"FP Jones was a man of honor. He was a man with a fierce loyalty for those he called family and a fire under his ass enough to leave the most stubborn of us cowering with our tails between our legs."
A collective laughter rolls through the funeral parlor. Men and women of all shapes and sizes, some wolves, some simply humans, recall their own memories of the man laid before them in a dark walnut casket at the head of the small room. The lighthearted, yet solemn laughter continues on as the man Betty has come to know as Mustang goes on to paint a clear picture of FP's life for the members of their community before him. The joy of memories can be found in nearly every set of eyes in the room; every set of eyes except for the darkened stormy sea staring blankly out the window beside her.
Throughout their lives, Betty has seen Jughead at his lowest of lows. She was there when they were seven and his dog was hit by a tractor trailer truck while out for a walk. She had seen the guilt and sorrow flood his eyes when she'd secretly watched him cry as he spoke to Mary Andrews. She was there when they were nine and he'd broken his arm on the playground. She had seen the fear, the helplessness, and the urgency take over his features as he tried his damnedest not to cry in front of her. She was even there when they were thirteen and he'd run away from home to hide in Archie's treehouse. Thirteen was a bad year for Jughead, feeling like he took a backseat to what she knows now to have been matters of dealing with their pack. She'd found him in the midst of a panic attack, his eyes wide and glazed over with anxiety. She remembers how broken he'd been, that emptiness in his eyes, but none could exceed the hollowness flooding his gaze in this moment. It's been a week since he'd found FP and he's worse now than he had been initially. It's as if he's not even here, just a shell of himself going through the motions.
"Jug," Betty whispers softly, her hand on his arm startling him and urging him to blink for what seems like the first time since they'd sat down. His breath catches, swallowing hard as he rapidly blinks his red rimmed eyes before finally bringing them slowly to meet her gaze. With a pained expression she nods her head for him to follow, lifting him up gently by the arm as he robotically stands from his seat.
Out in the hall, Betty leads him through a set of swinging doors to a short hallway and into the restroom. Once inside, he just stands there, his eyes fixed on nothing in particular.
"Juggy," she whispers, taking his face gently in her hands regardless of his weak attempt to pull away. "Jughead, look at me."
With great hesitancy, his eyes shift to hers, immediately pooling with tears. He lets a choked out sob, snot dripping from his nose as he collapses into her arms. His cries become heavier, his body shaking as they crumble together to the floor. She can't even begin to care about the mess of drool, snot, and tears soaking her hair and sticking to her neck as he shatters to pieces in her arms. She holds him tight, his fingers clutching hard at the back of her dress, using her to anchor himself as he drowns in a sea of pain and loss. She shushes him gently, fighting back her own tears as she presses a hard kiss into his hair.
All sense of time has been lost within the four walls of the tiny funeral home bathroom. They could have been in there for minutes, hours, days even, before Jughead finally manages to pull himself together with a deeply shaky breath.
"Your hair," he sniffles, "I'm sorry."
"To hell with my hair Jug," she shakes her head, removing his hand from where he's begun to peel sticky strands off her neck.
Jughead nods, sniffling once more and clearing his throat as he stands from the floor. She can tell he's embarrassed and honestly, she's pissed. He literally found his father decapitated in his childhood home not seven days ago and he feels the need to apologize for being upset at his funeral?
Jughead avoids her glances as he pats his face with cool water. Growing more and more infuriated that he feels the need to be ashamed of his emotions regardless of his every right to have them, she tears off a few paper towels and captures his face in her hands as he turns away from the sink.
"Do not apologize," she tells him firmly, her brow set heavily to convey the seriousness of her demand.
Jughead nods, still fighting back tears as Betty gently pats the water from his reddened cheeks.
"You're allowed to be upset Jug," she assures him with a gentle tone this time as she brings his forehead to rest against hers.
Jughead again only nods, a singular tear rolling down under his chin to drip to the floor between them. Betty thumbs away the wet trail it left behind and kisses the corner of his mouth before leading him back out of the bathroom.
Upon their return, people have begun to approach FP, paying their respects individually. Jughead's eyes flicker around the room, avoiding any and all eye contact as he fidgets uncomfortably with his hands. Sensing his anxiety, Betty threads her fingers between his and together they approach the casket.
The world moves in slow motion as Jughead makes long slow strides towards the body he knows formerly as dad. The second he sees him, his lifeless body dressed to the nines and posed within padded ivory satin, his vision goes foggy and he can't hold back the tears as they pour over his lashes. Betty discreetly hands him a tissue from her pocket and he takes it, sopping up tears without ever breaking his stare on his father's permanently closed eyelids. He can't bring himself to say or do anything, he just stands there, feeling the knots in his stomach tighten and burn as they rise into his chest. With a squeeze of his hand, Betty leans forward and Jughead watches in near horror as she brings her face to FP's. Without an ounce of hesitation, she kisses his forehead and whispers, "I'll take care of him," before coming back up with tears in her eyes, her free hand touched to her quivering lips.
"I want to go," Jughead chokes out.
Betty only nods, her hand still nearly crushed in his grip as she leads him outside.
Upon leaving the funeral that Betty had helped to plan with Mary and Fred over the last week, Jughead and Betty find themselves sitting in FP's truck, still parked in the lot outside the funeral home. They've been there long enough that most everyone has cleared out and not a word has been spoken between them. Betty has tugged at a loose thread on her tights to the point that it has caused a run along the entire length of her thigh. Jughead has loosened his tie, unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt and raked his hands back into his hair so many times he looks like he's been on a weeklong bender.
"You don't have to take care of me," he mutters suddenly, his eyes darting up to meet hers and she's surprised to find anger in his stare.
"Of course I don't have to," she argues, her brow setting with disapproval. "But I'm going to."
Jughead seems only further annoyed with her insistence and again rakes his hair back into his hair before dropping his head to the steering wheel.
"You don't have to do this alone," she says gently, bringing a hand to rest between his shoulder blades. "You don't want me to baby you. I get it, and I won't. That's not what I meant." She shakes her head. "I just wanted your dad to know you're going to be ok, because you will be, and I'm going to make sure of it."
"How," he says sharply, an almost laugh jarring his words. He's so overwhelmed with sadness, anger, hatred, fear, loneliness, but also relief and happiness. He feels like a crazy person and his emotions are worse than that rollercoaster he'd snuck onto at the fair when he was six.
"I don't know," she shrugs, "but we're going to do it together."
After finally leaving the funeral home parking lot, Betty and Jughead spend the rest of the afternoon tucked into a booth in the back corner of Pop's. Jughead hadn't wanted to go home, he hasn't been there since that night, and he didn't want to go back to Sweet Pea's where he's been crashing on the couch either. Betty thought of asking him to come to her house, but with Alice having been in attendance at the funeral, she doubts he'd want to deal with the sympathetic conversation.
Jughead has hardly touched his cheeseburger plate by the time Betty has finished her milkshake. She hates that there's nothing she can do to make him feel better. She would do anything to take it all away…
"Dolor torpet," she whispers into the palm of her hand, blowing a kiss in his direction.
Before he has a chance to object, a wave of calm washes over his entire being and he takes in a deep steadying breath. He glances at Betty beside him, a look of disapproval mixed with relief and gratitude. Wordlessly, she slides his plate a bit closer and watches with a sad smile as he finishes the first meal she's seen him eat all week.
It's close to 7:00pm when she reminds Jughead that they need to pick up FP's body. Jughead nods, his emotions still neutralized as he presses a lingering kiss to her forehead.
"Undo it," he requests indifferently.
"Jug-"
"Betty, please," he pleads.
Betty only nods, worrying her lip before lifting the spell she'd cast some hours ago.
"Thank you," he breathes, fresh hot tears rolling over his cheeks. She can see the plea in his eyes, as he glances from her to the door.
"Go," she approves, shifting so he can exit the booth.
Jughead gets up quickly, heading for the door, then turning back to kiss her hard on the mouth. "Take Pea with you, I'll meet you later."
Betty only nods, sniffing back tears as she watches him leave. She knows he needs this, to be alone, gather his thoughts, get out in the forest where he can breathe and gain his composure before tonight. He's going need all the strength he can muster if they're going to make it through the rest of the night.
At eight-o-clock sharp, Betty arrives with Sweet Pea at the funeral home where they'd all gathered this morning. They make their way to the main office, where their visit had been expected and are lead to the back room. It's essentially a giant refrigerator with body sized drawers along one wall and preparatory equipment along the other and it sends chills up Betty's spine. Sensing her hesitancy, Sweet Pea takes her hand and she tucks herself into his side as they wait for the mortician.
Deep in fox forest, Jughead is running. He's been running, and running, moving as fast as his paws will take him through the slushy snow and rotting logs. He's trying to run off the pain of losing his father, the loss of knowing he will never again be able to seek his guidance, and the fear of taking over the pack without it. He's running from the anger of his grief being taken from him by his well-meaning mate, but also letting the momentary relief he'd felt sink deep into his muscles and ligaments as he pushes forward into the darkness. As he reaches the end of the forest, he comes into a clearing, throwing himself forward and landing on his back, the icy chill of the snow against his naked skin grounding him as he shouts at the top of his lungs to the sky above. He lays there a while, his skin burning with the cold as frosty tears escape the corners of his eyes, rolling back into his already snow dampened hair. The sky above is dark and starless, overcast by greyed clouds and he laughs humorlessly as he allows himself to be swallowed up by the silence and darkness around him.
A few hundred dollars of hush money and a rented hearse later, Betty and Sweet Pea finally make it out to Fox Forest, where the pyre is to be held. Most everyone has already arrived, the pyre set up in a small clearing as people move about setting out food and drinks. Before Sweet Pea even gets the hearse parked along the tree line, Betty gets out and searches the crowd for Jughead. He's nowhere to be found and her heart sinks. Sweet Pea comes up behind her and she promptly throws herself into his arms, crying into his chest.
"I shouldn't have let him go," she cries, her voice muffled by the fabric of his t-shirt.
"He'll be here," he assures her, rubbing a soothing hand on her back.
Sweet Pea proceeds to get her a much needed drink, which she chugs, then brings her another.
The earlier funeral had been held more for the townsfolk. FP was born and raised in Riverdale and he'd touched everyone's lives in one way or another over the years. It was only fair the people of Riverdale had the opportunity to pay their respects and mourn the loss of a good man, but the wolves do things a little differently. Upon the death of a wolf, a pyre is held and a party ensues throughout the night to celebrate the life of their fallen pack member. FP was Alpha, and he will be celebrated well into the night if the wolves have anything to say about it.
Three glasses of whiskey in and Sweet Pea cuts Betty off for the time being. Though he'd love to see drunk Betty, the hell he'd pay for allowing their Luna to be plastered before Jughead even arrived is so not worth the laugh. He'd cut her off just in time for Jughead to come striding over, looking far better off than he had this morning.
With a strong arm, Jughead takes Betty by the shoulders, dipping her slightly as he plants a hard smooch to her lips.
"Oh thank god," she breathes, standing upright to check him over as if he'd been injured. "Are you ok? I was so worried."
Her brow sets and she proceeds to smack him in the chest, earning a chuckled "ow," as he regains his footing.
"I'm fine," he assures her, unfolding her arms that have crossed over her chest. "I needed that. Thank you," he tells her more softly, ducking his head to bump his nose to hers.
A tiny smile stretches over her lips before returning to a hardly intimidating scowl, "Don't ever do that again."
"You told me to go," he argues.
"Not for two hours," she scoffs. "I thought you were just going to run it off for a bit."
"I did," he argues, smirking as she rolls her eyes and snags Sweet Pea's half-finished drink from his hands before walking off.
Sweet Pea shakes his head and lays a hand on Jughead's shoulder. "You can pretend with the pack," he starts, "but don't shut her out. Not her. You and I both know the high of a run only lasts so long."
Jughead only nods, patting Sweet Pea's hand at his shoulder before going off to find Betty. He knows Pea is right. It only lasts so long and he can either face it and let her help him heal, or he can destroy what they're building out of grief. He knows all too well how loss can destroy a wolf. Sweet Pea's mother had passed a few years back and while Pea buried his grief in sex and booze, his father hadn't fared so well. Chris had found his grief eased when he shifted. He shifted for a month the first time and when he'd come out of it, he'd tried to off himself. His failed attempts, thanks to his healing abilities led him to seek more drastic measures until the entire pack collectively decided something needed to be done. He refused their help, shifting once more and escaping into the woods. He remained that way for just over a year. It completely destroyed his relationship with Pea and he's still not quite right in the head to this day. He allowed his grief to consume him until all he knew was the predatory instincts of his wolf.
"Betts," he calls, grabbing her by the shoulder from behind. "Betty. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been gone so long. I just needed to clear my head."
"I know," she nods. "I was just afraid you might not show up."
Jughead nods, "Me too."
Betty's features soften as she tilts her head to the side before wrapping him up in her arms. Immediately, he nuzzles his face into her neck, breathing her in with long slow breaths.
"I love you so much," he breathes, his voice strained as he chokes back tears. He doesn't want to cry anymore, not tonight.
It doesn't take long for the party to kick into gear. The forest is filled with chatter, laughter, and the buzz of alcohol as a few last minute adjustments are made to the pyre. Jughead is sat on a fallen log, Betty on the ground between his thighs as he hugs her to his chest, and Fangs sits to their right. The three of them sit in silence, watching their family drink away their sorrows in FP's honor. Betty can feel Jughead's tension behind her and he keeps his nose buried in her hair. It's a big night for him, taking his position as Alpha. She wishes with all her heart it were different. She wishes they were older, FP greyed and ready to pass the torch, but such is life.
A sharp whistle draws Jughead's attention to where Sweet Pea is standing near the hearse. Jughead nods in his direction before returning his face into the crook of Betty's neck and taking a long, slow breath, releasing it with a sigh. He kisses her head, nodding for Fangs to keep her company as he gets up to meet Sweet Pea.
The elders of the group stand in a crescent formation at the head of the pyre, banging rhythmically on small drums. Betty and Fangs follow suit as the pack begins to fall in line, creating a walkway from the hearse to the pyre. All is quiet, save for the deep thumping of drums as Jughead, Sweet Pea, Tall Boy, and Mustang carry FP's casket on their shoulders towards the Pyre. The line of wolves take a knee, bowing their heads as they pass. As they near Betty's place in line, she catches Jughead's eyes, her heart seeming to pound in rhythm with the drums as she witnesses the earth shattering sorrow in his eyes. She holds his gaze, hoping to convey that she's here for him, for anything and everything that he needs, breaking it only as she takes her knee.
Once they've reached the end of the line, the casket is laid atop the pyre. One by one, the wolves rise, each placing a little something on the casket then moving to form a circle around the pyre. Some leave flowers, others leave photos and trinkets. On Betty's turn, she rises from her knee, and approaches the casket slowly. As discreetly as possible, she sprinkles a blend of herbs she'd made up especially for tonight over the casket, muttering "Reliqua qui exterreat," under her breath. Without chancing a look around for anyone who may have caught on to what she's just done, she takes her place in the circle beside Fangs.
Jughead remains at the head of the pyre, he and Sweet Pea beside the elders opposite of Tall Boy and Mustang. He rings his knuckles over and over again as the pack finishes paying their respects. It's not until the drums stop, a deafening silence flooding over the circle, that he stills. The elders prepare torches, handing them off to the four men at their sides before taking their places to complete the circle. The four of them stand either side of the pyre, lighting it together and stepping back as it goes up in a vibrant flash of oranges and reds. The wood crackles and pops as it settles against the casket, the glossy finish beginning to bubble with the heat before they've even set aside their torches. Jughead remains frozen, entranced by the flames as they flicker and dance before his eyes. Every memory of his father flashes through his mind like watching an old film reel, bits and pieces of it just a blur but some parts so vivid and clear he could almost reach out and touch them. A singular tear rolls hot down his cheek, burning the skin in its path as it creeps its way into the crease of his lips. He's mildly aware of the fingers threading between his own, but it takes him a long moment to break his gaze from the flames.
"What did you do," he questions just above a whisper, turning his head slowly towards her as he peels his eyes from the flickers of orange against the backdrop of night.
"A protection spell," she replies simply, drawing her eyes from the flames as well to gaze up into his glossy eyes.
Jughead only nods, his lip quivering as he forces back tears. A touch of laughter passes through his lips, his lashes dampening before he sweeps her off her feet into a vice like hug.
"Thank you," he chokes out, half crying and half laughing into the crook of her neck.
Betty laughs a little too, her eyes teary as he sets her back on her feet. "I just wanted to make sure he gets the rest he deserves. He'll be at peace wherever he goes," she offers with a gentle smile.
Ducking his head, Jughead presses the softest of kisses to her lips, before she retakes her place in the circle.
"FP Jones II," Jughead begins, addressing the pack from his place beside the burning pyre. "He wasn't just our Alpha. He was a father, a brother, a man you could count on. My father was the best of us. He was the glue that held this pack together, always putting the pack first and doing what was best for all, not just one." He pauses, nodding his head as a touch of a smile raises the corner of his mouth. "When I was a kid, I used to hate him sometimes. I felt like there was always something more important than me in his life. I was stupid and selfish, and it took me a long time to realize that he's always done what he had to do because I was important, as are all of you. Every single one of you mattered to that man," he points to the pyre, "and I intend to follow in his footsteps. They're big shoes to fill, I know, and I can't promise that I will ever be half the leader that my father was, but I'm going to try like hell."
A few people in the crowd have begun to whistle, a handful of slow claps and words of approval rising into the air.
"As Alpha it is my duty to bring his killer, not to justice, but to meet their end," he grits, his eyes filled with a fire much the same as the one that burns behind him. "I will not rest until he has been avenged! Penny Peabody will pay for what she's done, to Tall Boy, to FP, to all of us!"
The crowd roars their approval, whoops and hollers sounding into the night as fists raise into the air. Drinks slosh over too full cups and the clinking of bottles mingles with howls to the sky above.
"He will not have died in vain!"
After Jughead's first official speech as Alpha, the pack is buzzing. The pyre burns as the party ensues, good drinks and stories shared all around, but Jughead secludes himself from the crowd. He watches silently from the tree line sipping at the same beer he's been working on for over an hour. Betty has been giving him his space, busying herself in conversation with Toni and Cheryl. He knows she's watching him, but he's grateful for her understanding. He'd gotten himself riled up, plotting revenge in his head as he addressed the pack and he desperately needed to cool down before he acted on them out of anger. He plans to keep his word, without a doubt, Penny Peabody will meet her end at his hand, but he has to be smart if he wants to live to see another day.
"How are you doing," Betty asks softly as she makes her way over to him.
Jughead shrugs, "Fine."
"You ready to go home," she wonders, wrapping her arms around his waist.
Jughead only nods, kissing her head before leading her to where he had Mustang leave FP's truck before the party.
The ride to Sunnyside is short, but the walk from the truck to the front door of his trailer feels like crossing an ocean. He hasn't been here since the night he'd found FP. His heart is hammering in his chest and already he can feel the pit of despair in his gut threatening to swallow him whole.
"We can go to my house, or Pea's," Betty suggests. "If you're not ready we can-"
"I need to do this," he says flatly, swallowing hard as he reaches for the door. Betty grabs his hand as he turn the doorknob and follows him inside.
Jughead flips the light switch, all the breath being sucked out of his lungs as the kitchen is illuminated by its soft yellow glow. He barely registers the slam of the storm door behind him and Betty calling his name as he collapses to the floor. He feels like the walls are caving in around him, clutching at his chest as he begins to hyperventilate.
"Jughead," Betty calls, "Jughead, look at me"
He struggles to catch his breath, a salty waterfall of tears streaming down his face as he fights to bring his eyes to hers.
"Breathe with me Jug," she pleads, her hands placed firmly on his upper arms. "That's it, just like that."
As he follows her breathing, he breaks down, his voice coming in choked out sobs as he reaches for her. Betty quickly scoops him up in her arms, holding him as tight as she can manage as he allows himself to fall apart entirely. Betty cries with him and for him. She hates this, every second of it, but she won't take it from him. Not this time.
After a long while, huddled on the kitchen floor in a pool of tears, Jughead's body slowly begins to go limp in her arms. His breathing becomes slow and shallow, a few shaky breaths shuttered against the skin of her neck. With a gentle kiss to the side of his head, Betty urges him to stand and they go back to his room.
Inside Jughead's bedroom, Betty quietly closes the door as Jughead takes a seat at the edge of his bed. She takes notice of how utterly exhausted he looks as she crosses the room towards him. His eyes are red rimmed and swollen, his cheeks blotchy and pink. His shoulders slump forward forcing his head to hang low. As she comes to stand between his thighs, she plucks his beanie from his head and rakes back the unruly curl that he hadn't bothered to move from in front of his eye. With the stroke of her fingers in his hair, he collapses into her, his cheek squished against her abdomen as he wraps his arms around her waist. She smiles fondly, kissing his head before urging him back with a gentle hand. He lifts his gaze to hers, his tired eyes questioning why she's pushed him away. Wordlessly, she grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it over his head, his arms dropping back down lazily at his sides.
"Up," she commands gently, lifting him by his elbow as he makes his way to his feet.
He stands before her with no objections as she removes his pants, boxers and all, before urging him to get into bed. Betty takes a moment to rid herself of her own clothes before crawling under the covers with him. They cuddle close, the heat of their bare skin pressed firmly together bringing a warmth and comfort that Jughead so desperately needs. He seeks comfort in the form of sweet kisses that quickly become urgent. Betty allows him to take what he needs, following his lead as he positions himself on top of her. In an instant he's inside her, but his movements are slow and deliberate. He's heavy on top of her, his body too tired to hold his weight, but she wouldn't have it any other way. His nose remains pressed firmly against her neck, his breath shaky as her skin becomes dampened with fresh tears. She holds him tight with one arm, the other cradling his head as she presses her cheek to his hair. It doesn't take long for him to fall apart, letting a low grunt as he finishes deep inside her. He doesn't move, just lays there, savoring their connection as she traces circles on his back. She continues to soothe him until he drifts off into a much needed sleep. After the day he's had, hell, the week he's had, she couldn't bear to disturb him. Instead, she kisses his head, and holds him as she slips into her own dreamless sleep.
The next morning, Betty is awakened by Jughead shifting on top of her. He rolls off of her, dropping to his back beside her before hauling her against him. Betty smiles sleepily until she's alerted to his muffled cries against her back.
"Hey," she coos as she rolls over to face him. Her lip pouts just slightly as she cradles his head against her chest, shushing him gently.
They spend the better part of the morning much like this, curled up in one another's arms. Some moments, Jughead is ok and they gaze into each other's eyes. Other's he's not, sobbing as she holds him, assuring him that she is here and he's going to be ok. Taking advantage of a break in his emotional turmoil, they finally force themselves out of bed. Betty leads him straight to the bathroom, moving quickly so as to avoid the kitchen as much as possible.
In the shower, Jughead remains out of touch, his eyes glossed over as he stares blankly at the water swirling at his feet. He startles slightly with the touch of Betty's hand on his arm, his eyes shifting to it momentarily before dropping back to the floor. It breaks her heart to see him hurting like this and all she can offer him is her love and care. With a gentle hand she eases him back into the water, thoroughly wetting his hair. He just stands there, numb to the world as she shampoos his hair, her fingertips scratching gently at his scalp. Water drips from his lashes as she rinses the suds out, mingling with tears as a few strays roll down over his cheeks. As she carefully wipes away the water from his eyes with the pads of her fingers, he reaches for her, pulling her close and collapsing the weight of his head against her shoulder. She holds him there, running a handful of soap over his back in an attempt to wash him in their awkward position. He refuses to let go of her, but she manages to shampoo her hair with one arm as she cradles him with the other. She does her best to rinse them both, and just stays in this moment with him until the water runs cold.
Betty steps out of the shower first, wrapping herself in a towel before turning her attention to Jughead. She ruffles his hair gently with his towel, patting his skin before helping him step out of the tub. Again he wraps his arms around her, his breath catching as he fights back tears.
"I don't want to be here anymore," he chokes out.
"Ok," she nods against his head, her voice low and gentle. "Let's get dressed and we'll go."
Jughead nods against her shoulder, a short sob escaping through his lips as she eases him back. She presses a tender kiss to the corner of his mouth before leading him out to his room.
After leaving the trailer, Jughead and Betty find themselves at Sweetwater River. The air is frigid, but the snow has begun to melt, turning into an ugly mixture of dirt and slush. They stand at the edge of the river, held in each other's arms as they look out at the water. Betty finds it odd how the weight of eerie silence can sit so heavily in her chest with the enormously loud rushing of water over rocks and ice.
"I'm not ready to be Alpha," Jughead whispers suddenly, nuzzling his nose against her mark and breathing her in with a deep, slow inhale, his exhale shaky as his emotions waver.
"You were born ready Jug," she assures him. "You're a natural born leader. I've seen it all throughout our lives and last night-" she pauses, urging his head up to meet her gaze. "That speech you gave Jug. You brought unity to the pack the moment you started speaking and there is no doubt in my mind that you will do whatever it takes to protect this family. You're so strong Juggy, and I'll be right her with you, by your side every step of the way."
Jughead nods, dropping his head to rest against hers as the fog of their icy breath mingles between them, "I love you."