[I decided to rewrite the first chapter and add a bit more to it, and am already working on the next chapter! Hope someone enjoys it]

I'll never be a love song writer,

I'm a poet, I'm a prick, I'm a liar,

I can't love myself is it hard to tell,

Do you wanna burn in hell with me?

-Burn In Hell by Former

Jughead was lost. His feet had carried him away from the school dance, away from his friends, away from it all. But they couldn't shake his thoughts.

His dad murdered Jason.

Archie and Veronica tried to prove it.

Betty was in on it, and her mom.

Everyone was against him.

The night was cold but Jughead hardly noticed. It might've been from the whiskey he kept sipping as he meandered through town. He'd found the bottle while trashing his dad's trailer, and after his mom told him it wasn't a good time to visit he'd decided it was an appropriate time to get drunk. His parents had abandoned him in their own equally painful ways and even his friends had betrayed him. It didn't matter where he went, no one wanted him.

Not even the Serpents. He'd gone to the White Wyrm in hopes that they could have answers but all they'd given him were more riddles about his dad. They hadn't been too pleased when he accused his father of being a low life drug dealer who'd killed a rich kid. Things got heated after that, and maybe picking a fight with a bar full of angry bikers hadn't been his brightest idea, but at the time he'd wanted someone to make him feel anything besides an aching hollowness.

There was nothing left in Riverdale to protect him as darkness loomed.

The empty bottle slipped from his numb fingers and shattered on the pavement as Jughead teetered, nearly crashing to the ground while the world swung around him. Miraculously he managed to stay upright, the night suddenly illuminated by fluorescent red lights.

He knew where he was.

His eyes alighted on Pop's Diner twinkling in front of him like a shelter for wayward souls. While his heart was shattering his feet had carried him to safety.

Thankfully the tables were empty, Pop Tate standing behind the counter regarding him with a cool nod of understanding.

"The usual," Jughead grumbled before heading towards his favorite booth near the back. He hated sitting by the door.

Sliding into his seat, he pulled off his beanie and leaned his head back, allowing his eyes to slip closed. He was drunk and miserable and potentially homeless. At least he had enough cash left for a burger and fries.

He lost track of time after that. He felt as if he'd just sat down when Pop approached, setting a heavily laden plate of food in front of him. "On the house."

Jughead fumbled for his wallet. "I have money."

"Save it. Looks like you might need it," Pop said. Jughead stared up at him blearily, eyes struggling to focus as the miracle man walked away, leaving him in silence. He watched the retreating form until the smell of hot fries and a fresh burger pulled him from his thoughts. He had enough cash to buy one more meal. Not enough for a bus ticket or even a hotel room. And staying at the school was out of the question since Archie knew his hiding spot.

His former best friend was probably out there scouring the town for him at that very moment, but Jughead didn't have the energy left to care. He was considering simply laying down and sleeping right there in the booth when the bell above the door jingled merrily.

"Juggie?"

Archie, Betty and Veronica stood in front of him, each surveying him with mixed expressions.

Jughead shoved away the plate, his hunger completely gone. "How'd you find me?"

"Pop called me," replied Archie. He looked like a lost puppy. And it would serve him right to have to grovel at Jughead's feet for lying and going behind his back to prove his dad was guilty. He wanted to feel vindicated they'd been worried about him but he had no emotion left to give. And rather than face them he turned to the window.

"Jug, we're so sorry," Betty apologized.

"We should've told you everything from the start," added Veronica. Jughead kept his mouth shut, even as the angry responses built up on his tongue.

"We never meant to hurt you."

Jughead turned, glaring at each of them. "Leave me the hell alone. I don't need your fake apologies or sudden sense of caring. So just go."

Archie crossed his arms. "I'm not leaving."

Betty and Veronica both nodded in agreement. "We're not leaving," Veronica corrected.

"Then I am," Jughead retorted, pushing past Archie and stumbling towards the door. Where before he'd barely felt the alcohol and various injuries, suddenly it was difficult putting one foot in front of the other. He managed to make it outside before the world decided to drop out from beneath him, but a steady pair of hands were there to catch him.

Immediately he recoiled, trying to push them away.

"Easy Jug, it's me," Archie said, standing in front of him with his hands raised and sad eyes nearly breaking Jughead's resolve to stay mad. He wanted to tell him to get lost, to stop fighting so hard for the friendship that he'd destroyed, but his knees buckled as everything finally hit him.

Then he was being guided down onto the curb, head pushed between his knees. Someone was crouched in front of him, voice barely penetrating the fog of blind panic that surrounded him.

"Just breathe, I'm right here. We're here."

Archie.

Jughead lunged, burying his face in Archie's chest as heaving breaths rattled through his lungs. He didn't care that he was on the curb outside Pop's having a very public meltdown, or that he was clinging to his best friend like a lifeline. He didn't even care that Archie was pressing against his ribs as he held him. All he cared about was not being alone.

Betty and Veronica's voices piped in, pressing against Jughead's bubble of safety.

"Give him a minute," Archie said, voice echoing through Jughead's panic. Archie was there.

"Don't leave," Jughead begged

"I'm not going anywhere," Archie promised.

Jughead nodded. "I wanna go home," he murmured into Archie's shoulder, unsure of what he meant. Perhaps anywhere that wasn't a parking lot.

"I know," Archie said, arms imperceptibly tightening around him. "You don't look so good, maybe we should take you to the ER first?"

The idea of being poked and prodded, of having to answer questions and say how he was feeling, was too much.

"No," Jughead shook his head, pushing away.

"What is it Juggie?" Betty asked, crouching beside Archie and looking at him with such open concern it made his chest constrict. The fight left him in a rush.

"'M'fine," he slurred, though no one looked convinced.

"You're not fine," argued Betty as she reached out and gingerly held his face between her hands. "You're drunk and you look like you got beat up."

"I did," Jughead replied absentmindedly. Betty leaned back, stunned.

"What happened?" Veronica demanded.

"Things got a little rowdy when I went looking for answers at the Wyrm," Jughead explained. Though judging by the incredulous expressions he was receiving his honesty might not have been the safest bet.

Archie was looking at him like he was crazy. "Why the hell would you go there?"

"I had to know if my dad really was a killer, and if the Serpents knew about it. I wanted to finally have someone tell me the truth."

"Jug, I'm so sorry about your dad," said Betty. "And I'm sorry you thought the Serpents would have the answers you deserve. For now let's just focus on getting you cleaned up."

"We should get him back to your house," Veronica suggested, looking at Archie.

"Come on," Archie said, helping pull Jughead to his feet. The night blended into a kaleidoscope of bright lights, loud voices, and the warm interior of Betty's parents station wagon. He pressed his temple against the cold glass window to ease the snarling headache.

For the second time that night time lost all meaning. He had barely closed his eyes when someone was shaking his shoulder.

"We're home Juggie," Archie was saying, and as Jughead nearly fell out of the backseat a lump formed in his throat. Home.

"I've got you," Archie said, slinging Jughead's arm across his shoulder as he wrapped an arm around his waist and hoisted him upright. Jughead kept his eyes closed as a wave of dizziness crashed over him. Thankfully after a few short steps, where he managed to trip over every rock and dip, the cold air was replaced with warmth.

Keeping his eyes closed seemed to help with the dizziness, though everyone's loud voices did nothing for his headache.

"Should we take him to the couch or upstairs?" Betty asked from nearby. "Your room might be more comfortable."

"Yah my room," Archie replied, directing Jughead towards the stairs.

"Do you need help?" Veronica asked.

"I've got him," Archie said, tightening his grip. They began the slow ascent up the stairs, Jughead struggling to put one foot in front of the other, but Archie was patient and kept him moving. The trek took much longer than usual and Jughead grudgingly realized Archie was the only reason he was still vertical.

Archie silently guided him down the hall to his room, Jughead balking when they approached Archie's bed and nearly bringing them both crashing to the floor.

"What's wrong?" Archie asked, looking at him. Jughead didn't know how to put into words that he was fine sleeping on the air mattress, but Archie seemed to understand.

"Dude, you're not sleeping on the floor."

Jughead reluctantly allowed himself to be eased down onto the bed, stifling a groan. He watched Archie grab a pillow and blanket and prepare the air mattress which had been kicked out of their way when they'd stumbled in.

"Jug, you with me?"

Jughead looked up, surprised to see Betty standing in front of him holding a first aid kit. He tried to nod but his head was floating away from his body and he wasn't sure what the question was.

"That cut might need stitches."

"Stitches?" Jughead repeated, his mind struggling to catch up.

"You've got a cut," Betty replied, gesturing towards him. Hesitantly Jughead reached up and grazed the spot on his forehead that had been itching for a while, surprised to see bright red blood coating his fingertips.

"Oh."

Betty pulled Archie's desk chair over and sat down in front of him, the first kit lying open on the bed beside him. Jughead mutely let her clean and bandage the cut on his forehead. He didn't mention his bruised ribs or the possible concussion, knowing that all three of his friends would insist they go to the hospital.

"You should take these," Veronica said, holding out a glass of water and a few ibuprofen. Jughead did as instructed, trying to hide his shaking hands. Once he'd handed the glass back he sighed, letting his eyes close for a moment.

"Juggie, I'm so sorry," Archie apologized, the bed dipping as he sat beside him. "We messed up. We should've been honest about our suspicions of your dad instead of sneaking around behind your back."

Jughead shrugged. His dad was the guilty one, and he'd believed him. Believed his father could ever change from the man that he'd always been.

"But that doesn't mean we did that to hurt you, we were trying to protect you," added Veronica.

"Why?" Jughead asked, blinking up at her. He felt boneless and shaky and in that instant he genuinely didn't understand why everyone seemed to care. "No one wants me."

"We want you," Betty said, breaking the silence. "I want you."

Jughead shook his head, making the world start spinning. He feared the others could see how close he was to breaking.

"Remember in fourth grade when I broke my arm?" Archie asked, pulling him from his thoughts.

"Yah," Jughead replied, his tired eyes struggling to focus on his best friend.

"You dared me to climb Mr. Peters' apple tree but I slipped and fell. You carried me the five blocks home," said Archie.

"So?"

"You're my best friend, and I'm sorry I screwed that up," Archie said. "But we'll figure it all out together."

"I have no home," Jughead whispered, unsure how much longer he could hold himself together. His head was pounding and he couldn't stop the chills wracking his body. Whether it was delayed shock or the alcohol, he wasn't sure.

"You've always got a home with me," Archie said, squeezing his shoulder. Jughead closed his eyes to hide the emotions fighting to be released.

"We can go talk to your dad in the morning," suggested Betty. Jughead nodded, the effort of staying awake quickly vanishing.

"You should have your bed," he mumbled, upset at the idea of his friend giving up his own bed for him.

"It's fine man, get some sleep," Archie replied, standing up. Jughead prepared to argue but Archie was there, gently pushing him down until he curled up on his side. He kept an arm tight against his ribs as Betty pulled off his boots and Veronica covered him with a blanket.

"We'll be downstairs if you need us," Betty said, gently taking off his beanie and placing it on Archie's nightstand. He watched Archie turn off the lamp before following the girls out of the room, the door closing behind him.

After a few moments he could hear their faint voices carrying up from the living room below. And it was only then that he let himself relax, breathing in as deeply as his ribs would allow. He was safe. His friends were there. He'd deal with everything else in the morning.

Jughead allowed sleep to pull him into a deep embrace, too battered to fight it.

A noise yanked him from sleep. Blinking around the shadowy room, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," Archie whispered, lying down on the air mattress on the floor beside him. Jughead sighed, forcing his heart rate to slow.

"Did Betty go home?" he asked, his thoughts straying to his favorite blonde. He tried to force himself to sound disinterested and failed miserably.

Archie shifted beside him. "Yah, Veronica's staying at her house tonight but they'll be back in the morning to see how you're doing. They were both worried."

Having other people care about him was a foreign feeling and he wasn't sure how to react.

"You scared me."

"I'm sorry," Jughead mumbled. He shifted, groaning slightly as the movement tore at his ribs.

"Are you okay?" Archie asked, sitting up.

"I'm alright," Jughead said. He couldn't start listing the things he needed because he was barely holding himself together without throwing more fuel on the fire.

"You would tell me if you needed anything, right?"

"Yah," Jughead promised. Archie stared at him in the semi-darkness, his eyes practically drilling into him. After a moment he laid back down, seemingly convinced.

Jughead stared at the far wall, suddenly fearful of falling asleep. He didn't want to dream about his dad or Jason or any of the other awful things happening in their town recently. But try as he might to stay awake he felt himself sinking deeper into the mattress as the world grew distant. Then he knew no more.

"I'm sorry I wasn't a good father."

FP stood shackled before him on a stage, a noose around his neck. Jughead reached for him and found Sheriff Keller handcuffing him to a table.

"Like father like son," he said, a crowd of townspeople forming behind him and effectively blocking Jughead from his dad.

"We're doing this to save you," Alice Cooper said. Jughead shook his head, scanning the crowd for any of his friends. But he couldn't find them.

"I'm sorry."

"We have to save you."

"Like father, like son."

Jughead was dragging the table behind him as he fought to get through the crowd, but every time he thought he was getting closer the stage would be just as far away as before. Hands were pulling and holding him back before everything slowed to a single bright moment as he watched his dad fall into darkness, the rope pulling tight…

"Juggie!"

Someone was touching him and he pushed them away, limbs heavy.

"Whoa, it's me," Archie said. Jughead stopped fighting as his eyes finally figured out how to open, bringing the blurry face of Archie into focus.

"You were having a nightmare," Archie explained. Jughead looked around, still not entirely convinced he wouldn't see his dad standing in the corner watching him. He felt jumpy and on edge but being awake brought the usual aches and pains that reminded him he wasn't dreaming anymore.

"Are you hungry? My dad's making breakfast."

Without warning the nausea hit and he was barely able to shove past Archie and stumble across the hall to the bathroom before falling to his knees in front of the toilet. His ribs burned as he threw up the alcohol he had left in his system until finally the bout abated, leaving him breathless and dizzy. With a shaky hand he flushed before slumping back against the wall.

Black dots danced across his vision and for a moment he considered simply passing out. But the sound of footsteps had him holding back the darkness.

"Jug?"

Jughead blinked, struggling to keep the room in focus. Archie was there, crouched in front of him.

"You okay?"

"Don't feel good," he mumbled, closing his eyes and willing the world to stop spinning rapidly around him.

"Do you want me to get you anything?"

Jughead shrugged, too exhausted and miserable to care. Each shallow breath ripped through his tender ribs and his head pounded in time with his pulse making it difficult for him to focus on much else.

"Do you still want to go see your dad?"

Jughead opened his eyes, his nausea replaced with the sudden intense need to see his father. To face the man that had destroyed his life and the peace of their town.

And yet...the hollow ache in his chest told him what he'd already feared. He couldn't face his dad, not yet. Not when the pain of what he'd done was still so fresh.

"We don't have to," said Archie. Jughead nodded, leaning his head back against the wall. He was a coward who couldn't even handle facing his own father.

"Maybe some food will help," Archie suggested. Jughead wanted to say no but he knew Archie wouldn't leave him alone otherwise, and once Betty and Veronica returned there'd be no hope of shaking their incessant worry.

"I'm gonna take a shower first," Jughead said, bracing a hand against the wall to push himself to his feet. Archie stood up and grabbed a towel out of the closet, handing it to him before quietly leaving.

Of course the shower was a diversion, a ploy to get Archie to leave him alone for five minutes so he could collect his thoughts and shake the last vestiges of his nightmare. Though the hot water was working wonders on releasing some of his body's tension. And it seemed to be helping his ribs, which still smarted every time he moved. Or breathed.

After ten minutes and nearly all the hot water, he padded across the hall clothed in his boxers with his dirty clothes bundled under his arm. Rifling through his backpack, he quickly pulled on a pair of jeans and was hunting for a clean shirt when a voice behind him made him jump.

"Holy shit Juggie!"

Jughead turned, surprised to find Archie staring at his chest. Venturing a quick peek, he was a little shocked to see his torso littered in purple bruises, most of them centered around his ribs. Apparently the fight at the Wyrm had gone worse than he remembered.

"Is that from your fight?" Archie asked, slowly approaching.

Jughead nodded. "I had it coming, after what I said to them. And I'm sure some of these are from bumping into things as I was walking around drunk."

Archie shook his head, looking at him. "We really should have a doctor take a look."

"I agree," said Fred from the doorway. Jughead pulled on his shirt, unable to hide the wince. "We can go after we see your dad."

"Maybe another day?" Archie suggested. Jughead shot him a thankful glance.

"His lawyer called me earlier, said there's an emergency FP has to talk to me about. If you don't wanna go I won't force you Jug, but I'll take you to the doctor afterwards," Fred replied. Jughead nodded, sensing a losing battle.

"Come on, I left the girls to finish breakfast."

Jughead followed Archie and Fred downstairs, mildly surprised to see Veronica and Betty working together making pancakes and bacon. Even Vegas joined in, waiting patiently for any offerings.

"Smells amazing," Archie said, handing Jughead a plate.

"We figured we'd eat breakfast before heading to the jail," Veronica said as she served Archie a stack of pancakes.

"Works for me," Fred said, glancing at Jughead. He stayed silent. The prospect of facing his dad, even of forcing himself to try and eat breakfast while his hangover raged, made him feel worse than before.

"You okay?" Betty whispered to him as the others took their food to the dining table.

"Yah, I'm fine," he replied. Betty gave him a knowing glance before they followed.

Breakfast was a somber affair, most of the small talk dying out after only a few attempts. Apparently they'd all forgotten how to talk to each other in the last twenty-four hours. Jughead almost wished for a return to normalcy, if only to hide his grumbling stomach and pathetic attempts at eating. After nearly twenty minutes he'd barely managed to force down half a pancake.

Finally Fred grabbed his jacket and keys. "We should get going."

Jughead nearly puked again.

In the end, Jughead agreed to let Veronica and Betty take him to the clinic while Archie and his dad went to see FP. Partly to avoid spending needless hours running around town and partly because he wasn't ready to face his father. The queasy sickness that washed through him every time he thought about his dad being a killer was only seconded by his blinding anger. Also, when Fred mentioned his bruised ribs the two best friends took it upon themselves to be his, albeit terrifying, guard dogs.

"I can't believe you didn't tell us you were hurt," Betty quipped for the tenth time since they'd entered the waiting room. Jughead sighed, slumped forward with his elbows on his knees and head hanging low. Honestly he felt like crap. His ribs burned, his head pounded, and his stomach kept threatening to revolt. But he knew better than to tell either of them those details.

"I'm going to go check what's taking so long," Veronica said before striding towards the front desk.

Betty rested her hand on Jughead's back. "Talk to me."

Jughead frowned, unsure of where to begin. With his cosmically cursed family? Or his own demons?

"We're all here for you, you know that right?"

Jughead glanced at her. Betty gave him a small smile, squeezing his shoulder. She was just so...good. In his entire life, no matter what he did, he'd never deserve her.

"Jughead Jones?" A nurse called, ignoring Veronica's vindictive nod at the receptionist. Jughead stood up, the world swaying for a moment. Betty was there, gripping his arm. Once he'd steadied she let go and began to sit back down but he grabbed her hand, silently bringing her with him.

"You too," he said to Veronica, following the nurse through the double doors. Betty and Veronica kept true to their word to Fred as they escorted him to an exam room, three chairs and a bed taking up practically all the space. Reluctantly Jughead shucked off his jacket and handed it to Betty before climbing onto the bed.

"I understand you were in a fight?" The nurse asked, eyeing the jacket as she began taking his vitals.

"Last night," he replied gruffly. He tried to fight the urge to ask her which side of town she was from, though her pursed lips and general disdain gave him a strong clue. Goddamn northsiders.

She gently eased up his shirt to examine his ribs, causing him to wince when she probed a particularly tender spot.

"They don't seem fractured, just bruised."

"Shouldn't you do a chest x-ray or something?" Veronica demanded. The nurse stiffened, turning to glance at her. "Seems like a good idea to rule out any possibilities of a malpractice lawsuit."

Jughead chuckled. Of all the people to have in his corner, Veronica Lodge was definitely a surprise. But he'd grown accustomed to the raven-haired girl and her...charm. He even welcomed it. Especially once word got out who had killed Jason.

And just like that his laugh died in his throat. But he didn't have a chance to contemplate his dad as the nurse handed him a gown and stalked from the room.

"I think she hates us," Betty said, looking from the door to Jughead.

Veronica grinned. "Good."

Jughead was laying flat on the bed, one arm wrapped around his side and other thrown across his eyes. The x-ray didn't take long, but they'd been stuck waiting for a doctor to review the scan for nearly forty minutes. Betty and Veronica kept their whispered conversation as quiet as possible while he napped, though his mind wouldn't let him fall completely asleep. It kept replaying the past conversations with his dad on an endless, brutal loop.

"Hey," Veronica said as the door opened. Jughead didn't have to open his eyes to sense Archie.

There was a squeak as Archie sat in one of the chairs. "How long's he been asleep?"

"Few minutes, once Betty convinced him to stop playing the martyr and lay down," Veronica said. "On top of all this he's got a fever. Who knows what he picked up from that cesspool they call a bar."

Jughead sighed, lowering the arm from his face. "Can your dad sign me out? They won't let me leave without a guardian."

"I thought you were still sleeping," Betty said, coming to stand beside him. Jughead pushed himself upright, ribs screaming at the movement. And of course his friends didn't miss the wince or way he was holding his side.

"You okay?" Archie asked him. Before Jughead had to lie the door opened, Fred Andrews entering with the doctor.

"How're you feeling?" Fred asked Jughead.

"Sore," he replied, admitting as close to the truth as he was comfortable in front of a stranger.

"Well you've got two fractured ribs and a concussion," the doctor said, holding his chart. "I'll give you a prescription for some pain meds, and get plenty of rest for the next few weeks."

"Got it," Jughead grumbled, his voice taking on a edge. He had no intention of taking any of the prescription pills. He'd seen enough of his dad's drinking over the years to recognize addiction ran in the family.

"Thank you," Fred said, shaking the doctor's hand.

Betty gave Jughead his jacket. "Come on, let's get you signed out."

"Actually, Jug, if we could talk about that," Fred suggested, waiting for the door to close behind the doctor before turning to him. "If you want to talk alone, we can."

"It's fine," Jughead shrugged.

"Your dad, well, he-he asked me to be your guardian."

Jughead froze. "Guardian...as in signing over his rights?" Fred nodded.

He stopped comprehending after that. Fred was saying something about it being for as long as he needed, and setting ground rules, but honestly Jughead couldn't focus on any of it. All he could hear, ringing over and over, was his dad's resounding abandonment.

He barely made it to the trashcan before he threw up.