I'm so sorry for the delay in posting. I've spent the last 18 days (and counting!) with some sinus cold from hell. Barely lived through my birthday and the holidays. BUT I have one last emergency chapter ready to go, so here it is!

There's a bit of "setting things up" to this one, I'm afraid. But there's some lovely FP-Jughead bonding, so I hope that makes up for it.

Krystology: Your review made me so, so happy. Thank you. I hesitated for a while with this fandom precisely because I wanted to nail that voice of his. I'm so thrilled you've found this story and enjoy it. I'm keeping your words nearby as I try to hammer away at the next chapter.

Song: Gunshot - Lykke Li

Disclaimer: Just playing with someone else's toys while they torture me with a midseason hiatus. Disclaimed!


Six: Gunshot

"Wide awake, why you're not here
I can feel you firing straight into my heart

Goes through my head and back
Gun shot, I can't take it back
My heart cracked, really loved you bad..."
Gunshot - Lykke Li

Secrets. They can be a tricky thing.

We keep them from our family, our friends, the one we love. We keep them even from ourselves, shuttering them away in a mental cupboard with the nightmares we've lived and the dreams crushed beneath others' feet. Secrets are landmines, deadly little parcels that punish us for the slightest misstep.

Secrets are a currency. They buy friendship, or convenient alliances. They are the proverbial sword of Damocles that we might suspend over the head of another. A secret shared between lovers, however—that is the secret that wistfully sighs with Cupid's approving gaze.

Sitting in Archie's living room tonight, I learned how secrets can poison the best of us, rot them away from the inside until a fragile husk remains. I realized that the heart makes us vulnerable, exposes our soft underbelly to a world that will as soon protect us as it will gut us, spilling our insides for all to see. Who we love, who we trust with our secrets—we cannot take it lightly. Or else you might find yourself like Archie, a good-hearted guy swallowing secret answers to an unsolved murder on the whim of a forbidden lover.

Maybe my fear of trusting others has its upside, after all.

"You know you gotta tell someone, right?"

Archie's hand halted on the kitchen door. "Jughead, we've been over this. If I tell them I heard the shot, I have to explain why I was there. If I say I was alone, I become a suspect. If I tell them I was with anyone but Grundy, they'll eventually catch me in a lie. And if I admit I was with her—"

"Then maybe everyone says, Hey, that music teacher is a grown-ass woman who shouldn't be taking advantage of vulnerable students!" Jughead snapped. "As much as we want to be treated otherwise, we are still kids. We're expected to fuck up, or be afraid."

The fridge door swung open wildly and Archie reached inside. He pulled out a jug of milk, slamming it roughly on the countertop.

"I knew what I was doing," he insisted. "She didn't force me into anything."

Jughead massaged his temples, resisting the urge to explain concepts like authority and dual relationships. Archie wasn't stupid by any stretch of the imagination, but he was guided by a more emotional intelligence. Morality reigned over rationality in his head. He'd have to try another tack.

"Dude, you have to tell someone. You know it's what's right."

Archie spun around, his fiery temper echoing his features. "People can't find out about Miss Grundy! Do you know what they'll do to her?"

"A kid is dead, Archie. You saw Cheryl today." His friend flinched, and he pressed on. "And what about Polly? Your best friend's sister was suicidal when she found out the guy she loved—the father of the children she was forced to give away—was murdered! Not having answers is hurting them. And holding this secret inside? It's hurting you, while she's off somewhere, prowling around another high school like the cougar she is."

"Take that back, Jug! She's not like that, okay? I mean, she left, but she said it was because she was holding me back from a real relationship. She cared about me."

Jughead's palm slammed the countertop in frustration. "Newsflash: she cares more about herself. I'm assuming she's the one who convinced you not to say anything?" Archie's silent glare spoke volumes. "And yet, she moved on, and left you in Riverdale, watching this town fall to pieces beneath the weight of a bloated corpse."

A stand-off: Archie, body trembling in anger, objectively taller; and Jughead, slighter in stature but looming over his best friend. Jughead couldn't help but wonder if he'd stayed in Riverdale, would Archie have fallen under Grundy's spell? Would he have noticed the change in his friend, perhaps stepped in before he became embroiled in a murder?

"We've been friends our whole lives, man." Jughead's voice softened as Archie's head bowed in shame. "I'm looking out for you. You've always been that guy who always tried to do the right thing. You and Fred taught me that, because my father sure didn't. And you've gotta know that the longer you say nothing, the worse it looks for you."

Archie's eyes widened. "You don't think I could go to jail, do you?"

Jughead shrugged his shoulders. "I doubt it, but they're probably going to be pissed they've wasted so much time wondering if Cheryl killed him."

"Shit!"

Jughead's eyes widened as he realized there was an alternative. "Why don't we talk to Kevin?"

Arms folded over his chest, Archie leaned back against the fridge. "That sounds like a terrible idea. He's the sheriff's son."

"Yes. Which means he knows how the law works, and what repercussions you'd face." At Archie's skeptical frown, he continued. "Look, Kevin helped us replicate his dad's murder board, which was probably a huge violation of some confidentiality clause, so if you ask him to give you time, he'll keep his mouth shut. Betty will make him, if we need her to."

A long moment passed with Archie staring into space, likely weighing his options, and his loyalties to Betty and Grundy. Finally, his voice scarcely more than a whisper, he nodded slightly.

"Kevin. But he's gotta promise upfront not to tell Sheriff Keller."

"Deal." Jughead clapped him on the back gently, jerking his head towards the door. "You going to be okay? I haven't been home much, and I feel like I should check in there."

"Yeah, I'll be fine. Dad should be home soon."

They walked to the door together, each step seeming like a mile. The secret Archie had revealed weighed heavily on each of them, for different reasons. For Jughead, the implications of the gunshot heard—and the fact Archie knew the exact time of day it was fired—would matter to the police. It wasn't like Dilton Doiley was ever going to come forward. Archie making a statement would corroborate Cheryl's, and perhaps steer the investigation in a more fruitful direction.

Archie paused at the door, turning to face him. "Thanks, Jughead. I know you're a good friend."

"You're a good person, Archie. You told me for a reason. Maybe it was so I could support you in making a decision you already wanted to make."

With that, he slipped off into the night, digging his fists into his jacket pockets. Maybe it wouldn't matter much to the investigation in the end, but he knew Archie Andrews. Holding this secret in was going to break him eventually. He needed to be free of it.


Jughead should have known Wednesday was going to be terrible from the moment he begrudgingly crawled out of bed.

The hot water was out in the trailer—the aging water heater was shot, FP had explained—which led to a three-minute frantic scrub in what was essentially freezing rain. The coffee maker had failed to brew as programmed, leaving him stuck with Folger's crystals and a heavy spoonful of sugar to make it tolerable for the road. And then, there was Archie's call, reminding him that he had early practice and couldn't give him a ride.

Which meant taking the bus he never seemed to make it on time for, or soliciting a ride from his father.

It shouldn't cause such conflict within him, but old habits died incredibly hard. Ditto instinct, which screamed that FP could not be counted on for much of anything. But he had changed, right? He'd shown up at the bus station. FP hadn't, to his knowledge, had a drink since he'd come home. He'd shown up every Sunday for dinner at Fred's and was still gainfully employed.

Heart in throat, he'd lifted his gaze from the lacklustre coffee he'd poured into his travel mug and called out to FP. Asked if maybe, were it not too much trouble, he could catch a lift to school on his way to work.

"Of course, Jug. Gimme five minutes to grab my stuff."

Jughead wasn't sure who'd been more surprised: FP, at the ask; or himself, at the eager reply.

Which was how he'd found himself in his father's pick-up truck, slurping terrible coffee that probably couldn't keep a mouse awake. An awkward, twenty-minute ride shared by two people who might as well still live in different states.

It was FP who broke the silence at last, nudging the radio volume down. "Haven't seen much of you at home. You reconnecting with everyone?"

"Uh, yeah. It was a little weird at first, but Archie and I are back to the way things were." His hands fidgeted with the travel mug as guilt trickled through his veins.

"And Betty? How is she doing?"

"She's good," Jughead answered, too quickly. "I told you that she started the school paper up again, right?"

FP nodded with a low hum, flipping the indicator to turn onto the main road between north and south. "You been writing for it? I think I saw an article typed up on the table last week."

"Yeah, Betty needed help." If it was the article he was thinking of, it would have been the coverage of the memorial service. "Weatherbee must be so thrilled that I finally took up an extracurricular."

"You always had a way with words," FP mused, glancing over with a smile. "I remember your mom and me, we'd go to those parent-teacher meetings, and they'd all complain you never wanted to pay attention, you know. Whatever, it's grade two. I never paid attention, either." He chuckled softly. "But then they'd all say the same thing: 'he's a storyteller.' You have a gift, Jug. I'm glad you're still using it."

"Thanks, dad." A beat. "Actually, I'm writing a book. About Jason's death, how it's changed the town…"

FP's knuckles gripped the wheel tightly. "A little morbid, don't you think?"

"I'm a creature of shadows. I like to study people, see what makes them who they are. It's not about the murder so much as the aftermath." The air in the cab of the truck thickened, the tension overwhelming. "I mean, it changed you, Dad. In a good way."

His father hissed softly, serpentine. "I guess it did."

Silence, save the soft rattle of the truck's rickety frame. Jughead sipped his coffee, staring at the passing scenery. Would this ever be easier? Would they ever manage to have that easiness he envied Archie and Fred for?

Maybe you should try spending time with him?

Between his concerns with Betty, rebuilding things with Archie and investigating the Blossom murder, he'd barely seen his father in the last few weeks. Quick moments before bed, breakfasts here and there, and Sunday dinner at the Andrews house—that was all he'd given his father. How could they repair something neither was ever around to fix?

Silence and standing by had already cost him a chance with Betty. He had to try harder.

"Hey, Dad? You busy tonight?"

They made the turn towards Riverdale High, FP shrugging his shoulders. "Meeting at eight. Nothing else. Why?"

"I just wanted to know if you'd be home for dinner. I could cook. Or try to." Jughead's cheeks flushed. "I'm limited to grilled cheese and burgers, pretty much. The safety of the trailer probably depends on you standing by with a fire extinguisher."

His father grinned. "I love grilled cheese. I'm in."

They pulled into the parking lot of the high school, Jughead immediately spotting Chuck Clayton and Reggie Mantle running laps on the track. Clayton pointed in his direction, nudging Reggie. Wonderful. He suspected another interrogation in the hallways before homeroom. Near the entrance stood Veronica and Kevin, a small mercy. He'd even hug Veronica if he had to, just to avoid his most-hated meathead. Archie could only run so much interference.

"Need a ride home?" FP asked.

"Nah, I'll catch one from Arch. Thanks, Dad."

His hand moved quickly for the door handle, but froze as FP spoke again.

"Look out for Betty, Jug."

His head spun in his father's direction, studying the furrowed brow and narrowed eyes. "She's my friend. I look out for my friends."

"I know you do, but… Look, trust me on this. Betty's just like her mother. The more perfect they seem, the more they need someone." His gaze averted, he nudged the volume on the radio higher. "Lessons learned the hard way."

Jughead swallowed hard, clutching the strap of his backpack tightly. "I'm trying to. Be someone, I mean."

"You've got a big heart, Jug. Get that from your mom. Anyway, words of an old drunk, I guess. Take 'em for what they're worth."

Jughead slipped out of the truck, hesitating a moment before blurting out, "Recovering alcoholic, not a drunk."

He slammed the door quickly, refusing to look back. Had he done so, he would have caught his father brushing away a single tear before speeding out of the parking lot.


His day kicked off with a pop quiz he certainly failed, and rolled downhill from there.

Clayton cornered him outside his English class, blocking his path with a muscular arm slamming against a locker. The close proximity of his fist to Jughead's face was not lost on him.

"What have you done to Betty?"

"What have I done? You have got to be shitting me."

Chuck sneered. "She starts spending time with you, and suddenly, she's not answering her phone and not in school. You do the math."

Was her seriously implying that Jughead had caused Betty harm? After all the bullshit games he'd seen Chuck play with her mind? Jughead's fist curled at his side, the temptation to start a losing battle rising within him.

"We all know you can't add up two plus two from SAT prep, so let me break it down for you, Clayton: the games you pull with Betty? They won't work on me. You can't project your toxic masculine bullshit onto me, and you can't blame me when she finally sees you for the insecure piece of shit you are."

A switch flipped and suddenly, Jughead was off the ground, feet dragging against the locker door as Chuck clutched the collar of his coat. Jughead gritted his teeth and remained defiant, as he had learned from his father's scraps in the gravel roads of Sunnyside.

"You need to stay out of my business, Jones," he snarled.

"Looks like Betty's staying out of your business, so I'll follow suit," Jughead taunted.

"Gentlemen!" a voice boomed from down the corridor.

Startled, Chuck loosened his grip, letting Jughead's feet meet polished tile. Principal Weatherbee, in perhaps the only fortunate instance ever, was coming down the hallway. Jughead straightened his jacket and took advantage of the disruption, darting inside his classroom without another word.

Chuck is going to be a problem. Alice Cooper has no idea what trouble's she caused Betty by confiscating her phone.

Settling into his seat, Jughead sent a quick text to Veronica. Someone needed to put Chuck on ice for now, and that someone couldn't be seen as competition. A fellow River Vixen, on the other hand, would do just fine.

A commotion to his left caught his attention, pulling him from thoughts of Betty and back into the Blossom mystery. Their teacher was late as usual, leaving Cheryl Blossom an opening to jump on her proverbial soapbox and make demands. Only this time, her demands were less shallow and selfish.

"All of you make me sick. You come and cry at JJ's funeral. You click your tongues in fake sympathy at his memorial, but secretly, you're all glad he's dead. You're glad, because Deputy Dawg is stupid enough to think I would ever hurt my brother."

She stepped up onto a desk, glaring down at her disloyal subjects. Her blood-red dress and coordinated stilettos were high fashion, but her smeared eyeliner revealed the chink in her armour.

"None of you will ever know what it is to be a twin!" she screamed. "None of you will ever know what it's like to lose half of yourself, and know if you had just done something different, protected him better, he would still be here…"

Ginger Lopez nervously approached the desk, her voice soft and low. "Cheryl, we all know you loved Jason. It's not your fault—"

"Did I ask you to speak?" Cheryl snapped. "Down, girl. Or did you fail obedience school, too?"

Duly rebuked, Ginger threw up her hands and backed away from the continuing onslaught.

"And now, while JJ lies under ground, you gobble up the tragic tale of my brother like a true crime episode of the week." At this, she glared at Jughead. "You think you can stroll back into Riverdale, Serpent Spawn, and make your name on the back of my dead brother?"

Jughead winced, a pulsing headache forming in his temples. "No," he replied firmly. "We want the same thing, Cheryl. We want Jason's killer found. Betty and I both want that."

Her eyes narrowed, and if looks could kill, Jughead would be joining Jason in the cemetery. "Then why aren't you interrogating Polly Pockets the Silverware? Oh yes, don't think I haven't heard that she's back in town. Or do you only dig through the lives of those who aren't trailer park trash?"

Several heads spun in his direction as his stomach turned with the attention. Guess that cat's out of the bag. Fantastic. Already, he could see several people connecting Betty's absence with Cheryl's tantalizing tidbit.

"Trash or not, we're the only ones telling this town that you didn't kill your brother, Cheryl. Maybe you should pick your battles more wisely," Jughead cautioned her.

Her lips parted, likely to spew more venom in his direction, but quickly shut as Mr. Cochrane finally bothered to show for class. He glanced up at Cheryl, who flipped her trademark red curls over her shoulder and elegantly descended from the desk.

"Let's get to work!" Cochrane pronounced, reaching for a piece of chalk.

Yes, it's time to get to work, Jughead echoed, flipping open his notes on Jason Blossom. This town will never heal until Jason's murderer is behind bars.

His phone surreptitiously in his lap, he tapped out a text to Kevin Keller: I need to talk to you, alone. Meet me after this period?

A quick reply: Where?

Cochrane's lacklustre assessment of the opening chapters of The Great Gatsby droned on as he tapped out another text: There's a door on the ground level beneath the far west stairwell, the one near the library. Duck in there.

Minutes passed before Kevin replied: Alright, but upfront, I don't sleep with besties of besties, even if they're James Dean broody *wink emoji*

Class passed in agonizing minutes spent sketching out theories and investigation threads while forcing himself to answer a question from Cochrane to seem attentive. His school in Toledo had done Gatsby last year, so he could bullshit his way through the next week, if he had to. By the time the bell sounded, he was already packed up, out of his seat and first out of the classroom. Scanning the hallways for Clayton, he maneuvered through clusters of chatty teens until he reached his secret hideaway, one he'd discovered in freshman year while dodging initiation from brutish seniors with a penchant for pantsing scrawny teens.

As promised, Kevin was waiting, his expression a mixture of bemusement and curiosity. "Nice space," Kevin commented. "Mind if I borrow it sometime?"

"Whatever," Jughead scoffed, leaning against the wall of his secret storage closet. "I just needed to make sure we weren't overheard. Especially now that Cheryl's on a hunt for blood."

"Bathory needs more blood of the innocent to bathe in?" Kevin quipped.

"I'm serious, Keller." Jughead massaged his throbbing temples, willing away the now full-blown headache he was nursing. "Have you heard from Betty this week?"

Kevin's features darkened. "Not for days, although that's been the new normal. Last few weeks had made me think that maybe things were changing, but…"

"Alright, this stays between us. No Veronica, definitely not your dad, no kidding," Jughead insisted.

"Swear. Now, can you stop freaking me out?"

Jughead forced himself to calm down, drawing a deep breath and lowering his voice. "Betty's mom took her phone. Polly's home and she's pissed, with good reason. Long story short, the Coopers coerced her into staying out of sight while giving birth to her shameful love children."

Kevin's eyes widened. "No… Jason's the baby daddy?"

Jughead nodded. "She gave them up, thinking he'd abandoned her. Alice is trying to bring her into line. Polly is demanding answers and today, Cheryl demanded them in front of a captive classroom audience."

Kevin grimaced, pacing the short length of the storage room. "This isn't good. My dad's already feeling the heat from the Blossoms. If Cheryl winds up the town at large?"

"There's more, which is the real reason I asked you to meet me," Jughead continued. "And it might chill Cheryl out, but it's tricky. As the sheriff's son, you have a basic handle on laws, including obstruction of justice, right?"

Kevin halted in his tracks, shaking his head. "Okay look, I built you a murder board. I'm not screwing with my dad's murder investigation!"

"I'm not asking you to!" Jughead hesitated, struggling with the best approach. "Hypothetically and off the record, if someone knew something about a murder, but didn't come forward out of fear, would they be in trouble when they finally said something?"

Kevin exhaled loudly. "Um, I guess it depends on what they know. Like, does this hypothetical person in a town with only one recent murder know who did it? Or did they do it?"

"No and no. They know something that will rule out a theory and establish timeline. So?"

Kevin mulled this over for a minute. "And they were afraid to say something sooner? Why?"

"I don't know, probably fear of getting railroaded like Cheryl?" Jughead snapped.

"Hey, it's not like there's been an abundance of leads!" Kevin snapped. "The guy was alive for seven days, but no one knows where. Cheryl lied about the fourth, then came clean with some other story that is maybe another lie."

Jughead shook his head. "If there's one thing I learned living with an alcoholic, it's spotting a liar. Cheryl's not lying this time. She really doesn't know what happened to Jason after they parted ways."

Kevin sighed. "Then, in that case, they wouldn't be in like, legal trouble. Especially if they're from the north side. Dad would use kid gloves, shake a finger, maybe. But more importantly, he's desperate for a lead. Any lead. Whoever this is, they should talk to him."

"I agree, but you can't blame someone for being reluctant to talk about this case. This entire town is darker now. Betty was right: nothing like this was supposed to happen here. People don't know how to process it." Jughead grabbed his bag, moving for the door. "Wait a minute, then exit."

"Hey, Jughead? Is it Betty?"

Jughead paused and turned around. "If it was, I wouldn't tell you. If it wasn't, I still wouldn't tell you."

"Spoken like a true journalist."

Pulling his beanie further down his head, Jughead nodded and slipped into the waiting corridor. Kevin's counsel gave him reason to pressure Archie into doing what he would have done, had Grundy not manipulated him with her affections. If the Sheriff showed progress in the investigation, Cheryl would turn down the heat. That, in turn, would help him honour his promise to Betty: he could focus on following the facts, and in turn, perhaps pull Jason's killer from a year-long shadow.

He thought back to his father's words that morning, his caution about Betty and Alice. What was imperfect in her life? What secret was she hiding? Would knowing it help Betty, or hurt her more?

Protect her. He would do that, no matter the cost to himself. And if that meant digging into Alice Cooper's Southside history? So be it.