I can appreciate all the well written Juice fics, but none of them really seem to acknowledge how deep and sad a character he really was.
I wanted to explore that with an original character who Juice trusted enough to open up to.
The night was pleasant against the skin bared on my arms and legs, warm with a light breeze caress.
It wasn't too late, 7pm, 8 at most. I was used to walking home at night around this time, it was never a problem, never before.
My body groaned in protest as I was thrown to the ground and a startled scream ripped from my throat involuntarily. I went tumbling in a tangled whirlwind of legs and leather. My body instinctually curled in on itself in an attempt to protect vital areas, although it was in vain.
The other body, the person who took me down, had snaked an arm around my waist and somehow managed to twist us in the air, their other hand found the back of my head, bracing me against them. We landed, them hitting the ground with a fleshy thud, the audible sound of air being forced from their lungs and with me slamming on their chest, my face pressed into the shoulder of this stranger. There was the unmistakable scratch of coarse hair on my face and the scent of musk, salt and leather. I drew back quickly, anger flaring in my stomach, I opened my mouth ready to let a string of rage fly.
Only to have a hand cover my mouth and nose, not only cutting off all sounds, but also my breathing.
"Shh, shh," The man hushed me, raising his head to observe something. As he lifted himself, he was revealed from my shadow by the streetlights, revealing a man with tan skin, yellow washed by the old lights, shaved hair with a neat, short Mohawk railed by tribal tattoos, big, brown eyes that reminded me of deer in cartoon books I'd read as a child, his nose was large, but not unpleasantly so.
I was reminded of my inability to breathe as I became aware of my heart beating almost painfully loud. I clutched at the man's hand, clawing, tugging, trying, in vain, to draw breath. He seemed to notice my distress and shifted his focus back to me.
"Oh, fuck. I'm so sorry." He offered quickly in a whisper before releasing his grip on my face so quickly you'd have thought he had been burnt. "There's some bad guys nearby, they'll shoot you on sight." He explained, still in that whisper.
My heart began its panicked thud, only this time due to the figures rounding the corner as his words were processed in my mind. I was not one to naively trust a stranger, but I was taking a backseat in my own body as my instincts kicked in. They were wary of this mohawked stranger, but they screamed at me to run from those figures.
There were several tens of metres away and apparently they hadn't seen us due to a raised garden bed we had the good fortune to land behind. It was just high enough for me to peek over while remaining unseen, but the strangers were approaching and they'd upon us very soon.
"They're right there." I whispered back, fear lilting my voice into a higher pitch.
I rolled carefully to the left, off the man and closer to the fence lining the garden bed. If I could reach it, I could use it to shelter me from view and run along the alley to the next block and run from there.
I crawled as close to the ground as I could manage, the rough pavement scraping skin from my bare legs and forearms. I reached the fence and whirled in a crouch to see the man crawling similarly to me, though only his arms were being skinned on the sandpaper concrete, his legs protected by his dark jeans, although I listened to the seemingly loud sound of his jeans scratching on the pavement.
I could hear them. They were too close. We needed to move. I couldn't believe I was essentially putting my life in this stranger's calloused hands.
Instinctually, I reached out and grabbed his forearm and hefted his body with all my might, aided by the fact that I could practically stand without being seen. I dragged him into the cover of the fence and gave a final tug to pull him to his feet. He moved past me, twisting his arm to grab my forearm so we were locked into a monkey grip, he began a stealthy jog along the fence, dragging me behind him.
Together, Mohawk and I reached the end of the alley and rounded the corner only to continue to run. Across the road, down another darkened alley, all the while, he dragged me along, his longer legs giving him the advantage as we fled. We were eight blocks away before his pace began to slow, he breathed heavily, hard. I could smell cigarettes on his breath, I was impressed a smoker could keep that pace for that long.
He turned to me, "Juice," He breathed out before dropping my hand and bending, leaning his hands on his thighs in an attempt to rest and catch his breath at the same time. I was also breathing heavily, though not to the extent he was. "What?" I asked in confusion to his single worded conversation.
"Juice, it's my name." He explained, waving one hand before returning it to its place on his leg.
A nickname, it clicked in my mind. If I wasn't trusted with his real name, he wasn't trusted with mine. "I'm…" I paused, racking my brain for something, anything that would keep me anonymous from this man. "Um, Shepard." I blushed furiously at my poor attempt of thinking up a believable name, but in my mind, I was already prepared to place the blame of the blush on my terrible name. I panicked at not being able to think up a decent name and opted to use my surname. A very stupid mistake.
Juice's eyebrows had already risen in doubt, and I shrugged lightly before dropping my head in faux embarrassment. "My parents weren't very good at the whole naming business, I'm aware of how stupid my name is." I mumbled. He laughed out breathlessly.
"I like it, it's different. I just thought you were lying." He explained, pushing off his thighs to stand up straight. I wasn't exactly short, I stood at 5'9 and this man still had a couple of inches on me.
"So," I crossed my arms, my right rubbing just below my shoulder. "Who were those guys? Why did you help me? Why were they after you?" I asked, assaulting him with questions.
"Well, I'm part of the Sons of Anarchy MC from Charming, that little town not far from here, they're a rival club, that's why they were after me." He said, rubbing his hand over his very short Mohawk. I caught sight of tattoos on his forearm and strained my eyes to see them, but was unsuccessful. I loved tattoos, I was currently completing my apprenticeship at The Rusty Needle, the local tattoo parlour. I had no tattoos myself, but I intended on rectifying that.
"And why did you grab me?" I asked, my hand stilling on my arm. "You could have ditched and been in safety by now."
He shrugged, his head turning to the left as he looked down the deserted street.
"It didn't feel right to do that." He said, his doe eyes returning to mine. "Look, you probably should get out of Lodi. I don't know if they saw us, or you walking. If they recognise you, you're dead." My stomach dropped at that and fear flooded my body.
"And go where? I've never been anywhere else!" I shrieked at him, shoving his chest, surprising myself as much as him. "I have an apprenticeship here, and family, friends, everything I have is right here!" The warmth alerted me to the scared tears rushing down my face.
Juice opened his mouth but was interrupted by the sounds of squealing tires and roaring engines. Our heads jolted to the right to see a black van flanked by two bikes heading our way.
Juice's hand found my arm, griping it almost painfully tight as he high tailed it down the alley we stood in front of. After a few metres, he turned to the left and kicked in a wooden door, splintering the door frame and throwing it open. We ran through what I now realised to be a shop, Juice dropped my hand, hoisted up a chair and threw it through the shop front window, a deep grunt leaving his throat with the force of the throw.
Glass flew in outwards and scattered on the pavement in front of the window, he grabbed my hand and leapt through the now glassless window, forcing me to jump to avoid being impaled on various pieces still jabbing upwards like spikes. He ran across the road to yet another alley, but instead of high tailing in down this escape route like he previously had been doing, he slowed and ducked behind some dump bins.
And there in the dark, all midnight black and shining chrome, was a motorbike. A Harley Dyna. He sat astride the bike, kicking the kickstand up and looked up at me, offering something to me in the darkness. I took it and my hands recognised it as a helmet. I met his eyes again just as he began to speak.
"Look, we haven't got long before they find us again. We have to get out of here, my club can offer you protection until you figure out the next move." He said, his hands finding the bars and settling into comfort. I looked down at the helmet again. As wary as I was of this man, he had a point. Maybe those men didn't see me the first time, but they sure as hell saw me with him at the mouth of that alley.
In a split second, I made my decision. I placed the helmet on my head and straddled the bike behind this man, sliding forward until I was pressed against his back as my hands busied themselves fastening the helmet to my head. After I was satisfied it was secure, I wrapped my arms around him. Only then did he start the bike, the roar was deafening and I realised why he didn't awaken the beast until he was ready to flee.
And, just like that, I was running. From those men. From my town. From my family. From my life.
I was terrified and upset and filled with dread.
We found ourselves at a truck stop, he to refuel, me to find food. I was sitting in a booth, staring out the window at cars flying down the highway, head in hand, body slumped.
My head whipped around at the sound of someone sliding into the booth across from me, but it was just Juice.
He was watching me, chewing on the inside of his cheek.
"If you've got something to say, just say it." I said. I didn't recognise my own voice. It was thick, like I'd spent hours crying followed by hours of silence.
He huffed out an exhale of breath through his nose before leaning forwards over the table.
"Look, I know this isn't fun for you. I know you're risking a lot, including your life," He said, before taking a salt shaker in hand and twirling it between deft fingers, "I'm going to try my best to help you, I feel like I dragged you into this mess so I'm going to get you out of it, okay?" He promised, ducking his head down and looking up into my eyes, "I know it's a lot to ask, but I'm going to ask you to trust me." The shaker stopped its strange dance and was placed back in its original position.
"When we get back to the MC, I'll tell them that you're an old friend I ran into so they don't think you're some sweetbutt along for the ride." He said, falling back into the booth chair.
My forehead cinched, "A what butt?" I asked in confusion.
"A sweetbutt," He said, a small smile falling across his face, "Y'know. Ten second girl kind of thing." He shrugged as it dawned on me.
"Ohhhh…"
He grinned at my reaction as the waitress placed two cups of black coffee in front of us.
"I didn't know how you liked your coffee." I murmured and he smiled as he lifted the mug to his lips.
"This is perfect, darlin'"
Author's Note:
I'm just trying to get back into the groove of writing so I can do this and do some more work on my Mass Effect fanfiction.
I'd love to know what you thought because I didn't have a clear idea of what I was going for, direction would be great.
lBridgetl
DISCLAIMER TO COVER ENTIRE STORY:
I DO NOT OWN ANY RIGHTS TO THE TELEVISION SERIES THE SONS OF ANARCHY.
THE SHOW BELONGS TO KURT SUTTER AND APPROPRIATE COMPANY.
NO COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT INTENDED.