A Very Disclaimer Christmas, Pt. 1

[raeschae]

Title: A Very Disclaimer Christmas
Author: raeschae
Pairing: J2 (Everybody else makes an appearance here, too)
Rating: PG-13 (for your average, run of the mill Disclaimer language, and a few mild sexual situations)
Word Count: 19K+

Summary:Jensen hasn’t talked to his parents in 10 years. Now they’re coming to Santa Monica for a big, family Christmas. Which, of course, won’t be weird at all.

A/N: This fic kicked my ass all over the place, but I finally ended up with a version that I love, and that I think is true to the ‘verse. It’s been awhile since I posted one of these – hope y’all are still on board for the ride. Enjoy!

Thanks: To my beta, neutraldeviance, and to vamphile for the input and the support.

Graphics (by me) are under the cut, as per usual.





“Would you just fuckin' man up, you fuckin’ pussy! Jesus Christ, what is wrong with you?”

Nobody curses Jensen quite like Jensen curses himself. Mostly because he'd punch them in the face. But he can't really punch himself, and if he tried, Jared would fall on his ass laughing. So he tries to keep the self-deprecation verbal, and only inside his own head.

“Not like it's the most difficult thing in the world. Just . . . press the goddamn button!”

He stares at the phone in his hand, unblinking. It shouldn't be this hard to call his own fucking mother. He knows that. But honestly? Where in the hell is he supposed to start this conversation? It's not like they haven't talked in a couple of weeks.

Years. Ten fucking years. A decade. How do you . . . he doesn't know how in the fuck he's supposed to start after a motherfucking decade of radio silence.

Hey, Momma, how's it goin'? Me? I'm good. Remember how you and Dad always wanted me to put that degree you paid for to good use? Well, I own two business, and I design shit for Macy's. So, you can be proud of me now.

Or maybe he could try: Hey, Mom, what's up? Things are good here. I have a boyfriend now. And a son. And we're happy – all of us. So maybe you can just be happy that I found my own way? That I'm good now? Can that just be enough?

Every scenario ends up sounding weak and pathetic in his head, so Jensen discards them, and then ends up staring at the phone in his hand long after Jared's fallen asleep. It happens at least three times a week, and he figures that, eventually, something's gotta give. Either he'll do it, or he'll forget about it. Either way, he can't keep doing this.

He jumps a little bit when a strong hand curls around his wrist and Jared pulls a little on his hand. Face smashed against the pillow at Jensen's side, he doesn't open his mouth when he speaks. “It's, like, four in the morning there,” he grumbles. “You call now and it's not gonna go well.”

Jensen doesn't even bother to ask how Jared knows. Jared always just knows. “Not gonna go well anyway,” is all he says.

Tilting his face, Jared pries one eye open and then blinks it a couple of times. “Been three weeks, Jen. Can't just keep starin' at the fuckin' phone, y'know?”

The way Jared's Texas drawl still comes out when he's too tired, or completely fucked out, is still one of Jensen's favorite things about him. Kid hasn't stepped foot back in the state since he left ten years ago, but Jensen likes that it's still so much a part of him that he can't fight it when he's at his most vulnerable.

“I know,” Jensen nods, setting the phone on the bedside table before sliding back down under his covers and propping himself up on his elbow. “I just,” he stops and catches his bottom lip between his teeth. This isn't the kind of conversation they usually have. Especially at one in the morning. “Part of me wants to call. Part of me doesn't know what the fuck to say, or if there's even really a reason to.”

Jared's quiet for so long Jensen thinks he maybe went back to sleep. Finally, he says, “Send her an e-mail.”

“What?”

“E-mail? Ya know, one of those things where you send a letter electronically over the internet?”

Jensen fights the urge to smother his boyfriend with a fucking pillow. “Smart ass,” he groans and lets his head drop from his hand. He liked it better when he was pretending that Jared didn't know about his late-night phone-staring sessions.

The wet press of lips against his forehead, the rub of Jared's fingers against his hip beneath the blanket, precede the quiet words. “'m serious.” Jared's mouth moves open and hot down the line of Jensen's nose. “Write out everything you wanna tell her.” He drags his lips to the curve of Jensen's cheek. “Send it off.” Over to his ear, sucking the lobe between his teeth. “Let her make the next move.”

Jared's hand slides from Jensen's hip to his cock, palming it while his teeth scrape the junction of Jensen's jaw and neck. “Stop,” Jensen manages and Jared's hand stills. Grabbing his boyfriend's wrist, Jensen doesn't let him pull away. “Talking about my mother,” he adds.

There's this deep belly laugh that shakes Jared's body when he finds something funny. And then there's the filthy, low chuckle against Jensen's skin when he's turned on and about to make sure that Jensen's right there with him. That's the sound against his neck now. “Stop thinkin' 'bout her, then,” Jared suggests.

Thrusting his hips into the circle of Jared's fist, Jensen opens his eyes before they have a chance to roll back in his head. Jesus Christ, this boy of his does things nobody's ever done to Jensen. “Believe me,” he sucks in another breath, fast and shallow when Jared's thumb rolls lazily over the head. “Not . . . fuck, Jay,” he breathes.

Jensen's kind of known for his control during sex. At least, that's how Jared knows him. The kid has no fucking idea how much concentration it takes to keep from babbling incoherently every time Jared's fingers get anywhere close to any part of his body. Even a hand on the shoulder can send Jensen's brain into overload if he's not careful, doesn't keep in check. And he knows that it turns Jared on to think that Jensen can multi-task like a motherfucker.

But there are occasions when Jared will catch him off guard. Like right now, when he was perfectly happy to be thinking about his mother and how he’s never going to be able to call her again. And then Jared's giving him a hand job, while his lips are doing obscene things to Jensen's collarbone, and he just doesn't have the brain power to keep it all in check.

To his credit, Jared's a fucking master at distraction. Because the next thing Jensen knows, they're both breathing heavy, the bittersweet aroma of sweat and come filling their bed, and the only thing Jensen's thinking anymore is, “Sleep. Good.”



Jensen's not much of a typist. If he thought that drawing his mother pictures of what he's been up to the last ten years would help, he'd do that instead. Situation being as it is, he's pretty sure that diagrams aren't the way to go.

What he finally ends up with, after a week of writing, re-writing, and then writing again, is a document approximately four pages long, single-spaced. With pretty much every fucking detail he can imagine her being interested in.


Mom,

Hi. So, this is weird, right? It feels weird. I mean, ten years and I'm sending you an e-mail? Kinda feels a little cowardly. But if I still know anything about you, you're gonna cry, and I'm still not comfortable with that, so . . . Lindsay said that you miss me, and that you wanted to hear from me. This is the best I can do, mostly 'cause I don't know what the hell to say. I don't know how to do this, and I'm guessing you don't, either. We've never been so good with words, have we?

Um, so I guess I should start at the beginning. Since I last talked to you, I moved to California. Which you already know. Element gave me a job designing decks for their boards, and it was pretty cool for awhile. Got a lot of experience and kind of built a reputation. I saved money for awhile after that – a couple of years – and then I quit Element and I bought this skate park on the Santa Monica Pier. Called it Ollie, and it's pretty fantastic. There's a pro shop there, too, and I started designing my own boards and shirts and stuff. People seem to like them, I guess.

After that, things just kinda fell into place. I have a business manager – his name is Tom, and he pretty much keeps my head on straight most of the time. Danneel is my store manager, and you would love her. She's sweet, but she's tough. Kind of like you, actually. Oh, and she's a neat freak like you wouldn't believe. I think she might actually be a little bit worse than you are about it. That is, if you're still scrubbing the floors by hand before every holiday.

Anyway, the guy that I bought the park from, Mike, works as a designer with me. We have another guy, Jake, but he doesn't work with us at Ollie so much. That's because I bought another shop down in San Diego last year – it's called Grind – and he moved down to work from that office. He's a good kid – reminds me a lot of myself when I was his age actually. Julie is my store manager down there, and she's cool, too. There's a couple of other kids that work as cashiers there – Colin and Ridge – but I don't get a chance to talk to them very much. Wish I had more time to spend in San Diego, but my other business ventures keep me pretty busy.

I don't know if you've seen it or whatever, but I design a line for Macy's now. Every spring and fall, they put it out and it's selling really well. I felt like a giant sell-out for awhile, but it kind of makes me laugh, too. Cause, you know, you guys always hated that I was so happy working in retail all those years. Now I don't even bother going in to check on the line. Figure, once I send it off to the execs there, they can do what they want with it. If you get a chance, you should check it out some time. If there's still that Macy's in the mall.

I'm sponsoring a few pro-boarders, too. Four of 'em. Three ride for Ollie, and one for Grind. It's pretty cool, actually. The revenue that they bring in more than makes up for what we spend on their gear and their appearances and everything. One of our guys is Ryan Sheckler. You remember him, right? The kid that was, like, twelve when he first started? You said he reminded you of me when I was younger? With the floppy blonde hair and the sick moves? Only I'm pretty sure you didn't say 'sick.' No offense, but you were never that cool. :)

From a business stand-point, I guess that's pretty much everything. It's enough, don't you think?

I bought a house a few years back. It's not right on the ocean, but you can see the ocean from our balcony, so that's cool. It has a pool, and four guest bedrooms. A master, a great room, a big-ass kitchen that you would totally drool over, and theater. It's bigger than the one dad built in the old guest room back home. It's actually the thing that sold Jared on the house in the first place.

Jared. I should probably send a whole other e-mail to explain him, but I'll try to give you the highlights. First of all, please remember that you always said that my happiness was important to you and that you wanted to see me settled and happy with a family some day. And I know that in your mind that meant that I would find a nice girl and have lots of babies. But I wasn't straight then, and I'm not now, Mom. I need you to understand that.

Jared is, by far, the most amazing man I've ever met. He's about forty feet tall (he's actually 6'4”), and he's beautiful. I think I fell in love with him the day I met him – September 16, 2006, by the way. (Anniversaries have always been important to you I know. ) There was something about him that I couldn't explain, and didn't want to fight. We've been together ever since. So, when you said you wanted me to settle down with someone, I know you didn't mean a guy, but I'm settled, Mom. And I'm so damn happy I can't stop smiling most days.

He's a tattoo artist. Have you ever heard of the show Slinging Ink on Bravo? That's Jared. If you haven't, you might wanna check it out. He bought his own parlor when he was twenty-one, and he's pretty much the premier name in body art around here. His client list is pretty impressive, and I think you'd really like him. He's been working on his paintings, too, lately. They would take your breath away, Mom. His talent is kind of scary, actually.

We're not married or anything – even for those however many weeks that it was legal here, we didn't bother. Thing is, I know that's important to you, but it's just not to me. I know who I'm waking up beside every morning for the rest of my natural life, and that's enough. We bought the house together a few years ago, and we're pretty much equal partners in everything. It's kind of like I met my match, ya know? Like we were just . . . I don't know. Like we wouldn't work with anyone but each other? I guess that's pretty accurate.

I'm not going to keep talking about how great Jay is, because I know this much has probably made you uncomfortable. I just want you to know that I am happy, and settled, and my life is good. I really couldn't ask for a lot more than I already have.

I'm sure there's a part of you that's wondering why in the world I'm bothering to write now, after a decade of silence. Or maybe you're not. Maybe Lindsay already told you the biggest news of all. I wouldn't blame her for it – it's kind of huge.

A week ago, Jay became the legal guardian of a fifteen-year-old kid named Brayden. It's such a long story, but suffice it to say that his dad used to date Lindsay, and one day he left and just never came back. Lindsay was a mess, and there was nobody around to take the kid in. We weren't ready. Didn't know what to do. Both of us kind of thought it was a bad idea, but we let him stay with us for a little while. His dad came back around, and it kind of ripped my heart out when we had to give him back. But last March, there was this big car accident, and it turns out that Bray's dad was dealing drugs. So they carted him off to jail and we brought Bray back home again.

Technically, Jay's his “dad” now. But we don't really look at it that way. I mean, we both had to go through a pretty rigorous screening process, and there was a lot of court dates and lawyers, but in the end, we brought our kid home and I guess that's what's important.

He's such a good kid. He loves to skate, and he's wicked artistic, and he's so damn funny. He's pretty much a 50/50 mix of me and Jay, even though he's not ours. Sometimes I look at him and it just blows me away. I mean, who would have thought that I would ever be able to parent a fifteen year-old, right? But we're making it work. Somehow, it all works. And I have that family that you always wanted for me. With a person that I'm ass backwards crazy about, and a kid that I love and would give anything for. I have everything you ever wanted me to have, Mom.

I guess I just wanted you to know that. I don't know why. I mean, it's been a long time, right? And I know that I should have called or something, but I was so angry at first. And hurt. And then, when I wasn't, I figured you would call if you wanted to see me again, and you didn't. So I just stopped thinking about it. Started making my own life, and pretending like I didn't care that you guys weren't a part of it.

The weird thing is that I think Brayden changed all that for me. Cause the other night, he and Jay were playing some stupid zombie game on the X-Box, and I looked over at him and thought 'I would die if he decided that he wasn't going to talk to me for ten years.' It would kill me, I know. And I don't want you to feel that way. You used to ask me all the time what you guys did wrong, why I wanted to hurt you, and there are some things that I need you to know.

First of all, nothing I have ever done is about you. Which I'm sure sounds selfish, but the truth is that I've never done anything, or acted in any way because of you and Dad. You didn't do anything wrong. My being gay isn't a personal attack. My leaving was never about hurting you. And I know that I did, but that was never my intention. I'm not vindictive and I was never the kid who just wanted to do things to make his parents pay for bad parenting. You weren't bad parents.

You did the best you could with what you had – the beliefs that you had – and I appreciate that. I still go to this church on the Pier sometimes, when my schedule is free, and I know that's because you guys instilled that in me. We disagreed on things, and at the time, I thought that made you wrong. But the thing I've learned is this – there's nothing wrong about being different, Mom. You believe what you believe, and I can't change that. Just like you can't change me. I'm living my life the way I was always supposed to live it, and that's not about hurting you. That's about being me.

Jay and I are working really hard to teach Brayden that the most important things in life are to be true to yourself, and loyal to the people you love. There are things about him I will never understand – like how he faces kids at school who know that his father is a junkie in jail, and that he lives with a couple of gay guys, and who never hesitate to mock him for that. How he does it without flinching – just owns who he is. I don't get it, but I'm so damn proud of him. Sometimes I wonder what he's going to do with his life, what he's going to become when he's older, and then I realize that it doesn't matter to me. He can become a traveling vacuum cleaner salesman, and if that's his passion, I can't wait to celebrate it with him.

I'm not trying to make you feel bad. I know that you and Dad didn't understand me, and I know that I wasn't really all that big on explaining it to you. But I want you to know that we're okay here, and that you don't have to worry. I'm not just getting by, Mom. I'm happy. My life is good.

The thing is, I would love for you and dad to be a part of this life. I'd love for Brayden to have a grandma – his biological one won't talk to him anymore because she blames him for putting her son in jail. Jay's parents are non-existent – literally – and we don't really have anyone for him to visit in the summers. I guess we do alright at spoiling him, but we sure as hell don't bake him cookies or any of that stuff that Gran used to do for me. We have a family here, a big, freakish extended family who loves that kid more than I've seen them love anyone. But it's not the same thing, ya know?

Anyway, I know I probably haven't answered half your questions, at least not in the way you were hoping I would. But I can't really think of anything else to say right now, and Brayden's going to be home from school soon. I need to go. Call me, though, if you still wanna talk after this recap.

Jensen




“I sent it.”

Jared continues drinking from his oversized coffee mug and raises an eyebrow. “Huh?”

With a roll of his eyes, Jensen leans against the island and crosses his arms over his chest. “E-mail. To my mother. Sent it.” He rests his cheek on the palm of his hand and lets out a disgruntled huff.

“Think she'll call?”

Jensen just shrugs. “Fuck if I know.” He crosses to the refrigerator and grabs an energy drink. After sucking half of it back, he meets Jared's eye. “What the hell am I gonna say if she does?”

“Hello?” Jensen flips him off and Jared smirks before draining the last of his coffee from the mug. “The fuck am I supposed to know what to say to somebody's mom,” he grumbled.

“You're not very fucking helpful,” Jensen accuses and Jared only laughs. Because he's the worst boyfriend ever.

Before they can further discuss the issue, though, Hurricane Brayden blows into the kitchen, all knees, elbows, and a shiny, toothy grin that lights up his entire face. “Guess where I just came from?”

“Demi's bedroom?” Jensen asks, only to be flipped off in response. “Uh . . . the supply closet at Ollie?”

Rolling his eyes, Jared hoists himself onto the counter and crosses his arms over his chest. “Why don't you just tell us so Jen can stop imagining all the places you're not getting laid,” he suggests.

Both Jensen and Brayden make gagging faces at the very thought and then Brayden tosses a small bag onto the island. “Bought Dem's Christmas present.” When Jared and Jensen raise an eyebrow, he nods. “Go ahead. Check out my awesomeness.”

Jensen reaches into the bag and withdraws a black, velvet case. “You don't make this kind of money,” he points out, noting that the jewelry store on the bag is one that Danneel frequents down town. “Unless you got a giant raise over at Jay's,” he adds.

With an easy shrug, Jared says, “Christmas bonus.”

He might be upset, if Jared ever spent money on anything. The fact that he gave Brayden the cash to buy what turns out to be a pretty kick-ass necklace, with a music note charm, is not something that Jensen's going to fault him on. “Wow. It’s really . . . extravagant, Bray,” Jensen compliments, crossing to Jared and holding the necklace out.

Jared considers it for a minute and then pulls Jensen's hand, and the gift, closer to his eye line. “There's a diamond,” he stops short and looks up from the solitaire diamond placed in the center of the note. “That's a pretty serious gift, Kid,” he adds. “You sure you're ready for that?”

“Dude,” Brayden grinned even wider. “She saw it in the window the other day and she liked it. It's not like I'm proposing or anything.” When he gets only raised eyebrows in response yet again, Brayden laughs and shakes his head. “Alright, so it's kind of a grand gesture.” With an impish grin, he adds, “Like you guys don't do stupid shit for each other all the time.”

Who can argue that? Jared and Brayden both have closets full of original Jensen Ackles pieces, designed solely for them. And Jared fucking brands Jensen every year for their anniversary. He paints whatever Brayden's into at the moment all over the walls of his bedroom. None of them say those infamous three words very often, but they bend over backwards and sideways to show it. If Brayden learned the art of the grand gesture anywhere, it was from his two new dads, for sure.

“You know what this means, right?” Jensen asks, handing it back.

“That I might finally get laid?” To hear him tell it, Brayden is the forty-year-old virgin, not a fifteen-year-old who’s only been dating this girl for two months.

“That’s she’s gonna think you luuuuuv her,” Jared teases.

The flip off and the blush of Brayden’s cheeks tells them both that it’ll say exactly the right thing, then.



Most of the time, Jensen works out of Ollie’s back room. Once a week, he drives down to San Diego to oversee operations at Grind. Today, however, Tom reminded him that the logo he was commissioned to design for ESPN’s Winter X-Games is due at the end of the week, and there’s no way he’s going to stay focused if he doesn’t lock himself away in his home office while Jared’s at work, and Brayden’s at school.

He’s hunched over his desk, foot tapping incessantly against the floor as he considers the latest sketch. It’s only slightly different than the other four he’s already worked on, and equally as pedestrian and craptastic, in Jensen’s opinion.

He’s almost grateful for the ringing cell phone at his side when it pulls him out of his pouting consideration of the paper in front of him. “Jensen,” he identifies himself distractedly, touching the tip of a green pencil to the ‘X’ in the center of the page.

“Jensen,” the soft voice on the other end repeats, and he freezes immediately.

“Mom.”

“Oh, Sweetie, it’s so good to hear your voice again!”

She’s trying to hide them, but Jensen can hear the tears in her voice. This is the reason he sent her the e-mail in the first place. This awkward, strange reunion is part of the reason he’s been silent for so many years. He just . . . he doesn’t know how to do this.

“How’s it goin’, Mom?” he asks, slumping back in his chair and refusing to think about the way her voice washes over him like cookies after school in the seventh grade.

She sniffles, but then pulls it together. If Jensen learned the art of skillfully masking his feelings from anyone, it was his mother, after all. “We’re good. Your father’s busy, as always, with his work. But we’re doing well. I’d rather hear all about you, though,” she says it almost shyly, like she’s not sure if he’s going to hang up on her or not.

Tapping his pencil against the edge of his desk, and his foot against the floor, Jensen lets his eyes dart around his office. Where does he even start to explain his life to her? Does he talk about the trade magazine covers he has plastered all over the walls? About the newest deck design he and Mike are cooking up? Does he talk about business at all? What the hell is he supposed to say?

“I think I covered everything in the email,” is what he settles on. Words of endearment any mother would love, for sure.

“You did,” she agrees, and in his mind’s eye, he can see her sitting in her big, overstuffed microfiber recliner, book on her lap and phone pressed to her ear. Her legs are curled up under her body and she’s leaning to the right, elbow propped up on the arm of the chair. “But I’d rather hear it from you. You’re happy?”

“Yeah,” Jensen answers without hesitation and then chuckles to himself. “Yeah, Mom. I’m really happy.”

They talk for a little while about the things she remembers – his love for design, and skating, and Chris. They talk about family members Jensen hasn’t seen in years, and he fills his mom in on the highlights of his career, and his friends. It’s almost old times – he’s almost sitting on his old bed, in his old room, with his mother perched on the edge of the mattress, begging him to open up about whatever’s going on in his world at the moment.

And then she clears her throat – a tell-tale sign that she’s nervous about whatever topic she’s about to address. He can’t help thinking that some things never change. “So, I, um,” she hesitates for a brief moment, “I watched Slinging Ink a couple of times.”

“You did?” When he mentioned the show to his mother in the e-mail, he knew she would war between curiosity over Jensen’s boyfriend, and complete disinterest in keeping up with the lives, and loves, of a bunch of tattoo artists.

“He’s a very attractive young man, Jensen,” she says.

Jensen wants to laugh. First of all, it almost sounds as though his mother is condoning Jensen’s boyfriend. Which, at thirty-two, would be a first for him and one that he’s nowhere near ready for. Also, the last person in the world that his mother would EVER find attractive is Jared. He knows she hasn’t changed that much in the last ten years.

“What was it, Mom?” Jensen teases. “The unnatural height? The tank tops? The sleeves of tattoos?”

There’s a light chuckle on her end of the phone in response. “For you. He’s a very attractive . . . for . . . I can see why you’re attracted to him. He seems very much like the kind of guy you would. . .” Flustered, she trails off and then sighs. “He loves you. That’s what’s important.”

Jensen realizes pretty quickly that he’s not nearly as pissed off about his mother’s inability to easily talk about his sexuality. When he was younger, he used to get so pissed off at her for not being able to talk about it, to acknowledge it easily. Maybe it’s ten years and a hell of a lot of maturity that kind of helps make the situation far less tense these days.

“I’m not on the show,” he points out, because really? How can she know that Jared loves him when she’s never seen them together.

He hated that laugh in high school. Turns out, he hates it just as much now. Because who actually likes the sound of their own mother laughing at them? “Baby, you are practically the star of that show, you’re in it so much. You ever watched it? Ever noticed that they can hardly interview him without him talking about you? Without somebody in that shop mentioning your name? And when they do?” She stops short and he can hear her taking a deep breath on the other end of the phone. “I’m sure he’s far too manly to ever admit it, but he lights up, Jensen. I’ve never met him, and I may not know a lot about you anymore. But I know that.”

It's pretty much all he's ever dared to allow himself to hope for with his mother. Some indication that she might maybe someday be okay with the man that he is.

But before he can tell her as much, gratefully, his name bellows through the house. "JEN!"

Brayden pops his head around the corner and Jensen rolls his eyes. "Hold on just a second, Mom," he chuckles into the phone. "What?" he asks the kid bouncing on his toes in the doorway.

"We're outta cheese," Brayden announces, as though it's the biggest travesty in the history of the world.

"So?"

"I want a turkey sandwich." Well, that clears it all up.

"So make a fuckin' turkey sandwich."

"There's no cheese," Brayden repeats, his eyes wide like Jensen should know you can't make a fucking turkey sandwich without cheese.

Leaning forward, Jensen rests his elbows on the desk and narrows his eyes at the boy watching him right back with the same determined look in his eye. "So go get some."

"How? On my magic fuckin' carpet?"

"Jesus Christ, Brayden," Jensen finally huffs. "Can you give me fifteen minutes to talk to my mom and I'll take you to get your motherfucking cheese?"

Brayden throws his hands up defensively. “Alright. Jesus, you're such a goddamn drama queen, Jen.”

When he's gone, Jensen sinks back in his chair, head shaking in disbelief. He can't help the laugh that escapes his throat when he remembers that he is still on the phone, and his church-going, law-abiding citizen of a mother is probably losing her mind over his own language, let alone Bryaden's.

“How did you not kill me?” he asks her.

“Oh, honey,” she sighs. For a long time, she doesn't say anything else, and then she clears her throat. “So that was your son?”

“That's Brayden,” Jensen concurs. And, yes, he's well aware that his grin stretches from one ear to the other, but he can't seem to bring himself to care. “In all of his crude, uncensored glory.”

“He's a fifteen-year-old boy, Jensen. Being raised by you, no less. He has no choice but to be crude and uncensored.”

Coming from anyone else, delivered in any other tone, Jensen would be half-way to his fighting stance already. But coming from her? So easily? With actual affection? Jensen can't help laughing. “He's a good kid.”

“I don't doubt it for a second, Sweetheart,” she responds, and then takes a breath so deep, so loud, that Jensen can't help holding his own until she releases it. “Jensen, I know this is probably . . . actually, I don't know what it is. But I was thinking maybe, if you don't already have plans,” she lets out a nervous little giggle before going on. “I would love for you to bring your family home for Christmas.”

Home. Texas. “I'm not sure that's a good idea, Mom.” It's more like a terrible idea. But the conversation is going so well that he can't bring himself to voice the enormity of the badness of the idea.

“Jensen, I know that things were bad when you left,” she starts.

But Jensen doesn't want to rehash old history. It's over. Ten years under the bridge. What's the point? “It's not because of what happened, Mom,” he assures her. “It's just . . . Jay's not gonna be comfortable with that. Like at all. And it's Brayden's first official Christmas with us. We don't really have plans or anything, but I kinda . . . I think we're just gonna stay home.”

“Oh.”

The disappointment. That has to be the reason that he goes on to say, “Ya know, we have plenty of room. If you and Dad wanted to come here, that might be a little . . . I don't know . . . easier?”

Her breath catches in her throat and for a second, he thinks that she's going to turn him down. “We always have everyone here, Sweetie,” she says slowly.

And Jensen remembers that. The Ackles family Christmas merger has been a tradition since he was small. Both sides of the family, Mom's and Dad's, come over to the house for dinner and a chaotic mess of wrapping paper and bows when every grandkid rips into their boxes at the same fucking time. Good times.

“But ya know what?” she breaks back in. “They can go to Aunt Denise's this year.”

“Huh?”

“I said they can go to Aunt Denise's this year. Your father and I are spending this Christmas in California. With our son.” The smile is evident in her voice when she adds, “And his beautiful family.”

They wrap up the conversation, and it's not until Jensen hangs up the phone that he actually realizes what he's done.

Part Two

Comments

[kskitten.livejournal.com]

Oh, thank you so much for posting this today! I really got sucked in at the right time, I guess.

I had to cry a little at the end. When his mom said fuck 'em all I want to be with my son. Loved this.

::off to read more, yay!::

[raeschae.livejournal.com]

Aw . . . I'm so glad you're liking it! Thank you!

Disclaimer Christmas

[(Anonymous)]

BEST CHRISTMAS PRESENT EVER!!!!!

Re: Disclaimer Christmas

[raeschae.livejournal.com]

Thanks!