no burden he is to bear

by strangertobluewater

"You're earning so many best friend points right now," JJ mumbles as the warm water washes over him and his shivering subsides. "Just keep your eyes away from my junk, Routledge." / "I knew you'd make this weird," John B mutters. / JJ cracks one eye open. "This is definitely weird. Embrace it."

Friendly heads up: there are some graphic depictions of vomiting in this story. This is mostly a sickfic, but I did try to sprinkle in a meaningful plot, too. I just love me some hurt/comfort/angst, so here we are. Thanks for reading!

[Set one month following the disappearance of Big John.]

---

John B hates today.

It's raining. Hard. And will be all day.

He feels trapped inside the walls of the Chateau, the much-too-familiar feeling of loneliness creeping around him.

He's been dreading this day for a while. It's a significant day - and not in a good way - made worse by not being able to go out somewhere and blow off steam.

He'd texted JJ early in the morning and several times after to come hang, but hasn't heard back. It's not like him.

He'd tried Pope too, but he's busy studying like a maniac and has been all weekend. Midterm exams. Apparently they start tomorrow? It's news to John B, but he can't find it in him to care.

He even thought about texting Kie. More than once.

It's going on 3:00 right now, and all he has done so far is smoke weed and eat tooth-rotting cereal straight from the box while watching reruns of Seinfeld on the outdated TV set. He's drifted in and out of sleep a bit, but never for longer than twenty minutes or so. He's trying to work up the gumption to get off the couch and heat up some ramen. He just doesn't feel like moving.

He is one with the couch.

He needs JJ here to join him, he thinks vaguely, because then he wouldn't be pathetic all alone. Misery loves company and all that.

Misery must also love freak-timing, because just as he thinks it, JJ slams up against the window and nearly makes John B fall off the couch.

Well…

… he's up now.

JJ pulls this shit so frequently that it should never startle him anymore. But it always does. And JJ always gets a kick out of it.

He's grinning stupidly when John B pulls the front door open, despite being completely soaked from head to toe. He's wearing a gray hoodie, black sweatpants, and work boots, and has trailed in more mud than John B would've thought possible through the screened-in porch.

"First off, I hate you," John B tells him, because he can't let JJ off the hook for scaring the living daylights out of him. "Second… did you walk all the way here?" There's no way his bike would have held up in this weather.

"You l-love me," JJ counters through chattering teeth. "And sure did. Beautiful day we're having."

"Dude, it's a fucking monsoon outside. Not to mention the coldest day we've had all November. Why didn't you just text me to come pick you up?" Would've gotten me out of this damn house, John B thinks.

"Phone's slightly out of c-commission. Plus, I don't think you're going anywhere anytime soon. Your van is wheels deep in the mud."

Shit. That'll have to be a problem for future John B.

"Well, you look like a drowned cat."

"Just the look I was going for. You gonna let me in, or what?"

John B grabs the blanket that hangs over the back of the couch. "Get out of those clothes first. Don't want you dripping all over the place."

"Right, because you're such a meticulous housekeeper," JJ says with an eye roll.

John B gives him a little shove. "Just do it. You gotta be freezing." He unfolds the blanket and holds it up for privacy's sake while JJ slips out of his soaking wet clothes and kicks off his boots.

"So what's up with your phone?" John B asks, once JJ's wrapped in the blanket.

"Ah." JJ bends down to fish it out of his sweatpants pocket. "See for yourself." He tosses an unrecognizable hunk of metal at John B then nudges past him to inside.

"Dude, what the hell?" JJ's phone is completely smashed.

"I overslept big time." JJ shrugs. "I was supposed to do a solo drop on a hide this morning." It's not much of an explanation, but John B is able to read between the lines.

Translation: my dad was pissed.

"Are you hurt?" John B asks bluntly, a swell of anger building up in his chest. He has the urge to yank the blanket away and check JJ for injuries.

"Nah, phone took the brunt of it," JJ says easily and flops down onto the couch. Always quick to deflect. "I see you got the festivities started without me." He reaches for the coffee table to pick up a used blunt and takes a whiff.

"More where that came from."

"So is this the plan?" JJ asks as he sets the blunt back down. "Veg and watch Seinfeld all day?"

John B raises his eyebrows. "You have any better ideas?"

JJ considers briefly. "Nope," he decides, popping the p. "Sounds pretty amazing, actually.

"Cool. Hey, I was about to put on some ramen. You want some?"

JJ makes a face and runs a hand through his damp hair. "Nah, I'm not very hungry. Can I bum a shower while you're doing that?"

"Yeah, 'course. You can grab some spare sweats from the dresser in the bedroom, too. Towels are on the rack above the toilet."

"My man." JJ puts up some lazy finger guns, then stands from his spot on the couch. He disappears down the hall.

---

"Yo, J-John B?"

John B is in the kitchen giving the ramen a stir, trying to blink away his familiar fog of exhaustion, when he hears JJ calling for him from the shower. He turns the stove down to low and heads to the bathroom. "Hey," he taps on the door. "You need something?"

"Yeah, uh…" If JJ finishes his sentence, John B can't hear it over the running water, so he nudges the door open.

"What was that, bro?" John B asks as he pokes his head inside.

"I-I don't feel good," JJ says, his voice weak as it echoes meekly around the small bathroom.

John B blinks, feels his heart leap into his throat, because that was not what he was expecting. He thought maybe JJ couldn't remember how to turn the water off (it's tricky because there are two knobs and one has to be turned to the left instead of the right) or maybe he'd left his towel too far away and needed John B to hand it to him.

"You don't feel good?" John B repeats, concerned, and wastes no time crossing the small space of the Chateau bathroom to pull the curtain to the tub aside.

It reveals JJ sitting on the floor of the tub, his forehead resting on the meat of his wrist that's braced against a raised knee.

Panic washes over John B, because he wasn't expecting that either. "Did you fall?"

JJ moans. "No, b-but I'm really fucking dizzy, man." He sounds scared, out of breath, panting a little.

"Okay, I'm here," John B says quickly, doing his best to stay calm. He puts his hand on the nape of JJ's neck and squeezes gently. "I'm gonna shut the water off, okay?"

JJ nods vaguely. "'Kay."

John B reaches to turn the knobs, hears them creak as the water turns off. Then he kneels down beside his friend.

JJ is still panting, the muscles in his back contracting with each shuddering exhale. "Hey, try to take some deeper breaths," John B coaches gently and massages JJ's bicep with the palm of his hand. "This come on suddenly?"

JJ hums noncommittally.

John B reaches to grab JJ's towel to slide it over his lap, trying to save him at least a shred of dignity. As he does, he notices that JJ's left hip and ribs are muddled with bruises. They're faded and yellowing, so John B doesn't think he got them today. He can make an educated guess about where they came from, but JJ is on the verge of passing out, so he makes note of it and tucks it way, because he recognizes this isn't the time to interrogate him about his asshat of a father.

John B licks his lips, unsure what to do. "You think drinking some water will help?"

"D'nt know," JJ slurs, a hint of desperation in his voice.

JJ is close to tears, John B realizes, and overwhelming dread rushes over him. He figures water is worth a shot. "I'll be right back, Jay."

He sprints to the kitchen, not wanting to be away from JJ any longer than he needs to be. He flips the stove all the way off, then grabs a clean glass from the cabinet.

When he returns, he finds that JJ has vomited. Is vomiting.

John B freezes for a moment, his heart sinking for his friend. "Oh, damn, JJ," he says sympathetically. He sets the glass on the sink and puts a hand on JJ's shoulder, hovering awkwardly as he rides through the nausea.

"S-Shit. Sorry," JJ manages through parted lips dripping with spit and bile. He's palming the floor of the tub with both hands, bent forward at the waist, gags rolling through him.

"You're okay, bro, don't apologize," John B says, crouching down. He starts running his hand up and down JJ's back, wincing each time he brings up more substance. "I got you."

It's off-putting, seeing his best friend in such a vulnerable state. JJ is a master of disguise when he's hurting. He's able to put on a front and John B falls for it more than he should. Take, for example, the bruises on his side. John B hadn't noticed anything was up, and he's seen JJ every day for the past five days straight. His ribs must have been killing him - still must be killing him - but JJ hides it. Somehow, he hides it. Whether it's wearing a long-sleeved shirt in the dead heat of the summer, or pinning a black eye on the Kooks, he hides it.

John B knows he'd hide this, now, too, if he could. Hell, he probably was trying to hide it when he first showed up. But it's kind of tough to keep up the act when your body starts rebelling against you, literally expelling juices from your insides while also on the brink of losing consciousness.

JJ must not have eaten anything substantial all day, because it doesn't take long before his body gives pause to the rebellion. John B waits a couple moments, letting JJ catch his breath, before asking if he's done.

"Yeah, think so," JJ breathes an answer. He's shivering now. "God, t-this is gross. John B, I'm—"

"Hey, easy clean up, alright?" John B assures before he can apologize again. "I'll help you. Are you still dizzy?"

"No, I… it's better now…" JJ mumbles, but there's a hint of doubt in his voice.

"Okay. You think you can try to stand?"

JJ sucks in some air and nods.

So John B holds out his hand to help pull him up. The towel that had been covering JJ's lap falls to the floor.

"Lean on the sill while I get the water going," John B directs, guiding JJ closer to the window that shares a wall with the tub. He bends down to push the soiled towel out of the way. "You good? Staying conscious?"

"Yeah," JJ croaks. "Mostly."

"Aces."

John B gets the water going then detaches the hose that's connected to the shower head. It's a fairly recent installment to the Chateau. In fact, it took Big John over a week to get it installed properly and John B gave him some shit for it.

All this work for something that takes away the "hands free" quality of a shower?

It's called luxury, Bird. You can spray the bottom of your feet!

John B feels the familiar pang of sadness at the memory, but also feels a newfound appreciation for the hand-held shower hose: Ideal for cleaning up a friend after a vomiting stint? Check.

JJ keeps his eyes closed throughout the whole ordeal, letting John B rinse and clean his body.

"You're earning so many best friend points right now," he mumbles as the warm water washes over him and his shivering subsides. "Just keep your eyes away from my junk, Routledge."

"I knew you'd make this weird," John B mutters.

JJ cracks one eye open. "This is definitely weird. Embrace it."

John B gives him a little smile, relieved that JJ is making his usual quips despite feeling so sick. "Okay, man, I think we're finished here." He reattaches the hose at its base and turns the water off. "How you doing? You okay?" He keeps his eyes trained on JJ's face as he reaches to grab a fresh towel from the rack.

JJ is still leaning heavily against the window sill, his legs trembling under his weight. "Would love to be lying down right about now," he answers.

"Yeah bro, I bet," John B says. "Soon, okay?" He drapes the fresh towel around JJ's shoulders and supports the majority of his weight as he steps clumsily over the edge of the tub. "Let me help you get dressed and then you should drink some water."

"I can do it," JJ says as John B guides him to take a seat on the lid of the toilet.

"What?"

"Get dressed." JJ nods at the spare sweats sitting on the ledge of the sink that John B is letting him borrow. "I-I can do it. I think."

"Convincing."

"Really. You can wait outside the door."

And because John B knows how prideful JJ can be, he gives in. "Holler if you need me."

---

When JJ emerges, he has a much-too-proud smirk on his face for completing a task as simple as pulling on sweats. "Told ya I could do it," he says cooly; he's leaning against the doorjamb.

"Wow, man. Congratulations," John B deadpans. "I'll alert the media." The light in the hallway is a little better than the bathroom, so John B takes the opportunity to really look JJ over. He's pale, save for the flush in his cheeks, and his eyes are sunken. He truly looks like a dead man walking. John B wants to kick himself for not realizing he was sick when he first showed up.

Instinctively, he reaches for JJ's forehead to feel for a fever he already knows is there. JJ immediately bats John B's hand away. "You can tone down the worry, man. Look, I've been feelin' kind of off all day. Think I just need a couple more hours to sleep it off. Must've picked up a bug."

"Yeah, a bug that nearly made you faint in my bathtub," John B reminds him stubbornly. He shifts his eyes toward JJ's left hip. "And that's not the only reason I'm worried about you."

As the realization of what John B's referring to hits him, JJ closes his eyes.

"Look, JJ…"

"John B," he begs, his voice breaking a little. He reopens his eyes and looks at John B pleadingly. "Don't."

Not now.

John B doesn't want to let it go. He's been letting this shit go for too long. But he knows how heated and erratic JJ can get when he brings up Luke, because let's face it: it's never in a positive light and JJ is more defensive of his dad than John B cares to wrap his head around. John B also knows that JJ's too out of commission to have a conversation like that right now, if the tears brimming in his eyes are any indication. So, he relents.

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "Did you drink some water?" he asks instead.

JJ visibly relaxes once he knows the discussion is dropped. "Yeah, yeah, I had some."

"It sittin' okay?"

He nods. "Yeah. I'm sorry, man, I just… I really need to crash."

"You don't need to say you're sorry, dude. You want the bed or the pull-out?"

"Whatever's closest."

---

JJ sleeps for 27 minutes.

John B knows this because he's in the bed next to him, watching the minutes on the nightstand clock blur and tick away.

JJ had fallen asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow, but before he dropped off, he'd said to John B: "you should try to sleep, too. I don't think I'm the only one who needs to crash."

It's true. John B's exhausted all the way down to his bones.

He wishes he could sleep. He wishes he could close his eyes and escape from it all. But lately, nightmares have been plaguing him, edging him closer to the point of dysfunction as each day passes by. It takes him ages to fall asleep and when he does, he sleeps in obscenely short intervals, rarely longer than two hours at a time, before he's jolted awake in the throes of panic, taunting images of Big John fading in front of his eyes.

He told JJ he'd try though. He'd opted to just crash next to him in the bed because, quite frankly, JJ had scared the shit out of him earlier and he wanted to be close if he needed him again.

So here he is, turned on his side and listening to the pounding rain on the roof as he tries to give into oblivion. He thinks he might be starting to drop off, but doesn't want to jinx it. He focuses on JJ's breathing, tries to let it lull him to sleep.

He doesn't quite make it.

At 4:18, JJ starts to stir. He shifts from his stomach to his side, curling away from John B, and draws his knees up to his chest like he's protecting his midsection. John B blinks away the drowsiness that had started to overcome him when he hears a muffled groan and JJ's breathing become thready.

"Shit," he mutters, suddenly on high alert. He thinks JJ might be in for a rude awakening. He slips out from under the covers and rounds the bed, eyes locating the trash bin he'd placed on the floor by JJ's side just in case. JJ is still asleep, but he's drooling excessively and John B knows that's not a good sign. "Hey, JJ," he calls gently as he flips on the bedroom light. He kneels down and nudges his shoulder. "Hey, you gotta wake up, man."

"Mm." JJ's lids flutter open almost immediately, but it takes him a moment to focus his bleary eyes on John B. At first it's like he's staring right through him, his awareness coming in stages as he remembers where he is. "Wha…" he breathes, and then his eyes go wide. "I-I don't feel good," he says urgently, like John B suspected he would. He starts to gag even as he says it.

"I know, man, I got you." John B holds the trash bin up to his mouth with one hand, and has his other under JJ's shoulder to help him sit up. JJ gets sick before he's even all the way upright. John B tightens his hold on the bin, grimacing at the echoing slosh of bile connecting with the bottom.

As JJ gasps for breath against his nausea, John B guides his hands to grip the bin so he can sit down beside him to put an arm of support around his back. JJ clings to the bin tightly, panting as drool and spit spill from his lips.

"Ugh," he moans before bringing up more substance with a forceful retch.

"Dang, JJ," John B murmurs. "I hate seeing you like this, bro." He rubs his hand up and down his back, feeling hopeless as JJ's stomach muscles continue to constrict with little results.

"I'll… b'fine," JJ manages between bouts, but tears of exertion, or maybe frustration, are slipping down his cheeks. "F-Fuck."

John B chooses to refrain from the sarcastic, yeah, you're the picture of health comment he has on the tip of his tongue. He just keeps his hand on JJ's back until his nausea subsides.

When it has, John B hooks an arm around JJ to help him lean back against the pillows then heads to the bathroom to rinse out the bin. He feels a little out of his element, but it's not the bodily fluids that are unnerving to him. He's not the squeamish type and he's done this before, plenty of times, cleaning up after a sick JJ. And vice versa. The difference is it's usually because one of them went too hard at a kegger, and the inebriated is too far gone to remember it the next day.

JJ being so sick without alcohol as the culprit brings some uncharted territory and vulnerability that John B isn't positive how to navigate.

"Hey, I brought you some water," he says when he returns to the bedroom; he places the trash bin back in its designated spot. "You still with me?" JJ's eyes are closed and his pallor is akin to the white pillow he's leaning against.

"Mhm." JJ hums an affirmative without opening his eyes.

John B takes a seat on the edge of the bed. "Okay, c'mon. Just a little water and then you can go back to sleep." He touches the glass to JJ's hand. "C'mon."

"Don't want it," JJ grunts.

John B reaches to palm JJ's forehead and frowns at the heat. "You gotta stay hydrated, dude," he tries to reason with him. "And you should take some Tylenol, too. See if you can shake that fever."

JJ groans and mumbles something about John B being such a pain in his ass. But he opens his eyes and holds his hand out reluctantly. "Fine."

"That's the spirit." John B grabs the Tylenol from the drawer in the nightstand. He shakes a couple of pills into JJ's palm.

JJ gets the pills down with what has to be the smallest sip of water ever taken by man.

"Bro, you need to have a little more," John B coaxes, when JJ tries to hand the still-full glass back to him.

JJ's eyes have slipped closed again. "I can't."

John B swallows over a lump in his throat. He doesn't have it in him to keep pushing, not when JJ looks and sounds so wretched. "Okay," he says softly. He takes the glass and sets it down on the nightstand. "It's here if you want it. Let me help you back under the covers, man."

JJ lets him. He doesn't even try to help as John B tugs the blanket out from underneath him and pulls it up to his chin, a testament to how truly dreadful he must be feeling. John B can't help but wonder what JJ would've done if he'd gotten this sick at home. He doesn't want to think about it.

"I hate this," JJ says hoarsely when John B takes a seat on the foot of the bed, and there's a frustrated edge in his voice. His hands are covering his face. "I'm so fucking sorry, John B."

John B frowns. "What do you keep apologizing for?" he asks, bewildered.

JJ doesn't answer right away.

John B reaches to pull his hands away from his face. "JJ...?"

"Because I know what today is, okay?" JJ chokes out finally, letting his hands flop down onto the mattress, revealing fresh tears slipping down his cheeks. "I know that it marks one month since Big John went missing and I know you've been pretending like it's not a big deal because that's how we cope with shit, but it is a big deal. I know it is because I fucking know you, and I-I should be taking care of you right now, not the other way around. I s-shouldn't've even come here, b-but my phone was broken and I wanted to m-make sure you were okay and I d-didn't want you to think I was—"

"Whoa, JJ, hey…" John B interrupts, trying to soothe, because JJ is too worked up and talking a mile a minute and looking all too much like a kicked puppy and John B just wants to hug him and not let go, holy shit. "Stop, okay? I want you here."

"You want to be c-cleaning up my puke?"

"I'd rather you not be sick in the first place, but yeah, JJ, I want to be cleaning up your puke if you need me to, because you're my best friend and I love you."

It slips out, the I love you. They don't usually say it so forthright, and if they do, it's in a joking manner. Most of the time it involves one handing the other a joint.

It's evident that those words surprise JJ. He sucks in a shaky breath and lets it out slowly as he processes the meaning behind them. John B sees the moment the stricken look in his eyes vanishes. "Bro, you know I love you, too."

John B does know that. "Yeah, but that might just be the fever talking," he tries to joke because saying I love you to each other is like acknowledging that shit is heavy enough to warrant those words. Pretending the heaviness doesn't exist is way easier. JJ's right; it's how they cope.

"So what's your excuse, then, for bein' such a sap?" JJ asks.

John B shrugs, acts nonchalant about it all. "I said what I said. You're the one who went all weepy on me."

"That might've been the fever," JJ allows, reaching up to wipe the remaining tears from his cheeks. "I just feel really shitty about the timing, man."

"It's okay," John B tells him. "I'm okay."

"You're not, though," JJ maintains. "When's the last time you slept? Like, actually slept. A full night?"

Busted.

"It's… been a while," John B concedes.

"Exactly," JJ says.

John B bites down on his lip. He doesn't want to get into this. "Well, if you quit yappin' I promise I'll try to grab some zzz's right now." He's trying to beat JJ at his own game and deflect. "Besides, being a little tired doesn't mean I'm not okay."

Okay is relative, anyway.

"John B…"

"Look, JJ. I'm more okay than not okay, which I'm pretty sure is more than you can say for yourself right now, so can we just… not do this? Please? I don't want to talk about it. You said it yourself: we don't do this."

"I know," JJ says timidly. "But maybe we should this time."

John B rejects that completely, with every fiber of his being. He stands up. "No. No. You're not going to be another person telling me to prepare for the worst. That's not happening." It's a visceral reaction, and it honestly catches him by surprise. He can feel his heart thumping in his chest.

"I'd never say that to you," JJ placates softly, and it's a good thing too, because John B was about ready to bolt.

He swallows hard and jams his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. "So what are you saying?"

The rain pounding the roof fills the silence as JJ takes his time to answer. He lets out a deep breath. "I'm just saying that I'll listen, bro. If you ever do want to talk."

And just like that, the overwhelming pressure dissipates.

John B feels himself deflate and he takes a few steps back to lean against the doorframe. He takes some measured breaths before speaking. "I'm not ready," he croaks.

They can't get into it now, not with him being exhausted and JJ being sick and both of them having less emotional capacity than a pinky finger.

"That's okay," JJ says gently. Simply. It's obvious he's struggling to keep his eyes open and John B thinks he might actually be relieved. "Get your ass back in bed. Let's just go to sleep."

If John B had wanted to talk it out right then and there, he knows JJ would have have rallied, because that's what they do for each other.

"'Kay," John B says. He hits the bedroom light and flops onto the bed. "Wake me up if you need me."

---

When John B wakes, it's to darkness. The bed is empty beside him. It's quiet. The rain must've stopped.

He sits up, trying to wrap his head around the fact that he slept - he glances at the clock - for seven hours? It's 12:03 am. A dreamless sleep, too. A miracle.

His body longs to fall back into the pillows and sleep another seven hours, but his brain and gut tell him he needs to go check on JJ.

To his dismay, he finds him on the bathroom floor, still sick as a dog. JJ has his back against the bathtub, toilet in reach. His elbows are resting on the knees of his criss-crossed legs and he's cradling his head in his hands. He'd pulled the blanket from the couch in with him and has it wrapped around his shoulders.

John B taps on the doorframe to alert him of his presence. "JJ."

JJ lifts his head and winces a bit at the light. "Hey," he says softly.

"I told you to wake me up."

"Y'needed t'sleep," he says, lifting one shoulder up in a shrug.

"How long have you been in here?"

"Dunno. Forty minutes?" he guesses. "W'time is it?"

"Little after midnight," John B tells him. "How're you doing?"

"Pretty sure my insides are liquifying."

John B winces; based on the smell of the bathroom, he suspects diarrhea has joined the mix. His own gut aches with sympathy.

"You throw up again?"

JJ audibly swallows. "Not yet," he breathes. "Feel like I'm gonna." His face and lips are stark white and he's shivering under the blanket.

John B scratches the back of his head, feeling utterly useless. He was hoping JJ would be on the mend by now, but it appears the opposite is true. "Fuck, dude. It sucks you're feeling so lousy. What can I do?"

"Y'could kill me," JJ deadpans. "Put me outta m'misery." He runs his hands through his hair, gripping at his roots.

"Nah, can't do that. Where would I get my weed?" He doesn't even earn a hint of a smile at that and John B's worry climbs a few more notches. He grabs the glass that was left on the sink earlier and fills it with water, then crouches down to hold it out to JJ. "Hey, I really think you should drink some of this. It might help you feel better. And if it makes you hurl, well, based on how you look right now, that might actually help you feel better, too."

JJ eyes the glass wearily. "You make some…" he breathes deeply through his nose "…valid points." He holds his hand out for the glass with a trembling arm and John B is afraid he's going to spill it, so he helps him tip the glass to take some small and measured sips.

"You good?" John B asks uncertainly, when JJ makes a face. He pulls the glass away, half-drained.

Apparently not, because JJ's reaching for the toilet not even five seconds later.

"Whoa, okay, easy," John B says and sets the glass back down.

He helps slide JJ's hips closer to the base of the toilet so that he can drape his arms over the seat. JJ rests his forehead against the meat of his wrists, mouth over the water. He's coughing weakly, bringing up mouthfuls of drool that drip into the bowl, thick and fast. His breath hitches between quiet belches that precede unproductive retches, until he strains hard enough to bring up a slurry of stomach contents, including the water he just drank.

"Nnh,"JJ groans. He strains again with barely anything to show for his efforts.

John B sits behind him, hovering, unsure if he should touch. He feels so helpless. "Dude, maybe I should take you to that urgent care on 5th. Remember we took Kie there after she busted her head at that kegger last year? They're open 24 hours, right?"

The truth is, John B's starting to think JJ needs more help than he can give him here.

"Your van's fucked, 'member?" JJ breathes into the bowl. He belches emptily then spits.

John B bites down on his lip. "So I'll call Pope. Maybe he can drive us in his dad's truck."

JJ pulls one of his arms away from the toilet seat to wrap it around his stomach, curling into himself. He spits again, then gags, body jerking forward as he brings up more bile.

"S'after midnight," he manages softly, then wipes his mouth with his hand.

"He'll still be up." John B scoots closer so he can put a hand on his back. "C'mon, man, you're really worrying me here. Let me call."

By John B's calculations and assumptions, JJ hasn't had anything to eat or drink in well over 24 hours. And the heat he feels through JJ's sweatshirt is more than a little concerning.

JJ inhales deeply and lets it out slowly. "Okay," he gives in with a croak, and the sheer fact that he relented so easily just affirms for John B that he's making the right move.

So he fishes his phone out of his pocket, starts running his hand up and down JJ's back, and commands Siri to "call Pope." He holds the phone up his ear with his free hand.

It's the fourth ring when it finally picks up. "Hello?" The voice on the other end sounds gravelly, and John B thinks damn, Pope is running himself into the ground with all this studying but he doesn't have time to dwell on that.

He cuts to the chase.

"Pope, hey, it's me. Listen, JJ is over at my place and he's really sick. He keeps throwing up and I think he's getting really dehydrated; he's running a fever, too. I need to get him to an urgent care but my van's stuck in mud. Can you maybe borrow your dad's truck and—."

"Whoa, slow down there a minute. This is Mr. Heyward, son."

John B frowns and a wave of dread washes over him. Heyward is notorious for… well, hating JJ. He's no fan of John B, either. "Oh. Mr. Heyward, um hi. Why do you have Pope's phone?"

"I was keeping distractions away from him while he studied."

John B rolls his eyes. Classic.

"Oh. Well can I talk to him?"

"No, Pope is about to head to bed," Mr. Heyward says, his voice leaving no room for argument on that matter. "But you can keep talking to me." He sounds gentler now. "You said you need a ride?"

John B swallows. "Yes, sir. To the urgent care on 5th." He's trying, and failing, to keep the shake out of his voice.

He hears some muffled talking on the other end of the line, can faintly hear Mrs. Heyward in the background. And then: "I'll drive you boys," Heyward tells him. "I can get to your place in ten."

The relief John B feels at those words is immediate. "Thank you, sir." he says. "We'll see you soon." The line clicks dead and John B pockets his phone. "Heyward's gonna drive us," he tells JJ.

JJ doesn't even react to that information; he's still swallowing convulsively, seemingly afraid to lift his head from the toilet.

John B stands up and runs his hands through his hair, thinking next steps.

"Hey, let me set you up with the trash bin so we can move to the couch and be ready for when he gets here. 'Kay, man?"

"Mm."

So John B pulls him away from the toilet and puts the trash bin from next to the sink in his lap. "Okay, c'mon, you're okay," he says gently, even though JJ is still working through nausea. He flushes the toilet. "Let me help you up."

"'Kay," JJ mumbles. He hugs the bin tightly to his chest with one arm and uses the other to push off the floor.

John B gets an arm around his back and helps him in his efforts to stand. He ushers him out of the bathroom, letting JJ lean the majority of his weight on him. John B deposits him on the couch.

JJ goes limp the second he's seated, head lolling against the cushions. His hands fall to his sides, effectively letting go of the bin, and John B has to steady it on his lap so it doesn't tip over. "JJ, you still with me?" he asks.

No answer.

John B's heart skips.

"JJ," he says, sharply this time, and taps his cheek. "Hey!"

JJ's eyes open into slits and he groans. "I don't feel good," he whispers brokenly.

"I know, man," John B sympathizes, relief flooding over him that JJ is still conscious, albeit just barely. "Try to stay awake for me, okay?"

"'Kay."

John B palms JJ's forehead and curses at the heat. He finds himself wishing they owned a thermometer. "I don't think that Tylenol helped," he mutters. "You're still really hot."

"Mhm, you know it," JJ manages to quip.

John B rolls his eyes. He walked right into that one.

He leaves JJ on the couch while he heads to the screened-in porch to retrieve JJ's work boots. He uses the clothes on the floor next to them as best he can to wipe the mud off.

"What're you doing?" JJ mumbles out when John B starts putting the boots on JJ's feet for him.

"Getting you ready to walk out to Heyward's truck."

"Makin' me feel like… frickin' Cinderella."

"Don't flatter yourself. You're not as pretty."

At that, JJ musters up enough strength to flip him off.

"Awh, is that bird gonna sew you a dress too, princess?" John B jokes.

JJ's mouth twitches briefly into a smile before transforming into a grimace of reburgeoning nausea. John B helps get him leaning back over the bin, mouth parted, coughing weakly.

"Dude…" John B can't stand this.

He doesn't want JJ out of his sight, but he needs to clean the place up a bit. Heyward already thinks John B and JJ are bad influences on Pope, and as John B looks around at the mess of the Chateau…. he thinks he might just have a point.

So John B scoops the used joints into an empty cereal box and pitches them. He puts the dirty dishes and ramen pot in the sink. He grabs the unopened mail strewn around and stuffs it in the junk drawer. As he does, he sees one of his dad's Altoid tins, and remembers hearing somewhere (might've been from Pope, actually) that peppermint can help abate nausea. He picks the tin up and gives it a shake; there are still a few left inside. He returns to JJ.

JJ, who is still looking whiter than a ghost, but thankfully hasn't vomited again. He's shaking as he hovers over the bin, as if holding himself upright is expending more energy than he has in him.

John B settles down next to him.

"Here, man, try this." He touches one of the mints to JJ's lip. "I think it'll help."

"You thought… water'd help, too," JJ mumbles, but he drops his jaw enough so that John B can pop the mint in his mouth.

"Touché," John B sighs, and pats JJ's back. "Trial and error sort of thing right now." He just wants JJ to have some relief. Any relief.

He stands and goes to hunt down his own pair of shoes from the bedroom. He sits on the bed to pull them on. When he returns, his phone starts vibrating in his sweatpants pocket.

It's Pope's phone calling; Heyward must've held onto it so he could get in contact with John B if need-be. John B puts it on speaker so JJ can hear.

"Hello? Mr. Heyward?"

"John B? I'm here. I'm out on the road because your yard is a bit of a swamp. Didn't want my truck gettin' stuck too. Can JJ make it that far? I can come help you boys…"

John B thinks about how poorly the short walk from the bathroom to the couch had gone and is about to tell Heyward to come help when…

"I can make it," JJ mumbles.

John B raises his eyebrows. "You sure?"

JJ meets his eyes determinedly.

"He thinks he can make it. We'll be right out."

---

JJ does make it to the truck, but the walk leaves him so exhausted that he needs help getting into it. John B holds the bin for him while Heyward gets him under the armpits to pull him up onto the bench. Then John B slides in next to him.

"Sorry," JJ says to Heyward, eyes closed as he leans his head back against the headrest, panting.

John B places the bin back in his lap and pulls the passenger door closed.

"You're alright, kid," Heyward assures JJ, palming a hand on his forehead. "We're gonna get you some help, okay?" Then he launches into a quick set of questions to make sure that taking JJ to an urgent care is sufficient versus taking him to the ER. Things like: Any severe pain in your stomach? When did he start throwing up? Did you take his temperature? John B does most of the talking.

"Okay, let's see if the urgent care can help him out," Heyward says as he turns the engine over. "John B, Mrs. Heyward sent along some ice packs and damp cloths." He reaches across JJ to hand a soft lunch box to John B. "I think you ought to put one of the cloths on the back of his neck. He's burning. Maybe get some ice packs under his arms, too. Let's see if we can cool him off a bit en route."

"Yessir." John B says, fumbling with the zipper in his haste to get JJ cooled down. "Thanks for coming to get us."

Heyward clears his throat gruffly and nods as he pulls out onto the road. "I think it was good you called when you did. Does his father know he's this ill? Have you tried to reach him?"

John B feels JJ tense from where he's pressed up against him. "Uh, no, sir. JJ's phone is broken and his dad works nights. He doesn't have his work number memorized."

It's not entirely bullshit; Luke does work nights at the salvage yard. But even if Luke was off tonight, there's no way in hell John B would've tried to get ahold of him.

He shakes out one of the cloths and places it on JJ's neck. JJ jerks at the contact and leans back over the bin, moaning sickly. "Ngh."

"I know, man, I'm sorry," John B says, lowering his voice to soothe. "But Heyward's right; you're running too hot." He can feel the heat coming off JJ in waves. "I'm gonna put some packs under your arms, too."

"N-No…" JJ whines, breath hitching.

"I'm sorry, Jay. Just try to breathe, okay?"

John B hates this. He hates it so much. He gets the packs under JJ's arms and feels like the biggest jerk ever when JJ jolts at the temperature and winds up gagging some more.

"Shit," John B says and tightens his hold when JJ's body finds more bile to expel. "I'm sorry, man. Fuck, I'm so sorry."

"Leave the packs there," Heyward says, keeping his eyes trained on the road. "I know it sucks, but I really think he needs them."

What follows is a horrible five minutes of JJ letting gags and retches roll through him, with nothing much to show for his efforts. John B runs the familiar hand up and down his back, wishing he could take this away from him. All of it.

And then, "M'nt?" JJ mumbles.

"What was that, bro?"

"Mint," JJ repeats. "Helped b'fore."

"Oh, yeah, okay, I brought them," John B assures, and shifts his body so he can get the tin out of his pocket. "Here." He pops a mint in JJ's mouth. "We're almost there, okay?"

JJ nods. His body seems to be adjusting to the cold temperature. He takes a deep breath in through his nose and exhales slowly. Then he does it again, and again, and again until Heyward pulls into the urgent care parking lot.

---

Thankfully, the urgent care is mostly deserted, so JJ is able to be hooked up to an IV almost immediately, once Heyward fills out the forms as best he can. JJ hadn't been lucid enough to help much; he was leaning on John B's shoulder, too busy concentrating on not getting sick again.

Now, they're in Exam Room B and JJ is dozing on a cot while the nurse gets his first bag of IV fluid going. John B sits in an armchair at his bedside and has his hand on top of his because JJ is really fucking sick so screw not holding his hand. He'll deny it forever though, if anyone ever asks.

JJ's fever is a high 103° which John B thinks is scary-high, but the nurse tells them that it's not too concerning based on how dehydrated he is. "Once we get him rehydrated, that number will come way down," she assures.

The doctor tells them that JJ's going to need at least three, maybe even four bags of saline. John B's glad JJ's asleep. He knows how much he hates being fussed over.

As for John B, he's starting to crash. The adrenaline is wearing off now that JJ is getting the help he needs. He can feel himself trembling because his body hasn't caught up to the relief of it yet. His heart is still thumping in his chest with something akin to panic. In fact, the sensation feels like it's growing.

He scoots his chair back from JJ and leans forward with his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. Tries to get a grip.

Heyward, who is sitting in a chair beside him, notices this.

"You alright, kid?"

John B nods. "Yeah, fine," but his voice cracks and Heyward would have to be a fool to have believed him.

"Maybe we should step out for a while," he suggests calmly. "Get you some air."

John B clams up at that. "No… I can't…"

"I'll stay with him, sugar," the sweet middle-aged nurse says in her comforting drawl. "You go take a break. C'mon now, he's sleeping. He won't even know you're gone."

He's doubled-teamed and doesn't have any fight left in him.

"John B," Heyward says softly. He stands and holds his hand out for him to take. "C'mon."

---

"You're breaking my heart, kid."

They're sitting on the curb outside the urgent care, paying no mind to the dampness seeping through their pants, and John B can't help it. He's crying.

It's been a long time coming.

"I'm sorry," John B mumbles to Heyward, swiping at the tears on his cheeks. "I-I don't know what… This is so stupid." Humiliated is an understatement. Get it together, Routledge.

Heyward puts a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Look at me, John B."

John B doesn't want to. But Heyward isn't moving his hand, and John B knows he won't move his hand or speak until he looks at him.

So he does.

"Listen, kid. You just spent hours taking care of your dangerously ill best friend. Your dad is missing. And I bet you can't remember the last time you had a decent meal. So this, right now? This is a combination of a blood sugar crash, exhaustion, and more weight on your shoulders than a kid your age should ever have to take on. It's not stupid. If you ask me, it's justified and then some. It's not stupid."

John B bites down on his bottom lip and nods slightly. He raises his wrist to wipe at his eyes.

"Are you hearing me?" Heyward presses.

"Y-Yeah."

"Good," Heyward says firmly. And then he does something that surprises John B. He scoots closer and tugs him in for a hug.

Any other night John B would have resisted a hug from Heyward of all people. The guy is intimidating and tough as nails and judges every move he and JJ make through the lens of how it will impact his son. It's a lot of pressure (that's worth it to keep Pope around).

But the John B on this night welcomes the hug. Melts into it. Relishes in it. He had been longing for this without knowing he had been longing for this. For someone to hold him together.

It makes him cry harder. Makes him miss his dad.

"Okay, I gotcha, I gotcha," Heyward says, resting his chin on top of John B's head and cupping the back of his head with his palm.

They sit there, like that, long enough for John B to calm down, for him clear his mind from all the turmoil of the night and refocus on the quiet stillness of the parking lot, the warmth of Heyward shielding him from the brisk November air, the owl hooting in the distance…

"You're okay," Heyward says into his hair then pulls away, looking at him critically despite the limited lighting from the parking lot. "Yeah?"

John B nods and tries to give him a small, grateful smile that probably comes off more like a grimace.

"Okay." Heyward pats him on the back and stands up. "Take some deep breaths for me, son. I'll be right back."

John B does as he's told, too tired to wonder or care where Heyward might be going. He takes one, two, three deep breaths and lets them out slowly. With each exhale he feels a little more grounded, but lighter too. By the time he gets to his tenth breath, Heyward has returned.

"John B. Here."

He looks up to find Heyward holding a banana and a Snickers bar out to him. There's a Gatorade bottle tucked under his arm, too.

"I found a vending machine. You need to eat. It's not much, but it's something."

"Thanks," John B says and takes the items gratefully. He feels like crying all over again from the man's simple and unexpected generosity alone. He eats quickly under Heyward's watchful eye.

---

When they return to the exam room, JJ is still asleep. The nurse is right where she said she'd be and is sitting in the armchair leafing through a magazine. "Good news," she tells them softly as she stands from her seat. "His fever's already down a degree. He's almost finished with his first bag of fluid."

"That's good to hear," Heyward says. "Thank you, Helen."

"Thanks," John B echoes as he takes his post back by JJ's bedside. JJ has started to stir at their voices.

John B reaches for his hand. "Hey, you awake, man?"

"Mm," JJ hums. His eyes flutter open and he focuses on John B. "What…?"

"We're getting you sorted out. You doing okay?"

"Y-Yeah, I think s-so." JJ blinks as he takes in his surroundings. A shiver runs through him.

"Are you cold, kid?" Heyward asks.

JJ nods.

Helen squeezes his shoulder. "I'll get you a blanket."

"Thank y-you, ma'am," JJ tells her through chattering teeth. Always a charmer, even when he's not feeling up to par.

Once Helen exits the room, JJ asks, "You alright, John B?"

John B raises his eyebrows at him. "You're literally receiving medical attention right now, and you're asking me if I'm alright?"

"Y'eyes are red," JJ mumbles.

Oh.

He clears his throat. "I'm fine, man. Just worried 'bout your sorry ass."

"You were crying."

It's not really a question. "Yeah," John B admits softly, but he makes a point not to elaborate. "How're you feeling?"

He sees JJ swallow and he lets out a wavering breath. He gives a little shake of his head.

"Still pretty rough, huh?" That's Heyward.

"Mm," JJ affirms, his hand hovering over his midsection. He knows it's not the answer they wanted to hear.

"Hey, that's okay, kid," Heyward tells him gently, and it's weird hearing him use a fatherly tone with JJ. Most interactions with Heyward consist of him angrily cursing after them from the docks when they capture Pope for a clean getaway. "It's normal for this to take some time. Do you feel like you're going to be sick again?"

"I don't know," JJ answers miserably. His eyes flicker to where the needle for the IV is sticking into his arm and he swallows hard.

"That's okay," Heyward says again. "But how about we help you sit up, just in case?"

JJ nods his consent so John B and Heyward situate some pillows behind him and prop him up against them. Nurse Helen returns with the blanket and helps them in their efforts.

"Talk a-about service," JJ says nervously. John B knows having three people hover over him is essentially his worst nightmare. Heyward catches the drift and both he and John B back off and sit back down while Helen gets the blanket tucked around him.

"Did I hear that you're still feeling nauseated?" Helen asks.

JJ's eyes have slipped closed again, but he nods.

"I'll let Dr. Harris know. He tends to see if rehydration does the trick first, but he might want to give you an anti-emetic in your next round."

"'Kay."

Helen reaches for the basin on his tray table and places it in his lap.

JJ's eyes open into slits as he looks down at it wearily.

Helen pats his shin. "Hang in there, sweetheart. I'm going to go ask Dr. Harris about that anti-emetic."

"Thanks," JJ mumbles, as Helen closes the door softly behind her.

They sit in heavy silence for a while. John B can't stop staring at JJ. He can't get over how sick he looks. The circles under his eyes are so dark they look like someone painted them on. It's unreal how unrelenting these past ten plus hours have been on his friend.

Heyward's the one who ends up breaking the quiet. "Hey, kid, want me to read you something out of this Reader's Digest from 2015 to help distract you?" he asks.

JJ opens his eyes a little further. "2015?" he croaks.

"Yeah," Heyward says. He shows it to John B so he can confirm. "Clearly they stay on top of updating the reading material around here." Heyward flips to a certain page. "What do you say? Want to hear some jokes?"

"Okay."

So Heyward starts reading, but he only gets through three jokes before JJ is pushing himself into a more upright position to lean over the bin. He nudges the blanket off and pushes the baggy sleeves up to the gown they made him wear.

"Shit, now I'm hot," he says frantically, despite the goosebumps John B sees on his forearms. He gulps hard. "M'gonna throw up 'gain. I c-can't—"

JJ breaks off and his gut caves in deep. He jerks forward and heaves. It's dry, unproductive, but his stomach constricts again, and again.

John B and Heyward are on their feet in an instant; John B to sit on the edge of the cot to cup his hand under JJ's forehead to keep him from pitching forward and Heyward to fan JJ with the magazine to try to help cool him off.

John B doesn't know what to say. He's out of reassurances. This sucks.

JJ stays that way. Nauseated, and drooling, and miserable, even as Helen returns to get him started on his second bag.

"Oh, honey," she sighs when she sees the state of her patient.

"Please tell me the doctor agreed to that anti-emetic," Heyward says to Helen.

"He did," she assures.

---

It's like flipping a switch, once JJ has that anti-emetic and another bag of fluid pumping through his veins. He settles down enough that he's able to fall back asleep. His color starts to come back. His fever breaks.

And before they know it, JJ is through with his fourth bag and given the green light to leave.

"Shouldn't I be taking you home?"

That's the question Heyward asks when JJ tells him to drop him off with John B at the Chateau early the following morning.

"No, actually, um, my dad's going fishing with my uncle today. They always go the day after a big storm."

It's a lie. A believable one.

"Alright, but wouldn't he cancel once he hears how sick you've been? You need looking after."

JJ shrugs. "I don't want to ruin his plans. They always get a big haul after a rain. Besides, I'm fine now."

"You're 'fine' because you had four bags of fluid and meds pumped into you, kid. But we don't know that you're over this thing."

"Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence."

"I'm gonna look after him," John B says.

"Yeah, and who's gon' be looking after you?" Heyward challenges. "Pope said your Uncle T is supposed to be staying with you."

"He is. He had some business to take care of this weekend. He'll be back tomorrow."

Another lie.

Heyward lets out a huff of air, not really believing but also not willing to fight a battle. "You need to keep him hydrated," he says, giving in. "And he needs to eat."

"Right."

"Bland foods that are easy to digest. You have any of that?"

John B scratches the back of his head. "Uh, no, not really."

"Guess we need to make a supply run, then."

---

"So, Heyward's less of an asshole than we thought." John B pops a can of ginger ale and hands it over to JJ. Heyward had gotten JJ everything he might need, from saltines to bananas to ginger ale and Gatorade, plus some extra groceries for John B. Then he refused the money that John B tried to offer him for it.

"Yeah," JJ agrees as John B takes a seat beside him on the couch. "He came in pretty clutch."

"I always knew he liked us. Deep down."

"Deep, deep down," JJ emphasizes. He takes a tentative sip of the ginger ale. "You know he's gonna hold it over our heads, right?"

John B pinches the bridge of his nose. "Yeah."

"We'll be going on runs for him until we die."

"I don't even care, man. It was worth it." He gives JJ a sideways glance. "That ginger ale tastin' okay to you?"

"Yeah. Think so."

"Okay, good. You want to try some saltines, too? Or maybe some toast?"

"John B," JJ sighs.

"What?"

"Look… I know I freaked you out, but… I really think I'm okay now. You don't have to like… wait on me hand and foot, man."

"I know that I don't have to."

"You should try to get some more sleep," JJ adds.

"We both should," John B agrees. "But I need to eat, too, okay? I'm gonna scramble up some eggs. Will you let me make you some toast?"

JJ rolls his eyes and scoffs a bit. "Fine," he relents. "Whatever."

John B pops up, elated he got him to agree to attempting nourishment. "Good answer." He heads to the kitchen.

"Hey, John B?"

John B pauses and turns around.

JJ looks down at his hands and, in a moment of rare JJ Maybank sincerity, he says, "Thanks, man."

John B throws a couch pillow at him. "Don't mention it."

---

JJ eats an entire piece of toast and part of a banana. John B tries to be nonchalant about it, but ends up watching him like a hawk anyway. Now they're lounging on the couch while early morning gameshows flash on the screen in front of them.

John B can feel himself dozing off. He's starting to believe that JJ is truly on the upswing. Yeah, he's quiet, but so is John B. He chalks it up to the fact that they're both exhausted. So exhausted that John B allows himself to lean back and close his eyes; he catches probably around twenty minutes.

If only it would fucking last.

It's the middle of Who Wants to be a Millionaire when JJ gets up wordlessly, effectively waking John B, and heads to the bathroom. John B tries not to think anything of it. Healthy people use the bathroom, too.

But when he exits, it's abundantly clear that JJ isn't feeling very healthy. He looks about ten shades grayer than he did when he got up.

"You okay?" John B asks, wiping the sleep from his eyes.

"I-I don't think the toast…" JJ trails off from the doorway of the hallway. He takes in a shuddering breath. "I-I feel really weird, bro."

"Were you sick again?"

JJ shakes his head, leans against the doorway.

"But you think you might be?"

JJ hangs his head. "Yeah. I don't know."

"Okay," John B says with a sigh he can't help. Not out of annoyance, but worry. "Come sit back down. The bin's right here."

"No… I'll… I'll just stay in here," JJ says, thumbing over his shoulder at the bathroom. "I'm… I-I don't want y-you to have t-to—" he sniffs and breaks off. "I d-don't want—"

John B stands from the couch and crosses the room. He can tell that JJ is fighting back tears. He's sick and upset and John B doesn't know how to fix it. He just wants to fix it. He thought he had fixed it.

"Hey, JJ, stop, okay?" he says gently. He reaches to hold on to JJ's wrists, an attempt to get him to look him in the eye. "I know you have it in your head that you're… inconveniencing me or something, but you're not, bro. You could never, alright?"

JJ meets his eyes and nods minutely. Tears start slipping down his cheeks and he sniffs again. "I-I just…"

I just wanted this to be over.

"I know," John B says softly and slides his arm around JJ's lower back. "C'mon. You'll be more comfortable out here."

---

"Maybe your body is just getting used to having food back in its system. Maybe that's all this is," John B says from his position on the floor. He's leaning against the couch by JJ's feet.

JJ is lying down because he, much to John B's consternation, is feeling lightheaded again. The bin is sitting on the floor by his head.

"Yeah, maybe," JJ breathes doubtfully. He shifts onto his side so he can wrap his arm around his middle.

JJ's visible discomfort makes John B's worry climb even higher. "How bad does your stomach hurt?" he asks. "Do you still think this is just some nasty virus?"

"I'm just nauseous, man," JJ answers with a croak, and because he knows what John B is getting at, he adds, "I don't think it's appendicitis or anything like that." He closes his eyes, shifts again. "All I know is I'm gonna feel like the biggest asshole ever if—" he breathes deeply through his nose, "—if I'm contagious and you get sick, too."

"You're already the biggest asshole ever," John B says, but relaxes at the fact that JJ isn't in pain. "Besides, I gave you strep in 4th grade. Payback's bound to happen eventual—"

He's interrupted by a sound that can only be described as a whimper. JJ reopens his eyes, and pushes himself more upright so he can twist his body to lean over the edge of the couch.

"Are you…?"

JJ coughs weakly and nods. His arms are trembling.

"Okay, I got you." John B sits up on his knees so he can wrap an arm around JJ's back to help him hover over the bin. JJ's spits, drools, gasps against the nausea, but it wins out in the end.

He loses everything he ate.

---

When it's over, JJ is completely spent. "I'm so fucking tired," he tells John B, shivering against chills that have returned with a vengeance.

John B feels like crying. He drapes the blanket over JJ and says, "Then go to sleep, bro."

JJ's out within seconds.

---

Now, John B is lying face down on his bed and trying not to lose it entirely. He's crying. Feels like screaming.

God, he wishes his dad was here.

He doesn't want to shoulder this on his own.

He wonders if he should call Heyward and let him take the wheel again. Tell him JJ still isn't doing so hot. But he can't bring himself to do it. Heyward had still planned on going into work today, and John B knows how much his family relies on his income. Knows how much he works overtime just to keep food on the table.

Pope's out, too. No way is John B going to rope him into this when midterm exams are essentially life-and-death situations to the guy.

There's only one other person he can think of to call.

And before he can rethink everything that's happened to their friendship over the past year and before he can bring himself to care that it's only 6:45 in the morning, he's tapping the number to call and it's ringing on the other end.

He holds his breath as the line connects.

"John B?"

---

"John B, you there?"

It takes a moment for John B to find his voice. "Yeah," he croaks. "Yeah, I'm here. Hi, Kie."

"What's going on?" She sounds groggy.

And John B doesn't know how to answer that. All he knows is that it is so good to hear her voice. He swallows, tries to figure out what to say.

"John B? Are you okay?"

He sniffs, suddenly aware of how bizarre it is that he called her. They haven't interacted in upwards of half a year, and John B hates how foreign it feels to be talking to her.

"I, um… yeah, I'm okay." But his voice is shaking all over the place.

Kiara is quiet for a moment. "You're a shit liar, John B." She sounds more alert now. Worried. "I'm listening, okay? I'm here. What's wrong?"

John B pinches the bridge of his nose. "Everything?" he says softly, before he can stop himself.

"Everything?" Kie repeats, high-pitched and concerned. "John B, what—?"

He back-pedals, because that was a really stupid thing to say. "No, I… I shouldn't've…" he swallows. "I just… I, um…" He can't even get a sentence out.

"You're freaking me out, John B. Take a deep breath, okay?"

He does. He feels sobs building in his chest and tears on his cheeks. "M'sorry," he manages, because the last thing he wants to do is scare her. "I swear I-I'm okay. I am. But JJ's here and he's really f-fucking sick and I'm… I'm sort of losing my mind."

"Okay," Kie says gently like he's some scared, cornered animal. "John B, where's your dad? Is he not home or something?"

That knocks the wind out of John B. Completely blindsides him. Holy shit, she doesn't even know.

He feels like his tongue is made of cotton. He opens his mouth to tell her, then closes it again. He can't bring himself to do it over the phone. "No… he's… he's on a trip," he chokes out and feels dizzy over it. "Can you c-come over?"

It slips out of his mouth like a plea, and he immediately recognizes how ridiculous it sounds, to be asking someone he hasn't spoken to in months to come over at 6:45 in the morning, on a school day.

Kie is silent on the other end for what feels like forever. John B holds his breath, doesn't have it in him to take it back. He tries to brace himself for rejection.

Then, "Yeah. Yeah, John B. I'm coming."

John B collapses into the pillows with relief.

---

He's not sure how much time has passed by the time he picks himself off the bed. He feels like he's walking through a fog as he makes his way back to the front room. He drops into the armchair by the couch and waits for Kie.

JJ is still sleeping. His bangs are clinging, sweaty and matted, to his forehead, but chills continue to run through him. He's wrapped so tightly in the blanket that John B can see the entire contour of his skinny form.

John B spends a couple of moments just watching the rise and fall of JJ's chest as he snores softly. Then he reaches for the remote to turn the TV off; the background noise was worsening his developing headache. He leans forward, runs his hands through his hair, and rests his elbows on his knees, head in his hands.

He breathes deeply in through his nose, out through his mouth, like he did earlier in the urgent care parking lot. He relishes in the quiet and just breathes.

---

"John B."

He whips his head up to see the silhouette of Kie standing in the frame of the front door. The sunrise is a radiant swirl of orange and yellow behind her. Just the sight of her brings a comfort he was desperately craving.

He rises from the chair, bringing his finger to his lips and whispers, "Porch." Kie nods, and backs up, allowing him to slip out the door with her.

As soon as he faces her, she catches him in a bear hug and nestles her face in the crevice of his neck. She feels so warm and good and John B doesn't hesitate to hug her back.

"Is this okay?" Kie murmurs against his skin.

"Yeah," John B chokes out. "Hi, Kie." He's missed her so much.

"Hi," she squeaks back. "You've gotten tall."

John B huffs a laugh into her hair. She smells like strawberries and cream.

They rock back and forth, holding the embrace for what feels like an eternity and a blink of an eye all at the same time. When they pull away, Kie reaches for John B's hands and squeezes them gently.

"I can't believe you're here," he tells her.

"Of course I'm here," she says, her forehead crinkled with worry. "I've never heard you sound like that before."

John B looks down because he hates that he scared her. "I know, I completely freaked. I don't even remember making the conscious decision to call you."

Kie bites down on her lip and drops her hands, unsure how to take that. "Was it a mistake?" she asks. "To call me?"

"No!" John B says quickly. "I'm glad you're here." He shrugs. "But… JJ's asleep. There's nothing we can even do for him right now. I don't know why I asked you to come."

"You felt alone?" Kie guesses softly.

John B swallows over the lump in his throat because she doesn't know the extent of it. "Yeah."

"I can help with that. I'll keep you company."

"You have school."

"So I'll ditch." She says it simply.

"You'd… you would do that?"

"Not for just anybody. But for you, of course."

John B stares at her. Her face is serious, like she really wants John B to hear her. She wants him to believe those words.

He can't find his voice to say anything back.

Kie licks her lips and gazes through the screen door at JJ's sleeping form. "You said he was really sick?"

John B nods and rubs at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "Sicker than I've ever seen him," he croaks out. "Sicker than I've ever seen anyone, really. We got back from the urgent care about two hours ago. He can't keep anything down, Kie. Still. Even after they pumped him with fluids and meds."

Kie winces. "Shit. Poor JJ."

"Yeah," John B whispers. He's so tired, he feels like a small gust of wind could knock him over. He nods at the worn-down couch on the porch. "Sit down, Kie. I'm going to make some coffee and then I'll fill you in some more, okay?"

"Wait, you drink coffee now?" Kie asks as she settles into the couch.

"Only when I've been up all night."

"Oh, John B… you should try to sleep. I'll sit with JJ and I can wake you up if—"

"I don't want to sleep, Kie," John B interrupts tiredly. "It's fine. You want some coffee?"

Kiara tilts her head at him, a sad expression on her face. "Sure. Yeah, I'll have some."

"Coming right up."

---

"I can't believe he walked all the way here, as sick as he was, in that downpour," Kie sighs when John B tells her. "It rained so hard the roof at the Wreck started leaking."

"His dad obliterated his phone. He didn't have another option."

"And Heyward really drove you to guys to the urgent care? Like… you're telling me he actually has a heart?"

"Yup. Covered the bill and everything. Even bought us some groceries. You can thank him for the coffee."

"Wow."

"Yeah." John B takes a sip of his coffee and looks out on the water at the brilliant sunrise. Kie takes a sip from her mug as well.

John B's phone chimes. He shifts to pull it out of his pocket it to take a look.

It's Pope: Dad filled me in about last night. Wish I could've been with you guys. How's JJ doing now? He's not answering my texts. Are you doing okay?

"Pope's asking about JJ," John B tells her. "Midterms start today so Heyward didn't let him come with us last night."

"So he's been a mountain of stress the past two weeks?" Kie assumes.

"Naturally."

John B composes a quick reply back to him. He doesn't want to worry and stress him out before his exams, so he just sends: JJ's phone is broken. He's still not feeling great. I'm keeping a close eye on him. Good luck on your exams, bro.

Very quickly he gets a reply: Thanks.

Then, again, Pope asks: Are you doing okay?

John B had strategically ignored that question the first time. He sighs and types: Don't ask stupid questions.

Pope sends: Sorry. Love you, man.

John B sends back: Love you, too. He re-pockets his phone, then turns his attention back on Kie.

"Do you all hate me?" she asks softly, but urgently, like she's been wanting to ask it ever since she stepped foot on the porch.

John B blinks. "Hate you?" he repeats.

She swallows. "Well, yeah…"

"I don't think we have it in us to hate you, Kie."

She sits with that for a while. "Okay, but aren't you mad? That I essentially dropped off the face of the Earth?"

John B licks his lip and rubs a hand over his face. "Yeah, I mean, that sucked. But, I dunno, I guess we maybe… understand?"

"You… understand?" she says incredulously.

John B sighs. "We know how much pressure you were under, with starting at the Kook Academy. It's sink or swim over there, Kie. We know that. And we know your parents didn't make it easy, either." He runs his hand through his hair. "It never made sense that someone like you wanted to slum it with us, anyway. It was fun while it lasted, though."

Kie's shaking her head. "I was a shitty friend, John B. You can say that. You don't have to make excuses for me."

"That's not—"

"J-John B?"

JJ interrupts their conversation by calling out.

John B is on his feet in an instant; he rounds the corner. "Hey, I'm here," he says from the front doorway. "You okay, bro?"

JJ has pushed himself up so he's propped up by his right elbow. He's nudged the blanket off himself and onto the floor. "I dunno… um… m-my hands feel funny…"

John B frowns. "What?" he flips on the front room light and kneels down beside his friend, taking his left hand in his. "Oh, Jesus, Jay," he mutters when he sees. JJ's hands are warm, hot even, and covered in small, red, raised patches. Hives, he realizes.

"They hurt," JJ whimpers.

"I know, man. Let me help you sit up."

He gets an arm under JJ's shoulder and helps him into a seated position. JJ blinks owlishly at the change of equilibrium.

John B keeps a hand on his shoulder, steadying him. "You good?"

JJ doesn't answer. He's looking beyond John B. "Bro… am I just really fucking sick, or is Kiara Carrera standing in front of me right now?"

John B turns his head to see Kie hovering at the doorway. "You're really fucking sick," he confirms. "And Kiara Carrera is standing in front of you right now."

"Holy shit," JJ breathes, mouth twitching into a smile, despite everything. "Hey, stranger."

Kie gives him a nervous smile in return. "Hey, JJ." She looks down at her feet. "John B told me you've had a rough couple of days."

"That's one way to put it," JJ croaks, then shivers harshly.

"Hey, Kie, can you grab the thermometer?" John B asks, reaching to palm JJ's forehead. "It's in one of those bags on the counter in the kitchen." Another purchase courtesy of Heyward.

"On it."

JJ waits until she's out of earshot before asking, "What's she doing here?"

"I maybe… asked her to come?" John B whispers. "I was worried about you and wanted some company, so…"

"So she came," JJ murmurs contentedly.

"Yeah. Yeah, she did."

---

"This isn't helping," JJ mumbles through clenched teeth.

They're sitting on the couch, Kie on one side of him, John B on the other. JJ's hands are wrapped in dishtowels that they soaked in cold water, hoping it would relieve some of his discomfort from the hives.

"Do you want us to take them off?" John B asks.

JJ nods. "I-I think I have them on my feet now, too," he groans.

"Shit, really?" John B asks as he delicately unwraps the towels.

"Yeah." He rubs his feet together and shifts uncomfortably. "Fuckin' hate this."

Meanwhile, Kie is scrolling like mad through her phone. "It's your body's reaction to the stress of being so sick," she tells him. "This website says aloe can help. Do you have any of that, John B?"

"Actually, yeah, I think so. My dad sunburns easily so he usually keeps some in the fridge. I'll go see." He stands up. "You need to try and drink something, too, man. Anything sound good? Gatorade? Ginger ale? Water?"

JJ groans again. "No."

"You need to try," John B repeats gently. "C'mon. Pick your poison."

"Surprise me," JJ says dully. "It won't stay down, so it doesn't matter anyway."

"That's the positivity I was looking for," John B deadpans as he retreats, but he's inwardly wincing at how dejected JJ sounds. His only comfort is that JJ's temperature has stayed the same since they arrived home from the urgent care.

---

John B finds the aloe in the back of the refrigerator. Then he decides that JJ needs electrolytes and opts for him to try the Gatorade.

His arms feel like lead and his fingers uncoordinated as he tries to pull one of the bottles out from the tightly secured six pack. Gosh, he's so tired.

He finally gets one of the bottles free and returns to the couch.

JJ's eyes follow him as he takes a heavy seat. "My hero," he says when John B squeezes some aloe into his outstretched hand. "Oh my gosh, this feels amazing," he breathes when he rubs it into his skin.

"Thank God,"John B sighs and lets himself sink further into the couch.

"Here, I'll get your feet," Kie offers to JJ. She slips the bottle out of John B's hand. "You okay?"

JJ doesn't answer.

"John B?" Kie says, and squeezes his knee. "You okay?"

Oh. She was talking to him. He hadn't realized it, but his eyes had slipped closed. "Yeah, I'm good," he mumbles. He tries to blink away his fatigue.

"He's exhausted," JJ tells Kie. "Bro, you said you would sleep after we ate."

"Yeah, but then you felt sick again."

"I am capable of puking by myself, you know."

"JJ," Kie chides. "He's just worried about you." She lowers herself to the floor by JJ's feet. "I can babysit the invalid, you know," she says to John B, "if you want to go lie down."

"Wow, low blow, Kie," JJ croaks. "But she's right, man. Go get some shut-eye."

John B has to admit that it does sound appealing. The coffee hadn't helped. He's been exhausted for weeks, but it's somehow ramped up to a whole new level. He feels like he's been hit by a truck. "Okay," he sighs. He trusts Kie more than himself to adequately look after JJ anyway. "I'll go. Have him try the Gatorade, okay?"

"Will do, boss," Kie assures.

---

John B wakes to a cool hand on his forehead.

"John B, hey." Kie's voice floats into his consciousness. "Your alarm was going off. Didn't you hear it?"

"Hmm, what?" he breathes. No, he hadn't heard it. He squints his eyes open. He'd set the alarm for an hour. No way had it already been an hour. He feels like he laid down two minutes ago. He pushes himself into the seated position and takes in his surroundings. Kie is sitting on the foot of his bed, looking at him critically.

"You feel okay?" she asks softly. "You're covered in sweat."

John B blinks and nudges the covers off of himself. She's right. The T-shirt he's wearing is soaked through.

"Shit," he breathes. "Must've had a bad dream or somethin'." He doesn't remember.

"About your dad?" Kie asks cautiously.

John B stares at her, feels a lump materializing in his throat. "JJ tell you?" he whispers.

She bites down on her lip and nods. "I'm so sorry, John B."

With great effort, he swings his legs over the side of the bed. "How's he doing?" he asks, pointedly ignoring the topic of his father. Though he's secretly grateful to JJ for spilling the beans for him.

Kie hesitates because she doesn't want to let the subject drop. "He had about half of the Gatorade," she tells him. "He's resting now. Temp is still just a low-grade fever. Hives have gone down some."

"He kept the Gatorade down?"

"So far."

John B nods. "Okay, good." He glances at his phone. It's almost 9:00 am. He really had been asleep for a whole hour.

"Hey," Kie reaches for John B's hand and squeezes it gently. "You didn't answer me before. Do you feel okay?"

The truth? No. He feels worse than before he went asleep. His body feels heavy. His stomach is becoming undeniably uneasy. And he's still so tired.

But what he says is: "I'm fine."

Mind over matter, right?

---

Kie kindly suggests he take a shower. Which is probably a good thing, because John B can't remember the last time he had one. And right now he reeks of sweat.

It brings him back to life a little. The shower.

It soothes his aching body and wakes him up. And he convinces himself that maybe he's okay after all.

---

They sit on the floor and play a mindless game of cards while JJ dozes. Kie asks about his dad, but John B suspects JJ has told her most of it already.

"He could still be out there, right?" Kie asks him.

John B feels like crying at that, because yes, his dad could still be out there, and Kie is the only one who has acknowledged that lately. It gives him renewed hope. "Yeah," he croaks. "Yeah, he could."

And then he tells her something he hasn't even told JJ yet.

"We, uh… we had a fight before he left." His eyes start welling up with tears as the words leave him.

Kie drops her hand of cards. "Oh, John B," she sighs, and then she's reaching across their game to give him a hug.

And John B melts into her embrace for the second time that day, wondering how he's made it so long with her absent from his life.

"He loves you no matter what," Kie says. "You know that, right?"

"Yeah," John B says, as he pulls away. He does know that. He just prays his dad knows that sentiment is reciprocal. He reaches up to wipe his eyes with his hands. "But enough about me." He flashes her a watery smile, desperate to talk about about anything else. "I want to hear about you and your new Kook lifestyle."

"Oh yes, of course," Kie says with a roll of her eyes. She settles back into her spot on the floor and picks up her cards. "Buckle up John B, while I tell you about all the bullshit that has been my life the past year."

---

As it turns out, John B is not okay.

An hour later he's in the kitchen to retrieve a sleeve of saltines for JJ to try when it hits him again.

Vertigo.

Nausea.

It slams into him like a freight train, and his body reacts before his brain does. His legs carry him to the sink and grips the edge tightly, for fear of falling sideways along with the tilting and spinning room. He's suddenly so hot and before he can worry about the fact that he's about to puke on the dirty dishes in the bottom of the sink, it's happening.

His mouth fills with saliva that he can't spit out fast enough before his gut is caving in and he heaves. Bile erupts from his mouth in a gush. He groans, unable to take a breath before it's happening again, liquid scorching up his throat and splashing into the sink.

"Oh my gosh, John B!" Kie exclaims and suddenly she's there, by his side, rubbing her hand up and down his back.

Black dots dance in front of his eyes as he pants over the mess. The smell is overwhelming and he heaves again.

"Damnit," he hears JJ mutter.

"You're okay," Kie is telling him as he fights to get his body under control. "Just breathe. You're okay."

John B's knees knock together as he spits one final time into the sink. The nausea has vanished as quickly as it came, but everything is still spinning. "I gotta sit," he mumbles.

"Okay," Kie says softly.

He lets her pull him away from the sink and she guides him to sit down on a kitchen chair. Then she starts running water in the sink to wash down what she can of the mess John B had made of it. She returns by his side with a damp dishrag.

"I knew you weren't feeling well," she scolds, and starts wiping his face, his brow, with the cloth. "You're sweating again."

"Got hot all of a sudden," John B mumbles, still trembling from exertion. He's holding his head up with his right hand, elbow resting on the table. "Fuck, I'm so sorry."

"No, dude, I'm sorry."

John B blinks. JJ has entered the kitchen and is leaning against the fridge for support.

"You caught what I have," he sighs. He looks like he might cry.

"Neither one of you has to be sorry," Kie tells them. "And JJ, you shouldn't be up. You look like you're gonna fall over." She stops her ministrations and hands the rag to John B. Then she pulls another chair out for JJ. "Here, sit down."

JJ does. "I'm sorry anyway, JB."

"It's fine, man, really," John B tells him from across the table. "It's not your fault. I'm kind of relieved, actually."

Kie raises her eyebrows. "You're relieved?"

"Yeah, I mean, at least we're sure it's the stomach flu we're dealing with. I was starting to think JJ had something more serious going on."

"Well, apparently the stomach flu can really take you out, too," Kie says, folding her arms and looking between the two of them. "You should see yourselves right now. You look like a pair of zombies straight from the set of The Walking Dead."

John B swallows hard. He does kind of feel like a zombie. Thankfully, though, the room is starting to come back into focus. "I'm sorry I asked you to come here, Kie," he tells her. "You should probably go."

"Yeah," JJ agrees. "We don't want you getting sick, too."

"Um, that's a no," she says bluntly. "I can't leave you guys when you're like this. Not happening."

John B huffs in wonderment at her. "And to think you had the audacity to call yourself a shitty friend."

Kie smiles shyly and turns on her heel. She retrieves the sleeve of saltines from the cabinet and shakes a few out onto a plate. Then she fills a glass of water. She places the contents in front of JJ. "Bon appetite, JJ," she says. "Try some of that while I get John B settled in the bedroom, okay?"

"Is this what having a mom is like?" JJ tries to joke, but it falls flat. Kie's face drops. What's left of John B's stomach turns.

"JJ…" Kie says sadly, just as John B says, "Dude…"

He shakes his head. "Bad joke," he admits, meeting each of their eyes briefly, before looking back down. "Sorry. Thanks, Kie." He picks up a saltine and starts nibbling on the corner.

Kie squeezes JJ's shoulder gently. He keeps his head down as he chews.

Kie meets John B's eyes. Her eyes are watering with unshed tears. She must've forgotten how broken we both are, John B thinks vaguely.

"C'mon," she says to John B, her voice trembling slightly, and nods in the direction of the bedroom. "You should try to sleep this off if you can."

---

John B sleeps the rest of the morning and part of the afternoon away.

He wakes to Kie checking his forehead for fever and pressing water on him.

If he dreamed, he doesn't remember.

He takes the glass of water Kie is holding out to him, surprised that he actually feels thirsty. He drains the glass and hands it back.

"How are you feeling?" Kie asks. "I don't think you're running a fever."

John B props himself up into the sitting position as he considers. He still feels tired. Strung out. Heavy. "Not as terrible as I thought I might," he offers; the nausea is manageable, for now. "Just really tired, still."

"You feel up to eating anything?" she asks.

John B shakes his head. "I don't want to risk it yet," he says. "How's JJ doing?"

Kie rolls her eyes. "Well enough to roll a blunt. I told him not to."

John raises his eyebrows. "Hey, that's actually a good sign."

"I know. He's still an idiot," Kie maintains. "He had some applesauce earlier. Hives are gone."

"Fever?"

Kie shakes her head. She looks John B in the eyes for a while before saying, "He's really worried about you, you know."

John B sighs. "Yeah. I know. The feeling's mutual."

"You're worried about him, too?" Kie clarifies.

John B swallows over a lump in his throat. "Every second of my life."

"Are things worse?" Kie asks softly. "At home?"

John B shrugs. "You know he won't talk about it."

Kie looks like she might cry. "I know." She runs her hands over her face, sobers. "Hey, you want to come watch a movie with us?" It's said with forced enthusiasm. "Rat Race is on."

John B falters a bit. He's too tired. "I think I need to sleep some more," he tells her. "If that's okay."

"Yeah, of course it is," Kie says gently.

She starts to straighten out his covers, but he stops her. "I'm gonna hit the head first, since I'm awake." His bladder is protesting slightly.

"Okay, yeah, good idea," she says. Then shyly, "You need help?"

He shakes his head. "I got it."

---

The short walk from his bedroom to the bathroom is a mundane reminder that he is genuinely sick. He's too exhausted to go about his business standing up, so he sits. Tries to blink away the fog and vertigo from the simple exertion of taking a few steps.

As he sits there, he realizes that the bathroom has been cleaned. It smells like bleach and the tub is sparkling in a way it never has. The soiled towels are gone.

It makes John B's heart ache, that Kie did that for him.

He leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, tries to work up the strength to stand back up. Pulling up his sweats feels like a herculean effort. He wishes he could just go back to sleep where he is, here, sitting up.

He takes some deep breaths, then pushes himself to his feet. His body is numb with fatigue as he pulls his pants back up around his hips. He doesn't bother washing his hands and makes his way back to the bedroom.

He flops onto the mattress, breathing heavy.

Gosh, he feels like boiled horse shit.

And he maybe should have stayed in the bathroom, he realizes vaguely, because now his stomach is churning uncomfortably.

Fuck.

He rolls his head to locate the trash bin by the head of his bed. The sight of it alone causes his fleeting nausea to skyrocket. He pants against it, tries to push it back down, but his mouth is filling with saliva and he knows it's a losing battle.

He pushes himself up into a seated position and reaches for the bin with trembling arms. He leans over it, closes his eyes, and waits for the inevitable.

---

John B hates throwing up. But this? After the fact? He'd argue that it's just as bad. Maybe even worse.

He's gasping for breath, shaking, scared that it's going to happen all over again. His mouth tastes disgusting and his stomach is in knots.

JJ and Kie had heard him, obviously. He wasn't exactly able to be discreet about it. He wishes he could've been.

Because now they're here, standing at the doorway, asking him if he's okay.

Pretty sure I've hit rock bottom, he doesn't say. I feel like I'm dying. I want my dad.

He shakes his head. Still can't catch his breath.

JJ sits down next to him on the edge of the bed, puts a careful hand on his shoulder. Kie eases the bin from his grasp.

"Don't, Kie," he tries. He doesn't want her dealing with that.

"It's nothing," she insists, and then she disappears out the door.

"Fuck," John B articulates, out loud this time, and turns his face into JJ's shoulder. He's humiliated. His chest hurts.

"Whoa, hey, I got you, man," JJ breathes, startled by John B's instant contact. He wraps his arms around his quaking body, even starts stroking his hair (what the fuck?).

JJ usually has too much energy, too much thirst for manufactured ecstasy, to be this gentle or affectionate with anyone. It does something to John B. Makes him fold.

He starts to cry again. Weep, is more like it.

"Hey, no, JB…" JJ whispers, and he's choked up, too. "Fuck, I'm so sorry, bro."

John B shakes his head into the crevice of JJ's neck. "Stop s-saying that."

"I can't help it," JJ murmurs. "This is the last thing you need. C'mon, try to relax a little, yeah? You're too wound up."

So John B breathes, tries to swallow against the sobs that have surfaced. He lets JJ rock him back and forth. Lets him rub his back and shush him. It's intimate and it feels good and safe. It helps John B get back to himself.

"He's okay," he hears JJ whisper to Kiara when she returns. "Just give us a minute?"

It's a dismissal and John B is grateful. Kie already witnessed him puking his guts out. She doesn't need to see this embarrassing meltdown, too.

"Kie brought you some water, man," JJ tells him, after the bedroom door has clicked shut.

"'Kay," John B mumbles. He's not ready to pull away just yet. He tightens the grip he has on JJ's shirt.

"Okay, okay," JJ says, still gentle. "You're okay."

John B sniffs. "M'sorry. This is… I-I don't know what—" he starts, trying to make sense out of the clingy puddle of emotion he's become.

"You feel like shit. I get it, man, trust me. It's okay," JJ assures.

John B's not sure how much longer they sit there, but eventually his arms are too tired to keep it up. He pulls away and sniffs. Wipes his face. "You smell like weed."

JJ's quiet for a moment. "Yeah, I needed a hit," he says, after a while. Then he meets John B's eyes, hesitates briefly before adding, "My ribs were killing me." He licks his lips. "I know you saw."

The wind completely leaves John B at the admission. He nods dumbly. JJ never brings up his run-ins with Luke under his own volition. Never.

"It was my fault, okay?" JJ goes on to say. "So you don't… you don't need to worry about it."

"Your fault how?" John B challenges with a croak.

JJ shrugs. "Wrong place, wrong time sort of thing. Got in his way."

"No. Fuck that, Jay," John B says bluntly. "You just told me you had to take a hit because you're still in pain from it."

JJ swallows. His hands twitch. "Yeah, throwing up a zillion times didn't exactly help."

John B winces.

JJ runs his hands through his hair. "Look, I'm just trying to be real with you," he says.

"This is… You're never real with me about your dad," John B says softly, questioning. He raises his wrist to wipe away another stray tear.

"Neither are you," JJ returns. "Not anymore."

So that's his angle. Give him an inch about Luke so John B will open up about Big John. John B closes his eyes, feels defensive for reasons he can't name. "I don't know what you want me to say."

He really doesn't feel like doing this right now.

"I just… John B, I don't know how to help you, okay?" JJ says, almost desperately. "I want to be here for you, but you're… you're so closed up. Fucking distant."

"What? No, I'm not…" John B's having a hard time following the thread, here.

"I heard what you told Kie earlier. That you had a fight with him before he left."

Oh. That he followed.

Shit.

"JJ…"

"I didn't mean to eavesdrop, man. I swear. I just… Bro, you could've told me that. You don't have to…" he trails off, struggles to put what he's trying to say into words. He lets out a deep breath. "I can handle sad feels, JB," he says finally. "You don't have to protect me, or whatever it is you're doing."

John B is speechless. His face is hot. His stomach hurts. He can't get his thoughts in order to say anything back to make this right. He bends forward, buries his face in his hands. He doesn't know what to do.

He flinches when JJ puts a hand on his back, but then he gives him an out. "Listen, man, you don't… you don't have to say anything, okay? I don't know why I—" JJ breaks off, exhales. "It was shitty of me to unload that on you right now. It can wait."

John B nods. Still doesn't lift his head.

"Hey." JJ cups his cheek, gets him to look up. He's holding the glass of water Kie brought. "Lean back, okay? You should drink some water and then you can go back to sleep."

So John B pushes himself back against the headboard. JJ lifts his legs onto the mattress, then gives him the glass. It feels good to be horizontal again. He can't wait to give back into oblivion.

But he's still thirsty and he's determined to stay away from urgent care, so he drains the glass. He just takes it a little slower this time.

JJ pulls the covers up over him, tells him to get some rest, and just as he's about to turn away, John B grabs his wrist. He waits until JJ's looking him in the eye.

"We'll talk later, okay?"

JJ gives him a half-hearted smile. "Yeah," he agrees, voice thick with emotion. "Later."

---

The next time John B wakes up, he's alone. His room is dark; the sun has already set.

It takes him a moment to orient himself to the time and situation.

Oh. Right.

His dad is missing and he's sick. JJ's sick too, and his ribs hurt. Because his dad's an asshole. They need to talk; John B hates that he's dreading it.

He tries to focus on the one good thing that has come out of the last two days: Kie is back.

He glances at the nightstand clock; it reads 7:52. He'd slept for another five hours.

"Dang," he mutters to himself.

He tries to work up the courage to sit up. Right now, lying down, he feels okay. No nausea. No aches. No chills.

He's afraid that's all going to change if he gets vertical.

Maybe he should just go back to sleep. He feels like he could. He feels like he could put Rip Van Winkle to shame.

But he needs to hydrate. Maybe eat something.

So he gets up.

---

JJ is in his same spot on the couch, curled up under the blanket and watching muted mindless television. Kie isn't anywhere to be found.

"Hey, you're up," JJ greets John B with a croak. "You doin' okay?"

John B swallows, lets his hand hover over his abdomen. "Jury's still out," he croaks. "How 'bout you?" JJ still has the trash bin sitting by his feet. John B eyes it pointedly.

JJ lifts one shoulder up in a shrug. "Still feeling a bit off," he admits as he pushes himself into a more upright position. "But I haven't puked again, if that's what you're wondering."

John B nods. "Okay. Good, man." He collapses onto the couch next to JJ. "Where's Kie?"

"She had to go check in at home. Said she'd be back. Dude, she's gonna let me have her old iPhone."

"Really? Sweet."

"Yeah."

A heavy silence falls over them then. John B's eyes wander to the end table, where the box of saltines is sitting. His stomach flips at just the sight of them. He swallows hard.

JJ follows his gaze. "You want some?" he asks, giving the box a little shake.

"No," John B says quickly. He closes his eyes. "I-I don't think I can."

JJ sets the box back down. "Okay," he says gently. "What about some applesauce?"

That sounds more manageable. "Yeah, okay," John B breathes. He still hasn't opened his eyes. "I was just about to go get some…"

"I'll get it," JJ assures him. The couch dips as JJ pushes himself up into standing. "I'll bring you something to drink, too."

"'Kay," John B mumbles.

What feels like barely seconds later, he feels a hand run through his hair. He startles, then opens his bleary eyes.

"Dude… you're so wiped," JJ says, hovering over him, concern etched on his face. He's holding the bowl of applesauce in his hand, with a Gatorade and a water bottle tucked under the same arm. "I can't believe I did this to you. C'mon, sit up." He slides his free arm behind John B's back and tugs him upright.

"Might be a blessing in disguise," John B tells him, blinking to get his eyes to focus with the change in equilibrium. "This is the most sleep I've gotten in ages."

"That doesn't exactly make me feel better," JJ tells him as he settles back down beside him on the couch. "What do you want to try first?"

John B sighs at his choices. "Applesauce, I guess."

---

"You know we've hit an all-time low when the most riveting part of our day is seeing if one of us can keep food down," John B quips to break the tension, when he's had the last excruciating bite of his applesauce. JJ is watching him closely.

JJ laughs nervously. "Yeah." He tilts his head a John B. "Is it?" he asks. "Staying down?"

"Think so."

"Good. Try some water?" he offers, holding the bottle out for John B to take.

John B swallows and nods. JJ had loosened the top for him. He takes a cautious sip. Then another.

They sit in silence for a while longer, while John B sips his way back to hydration.

"Hey, John B?" JJ says tentatively, when John B has managed about half of the water. He sets it aside.

"Mm?"

"I really am sorry about before."

John B turns his head to look at JJ. "I know. You don't need to be." He lets out a deep breath. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the fight with my dad."

JJ is picking at the fray of the blanket. "We don't have to talk about it right now."

"No, we do. I-I mean… we should. I owe it to you," John B says, then continues. "I wasn't protecting you, you know. I just didn't want you to… I don't know… think less of me? I called him a shit father, JJ. That's… I mean, that's fucked up."

"I don't think it's fucked up," JJ says softly. "Big John abandons you for days at a time, John B. It's okay to be angry about that. And it's okay to say so."

John B closes his eyes. He was expecting JJ to tell him that it wasn't a big deal; that his dad knew he hadn't meant it. But JJ knows that John B had meant it, and John B feels a little lighter knowing that his feelings are valid. JJ is right: it was his emotionally charged, in-the-moment, heated way of saying I need you, Dad. Please stop leaving me to chase this notion of gold that you're never going to find.

"I-I just wish it wasn't the last thing I ever said to him, you know?" John B croaks, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he can help it. He's close to tears.

"Yeah." JJ puts a hand on his knee, squeezes it gently. "You know, that's the first time you've done that," he says.

"D-Done what?" John B asks shakily.

JJ hesitates. "…Talked about him like he might not be coming back."

John B feels his heart skip. He hadn't even realized. He lets his head fall against the back of the couch. "F-Fuck." He lifts his fists up to his eyes. Tries to swallow down the sobs rising in his chest. It doesn't work. His breath hitches and tears start to spill down his cheeks.

"John B…" JJ scoots closer to him and puts a hand on his shoulder. "It's okay."

No, it's not. Nothing about any of this is okay. "I miss him," John B whispers.

"I know."

"I-I don't feel good," he adds. His ears are ringing.

"I know that, too. C'mere, bro."

JJ beckons him into a hug, and John B surrenders into it. For the second time that day he finds himself burying his face into JJ's chest. He can't stop crying.

Fucking pathetic. (He just doesn't care right now.)

"Hey, shh, John B…" JJ rubs a hand up and down his back. "What can I do, huh?" he asks into John B's hair. "What do you need?"

This. John B needs this. He needs JJ here. Close. Safe.

So he tells him that. "I-I need you here," he chokes out, voice muffled by the fabric of JJ's shirt. "Don't… Don't go home."

JJ doesn't understand. "I wouldn't leave you when you're like this, JB…" he says gently.

John B pulls away and wipes his eyes with his sleeve. He's positively shaking. JJ puts a hand on his shoulder, clearly not wanting to lose contact. "N-No… I-I mean… don't go home ever," John B explains, almost begs, meeting JJ's eyes determinedly. "Don't go b-back there."

JJ stares at him. "John B…" he sighs. "It's not that simple."

"It's not—" What does he mean it's not that simple? "He's hurting you, JJ!"

JJ looks like he's been smacked in the face. He drops his hand from John B's shoulder. "He's my dad." He takes in a deep breath. "He might go overboard sometimes, b-but he loves me."

"He loves you?" John B exclaims in disbelief. He can still feel the steady stream of tears slipping down his face. JJ has to know he deserves better than this. He reaches to pull up JJ's shirt, revealing the bruises on his side. "You call this love?"

JJ bats his hand away and pulls the shirt back down. "He's not the one who abandoned me!" JJ says, tears of frustration brimming at his eyes. He stands up and puts some distance between John B and himself. "You of all people should be able to recognize that!"

That one stings and John B stands up, too. "My dad doesn't hurt me, JJ!" he yells.

"Oh yeah?" JJ challenges. "Because you look pretty damn hurt to me right now!" he bellows.

The silence that follows is deafening. They just stand there, staring at each other, chests heaving, letting the words they shouted at each other echo in their skulls, until…

Nausea. John B realizes it's back - with a vengeance - once the initial shock from JJ's words fades.

"I think I'm gonna be sick," he mumbles frantically and pushes past JJ to the bathroom on trembling legs.

"Fuck. John B…"

JJ follows him and lingers at the doorway while John B kneels in front of the toilet, staring down at the toilet water. John B breathes deeply, spits, tries to calm himself down…

A good ten minutes of fighting it, and it ends up being a false alarm. Thank God.

John B sits back on his heels, then pushes himself away from the toilet so he can lean against the adjacent wall.

JJ kneels down beside him and hands him his half-finished water bottle.

A peace offering.

"Thanks," John B croaks.

JJ settles down next to him. "John B, I'm sor—"

John B cuts him off. "So help me, JJ, if you tell me you're sorry one more time…"

JJ clamps his mouth shut.

"But for what it's worth, I'm sorry, too," John B tells him. He takes a timid sip of the water.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," JJ says. He flicks the water bottle lid in the general direction on the trash can. "You're just looking out for me."

"Yeah, well, someone has to do it."

JJ lets out a deep breath. "Look, JB. I'm not stupid, okay? I know that Luke can be an asshole and that he should be jailed for beatin' on me the way he does. I know that, okay? But I also know what would happen if CPS catches wind of it. Whether I turn him in or if they figure out I'm staying with you all the time… They'll stick me in foster care; probably on the mainland, and that means…"

"You and me…"

JJ nods solemnly. "J3B would be done for."

"But if it means you're safe…" John B starts. As much as he would hate being away from JJ… "I mean… we have less than two years until we turn 18. And then we can be on our own."

JJ rolls his eyes. "Foster care doesn't exactly have the reputation of being 'safe,' John B. Fuck, I'd be running the risk of landing someone even shittier than Luke."

"Don't think that's possible," John B mutters.

"I'm not ditching the Pogues just because my dad has a drinking problem," JJ says firmly. "Like you said: less than two years until we're 18. I can handle Luke until then if it means I get to be with my friends."

There's that JJ Maybank loyalty shining through.

John B nods and a tear runs down his cheek. "I wonder how long it'll be before CPS starts breathing down my neck." He wipes his eyes. "Uncle T's visits are getting fewer and farther between."

"Your dad'll be back before we ever need to cross that bridge," JJ tells him firmly.

John B sniffs. That's exactly what he needed JJ to say.

"Now c'mon." JJ pushes himself up and holds a hand out to John B. "Get off that cold floor and let's go watch Dodgeball. It started at eight."

(When Kie returns, she finds them curled up on the couch beside each other, sound asleep.)

---

"Yo, guys, check this out!"

It's Friday night and John B, JJ, Kie, and Pope are sitting around a campfire down by the marsh and drinking beer. Just like old times.

JJ has set his beer down and is standing on a tree stump. Before they can ask him what he's up to, he catapults into a backflip off of it. He lands on his feet effortlessly.

"Well, it's obvious that somebody's feeling better," Pope says. "Dude, that was sick."

JJ grins at him. John B tries to ignore how JJ rubs at his ribs before bending down to pick up his beer.

"Speaking of feeling better, I'd like to make a toast," John B says, raising his beer. "To Kie, for coming in clutch for us this week."

"Hell yeah!" JJ says enthusiastically. "And for having a baller immune system," he adds, raising his bottle and giving her a wink. It's a miracle she didn't end up catching what he and John B had.

Kie grins, and raises her beer, too. "To you guys, for getting so sick you had no choice but to call me," she says, giggling. "We wouldn't all be back together otherwise."

"We always knew you'd find your way back somehow," Pope says, nudging her side with his elbow. He raises his beer. "And to you guys, for keeping me out of all of it so I could pass my exams."

"To the Pogues!" JJ whoops. They wrap their arms around each other and clink their bottles together.

And as John B stares out into the marsh, wishing with all his might for his dad to come home… he's thankful for his friends. His lifelines.

He'll get through this, with them by his side.

The End.