(no subject)
Forget Regret
a bbm fanfic
Bobby Twist and Ennis Del Mar meet in an unlikely "Twist" of events
thanks no_eden
Tractors were never his equipment of choice - Bobby preferred something much bigger - but for the time a John Deere or two would pay the rent.
He didn’t have to pay much; after all, his granddaddy was the one who gave him work in the first place, but he still had to earn his keep somehow. Never got his hands dirty, hell no, but customers liked him. He could chat a city boy into buying a harvester if it was what he really wanted, but for the most part he just did what he had to do and skated with the rest.
August was a good time to sell, mainly because, with the changing of seasons, there came changing of equipment to seed and harvest with, so Bobby never found that there was too little work in the sweltering summer heat.
This did not prevent him from trying to sleep in despite his Mama’s protests. No matter how often she’d claim that he needed to get up and work just like anyone else, Grandaddy made sure that she understood that no flesh and blood of his would slave away when they had someone to provide for them.
Bobby took full advantage of this.
Which was why, at 10:30, he was sitting at the kitchen table instead of being outside at work.
“Mr. Twist, the lady called to make sure you were awake,” urged a young dark haired man, taking Bobby’s coffee cup.
“Ah’m awake `n rearin’ ta go. Jus’ not ta work,” Bobby replied, flicking his lighter. The man rolled his eyes.
Granddaddy never liked Gomez much - thought he’d steal their silverware or something- but Bobby trusted him wholeheartedly, even if he was Mexican. He worked harder than any man he’d ever met. He’d done everything for Bobby, except go to work for him, and the only reason for that was because no good Texan would ever buy his farm equipment from a goddamn beaner. But Bobby respected him as much, or more, than anyone he ever worked with. And Gomez was a rodeo man on the side, and in that way he reminded Bobby of his daddy.
Sometimes Gomez would show off the buckles he won, and in return Bobby would show off his own. His mama was never happy when he wore Daddy’s buckles, but in Bobby’s view they were something to be proud of, something to show off, not something to collect dust in a closet since his daddy died.
“Th’ lady said someone was gonna stop with the new horse, an’ you should stay here `til he comes,” Gomez stated, loading the dishes into the dishwasher.
“Good. Give me a reason ta be late fer work,” responded Bobby, popping an unlit cigarette in his mouth.
Ol’ Sully, his mama’s horse, had a broken leg a few months back. They tried to keep her around, hoping it would heal, but the poor girl was in too much pain. Grandaddy was the one to put her down - Bobby was never a good shot - and insisted they buy a new horse as soon as they could find a good one. Mama never cried, but she got that look on her face, kind of a hard gaze as if she was looking past you, trying to look you in the eye but not being able to. He knew she loved that horse, and wasn’t surprised that she mourned it nearly as long as she mourned his daddy. It was the same look, like she wanted to cry but was too damn afraid of the repercussions if she did.
Bobby had a good eye for livestock, which he was proud of, so when Grandaddy told him to pick out his mama’s horse, he was damn thrilled. He’d found a great horse at the fair near the end of July, bargained as hard as he could to get the damn thing, but her rancher held back.
He didn’t stop there. He wanted that horse badly, knowing full well that the ol’ rancher was holding out for a better price, and so he put his charming skills to work. They finally made a price deal and an agreement that a ranch hand would bring the mare up to Childress.
Mama wasn’t too enthusiastic with her thanks, but she get this glisten in her eye when he told her, one that said, “I’m proud of you, son.”
And he was proud.
So he didn’t feel too guilty hangin’ around the house when there was work to be done.
“Mr. Twist, th’ horse is here,” Gomez said, peering out the window above the sink.
“Great. Stay’n here, Gomez. Ah’ll holler if’n Ah need ya,” Bobby said, hopping to his feet and putting his black ten gallon hat on his head. He was at the by the time the bell rang, smoothing out his sideburns as he opened the door.
“Howdy, man. Didja -” Bobby trailed off. He felt his knees buckle and had to steady himself with the doorframe.
Sweet Jesus, this was unexpected.
***
Ennis Del Mar had decided that even though his life wasn’t a great one, neither was it all that bad. “Satisfactory,” he supposed, was the best way to describe it. Not comfortable, but not uncomfortable neither. He supposed he drank too much, smoked too much, ate too little, didn’t spend enough time with his grandkids. But he loved them, and they loved him and that’s all he could really ask for.
He was still frequented with dreams that woke him in a cold sweat. They always started with a man lying in a ditch, mouth open in terror, still and stiff, crotch a bloody mess. Then the faceless figures appeared, tire irons in hand, laughing over the body of a man whose face was unrecognizable, a mass of gooey red flesh and chipped bone.
He always woke up after these dreams with an urge to drink himself sick, and if he could afford it, he did.
This was one of those nights.
He was half tempted to hop in his truck and make a run for the nearest bar he didn’t want to have to face the usuals. He hated the looks they gave him, silently saying, “Poor ol’ guy. Ever since the divorce he’s done nothin’ but hide up in that trailer o’ his, drinkin’ himself silly.”
They weren’t far off. But it wasn’t anything they had any right to talk about. Just as bad as Ennis hated handouts, he hated pity. Especially for something no one understood anything about.
So he sat in his trailer, feeling the mouth of the bottle cold against his chapped lips, the burn in his throat, the heat in his face and the ringing in his ears.
Ten years. Ten fucking years this November since he last saw him, held him close, felt his warm, moist lips and hard, lean body.
As Ennis sat in his dark trailer, years of grief that he had been able to push to the back of his mind resurfaced and he let out a long, strangled cry.
“Jack, I swear…”
And then Ennis wept.
a bbm fanfic
Bobby Twist and Ennis Del Mar meet in an unlikely "Twist" of events
thanks no_eden
Tractors were never his equipment of choice - Bobby preferred something much bigger - but for the time a John Deere or two would pay the rent.
He didn’t have to pay much; after all, his granddaddy was the one who gave him work in the first place, but he still had to earn his keep somehow. Never got his hands dirty, hell no, but customers liked him. He could chat a city boy into buying a harvester if it was what he really wanted, but for the most part he just did what he had to do and skated with the rest.
August was a good time to sell, mainly because, with the changing of seasons, there came changing of equipment to seed and harvest with, so Bobby never found that there was too little work in the sweltering summer heat.
This did not prevent him from trying to sleep in despite his Mama’s protests. No matter how often she’d claim that he needed to get up and work just like anyone else, Grandaddy made sure that she understood that no flesh and blood of his would slave away when they had someone to provide for them.
Bobby took full advantage of this.
Which was why, at 10:30, he was sitting at the kitchen table instead of being outside at work.
“Mr. Twist, the lady called to make sure you were awake,” urged a young dark haired man, taking Bobby’s coffee cup.
“Ah’m awake `n rearin’ ta go. Jus’ not ta work,” Bobby replied, flicking his lighter. The man rolled his eyes.
Granddaddy never liked Gomez much - thought he’d steal their silverware or something- but Bobby trusted him wholeheartedly, even if he was Mexican. He worked harder than any man he’d ever met. He’d done everything for Bobby, except go to work for him, and the only reason for that was because no good Texan would ever buy his farm equipment from a goddamn beaner. But Bobby respected him as much, or more, than anyone he ever worked with. And Gomez was a rodeo man on the side, and in that way he reminded Bobby of his daddy.
Sometimes Gomez would show off the buckles he won, and in return Bobby would show off his own. His mama was never happy when he wore Daddy’s buckles, but in Bobby’s view they were something to be proud of, something to show off, not something to collect dust in a closet since his daddy died.
“Th’ lady said someone was gonna stop with the new horse, an’ you should stay here `til he comes,” Gomez stated, loading the dishes into the dishwasher.
“Good. Give me a reason ta be late fer work,” responded Bobby, popping an unlit cigarette in his mouth.
Ol’ Sully, his mama’s horse, had a broken leg a few months back. They tried to keep her around, hoping it would heal, but the poor girl was in too much pain. Grandaddy was the one to put her down - Bobby was never a good shot - and insisted they buy a new horse as soon as they could find a good one. Mama never cried, but she got that look on her face, kind of a hard gaze as if she was looking past you, trying to look you in the eye but not being able to. He knew she loved that horse, and wasn’t surprised that she mourned it nearly as long as she mourned his daddy. It was the same look, like she wanted to cry but was too damn afraid of the repercussions if she did.
Bobby had a good eye for livestock, which he was proud of, so when Grandaddy told him to pick out his mama’s horse, he was damn thrilled. He’d found a great horse at the fair near the end of July, bargained as hard as he could to get the damn thing, but her rancher held back.
He didn’t stop there. He wanted that horse badly, knowing full well that the ol’ rancher was holding out for a better price, and so he put his charming skills to work. They finally made a price deal and an agreement that a ranch hand would bring the mare up to Childress.
Mama wasn’t too enthusiastic with her thanks, but she get this glisten in her eye when he told her, one that said, “I’m proud of you, son.”
And he was proud.
So he didn’t feel too guilty hangin’ around the house when there was work to be done.
“Mr. Twist, th’ horse is here,” Gomez said, peering out the window above the sink.
“Great. Stay’n here, Gomez. Ah’ll holler if’n Ah need ya,” Bobby said, hopping to his feet and putting his black ten gallon hat on his head. He was at the by the time the bell rang, smoothing out his sideburns as he opened the door.
“Howdy, man. Didja -” Bobby trailed off. He felt his knees buckle and had to steady himself with the doorframe.
Sweet Jesus, this was unexpected.
***
Ennis Del Mar had decided that even though his life wasn’t a great one, neither was it all that bad. “Satisfactory,” he supposed, was the best way to describe it. Not comfortable, but not uncomfortable neither. He supposed he drank too much, smoked too much, ate too little, didn’t spend enough time with his grandkids. But he loved them, and they loved him and that’s all he could really ask for.
He was still frequented with dreams that woke him in a cold sweat. They always started with a man lying in a ditch, mouth open in terror, still and stiff, crotch a bloody mess. Then the faceless figures appeared, tire irons in hand, laughing over the body of a man whose face was unrecognizable, a mass of gooey red flesh and chipped bone.
He always woke up after these dreams with an urge to drink himself sick, and if he could afford it, he did.
This was one of those nights.
He was half tempted to hop in his truck and make a run for the nearest bar he didn’t want to have to face the usuals. He hated the looks they gave him, silently saying, “Poor ol’ guy. Ever since the divorce he’s done nothin’ but hide up in that trailer o’ his, drinkin’ himself silly.”
They weren’t far off. But it wasn’t anything they had any right to talk about. Just as bad as Ennis hated handouts, he hated pity. Especially for something no one understood anything about.
So he sat in his trailer, feeling the mouth of the bottle cold against his chapped lips, the burn in his throat, the heat in his face and the ringing in his ears.
Ten years. Ten fucking years this November since he last saw him, held him close, felt his warm, moist lips and hard, lean body.
As Ennis sat in his dark trailer, years of grief that he had been able to push to the back of his mind resurfaced and he let out a long, strangled cry.
“Jack, I swear…”
And then Ennis wept.