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lazywriter7 · 6 years

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on your left

This one’s dedicated to @suitofhumour , who often inflicts angst on people with a cheerful gusto I’ve always admired. I get the feeling that you’ve also often bemoaned the lack of SamSteve brotp content in the world, and so I have delivered... angstily.

warnings: canon death and grieving

The sunrise peeked through the darkened blinds, casting light-slivers high up on the wall opposite the window.

Lying in his bed, Steve watched the slivers grow – lengthen across the plaster as the minutes ticked by and the sun got higher and stronger in the sky outside. There was no other movement in the room: the temperature-controlled air perfectly still, the blinds hanging straight and undisturbed, even his own chest barely rising and falling with his breaths. His eyes burned from the watching, but he didn’t blink; the spots in his vision and the white-bright patches on the wall mingling together indelibly.

(Click to keep reading)

He didn’t remember the last time he’d been indoors when the sun came up. Dawn after dawn, his feet had pounded down along sidewalks, and gravel lanes, and dirt-packed running tracks. Sprinting up and down the Watergate Steps, the Potomac’s waters tinted pink by the lightening sky; weaving through the golden streets of Birnin Zana, trains whizzing overhead even at four am. It was familiar and addictive. The bunch and release of the muscles in his legs, lungs expanding and contracting in his chest, oxygen rushing in and the world brightening minute by minute. Running at the horizon, full tilt, as the streets stripped by and one day tipped into the next.

The slivers of light, unchecked by the blinds, had reached the middle of the wall now – about halfway up from the floor. Steve curled his toes in. Something itched at the balls of his feet, tension coiled in the forced stillness of his limbs.

He didn’t remember the last time he’d been indoors when the sun came up. Except today. And the day before that, and the day before that. And all the days since that one day – one morning when the world woke up different.

Halved.

“Your bed, it's too soft. When I was over there I'd sleep on the ground and use rock for pillows, like a caveman. Now I'm home, lying in my bed, and it's like...”

“Lying on a marshmallow. Feel like I'm gonna sink right to the floor.”

Steve turned on his side, and closed his eyes.

The next day was worse.

He did not sleep, which wasn’t out of the ordinary. He stayed still in bed, watching cracks in the ceiling, arms and legs perfectly parallel to the sides of the bed. Like being locked in a coffin of his making.

He jerked out of bed at three thirty, and went down to the gym in his sleeping pants. He punched out bags till his bare feet were caked and crackling with spilled sand, the split seams and torn remains of the bags heaped on the floor where they fell, or were absently kicked out of the way. No one was there to raise a judging eyebrow – the place was absolutely desolate. He hadn’t exercised alone, in a gym facility empty of Dora Milaje or SHIELD agents or Avengers since… since the first time he’d been out of the ice.

The bag still strung up was swinging around noisily – Steve stilled it with his hands, split knuckles stinging with the motion. He rested his forehead on the cool canvas.

Maybe this is how it would’ve been, if he’d never driven the Valkyrie into the ice. All this time, his fantasies of post-war peace had fixated on Peggy, on dance halls filled to the brim with celebrating people, on growing old with friends. But war didn’t only live in the fighting of it – it lived on in bombed out streets, in neighbourhoods that weren’t half as populated, in closed businesses and families that would always have empty spots at the table. It lived on in fear: of more enemies, of the next war, in crueller weapons and larger stockpiles, until entire cities were wiped off the face of the planet in the name of peace.

Maybe the ice had done him a favour. Maybe he’d been the lucky one who got to skip over the aftermath.

“What unit you with?”

“58, Pararescue. But now I'm working down at the VA.”

When he came up to his room, after a brief, scouring shower – his closet door was cracked open by an inch, the sleeve of a shirt caught in the hinge. He extricated it roughly, a too-firm tug causing a button to go flying off. It pinged and landed somewhere in the darkness of the closet floor, obscured by the line of running shoes set neatly along the back.

The first two or three were forty-dollar pairs, black or white with a plasticky gloss. It got better as one moved down to the right – flex grooves and EVA cushioning, a couple foam soles here and there. The furthest one, shoved right into the corner, was a brand new pair still in the box. Nike Zoom Pegasus Turbo, in a peat-grey colour scheme. Steve remembered researching it carefully, and ordering a pair under a false ID.

He’d never gotten around to wrapping it. Christmas had been so far away, and at the time with everything else going on, it’d seemed like the least of his priorities.

He’d probably have included a card, along with the gift. A little something to make up for all the pairs you left behind in your flat stateside. Then, in a postscript – thanks for always having my back.

Steve closed the closet door, the tiny click resounding in the silence.

The day after that, he went to the common area to sit with Nat.

Nat sat with folded knees and elbows on the couch, dulled and pallid strands of hair swinging to the fore of her face. She had a laptop open on her thighs, fingers tapping across the keys too fast to sometimes follow. Her lips flickered minutely, chapped and dry, mouthing along to whatever she was bringing up on the screen – a tell there was no longer any point hiding.

The cushions dipped as he lowered himself down next to her. Her eyes didn’t lift from the screen. Steve squeezed her gently by the shoulder; she pressed back into the touch.

You’re still here.

He didn’t ask for any updates – Nat would’ve told him if there had been any developments. She’d been working on this for weeks. Ever since it’d been reported that Cooper and Lila Barton were among the many registered as ‘long-term absent’ in their school’s attendance records. Laura had stopped turning up for local garage sales. The farmhouse was deserted, the upstairs crib empty. It all pointed to the obvious, but it wasn’t…wasn’t confirmed yet, with eyewitnesses. Not like Nick, and Maria, and Wanda, and Vision and T’Challa and Shuri and–

Steve exhaled, letting the air scrape out of his throat inch by burning inch. It wasn’t confirmed, so he sat by Nat while she ransacked every corner of the intelligence community, shadowy underbellies and seedy hiding-holes, rooting through scores of copycat archers and blonde white men, looking. Just looking, while her fingers clasped and unclasped, unendingly, at the arrow necklace still strung around her neck.

After thirty minutes of this, Nat’s fingers grew slack again. She lowered the lid of the laptop by a fraction, baggy eyes staring above the rim.

“Didn’t know I still had it in me, to become complacent.”

“I know.” Steve said, quietly sufficient. He probably wouldn’t have phrased it that way, but the point stood. After the life he’d had, he wouldn’t have thought himself to be the kind of person who took things for granted. He could be affected by loss, but not surprised by it – or so he’d thought.

It was in the nature of such things, wasn’t it? To worm themselves into your safe, secure places, to irrefutably become a part of them. To be so…solid, so wholly dependable, that you could be the most jaded person on the planet, and still find a best friend in a smiling stranger on the street.

Steve had taken his gut punches. The ones that robbed him of breath, that made the world white out at the edges. Till the end of the line, pal. I will miss you Tony.

And he’d staggered, and he’d fallen – only to find nothing to put his back against. No wall to lean on, no easy smile waiting in the wings to support his strength.

“It’s fight or flight,” Sam said, without sounding like he was explaining. More than anything, he sounded slightly amused. “We always knew you liked punching out your problems. Turns out, you also like running through the streets if there’s nothing to be done, till it feels like you’ve gotten somewhere. Coping mechanisms – everyone’s got them.”

“I,” Steve said. It stuck strangely in his throat, though he’d swallowed so much worse. Lived through so much worse. This one stuck. “I can’t go running anymore.”

#samsteve #brotp #post infinity war #grieving #not a fix-it #steve rogers #sam wilson #natasha romanov

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believe-that-you-can-my-friend · 7 years

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Hey I just remembered when Jughead was at the sheriffs station and they already ha his records from him 'trying to burn the school down' but could you write a different version where he was trying to do something nice for betty like maybe everyone forgot it was her birthday except jughead so he got birthday candles for her or something like that where it ends up with him almost burning down the elementary? Thanks!!

Arsonist’s Lullabye

(Alright, another prompt is here! I loved writing this one because it gave such a nice backstory to Jughead’s juvenile detention center incident and Bughead as kids are just adorable! Plus, I snuck in there a lot of FP and Gladys (and some Alice mentions I’m sorry I can’t help it) because I really love writing about their family dynamic; I have a lot of headcanons about them in my mind. So thanks anon for sending me this amazing idea! I hope you enjoy it!! ❤️

P.S. I know all of you see Neve Campbell as Jughead’s mom but Cole ruined me after mentioning Eva Green for the role so yeah, that’s who I was picturing in my mind while writing and I have FEELS!)

Bright, cold and impersonal.

He had guessed two out ofthree right.

What he never would haveguessed was that he of all people would be sitting with the head hung low inthis cold and impersonal room; the police interrogation room.

For somebody that was repulsedby the garbage that was labeled entertainment on the idiot box, Jughead had asoft spot for anything detective. Except for the classic film noirs and mysterycentered period films, he enjoyed immensely any program that dealt with crimeinvestigation, with true crime documentaries being his favorite. The fact thatsuch shows gave him the opportunity to follow each step of the policeinvestigation, feel the thrill with each new clue that was being found like hewas a part of the detective team too, listen to witnesses, experience theimmediacy of the situation by hearing the story directly by the people thatlived it, were what had him at the edge of his seat and with eyes round andglued to the screen, unable to press the turn off button even at the wee hoursof the morning. The thought of being on the other side, not watching butactually being one of the people on the screen, never crossed him mind.

The small, sterile lookingroom was surprisingly bright, showered in the hard fluorescent light of anothertypical Riverdale gloomy autumn morning. Such rooms in the shows he watchedwere always pitch-dark and claustrophobic, with only a threatening yellow lampacross the suspects face for torture, not filled with crystal clear morningglow. Maybe that was worst, he thought. He felt like a higher power was judginghim along with the glassy eyes of the sheriff across him, and, even thoughJughead never really believed in God or fate or karma or whatever other abstractionpeople thought was mapping the course of their life, he could still feel astronger tug of guilt in his already heavy chest. If the room was dark, itwould suit the darkness of his soul. Now that it was bright, he reminded him ofall the things he was going to lose.

Things were bad. He wasn’taccused of a wrongly parked vehicle or a mindless trespassing; he was beingcharged with homicide. He couldn’t even fathom it, he couldn’t even form theword in his mind. Him, Jughead Jones, a killer. The boy that was misunderstood.The boy that was expected to end up like his father. The boy that wasconsidered a scapegoat. The boy that right now, with watery eyes and panic inhis voice, pleaded not to be misunderstood.

Sheriff Keller’s voice brokethrough the castle walls of his nightmarish thoughts.

“But what did surprise me wasthis.” The older version of Kevin presented him with his file, turning itaround for the teenage boy to take a peak. Jughead knew where this was goingand it was bad, worse than before.With a small glimpse downwards to the official documents, he averted his eyesto the side, chewing on his lower lip in anxiety and despair. “Your prints wereon file, from an incident that happened six years ago, where you spent sometime with the Riverdale Juvenile Delinquent Center for “Attempting to burn downRiverdale Elementary School”.” He frowned, waiting for an answer, theexperienced officer assuming that there was indeed something off with theteenager at the other end of the steal table.

Jughead shot back the firstthing that came to his mind. “I was playing with matches” he retorted beforecontinuing in a snarky, smart-ass tone “and that’s a pretty tenuous connectionfor a sheriff.” He knew that he should have minded his tongue and lowered thelevel of his usual sarcasm but that was him, he couldn’t help it, sardonichumor was his way of reacting to the world. It got worse when he was beingcornered or becoming frustrated and right now he felt trapped in thedarkest corner and fuming, internally screaming for somebody to help him.

His knee started to bounce,his nails dug painfully on the hard denim of his jacket against his sides ashis arms tightened around his chest, hugging his torso in a desperate need toseal himself, to prevent his body and soul from scattering in a million piecesunder the scrutinizing gaze of the sheriff and the weight of the situation hewas in. He could feel his head starting to buzz, his palms getting sweaty andthe rising and falling of his chest altering, stopping being subconsciousanymore but turning difficult and calculated, like the orchestrated ticksbefore the explosion of a very destructive bomb. Jughead tried to calm himself.Maybe his dad was out there, negotiating with a deputy and offering apersuasive alibi. Maybe Fred Andrews was with him backing his story as Archie stoodby his dad’s side offering his help by praising his best friend’s honorableschool performance and recent involvement with extracurricular. And maybe, justmaybe, she was there waiting for himtoo, ready to offer her supporting words and one or two of her soothingcaresses, telling him that everything was going to be okay and she of allpeople believed him unboundedly. The tedious silence at the other side of thedoor however was crashing his hopes one by one.

Jughead’s eyes darted aroundthe table in panic before they stopped at the picture of him at the bottom leftcorner of his police file, a younger version of him, a somehow happier one inall its childish naivety, sending him a toothy smile full of glee, despite theabiding clouds that always fogged his turbulent family life. He studied theface of his ten year old self; he neither looked like a delinquent nor anarsonist. Then again, he neither looked like a criminal nor a murderer now. Hisboyish, mild-mannered looks didn’t seem to matter though in their smallcommunity that only cared to point fingers and pigeonhole people based onsocial status and family reputation. If only that ten year old boy knew that bythe end of that year he was going to be whisked off his crying mother and heldin a place that felt more like a chill-raising orphanage than an efficient rehabilitationcenter. Maybe he wouldn’t be smiling that big in the picture. And maybe hewould be more prepared now to lose his innocence once and for all.

He remembered that dayclearly; the day he had got accused of a status offence, the day he had sat infront of retiring Sheriff Conelly for questioning, just like he did now sittingacross the old man’s heir on the job. The feeling was the same. That tugging in his chest that the world was falling down around him and suffocating him, thefeeling of drowning and his lungs betraying him, his plead of help never makingit to the surface. He closed his eyes and took a deep, cooing a breath to easesome of his nerves, scatter away the awful feeling of hopelessness and thehurtful memories but failed miserably as the events of that sunny day invadedhis mind, as a distraction and a reminder that happiness was never going to bewithin his reach and that it was his destiny to lose everything the moment hewould start to believe that life was giving him a chance after all.

Jughead became tens year oldagain, on March 15th, the day of Betty Cooper’s birthday…

With a clumsy hop, a pair ofNinja Turtles sneakers landed on the asphalt, the green lights on the whitetrack sole starting flicking but only on the right shoe, two years of everydayuse being a little too long for them to be in perfect condition. Little JugheadJones didn’t care. He loved those shoes, he used to greet them good morning andgoodnight every single day for a whole year as he would pass them by on his wayto school, knowing all too well that they were out of the family’s budget,especially now that his baby sister had come to the world. So when two yearsago Christmas morning came and he saw the cartoon decorated box under theirsmall and unattractive Christmas tree – his mom having saved up some money tofinally grant him his wish – he had vowed with round alit eyes upontaking the precious shoes in his hands that he would never abandon them, evenif now, not only their light-up effect was on its final stages, but they alsoseemed to suffocate his fast growing feet.

The raven haired boy pushedclosed the car door behind him and staggered to the other side of the old andused Suzuki, his bony limps tripping lightly over his undone shoelaces, his appearancedisheveled as usual. His trademark grey beanie was securing his mop of untameddark hair, a little too big for his head and always sliding low on his eyes,making him fidget with it and the rebellious waves against his forehead constantly,and a burgundy zip-up hoodie was misplaced over some dark blue varsity t-shirt,its right hem getting squeezed and wrinkled under the black strap of his heavyneon green backpack. Finally rounding the car, he opened the back door andstarted unbuckling his sister from her carseat – formerly his – immediatelytrying to help, as always.

Gladys Jones emerged from thedriver’s seat sparing her boy a tiny smile in a hurry, before ushering the babyout of the car, three and a half years old Jellybean instantly starting to wailbecause of the rude interruption of her slumber. The mother desperately triedto shush her while picking up her baby things and hoisting a diaper bag thathad seen better days over her shoulder, salty tears and baby drool drenchingthe front of her bright yellow Pop’s uniform and matching the stain of bananaand biscuit puree, Jellybean’s unfinished breakfast, next to her name tag. Shehad just finished her night shift at Pop’s and she had exactly half an hour toget the kids to school, return home to change and get to the Blossoms’ maplesyrup factory at the outskirts of town for her second job as an assembly lineworker. Jughead believed that his mom was actually a superhero in disguise, despite thebags under her tired blue eyes, a little lifeless but always identical to his.

“Alright, JiggieJug, breakfastfor champions.” She addressed him motherly, snatching a Pop’s paper bag fromthe passenger seat containing his lunch for the day. Being a Friday, Jugheadknew that today’s menu were two overstuffed carton boxes of chicken nuggets,maxi-sized French fries and a blueberry lollipop, a typical treat from his momto “pre-celebrate the weekend”, as she always used to say with a lovely smilebefore dropping the candy in his lunch bag. “And the special dessert you askedfor.” Gladys supplied her son with another bag, this one plastic and moresecure than the other, watching in amusement, despite her need to hurry, thelittle boy trying to juggle everything inside his slender arms.

“Thanks, mom.” Always with aheart of gold, he thanked his mom for the simple task he had assigned to herthe day before. “You got everything, right?” he huffed to push his ravenwaves out of his eyes, having no hands to indulge in his adorable little tic.

“Ten of Pop’s famous strawberrycupcakes with pink buttercream and sprinkles-covered strawberries on top andtwo old-fashioned vanilla milkshakes.” Sherecited her son’s order perfectly, while bouncing the fussy baby in her arms. “But,hey, you promised you’re not gonna eat them all by yourself.” The motherreminded him their deal, because she knew his immense appetite and, even thoughhe didn’t seem to gain even a single hint of fat on his boyish lanky figure,she was still worried for her boy’s wellbeing after such sugar overdose.

Little Jughead huffed again,this time in exasperation. “No, mom, I told you they are not for me.”

“Who are they for then?” Gladysscoffed incredulously, a tad amused and with an eyebrow raising for the boy tohumor her, freeing the hem of her uniform over her cleavage from the stronghold of Jellybean’s chubby fingers. When the squirming baby’s attention shiftedand her little fingers became more demanding on violently twirling the end ofher raven, waist-long, flyaway hair gathered in a lose ponytail, the mothersighed, accepting her fate.

Faint blush creeping on hisslightly baby fat filled cheeks, the boy dropped his eyes to examine hisbeloved sneakers, awkwardly scratching their tips over some tiny pebbles.“They’re for…” he shyly started but he choked on the words, always confiding inhis mom about everything but right now finding it really difficult because hewas ten and talking about girls was supposed to be gross and entirelyhumiliating.

As in reflex, his baby bluesraised from the ground and he spotted her, cute as a button little Betty Cooper,hopping cheerfully off her parents’ vintage silver Mercedes right after hersister, toothy smile intact and two buns on top of either side of her head,rather than her usual high ponytail or braided pigtails. Clearly, she was dressedfor the occasion in a yellow balloon dress and a turquoise denim jacket,the colors happy and bright just like her sunlight personality, and she offeredhim an eager wave and an even bigger smile, before running towards the sea ofchildren in the school yard armed with her fuchsia pink Polly Pocket backpack. Pretty, was all that Jughead thoughtwhile barely managing to wiggle his fingers in a small wave, his chapped lipsslightly parted and his cheeks flaming red at this point, as he watched herdisappear.

The interaction wasn’t missedby his mother’s alert and intuitive nature, seeing the little girl mingle withher classmates before turning again to her son. Ah, of course, Betty Cooper, Gladys internally sighed, ultimatelyfinding his reaction cute and wanting to be supportive of her son’s first crushbut her own insecurities about a certain member of the Cooper family – thatright now spared her a not so friendly glare from the passenger seat of thespeeding off Mercedes – were tarnishing the otherwise loving nature of hermaternal instincts.

“I’m sure she is going to loveyour little surprise, baby.” Gladys managed to smile lightly despite her defensivefrown, putting her children first, as always.

Tips of ears turning brightred now as well, Jughead looked up at her with hopeful eyes, face lifting withjoy that his mom, the most important woman in his life, thought so and he noddedonce in excitement, now becoming more confident about his plan regarding theday. He knew it wasn’t much and Betty deserved all the sweet tooth menus atPop’s along with an unlimited pass to all the rides on the fun fair and theTwilight Drive-In for her birthday, and he desperately wanted to be able togive her all that and more, but he wished her favorite cupcakes and choice ofdrink were enough of a good present.

They exchanged sweet smilesbut Jellybean’s frustrated cry made the mother turn to her in panic, once againaware of the hectic reality she had to face. “Believe me, I know you want yourbeauty sleep but please, Jelly, help me out a little bit here, shh.” Shebounced the baby as she pleaded with a small groan, not that the child obeyed.“I really have to run now, Jug.” She kneeled lightly to be eye level with herson, balancing a baby and all her stuff on her slender figure, and brushing hiswavy hair out of his forehead in affection. “Be good at school. I love you.”She squeezed his cheeks between her thump and pointer and Eskimo kissed himplayfully, both grinning from ear to ear at their sweet habit. Jughead saidgoodbye to his sister with fingers tickling her chubby stomach lightly and afunny grimace and ran off to the cheerfully shrieking kids, as hismom took off to the opposite direction, walking fast and ungraciously whilebouncing her baby in pursue for the daycare down the road.

Jughead made a bee linestraight inside the school where he found his blonde sun of a friend bouncingon her feet in front of her sparkly, stickers-littered locker, chatting withtheir redhead best friend. With a deep breath and a huff that sent his hairflying off his forehead, he dragged his lanky limbs to join them, catchinghimself sporting a smile upon locking eyes with the giggly girl. Her big,pearly white grin was contagious, he couldn’t help it.

“… and Polly spent half anhour to do them for me, do you like it Arch?” the raven haired boy came to astop next to the boy in question, catching half of the conversation with asmall frown at Betty’s hopeful doe eyes and bouncing back and forth head incute hyperactivity.

“They look funny.” Theoblivious redhead answered, tilting his head while examining the two buns thatcreated her new hairstyle.

Jughead noticed immediatelythe cloud over her former sunny mood. “I like them. They look like meatballs;and meatballs are always good.” He rushed to offer his opinion to preserve thehappy glint of her green orbs. She truly looked cute, in a princess Leia way kindacute, Jughead being sure that from now on he wouldn’t be able to watch any ofhis beloved Star Wars movies without giddily thinking about the prettiest girlin their school.

His food related complimentmanaged to tug the corner of her lips in a small smile, Betty looking at himshyly under her fluttering eyelashes. “I just wanted to do something differentfor today, being special and all…”she hinted, a tad disappointed that nobody was showering her with birthdaywishes yet. Kevin had briefly passed her by at the entrance with a small waveand an anxious rant about how he forgot to fill the answer sheet for geography,before disappearing into recess room to fix his mess and by the looks of it,Archie was, as always, in his own world too. Juggie didn’t count; Betty knewthat he didn’t care about birthdays so he wasn’t going remember. He was theonly person she wasn’t mad at.

“Save it for Betty to callspecial the day we have a history and a math test and fix her hair in a newhairstyle for that.” Archie laughed wholeheartedly at his own joke, elbowing Jugheadto join, but his friend was too preoccupied with the way that Betty’s entireposture had changed right now, shoulders slouching and down lip wobbling as shepouted. He felt a tug at his chest, almost snatching a cupcake from the bag tooffer it to her because food cured everything and right now he desperatelywanted to cure her blues. How could Archie not have a clue about what was today’soccasion? There was always a bright red circle around the date at all ofJughead’s wall calendars throughout the years, the boy marking the special daymonths in advance in order to always remember, not that he wouldn’t otherwise.

Sparing Betty the tears andJughead the overreacting humiliation, the bell rung loudly over their heads,signalizing the start of first period.

“Whatever, I’ll see you atlunch.” The blonde girl did the fastest one-eighty in the history of twirls.She was ashamed of the fat tears that were threatening to spill from her eyesany minute now and afraid of being labeled as a baby and getting excluded byher friends, especially now that she had gained a rightful free pass toJughead’s tree house, quick feet taking her away to mop around in the littleladies’ room before heading to class.

“Laters.” Jughead heard Archiepromise in the opposite of his inner voice, him not getting the chance to uttera single word, not even a “wait up” or “please smile” at the sad birthday girl,before getting dragged backwards from his backpack by Archie to the directionof their joined class, uncoordinated limps tripping over his loose shoelaces. Hecaught a glimpse of her reaching the girls’ bathroom down the corridor andgrumpily brushing the back of her hand over her cheek to wipe some tears and hisyoung heart sank to his stomach, for the first time wishing for free period to comesooner, and not because he was drooling over his lunchbox as usual.

So when that heavenly subject-freehour came, Jughead was agog to finally go on with his plan and sweet gesture.He didn’t like his birthday; everybody knew that. He thought that it was a hopelesscelebration, a day that caused him more stress than joy because his parents hadto play a part, create the reality of a blissful, breakfast commercial perfectfamily. The fake reality that was soon crashed the next day under thedisappointed looks of his mother to his father that spoke volumes or theirhushed fights, his running away footsteps and her muffled ugly sobs late atnight when Jughead would still lay awake, buried inside the cocoon of hisblankets with a torch lighting the pages of his books that helped him escapethe place that no longer felt like home. Betty’s birthday was another story.Her life was sunshine and rainbows, this day shouldn’t have been an exception to that.More so, it should have been the highlight of her already happy childhood.

That’s why little Jughead wasnow in their biology lab setting the place the way he had envision the weekprior, when he had started mapping up the idea. He had picked this particularclassroom because the window overlooked the small garden at the back of theelementary school, the one that their class was responsible to maintain throughout theyear, bright yellow sunflowers now in full growth creating a nice springsetting. He placed the two vanilla shakes on a desk right in front of thewindow and the plastic plate of cupcakes between them and took out of hisbackpack ten heart-shaped candles and a lighter, carefully lighting each ofthem and placing them on top of every small pink cake. He smiled lightly at hiscreation; he believed the whole setting was so girly and so everything heimagined she would like and the thought made his little heart do a flippy overthing in excitement. And then for the big finish. He pulled out of his pencilcase two sparklers, Betty’s all-time favorite party attraction, Jugheadremembering how elated she always used to be at the sight of them all over townat every July 4th or on Archie’s birthday cake, the only girl notshrieking and running away but giggling while playing with the dancing flames,and he lit them both, bouncing back a little at how abruptly their effect hadstarted. He hoisted one on the right side of the center cupcake and went to dothe same for the left side, trying to avoid the flames of the other candlesaround but that’s when all came crashing down around him, his awkward and prepubescentuncoordinated limbs falling him once again miserably.

His elbow clumsily knockeddown one of the milkshakes. White sticky ice cream stained the linoleum flooras he rushed to somehow clean the mess. The sparkler he was holding dropped fromhis fingers without him even noticing. His urgent feet kicked it involuntarily toroll inches away from the brownish curtain that was pulled to the side of thewindow. Some sparks landed on the cheap material and just like that everythingbecame a nightmare of biblical destruction.

Ten year old Jughead didn’tknow that flames could spread so quickly and easily. So when he turned aroundand half the curtain was burning maliciously, he stumbled back in shock, eyesturning wide and panicky at the sight in front of him. Out of reflex, he threwa wooden chair in front of him, to separate him from the chaos, but this onlyseemed to make it worse, the chair catching up in flames too in a nanosecondbefore the fire fueled more and black smoke started to fill the room. An awfulsound pierced through his ears and he rushed to cover them, the fire alarmgoing off efficiently, and Jughead panicked even more now, thinking about howscrewed up he was going to be upon teachers finding out he was the cause of thechaos. He was moving in circles around himself, at a loss of what to do or howto help, throwing random things to the threatening tongues of flame that werespreading fast, only succeeding in making it worse. At the sound of the doorflying open, he looked up like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Jug?” Archie’s flaming locksthat matched the scenery of the room appeared as the boy rushed inside, comingto a halt abruptly, shocked out of his young mind too. “Oh my— we have to run!”he shouted in alarm, motioning for the door behind him.

“No, I have to fix this.” Jugheaddidn’t spare him a second glance as he rushed to the sink at the corner,filling a small bucket with water and throwing it to the flames, onlysucceeding in making them spread more, now dangerously close to his discardedbackpack on the floor. “My books!” Jughead exclaimed in despair at the thought of his anchorof hope getting lost forever and lashed forward without thinking, Archie doingthe same with wide eyes, in order to pull back his best friend.

The curtain rail gave outunder the high rise of temperature and the iron bar fell to the floor with adreadful sound, spreading a sea of flames, the force causing the two boys toroll back on the floor. Jughead wailed in fear as his pant leg caught on fire, Archiestumbling on his feet in horror and throwing his little league letterman jacketon the denim, effectively putting out the small source of flames but notwithout experience the same pain on the side of his arm. The blipping of thealarm became more vicious, the flames had now spread all over the wall and fewof the desks next to the window, Jughead’s terrified eyes watching the icy cupcakesburn in flames, just like his naïve hopes that he would for once make BettyCooper happy, make her notice him and only him.

The door opened again. Loudmale voices could be heard yelling instructions and rolling something insidethe flaming room. Two firefighters picked him and Archie up, assuring them thateverything was going to be fine, Jughead’s heart getting crushed just like thepiece of pink carton under the stomping feet of the firemen, the comic about aprincess and a poet he had made for her in a form of a birthday card nevergetting the reaction of the big, delighted smile it deserved. Jughead’s babyblues turned blurry with tears as something exploded inside the room and theman he was holding him started running to rush him to safety away from the flames,away from his now crushed childhood dream.

Everything happened in fastforward after that. And he, for some reason, ended up here, scared, shocked, traumatizedin the place that didn’t do much to ease his young turbulent mind; the backseatof a police car. His ruined pant leg was rolled up against his thigh, some coolingblue Jell-O like cream spread on his knee over the irritated skin of his burn,he reeked of smoke and he felt awful with sticky clothes, trembling limps and abroken heart. He was busing himself with picking at his fingers, hands coal blackfrom the carbon dioxide, or stealing side glances at everything that washappening around him; parents dropping by to pick up their terrified kids, firefightersrolling off their gear, having succeeded in extinguishing the fire, theSherriff questioning some teachers and the janitor, Archie being treated byparamedics just like Jughead was before him, Mary Andrews cradling his head andoffering him motherly pecks to ease his pain away while Fred stood by like atrue family protector, his own parents lurking next to the police vehicle tryingto not make a scene, by keeping their full of venom voices to a minimum.

Jughead wanted to scream forthem to stop, to scream that he needed them talking to him, telling him thateverything was going to be alright, not fighting with each other. He felthanging, he didn’t know why everyone was treating him like a bad guy and thatterrified him to no end, a ten year old boy too small in front of thesignificance of the situation. He was trying desperately not to cry, chinwobbly and eyes itchy and bloodshot, blinking rapidly due to the toxic fumesand his unshed tears, and all he wanted was his mom and dad to hug him tightand never let go, never let him alone again in this reality that petrified hisyoung and innocent mind.

“This is all your fault.” His mom’shiss towards his dad made Jughead lower his head even more to his lap, preparinghimself for the shouting match that it was about to break loose.

“He’s just a kid, Gladys.” FPsighed, tired and concerned but not thinking much of the situation. Jughead wasa growing boy; those incidents were expected in his books.

“Kids don’t play with matches.”Gladys bit back and continued with venom and narrowed, troubled dark blue eyes.“This is your doing.”

“You can’t blame me foreverything that goes wrong in this family.” Her husband snapped back, voicestill controlled but eyes pitch black under the red, irritated skin of hiseyelashes caused by another one of his usual alcohol filled nights.

“At least I’m trying, FP.Unlike you that always put us second in your life.” She accused, shaking herhead in despair and dropping a kiss to the temple of the oblivious baby girl inher arms.

“Don’t you dare tell me that Idon’t love my kids.” He sent her a side glance, jaw tightening to not show howhurt he was by her words. “Or you.” He added and he meant it, even if he wasn’tthe best at showing it, he truly meant it.

Gladys huffed in disbelief; shehad heard all that before. “If your love results to this, then keep it.” She shooka hand his direction, indicating for him to stay away from her, from them. “You’returning him into you.” Her voice broke, a choke closing her throat at thethought. “And that’s the thing I’m most scared of; him ending up anything like you.” There was bitternessin her voice, hatred at how the man she had fell madly in love with had changed,at how this wasn’t the life she had dreamed of living.

FP dropped his head to theground, ashamed and beaten. “He is just a kid.” He repeated in a low whisper.

“Yes, and he is being chargedwith a state offence.” Gladys stated the absurdity of it all. “And they keepsaying that they will have to take him away and send him to that place,” hervoice was trembling now, a mother losing her mind at the mere thought ofsomething bad happening to her child “and I don’t even know where this is and whatwill happen to him and— How can they take away my baby?” the tears streamed downin full force and her sharp intake of breath got lost inside the palm that shebrought to her mouth to suppress her dreadful sob, little Jughead feeling hisown tears running down his cheeks silently at her words and her cries. He didn’twant to make his mom sad, God, he hated seeing her sad. And he was afraid;afraid that he wouldn’t see her again, afraid that the Eskimo kiss they sharedthis morning was the last form of affection he would ever receive.

“I’ll fix it, okay?” FP rushedforward, determined, taking hold of her shoulders and connecting their eyes. “Nobodyis taking Jug away from us, I promise.” She wanted to believe him but at thispoint she really couldn’t.

“I’ve heard enough of yourpromises, FP.” Gladys squirmed free of his hold, eyes cold despite the weaknessof her tears. “How are you going to fix this, huh? With a beer bottle in eachhand? Or with your friends over at the Southside?” she challenged, him takingsome steps back, as she scoffed a chuckle with no humor at all. “You think thatI don’t know…”

“Don’t. Not again.” He warned,minutes before losing control.

“You’re hangover, you reek ofalcohol, your eyes are bloodshot…” She listed with venom the telltail signs, hecouldn’t hide from her. “Tell me that you didn’t go; come on, lie to me.” She challenged,the fire and spark that won him over years ago now turning against him. “Tellme that you weren’t at that God awful place all night while you were supposedto look after your kids.” Her voice raised and startled the baby against herchest, Jellybean sensing the tension and becoming fussy once again.

“I…” He couldn’t find it inhim to lie.

“I can’t even believe you.” Shebreathed, disappointed once again at the man in front of her. “It’s about her,isn’t it?” the wheels inside her head turned sharply, the topic of jealousytowards a specific old flame of his coming to surface again, like numeroustimes before in their fights. “You’re meeting her there, go on, for once inyour life tell me the truth!” she demanded with a stern voice, hand latchingforward to grab his chin and force his eyes on her, chipped nails clawing hisscruffy cheeks to inflict some of the pain he is causing her. “If you’rescrewing her Forsythe, I swear to God—” she threatened with vicious passion.

“Stop.” FP freed his face curtly off her claws. “That’s nonsense! You can accuse me of anything, anything, but I’ve always been faithfulto you.” He stood his ground, mad with anger at this point too. “That’s over;you know that first hand.” His eyes darkened with a mix of spite andvulnerability, the old story still holding a grudge in his heart despite theyears, despite them moving on, despite the feeling of emptiness that he still feltat even the most subtle mention of the first girl he ever loved.

“I’m gonna leave.” Gladysthrew to his face, chocking on the words as new tears ran down her face. “I’mtelling you, FP, one day I’ll just crack, take the kids and get the hell awayfrom you.” She promised around her sobs, Jellybean starting a crying duet withher mother, like she understood the situation, and FP’s eyes dropped to her, despair painted upon them. “I cannot keep livinglike this, okay? Juggling two jobs, two kids and a ridiculous excuse of a man.”The force of her sobs overtook her slim body, narrow shoulders shaking at theintensity of her breakdown, her young and beautiful face getting wrinkled indespair. “Do you understand what I’m saying? If they take Jughead away, it’sover between us. This version of you, the person you’ve became, you ruined us,you ruined him. Hope you are proud.” She spat to his face and turned away fromhis filled with sorrow and regret face, hugging her daughter tightly and shushing herbetween her own violent cries.

And as little Jughead wassome meters away in the threatening silence of the police vehiclecrying too, lonely, afraid and now in the verge of an ugly panic attack at the possible walking away of his mom, his beacon of calmness and hope shined just like the blondeof her hair under the afternoon sun.

“Juggie.” He heard his name inthe most beautiful whisper and that startled him, abruptly snapping his head toface the source and quickly brushing his cheek over the material of his hoodieagainst his shoulder to hide his moment of weakness, upon seeing Betty’s nosepressed adorably against the window of the car. She motioned for him to roll itdown and he hurried to do so but only up until the middle fearing to even moveat this point.

“Are you okay?” she whisperedin a hushed voice, green doe eyes more rounded than ever in concern, scanningher friend.

He just nodded, still in shockabout the events of the day and the fact that she was there talking to him and notalready at the safety of her home.

“I snuck out of the car whilemom was talking to the Sheriff. I couldn’t leave without seeing if you wereokay.” Betty let him know and Jughead’s heart did that flippy over thing again,lips parting at a loss of words. “Juggie, your leg!” the little girl gasped inhorror, eyebrows knitting while examining the nasty redness on his knee.

“It’s nothing.” He whisperedin a small, scratchy voice, the first time to form a single word to anyoneafter the incident. “Archie got hurt too.” He was utterly confused that she washere asking him how he was and not holding the redhead’s hand.

“His is just a scratch; he’sjust being a baby, he’ll be fine.” Betty wrinkled her nose in disapproval, still hurt by the obliviousness of the redhead boy. “Where are theytaking you?” she asked in all her child naivety.

“I don’t know.” Jugheadshrugged his little shoulders, picking on his fingers again. “I didn��t mean for this to happen, Betty. You have to believe me.” He pleaded with sad eyes forher to not start treating him differently from now on.

“I know.” She answered in a heartbeat.“I know you, Juggie, you are my friend.” Her small, lovely smile was everythinghe needed for his spirit to be lifted a little and to breathe again. He repliedwith an equal smile of gratitude, everything being dealt easily in the childrenworld, but the corners of his smile wavered as the hushed angry voices of hisparents could be heard again on the background.

His face dropped in sorrow andshame and Betty briefly looked over his head to the quarreling duo. “Think ofsomething nice.” She urged him on, focusing again on him.

“What?” the boy asked,clueless.

“When my parents are fightingor I’m feeling anxious or scared, I always close my eyes and make up a storywith my favorite place and my favorite people.” The cheerful girl explainedfurther. “It helps.” She shrugged a shoulder. “Do it!” Her sparkling forest-likeeyes didn’t leave room for discussion and Jughead felt himself complying,dropping back on the leather seat and closing his smarting eyes.

He imagined Pop’s, two burgersand a chocolate milkshake and he saw her, yellow dress and all, smilingbrightly at him with vanilla ice cream creating a silly moustache over her rosylips. Lost in the fantasy, Jughead smiled.

Betty grinned to herself uponseeing his reaction. “It’s nice, huh?”

“Yeah.” Jughead murmuredblissfully, eyes still closed and unwilling to let go of the lovely image.

There was something thatstartled him again though, that made his eyes snap open and his heart startdancing in his chest. A loud smooch noise filled his ears and wet, warm lipscollided with his still damp cheek and he would swear that he dreamed that tooif it wasn’t for Betty’s smiley face inches away from his bewildered one. Shewas bended over the half opened window, resting on the tips of her dusty goldbow-decorated flats, and grinning from ear to ear lovingly before dropping backon her heels, Jughead’s heart running a marathon at the fact that in the miseryof it all, toady he had gained his first kiss by Betty Cooper.

“Wherever you go, I’ll visit.”She promised and held out her pinky, the raven haired boy curling his around itstill in a state of shock, before Alice Cooper’s demanding voice broke themapart, Betty running quickly back to her mother, sparing him one last ofhis favorite Betty smiles.

The smile that never changedover the years, as well as its effect on his poor heart. The smile thatJughead, sixteen again and in trouble once more with the police, keptenvisioning behind closed eyelashes at a booth at Pop’s over his own smileylips during one of their many now teenage appropriate kisses.

“I’m not talking to youanymore.” The image of her brought him courage and determination to fight forhis rights this time, eyes snapping open and darting to the side still troubled and sad. “I wanta lawyer.” He demanded into the silence of the interogation room before it got interruptedby the sound of the creaking metallic door being pushed open.

“No need.” Like awild wind, Betty appeared, strong-willed and confident, her worried eyesconnecting for a minute with his now relieved ones upon seeing her, the Sherriffjumping off his seat as the deputy behind Betty silently apologized for notbeing able to hold her back. “Jughead is innocent. I’m sure Mr. Andrews willclear everything up for you, Sheriff Keller.” The girl held her ground like atrue Cooper, the man raising an eyebrow at her behavior but following hisdeputy out of the room with a huff, leaving the two teens alone. And as Bettytook a seat across him with the same lovely smile she had sported six yearsago, Jughead knew that as long as she was on his side nothing would be able tobring him down.

Sprawled on the Andrews’ porchstairs, Jughead could feel the freedom on his skin and the evening air easingout his mind after the events of the crazy day he had. Betty was seated nextto him, legs curled under her and knees brushing his ribs, her concerned eyes never leaving him, the girl being on the lookout for any sign ofdiscomfort or sorrow or insecurity so she could vanish it the moment it will cloud his brilliant mind with her encouraging words and her soothingcaresses. His breakdown after the encounter with his father was ugly and heartbreaking,Betty holding him tightly through it all and urging him to unleash all thepined up anger and frustration he held in his heart and now that it was overand calmness was spread between them she just couldn’t leave him out of hersight, wanting with all her power to never see him that way ever again.

“Whatever Fred did, I’ll beforever grateful to him for letting me have this.” Jughead sighed, elbowsresting on the step behind him and eyes darting around before landing on hisbeautiful girlfriend smiling down at him.

“I told you, Jug, we were goingto get you out.” She brushed the single wave away from his forehead lovingly,before letting her fingers caress down his jawline, feeling him sigh in contentunder her touch. “Believe it or not, even my mom offered to help.” That spikedthe boy’s attention, who rose his eyebrows in surprise.

“Thank God she didn’t. I wouldstill be in there, sceduled for a death penalty.” He groaned in his usual sardonic manner and formed a smallsmirk at Betty’s rolling eyes and cute grimace of amusement.

They fell into their previouscomfortable silence, Betty sliding closer to him to start drawing abstractshapes over his chest with her fingers. “I still don’t understand; why just youand not me?” she questioned in exasperation, feeling him sigh and curl his armsaround her waist.

“You don’t have a criminalrecord.” He reminded her, leaving a peck on the side of her arm over her maroonbomber jacket.

“You have one because of thosetwo months at the rehabilitation center, right?” she toyed with the sheepishlapel of his jacket, green eyes focused on his baby blue ones.

“It was juvie, Betty.” Hethrew in apathy. “Don’t use fancy words; there was nothing fancy about thatplace.” There was some bitterness in his voice and Betty decided not to pushhim further since everything was hard on him that day.

“You never told me why youstarted that fire in the first place.” Betty wondered out loud, eyebrowsknitting in confusion as to why she still didn’t know what went down at day inelementary school. “Was it you and Archie playing pranks again?” she cracked aside smirk in amusement, remembering the relentless teasing between them. Hefelt him stiffen under the weight of her question and she frowned more, notknowing what caused the sudden discomfort.

“No.” Jughead shook his headand waited a second, scanning her face before giving up with a defeated sigh. “Itwas for you.” He might as well come clean once and for all, he thought.

Betty bounced her head back indisbelief. “Me?”

“Uh-huh.” He nodded inconfirmation. “May 15th, your birthday. I wanted to do something special,cupcakes, milkshakes, the whole thing. The fire was a result of my ten year oldself being a spaz and not even being able to execute the simple task of lighting tenlittle candles.” His scoff of second-hand embarrassment complimented the brightred color on his cheeks, Jughead averting his eyes to the front and not daringto look at her after sharing with her how much of an awkward boy he used to beand, truth be told, still was.

She blinked a couple of times,flabbergasted and at a loss of words at the boy in front of her that seemed toorbit his whole life around her. “You started a freaking fire and went to a juvenile hall because of me?!” her tonewas high-pitched and incredulous, having some difficulty to wrap her mind aroundthe new revelation. “Jughead!” Betty semi-gaspedsemi-whined, not sure what her reaction should be. Feel flattered by the grandgesture or offer him an earful about how he had no need to impress her so nosuch incidents would happen in the future? The only thing that she was sure ofwas that he was crazy, wonderfully crazy, and she was too; for him.

Jughead just shrugged, turningslowly to examine her reaction and giving her a sly smile upon seeing the lookof love in her green eyes. “That clearly wasn’t part of the plan.” He musedsarcastically before he continued serious now. “That day you taught me a littlegame.” Betty shook her head confused, solemn focus on his handsome face and hewas occupied with lacing and unlacing their fingers over his stomach, his eyeswatching the action. “To close my eyes and escape to my favorite place with myfavorite people when life got hard. And I kept doing it all those years, todaytoo.” He nodded to himself before looking up at her, feeling his heart swell atthe look of love he received back. “Thinking of you chasing all of my demonsaway. It always works.” He confessed truthfully, vulnerability and a tad of embarrassmentin his calm voice, sharing with her parts of himself he never thought he would.

Betty just shook her head,leaning down to capture her lips with his, slow and sweet, both of them sighinginto the kiss and holding each other tighter, happy that they had finally foundeach other at the end. “You, Jughead Jones, are the most amazing guy I evermet.” She breathed inside the kiss, lips dancing against his soft ones as shechanged the angle of their kiss, Jughead feeling his whole being gettingovercome by the soothing aura of Betty Cooper. “I’ll slay your demons one byone, I promise you that with all my heart.” And as their kiss deepened and thesensation of her lips was all he could focus on with every fiber of his body,his worries and fears and insecurities got chased away just like that day when that chaste kiss on his cheek reminded him that in the mist of chaos hewould always have somebody anchoring him back to shore; his one and true love,Betty Cooper.

#bughead #jetty #bughead fanfiction #bughead fic #bughead prompt #riverdale #riverdale fic #anon #riverdaleships #otp:sundaes & plaids #Anonymous #mywriting

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