Woot! I finally wrote another fic! Though it did take an Oscars-induced bout of serious depression to get me outta mah shell. *grumble grumble*


Title: Stranger in a Strange Land
Fandom: BBM
Pairing: Jack/Ennis, Ennis-centric
Genre: Gen
Rating: PG-13, to be safe
Disclaimer: Don't own BBM nor it's characters, just playin' with them. Totally non-profit work of fiction, just made for fun ( to get rid of Oscars depression).

Crossposted at brokebackslash and wranglers!



This is just…let's pretend I'm on crack. This is my vehicle to escape further depression after the Oscars d-day. And before you ask, yes, I got the title from Robert Heinlein's book, of same. Though I haven't read it yet, and don't really plan to.

This fic is dedicated to ggirl.

Oh, and could someone please help me find any and all existing BBM fics that deal with the same theme as mine? Erm...dun wanna really spoil my fic, so perhaps if you read it, it will be obvious? Helpful people shall be rewarded with a virtual oatmeal-cashew nut cookie. :)

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Chapter 1: Strange Dreams

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"You havin' those dreams lately?" asked Jack.

Ennis was lighting the campfire, and he took his time stoking the flames before answering. "What?"

Jack sighed. "Look, I'm sorry if I laughed at you the last time. I promise I won't do that again."

"No—no, you're right," mumbled Ennis, turning away from the growing fire. The sky behind him was slowly bleeding the last of its colours, so that his squatted shadow was also gradually lengthening. "It's just silly. I shouldn't've told you about it."

Jack caught Ennis' eye and conveyed his sincere apology and utter frustration at Ennis' reticence all in one dark blue-black gaze. There was a pause, in which their shadows continued to grow as night fell over the mountains.

An almost imperceptible sigh escaped Ennis' lips. It happened that Jack's senses were finely attuned to catch the smallest of his friend's gestures, and so this did not escape him. Nor did he fail to hear the barely-whispered, "It was just. So strange."

"Really?" asked Jack, catching Ennis' attention. "Well, so maybe you will understand. I had the strangest dream, too."

Despite himself, Ennis was curious. "Really? How did it go?"

Jack cocked his head to the side, the tilt of his cowboy hat casting half of his face in shadow. "Well, I cain't remember it all anymore, but I do remember this. There was this golden face, a mask…I think I was holding it. And there were tons of flashes of light, coming out of the dark. I dunno what they were—although they might be cameras," here Jack chuckled, "—but they were all too fast'n too noisy. And for some reason, I felt so happy, like there was this great happy beast jumping up and down in my chest. And, and there was an arm around me." At this point, Ennis gave Jack a funny look.

"You sure have funny dreams, Jack. A real dreamer, if I ever saw one."

Jack just shrugged. "You've caught me, and I quote, 'sleepin' on my feet' about a hundred times now, cowboy. I daresay I've earned that title."

Their talk turned to other things from that point, moving on to more intimate subjects, trivial pleasures, and then outright seduction. When Jack and Ennis finally settled down to sleep, spooned together in the tent—Jack tucked snuggly into the warmth of Ennis, Ennis' arm around Jack's torso—Jack felt Ennis' whisper through the nape of his neck.

"Who was that with his arm around you?"

"Wha—who?" Jack whispered back.

"In your dream."

"Oh, you mean…" Jack took Ennis' hand absently, and raised it to his lips. "How did you know it was a guy?"

He felt Ennis press forward into his back just the slightest bit; out of a sense of possession, a subtle hint of possible jealousy.

"Well," continued Jack, "thing is…" and he nibbled Ennis' thumb, "the arm felt so familiar. I could see no face, just felt the arm around me though."

Jack snuggled further into Ennis. It was a rare luxury, and he never wasted an opportunity to be as close as possible to his man.

Before his eyes finally drifted off to slumberland, he whispered into Ennis' hand, "Know what? I actually thought it was you."

But Ennis was already fast asleep. Although, Jack imagined that he had heard fine, in his dreams.

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It was years and years later before Ennis finally remembered that particular sweet memory of pillow talk.

Jack Twist had been dead for over a year. In that time, Ennis del Mar had been dreaming a lot. Mostly of Jack, the young enthusiastic dreamer he'd met on Brokeback; Jack looking at him with those eyes of his that were more beautiful than the sky over the mountains, perfect windows to his soul. But in recent months, the dreams had begun to take on a very strange appearance. Jack was still in them, but it wasn't the kind of Jack that his subconscious would usually present. Itn them was a Jack of perfectly white smiles and laughing eyes that crinkled too much, a Jack with shorn hair and a careworn face that was older than he expected, but far younger than when he'd last seen him in real life. He felt…very modern, somehow—an impression that Ennis only ever associated with city-bred people that he encountered occasionally. It was very confusing, this new Jack of his dreams. A lot of things in his new dreams confused Ennis too, but by the time he woke up, they were all blurred shadows and grey spectres, all revolving around a too clear, too lively Jack Twist.

It was starting to bother Ennis.

He swore under his breath and let out a low chuckle. Funny, how a dream of Jack Twist could ever disturb him. He welcomed them all, but the new dreams, he had to admit, puzzled him completely. There was no sense of the familiar in them, nothing but Jack's face, and Jack's smile. For some strange reason, Ennis started thinking that maybe this new Jack Twist, although clearly looking and even acting like his Jack Twist, was not the Jack he knew and loved. And that disturbed Ennis del Mar, moreso than he ever thought.

It started around August.

One night, Ennis returned to his trailer dead-tired and drunk as a skunk. He barely had the presence of mind to pull off his boots, less so his clothes, so he ended up dropping onto his bunk in his dirty uniform and stinkin' socks. The dream assaulted him before he could even shut his eyes.

"Jack fuckin Twist!" he exclaimed, taking the stairs two at a time and meeting his friend halfway up the driveway.

"Sonofabitch. Sonofabitch." Jack whispered fiercely to his ear.

Ennis pulled away from the embrace, but then seized Jack's fishing jacket in a tight grip. He used this to steer the man to a nearby covered flight of stairs, in the hope of concealing what would happen next.

Jack's lips melted into his own. Their tongues plunged into each other's mouths and for a blissful eternity, it was all wet heat and shared breath and passionate moans deep from their chests thrumming with desperate need and want.

"Oh Jack… Oh god…" Ennis muttered low under his breath. His eyes were shut tight, tears brimming underneath the lashes, as the intensity of the memory roared through Ennis' mind in this incredible dream. He felt so lucky, so incredibly lucky, to be experiencing this again. To be kissing Jack for the first time, after four years, after twenty years…and it felt so good.

He drew away from Jack, touching his face briefly for reassurance. Then he buttoned his shirt, smoothened the worst of the creases in his clothes and headed for the stairs to his apartment. To Alma.

Oh god, Alma.

He almost froze, then and there. His knees threatened to buckle as his gut twisted painfully in the sudden realization that he had a wife waiting for him up those steps. Expecting him to introduce Jack as his friend, his fishing buddy from before they were married. Oh god. Oh please, no.

"Cut!" Someone shouted, though it registered as a whisper in Ennis' ears.

"Hey, you alright?" There was a hand on his shoulder. It was a familiar hand, and that could only mean it was Jack's. Ennis turned, and met Jack's eyes with his own. He could only imagine how miserable and utterly distraught he looked, but it was a total surprise to see those blue eyes widen with worry and confusion, and then melt into complete understanding, all in a fraction of a second. Ennis didn't miss the change.

"Let's get you fixed up now, Heath. Then we could go waste ourselves, alright?"

Ennis couldn't have heard right.

He couldn't have heard right.

But there was no opportunity to ask, because the dream had ended there. And all he could do was wonder, and worry. He got up, found that it was still a few minutes before sunrise, and remembered that the foreman wanted him up early so he could start cleaning one of the horses' stalls because the ranchhand who was supposedly responsible had ended up in the hospital a few days ago with a couple broken ribs and a hoof-shaped bruise on his torso.

By the time he was well into his work, Ennis had forgotten all about his odd dream.

---

The months after August were filled with more worrisome dreams. Ennis never anticipated that the first was only a prelude to a slew of others, most of which drew mixed feelings from Ennis; partly confusion, in varying degrees, but also relief, for in a way, he still had Jack Twist, and his dreams, though fraught with confusing little details that don't feel familiar at all, were still all he had left of the love of his life, and so he could never begrudge their presence, however that they grew more and more…strange.

Sometimes he wondered about the others, though.

There was always Jack, and his face was the only reassurance that Ennis hadn't strayed into someone else's head. But then, sometimes, there was also this very, very beautiful girl. She had wavy blond hair, and often remained silent, though she always gave him this longing, trusting, loving look that disturbed Ennis, and at the same time, made him want to hug her and kiss her and fall in love with her. But then she would smile, and god, but it was Alma's smile, and that did it for Ennis. He'd be smiling and acting all gracious to her, but inside, he was crumbling to pieces. Thankfully, those dreams always ended right after she smiled.

Then there was this grim old man. He looked Chinese, and spoke in halting English. He was always wearing a ball cap, or bundled up in warm jackets, and always looking very serious at Ennis, like he wanted Ennis to give him something. But the man was mostly quiet, and when he spoke, it was often that strange and mysterious phrase, "thank you", which Ennis didn't quite know how to take. What was the man thanking him for? What did he ever do for him? He tried to ask, but those dreams tended to be far too short and few between, so Ennis never had the opportunity.

There was one time that he'd dreamt he and Jack were back in their tent, up in Brokeback Mountain. But the tent…didn't feel like a tent. It just felt…too big, although Ennis couldn't explain it, and for all he could see, the tent looked just as it did before. He knew, as people in dreams simply knew, that outside that tent, Brokeback Mountain rose high up the Wyoming sky and the forests stretched green and lush all around. He knew that the sheep were out there, waiting—in vain—for him to herd them, and to defend them against wolves and coyotes and thieves. But deep down in his gut, there was this very odd sense that everything was somehow skewed, that things were not as they seemed. Jack would be kissing him, and he'd be holding his man and caressing that smooth expanse of virgin backside, and they'd be doing it…but hell, Ennis couldn't explain it, even that didn't feel completely right.

Then the wind would blow, and carry with it the faintest whisper. It sounded like "cut" to Ennis, but he just couldn't have heard right.

The months after August, Ennis held stubbornly to his belief that he was not going crazy. Sure, he could admit to himself that Jack's death had practically killed a part of him. But he was not crazy. No, he couldn't be.

And whenever he woke up from one of those strange, crazy dreams, he always emphatically reminded himself that there was no crazy old Chinese man yelling "cut!" while he and Jack fucking Twist were making out.