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JJ’s triggers are his responsibility. It’s not up to Shoupe to protect him, or John B to shield him from reality, or any of his friends to not yell at him when he's done something stupid just because he might freak out.
It really shouldn’t be a surprise that he’s shit at managing them. Even admitting he had triggers took months of Shoupe’s insistent pressing for JJ to see a therapist that never ended up quite working out. The appointment was booked, JJ was sat on the stupid leather couch, and the women got one question out before he decided fuck this and took off.
Shoupe found him hours later at the beach, throwing rocks at the waves. They didn't talk then, Shoupe just put an arm around him and waited until JJ was ready to go back home.
Since then, he hasn’t asked JJ to try talking to someone again. Instead he leaves books on his desk, print offs of specific pages he thinks would be helpful and excerpts from experts in the field.
At first, JJ didn't touch a single piece of paper that made it to his room, but after months passed he finally started reading a line here or there. It was dumb stuff, mostly, but some of it stuck—Like the parts about how the brain creates physical reactions to memories in order to protect itself and warn you of danger.
Really, JJ just wanted his body to stop freaking out when his friends would yell at each other or someone would sneak up on him and wrap an arm around him on a bad day. He was sick of thinking he’d get his face beat in, sick of remembering the dark hue of Luke’s eyes when JJ did something wrong or when he just flat-out existed at all.
Even visiting Shoupe at the Sheriff’s station became its own tight rope walk, the street there reminding JJ every time of the cold window he was shoved against as Luke railed a fist through his face after he got out on bail.
JJ always found himself standing there on the sidewalk, halted by the memory that struck him just as hard as the surprise of that first hit in broad daylight.
Shoupe was an officer, a detective, and now the Sheriff. JJ’s reaction didn't get past him. One day he just gave JJ the key code to the back entrance that lead right into the bullpen of the station and that was that, he never had to walk the street out front again.
When his friends argue now, JJ removes himself from the room and does the dumb ass box breathing that actually sometimes helps. And when it doesnt help, he lists the things he can see to himself, then the things he can hear, then smell, then feel. Normally by the end he’s able to convince his body he’s not being hunted for sport.
Slowly, he’s been getting better.
Not as fast as he’d like, really, but Shoupe always reminds him that these things take time; ‘It’s a marathon, not a sprint’ and all those other shit phrases he keeps up his sleeve for when JJ’s spinning out.
The funny thing is, sometimes it just hits you out of nowhere, with or without a trigger.
Today at least there’s a reason.
JJ’s watching TV while Shoupe and John B talk in the kitchen. Their voices are this quiet hymn of background noises that JJ wishes he could bottle up with the way it makes him feel safe and at home like nothing else does.
He’s half listening to the TV and half scrolling on his phone, so he doesnt notice when the movie he was watching ends and trails off into another one.
Tik tok gets him stuck in a loop of videos. With the tv audio, his phone’s audio, and the murmur of voices from the kitchen, it takes him a long time to realize why his body suddenly feels on edge.
Phone falling, he finally looks up to the TV.
A women on screen is held by her hair, a man behind her saying something that gets lost as JJ’s ears start ringing. He’s been in that hold before, Luke’s voice in his ear talking down to him.
It’s the body language, the way she’s shying away from every word spat at her that makes JJ uncomfortably look for the remote. She hasn’t even been hit yet and already his hands are trembling.
They’re good actors.
She looks scared, terrified even.
It almost feels too spot on that she kinda looks like one of his Dad’s old girlfriends.
Rebecca—or Reba? JJ doesnt remember.
What he does remember is the terrible sound of her screaming when Luke finally lost it on her.
JJ could only lay in his bed listening for so long. He went out there to stop Luke and it was the last thing he did for days, too hurt to leave his room after his Dad shoved him back there so he didn't have to keep looking at him.
The girlfriend didn't stay to help him, didn't call the cops, and also didn't ever come back.
JJ couldn’t blame her though. He thinks if he had the option he would’ve ran too.
What the TV’s showing, it’s familiar in an aching sort of way.
He finds the remote shoved between the couch cushions just as she’s thrown to the ground.
***
At first John B thinks it’s a seizure. He comes into the living room to JJ staring blankly at the TV, his chest heaving and Sarge trying desperately to get his nose under JJ’s hand.
They were having such a good day. JJ hadn’t even had a seizure in over thirty hours, which was practically a record at this point.
Defeated, John B calls for Shoupe just as his hand touches JJ’s arm with the intention of helping him lay down on his side just in case the seizure doesnt stay absent.
In a second, JJ’s pushing up to his feet. Not expecting it, it startles John B enough that he stumbles back, his leg hitting the coffee table and knocking over the water glass on it. The sound is enough to have him flinching, which means it’s enough to have JJ full out scrambling away from him.
In his frantic need to get away, he nearly falls, and John B tries to reach for him.
It was the wrong move.
In the midst of the panic, of John B’s scattered brain wanting to help but not knowing fully how with a second’s notice, Shoupe runs in. “Everyone stop moving,” he barks, forcing JJ to curl in on himself at the sound.
He wouldn’t have used that voice, that tone, if he didnt need to.
***
Shoupe’s seen JJ have panic attacks, PTSD attacks, and everything in between. He’s never seen him so locked in on a memory that he cant seem to bring himself back to reality.
For every step they take closer, JJ takes one back. His eyes are completely unseeing, so similar to the stare he gets during his seizures that it makes Shoupe have half a mind to send John B back to the kitchen to grab JJ’s emergency meds.
The most pressing issue of all right now, is that JJ cant seem to breathe.
Usually one of them can get a hand on his chest and lead him through a breathing exercise, but JJ wont let either of them within touching distance.
“JJ can you hear my voice right now?” Shoupe tries to remember every trick in the book to pull him back.
It’s slight and takes a moment, but JJ nods.
“Okay, that’s good, Jay.” There’s a sickening wheeze in the gasps he’s taking, no end in sight despite the way they’ve both trying to calm him like a spooked horse.
“JJ it’s John B and Shoupe, we’re here with you. We’re at home. Everyone is okay.” John B lays it out simply and JJ’s eyes finally flicker up at him. Even though it’s only for a second, it’s at least something.
They’re just getting through to him when the glass that was knocked over on the coffee table teetering on the edge decides now is the time to tip over and fall to the floor.
It hits the carpet first, then rolls, knocking into the stone of the fireplace in a way that shouldn’t shatter it, but does anyway.
The sound isnt even that loud, but to JJ it must be astronomical in his headspace. The wheeze he was trying to breathe through turns into heaving, choking breaths that cant be getting him any oxygen.
There’s really no choice, Shoupe has to put a hand on him to pull him back to the couch in case he passes out. “I’m sorry JJ,” he doesnt want to do this, “I’m going to take your arm, I’m going to bring you to the couch.” Saying it out loud doesnt do much. The second he touches JJ, his whole body starts to fight.
Through the choking breaths, JJ throws his elbows, pushing at Shoupe’s chest in a way that screams out how terrified he is as he fights to get free. The worst part is that JJ cant even say anything with the air that’s barely scraping through his throat.
Shoupe used to think the worst part was hearing him beg, the small sound of his voice begging, praying, ’no, no, no, please no,’ but this silence is somehow worse.
Knowing that Luke would still go after him long after the cries for help, for mercy stopped, makes him want to be sick.
With John B’s help they somehow manage to get JJ back to the couch where he can at least pass out without risking further injuring his head.
“I’d feel better if he was on his side,” John B says, his eyes only leaving JJ for a split second to check in with Shoupe.
The kid’s probably right. JJ’s not breathing too well right now and his panting could send him into a seizure anyway. Better to have him already in the recovery position.
Except John B starts trying to help JJ lay down and the fight that was already in him before goes feral.
The words are back, torn from JJ’s throat as he pleads through hacking coughs that turn his lips purple from the lack of oxygen he’s getting in.
“Stop, stop,,” Shoupe pulls John B away, letting JJ’s unseeing eyes settle on the ceiling. He ends up getting himself on his side all on his own as he curls into himself and breathes his way through the panic attack.
“What the fuck was that,” John B whispers, his eyes as terrifyingly young as JJ’s in that moment.
Shoupe’s always worried that more has happened to JJ than he’s let on. Having that reaction to getting laid down mid-panic attack feels like it’s own confirmation.
The only thing he can do is try to get JJ out of it. He rattles off three things to John B, telling him to go grab them.
There’s a reluctance to follow his direction as JJ slips in and out of his frantic, animalistic breathing, but eventually he listens, sprinting off to grab what they need.
It’s barely a minute before he’s back, ice, JJ’s oxygen, and his meds all clutched in his hands.
***
JJ can’t see, he cant fucking breathe.
Luke is here, he’s home, and JJ’s mom is dead, laid out in the hall and he’s crying, begging her to wake up.
He’s eight and nineteen all at once, both worlds merging through his eyes. He sees every hit to come, every slam of his face against the kitchen floor boards, every scraping nail mark he’ll leave in the dry wall as he tried to save himself.
Help doesnt come.
Not in real life.
In reality, JJ drags himself to his bathroom after to clean the blood from his body.
“JJ, come on kid, breathe with me.”
Shoupe’s voice doesnt belong with Luke’s memory.
It’s the thought that gets through to him in the end.
The room comes into focus object by object at a time. The lamp first, warm light instead of a grey white. Luke doesnt buy shit like that. The recliner, coffee table, dog, all of it suddenly starts making sense.
He’s not at Luke’s.
He’s home.
Each blink takes him closer to the truth as everything swims in and out of focus.
What finally brings him around is the shock of ice being held to his chest. He splutters as he looks down at it, not fully able to comprehend that the hands holding it there are doing it to help him until he follows those hands to a wrist to an arm to a person that’s John B.
JJ’s hands that were pushing him away a second ago, fist instead in his shirt to pull him to him.
“You’re okay, JJ, you’re alight,” John B keeps saying, holding JJ back just as tight.
It’s not enough. He still has a foot in both worlds and it’s hard to grasp what’s happened when it’s still so hard to breathe.
Everything gets a little easier when his eyes land on Shoupe.
“Do you have your gun?” He doesnt realize he’s asked out loud until both sets of eyes on him widen.
“It’s locked away, JJ,” Shoupe answers unsteadily. “Why?”
JJ doesnt care how crazy he sounds. He needs it. Needs to know they’re not just sitting ducks. “Can you get it, please?”
For a long second, neither of them answer him. “Please,” JJ begs. Tremors have started in his chest. He’s so sure his lungs are shaking hard enough that they’re expelling half the oxygen he’s breathing in.
Slowly Shoupe nods and something in JJ’s throat agrees to finally allow air in.
John B holds him while they wait, rocking him gently as the minute hand on the clock runs itself around and around. Shoupe should be back by now. He was just upstairs. Maybe Luke—
JJ’s breathing picks up again. He cant shake it off. “John B,” he asks frantically, he needs him to do something, anything, to make it better.
“Shoupe,” John B yells for him, gathering JJ up tighter in his arms.
The fear in his voice isnt helping.
Finally, Shoupe comes back, keeping his distance from them both. There seems to be a conversation JJ cant be part of, John B and Shoupe looking to one another before John B’s arms wrap impossibly harder around JJ. He feels like he’s being held down instead of held onto.
“What do you need JJ?” Shoupe asks. He goes to holster his gun, but JJ’s hand shoots out. “Dont,” he begs, “dont put it away.”
The living room has one entrance that leads to the kitchen. It shares it with the steps that lead up to the bedrooms.
“Okay,” Shoupe agrees, holding his gun pointed down and at his side. JJ would ask for it if he thought he’d ever agree to it.
“Can you sit there?” JJ asks, pointing to the recliner. If he turns it, Shoupe will have full view of the room and the only entrance.
“Okay,” Shoupe agrees, sitting gingerly on the chair. “Is this right, JJ?”
One breath in turns to three, his body greedily sucking in air. He nods. It’s right.
He’s safe.
Shoupe is here.
Shoupe has a gun.
“Where is Luke?” In for four, out for four, JJ tries to do the breathing squares.
“Luke is not on this island, JJ. Luke is in prison, serving his sentence. He’s behind bars. He can’t hurt you.” The words aren’t enough.
JJ tries to hold onto it, but he cant. “Can you say it again?”
Shoupe does.
“Again?”
They go on like that, Shoupe’s voice the only sound in the room for a long, long time as he talks JJ down.
Eventually, JJ doesnt have to think about breathing for it to happen. He comes back to himself slowly, grabbing for the half melting ice cubes that are in a bowl on the coffee table. He presses them to his palms, to his eyes, to his chest, until he feels like he’s in his own body again.
John B doesnt let go of him the whole time, his hands always gentle on him, soothing away the scars that have long since sealed themselves. “You with us?”
Despite himself, JJ gets himself sitting up and hides his head in his hands and nods. If he wasn’t so wrung out he’d die of embarrassment. “God, I’m sorry.” They were having such a good day. Everything was perfect until he ruined it.
“Nothing to be sorry for,” Shoupe tells him gently. “I think John B and I would both feel a little better if there wasn’t a gun in the room right now though. Is it okay if I put it away?”
A terrible unease settles itself in JJ’s stomach. He wants the gun here. He also understands why they don’t. He’s not exactly himself when these things happen.
Hell, the last mild panic attack he had he ended up burning himself with a cigarette just because.
This one wasn’t so mild. There’s not much he thinks he wouldn’t do to end one.
“Yeah,” he agrees brokenly.
Shoupe leaves just for John B to tug JJ the rest of the way into his side. “You’re okay,” he promises, but honestly JJ feels anything but okay.
At least the TV is off now.
No more women on the screen, no more man.
JJ’s breath catches.
“Breathe with me,” John B instructs when he hears it, grabbing JJ’s hand to hold against his chest so that he can feel the even, exaggerated breaths John B’s taking.
Shoupe comes back to them like that and makes himself space on the other side of JJ. It’s a lot right now, to have people on both sides of him. He cant see the two of them at once and it’s making his brain set off alarm bells.
“Can one of you…” JJ trails off, not sure what he needs. He doesnt want either of them to go but he also doesnt want them right here, right now. Frustrated, he buries his head in his hands and pulls at the strands of hair in his fists as he begs for an answer.
Thankfully, neither of them ever seem to need much direction. John B edges off the couch to kneel in front of him, pulling JJ’s hands from his face. “Is this better?”
He only has to move his body a little so that both of them are in the same scope. “Better,” JJ promises.
After a panic attack that bad, there’s not really anything he can do to salvage the day. Usually, he sleeps it off, meds pumping through his system. Tonight, he doesnt want that. He wants to stay vigilant, just in case.
He tries to explain that, but Shoupe and John B don’t seem to agree. “You’ve been through a lot tonight, JJ. I think it would be a good idea to take your anxiety meds and get some rest.”
“I have to be ready,” JJ argues, “i can’t just sleep knowing—” he trails off, feeling crazy.
“Knowing what?” Shoupe presses.
“You don’t get it.” JJ hates the way tears well up in his eyes, nearly burning at them. “It was like he was here, in this room, in this house. It felt like everything there happened here and I keep seeing it and feeling him here and…” The words die in his throat, the memory locking him in again and making him shudder. He doesnt want to talk about it anymore.
“Okay,” Shoupe soothes, hands out to calm him but not touching him. “We’ll keep one pill on your nightstand in case you change your mind, alright?”
Sniffling, JJ nods. They don’t need to get it. They don’t have to live what he lived through. He tries not to hate them for that, but resentment is weird like that.
Carefully, John B touches JJ’s arm until he looks up at him. “Let’s get you up to bed, okay?”
It’s barely nighttime. Still, he lets himself be led upstairs. John B helps him brush his teeth, shows him each of the meds laid out for him with the promise that none of them are Xanax, and then helps JJ into a hoodie and sweats to hopefully stop the way he cant stop trembling.
It’s not from the cold on his skin, it’s from the cold shock of fear shaking his bones and the breath from his lungs.
Luke is his monster to bare for eternity it seems.
Once he’s in bed, against the wall and John B on the side closest to the door, Shoupe brings them up a couple plates of food.
JJ’s not hungry, but if he doesnt eat something he knows his meds will make him nauseous.
“Can we watch Parks?” He asks, hating the silence.
Shoupe pulls the laptop he got JJ from his desk drawer, firing it up for them and handing it to John B.
“Join us?” JJ asks him, wanting him nearby.
Ultimately, Shoupe hesitates but nods, heading downstairs to lock up and make himself a plate and put the rest of the food away. When he comes back he makes himself comfortable in the desk chair and kicks his feet up on the bed while they all eat.
Something about a show like Parks and Rec makes JJ feel like nothing bad could ever really happen again. Somewhere out there, he likes to think people like Leslie Knope really do exist.
In a weird way it gives him hope.
“Done eating?” John B asks him when another episode’s passed and JJ hasn’t touched a thing on his plate. He managed four bites and he hopes it’s enough to keep him from vomiting tonight.
“Yeah,” he hands the plate over to John B, who ends up handing it to Shoupe, who starts gathering all their stuff up.
“You’re leaving?” JJ asks, hating how small he sounds.
The look Shoupe sets on him is sad. “I’m going to take Sarge out one last time and then I’m going to go to bed. I’ll leave my door open tonight though and I’ll set the security system and John B and Sarge will be here with you all night, alright?”
JJ twists his fingers in the pocket of John B’s hood. He doesnt want Shoupe in another room. He wants him here, with his gun.
It’s not realistic though.
He’s responsible for his own triggers. He needs to overcome the fear. He can’t keep letting the monster that is Luke control his life.
“Alright,” he agrees.
He doesnt feel fully better until Sarge is curled up at the foot of the bed, ears perked and listening to the house around them as John B pulls JJ to his chest.
“Wake me up if you need me,” he reminds JJ gently.
“I will,” JJ promises. He’s not going to run from him anymore.
“No bullshit, JJ,” John B whispers to him, “Are you doing okay?”
Between his dog, his Dad, and John B, there’s not much more he could have right now that would make anything better. “I feel safer than before,” he answers truthfully. “Not fully there yet in my head, but the show helped. I feel…upset, I guess, and scared.”
John B’s arms squeeze around him. “Luke can’t hurt you.”
“He already did,” JJ whispers, realizing just how shitty it is that even with a ferry ride and prison in between them he’s still haunting JJ’s head. “I just have to stop letting him back in.”
“I don't think memories work like that, Jay.” It’s true. One second to the next, he cant help the reminders that pull him right back into his past.
Sometimes, they’re not all bad. Sometimes, Luke hugged him instead of hit him. Sometimes, when a score was good, they’d eat together.
Those memories are few and far between, but before Shoupe, those were the memories JJ held unto like they were worth their weight in gold.
“Is it sick that I miss him sometimes?” JJ wipes at the tears he didn't expect to fall. He doesnt let John B answer, scared he’ll confirm JJ’s fears. “I just—sometimes I wish so hard that he was the father Shoupe is. That none of this had to happen. That I didn't have to loose half my mind to get here.”
John B shushes him, pulling him deeper into his chest. “It’s not sick,” he promises, pressing a hard kiss to his forehead, “he was your Dad, JJ, you wanted to love him so bad. It’s okay to grieve that, it’s okay to wish you never had to have seizures or lose the life we had before.”
If John B never ‘died,’ if JJ never stole the keys to the phantom…
“At least it got me you,” he realizes, squeezing John B back just as hard to prove to himself he can, that he’s here, in his arms. “At least it gave me Shoupe and Sarge and a home.”
“We love you, JJ,” John B reminds him. “We’re yours, for life.”
“For life,” JJ whispers back to him.
That night he’s held until his breaths even out, John B wrapped around him, his dog keeping guard at his feet, and his real Dad down the hall, saying his nightly prayers that they find peace.
JJ likes to think that someday they will.