Another chapter, another step closer to what we all want: Bughead together.
A few things from reviews:
Betty choosing Chuck - oh man, I hated it too. But Betty is going to explain herself in this one, and I think you'll find it in your hearts to forgive her for it.
What's Keller thinking? Let's confirm: yes, Jughead was in Toledo when Jason was murdered. Keller is so barking up the wrong tree. He left about ten days before Jason went missing. That said, remember: 1) Keller is desperately grasping at straws, because pressure is on him to solve the only murder in recent Riverdale history; 2) Keller doesn't exactly think highly of the Jones family, so of course he wouldn't have noticed when Jughead left; and 3) he's more interested in the fire, and what Jughead had to do with that. Don't worry, he'll be sorted out in this chapter.
Song: We're in this Together - Nine Inch Nails (the lyrics are perfect for our pair)
Disclaimer: I do not own Riverdale or any dialogue borrowed throughout this story for context. But if y'all want to steal the ending of this chapter and make it happen on screen, I won't be super mad.
Nine: We're in this Together
"You and me, even after everything
You're the queen and I'm the king
Nothing else means anything."
We're In This Together - Nine Inch Nails
The commotion outside the door pulled Jughead from his wandering thoughts.
An hour had passed since Betty was escorted from the room, perhaps longer. Time lost all meaning in a room without clocks or phones (Jughead's cell had been confiscated upon arrival, under some illegal and vague pretense he didn't understand). He'd busied himself with reviewing the facts of the Blossom case and straining to recall every detail he could about his first three weeks in Toledo. Had he used his debit card on July 4th? How many people had seen him each day, miles away from Riverdale and a murder in progress? Had he written about these events on his laptop and if so, would digital forensics back him up?
He was massaging his temples, weary and worried, when angry voices swelled beyond the door.
"How dare you speak to my son without calling me? He's a minor!"
Dad?
A muffled response—likely Keller, trying to diffuse a Serpent scorned—and more yelling. Fred Andrews piped up, shouting his father's name. A soft feminine voice. Betty. It could only be her. Jughead longed to press his ear to the door, but feared repercussions if he left his seat.
He was powerless, and it was infuriating.
His fingers struck the table in a fevered staccato as he waited for answers—or for his dad to start shouting again. Minutes passed like hours until the knob turned, revealing FP Jones, Fred Andrews and Sheriff Keller.
"C'mon, Jughead!" FP demanded, glaring at the sheriff.
He didn't have to be asked twice. He followed quickly behind the trio of adults, the tension thick despite what seemed to be a tenuous peace. Hushed barbs passed between them, the sounds muffled and muddy beneath the frantic beat of Jughead's heart.
What the hell is happening?
At the front desk, he found a certain clarity in the guise of an anxious blonde and a stoic redhead in a Riverdale varsity jacket. Archie nodded slightly, but Betty's half-smile in greeting ushered in a wave of calm. He would be going home today. What battles lay beyond, he wasn't certain yet. But the war waged by his friends—the respected and cherished citizens of Riverdale's privileged North—had been won.
Sheriff Keller reached behind the desk, lifting up Jughead's backpack. Reluctantly, he pushed it towards the teen.
"Your belongings, Jughead."
"Check that it's all there," FP ordered him. "Guards here have the stickiest fingers."
Fred nudged his friend's arm. "FP, it's fine. Jughead, take a look through your bag."
"Nothing about this is fine, and I'll be speaking to a lawyer about it tomorrow." FP's words were fittingly venomous.
Jughead searched through his bag, taking a careful inventory. His laptop was inside, power cord included. He noted it was off, as he'd left it. Textbooks, notebooks, all accounted for. His copy of Cracked Up To Be, cover battered from a year of being toted around, was in the side pocket he always kept it in. Despite his best efforts to look quickly, a soft gasp from Betty affirmed that she'd seen her long-ago gift in his possession.
"So, you're certain Jughead was out of town last July?" Keller asked reluctantly.
FP's entire body was trembling. For a brief moment, Jughead worried his father was going to strike him, undo all the positive strides he'd made in recent months. A shaking fist curled and uncurled at his side, revealing a small slip of paper. On it was a number and a name: Gladys.
"I thought everybody in town knew the gossip about the Jones family. I will never forget the day my wife took my children away," FP spat angrily, tossing the paper on the desk. "Would you forget something like that?"
Keller glanced away awkwardly, duly rebuked. Having searched his bag thoroughly, Jughead had found everything he needed, save one critical item.
"My phone?"
Keller balked. "What about it?"
"You have it," Jughead reminded him. "It was locked when you received it, so if I find it's been cracked or searched illegally, I'm sure the lawyer will be thrilled to hear about it."
"Right, right." Keller opened a drawer, withdrawing the missing device and handing it to Jughead. "We didn't go through your phone."
Jughead verified the lock screen was in place before pocketing the device. Satisfied, he slung his bag over his shoulder, eager to get the hell out of the police station. Memories of his previous arrest were nearing the surface, clawing at his skin from the inside. His limbs itched with a singular desire: run, and never look back.
But guilty people ran, or so the stereotype claimed, and Jughead refused to fit any paragraph of Policing for Dummies. He walked deliberately to his best friends, drawing strength from their silent sentinel.
"You never did answer my question about last night's fire," Keller called out to him.
Jughead froze, looking to Archie and Betty for guidance. His immediate desire was to throw things in an incredulous rage, but that seemed counterproductive to proving his innocence.
"You know everything about the fire." Betty's voice was firm and ever-so-slightly irritated. "Jughead and I found the car. Neither of us could get a signal, so we headed to Pop's to use his phone. We waited there, with Pop Tate, until you picked us up."
He drew a deep breath to steady himself, before turning around. "I asked for a lawyer, which is my legal right. But everything Betty said is true."
Fred's brow furrowed deeper as he cast a sideways glance at Keller. "Why are you asking so many questions about the fire? Seems to me that these two witnesses have told you everything they know."
Keller half-shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "I'm just making sure I understand a complex situation, one that destroyed critical evidence for a murder investigation. An investigation centred on the dead lover of Polly Cooper, who tipped Betty and Jughead off about the car."
Ahh, there it is: he thinks I torched the car for Betty and Polly. The irony being, he would have done it, were he asked to. He would protect his family, chosen or biological, no matter what the personal cost might be.
Clearly, his father had connected the same dots. "If you have evidence of a crime, Sheriff, I suggest you produce it. Otherwise, I'll be taking my boy home. And from here on, your questions go through me or his lawyer."
"And if you continue to harass Jughead, which is clearly what you're doing, I may just have to write a detailed account of the blatant profiling practices of Riverdale PD," Betty added, folding her arms across her chest. Keller's mouth fell open, but she quickly waved it away. "Save it. You're not accusing me of setting the fire, even though Polly is my sister. Why is that? Oh, yes, because my parents are the Coopers. We live in a nicer house than yours, and we control the local media."
He wanted to laugh out loud, or perhaps applaud Betty's succinct call-out. A knowing grin would have to suffice. Betty closed the distance and looped her arm through his, looking to Archie.
"Let's go."
The Three Musketeers shoved through the rear doors of the station, victorious. The brisk air of Fall filled his lungs until they seized, a welcome pain in his chest. Betty squeezed his arm gently, checking in as she had done for years. He nodded slightly in reply.
His heart was still bruised from her broken allegiance that morning, but when it had mattered most, she'd been steadfast in her support. Archie had shown up today. He wouldn't forget that.
Fred and FP emerged from the station, a study in contrasts: Fred's features were relaxed and sure; FP's rage simmered beneath the steely surface. Polar opposites, but perhaps that was what had brought the friends together in the first place. Fred nudged his father, drawing him aside for a hushed conversation by his truck.
Jughead cocked his head in their direction. "Thanks for calling him, Archie."
"No problem, Jug. FP told me to call my dad. I hope you don't mind. He said he was out of town, and didn't want you to be alone."
"No, that's fine. I mean, Fred's been like a second dad for my entire life." Hesitantly, he added, "I'm glad you came, too."
"Best friends, right? Besides, it was probably for the best I cut school after this morning." Archie shrugged his shoulders, leaning against the station wall. "Chuck started threatening to press charges. I figured I'd just suspend myself and be done with it."
Jughead kicked the gravel beneath his feet, shaking his head. "Great. I'm sure Keller's going to be pounding on my door tonight."
"No, he won't," Betty insisted. "Because I told Keller what happened this morning."
He tugged his arm away from hers, spinning to face her. "I'm sorry, you did what?"
Smoothing her coat, Betty fidgeted with the buttons. "I heard what Chuck said in the office, so I did what any strategist would do: I got out in front of the story. I told him that he should chase a real criminal, like a bully who assaulted his classmate for no reason. That you were lucky enough to get away from him before you were harmed. That maybe if people in Riverdale paid attention to the real villains, Jason wouldn't have died."
Jughead rocked back on his heels, exhaling loudly. "Jesus, Cooper! What were you thinking?"
Her lower lip trembled as she glanced away. "That I owed you better as a friend."
Archie and Jughead exchanged glances, each wanting to hash out what this meant for Operation Get Betty The Hell Away From Clayton—Operation Asshole, for short. However, it would have to wait: FP and Fred were approaching, the latter having somewhat subdued the former. FP's arm wrapped around Jughead's shoulder, pulling him closer.
"You alright?"
"Yeah, Dad. I'm fine. Thanks to all of you."
"We take care of each other," Fred affirmed warmly. "FP, take the rest of the day paid. Betty, you need a lift?"
"Mmhmm. You going home, Juggie?"
"Yeah, I'm wiped out." Fidgeting with his beanie, he edged towards his father's truck. "I'll see you tomorrow?"
Archie clapped him gently on the back. "Yeah, Jug. I'll meet you outside school."
A bodyguard. Yeah, he could use one of those. Who better than his big-hearted friend (who just happened to play football)?
Betty's ponytail swung as she lifted her head, chin jutting out. "I'll walk with you, Archie."
It was difficult to know which of the four men was most surprised by this declaration of solidarity, but Archie's wide-eyed stare surely made him a frontrunner.
"Um, great. I'll pick you up at seven thirty."
Unsure of what to say—to Betty, to Archie, to any of them—Jughead retreated to his father's truck, tucking his backpack on the floor and settling into the worn leather seat. It smelled of sweat and grease, and also a sweet freshness, like a crisp apple. His eyes closed, replaying his private conversation with Betty. Knowing she had drawn a line and planted herself opposite Chuck, it changed things. Had his anger pushed her to shed the shackles of the slimy jock? Had she already made her amends before talking her way into the room?
You deserve so much better than him, Betty. You deserve kindness.
His eyes remained shut as his father slid into the driver's seat and turned the ignition, revving the engine a few times before pulling out of the lot. The silence between them was easy, one born of mutual understanding. Each man needed a moment to collect himself. Like father, like son, he supposed.
"I'm sorry I couldn't come right away," FP blurted out. "I was over in Centerville."
Jughead opened his eyes reluctantly, studying his father. "It's okay."
"No, no, I should have been there for you. It's just…" FP's hands clutched the wheel tightly, his knuckles a ghastly white. "I've been struggling, and my sponsor runs a morning meeting there, so…"
"Hey, that's okay," Jughead insisted, sitting up straighter. "It's okay to need help. I'm glad you went to the meeting. Your health is important, Dad."
FP shrugged, shaking his head. "I shouldn't be so weak, but all the digging you're doing into that Blossom kid? It scares me, Jug."
"Nothing's going to happen to me—"
"I bet Jason said that before he took a bullet to the head!" FP's agitation startled Jughead, so much so that he leaned into the passenger door of the truck.
"I'll be careful."
FP scoffed, making the turn into Sunnyside Park. "Careful can't stop a gun."
His father pulled roughly into the gravel patch beside the trailer, cutting the engine. Drawing a deep breath, he turned to his son. His anguish drove a sharp blade into his son's heart.
"I can't lose you, Jughead. Not again."
"You won't. I promise."
FP didn't believe him, not entirely, but his battered heart folded around itself and the discussion was over. Jughead's body ached from tension and the uncomfortable chair he'd spent most of the day in, and the promise of a hot shower and loose sweat nearly elicited a sob of relief. And yet, a niggling thought would not be dismissed, one that had looped in his skull during his pseudo-incarceration.
"Dad?"
"Hmm?
What did you mean before, when you said Betty was like Alice?"
FP leaned back against the seat, running his fingers along the steering wheel. His gaze unseeing, he mulled the question for several long moments.
"Alice didn't always live in the North. She was forced into that cookie cutter house, Jug. Just like Betty. Being what you're not, it can eat away at you from the inside. Make your heart hard." FP shook his head slightly, casting out unwanted tendrils of memory. "Don't let Betty end up that way."
Without waiting for Jughead's answer, his father slid out of the truck and slammed the door, leaving his baffled son to wonder how FP knew Mama Cooper so damn well…
The TV picture flickered in the upper right corner as Jughead absently changed channels, looking for something to distract him from his racing thoughts. Thus far, his options were the Kardashians, Trump's latest scandal and a documentary on shady farming practices.
On the coffee table lay an open box of pizza, half devoured. Being falsely accused of murder had left a surprising dent in his appetite. An unfinished pizza in the Jones home was unheard of. He promised himself he was merely taking a break from his dinner, but the roiling of his guts told a different tale.
A re-run of Roseanne caught his eye and he tossed the remote aside. It would do. Besides, it was the episode where Roseanne and Dan smoked an old joint they'd found around the house, promptly reducing themselves to teenagers. A classic.
It was just getting to his favourite part (Roseanne laughing at a stoned Jackie in the bathtub, the latter lamenting her lack of kids, career and boyfriend) when a soft rapping on the door scared the crap out of him. Unsure of who it could be (Chuck? The real culprit for the torched car?), he hesitated, tugging his beanie further down his forehead. The visitor knocked harder as his cell phone beeped, signalling a new text.
His shaking hand unlocked the screen, reading the short missive: Juggie, it's freezing out here.
"Betty?"
He hurried to the door and threw it open, revealing a nervous blonde hugging her coat tightly around her frame. Her cheeks were soundly lashed and crimson by the wind outside—a herald of a rainy night ahead.
"Hi," she murmured.
"What are you doing here, Cooper?" It sounded harsher than he'd intended, and he quickly began to babble. "I mean, you're always welcome here, but I wasn't expecting you and—wait, you didn't walk here alone, did you?"
"No, of course not. Veronica's driver brought me. Can I come in?"
"Yeah, of course." He stepped side, ushering her into the messy trailer. "If I'd known you were coming, I would have cleaned up."
She patted his arm with a soft smile. "It's fine. I've survived Archie's living room on Superbowl Sunday, remember?"
Nonetheless, he immediately grabbed several empty cans of Coke and tossed them in the recycling bin before straightening the throw blankets on the couch. He reached out for her coat and flinched when her hand zapped him with static electricity.
My life is a terrible teen drama cliché.
He gestured for her to sit and folded her coat over a kitchen chair. Her hair was down in loose waves, a rare occurrence. She'd also changed into a v-neck sweater and black jeans, which signalled a night out on the town (Betty preferred blue for school, and the fact he knew this was almost pathetic).
On the TV, stoned Roseanne was panicking about the possibility of her kids needing an organ transplant and being unable to help, given the pot-laced state of her own insides.
"I haven't seen this in ages," Betty mused with a grin. "I wish I'd gotten here for the beginning."
"You watched Roseanne? Let me rephrase: Alice and Hal Cooper let you watch Roseanne?"
Betty rolled her eyes. "I'm perfectly capable of watching things under their noses. It's called studying at Archie's house."
Jughead chuckled, settling into the loveseat across from her. "Touché. The two of us have always made it our second home, haven't we?"
"Yeah, we have. For different reasons."
"I wouldn't say they were all that different. We were both looking for a house that felt like a home."
Betty closed her eyes, pressing her head back into the couch cushions. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess we were."
Suddenly parched, Jughead reached for the last unopened Coke, and paused. He had a guest, after all. He waved the can in her direction, but Betty quickly shook her head.
"I need to watch my diet. There's a game in two days."
Exasperated, Jughead cracked open the can and slid it across the coffee table. "Live a little, Betty. Take a swig."
She hesitated, but relented under his firm gaze. One small mouthful and she passed it back in his direction.
"There. You drink the rest. I know you want to," she teased.
"To diabetes," he toasted, knocking back half of the soda in one go. Setting the can down, he leaned closer, studying her carefully. "Why are you here, Betty? And don't lie. You know I see right through you."
Her fingers toyed with the end of her blonde locks, seemingly perplexed by their presence on her shoulder. "I don't know… I wanted to talk to you."
"Veronica's driver brought you here?"
Betty nodded. "She's my cover. My mom thinks I'm out at a movie and sleeping over at Veronica's afterwards."
He rubbed the back of his neck angrily, willing the knots there to release. "So your mom is banning you from seeing me? I wish I was surprised."
"No! No, Jug, not at all. But she can't be trusted to lie, so she needs to believe I'm with Veronica." She pauses, glancing out the nearby window. "Veronica is my cover for Chuck."
Ahh. The driver, the subterfuge, it all made sense, especially after this morning's scuffle.
"What was so important that you'd go to all this trouble? I mean, we could talk at school tomorrow, or even before school."
Suddenly transfixed by her sneakers, Betty frowned. "Chuck can't know I was here tonight. He really can't."
"And he won't, Betty. Hey…" He rose slowly, moving around the table to sit beside her. "Hey, it's okay."
Betty leaned into his shoulder with a pained sigh. "I don't deserve you. I should have left with you this morning, but Chuck… It's so complicated. I can't even tell you why. Not all of it. But I want you to understand that I made the best decision to protect all of us."
This was taking a turn that was making him want to slug Clayton in a few more organs. "Betty, has he hurt you? Please, please tell me."
"Jug, I—"
"No, Betts. Remember my dad? Remember what you told me? Friends take care of each other when they're in danger." His hand cupped her chin, forcing her to look at him. "Has he hurt you?"
"No." A single tear slid down her face. "Not physically. I promise."
He believed her. But he also recognized her careful choice of words for what it was.
"I know he messes with your head. We all see it. You can tell me and Archie."
Betty pulled away, drawing her knees to her chest. "He just… I think he just feels so powerless in his life that he wants to feel powerful any way he can. So he wants me under his thumb. I guess…" Her voice trailed off, her eyes glazing over.
"Why do you put up with it?" he asked quietly. "Betty, don't you know how special you are? How kind and intelligent?"
Her shoulders shrugged. "It doesn't even matter. He's got the power."
"Why?"
"I can't tell you what it is, but he knows a secret. Something I never want anyone to find out. Anyone, Jug," she added firmly, silencing his protests. "And he holds it over me. He'll tell the whole school if I make him angry. And I'm sorry, but I'm not ready for that!"
Damn it. How could he convince her to leave him when he was holding a grenade like that? And what could Clayton possibly know that not even Archie or he knew? She curled into the opposite end of the couch, fists balled up in her lap. His heart broke, seeing her hurting this way.
"Okay, I get it. It's your secret and you should have the right to decide who to tell and when." He reached for a blanket, unfolding and tucking it carefully around her. "I just want to say, I would never, ever judge you for anything, Betty. If you ever want to tell me, I'll listen, okay?"
"It would ruin everything," she whispered sadly.
"We'll have to agree to disagree." Wait a minute. "Betty, if making Chuck angry is going to make him spill, then why did you tell Keller about our fight? Why did you defend me?"
Her mouth fell open, as if realizing the magnitude of her actions at the police station. "Oh… I wasn't thinking of that. Oh crap, I really didn't think… Not that Keller will do anything to him."
"No, he won't. He'd rather arrest me than do me a favour." He leaned closer, nudging her shoulder. "So?"
Tucking her hair behind her ears, Betty met his gaze willingly for the first time since she'd sat down. "I was sitting there, waiting for you to be released, and I remembered when we were kids, and you coming home from that place. You've never been the same, and I kept thinking, what will jail do to him? I didn't want to find out."
It wasn't the appropriate reaction, or one she expected, but he couldn't help himself: Jughead laughed loudly, shaking his head in disbelief. Betty's eyes narrowed, clearly unimpressed, but it was a struggle to swallow down the chuckles.
"What is so damn funny, Jughead Jones?"
He drew a deep breath and held it to steady himself. "I'm so sorry, it's just… I wonder how you noticed that, but you never put two and two together." At her quizzical look, he tapped his beanie. "You bugged me once about wearing this. Think about it."
She sat up quickly, folding her legs beneath her. "Oh. It was around that time, wasn't it? I guess I never considered they were connected."
"Yeah, it was a few months after I got back. My dad got it for me. Thought it would help with the changes, I guess."
He was intentionally vague, not comfortable with unfolding the details of his panic attacks and nightmares of the beating in juvie. How he couldn't sleep in his room alone. The fear he had of crowded spaces, because you couldn't keep track of so many people, couldn't see a fist coming for you until you were down and surrounded…
"And it helped?"
"Yeah. He said he was a king among his friends, which made me a prince." His voice cracked, remembering one of the few good memories he had of his father. "It's silly, but it made me feel tougher. Safer."
Her fingers reached up to toy with the solitary curl that never stayed underneath the damn hat. "If it makes you feel better, then that's all that matters. There's nothing silly about wanting to feel safe. Your dad did something really kind for you."
"Don't tell Archie, alright? I just… You know?"
"My lips are sealed," she assured him.
She leaned towards him and he reflexively lifted his arm, ushering her closer. It was something they'd done for years, usually while watching movies. He'd never thought much of it—neither had she, best he could tell—but the gesture felt weighted with meaning. Maybe it was the way she curled into his side, stretching her arm over his waist. Maybe it was the contented murmur that spilled from her lips like a secret. He hugged her tighter, wishing it was this simple to protect her from Clayton.
"I guess you're my beanie, then," Betty mumbled.
"Hmm?"
"You calm me down when no one else can. I'm braver with you around. You're my beanie," she echoed, yawning.
He rested his head gently on hers, overwhelmed by her declaration. The TV droned on, a re-run of Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. They watched Will and Carlton toss snarky one-liners, laughing softly in unison.
"Juggie?"
"Yeah, Betts?"
"There's another reason I came over tonight. I saw your dad's coat, in the truck while you were locked in the room…"
OH. This wasn't good. He'd never spoken of his dad's affiliation with a gang to anyone, especially Betty.
"Anyway," she continued, "when Fred dropped me home, Polly was arguing with mom about Jason. Mom was insulting him because of the drugs, and Polly loved him, so she was mad. I took her upstairs and she told me that Jason had mentioned drugs as a way to get money, but she didn't think he'd really do it."
"Okay…" This was going somewhere, and he suspected he wasn't going to like it.
"She says Jason was going to ask the Serpents for drugs. Is that possible?"
Jughead groaned, waiting for Betty's anger. "Well no, they don't deal anything hard. I know weed gets dealt regularly, no matter how clever my dad thinks he is with his code talk. But the heavy stuff? Some of them use it, but they don't deal it. My dad's against it."
"Hmm, so maybe one of the users connected Jason with their dealer?"
"Possible."
Why wasn't she angry? Or disappointed? Scared, even, to be in the home of a big, bad biker?
"You could have told me," Betty added, as if reading his mind. "I wouldn't have judged you for your father's choices. And FP seems really sweet, now that he's sober."
"Sobriety is really good for him," Jughead agreed. "He's struggling. He was at an extra meeting this morning. He's at his regular one right now. I'm worried about what Keller's stunt today will do to him."
"Me too." Betty burrowed closer, pulling the blanket over her legs. "Got any good movies to watch? Unless you want me to go back to Veronica's now?"
"No!" Smooth, Jughead. Could you be more obvious? "I mean, it's been a shitty day, and with all the time apart in Toledo, this is good. I missed our movie nights."
"I'm sure you found a movie buddy in Toledo," Betty dismissed him. His silence prompted her to dig deeper, like the journalist she was born to be. "Oh Jug, please tell me you made friends out there."
"I didn't need friends. I had JB. Girl listens to Floyd on a turntable. She's cooler than 98% of Toledo."
Betty poked him in the ribs. "You have to let people know you, Mr. Antisocial."
He hesitated briefly, squeezing her arm. "Well, Archie was never great at calling, and your letters dried up, so I got used to it. Being alone."
"You can be alone in a crowd, too," Betty mused sadly.
He reached for the remote, switching the input to the DVD player. "Let's see what's already loaded… Ahh, of course. You down for The Last Picture Show?"
He'd watched it last week, reminiscing about the Twilight. Between his sleuthing and his father's evening meetings, neither of them had been watching a lot of TV.
"I haven't seen it in years. Let's do it."
He hit play, relaxing into the sofa and pushing aside the myriad of questions and fears filling his days in favour of a movie older than his parents. His mother favoured old black and white films, passing her appreciation to her eldest child at a young age. There was something earnest and real about a work of art born of acting, costumes and little else. It felt as close to life in Riverdale as anything ever could be: confused, hurting people, struggling to find love and meaning in a world that could be cold and cruel.
Betty made it half an hour before passing out in his lap. Considering the later hour (approaching eleven), he was surprised she'd made it that long. A soft nudge did nothing to rouse her, posing a challenge for Jughead. A few careful manoeuvers and he'd slid himself out of the way, leaving her curled up on the sofa.
A rustling of keys outside alerted him to his father's return. He hurried to the door, opening it gently with a finger pressed to his lips.
"Betty's asleep," he whispered.
FP's brow raised. "Betty? What's she doing here?"
"She needed a friend."
FP nodded thoughtfully, stepping past him and surveying the sleeping blonde. "Her mom know she's here?"
"Not a clue."
"Good. Alice would lose her damn mind." Pulling off his boots, FP rolled his shoulders back as he headed into the kitchen. "She staying over?"
Jughead glanced over at the sofa, smirking at the soft grunt Betty made as she rolled to her side. "She's exhausted. I don't want to wake her."
Pouring a glass of orange juice, FP shrugged. "I'm fine with it. But you're not sharing a bed."
"Dad!" he hissed. "Come on. We're friends."
"For now," FP muttered, chugging his drink. "Turn down your bed, I've got her."
Jughead headed down the hall, pausing for a backwards glance. His father had gently slid his arm beneath Betty's head, his other hand gripping the back of her knees. In a smooth, slow motion, he lifted her into a cradle, and took a step towards Jughead.
"Go!" he whispered.
Jughead rushed ahead, pushing his door open and folding down his blankets. His father followed close behind, a faint bead of sweat on his forehead betraying the exertion of his task. Carefully, he laid her down, the two of them freezing as Betty briefly stirred, then settled in.
"Girl's dead weight," FP whispered. "She really needs sleep."
Jughead pulled the blankets over her. "I think it's been a while."
"You take my bed," FP told him. "I'll take the couch."
"Dad—"
"You need rest, Jug. Don't argue."
He relented, grabbing a pair of pajama pants from the top of his dresser. Pausing beside the bed, Betty's voice echoed in his mind.
You're my beanie.
Smiling to himself, Jughead tugged his beloved crown from his head. Stretching it wide, he nestled it atop Betty's messy waves.
A queen, he thought happily. You can have it tonight. If you're safe, so am I.
If FP understood the gravity of the gesture, he let it go. A nod exchanged, the men departed, each hopeful Betty would find peace in the Southside that evaded her in the North.
