(no subject)
294 - Passing
When your father was a founding member of a Motorcycle gang, there was little anyone could to do protect children from the reality of death. Kids like Jax and Opie had known about it from the days when they saw their fathers stumbling home with gunshot wounds, covered in blood that was a mix of their own and other unfortunate bikers'. Jackson Teller was very young when he first got a touch of death.
John and Gemma had thought he was somewhere else, thought he was asleep when that Nordic bastard came to the house looking for a fight. It was one thing to attack in the streets, but another completely to come to someone's home, threaten their child. Jax had watched his father shoot the man in the head, watched him fall to the ground, twitching and then slowly not moving, bleeding out over the grass.
When he'd asked his mother what had happened that made the stain on the lawn, Gemma just pulled her son against her side and ran her fingers through his hair.
He passed away, honey. He's gone. It's like going to sleep for a very long time.
Sleeping. Jax often wondered why people told kids that, that death was like sleeping. It implied dreaming, it implied peace.
But watching the red and blue flashing lights reflecting in the cool pools of Donna's blood as he cradled his best friend in his arms as the man sobbed, Jax knew there was no peace in death. Not for the dead, and not for those that were left behind.
Passing on was such a gentle word for a process that was fucking horrific for everyone involved. Passing on does not mean dead. Passing on is packing up and fucking off to another state.
Dead is dead.
You can't sugar coat that shit.
Muse: Jackson "Jax" Teller
Fandom: Sons of Anarchy
Word Count: 311
When your father was a founding member of a Motorcycle gang, there was little anyone could to do protect children from the reality of death. Kids like Jax and Opie had known about it from the days when they saw their fathers stumbling home with gunshot wounds, covered in blood that was a mix of their own and other unfortunate bikers'. Jackson Teller was very young when he first got a touch of death.
John and Gemma had thought he was somewhere else, thought he was asleep when that Nordic bastard came to the house looking for a fight. It was one thing to attack in the streets, but another completely to come to someone's home, threaten their child. Jax had watched his father shoot the man in the head, watched him fall to the ground, twitching and then slowly not moving, bleeding out over the grass.
When he'd asked his mother what had happened that made the stain on the lawn, Gemma just pulled her son against her side and ran her fingers through his hair.
He passed away, honey. He's gone. It's like going to sleep for a very long time.
Sleeping. Jax often wondered why people told kids that, that death was like sleeping. It implied dreaming, it implied peace.
But watching the red and blue flashing lights reflecting in the cool pools of Donna's blood as he cradled his best friend in his arms as the man sobbed, Jax knew there was no peace in death. Not for the dead, and not for those that were left behind.
Passing on was such a gentle word for a process that was fucking horrific for everyone involved. Passing on does not mean dead. Passing on is packing up and fucking off to another state.
Dead is dead.
You can't sugar coat that shit.
Muse: Jackson "Jax" Teller
Fandom: Sons of Anarchy
Word Count: 311