IMPORTANT: I never got notified about chapter four posting last week, but my email's been weird. So if you haven't read about Jason's memorial. GO BACK.
Wondering about what's happening with Polly? So am I. Let's find out. Bonus: some Bughead bonding.
Song: Landscape - Florence + The Machine (consider this a Polly/Dark Betty number)
Disclaimer: You know the drill. I'm just here to play with these toys and soothe myself after recent TV events.
Five: Landscape
"Cause she's just like the weather, can't hold her together
Born from dark water, daughter of the rain and snow
Cause it's burning through the bloodline
It's cutting down the family tree
Growing in the landscape, darling, in between you and me..."
Landscape - Florence + The Machine
Three in the morning. The witching hour. It's the time of night where the world is doused in darkness, and not even a full moon can cut a swath of safety to guide me home.
The air is heavy. It presses my shoulders down, forces me to bear its burden until I sink into the dampened soil. I sometimes imagine, as I walk the desolate pathways of Sunnyside Trailer Park, that it is coiling its grey fingers around my ankle, tangling my limbs until I tumble into unseen quicksand and surrender to its siren's song.
In the blackest night, I cling to a distant light to keep me on the right side of the shadows. My personal sun, nestled in the north. In Toledo, she was state borders away, unseen, but her warmth—God, that warmth!—cradled my broken body and whispered of a world where maybe someday, someone would see me and love me. In Riverdale, she is a thirty minute walk away, but her light, it is receding.
It is taking all of my strength to not make that walk, not clamber up that ladder and beg her to shine as she was put on this earth to do. Because if she is not the sun, then the darkness will swallow me whole—just one more lost little boy, who will never find his way home.
My compass, my dear friend. One more casualty of Riverdale. But this murder, it will not go unsolved. My sun will have the justice she craves.
Me? I will hold fast to the lie I tell myself every morning: "You don't love her. She's just your friend."
Riverdale High's Talent Show. An annual tradition that would typically send Jughead running for headphones and his warped Pink Floyd records. But not this time, to his horror. Oh, no.
Because Betty had assigned him to cover it for the Blue and Gold.
"You told me I could write about Jason's murder," he'd protested angrily.
"And you are! But Juggie, I have to help Kevin run the show. I can't cover something I'm a part of. Besides, Archie's performing. He needs a friendly reviewer who hasn't humiliated herself at a homecoming party."
He'd challenged her on that, pointing out that she'd moved along to Chuck, but Betty had quickly shaken her head, adamant Jughead take the story. And so, with a headache pulsing in his temples, he sat in the back of the gymnasium, now converted to a reasonable semblance of a music theatre. On stage, his best friend strummed an acoustic guitar, eyes darting side to side.
"Archie, you're my friend, but if you can't sing it for me and a few distracted stage hands, how are you going to do it tonight?" Kevin shouted.
Archie nodded, glancing over at Jughead. His eyes were wide, pupils dilated so drastically, it reminded Jughead of a cartoon character. He flashed Archie a thumbs up, gesturing for him to play.
The first notes of Archie's song echoed off the walls and Jughead nodded reassuringly. He'd heard the song last night, and while it wasn't necessarily his style, Archie's heartbroken lyrics resonated with him. By the time Archie hit the mid-point of the song, he was even managing a half-smile.
There you go, Arch. You've got this.
Out of the corner of his eye, Jughead caught a glimpse of the one person who would make this wretched assignment worthwhile: Ethel Muggs. Her persistent avoidance of Chuck Clayton haunted him on nights when Betty's texts were sparse and sporadic.
I need to know what she knows.
Archie's song wrapped up and he applauded loudly, because no matter how Ed Sheeran-esque Archie's song was, it was sincere and his friend was living his dream. Jughead wouldn't even sing Happy Birthday to a friend, let alone step on a stage. Archie? He always went for it.
And he always gets what he wants. Jughead winced, taking a moment to be grateful he hadn't wanted Betty—only to dismiss it immediately. Better Archie than Chuck. Thanks a whole lot, Ms Grundy.
Ethel passed down the centre aisle of seats, finger tapping the air, perhaps counting the chairs. Her brow furrowed as she paused two rows ahead of him, and he seized the moment.
"Ethel?"
She startled, stumbling backwards. "Oh! Hi, Jughead. Did you come to support Archie?"
"Mmhmm. I'm also covering the talent show for the Blue and Gold, so I figured I'd cover everything. The team that makes the show possible and the polished performances for the town."
Ethel smiled shyly, tapping her clipboard against her thigh. "I think that's wonderful. Kevin has been working so hard to ensure this goes off without a hitch."
"You, too. I've been watching you run around for the last hour. Betty has told me how much of a help you've been with organizing ticket sales."
The name drop was deliberate, and it paid off. Ethel's eyes averted at the mention of Betty, her smile plummeting into a frown. Ethel was worried, just like Archie and him.
"Betty's a superstar. I don't know how she juggles everything…"
"Or everyone," Jughead prodded gently. "Her demanding mother, Weatherbee, the Vixens, Chuck…"
At the mention of his name, Ethel's shoulders slumped, curving inward. The clipboard tapped viciously against her thigh, surely leaving marks beneath her jeans. Her reaction only served to fuel Jughead's fears.
What has that bastard done to you, Ethel?
"Ethel, I need your help. I think Chuck might be bad for Betty," Jughead whispered. "Betty is one of the people that matters most to me in this planet. And I think you're worried too."
Ethel's lip trembled slightly. "He-he's not a nice guy."
"What did he do to you?" At her frantic look, he reached for her shoulder. "Ethel, no one's told me anything. But I see how you recoil from him. You don't trust him near you. You don't even want to be in the same room, if you can help it. If he's hurt you, you can tell me."
"He lies." Her voice was a hoarse whisper as a single tear slid down her cheek. "He told everyone I did… sexual things in the library with him. He did it to Veronica too," she blurted out.
Jughead rocked back on his heels. "Veronica dated Chuck?"
"One date," she clarified quietly. "He t-told the football team he gave her a sticky maple. It was right before he and Betty went to the dance."
The sticky maple: a Riverdale euphemism that made it difficult to enjoy its main export at Sunday breakfast. In Riverdale past, Jughead would muse that any guy comparing himself to syrup ought to see a doctor. In Riverdale now? Jughead was seething. His best friend was apparently dating a slut-shaming monster.
"Does Betty know about this? Does Veronica?"
Ethel shook her head. "I don't think so. Trev told me about the team laughing about it." A flash of anger marred her usually warm, welcoming features. "They keep score. It's a game to them."
From a distance, he heard an unwelcome interruption: "Ethel! I need your help!"
"Coming, Kevin!" Brushing the tears from her eyes, Ethel drew a deep breath. "Jughead, please, watch him. He's going to hurt her. He is hurting her. I don't know how, or why, but I feel it."
"I'll protect her," he vowed, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder. "Please, if you see anything that worries you, tell me."
"I will. I swear."
He watched as Ethel rushed away, apologizing loudly to a clearly anxious Kevin Keller. His mind swirled with fury, Ethel's revelations a twisting blade in his gut. Keeping score… What sort of disgusting bastard not only lied about women, but treated them like stages of a video game? Who else was involved?
"Oh, Betty, what have you gotten yourself into?"
Two days.
Betty had always been one of those infuriating people who never got sick. A sniffle here and there, sure, but never bedridden. It was what made her absence the following week so unnerving. His only comfort was Chuck Clayton's confusion. He drilled Archie before class on the second day, demanding to know where Betty was. Archie's lack of information sent Chuck's fist flying into a nearby vending machine; Chuck's fist left Archie and Jughead exchanging worried glances.
Jughead had immediately fired off a text: Hey Lois, what's my next assignment?
He tried to keep it light. Tried to swallow down the roiling acid in his gut. By lunch, when he'd heard nothing back—and neither had Archie, Kevin or Veronica—he'd called her. Three times. All three calls went straight to voicemail.
A second text: Betts, I know I half-assed the article on the talent show, but you're freaking me out. I need to know you're okay.
He tried the front office, batted his eyes at the nurse and asked if Betty would be out for more than a day, as he would very much like to take her homework to her. He'd fished for information, but learned only that she would be out "for a few days" and he'd be a dear to collect her work and hold onto it.
A third text, end of day: Betty Cooper, if I don't hear from you in the next hour, I am breaking in through your window to check your pulse.
"Archie?"
"I've got nothing, Jug," the redhead replied, clearly frustrated.
"Veronica?"
"Says she still hasn't heard from her, either."
Jughead paced the hallway as Archie loaded his textbooks into his backpack. "You got practice today?"
Archie shook his head. "Nah, we always take a day after a game to recover."
"Good." Jughead rolled his neck, fruitlessly trying to loosen the tension there. "Mind if I tag along?"
"It's as much your house as mine, Jug."
Jughead stared at his shoes, shuffling his feet. In so many ways, he supposed the Andrews house had been his home. He'd spent more time there than the trailer park: countless dinners, sleepovers and simply hanging out. It was strange, but even after seventeen years, he was still waiting to be uninvited.
Archie slung his backpack over his shoulder, nodding to the east doors. "Ready?"
"Yeah, let's go."
The day was overcast, a blue-grey sheen cast over the streets of Riverdale. Grey, like his world with Betty in danger. He didn't dare push—couldn't risk alienating her—but he was careful to study her each day. Was she suddenly wearing long sleeves on a warm day? Did she seem to be in pain? It broke him to acknowledge the gravity of her situation. There was no simple way to free her from an insidious abuser. He could shout it from the rooftops, and the mental damage he'd done would keep her spinning in circles of self-blame.
If Chuck Clayton laid even a finger on her, all bets were off. There would be no more patience—only vengeance. He'd be calling his dad for a favour, courtesy of the Southside Serpents.
"Do you think Chuck was lying earlier?" Archie asked, jarring him back to reality.
"No, I think he was genuinely pissed off that Betty wasn't at school. He doesn't have a clue. I don't know if that's worse, honestly."
"I just wish she'd send a text, or call," Archie lamented.
Jughead's hands dug deeper into the pockets of his coat. "Me, too."
"At least she seems better lately," Archie continued. "Like how she's come to Sunday dinner two weeks in a row. And she came to the movies on Thursday night."
Jughead smiled to himself, remembering the movie. The Bijou had run their annual Classic Movies Week and Veronica had insisted Jughead choose the movie they'd all see. After some serious debate, he'd ultimately chosen The Breakfast Club because he (correctly) assumed that everyone already loved it. He appreciated Hughes for his keen insight into teenage cliques, and considering the unusual grouping they made—a former New York socialite; an All-American jock; the classic cheerleader and A-student; and the aloof loner with a proverbial pen—it certainly rang true. One scene, however, cut too close to the bone.
I'd somehow forgotten about this scene. Bender's speech about life at his abusive home is unfolding before me now. My mouth is gritty and dry, my fingers twitching as I resist the urge to curl them into fists and swing. Fight or flight, and I choose fight. Flight cost me over a year with my best friends. Flight endangered one of them.
No, I will fight now. I will never stop fighting.
"Jug?"
A faint whisper in my ear. I avert my gaze from Bender's impression of his abusive father, sliding my hands along the arm rests.
"Juggie?"
Her hand covers my own, squeezing gently. I force myself to smile at her, reassuring her that all is well. I am no charity case. I'm not a needy kitten. Bender is shouting now, shouting at me, and I am slipping into a waking nightmare in Toledo. What about me? What about Mom? What about Jelly? What about this asshole, this waste of oxygen who is one bad day away from beating my mother?
A quiet plea, whispered in my ear: "Come back."
I blink hard and she is there: soft curls, glossed lips, and eyes that remind me of summer grass after a night of rain. She is still holding my hand and I remember she is the earth beneath my unsteady, unworthy feet.
"I need more candy," she announces, just loud enough for our friends to hear. "Juggie, can you help me?"
I nod quickly, hardly a fool. If you're drowning and someone throws a line, you take it.
She says nothing until we are outside of the auditorium, drawing me aside to a corner of the lobby. Her hand reaches for my arm, fingers massaging my tense bicep.
"Better now?"
"Yeah," I mumble.
She tilts her head askance. "You chose this movie. I know you've seen it before, because we debated John Hughes movies three summers ago. Why would you put yourself through that?"
I adjust my beanie, tugging it down to graze my eyebrows. "Because I knew everyone would agree to it."
"But it hurts you to watch it."
"Just that one part," I protest.
"One part is still too much. I don't ever want you to put yourself through something that makes you feel awful to make us happy, Jug. We're your friends. We don't want to cause you pain."
The anger is there before I can shove it down, bury it beneath the fear and love. Oh yes, the love. The cruellest joke of all is how this woman will literally give her heart to anyone but me. This intelligent, wise woman who once fretted over my father's drunken antics, who's concerned that a movie is digging a finger into invisible wounds, is inexplicably dating a controlling, abusive asshole. And it doesn't matter that I understand the psychology of abuse, understand its insidious snares. My inner Bender is seething, wanting her to notice the box he's put her in, wanting her to recognize the pain that is now consuming me.
I need some goddamn validation. I need her to see that nothing causes me more pain than seeing someone I love in danger.
"I am always in pain, Betty. You, of all people, should know enough to understand that."
The words are sharp and precise. They wound, and she takes a half-step back in her shock. Her fists curl tightly at her sides and a part of me wants her to get mad, to hit me in the arm and tell me she doesn't deserve my shitty attitude. Because as soon as the rage overflows, the guilt rushes in to displace it.
"I'm sorry. I… Should I leave you alone?"
Nonononononono, my brain screams. My mouth falls open in a mute scream, my hand pawing the air absently. Veronica was right: I'm a needy puppy, scratching on a door, and Betty quickly hugs me, rescuing me again.
"Sorry," I mumble into her cashmere-clad shoulder.
"Don't be sorry." Her chin digs a little into my shoulder as she tightens her grip, blonde curls tickling my cheek.
It occurs to me that we've become the very thing we're evading: a John Hughes-esque teen moment. I chuckle quietly, realizing that in so many ways, Betty is my Claire.
"What's so funny?"
I break away from her hug, shaking my head. "Art, imitating life, and vice versa."
It takes a few moments, but she catches on, giggling behind her hand. Without another word about my somewhat embarrassing meltdown, she skips off to the concession stand and buys one of each type of candy. I call dibs on the Milk Duds and she hides the Reese's Pieces in her purse so Archie won't ask for any, because his version of "some" has been "all" since he was five years old.
The two of us juggling the candy, she nudges my shoulder with hers and smiles softly. "We good?"
"Always, Cooper."
"Jug?"
"Hmm?"
They'd arrived at Archie's house—arrived at Betty's house, by proxy. Jughead noted quickly that the ladder he'd used to slip inside Betty's window was still near the shed, just waiting to be deployed.
Archie jerked his head in his neighbour's direction. "Should we go over there?"
"I don't know, Arch. Half of me thinks we should march in there and check on her, but the other half of me is afraid this is like that time Alice kicked Hal out for a week."
"It does feel like something is completely off," Archie agreed, craning his neck as he walked further along the sidewalk. "Hey, Alice and Hal's cars are both in the driveway."
Jughead groaned, kicking the curb. "Great, Mommy Dearest and spouse are here. Even if something is wrong with Betty, there's no way they're letting you or me near her." His eyes skirted the ladder near the shed, a plan forming. "Unless…"
"Unless what? We distract her with a sweater set sale?"
"Distract, yes. With you."
"Why me?" Archie demanded.
"Because you're the wholesome neighbour next door—"
"Yeah, and she hates me, Jug!"
"But not nearly as much as the son of a Southside biker," Jughead countered. "Alice hates being reminded of growing up there, and she really hates my dad, which raises questions I never want answered." He shuddered slightly, remembering a drunken rant from years ago that all but confirmed Alice had once been with his dad in the backseat of a car. "Besides, you're bigger than me, and more likely to trip the creaky floorboards."
Archie's eyes widened. "You're going to sneak in? That's a terrible idea. At least they won't call Sheriff Keller on me. You, on the other hand?"
"Look, are we going to sit here and argue, or are we going to find out what's happened to Betty?" Jughead gestured to the Cooper's driveway. "Go ring the bell. Tell them you came to check on Betty because she missed a pop quiz. Make something up. I need like, five minutes of distraction. As long as they're not in the dining room, I'll be fine."
Archie nodded firmly and patted his shoulder. "You're right. Betty would do anything for us. We gotta find out what's going on in that house."
They parted ways, determined to get their answers. Archie meandered up the Cooper driveway, hands thrust in pockets to conceal his nervousness. Jughead ducked low into a crouch, skulking around the house in a roundabout route to the ladder. His heart was pounding in his chest, as a myriad of terrible possibilities flooded his imagination: Betty injured; Betty coping with another family crisis, one that could push her over the edge; Betty shipped off to wherever Polly was—wait!
Polly. Maybe she had come home?
It didn't make sense, though. Betty would undoubtedly be preoccupied with her sister's homecoming, but she wouldn't leave Archie, Veronica and him worrying this way. Surely, she would have found a few spare minutes to send a quick group text?
Unless Polly isn't okay. And if something had happened to Polly, Betty would surely need support—something in short supply at Casa Cooper.
Jughead watched Archie muscle his way past Alice, and sprang into action. Tucking the ladder beneath his arm, Jughead moved as swiftly as he could manage without making obvious noise. He gently propped the ladder against the house and ascended. With every soft rattle, he winced, praying Archie's booming voice and Alice's refusal to hear anyone but herself would create a perfect storm of distraction. The top rung in hand, Jughead swallowed hard and peeked through Betty's window.
She was there, alone, to his relief. She studied her reflection in her mirror with a frown.
She's okay, she's okay, she's okay.
He tapped the window gently and she startled, spinning in his direction. Her round eyes widened, Bambi-like, as she rushed over and flipped the lock. The glass pane slid smoothly upwards, with no sound to betray his arrival.
"Juggie?!" she hissed.
"Dreadful etiquette, I apologize," he quipped, pulling himself inside.
"I can hear Archie downstairs," she whispered, leaning against her closed bedroom door. "Wait, are you two working together?"
"Of course we are. We're your friends, Cooper, and we've been worried all day."
His words were icier than intended, but a part of him was angry that she was here, apparently well, but hadn't had the decency to reassure him. It was February all over again, when her letters stopped and his stomach had emptied at the thought of a world without her.
Betty heaved a heavy sigh. "You can thank my mother for that. She took my phone away. I thought she called the school?"
Jughead rolled his eyes. "Yeah, and she told them you were sick. You are never sick, Betty. I can't even remember the last time you missed school."
"Chicken pox, grade five," she immediately replied, because of course she knew that. Her voice softened as she studied the trembling man in front of her. "I didn't mean for any of you to worry. It's just… Well, it's complicated."
He settled on the corner of her bed, arms folded over his chest. "Try me. Archie's running interference."
She leaned against her desk, arms pressed behind her for support. Her sweater was slightly askew, her jeans rumpled and faded. Even her trademark ponytail was off-center. Little details that few would notice, but knowing her for as long as he had, he couldn't help but take an inventory. She was alive, in good physical health, but she wasn't herself.
"Polly came home last night."
A simple sentence. One that, on paper, was a mere statement of fact. But context mattered. Inflection, too. Betty's cracking voice and fidgeting hands, the way she stressed her sister's name—these were the true facts. Something's wrong with Polly, he realized.
"I know how much you missed her, Betts. Is she okay?"
Betty shook her head sadly. "Mom took my phone because she didn't want Polly to use it. Didn't want me to tell anyone about the family shame," she spat angrily.
Jughead rose slowly, taking a tentative step forward. "What happened to Polly?"
Tears spilled down her cheeks as she looked away. "She was pregnant. It's why they sent her away, Jug." She met his gaze at last, her features marred by unmistakable anger. "She was alone, and I didn't find her. I didn't try hard enough. I listened to them!"
Oh, shit. Pieces fell rapidly into place, painting a tragic picture. "Jason," he murmured.
Betty nodded furiously. "They made her give up the babies, Jug. The twins… Twins like Jason and Cheryl…"
He pulled her against him, hugging her tightly as she cried into his shoulder. "Shh… I'm here. I'm here for you, whatever you need."
"If I'd found her, if I'd told her about Jason, then maybe…" Her voice trailed off and her hands fisted his denim coat.
"You didn't know," he reassured her. "And your parents are monsters for sending her away like that, leaving her alone. They're the bad people, Betty. Not you. You're the victim in this, too."
"No," she insisted, pulling away. "Polly has lost everything. She thought Jason didn't want her anymore. She gave them up, thinking that he wanted her to. They didn't tell her he was dead until the babies were gone, and then…"
"Fuck. I can't even imagine how heartbroken she is."
Betty paced slowly, hugging herself as her feet traced a worn circle in the powder pink carpet. "She would have been home sooner, except for the depression. They were worried she would hurt herself. She tried to escape twice."
"Where is she now?"
"Napping in her room. I told my parents I'd sit up here and watch her. She begged me to keep them away. They betrayed her."
"Betrayed both of you," Jughead corrected her. "They told you she tried to kill herself, for god's sake!"
Betty glared at her bedroom door. "They predicted the future, I guess."
A noise downstairs captured their attention, the two of them rushing to the bedroom door. Faintly, he could hear Alice urging Archie to leave, insisting that Betty was "highly contagious" and asleep. Knowing Archie, he was being intentionally difficult to signal him that time was short.
"That's my cue," he whispered
Betty reached for his hand, clutching it tightly. "I need to be home with Polly for a few days. But she deserves answers, Jug. Jason's death cannot go unsolved."
"I'm on it, Betts. I promise you, we'll get to the truth."
She brushed a stray lock of hair from his eyes, forcing a smile. "Thank you. Thank Archie, too. I'm certain my parents were terrible to him."
His cheeks flushed and he quickly headed for the window, hopeful she wouldn't notice. "Friends to the end, Cooper. We honour our recess vows."
Betty chuckled softly. "Only because we swore over chocolate chip cookies."
Swinging his legs onto the waiting ladder, he winked. "Those were some damn good cookies."
"I'll call you as soon as I can," she promised, scanning the yard below. "Coast is clear, JD."
Jughead's lips curled into a smirk. "So you did catch the Heathers reference!"
"Like I'd forget our conversation after Winona Ryder was cast in Stranger Things? I know all of your references and innuendos, Jughead Jones. Now, hurry!"
Almost all, he thought to himself, descending as quickly as safety and stealth would allow. Then again, Betty had never clearly understood matters of the heart.
Archie was waiting for him on the Andrews' porch as he scurried from the Cooper yard, the ladder carefully left on the grass near the shed. It wasn't perfectly in place, but it was close enough to be dismissed, given the uproar in their home. Archie leapt to his feet as Jughead approached, brow furrowed in concern.
"Was it enough time? Did you find Betty? Is she okay?"
"Whoa, there, Hercules, you can unflex the muscles of fury. Betty is okay," he replied, slumping into a chair.
"She's okay?"
"Physically, anyway. Polly's home."
Archie grimaced, settling into the seat beside him with a low whistle. "Polly's been gone for ages. At least a year. How's she doing?"
"Alice took Betty's phone away so Polly can't tell the world how shitty her parents are." Jughead shook his head, rage brimming anew. "They shipped her away to have Jason's babies, then forced her to give them up."
His friend's face turned crimson, matching his hair. "You're serious? What the hell is wrong with them?"
"One of the great mysteries of Riverdale," Jughead lamented. "In any case, Betty needs answers, for Polly. She deserves to know why he died."
Archie leaned forward, his face pressed into his hands. "Jughead, I'm in trouble."
"Arch?"
Face still buried in his palms, Archie's breathing grew erratic. "There's something I never told anyone. About the fourth of July… I don't know what to do."
A chill ran down Jughead's spine as he reeled with the possibilities. Something told him this was it: the thing Archie had been hiding since their reunion in the forest. Patting his friend's shoulder, he suggested they head inside for privacy.
Twenty minutes later, Jughead sat in stunned silence, grateful for his foresight.
