up with money, friends, parents that weren't drunk 24/7 and nothing about that said trauma to Punk. That changed the weekend Punk ended up staying at Colt's house over night because the rental broke down. After listening to both his parents and his older brother belittle him about everything from his weight to his chosen career to the fact that his father was sure that he had somehow managed to raise a "damn faggot", Punk had a whole new respect for Colt. It was also around this time, that Punk had started admitting to wanting Colt as something besides a friend. Now that Punk knew Colt was just as damaged as he was, he didn't feel like he was corrupting him by wanting to fuck him into next week.

T is for Tired

"Why, Punk?" Punk looked over as Matt walked into the room. "Hey, Matt, what's up?" "Why are you leaving?" Punk sighed; it wasn't the first time he had been asked that question. Ever since he had told Colt months ago, it had seemed like it had been a never ending parade of that one word. "I'm tired, Matt. Of everything; the travel, the politics, the stupidity. I'm tired of watching guys like Dwayne disappear and then come back like nothing happened, while the rest of us get shoved to the back of the line. I'm tired of treated like shit by fucken football payers because I actually wrestled before I came to WWE. I'm tired of Laurinaitius strutting around like he owns everything one second and then kissing Vince's ass the next. I'm just tired." "Is it because of him?" Matt wondered, a scowl crossing his face. Punk had dreaded this conversation; he might be an asshole, but he never hurt his friends if it was unavoidable, but unfortunately, it wasn't this time. He considered Matt a friend, a fairly close one, but still just a friend. There was only one person he had ever loved, who he still loved, and he had been with him since he was twenty one. But Matt had always had his eye on Punk, for some reason Punk had never understood; it drove him crazy and Colt just thought it was cute. Matt had never said or did anything that would cross the line -he had too much respect for all three of them for that- but it had always been obvious to anyone who knew to look, that he would be happy to pick up the pieces if Colt dumped him. "Maybe a little," Punk answered quietly, getting to his feet. "I'm getting tired of only seeing Colt once a week, if at all, and knowing that someone who was pissed at me used Colt's career here to get back at me, it... I told you, Matt; I'm just tired. Of everything." Matt bit his lip as Punk walked out of the room, desperately wishing he could find a way to convince him to stay.

U is for Uneasy

Very few things made Colt uneasy; whether it was the way he was raised or something innate, he didn't know. But in almost everything, he was relaxed, joking, having fun. Even when there was serious business at hand, Colt was always sure of himself. There was only one person who ever made him uneasy, and that was Punk. Colt wasn't sure how his best friend, someone he could always be himself around, could make him feel that way, but he did. It wasn't all the time; just once in a while Punk would get this look in his eyes, and Colt would start to feel like his skin was two sizes to small. It never lasted more then a few minutes, but lately, Colt had been thinking more and more about it, and wondering what he could do to make it happen again.

V is for Vanity

A lot of people accused Punk of being vain; he didn't think realizing how talented he was inside of a wrestling ring made him vain or cocky, but that was just him. Most people accused Punk of vanity in every part of his life, but as far as Punk was concerned that just showed how ignorant people really were. It was glaringly obvious to him that all his words and actions were meant to keep people away from him. Punk had learned early on that people were never who or what they said they were, and since he detested liars, he just stayed away from everyone. His attitude, all his supposed self confidence, it was just an act to keep everyone from seeing the real him. And it worked, too; all through high school and even when he first started training. But from that first moment that he saw Colt, he was drawn to him. Colt had told him, years later, that as soon as they had looked at each other, he had known Punk was going to be the best part of his life. Punk had rolled his eyes and shoved Colt off the couch, but, deep down, he knew it was true -because it had been the same for him. In his whole life, Colt had been the only one to see through all his "vanities" to the real him.

W is for Wrestling

His whole life people had told Scott he was weird; from the time he was three, he had been hooked on wrestling. Even after he got to high school, he still watched it whenever he could. Hell, the only reason he played football was because he thought it would help keep him in shape -and he had heard Jim Ross say that a lot of wrestlers played ball in college. Even his parents couldn't understand why he would want that kind of life for himself. No safety net, no money, it completely baffled them. Despite it -or maybe because of it- nothing would change his mind. And when he walked into the Steel Domain, and met Punk, he finally found someone he didn't have to explain his love of wrestling to. For the first time in his whole life, Scott finally felt like he was where he belonged.

X is for X-Ray

As Colt sat there, waiting for Punk to get out of surgery, he felt like his heart was in his throat. Ever since the doctor had come back and told him and Ace that the X-Ray's had shown that Punk had fractured his skull and that he had to go to emergency surgery, Colt had been running things through his mind. By the time the doctor came out and told them that the surgery was done and that they could go see him, Colt had made up his mind. He hadn't said anything to Punk before because he had been terrified of losing him as a friend, but after this, there was nothing that scared Colt more then the idea of Punk dying and not knowing how Colt really felt about him.

Y is for Years

If someone had told Punk years ago, that he would have fallen in love with someone like Colt, he would have laughed his ass off. The idea of him falling in love, in general, was beyond anything he could even dream of, but someone like that? A middle class, Jewish jock? No way in hell. But here he was, laying down next to Colt, his arm around Punk's waist possessively, while Punk studied the sight of their fingers intertwined; one set tattooed and the other plain. No, he never would have believed it. But over the years, Punk had learned that not all surprises were bad.

Z is for Zoo

Punk leaned back against the bench and sighed. He should have known better then to agree when Colt had called him up and asked him if he wanted to go to the zoo with him and Angela. But Colt had sounded so damn excited about it, that he didn't have the heart to say 'no, fuck off' to him. Punk only had one or two soft spots, and unfortunately for him, Colt was one of them. It wasn't the animals that annoyed him, it was the fucken people. The obnoxious, yelling adults and the loud, disrespectful kids. Most people thought he hated kids, but he didn't; he just had the same standards for everyone no matter how old they were. He was dreading moving to the next exhibit, but when Angela patted his arm and said, "Uncle Punk, look at the big kitties," and Colt grinned at him, Punk rolled his eyes and conceded defeat. Because while he could bitch with the best of them, and usually he was the biggest dickhead around, even Punk had his weaknesses. And with said weaknesses smiling at him like that, he didn't have a hope in the world of holding out against either one of them. But next week he was dragging Colt and Angela to go comic book shopping with him, and that was the end of it.