All That Glitters

Stitches

Tw: blood, mentions of self harm, implied self harm

"S-so this happened before? Junior high ? And he just... forgot?" Topper rubbed at his face. Staring at a still unconscious JJ on Big John's bed. Pope sat next to him, fiddling with his floppy blond hair in his face.

"It never got this bad because I stopped it by giving him something to ground himself with. But he's been without it for almost two weeks." Pope dabbed at JJ's face contusions with a damp towel he stole from John B's closet.

"You're telling me, when you guys were in junior high, JJ would not only blackout super often but during those blackouts he'd... he did that to himself ?" Topper wiped at his eyes again. Hiding his shock behind his hand. "We all suspected he was getting torn to shreds by his fucking dad because of the bruises he had in the locker room sometimes but you're telling me that they were self inflicted?"

"No. Actually, if it's a bruise, it's not him."

"So what, he cuts himself?"

"More or less."

Topper gulped a shudder. "What the ever living fuck is wrong with him?" He whispered to himself, pulling at his hair.

"He's cursed, Topper. Cursed is honestly the nicest way I can describe it."

"He should be in a mental hospital. For fucks sake, Pope. If he's a danger to himself, he should be monitored. So this type of shit doesn't happen again."

"That won't work."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because he doesn't use blades to do it."

"What else could he possibly use?"

"I've already said too much. He's gonna kill me when he finds out I told you this much."

They stared at each other for a moment.

"I don't understand why we're still not taking him to the hospital."

Pope clenched his mouth shut. Tearing his gaze away from Topper.

"It's complicated, Topper."

"Yeah. Or it's just that you don't want your boyfriend ending up branded a lunatic by the state. Getting taken away from you and your friends. That's it, right? Just letting him suffer like this because y'all are too attached to get him the help he needs and deserves?" Topper stood up from his seat. Pulling his phone from his pocket. "I'm fucking calling an ambulance. I can't believe this."

"Topper, wait! No, stop!" Pope flung from the bed, knocking his phone to the ground.

"Pope, he needs actual clinical help!" Topper snatched his phone up. "Come on, man." The screen was cracked. He threw Pope an annoyed scowl.

"Don't do that, Topper. Please, you just gotta trust me." Pope placed a hand over his heart, taking in frantic breaths. "It's only gonna make it worse if we send him away like that."

Topper narrowed his eyes in confusion. "How much worse can it fucking get, Pope? I trusted you when you drove us here. But now that I know that he's fucking hurting himself, I can't just sit back like you and your fucking friends." He typed something into his phone.

Pope grabbed at his phone. "I'm sorry, Top. Thank you so much for your help, but I'm sorry. It's not my place to tell you everything. You're just gonna have to trust me and wait for him to wake up so he can explain himself."

"Pope, I swear to god, if you don't give me my phone back, you're gonna wish I stayed behind with Rafe." He jolted over the bed at Pope, reaching for his phone.