riverbent ( a riverdale genderswap au)

Chapter Thirteen: Lost and Found

Parker woke up, his leg twisted at an odd angle. He must have knocked himself out when he was running away from that shadow figure. He had no idea who that was. And now he had no idea how to move and where everyone was. Was the supposed search not supposed to be taking place now? Parker tried to call out for help, but he could barely raise his voice above a whisper.

He tried to drag himself across the soft, almost muddy grass. He felt the dampness touch his skin, and his leg screamed out in pain. He groaned loudly, involuntarily. This had not been the plan. Parker wanted to cry. He was a sitting duck, here like this. He looked around for his bag that had a burner phone, for emergencies. He saw the red bag, fallen far away from the tree, where he was. I have to get to that bag, Parker whispered to himself. He tried to drag himself, relying on his strong arms, yet he failed. He cried out in desperation. Tears cascaded down his face, mingling with the dirt, clearing it off of his face. Two rivulets formed on his face, showing the paleness of his skin, in sharp contrast against the dark dirt that polluted his face. A child, helpless and alone. No one in Riverdale would have thought that the mighty jock, king of youth, Parker Cooper, would have ended up like this, pesky injury hindering him from fending for himself. He tried to call out for help again. He heard the crunching of leaves under boots.

His immediate instinct was to scramble away from the noise, his paranoia overcoming him. They were here for him. He turned to look straight into the face of Chester Blossom, alone. He wanted to smile, but his knee twisted cruelly, sending a gargantuan dose of pain shooting across his nervous system, effectively knocking him out.

~

Ben's phone vibrated with a message from Chester.

Found p. severely injured, knocked out. Get the first aid people and come here ASAP!! – C

Chester stared unbelievingly at the reply Ben sent.

Thank you. – B

He shook his head, and stared at the knocked out figure of Parker, afraid to touch it because he didn't want to do any harm. When the three of them had left Parker, he had been dirtied up on purpose. But something else had definitely happened after that. Parker looked almost ragged now, like he had spent the past few weeks in this forest, trying to survive. He definitely did not look like he had spent the last few weeks in the luxury of the Pembrooke. Chester was itching from answers. It looked like Parker encountered something last night.

Soon, before Chester knew it, the first-aiders were rushing in, pulling him away from Parker, taking the unconscious boy's pulse, shouting medical terms, and someone led Chester back to his parents, who looked at him with intrigue. He wondered what they were thinking. How did the token failure succeed at this? He looked away from them, doing his best to ignore their expressions, something he could not decode. He hated not being able to understand what those around him were thinking. Usually, he managed to read his parents like picture books, because their hatred was always so clear in their faces.

His mind brandished the image of Parker's expression right before he passed out in front of Chester. He had tried to scramble away, but the moment Parker had realized who it was, he had sensed the beginnings of a small smile of relief. But behind that, Chester had seen the apprehension. Maybe he had been hallucinating or overanalyzing, but maybe Parker had wished it was someone else that could have found him.

The irrational anger flooded Chester's body, and he tried to stop from punching a tree.

~

Juliet went back to her trailer in the park, meeting her father drowning in a stench of booze and other things that made him less than. She sighed audibly, knowing his stupor was too deep to stir him. Carefully she picked up the bottles, and disposed of them, regardless of how much liquor they had left in them. She slipped an old, stiff pillow under her father's head and covered him with a ratty blanket that hovered on her father's feet, threatening. Sitting down on the makeshift couch, she promised herself, one break. I will give myself one break. And she closed her eyes. As much as she wanted it to, sleep did not catch up to her slowly. Every night, ever since she left the Andrews' she would stay awake and think about her father. And some nights, she would blame him. He drove her mother away, he drove her little brother away. He drove everyone who loved him away, and he got caught in the bottom of a bottle, on the top of a gang. And some nights, she couldn't find it in him to blame him. Whatever he was, he was a good person. How many times had he comforted her when life got too hard? How many times had he reminded her what she needed in life to survive? Everything she knew about taking care of herself, she had learnt from him. Some nights, she blamed her mother. The separation had taken a huge toll on this family, and it was on that day that Gladys Jones left that Forsythe Pendleton the Second fell down such a deep hole. Except this wasn't a dream, and Riverdale was no Wonderland. Sometimes, when she felt especially helpless, she blamed herself. She had abandoned him in a way too, by leaving him alone in this wretched trailer. She had pushed him down that reverse-Wonderland, she had compelled him. Some nights she knew she couldn't blame herself. She was sixteen, damn it. If she wasn't going to live for herself now, when was she going to? But blaming herself was the easiest. Being the change you want to see was easy, because then you can fool yourself that you have that kind of power. Like she believed she had the power to change things just by coming back. Yet, here she was.