the town with darkness | bughead

ch. 3 | the awful truth

"Alright, I'm fine, let me go," Jughead said, shrugging his arms out of the grip of the Serpent and Mustang. He staggered over to the bar, the crowd parting easily.

"Nice work, kiddo, thought he had you beat for a second there," said the bartender, who was actually pretty short but made up for it with a menacing anaconda tattoo across half his face. "Winner's drinks are on the house. Jack and coke?"

"Whatever you've got going," Jughead said noncommittally. "And some ice would be great."

"Comin' right up!"

Jughead knew Betty was looking at him intently but to be honest, after that fight, he really wasn't in the mood for talking. But he knew she was dying to ask him about it so he figured he'd just waited her out. It didn't take long.

"Jughead?" she just about whispered. "Are you okay?"

He turned to her, leaning on the bar. "Betty, what are you doing here? It's dangerous for you to be here."

"And it's not dangerous for you?" she replied back, incredulously. "You just got the crap beaten out of you by a gang member."

"Betty," he said in a conspiratorial whisper, "you do realise you're in a gang's dive bar right this second?"

"Yes I do and I know about your father and the Serpents but what the hell Jughead? You could've gotten yourself killed."

The bartender took that moment to deposit what looked like a short glass full of Jack Daniels with about a teaspoon of coke in it and a tea towel full of ice cubes.

"Thanks," Jughead said, picking up the tea towel and pressing it against his face where Stinger's brass knuckles had hit him. He winced at the cold and the pain in his cheekbone but held it there regardless.

"Betty, I need to tell you something and you need to promise me you're not going to tell anyone, can you promise me that?" Jughead said, his blue eyes almost boring holes into her's.

"Uh...okay?" she frowned at him. He could tell she was thinking she'd bit off more than she could chew but Jughead knew her inner journalist simply had to know what he was going to tell her.

"Alright, hold on just one tick," Jughead said. He grabbed his drink and downed it in one gulp, relishing the fiery warmth it brought to his throat and stomach. Then he grabbed his flannel shirt and beanie which he'd left behind the bar earlier. "Follow me."

He shot a wary glance out to the crowd of bikers and brawlers and got his father's eye. FP gave him a nod and held up the wad of cash he'd just won, betting on his own son in a bareknuckle boxing match. Jughead jerked his head in the direction of the stairs and FP nodded again, turning back to the Serpent he'd been talking to.

Jughead got to the stairs and almost gasped when taking that first step pulled on injured muscles in his ribs. But he powered through, pushing himself up and away from the basement and the blood and pain that it always brought him. The two of them emerged into the main room of the Whyte Wyrm. The crowd was much thinner up here, just a few older bikers who weren't keen on the fights happening downstairs. One of them, a guy who looked to be in his 60's with a long grey beard called out to him.

"You win?"

"Sure did," Jughead said, for the first time noticing how scratchy and hoarse his voice was after Stinger's chokehold.

He kept going, straight out the front door of the Wyrm. It was much quieter out on the street. The row of motorbikes seemed to stretch on forever as the two of them walked alongside them and then beyond them, up to a dusty pickup truck. Jughead wasn't really sure who owned it but he'd often seen Serpents use it so he figured they wouldn't be bothered. He opened the passenger side door for Betty and then walked around to the driver's side, getting in with a hiss of pain from his damaged ribs.