Just something I typed up in a short while. Idea had been bugging me for a while, hope you like it.

"Daddy? Punk? Daddy Punk?" The small boy giggled as he crept into his parent's room, watching his father sleep peacefully on the bed.

Phil heard him. He just stayed quiet, and hoped that the kid was intuitive enough to pick up on the fact that he'd just gotten in from the longest flight in the history of long flights and he just wanted to sleep.

The child's eyes were determined as he stalked over to the bed and used the quilt to climb up on it before jumping up and down near Phil's head.

Phil groaned and tried to keep his head from flopping all over the place. "Brandon, knock it off," he admonished his son, although it wasn't as effective due to his voice being thick with sleep.

"Wake up!" Brandon continued to jump. "Today's real 'portant, daddy! Gotta get up!"

Oh yes, Brandon Brooks was very much like his father when it came to the determination aspect of his personality. When he wanted something, he'd stop at nothing to get it. And apparently, Phil needed to be up.

Phil rolled onto his back and grabbed Brandon in mid air, bringing him down to rest him on his chest. He ignored his son's squirming and kissed the top of his head. "Why is today so important, bud?"

Brandon lifted his head and looked at his father, feeling slightly insulted. " 'Cause daddy, it's my birthday. I two." He grinned proudly, showing off the new teeth that were almost finished growing in.

"Is it really your birthday?" Phil feigned ignorance.

"Yeah! Duh." Brandon scoffed, and Phil had to chuckle a bit. That was all his mother. He would never teach his kid to say "duh," it's the dumbest word on the planet. It probably isn't even a word.

Of course Phil knew that today was Brandon's birthday. How could he forget? Brandon wouldn't let him live it down, his girlfriend most certainly would not have let him live it down and above all else, he himself would not let him live it down.

Brandon had fallen silent and had taken to resting his chin on his dad's chest and staring up at him. Phil stared back at him, and took a moment to reflect. Had it really been two years since he'd first brought Brandon home from the hospital?

He remembered that day well. Phil had never really seen himself as a father, but as soon as he went over to the hospital bassinet to pick up his son for the first time without his girlfriend watching him like a hawk, his heart melted and he was smitten.

When they'd first gotten home, it was even worse. It seemed as if Brandon never left Phil's sight. He was either holding him, feeding him, watching television with him, or watching television while holding and feeding him. Clingy? Probably. But he loved his boy.

Brandon was definitely his boy. Although his brown eyes were a stark contrast to Phil's green eyes and his mother's grey ones, and even though Phil may have teased his girlfriend about Brandon possibly being the milkman's baby, he certainly knew that Brandon belonged to him. Everything from Brandon's demeanor, to the set of his eyes, to the curl of his lips screamed 'Punk's baby.'

That may or may not be a problem to the rest of the world later in Brandon's life when he learned to use his smart mouth for bad instead of good.

"Punk," Brandon called for his father's attention, still boring his eyes into his skull.

Phil recovered from being so wrapped up in his thoughts rather easily and tickled the toddler's sides lightly with a small smirk, causing the latter to giggle. "That's Daddy Punk to you, kiddo."

"Daddy Punk," Brandon corrected himself with the same giggle. "Where mommy?"

"Mommy went to the store." I think. "Chances are she went to get your birthday cake."

"Cake?" Brandon's eyes lit up before frowning. "But I can't have cake. I mess up my shirt if I do."

Phil's eyes scanned down to Brandon's shirt and couldn't fight back the ear-splitting grin that came across his face when he saw that his son was proudly sporting the toddler-sized 'Best in the World' t-shirt that Phil had made for him, since WWEShop didn't make his merchandise to run that small. Jerks.

"Well if you do mess it up, we'll put it in the washing machine. You know, the big white thing that mommy uses to clean your clothes?"

Brandon rolled his eyes at his father trying to dumb things down for him. He was rather smart for a two year old, but he's Punk's baby, so he thinks he knows everything. "I know what that is. Duh."

There goes that word again.

Punk snorted. This kid had one more time to 'duh' him. "And if the washing machine doesn't clean it all the way, I'll have a new one for you the next time I'm home, okay?"

"Mmkay." Brandon's neutral one turned into one that consisted of a sappy grin. "Daddy… I have party today?"

Phil yawned, causing him to slur his words a little. "Prolly not. But," he interjected Brandon could deliver one of his soul-massacring pouts, "I'll tell you what. After we have some cake and you open your presents, we'll take a bike ride to the baseball stadium."

Yes. He had all of his bikes made baby-safe, so if he wanted to strap Brandon safely in his seat and take him for a spin around Chicago while getting his cardio in, then he could. Judge at will.

Brandon's grin remained on his face as his dad mentioned the word baseball. "Cubs?"

"Yep. Cubs." Phil chuckled. "Happy birthday, bud."

"Thaaank you." Brandon left a sloppy kiss on Phil's cheek. They heard the garage door open and the alarm beep. "Mommy!" he bellowed before hopping off of his dad's chest and racing out of the room to go downstairs.

Phil laid in silence with a small smile on his face as he heard his son babble to his mother about everything he'd done since he had been awake, all the way from putting his clothes on, to bullying Phil into consciousness.

To millions of WWE fans, Phil was known as CM Punk, Straight Edge Savior and the Voice of the Voiceless. When he was at home, he was cool with just being known as Daddy.

His girlfriend has no name or particular face; I just gave her grey eyes because I like grey eyes and it went with the point that I was trying to make. Sue me (not really).

You should know by now that I own nada.