Stupid Kid

Stupid Idiot Kid

Tig figured bringing the kid would be a problem tonight and for once he's not happy about being right. Not that he had much choice with the decision, the Niners had said they needed the gun delivery today and Juice was the only unoccupied member. Now the kid's sat on one of the clubhouse couches, shaking like an autumn leaf and paler than a Puerto Rican should ever be. He's holding his bloody arm tightly against his chest and, like a wounded animal, he's reluctant to let Tig near it. Tig's forced to bite his tongue, stopping himself from telling the kid to stop being so Goddamn dramatic, the bullet only grazed after all. Tig wouldn't even bother with stitches if it was himself but Chibs was deadly serious when he asked him to watch out for their newest member.

So only out of respect Tig pushes Juice down and pulls out the med box when they get to the clubhouse. Piney's in the clubhouse too somewhere but chances are he's already drunk himself into an alcohol-induced coma. Tig cleans the injury first, pouring cold water over it and roughly rubbing it with a clean cloth. Other than Juice's little pained hisses, which are ignored, they sit in silence, it's a nice change, rarely does Juice manage to keep his mouth shut for more than a few minutes at a time. And it gives Tig a chance to consider the night. The drop-off had started well. The two of them had met up with a few of Laroy's guys, the numbers were stacked against them but relations had been smooth recently. They had tried out a few different guns before making their order. Just as the cash was handed over, Juice had turned his back, rookie mistake, giving the nearest Niner a chance to reach behind him. Fortunately, at least for them, Tig had reacted faster shoving Juice out of the way whilst simultaneously reaching for his firearm. The Niners were dead and bloody whilst Juice was still glancing around in a confused manner. Unbeknown to both of them at first, the Niner's bullet had partially met its mark. They had stumbled onto their feet, Tig scolding him for being a ''reckless, effing idiot''. A second later Tig caught him by the elbow finally having noticed frequent droplets of crimson blood leaking from Juice's upper arm.

As the wound's being cleaned Juice's eyes flicker from watching Tig to warily gazing at the needle sat openly in the med box. Not wanting to heighten the tension Tig moves straight onto the stitches as soon as the cut's clean. Before the needle meets the skin he grabs one of the bottles from behind the bar and lets Juice have a few sips of Chibs' Irish whiskey to numb the sharp pain. He's tempted not to let him, to let the pain act as retribution for Juice's idiocy but decides he doesn't have the heart for it. Maybe he is getting soft in his old age.

Having been in the presence of plenty of men in their last moments, Tigs always associated shock with the glassy-eyed look that Juice has worn since the first bullet ripped through flesh. He imagines this is the first time Juice has seen a dead body, he's taken it better than Tig would have ever given him credit for but maybe that's just the shock coursing through him.

Glancing at the Juice it looks like that emotion is finally departing, leaving unfathomable guilt and regret in its wake. Juice's hands start to shake and a wet droplet hangs from his too-long eyelashes. Having always been better with stitches than comfort Tig pretends not to notice as he makes first contact with skin.

Only four stitches are 'needed' but Juice protests and squirms with each one, till Tig is swearing at him to ''Stay still!'', he seems to deflate when the needle is placed back into its case like he's been holding a great weight that's now been taken off him. Not wanting his hard work to go to waste Tig sticks a thin gauze over the injury and ignores the grateful smile that Juice sends his way. Stupid idiot kid.