The Serpent and His Girl

Be Okay

          Sobs wrack her body as she clings to Archie. He's just gotten back from a particularly brutal "question session" with Jughead, and Betty can't stand the sight of him covered in bruises.

"Hey, hey. I'm okay, Betty, I promise. It looks worse than it is." He rubs small circles on her back, trying to quiet her cries. She lets out ragged sobs as he hugs her, wishing everything would just be okay. Slowly, her sobs quiet into the occasional hiccup, then to deep and shaky breaths. She's asleep, Archie determines. He double checks thoroughly, whispering her name and monitoring her heavy, more steady breathing. 

Once he's sure she's asleep, and only then, he allows himself to feel the pain. The pain of the hits Jughead had delivered, of the stabbing pain below his ribs where he'd been kicked. The pain of reminiscing, about his father and Vegas, how he and Fred wouldn't see eachother much during weekdays, except for dinner which Fred always made sure he was there for. About their weekly breakfast of Pop's loaded breakfast special (eggs, bacon, toast, waffles, sausage links, and a little heartburn after) on Saturday mornings, 9:15 am. He thought about when he was little, how Fred used to bring him to work and let Archie "work the crane". (Which really meant strapping a hard hat onto his little boy's head and letting him press the broken radio controls while Fred operated the crane itself). He remembered how his dad had prepped him for his first real football game, how he'd given him a peptalk and hug before Archie ran onto the field. Back then, he'd been slightly embarrased in the way that all teenagers were when they became aware of themselves and how others percieved them. Now, he'd do anything to get another hug from his dad. To have his dad pat his back, tell him "it's all gonna be okay, son," just one more time. His eyes filled, tears threatening to spill over the edge. He blinked them back, remembering with the crushing weight of missing how good his father is. How much he missed him, how much he loved him, and how scared he was. Because he was so fucking scared, so he just kept running through every memory he had with his father. His hero. One memory pushed its way to the surface, one he had chosen to block out after it had happened. And it brought him to full-on sobs, he let out pained cries that echoed throughout the walls of the cell. 

The old truck stopped outside the Andrew's place, Fred killing the engine. He gets out, sighing. Archie sits inside, tears in his eyes. He's stoic, hasn't said a word since they left the school. Fred comes around to the passenger side of the truck, opening the door. Archie stays still, the guilt crushing any ability to move. Gently, Fred holds his sons arm to help him out.

Archie slowly emerges from the truck. Once he's fully out, Fred looks at him.

"C'mere, son" he says, holding out his arms. Archie steps into them, crying into his father's shoulder. Fred cradles his head, feeling like he did whenever Archie would come to him like this as a small child. It crushes him to see his boy cry, no matter the reason. Back then, it was for cuts and scrapes or the occasional fight with Betty. Now was different, he knew that. It was more serious. His son had been groomed by his music teacher, and it cut Fred deeply. "It's okay, it's gonna be okay son."

He consoles the boy, guiding him into the house. They didn't talk much that night, after Fred lead Archie to the couch. In the moment, the younger man thought Fred was mad or even disappointed in him that he had been in this situation. In reality, Fred was more disappointed in himself. Not that he'd ever tell his son, but he beat himself up for not noticing the signs sooner. After all, he was his father.

The two sat silently on the couch, so much unspoken. The only thing that broke the tension was Vegas, as he pushed his snout between the two. He crawled up onto the couch, looking between the two. After a second, he started to lick Archie's jaw, then moved to do the same to Fred. They laughed shakily, both obviously still in shock.

Archie looked up at Fred, tears spilling down his cheeks.

"Dad..." His voice came out quivering, and Fred looked up. "I'm sorry"

Archie choked on a sob, and Fred held him close.

"It wasn't your fault son, don't apologize" He soothed his son, "I promise you, you didn't do anything wrong."

"Is this gonna ruin my life?" Archie asked quietly, piercing his father's heart. Fred looked up quickly, his eyes hardening.

"No, son. I won't let that happen. You didn't know what was happening, you couldn't have. None of this is your fault, do you understand me?" The boy nodded. They sat in silence for hours, both thinking in different yet similar paths.

No, Archie's life didn't go back to normal right away. In fact, not even close. It took a while for him to start to feel okay, despite making it seem like he was fine. Eventually, he just pushed it all down, choosing to block out that night. He moved on, and threw himself fully into football. Soon, it all just felt like a bad dream.

Until now. Now it was all coming out. And he couldn't stop it, not even when the door to the cell opened and someone snuck through. He didn't stop when Betty was taken yet again by Toni and Fangs to go get her wounds cleaned out. Not even when Toni snuck back in and just engulfed him in her arms, trying to assure him she'd find Archie and Betty a way out, that she was working on it. Because one thing was for sure: he didn't know if he'd ever be okay again.