raeschae

“Jen, I,” Brayden starts to stammer as Jensen eases the car into the driveway an hour and a half later.

Without letting the kid finish, Jensen pockets the keys and meets Brayden's eye. “Was pretty sure you were gonna slide right off the lip there a couple times. You're getting' pretty fuckin' good at that shit,” he compliments one of the moves Brayden had shown him at the park, in lieu of emotional shit neither of them really want to discuss.

“Better than you,” Brayden teases and Jensen just flips the back of his hair as they head back into the house.

The smells of home assault him so fast Jensen nearly stumbles back. The sight of Jared and his mom laughing over something doesn't help the image. It's all so fucking weird.

“You're home,” Donna grins when Jensen shuts the door. Extending a tray of fresh-baked cookies, she looks only at Brayden. “Hope you like chocolate chips,” she says.

“He likes everything,” Jared rolls his eyes and kicks at Brayden's leg when the kid walks a little too close on his way to the cookies.

“You didn't tell me she was gonna make cookies,” Brayden says, flicking his hair out of his eyes before grabbing three and shooting an accusatory stare at Jensen.

With a shrug, he tosses his keys into the bowl. “Like I knew?” he fires back. After a quick kiss from Jared, Jensen moves to drop one on the side of his mom's head. “You made chili?” She just nods. “Thanks, Mom.”

They didn’t always get along, and pretending that they did is kind of stupid. But Jensen knows that his mother loves him, that despite everything she said when he was a kid, and everything he did to push her away, she’s still here. Making his favorite comfort food, and the same cookies she made Jensen when he needed a pick-me-up back in the day. She’s still his mom, and a decade hasn’t changed that.

“These are amazing,” Brayden groans around an enormous mouthful of cookie.

Jensen didn’t bring the subject of Demi up in the car on the way to the park. Jared already talked to Brayden about the situation, and he wasn’t interested in belaboring the point. Of course, they were about a block from the house when Brayden started spilling the entire story, his hands shaking against his legs.

The truth of the matter is that Demi didn’t break up with him. Not yet. She might, And they’ll deal with that when it happens. Until then, Jensen decided that listening was the better way to go. When they got to the park, he watched while Brayden dropped into the pipe and just took the fuck off.

He’s such a natural on a board, and even when Jensen was skating with him, he was only half-paying attention to his own moves. There’s a grace when Brayden skates that belies his gangly form. So reminiscent of Tony Hawk that it sometimes knocks Jensen back a little bit. He doesn’t know if Brayden’s ever going to decide to go pro, but if he does? Jensen’s pretty sure he and Jared are going to have more than a few pictures of the kid with his neck weighted down in gold.

Once he got the board under his feet, Brayden shut his mouth and just let his moves speak for him. He was all over the park, ollying off of every surface, kick-flipping and grinding with fervor, and then riding lazily when the frustration drained and the melancholy set in. The entire routine was so familiar to Jensen that he almost wished his mother was there to watch it. She would have recognized the whole thing immediately.

And just like Jensen used to be, Brayden is resilient. There’s a slight sag in his shoulders, but otherwise, he’s happy as he can be, stuffing his face full of cookies and moaning like they’re the best thing he’s ever tasted. He’ll be okay, even if his big, bad first love is over for good. He’ll bounce back, like he always does, with charm and grace and a smart-ass remark for anyone who dares remind him what a mopey drama queen he was through the whole thing.

“Alright,” Donna laughs, the tone in her voice firm, but amused. “How about we get some actual real food into you before you eat anymore cookies, huh?” She receives a whine of protest, but rolls her eyes and plucks the last of Brayden’s cookies from his hand. “I swear to God, Brayden, you’re just like your fa,” she stops short of calling Jensen his ‘father’, and Jensen could kiss her square on the mouth for it. “Jensen, get the bowls, please?”

As he does, Jensen watches Jared slither off of the counter without a word. He won’t draw attention to the way his boyfriend grabs a pack of cigarettes from the hall table, or the fact that he’ll be outside until he can catch his breath and compartmentalize today as a whole. If he’s honest, Jensen’s kind of surprised at how long Jared hung around before sneaking out in the first place. Boy deserves a reward later. If he can be quiet enough not to wake the house guests, Jensen just might give it to him.

All he needs is a few minutes, really. Time to take a breath and get away from the madness. Jensen’s mom is pretty great, for a mom, and Brayden’s obviously doing better. Jensen’s more relaxed than Jared’s seen him in awhile, and downright giddy to have his mom around again. He’ll never say it, and for once, Jared won’t tease him about it, but the fact that things are going well shows on his boyfriend’s face. And it kind of hits Jared harder than he thought it would.

Flicking his lighter, he slides the glass patio door shut behind him and blows a long plume into the air. Jensen’s the smoker in the family, but Jared can’t deny he finds the relaxation in the activity on occasion, as well. Days like today, where it’s just too much, too soon, make him crave the deep, satisfying inhale, and the slow, easy exhale.

It almost startles him when he turns toward the loungers and finds Jensen’s dad already there, smoking his own cigar and looking over the pool with a distant expression on his face. When did he get home? How long as he been sitting out here? Does Jensen know he’s here?

Jared has to literally remind himself that this is his house and he has every right to sit by his pool and smoke a cigarette, regardless of who else might be here. So he forces himself to sink onto the unoccupied seat.

Neither man says anything for the longest time, and Jared’s actually starting to be okay with that when Alan clears his throat into the silence. “That your bike in the garage? Or Jensen’s?”

Huh? Jared wants to ask what the fuck, but opts for shaking his head at the question and then answering. If he can be polite to Jensen’s mom, he can certainly entertain his dad, too. Without punching him in the face, hopefully. That’s the goal, anyway.

“We both have,” Jared stops when he remembers that Jensen’s bike is being customized as part of his Christmas gift, and there’s no way that Alan has seen it. “The one in the garage is mine,” he answers.

The house lights illuminate his profile just enough for Jared to make out the impressed nod of Alan’s head. “It’s a beauty,” he compliments. “So’s the car.”

Jared relaxes further into his chair, tension fading somewhat from his shoulders. “I love the bike. The car was kinda Jensen’s idea.”

“He always did like to stand out in a crowd,” Alan sighs, lifting his cigar to his lips and taking another drag. “Hasn’t changed much in the last ten years, with that hair and those goofy clothes.”

Jared wants to tell the guy to get the fuck out of his house. Wants to tell him that he doesn’t get to say who Jensen is now, because he doesn’t fucking know. He hasn’t been here. He may think he knows the kid Jensen was, but he has no fucking clue the man his son has become. Jared wants to tell him he doesn’t deserve to know.

“Took a walk on the Pier,” Alan continues and Jared swallows back his anger for another minute or two. “Saw the skate park, and the tattoo parlor.”

Jared waits, coiled like a spring. ’Remember the Christmas you punched Jensen’s dad in the eye,’ isn’t really the story he wants people telling for years to come, but containing himself is becoming more and more difficult. He lights another cigarette and clenches his free hand into a fist around the lighter.

“It’s impressive,” Alan says. “You’re both really young to be as successful as you are.”

They’re not ever going to talk about it. About Jensen and Jared and being gay and raising a kid and whether or not it’s okay. They’re never going to have to, Jared realizes when Alan asks him about Slinging Ink’s humble beginnings and Jared launches into the story about how he bought and expanded the shop.

Because Alan doesn’t need to know particulars to be okay with the arrangement. In fact, he’s only going to be okay if he doesn’t know them. And that’s fine by Jared. He doesn’t have an overwhelming desire to discuss his sex life with his boyfriend’s father anymore than he wants to hear about Brayden’s himself. If this is his way of saying that he’s going to be okay with Jensen being exactly who Jensen is, even if it’s not exactly what Alan wants him to be? Then Jared can totally deal with this.

Jensen’s parents have been in bed for the last three hours. Brayden just dragged himself to his room about fifteen minutes ago. Jensen showered, and then came back to his room only to find Jared missing. Unless Dad slipped down to the back porch to smoke with his boyfriend again, Jensen can’t really imagine where Jared might be.

Fortunately, he doesn’t have to wait long before the cell phone on his bedside table begins to vibrate, Jared’s grinning picture beaming back at him from the photo screen. “Where the fuck are you?” Jensen asks, running a hand through his damp hair.

“Garage,” Jared answers easily. Before Jensen can ask what the fuck he’s doing out there, Jared huffs and adds, “Just get your tight little ass down here.”

Grabbing a pair of warm up pants from the floor, Jensen climbs into them as he stumbles out the door and down the stairs. The only explanation is that his gift is finished. Why in the hell else would Jared be inviting him to the garage? In the middle of the night?

When Jared said that he wanted to customize Jensen's bike for Christmas, Jensen laughed. Jared's a brilliant artist, on skin and canvas, but what the hell does he know about customizing a bike? He said that he knew a guy who owed him a favor, and he was going to have it done. But he wanted Jensen to okay the design, to make sure that he was getting what he wanted.

It worked for them, because Jensen wanted to get Jared a custom easel for his painting, one that reclines and lays flat so that Jared can work on the canvas like he does the bodies in his shop. He chose the wood, but he insisted that Jared approve the design so that it worked exactly the way that he needed it to.

He's psyched himself up for the big reveal when he pulls the garage door open. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he laughs when he finds Jared sitting in the back seat of his convertible. Well, on the back seat really. Long legs draped over the tan leather.

“Sit with me?” Jared invites, smiling brightly when Jensen makes his way across the garage and yanks the door open. They kiss, and Jared leans back, bracing his arms against the trunk. “So,” he sighs, face turned toward the ceiling in the fluorescent lighting, “Made it through day one, huh?”

Jensen chuckles and shakes his head. “And you made it through day one, which, if you think about, is way more impressive than me doing it.”

“They're not so bad,” Jared concedes with a nod of his head.

Before they can go on extolling the virtues of Jensen's parents, Jared slides off of the back of the car and maneuvers himself onto his knees between Jensen's thighs. “The fuck are you doing?” Jensen asks, pierced eyebrow quirking.

Jared's only answer is to lean forward, effectively burying his face in Jensen's crotch. Pulling back just enough to be heard, he smirks. “I told you . . . Been thinkin' about gettin' you in my mouth all fuckin' day.”

The boy must be made of fuckin' magic and lightning or some shit, 'cause he's got Jensen's pants around his thighs and his cock in his throat before Jensen even realizes what the fuck's going on. “Fuck,” he breathes, handful of shaggy hair between his fingers as Jared works his shaft like a pro.

Jesus Christ. His parents seem to be okay with his life now, and that's awesome. He really is glad that they're doing their best to adjust, and that they really do genuinely seem to want to be here with his family. But with Jared's eyes on him, and his tongue swirling like that? He really doesn't fucking care.

And later, when he's bending Jared over the back of the car and holding his hips while he moans and growls and begs for more, he realizes something. Jared knows him. Better than his parents ever will. Better than Brayden will. Better than anyone in the fucking world, this man knows what he needs (a stress relief, a distraction), when he needs it (after the longest fuckin' day of his life so far), and exactly how to make it happen (far away from his sleeping parents, where he can be as loud as he wants, or close to it). He's a motherfucking god among men is what he is.

“Hey, look at that,” Jared nods toward the giant clock on the far wall of the garage when they've both come and are sagging against each other in the back seat. Yeah, the car's going to need detailing, but who the fuck cares at the moment? “Merry Christmas, Jen,” Jared laughs.

It's just after midnight and Jensen's pretty sure he's going to need another hour or two before his legs actually work to drag himself upstairs and into bed. “Merry Christmas, Jay,” he say, reaching out one weak arm to drag his boyfriend's mouth down to his own. Nothing his parents brought for him is ever going to live up to this gift.

Christmas morning dawns with sunlight and activity at the Padalecki-Ackles house. Well, it does for Jensen's parents. And possibly Jared. Rumor has it, Brayden was up before noon, thanks to his mom's traditional holiday cinnamon rolls, but Jensen doesn't know because he didn't toddle his ass down the stairs until after one. He's a busy guy, and it's Christmas. In this case, one plus one equals not getting out of bed until he was damn well good and ready.

Normally, they cater the giant dinner that they've hosted for the last six years. Any member of their respective staffs who has nowhere to go for whatever holiday they celebrate is welcome to stop by. For the first four years, there was a lot of booze, and some really good weed, and a little (read: TONS) debauchery to make the season bright. Last year, Brayden was living with them, so they didn't exactly get high and lick the sweat off of each other's throats, but they still managed to have a rockin' good time.

But this year? Jensen's mom is insisting on cooking everything. Which is just fine by Jensen. Frankly, he doesn't care how the food gets on the table, as long as it's there when he's hungry. And if she had to start at whatever the fuck ungodly hour she started to get it done? So be it.

When he woke up this morning, Jensen's nerves weren't so much jumping around in his stomach. He knew that everything was going to be okay between Jared, Brayden, and his parents, so there was a relief in that. What he didn't know, however, was how his parents were going to be able to adapt to all of their friends, en masse.

The girls, for the most part, won’t be a problem, of course. Everyone loves them, and they know how to act in front of normal people. Even Tom can manage to come across as relatively sane when he's not jamming his tongue down Mike's throat these days.

They already know Chris, and apparently met Steve when the band traveled through Dallas last. Would have been nice of Chris to mention that, but Jensen's not the same guy he was ten years ago. The shit that used to seem important, like his friendship with Chris being validated by his parents' hatred of the guy, just doesn't seem all that epic anymore. Maybe he has grown up, because now he's just glad to know that his dad and his best friend can be in the same room without accusations of pedophilia and threats of 'the baseball bat' being thrown around.

It’s Genevieve, Chad, and Mike that scare Jensen the most, of course. The three resident non-filtered friends of theirs. But, as it turns out, Jensen's mom is a fan of Genevieve's spunk, as she's seen it on the show, and she thinks it's just beautiful how Sophia handles Chad, and how he responds so readily to her, even when he doesn't know he's doing it. Whatever the fuck that means. And Mike brings wine, and roses, so he pretty much wins the best 'suck up' award handily.

Jensen's dad, of course, doesn't say much one way or the other. Jensen's pretty sure he appreciates having Steve and Chad around, if only for the fact that they are raging heterosexuals. And Danneel kind of has Alan eating out of her hand when she wears a low-cut tank top, and pops a beer cap for him while asking how he feels about Romo's latest choke job, and why the hell Jerry Jones seems to think hiring coaches who run the same tired offense is ever going to help him win another Lombardi trophy.

All in all, he knows he can't complain about the turn of today's events. They're an hour out from sitting down to dinner, and everything is pretty much exactly the way Jensen would have hoped it would be, if he bothered to sit down and think about his expectations for today. Which, of course, he didn't. At all.

His mom is allowing Chris and Steve to help her in the kitchen. They're apparently very good with a set of knives and a spice rack, which Jensen makes a mental note to ride them relentlessly for at a later date. The way Danneel flits between them, hip-checking on her way to the stock pot or the refrigerator, speaks of a familiar ease and might possibly confirm Jared's suspicion that she's banging one, or both, of them. Jensen's pretty sure that asking her about it today would not go over so well. Contrary to popular belief, he does know how to keep his mouth shut on occasion.

Jared's manning the one piece of cooking equipment he doesn't cringe at the thought of: the grill. The outdoor kitchen that they installed a couple of years back has seen more action than the indoor one, and Jared's actually gotten pretty good at steak and chicken. Of course, he doesn't do it often, but he knows well enough not to embarrass himself or anything. Jensen's dad is happy to drink beer, talk sports, and share cigars with Chad and Tom while pretending to assist Jared on the back patio.

Sophia and Sandy both offered to help when they arrived, but Donna told them to relax and enjoy their day off. Neither bothered to ask a second time. Mike joined them in the theater a couple of hours ago, and Katie sank happily to his side when she arrived. Genevieve brought a date, and while they're also in the theater, Jensen's pretty sure neither of them are much paying attention to Miracle on 34th Street.

Everyone he loves is happy and integrated into one big, joyous family, and Jensen couldn't be more relieved.

Well, except for the fact that he's currently standing at the foot of Brayden's bed, while the punk stands in the middle of his own mattress, face set in youthful defiance.

“Fuck you,” Brayden spits, eyes darting from Jensen to the foot of the bed. “You couldn't pay me enough to wear that fuckin' thing!”

Jensen looks at the sweater his mother gave the kid this morning. She brought him a stack of gifts, some that Jensen had told her that Brayden wanted, and some that she came up with on her own. Three guesses as to which category the navy blue sweater with red reindeer falls into.

“Look, man, I know it's not the coolest thing ever,” he starts, twitching at the words. It's not even . . . what's uglier than ugly? It's a fucking terrible sweater. Also, it's a motherfucking sweater. “But she's trying, okay? And she was thinking of you when she bought it.”

“Which screams volumes about what she thinks of me,” Brayden intones, lip curling like the damn thing might come to life and try to attack him or something.

Rolling his eyes, Jensen lifts one foot and kind of kicks at the lump of knitted yarn. “Come on. It's not that bad,” he tries to be encouraging, but dammit if it doesn't fall completely flat.

“It's the single most hideous fucking thing I've ever seen in my life, Jen. And I don't care if God himself sent it to me in swaddling clothes and left it in a motherfucking manger on Christmas fuckin' day. I'm not wearin' it.”

“Bray, my mom,” Jensen starts.

“Is a lovely woman, Jen,” Brayden interrupts and then turns his nose up at the thing on the end of the bed again. “Who happens to have lousy fuckin' taste. It's probably not her fault.” He kicks the sweater to the floor. “But it's not mine either, and there is nothing you can fucking say to make me put that goddamn piece of shit on my body. Sorry.”

A soft knock at the door interrupts the proceedings, Jensen and Brayden both turning when Demi pops her head sheepishly into the room. “Hey,” she greets, cheeks pink with what appears to be embarrassment.

If the sun wasn't already blazing high over head, Jensen would swear that it's blinding inside the room when Brayden's face lights up and his smile splits his face in half. “Hey,” he aims for cool and unaffected, fingers carding through his blonde hair, but it falls more into 'ridiculously, overwhelmingly excited' territory more than anything.

“Can we . . . talk?” Demi stammers, letting herself fully into the room. And dammit, he's a gay man, but he can appreciate cute. The girl is decked out in a mini skirt and flip flops, black hoodie and a pink tank top. She's adorable, and he can't really blame Brayden for being ass-over-feet in love with her. “I . . . Bray, I,” she stops and diverts her gaze to the floor for a second before muttering, “I miss you,” to her feet.

Jensen takes it as his cue to leave the reconciling love birds to whatever kind of disgusting make out session they're about to have. She may be cute and all, but Jensen has absolutely no desire to watch his kid paw and slobber all over her like some overgrown puppy. He's got Jared for that.

Making his way down the stairs, he ducks into the theater just as Ralphie makes his appearance in his bunny costume on-screen. “Y'all are a lazy buncha degenerates,” he accuses, barely drawing a flip-off from Sophia and a glance over his shoulder from Mike. Genevieve's got her face buried in the back of her date's neck, and Katie's carrying on some kind of whispered conversation with the girl.

“Your mom wouldn't let us help in the kitchen,” Sandy offers in defense.

“And I'm sure you tried really hard to convince her,” he teases.

“Just got my nails done,” is her response.

He leaves them to their marathon of Christmas cheer and heads into the kitchen, where his mother and Steve are chopping celery and onions, and Chris is holding his hand under a wooden spoon. Danneel stands almost chest-to-chest with him, mouth open in anticipation.

“Tell me it's not the best thing you ever rolled around on your tongue,” Chris challenges, feeding the spoon into her mouth.

Danneel's lips close around the spoon and her head falls back as she swallows and then groans. “Fuck me,” she growls, slowly lifting her head to meet only Chris's eye. “Second best,” she smirks. If those two aren't fucking, he'll donate his left nut to charity.

He lets himself outside, finding four men deep in conversation. None of them seems ready to swing, so he figures all must be going well. Sidling up to his father, Jensen throws an arm around the old man's shoulder, taking note of the fact that Alan's eggnog glass is almost empty. “The hell's goin' on out here?” he asks.

Alan turns his face toward his son, grins, and then nods toward Tom. “Your business manager here has some incredibly fascinating marketing ideas. I'm thinkin' about stealin' some of 'em to take home with me,” he explains.

Jensen just nods, and kind of loves the fact that his dad is taking business advice from a bigger homo than Jensen himself. It's kind of beautiful and poetic.

Before he can say anything, though, Chad interjects with, “If by fascinating you mean confusing as fuck all and not at all interesting, then yeah. Tommy's a veritable font of useful information.”

For a moment, Alan considers Chad, and Jensen holds his breath. It's not like he really considers Chad his friend. If they ever divorced, Chad would be Jared's in the proceedings for sure. But he's part of the family, and if he pisses Jensen's dad off, this is going to be a long damn day.

“I like you,” Alan tips his cup toward Chad and smiles when everybody else in the circle seems surprised. “No, I do. You say what you think, and you don't care if it's PC or not. I like that.”

Jensen can't help the snort that escapes him. He wants to check his father's ear and make sure he's not one of those pod people from that horrible B-movie they watched last weekend. His dad likes that Chad says what he thinks and doesn't care if anyone else likes it or not? Hell, Jensen built an entire life on doing just that in high school, and it ended up severing his relationship with his father for a decade.

Time really does change things, and people, huh?

Clapping his father on the shoulder, Jensen turns and heads back into the kitchen. If his mom won't let him help, and he's praying that she won't, he'll slip into the theater with everyone else and watch Ralphie put somebody's eye out, or whatever the fuck ever happens in that dumbass, over-rated movie. Maybe he can help Mike braid Katie's hair or some shit.

Doesn't really matter, in the end. His family is all together, and the rest just seems to work itself out.

“I love you.”

Jared quirks an eyebrow from his place atop the kitchen counter and looks down at the man leaning against his thigh. Jensen's got a plastic cup that used to be filled with eggnog between his fingers and he's smiling like an idiot. “You do, huh?”

Nodding, Jensen tilts the cups and drains the remainder of the contents. “I'm also a little drunk, so don't hold it against me or whatever.” He sets the cup on the counter and Jared watches as it tips over. He'll pick it up later.

Jensen leans his head back into the fingers massaging his skull. He does love Jared. Way too fucking much for his own good, he's pretty sure. “Me, too,” Jared whispers when he dips his head to suck at Jensen's earlobe.

Their friends got roped into helping Jensen's mom clean the kitchen after dinner, though nobody really seemed to mind, and then the last of them left about forty-five minutes ago. Jensen's parents turned in about twenty minutes after that. Brayden's been on the front porch with Demi for the last hour and a half, and if the rest of the evening is anything to go by, they'll be attached at the lips until her curfew in another five minutes.

“Got a text earlier,” Jensen breaks the silence between them. “Your easel's ready to be delivered tomorrow.”

Jared nods. “Awesome. I can't wait to try it out.” He cards his fingers through Jensen's green locks again and then rests his forehead against the crown of Jensen's head. “They dropped your bike off while you were still sleepin' this morning.”

Turning, Jensen's eyes grew wide. “You didn't think I might wanna fuckin' know that?” he asks incredulously.

With a shrug, Jared kisses him and then slides off the counter. “When did we have time to look at it?” he poses the question even as he's pulling Jensen toward the garage. Maybe they can encore last night's performance, if they're lucky.

Instead, the front door clangs open just as Jared's about to open the back one. A dreamy-eyed, lanky-ass kid with the dumbest grin either of them has ever seen comes loping into the room with his hands shoved deeply into the pockets of his shorts.

“So, we're back together,” he announces.

“No shit,” Jared responds, rolling his eyes and knocking the back door closed with his hip. “Not like you ever really broke the fuck up.”

“Dude,” Brayden defends, grabbing a pint of ice cream from the refrigerator, “We didn't even talk for two days. Like twenty-seven hours or something. It was hell.” He doesn't even bother grabbing a spoon, just snakes his tongue into the carton and slurps at the Rocky Road.

Jensen watches him, intrigued, for a moment, his motorcycle long-forgotten. “You're so fuckin' gross,” he laughs when Brayden flips him off. Shifting his focus back to the man at his side, they have a quick conversation without words and then Jensen turns back to Brayden. “You want your present now?”

Brayden's eyes double in size for a brief moment and then he sucks another lump of ice cream out of the tub. “Whatever,” he shrugs as though it's no big deal. As if he hasn't been asking for a week and a half why there are no presents under the tree for him.

Jared and Jensen don't do multiple gifts. In the time they've been together, they've established that it's better to go balls out on one big thing than to worry about a mountain of little things that don't end up being half as valuable. Brayden will learn it, too. Eventually.

Leading the way, Jared walks away from the back door and down the hall to the sliding glass that leads to the patio. He hears a groan and smiles to himself when Brayden mumbles, “You didn't fuckin' paint me some naked dude or some shit, didya?”

Without turning for a big reveal or whatever, Jared pushes the pool house door open and steps inside. It was a logistical nightmare, getting his studio moved into the basement for the time being, and hiring someone to renovate and redecorate the space. It took just under a week, and had to be accomplished while Brayden was at school so he wouldn't suspect.

But all of the planning, and sneaking around, and growling into the phone is worth it when he turns and sees the look of shock on Brayden's face.

“Holy fuckin' shit,” Brayden breathes from the doorway. “This is like,” he shakes his head and then looks at the men standing side by side in the center of the room. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Jensen shakes his head and stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Your almost sixteen, right? Your friends are here all the damn time anyway. This way, Jay and I get the house back, and you have some place to hang out without us walkin' in and out all the time.”

It's pretty fucking incredible, and they all know it. The pool table, and the flat screen. The stereo system and the kitchenette. The video games and the oversized furniture. It's pretty much the hang out every kid wishes they had at home. Or, rather, they wish they had parents cool enough to give them.

“I don't even know what to say,” Brayden shakes his head and then buries his fingers in his hair, mouth agape. It's not often that anyone renders him speechless. That, in itself, kind of feels like a gift.

“There are a few rules,” Jared starts and Brayden nods, though he's staring at television instead of them. “No alcohol. No drugs. No illegal activity of any kind,” he states the obvious.

“We find so much as a hint of it, and this goes back to bein' Jared's studio faster than you can execute a 540. We clear?” Brayden nods again at Jensen's, eyes still failing to focus on anything for longer than thirty seconds.

“Second: This is a place for you to unwind. Your grades slip, or you miss work? It's gone,” Jared tries to remember if there's anything else he and Jensen talked about in creating Brayden's own personal party pad. “OH,” he holds up a finger. “Look at me.” Brayden blinks and startles, as though the spell is kind of broken. “You plan on being in any state of any kind of undress, with Demi or otherwise, out here? You better lock the goddamn door and pull every fucking blind on every fucking window. I don't wanna walk in on that shit. Nobody does.”

A wide grin splits Brayden's face and he nods vigorously before launching himself at the two men before him “You guys are the best. Ever!”

Rolling his eyes, Jensen pushes Brayden away. To his dying day, he'll deny just how much that brief bit of contact means to him. But he'll let himself feel it later. When he's not trying so hard to maintain his 'cooler than anyone else's dad' exterior.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, patting Brayden on the back as the kid makes to pull away. “We're the greatest, and you're not a colossal embarrassment or a total fuck up. It's all love and candy canes.” Nodding toward the couches positioned in a U shape around the television, he adds, “Now, who's up for getting' their ass handed to 'em at Halo?”

Jared snorts and lowers himself to the new red leather couch. “Dude, like you've ever handed anybody their fuckin' ass at this game. You suck at it.”

“Oh, I'll show you what I suck at,” Jensen taunts back.

With a groan, Brayden tosses them each a controller and nods toward the door. “Do I need to lock the door and pull the fuckin' blinds? 'Cause trust me when I tell you, nobody wants to see that shit.”

Jared starts the game and they each settle into their places, Jared and Jensen on the ends of the couch with Brayden between them, all talkin' smack and slappin' each other in the back of the head.

When Jensen was a kid, they had the whole family over for dinner and then he sat with his mom and dad and opened gifts around the lit Christmas tree when everyone else had gone home for the night.

He's kind of got to admit that he wouldn't mind if this, right here, becomes their family's tradition.