A/N: I don't own the wrestlers! I do own Pixie and Betsy. As always, it's meant in fun.

The Mizard Of Odd

Chapter 39: Miz And Punk Talk About Drugs

"Bunch of quacks," Punk said. "They couldn't even get my name right. Why were they calling me Mr. Wallace?"

"Probably because we used the alias William Wallace," Miz said.

"I can't believe you told them my name is William Wallace," Punk grumbled.

"I can't believe you're doing drugs," Miz said. "And it was Mark that told them you were William Wallace."

"I'm a cactus!" Mark said. "Ooh, prickly!"

"You let him choose my alias?" Punk said. "Geez, Miz."

"Cheese whiz!" Mark said, and he laughed.

Miz shot them both dirty looks. "I'm not speaking to either of you any more," he said, before he marched to the SUV, leaving Mark and Punk to fend for themselves.

"Stupid Miz," Punk muttered. He stared at the sheets of paper that the nurse had given him, including a copy of the tox screen. "I'm not on drugs." They reached the SUV. "Where should I sit?"

"Up front," Miz said. "I need to keep an eye on you, make sure you're not over there, popping pills."

Punk rolled his eyes and climbed into the SUV. "For the last time, I am not on drugs!"

"That paper in your hand tells a different story," Miz said.

"Then it's a liar," Punk told Miz.

"Someone certainly is," Miz said, "and I don't think it's the paper."

The two glared at each other until JJ cleared his throat. "Hey, maybe we should get on the road?" he said.

"Right," Miz said, turning the key in the ignition. "Let's put this unfortunate incident behind us."

"Fine," Punk said with a sigh.

"I'm a snowcone!" Mark said. "And a cactus! And a doctor! Yay!"

"I have a feeling it's going to be a long day," Christian said.

%

Miz watched the sun come up from the driver's seat of the SUV. Everyone else was asleep, aside from Punk, who wasn't speaking to him. The radio was on low, playing some song Miz didn't recognize. He took a sip of his Pepsi and stared out at the road. "Getting tired yet?" Punk asked.

"Why?" Miz asked, glancing toward Punk. "Are you going to offer to drive again?"

"No," Punk said. "You've made your opinion of that very clear. But I'm saying, they had it wrong. I don't do drugs."

Miz sighed. "I wish I could believe you, Punk, but a tox screen doesn't lie."

"Why are you taking this so personally, anyway?" Punk asked. "I mean, I know why I'm mad about it- it's not true- but why are you so mad about it?"

"I don't know," Miz said. "Maybe because, despite your delusions of Jesusness, you've been the one guy I could count on, and now I'm not sure I can."

Punk said, "You… counted on me?"

"Yeah," Miz said, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. "You're a pain, but you've given me good information on pretty much everything. And then this happens…"

"Nothing happened. Nothing's changed, Miz."

"But it has," Miz said. "My opinion of you has changed. How can I trust you if your fundamental truth was a lie?"

Punk looked thoughtfully out at the road before them. "The fact is, you think it's a lie, but it isn't. I am straightedge. I've never been anything but straightedge. Just because you don't believe me doesn't make that any less true."

"You can say that until you're blue in the face. It won't make me believe it."

"I feel like I've already said it until I was blue in the face," Punk muttered. "But fine. This time, we'll agree to disagree and when I'm eventually vindicated and proved right… Then you can apologize."

"Great. I'll be stopping to buy a drug test when we get to Miami. If I'm right, then you can apologize to me."

"Deal," Punk said. "Because that sucker is going to come out completely clean."

"Okay. I hope for your sake you're right," Miz said.

"I am. You'll see."

Miz sighed. "Fine. But you're still not driving."

"Just do me a favor and don't wreck the car, okay? It's on my credit card. I'm already going to have to pay for that GPS that Orton destroyed…" He winced. "And I've got six stitches in my head. I am not having a good day thus far."

"Sorry to hear that, Willy."

Punk glared. "Don't call me that."

"Okay. Is Wally better?"

"No. Argh. Can't you just call me Punk? Or maybe Jesus?"

"I'm not going to call you Jesus," Miz said. "But yeah, I guess Punk still works. You know, it really does suit you."

"Thanks… I think."

"Oh, it wasn't a compliment," Miz said, smirking.

"Yeah, somehow I figured it might not be," said Punk with a sigh. "Regardless, it's the name I ended up with, and I'll still answer to it. I'm never going to answer to Billy or Willy or Wally, though."

"Fair enough," Miz said. "But answer me this, Punk. If you didn't take the drugs, then how did they end up in your system?"

"I don't know," Punk said. "That's what's really bothering me. You're assuming that the results they read to us were mine and not someone else's."

"Hospitals don't make mistakes like that very often."

"You'd be surprised," Punk muttered.

"Okay, suppose it was a mistake," Miz said. "Then where are your results?"

"I don't know, but there's probably some guy who took a lot of Tramadol who came out with a clean tox screen and is ecstatic."

Miz chuckled. "We'll see when we get to Florida, I guess."

"Yeah, I guess we will." Punk said.