Warnings: 7Sins Continuity, 2nd person Colt PoV, Mild slash (Colt/Punk), Fluff, constant falling asleep in appropriate places due to chronic insomnia.
1999
When Ace gave you a key for the Domain, you'd been embarrassingly excited. You've made it a point to get there as often as possible. Usually it's just you and Punk. You have to admit that he's growing on you. He's sharp, funny, talented in the ring but not exactly easy to get to know. He is opening up to you by degrees, little things here and there, little running jokes, little comments on the other students, little looks that make you collapse into fits of laughter. He'd asked you to meet him this morning, wanted to get a head start on something or another. So you'd come straight to the Domain, well you'd stopped at Starbucks first but Punk requires coffee to function. He sinks caffeine, the way smokers inhale tobacco.
"Punk?" You shout through the door once you get there but there's no reply. You think that's odd, if Punk wants you to meet him, he'll have been there at least ten minutes early. "Punk?" You wander through to where the ring is and stop. Lying in the middle of it, in his gear, is a sound asleep Punk. You shake your head and sit in the back, grateful for the coffee and the textbook you thought to bring.
2000
You're not sure why you're at Navy Pier, it's just something, over-priced, that happened. Punkers, bitching and whining about the price of everything and being distracted by looking out over the water. If you're honest, as you and Punkers have gotten closer, you've learned to just accept that he's a weird bastard, who will make completely arbitrary decisions and that questioning these decisions is utterly futile. He capricious he may be, he is, at least, very good for your vocabulary. He's so much smarter than his High School diploma and overall, scruffy appearance would lead you to believe. It's not a lack of intelligence that kept him from further study, just a lack of funds. He's joked that money is the only reason he wants to be a wrestler, that kid Punk thought that because wrestlers were on TV, they were rich. Kid Punk is being rapidly being proven wrong, you think with a grin as he mutters about how expensive Ferris Wheel tickets are. He yawns as he settles in the gondola and you grin over at him, strangely excited, you've never been up in the Wheel before.
"How's school?" He asks, looking at you with lazy and mild interest. You begin talking; looking out of the windows and hearing him make vague noises. The Wheel is maybe halfway round and he's been silent for a while, when you chance a glance over at him. Somehow, you're unsurprised to see he's fallen asleep.
2001
"Where's Punk?" It's the first thing Dave says to you, when you get into the locker room. You've no idea, you came down for the show from school. You'd sent a text to Punkers maybe ten minutes before you got here but he didn't reply, which, if you're honest, was odd because he always replies but you figured he must have still been driving. The Monte is his pride and joy and he seems to revel in driving it far more than you think is reasonable. It's just a Monte Carlos, nothing overly exciting, not like he bought a Ferrari or something cool
"Dunno." You set your bag down and Dave looks briefly worried.
"Should we look for him? We should look for him." You shrug and sit down on a bench, as Prazak paces, trying to decide what to do.
Time passes and there's no sign of Punk, the show starts in ten minutes and he's nowhere to be found. You agree with Dave, maybe looking for him might be a good idea. You exit the building to the parking lot and find Punkers quickly enough. He's gonna bitch so much about his sun burn, you think, as you shake him awake from his sleeping spot on the roof of the Monte.
2002
Can you come over? - Chez 06:18
You can't help but wonder what she wants; it's ridiculously early for a start. You hope it's not about Punk, you really, truly hope it's not. He's been staying at her parents' place since the whole skull fracture thing and you've not been to see him. You're too scared to go and see him like that again. The first time as bad enough, utterly, painfully, horrible. It was absolutely, the worst thing you'd ever seen. Him, lying unconscious in that hospital bed, nurses and doctors flitting in and out of the room, checking his stats and him lying there, deathly pale, not moving, his chest rising and falling shallowly. You'd sat there all night, staring at him, one of his hands in both of yours, worrying; willing him to open his eyes and tell you to stop being a fucking sap, that he was only sleeping. You've never been scared like that before, you've never been so painfully aware of how dangerous your chosen career is, how fragile people, Punk, can be. You've gotten updates on him, little stories about how he's drifting in and out of awake, asleep and something vague in-between and you don't want to see it. The next time you see him, you want it to be when he's himself again; you don't want more terrifying memories of him so close to being lost.
Please, Scott, I need your help. - Chez 06:24
You're there as quickly as you can. Greeted at the door by a frazzled looking Chez, she doesn't say anything, just steps aside and points to the floor, to Punkers, sprawled one shoe on, the other in his hand. You take a deep breath and resign yourself to being very, painfully careful in putting him back to bed.
2003
Sex with Punkers is ludicrously good fun, it's got that illicit, probably shouldn't be doing this edge to it, that sleeping with a woman just doesn't. There is however a down side; just fucked Punk tends to want to fall asleep straight away. You know that it's your own fault really, you practiced getting him into that state with sex but then again, it is a mutual conclusion that fucking as often as possible really is fun so he shares at least half of the blame.
As much fun as fucking him is, dealing with the awkward moments fast asleep just fucked Punk causes, like the one you currently find yourself in, is not. You're really at a loss as to how to explain why Punkers is cuddled up to you like you were his own personal teddy bear. You're desperately hoping the scent of sex, is masked by the scent of now cold pizza. You're not certain you could talk fast enough to explain, why the room smelled of cum and sweat. The one thing you are grateful for is, at least that it was just a quickie on the couch and you'd the presence of mind to fix his and your clothes before sleeping octopus Punkers made his appearance.
2004
You wake up alone and cold, the comforter thrown off of you, as though the original intention had been to pull it back up quickly. You yawn and scratch at the back of your head; you know you fell asleep with Punkers attempting to suffocate you. It's a terrible by-product of fucking him before going to sleep, the man has no concept of personal space and clings like an octopus. It is rare that you wake up alone if you fall asleep with him curled about you. You look around the cheap little hotel room, his clothes are still scattered where they were flung prior to the act. So he is still in the room, somewhere. The first place you look is the floor, Punkers has the oddest affinity for sleeping on floors but he's nowhere to be found in the room at all, which leaves the bathroom. Based on how cold you were when you woke up, he's been gone a long time but you can't hear the shower, perhaps he's getting dried or dressed or something like that. You give him a few minutes, before getting out of bed and going to look for him. You open the door to see him slumped over and asleep on the bathroom floor, you might need to talk him about this weird sleeping on floors habit he has.
2005
This is the part of the match where Punkers is supposed to interfere, it was all agreed, the interfering, the beat-down as the other face tried to help his partner, distracting the referee, only there's no interference. Your opponent looks at you; you glance at Punk, who is leaning on the ring ropes. Maybe he's sick or hurt? You frown and go for a spot, eyes flickering to Punk every so often as you keep trading blows with the other guy, improvising something halfway to okay. Eventually you whip him into the ropes and you can't keep focussed on the match because you're laughing too hard. You hope being flung into the front row will teach Punkers not to nap on the job.
2006
Can you come pick me? - Punkers 00:37
What? Why? Where are you? - sent 00:43
Incoming Call
Punkers
Accept Reject
"Come get me." He sounds tired.
"Where are you? Thought you were getting the L back?" You were sure that's what he said, getting back to Chicago, taking the L back to your place.
"I'm, uh, wait." You hear him muttering under his breath, swearing and chanting the word sign.
"Punkers?" You're fairly sure you know what's going on but if you're honest, you want to hear him explain it.
"Look just come fucking get me, I'm at the last stop and I got no fucking money to get back." He sounds annoyed.
"Be there in a bit." You mutter hanging up on him, leaving to get him. It'd make you a terrible best friend to leave him stranded.
When you get to the station, you spot him easily enough, fast asleep on a bench, a couple of street punks creeping closer to him. You wait patiently until one of them is in the right position and shout his name. His leg kicks at one of the punks and the kid yelps like a wounded puppy.
"Shit, I am so sorry." Punk is apologising to the kid as you approach and grab his bag. The kid is nodding and leaving, shooting you suspicious glances. Once both the would-be thieves have left, Punk flops back on his bench. "Carry me." He demands and you laugh at him. "I'm tired, Cabana, carry me."
"You've got two perfectly good feet, you lazy bastard. Walk." You shake your head and kick at his ankle, he yawns and looks at you with what you think is supposed to be puppy dog eyes. He looks utterly pathetic and you have no resistance to him. You turn round and crouch, letting him clamber onto your back and cling to you. You have a feeling by the time you get back to your car, he'll be asleep.
2007
"Um, Scott?" A nervous looking runner walks up to you, wringing their hands and looking awkward.
"Uh-huh?" You're pretty sure that you've done nothing to inspire such nervousness.
"Um, we need you to deal with a situation." They say, voice quiet, almost a whisper. "It's, uh, it's in the locker room." Now you're very confused, you've no idea what the hell they think you'd be able to do for locker room situations. You're hardly a leader in OVW, you've not been here long enough. The door appears to be closed and all of the boys are nervously shuffling outside of the room, in the corridor.
"The hell is going on?" You ask, several people start making shushing noises at you and point at the door. "Oookay." You push the door and close it quietly behind you. You find the problem quickly enough. "You know, you have the whole locker room hiding in the corridor."
"Hmm?" He sounds sleepy, as he sits up from his curled up position, on the floor.
"The corridor, the entire locker room, terrified of waking you up." He looks mildly confused, spits his hair out of his mouth and yawns.
"I see?" You shake your head and sit on a bench.
"You awake?" You ask him as he scrubs at his eyes and yawns again.
"Why am I sleeping on the floor?" You sigh and smack him on the back of his head. "Oww, fuck off." He stands, stretching. "Where the fuck is everyone? I'm sure there were more people here last time I got sent here." You shake your head and get off the bench, heading for the door, standing by it, watching him as he roots through his bag, trying to find his gear.
"OVW fears sleeping Punks." You tell him, he laughs and stretches once more. You open the door and watch as the entire locker room file in, each one carefully not looking at him. "Why the fuck is everyone scared of you anyways?" You ask loudly, as some new guy shuffles through the door, an icepack held to his face. Several of your friends in the locker room laugh and you get the feeling you're going to have to get Punkers to apologise to this kid. Then warn the kid to be out of range if he tries to wake Punk up again.
2008
"Fucking wake up." You hiss elbowing him in the ribs, his head jolting up.
"I am awake." He hisses back, applauding and blinking rapidly. The next speech starts and out of the corner of your eye, you can see his head drooping forward again, you elbow him once more. "What!" He hisses, the person sat beside you is looking over at you both, something like scorn on their face.
"Seriously, that camera guy is gonna catch you napping at the Hall of Fame and you're gonna catch shit, Punkers. Stay awake." You mutter, trying to keep your voice low as another round of applause dies down and another speech starts.
"It's not my fault, I'm fucking tired." He whispers in your ear, voice low and soft, his breath warm, you fight down a shiver. "Someone kept me up all night." You know you're losing the fight with the smirk forming on your lips.
"Don't worry, got my own room tonight." You assure him as the cameraman snaps a picture and moves on.
2009
You step over the bum in doorway to your building and walk up the stairs to your apartment, Punk had said he be there by the time you got back. He'd said something about ice cream and bad horror movies. You appreciate the thought, really, you do but you're getting over this whole being fired thing. It's been over six months after all. Though this might be something for Punkers' benefit. He sounds at once frustrated and excited with what's going on with him. His Straight Edge Society is an interesting little stable and you can't help but wonder what new and exciting ways to fuck it up Creative will come up with. You've been working on ideas to bat around with him, ripping on Creative really never gets old. You sit around for a few hours, before really getting concerned about him. You send a quick text to him and maybe ten minutes later, there's a knock on your door. When you open the door, you think that bum had looked kind of familiar.
2010
"Careful." You mutter as your guest takes a seat on your sofa and seems torn between staring at you and the lump on the floor.
"Uh."
"Just ignore him." You assure them and start laughing and joking. You've not been doing this podcast for long but you've discovered that people are more likely to open up to you if you put them at ease first, talking to them like you were in a locker room somewhere in the elbow of nowhere, getting them relaxed and comfortable. After about a half hour of chattering, they're looking at the floor again. "Really, just ignore him." You assure them and try to get them back on point.
"But, dude, you have CM Punk treating your leg like a teddy bear."
2011
You approach him carefully, you really wish he wouldn't nap up here. The wall around his balcony is a nice place to sit but one day, the stupid bastard is going to roll over and fall to his death. You can already hear the report on some news channel about the toll of professional wrestling on the psyche of the performers. He'll be the next in a long line of tragic and avoidable pro-wrestling deaths. At least until you get interviewed and you get to tell them that no, it wasn't a tragic and terrible suicide caused by over-work and stress. It was a tragic and terrible accident caused by stupidity and his steadfast refusal to install some kind of bars or a fence to stop himself from rolling off the side of his roof, when he has a nap on top of the wall around it.
2012
"I'm beginning to think you have epilepsy." You kick his leg and he looks up at you, mildly resentful.
"That would be narcolepsy and no, Cabana, I have insomnia." He says tone unsurprisingly harsh, then yawns rubbing his eyes sleepily.
"Snark-olepsy maybe." You mutter back, offering him a hand, pulling him off his crate and to his feet. It's definitely not a good idea to be caught napping backstage at his first WrestleMania title defence.
2013
You're beginning to worry about him. He's been looking so worn out lately, so tired, crashing more and more. You've been busy and there been a lot going on in his life, the details have been thin on the ground but the changes have been obvious. When he's with you, he's either on the floor between the coffee table and the sofa or your lap, asleep, stress and worry creasing his brow. The first time he asks you to go with him to the hospital, you're beyond worried. MRIs, blood work, all manner of tests, to attempt to work out what's wrong with him and you there to drive him back home or for moral support, you're not sure. You remember him saying, way back in the Summer, that two months wasn't long enough, he needs rest, he needs a long rest. The nurse has walked past three times now and you keep shaking your head, she seems to have given up though. He needs to rest and if that means you have to sit in a waiting room, hours after he's finished his appointment to let him have it, well, it's not like you're that busy.
2014
Mikey... Go fetch Leo! - O'Neil 16:46
What? - sent 16:50
Go fetch him. He's in a tree. - O'Neil 16:55
He's a cat now? - sent 17:00
Ha! Go get him. I'll buy you pizza! - O'Neil - 17:03
Where is he? - 17:05
The park? Probably, maybe, he's not very specific... - O'Neil - 17:07
You get a picture of what appears to be the view from a tree in the park you go running in with Punkers. You sigh and head to the park, phoning him on the way.
"Punkers?"
"Cabana?" He sounds groggy, like you've just woke him up, you can't say you're surprised, sleeping up a tree sounds like the sort of weird shit he'd pull right now. "Hello! I think I can see your house from here." Well at least he sounds cheerful, though to be fair; this sabbatical is making him very cheerful and irritatingly well-rested. You're beginning to think there is nothing scarier in the World than a well-rested Punk.
"Why am I being bribed with pizza to get you out of a tree?" You enter the park and try to work out which one he'd be up. There's a lot of trees to choose from.
"Really? Pizza? Sweet. Was having a nap." He laughs and you resign yourself to him not being helpful. "You know, I like climbing trees, you should come next time."
"Uh-huh. Where are you?" You go right, following the path you usually take through the park, scanning the treetops.
"We could build a tree house. I've never built a tree house."
"You wanna go into construction or something? Which tree are you in?"
"I don't think so, I'd be shit at leering at women but I could definitely go for tree house building. We could hook up electric, it'd be awesome." Nope, definitely not going to be helpful and you're keeping him awake for the next few days, no more sleep for Punks.
"Uh-huh. I think the City might disapprove of you filling the trees with houses, Punkers."
"Homeless people could live in them!" Definitely not letting him sleep, maybe for a week, all this resting and relaxing, it's not good for him in the least.
"Get down." You find him in the huge oak, halfway along the path and stand underneath the tree looking up at him.
"Hey, Colt! How you doing?" He waves down at you, the ridiculous grin, that you're still getting used to seeing, on his face.
"I'm good. Get down." He laughs and rubs the back of his neck. You sigh and start climbing the tree, eventually settling on the branch beside him.
"See, that's your place, right?" He points and you find yourself nodding. He is pointing in the direction of your apartment. "It's kinda cold up here, huh?" He says, shivering slightly. Idiot, you can't help but think, it's still freezing out and he's wearing shorts, he'll be damn lucky if he's not caught flu.
"Why were you sleeping in a tree, Punkers?" You nudge his shoulder with your own, clutching at him to stop him from tumbling out of the tree.
"Never slept in a tree before." He mutters, squinting in what you think is the direction of his place.
"Well, you can score it off the bucket list." He laughs and gives you a quick hug, starting his descent down the tree, reaching the bottom and looking up at you, that big grin still on his face. If he's going to look this happy afterwards, maybe, you'll let him sleep in trees more often.
"We're still building a tree house."
After a very much on-going conversation with littleone1389 about how Punk's insomnia affected his sleeping patterns, it was decided he was probably one of those people who would randomly crash and fall asleep at odd moments. That is what this is a little collection of, one for each year...
Reviews are always good so you know, leave one in the box!
Something you've always wanted someone to write for Punk and Cabana, or someone else even, lemme know and I take a stab at it. ;)