Warnings: Slash (Ambrose/Punk), AU, Homelessness, Direct follow on from Xmas Carols chapter 9 - Carol of the Bells.


The motel room is always quiet. Quiet would be fine if Punk wasn't alone, but he is, and the silence of the room becomes oppressive after a few hours, so he leaves. Scott still has Punk's clothes from the streets, and whilst Dean's thin, the clothes he's bought are generally too long for Punk to fit properly. The shirts are okay, but the pants trail on the ground slightly, so Punk has little option but to stick with the jeans Scott gave him.

The last visit to see the doctor, Punk left with far too many new things for him to feel entirely comfortable with, but the discomfort of the new clothing hadn't outweighed the discomfort Punk felt after stealing the photo of Phil and Scott. He can't say why he took it other than he wanted to. He wanted something tangible of his past, something beyond the tenancy agreement for the apartment Phil rented, something beyond his birth certificate, that he still hasn't shown Dean. He wanted something that he could stare at to try to understand the men in the photo. Scott seems pretty straightforward, but Phil's a riddle. Understanding Phil is like trying to catch clouds. He's too distant, and there's a part of Punk that's convinced that even if he were close enough he'd never be able to grasp Phil anyway. Who he was, Punk's beginning to think, will always be a mystery.

He can't really say why he started working in the evenings whilst Dean's at the nightclub, well he can but he doesn't want think about the why too closely. He knows he's out there letting other men fuck him for money for the simple reason of its easy work that pays. He and Dean need money to keep the motel, and Punk has no skills, no trade, no real practical experience in anything other than selling his body. He's never done anything other than that, and while it's sad and depressing, it's a fact. Punk's good at selling himself, and with the nicer clothes the clients seem more inclined to give him more money than usual, which brings him an odd sense of pride. His contribution to the ever-dwindling roll of money is meagre, but it's something. It's not something to be happy about, it's something to be deeply ashamed of, but Punk's making money, and he's helping keep them afloat in what is the only way he can. Still he doesn't want Dean to know. As much as he doesn't want Dean to know, he doesn't want Scott to know more, the idea of the doctor knowing Punk works as a prostitute makes him feel slightly sick.

Scott was Phil's friend, and there's vast part of Punk that wants the doctor as his friend too. He doesn't have friends, he has acquaintances and Dean. Dean's more than enough, but Punk feels greedy when it comes to the idea of being Scott's friend, he wants it more than he can really explain, for reasons he definitely can't explain, but the longer he stares at the photo, the more he wants it. He wants to be able to smile the way Phil is in that picture. He wants the carefree happiness in Phil's eyes to be in his own. It might be an impossible to fulfil desire, but it doesn't stop Punk from wanting it.

Money isn't the real reason Punk's whoring himself out, deep down he knows that. The real reason is more depressingly honest than that. He's whoring himself out, because it's something he can control. He decides who fucks him, the how and the where, it's all Punk's decision. Everything in his life is out of his hands. Dean's working, he's away from Punk, and there's nothing to be down about it. Scott holds all of the cards, every drop of information comes only one way, there's nothing equal in that relationship. Whoring gives Punk control. Then there's the fact that it stops him from being alone. It's a pathetic reason to turn to prostitution, but it's an honest one. Punk hates being alone, hates feeling lonely, because it reminds him of the hospital. On the streets, before Dean, he'd been alone by choice. If he let no one close, there would be no one to betray and abandon him. He'd been alone to spare himself the pain of being left behind again, but Dean had wormed his way in. There'd been no keeping Dean out once he'd decided to be part of Punk's life, and no matter how hard Punk had tried to keep Dean out, he'd not stayed away, so Punk had relented and let Dean in. On the streets, it'd been okay, not good by any means, but it was okay. Then Punk had gotten sick, and he'd been sure that death was waiting for him, but Dean had saved him. In saving Punk, Dean had given him Scott, who seems just as likely as Dean to become someone that Punk lets in. Both Scott and Dean have so much scope to destroy Punk, and the idea of it terrifies Punk. They could ruin him, and he'd have no defence against it.

"Love you." Dean's voice in his ear, and Dean's arms worming under him wake Punk up. He'd not been sleeping deeply. Tomorrow he gets to call Scott, and arrange another meeting, maybe even two meetings if Scott wants to deal with Punk on both of his days off. The excitement, and it is childish excitement, kept Punk from sleeping well.

"Hmm... Love you too." Punk twists in Dean's arms and smiles at the slightly drunk, and highly confused face Dean pulls.

"You're awake?" Dean mutters, one hand moving Punk's waist to stroke over his face. "I can't even remember the last time you've been awake. Fuck, you're beautiful, you know that? The most beautiful thing I've ever seen... No one compares to you... No one, not even Roman-"

"You're not comparing me to ancient civilisations' deities now?" Punk laughs, and Dean grins at him sleepily.

"You're more beautiful than Aphrodite herself... Wait that's Greek... Too tired for complicated thinking." Dean buries his face against Punk's neck, and Punk's eyes fall closed at the feeling of being nuzzled. The major thing he can't get from whoring himself out is this. Punk adores being cuddled, he loves being nuzzled against, and snuggled up with. The only person he's ever let close enough for that is Dean, and Dean's been too busy to cuddle Punk as of late.

"Get some sleep." Punk mutters softly, stroking Dean's back and hair. "I'll be out tomorrow... Gonna go see the doctor."

"It helping?" Dean mumbles, his voice slurred with on-coming sleep and residual alcohol.

"I don't know." Punk answers honestly. He's no idea if his meetings with Scott are helping. He thinks that in some ways, it's good to spend time learning about who Phil was, but in other ways, the time Punk spends with the doctor is bad for both him, and Scott. He's certain that Scott can't be getting anything worthwhile out of being around Punk, unless it's for medical research, but if Punk was just a research subject there wouldn't be the pain that occasionally blossoms in Scott's eyes when Punk does something that reminds him of Phil. It might be that spending time together is terrible for both Punk and Scott, but there's a part of Punk that hopes the opposite is true, because he doesn't want to give up spending time with the doctor.

"Scott, tell me what happened between us." Punk mutters softly. He's leafing through another stack of photos from his, Phil's past, trying to remember anything of the people in them. The faces mean nothing; even Phil's face is strange to him. He doesn't recognise himself without the scar, without the ring, or the wonkiness of his nose. Phil was a different man, and it's hard to reconcile the past with the present for Punk. All the time he's had on his own with Dean working has given him far too much time to think about Phil's past, and of all the things that he's dwelling on the falling out with Scott plays on his mind the most.

"I... It's..." There's a soft sigh beside him, and Punk glances over at Scott. He looks tired, ridiculously so, but it's his day off so that's understandable. Doctoring is hard work, and it's basically what he's doing on the days he should be free, sitting with Punk is essentially doctoring, in a different way to normal, but Punk's sure it should be covered under the Hippocratic oath.

"I meant something to you?" Punk watches something flit over Scott's face, something uncomfortable, something that he clearly doesn't want Punk to notice.

"I told you that." His voice is rough, an edge to it Punk's never heard from him. "I meant something to you too..." He closes his eyes, and scrubs a hand over his face. "You still mean something to me."

"What happened then? What happened to us?" Punk pulls the picture he stole a last visit out of his pocket, and sets it on the table. The photograph shows Phil and Scott, big, happy grins turned to the camera. It's a photograph Punk's spent the last week staring at, trying to remember that moment in time. "We were happy... Why didn't we talk after we graduated College? Where were you? Why was Phil alone? What happened?"

"I left." Scott says simply, his head flopping back on the back of the couch so he can regard the ceiling. "Phil told me he had feelings for me. I freaked out and left." Punk stares at Scott's profile, trying to remember the emotions that must have been coursing through him then, but as ever, there's nothing. The pain that Phil must have felt is gone, and Punk almost wonders if an escape from pain was the reason behind the accident.

"You left him?" Punk's tone is flat, but there's nothing he can do to change that. He doesn't really feel anything at the revelation of Scott leaving Phil. It merely confirms to Punk that Phil wasn't a good person. No one looked for him, no one stayed with him, everyone left him. Punk's life is the result of Phil's failures.

"I didn't leave him... I..." Scott sighs, and closes his eyes. "I ran away... I wasn't right for him. In all honesty I've no idea who would have been." He laughs, and Punk stares down at the most recent photo of Phil. Long, dyed black hair, a scruffy almost beard, bored apathy in his eyes, a sardonic twist to his lips. He wasn't an unattractive man, not like Punk at least. Years on the streets, the broken and set wrong nose, the lip-ring, the tattoos, the shaved head all leave Punk looking intimidating, Phil had at least looked like he's listen before punching you in the face.

"He was a bad person." Punk says firmly, as he takes the photo up again, and regards it carefully. Once Phil was happy, once Phil was happy with Scott, but Scott left, and Phil was alone. By all accounts, Phil was always alone, and he must have deserved that, he must have been a bad person. Beside him, Scott laughs quietly.

"No... He wasn't a bad person, Punkers... He was..." He tilts his head so that whilst it's still flopped against the back of the couch he's facing Punk. "He was a good man, just... I don't have the words for it. He was like you... But a little different..." Scott sighs once more, and Punk twists so that he's sitting sideways on the couch, staring at Scott.

"Like me?" Punk toes his shoes off, and tucks his legs up under him. "You don't know me, Scott." Punk rests his elbow on the back of the couch, a lazy smirk forming on his lips. "You can't say anything about anyone being like me."

"I know you." A small smile spreads over Scott's lips, and Punk can feel something stir in his gut, some strange urge to let his smirk soften into a sweeter smile. "I know you better than either of us realise." Scott shakes his head, and sits up straighter, picking up the stack of photos once more. "This one... This guy here." He taps the photo, and Punk leans a little closer so he can see the picture. "That's your brother... It's the only picture of him I've ever seen, and I'm not entirely sure who the other people are." The photo shows a much younger Phil standing beside a slightly older man, his arm around Phil's shoulders. There's several other people in the picture, all grinning, all obviously friends.

"Brother?" There's an odd little part of Punk that wants to cuddle up closer to Scott, but he's sure that's solely because Dean's been away pretty much all week. He's sure that if Dean were around more Punk wouldn't be spending so much of his time feeling lonely. If Dean wasn't always working, Punk would be able to curl up by him, and he wouldn't be facing urges to snuggle with the only other person he spends any time with. What Punk needs is to learn to not expect to be coddled to so much, Dean's working so they both have somewhere to live, Dean's working for their futures, and Punk should be grateful for that.

"Brother." Scott repeats softly, and passes the photo over. "His name's Mike, and before you ask, I never met him." Scott shakes his head, and laughs. "Phil was a compartmentalised person. You've always kept so many things locked up inside that pretty little head of yours... It's probably ironic that they're locked up away from you too now." Scott laughs, and Punk can feel his cheeks heating up as Scott flicks his forehead lightly.

"Hmm... Probably." Punk mutters, picking the photo of his brother up. "What the fuck was Phil so afraid of? Was there anyone he didn't stop talking to?" Punk shifts so that his back is pressed against Scott's side, and holds the photo of his brother up. The man in the picture looks enough like Punk to obviously be his brother, and he can't help but wonder what happened between them. He wonders if the other people in the picture where Phil's friends too, or if they were Mike's. With every drip of information of Phil's past, there comes a flood of questions, and it's becoming tiresome.

"Phil was... Punkers, do you want me to tell you what happened with Phil and his parents? You asked last week, and it's all kind of linked, or at least in the same vein." Scott says suddenly. He shifts away slightly, and Punk has to catch himself so he doesn't flop backwards into Scott more.

"Do I?" Punk mutters shifting closer to Scott again, pressing himself against him once more. He can't say why, but he has the feeling this story will be easier to hear with some human contact.

"I can't... I don't know. Do you?" Scott seems uncertain what to do with himself. He feels tense beneath Punk. He thinks he should move away, but he doesn't want to break the contact, he needs someone close to him, he needs the reassurance another person's presence gives him. Punk glances up at the ceiling, and nods. He wants to know the story of Phil and his parents. He wants to know as many stories as Scott can tell him, no matter how upsetting they are, Punk needs to hear them, and even if they are upsetting, that hurt will be mitigated by the comfort offered by being pressed against Scott's side.

"Tell me." Punk mumbles, and Scott takes a deep breath. He fidgets a little, and then relaxes, settling more comfortably against the back of the couch, letting Punk slump against him some more.

"The full story... Well, Phil was never big on full stories, so I can't really give you that." Scott laughs quietly, and Punk snorts. He's still staring at the picture of Phil's brother, still wondering about the other people in the picture with him. "But the way I heard it, there was an argument, something about money." Scott sighs, and Punk shifts so he can see Scott's face. "Your father wasn't great with money. He was an alcoholic, spent most of what he had on beer. Your mother never worked, a stay-at-home mom. Phil wanted to go to college, they didn't have the money for it, so he... Phil was a volatile man." It sounds like Scott's being diplomatic with that description, in all honesty, it sounds like Phil was an ill-tempered asshole most of the time. "He never felt like they cared all that much about him, and really I don't think that they did. I don't think it was spite, or malice on their part, just that they were people who probably shouldn't have had kids. Your brother... Mike... You had a falling out, again over money. It always sounded like Phil and he were kind of similar... Too similar probably."

"Phil was kind of fixated on money, huh? He fought with everyone over it?" Punk asks easily, and Scott chuckles.

"He never had any money growing up... So he was always frugal. I was surprised when I saw this place to be honest. It's not the sort of place I could see Phil spending money on." Scott trails off, and he moves so that his back's braced against the arm of the couch. "Phil's parents never contacted him. He never contacted them, not once all through college. He didn't like to talk about them. He told me all this one night while we were studying for this big exam. He didn't hate them. Sure, he didn't care about them, but he didn't hate them. I don't think he ever really hated anyone... It was always like he just moved on. If he wasn't getting what he needed from someone, he'd find it elsewhere. No hate, no resentment, just accepting that these aren't the people he needs, and going to find the people he does."

"Sounds like a good system." Punk mutters, his back still turned to Scott.

"Pragmatic." Scott's hand rests on Punk's shoulder, squeezing lightly. "You've always been a pragmatic man, Punkers." Punk closes his eyes, and wills the slight heat trickling through him away. That nickname, Scott's touch, it's too much for him, but at the same time not quite enough. "So... You want some tea?" Scott stands, and Punk takes a deep breath in through his nose. He should leave. This conversation, the way he feels so comfortable around Scott, the touches between them, these aren't things he should be indulging. He should be at home, but the motel room will be empty, Dean'll be at work, and Punk can't stand the idea of spending anymore time alone. He's so tired of being alone, being abandoned.

"Sounds good." Punk scoops the stack of photos up, and trails along behind Scott, sparing a glance for the living room ceiling. Phil might have been pragmatic, but he was also a damned mystery, and even if Punk's learnt more about him, he's no closer to solving the mystery.

"You know." Scott sounds puzzled as he sips at his tea, and Punk glances up from the cookie he was nibbling at to look at Scott. "I have absolutely no idea how Phil paid for college." There's a concerned look on Scott's face, a tightly worried expression that has Punk returning it.

"He never told you?" Phil kept secrets it seems, far too many secrets, and Punk's no idea how to fully unravel the enigma that was Phil.

"No... And I never thought of it until now... How the fuck did you pay for college, Punkers?" Scott's staring at Punk, but in that moment Punk has no doubts that it's not him Scott's seeing. The doctor is staring the past in the eye and trying to understand just what it was doing.

"Phil was a mystery?" Punk shrugs, and Scott scowls. "You were best friends, but he kept secrets, it happens." Punk smiles slightly, and Scott's scowl deepens.

"Punk... He... We... I can't explain it." Scott scrubs a hand over his face, and sighs.

"Did you fuck him?" Punk asks harshly, and Scott barks a surprised laugh.

"No." His scowl is replaced with a broad smile, and Punk narrows his eyes slightly.

"Did he fuck you?" The rephrased question has Scott laughing once more, and Punk almost bristles on behalf of his former self.

"There was no fucking, Punk. We never had sex." Scott takes a drink from his tea, and a frown slowly forms on his lips. He's clearly getting lost in trawling through his memories trying to find anything about how Phil paid for college. "Before you ask, the most that ever happened was a kiss." Scott says suddenly, cutting off the next few questions Punk was formulating in his mind.

"You kissed me?" Phil stares at Scott, at the blank look on his face, and feels like he's said something stupid once more, but what Punk isn't sure.

"Phil... I kissed Phil." Scott says firmly, and Punk shifts his gaze to his cup quickly. Scott kissed Phil, not Punk. It's usually so easy to keep a hold of the difference between the two, but clearly at the thought of kissing Punk had let that differentiation slide.

"Was he a good kisser?" Punk's smile and tone feel like they're on the wrong side of flirtatious, and Scott shifts uncomfortably in his chair. "That good, huh?"

"Stop." Scott sounds like he's trying to sound firm, but really he just sounds pained, and a little upset. "This is..." He sighs heavily, and takes a drink from his cup. "Is anything I've told you sticking?"

"Not really... I... Little things, little scraps of information stick. I write it all down." There's a heavy pause, and Scott nods slightly.

"I wish I could fix you." He says eventually, and Punk glances away. He almost wishes the doctor could fix him too, but if he was fixed, he wouldn't be himself anymore.

"I don't know if I do... I don't think I want to be Phil again." Punk mumbles, taking up his cup, and finishing the too hot liquid too quickly. He can feel it scalding its way down his throat.

"I... I don't think you could be him again, Punk." An odd look flicks over Scott's face, something almost sad, and Punk can't think of anything to say in response to that. He stands, and makes a move towards the front door. "You're leaving?"

"I think I've taken up enough of your time." Punk forces a smile to his face, and Scott looks torn. Torn over what Punk isn't sure, and he's not sure he should ask because Scott might tell him, and Punk has the distinct feeling he wouldn't much like the answer.

"Wait here, I'll get your things. I fixed up the holes, and... Well they're as close to new as I could get them." Scott heads to the laundry room, and Punk leans against the doorframe, staring up at the ceiling. Phil isn't just a mystery now, he was a mystery then too, and Punk can't even begin to understand what he was so afraid of. There had to be something, something he didn't want other people to know, something dark, something ominous, something bad. Phil wasn't a good person; if he were, people wouldn't have left him so easily. Scott returns quickly, holding a bag of Punk's things.

"Colt?" Punk starts, and then the rest of the words he wanted die in his throat, and he can't remember how he wanted to proceed with that statement.

"Punk... Can you not? Can you please not call me that?" Scott's voice is soft, so soft and small, but so heavy with pain.

"Call you what?" Punk steps forward, he intended to take the bag, but what he does is pull Scott into a hug, his arms wrapping around Scott tightly, and he tucks his head under Scott's chin.

"Colt... It's-"

"You call me Punkers." Punk mumbles, his eyes falling closed when Scott's arms wrap around him just as tight. "I meant something to you. You meant something to me... I mean something to you, and you mean something to me, but I don't know what."

"The past, Punk... It's all the past." Scott's arms squeeze Punk tightly, his scent filling Punk's senses.

"I don't have a past. I don't have a future... Alls I have is now." Punk thinks he should stop nuzzling against Scott so he pulls back slightly, pausing when he sees Scott's face. They're close, far too close, but that doesn't feel like a problem in that moment. Right then it feels perfectly normal to be pressed against Scott like this. "You loved him? You had feelings for him, so why did you run?"

"I... It wasn't the right time. He... He'd knocked me back so many times, and then I was leaving, and he said everything I needed to, wanted to hear, and I couldn't... I just couldn't, Punkers. It wasn't fair to you. It wasn't fair to us... It was the wrong time, but fuck... There's so much I should have done differently, so much." Scott's hands come to rest on Punk's cheeks, framing his face gently, and Punk can feel his lungs aching as they try to get enough oxygen. Scott's eyes are boring into Punk's, his attention rapt with Punk's face. "I'm sorry, Punkers... I'm so sorry... I'm sorry for..."

"What?" Punk prompts, and whatever the moment was is lost. Scott clears his throat lightly, and tries to step away, but Punk clings to him. "You left me once, Colt. Don't leave me again." Punk's voice is a pitiful bleat of sound, a miserably plaintive whisper, and Scott relents. He pulls Punk close once more, holding him tightly. They stand in silence for what feels like an incredibly long, but also incredibly short time, Punk revelling in being held, as Scott slowly strokes the back of his head. As they stand there, Punk wonders if this was how Phil felt when Scott held him, if he felt this wrapped up and safe in Scott's arms. Punk thinks, from the little he's learnt of Phil, feeling this way would terrify him, but afraid is the one thing this doesn't make Punk feel.

"Do you want a ride back to where you're staying?" Scott asks eventually, and Punk almost doesn't answer. There's a part of him that's hoping if he's quiet Scott won't ask again, and he'll get to stay pressed against the doctor. Once he leaves the circle of Scott's arms, he'll have to go back to the motel room, and he knows that he'll end up pacing it for a while before going back out to turn some tricks again. He's not something Scott needs in his life, but Scott doesn't know that, and as long as he keeps a hold of Punk, he won't know that, but then there's Dean. A chill runs down Punk's spine, and he pulls away from Scott. He's standing embracing another man whilst his lover is probably getting ready to work. Punk doesn't deserve this, and Dean certainly doesn't deserve to be lumbered with Punk. "Punkers?"

"I... I should go." Punk can't meet Scott's eyes, can't bring himself to look at him. He'd wanted a friend out of Scott, and he's probably pushed too far, come on too strong, and too fast.

"Punk?" Scott's hand tilts Punk's chin up, forcing him to meet Scott's eyes. "Do you want me to take you home?" He slowly, firmly, trying to impress that this is more than an offer to take Punk back to the motel. That simple question is also are you sure you want to keep talking to me, doesn't this hurt you too much? Punk nods slightly, then clears his throat.

"Yeah. I'd love a ride back to my motel, Scott." It hurts, but Punk needs this, and he'll keep visiting Scott until the doctor leaves him again.

The ride back to the motel is silent expect for Punk giving occasional directions. There's some kind of unrealised energy hanging between him and the doctor, and Punk has no idea how to break it. It doesn't feel tense, but it's not relaxed, and he'd like for it to be relaxed. There shouldn't be this strange unrealised potential between friends, and what Punk wants is friendship.

"Why did we become friends?" He asks as they pull up outside the motel. Scott glances over at him, and chuckles softly.

"Why? Sheesh, that's a question." A grin forms on his lips, and Punk can feel an unexpected heat creep up the back of his neck. "I guess because we were living together." Scott looks unsatisfied with his answer, and a frown slowly forms on his lips. "I wanted to be Phil's friend... He was cool, and funny, and charming, and beau- He was an interesting guy." Scott finishes awkwardly, turning to stare out the windscreen, and Punk can feel his cheeks burning. Beautiful. Scott had almost called him, Phil, beautiful, and Punk feels a little flustered at that.

"Phil was interesting, but not me?" Punk instantly regrets asking that, instantly regrets the teasing tone he'd asked it in.

"You're plenty interesting." Scott mutters, and turns back to Punk. "You want a hand taking your stuff to your room?"

"Nah... I'll manage." The smile that rests on Punk's lips feels surprisingly genuine, and he's grateful for that. It feels like the odd energy between them is dormant for now, and it's a relief.

"I've got tomorrow off too if you wanna... I mean... If you want-"

"I don't want to take up all your time. You'll get sick of me pretty quickly, Scott." Scott laughs at Punk's words, his fingers twitching nervously on the steering wheel.

"Gimme a call, I'll treat you to lunch." The smile that spreads over Scott's lips draws one over Punk's, and he nods.

"Alright, but whoever you're dating's gonna be pissed that you keep running off with some homeless guy." Punk laughs, and Scott shakes his head.

"I'm not seeing anyone." He mumbles, and Punk laughs nervously. He'd meant it as a throwaway comment, but it's genuinely the first real piece of information he's gotten about Scott himself.

"You're not? Why? I mean you're a good-looking guy, you're ridiculously kind, and you've got an amazing apartment, a great job-"

"Which leaves me with no time to go looking for someone to date. My choices are either patients or staff, and experience has taught me to not shit where I eat." Scott cuts in, and Punk feels like an idiot. He should have realised that being a doctor is too time consuming to have time for dating. "You sure you'll manage? You look pale." The back of Scott's hand presses against Punk's forehead, gauging his temperature. "You should lie down... Have you been pushing yourself? You're still healing, Punkers. You need to be careful with yourself."

"I-" Punk cuts himself off, he'd felt the truth of what he's been doing with his nights on the tip of his tongue, and he's nowhere near ready to spill all of the secrets of his life out to Scott.

"Your boyfriend's looking after you... Stop. I know what're you're doing, and I know it's for complicated reasons that are more than just money, but it's not helping, not even with that." Scott says softly, his hand twists, and a finger trails over Punk's eyebrow gently. "You're only hurting yourself... It's a habit you've not forgotten, unfortunately." He sighs softly, and Punk can feel his eyes drift closed under Scott's careful touches. As gently as Dean touches him sometimes, it's never quite with this much reverence, never quite like Punk is made of smoke and too much pressure could destroy him. "You were always a masochist, always trying to keep everything hidden, and most of the time it worked, but you can never hide how much things are hurting you... You could never hide that from me." Scott's hand cups Punk's cheek for a second before he withdraws it. "That's why I ran, that's why I left you, Punkers... You were hurt, you were scared, and I knew that with my starting work I wouldn't have time to make it better. I had to choose, my career or you, and I chose my job." Punk opens his eyes to look at the doctor, seeing the utter misery in his eyes. "I've never regretted anything more than leaving you that day... I've never been more scared in my life than when I got the call from the hospital that you'd left. They... They told me when you were admitted, when you woke up from your coma... I tried, I tried so hard to get time off to see you, but I was still so new, still too junior to be able to get enough time. In the end, I put in for a transfer, but by the time it cleared, you'd vanished. I looked, Punkers... I looked so hard, but I couldn't find you-"

"I was scared, Colt... There was no one there, I didn't know anything, I couldn't remember, and I was alone... So scared." The fear from the hospital fills Punk, his lungs don't seem capable of drawing enough air, his heart can't beat fast enough to get his blood where it needs to be, his eyes can't keep their tears back.

"I'm sorry." Scott whispers, and pulls Punk into a hug that's awkward, and uncomfortable, but completely what Punk needs in that moment. He can't remember the last time he's broken down like this, but it feels cathartic. Scott's hands move slowly over Punk's back as he sobs, Scott's voice murmurs quiet reassurances into his ears, soft words that erode the fear and loneliness in Punk like time erodes cliff faces. When the sobs die down, Punk doesn't move. He's certain he couldn't move even if he wanted to, pressed against Scott he feels contentedly safe, and it's a sanctuary he doesn't want to leave, but Scott will need to go home. He has his own life to attend to, and Punk has his empty motel room to keep vigil in.

Punk leads Scott up to the room he shares with Dean, and feels even grubbier than usual. This is the place Dean's working so hard to keep for them, and Punk's standing outside of it with another man, he feels some kind of warm tingle in the pit of his stomach over. It feels like he's betraying Dean in some way, some strange fundamental way that makes him feel awful.

"I'll call you, okay?" Punk mutters, as he slides the key into the lock, holding his spare hand out for the bag of his clothes.

"I'll be waiting." There's a note in Scott's voice, a hint that if Punk doesn't call Scott will come and find him. It's a tone that makes a spark of fire burn in Punk's gut, and it makes him feel miserable because it makes him think of Dean. Punk nods tightly, not turning to look at the doctor. He's embarrassed himself enough around Scott today, he doesn't need to do or say anything else stupid or needy. "Later." Scott mutters, setting the bag at Punk's feet, and taking Punk's outstretched hand. He squeezes it lightly, and turns to leave the hallway.

"I'll call tomorrow, Colt... I'll write it down so I remember." Punk calls, getting a nod and a soft good for his comment.

The motel room is unsurprisingly empty; Dean's already left for work. The first thing Punk does is scrawl everything he can remember about the afternoon down. Every word, every thought, every feeling that has clung to his mind, Punk captures on paper, and when he's done he feels drained. Once he's written, Punk throws himself to the bed, and he lies staring up at the ceiling, trying to understand the emotions burning in his gut. There's a twisted mess of tangled feelings in his brain that he can't grasp or understand, a mass of half-connected emotions that leave him unable to actually feel anything.

He can't say how long he lies there, but eventually Punk moves. He strips the clothes Scott gave him last week off, and starts pulling on his own clothes. They smell nicer than when he first got them, they look in much better repair too, Scott did a good job with them, and Punk feels bitingly guilty for some reason he can't pin down. Once he's dressed, Punk feels more like himself. He feels like the outside matches the inside of him once more. Dressed in the nice clothes Scott gave him, Punk felt like a fraud. He's not someone who can wear things like that, he's someone who is clearly from the streets, someone who's exterior should match the grimy interior. His eyes fall to the coat Dean had always worn on the streets, and something leaden settles in Punk's stomach. He's holding Dean back. If it wasn't for Punk, Dean would have worked his way out of this mess long ago, he's sure of it. If it wasn't for Punk, Dean would never have been on the streets for so long. Now he's got a job, he's got a roof over his head, but he loves Punk. Foolishly, desperately, utterly loves Punk, and now more than ever Punk can't work out why. Dean's working so hard, and so long for a man who whores himself out, who spent most of the day flirting with someone who's only trying to help. Neither Dean, nor Scott need Punk in their lives.

Punk forces his feet back into his boots, and laces them tightly. He should leave, he should just go, leave them both to get on with their lives, and forget about him. He's certain he won't forget either of them, but his memory is terrible, and with time they might fade into the white noise that makes up most of Punk's memories. He's pulling on his coat when the phone rings. He knows its Dean, is completely and utterly certain it's Dean, and Punk's paralysed with indecision. Leaving is for the best. Even this half-life isn't what Punk deserves, but he adores it all the same. He loves Dean, loves him more than there are words to say, he's growing unfathomably fond of spending time with Scott, he doesn't want to lose either of them, but he's not good enough for them. Phil was a terrible person, and Punk must reap the crop Phil sowed. Only Phil might not have been terrible, Scott liked him, Scott loved him, so he can't have been all that bad.

Punk has no idea why he'd chosen to sleep under the desk come the morning, and even less idea why Dean chose to sleep there with him. He has the suspicion he'd been seeking refuge from his circular, and painful thoughts, but Dean's motivation is a mystery. Their argument, if it could be called an argument, and not just Dean calling him on his stupidity, had felt pointless. Dean had told him what he wanted, and needed to hear, but all Punk can think of his the little white lie he'd told. He knows why Scott left Phil, he knows, it's stuck with him from the moment he'd heard it. Even before the accident, even before Punk existed, Phil had secrets. Phil was nothing but secrets, and he was afraid of them. He was afraid, and Scott couldn't look after him, so he left. He left Phil, presumably, thinking that Phil would find someone to help him, because that was Phil's modus operandi; if he couldn't get what he needed from one person, he'd find another who'd provide for him. Only it seems Scott had underestimated how much Phil believed he was the one who could help, because Punk's certain that there was no one filling in for Scott. Punk's sure that once Scott left things fell apart for Phil, even if Punk has no evidence of this, he's sure of it.

"So... Will you tell me anything about Phil?" Dean's voice cuts through Punk's thoughts. It's as soft as the strokes Dean's been giving his skin, a gentle caress of words to match the gentle caresses of Dean's hands.

"I... I know how old I am." Punk mutters, and Dean nods, his arms tightening around Punk. "I used to rent an apartment downtown... It's big, expensive looking. Either I had money or a sugar daddy." Punk laughs, and Dean rolls over, pulling Punk with him. Punk rearranges himself so he's braced over Dean, resting on his elbows. "And today, well today, I found out I've got a brother. We look super alike, and Colt says that he thinks we're super similar personality-wise, but he's never met Mike, that's my brother. I don't know where he is, and I don't think he'd wanna see me, though I'd like to see him, cause we fell out somehow. It's like my parents, I found out about them last week. I've got my birth certificate in my pocket. It's that insane? I've got a birth certificate. I wonder if I could drive. I wonder if there's a driver's license with my face on it. Oh! I saw my signature too... I must have had a bank account... I should ask Colt, but will he know? He might, but I don't- I'll ask. Where was I? My parents? They're still around as far as Colt knows, but again we fell out. Colt's not sure on the reasons, but I think I was a bastard, an ill-tempered bastard who liked to argue. Colt says I'm pragmatic, but I'm sticking with bastard. I wish I knew what happened with my family, Colt says he doesn't know, but I think he'll help me find out, but I don't wanna keep bothering him, but I dunno. Oh! Colt! I keep talking about him, but not saying anything about him. We were friends. Good friends, best friends, I think we might still be friends, I hope we're still friends, cause I'd like a friend. I mean I've got you, and I love you, and I know you love me, but I don't know if we're friends. I don't think you have to be someone's friend to be their lover, do you? I don't think so... Blah-blah-blah. So me and Colt-"

"You gonna breathe at all, Punk?" Dean interrupts with a laugh, and a blush rushes to Punk's cheeks. "It sounds like you and the good doctor Colton have been bonding pretty well... And you idiot, of course we're friends. I love you, love you so much, but I still like you." Dean kisses Punk softly; his hands cradle Punk's face carefully, his eyes running over Punk's features like he can't decide where to look first. "You know... You didn't say Phil once." Punk's eyes widen at Dean's comment. He hadn't separated Phil from himself; it'd been I all the time. Slowly but surely he's accepting that Phil is Punk. "One thing though, who's Colt?"

"Colt? Uh... That's Scott... The doctor." Punk hadn't even realised he'd called Scott Colt.

"You got a pet name for him already, huh? Should I be worried?" Dean laughs, and Punk shakes his head slowly. Dean doesn't need to worry about Scott. Punk loves Dean, loves him wholly and completely. Even if he likes the doctor, it's nothing like his feelings Dean, but he does like Scott. He likes the little burn of fire in his stomach when Scott touches him, likes the strange energy between them, likes the unexpected comfort he feels beside him. There's a part of Punk that would like to remember how Phil felt about Scott, a foolish little part that'd like to compare his feelings for Dean with Phil's for Scott.

"You don't need to worry about anyone stealing me away, Dean." Punk laughs, and Dean stares up at him thoughtfully.

"Why are you working?" The tone the question's given is quietly sad, and Punk wishes Dean hadn't asked. He has answers, but they're not good answers.

"I don't want to burden you-"

"You're mine." Dean whispers fiercely. "You're... I want to look after you, Punk. I want to provide for you... Buy you things, keep you safe..." Dean closes his eyes, and pulls Punk down against his chest.

"I know, but I... I'm bored? I guess that's close enough... There's nothing for me to do, there's only me, and my notes... I get caught in a cycle of reading them over, and over hoping that something'll just click into place, and it doesn't, so I get frustrated." Punk sighs, and squirms so he's lying beside Dean rather than on top of him. "I'll find something else to do... I'll apply to places-"

"You're still healing. Rest, get stronger, then we'll find you something." Dean interrupts, and Punk's reminded of Scott saying basically the same thing to him yesterday. "You never know, maybe your doctor can tell you what Phil used to do."

"Or give me my old sugar daddy's number." Punk laughs, and Dean smiles at him indulgently. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Dean looks surprised, and Punk smiles at him softly. His hands tangle in Dean's hair, and Punk pulls him into a kiss. The sort of kiss that builds from gentle and slow to fast and hard. The sort of kiss that leaves Punk pinned to the bed by a smirking Dean. The sort of kiss they've not had in months.

"For far too much, and not enough." Punk grins, and Dean narrows his eyes at him.

"You trying to be all mysterious, baby?" Dean teases, nipping at Punk's throat. "I like it... You know how much I like riddles."

"Hmm... I've a riddle for you." Punk moans, as Dean's hands slide down Punk's body to card through his pubic hair. "What's been empty for far too long?"

"You wanna have sex, Punk?" Dean smirks, and Punk grins back. He's missed Dean inside of him. That might be last reason he was out working. He's missed feeling desired, and it seems like Dean's finally going to give him what he wants.

"Thought you'd never ask."


Many thanks to - Rebellecherry, Brokenspell77, roksand, Guest, littleone1389, and VKxXx92.

So hopefully you'll not be too mad at the cutting out of the smut this time around, but this chapter was already long... I know I don't usually do this, but, next chapter will see our happy couple spending some time with one of the two potential threats to their relationship, so stay tuned(? it's not really tuned is it? This is reading... please stay invested to read the next chapter, I guess is more accurate but more cumbersome.)

If you read all the way down here, please review - even a few words keeps me motivated!