Chapter Text
Draft season is always a nerve-wracking time. It’s hard not knowing what brand you’ll be on in a couple weeks. Waiting around to hear from above that you’ve been chosen. Even harder when there’s a hell of a lot of goddamn business you still need to finish right where you’re at.
CM Punk has never liked the feeling of leaving business undone. It’s what still bugs him about how he was unceremoniously terminated from his last job. He had left business unfinished with MJF, and despite the weird sort of Fatal Attraction thing the kid had for him, he had wanted to handle that business before he left. It would’ve been a beautiful thing. And a hell of a lot of fans would have loved to see it.
Punk doesn’t want to have the same thing happen again. But as usual, it’s out of his control. He’s one of the biggest stars in the world, but somehow, he’s also the unlucky bastard who has left a trail of pissing people off that’s too long for him to chalk up to other people’s bullshit. He’s lost his shit a time or two. He knows that. And the most recent motherfucker pushing those buttons has been Drew McIntyre. Ridiculous fucking Scotsman with his accent making everything sound vaguely more threatening because it goes from shit talking with the guys he’s worked with most of his career, to suddenly being threatened by Mel Gibson in Braveheart except the accent is real and so is the rage.
And so is the spark in those blue eyes that has a way of stopping Punk in his tracks, even if he’s already very good at playing it off like he couldn’t care less. If only he could also convince himself of that. He knows the only way he’s going to work through the weird, confusing, fucked up feelings inside is to get in the ring and take them out on Drew’s stupid fucking face. Those blue eyes won’t be able to get to him if they’re both swollen shut… and Punk intends to make sure they are when he gets done with him.
Which is why it’s absolutely vital to him that they stay on the same brand long enough for that to happen. He just hasn’t figured out how just yet… He’s had long talks with Triple H, trying to sell him on how important it is for him and Drew to stay on the same brand until their feud has played out, but Hunter just shrugs and tells Punk he doesn’t have any control whatsoever over who the GMs choose from the brands. It’s Adam and Nick he’ll have to convince. But by the time he’s done with the conversation with Hunter, he’s already feeling a little awkward about it and kinda hoping that his boss isn’t thinking the wrong thing – taking it the wrong way. What exactly the wrong way would be, he’s not sure he can say, but he knows that a grown ass man asking another grown ass man not to separate him from a third grown ass man… well, it’s just gotta raise some questions Punk isn’t sure how to answer.
So he tries to put it out of his mind – for what that’s worth. It wouldn’t be so bad if Drew weren’t sort of constantly around and damn near impossible to miss, what with the long hair and the kilt. There’s nobody else quite like him in the locker room, and despite it all, Punk can’t deny him the recognition that he’s earned by being an absolute badass in the ring. Even if he’s also the absolute badass who apparently asked his imaginary friend in the sky to take WrestleMania away from Punk… after all these years, all this bullshit, all the hopes and dreams that he’d had walking into AEW, and then the loss and frustration of walking back out with no idea what was happening next. He isn’t in this just for shits and giggles. He never has been. Since he was very young, wrestling has been it for him. The call from Triple H to talk to him about coming back to WWE had been one of the biggest moments of grateful relief he’d experienced in his entire life, and he isn’t going to waste it.
But he is also CM Punk. And he’s not going to let some Scotsman with a chip on his shoulder and something to prove use him as an object lesson. Unless the object lesson is “When to shut the fuck up and respect the veterans,” which Punk will happily teach Drew. Not that there’s all that much difference in their ages, or the amount of time they’ve been wrestling. Punk knows that at heart, but something about the burly Scotsman just makes him feel like he’s looking at a pissed off kid who didn’t get his way. He conveniently ignores the fact that he knows better than anyone that he’s the exact same way when he doesn’t get his way. Maybe worse? (probably worse). Definitely worse.
Yeah, he absolutely has to handle this in the ring sooner rather than later – or he’s pretty sure he’s going to snap. Which means somehow, someway… making sure he and Drew are on the same brand – so that he doesn’t snap and commit an accidental murder at the next PPV… PLE… whatever the kids are calling them… in front of thousands of witnesses.
……
Drew McIntyre hates CM Punk. He doesn’t dislike him. He doesn’t have a difference of opinion with him. He doesn’t even have a personality conflict with him. What he has is a red hot burning rage all the way down to his soul toward this absolute piece of shit who thinks he’s god’s gift to the world, but somehow without actually believing in a god of any kind. Except himself. He definitely believes in himself as a god. Drew may be younger than Punk, but not so young that he hadn’t seen Punk in his Straight Edge Society days declaring himself the Messiah and a Saint and every other thing. Drew wasn’t much for religion specifically but he had pretty well figured out it wasn’t nice guys who called themselves gods.
Sure, Drew’s not really a nice guy either, but he has principles. To some extent anyway. Though lately, if he could get his hands around CM Punk’s throat? He’s pretty sure he could ignore them for a little while… at least until the light went out in those hazel-green eyes and that smug smirk slacked away to nothing. Drew McIntyre isn’t a killer. Not really. But CM Punk sometimes makes him wish that weren’t quite accurate after all. He’s pretty sure for the mouthy bastard from Chicago, there are any number of choices he would make that may fly in the face of the moral code that’s gotten him this far in life.
Despite all the bullshit, though… the fact remains that CM Punk cost him his World Heavyweight Championship Title at Wrestle Bloody Mania for no reason except that he just felt like it – felt like being a piece of shit instead of a decent human being. In all reality, if Punk wants to be a piece of shit, Drew could’ve told him a long time ago that he’s already achieved that, so maybe he really is the Best in the World at one thing – being a massive turd.
What Drew knows, above anything else, is that he will not rest until he’s destroyed CM Punk in the ring. And Punk had better hope the referees and security are standing by to pull Drew off of him, because once he’s down in the ring? It’s fucking over. He will rip that man to pieces and there will be nothing left to bury. There won’t even be enough untorn flesh to tell what his stupid fucking tattoos had been before Drew destroyed him. He will end this shit talking bastard from Chicago, and that will be the end of that.
Provided they stay on Raw together or go to Smackdown together. Drew never thought he would be concerned about the prospect of not having CM Punk in the same locker room as him, but now that it’s become a very real possibility, he’s starting to worry. The draft is coming up, and Drew will be damned if he’s going to see CM Punk hiding from him on a different brand every week – talking about him into the microphone in front of the crowds, and not having any chance to do anything about it. As much as he might want to be rid of Punk, he wants to be the one to dispatch him. Leave no doubt for anyone that CM Punk is done – washed up, pathetic, old, tired, and fragile.
The only problem is figuring out a way to make sure that Punk doesn’t escape him by sucking up to someone to try and get the draft to go a certain way. He just doesn't know how. But as talk begins in the locker room about who’s going where, Drew listens… makes conversation, is subtle (as subtle as a 6’5 tall Scotsman in a kilt can be in a room full of mostly Americans). It’s Johnny Gargano who gives him a little unexpected information. He’s not worried about being drafted to a different brand from his wife, Candice LeRae, because the office does a good job making sure married couples stay together.
Obviously, that’s not going to work for him and Punk. Getting married out of hate just to make sure you have the chance to destroy someone sounds like one of those crazy things that they make scary movies about… ones that tend to end with murder.
Not that Drew’s exactly opposed to this story ending with a murder at this point. At least that way he never has to hear Punk’s irritating voice again.
But this isn’t a movie, and Drew’s not dumb enough to ever try anything that stupid.
He’s not.
Right?