Hey everybody!
My work schedule has not at all eased up despite supposed to be on our summer schedule. Though I decided to take two weeks off in a row for vacation, so that allowed for some more time to write! I guess I'll just appear once every few months.
It's very weird to see the show wrap filming, especially as I am still writing this one story, which I started after Season 3. Which is making me feel old and slow because I never expected to be working this long on it, ha. But here we still are! So I guess on the bright side that means that there will still be Riverdale content here after the show officially ends. However it may end.
So continue we will!
Hello Guest! Welcome here and glad you are enjoying this story. Unfortunately to your request, I do not take prompts, but I like the enthusiasm!
Boris Yeltsin, thank you for the continued support and I hope you continue to enjoy!
AvidMovieFan16, thank you for the continued support! That moment between Betty and Cheryl was one of my faves too! I enjoy trying to find little moments like that between all the different characters!
LukeSkywalker2567, I know it feels long between updates, and that's because it is. I'm got a pretty busy schedule, but thank you for the continued support! I loved that Betty and Cheryl moment too! One of my favorites to write for the last chapter!
ButtonMashr, busy season is going busy haha. You pulled out some of my favorite lines and moments from last chapter and I'm glad that you enjoyed it! I especially love that you pulled out how hard but how hopeful the chapter ended on, especially with everything swirling and getting tangled in the web. I'm worried about Charles too, he's definitely going through it right now and feels a bit too proud to ask for help... at least for now. Hope you enjoy this chapter!
Chapter 25: Talking in Your Sleep
A low hum droned through the pale, hazy light of the bedroom, the sound amplified by the aching quiet around it. Heat snaked around the furniture and clothes, holding the cold air from the still open window at bay. It coiled around the desk and vanity, the bed and blankets, eventually finding its way to the two individuals sitting motionless on the floor, their backs to each other as they sat against either side of the bed.
The air hung heavy with more than just the rolling heat; it held the lingering echoes of pained sighs and deep breaths, the only signs to each other that they were both still in the room, as they had remained still and silent, working through one another's words.
Jughead sat with his back hunched against the bed, his lower half stiff and sore from how long he had stayed in the same position. He was afraid to move, as though even the smallest shift would end up jostling the handwritten words off of the page, releasing the ghosts within them into the room.
Though, he couldn't be sure that they hadn't already as, despite the pumping heat, a chill had wrapped itself definitively around him, clinging fast like a drowning man clings to the passing branches over a raging river.
His face was red, his jaw sore from his failed attempts to unclench his teeth. The words had occasionally swam in and out of focus as he read, trying to hold back tears, not wanting to add to the collection of dried, crinkled spots that already adorned a few of the pages.
It had only taken a few paragraphs before he had felt his insides begin to twist.
The image of her waking up alone and confused like that, realizing she was trapped, made his blood boil. Then only a few pages later, that anger had run cold, the grief of the reality playing out through the story in front of him becoming consuming.
"You didn't eat?" He asked shakily, his hand gripping the edge of a page.
There was silence for a few moments before Betty answered.
"Food came every few days." After a lengthy beat, she added, "I had water."
As though that made it better.
Jughead swiftly turned the page.
Betty's subdued voice came a few minutes later. "I didn't know that you saw Chic's body."
"Yeah," he managed to utter in return before his eyes caught the words, "dragged" and "grave" scrawled together, and he grew silent, precariously holding his breath.
A tree branch knocked faintly against the window and Jughead flinched, turning his head toward it. He shook slightly, coming back to himself, then tapped the edge of the Post-It note on the page in front of him before slowly and quietly shutting the journal.
Jughead didn't move for a bit; he just sat and listened to the vents thrum and whirr around him. He tried to steady his breathing enough to see if he could hear Betty too, listening for any sign as to what she was feeling.
With new images freshly swirling in his head, he couldn't help but try to put himself in Betty's place and imagine if this is how she had felt most nights out there - unsure of whether to move or stay still, even of how to breath properly in case Edgar was around. She had had to play along not knowing which personality she would get each day, or if she would even get anyone at all.
He felt his eye twinge, the corner of it growing warm.
"He took you to the Wyrm," Jughead choked out somewhere between a statement and a question, the words catching in his throat. His brain was attempting to recall everything he had heard on the tape, broken static phrases running together in his mind.
Now that it was making sense, he almost didn't want it to.
Betty didn't say anything but he thought he could hear low sniveling behind him. He reached down, running a hand over the tattered edge of a ripped-out page, the writing beyond it marked by cross-outs and smudges.
"Your handwriting is different," he remarked out loud, noticing that the usual tidy script had become messy and crooked in spots.
The bed gave a small creak. "My wrists hurt sometimes now."
The questions had stalled after that.
Jughead held the journal tenderly in his lap, his breathing finally starting to return to a normal cadence. He stared forward, his reflection gaping back at him through the vanity mirror across the room. His face was red, burning with the weight of tears that just couldn't fall, his anger a dam holding back the flood.
But if there was a time to break it was now. Maybe he should, maybe she needed someone to cry with her. Maybe the ghosts needed set free so the phantom grip around them could finally leave. Their aching minds had played host to haunted houses for far too long, hadn't they?
Perhaps they were due for an exorcism.
Jughead turned his eyes up, catching his reflection once again, and took a deep breath. He moved, his muscles complaining as he shuffled around the edge of the bed. He peeked around the corner. The laptop sat open on the floor, its blue glow falling over Betty like an icy curtain. Her head was pointed down at the floor, her form motionless.
He shuffled closer, his eyes moving between her and the computer. He could see that she had reached the bottom of the document, the cursor blinking indifferently at them from the screen. He reached out and slowly shut it, the cold light disappearing from view.
Jughead gave his legs a much-needed stretch, settling down beside Betty. He reached a hand out and cautiously cradled her knee, hoping she wouldn't mind the touch. That reservation was immediately quelled though, as she almost promptly grabbed it, wrapping her fingers underneath his.
"I'm sorry this happened to you," Jughead lamented, turning his head toward Betty. Her hair was draped over her face in his line of sight, obscuring whatever expression might have been there.
Instead, he felt her squeeze his hand while continuing to stare at the floor. They stayed like that for a few minutes, just listening to the rattle of the heat churning around them.
"Did you think I was dead?" She eventually asked in a small voice.
Jughead sucked in a rickety breath, his mouth curling into his cheek. The sleeves of Betty's sweatshirt were pushed up and through the shadowed glow of the lights in the room caught a glimpse of the white scar that ran up her arm. Without thinking, he leaned into her, pressing himself close.
"After we learned that the riddles were just a distraction, we believed you were still out there. My dad gathered as much evidence from those sites as he could, but there wasn't much. Chic being involved and then killed really threw us off." It was his turn to squeeze her hand. "There were search parties the first week. Canvasing. The police took dogs out. My dad let me do ride-alongs with him some nights."
Jughead felt his throat begin to get hot and he swallowed. "But they started running out of money, and people started losing interest. Hope too." Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Betty's head turn. "Veronica and Archie throwing the rally helped, but we still had no clue what had happened to you at that point."
He felt Betty push her head onto his shoulder, and he laid his chin on her, pressing in tighter. The ghosts may still be around, but he wouldn't let them come between them.
"I tried," he stammered, his voice breaking. "I tried so hard to not let myself think the worst. They say that after the first 48 hours, the chance of finding the person goes down exponentially, and we had already used up weeks. I don't want to lie to you, there were times I thought I was never going to see you again. Even after we had figured out more, it felt like we were just pressing forward on fumes of hope."
The window gave a small shutter as the two of them held each other on the floor of the bedroom. Tears had come loose and were now freely running down Jughead's face. He brushed them away before they could fall into Betty's hair, and then moved his arm down around her, not wanting to let go.
"I thought I was never coming home," Betty finally divulged, twisting around in his arms. "I mean, at first, I thought for sure I could get out, that he couldn't scare me. But then I did get out and realized that escaping was just an illusion. He told me that I always think I'm in control and he set it up to show me I wasn't."
She let out a distressed grunt, her head shaking. "Pickens Park, the Wyrm… I didn't think I was coming back from either of those. I never knew what I would be waking up to, or if-,"
Betty stopped abruptly, her shoulders tightening beneath Jughead's grip. He furrowed his brow, trying to see her face. Her hair was still in the way but he could see her biting her lip.
"Sometimes it feels like I shouldn't have made it out."
Jughead's stomach plummeted, and he immediately angled himself so that he was facing her more directly. He steadily reached forward and brushed her hair behind her ear, making sure he could see her eyes, and she his, urging her not to hide any longer. He gently cradled both of his hands around hers. "Betty, is that-," he swallowed abruptly, his throat feeling dry. "Is that why you were going to let Edgar shoot you?"
He had been holding that question in for weeks but had never known how – or if – to bring it up.
How do you?
She had said goodbye.
To all of them.
She had been prepared to not make it out.
Betty closed her eyes, her cheeks growing flushed. "I didn't see another way out." Her strained voice was barely above a whisper. "Not one where no one else got hurt." In his grip, Jughead felt her fingers start to curl against her palms. "I couldn't let him hurt you. I'm sorry."
"No, don't apologize," Jughead rasped as comfortingly as he could through a clenched jaw. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against hers, sliding his hands up and between Betty's fists, gently forcing her fingers to uncurl. "Please don't apologize."
They both inhaled, pulling in strangled breaths. Jughead felt the sting in his muscles returning and swallowed again.
"Will you be honest with me if I ask another question?"
He felt his forehead shake. "I'll try."
Jughead breathed in and slowly leaned away, looking into her eyes. A few loose tears were running down her face and he lifted a hand to dry them. "Do you still feel like you shouldn't be here?"
The vents thumped. Jughead watched Betty closely as she remained still for a moment, then laid back against the edge of the bed. Her expression had changed, the lines on her forehead hardening, a ferocity playing across her face in the dim light of the room.
"Archie sent himself to jail and has taken who-knows how many punches he didn't deserve over the years. Veronica drank poison." Her head rose toward him, fire racing through her raw and puffy eyes. "And you gave yourself up trying to stop a gang war."
Jughead moved a hand up his arm toward the scar on his bicep.
"I want to live, Jug," she declared with shades of melancholy. "I just want living to stop hurting so damn much."
A bristle ran down Jughead's back at Betty's avowal, and he compulsorily straightened up. He drew in a deep breath, looking into her eyes, the angry fervor that had taken up residence there still marked by a few welled tears.
He wondered how much she was trying to mask.
Or how much might be showing on his own face.
Jughead continued to run his hand over his arm, moving his fingers over the rough patch of skin that sat beneath his sleeve.
Why did they all feel the need to be the bearer of consequences of things that weren't their fault?
And because of it, they all carried scars from their sacrifices, marked as failed martyrs for causes they never even believed in to begin with.
He glanced down at the journal sitting on the floor and gently picked it up.
Now they were left to piece together the fragments left behind from the fallout of their experiences, each of them trying to crawl out from the rubble they had been left under, attempting to find meaning in anything they could.
Maybe they had to believe everything they had gone through wasn't an endless cycle as they all felt, but merely a season instead.
He shuffled himself back to the edge of the bed, sitting beside her and looking over. "I know I've been coddling lately, and I'm sorry if that has added to what you've been feeling. I understand why you haven't wanted to talk to anyone."
Another breeze made the window tremble. Betty shivered and Jughead placed a hand back on her knee. "I won't lie, what I read in here sounds like absolute hell." He tapped the edge of the journal. "But you know what that means? That the woman in front of me fought through hell and won, and that's who I get to love."
He sent her a big, soft smile, hoping she could feel how sincere he was. There was still red to her face, but in place of angry and anxious eyes, she held a warm stare.
Jughead handed the pastel journal back to Betty and she took it, holding it close to her chest. "Nothing in those pages makes me think of you any less. And I'm sorry if I've ever given you that feeling." He pursed his lips, throwing his tongue into his cheek.
"You didn't." Betty shook her head. "But I was afraid you would because I was."
"Hey." Jughead rocked her hand in his, his voice mounting. "You fought so hard to get home - the notes and clues, getting yourself out of the cabin – twice! With a freaking bed spring, no less. And then that last night, you had no idea that the FBI was out there, you just knew you needed to get out. And you did! There's nothing 'less' about that. He tried to take away your strength but really, he only proved it."
Betty blushed, and then a soft strumming suddenly sounded outside, a faint voice soon trailing it. Jughead glanced out the window, noticing a light shining across the way, coming from Archie's bedroom. He was pacing around the room, his guitar in his hands.
Jughead sighed, leaning his head back into the plush of the side of the mattress.
"Is he working on a new song?"
He turned his head to see Betty staring out the window. She had asked that with quiet, joyful surprise, the crack of a small grin peeking through.
Jughead let a small smile of his own form. "He picked his guitar back up for the rally and hasn't put it down since," he said, crossing his legs. "I'm glad he found his way back to it."
A surge of warm air rolled around them and he let out a placid exhale. "And I hope you know we're all so thankful you found your way back to us."
Betty didn't react for a moment and then she nodded, turning forward again. She slid into Jughead's side and he just looked down at the top of her head for a bit before leaning into her as well.
The muffled music continued to drift through the night air, a welcome balm compared to the silence that had denoted most of the evening. It felt like a miracle Archie was still able to sing despite everything. Hell, it was a miracle that any of them could still do anything in the face of all the suffering they had gone through.
They sat together for a while, just listening to the music floating through the dark. There were many nights when Betty was gone, especially once they had learned Edgar was involved and she was, at least a few nights, in Riverdale, where he had wondered whether they had been just out of reach of each other. If perhaps on one of the nights he had spent driving his motorcycle aimlessly around town, he had passed Edgar's car and she had been there, like ships passing in the night.
The song Archie was practicing could have been the soundtrack to those nights.
"You should change the title of your story, you know."
"What?" Jughead asked casually, still feeling lulled by the song.
Betty pointed at his laptop. "You called it, 'No Hope for Riverdale.' That's not true."
Jughead scrunched his brow, forgetting about the music, and looked at her.
"There's still hope for everything. For us. I think we're going to be okay."
He stared at her for a moment.
Like he said, a miracle.
Jughead turned down to the laptop too, noticing that the tension he had been feeling had considerably subsided. A tiredness was slowly creeping its way in now as he suppressed a yawn. "You think so?"
Betty nodded. "Yeah, I do."
Jughead smiled and then gave a dark chuckle. "It'll be especially okay after I get to beat the shit out of Edgar."
To his delight, he saw Betty smirk. "You're going to have to get in line," she said back.
"Hey, you already got to stab him," Jughead teasingly scoffed. "It's my turn to hit him where it hurts."
He sent her a smirk, expecting her to return the same, but when he looked down, a thoughtful look had crossed Betty's face. Her eyes were narrowed and Jughead could see something turning in her head. She pulled away.
"The cave that we fear most, that's where we need to go, isn't it?"
Jughead frowned. "Is that something Edgar said to you?"
She shook her head. "No, it's something I'm saying now." She slowly rose to her feet, taking the journal with, her fingers drumming against it. "All the things he brought up, they're all things I've held onto. He made sure things only hurt and shamed me more. But we want things to be better, right?"
Betty walked around the bed and over to the open window, grabbing the latch and pulling it down, the cold air evaporating as she closed it. Jughead lifted himself off the floor and joined her on the bench seat under the window as she sat down.
She lowered her face for a moment, a determined gleam in her eyes. "We can't run from what's happened and what's still happening. We need to heal and that means facing our fears. And a lot of the time that means some ugly things have to come into the light. Isn't that what we've been trying to do for the town this whole time?"
Jughead cocked his head, listening intently.
"He used my own pursuit against me. The truth. He made me afraid of it." She ran a hand over her journal. "But I won't let it get buried. I can't." She turned her head back up. "It's probably going to hurt, but it needs to be out there, Jug. Edgar thinks he can still scare us. Well, let's give him something to be afraid of."
Jughead looked at her, a new sentiment welling up within him. He reached a hand out again, laying it on Betty's arm. "Now? Are you sure? It's still pretty raw."
With a breath, Betty almost became larger, more full in front of him, and nodded resolutely. "It's not just for me, but other survivors. Other people who have been in abusive situations. This goes beyond me. Edgar still thinks he's taken my voice away. I want to show him he hasn't."
Jughead took a breath and just stared at her, the feeling that had sprung up inside of him spreading and growing. He moved his hand down her arm until his fingers traced her palm, and he held her hands in her lap. "I'm proud of you."
A grin spread on the side of Betty's mouth and she set the journal down on the bench seat so she could swing his other hand. "Thank you for taking the time to listen."
Jughead smiled back. "Thank you for trusting me with this." He leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead, his hand running up to the back of her neck, and held there for longer than he normally would.
When he pulled back, he turned his head out the window, his gaze passing over the patches of melting snow still left in the yard, the wet and muddied grass poking through. It wasn't a pretty sight, but he knew that under that ice were buds and seeds just waiting to take bloom, preparing for their dark hibernation to end and for the coming sun of spring.
He smiled again, bobbing his head, and when he turned back, he saw that Betty's grin had wavered and her eyes were starting to droop as heavy fatigue set in.
"Hey." Jughead lumbered off the seat, nudging Betty up with him. "I think that's enough for tonight. How about we sleep on this and give a few days before we tell the FBI you're ready? How does that sound?"
Betty nodded through a yawn. "That sounds good."
"We've still got one more day of the weekend." Jughead sat on the edge of the bed as Betty slid her journal back into the nightstand, grabbing her pajamas instead. "Sundays are great days to do nothing."
She grinned, standing in the doorway to the bathroom. "Doing nothing sounds great." Her gaze lingered for a moment, and then she turned and shut the door.
Jughead continued to stare after, listening to the sputter of the showerhead coming to life. He exhaled, his whole body going with the breath as he realized how tired he was too, and how much he had been holding onto. He reached down and pulled his shoes off, throwing them across the floor.
It would still take him awhile, and no doubt Betty even longer, to process everything he had just learned. There were more unknowns ahead of them, more wilderness to fight through.
He glanced back at the bathroom door.
But for now, the ghosts had gone.
He shuffled his flannel off and tossed it toward the laundry basket, the clothing hitting the edge and dangling half in and half out. Jughead slid his beanie off and set it down on the desk, rubbing his eyes as he looked around the quiet bedroom. They landed on the laptop still sitting on the floor.
Jughead bent down, scooped it up, and sat on the edge of the bed. He opened it, the light of the screen washing over him. The cursor was still blinking at the bottom of the unfinished story, waiting for more to fill its blank pages. He flung his hand up the trackpad, scrolling past all that had already been written until he reached the top of the document.
He hovered the cursor at the beginning of the title, highlighting that little two-letter word and backspaced.
"Hope For Riverdale," it read once more.
Jughead breathed in, looking at the document in front of him. He turned his head back toward the bathroom door, the shower running on the other side, then returned to the computer, promptly shutting it.
Tonight, that would be enough.
The morning sun glinted off of the windows over the Andrew's porch, water droplets dripping down the side of the house as the remaining icicles melted under the slowly warming sun. Vegas shook his coat happily as Archie steered him outside, shutting the door behind him. He rubbed the dog's head and glanced up at the sky, adjusting his varsity jacket over his shoulders at the unexpectedly warm winter day.
"Come on," he softly called to the dog as he bounced down the steps of the porch, strolling into the lane between the houses.
Archie rounded the corner, coming along the fence that ran the length of the Cooper's backyard. He knit his brow as he looked around the yard, craning his neck to stare toward the back door. He frowned and turned his head down, pulling his phone out of his pocket.
The scrape of the sliding door met Archie's ear. "Morning, Red. You looking for someone?"
He looked up to see FP crossing the yard, a large coffee mug in hand.
Vegas slumped down against the fence in a dramatic huff, his tongue still hanging out of his mouth. Archie asked, "Is Betty here? We always go for a walk on Sunday mornings."
FP walked the rest of the distance to the fence and crossed his arms over top. "She's still asleep. Or at least, she hasn't come downstairs yet."
"Is she okay?" Archie placed his hands on the fence.
"Jughead wasn't pouting when he came downstairs, so I think so." FP nodded, turning his head toward the back door. "He's writing if you want to see him."
Archie shook his head. "If he's writing, I won't bother him. Thanks, Mr. Jones."
He tugged lightly on the leash, trying to get Vegas to his feet, but felt a hand land on his shoulder.
"Hold on a sec, Archie," FP said, setting his mug down on a small table in the backyard. "I haven't gotten the chance to check in with you about what happened at the community center. Have you talked to TJ at all?"
Archie kicked a patch of muddy grass and shook his head.
FP grimaced, a small grunt passing between his lips. "Listen, my work with the FBI is going to be increasing through the new year with everything going on, but I can talk to Mr. Logan if needed. Try to get him to see past the past, you know? You don't need to lose a friend over something that has nothing to do with you."
Vegas pushed against Archie's leg, and he felt the back of his neck grow warm.
"Hey," FP continued, seeing the dejection on his face. "You did nothing wrong, kid. There's just a lot of people that still don't like me. Hell, a lot of them were Serpents. Didn't stop me from doing my job then. It ain't going to stop me now."
Archie turned his head up, nodding at FP. "You know, you don't have to check on me."
FP gave him a sidelong smirk. He tapped the edge of the fence, stooping over to pick his mug back up. "Yeah, I do."
The back door squeaked open and both men looked across the yard. Betty was pulling her coat on as she strode over the grass and snow toward them. Her hair was up and she was trying to stifle a small yawn as she walked toward the fence.
"Sorry, Arch. I'm here." Betty fiddled with the latch to the gate and passed through it, crouching down and rubbing Vegas's ears, the dog's tail whipping back and forth happily. "I overslept."
"It's okay," Archie assured as she stood up. He looked at her and paused, his eyebrow lifting. There was a little more bounce in her step and her face was light as she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Betty noticed him staring and angled her head, narrowing her eyes. "What?"
Archie smiled. "Nothing." He exchanged a glance with FP, who was still leaning against the fence, his steaming mug in hand, a small grin on his face. "You just look... lighter."
Betty's face grew a bit red but she smiled.
"Alright-," FP pushed upward from the fence, taking a sip of his coffee. "Archie – I'll have that talk for you. You two-," his eyes flicked between the teens, "-you go have yours."
He began to walk back toward the house, Archie and Betty both watching him go. Vegas tugged on his leash, trotting up the path and stopping, looking back at the teenagers. Archie and Betty looked at each other, then followed the cheerful dog down the path that ran behind their houses.
Raucous clanging and whooping reverberated throughout the cell block as Hiram sat on his bed, thumbing the edge of the book he had open. The words sat on the page unread, insignificant to his mind at the moment. He instead stared thoughtfully at the picture that was tucked into the pages.
It had been over a month since his daughter had come to visit him, let alone anyone had come to visit him. He had grown accustomed to that absence during his first incarceration, knowing full well that it was only temporary.
As had he intended this one to be.
Hiram ran a hand over the photograph of Veronica, gruffly swallowing down his despondency.
The established colloquialism was that the higher one was, the harder one falls. And, well, Hiram sighed, he didn't know what that felt like, but he knew he had probably flown too close to the sun on this one.
The hooting and hollering got louder as the noise of rusty and unoiled wheels scraped down the hall, coming to a halt in front of Hiram's cell.
"Need a new book, Lodge?" Donnie sneered from the other side of the steel bars. "You've been working on that Hemingway for a long time. What, forgot how to read?"
"For Whom the Bell Tolls is a scintillating read, Hatcher," Hiram retaliated, still looking down at the open page. "Maybe you would know if you ever picked up a book instead of just tossing them around from that cart."
He turned his head up, sending the brutish man a matching brutish smile. But unfortunately for him, Donnie wasn't looking at him, but down toward the book in his hand as he leaned against the bars.
Hiram's smile dropped and he snapped the book shut and set it on the bed beside him, stridently clearing his throat as he did. "Just like yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that, I'm not looking to trade out my book. You can move along."
Donnie didn't budge, instead shooting his glance down to the book, then up at Hiram.
"Move. Along." He repeated, rising to his feet and stepping forward, staring down the man.
A sly smile crept across Donnie's face. "Whatever the boss man says." He finally straightened up, wrapping his hands around the cart handle, the old wheels giving another squeak. "Wouldn't want to deprive ya' of learning how the story ends."
The cart rattled as Donnie pushed it and himself out of sight, continuing down the cell block corridor. Hiram remained standing for a moment, the cacophony of voices and shouts filling back into the space.
He closed his eyes and exhaled, relaxing his arms. When he opened his eyes, he looked down at the book sitting on the bed, the picture still sticking out of the top like a bookmark. He glanced back out the front of his cell through the bars, an uneasy feeling settling within him, then quickly pushed the photo further into the pages before tossing it under his pillow.
"So, you finally talked?" Archie's eyebrows rose as he turned to face Betty, the pitter-patter of Vegas' feet on the sidewalk between them.
"Everything I was comfortable with, yeah." Betty nodded, her hands going into her pockets as they both walked through town. The sun was beating down overhead, the warmth a nice break from the bitter weather that had taken hold of Riverdale over the past few days.
"Thank God." Archie zigzagged in his walk, dramatically feigning relief, a goofy smirk on his face. "He may finally stop brooding."
Betty cocked her head, sarcastic spurn crossing her face.
"Which is completely beside the point," he recovered, his face dropping slightly as he fell back into step. He took a breath. "Go on."
A tiny inkling of a smirk was on her lips though, as she knew he wasn't wrong. Jughead could become very entitled, even if he meant well. And luckily, he hadn't acted as though he now owned the information she had disclosed, but rather like he would treat it as something sacred he now shared in.
Was trauma something to be revered? Probably not. But honoring life as it happened, being willing to engage with the dark and distant corners as well as the beautiful side of humanity felt like a worthy task.
You know, just not in the way the vindictive cult leader did it.
"I've been so terrified of saying these things out loud, Arch," Betty continued, swallowing a deep breath. "You've seen." She shook her head. "I was afraid of how all of you would react, or if you would look at me differently."
Archie shook his head vehemently back at her. "I never would, Betty," he ardently responded. "We've known each other for almost our entire lives." He sucked on his cheek, swallowing down a tender mumble. "Betty, you survived something unimaginable. You fought, and I know you're still fighting."
He looked down at the ground, his feet beating on the pavement. "I know that we've all been forced into that role more than we would like. But know that nothing you went through, nothing you had to do to keep surviving is ever going to make me look at you differently, Betty. You're my best friend and nothing is going to change that."
Betty's face crinkled, the corners of her mouth curling self-consciously, and she realized she was probably blushing. She really appreciated him saying that. She had known for a long time that they were more than just fair-weather friends, but still, the fear of some storm coming along and being too big for them to handle had always sat in the back of her mind.
She could hopefully, without a doubt, put that fear to rest now.
"And I'm sorry about everything you guys went through, too," she replied. "The riddles? The-, the tape?" Archie turned his eyes away. "I had no clue they did any of that. I had no idea what you guys were going through or what you knew."
They walked a few steps in silence. "It was really tough," Archie responded, his steps echoing. "It was easy to think the worst. Jughead and I clashed for a while. It was weird not being able to talk to you or see you at school." Then Archie's tone shifted. "I mean, who was going to read over my English papers?"
He threw her a gentle smirk, but she could see his eyes still held some pain.
"Hey, I heard you have an 'A' in the class, so you're doing just fine." Betty sent him her own proud smirk. "Going to graduate with honors."
Archie scoffed, his mouth still curved into the smirk. "I don't know about that. But graduating, yes. And maybe college, even."
Betty's eyes grew wide, as did her smile. "What? Archie! At the beginning of the school year, you said you didn't know if you wanted to go."
He shrugged, the leash shaking as he did. "I've been thinking about it lately. Just some state schools."
"That's big, Arch!" Betty praised, her pace quickening. "Don't talk about it like it's not. What changed?"
Archie shrugged again, the blue and gold of his jacket flapping up and down. "I don't want life to pass me by, you know? After everything. As long as the community center can keep running, then I wouldn't mind a change of pace."
He turned forward and down at the ground. "I would miss Vegas here, of course." The dog looked up, giving his owner a small woof. "He missed you, you know."
Betty looked down as well. "I bet he did."
She bent down to pet his ears, and he veered in front of her, his tongue hanging lopsided out of his mouth. He tried to push into her side, the leash inadvertently wrapping around her legs, and she chuckled as she untangled it, the dog yipping cheerfully as though they were playing a game, running forward once more.
When Betty turned her head up, she spotted Archie staring at her with a big smile plastered on his face.
"What?" she asked, angling her head again.
Archie continued to smile. "You just genuinely look happy. I've missed that."
Her face flushed. "Me too," she agreed softly.
Even if this glimmer of hope she was feeling right now was only temporary given what still lay ahead with the trial and the national spotlight on them, it was nice to know that some of the weight had indeed been lifted. "And I know I already mentioned it at school, but I've missed you making music."
The sidewalk ended and turned into a grassy path, the ground under Betty's feet growing softer. "It sounded like you were working on an original song last night."
Color began to creep up Archie's face. "How much did you hear?" he asked a bit nervously.
"Not too much," she reassured, thinking he probably didn't want anyone to hear it until it was finished. "But enough to make me happy to hear you playing again."
His lip curled, his tongue in the side of his cheek, but he nodded. He began to slow his walk until he fully stopped. Betty did too, and before she knew it, she was engulfed in a long hug.
"Arch-,"
"I know I've said it a dozen times already, but I'm glad you're okay." He stayed there for a while and Betty acquiesced to the embrace. "Let me know if there's anything I can still do to help."
They pulled apart and Betty shuffled her feet, a few spots of dew and mud from the grass spraying across her Converse. "There are two things, actually." Archie nodded earnestly and Betty continued, "Can you ask Veronica if she's available later today? And if we can use her apartment? I want to try to get everyone together."
He nodded again. "And the second thing?"
Betty grinned. "Just make sure we keep having our walks."
Archie beamed. "Deal." He held a hand out to Betty, his pinkie extended. "And I'll even throw in lunch today if you're hungry. Because I am."
"Ah, so generous," Betty smirked, twisting her pinkie with his and shaking it emphatically.
"I've always been generous," Archie responded through a dramatized scoff. "It's my best quality."
"Oh, so humble too," Betty snickered as she turned forward to begin their walk again. "Ah-," She paused after only taking one step and pointed toward the grass. "Maybe that lunch will need to wait."
Archie turned his head, his brow scrunching until he noticed what Betty had seen. Vegas had taken advantage of the teens' lack of attention and was rolling around gleefully in a large mud puddle.
"Oh no, bad boy!" Archie bolted forward, tugging on the leash to get the dog out of the squelching muck. "No, you just had a bath!"
The dog took his rush forward as a sign of play and leaped up on the boy's chest, his dirty paws scraping across his shirt, and shook vigorously. Archie and Betty both shrieked and held their arms up as mud volleyed around them. Though the defense was to no avail as they were both soon covered in the sticky sludge, the mud clinging to their skin and clothes.
They brought their arms down and looked at each other, staring in shock for a moment before smiles slowly coiled back onto both of their faces. They pointed at each other and soon laughter was breaking free from their lips. Betty poked at the perfectly placed brown paw prints on Archie's white t-shirt, and he had his finger directed toward a grass clump that had landed on her head. Vegas was sitting patiently at his owner's feet, wagging his tail as though nothing had happened.
Betty grabbed the grass clump and held it in her hand, another round of giddy amusement filling her as she threw it down and tried to wipe some of the mud off of her face. She and Archie continued giggling at each other, an almost drunken stupor to them as they realized how ridiculous the situation was.
After all, messes were familiar to them, and maybe now, were something they could finally embrace.
So much so that neither had noticed where they were. That across the street, on the other side of the tree line, sat a bare patch of ground under a gnarled tree, the dirt still loose from being recently filled in.
If memories really were alive and bound to places, then maybe the good could echo above the bad, the grit and grime that covered them now washing away the messes that had been made there before.
Vibrant paint splashed across the white canvas as Veronica spread elegant strokes across the banner. She swirled the paintbrush through the blue and purple haze of the backdrop, blending together the colors, hoping it formed the appearance of ice. Several other banners laid around the tarped floor below the windows of her Pembroke suite, drying underneath the natural midday sun.
Signing up to be head of the decorating committee for the winter formal was proving to be more of a challenge than she had anticipated. The date was approaching fast and she did not feel like she had enough time or enough help.
Curse the adolescent need to be an overachiever. Or the archaic college admissions algorithm that somehow determined your value and whole life's potential based on how many boxes you checked off in high school.
She let out a short sigh, dipping the paintbrush in the water cup sitting to the side of the banner.
But a creative outlet amongst all of the chaos and drivel of her high school experience was what Veronica had been searching for when deciding to become the chair of the decorating committee. The musicals and performances were fun, but they didn't offer the same type of slow meditation and relaxation that making something with your hands did.
Even if she felt understaffed while doing so.
Her phone rang, and Veronica delicately laid the brush down on the tarp and wiped her hands. She reached over and picked the phone up, careful not to get any excess paint on the device.
"Mr. Sowerberry," Veronica tutted, propping herself up, one hand on the floor. "What is the family lawyer doing calling on a Sunday afternoon?"
Veronica remained still, listening intently, and then suddenly her eyes widened and she perked up, her back shooting up straight.
"You're kidding? The petition actually went through?" She ran a hand over her hair, a smile spreading across her face like the swirl of paint she had just been working on.
She nodded her head at the conversation, the lawyer continuing on. "Do you have the paperwork already?"
A ding reverberated off her phone and she pulled it away from her ear for a second, seeing the email notification on her screen.
"Consider this already filled out and in your inbox," she declared, elation churning within her. "Thank you so much, Mr. Sowerberry!"
Veronica's eyes fell over the painted canvases spread out over the floor and gave a final nod. "Of course. I'll do that. Thank you again. I'll talk to you tomorrow." She slowly slid the phone down away from her face, holding it close to her chest, then she pulled it up and opened the email.
She smiled down at the open document, a scoff of disbelief at her lips.
"Petition for Conditional Release" it read.
Veronica took a contented breath, her eyes lingering on the document before drifting back to the paint and banners in front of her.
Sometimes to get what you wanted, you just had to get creative.
The bell above the door to the diner jingled and Pop looked up from the cash register.
"Whoa." He leaned against the counter, spreading his arms out. "What happened to you two?"
Archie and Betty stood in the doorway of the restaurant, humorous smiles on their mud-streaked faces.
"You know what-," Pop raised a hand, going back to processing the receipts he was holding. "I don't want to know. Dirt, blood, rain-soaked – you've come in here looking worse. Go ahead and find a table." He glanced down at the also mud-soaked Vegas sitting at Archie's feet. "And I'll find a towel for the pup."
"Thanks, Pop," Archie responded. The two teens shared in private laughter, an air of merriment on their faces. "We'll probably take it to go, but thanks for letting us hang out."
Pop watched as they sat at the counter, snickering and talking to each other, seemingly oblivious to their appearance. He shook his head, a small grin on his face. "Oh, to be a kid again."
He walked away, heading into the back to find some towels for those kids.
Charles sat alone in his apartment, an elbow propped heavily on the table. He stared down at his phone, a fretful bounce to his leg. He hovered a hand over the screen, the speed dial contacts page glaring up at him. His hand paused, his fingers curling, a soft grunt on his lips as he shook his head.
"No, no, no," he muttered, springing up from the chair, spinning away from the desk and out toward the rest of the apartment. Charles blew a rickety breath out, his hands on his hips as he passed his gaze around the disordered room.
He eventually closed his eyes and groaned. "Come on, Charles, come on," he muttered, collapsing back into the seat, unlocking his phone and hitting one of the contacts toward the top of his screen.
The phone only rang twice before an enthusiastic voice answered over speakerphone. "Hey, Charles, what's up?"
"Hi Hailee," he greeted his friend, keeping his voice steady. His fingers twisted together, his perspiring palms sticking close as he stretched his arms into his lap. Charles clicked his tongue. "Can I ask you something?"
Agent Lance gave an expectant breath. "Shoot."
Charles turned his head, facing away from the phone. "How, uh-," He sucked his teeth. "What do you do if you think someone might be developing an addiction?"
There was silence for a moment and then he heard a sharp intake of breath. "Are you worried about Betty?"
Hailee's voice held considerably more concern than before, her enthusiasm nowhere to be found.
Charles looked away from the phone again, swallowing but not answering. He had to answer, he needed to, but didn't feel he could.
"Okay, well," Agent Lance continued without his answer. "It's definitely not out of the question after a trauma like that. Have you been seeing any signs that make you think this?"
A sharp intake of breath hit his lungs. He could already feel the guilt creeping in.
"Uh, feeling more anxious than normal, trouble sleeping, loss of focus, increased anger…"
There was a moment of silence before Agent Lance responded. "Charles, those are all things that can result from any number of things. Not uncommon at this stage with what she's been through. Is there something more of concern you've noticed? Does she have a history of abuse?"
He squeezed his eyes shut, his face scrunching up. He reached up and rubbed his eyebrow with his thumb, his chest heavy. "Uh, the family does."
His head sunk into his hands, his fingers trembling. He had let his voice waver. He had heard it, his voice cracked. A wiry desk fan droned behind him, the cold air blowing against the sweat on his back.
"Charlie." The firm nickname rang through the quiet. "Do I need to come down there?"
She wasn't stupid. He knew she wasn't stupid. But he didn't know if he could look her in the eye.
"No, no," Charles stuttered back, his tone a bit rushed. He lifted his head. "I was just looking for some advice."
He sat stiff and silently in the small apartment, trying not to let his stifled sniveling be heard on the other line.
"Charlie, please talk to m-,"
Charles swiped the phone off the desk and quickly hung up. He continued sitting silently, unmoving, until he eventually leaned back in his chair, a hand over his face, the buzz of the fan ringing in his ears.
The icy blue and black banners and paint were pushed up against the walls of the Pembrooke, their tarps folded neatly underneath them. They framed the living room that was filling with the murmur and chatter of the gathered teenagers.
Jughead was leaning against the dining room table behind everyone, his arms crossed as he looked out across the space. Veronica and Josie were conversing excitedly about something overtop of Kevin, who was sitting between them on the couch. He kept opening his mouth and shutting it, wanting to join in the conversation but eventually resigned himself to just withdrawing into the back of the couch.
Betty, freshly showered (whose response to his inquiry about being covered in mud earlier had been pure giggling), was now pacing in front of the fireplace talking with Archie, also freshly showered.
Jughead kept his eyes on her for a moment. After they had finally gone to bed last night, he had laid awake beside her, his mind racing through everything he had learned. Despite all of it, despite the sordid imagery that now lived in his head, he had drifted off to sleep after staring at the ceiling for a while with a huge sense of warmth and gratitude. Not only was she there, next to him, able to fall asleep in his arms, but she had more days, and she was willing to fight for them.
He let a small smile slip onto his face as he watched her talk and laugh with their friends.
And she wasn't just fighting for herself. Somehow, she had the bandwidth to make sure she was fighting for everyone else as well. Which is why they were all here right now.
The only ones they were waiting on were –
"We're here!" Cheryl announced as she veered into the suite, Toni catching the swinging door behind her, barely hiding a lighthearted eye-roll. Everyone turned their heads up, their various exchanges coming to a close as the two of them waltzed over to the couch. Veronica slid over and into one of the neighboring chairs to give them room as Archie moved to stand behind her, giving a small nod to Betty, who remained standing in front of them all.
"Alright." Cheryl crossed her legs and placed her hands on her knee. "Pray tell, what is this little clandestine convening for?"
Jughead pushed himself off of the table and walked around the couch to the fireplace to stand next to Betty, his arms still crossed.
"This is not a clandestine meeting, Cheryl," Betty said, an exasperated expression on her face.
She raised a haughty eyebrow. "No? Well, you didn't exactly disclose many details as to the need for this gathering in the texts we got earlier."
Everyone's eyes went toward Betty, and Jughead could see that she had begun to grow anxious, her joy from before slipping away. He cleared his throat and quickly nudged into her shoulder, looking right at her as he answered Cheryl, "Well, that didn't stop you from coming, did it?"
Betty stared back at him and he nodded. She took a breath, then turned to the group.
"You're right, I didn't give you many details, but details are exactly the reason why I wanted to get you all together."
A few puzzled looks were passed around the room and Betty stepped forward. "As you know, Edgar has been talking to the press. I've been keeping an eye on it for a while now, and I know I'm not the only one." She swiveled her head, looking around at everyone. Veronica ran a hand through her hair as she turned her head down, and Josie gave a slow nod, her eyes shifting toward Kevin.
"And to no surprise, you may also know that he's spinning his own story." Betty glanced over at Jughead and they shared a knowing look. "I've been thinking about it a lot lately and-," she took another deep breath, her voice taking on a determined nature. "I've decided that I want to tell my story too, so his isn't the only one people see."
Eyes widened around the room. Veronica sat up in her chair and rocked forward. "In the news?" she asked, concern still underneath the pride in her tone. "Do you feel ready for that?"
"Yeah, Betty, that's big," Toni said.
Betty nodded. "Truthfully, I don't know if I'll ever necessarily be ready, but I want to. I need to. After all of his intimidation tactics, I don't think Edgar expects us to get loud back."
She turned her head toward Cheryl, who looked slightly taken aback before giving Betty a quick smile. Jughead slowly crept away from the front as Betty continued talking and went to stand beside Archie behind the couch.
"Do you think this is too soon?" Archie whispered to him once he got close enough, and Jughead noticed Veronica peering at them too. "I mean you just now, you know… know."
Jughead's hands slipped into his pockets. "I think that it is up to her. And she's already made up her mind. Make it public, not make it public… either way, I think she's brave."
Archie and Veronica looked at each other for a moment, then bobbed their heads. "Us too."
"…the biggest reason I wanted to get you all together was to check with everyone before I do any kind of written story or interview," Betty's voice came back to them. "This affects all of you in this room in one way or another, and, as Josie brought to our attention, you're all already mentioned in connection to the whole story. But I want your consent on how much or how little you want to continue to be associated or mentioned in this."
Toni leaned forward. "What are you saying?"
Betty's eyes softened and the edge of her mouth curled. "This is my fight. I don't want any of you to get more involved in this than you already have. It's not fair to any of you, and it's not safe. So I want you to be able to have the choice in how much involvement you have in the public narrative."
Archie stirred next to Jughead, the redhead standing to his full height as he crossed his arms. "Betty, you fight for us all the time. My mom is one of the lawyers, so I'm already in this. I know we're in the police reports, too. We're in this together and I'm not backing away until this is all over."
"Toni, Kevin, and I already decided that we're going to be sending in victim statements for the trial," Cheryl interjected, a fiery spark in her eyes. "I appreciate the offer, but don't leave us out just to try to protect us."
Kevin and Cheryl both nodded enthusiastically at that and Josie added, "While I don't want to be mentioned or named in any of the stories surrounding this for now, I am going back to New York soon and I'll be sure to keep my eyes and ears out on the temperature of things."
Veronica rose from her seat and joined Archie and Jughead behind the couch. She looked at both of them before turning toward Betty. "As Archie said, you fight for us all the time. We're going to fight for you, too."
Jughead could tell that Betty hadn't been expecting this much support, as she was looking visibly overwhelmed. He locked eyes with her and sent her a smile. "The spotlight can be a lonely place and we're not letting you stand there alone."
Betty turned down to the floor to hide the emotion on her face, and when she turned back up, she said. "Thank you. And I'll be working with a liaison at the FBI, so we'll make sure to do this properly."
Kevin squirmed a bit, his fingers twisting in his lap. Hesitantly, he asked, "So are you going to be sharing everything publicly?"
She shook her head. "We still have to wait for the trial for everything, and even then, Kane said that they are working to try to make sure those records get sealed since there are minors involved."
She sighed and regarded the group, slowly lowering herself into one of the chairs in the living room. "But, while we're on the topic of disclosing details-," she clasped her hands together, balling them into her lap. "I don't want to talk to the media before I talk to my friends, and I don't want you to learn everything through the news or the trial. That's also not fair to you."
"So-," Betty looked around slowly, passing over each face. And with a gentle and poised voice, she asked:
"What do you want to know?"
Alice placed the large bowl of tossed salad down on the dining room table, looking expectantly at the front door as she did.
FP bounced up the basement stairs, rounding the corner into the kitchen. He looked at Alice, then followed her eyes, then looked back, one eyebrow arching.
"They're late," she responded.
"They're teenagers," FP casually chimed as he walked the rest of the way to her, his face mellowing.
"I told them what time dinner was. The food's going to get cold." Alice put her hands on her hips, untying her apron and placing it over one of the kitchen bar stools.
"Not for me," JB bragged, reaching greedily for the serving spatula next to the pan of lasagna that was also on the table.
FP stopped her hand. "Ah, not yet. We're going to wait a few minutes for your brother and Betty. Go grab the garlic bread from the kitchen." She slanted her head, giving him a combative look. "Please," he emphasized more assertively. She huffed but got up from her place at the table and scurried into the kitchen.
"And she's becoming a teenager too," FP moaned as he ran a hand over his face, his other grabbing the back of a chair.
Alice watched as Jellybean preoccupied herself with hauling the garlic bread out of the oven, then pulled FP aside. "Did you notice anything different about the kids this morning?"
"Which kids?"
"Which kids? FP!" Alice said in exasperation, hitting him on the shoulder with a pot holder.
FP gave a gruff chuckle, resting his hands on his hips. "What? They looked happy today. Why are you worried about that?"
Alice looked directly at him and let out a breath. "I'm not. I just wanted to be sure I wasn't the only one that saw it." She ran a hand up FP's arm, a grin cracking on the side of her mouth. "I know it could just be for today and she could go back to being distant tomorrow, but it was nice to see."
FP nodded, smiling back at her, and they gave each other a small peck before he abruptly pulled away, pushing past her with a concerned look into the kitchen. "Whoa, JB, that is not the bread knife!"
Alice turned over her shoulder to watch as he swooped in to assist with slicing the garlic bread, the smile still faintly on her face when she heard the sound of the door clicking open.
"Hi, sorry we're late," Betty called as she slipped her purse over the lower banister of the stairs before she and Jughead strolled into the living room.
She smoothed her blouse, spinning toward the two of them. She noticed that despite her sleeping in this morning, Betty now looked far more tired than she had when she had left earlier in the day. But not despondent. "It's okay, honey. Just make sure you go wash up before you sit down at the table."
"Actually, Mom-," Betty stepped forward, her tone low and serious. She glanced at Jughead, who met her eyes, then both of them turned their heads toward Alice. "I wanted to talk to you about something. Mr. Jones, too."
FP sauntered back over from the kitchen, he and Alice exchanging looks. He slowly crossed his arms as she nodded, her face falling slightly. Alice stepped closer to her daughter. "What's going on, honey?"
The teen put her hands together, her fingers knotting together. "I've been thinking a lot about what Agent Kane proposed the other day, about putting my story out there. And I'm ready. I want to do it."
Alice's shoulders slackened, and she stood stunned for a moment. FP had an equally surprised expression on his face, his arms dropping to his sides.
"Are you sure, kid?" he asked, throwing his eyes tentatively between the two Cooper women, no doubt a not-too-far-removed memory filling his mind.
Betty nodded emphatically. "I don't want Edgar's web of lies to be the only thing out there. Agent Kane suggested we use an FBI media liaison to do it right. And on our terms."
Alice and FP shared another look before turning back to the kids. "If that's what you want, I can talk to Charles and Kane tomorrow. We can probably set you up with one of the journalists at RIVW-,"
"No," Betty interrupted, shaking her head. She gave her mother a firm stare. "I want to do it with you."
Now Alice was fully taken aback. "You… you do? But what I did before-,"
"Was not the right way to go about things," Betty admitted again. "But I want to do this my way. And that means having you write the story with me. Maybe shop it to the Register too." She shook her hands out in front of her. "But no TV interviews."
"We were thinking we could even write something for the Blue & Gold," Jughead piped up, side-stepping closer to Betty.
There was a bit of unease still in Alice's mind as her eyes flitted between the couple, and she wondered if that was just residual guilt from hurting Betty the last time. But then she turned her head toward FP and saw that he was cracking a faint smile. He saw her looking and gave a content shrug, sticking his hand in his back pocket. "If she feels good about it, then I feel good about it."
Alice turned back to Betty, who was staring determinedly and imploringly up at her.
Maybe happy wasn't the exact thing she had noticed spring back to life within her daughter. Alice could tell she was still subdued, still carrying a lot of weight around, but there was a fire burning there again. A spirit bent but not broken.
Hopeful.
Perhaps hopeful was the more accurate word she was looking for.
And another chapter closer!
While there's still trials (mostly one big one) ahead for the gang, I feel like I, and them, can take a big breather. Shake out the shoulders a bit. Healing is hard but they are all on their way!
Thanks for reading and as always, I love getting reviews and having people let me know that they are still reading and parts that stood out to them.
I hope you are all having a wonderful summer! I'll be working on the next chapter in the meantime!