Chapter Text
The vibration from the big rig moving over the asphalt would loll him to sleep if he let it. Sleep was dangerous in his situation, tucked away in a semi with some burly truck driver that called himself Big Tony, who had picked him up at the Cali-Nevada border. Big Tony had proven himself to be like the half-a-dozen other guys who were more than happy to offer a teenage kid a ride in the same direction they were going, no strings attached.
Once they were out of town, parked on some deserted back road with no sign of civilization for miles, the 'no strings attached' clause would disappear, being replaced by a wolfish grin and a "If you wanted to be real nice, you could repay my kindness with that pretty mouth or tight little ass." Most of the truck drivers were careful to pose it as a question, as if that made asking a kid for a quick fuck or a blow job any more okay. He had learned from experience that refusing the request was the quickest way to lose the ride and earn a black eye, if not worse.
Leaning across the seat to suck a half-limp, sweat soaked dick into his mouth was old hat at this point. He had become accustomed to the firm grip on his neck and the spluttering when some overzealous asshole decided he got off on seeing tears streaming down his face when he choked around a sorry excuse for a cock. He’d even gotten used to the taste of a strangers cum in his mouth, but that was all he would get used to. He wouldn't bend over for any of those douchebags, and he would gladly take a beating and walk the rest of the way to where he was going before he let them take it from him by force.
"Once we drop off the load, what's say you and me make use of that bed back there," Big Tony jerked a thumb toward the twin mattress in cabin of the rig. "You can show me what you got hiding under them jeans."
"That's not gonna happen, man," He hoped the man would accept the no, but Big Tony's hand wandering up his thigh was a good sign that he was going to push the matter. "I've given you all you're gonna get from me."
“I ain’t shelling out for a motel room,” Big Tony grumbled, gripping his leg tighter. “We’ll pull off at a rest stop—“
“We’re not going to fuck,” He smacked the man’s hand away from him. “And I’m not blowing you again.”
“I’ve shown you all the kindness in the world,” Big Tony snarled, face flushing red with anger. “You think one blow job is enough to repay that?”
“If that’s a problem for you, you can let me out right here,” His hand was already on the door handle, had been the whole time he’d been in the truck, just in case he had to get out quick. “A rides not worth a lousy fuck, man.”
“Then get on out of here,” Big Tony stopped the rig right in the middle of the road. “Get on out.”
He was happy to oblige the man, snagging his backpack off the seat and stumbling out of the truck. His feet barely hit the ground before Big Tony hit the accelerator and was off again.
“Fuck,” He shuffled to the sidewalk to avoid oncoming traffic and scanned the area for any landmarks that could give him the slightest clue where he was. “Teller-Morrow Automotive Repair…”
The yellow, red, and white block-lettered sign stood out in the otherwise dull looking town, but he figured that was the point. The place appeared to be open, mechanics and customers milling about, a couple guys in leather kuttes sitting around a picnic table, and even a kid about his age gesturing widely with his hands as he spoke to the men in kuttes. To the outside world, it probably seemed like a strange assortment of people grouped together, but to him it seemed…nice or even oddly homey.
He tried to shake thoughts of home from his mind and was punished for it by a wave of dizziness washing over him. He staggered into the fence surrounding the garage and carefully lowered himself until he was sitting on the sidewalk, all he could do to keep himself from collapsing to the ground with a rough thud.
“Shit…” He wrapped an arm around his middle and pressed his head against the chain-link, willing the ever-present headache and nausea to go away and to take the pangs of hunger and sore knees along with it.
As the world began to fade to black around him, he saw the rush of feet coming his way. He felt his cheeks heat with embarrassment, knowing what a picture he painted on that sidewalk. A too-skinny teenager with a head of dark, greasy hair and skin coated in dirt and fuck knows what else, shirt stained with bodily fluids that weren't his, and scraped knees protruding from ripped jeans, aching from dropping to them at truck stops and gas stations in pursuit of cash for a warm meal or a ride. He wouldn't blame the strangers if they decided to just toss him out with the garbage, it was where he belonged anyway.
In the earlier morning hours, before the mechanics clocked in and customers began arriving, and the lot was lost to revving engines, clanking tools, and nonsensical chatter, TM could almost be mistaken for a peaceful place. On the days Stiles was on shift, he often found himself at the garage earlier than the others, completing tasks in the office Gemma hadn’t finished the previous night.
"When Opie was your age, we couldn't get him out of bed before noon," Piney mentioned as he stepped into the office. "This up at the crack a dawn thing you got going isn't healthy for a teenager."
"Jax had Wendy over last night," Stiles loved his time in Charming, he really did, but Jax's house had become too loud with his new girl there. "If they're not fighting, they're fucking. I don't want to listen to either."
"Fair enough," Piney hummed, pouring himself a cup of coffee out of the carafe on the desk. "That boy is still asleep in the clubhouse. I think you should keep an eye on him today."
"Yeah, he’ll probably be more comfortable with me," Personally, if Stiles woke up in an unfamiliar place surrounded by guys in biker kuttes, he might begin to panic, and he grew up around guys in biker kuttes. "I know Chibs said he couldn’t find any life-threatening injuries on the kid, but you sure we shouldn’t take him to the hospital to have him checked out?”
“See how he is when he wakes up, if he needs to go to the doctor, you can take him to that free clinic off Hill road, they don’t ask questions like hospitals do,” Piney nudged his arm, urging him out of the chair. “Go look after the kid. Let me get to work.”
“All right,” Stiles closed out the file he’d been working on and stood from his seat. “I’ll let you get to your mid-morning nap.”
“Oh, we were able to rouse that kid for a minute not long after you left last night,” Piney said as he settled into the chair. “Gemma tried to get a name out of him, all she could make out was something that sounded like ‘Juice’.”
“Juice?” Stiles tested the name on his tongue. “That’s different.”
“’Cause Stiles is so normal.”
Stiles left the old man to his own devices and exited the office. He crossed the lot to the clubhouse, noting a few cars pulling in through the gate left open. He could do the nice thing and handle the potential customers that had proved themselves incapable of reading the hours of operation clearly listed on the sign or he could leave them to suffer the wrath of Piney. He chose option B, and continued on into the clubhouse.
The kid was right where they'd left him the night before, curled up on the couch, looking small and frail beneath the blankets. If Stiles hadn't seen him snap his eyes shut the moment he'd walked in, he might believe he was still fast asleep.
"I know you're awake," Stiles kept his voice soft, calm, hoping to avoid spooking the other boy. "It's only us kids in here. You don't have to keep pretending if you don't want to."
“Um,” The kid peeled his eyes open slowly, his brown orbs meeting Stiles own. “Hi.”
“Hi,” He offered the other boy an easy smile. “I’m Stiles. You told Gemma last night that your name was Juice or something that sounded like that. That right?”
“Juice works,” The teenager responded, pushing himself up till he was sitting. “What is this place?”
“A clubhouse,” It was probably best if Stiles didn’t go into specifics about that until he got a real feel for the kid. “It’s on the same property as the garage you passed out in front of last night.”
“I remember the garage, but that’s not really what I meant,” Juice murmured, rubbing sleep from the corner of his eyes. “Uh, where am I exactly?”
“A clubhouse in Charming, California,” He couldn’t get more exact than that. “Not the kind of place you come to by choice. If you weren’t born here, chances are some shitty circumstance dumped you here.”
“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Juice muttered, pulling the blanket around his shoulders. “Why am I here?”
“And not at a hospital?” Smart question. “You looked like someone on the run from something. A hospital would take one look at you and probably call the cops.”
“So?” Confusion marred the other teenager’s face. “You guys don’t know me. Why would the cops looking into me be a problem for anyone here?”
“If they traced you back to this property, it would bring some unwanted attention. A police presence at the garage is just bad publicity,” Stiles pulled the cover story out of thin air, a pretty good one too, if he did say so himself. “Small town, any customer we lose is just bad for our bottom line.”
“Uh huh,” Juice nodded slowly, as if he didn’t quite buy what Stiles was selling. “Well, thanks, I guess, for not leaving me on the street.”
“We’re not savages,” Okay, that one might not have been completely true, there were a few guys within the club that definitely toed the line there. “So are you?”
“Am I what?”
“On the run from something?” It wasn’t Stiles place to ask, not when they were strangers, but he needed to get a read on the other boy to determine if he was a threat to them or not. “From the cops?”
“No,” Juice shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Okay,” Stiles took that to mean he probably did something of the illegal nature, but he was unsure if the cops were onto him about it. “What about your family? They looking for you?”
“Probably not.”
“Okay,” That was a little sad, to be honest. “They the reason you’re running?”
“I had a bag with me,” Juice avoided answering the question, pretty much confirming his family was the reason he’d left his home. “Where’s my bag?”
“Right by your feet,” Stiles motioned toward the backpack lying on the floor. “I can’t guarantee no one’s gone through it, but I promise no one stole anything from you.”
“There’s nothing worth stealing,” Juice picked the bag up, holding it close to his chest. “Am I allowed to leave?”
“Of course,” They weren’t holding him hostage. “You got somewhere to be?”
“Maybe.” That was a no.
“You should take a shower before you make any decisions,” Stiles advised him, if only because he could smell him from across the room. “There’s a bathroom down the hall, attached to a dorm room. There’s some clothes in the dresser that might fit you. The cabinet under the sink usually has a new pack of underwear reserved for guests.”
“You get a lot of guests who don’t bring their own underwear?”
“More than you might think,” Mostly members of other charters who didn’t know how to pack appropriately. “You take a shower, I’ll make us some breakfast, and we can put your dirty clothes in the wash while we eat.”
“A place to sleep, a hot shower, food, and clean clothes,” The other boy listed off the things he had been offered or given outright. “What’s this going to cost me?”
“Sorry?”
“Nothing comes for free, man, especially not help,” Juice scowled, questioning the motives behind the assistance he received. “What’s the catch? What’s the price?”
“You want to earn it, you can help me out in the garage today,” Stiles could work that out with Gemma and Piney. “You know anything about cars or motorcycles?”
“Enough to get by.”
“Good enough,” Stiles could work with ‘enough to get by.’ “Go take your shower, I’ll scrounge us up some breakfast—meals are free around here for those of us under eighteen, that’s an actual rule, don’t worry.”
“Who says I’m under eighteen?”
“Dude, please,” All Stiles had to do was look at him to know they weren’t far apart in age. “Your license says you’re seventeen. It also says your name is Juan Carlos Ortiz, not Juice, but I’ll call you Juice, if you prefer.”
“My license?” Juice groped for the wallet in his pocket. “So when you said someone probably went through my shit, you meant you?”
“Yeah,” Stiles would cop to that. “I’m a snoop. I’m sorry.”
“Were you telling the truth when you said you didn’t take anything?”
“Yes,” Stiles was a lot of things, but a thief wasn’t one of them. “I promise all your stuff is in your bag.”
“Sure,” Juice tightened his grip on the backpack.
“So, what’s the plan here, man?” It’s not that Stiles wasn’t enjoying the conversation, but he did have other things to do. “You sticking around for that shower and meal or are you bailing?”
“I guess I could use a shower and something to eat,” Juice mumbled, standing from the couch. “I’ll help you out in the garage, if you think your boss will be okay with it.”
“They’ll be cool with it,” It was a family business, so Stiles had some pull there. “You got any food allergies I need to know about for breakfast?”
“No, I’ll eat anything.”
“Okay,” Now all Stiles had to do was find something worth eating in the kitchen cupboards. “Showers down the hall to your right.”
“Thanks.”
Jax had woken up to a mouthful of blonde hair and a naked body pressed against his. A fucking perfect way to start the morning if it hadn't been for the massive hangover. When he finally managed to pull himself out of bed there was a hot coffee in a thermos, a plate of food in the microwave, and bottle of aspirin waiting for him on the kitchen counter. Jax left the food for his lady friend, knocked back a couple of the aspirin, and took the thermos to go as he headed off to work.
TM was preparing to open for the day when Jax pulled into the lot. He spotted his mother and Clay looking over a sheet of paper together, inventory or schedules most likely, and Tig and Bobby unloading special ordered parts for a repair. Jax's baby brother, however, was either a no-show or had parked around back, because both he and his Jeep were nowhere in sight.
“Jackie boy,” Chibs greeted him with a smile, sauntering out of the office, clipboard in hand. “We got the repo run today.”
“Yeah, I know,” Jax clapped Chibs on the back as he dismounted his bike. “You seen Stiles here this morning? He wasn’t at the house when I got up.”
“Piney said he was in the clubhouse with the new kid,” Chibs waved his hand in the general direction. “He still giving you the cold shoulder?”
“He just doesn’t like Wendy,” He was sure his brother would get over it if he just got to know her a little bit. “Piney left my brother alone with some street kid we know nothing about?”
“Relax. A gust of wind could knock that kid over,” Chibs chortled, lighting up a cigarette. “And baby brother can take care of himself.”
“I don’t care how weak that kid looks,” He couldn’t have made it as far as he had without a way to defend himself. “If he tries something on Stiles—“
“The lad can take care of himself,” Chibs repeated. “He knows where the guns are and how to use them.”
“He shouldn’t have to use one in the clubhouse,” It was supposed to be a safe space for all of them. “What’s your take on that street kid anyway?”
“Not much of a conversationalist, but the unconscious part might’ve had something to do with that,” The Scotsman joked. “I don’t know, Jackie. First glance, I’d say he’s been dragged down ten miles of bad road and then some.”
“Think he’ll stick around?”
“Could go either way,” Chibs acknowledged. “Might be a good thing if he does stay. Baby brother could use a friend his own age around here.”
“So long as that friend’s problems don’t follow him here,” The last thing they needed were cops or angry parents banging on their door looking for the runt.
“A teenager doesn’t cross the country on his own unless something’s chasin’ him.”
“Yeah, exactly,” That was what Jax was afraid of. “Need to keep an eye on him while he’s here.”
“Aye.”
The nervous feeling that Juice had woken up didn't wash away as easily as the dirt and grime in the shower. It followed him through the clubhouse, taunting him as he sought out the boy he had been speaking to prior to his bath.
"I'm in here," As if reading his mind, the teenager called out to him from another room. "Glass door to your right, man."
He followed the directions to a small kitchen just off the hallway, finding the other boy seated at a two-person table pushed against the wall. Froot Loops and buttered toast were laid out on the table like a five-star meal at a fancy restaurant, matching ceramic bowls and saucers and everything. It all seemed incredibly out of place in a clubhouse that had mug shots hanging on the walls like decorations.
“So all we had was cereal,” The boy said sheepishly as he poured them each a cup of coffee. “Sorry it’s not something, you know, cooked.”
“Cereal’s good,” Juice joined the kid at the table, hooking his bag over the chair as he sat down. “Thanks.”
“You smell better,” Stiles noted, pushing one of the cups across the table to him. “Did you have a nice shower?”
“Oh yeah,” The hot water cascading over his body stung the bruises and scrapes littering his skin, but soothed his aching muscles and sore bones. “Good water pressure.”
“I wouldn’t know, I’ve never showered back there,” Stiles admitted, giving Juice quick once-over with his eyes. “If I had known you were still here before I came in today, I would have brought you some of my clothes, they’d probably fit you better.”
“These are fine,” They were about three sizes too big, but they were clean, that was refreshing. “What do the initials on the shirt mean? S.A.M.C.R.O. Is it a brand or something? I’ve never heard of it before.”
“It’s sort of a brand, I guess. I told you this was a clubhouse, right?” Stiles asked, gnawing on a piece of toast. “Yeah, it belongs to the Sons of Anarchy Motorcycle Club Redwood Originals. My brother’s the V.P.”
“V.P., wow,” He somehow managed to pass out in front of and be taken in by a den of outlaws, that was some kind of luck. “So what’s your role in the club?”
“I offer unsolicited advice and much needed sarcasm,” Stiles grinned like the Cheshire cat. “It’s a role I’m very happy with. I have no plans to become an official member.”
“Are you in school?” Juice knew better than to ask too many questions about the club, but he figured if he was going to be working with the other kid all day, he might as well get to know him. “Or do you just work here?”
“I start my senior year in a few weeks. I work here full time during the summer, weekends during the school year,” Stiles replied, sipping his coffee. “What about you? Were you in school before you ran from wherever it is you ran from?”
“I stopped going to school a couple months into my junior year,” He never officially dropped out, just stopped showing up to class. “I was never very good at school.”
“What are you good at?”
“Computers,” Juice understood motherboards and code better than he did most people. “I was building my own before I left.”
“Impressive,” Stiles complimented him. “You’re a brain then, huh?”
“Never been accused of that,” He never tested well in school, so teachers had often written him off as an idiot. “You like school?”
“Uh,” The kid frowned, dropping his gaze to the table. “I like learning.”
“But not school,” Juice wouldn’t pry, it was obviously something the other boy didn’t want to talk about. “How’d you end up working in the garage?”
“Family business. The ‘Teller’ on the sign is my brother’s side of the family,” Stiles tugged at the Teller-Morrow patch sewn onto his work shirt. “How’d you learn enough about cars to get by?”
“My uncle taught me. He owns a garage. I was the only one who had the patience to learn from him,” As a result, Juice had the pleasure of tinkering around under the hoods of all kinds of vehicles growing up. “Your brother teach you?”
“My brother, my uncle, some of the other guys around here,” Stiles motioned to the clubhouse. “Not much else to do to keep a little kid entertained.”
“At least they taught you a skill that would be useful to you,” All his siblings ever taught him was resentment and guilt. “So what can you do for fun in this town?”
“I don’t know,” Stiles scratched the side of his head. “They have parties here a lot, but it’s not really my scene.”
“Well, what do you do when they’re having parties?”
“Play video games or read a book or something,” Stiles shrugged. “I’m not very social these days.”
“Oh,” There was a story there, but it wasn’t Juice’s business. “Is there a night club or something nearby?”
“A night club in Charming?” Stiles scoffed. “No, there are a couple bars, though. If you’re planning to use a fake ID to get into one, I wouldn’t recommend the Buffalo Bar, the local cops frequent it.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” It wasn’t a drink he was looking for. “Think you can point me in the direction of one of the bars that doesn’t have a big police presence?”
“I can point out a few places while I show you around town,” Stiles suggested. “We can head out on my lunch break.”
“I don’t really need a tour of the town, I’m not planning to stick around,” He just needed to know where he could get a little pick-me-up to keep his withdrawals at bay. “Just a place to have a good time before I get back on the road.”
“Oh, okay.”
When Stiles was an infant, he and John both suffered from separation anxiety, John had a theory that it had something to do with them only having each other to rely on. When he had decided to loosen the reins and let Stiles spend time in Charming with Jax, John had made a habit of dropping in to check on his son. Nearly eighteen years later, it was still a habit he couldn’t break.
“He’s not here,” Gemma said before he could get a word in edgewise. “He’s at Donna’s, helping with one thing or another.”
“Okay,” Well, his son wasn’t the only person he had come to speak with. “Do you want to tell me why you texted me a picture of a teenager’s drivers license this morning?”
“The kid fainted in front of the garage last night,” Gemma explained, as if that cleared things up. “We brought him inside, let him sleep on the couch. We just wanted to make sure he’s not some little psychopath.”
“I know you like to take in strays that wander in off the street,” It was pretty much how the Sons of Anarchy was created, after all. “But this one is a kid who probably has a family somewhere.”
“One that’s looking for him?”
“There are no missing person’s reports under the name on the license, and he’s not listed as a runaway,” Whoever the kid was, he was on his own. “He does have a record, though.”
“Assault, possession, possession with the intent to sell, identity theft,” Gemma rattled off the boy’s list of offenses. “Unser said as much.”
“If you already had Unser looking into him, why’d you ask me to?” John and Wayne were in the same line of work, him as a county sheriff and Unser as a police chief. “We both have access to the same files.”
“The boy is from New York. You have contacts in New York because of Claudia,” Gemma spit out his deceased wife’s name like it left a bad taste in her mouth. “I figured if you found anything questionable, you’d call them for more detail.”
“All I found was the arrest record of a troubled kid,” And the heartbreak of knowing no one was looking for him. “Where is this kid now, Gemma? He still here?”
“He was working with Stiles in the garage, now he’s with Piney in the office,” Gemma nodded toward the small shack attached to the garage. “Stiles thought he might be more comfortable around someone he believes he has a chance in hell at overpowering if he needed to.”
“’Believes’ being the operative word there,” Piney was a spry old man who could knock someone twice his size and twenty-years younger right on their ass. “You let Stiles hang around a kid you know nothing about?”
“Now you sound like Jax,” Gemma groused, shaking her head. “I heard he said the same thing to Chibs earlier.”
“It’s called being sensible, Gemma,” He hadn’t drilled stranger-danger into his son’s head for shits and giggles. “I don’t care that they’re the same age. We don’t know this kid.”
“You’re too overprotective,” Gemma chided him. “You keep trying to shield Stiles from the world, you’re going to turn him into a pussy.”
“Don’t act like you didn’t do the same thing with Jax and Thomas,” It was their jobs as parents to protect their child from anything and everything that would cause them harm. “Stiles is a good judge of character. What did he think of this kid?”
“He spent the morning with him, made him breakfast, worked with him in the garage for a few hours,” Gemma offered him a play-by-play of their son’s interaction with the other boy. “Not something he would do with just anyone who wandered in off the street.”
“He sees something good in him,” That was almost enough to put John at ease, almost. “Doesn’t change the fact that this kid is still a minor. We should contact his parents or social services.”
“He’s seventeen, Johnny, that’s practically an adult,” Gemma tutted. “It was the same age you were when you left home.”
“I had been recently orphaned,” John had already been on his own when he left Charming. “This kid’s parents are alive from what I read in his file.”
“We don’t know that his parents aren’t the reason he’s running,” Gemma retorted. “I left home as a teenager because of my mother.”
“We don’t know that his parents are the reason,” However, with no missing persons report, things were leaning that way. “There is a history of domestic violence noted in his file, multiple calls about the father, but no charges were officially filed.”
“You see,” Gemma took that as a win in her corner. “You going to send him back to an abusive home?”
“He’s a child, Gemma,” Legally speaking, anyway. “A troubled child. He needs a home, not a clubhouse.”
“You’re jumping the gun a bit,” Gemma noted. “We don’t even know if he plans to stay, Johnny.”
“And if he does?” As strays were prone to do once they were caught in Gemma’s web. “Where’s he going to live? I don’t think I need to tell you how it will look to have a teenage boy take up permanent residence inside a clubhouse full of outlaws.”
“If he decides to stay, we will figure it out.”
“Uh huh.”
Donna Winston had been the only woman to love Stiles since they day he had come into the world. Like Jax and Opie, she had only been an adolescent at the time, Opie’s girlfriend, but she had taken Stiles on as her little brother as easily as they had. She had given him the love and nurturing Gemma had refused to when he needed it the most.
Since Opie had been locked up, Stiles had made a point look after her and the children the same way she had looked after him. He helped the kids with their homework, did the yard work, offered her a shoulder to cry on if she needed it.
“Thank you for mowing the lawn,” Donna expressed her gratitude best through food, setting a sandwich in front of him. “But I could’ve done it myself.”
“You do enough by yourself,” He would pitch in where he could as long as she was willing to let him. “Been up to see Opie lately?”
“Saw him last week,” Donna twisted the wedding ring around her finger. “He’s the same as he’s been the last few years. Hanging in there.”
“At least he’s got protection inside,” Stiles didn’t want to think about what would happen to him if he was in there alone. “Did you take the kids with you?”
“No, he doesn’t want them to see him in there. He doesn’t want them to see him caged up as a criminal, but he…,” Donna paused, trying to find the words. “He’s not the one who has to tell them Daddy doesn’t want to see them.”
“He’s not the one who has to break their hearts,” Opie was unintentionally turning his wife into the bad guy in the eyes of their children. “I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?”
“You do more than enough around here,” Donna reached across the table to pat his hand. “I’m grateful for it.”
“Just doing my part,” Stiles had taken it upon himself to do what the club refused to even though they were the reason Opie was in jail to begin with. “Is Kenny still mad at me for not helping out with his baseball team this summer?”
“He understands it’s not because you don’t want to do it,” Donna reassured him. “He’s young, but I think he can see you weren’t up for it.”
“I really wanted to do it,” It killed him to break the promise to his nephew. “Next summer….”
“If you come home from college, sure,” She nodded, smiling softly. “If you don’t plan to go backpacking somewhere exotic.”
“You gotta be rich to do stuff like that,” As it was, he would be working on top of taking classes, just like a lot of other students. “Any chance I had of a scholarship definitely went out the window after last semester.”
“You don’t know that yet,” Donna argued. “Have you heard anything back from the schools you applied to?”
“Not yet,” He wasn’t exactly waiting with bated breath for rejection letters. “I really fucked myself, didn’t I?”
“You were in a really bad place, Stiles. You needed a rest,” Donna let him off the hook. “Might not be a bad idea to take another one after graduation.”
“What do you mean?” Stiles asked. “Defer a year before going to college?”
“Take a mental health year or something,” Donna proposed. “Take some time to breathe.”
“Maybe,” It was a good idea, but still something he needed to think about. “I gotta graduate first.”
“You will,” She remarked confidently. “You sure you’re ready to go back to school? I’m sure your dad would let you keep doing the home-school thing.”
“I need to go back,” Whether he was ready or not was irrelevant. “If I can’t handle high school, how the hell am I ever supposed to go to college?”
“I just don’t want you to push yourself too hard.”
“I’ll be okay,” In the end, he always was. “I know I scared you guys. I’ll try not to do it again.”
“I appreciate that,” Donna tucked loose stand of hair behind her ear and changed the subject. “So, anything new going on?”
“Not really,” Stiles life was all about work until school started back up. “Oh, well, a kid showed up last night. He sort of collapsed on the sidewalk.”
“Is he okay?”
“He didn’t need a doctor or anything,” At least he said he didn’t and Chibs confirmed that. “He seems lost, not quite sure where’s he’s going, but knows he has to get there.”
“Something we can all relate to, I think,” Donna mused, glancing down at the table. “Gemma talk him into staying yet?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” Although, she had more than enough time to since Stiles had left the garage. “He seemed pretty set on leaving.”
“We all do until we don’t.”
“Ain’t that the truth.”
If Gemma could pinpoint one thing that all her “strays” had in common, it was that they were familiar to her in one way or another. She recognized something in them that she had always seen in herself. The new boy was no different from the others she had brought into the fold.
There was darkness in him, a despair that seemed to linger overhead like a raincloud on a stormy day. He had seen violence and death up close and personal, and had probably participated in a few acts of that nature himself. Still, she spied a sliver of light hiding in his eyes behind the trauma and the sleepless nights. He was damaged, absolutely, but he wasn’t so far gone that he couldn’t be molded into something new.
“Going somewhere, baby?” She questioned, finding him sifting through his backpack in the dorm room. “You don’t want to stay for dinner?”
“I think I’ve stayed long enough,” He said, zipping up the bag. “I put the clothes I burrowed in the laundry basket in the dorm room.”
“You could’ve kept them,” Her gaze caught on the rips and tears on the clothes he’d changed into, the same ones he had shown up in. “You look like you can use them.”
“I’m fine with what I’ve got, thanks.” He hitched his backpack over his shoulder, flinching as it made contact with one of the bruises hidden beneath his shirt.
“It’s not easy is it?” She asked, moving to sit on the bed. “Trying to make it on your own after running away from home.”
“I get by.”
“Yeah, I did too,” She had lied, cheated, stolen, done whatever she needed to survive. “I was about your age when I left home. My parents were moving up north and there was no way I was going anywhere with my mother. She was a very angry woman.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“And your mother?” Gemma could use his mommy issues to her advantage if there were any. “What kind of woman is she?”
“A good one,” The teenager claimed, squaring his shoulders as if he was prepping for a fight to defend her honor. “A really good one.”
“So it was your father then,” That lined up with what John had read in the kid’s file. “He the reason you left Queens?”
“Queens…” Juice narrowed his eyes. “I guess Stiles isn’t the only one who went through my wallet.”
“Inquisitiveness is genetic,” And Stiles was hit with a double dose, once from her, once from his daddy. “That boy got it in spades.”
“Inquisitive is one way to put it,” Juice muttered, rolling his eyes. “Genetic? You and Stiles….”
“He’s my son,” Not her pride and joy, so to speak, but her offspring nonetheless. “He didn’t tell you?”
“We only met this morning.” Juice reminded her. “It’s not like either of us were going to trade family histories with a stranger.”
“He and I have a tempestuous relationship,” Perhaps, one day, they could learn to get along, but she couldn’t see that happening anytime soon. “He prefers his father to me.”
“Mrs. Teller-Morrow, I don’t want to be rude or anything,” The teenager adopted a sugary-sweet lit to his tone. “But why are you sharing all this with me? You don’t know me.”
“Everyone in this place has a tragic back story that ends with them running away from home looking for greener pastures,” In Gemma’s experience, there was never a set destination, just somewhere far away from where they were running from. “The trick to finding that greener pasture is knowing when to stop running.”
“That was very ‘after-school-special’,” Juice snorted derisively. “Next you’re going to tell me to ‘just say no’ when my peers pressure me into using drugs and alcohol.”
“Depends on the drug and how much you’re using,” Gemma was perfectly fine with a little recreational use, so long as it didn’t get out of hand. “As Stiles father was so keen to remind me earlier, we have a habit of taking in strays around here.“
“Lady, I’m not a puppy you found in a cardboard box on the street.”
“No, you’re a teenage boy going to his knees for a ride to nowhere fast. Now, you can keep using your mouth to pay your way from one place to the next until some fat fucker sticks you like a pig,” If the surrogate mother act wasn’t going to work, Gemma would just have to use the harsh truth to get the kid to see what was right in front of him. “Then robs you for whatever trinkets you’ve got in that knapsack and leaves you to bleed out on the side of the road-- and that’s if he doesn’t decide to take that pert little ass of yours for a ride first. Or, you can stick around, work in the garage, learn a vocation, and maybe even make a few friends.”
“I appreciate the hospitality you’ve shown me, Mrs. Teller-Morrow,” Juice said through gritted teeth. “But I’m going to leave now.”
“The offer stands if you change your mind,” Gemma had a feeling he might, they almost always did. “We’ve always got room for one more not-so lost cause.”
Jax had been hesitant about having a new little brother so soon after losing Thomas, especially one who would grow up away from him. When John Stilinski had offered him a place in Stiles life, Jax had jumped at it despite his nerves. He had done his best to be there for his baby brother whenever and however he needed him to be, keeping him close despite the physical distance that was sometimes between them.
He wasn't naive enough to think they told each other everything, but they shared more than most brothers, he was sure of that. Lately, however, sometime in the last few months, hell, maybe the last few years, something had changed. Stiles had begun to pull away, had started keeping secrets that Jax couldn't pry loose with a heavy-duty pair of pliers.
Now when Jax was a child and Gemma thought he was hiding things from her, she would make him his favorite dinner. She'd put him at ease over the shared meal and slowly but surely manage to get him to open up before he even knew what he was doing. Jax hoped the same play would work with Stiles.
Jax couldn't cook more than mac & cheese or a hamburger on a good day, so he picked up a couple pizzas and sodas on the way home. He used the smell of cheese, tomato sauce, and pepperoni to lure his brother out of his bedroom to the couch in the living room and dropped one of the boxes on his lap.
“Heard you went to see Donna earlier,” Jax mentioned casually, starting with a safe topic of conversation rather than the one he actually wanted to have, just as his mother would. “How’s she doing?”
“She’s doing her best,” Stiles popped open the lid to his box of pizza, taking a long whiff of that magnificent aroma. “Saw a bunch of past-due notices in with her mail.”
“You went through her mail,” Jax wasn’t surprised, his brother was as nosy as they came. “I’m sure she’ll be fine. Donna’s a tough chick.”
“She’s trying to raise two kids and pay a mortgage on a single income,” Stiles grumbled, picking at the toppings on his pizza. “Her strength isn’t going to replace the money from Opie’s paycheck while he’s away.”
“What do you want me to do about it?” It’s not like Jax was living the high life while his best friend’s wife was struggling. “I don’t have money to spare.”
“And what about SAMCRO, huh?” Stiles asked, raising a brow. “They’re the reason he’s in jail.”
“Club money is club money,” Those were allocated funds already spent; anything left over was stashed away for an emergency. “We can’t just give it away when someone can’t pay the bills.”
“All the noise you guys make about being a family, it’s a great way to draw people into your bullshit,” Stiles sneered, lips pulled back in a snarl. “Except when that bullshit lands one of them in prison, their actual family is the one that suffers for it and you guys don’t lift a goddamn finger to help them.”
“I know seeing Donna and the kids struggle is hard,” It was hard on Jax too, especially when there was no way to help them. “But she knew what she signed up for when she married Opie.”
“Oh, right,” Stiles muttered scornfully. “I guess that makes it all okay then.”
“Can we change the subject, please?” Jax wasn’t in the mood to fight with his brother over something neither of them could change. “What’s going on with you, huh? Why don’t we talk about that?”
“I’ve been here every day this summer, Jax, with you,” Stiles brushed off his concern, face twisted in annoyance. “If there was something going on, you would know about it.”
“It’s been going on since before you came down for the summer,” He had tried to be patient, to let his brother come to him when he felt he was ready, but he was growing impatient. “I’m worried about you, kid.”
“You don’t have to worry about me, Jackson, I’m a big boy,” Stiles closed the lid and dropped the box onto the coffee table without taking a single bite of pizza. “If you want to talk about something, we can talk about your new bed Barbie.”
“I know, you don’t like Wendy,” Jax had witnessed his brother’s polite yet dismissive attitude toward her. “You’ve made that perfectly clear.”
“I like Wendy fine,” Stiles claimed, a lie if Jax had ever heard one. “I just don’t like her with you. She’s not good for you.”
“She’s just a drinking buddy,” Jax had no plans to take it any further than that. “We’re having fun.”
“A little too much fun from what I hear every night,” Stiles glowered at him. “Are you using protection during this fun?”
“Yes, Dad.”
“Don’t take the tone with me,” Stiles scolded him like a child. “The last thing you need is to knock this chick up.”
“I’m not going to knock her up,” He knew how to use a condom. “What would it matter if I did? You said you liked her.”
“She’s a cool chick, when she’s sober,” Stiles gave the woman a small amount of credit. “The problem is, neither of you are sober when you’re around each other.”
“You think I have a drinking problem?” That was the most preposterous thing Jax had ever heard. “Seriously?”
“Not yet,” Stiles huffed. “But all you and Wendy seem to do together is drink and fuck.”
“This thing with me and Wendy will run its course before I become an alcoholic or knock her up,” It was just a fling, nothing more than that. “The real question is, will it run its course before you finally tell me whatever the fuck is really going on with you.”
“Oh my god,” Stiles groaned, dropping his head in his hands. “Are you still on that? I told you I was fine.”
“We both know that’s bullshit,” Jax knew his brother better than anyone, could see that he was hiding something. “I can’t protect you if I don’t know what to protect you from.”
“There’s no monster lurking around the corner or under the bed, Jackson,” Stiles pulled his knees up to his chest on the sofa. “Nothing to fight.”
“Piney and Donna have been treatin’ you like glass,” That alone was enough to set off alarm bells in Jax’s head. “Even Gemma has been delicate with you. So obviously you told them something.”
“I wouldn’t tell Gemma a damn thing,” Stiles bristled at the idea. “If she’s being delicate, it’s because she wants something and she thinks being nice to me will get it.”
“And Piney and Donna?”
“You haven’t been quiet about how off I seem to you lately,” Stiles said irritably. “Maybe they’re reacting to that. You keep acting like I’m a broken toy, so that’s how they’re treating me.”
“Nobody thinks you’re broken,” Jax might have referred to him as fragile if he didn’t think it might provoke Stiles into an act of violence. “We’re just worried about you.”
“I’m fine.”
“That’s bullshit,” Jax was tired of being fed that garbage. “Come on, kid. I just want to help.”
“I’ve been helped, Jackson,” Stiles mumbled dejectedly, wrapping his arms around himself. “I gotta do the rest on my own.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Juice wasn’t quite sure how long it’d been since he had left home, he’d quit counting the days when he realized it didn’t matter anymore. The bus he started out on took him as far as Philadelphia, the money he’d been left with at the time was only enough to buy him a cold sandwich and a bottled water. He’d hitchhiked the rest of the way, making his way across the country without a final destination in mind.
The destination was irrelevant, so were food and water for as long as his body could stand it. The only things that he needed were his fix and a ride in the opposite direction of where he was coming from. Luckily, everything he needed from food to his drugs and a ride could all be found in the same place, a truck stop.
He would have preferred to buy his fix at a club or one of the bars Stiles directed him to, somewhere crowded, less likely for him to get rolled. However, that Gemma woman’s cautionary monologue had hit a little too close to home and the only thing he wanted to do was get as far away from that town as he possibly could. The only way to get out quick was to get everything he needed in once place.
He had enough money stuffed in his shoe from a previous exchange to buy his meds from a dealer hanging around the bathrooms. A five-finger discount scored him a candy bar and a bottle of tea for later. His mouth would have guaranteed him a ride out of that shit town if it weren't for Gemma's words replaying in his head.
He had dropped to his knees between a pair of big rigs and sucked down a pot-bellied driver as he had more times than he could count since he'd left Queens. When he'd pulled off to catch his breath, he caught a glimpse of a gun in a shoulder holster hidden beneath the strangers jacket. Visions of being killed while he sat on his haunches with the taste of cum in his mouth and drool on his chin flashed through his mind, sending spikes of fear up his spine.
Before he knew it, he was pushing the man away, snatching his backpack off the ground, and making a break for it. He didn't look back, he didn't slow down, he just ran as fast and far as he could, trying to run that image right out of his brain. He kept running from farther and farther until his lungs need for oxygen forced him to stop. It was only when he was crouched in the middle of the road, elbows on his knees, struggling to breathe that he realized he was back where he started that morning.
"Teller-Morrow Automotive Garage..."
A sign, bad luck, his unconscious mind, something had brought him back there for whatever reason. He settled on a combination of pisspoor luck and his traitorous unconscious when he saw the den mother standing outside the clubhouse, as if she’d been waiting for him the whole time.
“I thought you might be back,” Gemma smirked, taking a puff off her cigarette. “I changed the sheets in the dorm room for you.”
“Thanks,” He still wasn’t sure he would stick around very long, but he could use the warm bed for the night. “I don’t want any charity. I’ll work off the rent for the room and food however you need me to.”
“We can always use an extra hand in the garage,” She pushed open the door to the clubhouse. “You look tired. You should get some sleep. You remember where the room is?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Don’t ever call me ma’am again. It’s Gemma,” The woman said firmly. “Go on in and get some sleep. I hope the noise doesn’t keep you awake.”
The loud thrum of music and haze of smoke hit Juice the moment he stepped into the clubhouse. Men in kuttes were scattered around the bar and sofa, playing pool, doing shots, and chatting each other up while scantily clad women sat on their laps and hung off their arms. Juice ducked his head to avoid the curious gazes, tried to make himself invisible as he crossed the room and moved down the hall into the dorm room, kicking the door shut behind him.
He tossed his pack onto a nearby chair and stumbled to the bed. He took the needle from his pocket and peeled off his hoodie, feeling the cool air hit his clammy skin. The symptoms of withdrawal had begun to set in earlier in the day, and Juice cursed himself for not slinking off to a dark corner to inject the much-needed fix as soon as he’d made the buy.
The veins on his arms were shot to hell from years of abuse, but that didn’t stop him from searching for one he could still use. He was so focused on the feeling of euphoria he would get once the drug hit his blood stream that he didn’t pay a damn bit of attention to his surroundings, if he had, maybe he would have heard the footsteps approaching the door long before it swung open.
"Hey Gemma wanted to know if you'd eaten--" Chibs started, faltering when he saw the track marks littering Juice’s arms. "I guess food ain’t what you're craving."
"Can you go, please?" Juice's fingers trembled around the needle. "I need to--"
"I know what you need, lad," Chibs crossed his arms over his chest. "A trip to SAMCRO rehab."