He was lying in wait.

God, he knew it was stupid to be there, especially after everything they had been through, Archie had sided with Chuck, Chuck Clayton of all people, when he knew exactly what the scumbag was capable of, but he was there, he had been for nearly an hour, sitting on the front step of his former best friend's residence, freezing his ass off, waiting to confront him, though on what, exactly, he had no idea.

Jughead was beginning to wonder if the reason he had come at all was because his desire to protect didn't just extend to a certain girl next door.

Archie seemed surprised to find him as he walked towards the house. Vegas, the Andrew's ancient golden retriever, barked somewhere in the backyard.

"Jug." He greeted cautiously, tightening his grip on the bag of food in his hand. "What's up?"

"What's up?" Jughead repeated, rolling his eyes at the casual salute he probably gave ever one of his acquaintance, and they were more than that, or at least, they used to be. "What's up is that I saw you, Archie, in the music room, with Ms. Grundy."

"Keep your voice down." Archie warned, taking a step towards him. "My dad's inside."

Jughead scoffed. "I'm trying to help you, dude, I'm trying to be your friend here, even though we're not anymore."

Archie refused to meet his gaze, an unreadable expression crossing his face.

"How long?" He demanded, crossing his arms. "You and Grundy?"

"Since the summer." He admitted, sounding completely and utterly defeated. "I like her, Jug."

"I'm sure your friends approve."

"No one else knows."

"Shocker." Jughead replied, letting out a bitter chuckle.

"What are you doing here?" Archie asked. "Really."

"I want to know why you're getting it on with a cougar."

"Don't call her that." He hissed, his free hand balling up into a fist. "It's not like that... She cares about me."

"Right." Jughead shot back. "Sure. What is she, Arch, like thirty? Thirty-five?"

"Twenty-seven, and-"

"Great, so she's only... Ten years older than you. That's not creepy at all."

"What the hell do you know about it, Jughead?" Archie challenged. "Or about me, even?"

A cool mask of indifference covered the hurt he felt at Archie's statement.

"Nothing." He said, holding his hands up in surrender. "But I used to know this guy once. Archie Andrews. He wasn't perfect but... He always tried to do the right thing, at least."

Jughead turned to go, unsure of why he had come in the first place.

Archie didn't need protection.

Archie didn't need anything, not from him, anyway.

"Jug."

Archie caught hold of his arm, halting him.

"If you tell anyone about this..." He began.

Jughead raised an eye brow.

"What?" He questioned. "What are you gonna do?"

Archie didn't answer.

"Do you really think I hate you that much?"

The football player's shoulders dropped in a shrug. "I don't know, man, I didn't even know that you hated me."

"I don't." Jughead told him, and it was the truth, whether he chose to believe it or not. "But if getting you to hate me is what it's going to take for you to do the right thing..."

He cast a long glance at the Cooper household. As if on cue, Betty switched her desk lamp on, signaling that she was either about to start her homework, or work on the article he'd distracted her from earlier.

"I bet Betty would like to hear about your summer fling with a teacher." Jughead taunted. "Maybe she would even write an article about it. You'd be front page news, Archiekins."

Archie scowled at the use of his nickname. "Stay the hell away from Betty, Jughead."

He smirked at the thought. "And why would I do that?"

"Because she's been through enough." He countered. "The last thing she needs is you interfering in her life."

"You can't shield her from everything."

"Isn't that exactly what you're trying to do?"

Jughead frowned. "I wanted to tell her-"

"Jughead-"

"Maybe I should tell her." He threatened. "Maybe I should tell her everything."

Archie's eyes narrowed. "Don't you dare."

"She has a right to know, Archie!"

Of course she did.

It was her life.

He had wanted to tell her, two years ago, but he hadn't. because of Archie's insistence that Betty had woken up with no memory of the previous night's events.

If she was starting to remember, if those horrid recollections were beginning to reemerge, breaking through her subconscious, knocking down the walls she had built to protect herself, it wouldn't be good for anything.

The last thing he ever wanted to do was traumatize her further, though if it meant that she finally had the answers he knew she was secretly searching for, then he would do it. He would have done anything for her.

"She doesn't remember!" He insisted, glancing at Betty's window. Somehow, despite there no longer being any attempts to lower their voices, their conversation had yet to be overheard, even by the twenty-first century's Nancy Drew. "I've asked her a hundred times. Nothing happened."

Jughead shook his head, his raven locks falling into his eyes.

He pushed the hair away in annoyance.

"You don't know that, Archie." Jughead argued.

"She doesn't remember."

"Then why did she tell me differently?"

That caused him to meet Jughead's gaze. "What? When?"

"When I found her." He admitted. He didn't need to specify any further. "She kept telling me that she didn't want it. What do you think that means, Arch?"

"You were there." Archie mumbled, echoing Betty's words from earlier in the Blue and Gold office. "Why the hell did you leave her in the middle of the woods. Jug? On the Southside?"

"The Southside is my home." He defended. "I saw you, okay? I saw you looking for her, and I knew if I didn't leave her for you to find, your friends would think that I was the one who hurt her."

"Did you?"

Jughead's lip curled in disgust. "I would never hurt her."

He crossed his arms. "Then don't tell her."

"Why are you so against her knowing what happened?"

"Because." He said. "The last thing I need is another Betty Cooper downward spiral."

Jughead stared at him. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means." Archie clarified. "That you have no idea what has been going on in her life, Jughead, I mean, her parents split up last year, and then there was the whole thing with the..."

He trailed off quickly.

"What?" Jughead demanded. "The whole thing with the what, Arch?"

Archie almost looked pained, like he had betrayed some sort of big secret.

"I'm not leaving until you tell me."

"Look." Archie grumbled. "She stopped, alright? It's not a problem anymore."

A knowing look crossed his face.

"Adderall?" Jughead hissed. "She's been taking Adderall? What the hell, Archie?"

"It's not my fault!"

It was his turn for his hand to curl up into a fist.

"You know what happens when she takes that shit."

"Betty is fine." Archie insisted.

"You think she's fine."

"Jughead-"

"You've never been able to tell when she's lying." Jughead argued. He was the only one that could break her mask of indifference, and they both knew it.

"Betty wouldn't lie to me." He declared. "Not about this."

"She would if she's having withdrawals."

Archie shook his head. "She's fine."

"Keep telling yourself that." Jughead mumbled, starting to walk back towards his motorcycle. "Maybe someday, you'll be right, Arch."

"Jug."

He didn't slow his pace.

"What are you gonna do, Jughead?" Archie called after him.

"I don't know." He admitted.

But he was going to do something.

She hadn't meant to lie to Archie, she really hadn't, but he would never understand.

With a shaking hand, she pulled one of the pills from the little pink container she always kept them in, reaching for the glass of water she'd brought back up from the kitchen.

Betty faced her mirror, but dropped her gaze as she swallowed the first pill, and then the second, too disgusted to see her own reflection.