"What the hell is taking so long?" John B grumbles.
They're in the waiting room of the ER. JJ is resting his cheek against John B's shoulder and an emesis basin is sitting in his lap. Kie is in the chair on the other side of JJ, running her fingers through his hair at the nape of his neck.
"You should pass out again, JJ," Pope jokes; he's seated in the chair adjacent to John B. "That's how you skipped triage last time."
"Damn, you're right," JJ croaks. "Should I fake it?"
John B isn't amused. "That's not funny," he says shakily. He doesn't think he'll ever get the image of JJ turning white as a ghost and dropping like lead out of his brain.
"It's a little funny," JJ mumbles.
John B swallows over the lump in his throat and meets Kie's eyes.
Breathe, she mouths.
John B squeezes his eyes shut and nods, drawing in a deep breath. It hurts his chest. He hasn't felt like he could properly breathe in ages.
"Shit, my dad's calling me," Pope says, about an hour into the wait. "I gotta take this. I'll be right back."
He heads toward the entrance, where it's a little quieter.
"Probably knows we dipped from school," John B says, keeping his voice low. JJ's cheek is still pressed into the crevice of his neck and chest. John B is pretty sure he's asleep and doesn't want to wake him.
"Uh, yep, my parents are calling, too," Kie confirms. "Give me a sec." She gives JJ's shoulder a gentle squeeze before following after Pope to take the call.
JJ stirs, groaning.
"Hey, you awake?" John B checks.
"Yeah," JJ breathes.
"You doin' okay?"
JJ shakes his head. "Hate this," he whispers, voice thick with emotion. He lets out a shuddering breath.
"I know, bro. Me too," John B says, hating how close JJ is to tears. He shifts his body so he can get his arm wrapped around JJ's shoulders and starts rubbing his arm comfortingly. "Can't be long now."
Soon after, JJ starts dry-heaving over the basin.
It's what it takes for him to finally get seen.
The first course of action is to get JJ rehydrated. And then he gets the gamut of diagnostic care.
IV fluids. Anti-nausea meds. Blood work. Endoscopy. CT scan.
Staff tries to get ahold of Luke, but they aren't successful.
Thank God.
"Luke drove off somewhere as I was leaving," Kie enlightens John B and Pope. "My guess is he's on a bender."
They're back in the waiting room, waiting for JJ to return from his CT.
"My dad should be on his way over," Pope tells them, looking down at his watch. "He was just finishing some stuff up at the store."
John B nods. Good. They need an adult here. Someone else to take the reins.
"He pissed at you for ditching?" John B asks, his voice wrecked.
Pope shrugs. "Doesn't matter. He stopped yelling once I told him we were at the ER, at least."
They've all relaxed a little, now that JJ is receiving medical attention.
"Kie, what about your parents?"
She rolls her eyes. "Oh, yeah, I'm grounded for sure."
"I don't understand this," John B says quietly, stroking the back of JJ's hand with his thumb. "This isn't just some virus. I don't get how everything's coming back normal."
JJ is sound asleep in his hospital bed. He'd been admitted for observation overnight.
He'd given permission to the medical team to discuss his health with his visitors. So far, they've been coming up empty with the results from the labs and scans.
"It doesn't make much sense," Heyward agrees.
"There has to be an explanation," Pope mumbles, staring down at his phone, scrolling with intention. Kie is looking over his shoulder.
"Why don't you kids take a break from all this while he's sleeping?" Heyward suggests. "Go get some grub from the cafeteria. I'll stay with Jay."
While John B doesn't feel hungry, his stomach has been growling for the past hour or so. He meets Pope and Kie's eyes. They nod.
"Okay," he relents. "Text us if he wakes up?"
"You got it, kid."
"Did JJ mention his compulsive showering to anyone?" Pope asks, breaking into the silence that had fallen over them while they picked at their food in the cafeteria. He's still scrolling on his phone.
"I don't think so," Kie answers. "Why?"
"I might've found something…" Pope says.
John B is skeptical. He snorts softly. "Okay, WebMD."
"I'm serious. Look."
Pope slides his phone over to John B.
John B pushes his fries away and positions the phone between him and Kie so she can see, too.
"Cannabinoid Hyperemesis Syndrome: Prolonged vomiting due to marijuana use is on the rise," Kie reads from the article. "What weed can cure in some, it causes in others."
John B looks up, too. "JJ denied using weed when they asked…" he says slowly. "I think because your dad was sitting right there."
"Deny, deny, deny," Kie recites softly, shaking her head. "It's his mantra."
"Keep reading," Pope says solemnly.
"Symptoms include ongoing nausea, repeated (often intense) vomiting, stomach pain, decreased food intake, weight loss, dehydration…" John B pauses in disbelief at the next item. "…Repeated hot showers or baths daily," he breathes. "Holy shit."
That describes JJ's symptoms to a T.
"This has to be what's going on with him," Kie declares. "Pope, how did you find this?"
"I've been googling his symptoms like crazy," Pope answers. "But I didn't start including the hot showers until today. It took me to this reddit thread of a guy desperate for answers. Another user responded to his thread with a link to this article."
"With repeated use of marijuana, certain receptors in the brain may stop responding to the drug in the same way, Kie continues reading. "There is no known cure for CHS, other than to stop use of the drug."
"The article says it's a new, rare phenomenon," Pope says, taking his phone back. "But more cases are being documented as cannabis use continues to rise in popularity and legality."
John B swallows hard. If this is truly what JJ has - and John B has a sinking feeling that it is - it's going to crush him.
"We're going to have convince JJ to be honest with his doctors about his marijuana use," Pope says, resolutely. "Who wants to be the messenger?"
"Not it," Kie says quickly, and Pope echoes her just as quickly.
John B sighs. "Guess it's me, then."
With heavy hearts, they stand up to clear their trays from the table, then head back upstairs to be with their ailing friend.