Chapter Text
A second chance at life is rare, but when you’re JJ Maybank—and you have Kiara on the line; anything is possible.
The Blue Crown. It had been a legend, just another myth tied to the endless stream of treasure hunts that wrecked their lives. But the moment Chandler stabbed JJ's torso, he really fell into something more than death. There had been an eventual light—blinding and pulsing, sucking him back into the reality—he wasn’t dead. He was here.
Very much alive.
He had arisen from the Moroccan heat, dizzy and disoriented, his first thought a desperate whisper:
Kie.
And in that moment, that was all that mattered. The recollection of his death being suffused with Kiara's loving touch and the safety she brought; it gave him sudden relief. For a while, it was enough, entirely enough to the point where he went numb.
But of course, his memory avenue had to end.
It ended the second he realized his death couldn’t of been the same on Kie’s end. His heart sank with the realization—she was out there, thinking he was gone and dead.
She somewhere mourning, unaware he could very well be holding her right now.
The gut-wrenching acknowledgment shocked him right awake.
How am I even awake?
Groaning with uncertainty he opened his eyes. Despite the blinding sun above; he made out a figure towering over him.
In a perfect world, it would’ve been Kiara. Brown meeting blue and grabbing her waist right then and there. The boy even imagined the rest of the Pogues beside her, opening arms and yelling: “Welcome back to the land of the living dude!”
But no. The harsh reality was—he opened his eyes to see disappointment.
It was the forsaken Chandler.
The same Chandler who cold-bloodedly murdered him five hours ago now stood over his body—crown in one hand and a shovel in the other.
The vulnerable blonde in the sand couldn't even react.
"Not the first corpse I’ve seen brought back by a cursed treasure," Chandler laughed, his voice as cold as the sea breeze. JJ didn’t even respond. How could he?
They were back in the place where it all ended. JJ and the man who killed him—here in Morocco, the Blue Crown binding them together. Disbelief wasn’t a nearly strong enough word. The Maybank wanted nothing more than to revoke being his son in the first place.
That is, of course, if the treasure comment was real.
He stared at Chandler, feeling the cold creep back through his veins.
Shit. Maybe I should’ve stayed dead.
With complete sincerity, the weight of dying had felt much easier than a crown reviving him—let alone having his fucking father be behind it. For all he knew, this was just another one of his sick games.
"You ready for this?" Groff’s voice was low, carrying the weight of the storm that was to come.
The resurrected boy blinked through the fog of his mind, his fear wrapping around him like an invisible cape. Chandler’s presence made him want to shrink back into the sand.
JJ couldn’t believe what was happening, and even if he did, there wasn’t a strong enough bone left in his body to fight back. Sure, his heart was pumping, but every other aspect was gone.
And out of nowhere, Chandler seemed to be helping him. The same sick man who’d coldly murdered him five hours ago was now helping him.
It felt wrong, so wrong. He should’ve been running, not accepting a hand from the very man who ruined everything.
Hesitantly, he took the arm Groff held out, fully covered in dried blood. The blondie felt his inner little boy terror return with the uncertainty of the alliance.
Was it real, or just another trap? He chuckled quietly, half in disbelief, half in the irony.
“The crown? It—how…?" JJ stuttered, his words trailing off as his chest tightened. Groff helped him fully stand.
Is the magic real?
His dad’s voice cut back through his thoughts. "Well," he scoffed, "I was kind enough to wish for your life back, Jackson." He then swung the crown away from his son, putting it just out of reach. JJ, still in a daze, hardly registered the movement. He was surprised he even managed to stay upright considering the circumstances.
Dizziness overtook him again, and he stumbled into Groff.
Judgementally, the man held him up with one arm and followed it with a pat on the back. "I know you have questions… But we should go."
The Maybank ignored him.
JJ’s hand then instinctively went to his side, the memory of his stab wound freshly back. But as sore fingers brushed over the skin; there was no pain. No bleeding. Just dirty, yet smooth flesh where the blade had been.
"Hmph." He responded, feeling a slight scar.
He lowered his dirty top after ripping off a few bandages.
There was a rabbit hole of questions really, the surrealness of it all. The Maybank pursed his lips as Chandler suggested they begin walking with a gesture beyond the city. JJ's scars, both mental and physical, sparked even more questions.
"Talk." He replied sternly.
In the fast voice Groff did when he lied, also a reflection JJ saw in himself, Chandler responded, "The sand eroded a bit—I saw the carpet poking out... I saw your head too", motioning to JJ’s shallow grave where the carpet and shovel lay.
”Guess your friends left you here to rot," he said with a frown. "Shame."
JJ clenched his jaw, trying to ignore his father’s usual stings. Unless, for some twisted reason, he was telling the truth? He didn’t know. He didn’t even know where Groff was leading him.
But weirdly enough; the same could be said for the future he faced.
A second chance at life felt more like a second chance for disaster.
“They wouldn’t do that.” JJ muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. His thoughts quickly spiraled into the fear that his friends just left him there.
Chandler had ignored his reply.
But the more JJ processed it, the clearer it became: he was revived by magic.
As bullshit and insane as it sounded; there was nothing more explainable.
The young man finally caved in on the situation and followed Groff's bid to start walking, ignoring the uncertainty that definitely lurked.
JJ sensed that he wanted to respond.
And yet despite the palpable tension, the fear swirling around him—the two men continued walking through the warped sand.
JJ had glanced to the sky, taking in a pink ombre growing before them. It was dawn—a new beginning.
And for the first time in a while, something inside him whispered that maybe, just maybe, it would be okay.
There was always a light at the end of the tunnel despite things seeming too hard to understand.
We’re gonna handle it together.
He remembered. Right then and there, he remembered.
The resurrected boy wandered back into his wildest dreams.
The surf trip was the tip of the iceberg. He’d shared that with Kiara amidst most of his endless secrets. Of course, JJ had always struggled to open up. But with Kie it was different.
And despite that safety, there were things she didn’t know—dreams that filled his heart with hope quietly.
There was a faint image of him proposing, buying them a house, and hugging blurry-faced children—it was all part of the future he wanted. From the moment she kissed him at that wilderness camp it played in his mind.
It was a recurring slideshow actually, and it played during moments like these; moments when everything seemed unreal and he needed an image of what could be.
He then slid a hand into his bloodstained pocket, searching for an object relevant to the daydream.
The ring.
He completely forgot that he’d brought it to Morocco, intending to tell at least one Pogue—but sadly, quite obviously, some plans changed.
He was a total mess in the final days of life. His whole first chance at living, really.
In the aftermath of losing Poguelandia, his rage had kicked in—starting a riot, destroying the city and all.
Yet when everything had felt so out of control and so unlucky; the slideshow replayed. In a vandalized jewelry store, of all places… He saw Kiara. The brown curls, the doe eyes, it was written all on a ring.
Without a second doubt, he stole that shit.
He yearned to touch her again, see her, and feel her warmth. She was out there somewhere and couldn’t bear the fact she was alone any longer.
So back to reality, right then and there when his fingers brushed the ring; he made a vow to himself.
He would make sure he and Kie were a forever thing.
The first step? Getting back home and proposing.
He didn’t care what obstacles laid ahead—whether it meant actually going to jail for his charges, becoming homeless, or even chasing more treasures... The future was his again, and there was only one thing that mattered.
Kiara.
"Hey!" Chandler’s voice broke through JJ’s thoughts, his heart sinking.
The Maybank boy looked back to Groff with his mouth in an ‘O’ shape. "JJ, did you hear me?" Chandler asked, his tone almost annoyed.
"I’ve got a friend with a boat on the way," he added, looking out to the ocean, miles away. "We’re going back to Kildare…"
It had been four days, four restless and empty days. The brown eyed girl felt like she drowned in each one. How little did she know— there was a float of safety on his way back home.
Poguelandia was quiet with almost everyone asleep, lost in whatever dreams they had left to dream.
Meanwhile Kie, widowed and lost, hadn’t slept since the day her boyfriend died. It wasn’t just the sleepless nights that drained her—no. It was the emptiness that came with them. The type of tiredness that no amount of sleep could fix.
She used to have the gentle Maybank boy pull her out of these depression pits, and day by day, depressed or not, he saved her without realizing it.
There weren't many people who did. His comfort was exclusive. Whether it was the sixteen-year-old Pogue picking her up from a peer-pressured Kook party, or him now nineteen and bathing her after a long drunken night: he was there.
That was the thing about JJ, he was always there.
When he was alive.
Her head then pressed against the couch cushion, squeezing her eyes shut. The tears came whether she wanted them or not.
It should’ve been me.
That thought came in like a wave, as much as she hated it. The girl shoved it away quickly, but it clung to her and splashed back ever so often.
The brunette's faint whines echoed in the house.
There were moments, though—moments when her cries turned into rage, sharp and violent.
It was so raw, so intense that she almost didn’t know how to contain it. The thought of Chandler walking free while JJ was gone... It twisted something inside her head four days ago.
Revenge.
In the moment it felt right to say, but as the days wore on, she understood things weren't just about revenge.
It wasn’t just about hurting those who had hurt her.
It was about living for JJ, as hard as it felt.
The Pogues had tried helping her, they were all grieving too, just not in the same way.
Sarah had reached out the most recently—tried to talk, tried to make her feel less isolated. But Kiara couldn’t bear it. Talking about him, about what happened—only made it worse. She couldn’t find the words to explain the weight in her chest and the suffocating grief that never seemed to leave.
John B was the main victim who endured her rage though, and Kie didn't mean to hurt the guy either; it was solely instinctive to let anger if it was possible.
She now resembled JJ in that way.
It was especially hard on the ship ride home. John B could see how his best friend's grief had damaged her, how it consumed her every move. He knew her well—understood the depth of her pain—and he also knew JJ, how much they meant to each other.
He’d seen their connection grow long before it became something real. From the moment JJ revealed his crush on her in third grade, all the way to the times he walked in on them kissing at Poguelandia.
John B had always expected them to end up together, but he didn't expect it to end.
And now, watching Kiara struggle with the loss of that—it felt like his own heart broke.
And shit, even Shoupe noticed the girl's depression. After everything that happened with the murders, Poguelandia, and the charges...
He finally cut them some slack. It was primarily from Rafe's sheriff speech before they left, but it was also from the pain he saw in them after returning home with no JJ.
His empathy peaked for the pogues. For Kiara, especially, he ended up dropping their charges.
So much love was around her, just not JJ’s.
Kie's parents had stepped in a few days ago, offering to fix everything. The lawyers, the therapy, the house, the money, all of it. They said it was in JJ's honor.
But none of it mattered. None of it could bring her boy back.
Her caramel hand then fisted the coach, knowing this wasn’t how it was supposed to be.
She should've been in their bedroom too, feeling the warm embrace of his body next to her.
Their pillows still smelled like him, like salt water and fresh cologne.
But she hadn’t slept in that room since they became fugitives.
She couldn’t bear laying in that silence, that space where his presence filled every corner.
From the most sexual alluring nights of her life to the most genuine and sweet mornings; that room was a grey time capsule she didn't want to open.
So now she spent her nights on the couch. Curled up and hungry, surrounded by her thoughts.
It wasn’t the same.
It would never be the same.
Her breath hitched as a bedroom memory surfaced—JJ's bedhead laughing, cheering her up like he always did.
That laugh. She could still hear it, faint but clear, echoing in her mind.
You’re gonna be fine, Kie. You always are.
The ache in her chest tightened, sharper than before. She fought against tears again, forcing herself to stay calm. But they came anyway—unwelcome, relentless.
The thought of him and his energy, his life, and the way he loved her so fiercely.
The way she loved him too.
Kiara paused, wiping at her eyes. She didn’t want to think about it anymore.
The wind outside howled through the house's open windows, waves crashing against the shore. Her curls bounced from the breeze and it built the desire for her to go outside.
She didn't know where yet, she just needed time away from the jail cell called Poguelandia.
The island felt colder despite it being summer, her inner hippy was convinced it was JJ's spiritual doing.
Though regardless; she walked out to the surf shop with soft footsteps.
The dock was the one of few places she could breathe without the weight of the world crushing her. Besides the Kook for-sale sign that they hadn't taken down; the shop was frozen in time. A time when life was good.
Reaching the end of the dock, she spread out a blanket that she grabbed from the house. It was an old, faded thing that kind of smelt like weed.
She then sat down, tucking her legs beneath herself and staring at the water, the dark ripples reflecting silver moonlight. The ocean had always been her escape, and tonight, it felt like the only thing that might understand her.
The Carrera closed her eyes for a moment, letting the sounds of the waves soothe her valley of a stomach.
It was here, on this very dock, where she and JJ kissed. The memory came like more waves—his hands on her curved waist, pulling her in close, their lips meeting under the sun.
The ache of her heart deepened as she hugged knees to her chest, fighting cries.
How could something so perfect end so suddenly?
The grief of losing him still gnawed at her, but in the quiet of the night, something else sparked in her.
Hope.
Hope that somehow, against all odds, if she got the Blue Crown back:
I'd wish for JJ back.
The Carrera shook her head, trying to push the thought away. It was a foolish thing to even think about.
She didn't even remember the last time she slept.
The stillness of the night wrapped around her like a coat, and slowly, her body gave into the warmth of the blanket beneath.
She finally drifted off into sleep.
The soft murmur of the waves pulled her into a quiet, peaceful rest. The memory of JJ’s lips lingering.
The two men had been traveling overseas for ages, Kiara on the blonde's mind each day.
The boat swayed as Chandler sat with his back to the wheel, posture relaxed. JJ figured they were reaching Kildare soon because of his dad's composure.
But still he couldn’t shake the gut feeling that something was wrong. Every fiber of him itched so.
Chandler’s intentions had never been clear, and he knew that. So now that he was fully conscious after healing for four days straight; he was starting to see cracks in a plan.
“You know son,” Chandler’s voice broke through the quiet hum of the engine, “I thought you'd be a bit more... grateful, by now.”
JJ’s hand tightened on the mattress he'd been sleeping on in the captain's headquarters. The blondie couldn’t stand the smugness of Chandler’s voice.
It reminded him too much of everything that happened before—the manipulation.
“Y'know I didn’t ask for this,” JJ muttered, his tone low, barely audible over the mix of his sleepy voice and the loud engine. “I didn’t ask for you to drag me back from the dead.”
Chandler’s lips twisted into a grin but didn’t reach his eyes. “I used my one wish on you. I hope you're aware..."
"You owe me things now.” He finished.
JJ then scoffed, shaking his head.
His chest tightened as anger and darkness rose.
The boy then stood up, purposefully standing taller than his father. “Owe you?” His tone grew bitter, getting close to Groff's face.
“For what? Throwing me overboard? Stabbing me? You killed me in the first place.”
The words hung in the air, but Chandler didn’t flinch. He just smiled like he was savoring some private joke.
“You’re being dramatic, son.” Chandler said, waving a dismissive hand. “You have a second chance now, don’t go wasting it." He paused again and smiled. "If you help me, I’ll ensure you stay alive."
JJ’s mind raced, his pulse quickening.
Just get back to Kiara.
That was the only thing he valued. He couldn’t fully process Chandler’s claims of power, whatever game he was playing.
Just get back to Kiara.
The Maybank could almost feel her there with him, telling him not to do anything stupid.
But when did he ever listen to that?
JJ asked, his voice colder with simmering anger: “What do you need from me?”
Chandler’s grin widened, his eyes dimming with something sinister. “You’re good at convincing people, correct?" They both stared into the pits of each other's eyes while the Maybank's anger progressively grew.
”Your loyalty means something to your friends—the Kiara girl too. I could use it for something...”
JJ’s hand clenched on the wheel beside them, his stomach turning. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to be part of this. Not for a second.
His girlfriend’s name in Chandler’s mouth made him want to vomit.
"I need your apprenticeship so we can get full value for the crown. And your friends have something I need." Groff added, grabbing something out of JJ’s peripheral vision.
”The money for us, the numbers are drastic.” His father stated as he continued rummaging through shit he didn’t care about.
JJ didn't bother asking for elaboration.
He looked out to the sunrise above the ship.
The thought of turning on his friends—betraying Kie—it made him feel sick.
He remembered the vow.
“Are you serious right now?” JJ asked through gritted teeth, his voice rising with the rage built inside of him. “I’m not playing this game. M'done being your pawn.”
Chandler’s face hardened, his voice taking on a more dangerous edge.
“I didn’t give you a choice. You owe me.” His father added, just before turning back to JJ and revealing a rope in his hand.
A pill bottle was in the other.
He was threatening him.
The Maybank's mind was already made up.
His love for the Pogues, especially Kiara, was like a fire. It burned so insanely hot that it pushed everything else aside.
He couldn’t let Chandler manipulate him any longer.
Without a second thought, JJ moved fast in self defense. Self defense coated fear, actually.
His hands went to a free pipe on the control panel—a cold, heavy steel rod.
Chandler didn’t see that shit coming.
In one fluid motion, JJ swung hard and linked with Chandler’s skull. The man collapsed to the deck, unconscious, without a sound.
JJ stared down at him momentarily, chest heaving and heart racing.
The damage was done, but his father still had a pulse beating with betrayal.
“Well shit…” He panted.
After letting his panic set in for several minutes, the Maybank decided to dump Chandler's unconscious body into the marsh before the boat drove through it. He tossed the pipe in the water too, under his breath saying:
"M'sorry for littering…” With the image of Kie’s disappointed face.
But regardless, it was needed.
His fingers gripped the wheel tighter as the coastlines of Outer Banks became more familiar.
When the fuzzy vision of Poguelandia came into view long after dumping Chandler, he began tearing up.
This was it. His vow lingered.
This was his second chance at life.