Title: Nothing Ended
Author: Jessymama aka Marakeshsparrow
Pairing: Jack/Ennis
Rating: R for language, some sexuality, and violence
Warning: Sadfic alert. Major death of character.
Summary: The complete story of Jack's death that wasn't seen in the film.
Disclaimer: Obviously these characters are not mine. I think we all understand that by now.
Author's Note: This was my Everest. I kept feeling like Jack's death needed to have a proper telling, but I really didn't want to commit to writing it myself. But, alas, I was sucked in. I've always wanted to know what it would have been like for him dying on the side of the road, and I hope that I was able to capture it honestly enough. Please comment, because I truly respect all of your opinions.
They'd surprised him, snuck up on him while he was kneelin' down by his pick up mumbling and cursing because he was late and he couldn't get the goddamn lug nuts off a the goddamn hub of the tire.
He'd been cruising south down US 83, not very far out of Childress, whistling along with a catchy tune on the radio. He was on his way to Lubbock for a dinner meeting with the region sales rep for all Massey Ferguson farm equipment and the local Lubbock FarmAll distributor. It was around three o'clock in the afternoon and he had about a two and a half hour drive before him to get to an over-priced steak house by five. He could make it, if he really put the pedal to the metal.
'Damn it all to hell.'
That wasn't what had him all jumpy and excitable, though. Hell no. He'd be damned before doing any fucking favors for that sonofabitch L.D. ever made him whistle and smile howdy-do to the Texas plains while he was driving. Nope. What had him fidgeting around in his seat, big ol' stupid smile plastered across his face like a kid was all on account of one thing. Today was August 1st, which meant only three months until November. Only three months 'till he was able to pack up his reliable Ford truck, say 'fuck you' to Childress, and return to the only person that kept him breathing, the only person that gave meaning to his piece a shit life.
Only three months.
'Course it could have been only three days. Could a been meetin' in August, if things'd gone the way ya planned.'
Jack's smile slipped from his face. He sighed looked out the window then back at the lonely two-lane highway.
'Yeah well fuck all's worked the way you wanted, Twist. Told him that yourself last May.'
Truth of the matter was, that he and Ennis could have been meeting everyday if they'd wanted. If Ennis had wanted. Jack had always wanted things and would have been rearin' to go and ready if Ennis had even hinted at it.
A place of their own. Save the heartbreak, and the blue balls, and the endless hangovers from drinking too goddamn much for someone else. Jack closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger like he was stopping a nosebleed.
'No need dwelling on that, Twist. No need beating yourself up about all the trouble, and all the wasted years, and all the pain.'
No need to dwell on their angry confrontation at the lake in spring.
'Just best to let old dogs lie.'
Truth be told, he wasn't sure if he could let that one lie. It had taken long hours and weeks cursing himself, drinking, and fucking around with Randall to let that dog even heel. He was still working on getting it to roll over.
'Ah, give it a rest.'
Even these thoughts wouldn't shake his mood right then. He wasn't going to let no one ruin his mood, not even Ennis.
' How can I let the man that's got me up in the first place bring me down in the end?'
Jack laughed at this. Laughed, shook his head and then continued whistling, this time to a new tune that had started to play.
Ennis Del Mar.
Ennis Del Mar, who he knew he could never quit no matter how hard he tried. Ennis was like a prayer at a dying man's bed. It could never be refused, no matter how far away from God he might've drifted.
The song ended on the radio, and a news brief came on talking about troubles around the world; disease, famine, war, troubles Jack wanted no part of. He switched the radio off and turned his eyes back to the road, his thoughts back to himself.
Jack had thought about the idea of quitting Ennis, leaving him behind to find someone else. He'd thought on that long and hard. But the thought of Jack sharing with some other man the kinds of things he shared with Ennis, just didn't seem right, or to be honest, possible. Sure he screwed around with other guys, had some high times with Randall and a few very drunken nights with Mexican prostitutes, but that was just physical, just a little taste of water to keep him going till he got to the oasis. Jack had always been easy with his smiles and more recently his body, but he'd never been able to give in to anyone the way he gave in to Ennis Del Mar.
God only knew how much he loved that man.
So he'd tooled around with the idea, found it troubling and disgusting, and then got to the point where he regretted ever saying what he'd said up there by the lake. How could he have told Ennis what he could hardly admit to himself? Well it was all in vain now, all bad water behind him, and he just wished that he could tell Ennis that he could never quit him, and he was glad just to get to have the small part that Ennis allowed him to.
Damn that man had a powerful hold over him.
'Enough dreary, serious thoughts. Think on somethin' sweet. Think on that time a couple a nights before you last parted when Ennis sat straddling you; you laid back, enjoying the feel of being inside him and watching him buck up and down, eyes closed, head back, moaning yer name like hardly ever happened.'
What a powerful hold that man had on him.
It was with this sweet memory and a slight hard on, that Jack's pick up hit a huge pot hole in the side of the road and the right front tire of his, thought to be anyway, bullet proof truck blew. He had to grip the wheel fiercely and slowly pull the wild jerking machine over to the side of the deserted US 83 highway. Lubbock, never feeling more far away then it did just then.
So here he was. Late for his godforsaken meeting, pissed like a mule, and ready to throw the fuckin' tire iron into the desert for all the good it was doing him.
Sweat was trickling down the sides of his head, slicking the gray hair he had developed flat against his temples. He wiped some of the hot, sticky sweat from his brow with his navy blue button up shirt (his black sports coat long since abandoned at his feet) and tipped his black Stetson farther back on his head. He had to dig his knees into the dirt to try and get some leverage so he could attempt unscrewing the unusually tight lug nuts. He reckoned they'd have to be tight to keep his wheel on, but the fact was pissing him off at the moment.
'Well, shit. Now I'm going t'look a mess for my fucking dinner meetin'. All sweaty and covered in dirt.'
And red north Texas dirt showed up real nicely on a pair of black jeans.
He was so busy with his thoughts and his task at hand, that he didn't notice the rusty old pick up full of men from town pull in behind his until the door slammed and a loud raspy voice said, "Well look what we got here, boys."
Jack's first instinct was relief at the thought of someone stopping to help him, maybe give him a ride to the small bus station out side of town to see if he couldn't still get himself to Lubbock in time, if they were heading that way, o' course. But when Jack turned his sweat-drenched head towards the commotion he knew that that was not the first thing on these folks' minds.
Jack stood, tire iron still in hand, to face his new found company. There were three of them. He recognized the one closest to the rusty Chevrolet, man name of Chet Haggar that worked at the Texaco station north of Childress. A real redneck, but he'd seemed like a pretty nice guy at the time. Jack had gone to the Texaco and had him change his oil a couple of times, rotate his tires. A real good ol' boy, or so he thought. Now though, he didn't look near as friendly. He was wearing his oily coveralls from the station, and he had an angry, closed look on his face, eyes black as some of the bulls Jack had once ridden. He was breathin' kind of heavy like them bulls used to do when the rider would sit down on them and the gate was fixin' to fly open, too. Not a pretty sight.
Jack thought he recognized one of the other guys, seemed like he'd seen him at the Copper Mug, or one of the other bars in Childress. He didn't know his name though. The third man was tall, young looking, and wearing a soiled black baseball cap. Could have been anyone. Jack didn't associate with too many people outside of business, unless he knew he could get more than a handshake from 'em.
The three men continued their loping stride towards where Jack was standing just a few feet from his truck. More sweat trickled down his face and the back of his neck. He could feel the back of his dark shirt sticking to the area between his shoulders like a rag dipped in glue. He loved it when Ennis placed his open palm on exactly that spot.
"Well, g'day fellas." Jack put on his smooth salesman voice but his blue eyes stayed alert and weary.
"What brings you way the hell out here? Comin' to help me with my flat?" Jack laughed trying to keep his nerves down and trying to keep the hounds at bay.
They came closer, Jack's attempts at friendly conversation obviously worthless to three men on a mission. They started to circle around him, the young guy with the black cap moving behind him. Jack wanted to turn towards the black cap boy, but he didn't want to turn his back on Chet's bull face. Didn't want to give him a chance to charge.
'What the hell do these assholes want with me?'
Jack swallowed the panic building in his throat hard like a knife, and continued his polite 'friends meeting by chance' banter.
"You see, I didn't even notice this huge pot hole a ways back, and my damn truck hit it straight on. I—"
Pain exploded in his leg right as the tall young one behind him jabbed his steel toe boot into the backside of Jack's right knee. His leg buckled and he hit the dirt hard, bracing himself roughly with his wrists. The tire iron he was holding forgotten in the surprising and blinding pain.
"Shut the fuck up, faggot." Spat the one who had kicked his knee out.
The other one he thought he recognized was standing to his left and kicked Jack hard in the ribs. Jack let out a cry and lost his balance, falling flat against the ground, hat flying across the scorching dirt.
Jack gritted his teeth and tears of anger clouded his vision. Well, now he knew what this was all about. Sure did. About a month ago, Jack had stopped by the Texaco Chet worked at before heading out to Roy Taylor's cabin on Lake Kemp. Randall had been with him o' course. Him and Randall had never felt the need to meet up there in secrecy. Who cared if two guys were in a truck together packed up to go camping? Saw that all the time.
They'd been sitting there in Jack's Ford, hood of the truck raised up, while Chet was finishing up the oil change. Jack had casually placed his hand on Randall's knee, not thinking anything of it, not thinking anyone was watching, not realizing that Chet had finished changing the oil and was standing at Jack's window waiting to show him the level of the oil on the dipstick.
Flustered, Jack had pulled his hand away and coughed an approval at Chet, who gave him a weary look, but kept his mouth shut. How did Jack know that something that little, that insignificant would lead to this? How could he ever expect that in 20 some years of sneaking around with Ennis, silently damning him for his stupid unwarranted paranoia, that some meaningless gesture with Randall, who he could give a flying fuck about, would get the hounds out sniffing and pointing and ready to sick him like a rabbit in a bramble patch?
Rough hands grabbed him by the back of his collar and dragged him to his feet. His knee resisted the forced retrieval, and whoever had him by the collar tripped momentarily, surprised by Jack's dead weight. Jack took this chance to fight.
He shoved the man that had him by the collar backwards, slamming his back full against him, and then charged full speed at Chet Haggar who had been standing in front of him. He was able to tackle him to the ground, ignoring his bum knee and hurt ribs, and pulled back his fist to slam into his face. He got in a couple good punches, and thought he might've knocked out some of his teeth, and probably broken a knuckle to boot. That didn't matter, though, as he pulled back to get another punch into Chet's ugly ass mug. He was seized by the two he had left standing dumbstruck behind him, and before he knew it they had pinned him against the side of his truck. He let out an angry yelp when the door handle hit his sore ribs.
Chet worked his way off the ground slowly, wiping blood off his mouth with his fore arm. He made his way over to Jack, real casual like he was coming to speak to an old friend at the bar, a big lopsided grin plastered across his face. Only his eyes betrayed him.
'How could I ever a thought he was a nice guy?'
Chet stopped directly in front of Jack. He squared his shoulders back, big smile never leaving his face.
"You know, you gotta pretty big pair a balls on ya for a fuckin' faggot." He spat blood and a tooth on the ground at Jack's leather boots.
"Pretty nice pair a boots you got there too."
Jack held Chet's menacing glare with an icy, defiant stare of his own. His look didn't seem at home on his normally open face. Chet took a step closer to Jack's face. From this close, Jack could smell the liquor on his breath. Him and his boys had either made an early day of it, or just hadn't stopped drinkin' all night long. Chet looked down at Jack's boots again.
"Were those boots payment from yer boyfriend fer sucking his cock?"
The late afternoon sun was beating hard down on the men standing by the large Ford pick up on the side of US 83. It was around 103 degrees out, but despite the heat, Jack Twist, still pinned against his pick up, felt like an icicle had just been stabbed into his abdomen. The ice spread all the way to the top of his hatless head.
"Did you hear what I said, boy?" Chet pulled back and rammed his fist hard into Jack's stomach, making him gasp and double over as far as he could with his arms still pinned to his truck by the two other men.
"I said, do you like sucking cock, you fuckin' little queer boy, or do you prefer takin' it up the ass?"
"Fuck you." Jack spat, more angry tears welling up in his eyes.
The men assaulting Jack laughed over his attempted threat.
"Woo boy! You are a feisty little faggot, aren't you!" Chet gave another rasping laugh and spit more blood at Jack's feet.
"You look like you'd be real good at sucking cock, what with those big ol' blue eyes, and that perty little mouth a yours. Just like a woman's."
Pain seared through Jack's jaw as Chet's fist slammed into his mouth. Jack hung his head, gasping. Chet moved his mouth right above his ear, whispering.
"How does it feel to have a fist slammed into your jaw, you sonofabitch? Fucking like it?" He stepped back again. Jack, head still down, let out a choked sob.
"I'll fucking kill you!" He couldn't keep the tears back any longer.
The guy Jack thought he recognized, with slightly curly hair, all greasy with sweat, let out a guffaw.
"Look a that, Dole, he's crying!" More laughter erupted from his cracked lips, a cold sore on the corner of his mouth swelled.
Dole, apparently the tall young guy with the old black cap that was holding Jack's left arm, didn't seem to find it as amusing. He told 'curly' to shut up and then exchanged an unreadable look with Chet. Jack hadn't noticed that the tire iron he'd dropped was now gripped tightly in his left fist.
Chet placed a firm hand on Jack's shoulder, his voice like the softest velvet.
"Hush now, darlin'. You just stop yer cryin'. We'll leave y' alone. We just want ta have a little talk with you."
Jack looked up, blood dripping from his busted lip. He had a brief moment of hope, and then he saw the look in Chet's eyes and he knew hope was not an option. He took in a shuddering breath. Chet held his gaze, didn't even remove his hand from Jack's shoulder.
"Let's just take a little walk down that a way." He jerked his head in the direction of the grassy slope that lead away from the road and turned into a ditch by an old railroad track. The little slice of grassy ditch ran along side the highway as far as the eye could see like a dead hopeless river that led nowhere Jack cared to go.
The men on either side of him loosened their grip, but didn't let him go completely. There was no point in running, Jack knew. They'd only grab onto him like before, and even if he did manage to get away from them he wouldn't get very far. Not with a busted knee and a few broken ribs.
Jack let Chet guide him towards the front of their little group with a steady hand on his shoulder. Once in front, Chet pushed Jack forwards, hobbling towards the slope and grassy ditch.
Jack let out a raspy laugh that turned into a quiet sob. He was beyond hope now, he was beyond even caring, the knot of pain in his stomach overwhelming him to the point that all else was numb. Knowing they weren't going to let him go wasn't even the bad part. What had Jack feeling like he had just swallowed a red-hot cattle brand was how Chet had used Ennis' word. Darlin'. 'Cept coming from him sounded like a spit in the face.
Little Darlin'.
Those words coming from Ennis' mouth were like hearing a choir of angels that his mama always told him would wing him to his sleep when he died. Nothin' could be as sweet as hearing those words come out a that man's mouth.
Chet released his grip on Jack's shoulder and Jack just kept on hobbling deeper into the grass like he was walking into a river, a saved man, ready to be baptized. It was a slow, almost graceful amble, because Jack was no longer walking into a ditch and into his almost certain death. He was no longer on deserted US 83 with hounds close on his heels. A small smile touched his lips. No, Jack was far away, at the base of a small staircase outside a Riverton Laundromat that lead up to a tiny, run down apartment. His forehead was touching Ennis', their bodies pressed smack against each other, his coffee brown eyes sayin' all Jack had ever wanted to hear, his lips forming the words, whispering, "Little Darlin'."
That was when the tire iron hit him on the back of the head. He fell down, hard, like a sack of potatoes, an elk shot down and landing stiff in the cool, tall grass. Reality met him as hard as the ground did, and then the hounds were on him, snarling and growling. They didn't even give him a chance to scream before they flipped him over and then the tire iron was hitting him again and again; a rigid metal fist slamming into his face, his mouth—his father's fist. Vaguely, Jack tasted blood and then he heard his jaw break, sharp pain shooting across the front of his mouth. He swallowed rough, and he felt a couple of teeth go down his throat like jagged rocks. Someone was kicking him and stepping on his balls. He thought he heard someone panting and chanting, "Little darlin', little darlin', little darlin'." Jack let out an animal howl, loud and sharp enough to conjure the wind, the pain intense, and then the tire iron was hitting him on the chest, and the air was knocked out of him which caught his scream in his throat. Someone yelled, "No! Keep it on his face! Look like an accident!" And then things went black.
He woke a few minutes later, when he felt them pulling him by the legs, dragging his body out of the ditch back towards his truck. It seemed he heard the tire iron hit the ground some where to his right, the sound making him shiver down to his spine. Then some muffled voices were talking above him, a couple of slams from the truck and wheels were screeching away from him, turning on its tail and running from the scene. Jack didn't see them leave, but he sure as hell heard them. Thought he heard those tires screeching all the way back to Childress.
His eyes stared straight into the cloudless Texas sky. He thought he could drown in that endless blue.
'Just like up on Brokeback. Blue so deep, I thought I'd die.'
That's when the tears came, unstoppable. They rained from his equally blue eyes like he'd never let them before. No use trying to save face. He shook with all the sadness of the open, barren plains.
'You sonofabitch! You sonofabith! It happened anyway, goddamn it. It happened. What you were afraid of all those fucking years!'
Jack let out a strangled sob that was more a cry of frustration.
'We should have been together, Ennis! What did all your fucking precaution amount to? Shit, that's what.'
He brayed and shuttered, eyes rolling in his head, a dying bull on the side of the road.
'All the good stayin' away from each other did. If it was gonna end this way, we should have at least been happy for a couple of fuckin' years!'
He tried to raise his fist to beat it into the ground, but he must a broken his shoulder, because he couldn't raise his arm without searing pain shooting through his back.
'How could you let this happen! Look what you've done!'
This accusation wasn't aimed at Ennis, though. Ennis had nothing to do with what had happened. His own guilt weighed heavy on his chest, heavy as a tire iron beating the breath out of him. Jack closed his eyes. His face was soaked wet with tears, and sweat, and blood.
He woke again to the bitter cold and the faint sound of running water and a crackling fire. He opened his eyes and the sky that stared down at him was no longer blue, but a dark and deep black. There were stars out, brilliant points of firelight that hung like lanterns in the night sky. They seemed close enough to touch.
'Sky only looks like that from the mountains.'
Jack took in a deep breath and noticed there was no pain in his side or his jaw. Jack turned his head from side to side. In fact, the only pain seemed to be coming from a sharp kink in his neck. Felt like he'd been sleeping on a log. Jack raised himself up on his arms and ran a hand over his jaw. Certainly seemed in tact.
'Where am I?'
"See you finally woke up."
A familiar shape came hulking out the darkness into the soft glow of the fire. It sounded like he'd come from the river and Jack noticed he was carrying a wet mess kit and was bundled up in one of Jack's own parkas. Jack sat up all the way, just then realizing he was freezing cause all he had on was a worn canvas jacket.
"Ennis?"
Ennis set the plates down by the fire and came around to sit on the log next to where Jack had just been laying. Ennis massaged the side of Jack's neck where the kink was.
"Got a sore neck? Thought you would by the way you was sleeping. But it was just so nice having you all peaceful and quiet fer once that I didn't bother waking ya."
Jack knew that that was meant to get a rise out of him, but he was still so disoriented that all he could do was lean his head more to the left to give Ennis easier access to his neck.
Jack cleared his throat when Ennis returned his hand to the fire.
"It's fuckin' freezin' out, Ennis."
Ennis chuckled.
"Yeah, it usually is in November."
'November? November? What in the hell ever happened to August? What happened to Chet and his cronies beating the shit outta me? Is it really November? Where the hell did all the time go?'
Jack turned to look at Ennis, wincing at the tightness still in his neck. He was prodding the fire with a stick. Jack smiled, moved closer to Ennis, and put a hand on his thigh.
'That same gesture is what nearly got you fucking killed, Twist.'
Jack tensed and then shoved that thought down to hell.
'It must have been some sort of crazy realistic dream. Hell, that's what it was. Some dream, though.'
Jack felt the warmth coming from Ennis' leg.
'Sure know this ain't a dream. No dream feels this real.'
Ennis stopped poking at the fire and smiled down at Jack. Jack felt his stomach jump.
"Sure do look handsome in that parka o' mine, cowboy."
Ennis shrugged self-consciously and let himself sink into the oversized down a little deeper.
Jack smiled to himself and turned to gaze into the fire. The dream forgotten, the pain in his neck forgotten, all his troubles left behind him in this moment of complete contented silence. Jack let himself cling a little closer to Ennis to soak up the heat that he so openly gave off. He let out a little sigh, gently ran his hand up and down Ennis' leg. Both completely satisfied with even this minimal amount of contact.
The fire popped and some sparked embers drifted to where the two men sat—an ashy snowfall. This seemed to conjure the same vision in Ennis because he then brought up that the air felt like snow.
"Bought time. Don't know why it hasn't come already, tell you the truth. Hell, by late September there's already usually been a complete freeze."
Jack muttered his response, feeling unusually quiet, not wishing to disrupt the peaceful moment. His wish wasn't granted though, because Ennis shifted on the log to face Jack. Jack's hand returned to his side, feeling cold and alien away from Ennis' thigh. Ennis coughed and kept his head low, only allowing a small portion of his face to be visible to Jack. He jittered nervously, but Jack kept quiet letting Ennis get out whatever he wanted to say without any distractions.
"Jack, I, uh…I've been thinking a lot about some a them things we said last time in May."
Jack's face fell slightly, his eyebrows lowering into a partial frown at the thought of the words and half truths that had passed between them all that while ago. Ennis waited to see if Jack would say anything, but Jack kept his tongue tight between his lips. Ennis sighed, then continued.
"Well, you see, Junior's already 19, already a full-grown woman," Ennis paused briefly, shaking his head in wonder.
"She'll probably be moving on pretty soon, and Francine, she'll be 18 next April. After that, I won't need to pay no more child support and, well…"
Jack's stomach dropped out of his body. Was he really hearing what he thought he was hearing?
Words were bubbling up inside his throat, but all that slipped out was a groggy, 'Ennis'.
"You know, there's been some talk that pretty soon Stoutamire's ranch's gonna go down the chute. I was thinkin' a maybe gettin' out and maybe puttin' away fer a little ranch a my own, and I was—" He turned back towards the fire and cleared his throat.
"What I'm tryin' to say is, I was thinkin' maybe this would be a good opportunity fer you n' me to start our own little business and—"
He was cut off by Jack's mouth rough on his, Jack's hands rough on the sides of his face. Ennis inhaled sharp and let his hands run down the length of Jack's back and hold on tight to his ass. Jack parted the kiss long enough to say,
"Enough talkin', cowboy. Words weren't never yer strong suit," and then pushed the both of them over the back of the log onto the ground.
Ennis kissed Jack as hard and desperately as that time in front of his apartment, when four years, and things unsaid had been like a boulder between them. He kissed down his neck, rough stubble scratching his face and rolled both of them over, giving himself complete control, pinning Jack to the cold ground.
"Little darlin'." Ennis whispered in Jack's ear.
Jack froze, and sharp pain worked its way from the base of his head, down his back. He winced and cried out. Ennis stopped, worried.
"What's wrong, Jack?"
Jack opened his eyes and saw that it was no longer night, that somehow afternoon had returned in the blink of an eye and with a vengeance. Ennis' weight still pressed down on him, his eyes still full of worry.
"I didn't hurt ya, did I, bud?"
Jack's mouth gaped as he realized that his environment had changed too. The cold air had been replaced by dry Texas heat, and the mountains had sunk back into the earth, reshaping the familiar and horrid plains of North Texas.
Ennis shifted his weight.
"Jack?"
Jack looked back at Ennis and was horrified to see that he had changed. It was Randall on top of him.
"Jack?"
Ennis' voice, clear as the day, wafted from Randall's mouth. Jack screamed, or at least tried to, because his jaw couldn't open and there was blood in the back of Jack's mouth. He coughed a few times, spitting up blood like the blowhole of a whale, then blacked out briefly because the pain in his jaw and chest was so intense.
When he opened his eyes again, he was alone, alone with the sky and the odd feeling of slowly sinking into the ground. Only an inch every few minutes, but still enough to feel like he'd been trapped in a pool of quicksand.
The hours stretched on, or maybe only the minutes. Time seemed to have stopped, the only sign that it had passed at all being the slow but persistent trail that the sun made.
Jack tried to keep his eyes open, tried to ward off anymore deceiving dreams, but he couldn't keep from fading in and out. He wouldn't even realize he'd blacked out again till he'd suddenly jerk his eyes open again and thus jerk his body slightly away from the quicksand feeling that continued to grow. The thought of rescue at this point in time hadn't even crossed Jack's mind.
'Wouldn't see me on this side a the truck, anyway.' Jack thought and silently cursed himself for hitting the pothole with his right front tire. If the other one had blown someone would have seen him there and maybe pulled over. In his mind this seemed like the simplest solution, not allowing himself to consider that had he not been daydreaming about sex, he wouldn't have hit the pothole at all. Sex always had gotten Jack Twist into trouble.
All these thoughts were no good. They were pointless to Jack as the sun continued its trek across the sky and the shadows continued to form and elongate.
Time has no meaning for a dying man.
'Ah hell.' Jack took in a shuddering breath and immediately regretted it. Pain washed over him for the umpteenth time. Blood splattered into one of Jack's blue eyes, then, mixed with tears after he blinked, rolled down into the hair at his temples. His gray could no longer be seen because it was matted with blood and dirt.
His tears weren't really of sadness. They weren't stinging regretful tears, either. No, at this point, all Jack's fear and grief and stupid regret had been swept away by an imaginary Wyoming wind. It left him feeling calm. The cold that had made its home inside of him since Chet had first slammed his fist into his stomach was slowly starting to dissolve as well.
He let his breathing slow a little more, he let his body relax a little more, and then felt himself lower a little deeper into the ground. He was down to his ears now, and the dirt impacted around the openings of his ears made it harder to hear. Not that there was much noise in the middle of the plains on an empty highway to begin with. But now, it all had an eerie quiet, a quiet that he knew was not natural and thus must be his hearing going down the tubes.
'Hell with it. Never did me that much good anyway.'
He let his thoughts drift to his tiny home up in Lightening Flat. He saw his Mother, forever the enslaved homemaker, bent over the cracked kitchen counter rolling out dough to make a simple cherry pie to go with coffee after dinner. He let his mind stay with her for a few moments, taking in her sad face and withered hands. Then he saw his ol' man, jaw set, eyes black from the shadow of his hat, back straining while he ripped off old pieces of wood that had begun to rot on the now rarely used barn. He had sold off most of the livestock, only keeping one dairy cow and a few chickens for eggs and milk. The thought of his old man didn't well up any anger, Jack was too far-gone for that, but it did bring some far off sadness a little closer. Sadness more for his mother than his father. Sadness and hope that maybe there could still be some happiness for her away from this man.
He was leaving that depressed, unhappy home now, fleeing like he had when he was 18 wanting to go anywhere that was at least a day's drive from Lightening Flat. He found himself back in Childress, standing in the doorway of his bedroom, watching the tall, fiery brunette in his bed, suddenly turned soft and sweet with a tiny baby in her arms, the pink of the room a bold contrast against the blue of her nightgown and the little blue baby blanket. She smiled at him, eyes young and full of love for the little boy in her arms, and maybe a little for him. He smiled back, all he could seem to do, and yet not near enough to make up for the years of his half presence. Never there for her, never the husband he should have been. Even when he wasn't away on a business trip or away with Ennis, he'd never really been there with her.
'Should have cared more. But I just couldn't. Too damn hard.'
His focus shifted to the little bundle in blue fleece, the squishy little face, the impossibly blue eyes and the little patch of downy black hair at the crown of his head. Jack's heart swelled. His little boy.
Bobby.
He'd never wanted kids. Only ever wanted one thing. In a flash he was holding his sweet little Bobby in his arms. Starring into those eyes, blue meeting blue. He held them with his own for a long time. Next thing he knew Bobby was tall enough to tug at the bottom of Jack's shirt, big enough to demand the attention Jack never gave.
'I'm so sorry, Bobby.' He whispered in Bobby's ear. He was sitting in Jack's lap steering a big, red 'Versatile' tractor. Jack's knee was actually helping him to guide the wheel, but that didn't stop Bobby's enjoyment and amazement at being able to drive a big ol' rig just like his Pop.
Bobby laughed and then hugged Jack as he was tucking him into bed at night.
'That's ok, daddy. I know you love me.'
This caused some tears to gather in Jack's eyes. He nodded, and kissed the top of Bobby's head, too choked up to do much else.
Then he was 19 again, sitting on a bull in a pen, tightening his gloved hand on the rope, levering himself on the bull with his thighs, waiting in cheap anticipation for the pen to open. The gate flew back, and the bull was out, bucking and snorting, trying it's dandiest to toss Jack from its backside. The loudspeaker announcing his name, the crowd yelling and yipping, and then the ground was there greeting him.
Jack blinked, did a mental double take and once again realized he was still alone on the side of the road, no longer 19, no longer young enough, or fit enough, or energetic enough to ride them bulls. No sir, 19 was a long ways gone.
19…
Jack closed his eyes again. No need to keep staring at the same ol' sight.
19 was how old he was when he met Ennis Del Mar. Only 19 when he'd discovered his purpose in life.
'Well nice to know you, Ennis Del Mar.' Jack smiled and brought his hand up to his mouth, savoring the taste of the tobacco cigarette and the sight of the long legged man at his side.
Every embrace, every touch, every fuck, every glance, every word that he had ever shared with Ennis Del Mar worked its way through his mind like honey. He let it take over. He let himself get intoxicated with his smell, his taste, the sound of his voice. Ennis Del Mar washed himself over Jack like a trickling baptismal fount.
Jack sunk a little deeper into the hard, yet somehow yielding ground. The soil had come up almost to his eyes and mouth. A calm unlike before settled over him. The pain was ending; either that or he was so damn numb from not moving for so long that he couldn't feel it no more.
If he could have, Jack would have smiled. He was laying under the stars with Ennis' warm and naked body pressed against him, an arm draped over his chest. Jack inhaled the smell of Ennis' hair and let him bury his sleep-clouded face into his shoulder. Jack talked to him when he slept.
'You sure are one sexy son of a bitch, did you know that?' Jack laughed, sighed. 'You know I never really minded driving all those hours to come meet you. Might a bitched about it, but all that driving was nothing to this.'
He gazed up at the stars one last time.
'I love you more than you'll ever know. I tell you that now, but you can't hear me, so no problem there. I guess I figured you just didn't want to know the truth of it. But the truth of it is that before you, I didn't know what love was all about. One time with you, and hell, I was whacked in the face by it, knocked off my feet, I tell you what.'
Ennis shifted in his sleep. Jack was quiet for a few moments.
'Don't be sad, Ennis. Don't beat yourself up about it. You can't change what's passed, see? You just have to keep going. No hard feelings, bud. Honest to God, no hard feelings.'
Jack's blue eyes fluttered open briefly and took in the sky and the sun one last time, then let himself sink the rest of the way into the earth.
'Just get yourself to me, friend. You know I could never stand to wait that long.'
And with that, Jack Twist let go and died.
An eerie calm settled itself over Brokeback Mountain. For a brief moment, all was near silent. The animals taking a momentary reprieve from their chattering, the wind still, the air becoming stagnant, all hush and peace, the only sound the soft babble of the river through the rocks and trees.
The river. Always constant, always running, giving life to the dead, cold ground, spreading through like fingers to quench the thirst of the trees and the grass and all that came to take from it.
The quiet lasted only about three minutes, and then all was as it had been, the never-ending chatter and rustle of life on the mountain.
The end.
Dedication: Like Jennast I just wanted to leave a little dedication here. This is for all the Brokeback Mountain fan fic writers. Your talent and imagination keeps me going when I'm feeling down. Without you guys, I would have never felt inspired enough to attempt my own fiction, which I am very proud of. Thank you.