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veliseraptor · 5 years

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called my demons (but gave them back), 5k, where the devil don’t go ‘verse

I wrote this in a bizarre blaze of power today because of one anon ask I have no idea what happened, nothing explicit other than some language but warnings for: past dubcon and noncon, not strictly consensual sex work, generally the typical stuff for this verse, I’d ask what’s happening to me but there is no one I can blame but myself

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Thor was too kind to say it, but Loki knew what he was: dead weight.

He tried. Truly, he did, doing whatever he could, wherever he could, but a not insignificant number of Asgardians were clearly uncomfortable with him working alongside them, and Thor, Heimdall and Valkyrie had the higher-level organizing and governing work well in hand. They had, after all, been managing without him for some time. Thor included him in their meetings, and asked after his opinion (as though he actually wanted it), but he hesitated to give it.

Loki could not shake the fear that one wrong word would see him gone.

Thor was kind. Thor tried to tell him that he did not feel Loki had deserved his fate, and looked at him with pity and concern, but Thor had made it clear on Sakaar that his patience had run out.

And despite that, he had been given a reprieve. Loki doubted he would be given another.

If he could not find a way to make himself useful, Loki knew...Asgard was short on resources. It could not afford to waste space and food and energy. And that was the trouble, because that was what Loki was.

A waste.

Sitting in solitude, curled up in a corner of his room in the middle of the night, Loki caught himself tracing the disc on the side of his neck and forced himself to stop. The Grandmaster’s voice whispered in his ear: maybe if you gave your brother some of this he’d think twice about kicking you to the curb later on.

Saliva filled Loki’s mouth and he swallowed the urge to vomit. A hysterical giggle swelled up and that he didn’t manage to catch in time. You could certainly be useful that way, he thought a little wildly. Surely there are some Asgardians who could use a hole to fuck and wouldn’t be picky about whose it was.

He bent forward, shuddering, and tried to stop thinking. He’d gotten fairly good at that, but now that he was free (are you?) it seemed he’d lost the way of it. Loki missed that: the ability to erase himself, to make himself nothing.

Asgard didn’t have the luxury of harboring nothings. And what he owed Thor alone…

Everything. He owed Thor everything.

He could not repay that debt. But perhaps if he could prove that he still had some kind of use, when the reckoning came he would be able to hold out one small offering and say see, I can still be valuable to you. I can never be worthy. But I can be useful.

If only he weren’t so very aware that he was useful for very little these days.

The Statesman was old. Not quite ‘decrepit’ but not exactly ‘fully functional’ either, and prone to breaking. Thor didn’t even seem surprised when a portion of the engine overheated and ceased to function, only sighed and directed them to limp to the nearest port where they could make repairs.

“And how,” Valkyrie said, “are we going to pay for the repairs? This isn’t going to be cheap, and I don’t have to remind you that we’re not exactly rolling in cash, and gambling’s illegal on Ollat Station.”

“We’ll manage,” Thor said stiffly. “There should be enough left in our coffers to cover it.”

“Depends,” Valkyrie said darkly. “How are your haggling skills, Your Highness?”

Loki sat quiet, his hands folded together in his lap, wheels spinning in his mind. He glanced at Heimdall, whose brow was creased in concern, and at Valkyrie, stress poorly disguised by a scowl, and Thor, trying too hard to look sure of himself.

Will you look at that, the Grandmaster said. It’s your time to shine, baby.

He almost said it aloud. Almost made the offer: aren’t you overlooking an obvious way you could cover the cost? But he could imagine, easily, how Thor would react. He’d reject the idea out of hand. Would place Loki’s so-called dignity above the welfare of his people, and regret it later.

Thor would never agree. And so Heimdall and Valkyrie would not, either, following his lead despite their better judgment.

Asgard’s resources would thin even further. Less margin in which to keep a broken ex-whore.

At least this time, he thought, he’d be selling himself. And for a good cause. That had to be an improvement.

“Loki,” Thor said, his voice sharp, and he started, tensing. Heimdall had gone, but Thor and Valkyrie still stood looking at him.

“Apologies,” he said quickly. “I was distracted. What is it?”

Thor frowned at him, and Loki dropped his eyes quickly, folding his hands more tightly together to try to keep them still. “Nothing,” Thor said finally. “It’s nothing.”

Anxiety bubbled in Loki’s gut. He could almost see the cliff’s edge crumbling in front of his feet. “No,” he said quickly. “I’m - if you need something of me, ask.”

Thor’s expression flickered. He looked pained. “It’s nothing, Loki,” he said. “Be at ease. I will...see you later.” He turned and left. Valkyrie eyed him a few moments longer before following, and Loki saw a warning in her gaze.

He started shivering, and drew his knees up to his chest, his hand wandering up to slide his fingers over the metal of the disc.

Things are so much simpler when you remember what you are.

Loki took a deep breath, pressed his forehead to his knees, and uncoiled, smoothing out his face. There was something reassuring about this, he thought distantly. About knowing exactly what he needed to do.

Honestly, it would be easy.

Just like you, honeybunch. Just like you.

It was a simple matter to slip away from the Statesman when they landed. All he had to do was ask. “I’m feeling a bit restless,” he said to Thor. “Would it be all right if I took some time to stretch my legs?” He smiled, carefully wry. “I know you can handle yourself without me. Do not try to pretend otherwise.”

Thor studied his face like he was trying to read something there, and his nod looked reluctant. Loki wondered what he suspected; what he thought Loki might do, unsupervised. What sort of mischief he might perpetuate, despite his assurances that he was done with causing trouble. But it was still a nod. “Of course,” Thor said. “Only...you will be careful.”

“I will,” Loki said. “And I will not stay away too long.”

“Don’t worry,” Thor said. “I have a feeling this may take a couple of days.” For a moment, he looked weary, care settling on his brow, but a moment after he swept it away and reached out to clasp Loki’s shoulder. Loki flinched involuntarily, and then cursed at himself as Thor’s expression wavered and fell.

“Hopefully not,” Loki said, and, “best of luck, Thor,” slipping away before he could say anything.

He was going to have to control that. If he couldn’t let himself be touched without that sort of reaction...he wasn’t going to get very far.

Taking a risk, Loki used the money he’d pinched from Valkyrie’s purse to buy a strong drink, and downed that to dull his nerves before moving on to his real purpose. If this worked, he should have more than enough to replace it without her noticing. If it didn’t...he’d probably have larger problems.

Loki did not have much experience with the business side of this...sort of thing, but he’d seen the Grandmaster do it plenty of times. Walking the streets was neither an option nor appealing, and there was too much risk he might be noticed by any visiting Asgardians. Besides, that wouldn’t make the kind of money they needed. At least he knew how to find the sort of upscale connoisseurs who would pay, and pay well; and if that meant they asked for more...

At this point, there were very few things Loki hadn’t done. Or had done to him.

It’s nice that you’re, ah, flexible, kitten. In more ways than one. Loki controlled his flinch.

He snuck his way into a club with a very exclusive clientele, bought his second drink with the last of his stolen money, and sat down to wait, idly noting the tawdry decor and melodramatic design choices. It was exactly the sort of place the Grandmaster would love.

His stomach was burning. He wanted, very badly, to get up and run.

Loki didn’t have to wait long for someone to approach him. The frank appraisal that swept over his body, and the approving smile, made something deep in Loki’s chest squirm with pleasure. You’re just - so eager to please, aren’t you, Lo?

Loki smiled back, raising his eyebrows a fraction. “Can I help you?” he asked, pitching his voice low and warm.

“Possibly,” his possible client said. “I suppose that depends.”

“On what?” Loki let his smile turn wry, just this side of coy. “Are you trying to assess my...availability?”

He didn’t react. Not new to this, then. The burning in Loki’s stomach intensified. “So you are...available,” he said.

“I might be.” Loki leaned back. “What will you give me if I am?”

The price he named was almost absurdly - and certainly flatteringly - high. Loki restrained himself from simply agreeing immediately, a prickle of warning crawling up his spine. “That is quite an offer.”

“It is,” he said. “My price is...all-inclusive.”

Loki bit his tongue and gave himself a moment before asking, “how inclusive is ‘all’?”

“I’ll pay up front,” he said. “And if there is need for any...treatment afterwards, I can pay for that too.”

Loki shivered, just a little. Dread twisted with an unwilling arousal in his stomach. He fought against the latter, and then stopped fighting, because if he was going to do this then he might as well take what he could from it. Some part of him was still screaming in protest, telling him to throw his drink in this man’s face and run, to pull out a knife and gut him. The disc on the side of his neck seemed to throb.

Thor, he told himself. Asgard.

I can be useful.

“I accept,” he said, setting down his drink and standing, pulling out a card and sliding it in his new companion’s direction. “Direct the credits to this account, if you please.”

“Of course.” His smile was warm and dangerous. A vicious light sparked in the back of his eyes as he made the transfer, his gaze steady on Loki, and Loki could almost see the wheels turning, his imagination leaping ahead. “My name is Alaver.”

“Loki,” Loki said. He doubted the name would mean anything. If it did, the reputation would only help him.

Alaver just nodded, however, without recognition. “Come,” he said, like summoning a dog.

Loki took a moment - just a moment - to collect everything that wasn’t relevant, put it in a box, and shove it to the back of his mind. He was flesh and blood and bone to be used, and nothing more.

Good boy, the Grandmaster purred. You’re such a natural at this. Loki resisted the urge to touch the obedience disc. He walked out of the club and left himself behind.

It could have been worse. Loki had had worse. At some point it occurred to Loki hazily that what Alaver called ‘all-inclusive’ was not, actually, all-inclusive. He could have given some pointers.

The thought made him want to laugh.

When Alaver was done, Loki declined the offer of medical treatment. There was an expression of nearly stunned awe in his eyes as he watched Loki dress that should not have pleased him, but did. His joints ached, healing welts stung, and he was going to have to focus on walking normally for a bit, but he could stand, and he hadn’t screamed.

“Are you busy tomorrow?” Alaver asked. He sounded hopeful.

“I’m afraid so,” Loki said. “Only visiting.” Somehow, he smiled. “But I am flattered to be asked.”

He left, walking more or less steadily, calm and collected all the way down to the lobby and out into the street. He went a few blocks, then ducked into an alley and threw up a mixture of alcohol and semen. His body shook, a sob lurching up his throat that he caught before it emerged. Loki retched again, gagging on nothing.

What’s all this fuss about? You knew what was going to happen. You signed up for this, sweetheart. You brought this on yourself. Remember?

He remembered. He remembered trying to betray Thor - he didn’t even remember why, now, or what he’d been thinking. If he hadn’t done that, he wouldn’t be here now.

One little fuck and you go all to pieces? Goodness gracious. Guess you really aren’t good for anything anymore.

Loki shoved his knuckles into his mouth and bit down until he tasted blood. Then he forced his hand down and checked the time.

He needed to head back before Thor got suspicious.

Loki dozed until evening, when Thor came knocking. “Yes,” he said automatically, and regretted it when the door opened on Thor, frowning. His stomach swooped.

“Are you all right?” was his first question. “You look flushed.”

“Fine,” Loki said. “Just a little overwarm. Is that what you came to ask?” He was pleased with himself for sounding convincingly normal. Thor, however, was scrutinizing him like he was looking for another meaning. It was all Loki could do not to fall on his knees and beg for forgiveness, even if he wasn’t certain what, exactly, he might need forgiveness for.

“I was looking at the accounts today to see how much we could afford to spend on the replacement part,” Thor said. Loki just looked back at him, waiting, and after a moment Thor went on. “It seemed that there was a significantly larger sum than I recalled.”

Loki sat up. “Are you asking me a question?” he said. He knew he wouldn’t lie, if Thor asked directly. He couldn’t risk doing that. But he didn’t have to tell him, either. What Thor didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. And would help him a great deal.

“Did you do something?”

Loki considered that question. “What do you mean by ‘something’?” he asked. Thor’s eyes narrowed.

“Is that a yes?”

Loki pressed his lips together. “It might be better for your plausible deniability if I said nothing.”

Thor stared at him. “Did you steal from someone?”

“No,” Loki said. Thor’s frown deepened. He was thinking, and Loki kept his eyes on him, praying that he would tip to the better answer, the answer Loki needed him to choose. He thought he would, because Thor, even now, thought too well of Loki.

“Valkyrie said that gambling is illegal on this station,” Thor said. Loki shrugged.

“Did she say that?” he said. Thor stared at him for a long time, and Loki tried not to tense, aware that he was taking a risk, aware that if Thor decided criminality for Asgard’s sake was an unforgivable crime then - then he very well might be going back to Alaver and telling him he was available tomorrow after all.

If not worse.

Thor shook his head a little. “Loki,” he said, sounding reproachful. “That is a serious risk.”

Loki glanced aside. “I know,” he said. “I should have told you, but...I was careful. And I ensured nothing could be traced back to you.” He set a level gaze on Thor and said with all the sincerity he could muster, “I will not do anything to put you or Asgard in danger.”

Loki could see Thor struggling. But ultimately...he was a king now, and kings had to make hard choices. “I cannot thank you,” he said, and after a moment added, “certainly not for something I am not aware of.”

Loki relaxed. “Of course not.”

“But if I did,” Thor went on, “even if I disagreed with the methods...I might be grateful.”

Loki looked down and away. “For Asgard,” he murmured. He could feel Thor giving him a peculiar look.

“Indeed,” he said finally. “I hope you will come to dinner, Loki. I would be pleased to see you there.”

The door closed, and Loki let out a breathless sound of relief. He took those words and clasped them to his chest. Even if I disagreed with the methods…

Better a thief than a whore.

Loki did not go to dinner. He curled up under the blankets and closed his eyes, sick at himself.

“Can we talk,” Valkyrie said, sitting down across from him. Loki stopped picking at his food and lifted his eyes to hers.

“If you wish,” he said.

“So remember,” she said, “on Ollat Station? Where we needed to buy the belt, and we were nearly broke, until suddenly we weren’t anymore?”

“Yes,” Loki said. “That was only three days ago.” He realized even as he said it how he sounded, and flinched. “Apologies. I don’t mean to-”

“I don’t care what your brother says,” Valkyrie interrupted, “nobody makes that kind of money playing the tables for a few hours.”

Loki didn’t freeze. He didn’t let himself. “You don’t, perhaps,” he said.

“Nobody,” Valkyrie said. “You’re forgetting. I spent a long, long time on Sakaar. I know from gambling. And even accounting for cheating, it would at least take longer to get that kind of haul.”

Loki’s lungs tightened and his stomach curdled. “Of what are you trying to accuse me?”

Valkyrie rocked back and then leaned forward, her elbows on the table. “I’m not trying to accuse you of anything,” she said. “Only wondering if-” She cut off and looked away, scowling at one of the walls. Loki waited to see if she would press, but she just shook her head violently, lips twisting. “Never mind.” She slapped her hands on the table. “Good talk,” she said, and left with quick, short, strides.

Loki weighed the possibility that she would bring her suspicions to Thor, and decided it was unlikely. She hadn’t pressed him for any confirmation, after all. Hopefully she understood as well as Loki did that some things were better for Thor not to know.

“Loki,” Thor said, just as he was standing to leave another meeting of their little council. “Stay back. I want to speak with you alone.”

Loki’s heart rate ratcheted up somewhere into the stars. His eyes widened and he glanced toward the door without meaning to, rapidly flicking through the last few days trying to think what he might have done to anger Thor. Already formulating an apology, penance, something to make it better-

“Yes,” he said, his voice thin. “Of course.”

Heimdall gave him an unreadable look before he closed the door behind him. Loki swallowed hard, fighting the urge to fold his arms around himself and hunch his shoulders, the urge to go down on his knees and plead forgiveness.

“Sit,” Thor said, and then a moment late, “please.” Loki sat, folding his hands into his lap and looking at Thor, trying to read his face, his body language. He was angry, Loki thought, and trying not to show it. Angry about what? He couldn’t think of anything he might have done, but then it seemed sometimes he didn’t always know when he had done something wrong.

“Thor,” he blurted out into the stretching silence. “Your Highness - however I may have erred, I want to assure you that I will set about mending it at once, and accept any judgment as you see fit.”

Thor’s expression darkened more and Loki curled into himself, quailing. He averted his eyes, breathing hitching in his chest. “I am sorry,” Loki said, the words tumbling out as quickly as he could say them. “I would - I would be more precise, but I apologize, I do not know-”

“Loki,” Thor interrupted, his voice a rumble, and Loki flinched, “stop.”

He stopped. His head was spinning. No, he thought. It’s over, it’s over and I don’t even know why, maybe there is no why, maybe he’s just sick and tired of you, pathetic disgusting wretched broken creature, worthless, why would he keep you, it was just lingering sentiment and now he’s realized his mistake.

Desperate, he slid from the chair to his knees, bowing his head in a supplicant’s pose. “Please,” he gasped. “I know - I know I do not deserve it, but give me one more chance-”

“Loki,” Thor said, and now there was horror alongside the anger. “Don’t - stop - what do you think I’m going to do?”

Loki twitched, shivering. He couldn’t think past the dizzy fear swallowing him whole.

He heard Thor’s chair move across the floor, and footsteps, and Asgard’s king knelt in front of him. “Brother,” he said, and the anger was weaker now, replaced by worry. “Look at me.”

Loki raised his eyes immediately at the command, staring wide-eyed at Thor. Thor reached out slowly and laid a hand on his shoulder, and Loki did not let himself flinch, but Thor’s expression still spasmed with pain. Loki’s stomach twisted. Another mistake.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, speaking slowly. “I am not going to - throw you out. I only want to talk.”

Loki blinked at him, uncomprehending. Thor closed his eye and rubbed at his eyepatch. “Norns,” he said quietly.

“You are angry,” Loki said tentatively. “With me.”

Thor made a noise. “I’m not angry with you.”

Loki flinched. “It’s all right. Whatever I did wrong-”

“It’s not-” Thor blew out a breath. “It’s not like that.”

“I don’t understand,” Loki said, almost plaintively.

Thor exhaled, long and slowly. “Something kept bothering me,” he said. “About the money. That you said you won gambling. Only you didn’t say that, did you? You let me say it. All you said was that you didn’t steal it. You used to do that all the time, didn’t you? Only I never noticed. Not lying, exactly, just letting me make my own conclusions.”

Loki couldn’t look at him. But he didn’t know if he was allowed to look away, either.

“And eventually I thought, ‘what about the account the money was transferred from?’ That would be a trail that led to me, after all - gambling earnings to my account. Better to deal in cash, and of course you would know that.” He paused. “Unless that wasn’t where it came from, and there was no concerns about any possible illegality.”

Somewhere distant, Loki swore at himself. He’d been in such a hurry to make sure the funds were in place that he’d trusted to Thor not asking too many questions. Not looking a gift horse in the mouth.

Thor paused for a long time. Loki fixed his eyes somewhere over his left shoulder.

“I checked,” Thor said finally. “Prostitution isn’t illegal on Ollat Station.”

A shudder ran through him from head to heels. Loki took a quick, involuntary breath. Prostitute is such an ugly word, the Grandmaster said. I think we can come up with something better.

He didn’t say anything.

“Say something,” Thor said.

“What do you want me to say,” Loki said helplessly.

“Tell me that I’m wrong.”

The rule about lying clashed with the need to do what he was told and Loki said nothing as he struggled with which ought to take primacy. He heard Thor make another of those unhappy noises. “Loki,” Thor said, “did you...sell yourself to someone to help cover the cost of repairs?”

Loki pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth. Shame was an animal gnawing on his entrails. “Yes,” he said hoarsely. “I - had to do something. Money was tight and I knew-”

“You could be quite valuable in the right markets,” Thor said. His voice was thick with a disgust that made Loki want to curl up and die. “Yes. I remember you saying as much.”

“I didn’t mean for you to - no one else knows,” Loki said. “Valkyrie suspects, I think, but - no one else. I don’t want to bring dishonor on you. I can appreciate if-”

“Would you stop talking,” Thor said loudly, and Loki dropped his eyes and clamped his lips shut. Thor let out a string of expletives and lurched to his feet, moving away.

“I’m going about this all wrong,” he said, and he didn’t sound angry anymore, just...desperate. Afraid, maybe. “I’m...sorry. For snapping at you. Loki, please, would you...sit? I’m asking,” he said quickly. “That isn’t a command.”

Loki weighed that, and decided that command or not, it was a wish, and at the moment, when he was barely clinging to the precipice by his fingernails, he had best be very good. He made himself stand, walk to a chair, and sit down. He didn’t look in Thor’s direction. Didn’t want to see the look on his face.

“Tell me why,” Thor said.

“Why…?”

“Why you did it,” Thor said. “Why you thought it was - necessary for you to...did someone tell you to? Or suggest…”

“No,” Loki said. “No one told me to. I decided on my own.”

“Why?”

Loki glanced at Thor before he could stop himself, surprised by the question. “Because we needed the money.”

“I said we could manage it.”

“I’ve seen the accounts,” Loki said. “Manage it, perhaps, but resources would be thinner for food at our next stop. And if anything else broke…” He twitched one shoulder up and then down. “I knew you wouldn’t like it.”

“But you did it anyway.” The anger was back, and Loki dug his fingernails into his palms.

“Yes,” he said. “I know that might have been wrong, but - I thought, for the greater good...I want to be useful.”

“You are useful,” Thor said.

“No,” Loki said. “I’m not.”

Silence. Loki wished he dared look to see what expression was on Thor’s face, but he didn’t.

“Did I…” Thor trailed off. “Did I ever. Did I do something to make you think that I wanted you to…”

“No,” Loki said immediately. “No, of course not. I knew you would never ask. That’s why…” he trailed off. Clearly it had been a mistake. It seemed so obvious now: it was deceit, going behind Thor’s back, ignoring his wishes. All the mistakes he’d sworn he was done making, and he’d made them again. For a good reason, of course, but weren’t they always, right up until they weren’t?

He closed his eyes and said, “I suppose it is too late to say that I will not do it again.”

“Too late for what?” Thor said, and then, “Loki, I told you that I am not going to throw you out.”

“Thank you,” Loki said hollowly.

“Don’t…” Thor trailed off. He rose, and Loki could hear him pacing. “Why,” he said abruptly. “Why won’t you do it again?”

“I lied to you. By omission if nothing else. I disobeyed you, and went around your authority. I did something knowing you wouldn’t approve.”

“That’s not - all right, perhaps I am upset about some of that. But that’s not really what I’m upset about. Loki, would you...please...look at me?”

Loki forced himself to do it, and almost wanted to weep. Thor’s eye was red-rimmed like he was about to cry, his expression one of anguish. You did this, hissed a voice in his mind that wasn’t the Grandmaster’s, was purely his own.

“I don’t want you to - sell yourself,” Thor said. “But not because it’s - a disgrace, or dishonor, or because I told you not to. I want you to not do it because that’s not who you are. Because you deserve better.”

“I don’t,” Loki said, almost automatically. Thor’s face spasmed with a mixture of guilt and rage.

“Did he tell you that?”

He didn’t have to tell me, I already knew, Loki thought, but the Grandmaster had, hadn’t he, again and again, such a treasure, Lo, I mean, are you really good for anything else? He wasn’t wrong. He’d never been wrong.

It was like he’d told Thor. All his mistakes had come from reaching too high. Thinking he deserved more or better. He knew now how wrong he’d been.

“I should have known,” Thor said, his voice bitter. “I should have seen that you would…” He trailed off.

“It’s not your fault,” Loki said. Thor said nothing, but Loki could hear the disagreement in his silence. He cast about for other words. “Asgard can’t afford a waste of space.”

“A waste of-!” Thor cut himself off and took a sharp breath. “Loki,” he said, slowly and clearly, “you are not, and never have been, a waste of space.”

Loki smiled, tremulous and painful. “I know what I’m good for, brother.”

Thor shook his head, lips pressing into a line. “I don’t think you do.”

Loki’s stomach turned and he looked down at his hands in silence.

“Loki,” Thor said, his voice heavy. “You know that...I don’t care if you are useful. I don’t care if you - lie in your berth and sleep all day, except that it would worry me if you did. I don’t need you to - prove anything.”

“I do,” Loki whispered, and, “you will.”

“No,” Thor said. “I won’t. I am not trying to test you. I am not trying to trap you. I just want…” Thor took a deep breath. “I just want you to be well.”

Panic beat its wings against his sternum. “You are too kind,” Loki said. “You will regret it, later. You feel sorry for me now, because I am - wretched and pathetic. But that is just - you were angry. I manipulated you out of it.”

“Oh, yes,” Thor said. He sounded both tired and a little bitter. “Your terrified pleading with me was all part of your clever manipulations.” Loki twitched a little, and Thor said more gently, “I wish you were not afraid of me.”

“I am not afraid of you,” Loki said.

“Liar.” Thor didn’t sound angry when he said it. Just...sad. “I want to help you,” he said. “I mean it, Loki. I want to help you. Only I don’t know how.”

Loki closed his eyes. “You have no obligation.”

“I know,” Thor said. “I know you will not believe it, but: neither do you, to me.”

Thor was right. He didn’t believe it, because it wasn’t true. Thor was kind enough that he might believe it was. But Loki knew better.

A debt was owed that he couldn’t repay.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t try.

#where the devil don't go #a wild fic appeared #tragic siblings #loki's a goddamn mess #thor is my favorite puppy #background frostmaster #dubcon cw #noncon cw #just gonna keep using those warnings on everything for this verse basically #anyway i have no idea what happened carry on #going to drink some hot chocolate and then go the fuck to sleep

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wordsonpages1-blog · 7 years

Text

And Just Like That... Everything Changed Part 7

Hello lovelies!! I cannot express how sorry I am that this has taken so long to post! I have had a bad case of writers block but I am back on track now and this chapter is reasonably long! Again I am so sorry and I hope you enjoy this!

link to master list which has first six parts-

https://wordsonpages1.tumblr.com/post/161813435447/wordsonpages-master-list

By Wednesday, five days after he had been shot, Jughead was moved out of the ICU. While his injuries were still significant and recovery was still a long road to endure, they were no longer traumatic enough to endanger his heart’s ability to beat on its own. His breathing was still laboured due to the collapsed lung, but he was doing it entirely on his own now as well and thus he was deemed stable enough to be admitted to the children’s ward.

Perched up against the abundance of pillows in his bed, Jughead watched in amusement as Betty moved around his new hospital room. She had pegged his array of “get well” cards on a string and hung it across the small window sill so that he could see them from the bed, placed the flowers her mother had brought on the table next to his bed, along with his laptop and ensured the television remote was well within his reach. And now she was busy placing books on the limited shelving in the little room while Archie placed some of his clothes and belongings in draws.

“Enlighten me on your literary choices?”

Betty glanced over her shoulder to offer Jughead a grin. He was toying with his hair and that along with his more alert conversational attempts gave her faith that he was indeed beginning to recover. He was still weak and in pain but the morphine dosage had been greatly reduced and the doctors were talking about alternating to less intensive medication soon. So that and the move out of the intensive care unit had her in high spirits that afternoon.

“In Cold Blood, Crime and Punishment-“

“Betty Cooper are you making fun of my getting shot through book choices?” Jughead interrupted his voice raspy but shining with mock offence.

His brows rose sardonically and the image was almost enough to let Betty glimpse past the dark circles beneath his eyes and the still too pale colour of his skin.

“Not deliberately, but I can’t help it if your favourites gave me the perfect opportunity,” the blonde teased back, poking her tongue out at him for good measure.

Jughead let out a weak laugh and rolled his eyes.

“What else you got?”

“Catcher in the Rye, the Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, and Romeo and Juliet,” she finished as she placed the final book in place.

“I didn’t know you were a romance kind of guy Jug,” Archie teased, placing a poorly folded flannel in a draw.

“Neither did I?” Jughead looked toward his girlfriend again. He had wanted to follow up with a sarcastic comment about how his brooding exterior obviously gave off romantic, sweep you off your feet vibes but speaking was still a bit of a challenge with his impinged lung capacity.

Betty flushed slightly as both boys eyes turned on her holding a question. She shrugged walking over to the duffle bag resting on the arm chair.

“It’s one of my favourites,” was all she said, busying herself with gathering some toiletries from the bag.

Archie merely nodded taking the things from her to place in the bathroom. Once he was obscured by the small En suite Betty chanced a slightly shy look at Jughead from under her lashes. An affectionate smile was playing at his lips and the hand that had been in his hair reached out for hers. Betty laced her fingers through his naturally and let out a sigh at the feeling. Each small gesture like this seemed to mend a little fraction of her heart, reminding her that he was alive if still fragile.

While the literary choice may have been insignificant to Archie, the connotation of the play was not lost on Jughead. The mention bringing him back to the memory of their first kiss, him climbing through the window to rescue his “Juliet” and both of them finding home in the salvation the action offered; the beginning of this.

“Thank you,” he rasped, his lightly trembling fingers grazing over her knuckles.

Betty leant forward slightly to press a sweet kiss to his lips, her hand stroking his cheek. She had taken it upon herself to be mesmerised by every moment now, every feature.

The sound of the door opening prompted Betty to move her hand from his face, staying close but alternating to a less intimate embrace; she was now sitting on the bed next to him, one leg tucked underneath her and their entwined hands in her lap.

Fred appeared in the doorway.

“Hey guys, looks good in here,” he praised, a small smile playing on his lips as he took in the decorative changes of the rather dull space.

Jughead turned his eyes to Betty, a warm glow resonating in his meek persona.

“Thanks to Betty’s interior design skills,” Archie appeared in the bathroom doorway, toiletries successfully placed in the order Betty had mandated.

“Well you did a great job Betty.”

The aforementioned girl blushed under the attention, her fingers twiddling with Jughead’s in a slight nervous twitch.

“Thanks Mr Andrews.”

Fred nodded at the gratitude before shoving his hands in his coat pockets, a tell-tale sign an uncomfortable topic was about to be placed on the metaphorical table.

“Ah Jug, your social worker Ms Weiss is here. If you’re feeling up to it she’d like to see you.”

Jughead’s jaw set a little tighter. He had known this conversation was coming. Although most of his days had been spent in long periods of sleep and haziness from the morphine, he had also caught enough conscious moments awake with the constant ache of pain to allow him time to ruminate on the pieces of the puzzle still yet to slide into place. He knew the hospital was temporary even if his stay was to be relatively extensive and found a spare moment to ask what next? Especially over the last 24 hours when he had become less drowsy and had come more into himself again.

“Yeah okay,” He nodded, uneasiness creeping into his body. The feeling irritatingly triggered a burst of anxiety which didn’t aid his faulty lung in its mission to filter oxygen, bringing forth a splattering cough and a round of wheezing breaths.

Betty immediately straightened up beside him, angling her body to face him and scanning his form with concerned eyes.

“Jug… Are you sure you’re feeling up to it?” she asked, her hand resting on his shoulder and easing him back into the mountain of pillows she had assembled behind him. Her voice was soft and Jughead felt some of the tension and apprehension slip away at her care.

“Yeah it’s okay Betts,” he reassured, despite the sound being weak.

Betty nodded after searching his eyes; her bottom lip was still caught beneath her teeth though, a sign of her own hesitancy toward the encounter.

“Okay,” Fred peered out the doorway for a moment signalling for the women to enter.

Ms Weiss appeared a moment later, the clack of heels against the linoleum floor of the hospital room echoing after each step and her crisp grey pant suit a stark contrast to her gentle smile and bright eyes.

“Jughead, I’m glad to see you’re feeling better. I was so sorry to hear about what happened,” her tone was sincere and Betty let out a little sigh of relief feeling comforted by the women’s seemingly genuine intent to help rather than entertain prejudice and facades like so many of the people in Riverdale seemed to do.

“Thanks,” Jughead expressed before a tense silence fell like a cloak upon the room.

“Ah do you want us to wait outside Jug?” Archie asked after a beat, shuffling awkwardly in his place by the En suite door.

Jughead shook his head. In the brief moment that he met his friend’s eyes, Archie realised he not only didn’t mind if they stayed but he wanted them to. They were his family and he needed them.

“So I just wanted to have a chat about your living arrangements. I know you won’t be admitted for a little while which unfortunately brings up some complications,” Ms Weiss paused for a moment, her smile faltering and her face turning serious; not unkind though.

Jughead nodded signalling for her to continue.

“I get the sense you’re not the kind of kid to beat around the bush so I’ll be straight with you. I tried to fight for you and keep your spot open given the circumstances, but unfortunately there are a lot of children in the foster system and not as many foster parents, so another child has been placed with the family we had set you up with. The system can be cruel when it’s trying to be efficient.”

Jughead appreciated her candid approach, though it didn’t do much to quell the dread washing through him. Another complication, another set-back. His life seemed to be a rotating orchestra of chaos and let downs at the moment. It didn’t shock him at this point, nothing ever went smoothly for someone raised of his calibre.

The hand holding his squeezed a little tighter, soothing circles rubbing against his palm and Jughead was again thankful for the bright spot in his dark world, easing the load a little and reminding him what he had to fight and be grateful for. Betty was always there, fighting for him, fighting for them, anchoring him and keeping his head above water.

“Okay, so what happens to me?”

Ms Weiss, frowned sympathetically, and when she spoke it was again sincere allowing Jughead to trust her just a little.

“Well we know you’ll be in here for a little while so that gives me some time to make alternative arrangements. There are good people out there who want to help, it can be a little harder with teenagers though. And well some people may be more inclined to help because of your injuries, while others may not. I promise you though Jughead I will work something out.”

Jughead exhaled shakily, absorbing the new information as best as he could. His head sunk back against the pillows further and his own fingers gripped onto Betty’s in a steel grip. If it hurt her she didn’t let it show.

“Thank you,” he managed to eventually get out and Ms Weiss nodded in kind.

“I’ll be in touch and please if you need anything or have any questions give me a call. Mr Andrews has my details. Know that you are a priority for me though Jughead, you’ve been through a lot. Feel better.”

Again Jughead was astounded by her genuine interest in him, a fact he took some comfort in. However, one thing he had learnt over years of hardship was that good people weren’t always able to make good things happen. Even those with admirable intent were not immune to the curse of suffering especially when trying to aid those who were trapped in a cycle of sufferance. He had no doubt she would try, he did however, doubt how effective her efforts could be.

Ms Weiss offered a final smile, shaking Fred’s hand before exiting the room, the echo of her heels fading into the distance.

Words were abandoned in the room. None of them quite knew what to say, and more than that there was nothing that really could be said. The situation was one of frustration and sadness for all parties.

Fred stood wracked with regret over his ill informed decision and lack of financial equity that prevented him from keeping the boy he thought of like a second son from his care, while Archie leant against the wall, head back and mind clouded with irritation toward the cruelty of the world and why it kept throwing curve balls at his friend.

Meanwhile Betty was left in shambles of worry and an aching heart. She felt anger toward the continual stream of disappointment Jughead faced, the lack of stability people offered him through both their own fault and circumstances they could not foresee. She was scared about the future, anxious about the unknown, yet slightly appeased by his case worker’s dedication. Most of all though, she was cautious of Jughead’s reaction. She knew he would try and digest the situation, store it away and put on a brave face of sardonic humour and nonchalance to get through it. But she also knew that he was probably feeling dejected and exhausted and frustrated and disappointed.

Scanning his face Betty knew she was right. She was sure Fred and Archie would logically know the affect this would have on Jughead to some extent, but she was also convinced the Andrews men were not as attuned to his tells as she was, and thus, would be unable to recognise his immediate distress. It was his tight jaw, ever so slightly pulled in brows, minutely turned down corners of his mouth and the minuscule fading of light in his eyes that gave him away to her. The firm grasp his hand held on hers was another indication.

“I know it’s far an ideal situation Jug but all you can do now is focus on resting and getting better and let Ms Weiss focus on sorting everything else out,” Fred eventually tried to placate, once again slipping into the role of pseudo parent.

“She seems pretty determined,” Archie threw in, pushing off the wall and trying his best to find the light his friend was surely missing.

Jughead nodded but continued to stare hard at an abstract patch of white wall.

“Alright we should get going and let you get some rest,” Fred spoke nodding at Archie who obliged, offering Jughead a squeeze on his shoulder and a small smile before moving toward the door.

“Betty your mother will kill me if I don’t bring you with us,” Fred prompted gently, feeling another pang of guilt for having to split the young couple apart in a time when they needed each other.

“Sure, I’ll meet you outside in a moment?” the blonde asked, despite having no intention of hearing a negative answer.

Her eyes remained on Jughead though, the green orbs piercing and dissecting, the organ inside her chest pinching at his misfortune. Fred nodded and held the door open for Archie.

Once they were alone, Betty brought Jughead’s hand up to her pink stained lips pressing a gently kiss to his palm. The action was so tender Jughead wasn’t sure if he wanted to kiss her or cry, although his exhausted physical and mental state probably wouldn’t appreciate either in that moment.

“Juggie, look at me,” His blue eyes met hers cooperatively.

The little bubble was sealing around them again, empathetic and determined green quashing the uncertain and down trodden blue as their gazes met in an emotional flurry.

One of her marred hands moved to cup his cheek; a soft caress that held so much care and love Jughead couldn’t breathe for an entirely segregated reason to his busted lung.

“I’m here and we’re going to work this out, I promise,” Betty’s words were so full of dedication Jughead couldn’t help but cling to the hope in them.

He knew she must be feeling almost as thrown off kilter as he by the uncertainty staring down upon them but he also knew Betty Cooper was strong and fierce and when she believed in something she followed through. And knowing that they were a “we” and he was no longer a singular entity made the weight of the unknown, the sting of not having a home a little easier to bear.

“Okay,” he breathed meekly, leaning into her touch and letting her consume him.

Betty searched his eyes a moment later before kissing the corner of his mouth- feather light but with such tender meaning.

“Okay,” she whispered, letting herself become a little more vulnerable on parting.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, rest up.” And instead of watching a flurry of blonde and pastel whirl out the door with an exuberant energy like he had so many times before, Jughead watched a reluctant heart leave his room with a languid pace, the feel of her lingering in the room long after she had left.

Betty walked briskly from the hospital room, smiling politely at the nurses on the way out and fighting with every fibre of her being not to turn back around. Although Alice had been understanding toward the situation and even shown Jughead a relative amount of affection in the dire situation she was beginning to revert back to her usual ways. And that meant Betty was expected to be home for dinner.

The Cooper family had aired their fair share of dirty laundry over the past six months and Betty was hopeful it would ease the tension in their house, but her mother was still her mother- a force to be reckoned with. And so now that it was clear Jughead would be okay Alice had begun imposing her will on Betty again, setting out curfew on weeknights, and being quite clear her life wasn’t going to wait for Jughead to get better and she still had to acknowledge her responsibilities, including school which she was being forced to attend to tomorrow.

The cool air of the late winter night washed over her as soon as Betty exited the automatic doors of Riverdale Hospital. Its bite was refreshing, helping to clear her mind from the tangled thoughts it was enduring. She took a moment to revel in the whip of the wind over her cheeks, making them blush with the cold.

Taking a deep breath and feeling her lungs fill with frozen oxygen Betty steeled her persona again, pulling her thick coat tighter around her body and heading for Fred’s truck while the sky began to stain with purple shades of night, late afternoon disappearing in its demanding hour.

“Okay?” Fred asked when she clambered into the back seat. Betty nodded, blowing her warm breath over her now chilled hands hoping to warm the skin.

“Is he…” Archie began, twisting around in the passenger seat to face Betty.

Despite the sentence hanging in the air unfinished, Betty knew what her long-time friend was asking her- is he retreating into himself?

“He’s coping.”

Archie’s eyes bore into her, seeming to try and dissect the scenes of minutes prior locked into the sanctuary of her mind; curious to the happenings between his two closest friends that he was not privy to.

On his part, Archie once again felt the dull ache of exclusion brimming in his chest. Logically he knew a couple was two. And that two was Betty and Jughead. He also knew that they had become each other’s confidants early in the year, before they had gotten together and he had failed to notice back then. But now when dire circumstances brought them back to their little trio, he was painfully aware of his sudden segregation. It was strange, being the secondary to each of them. Because up till this year it had always been Jughead playing bystander to the Archie-and-Betty show or Betty acting as the audience to the Archie-and-Jughead show, but now he was the one watching. But what stung the most was the things that they were sharing with each other were things that Archie was sure neither of them probably ever would have shared with him even before this development. Especially Betty…

Betty squirmed slightly under his stare, feeling her own anxieties crawl across her skin at Archie’s disbelief and concern.

“What about you?”

Oh.

Betty stilled momentarily as she realised Archie’s scrutinizing gaze wasn’t entirely about adducing details about Jughead’s state but rather about attempting to uncover her own state of distress. And as much as Betty appreciated the effort she couldn’t help but feel a slight nagging that something was off. Pertaining it to everything that was happening around her, Betty brushed the feeling aside.

“I’m managing. I just hate leaving him alone right now.”

Archie leant forward to place a comforting hand on her knee before righting himself in his seat again.

The rest of the drive was shrouded by silence. As they passed through the town Betty found herself wondering how these streets that looked so similar to the ones of childhood memories, then a vessel of innocence and safety had become one of darkness and hidden truths. Sighing she rested her head on the cool class of the window.

Hours later after sitting through a draining dinner where her parents quizzed her extensively about Jughead’s condition and the meeting with the social worker, followed by some slightly patronising but mostly sympathetic sighs and then a non-negotiable order that she was return to school the next day- which Betty found stupid considering the week was almost finished anyway- she found herself alone in her room.

Curled up under the covers of her bed wearing one of Jughead flannels, Betty tried to push away the eminent lull of sleep but failed. Every time she closed her eyes all she could see was his blood soaking the pristine tiles of Pop’s, her hands, her clothes, him. Every time sleep pulled her in she would wake in a cold sweat, the sounds of heart monitors flat lining ringing in her ears. Except in her dreams the tormenting noise of the flat lining never returned to steady beeps and his eyes never opened. Tonight was no different.

Scream dying on her lips in her waking state Betty shot up in her bed. Her breath came in pants and she took a moment to realise her surroundings. Running a hand through her now tangled blonde hair, Betty reached over to her night stand for her phone.

3:08am.

Sighing, she unlocked the screen and immediately went to her photo gallery. It was a strange habit she had acquired in the recent nights after awakening from her terrors. Jughead wasn’t one to parade in front of a camera but the few snaps they did have always brought a smile to her lips and made her feel a little better. Because for one awful moment Betty had known what it was like to live without him, to be alive without him, to live in a world he was no longer in and she was never ever going to take for granted the moments she did have with him again.

Betty pulled the collar of his flannel up higher, breathing in his lingering scent of tobacco and cologne. It made her feel safe and a little closer to him. Wearing his clothes had been something she had always been rather fond of, but now it was a vice. A self-medicating action she was addicted to.

Betty tried to hold onto his scent as she returned her fingers to her phone screen, scrolling through the photos. She paused on a candid one Veronica had taken of them at Polly’s baby shower before the evening had gone to hell. Neither of them had been aware of the raven haired girl’s sneaky snap until she had sent it to Betty the next day. She was leading him by the hand toward the kitchen, her head turned down and blonde tresses falling in her face but the angle of the photo clearly captured the smile on her lips, while he trailed behind her, his gaze locked on her and shining with affection while a tender, amusement smile twitched at his mouth.

Betty traced her finger over his figure in the still image, trying to push down her heart ache that seemed to be a constant these days. She knew logically he was still there with her, but she had lost him even if for a moment and now she was absolutely terrified of that happening again. Maybe it was unhealthy- her addiction to him- maybe her level of terror and her constant need to be surrounded by him, with him, was abnormal. But she figured she was allowed to endure some PTSD and if not then maybe this was just love.

The vibration of her phone in her hand startled Betty from her reverie and she quickly opened her text history as confusion as to who would be messaging her at this hour surfaced in her mind. It was quickly dispelled by a sense of serenity though when she saw the little blue dot next to “Jughead” in the list of messages.

I very much want to believe you are slumbering peacefully in your tower at this hour, but I can’t sleep and I have an inkling it evades you too these days…

Betty shook her head in astonishment wondering how he could possibly have worked that out when she hadn’t yet brought up the nightmares to him and wasn’t sure if she was going to. She had done an admirable job ensuring her makeup hid the sleep deprived bags under her eyes. The warmth of how attuned he was to her even when recovering in hospital seeped away as worry took its place.

Your inkling would be correct… is everything okay?

She waited a tense moment, which felt like an eternity waiting for his reply, gnawing at her bottom lip anxiously. Her phone buzzed again and her eyes eagerly absorbed the text.

Yeah I took a long nap after you guys left and only woke up a little while ago. Plus late night free view TV is antithetical to cinematic greatness.

Betty exhaled with relief, her finger nimbly flitting across the keyboard.

Are you saying I’m your second choice? ;)

Never.

You okay?

Always putting her first.

Yeah just a lot on my mind.

Mum’s making me go to school tomorrow…

I get the feeling you don’t agree with that parental prerogative?

Your feeling is correct.

I’ll be fine Betts.

I know.

And logically she did know that. But the part of her mind that was stained crimson with his blood and the played the resounding echo of gun shots on a loop did not. And besides she didn’t quite know how to tell him it was her that wouldn’t be fine. Being away from him made her anxious now and she didn’t like the idea of not seeing him first thing.

I’ll see you in the afternoon?

Of course!

Good, now try and get some sleep! X

Alice barged into Betty's room at 6:30am the next morning a positive grin etched across her face as she claimed today was going to be good day. Betty groaned, shying under the covers as she rubbed her tired eyes. The night mares resurfaced every time she lapsed into sleep, culminating in a restless night.

"Mom, do I have to go? Jughead needs me right now!"

Alice threw a pointed look her way, grabbing a fresh pair of jeans and a soft pink sweater from her draw.

"Jughead is stable and under constant care. You're going to school Elizabeth."

And with that she was gone.

Betty had begrudgingly gotten on with her morning, meeting Archie out front of their houses an hour later.

"Hey, good to have you back." The red head expressed genuinely as they began their trek.

"I wish I could say it's good to be back but-"

"But you'd rather be with Jug. I get that," Archie offered, a hint of bitterness crept into his tone but it went unnoticed.

Betty nodded, keeping her eyes ahead of her as her nails dug into her palms within the pockets of her coat.

She was on edge all day itching to run away from English and algebra and escape to the hospital.

By lunch she’d had her limit of mediocre expressions of sympathy, whispers in hallways and small talk and retreated to the blue and gold.

Pulling up a new document on her laptop, Betty poised her fingers over the keys and desperately searched for inspiration. None came.

She couldn't shake the off kilter feeling of being in the room without Jughead there. It had started when he had gone to Southside High, her involvement in the paper seeming somehow wrong without him, the office violently empty. Yet now knowing where he was she felt a sharp sting of loneliness accompanied by panic drive through her body.

Just as she began to spiral into anxiety the door opened and Veronica walked in cautiously. The sounds of her steps bringing Betty back to herself.

"Hey, I brought you some coffee."

"Thanks V," Betty accepted graciously stifling a yawn.

Veronica appraised her with critical eyes, taking in her friends evidently fatigued and slightly off state.

"How are you doing? She asked after a moment, sitting on the edge of the desk and elegantly crossing her stocking clad legs.

"I'm fine. I just would rather be with him you know?"

"Of course you would B. You love him and days ago he was fighting for his life," Veronica empathised, deciding agreeance was the best approach here.

Betty nodded, finger skimming the edge of the coffee cup.

"How's he doing anyway?"

"Better," Betty insisted a half smile tweaking her features and lightening her face as she remembered his change of ward.

"I think Kevin mentioned something about his dad wanting to talk to Jughead soon, just FYI."

Betty's eyes widened. She knew this would come eventually but she didn't want Jughead to have go through the trauma again, god knows it was getting to her every time the Sherriff had asked her questions and even just by way of her own minds reminders. She also feared the eminent blame on the gang who had recently offered themselves up as Jughead's family and felt apprehensive toward his reaction to that line of questioning.

The rest of the school day had dragged on incessantly and Betty found herself watching the clock more than what was being written on the board. Finally after a pain stakingly slow passage of hours the hands of the clock finally rounded on 3pm and the bell sounded, invoking her liberty. The usually demur girl became a whirlwind of blonde hair and pink sweater as she made incredibly quick work of gathering her necessary books and bag from her locker and started on the journey to Riverdale Hospital.

The walk, although not excessive was still a reasonable distance from the school, but Betty welcomed the distraction of her aching feet and cold soaked limbs brought her. For a few blissful moments she was able to immerse herself in shallow and menial self-pity and complaining temporarily obstructing her constant worries and ache for the raven haired boy she was on her way to see.

Once she had finally arrived at the hospital Betty had to pause and stop her body from moving on autopilot toward Jughead’s previous room in the ICU and instead head toward his new residence. Shaking her head she redirected her steps and headed toward the children’s ward.

With each step she took closer to him Betty felt her anxiety dissipate a little more. The surroundings of crisp carpets and shining tiles, white walls and gurneys scatter throughout hallways still made her a little sick with the traumatic memory of why she was there to begin with, but the drawn out day without seeing his face was much worse.

Eventually she reached the section of the hospital he was residing in, and made brisk work of moving across the small communal area in which the nurses station stood and heading toward his door.

The bundled up girl let out a content sigh as she closed in on his room, a small smile twitching at her lips at the thought of spending her afternoon with him, being there for him.

“Excuse me, are you here to visit Forsythe Jones?” a polite voice stopped Betty in her tracks.

Her heart instantly plummeted as she turned toward the nurse, who had placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. Betty’s nerves stood on end as her stomach churned with nausea and her chest constricted painfully, anxiety flaring within her. Her mind was spinning with all the possibilities as to why the nurse would need to intercept her.

Oh god.

Her vision tinted red with images of pooling blood. Her coat was scratchy and heavy against her too warm body now and she could feel her hands trembling as the horrid flat lining noises returned to drum in her ears, heart aching and her blood running cold. No, he was fine.. He can’t-

Taking a deep breath to calm herself and calling upon the last essence of sanity she had, Betty searched the nurse’s face alarmed.

“Jughead. I’m his girlfriend. He… Is he-“

“Oh no, he’s fine! I’m sorry to make you panic!” the nurse’s eyes widened in realisation and she spoke with a quick and apologetic tone.

“Thanks god,” Betty breathed, closing her eyes and taking another stabilising breath to try and still her racing heart and appease her shot nerves.

“The Sherriff is actually talking to him right now though, so you may have to wait a little while before you see him.”

Betty’s shoulder’s stiffened again and she nodded in understanding, though her eyes had taken on a hard tint. She bit her lips in frustration, hoping to have been with him to offer her support and anchoring when he was ultimately interrogated by the Sherriff. It wasn’t that Kevin’s dad didn’t have good intentions and didn’t feel for Jughead, but she knew he was just as susceptible to the prejudices almost the entirety of Riverdale held toward those from the Southside. He no doubt thought Jughead was gunned down due to being involved in some shady business. The thought made her heart seize momentarily as she remembered the leather jacket now hanging in his closet. As quick as the thought had come though, she pushed it away; she trusted Jughead.

“I’m sorry I don’t mean to be rude, but I was there when… I was with him when…” her words hitch and die as she’s again blinded by the haunting memory. Gun shots, pain, so much blood. “When it happened, so I don’t think they’ll mind.” Betty finishes resolutely, finding her strength.

The nurse offers her a sympathetic look, eyes filled with a brand of pity that makes Betty’s chest feel hollow and her hands curl into tight fists.

“Oh I’m so sorry, of course, go through.”

“Thank you.”

Swallowing the bad taste in her mouth at this entire situation, the entire day really, Betty continued on her path toward his room. She pushes the door open half way before peering around it. She takes in the sight before her- Jughead propped up in his hospital bed dark brows furrowed in what she thinks is both pain and frustration, mouth turned down in a slight frown and hair messy. Sherriff Keller sits in the arm chair beside his bed, notebook in hand.

“Am I interrupting?”

Jughead’s eyes immediately found hers as the sound of her voice broke through the terse silence of the room, only interrupted by the scratching of pen on paper on the Sherriff’s part. A warm smile pulled at her lips as she was enveloped by her boyfriend’s presence, her heart feeling significantly more at ease, finally having him in her sights. Though, she still felt the gnawing of the pit in her stomach his frail form.

“No. C’mere,” his gruff voice invited, and Betty tried to bite back her laugh at his obvious attempt to irritate the Sherriff.

“Betty,” Sherriff Keller greeted, eyes momentarily glancing up at her from his notepad.

“Sheriff,” she returned in an equally monotone voice, shrugging off her heavy winter coat and perching on the edge of the bed.

Her hand automatically found Jughead’s, hoping to offer him some moral support as well as selfishly needing to feel his touch for her own sanity.

“So you didn’t get a look at the guy at all?” Keller continued, moving past the disruption.

“Bit busy bleeding out,” Jughead dead panned, and despite feeling a flash of panic flood through her at the vivid image again blaring in her mind, Betty found a distinct sense of comfort in the sarcastic comment even if it lacked his usual hard tone.

“Right,” the Sherriff nodded tersely, “And no tattoo?”

Jughead’s jaw clenched.

“Not one of a snake.”

There was venom in his eyes and Betty felt her own blood boil at the repetitive suggestion. The Serpent’s took care of their own. That’s what FP had told them, that’s what Jughead had told her and that’s what the Serpents themselves had told Jughead on a night in his trailer that seemed like a lifetime ago even though it had not even been a week. And Betty on her part believed that, the show of unity for her boyfriend in his vulnerable state of having a father being shipped off the prison told her that, even if she was sceptical of what else they did.

“I already told you that Sherriff,” She cut in curtly, her own features turning down.

“I know you did. But there are certain people in this town that seem to always be associated with certain incidents so-“

“Like Clifford Blossom?” Betty was harbouring on furious. She didn’t understand how after everything that had happened over the last nine months could be so readily dismissed.

Riverdale was full of secrets, lies and hidden intent. And while it may have presented a glossier exterior than the Southside, that didn’t make it safer. Just better at covering things up.

The Sherriff pursed his lips, eyeing her with a hard expression.

“Alright I didn’t come here to cause trouble. I’m just doing my job. If you think of anything else important Jughead call me.”

Jughead nodded absently as the Sherriff got up and began to make his way out the room. Betty’s hand was clutching his a little tighter now in her angered state but his mind was dwelling elsewhere. The remnants of pain flashed through him as he dove into the memories of Saturday morning, trying desperately to wade past the fuzzy images of the gun barrel pointed at Betty and then himself and then blinding, searing pain. And then nothing. He remembered the echoes of desperate screams and Betty’s frantic frame above him, her pretty face marred with tears. He remembered panic and fear and white hot adrenaline at the thought of the bullet passing through her and somehow managing to be thankful it had selected him instead.

But he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something important he was missing.

Jughead chewed down on his lip wading further into the depths of his memory, desperately seeking for the answer.

As he searched his eyes bore through a card hung above the window. It was a blue one with a picture of a puppy that Archie thought would be funny in its seeming juxtaposition of Jughead’s hard exterior.

Archie…

His eyes widened as Jughead clicked onto the missing piece.

“Wait!” he gasped out, his chest burning with the exertion the volume had created.

The Sherriff stilled at the door and turned back to face him with curiosity written across his face. He waited with raised brows as Jughead sputtered for second, Betty rubbing his back gently as the coughs subsided.

“It was Fred. The guy who shot me, he was asking for Fred Andrews.”

#bughead fanfiction #bughead #betty x jughead #betty cooper #jughead jones #jetty

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