Archie trudges through the woods, snow sneaking its way into his boots. His thin socks do little in protecting his skin from the cold that seeps in.

He can't remember the last time he visited the treehouse, much less with Jughead. Fred had helped them build it when they were 10, wide-eyed and eager to finally be allowed to construct something and use Fred's tools. They were young then, content with spending their summer days in the treehouse, reading comics, eating junk food, talking for hours, or simply enjoying the silence of each other's company.

As Archie approaches the old wooden structure, he suddenly feels very old. A heaviness has settled into his bones somewhere during the events of the past year. He's no longer the little boy without a care in the world, and Jughead is even less so. Archie is well aware that he and Jughead have always led very different lives, had very different thresholds for all types of pain. As Archie finally reaches the clearing that is home to their treehouse, he wonders if Jughead has finally hit his threshold.

He has a minor heart attack (Jughead really needs to stop contributing to his stress levels) when he finds Jughead's crutches leaning against the tree trunk, but no Jughead.

"Jug?" He calls, concern leaking into his voice at the sight of the empty clearing.

"Here, Arch."

The call comes from above, and a moment later Archie sees Jughead's beanie appear in the doorway to the treehouse.

"Jughead, what the hell?" He says, exasperated. "You shouldn't be climbing anything, your ankle still isn't healed!"

Jughead waves him off, muttering something about overbearing friends, and hobbles away from the doorway to allow Archie room to climb up and enter. Archie shakes his head and carefully ascends the wooden boards Fred had nailed into the trunk all those years ago. He pulls himself up over the lip and into the treehouse, where he finally gets a good look at the interior.

It's…in incredibly good condition, to his surprise. When he and Jughead were regularly using it as a hangout spot, they had been sure to keep it clean and in good repair, but Archie hadn't been inside for a few years and had been certain that it would be falling apart.

Jughead notices his surprised expression as he takes in the neat arrangement and upkept wooden panels.

"I've been taking care of it," he says, avoiding Archie's gaze. "I slept here a bit…after the drive-in shut down. Then it got too cold so I moved to the school."

Archie feels a punch to his gut. It seems he is constantly finding new reasons to hate himself as more details come up about Jughead's homeless situation, and he's certain he deserves a "Worst Friend of the Year" award.

"Jug, I'm so-"

He's cut off before he can finish the apology by a bark of laughter.

"Don't apologize." Jughead says. "It's not your fault, no matter how much you think it is. It was my decision to leave home. I did what I had to do to make it work. I'm my own responsibility, Arch."

With that, Jughead shuffles his way over to the wide doorway and carefully lowers himself to the floor, trying and failing to hide his pained wincing, and allows his legs to dangle over the edge.

Archie silently slides down next to him. They're older now, bigger, so the seating arrangement is a bit more cramped than it once was. They sit in silence for a moment, looking out at the snow that begins to gently fall from the sky, and Archie is sure that Jughead is thinking of the same things he is, of all the times they'd sat in this very spot and talked for hours and hours as the sun sank below the horizon.

So much has changed from the last time they sat here together to now.

For all his faults as a friend, Archie likes to think that he knows when he needs to push Jughead and when he needs to let him take his own time. This situation is the latter, so he simply sits next to Jughead in comfortable silence, waiting to listen whenever he is ready to talk.

Eventually, Jughead sighs deeply and reaches up to fiddle with his hearing aids. He doesn't meet Archie's gaze.

"I know I've been kind of…" he pauses, looking for the right words. "distant lately. I'm sorry that I pushed you away when you were trying to help."

Jughead squares his shoulders and rests his hands in his lap.

"I went to see my dad this morning. Your dad was actually the one who suggested it. He knew something that you and I didn't, guess FP told him when he was drunk or something."

Jughead lapses into silence again, and Archie restrains himself from prodding him, instead focusing on the snowflakes that come to rest on his boots before slowly melting away to nothingness.

"It wasn't the Scorpions who took me."

Archie's gaze snaps up to Jughead.

"What?" He can't stop himself from interrupting, despite his determination not to.

Jughead visibly steels himself as he prepares to speak again, squeezing his eyes shut and nervously playing with the zipper on his coat.

"The Scorpions didn't take me." He repeats. Then, "They were Serpents."

Archie is rendered speechless. Of everything that he had been expecting Jughead to say, the fact that his own father's gang – his own family - had kidnapped and tortured him for six days hadn't even been an option.

Jughead continues to fill the silence, words pouring out of his mouth faster and faster.

"Apparently this – this whole gang war wasn't even a war, a couple Scorpions and Serpents just got into a few fights here and there. But some of the Serpents were pissed off that no one else was willing to seriously go after the Scorpions – like, no one really wants a fucking gang war, you know? These Serpents needed a reason to make the whole gang go after the Scorpions for real, so they figured, hey let's kidnap FP's kid and make it look like it was the Scorpions. I mean," Jughead breaks off in a humorless laugh, his voice becoming more and more hysterical. "what a great plan, right? Rough him up a little bit, plant the idea that the Scorpions did it, and boom, your gang leader with the infamously short temper goes on one hell of a rampage."

Archie closes his mouth, suddenly aware that it had fallen open during Jughead's tirade. A tense silence falls between them. The snow stops falling before either of them speak again, and a soft blanket of white covers the grass below.

"How did your dad find out?"

Jughead shrugs, leaning his head against the wood. "Didn't say much. My guess is that one of them started feeling guilty once you guys found me and owned up to it. They all wore masks but there was one…he was more reluctant than the others."

"What happened to the others?" Archie asks quietly.

Jughead looks somber. "Dad said they skipped town once they were ratted out."

"Do you believe him?"

"Do you?"

Archie smiles humorlessly. He waits for a moment, gathering his thoughts, choosing his next words carefully. Jughead hates being pitied, but Archie needs to make sure he understands how sorry he is that something like this had happened to him. How it was so inherently wrong for the people he trusts to turn on him and do something so terrible for their own gain. He opens his mouth to speak again, but Jughead beats him to it.

"I'm just…I'm so tired, Arch." All his sardonic humor is gone, evaporated with the pain of having to grow up too quickly. His voice is calm, but vulnerable. Archie has never heard him sound like this, even when FP confessed to Jason Blossom's murder. "This town is poison. The Serpents preach loyalty and trust in one another, and look at what happened. There's something wrong with Riverdale, with what it does to people. It got to the Blossom, the Coopers, to you. It chewed up my dad and spat him back out again, and now it's moved on to me. It feels like I'm being eaten alive and I can't stop it."

Archie doesn't know what to say. In truth, there is nothing he can say to make this right, because Jughead isn't wrong.

"It feels that way." Archie starts. "Sometimes it feels like I'm drowning, like I'm suffocating from all the secrets and lies in this town. But it's our home, Jug. Even if it is poison, we'll get away from here one day. We'll all find better places to call home, but I'm never going to forget living here. Because living here, doing what we did - it's made us who we are. The time we spent solving Jason Blossom's murder is just as important as the time we spent drinking milkshakes at Pop's, or building this treehouse, or celebrating birthdays, or raiding my dad's liquor cabinet. There's still good in all the bad, and that's what we have to live for."

Jughead nods slightly.

"I know you're right. I just…I want to get out of here."

Archie is struck with a sudden idea.

"You know…we never did get to go on our road trip."

Jughead snorts. "Yeah, whose fault is that?"

Archie chuckles. "Alright, alright, how many times do I have to apologize? Seriously, though. It's winter break now…we could borrow my dad's truck and do it."

Jughead turns to face Archie, arms crossing against his chest.

"Alright, Andrews," he smirks. "But I'm keeping you honest – you're not even allowed to look twice at any older women. Now help your gimp friend down, I didn't think about how high up this treehouse actually is."

Archie laughs and proceeds to climb down the ladder, spotting Jughead as he slowly descends after him. He hands Jughead his crutches once they reach the snow-covered ground, and they begin making their way back to the Andrews' home, and towards Fred's truck, the promise of an escape to an open road with one last line of hope for the future of their lives and of Riverdale.