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On no planet would Archie Andrews have anticipated his day turning out like this.
As he sits in the Riverdale hospital with a broken hand, waiting for his father, he thinks he couldn’t have even dreamt this shit up. His legs dangle over the side of the hospital bed while he nurses his bad hand in his lap. It’s wrapped in thick gauze and bandages. Still, it looks better than it did while he was carrying Cheryl Blossom back to dry land. The nurses have stripped him of his freezing, wet clothes and wrapped a blanket around his shoulders. His head sags with the weight of this day.
Cheryl attempted suicide after her father killed her brother. Jughead is taking up residence with a foster family and switching schools to Southside High. FP Jones is still in jail…probably for a very, very long time, despite being cleared of the murder charge. After all that, Archie still has to pull himself together and perform at the Jubilee in four hours. All he really wants to do is go home and hide in bed for a few days. Hooray for Riverdale, he thinks.
A nurse walks in to the overly bright hospital room, unceremoniously grabbing Archie’s broken hand and squeezing, pinching, moving it around. Archie winces but doesn’t complain. At least if he can feel the pain, he knows he’s still here in this ridiculous moment.
“You did quite a number on this hand, young man,” the nurse says. Her voice is sharp and condescending, but there’s a softness in her eyes; she knows how he got this injury. Betty and Jughead must still be in the waiting room. Good, Archie thinks, at least they can head-off my dad and explain this before he comes in with a death sentence.
“How bad is it?” he asks. Please tell me it will heal.
“Couple of broken knuckles and three broken fingers. It’s not pretty, but it will heal, if you treat it right.” Archie nods, but the nurse puts her hand on his shoulder, prompting him to look up. “IF you treat it right,” she repeats. “I know you’re performing in the Jubilee tonight, Mr. Andrews—if you continue to play guitar with a broken hand, it will take much longer to heal, and you run the risk of never having full use of your hand back.”
Archie lets out a heavy sigh. “Yes ma’am. I understand. I just have to make it through today and then I’ll leave the guitar alone until my hand heals.”
“You be careful, Mr. Andrews. No Jubilee is worth losing your talent for the rest of your life.”
Archie lets out a snicker and nods. At that moment, Fred Andrews bursts through the hospital room door. He looks disheveled, hair sticking up in all directions, and he’s breathing hard. He probably ran the whole length of the hospital looking for him. Archie smiles at his dad, despite expecting a lecture. “It’s okay, Dad,” he starts, “My hand is going to be fine.”
Fred turns to the nurse for confirmation. She nods and gives him a small smile before quietly backing out of the room. Fred says nothing for a long, long time. He paces the room, hands on his hips, occasionally running his hands through his hair. Every few seconds he lets out a deep sigh. It seems like a lifetime passes before he speaks. Archie would normally be sweating bullets in this type of silence, but all he can think is how much he just wants to go home.
“Archie,” Fred sighs, “I am so incredibly proud of you.”
Archie’s head shoots up to look at his father. There are tears in Fred Andrews’ eyes. Fred steps forward and grabs his son by the shoulders, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “What you did on that river—most people would never do. You saved her life, Archie.”
“I know, Dad.”
“Are you okay?” Fred asks, pulling his hands back to his sides. “I’m not talking about your hand right now. Are YOU okay?”
“I will be, Dad. It’s a lot. It was a terrifying day. But I will be.”
“You don’t have to do this Jubilee thing tonight. No one would judge you for not going.”
“I have to do it, now more than ever, Dad. Cheryl’s reaction to this mess is just ONE reaction. The whole town is reeling. They need this. I’m okay.”
Fred Andrews smiles, shaking his head lightly. “You are quite the kid, Archie. Come on, let’s go home. I’ll cook you dinner before your show. Anything you want.”
Archie jumps down from the hospital bed and walks to the corner to collect his things. He reaches for his soaked clothes, frowns, and decides he’ll just steal the blanket. He shoves his wet clothes into a plastic bag the nurse provided. “Steak!” Archie shouts, closing the bag and throwing it over his shoulder with his good arm. “Burgers. No, pizza. No. Mexican. Mmm…Chinese food—but you’re not allowed to cook that after the last attempt. How about anything that comes with tater tots on the side...”
Fred laughs at his son’s antics and puts a loving hand on his shoulder as they walk out of the hospital together. He thinks, despite this crazy town and this crazy year, his son might just be okay.