The characters aren't mine and I make no money from them.
Credit goes to Smashing Pumpkins for this. In their words, "the words flow, decisions made. Idea's mine, but the inspiration not." Unbeta'd.
Soot and Stars
Some days he tricked himself into thinking this had been his decision. It was made now, for better or worse, but the thing that drove it home was never his. That hesitant fear that shook like tinkling leaves hadn't never been his. The thing he'd always feared lived underneath the earth somewhere and wasn't real.
And in his dreams he could ride it forever. Forever. And it was alright. And he had all the right sort of magic to make it work. But that was dreams.
He always tellin' me what to do, right n' wrong, but don't never question himself. Jack tried to muster a little self-righteousness, but failed. Maybe if the decisions been different, the sentiments would be, too, but as it was Jack didn't have near enough Ennis to sully the parts he did have.
But none of that belied the sheer restlessness in Jack's bones, knowing that the path they were on would never bring them rest. It was a hard race to run, knowing that there was no pit stop, not really, just watering holes, and then keep going until you drive yourself and your horse into the dust of the earth itself and into death. A race with no finish line.
It was never up to Jack, no sir, but he sure as hell pushed it as far as he could. Maybe even 'til it broke.
They were long roads, long fucking roads, going East, going North, going in any direction you wanted to go, really. Heading ninety five miles an hour towards infidelities. But against all reason, he loved the roads, all they suggested to him, and he loved the way the tires drug up dust like those innocent settlers had with their wagon wheels back when things were real and for sure.
He drove those long roads for love, and that was that. And sometimes the hum of asphalt against tire was the only declaration Jack had of that, one of many asphalt sounds in the big towns. Just a low hum, but audible by night through the small ones. When Jack's own voice caught, those wheels spoke true.
Now the race was drawing to a close. Jack could feel his restless bones hungry with the night. They'd drawn their fortifications, Jack and Ennis both had, and Jack had piled his gates high, maybe finding the self-righteousness after all. And still above the ramparts he could see the stars shining through the night, and the blue clouds floating overhead. Ennis's fort had blocked out the sky, but Jack's had blocked out everything but. Maybe together they had just one whole world between them.
Meanwhile Jack could be jealous of the birds.
And though Ennis was fading from his earthly sight before his eyes with every passing month, somehow that thing inside never faded. Ennis, whose voice was firm like the earth, who gave care not to inspire Jack by accident only to let him back down-- still that voice was the muse for Jack's own soaring thoughts, the soundtrack to his dreams. Ennis didn't have to try to move him to succeed.
And that was where Jack's defenses went up against the world. He felt caught in a cage of his own making, not sure who to blame. He wanted to defend every last one of Ennis's actions, but there wasn't anyone to defend them to, so he cried to himself alone that maybe Ennis was right, maybe Ennis was right after all.
But, always fighting that, Jack's will to move, need to scream under the sky at speed. Even if Ennis was right, Jack couldn't help his instincts. His needs.
But then Jack felt like a dog, waiting in a corner to be summoned by its master. Pathetic. Waiting, always. Hopeful, too. Purpose, will, shame, pride, need, instinct-- none of those meant anything against the hope of hearing that voice reach out to touch him.
And mostly it seemed to Jack that he was asking Ennis for himself, for permission to be himself. That was all he ever needed since he was a child. But he didn't ever get it. And there it was, sullied at the last. For better or worse, when his last breath took him, Jack blamed Ennis.
But though he was covered with road grit, blood, and soot from head to toe, his one good eye watched as the first star of the evening lit the sky of dreams, finally within Jack's reach on the other side of mortality.