Between Two Realities
Summary: In the hours following his attack, Jughead clings to life. Meanwhile, Betty tries to fathom what life would be like without him while friends and family try to offer her comfort. But it's not enough.
2.21 Post Episode Fic.
A/N: Hi guys. As usual, I began a oneshot that took on a life of it's own. I'll be posting a few short chapters today and tomorrow (most is already written) of this fic taking place after the events of 2.21.
Riverdale Hospital - 8 Hours
Betty exhales.
It feels like the first breath of her life.
Or, more poignantly, the first breath of the rest of her life.
Nothing in Betty's world will ever be like it was before. Her life will be forever split into two categories from hereon out: life before tonight... and everything after.
One thick, bloody line between two realities.
Her wavering breath is as tired and strained as her aching body. She wants to cry so badly it physically hurts. It bubbles deep down in her belly and rattles her ribcage.
But she's too tired to cry. Too tired to think. Too tired to process anything that's happened to her tonight. First her dad, now this… she will never survive this.
And if he doesn't… well, then she doesn't want to.
The doctor emerges from behind the two steel doors, pulling off his operating mask. Everyone around her perks up, their faces hungry for anything. FP stands, running a bothered hand through his hair. He looks like he's close to breaking.
"How is he, doc?"
"He's not out of the woods yet, but there's nothing more we can do."
The words uttered from the doctor's mouth knock something loose inside of her.
Unnerve her.
Not that the cold, clinical waiting room of the hospital isn't already doing a good enough job of that.
"But he's going to be okay?" Cheryl asks. She's beside Betty, gripping tightly to her cousin's hand. She hasn't left her side as night bled into day.
The doctor glances down at their pleading faces, but only sighs, "For now… we wait."
Betty sucks in a shallow breath. Words burn like acid in her throat as she formulates the thoughts in her head, "how long?" She asks. Her voice sounds foreign coming from her own mouth. It must have been hours since she's spoken, "How long do we wait?"
Cheryl's hand grips hers tighter - a reminder that she's here… she's not going anywhere.
"We never know in these situations. There was a substantial amount on bleeding on his brain. In some cases, it's a few hours. In others, it could be days. Weeks-"
Betty feels faint and his words sound far away and garbled. Pain claws at her heart when she really allows herself to think about it.
What if he never wakes up?
She'd been in such a state of shock that she really hadn't digested it yet.
She never wants to digest it.
She just wants a few more moments of blissful ignorance without imagining his cold and lifeless body in his father's arms - an image that will forever be filed away in the back of her mind, a picture memory of the worst night of her life.
'Don't let the panic set in. Don't let it in-'
Her mind races when her fists want to clench, dig into her own skin to feel anything other than this. Her eyes blur with hot, stinging tears, but she again promises herself she will not cry.
No.
Not until she has reason to. Not until they tell her that there's no hope.
That he's really gone.
"Betty," FP says from a few feet away. He can tell she's getting emotional. Her attention snaps over to his face. He looks so much like Jug - she'd never really noticed just how much. She blinks away the wetness in her eyes, "you still with us?"
The doctor looks at her, and after a moment's hesitation he suggests, "Miss Cooper, if you'd like to speak with one of our counselors-"
"I'm fine."
I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fin-
He shifts his weight and moves his clipboard under his arm, "Sometimes after a traumatic experience-"
"She said she's fine," Cheryl snaps at him for her. Betty is grateful, but says nothing. If he doesn't drop it - if they all don't drop it - she knows she won't be fine.
Once Betty has the time to truly process it all, she knows she will never be fine again.
The doctor nods once, then turns to FP.
"If you'll come with me we have some papers to sign-" The two turn and walk a few feet down the hallway and to the nurse's station.
Betty grips Jughead's gray, tattered beanie in her hand.
It smells like him.
"I love you. I'll never stop loving you."
The last words he said to her echo in her head like the haunting cries of a ghost. No one will ever be the same. Everyone will be plagued with fear and memories of monsters and maniacs… but she will forever be haunted by the ghost of him.
It's a tough pill to swallow.
It tastes too much like regret and all the words she never said.
"I don't care what you have to do, you get in there and you get my boy out!" Betty can hear FP's voice echo down the long corridor.
She conquered the Black Hood. She saved herself.
But she couldn't save him.
Betty closes her eyes and sinks back in her hard, plastic chair. Her hand slips from Cheryl's and she hugs onto herself tightly instead - she is the only one who can comfort herself, now.
No one else can.
She closes her eyes and lets her own arms feel like his.
To be continued...