title: the clouds come and go

genre: hurt/comfort, romance

pairings: sweet pea/betty, past-jughead/betty

notes: so, i think it's apparent that i can and will agonize over every chapter. i just want to fix betty's character trajectory and this plot and i refuse to watch season 2 again for reference, so pls enjoy my 25+ pages of agony and characters and conversations

also, this fic is inspired by SunlitGarden's "I'm poison in your bones" on AO3, check it out.

Betty has a new multicolored schedule set up on her desk when her phone goes off. Its a cute chirp, cutting short the podcast she had been listening to while she worked. She glances at it, pink highlighter clenched between her teeth to find Sweet Pea's name on her screen.

Sweet Pea (10:32 pm): I thought you said the hw would be more challenging.

Sweet Pea (10:32 pm): Imma test out of this shit

She smiles to herself and takes up her phone to type out a quick reply.

You (10:33 pm): Mind taking a look at mine? Sanchez is killing me with the second section

Sweet Pea replies before she can put her phone back down.

Sweet Pea (10:34 pm): You're not asleep?

You (10:35 pm): No?

Sweet Pea (10:35 pm): I thought you were one of those people who when to bed insanely earlier

Sweet Pea (10:35 pm): *early

You (10:36 pm): Nope! I've got a lot of work to do.

You (10:36 pm): Why'd you text me then?

Sweet Pea (10:37 pm): I dunno I was bored wanted to bitch

She swings her legs back and forth in her chair, bare feet brushing across the carpet. Sweet Pea is one of the few Serpents who has her number, aside from Toni and Jughead, obviously, but he is the one who texts her the most.

Usually about nothing in particular. Questions about parking permits, class schedules, and where detention was, not that he got one yet. It had been a week since the Serpents have started going to Riverdale High and, so far, things have been going swell.

Sweet Pea (10:37 pm): Do you want a ride to school tomorrow?

Distracted, her gaze snaps up to the window where Archie's light has flickered on. She taps her fingers against her phone. Her small saving grace as a child, quickly turning into a bother as she rose from her desk, inching back towards the light switch. It has been customary these past couple of nights, snapping off the lights and then shutting her new black out curtains. Very effective.

Still, she pauses a moment, motionless, as she watches Archie toss his bag down and then—

Jughead.

Jughead is in Archie's room.

She freezes like a deer in headlights. Watching the two of them chat a moment before Jughead flops onto the bed, face burying in the pillows and going motionless. Archie's brows are knit, even from a distance she can see the tense line of his shoulders, his fists. He walks out.

Jughead remains, rolling over on the bed and sitting up. Betty snaps off the light to her room.

She watches Jughead's head turn to her window, brows pinched as if trying to see something Betty knows he can't see. But he knows she's there. Somewhere.

She hovers for a moment in the silky darkness of her room, between closing the curtains and turning the lights back on. She hates how it feels between them now. This tension. The not-talking. She is so tired of not talking, of breaking up, of being in perpetual limbo.

Then, there is the part of her that is not ready to talk. The part of her that has been avoiding him as much as he has been avoiding her.

Quietly and quickly as she can, she gathers her things and inches back towards her bedroom door. She can sleep in Polly's room across the hall, in her perfect sunlit yellow and Paris theme. Her phone lights up again, the white light of the screen almost blinding in the darkness. It's Sweet Pea again.

Sweet Pea (10:47 pm): yo did you fall asleep?

And then again.

Jughead (10:47 pm): can we talk?

Betty puts her phone on the charger and goes to sleep in Polly's room.

Her mom is in the kitchen when she comes down for breakfast.

It startles her for a moment to come around the corner for the last couple of days and have an empty kitchen and a quiet house, and now to see her mom, dressed with her hair up, sitting in the kitchen with her laptop and papers. It's jarring.

She peers up over the screen of her laptop, reading glasses perched on her nose. It takes her a moment to smile, however briefly. Betty almost feels guilty for breaking the quiet spell her mother has created.

"Good morning," she says and looks back to her work before Betty can say anything.

"Morning," Betty mumbles and skirts the kitchen island to the cabinets, suddenly not as hungry as before. She slips around to the side pantry, fingers curling anxiously against her palms, and glances back at her mom—still wrapped up in the papers in front of her.

They have lived like strangers since Hot Dog appeared in her bedroom, an emblem of her Serpent initiation, and since, her mother has been oddly silent about the whole thing.

Which is weird.

Very weird.

Betty cannot remember a single decision she has made where her mother has not had anything to say. Even when she was fifteen and opened her own debit card account.

But, they have been orbiting around each other at a polite distance that seemed to grow steeper and steeper as the days passed.

She faces her mother, looks at her honey blonde hair and tense expression, but—

—no words follow.

She tries for too long to get herself to say something—anything—but the words don't come, just lodged in her throat.

Her phone chirps again, the second time this morning, but Betty cannot bring herself to look at it. Jughead's text still lies unanswered on her phone.

She lingers in the pantry a moment, looking over the breakfast bar options and peaks around the door. Her mother is flipping through a book, marking a line with her finger and then going back to her laptop.

"Hey mom?"

Her mother looks up, her blonde hair haloing her face. "Hm?"

"Are you . . ." Betty can feel the heaviness of her words, her tongue, her shoulders. "Are you okay?"

Alice Cooper stares at her a moment and takes her reading glasses off. It is a moment oddly reminiscent of the time Betty told her she was going on a date with a junior when she was a freshman. The impending storm of a lecture brewing in those stormy blue eyes, cruelty curling on her lips, but nothing follows.

The glasses clatter on the table.

"Do you need a ride to school?"

It's the longest sentence she has heard in a week.

"No, I—" She starts to protest, but her mom is already rising from her chair and out of the kitchen.

Betty feels a twinge of frustration, a spark that may ignite into fire. Why is it so hard for her mom to just talk to her? Yell at her, even. Anything. Anything would better than the frosty silence her mother insists on punishing her with.

She curls her fingers into her palms, nails sinking.

It's the not talking that does her in. The multitude of possibilities for what her mother might be thinking—about her, about her choices—that drives her crazy. She would rather have a stone to stand on. Have a line to draw in the sand. You stand here, I stand there. Something to help her conceptualize where she stood.

It's not that simple. Betty counts back from ten and sighs. She knows better.

A moment later, her mom slips back into the kitchen a moment later, smoothing the collar of her jacket. "Well?"

There is a jingle of keys and Betty bites her lips together.

"Sure, thanks."

She grabs her bag from the table and follows her mother out.

Without the support of the basketball team backing her, Cheryl's brief stint as fascist Barbie goes over as well as a one-woman act. Still, it's just a touch more offensive than strictly necessary—and it's not necessary—and leaves a dark cloud over the day.

Betty begins the day by fielding grievances.

"—and then she went off about above average GPA scores and stomped off in her little heels. Honestly, had we been anywhere else, I would have swung." Lisa snarls. Toni shifts her gaze from Lisa to Betty, eyes rolling upward. Lisa blushes, nose wrinkling. "I would have."

Betty's eyes flint to Toni, who steps in gracefully, hands tucking against Lisa's shoulders. "No fights, Lisa. You're almost eighteen. You don't need something on an adult record."

Lisa visibly relaxes and snaps her locker closed. "You're right." The shift is almost instantiations, one moment rage and the next, docile as a kitten. She grins. "Well, I'm off. I need an iced coffee after this shit. See you in gov, B."

"Bye." Betty calls, but Lisa is weaving through the crowd on her merry way. Betty relaxes back against the lockers, temples throbbing.

"You okay?" Toni asks.

"It's just—it's just so," Betty trails off, hands extending in some vague gesture. Toni nods though, in tune with her frustration.

"It's okay. Lisa's all bark and no bite." Toni leans back against the lockers, arms crossing her chest. "Besides, we're not supposed to draw attention to ourselves like that."

"I'm not worried about that." She lies, even though she is kind of worried about that. She wonders what would happen if they weren't under those orders and images of Cheryl covered in pig's blood, like in Carrie, pop in her mind. She pinches the bridge of her nose. "It's just, Cheryl can be complicated."

"Cheryl," Toni repeats with a hum. "That's the redhead's name?"

"Yeah."

Toni's lips quirk an almost-smile, almost smirk; something deep and contemplative in her eyes. "Nice." Betty gives her a hard look to which Toni answers with lifted brows. "For a grandma. Anyway, you were saying?"

Betty eyes her for a moment. "I just don't want her causing trouble for you guys."

"For us."

"Right." Betty shifts her backpack on her shoulders. "But she's always given me trouble. I don't want her stinking her claws into you guys."

Toni leans against the locker. "She bother you?"

"It's Cheryl, she's always bothered me." Toni stares at her for a moment, mouth pulling as if trying to work something out. Then, her expression shifts. "What?"

"We've got no time to worry about her, c'mon," Toni loops an arm with hers and begins tugging her down the hallway. "Show me where this student lounge is. I wanna get my Serpent germs all over it."

The sail into the student lounge a moment later to find most of the Serpents have migrated there almost naturally. Lisa is kicked back on one of the couches, iced coffee in hand, and leaning against Corey's shoulder. Sweet Pea is on the other side of her, talking to Fangs' with his feet up on the low table.

Toni launches her backpack at Fangs, drawing attention to them. "Hey guys!" A chorus of "hey Toni" follows and Lisa lifts her iced coffee into the air in salute. Betty is about to circle the couches until she notices a Jughead sitting there, still as a statue.

"You almost gave me a concussion, Toni."

"Your hard head will protect you." Toni chirps back and climbs over the back of the couch, leaving a divide between Jughead and the rest of the couch. Space enough for her. If Betty weren't so nervous, she might actually be grateful, or annoyed, but instead she stands there, swaying and wishing she went to class early instead.

A knot of anxiety tightens in her like a fist and she hangs by the door a moment and Toni glances back at her. "You good?"

Annoyance surges up in her, but she fights it with a tight smile. "Yeah, just remembered a paper, I—"

"Hey!" Sweet Pea chooses that exact moment to notice her. "Why didn't you answer my text?"

It's such an innocent question. So, innocent. Betty might be able to walk into the hall right now and hear that question from several other people and have it mean nothing. But, Betty stares at him a moment too long. It takes a second before it clicks and she remembers.

The text from last night.

Before Jughead texted her.

Instantly, she feels bad for leaving him hanging after he offered to do something nice, but then she catches Jughead's cutting stare. His pale face drawn and serious, dark eyes super-focused on her face. Tracking her response.

Forcibly, Betty tears her gaze away and looks to Sweet Pea. "Sorry, I fell asleep."

He looks ready to question, pull and pry, but—thankfully—the bell rings. Everyone rises, caught up in their own worlds, rushing off to class and filling up the hallway. Jughead is among them, shooting up like a spring and out the door. Betty has the brief thought to go after him, to explain—explain what exactly?—but is caught by Sweet Pea at the door.

"Hey," He bows to her ear. "You mad at me or something?"

Jughead is turning down the hallway, disappearing into a classroom.

"What? Oh no," She sighs. "I just had a weird morning with my mom. My mom gave me a ride earlier. She wanted to talk to me."

"Oh," Sweet Pea relents, but he is still in front of her, a tall, broad-shouldered wall of teenage boy just blocking her path. "Everything okay?"

Why do you care? Her teeth graze her lip. "Yeah, everything's fine. Just school stuff."

"Cool." He pauses a moment and then adds, "Well, don't forget today's Tuesday." She stares at him. "I'm trying out for the team today? You threatened Reggie and you're obligated to come?"

"Right," Betty nods, teeth clenching. "Five thirty?"

"That's the one." Sweet Pea nods and hikes his bag up his shoulder. He glances down the hall. "Well, I'm gonna head to class. See ya later, Cooper." He says it almost as an afterthought, unimportant, they totally could have had this conversation later.

Betty is left standing in the emptying student lounge, gripping her backpack strap, feeling more stressed and annoyed than she already is. "See ya."

Fangs nearly shoves Veronica out of his way in order to get Betty as his running partner for gym class. "I thought you rich kids didn't have to sweat!" He complains during warm-up stretches. "I thought this school offered shit like lacrosse and yoga and—"

"You can take yoga next year." Veronica says, pulling her arm across her chest. She is still not too happy about Fangs joining them, but keeps her comments to herself. "At my old school, you didn't have to do gym after sophomore year."

Fangs gives her a look of disbelief before letting out a low whine. "Uh, I knew it."

Veronica tries to meet her eye over Fangs' shoulder, but she can never get a moment alone with Betty. Fangs has completely affixed himself to her side.

Lisa and Poe sit behind her in American Government, which is to say they also sit next to Archie, and create a cool wall of sarcasm and quiet commentary throughout class. Betty often has her lip between her teeth, their jokes a welcome distraction from the noise in her head, but a deterrent for her note taking.

"—can you guys keep it down?" Archie hisses behind him and is met with twin blank stares. Lisa brings the straw of her well-nursed iced coffee to her lips and takes a long pull, dragging a loud ice sucking sound. Betty can see the hair on Archie's arms stand up. "Please."

Poe leans over the aisle, his nails drumming on Lisa's desk. "And this is a perfect example of how the majority tries to exact control on the people."

Archie flushes a moment, cheeks turning pink. "That's not even—"

"Guys," Betty says, fingers clenched around her pen. "Please. I'm trying to take notes."

"Sorry B." Lisa mumbles and Betty hears Poe lean back in his chair, motorcycle boots hitting the back of Archie's desk on emphasis, but nothing else. Archie sends her a questioning look, brow raised, but Betty ignores him. She tries really, really hard to.

Between remembering its Tuesday and, therefore, the day Sweet Pea has been waiting for. Betty has some time to prep herself into Crazy Cooper before she has to go to French with Reggie. Reggie who, upon entering class, drops his backpack onto the desk beside hers and grins. "Afternoon, Betty."

"Reggie."

She casts a glance around the room, noting the shift in the seating chart to accommodate Reggie's theatrics, and settles it. Its going to be a long day.

"Today's the day."

"Today's a day." She intones, pulling out her yellow notebook and pen. Reggie keeps her stare heavy on her, even as Madame begins writing out the day's assignment. Reggie has a heavy sort of stare, permeating, as if he were sizing her up to see how much trouble she could be. Or, how easy it would be to take her down.

"Well, since today is a day," he says under his breath, still managing to sound as peevish as if he were shouting. "I just wanted to make sure we understood each other. If your boy can't hack it, I still want the copies of that thing we talked about."

"Well why would I do that?" She asks, all false cheer and smiles. "I might need you again."

He smiles, but the cracks are already appearing. His untouchable façade in the gym cracked and this one crumbles. "Blackmail is against the law, Betty."

"So is harassment." Betty says lowly, keeping her gaze down as Madame sweeps the room. She raises her hand to answer the question, but gets passed over for the girl behind her. Good. "So, back off while you're ahead Reggie, I don't feel like talking right now."

He is silent for several seconds.

Papers get passed back. Someone coughs.

Then, he turns to her, eyes narrowing. "And if your boy gets in? What then?"

She can tell it pains him to insinuate that Sweet Pea might be good enough, but she is still surprised he asked.

Betty bites her lip. She doesn't feel good about giving Reggie Mantle false promises. She felt even worse about giving the evidence against Mr. Blossom to Cheryl, but that had been different. And necessary. This, however, is not as necessary as securing Reggie's life-long submission.

The longer she is quiet. The quicker Reggie loses his composure.

She watches his foot jiggle under his desk, uneasy.

"How do I know you're not going to go off the rails and turn against him?"

"Because we made a deal."

"So, you'll keep him on the team and—what? Is he safe to use the locker room? Will you hide his stuff? Steal his keys? I'm not letting you mess with my transfer students, Mantle."

"Oh, right. Your precious transfers." Reggie's lip sneers as if he had been smacked. "Do you think I'm some kind of jock stereotype?"

"No," she says through her teeth. "I think you're an idiot who used to harass girls for sport. Which does, actually, fill the jock stereotype." She keeps a finger tapped down on the part of her that wants to snarl and push and shove. She knows what she has to do. She knows how to get what she needs. "Those are my terms, take 'em or regret 'em."

"That is not fair," Reggie's jaw squares. "I want the copies. All of them."

"I don't really carry them on me, Reggie."

How sad. She forgot she is committing blackmail today.

"Colette," The curt utterance of her French name sends ice through her veins. She looks up to the front of the classroom to find Madame standing at the beginning of her row, arms crossed. "Perhaps you would benefit from sitting away from our Pierre, non?"

"Oh, I," Normally, Betty might argue. Might try to kiss up and appease Madame in order to keep to keep conflict off her record. But this is not a normal day. "Oui, Madame." So, she quickly gathers her books and moves to a seat in the front of the classroom, no man's land, leaving Reggie alone with his thoughts.

"So," Veronica presses, dragging her plastic fork thoughtfully through her salad. "Have the southside kids imprinted on you, or something?"

"Or something," Betty mumbles, taking a bite of chicken strips. This is the only good part of her day. Chicken strip day. Something about these deep-fried pieces of meat just hit better than any store-bought brand she could find. "Most of the kids are scared of them."

"Mh, there's a reason for that." Kevin intones and lifts his chin subtly. "They keep looking over here." He looks thoughtful for a moment and then asks, "Do you want to invite them over?"

"When hell freezes over." Veronica clips smartly with a strained smile. "I am having a hard-enough time talking to Betty during state sanctioned torture—"

"—do you mean gym?" Betty asks, sweetly.

Veronica's lips purse at her interruption. "—yes, but this is my Betty time. Now, tell me something quick before tall, dark, and greasy gets any ideas. Have you talked to Jughead yet?"

Betty proceeds to shove the rest of her chicken strip into her mouth, hoping that the cramming would keep her from crying.

Kevin hums. "Oh no."

By the end of the day, Betty is ready to call it quits and go home, but Toni herds her into the gym to watch Sweet Pea fight for his space on the basketball team.

It is not that she doubted his ability, per se, and not that she wanted to be proved wrong while pulling the Chuck card on Reggie Mantle. Sweet Pea is tall for his age. Muscular. Confident. She has seen the basketball team in action from the rotating seasons, but he seems to blend in the myriad of athletes, just in black leather and tattoos.

Still, she finds herself in the bleachers with Toni, watching a Shirts and Skins match when Sweet Pea basically body checks the defensive line to score.

"—is, is that allowed?" She asks, following Sweet Pea's progress through the ring of Skins.

Toni grins. "Does it matter?"

She doesn't get a chance to answer because Reggie is right on him, but Sweet Pea is too quick and, maybe too high on victory, as he jumps easily, dunking the basketball into the hoop and scoring a point for his team.

Toni jumps to her feet and whistles, drawing the ire of several players. Betty feels like she is shrinking behind her textbook, pulling in on herself. Toni settles beside her again, picking up the iced coffee she picked up before kiosk outside closed. "What's got you so down in the mouth?" She asks around her straw.

Betty shrugs. "I dunno." She closes her book again. No need to worry about Econ now. "I just thought you guys were supposed to be keeping a low profile, you know?" She cuts her eyes at Toni cautiously, waiting for a slip up. Toni is stone-faced. "Isn't that what F.P. wants?"

Toni shrugs. "What F.P. wants is for us to be normal teenagers and stay out of trouble."

"I know, but is antagonizing the basketball team normal?"

"I mean," Toni flicks an eyebrow and looks back to where the Shirts and Skins match has divulged into an all-out war on the court. The shrieks of gym shoes creating the thrum of the ball.

Sweet Pea is at the center of it, of course.

"Didn't you have a little one-off on them before?" Toni prods and paint-chipped finger at her shoulder. "Sweet Pea tells me you have them whipped into submission."

Betty's cheeks color. "Well, I don't want to say whipped—"

"Hey! Look out!" The shout comes a second too late as the rogue basketball comes crashing into the bleachers at their feet. Knocking Toni's drink into a volcanic ark towards them. Betty and Toni shriek accordingly, jumping to their feet.

"You did that on purpose!" Toni shouts in no general direction, but several voices rise up to claim otherwise. Toni answers each of them with a finger though she is notably unscathed.

Betty tugs at the sheer material of her sweater, picking it off her chest. What a day to wear white, she thinks dismally as the frothy, caramelized mess soaks into the cream-colored sweater, creating a giant brown splotch. She glances up. Sweet Pea is right in Reggie's face. Oh no.

She stumbles down the bleachers towards them, but by the time she reaches them, Reggie is already cutting away, hands in the air. "I don't fuckin' care, man! Vejay! Get him his schedule on the way out! Practice is over."

Reggie stops short when he sees her, eyes narrowing. The iced coffee sticks cold against her chest. Then she is nose to collarbone with Reggie Mantle's naked, sweaty torso, forged from years of sports and vanity. He is radiating.

He cracks his jaw. "Your boy's in. We're square, right?"

Betty feels herself being slammed back into the role from before and she scrambles. How did she get Reggie to relent before? How did she scare him off? How? She stares up at him, unabashed and angry, and feels herself grasping at straws.

Reggie seems to sense her hesitation because he steps forward, further invading her space. "We're square, right?" She thinks she sees a curl of his lip, the tip of his chin. All the shows of dominance without the cards to play it.

Somehow, she doesn't know how, but she knows Sweet Pea is standing behind her. Like a wall of muscle at her back, keeping her upright. Her fingers curl into her palms.

You have the power here. She coaches herself and does her best to keep her gaze calm and cool. Despite the sticky caramel iced sinking into her white sweater. Think. Focus.

"So long as you do what I asked. We're square, yeah."

"I want the copies."

"I want a way of believing you."

"That's bullshit."

"Yeah?" Betty steps forward, thanking every bone in her body as she stays upright. "Then, be better, Mantle. Be better than Chuck. Be better than all those guys who came before you and handle it."

Reggie looks ready to argue a moment before he turns away, the same frustrated expression curling at his features. "Whatever, Betty. Just get the fuck out of here."

She is left standing there, the basketball team dispersing around her until none remain.

Sweet Pea nudges her with his elbow. "You okay?" He asks, tugging at the helm of his own shirt, a perfect mirror of her. The old gray tee fit snug on him, sweat damp in some places, faded in others. Betty thinks she can make-out the faint shape of a cartoon character.

Her fist curls tighter in the wet cashmere in her fist.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Congrats."

"Thanks"

The stand in silence for a moment like this morning, the heavy awkward air still hanging around them. Betty shifts, uncomfortable. "Where's Toni?" She asks, peering around him to find her books neatly stacked and the coffee still spilling over the bleachers.

"She went to go find some paper towels." Sweet Pea says dismissively. "I told her I would give you a ride home."

The two of them stand like that for a minute, awkwardly shifting back and forth as the gym empties. There is a bead of sweat on Sweet Pea's neck, right beside his snake tattoo, the serpent curling up to taste it. "Do you want a ride home?"

"Yeah, thanks."

Jughead catches her outside the changing rooms. She is a little more than surprised to see him standing there, leaning up against the wall, knee popped, arms crossed. He looks like a greaser from the old movies. His brow quirks. "Not who you were expecting?"

Its his tone of voice that gives her pause. The sudden, vitriolic tone that almost accuses her of something. Something she is not in the mood for after having to ring out her new sweater in the sink and change into her dirty gym tee.

Betty can feel her muscles coiling under her skin as she straightens, spine of steel. "No."

It sounds like a gunshot.

Her fingers curl up into her palms and meet the tender skin of her palms. Her jaw tightens. "Did you need something, Jug?"

He assesses her a moment, jaw working. "I want you to step back from the Serpents."

Betty stares at him a moment, ire curling in her chest. "That's all you want to say to me?"

"Yes."

It's absurd, it's stupid, it's childish, but it hurts and that's all that matters.

"Well, this has been a great talk. Thanks Jug. I'll see you later." She cuts a jagged line around him, heading for the side doors that lead to the parking lot. She this the door open and blinding sunlight pours over her. Its cold in just the shirt sleeves of her gym tee, but she is too far gone to go get her jacket now.

Jughead is right behind her.

"I'm really not in the mood right now."

"Yeah, I heard you threatened Reggie Mantle's livelihood." Jughead grabs for her hand and manages to wrap his fingers around her wrist. "Hey, hey. What's going on with you lately?"

"Nothing." She yanks her hand back, almost reflexively, and takes a step backward, balancing her heel on the edge of the curb. "I've been busy."

"Betty, listen to me. I don't know what my dad said. Or what Sweet Pea said, but you're not involved in this and you don't have to be. I know you want to get the story, or keep your eye on me, but you need to back off before you get hurt Betty. Do you understand me?"

It strikes something hard and bitter in her that makes her knuckles clench. "That sounds like a threat Jug. You know something I don't?"

"What? No, no! Betty, no, why would I?" He stares at her a moment like he's never seen her before. Like she's something different. Something dangerous. It sets her teeth on edge. "I just don't want you to get hurt. You have no ties to the Serpents other than me and now. I just want to understand why you're doing this—is it me?"

"No."

It doesn't taste like a lie, but it goes down like one. All sugar and cyanide.

"Then what is it? I've exhausted every other—" Jughead presses his lips together into a tight line. Betty catches his stare and looks behind her to where Sweet Pea is shoving his books into the saddlebag on his bike. When she looks back, Jughead's expression is tighter than before. Piecing it together, as it will. "When did you two become friends anyway?"

She feels particularly malicious when she asks, "Does it matter?"

"I don't know, does it?" Jughead counters. "He's probably just hanging out with you to piss me off, or whatever—"

Betty feels a steady heat growing in her chest. "Stop trying to change the subject, Jug. Is that really all that you wanted to say to me? Really?"

"What else would I have to say, Betty?"

She snorts. It's the oddest thing. A strange, mirthless sound that she hardly ever makes, ripped from her in the moment.

"An apology, for one."

Jughead stares at her.

And stares.

"Betty—"

"Do you really think I don't deserve an apology?" She can feel when her voice cracks.

"For what? For trying to join a gang? For getting involved in things that have nothing to do with you?"

"No."

"Then for what?"

"How about that I chose you. In front of everybody! I stripped and danced and I chose you over my own mother. The only family I have left. Because I love you and I wanted to be with you and you—you," Betty draws herself up, tension curling on her shoulders. "And you left me! You left me in a parking lot in the cold, with no way home because you—"

She can hear her mouth running, absolute venom dripping from her words and nothing she can do about it but let it roll off her tongue and onto Jughead, who just stands there, taking it.

It feels like forever before it runs out.

It feels like she goes on for hours.

But, between her good manners and her own frustrations, she knows that her yelling is nothing more than shout, a hurried speech, words tumbling one over the other in a mad jumble, barely coherent.

All she knows is the moment she starts and the moment Jughead reaches for her.

She smacks his hand away.

It's like a movie.

One second, he is reaching, beseeching, mouth opened to say something to calm her down—

—and the next, Betty is smacking his hand away, the cool steel of anger between her teeth. But it shocks her. It shocks him. It shocks her enough to calm her down, drag her out of that cloudy rage.

"Don't," she sucks in a quick breath. "Speak to me. Okay, Jughead? I don't want to talk to you right now or else I'm really going to lose it, okay?"

"Betty," Jughead says steadily, maybe a touch too steadily. It leaves her staring at him, studying his body language, like a zookeeper trying to wrangle a particularly irate animal. "Betty, I just want you to be safe."

He's not listening to me. Betty realizes numbly and she realizes her hands are still balled into fists. Nails burrowing into her skin. She eases, just a bit, just enough, and drags her hand under her eyes. She's not crying. Not yet.

"Well, that's not your problem anymore, is it?" She can feel the ice in her own tone, like her mother's, like Polly's. She remembers the bite of it from the other side and her reaction is mirrored in Jughead's face. "Until it sticks, right?"

Jughead's face becomes unreadable then, a blank slate of dark eyes and a mouth curling in on itself.

She steps back off the curb and turns back to the parking lot when Sweet Pea is waiting patiently, brows pulled together. The unsteady rage is still curling in her, shaky and volatile like a storm. By the time she reaches Sweet Pea, she is so worked up, she hardly notices the helmet Sweet Pea is passing to her.

She shakes her head, but he persists. "Wear it." He snaps, something jagged under his tone. "If you fall off the back, at least you won't crack your head clean open."

It makes her laugh, in spite of herself.

It's funny to think about.

Begrudgingly, she pulls the helmet over her head, wincing when her earrings dig into the skin behind her ears. She deftly swings her leg over the back of the bike, backpack secure on her shoulders, and seats herself behind him.

When she glances back, Jughead is still standing on the curb where she left him. Still watching.

She wraps her arms around Sweet Pea's middle, as oppose to the treatment from before, grabbing his belt for some distance, but instead she pillows her helmet against his back.

The bike sounds like a dragon under them, roaring to life and tearing out of the school parking lot.

It doesn't take her long to realize that Sweet Pea is not taking her home.

By the time she has pulled herself out of the post-fight haze, they are passing through downtown on the way to the Southside. She calls out to him, but Sweet Pea cannot seem to hear her over the roar of the engine. When he finally pulls off, it is in a random parking lot, devoid of cars and people. Betty has no idea where they are, but a bigger bone to pick.

He cuts the engine and the first thing out of his mouth is, "You wanna tell me what's going on?"

"Yeah, I thought you were taking me home." She looks around, realizing that she has no idea where they are and curses herself. Curses Sweet Pea. Curses this day. "Unless you're planning on murdering me in the woods."

She slips off the back of the bike, removing the helmet so she can face him. Sweet Pea leans across the handlebars of his bike, glaring at her as if he had a reason to.

"I don't know what you're doing, but I am not into that."

"What?"

He scoffs. "Don't play dumb."

Betty rounds on him, brow raised. She feels scrapped raw from the day, but there is always something else, something real and volatile. "I'm not? I don't know what you're talking about. You said you were giving me a ride home, not to the middle of nowhere!"

"I don't want you using me as a way to get back at Jughead—"

"What? I'm not!

There is silence. Both of them breathing hard as they stare each other down, a couple of fighters sizing each other up.

"Alright." Sweet Pea says, his tone high and patronizing. "Sorry for calling it like I see it."

Betty digs her knuckles into her nose. "I'm not! Okay? I'm not using you. I'm not trying to make anyone jealous. I'm just trying to—I'm trying to get some closure."

Sweet Pea says nothing for a long time. So, long that Betty realizes that he's not planning on saying anything and just breathes. In and out. Breathing until the shaking rage ease out of her limbs, leaving her sweaty-palmed and dry mouthed. She hates feeling like this, out of control and so, so angry. She doesn't know what to do with herself.

When she looks up, her vision is blurry.

Sweet Pea's lips are pressed together.

"I promise, I'm not using you to get back at Jughead or anything. I just needed to get away from him and you happened to be on a motorcycle."

He snorts. "Drama queen."

"I'm not—okay, look, I'm sorry, alright? I didn't mean for it to be that way."

Sweet Pea's mouth twists, but after a moment the tension begins to ease from his shoulders. "Okay."

"Okay."

"It's fine," he groans, mouth twitching at the corner. "I just don't like getting caught in that stupid shit. It's not fun for anybody."

The cold is sinking in.

"Where the hell are we?"

"Just, get back on the bike."

Ten minutes later, Sweet Pea idles them to a stop in a gas station parking lot. His bike kicks up a good amount of gravel as he pulls in, cutting the engine. Betty slips off the bike, easing her fingers from their death grip on Sweet Pea's belt as she did so. It's not as steady has gripping onto him, but Betty figures it was better not to do that, especially after the episode near the woods.

He swings his leg off the bike and tucks the keys into his jean pocket.

"What are we doing here?"

"I'm starving, but I don't have Pop's money right now. C'mon."

She ducks under his arm when he gets the door for her. The happy jingle of mismatched Christmas bells signals their entrance to a bored looking cashier. Sweet Pea shuffles in after her, tugging at the collar of his jacket, the Serpent on full display.

The cashier nods, solemn, knowing.

Betty notes the look between the two of them and glances around.

It looks like a regular gas station. A bit run-down, maybe, but a regular gas station with purple neon lights and Enya playing in the background. Betty's eyes skim over the selection of chips and candy, but sticks close to Sweet Pea's side out of habit.

Sweet Pea just cuts a line to the fountain station, pulls out a Slurpee cup and starts pouring one for himself. Cherry. "Get whatever you want, we can eat and talk outside."

"So, you are going to tell me why you wanted to get on the basketball team?"

"That was the plan," Sweet Pea laughs, short and loud. "You don't give up, do you?" His brow raises up to his hair line. Betty fights a smile as he switches the Slurpee to the raspberry dispenser. Fun.

"It's my reporter genes."

"Yes, your reporter genes."

"Stop trailing off," Betty grins and leans back against the drink machine, minding the grenadine syrup mess dribbling down the side. She makes an exaggerated gesture with her hand. "Tell me."

Sweet Pea's expression shifts for a couple seconds, the laughter crinkling in his eyes smooths to a cool seriousness, a focus that she has only seen a couple times before.

She does her best not to shift under his gaze, not to fold; she keeps her feet firmly planted and stares back. Sweet Pea's eyes flicker, his lips part, and then he says, "In a minute," Sweet Pea makes a cutting motion behind them and Betty looks back at the cashier again. Still bored, looking at his phone. Betty edges around the store, grabbing a bag of Cheetos and a fountain soda.

As she approaches the counter, Sweet Pea cuts in front of her, dropping a ten for the cashier before she can get out her wallet. She is about to protest, but Sweet Pea waves her off. "C'mon." He leads her back out again, a happy jangle of bells, before they turn to sit at sun-bleached picnic table.

"Is the cashier a Serpent too?"

"He's Serpent adjacent." He doesn't elaborate.

Betty settles in across from him. It's warmer here in the sunshine.

"So?"

"So," Sweet Pea draws out and Betty thinks he might trail off again. "Jughead thinks the Ghoulies haven't been upholding their part of the bargain by leaving the Southside alone."

Betty is not sure what she was expecting. Sweet Pea had been defending the reason like a dog with his teeth, and it had been the only reason she had not let up, not let it go. She sensed something in it, something strange, a story, and now here it is and she has no way of making heads or tales of it.

"He thinks?"

"He knows. We know."

She fiddles with her straw and begins folding the wrapper down into squares. "So, have they been causing trouble?"

"They're selling drugs near schools."

"Jesus," Betty digs her teeth into her lip and then, "What?"

Sweet Pea nods, sagely. "And we have reason to believe that they're selling at Riverdale High."

Betty nods, drawing a line and intending to follow it. "So, do you think it's someone on the basketball team?"

"We know it's someone on the basketball team." Sweet Pea says with an assurance that Betty does not question. But, she notes it. Something to look into later. "I'm gonna gain their trust, be the guy on the inside."

Betty nods once, thinks. "It may have been easier to just have Archie snoop around."

"We don't need your little Scooby gang in on this." Sweet Pea snaps and then, almost as an afterthought, "And don't go telling your little mafia princess either. The last thing we need is Hiram Lodge getting into our business."

Betty colors, offended. She actually hasn't brought Veronica or Kevin up to speed since the whole serpent dance thing. She's had no time between counseling the southside students and classes and clubs. She's been swamped.

Part of her wonders if that had been by design.

"We could help."

"Yeah, no. We're in this mess because we didn't honor the rules. We're not making that mistake again. The more people who get involved, the messier the job." Sweet Pea picks up one of the hotdogs on his plate for emphasis. "I know you guys handled shit differently, but if you're a Serpent now, you can't go around telling everyone about our plans."

You haven't told me anything. She wants to snap at him, but holds it back. She is not really sure of the rules with Sweet Pea. How much can she say to him? How much can she trust him? Of course, he has been giving her rides and generally leading her through this mess she got herself in, but there is still so much she is not sure of.

And to tell her so much only to warn her about sharing with her friends? He must be holding something back. Something crucial she would need before she could make any moves of her own. Now, that is by design.

"Can you keep a secret?" Sweet Pea asks and takes a long pull of his cherry-raspberry Slurpee.

"I can keep a secret."

Sweet Pea's mouth curves, its an unkind smile. "You don't want to be a snake that bites its own."

"You can trust me." She says and hopes it sounds assuring.

"Last time your friends got involved the cops showed up and the Ghoulie King got arrested."

"Isn't that what we wanted? I mean, he's out of our hair now."

"He got caught for street racing. Not possession. That's three months. Three months, at least, but if he gets out early because of crowding or good behavior, we're toast. Half of the Ghoulies got sent to Shankshaw with him and another half got sent to juvie. They are scattered, but they want war."

He leans forward on the picnic table, a rare moment of invading her space. "I know you doubt your place in the Serpents. Others do too. But, I know, as F.P. knows, that we can use you. You have no previous affiliations with us, you have a clean record, you are the daughter of two reporters. You have influence. You can help us."

"I figured as much," her mouth quirks.

"You're still on a trial basis with us. You'll have to see what Jughead thinks." She must have pulled a face because Sweet Pea shrugs his shoulders. "He may be a pain in the ass, but he's ours. And, he was acting king when F.P. was locked up."

At this, Betty's hope sinks. "He's never going to let me help. Did you not see the fight we just had? He's never going to willingly let me help."

"Majority rules. Despite the king status, it's still a democracy. Prove yourself to the others, make yourself useful. Tell us if you hear anything." Sweet Pea crumbles a napkin over his plate. "You do want to help us, don't you?"

"I do want to help." Betty defends. "I'm not the kind of person to see something horrible and say nothing."

"How noble." Sweet Pea grins around his straw. "Can you still recite your D.A.R.E. promises?"

"Shut up." She rolls her eyes, groaning. How can he be serious one minute, then silly the next? "Why do you want to stop them?"

"Pride, territory, loyalty," Sweet Pea lists and then, his tone shifts, a subtle ripple in his voice when he says, lowly. "And, my cousin goes to the schools they've been targeting. I'm not gonna let them fuck with him."

That surprises her, not much more than anything else that happened today. It's only normal that Sweet Pea might have more stake in the game than she.

"I'm not going to let the Ghoulies try to make drug jockies out of you."

"Jockies?" Laughter seems to just bubble from him, the subtle movements of his shoulders and chest. "I think you mean runners, Cooper. They would have made us their drug runners."

"Whatever. We'll find the dealer in Riverdale and then, what?"

"Neutralize." Sweet Pea says, grinning. "They way you would a rabid animal."

there is so much to say and so few memories.

i like this fic, i do. i have ideas and an ending planned. but, i have a hard time writing for it. no matter what i do it always feels thin, like i'm slacking on some character moments and i know i am, but pushing myself to write it is a drag. so, here it is after months and months. very sorry about the wait, but hopefully i can get this plot mcmovin'

i just didn't want everyone to be so buddy-buddy right off the bat and i feel like that's translating well. we gotta trust first.

however, if you're into blue exorcist, twilight, or my hero academia, i'm writing a hella lot about them. and better. just sayin'. i know i can do better.

please review, i love knowing lines you liked, thoughts you had, ideas you have, and criticism you may have (that makes the world go around), also i have been regulated to night shifts (9:30-5:30) so any and all reviews will be cherished and wept over.

- cafeanna