#sunset sandstorms

Their lives have always been two parallel lines, never intertwining, never needing each other. One could keep on going, even if the other one suddenly broke.

The shovel feels heavy in his hands, like the object is singlehandedly carrying the weight of JJ's broken life in it. His body is a bundle of nerves and he almost trembles under Kiara's gaze. She looks untrusting, like she doesn't think Rafe deserves the task.

His grip on the shovel tightens. Maybe Kiara's right. But, to him, it feels more like a burden than an honour. His shoulders sag, troubled, and he finally digs the metal into the ground.

It's windy, telltale sign of a sandstorm incoming. And if his eyes glaze over, Rafe blames the sand.

Rafe can almost feel him. A hand ghosting over his shoulder, threatening, grip firm and blue eyes piercing him. But he knows JJ is laying lifeless just a few feet over. He knows those blue eyes are now shut closed, hardly the same playful ones he had disliked so vehemently. It seems stupid now, how long he had spent resenting JJ for being just like him.

Sarah is leaning against John B, tears staining her cheeks. The stress can't be good for the baby, Rafe can't help but think. Maybe, the baby will be born carrying the weight of JJ's absence on their shoulders too. John B pulls Sarah closer, but he looks wrecked too.

Rafe's eyes scan the group. He wonders if he looks half as bad as them. He's sure he doesn't.

The hole looks big enough. Big enough to fit a human body inside. He hears the dull sound of Pope's feet against the sand behind him. Rafe wants to laugh or scream or hit something or run away. Anything but this. He doesn't want to help Pope lift JJ's body, but he does anyway. Pope is shaking, he's choked up as he says he can't do this, and Rafe is left with JJ in his arms.

It's ironic, really. Energetic JJ who was always up for an adventure, JJ who's sole purpose in life seemed to be making everybody laugh. JJ who was always up for a fight, JJ who had never been scared of anything. JJ who hadn't been scared of Rafe. Has now found his home in a hole in the ground, in nowhere, Morocco. Rafe's glad the others have wrapped up the body in a tattered, old cloth. He's glad he doesn't have to look at JJ while he does this.

He can hear Pope's laboured breaths, he's crying. He can see Cleo hugging him tight in his peripheral. He can hear John B whisper sweet reassurances in Sarah's ear. He can hear JJ's laugh ringing in his ears. He can hear Kiara's sharp tone as she calls his name like she's trying to wake him up. But all he can focus on, is the sound of JJ's laugh. It's getting further and further away. He still can hear him.

It's only when Kiara taps, more like shoves, him on the shoulder that he's pulled away from his trance. He instinctively holds JJ's body closer to his chest. He notices how hefty JJ's body feels in his arms, and in contrast, how small it looks. JJ who always bared his teeth, who reacted first and thought later. JJ who was reckless and aggressive. Rafe remembers JJ standing tall, chest to chest with him during fights. He wonders if JJ had been so small then as well. If Rafe hadn't noticed it then, if JJ was making himself look bigger to hide how insignificant he felt.

Kiara's mad. She doesn't need to say it. It's clear in her expression, in the nervous energy that bounces off her. He asks himself why isn't she the one burying JJ. Her own boyfriend, who she seems to care so much about, but he knows the answer. She's too devastated, actually burying JJ means they're done, means she lost her lover, her everything. It would affect her too much, to be the one doing it. Then why does nobody care what Rafe feels, how this affects him?

He crouches down to lay JJ's body in the hole, and he's afraid of his own gentleness. He runs his fingers over the dusty cloth, and he knows the others are looking at him.

The sun seems to be setting slower. Maybe it's mourning JJ as well.

John B crouches next to him, his own hand mimicking Rafe's movements. And Rafe draws his back, as if stung. Sarah is behind her boyfriend, lovingly caressing his shoulder. "I miss you, man," John B whispers, he sounds smaller than he is.

Rafe doesn't have a friend to miss. He doesn't have a companion to miss. He doesn't even have an acquaintance to miss. But he still mourns what could have been. Most importantly, Rafe mourns himself.

He's not that different than JJ was, is he? Both abused kids. Both products of their fathers uncaring hands. For JJ, it had been fatal. Rafe wonders if it could have been for him too.

Rafe gets up. Kiara's gaze is burning holes in his back. He takes a few steps back, leaves the group to mourn in peace, to say their last goodbyes. He's always preferred to mull over things alone anyway. Still, his gaze never leaves JJ, or at least what's left of him.

He had been nothing to JJ in life, JJ had been nothing to him right back. He's nothing to JJ in death, JJ's something to him. A reminder. A giant, flashing, neon warning sign that Rafe is better off without Ward.

The sun sets and they're back around the campfire. Rafe can't bring himself to eat anything, his stomach is in knots, and so he just stands aside and watches. The silence sets like a thick blanket, almost physical over them.

He can hear him whisper at night. He can almost see his shadow dancing along the flames of the bonfire. If he shuts his eyes, he can feel his breath ghosting over his face. If he opens them, there's blue eyes staring back at him. Maybe the line never broke.

JJ had looked miserable, he had oozed that same pain Rafe kept hidden, close to his chest as if protecting it from thieves. He had hated him for that. For experiencing that same suffering so freely, for downplaying it like it hadn't ruined his life, hadn't messed him just as much as it had done Rafe.

Rafe had always been good at pretending. Right now, he's pretending not to be affected. Right now, he's staring into the burning wood, flames high and golden, his brows furrowed.

The pogues start talking around him, their voices low and thick with a tension that doesn't seem to dissipate, no matter who speaks. Rafe doesn't pay attention at first, too up in his head to.

Sarah hasn't stopped crying the whole day, not really anyway. Cleo is playing around with a knife, turning the thing in her hand over and over again. It's almost hypnotizing, the way the light catches on the blade, and it makes Rafe's stomach churn with memories he's trying to bury. John B is pacing around the fire but it's slow, like each step takes him too much energy. His brows are furrowed in concentration, and Rafe doesn't know him that well but he's sure the guy is concocting one of his stupid plans. Kiara, Rafe doesn't have it in him to look at her. Maybe because he's scared of what he'll see, maybe because he already knows that it'll take a wrong breath from him for the girl to snap.

He doesn't even recognise his own voice when he says, "if it was my friend, i'd go after the guy that just killed him."

His words earn a grunt and a mumbled "shut up, Rafe," from Pope. And he almost wants to get up and go to sleep then, ignore everything else. But Kiara—Kiara of all people—speaks then.

"He's not wrong." Kiara's voice is low, like it's barely coming out from behind her gritted teeth. "You think JJ would sit here if it were one of us? You think he'd do nothing?"

No, Rafe wants to say. He stays quiet instead. If it had been him, would JJ have cared?

Sarah nods, a small jerk of her head that doesn't go unnoticed by Kiara. John B stares at the fire like it owes him answers. "We all know what JJ would do."

JJ comes to him in a dream that night, or maybe Rafe's the one reaching for JJ's hand.

Spirits only come out at night, after all.

The boy is there, his blue eyes scanning over Rafe's face like it'll reveal something. He doesn't speak. Doesn't move for a long time. He just stares. Rafe's breath is caught in his throat like JJ's a heavy presence on his chest, making him unable to breathe properly.

Then JJ's hands creep up slowly. Rafe tries to move but he can't. They're on his neck, cold palms pressing against his pulse point as if to check if he's real. Like JJ isn't the one dead. He shivers, sucks in a shaky breath, and he squeezes his eyes tight.