A/N: This film has captured my imagination the way CSI did ten years ago. I love the film, love it, have been obsessed with it ever since I saw it. Only once mind you, so there could be a few discrepancies. I don't know how it happened; it kind of had an hypnotic effect on me, I guess. I fell in love with the characters, the acting, singing, directing, with the love story, songs and music. Everything, except the ending, which to me was a let-down. I don't like that Jackson had to die. I don't agree that he had to die in order for Ally to become a star, a star in her own rights. I wish Jackson had tried harder to overcome his demons and addictions, his insecurities. I get that it's a remake and that Bradley Cooper had to keep to the original formula, but I don't like it. So here we are; I'm rewriting the ending.

I've borrowed the title from a Martin Luther King Jr quote, so just like the film and the characters, it is not mine.

I hope you'll like what I've done. I hope I got the characters' voices right. Despite the T rating, I've used quite a few swear words in the dialogue, keeping in line with the film, so please keep that in mind before you read on.

Only in The Darkness.

As soon as she'd finished her rendition of Shallow and the applause erupted, Ally stood up from the piano, turned toward her audience and with tears in her eyes bowed her head in thanks. Her hands were shaking and she balled them into fists behind her back. She didn't know how she'd made it through the song without breaking down, was grateful she'd been at the piano and able to hide her emotion. She'd felt breathless throughout, still did now, not because of the set she'd just performed but because of her fear for Jackson.

Fear gripped her mind, her chest, clenching at her heart. He'd been so down, so quiet when she'd left him earlier that evening, barely responsive when she'd told him that the rest of the tour had been cancelled. Tonight was the last night, and he'd said he would come and sing Shallow with her, share in this moment. He promised he'd be there. She had been looking forward to playing with him again, to singing with him and making one with him again on stage. How long had it been since the last time they'd done that?

Fear made way to anger. Why wasn't he there by her side, she asked herself? Why hadn't he come? What good reason could he possibly have for not showing up? She'd reached out to him, given him a lifeline, and he hadn't bothered to show. Her eyes filled, but she straightened up anyway and looked at the crowd, her fans, on their feet now as they clapped and cheered her, calling for an encore. She gave them all a tremulous smile, touching her trembling hands in front of her in more thanks, before hurrying backstage. Rez was talking on the phone animatedly.

"Is that Jack on the phone?" she asked, cutting into his conversation as she scanned watery eyes over the faces of all the people milling around backstage for that of Jackson's. "You talking to Jack?"

Rez lifted a hand, silencing her, and giving his head a shake in reply to her question quickly wound up his call.

"You spoke to him?" she asked as soon as he'd hung up. "Where is he? Has something happened?"

Rez opened his hands matter-of-factly. "I called, but he didn't pick up. I left a message."

"You checked the dressing room? Maybe he's there. Maybe he came and like you said it all got too much for him."

"I don't think so."

She craned her neck, looking over the equipment, the crew, still searching for Jackson. "Anyone seen Jack?" she called to anyone and everyone. "Jackson, my husband?"

"He's not here, Ally," Rez said, taking her elbow and leading her back toward the stage. "He hasn't come." He paused, smiled. "Forget about Jack for now, and enjoy this moment." He raised his hand in the air, palm up, indicating the stage and crowd beyond. "Listen to the crowd. Listen to your fans. They adore you."

Ally's tears returned, and she shook her head, dismissing his words. Her fans, the concert, her career, none of it mattered right now. She glanced at his hand still holding the cell. "Give me your phone," she said, breathless, and then in a loud, desperate bark, not caring who heard her as she made to grab his cell, "Give me your fucking phone!"

"No," Rez replied, coolly, keeping the cell out of reach. "Can't you hear them, Ally? Your fans are calling you. They want more. Hear their words. They want an encore. You got to give it to them."

"No, Rez." She made to leave, but Rez kept her in place. "I got to talk to Jack first, see if he's okay."

"Jack's fine, Ally," Rez repeated forcefully, lifting both hands to her shoulders and staring at her straight in the eyes. His expression darkened, his next words coming out in a whisper and through gritted teeth. "Jack can fucking wait while you give your fans what you owe them."

Ally twisted out of Rez's grasp angrily. "I'm not going back out there. Not until I've spoken to Jack."

Rez looked at his cell, then with a short, impatient breath unlocked it and tapped his fingers a couple of times on the screen before handing it over to her. "Get the band to play on," he then instructed in a shout, while cell to her ear Ally waited anxiously for Jack to pick up the phone, "She'll be two minutes. Two minutes everyone." When he met her gaze again his eyes were cold, steely. "Two fucking minutes and then you get your arse back out there."

The band started up just as the answerphone kicked in. "Jack? It's me, Ally," she said, after the beep, bringing the phone closer to her ear. "Pick up. Jack, pick up please. I'm worried about you. Jack?"

She sighed, waited a beat, before finally hanging up when she realised he wasn't there. At a loss, she looked at the phone, then at Rez and all the people around her, but it was Jack she wanted, him she needed with her. She just needed to know he was all right. Rez held out his hand for the cell. Defeated, deflated, she was about to give it to him when she thought better of it and dialled Bobby's number.

"Ally—" Rez said in a warning tone, "We haven't got time for this. Everyone's waiting for you. What's another ten minutes anyway?"

Ally was giving Rez a dark look when Bobby picked up. "Who's this? And how did you get this number?"

In the background, the band was playing Why Did You Do That? while the crowd chanted "Ally, Ally," at the top of their voices, distracting her, making Bobby's voice barely audible.

"Bobby, it's me, Ally," she said, barely keeping it together. "You seen Jack? Is he with you?"

"Jack? No. I thought he was with you."

"Did you speak with him at all tonight?" she asked, choking up.

"No, not since I dropped him off this afternoon. Why do you ask?"

"He was supposed to come on stage with me tonight, sing Shallow with me one last time. He didn't show and isn't picking up the phone. I—I can't get a hold of him, Bobby. I'm worried about him. I'm worried something's happened, and—"

"Ally, calm down."

"—and Rez won't let me leave and—"

"Listen to me," Bobby said forcefully, cutting her off. "You go and finish your concert and I'll go find him. Alright? I'm going to get in the truck right now and drive to your place. He's probably out back with Charlie and he didn't hear the phone. Lost track of time. Wouldn't be the first time."

"You think so?" she asked, wiping at her tears, hope in her voice.

"You get back out there and finish your set. Knock it out of the park, girl. I'll call as soon as I've found him."

Bobby tried to keep the worry out of his voice as he spoke to Ally so as not to panic her further but he knew in his heart, in his soul, that something bad had happened. He should have known really, should have seen it coming. Jack saying what he'd said to him, that afternoon after he'd given him a ride home, well, that was out of character. Almost felt like a goodbye. But Jack had been doing better after rehab, he'd stayed off the booze and the pills, or so Bobby thought anyway.

Bobby believed he'd do it this time. If not for himself, then for Ally. He really thought he'd turned a corner. But who was he to know what went on in Jack's head? He'd tried helping him in the past, over and over again, and every time he'd been met with contempt and disregard. Still, Jack was his brother, his only family, and he looked out for him. As best he could. And now, as he sped down the highway and then down the dark, dirt road to Jack's house, he had a sense of foreboding so deep he knew he would find a body. All he prayed for was that he'd get there before Ally did. Because it would destroy her.

The house and garage were in darkness when he got there, stopping with a squeal of tyres alongside Jack's truck. He left his truck's headlights on, his door open as he rushed to the house. He rang the doorbell and banged his fist on the door, tried the handle, all the while calling Jack's name. The door opened. He was rushing in when Charlie appeared behind him, whining and whimpering, and Bobby stopped dead in his tracks. The lump in his throat was thick, unbudging.

He bent down, ruffled the dog's hair, faked a levity he was far from feeling as he addressed the dog. "Charlie, my boy, where's Jack? Where's Daddy, huh? Is he home, passed out some place?"

Charlie gave a bark, then tail beating wildly turned around, quickly headed back out of the front door. Bobby followed him at a slow jog, finally stopping outside the garage.

"Oh, dear God," he said, his heart sinking as it dawned what he'd find on the other side. "Jack! Jackson, you selfish son of a bitch!"

Charlie began to bark, seemingly urging him on, and he tried lifting the door. Unlocked, it opened with little difficulty. Slipping under, Charlie began to whine, and then bark more forcefully. Jackson lay, motionless and unconscious, on the concrete floor in a pool of his own blood and vomit. He'd taken a blow to the side of the head and Bobby could see crusted blood there and down his face.

The stench filled his nose, his head, fogging his mind and bringing tears to his eyes, briefly freezing him into inaction. A stool lay overturned nearby and when Bobby looked up overhead he saw Jack's leather belt looped around a rafter, the buckle undone. His belt for goodness' sake; a present from Bobby. Jack's hat sat on the rolling workbench against the wall. It didn't take a genius to put two and two together and know what Jackson had done – or rather tried to do.

Charlie whimpered anxiously at his side, and Bobby refocused. He crouched down and felt shaky fingers to the pulse point in Jack's throat. When he couldn't feel anything, he pressed harder into his neck, and harder still until he thought he might strangle Jack if he wasn't already dead. Pinching his lips to suppress his pain at being too late, he moved his fingers to the wound on Jack's head. Then he frowned, because when he held his fingers up to the truck's headlights he saw fresh blood.

"Dead men don't fucking bleed, Jack," he said in a disparaging growl, springing to his feet, the wave of relief that filled him so intense that he snorted in disgust. He gave his head a shake of disbelief. "Jack? Jack? You hear me? Answer me, you son of a bitch." He grabbed at Jack's shirt, shaking him violently. "Jack, Goddamnit, answer me!"

Moving round the body, he turned his face away from the harsh headlights, then slipped his hands underneath Jack's shoulders, not-so-gently lifting him up and dragging him through the blood and vomit toward the wall before roughly propping him up against it. His head heavily slumping forward, Jack let out a low moan. Charlie came to sit beside him, whining as he laid his snout on Jack's leg.

"Don't give him any fucking love and sympathy," Bobby told the dog in an angry snarl, "he doesn't deserve it."

There was a bulge in the front pocket of Jack's pants and Bobby felt his hand to it. The material was wet, the smell of urine now permeating his nostrils, and turning his face away in disgust he clamped his jaw shut as he took out the bottle of pills from the pocket and looked at the label. He shook his head and pushed to his feet, stowing the bottle of pills in his own jacket pocket.

"Bo-bby," Jackson said in a slurred mumble.

Bobby looked at his brother, but Jackson's head was slumped, his face in darkness. "Yeah, that's right. It's me, Bobby. Big brother to the rescue."

"Al-ly…" The word was a mere rasped whisper on Jack's lips.

"She's not here, Jack. Thank goodness." And then more quietly, as if to himself, "Thank God she's not here to see you like this. It would break her heart." Anger flared suddenly. "Is that what you want? To break her fucking heart?" He bent down on one knee, shouting in Jackson's face, "What the fuck do you think you were doing, huh?"

Bobby stopped in his tracks, stared at his brother with worry. "Jack?" he said, his gaze narrowing with concern. He lifted his hand to Jack's face, tilting it upwards, checking he was still breathing. "I need you to stay awake. Jack, don't you dare bail out on me now."

He glanced at the pool of vomit, made out bits of undigested food and what looked like pills, and gave his head another shake. An overdose was something Bobby had feared a lot over the years when Jackson had started mixing the alcohol with the meds, and he wondered now whether he should call an ambulance. He was reaching for his phone when Jackson let out a breath.

"For God's sake, Jackson. What were you thinking!"

Jackson tried to talk, spoke words Bobby couldn't make out until he finally heard what Jackson was repeating over and over. "I couldn't…do it. Dad—"

Bobby let out a breath, almost a sob at the mention of their father, then pulled Jackson to him and burying his head in his brother's shoulder allowed a tear to fall. What depths must have Jackson sunk to, to think about ending his own life? Why couldn't he open up to him about his problems, about his demons? Why couldn't he break away from their past and look forward to a future with his music and Ally, a future filled with hope and happiness?

Jackson groaned, and wiping at his eyes Bobby pulled back. "So-rry," Jackson said in a slurred whisper. He tried to move his head up and open his eyes but it seemed beyond him. "I'm sorry."

The desolation in Jackson's voice broke his heart. "I know you are, buddy." He took in a deep breath he let out slowly, then reached his hand to cradle Jack's head. "I know you are."

He was trying to come up with the best way to get Jackson inside the house when he heard a vehicle travelling at speed toward them. He looked over but was immediately blinded by his truck's headlights. He pushed to his feet with a little difficulty, straightened up the stool and used it to slide Jack's belt off the rafter, putting the belt inside the hat on the workbench. The car came to a screeching stop behind his truck and Ally came out running and calling Jack's name. Bobby watched, helpless and heartbroken, as she sank down to her knees next to Charlie and took Jack in her arms.

"Jack, I'm here, now," she said, lovingly stroking her hand to the back of his head. She kept her eyes closed and her face against his, as she tried to still her racing heart. She'd been so fraught with distress as she'd driven over, so sure she'd find him dead when Bobby never got back to her. "It's okay. I'm here."

"Al-ly…" His voice was music to her ears. "I'm…sorry."

"Sshh," she soothed as she rocked them gently. She felt Charlie's wet snout on her arm, and she was grateful for the dog's infallible love and devotion. "I'm here." Still cradling Jackson in her arms, Ally looked up at Bobby who just shrugged his shoulders powerlessly.

"I just found him here, passed out on the ground." He nodded at the pool of blood and vomit in the middle of the garage, which was explanation enough for her. "Charlie was waiting outside. He—" Bobby's words trailed off as he lifted a helpless shoulder. "We should…we should move him inside."

Ally gave a nod. "He's hurt. Maybe we should call an ambulance."

"Nah. I don't think so." Bobby scratched at the back of his head anxiously. "I think we need to keep a lid on this one. I think this one's just between the three of us." He held her gaze meaningfully and she gave a nod that she understood. Then he smiled at her softly, and she found herself smiling back. They were complicit in this. Together, they would provide Jack with the help he needed and that for however long it took. Nothing was more important at this moment in time than his wellbeing.

"Come on," Bobby said, gently touching her on the shoulder. "Let's get him up."

Ally released her hold on Jackson and nodding her head pushed to her feet. Charlie stepped back a little but hovered around restlessly, anxiously, and she lowered her hand to him affectionately. "Daddy's going to be fine," she told him. "He's going to be fine."

Bobby ran his eyes over her. "Why don't you, huh, go and change out of your…stage clothes? They're going to get ruined otherwise."

Startling, Ally touched her hand to her made-up face and hair, looked down at herself. "It's okay. I—I don't care about the clothes. I just want to…let's just…" Struggling to keep a lid on her emotions, she took a deep breath she let out slowly. "Let's get him into the house, okay?"

Together they half-carried, half-dragged a moaning and groaning Jackson into the house, to the bedroom and finally onto the bed, Charlie close on their heels all the while. Ally took off Jack's boots, then frowning began to undo his pants. "What happened to his belt?" she asked, turning toward Bobby. "He always wears it."

Bobby shrugged. "I don't know."

Ally paused. "Lift his legs while I take off his pants, will you?"

Together they took off Jack's pants and then his shirt. Charlie climbed up on the bed, settling himself at Jack's stocking feet. Afterwards, Ally filled a bowl with warm water, took a flannel from the bathroom and sitting at the edge of the bed wordlessly began washing the blood and sweat off Jack's face while Bobby hovered near the door uncertainly. Her hands were shaking as carefully she touched the cloth to his cheek, over his eyes, his forehead. When she couldn't see through the tears in her eyes, she stopped.

"I'm going to go and make some coffee," Bobby said. "You want some?"

She nodded her head without looking at Bobby. She heard Bobby move, then felt his hand on her shoulder, squeezing comfortingly.

"He's going to be fine, Ally," he said. "He threw up most of the pills; he'll sleep the rest off."

She turned her watery gaze up toward him and gave an unconvinced nod.

"How could this have happened?" Bobby went on in a whisper. "I thought you'd – he'd – gotten rid of all the booze, the pills."

"I don't know, Bobby."

Her shoulders began to shake and all the pent-up emotion of the last few hours came out. Bobby sat down next to her, and rather clumsily took her in his arms. And as he spoke soothing words into her ear, she let her anger over Jack's relapse, all her grief and sadness pour out of her. She had to keep so strong for Jackson all the time, had to be so careful what she told him. When she had no more tears to cry, she pushed away from Bobby and wiped at her face self-consciously.

"You should go and wash your face," he said, the ghost of a smile on his lips as he stood up. "Take a shower maybe, while I make us some coffee. I'll watch over him."

"Do I look that bad?" Smiling through her pain, she reached for his hand. "You're kind, Bobby. Thank you. For tonight, for coming and helping me here. I—"

He returned her hand squeeze. "Don't mention it."

"I'm just so…tired." Tired didn't even begin to cover it; she'd been on the edge for months now, with Rez on her back about the tour and the promotion of the album and Jack in rehab and then home. She'd really thought things were starting to look up for them. And then this.

"I know." Bobby reached down to give her shoulder a squeeze. "I know."

While she continued cleaning Jack up, she heard Bobby move about the kitchen. He returned with two steaming mugs, one he set down on the bedside table for her, the other he began sipping from. She thanked him with a nod and a smile and carried on with her task. Jackson was looking a little better already. At least his wound had stopped bleeding. Bobby left the room and, a few minutes later, she heard him at the piano, hitting single random keys at first before he started playing a melody she didn't know. Jack stirred, calling her name in his slumber.

"I'm here," she said, stroking her hand to his brow. "I'm here."

When she finished, she drank the coffee, then emptied the bowl of bloodied water and met Bobby in the piano room. She watched his profile face as lost in the moment he played on, from memory it seemed. Stopping suddenly, he turned toward her and gave her a sheepish smile before pushing to his feet abruptly.

"Sorry. I—I didn't mean to…"

"I didn't know you played," she said, surprised, when he faltered.

His shoulder lifted self-consciously. "It soothes me."

She smiled. "Me too."

They stared at each other briefly before he lowered his eyes. "It's getting late," he said in a sigh, looking back up. "I'm going to lock up the garage and then go. You're going to be okay?"

She gave a nod. He closed the distance and they embraced.

"I'll come by tomorrow," he went on, nodding. "Call if you need anything."

After he'd left, she returned the empty coffee mugs to the kitchen and put them in the sink. On the table, she found Jack's hat and his belt. She picked up the belt, fingered the well-worn leather, then looked up abruptly, the image of what Jack had almost done suddenly vivid in her mind. Bobby had wanted to spare her more heartache, but it was all too clear. Tears in her eyes, she shut off the light, took the hat and belt back to the bedroom and put them on the dresser. Jack was out for the count.

Charlie had shifted position further up the bed, his head now partially covered by Jack's arm underneath which Charlie had most probably burrowed himself. Her hand lowered to the dog and she gave him a gentle stroke. She turned off the light. In the bathroom, she took off her stage clothes, her makeup, freed up her hair and stepped under the warm spray of the shower. There she cried some more, tears of pain and anger, of frustration and exhaustion, of despair, before she got a hold of herself and got out, dried herself and after slipping on one of Jack's T-shirt lay down on the bed next to him on the opposite side from Charlie.

Just like the dog had done, she burrowed her face in the crook of Jack's shoulder, inhaling his familiar scent, curved her body into his side and draped her arm firmly, tightly, around his chest.

Then she closed her eyes and went to sleep.

Her career was nothing in comparison to her love for Jackson.

He was everything to her.

She'd give it all up, if she thought it would keep him sober.