Family Don't End in Blood

1. Your Father Didn't Make It

Family Don't End in Blood

A/N: I guess my Riverdale writing isn't half bad since so many of you requested a full on Sweet Pea story instead of one shots. Here it goes.

Warning: This chapter is really sad oops... Like I'm crying while writing it.

1. Your Father Didn't Make It

"Tobias, you don't have to leave," FP insisted, his dark eyes shimmering with concern as he looked at his best friend and right-hand-man.

"But I do, Forsythe," Tobias countered with a sigh. "The Ghoulies won't stop until they have my head, and if they can't get to me, they'll go after (y/n)."

FP cast his eyes to the ground in understanding. With Jughead as his own weakness, he sympathized with Tobias's caution. "Alright. You have a point. You should leave soon, before they come knocking. And don't tell anyone where you're going – we can't be tortured for information if we don't have any."

Tobias's eyes saddened. "I hope you and your boys don't get caught in the crossfire, FP. If you do, I'm sorry."

"We'll be fine," FP nodded, clapping Tobias on the shoulder. "Just get (y/n) somewhere safe. And keep in touch."

You didn't understand why your father came home from work in a huff, rushing to pack everything you and he belonged. He loaded all of your bags into the car before strapping you into the backseat. You could sense his haste, his concern, but your seven-year-old brain couldn't fathom what had him so worked up.

He didn't explain anything until you were on the other side of the country, safely moved into a small house in a small town, where no one knew your names or your pasts.

Your gaze lifted from the textbook on your lap to your bedroom door as a knock sounded upon it.

"Yeah?" you called.

"I'm heading out," your father stated as he opened the door, smiling softly at you.

You offered a nod. "Okay, Dad."

"I'll be back tonight," he informed you. "Finish your homework. Leftovers are in the fridge."

"Okay," you nodded again.

"I love you," he smiled.

A smile tugged at your lips. "I love you, too, Dad."

He waved goodbye before closing your door and shuffling down the hall. You heard his engine revving up before tires rolled over gravel and his car fled the driveway. Grabbing the remote from your nightstand, you switched on the TV and flipped through channels in search of background noise while you finished your homework.

It was around ten o' clock at night when your cell phone rang, the screen lighting up with an unfamiliar number. Quirking a brow, you answered the call and held the device to your ear.

"Hello?"

"Is this (y/n) (l/n)?" a male voice sounded on the other end.

"Yes, it is. Who is this?"

"My name is Sheriff Acosta of the Papen County Police Department. I'm calling because your number is listed as Tobias (l/n)'s emergency contact."

Your heart pounded in your chest. "Did something happen? Is he okay?"

"He's been in a car accident. A drunk driver was on the wrong side of the road and their car collided with the one driving beside your father's. He swerved to avoid the crash and drove off the road into a ditch. The engine exploded and the windshield shattered. An ambulance is here now loading him up to take him to the hospital."

Your heart never beat so fast. With a shaking voice, you managed, "Which hospital?"

You had never felt so grateful for the car your father had gotten you for your sixteenth birthday. Once you hung up with the sheriff, you climbed into the driver's seat and revved the engine, rushing to the hospital as fast as the city law would allow. Everything around you was white noise as you arrived at the illuminated building and hunted for parking. Finally finding a space, you hastily parked and fled from your car, running into the hospital. You frantically asked the receptionist where your father was until a tanned man in a police uniform spotted you and sauntered your way.

"(y/n)?"

You turned, panting. "Yes?"

The officer offered his hand. "Sheriff Acosta. We spoke on the phone."

You nodded, shaking his hand. "Right. Where's my dad?"

He led you through a set of double doors and down a long hallway in the ICU wing. You tried to calm your breathing and slow your steps as you neared your father's room.

"He's unconscious," the sheriff said softly. "Speak quietly and keep it positive. Patients can still hear what's going on around them when they're comatose – you might be able to wake him."

He left you alone with your father's sleeping form, and tears pooled in your eyes. You sat at the edge of his bed, your trembling hand reaching for his still one. The dam broke and tears poured down your cheeks as you gazed at your father, looking weak for the first time in your life.

"Daddy," you choked out. Inhaling deeply, you continued. "Daddy, please wake up. I know you can hear me. Please, I need you. I already lost Mom... I can't lose you too. Please..."

You waited anxiously in the lobby, refusing to go home. Both the sheriff and the nurses had suggested going home and getting rest, but you insisted on staying. You had to be there when he woke up. The nagging voice in your head corrected you. "If he wakes up..."

You lost count of how many cups of cheap coffee you had consumed while pacing the waiting room of the ICU wing. Using some spare change from your purse, you had approached a vending machine to obtain a bag of chips in hopes of quelling your hunger. You longed for food, but you refused to leave the hospital.

After several hours of anxiety eating you alive, the doctor entered the lobby. When your red, puffy eyes locked with his, you knew he had bad news. There was a glaze of sorrow on his face, and your heart shattered before he even spoke.

"(y/n)... I'm so sorry. Your father didn't make it. His injuries were too severe. He's passed away."

He's passed away. Those three words repeated in your head like a mantra as you collapsed on your knees on the floor, tears flowing from your face. You screamed into your hands, sobs shaking your entire being. Where would you go? What would you do? You weren't eighteen – you couldn't legally live on your own. But you had no other family left.

You didn't even bother counting how long you sat on the hospital floor, sobbing into your palms. Everyone let you be, casting sympathetic glances your way. It was nearly dawn when you finally pulled yourself together and headed home. The doctor had given you your father's belongings, everything he'd had on him when the accident happened. Taking the bag of his things, you headed out to your car and drove home.

You trudged inside, tugging all of the old boxes from the closet. You packed up your father's belongings along with everything you owned, leaving behind most of the furniture and appliances. The one thing you took with you was the coffee pot – it had been your father's since he got his first apartment when he was eighteen, when he began dating your mother. There was no way you were going to leave it behind.

Once everything you owned was in boxes or bags, you loaded it all into your car. Without looking back, you pulled out of the driveway and put the small town that was supposed to be your fresh start in your rearview mirror.

There was only one place you could go now. It was time to go home.

It was time to back to Riverdale.