Jughead kept his head down, hearing the scrape of a chair being pushed back against the floor.
"I said, where the fuck have you been, Jughead?" Gladys demanded, her voice echoing throughout the house.
"I-I went out with some friends, Mom," Jughead stammered as he walked through the living room.
Gladys retreated from the kitchen, effectively cutting him off from entering his room, her arms crossed in front of her chest. She scoffed. "What friends? Don't you lie to me, boy, where have you been?"
"With my friends, I - why do you care?" Jughead said, squinting. He looked up and into her eyes. "You weren't here."
"I'm a grown woman, I can go anywhere I want, anytime I please, and I don't answer to you. Where I've been doesn't matter, Jughead."
"It does matter, Mom, because I'm a minor and you're supposed to be here, taking care of me, because you're my parent. So maybe next time you want to take off without telling me where you're going, you should think about that."
Jughead felt the crack to his cheek before he really saw anything; a blinding pain radiating from his cheek bone tingled across his skin and he blinked to rid his vision of stars.
"Who do you think you're talking to?" Gladys spat, her eyes staring daggers at Jughead. She took a step forward, causing him to step back.
Jughead dropped his head and muttered, "A lousy goddamn parent," wincing as soon as it came out of his mouth.
"Excuse me?" Gladys grabbed Jughead's face in her hand, taking another step forward. Her fingers dug into his cheek and she squeezed, causing his lips to pucker.
He took another step back, wrenching his face away from his mother's grip. "You - you never tell me where you're going or how long you'll be gone. How was I supposed to know you'd be back so soon?" He took another step.
"That's not the fucking point!" Gladys brought a fist down against Jughead's stomach. "You're supposed to be here, Jughead, you're supposed to be the man of the house since your father is gone! You're supposed to -"
"No, you're supposed to. You're supposed to be the parent, so being here is your fucking job." Jughead fumed, his eyes welling with tears.
Gladys took another step forward. "You're useless! I can't count on you for anything. I should've gotten rid of you when I had the chance! You're a mistake."
"Fuck you," Jughead cried, strings of spittle clinging to his chin with the force of the words.
He felt the sting of a fist colliding with his chest, and then pain all over his body, another blow to his chest, then his shin, the side of his head, darkness clouding his vision as he was suddenly staring upwards from the bottom of the staircase.
When Jughead finally pulled himself up the stairs, his mom was gone. He wasn't really sure quite how long he'd been down there, or when exactly she'd left. He did know, however, that something felt very wrong. He'd been in pain many times in his life, but nothing ever felt quite like this.
He couldn't take a deep breath, and when he tried, it was excruciating. He felt tired, achy, and lethargic. His heart was beating a mile a minute and his chest felt tight.
He sighed, cursing to himself. He didn't want to get anyone else involved, but he knew he had to get help - he wasn't sure, exactly, what was wrong, but there was definitely something.
He didn't take any keys as he faltered out the front door; he hadn't taken his wallet out of his pocket or removed his sweater. He just lumbered down the sidewalk, starting his slow, painful walk to the hospital.
He arrived, who knows how long later - trying to breathe was agonizing; he could hear himself wheezing noisily, there was a tightness in his chest that was getting worse, and every breath he tried to take in made it feel like something was stabbing him.
He ambled over to a desk, leaning against it heavily. There were two people behind it - one, a youngish man with blond hair and dark eyebrows, and the other a middle aged woman with dark skin and the longest eyelashes Jughead had ever seen - he wasn't quite sure why he noticed, but he figured it had something to do with the way she was suddenly hovering over him.
"Come here, honey," she said, coming out from behind the receptionist area. She helped him to a chair. "Is there a parent or guardian with you?"
Jughead tried to take a breath, then winced. "No, she uh - I tripped and fell down the stairs."
The nurse held his gaze, eyeing his still-forming bruises, the way he clutched his side. "You wait here. I'll get you some forms to fill out."
She came back a moment later with a clipboard, a few pieces of paper attached to it. "Alright, now you have to fill this out, but we can't treat you until we have the consent of a parent or guardian."
"I don't think she's at home," Jughead said weakly. "She could be at Tiffany's, where she works, or -" he voice dropped an octave. "She could be at the Whyte Wyrm."
The nurse nodded curtly and handed him a pen, helping him sit in a nearby chair. "My name's Jodi if you need anything."
Jughead was trying to telepathically tell his mother to go along with his story - he fell down the stairs, which she knew nothing about. He put the pen to paper, filling out the forms to the best of his ability - he knew all the information, of course, but his brain didn't seem to work as well as it usually did. He was forgetting whether or not his mom had insurance. He was sure his dad did, but Hell would freeze over before he would tell him he was in the hospital.
Once he was finished filling out the forms, he gathered his strength and limped back to the nurse's station, pushing the clipboard toward Jodi.
She looked down at the forms, then picked up the phone. "Alright, Forsythe, I'll call your mother and let her know what's going on. Take a seat, I'll let you know when you can come on back."
Jughead didn't remember closing his eyes, let alone falling asleep, but he found himself blinking awake at the startling sound of his mother's voice.
"What did that clumsy kid of mine do now?" He heard her say, working overtime to try to keep her voice light.
He stood and ambled, as carefully as he could, over to the nurse's station. "Mom," he interrupted the nurse just as she opened her mouth to speak. "You made it." It almost sounded like a question.
Gladys made no sound as her eyes raked over Jughead's face, making no attempt to act like the concerned parent. "What happened to you?" She asked, keeping her voice steady.
"I uh," Jughead licked his lips. "I fell down the stairs when I got up this morning. And my ribs are still killing me so," he turned to face the nurse. "Since my mom's here, could I see someone now?"
"Soon, baby, just a couple more things to do. Terry, will you get this young man a wheelchair please?" Nurse Jodi murmured to the person behind the counter, who Jughead noticed was no longer the blonde man who was working when he came in; a balding man who he guessed was in his forties had replaced him.
"That's really not necessary," Jughead protested.
"Just -" His mother hissed, her cheeks visibly reddening. She took a breath. "Just do as she says, Jug, okay?"
He nodded curtly and sat in the wheelchair when it was wheeled behind him and nodded once to Terry.
Nurse Jodi and his mother talked quietly between themselves for a few minutes as Jughead pulled his cellphone out of his pants pocket. He noted it had a fresh, albeit small, crack in the already damaged screen. He unlocked the homescreen and several text messages from Sweet Pea popped up, plus one from Betty.
He scanned through the messages from Sweet Pea and quickly wrote one back, hoping it made sense. He tried to explain that he had fallen down the stairs, begrudgingly confided that he was in the hospital and apologized for not texting sooner, that they'd have to get together another time.
"Forsythe?" The nurse said from behind the counter. "Let's go."
Betty was perched in her chair, facing the large mirror on her vanity, meticulously brushing her hair. There was soft, melodic music pouring through a speaker next to her and she couldn't wipe the smile off her face, memories of last night flooding her mind.
She set the brush gently on the counter, having reached her hundredth stroke, then swept her hair into her hands and gathered it into a ponytail. The song changed just as she reached for her mascara, getting closer to the mirror to rake it between her lashes. Just as she put the wand back in the tube, her cell phone lit up beside her.
"Hey, Ronnie," she smiled as she put the phone to her ear. "Slow down, Veronica, what?"
"Pea just got a text from Jughead - he's in the hospital. Says he fell down the stairs, which is probably such -"
"Oh my god." Betty could feel tears pricking her eyes instantly, threatening to spill over. "Veronica, thank you for calling me. Thank you," she swallowed. "I'll call you later, okay?" She hung up before Veronica could answer, practically swallowing the words before they even came out of her mouth.
There was a lump in her throat as she pulled Jughead's sweater over her head from the stand in the corner of her room. She pulled her fresh, neat ponytail loose and let her hair fall in front of her face as she bent down to pick up her purse - crying gave her a headache, and ponytails usually made her headaches worse - before slipping on a pair of shoes and heading out the door of her room.
It was raining softly when Betty left her house, and about another block further before she looked down and noticed. She walked past the coffee shop she usually got her and Jughead's morning donuts, past town hall, past the murial her mom's graduating class made that lead into the biggest park in Riverdale.
It took her another two blocks to notice it was raining a lot harder than it was she left her house, and a loud, blaring car horn to shake her from her thoughts of what exactly could have happened to Jughead to leave him in the hospital.
She shuffled into the hospital waiting room, her sweater soaked from the rain and tears running down her cheeks. She leaned heavily on the nurse's desk and waited for her to look up from the computer.
Betty sniffed. "I'm not sure if it's even visiting hours, I'm sorry." She held back a sob. "I'm here to see Jughead Jones."
The nurse gave her a measured look, then nodded once. "Forsythe Jones just got done with the doctors, honey, but I'll let you see him for a bit, okay?" She turned to the man on her left. "Terry, I'm going to show this young lady Mr. Jones' room. Get me a diet soda if Freda comes back from break, please."
She lead Betty through long, wide halls, through twists and turns of corridors and up one set of stairs before finally turning to the right. She stopped Betty with a feather light touch of the shoulder.
"He's banged up, but it looks worse than it is, okay? Don't let it scare you too much. He'll be getting tired from his medication, so only a few minutes. It's room 256, two doors down on the left. I'm sure he'll be glad to see you." She gave Betty a small smile and a squeeze of the shoulder before she turned on her heel and retreated the way they came.
Betty steeled herself before making her way down the hall. She took a deep breath as she came to room 256, the door already propped open in front of her.
There was a machine hooked up to Jughead, making a slow, steady beeping sound, a nasal cannula hooked within his nose. She swallowed down her tears as she took in the rest of his bruised and battered appearance. He had cuts and bandages all over him, a cup of water next to his bed and the shades on the windows were drawn, casting out the quickly fading sunlight.
She rounded his bedside and gathered his hand in her own, gripping it as she perched on the chair next to his bed. "Juggie," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."
She watched as he breathed deeply in through his nose, then winced. "Hi Bets," he said weakly, the corners of his mouth turning upwards. It took a moment before his eyes opened, bloodshot but still piercing blue all the same.
"Jug, what did she do to you?" Betty breathed, squeezing his hand a little tighter.
"What, this? This is nothin'," He tried to smirk, but ended up closing his eyes. "I'm just tired. Don't know what they gave me."
"You scared the hell out of me, Jughead." Betty whispered, letting the tears fall down her face. She pressed her lips against Jughead's hand as he opened his eyes again.
"I'm not going anywhere, Bets."
There was a knock on the open door, a bouncy blonde ponytail and a squeaky shoe announcing the nurse before she actually got into view. "Just here to check your breathing, then we'll let you sleep in peace," The nurse announced. Her squeaky shoes stopped suddenly. "Betty?" The shocked voice came from her mother, complete with her favourite pair of Mickey Mouse scrubs.
"Hi Mom... this is Jughead," she breathed, wiping tears off her cheek with her free hand.
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Jones." She grabbed his chart out of the folder at the end of his bed, then turned to Betty. "Why don't you say your goodbyes, then meet me downstairs by the nurse's station? He's my last patient for tonight."
Betty nodded. She stood, giving Jughead's hand one last squeeze before setting it gently down on his chest.
"Bets?" Jughead murmured. "Come back tomorrow," he breathed, closing his eyes once more.
"You can count on it," Betty whispered softly. She gave him a gentle kiss on his forehead, grabbed her purse from the floor and padded out of the hospital room.
The drive home was a quiet one, save for the windshield wipers on full force, the street lights shining against the dark sky. When had it become dark out? Betty wondered. When Alice pulled into their driveway and shut off the ignition, she had to prompt Betty to get out of the vehicle. She shuffled into the house, kicked off her shoes, and stood, swaying, in the middle of the hallway.
"It's okay, sweetheart. Come here." They took a few steps and Alice pulled her into her arms.
They collapsed, together, in a plush armchair in the living room, rocking gently as Alice smoothed Betty's hair, tears falling from her eyes freely.
