Somewhere Warm (1/1)
Title: Somewhere Warm
Fandom: Brokeback Mountain
Pairing: Jack/Ennis
Wordcount: 2000
Rating: T
Warnings: Violence, brief language, deaths of very minor characters
Fic Summary: Alternate Ending - Ennis goes to Texas to tell Jack he wants them to be together, only to arrive just in time to save him from the homophobic thugs who want him dead. He gets a chance to give Jack back the comfort Jack had given him for so many years.
Ennis del Mar’s secondhand pick-up hurtled down the dusty interstate, passing the grazing cattle and occasional ranch-house at breakneck speeds. His whole body felt like it was humming with nervous excitement.
Maybe he was crazy - judging by the look Jack’s wife had given him when Ennis had asked where he could find Jack, he probably was. Still, he’d driven twenty hours and over a thousand miles, so Ennis figured at this point the only thing crazier than going on was turning back.
Twenty more minutes of driving brought him within yards of the mile marker where Lureen had said he’d find Jack, helping a neighbor with a break in his fence. Ennis had barely begun to scan the distant fence line when he saw him - same old Jack Twist, hammering away at a piece of rotting fencepost.
The unbridled joy welling up in his chest quickly turned to confusion, then to terror as he saw two men approaching Jack from behind, one swinging a tire iron. Ennis barely had time to shift the truck into park before the first blow hit Jack square in the back, knocking him to the ground.
Within seconds, Ennis was out of the truck and running, a steel pipe he’d left lying in the truck bed heavy in his hand. As he ran, he was forced to watch the men rain down blows on Jack, the one setting to his face with the tire iron while the other kicked and punched him repeatedly.
The white-hot rage that built inside Ennis during those torturous minutes was unlike anything he’d ever felt before. It burned so intensely that he barely even registered smashing the pipe down on the head of the one with the tire iron or spinning round to wrestle his shocked friend to the ground.
The events of the following minutes all blurred together in a haze of anger and adrenaline. Ennis could only vaguely recall shoving one of them men away from Jack with such force that the assailant found himself impaled on a particularly sharp piece of fencing. This was accompanied by a hazy memory of tackling the other to the ground and striking him with the tire iron far past the time when he’d stopped moving.
When Ennis finally regained his senses, he was sitting on the ground, a bit scraped up but otherwise unharmed, covered in the blood of two dead strangers. Beside him, Jack let out a low, anguished moan, clutching at his broken nose and bruised ribs.
Now that the adrenaline had stopped telling him what to do, Ennis felt suddenly lost; he didn’t know a thing about providing comfort, never had. Whatever holdin’ there had been during their years together, Jack had usually been the one to do it. But now it was Jack, sprawled on the dusty ground, shaking and covered in blood, who needed him.
He reached over and tentatively put his arms on Jack’s shoulders. Jack screamed in terror and began to twist back and forth frantically, as if trying to escape. Ennis, acting on instinct, just held on tighter and shouted, “Jack! Jack, it’s me! It’s Ennis!” Jack continued to thrash for a few more seconds before the words finally found their mark. He froze in place.
With effort, Jack pried open his eyes - Ennis was relieved to see that both appeared undamaged - and let out the other man’s name in a sob: “Ennis?”
The utter relief and trust Ennis heard in Jack’s voice brought a lump to his throat, and his own voice was shaky as he said, “It’s...it’s okay, Jack. I’m here.”
Tears spilled from Jack’s eyes as he choked out, “Oh God, Ennis. I...”
Ennis tightened his grip on Jack and shakily lifted him up into a sitting position. Jack had just strength enough to wrap his arms around Ennis and bury his face in his shoulder. His fingers scrambled desperately for comfort in the rough flannel of Ennis’s shirt.
It was then that a memory came unbidden to Ennis: eight-year old Junior running into his room at two in the morning crying and screaming about a nightmare. He remembered taking her in his arms as Alma always did, stroking her long, blonde hair, and telling her everything was going to be all right.
As he ran his hands over Jack’s shaking torso and made low, shushing sounds that were as foreign to him now as they had been all those years ago, Ennis told himself that’s all this was: a horrible nightmare - utterly terrifying when you were caught up in the middle of it, but unable to harm anyone in the light of day. He didn’t think he would forget a second of this particular nightmare for as long as he lived.
Jack’s sobs soon became so intense that his breath became labored, snapping Ennis from his reverie and prompting him to tug the other man in even closer and murmur, “Hey, it’s all right. I’ve got you,” over and over until Jack finally quieted, his head resting in the crook of Ennis’ neck.
“Did you...” Jack began after a few minutes, pausing to turn his head and spit out a mouthful of blood before continuing, “Did you kill them?”
“I did,” Ennis affirmed. He supposed he should feel at least a twinge of guilt over taking the lives of two men whose names he did not even know, but feeling the way Jack was still trembling in his arms only made him wish he could do it all over again.
“Good,” Jack said vehemently. “Cowards didn’t even have the courage to attack head on - snuck up behind me with the tire iron and then just started whaling, two against one.”
“Bastards,” Ennis swore, the thought of it inducing his hands to bunch into fists, though they did not move from Jack’s back as he added with quiet determination, “Now they’ll never hurt you like that again.”
“Thanks to you,” Jack said, struggling to pull back far enough to look up at Ennis. “You saved my life, Ennis. You killed those men because of me.”
“You would have done it for me,” Ennis said with a little shrug, knowing it to be true. He added in a low mutter, "You’ve always done the giving, Jack. Guess I figured it was my turn.”
“Is that why you’re here?” Jack asked, his eyes earnest as he curled a hand behind Ennis’s neck to support himself. “So that the two of us...” He was forced to stop speaking by a coughing fit that wracked his body, summoning up another mouthful of blood.
“Hey, we don’t have to talk about that now,” Ennis said quickly, looking at Jack worriedly. “First, we have to get you to a hospital.”
Jack let out a weak laugh and said, "Oh no, you aren't getting out of it that easily, cowboy. And I am not going to any hospital."
"But Jack," began to protest. The amount of blood covering Jack’s face and clothes caused him no small amount of concern.
"Ennis, I am thirty nine years old," Jack insisted, "I've been beat worse than this before, and with my luck, I probably will be again. I'm not having some busybody doctor asking questions about what exactly happened to the sons of bitches who opened up my face...or the mysterious stranger who opened their heads."
Ennis knew Jack was right, per usual, but still the worry churned in his stomach.
"Now," Jack said, "I believe you were telling me what exactly it was you were doing here."
"Shit, Jack, is this really the time?" Ennis mumbled, suddenly feeling very self-conscious.
"Now you listen to me, Ennis del Mar," Jack said, painstakingly drawing himself up to a full sitting position so his blue eyes were staring into Ennis' brown ones. "It has taken twenty years and me almost getting beat to death to get you here. I'd say this is the fucking perfect time."
"Your postcard," Ennis mumbled after a minute. "You said that you were done only getting a couple weeks of me, that it was all or nothing. When I read that, I realized..." Ennis trailed off, what few words he had leaving him.
Jack reached up to cup Ennis' face in his hand, tracing a thumb over his cheekbone to wipe away a tear Ennis had not even know he had shed. Jack's expression was full of such sorrow, such sympathy, such love that it drew out the words it had taken Ennis two decades to say.
"I've been making myself miserable for twenty years, Jack, but whatever happiness I found, it was always with you. I don't know what this is, this thing between the two of us, but at this point, I don't care. I've already wasted half my life not spending it with you, Jack, I...I don't want to waste the other half."
Ennis could feel the hand Jack still held on his cheek shaking as the other man lowered his forehead to Ennis’. Finally, after lingering for a few moments, Jack brushed his lips lightly over Ennis’. Though it was far from the longest or most passionate kiss the two had ever exchanged, it held a sweetness to Ennis that felt strangely new. It was only after a moment that he realized why - it was the first kiss they’d ever shared that wasn’t tainted by the bitterness an inevitable goodbye.
It was then that the sound of tires over gravel brought Ennis swiftly back to the present. “We should get going,” he said, thinking of the two dead men lying only a few feet to their right. “Can you walk?”
Jack nodded, though he gripped Ennis’ forearms tightly as he helped him to stand. Allowing Jack to lean heavily on him, Ennis was able to get him into the cab of his truck without too much trouble.
As soon as Ennis pulled out onto the open road, Jack heaved a tired sigh and let his head rest on Ennis’ shoulder. Ennis took a few seconds to sneak a glance at him - bloodied and battered though he was, he was still very much the same Jack from that magical summer on Brokeback. The thought warmed him enough to drape his arm over Jack’s shoulders, causing the other man to instinctively reposition himself so his head was buried in the crook of Ennis’ shoulder, his breath warm and familiar on the skin of his neck.
Half an hour or so later, Ennis was surprised to hear Jack’s voice, muffled by the fabric of the jacket, mumble sleepily, “Where are we going?”
The corners of Ennis’ lips quirked up slightly as he replied, “Somewhere warm. Just like you wanted.”
Jack smiled and snuggled in closer, his shallow breathing soon indicating to Ennis that he had fallen asleep.
Ennis just kept driving, watching the miles of wide-open Texas highway stretch out endlessly in front of him. He managed to keep his arm around Jack when he made the turn-off for Interstate 35 to Laredo and, beyond that, to the border.
That’s where he was headed - Mexico, where no one would give them a second look or ask any questions. He knew now that Jack had been right - they’d spent too long in the cold. After all these years, he was finally ready to feel warm. And for the first time in his life, headed toward an unknown country, with Jack asleep on his shoulder, Ennis del Mar actually did.
Fandom: Brokeback Mountain
Pairing: Jack/Ennis
Wordcount: 2000
Rating: T
Warnings: Violence, brief language, deaths of very minor characters
Fic Summary: Alternate Ending - Ennis goes to Texas to tell Jack he wants them to be together, only to arrive just in time to save him from the homophobic thugs who want him dead. He gets a chance to give Jack back the comfort Jack had given him for so many years.
Ennis del Mar’s secondhand pick-up hurtled down the dusty interstate, passing the grazing cattle and occasional ranch-house at breakneck speeds. His whole body felt like it was humming with nervous excitement.
Maybe he was crazy - judging by the look Jack’s wife had given him when Ennis had asked where he could find Jack, he probably was. Still, he’d driven twenty hours and over a thousand miles, so Ennis figured at this point the only thing crazier than going on was turning back.
Twenty more minutes of driving brought him within yards of the mile marker where Lureen had said he’d find Jack, helping a neighbor with a break in his fence. Ennis had barely begun to scan the distant fence line when he saw him - same old Jack Twist, hammering away at a piece of rotting fencepost.
The unbridled joy welling up in his chest quickly turned to confusion, then to terror as he saw two men approaching Jack from behind, one swinging a tire iron. Ennis barely had time to shift the truck into park before the first blow hit Jack square in the back, knocking him to the ground.
Within seconds, Ennis was out of the truck and running, a steel pipe he’d left lying in the truck bed heavy in his hand. As he ran, he was forced to watch the men rain down blows on Jack, the one setting to his face with the tire iron while the other kicked and punched him repeatedly.
The white-hot rage that built inside Ennis during those torturous minutes was unlike anything he’d ever felt before. It burned so intensely that he barely even registered smashing the pipe down on the head of the one with the tire iron or spinning round to wrestle his shocked friend to the ground.
The events of the following minutes all blurred together in a haze of anger and adrenaline. Ennis could only vaguely recall shoving one of them men away from Jack with such force that the assailant found himself impaled on a particularly sharp piece of fencing. This was accompanied by a hazy memory of tackling the other to the ground and striking him with the tire iron far past the time when he’d stopped moving.
When Ennis finally regained his senses, he was sitting on the ground, a bit scraped up but otherwise unharmed, covered in the blood of two dead strangers. Beside him, Jack let out a low, anguished moan, clutching at his broken nose and bruised ribs.
Now that the adrenaline had stopped telling him what to do, Ennis felt suddenly lost; he didn’t know a thing about providing comfort, never had. Whatever holdin’ there had been during their years together, Jack had usually been the one to do it. But now it was Jack, sprawled on the dusty ground, shaking and covered in blood, who needed him.
He reached over and tentatively put his arms on Jack’s shoulders. Jack screamed in terror and began to twist back and forth frantically, as if trying to escape. Ennis, acting on instinct, just held on tighter and shouted, “Jack! Jack, it’s me! It’s Ennis!” Jack continued to thrash for a few more seconds before the words finally found their mark. He froze in place.
With effort, Jack pried open his eyes - Ennis was relieved to see that both appeared undamaged - and let out the other man’s name in a sob: “Ennis?”
The utter relief and trust Ennis heard in Jack’s voice brought a lump to his throat, and his own voice was shaky as he said, “It’s...it’s okay, Jack. I’m here.”
Tears spilled from Jack’s eyes as he choked out, “Oh God, Ennis. I...”
Ennis tightened his grip on Jack and shakily lifted him up into a sitting position. Jack had just strength enough to wrap his arms around Ennis and bury his face in his shoulder. His fingers scrambled desperately for comfort in the rough flannel of Ennis’s shirt.
It was then that a memory came unbidden to Ennis: eight-year old Junior running into his room at two in the morning crying and screaming about a nightmare. He remembered taking her in his arms as Alma always did, stroking her long, blonde hair, and telling her everything was going to be all right.
As he ran his hands over Jack’s shaking torso and made low, shushing sounds that were as foreign to him now as they had been all those years ago, Ennis told himself that’s all this was: a horrible nightmare - utterly terrifying when you were caught up in the middle of it, but unable to harm anyone in the light of day. He didn’t think he would forget a second of this particular nightmare for as long as he lived.
Jack’s sobs soon became so intense that his breath became labored, snapping Ennis from his reverie and prompting him to tug the other man in even closer and murmur, “Hey, it’s all right. I’ve got you,” over and over until Jack finally quieted, his head resting in the crook of Ennis’ neck.
“Did you...” Jack began after a few minutes, pausing to turn his head and spit out a mouthful of blood before continuing, “Did you kill them?”
“I did,” Ennis affirmed. He supposed he should feel at least a twinge of guilt over taking the lives of two men whose names he did not even know, but feeling the way Jack was still trembling in his arms only made him wish he could do it all over again.
“Good,” Jack said vehemently. “Cowards didn’t even have the courage to attack head on - snuck up behind me with the tire iron and then just started whaling, two against one.”
“Bastards,” Ennis swore, the thought of it inducing his hands to bunch into fists, though they did not move from Jack’s back as he added with quiet determination, “Now they’ll never hurt you like that again.”
“Thanks to you,” Jack said, struggling to pull back far enough to look up at Ennis. “You saved my life, Ennis. You killed those men because of me.”
“You would have done it for me,” Ennis said with a little shrug, knowing it to be true. He added in a low mutter, "You’ve always done the giving, Jack. Guess I figured it was my turn.”
“Is that why you’re here?” Jack asked, his eyes earnest as he curled a hand behind Ennis’s neck to support himself. “So that the two of us...” He was forced to stop speaking by a coughing fit that wracked his body, summoning up another mouthful of blood.
“Hey, we don’t have to talk about that now,” Ennis said quickly, looking at Jack worriedly. “First, we have to get you to a hospital.”
Jack let out a weak laugh and said, "Oh no, you aren't getting out of it that easily, cowboy. And I am not going to any hospital."
"But Jack," began to protest. The amount of blood covering Jack’s face and clothes caused him no small amount of concern.
"Ennis, I am thirty nine years old," Jack insisted, "I've been beat worse than this before, and with my luck, I probably will be again. I'm not having some busybody doctor asking questions about what exactly happened to the sons of bitches who opened up my face...or the mysterious stranger who opened their heads."
Ennis knew Jack was right, per usual, but still the worry churned in his stomach.
"Now," Jack said, "I believe you were telling me what exactly it was you were doing here."
"Shit, Jack, is this really the time?" Ennis mumbled, suddenly feeling very self-conscious.
"Now you listen to me, Ennis del Mar," Jack said, painstakingly drawing himself up to a full sitting position so his blue eyes were staring into Ennis' brown ones. "It has taken twenty years and me almost getting beat to death to get you here. I'd say this is the fucking perfect time."
"Your postcard," Ennis mumbled after a minute. "You said that you were done only getting a couple weeks of me, that it was all or nothing. When I read that, I realized..." Ennis trailed off, what few words he had leaving him.
Jack reached up to cup Ennis' face in his hand, tracing a thumb over his cheekbone to wipe away a tear Ennis had not even know he had shed. Jack's expression was full of such sorrow, such sympathy, such love that it drew out the words it had taken Ennis two decades to say.
"I've been making myself miserable for twenty years, Jack, but whatever happiness I found, it was always with you. I don't know what this is, this thing between the two of us, but at this point, I don't care. I've already wasted half my life not spending it with you, Jack, I...I don't want to waste the other half."
Ennis could feel the hand Jack still held on his cheek shaking as the other man lowered his forehead to Ennis’. Finally, after lingering for a few moments, Jack brushed his lips lightly over Ennis’. Though it was far from the longest or most passionate kiss the two had ever exchanged, it held a sweetness to Ennis that felt strangely new. It was only after a moment that he realized why - it was the first kiss they’d ever shared that wasn’t tainted by the bitterness an inevitable goodbye.
It was then that the sound of tires over gravel brought Ennis swiftly back to the present. “We should get going,” he said, thinking of the two dead men lying only a few feet to their right. “Can you walk?”
Jack nodded, though he gripped Ennis’ forearms tightly as he helped him to stand. Allowing Jack to lean heavily on him, Ennis was able to get him into the cab of his truck without too much trouble.
As soon as Ennis pulled out onto the open road, Jack heaved a tired sigh and let his head rest on Ennis’ shoulder. Ennis took a few seconds to sneak a glance at him - bloodied and battered though he was, he was still very much the same Jack from that magical summer on Brokeback. The thought warmed him enough to drape his arm over Jack’s shoulders, causing the other man to instinctively reposition himself so his head was buried in the crook of Ennis’ shoulder, his breath warm and familiar on the skin of his neck.
Half an hour or so later, Ennis was surprised to hear Jack’s voice, muffled by the fabric of the jacket, mumble sleepily, “Where are we going?”
The corners of Ennis’ lips quirked up slightly as he replied, “Somewhere warm. Just like you wanted.”
Jack smiled and snuggled in closer, his shallow breathing soon indicating to Ennis that he had fallen asleep.
Ennis just kept driving, watching the miles of wide-open Texas highway stretch out endlessly in front of him. He managed to keep his arm around Jack when he made the turn-off for Interstate 35 to Laredo and, beyond that, to the border.
That’s where he was headed - Mexico, where no one would give them a second look or ask any questions. He knew now that Jack had been right - they’d spent too long in the cold. After all these years, he was finally ready to feel warm. And for the first time in his life, headed toward an unknown country, with Jack asleep on his shoulder, Ennis del Mar actually did.