#but she failed and when they broke up she even accused him of being sterile | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

enochianribs · 3 years

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the spear that pierced patroclus. part one | as it was.

Thousands of years ago, Castiel visited earth for the first time. The sound of cattle as they were driven through the city echoed between the mud and stone buildings which would someday crumble to dust. Something he’d never felt before: a vibrancy, a primal nature instilled in these humans, coursed through the land and air. His vessel’s feet were planted firmly to the earth as people brushed past him, lives insignificant, but their first fleeting touches against his skin still lasted a lifetime.

It was so unlike heaven, it was alien, even though he had been created to watch, to guard and protect. The humans of the small city laughed and smiled, nestled at the very edge of the cradle of civilization . He had never heard human laughter before. Was there joy in the dirt, in the blood shed and mortal coil? From where he stood in the cosmos between the garrisons and the solemnity of a race built for war, it was hard to imagine anything else. The humans glowed with life, their souls were so bright it blinded him as he watched from miles away, somewhere high up that they couldn’t touch, even as he stood amongst them.

He watched over the ancient city that would be dismantled by famine in only a matter of months, by God’s will. It was then that a first, diminutive seed of doubt planted itself in a dark place in his mind.

***

“You have been given your task. Now go. Serve us well, Castiel.”

Hell was unlike earth, unlike heaven. Where his kingdom was sterile and pure, and earth was heavy and heaving, hell was suffocating… malevolent. He could not fathom what a soul had to do to serve there, for the rest of damnable eternity, just that it was possible: in fact, it happened so often that hell had been growing below for eons. A place to put all the irredeemable, filthy souls that wronged his Father. He knew his brother was here, somewhere. Lucifer himself: the first abomination. He reigned in the coldest circle of hell. That was not where Castiel was going.

Sparks flurried around him, catching and singeing the feathers of his ink-black wings. Hellfire stung, but he did not flinch— if he misstepped here, everything he’d ever worked for would be gone. Castiel could not fathom what this human had done to earn the rack. He didn’t know why he was in charge of saving him, just that the order came from Father. This was Castiel’s moment to prove himself to the others. He would serve. He would become exalted in their eyes.

Castiel found him in one of the darkest corners of hell, where it felt like light was swallowed up and extinguished by the evil around it. Demons surrounded the human, their faces shifting with the light of the flames, flickering twisted expressions— rage, sorrow, fear. Things he did not know. The human hung at the rack by his wrists and neck, the iron had dug into his skin so viciously it bled. His head had fallen, limp to one side. Dark blood stained his face, smeared over his eyes and nose and lips, there was an ache that would never heal building itself in his bones. He knew the descriptions of human heroes well, but he had never seen one for himself until now. If Achilles were reborn, this was him.

From where Cas watched, poised to swoop down, he could see the shimmer of what had been his soul. It was so small, fragile… stuttering in and out. It’s radiance caused Cas to falter. There was nothing filthy about it. For a moment, it went out completely. Cas held his breath, baited. The demons cackled and howled in delight, and Castiel thought it as good a moment as any to rescue Dean Winchester from hell.

The moment his palm sealed against Dean's shoulder— closed the final distance between him and humanity— Castiel’s mouth fell agape. Dean was molten , his soul burned . Cinders collapsing and lighting again. The touch stole the breath straight from his lungs. It was like he held his hand over a flame, felt the flesh burning off, but couldn't pull away. He never would.

The simple nature of the grave was strange to Castiel. There was no monument for God’s chosen hero. Dean’s supposed final resting place was in a small clearing of trees, in the middle of an expansive nowhere. The marker was a small wooden cross, handmade in grief. Castiel placed him gently into his grave where he had been buried by his brother four months prior. The second his soul seeped back into the body, it began to regenerate. The earthy rot melted away to reveal a human face once again, the lacerations from the hellhound tearing him to shreds in his last moment sealed themselves as though they had never been there. Then the nightmares started: fresh from hell, and the first gasps of air in new lungs as Dean Winchester was once again on Earth. He wanted to ease them.

Castiel turned and ran, as far as he could.

That was to be the end of his role in the cosmic game. Uriel took Castiel’s armor from him, cleaned it with Holy Water and instructed him to wait for further orders.

“If there are any.” Uriel was gone in the blink of an eye— off to higher levels to converse with seraphs of the garrison, leaving the angel alone in the blinding light of heaven, which hurt his eyes in a way it never had before. Castiel’s palm burned.

***

If he was honest, he wasn’t sure he had a mind. For eons he had been empty, and surely there was no way things with minds could feel that way. Nothingness had dug a hole and grown somewhere inside.

As clear as the sight of the galaxy from Heaven, a graveled voice prayed his name.

Castiel .

Dean Winchester was calling out to him. He wasn’t sure if he had a mind, and yet, he could make it up anyways. Heaven and hell were not done with him just yet.

***

Dean was heavy...heaving...just like earth. The perfect, intoxicating embodiment of God’s favorites. The blade buried deep into his vessel’s ribcage, and Dean’s clenched fist slid past the handle of it, pressing against his chest. The naivety of humans. Castiel smiled. There was purpose in Dean Winchester, and that was what he sought. His brothers would love him for this.

But they never did. Castiel was quick to realize it. They were enamored with Dean, and his brother Sam. These Winchesters were the toys, and Castiel was naught but the one who had brought them to the table to play with. In Heaven they spoke of the seals. Sixty-six of them. Cas wondered what could ever go so wrong that they failed to stop sixty six attempts at releasing Lucifer. He said so.

Anna looked at him with pity. “Dean Winchester broke the first seal, Castiel. A righteous man shed blood in hell. And now he will help us stop it. There are forces at play that you do not yet understand. But you will.”

Anna soon disappeared, betrayed heaven. Castiel remembered a moment before she fell. She had been standing still and quiet and he had nearly walked past her. She stared down at earth, and her voice had been so soft he barely heard it, still wasn’t sure if it was something he had been meant to hear. “What must it be like? To be human.”

Castiel was left with more questions than answers.

***

The longer he stood at the Winchesters’ side, the stranger and stranger he felt. He was as alien to them as they were to him. Everytime he spoke with the brothers it was like he took one step forward and three back to meet in the middle. To them, he was just another hunt waiting to happen, another monster under the bed. They just didn’t know what kind yet. Castiel didn’t know what he could do to guard them, what he could do to prevent the seals from being broken without a foundation of trust. Every command from heaven that he followed seemed to irritate both of the brothers. Castiel felt like he was grasping at straws.

He had wishfully thought showing Dean his mother again would help, but the weight of the truth about his younger brother overshadowed everything. Lucifer cast long shadows over the hope he tried to build. Humans were so reckless, their own emotional wreckage was innate. His days filled with danger and threat, and yet there was something that kept him close.

The moon was low, shining silver light into the diner. In a rare event, Dean was alone. He understood now that there was never just one Winchester— the other was sure to follow. It was like they were joined at the hip. Dean sat at a table, nursing a beer against his lips, staring at nothing but the checkered wall of the diner. The diner was otherwise empty.

The angel fluttered down into the chair. “Hello, Dean.”

The man jerked upright, bringing the bottle in his hand down to the table so hard it broke. A stray piece of glass sliced into his palm and he winced, before his attention snapped to Castiel, eyes narrowed. He was upset. “Jesus, Cas . You ever heard of a friggin’ door? Does everything you do have to be Jet Blue? Y’can’t walk in like a normal person?”

Cas tilted his head, unsure of what Dean was talking about, but Dean had already turned his attention back to his hand, which he held up to his mouth, trying to clean away the blood. It caught on his lips, shone ruby red in the moonlight. Reaching out, Castiel took his hand, ignoring the concerned look on the Winchester’s face, and pressed two fingers near the cut. It glowed white, and then it was gone. “I’m sorry.”

Dean pulled his hand back. “What are you doing here?” Cas felt it was less of a question and more of an accusation. “Do I have any privacy left, or do you feathered dicks have my location at all times?”

“We always know where you are.” Cas grumbled, and he realized he wasn’t sure what he was doing in a diner, in what was now early morning of the next day, sitting beside Dean Winchester. “I was just checking in… making sure you still have faith in the plan.”

Dean looked away, blood still on his lip. He swallowed, knee bouncing. “Yeah. I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you, but I don’t want Lucifer walking above ground, either. So the plan is still on.”

Cas nodded, and then he was gone as quick as he came.

When Sam, the blasphemous one, looked at him, it was like he was looking through him. Cas began to see through his own facade too: felt sheer, paper thin. Sam knew, somehow, that Cas was built with glass, easy to shatter. Castiel remembered coming across Sam Winchester's prayers once before. Most humans felt familiar, like they were pages in a book he had read once. He had a brief glimpse at their lives, before they faded from memory. Sam had been praying for a different life, many years ago, when he had still thought about going to college. Sam unnerved him. He was a human tainted by demons, and Azazel had built him for something. He just had to figure out what, before Sam did.

***

Dean looked at Cas like he was a fortress, and… well, it sunk under his skin. He was magnetic. Made Castiel realize he was still an angel standing in a hotel room with a man who had been touched by hell. The angel saw it in his eyes, just behind the sincerity was something deeply broken. Dean prayed a lot , though Castiel began to believe he didn’t even know he was doing it. Castiel didn’t mean to listen, but when he was one hotel room away, it was impossible to silence the quiet, terrified pleads pouring from Dean’s head right into his own.

At first he was ashamed, at times vitriolically, of the growing need to listen. Ashamed of a growing tug and pull. It was like Dean had built walls, but somehow, somewhere in the shit show of heaven and hell, Cas (omnipresent warrior of heaven that he was) had become stuck inside of them, only to find another wall when he tried to go further in. He was stuck on earth, driven by duty and trapped with a self-loathing sinner who would sacrifice near anything for others. The winchesters sowed chaos, it was how they fought the fabric of God.

And if Cas was caught in the crossfire, if he put himself there, there was no one to stop him.

One night, in Sioux Falls, while Dean slept on the couch, peaceful for just a moment, Cas found a worn copy of the Iliad sitting on Bobby’s shelf. And what he read scared him. It was about himself. Humans were presumptuous, but he found that they were often right about many things. He closed his eyes where he stood still in the dusty library, and felt the spear pierce through him where he stood in place of Achilles. Where Patroclus had stood. When he opened his eyes again, Dean was watching him through half lidded eyes. The heaviness of earth gathered between them. Cas held his breath, unable to tear his own gaze away. He waited for Dean to speak, but finally Dean blinked, turning on his side to get some rest before the end.

Morning came and went, and then another. He watched Dean closely. Sometimes Dean knew he was there, other times Cas assumed the role that Dean had wanted since the beginning. A guardian. Dean was his to ward and protect. Heaven would be lost without him, Earth would burn and the soil would sour if Lucifer ever got his hands around his neck. So, most days he watched him from behind the wall Dean had built, and Castiel suspected he had even laid a few of the bricks himself.

The presence of the wall became a reassuring constant. It meant he had not strayed so far from heaven he couldn’t find his way back. Castiel had found his purpose where it wasn’t supposed to be, by Dean’s side. But even after Uriel’s betrayal, a part of him wanted nothing more than to return to his garrison and hide. To go back to what was safe and familiar. He didn’t know that when the other angels saw them, came to stop them, that the light of Dean’s soul had begun to blend with his own, where they frayed. Castiel didn’t realize he was slipping down a steep hill he would never climb back up. He spent his time nurturing that original seed of doubt until it bore fruit.

One night, when he stood alone along a roadside after a night of gentle rain, wishing that the cars that sped by had the power to take his life like he was human, the gentle sound of wings fluttering closed startled him from his thoughts.

“It won’t ever be enough, Castiel.” Uriel said. Cas opened his mouth to speak but Uriel continued. “You were built with a chasm. You were built incomplete. That’s God’s will. Not mine, not heaven’s, not hell’s. That nothingness you feel will only grow. You’ll realize that before the end.”

Uriel was gone now, for years, but his words still rung in his head. It was true. Cas martyred himself, over and over again. The farther he drifted from heaven the more it hurt. He carved into his chest with a knife until the white of his shirt was soaked red. His chest. No longer was he an angel in a vessel. He was this human for Dean, graceless. A familiar face. A face that made Dean look away. He sliced his arms, took beatings, traversed godliness, stepped through fire and bore storms for nothing but a stray glance. Millions of years and his whole life had happened in the blink of an eye.

Castiel laughed, and it strangled itself in his throat, coming out as nothing more than a sob. Now here he was, finally, at the end of all things good and bad. The empty. That forsaken nothingness he’d been running from all those years swallowed him whole afterall. True happiness. And it hadn’t been enough. The lightness he’d felt was swift, like a terrible weight had been lifted on his chest where it had sat. All the years, the burden of yearning with such force it knocked the breath out of his lungs. He couldn’t memorize Dean’s face one last time before it took him.

Now, he was supposed to sleep, but he couldn’t be more awake. He sat surrounded by the dark, trying to recreate that feeling of the first time Dean had touched him. The knife buried in his chest, human body heat more intimate and close than he’d ever anticipated. The spear that felled him.

God was in humans. Chuck was just a vessel for the stories they told. If anyone could kill him, it was the humans he loved, the one he’d sold his soul to. A thousand glances washed over him, and it was enough to create the heaviness of earth that had poisoned him so long ago and float it in the empty. Dean was a juggernaut, and all his anchors were gone now. Achilles come down from the edge .

Can you hear me? The empty cradled him, a phantom hand— Dean’s— caressed his cheek, lulling him. Cas cried out again. Can you hear me?

end 1/3. read it on ao3, as well.

#mine #im posting this as a different format because i want ATTENTION #deancas #destiel #fic

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literatehiss · 4 years

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Trust Fall - Blood & Family

cw: Physical Violence & Injury The Lukas’s are upset with Peter over the failure of his ritual, Simon and Elias are displeased with their reaction. Read on AO3 here That fucking Archivist.

Peter coughed, wincing at the pain in his ribs and the blood that bubbled up between his lips.

Damn Eye bastards could never leave well enough alone could they? His ritual could have worked, it should have worked. All it took was one bitter old woman to ruin it.

It had cost so much money.

It was by no means enough to really disrupt the families finances, but it was enough for them to notice, to be irritated. If he bothered to do the maths it would have only really been a few years worth of his allowance. It didn’t matter. He had wasted all that money and they were angry.

He was always a disappointment, they had hoped he would be a good choice for the head of the family when he was young, the powers of their patron had come so naturally to him, but he just wasn’t quite good enough. A few scattered friendships, his relationship with James or Elias as he was now calling himself, a too cheery disposition. It all weighed on him as proof that he was useless, just like his uncle had said, over and over again as the men he had hired took their time making sure he was ‘properly regretful’ for what had happened.

Peter was lucky really. They didn’t really care. He had received his punishment and everyone would be back to ignoring him as per usual by the end of the week. If he lasted that long. Well, ok, now he knew he was being morbid, he had survived worse after all.

He was aware that he was leaving smears of blood on the walls of the apartment hallway as he stumbled and dragged himself to the flat he sometimes shared with Elias. His on-again off-again husband wouldn’t be at home, it was the middle of the work day after all and Peter had dragged the fog of the Lonely around himself like a thick blanket, enough to keep himself from Elias’s ever present gaze. His fingers were numb with cold and blood loss as he fumbled with his keys.

The apartment was cold, sterile. It wasn’t due to any real aesthetic reason, they were both simply not at home enough to both making any personal touches. A spark of hot pain lanced up his side and he fell into the wall, his teeth gritting as he dragged himself pitifully to the large black sofa that sat in the living room.

He had never been so glad Elias had convinced him not to go with the white sofa, they would never have got the blood stains out of it.

He slumped onto the leather with a huff as the impact winded him. Peter closed his eyes to block out the sunlight streaming in through the huge windows that took up the entirety of the eastern wall of the apartment. Exhaustion hit him quickly after that and he drifted off to sleep, arm still clutched around his chest protectively, unaware of the being stood at the window.

Half-way across London, Elias Bouchard received a phone call.

“Why is Peter lying half dead in your apartment Elias?” He couldn’t be sure whether it was the words or the fact that Simon Fairchild sounded so serious, that made his blood chill.

“What?!”

“Oh so it wasn’t you. Thank goodness, I was thinking of having to do something quite unfortunate.” The phone clicked off abruptly.

“Wait. What?”

Simon really wished he had bothered to get a key for Peter’s new flat, he had always had one for all his other places, just made it easier, and these weren’t the sort of windows you could just keep cracked open ‘just in case’. But Elias ‘liked his privacy’ which was the funniest joke the other man had ever made as far as Simon was concerned. Multiple lifetimes with varying interests had lead him to have at least a passing knowledge of how to break open locks but it still took him far to long to get the door open. He could barely see Peter through the fog the other man had summoned around himself, but he could see the blood pooling on the couch and dripping slowly onto the floor. The bright red a shock against the monochrome of the apartment.

Simon waded through the mist, placing a nervous pair of fingers to Peter's pulse. Alive, if weak. His presence probably wasn't helping matters, the Forsaken could heal Peter far faster than any vague attempt on his part to give him medical attention could ever provide. He couldn't just leave him though. Couldn’t just abandon the young man he had seen grow from a scared little child to a depressed and irritable teenager to a proud and confident adult that had enough power to be able to attempt his own ritual, even if it had been disrupted and failed so spectacularly.

Simon had always been so very proud of him.

He levered Peter up to slip his coat off him, throwing it in the sink with water and salt, might as well try and stop the blood staining the thing, god knows how fond Peter was of that coat. Blood had clotted and dried into his shirt and jumper and Simon ended up rummaging through the practically unused kitchen for scissors to cut them off him. Peter winced and shifted as he tried to gently pull the fabric away from his wounds.

Wiping away the blood proved to be a trial all of its own, immediately flowing again each time he managed to wash it away. A palm to his lad’s forehead proved him to be burning up, by which he was starting to reach the same warmth as someone who hadn’t accepted the Forsaken into their heart, which was a startling difference in temperature. He kept the floor to ceiling windows open and made a stiff breeze flow into the room. Far too cold for the average person but it should keep Peter at just the right level of corpse-like cold. He felt the skin under his fingers suddenly shift as Peter’s ribs snapped back into place. A disconcerting sensation but one that Simon was thankful for, knowing it meant that Peter was healing. The fog was starting to fade, the most life-threatening of the injuries having fixed themselves.

He knew the Lukas’s would be upset with Peter but this was a bit much surely? He had never wished so fervently that he had tried to persuade Peter over to the beautiful Vast when he was younger, before it became too late. He couldn’t imagine hurting any of his own protege’s, not like this, not even if they had truly disappointed him. He was just about to consider dragging Peter into a cold bath when the front door of the apartment violently slammed open, crashing against the wall with an almighty bang. A panting and sweating Elias stood in the doorway, suit jacket hung over his arm, eyes wide in alarm.

“What happened?”

Elias was panicking. He really wasn’t expecting to get a call from Simon on a Wednesday afternoon accusing him of attacking Peter. Apart from the mild hilarity of the thought of him being able to take down a man double his size and weight, he was also alarmed that he hadn’t noticed anything. He rushed out of his office, flying down the steps towards the lobby of the Institute. A body slammed into his own, the form of his Archivist standing in front of him, faux concern and sharp interest glittering in her eyes as she stopped him.

“Elias you seem to be in quite the hurry. Is there a problem?”

He pushed forward and grabbed her shirt

“Gertrude if I find this was you I will kill you myself. I didn’t do anything about you destroying his ritual but this is just unnecessary.” She frowned and he immediately was shown that she wasn’t the cause of Peter’s injuries. He pushed her to the side, her own surprise the only reason he was capable of doing such a thing. Elias stormed past, ignoring the calls of Gertrude and Rosie behind him.

London was a miserable place to travel through if you were trying to get anywhere in a hurry. He had a car but the thought of using it to get home in any sort of reasonable time at this hour was laughable in this traffic so he pushed his way to the nearest tube station, something he normally only did when his car broke down or he was particularly hungry. There was nothing like being packed in with so many people for sucking up all their trauma.

Right now all the people were getting on his very last nerve.

His jacket got caught on the door of the tube as he ran out and rather than stop he just pulled and pulled until the fabric ripped. Slinging it over his arm, he ran towards his rarely used flat, finding the door already unlocked he slammed it open.

Fog curled around his feet, emanating from the figuring lying on the couch and staining it with his blood. Simon was sat next to him, a handful of fabric pressed against a wound on Peter’s side.

“How is he? What happened?”

“I have no idea to be honest Elias. I thought it might be Gertrude but we both know he wouldn’t be alive if it was her”

“No it wasn’t her. I think it was the Lukas’s, probably Nathaniel organised it.”

“Oh dear. Yes I thought as much.” Simon said with an exasperated sigh that said a lot for how long he had been allied with the Lukas’s.

Elias reached for the Eye to tell him how Peter was doing but it just pushed back against him, angry of him using his powers to help someone rather than just watching, observing.

It took two days for Peter to wake up. the Forsaken protesting against their intrusive presence. Elias took time off work for the first time in a decade to watch over him. When his cold blue eyes eventually pried themselves open, it was to see Simon sat on the floor next to him, playing with something on his phone while he could hear Elias complaining down a phone to some poor employee.

“S’mon?” he mumbled, the fog of the Lonely already trying to whisk him away, misty tendrils wrapping around him.

“I’m here lad, don’t worry.”

“Hurts”

“I bet. Nathaniel? Conrad?” A shrug.

“Th’ watched. All of ‘em. Hired people.”

“Didn’t even have the balls to it themselves I see.” This was spat angrily from over his shoulder by Elias. A familiar ringed hand came over the back of the sofa and stroked fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes and rested in the company of his two favourite people. Not that he would ever tell Elias that, the man’s ego didn’t need the boost, he would get simply unbearable. He listened to their hushed talking before slipping back to sleep.

The Lukas’s never knew that anyone found out what they did to Peter. They never linked the sinking of so many of their ships or the dropping of so many of their investments to that day. When a cousin that was brought before Court suddenly found a rush of evidence against him, well he should have been more careful. It wasn’t as if their longest allies would turn on them like that. They weren’t the type to keep in contact so if the hired men they had used went missing? Well that was none of their business. What happened to those men? Well Elias and Simon would never say, but the only one who was ever found was curled up crying at the top of Everest with his eyes clawed out. Peter stood at the stern of the Tundra, smiling as he watched one of the Fairchild’s ships pass his own as he pressed a kiss to his newest wedding ring.

#Peter Lukas #Simon Fairchild #Elias Bouchard #LonelyEyes #NaNo 2020

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ofkoroksandgreatfairies · 5 years

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Little Bird

The following story is an expansion on Recovered Memory 6, “Urbosa’s Hand”. The memory of Zelda and Urbosa on Vah Naboris' balcony had always felt unfinished to me. I understand that within the memory it said that Zelda had fallen asleep after a survey but i had always wanted a more emotionally rich explanation than that. This is the what i like to imagine happened before the memory.

Here is the story on Ao3

---

Zelda's calves burned with every sand-laden step, but she continued on just the same. She supposed that the endless sand dunes and subsequent resistance to movement was all a part of Gerudo Desert's charm, but she wasn't really in the mood to be amused. The desert was hot in it's blaze of late afternoon heat, much more brutal then she anticipated, but her anger burned hot enough to rival it.

If Zelda had known that appointing Link as her knight would cause her this much trouble, she wouldn't have done it. She knew it wasn't fair to blame her frustration entirely on him; it wasn't his fault the master sword chose him before her own powers made themselves apparent. But at this point, she didn't care.

What was his fault, and entirely his choice -mind you- was his own self-appointed, holier-than-thou, overly-arrogant, completely silent nature. The knightly 'vow of silence' was entirely unnecessary; and Zelda had made that apparent to Link herself many, many times. But he still chose to rebuke every olive branch she'd ever extended with pure indifference. At this point, their broken relationship wasn't anywhere close to being entirely her fault.

The familiar sight of Gerudo Town loomed tall and proud in the near distance; a much welcomed sight to the travel-weary princess.

It was after a particularly brutal argument with her father that the urge to run to Urbosa had finally become overwhelming. Her father accused her of being 'distracted' and 'undedicated' in the pursuit of her own powers. It was an insult that Zelda felt was unbelievably unwarranted. She knew how many people were depending on her to be their saviour. She understood how important her powers would be to the future of Hyrule. She could feel in every part of her completely ordinary body, and every failed prayer session how inadequate she was. More then anything, Zelda realized how much of an embarrassment she was to the long line of Zelda's preceding her. Goddess blood or not, this current Zelda was no hero. She could feel that much in her bones; even without her father confirming it.

The result of that conversation was an angry and frustrated Zelda, just wanting somebody, anybody, to listen to her for once. She slammed her father's chamber doors behind her as she fled, running to the only place she ever felt fulfilled and enough.

Zelda's study was warm, glowing orange from the gently crackling fireplace, and covered in the research papers she so often found to be her only comfort. Link was sat in his usual stool in the corner. He was waiting for her patiently, watching Zelda's distillery machine process a rushroom. He turned to face her as she burst into the room, taking notice of the tears she was trying to hold back, and the way her hands shook. Zelda threw herself down onto her own stool, opening a notebook quickly. Her wrist moved across the paper as if possessed; the words appearing on the page quicker then he could read them.

It was a familiar pattern of behavior. Whenever Zelda was faced with a particular level of emotional turmoil, she threw herself headfirst into her research. In the confines of every leather-bound notebook, Zelda was merely a researcher; not a princess, and not written into a destiny she felt she had no place in. Her study was her sanctuary, and her knight was the only person ever allowed in.

Link watched with a sort of scared curiosity as she filled page after page in her book. Zelda's writing was shakier then he had ever seen it, her knuckles white from the tension in her body. He waited another few seconds, tapping her shoulder. [What happened?] He signed hesitantly.

She sniffled, a pale hand wiping away a traitorous tear away as it fell. "Nothing, it's fine. I'm fine."

[Your father?] He signed again.

Zelda turned to face him in full now, finding him staring inquisitively back at her. It was the only definitive emotion she had ever seen on his face in all their time together. It rendered her speechless for a moment. This was the most he had ever said -or more literally, signed- to her. She figured it was some cruel ironic joke of the Goddess that Zelda's own breakdown was what finally broke him and his composure.

"Yes." She hoped by keeping it simple, she wouldn't scare him off. That he would keep talking to her.

[I'm sorry. Talk about it?]

Zelda felt like they were finally getting somewhere; felt like maybe this was the start of something more for what was currently barely justifiable as a friendship. So at his invitation to vent, she finally let it all out: every word of her father's that she internalized, all the hours of her life she had wasted praying to a deaf goddess, and every time her destiny had ever left her feeling worthless. He sat through it all; looking over at her with the saddest eyes she had ever seen.

"And.. I just, I want to be good enough. So badly. All of Hyrule is depending on me. And what if I can't be what they need?" Her rant ended in a haunted whisper. The tears had stopped half-way through, but her shaking had only increased.

Her admission of guilt and all of her worries was only met with his silence. Truthfully, it was because Link was woefully unprepared for how heavy the world was when placed upon a single girl's shoulder; even just this tiny glimpse into her mind had left him tongue-tied. But Zelda, terribly familiar with his usual silence read the situation incredibly differently.

She saw it as indifference; as a sort of pretentious, quiet dismissal of her problems. The way he seemed to lack a caring, sympathetic bone in his body was the tipping point.

In her cold, unforgiving, sterile castle, Zelda had often felt like she had no one; but somewhere in the back of her mind, Zelda had always hoped Link could eventually be someone to her. Maybe a blessed friend she could count on, and maybe, just maybe even more. But apparently, not even the one person who dedicated his life to her thought Zelda important enough to listen and respond to. There was only one person, in the entirety of Hyrule she knew she could turn to: Urbosa.

In the face of Link's silence, Zelda became manic. "It's fine. I know you're tasked with 'sealing the darkness'. Don't let my diminutive problems bother you, hero." She spit the nickname out like it burned her, rushing to the door to leave.

Link, utterly confused by her misread of the situation, stood up immediately to follow her nonetheless.

Her footsteps were loud, but her words were deafening as she turned around to scold him for trailing behind. "I know you've got more important things to do. I get it. You can leave."

Zelda ransacked her room in a flurry of motion; she gathered a change of clothes, swiped a few journals off her desk, and dumped all of those items unceremoniously into a leather cross-body bag. She turned around to exit, finding him blocking her doorway.

"What are you still doing here?" Her voice broke. "Obviously, I shouldn't have said anything. So why don't we both just pretend that everything is fine again. Now, I'm going to go visit Urbosa. I know the way. Do not follow me. That is an order." Zelda whispered the last part with a palpable amount of conviction, jabbing a finger at his chest. Zelda shoved past him on her way out, not looking back to see if he was following.

This is where Zelda found herself now; finally at the gates to Gerudo Town. Zelda was two days and two nights removed from her argument with her father, but it still didn't feel like enough. She still burned bright and hot with frustration, resentment, and hate for her unavoidable destiny with just the same intensity as when she left.

"Princess," The Gerudo Town guards looked down at her, addressing her with the usual familiarity and fondness. "Welcome back."

Zelda only knodded, flashing a timid smile. She looked down quickly, hoping they couldn't see the tears threatening to fall, and walked into town.

Finding Urbosa was always a complicated affair within itself. The gerudo woman certainly lived up to her title as champion, as she was constantly off helping whatever women needed it within her town. Urbosa loved nothing more than assisting others; a quality that, more often than not, led her to being pulled all across Hyrule.

Thankfully, as the late afternoon had just given way to the setting sun, Gerudo Town's normally lively square was considerably more empty than usual. Zelda walked past the vendors, waving to those she knew well, and nodding in acknowledgment to those she did not. The gerudo always greeted her and any other traveler the same: with a resolute Sav'aaq and a proud smile. It was a greeting that, albeit very routine and impersonal, Zelda came to appreciate endlessly. A greeting without all the formalities of royalty was a blessing; especially amongst the other unnecessarily lengthy and pretentious introductions she experienced as the only princess of Hyrule. In Gerudo Town, Zelda was just another visiting vai. She could walk around freely, checking out what the town had to offer and visiting with the Gerudo she had created friendships with. All of this was done away from the watchful eyes of her knight; as a voe like him was not allowed within the town's sandstone walls. It was a perk that Zelda, while hating to admit it, simultaneously abused shamelessly.

Zelda found Urbosa sitting on the ground in front of the main square's fountain. Around the tanned woman sat a circle of children. She was telling them a bedtime story, and it was obvious from the way they all leaned in towards Urbosa that the children were highly invested. Zelda sat around the edge of the circle, just behind a particularly sleepy looking gerudo child, and waited for Urbosa to conclude her tale.

The gerudo woman gave a hearty laugh, and patted the head of the child next to her affectionately. "But that's a story for another time. And as for the rest of you, brave little warrior vai" She smiled maternally. "It's off to bed."

Zelda watched as the children ran off to their mothers, excitedly recounting the events of Urbosa's story. At the sight of such happy families, Zelda felt a the dreadfully familiar pang of melancholy. Zelda's own mother had passed long before she could really remember her, and Zelda wished, more than anything, that she could experience what these children probably took for granted. All she wanted was a family, a life away from any mention of Gannon, and above all, a mother. It hurt Zelda to watch the gerudo children and their mothers; but she kept that pain to herself. Those women were happy. It was a happiness that, while Zelda wished she could have herself, ultimately wished would belong to all of her people.

"Little bird, why look so sad?" Urbosa offered Zelda a hand, grasping her forearm firmly as she helped her stand up.

Zelda gave Urbosa a mostly tired, mostly wounded look in reply, dusting off the legs of her pants. "My father restricted my research excursions again. It's down to once a week now; the remaining days are for prayer only. We got into a terrible argument because of it, and I had to leave the castle. I needed a break."

Urbosa nodded, a slight frown breaking her usual mirth. She led Zelda out to the end of the alley, coming to a stop at the sand seal corral by the exit.

"Where are we going?" Zelda asked, thrusting an open hand out to take the rein Urbosa had offered her.

"I've got something to show you within Vah Naboris. I think you'll find it interesting." Urbosa flashed a warm smile, looking towards the waning afternoon sun. She handed Zelda a shield. "Hurry up now, the light is fading."

Sand surfing was a new skill Urbosa had taught Zelda a few months ago. It was a freeing experience, and had since become a staple of every one of Zelda's visits. Surfing across the endless dunes of Gerudo Desert had quickly become one of Zelda's favorite pastimes, so she happily took the opportunity to surf to Vah Naboris currently standing tall in the distance.

The trip was quicker than Zelda had anticipated and she gave an affection pat to the red seal as she relinquished it's reins. The sand seal barked abruptly, jumping headfirst into the sand and rolling under it's surface. Zelda hid a giggle behind her hand, following Urbosa into Vah Naboris.

Every time she entered any of the divine beasts, Zelda found herself very quickly scatter-brained. There was so much to look at and study! She raced around the main room of Vah Naboris, looking over the sheika technology analytically.

"Slow down, " Urbosa laughed fondly as she watched Zelda fly around the room with boundless enthusiasm. "Vah Naboris isn't going anywhere."

"I know. But there's still so much to study! I still haven't figured out how this crystal has such an endless supply of electric power." Zelda tapped the glass of the crystal within the center of the room, watching it's green glow with rapt attention. "Do you think it's connected to your fury? Would it still generate electricity without your gift for lightning?"

"I couldn't tell you, child. Now come, stand over here with me." Urbosa motioned for Zelda from her current station at the other side of the Vah Naboris' main chamber. The guidance stone glowed blue behind Urbosa, as Zelda stepped up into the small side room with her.

"Did you know that Purrah gave all the champions their own sheika slate?" Urbosa pulled out one of the aforementioned tablets from where it was clipped into her belt.

"No! Did she finally figure out how to replicate them?" Zelda grabbed the slate from Urbosa, watching with excitement as the screen lit up. She inspected every inch of it, flipping the slate this way and that to get a better look. "This is amazing! Purrah managed to harness the power of the ancient flame for the slate by the looks of it. I'll have to ask her how she could do that because..." Zelda slipped into a tangent way too technologically advanced for Urbosa to follow. The gerudo woman didn't interrupt, only listening and nodding along like she understood, a fond smile stretching across her face.

As Zelda's animated rant came to an end Urbosa spoke. She took the slate from the hylian gently, opening up a map of Vah Naboris on the screen. "On this map you can control Vah Naboris' three mini chambers individually. Which one would you like to turn?"

"Turn? I-I don't understand. They move? How can they move?" The words came out quicker than Zelda could pronounce them.

"Breathe, and just pick one, little bird. Left, right, or center?" She asked kindly. Urbosa gestured to different sections of Vah Naboris' main chamber displayed on-screen.

There was a moment of genuine deliberate thought before Zelda shrugged and just said, "Center".

"Okay. Go ahead and tap the center section on the screen." Urbosa pointed while Zelda raised a curious finger to the slate.

The middle chamber began to rotate, sucking the breath right out of Zelda's body. The section spun with a mechanical groan; the ancient gears stuttering in defiance for a moment before finally clicking into motion. It was the single most amazing event Zelda had experienced in recent memory, and all of her attention was stuck on the divine beast's movement. It was over much too quickly for Zelda's liking. The disappointment only lasted a moment though as the green crystal on the ceiling, crackling with electricity, distracted her.

The circuits along the chamber's floors, previously glowing green, had become lifeless when the crystal rotated to the ceiling. The reaction was only logical of course, but the change fascinated her nonetheless.

Zelda looked to Urbosa for confirmation that it was safe. Zelda wanted, more than anything, to investigate the changes the rotation had created, but worried that it wasn't secure. "Go. Study. I'll be here when you're finished." Urbosa said gently, helping her down to the main chamber.

Zelda recommenced her earlier flurrying, acting much like the little bird Urbosa so fondly called her. Everything was new to Zelda all of the sudden; the slate unlocked countless opportunities to study sheika technology in ways Zelda never imagined possible.

Urbosa took a seat, settling her back against the wall of Vah Naboris. She took her time getting comfortable; stretching her strong legs out in front of her and following Zelda with her eyes as she ran about. Urbosa knew they'd be in there awhile. The only thing more time-consuming then the molduga exterminations Urbosa so often embarked on, was Zelda's very intensive investigations of sheika technology. As the sun fell lower and lower, Urbosa lost track of how long her little bird had been flittering about. Not that she minded though. Urbosa knew that only with her could Zelda be the researcher that she so yearned to be. Only here in Gerudo Town, the only place completely removed from the watchful eyes of King Rhoam, could Zelda pretend to live in a world without her fate.

"Let's head out to the balcony, the sight of the setting sun is breathtaking." Urbosa tapped Zelda's shoulder, breaking her concentration from scribbling in her journal.

Zelda nodded, finishing her thought in her journal and closing up the book. "Should we turn it back?" She asked hopefully.

"I suppose. Would you like to?"

"Yes!" Zelda exclaimed, before flaring bright red, blushing from her own enthusiasm. "I mean, yes. I would like that. Thank you."

Urbosa chuckled indulgently, handing her sheika slate to Zelda. "You are no princess here in Gerudo Town. No need for formality, child. I hope that brings you some comfort."

Zelda might've replied, but Urbosa turned around before she could her or see it. Taking large, confident strides, Urbosa left the main chamber for the open air of Vah Naboris' open balcony. There were a few silent moments before the beast gave another automated moan and the middle chamber spun back to it's original position. Zelda followed Urbosa out a few minutes later, just as the sun began sinking below the horizon line. She took a seat at Urbosa's side, nestling into it.

"So, little bird, why did you really come here?" Urbosa asked quietly, eyes locked on the shifting oranges and yellows of the setting sun.

"W-what, what do you mean? My father, we had this terrible ar-"

"Yes, I understood that part; but you've had that argument with your father many times before and still stayed within Hyrule Castle's walls. What made you come all the way out to Gerudo Town this time?" Urbosa's tone was soft; questioning but not badgering. "Not that I mind of course, dear child. You're always welcome here.

There were several minutes of silence, and if Urbosa looked over she'd find Zelda deep in thought. But Urbosa didn't look, instead watching the sun set and letting Zelda admit her problems when she was ready.

"Link." Zelda said finally, her voice low and muted.

"Ah, the boy. Of course." Urbosa spoke good-naturedly.

Truth be told, Urbosa was very fond of Link. This was entirely due to her above-average perceptiveness, which helped her see past his silent nature. When Urbosa really looked, she saw every look of clear-as-day admiration, unwavering loyalty, and incredible respect in Link's eyes. Of course, these emotions only flashed across said eyes when he was looking Zelda. But the only time Urbosa ever saw Link tear his eyes away from the princess, was when he was battling a monster to protect her; so Urbosa figured it was all the same anyway. Either way, she knew how important his princess was to Link, but she also knew how much his silence affected said princess. Zelda and Link's relationship had been near a breaking point for an incredibly tense, incredibly long time now, and apparently they had reached that cliff and subsequently fell down it. In typical dramatic fashion of course.

"What did he do this time?" Urbosa asked lightly.

Zelda let out a huff, immediately falling into a rant about their fall out. "And he just sat there and looked at me after I finished! He sat there in silence, blinking like a brain-dead frog!"

The gerudo woman let out a hearty laugh at Zelda's last comment. The comforting sound rose into the air around them, and settled over the both of them. Urbosa took a breath, resuming her calm composure and wrapping a comforting arm around Zelda's shoulder. "He shouldn't have been silent. You revealed a lot to him, little one, I'm proud of you. But maybe he needed more time to think then you gave him. Did you consider that before storming out?" Zelda fell back into silence, and that answered Urbosa's question entirely. "Keep in mind that he might express himself differently than you do. You're still young, so it's excusable, but try to be more lenient with him next time. He uses sign language with you, correct?" Urbosa asked.

Zelda nodded.

"He's making an effort then. Maybe not enough of one, and maybe not the way you would prefer, but it's still worth something. So just give him some time to process. After all, it's not entirely his fault; even a smart voe like him is still slower than the dumbest woman. And you, are a genius." The last part was teasing, Urbosa's mock accented by the grin on her face. But joke aside, the sincerity was there.

Zelda slipped back into deep thought, leaning against the gerudo woman. All was still until Zelda stirred suddenly, tears brimming just behind her eyes. "It's selfish, but I wanted him to tell me why he became my knight. I need him to open up, because I can't figure out why he ever swore himself to me in the first place." Her voice was becoming unstable now as she held back the wail she wanted to release. "I keep praying and praying, but the Goddess can't hear me. Everyone is counting on me to be their savor, but what if I'm just ordinary, Urbosa?"

Zelda said the word 'ordinary' like it was a curse; something destined to be her downfall. Urbosa looked intensely at the crying hylian princess, keeping eye contact as she spoke.

"You are not ordinary, my little bird." Urbosa spoke with conviction. She took a breath, before breaking off into a softer voice. "Look, I knew your mother, and she was an exceptional leader. One of the best vai to ever walk these lands. There is no doubt in my mind that you will become every bit the remarkable woman she was. Her blood runs through your veins stronger than any goddess' ever could. So even if you didn't inherit the powers of goddess, it wouldn't matter. You are your mother's daughter and that makes you extraordinary." Urbosa took a breath, grabbing Zelda's hand gently. "You are a beacon of hope for all of Hyrule, Hylia descendant or not. You will lead us if Gannon should ever return because it is who you are, not because your fate tells you that's who you should be. You can't see it, but you lead so many of us already. It is because of that, that I know your mother would be so proud of you, my child. I know I am."

Urbosa's words of confirmation had broken the dam within Zelda. Everything she had ever wanted to hear from her loved ones had been said, and Zelda sobbed uncontrollably as a result.

Within Urbosa's words lied the most important thing Zelda had ever hoped would be said to her; that she was more than just her destiny. Her entire life had been defined by who she was to become, not who she wanted to be. To grow up within Hyrule Castle was to grow up as the princess fated to wield the triforce, not a person with thoughts and feelings. Zelda had been a figure head for so long, that to hear someone acknowledge her as a person, not just a story, was the greatest gift she had ever been given. Urbosa confirmed that even if Zelda wasn't the righteous Hylia descendant she was said to be, she could still be loved and was still of worth. It didn't make up for a lifetime of expectation and emotional torment, but for the moment, it was enough.

Urbosa held the small hylian girl in her arms, rubbing her back and whispering small words of comfort. Urbosa resented the King more than anything for putting this much pressure on her beloved child, but also resented herself for not noticing sooner.

Urbosa's loyalty to the former Queen of Hyrule had extended to her daughter the second she met Zelda. When Urbosa first realized who Zelda's mother was, she'd known right then that she'd be willing to die for her; after all, a child of the Queen's could only be destined for a greatness far surpassing Urbosa's own. Urbosa felt it her duty to help Zelda grow up; raise her in the unfortunate absence of the Queen. It was a job Urbosa took very seriously.

Zelda was still overcome with powerful sobs, falling onto Urbosa's shoulder for support. "Be still, little bird. All is well; you are exactly who you should be. I promise you that." Urbosa whispered in her ear as she thread her fingers through Zelda's hair gently.

As Zelda continued to cry, Urbosa found herself overcome with guilt. How could she not see Zelda's suffering earlier? How had she have ever forgotten her commitment to Zelda, for even a second? Urbosa had never had her own children; she felt her commitment to her city and all of it's citizens left no room in her heart for one. But Zelda had created a space in Urbosa's being entirely for herself. Urbosa had always felt she had no love left to give, but somehow Zelda seemed to conjure it out of her with ease.

Urbosa supposed that was Zelda's true power; her immense capacity to give, receive, and practically create love. It was a power completely independent of the goddess Hylia, a power that had nothing to do with divinity and everything to do with how Zelda interacted with people. It was a gift that had no definite reincarnation cycle; and by that measurement it was more rare, pure, and special than any gift Zelda could receive from her many prayer sessions.

And maybe it was sacrilegious to admit Zelda more divine then the goddess Hylia; but as Urbosa held Zelda, watching her sob like she'd been holding it in for centuries, she wasn't feeling particularly religious.

When the worst of it was over, Zelda held onto Urbosa's hand tightly, watching the last of the sun's rays at it set. "Thank you." She said simply, looking over at the gently smiling gerudo woman.

"Of course." She replied honestly. "Please come and visit more often, me and all the gerudo love having you here."

"Can we sit out here for another few minutes? The view is lovely."

"Whatever you'd like." The gerudo woman softly chuckled. She pulled Zelda in closer to fight the slight chill a night in the desert often brought.

It only took a few moments for Zelda to begin closing her eyes. Urbosa wondered if maybe she should rouse her and bring her in, but one look at the peaceful expression on the princess' face and Urbosa couldn't bear to.

It was a quiet ten minutes before Urbosa heard the tell-tale metallic clinking of Link's master sword upon his back. Her entire visit with Zelda, Urbosa had wondered where the knight was, but she should've known he was lingering nearby. He never seemed to let the princess out of his sight, and, to be truthfully honest, it surprised Urbosa that it had taken him so long to approach. She could hear him walk out onto the balcony, and Urbosa's mouth grew into a coy smile. Urbosa couldn't wait to talk to him.

Urbosa liked Link; but the brave, yet helplessly idiotic knight had made her little bird cry. The action was inexcusable in Urbosa’s eyes, and she couldn’t wait deliver the gentlest scolding Link would ever experience.

#legend of zelda #Legend of Zelda Breath of the Wild #botw zelda #botw urbosa #champion urbosa #urbosa and zelda #breath of the wild #breath of the wild fic #loz fanfic #my writing

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believe-that-you-can-my-friend · 7 years

Note

Hey I just remembered when Jughead was at the sheriffs station and they already ha his records from him 'trying to burn the school down' but could you write a different version where he was trying to do something nice for betty like maybe everyone forgot it was her birthday except jughead so he got birthday candles for her or something like that where it ends up with him almost burning down the elementary? Thanks!!

Arsonist’s Lullabye

(Alright, another prompt is here! I loved writing this one because it gave such a nice backstory to Jughead’s juvenile detention center incident and Bughead as kids are just adorable! Plus, I snuck in there a lot of FP and Gladys (and some Alice mentions I’m sorry I can’t help it) because I really love writing about their family dynamic; I have a lot of headcanons about them in my mind. So thanks anon for sending me this amazing idea! I hope you enjoy it!! ❤️

P.S. I know all of you see Neve Campbell as Jughead’s mom but Cole ruined me after mentioning Eva Green for the role so yeah, that’s who I was picturing in my mind while writing and I have FEELS!)

Bright, cold and impersonal.

He had guessed two out ofthree right.

What he never would haveguessed was that he of all people would be sitting with the head hung low inthis cold and impersonal room; the police interrogation room.

For somebody that was repulsedby the garbage that was labeled entertainment on the idiot box, Jughead had asoft spot for anything detective. Except for the classic film noirs and mysterycentered period films, he enjoyed immensely any program that dealt with crimeinvestigation, with true crime documentaries being his favorite. The fact thatsuch shows gave him the opportunity to follow each step of the policeinvestigation, feel the thrill with each new clue that was being found like hewas a part of the detective team too, listen to witnesses, experience theimmediacy of the situation by hearing the story directly by the people thatlived it, were what had him at the edge of his seat and with eyes round andglued to the screen, unable to press the turn off button even at the wee hoursof the morning. The thought of being on the other side, not watching butactually being one of the people on the screen, never crossed him mind.

The small, sterile lookingroom was surprisingly bright, showered in the hard fluorescent light of anothertypical Riverdale gloomy autumn morning. Such rooms in the shows he watchedwere always pitch-dark and claustrophobic, with only a threatening yellow lampacross the suspects face for torture, not filled with crystal clear morningglow. Maybe that was worst, he thought. He felt like a higher power was judginghim along with the glassy eyes of the sheriff across him, and, even thoughJughead never really believed in God or fate or karma or whatever other abstractionpeople thought was mapping the course of their life, he could still feel astronger tug of guilt in his already heavy chest. If the room was dark, itwould suit the darkness of his soul. Now that it was bright, he reminded him ofall the things he was going to lose.

Things were bad. He wasn’taccused of a wrongly parked vehicle or a mindless trespassing; he was beingcharged with homicide. He couldn’t even fathom it, he couldn’t even form theword in his mind. Him, Jughead Jones, a killer. The boy that was misunderstood.The boy that was expected to end up like his father. The boy that wasconsidered a scapegoat. The boy that right now, with watery eyes and panic inhis voice, pleaded not to be misunderstood.

Sheriff Keller’s voice brokethrough the castle walls of his nightmarish thoughts.

“But what did surprise me wasthis.” The older version of Kevin presented him with his file, turning itaround for the teenage boy to take a peak. Jughead knew where this was goingand it was bad, worse than before.With a small glimpse downwards to the official documents, he averted his eyesto the side, chewing on his lower lip in anxiety and despair. “Your prints wereon file, from an incident that happened six years ago, where you spent sometime with the Riverdale Juvenile Delinquent Center for “Attempting to burn downRiverdale Elementary School”.” He frowned, waiting for an answer, theexperienced officer assuming that there was indeed something off with theteenager at the other end of the steal table.

Jughead shot back the firstthing that came to his mind. “I was playing with matches” he retorted beforecontinuing in a snarky, smart-ass tone “and that’s a pretty tenuous connectionfor a sheriff.” He knew that he should have minded his tongue and lowered thelevel of his usual sarcasm but that was him, he couldn’t help it, sardonichumor was his way of reacting to the world. It got worse when he was beingcornered or becoming frustrated and right now he felt trapped in thedarkest corner and fuming, internally screaming for somebody to help him.

His knee started to bounce,his nails dug painfully on the hard denim of his jacket against his sides ashis arms tightened around his chest, hugging his torso in a desperate need toseal himself, to prevent his body and soul from scattering in a million piecesunder the scrutinizing gaze of the sheriff and the weight of the situation hewas in. He could feel his head starting to buzz, his palms getting sweaty andthe rising and falling of his chest altering, stopping being subconsciousanymore but turning difficult and calculated, like the orchestrated ticksbefore the explosion of a very destructive bomb. Jughead tried to calm himself.Maybe his dad was out there, negotiating with a deputy and offering apersuasive alibi. Maybe Fred Andrews was with him backing his story as Archie stoodby his dad’s side offering his help by praising his best friend’s honorableschool performance and recent involvement with extracurricular. And maybe, justmaybe, she was there waiting for himtoo, ready to offer her supporting words and one or two of her soothingcaresses, telling him that everything was going to be okay and she of allpeople believed him unboundedly. The tedious silence at the other side of thedoor however was crashing his hopes one by one.

Jughead’s eyes darted aroundthe table in panic before they stopped at the picture of him at the bottom leftcorner of his police file, a younger version of him, a somehow happier one inall its childish naivety, sending him a toothy smile full of glee, despite theabiding clouds that always fogged his turbulent family life. He studied theface of his ten year old self; he neither looked like a delinquent nor anarsonist. Then again, he neither looked like a criminal nor a murderer now. Hisboyish, mild-mannered looks didn’t seem to matter though in their smallcommunity that only cared to point fingers and pigeonhole people based onsocial status and family reputation. If only that ten year old boy knew that bythe end of that year he was going to be whisked off his crying mother and heldin a place that felt more like a chill-raising orphanage than an efficient rehabilitationcenter. Maybe he wouldn’t be smiling that big in the picture. And maybe hewould be more prepared now to lose his innocence once and for all.

He remembered that dayclearly; the day he had got accused of a status offence, the day he had sat infront of retiring Sheriff Conelly for questioning, just like he did now sittingacross the old man’s heir on the job. The feeling was the same. That tugging in his chest that the world was falling down around him and suffocating him, thefeeling of drowning and his lungs betraying him, his plead of help never makingit to the surface. He closed his eyes and took a deep, cooing a breath to easesome of his nerves, scatter away the awful feeling of hopelessness and thehurtful memories but failed miserably as the events of that sunny day invadedhis mind, as a distraction and a reminder that happiness was never going to bewithin his reach and that it was his destiny to lose everything the moment hewould start to believe that life was giving him a chance after all.

Jughead became tens year oldagain, on March 15th, the day of Betty Cooper’s birthday…

With a clumsy hop, a pair ofNinja Turtles sneakers landed on the asphalt, the green lights on the whitetrack sole starting flicking but only on the right shoe, two years of everydayuse being a little too long for them to be in perfect condition. Little JugheadJones didn’t care. He loved those shoes, he used to greet them good morning andgoodnight every single day for a whole year as he would pass them by on his wayto school, knowing all too well that they were out of the family’s budget,especially now that his baby sister had come to the world. So when two yearsago Christmas morning came and he saw the cartoon decorated box under theirsmall and unattractive Christmas tree – his mom having saved up some money tofinally grant him his wish – he had vowed with round alit eyes upontaking the precious shoes in his hands that he would never abandon them, evenif now, not only their light-up effect was on its final stages, but they alsoseemed to suffocate his fast growing feet.

The raven haired boy pushedclosed the car door behind him and staggered to the other side of the old andused Suzuki, his bony limps tripping lightly over his undone shoelaces, his appearancedisheveled as usual. His trademark grey beanie was securing his mop of untameddark hair, a little too big for his head and always sliding low on his eyes,making him fidget with it and the rebellious waves against his forehead constantly,and a burgundy zip-up hoodie was misplaced over some dark blue varsity t-shirt,its right hem getting squeezed and wrinkled under the black strap of his heavyneon green backpack. Finally rounding the car, he opened the back door andstarted unbuckling his sister from her carseat – formerly his – immediatelytrying to help, as always.

Gladys Jones emerged from thedriver’s seat sparing her boy a tiny smile in a hurry, before ushering the babyout of the car, three and a half years old Jellybean instantly starting to wailbecause of the rude interruption of her slumber. The mother desperately triedto shush her while picking up her baby things and hoisting a diaper bag thathad seen better days over her shoulder, salty tears and baby drool drenchingthe front of her bright yellow Pop’s uniform and matching the stain of bananaand biscuit puree, Jellybean’s unfinished breakfast, next to her name tag. Shehad just finished her night shift at Pop’s and she had exactly half an hour toget the kids to school, return home to change and get to the Blossoms’ maplesyrup factory at the outskirts of town for her second job as an assembly lineworker. Jughead believed that his mom was actually a superhero in disguise, despite thebags under her tired blue eyes, a little lifeless but always identical to his.

“Alright, JiggieJug, breakfastfor champions.” She addressed him motherly, snatching a Pop’s paper bag fromthe passenger seat containing his lunch for the day. Being a Friday, Jugheadknew that today’s menu were two overstuffed carton boxes of chicken nuggets,maxi-sized French fries and a blueberry lollipop, a typical treat from his momto “pre-celebrate the weekend”, as she always used to say with a lovely smilebefore dropping the candy in his lunch bag. “And the special dessert you askedfor.” Gladys supplied her son with another bag, this one plastic and moresecure than the other, watching in amusement, despite her need to hurry, thelittle boy trying to juggle everything inside his slender arms.

“Thanks, mom.” Always with aheart of gold, he thanked his mom for the simple task he had assigned to herthe day before. “You got everything, right?” he huffed to push his ravenwaves out of his eyes, having no hands to indulge in his adorable little tic.

“Ten of Pop’s famous strawberrycupcakes with pink buttercream and sprinkles-covered strawberries on top andtwo old-fashioned vanilla milkshakes.” Sherecited her son’s order perfectly, while bouncing the fussy baby in her arms. “But,hey, you promised you’re not gonna eat them all by yourself.” The motherreminded him their deal, because she knew his immense appetite and, even thoughhe didn’t seem to gain even a single hint of fat on his boyish lanky figure,she was still worried for her boy’s wellbeing after such sugar overdose.

Little Jughead huffed again,this time in exasperation. “No, mom, I told you they are not for me.”

“Who are they for then?” Gladysscoffed incredulously, a tad amused and with an eyebrow raising for the boy tohumor her, freeing the hem of her uniform over her cleavage from the stronghold of Jellybean’s chubby fingers. When the squirming baby’s attention shiftedand her little fingers became more demanding on violently twirling the end ofher raven, waist-long, flyaway hair gathered in a lose ponytail, the mothersighed, accepting her fate.

Faint blush creeping on hisslightly baby fat filled cheeks, the boy dropped his eyes to examine hisbeloved sneakers, awkwardly scratching their tips over some tiny pebbles.“They’re for…” he shyly started but he choked on the words, always confiding inhis mom about everything but right now finding it really difficult because hewas ten and talking about girls was supposed to be gross and entirelyhumiliating.

As in reflex, his baby bluesraised from the ground and he spotted her, cute as a button little Betty Cooper,hopping cheerfully off her parents’ vintage silver Mercedes right after hersister, toothy smile intact and two buns on top of either side of her head,rather than her usual high ponytail or braided pigtails. Clearly, she was dressedfor the occasion in a yellow balloon dress and a turquoise denim jacket,the colors happy and bright just like her sunlight personality, and she offeredhim an eager wave and an even bigger smile, before running towards the sea ofchildren in the school yard armed with her fuchsia pink Polly Pocket backpack. Pretty, was all that Jughead thoughtwhile barely managing to wiggle his fingers in a small wave, his chapped lipsslightly parted and his cheeks flaming red at this point, as he watched herdisappear.

The interaction wasn’t missedby his mother’s alert and intuitive nature, seeing the little girl mingle withher classmates before turning again to her son. Ah, of course, Betty Cooper, Gladys internally sighed, ultimatelyfinding his reaction cute and wanting to be supportive of her son’s first crushbut her own insecurities about a certain member of the Cooper family – thatright now spared her a not so friendly glare from the passenger seat of thespeeding off Mercedes – were tarnishing the otherwise loving nature of hermaternal instincts.

“I’m sure she is going to loveyour little surprise, baby.” Gladys managed to smile lightly despite her defensivefrown, putting her children first, as always.

Tips of ears turning brightred now as well, Jughead looked up at her with hopeful eyes, face lifting withjoy that his mom, the most important woman in his life, thought so and he noddedonce in excitement, now becoming more confident about his plan regarding theday. He knew it wasn’t much and Betty deserved all the sweet tooth menus atPop’s along with an unlimited pass to all the rides on the fun fair and theTwilight Drive-In for her birthday, and he desperately wanted to be able togive her all that and more, but he wished her favorite cupcakes and choice ofdrink were enough of a good present.

They exchanged sweet smilesbut Jellybean’s frustrated cry made the mother turn to her in panic, once againaware of the hectic reality she had to face. “Believe me, I know you want yourbeauty sleep but please, Jelly, help me out a little bit here, shh.” Shebounced the baby as she pleaded with a small groan, not that the child obeyed.“I really have to run now, Jug.” She kneeled lightly to be eye level with herson, balancing a baby and all her stuff on her slender figure, and brushing hiswavy hair out of his forehead in affection. “Be good at school. I love you.”She squeezed his cheeks between her thump and pointer and Eskimo kissed himplayfully, both grinning from ear to ear at their sweet habit. Jughead saidgoodbye to his sister with fingers tickling her chubby stomach lightly and afunny grimace and ran off to the cheerfully shrieking kids, as hismom took off to the opposite direction, walking fast and ungraciously whilebouncing her baby in pursue for the daycare down the road.

Jughead made a bee linestraight inside the school where he found his blonde sun of a friend bouncingon her feet in front of her sparkly, stickers-littered locker, chatting withtheir redhead best friend. With a deep breath and a huff that sent his hairflying off his forehead, he dragged his lanky limbs to join them, catchinghimself sporting a smile upon locking eyes with the giggly girl. Her big,pearly white grin was contagious, he couldn’t help it.

“… and Polly spent half anhour to do them for me, do you like it Arch?” the raven haired boy came to astop next to the boy in question, catching half of the conversation with asmall frown at Betty’s hopeful doe eyes and bouncing back and forth head incute hyperactivity.

“They look funny.” Theoblivious redhead answered, tilting his head while examining the two buns thatcreated her new hairstyle.

Jughead noticed immediatelythe cloud over her former sunny mood. “I like them. They look like meatballs;and meatballs are always good.” He rushed to offer his opinion to preserve thehappy glint of her green orbs. She truly looked cute, in a princess Leia way kindacute, Jughead being sure that from now on he wouldn’t be able to watch any ofhis beloved Star Wars movies without giddily thinking about the prettiest girlin their school.

His food related complimentmanaged to tug the corner of her lips in a small smile, Betty looking at himshyly under her fluttering eyelashes. “I just wanted to do something differentfor today, being special and all…”she hinted, a tad disappointed that nobody was showering her with birthdaywishes yet. Kevin had briefly passed her by at the entrance with a small waveand an anxious rant about how he forgot to fill the answer sheet for geography,before disappearing into recess room to fix his mess and by the looks of it,Archie was, as always, in his own world too. Juggie didn’t count; Betty knewthat he didn’t care about birthdays so he wasn’t going remember. He was theonly person she wasn’t mad at.

“Save it for Betty to callspecial the day we have a history and a math test and fix her hair in a newhairstyle for that.” Archie laughed wholeheartedly at his own joke, elbowing Jugheadto join, but his friend was too preoccupied with the way that Betty’s entireposture had changed right now, shoulders slouching and down lip wobbling as shepouted. He felt a tug at his chest, almost snatching a cupcake from the bag tooffer it to her because food cured everything and right now he desperatelywanted to cure her blues. How could Archie not have a clue about what was today’soccasion? There was always a bright red circle around the date at all ofJughead’s wall calendars throughout the years, the boy marking the special daymonths in advance in order to always remember, not that he wouldn’t otherwise.

Sparing Betty the tears andJughead the overreacting humiliation, the bell rung loudly over their heads,signalizing the start of first period.

“Whatever, I’ll see you atlunch.” The blonde girl did the fastest one-eighty in the history of twirls.She was ashamed of the fat tears that were threatening to spill from her eyesany minute now and afraid of being labeled as a baby and getting excluded byher friends, especially now that she had gained a rightful free pass toJughead’s tree house, quick feet taking her away to mop around in the littleladies’ room before heading to class.

“Laters.” Jughead heard Archiepromise in the opposite of his inner voice, him not getting the chance to uttera single word, not even a “wait up” or “please smile” at the sad birthday girl,before getting dragged backwards from his backpack by Archie to the directionof their joined class, uncoordinated limps tripping over his loose shoelaces. Hecaught a glimpse of her reaching the girls’ bathroom down the corridor andgrumpily brushing the back of her hand over her cheek to wipe some tears and hisyoung heart sank to his stomach, for the first time wishing for free period to comesooner, and not because he was drooling over his lunchbox as usual.

So when that heavenly subject-freehour came, Jughead was agog to finally go on with his plan and sweet gesture.He didn’t like his birthday; everybody knew that. He thought that it was a hopelesscelebration, a day that caused him more stress than joy because his parents hadto play a part, create the reality of a blissful, breakfast commercial perfectfamily. The fake reality that was soon crashed the next day under thedisappointed looks of his mother to his father that spoke volumes or theirhushed fights, his running away footsteps and her muffled ugly sobs late atnight when Jughead would still lay awake, buried inside the cocoon of hisblankets with a torch lighting the pages of his books that helped him escapethe place that no longer felt like home. Betty’s birthday was another story.Her life was sunshine and rainbows, this day shouldn’t have been an exception to that.More so, it should have been the highlight of her already happy childhood.

That’s why little Jughead wasnow in their biology lab setting the place the way he had envision the weekprior, when he had started mapping up the idea. He had picked this particularclassroom because the window overlooked the small garden at the back of theelementary school, the one that their class was responsible to maintain throughout theyear, bright yellow sunflowers now in full growth creating a nice springsetting. He placed the two vanilla shakes on a desk right in front of thewindow and the plastic plate of cupcakes between them and took out of hisbackpack ten heart-shaped candles and a lighter, carefully lighting each ofthem and placing them on top of every small pink cake. He smiled lightly at hiscreation; he believed the whole setting was so girly and so everything heimagined she would like and the thought made his little heart do a flippy overthing in excitement. And then for the big finish. He pulled out of his pencilcase two sparklers, Betty’s all-time favorite party attraction, Jugheadremembering how elated she always used to be at the sight of them all over townat every July 4th or on Archie’s birthday cake, the only girl notshrieking and running away but giggling while playing with the dancing flames,and he lit them both, bouncing back a little at how abruptly their effect hadstarted. He hoisted one on the right side of the center cupcake and went to dothe same for the left side, trying to avoid the flames of the other candlesaround but that’s when all came crashing down around him, his awkward and prepubescentuncoordinated limbs falling him once again miserably.

His elbow clumsily knockeddown one of the milkshakes. White sticky ice cream stained the linoleum flooras he rushed to somehow clean the mess. The sparkler he was holding dropped fromhis fingers without him even noticing. His urgent feet kicked it involuntarily toroll inches away from the brownish curtain that was pulled to the side of thewindow. Some sparks landed on the cheap material and just like that everythingbecame a nightmare of biblical destruction.

Ten year old Jughead didn’tknow that flames could spread so quickly and easily. So when he turned aroundand half the curtain was burning maliciously, he stumbled back in shock, eyesturning wide and panicky at the sight in front of him. Out of reflex, he threwa wooden chair in front of him, to separate him from the chaos, but this onlyseemed to make it worse, the chair catching up in flames too in a nanosecondbefore the fire fueled more and black smoke started to fill the room. An awfulsound pierced through his ears and he rushed to cover them, the fire alarmgoing off efficiently, and Jughead panicked even more now, thinking about howscrewed up he was going to be upon teachers finding out he was the cause of thechaos. He was moving in circles around himself, at a loss of what to do or howto help, throwing random things to the threatening tongues of flame that werespreading fast, only succeeding in making it worse. At the sound of the doorflying open, he looked up like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Jug?” Archie’s flaming locksthat matched the scenery of the room appeared as the boy rushed inside, comingto a halt abruptly, shocked out of his young mind too. “Oh my— we have to run!”he shouted in alarm, motioning for the door behind him.

“No, I have to fix this.” Jugheaddidn’t spare him a second glance as he rushed to the sink at the corner,filling a small bucket with water and throwing it to the flames, onlysucceeding in making them spread more, now dangerously close to his discardedbackpack on the floor. “My books!” Jughead exclaimed in despair at the thought of his anchorof hope getting lost forever and lashed forward without thinking, Archie doingthe same with wide eyes, in order to pull back his best friend.

The curtain rail gave outunder the high rise of temperature and the iron bar fell to the floor with adreadful sound, spreading a sea of flames, the force causing the two boys toroll back on the floor. Jughead wailed in fear as his pant leg caught on fire, Archiestumbling on his feet in horror and throwing his little league letterman jacketon the denim, effectively putting out the small source of flames but notwithout experience the same pain on the side of his arm. The blipping of thealarm became more vicious, the flames had now spread all over the wall and fewof the desks next to the window, Jughead’s terrified eyes watching the icy cupcakesburn in flames, just like his naïve hopes that he would for once make BettyCooper happy, make her notice him and only him.

The door opened again. Loudmale voices could be heard yelling instructions and rolling something insidethe flaming room. Two firefighters picked him and Archie up, assuring them thateverything was going to be fine, Jughead’s heart getting crushed just like thepiece of pink carton under the stomping feet of the firemen, the comic about aprincess and a poet he had made for her in a form of a birthday card nevergetting the reaction of the big, delighted smile it deserved. Jughead’s babyblues turned blurry with tears as something exploded inside the room and theman he was holding him started running to rush him to safety away from the flames,away from his now crushed childhood dream.

Everything happened in fastforward after that. And he, for some reason, ended up here, scared, shocked, traumatizedin the place that didn’t do much to ease his young turbulent mind; the backseatof a police car. His ruined pant leg was rolled up against his thigh, some coolingblue Jell-O like cream spread on his knee over the irritated skin of his burn,he reeked of smoke and he felt awful with sticky clothes, trembling limps and abroken heart. He was busing himself with picking at his fingers, hands coal blackfrom the carbon dioxide, or stealing side glances at everything that washappening around him; parents dropping by to pick up their terrified kids, firefightersrolling off their gear, having succeeded in extinguishing the fire, theSherriff questioning some teachers and the janitor, Archie being treated byparamedics just like Jughead was before him, Mary Andrews cradling his head andoffering him motherly pecks to ease his pain away while Fred stood by like atrue family protector, his own parents lurking next to the police vehicle tryingto not make a scene, by keeping their full of venom voices to a minimum.

Jughead wanted to scream forthem to stop, to scream that he needed them talking to him, telling him thateverything was going to be alright, not fighting with each other. He felthanging, he didn’t know why everyone was treating him like a bad guy and thatterrified him to no end, a ten year old boy too small in front of thesignificance of the situation. He was trying desperately not to cry, chinwobbly and eyes itchy and bloodshot, blinking rapidly due to the toxic fumesand his unshed tears, and all he wanted was his mom and dad to hug him tightand never let go, never let him alone again in this reality that petrified hisyoung and innocent mind.

“This is all your fault.” His mom’shiss towards his dad made Jughead lower his head even more to his lap, preparinghimself for the shouting match that it was about to break loose.

“He’s just a kid, Gladys.” FPsighed, tired and concerned but not thinking much of the situation. Jughead wasa growing boy; those incidents were expected in his books.

“Kids don’t play with matches.”Gladys bit back and continued with venom and narrowed, troubled dark blue eyes.“This is your doing.”

“You can’t blame me foreverything that goes wrong in this family.” Her husband snapped back, voicestill controlled but eyes pitch black under the red, irritated skin of hiseyelashes caused by another one of his usual alcohol filled nights.

“At least I’m trying, FP.Unlike you that always put us second in your life.” She accused, shaking herhead in despair and dropping a kiss to the temple of the oblivious baby girl inher arms.

“Don’t you dare tell me that Idon’t love my kids.” He sent her a side glance, jaw tightening to not show howhurt he was by her words. “Or you.” He added and he meant it, even if he wasn’tthe best at showing it, he truly meant it.

Gladys huffed in disbelief; shehad heard all that before. “If your love results to this, then keep it.” She shooka hand his direction, indicating for him to stay away from her, from them. “You’returning him into you.” Her voice broke, a choke closing her throat at thethought. “And that’s the thing I’m most scared of; him ending up anything like you.” There was bitternessin her voice, hatred at how the man she had fell madly in love with had changed,at how this wasn’t the life she had dreamed of living.

FP dropped his head to theground, ashamed and beaten. “He is just a kid.” He repeated in a low whisper.

“Yes, and he is being chargedwith a state offence.” Gladys stated the absurdity of it all. “And they keepsaying that they will have to take him away and send him to that place,” hervoice was trembling now, a mother losing her mind at the mere thought ofsomething bad happening to her child “and I don’t even know where this is and whatwill happen to him and— How can they take away my baby?” the tears streamed downin full force and her sharp intake of breath got lost inside the palm that shebrought to her mouth to suppress her dreadful sob, little Jughead feeling hisown tears running down his cheeks silently at her words and her cries. He didn’twant to make his mom sad, God, he hated seeing her sad. And he was afraid;afraid that he wouldn’t see her again, afraid that the Eskimo kiss they sharedthis morning was the last form of affection he would ever receive.

“I’ll fix it, okay?” FP rushedforward, determined, taking hold of her shoulders and connecting their eyes. “Nobodyis taking Jug away from us, I promise.” She wanted to believe him but at thispoint she really couldn’t.

“I’ve heard enough of yourpromises, FP.” Gladys squirmed free of his hold, eyes cold despite the weaknessof her tears. “How are you going to fix this, huh? With a beer bottle in eachhand? Or with your friends over at the Southside?” she challenged, him takingsome steps back, as she scoffed a chuckle with no humor at all. “You think thatI don’t know…”

“Don’t. Not again.” He warned,minutes before losing control.

“You’re hangover, you reek ofalcohol, your eyes are bloodshot…” She listed with venom the telltail signs, hecouldn’t hide from her. “Tell me that you didn’t go; come on, lie to me.” She challenged,the fire and spark that won him over years ago now turning against him. “Tellme that you weren’t at that God awful place all night while you were supposedto look after your kids.” Her voice raised and startled the baby against herchest, Jellybean sensing the tension and becoming fussy once again.

“I…” He couldn’t find it inhim to lie.

“I can’t even believe you.” Shebreathed, disappointed once again at the man in front of her. “It’s about her,isn’t it?” the wheels inside her head turned sharply, the topic of jealousytowards a specific old flame of his coming to surface again, like numeroustimes before in their fights. “You’re meeting her there, go on, for once inyour life tell me the truth!” she demanded with a stern voice, hand latchingforward to grab his chin and force his eyes on her, chipped nails clawing hisscruffy cheeks to inflict some of the pain he is causing her. “If you’rescrewing her Forsythe, I swear to God—” she threatened with vicious passion.

“Stop.” FP freed his face curtly off her claws. “That’s nonsense! You can accuse me of anything, anything, but I’ve always been faithfulto you.” He stood his ground, mad with anger at this point too. “That’s over;you know that first hand.�� His eyes darkened with a mix of spite andvulnerability, the old story still holding a grudge in his heart despite theyears, despite them moving on, despite the feeling of emptiness that he still feltat even the most subtle mention of the first girl he ever loved.

“I’m gonna leave.” Gladysthrew to his face, chocking on the words as new tears ran down her face. “I’mtelling you, FP, one day I’ll just crack, take the kids and get the hell awayfrom you.” She promised around her sobs, Jellybean starting a crying duet withher mother, like she understood the situation, and FP’s eyes dropped to her, despair painted upon them. “I cannot keep livinglike this, okay? Juggling two jobs, two kids and a ridiculous excuse of a man.”The force of her sobs overtook her slim body, narrow shoulders shaking at theintensity of her breakdown, her young and beautiful face getting wrinkled indespair. “Do you understand what I’m saying? If they take Jughead away, it’sover between us. This version of you, the person you’ve became, you ruined us,you ruined him. Hope you are proud.” She spat to his face and turned away fromhis filled with sorrow and regret face, hugging her daughter tightly and shushing herbetween her own violent cries.

And as little Jughead wassome meters away in the threatening silence of the police vehiclecrying too, lonely, afraid and now in the verge of an ugly panic attack at the possible walking away of his mom, his beacon of calmness and hope shined just like the blondeof her hair under the afternoon sun.

“Juggie.” He heard his name inthe most beautiful whisper and that startled him, abruptly snapping his head toface the source and quickly brushing his cheek over the material of his hoodieagainst his shoulder to hide his moment of weakness, upon seeing Betty’s nosepressed adorably against the window of the car. She motioned for him to roll itdown and he hurried to do so but only up until the middle fearing to even moveat this point.

“Are you okay?” she whisperedin a hushed voice, green doe eyes more rounded than ever in concern, scanningher friend.

He just nodded, still in shockabout the events of the day and the fact that she was there talking to him and notalready at the safety of her home.

“I snuck out of the car whilemom was talking to the Sheriff. I couldn’t leave without seeing if you wereokay.” Betty let him know and Jughead’s heart did that flippy over thing again,lips parting at a loss of words. “Juggie, your leg!” the little girl gasped inhorror, eyebrows knitting while examining the nasty redness on his knee.

“It’s nothing.” He whisperedin a small, scratchy voice, the first time to form a single word to anyoneafter the incident. “Archie got hurt too.” He was utterly confused that she washere asking him how he was and not holding the redhead’s hand.

“His is just a scratch; he’sjust being a baby, he’ll be fine.” Betty wrinkled her nose in disapproval, still hurt by the obliviousness of the redhead boy. “Where are theytaking you?” she asked in all her child naivety.

“I don’t know.” Jugheadshrugged his little shoulders, picking on his fingers again. “I didn’t mean for this to happen, Betty. You have to believe me.” He pleaded with sad eyes forher to not start treating him differently from now on.

“I know.” She answered in a heartbeat.“I know you, Juggie, you are my friend.” Her small, lovely smile was everythinghe needed for his spirit to be lifted a little and to breathe again. He repliedwith an equal smile of gratitude, everything being dealt easily in the childrenworld, but the corners of his smile wavered as the hushed angry voices of hisparents could be heard again on the background.

His face dropped in sorrow andshame and Betty briefly looked over his head to the quarreling duo. “Think ofsomething nice.” She urged him on, focusing again on him.

“What?” the boy asked,clueless.

“When my parents are fightingor I’m feeling anxious or scared, I always close my eyes and make up a storywith my favorite place and my favorite people.” The cheerful girl explainedfurther. “It helps.” She shrugged a shoulder. “Do it!” Her sparkling forest-likeeyes didn’t leave room for discussion and Jughead felt himself complying,dropping back on the leather seat and closing his smarting eyes.

He imagined Pop’s, two burgersand a chocolate milkshake and he saw her, yellow dress and all, smilingbrightly at him with vanilla ice cream creating a silly moustache over her rosylips. Lost in the fantasy, Jughead smiled.

Betty grinned to herself uponseeing his reaction. “It’s nice, huh?”

“Yeah.” Jughead murmuredblissfully, eyes still closed and unwilling to let go of the lovely image.

There was something thatstartled him again though, that made his eyes snap open and his heart startdancing in his chest. A loud smooch noise filled his ears and wet, warm lipscollided with his still damp cheek and he would swear that he dreamed that tooif it wasn’t for Betty’s smiley face inches away from his bewildered one. Shewas bended over the half opened window, resting on the tips of her dusty goldbow-decorated flats, and grinning from ear to ear lovingly before dropping backon her heels, Jughead’s heart running a marathon at the fact that in the miseryof it all, toady he had gained his first kiss by Betty Cooper.

“Wherever you go, I’ll visit.”She promised and held out her pinky, the raven haired boy curling his around itstill in a state of shock, before Alice Cooper’s demanding voice broke themapart, Betty running quickly back to her mother, sparing him one last ofhis favorite Betty smiles.

The smile that never changedover the years, as well as its effect on his poor heart. The smile thatJughead, sixteen again and in trouble once more with the police, keptenvisioning behind closed eyelashes at a booth at Pop’s over his own smileylips during one of their many now teenage appropriate kisses.

“I’m not talking to youanymore.” The image of her brought him courage and determination to fight forhis rights this time, eyes snapping open and darting to the side still troubled and sad. “I wanta lawyer.” He demanded into the silence of the interogation room before it got interruptedby the sound of the creaking metallic door being pushed open.

“No need.” Like awild wind, Betty appeared, strong-willed and confident, her worried eyesconnecting for a minute with his now relieved ones upon seeing her, the Sherriffjumping off his seat as the deputy behind Betty silently apologized for notbeing able to hold her back. “Jughead is innocent. I’m sure Mr. Andrews willclear everything up for you, Sheriff Keller.” The girl held her ground like atrue Cooper, the man raising an eyebrow at her behavior but following hisdeputy out of the room with a huff, leaving the two teens alone. And as Bettytook a seat across him with the same lovely smile she had sported six yearsago, Jughead knew that as long as she was on his side nothing would be able tobring him down.

Sprawled on the Andrews’ porchstairs, Jughead could feel the freedom on his skin and the evening air easingout his mind after the events of the crazy day he had. Betty was seated nextto him, legs curled under her and knees brushing his ribs, her concerned eyes never leaving him, the girl being on the lookout for any sign ofdiscomfort or sorrow or insecurity so she could vanish it the moment it will cloud his brilliant mind with her encouraging words and her soothingcaresses. His breakdown after the encounter with his father was ugly and heartbreaking,Betty holding him tightly through it all and urging him to unleash all thepined up anger and frustration he held in his heart and now that it was overand calmness was spread between them she just couldn’t leave him out of hersight, wanting with all her power to never see him that way ever again.

“Whatever Fred did, I’ll beforever grateful to him for letting me have this.” Jughead sighed, elbowsresting on the step behind him and eyes darting around before landing on hisbeautiful girlfriend smiling down at him.

“I told you, Jug, we were goingto get you out.” She brushed the single wave away from his forehead lovingly,before letting her fingers caress down his jawline, feeling him sigh in contentunder her touch. “Believe it or not, even my mom offered to help.” That spikedthe boy’s attention, who rose his eyebrows in surprise.

“Thank God she didn’t. I wouldstill be in there, sceduled for a death penalty.” He groaned in his usual sardonic manner and formed a smallsmirk at Betty’s rolling eyes and cute grimace of amusement.

They fell into their previouscomfortable silence, Betty sliding closer to him to start drawing abstractshapes over his chest with her fingers. “I still don’t understand; why just youand not me?” she questioned in exasperation, feeling him sigh and curl his armsaround her waist.

“You don’t have a criminalrecord.” He reminded her, leaving a peck on the side of her arm over her maroonbomber jacket.

“You have one because of thosetwo months at the rehabilitation center, right?” she toyed with the sheepishlapel of his jacket, green eyes focused on his baby blue ones.

“It was juvie, Betty.” Hethrew in apathy. “Don’t use fancy words; there was nothing fancy about thatplace.” There was some bitterness in his voice and Betty decided not to pushhim further since everything was hard on him that day.

“You never told me why youstarted that fire in the first place.” Betty wondered out loud, eyebrowsknitting in confusion as to why she still didn’t know what went down at day inelementary school. “Was it you and Archie playing pranks again?” she cracked aside smirk in amusement, remembering the relentless teasing between them. Hefelt him stiffen under the weight of her question and she frowned more, notknowing what caused the sudden discomfort.

“No.” Jughead shook his headand waited a second, scanning her face before giving up with a defeated sigh. “Itwas for you.” He might as well come clean once and for all, he thought.

Betty bounced her head back indisbelief. “Me?”

“Uh-huh.” He nodded inconfirmation. “May 15th, your birthday. I wanted to do something special,cupcakes, milkshakes, the whole thing. The fire was a result of my ten year oldself being a spaz and not even being able to execute the simple task of lighting tenlittle candles.” His scoff of second-hand embarrassment complimented the brightred color on his cheeks, Jughead averting his eyes to the front and not daringto look at her after sharing with her how much of an awkward boy he used to beand, truth be told, still was.

She blinked a couple of times,flabbergasted and at a loss of words at the boy in front of her that seemed toorbit his whole life around her. “You started a freaking fire and went to a juvenile hall because of me?!” her tonewas high-pitched and incredulous, having some difficulty to wrap her mind aroundthe new revelation. “Jughead!” Betty semi-gaspedsemi-whined, not sure what her reaction should be. Feel flattered by the grandgesture or offer him an earful about how he had no need to impress her so nosuch incidents would happen in the future? The only thing that she was sure ofwas that he was crazy, wonderfully crazy, and she was too; for him.

Jughead just shrugged, turningslowly to examine her reaction and giving her a sly smile upon seeing the lookof love in her green eyes. “That clearly wasn’t part of the plan.” He musedsarcastically before he continued serious now. “That day you taught me a littlegame.” Betty shook her head confused, solemn focus on his handsome face and hewas occupied with lacing and unlacing their fingers over his stomach, his eyeswatching the action. “To close my eyes and escape to my favorite place with myfavorite people when life got hard. And I kept doing it all those years, todaytoo.” He nodded to himself before looking up at her, feeling his heart swell atthe look of love he received back. “Thinking of you chasing all of my demonsaway. It always works.” He confessed truthfully, vulnerability and a tad of embarrassmentin his calm voice, sharing with her parts of himself he never thought he would.

Betty just shook her head,leaning down to capture her lips with his, slow and sweet, both of them sighinginto the kiss and holding each other tighter, happy that they had finally foundeach other at the end. “You, Jughead Jones, are the most amazing guy I evermet.” She breathed inside the kiss, lips dancing against his soft ones as shechanged the angle of their kiss, Jughead feeling his whole being gettingovercome by the soothing aura of Betty Cooper. “I’ll slay your demons one byone, I promise you that with all my heart.” And as their kiss deepened and thesensation of her lips was all he could focus on with every fiber of his body,his worries and fears and insecurities got chased away just like that day when that chaste kiss on his cheek reminded him that in the mist of chaos hewould always have somebody anchoring him back to shore; his one and true love,Betty Cooper.

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