It's raining the day of Jughead's funeral. Not pouring, nothing that dramatic. Just a constant drizzle that seems like it will never let up, like it's some kind of sign of how life is going to feel from now on. Without Jughead.
Archie stands between Veronica and his Dad at the service, his hands folded in front of him. Hermione stands behind Veronica, but Hiram is nowhere to be seen. Across the shiny black coffin adorned with flowers, Betty stands with her mom and sister. Droplets of water cling to her hair, the moisture causing tiny curls to form around her face. Her eyes are rimmed red, like she hasn't stopped crying for the past three days. Alice has a black umbrella but Betty stands just in front of it. Archie wonders if she's even noticed it's raining.
The rest of Jughead's friends and family are gathered around, everyone dressed in black, though that isn't unusual for the Serpents. Grey clings to them, the sky just as morbid as the congregation. The red roses on the coffin are the only splash of colour that can be seen. Blood red. It makes Archie want to vomit.
They gather at Pop's afterwards. It's supposed to be a celebration of Jughead's life, where people reminisce and tell stories about Jughead. Archie tries, he really does. He can tell FP is trying too, but it's too soon. Maybe someday they'll be able to talk about it, but not today.
Veronica, on the other hand, has no trouble. Archie is thankful for the easy way she takes control, putting on Jughead's favourite songs, asking people about their favourite memories of Jughead. It's a weight off Archie's shoulders, knowing he doesn't have to be the one to do that.
He finds Betty sitting by herself, tucked away in a corner of a booth, staring out the window, miles away. She's not crying now, but her face is stained with tears. Archie slides into the booth beside her and she turns to face him.
"How are you doing?" he asks. Stupid question. Betty shakes her head.
"I keep thinking it's not real, you know?" she says. Her voice is hoarse. "That he's going to walk right through that door and wonder what the hell we're all so sad about."
"I know. Me too."
Betty presses her lips together and blinks back tears. "How am I going to go on without him?"
Archie shakes his head. He doesn't have an answer for her, not sure there is one. Instead he offers his arms and Betty lets him embrace her. Words have never been Archie's strong suit, but perhaps its enough for now to just be there to stroke Betty's hair while she cries into his shoulder.
Betty doesn't come to school for a week. Archie can't blame her. Her boyfriend dead and her Dad arrested in one night. She needs time to recover. Still, he worries about her. Veronica tells him Betty needs time and space. Time, sure, Archie gets it. He's still processing himself. Sometimes he'll think he's fine, but then he notices an empty space where Jughead should be, as if everyone is still leaving room for him. It's like a punch in the gut every time.
Space, on the other hand? Archie isn't so sure. He's sure it can't be good for her to be alone in that house all the time. He tries to call her but she doesn't pick up. He tries to catch her attention through their bedroom windows, but her curtains are shut. He sends her a text, and she responds, telling him she's fine, but she'd rather be alone right now.
Archie respects her wishes, but he still worries about her.
Veronica practically lives at his house now. She can't stand to be around her father, and since she spent all her money on buying the Whyte Wyrm and subsequently trading it for Pop's, she has nowhere else to go. Not that Archie minds. He's glad to have her there. He's not sure he could cope with sleeping alone.
She doesn't walk home from school with him though. Archie takes a detour every afternoon to the cemetery to visit Jughead's grave. He sits there for a few minutes and tells him the mundane things that happened at school that day. He doesn't bring flowers or anything, but there are always fresh ones there. Archie assumes they're from Betty.
After a week of not seeing her, and barely hearing from her, he decides enough is enough. There's no way being alone is what's best for her. She needs her friends. He tries to convince Veronica to come with him, but Veronica declines, saying she doesn't want to overwhelm her.
Alice opens the door.
"Archie," she says, and she doesn't exactly smile, but she doesn't exactly frown either. She lets him inside. "Betty's upstairs in her room. Perhaps you can convince her to eat something."
Archie nods. Alice disappears into the kitchen and returns holding a plate with a sandwich, and a glass of juice in the other hand. Archie takes them from her and heads upstairs. He doesn't have enough free hands to knock on her bedroom door, so he just pushes on it with his foot, and it swings open.
The room is dark, all the curtain closed. Archie can vaguely make out Betty's form, curled up on the bed, huddled underneath her doona.
"Go away, Mom," Betty says. "I told you I'm not hungry."
"It's Archie."
Betty doesn't move. Archie kicks the door shut and walks over to her. He sets the plate and glass down on her nightstand and sits beside her on the bed.
"What are you doing here?" Betty asks.
"I was worried about you."
"Well, as you can see, I'm fine."
"Betty—"
She sits up. Her face is hollow, haunted. Her eyes are red, her hair greasy.
"I'm fine, Arch," she says. "Really."
"I don't think you are."
"I just need some more time to grieve," she whispers.
"You need to eat," Archie says gently. "And you need to get out and get some sun. And you need to see your friends. We're here for you."
"I know, Arch."
"Betty, if you need to talk—"
"I know," she says. "I know."
Archie frowns, concerned. As if to show him she's fine, Betty picks up the sandwich and takes a bite. She chews slowly, and Archie watches her until she swallows.
"Do you want me to go?" Archie asks. Betty nods. Archie pats her knee and stands up. She wants him gone, so he has to go. But he vows to come back tomorrow. "Come back to school soon. We all miss you."
The sound of his phone vibrating against his bedside table wakes him in the middle of the night. He reaches for it, squinting at the brightness of the screen as he checks it in the dark. Betty. Veronica stirs beside him.
"Betty?" he answers, softly but urgently. His stomach is in knots.
"Archie," she sobs. Archie immediately untangles himself from Veronica and shoots out of bed.
"What's wrong?"
"You were right. I'm not okay, I—" she stops. "Can I come over?"
Archie glances at Veronica, lying fast asleep in his bed. "I'll come to you."
He lets himself into the Cooper house with the spare key and tries to be as quiet as possible as he ascends the stairs. The scene in Betty's bedroom is much the same as that afternoon. Only now, he can hear Betty quietly sobbing. He's across the room in two quick strides, pulling her into his arms. Betty cries into his shoulder, sobs wracking her body.
"I miss him so much," she says.
"I know," Archie says, rubbing her back. He misses Jughead too.
"I can't stand being here in this house, everything either reminds me of Jug or my dad. But I can't bring myself to go anywhere either. I don't want everyone looking at me, talking about me. Everybody probably hates me because of my dad. Or they feel sorry for me because of Jug—" she cuts herself off with another loud sob.
"I can't eat, I can't sleep," she says. Tears take over, and Archie pulls her tighter.
"Hey. It's going to be okay," he tells her, though he knows it doesn't mean anything.
"Will you stay here tonight?" Betty sniffles.
"As long as you need."
When he checks his phone the following morning he has four missed calls from Veronica. Betty is still fast asleep so he gets up and takes his phone out into the hall, almost running into Alice.
"Mrs Cooper," he says nervously. She seems surprised but not angry.
"Archie," she nods. "Is Betty—"
"She's asleep," Archie tells her. Alice breathes a sigh of relief. For the first time Archie notices that Alice also looks like she hasn't slept in days.
"Are you okay, Mrs Cooper?" he asks her.
"I'm fine, Archie," she says, patting his shoulder. She gives him a tight-lipped smile before heading downstairs. Archie's phone starts buzzing again and he quickly answers it.
"Ronnie—" he starts.
"Finally!" she snaps. "Where are you? I've been worried sick."
"I'm at Betty's. She called me last night."
"Oh."
"I was right, Ronnie. She needs us," Archie says.
"She needs you. I'm glad you were there for her. But next time would you leave a note or something?" Veronica sighs.
"Yeah, of course," Archie says, feeling guilty. "Sorry, Ronnie."
He ends the call and turns to find Betty standing in the doorway behind him.
"You're up," he says. Betty nods.
"Was that Veronica?"
"Yeah. I forgot to tell her where I was going last night," says Archie. He pauses. "Are you going to come to school today?"
Betty bites her lip. She shakes her head. "Just… just today. I promise I'll come back on Monday."
Archie nods. "I'll be right there by your side."
Betty calls again that night. Veronica wakes up this time.
"Was that Betty again?"
"Yeah." He gets out of bed and throws a shirt on. "You should come this time."
Veronica hesitates. "No," she says. "It's better if it's just you."
Archie frowns, but he doesn't fight her. It's almost as if Veronica is actually avoiding Betty, not just giving her space. But he doesn't have time to deal with that right now. He goes to Betty, like he did the night before, and immediately crawls into bed beside her, wrapping his arms around her, her back to his chest.
"Thanks for coming," she whispers. "Is Veronica—"
"She knows I'm here," Archie says. "It's okay." He leaves out the part where Veronica didn't want to come with him.
"Does it make it easier? Having someone?" Betty asks.
"A little bit," Archie says. "I still have nightmares sometimes."
"Me too. That's why I stopped sleeping. But last night was better."
"Glad I could help."
The third night, she's crying again. She doesn't say anything as he crawls into bed beside her, but she buries her head into his chest. Her breathing slowly becomes more even and the tears eventually stop.
"I'm a terrible person," Betty whispers.
"Of course you're not," Archie says immediately, though he has no clue what she's referring to. "Is this because of your dad?"
Betty shakes her head. "I haven't been to see him since the funeral."
"You don't have to," Archie says. "You don't owe him anything."
"Not my dad. Jughead."
That surprises Archie. "Why?" he blurts out, already regretting the word. But Betty doesn't seem to mind.
"Seeing his name on that headstone…" Betty swallows. "It makes it too real. And it's not like he's really there. He's gone." Her voice breaks on the word gone.
"You're right," Archie says slowly. "He's not there. Not really. But it's nice to have somewhere to go, to talk to him. I like to think he can hear me."
"You talk to him?"
"Yeah. Just boring stuff. Do you think I'm crazy?"
"No," Betty says. "I want to talk to him too."
"We could go now."
"Now?"
"Why not?"
"It's the middle of the night. They lock the gates at night."
"So we'll climb over them."
Betty pauses.
"Okay," she agrees.
They walk to the cemetery in near silence, their footsteps on the pavement the only noise they make. The rest of the night is quiet around them, except for the trees rustling in the slight breeze. Archie glances at Betty occasionally, to make sure she's okay. She's quiet, but she's not crying. That's something.
Archie scales the gate first, and it rattles with every movement.
"Shh!" Betty hisses up at him. "We'll get caught."
"It's a lot harder than it looks," Archie says. He reaches the top and clambers over. His foot gets caught as he tries to swing it over and he falls to the other side with a thud.
"Ow," he says.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah," he says. And then, for whatever reason, he starts laughing. He thinks it might be the first time he's laughed since Jughead died.
"I think you might have hit your head," Betty says, climbing over the gate after him. She drops to the ground beside him with much more grace than he had managed. She offers her hand and he takes it, letting her help him up. He surveys the darkened graveyard.
"We should have brought a flashlight," he realises. Betty pulls a tiny one out of her jacket pocket and switches it on. Archie grins. That's the Betty he knows.
Betty leads the way to Jughead's grave. Archie sticks close behind her. It's not that he's afraid or anything, but the way the headstones kind of loom in the shadows creeps him out. He's wondering why he suggested this.
They find Jughead's resting place and Betty shines the flashlight across the headstone.
Here Lies Forsythe "Jughead" Jones III
Beloved son and treasured friend
2002 – 2018
Archie swallows. He's read the words enough times. They never seem to do the man he knew justice.
The light falls on the bunch of fresh lilies that lie on the grave.
"Did you leave these?" Betty asks. Archie shakes his head. Up until now, Archie had assumed the flowers that constantly adorned Jughead's grave were the work of Betty. Perhaps FP has been leaving flowers. It seems out of character, but it is his son after all.
Betty sits on the grass beside the headstone, and Archie joins her. She traces a finger over Jughead's name before switching off the flashlight.
"Jughead…" she starts. Her voice wobbles. Archie reaches out and takes her hand. He gives it a comforting squeeze. Betty takes a deep breath and tries again.
Archie isn't sure how long they sit there, Betty's hand in his as she tells Jughead about how much she misses him, how much she wishes he were here. She doesn't cry until she's nearly finished, and she instinctively leans towards Archie, letting him bear the weight of her tears.
They walk home hand in hand.
Betty returns to school on Monday as she promised, and Archie accompanies her, as he promised. Veronica claims she has to be at school early.
People give Betty looks of pity and ask her how she's doing. She tells them all she's fine, but her smile is not even a little convincing. Everyone is delicate with her. Except Veronica. Veronica barely speaks to her at all.
The three of them sit together at lunch, but Archie does most of the talking. Come home time, Veronica says she needs to talk to Principal Weatherbee about something, and Archie and Betty walk home without her.
"How are you doing?" Archie asks Betty on their way home. Betty shrugs. "As bad as you thought?"
"No," Betty sighs. "You were right. It's better to be out of the house."
Archie nods as they reach his house. "Call me if you need me," he says. Betty gives him a half smile, slightly more genuine than the one she'd been giving everyone else all day.
"Thanks, Arch."
Veronica gets home twenty minutes later. She's looking guilty, like she already knows what Archie's going to ask her.
"Why are you avoiding Betty?"
"I'm not."
"You are. And when she needs her friends the most. What gives?"
Veronica looks pained. Her eyes flutter closed and her mouth forms a tight line. She sighs. "I feel guilty," she finally says.
"Guilty?"
"Yes!" she bursts out. "What if she blames me, Archie?"
"For… Jughead's death?" Archie says wondrously. How she came to that conclusion he can't fathom. Veronica nods. "But that was Penny and the Ghoulies… how could you possibly think…?"
"You think my father wasn't behind this?" she snorts. Archie gapes at her. He licks his lips.
"Even—even if that's true," Archie says, and he's not convinced it isn't true, "that's not you. You aren't your father. You would never condone—"
"That's the thing, Archie, I did condone this! Not this specifically, but did I not help my father every step of the way? Was I not his fiercest supporter up to this moment?"
"If you believe that, then you must believe it's partly my fault too."
"No, Archiekins," she says softly. "It was never you. My father did whatever he could to manipulate you. And I let him," she says, disgusted.
"Ronnie—" Archie starts. He can't let her think that any of this is her fault. She would never, never hurt someone the way Hiram has hurt people. She's good, this Archie knows.
"It will just take some time, Archie," Veronica says. "I'll give her some space and then eventually, hopefully we can be friends again. But you need to be there for her."
Archie nods. He had no intention of doing otherwise.
"In the meantime, I'll just keep making sure there are always flowers on his grave," Veronica says.
"That's you?"
She nods. "It's the least I can do."
Archie doesn't hear from Betty for a couple of nights. They walk to school together and hang out at school together, but she doesn't call him crying in the middle of the night. She looks tired, but Archie doesn't comment on it.
She doesn't call him, until she does, nights later, her voice a hoarse whisper.
"Sorry to call," she says as Archie takes the call out into the hallway. "I can't sleep."
"Do you want me to come over?"
"I don't want to be in this house. Can I come to you?"
"Veronica's here."
A beat. "Oh. Of course. I'm sorry, I—"
"Meet me outside in five minutes."
"Okay."
He sneaks back into his room and dresses quietly, then heads downstairs, grabbing his dad's car keys as he slips out the front door. Betty is already standing in his driveway when he gets outside. He waves the keys at her and she meets him at the car, climbing into the passenger seat while Archie hops into the driver's side. He starts the car.
"Where are we going?" she asks him.
"Wherever you like," he says, backing out of the driveway. She says nothing, so he just drives. He heads out of town, passing no one else on the road as he drives. They stay silent until the lights of the town are well behind them, where Betty turns the radio on.
"Feeling any better?" Archie asks her.
"Honestly, I felt better as soon as I heard your voice. But being out of that house helps too."
Archie assumes the hatred of the house is more to do with her father being a serial killer than with Jughead being gone. But Jughead being gone can't help.
"It must be lonely."
"Yeah…" Betty sighs. "I think I could deal with my dad being the black hood, if only I had Jughead to help me through it."
Archie swallows. "I know it's not the same, but… you know I'm always here, right? Whenever you want to talk about your dad, or Jughead. Or whatever. I'm here."
Betty almost smiles. "I know. Thanks, Arch. Not right now. I'm kind of exhausted."
"Have you been sleeping?" He asks the question, though he already knows the answer.
Betty shakes her head. "Not since you last slept over."
"You can sleep now, if you want," he says.
"What about you?"
"I'm not tired," he lies. He's not sure if Betty believes him, or if she's just too tired to argue, but she tilts her seat back and closes her eyes. It isn't long before her breathing becomes slow and even, the motion of the vehicle putting her to sleep like a baby. Archie glances at her out the corner of his eye, and finds his heart swell with fondness. She looks so peaceful like that. He hopes she's dreaming of something good.
They don't go for a drive every night, but it becomes a habit. Sometimes he's already waiting in the car when she calls. He never bothers to wake Veronica, he knows she won't want to come. And he finds he doesn't want her to come.
She wakes up one night as he's sneaking out, and he freezes in the doorway, caught in the act.
"Is it Betty again?" Veronica croaks in the darkness.
"Yeah," Archie says. He has no idea if Veronica knows just how often he leaves her in the middle of the night. A lot of the time he makes it back in time to wake up with her in the morning, but sometimes he just stays at Betty's. He knows Betty will sleep better if he's there.
"Should I come?" Veronica asks hesitantly. He feels a rush of sudden resentment, and he panics, trying to think of a way to tell her not to come. This is his time with Betty. He doesn't want Veronica intruding. Because that's what she would be, if she sat there in the back seat; an intruder. He doesn't want her there, witnessing how he is with Betty.
"Not if you don't want to," Archie says. He holds his breath, waiting for her answer.
"Maybe next time," Veronica says. Archie breathes a sigh of relief.
"Okay," he says. He leaves without another word.
Veronica never asks if she should come along again. Maybe she senses that he doesn't want her to. Maybe she feels she Betty still needs time before they can be friends again. Maybe she feels it's been too much time.
As weeks pass, Archie and Betty continue their midnight drives. Archie doesn't know if Betty can tell, but he notices that she seems better every time.
He notices the first time she gives him a genuine smile, two weeks after Jughead's funeral. And a week after that, he says something that makes her laugh joyously, the sound filling up the car and the holes in his heart. He's missed that sound.
He notices that she doesn't seem so tired anymore, and that she cries less and less. She says she thinks her mom is doing better, that FP has been there to help her through the aftermath of Hal. Archie can't help but think that, whether Betty knows it or not, he has been the same for her.
He notices that slowly, slowly, the light returns to her eyes. He notices that she doesn't mention how much she misses Jughead as much, and that when she does mention him she doesn't get choked up.
And he notices that the more time he spends with her, the more he wants to spend time with her. That he wants to hold her hand, and that it gets harder and harder to leave her side to go to Veronica. He catches himself thinking about kissing her, and he feels incredibly guilty, because he feels like he's betraying his girlfriend and his dead friend, though he's done nothing to act on it.
But he can't stop himself from thinking about her, dreaming about her. From imagining that maybe she feels the same. And he knows he's way too far gone to ever come back from this.
Perhaps he's being a complete fool, but he decides to end things with Veronica on the off-chance Betty feels the same about him.
He meets her at Pop's. Neutral territory. The last thing he wants to do is hurt her, but he feels like he's hurting her either way.
She sees it coming. She doesn't cry, but she can't entirely hide the hurt in her eyes.
"I'm not going to ask you why, Archie," she says, carefully. "I know why."
"You do?"
Veronica snorts. "Archie, you spend every second night sleeping in Betty's bed."
"I never cheated on you," Archie is quick to inform her. Veronica rolls her eyes.
"I know. I know you'd never do that." She sighs. "I can't help but feel partly responsible."
"No, Ronnie—" Archie shakes his head. "None of this is your fault."
"I know that too," her eyes flash, and Archie flinches. "But if I pretend I could have stopped it, then I won't have to hate you."
"You can hate me if you want to."
"I don't want to do that, Archie," Veronica shakes her head. She stands up. "I really hope it works out for you," she says as she leaves. Archie can't tell if she's being sincere or not.
By the time he gets home, all her stuff is gone.
Betty probably doesn't need these late-night drives anymore. But she keeps coming anyway. Archie wonders if she looks forward to them the way he does.
It's not strange for them to sometimes sit in comfortable silence, but this time Archie finds it's unbearable. He has so many things to say but he can't quite work out how to phrase them.
"I broke up with Veronica," he says finally, breaking the silence. Betty doesn't say anything for what feels like eons.
"Why?"
"I guess—I guess my heart just wasn't in it anymore. I wasn't in love with her anymore."
"I'm sorry," Betty says. Archie nods, and they fall into silence again.
Archie eventually turns the car around and they end up back in his driveway. He turns off the ignition and removes his seatbelt, and he and Betty just sit there for a moment. He turns to her.
"Betty," he says. It comes out more hesitant than he intends. She turns her head to face him. He leans in slightly, pausing with his lips an inch from hers. Betty closes the gap and meets his lips with hers. The kiss only lasts a second, but it gets Archie's heart racing. Their faces remain close enough that any small movement could cause their lips to brush again.
"I love you so much," Archie whispers. Betty doesn't say anything, but he doesn't need her to. He just needs her to know. It isn't until he presses a soft kiss to her cheek that he realises she's crying.
"What's wrong?" he asks, brushing his thumb across her wet cheek to wipe her tears away.
"I want this so much, Arch," she tells him. "But I'm scared."
"What are you scared of?"
"The last person I loved died," she says. "I'm scared it could happen to you too. I'm scared that if we do this that I'm betraying his memory. I'm scared that I might not be able to give you as much of me as you need. I'm so broken, Arch. How could I ever expect you to love me like this?"
"Hey, hey," he whispers. He puts his hands on her face. "Look at me. I do love you. And I'm not going anywhere. It doesn't many how many bruises or battle scars you have. I want you as you are, as much as you can give me, as much as you want to give me. And Jughead would want you to be happy, you know that."
Betty nods.
"As for me dying, I can't promise I won't. But love is always a risk, Betty. Could you ever be happy if we didn't try?"
Betty shakes her head, and Archie kisses her again.
"Okay," she says. She gives a watery laugh. "Okay. Let's do this."
"Come on." Archie opens the car door. "Let's sleep in my bed tonight."