My awesome Beta: fandomwishes!
This story contains SPOILERS for all of Season 1 of Riverdale. I do not own Riverdale or any of the characters from the Archie comics or the TV show.
This picks up when Betty and Jughead's shenanigans were interrupted in FP's trailer in 1x13. Hope you enjoy!
Betty's soft whisper pulls me from my thoughts, my hand feeling the rough leather of my father's old jacket. I look over to her, expecting to see…I don't know. A look of relief, maybe, that the Serpents have officially offered me their protection? My heart has not recovered its regular pace after our make-out session against the kitchen counter. Perhaps I'm hoping to see a hint of the darker side of my girlfriend, possibly excited by the prospect of dating a Southside Serpent.
Instead I see a glint of fear in her eyes, her brows furrowed in uncertainty. My stomach sinks as I take in her posture. She's trying to make herself smaller, shoulders hunched and arms wrapped around her. Her wide eyes are locked on mine, searching for answers that I'm not sure I have.
I blink a couple times before turning back to the group of Serpents at my doorstep. "Thank you," I tell them, my voice warm with sincerity. "I'll make sure to take good care of it until my dad gets out."
"If you ever need anything, you know where to find us, kid," one of the Serpents replies, before they turn away with brief nods of farewell.
I nod back before silently re-entering the trailer, closing the door behind me. I take a deep breath and then look up. Betty's eyes are fixed on the floor, forehead wrinkled.
"Betty, look at me," I plead after a moment of stillness.
"Are you going to keep it?" She asks timidly, meeting my gaze at last. "Wear it around town – to school?"
"I- I don't know," I reply, trying to find the correct answer. "I guess so. I haven't really had much time to think it over, considering I just got it." Betty doesn't say anything in response, instead glancing at the counter where we were just minutes ago. "I can't read your mind, you know," I prompt her. I try to say it gently, but I worry that it came out more exasperated than anything else.
"I don't like seeing it on you," She admits bluntly, looking me straight in the eye. "It's not right, Juggy."
"Why?" I tilt my head forward, confused by her answer. "It's just a jacket –"
"- That's not how everyone else will see it!" She insists, taking a step closer. "I don't want you to be a target."
"The Serpents just told me that they'll be watching over me so long as my dad is gone. Besides, everyone already knows who I am, and frankly I'm sick of hiding it. I have nothing to hide. My dad is innocent, and Clifford Blossom can't hurt anybody from the grave." My voice rises steadily to a shout and I clench my fist around the leather jacket.
"But Mayor McCoy wants all of the Serpents out of the picture, Jug, which means that if you wear that jacket around, you become a target!"
I can't help but scoff at that. "And what more can Mayor McCoy to do me, Betty? I'm already switching schools and living with some foster family that's going to try to fix the new 'troubled teenager' in the house."
"I just…It gives me a bad feeling, Jug," Betty whispers apprehensively. I take a long moment before replying.
"You're not worried about me being a target," I reply slowly, carefully calculating her reactions as I speak. "You're afraid I'm going to change, aren't you?" She shakes her head, but I see through the denial. "No, you are. You think that if I wear the jacket I'll be like my dad, right? What's so bad about that, huh? My father is a great man, he took the blame for murder just to protect me, and he stood up for his friends even though it would have been easier for him to rat them out. Most people wouldn't do that, Betty! So what's so bad about me becoming like my dad?"
I didn't even realize that I was taking small steps forward until Betty is pressed against the fridge, having gradually backed away as I advanced.
"FP is a great guy, Jughead, but he's been involved in a lot of really bad things," Betty answers carefully. "I don't want that life for you."
"So…what?" I really am getting exasperated now, frustrated that Betty doesn't understand. "You think I'm going to become a drunk? Start gambling, getting into fights, robbing banks?" I place my hands on either side of her head, closing her in. "Are you afraid I'm going to start killing people?" I whisper, leaning forward slightly.
"Goodness –" She flusters, eyes wide. "Of course not, Juggy! I know you wouldn't –"
"Okay, so maybe I am a 'troubled kid', but I thought you of all people would have a little more faith in me," I snap, turning to leave.
"Juggy, wait, where are you going?" Betty protests, but I'm already out the door. I just need some air, just a moment to process things without all the noise. I need to decide all of this for myself, not with somebody else breathing down my neck. The adults of Riverdale have already seen fit to make all the decisions for me: new school, new home, dad in prison. I don't need somebody else telling me what to do.
I love Betty, but she doesn't know what it's like to have my background. Her mom may be a basket case, but dad is a criminal. The fact that she seriously thinks I'd change who I am by wearing a jacket hurts more than anything else.
I stop my angry trek to lean against a shadowed tree, just barely in the light from a sad street lamp. I let my head fall back on the rough bark, crossing my arms over my chest to keep warm in the brisk winter air. The rain has lightened up, now just a steady trickle.
I think back to the argument Betty and I had after the surprise party. I had yelled at her then, too, furious that the one person I thought knew me best was the one who knew me the least. I doubted her again when I found out that having dinner with her mom was just a trick so Archie and Veronica could search the trailer. Betty had told me she didn't know and the part of me that is used to being let down just couldn't believe her.
I was so afraid of losing her. I still am, everyday. I keep expecting her to find out another piece of my past, pick apart my messed up brain, and leave for good. And I wouldn't be able to blame her. After all, she's the perfect one, even if she hates that word. She's never been anything less in my mind. And I'm broken and dark and weird.
I stare at the trailer, the dull kitchen light shining through the tiny window. I walked out on her, even though I told myself I never would again. It's amazing how fast I fell for her, but just like that I was wrapped around her finger. Maybe I've always seen that side of hidden brokenness in her, and latched onto it. Either way, I know I need to go back in and apologize. We'll figure this out like we always do; I'm not going to let one jacket mess up our relationship.
A twig snaps from nearby, and I whip my head around to look into the shadows. "Betty?" I call uncertainly. When there is no response, the instinct to run kicks in, and I turn to race back to the trailer. Strong hands come out of nowhere and wrap around my waist, pulling me back against a broad chest and lifting my legs off the ground.
"Get off me!" I shout, twisting and pulling away from the man holding me. He grunts with the effort of keeping me still, and I manage a harsh kick to his knee. The moment he drops me, I'm staggering to my feet and running back to the trailer. I need to get Betty into my truck and safely out of here. We'll call the police on the way into town and –
A gunshot stops me dead in my tracks, skidding to a halt in the loose, gravely pavement. It was aimed at a spot a little ahead of me, clearly as a warning shot. The threat reverberates in my ears, my eyes flicking around in search of something to defend myself with.
"You best put your hands behind your head and cooperate, unless you want a permanent limp!" A rough voice bellows from the dark. I can't see the man through the shadows, but I have a bad feeling that he isn't alone. I risk a glance to the trailer, afraid of Betty coming out to investigate. I can only hope that she's heard the commotion and has decided to call Kevin's dad rather than come out herself. She has a habit of running right into the situation, which I normally find endearing, but now the thought terrifies me.
"I don't want any trouble," I reply as calmly as possible, slowly moving my hands to rest behind my head. My heart is racing in my chest and my palms are sweaty against my hair. I absently realize that my hat is still where I threw it on the couch. The knowledge makes me feel even more vulnerable, as if being held at gunpoint wasn't bad enough.
"Anybody who wears a Southside Serpent jacket is looking for trouble," the voice responds mockingly. "Besides, Jughead Jones the third, you are a high commodity right now."
"Wow," I reply hollowly, ever so slowly taking a tiny step backwards. If I can get closer to the trailer without anyone noticing, I may be able to make a run for it. "That's an awfully big word for a simple thug." Another shift of my foot… "Or did you actually get a college degree before you dedicated your life to teenage kidnappings?" Another gunshot rings through the eerily silent night, this time much closer to me. I jump away, taking in a shaky breath. Apparently I wasn't so sneaky, after all.
A tall man approaches out of the shadows, a ski mask covering his face. His gun is pointed at my face as he approaches, and I know better than to try to outrun a bullet. I force myself to stay still, hands held up in surrender. Maybe I can get the gun from him when he gets closer…
I stare at him silently, plans flickering through my mind. But the man never lowers the gun, and once he's within reach, he shoves the barrel against my head, pushing me towards his buddies in the shadows. "Move," I'm ordered simply. I hesitate for a moment too long, and the man uses his free hand to wrap around the back of my neck. My shoulders tense instinctively, and I try to pull away.
Instead I'm shoved forward; gun still leveled against my skull and neck burning under his death grip. I comply, breath coming out in wisps in front of me due to the chilly air. The moment I cross the line where the light ends, the gun is removed and a bag is jammed over my head. I instantly punch the air around me, blindly making contact with one of my attackers. All oxygen is forced from my lungs as a fist rams into my unprotected stomach. I stagger, hunched over from the impact. Two sets of hands wrap securely around my arms, forcing me into submission.
I still try to pull free, even as my dad's jacket is wrenched off of me and a pair of handcuffs is locked too tightly around my wrists. My arms are trapped behind my back by the metal, already digging painfully into my skin. I shiver against the cold wind as I'm dragged forward blindly, my sweater offering little comfort. I desperately want to scream for help, but if Betty runs out and gets shot…I would never forgive myself. I struggle as much as possible, which isn't much, but I keep quiet.
I hear a car door open, and then I'm tossed in, colliding with the backseat before tumbling onto the floor. People enter in after me, and I'm jostled around as they settle themselves, kicking my body out of their leg space. I'm face down on the car mats - not that I would be able to see through the scratchy bag anyway.
Even though I know I stand no chance, I kick at my attackers, twisting in an attempt to get up. The handcuffs pull against my wrists, rubbing into the sensitive skin. Growls of angry protest begin in the car, and harsh boots collide with my body. I grunt into the sack covering my head, trying to scoot away and protect myself. Stupid, stupid...
"Relax!" An irritated man's voice snaps, the others stilling their violent movements. I pull away when a hand wraps around my face, but the man holds me still. After a brief moment of feeling around, he presses down against my mouth and nose. The bag has already let in very little air, so any oxygen I once had is effectively trapped.
I fight to throw his hand off, but his grip is strong and my body has already switched into panic-mode. My head is buzzing, and I can barely support myself. My father's gruff voice enters my head, telling me to pull myself together. I'm a Jones, and we don't sit aside and let anyone beat us down. But I can't breathe -
"I've got to admit, kid," the man chuckles, lifting his hand. I greedily suck in as much air as possible, which just sends me into a coughing fit. "You've got some fight in you." I want to give a snarky remark, or threaten him, or something - anything. But my throat is burning and my chest heaving. Without warning the hand returns, and I choke on my coughs, thrashing in an attempt to breathe again. "You'd make a good addition to the Scorpions. Too bad you won't be around for that long."
The car rumbles to life, and we begin our journey to who knows where. My hazy mind knows that I've just been given important information, but I'm having immense trouble processing coherent thoughts. I can only pray that Betty is safe and help is on the way. Before I can send that plea to anyone who might be listening upstairs, my body finally shuts down and all thought dissipates.
QUESTION: Would you guys like this whole story to be from Jughead's perspective, or would you like to also see what is happening on Betty's side of things as well? Please let me know!
Please leave your reviews giving me feedback! I also love it when my readers leave me suggestions for where the story will go next – it inspires me and helps to make the story more enjoyable for all of you to read!
I can't wait for the Season Two premier! Anyone who is also reading my Supernatural story "Feeding The Demon": I have not stopped writing that! Just didn't want anyone to worry...If you were. haha