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raeschaeTitle: Disclaimer: We Will Not Be Held Responsible . . . Chapter 1
Author:raeschae
Rating: R (for language: i.e. the excessive dropping of the 'f-bombs')
Characters: Jared, Jensen, Chris, Steve, Danneel, Mike, OMC, OFC
Summary: Jared and Jensen are willing to do almost anything to help their friends. Almost. But what Chris is asking of them this time? It's the one thing they both swore they'd never do: Grow up.
Warnings: This story is NOT an Mpreg. Does 'a healthy, established J2 relationship' count as a warning? Other than that, just some language and a vague implication of child abuse and neglect.
Word Count: 5803
Disclaimer: I don't really agree with the owning of human beings for any reason, and therefore it should go without saying that I don't own any of the individuals represented herein. Furthermore, I don't claim to know them and am not, in any way, attempting to sell this as some recreation of actual events. A page into this story, that should be abundantly clear, I think.
A/N: I just want to give a brief shout out to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nuetraldeviance for his unending support, patience, and help in the development of this story. I'll reserve a more thorough thanks for later, but suffice it to say this story would not be what it is if it weren't for him. Also, I really, really wanted to write a story that was a little lighter than my usual fare, and I think I finally managed to do that. I hope you enjoy it!
(I'm told I should warn you that there is a graphic under the cut. So . . . consider this a warning.)
“What do you think?”
“Whatever it is, he looks pissed.”
“He always looks pissed.”
“Not that pissed.”
“No, you're right. Usually more pissed when she's around.”
“Guys!”
The bark of the final word sends four heads popping up and away from a tiny window in the wall between the kitchen and the living room. Four faces turn guiltily toward the voice, heads dipping in shame, though eight eyes don't look all that sorry.
Jensen Ackles just rolls his eyes and hitches a thumb over his shoulder, motioning for his friends to step away from the window and give Chris, and his sister, Lindsay, a little privacy. “How would you like it if we all crowded in your kitchen and spied on your conversations with your family?” he asks, stopping abruptly. “I totally just sounded like my mother right then, didn't I?”
A wide hand reaches out to cup his cheek, thumb brushing over Jensen's fully, pouty lower lip. “Nah,” Jared Padalecki answers with a shake of his trademark mop. “Unless the next words you're planning are 'go kneel in that corner and ask Jesus to forgive you for eavesdropping.' Then you might sound kinda like your mother.”
Jensen rolls his eyes and accepts the kiss that Jared drops on his lips before the taller man crosses the room to stand beside Steve, both with tattoo-sleeved arms crossed over their chests, hips leaning against the counter on the far said of the kitchen.
“So, what's the bitch's damage this time?” Mike asks after withdrawing another long-necked bottle from the refrigerator. “Woman!” he growls when a small hand raps the back of his head.
Danneel just shoots him a smirk and shrugs her shoulders innocently as she sashays over to the rolling espresso cart next to the window and hops up, her legs swinging freely. “Seriously, Jen, how long do we have to stay in here? I thought this was supposed to be a party.”
It is a party. And Jensen doesn't know how in the fuck he's supposed to know what's going on with Chris and Lindsay. They may be friends, but Steve's in the fuckin' band with the guy. Why doesn't everyone grill him about the major interruption?
It had started like any other party at the Kane house. Booze. Music. Chicks in bikinis lounging around the pool. Good times and a lot of laughs. People started to take off around eleven, saying that they needed to get to work in the morning, and other bull shit responsible stuff like that. Danneel hung around to talk over a 'personal' problem with Mike – which probably means that Tom was slipping back into the closet again or something – and Jared and Jensen never leave a party at Chris and Steve's before everyone else is gone. It isn't a rule, but it might as well be.
And then, somewhere around midnight, the squeal of tires sounded in front of the house and Chris's crazy, drug-addled sister started screaming for him at the top of her lungs from the front porch. That was twenty minutes ago, and while they haven't raised their voices loud enough to be heard by the brood in the kitchen, it's pretty clear that they are disagreeing about something.
Everyone knew better than to try to step in and help. Everyone.
“Maybe she has cancer,” Mike muses, back leaned against the refrigerator, eyes tilted toward the ceiling. Before anyone can tell him what a moron he is, Jared's long arm extends, the back of his hand connecting soundly with the center of Mike's chest. “Fucker!” Mike exclaims. “I'm tired of being everyone's goddamn punching bag!”
“Then stop bein' a fuckin' idiot,” Jared suggests easily.
Jensen's lip quirks as he lets his eyes glide over the six-foot-four-inch mountain of muscle he calls his. Jared is probably the most simply complex enigma he's ever encountered, and he's actually kind of surprised that he still loves the guy as much as he does after three years together. Neither of them are long-term relationship guys. At least, they weren't before they met. Now, the feeling of just knowing he's going to be with Jared for pretty much the rest of his natural life isn't as terrifying as he thinks maybe it should be.
Steve opens his mouth to say something, and Jensen thinks he'll probably tell them all to head out and he'll have Chris call in the morning, when there's a timid knock on the back door. Since Jensen's the closest, he reaches over to twist the nob and considers the slight kid standing on the other side.
“Um,” the kid shifts uneasily, hands shoved deeply in his pockets, shoulders hunched like he's trying to disappear into himself. It's the same posture Jared has every time Jensen drags him to church, or somewhere equally uncomfortable for the less-than-inconspicuous giant he loves so much. “'m s'posed to be waitin' in the car, but . . . “ he stares at his shoes, like maybe the ground there will just swallow him up or something. “I gotta go to the can.”
It would be fine, except Jensen has no idea who the hell this kid is, or why he's standing at Chris's back door. “Do I know you?” he asks skeptically, eyebrow raising in confusion. He doesn't usually drink too much at these parties, but maybe he had more than he thought earlier.
“Come on in, Bray,” Steve invites easily, stepping around Jensen to swing the door open a little bit wider.
The kid looks grateful and steps around Jensen with a sheepish grin on his lips. When he disappears around the corner into the bathroom, Jensen turns his gaze to his friend.
“Lindsay's asshole boyfriend's kid,” is Steve's only explanation as he closes the back door.
Nobody really has anything to say to that. Except Danneel, but when she starts to say it, the slam of the front door and the squeal of tires that directly precedes Chris storming into the kitchen stops her words from spilling out. He slams the door open so fast that it bangs against the wall, and the string of curse words that he's spewing set even Mike's shoulders stiff with tension and nobody really moves or risks a glance in any direction other than straight down at the floor.
“Stupid fucking bitch!” Chris puts his fist through the kitchen counter to punctuate the words. Or, he would put his fist through the kitchen counter if it wasn't, ya know, made of granite. Spinning on his heels, he leans back against the sink and crosses his arms over his chest, knuckles white as he holds on to his own biceps. “I can't fucking believe her!”
It's a brave soul who dares to ask for clarification. Jared's the only one they ever allow to question Chris when he gets like this. Mostly because, scrappy as he is, Chris gives up more inches and pounds to the behemoth next to the refrigerator than anyone else, and there's not much chance he'll try to punch Jared in the neck.
But this time, not even Jared is opening his mouth.
Steve hands Chris a bottle of beer without a word, and that's when the bathroom door around the corner creaks on its hinges. Not even a kid can miss the tension in the room when he emerges, wiping his freshly washed hands on the back pockets of his over-sized jeans.
He looks sheepishly around the room and his eyes settle on Chris. With a small wave and a shy smile, he continues his path toward the door. “Thanks,” is all he says.
Before he can let himself out, though, Chris pushes Mike out of the way of the refrigerator and pulls a bottle of soda from inside. “Bray, man, where's the fire?” he asks, aiming for jovial and almost pulling it off.
The kid's eyes widen. “Lindsay told me to wait in the car,” he mumbles, and everyone can feel the fear radiating from him.
Without so much as a word of instruction, Steve takes the bottle from his band mate and hands it over to the kid, a hand on his small shoulders. “Come on,” he invites, leading the boy toward the kitchen door and into the living room. “I'll let you have the pleasure of losing to me at Guitar Hero again,” his voice fades as the door clicks shut behind him.
“What the hell, man?” Mike is the first to speak once they hear the music coming from the television in the other room.
Chris sighs and takes another pull from his beer bottle, feet crossed at the ankles as he leans. His posture is still tight, but not nearly as much as it was a few minutes ago. “Lindsay's ass-monkey of a boyfriend took off while she was at work today. She got home and all his shit was gone. Half of hers, too,” he explains, head shaking even as he says the words, like he can't believe it himself. “All he left her was the kid,” he adds.
Jensen's eyes pop wide. “He left his kid behind? With Lindsay?” he asks incredulously. In the fifteen years that Jensen has known Christian Kane and his little sister, the girl has been on drugs he's never heard of, slept with men he wouldn't touch with a pole, and spent enough time in jail to have her mail forwarded there. Any fucker in their right mind would never, ever, leave a child in her care. Or, ya know, a guinea pig. She could probably kill a cactus.
“And she left him here with you,” Jared fills in the blank that most of their minds hadn't even realized was empty.
“I told her no fucking way,” Chris says, taking another impossibly long pull from his bottle. “She stormed out. Guess she saw his not being in the car as a prime escape route. So,” he lets the sentence trail and everyone just kind of keeps staring at the floor.
Chris and Steve have been making music as Southern rock band, Kane, for a few years now. Playing bars and festivals, gaining quite a name for themselves among live music-loving fans. Tonight's party was to celebrate the fact that they're setting out on their first headlining club tour tomorrow night. Starting in Vegas and criss-crossing the United States for the next six months. It's not like they can afford to have a kid dropped in their laps at the moment.
“Chris,” Danneel's voice is low and firm when she finally breaks the silence. “You gotta call the police.” Four sets of eyes turn to her in disbelief. “What? You guys! This dickhead abandoned his child! That's against the law! They can track him down, arrest him for that shit.”
Jensen loves Danneel – he really does – but sometimes she's so fucking clueless, it makes his head hurt. “How's that gonna help our present situation, Dani?” he asks, realizing only after the words are out that he's made it all of their problem, not just Chris's. It's not – none of them have any obligation here. Except that Chris is their friend, and that kind of makes it their problem.
“Well, what the fuck else is he gonna do, Jen? Drag the kid out on tour with him? At least the police can take him to some shelter or something.” She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest like she's the only reasonable one in the room.
“No,” Chris shakes his head, his dark hair falling around his face with the movement.
“Well, it's not like I can take him home with me,” Mike points out, and really? Nobody in their right mind would even think of asking him to. They all love Mike like a brother . . . or, at least like that cousin that makes you laugh, but you don't really want to claim outside of the family get-togethers. But he's not really much of a step up from Lindsay, as far as responsible enough to care for a living, breathing human being goes.
With a huff and a roll of her eyes, Danneel adds, “No way in hell am I taking some strange boy in the throes of puberty home with me.” Jensen doesn't remember anybody asking her to, either. “So unless you're going to entrust the care and feeding of a sixth grader to Sid and Nancy here,” she motions with her head toward Jared and Jensen before going on, “you really don't have a fucking choice, do you?”
With that, Danneel slides off of the espresso cart and storms out the back door like she's personally offended at the evening's turn of events.
A long silence follows her slamming of the door and Mike breaks it by declaring, “She's such a drama queen!” After another pull of his beer, he tilts his head in the direction of the living room. “I'ma go enlighten Stevey on the finer points of playing the guitar.”
It's, quite possibly, the funniest thing Mike's ever said, the idea that he could teach Steve anything about music at all, but nobody in the small kitchen is laughing. In fact, Jared and Jensen are exchanging worried looks and Chris is just staring at the floor, head lost in the confusion of how his perfect celebration turned into something of a surreal movie moment.
“He's stayin' here tonight,” Chris finally says, his sex-and-whiskey voice drawling the words out as though the plan is just forming in his mind. “Maybe by mornin' I'll know what else to do with 'im.”
He doesn't mean to, but Jensen huffs sarcastically and says, “And maybe I'll grow little white wings and flutter off into the sunset.” Jared sends him a look that says he's being an asshole and Jensen just shrugs. “What do you want me to say, Jay? This is the most fuckin' ridiculous,” he stops and shakes his head. “Chris, what the fuck, man?”
The question's not very descriptive, but it says everything that none of them can.
“Dude, I don't know,” Chris shakes his head and pushes off the counter. “Just know I ain't lettin' that kid get fuckin' abandoned three times in one day.” With that, he disappears through the door, cheerful voice booming all fake and way-too-happy as he declares himself 'ready to school anyone who thinks themselves a guitar he-ro.'
“Jay,” Jensen starts when they're alone in the kitchen. He crosses the room slowly, deliberately, and rests his hands on Jared's waist.
Today is their anniversary. Or yesterday was. What time is it anyway? Doesn't matter. Three years ago, when Jensen was new to Los Angeles and sleeping on Chris's couch, he was dragged to a place called Slinging Ink on the Santa Monica Pier. Steve works there part-time, when he's not making music, and Chris talked so much about the guy that Jensen felt like he already knew him by the time the little bell dinged over the door of the tattoo parlor.
But it wasn't Steve who caught Jensen's eye that day. Wasn't Steve's table that he sat on. Wasn't Steve who looked at him through shaggy bangs while pulling the skin of his forearm tight and concentrating on the design he was etching there. It wasn't Steve who flirted with him shamelessly, and it sure as fuck wasn't Steve who Jensen asked to dinner that night. Not Steve Jensen's been waking up with every morning since that very day.
It was the big-ass owner of the place that pulled Jensen in that day three years ago, like some magnetic fucking force that just couldn't be denied.
It's Jared. Feels like it's always been Jared. Like maybe he's the reason Jensen came to LA, as though the job he took designing skateboards for Element had nothing to do with it at all. Of course, he believes that the universe is a little bit bigger than that. Thinks that there's a reason everything flows together, like it's all just meant to be. Because he's kinda emo like that sometimes.
“Jensen, no,” Jared's voice is stern when Jensen turns his face to catch a glimpse of the hard line of his boyfriend's jaw. Jared's kind of a big puppy most of the time, but he can be a fucking scary pit bull sometimes, too.
Raising an eyebrow, Jensen just looks at Jared and prays that the younger man can see the pleading there. It's not like he wants to do it or anything, but Chris needs help. This is what they do – help their friends when their friends need it. Whether their friends have too much pride to ask, or not.
“We did it for Chad,” he reminds.
And Jared rolls his eyes and fishes another beer out of the refrigerator. “Dog-sitting for a weekend while Chad's blowing his money on hookers and Patron in Vegas is not the same thing and you damn well know it!”
It is the same thing, Jensen wants to argue. Because it's helping a friend who needs them. But apparently Jared seems to think that there are limits to the obligation to help a friend in need. Which is surprising, given that Jared is only about fifteen years removed from being Brayden himself. Tossed around the system, passed from family to family, feeling like nobody wanted him. Jensen thinks that, of anyone in the world who might actually get what the kid's feeling, Jared should maybe have a little sympathy.
“Dude, what the fuck is a kid gonna do at our place?” Jared challenges when Jensen doesn't end up saying anything at all. “Gorge himself on beer and Reese cups which, in case you forgot, is the only thing we have in our goddamn fridge right now? Play video games all damn day? Maybe, when he gets bored with that, he can watch Ass Bangers 4!”
It's not entirely untrue that Jared and Jensen live in the most not kid-friendly house in maybe the entire world. They both own their own businesses and pretty much party like rock stars, so there's not much time spent in the abode to begin with. When they are there, they don't really bother cleaning up after themselves, and if he remembers correctly, there are a few empty beer bottles, a full ashtray, and possibly a half-empty bottle of KY on the coffee table right now. The kitchen counter is littered with an empty pizza box, a couple of dirty coffee cups, and an impressive spread of sex toys, where Jensen left them after he cleaned them this morning while Jared was in the shower.
There are stacks of B-grade horror movies all over the floor by the television, and it's possible that the house could burst into flames from all the tangled video game, and other entertainment-related, wires lying about their floor.
An accidental wrong turn into their bedroom would reveal an impressive, in Jensen's opinion, stack of gay porn taller than the flat-screen television they watch it on. Of course, you'd have to trip over nearly every piece of clothing Jensen owns to get anywhere near said television, and there's a possibility that you'd break your neck falling over some of Jared's shit-kicking boots before you ever made it three feet inside the room. So maybe you'd never really make it to the porn collection after all.
So maybe Jared's a little bit right in asserting that their place isn't exactly right for a child. But that's so not what this is about.
“Jay,” Jensen tries to change his approach. “I know it's not ideal, okay? I just think that . . . I don't know. It feels like the right thing to do.”
He can hear the question on Jared's lips before he ever voices it. And maybe it should freak him out that he knows his boyfriend so well that he can practically read his mind, but it's just the way it is.
“And since when do we worry about the right thing to do?” Jared asks, almost verbatim the way Jensen knew he would.
He's not wrong about this either, Jared's not. They're not exactly the poster children for goody-goody behavior. They drink too much, recreationally use a few party drugs from time to time, and have basically no interest in supporting any real causes. If it's not affecting their own little corner of the world, they really don't care about it much. And they don't pretend to.
“We donated to Prop 8 last year,” Jensen reminds Jared, like that makes them somehow fit to be awesome foster parents to a twelve-year-old.
Jared rolls his sparkling eyes and takes another pull of his beer bottle. “Because you wanted to talk Brad Pitt into a threesome at the fundraiser,” he reminds.
“Semantics,” Jensen waves his hand and offers Jared a winning smile, though it doesn't seem to be having much effect. Switching his methods of persuasion, he steps into his boyfriend's personal space and runs his hand up the front of Jared's shirt, fingertips brushing seductively over the warm, hard muscles there. “I know it's a fucked up idea, and I know that it doesn't make sense. But Chris and Steve need this. They've worked too hard to have this tour crashed by Lindsay's stupidity, ya know?”
He's maybe making some headway, maybe about to get Jared to give in when Mike comes storming through the door, empty beer bottle in hand. “Jen, I might be a little late tomorrow,” he announces as though Jensen's not two steps away from shoving his tongue into Jared's mouth and making the taller man forget his own name. Not like it would be the first time Mike's ever seen that, after all.
When Jensen finally saved enough cash to start his own business, he knew exactly what he wanted to do. While he loved working at Element, there was only so much he could do with their already-established style and look. He knew that he wanted to stay in the skate community, designing board decals, shirts, and hats. But when Jared mentioned that there was an old skate park down the pier from Slinging Ink that had just gone up for sale, the decision was simple.
Mike's grandfather had willed the old park to him, and it's subsequent pro shop, though it had gone out of business some ten years before. After the sale was complete, Mike stuck around to help Jensen renovate, and he just kind of never left. Between Jensen's already-established reputation and Jared's clients being tipped his way, it wasn't like Jensen couldn't use the help in keeping up with the pretty-much immediate demand at the store anyway. Mike loves Ollie almost as much as Jensen does. Sees it as a continuation of his grandfather's legacy in a lot of ways. And he also seems to prefer not being the one in charge, if it's all the same to everyone else.
“Not a problem, man,” Jensen assures him. “Tom called a staff meeting for four thirty, though, so be in by then.” Mike mumbles something over his shoulder, something that sounds a lot like 'Man, fuck Tom and his stupid blue eyes,' but he can't be sure. Turning back to Jared, he resumes the stroking of his boyfriend's chest.
But the moment is broken and Jared's shaking his head. “Jensen, no,” he insists, squirming away until he's broken the contact that's obviously too distracting for words.
“Jesus Christ, Jay,” he exclaims, frustrated by Jared's lack of cooperation. It's not usually so hard to convince him of . . . well, anything. “I would think you, of all people, would get this!” And he regrets the words as soon as they're out of his mouth.
“The fuck's that supposed to me?” Jared asks, his voice raising slightly. He pulls it back under control like the zen master he is in about two seconds, though. “Because I was raised in the system, I should feel some kind of responsibility to the foster kids of America? Fuck that!” he exclaims. “Wasn't nobody there explainin' shit to me. They can figure it out their damn selves,” he seethes, finger rising in Jensen's direction. “And fuck you, too, you presumptuous bastard.”
He doesn't apologize for the words, and Jensen doesn't expect him to. Jared's not the type of guy to say things he doesn't mean, even in anger. It might sting, or even hurt like hell to hear what Jared's really thinking, but Jensen can't deny that his bold, unerring honesty is one of the things he loves most about the man standing before him.
Doesn't mean he always likes it. “Ya know what? Fuck you right back, you self-righteous son of a bitch,” he fires. “Doesn't matter where you came from, or where that goddamn kid is headed. Matters that Chris is our friend and he needs some help out of a tight spot. You don't wanna help, fine. Don't fuckin' help. I'll take the kid to a hotel or somethin'. Ride it out until we figure out a better plan. You don't have to be a fucking part of anything remotely charitable!”
Jared rolls his eyes, arms crossing over his chest. “You don't even know what you're talking about, Jen. It's just,” he deflates, as though trying to squash the argument without actually trying to squash it at all. “You don't know what you're talking about, okay?”
And, just like that, the tension between them fades. Jensen steps forward, hands on the dangerously low waist of Jared's jeans. “So explain it to me, Jay. Explain to me why you're so against helping a friend out.”
“Dammit, I'm not against helpin' Chris out,” he insists, running his fingers through his shaggy hair. “But you can't just take a kid in off the street and expect everything to be all rainbows and kittens, okay? Doesn't work like in the movies, Jen,” Jared explains, as though Jensen lives in some fantasy world that he's not even aware doesn't exist in real life. “We don't know anything about him, okay? I mean, he's in there playing nice with Chris and Steve for now, but pretty soon, it's going to occur to him that he's been abandoned by his own fucking father. That shit fucks you up, Jensen. Makes you do shit you definitely shouldn't do.
“We let him sleep on our couch, and that's all fine and good, right? But what happens when he decides to tell someone that the gay guys he's livin' with made some kind of pass at him? Doesn't have to be true – just has to be said to the right people and the right time and we're both on the California Sex Offenders registry, ya know?” He shakes his head and points a finger in Jensen's direction. “Don't look at me like that. You don't know, man. You don't know what kids can come up with when they're starved for attention and they just want somebody to listen to them for a second.”
They don't talk like this. Not often. Yeah, Jensen's known for awhile that Jared grew up in the system. He knows that Jared was born in San Antonio, Texas, and moved to LA the day he turned eighteen. And he knows that it took copious amounts of alcohol to get that much of his boyfriend's past out of him. Jared's right – Jensen really doesn't know what it's like to grow up like Jared did. He's never really thought about it, because it was never relevant.
“'Sides, even if he's an angel, it still doesn't work,” Jared says, as though Jensen's going to start arguing with him again. “I mean, he gets sick? Or fuckin' injured? Not shit we can do about it, Jen. We're not his parents. Not his legal guardians. Can't sign a permission slip. Can't do shit for him, ya know? Decides to do some stupid shit with some friends? Just stupid kid shit that draws the wrong attention? We can't get him out of trouble. He gets sent away, just like,” he snaps his fingers for emphasis, “that. We just,” Jared releases the hair he's been holding away from his face and shrugs his massive shoulders, “we can't.”
“So what do we do, then?” Jensen asks, and hates how small his voice sounds. “Call the police?” It sounds so harsh, Danneel's suggestion on his tongue, but after Jared's in-depth explanation, Jensen's not sure there's much more they can do.
Reaching his hand out, Jared hooks his fingers through Jensen's belt loop and pulls him forward, dropping a kiss on his lips easily before shaking his head. “Not really our call, man. I mean, the kid's dad left him with Lindsay, who left him with Chris. Ultimately, it's his call to make, I think.”
“He's stayin' here tonight,” Chris reiterates his earlier statement as he steps back through the kitchen door. “Think y'all can maybe keep it down in here? Kid's a minor. Not deaf,” he adds with a scowl that makes Jensen blush and Jared roll his eyes. “I'm callin' Big Dave in the morning. See what he thinks before we head out. Nothin' else, we'll just take him with us to Texas, drop him at my momma's house.” He shrugs his shoulders like it's all settled.
Big Dave is Chris's affectionate nickname for the band's lawyer, David Boreanaz. He handles contracts for the band, as well as serving as booking agent and financial adviser. He's also one of Chris's best friends, and if Jensen's honest, he's probably the best man for the job of figuring out what to do with Brayden. Why no one thought of him sooner is probably a testament to the alcohol consumed tonight.
“Might wanna call him 'fore you take off,” Jared suggests, taking a final pull from his beer bottle. “Pretty sure it's not legal to transport a minor across state fuckin' lines without expressed written permission from his legal guardian. Get your ass arrested for kidnapping and I ain't bailin' ya out,” he winks, smacking Jensen's ass as he pushes past and heads into the living room.
Chris just watches Jared go and then turns back to Jensen. “What the hell's up with Sasquatch?” he asks, eyebrow quirked.
Jared's loveable, most of the time. In fact, he's pretty irresistible, even to those who jump to immediate conclusions based on his appearance. He's been compared to an overgrown puppy more times than anyone can count, usually by Jensen himself. He's spastic, kind of like a giant kid on a sugar high, and Jensen's pretty sure the kid's never met a stranger. Undoubtedly, it's the reason Jared's so popular among the industry elite, why he gets flown to the middle of fucking Nowhere, Idaho because some rock star has a spur-of-the-moment need for ink that only Jared can provide.
So maybe Chris is right to question why their normally-affable friend is acting all level-headed and, well, mature on this night. Especially when he was licking salt off Jensen's neck and drinking shots from their resting place in Sophia's cleavage a couple of hours ago. That directly preceded Jared shaking his ass on the picnic table and stripping down to his boxer briefs for singles. If anything, he usually gets more crazy the longer he drinks.
“This whole thing cuts kinda close to home for him,” Jensen explains as vaguely as he can. It's not like the words don't paint an accurate picture and he sees that in the shock on Chris's face. “Says we can't take Brayden, but I'm kinda thinking he just doesn't want to,” he adds, catching his full bottom lip between his teeth.
He won't say more – feels like it would somehow be betraying his boyfriend's confidences if he did – but Jensen's got a working theory. Seeing Brayden, hearing his story via Chris, is rehashing a lot of memories that Jared's been pretty skilled at pressing down for the better part of a decade. Having the kid in their house would make it impossible for him to pretend that his life before now didn't happen, and Jared's not repressed or anything. He's just happy to live in the now, with no need to dwell in the then.
Of course, that's just a theory, and Jensen's not drunk enough to believe Jared will ever confirm it.
As if conjured out of Jensen's thoughts, Jared re-appears with his car keys. “You ready to bolt?” he asks, expression furrowed and concentrated.
Jensen just nods, pops into the living room to say good-bye to Steve, and then waves at Chris before following Jared's path out the back door. When Jared tosses him the keys, Jensen stands in the driveway and stares at his boyfriend. “You okay?” he asks over the hush of the night air.
Expression confused, Jared pulls the passenger door of his truck open and nods. “Fine. You?” Jensen just flips him off and is almost laughing at the Jaredness of the response when he climbs into the cab. “Think you can make it home in ten?” Jared's voice is pitched low when Jensen slams the door behind him.
It's easily a twenty minute drive from Chris's place to theirs, and Jensen quirks an eyebrow at the question. “Dude, you could just pee here before we take off,” he nods toward the house through the windshield.
But Jared's hand creeps over his thigh, and he's not sure how the larger man spans the distance so quickly, but it doesn't much matter when his lips find that spot right behind Jensen's ear and he whispers, “You got ten minutes before I lose my mind completely and have to fuck you blind. So either make it home, or we're doin' it on the side of whatever road you happen to be on at the time.” He sucks the spot where his lips are resting and then pulls back, completely withdrawing to his own side of the cab.
They make it back to the apartment with fourteen seconds to spare, all thoughts of Chris and his predicament left far, far behind.
Chapter 2
Author:
raeschae Rating: R (for language: i.e. the excessive dropping of the 'f-bombs')
Characters: Jared, Jensen, Chris, Steve, Danneel, Mike, OMC, OFC
Summary: Jared and Jensen are willing to do almost anything to help their friends. Almost. But what Chris is asking of them this time? It's the one thing they both swore they'd never do: Grow up.
Warnings: This story is NOT an Mpreg. Does 'a healthy, established J2 relationship' count as a warning? Other than that, just some language and a vague implication of child abuse and neglect.
Word Count: 5803
Disclaimer: I don't really agree with the owning of human beings for any reason, and therefore it should go without saying that I don't own any of the individuals represented herein. Furthermore, I don't claim to know them and am not, in any way, attempting to sell this as some recreation of actual events. A page into this story, that should be abundantly clear, I think.
A/N: I just want to give a brief shout out to
nuetraldeviance for his unending support, patience, and help in the development of this story. I'll reserve a more thorough thanks for later, but suffice it to say this story would not be what it is if it weren't for him. Also, I really, really wanted to write a story that was a little lighter than my usual fare, and I think I finally managed to do that. I hope you enjoy it!(I'm told I should warn you that there is a graphic under the cut. So . . . consider this a warning.)
“What do you think?”
“Whatever it is, he looks pissed.”
“He always looks pissed.”
“Not that pissed.”
“No, you're right. Usually more pissed when she's around.”
“Guys!”
The bark of the final word sends four heads popping up and away from a tiny window in the wall between the kitchen and the living room. Four faces turn guiltily toward the voice, heads dipping in shame, though eight eyes don't look all that sorry.
Jensen Ackles just rolls his eyes and hitches a thumb over his shoulder, motioning for his friends to step away from the window and give Chris, and his sister, Lindsay, a little privacy. “How would you like it if we all crowded in your kitchen and spied on your conversations with your family?” he asks, stopping abruptly. “I totally just sounded like my mother right then, didn't I?”
A wide hand reaches out to cup his cheek, thumb brushing over Jensen's fully, pouty lower lip. “Nah,” Jared Padalecki answers with a shake of his trademark mop. “Unless the next words you're planning are 'go kneel in that corner and ask Jesus to forgive you for eavesdropping.' Then you might sound kinda like your mother.”
Jensen rolls his eyes and accepts the kiss that Jared drops on his lips before the taller man crosses the room to stand beside Steve, both with tattoo-sleeved arms crossed over their chests, hips leaning against the counter on the far said of the kitchen.
“So, what's the bitch's damage this time?” Mike asks after withdrawing another long-necked bottle from the refrigerator. “Woman!” he growls when a small hand raps the back of his head.
Danneel just shoots him a smirk and shrugs her shoulders innocently as she sashays over to the rolling espresso cart next to the window and hops up, her legs swinging freely. “Seriously, Jen, how long do we have to stay in here? I thought this was supposed to be a party.”
It is a party. And Jensen doesn't know how in the fuck he's supposed to know what's going on with Chris and Lindsay. They may be friends, but Steve's in the fuckin' band with the guy. Why doesn't everyone grill him about the major interruption?
It had started like any other party at the Kane house. Booze. Music. Chicks in bikinis lounging around the pool. Good times and a lot of laughs. People started to take off around eleven, saying that they needed to get to work in the morning, and other bull shit responsible stuff like that. Danneel hung around to talk over a 'personal' problem with Mike – which probably means that Tom was slipping back into the closet again or something – and Jared and Jensen never leave a party at Chris and Steve's before everyone else is gone. It isn't a rule, but it might as well be.
And then, somewhere around midnight, the squeal of tires sounded in front of the house and Chris's crazy, drug-addled sister started screaming for him at the top of her lungs from the front porch. That was twenty minutes ago, and while they haven't raised their voices loud enough to be heard by the brood in the kitchen, it's pretty clear that they are disagreeing about something.
Everyone knew better than to try to step in and help. Everyone.
“Maybe she has cancer,” Mike muses, back leaned against the refrigerator, eyes tilted toward the ceiling. Before anyone can tell him what a moron he is, Jared's long arm extends, the back of his hand connecting soundly with the center of Mike's chest. “Fucker!” Mike exclaims. “I'm tired of being everyone's goddamn punching bag!”
“Then stop bein' a fuckin' idiot,” Jared suggests easily.
Jensen's lip quirks as he lets his eyes glide over the six-foot-four-inch mountain of muscle he calls his. Jared is probably the most simply complex enigma he's ever encountered, and he's actually kind of surprised that he still loves the guy as much as he does after three years together. Neither of them are long-term relationship guys. At least, they weren't before they met. Now, the feeling of just knowing he's going to be with Jared for pretty much the rest of his natural life isn't as terrifying as he thinks maybe it should be.
Steve opens his mouth to say something, and Jensen thinks he'll probably tell them all to head out and he'll have Chris call in the morning, when there's a timid knock on the back door. Since Jensen's the closest, he reaches over to twist the nob and considers the slight kid standing on the other side.
“Um,” the kid shifts uneasily, hands shoved deeply in his pockets, shoulders hunched like he's trying to disappear into himself. It's the same posture Jared has every time Jensen drags him to church, or somewhere equally uncomfortable for the less-than-inconspicuous giant he loves so much. “'m s'posed to be waitin' in the car, but . . . “ he stares at his shoes, like maybe the ground there will just swallow him up or something. “I gotta go to the can.”
It would be fine, except Jensen has no idea who the hell this kid is, or why he's standing at Chris's back door. “Do I know you?” he asks skeptically, eyebrow raising in confusion. He doesn't usually drink too much at these parties, but maybe he had more than he thought earlier.
“Come on in, Bray,” Steve invites easily, stepping around Jensen to swing the door open a little bit wider.
The kid looks grateful and steps around Jensen with a sheepish grin on his lips. When he disappears around the corner into the bathroom, Jensen turns his gaze to his friend.
“Lindsay's asshole boyfriend's kid,” is Steve's only explanation as he closes the back door.
Nobody really has anything to say to that. Except Danneel, but when she starts to say it, the slam of the front door and the squeal of tires that directly precedes Chris storming into the kitchen stops her words from spilling out. He slams the door open so fast that it bangs against the wall, and the string of curse words that he's spewing set even Mike's shoulders stiff with tension and nobody really moves or risks a glance in any direction other than straight down at the floor.
“Stupid fucking bitch!” Chris puts his fist through the kitchen counter to punctuate the words. Or, he would put his fist through the kitchen counter if it wasn't, ya know, made of granite. Spinning on his heels, he leans back against the sink and crosses his arms over his chest, knuckles white as he holds on to his own biceps. “I can't fucking believe her!”
It's a brave soul who dares to ask for clarification. Jared's the only one they ever allow to question Chris when he gets like this. Mostly because, scrappy as he is, Chris gives up more inches and pounds to the behemoth next to the refrigerator than anyone else, and there's not much chance he'll try to punch Jared in the neck.
But this time, not even Jared is opening his mouth.
Steve hands Chris a bottle of beer without a word, and that's when the bathroom door around the corner creaks on its hinges. Not even a kid can miss the tension in the room when he emerges, wiping his freshly washed hands on the back pockets of his over-sized jeans.
He looks sheepishly around the room and his eyes settle on Chris. With a small wave and a shy smile, he continues his path toward the door. “Thanks,” is all he says.
Before he can let himself out, though, Chris pushes Mike out of the way of the refrigerator and pulls a bottle of soda from inside. “Bray, man, where's the fire?” he asks, aiming for jovial and almost pulling it off.
The kid's eyes widen. “Lindsay told me to wait in the car,” he mumbles, and everyone can feel the fear radiating from him.
Without so much as a word of instruction, Steve takes the bottle from his band mate and hands it over to the kid, a hand on his small shoulders. “Come on,” he invites, leading the boy toward the kitchen door and into the living room. “I'll let you have the pleasure of losing to me at Guitar Hero again,” his voice fades as the door clicks shut behind him.
“What the hell, man?” Mike is the first to speak once they hear the music coming from the television in the other room.
Chris sighs and takes another pull from his beer bottle, feet crossed at the ankles as he leans. His posture is still tight, but not nearly as much as it was a few minutes ago. “Lindsay's ass-monkey of a boyfriend took off while she was at work today. She got home and all his shit was gone. Half of hers, too,” he explains, head shaking even as he says the words, like he can't believe it himself. “All he left her was the kid,” he adds.
Jensen's eyes pop wide. “He left his kid behind? With Lindsay?” he asks incredulously. In the fifteen years that Jensen has known Christian Kane and his little sister, the girl has been on drugs he's never heard of, slept with men he wouldn't touch with a pole, and spent enough time in jail to have her mail forwarded there. Any fucker in their right mind would never, ever, leave a child in her care. Or, ya know, a guinea pig. She could probably kill a cactus.
“And she left him here with you,” Jared fills in the blank that most of their minds hadn't even realized was empty.
“I told her no fucking way,” Chris says, taking another impossibly long pull from his bottle. “She stormed out. Guess she saw his not being in the car as a prime escape route. So,” he lets the sentence trail and everyone just kind of keeps staring at the floor.
Chris and Steve have been making music as Southern rock band, Kane, for a few years now. Playing bars and festivals, gaining quite a name for themselves among live music-loving fans. Tonight's party was to celebrate the fact that they're setting out on their first headlining club tour tomorrow night. Starting in Vegas and criss-crossing the United States for the next six months. It's not like they can afford to have a kid dropped in their laps at the moment.
“Chris,” Danneel's voice is low and firm when she finally breaks the silence. “You gotta call the police.” Four sets of eyes turn to her in disbelief. “What? You guys! This dickhead abandoned his child! That's against the law! They can track him down, arrest him for that shit.”
Jensen loves Danneel – he really does – but sometimes she's so fucking clueless, it makes his head hurt. “How's that gonna help our present situation, Dani?” he asks, realizing only after the words are out that he's made it all of their problem, not just Chris's. It's not – none of them have any obligation here. Except that Chris is their friend, and that kind of makes it their problem.
“Well, what the fuck else is he gonna do, Jen? Drag the kid out on tour with him? At least the police can take him to some shelter or something.” She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest like she's the only reasonable one in the room.
“No,” Chris shakes his head, his dark hair falling around his face with the movement.
“Well, it's not like I can take him home with me,” Mike points out, and really? Nobody in their right mind would even think of asking him to. They all love Mike like a brother . . . or, at least like that cousin that makes you laugh, but you don't really want to claim outside of the family get-togethers. But he's not really much of a step up from Lindsay, as far as responsible enough to care for a living, breathing human being goes.
With a huff and a roll of her eyes, Danneel adds, “No way in hell am I taking some strange boy in the throes of puberty home with me.” Jensen doesn't remember anybody asking her to, either. “So unless you're going to entrust the care and feeding of a sixth grader to Sid and Nancy here,” she motions with her head toward Jared and Jensen before going on, “you really don't have a fucking choice, do you?”
With that, Danneel slides off of the espresso cart and storms out the back door like she's personally offended at the evening's turn of events.
A long silence follows her slamming of the door and Mike breaks it by declaring, “She's such a drama queen!” After another pull of his beer, he tilts his head in the direction of the living room. “I'ma go enlighten Stevey on the finer points of playing the guitar.”
It's, quite possibly, the funniest thing Mike's ever said, the idea that he could teach Steve anything about music at all, but nobody in the small kitchen is laughing. In fact, Jared and Jensen are exchanging worried looks and Chris is just staring at the floor, head lost in the confusion of how his perfect celebration turned into something of a surreal movie moment.
“He's stayin' here tonight,” Chris finally says, his sex-and-whiskey voice drawling the words out as though the plan is just forming in his mind. “Maybe by mornin' I'll know what else to do with 'im.”
He doesn't mean to, but Jensen huffs sarcastically and says, “And maybe I'll grow little white wings and flutter off into the sunset.” Jared sends him a look that says he's being an asshole and Jensen just shrugs. “What do you want me to say, Jay? This is the most fuckin' ridiculous,” he stops and shakes his head. “Chris, what the fuck, man?”
The question's not very descriptive, but it says everything that none of them can.
“Dude, I don't know,” Chris shakes his head and pushes off the counter. “Just know I ain't lettin' that kid get fuckin' abandoned three times in one day.” With that, he disappears through the door, cheerful voice booming all fake and way-too-happy as he declares himself 'ready to school anyone who thinks themselves a guitar he-ro.'
“Jay,” Jensen starts when they're alone in the kitchen. He crosses the room slowly, deliberately, and rests his hands on Jared's waist.
Today is their anniversary. Or yesterday was. What time is it anyway? Doesn't matter. Three years ago, when Jensen was new to Los Angeles and sleeping on Chris's couch, he was dragged to a place called Slinging Ink on the Santa Monica Pier. Steve works there part-time, when he's not making music, and Chris talked so much about the guy that Jensen felt like he already knew him by the time the little bell dinged over the door of the tattoo parlor.
But it wasn't Steve who caught Jensen's eye that day. Wasn't Steve's table that he sat on. Wasn't Steve who looked at him through shaggy bangs while pulling the skin of his forearm tight and concentrating on the design he was etching there. It wasn't Steve who flirted with him shamelessly, and it sure as fuck wasn't Steve who Jensen asked to dinner that night. Not Steve Jensen's been waking up with every morning since that very day.
It was the big-ass owner of the place that pulled Jensen in that day three years ago, like some magnetic fucking force that just couldn't be denied.
It's Jared. Feels like it's always been Jared. Like maybe he's the reason Jensen came to LA, as though the job he took designing skateboards for Element had nothing to do with it at all. Of course, he believes that the universe is a little bit bigger than that. Thinks that there's a reason everything flows together, like it's all just meant to be. Because he's kinda emo like that sometimes.
“Jensen, no,” Jared's voice is stern when Jensen turns his face to catch a glimpse of the hard line of his boyfriend's jaw. Jared's kind of a big puppy most of the time, but he can be a fucking scary pit bull sometimes, too.
Raising an eyebrow, Jensen just looks at Jared and prays that the younger man can see the pleading there. It's not like he wants to do it or anything, but Chris needs help. This is what they do – help their friends when their friends need it. Whether their friends have too much pride to ask, or not.
“We did it for Chad,” he reminds.
And Jared rolls his eyes and fishes another beer out of the refrigerator. “Dog-sitting for a weekend while Chad's blowing his money on hookers and Patron in Vegas is not the same thing and you damn well know it!”
It is the same thing, Jensen wants to argue. Because it's helping a friend who needs them. But apparently Jared seems to think that there are limits to the obligation to help a friend in need. Which is surprising, given that Jared is only about fifteen years removed from being Brayden himself. Tossed around the system, passed from family to family, feeling like nobody wanted him. Jensen thinks that, of anyone in the world who might actually get what the kid's feeling, Jared should maybe have a little sympathy.
“Dude, what the fuck is a kid gonna do at our place?” Jared challenges when Jensen doesn't end up saying anything at all. “Gorge himself on beer and Reese cups which, in case you forgot, is the only thing we have in our goddamn fridge right now? Play video games all damn day? Maybe, when he gets bored with that, he can watch Ass Bangers 4!”
It's not entirely untrue that Jared and Jensen live in the most not kid-friendly house in maybe the entire world. They both own their own businesses and pretty much party like rock stars, so there's not much time spent in the abode to begin with. When they are there, they don't really bother cleaning up after themselves, and if he remembers correctly, there are a few empty beer bottles, a full ashtray, and possibly a half-empty bottle of KY on the coffee table right now. The kitchen counter is littered with an empty pizza box, a couple of dirty coffee cups, and an impressive spread of sex toys, where Jensen left them after he cleaned them this morning while Jared was in the shower.
There are stacks of B-grade horror movies all over the floor by the television, and it's possible that the house could burst into flames from all the tangled video game, and other entertainment-related, wires lying about their floor.
An accidental wrong turn into their bedroom would reveal an impressive, in Jensen's opinion, stack of gay porn taller than the flat-screen television they watch it on. Of course, you'd have to trip over nearly every piece of clothing Jensen owns to get anywhere near said television, and there's a possibility that you'd break your neck falling over some of Jared's shit-kicking boots before you ever made it three feet inside the room. So maybe you'd never really make it to the porn collection after all.
So maybe Jared's a little bit right in asserting that their place isn't exactly right for a child. But that's so not what this is about.
“Jay,” Jensen tries to change his approach. “I know it's not ideal, okay? I just think that . . . I don't know. It feels like the right thing to do.”
He can hear the question on Jared's lips before he ever voices it. And maybe it should freak him out that he knows his boyfriend so well that he can practically read his mind, but it's just the way it is.
“And since when do we worry about the right thing to do?” Jared asks, almost verbatim the way Jensen knew he would.
He's not wrong about this either, Jared's not. They're not exactly the poster children for goody-goody behavior. They drink too much, recreationally use a few party drugs from time to time, and have basically no interest in supporting any real causes. If it's not affecting their own little corner of the world, they really don't care about it much. And they don't pretend to.
“We donated to Prop 8 last year,” Jensen reminds Jared, like that makes them somehow fit to be awesome foster parents to a twelve-year-old.
Jared rolls his sparkling eyes and takes another pull of his beer bottle. “Because you wanted to talk Brad Pitt into a threesome at the fundraiser,” he reminds.
“Semantics,” Jensen waves his hand and offers Jared a winning smile, though it doesn't seem to be having much effect. Switching his methods of persuasion, he steps into his boyfriend's personal space and runs his hand up the front of Jared's shirt, fingertips brushing seductively over the warm, hard muscles there. “I know it's a fucked up idea, and I know that it doesn't make sense. But Chris and Steve need this. They've worked too hard to have this tour crashed by Lindsay's stupidity, ya know?”
He's maybe making some headway, maybe about to get Jared to give in when Mike comes storming through the door, empty beer bottle in hand. “Jen, I might be a little late tomorrow,” he announces as though Jensen's not two steps away from shoving his tongue into Jared's mouth and making the taller man forget his own name. Not like it would be the first time Mike's ever seen that, after all.
When Jensen finally saved enough cash to start his own business, he knew exactly what he wanted to do. While he loved working at Element, there was only so much he could do with their already-established style and look. He knew that he wanted to stay in the skate community, designing board decals, shirts, and hats. But when Jared mentioned that there was an old skate park down the pier from Slinging Ink that had just gone up for sale, the decision was simple.
Mike's grandfather had willed the old park to him, and it's subsequent pro shop, though it had gone out of business some ten years before. After the sale was complete, Mike stuck around to help Jensen renovate, and he just kind of never left. Between Jensen's already-established reputation and Jared's clients being tipped his way, it wasn't like Jensen couldn't use the help in keeping up with the pretty-much immediate demand at the store anyway. Mike loves Ollie almost as much as Jensen does. Sees it as a continuation of his grandfather's legacy in a lot of ways. And he also seems to prefer not being the one in charge, if it's all the same to everyone else.
“Not a problem, man,” Jensen assures him. “Tom called a staff meeting for four thirty, though, so be in by then.” Mike mumbles something over his shoulder, something that sounds a lot like 'Man, fuck Tom and his stupid blue eyes,' but he can't be sure. Turning back to Jared, he resumes the stroking of his boyfriend's chest.
But the moment is broken and Jared's shaking his head. “Jensen, no,” he insists, squirming away until he's broken the contact that's obviously too distracting for words.
“Jesus Christ, Jay,” he exclaims, frustrated by Jared's lack of cooperation. It's not usually so hard to convince him of . . . well, anything. “I would think you, of all people, would get this!” And he regrets the words as soon as they're out of his mouth.
“The fuck's that supposed to me?” Jared asks, his voice raising slightly. He pulls it back under control like the zen master he is in about two seconds, though. “Because I was raised in the system, I should feel some kind of responsibility to the foster kids of America? Fuck that!” he exclaims. “Wasn't nobody there explainin' shit to me. They can figure it out their damn selves,” he seethes, finger rising in Jensen's direction. “And fuck you, too, you presumptuous bastard.”
He doesn't apologize for the words, and Jensen doesn't expect him to. Jared's not the type of guy to say things he doesn't mean, even in anger. It might sting, or even hurt like hell to hear what Jared's really thinking, but Jensen can't deny that his bold, unerring honesty is one of the things he loves most about the man standing before him.
Doesn't mean he always likes it. “Ya know what? Fuck you right back, you self-righteous son of a bitch,” he fires. “Doesn't matter where you came from, or where that goddamn kid is headed. Matters that Chris is our friend and he needs some help out of a tight spot. You don't wanna help, fine. Don't fuckin' help. I'll take the kid to a hotel or somethin'. Ride it out until we figure out a better plan. You don't have to be a fucking part of anything remotely charitable!”
Jared rolls his eyes, arms crossing over his chest. “You don't even know what you're talking about, Jen. It's just,” he deflates, as though trying to squash the argument without actually trying to squash it at all. “You don't know what you're talking about, okay?”
And, just like that, the tension between them fades. Jensen steps forward, hands on the dangerously low waist of Jared's jeans. “So explain it to me, Jay. Explain to me why you're so against helping a friend out.”
“Dammit, I'm not against helpin' Chris out,” he insists, running his fingers through his shaggy hair. “But you can't just take a kid in off the street and expect everything to be all rainbows and kittens, okay? Doesn't work like in the movies, Jen,” Jared explains, as though Jensen lives in some fantasy world that he's not even aware doesn't exist in real life. “We don't know anything about him, okay? I mean, he's in there playing nice with Chris and Steve for now, but pretty soon, it's going to occur to him that he's been abandoned by his own fucking father. That shit fucks you up, Jensen. Makes you do shit you definitely shouldn't do.
“We let him sleep on our couch, and that's all fine and good, right? But what happens when he decides to tell someone that the gay guys he's livin' with made some kind of pass at him? Doesn't have to be true – just has to be said to the right people and the right time and we're both on the California Sex Offenders registry, ya know?” He shakes his head and points a finger in Jensen's direction. “Don't look at me like that. You don't know, man. You don't know what kids can come up with when they're starved for attention and they just want somebody to listen to them for a second.”
They don't talk like this. Not often. Yeah, Jensen's known for awhile that Jared grew up in the system. He knows that Jared was born in San Antonio, Texas, and moved to LA the day he turned eighteen. And he knows that it took copious amounts of alcohol to get that much of his boyfriend's past out of him. Jared's right – Jensen really doesn't know what it's like to grow up like Jared did. He's never really thought about it, because it was never relevant.
“'Sides, even if he's an angel, it still doesn't work,” Jared says, as though Jensen's going to start arguing with him again. “I mean, he gets sick? Or fuckin' injured? Not shit we can do about it, Jen. We're not his parents. Not his legal guardians. Can't sign a permission slip. Can't do shit for him, ya know? Decides to do some stupid shit with some friends? Just stupid kid shit that draws the wrong attention? We can't get him out of trouble. He gets sent away, just like,” he snaps his fingers for emphasis, “that. We just,” Jared releases the hair he's been holding away from his face and shrugs his massive shoulders, “we can't.”
“So what do we do, then?” Jensen asks, and hates how small his voice sounds. “Call the police?” It sounds so harsh, Danneel's suggestion on his tongue, but after Jared's in-depth explanation, Jensen's not sure there's much more they can do.
Reaching his hand out, Jared hooks his fingers through Jensen's belt loop and pulls him forward, dropping a kiss on his lips easily before shaking his head. “Not really our call, man. I mean, the kid's dad left him with Lindsay, who left him with Chris. Ultimately, it's his call to make, I think.”
“He's stayin' here tonight,” Chris reiterates his earlier statement as he steps back through the kitchen door. “Think y'all can maybe keep it down in here? Kid's a minor. Not deaf,” he adds with a scowl that makes Jensen blush and Jared roll his eyes. “I'm callin' Big Dave in the morning. See what he thinks before we head out. Nothin' else, we'll just take him with us to Texas, drop him at my momma's house.” He shrugs his shoulders like it's all settled.
Big Dave is Chris's affectionate nickname for the band's lawyer, David Boreanaz. He handles contracts for the band, as well as serving as booking agent and financial adviser. He's also one of Chris's best friends, and if Jensen's honest, he's probably the best man for the job of figuring out what to do with Brayden. Why no one thought of him sooner is probably a testament to the alcohol consumed tonight.
“Might wanna call him 'fore you take off,” Jared suggests, taking a final pull from his beer bottle. “Pretty sure it's not legal to transport a minor across state fuckin' lines without expressed written permission from his legal guardian. Get your ass arrested for kidnapping and I ain't bailin' ya out,” he winks, smacking Jensen's ass as he pushes past and heads into the living room.
Chris just watches Jared go and then turns back to Jensen. “What the hell's up with Sasquatch?” he asks, eyebrow quirked.
Jared's loveable, most of the time. In fact, he's pretty irresistible, even to those who jump to immediate conclusions based on his appearance. He's been compared to an overgrown puppy more times than anyone can count, usually by Jensen himself. He's spastic, kind of like a giant kid on a sugar high, and Jensen's pretty sure the kid's never met a stranger. Undoubtedly, it's the reason Jared's so popular among the industry elite, why he gets flown to the middle of fucking Nowhere, Idaho because some rock star has a spur-of-the-moment need for ink that only Jared can provide.
So maybe Chris is right to question why their normally-affable friend is acting all level-headed and, well, mature on this night. Especially when he was licking salt off Jensen's neck and drinking shots from their resting place in Sophia's cleavage a couple of hours ago. That directly preceded Jared shaking his ass on the picnic table and stripping down to his boxer briefs for singles. If anything, he usually gets more crazy the longer he drinks.
“This whole thing cuts kinda close to home for him,” Jensen explains as vaguely as he can. It's not like the words don't paint an accurate picture and he sees that in the shock on Chris's face. “Says we can't take Brayden, but I'm kinda thinking he just doesn't want to,” he adds, catching his full bottom lip between his teeth.
He won't say more – feels like it would somehow be betraying his boyfriend's confidences if he did – but Jensen's got a working theory. Seeing Brayden, hearing his story via Chris, is rehashing a lot of memories that Jared's been pretty skilled at pressing down for the better part of a decade. Having the kid in their house would make it impossible for him to pretend that his life before now didn't happen, and Jared's not repressed or anything. He's just happy to live in the now, with no need to dwell in the then.
Of course, that's just a theory, and Jensen's not drunk enough to believe Jared will ever confirm it.
As if conjured out of Jensen's thoughts, Jared re-appears with his car keys. “You ready to bolt?” he asks, expression furrowed and concentrated.
Jensen just nods, pops into the living room to say good-bye to Steve, and then waves at Chris before following Jared's path out the back door. When Jared tosses him the keys, Jensen stands in the driveway and stares at his boyfriend. “You okay?” he asks over the hush of the night air.
Expression confused, Jared pulls the passenger door of his truck open and nods. “Fine. You?” Jensen just flips him off and is almost laughing at the Jaredness of the response when he climbs into the cab. “Think you can make it home in ten?” Jared's voice is pitched low when Jensen slams the door behind him.
It's easily a twenty minute drive from Chris's place to theirs, and Jensen quirks an eyebrow at the question. “Dude, you could just pee here before we take off,” he nods toward the house through the windshield.
But Jared's hand creeps over his thigh, and he's not sure how the larger man spans the distance so quickly, but it doesn't much matter when his lips find that spot right behind Jensen's ear and he whispers, “You got ten minutes before I lose my mind completely and have to fuck you blind. So either make it home, or we're doin' it on the side of whatever road you happen to be on at the time.” He sucks the spot where his lips are resting and then pulls back, completely withdrawing to his own side of the cab.
They make it back to the apartment with fourteen seconds to spare, all thoughts of Chris and his predicament left far, far behind.
Chapter 2
