A/N: Hi all! So I've started another multichapter fic, because I don't already have enough stories going, apparently.

Just a few notes. In this story Jughead is NOT asexual. I make no comments about what his canon orientations are, I'm just letting you know that is not how I wrote him.

Also, the gang is aged up in this story. They're all in senior year, 17/18 depending on birthdays. The events of the pilot (and some subsequent episodes) take place as normal, it's just that the characters are in senior year instead of freshman year when they happen.

I started this when only a few episodes were out, so I may incorporate canon details from future eps, but a lot of it will be canon divergent. I'll try to make it as clear as possible.

I use reader feedback to determine whether or not to continue a fic, so if you like it, please let me know! Anyways, happy reading!

P.S. This fic is mostly written from Jug's point of view, and named after Gun Song by the Lumineers.

Jughead isn't sure when he went soft. He was always nice enough, as a kid, flanked by the perpetually cheerful Little Archie and veritable ball of sunshine Little Betty.

Even then, he was a little sharper than Archie, a little harder. And that sharpness found a companion in bitterness as he got older, watching the world turn mean around them. His friends didn't see it, but they were young.

Jughead wasn't, not even then. He thinks he might have been born seventy years old. Crotchety and jaded, and deeply, deeply skeptical.

As if he'd set in motion a self-fulfilling prophecy, then came Jason Blossom's untimely death. And now, it turns out, there's a murderer amongst them.

He's considered an outsider now, he knows. The weird, dark kid on the fringe. He had Archie, before, to keep him tethered to the rest of society. But now Archie is as strange to him as the rest of them.

He's supposed to be aloof and sharp-tongued, and most of the time, he is. But tonight, he's sitting in his usual booth at Pop's, and he can't keep his gaze from creeping back towards Betty, sitting alone in her own booth. She was there when he arrived, a cherry soda on the table in front of her, the first sign that something isn't right. She's a vanilla milkshake girl, as constant as Pop himself, but she's playing with the straw in her fizzy red drink now. It doesn't look like she's taken a single sip in the hour they've both been here.

Betty…Betty was a casualty of his falling out with Archie. And as much as Jughead has always been considered a woman-hater, the rest of Riverdale ascribing him an aversion to the fairer sex, he liked Betty. She was far kinder than either of the boys ever really deserved, and more loyal than anyone he'd known. She was nice to Jughead when no one else was, even after. And though she would never have outright chosen Archie over him if forced to pick sides, despite the way she loves him, Jughead decided to make it easy for her. He burned that bridge himself, freezing her out as he did his former best friend.

She should be angry at him for it, probably. He tells himself that if she were he wouldn't care.

He's usually better at lying to himself.

But tonight…tonight he can't convince himself that whatever's got her down is irrelevant to him. Tonight even her usually perky ponytail seems to droop, and before he knows it, his feet are carrying him to her table, laptop bag slung over his shoulder.

He suddenly finds himself standing in front of her, surprise apparent in her big blue eyes as she looks up at the sound of his approach.

"Oh. Hi, Jughead."

"Cherry soda?" He asks, the first words to come to mind. For a moment he expects her to tell him to fuck off, and then he remembers who he's talking to.

"I-" She glances at her soda, then back at him. "Yeah." He shifts awkwardly on his feet, and it seems to occur to her then that he's angling for an invitation. She's Betty, so she waves a hand at the seat across from her. "You wanna sit?"

He sits, not entirely sure what he means to do now.

"I know I can't be your first choice for…anything, probably," he muses, half to himself, before continuing. "But if you want to talk about it…"

Betty blinks, twirling her pink straw absently between her thumb and pointer finger.

"Talk about what?" Her voice is guarded, something he doesn't think he's ever heard on her before. It startles him.

"Cherry soda's the Betty Cooper equivalent of hard liquor." He remembers that much, anyway. "It's usually a pretty good indicator that something is wrong."

"Am I that predictable?" She wonders, and he gets the feeling there's a question under the question. "Boring old Betty Cooper."

Jughead raises an eyebrow.

"Boring? Is there something wrong with being reliable?" He wouldn't have thought so. He's always appreciated that about her. Apparently that was the wrong thing to say, because she huffs out a breath and crosses her arms over her chest.

"Reliable. Like-like what? A pair of old shoes?"

It occurs to him that he may have walked into something more than a little out of his depth.

"Or a car," he suggests. "Or…good wi-fi?"

She glares at him, and it's both warmly familiar and laced with a fire he doesn't remember. How much can she have changed, since they were friends? How much has happened behind closed doors in both their lives?

"My whole life I've had to be perfect. Be what Polly wasn't, be what my mom never got to be, be…this person that my family could put up on a pedestal." She leans forward, taking a long sip of her drink. "But they didn't. No matter how hard I tried, I was never good enough. My reputation was never enough to make up for the way Polly embarrassed my mom, and she'll never forgive either of us for that. And then I thought if I was just better, if I was just smarter and-and prettier, and nicer, then maybe-"

"Archie would notice." Jughead finishes for her, and her eyes snap back to his, cheeks pink. "Was that supposed to be a secret?" He asks, when she continues to stare at him, arching an eyebrow.

Betty deflates, then, slumping her seat.

"I guess not. It isn't anymore, anyways."

At that, he frowns, leaning forward on his elbows.

"You told him?"

She just nods, gaze fixed on the vinyl of her seat. It all makes sense, suddenly. The cherry soda, her sitting alone in a booth usually reserved for her and Archie, her long face.

"And he said…" Jughead thinks for a moment, drawing on the years of observations he'd made about the relationship between Archie and Betty. They'd never outright talked about it, that wasn't something boys did. "He said you were too good for him." He guesses.

Betty looks back up at him, eyes wide. He takes that as confirmation.

"I mean, he's right," he adds, as though it would be helpful. Clearly, it's not.

"How do you-" her eyebrows draw together. "Did he tell you-"

Jughead laughs.

"We don't exactly get together to talk about girls."

A shadow passes over her face, delicate features a different kind of sad for a moment, before it wipes away.

"Neither do we," she says quietly, and he finds himself surprised that she'd bring that up. Betty has always been the type to brush tension under the rug and walk right over it.

He shrugs, then smiles at her suggestively.

"Was there a girl you wanted to talk about?"

For the first time tonight, her lips twitch in a smile.

"Well, I did kiss Veronica."

He smirks, that's a risqué joke for Betty, but his smile falls away when she blushes.

"You-" His voice comes out a little higher than intended, and he clears his throat. "Huh. I guess things really have changed." He doesn't mean for it to sound quite so morose, but there's a mood tonight, and he's not immune to it.

Across from him, Betty sighs.

"So, are you alright? Or are you going to fling yourself into Sweetwater River Jason Blossom style."

"Jughead!" She gasps, ponytail swinging as she glances around to make sure no one heard him. "That's not funny."

"We just have different senses of humour," he informs her, stifling a yawn. That reproving look doesn't budge from her face, but after a moment she decides to let it go.

"I'm-I don't know what I am. I want to be mad at him, but he hasn't done anything wrong. "

Very Betty, Jughead thinks, to even care about that.

"So instead you're just going to sit here alone, in his booth, and pine."

Someone who didn't know him as well as she does might have been offended at his bluntness. But Betty just sighs, giving him that same, stern look.

"Maybe. If I go home my mom will ask me what's wrong, and I can't tell her. She already hates Archie. She'll just say she told me so."

Jughead has always hated Alice Cooper. And in that moment, knowing how much Betty could use a mother that knows the right thing to say, that cares to say the right thing, his hatred only grows.

"You'll have to go home eventually," he points out. "It's almost eleven." His parents have never been much for curfews, but hers are.

Her hand tightens around the glass, so hard that her knuckles begin to turn white. Alarmed, he reaches over, tugging it out of her grasp before it shatters.

"I don't want to." Her voice shakes, unsettling him. "I don't think I can face her tonight."

"Um," he blinks. "I-you can stay at my place. If you want." The offer tumbles out of it's own accord, his brain reeling in shock at the words. Betty looks just as surprised.

"Really?"

Yeah, Jughead, a voice in the back of his mind asks. Really?

"Sure." Something about this feels like a terrible idea, though he can't put his finger on what.

"Oh." She launches herself across the table at him, almost knocking over her soda as she throws her arms around him. "Thank you! You're the best."

He pats her awkwardly on the back, trying to ignore that the way he suddenly can't breathe has nothing to do with how tightly she's hugging him. Her scent is a familiar juxtaposition, vanilla and motor oil, and for the briefest of seconds, his fingers splay across her waist. Then she settles back in her seat, a genuine smile warming her face.

After a moment, the silence stretching on in a way that should have been uncomfortable, he raps his knuckles against the table.

"Should we head out, then? It is a school night." He's only half joking, gaze catching on the way dark circles are beginning to drag under her eyes. She's always been a whirlwind, spreading herself near to nothing in order to make sure her friends never want for anything, to make sure her mother is satisfied.

Betty just shrugs, glancing over at her half finished soda before sliding it across the tabletop toward him. He finishes it in one long gulp, earning an amused smile from the blonde.

"Alright, blondie." He jumps to his feet, cocking his head as he smiles at her. "Let's blow this popsicle stand."

She giggles at that, and though the words felt a little ridiculous, he decides it was worth it.

It's brisk outside, and as the wind picks up, Betty loops her arm through his. He stiffens, is about to shake her off, but then he feels a shiver travel their linked arms. She leans in closer to him, drawn to his body heat, and with a start, Jughead realizes that the feeling of her pressed against his side is actually kind of pleasant.

"Can I ask you a question?" Even her voice catches in the cold, and he quickens his pace a little.

"Sure," he agrees, "-as long as you're good with a short and evasive answer."

Betty sighs, but there's no missing the fondness in it.

"Do you think you and Archie will ever go back to how you were before?"

His chest constricts.

"Uh-" A car rattles past, sending another gust of frigid air cutting through his denim jacket. Betty's only wearing a cardigan, and Jughead considers whether giving up his jacket for her would be too great a hit for his reputation before realizing they're at the end of his driveway. "No." He mutters.

He can feel her eyes on the side of his face, knows the way her lips are turning down without even having to look.

"I mean, we're, you know, fine now. But I don't think it will ever be like it was before. We're different people than we were then."

When he finally does look down at her, swinging open his front door to let her rush inside, her bottom lip is caught between her teeth.

"Oh." Her response is so soft it's almost lost under the click of the door falling shut. The warm air wraps around him immediately, soothing the aching cold from his limbs, and he kicks off his boots. Betty toes off her flats, and Jughead almost shakes his head at the thin jeans and cardigan she's wearing. She must be freezing.

"Come on." He grabs her upper arms, steering her into the kitchen. It's quarter after eleven, so he knows his mother and sister will be asleep.

"Hungry again?" She wonders, as he lets go of her to bury his head in the fridge. "I saw you eat two burgers at Pop's."

"Always," he replies from next to the orange juice. "But I was thinking some hot chocolate might be in order."

"Ooh." She sinks into a chair at his kitchen table with a contented sigh, slumping forward. "Yes, please."

They fall back into silence as he melts chocolate into a small saucepan. One of the perks that comes with near constant eating is that he's learned to be pretty comfortable in the kitchen.

"What about you?" He asks, whisking some milk into the pot after a moment.

"What about me what?" Betty responds, stifling a yawn.

"Well, you and Archie. What are you going to do about that?"

"I-" She blinks at him. "I do-" But she's saved from answering when a blur of white fur suddenly dashes into the kitchen, lifting both paws onto her lap.

Jughead makes a noise of irritation.

"Hot Dog, get off of her."

But Betty just laughs, burying her slender fingers in the fur behind Hot Dog's ears. The sheepdog pants happily, his tail thumping against the leg of the table. Jughead turns back to the stove, listening to the sound of happy whines and Betty's soft murmurs.

Deciding to steer the topic back to something safer, he pours the steaming hot cocoa into a pair of mugs, placing one in front of her on the table, and maneuvering Hot Dog out of the way with his foot.

Her hands curl around the mug, and the image of her here, in his kitchen so late at night, his dog's head in her lap, evokes feelings of that same strange mixture of familiarity and change.

"Is your mom going to care?" Betty wonders suddenly, blue eyes snapping up to meet his. "If she comes down and finds me sleeping on your couch?"

"Well she won't," Jughead says with a frown. "Since you'll be sleeping in my bed. But no, she won't care. My mom loves you."

Her fingers, which had been methodically combing through the fur under Hot Dog's collar, still.

"Your bed?"

"Yeah." He raises his cocoa to his lips, savouring the warmth as it slides down his throat. "I'll sleep in the chair."

The well-worn blue recliner that sits in the corner of his room, he knows she knows it after all the nights she or Archie fell asleep in it as kids.

Betty frowns.

"Jug, you don't have to-"

"It's fine," he waves her off. "You know me, I can sleep anywhere."

She sighs.

"Alright. Thanks."

They finish their cocoa in silence, Hot Dog ambling away after a few minutes, probably to go back to sleep. When she covers a yawn with her hand, he gets up, dumping their mugs in the sink.

"Alright, Cooper. Time for bed."

"Sorry," Her apology is cut short by another yawn. "I haven't really been sleeping lately."

She follows him up the stairs to his room, their voices hushed as they pass his mother and Jellybean's rooms.

"Insomnia?" He asks, again letting her step through the door in front of him.

"More like…" She settles cross legged on his bed, rubbing at her eyes. "Nightmares. I know it's childish but it makes me not really want to go to sleep. Every night it's just like…I know what I'm going to see when I close my eyes and I'd almost rather not sleep at all."

He wonders what she sees. What is Betty Cooper afraid of, exactly? Alice Cooper, he's fairly sure, although Betty must be braver than the rest of them to have lived under a roof with that perfectly coiffed Reptilian for all these years. He almost asks, but decides if she wants to tell him, she will.

Instead, he frowns at her jeans.

"I, uh-" Turning, he roots around his dresser, eventually pulling out a pair of plain black sweatpants that he's had for years, and a worn grey Pacman t-shirt. "Here." He thrusts the clothes at Betty, who blinks as she takes them.

"Oh. Thanks Jug."

There's a quiet in the room that feels anticipatory. Ignoring it, Jughead collapses into his recliner, swiping the crown-fringed beanie off his head with a sigh.

"I'm sure when you usually imagine this movie moment I don't make a cameo."

Already on her feet, Betty turns to frown at him.

"What do you mean?"

He gestures vaguely at her.

"You know. The whole sleeping in a guys bed and borrowing his clothes domesticity thing. I'm sure I've seen it in a romantic comedy or two."

She just stares.

Eyes darting to the side, he makes a dismissive motion with his hand.

"Nevermind."

Usually, Betty is a match for him, mentally. She catches his quips and snide comments when no-one else does. But tonight she's distracted, eyes still sad and rimmed in red.

Even when he and Archie were still best friends, there were moments, more regularly than Jughead was comfortable with, where he kind of wanted to hit the red-haired boy over the head with a bat. Usually when he was off chasing some girl, leaving Betty to bat her downcast blue eyes at Jughead, who was never very good at cheering people up. She never seemed to mind though. She would laugh at one of his terrible jokes, wipe a few tears away, and pretend this was fine, just the two of them.

She was never going to love him the way she loved Archie, he wasn't sure she would ever love him at all. And young Jughead had been fine with that. Betty was the third wheel in his friendship with Archie as far as he was concerned.

He changes quickly while she's gone, sliding into a pair of threadbare plaid pajama pants and a t-shirt he doesn't remember at all with an elephant on the front. Usually, he flops into bed in a pair of boxers and nothing else, but they're older now, and-

For some reason that would feel weird. He grabs the thick spare blanket on the foot of his bed, and curls up in the armchair, trying to get comfortable.

Betty returns a few minutes later, hair loose. He notes, with some amusement, that his clothes are far too big for her. His build is slimmer than that of Archie's new Adonis status, but he's filled out over the past summer as well, and Betty is slim, despite being nearly the same height as him.

The makeup she was wearing earlier is gone, cheeks a little pink from the scrubbing. Looking at her like this, his earlier words come back to him. Domestic, he thinks. He certainly feels it, wonders if she does too. And Jughead Jones does not do domestic.

Her own clothes are neatly folded, and she drops them primly beside his bed. She crawls between the sheets, and he reaches up to flick off the overhead light. The silence feels heavier, somehow, in the dark.

"Night, Juggie."

Her soft voice, and the old nickname, stir something he has no intention of acknowledging in his chest.

"Night, Betty."

Jughead is a man of, if not few words, then deliberate ones. He's quiet when he's observing others, or thinking, which is often. In fact, he's so immersed in his thoughts of Jason Blossom, and the shocking revelation that the late teenager was shot nearly a week after he disappeared, that he doesn't hear the body hurtling up behind him until they're colliding.

"Oof." He reaches out to steady the jogger who bashed into him, and realizes belatedly that it's Betty. "Are you okay?"

"Um," she raises a hand to her head, eyes glazed. "I-Yeah I think so. Sorry, Juggie, I wasn't watching where I was going."

"Clearly. Did-wait. Is that my shirt?" His gaze has dropped to where a familiar yellow arcade mascot is staring back at him. Realizing that he's staring at her chest, he snaps his eyes back to her face.

"Oh." She glances down, exercise-induced flush deepening. "Yeah. I didn't have anything else this morning because I slept in and forgot to do laundry, and this wasn't that dirty because I just slept in it, but I swear I was going to wash it, and-"

Holding up a hand to stop her rambling, Jughead shakes his head. The sun is beginning to set behind Betty, giving her a glowing pink halo, and she looks so startlingly perfect that for a moment he forgets himself.

"Jughead?" Her voice brings him back.

"Yeah." He blinks. "You can keep the shirt."

Her mouth opens slightly in confusion, but after a few seconds she just nods.

"Thanks." After a moments hesitation she adds "I haven't seen much of you the past few days." It's a question, despite it's appearance.

"I've just been busy," he shrugs, and now they're walking together back in the direction of their houses. "This whole Jason thing, it's brought up a bunch of new questions. Where was he for that week he was missing, who would have held him captive? Who was he running away from?"

"Yeah." Betty rubs one of her arms distractedly. "My mom's pretty caught up in it too, but, you know. All she really wants to do is punish the Blossoms. I don't think she cares about the truth at all."

Jughead makes a noncommittal noise, having seen the piece Alice did on Jason's autopsy. It was good information, for him, but he can't imagine the Blossom's are please at having their son literally dissected on the front page of the Register. From the look on Betty's face, it wasn't a decision she agreed with.

"Hey Jughead?"

"Mmm."

"If you could be anyone in the world, who would you be?"

He smiles, the leaves crunching under their feet, mingling with the sound of distant wind and traffic. From a few blocks back, the whistle tones and shouting of the Riverdale Rockets soccer practice can be heard.

"What make you think I wouldn't be me?" He asks, giving her a wry grin. The question reminds him of when they were younger. Betty was always chatty, bouncing beside him with a mouth full of words, so carefree before her mother's judgment wore her down. Sometimes she would regale him with tales of her day, sometimes it was just a stream of consciousness. Other times she'd ask him deep, philosophical questions that lead to long discussions or heated debates. She didn't ask Archie those. She complained that always gave her one word answers.

Her eyes come up to meet his, bright and sharp, and it feels a little like being x-rayed.

"You know," she says thoughtfully, almost sounding surprised. "You're maybe the only person who could give me that answer and I'd believe them."

For some reason, that feels like a compliment.

"Well, you can't improve upon perfection." He puffs out his chest, giving her a haughty frown, and she laughs, smacking his arm.

"Of course." She rolls her eyes. "What was I thinking? There's no finer man around than Forsythe P Jones III."

Scowling in earnest, he glances behind them.

"Shh." He hisses. "Someone might hear you."

She sighs.

"Everyone knows your name, weirdo. Except maybe Veronica."

He eyes her suspiciously.

"You haven't told her?"

She shakes her head.

"We don't exactly talk about you."

He stiffens, and Betty's face freezes.

"I'm sorry." She murmurs, "I didn't mean it like-"

"It's fine." He shrugs. "I'm not exactly a topic of discussion in this town, and that's the way I like it. If the alternative is being a Blossom, I think I'd rather stick to being irrelevant."

Her sudden stop tugs on his arm, and he looks down with surprise to see that she's been holding onto it the whole time. How did he not notice that?

"You're not irrelevant." She's truly frowning now, bottom lip jutting out in an almost cartoonish fashion. On anyone else it would look ridiculous, but Betty Cooper seems to have been born for the art of sad eyes and pouty lips. "Is that what you think?"

"I-" He's a little startled by the intensity in her stare, and it muddles his thoughts. "I'm pretty sure that's what everyone thinks. Or doesn't think. This town just kind of forgets I'm here. As a journalist, I have to say, it's definitely an advantage. It's like being invisible." He winks at her, hoping to lighten the mood, but she stands her ground.

"You're not invisible," she says softly.

"Well, no. Not literally."

"Jughead-"

"Elizabeth-"

"Fine." She throws her hands in the air, resuming their path along the sidewalk. "Nevermind. God forbid Jughead Jones talk about something remotely real for a second."

"Jason Blossom was really murdered," he says unhelpfully, jogging to catch up. "We talked about that."

Rolling her eyes, she falls silent, folding her arms across her chest. His own arm feels a little cold now, without her hand wrapped around it, but he buries the thought in a rapidly crowding corner in the back of his mind.

It's been nearly five minutes since either of them spoke when Betty says "So, I was thinking of starting up the Blue and Gold again."

"The old school paper?" It was abandoned a few years ago, when print was deemed obsolete by the then-editor in favour of something more high tech. "Why?"

"Well…it was something my mom said, actually." The admission sounds a little guilty. "About how if I was so concerned with what happened to Jason I should just go work with her at the Register."

His eyebrows fly up, and the movement isn't missed by the blonde.

"Yeah, obviously that's not going to happen. But it got me thinking…how else are people going to know what really happened? If my mother is the one deciding the headlines then all they'll publish is that the Blossoms are terrible people who deserved what happened to their son. But if I were to become the editor of a different paper, with the help of someone who also happens to be interested in finding out what really happened to Jason…" She trails off, fixing him with a pleading stare so potent he thinks she could have asked for a kidney and he'd have handed it over without a second thought. But his brain returns after a moment, and he shakes his head.

"Betty…"

"Oh come on, Juggie, please. No one else knows the story like you do, and I could use someone who thinks differently than I do. Besides you're the best writer I know." Her hand once again curls around his forearm, and the heat seeps through his hoodie climbing up into his shoulder.

Stalling, he cocks his head.

"Would I have complete freedom?"

"I…" She hesitates. "I'll help. And edit. And suggest. But it's your story, it's your voice."

"That doesn't sound like complete freedom," he notes, giving her a pointed look. "But…I'm in." The words tumble out completely of their own accord, the second time in as many weeks that this has happened in her presence. His mind scrambles for an out, any excuse, but none comes. The pout on her face morphs into a blinding smile, and she all but leaps at him, her arms winding around his neck.

"Great!" She doesn't smell as sweet today, that vanilla and auto garage scent that's been clinging to his bedsheets through multiple washings mixed with something muskier that sends an unfamiliar tug through his stomach. Most people smell disgusting after exercise, particularly Archie, who always ended football practice smelling like a mixture of grass and sweaty socks. Jughead thinks Betty could probably make her post-workout scent into a candle and people would buy it. What exactly is happening to him? He's never noticed how good she smells before, save for the few times she'd stride up to him smelling like freshly baked brownies or snickerdoodles. But now she smells delicious in an entirely different way.

Not to him, of course. And not just because he finds it incredibly distracting. It's not until she pulls away, and he's not quite so suffocated by it that he realizes what he's committed to.

Hours of working with her, alone. It's far more human contact than he usually chooses to have, and normally that would loom in the near future with all the appeal of getting a cavity filled, but…he can't seem to convince himself that he's dreading it. She's still beaming at him, but there's something under the smile that has him sighing.

"Why do I get the feeling you already have an assignment for me?"

"Well…I realized that there was someone else who was at Sweetwater River that day, someone no one is talking about."

He nods, having already had that thought. "Dilton Doiley, and his Scouts."

"Exactly."

"Alright." He swipes his thumb across the side of his nose, indicating that he's on it. "You got it chief."

One of these days, he's going to learn how to say no to her.

But as he stands at the foot of her driveway, waiting until the heavy red door falls shut behind her before he turns to walk home, he has a feeling that day won't come any time soon.