In Feeling There is Strength

Strength

You were lucky the Serpents had chosen black jackets, you realized. Hell, maybe this is exactly the reason they'd chose black to begin with.

In unity, there is strength.

The wall of snakes at your back proved it, black jackets warm and protective, forming a semi-circle around the grave.

Your mother's grave.

The hospital had tried to help her, tried to get her through to stability, but she just wouldn't wake up. Her brain was dying, the doctors said. It was time to pull the plug.

Somehow they'd contacted your dad. Somehow he said that was okay. Somehow you were alone again.

Fuck , it was hard to keep things together.

Yeah, the Serpents had your back, but that still didn't make the hurt go away. It didn't make your chest stop compressing around your ribs like a vice. Your eyes were watering. You couldn't do this. You couldn't hold it together, watching your mother's casket thunk against the dark dirt, settle into the ground, disappear .

She was dead.

Fuck, you really couldn't do this.

You turned, shoulders hunched, feet unsteady against the uneven earth as you made your way to the woods.

The woods were safe. You could cry there. You could be alone there. That would give you time to process— Fuck, how do you process something like this? How do you move on when you've watched everything shatter and die in front of you? Your mother was dead. Your father was gone. So was your sister. And your brother – a Ghoulie on top of cruel – wouldn't condescend to talk to you, especially now that you had a snake curling up your shoulder.

Nobody had followed you, something you were grateful for. They knew their place, knew when to back off. You needed them to know that. Family knew that.

There was a tree to your left and you leaned against it, back shrouded from the funeral goers by the trees. You'd walked deeper than expected, tears blurring your vision and making your steps uncoordinated, but that was okay. You'd find your way out eventually when the tears had dried and the pain had ended. If it ever ended.

You shuttered, clinging to the tree like it was the only thing keeping you upright as another wave of sobs wracked your chest. It was all so much. It was too much. You couldn't breathe—

There was a snap behind you and you turned, eyes wide, vision blurry, but even then you could tell who was standing there staring back at you. Jughead.

He stepped forward, and you stepped back, eyes wide, worried. You couldn't be seen, not like this. You'd been Jughead's rock for years but he couldn't – shouldn't – be yours. You were brave. You could face this alone.

Only you couldn't. It was so hard to breathe. Everything was suffocating as the world sucked every ounce of strength from your body, every bit of will to stay strong.

And suddenly Jughead's arms were around you, cradling you to his chest. And you were hiccuping, sobbing, your weight all but completely pushed on top of him as he held you to his chest.

"It's gonna be okay," he murmured, hand running soothingly up your back just like all the times you'd comforted him in the past. "It's okay to be upset. You deserve to cry. Just let it out."

And years of agony fizzled through your blood, falling from your lips in silent screams and ragged breaths. Your face was raw, eyes burning from the salt, but you couldn't stop. It hurt; it hurt way too much. But you needed to feel something.

Jughead gave you everything, every bit of hope and want and home. He'd been your brother always, the not-so-perfect boy next door that had been everything you'd ever needed as a friend. And here he was after everything, after all the times he'd needed you, repaying the favors. He needed you. He wanted you. He couldn't stand having a life without you.

But he didn't love you. Not like that.

But maybe that was okay. Maybe you didn't need him to. Maybe all you needed was someone to not let you fight all your battles alone.

His voice broke through your thoughts, comforting you even as your hiccuping slowed.

"In unity there is strength."