The Choice
Disclaimer: Do not own, not for profit.
A/N It always bothered me that Juice chose to hang himself instead of shoot himself. He obviously had access to plenty of guns. And yes, I realize there's not a whole lot of 'branch breaking' chances when you choose to shoot yourself, and it was done to further the story. But, this is my little one shot on why Juice chose to hang himself.
Juice sat in the dirt under a tree starring down the barrel of his gun. He had come out, again to pray, and to apologize to Miles. But nothing he could say would ever make up for what he had done, and what he was still doing.
He was lying to his brothers, his family. He had killed an innocent brother and lied to everyone. And that God Damn patch Clay gave him, and calling him Son. Jesus. He couldn't do it; he couldn't keep living this lie. There was no way out. If he stopped helping the Sherriff he would spill his secret and the club would kill him. If he came clean himself the club would still kill him.
Yet he couldn't pull the trigger. Every time he squeezed something stopped him. Maybe the sound he knew it would make, or the look on Miles face when he was hit. Or the memory of wiping Miles blood off his face. He glanced at Miles unmarked grave and sighed. He couldn't do it, he couldn't shoot himself. It was too quick, too painless. Like the bible story, who was that guy? He said he didn't deserve to die the same way Jesus had, so they crucified him upside down. What was the alternative to a gun? Something long and drawn out. Slit his wrists? His knife was right at his belt, freshly sharpened. Could he do it? Could he cut himself deep enough to bleed to death. That was never really a sure thing, look at Otto, fuck had he cut deep, and someone still found him in plenty of time.
So maybe quick, but painful, he wanted to suffer, needed to suffer. Part of his atonement. He eyed the tree he sat under, not tall enough for him to jump from. And then it came to him, like an epiphany, the chain in the truck. Strangulation was like drowning, fully alive and aware of your need for air, but no way to get it. Painful, enough time to suffer, but not enough time for someone to find and stop him, and a sure thing.
He made quick work of fetching the chain from the truck and with one more quick prayer started his climb up the tree. He fastened the chain around the branch. Stopping once more, not to pray for forgiveness, but to apologize. And then fastened the chain around his neck and stepped off the branch.
