Super late in updating I know. I got a number of reviews for this- I guess it's the power of Juice. Anyway there's references in here from outta left field so just try and overlook those okay?

Juice groans a bit, stretching in the chair, his head is still throbbing and he's stiff from sitting so long. Tig's unconscious in the bed, and he's pale- white as a sheet- and small looking. Juice watches from his chair, a sentry of sorts, a guardian, sitting and watching over Tig like some Whitelighter from Charmed. Juice doesn't know why the show is on his mind right now, he's only seen an episode or two but for some reason witches, magic babies, and whitelighters are in his brain.

Whitelighters though, would be nice to have, protecting their wards and whatnot, maybe make the place a bit brighter. Juice wonders why they are even called Whitelighters, when they teleport places it's blue sparkles, there's nothing white about them. And Juice really needs to stop thinking about this 'cause this is not the kind of show a Son should be watching, much less thinking about especially when a brother lays dying in a freaking hospital.

"Shit." Juice curses, settling back in the chair again, watching the IV drip they have hooked up to Tig. It's not like the other ones, instead this one has blood, because Tig lost so much and they're trying to replace it. How you could stick someone else's blood in another person though is lost on Juice. It doesn't seem right; to have the very essence of another person running through your veins, another person's life. Stupidly he wonders if Tig will be like two people when he wakes up, if there will be new aspects to his personality that are from the blood donor- like maybe Tig'll be less of an ass to him: Highly doubtful.

Juice zones back in on the blood again, it drips so tediously down the tube; almost like an hourglass counting down the grains of life. It coagulates at the bottom, small beads that gravitate towards one another and stuck before traveling on down the tube, right in to Tig's arm.

Juan watches quietly, they've got Reggie strung up by his arms, chest strained and taunt, stretched out so thin that the knife easily sinks in. Thin, crimson, lines cover his body, the beginnings of the cross and stripes; their tag.

Juan knows the boss will kill Reggie, slice him up so gently, skin like butter, then he'll mark him, let him bleed out and dump his body in the East River. Reggie has to die though has too. He betrayed them, snitched to the cops, and that has to be paid for; that's what the boss says.

Juan feels guilt though, a knife twisting in his gut. He knew what Reggie did and had kept it secret, but things had gotten out of hand, Reggie became a regular rat; and rats die. It was his only option, self preservation; either he give Reggie up, spill the whole truth, or eventually they'd both be caught and killed. He tried to get Reggie to turn himself in, just tell the boss the truth that maybe he would've lived- but Reggie didn't listen. Juan however was not going to die for a man who was too stupid to realize his own mistake.

And he got lucky, Juan wasn't handed a death sentence. He got to live, didn't get demoted within the gang, he just had to do the boss a few favors and everything was fine. It wouldn't last long, only a couple of months; just had to be there when the boss needed him, on his knees, or at night, or whenever the boss needed to work out some inner issues. It wouldn't be hard, just had to stick through and imagine being somewhere else, get lost in his own head; something Juan is already a master at.

Another shriek from Reggie jerks Juan out of his thoughts, the self justifying thoughts that he shouldn't be having because none of this was his fault. He flinches at the sound of a pained gasp, and turns his head, there's blood pouring out of Reggie, a small waterfall of blood. Juan doesn't like to look at blood, he's not hemophobic or anything but blood is just...weird, to him. He can't explain the appetizing qualities of it that always transfix him, he doesn't approve of those qualities either but he doesn't have much say in his emotions.

"Yo, Juan!" The boss is calling him over, the knife out to his side in an impatient gesture, moonlight reflecting off of it and crossing Juan's eyes. "C'mere ese."

Juan clenches his jaw but obeys, he's not sure what the boss wants- any favors were to be done in the confidence of the two of them, not when all the other guys were hanging around, watching someone die. "Yeah boss?"

Juan watches as his boss pulls a rag out of his suit,-a two piece, double breasted suit like the ones Don Corleone wears- and wipes off the edge of the knife. The rag doesn't even stain; the blood just fades in the sea of red already there whether by dye or the blood of other souls. Then the knife is flipped over, handle held out to Juan and he takes it gingerly, wrapping his fingers around the cold leather and it feels oddly right.

Juan stares at the blade, it's like a piece to the rest of the puzzle in his head but he can't figure out what he's suppose to do with it, even though the answers writhing only a foot away from him. The boss nods at him and he nods back, the small gesture telling him everything he needs to do.

Juan steps forward, breathing deeply, sweat hanging at the corner of his brow, and the boss' hand on his shoulder stops him. He leans in and Juan can feel his warm, cigar tainted breath hot against his ear. "Any extra finesse and I might shave a few weeks off your punishment." The boss leans back, raising his eyebrows in question; Juan nods back, even more sure of what he has to do even if he doesn't know if he can.

It's more simple than Juan expects it to be though, he takes a deep breath, swallowing hard in front of Reggie, before twisting the knife in his hand and streaking it across Reggie's skin, essentially flaying the man alive, finishing the carving of their tag the boss had already started. Then Juan drags it down the side of his neck, the killing blow that ends Reggie's life quickly, it's the only small mercy Juan can give Reggie while still keeping himself alive.

Juan stands there, the knife in a white knuckled grasp with Reggie's blood dripping down his hand, he stares at it curiously, not sure what to do now. But then the boss is patting his pack and taking the knife, cleaning before holstering it, his eyes are shining with something Juan knows to be pride and he wonders what's so prideful about any of this, but then the smell of blood finally hits him and that takes Juan to a whole new place, and the world around him fades to mere background noise.