In Every Spirit - A 'Sons of Anarchy' Fanfiction - Chibs/Juice
Title: In Every Spirit
Author: Mycki Mor
Fandom: Sons of Anarchy
Pairing: Chibs/Juice
Rating: R
Warnings: Potential over-usage of the ‘F’-word; character death; mentions of suicide; slash; possible spoilers for Seasons Four and Five.
Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. This story is for fan enjoyment, only. No infringement is intended.
Author’s Note: This is my semi-return to fan fiction. So, I may be a smidge rusty at this. If you’re left sobbing in your oatmeal, I have either passed the test, or failed, miserably. This was inspired by Tom Petty’s “A Face in the Crowd”, and fueled by admittedly-massive amounts of Coca-Cola. Please, enjoy. :). ~<3~.
Summary: Juice’s ghost was everywhere.
Juice’s ghost was everywhere. Every time he sat down at the bar, Chibs was faced with the spectre of his now-otherwise-absent drinking partner. Granted, it took about two-thirds a bottle of Jack and half a laced joint for him to make an appearance, but that was just the price of doing business. And, lately, depending upon how one chose to look at it, business was pretty damn good.
At the given moment, the Scotsman was being stared down by eyes that, while physically empty, were still somehow overflowing, emotionally. He wasn’t sure if the look on Juice’s face was worry, or disgust, or maybe both. Maybe neither. The slight squinting of those eyes - those unnerving, not-quite-lifeless eyes - made him suspect that the lad was about to cry.
No, he was quick (and, harsh) to remind himself. Juice would not cry. His Juicy-Boy would never shed another tear, ever again. Chibs would never have to wipe at the wetness on his cheeks, or hold the kid close, or whisper any damned words of fucking love and encouragement in the stupid bastard’s ear so long as he, himself, continued to live.
Though he rarely spoke to his imaginary friend, Chibs was quite a bit further in the bag than usual. Fueled by a little extra Liquid Courage, he now fixed a Death Stare at Juice (moot point, he knew), and slurred out a near-broken, “Fuck you.”
It wasn’t in Juice’s way to respond, not anymore. Chibs snarled, heavy gaze dropping back down to what little liquid remained in the bottle before him. He didn’t have to look back up to know that Juice was still there, still watching him with that tight expression, not moving, not blinking. Not saying a damn fucking thing.
Chibs wanted to ask why, each and every time Juice came to him like this. He just wanted an answer, wanted to know what was so fucking bad that he had to go and end it all. More-over, why he didn’t think about what he had to hold on for. It was more than the Club, more than feeling out-of-place. What about his sister? What about his nephew?
What about Chibs? Didn’t he understand that they had something that was worth the struggle, the pain, the simple want to end it all? Last time he checked, that was what love was there for, to see you through, to save you from yourself, and all that sappy shit. But, a fat lot Juice had apparently fucking cared. To that, Chibs knocked back another shot.
“You’re a selfish bastard,” he all but spat, still not bothering - or, maybe unable to look up at the transparent figure on the stool around the bar’s corner. “Benny-Boy ain’t gonnae have his Uncle, now, thanks ta yer stupid ass… And, I hope y’know, yer sister ain’t ‘zactly a rock…” No, now, it was all up to him, and he didn’t really fucking feel up to the task, thank you, very fucking much. Chibs nearly scoffed at the thought. As if Juice cared what he did to the people that loved him, the people that he was supposed to have loved, in return. Like he’d care that Kayla could barely function enough to keep herself from a hospital bed. Like he’d care that Benjamin still asked for him, about where he went, and if he was hanging out with the Angels in Heaven.
And, if he didn’t care about his fucking blood, it was all very unlikely that he’d give two fucks about the fact that he’d successfully broken Chibs’ heart.
Bloodshot eyes slowly raked up (and, through, he noted with a sickening churn of his stomach) Juice’s slouched form, until their gazes met. Chibs felt his lips curl, on reflex, and the sight of Juice’s unchanged expression was what finally sent it all to Hell.
“How the fuck could you?!” he shouted, picking up his bottle and violently slamming it back down against the bar. The glass shattered, and the whiskey flew in all directions, but Juice never flinched. He just sat there. He took it. Chibs saw red. “Do you even know what you did?! Y’left us, ya’ prick! Are ya’ fuckin’ happy, now?!” It was raw anger, overdue and long-coming. No fast-forwarding through the Stages, just forcing out a serious and direct hurt. “Why didn’t ye come ta me?! Huh?! I woulda’ helped ya’!”
No movement. No change. It brought a frustration to Chibs, so intense that his eyes misted over - and, for once in his life, he would admit that it wasn’t the drink.
“You fucker…” he huffed out, voice quiet and wavering. “We loved you, and this is what y’do at repay us?…” Chibs couldn’t quite swallow back the sob that caught in his throat, as he finally asked, “What was s’bad ‘at y’couldn’t stick ‘round fer us, Juicy? Huh?” Whether unbeknownst to him, a sliver of wetness began to track its way down the left side of drunken man’s face. “Lad, I miss ya’… I wish y’hadn’t…” It was too hard to finish that thought. Instead, Chibs closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing.
Complete bullshit, he thought. I’m yellin’ at a fuckin’ dead man, ain’t givin’ a care, anyway.
“Jesus,” he muttered, scrubbing his hands over his face. His laugh was slow, quiet. Broken. “Oh, Jesus Christ, Boy… What’m I gonnae do?” He lowered his hands, once again, open his eyes and looked at Juice - really looked at him. Exhaustion laced his sigh, every line on his face deepening a centimeter for every second this little one-sided ditty was allowed to continue. “I donnae…” he started, at some length, going for the Honesty Play. What else did he really have left to him, after all? “I donnae what I’m gonnae do without ye, Juicy… I really don’t…” That stubborn wetness immediately returned, and it brought a friend. This time, however, Chibs did nothing to stop it.
And, that was when something strange happened.
Juice… blinked.
He tilted his head to the side, and blinked. Chibs nearly jumped out of his skin, heart threatening to stop, all-together, when Juice smiled.
“You’re never gonna’ be without me, Chibs.” His smile widened. Chibs was now the one left speechless. “So, cut it out, okay? You’re gonna’ be just fine.”
It was a surprisingly quick recovery, on Chibs part, likely due to the same shock that had first silenced him. He finally scoffed. “Fine?” he felt like shouting, but barely made it above a whisper. “Ye expect I’m just gonnae be fine?”
Juice nodded. “Oh, yeah. I definitely do.”
It was unavoidable; Chibs’ bottom lip quivered. “How?” There was just no way, no chance in Hell that he was going to be ‘fine’, that he was going to return to normal, not now… Not since… “How the fuck, Juice?”
Juice seemed to consider this for a brief moment. He then raised his right hand, reaching out toward Chibs, thumb poised to touch his cheek. Chibs alternated between that hand, and the owner’s face. Anticipation building, the thought of Juice’s touch almost too good to be true. Closer… Closer… And, as whisper met skin, a cold shock ran down the older man’s spine. A final sight of that shy, innocent smile, a few parting words, and then…
…-Then, it was all over. There was no more ghost, no shattered glass. No bar, and no booze. Only the tears remained, eyes open wide, staring at the ceiling above. The ceiling fan spun in a slow, lazy circle over his head, not convincing enough to prove hypnotic. He had kicked the covers to the end of the bed at some point, probably when he had smashed that bottle. But, that was nothing new. He’d been waking up to fewer blankets and more wet pillowcases the last few weeks. More fear. More heartache.
With a deep breath, Chibs slowly turned his head, tired eyes landing on Juice’s side of the bed. The kid was sound asleep, curled away from him, arms clutched around a pillow. Those arms should have been around him, but… Lately… Fuck, those nightmares, they were really taking their toll on him. Always an arm’s-length away, pushing, hurting. And, he wasn’t alone in it, apparently.
Turning onto his side, in-full, Chibs immediately slid closer to Juice. He wasn’t satisfied until his chest met his lover’s shoulder blades, and only then did he fix the covers around them. Still-shaking arms wound their way around Juice’s body, pulling him close. Lips pressed against the lad’s neck. He was still there. Chibs could still reach him. He wasn’t gone, not yet.
Not ever, he promised himself, eyes closing to the silent determination. He would fix it, whatever the problem was. There was no way that he was going to let the boy slip away. Juice’s scent surrounded him, the sounds of his breathing and the feeling of his heartbeat pulling Chibs toward sleep, bringing him the comfort that he needed. Juice, even asleep, fought off the demons, took away the fear and confusion. Because, he still had him. For all that he feared, for all that he dreamt, Juice was still there. And, as he finally claimed a brief moment of peace for himself, Chibs vowed to hold Juice to his own, unknown, and parting promise.
“I’m never gonna’ leave you, Babe.”
Oh, yeah. He was going to be okay. So long as Juice was still in his arms, everything really was going to be just fine.
Author: Mycki Mor
Fandom: Sons of Anarchy
Pairing: Chibs/Juice
Rating: R
Warnings: Potential over-usage of the ‘F’-word; character death; mentions of suicide; slash; possible spoilers for Seasons Four and Five.
Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. This story is for fan enjoyment, only. No infringement is intended.
Author’s Note: This is my semi-return to fan fiction. So, I may be a smidge rusty at this. If you’re left sobbing in your oatmeal, I have either passed the test, or failed, miserably. This was inspired by Tom Petty’s “A Face in the Crowd”, and fueled by admittedly-massive amounts of Coca-Cola. Please, enjoy. :). ~<3~.
Summary: Juice’s ghost was everywhere.
Juice’s ghost was everywhere. Every time he sat down at the bar, Chibs was faced with the spectre of his now-otherwise-absent drinking partner. Granted, it took about two-thirds a bottle of Jack and half a laced joint for him to make an appearance, but that was just the price of doing business. And, lately, depending upon how one chose to look at it, business was pretty damn good.
At the given moment, the Scotsman was being stared down by eyes that, while physically empty, were still somehow overflowing, emotionally. He wasn’t sure if the look on Juice’s face was worry, or disgust, or maybe both. Maybe neither. The slight squinting of those eyes - those unnerving, not-quite-lifeless eyes - made him suspect that the lad was about to cry.
No, he was quick (and, harsh) to remind himself. Juice would not cry. His Juicy-Boy would never shed another tear, ever again. Chibs would never have to wipe at the wetness on his cheeks, or hold the kid close, or whisper any damned words of fucking love and encouragement in the stupid bastard’s ear so long as he, himself, continued to live.
Though he rarely spoke to his imaginary friend, Chibs was quite a bit further in the bag than usual. Fueled by a little extra Liquid Courage, he now fixed a Death Stare at Juice (moot point, he knew), and slurred out a near-broken, “Fuck you.”
It wasn’t in Juice’s way to respond, not anymore. Chibs snarled, heavy gaze dropping back down to what little liquid remained in the bottle before him. He didn’t have to look back up to know that Juice was still there, still watching him with that tight expression, not moving, not blinking. Not saying a damn fucking thing.
Chibs wanted to ask why, each and every time Juice came to him like this. He just wanted an answer, wanted to know what was so fucking bad that he had to go and end it all. More-over, why he didn’t think about what he had to hold on for. It was more than the Club, more than feeling out-of-place. What about his sister? What about his nephew?
What about Chibs? Didn’t he understand that they had something that was worth the struggle, the pain, the simple want to end it all? Last time he checked, that was what love was there for, to see you through, to save you from yourself, and all that sappy shit. But, a fat lot Juice had apparently fucking cared. To that, Chibs knocked back another shot.
“You’re a selfish bastard,” he all but spat, still not bothering - or, maybe unable to look up at the transparent figure on the stool around the bar’s corner. “Benny-Boy ain’t gonnae have his Uncle, now, thanks ta yer stupid ass… And, I hope y’know, yer sister ain’t ‘zactly a rock…” No, now, it was all up to him, and he didn’t really fucking feel up to the task, thank you, very fucking much. Chibs nearly scoffed at the thought. As if Juice cared what he did to the people that loved him, the people that he was supposed to have loved, in return. Like he’d care that Kayla could barely function enough to keep herself from a hospital bed. Like he’d care that Benjamin still asked for him, about where he went, and if he was hanging out with the Angels in Heaven.
And, if he didn’t care about his fucking blood, it was all very unlikely that he’d give two fucks about the fact that he’d successfully broken Chibs’ heart.
Bloodshot eyes slowly raked up (and, through, he noted with a sickening churn of his stomach) Juice’s slouched form, until their gazes met. Chibs felt his lips curl, on reflex, and the sight of Juice’s unchanged expression was what finally sent it all to Hell.
“How the fuck could you?!” he shouted, picking up his bottle and violently slamming it back down against the bar. The glass shattered, and the whiskey flew in all directions, but Juice never flinched. He just sat there. He took it. Chibs saw red. “Do you even know what you did?! Y’left us, ya’ prick! Are ya’ fuckin’ happy, now?!” It was raw anger, overdue and long-coming. No fast-forwarding through the Stages, just forcing out a serious and direct hurt. “Why didn’t ye come ta me?! Huh?! I woulda’ helped ya’!”
No movement. No change. It brought a frustration to Chibs, so intense that his eyes misted over - and, for once in his life, he would admit that it wasn’t the drink.
“You fucker…” he huffed out, voice quiet and wavering. “We loved you, and this is what y’do at repay us?…” Chibs couldn’t quite swallow back the sob that caught in his throat, as he finally asked, “What was s’bad ‘at y’couldn’t stick ‘round fer us, Juicy? Huh?” Whether unbeknownst to him, a sliver of wetness began to track its way down the left side of drunken man’s face. “Lad, I miss ya’… I wish y’hadn’t…” It was too hard to finish that thought. Instead, Chibs closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing.
Complete bullshit, he thought. I’m yellin’ at a fuckin’ dead man, ain’t givin’ a care, anyway.
“Jesus,” he muttered, scrubbing his hands over his face. His laugh was slow, quiet. Broken. “Oh, Jesus Christ, Boy… What’m I gonnae do?” He lowered his hands, once again, open his eyes and looked at Juice - really looked at him. Exhaustion laced his sigh, every line on his face deepening a centimeter for every second this little one-sided ditty was allowed to continue. “I donnae…” he started, at some length, going for the Honesty Play. What else did he really have left to him, after all? “I donnae what I’m gonnae do without ye, Juicy… I really don’t…” That stubborn wetness immediately returned, and it brought a friend. This time, however, Chibs did nothing to stop it.
And, that was when something strange happened.
Juice… blinked.
He tilted his head to the side, and blinked. Chibs nearly jumped out of his skin, heart threatening to stop, all-together, when Juice smiled.
“You’re never gonna’ be without me, Chibs.” His smile widened. Chibs was now the one left speechless. “So, cut it out, okay? You’re gonna’ be just fine.”
It was a surprisingly quick recovery, on Chibs part, likely due to the same shock that had first silenced him. He finally scoffed. “Fine?” he felt like shouting, but barely made it above a whisper. “Ye expect I’m just gonnae be fine?”
Juice nodded. “Oh, yeah. I definitely do.”
It was unavoidable; Chibs’ bottom lip quivered. “How?” There was just no way, no chance in Hell that he was going to be ‘fine’, that he was going to return to normal, not now… Not since… “How the fuck, Juice?”
Juice seemed to consider this for a brief moment. He then raised his right hand, reaching out toward Chibs, thumb poised to touch his cheek. Chibs alternated between that hand, and the owner’s face. Anticipation building, the thought of Juice’s touch almost too good to be true. Closer… Closer… And, as whisper met skin, a cold shock ran down the older man’s spine. A final sight of that shy, innocent smile, a few parting words, and then…
…-Then, it was all over. There was no more ghost, no shattered glass. No bar, and no booze. Only the tears remained, eyes open wide, staring at the ceiling above. The ceiling fan spun in a slow, lazy circle over his head, not convincing enough to prove hypnotic. He had kicked the covers to the end of the bed at some point, probably when he had smashed that bottle. But, that was nothing new. He’d been waking up to fewer blankets and more wet pillowcases the last few weeks. More fear. More heartache.
With a deep breath, Chibs slowly turned his head, tired eyes landing on Juice’s side of the bed. The kid was sound asleep, curled away from him, arms clutched around a pillow. Those arms should have been around him, but… Lately… Fuck, those nightmares, they were really taking their toll on him. Always an arm’s-length away, pushing, hurting. And, he wasn’t alone in it, apparently.
Turning onto his side, in-full, Chibs immediately slid closer to Juice. He wasn’t satisfied until his chest met his lover’s shoulder blades, and only then did he fix the covers around them. Still-shaking arms wound their way around Juice’s body, pulling him close. Lips pressed against the lad’s neck. He was still there. Chibs could still reach him. He wasn’t gone, not yet.
Not ever, he promised himself, eyes closing to the silent determination. He would fix it, whatever the problem was. There was no way that he was going to let the boy slip away. Juice’s scent surrounded him, the sounds of his breathing and the feeling of his heartbeat pulling Chibs toward sleep, bringing him the comfort that he needed. Juice, even asleep, fought off the demons, took away the fear and confusion. Because, he still had him. For all that he feared, for all that he dreamt, Juice was still there. And, as he finally claimed a brief moment of peace for himself, Chibs vowed to hold Juice to his own, unknown, and parting promise.
“I’m never gonna’ leave you, Babe.”
Oh, yeah. He was going to be okay. So long as Juice was still in his arms, everything really was going to be just fine.