14Prologue.
If he was at all empathetic, Archie would have cried for her. He would have fallen to his knees next to her writhing body, and tried to stop the bleeding as best as he could, ripping off his jacket to stifle the flow of red, the vein of crimson spread around the girl, staining cheap linoleum. KJ Andrews, the son of Fred, wouldn't have rested until he had saved the girl, pulling her from a death that had already been fixed in time, already inevitable, as she choked on her own blood spilling through ruby lips, breath thinning. And with a fierce determination, he would battle to keep his Serpent sister alive.
But it was far too late for that, and Archie wasn't exactly himself anymore. Instead of staring down at her with contempt, his character riddled with agony and grief that he couldn't save her, his expression was blank, wiped clean of anything remotely human, anything and everything that had made him a Serpent kid was gone.
Archie was no longer a teenager, those last three years, his eighteenth, nineteenth and ultimately twentieth, stolen from him. A boy in the early stages of adulthood and dressed in a tight black shirt and jeans, he was taller, strands of dark red hair washed over a much paler forehead, the ghost of freckles still speckling his cheeks, and the slight graze of stubble under his chin. He was stiff, looming over her body, legs crooked slightly, waiting for her to stop fighting. In his demeanour there was no anger or disgust, like the first time he was taken and brainwashed for a whole year, turning him against his own father. This was a different type of blank. His steely eyes held no life, light or emotion. And yet, looking into them, and seeing past the empty cavern of nothing, you would feel somehow compelled by an unknown force to give yourself up right where you stood. Even if you were a good fighter, even if you could single handedly take down a grown man in seconds. Because Archie was a thousand times stronger.
And he wouldn't take mercy.
She was the last one to fall. Her family lying around her in a growing pool of crimson. The once spreading red stain had become brown and dry as the minutes ticked by with the beat of her racing heart. But she refused to die, was still clinging desperately onto her dwindling breath, and he was hovering, waiting to finally announce his most important kill. Archie didn't move. He only stared down at her trembling form locked into the fetal position. His fingers flexed, dark eyes narrowing, waiting for sudden movements.
If the girl's eyes were to flicker open as she lay there, teetering on the edge of life, she might have caught the slight glimmer of electric blue, sparkling light, a blink and you'll miss it moment, reflecting in pupils that were so dark, she might as well have been staring into a pitch dark night. Once upon a time those very eyes gazed at the sky in a bitterly cold alleyway, wishing for stars, and when there were stars, he tried to name constellations from memory, but only got as far as Gemini, Orion and Pisces before drifting into freezing slumber. Street life had been cruel to him at such a young age, and as the eldest in his very small family, he made an unspoken promise to protect his little brother and sister. So he only stargazed on the night's they had full bellies, and the vicious Toledo wind wasn't trying to uproot their makeshift cardboard home.
There had been something incredible about Archie's eyes, once upon a time. Before and after he received his cover name. They were a deep, earthy brown - the color of the earth after torrential rains. But there was something else in them, something glistening. Something playful, mischievous. Warm. But dark. So incredibly dark, a blackness that had been drilled into him since childhood, consuming his body and mind since he stumbled into Hiram Lodge's house at ten years old, skinny and starving, still dripping pool water. Archie was a Serpent child, so of course he wasn't at all innocent. But what Clifford Blossom didn't know, was that Archie and his siblings had grown up with kindness, a childhood that wasn't quite healthy- considering the brutal training regime- but despite being a conditioned killer, Archie, or KJ Andrews, was a good person.
That was past tense, however. Fred Andrews had brought up his son to be strong willed both physically and mentally. But also, what made KJ who he was, caring, enigmatic and maybe a little childish, was because he had a father who smothered him with all the warmth and kindness that had been absent from his life, finally gifting him with a father figure. But three years later, that boy no longer existed. In his place was a soldier, a Blossom prince built and programmed to kill without emotion, without the pain and guilt that would normally hit a human being. All of that, along with his free will and power to think freely, had been cruelly snatched away from him, leaving a shadow in his place.
The girl was awake. He knew that. She was playing dead, and in Archie's book, that was worse than fighting him. The church was derelict, had been for a decade now, the building serving as a safe haven for the homeless...or crackheads. The chase hadn't been hard, and he'd spotted the girl, and her Serpent brothers and sisters weaving through alleyways, no doubt looking for him and his siblings. Veronica had easily taken out the others, butchering them in seconds flat without breaking a sweat. Archie however, had to play a bit more dirty with the Serpent girl. She was a lot stronger than he'd initially thought.
In the dying light cast through the stained glass ceiling, Archie finally squatted in front of the girl, cocking his head, waves of red hair falling in his eyes. When he moved his hand to sweep it out of his face, a manacle, a thick dark brown thing encircling his wrist, twining around his arm and creeping under the cuff of his sleeve flashed into view. In Clifford Blossom's eyes, the tattoo was beautiful. In anyone else's however, it was a branding, a symbol of entrapment in place of the boy's beloved Serpent marking that had once coiled around his wrist, now only detectable through a scar you had to squint to see.
The girl was still breathing. Her chest rising and falling slowly. She looked almost angelic, golden ringlets hanging in closed eyes, a face so pale you might mistake her for a fairytale character. His knife was still buried in her chest up to the crystal hilt, her black leather jacket sticky with blood very quickly diffusing through her shirt. He'd been waiting for her to die from the wound itself, but perhaps he might have to get a little creative. Leaning forward, he wrapped his fingers around the knife and twisted once, releasing a startled screech through the girl's lips. She didn't open her eyes, choosing to keep them squeezed shut, her body thrashing. The knife hadn't completely penetrated her, but it had hit vital organs, very possibly puncturing her lungs which explained the blood coating her teeth and lips when she cried out once more.
But she wasn't giving up, and if Archie was allowed to feel annoyance or anger at the girl, he might have curled his lip or scowled. But his expression stayed completely passive, monotone, as, with one swift pull, he yanked the blade out of her chest, unfazed when the jagged edge slipped cleanly back through mutilated skin, bone and muscle. This time she didn't scream. The blonde only opened her mouth, as if about to, before it snapped shut, her head lolling to the side. Archie watched blood flow from her once more, blossoming across her torso, before her chest went still. After a moment he pulled out a handkerchief with practised movement, swiftly wiping the teeth of the knife clean.
"Is it done?"
The low voice came from his sister Veronica, formally Camila Lodge, who was standing over him with her arms folded across a perfectly pressed blouse. Like Archie, Veronica had also grown up fundamentally over the years of their time being slowly groomed into Blossom royals. Her hair was longer, a cascade of shimmering obsidian running down a smooth, olive back. Her eyes glinted like emeralds, but there was no longer the sparkle that made her a Serpent present in her eyes, or anything in that matter. She was as expressionless as her brother as she relayed the question. Archie didn't answer for a moment, his attention on his knife.
"Archie," she said again. There was no impatience. No irritation, just a robotic drawl rolling from her tongue. She simply repeated his name because he was yet to answer her question. As a Serpent, she would flick him on the nose or nudge him playfully. But now, all Veronica did was stare at her brother, waiting for a response.
"Is the Serpent dead?" Veronica peered down at the girl, raising a perfectly plucked brow.
"Yes." Eventually, Archie straightened up, slipping the blade back into his jacket pocket, before kicking the motionless girl. "Yes, she is dead."
Veronica nodded. "Father will be proud."
"Let's go," Archie said, adjusting his jacket and fully turning back to look at his sister. When he met her gaze, she cocked her head slightly. "He is waiting in the car for our return."
Nothing else needed to be said after that. Archie and Veronica fell into step as they made their way out of the house and into the darkened streets. Archie's gaze flicked over his surroundings, searching for movement in the shadows, but finding none. Not that he was worried. The weight of the knife in his pocket was comforting, and even if the knife wasn't an option, Archie was confident that he'd be able to handle any situation that came his way. He might have had extensive training with the Serpents, but as Clifford Blossom's son, as his thorn, an extension of his arm, a weapon, he was groomed and trained to utter perfection.
A black SUV was parked just down the street, it's lights off, the windows tinted. The only indication that it belonged to them was the lone figure that stood against the vehicle. Archie and Veronica made their way towards it and, as they made their way closer, Archie felt a silent presence loom up behind him. But he didn't lash out, didn't reach for his weapon, because he already knew who it was, had been expecting it.
"Did you kill the Serpent whore and her family like you were supposed to?" Jordan asked, his voice low in the quietened street.
"Yes," replies Archie, keeping his gaze straight, locked on the black SUV getting closer and closer with each step.
"I knew you had it in you,." Jordan murmured, and Archie knew that his bodyguard was grinning ferally, like an animal with no sense of right or wrong.
Just as they were walking up the path to the car, the passenger side window rolled down, a head emerging from inside the vehicle. Archie cocked his head as he watched his brother casually fold his arms over the side. His hair matched the colour of the SUV and the surrounding darkness, only the brightness of his blue eyes and the paleness of his flesh illuminated. The boy, his only brother, had tattoos covering his bare arms, roses that appeared like smoke and shadow in the night. The sight of them caused a sense of pride to resonate through Archie, but it was gone a moment later, replaced by nothing. The tattoos were black and grey, curling up his brother's arms and disappearing into his shirt. Archie knew their extent reached further than that, and he also knew that they incited fear in their enemies. As they should, being their father's symbol of hope and of new beginnings.
Archie also knew that that was why Jughead hadn't been permitted to join Archie and Veronica in the honour of removing more snakes from their territory.
"Did you get the job done?" Jughead asked. But no sooner had the words left his mouth did the figure leaning against the side of the vehicle push off and turn around.
"Get your head back in the car," the figure, Reggie, barked. There was no hesitation in Jughead when his head disappeared back inside, as there shouldn't have been. As Jughead's bodyguard, he had full control over his brother's movements. "The hell is wrong with you, kid?"
Reggie opened the car door and held it open for Archie and Veronica to get in, but before either could, Clifford Blossom, their father, leaned forward, the look on his face displeasing. Beside him, Archie could feel Veronica tense slightly. Even Jughead crawled into the very back, knowing all too well to keep silent.
"Did you wear your jackets the entire time?" he demanded, eyes flashing in disappointment.
"Yes, father," Veronica answered. Clifford growled, and it was Archie's turn to tense up. He ran through in his mind what they possibly could have done wrong? No-one had seen them entering the house, no-one had gotten a hold of their phones, so they couldn't have called for help. But Clifford wasn't upset about that. Archie furrowed his brow, confusion only slightly visible on his otherwise emotionless face.
"Are you children ashamed of your tattoos?" The sound of utter disappointment in their father's had Archie straightening. Archie watched through expressionless eyes as Clifford reached into the backseat where Jughead was sitting and grabbed his wrist, pulling him until his arm was hanging over the back of Clifford's seat, in the line of sight for Archie and Veronica to see. His eyes once again too in the sight of the roses, shrouded even more in shadow than they had been when the boy was hanging out of the window of the SUV. "Do you know what these represent?"
"Yes, father," Archie and Veronica both said at the exact same time, using the exact same tone in the exact same way. Like robots. Like being completely devoid of all thought and feeling. Because that's exactly what they were.
"It means," Clifford continued on, as though they hadn't spoken, "you're mine. Take off your jacket, Archie. Veronica, roll up your pant leg."
And they moved without thinking, both of them shrugging off their jackets, Veronica rolling up her pant leg exclusively, without a moment's hesitation, because Clifford gave them an order, and they followed their orders. When the thorns flecked with blood and grime was revealed and Veronica's vines crawling up her leg were visible, both fixed their gazes back on their father, awaiting further instruction. He nodded, satisfied.
"I marked you all separately, because you each mean something different to me. Regardless of that, these marks are on honour, are they not?" Clifford raised a brow, looking between Archie and Veronica, his thumb running over a petal on Jughead's wrist. The boy looked like he didn't even notice. "I never want to see your tattoos concealed. Ever. They are a badge to all who look at them that you belong to me and only me. And whoever tries to take you will die horrifically. Do you understand?"
"Yes, father," they replied once more.
"Good." Leaning forward, his face partially cast in light from a nearby lamppost, Clifford asked, "Are they dead? All of them?"
"Yes." Archie answered, nodding his head once in affirmation.
An almost manic grin crossed their father's face, the bottom part of his face illuminated, the rest in darkness. But even still, his light eyes twinkled in mirth. "Did you make them suffer? The blonde especially?"
"Of course," Archie said. "Per your instructions, they were made to see the error in their ways and were properly dealt with. The Serpents are dead."
"Very good, children. You've made me proud tonight." Clifford ignored the fact that the three of them were on the cusp of twenty years old, because really, in his mind, they were still seventeen. He leaned back in his seat, his hold of Jughead's wrist releasing, and the boy leaned back in his seat, hands folding into his lap. "Get in. It's time to go home."
Reggie moved forward and adjusted the seat, allowing Archie and Veronica to crawl into the very back. The three of them were pressed shoulder to shoulder, their hands folded into their laps, and if they were uncomfortable in any way, nothing was said. Without an order given, they stared straight ahead, eyes devoid. The seat was pulled up, Reggie slipping into the place beside Clifford, while Jordan and Ashleigh got into the front of the car, the former behind the wheel. The only slight motion was from Jughead, his hands, once folded calmly in his lap, slowly clenched, the nails biting into flesh. And still, Archie, Veronica, and Jughead remained as they were. Motionless. Vacant.
Gone.
"Find me, Lili. Whatever he does to me-"
"Find me."
Gone.
Kicking her door closed with her foot, Lili Andrews ran the towel over her face, wiping away the perspiration that was coating her pale skin. She felt good, really good, but she knew she'd be feeling the effects of her work-out later. Yeah, Lili knew she should have probably spaced out some of her sets, knew that doing arms and legs in one day wasn't the greatest of ideas, but her mind had been a jumble of thoughts and ideas, and she needed to find a way to clear the white noise before coming back to the problem at a different angle. Because that was everything. The mission. The only assignment she would allow herself to be on. A part of her felt guilty for that, for refusing everything else, because she knew the Serpents were stretched thin and could use her help, but Lili couldn't … she couldn't see how anything else mattered.
Sitting down at her desk, Lili wiped her face one more time before tossing the damp towel to the ground. She leaned back in her chair and sighed heavily. There were thirty-eight months tacked to her wall, each lined up evenly, spaced out perfectly, with an ex marking out each day. Three years and two months. That was how long KJ, Cole, and Camila had been gone. That was how long they had been taken away from her – from Fred and FP – and made into mindless puppets by Clifford Blossom. If Lili wanted to get specific, they had been gone for three years, two months, three weeks, and six days. The hurt didn't get any easier. The pain of the loss. The pieces of her that had been ripped away and left bare due to their absences. It didn't help that Lili was being told she was searching for a needle in a haystack, that her search was only prolonging her suffering. They weren't going to be found and she should just let it and them go.
But … how could she do something like that? And how dare she be told that when her father wasn't doing any better? He thought he was being sneaky, Fred Andrews, but Lili had ears and her room wasn't far from KJ's. Late at night sometimes, she could hear his quiet footsteps walk past her room and go to KJ's. She could hear him opening the door and stepping inside before quietly closing the door. She never made mention of it to him and Fred never brought it up, but Lili knew that he slept in there sometimes. KJ was Fred's son, and no matter how many times he begged her to stop fixating on finding them, because it was a lost cause, she knew that he wasn't moving on. There was a tiredness to him that was etched into the lines on his forehead. He moved slower, and the smile that had once easily graced his face was seen few and far between.
It was hard to see, and Lili knew FP wasn't any different. The man barely slept, and the last time she had openly went into Cole's room, he had almost snapped her head off, blurting out that his room needed to remain exactly how he left it. Cole was a very neat person, and he would know if something was moved or touched. Lili knew the exact moment FP realised what he said, because his face paled and his eyes watered instantly, and he had quickly turned around and walked away. She didn't see him until days later, and he looked haggard and worn. At night, she knew FP sat himself on a window bench in the library. That was one of Cole's favourite places in the house. He would go in there when he wanted a moment alone, and FP sat himself there almost every single night with a pillow propped against his back and a blanket covering his legs, and Lili knew he was waiting, hoping against hope that he'd see Cole walking toward the house, even though he knew it wasn't going to happen.
She would be lying if she wasn't hoping for the exact same thing. Because when she closed her eyes, she could still remember that night. The tears in his bright blue eyes when he finally remembered her, the way he reached out and touched her face, and Lili had always wondered if he could see anything different in her. She hadn't seen him in a year at that point, and he had seemed different to her, too. Did she look stronger to him? Or did she look the same? Had she matured a little in that year? Had her muscles defined any in the year of training she'd had while he was with Clifford Blossom? But most of all, when Lili closed her eyes, she could still remember what it felt like when Cole closed the distance between them and kissed her. The warmth of his breath, the way his long, dark eyelashes tickled her cheeks, the pressure of his lips against hers. The happiness she felt. The weight of his arms and how safe she felt when he pulled her closer.
Lili shook her head and let out a shaky sigh, angrily brushing away the tears that had slipped from her eyes. She was done crying, done mourning. They were wasted emotions, because they weren't dead. Lili would know if they were. Clifford Blossom hadn't taken them to kill them. He's taken them to control them, and Lili knew that that was exactly what he was doing. She didn't necessarily know how. She was still confused about that night. The startled, shocked look on Camila's face after she shot Hiram, her own father, battled against the glee that pulled at her lips. The way KJ fought Fred, a knife clenched tightly in his hand. He was aiming to kill, but the way his voice shook when he had begged Fred to kill him, because the thought of hurting his own father was enough to make him wish for death. And Lili couldn't forget the confused, fearful look on Cole's face when he pressed a gun to her head, the barrel shaking against her temple as he struggled to put it down while he seemed to be fighting – and losing – a battle within himself to keep it up.
No, Lili mused. Clifford Blossom had done something to them, and she was determined to figure out what exactly.
Standing up, reaching her arms high above her head to stretch out her muscles, Lili made to move away from her desk. She needed to shower and then she planned on another all-nighter, sat at her laptop. Clifford had many allies in the area, and if she could find out exactly what they were up to, it might bring her closer to finding KJ, Camila, and Cole. But it was as she was moving away from her desk that her green eyes found a few pamphlets stacked neatly at the corner. For just a moment, Lili stared at them, not necessarily computing what they actually were or what they meant, but after several seconds passed and the words on the first pamphlet registered with her, Lili felt rage consume her, a red-hot sensation that instantly caused her cheeks to flush pink and her hands to ball into tight fists. And before she was even aware of what she was doing, Lili had snagged the stack and was out of her room, the door smacking against the wall with a loud thud as she made her way down the corridor and down the stairs. She found Fred in the kitchen by the stove, pouring hot water into a mug.
"What the hell is this?" demanded Lili as she threw the pamphlets onto the kitchen table, uncaring that some of them slid across the table and fell onto the floor. Her ire grew all the more when Fred didn't even acknowledge her. "Dad!"
"It's exactly what it looks like, Lili," Fred replied after a moment, turning around only when he was satisfied with his coffee. The aroma was sweet and rich and it filled her nostrils, but Lili pushed it away – just as she pushed away how ragged Fred looked with his wrinkled clothes and tired eyes.
"Yeah! It's college!" She waved her arms around, an incredulous look on her face, because where the hell did the idea of college even come from?
Fred nodded his head and sat down, gently stacking the remaining pamphlets that hadn't hit the floor into a neat stack before cupping his coffee mug. "Yeah, it's college," he repeated, sounding far more calm and relaxed than Lili was feeling. Her heart was pounding so loudly; she could hear it in her ears. "You're twenty years old, and have already missed two years because of your-" he trailed off. "You're at that age where it's time to start looking at college, find out what fits your interests."
"My –" Lili started, but she found herself cut off. "What are you even talking about? College is the farthest thing from my mind right now."
"I know. That's why I put the pamphlets in your room. If you see them, you can start thinking about what you want to do with your future."
Everything he was saying sounded logical and reasonable, but Lili couldn't wipe the shocked, outraged expression from her face. She felt like an idiot for how her mouth continuously opened and closed, her mind a jumble of thoughts and emotions, but the words just weren't coming out, like they were stuck at the tip of her tongue. And Fred just sat there with a calm, patient look on her face, waiting for her to get control of herself. She shook her head, like that would somehow put her thoughts into order before planting her hands firmly on the surface of the table.
"They're still out there." And her words, finally vocalised, summarised exactly what she was feeling. Those four words had the power to shake the very foundation of Fred's composure. He pursed his lips and looked down, and Lili watched, baffled, as he swallowed thickly before clearing his throat. "Dad, they're –"
"I know," Fred interjected, interrupted whatever else she was going to say – not that Lili knew what they were going to be. She could barely keep up with what little had been said so far. "I know they are, honey. But … they're ghosts. Clifford Blossom has them under lock and key and we haven't found anything for three years."
Lili felt her throat tighten at his words. Yeah, she was well-aware of the fact that they hadn't a single thread of information to go off of. She was well-aware that KJ, Camila, and Cole were out there somewhere, completely lost to her, but to have those things verbally confirmed to her, to hear her own father say it … it almost sounded like he had given up, that he was losing his faith. Lili recoiled, flinched back, and she stumbled a few steps away from the kitchen table, not that Fred seemed to notice. He was staring at one of the pamphlets, a thoughtful, faraway look on his face.
"KJ had always wanted to go to college. The kid had no idea what he wanted to do, but he always dreamed of going to college, stay in a dorm, be normal for a change." He fell silent for a moment, one of those rare smiles slowly forming on Fred's tired face. "He'd always said he'd pick a college close to home, so he can drive back after classes and stay for the weekend. Drive back to college early Monday morning."
"I'm not …" Lili began, but she trailed off when she heard how wobbly and broken her words sounded. Her green eyes flickered from her father to the pamphlet Fred was staring at, tears building, causing her vision to blur.
"I know you want to find and bring them home," Fred said, looking up. His eyes were warm and intense, and Lili found herself unable to look away. "I know you miss them. But … it's been three years. I know the world feels like it's stopped, but it's still going on all around us. I don't want your life to be wasted on something that might not happen."
This time, Lili did nothing to stop the tears from falling down her face, did nothing to stop the broken sound that slipped past her lips. She didn't know if it was a cry or a whimper, but it sounded suspiciously like both. "You've lost faith." She shook her head, like she couldn't even fathom believing it. "You don't think we'll find them."
Fred was moving before she could even process it, and even though she was angry and hurt, even though what he was doing was against everything she wanted in that moment, Lili found herself clinging to Fred as he wrapped her in his arms and squeezed her tightly. She found herself crying into the plaid of his shirt, silent tears that instantly soaked the fabric. But she knew Fred didn't care.
"I haven't given up. I never will," he whispered against her temple. Lili let out a shuddering breath. "I just don't want you to lose sight of a future you could have. College. A better life. Can you at least promise me you'll think about it?"
She didn't know what kind of response Fred was hoping for her, but he didn't push her to say anything when Lili remained silent. Because he already knew her answer. He was only trying to protect her from the possibility of losing KJ, Camila, and Cole - or their real names- Archie, Veronica and Jughead- forever.
Before.
The night was dark with not a cloud in the sky. It was unusually bitter for the middle of March. Cole's shoulders were hunched as he moved down the street, a few pieces of chicken wrapped in a clean enough looking napkin. It had gone to show just how much time had passed since the last time he had to fend for himself and his siblings, because the idea of eating the chicken repulsed him, but it was for survival, and Cole was honestly surprised to find that he was able to slip back into old ways after so many years with -
The thought was immediately cut off, and Cole forced himself to bring away the tears that started forming in his eyes, because he couldn't think about FP, couldn't think about his father whom he'd pointed a gun at just a few hours before. He couldn't think about his two uncles, the ones that were left behind - one unconscious on the kitchen floor and the other gone from this world entirely. But they were the whole reason for why they had run, for why they were back on the streets again. There was a slight rumble of thunder, and that was the only warning Cole got before the sky seemed to open up. Fat droplets of water rained down on him, quickly soaking him through his clothes, and Cole hunched his shoulders all the more as he quickened his pace, trying to preserve the chicken as much as he could, under his sweatshirt. Taking a left at the next corner, Cole scrunched up his nose against the scent of dumpster and something else he really didn't want to label.
When he got to the end of the alley, he ducked under the flimsy pieces of cardboard they were using as cover, and sank down onto his knees, his eyes taking in the exhausted forms of his siblings. "I found some chicken," he said after a moment, ignoring how not hungry they looked. "We should eat something, and yes, I mean dumpster food." his lips formed a crooked smile, but it was only to mask the fact that he was goddamn terrified.
"Just like old times, right?"
KJ's head snapped up, the ratty blanket that had been draped over him and Camila slipping from his shoulders. His brown eyes narrowed into slits. "Eat?" he said softly, then louder, making Cole wince slightly. He was rolling a sharp looking rock around his hand, his breathing sharp, coming out in panicked gasps. Cole had seen his big brother upset and angry, but this was a whole other level. The redhead looked the most dishevelled out of the three of them, his red hair a tangled mess over tired eyes, pale cheeks splattered with dirt after he'd tripped over himself, landing headfirst in a garbage bag abandoned on the alleyway. Cole would have laughed- if it was a totally normal situation. Because regardless of how KJ has hit the ground, skinning the left side of his face, it definitely looked like something you'd see on a cartoon.
Cole stepped back a little when KJ straightened up, still grasping the rock like his life depended on it. "How the hell can you expect us to eat?" KJ hissed like a snake, and Cole secretly revelled in it. That's what he was- what all three of them were; Serpents. And nobody could take that away from them.
Swallowing thick, Cole placed the bundle of chicken down to the side, making sure it was covered completely by the rain. "Put the rock down, before you hurt yourself." Reaching over, Cole curled the blanket that had fallen from KJ's shoulders and wrapped it entirely around Camila. Tears were streaming down her face and she had a faraway look in her eyes. If he were being honest with himself, the look terrified him.
"Before I hurt myself?" KJ curled his lip, his fingers gripping the rock even tighter. "I hope I fucking hurt myself!" when Cole's heart did a somersault, KJ let out a soft sigh.
"It's the sharpest thing I can find," he muttered, his gaze dropping to the pointed edge. The boy held out his arm with a growl of frustration, tracing veins spiralling down his pale skin, pale blue bruises. Cole flinched a little. If he was to hold out his own arm, the ugly secret, a sleeve of pain riding just below his elbow, would be exposed. He shivered. "Don't." he muttered. "KJ, I know what you want to do, and I'm telling you it's a bad idea." But his brother just laughed harshly, his eyes sparkling with that menace, that glimmer of evil which frankly, he missed. Ever since the three of them had become victims rather than the bad guys, Cole had started to sink deeper and deeper into his old name. Jughead. It didn't help that Clifford Blossom had named him that for one year of mindless torture.
"Stop calling me that." KJ's gaze snapped to his, the boy's expression crinkling with - pain. Pure agony. The boy shifted under the blanket, hissing when he dug the rock deeper. "They're our cover names, Jug. Which, unless you failed to fucking notice, we don't need them anymore." KJ sounded like he was holding back a sob, but really struggling. "We're back where we started," he muttered. "Back to the streets, where we fucking belong."
"For now," Cole said, reaching out and gripping KJ's hands, as though that would somehow stop KJ from doing something with that rock if he really wanted to. "We just need to figure things out, big brother." Keeping eye contact with KJ, Cole trailed his hands over KJ's fingers, gently trying to pry the rock away. "And your name is KJ. Your father gave you that name. Fred gave you that name. Cover or not, that's what you go by."
KJ shook his head. "I tried to kill him, Jug," he said softly, his brown eyes flitting to his brother. "I tried to kill the man who put a roof over my head, who trained me and turned me into the boy I am today, and fuck…" the redhead drifted off with a sigh, streaking his free hand through his filthy, tangled hair. "I don't deserve that name," he whimpered. The boy shifted, like he was going to burrow under the blanket, but he didn't, leaving the majority of it sheltering Camila from the icy shower. Instead, he wrapped his arms around his legs, resting his chin on his knees. It reminded Cole of Archie when they were little kids. But ten year old Archie had often contemplated what had happened to his parents, while seventeen year old KJ seemed to be locked into a permanent state of shock, and self pity.
The boy sighed. "That tough as nails Serpent kid was Fred's son, and Clifford fucked him up. I'm just a screwed up street kid."
Well, he wasn't exactly wrong. They were screwed up. So, so screwed up beyond measure, they were barely normal teenagers anymore. But what they weren't were street kids. That chapter in their life had ended years ago, and this was just temporary.
KJ, or he guessed Archie, mumbled something incoherent, leaning forward and grabbing the rock that had slipped from his grasp. He studied it with wide eyes. "There's gotta be some way to use it, right?" Cole swore his brother looked slightly unhinged, mocha coloured eyes almost cartoon like with false hope. He was obsessed with cutting into his arm, for something that wasn't there, and Cole knew that the only thing he was going to get out of it was fucking Septicaemia.
"Knock it off," Cole said, shaking his head slightly. Almost immediately after he had done so, he felt a sudden pulsing in his temples, causing him to wince at the pressure. Squinting his eyes slightly, as though that would somehow alleviate some of the tension, Cole took the rock out of KJ's hand, not at all liking or trusting the odd look in his eyes. "Nothing about this situation is permanent. None of it. We are going to figure out what is going on, we're going to fix it, and then we are going to go back to our parents. We just …" he trailed off and sighed, glancing over at Camila, who was staring out into the rain. God, he didn't even know if she was here right now. "We'll figure it out."
Before KJ could say or do anything, Cole tossed the rock out of their little shelter and off to the side, not even really caring where it went, so long as it was out of KJ's reach. He shuffled closer to their sister, and he reached forward, gently running his fingers through her hair, brushing it out of her face. He absently took note of how her fingers and hands were still slightly pink, the blood of her father staining them. Cole swallowed thickly, trying to shake the image of Hiram laying dead in the upstairs kitchen. "Cami, do you want to try to eat something?"
"I'm not hungry." Camila spoke so softly, Cole might have mistaken her voice for the wind. His sister ducked her head, her raven hair falling in half lidded eyes. She looked like she was in a trance, and hell, he wouldn't be surprised if she actually was in one, considering what has happened to her father. The image of Hiram Lodge lying in a pool of crimson, a growing vein of blood inching closer and closer to him didn't want to leave Cole's mind. He gritted his teeth and forced a smile, when all he really wanted to do was crawl under the blanket with his siblings, and fall victim to slumber. God, he was tired. In his street life days Cole had liked to fall asleep to the sound of rainfall, even if it had been soaking the blanket wrapped around the three of them. But then FP Jones had offered him his very own bedroom, with an actual bed, blankets and pillows, and warmth. Endless warmth. "You'll never be cold again." FP had promised him, and Cole had believed him. With teary eyes, he had trusted his new father to take care of him, to shelter him from the cold and protect his brother and sister.
And now his father was the one who had to be protected from him. Cole frowned at his sister, pondering if force feeding her bits of chicken would result in his untimely demise. Looking at Camila, at her gaze which seemed to be gazing into the abyss and nothing else, he figured he should just leave it. So he picked up his findings and stuffed a few morsels into his mouth, chewing experimentally. The chicken didn't taste good. But it wasn't bad either. It was slightly hard and maybe a little slimy, but it was what he'd expected, after digging it out of a dumpster. KJ was still glaring at the ground when he passed the redhead the napkin. "Dude," Cole muttered. When his brother ignored him, he let out a hiss.
"KJ, I'm trying," he gritted out. "I'm trying my fucking best not to freak out right now, and the scary zombie eyes?" he turned to the boy, curling his lip. "Yeah, they're not exactly helping right now! All you're doing is staring at that fucking rock that isn't-" it took everything, every last ounce of his strength, not to pull out his hair. "God, it's not even there anymore!"
He was right. KJ's gaze was stuck to cracked concrete where he'd dropped the rock, minutes after Cole had tossed it down the alleyway. And he wasn't moving, just staring, glaring into nothing, just like his sister.
Cole wasn't surprised when KJ turned that glare up at him, warm brown eyes the complete opposite of what they should be. "That's not my name-"
"Oh, come off it," Cole snarled, sitting back on the ground, hating the feel of the cold rain seeping into his jeans. There were many parts about living on the streets that he didn't miss, and being soaked was certainly one of them. There was nothing worse than feeling one's clothing sticking to their body, and it did nothing to lighten the darkened mood Cole was already in. "I'm not in the mood for the fucking pity party. I know what you almost did. I was there to fucking witness it. I saw-" Before the words were completely out of his mouth, Cole cut himself off and looked back at Camila, whose eyes had welled with fresh tears, her chin quivering, and he hated himself, hated everything and everyone in that moment, because hurting his sister wasn't what he meant to do. He reached out and curled his fingers around Camila's, squeezing and taking pleasure in the fact that she squeezed his in return. "We need each other more than anything right now. We take the night and get out our frustrations, but tomorrow morning, we start figuring shit out. Okay? So glare into the fucking concrete all you want, KJ. Starve yourself for the night. Fine. But come morning, we're going to get to work."
The redhead jolted like he'd been electrocuted, letting out a scoff. "What?" it was like the spell that had been cast over him, was broken. His eyes flashed. "Why are you making the rules, huh? Last time I checked, I was the eldest, Jug. And I'm saying there's something inside us, which made me try to kill my dad, and I don''t care how fucking crazy I sound, I know it's real, and it's going to get worse, and...and-" KJ's voice fell into incoherent gibberish, and Cole resisted against a scream of frustration. Fuck. He was losing him.
KJ jumped up, flinging the blanket off himself, resulting in it landing on the soaking ground. Camila squeaked, letting out a soft gasp, before huddling into herself, burying her head in her knees. Cole felt a rush of irrational anger when his brother loomed over him, before falling to his knees, pawing around for that god forsaken rock. Cole had always been the level headed one, the brother who kept calm, while KJ writhed with anger, taking it out on anyone in a mile radius. But now there was just the three of them, or two of them, considering Camila was on Pluto. Cole couldn't help it. The words were slipping from his lips before he could help it, and maybe it was exhaustion, or the fact that he was dwelling in his own silent agony. He missed his family. He fucking missed his father, and Lili- oh god, Lili. Just thinking about her hurt him. It was a physical ache in his chest, and he couldn't go back to her, he could never see her again, kiss her again, be with her for the rest of his life because he was dangerous. He was a fucking ticking time bomb- all three of them were, and KJ trying to track down what Cole was pretty sure was paranoia, buried in his arm, just wasn't helping. It was making things so much worse than they already were, and fuck, Cole just wanted to punch him. In that moment, watching his brother crawl around, grasping for a rock to continue with mindless self harm, he wondered if grabbing the rock for himself and knocking the idiot out was what was best.
"K-" he swallowed, choking on his words. Fuck the cover name, just this one time. He was getting on Cole's last nerve. "Archie, I've looked after you my whole life," he tried not to seethe, but it was out now. His venomous side, that part of him he'd loved as a Serpent. And hated as Jughead Jones, his weak self. "Don't you remember?" before he could stop himself, he was joining the redhead, grabbing hold of the boy and shaking him violently. "Hey!" but the redhead wasn't looking at him, his mind was elsewhere, on a quest for something that didn't exist. Cole gritted his teeth. "Stop it." he said, and when KJ cocked his head, his brown eyes narrowing, he tightened his grip on his brother's shoulders. "Fucking stop it, KJ! Snap out of it!"
"I told you, I'm not KJ!" the redhead growled. "It's Archie, Jug! It's always been Archie!"
"Are you serious?" Cole spat. "What, are you going to throw seven damn years away, huh? And besides, you were Archie in that bastard's eyes. Do you really want to cling onto that name?"
"Back off." the boy hissed, and Cole choked on a sob. He couldn't lose it. Fuck, he couldn't! Instead of freaking out, like he really wanted to, Cole bit his lip so hard he tasted blood. But it felt - good. Relieving. "KJ, please," he whispered. "Look, I lost- I lost my dad, I lost Lili, and I feel like Camila is fading too, I-" Cole blinked rapidly, but the tears still came.
"I need you. I need you not to lose it. I need you with me, dude."
KJ shook his head, releasing a shaky breath. His eyes were wide, but there was nothing there, no warm glint, no friendly teasing. Just fear. "We need to cut our arms open, and see what he's done to us." the boy said stiffly. And then it began to rain, because that was The Serpent Kids luck. Cole tried not to hiss out when freezing cold rain slithered down his back, sticking his shirt to his skin. KJ peered at him through red hair plastered over his pale forehead.
"I can feel it, Jug." he said softly. "It's- it's inside me."
Are you-" Cole started, feeling red hot anger shoot through him like heroine. Releasing KJ like he was contagious, Cole spun around and looked frantically for the fucking rock he tossed aside earlier. To hell with being logical. Logic flew out the window hours ago, so why he was trying to cling to it was a mystery. "You really wanna cut your arm to pieces? Fine. Let's do it."
He couldn't find the rock, but he did find a piece of broken glass beside one of the dumpsters, and without thinking, he grabbed a hold of it, the glass slicing into his fingers, but it was a numbing pain. The anger he felt was too much to ignore, and no pain was enough to make him feel anything but said anger. Spinning around, he closed the distance between himself and KJ, ripping his brother's sleeve open. And he didn't hesitate, because this was what KJ wanted, right? FP had taught him all about anatomy, where vital organs and veins were, where to cut and where to avoid at all costs. So when he pressed the knife to his brother's pale skin and sliced into the flesh, Cole wasn't afraid. The red was an overwhelming colour, and a part of him hated himself, because Camila was right there, and the sight of blood was probably enough to send her right back into a tailspin, but he couldn't help it. KJ, or Archie, was being a fucking idiot and Cole was going to prove a point then and now.
He didn't even bother to check to see if there was anything in his brother's arm. Immediately after he cut into the first one, he moved to the next one, and he knew he was scaring KJ, could tell by the way he let out strangled gasps and hitched breaths, but Cole couldn't stop. Only when Cole had sliced open both of his arms did he toss the glass to the side. He hadn't even realised he'd cut his own hands up until he was reaching for KJ's arms. He pressed and squeezed at the cuts, going so far as he plunging his fingers into the cuts.
"Where are they? Huh?" he demanded, glancing up at KJ with sharp blue eyes. When KJ had no answer for him, he began his examination on the other arm. Streams of blood curled along KJ's arms before dripping to the wet asphalt, disappearing with the rain water. "You said they were here, Arch, so where are they?" Again, when KJ didn't say anything, Cole grabbed his brother by the shoulders and shook him violently. "WHERE ARE THEY!?" And then Cole was shoving him away entirely, his chest heaving and his eyes watering, because Jesus, was this what Archie wanted? It hurt him to see his brother staring down at the crimson strips dribbling his arms, Bambi-like eyes following the blood flow as if he hadn't expected to see blood. Which was ridiculous, of course he had.
His brother sat on his knees in shock, holding out his arms, watching the rain wash away revealing crimson, like watercolour paint. Cole felt the anger that had ignited him evaporate, and he was left feeling worn out, and really fucking guilty. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, snapping KJ out of it by doing it for him, slicing open his arms so they could both look for whatever the hell was supposedly buried inside him. But looking at the gaping wounds, there was nothing to suggest foul play, or that they had indeed been inserted with some foreign object that had forced them to go feral on their parents. There was just blood, a hell of a lot of it, and Cole let out a shuddery breath, going to pull off his jacket, before his gut lurched. Instead of using his jacket, he grabbed the sodden blanket off the ground.
"I'm sorry." he said softly, shuffling over to where his brother sat. Cole expected KJ to hiss at him, backing away. But the boy just lifted his head, his lip quirking into a small smile. He didn't say anything, and nothing really needed to be said. With just a smile, both brothers had silently reconciled. Even when Cole really did want to be screamed at by his brother. He'd cut open his damn arm, for god's sake! Was KJ so numb, in so much fucking mental pain, that he couldn't even feel the stinging down his arm? Could he feel the blood pooling into his palm? Cole held his breath and screwed up the blanket, pressing it onto KJ's left arm, applying pressure. He held it for a minute, counting with his breath, before doing the same to the other arm. KJ didn't flinch or wince. His expression stayed completely neutral, and that's what terrified Cole. After a while, the bleeding stopped, and Cole went on the hunt for another blanket, coming up short. But there was an old ratty duvet buried in a trash can, and Cole had actually laughed. Because this was his life now, getting excited over finding a rotting duvet in a stinking trash bag. He'd laughed, choking on the rain still pouring down, and a mixture of tears and snot dribbling down his face. God, he was a fucking mess.
It didn't help that he had his brother's blood all over his hands, smeared on his clothes and face. When Cole returned to their little hideout for the night, home, he guessed, KJ was leaning against the wall, his knees pressed to his chest, one arm wrapped around them, the other around a sleeping Camila, holding her quivering form close. The second he saw Cole with the duvet slung over his shoulders, his brother smiled. It wasn't one of his real smiles, but it was a start. KJ helped proposition the blanket so it was covering all three of them, and they huddled together, finally with some kind of warmth, some kind of shelter, which wasn't quite home. But right now, it was the best he could do.
He thought about falling asleep. Because right then, it was all he could do. With his brother and sister pressed against him, Cole couldn't have felt more warm, more safe. The three of them lay under a small shelter, thanks to the dry cleaners roof. Camila was already asleep, her soft snores piercing the silence. But it was what Cole needed. He latched onto every one of his sister's breaths, because against all odds, she was alive. Camila Lodge was still kicking, despite losing her father. She was the strongest one out of the three of them, with a steel will. She would mourn, and then come back ten times stronger, ready to take on the world, and most importantly, Clifford Blossom and his empire. KJ's head was buried in his shoulder, and judging from the boy's soft breaths, he was slowly dozing off.
"Arch," he murmured after a moment of gazing at the ground. Did he seriously call him Archie again?
Maybe Lili's fear of spiders had rubbed off on him, because he was suddenly hyper alert, scanning the cracks for critters.
"Hmm?" his brother's voice was a soft hum, and the redhead finally sounded - content.
Cole opened his mouth to say something - what he didn't know - but at the last second, he thought better of it. Hadn't they said enough tonight? Instead, he shuffled down a little, pressing a kiss to the top of Camila's head before resting his head on hers. "Never mind," he said softly, his words swallowed up by the rain. A wave of exhaustion seemed to crash into him, causing his bones to grow heavy and weak. Now that the adrenaline had passed, along with his anger, that ever-present headache was coming back to centre-focus. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to get comfortable. Sleep would help. In the morning, he'd find them more food and then they would start trying to figure out what was wrong with them, what exactly Clifford Blossom did to set them on their parents. And then he'd go back to Lili for real this time. They wouldn't just have that one moment. Because there were more to come. There was so much more. He imagined her during training, that slightly manic look in her blue eyes, straying golden hair stuck to a perspired forehead. She was grinning, goading him to hit her again. Cole loved training. When Lili had gotten a hang of it, it was all the two of them did.
And when they grew tired, they'd lay on the gym floor and talk about everything and nothing. There was one memory that stuck in his mind. It had been a rainy day, and the others had been out on assignment, leaving Lili with Cole. Lili had ended up beating him in a fight, and neither of them had been bothered to sit up, the blonde collapsing over his chest. They'd been like that for a while, and he was panicking a little. It was the closest they'd even been, and he was 50% sure she'd fallen asleep. So, freaking out a little, he blurted;
"Have you ever heard of A Series Of Unfortunate Events?"
And she'd mumbled into his chest something incoherent, before lifting her head, blinking; "Netflix or original film?"
"The books, Lili."
"Oh! I haven't read them. Have you?"
"Sort of...they had them at the orphanage. They were ratty, and most of the pages were torn out, but I got through them. I kinda related to them, y'know? With the whole orphan thing. And Clifford Blossom is our Count Olaf."
"So who does that make you?"
"Probably Klaus?"
She'd smirked, her eyes glinting. "I'd say you were more of a Violet."
"I mean sure, I guess?
They ended up talking about the books for a while, and he'd enjoyed it, having Lili intently listening to him as he explained all twenty books, and she didn't look bored at all, jumping in with questions. When he'd finished, they grabbed a pizza, curled up on the couch, and Lili introduced him to the Netflix series, which was actually pretty damn good.
Cole held onto that memory of her, huddling further into himself. He had to keep his head. He'd get his family back and Lili - eventually.
For now, though, the sounds of his siblings breathing softly around him and the rain droplets crashing to the ground was enough to lull him into a somewhat restful sleep.
It didn't last, because why would it? Clearly nothing ever did in their lives. And honestly, Cole didn't really know what it was that had his eyes opening instantly, didn't really know what sound caused his senses to immediately go into alert, but it happened, and he felt himself tense. Gently, Cole untangled himself from where he was between his siblings. It hadn't stopped raining. The cardboard they were sitting on was sopping wet, and there were leaks dripping through the meagre cover they had about their heads. All of that was forgotten as Cole slowly slipped out and stood to full height, his eyes taking in his surroundings, scanning for trouble. For an alley, it was wide. Up and down the sides of the buildings, were dumpsters, and Cole found himself cocking his head slightly, eyes narrowing. Had they checked to be sure no-one was around them before they picked the alley? Of course, they did. They had to have done so. They might have lived in a house for the past seven years, but there was no way they would have forgotten such a simple rule that had kept them alive for as long as they were on the streets as kids.
So what … there. A flicker of movement caught Cole's eyes, and he felt a fresh wave of adrenaline slam into him as he quickly moved to where he had dropped the shard of glass he'd used to cut into his brother's arm - or the vicinity of where he thought he'd dropped it. He cursed to himself for not keeping it with him, but given the nature of the reasons for why he had the shard to begin with, Cole could understand why he wanted to part with it at the time. Now, however, was a different story.
"KJ!" Cole hissed out, gasping when he found the shard, the glass slicing into an already opened wound. He glanced up to where he had seen movement and found that it was slowly starting to take shape. It was … it was sauntering towards them, the steady footfalls on the ground doing nothing to conceal their approach. Which meant … which meant the person wanted to be discovered. Which meant the person wasn't trying to hide, wasn't trying to sneak up on them. "What's going-" KJ started, but he cut himself off, his senses picking up on what Cole's did. There was quick movement, an alarmed sound from Camila, and Cole could hear his blood rushing through his veins, because the shape was taking more of a form now, and Cole … he knew that form …
"Archie …" Cole breathed, and there it was again- his brother's real name, spluttering from his lips like word vomit. Suddenly it felt so real, so prominent, as if the redhead been called that his whole life. Cole's voice was barely above a whisper, fingers digging into that shard of glass, cutting into his fingers, because no, no, no, it was too soon, it was way too fucking soon -
"I have to say, children, I'm a little disappointed."
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