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ONE
"Denial is underrated. You should try it sometime. It's highly effective and it's only denial if you're wrong." (John B)
JOHN B
The flatline, unrelenting, stays. Even after the doctor tried saving Sarah then gave up, even after John B tried it after him, she doesn't come back. She's dead.
Resting his head against her, John B lets his exhaustion (mental and physical) claim him. He can't fight anymore.
Sarah is gone. All because of him, of this fucked up mess he's created. If only she'd never gone on that boat with him.
More sobs break out of him, ragged, choked. He doesn't even have the strength to cry properly anymore.
Fuck.
He doesn't know how long he sits there, next to Sarah, but eventually, a rough yet gentle hand pats his shoulder and he almost jumps out of his skin.
It's the doc. Already, he forgot the man's name, not that it matters. Nothing matters anymore, not the gold, not Ward, or Rafe, or Captain Terrance, or the doc's name. Fucking nothing.
"Easy, kid. Listen, we gotta take care of the body—"
No. He can't do this. He fucking can't.
Dragging his hand through his hair, he stares at the doc out of wide eyes. Then runs.
He runs and runs, until his legs grow tired and his breathing ragged, and still he can't stop. He doesn't know where the hell he's running to, just away. From this mess, from Sarah, from the truth of it all.
She's dead. She's never coming back, and he can't breathe.
…
JJ
JJ's phone rings. Fucking thing has impeccable timing as usual. They're about to head to Charleston, man, so who has the nerve to call him?
It could be John B, though, he realizes with a zing of something like … brotherly love, so he takes the offending piece of technology out of his pocket to glance at the screen. When it's that same odd number from before, he answers without losing a second.
"JB, whaddup, bro?"
"JJ?"
His heart plummets in his chest. There's something about John B's tone that's so completely off that he knows something bad has happened.
"What's going on, John B?"
In the passenger seat before him, Kie has started gesticulating as if she's trying to tell him something, but he waves her off, staring down at his lap as if that way, he can focus better on John B's too quiet voice.
"JJ … it's … she's dead, man. I …"
The connection is total shit. He has to strain his ear to hear anything.
"What? Bro, you're breaking up. Listen, we're … you won't believe this, but Pope—what?" JJ pushes his free hand against his ear and closes his eyes. "John B?"
"What's going on, JJ? Is he okay?" Kie is leaning far over her seat, which clearly makes Pope agitated. He's pulling at her arm, telling her to fasten her damn seatbelt, but JJ isn't paying attention. Did John B say someone is dead? Despite the balmy heat, a weird cold runs down his neck, his back.
"You okay, John B? Can you … can you repeat that?—Stop the fucking car, Pope!"
He's not even sure why he's yelling at Pope. He doesn't even know what John B is trying to say. But he does. He does know. His brain has already made a connection even if there's still pieces missing. John B's oddly broken voice, the word dead, the fact that he's calling JJ, now, at this moment when he should be busy with the gold and the Bahamas and …
"Sarah's dead, JJ. I … I don't know what to do. I don't know, I just …"
He's sobbing. John B, his best friend since third grade, is sobbing like he's only heard him a handful of times, and JJ's throat closes at the sound. He clutches at his suddenly too tight chest, grimaces, vaguely aware that Pope has stopped the car somewhere on the side of the road.
"What the hell is going on, JJ?" Pope and Kie are both staring at him as he exits the car, phone still pressed to his ear even though he's trying really hard not to listen to the sobs.
"Bro …" Eloquent as ever, JJ. Come on, think of something to say, to do. John B needs you. He ruffles his hair as he makes a face over at Kie and Pope.
"Fuck!" it escapes him. "Fuck, you sure?" What a dumb question, of course John B would be sure before calling him. Shit. "What the hell happened?"
"I can't do this anymore, JJ …"
The heartbroken tone cuts right through to JJ's core. Whatever is he supposed to say to that? He can't leave John B alone now. But he's in the fucking Bahamas, for fuck's sake! What's he supposed to do. Think, JJ!
"JJ …"
"Shut up!" he yells with a glare at Kie, regretting his harsh tone for the one second he's not preoccupied with worrying about John B before that worry has him back in its fierce clutches. "Listen to me, man," he says, focusing back on John B. "I'll … I'll come get you, okay?" (Oh yeah? And how exactly is he gonna do that?)
"The fuck is going on, JJ?"
"John B, where you at? I'll be there as soon as I can. No, wait. Shit." He wants to pull his hair out. He's halfway to fucking Charleston because a mysterious person has demanded to talk to Pope, alone. He can't ditch one friend for another, not when he's almost certain that Pope is running straight into some kind of fucking trap.
"I'll … I'll bring her home, JJ."
What?
"Bro, you can't fucking do that. They're gonna arrest you."
"She needs to be home. With her family. What's left of it …"
"Don't be stupid, man. She's dead. She doesn't care where she is, okay? But you, you'd end up in jail, bro."
"I can't leave her here!" A sob breaks off John B's sentence and it's clear to JJ that his best friend can't fucking think or function right now, and that is bad. Really bad.
"You can't come home. I'll come to you, okay? John B? John B!" Fuck, the call is disconnected, whether by John B or the fucking atrocious cell service, he can't be sure. Just, fuck.
Cursing to himself, he tries the phone again, but nothing happens. John B isn't answering. So he shoves the stupid phone back in his pocket and runs both hands over his face. "Fuck!"
"What the hell happened? JJ!"
He looks up. A very anxious Kie stares at him out of wide, dark eyes while Pope is wringing his hands, unsure of whether to put an arm around her or keep his distance. Any other time, and JJ would make a comment, at the very least grin knowingly. But not now.
"Sarah is dead," he breaks the news and starts to pace. He can't look at Kie, at the way her eyes widen and her lips start trembling.
"What? How? But …"
"I don't know, okay?"
"But they were fine. What happened? Did they get in an accident? Or did it have to do with the gold? What—"
"I said I don't know! I don't fucking know anything! Shit! And I think he's on his way back here."
"But they're gonna arrest him. Didn't you tell him—"
"I did, okay? I … fuck! Fuck! FUCK!"
His phone rings again and he answers it before it's quite registered with him that the number seems a bit off.
"JB?"
"Is this JJ Maybank?"
His brain stutters at the unfamiliar voice of a woman on the other side.
"Uh, what's this about?"
"Your father was arrested. I'm very sorry you're hearing about it from me, but your case was transferred to me. My name is Diane Simons. I work with DCS."
JJ clenches his hand into a fist, grabbing the phone in a death grip. Just like that, his life is a total clusterfuck yet again.
…
JOHN B
John B can't think. With fidgety movements, he tries to get his brain to function but can't. Headless, he races back to the doctor's place, only to find it deserted. The man is gone. Sarah is gone. The medical equipment, everything. He freezes, his whole body turning rigid, except for his thudding heart.
Sarah is gone. Gone.
He doesn't know what to do. Running both hands through his hair, he takes a shaky breath, then another, unable to move. The soft buzz of the stolen phone jolts him out of his stupor and he stares at the screen, blinking a few times until he can see.
~ Stay put. I'll get you ~
JJ. If only he was here. But he isn't. John B is fucking alone in this; he's alone. The gold is gone and Sarah is dead, and his friends are hundreds of miles away, and it all wasn't worth it.
Stay put …
He can't do that. He can't stay here, alone. He can't.
So he doesn't.
Who fucking cares if the cops lock him up if he goes back to the OBX? He doesn't. He doesn't care about anything anymore.
…
JJ
Fucking Diane. JJ is drumming on the fancy iron fence while he and Kie wait for Pope to come back from his ominous meeting with Mrs. Limbrey or Lambrey or whatever the hell her name was. Dude who answered the door looked like a fucking goon, so JJ isn't holding his breath that this is gonna bring anything other than bad news.
"Stop with the drumming."
"What?"
He turns to Kie, who eyes his hand, then looks at him, her brow all wrinkled with worry. For John B or Pope, he can't tell.
She places a hand over his.
"They'll be fine, okay? Pope will be fine, John B, too."
"You don't know that. For all we know, Pope is being eaten alive right now, and John B … Shit." He can't even think about it. If only he could be in two places at once. But he can't leave Pope now. Besides, it's not like he could be with John B fast enough anyways. It's just. Everything is so fucked.
And now Diane fucking Simons has entered the picture. What is he supposed to make of that? Fucking DCS is onto him? Him? Really? Fucking Luke is ruining everything again. He can't have DCS's attention on him when he's trying to help out John B.
"JJ?"
Kie's hand is soft and warm and she's so close to him that he wishes he could just let go and let her wrap him in her arms like she did when … (No, he can't go there.)
"We gotta hurry this up, man. John B needs us. He's gonna do something stupid."
"I know. We'll … we'll figure something out."
"Oh yeah? Like what?"
"No idea, JJ, okay? Let's just wait for Pope first."
…
Turns out, though, that waiting for Pope isn't exactly how this is playing out. It's a whole lot more complicated and screwed up (of course), and soon they find themselves running away from the goon and the lady and a whole clusterfuck of shit … and straight into John B's arms. Well, almost. Talk about coincidence, or, you know, screwed up luck.
"John B?"
JJ skids to a stop no more than a foot away from his best friend, who has (quite randomly) appeared in the middle of Charleston, looking like he's on the run himself.
"What on earth are you doing here?" Kie chimes in and before she can beat him to it, JJ begins to pat John B down as if to see whether he's real or hurt or, something.
But John B doesn't even shake him off. Doesn't say anything, either. JJ's lower lip does a traitorous wobble, as if he's eight again, and he throws himself at his best friend, wrapping long arms around him in what he knows is a too tight hug. Who fucking cares? His bro is back, he's alive and, by the looks of it, unharmed. (Physically, anyways. His mind can discreetly shut up about the fact that they're all so fucked up mentally that a therapist could very comfortably live off of just having them as patients for years. Yeah? Cool.)
It takes forever until he finally feels hands fist his shirt at the back. But then it's with such fierce strength and desperation that he can't hold his tears at bay any more and wraps John B in an even tighter embrace.
"She's gone, JJ," the sob breaks out of John B, barely words, but JJ understands him all too clearly. There's nothing he can say, absolutely nothing. So he doesn't.
He also doesn't let go. Seconds pass, whole minutes, and John B is just sobbing in his arms.
"Um … guys, I'm … we gotta leave …"
Pope's voice sounds far away, but drifts into his conscience, becoming clearer and clearer. Part of JJ doesn't want to listen. Yet Pope is right. They can't linger. The stupid goon could still be after them and who knows who's after John B these days.
As if his arms are stuck to John B with glue, he drags them away, not quite letting go of his best friend.
He still doesn't know what to do or say, but Kie's got his back, steps over and pulls John B with her. She shoots JJ a sideways glance, a concerned "Are you okay" written in her raised eyebrows which he shrugs off as he turns away a bit, ruffling his hair with both hands.
What the fuck are they going to do now?
…