![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
raeschaeTitle: Disclaimer: We Will Not Be Held Responsible . . . 6/7
Author:raeschae
Rating: R
Characters: Jared, Jensen, OMC, Chris, Steve, Sopia, Sandy
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: Still just the language, which is probably a given by now but, ya know, I live life on the safe side. (Uh, er, something like that.)
Word Count: 6000 (give or a take a word or two)
Disclaimer: Still don't own anyone. Especially the J's, who would totally be inked like they are in the graphic if I did. :)
A/N: Just quickly, I want to give a quick little shout-out to my man,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
neutraldeviance, for the idea that everyone seems to be loving so much. The whole 'PTA' idea was all his. So thanks, babe, for the killer concept. And thank Pinky and the Brain for me, too. :)
Graphic under the cut again, so beware if you, ya know, need to beware of that kind of thing. Alright:
Jensen fully expects his trip to New York to be as boring as any business trip can possibly be. Fly into town, check into a stuffy hotel, meet with the talking heads at Macy's, ink a deal, and head back to the hotel. Catch a few hours sleep and then fly back home to hear about the PTA fundraiser and familiarize himself with Jared's body again. Boring. The trip, and the PTA, not Jared's body.
Except that Tom spends the entire cross-country flight trying to convince him to do something special for Pride week this year at the store. Something to embrace their community. The fuck community is he talking about, Jensen wants to know. Skaters? Because that's really the only community he's ever considered himself a part of. Turns out, just like everything else in Tom's life, he's embraced being gay with tenacity and complete single-mindedness. Apparently, he's the next Harvey Milk or some shit.
By the time they get to the hotel, he's looking forward to five minutes by himself, trying to figure out if he really agreed to let Tom host a skate exhibition for drag queens. He kind of figured the room was going to be ostentatious, but he can't really complain about the circular bathtub with the jacuzzi jets. It's about as big as a swimming pool, and the thought of having Jared in it with him gives Jensen just enough fuel to fully relax himself before heading into his meeting.
Of all of the things he thought this weekend was going to bring, Macy's is about the most predictable. The heads of the purchasing and marketing departments pour over his designs, make suggestions on a few things that he can tweak to make them more commercial, and then slide the contract across the table. The money's more than he expected, more than they agreed upon, but he's not going to point that out and risk them taking it all back. He's not an idiot, after all.
By the time the meeting ends, there are four messages on his phone. One from Danneel, wishing him luck. One from Jared wishing him the same, only with dirtier promises of how they'll celebrate when he gets home. One of the messages is from Brayden, and that kind of surprises him a little bit. As does the way the kid's shy little 'hope everything went okay, Jen' effects his ability to swallow for just a second.
The last message is from Chris, telling him that the band just rolled into Manhattan and they want to get a drink before their set. Jensen wants to sleep until morning, but he's never really been able to say 'no' to Chris.
“You look like shit on a stick,” the low laughter sounds at Jensen's back.
Turning, he narrows his eyes at the urban cowboy standing at his table and flips him a middle finger. “You should talk,” he fires back at Chris and then stands to offer Steve a half-hug before sinking back into the chair at the table near the wall.
“So, sell-out, how'd the meeting go?” Steve asks and Jensen rolls his eyes.
“Made more money signin' my name than you will on this whole goddamn tour,” he nods proudly and accepts the handshakes and congratulations from his friends with ease. “Not that you wanted to meet me to talk about my line,” he adds when the looks between Chris and Steve grow too obvious to ignore.
“Lindsay and the asshole are back together,” Chris says flatly.
The asshole being Brayden's dad, obviously. And Jensen doesn't really know what to do with that information. It clearly means that he's back in town, if he ever left, and that he hasn't so much as bothered looking for Brayden. Either that, or Lindsay told him where the kid is, and his dad's just not interested in looking for him. Jensen's fine with either alternative, being as he'd rather carve his eyeballs out with a fork than ever let the kid go back to a guy who would abandon him cold like that in the first place.
“And that means,” Jensen baits when Chris just shoots Steve another knowing glance.
He takes a drink, sighs, and leans back in his chair, cowboy hat slipping a little further over his forehead. “They checked themselves into rehab this morning,” he says, shaking his head a little bit. “Said they wanna do better. Be better.” An eye roll says Chris doesn't really believe it will work, but whatever.
Jensen doesn't really care if they never kick whatever addiction they're choosing to eradicate. “What's it mean for Brayden?” he asks, and it doesn't even occur to him that the thought of sending the kid back to his dad bothers Jensen so fucking much. It actually hurts his chest a little bit, but he chalks that up to drinking too fast. Or jetlag. Or something.
“Means they're gonna want him back when they get out,” Chris explains slowly, hand dragging his beer bottle in a lazy circle against the pitted table before him. “Assuming they work their shit out or whatever, they'll be ready to pick him up in thirty days.”
It's not fair, and Jensen wants to protest. He really fucking wants to stomp his feet and plead with Chris to do something about it. He wants to insist that they figure out some way for Chris to get permanent custody, and for Jared and Jensen to watch the kid whenever Chris is out of town. It's the best solution in the world, he's sure of it.
So maybe Brayden stays up a little bit later on school nights than a kid his age should. And maybe he swears a little bit and gets to watch movies that a lot of kids in his class are still considered too young to watch. But he's comfortable with them, and he's coming out of his shell a lot more, and he laughs. He's happy, as far as Jensen can tell, and that's gotta count for something, right? When he showed up at Chris's that night with Lindsay, he looked like a miserable little shell of a kid. Now he's kind of outgoing, and he cracks jokes at dinner, and he actually enters a room Jared and Jensen are already in without hovering in the door and waiting for an invitation.
And Jensen's just kind of getting to the place where he actually remembers Brayden's there most of the time. He gets up in the morning, for fuck's sake. Takes the kid to school. Always remembers to have somebody pick him up and drop him off at Slinging Ink or Ollie. He's even remembering not to make inappropriate comments about Jared's dick, or hand gestures about what he'd like to do with it, in front of the kid now. He's adjusting, shifting his life around for this kid, and it's becoming a routine.
“You're just gonna let it happen, huh?” is all he asks. He may not know much about child protective services or the foster system, but he's not going to have the same fight about his ignorance with Chris that he has with Jared.
Chris's shoulders shrug. “Nothin' else I can do, man. Wish to God I could, but the law's not exactly on my side in this thing. Not if they actually clean up their act, ya know?”
“What if Brayden doesn't wanna go back?” Seems to Jensen like the kid should have a say in all of this, like maybe he should get to decide if he wants to live with the fucker who left him with no warning, or with the people who actually notice when he's around.
Steve takes a pull from his bottle and leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “California law says that a kid has to be fourteen before he can make that call for himself,” he explains, and Jensen has no doubt that Steve's studied just as much of the legal side of this as Chris has. If he didn't already know it, for some random reason. Steve's like that – a veritable font of useless information.
After considering arguing for a second longer, Jensen reaches out to snag the waitress's attention when she rounds their table. They're going to need another round, or three. Once he processes the ramifications of all of this, he's going to have to talk to Jared about it, and they're going to have to tell Brayden. He just knows he's going to need a lot more alcohol tonight before he can consider doing either.
“This is fucking insane!” Sophia exclaims as she finishes one sugar-hyped kid and waits for the next to pay Sandy and pick out a design.
They've been airbrushing temporary tattoos on arms and necks and backs for the better part of an hour and Jared's pretty sure they're going to run out of paint before this line dissipates. The only consolation, really, is that they're going to be able to help a lot of animals with the money they're making.
“How much for a sleeve?” Sandy asks over her shoulder and Jared scrunches his face as he considers it, and then the kid standing there waiting. He's scrawny. Probably even skinnier than Brayden, and if Jared uses some old throw-back design, he can probably knock it out in fifteen minutes. They've been charging anywhere from five to fifteen dollars, depending on size and the amount of color the kid wants.
“Twenty-five,” he answers easily, finishing the wing of the butterfly the little girl in front of him asked for. “You're done, kiddo,” he smiles and she blushes before thanking him quietly and running off.
The thing is, Jared's kind of enjoying this whole charity thing. Not that he wants to do it all the time or anything, and he's pretty sure that being around this many kids on a consistent basis would kind of kill him a little bit. But Sophia and Sandy are keeping him pretty entertained, and the kids aren't so bad, for the most part.
The principal's rule of 'nothing naked and nothing profane' makes him laugh every time one of the boys asks for a bleeding skull or a little girl with zero curves wants a Playboy bunny somewhere on her hip or shoulder. If his hand wasn't so damn cramped, he might even say he was having fun.
“You got any quarters in there?” Brayden asks, breathless as he breezes into the tent they've set up on the edge of the school parking lot. His hair is sweat-stuck to his forehead and he's giving Sandy puppy dog eyes that would make Jensen proud.
Sandy starts to open the cash box, but Jared just waits for his next victim to sit and turns toward the kid. “You wanna work for that cash, kid?” he asks and Brayden cocks his head like the thought of working never occurred to him. “Run out to the van and grab my extra primary color pallette,” he nods in the direction of the company van and Brayden nods without question.
“Hey, Bray,” Sophia calls after him and raises an empty tube of black ink. “Can you bring the black, too?” When he's gone again, she turns to Jared. “You should teach him how to do this,” she mentions off-handed before looking at the design catalog in Sandy's hand and taking in the tat her client wants.
Jared huffs a laugh and listens as the boy in his chair explains the vines and barbed wire he wants around his bicep. He wants to remind the kid that it's not 1998 anymore and nobody cool wants barbed wire in 2009, but it's not his job to dictate what these kids get. As long as it fits within the conduct code (and isn't it just the funniest thing that he even bothers thinking about a fucking conduct code in the first place?), they can have whatever they want. Let their parents deal with the why. It's not like it won't wash off in their morning shower anyway.
“I'm serious, ya know,” Sophia says over the rush of the We the Kings song that comes blaring out of the computer Sandy insisted they set up in their tent. Jared's pretty sure she's the most brilliant woman on the planet, being as every kid in line seems to know every word to every song she put on her master mix.
“This is his thing,” Jared dismisses Sophia's idea easily as he sets about outlining the kid's damned barbed wire. “Let him have fun.”
“He wants to learn,” she presses, dropping the subject when Brayden comes back, hands full of ink tubes.
Jared nods toward the table they've set up and watches from the corner of his eye as Brayden lays everything out just the way Jared does back in the studio. Like he's been watching and memorizing or something. Like maybe Soph picked up on something he didn't.
“You're pretty skilled at that,” he smiles when Brayden looks up, beaming proud at the compliment. “Come here,” he motions with his shoulder and the kid shifts over until he's peering around Jared's bicep and taking in the motion of his hands over the skin he's marking.
When Jared finishes, he fishes a handful of quarters out of the pocket of his jeans and drops them into Brayden's hand. “Go on,” he excuses the kid and knows he's smiling when Brayden runs off. Still smiling when he turns to see Sandy staring at him, kind of surprised and kind of not at the same time. “What?”
“You're so fucking transparent,” she accuses, taking the money from the next kid in line and pushing the catalog toward the girl. “You're loving this.”
Love is kind of a strong word, but talking Brayden through the process of inking was kind of a rush, he can admit. It's sort of the same thing he felt when he taught Chad five years ago. It's this charge he gets when he sees someone interested in what he does. Makes him feel like he knows something, like he's not the idiot high school drop out who everyone swore was never going to amount to anything. Like he has something to offer a small corner of the world or something equally cheesey like that.
It's not like he's willing to admit that they're mirror images or anything, but Jared can see why Jensen maybe thought he would connect to Brayden in some way. Jared thinks maybe that's why he's resisted getting close to the kid a little bit. Because he was the artistic kid, eager to learn about this new medium, back when he was Brayden's age. And someone took the time to show him the ropes.
Maybe giving back isn't about donating money to the community and donating coats for kids or whatever. Maybe it's just about showing someone what somebody showed you back in the day. Maybe that's all the universe really requires of everybody – use the skills you were born with to benefit someone other than yourself. Put like that, Jared thinks maybe it's not such a lame concept.
He expects that he won't see Brayden again until his quarters run out, so he's kind of surprised when the kid pops back in ten minutes later with big Styrofoam cups of soda for both of them. He sets Jared's on the table, out of reach of his elbows, and sinks onto the extra stool they brought for Sandy that she's yet to use.
Forty-five minutes later, a shadow falls over the booth and Jared can almost feel the hush. He's learned, over the course of the last couple hours, that it means an adult is among them. The kids always seem to shut up a little bit when one of their parents comes by to see what all the fuss is about.
The voice he hears addressing Sandy sends a jolt of something totally unpleasant down Jared's spine. "Just checking to make sure everything's running smoothly," the principal says in that fake tone that clearly means, I'm not sure why I ever agreed to let you deviants do this in the first place.
Jared turns, equally sarcastic retort on the tip of his tongue, when Brayden slips off his stool and grabs the machine from Jared's hand. "It's awesome, Mr. Gardner," he assures the man enthusiastically. "You should see how much money we're raising for charity and everything!" Without missing a beat, he holds the machine up to the principal's eyeline. "You should totally have a seat. Jay does a mean fire-breathing dragon. Or," he grins even wider, if that's even possible, "I could try it. I mean, I'm not as good at portraits as Soph is, but I'm not bad."
The shocked, and slightly terrified, look in the principal's eye as he rushes away from the table sends Jared into a fit of laughter that he hasn't heard from his own throat since Jensen left. It's completely out of character for Brayden to address anyone outside of the house like that, but seriously? It was maybe the funniest thing Jared's seen in a long damn time.
"Dude, that," he holds a hand up and Brayden leaps off the ground to hit it before returning to his stool. "Was fucking brilliant!"
For the rest of the afternoon, Brayden's stuck to Jared's side like glue, wide eyes taking in everything that the older man's hands do against the skin of his classmates. Jared asks him questions, and Brayden answers. Sometimes Brayden's the one with an inquiry, and Jared's happy to instruct him every step of the way. Something weird is happening, he can feel it. But he forces it back in his mind and finds that he really does enjoy his day with the kid. At a PTA fundraiser. Who knew?
They're home by eight o'clock and Brayden runs off to play video games while Jared checks his voice mail and talks to Jensen for a few minutes. Something's off with his boyfriend, but Jared's not going to push the issue. Never does. They're not that couple. Jensen will tell him what's up when he's ready, and Jared trusts that enough to be okay with it.
When he finally wanders into the rec room, Brayden's sort of playing the game, and sort of getting his ass handed to him by a band of flesh-eating zombies. “Dude, you're better than this,” Jared comments, dropping a Hot Pocket into Brayden's line of vision.
He pauses the game and spins on the floor, nibbling on the food while Jared takes a seat on the couch. “If I tell you something, will you promise not to punch me in the head?” he asks and Jared laughs because, really? This kid has been around them way too long. “I had a . . . well, I,” he stops and shakes his head. Takes another bite. Swallows it a little longer than necessary. Jared just waits him out. “Thanks. For today, ya know? For doin' it. And for showin' me,” he trails off, like he doesn't know quite how to finish.
Jared just nods. He doesn't really know what to say, either. Any time? It was nothing? I had fun, too? None of it's particularly girlie, but he just doesn't know how to talk about this shit. To give and take compliments. About his work, yeah, or about Chad's or Sophie's. Even about Jensen's, sure. But when it comes to emotions and character and whatever, Jared just doesn't know how to talk about it.
“Your art's pretty good, ya know?” He settles for throwing out the praise he's comfortable with and Brayden nods, still eating and kind of staring at the floor in front of him. “Little practice, you'll totally be runnin' me outta business in a few years.”
The blush that rushes up Brayden's neck and into his cheeks makes Jared feel . . . something. He doesn't know what, but it's more than he's used to. Maybe more than he's comfortable with.
“Dad used to say it wasn't natural,” Brayden mutters, almost too quietly to be heard over the silence in the room. “Kid my age shouldn't be so good at drawing and shit.” He rests his Hot Pocket on his thigh and picks at the carpet in front of him. When he looks up and meets Jared's eye head-on, it kind of knocks the older man back in surprise a little bit. “Is it weird that I miss him sometimes?”
Swallowing a gulp of beer that kind of slides down the wrong tube, Jared shakes his head and tries to figure out how in the hell he's supposed to answer that question. “No,” he finally settles on honesty. He and Jensen decided back when this whole thing started that they weren't going to lie to Brayden about anything if he asked them directly. Jensen's not here, but Jared's pretty sure the rule still applies.
“Feels weird,” Brayden says, scooting across the floor until he can rest his back against the wall. There's yards of space between them, but Jared can't help but feel a little claustrophobic. “Like I shouldn't because, well, ya know,” he shakes his head and the expression on his face is tentative, like maybe he's not sure he should be talking about this with anyone, least of all Jared.
And something inside Jared's chest clicks. He's never talked about any of it, how he was raised or how it made him feel. Not even with Jensen. Not only because he's not really all that comfortable with the prospect, but also because he's never had anyone to talk to who might understand it. Chad didn't exactly run away from home, but he consciously decided to leave. Sophia was adopted when she was seven, so she kind of understands the system, but not the way Jared saw it. Jensen . . . well, his life was pretty much kittens and rainbows when he was little.
Truth is, Brayden isn't really like Jared, either. He hasn't had to live in juvenile halls because nobody wants him. At least there were people to take this kid in when his parents disappeared. Sure, they're still strangers to him, but at least they know some of the same people. That's more than Jared ever had. And yet, he can't seem to keep himself from spilling the story. Or the parts of it that he thinks the kid might be able to grasp.
“When I was your age, maybe a little younger,” he starts and his voice sounds strange, even to his own ears, “I started wondering about my dad. My mom. About everything. Nobody would answer me, and I was pretty sure it was because they either didn't know, or didn't care. Just . . . I don't know – felt like I had to know. Like a part of me was out there, missing, and I didn't know anything about it. They didn't want me or whatever. And a part of me was so fucking angry at them, ya know? But another part of me just really wanted a part of them, I guess. I don't know.”
Brayden picks at a hole in the knee of his jeans and doesn't look at Jared, like he understands how hard this must be for both of them to talk about. “You never knew either one of them?”
Jared shakes his head. “My mom was in prison when I was born. I guess she had a theory on who my dad was, but that guy was in jail, too. I don't know – I never met him.” It's funny how he's spent so much time avoiding talking about this stuff, and now it doesn't seem all that bad. Kinda like something that happened to someone else or something. “She was supposed to be in for somethin' like twenty-five years or something, I guess, but I never heard from her, so beats the fuck outta me if she's still there or whatever.”
“You ever talked to her?” Brayden asks, eyes wide, like he can't quite believe what he's hearing. “Cause, ya know, my mom took off right after she had me. Dad doesn't even have a picture or anything.” He chuckles, and the sound is biting and sarcastic. It kind of hurts Jared's ears coming from a kid as innocent and decent as Brayden. “I don't even know what she looks like.”
Jared shakes his head and takes another drink, arms stretched over the back of the couch as he looks over the kid's head. “I had this one social worker when I was in junior high who told me my first foster mom used to take me to see her when I was a baby, but I don't fuckin' remember that shit, ya know? She tried to get me to go see her when I was . . . I don't know, thirteen? I think. Maybe fourteen. But by then, I was over it. Didn't care anymore.”
“You think your mom was a bad person? Or your dad? I mean . . . I don't know,” Brayden stops himself and shakes his head and Jared thinks he looks older than his twelve years right now. More tired than a kid his age should have to look, that's for sure. “You think it makes 'em bad that they didn't want you?”
Shrugging his shoulders, Jared considers the question. He hasn't really even thought about his parents in a long damn time. It's probably weird to someone who grew up with theirs. He can't imagine that Chris or Sophia or Sandy ever goes months at a time without even giving a second thought to their parents. But they all know their parents, have faces to go with names. Jared doesn't really have either. He always kind of zoned out when the social workers would talk about his mom, and even she didn't know for sure who his dad was, so how's Jared supposed to care about people who are nameless and faceless and basically just mixed some DNA together for him?
He tries to consider his words before he says them. “Don't think it really makes a person bad if they don't want kids, ya know? Shit happens, though, and I don't know what it makes ya if you pussy out on the kid once you already have 'em. Fuckin' man up. Don't leave your shit for someone else to clean up. Probably why me and Jen never wanna have kids, ya know? Both know we ain't cut out for that shit, so it's best just not to bother, I guess."
Brayden blanches at the words. “Yeah, I know.”
“What?” Jared cocks his head curiously at the tone in the young kid's voice.
Shaking his shaggy hair – way shaggier than when he first popped up at Chris's a few weeks ago – Brayden casts his eyes back to the floor. “That night at Chris's, I heard you. Ya know, in the kitchen. Thought you were gonna start throwin' punches or some shit. 'Cause of me. That's kinda why you scare the fuck outta me, ya know?”
A ball of regret sinks to the bottom of his stomach and Jared hates the implication that this kid thinks of him as scary. “Dude, that night? It was like . . . “ He wants to make excuses, but he really can't. Not when Brayden heard everything and Jared won't lie about not wanting him around. “I didn't know you then,” is all he offers with a shrug and another pull from his beer bottle.
“I know,” Brayden answers in a whisper and then clears his throat, like maybe emotions he doesn't want to show are creeping up on him. “I just can't help thinking he had to have a reason for leaving, ya know? I mean, he used to be cool, and then he just . . . wasn't. So there has to be some reason that he just took off, right?” He rakes his fingers through his hair and Jared can see so much of himself in this kid that it kind of scares him a little bit. “I just kinda wanna know what that reason is, ya know? Keep thinking maybe it won't hurt so much if I know why. What I did to make him go away.”
Stoic. That's how Sandy often describes Jared. Not cold or unfeeling, but he just doesn't show his emotions. Prefers to be the always cool – always collected guy. The one that never lets shit get to him. He's been masking his feelings for so long, compartmentalizing and shoving them back into remote corners, that he doesn't really remember how to express them anymore. Not fully.
But that shit right there? If I know why . . . what I did to make him go away? That shit breaks Jared's heart into about a thousand pieces. Right there in the middle of the rec room with no Jensen to anchor him back to Earth.
His shoulders shake with the anger and the pain that he feels. Not for himself – he's long since dealt with his own abandonment issues – but for this kid who thinks exactly the same way Jared did when he was twelve. He doesn't struggle with the blame and the self-doubt anymore, but he remembers them. And he remembers the things he did because of them. The thought of Brayden turning into the kid that Jared was in high school is just . . . it's fucking painful.
“How long you lived here?” Jared asks out of the blue, even though he knows the answer.
“Couple weeks,” Brayden answers.
Jared holds three fingers up. “Three weeks you been livin' in this house, man. Three weeks and I already know you're hella talented and pretty fuckin' smart and funny as a motherfucker, right?” Brayden blushes but Jared keeps on. “I don't know what your dad's issues are. Hell, chances are he doesn't know what his issues are, man. But you?” Jared doesn't do touchy-feely moments often, and he hopes that Brayden's getting' this because he's not sure he'll ever be repeating himself. “Ain't nobody's life could possibly be worse because you're in it. I know that much.”
Brayden just looks at him for a second, the briefest hint of a smile on his lips, and then graciously starts his game again, which suits Jared just fine. It's not like he wants to talk about this shit anyway, ya know?
They sit in silence for a little while, Brayden occasionally growling or cursing when things don't go his way in the game. Jared watches, content, and thinks it's pretty fucking ridiculous that he doesn't mind being at home on a Saturday night, watching this kid play video games, instead of partying until the ass crack of dawn. Maybe he'd feel differently if Jensen was here, but he's not, so Jared can't let himself be bothered to worry about the shift of pretty much everything in the world he thought was stable just a few weeks ago.
The beep of his cell phone alerts him to a text message and he lifts it to smirk at Jensen's words.
Tom won't stop talking'. About Mike. And sex with Mike. Save me.
He punches a few buttons, his message reading: At least he's not in the fucking closet anymore.
The response comes less than a minute later. He fucked Mike in a closet once, though. Didn't much like it. Too dark or some shit. Seriously. I miss you.
Jared misses him, too. Probably more than is healthy. We'll make up for lost time tomorrow, his message promises.
When Jensen's reply, How?, comes through, Jared bites back a groan. He can't think about that now – not with Brayden sitting a few feet away. Though he's gotten better at it, Jensen is still completely inappropriate around the kid sometimes. It's cute, but it's also frustrating as all hell.
Can't really talk about it now.
I'm callin' in 20. Be alone, or listen to me jerk off and moan your name with the kid in the room. Don't care which.
Fucking . . . “I hate him,” he grumbles low in his chest and Brayden casts a glance over his shoulder. “Jensen,” Jared clarifies.
Brayden rolls his dark eyes. “Can't stand to be away from you for more than a couple hours, huh?”
“I'm pretty irresistible, dude,” Jared points out, standing to work out the kinks in his arms and back. “You gonna play for a little while?”
Nodding, Brayden doesn't even both to look up. “Go call your wife. I'm fine,” he assures with a wave of his hand. “Tell her I said hi,” he adds when Jared's almost out of the room and the older man has no idea if the kid bothers to turn and see the middle finger Jared throws up over his shoulder in response.
He treks up the stairs, kicks a few stray pieces of laundry out of his path, and collapses against the bed. Sure, he hates talking about his emotions for about a thousand different reasons, but the at the top of the list is the fact that it's so goddamn exhausting. He kind of hopes that Jensen's as worked up as he sounded in his texts, enough to take care of himself, because Jared's not sure he'll be much help.
The phone rings twice in his ear before a distracted, “Hey.”
“You're such a fucking tease,” Jared huffs out a tired chuckle and runs his hand over his face.
He can almost see Jensen shrug in his mind's eye. “Figured you'd pussy out on me or some shit, so I didn't bother getting' myself all worked up.”
Sometimes it's scary how well Jensen knows him, frankly. “I bet I could get ya all worked up,” he tries for seductive, but his voice sounds sleepy to his own ears.
Apparently, to Jensen's, too, because his boyfriend just laughs and Jared hears the other end of the line go quiet, like Jensen just turned the television off or something. “Nah. Moment's gone now. Just talk to me,” he instructs and Jared can hear shifting on the other end of the line, like Jensen's settling down on his hotel bed.
For about ten minutes, Jared blathers on about the carnival and about the various tattoos that he did and about all of the things he's pretty sure he already told Jensen during their previous conversation a few hours ago. And then, suddenly and without any kind of warning at all, he blurts out, “I told Brayden about my mom tonight.”
Jensen's quiet for a long time and when he does speak, his voice is soft. Almost guarded. Like he's trying not to push too hard or too fast. “What about her?”
“Just about never meeting her and shit. He was talking about how he misses his dad sometimes and I,” he stops and sighs, eyelids drooping heavily as the ocean breeze blows through the open balcony door. “I don't know, man. A month ago, I woulda told you this shit was crazy. But now?” He doesn't finish the sentence. Knows he doesn't really need to.
Jensen clears his throat and Jared feels the tension of their earlier conversation filtering back in. He's not going to ask, but he knows that Jensen's going to tell him this time. “Lindsay and Rick checked into rehab this morning,” he says flatly.
“The fuck's Rick?” Jared asks, more focused on pulling himself into a seated position and kicking his shoes off than on the words Jensen's saying.
When Jensen answers, “Bray's dad,” it feels like everything in the fucking world just stops. Like time itself has just grinded to a halt.
He shouldn't care. In fact, Jared thinks maybe he should be happy that he knows exactly what that means. That the dickhead who left Brayden behind without a second thought is going to traipse back into his life and welcome him back. And Jared wishes that the whole conversation tonight had never happened, because then he wouldn't know how happy this news is going to make the kid. How hopeful he's going to be that everything's going to be just fine. How excited he's going to be to head home to his real family.
“Jay, you gotta say somethin' man. I am freaking out over here and there is not enough alcohol in the world to make me calm the fuck down.”
Jensen sounds close to hysterics in his ear and Jared wishes he knew what to say, but he just fucking doesn't. “I'm not gonna tell him,” is the only thing that comes out.
“Do you think we should we wait until it's official? Like what if his dad doesn't make it through the program or changes his mind or something? We should wait until we know for sure, I think. I mean, should we even be the ones to tell him at all? Chris is his legal guardian or caretaker or whatever for right now, ya know? Maybe he should be the one to do it,” Jensen babbles on like he always does when he's nervous.
“I don't know,” Jared answers, because he really fucking doesn't. He knew this situation wasn't going to be permanent. Hell, he never wanted it to be. Never even thought about anything beyond the month that the kid was supposed to be sleeping in their guest room.
And now there's this constricting pain in his chest that can only be described as disappointment or something. The only other time he felt it was when he was eleven and that family took him and this other kid, Patrick, in. They had their own rooms, and a fucking huge ass television to play video games on and it didn't totally suck. He thought for sure that they were going to be the ones that stuck. And then the guy lost his job and they couldn't really afford to keep both boys, and Jared knew without anyone telling him that Patrick was going to get to stay.
He felt this same squeeze in his chest that day, and he swore that he would never want something like that ever again. That he would never let himself believe that everything was going to work out like some la-tee-dah fairy tale.
Even now, fifteen years later, it never fucking does.
Chapter 7
Author:
raeschae Rating: R
Characters: Jared, Jensen, OMC, Chris, Steve, Sopia, Sandy
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: Still just the language, which is probably a given by now but, ya know, I live life on the safe side. (Uh, er, something like that.)
Word Count: 6000 (give or a take a word or two)
Disclaimer: Still don't own anyone. Especially the J's, who would totally be inked like they are in the graphic if I did. :)
A/N: Just quickly, I want to give a quick little shout-out to my man,
neutraldeviance, for the idea that everyone seems to be loving so much. The whole 'PTA' idea was all his. So thanks, babe, for the killer concept. And thank Pinky and the Brain for me, too. :)Graphic under the cut again, so beware if you, ya know, need to beware of that kind of thing. Alright:
Jensen fully expects his trip to New York to be as boring as any business trip can possibly be. Fly into town, check into a stuffy hotel, meet with the talking heads at Macy's, ink a deal, and head back to the hotel. Catch a few hours sleep and then fly back home to hear about the PTA fundraiser and familiarize himself with Jared's body again. Boring. The trip, and the PTA, not Jared's body.
Except that Tom spends the entire cross-country flight trying to convince him to do something special for Pride week this year at the store. Something to embrace their community. The fuck community is he talking about, Jensen wants to know. Skaters? Because that's really the only community he's ever considered himself a part of. Turns out, just like everything else in Tom's life, he's embraced being gay with tenacity and complete single-mindedness. Apparently, he's the next Harvey Milk or some shit.
By the time they get to the hotel, he's looking forward to five minutes by himself, trying to figure out if he really agreed to let Tom host a skate exhibition for drag queens. He kind of figured the room was going to be ostentatious, but he can't really complain about the circular bathtub with the jacuzzi jets. It's about as big as a swimming pool, and the thought of having Jared in it with him gives Jensen just enough fuel to fully relax himself before heading into his meeting.
Of all of the things he thought this weekend was going to bring, Macy's is about the most predictable. The heads of the purchasing and marketing departments pour over his designs, make suggestions on a few things that he can tweak to make them more commercial, and then slide the contract across the table. The money's more than he expected, more than they agreed upon, but he's not going to point that out and risk them taking it all back. He's not an idiot, after all.
By the time the meeting ends, there are four messages on his phone. One from Danneel, wishing him luck. One from Jared wishing him the same, only with dirtier promises of how they'll celebrate when he gets home. One of the messages is from Brayden, and that kind of surprises him a little bit. As does the way the kid's shy little 'hope everything went okay, Jen' effects his ability to swallow for just a second.
The last message is from Chris, telling him that the band just rolled into Manhattan and they want to get a drink before their set. Jensen wants to sleep until morning, but he's never really been able to say 'no' to Chris.
“You look like shit on a stick,” the low laughter sounds at Jensen's back.
Turning, he narrows his eyes at the urban cowboy standing at his table and flips him a middle finger. “You should talk,” he fires back at Chris and then stands to offer Steve a half-hug before sinking back into the chair at the table near the wall.
“So, sell-out, how'd the meeting go?” Steve asks and Jensen rolls his eyes.
“Made more money signin' my name than you will on this whole goddamn tour,” he nods proudly and accepts the handshakes and congratulations from his friends with ease. “Not that you wanted to meet me to talk about my line,” he adds when the looks between Chris and Steve grow too obvious to ignore.
“Lindsay and the asshole are back together,” Chris says flatly.
The asshole being Brayden's dad, obviously. And Jensen doesn't really know what to do with that information. It clearly means that he's back in town, if he ever left, and that he hasn't so much as bothered looking for Brayden. Either that, or Lindsay told him where the kid is, and his dad's just not interested in looking for him. Jensen's fine with either alternative, being as he'd rather carve his eyeballs out with a fork than ever let the kid go back to a guy who would abandon him cold like that in the first place.
“And that means,” Jensen baits when Chris just shoots Steve another knowing glance.
He takes a drink, sighs, and leans back in his chair, cowboy hat slipping a little further over his forehead. “They checked themselves into rehab this morning,” he says, shaking his head a little bit. “Said they wanna do better. Be better.” An eye roll says Chris doesn't really believe it will work, but whatever.
Jensen doesn't really care if they never kick whatever addiction they're choosing to eradicate. “What's it mean for Brayden?” he asks, and it doesn't even occur to him that the thought of sending the kid back to his dad bothers Jensen so fucking much. It actually hurts his chest a little bit, but he chalks that up to drinking too fast. Or jetlag. Or something.
“Means they're gonna want him back when they get out,” Chris explains slowly, hand dragging his beer bottle in a lazy circle against the pitted table before him. “Assuming they work their shit out or whatever, they'll be ready to pick him up in thirty days.”
It's not fair, and Jensen wants to protest. He really fucking wants to stomp his feet and plead with Chris to do something about it. He wants to insist that they figure out some way for Chris to get permanent custody, and for Jared and Jensen to watch the kid whenever Chris is out of town. It's the best solution in the world, he's sure of it.
So maybe Brayden stays up a little bit later on school nights than a kid his age should. And maybe he swears a little bit and gets to watch movies that a lot of kids in his class are still considered too young to watch. But he's comfortable with them, and he's coming out of his shell a lot more, and he laughs. He's happy, as far as Jensen can tell, and that's gotta count for something, right? When he showed up at Chris's that night with Lindsay, he looked like a miserable little shell of a kid. Now he's kind of outgoing, and he cracks jokes at dinner, and he actually enters a room Jared and Jensen are already in without hovering in the door and waiting for an invitation.
And Jensen's just kind of getting to the place where he actually remembers Brayden's there most of the time. He gets up in the morning, for fuck's sake. Takes the kid to school. Always remembers to have somebody pick him up and drop him off at Slinging Ink or Ollie. He's even remembering not to make inappropriate comments about Jared's dick, or hand gestures about what he'd like to do with it, in front of the kid now. He's adjusting, shifting his life around for this kid, and it's becoming a routine.
“You're just gonna let it happen, huh?” is all he asks. He may not know much about child protective services or the foster system, but he's not going to have the same fight about his ignorance with Chris that he has with Jared.
Chris's shoulders shrug. “Nothin' else I can do, man. Wish to God I could, but the law's not exactly on my side in this thing. Not if they actually clean up their act, ya know?”
“What if Brayden doesn't wanna go back?” Seems to Jensen like the kid should have a say in all of this, like maybe he should get to decide if he wants to live with the fucker who left him with no warning, or with the people who actually notice when he's around.
Steve takes a pull from his bottle and leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “California law says that a kid has to be fourteen before he can make that call for himself,” he explains, and Jensen has no doubt that Steve's studied just as much of the legal side of this as Chris has. If he didn't already know it, for some random reason. Steve's like that – a veritable font of useless information.
After considering arguing for a second longer, Jensen reaches out to snag the waitress's attention when she rounds their table. They're going to need another round, or three. Once he processes the ramifications of all of this, he's going to have to talk to Jared about it, and they're going to have to tell Brayden. He just knows he's going to need a lot more alcohol tonight before he can consider doing either.
“This is fucking insane!” Sophia exclaims as she finishes one sugar-hyped kid and waits for the next to pay Sandy and pick out a design.
They've been airbrushing temporary tattoos on arms and necks and backs for the better part of an hour and Jared's pretty sure they're going to run out of paint before this line dissipates. The only consolation, really, is that they're going to be able to help a lot of animals with the money they're making.
“How much for a sleeve?” Sandy asks over her shoulder and Jared scrunches his face as he considers it, and then the kid standing there waiting. He's scrawny. Probably even skinnier than Brayden, and if Jared uses some old throw-back design, he can probably knock it out in fifteen minutes. They've been charging anywhere from five to fifteen dollars, depending on size and the amount of color the kid wants.
“Twenty-five,” he answers easily, finishing the wing of the butterfly the little girl in front of him asked for. “You're done, kiddo,” he smiles and she blushes before thanking him quietly and running off.
The thing is, Jared's kind of enjoying this whole charity thing. Not that he wants to do it all the time or anything, and he's pretty sure that being around this many kids on a consistent basis would kind of kill him a little bit. But Sophia and Sandy are keeping him pretty entertained, and the kids aren't so bad, for the most part.
The principal's rule of 'nothing naked and nothing profane' makes him laugh every time one of the boys asks for a bleeding skull or a little girl with zero curves wants a Playboy bunny somewhere on her hip or shoulder. If his hand wasn't so damn cramped, he might even say he was having fun.
“You got any quarters in there?” Brayden asks, breathless as he breezes into the tent they've set up on the edge of the school parking lot. His hair is sweat-stuck to his forehead and he's giving Sandy puppy dog eyes that would make Jensen proud.
Sandy starts to open the cash box, but Jared just waits for his next victim to sit and turns toward the kid. “You wanna work for that cash, kid?” he asks and Brayden cocks his head like the thought of working never occurred to him. “Run out to the van and grab my extra primary color pallette,” he nods in the direction of the company van and Brayden nods without question.
“Hey, Bray,” Sophia calls after him and raises an empty tube of black ink. “Can you bring the black, too?” When he's gone again, she turns to Jared. “You should teach him how to do this,” she mentions off-handed before looking at the design catalog in Sandy's hand and taking in the tat her client wants.
Jared huffs a laugh and listens as the boy in his chair explains the vines and barbed wire he wants around his bicep. He wants to remind the kid that it's not 1998 anymore and nobody cool wants barbed wire in 2009, but it's not his job to dictate what these kids get. As long as it fits within the conduct code (and isn't it just the funniest thing that he even bothers thinking about a fucking conduct code in the first place?), they can have whatever they want. Let their parents deal with the why. It's not like it won't wash off in their morning shower anyway.
“I'm serious, ya know,” Sophia says over the rush of the We the Kings song that comes blaring out of the computer Sandy insisted they set up in their tent. Jared's pretty sure she's the most brilliant woman on the planet, being as every kid in line seems to know every word to every song she put on her master mix.
“This is his thing,” Jared dismisses Sophia's idea easily as he sets about outlining the kid's damned barbed wire. “Let him have fun.”
“He wants to learn,” she presses, dropping the subject when Brayden comes back, hands full of ink tubes.
Jared nods toward the table they've set up and watches from the corner of his eye as Brayden lays everything out just the way Jared does back in the studio. Like he's been watching and memorizing or something. Like maybe Soph picked up on something he didn't.
“You're pretty skilled at that,” he smiles when Brayden looks up, beaming proud at the compliment. “Come here,” he motions with his shoulder and the kid shifts over until he's peering around Jared's bicep and taking in the motion of his hands over the skin he's marking.
When Jared finishes, he fishes a handful of quarters out of the pocket of his jeans and drops them into Brayden's hand. “Go on,” he excuses the kid and knows he's smiling when Brayden runs off. Still smiling when he turns to see Sandy staring at him, kind of surprised and kind of not at the same time. “What?”
“You're so fucking transparent,” she accuses, taking the money from the next kid in line and pushing the catalog toward the girl. “You're loving this.”
Love is kind of a strong word, but talking Brayden through the process of inking was kind of a rush, he can admit. It's sort of the same thing he felt when he taught Chad five years ago. It's this charge he gets when he sees someone interested in what he does. Makes him feel like he knows something, like he's not the idiot high school drop out who everyone swore was never going to amount to anything. Like he has something to offer a small corner of the world or something equally cheesey like that.
It's not like he's willing to admit that they're mirror images or anything, but Jared can see why Jensen maybe thought he would connect to Brayden in some way. Jared thinks maybe that's why he's resisted getting close to the kid a little bit. Because he was the artistic kid, eager to learn about this new medium, back when he was Brayden's age. And someone took the time to show him the ropes.
Maybe giving back isn't about donating money to the community and donating coats for kids or whatever. Maybe it's just about showing someone what somebody showed you back in the day. Maybe that's all the universe really requires of everybody – use the skills you were born with to benefit someone other than yourself. Put like that, Jared thinks maybe it's not such a lame concept.
He expects that he won't see Brayden again until his quarters run out, so he's kind of surprised when the kid pops back in ten minutes later with big Styrofoam cups of soda for both of them. He sets Jared's on the table, out of reach of his elbows, and sinks onto the extra stool they brought for Sandy that she's yet to use.
Forty-five minutes later, a shadow falls over the booth and Jared can almost feel the hush. He's learned, over the course of the last couple hours, that it means an adult is among them. The kids always seem to shut up a little bit when one of their parents comes by to see what all the fuss is about.
The voice he hears addressing Sandy sends a jolt of something totally unpleasant down Jared's spine. "Just checking to make sure everything's running smoothly," the principal says in that fake tone that clearly means, I'm not sure why I ever agreed to let you deviants do this in the first place.
Jared turns, equally sarcastic retort on the tip of his tongue, when Brayden slips off his stool and grabs the machine from Jared's hand. "It's awesome, Mr. Gardner," he assures the man enthusiastically. "You should see how much money we're raising for charity and everything!" Without missing a beat, he holds the machine up to the principal's eyeline. "You should totally have a seat. Jay does a mean fire-breathing dragon. Or," he grins even wider, if that's even possible, "I could try it. I mean, I'm not as good at portraits as Soph is, but I'm not bad."
The shocked, and slightly terrified, look in the principal's eye as he rushes away from the table sends Jared into a fit of laughter that he hasn't heard from his own throat since Jensen left. It's completely out of character for Brayden to address anyone outside of the house like that, but seriously? It was maybe the funniest thing Jared's seen in a long damn time.
"Dude, that," he holds a hand up and Brayden leaps off the ground to hit it before returning to his stool. "Was fucking brilliant!"
For the rest of the afternoon, Brayden's stuck to Jared's side like glue, wide eyes taking in everything that the older man's hands do against the skin of his classmates. Jared asks him questions, and Brayden answers. Sometimes Brayden's the one with an inquiry, and Jared's happy to instruct him every step of the way. Something weird is happening, he can feel it. But he forces it back in his mind and finds that he really does enjoy his day with the kid. At a PTA fundraiser. Who knew?
They're home by eight o'clock and Brayden runs off to play video games while Jared checks his voice mail and talks to Jensen for a few minutes. Something's off with his boyfriend, but Jared's not going to push the issue. Never does. They're not that couple. Jensen will tell him what's up when he's ready, and Jared trusts that enough to be okay with it.
When he finally wanders into the rec room, Brayden's sort of playing the game, and sort of getting his ass handed to him by a band of flesh-eating zombies. “Dude, you're better than this,” Jared comments, dropping a Hot Pocket into Brayden's line of vision.
He pauses the game and spins on the floor, nibbling on the food while Jared takes a seat on the couch. “If I tell you something, will you promise not to punch me in the head?” he asks and Jared laughs because, really? This kid has been around them way too long. “I had a . . . well, I,” he stops and shakes his head. Takes another bite. Swallows it a little longer than necessary. Jared just waits him out. “Thanks. For today, ya know? For doin' it. And for showin' me,” he trails off, like he doesn't know quite how to finish.
Jared just nods. He doesn't really know what to say, either. Any time? It was nothing? I had fun, too? None of it's particularly girlie, but he just doesn't know how to talk about this shit. To give and take compliments. About his work, yeah, or about Chad's or Sophie's. Even about Jensen's, sure. But when it comes to emotions and character and whatever, Jared just doesn't know how to talk about it.
“Your art's pretty good, ya know?” He settles for throwing out the praise he's comfortable with and Brayden nods, still eating and kind of staring at the floor in front of him. “Little practice, you'll totally be runnin' me outta business in a few years.”
The blush that rushes up Brayden's neck and into his cheeks makes Jared feel . . . something. He doesn't know what, but it's more than he's used to. Maybe more than he's comfortable with.
“Dad used to say it wasn't natural,” Brayden mutters, almost too quietly to be heard over the silence in the room. “Kid my age shouldn't be so good at drawing and shit.” He rests his Hot Pocket on his thigh and picks at the carpet in front of him. When he looks up and meets Jared's eye head-on, it kind of knocks the older man back in surprise a little bit. “Is it weird that I miss him sometimes?”
Swallowing a gulp of beer that kind of slides down the wrong tube, Jared shakes his head and tries to figure out how in the hell he's supposed to answer that question. “No,” he finally settles on honesty. He and Jensen decided back when this whole thing started that they weren't going to lie to Brayden about anything if he asked them directly. Jensen's not here, but Jared's pretty sure the rule still applies.
“Feels weird,” Brayden says, scooting across the floor until he can rest his back against the wall. There's yards of space between them, but Jared can't help but feel a little claustrophobic. “Like I shouldn't because, well, ya know,” he shakes his head and the expression on his face is tentative, like maybe he's not sure he should be talking about this with anyone, least of all Jared.
And something inside Jared's chest clicks. He's never talked about any of it, how he was raised or how it made him feel. Not even with Jensen. Not only because he's not really all that comfortable with the prospect, but also because he's never had anyone to talk to who might understand it. Chad didn't exactly run away from home, but he consciously decided to leave. Sophia was adopted when she was seven, so she kind of understands the system, but not the way Jared saw it. Jensen . . . well, his life was pretty much kittens and rainbows when he was little.
Truth is, Brayden isn't really like Jared, either. He hasn't had to live in juvenile halls because nobody wants him. At least there were people to take this kid in when his parents disappeared. Sure, they're still strangers to him, but at least they know some of the same people. That's more than Jared ever had. And yet, he can't seem to keep himself from spilling the story. Or the parts of it that he thinks the kid might be able to grasp.
“When I was your age, maybe a little younger,” he starts and his voice sounds strange, even to his own ears, “I started wondering about my dad. My mom. About everything. Nobody would answer me, and I was pretty sure it was because they either didn't know, or didn't care. Just . . . I don't know – felt like I had to know. Like a part of me was out there, missing, and I didn't know anything about it. They didn't want me or whatever. And a part of me was so fucking angry at them, ya know? But another part of me just really wanted a part of them, I guess. I don't know.”
Brayden picks at a hole in the knee of his jeans and doesn't look at Jared, like he understands how hard this must be for both of them to talk about. “You never knew either one of them?”
Jared shakes his head. “My mom was in prison when I was born. I guess she had a theory on who my dad was, but that guy was in jail, too. I don't know – I never met him.” It's funny how he's spent so much time avoiding talking about this stuff, and now it doesn't seem all that bad. Kinda like something that happened to someone else or something. “She was supposed to be in for somethin' like twenty-five years or something, I guess, but I never heard from her, so beats the fuck outta me if she's still there or whatever.”
“You ever talked to her?” Brayden asks, eyes wide, like he can't quite believe what he's hearing. “Cause, ya know, my mom took off right after she had me. Dad doesn't even have a picture or anything.” He chuckles, and the sound is biting and sarcastic. It kind of hurts Jared's ears coming from a kid as innocent and decent as Brayden. “I don't even know what she looks like.”
Jared shakes his head and takes another drink, arms stretched over the back of the couch as he looks over the kid's head. “I had this one social worker when I was in junior high who told me my first foster mom used to take me to see her when I was a baby, but I don't fuckin' remember that shit, ya know? She tried to get me to go see her when I was . . . I don't know, thirteen? I think. Maybe fourteen. But by then, I was over it. Didn't care anymore.”
“You think your mom was a bad person? Or your dad? I mean . . . I don't know,” Brayden stops himself and shakes his head and Jared thinks he looks older than his twelve years right now. More tired than a kid his age should have to look, that's for sure. “You think it makes 'em bad that they didn't want you?”
Shrugging his shoulders, Jared considers the question. He hasn't really even thought about his parents in a long damn time. It's probably weird to someone who grew up with theirs. He can't imagine that Chris or Sophia or Sandy ever goes months at a time without even giving a second thought to their parents. But they all know their parents, have faces to go with names. Jared doesn't really have either. He always kind of zoned out when the social workers would talk about his mom, and even she didn't know for sure who his dad was, so how's Jared supposed to care about people who are nameless and faceless and basically just mixed some DNA together for him?
He tries to consider his words before he says them. “Don't think it really makes a person bad if they don't want kids, ya know? Shit happens, though, and I don't know what it makes ya if you pussy out on the kid once you already have 'em. Fuckin' man up. Don't leave your shit for someone else to clean up. Probably why me and Jen never wanna have kids, ya know? Both know we ain't cut out for that shit, so it's best just not to bother, I guess."
Brayden blanches at the words. “Yeah, I know.”
“What?” Jared cocks his head curiously at the tone in the young kid's voice.
Shaking his shaggy hair – way shaggier than when he first popped up at Chris's a few weeks ago – Brayden casts his eyes back to the floor. “That night at Chris's, I heard you. Ya know, in the kitchen. Thought you were gonna start throwin' punches or some shit. 'Cause of me. That's kinda why you scare the fuck outta me, ya know?”
A ball of regret sinks to the bottom of his stomach and Jared hates the implication that this kid thinks of him as scary. “Dude, that night? It was like . . . “ He wants to make excuses, but he really can't. Not when Brayden heard everything and Jared won't lie about not wanting him around. “I didn't know you then,” is all he offers with a shrug and another pull from his beer bottle.
“I know,” Brayden answers in a whisper and then clears his throat, like maybe emotions he doesn't want to show are creeping up on him. “I just can't help thinking he had to have a reason for leaving, ya know? I mean, he used to be cool, and then he just . . . wasn't. So there has to be some reason that he just took off, right?” He rakes his fingers through his hair and Jared can see so much of himself in this kid that it kind of scares him a little bit. “I just kinda wanna know what that reason is, ya know? Keep thinking maybe it won't hurt so much if I know why. What I did to make him go away.”
Stoic. That's how Sandy often describes Jared. Not cold or unfeeling, but he just doesn't show his emotions. Prefers to be the always cool – always collected guy. The one that never lets shit get to him. He's been masking his feelings for so long, compartmentalizing and shoving them back into remote corners, that he doesn't really remember how to express them anymore. Not fully.
But that shit right there? If I know why . . . what I did to make him go away? That shit breaks Jared's heart into about a thousand pieces. Right there in the middle of the rec room with no Jensen to anchor him back to Earth.
His shoulders shake with the anger and the pain that he feels. Not for himself – he's long since dealt with his own abandonment issues – but for this kid who thinks exactly the same way Jared did when he was twelve. He doesn't struggle with the blame and the self-doubt anymore, but he remembers them. And he remembers the things he did because of them. The thought of Brayden turning into the kid that Jared was in high school is just . . . it's fucking painful.
“How long you lived here?” Jared asks out of the blue, even though he knows the answer.
“Couple weeks,” Brayden answers.
Jared holds three fingers up. “Three weeks you been livin' in this house, man. Three weeks and I already know you're hella talented and pretty fuckin' smart and funny as a motherfucker, right?” Brayden blushes but Jared keeps on. “I don't know what your dad's issues are. Hell, chances are he doesn't know what his issues are, man. But you?” Jared doesn't do touchy-feely moments often, and he hopes that Brayden's getting' this because he's not sure he'll ever be repeating himself. “Ain't nobody's life could possibly be worse because you're in it. I know that much.”
Brayden just looks at him for a second, the briefest hint of a smile on his lips, and then graciously starts his game again, which suits Jared just fine. It's not like he wants to talk about this shit anyway, ya know?
They sit in silence for a little while, Brayden occasionally growling or cursing when things don't go his way in the game. Jared watches, content, and thinks it's pretty fucking ridiculous that he doesn't mind being at home on a Saturday night, watching this kid play video games, instead of partying until the ass crack of dawn. Maybe he'd feel differently if Jensen was here, but he's not, so Jared can't let himself be bothered to worry about the shift of pretty much everything in the world he thought was stable just a few weeks ago.
The beep of his cell phone alerts him to a text message and he lifts it to smirk at Jensen's words.
Tom won't stop talking'. About Mike. And sex with Mike. Save me.
He punches a few buttons, his message reading: At least he's not in the fucking closet anymore.
The response comes less than a minute later. He fucked Mike in a closet once, though. Didn't much like it. Too dark or some shit. Seriously. I miss you.
Jared misses him, too. Probably more than is healthy. We'll make up for lost time tomorrow, his message promises.
When Jensen's reply, How?, comes through, Jared bites back a groan. He can't think about that now – not with Brayden sitting a few feet away. Though he's gotten better at it, Jensen is still completely inappropriate around the kid sometimes. It's cute, but it's also frustrating as all hell.
Can't really talk about it now.
I'm callin' in 20. Be alone, or listen to me jerk off and moan your name with the kid in the room. Don't care which.
Fucking . . . “I hate him,” he grumbles low in his chest and Brayden casts a glance over his shoulder. “Jensen,” Jared clarifies.
Brayden rolls his dark eyes. “Can't stand to be away from you for more than a couple hours, huh?”
“I'm pretty irresistible, dude,” Jared points out, standing to work out the kinks in his arms and back. “You gonna play for a little while?”
Nodding, Brayden doesn't even both to look up. “Go call your wife. I'm fine,” he assures with a wave of his hand. “Tell her I said hi,” he adds when Jared's almost out of the room and the older man has no idea if the kid bothers to turn and see the middle finger Jared throws up over his shoulder in response.
He treks up the stairs, kicks a few stray pieces of laundry out of his path, and collapses against the bed. Sure, he hates talking about his emotions for about a thousand different reasons, but the at the top of the list is the fact that it's so goddamn exhausting. He kind of hopes that Jensen's as worked up as he sounded in his texts, enough to take care of himself, because Jared's not sure he'll be much help.
The phone rings twice in his ear before a distracted, “Hey.”
“You're such a fucking tease,” Jared huffs out a tired chuckle and runs his hand over his face.
He can almost see Jensen shrug in his mind's eye. “Figured you'd pussy out on me or some shit, so I didn't bother getting' myself all worked up.”
Sometimes it's scary how well Jensen knows him, frankly. “I bet I could get ya all worked up,” he tries for seductive, but his voice sounds sleepy to his own ears.
Apparently, to Jensen's, too, because his boyfriend just laughs and Jared hears the other end of the line go quiet, like Jensen just turned the television off or something. “Nah. Moment's gone now. Just talk to me,” he instructs and Jared can hear shifting on the other end of the line, like Jensen's settling down on his hotel bed.
For about ten minutes, Jared blathers on about the carnival and about the various tattoos that he did and about all of the things he's pretty sure he already told Jensen during their previous conversation a few hours ago. And then, suddenly and without any kind of warning at all, he blurts out, “I told Brayden about my mom tonight.”
Jensen's quiet for a long time and when he does speak, his voice is soft. Almost guarded. Like he's trying not to push too hard or too fast. “What about her?”
“Just about never meeting her and shit. He was talking about how he misses his dad sometimes and I,” he stops and sighs, eyelids drooping heavily as the ocean breeze blows through the open balcony door. “I don't know, man. A month ago, I woulda told you this shit was crazy. But now?” He doesn't finish the sentence. Knows he doesn't really need to.
Jensen clears his throat and Jared feels the tension of their earlier conversation filtering back in. He's not going to ask, but he knows that Jensen's going to tell him this time. “Lindsay and Rick checked into rehab this morning,” he says flatly.
“The fuck's Rick?” Jared asks, more focused on pulling himself into a seated position and kicking his shoes off than on the words Jensen's saying.
When Jensen answers, “Bray's dad,” it feels like everything in the fucking world just stops. Like time itself has just grinded to a halt.
He shouldn't care. In fact, Jared thinks maybe he should be happy that he knows exactly what that means. That the dickhead who left Brayden behind without a second thought is going to traipse back into his life and welcome him back. And Jared wishes that the whole conversation tonight had never happened, because then he wouldn't know how happy this news is going to make the kid. How hopeful he's going to be that everything's going to be just fine. How excited he's going to be to head home to his real family.
“Jay, you gotta say somethin' man. I am freaking out over here and there is not enough alcohol in the world to make me calm the fuck down.”
Jensen sounds close to hysterics in his ear and Jared wishes he knew what to say, but he just fucking doesn't. “I'm not gonna tell him,” is the only thing that comes out.
“Do you think we should we wait until it's official? Like what if his dad doesn't make it through the program or changes his mind or something? We should wait until we know for sure, I think. I mean, should we even be the ones to tell him at all? Chris is his legal guardian or caretaker or whatever for right now, ya know? Maybe he should be the one to do it,” Jensen babbles on like he always does when he's nervous.
“I don't know,” Jared answers, because he really fucking doesn't. He knew this situation wasn't going to be permanent. Hell, he never wanted it to be. Never even thought about anything beyond the month that the kid was supposed to be sleeping in their guest room.
And now there's this constricting pain in his chest that can only be described as disappointment or something. The only other time he felt it was when he was eleven and that family took him and this other kid, Patrick, in. They had their own rooms, and a fucking huge ass television to play video games on and it didn't totally suck. He thought for sure that they were going to be the ones that stuck. And then the guy lost his job and they couldn't really afford to keep both boys, and Jared knew without anyone telling him that Patrick was going to get to stay.
He felt this same squeeze in his chest that day, and he swore that he would never want something like that ever again. That he would never let himself believe that everything was going to work out like some la-tee-dah fairy tale.
Even now, fifteen years later, it never fucking does.
Chapter 7
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-09-21 06:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-21 07:07 pm (UTC)