Title: Waiting
Author: Arwen Jade Kenobi

Summary: Jack's dead, but he certainly isn't gone.

Rating: PG

Characters: Jack Twist, Ennis Del Mar

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Annie Proulx. This is purely for entertainment purposes and I make no money off of it.
Author's Notes: Something that started with Nickelback's song "Far Away" and Hydini's wonderful fanvid using that song. Then it just sort of morphed into this. First attempt at Brokeback Mountain fanfic so be nice! There is very little actual dialogue but I tried my best to get the accent down. Apologies if it didn't work so well. Enjoy!

Jack Twist at first had been convinced he had been sent to Hell.

The final strokes of the tire irons had fallen and he had been left alone as his own blood began to fill up his lungs. Instead of his whole life flashing before his eyes in these final moments, he saw his life's greatest regrets parading across his dimming vision. Regret that he would never see Bobby become a man. Regret that he had never done Lureen right as well as he could have. But Jack found that most of his regrets were connected to Ennis. Regret that the last time he spoke to him was in a fight. Regret that they never had enough time together. Regret that the life that should have been theirs never came to be.

Soon enough, Jack's vision had turned to darkness and he knew no more. He did not know how much time had passed when he had opened his eyes to find himself standing alone in front of the Riverton, Wyoming Post Office. He had been confused as to how he had ended up there and if the tire irons had been a horrible nightmare. That illusion had been quickly shattered when a child chasing a ball had rushed right through him where he should have smashed into Jack's knees. With that, he had understood that the tire irons had been a cruel reality. Jack Twist was a dead man.

He had been trying to sort out how much time had passed when he saw a familiar sight: Ennis Del Mar. He was holding his mail and giving it a quick once over. Out of habit, Jack had shouted the other man's name. No reply or acknowledgement. Instead, after a few moments, Ennis had stopped a few feet from the post office to stare at a certain piece of mail. A few steps had brought Jack into easy distance to read a postcard from Ennis addressed to Jack asking about a fishing trip for November seventh. Jack had never seen this card before. That was confirmed with the large, angry red letters spelling out DECEASED stamped across it.

Jack had watched as Ennis stared at that word for what had seemed like an eternity before moving over to the phone booth and calling up Lureen in Childress. Jack had listened closely to the crock of shit Ennis was being fed about an exploding tire being the cause of his demise with a strong anger at his wife brewing deep in his heart. This had soon vanished and had been replaced with pity as he had watched Ennis' face contort and his eyes seem too look elsewhere. Ennis knew well enough it had been the tire irons.

When Ennis had left the phone booth, bound for Lightning Flat, Jack had tried to put a hand on his shoulder. His hand had passed through him as easily as a knife through butter. Undeterred, Jack had run ahead and stood in front of the man, trying to pull him into an embrace. Ennis had blown through him, blinking tear pricks from his eyes and showing no indication he had even sensed Jack near him. Nevertheless, Jack had kept trying. He had joined Ennis on the drive to Lightning Flat, stepping through the door and trying to grasp the hand that fell to the stick, and had shouted at him so hard that his ears rang; the other man paid no notice. After the first hour, Jack sadly resigned to the fact that Ennis could not hear him and was oblivious to his presence.

If this was not Hell, Jack had a very rough time imagining much worse.

However, Jack noted as he settled into the passenger seat and watched the scenery fly by, he washere. He was still on Earth in every aspect except flesh. Was Hell just where damned souls wandered about the planet aimlessly? But why would he even be allowed anywhere near Ennis if he was being punished for what they had shared? Jack sighed and decided he really didn't know what had happened to him. He obviously hadn't gone anywhere and he didn't know if he ever would be.

When Ennis pulled up in front of the depressing excuse for a house that was the Twist home, Jack shut his eyes and wished he didn't have to witness what conversation would occur between Ennis and his parents. He didn't want to see his mother's face, he didn't want to hear what his father would say and he didn't want to stand there unable to do a damn thing about it. When he opened his eyes again he found himself sitting by the window of his old bedroom watching Ennis walk up to his mother.

Jack blinked at this sudden change of scenery. Was this all he had to do to get around now? Jack shut his eyes and wished he was sitting back in Ennis' truck. Sure enough when his eyes opened that was where he was.

Now here's somethin' to be thinkin' 'bout Jack muttered to himself as he promptly sent himself back to the lonely chair by the window. God knew how many times he had sat at this chair as a boy and had stared at the gravel path, wishing he could just up and leave right then and there. Sitting there and wishing he could follow that gravel road until he met a real road and join civilization instead of sitting there and wishing it.

Jack laughed at that. Now that life was over for him he was right back to being isolated again.

He could hear his father rambling from the kitchen, and caught mention of Jack's plans to bring another rancher from Texas up. Jack groaned and buried his face in his hands; the goddamn son of a bitch had gone and mentioned Randall.

Christ, Ennis, Randall wasn't nothin. He wasn't nothin'.Jack slammed a fist on the radiator; it didn't hurt and the radiator didn't even rattle in response to the abuse. He raised his fist and rested his forehead against it. Old sonofabitch got no respect for nobody. Livin' or dead. Never has an' never will. The rationale was cold comfort, he still wanted nothing other than to punch the stud duck and shake him so hard that his teeth rattled in his head.

Jack heard the door behind him open and was shocked to find Ennis standing there, casting his eyes over the seemingly empty room and trying to imagine Jack thriving in this depressing space. He smiled sadly as Ennis fumbled over to pick up the horse and rider figure and turn it over in his hands a few times before heading over to the window. Jack reflexively rose to his feet and backed toward the bed as the other man opened the window and then took a seat on that bench. Jack sighed as Ennis fixed his gaze on that gravel road, Lord knowing what was stewing in that brain of his. Knowing Ennis, the comment about Randall must be at the top of that list. Jack didn't even allow the wishes to cross his mind for he couldn't keep up with wishing for what was impossible; but he couldn't stop the words leaving his lips:

Got doubts 'bout us, cowboy? Try the closet.

He did not expect Ennis to actually take his suggestion. The head turned to stare at the small alcove and the expression on the face was one of slight confusion, probably as to what the Hell he was doing staring at a child's closet. But the fact remained that Ennis' attention was turned there. Was it through Jack? Or was it coincidence? Jack found himself not actually caring which it was, it was just enough that the suffering man before him was going to find all the proof he needed that he had been loved deeply and to the exclusion of all others.

Ennis got up and shuffled over to the closet, sweeping his fingers across the coats and other old shirts he had left there. Jack followed close behind and watched tensely as Ennis came closer to Jack's greatest treasure. He thought of speaking up again, but was fearful of breaking whatever spell had caused his words to get through to the living man.

Suddenly, Ennis' attention shifted to a pair of boots on the floor. He kneeled down and touched them, as if he was trying to remember if he had seen them before. The spectre took a moment to calm his frustration before offering another direction, hoping to God and all that was holy that this spell would not break.

Look up.

Ennis did so and noted the shadow of what Jack had kept back there for two decades. He tentatively reached out to grasp an old denim shirt with blood on its sleeve. It was Jack's shirt that he'd worn during that summer; the blood on it was Ennis'. Jack watched anxiously as Ennis held the sleeve and quickly realised there was something inside the shirt. He rolled up the sleeve and found his own bloody shirt, the shirt he'd thought had been left on the mountain somewhere. With a sudden urgency, Ennis followed the sleeve up and rose to his feet and almost fearfully pulled out the hanger, Ennis' plaid nestled inside Jack's denim.

Jack wanted nothing more than to offer the other man some form of comfort as he watched the grief contorting his face. He knew well enough about Jack's feelings now, but that made the pain even worse it seemed. Then, Ennis did something unexpected: he held the shirts as if Jack himself were there and wearing them, and pulled it into a careful embrace. An embrace of one trying to keep his fantasy real and knowing that one misstep would shatter the precious illusion.

The spirit stepped forward gingerly as Ennis inhaled deeply. Was he hoping to smell Jack? Or maybe Brokeback? Jack doubted there was any scent left on those shirts other than the musty stench of clothes left in closets for too long. He resisted the urge to reach out a hand; he couldn't afford to face that heartbreak. Instead, he spoke again, hoping beyond hope that his voice still carried some weight:

I'm with ya, Ennis. I ain't leavin'.

No reaction, but Jack saw no reason to not act upon what he had said.

I ain't leavin'.