raeschae | Look at Me Now, 1/1, PG, Jared/Jensen (A Disclaimer Verse BrayShot)

Title: Look at Me Now (A Disclaimer Verse BrayShot)
Author:

raeschae
Pairing: mentions of J2
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2350

Summary: Brayden's not the same kid he was when he was uncerimonously dropped on the guys' doorstep five years ago. He's learned a lot, and forgotten more, but there is one thing in his crazy life that he knows won't change.
Part of the Disclaimer Verse

A/N: For kubis. Earlier this week, I posted an open offer to answer questions about any or all of my stories. It's still open here if there's more you want to know. But a lot of questions seemed to surface about Brayden, his relationship with his father, and what's going on in his wacky head. A while back, I did a OneShot from Bray's POV, I'm Just a Kid, and I thought that it was time to delve into that scary, scary mind one more time. The result is something that I didn't so much expect, but that I'm pretty happy with. Hope you are, too!

The title comes from 4 Words by Bullet for My Valentine.

Thanks to

billygirl05 for the beta! Oh, and there's a graphic under the cut, so beware if you need to.

The best thing about living in Southern California, as far as Brayden's concerned, is that it's warm enough to lay around the pool house in his underwear in the middle of February without turning the heat up. Oh, he was going to lounge around in his jeans, but he hasn't gotten back around to pulling them on yet. He will, though. Just as soon as this lethargy lifts and he can move like normal again.

God bless flexible blonds.

He's not what you'd call introspective most of the time, but something about today has him staring at the Cartoon Network on his ginormous flat-screen TV and thinking about his life in general. This is the kind of shit his friends do when they're high, but he's not. Doesn't do that shit for fear of Jared removing his internal organs with a fucking spoon or something. He drove drunk once and learned his lesson just fine, thank you very much. He doesn't feel the need to push his luck.

Also, there's the issue of his father being a fucking junkie. Which, according to Jensen, some psychologists or scientists, whatever, did some studies that say he's more like to be one because of it, if he doesn't watch his step. If there's one person in the world that Brayden doesn't want to grow up to be, it's his father. And now that he's been offered the chance to avoid it, he's not going to waste it on a few parties and forgotten good times with his friends.

Rolling his head along the arm of the couch, his eyes settle on the framed, autographed picture of Bullet for My Valentine on the door wall. They signed it for him when they came into the shop about a month ago, so Jay could finish the lead singer's back piece. And if that doesn't just illustrate what a lucky fuckin' bastard Brayden is, he doesn't know what does.

Three years ago, there was a meth lab in his basement, and his dad was trying to get him to pedal narcotics at school. One year ago, he was celebrating his sixteenth birthday with a blow-out including a skate exhibition with Ryan Sheckler and Tony Hawk and a concert by We The Kings. He's not dumb enough not to recognize how much things have changed.

He could very well be living out the rest of his high school years in juvie right now, if it wasn't for Jared and Jensen, and he knows that. He could be living with some family that sees him as a minor inconvenience, or worse, who make him cut his hair and go to church all the time. There aren't really a lot of options for a kid like Brayden, and he knows that he's stumbled into the best possible, one-in-a-million situation here.

Still, sometimes he wonders what life would have been like if his father hadn't picked up that pipe six or seven years ago. Or even if rehab would have worked. Would they still be living in that little house over off of Washington Avenue, or would his dad have saved up enough cash to buy something nicer? Would they still sit around with their feet kicked up on the coffee table, eating pizza while Rick introduced him to all of those old action movies from the '80's that he loved so much?

In retrospect, he guesses it doesn't matter much. What's done is done, and he can't change it. At first, when he got out of the hospital, he was so pissed at pretty much everyone. At his dad, for driving while he was high, like Brayden told him not to do three times that night. At Jared and Jensen, for using the information he gave them against his dad and sending him away. At himself, for telling in the first place. At the universe, in general, for putting him in such a sucktastic position. It was too much. He was only thirteen. He shouldn't have had to deal with it.

So he didn't. Most of it, anyway, he shoved down and hid away and refused to even think about. There wasn't any more that he could do back then than he can now, so he decided that he wasn't going to bitch and moan about it.

The guys let him do pretty much anything he wants, they always have, so it's not like there's anything wrong with living here. He gets all-access passes to The X-Games and huge rock tours. He's been to television sets and had dinner with movie stars. Two months ago, Sports Illustrated contracted Jared to temp-tat the models for this year's swimsuit edition. If ever he feels like an ungrateful little prick, the pictures from their trip to Waikiki for that shoot will forever remind him to shut the hell up and give thanks.

It's hard not to feel guilty sometimes, though. His friends tell him all the time how lucky he is. How awesome it is that he has his own party pad or that he gets to skip school to go to some of the coolest places in the world. He's not really much of a label whore, but when he was skating competitively for a little while, Jensen agreed to design a line of shoes for Osiris. The only stipulation to the deal was that they not sell the shoes worldwide until the junior season was over, so that Brayden was the only one rockin' 'em on the course. That's insane, and Brayden damn well knows it. He doesn't deserve any of this.

The last time he went to visit his dad, something he doesn't do often and never tells the guys about, Rick asked him a question: How mucha this great you life you got is because of you, and how much of it is because of the rich homo bitches you're livin' it up with now? How quick could they take it all away from you? And then what do you have left?

Listen, Brayden's not stupid. He knows that his dad has always had a problem with the guys, with the fact that Brayden stayed close to them after he went back to live with his dad again. He tries to take everything Rick says about them with a grain of salt, because his jealousy, or homophobia, or whatever the hell the issue is, kind of taints his judgment.

But a part of him can't help wondering.

He's a high school kid who works ten hours a week for barely more than minimum wage. Five hours at Ollie and five hours at Slinging Ink. And he spends more time at the skate park with his friends during those ten hours than he spends doing any actual work.

He doesn't need a job. Jay pays for his bike, his gas, and his insurance. Jensen picks up the tab for his clothes, movies, iTunes, and anything else that he wants to buy. They're both willing to send him to the college of his choice, if he decides to go. When Jensen found out that his friends wanted to head up to Big Bear last winter, but their parents were holding out because money was tight? He paid for the cabin and gave them all cash to blow on the trip.

Brayden's not delusional enough to believe that it's normal, this life he has. And he'd like to believe that his friends, the ones who used to skate in the street with him until sundown when his dad was busy workin' double shifts at the garage, would hang around even if he was still as poor as he was then. But he knows damn well that a lot of the guys that show up at the pool house now would be gone in a heartbeat if the flat screen, pimped out stereo, and A-list parties disappeared.

And the girls? He loves the girls, probably more than he should. All of the colors, shapes, and personalities. He's not all that picky, really. Not just because he's a seventeen-year-old guy, either. But because he knows that most of them are more into his bike, his house, or his fucking gay dads than they're into him. The only chick he knows that was cool enough to look beyond all of his stuff, to see him for who he was? She bolted for no damn good reason almost six months ago. Brayden still doesn't know why, but it's easier to pretend he doesn't care and just take what he can get for as long as he can get it.

Sometimes, when he gets all maudlin and 'what's it all about' like this, he misses Demi so much his chest hurts. Because he loves Jordan and his other boys, and he loves Jared and Jensen, but none of them are going to lay here with him, let him talk about Rick, his insecurities, and his indecision about the future like she did. Just feeling her breath on his neck and her fingers in his hair made it seem like nothing else in the world even mattered. When he was with her, none of it could touch him.

The truth is that his life has changed so much over the last five years, in almost every way. But in one, it's exactly the same as it has been since he was twelve. Because when he puts his pants back on and heads into the main house, he knows exactly what he's going to find awaiting him. Two guys, either eating dinner out of take-containers or working on something in their offices, mocking each other, and him, for pretty much any and every thing that runs through their minds. Guys who tease relentlessly, name call and taunt endlessly. Guys who don't have to say that they love him, or each other, because the look in their eyes says everything for them.

Brayden's fucking fortunate to have the life that he has, and he knows that. When he really lets himself think about it, though, and puts it into perspective, he thinks he's far more lucky to have the dads that he has.

One has taught him, though his own mistakes and failures, that just saying he wants to be a better man doesn't make it so. That wanting to do the right thing doesn't magically make the right thing happen. And that being selfish, focusing solely on what he wants and thinks he needs, only ends up hurting the people around him.

The other two have taught him that he can have the world on a string, and it doesn't mean a damn thing if he doesn't share it with the people that mean the most to him. They never try to impress him, and they're not trying to buy his love. They give him everything just because they can. There are no 'After School Special' monologues and chick flick speeches in this house, but Jared and Jensen live what they believe so loudly, in such Technicolor clarity, that Brayden couldn't miss the message if he was deaf, blind, and mute.

Sliding his pants on, he makes a pit stop at his mini-fridge and then heads back into the house. The kitchen is quiet, and a glance at the microwave tells him that it's only six fifteen. There's indie emo shit blaring from Jensen's office, which is a pretty clear indicator that Jared's not home yet, so Brayden pulls his cell out of his pocket and leans his hip against the kitchen island for a minute.

When his call is finished, he heads to Jensen's office and shoulders his way inside without knocking. “You're such a fucking girl,” he accuses when a particularly whiny note is sung out over the speakers. Jensen just flips him off, eyes trained on the paper in front of him.

He doesn't lift his gaze until Brayden sets a cold energy drink on the desk above whatever he's working on. “What's this?”

With a shrug, he smiles and nods. “Figured you could use the pick-me-up. I ordered Thai. Should be here in about forty,” he adds, turning for the door.

“Hey, Bray?” He turns, and Jensen pops the tab on the drink before holding it up in a silent toast. “Thanks, man.”

“No big,” Brayden responds, stepping into the hall to dial again.

Jared answers on the second ring. “What's up?” He never says 'hello' – hasn't for as long as Brayden's known him.

“Don't worry 'bout pickin' food up,” he responds, and then adds, “We're doin' Thai. It's on me.”

“Why? You fail a test or some shit?”

He smiles and makes his way up to his room for a quick shower before dinner arrives. “How 'bout you stop lookin' a gift horse in the fuckin' mouth and get home in the next forty minutes, huh?”

He's well-aware that none of his friends could ever get away with talking to their parents like Brayden talks to the guys. But when Jared laughs, loud and abrupt in his ear, he also knows that it's only because none of his friends have parents as cool as he does.

Finally, Jared says, “You didn't have to do that, Bray, but I, uh . . . I appreciate it, man. Thanks.”

“I do what I can,” he answers nonchalantly, disconnecting the call after a quick 'bye.' He tosses the phone on his bed and grabs a pair of shorts from the top drawer of his dresser before heading to the bathroom across the hall.

It's not much, a Monster for Jensen and paying for dinner on Jared's night to pick up the tab. But he knows that it means more to them than they'll ever say in words. They get that it's just Brayden's way of saying what he'd never be caught dead saying out loud.

Thank you.

I'm a lucky kid.

I appreciate what you've done for me.

I'm grateful for what you're still doing for me.

You're my family.

I love you guys.