Thank you for your lovely reviews! I loved hearing your thoughts about Archie and Jughead, as well as Polly.

Archie and Jughead will be okay. We're not quite there yet but it's healing. As for Polly, I promise within the next few chapters, a definitive answer about the twins is forthcoming, one way or another.

Cheryl has a heart? Yes, she does. I've always been a bit irked by how the show writes her vicious when they need a villain, but then wants to show us she's just deeply hurt and lashing out in the next. I've tried to make all of her actions fit with the Bombshell we know in season 2. We will see more of her in this story, promise.

Jughead: the poor boy who's been through hell. He's really faced down a lot of demons, and helped Betty with her own. This chapter checks in on him and how well he's hanging on.

Please note: I have played with time and the timeline to make things a little more satisfactory for me (and for things to feel more logical). Assume that the dance took place on a Saturday night instead, and we are on Sunday now.

Remember, you can spin all the songs for this fic on Spotify.

Song: Body of Years - Mother Mother (by eerie coincidence I'm seeing them this week for an anniversary show for the album this song appears on?!)

Disclaimer: I own my neat way of tying up some loose ends in season one and my even more bonded Bughead. The rest is borrowed from Riverdale. I'm poor, don't sue me.


Twenty-One: Body of Years

"All the remains of a cadaver of days,
I keep hidden away, keep them there just in case.
I wanna visit that place,
blow the dust from the bones
off a body of years that I leave all alone…"
Body of Years – Mother Mother

Betty's cryptic text troubled Jughead as Archie drove them to the Cooper home. Her silencing of his phone calls en route, however, set him on edge.

Things are even more sinister than we ever knew, Juggie. But I have more confirmation that FP's confession is a lie.

What confirmation could Betty have found at her home? And what did she mean by sinister? Had Alice and Polly argued upon her return home, stirring up skeletons in the cardigan-laden closets? Had Cheryl arrived with Polly's belongings, with new revelations about her fishy family in tow?

Signalling for the turn onto his street, Archie exhaled loudly. "Jug?"

"Hmm?"

"Why did you leave Toledo?"

Jughead hesitated, shifting uncomfortably in the passenger seat. His capacity to cope with emotional turmoil had long been exceeded—obliterated, really, in the last twenty-four hours—and poking a finger into a raw, festering wound seemed a recipe for a nervous breakdown.

"I mean, I know why you probably left," Archie babbled nervously, parking in front of his house. "FP's drinking, the fighting—your mom had enough. Maybe she needed you to feel brave enough to go. Or you wanted to make sure she followed through for Jellybean. That's my guess, anyway, but… why come home?"

"My dad asked me to," Jughead replied quietly, his hands fidgeting in his lap.

"He asked for months. Why did you say yes?"

"Archie, now's not the time."

The redhead sighed, turning to face him. "It's never the time. Not in Riverdale. Not anymore. I just… I'm asking. I've wanted to ask."

His friend was sincere; Jughead knew this in his heart. The soft timbre of his voice, the way his eyes were laser-focused upon him… He was asking. And Jughead could choose not to respond, or he could offer an olive branch. They could rebuild what time and misunderstanding had fractured.

"I…" Rolling his aching shoulder, Jughead grimaced. "Let's just say I recognized what Chuck was doing to Betty because I understood it all too well."

Before Archie could step further into the darkness, Jughead threw open the door of the truck and made his way up the Cooper driveway.

The house was eerily quiet, the curtains still drawn. It unnerved him, this shattered perfection. The Cooper home was always awash in natural light thanks to Alice's preference for open curtains secured with a silky sash. We have no secrets, Alice chirped once when Betty complained about the lack of reprieve from a garish summer sun.

His fist hung before the door, frozen in fear. What if they didn't want to be disturbed? Betty had refused his calls. Take a hint, Jughead.

"Just knock."

Jughead startled at Archie's voice. "Jesus!"

Archie shrugged. "Betty wants you here. Judging from the looks of things, she needs you here."

"Okay, okay."

Jughead's third rap on the door was greeted by a jittery but genuinely relieved Betty Cooper. Still dressed in his green flannel and black tee (albeit in fresh jeans and presumably fresh underwear and why am I thinking of her underwear?), she threw her arms around his neck and clung tightly.

"I need to get out of here," she whispered furtively as he embraced her.

"Your mom—"

"Polly will run interference." Pulling away, she reached for her backpack and slung it over her left shoulder. "Hurry!"

As the door shut behind her, Jughead could faintly make out Alice Cooper's muffled voice, demanding to know who was at their door. Betty didn't bother to respond, bolting for Fred Andrews' pick-up. Baffled, but trusting in their best friend, Jughead and Archie quickly followed suit, the latter sliding into the driver's seat and turning the engine over with a shuddering protest.

"Talk to me, Betts," Jughead implored.

"Get in first! We'll talk on the way!"

The front door swung open, revealing Alice in a rumpled housecoat and slippers. Her jaw fell open as they drove away, tires screeching in Archie's haste to comply. They'd seldom seen Betty this worked up, and it was never good news. Jughead's arm wrapped around her shoulder, pulling the shaking blonde against him.

"Everything's fucked," Betty muttered, the curse jarring, given Betty's avoidance of obscenities. "It's a mess."

"Where are we going?" Archie asked.

"Kevin's."

Jughead frowned. "The Keller house? Seriously?"

"Keller's not home and it's the one place my mother won't think to look because of your father's arrest," Betty explained. "Veronica's waiting with him. Kevin is on our side, Juggie. Trust me."

Burying his face in her hair, Jughead closed his eyes. "I'm so not happy about this."

Betty's hands fisted in his shirt as she burrowed closer. "I will buy you a milkshake every day for a week."

"Two weeks," he countered playfully.

"I'll buy the second week," Archie chimed in, turning off the main road and veering towards the Keller home.

"Nice assist, Andrews. Maybe you should play basketball."

Breaking a few traffic laws brought them to Kevin's house in a speedy six minutes. Veronica was waiting out front, pacing in her black ankle boots and plush purple coat. Spotting the truck, she turned towards the home, presumably alerting Kevin. Archie hurried out of the truck and pulled her into a tight embrace. Jughead and Betty remained in the truck, studying the couple.

"He really likes her," Jughead mused.

"There was always a spark between them. Just like…" Her voice faded away into a soft giggle.

"What?"

"It's silly, but we always had our jokes. Nerdy, weird puns that flew over Archie's head. Maybe that was our spark, you know?"

His lips pressed firmly to the top of her head as they curved into a smile. "What happened when Past, Present and Future walked into a bar?"

"It was tense!"

Snickering to themselves, they slid out of the truck to greet an anxious Veronica. Kevin hung back at the front door, unable to look Jughead in the eye.

Sins of the father. Keller might be a dick, but Kevin was not his father. He needed to remember that.

"That thing was heavy, B. I barely managed to drag it out the side door."

Archie frowned. "What got dragged?"

"The murder board," Betty announced, seizing Jughead's hand. "Come inside. We need to put an end to this."

It struck Jughead, as he stepped into the foyer, how utterly normal the Keller home was. This biased life ruiner, this well-meaning but ignorant sheriff, came home to a minimalist collection of hardwood floors, sturdy furniture and a kitchen with an electric range. His bad shoulder ached as he rolled his neck, willing the tension within to release. Just beyond the kitchen counter lay the dining room, where Kevin and Veronica had set up the murder board from the Blue and Gold office.

Betty ran her fingers along the edges of the easel, nodding approvingly. "Thanks for grabbing this, V."

"Of course. Jughead needs answers. We all need them." Veronica tucked her ebony hair behind her ears, glancing in his direction. "Has Betty told you about this morning?"

"No. Betts?"

"It had to wait for a private place," Betty explained quietly. "Grab a seat, everyone. Kev, do you have anything to drink, ideally with caffeine?"

Kevin pushed away from the far wall of the dining room. "Should be some Coke in the basement fridge. I'll load up."

They settled around the table: Betty beside the murder board; Jughead to her left, giving himself full view of the room; Archie to his left; and Veronica beside him. It left Kevin seated directly across from Jughead, an uncomfortable arrangement neither cared for. Coke cans slid across the table in all directions, each teen cracking open their soda in near synchronicity.

"When I got home this morning, my parents were burning papers in the fireplace. Photos, too. If Polly hadn't walked in the door behind me, I think they would have pushed faster, tried to hide it from me. But the distraction gave me enough time to identify the kindling for their little fire." Betty's hand stretched out, gesturing to the murder board. "It was the stolen photos and notes from Sheriff Keller's personal murder board."

Jughead's gaze swung to Kevin. "Personal murder board?"

"This one is basically a reconstruction of my father's board," Kevin explained. "When Jason was first found in the river, he created one in his home office. He'd be in there until the middle of the night, studying it. On the night the Twilight closed, someone broke into our house and stole everything from his office. Articles, notes, photos… everything."

Jughead's mind flickered to Keller's words not even an hour ago: "Hell, he admitted to breaking into my house last year and stealing my files."

"My dad confessed to that," he murmured.

"But he couldn't have done it, Jug," Veronica interjected. "He was at the drive-in, getting money from my mother."

"And he was there all night," Kevin added. "Because I was hanging out with Joaquin, and they talked several times during the movie."

"There's also the fact that my father's the one who did it," Betty added bitterly.

"Mr. Cooper broke into Kevin's house?" Archie shook his head in disbelief.

"But why would he have kept it for a year?" Jughead probed.

"My parents have been off and on for the last year. He's maybe lived with us for four months of that time, and with everything else that's happened with Polly, I'm guessing he forgot? FP's arrest reminded him of it."

"But why would he steal my dad's files?" Kevin demanded. "And why aren't we telling my dad this right now?"

"Like he'll believe it," Veronica muttered.

Jughead snorted. "He's got the convenient confession of my father, Kevin. It's everything he's ever dreamed of."

Kevin's features scrunched up angrily as he rose to his feet. "Look, I can't even begin to tell you how sorry I am for what's happening to you. I don't know what I'd do without my dad. But you haven't watched this town verbally beat my father down for a goddamn year over this case. You haven't seen him go days without sleeping, forget to eat… He's doing his job, and your father confessed."

"He's covering for someone!" Jughead fired back.

"I'm not disagreeing!"

"Kev, Jug, stop it!" Betty pleaded.

Throwing his hands up, Kevin slumped back into his chair. "I'm just saying that it's not hard to see why a confession would be a relief, even if it all seems too tidy to me."

Betty's iron grip on Jughead's hand silenced any further outbursts. As intense as his indignant rage was, his love for her was stronger.

"My dad didn't kill Jason," Betty continued. "He stole the files because he was afraid the investigation would lead back to Polly. And if it did, he was certain that the darkest Cooper secret would emerge."

She rose to her feet, tugging down her parents' names and photos. Tilting her head, she studied their features carefully.

"Growing up, we were always told to stay away from the Blossom family. Because they were killers. My great-grandfather was killed by Cheryl's great-grandfather during a maple syrup dispute. What my father left out…" Drawing a deep breath, Betty flipped the photos over. "We're not Coopers. We're Blossoms, too."

The silence was a deafening roar in Jughead's ears. Betty is a Blossom. Polly is a Blossom…. OH, SHIT. POLLY IS A BLOSSOM.

"Polly and Jason are related," he concluded aloud.

"It's why they locked her away on the Fourth. Why neither of our families would let them be together." Betty's hand swiped at an errant tear escaping her eye. "Dad figured if Keller knew, he'd assume one of us did it. And he didn't want Polly to be shamed for unknowingly dating her second cousin."

"Like sands through the hourglass, so are the days of our Riverdale," Veronica mused. "But doesn't this give your parents motive?"

"No, they wanted things quiet. Killing Jason would have called attention to the truth, and locking away Polly was an easier way to achieve the desired effect," Betty explained. "The Blossoms, on the other hand…"

"They're in the running, no question," Archie agreed. "I really don't think Cheryl could have killed Jason, though."

"No, me neither," Betty agreed, tugging down her photo. "She's been kind to Polly, and helped her flee. She's just messed up from living with parents with cash where their hearts should be."

Betty plucked the photo of Cheryl from the board, reaching next for a candid of Hermione Lodge. "Hermione was in New York. She couldn't have imprisoned Jason for a week."

Veronica grimaced. "My parents could have ordered it up. Hired someone. Leave them both there."

Archie leaned towards her, visibly concerned. "Ronnie, I know your father has a past, but murder?"

"I don't know what to believe anymore," the forlorn Latina murmured before burying her face in Archie's shoulder.

"That makes two of us," Jughead empathized.

Kevin leaned forward, studying the board carefully. "Really, it comes down to the Lodges and the Blossoms. If FP is innocent, it has to be them."

"My father is many things, but he's a terrible liar. The gun was a plant. He confessed to stealing your dad's files even though he didn't do it. This is why I need to talk to him." Jughead drained his can of Coke, glancing at the nearby clock. "He said to come back in an hour."

"The Lodges and the Blossoms have been meeting." All eyes turned towards Archie as he stared at the board, his arm wrapped protectively around Veronica. "Remember? The night I went for dinner? Hiram and the Blossoms were in the barn."

"That meeting has to be connected to all of this," Betty mused. "But how?"

Jughead looked to his sun, his one constant. Her green eyes were hazy with worry and tears she was choking back, but she smiled at him reassuringly. Forever putting others before herself was Betty's way. An errant strand had sprung loose from her ponytail, grazing her left cheek delicately.

"That's what we need to find out," he affirmed. "That and what could be worth confessing to murder for."


Kevin's offer to drive Jughead back to the station had been met with protest from four sides until the rationale became clear: as the Sheriff's son, Kevin would have little trouble maneuvering around the station in a search for something useful in proving FP's innocence.

"You need to know what they have, what he's said," Kevin explained. "Then we can rebut it."

Jughead had agreed, with one caveat: Betty came with them. As guilty as he felt about it, given her abusive relationship and family struggles, he needed her beside him. He needed her bright doe eyes, staring at him with a misplaced sense of wonder. He needed her delicate fingers slid between his callused, clumsy digits. The drive was silent, save the soft hum of the radio, but her head leaning against his shoulder was more comforting than mere words could manage now.

Archie and Veronica had taken off in search of Hiram's secrets, courtesy of Fred's keys to the SoDale construction office. Veronica had been evasive, but something about her father's future plans wasn't sitting right with the former socialite. The group had agreed to re-convene at the Keller house, each teen evading their parents for different reasons.

Pulling into the driveway of the police station, Kevin killed the engine and spun around in his seat. "Are you coming in, Betty?"

Glancing at Jughead, the blonde shrugged. "I feel like my presence would hinder both of your respective missions. Unless you want me to come wait with you, Jug?"

Yes, I do. But it was irrational to want that. "No. No, you're right. But where will you go?"

"The Register. Polly will text me if my parents leave the house and I can use their access to WorldCheck and LexisNexis to see what I can dig up about the Blossoms and Lodges."

He squeezed her thigh gently, pressing his forehead to hers. "Be careful, Betts."

"You, too."

With a quick kiss to his cheek, she slid out of the car and hitched her bag over her shoulder. Clearing his throat, Jughead followed Kevin up the steps of the station and towards the visitor's counter. His palms lightly slapped the cool surface as he met the disinterested gaze of the deputy.

"I'm here to see FP Jones."

The officer hesitated, absently fumbling his nametag. Good, it read. The guy was anything but.

"Sheriff Keller told me I could see him now," Jughead added emphatically.

Deputy Good glanced at Kevin, adding one plus one and coming up with a number he rounded to two. "Sign here," he muttered, shoving a clipboard across the counter.

Kevin nodded and hung back as the Deputy reached for a set of keys and gestured to the eastern corridor. Jughead followed in silence, not willing to provoke a backwards glance. After all, Kevin was currently rifling through the visitor's log on the abandoned counter.

The first thing he noticed as they approached the holding cells was the damp and chill. The weather outside was brisk, but it didn't seep into one's very marrow like this. It struck him that this must have been how Jason's corpse emerged from the river.

His father was in the last cell, he was informed, the Deputy muttering about ten minutes before stepping back to the locked gate to study his cell phone. Jughead closed his eyes, picturing Betty as he forced himself to take a steadying breath.

This was it. He would know the truth—or at least know what was a lie.

His father's eyes widened as Jughead approached the cell warily. Unsure of whether he cared to get close enough for contact, he skirted the distance, keeping just shy of his reach.

"What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question, Dad." Jughead folded his arms angrily over his chest. "You see, I know this is bullshit. You didn't kill Jason. You swore to me that you had nothing to do with it."

"And you believed me? A lying drunk? Boy, you'd better smarten up before the world takes advantage of you."

Jughead frowned, shaking his head in disbelief. It was just the two of them here. Why was his father persisting with this lie. Because it had to be a lie. It was the tiny bastion of hope within him.

"When you called me in Toledo and told me to come home, told me how Fred Andrews had taken you back on and helped you, deep down, I knew it was a mistake." It was a half-truth at best, but the involuntary tear he shed was surely selling it.

"Should have listened to your gut," FP grumbled, leaning back against the cell wall with bloodshot eyes.

He'd come here as a reporter, but the wounded son within would not remain silent. The frayed fragments of what remained of his faith in man snapped. The elevator was hurtling to the ground, swallowing his screams in its swift descent.

"You really had me," Jughead confessed, tears sliding down his cheeks. "The dinners, the AA meetings—it was all bullshit, wasn't it? It was a carefully constructed façade and it worked like a charm. And I was so happy for the first time in so long. You… You paid attention to me."

His voice cracked and he bowed his head beneath the weight of terrifying thoughts and a panicked what now? It was only when his father sniffled loudly that he found the courage to carry on with his plan.

"Be honest: the only reason you read my manuscript was to make sure I hadn't caught on and realized that everything you've told me since my return has been a lie!"

"Not everything, Jug," FP whimpered, tugging angrily at his hair.

"No? So you didn't lie about the lockbox? Or what you told Jason during your first meeting?" Stepping closer, Jughead felt the fury of years of neglect in the back of his throat, bitter like bile. "I mean, you told me you didn't kill Jason, but apparently that was a lie—"

"I DID WHAT I HAD TO DO!" FP screamed, slamming his fist against the tiny cot upon which he sat. "Like I always do!"

Jughead's hands gripped the bars of his father's cage. "Are you even sorry?"

His father rose from the bed, his grizzled features twisted in an all-too familiar anger. It was the rage of his drinking days, the rage that fractured their family and sent them scattering to Toledo. His steps were deliberate and heavy as he approached, his steely gaze sending a shiver down Jughead's spine.

"I'm sorry I got caught," he hissed through the bars. "We done?"

It wasn't a lie. Oh, fuck. Maybe he did learn how to lie. Maybe he really… No, it can't be true. But it was. Maybe the break-in was a false confession, bundled up in a neat bow for Sheriff Keller's solve rate, but his father's regret was real.

He brushed away the tears as he turned to leave, blinking hard to clear his vision. He'd taken two steps away when his father's voice rang out once more.

"Look at me, Jughead!"

Go to hell, he thought angrily. But the little boy within, the one who'd desperately longed for the father he'd had for these last ten weeks, complied. His arms folded protectively around himself as he sniffled—and froze. Because something had shifted in his father's features.

There was a vulnerability there. Fear.

"Never come back here!" FP commanded, his eyebrow shifting slightly upwards as he stared intently at his son.

He's terrified. Was I right all along?

"You understand?" he added quietly, his voice hoarse with emotion.

I understand, Dad. You've done something terrible, but you didn't kill Jason Blossom. He bit the inside of his lip to resist asking the flurry of questions he knew would go unanswered. If FP wanted him to know the true gravity of his situation, he would have told him already.

"Jug?" A quiet whisper, scarcely audible.

"Got it."

With one last look at his father's weary face, Jughead pivoted on his heel and headed for the exit. Deputy Good unlocked the entry gate, shuffling along behind him as he scanned the station lobby for Kevin. His phone vibrated in his pocket and he checked the display. Betty.

So the Blossoms own property on the Southside, adjacent to SoDale. Meeting explained?

Tapping out a reply, Jughead headed for the exit. Definitely possible. Hiram's entire business is shady real estate deals. But what would he need the extra land for?

Kevin was in his car, drumming on the steering wheel. Seeing Jughead, he waved him over, gesturing to the passenger seat. He quickly complied, eager to escape the haunting image of his father.

"What did he tell you?"

"To stay away," Jughead replied. "It's what he didn't say that matters more."

"And that is…"

"He didn't do it, Kevin. He's lying out of fear of something, or someone. But he won't say a damn thing." Pressing his head back into the seat, Jughead sighed. "Anything?"

Kevin turned over the engine roughly, the car shuddering in protest. "Your father's one call wasn't to a lawyer, or you, or even Fred. It was to Joaquin DeSantos."

"Joaquin? Who the hell is that?"

"He's a Serpent," Kevin answered softly. "He, um, also happens to be my ex."


Joaquin DeSantos lived in a rooming house at the edge of the Southside, a place where everything was paid in cash and nobody asked questions unless someone turned up dead—and even that didn't raise many eyebrows. Kevin had filled Jughead and Betty in on his short-lived and ill-fated romance with the Serpent en route. They'd met at the final showing at the Twilight, a brief argument turning into a heated makeout session behind the concessions. They'd seen each other for four months, primarily hanging out at Joaquin's place or the back row of movies. He'd talked him into attending last year's homecoming, but it proved the beginning of the end. DeSantos couldn't—or wouldn't—be the relationship guy, uncomfortable in the polished world of the North and with Kevin's father. They'd hooked up off and on for several more months, but Kevin had ended it, too heartbroken to pretend it was just sex. Eventually, Joaquin had moved away from his garage apartment to the rooming house, hawking most of his music gear and belongings, for reasons Kevin had never managed to pry loose.

"When did you two last talk?" Betty asked as they pulled into the parking lot.

"Hmm, ran into him by the river maybe two months ago?" Kevin frowned, staring at the decrepit building before them. "It was a short conversation. Turned him down for a hook-up."

"Sounds like this conversation is going to be pulling teeth," Jughead mused.

"Maybe he won't be thrilled to see me, but he always respected FP," Kevin countered. "Saw him as a father figure, from what he told me. You're probably the only person who can get him to talk, Jughead."

The trio headed inside, ignoring the greasy man at the front desk who was openly reading a well-worn copy of Hustler. Betty's arm looped through Jughead's as they took the stairs to the third floor at Kevin's direction. The stairwell was dimly lit, the jaundiced light revealing sticky spots and stains that none of them cared to identify or acknowledge. A pile of ash and cigarette butts were clustered in the corner of the third landing, as if some strange form of half-assed housekeeping.

"He's in 20," Kevin murmured as they entered the third floor corridor. "Or was. Hopefully still is."

It was the fourth door on the right. Kevin knocked while the others hung back, silently agreeing that they should let him take the lead. A second knock earned a rustling of sound behind the door before a chain slid and it opened.

The first thing Jughead noticed was the striking blue-grey eyes of the biker and his youthful appearance. While Kevin had admitted his former lover was twenty-two, his appearance suggested eighteen at most. His long hair was slicked back and his t-shirt bore stains reminiscent of motor oil. The biker froze at the sight of Kevin, smirking slightly until he realized the sheriff's son had brought company.

"Too busy for a party, Preppie," DeSantos snarked.

"It's important," Kevin insisted. "I think you know why we're here."

Joaquin shrugged, leaning against the door frame. "I got nothing to say about anything in this town. Or anyone."

"That's not what my father said," Jughead chimed in.

It was a risk, implying his father's blessing, but Jughead couldn't bother to give a damn. If Joaquin knew why his father was willingly copping to a murder he didn't commit, he wanted that information. Needed it, if he was honest with himself. DeSantos tilted his head askance, fixing his gaze upon Jughead.

Unlike his father, he had a poker face. Jughead nodded firmly, the gaze returned with resolve and a hint of impatience.

"Get inside," Joaquin muttered.

Joaquin's home was scarcely a bachelor apartment, more an unusually large bedroom with a tiny half-bathroom. A wood-framed chair with multicolour pinstripe cushions was nestled beside a tiny desk bearing a laptop that was at least five years old, and an acoustic guitar was propped on a stand beside a tiny bed. Of particular interest to the group were the half-packed suitcase and duffel bag on said bed.

"Going somewhere?" Betty asked.

"Could use a vacation, not that it's your business," Joaquin snapped. "Make this fast, alright? I've got a bus to San Junipero in six hours."

"We know FP used his one call from jail on you." Kevin took a step towards Joaquin, edging the biker towards the window. "Why did he call you?"

"It was basically just a warning," DeSantos breezed, running a hand through his hair. "Told me to lay low. Which I am."

"Nobody uses their one call to tell someone to lay low," Betty countered.

Placing a hand on her shoulder, Jughead stepped in. "Look, I need to know everything. I need to know the score so I can take care of my sister and my mother. My father sent me here." Swallowing hard, he laid his fears bare. "Did FP kill Jason?"

DeSantos slumped onto the edge of the bed. "Yeah, he did."

Betty's gasp rang in his skull as his vision blurred. But at the jail… No, he didn't murder him. Maybe he was forced to kill him. His teeth dug into his cheek, the sharp pain restoring his focus.

"I mean, I think he did?" Joaquin added nervously.

"Wait, you don't know he did it?" Kevin asked.

"What makes you think he did it?" Betty pressed.

Jughead, still reeling, scrambled for another line of questioning. "Did you see him pull the trigger?"

"No! God, no."

Okay. There was still hope to be had. If he'd learned nothing else from the last few months, it was that everyone was evasive in this town and every side of this story was half-true at best.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Jughead continued. "Then why do you think he did it?"

Reaching for an open beer bottle on the windowsill, Joaquin drained the amber liquid. Still holding the bottle, absently passing it between his hands, he unfurled his story. The late night call on July 11th. The request to meet FP in the basement of the Whyte Wyrm and strict orders to tell no one.

"The basement of the Wyrm is off-limits to everyone except the Serpent King," Joaquin explained. "But that's where I met him. And then I saw it. Jason's body."

Jughead felt Betty's hand pressed against the small of his back, steadying him. "Was there a gun?"

Joaquin shook his head. "Not that I saw."

"And did my Dad ever say he'd killed him?"

"No, but I knew better than to ask and FP… FP is a closed-lipped guy. He says as little as possible. It's why we get along."

Kevin leaned against the far wall, visibly blanched. "Oh my god…"

Betty shot Kevin a stern, silencing look. "What happened next, Joaquin?"

The young Serpent sighed, recounting his horror at the bloody scene and what he was asked to do. Wrapping the body in sheet plastic and shoving it inside a deep freezer. Mopping up blood and burning bloody rags and mops to ensure the evidence was gone. The trip to the river to dump the body, how awkward it was to move a frozen corpse. And while Jughead was disgusted to hear the details, he was somewhat consoled by Joaquin's brief mentions of his father's discomfort with the operation.

His father was not a cold and calculated killer. Something wasn't right, and Betty felt it, too.

"Joaquin, we know FP has done work for Hiram Lodge in the past. Is it possible that this was one of them?" she suggested.

Joaquin frowned, contemplating this for some time. "Hmm. There was this conversation I heard between FP and Mustang—"

"Mustang?" Kevin interrupted.

"Another Serpent. Only other guy who knew about the clean-up job. I didn't hear the entire thing, and I never asked. All I caught was Mustang talking about some rich guy having a job and FP blowing him off, not wanting to hear whatever it was."

"And where can we find Mustang?" Jughead asked.

"In the cemetery," Joaquin replied. "They found him dead of an overdose about three months after Jason's body turned up. Needle in his arm."

Rising to his feet, he pushed past Kevin and grabbed a beer from a mini-fridge. Popping the top with a magnetic opener, he knocked back half the bottle and gestured to Jughead. Shrugging his shoulders, he accepted the open brew and took a swig of his own.

"Something funny about Mustang," Joaquin continued. "They found this fancy bag under his motel bed. Initials on it were HL."

"Hiram Lodge," Betty whispered.

"Or Hermione Lodge," Jughead added.

"Bag was full of cash," Joaquin muttered. "More than I've ever made running jobs for the Serpents. Now, I've humoured your little Scooby-Doo interview, but I have to pack."

"Is this your polite way of kicking us out?" Kevin sneered.

"Like you have any right to demand manners after cutting me loose," Joaquin snapped.

"Come on, Kevin," Betty insisted, nudging her friend towards the door. "Thank you for your time. Joaquin. It means the world to Jughead."

Jughead nodded, draining the beer in his hand. He had answers, now. Maybe he didn't care for all of them. Maybe he had far more questions now. But he had a better sense of his father's involvement in the Blossom murder than ever before.

They'd scarcely made it to the stairwell door before a voice rang out behind them.

"Jughead!"

He spun around, finding a visibly worried Joaquin peering out from his apartment door. The Serpent beckoned him closer and he complied, holding up a hand to prevent Betty and Kevin from following. Somehow, he sensed this message was for him alone.

"What is it?" he murmured.

Joaquin glanced warily at Kevin and Betty before continuing in a frantic hush. "Look, there's something else. But I honestly don't know if it will help your dad or make things worse so you may not want to tell Kevin."

"Understood."

"FP's call… it wasn't just a warning to lay low. He told me to abandon Plan B. Said it was too dangerous. It's why I'm leaving town. I'm done living in fear over shit I didn't do."

Jughead's brow furrowed. "Plan B? What is Plan B?"

"FP always told me that if shit went sideways that I should go retrieve Plan B and I'd know what to do when I saw it. Gave me GPS coordinates." With this revelation, Joaquin slipped him a scrap of paper. "Again, I don't know if it will help FP or hurt him. But as his son, you're Serpent royalty. I think this is why he sent you to me."

Jughead pocketed the paper carefully. "Thanks, Joaquin. I needed this."

"Be careful. This town's dangerous now." With a broken smile, he jerked his head down the hall. "Look after Preppie for me, will ya?"

"I promise."

Joaquin retreated into the apartment, the deadbolt clicking into place. Shoving his hands deep inside the pockets of his Sherpa coat, Jughead rejoined Betty and Kevin at the stairwell.

"What was that about?" Kevin demanded.

"Gave me his number," Jughead lied. "Asked me to call him if FP was cleared."

"Huh."

Kevin pushed through the door and led the retreat down the stairwell. Jughead caught Betty's suspicious look, but he shook his head quickly, dissuading her. He trusted her with his life and would fill her in privately. But Kevin was ultimately the sheriff's son and letting him in meant trusting him with his father's fate. If his father was guilty, then he could rot in jail. But if it was as muddy as he suspected, he wasn't keen to share anything that might help Keller's case.

"Where to?" Kevin asked as they stepped outside.

"Can you drop us at my trailer?" Jughead asked. "It's been a long night and a longer day already."

"Sure thing."

Betty patiently waited for the two of them to reach the trailer and its privacy before bursting with questions about Joaquin's private words for Jughead. He'd readily shared the slip of paper and the biker's cautions, studying the coordinates with a mixture of curiosity and dread.

"We should see where these lead to," Betty suggested.

"Yeah, I guess we should."

To their mutual surprise, the coordinates mapped them to an all-too familiar place: the lonely stretch of road where they'd found Jason's getaway car. Jughead's stomach turned as a sickening truth revealed itself.

"My dad burned the car, didn't he?"

Betty grimaced. "It's not proof, but it would be one hell of a coincidence otherwise. And it fits. He hid Jason's body in the river because it had already been searched. If you were going to hide something else, why not somewhere recently searched by police?"

Slumping on the sofa, Jughead buried his head in his hands. "I don't know what to do, Betts. Or say. I just… I'm done."

"Oh, Jug…" She settled beside him, her arm wrapping around his shoulder. "I don't think any of us can know the anguish you're dealing with, the anger and the confusion. But you're not alone. You have me."

"I know. And I don't know what I would do if you weren't here. Lose it, probably. Leave town…"

Her head leaned against his, the soft blonde hairs tickling his nose as her ponytail swung between them. "It's okay not to be okay."

"I… I'm not okay, Betty…"

Her lips pressed to his cheek as a tear slid down his cheek. His father was in jail. He'd cleaned up a murder that he'd maybe committed, but he'd confessed to a break-in that he was innocent of. FP hadn't murdered Jason out of his own interests; he felt it in his bones. But maybe Hiram Lodge had made an offer that a desperate drunk couldn't refuse.

"I know you, Juggie. You believe in honesty, in integrity. But you also believe in loyalty." Betty's soft words soothed the frustrated child within him. "You'd do anything to protect those you love. And you love your dad."

He did love him. His dad was horribly flawed, but he'd been dealt a shitty hand in life and forced to play it out. Betty's arm tugged on him, pulling his head into her lap and he slumped willingly, legs dangling over the end of the couch. Her soft fingers tugged his beanie off and ran lightly through his hair, drawing soft circles upon his scalp. He closed his eyes and drew a shaky breath.

"We already know FP didn't do this. I don't believe he killed Jason. But he's definitely covering for the person who did it. And maybe this Plan B is the proof of that. Or maybe we're both wrong and FP did it. But that doesn't feel right to me."

"I don't know what to believe," he admitted sadly.

Betty continued to massage his scalp, focusing on his temples. "Would you rather spend your entire life not knowing what to believe, or know the truth, even if it hurts? That's the choice. And whatever you decide, I am with you. If you want to leave whatever this is hidden away, I will take this secret to the grave."

His eyes fluttered open, finding a concerned Betty Cooper staring down at him. "You're incredible, you know that?"

Betty's cheeks flushed as she mumbled something dismissive. His hand reached up, catching hers tangled in his hair. Pressing it to his chest, he sighed.

"You are. You have no idea how much better my life has been because you've been a part of it. But someday, I'll find a way to prove it." Squeezing her hand, he continued. "You're right, about the choice I have. And since you know me so well, what should I do?"

"The truth. You need it."

"I do. Even if I don't want it." Beneath his shoulder, he felt a vibration. "Your phone?"

"Sorry."

He reached beneath his arm, tugging it free of her jeans pocket. "It's okay. I know Polly might need you home soon."

Betty scrolled through her messages, eyes widening. "You've got to be kidding me! Juggie, read this."

He took her phone, scanning the message on the screen. It was from Veronica, and it only muddied the waters further.

Found out why Daddy might want more land in the Southside. He wants to build a private prison!

Scrambling to sit up, Jughead passed the phone back. "Is this a joke? There's no way to fit an entire prison on the Southside, even with the Blossom land."

"You'd need more. Much more," Betty agreed. "What's adjacent to SoDale?"

"Southside High. The Wyrm…. And here. The trailer park. Jesus, Betty, how would he pull this off?"

"What if the Blossom land and name is leverage to buy up other properties?" Betty suggested. "If the key to your real estate empire was land held by the Blossoms, how far would you go to get it?"

"Call Veronica and Archie. They need answers as much as we do, now."

"Archie?"

"Fred isn't just handling construction for SoDale. The Lodges bought 15% of Fred's company to keep him afloat. Archie told me that when I first got back," he explained. "If the Lodges hired my father to kill Jason Blossom, it affects all four of us."

Betty tapped out a reply as Jughead reached for his beanie and tugged it on. He needed the strength of the Serpent King more than ever. Whether the secret stash Joaquin alluded to sealed his father's fate or set him free, he had to hold it together, or at least try to.

"They're on their way," Betty informed him. "You sure about this?"

"As sure as I am about you."

A soft kiss was shared, his hands cradling her face protectively. He was steadying himself before unearthing secrets kept for over a year. And while his stomach turned with the possibility that his father was a hired gun, knowledge was power. If there were people gunning for his father—people who might just turn their attention to him now—he needed to know about them.

The lives of those he loved might just depend on it.


For those following along, we're mid Anatomy of a Murder right now. And while key facts may not change, I have my own twists and new revelations coming in the next few chapters.

As I work through the final stretch, if there's anything you want to see in the final four chapters, now's the time to ask! I can't make any promises, but I've already worked a few reviewer ideas into this story, so it never hurts to tell me.

See you next week, and for all my Canadians, enjoy the long weekend.