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daisy-chain-gardens · 6 years

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MOTHER

Summary: “The moment a child is born, the mother is also born. She never existed before. The woman existed, but the mother, never. A mother is something absolutely new." and so in you the child your mother lives on and through your family continues to live... so at this time look after yourself and your family as you would your mother for through you all she will truly never die.” - Osho

A/N: This one's for Starry (@it-happened-one-starry-night). Thanks for being the only one to send me a quote to write a fic about and for putting up with all of my random ranting xx (And of course, another HUGE thanks to Jenna (@allskynostars) for helping edit and improve this fic xx)

READ IT ON AO3

The moment their son took his first breath, Jughead noticed something change in Betty. It was almost as if another part of her was born at the same time as Eric, some maternal instinct kicking in as soon as she saw that bundle of blonde hair with those meadow green eyes looking up at her. He was kicking and screaming and filling the air with broken cries but Betty was blinking back the tears of joy that threatened to spill from her eyes. The way her face lit up when the nurse finally let her cradle him in her arms presented Jughead with a realisation; he was no longer the only one who had Betty Jones’ heart, and there was no one he would rather share it with than the tiny baby settled against her chest.

He sat down on the bed next to his exhausted wife and their new child. His fingers reached out to brush a wayward tear off of Betty’s cheek, effectively catching her attention and bringing her gaze up to his.

“Can you believe that we made him, Jug? That we made something so tiny and perfect?” The awe in her voice as she looked back down at their son made him smile. She already loved Eric so much and he’d only been in the world for a handful of minutes. He could already tell that Betty would be an amazing mother.

A mother.

She’d never been that before. It was a title she wore with caution and pride, a title she took more seriously than any of the others she had been forced to carry during her life as a Cooper. Jughead knew how scared she was when they had first found out.

“Jug, I don’t know if I can do this. What if I end up like my mother? Or your mother? I don’t know if we should … this seems like a lot of responsibility and I don’t think I can take it on at the moment with work and moving house and then the wedding only a few weeks ago and -”

He’d pulled her into his arms and held her tight, cutting off her ramblings as she matched her breathing with his, listening to the sound of his heart beat inside his chest. He’d told her the only thing he was absolutely sure of in that moment.

“Betty, you are nothing like your mother and suggesting you could be anything like my mother is plain ludicrous. You will be the most incredible mother when we finally get to meet our little bug. I don’t have a single doubt in my mind.”

She wasn’t so scared after that.

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Jughead felt completely hopeless whenever Betty was around Eric. She’d slipped into her role as a mother so seamlessly when he was born and it seemed like she never slipped out. He watched her pour her heart and soul into their child, saw the endless amount of love she seemed to provide Eric with, and he couldn’t help but do the same.

It was addictive, watching them together; the soft melodies she would hum through a tired smile when she wanted him to sleep, the content expression she wore each time he reached for her, the excited chatter each time he reached a new milestone. Jughead caught the infective joy she seemed to emanate each time the three of them were together and couldn’t help but smile a little bigger, laugh a little louder, love a little harder.

It seemed like she’d given a part of herself to their son, and Jughead swore he could almost feel Betty in the air around him whenever he was alone with Eric, which started happening more and more frequently as the hospital visits got longer and the diagnosis remained unknown.

Sometimes he’d slip into Eric’s room in the middle of the night and curl up on the tattered arm chair that sat in the corner, telling himself it was to make sure the little boy didn’t need anything in the night.

It’s very hard to trick your own mind.

The days turned into weeks and Jughead spent a countless number of hours inhaling that sterile odeur that seemed to seep out of the white walls and colourless linoleum floors. Sometimes he’d bring Eric to liven everyone’s spirits, a now-stumbling toddler who’d inherited his mother’s gift of making everyone around him feel like his gappy grin was meant just for them. Other times he’d sit alone and pull his beanie down over his eyes, flashes of green eyes and blonde hair invading his vision each time he blinked.

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It was a cool summer’s day at the end of June when the family found themselves at the park, Betty and Jughead spread out on a checkered picnic blanket under a shaded tree as they watched their little blond menace chase after a football with a mind of its own.

To an outside eye it wouldn’t have seemed like anything special; two parents sitting side-by-side with their hands intertwined, exchanging loving glances out of the corners of their eyes as they laughed along with their wobbly toddler. It was the sort of scene that you look at for a moment longer and as soon as you look away, you smile at the ground and bask in that warm fuzzy feeling that spreads through your whole body.

That fuzzy feeling would have disappeared as soon as you saw the mother drop to the ground, holding her side as she screamed in agony, leaving you cold and breathless as the ambulance hooked her up to numerous wires and machines before closing the doors and speeding away. The exasperated look on the father’s face as he watched his oblivious son keep chasing that damn ball would have smashed your heart to pieces, just like it did to him. He only managed to keep one piece intact; the piece that belonged to his son.

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Eric bounced around the funeral with a smile on his face, nowhere near old enough to realise how recent events would impact him. Everyone’s condolences were full of sincere words of grief and support, most of them mentioning his blond ball of sunshine and how he carried the kind spirit of his dear mother. Jughead couldn’t get past the second message without the tears escaping, running down his face as he held Eric tighter on the three person couch, some animated kids show playing in the background and sending the toddler into a dreamless sleep.

Something changed in Jughead on that summery afternoon. You could see it in the little things; the way he held his son that bit longer, the far off looks he fell into when he got lost in his memories, the watchful gaze as Eric stumbled around the playground, the closed off conversations with vacant stares.

It was almost as if Jughead was trying to keep Betty alive through their son, like that one piece of his heart that was still beating inside the young boy’s chest was the only way to keep the pieces he’d given to her. Like he’d be able to save her if he saved their son. Like she might be coming back to look at what a wonderful job he was doing, to see the wonderful boy he was raising.

But the truth was, she wasn’t going to come back. He wasn’t going to bump into her at the supermarket when he ran in to get milk, or see her strolling through the park before stopping to say hi, or getting into her car after a long day at work. Because Betty hadn’t left, she was gone, that one little word haunting every thought that occupied Jughead’s mind until it started to drive him a little crazy.

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Eric didn’t remember his mother, had no memories of the gorgeous blonde he seemed to remind everyone of. He wasn’t aware of the pieces of her heart he seemed to carry, but he knew that he carried pieces of his father’s, and he knew he’d do everything in his power to look after them and make sure they didn’t get broken like the rest of it had.

He began noticing his father’s stories become less and less frequent, almost as if the memories we're starting to get a little hazy, a little fuzzy around the edges. Maybe it was because Eric had heard them all before, maybe not, all he knew was that smile Jughead sometimes sent his way wasn’t meant for him, but for someone else who shared his golden hair and bright green eyes, all wrapped up in that warm smile.

One Christmas, a now seven-year-old Eric unwrapped the spotted paper on one of his presents and found himself staring at a leather-bound notebook, the cover soft under his fingertips. He’d held it up curiously, searching for some kind of explanation in his father’s expression but finding only that soft smile that fell on his lips whenever Betty crossed his mind.

“This notebook is very special Bug, do you know why?” Eric shook his head as he crawled over into his father’s lap, wrapping his arms around his waist and nuzzling his head into his chest as Jughead began another story, sharing another piece of Betty with him.

“Before I started going out with your mum, I was by myself a lot. I would sit in this diner with my laptop out and my headphones in and I’d just write. I wrote about the people that I saw and the things around me and anything that crossed my mind really. I really liked watching, observing, trying to make sense of things with words and sentences and paragraphs.”

“By the end of high school, I’d been with your mum for about two years and I had just finished my novel. She noticed that I was still itching to write, not necessarily about another murder in our screwed up town but about anything, about what I saw and what I thought. For my birthday, she got me a notebook and a pen and told me to write down anything and everything that crossed my mind. I took that book everywhere with me. I used it so much that by Christmas, I’d already filled up all of the pages and the spine was starting to split.” Jughead chuckled at the memory. He always ended up laughing during these kind of stories, knowing that if he didn’t, it would be tears that filled the silence instead.

“So that Christmas, your mum gave me another notebook, exactly the same as the one she’d given me for my birthday. And then I filled that, so she gave me another one for my birthday. Every year since then, for my birthday and for Christmas, your mum would give me the same notebook and the same pen and tell me to write whatever I wanted inside, to fill the pages with ink and thoughts. She’d always write something on the first page once I’d finished the book; a quote, lyrics from a song, something she’d heard in passing, or sometimes just something she wanted me to know.” Eric snuggled closer into Jughead, his soothing voice lulling the little boy to sleep in his arms.

“Do you want to see something Bug?” Jughead’s voice was full of excitement so Eric nodded sleepily, rubbing his eyes open before climbing out of his father’s lap and taking his hand, letting himself be led down the hallway and into his parents’ room. Eric clambered onto the bed and sat against the pillows, watching Jughead as he rummaged around in the wardrobe, eventually pulling out a large plastic box and setting it on the bed. He opened the lid and searched around for a moment, pulling something out and handing it to Eric.

“This is the first notebook Betty gave me,” Jughead explained as he sat down next to his son, pulling the boy onto his lap.

“It’s the same as my notebook!” Eric exclaimed, excited to be a part of this strange tradition his family seemed to be passing onto him.

“Yeah it is, isn’t it. Do you want to have a look inside?” The little boy nodded eagerly, carefully removing the elastic that seemed to be the only thing holding the flimsy pages together. He turned to the first page and read out the words neatly written in the familiar writing of someone unfamiliar;

I want you in every shade that you come in. All the good and all the bad.

“Why did Mummy write that Daddy?” Eric asked as he carefully flipped through the pages, looking at his father’s messy scrawl but not really reading any of it.

“Well Bug, there’s lots of things your mum and I went through when we were younger and I’m sure you’ll hear all about them when you get a bit bigger, but not yet.” Jughead ran his fingers through Eric’s hair, sticking it up in every direction. Eric looked up at him with a sleepy grin, reaching up to mess Jughead’s hair as well.

“Can you read to me?” Eric asked as he crawled towards the box and pulled out a journal at random, handing it to his father.

“Anything for you.” Jughead kissed Eric’s forehead as he sat back on his lap, staring at the little boy for a beat longer and wondering how he got so lucky as to have such an incredible son, before turning his attention to the worn notebook in his hand. He opened up to the first page and smiled as he realised which notebook Eric had chosen.

I’m pretty sure the ring is just a formality at this point - Betty Jones

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Each night, before he went to bed, Jughead would read another story from one of his notebooks while Eric filled up his own. He never was very good with the written word, preferring colours and lines over letter and full stops. By the following December, his notebook was filled with drawings as he illustrated his father’s stories, most of them featuring a gorgeous woman with blonde hair and meadow green eyes.

On Christmas Eve, Eric sat on his bedroom floor with the door shut and struggled with a roll of wrapping paper and a some tape, trying to wrap up his own book as nicely as Jughead had done the year before. He slipped the present under the tree before he went to bed, falling asleep with a smile on his face in anticipation of the following day.

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To an outside eye, the spectacle of Christmas day would have seemed rather normal; a single father and his son sitting around their sparkling tree as they unwrapped the few presents they had to give each other. The small rectangular gift, covered in a mess of tape and ribbon, wouldn’t have seemed like anything to write home about, leaving you confused when you saw the father’s reaction as he unwrapped it.

He opened up the first page and found the book introduced by his son’s wobbly handwriting;

Love is the only thing we can offer one another at this point. So love really fucking hard. Always.

Tears came to Jughead’s eyes as he read over the words again and again, knowing he’d seen them before but not sure where his son got them from. He looked up at Eric, the small boy looking at him expectantly with an excited grin on his face.

“Look, Daddy! It’s what Mummy wrote!” He was bouncing up and down before running out of the room, reappearing moments later with a notebook clutched in his hands. He held it out to Jughead who took it warily, confused as to what was going on.

“I was looking through your notebooks so I could find something to draw and I found this one. It’s exactly like yours but it’s got Mummy’s writing in it. I didn’t really understand it but this was the last thing she wrote. I thought maybe I could write it on the first page of my book so it’s like Mummy wrote in my book, like she did for you.” Eric was standing up and swaying on his feet, rocking back and forward as he watched his dad, trying to read his expression. Jughead looked up at him in awe, amazed at what Eric had found.

“You mean Betty wrote in this notebook?” Jughead asked, his voice full of disbelief and amazement as he opened up the book to a random page filled with Betty’s neat, loopy handwriting. He pulled his son down for a hug, holding him tightly as the tears started falling once more, only this time he was unable to stop them.

“You know Bug, I think this is the best gift I’ve ever received.” Jughead wiped the tears from his eyes and kissed Eric on the forehead, ruffling up his hair up like he always did, letting the blond curls stick straight up.

“Even better than Mummy’s gifts?” Eric asked curiously as he tangled his fingers in Jughead’s hair, encouraging it to match his.

“Good point, maybe a close second,” Jughead chuckled as he hugged his son once more.

“Good, because if this is the best gift you ever got that’s a little bit sad.” Jughead held Eric tighter, resting his chin on his shoulder as he watched the rainbow-coloured lights flash on and off, bring their little Christmas tree back to life.

“Do you want to know the best gift Betty ever gave me?” He felt Eric nod eagerly, bringing a smile back to his lips as he pulled back slightly and tapped his son on the end of his nose.

“You.”

#mother one shot #bughead fanfiction #bughead one shot #betty cooper #jughead jones

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