Pain… Everything was pain… Jughead could barely breathe with the intensity of the pain spread all throughout his body. It would consume him, he was sure of it. His first fleeting moments of consciousness were short-lived, his thinking dulled and sluggish. He was aware of one thing, and one thing only. Unforgiving pain…
The second time Jughead regained consciousness, he felt much more alert. The magnitude of his injuries still took main focus, but he was able to feel something other than the searing pain coursing through his battered body. There was a hand in his hair, and a voice lulling him back to reality. He couldn't quite make out the words, but he knew the person was encouraging him to show some sign of lucidness. Unfortunately for Jug, he was unable to oblige before he once again succumbed to sweet, dreamless sleep.
"Jug… Please, son… I know I wasn't the best father, or even a good one at that. But I swear to you, if you just open your eyes, I'll change. I'll be the man you've needed me to be your entire life. I'll give up the Serpents, and I'll get your mom and Jellybean back. We can be a family again, Jug. Just please, wake up." Jughead heard his father crying for the first time in his life on the third time he slipped out of his deep sleep. He fully understood the weight of what his father was offering. He would give up everything that made him F.P. Jones, just to have his son back.
With all the strength he could muster, Jughead Jones cracked open his eyes. He was momentarily blinded by the bright hospital lights, sending his already pounding headache into overdrive. He let out a low groan, clenching his eyes shut quickly. F.P. cradled his son's face, letting out a choked sob, as he gently wrapped his arms around his brave boy.
"Was that real? Did I just imagine it? Jug, can you hear me? Can you say something?" F.P. encouraged, holding his son at arms length to see his reaction. Slowly, Jughead peeked out at his dad through his thick lashes and gave him a small smile. Tears still cascading down the Jones patriarchy's face, he broke out into a fit of astonished laughs.
"I can't believe it! I finally got you back! Don't you ever do that to me again!" He said, his voice breaking a little at the end as he pulled the broken boy close once again. Jughead moaned at the slight movement, his right arm felt like it was on fire. The memories started rushing back to him, and the poor kid was helpless as one after another, the scenes of his self-surrender flashed through his mind.
The Ghoulies quickly surrounding him, eerie smiles on their faces… The feeling of bones cracking under the swing of their punches and kicks… The white-hot burning of Penny's razorblade sliding under his pale skin, eternally mutilating him… The feeling of emptiness as he watched them all leave his bloodied body in the dirt, laughing at his stupidity for showing up in the first place…
At the barrage of terror, Jughead felt like he was unraveling. His breathing became labored, causing his healing ribs to protest angrily. He felt like his throat was constricted, and tears streamed down his cheeks. The heart monitor was beeping like crazy, and it wasn't long before a team of nurses came sprinting into the room. They tried shoving F.P. back, but Jughead held onto his dad's hand weakly. It was enough for his father to fight back at the hands pulling him from his boy.
"He wants me, dammit! He needs me." The man pleaded, cradling Jughead's limp hand in both of his own. The teens anguished eyes found his dad's, and at that moment, it was crystal clear to F.P. what was going on. He knelt by his son's bedside, ever so carefully thumbing away the tears rolling down Jughead's ghostly white face.
"Hey, now. It's okay. You're okay, Jug. Just look at me. I won't let anyone hurt you ever again, son. It's alright, now. Just try and breath, baby." F.P. crooned, stroking the sobbing boy's cheeks. At his father's efforts, Jughead's breathing started to mellow out. The nurses continued to check a few things, but they soon were comfortable enough to leave the Jones' men alone.
"Listen, son… There's a lot of things that we need to talk about, but it all can wait for another day. For now, how about you get some rest? You look exhausted." Jughead's eyes widened a little, his fears evident. The older man sighed, his heart breaking for his kid.
"Dad…" Jughead whispered, his voice wavering slightly. He reached out with his good arm, grabbing a fist full of his dad's thin T-shirt. F.P. smiled sadly, resting a hand over his son's.
"I won't go anywhere. I'll be right here when you wake up, and I swear to you, nobody is going to get to you. Just rest, Jug." He crooned, scooting a plastic chair next to Jughead's bed, and perching on the edge. He wove his hand through his kid's hair, like he did when he was just a little boy.
"Sleep, son." And Jughead did.
