Tired (Riverdale, Jughead)

[moxie]

Needed to write something for here, first time, go easy on me please. This is somewhere in between the first and second episodes. Enjoy.

 

The wording wasn't right.

Jughead pushed his mug to the edge of the table for more coffee and glared balefully at the article he was trying to complete. Cafeteria Replaces Meat With Questionable Alternative. One of many assignments for the Blue and Gold whose deadline was tomorrow. Sure, yes, he loved journalism, but honestly, mundane subjects like this will have no impact on the big picture. Jason still had a bullet in his brain and no one in Riverdale knew why.

The investigation had fell into a lull during the past week. Fall in Riverdale typically began crisp and cool, then dropped into cold and wet downpours once the colored leaves had been liberated from their trees. This week was a cold-and-wet week, and the main talk was about how high the Sweetwater River rose this year in comparison to last year (and the year before, and the year before that, and back when the flood of '83 happened, and old Sheriff O'Donaghy and the others spent days rescuing livestock from the mud, I tell you, sonny, it was really somethin').

Jughead shivered and wrapped his flannel tighter around himself as the rain pattered on Pop's roof. He had been feeling achy and cold all day, and had attributed it to the cruddy weather. Now, he wasn't so sure. There was an oddly tender feeling in his sinuses as well, and his voice was cracking out at odd times. He groaned inwardly, just knowing this was a sign he was getting sick. Great. Jughead sniffled, squinting at his laptop screen and scrolling up and down, trying to find a piece of the article to futz with. Nancy the waitress fluttered by and refilled his cup with the orange-lidded coffee pot.

The door jingled, and a burst of cold air swept through the diner. The coroneted journalist didn't bother to look up as he shuddered, but listened to clunky footsteps instead.

"Can I sit?" Came a familiar voice.

"Mm." he answered, not trusting his voice. Archie sat himself across and studied his friend, brows furrowing around the scar in between them. Dark circles under the eyes, reddening nose from being scrubbed at--all the usual things that came with Jug being sick.

"So," Archie swallowed. "How...how've you been?" As soon as those words exit his mouth he mentally kicks himself. Great start, buddy. That's not obvious.

Jughead sighed, annoyed, and tilted his laptop screen down. "Fine," he cursed inwardly; it sounded scratchy. "You been busy?"

"Football. Mostly. Betty still won't look at me."

"Talk went that bad?"

"Sort of."

"Sorry." Jughead let Archie fill him in, but couldn't focus through the fog. Ugh. His nose prickled uncomfortably. He swiped a finger under it, trying to relieve it.

"Jug." Archie cocked his head. The action was not missed.

"Mm?" He was focused on the tickle now.

"You okay?"

"F-fine.." Not fine, not fine.

"Jughead?"

"Heh-kshh! Hngshh!" Jughead caught his sneezes in his elbow, feeling his ears heat up red.

"You're sick." Archie stated.

"I'b fide." Jug winced at his voice, sniffled, and fixed Archie with the kind of defiant glare that said, Too close, buddy.

"Jughead." Archie scoffed in disbelief, brows furrowed again.

"I'b--" he snuffled. "I'm fine, Archie. Leave it alone." His muscles groaned as he stood, shoved his laptop into his knapsack, dropped a couple bucks and change on the table, and left, the door slamming shut with a bang. Archie watched as the crown beanie dipped in rapid succession as its owner trudged through the muddy gravel.

He sighed. Shit.

To be continued~.

[MissBayliss]

Heaven!  

[SneezingGodess914]

PLEASE CONTINUE THIS LOVE RIVERDALE !!!!

 

[sneezingbeauty]

LOVE this! please continuee!  

[moxie]

Thank you so much for the kind words, guys.  Means a lot. Anyway, here's the next chapter..ish..deal? Extra fluff on top.

Jughead woke up to a pounding sinus headache and a cold room.

The sleeping bag was warm, at least, but he dreaded the inevitable getting up. Moving slowly, like ripping off a bandaid, he hissed under his breath when his feet hit the arctic floor of the projection booth. He made it a total of two feet before he dipped into his sleeve. "Heh-ksshh! Tsch! Ugh.." Gross... He seized a napkin from the dispenser on the table and gave a good blow. Apparently one wasn't sufficient. After drenching another, aware that his nose was now tinged a pitiful pink, Jughead stripped out of his sweats and tee, shuddering, and yanked on two more layers than usual from his bag. The kid palmed twin ibuprofen he'd found lying in the bottom of his bag. His wet clothes from the night before were splayed over a few chairs. Yanking his beanie over his head, the journalist grabbed his school bag, locked his adopted home, and set off for Riverdale High. He hoped school would be better.

School wasn't better.

Jughead spent most of his day with his head down, stifling sneezes and avoiding stares from classmates as he smothered coughing fits. Archie was by far the worst offender. Eyes soft, brows furrowed making the little scar between them disappear, pouting lips--classic. Something in Jughead's chest swelled at the thought of Archie being worried, but something in his brain twitched in anger at that. It was too soon, too many wounds left open. Having salt rubbed on them would only make it worse. Why Archie thought he could just act like nothing happened, Jughead had no idea. But right now, his head and bones hurt, his nose was running way too much for comfort, and he just wanted to get to his next class without being bothered by--

"Jughead!"

--speak of the devil.

The prince of Pop's quickened his pace, ducking and dodging the crowd. He slipped into a classroom doorway, hoping he hadn't been seen. Not sure if he lost Archie or not, Jughead sank to the floor, leaning against the wall, and reaching into his pocket for a napkin, gave his nose a good hard blow before standing wearily back up.

And meeting the eyes of Archie Andrews himself (naturally), who was very, very much invading his personal space bubble.

"You alright?" Archie asked, his stupid eyebrows knitted together. Again. Honestly. The bell rang on the loudspeaker.

Jughead sucked in a breath and looked down. "Fine, just fine," he rasped. He tried to escape, but Archie sidestepped into the way. "Archie."

Archie folded his arms defiantly. "Jug. Come on."

"No, you come on. Let me go." His headache was getting worse, and he could feel a tickle coming on. He didn't have time for this! Jughead tried again, but this time Archie stopped him, hands on his chest.

"You need to go home."

"I'm fine." He snapped. The tickle in his sinuses was building.

Archie glared. "No, you're not fine. Otherwise you wouldn't look so--" Jughead ducked into his sleeve.

"Heh-nggsh! Ktsch! Ktsch! Hh'ttsch'uh! NNGSH! Ow..." He could see flashes behind his eyes with every sneeze, and what had seemed to be a bad headache then felt a hundred times worse now. Jughead leaned into the wall and sank, shutting his eyes, shivering under his layers. Whatever that had been had taken out a lot of him.

He felt a cool palm on his forehead. He imagined Archie's dark eyes softening, lips pursing, kneeling over him. "Jesus, Jug... You're running hot." Archie fretted softly. "Can you get up?"

Jug grunted, "Hurts.."  He curled in on himself, at this point too sick to care who saw. His muscles cramped and he didn't move.

"Come on, buddy, we're getting you home." Archie comforted, looping an arm under Jughead's legs and around his shoulders and lifting. Surprisingly, his (friend, ex-friend? he didn't know) was rather light. That, or it was his newly strengthened body making it effortless.

"Archie... Come on, Archie..." Jughead groaned against his chest.

With the bell rung, the halls were empty. Archie scanned this hall for the nearest exit and headed for it, Jughead's lanky frame collected in his arms. Reaching the parking lot as fast as one can get with extra cargo, Archie unlocked his car and lay his sick friend in the backseat.

Jughead glared at him blearily, sniffling, "Arch--hh'ksch!" He pitched forward and groaned pitifully.

"No. No. We're going to my house," he insisted.

Jughead coughed, "fine," at this point too exhausted to care.

"Okay." Archie sighed too, and shut the door. He sat down in the driver's seat, started the engine, acutely aware of the coughing, sniffling mess that was his whatever-Jughead-was-to-him, and tried to focus on the road. The redhead avoided the rearview mirror for the rest of the trip, and tried to dispel the pitting feeling in his stomach.

To be continued, my lovelies.

[Werewolf Sniffles]

This is too wonderful! I love your writing style, and I can't wait for you to continue this! 

[SneezyHolmes]

Never seen the show but this is cute! 

[moxie]

>.< I done flarped up! My computer (named Gladys for a very good reason) decided to wig out on me and destroy the first half of this fic. So, here we start from scratch *cry*. Again, thank you so much for the support and here's hoping you enjoy this final installment! Cheers!

Archie pulled into the familiar driveway and killed the engine. "Hey, we're here," he said to the backseat. When its occupant (currently a lump of dark and tartan clothing) didn't respond with anything but soft snores, he turned and nudged the boy gently. "Jughead," he murmured, "come on, we're home."

The snoring ceased and the lump sharply inhaled. "Hh'kshhuh! Hh'ksch!  Heh….hh’ttschu! Ugh.." Jughead, in disheveled glory, surfaced from the layers of hoodie and flannel. He raised an eyebrow at Archie. "So we made it in one piece," he snarked, sniffling and rubbing his temples. After a moment he muttered softly, “Well, umm.. Could you.. I can’t exactly…”

Archie nodded, feeling a little awkward. “Sure, yeah.” He opened the back door and extended an arm. “Grab on.”

Somehow, they reached Archie’s bedroom without much incident. With Archie supporting Jughead’s weight, they hobbled up the stairs, stopping every few feet so Jug could sneeze or soothe his headache. They stumbled through the door, Archie helping his (friend?) sit down on his bed.

“Okay. Okay, how do you feel?” he asked. How exactly was one supposed to do this?

“Fi--ksch—fine. I’m okay, really.” Jughead sniffled, shivered, and eyed Archie in what he hoped was a convincing fashion. Before he could dodge, Archie’s hand was on his forehead again.

“I don’t think so, Jug. You’re still really hot.” Archie frowned, and Jughead found himself pouting like a child. But Archie’s hand felt nice against his skin, and God, everything hurt. “Come on, spill.”

Jughead sighed in defeat, “pretty bad. My head hurts, nose won’t stop running, everything else hurts, and it’s cold—hh’tshu!” He didn’t mean to sound whiny.

Archie’s stomach sank. “Here, lay down,” he ordered, tucking the large plaid comforter around his friend as Jughead curled into the bed. He flicked a switch on a cord, and felt relieved when the bed stopped vibrating with Jug’s shivers. “Better?”

“Mhmm.” Jughead confirmed, sighing into the pillow. Electric blankets were a gift.

“No worries. Need anything else?”

“Just tissues. Otherwise, I’m good.” Jug allowed himself a small, grateful smile. Archie plunked a box on the bedside table.

“I’m gonna go make something downstairs, be back soon. Get some sleep, yeah?” Archie requested. He turned.

“Archie.”

“Hm?”

“Thanks.”

“Get some rest. I’ll be back with a few things.”

As soon as he got to the kitchen, Archie’s head rushed to meet with his countertop. Hard. His head was spinning.

Jesus. What on Earth was he thinking? He didn’t know how to take care of a sick person, other than keep them warm and give them tissues. And yet, Jughead was trying to sleep in his room, sneezing his brains out and running a fever. They’d been fighting all summer, to make that worse. And besides, the only person he ever knew that could properly cure anyone’s cold was Mom. And Mom was so many states away. He racked his brains for a solution.

Archie ducked into the living room to the bookshelf, and grabbed a worn, musty, and taped together, dog-eared old book, marked with Scotch Home Remedies in gold lettering on the front. Sticking out of the side was a blue bookmark, which he quickly flipped to. The recipe was black currant juice, which he wasn’t familiar with, but a footnote scrawled in feminine handwriting said “Archie’s favorite,” and suddenly he remembered. There was this sweet, if not acidic drink he’d had whenever he’d gotten sick as a kid, and his mom would make him a bed on the couch and would pick up a comic book from the store and read it to him. Archie swallowed a lump in the back of his throat and turned back to the kitchen, wiping extra moisture from his eyes as he went.

After a fair bit of searching, Archie found a dark liquid in a jar in the very back of the pantry. In more feminine handwriting on the top, it said “Black currant, just heat. Expires 2019” with a small heart. Archie popped the lid and poured the liquid into a saucepan on the stove to warm.

A sweet berry-smelling aroma filled the kitchen as it heated. Archie took the saucepan off the element and poured the syrupy liquid into a mug. It was perfect. He found aspirin in the medicine cabinet, and pocketed that as well.

Jughead’s stuffy snores followed him up the stairs, increasing in volume as he neared his bedroom. Jughead never actually snored, except when he got sick, and even then it wasn’t very loud. Just a little cute. Archie used to tease him about it.

Thankfully, the crowned journalist was right where Archie had left him, tucked into a thick blanket, and this time fast asleep. His beanie was falling off his messy hair at this point, and the tissue clutched in his fist looked very used. Archie set the steaming mug on the bedside table with the tissues and the aspirin from his pocket. Jughead stirred.

“Hey.” He said, sleep heavy on his voice.

“Hey. How’re you feeling?”

“Hh’tchih! Better.” Jug readjusted his beanie and wiped his nose.

“Convincing.”

“I know. What’s this?” he banted, gesturing to the stuff on the table.

“Uhm, aspirin. The stuff in the mug is black currant juice. My mom used to make it for me when I was sick.”

“I remember. You loved that stuff.” Jughead grinned for a split, recalling the pair of them tiny and mud-covered with matching colds. He sat up with a little effort, palmed the pills, and sipped on the hot juice. It always fascinated him when he could feel stuff move down his gullet. “It’s good,” he remarked. “It’s like how she made it.”

Archie shrugged. “She did make it.”

“Arch...” Jughead cupped his hands around the mug and frowned.

 “It’s okay,” he insisted. “I just—I can make more, y’know. Besides, if it helped me, it’ll help you. After all, I owe it to you.” He whispered the last sentence.

“What?”

Archie leaned into the sidetable. “I’m sorry about this summer. I know it’s my fault, and I’m sorry. And even though we can talk now, it’s just because it would be inconvenient not to, right? It’s not the same. I wish it was.”

“So do I. But it’s not over.” Jug took another sip of the stuff, finding it was banishing his symptoms. “After…after all, you still have my back. I have yours.”

“Can we do that thing where we mutually suppress our emotions and nod like douches?” Archie repeated, one of Jughead’s classic quips.

“Agreed.”

“Hh’KXXSCH!”

“…damn it, Archie.”

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

Oooohhhhhh!!!! Love love loving this!!! Every little bit is perfectly written and in tune! 

Also.

3 hours ago, moxie said:

“Can we do that thing where we mutually suppress our emotions and nod like douches?” Archie repeated, one of Jughead’s classic quips.

“Agreed.”

“Hh’KXXSCH!”

“…damn it, Archie.”

This!! Yes! A thousand times YES!

[IveGotRedHair]

Yesss! Love it!

[4000tacobells]

Augh this is so cute! I've just gotten into Riverdale and I'm so glad there's others on here who like it! Your sick Jughead is perfect, too. Very cute and vulnerable  I hope you write more!

[hsos]

awww. please continue <3

[flailingartist]

So glad this resurfaced! I missed reading this one!

reasons I love this:

1. Jughead, because torturing him is just the most natural inclination in the riverdaleverse. 

2. The spellings. You spoiled me with those. Truly on point! ?

3.The in-denial snippiness! You captured FP3 in the best possible way, complete with snark, intelligence (except regarding his health), and just a touch of defiance. Lovely... ?

4. The hint of contagion with Jughead's memories and then the follow-through. Just "yum".

Awesome job! Hope to see more Riverdale disc crop up on the forum soon!

[Wilde]

I'm not even too much of a h/c person but damn I love this, only even for how well you wrote the original story into the fic! It's really cute!

[LeadaAlexys52]

Ahh what a nice way to come back to the forum! I love Jughead! You write him really well. Will there be more?

[moxie]

Who knows? I'm a really fickle writer ^^'

[Bongo]

I loved the focus on their strained friendship. I feel like the show didn't really touch on it after Jughead saying something along the lines of it would have meant a lot to him if Archie had tried to talk to him or something, but then they were pretty chill about it the rest of the show. 

And I loved the progression of their interactions here. It starts with Jug trying to hide his cold from Archie, finally giving in, then accepting help. Very sweet.

[Seeker]

Loooooove this! So sweet!