Runaway Train

By: Cerulean Musings

Summary – Wynn Tate went into Pop's to start her shift like any normal day and ended her shift forced to accept that the rose-colored haze over Riverdale had been ripped away for good. The shooting of Fred Andrews isn't the only thing from that dark day that haunts Wynn. She always wanted to dig into the history of Riverdale, that's what her podcast is for, but with the Black Hood on the loose she soon finds she may uncover something she and the rest of the town isn't ready for. Talk about being in the wrong place at the wrong time. [Toni/OC]

ONE

When she was young, around the age of four, Wynona "Wynn" Tate could be found with her nose pig-pressed up against the glass door to the oven as it released the sweet scents of baking cookies or warm bread. She was adamant to be there right as the bell went off signalling that her treats were only a mere twenty minutes of cooling away until she could devour and savor in the rush of sugar across her tongue. Her grandfather, Terrence "Pop" Tate, would have to drag her away and entertain her with a disappearing money trick or a good card game to keep her mind off the slow ticking clock. But Wynn didn't mind, she loved her "Poppy" and would eagerly follow him around the house. Like a moth to a flame, Wynn was enraptured.

So, it came as no surprise when, eleven years later, Pop found Wynn waiting by the oven in the kitchen of Pop's Chock'lit Shoppe, her nose pig-pressed against the window as she watched the cherry pies form a golden crust. Nowadays he may not be able to distract her with a card game, but he could always insist that she get back to work. All with his warm smile in tow.

"Wynner, come now, you're going to burn off your eyebrows if you stand too close," Pop chided. He gently grasped Wynn's shoulders and backed her away from the oven, laughing at the sound of disappointment she made around her pout.

"It'll be worth it! I don't need eyebrows!" she insisted, gesturing to the ovens. "I can't believe I have to watch people take the pies and I can't even get a bite of one!"

"I'm sure there will be a few slices leftover by the end of the day."

Wynn shook her head. "Pop, your pies are the best in town! And, since they're a limited edition to celebrate the Jubilee, they're going to fly off the shelves."

Pop took his ever-present rag off his shoulder and dabbed his forehead with it. Wynn spotted the modest expression settling over his face. "They are quite special. Your grandmother won many blue ribbons at the state fair with these."

At the mention of Nona, Wynn's smile wavered slightly. Her eyes moved over to the picture that hung on the wall by the door leading to the front of house depicting her family in black and white: herself at the age of five, her mother, Delilah, holding onto her shoulders and beaming; Pop Tate with his arm around her grandmother and his wife, Nona; and Pop's mother, her great-grammy Ruth, on the other side of Pop. All beaming as they stood in front of Pop's diner, frozen in jubilation. If only they knew, merely a year after the picture was taken, their smiles would dim considerably.

Wynn tore her eyes away from the picture and looked back over at Pop, taking in his graying hair, the wrinkles in the corners of his eyes, the rotund shape of his belly, and his big, soft hands that always aided in giving the best hugs. She swallowed the lump that rose in her throat at the thought that one day Pop wouldn't be with her, but she pushed the offending thought aside. She'd go toe to toe with the Grim Reaper as many times as it would take to keep his bloody paws away from her pop.

"I think putting them on the menu right now is the best idea you've had," she said. "Bring some pep back into the town. Especially with what happened with Cheryl."

Pop sighed. "Yes, she's been through a rough go of it, hasn't she?" If one could call losing her brother and father within a span of a few months a "rough go of it". Yeah.

"I was thinking I could take one to her later?" Wynn suggested, messing with the leather friendship bracelet on her wrist. She shrugged. "Maybe when we're slow? I have to make delivers anyway and cherry's her favorite, of course, and, I dunno, I know it's not much but—"

Pop stopped her, bringing her forward so he could kiss her forehead. His large hand cradled the back of her neck and ruffled her hair. "But it's enough. I think that sounds like a wonderful idea. A wynning idea."

Wynn beamed. Sure, she and Cheryl Blossom weren't the best of friends but they did have a nice working relationship. Wynn was the first person Cheryl went to when it came to making sure the audio and sound for River Vixen performances were top notch. Wynn took pride in her work, making sure the audio levels were just right and the sound was crisp and clear for celebrations, assemblies, pep rallies, spirit week, theatre performances, anything and everything in between. She took on the title of being president of the A.V. Club, among her other responsibilities, seriously. It was her creative outlet, her baby, and Cheryl saw that level of care and dedication. They made a good team, when Cheryl wasn't calling her "Wynnie-the-Pooh" at least.

Clapping her hands together, Wynn asked, "Anything you need me to do in the meantime? I don't think we'll be hit too hard until about noon. People took the jubilation part of the jubilee a little too seriously."

Pop chuckled. "Ahh, to be young again."

"You're not missing much," she reported. "Just the regular bit of chaos and debauchery that can be found around Riverdale." She waved her hand in a dismissive way. "Or, so I hear."

Pop hummed. He crossed his arms and Wynn side-eyed the pensive look that came across his face when he glanced at her. She'd seen that look too many times in her life. Usually it was followed by her hearing something that she didn't want to hear. The way that parents seemed to have down to an art that made her wonder if it was their secret super power. "You know I can always cut back your hours."

There it was. Wynn shook her head, adamant. "And you know that I like these hours. Like that I have hours. Need I remind you, I want to take over one day. The only way I can do that is if I see how everything works first hand. I can't do that at some party." Pop moved to say something else, she only let him get as far as opening her mouth before she continued, "I'm not missing out. Really. Midge keeps me up-to-date on the inevitable scuttlebutt that transpires. Almost like I was there myself." Especially because Midge tended to blow up her phone with every single thought or observation that came to her head whenever she was at a party. She took the phrase "blowing up my phone" to an entirely new level. Midge texted like she talked: fast, frenzied, and all-over-the-place.

Pop nodded, resigned. "How was the Jubilee, then?"

Wynn sighed, glad to have the subject changed. Her eyes darted over to the pies in the oven once more before she answered. "It was good! Josie and the Pussycats performed a new song that Archie wrote. His hand's still banged up but he went on anyway and it sounded really good. And Betty's speech? I think it will put some things in perspective in Riverdale. Maybe have people stop jumping on bandwagons and conclusions in their need for answers and scapegoats." At Pop's grunt in response, Wynn's eyebrows lifted and she was prepared to ask about it when the doorbell at the front of the shop jingled, signaling a customer.

Smoothing down the wrinkles in the hem of her uniform, of which she didn't have time to iron that morning, she hurried to the front to greet the customer. Her eyes quickly scanned the barren booths until they rested on Fred Andrews as he eased himself at a table right beneath the backwards BURGERS sign applied to the windows. He tapped the tips of his fingers together and glanced out the window, as if waiting for someone.

Wynn grabbed the pot of decaf coffee and a clean mug, making her way around the diner floor with ease. "Mr. Fred! What brings you in this morning?" she asked as she set the mug down and poured steaming coffee into it.

"Hello there, Wynn." His eyes crinkled in the corners when he smiled. He always had a way of greeting the kids of Riverdale as if they were his own; Fred Andrews was one-of-a-kind. "I'm just waiting on my son."

"Figured everyone would be taking the time to sleep in after the festivities last night," she commented. She went back to the island and picked up a newspaper off a stack that she had brought in earlier. Opening it and folding it back to the sports page, as she knew he liked to start with, she added, "You must have been so proud of him. That song was amazing."

"I am, I am," he replied, nodding his head. His words, so wistful, sounded to Wynn as if he were still enthralled. "I knew he had a passion for music but this…" he chuckled. "This is beyond what I thought he could do."

"Well, that's Archie for ya," she said, placing a hand on her hip. "Always full of surprises. He's like…like..."

"A box of chocolate?" he suggested.

She laughed. "Well, I was going to say something about an onion and layers, but that sounds much better. Much more sweet."

"Speaking of sweet," Pop said, coming up behind her. He placed his hands on her shoulders and the faint scent of fresh pastry wafted over her. Mmm! "It sure would be sweet of you to fill the napkin holders."

Wynn stuck out her tongue, making an exaggerated whine of frustration and then conceded with a sigh. "You're lucky I like you, Poppy."

Her wide smile, so full of jest, died when Pop glanced at her and said with such gravity, "Yes, I really am."

She didn't have time to put more thought towards it as he shooed her away, stating that he'd take Fred Andrews' order himself. Wynn, without a choice, agreed and went to fill the napkin holders like she was told. As she moved from table to table her mind wandered around, taking note of the barren landscape reflected in and out of the diner. There were no decorations to be found for the upcoming Halloween holiday. Not that she was surprised, to some it may be in bad taste after all they found out about Jason Blossom and the rest of the Blossom clan. But, deep down, Wynn had to admit she was a bit bummed. Maybe it would help everyone, to go back to their youth with costumes and candy. When the skeletons and stories of the macabre were just that—stories. Instead of their reality.

The door jingled again and she looked up, grinning at the sight of their red-headed visitor. Or savior, some would call him. The write up in the Riverdale Register painted him with him with a shiny gold halo, even. Speak of the devil. Or, in this case, angel. "Well, if it isn't the red Power Ranger himself," she called out.

Archie paused by the candy machine at the door and grinned. She swore sunlight leaked out from between his teeth. "Hey Wynn. What're you doing here so early?"

She took a moment to make a show of looking around the shop, then to her name pinned to her uniform, and then back up to him. "Counting sheep," she replied, lifting an eyebrow. Archie shuffled his feet, shoving his hands into the pockets of his varsity jacket. "Yeah, they're a little scare this morning. Maybe they're sleeping." Laughing at her own joke, she shoved a stack of napkins into the empty holder. Afterwards she lifted the lid to the straw dispenser and changed the subject, "Never got a chance to tell you, your song last night as great."

"Really?" A bashful smile appeared on his face and he rubbed the back of his neck. "Thanks Wynn, that means a lot."

"I think it's something that we all need to hear, after everything that happened..." her eyes cast downward, to the white elephant in the room that hung off his arm. Not that he couldn't carry the weight; she, too, noticed his summer transformation and how much he filled out his jacket compared to years prior. But even as his exterior changed, his interior remained the same. A true puppy in a sea of Bulldogs. "How's your hand?"

He looked at his hand as if seeing the injury for the first time and rubbed the bandages wrapped around it. Wynn wasn't the least bit surprised to hear that Archie had hurt himself to rescue Cheryl. He'd give anyone the shirt off his back. Which he'd done for her once, in fact, when she bled through her shorts a few years prior. He tied his shirt around her waist and personally escorted her to the nurse's office. They really shouldn't call it a period; that made it sound a lot less inconvenient than it really was. The best thing to name it would be an onslaught, really.

"Oh, I've had worse." Archie's voice yanked her back to the topic at hand and she clicked her tongue. "I'm just glad Cheryl's okay." His nose wrinkled, a boyish flash on a manly face, and he grimaced. "Well…"

"I get it. But, let's be real, Cheryl's a goddamn phoenix. She'll saunter out of the ashes in sky high heels and look down on us plebs before we know it."

"I can only hope. Hey, I'm gonna go talk with my dad." Archie reached over and gently placed a hand on Wynn's arm and gave it a squeeze. "See you in school, okay?"

She winked. "Not if I see you first."

A little joke from when they were children. Archie Andrews, or Andy as Wynn liked to call him—because no one else did—was a saint and a half. A peaceful ginger oasis in a tide of teenage falsehood and alpha bravado. If there was one benefit to having been Reggie's girlfriend, it was that she got to get to know Archie better.

Of course, they've known each other since they were kids but she didn't really know Archie beyond him seeming to enjoy music (what kid didn't?) and liking to play football (what boy didn't?) He was overweight back then, hanging around Jughead and Betty more than anyone else. She got it. At the time she only hung around Valerie but that was because they were neighbors and she'd had a massive crush on Val's brother, Trev.

But then she started dating Reggie—they weren't wrong when they said teens make hasty decisions; Exhibit A—and her presence at football and basketball games expanded from being for yearbook purposes to being for girlfriend purposes. And when she wasn't busy stoking Reggie's ego (okay, and worrying about him being knocked around, too), she and Archie would hover on the outskirts of the roving football team to talk about, well, anything. Archie had a way of making anyone who talked to him feel like they were the most important person in the world. Fred Andrews raised a good one.

The startling peal of the ringing phone caused Wynn to jump. Abandoning the straw carousel, she rushed over to the ringing phone, cursing at the restriction the mustard yellow uniform dress had on her haste. Honestly! Pop may want a certain appeal to come from his diner, but it couldn't hurt to update their uniforms to something a little less…stiff and starchy. The polyester alone rubbed her the wrong way, in more ways than one. Sure as hell, whenever she became the owner of Pop's, there would be some changes afoot.

"Thank you for calling Pop's. Where we offer the best homemade pies in town whenever your craving hits and we put a little pep in your step. This is Wynn, how may I help you," Wynn rattled off the top of her head the moment she answered the phone. That was another thing she'd change: she'd make the message a tad bit shorter.

As the gruff voice on the other end placed an order for delivery, Wynn removed the pen that she had buried into her curly hair. She was too lazy to straighten all of it that morning. Sometimes, it just wasn't worth it to try and have hair like the Betty Coopers and the Cheryl Blossoms of the world. The Pussycats knew where it was at when it came to their hair. Hell, they were her hair goals. As she scribbled down the address and order for the customer on the phone, she made a mental note to ask Val for a good ol' fashioned hair day like they used to have. It'd been too long since their last one.

The jingling of a bell was drowned out by the following bang when the door hit the candy machine. Wynn turned away from the order window, having just pinned the delivery order, and froze. All sound in the diner stopped. Her breath shot out in one rush. Her fingers twitched by her side. Her eyes darted around. Gun. Black Mask. Gun. Pop. Black Mask. Pop. Gun. Gun pointed at Pop!

"No!"

A shrill scream ripped from somewhere. Sound smacked her all at once. Black Mask shouting for a safe. Pop shouting that they didn't have one. Dirty glasses and plates breaking, having been kicked off the counter. Napkin wads soaked up leftover milk and juice that spilled on the floor. Pop left a coffee footprint behind as the man in the black mask dragged him along. Size nine.

"No!"

Wynn stumbled a step forward. Her throat burned. It hit her: that was her screaming. Screaming for Pop. Screaming for her Poppy. A flash of red. Wynn looked up, locked eyes with Archie. He pressed his lips together. She looked over at Fred, same time as Archie. He shook his head.

What!? Do nothing? She clenched her teeth. Her pulse raced in the twitching muscle by her chin. Her fingers rolled inwards, nails pressing into her palms. No! Not in her diner! Not in her home.

Wynn backed slowly, just then noticing one of the other waitresses frozen right beneath the large neon DINER sign on the wall. Her fingers dug into the white cloth she held; Wynn saw the fabric straining in her tight grip. She continued to back up, taking small steps, reaching for the bat hidden behind the swinging kitchen door. Pop didn't like having guns on the premises. That was probably a good idea. If she'd gotten ahold of it, Wynn wouldn't hesitate to put the man in the black mask down.

"Show me where the safe is!"

"There is no safe!"

"Don't be difficult! Show me where it is!"

"There is no safe!"

The man jostled and shook Pop. For the first time Wynn saw Pop as he truly was: an older, defenseless man. He's survived a lot; he told her the stories of his youth. And she would be damned if she just let him go down like that. She just had to get a little bit closer to the bat. Just a little—

"Don't be stupid!"

Wynn's hands flew up when the man in the black mask turned to her. Her stomach dropped as the shiny barrel of the gun pointed at her. A bullet was faster than a bat. Those weren't good odds. But still, even as she spied the man's finger hovering near the trigger, her eyes shifted from him to the bat and back. What would Pop do? What would Nona do?

No sort of answer formed in her mind. There wasn't enough time. Chaos erupted all in the span of a blink. Fred Andres stood. The man in the black mask turned on him, demanding a wallet. Archie rushed for him. Wynn threw herself to the ground, reaching for Pop. He pulled her to his chest, held her close. He trembled. Or was it her? Was it them both?

Bang!

Wynn screamed. The air shattered around her. Her ears rang; somewhere there was a thud and a shout and a pattering of rapid footsteps. The bell jingled, the scent of gunpowder wafted past her nose, and the rapid ba-bump, ba-bump, ba-bump of Pop's heartbeat against her ear encased her all at once.

She clapped her hands over her ears. Her breath shuddered no matter if she inhaled or exhaled. Tremors took over her body and she shook her head. Her eyes burned; tears collected in the corners of her eyes no matter how much she shouted at herself to get a grip and a rock settled in her chest that was only broken up by Archie's anguished plea, "Hold on, Dad. Just hold on."

Archie!

Rising to shaking legs, Wynn forced herself to round the counter, like forging through thick mud. She spotted Archie first. Shoulders hunched, body rounded, as if he were huddling over a coveted gem. Her legs held her up until she reached Archie's side and saw Fred on the floor, money scattered around his prone body, a deep red wound in his side.

"Oh my god," Wynn breathed. Pain settled in her chest, swelled with every breath as she looked down at Fred Andrews through tear-blurred eyes. Fred Andrews. The man who built forts for some of them when they were kids, the man who came to every school function or activity Archie was involved in, the man who opened his home and had an extra spot at the table if someone needed a good meal. Who would want to harm him?

"Dad…c'mon, Dad…" Archie muttered. His once pristine cast steadily became pink due to the blood leaking out between his fingers.

"Is he breathing?" Wynn asked, forcing her breaths stay even, her nerves to calm. Freaking out wasn't going to help anything.

"Yeah, yeah I think so." Archie nodded and sniffed. A curse slipped out from between his clenched teeth and he leaned further, his forehead touching Fred's. "I got you, Dad. I got you."

Wynn reached out and grasped Fred's hand, holding it tight between hers. "Everything's going to be okay, Mr. Fred. Alright?" She brushed at her eyes with the sleeve of her uniform shirt, wincing at the rough pull on her eyelashes. How long ago was it that she thought she would change the uniforms? She snorted and shook her head. Pathetic. Shame slammed into her stomach like a well-aimed punch.

"Pop? Pop." Wynn's head whipped around when Archie called for her grandfather. He spoke rapidly into the phone, giving short bursts of information to whoever was on the other line. "Pop, we need help. Now," he said the moment Archie hung up the phone.

"I know, Archie, I know. I already called the police. They're sending someone over…"

Wynn's eyebrows came together as she studied Pop's face. The way he held his jaw, the way his lips turned into a line. If the police were coming, what was it that he seemed to be so worried about? If Fred was going to be fine, put in good hands…? "They…they are coming right?"

"They're sending someone over," Pop repeated. He grabbed his trusty cloth off his shoulder and tossed it over to them. Wynn caught it and immediately placed it beneath Archie's shaking hands, pressing down on the wound. There was so much blood…so much blood…

"How long's that gonna take?" Wynn demanded.

"I…Wynner, I'm afraid I don't know." His eyes trailed out the window, to the snow that covered the ground, Wynn guessed. They may be on their way but…Riverdale was a small town. If there were any wrecks due to the snowy conditions, and there was no doubt a few had spring up, well…who knew how long it would take for them to arrive?

"I can't just wait!" Archie said. Apparently, he thought the same. He brushed his face with the sleeve of his varsity jacket; the stark blue and gold now splashed with quick drying blood. Maroon stained the "I can't! Pop—my dad—"

"I know, Archie, I know."

Archie shook his head.

"Pop…the guy! He got away! What about—?" Wynn craned her neck, doing her best to look past the vinyl booths that lined the windows. But the dark colored seats stared back at her, blocking her view from the window. "He's…he's still out there! Pop, he's still out there!"

"I know. But it's best if we stay here."

"But…we have to do something! The police—"

"They're on their way. We can give them a statement."

"No. No." Archie shook his head again, with more intent this time. "No, I…I can't wait. No. We have to…I have to get him somewhere. The hospital." Fred groaned as Archie shifted his father. "The truck. Wynn, help me. Alright? We—we can get him to the truck. And I can get him to the hospital."

"Andy, you can't drive! You don't have your license!" Wynn pointed out.

"I don't care! I'd rather have no license than no dad! Alright?"

At that, Wynn clamped her mouth shut and she did her best to ignore the right nerve he'd hit with his comment. If there was anyone who knew about living life without a father, it was her. As far back as she could remember it's just been her and her mother kicking ass and taking names. She didn't need a father…but a dad would be nice. And Fred Andrews was like the town's dad; without him, everything would fall apart.

"Okay." She nodded, licked her dry lips, and nodded again. "Okay. C'mon, Mr. Fred, you're gonna be alright."

Together. Archie and Wynn managed to get Fred up and onto his feet and shuffled him out to the Andrews' truck that waited outside. The cold breeze smacked her in the face and sucked all the air out of her chest. It exploded in front of her in a cloud which dissipated a moment later. Snow seeped into her shoes and froze her toes, but they trudged on and, after a few stumbles, managed to get the passenger door open and Fred inside. As Wynn closed the door behind him, she caught sight of the dried blood on her hands. Fred's blood. So much blood…

"Hey Wynn." Wynn looked up from her hands and into Archie's eyes. Beneath the fear and uncertainty lay a fire and that alone let her know that everything would be okay. "Thank you."

Wynn waved him away. "Get out of here" she said, brushing off his thanks. Their teeter-totter of favors would never find its balance point. She backed away as Archie got in and, by the time he started the truck and peeled out of the driveway she hovered by the front door of Pop's, looking up and down the street for the gunman.

Was he still lurking around? Watching them? Waiting?

With a hard hit to her stomach, Wynn doubled over and her breakfast splashed onto the parking lot after being launched from her throat. Her retching echoed in the still air as the haze of sleep and the sheen of jubilation eased away. Stomach clenching, she sunk to her knees and her fingers curled against the rough asphalt as if trying to stay secure. Stop the ride, I wanna get off!

Only when she was sure an organ wouldn't come up her throat, did she get back to her feet. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, a streak of saliva smeared across her pale brown skin. Her eyes burned, and her head pounded and she did her best to hold on but, when Pop's large hand settled on the small of her back and he uttered a quiet, "Oh, Wynner", she came undone.

Turning on her heel, she looped her arms around Pop's rotund middle and buried her face in his chest, squeezing him hard as hearty sobs took over. Not only did she cry for Fred Andrews, she cried for the death of the innocence of Riverdale as she knew it.

Happy New Year everyone! My resolution this year is to update my fanfics more, and stress less about them. What better way to mark the start of a New Year and a new resolution than by posting a new story? This fic starts right at the beginning of Season 2, obviously, but there are a few changes to the show plot that I'm going to make for this story and just because I don't agree with everything the writers wrote. Oh well! Please let me know what you think! Constructive criticism is always welcomed.

~C.M.