As opposed to the sweet taste of victory, Archie felt the hot trickle of blood filling into the cracks of his split lips. His eyes were locked on a hardened, determined gaze belonging to his opponent. Every inch of Archie wanted to ask Mad Dog to let him win. He didn't doubt that he would oblige. But he knew he couldn't. The Warden would know, and the Warden always wanted a good fight.
Archie quickly dodged to the left, but it was to no avail. An already bruised set of ribs caught a gloved-sized fist. The redhead gasped sharply, retaliated with a jab to Mad Dog's temple. It barely caught the larger man off guard. He was quick to respond to the conversation; his hands were talkative. He didn't allow Archie a chance to recover or catch his breath. Multiple hits, one to the eye, two the jaw, and three, rapid, back to back hits on his sides were fired off.
He didn't want to go down. No, not like this. The roar of the crows seemed far away now, merely encouraging him to succumb to the steadily increasing urge to let the black fade in. It was eating at the edges of his vision, waiting only on his allowance to swallow the rest of his blurring vision. It was when his cheek, already discoloring from the ruptured capillaries and veins beneath, slammed hard against the rough floor of the fighting space did he find his strength. He allowed himself to play dead for a few heartbeats, waiting until Mad Dog turned to smile at the crowd. That was when Archie could feel the energy humming through his body- through his bruises, his scars, his brand.
He sprang up with the adrenaline of a junkie, enveloping Mad Dog's neck with one weak arm, grabbing his lower back with the other. When his grip was tightened, the crowd climaxing, Archie heaved the man to the ground. Like timber did he fall. Archie could feel the sound of skull hitting tile in his brain. The audience was in a state of euphoria, but Archie's yes were only looking for the gaze that rested behind those impeccable, iconic, round glasses. Sure enough, he was there. Archie bared his bloodied teeth in a primal snarl, maintaining eye contact with a glare. The Warden's only reaction was a hunger alighting in his eyes and the puzzling movement of his hands from his pockets to a slight adjustment to his belt.
Mad Dog did not have much to say- and to be fair, there was little time to say anything at all. Archie was rushed out of his ten minutes of fame by two of the Warden's men. They each grasped him under each arm, escorting him out of the arena and back towards his cell. The Warden insisted that it was his "room", but Archie knew better. He had a long way to go before he could call anything his room or his home again. At this point in time, he stopped hoping he would be getting back to his house, to see Ronnie, Betty, Jug, Vegas, Dad. His time in here was nice without them, in a sense. Veronica was no longer hovering nearby, always offering to do unnecessary things, going out of her way. Here, Archie got the sense of masculinity and coming of age that he needed. Hiram Lodge threw him to the wolves, but Archie would come back leading the pack.
The walk back to his cell got increasingly harder. The guard to his left said something that his pounding ears couldn't catch. It went right over his head into the guard to his right's ear. He laughed; it must have been something funny about Archie himself, no doubt. He had to think for a minute if he should laugh, too. He decided against that, deciding to focus instead on getting from point A to point B. He lost his footing a few times already, he was intent on not letting it happen again.
He could feel blood trickling from his lips, but he couldn't wipe it from his skin. The guards had a hold of him, and he realized now that he had nothing to clean up with when they would drop him off. Sure, he'd have a TV, books, more blankets, a nicer cot, and whatever else the Warden could offer. Probably another bottle of overpriced wine. But Archie never remembered there being anything to clean up with. He could always use a blanket, but he knew he'd be needing that. While he did have better accommodations than the other inmates, such luxuries did not include central heating.
When the three men arrived at Archie's cell, they let go of him to open it and shove him in. In the second or two that he didn't have their gloved hands on him, he could have sworn that he would have fallen and face-planted on the concrete. It was taking too much energy to stand anymore, to stay awake. Archie was almost certain that one of his eyes was going to be swollen shut by the end of the night. He could already feel it puffing up, involuntarily narrowing. Quite inconvenient and uncomfortable, but at least it offered a nice distraction from the rest of his wound-decorated body. It was giving him a killer headache, but he'd manage. He always does.
The guards ensured that Archie was locked in like the animal he was before walking off, snickering yet again about something that went unheard to him. Whatever, he didn't need to know. What hasn't been said about him yet? Archie was holding on too tightly to the ironclad prison bars. He could feel the rust breaking off and sticking to the sweat and blood on the pads of his fingers. He rested the side of his forehead against the bars, relishing in how cool it felt against his heated body. It was only until his legs started giving way beneath him that he was slowly slipping. God, what he wouldn't give to fall asleep right here right now. He forced himself to clamber into bed, despite his utter exhaustion. He'd only get mocked, kicked, spit on, or hit between the bars if he allowed himself to sleep against them, no matter what thermal comfort they gave.
Archie was knocked out almost as soon as his broken body hit the bed. He could feel his arm reaching down to just barely grab the hem of a blanket. He managed to pull it up and over his thigh, but got no further. The blackness lapping at the heels of his vision finally caught up to him.
The state of being awake and conscious was a blur for some time. Archie couldn't tell when he was awake or when he was dreaming. When he did have a feeling he was awake, it wasn't pleasant. He could tell he had a fever, what with the blurred vision, perspiring skin, heat and inflammation to his injury sites, the chills that racked his body and the gooseflesh that marred it. The next time he comes to, he feels all of it, can only see out of one eye, has a hard time breaking steadily, and can't get warm. He grabs all the blankets he can find on the bed, drags them atop of himself, and crawls to the corner so he can lean on the walls. He can't hold himself up to take stock of his injuries, having the wall to back him up is the best idea.
Everything was starting to bruise. His skin had a reddish tint to it, a tip of the hat to all the inflammation and soreness from the fight. Elsewhere, the ecchymoses scattered around his body were a stark gradients of black, dark purple, bright purple, and blue. He didn't have a mirror to look at his face, but he could feel the wounds there, most specifically, his lips and his left eye. Since his fever induced sleep earlier, Archie can no longer open the eye at all. It has since swollen shut, and it hurts to move his mouth. Blood had gotten into the splits in them, drying. Ice would help with that, if only he had some.
Archie tried to ease himself back into an uneasy sleep, but it seems he couldn't. Although his ears were still fuzzy, it was as if he could hear every sound. His head was so loud, he cursed his body for it. He was a shivering mound beneath his blankets, unable to stop. Soon, his teeth followed suit, chattering fast and loud. He stayed this way for God knows how long, eyes fluttering, and just when he thought he might be able to convince his body to let him sleep again, something was clanging against the bars to his cell. Archie sadly lifted his head, anguished eyes searching for whomever was causing the ruckus.
Bathed in shadow was a man, with only his outstretched arm visible. Archie almost couldn't tell what he was holding until the man stopped to allow him to read the label. Wine. Of course. Archie grimaced, putting his head against his knees, pulling his blankets to his shoulders.
"Andrews!"