Warnings: Slash (Ambrose/Punk), AU, Homelessness, Direct follow on from Xmas Carols chapter 9 - Carol of the Bells.
He'd been sick for a while, and though Punk had been putting a brave face on it for his lover, he'd known this illness wasn't one he'd recover from, not on his own at least. The doctor at the free clinic had assured them on more than once that it was just a cold, something that could be cleared up with time, and antibiotics. Dean had always been sceptical, Punk had been too, but unlike Dean, he'd kept his thoughts to himself. It was chance, or maybe Dean's obsessive need to keep Punk around that had led to them going back to the clinic for another visit. It had been surprisingly deserted, the usual doctor not there as it's Christmas, and he's undoubtedly comfortably in his home, eating, drinking, and making merry. Three things that aren't options for Punk and Dean. Three things that are denied to them more often than not due to their situation.
Being homeless isn't something he's happy about, but there's not much Punk can do about it. He has no skills beyond what the streets have taught him, no options beyond the ones presented by those same streets. Some unknown to him time ago, something happened to Punk leaving him with a scar on his forehead, and a vast blank space where his life from before the scar should be. He'd been on the streets a good long time before Dean had crossed his path, and like every other person he'd encountered, Punk had expected Dean to fade into the white noise of his damaged brain. Only Dean refused to be engulfed by the static. Dean had been determined to make himself a part of Punk's existence. From almost the day they met, Dean has been saving Punk's life, and now by forcing him to this clinic, he saved it quite literally once more. Only this time something else has come with this salvation, and Punk has no idea what to do about it.
"What was it?" Dean looks worried as Punk almost stumbles out of the doctor's office. It's a far bigger question than Dean realises, and Punk shakes his head. Dean's arm is around his shoulders, and they're leaving the clinic, emerging onto the street before Punk can even think to ask for a cup of coffee from the woman behind the desk. A free cup of coffee had been his entire motivation for coming to the clinic in the first place. It's too late to turn back now though, and Punk keeps moving forward.
"He knew me... Knew me before the accident." He murmurs, rubbing at his face tiredly. Dean looks over at Punk, his eyes wide. "He knows alls about me. He could tell me everything, Dean, everything." Punk smiles awkwardly, he can feel how strained the expression must look, because he feels strained. The doctor knew him. No one has ever known him before. Dean looks genuinely surprised for a few moments, then his eyes narrow.
"Did he want anything?" The possessive edge to Dean's voice drags a smile to Punk's lips, and he shakes his head. The doctor didn't seem to want anything, but Punk isn't a good reader of people. He's lost the ability to understand certain social cues that children learn to pick up on. It's easy to lie to Punk, easy to betray him, so he doesn't let people close to spare himself pain that can be easily avoided. Dean has never lied to Punk, has never betrayed him, and at this stage in their relationship Punk is certain that Dean never will. There's a bond between them, an understanding that the brutality of betrayal is one that they'll spare each other by being faithful, and honest with one another.
"He... He gave me money, insisted I take it, get somewhere to stay for a few days to give me a chance to heal." Punk's hand is in his pocket, and he leads Dean over to a doorway, showing him the roll of hundreds in his pocket.
"Fuck..." Dean breathes out slowly, and Punk nods, pocketing the cash once more. The money he showed Dean isn't all of the notes the doctor gave him. The rest of the cash is hidden in a little pocket in one of the many sweaters Punk wears to try to keep the biting wind at bay. He'll reveal the truth of the amount of money later, once they're somewhere more secure than a blustery street corner.
"If we get somewhere cheap, a motel or something, it'll last a while, right?" Dean nods in response to Punk's question. The doctor had been adamant that Punk stay somewhere warm, and dry for a few nights at least, and Punk's inclined to agree with the advice offered by the doctor.
"Yeah... I know just the place." Dean presses a kiss to the scar on Punk's forehead. Punk's never been entirely sure why Dean always places kisses there. He can't feel them, not really, only the ghost of the sensation, but Dean is always careful to kiss that particular spot, his lips always brushing over it almost reverently. It's almost as though he's silently thankful that scar exists because it's proof that Punk is still alive.
"Lead the way then." Punk mutters, falling into step with Dean once more. His arm is wrapped tightly around Punk's waist as they make their way to some nearby motel. Their progress is slow, because despite feeling better than he has in months, Punk's still tired, even more tired than he was before the trip to the clinic. He'd like nothing more than to collapse to the ground and sleep, but Dean's arm is keeping him upright, and the money in his pockets is keeping him walking. It's more money than he's ever held, more money than he's ever seen, and it's all his, given to him by the doctor who knew him.
For all he's thought about it, for all he's wanted to meet someone who knew him before the accident, he'd never really expected to find a person who'd known Phil. Now that he has, he's no idea what to think, or to do. It'd be so very easy to let this all go, so very easy to let this be forgotten, but he has the terrible feeling that Dr Colton won't be forgotten easily, if only because Punk has his name, address, and telephone number on a scrap of paper in his pocket, nothing sticks in his mind quite like written information. Once something is written down it refuses to sink into the static of Punk's mind.
"Gimme some of that money, and I'll get us a room." Dean props Punk up against a wall, and Punk blinks at him slowly. He's not sure he has the energy to even stay leaning against the wall, his knees feel weak, his mind hazy, leaning seems like a task far beyond him in that moment. "Punk, baby..." Dean's hand cups his cheek, and Punk pulls some money off the roll of hundreds the doctor had given him. It's so much money, that doctor and Phil must have been close for him to hand Punk over so much cash. "I'll get us a room for as long as I can. You just stay here, alright?" Dean presses a quick kiss to Punk's forehead, and vanishes inside the little office.
What happened to you Phil?
Punk closes his eyes, the doctor's voice echoing in his mind. He'd been so worried, had sounded so genuinely concerned, and Punk can't process it. He's no idea what to do in this situation. He supposes he could talk to Dean, but what he'd say Punk has no idea. Dean would try to understand, but he'd fail. No matter how much Dean tries, he never quite comprehends what it's like to be Punk. They both have so very little, but Dean has something that Punk doesn't. Dean has his past, for better or worse, Dean knows where he came from. Every horror, every tragedy, every slight, every pain, Dean has locked away in his mind, but all Punk has is a blank space. A few snatched memories from the hospital, and some fuzzy feelings from before. He doesn't have memories from his time as Phil, but sometimes he'll feel something like the ghost of one. He'll be somewhere and a feeling almost like déjà vu will come over him, the barest hint of a feeling that where he is, or what he's doing is familiar.
"Hey? You okay?" Dean's hand is under his chin, tipping his face up, and Punk forces a slight smile to his lips.
"I'm just tired." He mutters, and Dean nods, pulling him close, squeezing him lightly.
"C'mon then. Let's get you to bed." Dean starts walking slowly once more, his arm tight around Punk. He enjoys being pressed against Dean far more than he perhaps should, but Dean's the only real human contact Punk's ever had. Dean is the only person Punk has found himself compelled to. Whilst he's plenty fond of other people, Dean is the only person Punk has wanted to touch him, the only person he'd wanted to stay with him, the only person he'd wanted to remember. Other people are hazy collections of features, vague shapes not important enough to put the effort in that Punk needs to to remember things, but Dean is worth that effort, he's worth that and so much more.
The motel room is small, dimly lit with a single bulb hidden in a grimly shade, but the bed looks surprisingly clean and comfortable, which is the only thing Punk cares about. He feels weak, like every ounce of strength has been drained from him along with the pus in that infection. The words the doctor had said to him keep echoing in his mind. Quiet words of recognition, quiet words of hope that'd changed to resignation so quickly when Punk had told him the truth. The doctor had been so insistent, had literally forced Punk to take the money, his phone number, his address. The money Punk has no doubts he and Dean will make use of, the number and address are burning a hole in his pocket, and despite thinking of them so much, he's still no idea what he'll do with them.
If you have any questions about who you were, come and see me. Call me first though, make sure I'm home, okay?
Punk has questions, so many questions, but he's not sure he wants the answers. Who he was has always plagued him, and knowing would lay those thoughts to rest, but they might conjure up new thoughts, new problems. Phil hadn't been loved by anyone enough for them to look for him. There'd been no one there, no one to stop Punk from leaving the hospital, and ending up on the streets. Going back to being Phil isn't something Punk wants to do. Punk's loved, he's adored, and in turn he loves, and adores. Dean's more than Punk's lover, he's Punk's reason to keep going. If it wasn't for Dean, he'd have curled up and let the infection take him long ago, but because of Dean, he'd kept fighting as much as he could. In forcing him to go to the clinic again, Dean saved his life. In truth Punk's lost count of how many times Dean's saved him, more than Dean will ever realise of that Punk's certain.
"Hey... C'mon, let's get you cleaned up." Dean's voice startles him far more than he'd like to admit, and he glances up at his lover. "Punk... You okay?"
"Tired." Punk yawns, and Dean smiles softly, his hand cupping Punk's cheek.
"Yeah... I know, but we've got a clean bed to sleep in tonight." Dean's smile always fills Punk with warmth. It's the kind of smile that should have been beaten out of him by his life, but it's still there, clinging with a determination matched solely by Dean's own. "Don't want to be making it all dirty on the first night."
"You sure about that?" The smirking leer Punk tries for clearly fails when all Dean does is level him with an unimpressed gaze. "I can't get my back wet." Punk yawns again, and Dean nods vaguely, guiding him to the little bathroom.
"Sponge bath?" Dean chuckles, filling the sink with warm water, and tossing a washcloth into it. "Sit down, you look like you're gonna fall over." Punk sits heavily on the toilet lid, and watches Dean start to strip. Life on the streets has left its mark on Dean's skin, scars and odd imperfections litter his pale skin, but beneath that damaged skin there's sleek, lean muscle. A naked Dean is something that even now, years after he first saw it, still captures Punk's attention. Usually at least, not tonight though. Tonight he's too tired, he's too sore, and all he wants is to curl up and sleep. "Get cleaned up, I'll take a shower."
"No fair." Punk mutters, yawning once more. There's a strange lethargy in him, a kind of bone deep weariness that makes him want to curl up and fall asleep, but Dean's right. For their first night in what is their bed for a little while at least they should be clean.
"Too bad, Punk. You said yourself that you can't get your back wet." Dean smirks, and comes closer to him, his hand resting on the top of Punk's head. "Get undressed, and I'll clean you up first." Punk blinks stupidly at him, and manages a slight nod. "Do you need to take that medication tonight?"
"Yeah... First dose I should probably take soon as possible." His words are barely out before he yawns once more, his eyes drifting closed. Now that he's sitting, and warm, sleep seems so very attainable.
"Hey, hey. No sleeping on the toilet." The next thing Punk's aware of is Dean crouching in front of him, a pill in one hand and a glass of water in the other. "Take this." He pops the little pill into Punk's mouth, and then holds the glass to his lips, letting him drink. "C'mon, clothes off." Dean's fingers start working at pulling the layers of clothes off of Punk's body. Whilst he tries to help, it really seems more like Punk's hindering the process. It feels like that along with the infected pus, the doctor squeezed out Punk's coordination, his fingers feel thick and useless. In the end, Dean bats his hands out of the way, and strips Punk himself, the job made much easier with Punk not helping.
The process of getting clean isn't one Punk really remembers, he's lying tucked up in bed in what feels like no time, with only the sounds of Dean showering filling the little motel room. The little slip of paper the doctor gave him is sitting on the nightstand by the bed, the looping script clearly visible despite the darkness of the room.
I'm sorry, Phil. I'm so sorry. If there's anything I can do, anything you need... Anything at all, call me, okay? Please... Just call me.
He'd looked so worried, so earnest as he'd said those words to him. This doctor cares, at least he seemed to when faced with how far the person he knew as Phil had fallen. There's so much of Punk that wants to crumple that little slip of paper up, and throw it away. The past, his past is something best forgotten, something best left to the annals of history. Phil wasn't a good person; if he had been, he wouldn't have been alone in that hospital. If Phil had been a good person, there would have been people there for him. If Phil had been a good person, there wouldn't be Punk, but if there weren't Punk, he wouldn't be in this motel room. If Phil had been a good person, Punk wouldn't have Dean. He's not going to gain anything from learning who Phil was, at least Punk doesn't think he will, but there's so much he could lose, and he's not certain he could take losing anything else.
"You gonna call him?" Dean's voice drags Punk from his thoughts. He slips into bed behind Punk; one hand comes to rest on Punk's hip, stroking the skin there lightly.
"I dunno." Punk mutters, turning to lie on his other side, facing Dean.
"Hmm..." Dean's hand moves up to stroke a finger over Punk's eyebrow, gently brushing over the scar on his forehead. "I think you will." He says plainly, and Punk shrugs awkwardly.
"I might, I dunno." Punk moves a little closer to Dean, pressing his face against Dean's shoulder. "I don't know if I want to know what he can tell me."
"You do, but you're scared, Punk." Dean's arm slips under Punk, pulling him closer. "Your pages could be filled in for you. You could have your whole story, don't you want that?"
"I think you want it more than me to be honest." Punk mumbles, and Dean laughs.
"Maybe... You're a riddle, wrapped in an enigma, topped off with a mysterious bow." He kisses Punk's hair, and makes a quietly contented noise. "But I want you to know for yourself more than I want to know for me." He says softly, and Punk sighs, nodding against Dean's chest. "It's important to you, so it's important to me, and you know no matter what he tells you, I'll be here. I'm not going anywhere, Punk."
"I know." Punk murmurs, kissing Dean's chest lightly. "I'll think about it." Another yawn comes over him, and Dean laughs, the noise a slight rumble under Punk's ear.
"Get some sleep. Tomorrow I'll go start looking for some work. I want to keep this place till you're better, and I don't know how long that money's gonna last." A worried tone creeps into Dean's voice, and Punk closes his eyes, loses himself in the feeling of Dean's love. "I was scared I was going to lose you." He admits quietly, and Punk winces. He'd been scared too, but not of dying, he'd almost resigned himself to the inevitability of whatever had been wrong killing him. What Punk had been scared of was leaving Dean alone. There'd been a fearful part of him that had been convinced that Dean would try to follow him into death. Life is something that Dean puts a lot of thought into, something he ponders over endlessly. They've had many long rambling conversations about how Dean feels about the world around them, about the people they see, about his scurriers, but they rarely talk about death. Punk doesn't think Dean's afraid of dying, not really at least, rather Punk thinks Dean avoids thinking about it, because it's inevitable. There's nothing to be gained from dying, the only gains that you can make are in living. Dean's made it very clear, over and over again, that without Punk he'd have very little to keep going on for. Punk's a mystery, and Dean loves mysteries. He loves to think things over, loves to puzzle out answers, and Punk is a riddle with no easy solution. Punk doesn't know the answers to Dean's questions, so there's no way to solve him. If Punk had died, Dean would have lost his great conundrum, and Punk had worried that without that Dean would have sought death too.
"I'm right here." Punk yawns. He doesn't have a real answer or response to Dean's comment. He's not going anywhere, that doctor saved his life. The infection's been removed, and the new course of medication will fix him up. He'll be fine, he'll live, but there's something else the doctor can do for Dean along with saving Punk's life. That doctor can solve the riddle of who Punk is, the only problem is Punk isn't sure he wants an answer to that riddle. "Dean?"
"Yeah?" Dean sounds awake, his voice soft but alert. Punk almost wants to reassure him that he's fine, but he can tell that this'll be a night where Dean barely sleeps for fear of something taking Punk from him. There've been many nights where Dean's forgone sleep in favour of holding vigil over Punk against the infection, and even though it's been treated, old habits die-hard, no amount of reassurance will bring sleep to Dean easily tonight.
"If I go... If I find out who I was, will you still stay with me?" Punk squeezes his eyes closed tighter, and buries himself closer to Dean. It feels like a stupid question, and the quiet laugh Dean gives makes Punk feel like a fool for asking.
"I love you, you idiot. I'm not going anywhere." Dean kisses the top of Punk's head, and Punk fidgets slightly. It's easy to say that. It's easy to be convinced of something that you can't begin to fathom. The truth of who Phil was might be terrible. He might have been nothing more than a monster, and that's why he was abandoned, but Punk can't bring himself to argue not right now, not when he's so tired. "Go to sleep. I'm not going anywhere." Dean repeats his words, and Punk nods, settling into sleep. As good as it is to hear I love you, that's not the phrase Punk needs to hear most of the time. Being loved is wonderful, he won't deny that, but for him I'm not going anywhere is more important. For Punk being alone was a necessity, but not one he'd ever enjoyed. Waking up in that hospital alone had been terrifying, leaving it so easily had been brutally painful. He'd left knowing no one was there for him, he'd left knowing nothing of who he was, nothing of how the world worked, nothing at all. He'd been alone, brutally alone, and horribly vulnerable. He'd been afraid, so afraid for so long, but then he'd met Dean. Dean who'd hung around even when he didn't have to. Dean who'd been impossible to shake off. Dean who'd stayed. Dean who wasn't going anywhere.
I don't know that I'm back writing regularly, but I do know that this, and a few other ideas are very lodged in my brain. I don't know if there's any interest in me continuing this, so if you would like more reviews would be deeply appreciated. I'm not sure about this at all, so if you review please be as honest as you can.