Chapter Text
Fred Andrews was unrestful. After an hour and a half staring at his ceiling he finally decided to get up and do something. Hashing out some last minute plans for the campaign, revising flyers, God, just having a damn beer still sounded better than pretend he could stay in bed. He closed the door carefully, went down the stairs and walking to the kitchen.
Downstairs was surprisingly quiet and he was about to open the refrigerator door when he noticed a dark shape on the porch near the sliding door. Apprehensive, he approached it slowly until he realized it was just FP, jacket turned around as a blanket, facing the backyard. Fred was debating whether to open the fridge and risk waking him up when FP made the decision easier by turning around to look at him. He knocked lightly on the glass, to which Fred opened the door.
"Couldn't sleep?" Fred shook his head. "Me neither."
They both stared at the backyard, at the small clumps of blankets and pillows and people hurdled together.
"Actually, I was going to get a beer and I think we have some low-alcohol ones left from when Mary was here. You want one?"
"Sure."
Fred went back to the kitchen and glanced at the clock on the fridge after retrieving the bottles. 3:17 AM. When he walked back FP was sitting up straighter and had put the jacket back on. He reached for the beer, in that slow, deliberate way he moved sometimes. Sinuous was probably the word. Serpentine, Fred repressed the thought.
"I thought you were going back to the trailer park."
He chugged the bear and nodded towards the grass "I just couldn't leave then alone."
They kept the silence for a while, alternately taking sips, FP seemingly lost in thought, Fred leaning against the door frame. Finally, Andrews slipped the door close and sat at the porch.
"These are so bad. Why does anyone drink these"
Jones snapped out of his trance and let out a breathy chuckle. "They really are."
"Is Jug here?"
"No. I think he went back to the trailer with Betty."
"Isn't it dangerous?"
FP snorted. "Try and tell him."
Both left the implications of that float in the air. Archie didn't even need to do much convincing to get his dad to abandon his mayoral campaign and stay at Jughead's room with him while the Jones patriarch battled it out with the Ghoulies. Under this low lighting his bruises were a nasty dark grey. Duties of a king, he supposed. He couldn't even pretend to understand it all, the biblical sacrifices, former allies tearing each other to shreds, even an entire group of people being able to risk it all for some twisted sense of loyalty. But the fact is that the kid needed someone, and if he was the one available, so be it.
"I'm guessing you're counting with the southside vote." The sarcastic tone could barely counteract the bitterness.
"FP..."
"No, really Fred. You could've just asked."
"That's not why I'm doing this."
He let out a dismissive hiss, "Riverdale's golden boy strikes again."
"It really isn't... I mean, we probably won't be able to make it without you guys, but that's not why I am doing this."
"Why then?"
Fred tapped the neck of the bottle on his chin. "First, because Jughead asked. Second, because what Hiram is doing is plain cruel and I don't know what moral claim to the office I could have if I didn't help these people. And then..." he glanced quickly to the side "I guess I still hold a fair amount of guilt for... well. Everything."
FP looked at him and lifted his eyebrows in that peculiar expression of his. Interest, amusement, surprise, all mashed together with an end result that made him hard to read. It was one of his specialties, proved useful time and time again. Not even suppressing emotion, just making it harder to logically untangle them. "I don't need your pity, Andrews." He then proceeded to open a grin that could easily slit a throat. "But I guess it is awfully appropriate, isn't it? We ended up exactly as everyone expect us to. Me, a complete fuckup, and you, with your life of white picket fences and running for fucking mayor."
"Oh, for sure. Nothing says white picket fence suburban dad quite as much as being shot and then running for mayor against a woman that cheated on her mobster husband with you." Fred couldn't help but outwardly laugh, holding it back just as much as to not wake up the people sleeping at a few meters from them. In another day, without the sleep deprivation, not inconsiderable amount of intoxication provided from his actually alcoholic beverage, and guarantee that his counterpart, unlike him, was fully sober, he would've just tried to defuse the situation. But the edge kept leaking out of his voice when he said "Can't remember when was the last time I heard you use 'awfully' in a sentence, Jones. High school, maybe?"
To his surprise, FP didn't immediately snap back. He just leaned away against the wall and seemed very invested in reading the beer's lable. "Yeah, well. As much as my son might want it, wit isn't all that necessary when running a gang. If anything it might hinder you."
"Oh, for the record," Fred gestured toward FP, who didn't look up, "I don't think you're a fuckup. Not anymore, at the very least. And I think most people would agree."
"Shit, Fred," the sharp wide smirk had somehow turned into a self-deprecating smile, but even in this low light it couldn't distract from the tears forming in his eyes, "It's not very put together to have your kid almost be murdered, is it though?"
"Jesus Christ, FP, he did it because he
admires you. It was dumb, and impulsive, because he is a stubborn teenager and that's what teenagers do. But even through all his anger he still wanted to save those people. Save the thing you constructed for them..." they both looked back quickly as a grunt came from one of the improvised tents. Fred lowered his voice. "He did it because he thinks you're a good father." FP managed to do a quick dismissive gesture, to which Fred replied: "And you are. I mean, at least better than your own dad."
"I see we're setting high standards here." He flexed his free hand, as though to feel the skin stretching around the small scars, not all from his job. Unlike his father, he never pushed Jug to join the Serpents, quite the contrary, most of the time. The kid just had such potential, could reach so much higher. He expected respect, of course, not only because they were, in their own misshaped way, their family, but also because he knew his damn child, and if he didn't learn it fast he would end up dead in a ditch before he could legally drive. But he never wished for a dynasty. It took him quite a while to start liking that position, loving those people, and then Jug picked it up so fast. The proverbial apple seemed to have rolled over all the way back to where the older trees lay. It made him wonder sometimes if the whole not hitting your kids thing even payed off, ending the cycle of violence his ass, but he always immediately put away the thought. It would destroy him to see Jug's wonderful sensibility be slowly drained away, and that wouldn't change with his son's choices. Never hurting his son was the one thing he never regretted.
"I really am sorry, by the way, for firing you. I know it made things worse." Fred cut his train of thought.
"It wasn't your fault. You put you and your son first, everyone would've done the same."
"But still, I could've thought of something."
The other shrugged. "I am glad it didn't rub off too much on the kids. I don't know what would've happened to Jug without Archie all these years. If the last month has been any indication..."
"Well, in that case, I'm happy Jug stayed by Archie's side. I doubt I could've get my son back if it wasn't for Jughead calling out his bullshit."
What he didn't say is that there were moments were he was terrified of his own child. He never showed, but this vindicative, bitter person made him question whether he had completely failed, if he somehow unconsciously set up this path. Mary noticed it right away, and although that dinner had been uncomfortable, he felt greatful to not enable this unjustified hatred for all these people that now sat in their lawn. If that Dark Circle, or Hiram, or his own anger had gotten him even a little deeper... He shivered. It didn't matter now.
Fred changed the subject, "How's Alice, by the way?" Thinking about their situation was only gonna drown them further into useless desperation.
The abruptness seemed to catch FP by surprise, enough for an expression Fred couldn't decipher not to be filtered (annoyance? No, something softer) and he sighed.
"Well, her husband is a serial killer. I guess that can't feel too good. I haven't had much time to talk to her, but it seems like she's managing..."
They keep talking away as they finish the beers. Stuff that would be tremendously upsetting now just seems banal, amenities. Even the silences felt less loaded now, the low, very particular sound of lots of humans together filling the air where topics lack. Fred wasn't that tired, but when he glanced at the fridge's clock and saw that it was already past four he decided it was best to try and go to sleep. He got up and opened the door but stopped when he remembered something.
"If you're not going back, do you want to sleep in the couch? It's free now."
"I'm fine. I think I'm gonna stay out here."
The answer weirdly pleased Fred. He tapped the doorframe a few times and said:
"At least get the blanket there, then."
The door was already halfway closed when FP held out his hand to stop it.
"Hey Fred. Thank you. You're a good friend."
Fred smiled to himself. Then FP slid the door all the way closed and went back to looking over that weird pattern of plaid and leather.