Betty comes back to Riverdale five years after she left and finds Jughead in a state she doesn't expect. Hurt/Comfort. (Plus, Rainystripe has provided a graphic for Chapter 9!)
Please Note: This fic was written as a speculative future fic after Seas...
"Betty?" Jughead stared at her, totally confused. Did this mean?
She took his hands firmly, leaned forward to kiss him, and then said, "I'm not going to neglect you in a time of need, Jughead. For any reason. Ever again."
A tentative smile started to form on his face. She looked almost vulnerable herself when she asked him once again, "When were you all alone, Juggie? Please tell me."
He thought his world had fallen apart when Betty had begun to pull away from him, even more so when Hot Dog died at the expense of her neglect, and especially when he dumped her for it. But he was not prepared for the day when it actually happened.
Betty was off at college, and Archie was going out of his mind as it looked like the gunman who shot his father may get off. His mother had come to take him away from the madness for a while. Although Jughead had already lost the two people he thought were the most important in his life, he was not prepared for more.
It had been a rare day of not just peace and quiet between his parents, but something akin to love. He was almost jealous. His dad had stayed sober for a record length of time after being released from incarceration and what had seemed like just wild promises his sophomore year actually came true by his senior year. His mom came home, Jellybean came home. And they bought a new house, leaving the trailer and that entire life behind them.
But even though they were all living under the same roof again, his parents would still fight something fierce. Yet on that particular night his parents were almost . . . cuddly . . . as they left for the bedroom together. His mom grabbed an ashtray on the way in, since her cigarette was still lit and she didn't want to put it out just yet. Normally, she never kept ashtrays in the bedroom. Jughead heard laughter and what sounded like the two of them falling onto the bed.
"Okay, time for bed, JB," Jughead said at 10pm.
"What gives you authority over my bedtime?" she said saucily.
"I'm eighteen," he said and crossed his arms.
"Oh, I suppose that makes you all legal-ly and guardian-ly?"
He smirked at her. "Get."
"Fine." She sighed and dramatically rolled her eyes. He just chuckled. Middle schoolers.
Jellybean picked up her sketch pads, and went back to her bedroom down the hallway. Jughead laid down on the couch and tried to watch TV, but his mind kept drifting, wondering how Betty was doing at college. She must be starting classes soon - the summer was nearing an end. He was still mad at her though. Very mad.
He restlessly turned over and smushed his face into the back of the couch.
"Oooh, that left a mark," he could almost hear Betty say, upon discovering this habit of his, peeling his face away from the couch where he had accidentally fallen asleep in that position, leaving an indentation of the fabric pattern behind on his cheek.
"What mark?"
He could almost feel her kiss him softly and reached up into her hair, drawing her head down even deeper into the kiss, sighing as he pulled her on top of him. Her weight was warm and comforting –
A sharp smell invaded his nose and he sat up. The TV illuminated the room with a strange light, made all the stranger by the roiling black cloud on the ceiling. It was almost mesmerizing. Until he couldn't breathe.
He felt like a dragon all of a sudden - blowing fire from his chest. And when he stood up, it got worse. He almost blacked out. Oh Shit! FIRE!
Jellybean.
He couldn't stand because the cloud above him was dropping soot, and descending ever lower – and he couldn't breathe in that thing. He crawled down towards the hallway as fast as he could, but flames were licking at its border. He kept reaching, trying to crawl in, down the hallway to save his little sister, but his reflexes were too good. Every time he tried, not only was he singed, but he involuntarily pulled back. He was incredibly frustrated in that moment. Weak. Impotent. Why couldn't he push through? He would have screamed out for his sister, if his lungs would have let him, but his throat, his mouth, everything was too dry.
Suddenly, he was pulled up from the floor, encircled by huge, strong arms.
No one ended up making it out alive except for Jughead. It had been too late. He had slept too long. Couldn't push through the flames licking at the hallway. He had failed his family. He had failed his sister. He pulled the blanket tightly around himself in shame.
One of the firemen approached him. "Son, it appears that the fire was most likely caused by a lit cigarette that fell into your parents' bed – and it probably went unnoticed and smoldered until after they were asleep. Once a mattress fire like that ignites, you don't have long to save them. And your little sister was right next door. This fire spread fast."
Jughead looked up at him and wiped the ash and tears from his cheeks. How did this man know what he was thinking?
Then the fireman bent down and handed him something – the charred remains of one of Jellybean's sketchbooks. She had just started drawing in it - only a few pages were filled in and the edges were black, crispy, and falling away in his hands as he turned the pages.
And then he came to the page that would haunt him forever.
Jellybean had drawn a picture of him kneeling down to hug Hot Dog, with Betty by his side, her hand on his shoulder. She was smiling, eyes no longer vacant. And he looked content. A happy little made up family. The one he had always wanted. His sister had drawn it for him.
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