TITLE: Scenes from an Unplanned Life
SPOILERS: Anything from the series is fair game here.
DISCLAIMER: I neither own nor claim to own anything relating to the show Drake & Josh. The powers that be from Nickelodeon and Schneider's Bakery own all. I am not making a profit except for the satisfaction of being able to play with words for a little while.

Chapter 2: A Place Called Home

POV: Drake, 25 years old

The neighborhood hadn't changed much. The houses were still nice; the lawns were still neatly manicured. Drake sat behind the wheel of a beat up old Buick four-door parked in the shadows between two street lights. Jack had finally stopped fighting it and had fallen asleep two hours before; he was curled up in the backseat, using Drake's jacket as a blanket.

Drake adjusted the rearview mirror so that he could look at the boy as he slept. Jack was lying on his left side, right hand wedged under his cheek, left hand resting on the pillow, his fingers slightly curled. Drake hadn't told him the reason for the trip, had just said that they were going away on an adventure before school started in August. He felt a little guilty about that now as he watched his son sleeping. He tried to never lie to the kid and supposed he wasn't really lying now – whatever was going to happen in the next few days would be an adventure. Whether that was good or bad remained to be seen.

Jack stirred and Drake quickly shifted his gaze to the house across the street, his eyes going automatically to the window over the garage. There were so many memories tied up in the room that lurked behind the darkened glass – memories that he had spent the better part of the last seven years covering with layers of forced amnesia.

If you don't remember it, it can't hurt you.

Not that he had anyone to blame but himself, really. He was the one that had chosen to leave a week after graduating from high school with nothing but the 1500 he had managed to save up, his favorite acoustic guitar, and the determination to live his own life. They had asked him to reconsider, to give it some more thought. But he had always been the impulsive one – jumping out of helicopters without a parachute.

Ha. There went another memory.

His parents had gotten angry – anger borne of fear, he now realized – and had told him that since he obviously felt he didn't need them anymore, that he shouldn't come crying to them when his life didn't turn out as he planned. He of course, in the heat of the moment, had taken them literally. A month of no communication turned into a year, then one year into two, until seven years later, he sat outside his childhood home feeling like a total stranger.

Life hadn't turned out the way he'd planned. But it was his life. And he didn't regret it.

"Where are we?"

Drake jumped at the sound of Jack's voice. "Hey, bud. Did you sleep okay?" he asked, turning in his seat to look at the boy. Jack's hair was sticking up on one side and sleep creases crisscrossed his left cheek. Drake himself was exhausted. He looked at his watch. It was getting late – 11:19pm on the west coast. But his body was still on Eastern Time.

Yawning, Jack climbed between the two front seats and sank heavily into the passenger's seat. "I guess. The seat's kinda uncomfortable, though."

"Yeah, I know. I'm sorry." Drake felt guilty; if he wasn't such a coward, they would probably be inside right now and Jack would be sleeping in a real bed. As it was, he had spent the last hour and a half staking out his parents' house in a borrowed car, trying to find the courage to confront the life he left behind when he was eighteen.

"'S okay," Jack replied, his voice still scratchy from sleep. He rubbed his eyes and looked through Drake's window at the house across the street. "Where are we?" he asked again, looking at his dad.

"See that house right there?" Drake asked, pointing out the window. His nerves were starting to surface.

Jack nodded.

"I used to live there." At Jack's surprised expression, he continued, "A long time ago. When I was a kid."

Jack leaned forward, his body spanning the console, and propped himself up on Drake's leg as he studied the house more closely. "Which one was your room?"

"The one over the garage." He took a deep breath, trying to calm his growing anxiety. Looking over at his son, he could see a million questions in the boy's eyes – questions he wasn't ready to answer yet. Jack opened his mouth to speak.

"Jack," Drake said, stopping him. "It's a long story. And I'll tell it to you sometime. Just not right now, okay? I'm tired." Drake pinched the bridge of his nose and leaned his head against the headrest, closing his eyes.

"Okay." Jack watched his father in silence for a long moment, then shifted in his seat and thrust his legs out in front of him. His feet hung over the edge, untied shoelaces dangling from his sneakers.

The prolonged silence was finally broken by Drake's voice saying, "Come on." He had come to a decision. Pushing open the driver's door, he started to step out.

"Where're we going?" Jack asked, grabbing the door handle with both hands and pushing open the door.

"We're gonna go ring the doorbell." Drake stepped completely out of the car and shut the door with a dull thud. He turned towards the house, his hand still resting on the roof of the car. His heart pounded against his ribs.

Jack got out and closed the door behind him, walking around the front of the car to stand next to his dad. "But it's dark. Won't we wake 'em up?"

"Maybe." Drake took a deep breath. "But it's now or never," he said softly. He looked down at his son. "Ready?"

Looking up at him with eyes darkened by the dim light, Jack asked quietly, "Are you?"

Drake smirked. Good question. "As ready as I'll ever be," he answered, looking back at the house. "Let's go." He started across the street, his boots tapping out a muted staccato in the nighttime quiet.

The plants lining the front walk were different from the ones he remembered. But the intricate design in the glass in the front door hadn't changed, he noticed, as they climbed the steps to the porch. He knelt in front of Jack and grasped the boy's arms. "Listen to me carefully. I don't know how this is gonna go, okay? So I want you to stand right here," he said, positioning the boy to the left of the door where he would be unseen by anyone standing in the doorway, "and be as quiet as possible. Can you do that for me?"

"Okay. But why?" Jack asked.

Drake closed his eyes for a second. His composure was starting to crack and he swallowed down the growing lump in his throat. He didn't want to tell his son that there was a possibility that the door would be slammed and he would rather it be in his face and not Jack's. "Just this once don't argue with me, okay? Please."

"Okay, Daddy," Jack replied softly.

Daddy. Jack never said that unless he was scared. Drake smoothed his right hand over Jack's unruly hair. "Everything's gonna be okay. I promise," Drake whispered reassuringly. "You trust me?"

Jack just nodded, eyes wide.

"Good." He gave the boy's shoulder a squeeze. "I love you, Jack."

"Love you, too." He blinked away the tears that were threatening to fall, dark lashes glistening in the light.

Drake stood, knees shaking, and walked to the front door. He inhaled deeply, pushing the air out quickly past his lips. "Here goes," he said under his breath as he brought a trembling finger to the bell and pressed.

Muted chimes resonated through the quiet house. Drake tapped the toe of his boot nervously as he waited and hooked his thumbs in the back pockets of his jeans, casting a quick glance at Jack. The silence seemed to drag on forever and he was about to ring again when he heard the deadbolt slide back.

The sound captured Drake's attention and he fixed his eyes on the seam between the two doors. The one on the right opened about a foot. Drake could see a pair of slippered feet and the cuffs of some blue flannel sleep pants sticking out from the frayed edges of a battered blue robe. He couldn't bring himself to look up.

"My God," he heard Walter mutter, his voice nothing more than a stunned whisper. "Drake."

Drake finally looked up, his eyes meeting Walter's over a chasm formed by seven years of separation. "Hello, Walter." He wasn't sure he could say anything more.

Walter had changed in small ways – his hair was graying at the temples and crow's feet branched out from the corner of each eye. He also had dark circles under his eyes, but Drake chalked those up to being awakened suddenly by the return of the prodigal son.

The two men just stared at each other through the crack in the door, seven years of estrangement standing like a fortress between them. "I-I know it's late," Drake said dumbly, unable to stand the silence.

Walter shook his head, waved his hand in the air between them. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

"It's good to see you, Walter." Drake hadn't known how much he had missed his stepfather – a man who had been more of a father to him for so many years than his own father had been – until that moment.

Drake saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Jack stood staring expectantly back at him from his hiding place. He gestured for the boy to come over.

Jack shuffled the few steps to his dad, his untied sneakers scraping along the porch. Taking Drake's hand snugly in his, he looked silently up at Walter.

In his surprise, Walter let go of the doorknob. The door slid open another couple feet. Drake could see the tears welling up in the older man's eyes as he studied the boy.

"Walter, this is Jack." Drake looked down at his son and squeezed his hand. "Jack, this is your Grandpa Walter."

"Hello, Jack," Walter said reverently. Unshed tears shone in his dark eyes.

"Hi," Jack said shyly, inching even closer to Drake's leg.

"Can we come in?" Drake finally asked, breaking the tense silence.

Walter was startled out of his reverie and he flicked his gaze back to Drake, his lips moving slightly as he assimilated the question into his mind. "Of course," he finally said, standing aside. "Of course," he repeated, watching his son and his grandson – he still couldn't believe it – walk into the foyer. He closed the door quietly and turned on the overhead light, turning to watch Drake inspect the living room.

The only thing that was different was the furniture. A strange sense of nostalgia came over Drake and he was struck by the notion that he and Jack and Walter were stuck in some kind of suspended animation where time stood still for them as the world rushed past outside.

"Walter?"

The sound of Audrey's voice cut through the silence. Jack's hand slipped out of Drake's as the little boy hid behind his father's legs at the sound of another strange voice. Drake found himself staring at the doorway that led to the stairs, stuck in place, his heart pounding in his ears.

"Who–?" she asked, but the rest of the question died on her lips. The blood drained from her face in an instant and she reached out blindly, instinctively for her husband. She looked as though she'd seen a ghost and in a way, she had. The son who'd been so out of reach for seven years now stood just a few feet away.

"Drake," she whispered in a choked voice. "Drake."

"Hi, Mom." Drake found it hard to talk. He had to bite down hard on his tongue to keep from crying.

Her hand was suddenly on his cheek and Drake had a memory of a thousand touches just like it. "My baby," she whispered through the tears that fell uninterrupted from her eyes. And for once he didn't mind the endearment.

Jack stirred against Drake's legs and peeked his head around to look up at Audrey. Audrey pulled her gaze away from her son to focus on the boy. In her shock, she hadn't even seen him hiding behind Drake.

She knew instantly who he was. "Oh my god," she uttered as her face collapsed in on itself, her hand covering her trembling lips.

"His name's Jack," Drake said.

Audrey knelt in front of the boy and reached her hand out to him, then pulled it away when he took a step back. She looked up at Drake, then back again.

Drake bent to talk to his son. "It's okay, Jack. She's your grandma." He cupped his hand around the back of the boy's head and gave him a gentle push, urging him towards Audrey. "Say hello."

Jack cast one more glance over his shoulder at his dad, then turned to Audrey and said, "Hi." Then he looked at her quizzically and said, "I've never had a grandma before, but I don't think they're supposed to cry. I think they're supposed to make cookies and stuff."

Audrey laughed and dragged her hands across her cheeks. "I think you're right." She sniffled. "No more crying," she said resolutely. "And tomorrow I'll make you all the cookies you want." Her fingers found the edges of his dark bangs and lingered there a moment before pushing them back in the same way she'd always done with Drake.

Jack grinned and looked up at Drake. "Can she, Dad?"

Drake looked from his son to his mother and back to his son. "Sure," he said, trying to smile. He still found it difficult to speak. He knew the tough stuff would come later, but he was endlessly relieved that so far, things had gone better than expected.

Jack turned back to his grandmother. "I like peanut butter ones the best," he stated. "But you have to make some for my dad, too. He likes chocolate chip."

Audrey smiled and looked up at her son. "I know."

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