Warnings: Set in the continuity of Chasing the Wind and it's sequel Walk in the Snow. 2nd person Colt PoV, AU (heavily AU, no wrestling, the S.E.S is a real cult) slash (Colt/Punk), minor het (Dean Ambrose/OC), profanity, smut, brief mentions of eating disorder.
"This the SES?" The child at the door is skinny, with a mess of reddish brown curls hanging too long in his face, looking lank and unwashed. You stare at him, and he stares straight back, his narrow shoulders squared, his mouth set in a mean little line. He looks every bit the tough little street kid, until you look at the slightly miserable lost look in his eyes.
"Uh-huh, it is." You tell him, and he nods, curling in on himself some. You're not sure how old this kid is, but by looking at him, you'd make him around Tabby's age, so no more than fourteen. It's not the sort of night for a kid like this to be out on his own. Tonight of all nights, kids should be at home, safe and warm in bed, but by looking at him, that's not an option for this kid, even on Christmas Eve he's out in the cold.
"I heard that... Look, I heard that you people let kids like me stay. Is there room?" He shoves his hands in his pockets, and you step aside, letting him into the hall.
"I'll need a name, kid." You tap the logbook, and the kid glares at you. You try for a kindly smile, and curse the fact that you're on door duties on your own tonight, Punk or even Serena would have this kid eating out of their hands. Technically, you're not alone Tabby thinks she's helping, but she's only a kid herself, and fell asleep an hour ago. You didn't have the heart to wake her up and send her to bed, so you left her on the couch. If anything you're glad of her company, Punk's not here, he's stuck in an airport in a city that's miles away, which is why Tabby's helping in the first place. You're both worried about him. It's the first time he's been anywhere on his own for this long. It doesn't matter how many texts and phone calls he makes, doesn't matter how many times he's assured you both he's fine, that he is eating, neither one of you is going to be fully satisfied till he's home, and you can smother him in hugs and kisses. Telling Tabby about the illness that had almost killed him had been a big decision, one made after years of discussion. You'd wanted her to know for a long time, but Punk hadn't wanted her to see him as weak, hadn't wanted to tell her till she was an adult, so you compromised, and told her on her thirteenth birthday, after the Bat Mitzvah she'd insisted on having. You've not raised her with any religion, but she'd wanted one for reasons you know she's told Punk, and you can only guess at, because neither of them will tell you. If you're honest, you think it was probably something to do with wanting to feel closer to you, she's already talked about what tattoos she'd like when she's older. Part of you would like to talk her out of getting any, but there's a larger part that thinks the idea of your daughter and your husband having matching tattoos is cute.
"Daddy?" Her head pokes around the door of the main room, and the scruffy kid in front of you stares at her. "Who's this?"
"Dean... Dean Ambrose." The kid mutters, and you scrawl his name down, holding back the smile that wants to break out on your face, and the surge of fatherly protectiveness that's rising in your gut. This kid is definitely staring at your daughter, and it's making you mildly uncomfortable, but she's getting to that age where boys are going to start being a problem. She's not going to be your little Tabby-Cat forever, she is going to grow up, and you're going to have to deal with that.
"C'mon then, Dean-Dean Ambrose, let's get you fed." Tabby waves him over, and you follow along behind them. "So how old are you?" Tabby asks, rooting through the pantry, pulling out a can of soup. "Daddy, make him a sandwich will you?" You nod, and figure that the old staple of tuna salad will work. It's Tabby and her Papa's favourite, so you've perfected the art of making the best tuna salad sandwich in the World.
"Fourteen..." Dean mutters, and you feel slightly smug that your guess had been on the money. If he were here Punk would be laughing at the little smirk on your face.
"Ooo... Snap." Tabby laughs, Dean-Dean Ambrose smiles at her nervously, and you chop the tomato a little more viciously than necessary. Right about now Punk would be in hysterics laughing at you. He finds your over-protective mother hen tendencies far too entertaining, and somehow manages to miss the humour in his own helicopter-mom leanings.
"So you live here?" Dean-Dean Ambrose says, and Tabby makes an agreeing noise.
"Uh-huh, my parents kind of own this place... My Papa is the founder of the movement, and that is Colt, my Daddy, book-keeper, marketer, and sandwich maker extraordinaire." It always kind of floors you how proud Tabby is to be Punk and yours daughter. How she genuinely celebrates the day her adoption was finalised with more enthusiasm than any other special day. When you'd found her in that alley, nearly nine years ago, you'd not known how easily she'd transform your life, but you'd never change a single thing that's happened. Your life is good, impossibly good.
"Papa and Daddy?" Dean says, sounding slightly confused. "Your mom split?"
"Pff... I'm adopted, that woman is nothing to me. My parents are here, my family is here." Tabby pours the soup into a bowl, and you set that sandwich down on the table beside it. As you do, your cell rings, and you step out of the kitchen to answer it. You know without looking who it'll be, and you don't want to embarrass Tabby by being too sappy with her Papa in front of people again.
"I'm stuck." Punk sounds annoyed, and you close your eyes, listening to his irritated huff.
"Hello Punkers." He laughs in your ear, and you smile, picturing him in your mind. He'll be wearing that indulgent catlike grin he has, his eyes barely slits of deep green, above that beautiful smile.
"It's snowing like a motherfucker, and I'll be stuck here till after Christmas at this rate... Colt, I do not want to miss Christmas." He sighs, and your heart clenches. It's Christmas Eve, he'd hoped to get home by now, but if it's snowing as badly as he says, the airport will be snowed in, and he'll be, as he said, stuck.
"I don't want you to miss Christmas either, but there's nothing we can do about the weather. It is what it is. I want you home, but I can't magic you here." You laugh, and he sighs again. "Where are you?"
"The airport... I'm not missing Christmas. I'll work something out... I think I'm due a Christmas miracle." He laughs, and you have a vision of him trying to charm the people in the airport into getting him home somehow. You'd love for him to be here, but if he can't get back, he can't get back.
"You been-"
"Yes, I've been eating... I swear, I'm eating like a pregnant woman cause of how fucking cold it is... There's gonna be so much more of me to love when I get home..." He sounds annoyed, and you want to be able to hold him, to touch him, to draw him out of this mood, because you know nothing gets him out of a mood quite like being held in your arms.
"Hmm... Good, if there's more of you, you'll be warmer. I might get some of the blankets for a change." You tell him, and he laughs, his irritation drifting away with that happy little sound.
"Asshole... If I can make it home I'll let you know, okay?" Punk sighs again, and you smile at the wall in front of you. You want him home, but if he can't make it, then you suppose you'll manage somehow. It'll be the first Christmas your family's split up, but you suppose you and Tabby will be okay with just patients, members, the kids from the foster home and your new arrival.
"Okay... Oh... Uh, is there any room next door?" You don't think that this Ambrose kid should stay in the main building, he's a kid, he should be over in the foster home with the staff there, but you think they're full up. You could check in the morning, but Punk's on the phone, and he'll know, he always knows.
"Nope, all six beds are full... Why?" He sounds interested, and you can't say you're surprised by that. The little foster home you set up beside the main building is something of a pet project for Punk. He keeps a close eye on it, had vetted, and re-vetted the staff a million times before choosing the team over there, and it does good work. You're proud of it, and you know Punk is too.
"Some kid showed up at the door, like an hour ago. Fourteen, looks like he's been roughing it for a while." Punk makes a tsk-ing sound, and you desperately want him home in that moment. He'd have this problem resolved by now, he'd have this Ambrose kid set up somewhere in the building, and have started on getting things sorted for him.
"On Christmas Eve... Hmm... Let him sleep in the member's dorm till I'm home. Is Kit-Kat still up? I wanna talk to her." He always sounds like he misses Tabby so much when he's away like this, and you poke your head around the kitchen door.
"Tabby-Cat? Punk wants to talk to you." You call to her, interrupting her conversation with the kid. He's finished his food, and is currently elbow deep in dishwater.
"Papa? Is he okay?" Tabby comes over to you, holding her hand out, and you pass her the phone.
"Ask him yourself." You tell her with a smile, and a ruffle to her hair. She ducks out from under your hand talking to Punk softly, laughing at whatever it is he just said to her. "So she's got you washing dishes? That daughter of mine, she's a slave driver." You laugh, and start drying the cleaned dishes.
"She's real... Friendly." Ambrose says quietly. He looks uncomfortable, and tired. You nod at him, smiling awkwardly.
"She gets that from her Papa." You tell him, and the kid nods, looking away. "So, you still hungry or would you like a nice hot shower and some clean clothes?" You're sure there's something that'll fit him in the spare clothes closet upstairs. "You're gonna have to sleep upstairs tonight, can't have you staying with the drunks." He stares at you in confusion, and Tabby comes back into the kitchen, tapping your shoulder with your cell.
"C'mon, you didn't think we were gonna throw you out on your ear again, did you?" She laughs, and Ambrose looks away. "Men..." She sighs, and you think that Serena is a bad influence on her. There are times when she sounds too much like her Big Sis. "Follow me, I'll show you the bathroom, Daddy'll get you some clothes." You salute Tabby, and she leads Ambrose out of the room, the sound of her giggles drifting back to you. This kid is clearly working on charming your little girl, and you're not entirely sure you approve.
"Thanks for this." Dean says once he's cleaned, and dressed in some pyjamas you found in the closet, with a clean outfit for tomorrow under his arm. "I'll get going tomorrow... I just-"
"Dean, this is what we do, don't thank us." You tell him, and he looks at you in confusion. "We help people who need it, and tomorrow you're not going anywhere, if you don't have anywhere else to go, that is. Tomorrow's Christmas, we'll be having lunch, so there'll be lots of food, plenty for one more... And you never know, maybe Santa will have a present for you under the tree." You smile at him, and Dean shakes his head, an odd wry smile on his face. "C'mon to bed with you, young man. Father Christmas doesn't come unless everyone is asleep." You show him to the bed that's his for the night, and stand watching as he settles himself down.
"You're a strange man, Colt." He mutters, turning his back to you, and you chuckle, before waking up the roaming members who are supposed to take over from you for the night. You check in on Tabby, knocking on her door before opening it out of habit. She's getting older, soon she'll want her privacy, and for her parents to not hover around her all the time, so you're practicing treating her more like an adult.
"You all tucked in Tabby-Cat?" You ask her, perching on the edge of her bed. She smiles slightly at you, and you lean over kissing her forehead. You might be trying to treat her more like a teenager, but you know in your heart that she'll always be that dirty little child that clung to your back, sobbing as you took her home for the first time. It doesn't matter if she's fourteen, or forty, she's always going to be your little girl.
"You think Papa'll make it home? He was rambling about Christmas miracles but really... I think its wishful thinking on his part." She sits up, and wraps her arms around your neck. Sometimes, you think she enjoys being your little girl a lot more than her advancing years would suggest, she still loves getting and giving cuddles.
"This is Punk we're talking about, if there's anyone capable of pulling off the implausible, it's your Papa." You grin at her, and she laughs, settling back down. "Get to sleep, Tabs. If he can, Punkers will be home for Christmas." You kiss her forehead again, and she murmurs a quiet okay before drifting off to sleep.
You curl up in bed alone, missing Punk horribly. He's been away for a week now, and the amount you miss him hasn't lessened in the least, if anything the longer he's gone the more you miss him. You miss his presence during the day, miss it like a phantom limb, but alone in bed at night is the worst. Even if he steals all the covers, and is incapable of not taking up the entire bed, you sleep much better with him sprawled beside you. It takes time, but eventually you manage to fall asleep to thoughts of him.
"Hey." The weight that settles in bed beside you is familiar, gloriously familiar, and without thinking, without really waking up, you turn over and pull Punk to your chest.
"Missed you." You murmur in his ear before kissing him. "Missed you so much... But I thought you were stuck in the snow?" You pepper his face with little kisses, and he laughs softly, a big indulgent smile on his lips.
"I managed to get a flight home, got redirected on some crazy mystery tour, but I couldn't miss Christmas. When I called I was in O'Hare." You kiss him again, pulling him tighter to you. There's a little part of you that's annoyed by his little trick, but you're mostly happy he's home and in your arms. "You and Kit-Kat been good?" He asks when you break the kiss, and you nod, stroking his back. It doesn't feel like he's lost any weight, and even years later that's still a relief. You think there's always going to be a part of you that worries about him fading away, but as the years pass that part gets smaller and smaller. You don't think it'll ever go, not fully but it is shrinking.
"Tabby-Cat's gonna be happy to see you." You murmur, tucking him close to you, feeling him settle against your side. "Not as happy as me... It'll be close, but I love you the most." You kiss the top of his head, and he laughs, nuzzling against you.
"It's not a competition, Colt." He half-mumbles, and makes a softly contented noise. "I'd wanted welcome home sex, but fuck it... I'm too tired. Tomorrow, I want Merry Christmas sex."
"It can be your Christmas present." You laugh, and tilt his face up to you, kissing him gently, before letting him settle back down.
"Pff... You're supposed to get your husband a real present, you dork. Not just sex." He gripes, and you close your eyes, your hand moving slowly along his back. "I got you a present, it's under the tree." He yawns, and presses a kiss to your chest. "Love you, g'night."
"Hmm... Love you most, night, Punkers." He doesn't answer you, just yawns again, and presses another quick kiss to your skin.
Christmas morning, you and Punk have a routine, a busy breakfast making routine, and you're not surprised when he wakes you up to help him with the pancake making. It's a tall order, but you've done it every year for so long now, that you're used to it.
"What the fuck?" Serena is the first person downstairs, and she hugs Punk tightly, clearly surprised to see him. "I thought you were stranded on the other side of the country." She laughs, and Punk grins at her. "Did you know? You knew didn't you? You two are evil... Tabs is gonna flip." She laughs, and you join in with her laughter. Tabby is going to be more than a little surprised, but it'll be good for her really. Serena starts making a pot of coffee, and another of tea, her appointed task in this mammoth breakfast feast. "Does this mean I get out of making lunch?"
"Oh no! You are very much needed in the kitchen." Punk tells her. Christmas lunch is a grand palaver, it always takes you, Punk and Serena to make it, sometimes some of the more capable patients are even drafted in to help. This year you think there's a few who'll be up for helping, there's a few older ladies who seem very put out at there being a competent cooking staff at the building. "All hands on deck, you know the drill, Serena." Punk adds another pancake to the stack you're both building, and Serena laughs.
"I'll set the table, I guess." She mutters, leaving the kitchen, heading to the dining room. You lean over the stack, and press a quick peck of a kiss to Punk's cheek.
"I'm happy you're home." You tell him softly, and he smiles at you. You don't think happy quite covers it to be honest, but it's the best word you've got in that moment.
"I'm happy to be home." His smile gets a little bigger when he hears Tabby talking to Serena in the dining room.
"I don't see why I gotta help Daddy, I'm a horrible- Papa!" Punk stops cooking when he hears that, turns just in time to catch Tabby as she flings herself at him. "You're not supposed to be here, you're supposed to be in some airport! How?"
"Christmas miracle." He laughs, and she swats at his chest.
"Christmas miracle... Hmmph... Whatever. You knew didn't you, Daddy? This was some big prank, wasn't it? You two are mean." She pouts, and you shake your head. It's amusing that everyone assumes that you were in on this, until you'd woken up to find Punk in bed you'd not known he'd be home for Christmas.
"We're the worst." Punk agrees with her, and Tabby laughs at him, kissing his cheek, before giving you a hug and a quick kiss too. "You wanna grab the syrup, and the butter?" Punk asks Tabby, starting another pancake.
"Uh... Can I help?" The Ambrose kid sounds utterly miserable, and you wonder how long he's been standing there. You can't imagine seeing someone happy with their parents is what a kid like him needs, especially on Christmas.
"You can indeed, Dean-Dean." Tabby waves him over to her, and drafts him into carrying a couple of the many syrup bottles through to the dining room for her.
"That's the kid who arrived last night?" Punk asks you, and you nod. "Hmm... Well, I know that once school starts back, one of the older kids is heading home, so I guess he can stay in the dorm until that space is freed up." Punk sighs, his eyebrows knitting. "He's been no trouble."
"Not yet." You shrug, and Punk makes a soft agreeing noise.
"You think he might be?" Punk's finished with his bowl of batter, and you add your last pancake to the pile.
"Everyone can be, Punkers." You tell him solemnly, and Punk nods vaguely. "Tabby likes him."
"Likes him or likes him?" Punk's eyes narrow, and you have to hold back a laugh, over-protective Punk is unreasonably adorable, and amusing.
"We done in here?" Luke pops his head around the kitchen door, and Punk waves to the mountain of pancakes. "Good work, gentlemen." Luke takes the plate, and you both follow along behind him.
Breakfast was a loud and chaotic affair, everyone fussing over Punk, marvelling over how he'd managed to make it home. You'd been practically glued to his side the whole meal. You really have missed him so much, and you've not had a chance to really welcome him home yet. A few stolen kisses do not make up for a week without him in your life, and as soon as the breakfast dishes are washed, you plan to steal him away, but he corners you and drags you to the office before you can put your plan into action.
You know that you should be out there with everyone else, but he's been away from you for so long, and you've missed him so much. Between him getting back so late, and having to get up so early this morning, you've not had a chance to show how much you missed each other. It's not romantic in the least, there'll be time for that tonight, it's nothing but confirming he's home, a quick physical confirmation, a prelude to the slower celebration you intend to have later. You don't really expect to be disturbed; the office is something of a sanctuary for you both. The only person who ever really thinks to disturb you there is Tabby, and she's a smart girl. She knows better than to try and stop her Daddy from having some alone time with her Papa.
You're buried in Punk's body, moving inside of him with a firm, determined pace, when there's a knock on the door, and you ignore it in favour of nipping at Punk's throat some more. The knock gets louder, and Punk sighs, his hands moving from your head to shove half-heartedly at your shoulders, a briefly annoyed look on his face.
"Daddy? Papa? C'mon, you gotta show face again sometime today... Make out later." Tabby sounds amused more than anything, her voice pitched low and filled with laughter. Punk groans quietly, and you nip his throat once more, before trying to pull away from him, but his legs wrap around your waist tighter.
"Keep going." He whispers, and you shake your head. You pull back and look at him, this quick session should be called quits now that you've been rumbled, but he squeezes your waist again, pulling you deeper into him. "C'mon, quick."
"We'll get caught." You kiss the tip of his nose, and he pulls you closer still, moaning against your shoulder. "Punkers..." He's tight, his body is always so very tight, and your daughter is just on the other side of the door, you really should not be making hurried, but passionate love to him with her so close.
"I'm giving you ten minutes! You two... Honestly... The things I do for my parents." Tabby mutters, and Punk laughs breathily in your ear. You're kind of glad Tabby is so used to you and Punk, and your need to have some alone time.
"Ten minutes... That long enough?" He whispers, and you lap your way up his throat to his lips, kissing him deeply.
"It's gonna have to be." You laugh in his ear, and he doesn't answer, just urges you to move faster with his actions, and panted gasps. You come as quietly as you can, and drop to your knees in front of him, swallowing his cock down, sucking him off quickly, him biting the inside of his wrist to stop any noise.
"Gonna have to open the window or something." He mumbles, when you stand, licking your lips. You suppose he's right, it'll be cold, but it's better than the office smelling of sex.
"Uh-huh..." You lean in and kiss him. "Gonna give you a proper Merry Christmas-ing later..." You promise him, and he shivers in your arms, grinning mischievously when you break the kiss. "But now, we return to the fray?"
"To battle, Colt... To battle." He hops off the desk with a laugh. There's a sudden knock on the door, and you look at him. He shrugs, and opens the window, quickly righting his clothes. "Probably Kit-Kat come to check on us." He says with a laugh.
"Hello?" Dean is standing on the other side of the door, his hands in his pockets, trying to nonchalant, but really just looking horribly nervous.
"Hi?" You hold the door open, and the kid shuffles in. Punk's sitting behind his desk, an easy smile on his face, and you gesture to one of the chairs against the wall. "So, Deano what can we do for you?" You stand behind Punk, your hand resting on his shoulder. The kid's staring at the walls, at the pictures on them, at the little collection of Tabby's test papers, and the random newspaper clippings here and there. You're not sure if he's impressed, or stalling, but judging by the look on his face, it's a bit of both.
"Uh... Tabby said I should come talk to you... About maybe being able to stay for a while." He fidgets, his hands twisting in the sleeves of his shirt. "My mom... She's in a real bad way, and I don't really have a place to stay, and... Look, I just need somewhere for a little while, and Tabitha said that this is basically what you guys do here. You take people in, and you let them get on their feet." Punk's hand flits up to squeeze yours before he goes over, and sits with Ambrose.
"Your mother... Is she an addict?" He asks softly, the kid looks up at your desperately, and you nod at him.
"You don't have to answer if you don't want to... If you need us to help you, we will. It's just easier for us to help if we know what we're helping with. Talk to Punk, and I'll go grab some of those cookies Tabby was making, I saw you sniffing around the oven, and lemme tell you, they taste even better than they smell." You grin at the kid, and Punk smiles back at you. It's easier for him to get people to open up to him when he has them on their own. You've little doubt that when you come back, in ten minutes, Punk'll have secured the entire story of why Dean Ambrose was knocking on your door on Christmas Eve.
"Bring me hot chocolate too." Punk grins at you, and Dean glances over at him. "Colt makes the best hot chocolate. I mean, you can feel it giving you diabetes, but what's Christmas without chocolate?" Punk smiles at him, and you nod vaguely.
"Yes, dear, anything else? Marshmallows, smores, caviar?" You laugh, and Punk waves you out of the office, you hear Dean laugh as you close the door, and almost walk into a nervous looking Tabby.
"Daddy!" She laughs timidly, and you wrap an arm around her shoulders, guiding her to the kitchen, past a laughing group of patients playing charades with some of the members. "Is Papa talking to Dean? Do you think he'll be able to stay? I think he should stay. It's not right to let him go back out on the street, and there's room in the dorm, and Iain's going back home in January, his dad'll be out of the hospital then, so there'll be room next door for Dean, and I think he'd like it here." Tabby has somehow contracted Punk's habit of rambling when nervous, and you laugh at her, going to the pantry, gathering the necessary ingredients to make hot chocolate. You don't use the powder stuff, not for Punk; instead, you make it from scratch, with real chocolate and thick cream. It's heavy with calories, but back when he'd still been recovering, it'd been something you'd given him regularly to make sure he was getting enough energy. It's a rare treat now, but there's still a part of you that loves making it for him, that loves watching him sip it down, savouring every mouthful. "Hot chocolate? Ooo, can I get some?" Tabby's following you, clearly hoping you'll spill something about what's going on with Dean.
"Uh-huh, course. I need you to frost some of the cookies, Tabby-Cat." You tell her, stirring the chocolate carefully, keeping a close eye on it.
"For Papa and Dean? Are they talking?" She starts mixing up some frosting, and you nod at her. Serena bustles past you, the kitchen is a hive of activity, and you think that you're kind of in the way making this hot chocolate, but no one has the heart to say anything.
"They are. I think your Papa's already got some plan of attack for your little friend." You grin over Tabby and she blushes furiously.
"Well, I'd say someone has a crush." Serena laughs, and Tabby scowls at her. "C'mon Baby Sis, he's cute." Tabby snorts, but doesn't answer, her blush deepening.
"Don't tease the girl, Serena, that's mean." One of the patients helping with the cooking laughs, and Tabby smiles at her. "But he is cute... If I were forty years younger, I'd have a crush." The woman laughs, and you shake your head. The kid looks like a Cabbage Patch doll to you, but you're not a woman, and in your opinion there's nothing and no one as beautiful as Punk, so what you think probably doesn't count for much of anything.
"Daddy, tell them to stop bullying me." Tabby turns to look at you, the same wide-eyed endearing look she's given you since she was tiny little stray in a trash heap, and you sigh.
"Ladies, my daughter and her possible crush are not something to mock, at least not without Punk, he'll be sad to have missed this opportunity." You tell the women, and Serena laughs as Tabby throws her hands up in frustration.
"Papa can never know of this... He'll have a field day." She mutters darkly, and you press a kiss to her hair.
"I won't tell him." You whisper in her ear, and she smiles at you. "Get me some mugs, Tabs, and I'll get out of the way." You pour the hot chocolate between four mugs, and enlist Tabby to carry a plate of her cookies, and her own mug, to the office. "Off you go, Tabby-Cat, serious work business." You tell her, and she balances the plate on your arm before opening the door for you. "Thanks." You tell her as she closes it behind you. Inside the office, Dean is dabbing at his eyes with his sleeve, they look slightly red, and Punk is giving him a loose one-armed hug.
"Finally, I thought you'd been eaten by monsters." Punk laughs, squeezing Dean's shoulders once, before taking the plate from you. "Cookie, Deano?" He smiles at Dean, and the kid picks one of them up. "Kit-Kat makes the best cookies." Punk takes one of the large snowman-shaped ones for himself, biting the hat off in one go.
"She's a good cook." Dean mutters quietly, taking his mug from you, and returning to nibbling at his cookie. He takes a sip of the chocolate, and stares at you, an odd look of awe on his face.
"It's good, right? I married the king of hot chocolate." Punk laughs, and sips from his own mug. The look of satisfaction that spreads over his face isn't one you generally see outside of the bedroom, and you roll your eyes at him.
"You guys have a chat?" You sit in the chair behind your desk, taking a little sip of your chocolate, and a nibble of the cookie in your hand.
"We did." Punk nods, and settles back in his chair. "I believe we have a plan for going forward."
"So I can stay?" Dean asks quietly, and Punk nods. It looks like a weight's been lifted from the kid's shoulders, and you can't stop a slight twinge of fondness from building in you. He's a good kid at heart, at least you think so, time will tell, but he really does seem like a good kid.
"We'll contact the Authorities after the break, and see what your situation is, but for the meantime, this is your home." Punk smiles at him, and Dean looks down at his mug. You stand, coming over to pat his shoulder gently, and he looks up at you, something oddly grateful in his eyes.
"Welcome to the family, Mr Ambrose. Lunch'll be ready in a couple of hours." You tell him in a tone as friendly and welcoming as you can.
When lunch time comes, the kids from next door have been over for maybe an hour, the strictly monitored interaction with the patients in the main building had been fine, and the little ones had proven to be far better at party games than the rag-tag collection of recovering addicts, but that's always the case. Tabby had begged out of helping to cook to keep Dean company, and she'd apparently taken charge of introducing him to the people he'd be staying with next month. That is if the Authorities approve, but based on the story Punk gave you, you think there's no way that any reasonable, responsible person would let the kid go back to his mother.
The dining room is full, and you notice that at some stage someone, and your money is on Luke who would have been operating on the orders of Serena, has pinned some mistletoe to the top of the door. Every year the damn stuff gets stuck there, and every year you end up having to give kisses to many a random person. Of course, Punk always manages to get out of having to kiss anyone but you. You married a cunning man. Cunning that Tabby has picked up from her Papa, because she only ever has to give you a peck, but then again, you're also the only person they both will randomly curl up beside and sleep on, so it might be that you're just their favourite person.
Lunch is filled with laughter, far too much food, and everyone having a good time. There's Christmas music playing in the background, a subtle soundtrack to the festivities. The mistletoe is getting some good usage, every time someone has to go to the bathroom, or pop to the kitchen, they have to leave through the one door, and someone always is waiting for their kiss when the person returns. You've been caught at least three times, and you think that Punk is probably to blame for that. You almost wish he was more possessive over other people kissing you, but he really does seem to be terribly fond of sharing the right to peck you on the cheek. When the main meal is finished, Tabby volunteers to get the dessert, and Dean goes with her, carefully observing some kind of thirty-second delay to avoid kissing her under the mistletoe.
"Wait!" Punk calls out suddenly, and you glance over at him, at the little smirk on his face. Dean pauses in the doorway, looking confused, with a pie in his hand. Behind him comes Tabby with another of the dessert pies in her hands, and Punk's plan becomes obvious to you. Tabby stares at you for a few seconds, and then she looks up. Dean follows her gaze, and blushes bright red.
"I... Uh..." He stammers, and Tabby is fidgeting, looking at once happy and miserable. She leans over, and presses a soft kiss of Dean's cheek. They were blushing before, but now their blushes are so deep it looks painful. Punk smiles cheerfully at them, and you cuff the back of his head lightly, getting a grateful look from Tabby. There are times when Punk is an evil man, but you can't say you mind it. Both Dean and Tabby had been stealing shy glances at each other all day, and it's cute. Your over-protective father senses are tingling, but it's still cute.
"You're a terrible man, Punkers." You mutter in his ear, and he laughs.
"You love me all the same." He grins, and looks at Tabby, then at the pies, and finally at you. You sigh dramatically, getting the message quickly.
"You forgot a knife, Tabby-Cat." You get up, going to fetch a knife from the kitchen. You're somehow utterly unsurprised to find Punk leaning against the door jab when you come back. He's wearing a cute little grin, and you shake your head at him, but grin back. You were due your kiss underneath the mistletoe after all.
"Lookie here, we've got some mistletoe up there, and we're both stood under it, so-" Your hand wraps around the back of his neck, and the few people who are paying attention whoop in amusement as you kiss him thoroughly, leaving Punk happily grinning, and far quieter than he's been all lunch. Tabby's wearing a beaming smile, and you grin over at her. You've always expected her to be embarrassed by how touchy-feely you and Punk can be with each other, but love and romance had enthralled her as a little girl, and it still does today. Dean on the other hand looks a little embarrassed, and you think you like the kid a little more for that.
After lunch, the entire group decamps to the front room, the kids seem excited, and you think it's because the staff from the foster home have told them that Santa's coming, which he is. Granted Santa is just Mr Foley from the across street, who loves being Santa to the point of even bleaching his beard for the role, but it's still special, and when he's in character you could almost believe that he really was old Saint Nicholas. Every year, he brings some of his kids, dressed as elves, with him and they turn the spot in the corner with the tree into a little Santa's Grotto whilst everyone eats lunch. Every year you think until you see that little slice of the magic of Christmas, that you won't get impressed by it, but when you see the sparkles, the fake snow, the throne, and Mr Foley and his kids all dressed up, you can't help but feel six years old and full of wonder.
"He really out did himself this year." Punk whispers in your ear, as he leans against you, watching Santa laugh and talk cheerfully to the middle-aged lady sitting on his knee.
"He out does himself every year." You whisper back to Punk, pressing a kiss to his temple, and Punk makes an agreeing noise as he nuzzles against you some more.
"Next name on my list is a Mr Dean Ambrose?" Dean glances back at you and Punk, and you smile at him. You're not sure how Punk was able to give Mr Foley Dean's name but you're glad he managed it. Dean looks bewildered but happy, and whatever trouble Punk went to is more than worth it for that look alone.
"I just got here..." He mutters, and Punk shrugs.
"Your name's on the list, Deano. Go see what Santa has to say." He says with a laugh, and Dean stands nervously. The eldest of Santa's elves ushers Dean up to her father, and he perches on Santa's knee, looking curiously cute. You think he really will fit in quite nicely with the Society.
"You've had a rough year, young man." Santa says, and Dean pulls an odd face. "Don't worry, next year will be better. You've a home here." He assures Dean happily, and Dean looks over at you and Punk, then to Tabby. You think that there's a blush on his cheeks, and you hold back a sigh, watching your daughter blush in return. It seems that this crush is working both ways, and there's a part of you that wishes Tabby was still a little kid instead of a hormonal teenager. "Merry Christmas, Dean." Santa hands Dean his present, and calls the next name out once he's accepted his candy cane to go with it from one of the elves. Dean wanders over to you and Punk, a nervous little look on his face.
"I can't take this... You're already giving me a bed, feeding me... I don't need presents too." He mutters, and you shake your head.
"Hey, it's from Father Christmas, nothing to do with us. Our presents are under the tree upstairs." Which is true enough, there's a little collection of presents under the tiny plastic tree in Punk and yours bedroom. The presents Santa provides are all bought from his own money. You've no idea how this nice old guy manages it, but no matter how many people are in the building at Christmas he always has an age and gender appropriate gift for them. Dean glances down at the present, and then back at Santa. An odd look crosses his face, and he stares up at you both.
"I only got here last night." He says slowly, something calculating in his gaze. "I've been around you both pretty much all day... How did you give him my name?" Dean frowns, and you glance at Punk who shrugs vaguely.
"I didn't give it to him." He says plainly, and you know that tone. It's one he uses when he's telling nothing but the truth, if he had given Mr Foley Dean's name, you'd be able to tell from his tone, but by the sound of things, he really didn't. Dean smiles slightly, seemingly giving up on his investigation, and goes over to Tabby, talking to her quietly, laughing at something she says.
"If you didn't tell him, and I didn't tell him, how did he know?" You ask Punk, and he shrugs again, snuggling into your side, pulling your arm around him tighter.
"Same way I got home." He says smugly. "Christmas miracle."
Thank you to my dear littleone1389, alizabethianrose, and Rebllecherry for the reviews. :3
Second up we have Little Drummer Boy. I'm a sucker for that song. :3
Not much is set in stone for these fics - so if you'd like to fire me a song and pairing combo in a PM, I'll have a listen and see what I can come up with.
You can't give me an apple for Christmas like my students are already doing , but you can give me a review! ;)