Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/13581963.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      Gen, M/M
  Fandom:
      Riverdale_(TV_2017)
  Relationship:
      Archie_Andrews/Jughead_Jones, Archie_Andrews_&_Jughead_Jones, FP_Jones_II
      &_Jughead_Jones
  Character:
      Jughead_Jones, FP_Jones_II, Archie_Andrews, Tall_Boy_(Riverdale), OFC
  Additional Tags:
      Angst_and_Hurt/Comfort, Emotional_Hurt, Hurt_Jughead_Jones, Protective_FP
      Jones, Rape/Non-con_Elements, Medical_Procedures
  Collections:
      Riverdale_Kinkmeme
  Stats:
      Published: 2018-02-05 Words: 22706
****** Regrets Collect Like Old Friends ******
by orphan_account
Summary
     FP regrets a lot of his choices, his actions, but his biggest regret
     will always be not protecting his son when it matters the most.
Notes
     Riverdale Kinkmeme fill: Tall Boy punishes Jughead for calling him a
     'little bitch' and forces FP to watch.
     Not beta'd sorry!
 
Regret tastes like steel on his tongue, sits heavy in his gut like a led
weight, regret is a familiar friend to FP. Unravel his story, and there will be
red dots strewn through his history pinpointing the exact moments he fucked up.
Regrets, mistakes, bad choices he can't unmake reach out along his life-line.
FP Jones collects regret the way his grandma collected China Dolls. They sit
behind the polished glass doors, taunting him, reminding him of the day he
forgot to pick Jellybean up from school, the time he broke Jug's arm in a
drunken rage, the nights he made his children cry and wife frightened because
rum on an empty stomach turns him into an abusive asshole. Regret collects and
grows throughout his life, stretching back into the past and reaching forward
to right here, right now.
This moment will go down in history as his biggest regret. It's a collection of
mistakes that have led to this grimy, dimly lit basement. It started the day he
went to prison and left his son, his kind, smart, lion-hearted boy alone in the
big bad world. He should have done more to secure Jug's safety, pleaded with
Fred to take him in, to not leave him alone to fend for himself in a town full
of devious souls. FP knew Riverdale was not safe for someone like his son, who
insisted on being a lone wolf, who wore his innocence and vulnerability the way
he wore that damn hat. Jughead was sixteen, and he thought he could brave the
world alone, thought he could wade into a dangerous gang and take over just
because he was the Serpent Prince.
FP never wanted Jughead to join the Serpents; he wanted so much more for him.
It's just another regret, one that takes the crown and has a fallout he can't
even fathom right now. Jughead, his precious boy, is pinned to the floor
beneath Tall Boy, he's kicking and thrashing like a wild animal, terrified and
desperate for escape but Tall Boy is stronger than him. He laughs as Jughead
struggles, as he screams ‘get off me and no and please stop’. Tall Boy
eventually grows tired of Jughead resting and grabs him by the hair, yanking
his head forward before slamming it back against the concert floor.
FP scream is muffled by the rag in his mouth, he strains and pulls at the ropes
binding him to the chair, but it's no use. There is no escape. He's been given
a front row seat to the worst show imaginable. Tall Boy is going to violate his
son right before his very eyes, and the three other Serpents who are
responsible for bringing him here are going to let it happen. He hopes to a God
he doesn't believe in that they are just the muscle and will not be
participating in the defiling of his son. Not that it makes this any less
awful, there is no silver lining to this fucking mess.
Jughead screams when Tall Boy reaches for his zipper; it's guttural and utterly
heartbreaking. He didn't know what was coming, not like FP, who'd feared
something like this from the moment Jughead joined the Serpents. He knew that
some of the people he ran with weren't to be trusted, it's why he kept Jug away
from them, but never did he think he had to worry about Tall Boy. Out of all
the Serpents, he'd trusted Tall Boy to look out for his son, not bring him into
the fold. Not pin him to the floor and tear such terrified sounds from his
throat, not rip frantic pleas to stop, to please stop from his mouth.
Tall Boy unzips Jughead’s pants, yanks them down to his ankles, eyes growing
wide in terror, hands scrambling to grab anything but only finding air. He
looks at FP, bruises blossoming on his face in a patchwork of colours and tears
glistening in his eyes. FP looks back, keeping their gazed locked, hoping Jug
knows how fucking sorry he is. Tall Boy flips him over; Jug tries to crawl
away, clawing at the floor in desperation, reaching for help that is not there,
help that is not coming. Tall Boy tears Jughead's underwear off with one swift
tug, FP screams, curses and make threats he attends to keep. Jughead, full of
fire and strength keeps trying to crawl away, even when Tall Boy drags him back
and shoves a filthy spite covered finger inside him.
FP is going to kill him. He's going to cut off that finger and shove it down
his throat so that he can choke to death on it. That's if they get out of this
alive and if they do he doesn't know to fix this. How could anyone make this
better? Jughead is being molested, is about to be raped and all FP can do is
struggle against his binds, seethe in rage and shed a tear at the gut-wrenching
sounds his son is making.  He doesn't know if he should look away or keep
watching. He is scared to turn away, to leave Jug to suffer this cruel fate
alone and yet if he watches he’ll never get the image out of his head. He
thinks he deserves to live with it, to hurt as much as Jug must be hurting
right now.
Jug is growing tired; his effort to escape are slowing, tears falling steadily
as he resigns himself to his fate. Tall Boy yanks his arse into the air for
easy accesses, FP sees every inch of Jug tense, feels his body react the same
when Tall Boy lines himself up. The scream that rips from Jughead’s throat is a
piercing, shrill wale that breaks FP’s heart, it’s followed by broken sobs that
will haunt him for the rest of his life. The sound of flesh hitting flesh is
sickening, FP tries to keep his gaze on Jug’s face, his eyes are scrunched
tight, skin paling from the pain, the shock. Nothing is ever going to be same
again, in this moment a part of his son is violently torn away, and this seedy
basement with its leopard print throws and hideous decor will forever hold the
memory.
He doesn't know how this night will end; Tall Boy could finish with Jug and put
a bullet in the back of his head and one right between his eyes. The three
other men could rape his son, beat him until he is a bloody mess then leave him
here to die painfully and slowly right before his eyes. There are number
gruesome and horrible ways this night could end, but FP prays for a chance to
live, to make this right, even though he doesn’t know how to fix this, if this
can ever be fixed, he still wants a chance to try. Jughead deserves more than
to be raped and murdered.
Time seems to move at an agonisingly slow pace, FP watches Tall Boy ram into
Jug so violently that his whole-body shudders and moves with the power of his
thrusts. He resumes his struggles with the binds, straining and willing them to
fray and break as Jughead cries out. There is blood seeping down his inner
thighs, dripping onto the concrete floor and Tall Boy shows no mercy or
exhaustion. He catches FP’s eyes, a smirk breaking out over his face, he wants
to punch him, to break every bone and castrate him.
“Jingle-Jangle really helps a guy keep it up,” he says smugly, pulling out of
Jug before flipping him onto his back, a spark ignites in his son, and he tries
to move, to kick at Tall Boy, but a swift slap across the face has his efforts
dying. Tall Boy arranges Jug's body into a painful looking position, wraps a
hand firmly around his throat, choking him, before forcing himself back inside.
“I could do this all night” he declares, thrusts increasing in tempo, hand
squeezing around Jug's throat, leaving him gasping for breath.
FP swears at him, pulling at the ropes, the other three Serpents look weary,
like at any moment he’ll bust out and kill them all. If he could, he would.
“Relax FP” Tall Boy pants “It's just a little payback, nothing he didn't ask
for.”
He bristles with rage, hating the way Jughead visible reacts to the words like
he believes this is a punishment he should be taking. He doesn’t understand why
this is happening, why Tall Boy has turned into a monster. Then again, FP
should have known, should have seen the beast lurking within, it's not like he
was running with the most trustworthy, law-abiding citizens. Being a Serpent
meant many things, it was a broken family that would punish you significantly
if you betrayed them, he knows this well. Jughead hasn’t betrayed them, though,
if anything he's become a leader in his absence, and some of the choices he
made weren't the smartest but he's a sixteen-year-old kid, and this isn't who
the Serpents are meant to be.
“Who’s the little bitch now, huh?” Tall Boy demands, thrusting savagely into
Jug, squeezing the life from him as he shudders, coming deep inside him. “You
always thought you were so smug, so smart, well how do you feel now?” he pulls
out, Jughead shakes, gasps in a ragged, watery breath as air rushes back into
his lungs. “You’re nothing but a filthy whore. A stupid boy who needs to know
his place.” He shoves his fingers back inside him, thrusting them rapidly,
pulling weak cries from Jughead’s throat when he twists them at a painful
angle. “You’re not so smug now” he withdraws his fingers, rolls Jug to the
side, where he lies motionless like a broken doll. “You’re just a used-up slut”
he looks to the others, smirking “Anyone else want a turn?”
FP tries to speak through his gag, to threaten them, to assure them he will
hunt them and destroy them if they touch his son. They seem hesitant, eyes
clouding with fear and FP is glad he is still a force to be reckoned even when
tied to a chair.
“No takers?” he asked like they are betting on a game, not on his son's body.
“Fine, guess I could go for round two” he reaches into the pockets of his
jeans, which are still bunched up around his ankles and pulls out a candy cane
stripped packet, rips it open and empties the contents down his throat. “Oh,
that's the good stuff.” He winks at FP, who is seething, quivering in rage,
who’s heart is strewn all over the floor, lying in shattered pieces near
Jughead’s trembling body. “I’m surprised you’ve never bent him over the sofa
before, maybe shoved your cock down his pretty mouth? He has such lovely lips
after all.”
FP feels physically sick, he might have never been a good father, evident by
the horror before him, but he’d never violate his son. There had been shady
folk passing through the Whyte Wyrm in the past who’d made suggestive comments
about his son’s appearance. Some had even offered him money, expecting him to
be happy to prostitute his underage son, who always looked so damn innocent
even though he acted so tough. This had happened more than once, every time
he’d punch them in the face, tell them to stay the hell away from his kid then
he’d walk over to Jug, who had no clue what was happening, and take him home.
Those nights he didn’t sleep, he’d sit staring at the door, waiting for some
thug to break in and try to take his boy as their own.
Well, it finally happened, only it wasn't a stranger passing through town, it
was a fellow Serpent, someone he considered a friend. Tall Boy will regret
this, FP swears he'll suffer for the pain he is causing his son. Right now,
there is nothing he can do, the binds will not break, and no one is coming to
rescue them, all he can do is watch as Tall Boy shoves his dirty cock into
Jug's mouth, making him gag and struggle to breathe as he forces himself in
deep. It's a horrible sight; Jug deserves so much better than to be used and
abused, to have some grown man who was meant to take care of him sexually
assault him. FP thinks Jug is defeated, the pain has stolen all his strength,
but when Tall Boy yelps, shoving Jughead backwards he realises there is still a
spark.
“You’re going to fucking pay for that” Tall Boy kicks Jughead in the stomach,
making him curl in on himself.
It takes a moment for FP to realise what Jughead did to warrant this, then with
small satisfaction, FP puts the pieces together. He bit him; he can't help but
chuckle, even if it's a messed-up thing to do in this situation.
“You think that's funny” Tall Boy's head swivels towards him, eyes blazing,
wild from the drug. He grabs Jug by the hair; he isn't sure where the beanie
has gone, and drags him towards him, forcing him over FP’s laps. “How about we
get up close and personal?” Tall Boy slips to his knees, takes a fistful of
Jug’s raven locks and thrusts his hips forward, ripping an anguished cry from
Jughead’s throat.
FP is frozen, he feels Jughead’s body jerk with Tall Boys thrusts, but his mind
can’t process what is happening. Jug is bent over his lap, Tall Boy right
behind him, so close FP can smell the cheap beer on his breath and feel his
beard against his arm, which is bound behind his back. He should do something,
try to headbutt Tall Boy or maybe even attempt tipping the chair, but he can’t
move, can’t breathe. All he can think is ‘my son is being raped on my lap', and
all he can see is Tall Boy's thick cock sliding in and out of Jug, glistening
with blood and cum, his piercing winking in the light. Bile rises in his
throat, God he remembers Tall Boy bragging about how much the ladies loved his
piercing, now it’s tearing up the inside of his kid.
“God, he’s still tight” Tall Boy taunts, thrusting with such brute force the
chair slides across the floor a few inches. “You’re such a good boy” his hold
on Jughead’s narrow hips is fierce, there are going to be finger-shaped bruises
left behind. “Can’t believe you’ve never fucked him before FP? If he were my
son I’d deflowered him long ago.” He bends over Jug’s, the weight painful, and
nips at his ear “You’re so pretty like this, you feel so good” he purrs, voice
sickly sweet “you are such a good little boy saving himself for me.”
FP can’t take this; the rage is all-consuming, his stomach is fire and acid,
burning and rising up his throat to the back of his mouth. There is no course
of action he can take that won’t result in Jughead getting hurt further, and if
Tall Boy rams any more violently into him, then he might break apart. All he
can do is look away, because he can’t stand watching the way Tall Boy thrusts
into Jughead with such viciousness, only he can’t turn his head, a strong hand
is forcing him to see what is being done to his son.
“Do you like what you see? Wish it were you buried in this sweet, tight little
hole?” he increases his speed, thrust erratic. “Fuck, he’s not going to have
such a tight little ass when I’m finished with him, shoulda took him while you
had the chance FP.”
Regret pools in his gut, tears prickle at his eyes, and he has to close them,
no longer able to stare at the ghastly image before him. He’ll never be able to
make this right, undo the damage that Tall Boy is creating with such delight,
with such malice. Jughead weeps, he wishes he could comfort him, could take him
from the place and make it, so it never happened. He feels Jughead's hands
against his legs, fingers holding tight to them, he hopes it offers him some
comfort, that he has found a corner of his mind to hide away in until this is
over.
It feels like it takes centuries, but eventually, Tall Boy cums, buried deep
inside Jughead, he lets out a weak cry when he pulls out. FP wonders if it's
over now, if they will be killed or if Tall Boy will be foolish enough to let
them go. Surely, he isn't stupid enough to think he will get away with this?
It's an agonising wait, to his left there is the sound of clothes rustling, a
zipper securing in place, then a figure looms over him. Jug is still half on
his lap, quivering, whimpering in pain. FP looks up, glaring daggers at Tall
Boy, who looks smug and sickly pleased with himself.
“Thanks for the ride” he slaps Jug’s arse, hard, a red mark forming only
seconds after, pats FP on the shoulder then walks away, the others following.
There is the sound of a door closing, footsteps, then silence, apart from
Jughead's laboured breathing and the pounding of his heart. Surely this is not
it, he waits, tries to get Jug to look at him, to move, but he's lost inside
his mind. FP doesn't know what to do, and then he smells smoke and panic kicks
in. The bastards are going to burn this place down on them, let them suffocate
to death. No, hell no this is not happening, this is not how he'll let his son
die. 
He needs Jughead to snap out of it, he can’t imagine the pain he is in right
now, but he has to come back, help them escape. He calls his name through the
gag, twisting and wriggling until Jug is dislodged and slips to the floor, he
feels awful about it, but it does the trick. His eyes flash with panic; he
looks over FP's shoulder, maybe he's checking to see if Tall Boy is really gone
or perhaps the smoke has started to seep under the door, whatever he finds
spurs him into action.
He redresses, wincing as his pants slid up his legs and settle around his hips,
his fingers shake so violently he can barely manage to get the zipper up, and
he ignores the button entirely. He moves quickly, removing the gag from his
mouth and FP wants to say a thousand things to him but now is not the time.
Instead, he orders Jughead to get the knife from his jacket that is strewn
across the couch a few feet away. Jughead struggles to walk, he falls over,
crying out and all FP can do is tell him it’s okay, just breathe bub, but you
gotta hurry.
He crawls to the couch, rummages through the pockets of the Serpent jacket
before crawling back, trembling fingers finally cutting him free. FP rises,
wraps Jughead in his arms and helps him to stand, he clings to him, sobbing,
breaking. Momentarily he thinks maybe it would be best if they died here, found
peace, but he shakes the thought from his head, he isn’t letting Jughead burn
to death. This isn’t the end, he knows what it is to come will be ugly, will be
painful but at least Jughead will be alive, and FP will do everything in his
power to help him heal.
They have to get out of here first. He surveys the room, finding a small window
that he isn’t sure he’ll fit through, but he knows Jug is small enough to and
that’s all that matters right now. He rests Jughead against the wall, picks up
a floor lamp with a sturdy enough looking base and slams it into the glass, it
takes a good few hits, but eventually, the glass shatters. Tall Boy mustn't
have realised they'd be able to escape this way or maybe he assumed the glass
was too strong. It hadn't been easy to break, and there was no lock or other
way to open the window, so he clears the glass away, shrugs off his flannel and
uses it to offer some protection from the jagged pieces that are embedded in
the concert.
“Come on, Juggie” FP steers him towards the window, feeling the cool night air
rush in to greet them. “I’ll help you up.”
“I’m not leaving you” he shakes his head, gripping tightly to his arms.
“I’ll be right behind you, okay” he doesn’t have time to be gentle with Jug,
the room is filling up with smoke, the floorboards creak and glow red. He spins
Jughead to face the window, grabs his narrow waist and lifts him up, forcing
him to shimmy through the window. When Jug’s out of sight, he pulls himself up,
it’s a tight squeeze, but by some small miracle, he fits. There is time to
waste, he cradles Jug in his arms and runs from the burning building.
They are in the middle of nowhere, the smoke billows into the night sky, hungry
flames licking at the air, blasting through the windows like claws, searching
for more life to destroy. FP keeps his back to the house falling to ruin, keeps
his pace steady as he crosses the lawn that stretches out before him with
overgrown grass. The edge of the property is dense with trees, the letterbox
rusted, the number long gone and no street signs to be seen.
All he can do is walk, is hold tight to his son, who is silent and still in his
arms, making FP fear he’s gone into shock. He sets him down on the edge of the
road, leaning him against a tree trunk, he needs medical attention urgently,
but FP can’t let him go into shock. He talks to him, nonsense words falling
from his tongue, he tries to rub warmth into his ice like flesh, tells him to
breathe, to stay with him.
“I… I’m sorry” he stuttered, coming back to himself “I’m sorry I didn’t mean
for this to happen.”
“Hey, no, shh” FP cradles his face in his hands, in the moonlight he can't see
the bruises, only the illuminance white of Jug's skin. “Juggie, listen to me, I
want you to repeat this okay” he brushes away a falling tear with his thumb,
“This isn’t your fault, okay? This isn’t your fault, bub.”
Jughead nods, biting back a sob as he says “Th… this isn’t my fault.”
“There you go” FP leans in, pressing a kiss to Jughead’s sweat-soaked forehead.
“Are you ready to keep moving?”
Jughead shrugs, blinking back tears as his gaze takes on a faraway glance.
“What happens now?”
“I'm going to take you to a friend, she's a nurse, we can trust her” he doesn't
want to involve Sheriff Keller or for word to get out about this. He knows this
won't be able to be hidden, that's the last thing he wants, Jughead is going to
need to the support from his friends, especially Archie, but he wants this
handled discreetly. Claire won't tell a soul, she'll have the medical supplies
to patch Jug up, and the sheriff doesn't need to know, not that he'd care
anyway. It would be brutal to force Jug to report this, to give a statement
only to have his case tossed in the trash. No, FP will handle this his way,
he’ll make sure his son gets the justice he deserves.
“I just want to go home.”
“I know, kiddo” FP's heart breaks, he wants nothing more than to take Jughead
home, to bundle him blankets and make him his favourite soup, but this isn’t
the flu, this won’t be fixed by rest.
Jughead lets out a shaky breath, FP senses he knows he isn't going home, not
right away. He nods to indicate he is ready to go, FP carefully picks him up,
he seems so light, God he hasn't even been feeding his kid enough. There is so
much guilt, so many days, months and years spent failing his son. Regret
gathers around him like an old friend, following him along the dark, empty
road, a reminder of all the wrong he has done, of the pain he has caused and
the pain that is yet to come. He holds tight to his son, keeps his pace steady
and vows to the night that he will do better, that he’ll help Jughead recover
and he’ll make Tall Boy pay.
XxX
Getting back to town isn’t going to be easy. The night is bitterly cold, and FP
starts to feel woozy, head pounding from where he was struck by one of the
Serpents. He’d just finished work at Pop’s for the day when he got a text from
Tall Boy, asking him to come over to discuss something important. When he
arrived Spike, one of the Serpents he wasn’t overly familiar with let him
inside, he was there all of a few minutes before being knocked unconscious. He
shakes the memory from his head, adjusts Jughead slightly and keep walking,
ignoring the cold biting at his exposed skin, the trickle of blood down his
temple and the dampness on his arm and shirt that was spreading from his son.
He needs to get them back to town, grit and bear the pain, the exhaustion
creeping in and keep placing one foot in front of the other. The waning moon
illuminates the highway, up ahead a street light shines on the welcome to
Riverdale sign like a beacon of hope. Behind him smoke billows into the night
sky, a fire engine raced past not too long ago, hearing it coming he’d moved
into the shadows, but they wouldn’t have seen him, they were going too fast. He
knows it’s only a matter of time before the sheriff is called and the last
thing he wants is to have Keller involved in this. This is family business, and
he doesn't trust Keller to get Jughead justice.
Headlights appear in the distance, moving towards them, he steps once more into
the shadows, setting Jughead down in the grass, debating the best way to
approach this situation. Even with only the light of the moon to illuminate
Jughead, it’s all too clear he’s been assaulted. Multicoloured bruises are
forming on his face; finger marks blooming to life around his neck from when
Tall Boy chocked him, there are scratch marks on his bear arms and worst of all
is the crimson wet patch soaking through his tan pants. He reeks of sex, fear
and sweat, every inch of screams that he’s been hurt, that he’s been violated
in the worst way. Jug curls in on himself, broken, weeping as FP walks towards
the road and it takes all his strength to move the short distance.
Jug needs help urgently, and FP knows that flagging down a car is risky, but if
he can call Claire or get a ride back to town then he’s going to have to take
it. Especially when he has no idea how serious Jughead’s injuries could be.
He’s been whimpering, quivering every step of the way and his heart can’t take
it anymore. His boy needs help, but he must be smart about this, doesn't want
someone calling the cops, it would make going after Tall Boy challenging. Not
that it would stop him, but he knows deep down Jughead needs him right now and
he can’t risk going back to jail.
A rust bucket of a pick-up truck comes to a stop on the side of the road,
headlights blinding him, so he is unable to see who is inside the cabin. The
door swings open on squeaky hinges and a figure emerges, moving towards him at
a leisurely pace. FP composes himself and steps forward to greet the stranger,
he can’t let his emotions get in the way right now. The man finally reaches
him, with the backdrop of headlights FP can barely make out his face, but he
can see the glint in his eyes, and he finds something troubling in the man's
gaze.
“You in some kind of trouble?” he asks.
“My son's hurt” he doesn't gesture towards Jug, who is huddled in the tall
grass, but the man's eyes turn in that direction, narrowing ever so slightly as
he takes in Jughead. “Can I borrow your phone, please? I need to make a call.”
The man looks back at him, FP can't read his expression in the dark, “or a ride
back to town would be greatly appreciated” he pushes, wanting nothing more than
to get Jughead to Claire's.
“What happened to him?” he asked, stepping towards Jughead but FP blocks his
path, he doesn't trust this man one bit. “He looks familiar” the way he says
this makes FP's skin crawl, and he considers telling the guy to forget it, but
that isn't going to help Jug.
“The less you know, the better” he keeps his tone firm, stance strong even
though he feels like falling apart. “Can you help us or not?”
“We’re not far from town, doesn’t seem right to leave you out here in this
state. Where are you headin?”
“Fox Avenue, on the north side” Claire may live on the northside, but she grew
up on the south. FP met her one night at the hospital about five years ago,
he'd gotten into a drunken brawl, and Claire had patched him up. They'd bonded
over their shared history; she'd been an army medic for a few years before
returning to Riverdale where she went into nursing and volunteered at the free
medical clinic that was on the south side. She could be trusted to take care of
Jug, she'd give him the best care, and she'd understand why they couldn’t go to
the sheriff.
“Alright, well get your kid and climb in.”
FP watched the man walk away before moving towards Jug, trying to help him rise
but he refuses to stand. “Juggie, it’s okay, you’re safe” he reassured,
collecting him in his arms, even though Jughead tried to push away.
“No, he’s not safe” he whispered, eyes alive with panic.
FP lowered him, holding tight to his waist, so he didn't crumble to the ground.
“Is this the guy you were telling me about?” he recalls Penny ordering Jughead
to deliver a crate to Greendale, he'd had to force the details from Jug's
unwilling tongue, but when Penny was involved, he needed to know everything.
Jughead said Archie's truck got a flat and he'd gotten a ride from a trucker
who told him about the Riverdale Reaper and turned slightly aggressive when he
was unable to pay for his meal. Archie had swept in at the right time and saved
the day, Jug’s exact words, he looked so fond when he spoke them, now all FP
can see is pain and fear.
“Yes” he nods, “we can’t go with him.”
“We don't have much of a choice, Jug” FP doesn't know how dangerous this man
is, but he certainly senses something off about him. Still, he is the kind of
guy who won't ask questions or go tattling to the sheriff, and it's only a
short drive back into town. If he tries anything, FP won't hesitate to hurt
him. He isn't going to fail his son twice in one night. “I won't let anyone
hurt you again” he vows, and he will, he will do whatever it takes to keep his
son safe from the wicked hearts of men. “I need you to be brave just a little
longer, kiddo.”
Jughead blinks, nods and makes a tentative step towards the road, legs almost
giving way. FP helps him to the truck, hating the way he winces and shudders
with every step. When they get to the truck FP realises there is only one
passenger seat, so Jug has to sit on his lap. In the faintly lit cabin, FP can
now see the stranger more clearly, he looks to be in his late fifties, has a
rough redneck aurora to him and dark eyes that feel piercing against his skin,
like he can see into his mind, discovering every sin and mistake he’s ever
made. Jughead buries his face in the crock of his neck, shivering from the
cold, chest heaving as he gasps in ragged breaths.
The man starts the engine, gives them a sidelong glance that makes FP’s skin
crawl and arms instinctively tighten around his son. He says nothing as they
head back to town, FP keeps his gaze firmly on the road, watching the forest
give way to homes that are silent and dark in the dead of night. There nearly
at Claire’s when the pieces start slotting together. He wasn’t consciously
trying to find a reason behind tonight’s nightmare, the thought rose without
warning, prompted by the strange man next to him, or rather Jughead’s story
about him and how they’d crossed paths in the first place.
Because Penny Peabody had made Jug her drug maul. She’d had him and the other
Serpents delivering drugs and he still would be if Jughead and the younger
Serpents hadn't driven her out of town and banished her. Of course, it wasn't
going to be that simple; Penny wasn't going to be scared off by some kids
playing tough. He has no proof, only a gut feeling that Penny had helped
organise tonight. There was too much foresight, a place for the assault to
happen, a perfect and cruel way to destroy the evidence; it had Penny Peabody
written all of it. Which meant Tall Boy was in with her, the other three
Serpents most likely as well.
There were traitors in his midst. Traitors who were willing to align with the
Snake Charmer and be a part of the violation of his son. He was going to have
to lay low while he got to the bottom of this, but right now the most important
thing was his son. Revenge could wait.
***
Claire's house appears in the distance; the quaint, charming home has never
seemed so welcoming. Inside is dark, silent, FP hopes to God she is home, but
at least they have arrived at a safe harbour. The strange man drops them off;
he kept glancing from the road to Jughead throughout the drive. FP wasn't sure
if he recognised him in the state he was in, but he did eventually speak,
turning down the radio that had been broadcasting some raving lunatic talking
about damnation and God's wrath. He asked FP if he believed in the devil, if He
had come to Riverdale dressed as the Black Hood to cleanse this town of
sinners.
He didn't answer right away; Jughead flinched in his arms, FP kept his tone
even as he replied. He believed in devils, that people were capable of being
evil, of doing wicked things and he'd believed this long before he held his
assaulted son in his arms. He knew there were devils in hiding, he’d seen the
darkness inside himself, had done things he wasn't proud of, and tonight he
felt like he was finally being punished. Jail was nothing compared to this. If
he was offered a choice to spend forever in prison and this night will be
erased then he'd take it, he'd die if it would undo the damage Tall Boy had
done. But there is no one offering him a choice to change this, no wishes or
spells to fix this, just regret and guilt.
The truck comes to a stop in Claire’s driveway, engine idling, FP goes to open
the door when the man grabs his arm.
“You look familiar” his eyes narrow, “have I seen you around before?”
“It's a small town” he replied briskly, helping Jug to slide off his lap so he
could get out. “Everyone's seen everyone at some point” there is relief in his
chest when Jug's feet hit the ground, he leans heavily against the car for
support. “I really gotta get my kid inside.”
“I have seen you” he continues, like FP hadn’t spoken, grip tightening. “Aren’t
you the guy who dumped Jason Blossom’s body in the river?”
“Never met the kid” he lied, shaking off the man’s hold with ease before
slipping out of the car, wrapping Jug in his arms and steering him towards the
house.
“Sinners always get what’s coming to them” the man shouts after them, “and it
looks like God has punished you by hurting someone precious to you” he gestures
to Jughead, who pales at the words.
FP wants to tell him to fuck off; he doesn't know what he's talking about, this
wasn't God's work, it was the work of a sick man and a spiteful woman. But
regardless it's still his fault; Jughead was still hurt because of him. He was
alone and went to the wrong person for help, FP left him with the wrong people
to take care of him, and none of this would have happened if he’d swallowed his
pride and ask Fred to foster him.
“You should think on your sins” the man calls out one last time, before driving
off.
Silence falls over them, inside lights switch on and it spurs FP into action.
He makes it to the front door just as Claire opens it, peering out into the
night to see what the commotion was about. The porch light illuminates her dark
features; her eyes widen as he approaches, Jughead limping along beside him,
barely conscious. 
“What the hell happened?” the door swings open, she rushes out into the night
to help him.
“Some of our own turned on us” he answered, stepping inside out of the cold,
“this is personal, we can't involve the sheriff.” He makes this very clear
before going any further, true to her nature, Claire nods firmly, not a soul
will hear about this. She locks the door before leading them through the house
to the dining room; telling FP to sit Jughead on the table while she goes to
collect her medical supplies. Jughead winces when he sits, skin pale and
freezing to the touch. 
“You hangin in there, kiddo?”  FP knows he must be in agony, the look in his
eyes, the hitch of breath says it all, but he needs to keep him awake, keep him
calm.
“Hangin in there” he murmurs, trying to force a smile and FP believes Jug will
be alright, they’ll get through this, it’s just going to be messy and painful.
“It’s nearly over” he promises “We’ll get you patched up then I’ll take you
home, okay?”
He nods, chewing on his bottom lip, he looks so small, so helpless. “It hurts”
he whimpers “it really hurts” his breath hitches, tears trickling down his
face.
“Where's it hurt?” he can take a wild guess, but in all honesty, every inch of
Jughead appears black and blue.
He lets out a pained whine, bowing his head to hide his face “it hurts inside.”
Claire rushes back into the room before he can offer any further comfort,
carrying some blankets and a first-aid bag. She orders FP to lift Jug off the
table before throwing a comforter over the polished surface. She helps FP
settle Jughead down on the table, eyes travelling over his body, checking for
injuries. She meets FP's eyes, they glisten with tears, with understanding,
it's all too evident what has been done, and he is glad he doesn't have to say
it. He doesn't think it would leave his tongue, he knows it's true, that his
son has been raped, he saw it happen, but he is not ready to speak the word.
“FP can you can undress him while I get a few more things? I'll leave the
blanket here” she lays it on the chair, pats him sympathetically on the
shoulder before disappearing into the house once more.
FP helps Jughead take off his shirt and boots, setting it aside before moving
to unlace his boots. It's when he comes to the fly on Jug's pants he encounters
a reaction, Jughead jerks away, almost falling off the table in his haste.
“Hey, it’s just me kiddo” he holds up his hands “I need to get you undressed
Jug, Claire’s gotta take a look at you.”
Jughead closes his eyes, but it doesn't stop the tears from falling, shakily he
unzips his pants, shoving them down his thighs so FP can ease them off
completely. He works quickly, tossing them to the floor, stomach turning at the
sight of blood that has soaked through the material. Taking the blanket, he
places it over his son’s trembling frame, FP tries to rub some warmth into his
body and offer what little comfort he can.
Claire returns, their eyes meeting, a silent agreement that it's time and a
warning this isn't going to be pleasant, it's going to be painful and horrible,
but there is no other choice. FP will follow her every order; he'll support Jug
through this ordeal and do his very best not to break.
“Hey, Jughead, I'm Claire” she sits down on the table next to him, offering him
a gentle smile. “I'm going to start examining you now if that's okay?”
Jug nods, reaching for FP’s hand.
“If anything hurts or if things get too much I want you to tell me, and I’ll
stop.”
“Okay,” he croaks.
“Alright,” she slips off the table, demeanour shifting from motherly to focused
and professional. “We’ll start at the top and work our way down,” She lifts her
gaze to meet FP’s; he nods in understanding, she'll leave the worst to last.
FP stays at Jughead’s side, holding his hand, feeling Jug’s fingers stiffen or
grip firmly whenever Claire finds a sore spot. There doesn't appear to be any
broken bones in his face, a few abrasions and deep blooming bruises but nothing
needs stitches. She methodically works down his body, examining his throat
which is ringed in red and purple hued bruises, there is no swelling, and
though it's causing him discomfort, it could have been worse. More bruises are
littering his torso and stomach, a possible fractured rib but it’s hard to tell
without an x-ray, so Claire makes a note of it to recheck at a later point.
It seemed to take no time at all until Claire has reached his narrow hips,
hesitating before explaining with a gentle, yet firm tone that she was going to
have to perform an internal examination. Jughead didn’t put up a fight, didn’t
resist when he had every right too, but he must have known this was coming. He
does as Claire asks without question, though the look of misery, of defeat in
his eyes, breaks FP's heart. He can't stay by Jug's side for this; Claire needs
him to assist her. 
Jug doesn't want to go, he looks at him with wild, frightened eyes, and it
takes all his strength to move the short distance to the end of the table where
Claire is sitting between his open legs. All he has to do is hold the
flashlight so that Claire can see the extent of his injuries, and yet it's the
hardest thing he's ever to do. He shouldn't look, he's seen enough horrors to
last a lifetime, but he feels compelled to see the damage that has been done.
There is so much blood; it's mattered in the short hairs on Jug's thighs, it's
trailed down his skins, stark against the pale flesh. There are more bruises on
his thighs, and he knows there will be handprints left on his hips from where
Tall Boy held onto him so violently.
Jughead cries out when Claire begins, FP places a hand on his knee, steadying
him “It's okay, Juggie” he says though it's not, none of this is okay, but he
needs to keep Jughead calm through this. “It'll be over soon; you're doing so
good.” He rubs soothing at his leg; the tension ebbs slightly from his body.
“How bad is it?” he whispers to Claire when Jughead has settled.
“There’s a lot of blood” she replied, voice hushed “I'm going to have to clean
the area before I get a proper look” she rises, motioning for him to follow her
into the hallway. “I have a bad feeling he's going to need stitches, and I
can't do that here, without a sedative it would be too painful, and I'm worried
about infection.” She takes off her gloves, the fingers glisten with blood, “I
think we should move him to the clinic, I have a key, and once we're there,
I'll have everything I need. Unless I can get you to reconsider going to the
hospital?”
FP deflates, bone tired, body heavy, barely holding it together. He needs to do
right by Jughead. He doesn't want to involve the cops, they will ask Jughead a
thousand invasive questions, they might even bring in child services, and in
the end, it could be for nothing. Tall Boy could walk free or get some slap on
the wrist, especially if he’s working with Penny, and Jughead would become the
talk of the town, a cautionary tale for the well-to-do north siders. He won’t
put his son through anymore, Tall Boy, Penny and the other’s will get what’s
coming to them.
“I would really prefer we keep this between us.”
“Okay, then we take him to the clinic, but I’m going to be as thorough as a
hospital. It’s not going to be comfortable for Jug, but he is at serious risk
of infections and HIV. I will need you to tell me what happened when this over
and who did this. I don't want to be left in the dark, not when it could impact
Jug's health and or recovery.”
FP freezes at the mention of HIV, God he hopes Tall Boy doesn’t have anything,
that’s the last thing they need. “It was one of our own” he echoes his earlier
words “Tall Boy… he did this.”
“I'm sorry,” and he knows she is, she has helped the Serpents a lot over the
years, she's even been allowed into the Whyte Wyrm, she is one of their own.
“We'll make him pay” there is sharpness to her words, a silent promise that
she'll help get Jughead justice. “I'm going to get the keys; do you want to
tell Jughead what is happening?”
“Yeah” he takes a deep breath and forces the pieces back together, he can break
later. “He’ll be okay, won’t he?”
Claire’s eyes shimmer with sympathy, her words chosen carefully. “It’s going to
be a long road ahead of him FP, but medically I will do everything in my power
to make sure his body heals, the rest I can only support him through.”
He nods, angrily brushes away the tears as he steps back into the room, finding
Jughead staring into space. “Kiddo” he calls to him as he approaches. “You
still with me?” Jughead snaps back, jumping slightly, eyes flickering with
panic. “Hey, you're okay” he reassured, “it's just me.”
“Sorry” he mumbles “what’s happening?”
“We're taking you to the clinic, you need some stitches, and Claire can't do
that here” he explained.
“Do I have to go?” God, he sounds so broken, so scared.
“I'm afraid so Jug; you're hurt pretty bad.”
Dark lashes fluttered closed, failing to cage the tears “I just don’t want to
be touched there, it hurts so much” his voice cracks as he speaks, sobs
escaping into the night air.
“I know, I’m so sorry bub” he doesn’t have anything else to say, can’t take
Jug’s pain or misery, all he can do is run his fingers through his messy raven
locks. It's what he used to do when Jughead woke from a nightmare, but this
wasn't some bad dream, there was no waking up from this. “Claire will give you
something for the pain, and I'll be there the whole time.”
He nods, taking a shuddering breath, he’s doing his best to be brave, to be
strong and FP is so damn proud of him. “I didn’t mean for this to happen” he
sobs “I’m sorry.”
“Shh” FP leans in, embracing him in a gentle hug, Jug clings to him for dear
life. “Remember what I said? This isn't your fault. What happened tonight
shouldn't have happened, and I am so, so sorry that it did, but you are not to
blame for this” he eases back, holding him at arm’s length. “Tall Boy hurt you,
and you did nothing to deserve it, do you understand Jughead?”
“Yes,” he says, sounding like he doesn't believe it, but he will, FP will never
stop reminding him of that.
“It’s time to go” Claire appears in the doorway, keys in hand. “You ready FP?”
He doesn't think he'll ever be ready for what is to come next, for what must
come next, but he picks Jughead up and carries him to the car, hating the
thought of what he is about to be put through. He'll do his best to comfort
him; he'll brush away the tears and hold his hand. As awful and painful as this
is going to be for Jug it is nothing compared to the emotional trauma that will
follow this night. He won’t be able to get Jughead through this alone, he’ll
have to tell Gladys, God she’s going to be furious, and he knows Jughead will
need Archie’s support in the coming months. God this will break Archie's heart.
Tonight, he has to be enough for Jug. When the sun rises, and Jughead is tucked
into a warm bed somewhere safe he can shed the tears threatening to spill, he
can rage and cry and come apart. He'll shatter when no one is looking; he'll
let out the grief, the disbelief and the anger then pull himself together
again, so he can do his damn best to help Jug recover.
XxX
Everything hurts. Nothing feels right. It’s like he’s fallen into someone
else’s life or he’s stuck in a vivid nightmare and though he wants so
desperately to wake he can’t. Something keeps him here. Reality ripples around
him, it feels like he is lost at sea, body being carried to different events by
the strong undercurrent. One moment he is the back of a car, father so close he
can smell his aftershave, the next he is on the floor, reaching frantically for
help, a lifeline to pull himself to safety. Only his fingers come up empty and
there is pain, deep and tearing, forcing a scream from his lungs. It's agony;
it's like he's being split open. He feels sick, it's all all-consuming.
Then it's not; it's a dull, deep throb that sends a jolt up his spin with every
step taken, only he is not walking, he is being carried in his father's arms.
He tries to hold on, to stay centred in the moment, but the raging waters drag
him under, dropping him onto his father's lap. It hurts even more the second
time Tall Boy takes him, thrusts so violent he fears he'll break apart. Weak
cries escape his abused throat, he can taste Tall Boy on his tongue, still feel
him forcing his cock down his throat. There is blood trailing down his
trembling thighs, he can't breathe, can't believe he is bent over his father’s
lap and someone he thought could trust is raping him.
There is smoke, glass shattering, glistening in the moonlight, wooden
floorboards glowing red then there are headlights, a waning moon, a house
burning in the night. The world rush by then darkness. Heavy lids fluttering
open he finds himself in a small white room, bright fluorescent lights glaring
down at him. For one terrifying moment he thinks he is alone, that his dad is
gone but clarity settles around him, and he finds his father at his side, blue
eyes full of pain and regret. He blinks, and it's gone, Jughead wonders if he
only imagined it.
Taking in his surroundings he realises that they've arrived at the clinic and
he is lying on a narrow bed; a soft blanket has been draped over his bruised
and battered body. There is the sound of drawers opening and closing, metal on
metal, the rustle of plastic and the hammering of his heart in his ears. He
knows what's to come, he is terrified and wants nothing more than to flee, to
beg his dad to take him home, but that isn’t an option. He doesn't want to
think about the damage; the pain is profound, it’s a deep ache that spreads
from between his legs up to his stomach. It hurts like hell, and he just wants
it to stop.
“I’m going to put an IV in Jughead,” Claire says, reaching for his hand, he
flinches slightly at her touch. “I'm going to take some blood and give you some
fluids and a mild sedative for the pain. Are you okay for me to proceed?”
He nods, it hurts to talk, the skin on his neck burns, like the cabin in the
woods, burning away the evidence of the night, but the smoking remains will
hold the truth of what transpired there. Fire cannot cleanse away the sins of
men. A sharp sting pulls him back, he watches the needle disappear into his
skin, the crimson liquid flows into the tubes, it starts to make him feel
dizzy, he takes a deep breath and lets his eyes briefly flutter closed.
“Alright, the sedative will take a few moments to work” Claire explained.
“You’ll start to feel like you’re floating, it might feel a little strange but
remember you are completely safe. When it’s kicked in I’m going to start, okay”
he nods once more, and she continues. “I’m going to be very thorough, if it
gets too painful or too much, I will stop until you’re ready for me to
continue.”
He hates this; he feels so exposed, trapped with his legs secured firmly in the
stirrups. Looking away from Claire and the tray with its gleaming medical tools
he finds his father’s eyes, reaching out to him for comfort. His dad takes his
hand, cards his fingers through Jug’s messy raven locks, for a moment he is
six-years old again, this is just a bad dream, his dad will scare away the
monsters, and he'll fall asleep knowing he is safe and sound. Only this is not
a six-year-olds nightmare; they were about clowns or the kids who bullied him
at school, this was the reality of someone who'd stepped into the darkness and
found where the real monsters lived.
They were friends hidden in disguises, trusted faces hiding deep, dark secrets
and twisted desires. He'd put his trust in the wrong people; he'd waded into a
world he didn't know the first thing about and took charge, gave orders,
antagonised, all because he thought he was untouchable. He wasn't untouchable;
he wasn't revered as The Serpent Prince, he was just a stupid kid playing in a
grown-up world and in that world people like Tall Boy existed. In that world
kids like him were taken to sordid basements and violated, they were used and
abused, and that's just how it was. These kinds of things happen to kids like
him.
He can’t hold back the tears; the memories come crashing in, the world is
bright and blinding. He cries, sobs ripping from his throat, shattering him
apart in the most brutal way. It’s too much, the bright lights, the smell of
antiseptic, the feel of Claire’s fingers inside him. He screams, banging his
fist on the bed in frustration. There is a logical part of him that just wants
to get this over with, but the fear is stronger, it’s a raging fire swallowing
him whole.
“Jug, hey, shh.”
His dad holds him down; the panic spreads, reality fritzing, sending him back
to the basement, where there is a heavy, sweaty body bending him out of shape,
hips ramming into his backside so forcefully he is sure there will be bruises.
It feels like he’s going to die, the pain is alive, is taking over and he can’t
breathe, can’t see because of the black spots dancing in his vision. There is a
shift, and the pressure from his throat is gone, he gasps in a deep breath,
refilling his gasoline lungs. He finds his dad’s face, reaches for him, for
something safe and real to hold onto.
“You’re safe” he whispers, gently resting him back down on the bed. “You’re
safe, Jug.”
“I want to go home.” He wants to fall into bed, no he wants to shower, to scrub
at his skin, make it bleed, peel it away to find someone new and untouched
beneath. “Can we go home, please?”
“When Claire is finished, Jug” he sits down beside him, fixing the blanket, so
it's snug around his bare shoulders. “I wouldn't be putting you through this if
it weren't important. You gotta be brave just a little longer.”
“It feels horrible,” he confessed, “I feel horrible.”
His dad has no words to offer, instead he leans forward, kissing his forehead
tenderly. “It’ll be over soon” he promises, “just try and stay with me, okay?”
“I can talk you through this?” Claire offered, she’s still sitting between his
spread legs, waiting patiently.
Jughead looks from her to his dad, there is nothing that will make this any
less awful, and he wishes she'd just fully sedate him but if she hasn't already
then there must be a reason why. Knowing what is happening, what she's doing
will at least help his mind distinguish her actions with the very raw memories
of what Tall Boy had done to him. He feels so tired, exhausted, his limbs feel
weightless, like he is a feather floating in the air, but there is an
undercurrent of fear, and it's creeping through the drug, reaching out with
claws and gnashing teeth.
“Okay” he finally speaks.
“You sure kiddo?” his dad questions, eyes so damn tired, so full of sadness and
worry.
“I think it will help” he offers a feeble smile in reassurance. “My mind keeps
pulling me back to… to earlier” his breath hitches. “I want to know what’s
happening” he needs to know what Tall Boy has done, though it frightens him.
The pain has been immense, he can only imagine the damage Tall Boy has caused.
He wonders if there will be any permit issues from tonight, if Tall Boy has
broken his body the way he has Jug’s mind.
“I’m right here, bub” his father takes his hand, kissing his knuckle.
“I know” he squeezes his dad’s fingers, looks to Claire, takes a deep breath,
tries his best to be brave, though tears are gathering in his eyes and says,
“I’m ready.”
“Okay,” she gives him a brief smile, gentle and reassuring then her demeanour
changes and she is professional and collected. “I’m going to start by cleaning
the area, it might sting in some places and it might be difficult but try to
stay as relaxed as you can. I’m going to start now, okay.”
Jughead flinches at the first touch, crushes his father’s hand in the moment of
panic. He wants to get this over with, to go home and shower, scrub at his
skin, shed the memories of this night, let them disappear down the drain
forever. It’s not going to be that easy; he isn't going to wake up tomorrow and
be able to go on with his life like nothing happened. People will notice, his
friends will see the bruises, sense the fear, and they will ask what happened. 
Archie will ask who hurt him, and he won't be able to lie, he isn't sure he
wants too. This seems too big for him and his father to handle alone. The
aftermath will be painful; it could destroy him, take the last piece of fight
Jug has left and crush it to dust. Tonight, he lost a part of himself, Tall Boy
violently stole his virginity, shattered his world and there is no undoing the
events of this Godforsaken night. Jughead Jones is gone, is left burning in the
ashes and the boy on the table, trembling and close to tears, is the broken
mess left behind.
“Jug, you need to try and stay still” Claire calls to him “take some deep
breaths, I’m going to rub the inside of your thighs, okay? Just to help relax
you. I’ll tell you when I’m going to start again.”
“It hurts daddy” he feels so young.
“Shh, I’m sorry bub, I know this is unpleasant but you’re being so brave” he
soothes, resuming stroking his curls. “Take deep breathes Juggie, try to
picture yourself somewhere else.”
Closing his eyes, he takes in a breath, trying to move his mind through time,
to a place, a day where there was golden sunshine, warmth, happiness. He is
fourteen years old, riding his bike through Fox Forest, the sun trickles in
through the overlocking branches, catching Archie’s hair on fire. They are
sixteen and sitting down by the river, it’s a lazy autumn afternoon, things
were bad between them for a while there, but now things are better, things are
different.
They shared a kiss at Pop’s, lips tasting of chocolate and coffee, it felt like
time stood still, suspending them under the neon lights. Time begins to move
when they break apart for air, Archie's eyes reflected red lights and desire.
There were stolen kisses, secret meetings, sneaking around and playing a
thrilling game of will we or won't we get caught. Jughead walked along the
fault-line; he stepped into the life of a Serpent, he joined them, put distance
between himself and Archie. He told himself he did it to keep him safe, and
that was partly true, but he the more he fell into darkness, the more he knew
he was unworthy of Archie’s love.
And he was right; he opens his eyes, feels pain and a strange, uncomfortable
sensations between his legs and knows he did the right thing. He kept Archie
safe from the darkness; it's just a shame he couldn't do the same for himself.
He is the collateral damage in a war that he doesn't understand; he was
punished for being born on the wrong side of the tracks, for speaking freely.
He looked into the abyss, and the abyss looked back, reached out and claimed
him as his own.
The bright images have escaped from his grasp; he can't escape the present,
it’s vivid and painful. He bits his tongue to hold back the whimpers, clasps
tight to his father’s hands as Claire’s fingers seem to move deeper, things he
can’t identify slipping inside him. The urge to scream builds in his chest, to
beg for her to stop, to just let him be, but he knows she isn't going to leave
him to succumb to his injuries, and his dad isn't going to take them home until
this over.
“Alright, sweetie” she pats his knee gently, and he thinks for one blissful
moment it is over, but it isn’t, and he isn’t sure how much more he can take.
Claire removes her gloves; the sight of the dark blood and white subsistence on
them makes his stomach churn, he swallows the bile, watching Claire approach
them.
“I've cleaned the area, and I was able to get a better view of the extent of
the injuries.” She rests a hand on his shoulders, keeping her tone even as she
speaks “Jug, I’m so sorry, but there is deep tearing alongside the inner right
wall of your rectum” God, he can only imagine that was from Tall Boy’s
piercing, the way it dug into him was excruciating. “These will need be
sutured, along with a few other internal years and external injuries will need
to be treated differently, which I will get to in a moment. There is also
bruising and swelling, this will take a few days to go down.” She pauses,
letting the words sink in, Jughead feels sick, his father has paled, anger
flickering in his eyes.
“There is a high risk of infection, so I’m going to send you home on
antibiotics.” Claire continues, looking up to meet his father's eyes “and if
Jughead gets a fever, or the swelling worsens, or there is severe internal pain
you will have to bring him back in as he might need a course of IV antibiotics.
I’m also going to give you an ointment, which will need to be applied
internally and externally twice a day.”
Jughead feels like he’s going to hyperventilate, this is too much, he doesn’t
want to be touched there, to have his father do that to him. He knows he’d
never hurt him, but his hands are strong like Tall Boys, calloused, able to
break things so easily. No, his dad would never violate him, he needed this to
heel, he could try himself, but Claire wouldn’t be tasking his dad with it if
it were something he could manage on his own.
“I know this is a lot to take in, for both of you, but we need to work quickly
to avoid infection setting in” her dark, kind eyes look from FP’s to his “Are
you ready for me to continue?”
“No” he answers honestly “but I want to get this over with.”
“I'm going to be as gentle as I can” she assured, “I, unfortunately, don't have
any anaesthesia available, but I am going to give you a little more sedative to
make this as comfortable as possible.” She moves to the drip, fielding with the
IV line.
“Will it hurt?”
“There is a chance that you will feel some bits of the procedure, pressure and
a little pulling” she turns back to face him, it’s time. “Alright, sweetie,
when this takes effect I am going to begin. I’ll be using dissolvable sinew to
suture the wounds then applying the ointment to the shallow tears. Over the
next few days you’re going to be very sore, so you will need to take it very
easy, but your father and I will talk more later about that. Are you starting
to feel the effects?”
“I can’t” he couldn’t, the panic was growing, rising to tighten around his
already aching throat.
“Can't what bub?” his father asked, voice tight with a dozen emotions.
“I can’t do this anymore, I’m not strong enough” he felt the splinters grow,
cracking like the glass, raining down in pieces as he broke.
“Juggie, hey, shh” FP cupped his face in his hands, sweeping away the tears.
“Listen, to me kiddo, I know you are hurting right now, and I know you are
scared, but you are strong enough to get through this. You've been so brave
tonight; I am so proud of you baby boy.” Jug relaxed under the touch, feeling
safe for a few precious moments. “I’m going to help you through this, okay? I’m
going to be right here, holding your hand” he takes Jug’s hand, squeezes it
lightly “and when it's over, I'm going to take you home, like I promised.”
“Okay,” he says weakly “okay.”
“I've got him, Claire, let's just get this over with.”
“This shouldn’t take any more than fifteen to twenty minutes” she pats him on
the shoulder once more before moving back to sit between his legs.
“Dad?”
“I’m right here, Jug.”
“It hurts” he whimpered, feeling Claire begin.
“I’m sorry baby” he whispered, caressing Jug’s arm. “It'll be over soon; we’re
on home run.”
“Can you keep talking to me, please?”
“What do you want me to talk about bub?”
“Anything.”
He smiles, feeble and tired but it makes the corners of Jug’s mouth twitch.
“Remember when you used to have nightmares as a kid? And your mum would send me
in because it was usually my fault you and Archie had found something scary to
watch.” There is a flicker of regret in his eyes, unshed tears glistening in
the light, but he pushes on, “and I would check the room for monsters before
tucking you back into bed-”
“-And you’d sing.” Jughead has vague memories of these nights, before he got
older and his father stopped checking for monsters under the bed because he was
passed out on the couch, so he'd sneak out to the treehouse, and when he was
older he'd go to Archie's. 
“I’d sing” he echoes, “Say your prayers little one, don't forget, my son to
include everyone,” He started “Tuck you in, warm within keep you free from sin,
till the sandman he comes…”
Jughead lets his father’s voice wash over him, letting the song carry him back
in time, setting him down in the bedroom he grew up in with its star-speckled
ceiling and cosy bed. “Sleep with one eye open gripping your pillow tight,” he
murmured, eyes drifting shut.
Exit light, enter night, take my hand, off to never, never land
Something's wrong, shut the light heavy thoughts tonight, and they aren't of
snow white
Dreams of war, dreams of liars, dreams of dragon's fire and of things that will
bite
Sleep with one eye open gripping your pillow tight
 
Exit light, enter night, take my hand, off to never, never land
Now I lay me down to sleep pray the lord my soul to keep if I die before I wake
pray the lord my soul to take
Hush little baby, don't say a word and never mind that noise you heard
it's just the beast under your bed, in your closet, in your head.”
Despite the dark undertone to the song, the sound of his father’s voice lulled
him into a state of calm. There was the distance feeling of pressure and a
tugging sensation with the occasional flicker of pain, but he tried not to
focus on that, instead he let the lyrics carry him back in time, to a place
where he knew not of such horrors and to a room where he was just a child, safe
in his father’s arms.
XxX
FP is about ready to collapse by the time he carries Jughead through the door
of the trailer. It's nearing one am, and all he wants to do is go to bed, sleep
for days and wake up to discover this was just a fucked-up dream. If only that
were possible. He doesn’t know what tomorrow will bring, but it’s not going to
be pleasant. From tonight onwards everything is going to change, and FP doesn’t
have a damn clue how he’s going to handle it. Getting Jughead to Claire, taking
care of his injuries that was nothing compared to what came next. Helping Jug
through the emotional aftermath is going to be the hardest battle of his life,
and he is terrified, because if he fails he could very well lose his son.
He knows Jug is strong, always has been a fighter, ever since he was born, but
this, this isn't Jug getting bullied or nursing a broken heart because Archie
abandoned him, this so vastly different. God, his son was raped, and there is
no easy or quick fix for this, there is only a long, gruelling road of
recovery. Tonight, he has to put that out of his head; he is too exhausted to
focus on what's to come; he has a tired, fragile child to look after.
Claire has driven them home to the trailer, it feels strange, like it's been a
hundred years since he was last here when it reality it had only been this
morning. He'd been in a hurry to get to Pop's, didn't even stop to hug Jug
goodbye as he sat at the table eating a bowl of cereal. He wished in that
moment he knew what the day would bring, he would have told Jughead to get on
the next bus out of here, go to his mother's, get somewhere safe. But he
didn't, he breezed on by, and Jug called out ‘see you’ around a mouthful of
Lucky Charms, and he didn't say anything back because he was too distracted and
a little pissed at having to work long hours mopping floors.
Now FP is laying his barely conscious son down on the bed, searching through
drawers for some clothes so he can at least give him some modesty back. He
tentatively dresses him in an oversized t-shirt that he hasn’t seen before,
thinks maybe it’s Archie’s, but has no time to spare on the thought as he helps
Jughead shimmy into his checkered pyjama shorts. When Jug is dressed, he tucks
him into bed, grabbing the extra blanket from the closet in hopes of easing the
tremors that hadn’t stopped.
“Stay” he begs, latching onto his wrist as he goes to leave.
“I’m coming back” he promises “I’ve just going to talk with Claire. You’re safe
now, bub, try to get some sleep.”
He lets go, glassy eyes fluttering shut. FP stays a moment longer, watching the
rise and fall of his chest, the way he used to when Jughead was a newborn, and
he was afraid if he left the room he'd stop breathing. Tired, ready to fall
apart, to give into the storm raging inside his mind, swelling in his chest he
leaves, burying his emotions, it wasn't time to break yet. Claire is waiting
for him the kitchen; she had brewed him a mug of tea and set Jug's medication
on the table for the morning.
“How you holding up?” she asked as he slumped into a chair.
“I honestly don’t know how I’m still standing” he takes a sip of the tea, eyes
glancing over the pill bottles and back to Claire’s face, she looks as tired as
he feels. “Thank you for helping us. I owe you.”
“You don't owe me” she declared “just promise me you’ll get the sorry of sons
of bitches who did this.”
“I will; there is no way Tall Boy is getting away with this.” It doesn’t feel
right to say his nickname name anymore, the one the Serpents gave him, he isn’t
a Serpent, not after what he’s done, but FP doesn’t think Gavin is any better.
Monster, rapist, is more fitting. “God, I’ve known him for years, I left Jug in
his care, in the Serpents care and” he’s starting to break, can feel the tears,
the rising sobs, the screams that want so desperately to escape. “He's just a
kid, he's my kid, and I let this happen.”
“FP, this isn’t your fault” Claire reached for his hand, he took it, finding
comfort in her touch. “You weren’t to know what Tall Boy was planning to do.
You can’t blame yourself for this, it’s not going to help Jug, or you heal.”
He nods, throat tight, tears so close to spilling. He wipes angrily at his
eyes, takes another sip of tea to distract himself from the heartache. “You're
right; I need to look after Jughead.”
“I’ll be here for you, both of you” she squeezes his fingers lightly. “I’ll
check in on you two after work tomorrow, and I'll get those blood samples to
the lab and as soon as I have the results I’ll call you.”
“I hope to God he doesn’t have anything.”
“We’ll get through it” she reassures. “Though you aren’t going to be able to do
it alone, neither is Jughead. I will be here when you need me, but it might be
best to call some friends that you can trust.”
“I honestly don’t know who to trust right now” he admits “my own people
betrayed me. I don’t think I’m going to be comfortable confining in anyone
anytime soon. Excluding you” he adds, knowing without a doubt Claire is on
their side, that she will take care of Jughead and if he asked she’d help him
get justice.
“Well, that’s understandable. What about Jughead, though? I know you’ll be
there for him, but he could really use the support of his friends.”
“Shouldn't I leave that up to him? I don't want to tell people if he isn't
comfortable with them knowing. He's had enough of his power taken from him.”
“Maybe just encourage him to? This isn't going to be an easy recovery, the more
moral support you both have, the better.”
“I get it,” he did, this was too much to go through alone, and he would have to
tell Gladys, God she'd be furious, devastated. He couldn't handle the thought
of telling her, of having to speak aloud the four-letter word that felt like
glass in his mouth. He needed rest, to cry and rage, then he could face the
aftermath “just give us a few days okay?”
“Okay,” Claire nods, surrendering for now. “I'm going to head home, make sure
to give Jug his medication in the morning, and I know it's going to be
uncomfortable, but it's critical you apply the ointment. I am deeply concerned
about infection.” She pauses thoughtfully, eyes glistening with conflict before
she adds “is internal injuries are severe FP, some of the worst I've seen,
he’ll need monitoring closely and if he gets the slightest temperature call me
right away.”
“I will” he bows his head to the hide the tears. He hates how hurt Jug is, that
Tall Boy tore him apart so viciously. “Is there anything else I can do to help
him with the discomfort?”
“I’m afraid there isn’t a lot” she smiles sympathetically. “Just keep him off
his feet and give him his painkillers regularly. If the pain gets worse, call
me or bring him to the clinic. He might also suffer from stomach cramps later,
a side effect of the sexual assault, so I’ve left a hot water bottle by the
kettle for you if he needs it, other than that all you can really do is be
there for him.”
“I hope that’s enough.”
“It will be” she pats his hand, gives him one last fleeting smile then gets up
to leave. “I’ll be back tomorrow at six pm. Just stay strong, okay?”
“Stay,” he asked, surprise colouring his voice, he felt anything but strong.
“Yes, stay” she stepped out into the cold, the wind blowing her dark locks
about. “Get some sleep, FP, you've done all you can do tonight.”
With that she heads off into the night, FP locks the door and makes his way
quietly to the bedroom, relieved to find Jug asleep at last. Even though he is
bone he musters the energy to shower, needing to wash away his son’s blood,
cleanse the night from his skin, scold away the memories though they are in too
deep to come out. When his skin is scrubbed clean, and he's shed his share of
tears he emerges, dries off and changes into clean clothes before making his
way back to the bedroom. He climbs into bed, Jug stirs awake, seeking him out,
needing his comfort and warmth. He falls asleep at quarter past one, holding
his son in his arms, keeping him safe until morning light.
XxX
The sun is barely filtering in through the half-closed blinds when FP stirs
awake. For a few precious moments he doesn’t remember the events of last night,
he’s drifting in the blissful limbo between sleep and the waking world when he
feels something shake him, the darkness scattering. He opens his heavy lids,
finding Jughead’s bruised and batter face hovering above him, he looks
miserable, cheeks damp from tears and skin ashen. The memories crash over him
like a tidal wave, the force knocks the air from his lungs, images flickering
in his mind. 
He blinks the images away, swallowing the bile and sits up, taking Jug into his
arms. He’s trembling violently, mumbling and hyperventilating, clinging to him
with one hand while the other clutches at his stomach. Claire’s words come back
to him, he doesn’t understand the connection between the assault and his son’s
stomach-ache, but he knows what needs to be done. He does his best to soothe
Jughead before making a dash to the kitchen, moving quickly to boil the kettle
and fill the water bottle.
It feels like it takes an age, Jughead’s sobs echo through the trailer, each
cry a knife to FP’s heart. Rushing back to the room, he gently lies Jug down,
giving him the water bottle to press against his stomach. It takes about twenty
minutes to get Jug’s breathing under control, he falls back to sleep, clutching
the water bottle like a lifeline. FP stays awake as long as he can, but fatigue
wins in the end.
The next time he wakes the sun is high in the sky; the air is crisp, the
trailer struggles to keep them warm on winter days. Something is not right; the
bed feels empty, cold, he looks to his left and finds the space empty, blinded
by panic he leaps to his feet, minding spinning with a thousand horrors. He’s
made it to the bedroom door when hears running water, it stops him dead in his
tracks, and he lets out a deep sigh of relief. Jughead’s just taking a shower;
no one has crept in while he was asleep and took him, Tall Boy didn't come back
to finish the job he failed to do last night.
FP walks towards the bathroom, rapping his knuckles against the thin wooden
door before calling out “You okay in there, Juggie?” no answer, just running
water and steam seeping out from beneath the door. FP twists the knob, glad for
once there is no lock, and enters. The room is cloaked in mist, mirror fogged
over and water blasting. “Kiddo?” he is starting to panic again, rushes to the
stall, reaching for the curtain, heart in his throat.
He pulls it back, finding a devastating sight; Jughead is sitting curled up on
the shower floor, head resting against the wall, blank eyes staring into space.
FP shuts the water off, grabs a towel places it over Jughead's quivering frame.
He flinches, eyes coming back to life, only the expression isn't any better
than the lifeless stare. There is so much hurt and heartache, fear and guilt
and a dozen other emotions he doesn't have time to catalogue right now.
“Jug, you with me?”
He nods, moving to stand, struggle, wincing from the pain, so FP lifts him out
of the shower.
“Let’s get you dry and back to bed, okay?” Jughead doesn’t respond, merely
continues to stare into space.
He dries his son tentatively, being mindful of his injuries and not to cause
panic when he moves the towel towards his rear. The fluorescent light of the
bathroom illuminates the bruises covering his son's body, fingerprints and hand
marks are vivid against his pale flesh, especially around his bony hips. Tall
Boy left every one of these, from the black eye, the ring of purple around his
throat and the handprint on his backside. Tall Boy marked his son, he claimed
him, tore him apart and FP was going to hurt him tenfold.
That would have to wait, it would need careful consideration, and he was too
emotional right now, he didn’t want to fuck it up and get caught. He’d wait,
he’d find the perfect punishment for the monster who violated his son. Now he
had to be the caring father and get Jug dressed and back to bed. He leads him
back to the bedroom, sitting him down on the edge of the bed while he goes to
gather some new clothes for him. He’s hunting through one of the drawers for
something clean when he remembers the medication and ointment sitting in the
kitchen. Casting a glance over his shoulder he finds Jug has curled up on the
bed, towel just covering his bruised body.
It seems cruel to put Jug through any more invasive treatment, but Claire's
concern for infection outweighs his desire to let Jughead be. He collects a
baggy sweater and a pair of boxers from the drawer and moves back to the bed,
helping Jug to put it on before sitting down beside him and gently explaining
what he's going to do. Jughead already knows all of this, he'd been conscious
enough when Claire told them, but this at least gives him a few moments to
emotionally prepare. For all the fear and misery swirling in his eyes, Jughead
does a decent job at putting on a brave face, nodding along to his words and
agreeing without complaint.
It's both admiring and heartbreaking. It makes FP worry that he might give up,
he would have preferred some resistance, something that showed there was still
a spark, a fighter within. Maybe he was being paranoid, and Jughead was still
hanging in there, he was just smart enough to know that he needed this
treatment. FP lets the troubled thoughts go, setting his mind on the task at
hand. He feels uneasy, unsettled with what he has to do, it’s unusual for him
to have anxiety, to have a tremor in his hands that has nothing to do with
drinking too much.
He isn't used to being afraid, he's never been easily frightened, not even when
he was Jughead’s age, it's why he'd gotten into so much trouble. The thought of
doing this, though it must be done, makes his blood turn cold. He exhales the
anxiety he has no to right to feel, it’s Jug who’s going to be in discomfort
and him being nervous won’t help anything. With a deep breath he collects the
items he needs from the kitchen and returns to his son.
“Alright, kiddo, let's get this over with” he offers a tired smile, chest
lightening when the edges of Jug's mouths twitch into a smile, only it's gone
too soon. FP tells him to roll over onto his back and move a little closer to
the edge of the bed. He talks him through this, trying his best to keep his
hands steady as he coats his finger with the ointment, “I’m going to touch you
now, Juggie” he warns “try and relax, you’re safe.”
Jughead flinches at the first touch; it takes all his strength not to recoil,
to keep his son from any more pain, but stopping now would only make it more
difficult to start again. “I'm going to push my finger in and turn it as gently
as possible to coat the area, alright?” his vision blurs, he can feel Jug
clench around his finger, a whimper escape into the air. “Hold on Juggie; I'm
almost done, you're doing so well.” He felt Jughead’s muscles tighten once
more, a weak cry following. “I'm taking my finger out now bub; It's okay.”
He pulled the gloves off, tossing them into the wastebasket and setting the
ointment aside on the nightstand. “You did good, kiddo” he praises, helping
Jughead shimmy into his boxers before tucking him back under the covers. “You
want me to go make some breakfast?”
“I don’t know” he shrugged, bottom lip trembling the way it did when he was
about to cry. “Can you just hold me for a while?”
“Yeah” he slips under the covers, it’s a bitterly cold day, and wraps an arm
around Jug’s shoulder, leaning back against the headboard to support them both.
Jughead presses impossibly close, fingers knotting in the fabric of his faded
AC/DC t-shirt. “You’re safe now, bub.”
“I know” he murmured “but I can’t seem to make the fear go away.”
He doesn't know what to say this; there isn't anything that will make the fear
evaporate from Jughead's veins, it's part of the trauma and today is only day
one on the road to recovery.
XxX
The following days go by slowly, Jughead’s mood shift with each passing hour,
he rages and cries, refuses to eat, to be held or comforted. The nightmares
start, Jug screams himself hoarse, wakes terrified, sometimes seeking comfort
other times curling in on himself and refusing to be touched. FP hates it when
he pulls away, slams his walls up, it’s a natural response given all he’s been
through, but it doesn’t stop his heart from shattering when Jug screams at him
to go away, to not touch him. The fear in his voices knocks the air from his
lungs, his son is afraid of him and though he understands, the rejection still
stings.
At day when he's curled up on the couch watching TV and is docile from the
anti-anxiety medication Claire had prescribed him, he lets FP hold him, seeks
him out for comfort. The tables can just easily flip, sometimes at day he
withdraws into himself, refusing to talk or eat or move. These are the worst
moments, when Jughead shuts himself away, and FP is at a loss at what to do,
and he feels like the bad guy because he has to force Jughead to swallow his
pills and to let him apply the ointment.
It’s been five days since that God-awful night, and they haven’t left the
trailer, hasn’t told anyone but Gladys what happened, and she didn’t even seem
to care that her son had been raped. The only other person he has is Claire,
who occasionally drops in to with home cooked meals, offering her emotional
support and checking over Jug’s injuries. He is healing well, there have been
no infection and by some miracle his blood work came back negative for any
STD’s or HIV. Jughead's body is healing, time is moving on outside these four
walls, people go on with their lives, unaware that the fire that burnt down a
small farmhouse holds such a dark secret. He wonders if Tall Boy and the others
are going to skip town or come back and burn the trailer down while they sleep.
Nothing happens, no one comes for them in the night, so he starts to plot his
revenge. When Jughead wakes on the fifth day, and FP brings him scrambled eggs
and toast for breakfast, which he refuses to eat, he thinks it's going to be a
day for rage and quiet fear. He lets him be, checking on him twenty minutes
later only to find him hiding under the covers crying, a day of sorrow and
anxiety then. FP is so tired, this is too much to handle alone and he is afraid
he isn’t enough to get Jughead through this. Hell, who is he kidding, he knows
he's not enough to get Jughead through this. Claire isn't an option today,
she's helped Jug immensely, but it's time to let other people know, to bring in
the one-person Jughead should have by his side through this.
He calls Archie, and even though it's ten o'clock on a school day, he says
he'll be right there. He doesn't tell Archie what happened, he isn't sure if he
should, it’s not his place. Jughead needs Archie though, because clearly, he is
doing something wrong, evident by the fact he can’t get Jug to stop crying.
When Archie arrives, with those damn puppy dog eyes glistening with distress,
he decides he’ll only tell half the story. It’s up to Jughead if he wishes to
share the rest. He sits Archie down, bracing himself, knowing this will hurt
Archie just as much as its hurting him. At least Jug’s sobs have quietened,
there is only the sound of the wind and a dog barking a block away as FP
reveals the horrors of last Friday night.
Archie’s face turns red with anger, his hands ball into fists as he shoots to
his feet, telling FP they should go the Whyte Wyrm right now and confront Tall
Boy. FP steadies him, though he admires his gumption and devotion, charging
into the Wyrm in a fit of rage isn’t going to fix anything. He assures Archie
that Tall Boy will pay, it’s going to take time, he needs to work out who he
can trust and who can’t, and he still has to figure out if Penny had a hand in
this. When Archie calms he sends him on his way, warning him that Jug isn’t in
a very good place and he’s still pretty hurt and jumpy so be cautious and
gentle.
Archie nods, looks thirteen years old again and FP feels awful for dragging him
into this, especially when he says, ‘I had a feeling Jug was hiding something,
but I wasn’t expecting this.’ He sounds so damn broken, and it's only going to
get worse when or if Jughead tells him he was raped. It’s too late to turn
back, he pats Archie on the shoulder and watches him walk into the dark.
XxX
He can't make it stop; the fear has become a living beast inside his chest,
racing through his veins. The nightmares make it worse, make it grow and shift
into something ugly, turning it into a rage he cannot contain. Jughead doesn't
mean to snap at his dad, to push him away and raise the iron walls. Deep down
he wants his father's comfort, he feels safer when he is near, but at times the
nightmares twist his mind, making him confused, scared of the one person he can
trust. He recoils from his dad's touch, body jerking away like an outside force
is pulling his strings, he feels rage burn through his veins, hatred like he's
never felt before.
When the fire dies, leaving nothing but smouldering ash he feels awful, feels a
tidal wave of sadness wash over him, dragging him down into the murky waters.
His emotions are ever changing; he becomes hysterical at some point, he doesn’t
remember which day it’s all blurred together, and his dad is forced to call
Claire. She arrives with an anti-anxiety medication, which doesn't fix
anything, just makes the pain and fear feel far away. It's still there,
building, growing with each passing hour and with each dawn he wakes to
discover he's lost a little more of himself.
It's been five days; his body is healing well, the physical pain is tolerable,
the war in his mind, however, is tearing him apart. It's sorrow that takes
centre place today, grief heavy in his lungs, thick in the frigid stale air of
the bedroom. He can't stop crying, can't make the tears dry or the tremors ease
from his fragile, aching frame. Breakfast sits untouched on his nightstand, he
curls up under the mountain of blankets, waiting for the storm to pass.
Time moves by, the tears ebb, he feels hollow, frozen to the core. He lies and
listens, the wind howls like a ghost, a dog barks from a few blocks away, and
the floorboards creak under careful footsteps. He tenses, waiting with baited
breath, the footsteps are too tentative to be his fathers. Blind panic surges
through his bloodstream, Tall Boy has returned for him; he's going to hurt him
again, going to finish what he started. He's dizzy with fear when he hears a
familiar voice, one that wraps around him, scattering the chills.
“Archie?” he peeks out from under the covers, finding his red-headed best
friend hovering near him. “Archie, what are you doing here?”
“Your dad called” he answered, hesitating before sitting on the edge of the
bed. “He told me Tall Boy attacked you.” He reaches out, a calloused thumb from
hours of guitar playing whispering over the bruise under his eye. “Why didn’t
you tell me?”
“I was ashamed” he admitted, bowing his head to hide the tears. “It was my
fault… I didn’t want you to know.”
“How is this your fault, Jug?”
He sits up, studying Archie’s expression carefully. He looks concerned, brown
eyes clouded with distress, a hint of hurt but he seems composed, which means
he doesn’t know the whole story. Jughead isn’t sure if he wished his dad told
Archie or not, it would have been easier, though he is also grateful since it’s
not his choice. Jughead could hold tight to this secret, keep Archie safe from
the truth, but there have been enough lies, enough secrets between them. Archie
deserves the truth, even if it’s going to break them both.
“I antagonised Tall Boy, I told him to stop being a little bitch, and that's
why he did this,” he explained, lowering his gaze in shame.
“Juggie, this isn’t fault,” Archie insists “Tell me what happened, from the
start.”
He takes a deep breath, it’s going to be difficult to talk about this, he
hasn’t spoken a word about what happened, he hasn’t needed too, but now he’s
going to let it all rush out. “Tall Boy showed up here Friday after school,
said he needed to talk with dad but he was still at Pop’s, so he said he’d
wait.” He paused, Archie sensing his distress reaches out to take his hand “I
don’t really remember what happened but one minute I was making a coffee and
the next I am waking up in a basement, dad was there too, tied to a chair.”
It hurts to speak, the words sharp in his mouth, “Tall Boy knocked me around a
little before dad came too. I thought that's all it would be, a beating but
he,” he chokes on a sob, daring a peak, finding Archie tense, breath held. “He…
he…” the word is glass on his tongue, each syllable cuts deep “he… he raped me,
Archie.”
The air rushes out of Archie’s lung, sounding like a jagged cry. “Juggie, oh
God, Juggie, I am so sorry.”
“It's not you faulted” he sniffled, “you told me to be careful, but I didn't
listen. I thought I could trust the Serpents, but I was wrong.”
“Juggie, hey” Archie cradles his chin in the crook of his fingers, tilting his
face up so their eyes can meet. “This isn't your fault. You are a kid, what he
did was wrong. He should go to jail. Why didn't you go the police? Did… did the
other Serpents hurt you?”
“I don't trust the system to put Tall Boy away, especially if he has Penny on
his side.” He explained, trying to pull it together, only to feel the threads
unravel “and no, the others didn't hurt me, they were just the extra muscle.”
He closes his eyes, fighting against the memories of Tall Boy throwing him over
his dad’s lap. “Tall Boy… he raped me twice,” his face crumples, another wave
of tears overcome him, “God Arch, it hurt so much.”
“Oh my God” he exclaimed, reaching for Jug, “did you at least go to the
hospital? And did Penny have something to do with this? Fuck, Jug this isn’t
okay. What’s going to happen?”
“Dad has a friend who is a nurse, she patched me up” Archie doesn't need to
know the details of his injuries, it would only cause him more pain. “I have a
feeling Penny is involved with this in some way, but I highly doubt she forced
Tall Boy into it.” Anger colours his tone, boils in his blood, Tall Boy
relished in taking him apart, in taunting him and his dad. Maybe he was the one
who went to Penny with the idea, he couldn’t be certain but part of him wants
to find out.
“I don't know what's going to happen; I guess dad will take care of it.” There
is a flicker of satisfaction at the thought of his dad punishing Tall Boy for
what he did, but that is followed by fear, fear of him getting caught and going
away again. “I don't know; maybe I should just let it go.”
“No way, Jug” Archie grasps his shoulders like he is going to shake some sense
into him, but he just holds onto him. “They have to pay for this! God, I want
to kneecap them, especially Tall Boy.”
Archie's rage is fierce; he makes Jug wish he could feel such anger, not just
brief bursts of it, instead he feels hollow, feels the sorrow and tears rise
once more. “Archie, promise me you won't do anything, please? I couldn't handle
it if they hurt you too. Just, just let my dad handle it okay?”
Archie deflates, breathing out the rage “I promise, Jug.”
“Thank you” his lips quirk into fleeting smile. “Can we keep this between us
for a while? I'm not ready for other to people to know.”
“Yeah, of course, Jug” he returns the smile, fighting back his own grief.
“I’m glad you’re here, Archie” He moved over, motioning for Archie to climb
into bed with him.
“I'm glad I'm here too” he slipped under the covers, wrapping an arm around
Jug's narrow shoulders “and I'm not going anywhere Jug. So, you can talk to me,
about how you feel or about the night it happened, and I'll listen” he sealed
his words with a tender kiss to Jug's temple, “and I will be here to remind you
that this isn't your fault.”
Jughead lets Archie's presence calm him; it doesn't chase the sorrow from his
bones or the fear from his gut, only time can do that. Archie's love, his
words, they help him start to mend, they remind him that his father doesn't
blame him for this, that he will do everything in his power to help him
recover. He'd forgotten the words his father spoke to him that night, they'd
been lost to pain, tears and nightmares but now they floated back, sparked to
life by Archie's.
This wasn’t his fault, it never was. His words to Tall Boy didn’t warrant such
cruelty. The only person to blame was him and the other Serpents. This wasn't
his fault, it wasn't his dad's fault, it was just something truly awful that
happened, and now he had to live with it. 
XxX
It's Friday night when FP gets his revenge. It seems fitting that he chose the
same day, a week after that God-awful night. It was too easy to track down Tall
Boy and the other Serpents, after the fire failed to clean up their mess they'd
run off to Greendale, they should have run further. He'd returned to the Whyte
Wyrm on the sixth day to gather information, leaving Jughead at home with
Claire, after he spent the previous day working out precisely what Tall Boy's
punishment would be.
He'd strolled into the bar, a king returning to his castle and studied everyone
carefully, wondering how many of his men had turned on him, had known or taken
part in the violation of his son. He spends a few hours talking with his fellow
Serpents, those who he considered close asked where he's been. He tells them
Jughead been home with the flu and when he is met with genuine concern for his
Jughead’s wellbeing he strikes their name off his list. FP takes his time,
chooses his words carefully and when he has the information he was seeking, and
he is assured there are no more traitors in his midst he goes home to his son.
That night he plans, he conjures up all forms of painful ways to make Tall Boy
sorry for what he did. The other's will be punished too, for they did nothing,
they watched, they helped a twisted fuck fulfil some sick rape fantasy. When
the plan is set, he puts things in motions. First, he invites Archie around to
spend the night with Jughead, says he has to work the late shift at Pop’s and
Archie believes it, but Jug gives him a look that says he knows something is
up.
He hugs Jughead goodbye, he seems so fragile, so small buried in the layers of
clothing, so lost with his eyes tired and haunted. There is such a long road of
recovery ahead of him, of them, it's stretching out further than FP can see. He
knows that what he's about to do won't help Jug heal any quicker, it won't
change the past, there is no undoing the damage, but at least Tall Boy will
never be able to hurt anyone again the way he hurt Jughead. He was a fool to
think he'd get away with this, that a fire would snuff out the Jones'. He is
strong, Jughead is strong, and that's how he knows there is a far-off day where
things will be better, it's just still out of sight.
He heads out into the night, a hunter seeking its prey. He finds the three
Serpents in a seedy bar on the edge of Greendale, hustling pool and drinking
beers, laughing at stupid jokes like they haven't taken witness the rape of
sixteen-year old kid. It takes all his strength not to start something then and
there, he exhales the rage, he needs to stay calm, he won't risk screwing this
up. He watches from the shadows, follows the weakest link outside, the one he
remembers looking somewhat guilty while Tall Boy raped his son. FP corners him,
shoves him into a trash-strewn alleyway, grabs him by the labels of his Serpent
jacket and rams him against a wall. He, Hunter, FP thinks is name is, looks
terrified, is already babbling about being sorry. He doesn't want to hear it,
sorry doesn't unrape his son.
Sorry isn’t going to take away the nightmares, the post-traumatic stress
disorder that he and Jug have. He hasn’t told anyone, not even Claire, but he’s
been plagued with nightmares of that night, he feels anxious and fearful, feels
grief and regret heavy in his gut. He doesn’t’ feel he has to the right to
these emotions, not when it was Jughead who was hurt, who was raped, but God it
feels like he’s being torn apart at seams. Right now, with this coward in his
grasps, the rage grows, it’s alive, making him very, very dangerous and this
fool knows it.
“Man, look, it was Tall Boy’s idea, I didn’t ha-”
FP strikes him across the face, cutting him off short “I don't care, you could
have done something, warned me but you just watched! You let it happen, you
betrayed your own, and you know the punishment for that.”
“FP, please, I'll tell you where he is” he is frantic, desperate to save his
skin but he's not getting out of this. “Tall Boy's at motel fifty-nine, room
seven. He's been laying low; I think he's planning to skip town once Penny lets
him.”
The rage crackles like lightning over his skin at the mention of her name,
Hunter shrinks, shaking like a leaf caught in the wind “Was Penny involved in
this?”
“I don't know, man. Look, Tall Boy offered me some money to knock you out and
bring you to that stupid farmhouse” he shakes his head, holding his hands up in
defence. “I needed the money; I got a kid on the way man.”
FP's blood turns to fire, he throws Hunter to the ground, pressing a boot to
his chest to keep him there. “You have a child on the way, and yet you helped
some maniac rape mine?”
“I didn't know that was going to happen” he confessed, eyes glistening with
tears, begging for mercy but there would be none. “We were all a little sick of
Jughead throwing fits and bossing us around, especially when he's not really
one of us. You know Major caught him fooling around with that red-headed preppy
kid from the North side?”
FP doesn't falter, though he can't help but wonder when Jughead and Archie
started ‘fooling' around and if so, did that mean Tall Boy didn't take his
virginity? It doesn't make what happened any less awful; he makes a mental note
to ask Jughead. Of course, usually he had no desire to hear about his kid’s sex
life, but this is different, no one deserves to lose their virginity that way.
Retuning his focus to the task at hand, he stripes Hunter of his Serpent
jacket, pinning him back to the filthy, damp ground.
“So, you come talk to me; you don't harm a sixteen-year-old kid!” He hisses,
hating that he can't shout, that he can't scream abuse at this piece of shit,
but he can't risk people overhearing, “and my son is more Serpent then you'll
ever be.” He retrieves his switchblade; the glint of silver brings fear to
Hunter's eyes. He drops down next to him, lifting his shirt to reveal the two-
headed serpent tattoo that is inked onto his chest. “I never want to see you
step foot in the Whyte Wyrm again.” He covers Hunter's mouth, “you are no
longer a southside Serpent, and you are banished from Riverdale” the blade
slices into the tattoo, severing the Serpent in two, then fours, then six's,
until it's a mess of bloody red lines. “I sincerely hope your child never goes
through what you put mine through.”
He rises, quivering in rage, stomach churning, hands dripping crimson. He walks
away, leaving Hunter moaning in the alley, climbs back into the truck and takes
off, heading in the direction of motel fifty-nine.
XxX
Jughead can't settle, his trying to relax into Archie's warm embrace, they are
snuggled up on the couch watching reruns of Brooklyn Nine-Nine, but he can't
get his mind to quieten. It's a different kind of fear that is plaguing him
tonight, by now he's almost used to feeling afraid. Tonight, it's different
though; it's not the uneasy feeling of fear sitting beneath his skin, resting
in his bones that makes him restless, jumpy, no it's concern for his father.
Jug knows he is up to something, there was a look of determination in his eyes,
nervous energy buzzing in the air around him and there was something to the way
he held on so tight.
FP wasn't going to work the late shift at Pop's, no, he was going to find Tall
Boy and punish him for his betrayal. Jughead knows he should want Tall Boy to
suffer for the pain he put him through, the pain he is still putting him
through, but he doesn't want his dad to risk going back to jail. He doesn't
want to lose his dad, not after just getting him back, not after what's
happened. He can't do this without him. If he picked up the phone and called
him, begged him to come home, would he? Jughead wasn't sure; there was a
dangerous glint in his eyes, a thirst for blood and a desire for revenge.
“Juggie, are you okay,” Archie asked, pausing the DVD so he could give him his
undivided attention.
“No, not really” he confessed, he hadn’t felt okay in days, hadn’t felt
anything even remotely close to it. “I think dad’s gone after Tall Boy, I can
sense it in my bones. I’m scared, Arch, I don’t want to lose him again. I
couldn’t handle that right now.”
“Jug, you won't lose him again” Archie reassured. “Your dad knows what he's
doing; he won't get caught.” He pauses, Jughead can sense he wants to say more,
there is a strange glint in his eyes. “I hope he does hurt Tall Boy, after what
he did to you he deserves it. I wish he'd told me; I'd like to kick his teeth
in.” Archie bristles with rage, it crackles in the air between them, making him
feel uneasy, withdraw to the other end of the sofa. This snaps Archie out of
his spell, hurt flickering in his eyes, panic crossing his face. “Jug?”
“Sorry” he gets up, starts pacing, there is so much nervous energy burning
under his skin. “I'm just anxious. It's nothing you did” he rushes to assure
when he sees guilt flash in Archie's gaze. “I'm torn, I want dad to hurt Tall
Boy, for him to feel as scared as I did, to feel the agony I felt” he falters,
feeling grief swell in his chest, the tears gather in his eyes. “I just don't
know, Archie. I just don't know what to feel anymore.”
Archie is up an instant, taking him into his arms, “Hey, shh, it's okay not to
know how to feel. After my dad and everything with the Black Hood, I felt so
afraid, like I couldn't sit still or think of anything other than how fucking
terrified I was. I sat by the front door every night, with a baseball bat,
waiting for him to return. I was certain he would, certain that I would be
stuck in that fear forever.” He cups Jug's face, loops the other arm around his
waist and holds him steady. “It got better, Jug. It took a while, but
eventually, with each day the fear started to become less and less. I know what
happened to you is different, and I'd never compare it to my dad getting shot,
I just want you to know it's going to be okay, that it will get better.”
He nods, knowing Archie is right, that of course there is an end to this
misery, it’s just out of reach, out of sight. “But not tonight” he whispered,
feeling the tears escape, the weight of the darkness crash into him. “I don’t
feel okay tonight, Archie.”
“I know, and you don’t have too” he pulls him in for a hug, Jughead deflates,
safe at least in Archie’s embrace. “Is there anything I can do Jug? God, you’re
shaking.” Archie eases back, holding him at arm’s length, studying him
thoughtfully. “Did I make it worse?”
“No, Arch, you didn't make it worse” he tries to smile, it feels more like a
grimace, but it erases the guilt from Archie's face, so he counts it as a win.
“I did need to hear that; I'm probably going to need to hear that a lot; and
I'm sorry that I wasn't there for you after your dad was shot, not like I
should have been.”
“We haven’t been there enough for each other lately, Jug” he admits, “That
stops now. I am going to be here for you through this, okay? So please, Juggie,
what can I do to help you feel not so afraid right now?”
“I have some medication; it's for anxiety, I can take that. Nothing else can
really help” he explained, “but having you here is nice, I've missed you. I've
missed us.”
“So, have I” he smiles, fleeting and warm like a summers day. “We can talk more
about us when you’re better; where is your medication? Do you want me to get it
for you?”
“It’s in the bedroom, on the nightstand by the bed.”
“Okay, go sit down, and I'll grab it for you.”
“Thank you, Archie” he moves to the couch, wrapping the blanket around him
before settling down. Archie returns a moment later with a glass of water and a
little white pill in his hand, he thanks him again and swallows the tablet.
Archie sits down near him, not touching but there if he reached out to him.
“It'll kick in soon” he shifted, resting his head on Archie's shoulder “I hate
feeling like this.”
“It’ll get better” he kisses Jug’s head, raven locks tickling his nose, making
him pause to ponder, “Where’s your hat?”
“I don't know” he sighed, it had been missing ever since that night. He'd
looked for it, almost tore the place apart trying to find it, caused himself a
lot of pain in the process too, but he came up empty. He's ashamed to say he
was rather hysterical when he couldn't find it. His dad emerged from the
shower, finding him in the living room, crying, surrounded by overturned
furniture. He sobbed brokenly, a broken boy sitting among the ruin. His father
gathered him his arms, quidding him to the bedroom where he tucked him into
bed, staying with him until he the tears dried, and he drifted to sleep. When
he woke everything was put back into its rightful place, but his hat was not
found. “I haven't seen it since last Friday.”
“It’ll turn up” he sounds so hopeful, so certain. Even after everything he’s
been through Archie still believes good things will happen, that things will
get better.
“Maybe.”
“Juggie… don’t give up.”
As hurt, as grief-stricken and shaken as he is, he hasn't thought of giving up,
not once. He'd been in too much pain to move, to sad to get up and face the
day, but there is still a spark burning. Tall Boy sought to destroy him, to
ruin his life, well, he wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. Maybe it's
the meds making the fear float away, perhaps it's Archie's words and warm
embrace and his dad's devotion, but at this moment, he refuses to let the fire
burn out.
He won't be another tragedy for people to gossip about, he won't be another sad
story for the papers to write about. It would get better, Archie promised him
that, it was just going to hurt like hell getting there. So, no, he wouldn't
give up, and if he ever felt like it, then he'd anchored himself to Archie, to
his dad, the two people who loved him the most. On the days he couldn't fight
for himself, he'd fight for them.
“I won’t, Archie” he promised, feeling the drug kick in, chasing away the
whirling thoughts and overwhelming panic, “I won’t.”
XxX
True to Hunter's word Tall Boy is staying at some rundown, ugly yellow brick
motel with a near empty parking lot and a big red neon sign that says Motel
Fifty-Nine. He is in room seven, drinking beer and eating pizza, watching TV
when FP breaks in. He jumps, spills his beer, leaping from the bed in a panic,
he looks so pathetic. FP locks the door, feels satisfied when Tall Boy backs
up, crashing into the dresser, he knows he's fucked up. FP motions towards the
bed, he doesn't think this will go as smoothly, so when Tall Boy rushes him, he
isn't surprised.
They tumble, throw fists, fight dirty, but FP is victories thanks to Claire.
She'd given him something to knock him out, just long enough for him to set
everything up. He's not going to kill Tall Boy; death would be too kind, no, he
is going to make sure he never hurts anyone the way he hurt his son again. He
ties him to the headboard, stuffs his mouth with a dirty rag and slaps him
awake. What he's about to do is cruel, is cold-hearted. He's shaking with
anticipation, he knows he has a temper, that he's hurt people more times than
he can count but never has it been pre-meditated.
There is no remorse, not for this coward. This rapist. Before he can get his
revenge, he needs to know how deep the betrayal runs, to know if Penny is
involved. Tall Boy is tougher to crack then Hunter, FP has to work for his
answers, he doesn't mind. In the end, it turns out there was a conversation
between him and Penny about their hatred for his son, not long after she
organised the farmhouse for him, told him to burn it down afterwards. She
encouraged his sick desire. She set the plan in motion, and Tall Boy had only
been too eager to go along with it. He mocks FP, says disgusting things about
how good it felt to fuck Jughead, make him bleed and cry in pain, to dirty his
perfect boy.
He hits him for this, seethes with rage, feeling sick as the memories swirl
through his mind. Jughead was just a child, he could be a drama queen, could
get consumed and caught up in things, but he was his son, his boy and what Tall
Boy did was monstrous. Tall Boy keeps speaking, taunting, telling him how tight
Jug was, how he should have fucked him sooner, back when he wasn't around to
stop him. FP stuffs the rag back into his mouth, picks up the baseball bat that
had sat unused in a closet for years, watches the horror flicker in Tall Boy's
eyes, then slams it down right between his legs. FP is glad the motel is far
away from town, that the owners have gone for the night and all other ten rooms
are empty because Tall Boy's scream is thunderous.
He brings the bat down again, there is the sound of bones breaking, of his
manhood getting crushed. He would never enjoy pleasure again, never get to rape
another innocent teenager. He brings the bat down once more; Tall Boy is semi-
unconscious by now. The bat clatters to the floor, FP breaths in deeply, hands
shaking as he rolls up Tall Boy's sleeve, revealing the Serpent tattoo. He
curves into his flesh, mangling the tattoo, removing him from his life, from
the people who'd been there for him.
“You will never hurt anyone again” he pants “you will never hurt my son again.”
He leans in, pressing down on the wound “and if you tell anyone who did this to
you, I will make sure this whole town knows you’re a fucking rapist. You won’t
have a safe corner to hide in.” he lets go, wiping the blood off on the bed
covers “oh, and tell Penny she’d best pack her bags, I’m not afraid to hurt her
for the part she played in this.”
“You may have ruined me” he hissed, struggling to speak, to stay conscious “but
I ruined your kid first.”
FP strikes him across the face, “You may have violated my son, but he's not
ruined. Mark my words, he will get out of that good for nothing town, and one
day when you're at the end of another bottle, my kid will be living the life he
deserves. He'll be happy, I won't let you take that from him” he bends down to
collect the bat, this time bringing it down on his left knee, the bone makes a
sickening crunch. “You don't get to brag about what you did, you are sick” he
brings the bat down on his other knee, he's blinded by fury. “You are a
rapist.” Again, he aimed for his crutch, satisfied and horrified at the God-
awful noses that fill the room.
He sways wear he stands, sweated soaked and speckled with blood, chest heaving
as he says, “Have a nice life.”
He collects his things, frees Tall Boy of his binds and breaths deeply, trying
to expel the rage from his veins. He's heading for the door, the sound of
groans and sobs following him when a familiar item catches his eye. By the
door, sitting on a chair along with the Serpent jacket, is Jughead's crown
beanie, the one his mum sewed him for his fifth birthday. Tall Boy had it all
this time, kept it as a prize. FP picks it up with his clean hand, cradling it
to his chest. He won't allow this to ruin Jug's life, he can't begin to the
fathom what Jug is going through right now, but there is just no way Tall Boy
gets to win.
He won't fail Jughead again; he has enough regrets to last a thousand
lifetimes, losing his son won't be another one.
XxX
FP doesn't get home until dawn; he visits the two other Serpents, grateful they
live alone in the quiet, shadowy parts of town and mutilates their tattoos and
takes their jackets, a punishment every Serpent who betrayals their family
receives. It takes a long time to calm down; the rage had twisted in his gut,
memories of last Friday night swirling in his mind. After cleaning himself up
in a gas station bathroom he finds himself at a laundromat that is open twenty-
four-seven, clutching the worn-out beanie to his chest.
He didn't want to return it to Jug like this, it smelt like cigarettes, like
beer and sweat and has stains on it he doesn't want to identify. He puts in the
washer, on the lowest setting as not to damage it, buys a packet of chips and
soda from the vending machine and sits, fidgeting with the pins that usually
adorn the beanie. By the time it's washed, it's almost three, it smells of
cheap laundry soap, is damp and heavy in his hands and he can't remember if it
is safe to put in the dry, they'd never one, so he isn't sure he should risk
it.
He ends up hanging it on the edge of the rear-view mirror, winds the windows
down and drives back to Riverdale. It's mostly dry when he returns home; he
sets on the table for Jughead to see in the morning. It's nearing four as he
tiptoes down the hallway to the bedroom, finding Jug and Archie curled up in
bed together. The sight brings a small smile to his face, reminds him of
Hunter's earlier words and he hopes, even as strange as it might be, that Jug
got to have his first time with the boy he loved.
He'd ask when the time was right, for now, he is shrugging off his jacket,
kicking off his boots and collapsing on the couch, succumbing to his fatigue at
last.
***
The sun is filtering in through the blinds, casting a direct beam across FP's
face, stirring him from slumber. He groans, rolling over, body aching from
exhaustion, from being up all night seeking revenge. He bolts upright, last
night’s events washing over him, he surveys the trailer, expecting to find
someone pointing a gun at him, screaming hands up. There is just silence, the
kind that only occurs when the place is empty. Panic kicks in, he rushes
towards the bedroom, finding the bed empty, covers rumbled. He races back to
where he left his cell charging on the kitchen counter, only on the way there
his eyes catch sight of the kitchen table, finding a note where Jug's hat had
been.
Breathing a sigh of relief, scolding himself for freaking out so quickly he
plucks the note from the table, finding Jughead's fancy handwriting scrawled
over the yellow paper. Hey dad, you found my hat! Where was it? Arch and I
going to Pop’s, I’ll bring you back something. A smile graces his face, Jughead
going out is a big deal, it's a step in the right direction. He'd been too
afraid to leave the trailer the past week, FP had tried to coax him into going
to Pop's only to no avail.
He feels a little dejected at not being the one he chose to go, but it's most
likely he wasn't ready, now he is, or at least he is today. And well its
Archie, he always had this way with Jughead, there was a bond between them that
no one could break. They had their fights, their ups and downs but in the end,
they always found their way back to each other. FP is grateful Jughead as
Archie to support him through this.
He tucks the note into his pocket, keeping it close to his heart and goes to
make a coffee when the door swings open and Jughead steps in, looking happier
then he has in days. He comes bearing treats, a large coffee and a stack of
pancakes, FP's stomach growls; he didn't realise how starving he was until now.
They sit down at the table together; Jug studies him carefully, he knows
something went on last night, the kid can direct a lie a mile off.
“Were you okay last night?” he asked, digging into his meal, no one does
pancakes better than Pop Tate.
“Kinda” he shrugged, removed his beanie and started wringing it in hands, a
nervous habit he hasn’t seen in a while. “I was worried about you.”
“I was fine, Jug” he takes a sip of coffee, hoping that his kid will drop the
subject, but he should know better by now.
“You weren't at Pop's,” he said, twisting and twisting the worn-out fabric
around his fingers. “He said he hasn't seen you since the other week.”
FP swallows his food, sighs, knowing that keeping the truth from Jughead will
do more harm than good. “I took care of it, Jug.”
“Of the Serpents?” he asks, sounding afraid, not of him but for him “and Tall
Boy?”
“There not Serpents anymore” he informs, “They betrayed us, and they were
punished accordingly.”
“You took their tattoos?”
“Curved them up” he replied flatly, “it’s less then what they deserve.”
“Do you do anything else” he pauses, chewing on his bottom lip “to Tall Boy?”
“Do you want to know” he isn’t sure revealing the details is a good idea, his
son has witnessed enough horror, he doesn’t need to hear about anymore, doesn’t
need to know his father is capable of such violence.
“No” he looks down, shaking his head. “I just want him never to be able to rape
anyone again.”
FP flinches at the word, he's said it himself, heard Claire say it, yet hearing
it come from his son feels like a punch to the gut. “He'll never be able to
rape anyone ever again,” he says calmly, the four-letter word sour in his
mouth, sharp on his tongue but there is no point using some watered-down
replacement, it's what happened. His son was raped, in front of him, on him,
it's unchangeable.
Jughead looks up, placing the crown beanie securely on his head as he says
“Good.”
FP can't hold back the smile, so proud that Jughead is still fighting. “I know
things aren't gonna be the same, Jug, and we've got a long way to go before we
reach some resemblance of normal, but I want you to know I am proud of you.
That you are strong enough to get through this,” he reaches across the table
for Jug’s hand “Tall Boy didn't ruin you or make you any less you, you know
that, right?”
“I keep trying to remind myself” he admitted, lowering his gaze “it's not
always easy.” He hesitates, balls his hand into a tight fist, knuckles turning
white, “and he did take something from me.”
Oh no, oh God no, he was hoping this wasn't the case “Your virginity” he says
when Jughead seems to struggle to form words.
He nods, face crumpling as he starts to cry.
“Juggie, I'm so sorry,” FP slides his chair closer, wrapping an arm around his
shaking son's shoulder. “I know this might be too soon, but I promise you sex
isn't like that. When or if you and Archie decide to take things further it
won't be like what Tall Boy did to you.”
Jughead looks up, and to FP's surprise, he laughs “Oh, I'm glad you won't be
watching” he sniffles, shakes his head “sorry, not funny. I guess I have just
poor coping skills.”
“You’re not the only one” he admits, sighing. He isn’t surprised Jughead is
restoring to using his snark humour to cope with this, it’s not going to help
any but he’d rather Jughead let everything out, even if it’s an inappropriate
joke. “I think, when you’re ready, it might be good to talk to someone.”
“Probably a wise choice” he brushes away the tears. “How did you know about
Archie and me?” he arches a brow, the first sign of curiosity he has seen all
week “and did you think we'd slept together?”
“Word gets around” Jughead doesn't need to know that Hunter told him, that he'd
been clueless up until that point, though honestly, it was no surprise given
their history. “And is it wrong to say I was hoping”
“Not in this situation” he assures. “We only kissed, before you went away, and
all the stuff happened with the Black Hood, and I joined the Serpents. We
pushed each other away; I can't help but wonder what would have happened if we
didn't? Who knows, maybe Archie would have got dragged into this mess too.”
There isn’t much FP can say to this, there is no way to tell if them being
together would have saved Jug from this cruel fate, all he can say is “I’m
sorry, bub.”
“So am I” he deflates, the happiness from earlier swept away. They sit in
silence for a few moments, FP watches the turmoil flicker in his eyes, sees him
struggle to pick up the pieces and soldier on. “I'm going to have a shower” he
announces, “Claire will be here after lunch for the follow up internal
examination” he shudders involuntary, FP tightens his hold on him.
“Want me to be there for it?”
“Um, yeah, I’d like that.”
“Alright, go have your shower, and I'll finish up here.”
He watches Jughead leave, shoulders heavy under the weight of the world, when
he is gone from sight he returns to his meal, though it's cold by now. He gets
up to reheat it, hearing Jug walk back into the room. “Everything okay,” he
asks, mind already preparing him for something terrible.
“My hat, where’d you find it?”
Last night he already decided he wasn’t going to tell him Tall Boy had it, his
son may be good at telling lies, but he was even better at telling them,
especially when it meant keeping someone he loved safe. “Outside, under the
trailer, must have fallen off when…” he trails off, choking on the words
“anyway I took it to the laundromat and washed it for you.” He strolls over to
him, smoothing his hands over the fabric.
“Thank you.”
“It’s no problem, Jug.”
Jug turns to leave, heisting, staring at him with glassy blue eyes, one last
question leaving his tongue “We’re going to be okay, right?”
“We’re going to be okay” he seals his words with a gentle kiss to Jug’s
forehead, he smiles half-heartedly, nods and slips free from his grasp,
disappearing down the hall.
FP's lips quirk into a smile; he believes what he said with all his heart. He
knows it's going to take time, a lot of work, love and care and patience but
they would be okay. No, they'd be better. This was his last chance to be a good
father, to be better, to make sure Jughead went to college, was happy and safe.
He'd promised his son he'd be better a thousand times before, this time he
wasn't breaking his vow; it's just such a shame it took Jughead getting raped
for him to wake up and finally change his lifestyle.
He always knew it was dangerous, hell he should have foreseen something like
this coming with the way some men looked at his son, the way they offered money
for him. He never believed it would happen though, things like that happen to
other people. But it did, and he regrets not heeding the warning, seeing the
big red flashing warning sign. He can't undo the past, can't make amends for
what Tall Boy did to Jughead, he can only support him through this, and he will
get him through this. No matter how awful the days get, no matter how
terrifying the nightmares become he will be here to guide Jughead towards those
far off better days.
Things were going to change; he was going to change, there'd be more regrets.
 
 
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