A Very Disclaimer Christmas, Pt. 2

[raeschae]

Four years ago, when they bought the house, Jared and Jensen talked about turning the pool house out back into about a million different things. In the end, they settled on installing Jared’s brand new Nautilus gym system.

For Christmas last year, Jensen moved the gym equipment to the basement and converted the pool house into an art studio. With one solid wall of Eastern facing windows, the natural light was too good to pass up when Jared started painting more seriously. Jared didn’t want to come off sappy or sentimental, but the way Jensen laid the room out and thought of pretty much everything Jared would need to work was damn impressive.

Now that he scored a commission to create art for a new club opening in Hollywood in a couple of months, he spends a lot of his free time sequestered in the studio while Brayden does his homework, and then plays video games with Jensen. Sometimes he marvels at just how domestic his life has become. Not always in a bad way, either.

A knock at the door pulls him out of his revelry and he steps back from the canvas he’s yet to start painting to turn his head and smile at Jensen. “Hey,” he greets, voice hushed in the silence of the night. At the shop, he thrives on the metal that Chad blares while they work. At home, he prefers the silence.

Jensen leans in the doorway, bare feet crossed, as well as his bare arms over his chest. Dickies, cut off just below his knees, hang low on his hips and his blue hair sticks out like he’s been running his hands through it. Jared wonders if there will ever be a day that this guy doesn’t steal his fucking breath just by walking into a room.

“Thought I’d come down and say good night,” Jensen smiles, pushing off the door frame and crossing the room.

When he rests his hands on Jared’s hips, Jared feels his shoulders relax and knows that Jensen is considering the canvas over his shoulder. “Time is it?” he asks lazily. If he let himself lay down right now, he would drop off in no time. But ‘no time’ is the problem, and he’s not even half way through his collection.

Jensen’s hand trails up his bare torso, nails scraping back down again when he speaks, voice low and easy. “Almost four.”

“You should sleep,” he suggests, knees bending to line up with Jensen, head lolling back against his shoulder.

“I should sleep? When’s the last time you crashed for more than three hours?” Jensen chuckles and pulls away, leaving Jared to sway momentarily before regaining his footing.

Wiping a hand over his face, he shakes his head and crosses the room to slam back the rest of the energy drink he was inhaling earlier. “Gotta get one more at least started tonight,” he insists.

“And it’ll look like shit if you try,” Jensen points out, dropping onto Jared’s rolling stool. “You need to come to bed,” he adds, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

Jared just rotates his shoulders and stretches his face for a second before answering. “Not really that tired,” he says. “Long as I don’t think about being tired.”

Casting a glance over his shoulder, he sees that his boyfriend is about to pass out in his own hands. “Jay?” he asks, voice muffled by the barrier of his palms. “I invited my fucking parents to spend Christmas with us.”

As if Jared doesn’t already know. As if he hasn’t been stressing about it for the better part of the last three days. He won’t let Jensen see it, because Jensen needs to think that it’s no big deal. Because if he thinks, for any reason, that Jared’s not one hundred percent okay with the guests, he will call his own parents and cancel. And while there’s a part of Jared that would be just fine with that, he knows there’s an equal part of Jensen that desperately wants to see them again, even though he’ll never admit it.

“They’re only gonna be here for, what? Three days? I think we can manage to behave like normal human beings for three days, Jen.” He turned back to the canvas and considered the six-foot long piece of blank space.

“It’s not us I’m worried about,” Jensen admits, standing and twisting at his waist. He grins like a fucking teenager when his back pops loudly in three places and Jared winces.

He’s so transparent sometimes. Jared thinks it’s cute when Jensen tries to keep his emotions in check. Even though he doesn’t really talk about them, they’re evident in everything the man does. “They’ll be fine. On their best behavior, I bet. All polite when they pray for our dinner.”

Jared really, honestly, didn’t mean for the snide tone to be quite so . . . snide. But it’s not like Jensen’s parents have been loving and accepting of their big gay son before now. To hear Jensen describe it, they’re pillars of their church congregation back in Texas, which is great. Except for the fact that they can’t show love and compassion to their own fucking son.

He’s really going to have to get that resentment under wraps before the Ackleses show a week from Thursday.

“I just don’t want it to be uncomfortable for you and Bray,” Jensen explains pitifully, and Jared can tell how tired he is. How tired he won’t admit to being.

Jared moves until he's standing between Jensen's spread knees and grasps his hands, dragging them to Jared's hips again. There's something about the feeling of those fingers against the cut of his own muscles that Jared's pretty sure he's never going to stop wanting. “Hey,” he says, waiting until Jensen raises tired eyes to his. “Let it go,” he advises.

Jensen's fingernails dig into Jared's skin. “That's your brilliant advice? Let it go?” When Jared shrugs, he adds, “I want you to like them.”

“I like you,” is Jared's response. Because, in his mind, that's all that matters. How he feels about Jensen's parents is of absolutely no consequence to their relationship at all. “Don't really fuckin' care what your family thinks of our family.”

Hanging his head, Jensen takes a deep breath. He wants to point out that his goal is to blend his family into their family, but he's too tired to listen to Jared make fun of him for being a giant dork at the moment. Instead, he settles for leaning forward and resting his forehead against his boyfriend's hard stomach. “Fuck, I need to sleep,” he breathes.

“Yeah,” Jared agrees, lifting Jensen to his feet by his shoulders. “Come on. Let's go to bed.”

“You're coming with?”

With a chuckle, Jared steers him toward the door and reaches for the light switch. “Think you can stay awake long enough to hear my idea for Brayden's Christmas present?”



“I thought you said they were gonna be in at 2:00.”

Jensen leans his elbow against the window of his car and runs his fingers through his hair, dyed Yuletide Green for the holidays. “That's what the agenda said,” he growls, frustrated from spending the last two hours locked in a car with Brayden, while the kid rambles endlessly about Demi, and a bunch of other kids he doesn't know, the jeans he wants from the mall, and what he had for breakfast.

Don't get him wrong, Jensen loves Brayden. He just doesn't want to hear every fucking thought that runs through the kid's head while his insides are twisted over his parents' impending arrival.

“You're nervous, huh?”

Turning a narrowed eye to the kid in the seat next to him, Jensen smacks the back of Brayden's head and then says, “Ten years. Ten fucking years.”

“Well, yeah,” Brayden starts, his expression thoughtful. Pensive, even. “But they wouldn't be coming if they didn't want to see you, right?”

The thing is, Jensen knows his parents want to see him. His mom has called him about a dozen times since he invited them two weeks ago, and he even got an e-mail from his dad. It was short, didn't really say much, just thanked him for the generous hospitality and said he looked forward to catching up.

The problem is that he has his own family now, and he's just not sure how they're going to mesh. Jared has made it clear that his main concern is Brayden, and Jensen. That he doesn't give a flying fuck about Jensen's parents because, in the six years they've been together, he's never so much as said 'hello' to either of them. They haven't been around, and as far as Jared can tell, they're doing all right on their own.

Brayden hasn't outright said anything, but he rolls his eyes every time Jensen mentions his father. Everything from grocery shopping to selecting a guest room for his folks sends the kid into fifteen-year-old attitude spasms the likes of which rival every time he's told to take Demi up to his room and stop dry-humping in the living room. He once said that he thought Jensen's dad was a dick for not appreciating Jensen when he had the chance. Looks like he hasn't changed his mind much in the last few years.

His cell phone rings before he can worry any further. “Hello? Yeah, we're here. We'll meet you there,” he says, punching the screen on his iPhone to disconnect the call. “Come on.”

Together, they make their way toward the baggage claim. Both walk with their hands shoved deep into the pockets of their jeans, and Jensen can't help noticing, when he catches sight of their reflection in one of the windows, that they're about the same height now. Brayden's going to be a goddamn giant one of these days, just like Jared. And Jensen, at 6'1” is going to feel like the midget of the family. Great.

“So, which one do you look like?” Brayden asks as they sink back against a wall, out of the way of passing travelers.

“Huh?”

“Jesus Christ, Jen,” Brayden rolls his eyes. “Your parents? Which one do you fuckin' look like? I don't know who the fuck I'm lookin' for.”

Turning, he rests his hip against the wall and crosses his arms over his chest. “What did I fuckin' tell you?”

“Watch my fucking mouth around your parents,” Brayden intones. When Jensen finally cracks a grin, Brayden nudges him with one of those boney shoulders. “I do know how to tone it down, ya know? Can't exactly be droppin' f-bombs at school. Or at Dem's house.”

Jensen can't help laughing at that one. “How the hell you ended up with such a conservative-ass girlfriend, I will never understand.”

“She's not conservative. It's her parents who can't seem to grasp the concept that their sixteen-year-old daughter might actually like holding more than her boyfriend's fucking hand, ya know?”

“And that's all I need to hear,” Jensen teases, covering Brayden's face with his hand and pushing the kid back.

He doesn't have time to say anything else before a gasping “Jensen!” is heard in the baggage claim area. His mother's arms are around him before Jensen really has time to greet either of his parents properly. “And this must be Brayden!”

To his credit, Brayden accepts the hug that Jensen's mom throws around his neck graciously enough, though he gives Jensen a wide-eyed 'What the fuck?' over her shoulder.

Jensen just rolls his eyes and turns to his father, the man who drove him away ten years ago. “Dad,” he smiles, hoping to God that his dad's the same guy he used to be. At least that he doesn't do long, drawn-out apologies or anything.

“Son,” his father grins, firmly shaking Jensen's hand and pulling him into a half-hug. “You get taller?”

Jensen rolls his eyes and pulls back to stand next to Brayden. “Um, Bray, this is my mom and dad. Donna and Alan,” he introduces. “Mom and Dad, this is my,” he stops short of saying the word that they don't really throw around, “This is Brayden.”

With a shy wave, Brayden reverts to the nervous, shy twelve-year-old he was when Jensen met him the first time. It's kind of funny to watch, but then Jensen's dad extends the same hand that he did to Jensen, and Brayden hesitates. Jensen's pretty sure he'll fall through the floor if Brayden decides to make a scene now.

Instead, he accepts the greeting and offers a smile. It doesn't quite reach his eyes, but Jensen's the only one who could possibly know that it's not one hundred percent genuine. “Alright,” he says, stuffing his hands back into his pockets and turning his focus back to the couple standing before them. When the hell did they get so old anyway? “You guys hungry? We can grab some lunch before we head back to the house, if you want.”

“Oh, we ate before we left,” Donna assures her son, slipping her arm into his and leaving Brayden and Alan to lag behind on the way to the car. “I can't wait to see your house, Jensen.” It almost feels like those times when he was a kid and they went on some ten-day vacation. When his mother couldn't wait to get back and 'see the house.'

Until she says, “Is Jared there? I can't wait to meet him.”



Jensen's grabbing a beer from the refrigerator when he hears the back door crack open. Casting a glance over his shoulder, he twists the cap on the bottle and can't help quirking his pierced eyebrow at the man glancing surreptitiously around the kitchen.

“Coast is clear,” he smiles with amusement as Jared straightens his shoulders and fully enters the kitchen. “They're settling in upstairs,” Jensen adds.

With a nod, Jared tosses his keys into the dish next to the door and cracks his neck. “Where's Bray?” he asks, eyes darting around the room again.

“At Demi's,” Jensen responds, crossing the kitchen to press a kiss to Jared's jaw.

It's been a stressful afternoon, nerves on top of nerves as he considers everything in his life from his parents' perspective. Even though nothing traumatic has happened, and his mother nearly wept for joy when they pulled into the driveway, he can't really let himself relax until they meet Jared. Until things go well between his parents and his boyfriend.

Jared's shoulders ease and he leans against the kitchen counter, hands resting loosely on Jensen's waist. “How you doin'?” he asks, dipping his head to capture Jensen's lower lip between his teeth.

Jensen lets out a sigh and leans further into Jared's chest. “Overwhelmed?” he answers honestly.

“They give you shit 'bout anything yet?”

“Nah,” Jensen shakes his head digs his fingers into Jared's biceps. Just feeling him, hard and warm and pressed against Jensen's body, helps more than anything else possibly could.

Tilting his head, he captures Jared's lips in his own. He kind of wants to pull away and cross the room, just in case. But then Jared pulls their hips flush together, and he remembers that this is their house, their life, and if anyone doesn't like it, they can fuck off. His parents included.

“Gotta stop,” Jared breathes against Jensen's mouth. When his boyfriend looks at him in confusion, he just winks. “Been wantin' to get your cock in my mouth all fuckin' day, man,” he explains with a smirk.

The groan that rips from the back of Jensen's throat is unexpected, and it only drives his mouth hard onto Jared's, tongues fucking into each other's mouths as their hands grasp and grope for position. “Fuck,” Jensen breathes when Jared's knee wedges between his legs, allowing him to grind down on the hard line of lean, tight muscles beneath coarse denim.

He barely hears the, “Jensen, is there somewhere I can,” before the sound of his father's throat clearing in the kitchen doorway sends him right back to tenth grade. “Um,” Alan stammers.

Pulling back, Jensen runs his thumb over his bottom lip and fights not to blush. His hand stays firmly on Jared's waist, as if pleading for the kid to stay right where he is. Not to abandon him now. Mostly because he's sure he'll crumble and stumble and make an ass of himself without Jared's calming presence.

“Dad, this is Jared. Jay, my dad, Alan,” he introduces. Jared just nods his greeting, and Jensen knows that he's content to stay right where he is. He's not leaving for so much as a handshake. Jensen's dad returns the notion, but is looking at the floor, and the power cord in his hand. Pretty much anywhere but the two men locked together in front of him.

“Is there a coffee shop somewhere nearby?” his dad finally manages to ask when he can use his tongue again.

“We have coffee,” he assures his father, who only stares back at the laptop cord. “And Wi-Fi. Anywhere in the house.”

“I, um,” his father stammers, and Jensen really wishes that there was something he could do to make this less awkward. At least Alan isn't shouting until his face turns red, or pretending that Jensen doesn't exist. “I was thinking of getting,” he clears his throat and forces himself to look at his son, “I was thinking about that peppermint hot chocolate,” he lies, and not at all convincingly.

With a nod of understanding, Jensen pulls himself out of Jared's arms and reaches around his boyfriend to grab his car keys. “Left out of the driveway, straight through the first intersection. Left at the second intersection, and then straight on to the highway. Exit to the Pier. It's not Starbucks, but it's close,” he promises, tossing the keys to his father.

Alan doesn't give much more than a nod as he heads back toward the stairs, seemingly unable to get away fast enough.

Jared's shifting at the counter, unsure of what to say, and Jensen's running his fingers through his hair when the clicking of high heeled shoes on the tile floor alerts them to the presence of another visitor. “Jensen, where's your father go . . “ she trails off when her eyes fall on the man hunched in the corner of the room.

For a fraction of a second, he considers keeping his mouth shut and just letting them introduce themselves. After all, Jared's good with people. But his mother will smack him in the back of the head before she introduces herself to someone he already knows. And then she'll ramble for ten minutes about how she raised him better than that.

“Mom,” he gestures with a hand toward the man who is just starting to pull himself away from the counter, “This is Jared. Jared,” he sweeps his hand back. “Meet my mom. Donna.”

“It's nice to meet you,” Jared smiles, and unlike Brayden, Jensen's pretty sure no one is fooled by the forced smile on this man's lips.

But just like with Brayden, Donna bypasses the offered handshake in favor of a crushing hug that pulls Jared nearly a foot down and knocks him off balance. “It's nice to finally meet you, Jared.” When she releases his neck, her hands move to his arms and Jensen thinks it's pretty fucking funny the way Jared looks completely thrown off. “Though, I have to admit, I feel like I kind of already know you, between Jensen talking about you all the time, and seeing you on television every week.”

In the six years that they've been together, Jensen can't remember ever seeing Jared blush. At least, not like he is now. “You, uh, you've seen my show?”

Now Jensen knows Jared is thrown, because he's told the kid three fucking times that his mother has been watching the show, and that she's probably going to comment on Jared's filthy mouth. All three times, Jared has proceeded to demonstrate just how filthy his mouth can be.

“Of course I have,” Donna chuckles, finally releasing Jared and stepping back to smile at her son. “It's a colorful cast of characters you have working for you,” she goes on to comment, as though trying to prove she actually does watch. “Those girls in your shop are beautiful.”

Jensen has to bite back the groan. T minus three seconds until she starts trying to set them both up with Katie, Sophia, or Genevieve. “Mom,” he tries to intercept the conversation before it gets any more awkward.

Donna throws Jensen a look and then chuckles. “Oh, right,” she shakes her head. “Of course you probably don't notice that, do you?” Her cheeks pinken just a bit at the faux pas. It's not that she means any harm, Jensen knows. It's just habit for her. At least, that's what he keeps telling himself.

“Tell ya the truth, Donna,” Jared finally seems to regain his control of the English language, crossing his arms over his chest with a smug smirk. “I don't really notice anybody else anymore.”

Rolling his eyes behind while his mom's not looking, Jensen makes a crude hand gesture. What the fuck kind of bull shit response is that?

The kind a mother eats up like ice cream. Jensen thinks maybe he falls a little bit more in love with Jared for knowing that, for being better with parents than he could possibly ever give himself credit for. And he's about to promise a blow job or something equally inappropriate when the front door slams shut and a string of curses sound from the entry, all the way up the stairs.

“The fuck is that?” Jensen asks without thinking, worried eyes turning back to Jared.

As though he can't get out of the room fast enough, Jared breaks for the door. “I got it,” he offers, chasing after the cursing blue streak that is Brayden.

When they're alone again, Jensen can feel his mother's eyes on his back. “Sorry about that,” he says, pivoting slowly. He's not sure if he means for Brayden stalking in, Jared stalking out, or for the bomb he just dropped in front of her. All of it seems to warrant an apology at the moment.

“Sweetheart,” Donna says, crossing the room to wrap an arm around her son's waist from behind, “Give your father some time,” she cuts straight to the heart of the matter he kind of thought she'd already forgotten.

“He's had sixteen years, Mom,” Jensen replies, though he makes no move to shrug away from the way she runs her fingernails lightly over the base of his neck. God, it's like he's twelve and getting picked on by the older boys at the skate park all over again. “How much time's he gonna need?”

“To get used to seeing his son with a man?” Donna pulls her hand back and turns Jensen toward her. “Baby, he's . . . he's trying, okay? And he's coming around to the fact that you're setting up a home, and building a family with another man. We both are. But,” she takes a deep breath and rests her hand on Jensen's stubbled cheek, “knowing about it, and actually seeing it are two completely different things. You remember how much you used to love walking in on your father and I kissing in the kitchen when you were in high school?”

Jensen scrunches his nose. For eternity, if he lives to be a hundred, he'll never forget the numerous times he innocently walked into the kitchen to grab a soda after school, only to find his mom pinned against the counter, face being eaten by his father. “Yeah,” he nods and then narrows his eyes and pulls another face. “Still gross.”

The laughter rings long and loud around them, just like it always did when Jensen entertained her back in the day. “And have you ever walked in on Brayden and a girl?” She catches her bottom lip between her teeth and smiles shyly, “Or a boy?”

“Girl,” Jensen corrects her easily and shakes that image out of his head, too. “Only three or four times. A week,” he answers. “Alright, I get it. Dad's not so much freaked about me living with Jared if he doesn't have to think about me actually fu. . . um . . . sleeping with Jared?” When his mother nods, Jensen sighs. “Fine. I suppose we can keep our lips to ourselves around him. Just . . . I can't promise anything with the hands. Jared can be kinda grabby sometimes.”



“Jesus Christ, man, watch it!” Jared exclaims, stepping into Brayden's room just as a pillow zings in his direction. Grabbing it on instinct from the air, Jared hurls it back.

Brayden doesn't so much as flinch, or even acknowledge Jared at all. Just goes on pacing, grabbing things and throwing them, cursing and grunting and growling. It's unintelligible, but it obviously means something to him.

Jared's only seen him act like this way a couple of times, both having to do with his father. The last tantrum was more than six months ago, and Jared's not sure what brought this one on, but if he gets nicked in the head with another pillow, he's gonna knock the damn kid out himself.

Crossing the room without words, he grabs the skateboard he's about to launch and squeezes his wrist. “You wanna calm the fuck down? Like . . . now?”

Brayden stills against the restraints of Jared's hands, but narrows his eyes defiantly. “No,” he grits between clenched teeth. “I don't wanna calm the fuck down. I wanna go back over there and knock the bitch's teeth down her throat.”

Stepping back, Jared crosses his arms over his chest and leans his hip against the wall. “I'mma knock your teeth down your fuckin' throat if you're talkin' 'bout who I think you're talkin' 'bout,” he promises. It's not an empty threat.

With a roll of his eyes, Brayden distances himself from Jared and grabs a teddy bear off the floor. The guys mocked him endlessly when he brought it home from the Pier that night, but Demi gave it to him and he wasn't about to throw it out just because they thought it was too girlie.

“What happened?” Jared asks, voice calm and measured.

It does the trick, because Brayden stops pacing and just flops back on his bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “We were on the couch, right? And we were watchin' a movie at first, but she's got those lips, man,” he smiles faintly, but it disappears as quickly as it showed up. “And it's not like we can fuckin' help it. Shit just happens, ya know?” He lifts his head enough to see if Jared is still listening and then flops back again.

“So you were makin' out on the couch and then what?” Jared prompts. He feels tense, like he's about to break if Brayden doesn't get to the point soon. If he doesn't find out exactly why Brayden wants to punch some girl, possibly his own girlfriend, in the mouth.

“Her fuckin' parents walked in, man,” Brayden exhales as though it should be obvious. “Stupid fuckin' bitch starts freakin' the fuck out about Demi bein' innocent, and me corruptin' her and shit. Like she wasn't the one that jammed my hand up her fuckin' shirt in the first place. Like she didn't tell me she likes feelin' me all hard between her legs.”

“Fuck, man!” Jared holds a hand up, as though it can shield him from the mental picture Brayden just painted. “I don't need to know that shit!”

“Exactly!” Pulling himself back up to a seated position, Brayden nods his head in agreement. “And neither do they. I offered to take it upstairs so they didn't have to fuckin' see it, right? Tryin' to be fuckin' polite. And then she told me to get out.” His eyes go from wide and indignant to glassy and scared in about a half of a second. It gives Jared whiplash. “Dem told me to get out.”

He's not one for emotional displays, but a stabbing pain slices into Jared's gut as Brayden blinks to control the tears he didn't even seem to realize were coming. “Hey,” he says, uncrossing his arms. “Bray, man, it's not,” he starts and then stops himself.

What does he say? Jared didn't exactly date in high school. He didn't get close enough to anyone to have his heart broken. In fact, Jensen's the only person he's ever been with who could actually tear him to pieces, and he's pretty sure that's never going to happen. He doesn't know how to do this.

“Just,” Brayden throws himself back on the mattress again, teddy bear clutched to his stomach like a fuckin' three year old. “Go play nice with Jen's mommy,” he sneers.

Jared wants to flip him off, but it doesn't seem appropriate. Instead, he walks out of the room, shaking his head. They have to do something. The kid's in pain. They have to fix it. Jensen has to fix it, whether his parents are here or not.



When Jared re-enters the kitchen, Donna is seated at the island, sipping from a bottle of water and smiling at some story Jensen's telling her about the marketing department at Macy's. He's leaning against his usual place at the counter, nearly empty bottle of beer dangling between his fingers.

“What?” Jensen asks the second his eyes find Jared's face.

“You gotta talk to him,” is all Jared says.

Back rigid, Jensen pulls himself away from the counter. “Why? What happened?”

“Dem's parents caught 'em makin' out on the couch, and Dem asked him to leave. He's freakin' out like they broke up or somethin',” Jared explains and Jensen feels his stomach drop.

“Fuck.” Setting his bottle on the island, Jensen rests his hands on his hip and considers the possibilities, his mother effectively forgotten for the moment. “Should I call them? I can call Dem's parents and try to talk to them. Or maybe I should just call Demi. She didn't actually break up with him, right? I mean, we can sort it out. We just have to talk to her.” His brain is racing in a million different directions, but they all come back to make Brayden's pain stop.

The clearing of a feminine throat draws Jensen's attention back to his mom. “Can I give you some unsolicited parenting advice, boys?” Donna asks. “As someone who lived a few years with a teenage boy?”

Jensen can't help smiling at the warmth in her eyes. “What do I do, Mom?”

“Don't you worry about the girl, or about why she did what she did. Maybe it's not a big deal, or maybe it is. And maybe none of you will ever know.” She shakes her head and twists the bottle in her hand against the counter top. “You take care of your son. The rest of it will work itself out.”

It takes everything in him not to burst across the room and hug his mother, kiss her, and thank her. Instead, he turns to Jared and rests a hand on his arm. “Call Mikey and tell him to clear the park. Close down early,” he instructs.

“But,” Jared starts, head nodding toward the woman at the counter.

Jensen rolls his eyes. “Dude, we'll be gone a couple hours.” He backs out of the room and shouts up the stairs, “BRAYDEN! MOVE YOUR ASS! COME ON!”

“Jensen,” his mother's voice permeates the silence that follows his waiting for Brayden's response. “You have two perfectly good legs. Walk up the stairs, for God's sake!”

Jared laughs and covers his mouth when Jensen just flips him off. “BRAYDEN MATTHEW RUSSELL, LET'S GO! I'M GETTIN' GRAY HERE!” When his mother pops her head around the corner, Jensen just shoots her a cheeky grin and turns back to the stairs, where Brayden is tromping down with a hoodie in his hand.

“The fuck, Jen? I'm fuckin' busy!” he protests.

Jensen shakes his head. “Busy doin' what?”

“Grieving.”

He's so serious that Jensen almost laughs. He opts for saying, “Grieve on the pipe then. Come on, man,” instead.

Brayden drags his feet, but he follows and Jensen stops to give his mom a half-hug and kiss Jared quickly on his way out the back door. “You two play nice,” he warns.

“You're already fuckin' gray under all that green shit!” Jared calls after him as Jensen slams the door.

It feels like an eternity, or maybe longer, that Jared stands in the kitchen watching Jensen's mom drink from her water bottle and stare at the island. He doesn't really know what to say, and it seems that she doesn't, either. Great. This is a fucking party and a half.

“This isn't awkward at all,” Donna finally intones in a way that evokes so much Jensen that Jared can't help laughing. She stands and pats her hand against the counter top, eyes darting around the kitchen. “Where do you boys keep your cookie sheets?” she asks suddenly, turning inquisitive eyes to Jared.

With a shrug, he answers honestly. “Hell if I know.”

She just smiles and shakes her head like he's just fucking hopeless, and it would sting a little if she wasn't already searching for the item herself. Once she's found what Jared assumes is a cookie sheet, not that they've ever used one before or anything, she sets about opening other cabinets and drawers.

“Y'all don't eat at home much, do you?” she asks, back turned as she pulls items Jared has never seen before out of the cupboard.

“Oh, we eat at home,” he corrects her. “We just don't cook at home.”

With a sigh, she grabs a piece of paper off the top of Jensen's doodle pile and pulls a pen out of the holder on the side of the refrigerator. “If any of you looked any less healthy, I would be a mom about that,” she assures him, turning after only a minute and thrusting a piece of paper toward Jared. “I'm going to need the things on this list.”

He considers the paper without moving, eyebrow quirked. “So what do you want me to,” he starts.

“I want you to go to the market and get me the things on this list,” she instructs, shaking the paper again. “Your son is heartbroken, Jared. Heartbroken boys need fresh chocolate chip cookies.”

He doesn't want to smile, but Jared can't seem to help it as he pushes off of the counter and moves toward her, taking the list and stuffing it into his pocket. “You're going to bake him cookies,” he says the words with a sort of awe.

Patting Jared's arm, she turns back to the ingredients she already has laid out on the counter. “Jared?” she calls out when he reaches the back door. “Full grown men need cookies sometimes, too.” She winks and he's out the door before she has a chance to delve any deeper into that maternal minefield of questions he can already see her considering.

He's only gone for about twenty minutes, and when he comes back the entire kitchen smells hearty and warm. Like home, if Jared ever knew any home but this one. “Smells good,” he smiles awkwardly, dropping the bags onto the counter.

Donna turns and pulls a wooden spoon out of the large pot on the stove. “Jensen's favorite. Come here. Taste.”

Jared moves stiffly to the woman at the stove and lowers his head to lick at the chili she's offering. It's maybe the most perfect thing he's ever had on his tongue, Jensen included. “Shit,” he groans and then opens his eyes wide. “I mean, that's really good,” he amends, inwardly kicking himself.

Jensen sat both Jared and Brayden down for a long talk about not using too much “coarse language” in front of his parents. They mocked him for it, of course, but Jared could see in Jensen's eyes that he wasn't joking. That he wasn't asking them to change who they are, necessarily. He was just trying not to offend his parents, thereby making the weekend even more difficult than it was already going to be.

To her credit, Donna just smiles and turns the heat on the stove down. “You get everything?” she asks, turning to the bags of groceries Jared deposited on the island. “Do you know if you have a mixing bowl?”

Jared nods and grabs the large plastic bowl from one of the high cabinets. “Jensen usually just uses it for cereal,” he chuckles. It's a rare occasion that they take a day off anymore, but when they do, Jared loves the way Jensen fills that bowl with dry cereal and eats it in front of the television.

Taking the bowl, Donna nods and searches drawers until she comes up with a set of measuring spoons and cups. “While he watches cartoons,” she finishes the story and Jared nods, leaning back against the counter. “Does he still eat half of it dry and then fill it with far too much milk?”

“Eats all the cereal and then slurps the hell out of the milk,” Jared confirms, head nodding in agreement with the assessment. It's actually kind of not half-bad to have someone around who knows Jensen as well as he does. Or, at least, used to. He laughs again, and says, “And then he licks the stupid milk mustache off like it's the greatest thing he's ever tasted.”

It's bordering on uncomfortable, the way the silence drags out between them. When Donna has combined a bunch of powdery ingredients Jared's barely paying attention to into the bowl, she says, “I see the way you look at him,” and then cracks an egg against the counter. “The way you love him.”

Shifting uncomfortably, Jared hoists himself into his usual dinner place on the counter and plays with a hole in the thigh of his jeans. What's he supposed to say? She seems nice enough, Jensen's mom, but what if she's baiting him? What if he says the wrong thing and ruins the entire weekend? Why does he fucking care so much?

“Ya know, for a long time, I used God as my scapegoat with Jensen,” Donna goes on, as though she doesn't really expect Jared to respond. “I told him that being gay was against God's will for him, and that he'd never find happiness if he didn't do it the way the Bible said that he should.” Shaking her head, she measures a few more ingredients and plops them into the bowl. “Truth of the matter is that I was terrified for him. Not because I thought he was going to hell, either.

“He was so different. With the art and the hair and the skateboard. Always so determined to stand out, to be different than everybody else.” She sniffles and begins mixing the cookie dough, Jared sitting silently by, fixated on his own hands. “And he was little. Smaller than a lot of the kids in his class, and they picked on him. Because he was quiet, and he liked to draw, and he dressed different. There were so many reasons to bully him and treat him like,” she stops and Jared sees her blink her eyes as she tilts her head.

Truth be told, he kind of understands. The thought of little Jensen getting battered around the halls in middle school makes him want to hurt someone, even if they were just kids being kids. It makes him want to take Brayden to school and walk him to class and just make sure that his tall, scrawny, artistic kid doesn't suffer the same fate. And it kind of makes him sick to his stomach that he can't protect him from it anymore than Jensen's mom could protect him.

“And then he told us that he was gay, on top of everything else?” With a huff, she begins stirring the bowl in earnest, lip worried between her teeth as she collects her emotions. “The first boy he ever loved was our pastor's son,” she sighs and drops her head between her shoulders for a second before resuming her mixing. “Just . . . Jensen has always insisted on taking the hard way around every stinkin' thing in his life, ya know? It's like he tries to make people react. And you might find that admirable, but as his mother? It's completely and utterly terrifying.”

He wants to say something, to insist that she doesn't have to worry anymore. That he's watching Jensen's back. But Jared doesn't know the words, couldn't find them even if he tries. So he just goes right on saying nothing.

“I thought if I could fix him up with a nice girl, if he could just be more . . . normal? If he could try to fit in like everybody else, then maybe I could protect him. Turns out, all I managed to do was drive him away.”

She's right. She did drive Jensen away, and Jared can't really say anything to combat it. So instead, he says, “He turned out okay.”

The lilt of her laughter is actually kind of comforting. When she turns slightly glassy eyes to him, Donna smiles. “Yeah, he did,” she agrees. “He's happy, and he's loved.” Extending the hand not holding the spoon, she rests her fingers gently against Jared's knee. “He's safe. That's all I've ever really wanted for him.” Then, without missing so much as a beat, she pulls her hand back and returns to her cookie-making with a smile. “So, Jensen tells me you're working on some paintings?”

Part Three