Stupid Kid

Chapter 2 Recovery

After giving the injury a last look over Tig heaves himself up from the coffee table trying to ignore the twinge he feels in his joints. He's only in his forties but old age creeps up to you quickly in this sort of life. Thinking of age makes him look at the kid again, still in his kutte and clothes he's laid back on the couch his eyelids just starting to lose the battle against sleep. He looks younger than his years like this, looks barley older than Tigs own girls. He's always wondered how old Juice really was. When he had arrived at their garage over a year ago he'd said twenty six but Tig could recognise BS when it slapped him in the face so blatantly. The kid couldn't be more than 23. It hadn't helped that he'd been unable to look any of them in the eye when he had said it

Tig doesn't know why he lets Juice's age bother him. Maybe he just finds it insulting that the infamous Sons of Anarchy are now letting mere toddlers prospect. Or maybe it's guilt for letting someone so young join a life so cruel that it broke the strongest of men, and it was so clear that Juice was just a boy.

Shaking himself out of the introspective mood, he moves to put Chibs' whiskey back. He sits it on the nearest shelf ignoring the fact the rest of its companions sat on the left side of the bar. Juice had been mid clean when Tig had told him about the drop off and that was clear looking under the bar, half the bottles where dumped randomly wherever the previous owner had been closest whilst the other side stood in army rows, not a bottle out of line, with the labels facing outward. He could say what he wanted about letting children into the club but he at least appreciated the organization Juice had brought with him.

Walking back to Juice, he pulls him from his dozing state with a hand on his shoulder.

"Come on let's get you to bed."

He's shaky when he stumbles to his feet, like bambie on ice for the first time. Tig has to keep one arm wrapped around his waist, pulling most of his weight. The other hand is used to yank open the bedroom door before he unceremoniously dumps Juice on the edge on the bed, keeping close in case the idiot decides to slip off it, those stitches aren't being redone.

Not waiting for Juice to take the hint he pulls his arms up, carefully shedding him of his kutte before sitting it down next to them. The boots have already gone so the shirt and jeans are the next to go, as helpful as he's trying to be Juice's limbs seem to have developed a mind of their own since the injury and Tig narrowly avoids a failing elbow to the stomach. Finally, he pushes him back to the pillow and pulls the covers over him, trying to avoid him bitching about the cold.

From half lidded eyes Juice watches him move round the room, placing his clothes on the nearby armchair, and pulling the curtain to a close. Whilst Tigs pulling out a bottle of water and a couple of tablets he finally asks one last question before he leaves him to sleep. "How old are you really?"

"I told you twenty seven." A hard look from Tig can make any truth come to light, this time is no exception. "Twenty Two." That's younger than Tig expected, only seven years older than his eldest daughter. Not giving any indication the number phased him, Tig pops a few tablets from their plastic packaging, momentarily recalling having taken a few for fun a couple of clubhouse parties ago. They'd be strong enough to keep him quiet until he was under Chibs care rather than Tigs.

"I won't mention that to the guys. Get some sleep. Chibs will be back in a few hours." With that last line he leaves him be, cocooned in blankets, dozing as the pain med start to kick in.

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When Chibs gets back just a couple of hour later, Tigs at the bar an empty glass in his hand and the sharp taste of whiskey fresh on his lips. He'd spent twenty minutes scrubbing the couch, leaving no trace of the injury behind.

''You missed all the fun Chibby.''

''I got your voicemail. How's the lad doin?''

''Alright... He should be out for the rest of the night.''

Chibs heads straight for the bedrooms after hearing that, Tig trailing after him at a more leisurely pace. When he reaches the room Chibs is already inside, carefully checking the bandage are secure without waking the sleeping form. After a close inspection he pulls the cover back up, tucking it under him.

''You're lookin' like the boy's mother. I told you he was fine.''

''I know brother. I just had to make sure.'' Pausing a moment, he mutters almost to himself, ''You'd understand if you had a prospect Tig. You bring them in, you're responsible for what happen to them.''

Tigs about to reply before he notices Juice' eyes flickering open, only to close again after catching sight of Chibs, a smile ghosting on his lips.

Tig tries to reason, ''We brought Jax and Opie in it's the same thing.''

''No, it's not.''

Having had the boy's warm blood on his hands and seen his wide brown eyes flash with fear, deep down Tig knows Chibs is right. Jax and Opie were born and raised into this cruel life, they had thrived in it. Juice was different, too trusting, too naïve. 

Though looking at him Tig has an explainable gut instinct that he'll manage to survive it all the same. In a way Tig can recognise himself in Juice, a kid willing and ready to die for a family he never thought he'd find...

Though Tig isn't too sure about his own chance at survival when Chibs realises it was his own expensive Irish whiskey that Tig had been passing the time with.

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Hi I think that's going to be it for this story. All votes and comments are greatly appreciated.

(2nd chapter still needs to be beta read.)