Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Everything is different than how Archie remembers it. Riverdale High feels smaller and quieter- nothing like the loud, rambunctious building he feared walking into on his first day of seventh grade. The place where football players stood ten feet tall and cheerleaders were intimidatingly beautiful and mature. To a middle schooler, everything seemed bigger and better than it really was, but now he recognizes it to be just the right size and just the right amount of disappointment. Maybe it’s because he got older, or taller. Or something. 

Honestly, he expected to find himself living out his senior year back at Lincoln High where he’d spent the past three years throwing a football and sneaking out of trashed houses after a party that got dumped on by the cops. He’d go to the end of the year bonfire and get hammered at prom with some pretty girl and all his friends and then afterward they’d fall asleep in Tommy’s basement smelling like booze and cigarettes. 

Maybe if things didn’t go south so fast. If Tommy’s mom hadn’t died and if Archie didn’t get kicked off the team or maybe if that night before his birthday he hadn’t meddled as he did, everything would have worked out just fine. He might have avoided the drugs and the alcoholism Tommy was drowning in and managed to pull them both out. 

But thanks to him, Tommy got admitted and Archie got sent back to Riverdale in hopes he’d sober up and keep busy enough to get into a college that next year. 

Not every plan works out for the better.

The counselor’s office isn’t the drab, beige square room it once was when Archie walks back in three years later. Big doors are leading into the front office, and the walls are decorated in banners, flags, and fliers showcasing bulldog pride. Even the curtains are blue and gold.

At the desk sits a woman, probably somewhere between forty and fifty (though her gray hair suggests otherwise), stacking a pile of folders into a large plastic tupperware. 

“Oh!” She says, looking up and smiling brightly. “You must be Mister Archie Andrews! I’m Ms. Patch. Please, have a seat.”

Archie drops his backpack next to the cushioned chair opposite Ms. Patch and sits down, glancing around the room in hopes of catching a glimpse of someone he knows on the various sports and activity posters. 

He doesn’t.

“Your records have transferred smoothly and everything is looking good.” Ms. Patch says, folding her hands in front of her and focusing her attention on Archie entirely. He regards it as a nice change of pace considering even the best teachers and faculty members at Lincoln didn’t give a rat’s ass about him. Even after what happened. 

“Did your dad tell you about the possibility of weekly appointments?” Ms. Patch asks. Archie nods, recalling the extensive conversation he had with his mother about giving in to help to gain something greater in return. He thinks it’s total bullshit. 

“I told him I’d think about it,” he says. Ms. Patch smiles thinly and nods.

“Take all the time you need,” she says. “Now onto schedules!”

Archie misses half of first period discussing classes and extracurriculars but feels increasingly grateful for it when he nearly falls asleep during the history lecture. As it turns out, the only interesting parts of American history are the ones where they got their asses kicked. This week’s lesson doesn’t involve that portion of events. 

The class is near its end and he’s convinced he’s dreamt the last fifteen minutes when the incessant droning about George Washington is interrupted by a flaming redhead bursting through the door with a flyer in her hand. 

“Which one of you incels on the football team covered my Vixens sign-up sheet with rudimentary interpretations of Britney Spears circa two-thousand seven?” The girl demands, slamming the page onto Mr. Abbott’s desk with a loud smack. Several boys in the room snicker, a few chuckling into their history books.

“Miss Blossom, if you wouldn’t mind saving this discussion for the lunch hour, I have a class to teach,” Mr. Abbott says. 

Wait, Archie thinks, Blossom? As in Cheryl?

Sure, three years isn’t long enough to become completely unrecognizable, but Cheryl could have fooled him. Archie remembers her as the quiet, somewhat judgemental girl who sat in the corner and got straight A’s. Not the powerhouse in front of him who could probably put an entire boy’s locker room on their hands and knees. Even Archie feels the intimidation creeping upon him.

“Oh, please, Mr. A. Billy over there is so over this lesson that if I were to peek into his pea brain he’d already have a hand up Jenny’s skirt,” Cheryl says. “Now who cares to fess up?” Her sickeningly sweet smile causes the room to sink back down into their seats. Archie glances around in amusement. He’s grateful to be the new kid in town. 

The gratefulness dies.

“I’ll be,” Cheryl says, fixing her eyes on Archie in the third row, who’s starting to feel a little bit like a mouse to a snake. “Is that Archie Andrews?”

The bell rings and everyone is jumping out of their seats, ignoring Mr. Abbott’s call for the homework assignment and leaving Archie and Cheryl alone in the classroom layered in summer dust. 

“That’s me,” Archie says weakly, “good to see you, Cheryl.”

Cheryl is decked out in all red, from her bright lips to the velvet of her shoes. She looks like a character in a James Bond film. The beautiful woman who’s just mysterious enough for the audience to question her true motive. 

“Wait until I tell Betty and Jughead that their childhood bestie is in town and they didn’t have a clue,” Cheryl says, tutting. “The nerve of you, Andrews.” 

He isn’t sure how to respond to that. After all, she’s correct in assuming they don’t know, but how does someone say to their old friends they haven’t seen for three years that they’re coming back? In a letter? The first text message he’s sent them since three Augusts ago? He couldn’t figure it out, so he chose the element of surprise instead. Maybe then he won’t have to address the immense gap in his life that he’ll spend his entire senior year filling if they even want to be his friends again. He knows he doesn’t deserve it after leaving as he did. 

“I’m sure they’ll be fine,” he says. Cheryl rolls her eyes.

“Leaving with no goodbye after pushing everyone away and dodging blame is always a dick move.”

Archie thinks of Tommy and his sunken eyes laying in that hospital bed. He thinks of Tommy’s mother screaming at Archie and telling him how it’s all his fault that her son would be spending his senior year at a mental institution instead of on the field or at prom. This is why when Archie left the next month with his bag in his arm and a goodbye hanging on his lips, he vowed to leave it alone and hope for the best. He didn’t know what the best would be, but he waited. 

So far, nothing.

“You don’t know anything about me, Cheryl,” he says. As he grabs his bag and finds the door, Cheryl calls after him.

“Neither do you, you egotistical jerk.”

It’s a miracle that Archie’s schedule manages to avoid every single person he used to know in the first half of the day. When lunch comes around, however, he starts to realize that avoiding isn’t going to be much of an option anymore.

Riverdale High is not big. In fact, there are probably no more than four-hundred students if he includes seventh and eighth-graders in the mix. It isn’t as if that’s any issue- Archie appreciates smaller schools for the familiarity- but it also means that when the senior’s time for lunch comes around that he’ll encounter every single person he’s been hoping he won’t have to speak to.

It starts in the line.

Archie is dishing up mashed potatoes when Reggie Mantle is just behind him, sweet-talking the lunch lady into giving him extra roast beef.

“C’mon, Sally, I’m on the football team,” he’s saying, receiving a scowl from Ms. Jenson behind the counter. “I need meat on my bones. Don’t you want us to win a game?”

“I wish I cared, Mantle,” Ms. Jenson says, deadpan. “Now get your mashed potatoes and sit down.”

Reggie grumbles and reaches for the spoon Archie’s just set down before noticing the person just in front of him.

“No way!” He says, “Archie motherfucking Andrews?!” 

“Detention!” Ms. Jenson calls. Reggie ignores her.

“What the hell are you doing here, man?”

“Moved back last week. How’ve you been, Reg?” 

“Oh, you know. Kickin’ ass on the field. We’re nothing without you, though. I hear you’re Lincoln High’s star quarterback.”

“My football career is over, Reg.”

Reggie looks genuinely hurt by this.

“No way, man. It’s your senior year! We need you out there,” he says. Archie chuckles and starts to walk away.

“Sorry. Consider me retired.” 

He’s hoping the conversation will end there, but it doesn’t. Instead, Reggie takes a seat across from him and asks him anything and everything about football at Lincoln. Archie indulges him just to avoid questions he can’t answer but gets sidetracked when Betty Cooper and Jughead Jones walk into the cafeteria hand in hand.

Archie sputters, “are they dating?”

Reggie nods. “Happened last year. Weird, isn’t it?”

Archie thinks about it for a moment. No, it isn’t weird, really. In fact, it makes more sense than Archie cares to admit. Betty and Jughead were always close, switching from endless banter to philosophical conversation at Pop’s while Archie sat in silence, eating his burger and stealing Betty’s fries. 

Truthfully, it was under his nose the whole time.

“Huh. Wasn’t expecting it, is all.”

“What, you haven’t talked to them? I thought you knew.”

“I haven’t kept in touch with anyone, Reg.”

“Right.”

“I’m gonna go say hello. See you later?”

“Sure, man.”

He ignores the few stray stares he passes on his way to their table, trying not to get sidetracked by anyone he might know. Back in Lincoln, it was easy to blend in at first. Archie wasn’t particularly attractive his freshman year, all gangly and awkward, but by 10th he’d gotten fit over the summer and picked up the position of the quarterback on the football team, and that all changed. There, it was like he was a celebrity. He maintained his autonomy while still being fawned over for his looks and athletic ability.

Riverdale isn’t like that. Here, his every move has been watched since infancy. And even though he didn’t bother keeping up with anybody he left behind, he knows they kept up with him. It’s the Riverdale way in a sense. No one has a right to know anything but they’ll still go as far as their own entitlement will allow. 

Betty and Jughead don’t stare. Their heads are close together in quiet conversation, masked by the loud chatter of the lunchroom and their soft-spoken tones. 

“Jug, hey,” Archie says. They look up, catching sight of Archie where he stands in front of their table, holding his tray in his hands and formulating some sort of game plan in his head. He’s at a loss. What the hell does a person say to their best friends they ghosted for years?

“Archie Andrews, you don’t say,” Jughead says, but he’s smiling a wide smile as rises from his seat to cross over and capture Archie in a surprisingly rough hug.

“How the hell have you been, Jones?” 

“As good as I can be, living here.”

“It’s not so bad. I missed it, actually.”

Betty is silent in her seat, looking slightly shocked and maybe even upset. She’s glancing back and forth between her boyfriend and Archie, the gears behind her eyes smoking as they attempt to work out the reality of the situation. Betty has never been easy to impress. She has a remarkable ability to see right through everything- like peering down at the bottom of a lake through all the filthy murk.

“Betts, hi,” Archie tries.

“You’re back,” she says matter-of-factly, raising her eyebrows. Archie shifts, slightly unsettled by the calmness in her tone.

“Yeah, just got back last week.”

“Why?”

Jughead gives her a look, part incredulous and part utter confusion. “Betty, what-.”

“Nothing. Sorry. It’s good to see you, Archie.” 

“Yeah, you too Betty.”

“Why don’t you sit down and we can catch up?” Jughead asks. Archie, feeling a little off-balance after Betty’s sour reaction, tries to muster an excuse to go anywhere else but here.

“Actually, Jug, I have to go talk to Ms. Patch about retaking a math class. Catch up at Pop’s later?”

“Sure, yeah. See you later,” Jughead says. Archie tries to forget the absent-minded tone of voice his friend held, figuring he deserves the treatment he’s getting for what he did. 

After all, like everything, this is entirely his own fault.

Archie does go to Ms. Patch’s office, but not to talk about math. He sits in a chair in the corner of the room and eats his lunch, placing it on the staff’s bussing table in the front room when he’s finished. He isn't sure where Ms. Patch has gone to, but he doesn’t mind being alone. The sounds of the printer mixed with chirping birds outside the window are enough to separate from himself, filling any space in his brain that might become a home for festering self-loathing. 

Tommy would tell him to put his big boy pants on and get over it. Archie wouldn’t listen.

He’s going over his history notes when the office door opens, Ms. Patch’s voice breaking the silence.

“And you have a space available to do this?” She’s saying. Archie listens in, sinking in his chair a little as her voice comes nearer.

“Yes, I just need help putting it together. It’s an old car, and it doesn’t need to run or anything, it’s just assembly as I finish it.”

The voice sounds vaguely familiar but Archie can’t quite put his finger on it. 

Luckily, he isn’t left guessing. Ms. Patch enters the room with a girl just behind her. The black hair registers first, then her dark brown eyes and well-maintained posture. 

It’s Veronica Lodge. Except she looks nothing like Veronica Lodge. 

Her hair is just as dark, but it’s messier and she has two thin strands on either side of her eyes, cut short enough to hit her cheekbones. Her lips are a warm berry color and she has eyeliner so perfectly executed that even Archie knows she must have taken time on it. 

Even more shocking is her clothes. They aren’t the preppy rich-girl outfits she sported from kindergarten to eighth grade- instead, she’s wearing a brown beaded tank top that looks like some sort of silky fabric from her waist up to where the beans begin. It hugs her frame and comes to a halt at her hips in a way Archie is certain would get her kicked out of Riverdale High if it had any interest in enforcing their old-fashioned dress code. And as if she can’t possibly throw him off any further, Archie notices a particularly not-Veronica-like article of clothing.

Veronica Cecilia Lodge is wearing jeans. 

They’re classic blue jeans, unassuming but very much a statement for a girl who spent the entirety of her childhood matching the physical and material status of her borderline criminally rich parents. Archie has no idea what to think.

They were never close, him and Veronica. Not until seventh grade when Betty forced them to be civil so she could spend time with them both and not have to put up with constant arguing and low-blow insults. It wouldn’t have worked if Veronica wasn’t going through a particularly nasty phase with her mom that involved a short period of silent treatment and a quick transition into endless yelling. Betty got fed up with the constant complaining which led Veronica to confide in Archie after a particularly bad screaming match where Veronica broke a thousand-year-old vase her father won at an auction in Italy.  

From then on they were fairly good friends. Until, well.

Archie stops his staring and tries to go unnoticed as he gets up and grabs his bag, but he’s stopped when Ms. Patch catches him leaving.

“Oh! Archie, how convenient to find you here,” she says, drawing Veronica’s attention to where he stands in the doorway.

“Sorry, I was just leaving,” he says. Veronica looks as though she’s covering up a suppressed laugh, then shakes her head as if she’s in complete disbelief. 

“Wow, Archie Goddamn Andrews makes an appearance. This must be awkward for you,” she says. He’s taken aback by her bluntly rude tone. Like, okay, they were friends for a while and had a few good memories together, but even Jughead managed to move past it and seem somewhat happy to see him. Veronica just looks as if she’d be willing to feed him to a shark tank if given the chance.

“Miss Lodge, please,” Ms. Patch says.

“Sorry.”

“Actually, I have a wonderful idea,” Ms. Patch says, going around her desk to sit down. “Archie, you have experience in construction, yes?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Good! You’ll be helping Miss Lodge build the art structure for Pop’s Chock’lit Shoppe remodel funded by the Historical Restoration Society here at Riverdale High. It’ll cover your community service if I pull a few strings.”

Archie feels his heart sink as Veronica bursts out in fury, giving Ms. Patch The Glare. He isn’t sure how she does it, but every time Veronica has that look on her face it means immediate danger. Run. Flee. Save yourself.

“Are you kidding me? I’d rather put up with Reggie Mantle commenting on my ass every hour than have to work with him,” Veronica says, “do you have any idea the bullshit I went through because of this jackass?”

“That’ll be a detention, Miss Lodge. And you better get comfortable working with Mr. Andrews or you can kiss your funding goodbye.”

Veronica looks deadly, refusing to turn in his direction. She huffs and pushes past him, forcing her way through the door.

Archie is stunned.

“I don’t know if this is a good idea. I think she hates me,” he says.

“Then this will be a lovely opportunity for you to learn to accept the consequences of your actions. That’ll be all, Mr. Andrews.”

Great.

Pop’s is practically empty when he arrives hours later, wearing a well-worn denim jacket he found in the front closet that must be his dad’s. 

“You look like I did at that age,” he said, walking Archie out the front door. Fred Andrews was born to be a dad. He knows all the right things to say and do at any given time, and Archie never feels out of place around him. Being back is more or less eye-opening in that regard. He just wishes he could have seen it sooner.

Pop Tate greets him with a smile and shoulder grab over the counter and asks him how he’s been. They talk a bit back and forth until Archie hears the bell on the front entrance jingle to reveal Betty and Jughead.

Betty looks less offended by him now, though remains fairly smug as they sit down together, ordering milkshakes and fries.

“So,” Archie says, pointing between the two, “you guys.”

Jughead laughs and Betty looks shy, sipping her milkshake to avoid direct eye contact.

“Us. Yeah,” Jug says, looking fondly at his awkward girlfriend who’s shoving fries in her mouth. “Last summer we started hanging out again and then… well.”

Archie nods, reaching over to poke Betty on the arm.

“What, are you embarrassed by your weirdo boyfriend?” Archie taunts, laughing at her shy demeanor.

“No, I’m embarrassed by this conversation,” she says with a wince. “Do you have a girlfriend, Arch?” 

Archie shakes his head, feeling a little strange. There were a few girls at Lincoln with nice hair and plenty of interest in him, but Archie never felt it. Then everything went to shit and he didn’t even have the time to go to a dance or hang out after school. Tommy made fun of him for it, but Archie didn’t find it in him to pay any attention once the Jack Daniels got passed around. 

“That’s surprising,” Jughead says, “you being the star quarterback and all.” His expression is light-hearted and he and Betty are chuckling, but Archie doesn’t crack as much of a smile. 

“Never had any time for girls,” he says.

The conversation moves onto colleges and their futures and all the things Archie avoids thinking about. Luckily, he’s gone through this discussion with enough ‘concerned adults’ to have a perfectly articulated script he follows. 

He’s going to be a mechanical engineer. Maybe start a business or something. Get married. Have a couple kids. Work and die. 

The exact opposite of what he and Tommy would talk about.

Archie supposes life chooses sacrifices for you when you refuse to do it yourself. 

It’s at the mention of mechanical engineering that Veronica comes up.

“Well, hey, if you want some credibility in that area you could help Veronica with her Pop’s project,” Jughead says. Betty looks at him oddly for it, but stays quiet, choosing to continue drinking her milkshake and looking away.

“I saw her today, actually. Ms. Patch told me and set me up to do it,” Archie says.

“Really? And you agreed, just like that?”

Archie doesn’t want to mention how he has twenty hours of community service he has to fulfill and how if he doesn’t do it Veronica will kill him in his sleep for fucking up her project. 

So instead he says, “extra credit for shop class,” as if he needs it.

“How is Veronica, by the way? We didn’t really get a chance to… talk,” Archie asks. 

“We’re not close anymore,” Betty says.

Oh, he thinks, that’s the bullshit she was talking about.

“What happened?” He asks cautiously, expecting the upcoming response.

“You,” she winces. “It sort of caused a fight when you left. None of us were on the same page about you or each other so we just… separated. Then Veronica’s parents kicked her out after she told them she had no interest in the business. It was messy.”

Archie feels hollowed out. The dust on the countertops floats up into the sunlight and captures his gaze, his mind hazy with new guilt. 

“Shit I’m-”

“Don’t apologize. It was all us,” Betty says. “Though I do wish you would have said something before skipping town and cutting us off.”

I didn’t mean to, he thinks. I got caught up in it all.

Betty looks apologetic for snapping, and their little catch-up meets its end early. Which is fine because he’s pretty sure he’s supposed to meet Veronica at the garage in twenty minutes. She never said (being too busy throwing a tantrum about it) but Ms. Patch told Archie to expect her there at seven. 

So he does. 

The garage she’s working in is over on the southside of town, which is less of a shithole than before and more civilized after opening a few businesses and turning Southside High into a community center. With less vandalism and more plant growth, it’s growing to be just as livable as the northside. Some change is good, Archie thinks.

He sees her kneeled next to a can of paint in the artificial light, mixing it with another color and swiping it onto a disembodied car door leaning against the wall. Her hair is in two braids hanging behind her shoulders and she’s wearing a flannel of all things. Black and blue plaid rolled up to her elbows. 

The night is going dim and Archie’s starting to feel regret seep in, but he shuts off the truck and steps out, preparing for the inevitable cold shoulder.

“Hey, Ronnie,” he says. She startles, pulling an earbud out of her ear and scowling at him.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Sorry, habit,” Archie offers meekly, scratching the back of his neck just for something to do with his hands. He was hoping it wouldn’t be this awkward. They never were before- even when they fought constantly about absolutely everything he still didn’t consider their relationship awkward. Just heated. 

Now, though, he wants to crawl into a ditch, never to return.

“There’s a piece for you to weld over there,” she says. “You can weld, right?”

“Yeah, uh, I can. It's loud though, is that okay?”

“I know. It’s fine.”

She puts her earbud in and goes back to painting, tilting the fan placed beside her to blow air on the freshly dampened area. 

Archie sighs, taking in the rusty metal and blueprints strewn about the concrete floor.

This is going to work, he thinks. Though the voice in his head is doubtful.

Chapter Text

Dear Tommy,

How are you? I’ve been thinking a lo-

Paper crinkles in his fist.

Dear Tommy,

Are you well?

Shit. Of course he isn’t.

Dear Tommy,

Sorry for this shitty letter. I forgot how to write properly without talking about myself or dismissing other people’s problems, so I’ll try not to mention your dead mom or anything.

I know I’ve ruined your life, and I’m sure your monster of a father will read this and decide it’s too much for your fragile mind to take and burn it or something. So basically this is addressed to him.

I know this is all my fault. So, just, fuck you. I guess.

Sincerely,

Archie

P.S. Tell Tommy I’m collecting all the karma I deserve so he doesn’t need to waste his energy hating me. It’ll be a huge weight off his shoulders.

The trash bin overflows.

The end of his first week back approaches faster than Archie can anticipate. He hasn’t done much other than scattered attempts at his homework and wandering around town in his sneakers that are practically falling apart at the seams. He’d get a new pair if the ones he wears now weren’t so well broken in. Too well, now.

Against his best wishes, Friday approaches, and Veronica will be working on her project tonight in that dusty garage Archie is sure was lent to her by the bearded guy who hangs around the car wash trying to sell old auto parts from questionable sources. 

He wouldn’t be doing this if he didn’t feel as though he owes some sort of debt to the universe. And if that debt only extends as far as putting up with endless flippant remarks and tuning out the much-too-loud music playing in Veronica’s ears then he’ll take it. Even if it costs him several hours of his life. 

The more painful thing is lunch hour. On his second day, Archie accepted the invitation to sit with Betty, Jughead, and Kevin at their table- and it may have been his worst idea. 

Not only did the awkward tension between him and them expand like an overblown balloon, but they’ve resorted to talking about anything and everything categorized as small talk to avoid more pressing topics. It’s like watching those morning news shows that only talk about the newest trending recipes and kids with special talents. Never hitting deeper issues, choosing only to graze the surface to avoid the collective discomfort. 

Archie is in part glad for it. He knows to try to be their friend again would mean dismantling the thick brick wall he’s built over the past few months, and the thought alone exhausts him. 

Today the choice topic of small talk is Riverdale’s tourism. From what Archie gathers it’s been particularly bad lately. He doesn’t see why it matters so much since Riverdale isn’t exactly charming and quaint. Yet, Veronica’s project is all over that subject so, naturally, Archie is reeled in by affiliation.

“So, Archie? What’s it like being let in on one of Veronica’s secret art projects?” Kevin asks. 

Archie makes a face. “Secret? Are her projects always secret?” He asks. Kevin smiles, rolling a granny smith apple in his hand. 

“The few that aren’t are always experimental,” he says. “You know, for feedback and critiques.”

Archie doesn’t know. In fact, he knows absolutely nothing about art or how it’s critiqued. All he knows is Veronica is the creative eye and he takes care of the rest.

“Huh. Guess I should be honored,” Archie says, letting a smile ghost his face. “I’m going there tonight to finish the first piece.”

The table carries on with idle conversation, bouncing from complaints about the english assignment to thoughts on the senior class plans they’ll have to start thinking about. Archie isn’t sure how he fits into that topic. Does senior year even count if he’s spent freshman through junior at another school? His senior year feels more like watching someone else’s from the outside. 

In the middle of a debate about lunch potatoes, Reggie and a pair of varsity football players roll around, empty trays in hand on the way to the dish dropoff. Kevin and Betty are too hung up on whether or not the fact that the baked potatoes are almost always too soft overrules their superiority over mashed (Archie doesn’t understand this- mashed is always better) to notice that Reggie has a near feral look in his eye as he glances over them. 

“What’s his deal?” Jughead asks through a mouthful of the arguably under-seasoned mashed potatoes. Archie raises an eyebrow and shrugs, trying to brush off the feeling that he’s done something to warrant Reggie’s coldfront. They didn’t necessarily get off to the greatest start when Archie got fed up with talking about football and Reggie was beside himself at the news that his old friend would not be joining the team. 

In a way, he feels bad. Disappointing people has always been difficult to accept for Archie, but this time he’s forcing himself. It’s not as though he has a choice, but Reggie is an ever-ticking bomb (as if Archie could have forgotten) and if that bomb goes off, he’s not totally ready to take the blame.

School ends and Archie’s nearly forgotten everything about his day when the sun is setting and all hell breaks loose. He notices the disturbance when he turns the corner of Silver Street, the garage barely coming into view. Something seems off. For one, Veronica’s car is still running but she’s nowhere to be seen. Secondly, and probably most terrifying, is the garage door is wide open with no light streaming out- the only discernible sign of activity being chunks of metal splattered in haphazardly thrown paint. 

That’s when he notices the distant yelling. 

Down at the end of the block is Don Reeve’s shop building where he keeps the claimed “collectibles” he hoards, and it’s typically the place everyone goes to get information about just about everything. Somehow, that man knows every secret this town keeps, and all it takes to get one out of him is the purchase of some useless scrap item and a can of Coors Light. The current interaction, however, seems a lot less welcome.

Archie parks his truck and jumps out, walking the cracked sidewalk down to the grassy lot between Don’s shop and a freshly busted jingle jangle house. 

The yelling increases in volume just enough to make out Veronica’s fury filled voice. 

“You are always here . How the hell do you miss someone breaking into the garage next door and destroying everything?” She’s saying.

“Listen, girl. I went home to make a turkey sandwich and came back to the mess. All there is to it,” someone responds.

Archie is hesitant to go any further. If he interrupts now, he may meet his end- but if Veronica finds him eavesdropping from a safe distance he may as well consider himself nonexistent. 

“Fine. Don’t tell me. I’ll be over there, scraping paint off the walls.” 

Archie does his best not to panic and instead starts walking forward as if he were meaning to this whole time. 

Veronica nearly storms right into him.

“Archie!” She says, stumbling back from where they met chest to chest. “Fucking Christ, you scared me.”

Archie’s hand reaches out and gently grabs her arm to steady her, answering to an order Archie did not give. He pulls it away.

“Sorry,” he says, stepping back and running his fingers through his hair. 

“It’s fine,” Veronica grumbles, pushing past him and sauntering back to the garage, her boots heavy on the concrete. Archie puffs out a breath, hesitating before heading after her. The sun is setting and the grass in front of the open door is coated in reds and yellows, thick with drying paint. Veronica is knelt down by a piece of her artwork, now half blue next to a pale knocked on its side.

“So,” Archie tries, shoving his hands in his pocket, “what are we gonna do?”

Veronica whips around, rising to her feet.

“We?” She asks. 

“Yeah.”

“There is no we.”

Archie tries not to sigh in frustration as he considers every best possible response. It turns out he has none of those. 

“So you’re giving up?” He asks, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Veronica throws her arms up and laughs, exasperated.

“What else do I do? Pop’s anniversary is a week from now. This alone took three.”

“I know, but-”

“But what, Archie?”

He thinks it over, ignoring the look of pure, cold anger on Veronica’s face. He struggles, suddenly fixated on a strand of wavy hair in front of her right eye, contouring to her bone structure almost perfectly.

“I, uh…”

“Right,” Veronica says, “you don’t have to help clean up. Just go home.”

He snaps out of it.

“No!” He calls as she heads to the back room attached for supplies. “I mean- um… I think I really do know something I can do.”

Truth is, he shouldn’t even consider it. Lincoln is hours away and he isn’t sure if he can handle being so near to Tommy and not doing anything about it. But Veronica is beside herself with anger and he isn’t sure what choice he has if he’s trying to mend his relationship with the Universe and all. 

Not to mention he does still have friends who like him there. Friends he misses. 

“I don’t know if I should do it,” Archie says. He’s seated at the kitchen table with his history homework in front of him while his dad stirs soup on the stove, trying not to set off the smoke alarm.

“I think you need to do whatever you can to help,” Fred says, coughing and waving the smoke rising from the burner. “Geez, I’ve got to figure out what’s been smoking under here.” 

He removes the pot and Archie watches absentmindedly, letting the somewhat comedic image of his father attempting to settle rising smoke take over while his brain goes on autopilot. He knows what he can do, it’s the doing it that’s keeping him from entertaining the thought. 

He’s been good here. Even though turmoil follows him wherever he goes, Archie feels a lot less angry and a lot less overwhelmed in Riverdale. Maybe it’s because he’s gone so long without his old friends that their behavior feels less impactful. Or maybe he’s come to terms with being hated. Though if that were true there would be no question as to whether or not he should do this. 

Maybe there isn’t.

“Yeah, I guess I should,” Archie says, offering a bright but hesitant smile to his dad. Fred returns it, and it feels a little less terrifying to know what to do. 

Archie shows up at the Pembrooke at seven a.m. on Friday morning. They’re skipping school today to get a head start, even though Archie is probably failing three classes already and Veronica has never missed a day in her life. Lincoln is a bit of a drive away and they don’t know how long it’ll be once they get there to work out the details. 

So Archie is here, two coffees in hand and a well worn football sweatshirt on, waiting on his worst nightmare so they can spend seven hours in a truck together for a plan that is more than likely to go south. Archie is silently praying.

“Hey,” Veronica says, shutting the door behind her. She’s in a gray crewneck with a word Archie can’t pronounce in large black lettering, looking overly casual paired with a black pleated skirt and knee high socks. It’s surprisingly preppy for what Archie’s noticed her in lately, but the combat boots are the same and her hair is still a little messy- so maybe there’s nothing to be surprised about. Except for his own unintentional staring.

“I brought coffee,” Archie says dumbly, holding out the cup in his left hand for her to take. She gives him a strange look but accepts it, a half smile flashing across her lips before she glances away and swings a bag over her shoulder.

“Ready?” She asks, back to her now familiar emotionless look. Archie nods and follows her to the truck, trying not to trip over his own feet in intimidation. This is going to be a very long seven hours.

He’s right, as it turns out. At first neither says a word, letting an unspecified amount of time pass with nothing but the sound of the crackling radio to fill the silence. 

Veronica has her boots up on the dash and her head hanging back, tilted toward the window to stare out at the passing trees. Several instances go by in which Archie is tempted to say something but ultimately decides against it, instead settling for watching the road and planning the next couple of days as to avoid any altercations. 

He knows his ultimate destination will have news of his visit all through town before he has a chance to ask his favor, but that he’ll have to deal with. It’s Tommy finding out that worries him. He might want to see him. Or worse, he’ll tell his drug buddies or somebody else to find Archie and rip him a new one for what he did. 

He’s always avoided those guys. All of Tommy’s friends that never suited Archie’s interests enough to be his. They’re the types to throw punches before talking it out. Tommy always said he only kept them around for backup. Not that he ever needed it. Not until now. 

Luckily, the friends Archie does want to see have no interest in telling Tommy anything, and for that he’s grateful. Brady Johnson, for example, was the first to respond when Archie sent out a text telling them he’ll be visiting for a few days. Despite the mess he left behind in Lincoln, there were very few falling outs in comparison to when he left Riverdale. He still keeps in touch with Brady and the others even if it’s just through occasional “how are you?” texts and casual updates. That way, there’s no reiterating the drama that went down in the last year or mentions of any other colossal fuck-ups on Archie’s part. Just kind memories and boring day-to-day news. 

Archie’s considering ideas for what he should do when he meets up with them when he’s pulled back to reality.

“Are you even paying attention to the road?” Veronica is asking, now cross-legged in her seat and staring at Archie with an amused look on her face. 

“Sorry, what?” Archie asks, glancing over at her to catch her eye. She laughs. It’s soft and understated, but real. Like she finds this genuinely funny. 

“I tried asking about where we’re going and you looked completely blank.”

“Sorry, I was just… Uh, you know where we’re going. We had a whole conversation about it.”

“I know. I wanted to know about it.” 

“Oh. Well, it’s not that interesting. Kind of like Riverdale without the Twilight Zone vibes.” 

Veronica raises her eyebrows, pausing like she’s trying to make a decision about something.

“Did you go to get away from us?” 

Her question stops his thoughts in their tracks, coming to a complete halt. He never realized how it may have looked that way. They were all so close that when he left without a word he can imagine that it would have seemed as though he was hoping to cut them off all along. He wasn’t.

“I- no. Of course not, it was just… I don’t know. I felt like maybe you guys didn’t care whether I was there or not.” It isn’t a lie, not really. He did feel that way. His old friends were all so different- each with such strong and independent personalities that oftentimes it seems as if he didn’t have a place in that. Like he was nothing but a dumb jock among a group of smart, driven kids with bright futures that would drown him out one day. 

“It doesn’t matter, anyway,” Veronica says. She clears her throat and takes a sip of water from one of the bottles she pulled from the back seat. Archie tries to keep his eyes on the road as he sees her swallow from the corner of his eye. 

“How are your parents?” Archie asks, hoping to diverge the conversation to something slightly more mundane.

“It’s just me and my mom. Daddy’s in prison.” 

Oh.

“I-”

“It’s fine. He made life a living hell, anyway. At least now I don’t have to worry about juggling blood money with an art career.” 

She takes another sip of water before twisting the cap back on and sticking the bottle in a cup holder on the door. Archie feels a wave of sadness come over him.

“Still sucks,” he whispers. 

She nods, returning to her position of staring out the window, not saying a word when Archie absentmindedly reaches an arm across the back of her seat. 

Archie swears this trip could not get any longer when the Universe proves him to be the fool he is. About a hundred-thirty miles out, they’re stopped by what looks like miles of road construction. An LED road sign tells them the wait is forty minutes and Archie should feel like he’s getting the worst of it but truthfully, Veronica has been a fairly decent passenger. 

The last four hours have been quiet but comfortable, finding that sitting in silence with her is easier than he expected. If only it could always be this way. 

“Well, I guess we should talk about something,” Veronica says, cutting through Archie’s blissful quiet and reminding him what it means to be grateful before it’s too late.

“Like what?” He asks, hoping she’ll go the boring, mundane route and save them both the trouble of getting through the next unbearably awkward hour. Though Veronica, like the Universe, is not so forgiving.

“Like... how are Betty and Jughead?”

She asks it with a half-interested expression, staring down at her nails and paying no mind to Archie’s look of complete and utter panic.

“They’re good. I think.”

“Good? You think?” She looks at him now, partially amused and partially daring- like her idea of fun is pushing Archie to breaking down. 

He just might.

“Yeah, I mean… We’ve talked some and they seem fine,” he says, careful to keep his eyes on the mass of trees around him and not on Veronica, who he knows is only seconds away from dropping the dance-around and getting to the real topic of conversation.

“How’s Betty? Quiet? Uninterested? I bet she does that thing where one second you’re talking like normal and then it ends like she didn’t mean to do it.” 

There it is.

“She does do that, yeah.”

“Yeah.”

Archie does take his eyes off the trees, now. Veronica is eyeing him intensely, still playing with her nails but no longer using them to distract herself. Something is brewing in her head and Archie is too afraid to think too much about it. 

“If there’s something on your mind feel free to say it,” he says softly, looking at her as calmly as he can, knowing something’s coming that he won’t like. That’s Veronica. Letting you feel safe for a moment, but never too long. 

“She only started doing that after you left. When you were fighting I kept defending you to her. Kind of like how I did the opposite with you,” Veronica says, looking meek. “I wanted everything to be fine. But then you left it unresolved and she did to me exactly what she’s doing with you now. So I told her to either get over it or leave me alone. She chose leaving me alone.” 

Archie realizes he’s been staring at the trees again and rubs his hand over his eyes, leaning back on his seat.

“I didn’t-”

“You don’t have to say anything. It’s not like you can go back and stay. Some damage can’t be undone.”

“Yeah, I’m good at permanently ruining things.”

Veronica scoffs, inspecting her cuticles again.

“You think? What makes you say that.”

Archie doesn’t know what version of the story replays in his head, but the thought of reciting it to Veronica is unsavory at best. Some things are best kept quiet. For now, anyway.

“In Lincoln there’s a friend of mine… He’s at an institution right now and it’s kinda all my fault.”

“I’m gonna need a little more than that.”

“Yeah, well. Maybe another time.”

Luckily, the traffic ahead shows signs of movement and Archie can focus on something else. Veronica goes quiet in her seat, absentmindedly braiding a small strand of hair as she stares at a flock of birds overhead. 

Archie likes seeing her that way. When she’s contemplating something. It makes him wonder what goes on in her head when she isn’t stressed out or pissed off. Not that he doesn’t think she has a right to feel that way, he just appreciates the moments she’s in peace. Relaxed. Happy, even. 

He isn’t sure why that matters to him. 

They start moving and the sloth-like pace seems to last forever when finally the traffic breaks through the end and they’re back to cruising at seventy-five. 

Before Archie knows it, the silent drive comes to an end when the pale light of Lincoln rolls into view. The familiar empty streets and miles upon miles of farmland feels like the beginning of a neverending nightmare Archie fears he won’t wake up from. He tries blaming it on the late hour. 

Veronica, who fell asleep in the last hour, is now stirring, groaning at the yellow brightness flowing in from the streetlights.

“Are we there?” She mumbles, eyes still shut.

Archie, on the other hand, feels wide awake. 

“Yep,” he replies, “welcome to Lincoln.”