𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚝 {𝚓𝚓 𝚖𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚔}

𝚜.𝟸 𝚎𝚙. 𝟷 -𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚎-

"turn on the TV / the news screaming at me / teach me to stay alive / it could be easy if I just keep sleeping / I'll sit back and swallow my pride."

~

Figuring out life without John B in it was nearing on impossible for Tate. In the weeks after his death, she stayed at the Chateau, her Uncle John's old place, more than she did Kiara's. She didn't care the authorities anymore, and honestly, she didn't think they cared much about her. Shoupe had been taking it easy on the remaining Pogues since the deaths of John B and Sarah. Tate didn't really register any of it. Her whole world felt like it was underwater now, far beneath the crashing waves of the surf and the light above. She may be a good swimmer, but she couldn't get the drowning feeling out of her lungs every time she woke up on John B's couch, the same one she'd slept on the first night she'd stayed with him. Back then, everything had been so simple. Where had they gone wrong? There were too many places to count. She just wanted everything to go back to normal. She wanted John B to crash through the kitchen door and tell her they were going surfing or to say he'd gotten himself in trouble or even to just complain about the lack of food in the house. But no. He was dead. He was gone. The last of her family was gone.

"I lost my job." JJ let himself in the front door of the Chateau, unbuttoning his shirt as he walked.

Tate opened her eyes. The light was blinding. She was lying on the couch in the same position she'd been all day, her hair a greasy mess, her clothes disheveled. "Oh," she said disinterestedly. "What'd you do?"

"Yelled at some people for some shit."

"That's my boy." Tate closed her eyes again, wishing she could slip back into the bliss of sleep.

JJ sat down on the empty section of the couch and let his head fall back onto the cushions. "Are you high?"

"A bit," Tate murmured.

"Got any more?"

"On the floor by the TV."

She could hear JJ get up and cross the room, but she didn't open her eyes again. The world was too bright just then.

She'd stood next to JJ as Pope carved the letters into the tree. The last few days had been a blur. Tate hadn't slept since John B died. Somewhere in the muddled forefront of her senses, she saw JJ hold up a flask and say "To John B."

"And to Sarah," murmured Kiara.

Tate didn't take her eyes off of the tree. The memorial felt so superficial, but it was the most real thing John B had gotten. It didn't feel real. He couldn't be dead, that didn't make sense. A world without John B didn't make sense. She could tell her friends were all crying beside her, but no tears came. She felt listless, like she was floating above everything and watching from above.

JJ took a long swig from his flask and handed it to Tate, who did the same. She didn't even feel the burning of the liquor sliding down her throat. Kiara lovingly fingered one of John B's bracelets, which they'd put in a box with the rest of the little trinkets that reminded them of him. Then, wordlessly, she knelt down and tucked the box into a hole in the ground.

Together, the remaining Pogues covered the box with dirt, burying the last of their memories of John B. When it was covered in dirt, the four of them paused, not knowing what to do now. They'd been walking around in a stupor for days now, at a loss for what to do without John B. JJ reached out to put an arm around Tate's shoulders, but she shook her head and stood up again, brushing loose dirt off of her clothes, then turned and walked steadily back to the house.

The living room was filled with smoke when Tate next opened her eyes. At some point, JJ had turned the TV on and the local news station blared in her ears, distracting her from the rest of her thoughts. She managed to sit up a little, her head spinning and her vision blurred, and saw the figure of JJ laying peacefully on his back on the other section of the couch. He was wearing that stupid yellow and blue flannel he'd owned forever, unbuttoned halfway down his chest to reveal the shark tooth necklace beneath. His hair was sprawled messily over the pillow under his head; it had gotten longer in the last few weeks, he hadn't had the energy to cut it.

He looked so calm laying there, Tate sat on the cushions and stared at him for what could have been seconds or hours. It was hard for her to discern time when she was high. Then, as if unpausing a movie, she unfroze and crawled across the couch to lay next to him. The couch section was big enough for them to lay side by side, barely touching, her head nestled just under his outstretched arm.

From there, she could smell the scent of the ocean that always lingered on his clothes and skin, like salty afternoon surfing in mid-summer and late nights at The Wreck. He didn't stir or wake up when she moved closer to him, but she watched his chest rise and fall in slow, steady breaths. She fell back asleep to the motion of it and the soft sounds of his breathing mixed with the news blaring from across the room.

Tate had sat on the table in the garage, JJ on the chair next to her. He had his ankle carefully positioned over his other leg, the needle steady in his hand as he poked P4L into his skin with ink. She'd watched carefully, one hand toying lovingly with the strap of his overalls. When he'd finished, looked up at her with an expression filled with pain. She knew it wasn't from the needle. "Hey, my turn?" she'd said softly.

"Come here." JJ switched out the needle and leaned forward as Tate rolled up the leg of her jeans and positioned her own ankle for JJ to work. "It's gonna hurt a little," he warned.

She raised her eyebrows at him. "Yeah, I think I can take it." JJ mustered a scrap of a smile before dipping the needle into the ink and getting to work on Tate's tattoo. Her skin stung every time the needle punctured and she winced once or twice, but she didn't let JJ stop until P4L- identical to JJ's- was imprinted on her ankle. To be honest, she didn't mind the pain. It was a distraction. She tried to ignore the worried look JJ gave her every time her breath caught. She could feel herself slipping, her mental state going increasingly downhill, but she didn't have the energy to try and make it any better. Every time JJ stopped, she simply murmured for him to keep going and focused on the sharp pains the needle made in her leg.

The next time Tate woke up, JJ was sitting up on the couch cushions, staring at the TV with red, bleary eyes, not taking in anything he was seeing. She couldn't tell if his eyes were red from the weed or from crying. She struggled to push herself into a sitting position. JJ looked over at her briefly, then put his arm around her and rubbed her shoulder comfortingly. "Hey." His voice was scratchy.

"Hey," she said softly. "You lost your job."

"Yep."

She sighed deeply and pulled her knees to her chest. "What are we gonna do about money?"

There was a long silence. JJ's fingers moved from her shoulder to her tangled, greasy blonde hair that had been washed too few times since John B's death. JJ didn't mind. He gently undid some of the knots with one hand, then brushed the hair off of her shoulders and behind her back. "I don't know, Theo."

"Don't call me that," she whispered, and she meant it. It was the name only Uncle John and John B had been allowed to call her. Now, she hoped the nickname would die with them.

JJ sighed and nestled back down into the cushions, pulling her with him. "I won't," he murmured. "Just... come here."

Tate reluctantly rested her head on his shoulder and let him wrap his arms around her. Her body felt heavy and sluggish, and moving didn't seem to be a possibility just then, so she stayed. Minutes later, she was back in her deep, drug-induced sleep, JJ resting just as heavily at her side.