AN: I thought this would be a good interlude between episodes, and I also thought the song Human by Christina Perri would fit Juice's feelings quite well.

Juice rubbed his eyes tiredly. He knew he needed to get some sleep to prepare himself for what was to come, but he couldn't. He was cuffed to the bed in Chibs's spare room, able to hear the low murmurs of his "brothers" in the rest of the house. It was a ten minute job for the newly patched over members to clear the room, used as more of a catch-all than a guest room, of everything but the bed. They even took the sheets.

He adjusted himself so he could curl his legs into his body, back agains the headboard. Springs were beginning to poke out all over the mattress, and there was very little chance of him getting comfortable with his left hand cuffed to one of the slats in the headboard.

The door opened, and he watched silently as Chibs walked in carrying a kitchen chair and a bowl. He saw the curiosity in Juice's dim eyes and gave him a mockery of a smile. "Even the nastiest of nasties get a last meal, Juicy."

Juice sneered at the bowl of Spaghetti-os. Probably off-brand. Cheap bastard. "Here to keep me company?" His tone was mocking, but he was barely holding on. He wanted to throw himself into the older man's arms and sob, beg for forgiveness. He accepted the bowl and placed it on his knees, adjusting to accommodate the rounded dish.

"Aye." Chibs watched silently as Juice began to shovel the food into his gob, knowing the cold canned noodles were probably disgusting. There was so much he wanted to bleed out, like a bloodletting. He and Juice had an odd relationship, a bromance (as Tig often referred to it) that could have easily become something more. Juice balanced him out when he needed to get drunk and rant about the direction the club was taking. That's not to say that he was not with the club no matter what. That was how it was supposed to be, and his feelings should not ever interfere with that.

But Juice had been his pseudo-confidant for a while, and Chibs thought that was what he served as for Juice. He had been wrong, but it would be nice to have his best friend back.

"Hear you're bangin the new sheriff," Juice commented blithely, setting the bowl on the mattress.

That was unexpected. "Aye." No point denying it. Not that he would; his relationship with Jarry was the first thing in a while that made sense to him, convoluted as it was. He wanted to ask Juice what he had been thinking, what made him go to the Mayans, what kept him from running. On one hand, he knew that Juice felt the club was his everything, his one chance to feel alive, or whatever it was that kept him around. On the other hand, the boy should have realized there were more possibilities for him outside of the club alive than inside of it dead.

"Kind of a Montague and Capulet thing," Juice pointed out. "Forbidden love and all that." He knew he shouldn't talk so familiarly with Chibs, not when his very life hung on the balance. He had to prove himself, once again, to the club before he could get that familiarity back.

Chibs's lips quirked into a semblance of a smile. It was easy to forget that Juice was actually very intelligent, for all the stupid decisions he made. He half wanted to release the kid, urge him to run as far as he could, as fast as he could. He also had the urge to advise him on how best to kill Lin. He always had so many conflicted feelings where Juice was concerned.

"I'm going to do this," Juice said seriously, after several long moments of silence. There was a thread of doubt, where he wasn't even sure he wanted to be part of a club that so easily tossed his life away, but he kept that to himself. He had nothing else really. "I'm going to fix everything I did." Somehow.

"I know yeh will. I'll kill yeh meself if yeh fuck up again, boy." Tension suffused the room quickly, and Chibs wished he had a strong drink. His conflict ran deep. There was hatred and love and disappointment and so many other unnamed emotions.

Juice pulled his knees up and rested his forehead on them. He wished he could have one last night of rest. There was so much blood on his hands that it would be basically impossible, but knowing Chibs didn't hate him would have been a good place to start. The biggest part of him wished they would just put a bullet in his skull. He was so tired of needing to prove himself.

Thoughts and regrets filled the room for the duration of the night. Chibs thought of telling Juice all his regrets regarding his not speaking up for how Jax was handling club business. He thought of telling him that he was the one that proposed this second (third) chance for Juice. He thought of telling him that he really never wanted him dead. He said nothing, instead reaching for his cigarettes and lighting one for himself and one for Juice. They did this for hours.

Juice inhaled the nicotine greedily and tried to ignore Chibs. He cried some, silently so the older man couldn't condemn him more than his disapproval already did. His hands were stained with blood, mostly innocent, and it didn't look like there was truly a way out for him.

In the morning light, when Jax handed his kutte back, Juice was disheartened by the way Chibs turned away. It was not as if he expected anything less, but he had hope he could earn something, anything, back from the club, Chibs especially. The split second that Chibs turned back to look at him solidified his resolve. He would fix it.

I can turn it on
Be a good machine
I can hold the weight of worlds
If that's what you need
Be your everything

I can do it
I can do it
I'll get through it