Warnings: Slash (Reigns/Ambrose), Smut, Mild Slash (Ambrose/Punk) (Cabana/Punk), AU, Homelessness, Direct follow on from Xmas Carols chapter 9 - Carol of the Bells.
That night Dean sleeps well. He sleeps far better than he has since Punk left. He dreams of nothing in particular. He doesn't dream of being cold, hungry, and happy, instead he dreams of vague sensations, and the soft sounds of waves on a beach. When he wakes Punk is sitting up in bed, Dean's head in his lap, a distant look on his face. It's an expression Dean doesn't know, a strange faraway look, and Dean doesn't like it.
"You're home?" Dean asks softly, and Punk focusses on him.
"I'm here." Punk sounds odd, as faraway as the look on his face, and Dean frowns, shifting to sit up in bed. "I said you could ask me questions... I... I have one I'd like to ask you first though." Punk's voice is clearer, stronger, and Dean nods, his attention rapt on Punk.
"Anything, baby, anything." He isn't sure what to do with his hands, they want to reach out and grab Punk's, but Dean doesn't think Punk would appreciate the gesture in that moment, so he folds them in his lap. He wonders what Punk's question is going to be. It could be one of a million things, but Dean's thinks it might relate to why he's been fucking Roman. The answer there is simple, an answer Dean should have given Punk the first night it had happened, but for reasons Dean's been having a hard time justifying to himself, he'd allowed himself to become a scurrier. He'd told lies and half-truths when he should have remembered that he's not a scurrier. He's homeless, even if he's currently homed, the streets are in Dean's blood. He'd been lying to himself, almost as much as he'd been lying to Punk, by hiding the the truth of what was happening with Roman.
"Do you love me?" Punk's question is quiet, his faraway tone remaining, and Dean stares at him blankly.
"Do you really need to ask me that?" He whispers. It hurts. To hear that soft little question aches more than any thing Dean's ever experienced, even the fear of losing Punk to death or the doctor doesn't hurt as much as hearing him question Dean's love for him. There's one constant in Dean's life, one thing he's certain of, and that is his love for Punk.
"Please. Just answer me." Punk says flatly. He sounds like every drop of emotion has been siphoned out of him, and Dean makes a quick grab for him hands, cradling them gently.
"I can't believe I've let you doubt me this much..." The words escape Dean in a pitiful croak, and he raises Punk's hands to his lips. "How could I?" He murmurs against Punk's skin.
"Dean." Punk sounds pained, and Dean looks up at him. His eyes are shimmering with unshed tears, his lips pressed into a thin little line. "Answer me."
"So much." Dean reaches for Punk's face with one hand, moulding it to the curve of his cheek, his thumb strokes over the stark scar on Punk's temple. "I love you so so much." Punk nods at Dean's words. It doesn't look like he's going to say anything else, and Dean tries desperately to think of something worth saying to him.
"Colt thinks you have a reason for it... For..." Punk doesn't seem able to say it, doesn't seem like he can bring himself to voice the fact that Dean was sleeping with someone else.
"The job." Dean provides the answer without the question being finished. "I was sleeping with him to keep the job."
"Why?" Punk is staring at the wall behind Dean's head, his eyebrows knit in pain.
"The money... I need to keep you safe, baby. I need to keep you warm, and dry... I... Punk, you're everything to me, and I'll do whatever I have to to keep you safe." Dean strokes Punk's eyebrow once more.
"Even lie to me? Hide the truth... Be like them?" Punk laughs softly, and he leans away from Dean's touch. "For me? No... I don't think it was, not really. He's a good looking guy, isn't he? Tall, handsome, rich." Dean can feel his blood freezing, and he stares blankly at Punk, watching as he gets off the bed. "You say it was for me, but it wasn't just for me, was it? It can't have been hard to let him fuck you."
"Is it hard to let your doctor fuck you" Dean snaps, struggling out from under the blankets to stand. His fists are clenched, the broken skin of his right knuckles pulling tightly.
"I have never fucked Colt." Punk sneers, his shoulders setting, his body falling into a fighting stance. "I have never been anything but faithful to you." His tone is venomous, his posture loose and fluid as though he's waiting for the violence to begin.
"Really?" Dean scoffs, flexing his hands, willing the fight to drain out of him. Even if he's still recovering Punk would probably best Dean in a fight. Not because Punk's the better fighter, but because Dean could never willing hurt him. The thought of causing Punk pain, more pain, is abhorrent to him.
"You think I'd lie to you?" Punk snaps, his eyes hard and narrowed. "You! You fucking dare accuse me of lying" Punk laughs, a sharp grating sound that has Dean wincing. "You cheated on me, I have never cheated on you." Punk folds his arms, and looks pained, thoroughly pained. "I... I kissed him. He didn't kiss me back... But I kissed him." The fight leaves Punk in a flood, and he sinks to his knees, his forehead pressed against the bed. "I want to kiss him again... I want to forgive you... I want to curl up with you both, and I... If it was for me, Dean, why didn't you tell me? If you told me I would've understood... It'd have been a job, but you didn't... You... Left me." Punk's voice is muffled by the comforter, and Dean clambers over the bed, trying to think of the words he needs to say to make this okay, trying to ignore the fact Punk said he kissed the doctor and wants to again. It's a problem for another day, something to think about later, not now when Dean wants to stop this from unravelling even more.
"I didn't leave you." It was the wrong thing to say. Dean knows as soon as the words leave his mouth that they were the wrong ones. Punk takes a shuddering breath, and leans away from the bed.
"You wouldn't touch me." He sounds hollow. He sounds wrong, so very wrong. "You wouldn't sleep in the same bed as me. You wouldn't talk to me."
"I couldn't." Dean wishes he'd made a better opening gambit, but this is the track he started down, and there's no turning back now. "When we came back here, I wanted to make things better for us, to get away from being nothing but a pair of losers whoring themselves out, and when I got that job I thought I could be legit for the first time in my life. I thought that I could finally be the man you deserve." Punk laughs, and Dean flinches. Punk's laughter was a harsh, but probably accurate response. Dean will never be the man Punk needs. The man he needs is in some swanky apartment, with a great job, and Punk's past.
"A little money to get a place to rest, Punk. That's what Colt told me when he gave me that money." Punk laughs again. "Rest... I've not rested a single fucking day since then... If you'd not dragged me back to that fucking clinic I could have died in peace." Punk's voice drops, his breath fast and shallow. "That infection should have killed me, and we all would have been a lot better off if it had. None of this would have happened, Dean. None of this should have happened." Punk closes his eyes, trying to get a handle on his breathing. Dean stares transfixed. He can't think of a single thing to say to Punk. He isn't sure how to explain how in one way Punk's very right. None of this should have happened, Dean should have told Punk about Roman instead of trying to hide it. Being open and honest was how they survived on the streets, and it would have been how they survived as scurriers. Whilst in one way Punk's right, in so many others he's wrong, painfully wrong. If Punk had died, Dean would be dead or worse. There's no doubting that in Dean's mind, but this isn't something Punk's going to believe, Dean can tell. Their relationship isn't something that can withstand the assault they've both put it through. This is it, this is the end. It's a painful realisation, but Dean can't keep Punk, so it's time to sever the ties that bind them together.
"I wouldn't have let you die, Punk." Dean whispers. Punk snorts, and curls into himself. "And if I'd not taken you, you'd have never met Colt again." He sneers the nickname without meaning to, and Punk glances at him. "If you'd died where would he be? Still moping over his lost Punkers?" Dean barks a harsh laugh, and Punk's eyes narrow. "You know... I'm fucking Roman. I should have told you, but I didn't. I'm fucking him, but it was to keep you here, to keep us here." Dean stands once more, and goes over to crouch beside Punk. "I fuck him to keep my job. A job I got because of you. I've never lived for someone else until I met you, and every day after I met you was another day I wanted to see your face." Dean reaches for Punk's chin, holding it lightly. "I've loved you so completely, so wholly since almost the first time I saw you, and you..." Dean leans closer, his lips almost brushing Punk's. His heart is pounding, there's something thick and heavy in his blood. He knows what he's about to do is both cruel and necessary. "You're a whore." Dean kisses Punk one last time, his lips lightly brush over Punk's, and Dean steels himself against the burning need to apologise, and beg for Punk's forgiveness. "That doctor... All he was supposed to do was tell you who you were, but you couldn't resist the allure of getting yourself in somewhere, could you? Of course you haven't fucked him, you're far smarter than that, Punk." Dean leans away from Punk. Punk's sitting rigidly, his eyes closed, his lips pressed together, the colour drained from his skin. "You're not stupid enough to just fuck him, oh no. You're playing this for the long con. Has he told you he loves you yet, or are you still working on making it sound convincing coming from you first? You don't need to worry about that, you're pretty believable." Dean forces a harsh laugh out, and moves away from Punk, to lean against a wall. Punk's not moved once since Dean started talking, he looks like he's frozen in place. "I've always believed you at least." Dean chuckles wryly, and finally Punk looks up at him. "Go on, go." Dean waves at the door, folding his arms over his chest. "There's nothing here for you." Punk's mouth opens and closes a few times, like he's desperate to say something.
"Dean?" Punk croaks, and stands weakly. He looks like a wraith, his skin pale, his eyes huge and dark. It takes all of Dean's willpower to remain against the wall. He can't go to Punk, can't give him any comfort. This is the end, this is Dean forcing him out, and into the waiting arms of the doctor.
"I'd say I hope you find what you're looking for, Punk, but I don't." Dean keeps his face as blank as his tone. He watches Punk look around the room frantically, like he was looking for clues as to how this all happened. The conversation Punk had started, Dean has changed the purpose of. Dean's sure that Punk would have forgiven him, but forgiving Dean isn't what Punk needs. Punk needs to distance himself from the streets, he needs to be kept safe, and Dean can't provide that, so Punk needs to go.
"Dean..." Punk almost staggers over to him, and slumps so his head's resting against Dean's shoulder. "I forgive you... This Roman thing, this job... Forget it, don't do this to me." He whispers, and Dean closes his eyes firmly. He needs to do this, he needs to make Punk leave.
"Get out, Punk. Go away, don't come back. I don't want to see you. I don't want you in my life. I don't love you." Of all the lies Dean has told since they've come to this little motel room those are the biggest. There's nothing more false than those three little statements.
"You don't mean that." There's a desperate edge to Punk's voice, one that Dean ignores firmly. "I love you." Punk sounds so honest, and Dean hates that the only thing he has to counter Punk's honesty is lies, but this is for Punk's own good. Dean has always wanted to be a hero for Punk, but it seems to save him, Dean needs to play the villain. The doctor will protect Punk, he'll heal him, and that's the only thing that matters.
"That's nice, but I don't love you." Dean refuses to look at Punk, even when Punk grips his shoulders tightly.
"Look at me, and say it." Punk pleads, and Dean take a deep breath. He can feel his heart breaking with each second that passes. He meets Punk's eyes reluctantly, sees the desperate spark of hope in their depths, and Dean knows he needs to snuff that light out once and for all.
"I do not love you." He says each word carefully, speaks slowly and calmly as he stares into Punk's eyes. The hope dies, and Punk shrinks away from him. He packs his few belongings into a bag under Dean's empty stare. Before he leaves the room he pauses, looking around it, his eyes lingering over the bed.
"This is the room we rented that one time, isn't it?" Punk says softly. Dean nods tightly, and Punk looks like he's fighting tears. "Be safe, Dean. Be happy... I... I l-"
"Go." Dean stops him from finishing that sentence. Dean can't hear Punk confess his love again, if he does his resolve will falter, and he'll take back every lie he's spewed forth. Punk looks wounded, and he nods. He sets the key down on the table, and closes the door behind him quietly. It takes Dean less than a moment to sink to the ground. He face pressed against his knees as he weeps.
"Dean?" Roman sounds at once surprised, and delighted to have Dean turn up on his doorstep. "What happened? Why are you here? Are you okay?" Dean doesn't answer, instead he launches himself at Roman, kissing him fiercely, kissing him until the only thing Dean can think of is the pounding of his blood, loud in his ears. It's not a kiss he's ever shared with Roman before, it's nothing like any of the tainted kisses they've had before, and whilst it's nowhere near as enjoyable as kissing Punk, it's not bad. If anything Dean thinks he's enjoying this, so long as he keeps thoughts of Punk from his mind. Roman breaks the kiss with an oddly tight smile. "Not that I'm complaining, but what's gotten into you?" Dean doesn't answer, instead he latches onto Roman's throat, worrying a mark there. Roman moans softly, his head tilting to one side, giving Dean more room to work. "Upstairs, to bed." The words are almost breathed out, and Dean nods slightly. He kicks his shoes off, and starts stripping on his way up to Roman's bedroom.
In the bedroom Dean falters in his determination. He can hear Roman gathering the clothes he's shed on the way up here, humming softly to himself. The bed is huge, dominating the room ominously with it's ostentatious grandeur. Punk is gone. The knowledge hits Dean once more in a wave at that moment. His whole reason for being in Roman's employ, his whole reason for being in this house, his whole reason for being is gone. There is no reason to be here. There is no reason for any of this. Roman's arms around Dean's waist jolts him from his thoughts.
"Hey..." Roman murmurs against Dean's hair. "So, you were all raring to go downstairs." He kisses Dean's hair, and Dean closes his eyes.
"Just waiting for company." Dean mutters, turning in Roman's arms. He pulls him into a kiss, that Roman quickly takes command of, his tongue dominating Dean's mouth effortlessly. They fall back onto the bed, Roman pinning Dean down easily. "Gonna have to get undressed to make for good company, Ro." Dean smirks. Roman backs off, and starts stripping, his eyes focussed on Dean, an odd expression in them.
"Are you okay?" Roman asks softly, as he settles between Dean's thighs.
"Yeah." Dean tries to make his answer sound firm, but it's a far bigger question than Roman realises. "C'mon, I wanna get fucked good and hard." Roman laughs, and leans over to grab his lube from the night-stand. His first finger breaches Dean carefully, easing in and out slowly. A second finger is introduced with equal slowness. It seems Roman isn't in any kind of hurry. His attention fully on the task of stretching Dean out.
"Did..." Roman trails off, and leans over to grab a condom. The task of sheathing his cock taking up far more of his attention than it should. He eases inside Dean, stilling when his cock is fully inside of Dean's ass. Roman starts moving at the same slow pace he had prepped Dean. His movements languid, his fingers stroking over Dean's face. "There's something wrong." It's not a question, and Dean rolls his eyes. He's not having a heart to heart with this man. This man ruined his life. If it wasn't for Roman, Dean would only be losing Punk to the doctor, he wouldn't have betrayed him, wouldn't have lied to him, wouldn't have convinced Punk that he didn't love him.
"It's nothing." Dean rolls his hips trying to inspire Roman to move faster.
"Nothing? It doesn't look like nothing." Roman looks perturbed, and Dean sighs. He reaches up, and drags Roman down into a kiss.
"Punk left me this morning." It's as much as Dean's going to give Roman. It might only be a little, but it's a lot more than he'd wanted to give the man who'd hastened the destruction of the one relationship Dean's ever wanted to last. "Doggy?" Dean shoves as Roman's shoulders, moving to rest on alll-fours when Roman pulls out of him.
"He left you?" Roman drapes himself over Dean's back. "Does that meanI finally get you?" Roman rubs his cock-head at Dean's asshole, and Dean thrusts back against it. The head doesn't slip inside, and Dean lets out an only half-faked moan of disappointment.
"It means we're fucking right now." Dean looks over his shoulder, trying to look coy.
"Yeah... I guess it does." Roman thrusts in firmly, and finally speeds up, one of his hands gropes around to take a hold of Dean's half-hard cock. "You're not into this?" Roman mutters into Dean's ear, and Dean rocks back into Roman's thrusts. "Thought you wanted to be fucked." He grunts, and Dean drops his head to rest his forehead against the pillow. His mind conjures up the memory of Punk's thin fingers around his cock. The memory of Punk's delicately firm touch sending blood rushing to firm-up Dean's length. "That's it." Roman presses nipping kisses to the back of Dean's neck, and starts fucking him in earnest. There's no more talking, only grunts, moans, and the slapping of skin on skin. Roman comes with a bellow that to Dean always sounds put on, and mildly ridiculous. He comes with his eyes closed, and a fading image of Punk from the last time they made love in his mind. Roman pulls out of Dean to flop onto his back, and chuckles softly, his eyes fixated on Dean's face.
"What?" Dean asks merely because it seems like a question he should ask. He doesn't much care why Roman's laughing and grinning like an idiot.
"You're single now, right?" Roman reaches out to Dean, and Dean slips from the bed.
"I'm gonna shower." He mutters, and Roman chuckles once more. Dean had known what Roman was going to say, and there's no answer Dean could give that wouldn't either be a lie, or something Roman wouldn't want to hear. By the time Dean finishes in the shower Roman's fallen asleep. Dean starts pulling on his clothes, and considers his options. If he stays, he can work in the club, he can cultivate a relationship of sorts with Roman, he can live with the spectres of Punk. If he stays he'll live with the knowledge that somewhere Punk's safe, Punk's happy, Punk's with someone who's not Dean.
He sneaks out of Roman's house in the early hours of the morning. He can't stay here. He can't stay in Chicago. This was his home with Punk, and now Punk is gone. He cut Punk free, and he gave Roman his goodbye fuck. There's nothing tying Dean to this life anymore. He's free from any obligations he had to being a scurrier. He's free to return to where he belongs. He's free to return to his contemplations. He's free to return to only having to worry about himself, a state he's not been in in years. He's free to return to being homeless. It's almost a relief really. The years with Punk were stressful. Wonderful though they were, having someone else relying on him was hard work for Dean. He's not the sort of man who's ever been dependable. Leaving him is the greatest service he can do for Punk. This way Punk is free. Dean's not a hero, he could never be, but he's delivered Punk into the arms of one, and that has to be enough.
The walk to the bus station is long, and cold. On route, Dean resolves that he's going somewhere warmer. He's sick of the cold, and the wind of Chicago. He's going to head somewhere nicer. The cheapest ticket to somewhere relatively warm turns out to be Vegas, so Dean buys it, and wonders what it'll be like being homeless there. He can't imagine it'll be fun or safe, but it'll be so different to Chicago that he doesn't care. Not Chicago is the only remit he has. Chicago already is steeped in the strange haze of nostalgia. As he'd walked he'd passed so many little places that held so many memories. He walked past the spot where he first met Punk, and hadn't been able stop himself from checking to see if Punk's name was still scrawled there. It'd been a surprise to see that it was. Dean's own name had still be there, and around them both there'd been drawn a crude heart, a heart that Dean knows he'd not made. A foolish part of him had hoped it was Punk's handy work. He'd taken very little with him on this exodus. A small bag, filled with the lighter of his scurrier clothes, his cellphone, it's charger, and all the money from the hiding spot in the motel room. So he'd taken a picture of the little love-heart graffiti with his phone, and set it was the wallpaper for the tiny screen. He's no pictures of Punk, nothing but his memories to recall how beautiful Punk had been, so this simple piece of graffiti feels like the only physical thing Dean has of Punk, and he knows he'll treasure it.
He's been on the bus for maybe two hours when his cell chirps, and Dean glances down at it in surprise. The message is from a number that's been saved as Punk, and it reads simply.
Be warm. Be safe. Be happy. - Punk
Many thanks to - Moiself, VKxXx92, Brokenspell77, and Rebellecherry.
Next update will be 2015/11/22.
Comments, questions, critique? They all help keep me writing - PLEASE REVIEW - even a few words keeps me motivated!