Kings of Promise (A Disclaimer OneShot)
Apr. 23rd, 2010 12:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
raeschaeTitle: Kings of Promise (A Disclaimer OneShot)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
raeschae
Pairing: J2
Rating: R
Word Count: 9,000 (or close to it)
Summary: When Jensen moved to California, he had no intention of ever returning to Texas. But a confluence of events leads to a vacation at his childhood home, and a stumbling trip down memory lane that he’d rather just forget.
Forlive_laugh_love, who won me in the Sweet Charity auction, and requested “angst/schmoop/hurt/comfort in the Disclaimer Verse. And also, emo!Jensen being emo.” I hope it’s everything you wanted, Sweetie!
A/N: Takes place after A Very Disclaimer Christmas, but before Falling in the Black.
Thanks tobillysgirl5 for the super-fast beta! I adore you!
“So, I was thinking.”
The sun is barely starting to dip in the evening sky when Jensen looks up from the scrap paper he’s been doodling on and flicks ashes from the end of his cigarette over the side of his chair. The weather in Santa Monica is good most of the time, if not a little humid on occasion. But there’s something about summer. Something that drives him out of his office, away from the park, and into the backyard for uninterrupted hours on end.
Behind his sunglasses, he gazes up, up, up at the obstacle blocking his sun. Anyone else would be told to move immediately. But there’s one person who can get up in Jensen’s personal space any time he wants, no permission necessary.
When Jensen opens his mouth to retort, Jared rests his hands low on his hips . “No, I didn't hurt myself. Check this out.”
Jensen takes Jared’s phone, slinks down in his chair, and studies the ad on the screen. The ocean breeze stirs just enough to cool the sweat beginning to form on the back of Jensen’s neck, and he’ll never admit how much he loves that fucking feeling.
Handing the phone back, he raises an eyebrow. “And?”
If anyone in this family is NOT a huge boarding fan, it's Jared. He puts up with it, for Jensen's sake, and for Brayden's, but he's not so interested in the actual sport or anything. Jensen’s a little confused as to why he would give a damn about the Junior World Championship.
“It's the same weekend that I'm gonna be down that way for that convention. Think Bray would wanna go?”
Jensen just shrugs and leans his head back, eyes drifting shut as he sucks back another drag and slowly lets the smoke ascend into the sky. “Ask him.”
“Think you would wanna go?”
“What? Like a family vacation?” He's not opposed to the idea, they do it every summer, but a family vacation to Dallas? That's gonna look a little lame next to last year's trip to Australia.
To Jared's credit, he looks a little embarrassed by the suggestion. “Look, I know it's weird. I just thought,” he shakes his head, “Never mind. It's stupid. You're right. We'll just focus on something European, like we talked about.”
The thing is, Jared doesn’t lie. And he can’t really beat around the bush for shit, either. On the rare occasion he wants to talk to Jensen about something, but doesn’t really know how to bring it up? He stammers and gets all awkward. Some things about Jared are still a mystery, and others? Have been pretty fucking clear since day one.
“You gonna tell me what's really goin' on?”
Turning slowly, Jared shrugs his shoulders. “Look, man, Bray,” he interrupts himself. “It’s not. It doesn’t matter.”
“The hell’s wrong with you?” Jensen blinks and then leans forward in his chair to rest his elbows on the table in front of him. “Bray wants to go to Texas on vacation?”
“Not exactly.” Jared drops into the chair opposite Jensen, foot tapping rapidly as his hands mimic the rhythm on the table. “When I mentioned it to him, he seemed kind of up on the idea of,” he stops again. Meeting Jensen's eye, he says, “He wants to stay with your mom and dad while we're there.”
“He wants to what?”
“I know. I told him you would never go for it.”
The problem is not Jensen's parents. The problem is everything else that comes with taking Brayden back to Dallas. They've been to Texas a few times, for the X-Games and last year's South by Southwest music festival. But even when he has to hit the city for work, he avoids the outskirts, and he sure as hell hasn't been back to Richardson since he left six years ago.
Reconciling with his parents last Christmas was good. They talk occasionally, and share e-mails at least once a week. His mother asks when he's going to bring his family home, like it’s a great idea. Jensen's not so sure.
But if Jared says that Brayden suggested staying with them? It means that Brayden wants to go, and he's afraid to tell Jensen that he does. Because he's afraid Jensen will get pissed. It's the only time he hesitates to ask for anything like this.
“Let me call my mom and make sure they'll be around that weekend.”
He's not entirely convinced that it’s the right thing to do, but Brayden apparently wants it, and even Jared seems content to go along with nothing more than that. And everyone knows that, when it comes to his family, Jensen pretty much caves to whatever they want.
*-*-*
By the time the plane touches down in Dallas, Jensen is ready to board another back to California. He doesn't want to be here. Well, “here” at the tattoo convention Jared's working tomorrow is cool. And “here” at the Junior Worlds with Brayden will be awesome. But “here” in a rental car, on his way to his childhood home? He could give that up without so much as a backward glance.
He convinced his mother that he remembered how to get from the airport to the house he lived in for eighteen years, that it wasn't necessary for her and Dad to pick them up. They're renting a car, and it's stupid to have a big, emotional meeting in public when they're just going to drive separately back to the house.
“So, you grew up in, like, suburbia, right?” Brayden asks as they pile into the car, and Jensen checks over his shoulder before merging onto the highway to Hell.
He nods, but Jared jumps in before he can answer. “Please tell me there's a white picket fence.”
The look he shoots to the passenger seat is not amused. “I don't know what y'all are laughin' at. We live in a house twice the size of my parents' place. In a fucking gated community, assholes. We're not exactly slummin' it.”
“You're right,” Brayden acknowledges. “And I have a mommy and daddy who love me very much,” he winks at Jensen in the rear view mirror. When Jensen raises a finger in response, he adds, “Daddy, Mommy flipped me off!”
Jared's laughter rings in the increasingly-cramped interior of the car, and Jensen just sinks further down to focus on the road.
He has a feeling it's only going to get worse before it gets better.
*-*-*
“Is this what heaven looks like?” Brayden asks when they've greeted Jensen's mom in the foyer, and she leads them into the kitchen.
Jensen honestly doesn't know when his mother took to baking like it's her job or something. Growing up, he remembers she could handle the basics, but she was no June Clever or anything. She didn't have an outside job, but she did so much for his dad's business, and for the church, that she rarely had time to cook anything complicated. Jensen always kind of assumed that she couldn't or just didn't want to, and he was okay with that. He got cookies when he was upset, and that was enough.
So why does it bother him now? The fact that she prepared a party platter, overflowing with lunch meats and cheeses and vegetables Jensen knows none of them will eat bothers him. There is a huge pot of chili on the stove; he can smell it where he stands, and it bothers him. The cookies, cupcakes, and pies on the counter bother him. The apron she's wearing and the way she smiles so proudly when Brayden looks like he hasn't eaten in a month and can't wait to dig in bothers him. He just doesn’t know why.
“I figured you guys would be hungry, I just didn't know what for. So I made a little of everything.”
Jensen rolls his eyes as Brayden grabs a cookie and shovels it whole into his mouth. “This is awesome!” he exclaims, though it's a little hard to understand with his mouth so full like that.
Jared and Brayden set about helping themselves to heaping plates of food, and Jensen just shakes his head. “Fuckin' animals,” he mutters under his breath, but then he catches himself. Or, rather, the look in his mother's eye catches him. “Sorry.”
“Jensen, sweetie, aren't you hungry?” Donna asks as she rounds the table with a steaming bowl of the chili. “Come on. Have a seat.”
He can't say no, even though he desperately wants to. He kind of thought that coming back here would feel like some sort of closure, but it doesn't. It just feels like the same wrong size it did before. Like it still doesn’t fit. He still doesn’t fit. It’s like stepping through the doors of a damn time machine, being back here.
Steeling his resolve, he digs into the chili and determines that he's not going to let this place get to him. He's not the same guy he was back then, and he's not going to let himself get carried away in all of those old resentments. Water under the bridge.
“Fuckin' hell, man,” Brayden exclaims when he shoves a fork full of macaroni and cheese into his mouth. “Are you kidding me with this shit?” In disbelief, he takes another bite and zeroes his eyes in on Donna. “Mrs. Ackles, will you marry me?”
Jared's hand finds the back of his head, and Jensen can't help smiling at the interaction. That feels familiar. They still fit. “You can't marry your dad's mom, ya creepy little bastard.”
Jensen doesn't usually notice how rough they are, how completely inappropriate most of their conversation would seem to the outside world. Until he's standing in his mother's kitchen, and she's looking on like a live television audience of one, looking like she’d really like to say something, but isn’t sure she should.
Before he can tell them to watch themselves, though, Donna slides a piece of chocolate pie onto a dessert plate and lays it in front of Brayden's “real” food. “It'll be a very lucky woman who marries you someday, Brayden,” she winks. He flushes and she reaches out to run a palm over the side of his face.
“All I know is,” Brayden swallows the bite and shovels another one in before continuing. His manners are a little backwards sometimes. “I find a chick who can cook like this? I’m puttin' a ring on that for sure.”
Jensen snorts from his place at the table but continues to eat in silence. It's not until his mom takes the seat beside him that he bothers to look up from the bowl. “It's good to have you here, Sweetie.” She hooks her hand behind his neck and draws their foreheads together. “Thanks for coming.”
He swallows hard and convinces himself it's the chili, not a lump of emotion, that catches in his throat. When his mom pulls back, Jensen smiles a little. “Thanks for lettin' us upend your life like this.”
“Jensen, it's never an inconvenience to have you home.”
She says home like Dallas is that place for Jensen. Like it ever was. As though Santa Monica is just some layover on his way back to where he belongs.
Or maybe she just says it like someone who's glad to have her son back in the place she best remembers him.
To Jensen, it all feels the same.
*-*-*
Jared's never been good at sleeping in strange places. Maybe it comes from growing up in a string of strange places, he doesn't know. But unless he's at home, in his own bed, he doesn't really rest. Even when they're on vacation, in some five-star hotel, he doesn't wake up feeling as good as he does after a few hours with Jensen at home.
He only intended to hit the bathroom and head right back to bed, but there are pictures all over the walls in the hallways. Pictures of Jensen with a mullet, and then a flat-top fade. Shit he never could have imagined. Family portraits, and collage frames of candids.
The people he knows don't do this. They hang art and shit on their walls, not family photographs. The closest any of their friends come to this kind of thing is the naked mural on Chad and Sophia's bedroom wall, and Jared doesn't exactly go staring at that one often.
The trail leads him to a room just before the kitchen, and in the light of the moon shining through the window, he can make out a desk and a few bookshelves. Flipping on the light, Jared stops in the doorway, shocked.
It's like a Jensen museum or something. Magazine articles and press releases, along with shadow boxes of Ollie gear. Print ads from Macy's, including the one they did together to launch the line a couple years back.
Jared shakes his head and lets out an audible huff when he recognizes the Slinging Ink promo posters they've done for the last couple seasons of the show. Those are flanked by reviews of the show and interviews from Tattoo Magazine.
The walls of the office at home don't look all that much different, really, but there's something about this one that hits Jared a lot harder than that one ever has.
“Used to be some weird piece of art there,” Jensen's sleep-roughened voice comes from the doorway. Jared turns, and Jensen's staring at the wall like he doesn't really know what he thinks of it. “When I was a kid, it was. It was different back then.”
Something has been bothering his Jensen since they arrived. Jared's not completely oblivious, but he's not one to push when Jensen doesn't want to talk about it, either. He's always known that going back to San Antonio would be less-than-exciting for him, but Jensen doesn’t talk about Dallas like he has the same bad feelings, so Jared figured he might be a little more excited about coming back.
“You okay?” he asks, following Jensen back to their room.
With a shrug, Jensen falls back onto the bed and settles into his side of the mattress. “Can you hit the light?”
If Jensen doesn't want to talk about it, there's not much Jared can do.
*-*-*
By the time he's done at the con on Saturday, Jared's shoulders are aching, his brain is useless, and his hands are numb. He only etched a few pieces, but the execs at Bravo rented booth space and set up a meet-and-greet autograph session for a couple of hours in the afternoon. He's not sure exactly how many glossy pictures of his crew he signed for fans of the show, but he knows it was enough to render him exhausted.
The house is eerily dark when he eases the rental into the driveway around eight. Hesitantly, he shoulders his way into the kitchen. It's bizarre, entering without stopping to knock. It took him long enough to be comfortable barging into his own house, let alone his boyfriend's parents' place.
Silence greets him, and Jared's brow furrows as he takes note of the lone light, shining above the stove. There's a plate there, wrapped in foil, with a Post-It that reads: “Jared, thought you might be hungry. Love, Donna.” Thankfully, nobody's here to see the way he stares at it for a second before reaching out to touch it. Jensen's mom is unbelievable. In a kind of awesome way.
Dinner re-heated, Jared grabs a Coke from the refrigerator and heads in the direction of the only sound in the house. He finds Brayden kicked back on the couch in the family room, sock feet propped up on the table with a plate of peanut butter cookies on one leg, and a huge glass of milk resting on the other, eyes trained lazily on some MTV reality clusterfuck.
“Where's everybody?” he asks, kicking his feet up to match the kid's pose.
With a shrug, Brayden dunks a cookie and doesn't bother risking a glance in Jared's direction. “Some dinner, music thing at church.”
“You didn't wanna go?”
Rolling his head, Brayden levels him with a glare and stuffs a cookie into his mouth, milk dribbling down his chin. “To church?” He swallows, and rolls his head back. “No, thanks.”
Jared can't exactly argue with that. He wouldn't want to be there, either. But something at the back of his brain tells him he would have gone anyway, if he'd been here when they left. Jensen doesn't have the fondest memories of that church, or some of the people in it, and Jared kind of wishes that he could be there to support him. Of course, his being there would probably be the least helpful thing in that particular situation, so maybe it's better that he was a little later getting home than he anticipated.
“How was the comp?” he asks, when he's finished more than half his dinner.
Brayden huffs a response and shakes his hair out of his eyes, only to have it fall right back. “Pretty fuckin' rad, man. Best Trick was lame, but the pipe was pretty cool. Some kid damn near broke his neck. Which was awesome.” He chuckles at the memory, and then adds, “Burnquist was there. Rode the street course with me between rounds.”
Bob Burnquist is Brayden's favorite pro skater of the moment, and even though he won't act like it's a big deal, riding with him is probably the highlight of the kid's vacation. Jared thinks it might say something about how much his life has changed that it doesn't matter how long his day felt, it's better just knowing that Brayden got to spend some time hanging out with his idol.
For awhile, they sit in silence, and Brayden only bitches minimally when Jared finishes his dinner and steals a few of the cookies off his plate.
“Time are they s'posed to be back?” he asks when he realizes that this isn't the same show they were watching before. So much for original programming.
“Fuck if I know, man,” is Brayden's helpful response. After a long pause, he adds, “Somethin's not right with Jen.”
Jared could have told him that. Something hasn't been right with Jensen since they decided to come to Dallas, and Jared's been kicking himself for suggesting it ever since. But there's nothing he can do about it now, and they're here, so he's been trying to tell himself that he's over-reacting. Maybe projecting some of his own feelings about what it would be like to go back to his childhood home onto his boyfriend.
But if Brayden's noticing it, too, that means it's not just in Jared's head.
Fuck.
Before they can discuss the issue further, the front door opens and Jensen hollers, “We're home!” loud enough to permeate the house.
Alan's voice follows with a dry, “What, do they think some burglar just unlocked the front door and walked himself inside?”
It makes Jared laugh, though he feels guilty for it. For years, he hated Jensen's father. Hated him for driving Jensen away. For being a dick who couldn't understand how to let his son be himself. He listened to Jensen talk about his parents, and he could hear the love in his voice for these people who never got him, never really even tried. And he hated the man.
Now, he kind of hates that he doesn't anymore. That they've clearly changed, and that he kind of likes Alan's quiet sense of humor. It feels like betrayal or something.
When Jensen appears in the doorway, he looks exhausted. He's wearing jeans and a short-sleeved dress shirt, a black skinny tie, and the leather wrist cuff Brayden bought him for his birthday this year. It's as formal as Jensen gets, and Jared can tell that he's not happy about it.
His face brightens when his eyes fall on the two of them, sprawled out on the couch like they're in the theater at home. “Fuckin' touch that cookie and die, kid,” he growls, stepping over Jared's legs to steal the last one from the plate before Brayden can shove it into his mouth. He flops back between them and closes his eyes, moaning as he swallows the peanut butter-y goodness while his eyes drift shut.
“Rough night?” Jared asks, lips quirked at the feeling of Jensen leaning heavily against his side, like he needs assurance that Jared's right there, real, and not going anywhere.
Jensen's head shake is subtle, almost imperceptible. “It's all good now,” he answers, vaguely. “You in a sugar coma yet?” he asks, hand slapping hard against Brayden's thigh.
“Fucker,” Brayden exclaims, sitting up a little straighter. “Where we goin'?”
Jensen braces a hand on Jared's knee and pushes himself up and out of the couch. “Wanna see where I used to skate?”
*-*-*
It's humid as fuck tonight, and Jensen only lasted about ten minutes on his board before nearly ripping the buttons off his shirt in his haste to toss it in Jared's general direction. He's only vaguely aware of those hazel eyes on him, and of Brayden's blur passing him on the turn-around. Mostly, he's just focused on shaking this tension from his shoulders and fog from his brain.
The park still looks the same, thought it feels a whole lot smaller than it used to. Someone's keeping it up, and they even added a few pits and rails where Jensen always thought they needed something. It's nowhere the size of Ollie, but it's big enough for him to work through a routine, and that's all he needs right now.
It's fucking surreal. This whole damn trip is just one mind fuck after another.
When he was sixteen, he was carvin' pavement here, with Chris standing guard like a fucking bull dog by the fence. Now Jared's standing in the same goddamn place, watching, and Brayden's sixteen, carefree, and blazing his own trail. It's fucking weird how true it is that the more things change, the more they stay the same.
The only person who doesn't fit in this re-enactment is Jensen himself. Which kind of feels like the story of his damn life this week. Being back home is so fucking weird - not like it was back then, but too similar to feel like things are new.
His parents are different, the house isn't decorated like it was, and the people he used to know are all grown up. The memories, though, are all exactly as they were.
He can walk into the kitchen, which has been completely remodeled and looks nothing like it did when he was in high school, and still see the awkward family dinners around the old table. Hear his mother asking how his day was. Feel the way his stomach used to roll while he fought to keep from telling her how bad the teasing and the bullying really was.
He can walk into his dad's office and see the Wall of Fame they've constructed in tribute to his successful career, and to Jared's, and it's flattering. But he remembers that ugly fucking painting that used to be there instead, the focal point when he had to endure another conversation about washing the damn gunk out of his hair, dressing like a normal human being, and thinking about his damn future for a change. In that room, he can still hear the endless lectures about mindless doodling and worthless hobbies louder than anything else.
Last night, he sat up with Brayden after Jared had already turned in for the night, kicked back on the bed that used to be his while Brayden asked him about every fucking piece of memorabilia his mother still has in there. The pictures he drew for competitions that never won anything, and the trophy from the goddamn sixth grade spelling bee. Meaningless bull shit in a shrine to a kid that never really existed outside her own mind.
Because when Jensen looks around that room, all he sees is the place he used to stash gay porn under his mattress or the spot on the floor where he and Nate Kincaid used to beat each other off while they were supposed to be doing homework. The closet door - where pictures of Alan “Ollie” Gelfand, Rodney Mullen, Tony Hawk, and other legends of the skateboarding world still hang in some bull shit collage Jensen made in ninth grade - is where he gave Ryan Davis head. It was both of their first times and over ridiculously fast.
Tonight, he went back to the church he spent seventeen years attending every single fucking Sunday, and the stained-glass windows are still there, but the hard pews and the ugly-ass green carpeting have all been removed and replaced. Modernized and updated.
But all Jensen could hear was the drone of the voices around him as he imagined the way he used to bump elbows with the pastor's son while they drew pictures on the backs of their bulletins, scribbling out smart-ass remarks about the old couple in front of them along the edges of the page.
Ben, the same pastor's son who popped Jensen's cherry when they were seventeen, and who talked so much shit about him after the fact, shook his hand and congratulated him on all of his success tonight. And then he apologized and introduced his beautiful wife and their three kids. Jensen showed him a picture of his own family and pretended not to notice the look on Ben's wife's face when she realized that Jensen's wife is actually a six-foot-four-inch mammoth of a man.
It was all very polite, but in his head, he could still feel that breath on his neck and those hands on his hips. Could still see the sneer on Ben's face when Jensen walked into school the next day and heard him spit “Dirty ass-fucker” under his breath. And he could still hear the snickers and the laughter of everyone in his wake as he ignored it and headed toward his locker with his head up, like he wasn’t the one who'd done something wrong, even though it really fucking felt like he was.
By the time he stops moving, Jared and Brayden are laid out on the grass, talking in low tones and pointedly trying to pretend that Jensen isn't in his own world. Or, more accurately, that they're not concerned about it. A part of him wishes he could go on ignoring them, lose himself in the motion all fucking night, but his legs aren't so much hearing that plan at the moment.
Most of the time, he loves that they know him like they do. That he doesn't have to speak in order to be heard and that his meaning is always crystal clear over and above his words. But this time, it's not reassuring or comforting at all. Because he's in this fucked up head space, and they're never going to understand it. They can't. And he doesn't know how to care-and-share this one.
He grew up in a nice house with people who still love him, despite ten years of estrangement. So he got bullied in high school and his parents were disapproving of some of his choices? At least he had a fucking family. Jared didn't get that, and Jensen will be damned if he's going to dump his stupid, emo shit on him now.
Centering himself with a deep breath, he rolls lazily toward them and kicks his board up into his hand. He can force it down. He's good at that. And if being back home is going to remind him of anything, it's going to be ensuring that the people who care about him have no reason to worry about him. Jensen's always looked out for himself, and he's not about to change that shit now.
*-*-*
Jared thought that the skate last night would do Jensen some good, and maybe it has. But something is still off. He feels like he should know what it is, but he can't quite get a handle on it. One minute, he seems like the guy he's always been, joking around with Brayden and smiling like an idiot in Jared's direction. The next, this dark cloud passes behind his eyes, and his entire demeanor changes. Sometimes, it's only for a second. Sometimes it hangs around, no matter how hard Jensen tries to pretend like he's okay.
The problem isn't that Jensen's obviously dealing with some unresolved issues here in his old hometown. The problem isn't even really that he's not talking to Jared about them. They have a long-standing rule wherein they don't push each other with shit like this. They trust each other to bring it to the table when they're damn good and ready.
The problem is that Jared's not sure Jensen's ever going to be ready to talk about this one. And it's hypocritical, on the one hand, because he has a lot of his own issues that he's never going to bring up, shit he doesn't want to think about, let alone share with anyone. But Jensen's always been the more transparent of them, and now that he’s pretending there’s nothing wrong, when it’s so blatantly obvious that something is? It bugs Jared. Probably more than it should.
The unsettling feeling is back with a vengeance today. Over breakfast, Jensen's mom told him that he should call his old friend, Ty, while he's home. Apparently, he was Jensen's best friend before Chris came along, and Jared can see why now that he's met the guy. He's so much like Mike, it's kind of staggering.
Ty is teaching government at Jensen's old high school, which Jensen finds hilarious. But not nearly as funny as the fact that he's also the faculty adviser for the GSA, which is new in the last couple of years and struggling to raise funds. It's the middle of the summer, and the kids are here in the art room, making posters for the booth they're going to have at some community street fair next weekend.
The invitation to stop by if they got a second was promptly dismissed, but when Brayden said he needed to see where Jensen went to high school, Jensen caved.
There are about fifteen kids around the room, and Brayden's taken to a group of girls near the window, lending his artistic talent to their cause. At least, that's what he's pretending to do. If Jared has learned anything about his kid in the last year, it's that having a girlfriend has done nothing to curb his instinct to flirt with any female who crosses his line of vision. Kid loves Demi, but he's still a teenage boy. Fortunately, she seems to understand that. For now.
Jensen is at the front of the room, deep in conversation with Ty about some childhood memory or another. It's awesome that he really seems relaxed for the time being, but after the story about how they convinced Tommy Wheeler to kick flip off the roof of Darin Lamont's house in seventh grade, Jared's attention started to wander.
He walks around the room, casually taking in the student works, as well as professional photography and paintings, displayed on the walls. He doesn't really remember if his high school art room was like this or not. He does remember thinking that being graded on art was bull shit, and skipping the class most of the time. Of course, he skipped most of his classes most of the time.
The entire back wall is designated for the 'LVB Elite Artists' and seems to boast pieces from every medium and generation since the school's inception. Some of it's pretty amazing, but Jared is drawn immediately to the centerpiece.
The plate on the painting reads: 'Tomorrow' by Jensen Ackles, Lloyd V. Berkner High School, grade 12. International Young Artists Showcase Grand Champion.
It's beyond weird to see Jensen's art hanging here like this. Jared's always been the painter between them, and Jensen prefers pens or pencils. He's never really known Jensen's artistic interests to venture much outside of the abstract. Sure, there are a few discernible elements – boards, skulls, birds – in his work, but it's mostly waves and lines and splatters. That's not to say that it's any less impressive than Jared's. They're just different.
This? This is nothing like anything Jared has ever seen from his boyfriend, but still distinctly Jensen. Where his Ollie stuff is characteristically bright in color and vague in interpretation, this is in-your-face macabre, but still screams of an innocent sort of hope.
He did brilliant work with light and shadow, concealing faces while maintaining distinct emotions for both of the characters involved. There's no mistaking the identity of the kid on the ground, blood pouring from the rainbow flag inside his wrist and pooling beneath his head, tinting the tips of his spiked hair crimson. The broad shoulders of the dark angel stooping to lift him are simultaneously tense with anger, possibly despair, and reassurance.
The fading of the darkness into the slightest hint of a sunrise in the upper right corner of the piece seems to serve as its biggest statement. The belief that there is something better on the horizon, no matter the suffering endured for the time being.
The feeling that swells in Jared's chest feels like pride for a minute, and then crashes through him like understanding. It's not until he looks down and realizes that his hands are balled into fists at his sides that he gets just how angry he really is. And why.
The hand on his shoulder makes him flinch away, and when he turns, Jensen's eyes are wide with concern. “I told Ty we could,” he stops short and shakes his head. “The fuck are you . . . You okay, man?”
Jared can't speak. Doesn't know how to put this feeling into words. Is pretty sure he shouldn't try.
He stalks out the closest door, into a nondescript hallway leading who the fuck knows where. He just knows that he can't be there. Can't look at Jensen and know what he knows now.
Thankfully, the weight room inside the gym is unlocked, and that's where Jensen finds him a few minutes later.
“You gonna tell me what the hell?” he starts from the doorway.
“Why don't you tell me what the hell, Jen,” Jared flings back without thinking. “What the fuck is wrong with you, huh? You been lyin' to me since we got here, so why don't you just fuckin' man up and admit,” he stops short of saying it because the words make it too real. Pivoting, he sinks a hard roundhouse punch into the heavy bag and sends it swinging toward the wall.
“The fuck are you talkin' about?”
Jensen seems genuinely confused and it just serves to piss Jared off further. “Don't give me that shit, man. Don't you dare look me in the eye and act like you don't know. I am not a motherfucking idiot, Jensen. Don't treat me like one!”
“Jay, I'm not,” Jensen steps into the room and leans against the wall, shoulders shrugging like he's at a complete loss. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Throwing his arms out to the sides, Jared shuts the filter off and lets his mouth go. It's not something he does often, but sometimes, he can't contain it anymore. “How bad was it, Jensen? How many times you get the shit kicked outta you? Picked on, laughed at, beaten down?”
Jensen smirks and shrugs, but it's hollow. Scared.
“How many times you get blamed for it while they walked away free and fucking clear? How many fights you lose because of the goddamn numbers game? Tell me, Jensen. I wanna know how fucking bad it really was back then.”
He can't meet Jared's eye. His shoulders tense and he crosses them over his chest when he says, “It wasn't that bad.”
“Stop fucking lying to me!”
He remembers the first conversation he ever had with Jensen’s mom. The way her eyes welled up with tears when she told Jared how scared she used to be for her little boy. How she desperately wanted him to be straight, to be more normal, so that the other kids wouldn’t pick on him. And he’s just starting to realize just how right she was to worry. It angers him beyond reason, for the kid Jensen was and the man that he is.
“I am not them, man, so don't you fucking dare try to treat me like one of the other fuckers in your life who couldn't see what you didn't want them to! You hid it, pushed it down and told yourself you didn't need their goddamn help, or their worry, or their pity. You ran away, but it's still fucking here, everywhere you look. Tell me I'm fucking wrong, Jensen. Tell me I don't fucking know you!”
“The fuck do you want me to say?” Jensen explodes in return. “You got it so fuckin' figured out, what the fuck you need me for, huh?”
“Goddammit, I am not just any-fuckin-body, Jensen. Stop hiding this shit from me!”
With those words, he realizes just how fucking ridiculous he sounds, but he just doesn't care. They're supposed to have this rock-solid relationship. Even when they don't share every little part and piece of who they were, they're supposed to honest with each other.
Jensen doesn't think his mom can handle it, or his dad, or whoever, that's fine. Being lumped in with every other person he feels he needs to lie to protect, though? It's not okay in Jared's book. Not even a little.
“You wanna know the truth, Jay? Why I keep this shit to myself and I don't bother telling you, or anybody else, about it? Because it's emo bull shit that doesn't even make any fucking sense. Because I have no right to feel this way, and I keep telling myself that it will go away. That I'm not a motherfucking girl and that I have a great fucking life that I fucking love. What the fuck do I have to complain about?
“I was a goddamn gay kid in a motherfucking right-wing town. So the fuck what, man? I'm not the first. I won't be the last. What the fuck so special about my goddamn sob story? I had two parents who give a shit and a couple of friends who were cool. I had a house to come home to and all I had to worry about was gettin' knocked the fuck out on occasion. Big fuckin' deal! We get outta here, back home where I belong, and it goes away.”
As Jensen's tension grows, Jared finds his waning. Jensen is full of it if he thinks, for a second, that this shit is going away when they get back to California. If anybody knows about ignoring issues, and about them hanging around to creep up when you least expect it, it’s Jared. The idea of Jensen carrying it around with him, of that resentment and anger eating away at the heart he’s always worn so willingly on his sleeve, makes Jared sick to his stomach.
He’s pulled Jared back from the ledge more than a few times, and if anyone’s earned a returned favor, it’s Jensen. Whether he likes it or not, he’s going to work this shit out. Jared needs him, with his pure heart and his faith and his goodness. He can’t let that slip away.
Tilting his head, he feigns confusion. “So, wait, you didn't tell me 'cause you don't think I'm gonna get it? Is that it? Because I didn't have a mommy and daddy who loved me, that I can't possibly give a shit about what you went through? Is that really what you think of me?”
“No!” Jensen fires back, face and neck reddening with his building anger. “The fuck is wrong with you? I didn't tell you because it doesn't fucking matter. It's water under the goddamn bridge. And it needs to fuckin' stay there. I swear to fucking Christ, Jared, if you don't let this fucking go, it's gonna get real fucking ugly, real fucking quick.”
Jensen’s not one of those guys that talks about his problems for hours and then considers it fixed. He can’t even really fuck his tension away. Hugs and heart-to-hearts are not his thing, so Jared has to dig deep and find the courage to take Jensen where he needs to go in order to put this bull shit in perspective. The words certainly aren’t easy.
“Cocksucker,” he spits when Jensen turns his back to leave. He freezes in the door way, and Jared adds, “Fag.”
“I am not fucking around with this, Jared.” The words are low, almost inaudible over the whir of the air conditioner above them. “Let. It. Go.”
“Homo. Queer. Flamer. Pillow biter.
“Ass-fucker.”
Jensen turns, eyes dark with a rage that almost shuts Jared up.
This is the guy who takes slurs in stride when they go out back home. Jared's the one who usually picks a fight with whatever asshole thinks it's okay to slam on Jensen for his eyeliner or his hand in Jared's pocket. Jensen's the one that always tells him to back off and ignore it.
But here? In this building, with all of the memories and the implications, it's more than Jensen can handle. And it's exactly where Jared needs him to go.
“What's wrong? You can take a dick up your ass, but you can't take bein' called a couple names, Jenny? Oh, that's right,” his voice drips with sarcasm, “You actually like a dick in your ass. Cock in your mouth. I bet you fucking beg for it, huh? Ya big, flamin' queen.”
Jensen has to let the pain out before it devours him. Jared would rather take a punch or two to the jaw than worry about losing the Jensen he loves to the haunting memory of some fucked up bullies in his past. The thought of this guy, who's good to everyone he knows, sarcastic as hell, and still the most optimistic person Jared's ever met? It makes him sicker than the bile he's spewing to provoke him.
“Fucking faggot.” He centers himself and breathes short through his nose before delivering the final blow, “Gonna burn in Hell, ya know? God hates your kind.”
If anyone ever doubts that Jared has a finger on every one of Jensen's buttons, they need only be standing in this high school weight room when he finishes that sentence.
Jensen lunges and they tumble together onto a stack of mats toward the back of the room. The first blow hits hard on his chest, and Jared raises his arms to shield his face but doesn't do much to fight back. His legs are strategically tangled between Jensen’s to keep him from kicking, and there’s not much damage he can do. He may end up with a couple of bruises, but if that’s what it takes for Jensen to release, Jared can deal. He’s had worse.
The fists fly without much aim, and Jensen demands a couple of times that Jared hit him back, but he doesn't stop to let him get a swing in. Doesn't matter. Jared won't anyway. Jensen’s not trying to hurt him. In fact, more of his punches land on the mats beside Jared than anywhere near his body, and he’s pretty sure that Jensen’s not so far gone that he’s not doing it on purpose.
This isn’t about hurting each other at all. It's about the racing of Jensen's heart and the fury of emotion that he's been holding back for fifteen years now.
He’s a fighter, and he has been since long before Jared met him. He can’t deal with his own shit any other way. He teases Jared for using his home gym so much, but nobody else knows how many times Jared’s heard him wailing on that heavy bag until late into the night, letting go of everything that bothers him, that he doesn’t want to hold in anymore.
There’s a bag right there, hanging just a few feet away, but Jared went with his instincts on this one, and being here with him, in the fight, seemed more important than a few bumps and scrapes. He’s not sorry that he followed his gut. He rarely is.
It feels like forever, but eventually, Jensen sags hard against Jared’s chest, his face buried in the bend of his neck while his body shakes under the weight of everything. He doesn’t make a sound, but Jared can feel sweat and the tears against his skin. He blinks his own away as he fixes his eyes on the ceiling and trails his fingers the length of Jensen’s back.
When he finally stills, Jared holds him a little closer and asks, against his ear, “You good?”
Jensen's eyes are red, but there are no more tears when he rolls off of Jared and stands, shrugging his shoulders a few times and flexing his hands. “Yeah,” he nods, the beginning of a small smile on his lips. It’s not a lot, but it’s the first sign of genuine happiness Jared has seen in nearly a week.
He takes the hand Jensen is extending and makes his way to his feet. There will be no apologies. Neither is sorry for what happened in this room.
Jensen does push Jared back against the wall, stares hard into his eyes for a long time, and then surges forward to press his mouth to Jared's. It's deep, hard, and filled with a thousand words of gratitude that Jared will never need to hear to fully understand.
*-*-*
It sounds fucked, Jensen knows, but after his fight with Jared, he felt like he was seeing everything through new eyes. The memories were still there, of course, but it was as though some of the rage and the hatred had drained away. He could look at the painting on the back wall without wanting to throw up, and when Ty asked them if they'd be willing to whip something up for the silent auction the kids were working on for the street fair, they pressed shoulder-to-shoulder at Jensen's favorite old table and came up with something together. It's the first piece they've ever collaborated on outside of their own home.
Jensen also promised to Fed Ex some Ollie gear when he gets back home, and then Jared lost his damn mind and offered up an all-expenses-paid trip to LA, including a $250 tat, for the thing. Jared. Who used to say he'd rather break all of his fingers than ever become the face of gay America. Jensen used to agree whole-heartedly, but now he's not so sure he's ever loved the guy more.
He feels better, for the most part, but there are a couple of down sides.
For one, his mother freaked the fuck out when they got back to the house, Jared's face and chest all bruised, and Jensen's knuckles swollen and cracked. He can't help wondering, though, if the way she baked them cookies, doted over them, wasn't a little satisfying for her. He was probably never as good as he thought at covering his own bruises when he was younger, and she's probably been waiting decades for him to actually let her address them. She didn't ask about the reasons, but there was something in her eyes that told Jensen she's not as clueless as he always believed her to be.
The only thing he feels even worse about now is the way Brayden hasn't looked either of them in the eye since they got back to the art room yesterday. He hung around, looked at all the old pictures they toted out last night, and joked with them a little, but his concern is obvious. Considering they made a conscious decision not to fight around him after that one blow up a couple years ago, it makes sense. He's scared, and Jensen hasn't had the chance to calm his fears yet.
They're in Jared's truck, on the way home from the airport, when he turns in his seat and looks over his shoulder. “You're not gonna buy 'foreplay' as an answer, are you?”
Brayden's face twists and he flips Jensen off before returning his gaze to the window.
Jared chuckles at his side, and Jensen shakes his head. “Look, man, I don't wanna make a big fuckin' deal outta this, okay? I was. This whole trip. Just,” he stops himself and runs a hand over his hair. “I had some issues to deal with. Not us. Me. Jay helped me work it out, and it's all good now, alright?”
He's skeptical, at best, but Brayden stares at both of them, long and hard, before he responds. “The sign in your old cafeteria told me violence is not the answer,” he deadpans.
“The one outside the health room said abstinence is the only fool-proof protection,” Jared counters.
“Yeah, I missed that,” Brayden smirks. “Ya know what the sign outside our nurse's office says?”
“Condoms available upon request,” Jensen answers. He saw it when he dropped Brayden's forgotten field trip money off a few months back, and remembers thinking that Brayden's life was so fucking different than his was at sixteen. He just didn't remember how different at the time.
Brayden tosses another glance out the window and then looks back Jensen. “All I know is y'all are fucked the hell up. And ya ever scare me like that again, I will punch you both in the face.”
Jensen just chuckles as he sinks back into his seat and watches the ocean pass out the passenger window. Somehow, the 30 Seconds to Mars song pouring through the speakers feels perfect, the lyrics both nostalgic and prophetic.
Casting a glance at the man beside him, Jensen can't help thinking about that damn painting. Back then, the angel stooping to lift his broken frame from the dirt was supposed to symbolize the strength and the weakness that he saw in himself. It was supposed to represent the way he felt so beaten down and the way he was going to pick himself up and create his own destiny.
He didn't know it back then, but watching the sun blaze bright just beyond Jared's profile, he thinks maybe he was wrong.
“What?” Jared asks, smug half-smile in place when he catches Jensen staring out the corner of his eye.
Jensen shakes his head. “Nothin', man. Just. It's good to be home.”
Reaching a hand across the distance between them, Jared squeezes Jensen's thigh and winks. “It's good to have you back.”
Author:
raeschaePairing: J2
Rating: R
Word Count: 9,000 (or close to it)
Summary: When Jensen moved to California, he had no intention of ever returning to Texas. But a confluence of events leads to a vacation at his childhood home, and a stumbling trip down memory lane that he’d rather just forget.
For
live_laugh_love, who won me in the Sweet Charity auction, and requested “angst/schmoop/hurt/comfort in the Disclaimer Verse. And also, emo!Jensen being emo.” I hope it’s everything you wanted, Sweetie!A/N: Takes place after A Very Disclaimer Christmas, but before Falling in the Black.
Thanks to
billysgirl5 for the super-fast beta! I adore you!“So, I was thinking.”
The sun is barely starting to dip in the evening sky when Jensen looks up from the scrap paper he’s been doodling on and flicks ashes from the end of his cigarette over the side of his chair. The weather in Santa Monica is good most of the time, if not a little humid on occasion. But there’s something about summer. Something that drives him out of his office, away from the park, and into the backyard for uninterrupted hours on end.
Behind his sunglasses, he gazes up, up, up at the obstacle blocking his sun. Anyone else would be told to move immediately. But there’s one person who can get up in Jensen’s personal space any time he wants, no permission necessary.
When Jensen opens his mouth to retort, Jared rests his hands low on his hips . “No, I didn't hurt myself. Check this out.”
Jensen takes Jared’s phone, slinks down in his chair, and studies the ad on the screen. The ocean breeze stirs just enough to cool the sweat beginning to form on the back of Jensen’s neck, and he’ll never admit how much he loves that fucking feeling.
Handing the phone back, he raises an eyebrow. “And?”
If anyone in this family is NOT a huge boarding fan, it's Jared. He puts up with it, for Jensen's sake, and for Brayden's, but he's not so interested in the actual sport or anything. Jensen’s a little confused as to why he would give a damn about the Junior World Championship.
“It's the same weekend that I'm gonna be down that way for that convention. Think Bray would wanna go?”
Jensen just shrugs and leans his head back, eyes drifting shut as he sucks back another drag and slowly lets the smoke ascend into the sky. “Ask him.”
“Think you would wanna go?”
“What? Like a family vacation?” He's not opposed to the idea, they do it every summer, but a family vacation to Dallas? That's gonna look a little lame next to last year's trip to Australia.
To Jared's credit, he looks a little embarrassed by the suggestion. “Look, I know it's weird. I just thought,” he shakes his head, “Never mind. It's stupid. You're right. We'll just focus on something European, like we talked about.”
The thing is, Jared doesn’t lie. And he can’t really beat around the bush for shit, either. On the rare occasion he wants to talk to Jensen about something, but doesn’t really know how to bring it up? He stammers and gets all awkward. Some things about Jared are still a mystery, and others? Have been pretty fucking clear since day one.
“You gonna tell me what's really goin' on?”
Turning slowly, Jared shrugs his shoulders. “Look, man, Bray,” he interrupts himself. “It’s not. It doesn’t matter.”
“The hell’s wrong with you?” Jensen blinks and then leans forward in his chair to rest his elbows on the table in front of him. “Bray wants to go to Texas on vacation?”
“Not exactly.” Jared drops into the chair opposite Jensen, foot tapping rapidly as his hands mimic the rhythm on the table. “When I mentioned it to him, he seemed kind of up on the idea of,” he stops again. Meeting Jensen's eye, he says, “He wants to stay with your mom and dad while we're there.”
“He wants to what?”
“I know. I told him you would never go for it.”
The problem is not Jensen's parents. The problem is everything else that comes with taking Brayden back to Dallas. They've been to Texas a few times, for the X-Games and last year's South by Southwest music festival. But even when he has to hit the city for work, he avoids the outskirts, and he sure as hell hasn't been back to Richardson since he left six years ago.
Reconciling with his parents last Christmas was good. They talk occasionally, and share e-mails at least once a week. His mother asks when he's going to bring his family home, like it’s a great idea. Jensen's not so sure.
But if Jared says that Brayden suggested staying with them? It means that Brayden wants to go, and he's afraid to tell Jensen that he does. Because he's afraid Jensen will get pissed. It's the only time he hesitates to ask for anything like this.
“Let me call my mom and make sure they'll be around that weekend.”
He's not entirely convinced that it’s the right thing to do, but Brayden apparently wants it, and even Jared seems content to go along with nothing more than that. And everyone knows that, when it comes to his family, Jensen pretty much caves to whatever they want.
By the time the plane touches down in Dallas, Jensen is ready to board another back to California. He doesn't want to be here. Well, “here” at the tattoo convention Jared's working tomorrow is cool. And “here” at the Junior Worlds with Brayden will be awesome. But “here” in a rental car, on his way to his childhood home? He could give that up without so much as a backward glance.
He convinced his mother that he remembered how to get from the airport to the house he lived in for eighteen years, that it wasn't necessary for her and Dad to pick them up. They're renting a car, and it's stupid to have a big, emotional meeting in public when they're just going to drive separately back to the house.
“So, you grew up in, like, suburbia, right?” Brayden asks as they pile into the car, and Jensen checks over his shoulder before merging onto the highway to Hell.
He nods, but Jared jumps in before he can answer. “Please tell me there's a white picket fence.”
The look he shoots to the passenger seat is not amused. “I don't know what y'all are laughin' at. We live in a house twice the size of my parents' place. In a fucking gated community, assholes. We're not exactly slummin' it.”
“You're right,” Brayden acknowledges. “And I have a mommy and daddy who love me very much,” he winks at Jensen in the rear view mirror. When Jensen raises a finger in response, he adds, “Daddy, Mommy flipped me off!”
Jared's laughter rings in the increasingly-cramped interior of the car, and Jensen just sinks further down to focus on the road.
He has a feeling it's only going to get worse before it gets better.
“Is this what heaven looks like?” Brayden asks when they've greeted Jensen's mom in the foyer, and she leads them into the kitchen.
Jensen honestly doesn't know when his mother took to baking like it's her job or something. Growing up, he remembers she could handle the basics, but she was no June Clever or anything. She didn't have an outside job, but she did so much for his dad's business, and for the church, that she rarely had time to cook anything complicated. Jensen always kind of assumed that she couldn't or just didn't want to, and he was okay with that. He got cookies when he was upset, and that was enough.
So why does it bother him now? The fact that she prepared a party platter, overflowing with lunch meats and cheeses and vegetables Jensen knows none of them will eat bothers him. There is a huge pot of chili on the stove; he can smell it where he stands, and it bothers him. The cookies, cupcakes, and pies on the counter bother him. The apron she's wearing and the way she smiles so proudly when Brayden looks like he hasn't eaten in a month and can't wait to dig in bothers him. He just doesn’t know why.
“I figured you guys would be hungry, I just didn't know what for. So I made a little of everything.”
Jensen rolls his eyes as Brayden grabs a cookie and shovels it whole into his mouth. “This is awesome!” he exclaims, though it's a little hard to understand with his mouth so full like that.
Jared and Brayden set about helping themselves to heaping plates of food, and Jensen just shakes his head. “Fuckin' animals,” he mutters under his breath, but then he catches himself. Or, rather, the look in his mother's eye catches him. “Sorry.”
“Jensen, sweetie, aren't you hungry?” Donna asks as she rounds the table with a steaming bowl of the chili. “Come on. Have a seat.”
He can't say no, even though he desperately wants to. He kind of thought that coming back here would feel like some sort of closure, but it doesn't. It just feels like the same wrong size it did before. Like it still doesn’t fit. He still doesn’t fit. It’s like stepping through the doors of a damn time machine, being back here.
Steeling his resolve, he digs into the chili and determines that he's not going to let this place get to him. He's not the same guy he was back then, and he's not going to let himself get carried away in all of those old resentments. Water under the bridge.
“Fuckin' hell, man,” Brayden exclaims when he shoves a fork full of macaroni and cheese into his mouth. “Are you kidding me with this shit?” In disbelief, he takes another bite and zeroes his eyes in on Donna. “Mrs. Ackles, will you marry me?”
Jared's hand finds the back of his head, and Jensen can't help smiling at the interaction. That feels familiar. They still fit. “You can't marry your dad's mom, ya creepy little bastard.”
Jensen doesn't usually notice how rough they are, how completely inappropriate most of their conversation would seem to the outside world. Until he's standing in his mother's kitchen, and she's looking on like a live television audience of one, looking like she’d really like to say something, but isn’t sure she should.
Before he can tell them to watch themselves, though, Donna slides a piece of chocolate pie onto a dessert plate and lays it in front of Brayden's “real” food. “It'll be a very lucky woman who marries you someday, Brayden,” she winks. He flushes and she reaches out to run a palm over the side of his face.
“All I know is,” Brayden swallows the bite and shovels another one in before continuing. His manners are a little backwards sometimes. “I find a chick who can cook like this? I’m puttin' a ring on that for sure.”
Jensen snorts from his place at the table but continues to eat in silence. It's not until his mom takes the seat beside him that he bothers to look up from the bowl. “It's good to have you here, Sweetie.” She hooks her hand behind his neck and draws their foreheads together. “Thanks for coming.”
He swallows hard and convinces himself it's the chili, not a lump of emotion, that catches in his throat. When his mom pulls back, Jensen smiles a little. “Thanks for lettin' us upend your life like this.”
“Jensen, it's never an inconvenience to have you home.”
She says home like Dallas is that place for Jensen. Like it ever was. As though Santa Monica is just some layover on his way back to where he belongs.
Or maybe she just says it like someone who's glad to have her son back in the place she best remembers him.
To Jensen, it all feels the same.
Jared's never been good at sleeping in strange places. Maybe it comes from growing up in a string of strange places, he doesn't know. But unless he's at home, in his own bed, he doesn't really rest. Even when they're on vacation, in some five-star hotel, he doesn't wake up feeling as good as he does after a few hours with Jensen at home.
He only intended to hit the bathroom and head right back to bed, but there are pictures all over the walls in the hallways. Pictures of Jensen with a mullet, and then a flat-top fade. Shit he never could have imagined. Family portraits, and collage frames of candids.
The people he knows don't do this. They hang art and shit on their walls, not family photographs. The closest any of their friends come to this kind of thing is the naked mural on Chad and Sophia's bedroom wall, and Jared doesn't exactly go staring at that one often.
The trail leads him to a room just before the kitchen, and in the light of the moon shining through the window, he can make out a desk and a few bookshelves. Flipping on the light, Jared stops in the doorway, shocked.
It's like a Jensen museum or something. Magazine articles and press releases, along with shadow boxes of Ollie gear. Print ads from Macy's, including the one they did together to launch the line a couple years back.
Jared shakes his head and lets out an audible huff when he recognizes the Slinging Ink promo posters they've done for the last couple seasons of the show. Those are flanked by reviews of the show and interviews from Tattoo Magazine.
The walls of the office at home don't look all that much different, really, but there's something about this one that hits Jared a lot harder than that one ever has.
“Used to be some weird piece of art there,” Jensen's sleep-roughened voice comes from the doorway. Jared turns, and Jensen's staring at the wall like he doesn't really know what he thinks of it. “When I was a kid, it was. It was different back then.”
Something has been bothering his Jensen since they arrived. Jared's not completely oblivious, but he's not one to push when Jensen doesn't want to talk about it, either. He's always known that going back to San Antonio would be less-than-exciting for him, but Jensen doesn’t talk about Dallas like he has the same bad feelings, so Jared figured he might be a little more excited about coming back.
“You okay?” he asks, following Jensen back to their room.
With a shrug, Jensen falls back onto the bed and settles into his side of the mattress. “Can you hit the light?”
If Jensen doesn't want to talk about it, there's not much Jared can do.
By the time he's done at the con on Saturday, Jared's shoulders are aching, his brain is useless, and his hands are numb. He only etched a few pieces, but the execs at Bravo rented booth space and set up a meet-and-greet autograph session for a couple of hours in the afternoon. He's not sure exactly how many glossy pictures of his crew he signed for fans of the show, but he knows it was enough to render him exhausted.
The house is eerily dark when he eases the rental into the driveway around eight. Hesitantly, he shoulders his way into the kitchen. It's bizarre, entering without stopping to knock. It took him long enough to be comfortable barging into his own house, let alone his boyfriend's parents' place.
Silence greets him, and Jared's brow furrows as he takes note of the lone light, shining above the stove. There's a plate there, wrapped in foil, with a Post-It that reads: “Jared, thought you might be hungry. Love, Donna.” Thankfully, nobody's here to see the way he stares at it for a second before reaching out to touch it. Jensen's mom is unbelievable. In a kind of awesome way.
Dinner re-heated, Jared grabs a Coke from the refrigerator and heads in the direction of the only sound in the house. He finds Brayden kicked back on the couch in the family room, sock feet propped up on the table with a plate of peanut butter cookies on one leg, and a huge glass of milk resting on the other, eyes trained lazily on some MTV reality clusterfuck.
“Where's everybody?” he asks, kicking his feet up to match the kid's pose.
With a shrug, Brayden dunks a cookie and doesn't bother risking a glance in Jared's direction. “Some dinner, music thing at church.”
“You didn't wanna go?”
Rolling his head, Brayden levels him with a glare and stuffs a cookie into his mouth, milk dribbling down his chin. “To church?” He swallows, and rolls his head back. “No, thanks.”
Jared can't exactly argue with that. He wouldn't want to be there, either. But something at the back of his brain tells him he would have gone anyway, if he'd been here when they left. Jensen doesn't have the fondest memories of that church, or some of the people in it, and Jared kind of wishes that he could be there to support him. Of course, his being there would probably be the least helpful thing in that particular situation, so maybe it's better that he was a little later getting home than he anticipated.
“How was the comp?” he asks, when he's finished more than half his dinner.
Brayden huffs a response and shakes his hair out of his eyes, only to have it fall right back. “Pretty fuckin' rad, man. Best Trick was lame, but the pipe was pretty cool. Some kid damn near broke his neck. Which was awesome.” He chuckles at the memory, and then adds, “Burnquist was there. Rode the street course with me between rounds.”
Bob Burnquist is Brayden's favorite pro skater of the moment, and even though he won't act like it's a big deal, riding with him is probably the highlight of the kid's vacation. Jared thinks it might say something about how much his life has changed that it doesn't matter how long his day felt, it's better just knowing that Brayden got to spend some time hanging out with his idol.
For awhile, they sit in silence, and Brayden only bitches minimally when Jared finishes his dinner and steals a few of the cookies off his plate.
“Time are they s'posed to be back?” he asks when he realizes that this isn't the same show they were watching before. So much for original programming.
“Fuck if I know, man,” is Brayden's helpful response. After a long pause, he adds, “Somethin's not right with Jen.”
Jared could have told him that. Something hasn't been right with Jensen since they decided to come to Dallas, and Jared's been kicking himself for suggesting it ever since. But there's nothing he can do about it now, and they're here, so he's been trying to tell himself that he's over-reacting. Maybe projecting some of his own feelings about what it would be like to go back to his childhood home onto his boyfriend.
But if Brayden's noticing it, too, that means it's not just in Jared's head.
Fuck.
Before they can discuss the issue further, the front door opens and Jensen hollers, “We're home!” loud enough to permeate the house.
Alan's voice follows with a dry, “What, do they think some burglar just unlocked the front door and walked himself inside?”
It makes Jared laugh, though he feels guilty for it. For years, he hated Jensen's father. Hated him for driving Jensen away. For being a dick who couldn't understand how to let his son be himself. He listened to Jensen talk about his parents, and he could hear the love in his voice for these people who never got him, never really even tried. And he hated the man.
Now, he kind of hates that he doesn't anymore. That they've clearly changed, and that he kind of likes Alan's quiet sense of humor. It feels like betrayal or something.
When Jensen appears in the doorway, he looks exhausted. He's wearing jeans and a short-sleeved dress shirt, a black skinny tie, and the leather wrist cuff Brayden bought him for his birthday this year. It's as formal as Jensen gets, and Jared can tell that he's not happy about it.
His face brightens when his eyes fall on the two of them, sprawled out on the couch like they're in the theater at home. “Fuckin' touch that cookie and die, kid,” he growls, stepping over Jared's legs to steal the last one from the plate before Brayden can shove it into his mouth. He flops back between them and closes his eyes, moaning as he swallows the peanut butter-y goodness while his eyes drift shut.
“Rough night?” Jared asks, lips quirked at the feeling of Jensen leaning heavily against his side, like he needs assurance that Jared's right there, real, and not going anywhere.
Jensen's head shake is subtle, almost imperceptible. “It's all good now,” he answers, vaguely. “You in a sugar coma yet?” he asks, hand slapping hard against Brayden's thigh.
“Fucker,” Brayden exclaims, sitting up a little straighter. “Where we goin'?”
Jensen braces a hand on Jared's knee and pushes himself up and out of the couch. “Wanna see where I used to skate?”
It's humid as fuck tonight, and Jensen only lasted about ten minutes on his board before nearly ripping the buttons off his shirt in his haste to toss it in Jared's general direction. He's only vaguely aware of those hazel eyes on him, and of Brayden's blur passing him on the turn-around. Mostly, he's just focused on shaking this tension from his shoulders and fog from his brain.
The park still looks the same, thought it feels a whole lot smaller than it used to. Someone's keeping it up, and they even added a few pits and rails where Jensen always thought they needed something. It's nowhere the size of Ollie, but it's big enough for him to work through a routine, and that's all he needs right now.
It's fucking surreal. This whole damn trip is just one mind fuck after another.
When he was sixteen, he was carvin' pavement here, with Chris standing guard like a fucking bull dog by the fence. Now Jared's standing in the same goddamn place, watching, and Brayden's sixteen, carefree, and blazing his own trail. It's fucking weird how true it is that the more things change, the more they stay the same.
The only person who doesn't fit in this re-enactment is Jensen himself. Which kind of feels like the story of his damn life this week. Being back home is so fucking weird - not like it was back then, but too similar to feel like things are new.
His parents are different, the house isn't decorated like it was, and the people he used to know are all grown up. The memories, though, are all exactly as they were.
He can walk into the kitchen, which has been completely remodeled and looks nothing like it did when he was in high school, and still see the awkward family dinners around the old table. Hear his mother asking how his day was. Feel the way his stomach used to roll while he fought to keep from telling her how bad the teasing and the bullying really was.
He can walk into his dad's office and see the Wall of Fame they've constructed in tribute to his successful career, and to Jared's, and it's flattering. But he remembers that ugly fucking painting that used to be there instead, the focal point when he had to endure another conversation about washing the damn gunk out of his hair, dressing like a normal human being, and thinking about his damn future for a change. In that room, he can still hear the endless lectures about mindless doodling and worthless hobbies louder than anything else.
Last night, he sat up with Brayden after Jared had already turned in for the night, kicked back on the bed that used to be his while Brayden asked him about every fucking piece of memorabilia his mother still has in there. The pictures he drew for competitions that never won anything, and the trophy from the goddamn sixth grade spelling bee. Meaningless bull shit in a shrine to a kid that never really existed outside her own mind.
Because when Jensen looks around that room, all he sees is the place he used to stash gay porn under his mattress or the spot on the floor where he and Nate Kincaid used to beat each other off while they were supposed to be doing homework. The closet door - where pictures of Alan “Ollie” Gelfand, Rodney Mullen, Tony Hawk, and other legends of the skateboarding world still hang in some bull shit collage Jensen made in ninth grade - is where he gave Ryan Davis head. It was both of their first times and over ridiculously fast.
Tonight, he went back to the church he spent seventeen years attending every single fucking Sunday, and the stained-glass windows are still there, but the hard pews and the ugly-ass green carpeting have all been removed and replaced. Modernized and updated.
But all Jensen could hear was the drone of the voices around him as he imagined the way he used to bump elbows with the pastor's son while they drew pictures on the backs of their bulletins, scribbling out smart-ass remarks about the old couple in front of them along the edges of the page.
Ben, the same pastor's son who popped Jensen's cherry when they were seventeen, and who talked so much shit about him after the fact, shook his hand and congratulated him on all of his success tonight. And then he apologized and introduced his beautiful wife and their three kids. Jensen showed him a picture of his own family and pretended not to notice the look on Ben's wife's face when she realized that Jensen's wife is actually a six-foot-four-inch mammoth of a man.
It was all very polite, but in his head, he could still feel that breath on his neck and those hands on his hips. Could still see the sneer on Ben's face when Jensen walked into school the next day and heard him spit “Dirty ass-fucker” under his breath. And he could still hear the snickers and the laughter of everyone in his wake as he ignored it and headed toward his locker with his head up, like he wasn’t the one who'd done something wrong, even though it really fucking felt like he was.
By the time he stops moving, Jared and Brayden are laid out on the grass, talking in low tones and pointedly trying to pretend that Jensen isn't in his own world. Or, more accurately, that they're not concerned about it. A part of him wishes he could go on ignoring them, lose himself in the motion all fucking night, but his legs aren't so much hearing that plan at the moment.
Most of the time, he loves that they know him like they do. That he doesn't have to speak in order to be heard and that his meaning is always crystal clear over and above his words. But this time, it's not reassuring or comforting at all. Because he's in this fucked up head space, and they're never going to understand it. They can't. And he doesn't know how to care-and-share this one.
He grew up in a nice house with people who still love him, despite ten years of estrangement. So he got bullied in high school and his parents were disapproving of some of his choices? At least he had a fucking family. Jared didn't get that, and Jensen will be damned if he's going to dump his stupid, emo shit on him now.
Centering himself with a deep breath, he rolls lazily toward them and kicks his board up into his hand. He can force it down. He's good at that. And if being back home is going to remind him of anything, it's going to be ensuring that the people who care about him have no reason to worry about him. Jensen's always looked out for himself, and he's not about to change that shit now.
Jared thought that the skate last night would do Jensen some good, and maybe it has. But something is still off. He feels like he should know what it is, but he can't quite get a handle on it. One minute, he seems like the guy he's always been, joking around with Brayden and smiling like an idiot in Jared's direction. The next, this dark cloud passes behind his eyes, and his entire demeanor changes. Sometimes, it's only for a second. Sometimes it hangs around, no matter how hard Jensen tries to pretend like he's okay.
The problem isn't that Jensen's obviously dealing with some unresolved issues here in his old hometown. The problem isn't even really that he's not talking to Jared about them. They have a long-standing rule wherein they don't push each other with shit like this. They trust each other to bring it to the table when they're damn good and ready.
The problem is that Jared's not sure Jensen's ever going to be ready to talk about this one. And it's hypocritical, on the one hand, because he has a lot of his own issues that he's never going to bring up, shit he doesn't want to think about, let alone share with anyone. But Jensen's always been the more transparent of them, and now that he’s pretending there’s nothing wrong, when it’s so blatantly obvious that something is? It bugs Jared. Probably more than it should.
The unsettling feeling is back with a vengeance today. Over breakfast, Jensen's mom told him that he should call his old friend, Ty, while he's home. Apparently, he was Jensen's best friend before Chris came along, and Jared can see why now that he's met the guy. He's so much like Mike, it's kind of staggering.
Ty is teaching government at Jensen's old high school, which Jensen finds hilarious. But not nearly as funny as the fact that he's also the faculty adviser for the GSA, which is new in the last couple of years and struggling to raise funds. It's the middle of the summer, and the kids are here in the art room, making posters for the booth they're going to have at some community street fair next weekend.
The invitation to stop by if they got a second was promptly dismissed, but when Brayden said he needed to see where Jensen went to high school, Jensen caved.
There are about fifteen kids around the room, and Brayden's taken to a group of girls near the window, lending his artistic talent to their cause. At least, that's what he's pretending to do. If Jared has learned anything about his kid in the last year, it's that having a girlfriend has done nothing to curb his instinct to flirt with any female who crosses his line of vision. Kid loves Demi, but he's still a teenage boy. Fortunately, she seems to understand that. For now.
Jensen is at the front of the room, deep in conversation with Ty about some childhood memory or another. It's awesome that he really seems relaxed for the time being, but after the story about how they convinced Tommy Wheeler to kick flip off the roof of Darin Lamont's house in seventh grade, Jared's attention started to wander.
He walks around the room, casually taking in the student works, as well as professional photography and paintings, displayed on the walls. He doesn't really remember if his high school art room was like this or not. He does remember thinking that being graded on art was bull shit, and skipping the class most of the time. Of course, he skipped most of his classes most of the time.
The entire back wall is designated for the 'LVB Elite Artists' and seems to boast pieces from every medium and generation since the school's inception. Some of it's pretty amazing, but Jared is drawn immediately to the centerpiece.
The plate on the painting reads: 'Tomorrow' by Jensen Ackles, Lloyd V. Berkner High School, grade 12. International Young Artists Showcase Grand Champion.
It's beyond weird to see Jensen's art hanging here like this. Jared's always been the painter between them, and Jensen prefers pens or pencils. He's never really known Jensen's artistic interests to venture much outside of the abstract. Sure, there are a few discernible elements – boards, skulls, birds – in his work, but it's mostly waves and lines and splatters. That's not to say that it's any less impressive than Jared's. They're just different.
This? This is nothing like anything Jared has ever seen from his boyfriend, but still distinctly Jensen. Where his Ollie stuff is characteristically bright in color and vague in interpretation, this is in-your-face macabre, but still screams of an innocent sort of hope.
He did brilliant work with light and shadow, concealing faces while maintaining distinct emotions for both of the characters involved. There's no mistaking the identity of the kid on the ground, blood pouring from the rainbow flag inside his wrist and pooling beneath his head, tinting the tips of his spiked hair crimson. The broad shoulders of the dark angel stooping to lift him are simultaneously tense with anger, possibly despair, and reassurance.
The fading of the darkness into the slightest hint of a sunrise in the upper right corner of the piece seems to serve as its biggest statement. The belief that there is something better on the horizon, no matter the suffering endured for the time being.
The feeling that swells in Jared's chest feels like pride for a minute, and then crashes through him like understanding. It's not until he looks down and realizes that his hands are balled into fists at his sides that he gets just how angry he really is. And why.
The hand on his shoulder makes him flinch away, and when he turns, Jensen's eyes are wide with concern. “I told Ty we could,” he stops short and shakes his head. “The fuck are you . . . You okay, man?”
Jared can't speak. Doesn't know how to put this feeling into words. Is pretty sure he shouldn't try.
He stalks out the closest door, into a nondescript hallway leading who the fuck knows where. He just knows that he can't be there. Can't look at Jensen and know what he knows now.
Thankfully, the weight room inside the gym is unlocked, and that's where Jensen finds him a few minutes later.
“You gonna tell me what the hell?” he starts from the doorway.
“Why don't you tell me what the hell, Jen,” Jared flings back without thinking. “What the fuck is wrong with you, huh? You been lyin' to me since we got here, so why don't you just fuckin' man up and admit,” he stops short of saying it because the words make it too real. Pivoting, he sinks a hard roundhouse punch into the heavy bag and sends it swinging toward the wall.
“The fuck are you talkin' about?”
Jensen seems genuinely confused and it just serves to piss Jared off further. “Don't give me that shit, man. Don't you dare look me in the eye and act like you don't know. I am not a motherfucking idiot, Jensen. Don't treat me like one!”
“Jay, I'm not,” Jensen steps into the room and leans against the wall, shoulders shrugging like he's at a complete loss. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Throwing his arms out to the sides, Jared shuts the filter off and lets his mouth go. It's not something he does often, but sometimes, he can't contain it anymore. “How bad was it, Jensen? How many times you get the shit kicked outta you? Picked on, laughed at, beaten down?”
Jensen smirks and shrugs, but it's hollow. Scared.
“How many times you get blamed for it while they walked away free and fucking clear? How many fights you lose because of the goddamn numbers game? Tell me, Jensen. I wanna know how fucking bad it really was back then.”
He can't meet Jared's eye. His shoulders tense and he crosses them over his chest when he says, “It wasn't that bad.”
“Stop fucking lying to me!”
He remembers the first conversation he ever had with Jensen’s mom. The way her eyes welled up with tears when she told Jared how scared she used to be for her little boy. How she desperately wanted him to be straight, to be more normal, so that the other kids wouldn’t pick on him. And he’s just starting to realize just how right she was to worry. It angers him beyond reason, for the kid Jensen was and the man that he is.
“I am not them, man, so don't you fucking dare try to treat me like one of the other fuckers in your life who couldn't see what you didn't want them to! You hid it, pushed it down and told yourself you didn't need their goddamn help, or their worry, or their pity. You ran away, but it's still fucking here, everywhere you look. Tell me I'm fucking wrong, Jensen. Tell me I don't fucking know you!”
“The fuck do you want me to say?” Jensen explodes in return. “You got it so fuckin' figured out, what the fuck you need me for, huh?”
“Goddammit, I am not just any-fuckin-body, Jensen. Stop hiding this shit from me!”
With those words, he realizes just how fucking ridiculous he sounds, but he just doesn't care. They're supposed to have this rock-solid relationship. Even when they don't share every little part and piece of who they were, they're supposed to honest with each other.
Jensen doesn't think his mom can handle it, or his dad, or whoever, that's fine. Being lumped in with every other person he feels he needs to lie to protect, though? It's not okay in Jared's book. Not even a little.
“You wanna know the truth, Jay? Why I keep this shit to myself and I don't bother telling you, or anybody else, about it? Because it's emo bull shit that doesn't even make any fucking sense. Because I have no right to feel this way, and I keep telling myself that it will go away. That I'm not a motherfucking girl and that I have a great fucking life that I fucking love. What the fuck do I have to complain about?
“I was a goddamn gay kid in a motherfucking right-wing town. So the fuck what, man? I'm not the first. I won't be the last. What the fuck so special about my goddamn sob story? I had two parents who give a shit and a couple of friends who were cool. I had a house to come home to and all I had to worry about was gettin' knocked the fuck out on occasion. Big fuckin' deal! We get outta here, back home where I belong, and it goes away.”
As Jensen's tension grows, Jared finds his waning. Jensen is full of it if he thinks, for a second, that this shit is going away when they get back to California. If anybody knows about ignoring issues, and about them hanging around to creep up when you least expect it, it’s Jared. The idea of Jensen carrying it around with him, of that resentment and anger eating away at the heart he’s always worn so willingly on his sleeve, makes Jared sick to his stomach.
He’s pulled Jared back from the ledge more than a few times, and if anyone’s earned a returned favor, it’s Jensen. Whether he likes it or not, he’s going to work this shit out. Jared needs him, with his pure heart and his faith and his goodness. He can’t let that slip away.
Tilting his head, he feigns confusion. “So, wait, you didn't tell me 'cause you don't think I'm gonna get it? Is that it? Because I didn't have a mommy and daddy who loved me, that I can't possibly give a shit about what you went through? Is that really what you think of me?”
“No!” Jensen fires back, face and neck reddening with his building anger. “The fuck is wrong with you? I didn't tell you because it doesn't fucking matter. It's water under the goddamn bridge. And it needs to fuckin' stay there. I swear to fucking Christ, Jared, if you don't let this fucking go, it's gonna get real fucking ugly, real fucking quick.”
Jensen’s not one of those guys that talks about his problems for hours and then considers it fixed. He can’t even really fuck his tension away. Hugs and heart-to-hearts are not his thing, so Jared has to dig deep and find the courage to take Jensen where he needs to go in order to put this bull shit in perspective. The words certainly aren’t easy.
“Cocksucker,” he spits when Jensen turns his back to leave. He freezes in the door way, and Jared adds, “Fag.”
“I am not fucking around with this, Jared.” The words are low, almost inaudible over the whir of the air conditioner above them. “Let. It. Go.”
“Homo. Queer. Flamer. Pillow biter.
“Ass-fucker.”
Jensen turns, eyes dark with a rage that almost shuts Jared up.
This is the guy who takes slurs in stride when they go out back home. Jared's the one who usually picks a fight with whatever asshole thinks it's okay to slam on Jensen for his eyeliner or his hand in Jared's pocket. Jensen's the one that always tells him to back off and ignore it.
But here? In this building, with all of the memories and the implications, it's more than Jensen can handle. And it's exactly where Jared needs him to go.
“What's wrong? You can take a dick up your ass, but you can't take bein' called a couple names, Jenny? Oh, that's right,” his voice drips with sarcasm, “You actually like a dick in your ass. Cock in your mouth. I bet you fucking beg for it, huh? Ya big, flamin' queen.”
Jensen has to let the pain out before it devours him. Jared would rather take a punch or two to the jaw than worry about losing the Jensen he loves to the haunting memory of some fucked up bullies in his past. The thought of this guy, who's good to everyone he knows, sarcastic as hell, and still the most optimistic person Jared's ever met? It makes him sicker than the bile he's spewing to provoke him.
“Fucking faggot.” He centers himself and breathes short through his nose before delivering the final blow, “Gonna burn in Hell, ya know? God hates your kind.”
If anyone ever doubts that Jared has a finger on every one of Jensen's buttons, they need only be standing in this high school weight room when he finishes that sentence.
Jensen lunges and they tumble together onto a stack of mats toward the back of the room. The first blow hits hard on his chest, and Jared raises his arms to shield his face but doesn't do much to fight back. His legs are strategically tangled between Jensen’s to keep him from kicking, and there’s not much damage he can do. He may end up with a couple of bruises, but if that’s what it takes for Jensen to release, Jared can deal. He’s had worse.
The fists fly without much aim, and Jensen demands a couple of times that Jared hit him back, but he doesn't stop to let him get a swing in. Doesn't matter. Jared won't anyway. Jensen’s not trying to hurt him. In fact, more of his punches land on the mats beside Jared than anywhere near his body, and he’s pretty sure that Jensen’s not so far gone that he’s not doing it on purpose.
This isn’t about hurting each other at all. It's about the racing of Jensen's heart and the fury of emotion that he's been holding back for fifteen years now.
He’s a fighter, and he has been since long before Jared met him. He can’t deal with his own shit any other way. He teases Jared for using his home gym so much, but nobody else knows how many times Jared’s heard him wailing on that heavy bag until late into the night, letting go of everything that bothers him, that he doesn’t want to hold in anymore.
There’s a bag right there, hanging just a few feet away, but Jared went with his instincts on this one, and being here with him, in the fight, seemed more important than a few bumps and scrapes. He’s not sorry that he followed his gut. He rarely is.
It feels like forever, but eventually, Jensen sags hard against Jared’s chest, his face buried in the bend of his neck while his body shakes under the weight of everything. He doesn’t make a sound, but Jared can feel sweat and the tears against his skin. He blinks his own away as he fixes his eyes on the ceiling and trails his fingers the length of Jensen’s back.
When he finally stills, Jared holds him a little closer and asks, against his ear, “You good?”
Jensen's eyes are red, but there are no more tears when he rolls off of Jared and stands, shrugging his shoulders a few times and flexing his hands. “Yeah,” he nods, the beginning of a small smile on his lips. It’s not a lot, but it’s the first sign of genuine happiness Jared has seen in nearly a week.
He takes the hand Jensen is extending and makes his way to his feet. There will be no apologies. Neither is sorry for what happened in this room.
Jensen does push Jared back against the wall, stares hard into his eyes for a long time, and then surges forward to press his mouth to Jared's. It's deep, hard, and filled with a thousand words of gratitude that Jared will never need to hear to fully understand.
It sounds fucked, Jensen knows, but after his fight with Jared, he felt like he was seeing everything through new eyes. The memories were still there, of course, but it was as though some of the rage and the hatred had drained away. He could look at the painting on the back wall without wanting to throw up, and when Ty asked them if they'd be willing to whip something up for the silent auction the kids were working on for the street fair, they pressed shoulder-to-shoulder at Jensen's favorite old table and came up with something together. It's the first piece they've ever collaborated on outside of their own home.
Jensen also promised to Fed Ex some Ollie gear when he gets back home, and then Jared lost his damn mind and offered up an all-expenses-paid trip to LA, including a $250 tat, for the thing. Jared. Who used to say he'd rather break all of his fingers than ever become the face of gay America. Jensen used to agree whole-heartedly, but now he's not so sure he's ever loved the guy more.
He feels better, for the most part, but there are a couple of down sides.
For one, his mother freaked the fuck out when they got back to the house, Jared's face and chest all bruised, and Jensen's knuckles swollen and cracked. He can't help wondering, though, if the way she baked them cookies, doted over them, wasn't a little satisfying for her. He was probably never as good as he thought at covering his own bruises when he was younger, and she's probably been waiting decades for him to actually let her address them. She didn't ask about the reasons, but there was something in her eyes that told Jensen she's not as clueless as he always believed her to be.
The only thing he feels even worse about now is the way Brayden hasn't looked either of them in the eye since they got back to the art room yesterday. He hung around, looked at all the old pictures they toted out last night, and joked with them a little, but his concern is obvious. Considering they made a conscious decision not to fight around him after that one blow up a couple years ago, it makes sense. He's scared, and Jensen hasn't had the chance to calm his fears yet.
They're in Jared's truck, on the way home from the airport, when he turns in his seat and looks over his shoulder. “You're not gonna buy 'foreplay' as an answer, are you?”
Brayden's face twists and he flips Jensen off before returning his gaze to the window.
Jared chuckles at his side, and Jensen shakes his head. “Look, man, I don't wanna make a big fuckin' deal outta this, okay? I was. This whole trip. Just,” he stops himself and runs a hand over his hair. “I had some issues to deal with. Not us. Me. Jay helped me work it out, and it's all good now, alright?”
He's skeptical, at best, but Brayden stares at both of them, long and hard, before he responds. “The sign in your old cafeteria told me violence is not the answer,” he deadpans.
“The one outside the health room said abstinence is the only fool-proof protection,” Jared counters.
“Yeah, I missed that,” Brayden smirks. “Ya know what the sign outside our nurse's office says?”
“Condoms available upon request,” Jensen answers. He saw it when he dropped Brayden's forgotten field trip money off a few months back, and remembers thinking that Brayden's life was so fucking different than his was at sixteen. He just didn't remember how different at the time.
Brayden tosses another glance out the window and then looks back Jensen. “All I know is y'all are fucked the hell up. And ya ever scare me like that again, I will punch you both in the face.”
Jensen just chuckles as he sinks back into his seat and watches the ocean pass out the passenger window. Somehow, the 30 Seconds to Mars song pouring through the speakers feels perfect, the lyrics both nostalgic and prophetic.
Casting a glance at the man beside him, Jensen can't help thinking about that damn painting. Back then, the angel stooping to lift his broken frame from the dirt was supposed to symbolize the strength and the weakness that he saw in himself. It was supposed to represent the way he felt so beaten down and the way he was going to pick himself up and create his own destiny.
He didn't know it back then, but watching the sun blaze bright just beyond Jared's profile, he thinks maybe he was wrong.
“What?” Jared asks, smug half-smile in place when he catches Jensen staring out the corner of his eye.
Jensen shakes his head. “Nothin', man. Just. It's good to be home.”
Reaching a hand across the distance between them, Jared squeezes Jensen's thigh and winks. “It's good to have you back.”
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-04-23 04:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-23 06:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-23 04:56 pm (UTC)Adding another layer to it all (and back filling! have I expressed my fondness and glee for the back history giving? have I?) - my heart aches. I love the fierceness you give them. and you mentioned Mikey. ::sigh:: and it was chock o'block with Angsty!Jensen and that is my button, bb. You could have written 3K of Jensen just emoing all by himself.
ty, bb! most excellent and awesome and now I have to find someone to make it into an ebook so I can add it to my Disclaimer file!
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Date: 2010-04-23 07:02 pm (UTC)I swore I was going to get back to the happy in this 'verse, and your prompt took me to an even darker place than Jared's did. I'm glad that you feel like it was worth it!
no subject
Date: 2010-04-23 05:20 pm (UTC)...
It's so well constructed and timed and... You just weave such a rich and complete world every time you present us with something else and this is...
aside from the initial two stories this is, for me, hands down the next best thing you've added.
no you did not make me cryno subject
Date: 2010-04-23 05:34 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2010-04-23 05:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-23 07:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-23 05:43 pm (UTC)Very satisfying, if a bit heartrending.
:)
no subject
Date: 2010-04-23 07:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-23 06:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-23 07:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-23 06:30 pm (UTC)It was supposed to represent the way he felt so beaten down and the way he was going to pick himself up and create his own destiny.
He didn't know it back then, but watching the sun blaze bright just beyond Jared's profile, he thinks maybe he was wrong.
Best line(s), not that the whole thing wasn't awesome. :)
no subject
Date: 2010-04-23 07:07 pm (UTC)And you're right - Jensen can try to help Brayden and Jared with their issues, but eventually, his have to be addressed, too. It's a good thing he had someone there to wrap him up and help him get it out.
no subject
Date: 2010-04-23 07:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-23 06:59 pm (UTC)And I got all teary at the end when Jensen talks about the angel...
Jeez I love this verse !
Can't get enough, I want more !!!
Beautiful one, bravo !
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Date: 2010-04-23 07:13 pm (UTC)I don't know about more right now - I've got a couple of non-disclaimer related things on my plate. But eventually, the boys will be back. I promise.
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Date: 2010-04-23 07:10 pm (UTC)He didn't know it back then, but watching the sun blaze bright just beyond Jared's profile, he thinks maybe he was wrong.
That, right there? my favorite part.
I love these boys and I will NEVER tire reading about them. There are few authors who've managed to create an actual 'alternate universe' with their AU's, but you've done it so masterfully that it feels like I'm reading about real people's lives each time you post an update. Loved it! Can't wait for another one. =)
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Date: 2010-04-23 07:16 pm (UTC)And there WILL be another one eventually. I'm making no promises on 'when' because I've got some other ideas on my plate at the moment, but they're not gone forever, I promise.
no subject
Date: 2010-04-23 07:55 pm (UTC)But it was beautiful! Just what I needed!
Thank you!
I love this 'verse so much!
no subject
Date: 2010-04-24 12:04 pm (UTC)Thank you!
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Date: 2010-04-23 08:15 pm (UTC)My son is a skateboarder and I love that I kinda know who or what your talking about. I just really connect with this whole verse.
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Date: 2010-04-24 12:06 pm (UTC)That's awesome! Thank you so much!
My son is a skateboarder and I love that I kinda know who or what your talking about.
Good to know that all of my references aren't solely for my own benefit! ;)
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Date: 2010-04-23 08:23 pm (UTC)I just adore this verse! Jesus!
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Date: 2010-04-24 12:08 pm (UTC)You have no idea how worried I was about that fight - how many re-writes and word changes I went through to make sure that people knew it was a coping mechanism and now some kind of fucked up domestic violence. My stomach was in knots that people weren't going to like it!
I adore YOU. :)
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2010-04-23 08:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-24 12:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-23 09:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-24 12:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-23 09:27 pm (UTC)Thanks for sharing!
no subject
Date: 2010-04-24 12:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-23 09:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-24 12:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-23 10:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-24 12:11 pm (UTC)Thank you!
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Date: 2010-04-23 10:14 pm (UTC)PROBABLY IN THAT ORDER, BUT I CAN'T PROMISE.
♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
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Date: 2010-04-24 12:12 pm (UTC)PS - I would give you a billion hearts in response, but I don't know how to do those. I'm a tool.
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2010-04-23 10:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-24 12:13 pm (UTC)Thank you - I'm glad you made it through and enjoyed it.
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Date: 2010-04-23 10:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-24 12:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-23 11:14 pm (UTC)Brilliant stuff!
no subject
Date: 2010-04-24 12:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-24 12:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-24 12:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-24 12:29 am (UTC)xo,
~Pam
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Date: 2010-04-24 12:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-24 12:46 am (UTC)I adore this verse!
no subject
Date: 2010-04-24 12:18 pm (UTC)