Chapter Text
They’re surfing. They’re literally surfing and JJs shirt is still on.
And John B is confused, because the JJ he knows would take any and all excuses to ditch his shirt.
So he tugs at it; and JJ rolls his eyes. Says he’d rather keep it on. It can’t get in the way of his surfing– it won’t. He insists.
But it does. It gets caught in the waves and on his board and John B is worried, really worried that it’s gonna get JJ hurt.
So he paddles over, asks again. He tugs at it, and JJ squirms. He pulls away from John B and swats at his hand. But John B has a hold on it, and he’s ignoring JJ’s protests.
And the shirt comes off.
The shirt comes off, and John B lets go of it just as quickly as he pulled it off, his eyes trained on JJ.
JJ sits on his board. He’s frozen, still in the silence. So is John B.
The only sound comes from the waves and the beat of John B’s heart, so loud he can hear it bursting his eardrums.
JJ’s entire chest is purple. Entire is not an exaggeration. Purple and blue and black and yellow, just varying shades of bruises. His ribs. They’re the worst. They’re the darkest.
Both boys are just stuck. No words to say.
JJ’s still holding onto the shirt, a soaking wet ball in his hands. He knows it needs to go back on. But it’s the last thing he wants to do— because the cats out of the bag, and he wonders what the point is and his ribs hurt, anytime he moves.
But the point is that Pope and Kie are sitting on the beach. Far enough now that they can’t see how badly JJ is bruised. The second they get closer, though, JJ knows they’ll see. And that’s the last thing he wants. The last thing he needs.
So he pulls the shirt over his head and it stretches, sticks to his bare skin.
And even though the shirt covers the bruises, the remainders are still burned into John B’s mind, and he can’t unsee it.
JJ is paddling back to the shore. He’s yelling at John B, telling him to follow. Calling him slow. Messing with him, like he always does. Like they always do.
But it doesn’t feel that simple anymore. It doesn’t feel easy and light like it normally does, and John B feels sick.
He feels it in the pit of his stomach, and it hits him like a wave. He watches JJ. He makes it to shore, smiles to Pope and Kie. Like nothings wrong.
He looks back at John B, puts a hand over his eyebrow and squints, like he’s trying to see if John B followed him in.
And John B sees him. He looks small, and his blonde hair is golden in the setting sun. And he wants to focus on that. The sunshine right in front of him.
But he can't. All he can see are the bruises covering his entire body.
John B leans over the side of his board and vomits.
It’s a few years later now, and they’re back at the chateau.
“Take off your shirt, J,” John B says, gentle. It’s the same as the first time. The first time JJ let him in.
Sure, it wasn’t his choice to let John B in. Things never really were JJ’s choice. It was something he realized as he got older. People were always pushing him around, telling him what to do, what to say, how to act. He wondered if that’s why he became so reckless . The complete opposite of compliant.
But they’re in the chateau and he’s here with John B, and JJ knows there’s a better time to analyze his actions. There’s got to be.
He’s sitting on the kitchen counter.
It’s the same spot he sat in six years ago. The same spot he sat in when he told John B the biggest secret he’s ever had to keep.
And John B is looking at him now, looking at him like he loves him more than anyone in the world. Like he would do anything to protect him.
Six years ago, John B looked at him like he could throw up. Guilt and fear and grief swimming in his eyes.
And then he’d started saying how sorry he was, and it made JJ feel like he could throw up. And it made him mad, because John B didn’t do anything.
And he told him that, and John B kept apologizing— because what else can a ten year old do? And finally, JJ had put his hands on John B’s shoulders, practically shaking the boy.
“Are you Luke?” He’d asked.
His eyes were dark. The lightest blue John B had ever seen, yet somehow they were still darker than the night sky.
He’d shook his head. Said no.
And JJ had nodded, let his hands fall from John B’s shoulders. “Exactly,” he’d finally said. “You didn’t do this. You shouldn’t have to say sorry for things you didn’t do.”
“But this shouldn’t happen.”
JJ was quiet after that. John B tugged at the hem of his shirt, and JJ pulled it off.
It’s the same now. John B takes the edge of JJ’s shirt, keeps it between his fingers for a minute. It’s worn— an old shirt JJ insists on keeping, even though all the letters have faded and the color is different than when he got it.
John B’s looking at him, and JJ feels sick. Guilty. Tired. He doesn’t want to do this. John B knows that.
So he waits, and he’s patient. He’s always patient with JJ. Always, but especially in times like these.
JJ doesn’t make it easy. That’s for sure. He knows he should. If he has people that are willing to do anything for him, pick up the pieces that break as he falls. He should make it easy.
It’s like he doesn’t know how.
“I don’t—”
“Shirt, J,” John B says.
JJ doesn’t move. He rubs his face with his hands, looks to the door.
“No one’s coming in.”
“They’re on the porch, B.”
“It’s alright,” John B says.
JJ is looking at him now, and his eyes are wide. JJ doesn’t scare easily. He doesn’t shy away from a fight or ever miss the chance to stand up for his people.
But being seen? That scares the shit out of JJ.
John B knows this. Knows it’s why he’s so nervous. Scared that Pope and Kie and Sarah will walk right through the front door, see him for what he really is.
He knows, because they’ve been there before. Six years ago. JJ sitting on the counter, pulling off his shirt. An array of bruises right in John B’s face.
It was Big John who walked through the front door.
He dropped his work bag, was at the boys side in seconds.
“Who did this?”
His voice was loud and booming, and he loomed over JJ, even perched on the counter. And JJ shuddered. His body went rigid, and he curled into himself. Covered his ears and held his arms.
John B pulled at his dad, just as Big John realized.
“You’re scaring him, dad!”
Big John softened, let a hand rest on JJ’s shoulder.
“Who did this to you, son?”
It was the first time someone had called him that and meant it. Son. And it made him feel ever worse, and he couldn’t stop shaking. He couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t face John B, or Big John. He couldn’t think about what would happen when he got home, if his dad found out that people knew.
“No ones gonna hurt you, J,” Big John said. “Just— just come here.”
Big John was surprised when JJ melted into his arms. The kid sobbed these horrible, silent cries. Big John just held him, kept him wrapped in his arms, careful not to hurt him anymore than he already was.
JJ’s thinking about it. How calm Big John was. How careful. He’s thinking about it as John B pulls at his shirt, telling him everything will be alright.
He’s thinking about earlier. When the group decided to go surfing, and he knew he didn’t really have a choice. If he didn’t go, they’d know something was wrong. If he did, he had to be careful. So careful.
It’s getting harder these days. To be careful.
John B knew. The second JJ got in the water with his shirt on, he clocked it. JJ tried to ignore John B’s eyes burning into his chest, trying to get his attention.
When they got back to the chateau, it was clear. John B pulled JJ inside, telling the others they’d be back in a bit, and JJ was trapped.
Now, sitting on the counter, JJ feels sick.
He’s reaching for the bottom of his shirt, ready to shrug it off, but he has this urge. This need to tell John B that it’s bad. Worse than normal.
He just doesn’t know how to say it.
He pulls at the shirt, and John B can see the bottom of his stomach, right above his shorts, and it’s already clear that it’s not good.
JJ hesitates.
“John B,” he says. John B waits. “It’s not— it doesn’t look good.”
“Does it ever?”
JJ presses his lips together, eyes watery. He shakes his head.
“Come on, J,” John B nods him on. “Just let me see.”
And the shirt comes off. Like it did the first time. Like it has all the times between now and then.
And John B is frozen. All of the sudden, he’s ten again, and he’s on his surf board trying not to puke over the edge.
Because JJ was right. This is bad. This might be the worst.
“I told you, B.”
JJ looks at the door again, like he’s waiting. Waiting for it to open, for the shoe to drop, for his world to fall apart.
But it doesn’t.
Surprisingly, John B is looking too. And then he’s looking back at JJ, and JJ can practically feel the nerves radiating off of him.
“How—” John B is struggling to grasp what’s in front of him. “How does someone even do this.”
For a second, JJ thinks John B is gonna cry. He’s got his eyes squeezed shut, and he’s pressing his arms into the counter, putting all his weight into his shoulders.
JJ doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know why Luke acts out in the ways that he does. He doesn’t know what he did to deserve this. He doesn’t know how to fix it.
He knows there’s not a good enough answer, not for John B. So he keeps quiet, and he lets John B take his time.
John B is up now, pacing the kitchen floor and running his fingers through his hair.
He finally looks at JJ. Really looks at him.
“Where do we start?” It’s quiet, and it’s gentle, just like John B is. JJ doesn’t think he deserves it. Not really, not after he bleeds and hurts and aches. He has to remind himself sometimes. That he doesn’t deserve something this bad.
But even when he reminds himself, it's John B’s voice. It’s not even his own. John B’s voice, in the back of his head telling him nice things. It’s makes him feel warm and alive, even when living feels so fucking hard.
John B is still looking at him. He’s not waiting for an answer from JJ. He just doesn’t know where to start.
His eyes are stuck on JJ’s ribs. And JJ can tell. John B’s gaze just keeps falling, and there’s a pit in JJ’s stomach that just grows with each passing second, and John B is back to looking like he’s gonna puke.
“It’s alright, B,” JJ says. He reaches out, grabs John B’s shirt. John B shakes his head. “I’m alright. I got out— that’s all that matters.”
John B is shaking his head, and JJ knows what he’s going to say, even before the words ‘I’m so sorry’ slip from his mouth.
JJ’s ten again. Just like that. There’s tears in his eyes, and he’s telling John B not to be sorry— but he’s not angry this time. He’s sad.
“Look,” he pleads. “It’s okay. I’m okay .”
He’s never seen John B this torn up before. The first time, sure. Maybe the second or the third, but after that, John B seemed to focus on the task at hand.
John B was like that. There were times he could just remove the emotion. If he had a task, an action plan— he was like a solider. Doing as he was told.
JJ assumed it had something to do with having Big John as a dad. He was kind, but he was demanding. He had an agenda. Places to go. People to meet. Treasure to find. John B followed. No questions asked.
After a while, it was the same with JJ. He’d bandage him up, check his bruises. No questions asked— not if JJ didn’t want to talk about it. He usually didn’t.
So seeing him in the kitchen, eyes teary and cheeks red. It makes JJ feel pretty shitty.
“Can you—” John B shakes his head, pulls himself together. “Can you breathe alright?”
JJ shrugs. That’s the closest thing John B ever gets to a no. He knows JJ won’t tell him when something’s actually wrong. He’ll dance around questions until people stop asking. He’ll dodge the truth, keep a secret if it’ll protect everyone else.
You have to learn to understand JJ’s secret language. It was something John B had dedicated his life to. Learning JJ. His mannerisms and the words he didn’t say. Interpreting what he did. It was a skill, and one John B had all but perfected.
JJ is thankful, even if he doesn’t know how to say it. And that’s alright, because John B can hear it, even if words don’t come out of JJ’s mouth.
JJ doesn’t mean to be confusing. He just doesn’t know how to tell John B that breathing hurts like hell. That it’s taking up all his energy, and it feels like his ribs are caving into each other.
But John B knows, somehow, and JJ is thankful.
John B is still taking it all in. Studying every inch of JJ, and he feels like some sort of science experiment. Like a lab rat.
John B is looking at his chest, his ribs, and his stomach. He’s taking in the cut on his cheek and the bruise in his hairline. His cut up knuckles and the split lip that still hasn’t healed from the last time.
But John B is no scientist. He’s gentle, and he’s looking at JJ with the soft eyes he has only for JJ. He moves careful and slow, and he’s keeping an eye on JJ to make sure he’s alright.
All things to let JJ know he’s safe.
“Can I?” John B reaches his hand out. It hovers over JJ’s chest, his ribs, and JJ nods.
Six years ago, Big John made JJ take deep breaths and point out where it hurt. He didn’t know, at the time, he was looking for signs of broken ribs. He knows now— now that John B does the same.
He's taking a deep breath, and John B has one hand on his ribs, and one hand on his chest. Right over his heart.
The porch door creaks, and JJ’s heart picks up underneath John B’s hand. It beats so hard, John B’s convinced he’ll topple over.
JJ and Sarah are looking at each other now, eyes locked as Sarah scrambles out a quick ‘fuck me.’
If he wasn’t terrified, John B would laugh.
JJ’s eyes are still on Sarah’s, but she’s moved on. She’s looking at him now. All of him.
“Everything okay?” It’s Kie’s voice, coming from outside.
Sarah nods. “All okay. They’re good— I’ll— I’ll just be a minute.”
She shuts the door, slowly behind her. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t— I didn’t know.”
She shakes her head, and John B is looking at JJ.
“I can go. I won’t— I won’t say anything.”
She’s saying the words, but she hovers at the door.
John B is waiting for JJ to make the call. He’d like the help. Sarah could hold her own, especially when it came to JJ. The two had an unspoken bond, like they wore the same experiences below their sleeves.
They’re both just waiting, waiting for JJ to cry, or scream, or protest. But he doesn’t.
He shakes his head, bites his lip. “It’s fine.”
“I can’t believe you surfed like this.”
Sarah is wrapping a cut on JJ’s arm, pulling the bandage tightly against his skin. John B is nursing the gash on his forehead, making his way to the bruises in his hairline.
“Yeah, honestly?” JJ shrugs. “I dunno how I did. It hurts like shit.”
It’s the first time, really, that he’s openly admitted to hurting. John B swears Sarah has that effect on people. The kind that makes them feel safe enough to speak their truth. JJ rarely told him when something was wrong, but five minutes with Sarah and he was practically pouring his heart out.
“Anything to keep the peace.”
It’s from John B, and it’s colder than he plans. JJ doesn’t tell the others because he doesn’t want them to hate Luke. John B doesn’t get it.
But JJ doesn’t seem to notice the coldness behind his voice. He’s twisting the rings on his fingers, and he’s trying to ignore the two people piecing him back together.
Sarah looks at him. His eyebrows drawn in, biting at his lip again as John B wipes the blood from his forehead with a washcloth. He’s using something else now, and it stings.
“Fuck, B,” JJ mutters.
John B presses a butterfly bandage to the cut. His fingers linger a second, then he hastily lays his whole palm on JJ’s forehead.
JJ flinches, jerks so far back he practically lands in the sink. Sarah reaches a hand out to catch him, just in case, but he flinches from that, too, and he feels like he’s a bird in a cage, pinned up on both sides. Sarah pulls her hand back, tries to give him space.
She’s not used to jumpy JJ. She’s used to warm, casual JJ. The JJ that wants an arm around all of his people all of the time.
“Give a man some warning, guys, goddamn.” JJ’s saying the words, but he lets himself lean into John B’s touch.
John B doesn’t bother apologizing, all his attention trained on JJ’s temperature.
It feels nice. John B’s hand, cool on his skin. He didn’t realize how hot he was until now. And then he’s fully aware of it— and how he still doesn’t register it. He’s shivering.
“That’s a fever, J,” John B says, coming to the same conclusion. “You’re burning up. Where is it?”
Sarah’s looking between the two, and she doesn’t get it yet. Doesn’t know what John B means.
But JJ knows. He squirms, looks to his back. John B looks at him a second, then goes behind him.
There’s a big bandage peeking out just below the waistband of his board shorts. It’s covering a fourth of his lower back, and the skin around it is already irritated.
“Fuck, me,” John B whispers.
JJ chokes out a laugh, finally. “Yeah, you can say that again.”
JJ can feel John B’s fingers on his back and the band aid is being pulled, and he feels nauseous. He feels the sweat bead on his forehead, but there’s goosebumps all over his body, and he swears he hears Sarah gasp.
“I say this— with the most love I have,” John B's voice is strained. He’s looking at the cut on JJ’s back, deep and angry. “But what the fuck , JJ.”
JJ says nothing. He doesn’t have to.
“What happened?”
If it’s possible, JJ shrinks even more. Feels so small, so fragile in John B’s hands.
“You don’t wanna know.”
It’s quiet, like JJ is after this shit happens.
John B sighs, has to keep himself from pushing too hard. He knows better, especially when it comes to JJ.
“I do, J.”
But JJ says nothing.
If JJ doesn’t want John B to know something, then he won’t know . He’s like a lock box. One that’s shut so tightly, sworn to secrecy and loyalty and everything in between.
But John B is looking at the gash on JJ’s back, and it’s bad. It’s really bad, and he needs JJ to tell him.
If he doesn’t, he’s gonna assume the worst. And assuming the worst sends John B’s mind into a frenzy. The deeper he gets, the more he thinks they need to get it checked out by someone who actually knows that they’re doing.
He’s going through a list of possibilities. A bottle, a can. A rusty piece of scrap metal. God forbid it was a—
“Can you at least tell me what did this?”
JJ glances at Sarah, then back to John B. She gets it. She’s been around for a while, but she knows JJ and John B have a trust deeper than anything. That’s something she has to earn— not only with time, but with reason. She would never put him in a situation he doesn’t want to be in.
“I can go.”
“Sarah, stay,” John B says, immediately. Sarah looks at JJ, though. When he doesn’t say anything, she decides to stay put. So JJ looks back to John B, and he messes with the fabric of his wadded up T-shirt.
“You know what did it,” he finally says.
“Yeah, I know who did it,” John B says, careful.
Sarah can infer all she wanted, but this is the closest thing to a confirmation she’s gotten in a year of being friends with them.
Because suddenly, she knows. Really knows. Who leaves the mystery bruises on JJ’s skin. Who hurts him deeper than any kook ever could. Who sticks with him though it all, leaving only the bad stuck to his mind.
She can feel a tear roll down her cheek. Because she knows about shitty dads, but not like this. Never like this.
John B in front of JJ now. JJ is hunched over, his stomach rolled over softly. He’s biting his lip so hard John B swears he sees blood. But a torn lip is less dire than the massive cut and the growing fever, so he holds his tongue. Sometimes being friends with JJ is picking your battles, doing your best to judge which will leave the least impact on the rocky terrain that is JJ.
John B is waiting, waiting for JJ to look at him. And he can tell JJ is fighting his gaze, because he’s staring at the same spot on the floor. It’s a dent in the wood— made by JJ years prior.
But John B is patient. You have to be if you’re friends with JJ. He’s learned that. They all have.
So he keeps looking, and he wins. JJ glances at him, quick at first. Then they’ve locked eyes, and John B knows. Even a locked box can be opened.
“Broken bottle, I think.”
John B ignores the second part. Because how can you not know? He thinks about JJ in the moment, not even knowing what hit him. Bleeding while his dad probably cussed him out. Diminishing any ounce of self worth JJ has ever had.
“I’m gonna kill him.”
And there it was. The final piece. Sarah feels her heart beat against her chest.
JJ reaches a hand out, lands on John B’s shoulder.
“Don’t say that, B,” JJ pleads. “He doesn’t mean it.”
John B’s eyes are dark, studying the pattern of bruises on JJ’s chest.
“Doesn’t mean it?” His voice is loud, echoes through the house. “Fuck me— J, this is crazy. You know that right?”
“I’m alright,” JJ says again. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Fuckin’ barely,” John B throws his hands, hits the counter next to JJ. He flinches, hard. John B doesn’t seem to notice. He grabs his hands behind his neck, shakes his head. Paces the floor.
“B–”
And then he just takes off. Storms to his bedroom. Sarah looks at JJ.
“It’s not always like this,” JJ says, quiet. He’s messing with the rings on his fingers, but his eyes are still trained to the floor. “He tries so hard. To be quiet, and calm. Because one time he wasn’t, and it was just— it was shit. And it wasn’t his fault. It’s never his fault, but he thinks it is.”
“It's not yours either, JJ,” Sarah says. “You know that, right?”
JJ shrugs, and he winces at the ache of his shoulders. “I knew it the first few times. But it happens over and over and you can help but wonder, you know? You can’t help but hear the words that are being said to you and wonder if there’s some truth behind them.”
“There’s not,” she says quickly. “You’re a good kid, J. You’re a good guy, a good person. You don’t deserve this.”
He’s still looking at the floor, and she lifts his chin with her finger.
“Hey,” she says, gentle. His eyes find hers. “You don’t deserve this.”
He nods. Teary eyed, he blinks and the tears fall onto his cheeks.
Sarah’s trying to decide what to say next, but the shatter of glass pulls her from her thoughts. Her eyes widen, but aside from another hard flinch, JJ seems unfazed.
“It’s not usually this bad.”
“For you, or for him?”
“Both.”
Another glass breaks.
She runs a hand down his back. She’s about to go check on John B, but stops when he rounds the corner. He runs his fingers through his hair.
It’s like one thing after another, though. Kie’s voice sounds from the porch, asking Sarah if she's coming back. The three look between each other.
“Call me if you need me?” Sarah asks gently.
John B nods. Sarah squeezes JJ’s hands. And then she’s out the door.
John B is peering behind JJ once again, studying the cut on his back.
“You good?”
JJ asks, but it’s quiet. He feels like he’s walking on eggshells, and John B hates that he makes him feel that way.
“Yeah,” he says. Back to business. “The skin is shredded.”
The term makes JJ’s stomach lurch.
“What do we do about that?”
John B sighs, rubs his forehead. “Pray?”
JJ smiles. It’s small, but it’s there, and John B feels the smallest bit of relief wash over him.
“I’m not one for God.”
“Yeah, J,” John B nods. “I know that. I wouldn't be, either.”
He doesn’t finish his sentence, because JJ gets it. He knows John B isn’t the most religious person in the world, but he knows that, for some reason, Big John believed in God, so John B did too.
And maybe JJ would. If he had a reason to. Maybe he does. He doesn’t really know, not these days. Because it’s hard to believe in a God when he can barely breathe without feeling like he’ll fall apart.
He’s not one for woe is me . But sometimes things just feel too big, and he doesn’t understand how a God could let shit like this happen. To him, to his friends, to the place he loves.
“I’d like it if you got stitches,” John B’s voice brings him back.
“We got that glue.”
It’s absent. JJ doesn’t want to fight, but he also won’t go to the hospital. They both know that. It’s not an option.
“It’s deeper than anything I’ve seen.”
“Could we try it?” JJ asks, but he feels like he’s begging. He feels like he’s five years old, and he’s begging Big John to let him sleep over for the third night in a row.
Begging for something so silly.
Thankfully, Big John always said yes. And thankfully, John B does too.
At the end of the day, John B understands him, even when JJ doesn’t understand himself. So he nods, and that’s enough.
John B works quietly, and carefully. He keeps his touch light and quick. JJ is no different. He’s quiet and careful, just a little less light.
His eyes are dark. They always are after. John B doesn’t blame him— his eyes would be dark, too, if had to go through what JJ did.
“What’d you break?”
It’s sudden, but John B isn’t surprised that he’s asking.
John B shrugs, doesn’t stray from the work in front of him. “Dads coin collection. Jars were empty, though.”
JJ nods. He thinks to the line of glass jars sitting on the dresser in Big John’s room. When they were kids, the things were overflowing with pennies and quarters and dimes. Each time Big John would leave, the boys would watch the coins dip lower and lower.
JJ’s not shocked that they’re empty. He just hasn’t noticed yet.
“I’m sorry I scared you,” John B says. Still, he keeps his eyes on JJ’s body.
They’re both thinking about the same thing. It was probably three years ago. The bruises on JJ were bad, not at bad as they are today, but the worst they’d ever been. John B lost it. Practically flipped a table, so torn up over Luke Maybank and his hard hands.
JJ was terrified. His safe person— the person he turned to when his world was falling apart. He didn’t feel so safe. John B would never hurt him. He knew that. But his words were too loud and his movements were too quick.
JJ backed himself into the corner of the bathroom, shaking as he held his knees and tried to remind himself he was alright.
John B felt awful. He didn’t even register how painful it all was for JJ. It was really no different than how they acted when they got riled up over something a kook said or after getting laid off from a shitty job.
But fight or flight JJ was a different case. This JJ chose the third option: freeze. this JJ was fragile. He was timid and quiet and he needed to be eased back into normal life. It broke John B’s heart when he put those pieces together.
John B had found this JJ, tucked into the corner of the bathroom. Rocking on feet, knees in his chest. Mumbling a quick, quiet ‘I’m sorry’ over and over while John B pulled him close.
Now, he did his best staying calm. Staying quiet and gentle. Moving slow. It made JJ feel safe, and that’s all he ever wanted. To make JJ feel safe.
John B is still talking, and it takes JJ a second to realize that. He’s still working on JJ’s back— give John B a task, and he’ll do his best to perfect it.
“I didn’t mean to yell. I just— I don’t understand how someone can be this cruel. And I know you don’t know either. God. I hate even making you think about it.”
“I’d think about it either way.”
“See?” John B shakes his head. “It’s that— the fucking mind games he puts you through— on top of everything else.”
John B is ranting, but his voice is gentle. It feels like honey in JJ’s ears, John B’s breath warm against his shoulder blades.
“And seeing you like this— it makes me sick, J.”
“I know,” JJ says quiet, the words caught in his throat. “But— I'm telling you, B. I’m alright. Okay?”
John B nods.
He does what Big John used to. Ice on JJ’s ribs, a bandaid on his cheek. Skin glue on his back, and as much neosporin as he can get away with after it’s dry. He gives him aspirin and some fever reducer he found in the cabinet.
JJ is still. He lets John B do his thing, making an effort to be as compliant as he can. He flinches at every sound throughout the house, and he forgets to breathe for a minute when he hears Kie’s laugh pick up from the porch.
John B is by his side, though, and he’s doing the thing he always does when JJ forgets how to breathe. He counts to four and then to eight, and JJ follows.
JJ sleeps in John B’s bed. It’s the middle of the day, but it doesn’t really matter. His fever had to be hitting the hundred mark, but John B didn’t have a thermometer to know for sure.
So he led JJ to his room, helped him fall into the covers. He cracked the windows and kept a fan on in the corner, even though JJ said he didn’t need it. He was still shivering.
John B left the fan on, anyways. He knew JJ liked the noise it made when he slept. If JJ could avoid silence forever, he would.
He’s flipping the lights off, ready to let JJ rest when he feels eyes on him.
“B?”
“Yeah, J?”
He looks so small. So young, and innocent with the covers pulled to his chin.
“Can you stay? Just for a minute?”
John B is thinking about their friends on the porch, and he knows JJ must be, too. That’s how he knows how bad it is. That JJ would ask.
So he nods, gets under the covers right next to JJ. His leg wraps around JJ’s, and their shoulders are touching. John B waits, let’s JJ come close to him first. He never knows. What JJ’s tolerance will be when it comes to touch.
JJ scoots closer, though. He lets his head fall into John B’s shoulder, so John B pulls him close and wraps his arms around him. He loves holding JJ, just as much as JJ loves behind held by him.
He can feel the quick beat of JJ’s heart, and he knows he’s trying his hardest to calm it down. Sometimes it just takes a while, and John B knows that, too. So he runs his fingers through JJ’s hair, keeps his arms around him all gentle and soft.
“You’re safe, J.”