Work Text:
Jughead feels warm. Light. His clothes are soft. His feet are wrapped in fuzzy socks, footsteps muffled by the fabric.
He walks through the dim, cozy hallway of a comfortable house. His house. Lining the pale blue walls are pictures of his family. He stops to look at each one. His parents’ wedding day, them grinning as they feed each other cake, just before they smash it in each others’ faces. His first day of preschool - before school had even started, he was already covered in mud and grinning from ear to ear. He and Jellybean on Jelly’s first day of kindergarten - she was so excited to go to the same school as her older brother. A cringe-worthy family portrait from that one time the mall photographers had a 60% off sale at midnight on Black Friday when he was 12. Puppy-Hot Dog attacking Jelly’s face with kisses as she sat on the kitchen floor. Seven-year-old Jug sitting on his dad’s shoulders building the treehouse.
Jughead follows the hallway into the kitchen. A plate of freshly baked cookies and the huge-est burger he’s ever seen sit on the table waiting for him. For once in his life, he’s not hungry. Still, he grabs a cookie before heading out the open back door.
The back yard is very green, slightly overgrown, and welcoming. The treehouse rests in the tree fork of his favorite tree. The branches stretch to canopy most of the back yard and the wide leaves block most of the sun. Golden light from the setting sun filters through the leaves, scattering shards of light across the thick grass. The house looks droopy, a little worse for wear, but the tree is strong and tall as ever. Old pieces of wood nailed to the tree trunk form a ladder.
Jughead shoves the rest of his cookie in his mouth and climbs. The inside of the treehouse is cluttered with blankets, books, a couple bean bags, and discarded video games. Jughead smiles softly. It’s homey, a reassuring constant in his tumultuous life. He lets himself drop onto his soft, denim-colored beanbag. He looks around the walls plastered with posters and doodles, notes passed between him and Archie in class and pages of favorite comic books.
The beanbag across from him has a permanent indent where Archie always sat. They would come up here every day after school and stay until one of their parents came to tear them out of their sanctuary. Everyday they said they were doing their homework, and everyday they played video games and read comic books for as long as they could. Sometimes the boys would read to each other, play board games, or just talk for hours on end. Jughead can’t remember for the life of him what they spent so long talking about, especially since they were rarely apart, but he knows those talks were some of the best hours of his life. He can almost see his favorite redhead sitting with him now. Almost.
Jughead grabs the crumpled blanket from Archie’s beanbag. Covers himself in it. Curls up in a ball. Like a cat, he loves the heat. Melts into it. Soon, he finds himself drifting.
Images, sensory experiences float through his mind. Playing fetch with Hot Dog, the sun on his skin and dog slobber covering his fingers. Walking to school with Jellybean, hand in hand. Mom: the soft pride on her face whenever she looked at him, her grounding embrace, her warmth. The wonderful array of smells coming from Thanksgiving dinner. Getting his job at the Twilight Drive In. Planning the road trip with Archie. That horrible, horrible summer. Almost making up with Archie at the pep rally. Sitting, laughing with his friends at Pop’s from dusk til dawn. The bottom of his stomach dropping out when Dilton Doily admits to seeing Ms. Grundy’s car by the river on the morning of July 4th.
~~~~
Jughead wakes with a start as Pop sets down a cup of coffee on his table. His backpack with all of his earthly possessions clatters to the floor with the sudden movement. It takes a moment for Jughead to get his bearings. Pop watches to make sure he is alright. Pushes the coffee a little closer to him.
“It’s almost dawn,” Pop says, “Thought you could use this.”
“Pop, I... Thank you, but I don’t need it,” Jughead says. Pop raises an eyebrow. He admits, “I can’t pay for it.”
Pop gives him a sad, knowing smile. “I know.” Jughead is surprised for a moment before he realizes that he shouldn’t be. He was just asleep in Pop’s restaurant, after all, as he had been for the past few nights. Still, he hesitates before accepting the gift. “Just take it, Jug.”
Jughead finally looks Pop in the eyes. He sees genuine kindness and compassion there, that of a man who knows this struggle personally. Jughead relents. He raises the black coffee to his lips with a soft smile.
“Thanks, Pop,” Jughead says before he takes a sip. Pop smiles back. Jughead sets the coffee back down on the table and pulls out his laptop. Pop pats him gently on the shoulder before returning back to the counter.
Jughead opens his novel and gets to work on the story of Riverdale.