"Happy fucking birthday to me," Jughead groans as he wakes to a pounding on the door. He tosses his blanket aside and bangs his head back against his pillow a few times. Of all the days to be discovered sleeping in the Twilight Drive In's projection room, today just had to be the day. The banging sounds again and Jughead quickly sits up from his cot and pulls on his beanie.
"Jughead Jones," a heavy set woman in a navy blue pant suit questions as he opens the door.
"Who's asking," he replies with a scowl.
"I'm Josephine Day and this is my college Anthony Pence. We're with child protective services and I'm going to need you to come with us," she tells him with that pitying smile he's grown to hate over the years.
"Right," he scoffs, "Let me guess. Good ol' FP finally failed to fool your dumb asses this time."
The two caseworkers exchange a look of concern.
"So, which group home am I going to this time? You know," begins, "the one in Greendale was fun. They used to let us box for a can of soup once a week."
"Look kid," Anthony chimes in, "I'll be the first one to admit the system is flawed, but the law's the law. Unfortunately, we can't let you live the way you have been for, how long exactly?"
"I'm going to assume you mean how long I've been living here," he motions to the room behind him, "and not the impossibly stupid question of how long my life has been fucked up." Jughead scowls and Anthony gives a curt nod. "About four months," he admits with a shrug. Once again the two workers exchange a look of concern and Jughead can't help but roll his eyes.
"Pack your things," Josephine requests as she steps away to answer her cell phone. Jughead curses his drunken excuse of a father as he packs the few belongings he's kept with him. In his haste to leave home he'd hardly managed to grab anything at all.
The night of his initiation into the Southside Serpents went as well as he could have expected and after he was jumped in, he returned to his trailer bloodied, bruised, and battered. The night only went downhill from there. He'd decided to join the Serpents in hopes that it would make his father see his worth, but the whole thing backfired and blew up in his face. FP spent nearly an hour screaming at him and stumbling around the trailer, smashing and breaking anything in his path. It had been the last straw for Jughead and once his father had finally passed out on the couch, he left and never looked back.
His single spare t-shirt, a ratty throw blanket, and an old pillow missing half its stuffing all fit into the backpack he took the night he left. He hadn't even gotten a chance to wear his Serpent jacket and he hasn't been to the Whyte Wyrm since his initiation. Not that he hasn't meant to, he just doesn't want to chance seeing his father.
"Looks like it's your lucky day kid," Josephine smiles as Jughead steps out of the projection room with his backpack slung over his shoulder, cocking a brow in her direction. "Apparently your father has signed temporary custody to a family friend, so no group home this time."
"FP has friends," Jughead questions as they walk toward their waiting car.
"Apparently," she shrugs, "Do you know of a Mister Fred Andrews?"
"You've got to be shitting me," he groans as the door closes beside him.
Anthony gets in the passenger side and turns to face Jughead in the back seat. Already, he's glaring out the window, clutching his backpack tight in his fists.
"Is this Andrews guy not safe," Anthony questions with concern, "We can reevaluate your care if need be."
"No, it's fine," he sighs, his eyes fixed on the world flying by outside his window, "Fred and his wife, uh, Mary I think, they used to watch me sometimes when I was little. I haven't seen them since I was like eight."
"So what's the problem then," Anthony wonders.
"They have a son who's my age. We just never got along," he shrugs, "I can't imagine it will be any better now. Better than Greendale I guess."
As they cross over the tracks to the north side of Riverdale, a deafening silence begins to ring in his ears, accompanying the hollow pit in his stomach that anticipates his foreseeable future.