Work Text:
Seth wasn’t sure where he was running to, but he knew what he was running from. The heat on his back was a cruel reminder of the bridges he just burned– literally and figuratively.
He was running from the only happiness he had ever known since he had died. He was running from love. He was running from everything he ruined. He was running from people he had let down. He was running from the consequences of his actions.
He was running from himself.
Because if he ran fast enough, maybe the guilt wouldn’t be able to catch up. Maybe he could run into a different dimension. A different timeline. A different reality. One where he was a better person, a better vampire. One where he didn’t hurt Dean. One where he didn’t betray Roman.
Despite his condition, he had always hoped Roman’s affection wasn’t conditional. A foolish thought, in hindsight. Werewolves had an inherent distrust of vampires; they were natural enemies. Old folklore even claimed that werewolves evolved to protect humans from vampires, designed to counter them in every way. Stupid, stupid, stupid of him to think he was special enough to win over one’s heart.
“I told you no one can love vampires,” a gravely voice interrupted Seth’s thoughts.
His joints locked, causing him to tumble into the dirt. His still-healing knee took the brunt of the fall, and a blinding pain ripped through his body, forcing a guttural sound out of him.
Rolling over, he blinked the tears out of his eyes, bringing a fit man covered in tattoos with peppered hair into view. Groaning as he recognized the vampire above him, he forced himself to steel his features into a glare. “You know I hate it when you do that, Punk.”
“We both know you wouldn’t have stopped otherwise,” the other retorted with a smirk. “Besides, it makes these little catch-up sessions easier on me when I don’t have to hear you yap so much. Easier to just read your mind.”
Seth shook his head. “If you despise me so much, why do we keep doing this?”
“Already turned you, Tyler.” Punk’s voice was cold as he crouched to Seth’s level, “And if memory serves, you came to me with nothing but dreams. And what did I do?”
Through gritted teeth, “You told me to fuck off!”
He knew the slap was coming. It didn’t make it sting less.
“Wrong answer, Rollins.” A hand was on Seth’s jaw, forcing him to look CM Punk in the eyes, “I told you to go earn my support. And you did. But you still had nothing to offer but dreams and potential.”
Seth wanted to move. Every fiber in his body was coiled and ready to spring into motion to attack. To brawl. To pummel Punk into the dust. But Punk mentally was holding him down. A price he had unknowingly paid a long time ago.
“I tried to train you, but you’re a stubborn bastard, you know that?” The diatribe was tiring, but Seth avoided rolling his eyes as Punk continued, “So, I set you up to succeed. Made sure you wouldn’t get caught feeding. Made sure you met the right people, got you on the roster in a few promotions.”
Biting his cheek was the only way he could keep his mouth shut, but his missing tooth was a cruel reminder of the hell he had just endured. All because of the man in front of him. Was that logical? Maybe. Maybe not.
“Everything you are, everything you have, is thanks to me.” Punk stood, his foot now on Seth’s chest, an unnecessary display of power, “I own you, Seth. I control you, I can watch your life whenever I want. I warned you what would happen if you let other people in, so how did you like those consequences?”
“What?” Seth broke his silence, an eyebrow raised, “What are you talking about?”
Punk snorted, “Please, you think I was just in the area?” He spread his arms and motioned around, “No, I’ve been chilling in this shithole of a state waiting for your little loverboys to do something. Waiting for this to implode so I can be here for you to run to, begging for help.”
“You knew? You were here? Why didn’t you help me? Or help them?!” The words were sputtering over each other, his thoughts faster than his mouth.
“Because you had to learn for yourself, kid!” Punk applied pressure to his chest, leaning in close, “I can’t save you all the time.”
“I almost died!”
“And whose fault is that?” The older man removed his foot and offered a hand. Despite his best efforts, Seth reached out and accepted it.
Dusting himself off, he refused to look at his former mentor, “So this was punishment?”
“Sometimes, the teacher you need is pain.” Punk crossed his arms, a smug expression painted on his face. “Clearly, this lesson will stick a bit better. Especially since some of those injuries won’t fully heal from the looks of it.”
His thoughts hadn’t stopped racing. Punk had known the whole time. All 144 days. And did nothing but wait. He let Dean and Roman go on a goose chase and did nothing. Let his own protege suffer, just to prove a point.
Punk made me turn Dean. Punk made Roman hate me. This is all his fault.
“You’d think a person who preaches so much about being straight edge would have a bit more humanity!” His hands were balled into fists.
The other was already striding back to the old yellow car, but he stopped, not looking back, “We’re not a people anymore. We’re vampires, so stop pretending to be something you’re not. And the less we attack humans, the less heat there is on us. If you’d been dependent on that fresh shit, you wouldn’t have lasted as long as you did with Triple H.”
Something snapped. Seth was tackling Punk from behind and pulling him to the ground. But Punk was ready and spun Seth over his shoulder and into his knee. It wasn’t a fight, barely a scuffle. It was an embarrassment.
“There you go again, Seth. Refusing to take responsibility for your actions.” Punk drawled, like a parent scolding a child, “Just get in the car, let’s get you cleaned up. Then you can tear my head off.”
Seth scrunched his face, but he had no choice, because when CM Punk told him to do something, it was an order, not a suggestion.
He hoped Dean would never feel the same way about him.