Synopsis: It has been six years since Jughead Jones set foot inside Riverdale. A month before he left, his girlfriend Betty Cooper vanished without a trace. And her case has gone cold. Now that he's back, he's determined to find out what happened to Betty Cooper. And whether he's one of the reasons she vanished in the first place.

Genre: Crime/Mystery/Romance

Timeline: Post-Season One. Depending on the events of Season Two will depend on whether it's incorporated into this story.

Pairing: Betty/Jughead

Rating: T

A/N: Thanks so much for the supportive reviews, everyone! They mean the world!

Chapter Two

Last Sightings

Pop's hasn't changed.

It stands illuminated against the gloomy, grey sky, as bright and as delicious as it has ever been.

I stand in front of the diner distracted by the old, portable recorder dangling out of my backpack. My fingers click at it's buttons, hearing it chewing at the tape inside it. I'd managed to salvage some blank tapes from the dollar store around the corner, still sealed in their plastic packaging.

Clearly, there are a lot of things that haven't aged in Riverdale.

I'd immediately unwrapped one and snapped it into place inside the recorder. Shaking the contraption, the tape rattling inside, I switch on the start button. It crackles to life.

Tentatively, I lift the attached microphone to my mouth and mutter; "This is Jughead Jones. January 25th, 2025-"

I stop short, hesitating for a moment. My finger instantly switches off the start button. The static cuts off. What else am I supposed to say? "Six years on. Sorry it's late"?

I grumble an acceptance, satisfied with my less than eventful introduction, and hook microphone back into my backpack and stride into Pop's. The familiar bell chimes as I open the door.

The warm, greasy air that welcomes me is like a comfort blanket. I hadn't realised how much I'd missed Pop's until just this moment. This place had been a safe space, a place where, no matter who walked in, everyone would have something in common. They loved Pop's burgers.

Clearly, it's popularity hasn't changed since my school days. The diner is mulling with peppy teenagers, all clones of each other. Pretty sure I could point out a mini Archie in here or a Veronica. Or a Betty.

Shifting the backpack's strap on my shoulder, I adjust my hat lower across my eyes and, conscious of anyone recognising me, head to the bar.

Sliding onto one of the bar stools, I swing my backpack onto my lap and rifle through it to pull out the tape recorder.

"What can I get for you today?"

An old man's voice creases with politeness from behind the bar. I glance up, feeling his deep eyes on me, and he pauses.

"Hey there, kid," Pop finally says after a moment of chewing on his words and a wrinkled smile forms on his face.

I subconsciously tug at my hat. Guess this thing doesn't do that great a job of making me unrecognisable.

I let out a low, brief chuckle, toying with a short smile of my own. "Not much of a kid anymore, Pop," I shrug, shaking my head. Pop has a way of making anyone, no matter how much of an outsider, feel at home. Distracted, I clatter the recorder onto the bar and pull out the wad of notes I'd stuffed in the bottom of the bag.

I catch Pop glance at it consciously, his crinkled eyes clearly wary of it's presence. But he doesn't comment on it. Instead, he looks back up at me and sighs, "I heard about your father." The condolences are simmering in his eyes.

I can't imagine there are many people in Riverdale who are sad about my father's death.

"Yeah. Thanks, Pop," I mutter, throwing my backpack onto the bar stool beside me and adjusting my tape recorder absent-mindedly. It feels criminal to sit here so leisurely and think about Betty.

I've done my fair share of thinking about her in this diner.

Yet before I can even squeeze in another thought, Pop, suddenly bright with enthusiasm, claps his wrinkled hand against the counter and announces, "I'll rustle you up a burger. On the house."

Usually, I wouldn't accept sympathy. But when it comes in the form of a burger, all other arguments are invalid.

I let out a breathy laugh and smile at him. "You know me too well," I call after him as he turns around, hands suddenly busy with rustling up said burger.

With the same smile still lingering on my lips – at the thought of Pop's legendary burgers – I glance back down at my adolescent notes, shuffling through them. It makes me feel as if I'm doing something useful with this case, something practical, when in reality, all I'm doing is avoiding it.

Where does anyone even start when they go searching for their missing girlfriend?

"Jughead Jones."

The voice is matter-of-fact. I can feel it's breath on the back of my neck. It loiters behind me, a clear statement of truth. Jughead Jones. Congratulations, that's me. You just won the lottery.

I let out a long sigh, feeling the weight of reality and six long years finally rest on my shoulders. Dropping my notes onto the counter, I slowly swivel around on my bar stool and face whichever person from my past has chosen to haunt me.

"Hey, Juggie," Betty Cooper smiles down at me.

My breath catches.

Her finger toys with the coils of her blonde hair, her eyes alight with sixteen year old dreams. She's squeezed into her old, cheerleading outfit, hand reached out to take mine. She bites gently and playfully on her glossed bottom lip.

She looks so alive.

Barely breathing, I break my own lips open to speak-

"Jughead."

Something snaps in front of my eyes.

I blink repeatedly, squeezing out whatever had just taken over me.

Truth replaces it.

The figure standing in front of me is not Betty Cooper.

"Kevin Keller," I croak, swallowing. I hide my shame in my hat.

"Hey," he replies, his facial expression battling between concern and animosity.

Six years has barely changed him. I shouldn't be surprised. Time churns slow in this place.

He stands broad shouldered, clad in his classic shirt and sweater combo, hands tentatively swinging out of his pockets. He's grown into his father's shoes, the very essence of a sheriff. He holds himself as if he's been patrolling this very diner. The last essence of an independent Kevin Keller is the tousled ends of his dark hair, untamed by his comb.

I haven't seen him since I left town. Betty Cooper had been the last thing we'd had in common. And then, when she disappeared, the only thing that had kept us together had been the desperate will to find her. We had even walked together when scouring the forest.

Then when I skipped and left town, I guess, like a frayed rope, all that had snapped.

I inhale, waiting for him to politely get the hell out.

Instead, he lets out a breath. "Sorry about your dad," he says shortly, the hardness in his eyes loosening slightly. "Guess you're here for his funeral?"

I blink. Okay. That was not what I was expecting. I roll my shoulders. "Among other things," I mutter, eyeing him expectantly. If he doesn't want to tell me to get lost, what does he want?

He shifts uncomfortably on the spot, eyes darting to the end of the diner. I follow his gaze to a crowd of curious onlookers. I feel myself scowl.

Kevin turns back to me, hesitantly pulls his hand out of his pocket and pats my shoulder. "Just," he grins sheepishly, looking incredibly uncomfortable. I suppose that's what six years does to a person, "wanted to say hi."

He turns to go and, in that split second, I see his father.

And I see the glimmer of an opportunity.

"Hey," I call back, feeling a surge of determination.

Kevin glances back at me, curious.

Maybe the thing we had in common hasn't changed all that much.

"When was the last time you saw Betty?" I say quickly,

"What?" A look of panic crosses his face and his creased eyes dart around the room. Then, in a gulp, he strides towards the bar stool beside me and misplaces my bag onto the floor. I stare at it in pure horror. "Listen," he mutters under his voice. His gaze passes a look to the notes and tape recorder in front of me. I don't make a move to pull them back. "It's maybe not a good idea for you to talk about her so openly around here." He looks pained. "Not anymore."

I stiffen defensively. "Why not?" My eyes narrow, my voice low. I can't help but notice how agitated Kevin looks, as if he's conflicted within his own self.

He sighs. His face visibly battles with his words. "Because," he breathes out, locking secure eyes with mine. He leans his arms forward against the counter top to make sure his words are heard, "people around here think you might have had something to do with it."

I almost scoff. My knuckles tense. What a lovely welcome home gift.

I shouldn't have expected anything less.

"What do you think?" I ask calmly, eyeing Kevin carefully.

"Heck no," he says almost instinctively and I, incredulously, believe him. "Look, you weren't exactly my favourite person back in high school – but it was clear you cared for her. Anybody would be crazy to think you'd do something to hurt her."

I pause, studying Kevin's face. "Is that what your dad thinks?"

Instantly, Kevin bends backwards, cracking his spine uncomfortably. His sigh is weary.

I catch sight of an opening. A fool would waste this moment. Leaning forward decisively, eyes pierced and determined, I ask, "Do you think you could talk to him for me?"

Kevin looks at me, conflicted.

"I," he starts, reluctant, apologetic, "don't really have much say in those kinds of things."

I shake my head, sighing. "No, I mean." I narrow my eyes, making my point carefully and divisively. Kevin looks startled, a deer fretting over whether to stay and stare at the headlights, or run headlong into the forest. "Do you think you could get Betty's case file from him?"

Something instantly snaps in Kevin's expression. "Why?" he asks sharply, looking concerned and defensive. His eyes dart back down to the notes and recorder in front of me. "What are you doing, Jughead?"

I swallow resolutely, knowing in that moment that no words are ever going to convince him. Instead, I say calmly and pointedly, "If you care remotely at all about Betty." I make sure to meet his dubious, uneasy gaze. I take a slow, steady breath."You'll meet me outside of town. At the old bus stop. Eight pm tonight."

Kevin splutters, coughing up words. It takes a while for anything coherent to tumble out of his mouth. "Why tonight?"

By this point, I've already swivelled back around to lean against the counter, a forever smiling Pop carrying a plate of gloriousness over to me. He plops it down proudly in front of me and I can instantly smell that I'm in heaven.

"Because," I pick up the juicy, round bun in two fists, eyes glistening at the sight of it, "right now, I have a hamburger to eat."

The bus shelter is a rusted auburn. Paint flicks off in curls, chipping to reveal the crackled metal underneath. Adjusting my backpack on my shoulder, I shine my recently acquired flashlight in its direction. Shadows repel in horror.

This place is quiet. A quell in between the rare churning of a passing car and the wind toying with the trees behind me. Anyone could so easily disappear here.

I hear a rumbling to my left, a flash of headlights in the dark, then the crank of a handbrake and the opening and closing of a car door.

"If this was your idea of a secret rendezvous," Kevin announces as he paces towards me along the side walk, footsteps echoing against the gravel, his hands stuffed into the pockets of a grey trench coat. His eyes dance around the dank scenery uneasily, "I think I prefer the lake."

"Don't get your hopes up," I mutter in response, digging into my pocket and pulling out another flashlight, my hand grazing against the ever present missing poster - and now folded up photograph.

With a swing of my arm, I through the flashlight in Kevin's direction, calling "Catch!" as I do, and he fumbles to grab it.

He looks down at it bewildered, and I shrug as he looks up. "In case you couldn't see in the dark."

He mumbles a thanks before flicking it on.

The metal of the old bus shelter groans with the weight of the decaying wind. I swing my backpack own from my shoulder and rummage in it to snatch the recorder. The light from my flashlight bounces around as I do, making shadows dance and passing cars confused.

Pulling the recorder out, I balance it in one hand while my other, flashlight holding hand readjusts my backpack. Without hesitation, I switch it on, hearing the familiar crackling. Lifting the microphone to my mouth, I open my mouth-

"Remind me again why we're here?" Kevin sounds curious as he paces slowly towards me, steps cautious and intrigued.

I glance back at him, shifting the microphone to my side. But I don't switch it off.

"Because, Keller," I sigh, hearing it waft up into the breeze. I turn my flashlight onto his face as he blinks harshly. "This is the last place Betty was seen."

My flashlight passes over him and darts up the slope behind the bus shelter. The light flits in between dense trees, the edge of the Riverdale forest, wavering like a fog. It loses itself between thick branches and twisted roots. Rusted cogs in my brain churn and click, the very thought of Betty oiling them.

I hear Kevin shudder, his own eyes trained on the trees. "You're not expecting to just stumble across her b-"

"No," I retort, snapping my eyes back to him. "I just thought-" I start, very much sounding like I'm opening up to him. And maybe I am, but I'm also acutely aware of the fact that my recorder is still switched on and I might as well be documenting as I'm blabbing. "Maybe if I came here, I might get a feel for what it was like. When she vanished."

My eyes are hard. I can feel their sharpness in my skull.

But they don't miss the sympathy and pain passing over the eyes of the man standing in front of me. I breathe out slowly. I'd be ridiculous to believe he doesn't miss her too.

I dart my eyes away, my brow creasing. I flick the flashlight around, eyes following its light trail. I can't think about any of that right now, anything of the past. Except her. I need to think about her.

I inhale sharply.

"From what I remember," I start formulating aloud, pacing around the bus shelter, headlights of another passing car rolling over me, "She was last seen here around eight thirty pm by a passing bus driver."

I hear Kevin shift behind me and I know he recognises the story. His own light is flitting around.

"He asked her if she was looking for a lift," I continue, studying the gravel of the sidewalk where it meets the trawling of the weeded grass. "To which she said no. About ten minutes later, Fred Andrews drives past, sees her and offers her another lift. She says no, says she's waiting for someone. He agrees, drives for about half a mile that way," I lift my torch in the direction into town. The light flickers off into the murky distance. "Where he parks, takes out his phone and-"

"Calls her mom," Kevin corroborates, clearly recalling the timeline.

I glance back at him, eyebrows knotted before appreciatively nodding.

"He calls Alice to tell her that her daughter is out here all alone," I continue, reading from the script in my mind. I can hear my thoughts churning in my mind. "Says he'll double back and check she's okay. And-"

"And when he does," Kevin sighs, clearly this part of the story being the hardest for him to bear. "She isn't there anymore.

My shoulders sag. They drag me down. "Right," I agree, looking at him and past him and at everything, trying to work everything out. "And if I can corroborate that timeline with the police file. Well- that's a hell of a small amount of time to go missing."

A heavy weight falls between the two of us. A familiarity of darkness. I pull my flashlight into the dense forest, then along the stretch of endless road out of town, then cast it over another passing car. Surveying every direction, every possibility, none of them looking more or less likely.

And every one of them possibly leading to her disappearance.

"Do you think she's alive?" I hear my voice croak out.

Kevin reacts, jolting still. I feel him stiffen, the reaction of grief. He sighs; "I don't know." He pauses. The sadness in his voice is palpable. "Has anyone who ever went missing in Riverdale ever turned up alive?"

I turn to look at him, flashlight dipping as the shadows crease his face. He looks older, pained. For the first time, I relate to him.

"Betty hasn't turned up," I reply simply, as if that's a defiant statement that could make things true.

Kevin shrugs. It's a jolted, uncomfortable movement. But I can tell he wants this statement to be a flash of hope. I don't know if it's wise enough to give him that.

Slouching, I pull on my recorder, microphone swinging from the bottom of it, as I decide that I've probably recorded enough. Or that this tape will run out soon - because old things are always short lived.

As my finger stretches for the off switch, I hear Kevin, in a flurry of divisiveness, step towards me.

"I'll help you with my dad," he finally says.

I glance up at him, half surprised, catching the sight of determination in his eyes. And the wind loosening his hair.

His jaw flexes. "But you're not doing this investigation thing," he waves his hand in the direction of my tape recorder contraption. I quirk my lips upwards. The briefest evidence of a smile. "Without me."

A single eyebrow twitches on my face. Satisfaction tugs at me. Betty smiles in my head. She's overtly proud of being the one who brought these two idiots together.

I nod, eyeing Kevin meaningfully. He nods back.

"Deal."

And click the button to switch off the recorder.