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It’s almost 3 in the morning when Jack realizes he can’t sleep. He’s been staring up at the ceiling when his phone begins to go off, the gentle vibrations loud tonight and the screen much too bright. Brock’s face is on the screen when he picks it up and that generally doesn’t mean good things.
When he answers there’s a delay, heavy breathing over the line and he waits.
“Jackie, need your help.” He finally says. “Yer the only one I could call..” Brock sounds tired and desperate, his voice on the verge of sounding hysterical. “Please.”
It’s worse than just not good because Brock never says please. He pulls himself out of bed and changes, throws on his jacket and practically runs out the door, the cold icy breeze that meets him is the last thing he worries about.
It’s the car on the driveway that starts painting a picture of the story. It’s not Brock’s and he generally doesn’t have guests come to his place. The second is the shovel he observes Brock throwing into the truck with a distracted expression across his haggard face, headlights picking up how bloodshot his eyes are. He’s unsure if there’s been tears but the idea concerns him.
He lingers a moment longer, watching and assessing, realizing that even if he’s parked on the road, Brock should have realized he was here. He doesn’t though. He heads closer to the driveway, his footsteps deliberate so not to alarm him.
“Brock.” Jack speaks and Brock startles. It’s slight, a stiffness in his shoulders and the barely there twitch of fingers, but Jack sees it. It’s an equivalent to an animal backed into a corner, scared and vulnerable, clearly Brock wasn’t ready for him to arrive so quickly.
“Hey. It’s just me.” He murmurs and Brock pauses, shifts his weight and shoulders fall a little. Looks at him more closely.
“Jack?” He asks, sounding younger than he is. By his surprised tone, he really didn’t expect him so quick.
“Yeah, it’s me. You called, remember?” Brock nods once as he stares off to the side, mind processing. His hands come together, rubbing at them pensively as he swallows. Jack watches his throat contract, the light off the street lamp shows the sheen of moisture across his skin. “What’s wrong?”
“I had no other choice. It jus, happened. So fast.” Brock mumbles, hand pressing against his lips and rubbing at them. He looks around behind Jack, his eyes frantic as he draws in another nervous breath. He’s shaking, has been since Jack’s shown up, the small tremors under his skin making him twitch and shudder.
Assessing the moment carefully, Jack gingerly steps in, hands deliberately slow to show them move up before they land heavy on shoulders. “Hey. Where’s your head at?”
Brock only crumples into him, his knees buckling in and Jack’s always got him, arm coming around but it only startles Brock backwards into the car, bumping his body against the trunk. He jerks back in horror, stumbling as he stares at it and Jack watches him go straight back into his arms.
Brock doesn’t fight him but he also doesn’t look at him, eyes fixated on the trunk and he’s at the edges of hyperventilating. Jack’s only seen it a couple of times and he cuffs his hand at the back of Brock’s neck, forces him to look his way with a firm squeeze. “Hey, look at me, not over there. Easy. Easy. You gotta relax or you’re gonna pass out.”
Brock’s mouth moves to say something more but only repeats what was stated before. To reroute him, Jack glances towards the car. “Who’s car is that?”
Brock looks back to the trunk, blinking slowly as fingers bite into Jack’s sleeve and he turns back. It’s like he’s looking through him, mouth shut tight. The trembling only worsens and Jack keeps a firmer hold on him in case he buckles again. When nothing is further elaborated, Jack’s pulling him in tight to his chest instead and Brock stiffens before he melts against him and soon he feels a damp patch against his shoulder.
When Brock’s ready to, he draws away and Jack yearns to pull him in again. He doesn’t. Instead he watches Brock slip further away, fingers skimming along Brock’s arm before they brush against his wrist and drop away.
“We haveta move.” Brock insists and then freezes, turning up at him. “Yer comin’ with me, right? I can’t do this on my own..”
Jack’s already nodding, he’d follow him- will follow him anywhere. Do anything he asks of him. Anything. Believes now that tonight is going to be one of those nights.
“Whatever you want, Brock.”
Shoulders relax again and Brock starts to move around the car, sliding into the driver’s seat while Jack slips into the passenger side. He watches the way Brock stares at the wheel, mind straying and he brings a light touch to his elbow, snapping him back to reality. The engine roars to life and they go.
They drive in silence for hours. Out of the city and away from anything really recognizable as a landmark. Past that, they keep moving and the sun begins the rise from behind the horizon when Brock eventually turns off onto a dirt track that he magically just seems to find.
The car bounces along, speed a little too high to be driving in like they are but Jack keeps that to himself, instead he focuses on carefully watching the way Brock barely blinks as they go. His expression stoic, empty. He keeps his eyes on the path ahead of him and never looks his way. Jack also takes the time to analyze the continuous smell of something metallic and realizes it’s the scent of blood. He doesn’t try to pinpoint where it’s coming from, his eyes sweeping quickly over Brock for any wounds he missed but there’s nothing.
He can’t figure it out and the thought that crosses his mind, eyes glancing towards the rear view mirror, makes him slightly unnerved.
They finally reach a clearing and Brock rounds it half way in toward a bank of trees ending their drive. He cuts the engine and they just sit there in silence; a bird that makes a sharp noise in the distance and the engine makes a soft tick tick sound as it settles again. Jack can see by the way Brock’s chest rises and falls he’s breathing too fast, it makes him further concerned as he wondered what the hell exactly happened.
“Hopefully forgetting the flashlights won’t be an issue. At least it’s dawn.” Brock mutters. He leans in and pops the trunk before climbing out and Jack follows after him from his own side.
Brock seems to collect himself before he lifts the lid of the trunk and lets it rise open all the way.
Jack had his suspicions. He hoped it was a cat, maybe a dog. It never explained the car but he hoped. The smell of blood is strong, it mixes with some kind of wet swamp smell in the area and it creates a stench that clings at the back of his throat. Still, he doesn’t recoil.
He sees Brock turn to him, but he can’t return the gaze, not yet at least. He looks past the corpse laid out, already memorizing the beating it endured; almost frantic and desperate. He instead stares out past the pines and toward the mountains. Brock is so close beside him he only has to reach out with an index finger to get his attention. He moves his head slowly, away from all the clarity and back towards shadows trying to hide Brock’s features. He’s not entirely sure what expression he has on it right then.
“Jack?” He asks and it sounds too small and quiet for someone like Brock. It sinks in quickly that he’s scared of what Jack thinks of him now, that this is what will sever their friendship.
Jack smiles, because he can’t help it. Brock’s always destined for greatness in his mind and if Jack’s in his way, he’s willing to let him go to watch him blossom. He realizes Brock is the opposite, that every waking moment is a possibility that Jack will turn his back on him when it’s something Jack’s not sure he could actually do. Especially not over this.
He pulls Brock close, presses him against his side, fingers sink into hair and stroke at his scalp and Brock almost immediately slumps against him, head dropping against his shoulder. Jack lingers, waits a long moment before he turns in and wraps his arms around to hold him protectively as best he can. For good measure he presses a kiss to Brock’s temple as he did sometimes, fingers trailing down the nape of his neck before he gives it a gentle squeeze the way he likes.
“Brock.” He murmurs earnestly. Brock doesn’t answer, only clings to him tighter.
Life carries on around them. The body in the trunk is still there no matter how much either of them may wish it away.
Eventually Brock moves to get the shovel and Jack can see how exhausted he is. His body continues to tremble and he struggles with the weight of it. There’s no way he’s going to be able to dig and Jack can’t imagine how long he’s been stuck with a corpse in the same room as him after whatever happened. He still looks so much younger than he really is.
“I’ll do it.” He announces, resting a hand light over Brock’s. He can feel the shaking and Brock doesn’t pull away but he does hesitate to let the shovel go. “Brock.” Jack says, more firmly. Brock nods, eyes staring down at the ground as he relinquishes it and steps back, hands hurriedly shoving into jean pockets.
Jack begins to dig. He breaks the crust of the top layer with a stomp of his boot to the shovel and it gives way easily after that. In his peripheral vision he sees Brock inch away with every heft of dirt but then when he realizes he’s moving towards the vehicle, he soon comes over to stand beside him. A hand rests on Jack’s bicep, it’s light but they’re connected and it encourages him to work harder, reaffirming how far he will go to protect Brock.
When the grave is filled back up, he smooths out the dirt and makes sure it’s packed well. He doesn’t have time to react when Brock steps in and snatches the shovel abruptly from his hands and strikes the dirt. He does it again, then again and again, over and over slamming it as hard as he possibly can with his recovered strength and Jack takes a wary step back. He can’t do anything else aside from watch the rage expel from Brock, watching as he yells angrily and keeps hitting the grave with all his might and fury. Jack hopes he’s pushing all his obvious trauma into that filled hole, hopes it soaks into the earth and stays far away from him.
Brock finally stops. His chest heaves and he’s sucking in mouthfuls of air. The shovel drops with a thud against the ground and wild eyes are turning on him.
“I found this place a long time ago, never knew I’d ever use it.” His eyes held his and Jack only stared. “Not fer bodies but..” He shrugs, glancing back toward the ground.
Jack wants to reach out, pull him in, but he doesn’t. Lets him have this, Brock’s hand coming up to swipe across his eyes and there’s a hard wet inhale through his nose.
“You weren’t supposed to be ‘ere, Jackie. This ain’t fair to ya.”
“Nothing’s fair.” Jack finds himself saying. “I’m still gonna be around either way.”
Brock’s still panting and looks over at him. He’s got a good idea of what happened or was about to happen. He’s not sure on which part but it’s enough where some unlucky asshole obviously miscalculated overpowering Brock and Brock miscalculated just how much he’d lose control obviously defending himself.
Jack can’t really blame him, there’s just things you don’t want to talk about and he won’t force him to.
He just stays on standby until Brock’s ready to leave and they finally climb into the car together, driving back towards home while Jack wonders what’s going to happen with the car.
It turns out that maybe all his jokes about Brock having shady Italian family members weren’t far off and they dump the car with an unscrupulous looking man in a greasy mechanic’s uniform and even greasier hair. He looks a little bit like Ron Jeremy and he’s unsure if that’s a good or bad thing.
Whoever he is, he asks for nothing, giving Brock a look over when he notices how distant his gaze is. He only takes the keys offered and hands over out another set, one that belongs to a sleek new ride out front and tells Brock to take care of himself and to tell Nonna he said hi. At least that’s what Jack thinks he says, he’s still new at Italian.
Jack’s avoids staring too long either way, averting his eyes towards the car crusher at the back of the scrap yard, the sun blocked out at this angle by it and the trees collected behind the fencing makes it feel almost ominous.
They stop at a red light back in town, one that Jack knows takes too long to change while processing how many hours he’s endured the smell of the new car’s interior to make a venture if the effect is killing his brain cells. It’s the traces of bleach he can pick up that adds another question to a list he’ll never ask and he presses the window button watching it slide open a few inches.
He’s more than happy to get out of the car when they pull up on Brock’s driveway again, back where it all started together for them and he stands there watching Brock slip his key into the front door and turn it to let himself in. It’s inside, watching Brock barely put any effort into kicking off his shoes that Jack makes a decision.
They sit together on the couch, it’s automatic how Brock lifts up the remote and turns on the television. He stares ahead at it blankly like they just didn’t do what they did; what Jack’s impulsively implicated himself into. It’s seemingly just like any other morning and they’ve been up much too late, the telltale sounds of birds singing and early risers jogging past Brock’s window almost like the world settles in normalcy once more. He finds he wants that, for Brock, at least. Wants him to know that assurance and he’s prepared to spell it out to him.
“I’m staying over.” Jack announces, his eyes locked on that shiny car parked outside. Brock turns to him and Jack doesn’t look his way, just lets him stare. He already knows Brock’s expression is of something worried and also desperate, a clear need for someone to be there but not knowing how to ask. He knows, he always knew and he realizes slowly and at the most wrong time that he wants to be the answer, forever.
“You shouldn’t be alone right now.” He paused, clammy palms rubbing along the top of his thighs as he shoved that realization far away to the back of his mind. Brock continued staring at him, not fighting about it but not reacting either. Jack turned to meet his eyes. “..And I’m never going to let anyone hurt you again.”
His hands closed into fists and pressed against his pants.
It’s then when Brock seems to let go of everything, slumping his body against his and Jack gingerly brings an arm around him to keep him close and console him. His hand roams along his side as Brock presses his face away, Jack’s not sure if there will be tears but he begins to feel his body tremble again.
“I’m always going to be here, I promise.” He mumbles into hair, lips ghosting across his scalp. Brock seems to only tighten the hold he has around him.
Jack may not ever know what exactly happened that led them to this night; it’s a secret Brock may bury away for the rest of his life. But he isn’t bothered as long as Brock is safe and stays within arm’s reach now.
When they finally begin falling asleep instead of staring blankly at the TV, he can tell it’s slipped into the early afternoon; the sun sitting high. Brock’s grip has finally loosened but he’s still curled tight around him and it leads Jack to finally relax, to close his eyes once again and get that sleep he was missing before this all began.