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.)

26. Chapter 24: Press, Lies, and Audio Tapes

Hello everyone!

New chapter time!

Unsurprisingly, I know I've been gone for a few months again, but spring is the absolute busiest time of year for me with work, so I have not had a lot of time to do anything besides work. But popping in with a new chapter!

Happy Easter to those that celebrate (or hopefully get an extra day off of school or work!) I do not, but the weather has luckily been gorgeous around me, so it feels like a day off.

Boris Yeltsin, thank you, as always, for continuing to read along! And thank you, as always, for the kind words!

LukeSkywalker2567, love the Batman connection you pulled out! That's always a good one. These past Batman movie was really well done in my opinion. And thank you for continuing to read along! I hope you enjoy this one!

ButtonMashr, Yes, my many non-breather chapters coming into play now. Thank you for the kind words as always, and I always love seeing what you pull out! I love the tool metaphor between Archie and Betty as well, I think it works so well for them. I think it's a good idea to keep an eye on Donnie, probably some good instincts there. FP did come back! He doesn't back down easily, even when he feels he is out of his comfort zone, or when even he is still doubting in himself. Everyone needed a bit of a pick-me-up in this one. I hope you enjoy this one!

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this new chapter, and, as always, thank you so much for continuing to read and putting up with my very inconsistent posting!

---

Chapter 24: Press, Lies, and Audio Tapes

Dec. 14th, 2019

One month.

I've been back for one month after being gone for one month.

That's a period of time I typically would never give so much thought toward. Maybe in anticipation of a birthday or a vacation, or maybe the end of a school year. Time can stretch or shrink however our feelings dictate, I've learned, changing in an instant. Life changing in an instant.

One instant turning into one night. And one night into one month.

One month gone but a lifetime to come back from.

The vent next to the bed quivered as the heat whirred to life, flowing gradually into the room. Betty looked up from her journal at the noise, giving a quick shiver as the warmth reached her. She twirled a pen around in her hand, staring out the window that overlooked the snowy front lawn.

I'm not going to forget the cold and dark of those nights anytime soon. Even in my own room, I feel like I'm still there sometimes. And it's not like I'm allowed to forget them with the trial coming but, even then-, the echoes, the imprints of that month – the ink has dried and set on those pages of my story now.

Her mouth twisted as she stared down at the page.

I know that any good story has its ordeals; it's dark nights and caves before there can be a return to the normal world.

But those are books. Those are movies. In real life you don't get the privilege of seeing the patterns telegraphed, leading you through the narrative. And you especially don't get to know how things end. There's no last page to flip to, to find out if everything turns out all right.

No, when I flip the page now, the same words, the same images, play behind my eyes. The sting of the needles and the rough of that hood. I can still hear the water dripping in the basement of the Wyrm sometimes, just a phantom sound. And the chill of that gun-,

Her fingers twitched, an accidental line of ink smearing down the lined page.

-and not just in the basement, but in the woods.

I honestly thought that was going to be it.

Saved from one harrowing experience in a clearing with my friends just to die in another. Just like that water droplet, that gunshot-that-never-was still rings in my head.

One infinitesimal moment becoming the backdrop of my life.

Betty hesitated and lifted the pen, inhaling slowly. Then promptly crossed that line out.

That's Edgar's language. I don't want it in my head anymore. I don't want his words telling my story.

A soft knock sounded behind her and Betty turned over her shoulder. Jughead was standing in the open doorway to the bedroom, her coat in his hands. "You almost ready?"

Betty stared at him for a moment, then turned back to her journal, her gaze lingering on the written words, scanning the scrawl before slowly shutting it. She swung her legs off the bed and deposited the journal into the drawer of her nightstand.

Joining Jughead in the doorway, she took the coat out of his arms. "Yeah, let's go."

---

"This is bad. We knew this was going to be a fight, but this is bad."

Charles watched Kane pull away from the spread of newspapers and magazine articles and trudge across the crowded FBI office, pacing between the stacks of file boxes and desks.

"I hate to admit it, but I underestimated him," Mary regretfully stated, her eyes still on a recent copy of the New York Times. "Given the nature of the trial - and his nature in general - I would have thought for sure his defense counsel would have advised him to lay low and stay out of the press."

A guttural snort came from the corner as Alice stomped into the middle of the room, her arms crossed. "Laying low is all he's been doing for years. Now that he got caught, he's trying to sucker the public into a sob story." She dragged one of the metal chairs out from underneath the desk with a bit more force than necessary, its legs scraping along the hard floor. "See, this is why I wanted to have Betty tell her story first, to get out ahead of this."

Charles cleared his throat. "And we already agreed that the way you were going about it was wrong," he added resignedly, his fingers rubbing the bridge of his nose as he shot a sharp look at his mother.

The room had been ping-ponging back and forth like this for the better part of an hour ever since the stories had been brought to their attention. And what stories they were: POV pieces that read like sympathetic pleas from an innocent man wrongfully accused. Charles tapped on the nearest newspaper. "A pioneer in groundbreaking medicinal and curative practices, framed and misunderstood," it read.

He crumpled it in his hand.

Betty needed to become a journalist, like, right now. Run these wanton writers and their inflated egos right out of their cubicles.

"Maybe at this point, we should reconsider that option," Sierra posed cautiously, her eyes glancing between Alice and the FBI agents. "Whether we like it or not, we all know that court cases can be affected by public opinion."

"Yeah, by way of a tainted jury before the trial even starts," Alice scoffed through a shamed tenor, leaning her hands on the back of the chair.

"As your daughter herself rightfully reminded you." Agent Kane's gruff voice carried through the room, effectively silencing everyone else.

His supervisor was a habitually uptight kind of guy, but Charles noticed that he was even more irritable than normal.

He glanced down at the crushed newspaper. Then felt what he kept in his pocket.

Yeah, yeah. Pot, kettle, black, yada, yada. Never mind, this was stressful.

Kane closed his eyes and let out an abrupt breath. "Sorry." He raised his hands off his hips, looking around the room. "Everyone here has a point. We didn't throw the media a bone about a high-profile arrest and Edgar's team is exploiting that. And now the so-called 'rumblings' we've been hearing have turned into-,"

"-giant, crashing waves?" Charles offered, a crooked smile on his face. Which soon fell once he saw what was on Kane's.

Okay, not a time for levity.

Charles cleared his throat and straightened up. "Sorry, sir. Continue." He leaned back against the wall as Kane did, in fact, continue.

"All of this is spreading too fast. We know that Edgar is beyond tricky and evidently still has sympathizers out there. Now, I know that the evidence we have is strong, but we shouldn't take that for granted." He slowly crossed his arms. "Maybe a sympathetic play of our own wouldn't hurt." He turned his head expectantly toward Alice. "Perhaps at this point, now that there's been some time since her return home, Betty would be willing to share her side of the story."

Alice adjusted her stance as all eyes turned to her. She let out another scoff as her arms dropped to her sides. "I don't think I should be the one to ask her this time."

"Not that you exactly did the first time," Charles said under his breath, his eyes going to the floor as he bounced on his toes. When he glanced back up, Mary and Sierra were trying to conceal smirks while Alice and Kane were sending him daggers.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Charles raised his hands in concession and backed up. "I'm going to shut up and be in this corner now."

Kane held eye contact for a moment, then shook his head and turned back to the room. "Alice, let's all talk to her. I know it's sensitive, but I don't want the public to only see Edgar in the news. The survivors are the voices that need to be heard."

Alice's passed her gaze around the room, her eyes beginning to soften. Mary and Sierra were giving her supportive looks.

Mary stepped forward, placing a hand on Alice's shoulder. "There's already mention of all of our kids in these papers," she said softly. "The media blackout is causing everyone to grab onto whatever details they can, and you know it's only going to get worse. Especially if Edgar thinks he can get away with it."

Sierra nodded in accordance and added, "I know that we've been staving off the press for weeks, but Josie said this stuff is all over the city-," she waved her hand over the magazines and papers, "and that reporters were trying to prod her for information under the guise of covering her tour. We know they've been sniffing around here, so maybe it's time. We can make sure that we follow all the protocols and don't do anything to hurt Betty's chances in trial."

Alice looked between the two of them and sighed. "Okay, okay. We probably should try again."

Charles' eyes wandered past the three women as they continued their conversation and landed on Kane, who forcefully cocked his head and spun out of the office. Charles crinkled his brow and cast a final glance at Alice before slipping out into the hallway.

He rounded the corner, adjusting his suit jacket as he walked into the small, windowed alcove where Kane was standing. "What's wrong?"

Agent Kane just glared at him, his hands on his hips.

"Yes, that was a rhetorical question, sir." Charles clapped his hand over a fist, slowly bobbing his head. "But I mean, you seem more agitated than usual. What's up?"

Kane lowered his head, swallowing as he dug one foot into the floor. "That blank passport you found the other day. I don't like it." His voice was in a whisper despite it being just the two of them in the hall. "There are two things I can think of that it could be and neither of them makes me feel good."

Charles swallowed, and his voice was low as he said, "You think it could have been planted, too?"

Kane gave Charles a serious look. "He's either sending us down a rabbit hole chasing an empty lead or he's hurting another person and taunting us." He rubbed his face, his hand covering his mouth. "The news circuits aren't the only game he's playing, nor is it the only front he's playing on." He began to pace back and forth. "The petition to appeal… these appearances-," he flung his hand out, indicating back toward the office. He stopped, his back to Charles. "We need more evidence."

Charles felt his face fall into a frown. "We literally caught him red-handed! We've got DNA, a ton of witnesses…" He suddenly found himself sounding exasperated. "You just said what we had was strong."

"We just need to cover all our bases - everything we can." Kane whirled around toward him. He lifted his hand up, his mouth open, as though he wanted to say more before his hand curled into a fist and he dropped it. "I don't like games, Charles."

His voice was low and, if Charles wasn't mistaken, scared. He stepped forward, coming up to Kane. "I know, but we're going to put him away. We've been on this case for too long not to."

Kane slowly nodded and then looked at Charles. "And what about you?"

"What do you mean?" Charles asked, a bit confused.

"I know you're not okay, either. This is your family we're talking about. And I saw what that one newscast said." Kane straightened up. "Do I need to get in touch with your old sponsor?"

Charles' eyes widened, perking up as he stepped back from Agent Kane. "Respectfully, sir, I'm fine. I'm… I'm okay."

Kane narrowed his eyes and Charles could see that he was trying to read his face. The SSA took a quick glance at Charles' hands, then back up and out into the hall. He leaned up against the windowsill. "You know you can talk to me, Charles. I've known you since you were just a cadet."

Charles leaned down as well, facing out the window, his reflection staring back at him as the two agents stood in opposite directions. "I know, Quinton. But I'm okay."

Just then, Charles' phone went off, as did Agent Kane's. And by the reverberation of buzzing sounding throughout the hall, the notification had reached the others as well.

He pulled out his phone, his frown freezing in place as he stared down at the open message.

Both he and Kane rose from their positions and the two looked at each other.

"What do we do now?" Charles asked.

Kane drew in a heavy breath. "We go down the rabbit hole."

---

"You're kidding?" Archie lowered his glass, gulping down the last of his drink between thoughts. "You got to sing at Yankee Stadium? That's awesome!"

"It was just the National Anthem, Andrews," Josie chuckled from her place at the table. "But yeah, I did."

"Oh, oh! And tell them what you told me!" Kevin excitedly voiced, making himself larger at the already crowded table. "About you know." He made a suggestive expression with his eyebrows.

"No. No, no, Kev." Josie raised her hands and shook her head as nosy murmurs radiated through the group. "I can't believe you just brought that up."

Veronica held a sly smile on her face as she crossed her arms. "Oh, did Josie McCoy find a boy?" She teased in a melodic tone.

"A backup dancer," Kevin quietly mouthed, his eyes enthusiastic.

"Oh, then yes, we absolutely do need to hear about this," Cheryl cooed, propping her arms up on the table as she leaned forward in anticipation.

A swell of faux-scandalized laughter rippled down the table. Betty smirked, continuing to suck on her straw, her arms folded around her glass. She felt a bump on her shoulder and looked over to see Jughead grinning cheekily at her before digging back into his food.

The teens were bunched together in adjoining booths at the back of the hazy diner, Kevin and Archie leaning across the aisles to connect the two. Josie was only in Riverdale for a few more days before heading back to the city after Christmas, and none of them had gotten a chance to properly catch up yet.

Except for Kevin, clearly.

"Thank you, Kev," Josie griped pointedly, throwing a sharp brow raise at him. "My private life is not something I wanted discussed publicly." She tapped her nails against the table, keeping eye contact with Kevin until he sheepishly turned away. Though a laugh was still hanging on his mouth as he slurped the bottom of his milkshake, the air sucking noisily into the straw as it scraped the glass.

Another round of laughter spread down the table, and as it did, Kevin put his hand over his mouth, his own attempt to hold back his snickering causing him to snort out a stream of milkshake.

Which only caused the laughter to increase.

This time, Betty joined in.

She pushed her own drink aside and leaned into Jughead, stealing one of his fries. She sighed and looked around, catching Josie staring at her. There was a sad curiosity in her eyes, and she seemed to have been waiting for Betty to notice because she looked down at her phone at the same time Betty received a text.

Speaking of private life in the public eye, Betty, I think you need to be aware of what the news circuits are saying in the city.

Why couldn't a hangout ever just be a hangout?

As the laughter and conversation continued around them, Betty wriggled slightly as she typed out a response.

What have you heard?

Betty glanced up and saw Josie typing.

Nothing you would like. Right now all they're getting are statements from Edgar and his legal team. And he's painting himself a martyr.

Her phone vibrated again, and a second message with a link to an article appeared.

Betty didn't even read the headline. She didn't need to. With all his pious talk trying to get her to dismantle any beliefs she had about being a hero, now here he was touting himself as one.

She was really starting to hate that word.

"He's putting himself in the limelight?" Jughead hissed. "That's pretty opposite of his M.O."

Betty flipped her phone, her head snapping up to Jughead. He tried to quickly retract his neck, but it was evident that he had been reading over her shoulder. Betty tilted her head and glared at him, disappointment flooding her eyes.

Jughead scrunched his brow, looking mildly confused before he ultimately ducked his head. The rest of the table had quieted down and now had their eyes on Betty and Josie.

"Yeah, well, he got caught." Betty dropped back against the booth, crossing her arms, reluctantly accepting that the conversation was now public. "He's changing his tactics."

"Which is why you should think about yours," Josie proposed in a voice more gentle than Betty was used to hearing from her. She was always so poised and confident, always with a bit of fire in her voice, even when circumstances weren't ideal.

Betty had always admired that, especially when she had been struggling to find her own confident voice when she was younger.

She also admired when Josie demonstrated that confidence could also mean letting the walls down when necessary.

Her placid tenor continued as she asked her next question: "Have you thought about potentially getting your side of the story out there?"

Betty looked up, and her eyes briefly met Veronica's before turning back to Josie.

"I don't want to see my friends continuing to be slandered in a play for injustice," she ardently continued. "Especially in the national news."

Betty stared for a moment, seeing the sincerity in Josie's eyes. Her arms slackened and she tapped her fingers against the tabletop. "I have, but it's just that the last time I was asked that it-, it didn't go well."

"Understatement," Jughead muttered under his breath, his face growing sour.

Betty cleared her throat emphatically, staring at her boyfriend as she did. He raised a hand, a smirk back on his face despite the rebuke, and grabbed another fry.

"Getting the truth out there-," Josie leaned forward. "That's your thing. Don't you especially want that now?"

A familiar knot was growing in Betty's stomach, and she looked around.

None of her friends knew everything - only pieces - and she didn't want the press to know before them.

But they were getting dragged into all of this too, more than they should.

"I'll think about it," she finally answered, her arms relaxing. Archie and Veronica looked at each other, and she felt Jughead stir beside her. "Really," she emphasized.

Josie nodded supportively, and the rest of the table turned back to their food.

Betty tilted her head. "So you've really been keeping track of everything, haven't you?" She asked Josie with a hint of surprise in her tone.

Josie shrugged. "I left Riverdale for a reason, but I don't want to see the town's name – or my friend's names – continuously be raked through the mud." She paused for a moment, her face falling. "And if I haven't said it before - I'm sorry."

Betty swallowed, nodding slightly. But before she could respond, she was interrupted by erratic buzzing coming from her phone, and she knew that this time it wasn't coming from Josie. She picked it up and glowered, her eyebrows creasing as she looked at the lit-up screen.

"What is it?" Veronica asked.

"It's from your mom," Betty said, dipping her head toward Josie, "and yours-," she turned toward Archie. Then her brow creased further.

"And mine."

---

"Approved." Agent Kane angrily slapped his hand down on the dining room table. "I can't believe the appeal was approved."

Alice massaged her temple, ready for the conversation to end even though it had only just begun. "Meaning?" she reluctantly asked.

"Meaning big trial, big city," Charles expounded mournfully yet belligerently as he paced around the Cooper's kitchen, his arms folded over his chest.

Alice dug a heel into the hardwood floor, a curt grunt on her lips. "Yes, I know that!"

That had come out with more vitriol than she had intended, and she noticed Charles stop his pacing and stare back at her in indignation before ultimately turning away and occupying himself with the contents of the closest cupboard.

Alice closed her eyes and let out a short huff. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap," she apologized, her voice deflating as she leaned against a dining room chair. She didn't think any of them had meant to bring the stress home with them, but this approval had come as a surprise to all of them. And Charles, despite his joking nature in the morning, had grown increasingly – and unusually – distraught over the course of the day.

She drew in a breath and rephrased her question. "I was just trying to ask what this means for us now. What do we do?"

She turned her eyes toward Betty, who, since hearing the news, had been staring silently down at the table, her hands wrapped around the back of her neck, like a teenaged Atlas trying to rub out the weight that had forcefully been put on her shoulders. And the reactions of all the adults in the room couldn't be helping that burden.

Kane seemed to be sharing in a similar thought as his eyes were down on the teen as well. He took a breath and adjusted his tie, stepping closer to the table. "The federal prosecutor that's been working on all of the cult-related crimes will start working with Mary and Sierra now."

He put a hand to his forehead, slicking back his tousled hair. "Maybe that's what should have been happening this whole time, but we were hoping we could keep it small," he stammered half to himself before turning back to Alice. "We'll still be able to section out the charges within the trial, though, so that is good news. Everyone that needs to be in the courtroom for the prosecution will most likely only have to spend a few days in the city as opposed to a few weeks."

Alice clicked her tongue. "Yes. Such good news," she chirped dryly. "What else?"

"We're going to speed up our discovery process. Get everything possible that we might not have found yet." Charles shot a glance toward Kane before coming to stand at the head of the table, placing a box of cookies down in front of him. "That also means we'll need to talk back through your testimony, Betty. If that's okay with you."

He looked hopefully at her but she didn't say anything. Charles slid the package of cookies toward her, but she still didn't move. He threw a troubled expression toward Alice and she gave him her own anxious shrug before slipping into the chair across from her daughter.

"Honey, are you okay?"

Betty just sat there breathing for a moment, then her fingers twitched, the nails tapping against her neck. She stirred, letting out a long sigh.

"You rush into things, thinking you're in control and know what you're doing. But you don't."

Alice furrowed her brow at her daughter's dour statement, casting a confused glance at Charles and Kane. Both had similar expressions.

Another sigh came from Betty as she lowered her arms to the table, finally lifting her head up. Her face was sullen, a fatigued frustration in her eyes. "That was one of the things Edgar said to me." Her fingers moved to tap against the table. "I think he's trying to rush us to see if we trip up. He probably believes that since we arrested him, we think we have all the control. And he's trying to shatter that illusion."

Betty looked between the three adults, the frustration in her eyes replaced by fervor. Kane and Charles traded glances, and Alice felt her throat getting tight, though she wasn't sure if it was from anger or grief at her daughter's words. Those emotions felt too similar these days.

Agent Kane slid into the chair next to Betty. "I don't disagree with you, but we can't risk not moving faster in our discovery process."

"I know," Betty said quietly, grabbing a cookie. "Just be careful. Misdirects are his thing too."

Alice watched the two FBI agents exchange another knowing glance before Kane cautiously continued.

"There is something we can do now to make sure we have some control, Betty. Would you consider-,"

"-talking to the press?" Betty finished his question, and when everyone in the room turned to her in surprise, she added: "Yeah, I was already asked about it once today."

Alice saw Betty's eyes flash cynically in her direction; so quickly that she wasn't sure if Betty had meant for her to see it, or if she even knew she had made that expression at all.

Given their track record, she was surprised her daughter wasn't cracking some snarky quip about Alice being mad that other outlets were getting the scoop on her. Maybe she wanted to, or maybe her mind was just too preoccupied to care. Despite her assertive comments, Betty was looking rather distressed, with her narrowed eyes and hands that were being wrung repeatedly.

Alice frowned and reached across the table, placing a hand on top of Betty's unsteady ones. She swallowed, her throat still tight. "Honey, you don't have to if you don't want to. And I know how that sounds coming from me. But it's up to you."

The motion under Alice's hand stopped as the teen looked down, as though she hadn't been expecting the gesture. Alice watched Betty's face temper, her muscles relaxing as contemplation replaced the distress.

Agent Kane leaned forward, continuing his bid in a more careful tone, the rattled fluster he had brought into the conversation fading. "We have a media liaison at the field office that we can work with if you do decide you want to. We wouldn't include any of the big evidence as we have to protect that for court, and in turn, protect you. We're not asking for any personal details here, just visibility."

Betty sucked on her teeth, her eyes roving over the table in thought, her hand still under Alice's. "You want a sympathy play."

Kane quickly shook his head, holding up a hand. "No. While it could help garner sympathy for the cause, I don't want to play games, here. I just think it would be nice for people to see a picture of strength and survival. Edgar thinks he can still scare you; let's show him he can't."

Betty was quiet again for a moment, then said, "But what if he still does?"

Alice and Kane looked at each other, not even trying to hide their worry now. Kane swallowed and turned back to Betty. "Please think about it."

He rose from the table, slowly smoothing out his jacket as he looked over at Charles, who had grown uncharacteristically quiet. "And we'll try not to rush anything."

Alice watched Charles absently pick apart a cookie, only sending Kane a brief glance in response. Betty was staring at him as well.

Kane briefly cleared his throat, then turned his gaze down to her. "Well, thank you for meeting with us, Betty. I know it wasn't under the best of circumstances, but thank you. Now, if it's alright, I'd like to speak with your mother alone for a bit."

The teen raised her head and passed her gaze between everyone once more before nodding bluntly. "Just the adults. I get it," she exhaled as she got up from the table and headed toward the stairs. She hesitated at the bottom, then briefly turned around. "I'll let you know what I decide."

Then she disappeared up the stairs, Alice watching as she turned the corner, knowing full well that she was taking the world with her as she went.

---

"What are you doing, Quinton? Did you really need to tell her that you're not confident in the evidence?"

"I never said that. I just said that we're looking for more. Besides, Alice, you're the one that asked what was next."

"She's clever, Kane. She knows what 'speeding up the discovery process' means. And why didn't you tell me first? The last I heard, despite the appeal, Mary said everything we had was sound."

"It is! But-, but there's just still too much nagging at me."

"So you have to take that nagging out on my kid?"

The stifled voices drifted up through the house, rounding the corner to the second flight of steps where Betty sat, her arms folded across her knees. She was leaning against the wall right where the posts of the stairs ended, one ear angled to the conversation below.

"No," Kane sighed, his voice still dampened by the distance. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring such a strong reaction to the conversation. I just want to be upfront about what's going on. I didn't mean to freak her out."

Betty closed her eyes, a breath attempting to fill her constricted chest. She rubbed her clammy hands against her jeans, hoping it would put some warmth back into them.

She wasn't afraid of the trial itself; she knew it was coming, and inevitable.

No, she was afraid of everything growing, spinning far out of their control and into the public eye.

And public scrutiny.

And now that fear had her at the top of the stairs, cowering like a little kid listening in on their parents having a fight.

Which wasn't a situation all too unfamiliar, as only a few years ago she had frequently taken refuge in her room instead of the steps while waiting for her own parents to stop their screaming and fighting.

Only then, the scariest thing on her mind had just been a divorce.

Heavy footfalls suddenly sounded below her, and Betty instinctively wiped at her face in a hasty attempt to straighten up as someone turned the corner of the staircase.

They stopped at the landing, hands going into their pockets, and looked up at Betty with a small smirk. "Eavesdropping?"

"No, no." Betty shook her head, shoving a slight smile on her face as she moved to the side. "I would never."

Charles' smirk remained on his face as he lowered himself onto the top step next to her. "Of course not."

Betty turned to look at him. "And what are you doing? Hiding? Don't you need to be down there?"

"Ah, no." Charles shuffled his arms over his knees. "I'm sure they won't even notice I'm gone."

"So you are hiding."

Charles smiled. "I would never."

Betty snickered and noticed that her chest was beginning to relax. She moved her hands back up her legs until they were on her knees and squeezed them.

"You doing okay?" Charles casually asked, turning back toward her as the muffled spat continued below.

"Anxious, but that's nothing new." Betty pulled away from the wall, opting to support her head with a hand instead. "I just want everything to be over."

She glanced at Charles as he nodded. "We're getting there, I promise." He let out a long sigh. "I know it's hard, feeling jerked back and forth and in the middle of everything. The arrest should have been it."

Betty jeered. "He would never have granted us the peace of confessing."

The soft chortle that came from Charles surprised her, considering she hadn't meant that to be taken as funny. "True, but now he's granted us the chance to kick his ass a second time."

He stared, flashing his impish grin at her through the pale, winter light that was streaming in through the landing window. Betty blinked at him for a moment, then let out a raspy laugh, rolling her cheek in her hand.

"Yeah, you know what? I guess that's true."

It didn't really feel true; she didn't exactly see the FBI's failure to find Edgar before her being held captive as 'kicking his ass.' But they did ultimately arrest him, so hey, perspective, right? She was far too tired at this point to rationalize.

Betty chuckled, pushing herself away from the wall as the subdued voices argued below them. "You know, I really envy your optimism sometimes."

If she wanted to take a page out of Charles' book and find a silver lining in this whole mess, it would have to be that she gained a brother - one whom she thought she'd never meet and would only be relegated to one of the broken branches of the family tree that existed in her memory. But thankfully, instead, he was here and real, and one of the reasons she had been able to stay relatively sane the past few months.

"Hope breeds every-now-and-then misery, but-," Charles breathed in a light sigh, "it's gotten me through a lot." One of his fingers was rapidly tapping against his leg, but there was a smile on the edge of his mouth. Betty knew he had his own demons but she hoped that, despite how he found himself back in their lives, he was finding his own comfort in their company.

She shuffled her back against the wall, angling herself as best she could in the tight space toward Charles. "Is your hope telling you that we have a chance at winning this?"

Charles mirrored Betty, leaning against the hallway railing. "It's telling me that we have more than a chance," he brightly stated, "but there is still work to do on our end. We still need to stay vigilant."

Despite that sounding like a canned answer, it did make Betty feel better. "Do you really need me to go back through everything in my testimony?"

"I do." Charles nodded, pulling his knee higher. "But not today. You have a weekend to get back to. I know you're you, but let the adults worry about something for once."

Betty smirked, an eyebrow raising along with the edge of her mouth. "Oh, an adult? Is that what you are?"

Charles let out an exaggerated scoff, reaching into his inside jacket pocket. "See this badge? You don't get this without being an adult." He playfully jabbed at Betty's shoulder, and she pushed him back, a chuckle on both of their lips. "And you know, I should probably get back to doing adult things." He stretched his legs and leaned forward, walking down a few steps. "And you don't need to keep listening to this-," he gestured his hand down as he shoved his badge back into his jacket. "Go do whatever it is the kids are doing these days."

Betty sent him a puckish grin. "Okay, grandpa," she teased, shifting back into the now open space.

Charles lingered silently on the landing for a bit, his hand on the top of the railing post. He stared back up at Betty, a kindness in his also tired eyes. "Really though, you okay?"

Betty kept a faint smile on her face and nodded. "Yeah. I'm okay."

He gently nodded back, then tapped the railing before heading back down into the living room to rejoin the conversation below.

Betty gazed down at the spot where he had just been, feeling the breath in her lungs flowing in and out naturally again. Then she rose to her feet, continuing to the bedroom until she was in front of her nightstand.

She opened the drawer and pulled out her journal, turning the book thoughtfully over in her hands.

Edgar was telling his own stories. He always was.

And now, with his untrustworthy words still in my head, more were beginning to seep out into the public. Breaking that structured silence felt like a deliberate move, considering he preferred working in the shadows rather than the spotlight.

Things were spinning further and further outside of our control despite our best efforts, and more threads were spinning into the already complicated web we had all become entangled in.

But spiders never got caught in their own webs.

So until I could figure out how to trap Edgar in his own lies - his own web - I had to figure out how to keep the others out of it as much as I could.

They didn't need their stories tarnished too.

---

The faint, tinny ringing of a FaceTime call attempting to connect echoed into the dining room, where Mary sat working through a mountain of paperwork. As it rang, she could also hear her son's foot tapping anxiously against the wooden floor of the living room as he waited. Eventually, the line discouragingly beeped for the last time and what she heard next was a disgruntled huff.

The couch creaked, and Vegas let out an annoyed whine before Archie silently marched past Mary toward the kitchen.

"Everything alright, kiddo?" she asked without looking up.

Archie didn't respond but continued on his walk to the kitchen. He opened the fridge and rummaged through the shelves halfheartedly before eventually pulling out a can of soda. Popping it with a cold hiss, he walked back into the dining room and plopped down in a seat across from Mary.

"Still can't get a hold of TJ?"

Archie took a long sip of his drink and shook his head.

"I'm sure he'll reach out when he's ready," she responded, still writing. "When his dad is ready."

Archie just responded with another huff, and the two of them sat silently across from each other.

"Do you think I'm overreacting?"

Mary stopped shuffling her papers and looked up at Archie. His face looked pained.

It had only been a little over a week since TJ had last come to the center, and in turn, had any contact with Archie. In his mind, that probably seemed like an eternity, but in reality, it wasn't really a fair assessment of whatever time and space the family needed from the situation given Mr. Logan's reaction.

But patience had never really been her son's strong suit.

Mary took off her reading glasses and slowly folded her arms together. "You really care about all of the kids at your center. I don't think it's an overreaction to want to make sure they're okay."

Archie grunted and sucked in his cheeks. "Yeah, but with TJ-," he began to object, his can of soda shaking as he accidentally hit the table. "He's too young… he's lost so much already. I want to make sure he's not alone."

A crease formed over Mary's forehead. "Sweetheart, he's not alone. His relationship with his father may not be perfect, but I know Nick cares about him. They're still together."

Archie huffed again and swiped his soda from the table, cradling the can in his hand. Mary tilted her head.

That was an odd reaction.

Mary took a closer look at her son and noticed his eyes had darkened and were down at the floor darting around aimlessly. He was holding onto the can just a bit too tightly, as though he was trying to defend it.

Her mouth suddenly felt dry. She leaned forward, her face falling along with the volume of her voice. "Archie, do you still feel alone?"

He didn't move for a moment, then began to shift uneasily around in his seat, turning away from Mary. "You went back to Chicago only a week after the funeral. I know you had to work, but I was just left alone in this house. An empty house with nothing but memories." He bit his lip. "You always leave. Dad never left."

A soft whimpering came from underneath the table and Mary felt the dog's tail brush over her feet as he went to lick at Archie's hand.

He had never shown, much less said, how much any of that had bothered him before, even though she knew it did. There's no way it wouldn't - she was his mother, who, for most of the year lived states away from her son.

Or maybe he had shown how much it bothered him before.

There was that one time he threw a party while Fred had been in Chicago and gotten the house and half the yard trashed, not to mention himself. He'd taken up wrestling, boxing, football – any sport that got someone in the path of his frustration and him on the receiving end of someone else's. Not to mention he spent all of his free time outside of the house.

An empty house.

Despite everything he did, she forget that he was still only a kid, after all.

Mary slipped around the table to the chair adjacent to Archie and grabbed his hand. "I know that I've left and that I work too much. And I know-," she shook her head ardently, "I know that I haven't been around nearly enough lately."

Mary felt her cheeks growing flush and she lowered herself even more, reaching out her other hand as Archie finally turned toward her, his eyes shining. "And I know that he's not here, but I am."

Archie drew in an uneven breath, shaking his head as he lifted it. "I know." He wiped at his nose. "I know you're here. And I-, I don't mean to feel like that. I just don't know how to stop feeling like there's something missing."

Mary smiled reassuringly at him, feeling tears beginning to well in her own eyes. "Sweetheart, that's because there is something missing," she said quietly, taking a deep breath. "It's not wrong to feel that. We may not be able to change that fact, but we can honor it."

She glanced back over at the papers spread out over the table, narrowing her eyes thoughtfully, before turning back toward Archie.

"Hey." She rose gently and leaned against the table. "This-," she waved a hand over the pile of court documents and case files. "I don't have to worry about this right now. I have plenty of time for it."

Archie rubbed at his eyes. "But Betty's court case-,"

"Is not happening today." Mary bobbed her head, the reassuring smile back on her face. "It's okay. I have time." She looked down at her watch, then toward the dining room window, seeing the gold and orange light starting to peak through the clouds.

"Come on, grab your coat," she said, trying to nudge Archie up and away from the dining room, renewed enthusiasm in her voice. "And you can grab his leash." Vegas trailed behind her, his tail wagging affectionately. Archie followed tentatively, a curious look forming on his face.

"There's something I need to show you."

---

The melting snow crunched under FP's boots as he walked up to his truck, the slight rise in temperature making the cold air not feel as bitter as the past week had been. His phone buzzed and he pulled it out of his pocket, the keys he was balancing on his fingers jingling around at the action.

He frowned, his brows slightly furrowing as he stared down at the text from Alice.

Broke the news to Betty. She's upset, as expected. Charles is acting strange too. I think something else is wrong.

FP continued to stare down at the message as he rounded the front bumper toward the driver's side door. He put one hand on the door handle.

"Dad."

"Jesus." FP startled backward, his hand ripping away from the vehicle. Jughead was leaning keenly on the truck, a stern expression on his face.

"Jug, where-, what are you doing out here?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Betty's meeting with the suits and I didn't want to interrupt."

"So you've just been standing out here the whole time?" FP asked, his pulse starting to return to normal.

"No, of course not. I've been hanging out in Archie's garage."

He said that as though it should have been obvious.

FP stared at him for a moment, an eyebrow raised, but Jughead just remained planted in front of him with his serious, unamused expression. "Okay," he eventually breathed, pushing his phone back into his pocket. "What's up?"

"Let me do more."

FP put his hands on his hips, his heel grazing another patch of snow. "Jug, we have this conversation at least once a week."

"And I mean it once a week," Jughead emphasized, fanning his arms out in the cold air. "I know what's going on, I saw what's being said out there. So what do you need me to do?"

A drained sigh came from FP as he lowered his face. He didn't know which impressed him more – Jughead's tenacity or audacity.

He took a small step toward the door and noticed Jughead move with him. He lifted his head, an idea forming.

"Look, Jug," FP started, stepping back toward the truck. Jughead moved with him. "You're already doing exactly what you need to be doing." He stepped away from the driver's side door and began to slowly walk back around the hood of the truck. Jughead followed. "You're already in a consultant position with the FBI-,"

"I'm not getting paid," Jughead abruptly interjected with a bit of a snort.

"Okay, fine. Volunteer position," FP acknowledged as they continued walking around the truck. "Point is, you're already doing the work. And it may be a good idea for you to just think about homework instead of case files for once."

Jughead scoffed as the two of them rounded to the passenger side. "Come on, Dad! That's almost insulting. You know that I'm capable of handling a lot more than homework."

FP opened the door and turned around toward Jughead, holding onto the metal frame as he responded. "It's not insulting for a father to want to make sure his son graduates and goes to college. With good grades." He climbed into the truck, leaving the door open.

"My grades are fine," Jughead balked as he hopped up into the truck as well. He continued talking as FP reached over him, pulling the door shut before sliding down the bench seat toward the steering wheel. "So I haven't applied to any colleges yet, there's still plenty of time for that. It's not like Betty has finished applying yet."

Now it was FP's turn to balk. "She got kidnapped. You don't have an excuse."

"That was my excuse."

FP blinked down at him.

Jughead rolled his tongue into the side of his cheek. "Fine, bad example, but it brings me back to my original point. Seriously, Dad, there has to be something more I can do."

FP narrowed his eyes and briefly turned his head away. At least he was asking this time and not just running off.

Though, there was still nothing keeping him from going off on his own personal crusade if he thought it would help Betty or any of his friends, though. God knows he had a dozen times already.

And it was becoming increasingly apparent that they needed to watch their step – and probably their backs – in the investigation as they got closer to the trial. FP didn't want Jughead to find himself unintentionally responsible for any missteps that could affect them in court.

"You know what?" He perked up, straightening up in his seat. "There is something you can do."

Jughead's eyes widened, an eagerness to his face. "Really?"

"Yeah." FP nodded, putting his seatbelt on. "Another volunteer opportunity."

"Whatever you need, I'll do it." Jughead was reaching around and tugging at his own seatbelt.

"Great. Come to the community center with me."

Jughead stared at his father, his brows turned up in confusion. Then he slowly blinked, looking around him and down, poking at his seatbelt.

"I'm in the car."

The engine roared to life.

FP bobbed his head, a light smile on his face. "Mmhmm. And since you're here, how about you come to the community center with me?"

Jughead scoffed, a frown now firmly set on his face. "Did you hear anything I just said?"

"Every word." FP sharply nodded, turning his head toward his son. "And I think something that you can do right now is come with me to my other job."

The teen continued to study his father's face. "Or I could just get out of the car."

FP shrugged, one hand on the wheel. "You could."

The soft murmur of the engine hummed between them, the heat beginning to kick into the cabin. Jughead gave FP one last cagey stare then huffed and turned forward in his seat, his arms across his chest.

"Great!" FP commended, pulling the gear shift out of park. He slowly began to back the truck out of the rear driveway, the tires now crunching over the snow. "And you know, volunteering looks great on your college applications."

"Okay," Jughead grumbled beside him. "Don't push it."

FP cracked a grin, a silent sigh of relief flooding through him.

He wouldn't need to.

---

Kevin relaxed back against the edge of the loveseat, pulling the basket of DVDs and VHSs closer. He rifled through the titles, pushing cases aside as he dug deeper into the bin. He pulled one out and examined it as he felt someone sit down beside him.

"What, nothing good on streaming?"

Josie looked down at the DVD in Kevin's hand as she huddled beside him. He flipped the case over and then tossed it back into the stack. "I like watching the classics as they were intended."

"On 35 mm on a huge projector?" Josie mused through a spirited grin.

Kevin pondered that, his head tilting as he wistfully looked off into the distance. "God, I miss the drive-in." He chuckled, and so did Josie as they both resumed rummaging through the movies.

"So, how's life in Riverdale been? How's school?"

Kevin turned his face up, curling his lip in suspicion. "We've literally caught up about everything already. You know how things are going." He draped one arm over the side of the container. "And besides, you've apparently been keeping tabs on all of us."

That came out a bit garishly, widened eyes and flared nostrils included. It's not what he meant, but it's what came out. Despite that, Josie was staring at him patiently.

"I may have wanted to get away from the madness in Riverdale, but I didn't want to get away from the people." She looked down. "I still care about everyone."

Kevin swallowed, tapping on the edge of the basket. "Sorry for the assumption."

Josie silently smiled at him, her face kind. She shuffled her hands into her lap and shifted to her side, keeping her eyes on Kevin. "You know I came back for you, right?"

Kevin eyed her, his brow raising.

"You followed him. Defended him. I always wondered if you went as deep as you did because of our parents and because you knew I was leaving too."

"No!" Kevin quickly exclaimed, straightening his back against the edge of the couch. "No, you went to pursue your dreams. If anything, I regret that I didn't just go with you." He let out a soft sigh, abandoning the case of movies to pick at his fingers. "But not all of our dads have tours we can just join. I think joining The Farm was my way of running away."

Now Josie looked puzzled. "You think I was running away?"

"Weren't you?"

They looked at each other for a moment, then both turned their eyes back down toward the basket of DVDs.

Kevin fiddled with his fingers, picking at a nail. "But I stopped defending him. I got out."

"Hell yeah, you did." Josie nodded, quickly sending him a grin.

"I just hate that it took what it took to get there." He nervously continued to twist his fingers.

Josie laid a hand on his shoulder. "Well, that's why I've been keeping tabs on everything. You're in the middle of all this too. I want to make sure you're okay."

Kevin looked down, Josie's warm but intense eyes on him. He nodded. "And thank you for coming back."

Josie gave him a small nod back and the two of them nestled closer together, turning back to the pile of movies. Kevin shoved his hand into the mound and pulled out a blue and red case.

"White Christmas?"

He held it up to Josie, who rolled her eyes with a smile. "Fine, I guess we can watch that nostalgic, idealistic fluff."

"Hey, we need fluff every now and then. Keeps us sane." Kevin chimed as Josie grabbed the DVD out of his hand and headed toward the TV. "And fluff goes great with popcorn."

As Josie popped the movie into the player, she turned back around. "It's good to have you back, bro."

Kevin smiled. "You too, sis."

---

Children swarmed around the main floor of the community center, running and yelling after each other as Jughead stood in the back of the lobby, trying to stay out of the way as much as possible.

"Come on." He felt FP grab his shoulders and nudge him forward. "They won't bite."

"Do you know that for certain?" Jughead moaned, his arms dropping as he reluctantly let himself be pushed forward into the rambunctious crowd. He did have to admit that it was a welcome look for the Southside, but if he had to choose between dealing with middle schoolers or dealing with a gang, the gang would win every time.

Jughead could see his father's attempt at hiding an eye roll as he came to stand beside him. "I'm going to go find Monroe. You can either come with me or find your own corner to help out in."

A smile crept onto Jughead's face, and FP grunted and held up a hand before he could say anything. "Ah, do not take that literally." He glanced up and curled his hand as he pointed a finger toward the other side of the gym. "Veronica's here, maybe she can give you an assignment."

Jughead turned around, his eyes following where his dad was pointing. She was on the other side of the plate glass window, leaning over the desk in the office. He heard a sticky peeling and looked over at FP, who was putting on a colorful nametag a bit too enthusiastically. "I'll see you in a bit. Just, take your mind off of things, okay?"

With that, FP walked off across the gym floor and toward one of the offshoots that served as a study room. Jughead noticed that as he did, he greeted a few of the other adults and volunteers, and he was greeted too. Warmly.

Jughead dug his hands into his pockets and smiled before spinning around and walking toward the office.

Veronica popped her head up and away from the papers she was staring at as he came through the door, a startled expression on her face.

"Jughead! I wasn't expecting you here today," she stated, folding her arms on the table, her face beginning to turn up critically. "In fact, I don't think I've seen you here since opening night."

He shut the door behind him and plonked down onto the couch against the wall. "Yeah, well, I was a bit preoccupied after opening night." He laid back and crossed his legs.

Veronica rolled her head over her shoulder, her eyes narrowing a bit guardedly. "Good point." She tapped the table with her pen. "So what brings you here now?"

"My dad wants me to preoccupy myself," he answered with a satirical smile, crossing his arms too. Veronica raised an unconvinced eyebrow and turned back toward the papers on the desk. Jughead looked around the office, then turned his head back out the window, his smile dropping slightly. "No Archie?"

Veronica shook her head again. "He said he had to do something with his mom and won't be here tonight."

"Ah." Jughead stuck an arm behind his head, laying on it like a pillow. "Bummer. We didn't get enough time to hang out today."

"You probably wouldn't have gotten much time here, he's almost always out on the floor," Veronica said somewhere between wistful and jealous. "While I'd love to be out and about a bit more, someone has to take care of the logistics of this place."

She gestured down toward the papers and open ledger on the desk and Jughead realized what she meant. "You do the books?"

Veronica nodded. "And we're a bit more out of sorts this month since our maintenance man has up and disappeared on us and we've had to outsource more than usual. Even with the overhaul we did over the summer, you won't believe how much goes into the upkeep of a place like this."

He probably could, and he knew how much places like this also relied on volunteers and donations just to keep the doors open. It was a costly and risky undertaking for his friends, but a worthwhile one.

When he looked back up, he noticed Veronica staring at him keenly.

He scrunched his forehead. "What?"

"You said you needed preoccupied." She raised one of the lined sheets out of her ledger. "How are your accounting skills?"

---

The reverberation of the doorbell rang throughout the spacious house and over Cheryl as she strode toward the front hall. She could hear her shoes clicking against the tiled floor as she walked, the hollow sounds following her as she reached the front door and unlocked it. "Toni? I wasn't expecting you toda-, oh."

Not Toni.

"Hi, Cheryl." Betty gave her a smile from the front porch.

Cheryl rested her arm on the door, one hand sliding to her hips. Her eyes narrowed, roving up and down before she eventually stepped aside and said, "You can come in."

"Thank you." Betty dipped her head and shivered, quickly shuffling past her and into the large, ornate foyer.

"What brings you all this way, cousin?" Cheryl shut the door and effectively paced past Betty, leading her toward the living room. Betty usually only made house calls when she needed answers about something, which typically meant an attempt at unearthing her family's sordid past (or present), or on occasion when she got accusatory.

They were family, but it was still shaky ground when it came to truly being friends.

And Cheryl had to admit that she hadn't exactly made it easy on that front.

They reached the living room and took up the two baroque wingback chairs that sat in front of the roaring fireplace. Betty hadn't answered Cheryl's question and was now gazing into the flickering flames, her hands running up and down her thighs.

Betty had always been a quiet person, an introspective person – something that Cheryl had made sure to remind her of in rather nasty ways growing up. But she had noticed that since returning home, Betty had fallen into a different brand of quiet.

It was the kind of quiet that had filled the long and empty halls of Thornhill on dark nights. A quiet that, on some nights, had followed into the halls of Thistle House.

"Cheryl, I-," Betty broke that quiet, her hands still rubbing up and down her legs. She turned her eyes away from the fire and toward Cheryl, a heavy sheen to them. "I'm sorry for exploiting Jason's death."

Cheryl tensed up, involuntarily holding her breath.

That was straight to the point.

And unexpected.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to just spring that on you," Betty backpedaled before Cheryl could react any further. "I know it's a delicate subject. I should have asked if you were open to a conversation like this."

Despite the hasty clarification, her words weren't rushed. She was sounding rather respectful, in fact, like she had been nursing this thought for a long time.

"It's okay." Cheryl slowly folded her hands into her lap. "I'd like to hear this through."

Betty gave a short nod and swallowed. "For the first time in my life, I had finally felt confident in my own right. But the moment I felt comfortable there, when I could finally use it, I misused it. I was only thinking of myself then, wanting to do this big gesture for Jughead by helping get his dad out of prison." She shook her head and lifted a hand, only to drop it again with a frustrated sigh. "But I held onto that video. I used it against you. I used your own pain against you. God, I'm so sorry."

Cheryl remained quiet, her lips twitching as her breathing stayed small and still. She blinked slowly, her eyes now on the flames in the fireplace.

"We weren't exactly friends then."

Ugh, what was that? Why was that the first thing that came out of her mouth?

Betty seemed confused as well, her eyes narrowing. "That shouldn't matter. I should never have done what I did. I treated you horribly then."

"It's not like I treated you and your friends any better before that," Cheryl felt herself professing. The tension in her body was starting to lose its hold as she came to realize how defensive she was. How defensive she had always been.

"We're all capable of hurting each other." Betty seemed to have noticed Cheryl's demeanor change, as her eyes were hard and laced with guilt and fatigue. "It's about time we all admit that."

Her gaze went to the floor, and Cheryl saw that she was getting fidgety again. Betty rose from her chair and walked in front of the fireplace, her fingers weaving together. "I never-," she paused and rolled her tongue in her mouth. "I never wanted to become my mom, but I guess I watched how she did things for too long and picked up on a few of them."

A long, deep breath emanated from Cheryl's lips, and she stood as well, stepping toward the window behind them. She stared through the glass toward the cemetery at the top of the hill, the grass and mud beginning to peek through the melting snow. She replaced the air that had left her lungs with a heavy inhale. "You're not the only one who, to their own vexation, has had the acrid side of their mother rub off on them. I've taken out all my own insecurities on everyone else for years, passing it off as confidence. You were quiet, I was loud."

She crossed her arms, her fingers digging into the knit of her sweater. When she looked over at Betty, her face was screwed up in pensive and torn thought – and a bit of perplexity.

Cheryl attempted a smile, her own anxiety starting to rush back. "But we're not our parents, are we? We can be better."

Betty nodded curtly, her eyes still deep and concentrated. "Why are you defending all this? How are you taking this so easily?"

Cheryl glanced quickly at the floor, then back at Betty. "I'm not. I'm just letting you know that I know you're sorry. And that I forgive you. And we should be allowed to be more than our teenage mistakes."

She said that steadfastly, and part of her knew that it was a statement to reassure herself as well. Abusive mothers, murderous fathers, and more deaths than any adult, let alone teenager, should ever have had to face.

They needed to remind themselves that wasn't all there was.

Maybe this whole 'talking about your problems' thing really was more than just a bunch of hooey.

Betty must have understood the undertone of Cheryl's words because her whole body relaxed, and she leaned into the back of the plush chair, her figure pushing into it like she needed it for support.

"I'm really, truly sorry, Cheryl. And I know I already said it, but I'm sorry I asked you to get so close to Edgar. I know he used your memories of Jason to get to you."

Cheryl swung her head back toward the window, her eyes on the distant grave on the hill. "It's okay. I've actually finally started to put him to rest." She crossed her arms. "And I'm sorry my mother was a part of all this. At least she hasn't given us any further of a fight and just confessed to her part in all this."

She and Betty both bobbed their heads in an embellished way, sharing in a dark laugh. Betty rolled her head on the back of the chair.

Cheryl stepped away from the window and back toward Betty. "Not to undercut you coming over here, but I'm curious; what made you want to talk about this now?"

Betty straightened back up, patting the top of the chair. "I somehow gained more of my family through all of this, including a brother. I wanted to make sure you knew that you haven't lost yours, even if you feel you have. You still have family and friends that care about you."

The fire crackled and that warmth seemed to roll down Cheryl's back.

"And that wasn't something I wanted to be left unsaid," Betty quietly continued, her voice deflating a bit. Her face turned down, and she shuffled her weight between her feet. "Do you-, do you regret that we found out what happened to Jason?"

Cheryl sat with that question for a moment, then sank back down into a chair, taking her turn staring into the flames. "I'm not going to lie, it was painful. But I'm glad that someone decided to find out the truth and get some closure. The not knowing was worse."

She looked up at Betty, whose eyes had grown larger, a tight curl to her mouth. "I think you did the right thing."

Cheryl knew how much that weighed on her, especially after hearing-,

Her eyes dropped to the floor momentarily again. "And I know that Edgar used what happened to Jason against you, too, and I'm sorry about that."

Betty's face dropped, concern bubbling up in her eyes."Wh-what?" she stammered.

Cheryl frowned, a small lightning strike running through her. "My mother had a tape. I heard it when she played it for the others." She scrunched her forehead. "It was about that video of Jason, wasn't it?"

Betty remained frozen for a moment and then nodded. "Yeah, it was," she disclosed quietly.

"Jughead did tell you about that, right?' Cheryl asked cautiously, her eyes narrowing.

Betty grabbed her purse and swung it over her shoulder. "Yeah, yeah he did, but, um, I apologize, it's starting to get late and my mom probably wants me home before dark. But, thanks for being willing to listen, Cheryl."

"Of course," she said, getting up again as Betty continued to gather her things, the lowering sunlight throwing shadows over the room.

As Betty started to take a few steps toward the foyer, Cheryl stopped her. "Betty?"

She turned back around, facing Cheryl. "You know, maybe it's time to get loud again. We don't need to always be driven back into the quiet."

Betty rolled her fingers over her purse and nodded slowly, then turned back around and walked toward the door. Another reverberation was sent through the halls of the large house as she opened and closed it, and Cheryl - though possible it could have been a trick of her senses - felt as though that reverberation rang a little fuller.

---

The palling daylight gleamed off the patches of white snow that sat melting along the red brick sidewalk in downtown Riverdale. Archie watched the icy pieces scatter as Vegas carelessly and contentedly trekked over the cold ground as they walked toward the center of town.

His mother was ahead of him on the sidewalk, stealing occasional glances back to make sure he was still following, and to probably make sure he was still on his feet, too.

Archie had found that it wasn't things like holidays or pictures, but quiet, unexpected moments, like an unanswered phone call, that knocked him down the most in his grief.

Vegas strained against his leash in an attempt to speed up the teen's sluggish pace, and he realized that his mom must have stopped. He walked the last few steps to join her, loosening his grip on Vegas's leash to let the dog roam with more freedom.

Archie finally looked up and around, noticing that they were stopped in front of the fountain in the middle of downtown, its basin dry aside from some melted snow as it sat waiting for warmer weather to come alive again.

"What are we doing here?" he asked passively, a shudder running through him as he continued to look around the square, the glowing sun fading behind the red-brick rooftops.

Mary gave him a small grin, her eyes turning back toward the fountain. "Have you ever looked closely at this square before?"

Vegas flopped down into the window of light stretching over the circular pattern of bricks on the ground, and Archie furrowed his brow. "Not really. I've mostly just walked through here." He swung his head around again, looking from the four pillars that stood in each corner of the small courtyard to the bench Vegas was trying to crawl under, and then back toward Mary, as though she was asking him a riddle he should've known the answer to.

She sent him another gentle grin before stepping back and taking the leash from his hand. "Just look around a little bit closer."

Archie frowned, his frustration beginning to mount. His mom had already brought him out here in the cold under mysterious circumstances, and these cryptic instructions weren't helping. He kicked around at a small pile of snow and leaves, his head turning around the empty town square.

He never knew what he was looking for, and scavenger hunts weren't exactly fun lately.

Snow chunks dribbled out from underneath his shoe, and he looked up at Mary. Her eyes were still on the fountain, a wistful glean to them, and Archie didn't know why. He narrowed his eyes.

No, she wasn't looking at the fountain, but further down. Archie followed her gaze to the ground and noticed one of the bricks close to the concrete base of the fountain was darker than the rest, with score marks running through it. He walked closer, moving into the shadow of the basin, and crouched down.

And caught his breath.

"This was his first construction job." His mom's tender voice was above him. "He was around your age. Andrews Construction had been commissioned to revitalize this park and it was the first project he got to work on alongside his father as a partner in the company. It ended up being the only one, as his father passed soon after, but he was so proud of it."

Archie reached out and brushed his hand along what he had originally thought were just score marks, but were actually initials carved into the brick. His fingers traced the "F.A." before stopping, his hand hovering over the ones beside it. "How-?"

He felt Mary place a hand on his shoulder. "After we found out we were pregnant, Fred was so excited that he came back here and added a new brick, right under where his own father – your grandpa – left his initials-," Mary pointed to a section of the bottom of the concrete basin, and Archie saw the scratched letters of the man he was named after. His mom then pointed back toward the brick, "And he carved ours, placing it here so that his child could already be a part of his family's history."

Archie curled his fingers, his chest tightening. He moved his hand over the two other sets of initials next to his dad's – an "M.A." and "A.A."

The cold of the ground pierced his fingertips, sending a chill down his arm, his chin quivering. "Why did he never show me?"

Mary's hand squeezed his shoulder, then slackened as she swung around and crouched down beside him. "He wanted to wait until after you graduated to show you, before you left for college if you chose to so that you would know that you'd always have a piece of the town with you. But he just never got the chance."

She swallowed and grabbed Archie's hand. "Honey, you will always have a piece of your dad with you. He's still with us, even when it doesn't feel like it. You're never alone."

The orange light glinted off the wet snow as the sun continued its descent across the sky. The whole square was cast in a golden haze before the shadows would claim the land. Archie and Mary sat against the edge of the fountain, Vegas laying at their feet. They both remained staring down at the scrawled letters, the immortalized writing in the stone staring back. Archie peered up at the sky, the billowing clouds enveloped in orange and pink rays.

"And you won't leave this time?" he rasped, his voice still low.

He lowered his head as his mom turned toward him. She shook her head and looked as though she was trying to hold back from becoming choked up. "I can arrange it with my firm so that I don't have to go back to Chicago for a while. I'll be here through your graduation and to see you off to college if that's what you choose. I'm not going anywhere."

Archie turned to face Mary, his eyes holding, until he collapsed forward, throwing his arms around her. She leaned in too and held him tight. The cold was starting to wrap around them as the sun continued to go down, but it didn't matter.

Vegas gave a satisfied whine and rolled, pushing against Archie's feet. He shifted his head, peering out from his mother's shoulder, and looked down, his eyes coming to rest on the initials of his family etched below, still visible in the last sliver of light stretched across the ground.

Maybe the quiet, unexpected moments, for as much as they could hurt, could also heal.

---

The pencil clacked against the old, uneven desk as Jughead rocked it inattentively underneath his fingers, rolling it between paper and wood. He held his head in his other hand, staring sidelong toward the plate glass window, the patrons of the community center moving hazily through his vision.

He absently watched families and volunteers shuffle through the main area. A few were using the boxing ring to lounge, backpacks and homework spread around them, while another group had a board game set up. He could hear muffled talking as he continued to roll the pencil under his hand, and he passively searched for his father, but he couldn't see FP out on the floor anymore.

A hand suddenly clamped on top of his, effectively stopping the noise of the pencil, and the talking turned into Veronica's voice.

"Jughead?" She was staring at him in both annoyance and concern.

His eyes looked down at her hand and he promptly pulled his away. "Sorry." He cleared his throat and straightened his back as he rocked upward in the swivel chair.

"You okay?" Veronica leaned back. "You seem a little distracted."

Jughead quickly glanced through the window once more before settling his gaze on the desk and papers. "No, I'm fine."

Veronica narrowed her eyes, looking unconvinced. "Really?" She lifted one of the recently filled-out papers in her hand. "Because under 'Trial Balance,' instead of a number, you just wrote 'guilty.'"

She held it closer and Jughead leaned in to look. "Oh." He offhandedly frowned, his head bobbing. "I guess I did."

He spun his chair back around, crossing his arms on top of the desk, groaning as he jammed his head into them. "Sorry."

There was a moment of silence as he kneaded the back of his neck, and then he heard the soft squeak of folding leather and metal crossing tile.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He somewhat lifted his head at Veronica's soft question. She had moved her chair closer and was now adjacent to him, staring patiently. His eyes moved up and down before he rubbed a hand over his face and leaned back in his chair.

"I know that I'm not the most… relaxed person in the world," he began. Veronica tilted her head, her expression telling him that she didn't disagree. He cleared his throat. "But I feel like I can't seem to find the right balance of worry and trust with everything."

Veronica's head remained cocked. "I mean, you did try to read a private conversation of hers today."

Jughead grunted, his mouth a thin line. "That wasn't my best moment."

"You embarrassed her, Jughead," she said in a more defensive tone, crossing her arms. "I know you're a better read than that, what happened?"

He dropped his head. He had tried to play it off, but he had realized his mistake. Thankfully, Josie had managed to salvage his slip-up, but he knew that he had just added to her agitation prior to being called away to meet with the FBI.

Jughead sighed and rubbed his neck. "I know how capable she is. We've already weathered so much together but-," he looked at the floor, gently knocking a hand on his knee. "She's talked to you, she's talked to Archie-, hell, she's probably told Cheryl more than me. And I know she's not the only one trying to heal and deal with everything, but it feels like she doesn't trust me anymore."

He lifted his head as his shoulders clenched, bringing his arm up and leaning his forehead against it. "Do you think Edgar made her think of us differently? Like we're the enemy?"

Veronica stayed quiet for a moment, her mouth still drawn up tight. Then she pulled her glasses off and folded them in front of her, a disheartened sigh on her lips. "When she talked to me, she told me about Thornhill. She said that Edgar wanted to show her who she was. She was scared just thinking about it, let alone talking about it." She shook her head, her eyes at the desk. "If anything, I think he made Betty think that she's her own enemy."

She and Jughead met eyes, a loud silence between them.

"She probably believes she's hurting us less by not saying anything." Veronica's voice was low, but she was still looking directly at Jughead.

His eyes widened, a soft frown forming on his face as he straightened up. The tightness in his shoulders had moved to his stomach. "Hurt us?" he asked more to himself than Veronica.

Trying to shoulder things alone was a trait he and Betty stubbornly shared, pride included. But the fear that she would actively hurt them by communicating that burden seemed an intentional outcome. Now that he thought about it, it felt especially calculated given the fact Edgar was taking advantage of that silence and filling it with his own version of the story.

His fist curled.

"Hey."

Jughead felt a hand land on his arm and his eyes shot forward.

Veronica was leaning forward, her face steadfast. "Despite some of your more heavy-handed tendencies, I believe without a doubt that Betty trusts you more than anyone. Which is probably why she's having the hardest time telling you."

Jughead stared at her, just breathing for a moment. Then he relaxed his fist. "I can… I can see that. Especially if she thinks she'll hurt us." He looked down at the desk. "Or if she's afraid we'll think of her differently too if we know."

Veronica remained with her eyes downturned sadly.

Jughead sighed and stretched his arms back on top of the desk. "And I have been a bit overbearing. That probably hasn't helped."

Veronica fell back against her chair, her arms crossing in an embellished move, a smile creeping through her show of thought. "Well, since you're the one saying it…"

"Hey, now," Jughead groaned, a smirk forming on the edge of his mouth. "No need to agree."

"I'm not agreeing." Veronica shook her head, the smile spreading. "'A bit' is an understatement."

"Whatever," Jughead grunted as he rolled his eyes. A phone had begun to ring and he reached for his pocket.

"It's mine," Veronica said, lifting up the vibrating phone in her palm. She answered and put it up to her ear. "Hi, Cheryl."

Jughead reclined, folding his hands in his lap as he moved his eyes around the room, not wanting to listen in on this conversation.

That was, until he noticed Veronica knit her brow, the smile completely wiping off her face. Her eyes bounced toward him, then she held the phone out in front of her and pressed a button.

"Cheryl, I just put you on speakerphone. Jughead's here with me. Tell him what you just told me."

"Hi loser," Cheryl's voice greeted out of the phone.

Jughead tossed his hands up, meeting Veronica's eyes again with a look of contempt. She shook her head, and he just narrowed his eyes. "What's up, Cheryl?"

"So, Betty was just here."

Jughead perked up.

"And I may have let slip about the tape."

His eyes shot open, as did Veronica's. He could feel his heart rate pick up and the tightness return.

"She tried to play it off, but she was definitely startled. I'm sorry, I thought you guys would have said something to her earlier."

Jughead took a slow breath and opened his mouth, but closed it. Veronica shuffled, answering instead. "Is she still with you?"

"No, she left maybe ten minutes ago. Not that I believe we need to hover, but I thought that someone might want to check on her."

The two of them were silent for another moment before Veronica answered again. "Thanks for letting us know, Cheryl. We can check on her. Hey, I'll text you later, okay?" Veronica offered as she started to pull the phone away.

"Thanks, Cheryl." Jughead managed to mumble out before Veronica fully hung up.

She set the phone face down on the desk, one hand still on it. The two of them sat silently, the muffled noise of the commotion outside of the office filling in the space.

Jughead rolled the pencil under his hand again, before slowly getting up from his seat.

"Do you want me to get Archie? Should we all talk to her?" Veronica asked quietly.

Jughead shook his head. "No. Not telling her was my decision." He headed toward the door, placing a hand on the knob. "And if there's a time to show her she can trust me, it's now."

---

Cold, blue static washed over the small, dark apartment, illuminating the untidy bed and piles of discarded clothes scattered around the room. The small TV sat angled atop a stack of books on a nightstand that stared out into the studio apartment from its place in the corner. Charles was propped up against the edge of the bed across from it, one hand wrapped tightly around the remote as he stared blankly at the opposite wall.

"And now a story about family reunions in more ways than one. Last month, the FBI arrested the leader of a suspected cult after rescuing a local Riverdale teenager that had been abducted and taken abroad a few weeks earlier. We don't have many details about the events, but we do know that this story has a happy ending. Not only was the girl reunited with friends and family, including her mother who was working undercover at the time, but a long-lost brother as well."

The glare of the newscast flickered as it cut across Charles' face, his eyes shadowed above the light that didn't quite reach him.

"From foster care to the FBI to found family, tune back in after the break to hear about this real-life prodigal son."

Charles forcefully paused the newscast recording, holding the remote starkly out in front of him, his eyes still trained on the wall. He hit rewind.

"…but a long-lost brother as well. From foster care to the FBI to found family, tune back in after the break to hear about this real-life return of the prodigal son."

Click.

"From foster care to the FBI to found family, tune back in after the break to hear about this real-life prodigal son."

Click.

"…prodigal son."

The frozen smile of the reporter hung in Charles' eyes, the cold glow of the TV burning into the dark of the room. He breathed slowly and crossed his arms, moving his head toward the kitchen table where, lying amongst an assortment of empty chip bags and crumpled newspapers, was his bag of pills, the contents running low.

He stared at it, his face growing hot as his fingers dug into his arms. A pulse throbbed behind his temple, his breathing growing more uneven. He fidgeted and curled his hand into a fist, continuing to stare at the bag.

Charles' eyes flashed to the creased newspaper beside it, his eyes running over the taunting headlines, then back at the bag. The pulsing increased and he shot up from the bed, throwing his fist down as he did, accidentally hitting the remote.

"From foster care to the FBI to found family…"

He stopped and stood, breathing in the stale air of the apartment, the flashing lights of the TV at his back. He cast one last glance at the table. Then, his energy slipping away, Charles collapsed back onto the bed, grabbing at his hair as his head went into his hands. Silent tears streamed down his face as the static of the animated voices droned on around him.

---

Jughead lingered outside of the bedroom door, gathering his thoughts and his nerve. His throat felt a bit dry and he swallowed, hoping his pride went down too. This wasn't the conversation he wanted to have, but that was life, wasn't it?

He knocked on the door, gently pushing it open, and leaned in the doorframe.

"Hey."

Betty was sitting at her desk, a few textbooks and a notebook open in front of her. She looked up, still writing in her notes as she noticed him. "Hi."

Jughead grimaced, his eyes turning to the floor. She sounded indifferent and weary, a tone that had become all too familiar. He took a breath, rolling his tongue in his mouth, and moved to the bed, sitting on the edge of it. "How was the rest of your day?"

He was facing her back but he could see her hand slow as she stopped writing, and she swirled the pencil around before setting it down on the desk. "From how you came in the room, I feel like you already know."

She didn't say it with any kind of snark or contempt, just frankly. Jughead stared at her back, watching her shoulders faintly rise and fall as she breathed, her hunched silhouette turned down toward the desk in the lamplight.

He swallowed, twisting his fingers together.

"Betty, I didn't mean to keep it from you." He hung his head, his voice modest. "Hiding it was never the intention."

The bed squeaked as he shifted, his feet running over the carpet. "I don't know what Cheryl said when you were over there," he continued, rubbing his hands together, "Um, but Archie, Veronica, and I heard it the same night we found you."

Even though he was there and remembered it quite vividly, he still couldn't believe that had all happened in one night. Time didn't have much meaning then.

Jughead saw Betty's shoulders stiffen, her head dipping. He stuck his tongue against the back of his teeth. "I heard it, but, I didn't." He could hear his voice failing him, his tone low. "I didn't understand what was being said, uh, but I did hear your voice and-," he threw his hands around the edge of the mattress to keep himself steady. "And I knew that it was something that you didn't need to be reminded of, or to be aware of, so soon after getting out of there."

His eyes dropped to the floor. "But I never meant for it to become a secret. And I'm realizing now that because I've been holding onto that piece of your experience, along with what we saw in the woods, I've been using that to feel entitled to information that doesn't belong to me."

Betty's head rose, her silhouette still shadowed against the light on her desk, but Jughead could see a small glint in her eye as she had slightly turned her head toward him.

"I mean I was even trying to read over your shoulder earlier today. I should have never done that. I'm sorry." He hadn't thought too much about it in the moment, but saying it out loud made him feel like such a jerk, realizing that he had been trying to grasp at anything he could, just like all those media vultures. "Please don't blame Archie or Veronica, I told them not to tell you about the tape. And I'm sorry for making you feel pressured into talking or doing anything you weren't ready for. And I'm really sorry that I hid the tape from you. I had no business keeping it from you."

Betty leaned back in her chair, not moving for a moment. Cold air rolled through the room, the open window behind them giving a small rustle as the wind picked up outside. A creak sounded in the room as Betty twisted around in her chair, and when she finally faced him, her eyes were soft.

"I know," she said, "And it's okay."

Jughead straightened his back, his brow creasing. "No, it's not."

The edge of her mouth curled ever so slightly. "I understand why you didn't tell me. How could you?" The light shone behind her, the glow bouncing off her hair. She leaned forward, placing a hand on his knee. "I wasn't the only one that lived through this."

Jughead looked down at her hand, gently placing his on top. He felt a warm shiver run through him. "You're not mad?"

Betty sucked on her teeth, her eyes flashing momentarily before going to the floor. "I'm a lot of things right now." She pulled her hand away from his knee, balling it in her lap. "I don't love that it's taken you this long to tell me, or how you might not have had it not been for Cheryl." She turned her face back up, her eyes looking gaunter than before. "But you're right about not wanting to be reminded. Though that's been presenting itself as something unavoidable."

She sat silently for a moment, and Jughead reached forward, laying a hand on her shoulder. "Hey." He gently squeezed her arm, and she looked back up at him. His eyebrow twitched and he threw his tongue into his cheek. "You don't need to tell me anything. We don't even need to talk. Just know that I'm here."

Betty held his eyes, her gaze unbreaking for almost a minute. Then, suddenly, her shoulder tightened and she removed his hand from it as she got up, walking away from him and toward the other end of the bed. He watched curiously as she rummaged through the drawer of her nightstand until she eventually turned back toward him, her journal held protectively in her hands.

"Then let's not talk," she proposed quietly, yet ardently.

Jughead's eyes widened. "No." He shook his head. "No way, I can't read that."

Betty sat next to him on the bed. "I said that I'm a lot of things right now. And one of those is tired." She began to shake her head. "Tired of hiding from each other, tired of feeling like we need to carry the weight of these secrets around alone."

She took a deep breath, tapping a finger on top of the pastel journal. "I've thought about this and I want you to know, Jug. I just-," her voice cracked slightly, "I just don't know how to say all of it."

"It's marked where you can start. There are still things that are just for me." She held it out toward him. "But I don't want to carry this alone anymore."

Jughead moved his eyes from the journal to her face, then back again, gently taking the diary out of her hand. He thumbed the two small Post-its tucked into the pages, his face growing hot. He thought for a moment, then reached down and grabbed his bag off the floor, pulling out his laptop.

"I uh," he stammered, "I needed a place to put everything while you were gone. I was already in the middle of writing a story when everything took a turn, so," he said, shrugging, handing the computer to Betty. "It's the only open doc on there."

If she was trusting him with her soul, then he would trust her with his.

She took it slowly, her eyes growing solemn. She opened it, the blue glow of the screen washing over her face. Betty looked over at Jughead, and the two of them gave each other a small nod before settling into different spots in the room.

For when their tongues were lost with what to say, they knew they could speak with the words that had already been written.

---

Andddd, finally! I think we've finally reached a turning point for everyone as they continue to try to navigate all of their feelings and the fall out of everything. Things are still heating up on the legal side of things, and there's still a few mysteries left to unravel, but we are chugging along and getting closer to that final confrontation that is bubbling up behind the scenes (and on the scene too!)

As always, if you are enjoying this story, let me know! I love receiving reviews! They make my day! I want to know what all you think and what is standing out to you.

I hope you all have a great day, and hopefully this next chapter will be a bit of a shorter one before we bridge into a collision course toward the trial.