Chapter 7

Downhill from Here

The shadowed edges slid away as he blinked once, twice, and then sluggishly rubbed his arm along his eyes. With a new sense of clarity, the dark outline of the couch slowly morphed into recognizable pillows as the last memory he had rang through his head.

He'd promised he wouldn't do this again.

Any of this - falling asleep when he only wanted to rest his eyes, crashing on the couch instead of an air mattress bed, waiting in an empty trailer for someone who wouldn't make it home.

It was a stupid thought, looking back now. All of it. But mostly the sleep thing.

Put your head down and you're out for the count. Wait around with a doggy bag of diner food as a poorly disguised excuse for visiting a parent who couldn't even find their way back before the crack of dawn and...well...

He should have expected the food to go cold.

Rolling to his side, Jughead dropped his hand to skim along the floor for the belongings he should have left there. A brush against the center rug told him he had gone too far and he retreated back, hand patting as it went, until he grazed the edge of his bag. With his face smushed into the seat of the couch he went about searching the pockets. He moved about the crumpled bag methodically, the far off kitchen clock ticking along to every inch his fingers shuffled. Besides that, sound seemed nonexistent.

Outside the trailer, the world had probably ended - no Serpent bikes revving or Sunnyside dogs howling - or he'd fallen asleep in another much quieter parallel universe. Even the Andrews' second floor was plagued by the late night dog bark or teenage speedster cutting through Elm's Street.

Just then, before his mind had fully flickered away from the stiff belly of floral cushions to the soft bounce of deflating air mattresses, his thumb hit the metal spiral of a notebook along with the plastic side of his phone case. It jolted him into remembering what he was even doing.

"Oh, shit-" Suddenly he was wide awake, pulling himself up, and bringing his phone to his face.

The screen blinked alive with a horrible time that had him groaning.

2:18 AM

"Great. Fantastic," he muttered through his palm as it slid down his face to rest over his mouth. How long had he been with the Andrews' and already he was screwing things up? Not that Fred seemed like the guy who'd throw him back onto the street - he wouldn't right? Not when he knew how Jughead had been living? Even though Fred had done the same thing to his dad some years ago?

Denial did nothing but leave a sizzling burn up and down his sternum.

The time mocked him from the phone screen - now 2:19 AM - before he tapped into his messages, while reaching down to throw the strap of his messenger bag over his shoulder. He stood, trying to ignore the ache in his knees and the need to crack his back, until he found himself with only his own last outgoing message to Archie, and with a notebook falling from his opened bag to the floor.

Hey gigolo, headed back from Pop's. You down for burgers tonight?

In retrospect, it wasn't as funny as he thought it was - not to mention it was hiding a slight lie - but it had brought a stupid grin to his face while he waited at Pop's counter, three burgers sizzling over the diner grills.

Now it just left him feeling hollow. He turned to the notebook on the floor.

Science notebook, his eyes told him, as he blinked at the familiar black cover and a clearer memory that he had some kind of homework that he'd predictably forgot about. With one hand he made a grab for the thing and then struggled to shove it back into place while scrolling through his phone checking - hoping? - for one panicked message in response to a it's 2am do you know where your Jughead is?

Nope.

Just his own gigolo-Archie material from three hours ago.

He licked the film from the front of his teeth. Either the world really had ended everywhere save for the poorly heated den of his father's trailer or-

Jughead shoved his phone into his jacket pocket, checked that the strap of his bag was straightened and that the flap was closed, before stepping across the floor. And, oh yeah, he recalled back teeth grinding, wasn't that homework some huge lab report due tomorrow that he didn't finish because he figured he'd do it with Archie up until the moment he drifted off on the couch and forgot that he even cared because really what did it matter to anyone if he made it home or not-

The Pop's bags still sat at the edge of the round table.

He'd stalked into the kitchen, hoping to end the jumbling of his thoughts. Yet, just like when he'd dropped the bags there, a strangling tension was back in his throat. Clenching his jaw, keeping his breathing steady, he grabbed for the crumpled bag that held Archie and his smushed, less than edible, dinner. The other bag, his dad's bag, fell to the side. A swirling stain of brown leaked through the white of it, bringing a damp shadow onto the printed chock'lit shoppe logo.

The analog clock tsked at him while he stood undecided between the fridge and the front door.

His teeth played with the skin of his lip until he tore a piece away to swallow.

He felt his feet sinking into the slits of the kitchen floor tile.

All the while his phone remained still, the warm spot he'd made on the couch went cold, and the soggy bag did nothing but suggest that he stay.

When he'd walked his way across town to the trailer two hours earlier and found himself unsurprised at the missing truck outside, hadn't he reasoned that it was better? No one would notice he was here. Wasn't that what he wanted?

Because even with an out of place, obviously left by your son, burger bag, a stumbling hazy eyed man would probably miss it as sign of someone's lingering presence, because he never did anything but think of himself to begin with-

"Whatever," he choked and the clock settled onto 2:23 AM. The next minute felt like a countdown for him to change his mind, so he didn't waste any time. His beanie and satchel were straightened and his phone patted deeper into his pocket. His Pop's bag hung in his hand by his thigh as he pulled open the door to the outside timeless town.

A frigid whip caught him in the face.

His eyes fought to open from the sting and when they did he was left blinded by the beginning of a white covering along every surface he could spot. Jughead peered across the trailer park. Just barely, he could hear the kitchen clock slur into a slower tick. Time really had been frozen it seemed. Iced over in a early autumn snowfall.

He felt his body lean back, considering the idea - throwing the bags in the fridge, staying wrapped in the warmth of the trailer, sucking up and dealing with his father's arrival at dawn.

The wind swirled and snapped at him with tiny flakes of white. But some reasonable piece of him could already see that what awaited him on the other side of town - a bare minimum lecture from Fred and early morning science homework with Archie who definitely didn't finish his either - it was better than the ritual with his father that awaited him here.

Yeah, the prospect of walking back wasn't bad at all.

Jughead shut the door.

.

.

.

Things had been going fine at first.

Albeit his nose had turned red and the hand clutching around his burger bag had begun aching from the cold before he'd even made it to Sunnyside's main entrance, but at least, ten minutes ago, there was barely an inch of snow dusting over the ground.

Now, his nose was probably a stark purple and each step he took swished more and more snow forward into his path. Funny how a town supposedly accustomed to an early snow seemed to have all but shutdown for an October storm, which he'd personally label just short of being a blizzard. Besides the crunching of his feet and the occasional splat of a snow from a nearby spruce tree, Riverdale was housing a quiet that could belong to only the dead.

Good line.

Jughead pulled out his phone to jot it down, careful that he was still walking in a straight line. One misplaced step and the frozen ground would put him out of his misery, or the eventual rickety town snow plow would roll him over if he wandered too far into the street… okay, yeah. Maybe he would have been better off taking main street back to Archie's. A sigh puffed from his chapped lips.

The wooded outskirts of Southside offered a shorter walk but the absence of sidewalks - courtesy of Riverdale's skewed neighborhood development - was definitely not a plus. Since strolling on blacktop was his usual method of travel, he hadn't considered adding snow to the equation - a lot of snow, too much snow, enough that he was slipping despite his cautious pace - or that snow would suck so much.

Being short sighted now had him ankle deep with a damp cold ache around the cuffs of his jeans. He'd originally considered hitting the air mattress as soon as he made it back - he'd thought of working on his homework but really that'd go nowhere this late at night - but now the idea of hot shower first was just as appealing.

Done with his writer's note and feeling the chill in his fingers he tucked his hand back into the warmth of his pocket. With the quick tapping off his thumb no longer filling his ears he found himself left with the sounds of his steps once again, along with a tinge of annoyance for leaving his headphones at Archie's house. He could have at least killed the walk back with some loud mind numbing song on repeat. He let out a snort.

It figured the one night when the town was devoid of life would also be the one time he'd leave his earphones behind because he thought he could observe it.

His chin tucked down as far as it could in the collar of his jacket, though it hardly did any good to keep his face warm. Already an icy sting was beating from his nose to the circles of his cheeks. It seemed he'd be observing the tips of his boots as they marched forward on an approaching yellow light.

Jughead blinked in realization and peered ahead to see the distant round yellow eyes of a far off car. It seemed all of Riverdale wasn't entirely dead.

A part of him - probably the over analytical and hungry for the peculiar part - couldn't help but feel like a car out on the road at - he tilted his phone from his pocket to check the time - 2:40 in the morning was a bit disconcerting. His mind swam with quick half concocted imaginings of Blossom owned black cars riding across town doing murder related business through the night, though they didn't last long. The distant car was fast approaching despite the layering snow - or maybe that was just because he was walking so slow - it wasn't hard to see that it was anything but a Blossom-mobile.

Besides, even if it was a Blossom crime lord or Jason Blossom's very killer in the front seat the cold cutting into his skin was enough that Jughead would have turned and walked the other way. He wasn't eager to live out a scene from any murder mystery books in this weather.

He kept his head low and his steps as far from the middle of the road as he could as the car blew by him.

The yellow glow that had spread wider and wider over him and the road was blinked out of existence the moment it passed. Jughead felt the tension he'd worked up in his own shoulders leave and half of a sigh blow dramatically from his lips. The eyes of some stranger watching him walk was somehow worse than a driveby imagined crime-man and it had got him stupidly worked up.

The discomfort made him itch for something and his thoughts drifted to the loose fries still packed in his takeout bag. Cold food is still food he mused with a smirk playing on his lips. He'd definitely said something like that to Betty early at Pop's - which had earned him a new crinkled, cute face of disgust when he finished off her cold diner food. There'd been so much of his usual nonsense that he'd almost forgotten to remember that reaction and poke fun at her later.

The blush of his girlfriend's cheeks and the spinning frayed ends of her famous ponytail blew through his mind and Jughead found himself paused in untwisting his diner bag. A new itch was in his fingers and pit of shit I forgot to text her in his stomach that drew him to his phone and the message he should have sent Betty hours ago until he froze, suddenly distracted.

Behind him, not far in the distance, a high and long squeal circled through the night. Jughead whipped around to see if what he was guessing was already right.

About two houses down the street, back where his tracks were already filling with white, the headlights he thought were gone from the night were once again facing him. He was just making out the black circle in the road that he knew indicated a spinning turn when he heard an engine rev, and the car was speeding down the road again.

The logical part of him grappled for an explanation as the yellow lights grew closer and closer and seemed to angle towards him.

Went the wrong way. Just a jock doing donuts in the road.

But some primal, fearful part screamed louder.

His legs jolted him off the road and into a pound of snow next to a crooked mailbox where he'd be out of the way.

But the whirring sound of tires didn't stop, they screeched and straightened until he knew, his knees buckling just as the spread of yellow covered every inch of him like he was a deer in headlights. They were coming for him.

"Get outta the fucking way Jones!"

Jughead barely heard the crackling laughter over the explosion in his ears. His legs grew minds of their own and barrelled out of the way so he was facefirst in snow. Facefirst and safe in snow.

"Holy- sh- wha- th-" The words dropped as broken sounds from Jughead's mouth as he tried to stop himself from panting. He'd leapt a foot to the right and was sprawled on the ground gasping for air like he'd run a marathon.

No. Correction. He was sprawled on the ground, heart thumping like a hunted rabbit, choking on his breath, because some asshole tried to mow him down.

Already on his feet - hands trembling on his knees and breath hitching like he needed an extra lung - Jughead looked back to the scene he'd jumped for his life away from.

Steps away in the snow the Pop's bag he'd been holding lay more or less undamaged between him and, what he could only assume were, pieces of the mailbox he'd been standing next to. It's murderer, a grey vehicle of some brand Jughead never cared to know, was spun out a few feet away, rear and front lights blinking in what looked like agony.

Jughead knew a good time to run and this was it.

He hardly got a step away before voices were screaming at him from all sides. The closest, the passenger window, got his attention first, or rather the familiar face did.

"Watch where you're going, Jones! I don't feel like cleaning you off my car tonight!" Some obnoxious jock Jughead could hardly see and couldn't even place a name for taunted from the driver's side. The babble was easily dismissed as he could focus on nothing but the tight jawed face through the open passenger window.

Even in the dark he could tell, Chuck was still sporting the black eye he had given him.

Somehow, dying at the hands of some testosterone diseased jock who'd done nothing but harass not just him but Betty - and every other girl at Riverdale High - did nothing but flare him from frightened to absolutely pissed.

"Yeah and I'm sure you'd like to try cleaning attempted murder off your record too!" Jughead hissed, feet backing further up the property in which he had stumbled. "I mean seriously, Chuck? Some guy decks you and you have to run him over to save your pathetic masculine honor- how come you don't see me running over every asshole on the football team?!"

Nameless sociopath-jock shouted something obscene that Jughead didn't care to hear yet Chuck's face, while sneering and slightly psychopathic, seemed to loosen around his eyes.

His hand came to rest outside the window on the door of the car.

"Just...stay outta the road, Jughead," was all he offered, as if he was extending an invisible peace offering to a five year old. Jughead ground his teeth so hard he didn't realize he'd caught a piece of his cheek until he tasted blood.

"Yeah sure," he answered tugging his phone from his pocket. "I'll make sure I do that after I call Sheriff Keller about your murder attempt." Which he punctuated by waving his phone with a trembling hand before he started across the snow covered lawn. Chuck responded with nothing Jughead could hear, but his friend screamed like the damned with a repeated, "Don't even think about, Jones! I swear I'll fucking-"

Not that he had any desire to listen or any actual intention of calling Keller. All he wanted was to put as much distance between himself and the smashed bits of mailbox littering the ground.

A plan made ten times easier as another voice joined the mix.

"What the hell is goin' on out there?!" A loud nasally, definitely belonging to the property owner, demand shrieked across the snow and Jughead knew this was a perfect time to go.

Despite the thick sounding thumping that had taking residence in his chest and was echoing dizziness into his head, he kept his balance and rushed around the front of the car to steer clear of the raging old man stomping down the driveway. His eyes flickered on the dented side of the hood and the single remaining headlight that flashed weakly at him for just a second before he dashed away, phone still in hand.

"Hey you, get back here-!" Jughead pounded his feet in the deepening snow and kept moving. "You damn kids, I'm calling the cops!" Behind him, Chuck and no-name jock friend yelled over screeching tires that he guessed were stuck, spinning in a layer of snow.

Ahead was only black and white. The street long and never ending, covered in snow, seemed like the worst place to keep running to. Jughead twisted his head over his shoulder for a glance, the weakening headlight was blending into the shadowed curtain of the night as he sprinted away, and he knew - even if he wanted to believe in a better second option - that the run back to the trailer was just as far as the run to Archie's.

Righting himself, he continued forward, faltering over his own feet and nearly slipping in the middle of the road. Whatever speed he'd gotten from a burst in adrenaline was flickering out as a better awareness came over him. Particularly, the awareness of a dull ache in his ankle and how he needed to get the hell out of the road.

Reduced to a speed walk - his ankle no longer aching but constantly throbbing - he shot a glance over his shoulder again.

Nothing but black. Not even a catch of light in the distance. He couldn't even hear an echo of anything in the distance. Though, he could still blame that on the remaining thumping in his head.

It wasn't like he wanted to take a risk with his usual shitty luck but he felt himself find a center of ease. Chuck and his goon weren't following him. He probably had that old guy to thank.

And also the snow, yes, thank god for the snow and it's ability to reduce car tires to unmoving ferris wheels.

A broken laugh jumped from his mouth like a cough and his hand, still wrapped around the cold cover of his phone, jumped up to grab the collar of his shirt with loose fingers. "Jesus christ," he rasped. "Jes-" He started coughing, air felt like the enemy in his throat and he pulled harder to loosen his shirt, his messenger bag straining around his neck. It was over, why was he panicking?

His broken sounds invaded the silence of the night and had him peering down the street, as if to see the vibrations bouncing in the dark. Through his haze of panic his mind turned over a map of Riverdale for comfort, thinking of the remaining streets he had to cross. A sharp jolt snapped him to life then as he wheezed.

If he headed from the yellow dotted line, hidden under snow, to the side of the road Chuck had come barrelling down to flatten him - the way the car was still facing when he'd ran - he'd have to cross the street again to make a left onto the street before Elm's.

Nope. No. Not happening. He needed to stay out of the road. Starting now, and for the rest of the night.

Jughead was already moving, his ankle pulsating and lungs protesting, towards the veil of white and woods across the street. Avoiding any future chance to be in the road seemed to ease the tension in his chest but as he shuffled out of the road, the weight of his phone in his hand by his suffocating throat made him think that maybe getting out the road wasn't enough.

Maybe it was a good idea to call Sheriff Keller. Even if the guy was a prick, who hated his dad, hated the Southside, hated him, wanted him arrested or-

Or Archie.

His fingers stopped clawing at the collar of his shirt and air snuck into his lungs.

He could call Archie.

He'd been so adamant in his own head. A check-in with his serpent father was something he had to brush under the rug. He had to keep it from Archie. Had to keep it from Betty too. Even after they'd offered their trust, accepted all his and his father's shit, helped lessen the load he'd been caring since the beginning of the school year, Jughead had still bought a third meal, gone to the trailer, and fallen asleep alone.

All on his own selfish accord.

His phone lowered to his field of vision. He went to punch in the number he'd memorized since Archie got his first cell phone in middle school.

It was a surprise, with the phone screen glowing under his chin, that his eyes caught it before his ears did.

A flicker from a broken headlight and a vague dented form.

He didn't have time to jump.

The impact hit him two seconds after the car clipped his side and threw him like a ragdoll.

Things like time spun from his control. Hot, piercing pain started and didn't end, couldn't end, ripping from his middle and spreading to every end. A pop and hiss exploded inside his chest but he could barely hear it over the screeching that was fleeing somewhere far away.

Maybe the sound was him, but he could feel his lungs, pressed flat against his ribs, and any thought to scream was gone as the second impact zipped through his spine. Every nerve lit up with blistering ugly light.

He hadn't even known he was in the air, until he was hitting the ground.

Something crackled and a pathetic cried ripped from him. His arms fought to wrap around himself - his head, his chest, everything, everything - but he hadn't stopped moving. Death wasn't easy, pain couldn't just be searing it also had to slip.

He was slipping.

The ground was soft and angled, the white beneath him was no friendly cushion. It was yanking him down, making him roll.

Jughead's eyes squeezed shut. Gravity was unrelenting as he tumbled down the hill, bushes full of snow and jagged branches in the ground were unrelenting, all he could do was endure.

Please. Stop. Stop. Stop.

His head was still spinning down the hill, chest still screaming around his lungs, even when he slowed and slid to a stop. He couldn't bring himself to open his eyes.

He'd stopped but it wasn't over. His body, every inch of his skin, bones, muscle - it hurt.

Lying on his side, arms trembling weakly around his torso, Jughead pulled his legs towards his center. Weak pained breathes came out as he moved. "Ngh- fck," Jughead cursed, shaking as the cold seeped through his clothes into his skin.

Of course. Of course he had to be completely and utterly conscious. He'd been run over and he had to feel every second of it. Had to lie awake and aware as a fire ripped over his body and had him leaking tears.

His arms pulled around his jacket, his fingers dug towards skin. He tried to call out. "N.. ugh...hel-" And faltered, slack jawed and wide eyed as he felt his body give. His chest was being stabbed, over and over and over again, a knife plunging from the inside and out, digging deeper every time he tried to work a noise out.

Every time he tried to breathe.

A faint idea was whispering to him and he curled tighter into himself, fighting to ignore the huff, huff, whimper, huff, huff, whimper, bleeding from his mouth. Something wet and rusty seeped along his forehead and dropped into his open mouth.

He shivered. Pain shot back at him for it.

Focus was hard on anything except the explosions going off along his ribs and inside his lungs. He tried to retrace his steps, recall what had happened, what was happening, what he could do, how to send his mind away and out his broken screaming body.

But pain was all he had to think on.

Along with that frightening idea.

Something worse than whatever was broken and falling apart inside him. Something he thought he'd shut inside the trailer almost an hour ago.

He knew.

He couldn't shake the thought away, but the snow was cold enough to sting was a satisfying distraction. It left an ache that he could get lost in, so he did just that. But as he let the cold suck, the black dotting the edges of his white filled vision, he knew.

No one was looking for him-

Jughead pushed his face against the snow, eyes closed, body wrapped around only himself.

So no one was coming.


"So." Archie swallowed as he sliced the silence away with his own throat. "What's the plan?"

A step ahead of him, FP continued up the hill, not even offering him a glance; not that Archie expected him to.

"The plan," FP grunted, "is to get the hell out of here." He huffed and pushed forward without another word.

Whatever conversation Archie was hoping to spark alive was flickering dead.

His teeth gripped around his bottom lip until it felt like it was just a tug away from ripping off. Walking was hard enough with his stomach filling with dread, but now his mind was begging for a distraction. He couldn't take being left to the sounds of the frozen silence: hurried steps, shallow breaths, Betty's whispers, the low pitched moans from Jughead's mouth everytime FP pitched forward too quickly-

"To hell with it."

Archie's head nearly tore from his neck when it swiveled up at the the sound of FP's voice - a voice caught between sharp inhaling breaths. Archie pushed his legs to close in on FP's back, nearly tripping on Betty's heels where she was trekking at his side. Not that she paid notice, her attention glued to the head of dark hair dangling over FP's upper arm.

"Knowing this town-" FP cut off with a wheeze and suddenly faltered towards the ground, his knee bending painfully as he struggled to fight the hill's incline. Archie shot forward and grabbed FP's elbow, finding Betty's hand already there, keeping him steady.

Just over FP's shoulder, Archie could see the final line of maple trees before the road.

"They ain't comin'," FP muttered instead of a thanks.

The shadows of boiling rage that traced the lines of FP's face continued to do nothing but put Archie on edge.

He'd felt that slow twisting in his gut since FP had run to their side - him shaking, Jughead struggling, Betty's chin dripping with tears - collapsed to his knees, and - with lips pulled together in a slight quiver, eyes locking shut, and curse slipping out - shifted his arms under his son, to cradle his body - like a lifeless corpse save for the weak moan and flutter of eyelids that came in response - and then finally stood.

Archie had watched, his body frozen minutes behind his screaming brain as Betty had jumped up to help FP as his arms quaked under Jughead's dangling legs.

"I've got it," he'd said to her. "I've got 'im."

Somehow, Archie hadn't been convinced.

And he still wasn't, including whatever plan the man was concocting.

With the road coming into view and FP fighting every step he took up the sharpest incline, Archie got over whatever intimidation the man thought he was sending out and went to place a steady hand on FP's back.

Until Betty beat him to it.

"No shit," Betty huffed, tugging FP forward. "That was obvious when they went from thirty minutes to telling us to wait an hour." Archie found himself pulled along with his hand still trapped at FP's elbow - not because Betty's eyes had turned back to meet his and flare with a single order: move.

"Just knowing it doesn't help us- doesn't help Jughead-" she broke off, sucking in a deep breath. "We've got to do something about it." FP stayed quiet, even as Archie snuck around to his other side and grabbed his shoulder. Archie's kept his mouth closed too. His throat too busy burning as he worked down a dry swallow. Jughead's limp feet were close enough to bump his chest with every step.

"Mr. Jones," Betty cut in again her voice shallow as they all pushed up another step. Archie looked straight ahead and, like the line of the horizon, he could just make out the flat of the snow covered road. "The truck- did you…?"

If a man could sound more at his limit, then Archie couldn't imagine it after the wheezing hiss that cut through FP's teeth. And as if it couldn't get any worse, another quiet whine slipped from Jughead as FP's arms shook.

"Damnit! No," FP croaked, "The truck's back-"

Archie felt his teeth clack together. "With my dad and the Sheriff," he hissed out. His hand clenched around the collar of FP's jacket, tight enough that anymore could choke him, because they were at the end - him and Betty barely pulling FP with will alone to beat the sharpest incline before flat ground - and because-

Because he was trying so damn hardto blame FP.

He'd gotten good at it lately, he had to, when it was the one thing Jughead couldn't do - refused to do. It should've been so easy to blame the man - who's brow was layered in sweat that slid past his eyes which never stayed focused ahead for long, too weak to do anything but turn down to his arms when any shudder, any wheeze, any pain broke from Jughead in his barely conscious slump.

So easy to blame him when Jughead had started breathing again the moment he was held against FP's chest. When Jughead's eyes had slid open to catch his dad's face just as Betty smoothed Pop's coat over his trembling form.

"I've got you, kid."

"It's gonna be okay, Juggie."

He just couldn't.

"So then we get the truck."

Archie emerged from his own head as Betty's hit him like a slap to the cheek. "Get the truck, get to the hospital. That's the plan," she said, and FP let out a harsh laugh, as if to say what Archie was thinking.

It couldn't possibly be that easy.

But still, he nodded and then wrapped an arm around FP's back. "I'll get the truck," he said and then held his breath and started yanking FP's arm, pushing his back, straining every inch of his body so they were past the final stretch, tumbling past the last row of trees into the flat, white, expanse of the road.

Despite the bubble Archie felt he had been trapped in, time had never stopped and neither had the snow. Not a hint of Archie's footprints remained on the street from before.

"I'll-" He panted, falling forward to rest a hand on his knees, the other on FP's shaking shoulder. "I'll get the truck, you guys stay here." Archie looked to Betty for a response but she was busy helping FP work himself down to sit on his heels. He found himself moving too, holding the coat over Jughead as FP shifted him upwards, his head rolling limply against the man's collar with a whine. Archie nervously worked the material between his fingers until FP took it to hold himself, keeping Jughead nearly completely covered from the falling snow, besides his hatless head.

The beanie in his back pocket, stuffed alongside Jughead's phone, felt as heavy as when Archie had put it there. He reached back to hold it in his hand, a move that didn't get past Betty. She gave him a questioning glance.

"And wait another ten minutes for you to come all the way back?" She asked and even in the dark, Archie didn't miss the shine in her eyes as they dipped down after a moment of quiet let the soft whistling heard from Jughead's throat. "No, no, we can't waste anymore time. We should all go. Mr. Jones, are you sure you can't make it just a little further, or do you have your phone? We could call Mr. Andrews, he could meet us halfway," she pleaded while FP was already shaking his head, his hand rubbing up and down along Jughead's arm.

"Phone's in the truck and I'm not risking it," his voice dropped, "dropping him is gonna be a hell of a lot worse then another ten minutes in the snow."

Archie forced himself not to imagine that.

"Keys are in my pocket," He offered with a jut of his chin and it clicked that FP was talking to him. "Get the truck, and get right the hell back, if Fred's not there call him on my phone, don't go dragging your feet for the rest of them. They're probably still searching at the other end, they'll catch up." He turned to Betty then, her face tight around her lips. "He's tough Betty, I know you know that but… I think this is all we've got to work with, right now."

Betty didn't agree instead worrying her lip before offering, "He's breathing better since you held him up but there's still a thousand different things that could wrong. He got hit by a car, I don't - we don't know if something's broken or if he's bleeding internally… I.. I should have asked the 9-1-1 operator, before my phone died" she added then, face pale and lip quivering. "Even if they're not coming maybe we could have asked if there was something we could do to help or figure out wh-"

A choked noise interrupted just as Archie stumbled back, FP's keys jingling in his hands. Jughead, who'd been still in a half conscious state, was squirming back, attempting to pull himself from FP's grip.

"Hey, hey! Jug, come on, it's me!" FP pressed trying and failing to fight Jughead's sudden burst of energy, "It's me, kid! Stop!" FP's voice broke. "Jughead!"

Archie abandoned the keys, shoving them into his pocket with the beanie, and found himself on his knees grabbing Jughead's wrist as it searched for purchased against the snow. "Jesus christ, Jug, for someone who got run over-" Archie didn't finish, Jughead's fist, breaking from his grip, caught the right side of his jaw. "Ow! Shit!"

Jughead's eyes were blown, frantic, fucking terrified of whatever was keeping him from tearing away, and Archie, with a dull ache next to his chin, realized, with the time it took his vision to refocus in the black of the night, how dark it must of been for him.

Archie wasn't sure, but when Betty crawled next to him, her hands cupping Jughead's face, bringing him down, he thought that she must have realized it too.

He took Jughead's hand, now groping sadly in the snow - whatever energy he'd gotten while resting in FP's arms, already gone - and held it tight. A series of coughs rattled through Jughead before he deflated and fell heavily against FP's chest, his fingers just barely curling over Archie's as he did.

Betty's thumb rubbed something wet from Jughead's cheek that Archie nearly missed before it caught a small flash of light.

"It's okay, Juggie, it's just us," he found himself saying just as Betty added, "Your dad's here, you're safe."

Archie peered up, FP seemed like he was fighting to get something out of his throat.

Jughead blinked, and the light catching on the wet line on his cheek started to grow. Spreading across his face.

"Huh…" Jughead mumbled, looking every bit exhausted as he did alert. He was looking at him, like he was processing for the first time that Archie was actually real. Like all those minutes before were a dream.

"Yeah," FP said like it was a sound he barely got out, "we're here, kid."

The sound of tires flattening snow broke through the silence then and the light that had been filling the space around them became apparent. Archie tore himself from Jughead to the source and found his view blocked by Betty, no longer looking at Jughead, her ponytail facing him as she looked down the road. The outline of her head painted in a constant flashing of reds and blues.

"You found him?!"

Sheriff Keller, Archie thought, just as FP said it.

The harsh slam of a door followed in the air but he could barely see the figures coming towards them. His vision blurred with the swirling colors as he stood until he could make out just a single shadow as it jogged around the police cruiser hood.

But when the face did come into focus the corners of his eyes burned.

"Dad," he croaked.

Fred took two slowing steps until Archie could clearly see he was looking nowhere but Jughead at the center of their group, who was shuddering with half-lidded, confused eyes.

And then Fred was surging forward. His hands dipping to reach where FP had Jughead cradled. Behind them, another car skidded to a stop while Sheriff Keller, his movement paused in the center of the road, looked on with something like horror across his face.

Archie felt Betty dip against his side then and watched with numbing disbelief as FP was hauled up and Fred turned to them.

"Come on. Time to go."

.

.

.

He kept a steady hand on Jughead's shoulder while Jughead kept a loose trembling hand by his knee.

Archie pulled back to give Jughead another once over. Pale and covered in a fine sweat Jughead's head was tilted back into the cushioning of the car seat with his eyes tightly shut. Betty's hand snuck over from the otherside to press softly against Jughead's stomach, a reminder for him to breath. This had been the routine for the past ten minutes as the three of them sat smooshed in the back of Sheriff Keller's police car.

"Fuck," Jughead cursed, leaning over to roll his head closer to Betty's. Archie squeezed his shoulder. "Hang in there, I think we're maybe two minutes away," he offered, sliding a glance to the front seat for the two men to correct his time estimation.

They said nothing. Betty however did, as she pushed Jughead back into a straight position, a sad expression on her face, that Archie figured meant she didn't really want to.

"You said it's better when you sit up straight," Betty reminded him, her hand rubbing a soothing circle across Jughead's chest. Jughead cringed and she froze, moving her hand slightly down, away from his ribs. "Better, but still like someone's stabbing my in the chest," he huffed. "Can't I just-" another shallow fight for an inhale "sleep... 'til we get there?" His eyelids fluttered dangerously.

"No." Three voices, scolded, his, Betty's, and one which Archie realized was coming from the front seat. FP had turned around to peer over the passenger seat.

"You've done enough sleeping on that concussion," FP replied before turning back to the front.

Archie felt the limp hand at his side nervously skim along the lining of the carseat.

"I..."

"Stop talking Jug," Betty ordered lightly and with that the nervous twitching hand stilled. Or with Betty brushing the hair from the gash on Jughead's forehead it did. Archie dropped Jughead's shoulder from his grip, moving instead to clasp his hand.

"Christ…" Archie startled slightly as Keller muttered Keller under his breath, from the front seat. He could just make out Keller looking back at them from the rear view mirror, a strange mix of stoic and anger swirling in the reflection of his face. Though that could have just been the mix of lights from outside - faded red and blue bouncing from the police car to the neighborhood and back, along with the yellow tint of Pop Tate's headlights that were following close behind them. Where his dad was following close behind.

"Can't believe haven't gotten the plow out yet- no wonder they couldn't get an ambulance out here," Sheriff Keller complained, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, while Archie tightened his around Jughead's stuttering grip. Not that Archie disagreed, the amount of snow, and lack of plows was, yes, bullshit, but the flare of anger in his chest didn't rear at that.

"It wasn't this bad when we first called, they didn't even try to get anyone out here to help," Archie shot back, to no one in particular, though Keller seemed to take it as directed towards him.

"Hey," Keller answered harshly, but Archie kept himself sitting tall, not backing down. "The only reason Fred and I found you in the first place was because the dispatcher - who you hung up on - got the call to me." Betty made a noise of protest.

"We didn't hang up, the phone died," she argued. "It was almost too little too late. They couldn't give us a straight answer for an arrival time or the fact that they practically lied about an ambulance coming? We get snow like this every year, since when does Riverdale General just give up on people when the weather gets a little bad?!"

"Your damn right, Betty," FP agreed with a harsh whack against the car door. Though Keller held his tongue before he answered. Archie kept focus on his grip around Jughead's hand.

"Those are good people you're talking about, Betty. Don't go blaming them for things they can't control. I guarantee they were trying to get to you, they just couldn't beat the storm."

"And I don't suppose you'll consider blaming the right people then."

Archie felt the temperature drop. A small huff like squeak came from Jughead - sounding maybe like "Dad" - but Archie found, that for the first time, had no absolutely no problem with FP going off.

It seemed Betty had the same idea and distracted Jughead with a soft touch along his face, whispering something to him, Archie couldn't hear.

"FP, this can wait," Keller said.

"Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of," FP shot back.

Keller sighed and spun the wheel, finally, ahead Archie could make out glow of Riverdale General. FP unbuckled readying himself at the passenger door, and added a persistent drumming to the air with his fingers as they rested on the handle. "You heard it from Betty and Archie, and you heard it from Jughead you can't say he's not in his right mind, kid knows what happened to him and said so - It was Clayton's boy."

Keller gave as a weak, obviously annoyed sound. Seemingly he was tired of hearing this.

Good.

Archie tightened his jaw. Maybe he'd get so tired he'd actually do something about this. Though apparently Keller wasn't ready to relent yet, his refusal to give an indication that he intended to do anything about Chuck - and Mat? Mike? Archie wasn't sure of the name but from Jughead's bare minimum description he knew it was Chuck's Greendale friend. Reggie hung around with him sometimes too.

Whoever was behind the wheel Archie could only hope that they would rot.

Another seat belt unbuckled - Betty's - and Archie followed suit, waiting as the police car wailed a siren as it pulled into the hospital lot. Behind them, Pop's headlights followed right after.

"Look, FP, it'll be taken care of, but after your son is strapped to a stretcher and in the damn hospital. Right now, that's my main concern."

"Well I know you, like everybody else, has their hang-ups about the Southside," FP reminded him with a hiss and then slammed his fist against the door. "But there better be some justice in this Keller! I don't care what you think of me - I've even turned a blind eye to the shit you're always pulling on our side of town - but if you don't do right by my son after this..."

Archie didn't look up to see what was breaking in FP's eyes.

Keller spun the car sharply, the wheels hissing with protest in the heavy snow, and lined them parallel to the curb of the emergency room entrance. The lights inside were minimum and at best dim, and it occurred to Archie that, while he'd been to the hospital before, he'd never been here. This place that felt heavy with implication with just the glowing red of it's huge "ER" sign outside.

There was a moment's pause and Archie saw his dad emerge from the car behind them, along with Pop who immediately crossed the pavement to run inside. FP's door opened then, the cold air whipping in, and just when Archie thought that was it, they'd go inside and Keller would escape without even a half assed excuse, the man found his words.

"FP, I promise you - as a public protector of this town and as a father - I. will. handle. it." Keller glanced back into the mirror before adding: "I'm going back to the station to check out the car, I've still got the kids detained there - they're not leaving anytime soon so just, worry about your kid, and let me take care of them."

Archie, felt the hand in his tremble, and he turned to see Jughead's face a second away from crumbling.

"Jug-" he tried but Jughead shook his head, face scrunching, and air whistling from his mouth.

"I'm holding you to that," was all FP said, before he was out of the car and moving to open Betty's door. Keller whipped around and Archie was about to say something until turned to Jughead.

"I'll be back and I'll be expecting the full story from you." Jughead gave a halfhearted nod, that ended with him leaning into Archie's side. Keller's lined forehead of professionalism slipped, "You hang in there, alright?"

"Mm..." Jughead replied just as the car door opened and FP grunted.

"Time to go, kids."

Betty turned to Archie and Jughead before slipping outside the opened door for FP to take her place. "Be careful," she added as FP ducked into the car and scooped Jughead back into his arms, just enough to pull him out.

Archie checked for Jughead's beanie in his pocket and grabbed Pop's coat from the floor before scrambling after them, finding FP gently lowering Jughead into a wheelchair - "easy, easy," he soothed as Jughead's breath hitched - that he guessed his dad and Pop had brought over.

"Archie," Keller called to him, right as his fingers stretched back to shut the door. "Tell your dad not to worry about the trucks." Keller paused, flattening his lips. "And... have him call me if anything changes." With the sound of Jughead's wheelchair rolling away, Archie wasn't sure if he nodded in time before he slammed the door. The police car lights continued to spin as Keller drove away and Archie followed Betty who was dragging her feet at the sliding glass door entrance, waiting for him.

Finally, they were inside after being trapped in an ass freezing snowstorm all night.

Though he hadn't expected a ghost town.

He barely had a moment to look over the waiting room, keeping a step behind Betty and Pop as FP and Fred wheeled Jughead to the front desk where a nurse was waiting.

But what he did notice was a single piece of life lying in the far corner. A wilted potted plant.

They were the only ones here.

Besides a cluster of empty wheelchairs lining the wall, the only thing he saw was an open door at the opposite end by the front desk where the nurse, a small older woman, Archie noted - with black hair and a round face that made his heart ache for some reason - was directing them.

"Right in here, the doctor and tech will be right in to help you get him on the bed," she said smoothly, seeming to step away to fetch whoever that was, but not before suddenly stepping between them - him, Betty, and Pop - with a look on her face like whatever she was going to say was unfortunate. Ahead of them, FP and his dad were intercepted by two men, dressed in all white, who led FP and Jughead into the room. Though Fred lingered behind, looking back at them.

"Since this is an urgent case I'm afraid we can't have this many people in the room at once, we'll need someone to sit in the waiting room, I'm very sorry."

Archie saw Betty's face drop three shades in color desperately trying to see into the room where Jughead had disappeared. "No, that's-"

He too felt a loss of words. After everything, after the last look of pain sealed across Jughead's face when they brought him inside and every minute he'd spent with his heart in his throat, they were just expected to wait.

"Archie, Betty, you two go in."

Archie startled, his dad now at the nurse's side, slipping to take Pop's coat that he'd forgotten was still hanging over his arm. Though it was only when Fred handed it to Pop that Archie realized Pop was the one who had spoke.

"I still need to move my car- and," he flashed a small smile, "just wouldn't feel right if you two weren't in there with him, after everything."

"Thank you, Pop," Betty said before stepping past him.

Archie choked and couldn't say anything, simply stepping back into the room as he heard his dad thank Pop.

He almost bumped into Betty where she was halted in the doorway, looking straight to the hospital bed where Jughead was laying, a wire on his hand, oxygen mask eclipsing his face, and with - what was the reason for Betty and now his frozen state - his shirt and jacket already off. He'd suspected something bad, with Jughead's pain directed towards his chest but...

Jughead's left side, the entire square of his chest, looked like it had been splattered in purple and red dye. As if someone had slammed him directly with a sledgehammer.

Or a car.

Now, it felt real.

In the corner of the room two nurses, or rather, one nurse and one doctor, Archie realized, getting a closer look at their attire, were busying themselves with various machines and a metal cart as he and Betty approached the bed. The same side where FP was clenching the corner of Jughead's pillow, hand barely brushing the top of Jughead's head.

Archie hung back towards the foot of the bed, letting Betty slot herself next to FP and take Jughead's hand. Though before she did, it raised slightly from the bed, like an unfinished attempt at a wave. Jughead's eyes blinked as if in slow motion at him and Archie guessed that's what was trying to do. The mask on his face, which was filling the room with the whirling sound of air, not giving the courtesy to be able to talk. Though Archie figured that the swelling and bruising on his chest was mostly responsible for that.

"Hey, Jug."

Jughead responded with a huffed but recognizable, "Hey." Archie tried not to let his eyes wander from his friend's face, down past his collarbone where those ugly bruised patches lay.

Betty was the one to finally ask, "What're they doing?" Her attention on the doctor, as he approached and swabbed Jughead's chest with a cloth that, by the smell, was probably full of alcohol, or something just as strong.

Archie felt a hand rest on his shoulder and turned to find his dad, brushing by his back, making his way to FP.

"Your friend is suffering from a pneumothorax." The doctor, answered, pulling on gloves and taking a needle syringe into his hands. He pushed the top down to release the air inside and Archie felt his own lungs empty. He had to catch his balance on the metal railing of the bed. "We're going to be inserting a tube on his left side to hopefully alleviate the air trapped we believe is trapped there."

"T- that's," Archie stammered, looking for someone to help him catch up. Betty's head was turned away focused on Jughead who was looking increasingly unaware, like he was already drifting off. Luckily his dad seemed to catch his confusion.

"It's a collapsed lung," Fred answered, and Archie saw FP drop his face into his hand. "Explains why he was having such a difficult time breathing...did you give him some kind of pain medication?" Fred asked looking towards the doctor who was moving back to cover Jughead with a small blue tarp. In the center of it was a hole that showed only a small circle of Jughead's skin. Things were swirling in the room then.

The in and out hiss of oxygen, the now apparent beeping of a heart monitor, the overhead buzz of the fluorescent lights above the bed. Was he the only one who thought things were moving too fast?

"Yes, we gave him an anesthetic, though he's probably going to feel some major discomfort." A small knife was in the doctor's hands. This inside of Archie's stomach was spinning. "We're going to start with an incision here and then insert the tube here," he continued now speaking to the young looking nurse at his side.

Archie turned away the moment the knife approached the skin.

Next to him, he heard Betty murmuring, her face hovering just above Jughead's, their hands wrapped around each other, their knuckles turning white and from behind him, where FP and his dad had stepped away, he saw FP with his head to his knees, sitting in the sole chair of the room.

"I swear Fred, I'm getting my shit together after this," he sniffed. "It's a wake up call. Hell, it's- it's..."

Archie stood, unbalanced between the two scenes, until there was a hiss of a tube and heard Jughead steadily start to breathe.

.

.

.

.

Things moved quickly after that.

Despite his own discomfort at the plastic tube sticking out from under Jughead's skin, which ran off the bed into a weird looking box,he was slightly amazed by how well the thing had worked.

Though he still refused to look at it for too long.

He settled on the analog clock on the wall instead.

6:45 AM

Within an hour of them entering the ER, having Jughead stabbed with a tube, hooked up to an IV, and changed into a set of hospital pants - the shirt excluded probably because of the wired patches they'd laid on his chest and the freaking tube sticking out of him- Archie was actually considering that Jughead looked better.

"You look like shit, Arch," Jughead croaked out, pulling the oxygen mask from his face again. He tried to place it besides him on the pillow where Archie had just laid his beanie. A visible dried stain of blood was on it's curled edge and Betty had just promised to clean it herself when she got the chance.

A light flutter, almost near hysterics grew in Archie's chest, like he was going to laugh until he cried or just cry.

"Thanks," was all he could respond, and then dropped back into the wooden chair that had been pulled up besides the bed. "Though I could say the same thing about you, Jug."

A slight smirk tugged Jughead's mouth.

"Don't encourage him," Betty scolded from her own chair on the opposite side, untangling the oxygen mask from around Jughead's face. "You should really keep this on. It'll help as the pain medicine wears off." She hooked the mask back onto the machine by the bed and Archie caught the bit of white bandage sticking out from Betty's palm.

She'd asked for it after Jughead had insisted. Archie had too, afraid of the scratches on her hands being infected when he'd caught a glance at them - and he tried not to pry about why they looked so different from the cut he'd imagined she would have after cutting her hand on the mailbox pieces from earlier like she said.

Not that he was going to ask about it. Not with the look she'd been wearing since the nurse had wrapped her hand.

And not when it seemed like he was the only one in the room missing something again.

Jughead sunk deeper into his pillow. "I'll... put it on… when my dad comes... back in," he spoke slowly, his chest moving with the weight of every word and the air required.

The room had been vacated, besides the three of them. FP being pulled off by a nurse to fill the documents they'd originally let him skip, Pop still in the waiting room probably waiting for his dad - who had gone to call his mom. Let her know why he'd be late picking her up. And also…

To call Alice Cooper, and tell her what the hell was going on, much to Betty's dismay.

Archie sighed itching for his own phone - which was still dead and heavy in his pocket next to Jughead's. He needed a distraction, from the purgatory of waiting and quiet that they were stuck in.

Jughead sighed too, and Archie noticed Betty now working her fingers through his hair, moving them around the bandage on his upper forehead.

That was another reason he wished he had a screen to look away at.

Jughead and Betty had been, Jughead and Betty, for the last thirty minutes since everyone had left.

Except, with an obvious tension between them

He was starting to wonder if it was him. It sort of felt like they didn't know how to act when he was near, maybe afraid to treat him like a third wheel? He wasn't sure of that specifically, but he was sure of the had a painful look of guilt over Betty's face and the expression hanging over Jughead's face. The same one he wore when FP had fought a sob and hugged him, nearly crushing his chest tube.

Archie cracked his fingers, and thought for a moment he'd have to be the one to break the air.

Until, Archie assumed, Jughead tried to chuckle. Though it never made it past a soft exhale.

"You know...I swear, this wasn't a ploy... to get out of going to homecoming with you."

Betty's face shrivelled with the saddest smile he'd ever seen her wear.

"I never thought it was."

The hand that had been swirling patterns along Jughead's hairline slowly slipped down to cup his cheek. Archie wanted to interrupt them. An irrational part of him wanting to chime in and reassure the both of them, but the scene had him holding his breath and straightening in his chair. He nearly missed the whisper from Betty's mouth as she brushed Jughead's face with her thumb.

"I'm sorry."

He was missing something between them.

Jughead didn't miss it.

"What? Why're you...?" Jughead's shoulder lifted from the bed, bringing a crease of unsuspecting pain across his face as he tried to turn her way. Archie reached forward to keep his friend flat against the bed, but of course, Betty beat him to it.

Archie pulled his hand back as Jughead settled back, Betty's fingers grasped tight around his bare shoulder. The air between the three of them was tight, and he felt himself struggling to breath - because it was really just the two of them. He was suddenly very much the third wheel.

Somehow he felt okay with that.

But this was probably a good time to pay attention to the different colored lines of Jughead's monitors or spit an excuse about needing to see his dad, before him and Pop went to get the truck. So when Jughead's hand snaked its way up to clasp around Betty's bandaged plam, he darted his eyes away to focus on his knees and to wipe his palms against his jeans.

Somehow, he had the feeling that if he tried to leave now, or made any sound at all, they'd catch him, and he'd majorly mess things up.

In the seconds of silence that followed the worn denim on his thighs soaked the sweat from his hands that never ended - seemingly impossible to wipe clear - while Archie wondered, worried, if anything was going to be said or that maybe he'd made the wrong call to sit still and they were actually waiting for him to-

A croak - from who he couldn't decide - that teetered on a sob caught his ear. Archie couldn't fight his own eyes as they peered up.

Not that they noticed.

Locked in a muddled embrace - Betty's body held an inch from Jughead's bandaged, wired, and tube ridden chest as she dipped her entire weight into Jughead's shoulder where she had buried her head. The hospital bed groaned but Jughead held silent, his own hand, shaky and lined with the link to his IV, fought some invisible force for only a moment before it collapsed against her back. The fingers splayed weakly, soothing upwards to brush below her neck until - with some strength Archie didn't think Jughead had - he pulled her against him.

Okay. That was his cue.

Pushing himself to his feet with all the stealth and quiet he could muster - which was not much as his heel nearly fumbled across some unknown medical cord - Archie crept along the metal frame of the bed until he was across the room, in the hallway, and then finally, shutting the door.


Author's Note:

First, thank you so much to raptorlily who never stopped supporting me and a special shout-out to leigh3114 on tumblr who gave me the final push to finish this chapter. While I never expected this chapter to take so long I'm incredibly proud with how it came out in the end. My last two semesters were rough, and I just couldn't find it in me to work on any projects besides short one-offs, which is hysterical to me because this whole fic was written for this hospital scene. I was inspired last year to write this when I found myself driving my dad to the ER at 3 in the morning and funny enough I was inspired AGAIN to finally finish this because we had to bring him to the hospital AGAIN this year (don't worry he's fine). It seems I could never truly escape keeping the old.

But anyway! I would just like to thank everyone who supported this story and myself in its unexpected hiatus. Every comment, favorite, and follow warmed my heart as I suffered in a science lecture class, so thank you so much.

And yes, there's one more chapter but don't worry, it'll be out by this weekend.