Staring at the blurry sweat on his beer bottle, Jughead was beginning to understand his dad's penchant for alcohol. Even if it was short-lived, the inability to feel suited Jughead just fine. It was in his blood, after all. His grandfather, his father. Now him. It wasn't much of a legacy, but after Betty, mediocrity was his only aim. There was no one left to try for. No one left who really gave a damn about what he did or how he did it.

He had avoided the Whyte Wyrm for as long as he possibly could after Betty's admission of dishonesty had blown him apart. Having a conciliatory conversation with one of his Serpent 'brothers' hadn't been a priority and he only surfaced again when he couldn't stand the insistent texting from Slash… and Sweet Pea… and Fangs. Jughead was one of them, they'd reminded him, and he and Slash had to work things out.

So they had. Or Jughead had assured Slash that he held no grudge to get the others off of his back. And so he never had to hear the details of what really happened.

He had been at the Wyrm ever since, sitting in the bar's darkest corner, drowning his sorrows. Days had passed, but Jughead hardly noticed all that. He sometimes crashed out where he sat, or in the office, but he was never far from a bottle. He never had to feel anything for very long.

Today, his chin was resting on his folded arms. The table top was slightly tacky, probably from aged bar residue, but that didn't matter. Not even when it pulled at his arm hair. His posture had kept everyone away.

The only person he could not manage to repel was F.P. He had been 'out' for the first couple days of Jughead's binge, whatever that meant. Maybe business, maybe personal. Either way, Jughead hadn't seen him around the Wyrm. When he returned, he seemed drawn to Jughead, stopping briefly at the bar, probably getting the scoop from Toni as to what the hell Jughead was doing there.

"I'm the last person to lecture anyone on drinking too much, but it's barely noon and Toni says you're three deep." F.P. pulled up a rickety chair and eyed Jughead's bottle. "Wanna talk about it?"

"No." The word wasn't quite a slur but lacked the conviction of its meaning.

"Alright. Then listen." F.P. planted his elbow on the back of the chair, his eyes fixing somewhere across the room. "As someone who's made all the big mistakes in life, I'm lucky that anyone's stuck by me. It takes a special kind of person for it." F.P. swirled the ice in his own glass, almost like he could fool his brain into thinking the water was something else.

"So it's all about you now?" Jughead scoffed.

"It's about the kind of man you are. The kind who gets dealt a raw deal one too many times but still gives out chances. I don't know you like a dad should, or what that girl did. But I can see that not having her around is breaking your heart."

Jughead turned his face away so he didn't have to swipe at tears in front of his dad. "It's been broken before. Plenty of times. I survived."

"You don't have to this time. You can maybe fix it and be happy instead of just getting by."

Happy. Jughead wasn't sure he knew what happiness looked like or what it mean. If anything, Betty had brought him pretty damn close. That was before, though. Lies changed everything. That, unlike happiness, he'd been educated about his whole life.

"What if I can't?" It was a frightened, quiet prayer that only a child would utter. That maybe only a father could answer, Jughead thought. F.P. was right about not knowing him that well, but F.P. was still his dad. Jughead's blood was still Jones and he'd still sat on the man's shoulders in a different life. The warmth of the memory felt like happiness. Maybe that's how F.P. could know. How he could reassure. Not with what he didn't know but what Jughead couldn't forget.

"What if you can?" F.P. abandoned his glass and physically turned Jughead toward him. "She doesn't have to be another broken thing. And she isn't like everyone else who's let you down. You care about her for a reason. Don't let it go easy just because it's hard. You've done more with less. You're still here, aren't you?"

Jughead finally sat ups straight, startled by what he read as compassion in his father's speech. The force and the fire he was use to - the Serpents didn't follow the man for no reason. The heart, though, was Jughead's Achilles heel. It was rare and spontaneous, something saved for moments of another kind. Not to stir the masses but to comfort his son. That's why Jughead came back every time. He was loved and he wouldn't trade it for anything.

"I love her, dad."

F.P. reached to squeeze Jughead's shoulder, not at all surprised by his son's vulnerable assertion. "Then don't do it halfway. Go talk to her and figure it out. And maybe give her a break? She probably loves you too and did something stupid because that is what love sometimes does to you. It makes you a little nuts."

Jughead raked his greasy hair. "Is it always like that?"

"Oh yeah. No matter how old you get, or how much life teaches you, love can always turn you into a total fool." F.P. nodded knowingly. "You just gotta remember that so you don't make the same mess over and over again."

Jughead remained silent while F.P. collected his glass and Jughead's bottle, then stood up. "One more thing. Before you go find her… a shower probably wouldn't hurt."

Jughead leaned forward, the corner of his mouth perking up slightly. "Solid advice. Thanks, dad."

F.P. tilted his head, giving Jughead a little salute before turning to toward the bar. "Anytime, boy."