A/N: TRIGGER WARNING, THIS STORY DEPICTS ACTS OF LEWD VIOLENCE, FOUL LANGUAGE, SELF HARM, ATTEMPTS AT SUICIDE, CHILD ABUSE, DOMESTIC ABUSE, SUBSTANCE ABUSE AND RESPONSIBLE SUBSTANCE USE, SEX, HARSH EMOTIONS AND BRUSHES WITH SEXUAL ASSAULT/ RAPE RELATED TRAUMAS.

SPOILERS BIG TIME, IF YOU HAVENT WATCHED ALL, DON'T READ.

The S4 JJ centric we all deserve!

I was so incredibly heartbroken about how they ended JJ's sad life. Rudy leaving was valid, but fuck how they ended it. A tragic end to a tragic life. He didn't deserve it.

So, without further yapping, here is my ending to the series because these writers killed my boy. I hope you enjoy. And, I can make em do whatever I want, because in fanfictions theres no actor drama, only us and our big imaginations.

November of This Year, OBX, 4:30pm

soundtrack- good luck babe, Chappel Roan

The old Maybank property held horrible memories.

Which is exactly why he didn't want the property this home currently sat on. He didn't want the pain or misery of dealing with unpleasant side effects his now-labeled PTSD had come with.

And now, here he sat, almost completely alone. The sun was setting gently, casting pink and gold hues through the now-bare trees, setting the yard before him on fire. The off-season was upon them. Stick season, broke season. Whatever you wanted to call it.

Although, these days, they were far from broke.

"Rude boy." A soft voice broke his musings, but he would never tear his eyes away from the sight before him, and she knew that. Pink skies had been his safe place since before he could remember. This was his twenty minute escape from reality, and Cleo had respectfully acknowledged that without pressure to change.

He hummed in acknowledgement, taking a drag of the cigarette he'd momentarily forgotten about, and sighed.

"I'm almost done with dinner. And your mutt needs to go for a walk." She chided him. He nodded, looking at her standing over him with her spatula. They exchanged a grin. The mutt in question barrelled through the doggy door, not so gracefully as she was getting too big.

"She can hear you Cleo. She's a designer mix." He defended his pooch in a baby voice. "Tell your Aunt Cleo that you're a King Shepherd. And you're the best one in all the land." He ran his fingers through her long, soft coat, and she ran her rough tongue over his face in a display of affection.

The dog in question, he'd gotten from Barracuda Mike. He'd gotten her to guard his stashes and his property, but when she turned out to be a sweetheart, and showed she had no intention of guarding anything, he locked her outside in a cage. He'd been out grabbing the last of what Mike owed him, and he was about to be on his merry way when he caught sight of the poor dog.

"You want her? She can't do anything right, I bet you'll get along just fine."

He felt drawn to the dog, who had been spoken of like himself, a worthless piece of shit. But he knew she wasn't worthless. Just as he'd been working out with Dr Shah, his therapist, that he himself wasn't worthless either. JJ Maybank, in therapy? Who would have guessed?

"It's crazy how we got here, huh? A house, your designer mutt..." She trailed off, sighing. "I miss my Gray Pipe, JJ."

"We're like two war wives waiting on our husbands to come home." He joked after a moment, but Cleo didn't even so much as grin. He frowned, standing, and embracing his friend that had gotten incredibly close to him in the wake of their group's departure. "Pope will be home soon for a visit, and for the holidays. And soon enough, you'll be able to go with him."

After getting compensated by the excavation expedition from the cave they found, everything settled into their quaint home they had built from scratch, the salt life they'd settled into became boring. Well, to some of them.

The Pogue family had broken off, choosing their dream schools, and taking off. JB and Sarah had wound up converting the twinkie to a camper, and took off into the night to live out a gypsy van-life fantasy they'd been yapping about, Pope went to John Hopkins on a full ride, and Kie wound up in a party surf school on the coast in Cali for Environmental Science.

Someone had to stay home and watch what they'd built. That had been his excuse when Kie randomly handed him her acceptance letter and told him she was going, with or without him. Truth be told, he was simply enjoying the first taste of stability in a happy home, and after traveling, and hunting for treasure, and risking his life, JJ wanted to be home. And he insisted that Kie go follow her dreams, because he could never forgive himself if he held her back. But he couldn't go.

He also had plans to transform the vision of the Maybank name, and he was working with Dr Shah twice a week to unlearn his horrendous habits he picked up from Luke.

And Cleo, who had desperately wanted to follow Pope and go to school, had to establish her residency in order to become a citizen, she was sort of forced to stay in the OBX with JJ because that was where her work permit was. And because she had no spouse or ties, she kind of had no choice.

Pope and Cleo facetimed three times a day. JB and Sarah checked in often. But Kie? His Kie? Disappeared without a trace.

But to be fair, he'd been the one not to follow her to California. But, she'd never given him a chance to even think about it. She gave him the letter and left within a four hour period. The value in having money, he supposed. And it wasn't like he hadn't tried calling.

His dog, which he'd gotten from Barracuda Mike, a King Shepherd who he affectionately renamed Atlas- after his biggest accomplishment yet, traveling and the gold, was shaping up to be a real stand-up pooch. Anything he could teach her, he'd made it a point to make sure the dog got taught. She was only seven months at this point, but she was finally growing into her paws, and had recently learned how to walk properly on a leash. He'd proudly told Sarah on their daily check in, that Atlas was the first Maybank to be solid from the jump. A good girl, eager to please, and loved everyone and everything. The most gentle soul.

From the jump, Atlas had been helping him run Charters, running surf lessons with him, and helping him build the business up and keep the name for himself he made. She's also been working on obedience, and even tricks. And she was learning new things all the time. Something he'd been told to do to keep her from getting bored, neglected, and mischeivious. Like himself.

He grabbed hold of her leash, messing up Cleo's hair, and took off down the dirt road for a quick walk before it got too dark.

"Uncle John B is gonna flip when he see's what you've been learning." He told his dog proudly, grinning down at her. She just panted, happily prancing along beside her human, and taking in the sunset that was casting a golden hue over the fall landscape of beautiful leaves.

"Well if it isn't two of my shits. Shit numbers one and three." A voice startled him, and Heyward rolled up beside him in his pickup, grinning like crazy. Atlas let out a small bark (or an attempt at one, anyway), and her tail wagged so hard her ass shook. "C'mon, shit three. Come see your Grandpa Heyward!" He told her, getting out with a handful of dog treats.

Atlas lunged at the man, and JJ quickly snapped at her leash. "Atlas, Easy." The young pup put her ears back, but heeded her handlers warning. She sat in front of Heyward, pushing her face up to tell him she wanted pets. "Good Easy, good girl." He cooed.

"The first Maybank to listen. I'm impressed, JJ." Heyward clasped him on the shoulder.

"Welp, had to happen at some point." He joked, ignoring the sting. He'd never meant to be so crazy as a kid. It was a product of his nature and his ADHD, another new label. His inward cringe must have manifested itself somewhere on the outside, because Heyward gave him a reassuring squeeze.

"I'm fuckin proud of you, kid." He nodded. "You have no idea how good you've been doing. Keep it up, you're a good boy."

The rest of the walk after Heyward abruptly left after his heartfelt remark went by fairly quick, and when they eventually got home, Cleo had set their places.

"How was your walk, sweet gyal?" She cooed, placing the dish on her floor setting. Atlas didn't bother with affection, and dove head first into her bowl of food.

"We saw Heyward, and she was totally a sweetie, and then we walked about a mile." He nodded. "Thanks for cooking."

"I cook every night." She raised an eyebrow, laughing.

"And? I still thank you every night, don't I?" He grinned, pointing his fork at her matter of factly. "I'm sorry you miss Pope, but I'm glad you stayed behind."

"You and me were cut from the same cloth. It's not a surprise that you and I bonded." She told him.

"Yeah." He scratched the back of his neck, and honed in on Atlas, who was now sitting at his feet under the table. But she wasn't begging. Kie didn't even know she existed, it had been that long. Atlas had now been in his life for four months.

It had been six long months since he'd seen her face.

And here he goes thinking about her for the eight hundreth time today. She was the first and last thought in his brain, permeating his thoughts. Every day he texted her good morning, and then good night, and reminded her he loved her. Because he was a changed man. A few too many brushes with death and being unchanged had ignited something in him to do better.

And his therapist assured him these feelings were valid, after all she'd only been gone six months, and before that they were together for over a year. They lived together, he is surrounded by her essence. But at some point he had to think of the pain this unrequited love was giving him.

"Rude boy."

His eyes snapped up to meet hers across the breakfast nook.

"Yeah?"

"Still no answer?" The girl asked, hard gaze softening at his white-knuckle grip on his napkin.

His silence was her answer. He swallowed thickly, and Atlas came up to rest her head in his lap. He scratched behind her ears. "I miss her, Cleo." He told her, his voice cracking. "Every. Damn. Day." He annunciated each word by slamming the palm of his hand against the table. "And maybe she's mad, but she didn't even run any of it by me anyway. I had no clue she even applied." He sucked in a breath, and hot tears spilled over and down his cheeks. "And then I put in effort. I book a trip. I respectfully declined to join her because I didn't have it in me. And what happens? I don't exist anymore. And it's fucking hard."

Cleo made a good friend because after he unloaded, she stayed quiet. Mostly. Unless it was something worth responding to.

"I feel like a fool." He told her eventually, when they were watching the basketball game that night.

She turned to look at him incredously. The phone rang before she could retort.

"Pope, good. You called just in time to remind our friend JJ that he is not a fucking fool." She answered quickly.

He heard Pope sigh through the line. "She still hasn't called?" He asked.

JJ stood. "I'm going to bed."

"Rude Boy!" Cleo pouted, but he was already climbing the stairs.

"Miss you, Pope. See you on Thanksgiving!" He called. "Goodnight, Cleo."