Forty Days in the Wilderness

by Skyrider45

Senior year was supposed to be fun, hopeful even, not the start of another nightmare. When one of the Core Four goes missing, will the others be able to save them in time, all while battling their own inner demons, family issues, and the fallout from recent events? The road to healing is a long one. Canon-complicit until 3x22. AU Season 4. (Rated T for violence, kidnapping, etc.)

18. Chapter 17:The Kids Aren't Alright Pt II

Well hello there everyone!

It's been *checks calendar* just about a year since I last posted. Yeah. I'm still alive. I've had a crazy life since then and just lost all motivation to write. I quit my job, moved states, was unemployed for a bit, found a new job, and here we are! A whole season has aired since I last posted. (Hey, we got a little bit of emotionally grounded storylines (yay, musical episode for once!) but the show is still... something. I do like the time jump though and having them be older though.)

But I'm back! And probably sporadically, but I'm back!

And in true fashion for me, this is my longest chapter yet because I can't control myself when it comes to word count. But it hopefully makes up for all the lost time, no?

Anyway, thank you to everyone who left reviews on the last chapter and has stuck it out with me. So thank you to ButtonMashr, Boris Yeltsin, AvidMovieFan16, Scarlett, and all the guests out there that are still reading! If you are just finding this now, yay! Welcome. There's a lot of reading ahead.

So let's get on with it!

---

Chapter 17: The Kids Aren't Alright Pt. II

Pop.

The sound of the bursting bubble reverberated down the corridor. Cheryl smacked her lips, drawing the pink wad of chewing gum back into her mouth.

Jughead shot a disdainful glance at her but promptly turned back to his private brooding once she blew another bubble in his direction. Cheryl glanced across from him toward Archie, who somehow looked comfortable sprawled out and snoring in the stiff chairs that had been set up for the teenagers.

Cheryl groaned and crossed her legs, trying to straighten up in her own creaky chair. A fly was incessantly buzzing somewhere above her, ramming itself over and over against the thin screen in the window that stretched overhead. Cheryl popped another bubble just as Agent Kane emerged from his office and scurried down the hall, disappearing once more around the corner they had all entered through.

The fly's buzz grew louder and she swatted absently around her head. Archie's snoring joined with the grating chorus that was singing to her nerves in the otherwise idly quiet old hall.

There was no reason for her to waste a perfectly good Saturday sitting here in this musty old office building waiting around to talk to some shrink.

They had found Betty and she was fine. Everyone had come back fine for that matter. Sure, a few memories may have been jarred after seeing Edgar, but that was then, this was now.

So there was no reason for her to be here.

The door at the end of the hall swung open and Veronica walked out, a wad of tissues still visible in one of her hands. She sat back in her chair and promptly looked around.

"Who's next?"

Cheryl looked at Jughead, who in turn stared back at her with a stalwart expression on his face, his arms crossed and legs stretched out like an anchor in front of him. Cheryl narrowed her eyes but Jughead just tilted his head and continued staring, a petulant smirk threatening to break across his face. Archie let out another snore.

"Fine," Cheryl puffed loudly, obstinance on her tongue as she rose out of the chair. "I guess I'll go. You and Sleeping Beauty here can keep holding off the inevitable."

"Gladly." Jughead folded his arms behind his head as Cheryl passed, his smirk now a content smile.

Cheryl pushed past his legs and continued forward. "Whatever, Smughead," she said, wrapping her hand around the knob to the office door. "But don't forget, you still have to speak with the good doctor, too."

"And so do I."

Cheryl paused, whirling around toward the new voice that had suddenly joined the conversation, her ears perking, as that had sounded a whole lot like-,

"Toni?" she gaped in confusion at her girlfriend's sudden appearance in the shabby hallway. Toni was standing a few feet away, a stubbornly anxious yet somehow oh so tender look on her face.

"What are you doing here?" Cheryl let go of the doorknob and fully faced her girlfriend.

Toni nodded her head at Kane. "I reached out to Agent Kane earlier this week, not long after he reached out to you, and asked if I could come." She stepped closer, her eyes softening ever so slightly as she grabbed Cheryl's hand and squeezed it. "You shouldn't have to be alone in this."

Kane cleared his throat, speaking up from where he was standing just behind Toni, "A few things may have slipped through the cracks before, but not this time." He swept his gaze over everyone sitting in the small hallway. "When I said that I'm trying to help, I meant it."

His eyes stayed on Jughead for a moment before proceeding back down the hallway toward his office.

Cheryl bounced on the ball of her heels, turning her head from Kane's disappearing figure to Toni's firm but gentle one in front of her. She plastered a large, hollow smile on her face, pointing it at Toni. "Well, TT, I wish you luck. I will see you on the other side of this invasion of privacy."

Cheryl wrapped her hand around the doorknob again and pulled, but froze as a hand wrapped around hers in turn. Cheryl lifted her head, staring into her girlfriend's brown eyes.

"Come on, Cheryl," Toni quietly but confidently whispered. "I was thinking we do this together."

Cheryl's eyes darted to the floor for a moment as she began to feel her heart pound against her chest. She straightened up and sucked in a sharp breath quickly, her mouth falling in a rigid line as she stared back at Toni.

"No."

Before Cheryl could even get a word out, Toni had altered her disposition as well and had her eyes turned down indignantly at Cheryl. "No, don't do what you always do and say your fine." She spun the doorknob with Cheryl's hand still on it and pulled, letting the door swing open. She stood in the open frame. "I know exactly what that face means and that means that we both need to be in this room. Together."

With that, Toni marched into Dr. Carraway's office, spinning back around to face Cheryl with a spirited look as she plopped down onto the couch.

Cheryl narrowed her eyes, one hand pointedly slamming the door behind her before she walked forward to where Toni sat and joined her on the plushy couch.

"Hello ladies," Dr. Carraway began, rifling through the files on her desk, "I didn't realize I was getting both of-,"

"Not now, Madame Freud!" Cheryl threw out a hand in Dr. Carraway's direction, never breaking her eye contact with Toni. "What did you mean when you said I need to be in this room?"

"Well, for starters I did say both of us need to be, but I mean that you've been hiding things from me." Toni angled her body toward Cheryl, her hands going into her lap. "You've barely talked to me, you're distant, you didn't look Betty in the eye once at the hospital, and you've been overinvested in everything at school." Toni turned her head toward Dr. Carraway. "And that's all just the past week."

Cheryl huffed and spun her head toward Dr. Carraway as well. "All of that is normal for this time of year – save the hospital - but we're seniors rounding out our last fall semester! I want to make sure I'm spending sufficient time with all my Vixens – that's the cheerleading squad –," Cheryl bounced her head, pointing that out to Dr. Carraway who just nodded her head in return, "before the season ends. And I'm not being distant, we live together!"

Dr. Carraway scribbled something into her notes.

Toni's head slackened to the side, a contemptuous eyebrow raise aimed at Cheryl. "Yeah, and you keep waking up early and leaving for school before me. You've been avoiding me and everyone else."

"No I haven't!' Cheryl yelled, finding her breathing had sharpened and picked up speed. She glared at Toni as she tried to slow her breaths.

"No?" Toni answered a bit softer, placing a hand on top of Cheryl's.

"No," Cheryl uttered, exhaling a long breath, the realization dawning on her. "I've been avoiding me."

She shuffled herself on the couch, staring forward instead of at Toni, the weight of what she had just admitted feeling as though it were pressing her into the couch. The faint pen scratches slowly stopped and the room grew silent. Toni's hand was still on Cheryl's and she squeezed it.

"And not just the past week, but the past few months… years even." Cheryl's gaze remained fixed on the floor.

"I know." Toni's sympathetic reply was one of encouragement. Though Cheryl could still hear the worry in her voice as well. She looked up. Cheryl could still see it in her eyes too.

"Well," Dr. Carraway said, clearing her throat and leaning forward on her desk. "While it has been quite lovely to watch you work through some things on your own, I have some thoughts and questions." She placed a file down on her desk, folding her hands over it while looking straight ahead at Cheryl and Toni. "If Madame Freud is allowed to speak, of course."

Cheryl adjusted her shoulders, pulling her hand away from Toni to lace it over a knee instead. She put a smile on her face. "Of course."

"Cheryl." Dr. Carraway rose from behind her desk and moved to a chair that was set up in the corner across from the couch. "You said that you've been actively trying to avoid yourself. Avoid your thoughts and fears. Now, you went on this mission to Canada to rescue your friend-,"

"Cousin," Cheryl promptly interrupted.

Dr. Carraway paused, then nodded, continuing, "Cousin. Yes. And you had been involved with Edgar's cult before all of this, correct?"

"We both were," Toni answered before Cheryl, sending a reassuring glance her way.

Dr. Carraway nodded. "How was it seeing Edgar again?"

Cheryl tapped her acrylic nails against her knee, instinctively grasping her leg a bit tighter. "I only saw him getting dragged away by the FBI. But that's all I needed to see." Cheryl turned her eyes down, her voice lowering. "The flashing lights, the police and agents running around, the ambulance sirens – it all reminded me of-," Cheryl's mouth twitched, her tongue suddenly feeling as though it were made of wood.

"Of what, dear?" Dr. Carraway asked gently, leaning forward in her chair.

Cheryl could feel Toni's hand curl between her fingers as the tears from earlier caught on her eyelashes. She blinked and took a deep breath.

"Of the day Jason's body was found," Cheryl answered, a recognition that had been long buried coming to the surface in a flurry of words. "Of my father's death, of sending T.T. away that last night at The Farm." Cheryl wiped at her eyes. "God, I never want to see the blinding glare of police lights ever again."

"That sounds like a lot you've had to live through." Dr. Carraway replied, looking at her sympathetically. "I am so sorry, Cheryl."

Cheryl just gave a small nod back.

"But what made you run toward them, then?" Dr. Carraway continued. "The police lights - what made you go back into a situation involving everything you've otherwise been actively avoiding? Especially knowing there was the possibility you could run into Edgar again?"

"I-," Cheryl began, her words catching. "Betty and I… we've had our differences, our fights even. She's the reason I met Edgar in the first place, though she's not the reason I stayed." Cheryl swallowed, feeling a tremble in her throat. "She's family. And she's been there for me in the past. I have so little family left and Edgar used that against me."

Cheryl paused, the trembling growing stronger. "Everyone in my family seems to either be a murderer or murdered," she said in a smaller voice, a fire quietly burning away the pool of tears that had begun to well in her eyes. "And I just couldn't stand by and watch Betty be added to the latter half of that list."

Cheryl turned her head down to her lap, a deep breath lodging in her chest. "Especially not when my mother had something to do with it."

Dr. Carraway lifted her chin.

"My family seems to be at the epicenter of every disastrous quake that has shaken this town for the last four years, and I'm afraid I'm going to be swallowed up by one of the cracks any day now."

"Cheryl, I want you to listen to me." Dr. Carraway leaned forward in her chair, her eyes fierce and sincere. "You are not responsible for your family. It is not your responsibility to be the protector of your family. Nor is it your responsibility to atone for what your family has done."

Cheryl raised her head, her mouth slightly agape at Dr. Carraway.

"I have worked with many people who feel they need to atone and make up for what others around them have done, and in doing so have neglected themselves. Perhaps that was why you put yourself not only in harm's way but back into what could be described as a triggering scenario for you." The counselor crossed her legs, putting her notebook on the desk behind her. "Do you feel responsible, Cheryl?"

She thought for a moment, glancing hesitantly at Toni. "I don't know," she said uncertainly. "I don't think that's it. I think I'm afraid of becoming them." Cheryl leaned back into the couch, her body sinking into the plush. "Of never getting away from the curse of the Blossom name."

Dr. Carraway leaned back in her chair, almost matching Cheryl in her body language, and the three women sat in silence for a moment.

"I can say from experience that you're not them." Toni broke the silence. "You've shown me multiple times that you don't want to be anything like them. You got me out of Edgar's house of horrors. You gave me a home."

"That's lovely, Ms. Topaz." Dr. Carraway said. "Cheryl, it already sounds like you are making progress in building a chosen family of your own. Family doesn't need to be blood. If reclaiming your name is important to you, it sounds as though you are on your way."

Cheryl looked between the two women. "But what if there are parts of my family I don't want to let go of?"

"That's okay too." Dr. Carraway shook her head, waving a hand. "Is there something specific you want to make sure you hold onto?"

"My brother's memory," Cheryl quickly answered. "He was the best of us, but tragically the first to go. My father murdered him, my mother hates me for it, and Edgar used his death against me, and I haven't dealt with it… gracefully." She looked down at the floor, her hands pushing at her sleeves. "But I want to honor him. Just because he's dead doesn't mean he's not still my brother."

Cheryl glanced up. Dr. Carraway was staring back, her hand on her chin, a sad look in her eyes.

"Grief is a complicated thing, Cheryl. There's no one way to grieve, but there are unhealthy ones." Cheryl saw Dr. Carraway glance quickly at Toni then back. "The best way for you to honor your brother's memory is to live in a way that honors him. Recognizing your own trauma and doing something about it is a good place to start."

She reached for her desk, grabbing some papers off her desk, and holding them out towards Toni and Cheryl.

"Ladies, these are brochures from clinical counseling and therapy practices in the area. Now of course it is your decision to continue, but I would recommend seeing someone to help you work through that trauma."

Toni took one of the brochures, folding it up and putting it into her purse. Cheryl stared at the piece of paper warily, as though she thought it would bite her if she reached her hand out to it. But she took a deep breath and did, hesitantly accepting the brochure from the counselor.

"There's only so much I can talk through with you today, but I have colleagues that can continue this conversation with you."

"What do you think?" Toni turned to Cheryl.

"I think we may need to talk about this further. At home," Cheryl answered. "Which we can head back to together."

Toni smiled, "I'd like that." She moved the hand that had been rubbing Cheryl's back around her waist, pulling the girl into a hug.

"You did this on purpose, didn't you?" Cheryl whispered in Toni's ear, leaning further into the hug.

"Getting you angry is sometimes the only way to get you to open up."

Cheryl smiled into Toni's shoulder and sighed before pulling away and staring at her. "Thank you."

---

"Can you tell us what you remember about the men that were impersonating park rangers, Ms. Cooper?"

The question all but disappeared into Betty's thoughts, as her mind was preoccupied with the photographs laying across the table in the open files. They were case photos, pieces of evidence collected for legality and documentation, nothing more than a checked box for some. The static images of the cabin and the scars within, bathed in the peculiar cold of a camera's flash, meant far more to her though than just a practice of procedure.

"Ms. Cooper?"

Another thing she never truly thought about that deeply before now having this new perspective was how real and lived all those pictures and threads she and Jug so flippantly threw onto their crime boards were. She wasn't sure if she could look at those the same now.

"Betty?"

She raised her head as Charles placed a hand on her shoulder, finding all those assembled at the table staring at her.

"Uh," she stammered, looking across the table toward Agent Lance, who had been carrying the same encouraging yet anxious expression the entire day, and then toward the two RCMP officers. "I'm sorry, can you repeat the question?"

Charles had been right that a majority of the meeting had been more or less a bureaucratic exchange, but the final few minutes had turned to her.

One of the RCMP officers, Inspector Tremblay, a storied-looking middle-aged bald man, pursed his lips and leaned back in his chair. He and the other, a younger female Sergeant named Kennedy, both had been straightforward and very comfortable with the procedural talk but had grown a bit awkward and uncertain when the conversation had switched to the more… sensitive details.

Tremblay looked a bit disappointed, though if he was growing frustrated at her lack of concentration, it didn't show in his tone of voice. "Of course. We just want to know if you happen to remember anything about the men that were impersonating park rangers. We have an investigation of our own happening surrounding that."

"Oh." Betty cleared her throat and readjusted herself in her seat. "Well," she began, unconsciously glancing at Charles. "There were two of them, and I know that one of them was from Riverdale - I recognized him." She stretched her shoulder as best she could in the sling before resting it back against her side.

"I tried calling for help at a ranger's station, one with a big transistor radio. At first, I wasn't getting any signal but then someone picked up." She shook her head slowly as she continued. "I didn't think twice about it, I just thought that I had finally made a connection to the outside world."

Betty swallowed and slapped the nearest file to her closed, pictures of the scratched-up floor of the ranger's station disappearing. "They were wearing ranger hats when they showed up. Utility flashlights, a four-wheeler – and I didn't notice immediately, nor did I connect it until I learned where I was, but the walkies they had, they were Guindon Park branded."

Tremblay and Kennedy regarded each other before Tremblay let out a long sigh. "We have been undergoing our investigation into the goings-on in Cornwall, working in conjunction with the info the FBI has provided us," he gestured his head toward Charles, "and we have cause to believe that Edgar had swayed someone at Park Services, giving him an inside man. We believe that may have been the second man that arrived at the ranger's station."

Betty nodded unhappily. "That's what he does. He gets inside of things-," she turned her head, letting out a long sigh herself as she tapped her fingernails against the table. "and messes them up."

Charles and Agent Lance pulled their eyes away from Betty and looked at one another again. Charles in turn cleared his throat and turned to address the two RCMP officers. "Inspector Tremblay, do you have any more questions for Ms. Cooper or does this wrap up your interview?"

Tremblay looked a bit taken aback and had his mouth open to answer Charles when Sergeant Kennedy stood up.

"That was all we needed, Agent Smith. I believe that is all the account of the events we'll need for our investigation." Kennedy reached out a hand to Charles, who promptly accepted. As they shook, Kennedy looked over her arm at Betty and gave her a small nod.

Turns out she had been paying attention more than she had initially been letting on.

Tremblay still looked a bit lost, but he smoothed his uniform and stood, shaking Charles' hand before gathering the files on the table, the rest of the photographs finally sliding out of view. "We'll be in further communication but thank you for your time today." He nodded quickly at the three around the table, then ducked out of the conference room.

Kennedy lingered a second longer. "Thank you, Agent Smith, Agent Lance." She turned her gaze toward Betty. "And thank you, Betty, for letting us talk to you." She leaned in closer and in a smaller voice said, "You'll be alright, kid."

Betty half-heartedly smiled at her as she left the room, watching through the glass wall lining one side of the room as she caught up with Tremblay, the two of them having a quiet conversation in the hall.

She wishes she believed that.

Charles gave a small wave after them before shutting the door. He paused for a moment, then whirled around to face the table, his eyes and closed-mouth smile embellished. "That was fun, wasn't it?"

"I thought you said you'd do most of the talking, hm?" Betty quipped, bringing her legs up to her chest in an attempt to get more comfortable in the large office chair.

"I did say that, yes," Charles confessed as he walked back towards the table, his hands going into his pockets. "I underestimated their people skills."

"And their situational awareness," Agent Lance chimed in, a dismayed inflection on her tongue. "I didn't know they were going to bring those photos here, Betty. I should have informed them more thoroughly beforehand. I'm sorry."

"No, it's ok-," Betty instinctively began answering back before she bit her tongue, catching what she was about to say.

"It wasn't your fault," she tried again. "But it was definitely… unexpected seeing those."

Agent Lance reached a hand out toward Betty and smiled. "Thank you for saying what you meant." She pulled out her phone. "I will make sure that the other parties we'll be meeting with don't blindside you like that."

Betty nodded as Agent Lance began to type away. She turned her head back toward the glass wall, out into the hallways that funneled toward the opening to the main atrium below. She could see across the way, to a separate hallway and no doubt to more offices on the other side of the open walkway, similar to a raised level of a shopping mall.

Crowds of employees in business wear and FBI jackets walked the halls, traveling past the glass in a hurry. Betty's eyes flitted past the immediate length of hallway and to the far side, where a janitor was idly pushing a cart past a group of people in civilian clothing being led by an agent that Betty vaguely recalled seeing with Charles before in Riverdale.

She leaned over the table and squinted, trying to remember. She took a closer look at the group she was leading down the hall. For some reason, they all looked familiar to her. Betty's eyes went from face to face trying to figure out why until she landed on someone that looked awfully like-,

"Charles." She sprang from the chair, her eyes going wide as she walked up beside him, pressing her hand up against the glass wall. "That's Polly! What's she doing here? Where's she going?"

Betty's heart began to race as she watched her sister be led further down the hall. Now that she recognized one in the group, she spotted Fangs as well, and another student from Riverdale in the group too. "Those are all people from The Farm. What are they doing here?"

Charles sighed and looked down at Betty. "In a sense, they're here for the same reason you are. We had to process everyone that was at The Farm compound that night, to get an account from everyone there before sending them home. Some have been more cooperative than others."

Betty turned from Charles to look back out the window. "You mean some were more involved with Edgar, more complicit in the cult than others. And you need to figure out how much."

Charles bounced on his heels but nodded. "Correct."

Betty felt a familiar lump form in her throat as she continued to stare after the group. Polly was looking around, an expression of either panic or irritation on her face, but which, she couldn't quite tell. And then she looked in the direction of the glass wall, and for a moment, she froze.

The blood rushed to Betty's face and she could feel herself growing flush. Polly stood staring directly at her, recognition falling over her face, her mouth agape. Fangs, who had been walking directly behind her, ran into her shoulder. When he noticed she was stopped, his eyes followed hers.

Betty raised her hand, giving them a cautious and uncertain wave. Both stared back, looking unsure as to what they should do before the agent guiding them ushered them forward and they began moving with the rest of the herd again.

But for a moment, Betty thought she had seen, as sure as she could with the distance between them, Polly's face grow red and her eyes soften.

And that was not an image she could so easily file away.

---

Jughead's phone bounced up and down in his grip, mimicking the movement of the knee on which it sat, the whole leg hammering into the hard concrete that met his foot. His eyes flipped between that floor and the lit-up screen in his grasp, hoping to see the tell-tale white box of an incoming text break through the luminescent glow.

But, just as before, none were there.

Jughead huffed, pulling his head up from the arm it had been leaning on. He pressed his finger down on the messaging icon, a new text bubble expanding to life. He had barely typed 'C' before Charles' name immediately appeared in the recipient bar, the name filling the space behind the blinking cursor with a learned familiarity.

Jughead sighed, moving his fingers down to the text box, and began to type, but he froze as his gaze caught the smile from the opaque wallpaper image floating behind the text box. His thumb twitched, raising away from the screen to look at the slightly blurred, well-worn - if you could call a digital photo that - image of himself and Betty.

He could hear her voice from this morning playing in his head.

"I don't need you getting overprotective, okay?"

Jughead blinked down at the screen for a few more seconds, his eyes drilling into that photo, then looked up, shifting his gaze over the others sitting around the sleepy hallway. Kevin was sitting stoically in his chair, hands folded, head pointed toward the ceiling with eyes closed. Veronica's nose was buried in her own phone, her frame leaning into Archie, who had shaken himself awake a few minutes earlier and was now stretched out in his seat, one arm lax around Veronica. Though Jughead could see one cautious eye from his friend still pointed in his direction.

He sighed, dropping his eyes back down to his screen, tapping a thoughtful finger against the side of the phone. The cursor blinked up at him, just as the documents on his laptop did when he found himself unsure of what to say next. Unsure if anything more needed said at all.

He squeezed his eyes shut, taking in a deep breath, Betty's face and voice filling his mind once more, then quickly swiped out of the messaging app, darkening the phone and shoving it down into his pocket with another long sigh.

---

The afternoon sun glinted against the windows of the truck steadily rolling its way through downtown Riverdale, its warmth cutting through the chill of the November day. FP sat behind the wheel, his eyes absently on the road, yet ever so often drifting to Alice beside him.

They were still out running errands, now heading to the grocery store for what FP hoped was the final stop of the day. It felt final, a majority of the purchases needing to be stored properly quite soon after, so FP felt optimistic that they were almost home. The back of the truck was already full of boxes and bags from the day's haul and FP knew that they were going to push it still at the store.

Alice was going over that list now; he could see her scribbling and crossing things out, her eyes and hands once again shaking ever so slightly. It could have just been from the regular rumblings of the truck moving over the bumpy town road, but FP had an inkling that wasn't the case.

He wondered how Alice had managed all those nights by herself at The Farm.

The pretending, the acting… he could never have done it. But she had, even before the Farm had up and disappeared, and all for the sake of her children.

Yes, the effects and handling of the deep cover were questionable; FP had seen the toll it had taken on Betty, especially over the summer. He couldn't help but wonder if that was a portion of what haunted the teen now, but regardless, he couldn't help but respect the sacrifice. He couldn't imagine what that had been like.

Or maybe he could.

He had, after all, literally confessed to murder for Jughead's safety.

It may not have been the smartest move or the one that put him in good graces with his son, but it was the one that made the most sense at the moment.

FP's gamble had worked for Jughead's safety. But Alice's…

He didn't know what was running through her head. He was almost afraid to ask.

FP rounded into the parking lot of the grocery store, gliding into a spot near the front before stopping the truck. He looked over at Alice, who was still clutching her shopping list tightly against her chest. "You okay?"

Alice turned to him, slipping the long list back into her purse. "Of course," she replied, pulling down the visor to double-check her make-up in the mirror. "Why wouldn't I be?"

FP tapped on the wheel as Alice flipped the visor back into position, giving him a delicate stare. "Just checking."

Like he had said to Charles earlier – there's no training wheels for this. You just get put on the bike and pushed down a hill.

---

The hallway gave way to life as the door creaked open across from Jughead. Cheryl and Toni walked out, something of nervous giggling being shared between them. Jughead could see what looked like a small pamphlet sticking out of the top of Cheryl's cherry-red purse and he raised a critical eyebrow in her direction.

Instead of Cheryl, Toni was the one that noticed, and she promptly shot a "don't you dare" look back at him. He raised his hands in concession as they passed by.

Jughead turned his gaze back to the person sitting across from him. Archie's eyes met his and almost immediately softened.

"You'll be getting your wish of going last, Jug," Archie spoke as he rose from his chair, stretching his long arms above his head. "I want to go next. I'm just gonna use the restroom first."

With that, he disappeared around the corner and Jughead settled back against his chair, a content smirk rising at the edge of his mouth. He stole another glance at his phone, and his heart ticked when he saw a white box light up the screen. He whipped the phone closer to his face, eager to read the message, when he realized it was nothing more than a notification box from an app reminding him to relax.

He snorted, dropping the phone back into his lap, a wry snicker escaping his lips as he leaned back and rubbed his temple.

"Something funny?" Veronica implored, crossing her legs as she regarded Jughead.

"Ah, just have to admire the universe's irony from time to time," he snorted back, a hand still on his head.

A few months ago, Betty had convinced him to download a meditation app, the same one she was using to aid in her breathing exercises. She had wanted them to try to do some of the exercises together, and they had for about a week before their schedules started filling up. Jughead had all but forgotten he still had the app on his phone.

He let out another distracted chuckle and Veronica continued to give him a bemused look. Jughead stuffed the phone back into his jacket pocket and glanced down the hall. Just beyond Kevin, at the water cooler, was Agent Kane.

Jughead stood and stretched then sauntered his way down the hall toward the water cooler. He grabbed one of the little plastic cups from the holder and poured himself a cup. Jughead took a sip of the cool water before leaning his shoulder up against the wall, turning his gaze to Agent Kane.

Kane blinked back, one hand holding his small water cup. "Yes, Jones?"

"So why'd you stay behind?"

Agent Kane breathed out an exasperated sigh. "I already answered that for you."

"Not really," Jughead balked, taking another sip of water. "You just said you chose this job because you could. But you didn't say why."

"And I don't need to tell you the why, Mr. Jones." Kane retorted, his cup of water at his lips, his stern eyes staring unblinkingly back at Jughead. "I don't answer to teenagers."

Jughead narrowed his eyes, the flicker of a mischievous smile beginning on his face. "What? Not even after our moment up in Canada? We locked eyes in that clearing, you totally wanted to tell me good job. Good job for doing your job."

Jughead could see Agent Kane visibly growing more irritated, as the SSA had straightened up more than his already rigid figure allowed. "You still know very little about my job, Jones. FBI operations are not games."

"No," Jughead groused, crossing his arms and angling himself more toward Kane. "They're serious. Just like you. And no fun either. All protocol, huh, Hotch?" Jughead pushed himself off the wall, throwing his cup away. "Is that it? Did you stay because we're just protocol?"

"No!" Kane's eyes flashed dangerously for a moment as his unexpected yell reverberated down the hall. Whatever noise there had been was now eerily quiet. Jughead swallowed and looked around.

Kevin and Veronica were staring at Jughead. Toni and Cheryl had stopped their conversation and were glaring probingly at him and Kane. Even Archie had since returned, frozen in front of the open door to Dr. Carraway's office he held open.

Jughead tore his eyes away from the onlookers and back at Agent Kane, whose incensed facial features had contorted into something more akin to sorrow.

"About six years ago my unit was called to assist with a hostage negotiation." Kane's voice was lower, as though there was a weight on his tongue. "An aggrieved ex-employee was demanding penance from his former boss. He made it a public spectacle, closing down a section of a shopping mall. Parents, teenagers, kids – this guy didn't care who he was threatening."

Jughead could feel a sinking feeling in his stomach as he listened to Agent Kane's story.

"We had our negotiator on the phone with him, trying to get him to release the civilians he had trapped in the store. The rest of us were stationed at various vantage points, waiting for an opportunity to catch him off guard if he didn't cooperate."

Kane took a large swig of his water, finishing off his cup and chucking it into the trash can with an air of finality to the action. He resumed speaking, "He eventually agreed to release the hostages and I was one of the escorts."

All eyes were on Agent Kane. Even though he was speaking in a lower tone, his words could still be heard down the hall, all of the teens engrossed in the story.

"I'm leading a group out, what looks to be a family and a group of teenagers, probably a group of friends just like all of you here-," he lifted his arms, gesturing around at the silent teens, "-when the father of the family decides he wants to try to be a hero."

Agent Kane's hands went down to his hips as his face also dropped to the floor. He tapped a foot before slowly lifting his head to look down the hall, meeting everyone's eyes before landing on Jughead. "The father pulls out a gun - conceal and carry - and aims it at the perpetrator. Fires a shot before I could react. The perp shoots back. One of the teenage girls, sixteen years old, gets caught in the crossfire." Kane reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, removing a photograph and holding it up. "She died on the way to the hospital."

The pit in Jughead's stomach fully settled as he stared at the picture Kane was holding up. A picture of a young girl smiling. His fingers twinged against the plastic cup he still had gripped tight in his hand.

"I see her face every day on the job. I keep pictures of all the ones I couldn't save in my office to remind myself that it's my job to keep people safe. And I couldn't do that in that moment. This time around, Betty came home, and yes-," Kane shot a sharp glance at Jughead, "-you helped. But you also saw things you probably can't unsee out there and this-," he gestured around the hall again, in the direction of Dr. Carraway's office, "-is another way of keeping you safe. You're people, not protocol."

The hall remained silent, everyone left spellbound by Kane's outburst of a story. The agent turned back toward Jughead, who was left just as speechless.

"You happy now, Jones?" he quietly asked. "I hope that answered your question."

He promptly spun around, his back to Jughead, and marched down the adjacent hall. Jughead watched silently as he made his way to his office, shutting the door squarely behind him, the hard click that followed echoing in Jughead's ears.

He stared at the closed door, Kane's obscured figure moving around behind the opaque glass.

Jughead swallowed, casting another glance down the hall. Everyone was still cautiously staring at him but as they met his eyes, turned away hastily to what they had been doing before. Only Archie remained giving him a pensive look until he too turned his head forward, heading into Dr. Carraway's office and disappearing behind a door as well.

Jughead swallowed down his disquiet and reached for the phone in his pocket. Maybe he would give that app another shot.

---

Archie stepped into the makeshift therapist's office, taking in the mismatched collected furniture, the tan, wooded walls, and the cart of snacks along the far wall. It felt like an unfinished project, in the middle of a journey from what it was to what it could be.

It reminded him of Andrews Construction. He smiled.

"Who pissed off Kane?" Dr. Carraway asked as Archie crossed the room toward the couch.

"That would be Jughead," Archie sighed, dropping down into the middle of the couch. He reached over for a bottle of water. "You haven't met him yet."

"And the snoring I heard earlier, was that him too?" Dr. Carraway looked up from her papers, a playful smile on her lips.

Archie smirked, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees as he wrung his hands. "No, that was me."

"No harm in getting rest when you can, Archie. Especially for such a busy young man." Dr. Carraway tapped the file on her desk. "Captain of the football team, co-owner of a community center, acting proprietor of your father's construction company; that's a lot for a high school senior."

"Yeah, well," Archie swallowed. "Someone has to look out for this town."

"So you appointed yourself that person?"

Archie shuffled his feet, his high-tops sticking to the rug beneath the couch. "It feels like what my dad would have done."

Dr. Carraway stared at him in silent sympathy. "When did you lose him?"

Archie rubbed his hands together, stealing a glance down at the floor. "Early summer. It was unexpected." He turned his eyes back to the counselor. "A lot this year has been unexpected."

Dr. Carraway leaned back in her chair and away from the desk. "It sounds like this has been a tough year for you."

Archie nodded awkwardly. "I don't think anyone expects their dad to die and their best friend to get kidnapped their senior year of high school," he scoffed, "but then again we haven't exactly had the most normal high school experience so far."

"That may be too much of an understatement after talking to all of you today," Dr. Carraway stated, her hands folding in her lap. "Serial killers, cults, mobsters – jail time in your case-," she indicated a hand at Archie, "that's so much to have already lived through."

Archie leaned against the couch, pushing his back into the soft of the pillows, a forlorn smile crossing his face. "I remember when my biggest struggle was whether or not I wanted to be a musician or an athlete."

"And which one did you choose?"

Archie took a swig of water. "Athlete, I guess. I own a boxing ring and I'm on the football team. The guitar tends to gather dust these days. Can't help the town with a song."

A disappointed frown etched itself across Dr. Carraway's face. "But scoring goals and taking punches does?"

Archie placed his fingers over the bruises and scars that crisscrossed his knuckles, marks from his boxing matches, and even some fresh from the hits he had taken at his football practice this morning.

"Well, it… it helps me," Archie murmured, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "I feel less sad, less angry when I'm active."

"Is that how you've been coping with everything? Pushing yourself? Keeping busy?" Dr. Carraway leaned forward again, the gentle cadence returning to her voice.

Heat flushed into Archie's face as he felt his foot begin to tap of its own accord. He shuffled his position, rubbing his hands together. He had no idea why that question brought on such a reaction.

"I'm trying to make this town safer. I'm trying to make sure people don't get hurt!" Archie's voice quaked as he answered.

"And that's an admirable goal, Archie, but I'm just making sure you're not hurting yourself while doing so." A creak sounded in the room as Dr. Carraway pulled her chair forward toward her desk.

Archie stayed silent, rubbing his hands together, the bruises on his hands pulsing yellow and purple in his sight as he avoided Dr. Carraway's eyes.

"Archie." The counselor's declaration was firm but held something of a searching tenor. "What is it?"

The heat in Archie's face had moved, warm tears threatened to break at the edge of his eyes.

"My sophomore year there was an, uh, accident at Pop's, a diner in town." Archie's voice was quiet as he looked around the room, still avoiding eye contact with Dr. Carraway. "There was a man with a gun and my dad, he, … he got shot. Trying to protect me. But he lived, and after that I was so afraid for him. For the past two years I've been afraid for him." His voice was rising. "Hell, I've been afraid for all of my friends and family."

Archie reached beside him and raised the water bottle to his lips, taking an unsteady sip. "I felt so helpless after that day, watching him bleed out on the floor, so I tried to do all I could to protect him and everyone else I loved, just like he protected me. But then-,"

His voice caught, the tremble from his hand now in his throat. "But then a truck-," he puffed his cheeks, trying to hold back what felt like an onslaught of tears approaching. "No serial killer, no mob boss, no horror from this town got him. Just a regular guy in a truck who had one too many drinks."

Archie rubbed his eyes with vigor, sniffling lightly. "And then when things were starting to feel better, Betty gets taken." His words cracked with an ache he had been yearning to be let go. "We've been friends since we were four, I couldn't lose her too." He took a deep breath, slowly lifting his head to look at Dr. Carraway. "Do you know what I saw up in Canada, in that clearing?"

Dr. Carraway shook her head, staring back at Archie patiently.

"I saw my best friend about to die, a gun to her head. And there I was," he choked, his swimming eyes burrowing into the counselor, "too afraid to do anything again."

"Archie-,"

"I just want to keep people safe!" Archie continued in a fit. "But they just keep getting hurt." He clasped his hands behind his head, his face pointed down at the ground. No one talked for a moment, Archie's tears hitting the carpet below him in silent crashes.

"Is that why you feel the need to punish yourself?"

"What?"

Dr. Carraway's question caught him off-guard.

"You don't want others to get hurt so you punish yourself when they do, pushing yourself harder and harder until there's nothing left for you to give. I've seen it happen over and over." Dr. Carraway stood up from behind her desk and moved to the chair opposite Archie. "People take the blame for things that aren't their fault because they need somewhere to channel their feelings."

Archie continued rubbing his neck but glanced up at her. "It hurts all the time."

Dr. Carraway stared at him, a steady but sympathetic look, the same one she'd had almost the entire session, on her face.

"Did you ever talk to anyone about your father's passing? When it happened? Or for that matter, anything that has happened?" she asked.

Archie raised his eyes, his tongue going into his cheek as he thought through his response. "My mom, when she was in town. Veronica and Betty. A little with Jughead."

"That's all good, letting your family and friends know where you're at, but never with a licensed professional?"

Archie shook his head.

Dr. Carraway bobbed her chin and reached across her desk, pulling up a brochure.

"At my recommendation, and if you would be willing to try, I would have you consider seeing someone. To help you work through your grief and anger. Especially now that Betty's abduction opened a wound that never really closed."

She handed Archie the brochure, which he grabbed hesitantly but still scanned with raised and curious eyes.

"Distractions are good for a while, Archie. They help you survive and keep your mind off of things, giving you a reprieve that feels like purpose. But those distractions will guide you unconsciously if you never confront what's driving them. And only then will you start to find clarity."

Archie ripped his eyes away from the brochure to look up at Dr. Carraway.

"Did I say something that resonated with you?"

"Clarity," Archie repeated the word the counselor had used. "It's just… my mom said something similar about clarity when I told her I hadn't been sleeping much. I figured that if Betty couldn't rest, I couldn't either and she told me that, 'A little bit of clarity can go a long way.'"

Dr. Carraway smiled. "I do not hold to the adage of 'mother knows best' most of the time, but in this case your mother was right. If you truly want to do right by this town, if you feel that's something you need to do, then you need to do right by yourself first. You're the only one that can fix you, Archie."

He gripped the brochure a bit tighter, tapping it on his knee as he did. He passed his eyes over the thrown-together room once more, the swirl of dust dancing in the early afternoon sunlight reminded him of the sawdust that had constantly called Fred's construction trailer home. He could almost see his dad walking around the space, grinning at the potential he saw where others only saw a mess.

You're the only one that can fix you.

Perhaps that was it. He was a fixer-upper, just like all the sites he helped his dad out on. There was still potential in his mess, he just had to see it.

"Thanks, Dr. Carraway," Archie replied, slipping the brochure into his jacket pocket, wiping at his eyes once more for any stray tears. "This has actually been really helpful. Sorry for freaking out on you."

"No apologies necessary, that's what I'm here for. But I have noticed how reluctant to talk everyone has been today." Dr. Carraway observed, leaning back in her chair.

"Yeah, well, there haven't exactly been a lot of trustworthy adults around Riverdale lately," Archie quipped as he rose from the couch. "But if this has been working for Betty, I thought I'd give it a shot."

He lingered for a moment. "And my dad I could trust. You sound a bit like him. He always knew what to say."

"And what do you think he'd say to this?" Dr. Carraway asked, her voice soft again.

Archie looked down at the floor and bobbed his head before turning back to her. "I think he'd be proud. Proud that I'm getting help and not trying to be the help."

"Well, then," Dr. Carraway grinned. "In this case, I'd say father knows best."

---

A soft breeze swirled down the line of benches surrounding the courtyard, blowing a patch of leaves through the open area. Betty watched one skitter across the little concrete patio in front of where she sat and drew her coat snugger around her injured shoulder as the cold wind reached her a moment later.

She had situated herself in a little square of benches surrounding a small patio off of the main path of the courtyard. There were a handful of employees hastening across the area to get from one end of the building to the next, but for the most part, Betty had the entire space to herself.

She wrapped a hand around her cup of coffee, the heat from the steaming drink warming her fingers. It was a nice heat, unlike the kind she was out in the cold trying to get away from. The conference room had begun to feel claustrophobic and hot; suffocating.

The whole building had.

So despite the brisk weather she had needed to get some air.

The wind blew and she watched a few more leaves skitter around the walkway before the soft patter of footsteps joined in with the rest of the sounds of the outdoors, and soon those approaching footsteps stopped in front of her.

"Mind if I join you?"

Betty glanced up, a look of surprise crossing her face as she recognized who was standing in front of her. "Dr. Glass!"

The counselor smiled warmly down at her. "Your brother told me I could find you out here," he said. "It always is interesting to put a face to a name."

"Yep, that's Charles. My FBI detective half-brother." She tapped the top of her coffee cup. "What are you doing here?"

"Well," he began, situating himself onto a bench adjacent from Betty's. "Seeing as it's not unusual after an experience like yours that the FBI will recommend a trauma therapist, and seeing as you already have one, they called me in. Plus," he said, his gaze wandering around the courtyard and to the building wistfully, "it's always nice to come back to my old stomping grounds."

"Wait, hold on." Betty set her coffee down on the bench, absorbing the small remark her counselor had just said. "You were FBI?"

"VSD for ten years," Dr. Glass beamed. "But I eventually decided that I wanted something a bit slower; all those years can really wear on a person. So I moved to a new town to start my own counseling practice."

"Of course." Betty shook her head, the irony of it all producing a faint smile. "I found the one therapist in Riverdale with an FBI background."

Dr. Glass grinned and let out a small chuckle before taking a deep breath. "It really is good to see you, Betty."

Betty pulled at her coat again and gave a weak smile back. "You too, Dr. Glass."

"They briefed me when I arrived," he said, his expression growing a bit sadder. "I'm sorry this happened to you, I truly am." His eyes drifted down to her hands and he shifted forward on the bench, reaching one of his own out. "Is it all right if we do a palm check?"

Betty nodded and flipped her hands open, reaching her good arm forward. Dr. Glass pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and gently hovered his hand under Betty's.

"No new scarring or cuts," he mused, looking over the smooth surface of her palm. "Good." He quickly glanced at her other hand before sliding back on the wooden bench. "You've been working hard on that."

"I thought about it a few times, though." Betty retracted her hand, squeezing it back around her coffee cup.

"But you didn't." Dr. Glass folded his hands in his lap. "That shows a lot of growth and a lot of strength, especially in the face of everything you went through."

Betty nodded silently, taking a sip of her coffee.

Dr. Glass squinted at her, his eyes maintaining a tender disposition, but stayed quiet for a few moments before asking, "Are you finding it hard to be around others again?"

Betty thumbed at the bendy tab on the lid of her drink, thinking through her answer. "Sort of. It's all I thought about for weeks, seeing everyone again, not being alone, but now that I'm back it's…" She bit her lip, unsure of how to explain the sensation she had been feeling since her first night in the hospital. A shadow passed over her eyes and a frustrated huff escaped her lips as she shifted her weight on the bench. "It's like I still feel trapped."

When Betty looked up, she saw Dr. Glass nodding reassuringly at her. "Reintegration can be one of the hardest parts for survivors. Because others around them can't fully comprehend their experience, it can create a further sense of isolation."

"Hm, that makes sense," she breathed. Though she also feared that in trying to share her experience, it would have the same effect.

Dr. Glass raised his chin, one eyebrow raising above the rim of his glasses, a gesture Betty had come to learn meant he knew she was holding back.

"But it's also just hard to talk about," she blurted out before he could ask what else was on her mind.

The counselor lowered his head, a look of concern once again crossing his face. "I know it is. It's uncomfortable, but we can't help you if you don't at least try to talk through it." He relaxed his shoulders and rested back against his bench. "Do you feel ashamed when you bring up your experience? As though others will judge you for what you went through?"

Betty nodded. "Yeah, I do. But I-," Betty stopped, a pit growing in her stomach. She bit her lip and suddenly felt restless there on the bench.

Dr. Glass angled his head, looking at her. "But?" he pushed gently.

"But-," her head dropped again and she began to shiver. She reached for her coat but just ended up tugging at her sling. "I think there's more to it. I'm afraid that if I tell my friends I'll just hurt them more than I already have."

"What makes you think that?" Dr. Glass asked in a soft voice, leaning forward toward her again.

Betty stared slightly past him. "Because of what Edgar said."

Dr. Glass crinkled his forehead. "And what was that?"

She didn't answer.

"Betty?"

She turned away, trying to hide the lip that had begun to quiver. She hiccupped, her breath getting caught in her throat as she tried to control it. She squeezed her cup of coffee as more emotion than she had anticipated rose to the surface.

Polly's stare from across the hall, the sterile pictures of the cabin, Charles & Agent Lance's pitying faces – everything she was holding in suddenly bubbled up.

"Hey, it's okay." Dr. Glass waved his hand, leaning back, no doubt reading her body language. "You don't have to tell me if you're not ready. It looks like you've already pushed yourself today and I know you still have more to go."

Betty lifted her head. He was sitting quietly across from her, an earnest smile on his face. "Come on," he said, getting to his feet. "How about we go inside and warm up?"

Betty tapped the side of her coffee cup, letting her grip slacken around the cardboard holder. Taking in a few deep breaths first, she got up and joined him. They began the walk back toward the entrance to the lobby, the concrete walkways now sporting a bit more life as employees made their way across the courtyard.

The two walked silently for a few minutes, Betty watching the evergreens scattered around the courtyard sway in the cold breeze.

"Did you know that when I first opened up my practice in Riverdale, I came to work to an empty office building most days?" Dr. Glass recounted, breaking the silent walk. He folded his hands behind his back, slowing his pace. "We hardly had any clients. I could barely afford to pay my staff."

A reflective look crossed Dr. Glass' face. "And then one day I get a call from someone sounding hesitant about therapy but wanting to try. And then another call came and another until eventually, I had to hire more practitioners to keep up with everyone wanting an appointment." He stuck his hands in his pockets before looking down at Betty. "Do you know why everything started changing?"

Betty shook her head.

Dr. Glass looked down at her with an air of pride. "You."

Betty swung her head at him, her eyes widening. "What?"

"The slew of new clients all started coming in after the night of the Jubilee," Dr. Glass smiled. "So many told me about this speech one of the high school students had given, about doing better. About finding a way to change." He stopped and turned to her. "Now I know your father skewed your speech to justify his crimes, but I can confidently say that a lot of others took your words seriously."

Betty stopped as the counselor did, taking in that new information. She had no idea. She had only seen the bad, the ugly come out of that night.

"Whatever Edgar said to you, whatever he made you believe – there's another side. There are people like myself, like your brother – like your friends-," Dr. Glass began walking again as he talked, Betty matching step next to him, "-that will help you see the other side."

They reached the door to the front lobby and Dr. Glass once again paused, one hand on the door handle.

"You've been helping people find their voice again for far longer than you know, Betty. I know it's hard, but try to let others do the same for you now."

He pushed the door open and stepped inside, holding it open for Betty. She felt a blast of warm air rush at her as she stood in the open frame, trying to wrap her mind around what Dr. Glass had just revealed.

She recalled what she had professed to Edgar as he was being dragged away that last night, how the voices of those around her would eventually overtake his.

The warmth continued to roll out of the building like a soft blanket being laid over her, the heat now inviting rather than suffocating. She stepped inside, following Dr. Glass.

If others could believe in her words then perhaps she should start believing in them too.

---

FP pushed the inundated shopping cart as fast as he could, trying to keep up with Alice's swift pace. The woman was on a mission, shopping as though she were on one of those late-night game shows he'd fallen asleep to before.

He knew of the expression 'shop til you drop' but FP really didn't think Alice would take that literally. Perhaps she was eager to get home now as well, just as he had been on the way back from the police station, realizing how little time they had taken for themselves lately.

Alice swerved into the beverage aisle and FP grunted as he pushed the cart around the tight turn. As Alice continued down the aisle, her eyes on the crossed-out and written-over list in her hand, FP felt his pocket vibrate.

"Hey, Charles," FP answered, putting the phone to his ear while trying to steady the cart. He noticed Alice turn back toward him, slowing her gait.

"Hey, FP. Just wanted to let you know we're about to wrap up for the day. Betty's been doing good. We've got another full day tomorrow but I think that's all we'll need and we'll be back on Monday."

"That's great!" FP chimed, stopping the cart as Alice stopped in front of him. "Do you think Dr. Glass helped?" Alice was now perusing the shelf of coffee and tea packets next to where he had the cart parked.

"Yeah, I think so." Charles sounded enthusiastic. "There was definitely a turnaround since this morning."

FP couldn't help but feel a prick of encouragement at that. "Glad to hear it, Charles. Do you need anything else from me or Alice?"

FP stared down at the items in the cart as he listened to the rest of Charles' call. He nodded, "Okay, thanks for calling. Text me tomorrow. Bye."

He slipped the phone back in his pocket and looked up, finding Alice standing directly beside him.

"Is everything alright? How's Betty?" Her questions were rushed, the small shake in her hands just barely visible against the paper clutched in her hand.

FP gave her a soft smile, placing his hands on her shoulders. "She's doing good. They're done for the day."

"Did Charles say when they'd be back?"

"Monday." FP moved around the cart, standing in front of the racks of packaging, decidedly grabbing a packet of hot chocolate mix for JB. "They'll continue tomorrow but that should be all."

Alice clasped her hands together, straightening up as she raised her chin. "Good," she said, clearing her throat before turning back to the shelves. FP threw the pack of cocoa into the cart and turned back, watching out of the corner of his eye as Alice absently scanned the teas. FP did the same.

"Who's Dr. Glass?" Alice staunchly asked after an awkward moment of silence.

"Betty's therapist," FP replied, still scanning the shelves. He paused, realizing a moment too late how that wouldn't be a casual answer to her.

He looked over and this time Alice's figure seemed to have deflated, a frown fixed at FP. "She's going to therapy?" Her voice matched her stance.

"Oh geez," FP muttered more to himself than anyone, turning his frame toward Alice. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize she hadn't-, no one had told you yet."

"How long?"

FP faltered, placing his hands on his hips. "A few weeks after The Farm left."

He watched her suck in a deep breath and turn away, back to looking at the shelves of tea boxes. She reached forward, grabbing a white box with a nature scene on the front.

"Wait," FP said gently, stopping her hand before she could place the box in the cart, instead reaching forward and grabbing a smaller purple package from the same row. "This one is her favorite."

Alice stared at the box as FP tossed it, the package bouncing on top of the other groceries before settling. She remained still, blinking down at the full cart. Then a sob escaped her lips and she smacked her hands down on the side of the cart.

"I thought I was doing the right thing, FP!" Her words came rushing out. FP held an arm out but kept at bay. "Leaving, sticking with Polly. But there are so many things I missed! I don't know my own kid anymore, FP. God, I couldn't even remember what tea she likes."

Alice sank against the shelves, coming to rest on the floor. She sniffled and looked up at FP, black streaks of mascara running down her cheeks. "I'm a bad mother."

FP sank down next to Alice, cradling her shoulder in his hand. "No, Alice, you're not," he encouraged gently. "You were just doing what you thought best. You had to make a snap decision."

"But all my decisions only seem to hurt my kids more. Look at them-," she flapped her hand. "All three of them got involved with Edgar." She looked at FP through the mess of hair hanging in front of her face. "But look at what you've done."

FP leaned back, a heavy sigh in his throat. She had said that in a near air of reverence.

"Jughead didn't want to be around you but you cleaned up for him," she continued a bit breathlessly. "I mean look at you, you went from being a Serpent to being the sheriff of this goddamn town."

FP brought a knee up, laying his arm across it as he stared at the ground. "Except I'm not," he admitted quietly.

Alice whipped her head around. "What?"

FP took a deep breath, turning to face her. "This morning I had a meeting with the board to review my position after what happened." He stuck his tongue in his cheek. "Before they could vote I asked to suspend myself."

Alice titled her head. "Why would you do that?"

FP put his hands on the cold floor, pushing himself up against the racks behind him, a lump in his throat as he answered. "During the time Betty was missing, I had a late shift one night, on Halloween." He crossed his arms, tucking them up against his chest. "While I was on patrol a car pulled out in front of me from the park. At first, I assumed it was just some teens messing around," he sniffed, the lump in his throat growing.

"But then the next morning we found evidence that both Betty and Edgar had been there, and now I…" The lump in FP's throat turned into a cough and he took the opportunity to shift his position. "I just keep thinking about who was probably actually in that car that night. How I could have stopped everything right then and there but I didn't because I wasn't paying attention."

FP turned back to Alice, both their eyes now a glistening mess. "You're not the only one who feels guilty about things."

Alice breathed in deeply as she closed her eyes. "Oh, FP," she rasped, a box of green tea stirring on the shelf behind her as she leaned back. "You'd think we would have figured it out by now after all these years. Parenting."

FP snorted, a cutting smile crossing his face. "I feel like I'm only beginning to know what it means."

Alice gave a sad splutter back and FP looked up at the cart. "Here-," he reached up, pulling a package of cookies from the cart, ripping it open. He offered it to Alice, who squeaked out a laugh and took one.

A smile edged at the corner of FP's mouth and pulled out a cookie for himself. He glanced down the aisle, catching the eye of a store attendant who had stopped breaking down boxes to stare at the two adults on the floor.

"We're paying for 'em, don't worry," FP said through a mouthful of cookie. "Just mind your own business, okay?"

The attendant nodded and hastily scrambled out of the aisle, leaving his dolly of cardboard boxes behind. FP and Alice each grabbed another cookie, banging them together as though giving a toast.

"Here's to figuring it out."

---

A colorful assortment of Chinese takeout containers sat scattered around the conference room table, half-eaten plates and abandoned chopsticks strewn amongst them. Laughter echoed through the room, accompanied by the spirited excitement that occurs when good stories are told in good company.

Agent Lance was midway through one such story about an old assignment, animatedly using her sauce packets and chopsticks as props for the explanation. Betty was sitting across from her, avidly listening as she dug into a container of sweet & sour chicken, looking far more at ease than earlier in the day.

Charles was working through a bowl of shrimp lo mien, only half-heartedly listening to Hailee's story. He was trying to but his mind kept circling back to everything that he had heard from Betty today.

And he was trying not to panic.

He hadn't seen any of the action in the clearing, he had been back at the school building rounding up Evelyn and the others when Kevin had called FP over the radio and told them about the outpost and cabin, but at only arrived in time for the arrest. Charles had briefly seen Betty be surrounded by the others before he had ushered Edgar out of there. By the time he circled back, Betty had been unconscious on a medical stretcher.

But today he had heard all about what had happened, about the ultimatum Edgar had given, about her fight through the woods – everything.

And not only that night, but the entire month she had been missing. About how little food she had been given, how the fact the cabin had a working fireplace was the only reason she could get warm enough most nights, falling asleep in the front room to stay near the heat.

He tried to grab a piece of shrimp between his chopsticks, but it slipped, falling back into the container.

"Charles." Hailee turned to him enthusiastically, putting a hand over her mouth as she finished chewing. "I'm telling Betty about our Quantico days. Do you remember Clark?"

Charles put a smile on his face. "Do I remember? How could I forget Superman?" He laughed, looking between Betty and Hailee. "Clark was the cheeriest, most can-do guy I've ever met. The last I heard he was on some super-secret international assignment."

"Sure his last name isn't Kent?" Betty chimed in, moving on to an egg roll.

"Oh, look at you," Charles chuffed, putting his food down. "Knowing Superman's real name."

"Everyone knows that." Betty rolled her eyes, looking over at Agent Lance. "But, Archie is a big comic book fan, I read some of the ones he had when we were younger."

Charles smiled and chuckled, withdrawing back into himself as the two women continued talking.

Betty was the one that was truly super, going through what she did. It was so nice seeing her laughing, knowing she still could after everything. He didn't even know about the lost time yet, the trips to Riverdale – they had left that talk for tomorrow.

Which was making him anxious. And he hadn't felt anxious in quite some time. Having a job like his, he had learned how to stay a few degrees removed from his cases. He looked over at Hailee, who was at his moment making sure Betty felt safe and human, observing and monitoring her behavior for insight into her ordeal, while also keeping her distracted and gleaning personal information that would build out the case.

He could never be a Victim Specialist.

Which, now that he was thinking about it, Hailee was right; that name didn't sound very humanizing.

Charles reached across the table and grabbed a box of white rice, gingerly nibbling at it as his thoughts continued to preoccupy him. FP had been right in that having a family member be at the heart of a case was distressing, especially since it still bothered him that Edgar had been right under the FBI's nose multiple times and they hadn't been able to prevent this.

The part that bothered him the most out of everything he had learned though was the drugging. Maybe it was heightened because of his past with addiction, but the thought of Edgar doing that to Betty made his blood boil. While he hoped it wouldn't be a problem, Charles had kept a close eye on her medication intake just in case.

Though he wondered if that had been a good idea, as the stress he was feeling… well, let's just say when he used to feel this way he used to run to a bottle, and not one with alcohol.

But that was in the past and he couldn't let that shake him. He had a job to do, both as an FBI agent and a big brother. So he would keep his composure.

Charles reached into one of the brown paper bags next to him, pulling out a small clear package with a triangular sweet inside.

"Who wants a fortune cookie?"

---

Jughead brought his head up as the door to Dr. Carraway's office creaked open once more, signaling the moment he had been dreading the whole day. Archie pushed his way out of the room and into the hallway, the tip of the same brochure he had seen in Cheryl's bag now sticking out of his hoodie pocket.

Archie plopped back down in the chair next to Veronica, his hand going to her shoulder before he turned his red and puffy eyes to Jughead.

Aw man, not even he got out unscathed.

"Jug, looks like you're finally up," Archie said, his voice sounding a bit dry. "I think it will be good for you, bro."

Jughead glanced down the hall at the water cooler, toward where Agent Kane had disappeared around the corner earlier, and let out a long breath.

"Maybe," he groaned, rising out of his seat, opening the door to Dr. Carraway's office.

He glanced at the counselor, who stared back and smiled at him, then ambled over to the couch, flopping down right in the middle of it, catching a glimpse of the snack cart on the way down.

"Jughead… that's a unique nickname." Dr. Carraway looked up from the file she had in her hand.

"Would you like to be called Forsythe?" Jughead draped an arm over the back of the couch. He grabbed a candy bowl and scooped up a handful of M&M's, popping a few into his mouth as he sank back into the cushions.

"Why Jughead though?"

Jughead tapped on his beanie as he swallowed. "My mom gave me this hat when I was 9. Fit me perfectly then and as you can see I haven't outgrown it."

Dr. Carraway raised an eyebrow. "Are you telling me you've always had a big head?" she asked through a faint smirk.

"That's funny." Jughead rolled his eyes as he shoveled another handful of candy into his mouth. "I just like the hat."

"Do you have a close relationship with your mother, then?"

"Well, considering she skipped town with my sister when I was 10 and just occasionally shows up out of the blue, I'd say it's complicated." Jughead placed the bowl next to him, moving to cross his arms instead. "But I thought we were here to talk about recent events."

"We are." Dr. Carraway shut the file and placed it behind her on the desk. "But I just let the conversation go where it needs to go." She crossed her legs and laced her hands together over a knee.

"Or where you lead it," Jughead chafed, his arms still rigidly over his chest.

Dr. Carraway pursed her lips. "Do you find it hard to trust others, Jughead?"

He balked, "You try growing up in this town and you'll understand why. It's like an Agatha Christie novel here."

Dr. Carraway bobbed her head, her tight curls bouncing with. "So I've heard."

"There seems to always be a monster around every corner," Jughead continued, his foot tapping on the carpet. "It's thirst for blood never quenched."

"Interesting terms," Dr. Carraway scrunched her brow together. "Mystery novels and monsters. Do you write?"

Jughead nodded, another handful of M&M's disappearing. "Yeah. Helps me focus. Helps me see things from a new perspective."

Dr. Carraway titled her head. "From your perspective? Do you tend to write in first person?"

Jughead paused a hand that was halfway to his mouth, slowly dropping the candy back into the bowl. "Oh no, I see what you're doing. Using my own creative work to analyze me, tell me I have a hero complex or something."

She arched an eyebrow. "Do you?"

"How about we talk about last week."

Jughead crossed his legs and stretched his arms across the back of the couch, settling himself into the soft fabric. He threw Dr. Carraway an impatient stare.

She tapped a finger on top of her knee, staring right back at Jughead. "Okay. Let's talk about last week." There was still softness in her firm tone. "As I understand, Betty is your girlfriend, correct?" He nodded. "Has this been hard for you? Having her go missing but then also seeing what you did during Edgar's arrest?"

Jughead sucked his lip, debating what it is he should say. "I will say that this is not the first time she – or any of us – have been in danger. I won't even say this is the first time one of us has had to face something alone-," he puffed out his cheeks, tilting his head, "or in Canada for that matter."

"But this-," his foot started tapping again, "-this felt different. We've had to play a lot of sick games over the years, been the targets of vendettas, of gang wars - but never have I felt so powerless."

Jughead looked up, ending with his arms back crossed over his chest. Dr. Carraway remained staring at him, her maternal eyes digging into him.

"I know your father let you help out with the investigative side of things, as did Agent Smith. Did that help?"

Jughead scoffed, rubbing a hand across his face. "Help? I practically had to solve this for the police and the FBI." He raised his hands. "No offense to my dad, but Betty and I have solved most of the mysteries in this town."

"That's great, Jughead, but I meant did it help you? Did this help you find something to focus on, something to help channel your stress into?"

"Are you trying to say that my investigating is just a coping method?"

"No. Are you?" Dr. Carraway raised an eyebrow but smiled at him.

Jughead grunted, reaching back for the candy. He remained silent.

Dr. Carraway leaned back, the smile on her face flattening. "Why are you fighting me, Jughead? Do you like having an enemy?"

"Like?" Jughead balked, throwing an arm over the couch again. "Are you kidding me? Having enemies has almost gotten me killed. And my friends and family! Why would I like having an enemy?"

"Maybe 'like' wasn't the right word. It sounds to me it's more along the lines of you -subconsciously or not –end up seeking out an enemy."

"And why would I do that?"

"I don't know," Dr. Carraway shook her head. "You tell me. I know you mentioned about your mother leaving, and what's been going on in town now, but was there a lot of turmoil at home when you were younger?"

Jughead's fingers scraped the bottom of the bowl as he searched for a few more pieces. He sighed, placing the bowl aside. "My dad was a gang leader and a drunk and I had a mom that deserted me and I was left on my own to wonder why."

Woah. He hadn't meant for that last part to slip out. Jughead felt a bit of heat flush to his face.

"Children with unstable home lives often question why everything around them seems to be falling apart. They want a narrative to hold onto, to make some sense out of something senseless. And-," Dr. Carraway put her hands up in concession, "-just my observation, but I feel as though the narrative you attached to was that there was an enemy out to get you and it was your job to figure them out and stop them."

"But there are actual enemies in my life." He leaned forward, getting closer to the counselor, a flash of irritation surging through him. "This isn't fiction!"

"No," Dr. Carraway shook her head in agreeance. "It isn't. All the things that have happened to you are real and valid, but we also all tell ourselves stories, narratives about our lives. If you built a narrative when you were a child about why things were going wrong, you could still be following that narrative unconsciously now. That could even be why you like writing so much. It gives you a sense of control."

Jughead didn't answer right away as his mind was churning. He had begun writing right after his dad had started to pay more attention to the Serpents than to him. Building his own worlds, or at least his own perspectives had made him feel better.

He shook his head.

"So what, I painted my dad as an enemy in my head to make sense of why he was distant and drunk all the time?" He could feel himself growing more uncomfortable. "He may not have always been the best dad, but he wasn't my enemy."

"Maybe not, but you latched onto the idea that there was one in your life and that's why things were going wrong. So you had to invent yourself as something too within that narrative. A lone 'agent of truth' against the world is compelling. Maybe it was from reading all those mystery books. They always had something to fight against – to solve – that directly related to their problems. So you figuring the same; find something to fight, and your inner problems would be solved. And then when real ones did come along, like Betty's abductor, in this case, you had to solve it."

"Of course I had to solve this! Betty was kidnapped!" Jughead sprang up from the couch. "I had to bring her back! I couldn't just leave her." It felt like someone had just turned the heat up in the room and he stripped his jacket, throwing it against the couch cushions.

"But you aren't the police or the FBI, Jughead. It wasn't your job to solve this."

"Like I said before – no offense to my dad - but the authorities don't have the best track record here. They miss too many details."

"But you don't." Dr. Carraway shifted around in her chair, relaxing against the back. "So you put yourself in danger to bring her back yourself."

"I had to." His voice suddenly cracked, his legs feeling weak. "I couldn't protect her from being taken, so I had to go."

Jughead didn't make eye contact with her as he confessed it, flopping back onto the couch. He took a large breath, rolling his tongue in his cheek. He didn't know he could feel so disarmed aside from with Betty or his dad.

"Jughead?"

"I still couldn't protect her." He felt his voice grow smaller as the realization came tumbling out of his mouth, his caution with the counselor forgotten. "The cabin was empty, I thought it was over. Seeing that – seeing where she had been trapped the last few weeks-," he shook his head again as though trying to dislodge an image. "It leaves too much to the imagination, you know? She hasn't said much about it."

He wiped his nose, looking down at his shoes. "And then we finally got to her and I was so relieved that she was still alive that I didn't even notice Edgar with a gun. And I couldn't protect her again. And I still can't because now she has to live with those memories, and she knows it."

He looked up to find Dr. Carraway holding a tissue box out to him. He looked at it for a moment, then slowly grabbed one.

"I mean I practically haven't left her side since she got back. I've been checking my phone incessantly all day for a text," he groused, growing embarrassed saying it out loud.

"So maybe I do." He bobbed his head. "Maybe I do still look for enemies because that's easier than facing the fact that most of the time I'm my own worst enemy. But isn't that what we do? Make a purpose out of our pain or some other cliche you would find on an inspirational poster? I solve other people's problems because I couldn't solve my own. And look where that's gotten me."

Dr. Carraway laid the tissue box on the desk beside her and turned to Jughead, a soft smile across her lips.

"Was that hard?"

Jughead had resumed leaning into the back of the couch, his arms crossed, but he looked up, knitting his eyebrows together.

"Opening up like that?"

"Yeah, well, I decided you weren't my enemy," he muttered.

"No, and I understand the hesitancy, but I'm proud of you, Jughead. We really are just trying to help and we can't do that if you don't face what's going on inside of you."

"But now what?" Jughead asked.

"Well for one, keep writing - it's an excellent way to get things out of your head. Observe the language you're using, and that includes the language you use describing yourself. You do have the power to write a different story, Jughead. You have the power to heal and look for yourself instead of looking for enemies."

Jughead straightened up and adjusted his beanie. "And what about Betty? How can I help her?"

Dr. Carraway folded her hands in her lap, respect in her eyes. "For starters, acknowledge the fact that she doesn't need protecting, she needs support. It sounds like it's been hard for her to open up about her experience too, but let her do it in her own time. Help reinforce a sense of normalcy again for her."

"I think all of us need help there. Normal hasn't exactly been in our vocabulary for a while," Jughead remarked. "But I'll try my best."

Dr. Carraway nodded. "And that's all any of us can do. Try our best."

---

Jughead walked out of the room quietly, slowly turning the doorknob shut behind him. Archie and Veronica rose from their chairs to meet him as he faced the waiting area.

"Intense, wasn't it?" Archie asked, sticking his hands in his pockets, trying but failing to mask his own lingering discomfort with a reassuring grin.

"Something like that," Jughead responded half-heartedly. He looked around the hall, realizing that the three of them were the only ones left. Kevin, Cheryl, and Toni must have left while he was in his session. "You didn't need to wait for me."

"No, but we wanted to." Archie shrugged as he pulled out his car keys, Veronica nodding next to him. "Hey, I know I'm grounded," he began, looking between Veronica and Jughead, "but do you guys maybe want to hang out? I could probably convince my mom to let us have a movie night or something if it's at our house."

"Now that sounds like a good way to spend a Saturday," Veronica said, wrapping her hand over Archie's shoulder.

"I'll ask my dad, but count me in." Jughead nodded, his eye catching Kane passing by down the hall.

"You okay?" Archie asked, following Jughead's gaze.

"Yeah, I'm good." Jughead began walking down the hall. "I just need to talk to Kane real quick." He continued down the hall but stopped and turned back toward his friends. "Thanks for waiting up."

Archie and Veronica looked at each other and nodded back. "No problem, man. We'll see you later?"

"Yeah." Jughead nodded. "You will."

xxx

Jughead knocked on the half-open office door, quietly pushing it open as he did. Agent Kane looked up from the paperwork he was working on.

"Heading out, Mr. Jones?"

"Just about to," Jughead said, leaning in the open doorway. "I just wanted to apologize for earlier. I didn't mean to dredge that up for you." He rocked on his heels. "I also wanted to say thank you."

Agent Kane put down the pen he was holding, a confused look crossing his face.

Jughead took a breath and stepped further into the room. "Earlier, when you were telling us about the hostage story, it made me think about something." He walked over to the cloudy window, the fading afternoon light trying to fight its way through. "Up in Cornwall, in the clearing before you and everyone else arrived… it- it was terrible."

He curled his hands around the window sill as he leaned up against it. "Edgar was spouting his maniacal garbage while we were all frozen in place. And through all this, he had a gun to Betty's head, but for some reason, that's not what bothered me the most."

"No," he shook his head, his knuckles tightening as he recalled the memory. "The hardest part for me, what stuck out to me that night was how he covered her mouth. He was rambling on about giving her a choice but that was just a big lie." Jughead looked at Kane, his eyes murky. "He took away her voice."

He reached into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet, and thumbed inside of it. "And thinking of that I realized why you wanted me to take today so seriously."

Jughead pulled out a worn photograph from one of the slots. "I know you said you keep pictures of the ones who didn't make it, and I'm not saying you shouldn't, but I think maybe you should remind yourself of the ones you did save."

Agent Kane took the small photo from Jughead, looking down to find a picture of a smiling Betty.

"Thank you, sir. For making sure she still has a voice. And for giving those who never made it home a voice."

Agent Kane sat silently, cradling the picture in his hand. "You're welcome. And you don't need to call me sir."

Jughead frowned, raising an eyebrow.

Kane slid the photo of Betty into his wallet, into a slot just below one that looked entirely worn and far too stuffed. "Agent K will suffice."

Jughead stood quietly for a moment, the ghost of a smile curling at the edge of his mouth. He turned, sliding his hands into his pockets as he started to head back to his friends in the lobby, but paused.

"What was her name?" he asked, briefly turning back to Agent Kane. "The girl in the story?"

Kane tapped a finger against his now-closed wallet. "Hayden."

Jughead nodded solemnly. "Well, I can't directly speak for her, but I feel as though she would appreciate knowing that you take your job so seriously." He left Kane with a sincere smile and turned around.

"Jughead."

Agent Kane's voice stopped him once more and he turned back again, wondering what wise words he would be left with now.

Kane had stood up, looking at his wallet again. "When you see Agent Smith next, tell him I need to make good on a bet."

Jughead shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned back on his heels, a surprised wheeze escaping his lips. "Yeah, you do. And I will."

With a content huff, Jughead turned and strolled out of Kane's office, closing the door behind him.

---

Normal is one of those words where no one truly knows what it means. A stand-in for a standard. Chaos had been our normal. Pain, loss, mistrust – all things that we considered normal as we uncovered the seemingly endless layers of the town, a town that on the surface so easily felt as though it had lost its heart.

But while digging, as discovered by the residents of the town, who were uncovering layers of their own, found that perhaps the heart wasn't lost, just hidden. Buried under walls built up by the very things that they had sworn to tear down.

So maybe normal is when the dust and debris from the toppled walls start to settle, a new story waiting on the other side.

For some of us, the new looked a lot like the old.

Jughead was camped out in the Andrews' leather armchair, his phone almost in the popcorn bowl that sat on his lap as he held it in one hand, shoveling the snack into his mouth with the other.

Archie and Veronica sat together on the couch, Vegas sprawled across them like a furry blanket in the darkened room. The flashing colors of the TV illuminated the friends bunched together, awake and alive as though it was happy to see them indulging in a night of pure relaxation.

Jughead, though a bit uneasy from what shook loose that day, only imagining the others felt the same, also felt content.

Archie and Veronica laughed at something from the movie, accidentally startling the dog on their laps, causing the couple to laugh even harder. Jughead grabbed another handful of popcorn, smiling at the texts that were finally appearing on his phone.

For others, it was in the form of new beginnings, of paths not yet taken.

FP and Alice sat around the kitchen island, a plate of cheese and crackers in front of them, next to it the empty sleeves of an opened package of cookies. Alice clutched at the glass of wine in her hand, trying not to let it spill as she burst out laughing at a joke, FP smiling wide in return.

And those paths are no longer walked alone.

Cheryl sat on the edge of her bed, a family photo in her grasp. The picture blurred as her vision was overtaken by tears, a sob escaping her lips.

She felt a presence next to her and turned to find Toni sitting beside her, slowly pulling the photo away. Cheryl stared at her for a moment then pushed her head into Toni's shoulder, letting the tears flow freely as the two wrapped their arms around each other.

Figuring out a new story sometimes meant looking at ones already written.

Kevin knelt on the floor of the living room, rifling through a case of DVDs and VHS tapes. He pulled a few out, looking at the titles before ultimately putting them back.

He reached into the bottom of the trunk, tugging out a worn and slightly tattered VHS, a smile forming on his face as he looked at the three figures dancing in the rain on the cover. He turned over his shoulder, holding up the tape to his dad, who sat on the couch behind him.

Tom nodded and smiled. Kevin popped the tape into the player before settling onto the couch next to his dad, color and song flowing out of the TV toward them.

But for others, however, normal was still a bit too far away. The walls were cracked and coming down, but for now too high to be fully okay, but they pushed through, trying their best not to show it.

Betty laid on the bed that had been set up for her in one of the private rooms at the field office, grinning as she typed out a response to Jughead's text, knowing she only had a few more minutes left with Charles' phone.

As though taking that thought as his cue, Charles knocked on the door, poking his head into the room.

"How are we doing in here? Is the room alright?" he asked, standing in the doorframe.

Betty straightened up, pushing up against the wall. "It beats a hospital room any day."

"Good."

"Do you need your phone back?" Betty asked, looking down at the screen. "Let me let Jug know and tell him goodnight."

"It's okay I don't need it right this second. I'll give you a few more minutes." Charles raised a hand. "I just came to make sure you were all good for the night. See if you needed anything else. I know today's been hard."

Betty gave him a small smile. "I think I'm okay, Charles, but thank you."

"Okay, well if you need anything I'll be right down the hall at my desk for a bit. I'll come back in ten for my phone."

"Thanks." Betty pulled the blanket she was under up higher before looking back at him. "I'm glad you're here. You've made this easier."

Charles grinned at the remark, nodding his response as he slowly closed the door behind him. He stood with his back against the door, staring out into the dim expanse of desks and hallways. He looked down and took his shaking hand out of his pocket, staring at the small pill bottle he had tucked there, and let out an uneasy exhale.

Whether normal was a myth or just simply a misnomer, one thing was certain; it was worth it to find, for finding your normal meant finding yourself.

---

A/N:

And there we have it! Another chapter finally!

More to come hopefully, and hopefully, there's not another year between chapters. I'm trying to get my groove back.

Anyway, please review and let me know what you think! I always love reading your thoughts and it helps me keep going!