Author's Note:

A little bit of everything this chapter. That's all I'll say. Enjoy!

XO ForASecondThereWe'dWon

VII

Someone was calling his name, but Fred wasn't concerned. He hoped they'd just go away and allow him to sleep. For once in his life, Fred had decided he'd just let someone else take care of whatever it was that was going on. The freedom of apathy was like being a horse unsaddled. Better than that, he felt weightless, almost unaware of his body. It was the very opposite of how his nights usually went. Years had passed, but Fred still retired feeling off kilter, the bed invisibly aslant without Mary's weight on the other side of it. Come to think of it, his whole life had been aslant without her. Everything was unbalanced. Every sturdy piece of furniture he built seemed to mock him. Why had his marriage been the only thing he couldn't make solid?

Something was shaking him and Fred rose to consciousness. He was coughing, that was the uncomfortable shaking. Worse than uncomfortable, it was painful, mortally. He opened his eyes slowly, flinching at the brightness of the sun, and lifted his hand to seek out the source of the pain. It was caught up in another palm, not his own. Fred blinked hard and took in Mary's flushed face. The sight made him sad and he started to close his eyes again, willing the agony to be pared from his body like a chunk sliced off an apple. She shook his hand firmly and started calling insistently to him again. Apparently she hadn't forgotten how to sound like a wife. His throat jittered and rasped as he let himself be overcome by another coughing fit.

"Fred," said Mary. "We need to move now. The smoke's drifting into the forest."

"Why is there smoke?" he asked. It was difficult to keep his eyes on her face.

"Because your house is burning down."

Fred jolted like he'd been licked by a whip.

"Archie!" He tried to sit up, last winter's shed maple leaves still crisp under his palms, but Mary held him still, bracing his movements with her own body so that he could maintain a slight incline from the ground.

"He's not there Fred. He wasn't at home when I found you. Where is he?" Her voice hitched and Fred's pain split in two, half redirecting to form the less physical hurt of hearing his wife near tears. Fred shook his head, struggling with the weight of it on his neck.

"I don't know. Last time I saw him was…" His memories began to fall like rain. He and Archie talking. A stranger. The gun. Stepping in front of his son. Pain. Fred had been shot, and then Mary had come and seemed as much like a dream as she did now. F.P. had helped him for some reason. And the boy. Fred looked around and saw him pacing stiffly nearby. Mary turned her head, looking where Fred did, and called out.

"Joaquin!" The youth stopped. "We need to hurry."

"Should I get help from the house?"

Fred wanted to try to understand how this young man, Joaquin, could be one of F.P.'s gang and so unsure of himself. Leaving the town at all was unusual. Fred figured he must have had considerable trust in F.P. to do it. Without a leader, he wasn't a thug, just a kid.

"Blossoms won't help us." Fred's voice was gruff. "Not unless we force them to. Just have to get there."

He started to push himself up again and this time Mary wedged her shoulder under his armpit, Joaquin darting over to grab him on his other side. Fred's head tipped forward as he winced, his teeth clicking, and took in the sight of his torn and bloodied shirt, tightened around his torso as a makeshift bandage. He hoped at least one of the Blossoms would lose their breakfast when they saw this gore. Preferably Clifford, that bastard.

Fred swayed and his living crutches pressed in on both sides. He could feel their arms overlapping across his back. Mary looked him sternly in the eye, assessing.

"You're going to be fine. F.P. said the house isn't that far."

"I forgot you've never been out there." He looked at his wife, his head swinging like a drunk's. "F.P's a goddamn liar."

Mary blanched, her fingers digging into his back.

"Don't you dare give up before we start. I'll drag you there by your hair if I have to, Fred Andrews."

"Now, if anyone liked their hair pulled, it used to be you."

Mary leaned forward, looking across him at Joaquin.

"He's not in his right mind. Don't listen to a thing he says."

Fred's lips parted in a sloppy grin that held until they took their first of many staggering, excruciating steps.

The bread was stale and tiring to chew, so Jughead was happy to give it a rest when Archie wandered over, wiping water from his lips with the back of his hand. Jughead jammed his pencil between the pages he'd been writing on and stuffed his notebook under his slicker. Archie didn't bother to look even so much as curious, but Jughead couldn't help his instinct for vigilance. He rose to meet Archie. Perhaps he'd be able to work out with speech some of the things he was striving to work out in writing.

"I spoke with Cheryl earlier," he said.

Archie grinned.

"I'm surprised I didn't hear the screeching."

Jughead looked at him flatly.

"She's pretty fond of you. It's not right to talk about her like that." It felt strange to be defending her.

"I wasn't talking about her, I was talking about you."

"Thank you for that."

Archie laughed.

"So what has she said that's made you so serious?"

"Well, she sort of cornered me." Archie's eyebrows rose and Jughead glared at him. "She seemed awfully concerned that she was about to be abandoned out here without an escort."

"She must have been driven to the brink of insanity if she willingly tried to start a conversation with you."

"Would you knock that off?" Jughead fiddled with the brim of his hat, twisting it forward and back until his hair was sure to look like a mess underneath. "Are you planning on leaving?" Archie wouldn't meet his eye. Jughead knew he wasn't responding because he was a poor liar.

"You can't just walk back into town, Archie! We have no idea what's going on down there and―"

"And we're not going to find out either! Not by hiding out here! Come with me." Archie jerked his head towards the top of the hill they'd made their home. Jughead glanced back towards Betty and Cheryl. They were talking together, softly enough that it didn't carry. Though they stared at each other as though they were squinting at a mirage, their postures were friendly and open.

"We'll be back presently!" Archie called to the two of them, motioning for them to stay put. Betty frowned, her eyes finding Jughead's, but all he could offer was a shrug. If Archie was leading him away from the others to bash his head in and take Betty for himself, at least Jughead could take a starved kind of comfort in his assumption that the girl's retribution would be swift, armed to the teeth as she was.

He followed Archie up the gradual slope into denser woods. The man was either trying for dramatics or caught up in the tangles of his own mind because, away from the camp, he hardly seemed to notice Jughead at all. This was not much of a bother really. It was easier to walk one ahead, one behind, and Jughead relished the opportunity to cock his fingers, gun-like, and pretend that he had Archie on the run, chasing him away from Betty and Riverdale forever. When the trees thinned out and the vantage point improved, there was a big, bright, burning reminder that they were in fact heading towards town, not away from it.

"Christ," said Jughead.

The smoke was bleeding into the sky, thick and ugly.

"Any idea where it's coming from?"

He looked at Archie, but Archie was staring back at him. Apparently, he'd already done his speculating.

"If you look closely, you can see the steeple of the church. Fire's coming from a little to the right of that."

Jughead looked down towards the town again, squinting. The slight wind was at their backs and it kept the smoke lifting up and out. Archie was right, he could see the steeple after all. Of course, it was impossible to say for certain that it wasn't the Cooper's place burning, but…

"Your house?"

"I think so." Archie sighed like the life was going out of him. "I'm not sure I want to know if my father was inside when they did it. Whatever's happening down there, I'd say it's not going in Sheriff Keller's favour."

"And you still want to go charging in, I can tell." Jughead stepped away, wedging his back into the curve of a tree. He crossed his arms and watched the emotions prickling Archie's face like pine needles.

"You should stay here with Betty."

Jughead didn't mind listening to Archie's advice, when it was good. This was more of a command, and a demeaning one at that, but Jughead figured resisting too soon was just not worth the energy.

"What about Cheryl?" He made his voice flat, disguising his irritation at Archie singling Betty out. If Archie wanted to continue his façade of supportive friendship towards Betty and respect her romantic choices, he should allow Jughead to volunteer to stay and protect her. Jughead didn't care to be assigned to her like Archie was posting him to a military fort.

"Cheryl won't be following me. She's not particularly eager to get back to Thornhill."

"Well, I guess there's no one there she's wanting to kill." Jughead shrugged casually.

"I'm not going back because I want to kill someone, Jughead."

Jughead scrunched up his face, shaking his head as if he bought everything Archie was saying.

"Of course not. I'm sure you'll just pull up a chair―maybe you can salvage one?―and warm a pot of coffee over the scorched remains of your home while you have a nice calm talk with the man who shot your father."

Archie's face was settling into impatience. Jughead knew he was entertaining enough to postpone Archie's anger.

"Everybody down there that loves you for some reason they can't put their finger on will abandon thoughts of a resistance. The invaders will take their cue from the sheriff, who will lay down his arms in the street―I grew up around criminals, so I'm sure of that. You won't even be able to hear your possessions crinkling away into nothingness because the sound of men patting each other on the back will be so goddamn loud."

Archie glared at him, but Jughead kept his own glare ready and polished like a knife. He glared before breakfast. He glared at shadows and stray cats. He likely glared in his sleep. Glaring at Archie was only different because that was the purpose for which Jughead had refined this expression. Let the bastard give him that look. He wasn't done yet.

"But see," Jughead went on, moving away from the tree, "the part I'm not so sure you have right is leaving Betty here. How is she supposed to run into your outstretched arms and denounce me in favour of you if she's stuck in the forest gathering firewood?"

Archie turned away from him and Jughead could see the muscles of his back and shoulders tensing and rising, but he couldn't stop.

"I mean, how does that touching scene unfold in your mind?"

"She's yours now, you son of a bitch!" Archie spun around and roared at him.

Jughead shook his head so hard, his neck cracked.

"You have to go back and be the hero before anyone else has a chance. And you're not just hoping it's enough to make Betty swoon, you're counting on it. It'll be real convenient for you getting to live with the Coopers because it's just one house over! And shit, you're so well-practiced with carpentry tools, you can just build your new house whenever the mood strikes you! All of this is about you, right?"

"It is about me, Jughead! That was my father they shot, not yours."

"That was bad luck, wasn't it? If it had been F.P. instead of Fred…. My god, Archie," Jughead threw out his hands like he was spreading that fantasy out before Archie's very eyes, "your life would've been a straight fucking flush."

The fist smacked his cheek before Jughead even saw Archie tuck his thumb. It wasn't a blow meant to drop him to the ground, but it was enough to make Jughead stagger in surprise and leave his face stinging.

Archie looked about as disoriented as he felt, but Jughead had waited too long for this. Raising his left arm, he knocked the underside of his hat's brim with the back of his hand, sending it flipping to the ground behind him. The conflicted look in Archie's eyes narrowed, narrowed, narrowed until he was down in a pit like Jughead's, surrounded by darkness and fighting for a glimpse of the sky.

Jughead heard Archie scraping his feet into the ground for purchase before throwing a second punch. The downward tick of his opposite shoulder let Jughead know it was coming and he flinched out of the way, sending his own fist into Archie's jaw. It hurt like all hell and he was thinking that he might like to next hit Archie with something other than his hand when Cheryl came stumbling through the trees behind Archie at a run. Jughead backed up quickly, pointing. Archie must have been just trusting enough, Jughead thought, that he didn't think it was a deception, because he turned the way Jughead indicated.

Right behind Cheryl was Betty, her caution and the weight of the weapon in her hands slowing her progress. Both girls looked back and forth between Archie and Jughead. Jughead touched his face and winced. It was tender and possibly swelling. He examined his hand. Red, but not bleeding. He stepped forward and grasped Archie by the shoulder, rotating him to see his face. Archie shoved his hand away and narrowed his eyes. His jaw looked bright, but uninjured. It hadn't been the most vulnerable target to go for. Jughead exhaled heavily, catching his breath.

"What's going on up here?" Cheryl started.

"We heard you yelling." Betty met Jughead's eyes with a gentleness he didn't deserve. "Juggy, what―" she walked towards him, raising her hand to his cheek, though she stopped shy of touching it.

"Just having a difference of opinion about our next move." Jughead drew Betty in and kissed the top of her head. Archie noticeably averted his eyes.

"Why?" Betty asked. "It's just coming to early evening. Surely we don't need to discuss a new plan until tomorrow. Over supper at the earliest." She smiled softly up at Jughead.

Cheryl came forward, looking past them, and grabbed Betty's arm. Betty frowned but let Cheryl steer her around. Jughead didn't turn right away. Archie came up behind the girls and locked eyes with Jughead. Jughead guessed his pain looked a lot like Archie's when they heard Betty gasp.

"Archie told you he wants to leave, right?" Cheryl looked sideways at Jughead and he nodded.

"Just about."

"Leave?" This from Betty. "But it's not even safe! If they're burning the town now too, people will be getting out of there, the same as we did. We shouldn't go back in!"

"You don't have to go anywhere, Betty." Archie was giving her soft eyes that Jughead wanted to take a tin spoon to.

"So you'd just go alone?" She sounded beyond insulted. "Or take Jughead with you maybe, and leave me and Cheryl?"

"Jughead wasn't going to―" Archie began.

"You think he'd let you go by yourself? Do you really think that, Archie?"

Archie caught his eye like he was waiting for him to challenge Betty, yet Jughead kept silent. There was no way in hell he would've let Archie go alone, but he was too sore to say anything about it.

"How do you think Cheryl and I feel?" Betty clasped Cheryl's hand, who looked startled. "You can't make these decisions without us. Were you even going to ask what we wanted?"

Cheryl seemed to miss the hint that she should stand with Betty on this. That was a girl reluctant to place her loyalty.

"I wouldn't mind seeing the whole town burn to the ground."

The three of them stared at her. Jughead felt his mouth tugging up. It hurt his tingling face.

"An accident? How the fuck could retrieving his body cause you to accidentally set fire to the building?"

F.P. opened his mouth, but Hiram's arm shot out and he shook his finger warningly in F.P.'s face.

"No, Jones. Your actions have said enough. I should have known better than to count on you and the rest of these worms. So much booze in your bodies that the smallest spark can ignite into a blaze."

F.P. let Lodge berate him and his gang. Even if he'd had the balls to make known the offense Lodge was doing them, it wouldn't change anything. They would still work for dishonest cash and Lodge would still need men to do his bidding. He just had to keep it under his hat that he was usually a leader, not a follower―something it surprised him to recognize since he sure hadn't been much of one to his boy. At least he'd been able to get Joaquin out of it. Lodge didn't seem to miss his presence at all. F.P. wondered if Lodge was assuming the kid had been caught in the fire. He certainly wouldn't be volunteering any information about him.

"The body." Lodge paused, tapping his foot angrily. "The body is destroyed then?"

He stared at F.P., his brows pulled down and together, so that F.P. knew he was meant to answer this time.

"I didn't exactly have time to drag Andrews out with me." F.P. scratched at the back of his head, putting on a show of thoughtlessness. "I might not have gotten out myself."

"Yes, that seems to be the general feeling around here, that it is most important to save one's own skin, regardless of the consequences. You forget that first and foremost, you work for me."

"Like I said, it was an accident. He was dead anyways. It's not going to make much difference to him."

Lodge looked at him curiously.

"And you are sure that he was dead?"

"More blood out of his body than in it, I'd say."

Lodge kept staring so F.P. held up his hands, not only to signal he had nothing to hide, but also to display his stained red palms. His answer had been easy to give because it was the truth. If Joaquin and Mary didn't get Fred help soon, his body would be as dry as the brittle yellow grass that grew around the Worm. He hated the thought of Archie losing his father and more than that, the thought of Jughead losing the only man who tried to look out for him when F.P. stopped pretending to make an effort.

"Good. Then that part of my business is concluded. Now you go and put the fire out." Lodge pointed to the door. "You fix your mistake."

F.P. laughed in disbelief.

"The whole building's gone up by now. You've just got to let it burn out. The fire's making progress faster than a man with a bucket could."

"You are not here to give me advice, just to follow orders."

"It's a waste of time and I'm not eager to make myself a target again. I can assure you that the only reason you haven't seen the law yet is because they're planning something too. I won't so much as get the Andrews' front step doused before Keller's hauling me off to a jail cell."

"And you fear prison?" Lodge's eyes were glowing.

"I―" F.P. began before Lodge stepped up to him and roughly grabbed the front of his collar.

"The only thing you need to fear in this town is me."

Lodge shoved F.P. back and he stumbled. Though they were about the same size, Lodge moved with supernatural assurance and the expectation of being heeded. F.P. straightened but backed up quickly when Lodge drew his gun from its holster, advancing on him. He held it idly upwards and F.P. saw a guillotine blade waiting to fall. He walked steadily back onto the porch.

"I know you're a smart man, but it is so frustrating for me when you refuse to see how replaceable you are. I am like a spider in this town, Jones. I am the center, the mind, and the rest of you are my many legs, my hands. But a spider is so inefficient. Why only eight legs?" An inhuman smile strung Lodge's mouth into a curve. "It's always better to have more. Maybe you don't understand that." Lodge shrugged, waving his weapon. "Your symbol is a snake, yes? No legs, no hands. Easy to eliminate."

Foregoing his gun, Lodge shoved F.P., toppling him backwards down the stairs. F.P. scrambled up, ready to draw though Lodge had the advantage of time and higher ground. A booming voice to his left startled him and when Lodge looked over, F.P. felt it was safe to do so as well.

"Hiram Lodge!" shouted Sheriff Keller. He and a small group of armed men were advancing on the White Worm. F.P. made out Kevin Keller standing just behind him. Next to him were a pair of women. Strangers.

"Am I famous in this little town already?" Lodge replied, his tone joking, but his grip on his gun growing tighter.

"Would you believe it, I have your picture hung up on my wall! Why don't you head over with me and I can show it to you."

"You have very poor manners, Sheriff! Can't you see I'm in the middle of something here?" Lodge nodded towards F.P., who had slowly gotten up onto one knee, careful not to spook Lodge with sudden action.

"I'm afraid it needs to be now, Lodge. See, I'm even busier than you are." The sheriff was walking forward again, his son at his heels, though the others hung back, bald nervousness in their features. "Looks like we might have a murderer in our town, on top of which, we've got quite a fire roaring down at the other end and one of these lovely ladies," Sheriff Keller swung his arm back to indicate the strangers, "evidently here at your invitation, pointed at gun at my son's head."

Lodge was grinning.

"Yes, my wife makes quite an impression. Why don't you leave them here with me and start taming that fire. I've already found someone to help you." Lodge jerked his head towards F.P., who got to his feet.

"Harassing one of my citizens is another mark against you, Lodge. I'm not interested in doing this dance with you any longer." F.P. watched as Sheriff Keller flipped back his coat, resting his hand on the grip of his gun. Kevin stepped out of his shadow to stand at the sheriff's side. F.P. could clearly see now that the boy was supporting a rifle.

"Then we'll end it here, shall we?" Lodge smiled down at the sheriff and townspeople, then back over his shoulder at the men who'd gathered just inside the doorway of the Worm. In the next instant, he had lowered the hand cradling his gun and fired, painting the sheriff's forehead red.

"Here, Jughead," Betty cooed, holding the cool glass jar of water against her beau's cheek. Cheryl rolled her eyes.

"Betty, he's fine," she sighed, pulling up sharp blades of grass between her fingers. Betty glared at her, but relinquished the jar to Jughead, letting him take care of his own doctoring for a while. Cheryl guessed they appeared to suit one another, but she wasn't keen to see demonstrations of this affection.

Archie hadn't whined about his hurt face, just laid the jar against his jaw and closed his eyes. Cheryl's heart had fluttered to see him so tranquil―overjoyed that this makeshift remedy had been her idea. She was beginning to see that usefulness went a long way with Archie Andrews. Cheryl had next gathered their supplies into one of the most meagre, unappealing meals she'd ever seen, but everyone had eaten without complaint. She, to her own great surprise, was included in this. She had been hungrier than she'd thought she'd be.

Cheryl curled her arms around her bent knees, watching Archie lay logs for a fire while Jughead and Betty remained in their cozy, oblivious vignette. Archie had spoken enthusiastic words about catching their dinner in the creek earlier, but they were all too tired from sun and anxiousness to delay their need for sustenance. He moved with assurance, Cheryl thought, always seeming to know what to do. She thought he had a gift for unusual situations. It would be interesting to observe him on a regular day… though Cheryl guessed she'd never get that opportunity now. The forest was constantly fighting to muffle her memory of reality.

She sighed and Archie looked across the pile at her, leaning forward to straighten an unstable log.

"Too uneven? Not enough kindling?" He smiled at her and Cheryl reciprocated, amused by his teasing. As if he'd ever look to her for expert advice on building a fire.

"If I say nothing now, it will be easier to claim that I knew you'd done it wrong later, if it fails."

Archie laughed, brushing his hands on the front of his pants.

"You're always a step ahead, Cheryl."

She blushed a little at his compliment, but then her cheerful expression disintegrated, the way Archie's neat stack of logs would once it had burned down.

"Speaking of that, I may have something more to contribute to the discussion we ended earlier." Cheryl spoke firmly, but looked to Archie for approval before she presented her idea. He surprised her by stopping in the middle of his task and coming to sit at her side, offering her an earnest expression.

"Please, continue." Changing his mind, Archie held up a finger to halt her. "As long as it isn't a plan to… what was it? Burn the whole town to the ground?"

Cheryl ducked her head, smiling, and pushed her draping hair behind her ear.

"No. As appealing as that strategy seemed to me, I doubt I'd get the rest of your approval. I think instead of striking out alone, I'll stick with the group for once."

"You trust us then?" Archie's eyebrows raised.

"Let's not get too far ahead of ourselves."

Archie laid his hand on hers.

"We'd better bring Jughead and Betty into this conversation then."

"Well, you won't get one without the other."

Cheryl tensed as Archie's face fell slightly and he withdrew his palm.

"Betty? Jughead?" He turned towards the others, calling over his shoulder. "Cheryl has an idea she'd like to work through with us."

The pair moved closer, settling nearby and watching Cheryl with eyes full of anticipation. She balked, not used to being given much attention (wanted attention at least. She got plenty of the other kind as Thornhill's proprietress), let alone listened to. Jason was probably the last one she'd spoken to who thought her opinions mattered. Cheryl looked left and right at her new companions. It was strange how they'd instinctively gathered around the fire though the match was not yet lit. Cheryl slid her legs down, adjusting her posture to seem more confident under their stares.

"So Cheryl," Betty began. She was like Archie, Cheryl thought. She liked to be in control. "I assume your idea involves removing ourselves from here."

Cheryl wanted to snap at Betty about not needing to make assumptions if she'd just listen before she opened her mouth, but Betty's eyes were so wide and kind that she resisted. It was crucial to have Betty on her side anyway. She had a great deal of influence over the actions of the men and had really proven herself too valuable to leave behind. Like Cheryl, Betty's skills and knowledge were wasted if she was shunted to the side while men made decisions for all involved. All of this was making Cheryl genuinely like her. An unsettling thought.

"It does. Betty," Cheryl looked at her again and Betty nodded for her to go on, "You said earlier that people would be heading out of Riverdale. I think you're right. Even if the Sheriff has a plan to face the intruders, he won't want citizens in danger."

"You think they'll head here?" Archie asked. Cheryl turned to him.

"No. No one else knows we're out here and it wouldn't make sense for people who are unprepared and ill-equipped to try crossing Sweetwater River and then go stumbling aimlessly through the woods."

"Yeah," Jughead chipped in. Cheryl's head whipped around. "I don't relish the thought of having anyone else in our party who goes stumbling through the woods."

"No more than I relish having to support anyone else who fails to bring useful supplies," she snipped back.

Archie's hand settled on her shoulder to subdue her, adding to Cheryl's annoyance. She had the same right to speak here as any of the rest of them and she would talk back to Jughead if she pleased. She looked back at Archie, still wearing the frown she'd given Jughead. Archie was smiling, his lips tight as he tried not to laugh. Cheryl relaxed under his grip. Maybe he'd only touched her because it looked less like tasking sides… and was unlikely to instigate another fistfight.

"Regardless." She calmed herself and controlled her face before glancing over at Betty and Jughead again. "I think you can agree that it wouldn't make sense for them to come here."

"But people put in difficult or dangerous situations don't always choose the sensible path," said Jughead. Cheryl saw that Betty's hand was on his, enforcing his calm.

"Right," Cheryl agreed. "They won't have had a lot of time to think, so I predict that they'll react more on emotion. Memory, perhaps."

"Memory of what, Cheryl?" Betty asked eagerly. Cheryl could see from the look on her face that Betty was hanging on her every word, trying to puzzle out whatever Cheryl was going to say next.

"Safety. Stability. Whatever provided those things for Riverdale in the past."

"You think they'll go to your parents' house."

Cheryl smiled at Archie and nodded. He was focused, and the most determined to leave their current spot, so it was only natural that he'd come to the same conclusion.

"Stability?" Betty's voice was sceptical. "Cheryl, I don't mean to criticize your family, but you've all been very unpredictable over the past year." She did look honestly pained to point this out, but it didn't bother Cheryl. She had lived it.

"Think about what Cheryl said, Betty." Archie's presence just behind her and his words as he took her side gave Cheryl strength. "The Blossom's syrup industry was a pillar in our town. Nearly one person in every family must have either worked there or indirectly benefited from the business. F.P. did." Archie gestured towards Jughead, who nodded. "My father did." He rested his palm on his own chest. Cheryl wondered if the pain was a physical ache there, sitting on his ribs as though it would crush them, like her pain over Jason's death sometimes did to her. "Even your mother. We have her and the Blossoms to thank for those disgusting peach preserves." Betty smiled at Archie and Cheryl clenched and released her fists under the folds of her skirt to combat her jealousy.

"Then our destination is the Blossom mansion?" Jughead inquired. "Back across the river?"

"Back across the river," Cheryl confirmed. Archie shifted forward to adjust a log with his boot, leaning into her, and Cheryl knew he felt her shudder.

Veronica's throat burned with a shrill scream as the sheriff collapsed a dozen feet in front of her. Her stomach heaved when he dropped onto his side, thick dark blood glossing the dry dirt under his head. Like dominos, the sheriff fell and then, ahead of him, Kevin. Had he been shot? No, he was dropping to his knee to steady his arm as he pocked the front of the building―the White Worm according to its sign. Someone's returning bullet breezed past Veronica's ear and, breathing irregularly in her shock, she turned to see it had connected with a man's shoulder.

Around her, the men of Riverdale scattered, making for the corners of nearby shops and houses. Veronica stared down at Kevin's back. He was silent, letting each bullet's release speak for him. She and her mother stood alone, strangers to the sort of shooting gallery the main street of Riverdale had just become.

"Hold!" someone was shouting. It was her father, crouching on the porch of the Worm. Another shot went off and Veronica watched her father wrench a man's gun from his hand and toss it to the ground. "That is my wife and daughter you're shooting at! Hold!"

Hermione's hand came out to clamp around her upper arm when Veronica swayed, her ears seeming to ring. Everyone had stopped shooting and Veronica was confused as to why Kevin would obey her father. It struck her that he must have run out of ammunition. He was tugging uselessly at the trigger then abandoned this course of action, flinging his weapon aside and dragging his knees over to the sheriff. Veronica could see that the man was dead, but Kevin shook him for she didn't know how long before dropping his face to his father's chest, moaning.

"Quickly!" her own father was calling. "Veronica! Hermione! Quickly!" He waved his arm at them, gesturing them towards the safety of the White Worm, but the women were immobilized. Veronica looked across at her mother, barely feeling her grip on her arm, and thought how beautiful her hair looked, though she'd slept more than an hour on it in the carriage. Veronica heard her breath whoosh in and out and suddenly, sound, scent, awareness of the scene all came back to her. At the same moment her mother loosened her grasp and staggered forward, Veronica took a decisive step back.

Hermione looked at her in confusion, but Veronica dodged her mother when she reached for her, going to her knees to pry Kevin from his father's slumped corpse.

"Veronica." Her mother's tone was absolute, commanding. Like the ease with which she pointed a gun in the face of a young man, this too must have been something she'd learned from Veronica's father. Veronica ignored her mother, keeping her eyes locked to Kevin's streaming ones when he made himself look at her.

"Kevin, we need to go now."

"Hermione! Veronica! Now!" Her father was shouting so her mother ran to him, leaving her tracks in the expanding pool of Sheriff Keller's blood. Leaving her.

Kevin wiped at his face with his sleeve, his other hand clinging to the front of his father's jacket. Veronica could tell he was trying to steady himself. He knew they had little time before the firing resumed.

"Do you know a place where we can go? If I stay in this town, my father will come for anyone who's with me."

"Veronica!" His volume had increased. "Come here to your mother! It isn't safe where you are!"

No, she thought, it isn't. Because her father, Hiram Lodge, had made it that way.

"Stay close," Kevin gritted out. They got to their feet and ran, between the Worm and the building beside it, then out through long grass and into the trees. Veronica didn't know about Kevin, but she couldn't feel her legs beneath her.

Cheryl, clearly unhappy with their planned departure the next day, had taken her moodiness and frown down to the creek. Betty felt nothing but sympathy for her; certainly the pain of losing Jason must have been so like her own pain at the thought of losing Polly, and it would be a trial for Cheryl to return to her home. She'd wanted to go with her to the water, but the blue sky was deepening as night snuck up, and both Archie and Jughead had insisted she stay in the camp. Archie had done so only briefly before Jughead silenced him with a look Betty hoped never to have directed towards herself. There was still an uneasiness between them that she had mostly gotten used to, though not rejoiced in, over the last few months, but she noticed that since their fight, Archie was quicker to back down. It couldn't have been comfortable for him to be confronted with her and Jughead's closeness a hundred times in a day, isolated together as they were, and Betty did breathe a little easier when Archie accompanied Cheryl in her place. It was probably best for Cheryl anyhow. She appeared to have formed a bond with Archie that Betty could neither comprehend nor replicate.

Betty rolled onto her side, putting her back to the fire they'd built. It was a magnificent thing, but frightening too after the long look she'd taken at the smoke over Riverdale a few hours earlier. She'd let the bonfire flames hypnotize her for a while, but was now discovering how much more alluring they appeared dancing over the shining surface of Jughead's dark blue eyes. With their companions absent, he slid in closer to her. Betty's heart jumped and flitted like a spark.

Jughead made a show of lifting his head off the ground and looking around, then settling his eyes back on hers, one eyebrow raised. Betty smiled at his impishness and Jughead stroked her cheek, leaning in to kiss her. The dry wood cracked and shifted somewhere behind her and Betty felt a new flame rising. She pressed her palm to Jughead's chest, sliding it around to fit each finger into the dips between his ribs. Jughead laid his arm over hers, easing Betty into him with a hand on her lower back, rumpling the coats spread out beneath them.

The need was as strong as before, but the way their day had alternated between sleepy stagnation and exhausting exertion made them both hungrier for the experience, seeking a more powerful satisfaction. Betty's hand jumped to his collar as Jughead ran his fingers over her breast, pressing his tongue into her mouth and caressing her jaw with his other hand, making her moan. He twisted the buttons of her blouse free and pulled his mouth back from hers, then kissed her once more, twice more, before burying his face in her neck and inching down her skin with hot kisses. Betty felt between them and yanked the tail of Jughead's shirt free from his pants. Already, she could feel him desirously pushing against her upper leg.

Boldly, Betty wriggled her fingers under the band of his trousers, tugging it sharply towards her. Jughead panted and dove for her breasts, uncovering them and applying long, firm strokes to her skin. When he passed over her nipple, Betty demandingly clenched his hair in a fist, fixing him in the spot as the space between her legs sent up a squeezing, shivering agreement. As if he's heard the siren call of her growing arousal, Jughead smoothed his hand down her leg, hurriedly dragging the material up until his palm rested on the outside of her bare thigh.

Betty struggled, her blouse peeled down to her shoulders, but still tucked snuggly into her skirt, keeping her arms from their full range of movement. She released her grip on Jughead's hair, as deeply black as a precious stone as night came on and the fire illuminated it. He nipped at her and Betty cried out softly, pressing herself against him, becoming increasingly frantic in her confinement. Jughead's hand rounded the curve of her thigh and his fingers came tapping upwards, raindrops in reverse, until he was pushing her undergarments down and rubbing the soaking seam of her. Betty groaned loudly in frustration and Jughead left her breast, glancing up at her with loose lips and distracted eyes. She pushed him back, a little more forcefully than she meant to, and fished the end of her blouse out of her skirt.

His eyes turned dark and he navigated his fingers more tightly against her, catching her clit between them. Betty felt her chest flush and her heart race as Jughead's other arm wrapped around her hips and shuffled her over onto her back. He rose onto his knees and peeled his shirt over his head, only being careful enough to toss it in the opposite direction from where the fire surged and popped. Betty was stilled, winding her fingers into the fabric of the coat she laid upon, her gaze skating over Jughead's body. He fell back to her, nuzzling his nose against her breastbone and exhaling warm air onto her skin that had her nipples straining for his mouth.

Betty felt his weight as she lifted herself to her elbows, pushing the sleeves of her blouse down. Jughead sat back, just watching as she removed the garments covering her torso. She set them aside and he climbed back over her, pressing his chest to hers until she was flat, one of his hands seeking the curls in her hair while the other went back between her legs. Betty let out a quivering breath before unfastening her skirt and pushing it down her hips; she wanted more than last time and couldn't stay covered like she had against the tree back in the forest. Jughead eagerly got his hand out of the way, then assisted her in forcing her skirt, underthings, and boots away into the dark abyss that was growing beyond the influence of the fire's light.

Seeing his chest heave as his own breaths became overwhelming brought a calmness to Betty. She took Jughead's hand and dragged him back down to her, her eyes moving over him and spending heart stopping seconds on the swell in the front of his pants. He encircled her in his arms more tenderly than before and Betty moved against him until she was arching the length of her body in search of a more profound closeness. Jughead groaned and rocked her against him, grasping and releasing the flesh of her hip then shovelling his hand in to part her legs, nudging the heel of his palm against her.

The kiss they were sharing stuttered and Betty started to jerk back, but Jughead kept on her, working his lips more persuasively over hers as his fingers slipped carefully through her wetness. There had been none of this the last time, Betty thought, when Jughead's fingers curled up into her, a delicate movement concluded with a sudden jab as the ends of his fingers bumped the inside of her channel and Jughead's name burst from her mouth in a startled whisper. His grin stretched across her lips then his kiss became more desperate, more self-assured as he repeated his motions below. Betty's body hiccupped against him this time and she found herself tucking her foot over the back of his calf, insinuating their forms together. The flick of his wrist became more confidence as well, feeling to Betty like the twist of tightening the lid on a jar.

Jughead's hand moved against her more smoothly and probingly as her arousal slicked its path until Betty was gasping, the kiss abandoned, and throwing her hips down to meet every curl of his fingers.

"Betty…? Betty?" Jughead murmured to her. His hips had started to buck against her leg. She nodded fiercely, letting him take care of loosening and removing the remainder of his clothing, but grasping at him, sliding her hands around to his back to bring him close again when he was done.

Jughead plunged into her and this time it wasn't biting and stinging but thrilling and consuming. Apparently this was so for Jughead as well, because his noises of satisfaction rose and fell, mumbled into her ear or muffled in her hair when he pressed his lips to the side of her head. Betty traced her hands down his sides to his hips, aroused even further by feeling the way his body surged under her palms. She replaced her hands with her thighs to shelter his tossing body in between her knees.

He was beautiful, moving above her, and Betty stared at him straight on or up through her eyelashes when her neck arched back in pleasure. She reached up and dug her fingers deep into his black hair, the one place it seemed she could touch him without compromising the pace he'd established―a pace that had created a now constant tremor in her inner thighs. She brushed her thumb over his lower lip and Jughead said something about wishing she were wearing her white gloves. It made no sense to Betty and was quickly blurted over by his next trembling moan, but she smiled around a gasp, knowing that he'd loved her then as well as now.

Betty caught his face between her hands and plied his mouth with a long kiss that had his hips slowing and grinding against hers, rubbing her clit so that she twitched and scored the back of his neck with her fingernails.

"Betty." Jughead dragged her name out, barely lifting his mouth from hers so that she could feel the way his lips shaped her name. She shuddered again and closed her eyes as his next thrust seemed to add even more friction to their joining. "Betty, be my wife."

Her eyes opened on his wide smile and certain eyes. He drove deep up inside her, sending Betty's back into an irresistible arch.

"Yes," she whispered. His smile grew into a grin before he bit his lip, thrusting more sharply as she neared sensation's peak. "Yes, yes, yes," Betty chanted and clasped Jughead to her, calling his name into his hair. His arms tightened about her as he delivered his final thrusts, his climax signaled to Betty by the feel of his mouth opening wide but silent against her ear.

To be continued...