"Mommy will be right back, okay?" the young mother crouched down, kissing the toddler gently on the head, before turning toward the older boy.

"Don't cry, momma," he said, hugging his mother's neck gently with his little arms.

She pulled away, wiping her eyes. "When I leave, I want you to knock on this door okay, Juggie? You knock on the door and then some really nice people here are going to find a really nice house for you and Jellybean."

"Do you think they'll have dogs?" the boy asked, his eyes lighting up slightly.

"We can hope, can't we?" the woman chuckled. "Jughead, listen. I'm going to need you to be a big boy and take care of your sister for me, okay? Jellybean's gonna need you."

"Where are you gonna go, momma?"

"It doesn't matter, sweetie," she took his little face in her hands, thumbs swiping away the tears that had begun to make little wet trails down his cheeks. "I'm going to come back for you, I promise, okay? I love you so much, Juggie."

She planted one final kiss on his cheek before rising and disappearing around a corner and into the alleyway.

Lightning lit up the dark night sky followed by a crack of thunder, and little Jellybean began to cry, hiding her face in her worn pink and purple polka-dotted blankie.

"Shh…" Jughead cooed, taking his baby sister's small hand in his. "It's okay, Jellybean. Mommy will be back for us soon. But for now, I'm going to take care of you."

The little girl clung to his arm as the boy reached up, standing on his tippy toes to knock on the big wooden door.

"I just don't understand why she isn't with me," the raven-haired boy leans forward in his seat, "I'm the only one in our family who can take her or wants to take her, and I'm a legal adult now. She should be with me."

"Well for starters, your living conditions aren't exactly the best. They aren't deplorable, but they're not great," Ms. Weiss, the social worker who'd been working with Jughead and his little sister Jellybean for years, begins.

"What's that supposed mean?"

"A teenage girl living with two men, one of whom is unrelated?" the middle-aged woman raises her eyebrows, "The foster care system would see that sort of situation as a high-risk situation."

"That's reaching," he says, "I'm her brother and my roommate has known us for so long, he practically is too."

"Plus, there's the fact that you are reliant on a roommate to make ends meet. They'd question if you were financially stable," she continues. "Which brings us to the fact that according to your tax records, you haven't held down much of a steady job. You first job was at the Twilight Drive-in and then you worked for a while at Pop's Chock 'Lit Shoppe, but after that it was odd jobs until just a few months ago when you took up employment at Andrews Construction."

"I'm twenty-one. I was trying to figure out what I want to do with my life. I'm still trying to figure it out," the dark-haired boy explains. "And I don't think that makes me an unfit guardian. As long as Jellybean gets what she needs."

Ms. Weiss sighs, pulling out a manila envelope with "Forsythe Jones III" stamped across the front. She pulls out a few of the papers and begins to read from them. "You first went to Riverdale Juvenile Detention Center for arson when you were ten."

"I was a stupid fifth grader playing with matches," he scoffs, "that hardly counts."

"But it doesn't stop there, Jughead," she continues to read off his rap sheet, "you then were arrested at fifteen for running away from a foster home. And then again at sixteen for kidnapping Jellybean from hers."

"Yeah, because you separated us and she ended up with some low lives who were beating her," Jughead narrows his eyes, "And you people wouldn't do anything. I had to protect my sister."

"And then, when you were seventeen, things really started to head downhill," the social worker goes on, un-phased by his accusations, "You became affiliated with the Southside Serpents, and after that it's a slew of charges: drug distribution, petty theft…and just last year you incurred an assault charge."

"That got dismissed!" he cranes his neck in an attempt to see the papers for himself, "it shouldn't be on there."

"That's not how the DA is going to see it," Ms. Weiss sighs, stacking the paperwork and resealing it all into the envelope. "I'm sorry, Jughead, I really am. I've been working with you and your sister for a long time, and I really think you're a good person. But I can't ethically recommend you for guardianship of Jellybean. And even if I did, with your record, no judge will grant you custody. She's fifteen. She needs stability."

"She needs her family," Jughead insists, leaning forward again. "She needs me."

"I'm sorry. It's just the way it is."

"Our mother told me to look out for her," he whispers, looking down at his hands in his lap.

"Well, your mother also left the two of you on a church step in the middle of the night," Ms. Weiss retorts, "I don't think she's really good at discerning what's best for her children."

Jughead looks away, gritting his teeth to push back the anger that rose in his chest.

"Sorry to have wasted your time." The young Serpent pushes himself back from Ms. Weiss' desk, storming from her office and out the door of the old brick building. The wind nips at his nose and cheeks, and he shoves his hands into the pockets of the worn leather jacket

He gets into his truck, slamming the door behind him. Yanking the beanie that was perpetually on the top of his head, balling it in his fists, he punches the steering wheel once, letting a single sob rip from his throat, before he drawing in one long, unsteady breath.

He then replaces his beanie, tucking the black disheveled strands into it. He revs the old engine to life, pulling out of the CPS center parking lot and driving away.

When he got back to the dingy house where he and his best friend lived, his little sheepdog rushed to greet him, tail wagging so hard his whole backside wriggled with it.

"That little shit has literally been sitting at the window whining since you left," Joaquin groans.

"I can't help it if Hotdog likes me more than you," Jughead laughs, patting the dog's fur. "When was the last time he went out?"

"Ummm…" the greasy haired boy looks away from his video game, a guilty expression on his face.

"Wrong answer," Jughead grabs the leash, hooking it onto the dog's blue collar, and heads back out into the cold.