Jughead's birthday is here! Not that he's happy about it.
This will be a two-parter, mainly because it got incredibly long. It has everything: angst, fluff, chaos, a special guest star NOT in the episode and oh yeah, Betty's secret is getting spilled in part 2.
Dialogue borrowed from the show is strictly for continuity and context, no infringement intended.
Song: Speed the Collapse - Metric (don't forget, this story has a Spotify playlist!)
Disclaimer: I own my spin on this world; the characters are simply caught in my hurricane of ideas.
Sixteen: Speed the Collapse
"But then the storm returned for more
In a comedown of revolving doors
We auctioned off our memories
In the absence of a breeze
Scatter what remains
Scatter what remains
Pushed away I'm pulled toward
A comedown of revolving doors
Every warning we ignored
Drifting in from distant shores
The wind presents a change of course
A second reckoning of sorts
We were wasted waiting for
A comedown of revolving doors..."
Speed The Collapse - Metric
Chaos. From the Greek word khaos, meaning, "Abyss, that which gapes wide open, is vast and empty." We think of it now as disorder of an intense variety. We even claim we can organize it, a petite paradox. And sometimes, we align with it: chaotic neutral; chaotic good; even chaotic evil.
In the last forty-eight hours, I've encountered all three. I've seen what happens when a world that is too strictly controlled is cast aside for a few scant hours. Restlessness sets in. Hard feelings bubble to the surface, as do secrets.
Maybe Riverdale is too far gone. Maybe the death of Jason Blossom has tainted us all with its darkness. Maybe all we have left is a certain slant of light, illuminating us as the ground falls away from beneath our feet.
Forty-eight hours ago
"Someday, my mother is going to figure out the ladder."
Jughead shrugged, pulling Betty closer. "Guess we better make the most of these stolen moments then."
Her leg hitched over his as she leaned over to kiss him, the sheets rustling softly beneath them. Officially, Jughead was sleeping over at Archie's; unofficially, he had spent the last two hours lying in Betty's bed, the two of them talking softly about things serious and trivial.
Oh, and kissing. There'd been plenty of that. Betty, he'd learned, treated the expression of affection like an exclamation point to her excited thoughts. She wielded it like a nod of her head, agreeing with his wild dreams of moving to New York City, perhaps working at NPR.
He was a creature of caresses, his hands continually seeking out the softness of her porcelain skin. His first order of business: tugging her hair free of its usual ponytail. Betty had giggled, humming happily as he threaded his fingers through the messy waves.
"Jug?"
"Hmm?" He was distracted by her blue camisole—specifically, how it had slid up to graze the underside of her breasts.
"Jughead Jones." Her hand gripped his chin, re-focusing his attention upon her bemused face. "Are you listening to me?"
"I'm sorry, Betty. You're just…" He paused, marveling at the way her lips curled when she smiled. "You're somehow more beautiful than I ever realized. And I consider myself an expert on the subject."
"Oh do you?" Raising her eyebrows, she leaned back onto her elbow, studying him intently. "There's a field of study devoted to me, huh?"
He traced a lazy circle upon her bare stomach, smirking as she gasped. "You could say I'm a pioneer in the field. It's my life's work."
"And what is the thesis of your research, Dr. Jones?"
"That you are the standard for all others," Jughead murmured softly, his lips grazing her cheek.
Betty flushed, burrowing her face into his chest. "I'm just me," she protested, quietly adding, "Just a girl who doesn't even know her boyfriend's birthday."
"Still haven't cracked the code, Nancy Drew?"
"It's October 1st or 2nd," she declared confidently.
Goddamn. How had she pinpointed it to two days? Last he knew, she'd only managed to figure out it was before October 7th and after September 27th.
Betty suddenly rose, untangling herself from his embrace. He whimpered in protest as she swatted his reaching hands away, crossing the bedroom to lean against her vanity table.
"How did you come to that conclusion?" he prodded, rolling onto his side.
"Well, Archie told me you always go to a movie at the Bijou." Betty rolled her eyes as he made a feeble attempt to grab her hand and pull her back onto the bed. "So then, I cross-referenced my diaries for the last five years, and realized it had to be the first day or two of the month, since you and Archie would make plans without me each year around those days."
Jughead was equally impressed and exasperated. She simply would not let this go.
"Betty, it's not important."
"You are important to me. And I've decided that my lips are off limits until you stop dodging the question."
Jughead groaned, his head pressing back into her pillow. "That is a cruel thing to do, Lysistrata."
Betty's fingers curled around the hem of her camisole, tugging it from side to side, teasing the prospect of it perhaps migrating further north. Her head tilted to the side, questioning him: confess, or be denied?
I'm doomed. I'm helpless.
"If I take off my shirt, will you crawl back into this bed and forget about it?"
Betty hesitated, licking her lips. "I… No. No, I want to know. I've been your friend for over ten years! Archie knows."
"Only because Fred was there when I was born." He grimaced as she very intentionally slid her camisole strap down her bare shoulder. "Betts, please."
Her pale pink lips formed an exaggerated pout. "I want to go to the movies with you. Don't you want me there?"
I want you, period. In that moment, he knew he'd lost this fight.
"It's October 2nd, alright? Now, will you please get back into bed? We've lost three minutes of prime cuddling time."
Betty's fists pumped excitedly in the air as she flopped onto the bed beside him. "I win!"
"Personally, I see no value in your prize, but if it makes you happy?"
"Very happy."
Her head came to rest upon his heart, blonde hair splayed across his chest. Wrapping both arms around her, Jughead closed his eyes. He listened to her breathing, soft and steady, a peaceful ebbing like an ocean wave lapping at the shore. He fell in sync with her, complementing her exhales until they moved as one.
Twenty-nine hours ago
Jughead's phone rang seven times before he begrudgingly answered it.
"Hello?"
"Jug, I need a good excuse to leave."
"Archie?" He sat up straighter, putting the TV on mute. "What's wrong?"
His friend's voice was a frantic whisper, one Jughead strained to hear. "So tonight was that dinner Cheryl asked me to. And it's all… It's messed up."
"Messed up how?"
Archie hushed him then, the sound of footsteps carrying over the line. A door shut in the distance and Archie huffed in his ear. "Sorry, Penelope came down the hallway. Anyway, the business stuff is complicated and I have no interest in that. But I need to leave, like now."
Jughead frowned, glancing helplessly around his empty living room. "What are you asking me to do, Arch? Wait, is this about Polly? Is she okay?"
"Yeah, that's not the issue. I just… Look, can you call me in five minutes and tell me there's an emergency with my dad so I can leave?"
"Sure, but why not just go back into the crowd and say that?"
"Trust me, they won't buy it. Please?"
"You owe me some answers for this."
"Just call in five. Gotta go."
The call disconnected and Jughead slumped back into the worn couch cushions. What in the hell was going on at the Blossom dinner? Was Polly okay? Was Archie okay? His mind whirled with possibilities, from the mundane (Cheryl being cruel and catty) to the more sinister (Polly was being kept prisoner at Thornhill). Giving Archie four minutes, Jughead called him back, ready to spring his friend.
"Hello?"
"Archie, it's Jughead. I'm sorry to interrupt your evening, but you need to come home immediately."
"Slow down," Archie convincingly urged him. "What's wrong?"
"It's your dad. He's having this weird pain in the back of his shoulder and he's really pale. He won't let us take him to the hospital, but I think he'll listen to you."
Jughead knew it was a horrible lie, but it was the one thing that surely even Clifford and Penelope Blossom would deem a worthy reason for an early departure. Judging from the trembling reply, his calculated lie was precisely the right button to push to elicit a convincing performance from his friend.
"I-I'll be right there. If he gets any worse, I don't care what you have to do. Get him a doctor, alright?"
"I will, I promise."
"Thanks, Jughead." Two simple words, loaded with meaning, before the line went dead.
Scribbling a quick note for his father and leaving it on the counter, Jughead headed out into the brisk fall air. Knowing the Blossoms, they would send Archie home in a car—which meant Jughead would have to meet him there for answers. It would also prove critical to the lie for Jughead to be at the Andrews house, even if Fred wasn't. A quick shortcut down darkened alleys carried him to the bridge and he broke into a run at the sight of a nearby cab. Hailing it with a little luck and a lot of frantic waving, he managed to beat Archie home by two minutes.
As predicted, Archie had been chauffeured home by a Blossom minion.
Quick goodbyes exchanged with the driver, Archie led Jughead inside, calling out for his father. Silence greeted them, heavy and haunted. Archie shook himself slightly, as if dispelling the image of his father in pain. In reality, Fred was out of town visiting his parents for the weekend, presumably safe and sound.
"Alright, why did I spend my last ten bucks on a cab to your house?"
Archie pulled the curtains shut, glancing nervously out the window. "I don't even know where to begin, Jug. So much happened over there."
Leaning against the kitchen counter, Jughead frowned. "Start with the least terrible thing?"
"Polly. Definitely Polly." Archie opened the fridge, grabbing two cans of Coke and tossing one to his friend. "I managed to get her alone for two minutes and she told me that she's fine. She only moved in with them to stop them from finding her babies and taking off with them."
The corner of Jughead's mouth tugged slightly upwards. "So the eldest Cooper has a little detective in her, too. Betty will be so happy."
"Over that, maybe." Slumped against the kitchen island, Archie took a long swig of Coke. "Cheryl kissed me in the garden."
Jughead nearly dropped the can he was holding in shock. "What?!"
Archie grimaced, shaking his head. "It was weird, Jug. One minute, we were talking about how much she missed Jason, and the next, she was trying to pin me up against a trellis."
"And?"
"And I shot her down, as nicely as I could. Told her I was sorta seeing someone, and I couldn't betray that person." At Jughead's puzzled look, Archie threw up his hands. "It was a half-lie! I'm into Val. I don't want to screw that up, if I haven't already."
Jughead whistled low. "And how did Cheryl Bombshell take that?"
"Bomb is a fitting choice of words. That's when I wandered off down the pathway towards an older barn and things got worse."
Archie's words tumbled from his lips in a confused flurry: how he'd come across a barn, where Cheryl's parents were talking privately. How mention of Hiram and Hermione Lodge had made him pause just outside the doors. And then, to his shock, he'd heard the familiar voice of Hiram Lodge himself.
"Hiram was not at the party, Jug. He was there for the meeting in the barn."
"But what were they meeting about?"
"I don't know. I heard Cheryl coming down the path in search of me and decided it was better not to be caught. All I know is that before Veronica's dad showed up, Penelope implied the Blossoms were the reason Hiram was in jail before. I circled back to the main house and that's when I called you."
Jughead contemplated this quietly, studying it from all angles. Why do business—and with Hiram Lodge's background, he would only meet the Blossoms for business—with someone you surely knew had played a role in your imprisonment? The Lodges dealt primarily in development projects, like the soon to be completed SoDale complex. What could a maple syrup baron possibly have to offer?
"Maybe I should have listened in on that meeting," Archie lamented.
"No, you made the smart choice. The Blossoms will only slip up if they are confident they're not being watched. But we should let Polly know about this, so she can keep an eye out."
"Should we tell Veronica?"
Jughead hesitated. "You know her better than I do. Can she be trusted with this?"
The redhead was quiet for a long moment, lost in thought. When he nodded slowly, Jughead shrugged, leaving it up to his friend to decide.
"Landis double feature at the Bijou tomorrow," Jughead mused aloud, changing the subject. "An American Werewolf in London and The Blues Brothers. An admittedly strange combination, but I approve. You sure you won't come?"
Archie shook his head, opening a nearby cupboard in search of a snack. "No way. Like I told Betty, I don't want to be a third wheel. Besides, she's really excited about it. It's the first birthday you've let her celebrate with you."
Gritting his teeth, Jughead sunk into a kitchen chair. "That makes one of us."
"I don't get it. Why don't you like your birthday?"
Of course Archie didn't get it. He grew up with Mary and Fred Andrews, two doting parents who, until a few years ago, were eternally pleasant and patient. They had holiday traditions, annual summer vacations and everything Jughead and his sister had never had.
"PTSD from when I was a kid?" he offered, mulling the best way to explain a family that didn't fit into a neat, happy box. "I don't know. Things were always messed up at home—usually because of my dad—and there was this arbitrary day that we would just get together and pretend that things were great. That we were normal." He swallowed hard, swallowing down the bitterness swelling within. "It just made me feel really lonely."
Archie remained silent, although his pained expression offered a bit of comfort to Jughead. He wanted to understand, even if he'd never known what it was to wish you'd never been born. With a forced smile, Jughead gestured towards the stairs.
"A round of Call of Duty before I head home?"
Nine hours ago
"You would have lost your mind, Jug! I could barely believe it myself. An original pressing of Joy Division's Unknown Pleasures for ten bucks!"
Jughead's eyes widened at this tidbit. "You're joking. Legitimate original pressing?"
"I never joke about my vinyl scores. Dude was blasting some terrible EDM. He'd inherited the storage locker from a dead uncle of his and was selling it off. I just missed out on Ziggy Stardust."
Toledo was such a woefully desolate wasteland of cultural appreciation. Of course someone would be selling off collector's items without knowing their worth.
"If you had managed to score both Joy Division and Bowie for a twenty, I would literally take a bus there to bow down before you in awe."
His heart ached at the trill of laughter over the line. "You really ought to bow down, anyway. I've got mad thrift skills."
"Yeah, but you soured that score of yours by also buying 'Nsync."
"I'm sorry that you're too hipster-emo to appreciate the pop genius of No Strings Attached, but some of us like to just dance once in a while."
Jughead rolled his eyes. "Dancing is for people without dignity."
"I bet you Betty loves to dance," came the teasing reply.
"Jelly, stop. Now I regret telling you."
"Oh, come on! I'm so happy for you. Betty's like, the nicest ever. Remember the time she gave me all her old Sweet Valley High books because we couldn't afford them? Just gave them to me, no take-backs." His sister fell silent for a moment, which usually meant something unpleasant or simply humiliating was about to spill forth. "I'm just glad you're not alone, Jughead. You've always been alone."
"That's not true. I had you. And I've been friends with Betty and Archie forever."
"It's different. You're being brave. Braver than I am, that's for sure."
Brotherly instincts kicked in as Jughead poured himself a glass of juice. "Someone caught your eye, JB?"
"Not really, just… It's just easier not to trust people. At least with Betty, you already trusted her. You're really lucky it worked out."
The hesitation in her tone made him certain there was more to the story, but the doorbell rang before he could probe the matter further. Across the line, he swore he heard his sister clapping.
"That's Betty. I'll call you soon?"
"No, you won't. I'll call you because Grams says I can run up the long distance whenever I want to. Save your money, darling brother of mine. You won't find cheap vinyl in River-fail."
Jughead laughed softly, shaking his head. "Alright. Love you."
"Love you more! Now go! Don't keep your hot date waiting!"
"Goodbye, Forsythia!"
"Farewell, Forsythe!"
Opening his front door, Jughead smiled apologetically at the blushing blonde on his front steps. "I'm so sorry, I was on the phone with Jellybean."
Betty waved him off, stepping inside. "Don't be sorry. How is she doing?"
"She's good. She's been babysitting for the neighbours and spending her cash on vinyl and blue hair dye." Pulling on his Sherpa coat, Jughead glanced at his outfit and frowned. "You're not hiding clothes fit for a four-star restaurant under that coat, are you?"
"Archie coached me on the finer points of a Jughead Jones birthday celebration." She leaned in slightly, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Now, come on! I don't want to be late."
They caught a bus across town, arriving at the Bijou with twenty minutes to spare. Popcorn and drinks in tow, they slid into the centre row of well-worn, crushed velvet seats and stripped off their coats. A lump caught in his throat as Betty shrugged off her jacket, revealing a soft grey sweater emblazoned with a golden crown.
"Do you like it?" she asked nervously as he stood dumbfounded. "Veronica came across it online and helped me order it."
A crown. Just like his beanie. The confusion crashed over him like a wave. The notion that Betty would wear this—that she would even be looking for this—simply did not compute. In the hands of his parents, it would feel false. It would be pure peacocking, in some desperate effort to prove parental prowess. But one of his oldest friends? His girlfriend? This was simply… affection.
"I'm sorry, is it silly? Is it too much?" Betty's words tumbled wildly as she fidgeted with the hem of her shirt. "I just… I thought it would be like celebrating you and—"
He pulled her close, silencing her paranoia with a gentle kiss of her full lips. He had no language for how her gesture made him feel. Actions would need to speak for him.
"Okay," she whispered, smiling as they broke apart.
He settled into his seat first, wrapping an arm around Betty as she leaned into him. Maybe Archie was right. He'd always enjoyed watching movies with Betty. Just because they were dating now, it didn't change that dynamic, did it? As much as he loathed his birthday, he couldn't deny that being with Betty made it a little less dreadful.
"You know, I never pegged you for an American Werewolf girl."
Reaching for a handful of popcorn, Betty chuckled. "Oh, that's where you're wrong, Jughead. I'm all about the beast within."
The lights dimmed around them and Jughead smirked. A reference to the obscure 1982 horror flick? As usual, the youngest Cooper had done her homework.
Four hours ago
It was all supposed to be simple, Jughead lamented on the dusty recliner. See a double feature with Betty. Grab food at Pop's after the show. Walk her home and sneak up the ladder to thoroughly kiss her goodnight. Watch the clock strike midnight and be rid of another meaningless milestone. Seventeen years, ticked off the calendar and moving on.
Instead, he was trapped in a nightmare, one born in the bowels of the worst teen movie cliché: the crashed party.
His hand absently scratched at Vegas' ear, seeking comfort. Archie's dog licked his palm gently, as if it reassure him. The noise was clearly upsetting his companion as much as it was the supposed guest of honour.
He should have known something was wrong when Betty asked to skip the second film. Maybe I wasn't ready for a werewolf movie, she claimed, curling into his side. He pointed out that The Blues Brothers was a comedy, one filled with music and Nazis getting their asses kicked. She'd countered by noting that Archie's dad was out of town and her curfew was midnight for this special occasion.
And he'd fallen for it. Of course he had. Because, like any teenage guy, he'd started listening to the wrong head.
Upstairs, something shattered, followed by wild cheers and football player grunts. Jughead slumped further into the chair, willing himself to disappear.
Maybe, it could have been okay. He'd never had a birthday party with friends, had never wanted one, but after the initial shock and discomfort had worn off, maybe he could have obliged Betty and gone with it. But the road to hell was paved with good intentions—as he'd pointed out to her an hour ago—and the bad stars under which he was born were cursing the evening with chaos. Archie, for the first time ever, was completely plastered. Veronica, normally buoyant and eager to spread cheer in a social scene, was sulking in the kitchen with a cup of vodka splashed with OJ. Betty was desperately trying to be a perfect hostess, a perfect friend, a perfect girlfriend, but it all added up to perfect panic.
There's a cake. She's baked me a cake. And she's singing now, but with the strange, sombre mood and dim lights, it's somehow sinister, like a warning. Happy birthday, dear Jughead. Don't look behind you. Don't answer the door. You will not be right back if you investigate a strange noise.
Maybe I'm the one unsettled by the movie tonight.
"That was haunting, Betty," I mumble.
"Blow out the candles and make a wish," she urges.
I hate my birthday. I reluctantly comply, whispering it aloud: "I wish it were just the two of us right now."
It's not the answer she wants, but surely Archie warned her. He's my blood brother—we did the whole completely unhygienic, cut-the-hand thing in grade six—and I consider this awkward, anxiety-inducing experience to be his fault.
I watch Betty cut the cake, her hand trembling as she does so. A part of me knows she meant well, knows that she just wanted to be nice, but I'm not wired for nice. I'm wired for bruises, for drunken tirades and shielding my sister in a closet.
"Would this be better with ice cream?" she asks nervously.
I force a half-smile. "Everyone likes ice cream."
Just like everyone likes birthdays. Except me, the town freak, apparently.
I follow her to the kitchen, hoping to get her away from Kevin, Ethel, everyone. Maybe I can explain the complicated albatross that is a birthday to me. We can pass out cake, fake some laughs, boot everyone else out. I can pretend for an hour, right?
As we reach the kitchen, we find Archie and Veronica are commiserating about something. The two of them step apart, clearly rattled by our intrusion.
"We were just coming to get ice cream," Betty explains apologetically. "Everything okay, V?"
It's then that I notice the tear sliding down the Latina's cheek. Her features are pale, and she's clinging to her drink like a lifeline.
"Yeah, it's fine. I'm just not in a party mood like usual."
"That makes two of us."
I wince as I realize I've said it aloud. Betty steps in front of me, ice cream abandoned.
"Whoa, wait. You're not actually upset that I threw you a party, are you?"
Yes, yes I am. And I wish I wasn't. I do my best to be diplomatic, choosing my words as carefully as possible.
"It is nice, Betty. I appreciate it. It's just that I would be happier if it was just the four of us in a booth at Pop's."
Her forehead crinkles as she steps forward, reaching for my hand. "But we always do that. I wanted to do something special."
"Well, the road to hell is paved with good intentions."
It's a little harsh, but I meant it lighter than it sounded. I think I did, anyway. It doesn't matter: a switch has been flipped, and Betty's calm veneer falls away.
"Why is it always doom and gloom with you, Jug? Why can't it just be normal for once?"
Normal. I hate that damn word. And she, of all people, should know that nothing in my life has ever met the definition of normal.
"I'm not normal! I'm not wired to be normal!"
I'm cut off by the sound of the doorbell. I mentally list off the current occupants of the Andrews home, and find there are already people here I scarcely know.
"How many other people did you invite to this thing?"
Betty frowns. "Nobody. It's inner circle only. Your dad declined."
"My dad let you throw this without warning you that I've never had a birthday party in my entire life?"
The doorbell rings again, and Archie announces he'll get it.
"That's exactly why I wanted to give you one!"
She reaches for my hand again, but I push it away. "Did you ever think to ask me if that was by choice? Because it was."
There's a clamor outside the front door. Music. Laughter. Betty hears it, too. The four of us, Kevin, Ethel and the guy Kevin's been cozying up to for the last ten minutes, we're all gathered in the foyer as Archie opens the door, revealing Cheryl Blossom and half the juniors and seniors, easy.
I blink my eyes hard, praying I'm in bed right now. This cannot be happening.
"Did you really think you could have a party without moi?" Cheryl coos.
I think back to last night, and Archie's rejection of her. Hell hath no fury…
"Hey, Archie! Where do you want the kegs?" Moose calls out from the porch.
Kegs. Kill me. I edge backwards, desperately looking to Betty for support. She looks to Archie, our leader. It's his home, his rules, right?
"Screw it! One in the kitchen, one in the backyard!" Archie announces, to rousing cheers.
I slip through the door to the garage, taking Vegas with me. Everyone I trust has betrayed me. I owe them nothing.
The door to the garage slammed open, pulling Jughead from his thoughts. Archie, scarcely able to walk a straight line, was splashing a red Solo cup everywhere.
"Dude, Valerie just got here. Should I go talk to her? What if Cheryl told her about last night?"
Exasperated, Jughead felt his tenuous hold on his temper snap. "Archie, as my blood-brother, it was your sole responsibility to ensure that something like this never happened on my birthday. And now we're in the middle of… of a Seth Rogen movie!"
"This was Betty's idea, alright? I just went along with it."
He rolled his eyes angrily. "It's so not me." And the party crashers were not her idea, Arch. You let them in.
Archie tossed back the cup of booze, finishing it in a single gulp and tossing it aside. "It doesn't matter. You're her boyfriend now, Jug."
"And what the hell does that mean?"
His friend's features clouded over, for a brief moment. "It means you're getting a birthday party, whether you like it or not."
Mistakenly believing things couldn't get worse, Jughead was startled by a knock upon the exterior garage door. The knob turned slowly and it swung open, revealing his father. The one who, according to Betty, had declined the invite. The one who'd told her that he'd never had a birthday party, likely planting the idea in her head.
"Happy birthday, Jug." In his hand was a carefully wrapped box.
"Thanks, dad."
He rose to his feet, unsure of whether he should hug him or beg for a ride home, away from this sea of beer-swilling teens and—oh God, dad. Booze.
FP embraced him tightly, clapping him on the back. "I didn't know you had so many friends."
"I don't. People crashed and… Dad, there's a lot of alcohol here. I'm not drinking any of it, by the way. But…"
FP shrugged the news off. "You're seventeen. Have a beer, if you want."
Jughead tried again. "I mean… Should you be here? Because we can go. I've had my fill of festivities."
"Jug, you can't leave Betty," Archie protested.
"I agree, son. Even if this is… more than you bargained for," FP mused aloud, "she did it for you. And I'll be fine. I won't stay long. Don't want to be that old guy trying to feel young." He waved the box in his hand. "Where can I put this?"
"There's a table in the den," Archie told him.
"Alright. I'll go leave this there and say hi to Betty. Tell her she got her way, after all."
As his father turned to leave, Jughead called out to him. "Dad? Did you tell Betty to do this?"
FP shook his head. "Not my idea, Jug. But that one knows what she wants."
Watching his father head into the main house, Jughead pivoted to confront his intoxicated best friend. "You. Find Betty and get her to meet me here. Now. It's the least you can do."
Archie's mouth open and closed, perhaps realizing that no apology, no explanation, could ever be enough right now. Because Jughead was pacing like a caged animal, wearing a track in the oval rug beneath him. Vegas whined as he glanced between them, unsettled by the anger brewing.
"I'll go get her."
To Archie's credit, it only took him ten minutes to honour his request. Betty's doe eyes were misty as she slipped inside the garage, locking the door behind her. Her hands were fisted at her sides, her makeup smudged in the corners of her eyes.
"Jug?"
The instinct to protect her, to console her, ran deep, but the fury was winning. Maybe he was his father's son, after all. Maybe that same hurricane of hurt lived inside him.
"You know my father has a drinking problem, right?"
"Of course I do. I didn't think people would be drinking tonight. I didn't plan on Cheryl and the rest of the school crashing, okay?" Her lower lip trembled slightly as she studied his face. "This was supposed to be just your friends."
"You and Archie are my friends, okay?" He took a steadying breath, forcing himself to keep calm. "Everyone else, including Veronica and Kevin? They're people that two months ago, I would have actively shunned."
"Why?"
One simple word. One syllable. And within it lay a million reasons why he'd been a fool to ever believe that he could do this. That he could ever fit into her world as more than that strange guy with a love of books and classic film.
"In case you haven't noticed, I'm weird. I'm a weirdo." In his head, schoolyard taunts swelled to a crescendo, echoing his declaration. "I don't fit in and I don't want to fit in. You're the only one who's ever seen me without this stupid hat on since grade four. That's weird!"
The voices grew louder, the taunts fast and furious: Wednesday Addams. Weirdo. Serpent scum. He winced as Reggie's laughter roared in his skull. Betty edged closer and he reflexively took a step back.
"Why are you getting so upset?" she asked softly. "It's just a party, Jug."
"It's not just a party. It's the fact that you don't know, or even care, that this is the last thing I would want!" Her head bowed as the bitterness continued to spew from his lips. "You did this for you. To prove something."
"To prove what?" Betty demanded.
"That you're a great girlfriend. I don't know."
He didn't know. He didn't know why the hell she was wasting her time with him, when he was so obviously not the kind of guy that girls like Betty ended up with. The proof was the tears welling up in her eyes as he kept on talking and hurting her. But the hurricane, it was hungry, and it would not be silenced. Every insecurity, every fear, was bleeding through.
"Doesn't it ever occur to you how different we are? Like, on a cellular DNA level? You're a straight A student, a cheerleader, for god's sakes. You're the perfect girl next door."
"I hate that word," Betty protested angrily.
"I'm the damaged, loner outsider from the wrong side of the tracks," he continued, his chest aching as he recognized his actions for the self-destruct button they were. "Betty, come on. Who are we kidding? We're on borrowed time."
And I'll only ever hold you back from the life you deserve.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
It means I'm the jerk standing here, making you cry. Proving why you should run away.
"I'm not one of your projects, okay? Like solving Jason's murder—"
"No, you're not a project," she pleaded, reaching for his face. "You're my boyfriend!"
His hands caught hers, pushing them away. "Until you're sick of slumming it with me? Or until Archie changes his mind and says he wants to be with you?"
And there it was: the eye of the storm. His greatest fear, laid bare. And in that heavy silence, as Betty rocked back on her heels and glared at him, he knew he'd gone too far. Even if she deserved better. Even if he wanted to lose her before he could never recover from it, he'd done the unforgivable: he'd betrayed their friendship.
Wordlessly, she spun on her heel and stormed out of the garage.
"Betts, I'm so sorry," he whispered to an empty room.
Vegas nudged his thigh gently and Jughead rubbed his head as a tear slid down his cheek. Congratulations, Jughead. You've lost her. All because you're too fucked up to let anyone love you.
He needed to go. Now. Maybe his father was still around for a lift. Reluctantly, he slipped into the house and surveyed the scene. It was chaos: streamers, shoeprints on furniture, spilled bowls of chips and the stench of stale beer. There was no way Archie could clean this up before Fred's return and frankly, he didn't give a damn. His father was nowhere to be seen, although his truck remained parked across the street.
Oh god, please tell me he's not drinking.
Rounding the corner into the kitchen, he bumped into Ethel, who'd tucked herself into a quiet corner with a slice of birthday cake. The relief on her face at the sight of him was almost comical, if his heart wasn't shattering.
"Jughead! Hey, you haven't had a slice of birthday cake. It's bad luck."
"This whole night is bad luck," he muttered. "Have you seen my dad? The only adult at this party?"
Ethel shook her head. "No, but I've been pretty invisible here."
To hell with it. He'd call him outside and hope for the best.
"I'm ghosting. See you in school, Ethel."
He spun around and promptly slammed into Kevin. His eyes were saucer-wide, and a sinking feeling told him it wasn't because the sheriff's son had imbibed.
"Chuck is here!" Kevin hissed.
"Betty?!"
"I don't know where she is."
"Find her," he ordered Kevin.
Jughead pushed his way through the crowd, headed for the front door, where Chuck Clayton was shrugging off his letterman jacket and laughing. Laughing. Like he wasn't a first-class monster who'd abused his last girlfriend and slut-shamed at least three girls in their school. Still seething over his argument with Betty, Jughead shoved him from behind, staggering him forward.
"Get the hell out of here, Chuck," he snarled. "You're not invited."
"Oh yes, he is," came a voice behind Jughead.
Spinning around, he found Cheryl Blossom, arms akimbo, with a sinister grin. "Chuck is my date for the evening, and we all know how terribly rude it would be to deny me my plus-one."
"Your plus-one is a lying—"
"Nuh-uh-uh!" Cheryl's manicured hand slapped across Jughead's mouth to silence him. "Save it for the game."
Caught off-guard, he didn't notice Reggie and Moose grabbing his arms until it was too late. Corralled into the living room, they shoved him against a table as Cheryl called out for the music to be cut.
"Listen up, party people! Everyone has their secrets, and we've done our fair share of sinning. My brother's death has made that clear. So I've decided we need to play a little game to get those secrets out in the open."
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Betty, staring frantically at him from the dining room. He jerked his head slightly to the left, urging her to flee.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Secrets and Sins!"
Hell hath no fury like a Cheryl scorned... and Chuck? Well, he's an asshole.
Since everyone was so into my take on Jellybean in my one-shot In Case of Emergency, I decided she would definitely call her brother on his birthday. Check it out if you haven't already, and let me know if you want more JB in this story!
Next chapter: Betty's dark secret is revealed and Jughead confronts demons of his own.
