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Agatha left behind more than the evidence of rain and wind littered across the island. She left behind a trail of destruction that reached further than the island’s surface. She left behind John B and Sarah.
A fucked up part of JJ wished he had seen it. Wished he had seen with his own eyes as his best friend disappeared beneath the waves just so he’d know for sure that it happened.
He supposes there isn’t a part of him that’s not fucked up. He’d like to blame his father for that, but he’s only half to blame. He’d like to blame John B, too. Sometimes he does.
Even with the sun out, the grass is still wet. His boots sink into the dewy ground beneath him, but he hardly notices. The joint between his lips hangs loosely as he stares blankly ahead. The wood of the deck behind him aches under the weight of approaching footsteps.
“Kie, I don’t have any stash left, get out,” he doesn’t bother looking or caring for her presence.
“I’m not Kie,” he’s not wrong. Pope’s voice is raw and quiet, coaxing JJ’s head to finally turn toward the deck, removing the joint from his lips.
“My bad,” JJ suddenly becomes aware of his appearance, all dirty clothes and sweat stains, with fading bruises covering his face. “What’s, uh… What’s up, Pope?”
Pope doesn’t respond, instead heading toward a lawn chair by the tree. John B’s grave, really. JJ’s eyes follow him curiously, watching as his shoulders slump in the chair. He doesn’t ask again. Maybe he should.
He wants to ask Pope more than he should. He wants to know exactly what Pope thinks about everything that’s happened. What he thinks about John B and Sarah.
He’s sitting by Pope before he even registers his own movement. His hand holds out the bud. “You look like you could use a hit.”
Expectedly, Pope shakes his head. Usually, Pope is rigid and tense with awkwardly good posture. But now, he seems to have given up. His entire body is slumped, but he hardly looks relaxed.
“It’s a week,” Pope mutters, like JJ didn’t already know. “He’s been gone for a week, J.”
“So has she.”
He’s not sure why he adds it. He wasn’t close with Sarah, not in the slightest. Before the storm, he was certain she would sell John B out for her psychotic family. He almost feels bad for her. Almost. He knows what it's like to be a black sheep.
Pope just nods, still not looking back at JJ. “Fuck Agatha.”
“Fuck Shoupe,” Pope’s anger rubs off on JJ.
He sneers, “Fuck Ward.”
Pope makes a noise almost like a laugh. “Fuck everything.”
He finally glances at JJ, but the moment doesn’t last as he instantly snatches the joint from his fingers. Pope inhales, almost hesitantly. It’s always weird to watch Pope smoke, it’s unnatural. Like watching an alien drive stick shift. But if the alien had a magic ability to coax your secrets out.
The words tumble out of JJ’s mouth before he can stop them. “Do you ever blame him?”
Pope eyes JJ, furrowing his eyebrows slightly. “Who?”
“John B.”
Pope’s gaze doesn’t leave him, his eyes are carefully trained on JJ’s face, avoiding his eyes. “For what?”
JJ’s breath shakes, his lip quivering. His hand reaches instinctively for his hair, taking off his hat. “I don’t know, man,” He does.
What he wants to say is that if John B hadn’t gone for the gold, he wouldn’t be gone now. He and Sarah would still be alive, and still be here with JJ. At this same tree, John B would be sipping on a beer, despite the earliness, and Sarah would be beside him, making fun of JJ’s cargo shorts as Kiara would laugh along beside her. Pope would be in the same chair he is now, sober and straight-backed, smiling at whatever dumb thing one of the boys were saying. But now Pope has given up, Kiara is getting higher than she can take, JJ is alone, and John B and Sarah are dead.
Instead, he says, “I just… It wasn’t worth it.”
Pope nods slightly, handing the bud back to JJ. “So much for nothing to lose, huh?”
JJ sniffs. Maybe John B isn’t to blame. Maybe JJ is. He had been the one to suggest continuing the search anyway. “Nothing to lose” was his phrase. His phrase that John B followed. He blinks the tears away, and if Pope noticed, he pretended not to.
“What’re we supposed to do with ‘em?”
The question is barely manageable to make out. But Pope understands. He always does. Pope’s hand finds his knee, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “I don’t know,” Pope mutters. “Not fall apart? I guess?”
JJ’s never been as rational as Pope. He’s never been as grounded or logical as his best friend. But he has always been better at managing his emotions than Pope. JJ wasn’t sure it was possible to be worse at expressing emotions than himself, but Pope somehow always proves him wrong.
“Are you gonna be okay?”
Pope moves his hand, sending a look. “Shouldn’t I ask you that?”
“You know the answer already.”
Pope laughs, not completely genuinely, but he laughs. JJ doesn’t think he’s ever felt more relieved to hear it. For once, JJ doesn’t feel like completely going off the rails. For once, he feels at peace sitting here, beside Pope, despite his friends’ absences.
His gaze shifts from Pope’s eyes to the marked tree. Slowly, he lifts his joint in salute.
“See you on the other side, lovebirds.”