Hey all, sorry for the long wait! Hopefully the length of this chapter helps make up for it. Enjoy!

Reviews always appreciated :)


"Wait, what?" Archie asked, hitting the timer on the oven. "Say it again now that I can hear you. Pizza's done, by the way."

He listened for a minute, then dropped the oven mitt on the floor. "Where are you?" he demanded. "Ok, I'll tell my dad. We'll come get you. You should call—ok, ok, fine, I won't. But you better have a good reason by the time we get there, or I'm calling Kevin's dad."

Archie put the phone down just as his dad entered the kitchen.

"I came for pizza, but what's this about Sheriff Kellar?"

"We need to go get Jughead. Now."


Archie and Fred Andrews found Jughead in a poorly lighted area not too far from Pop's. He lay in a sort of heap on the ground, not having tried (or managed?) to sit up in the time it had taken the Andrews to arrive.

"Jughead? Hey, can you hear me?" Archie asked, giving his friend's shoulder a shake.

"I'm not dead, Archie," Jughead groaned. "I can hear you."

"What happened, sport?" Mr. Andrews asked.

"Look, I'd rather not be the cause for a gang war," Jughead answered, accepting Archie's help to stand. He stifled a groan and nearly fell over again. "So we'd better get out of here."

Mr. Andrews nodded, opening the truck door. "You're explaining at some point," he said.

"Sure," Jughead ground out, jerking away when Archie put his arm around him to steady his swaying.

Archie barely managed to keep his friend from falling. "Jug?"

"'m fine."

"You don't sound fine," Archie objected.

"No one asked you."

Mr. Andrews sighed. He loved those two, he really did. But their methods of handling stressful situations were very different and did not go well together. "Just get in the truck."

Jughead fell in more than climbing in, but he made it far enough for Archie to shut the door behind him.

"Jughead?" Mr. Andrews prompted when they were a few blocks away from Pop's.

"Not yet," Jughead requested. "Please, just not yet."

Mr. Andrews gave a small nod and drove on silently.

"Is your foster family going to be concerned if you're not home yet?" Archie asked.

"I can't go there looking like this."

Clothes and skin torn, blood here and there, too weak to stand on his own.

"No, I mean should I call them—"

"They think we're having dinner," Jughead cut him off. "We were, weren't we?"

"Tell them you're spending the night," Mr. Andrews directed.

Jughead handed his phone to Archie.

"If I call from your phone, won't they think that's a little strange?"

Jughead sighed and rolled his eyes. "Text them."

"Why can't you?" Archie asked, taking the phone.

"Can't," Jughead said simply. His hands were shaking too badly.

"Jughead, I am taking you home, and you will have a lot of explaining to do," Mr. Andrews informed him.

Jughead just closed his eyes wearily and lay flat on the seat. "I know," he said finally. "And I will. Just, not yet."


By the time they made it to the Andrews' house, and the two Andrews men managed to get Jughead to the couch, the Jones boy was back to looking half dead.

Mr. Andrews headed for the kitchen, saying something about a wet cloth.

Archie reached for his phone.

"Don't," Jughead requested, eyes still closed.

"Don't what?" Archie froze, fingers hovering above the touch screen.

Jughead opened one eye. "Don't tell Betty."

Archie glanced down at the blank text message—to Betty. "Why not? She'd want to know."

"I don't want her to."

"She's going to find out, Jug. You don't…look, um, normal."

Jughead snorted and focused his gaze on the ceiling. "I'll tell her when I'm ready."

"You haven't even really told us," Archie objected.

"I will."

"Betty might be able to help," Archie persisted.

"I don't want her to see me like this," he confessed.

But Archie didn't understand that. He'd grown up living next to Betty. She'd been there when he'd escaped the bathtub and run for the backyard at five years old. She'd sat at Spot's grave with him, even crying with him for a dog she'd never liked. Their bedroom windows faced each other, and Archie wasn't about to pretend there wasn't the rare moment when he forgot to close the curtains. Not that she'd ever mention it (she hadn't). He didn't understand hiding something from Betty. "She won't care, Jug. She'll love you anyway."

Jughead's eyes flickered to Archie at the word "love."

"Oh don't even," Archie groaned. "If you don't know she loves you I don't know how you can be a writer."

"I know," Jughead said simply.

"Then you know she won't care if she sees you like this."

"I care," Jughead said almost viciously. "She's been there every time I needed her. Late sometimes, but always there. But this would hurt her, and right now there's not much left I can protect her from. If I can protect her from this, I will."

Archie fell silent. That was something he understood, something he could respect.

"Arch?"

"Ok, Jug. I get it. I won't tell her."

"Thank you."

"But you need to at some point, and sooner would be better than later if you want to avoid her wrath. She may look sweet in her blonde pony and pastel cardigans, but there's a fire in her."

"I know," Jughead said. "I'll tell her." Boy, did he know that fire. He could picture her beautiful hands, marred by those fingernails as she fought so hard against herself. Sometimes, when he could see her caving, he would wrap his hands around hers, desperate to protect her against herself.

"Well," Mr. Andrews said, announcing his reentry to the room. "Are you about ready to tell us what happened and why my son was convinced he shouldn't call the cops?"

"I think I could manage that, Mr. Andrews."

Mr. Andrews moved the boy's feet so he could sit on the same couch. He settled Jughead's feet in his lap and began to untie and remove his boots. "Go ahead, tell us your story."

"I steopped at Pop's on my way here," Jughead began.

"Dude, we were going to have pizza," Archie interrupted.

Jughead raised an eyebrow. "Your point being? I was still hungry after my milkshake and burger."

"Was," Archie echoed, confused.

"Well when three guys beat the crap out of you it messes with your appetite, apparently."

Mr. Andrews dropped the boots on the floor and grasped Jughead's wrist, unceremoniously wiping blood from his hand.

"I left and three Crows came up to me," Jughead continued.

"Crows?"

"Arch, they hate the Serpents. If you keep interrupting I might forget how the story goes."

"But you're not a Serpent," Archie objected. "Not really. Aren't they just looking out for you until your dad gets out?"

"Well yes, but the Crows didn't seem very interested in that explanation," Jughead said sarcastically. He hissed with pain when Mr. Andrews turned his hand over.

Mr. Andrews gave him a questioning look but held the wrist firm.

"I think it's sprained," Jughead explained. "The Crows were more interested in telling me all the things they would do to Betty if I didn't go with them," he spat.

"To Betty?" Archie gasped.

"Relax, they don't actually know who she is or they would have used her name."

"It upset you anyway," Mr. Andrews observed. "You were caught off guard, and a couple of Crows jumped at their chance to beat up a Serpent."

"Pretty much." Jughead glanced at Archie. "Your dad's a lot smarter than you," he remarked.

"That's why he's the dad," Archie said easily. Then, when his friend's face fell, "I'm sorry, Jug. I didn't mean—"

"It's ok. You're rght. That's how it's supposed to work. Some of us just aren't that lucky." Jughead squirmed when Mr. Andrews touched a gash on his arm.

"Jug, what exactly did they do to you?" Archie asked.

"Exactly?" Jughead echoed, shifting again. It was as though no position were comfortable, and he was trying to get away from the pain.

"Well not exactly," Archie amended, not sure he really wanted to know.

"They worked me over and I barely managed to lay a hand on them," Jughead spat, voice shaking. "Is that what you want to hear? That I was too weak to fight back? I'm not you, Archie. I get beat up. I'm an easy target and that's just part of my life." He gave a bitter laugh, then grimaced. "Maybe if I'd worked on your dad's crew last summer like you did I wouldn't be here. Maybe I could have saved you from your mistake with Ms. Grundy or whoever she actually is. Maybe—"

"How often do you get beat up?" Archie cut him off.

Mr. Andrews stopped tending to Jughead's injuries and shot his son a warning look.

Jughead glared at his hands, unable to meet anyone's eyes.

"How often, Jug?" Archie persisted. "How many fights?"

"None," Jughead nearly mumbled, the argumentative tone gone from his voice. "Been knocked around a few times, shoved in a locker…I don't get in fights, Arch. You know that."

Archie's phone rang, and he silenced it. "Then why? Why pretend you're used to this? That isn't not a big deal?"

"It's what I do." His voice cracked. "I pretend things are normal and fine so I can keep going. Right now, it hurts too much for me to not pretend." Tears, unwanted, filled his eyes, but Jughead kept right on pretending. "If I pretend, people around me leave me alone. It makes it easier to keep going." His voice hitched. "That's why," a gulp, "that's why I don't want Betty here. She doesn't let me pretend."

By the time he'd finished, Jughead was shaking again. He gave a little sniff, then lurched forward with a groan and a look on his face that suggested he might lose his meal from Pop's right there in the Andrews' living room.

Mr. Andrews put a comforting hand on Jughead's shoulder but the kid jerked away with a hiss of pain.

"Jug?" Archie asked.

Jughead pressed back into the couch as though he could melt into it, a hand covering his eyes. "Please," he whimpered. "Please just let me pretend."

"Dad, I think—"

"Archie, why don't you go find an ice pack and some water for Jughead?" Mr. Andrews suggested.

Archie nodded and headed for the kitchen. There wasn't anything he could do anyway.

From the kitchen, Archie could hear his father telling Jughead to take off his hsirt. Jughead pleaded with him, but Mr. Andrews wasn't taking "No" (or any other form of it) for an answer. Archie swung the freezer door open.

"Jughead, I think you have a serious injury," Mr. Andrews said calmly. "I need you to remove your shirt."

"Please, Mr. Andrews," Jughead begged. "I can't. Please don't make me."

"You don't really have an option. It's me or the doctors in the ER."

Archie's digging for the ice pack drowned out Jughead's response, but not his yelp. Archie stood fast and spun, only to see his father helping Jughead remove his shirt. Jughead practically collapsed on the couch when the shirt was off.

Archie looked away. Whatever injury his father suspected, it was painful and his dad was trying to give Jughead some privacy. He reached for a cup, only to be cut off by a knock at the door.

"I'll get the door," Archie called to the other room.

Before he had the chance to grab the knob, the door swung open. Betty Cooper stood on the front step.